Part 16
Samuel L. Clemens (Mark Twain) I consider one of the greatest geniuses of our time, and as great a philosopher as humorist. I think I know him better than he is known to most men--wide as his circle of acquaintances is, big as is his reputation. He is as great a man as he is a genius, too. Tenderness and sensitiveness are his two strongest traits. He has one of the best hearts that ever beat. One must know him well fully to discern all of his best traits. He keeps them entrenched, so to speak. I rather imagine that he fights shy of having it generally suspected that he is kind and tender-hearted, but many of his friends do know it. He possesses some of the frontier traits--a fierce spirit of retaliation and the absolute confidence that life-long “partners,” in the Western sense, develop. Injure him, and he is merciless, especially if you betray his confidence. Once a lecture manager in New York, whom he trusted to arrange the details of a lecture in Steinway Hall, swindled him to the amount of $1,500, and afterward confessed it, offering restitution to that amount, but not until the swindle had been discovered. They were on board ship at the time, and “Mark” threatened to throw the fellow overboard, meaning it, too, but he fled ashore. In “The Gilded Age” “Mark” immolated him. (Mr. Griller, Lecture Agent, page 438, London Edition). The fellow died soon afterward, and James Redpath, who was a witness to the scene on the steamboat, and who knew the man well, insisted that “Mark’s” arrow killed him; but he would have fired it all the same had he known what the result would be.
General Grant and “Mark Twain” were the greatest of friends. C. L. Webster & Co. (Mark Twain) published “General Grant’s Memoirs,” yet how like and unlike are the careers of the soldier and the citizen!
Grant: poor, a tanner, small farmer, selling cordwood for a living, with less prospect for rising than any ex-West Pointer in the army; then the greatest military reputation of the age; twice President of the United States; the foremost civilian of the world; the most honored guest of peoples and rulers who ever made the circuit of the earth.
“Mark Twain”: a printer’s apprentice in a small Missouri River town; then a “tramping jour” printer; a Mississippi roustabout guarding freight piles on the levee all night for pocket money; river pilot; a rebel guerilla; a reporter in a Nevada mining town; then suddenly the most famous author of the age; a man of society, with the most aristocratic clubs of America, and all around the civilized globe, flung open to him; adopted with all the honors into one of the most exclusive societies on this continent, the favored companion of the most cultivated spirits of the age, welcomed abroad in all the courts almost as a crowned head. “Peace hath its victories,” etc.
There is indeed another parallel between Grant and Twain. Grant found himself impoverished two years before his death, when was left for him the most heroic part of his lifework, to write his memoirs (while he knew he was dying), for which, through his publishers, C. L. Webster & Co. (Twain), his family received nearly half a million dollars. That firm failed in 1894, leaving liabilities to the amount of $80,000 over and above all it owned for “Mark” to pay, and which he has earned with his voice and pen in a tour around the world, paying every creditor in full, in one year’s less time than he calculated when he started at Cleveland on the 15th day of July, 1895. Yes, there is a parallel between the two great heroes in courage and integrity; they are more like than unlike.
“Mark Twain” became a lecturer in California in 1869, after he had returned to San Francisco from the Sandwich Islands. He had written from there a series of picturesque and humorous letters for the Sacramento _Union_, a California journal, and was asked to lecture about the islands. He tells of his first experience with great glee. He had written the lecture and committed it to memory, and was satisfied with it. Still, he dreaded a failure on the first night, as he had had no experience in addressing audiences. Accordingly, he made an arrangement with a woman friend, whose family was to occupy one of the boxes, to start the applause if he should give the sign by looking in her direction and stroking his moustache. He thought that if he failed to “strike” the audience he would be encouraged by a round of applause, if any one would start it after he had made a good point.
Instead of failure, his lecture was a boundless success. The audience rapturously applauded every point, and “Mark” forgot all about his instructions to the lady. Finally, as he was thinking of some new point that occurred to him as he was talking, without a thought of the lady at all, he unconsciously put his hand up to his moustache, and happened to turn in the direction of the box. He had said nothing just then to cause even his appreciative audience to applaud; but the lady took his action for the signal, and nearly broke her fan in striking it against the edge of the box. The whole house joined her applause.
