But I see now what the glory of Spain must have been when it was under Moorish domination. No, I will not say that, but then when one is carried away, infatuated, entranced, with the wonders of the Alhambra and the supernatural beauty of the Alcazar, he is apt to overflow with admiration for the splendid intellects that created them.
I cannot write now. I am only dropping a line to let you know I am well. The ship will call for us here tomorrow. We may stop at Lisbon, and shall at the Bermudas, and will arrive in New York ten days after this letter gets there.
Sam.
This is the last personal letter written during that famous first sea-gipsying, and reading it our regret grows that he did not put something of his Spanish excursion into his book. He never returned to Spain, and he never wrote of it. Only the barest mention of seven beautiful days is found in The Innocents Abroad.
VIII. Letters 1867-68. Washington And San Francisco. The Proposed Book Of Travel. A New Lecture
From Mark Twains home letters we get several important side-lights on this first famous book. We learn, for in stance, that it was he who drafted the ship address to the Emperor the opening lines of which became so wearisome when repeated by the sailors. Furthermore, we learn something of the scope and extent of his newspaper correspondence, which must have kept him furiously busy, done as it was in the midst of super-heated and continuous sight-seeing. He wrote fifty three letters to the Alta-California, six to the New York Tribune, and at least two to the New York Herald more than sixty, all told, of an average, length of three to four thousand words each. Mark Twain always claimed to be a lazy man, and certainly he was likely to avoid an undertaking not suited to his gifts, but he had energy in abundance for work in his chosen field. To have piled up a correspondence of that size in the time, and under the circumstances already noted, quality considered, may be counted a record in the history of travel letters.
They made him famous. Arriving in New York, November 19, 1867, Mark Twain found himself no longer unknown to the metropolis, or to any portion of America. Papers East and West had copied his Alta and Tribune letters and carried his name into every corner of the States and Territories. He had preached a new gospel in travel literature, the gospel of frankness and sincerity that Americans could understand. Also his literary powers had awakened at last. His work was no longer trivial, crude, and showy; it was full of dignity, beauty, and power; his humor was finer, worthier. The difference in quality between the Quaker City letters and those written from the Sandwich Islands only a year before can scarcely be measured.
He did not remain in New York, but went down to Washington, where he had arranged for a private secretaryship with Senator William M. Stewart,[10] whom he had known in Nevada. Such a position he believed would make but little demand upon his time, and would afford him an insight into Washington life, which he could make valuable in the shape of newspaper correspondence.
But fate had other plans for him. He presently received the following letter:
From Elisha Bliss, Jr., in Hartford.
Office of the American publishing company.
Hartford, Conn, Nov 21, 1867.
Samuel L. Clemens Esq.
Tribune Office, New York.
Dr. Sir, We take the liberty to address you this, in place of a letter which we had recently written and was about to forward to you, not knowing your arrival home was expected so soon. We are desirous of obtaining from you a work of some kind, perhaps compiled from your letters from the East, &c., with such interesting additions as may be proper. We are the publishers of A. D. Richardsons works, and flatter ourselves that we can give an author as favorable terms and do as full justice to his productions as any other house in the country. We are perhaps the oldest subscription house in the country, and have never failed to give a book an immense circulation. We sold about 100,000 copies of Richardsons F. D. & E. (Field, Dungeon and Escape) and are now printing 41,000, of Beyond the Mississippi, and large orders ahead. If you have any thought of writing a book, or could be induced to do so, we should be pleased to see you; and will do so. Will you do us the favor to reply at once, at your earliest convenience.
Very truly, &c.,
E. Bliss, Jr. Secty.
Clemens had already the idea of a book in mind and welcomed this proposition.
*****
To Elisha Bliss, Jr., in Hartford:
Washington, Dec. 2, 1867.
E. Bliss, Jr. Esq.
Secy American Publishing Co.
Dear sir, I only received your favor of Nov. 21st last night, at the rooms of the Tribune Bureau here. It was forwarded from the Tribune office, New York, where it had lain eight or ten days. This will be a sufficient apology for the seeming discourtesy of my silence.
