Although it is mere history--history pure and ******--history stripped naked of flowers, embroideries, colorings, exaggerations, invention--the family agree that I have succeeded.It was a perilous thing to try in a tale, but I never believed it a doubtful one--provided I stuck strictly to business and didn't weaken and give up: or didn't get lazy and skimp the work.The first two-thirds of the book were easy; for I only needed to keep my historical road straight; therefore I used for reference only one French history and one English one--and shoveled in as much fancy work and invention on both sides of the historical road as I pleased.
But on this last third I have constantly used five French sources and five English ones and I think no telling historical nugget in any of them has escaped me.
Possibly the book may not sell, but that is nothing--it was written for love.
There--I'm called to see company.The family seldom require this of me, but they know I am not working today.
Yours sincerely, S.L.CLEMENS.
"Brusnahan," of the foregoing letter, was an employee of the New York Herald, superintendent of the press-room--who had invested some of his savings in the type-setter.
In February Clemens returned to New York to look after matters connected with his failure and to close arrangements for a reading-tour around the world.He was nearly sixty years old, and time had not lessened his loathing for the platform.More than once, however, in earlier years, he had turned to it as a debt-payer, and never yet had his burden been so great as now.He concluded arrangements with Major Pond to take him as far as the Pacific Coast, and with R.S.Smythe, of Australia, for the rest of the tour.In April we find him once more back in Paris preparing to bring the family to America, He had returned by way of London, where he had visited Stanley the explorer--an old friend.
To H.H.Rogers, in New York City:
169 RUE DE L'UNIVERSITE, Sunday, Apr.7,'95.
DEAR MR.ROGERS,--.....Stanley is magnificently housed in London, in a grand mansion in the midst of the official world, right off Downing Street and Whitehall.He had an extraordinary assemblage of brains and fame there to meet me--thirty or forty (both ***es) at dinner, and more than a hundred came in, after dinner.Kept it up till after midnight.
There were cabinet ministers, ambassadors, admirals, generals, canons, Oxford professors, novelists, playwrights, poets, and a number of people equipped with rank and brains.I told some yarns and made some speeches.
I promised to call on all those people next time I come to London, and show them the wife and the daughters.If I were younger and very strong I would dearly love to spend a season in London--provided I had no work on hand, or no work more exacting than lecturing.I think I will lecture there a month or two when I return from Australia.
There were many delightful ladies in that company.One was the wife of His Excellency Admiral Bridge, Commander-in Chief of the Australian Station, and she said her husband was able to throw wide all doors to me in that part of the world and would be glad to do it, and would yacht me and my party around, and excursion us in his flag-ship and make us have a great time; and she said she would write him we were coming, and we would find him ready.I have a letter from her this morning enclosing a letter of introduction to the Admiral.I already know the Admiral commanding in the China Seas and have promised to look in on him out there.He sleeps with my books under his pillow.P'raps it is the only way he can sleep.
According to Mrs.Clemens's present plans--subject to modification, of course--we sail in May; stay one day, or two days in New York, spend June, July and August in Elmira and prepare my lectures; then lecture in San Francisco and thereabouts during September and sail for Australia before the middle of October and open the show there about the middle of November.We don't take the girls along; it would be too expensive and they are quite willing to remain behind anyway.
Mrs.C.is feeling so well that she is not going to try the New York doctor till we have gone around the world and robbed it and made the finances a little easier.
With a power of love to you all, S.L.CLEMENS.
There would come moments of depression, of course, and a week later he wrote: "I am tired to death all the time:" To a man of less vitality, less vigor of mind and body, it is easy to believe that under such circumstances this condition would have remained permanent.But perhaps, after all, it was his comic outlook on things in general that was his chief life-saver.
To H.H.Rogers, in New York City:
169 RUE DE L'UNIVERSITE, Apr.29, '95.
DEAR MR.ROGERS,--I have been hidden an hour or two, reading proof of Joan and now I think I am a lost child.I can't find anybody on the place.The baggage has all disappeared, including the family.I reckon that in the hurry and bustle of moving to the hotel they forgot me.But it is no matter.It is peacefuller now than I have known it for days and days and days.
In these Joan proofs which I have been reading for the September Harper I find a couple of tip-top platform readings--and I mean to read them on our trip.If the authorship is known by then; and if it isn't, I will reveal it.The fact is, there is more good platform-stuff in Joan than in any previous book of mine, by a long sight.
Yes, every danged member of the tribe has gone to the hotel and left me lost.I wonder how they can be so careless with property.I have got to try to get there by myself now.
All the trunks are going over as luggage; then I've got to find somebody on the dock who will agree to ship 6 of them to the Hartford Customhouse.
If it is difficult I will dump them into the river.It is very careless of Mrs.Clemens to trust trunks and things to me.
Sincerely yours, S.L.CLEMENS.
By the latter part of May they were at Quarry Farm, and Clemens, laid up there with a carbuncle, was preparing for his long tour.