This unexpected and malapropos applause almost knocked “Mark” off his pins; but he soon recovered himself, and became at once one of the favorites of the platform. He lectured a year or two in the West, and then, by Petroleum V. Nasby’s advice, in 1872-73, James Redpath invited him to come East, and he made his first appearance in Boston, in the Redpath Lyceum Music Hall. His success was instantaneous, and he has ever since remained the universal platform favorite to this date, not only in America, in Australia, in India, in the Cape Colonies, and throughout Great Britain; but in Austria and in Germany, where large crowds pay higher prices to see and to hear “Mark Twain” than any other private citizen that has ever lived.
In his tour around the world “Mark Twain” earned with his voice and pen money enough to pay all his creditors (Webster & Co., publishers) in full, with interest, and this he did almost a year sooner than he had originally calculated. Such a triumphal tour has never before been made by any American since that memorable tour around the world by General Grant. Samuel L. Clemens has been greeted in France, Switzerland, Germany, and England almost like a crowned head.
He wrote me from Paris, May 1, 1895: “I’ve a notion to read a few times in America before I sail for Australia. I’m going to think it over and make up my mind.” On May 18th he arrived in this country, and I made arrangements for him to lecture in twenty-one cities on his way to the Pacific, beginning in Cleveland, July 15th, and ending in Vancouver, British Columbia, August 15th. From that place he was to sail for Australia, via Honolulu, where it was planned that he should speak while the ship was waiting; but owing to yellow fever no landing was made there, and over $1,600 was returned to the disappointed people of Honolulu.
June 11th he wrote me from Elmira that if we have a circular for this brief campaign, the chief feature, when speaking of him should be, that he (M. T.) _is on his way to Australia and thence around the globe on a reading and talking tour to last twelve months_; that travelling _around the world_ is nothing, as everybody does it. But what he was travelling _for_ was unusual; everybody didn’t do _that_.
“I like the approximate itinerary first rate. It is _lake_ all the way from Cleveland to Duluth. I wouldn’t switch aside to Milwaukee for $200,000.” His original idea was to lecture in nine cities, besides two or three others on the Pacific Coast. I was to have one-fourth of the profits except in San Francisco, where he was to have four-fifths. But we did not go to San Francisco.
There were five of us in the party: Mr. and Mrs. Clemens, Clara (one of their daughters), Mrs. Pond and myself. During the journey I kept a detailed journal, from which I shall quote:
* * * * *
“Cleveland, July 15, 1895.
“At the Stillman with ‘Mark Twain,’ his wife, and their daughter Clara. ‘Mark’ looks badly fatigued.
“We have very comfortable quarters here. ‘Mark’ went immediately to bed on our arrival. He is nervous and weak. Reporters from all the morning and evening papers called and interviewed him. It seemed like old times again, and ‘Mark’ enjoyed it.
“The young men called at 3 p.m. and paid me the fee for the lecture, which took place in Music Hall. There were 4,200 people present, at prices ranging from 25 cents to $1. It was nine o’clock before the crowd could get in and ‘Mark’ begin. As he hobbled upon the stage, there was a grand ovation of cheers and applause, which continued for some time. Then he began to speak, and before he could finish a sentence the applause broke out again. So it went on for over an hour on a mid-July night, with the mercury trying to climb out of the top of the thermometer. ‘Mark Twain’ kept that vast throng in convulsions.
* * * * *
“Cleveland, Tuesday, July 16th.
“Ninety degrees in the shade at 7:30 a.m. Good notices of ‘Mark Twain’s’ lecture appear in all the papers. ‘Mark’ spent all day in bed until five o’clock, while I spent the day in writing to all correspondents ahead. If Sault Ste. Marie, the next engagement, turns out as well in proportion as this place, our tour is a success. ‘Mark’ and family were invited out to dinner with some old friends and companions of the Quaker City tour. He returned very nervous and much distressed. We discover a remarkable woman in Mrs. Clemens. There’s a good time in store for us all.