I wrote fifty-two (three) letters for the San Francisco Alta California during the Quaker City excursion, about half of which number have been printed, thus far. The Alta has few exchanges in the East, and I suppose scarcely any of these letters have been copied on this side of the Rocky Mountains. I could weed them of their chief faults of construction and inelegancies of expression and make a volume that would be more acceptable in many respects than any I could now write. When those letters were written my impressions were fresh, but now they have lost that freshness; they were warm then they are cold, now. I could strike out certain letters, and write new ones wherewith to supply their places. If you think such a book would suit your purpose, please drop me a line, specifying the size and general style of the volume; when the matter ought to be ready; whether it should have pictures in it or not; and particularly what your terms with me would be, and what amount of money I might possibly make out of it. The latter clause has a degree of importance for me which is almost beyond my own comprehension. But you understand that, of course.
I have other propositions for a book, but have doubted the propriety of interfering with good newspaper engagements, except my way as an author could be demonstrated to be plain before me. But I know Richardson, and learned from him some months ago, something of an idea of the subscription plan of publishing. If that is your plan invariably, it looks safe.
I am on the N. Y. Tribune staff here as an occasional,, among other things, and a note from you addressed to Very truly &c.
Sam L. Clemens.
New York Tribune Bureau, Washington, will find me, without fail.
The exchange of these two letters Mark.d the beginning of one of the most notable publishing connections in American literary history. The book, however, was not begun immediately. Bliss was in poor health and final arrangements were delayed; it was not until late in January that Clemens went to Hartford and concluded the arrangement.
Meantime, fate had disclosed another matter of even greater importance; we get the first hint of it in the following letter, though to him its beginning had been earlier on a day in the blue harbor of Smyrna, when young Charles Langdon, a fellow-passenger on the Quaker City, had shown to Mark Twain a miniature of young Langdons sister at home:
*****
To Mrs. Jane Clemens and Mrs. Moffett, in St. Louis:
224 F. Street, wash, Jan. 8, 1868.
My dear mother and sister, And so the old Major has been there, has he? I would like mighty well to see him. I was a sort of benefactor to him once. I helped to snatch him out when he was about to ride into a Mohammedan Mosque in that queer old Moorish town of Tangier, in Africa. If he had got in, the Moors would have knocked his venerable old head off, for his temerity.
*****
To Mrs. Jane Clemens and Mrs. Moffett, in St. Louis:
224 F. Street, wash, Jan. 8, 1868.
My dear mother and sister, And so the old Major has been there, has he? I would like mighty well to see him. I was a sort of benefactor to him once. I helped to snatch him out when he was about to ride into a Mohammedan Mosque in that queer old Moorish town of Tangier, in Africa. If he had got in, the Moors would have knocked his venerable old head off, for his temerity.
I have just arrived from New York-been there ever since Christmas staying at the house of Dan Slote my Quaker City room-mate, and having a splendid time. Charley Langdon, Jack Van Nostrand, Dan and I, (all Quaker City night-hawks,) had a blow-out at Dans house and a lively talk over old times. We went through the Holy Land together, and I just laughed till my sides ached, at some of our reminiscences. It was the unholiest gang that ever cavorted through Palestine, but those are the best boys in the world. We needed Moulton badly. I started to make calls, New Years Day, but I anchored for the day at the first house I came to Charlie Langdons sister was there (beautiful girl,) and Miss Alice Hooker, another beautiful girl, a niece of Henry Ward Beechers. We sent the old folks home early, with instructions not to send the carriage till midnight, and then I just staid there and worried the life out of those girls. I am going to spend a few days with the Langdons in Elmira, New York, as soon as I get time, and a few days at Mrs. Hookers in Hartford, Conn., shortly.
Henry Ward Beecher sent for me last Sunday to come over and dine (he lives in Brooklyn, you know,) and I went. Harriet Beecher Stowe was there, and Mrs. and Miss Beecher, Mrs. Hooker and my old Quaker City favorite, Emma Beach.
We had a very gay time, if it was Sunday. I expect I told more lies than I have told before in a month.
I went back by invitation, after the evening service, and finished the blow-out, and then staid all night at Mr. Beachs. Henry Ward is a brick.
I found out at 10 oclock, last night, that I was to lecture tomorrow evening and so you must be aware that I have been working like sin all night to get a lecture written. I have finished it, I call it Frozen Truth. It is a little top-heavy, though, because there is more truth in the title than there is in the lecture.
But thunder, I mustnt sit here writing all day, with so much business before me.
Good by, and kind regards to all.