* * * * *
“Wednesday, July 17th, S.S. _Northland_.
“Our party left Cleveland for Mackinac at seven o’clock. ‘Mark’ is feeling very poorly. He is carrying on a big fight against his bodily disability. All that has been said of this fine ocean ship on the Great Lakes is not exaggerated. Across Lake Erie to Detroit River, Lake St. Clair, and the St. Clair River is a most charming trip. ‘Mark’ and Mrs. Clemens are very cheerful to-day. The passengers have discovered who they are, and consequently our party is the centre of attraction. Wherever ‘Mark’ sits or stands on the deck of the steamer, in the smoking room, dining room, or cabin, he is the magnet, and people strain their necks to see him and to catch every word he utters.
“On this lake trip occurred an incident of which I have already written. It was the second day out on Lake Huron, and ‘Mark’ was on deck in the morning for the first time. Many people made excuses for speaking to him. One man had stopped off in Cleveland on purpose to hear him. Another, from Washington Territory, who had lived forty years in the West, owned a copy of ‘Roughing It,’ which he and his wife knew by heart. One very gentle, elderly lady wished to thank him for the nice things he has written and said of cats. But the one that interested ‘Mark’ the most was a young man who asked him if he had ever seen or used a shaving stone, handing him one. It was a small, peculiar, fine-grained sand-stone, the shape of a miniature grindstone, and about the size of an ordinary watch. He explained that all you had to do was to rub your face with it and the rough beard would disappear, leaving a clean, shaven face.
“‘Mark’ took it, rubbed it on his unshaven cheek, and expressed great wonder at the result. He put it in his vest pocket very unceremoniously, remarking at the same time: ‘The Madam (he generally speaks of Mrs. Clemens as ‘The Madam’) will have no cause to complain of my never being ready in time for church because it takes so long to shave. I will put this into my vest pocket on Sunday. Then, when I get to church, I’ll pull the thing out and enjoy a quiet shave in my pew during the long prayer.’
* * * * *
“Friday, July 19th, Grand Hotel, Mackinac.
“We came by steamer _F. S. Faxton_, of the Arnold Line. It was an ideal excursion among the islands. Although it was cold, none of our party would leave the deck until the dinner bell rang. ‘Mark’ said: ‘That sounds like an old-fashioned summons to dinner. It means a good, old-fashioned, unpretentious dinner, too. I’m going to try it.’ We all sat down to a table the whole length of the cabin. We naturally fell in with the rush, and all got seats. It was a good dinner, too; the best ever I heard of for 25 cents.
“We reached the Grand Hotel at 4:30. I saw one of ‘Mark’s’ lithographs in the hotel office, with ‘Tickets for Sale Here’ written in blue pencil on the margin. It seemed dull and dead about the lobby, and also in the streets. The hotel manager said the Casino, an adjoining hall, was at our service, free, and the keeper had instructions to seat and to light it. Dinner time came; we all went down together. It was ‘Mark’s’ first appearance in a public dining room since we started. He attracted some attention as he entered and sat down, but nothing especial. After dinner the news-stand man told me he had not sold a ticket, and no one had inquired about the lecture. I waited until eight o’clock and then went to the hall to notify the man that he need not light up as there would be no audience. The janitor and I chatted until about half-past eight, and I was about to leave when a man and woman came to the door and asked for tickets. I was on the point of telling them that there would be no lecture when I saw a number of people, guests of the hotel, coming. I suddenly changed my mind and told them: ‘Admission $1; pay the money to me and walk right in.’ The crowd kept rushing on me, so that I was obliged to ask everybody who could to please have the exact amount ready, as I was unable to change large bills without a good deal of delay. It was after nine o’clock before the rush was over, and I sent a boy for ‘Mark.’ He expressed his pleasant surprise. I asked him to walk to the platform and introduce himself, which he did, and I don’t believe an audience ever had a better time of an hour and a half. ‘Mark’ was simply immense.
“I counted my money while the ‘show’ was going on and found I had taken in $398. When about half through, two young men came to the door and wanted to be admitted for one dollar for the two. I said: ‘No; one dollar each; I cannot take less.’ They turned to go; then I called them back and explained that I needed two more dollars to make receipts just $400, and said:
“‘Now, if you’ll pay a dollar each and complete my pile, you can come in and enjoy the best end of the performance, and when the ‘show’ is out, I’ll take you down-stairs and blow you off to twice that amount.’
“They paid the two dollars, and after the crowd had left, I introduced them to ‘Mark,’ and we all went down to the billiard room, had a good time until twelve o’clock, and ‘Mark’ and I made two delightful acquaintances. This has been one of our best days. ‘Mark’ is gaining.
* * * * *
“Saturday, July 20th, Mackinac to Petoskey.
“‘Mark’ is feeling better. He and I left the ladies at the Grand, in Mackinac, and went to Petoskey on the two o’clock boat and train. The smoke, from forest fires on both sides of the track, is so thick as to be almost stifling. There is a good hotel here.
“There was a full house, and for the first time in a number of months I had a lecture room so crowded at one dollar a ticket that many could not get standing room and were obliged to go away. The theatre has a seating capacity of five hundred, but over seven hundred and fifty got in. ‘Mark’s’ programme was just right--one hour and twenty minutes long. He stopped at an hour and ten minutes, and cries of ‘Go on! Go on!’ were so earnest that he told one more story. George Kennan was one of the audience. He is going to give a course of lectures at Lake View Assembly, an auxiliary Chautauqua adjoining Petoskey, where about five thousand people assemble every summer. Mr. Hall, the manager, thought that ‘Mark Twain’ would not draw sufficient to warrant engaging him at $250, so I took the risk outside, and won.
* * * * *
“Sunday, July 21st.
“‘Mark’ and I left Petoskey for Mackinac at 5:30 this morning, where we joined the ladies and waited five hours on the dock for S.S. _Northwest_ to take us to Duluth. It was severe on the poor man, but he was heroic and silent all the way. He has not tasted food since the dinner on the _Faxton_ Friday.
“Monday, July 22d.
“On Lake Superior; S.S. _Northwest_. I was on deck early and found the smoke all gone. In its place was bright sunshine, but it has been so cold all day that few of the other passengers are on deck. Captain Brown and Purser Pierce are doing all they can to hurry us on, for we are eight hours late.
“We landed in Duluth at just 9 p.m. Mr. Briggs, our correspondent, met us at the wharf with a carriage. As our boat neared land Briggs shouted:
“‘Hello, Major Pond!’
“‘Hello, Briggs!’
“‘Is Mark Twain all right?’
“‘Yes; he is ready to go to the hall; he will be the first passenger off the ship.’
“‘Good. We have a big audience waiting for him,’ said Mr. Briggs.
“‘We’ll have them convulsed in ten minutes,’ said I.
“‘Mark’ was the first passenger to land. Mr. Briggs hurried him to the church, which was packed with twelve hundred and fifty warm friends (100 degrees in the shade) to meet and greet him. It was a big audience. He got through at 10:50 and we were all on board the train for Minneapolis at 11:20.
“It was my busy night. The train for Minneapolis was to start at twelve o’clock. The agents in New York who had fitted me out with transportation and promised that everything should be in readiness on our arrival in Duluth, had forgotten us, and no arrangements for sleeper or transfer of baggage had been made. I had all this to attend to, besides looking after the business part of the lecture, which was on sharing terms with a church society. Everything was mixed up, as the door-tender and finance committee were bound to hear the lecture. I could get no statement, but took all the money in sight, and was on board the train as it was starting for Minneapolis.
“Tuesday, July 23d, Minneapolis.
“We are stopping at the West Hotel; a delightful place. Six skilled reporters have spent about two hours with ‘Mark.’ He was lying in bed, and very tired I know, but he was extremely courteous to them, and they all enjoyed the interview. The Metropolitan Opera House was filled to the top gallery with a big crowd of well-dressed, intelligent people. It was about as big a night as ‘Mark’ ever had to my knowledge. He introduced a new entertainment, blending pathos with humor with unusual continuity. This was at Mrs. Clemens’s suggestion. She had given me an idea on the start that too much humor tired an audience with laughing. ‘Mark’ took the hint and worked in three or four pathetic stories that made the entertainment perfect. The ‘show’ is a triumph, and ‘Mark’ will never again need a running mate to make him satisfactory to everybody.