Yrs affy,
Sam L. Clemens.
Jack Van Nostrand of this letter is Jack of the Innocents. Emma Beach was the daughter of Moses S. Beach, of the New York Sun.
Later she became the wife of the well-known painter, Abbot H. Thayer.
We do not hear of Miss Langdon again in the letters of that time, but it was not because she was absent from his thoughts. He had first seen her with her father and brother at the old St. Nicholas Hotel, on lower Broadway, where, soon after the arrival of the Quaker City in New York, he had been invited to dine. Long afterward he said: It is forty years ago; from that day to this she has never been out of my mind.
From his next letter we learn of the lecture which apparently was delivered in Washington.
*****
To Mrs. Jane Clemens and Mrs. Moffett, in St. Louis:
Wash. Jan. 9, 1868.
My dear mother and sister, That infernal lecture is over, thank Heaven! It came near being a villainous failure. It was not advertised at all. The manager was taken sick yesterday, and the man who was sent to tell me, never got to me till afternoon today. There was the dickens to pay. It was too late to do anything too late to stop the lecture. I scared up a door-keeper, and was ready at the proper time, and by pure good luck a tolerably good house assembled and I was saved! I hardly knew what I was going to talk about, but it went off in splendid style. I was to have preached again Saturday night, but I wont I cant get along without a manager.
I have been in New York ever since Christmas, you know, and now I shall have to work like sin to catch up my correspondence.
And I have got to get up that book, too. Cut my letters out of the Altas and send them to me in an envelop. Some, here, that are not mailed yet, I shall have to copy, I suppose.
I have got a thousand things to do, and am not doing any of them. I feel perfectly savage.
Good bye,
Yrs aff,
Sam.
On the whole, matters were going well with him. His next letter is full of his success overflowing with the boyish radiance which he never quite outgrew.
*****
To Mrs. Jane Clemens and Mrs. Moffett, in St. Louis:
Hartford, Conn. Jan. 2468.
Dear mother and sister, This is a good week for me. I stopped in the Herald office as I came through New York, to see the boys on the staff, and young James Gordon Bennett asked me to write twice a week, impersonally, for the Herald, and said if I would I might have full swing, and (write) about anybody and everybody I wanted to. I said I must have the very fullest possible swing, and he said all right. I said Its a contract and that settled that matter.
Ill make it a point to write one letter a week, any-how.
But the best thing that has happened was here. This great American Publishing Company kept on trying to bargain with me for a book till I thought I would cut the matter short by coming up for a talk. I met Rev. Henry Ward Beecher in Brooklyn, and with his usual whole-souled way of dropping his own work to give other people a lift when he gets a chance, he said, Now, here, you are one of the talented men of the age nobody is going to deny that but in matters of business, I dont suppose you know more than enough to came in when it rains. Ill tell you what to do, and how to do it. And he did.
And I listened well, and then came up here and made a splendid contract for a Quaker City book of 5 or 600 large pages, with illustrations, the manuscript to be placed in the publishers hands by the middle of July. My percentage is to be a fifth more than they have ever paid any author, except Horace Greeley. Beecher will be surprised, I guess, when he hears this.
But I had my mind made up to one thing I wasnt going to touch a book unless there was money in it, and a good deal of it. I told them so. I had the misfortune to bust out one author of standing. They had his manuscript, with the understanding that they would publish his book if they could not get a book from me, (they only publish two books at a time, and so my book and Richardsons Life of Grant will fill the bill for next fall and winter) so that manuscript was sent back to its author today.
These publishers get off the most tremendous editions of their books you can imagine. I shall write to the Enterprise and Alta every week, as usual, I guess, and to the Herald twice a week occasionally to the Tribune and the Magazines (I have a stupid article in the Galaxy, just issued) but I am not going to write to this, that and the other paper any more.
The Chicago Tribune wants letters, but I hope and pray I have charged them so much that they will not close the contract. I am gradually getting out of debt, but these trips to New York do cost like sin. I hope you have cut out and forwarded my printed letters to Washington please continue to do so as they arrive.
I have had a tip-top time, here, for a few days (guest of Mr. Jno. Hookers family Beechers relatives-in a general way of Mr. Bliss, also, who is head of the publishing firm.) Puritans are mighty straight-laced and they wont let me smoke in the parlor, but the Almighty dont make any better people.