“The next day the Minneapolis papers were full of good things about the lecture. The _Times_ devoted three columns and a half of fine print to a verbatim report of it. The following evening in St. Paul ‘Mark’ gave the same programme, which was commented on in glowing terms by St. Paul papers.
* * * * *
“Friday, July 26th, Winnipeg--The Manitoba.
“We have had a most charming ride through North Dakota and southeastern Manitoba. It seems as if everything along the route must have been put in order for our reception. The flat, wild prairies (uninhabited in 1883) are now all under cultivation. There are fine farmhouses, barns, windmills, and vast fields of wheat--‘oceans of wheat,’ as ‘Mark’ said--as far as eye can reach in all directions, waving like as the ocean waves, and so flat! Mr. Beecher remarked to his wife when riding through herein 1883: ‘Mother, you couldn’t flatter this country.’
“We had a splendid audience. ‘Mark’ and I were entertained at the famous Manitoba Club after the lecture--a club of the leading men of Winnipeg. We did not stay out very late, as ‘Mark’ feared Mrs. Clemens would not retire until he came, and he was quite anxious for her to rest, as the long night journey in the cars had been very fatiguing. On our arrival at the hotel we heard singing and a sound of revelry in the parlors. A party of young gentlemen of the lecture committee had escorted our ladies home. They were fine singers, and, with Miss Clara Clemens at the piano, a concert was in progress, that we all enjoyed another hour.
“Saturday, the 27th, we all put down as the pleasantest day thus far. Several young English gentlemen who have staked fortunes in this northwest in wheat ranches and other enterprises, brought out their tandems and traps and drove the ladies about the country. They saw the largest herd of wild buffalo that now exists, in a large enclosure. They were driven to various interesting suburban sights, of which there are more than one would believe could exist in this far northwest new city. Bouquets and banks of flowers--of such beautiful colors!--were sent in; many ladies called, and all in all it has been an ovation. ‘Mark,’ as is his custom, did not get up until time to go to the lecture hall, but he was happy. Several journalists called, who he told me were the best informed and most scholarly lot of editors he had found anywhere; and I think he was correct. There was another large crowd at the lecture, and another and final reception at the famous Manitoba Club. We were home at twelve, and all so happy! We’re on the road to happiness surely.
* * * * *
“Monday, July 29th.
“We have been in Crookston, Minn., all day, where we were the first and especially favored guests of this fine new hotel. ‘Mark Twain’s’ name was the first on the register. We are enjoying it. ‘Mark’ is as gay as a lark, but he remained in bed until time to go to the Opera House. This city is wonderfully improved since I was here in 1883 with Mr. Beecher, in 1885 with Clara Louise Kellogg, and in 1887 with Charles Dickens, Jr. The opening of this hotel is a great event. People are filling up the town from all directions to see and hear ‘Mark,’ and taking advantage of the occasion to see the first new hotel (The Crookston) in their city with hot and cold water, electric lights and all modern improvements.
* * * * *
“Tuesday, July 30th, en route.
“We left Crookston at 5:40 A.M.; were up at 4:30. Everybody was cheerful; there was no grumbling. This is our first unseasonable hour for getting up, but it has done us all good. Even Clara enjoyed the unique experience. It revived her memory. She recollected that she had telegraphed to Elmira to have her winter cloak expressed to Crookston. Fortunately the agent was sleeping in the express office, near the station. We disturbed his slumbers to find the great cloak, which was another acquisition to our sixteen pieces of hand baggage. Our train was forty-five minutes late. ‘Mark’ complained and grumbled; he persisted that I had contracted with him to _travel_ and not to wait about railway stations at five o’clock in the mornings for late trains that never arrived. He insisted on travelling, so he got aboard the baggage truck and I _travelled_ him up and down the platform, while Clara made a snap shot as evidence that I was keeping to the letter of my contract.