June 8 Wednesday – Clara Clemens’ 30th birthday.
Sam’s notebook: “54 lamenting cablegrams have arrived—from America, England, France, Austria, Germany, Australia. Soon the letters will follow. Livy was beloved everywhere” [NB 47 TS 12].
At the Villa Reale di Quarto near Florence Sam sent a cable to Richard Watson Gilder: “Gilder we want your cottage next your house for the summer at end June” [MTP].
Sam also sent a cable to Charles J. Langdon: “The ruined household undivided sail in the Prince Oscar June 28 homeward bound.” Sam also wrote Langdon a letter and noted the day Clara was born:
Thirty years ago, to-day, Clara lay in the hollow of her happy mother’s barm—just the top of her head showing—& Susy was admitted to see the new wonder: & said admiringly, “Lat bay go to boofu’ hair.” And now Susy is gone, the happy mother is gone, & Clara lies motionless & wordless—& has so lain ever since Sunday night brought our irremediable disaster. We were wholly unprepared, we were not dreaming of danger: Livy had been brightly chatting a moment before—& in an instant the light of our life went out & we did not know it & she did not know it. It was some seconds before we even suspected what had happened. I am so grateful that she was spared any premonitions, for she stood in awful fear of the death-struggle.
It was most kind of you to offer to come or send Jervis, & I wish it could be, but you would not be able to reach Naples in time. If I feel surer to-morrow, I may cable you [MTP].
Charles J. Langdon sent Sam a telegram: “Courage dear man our love and service await you all” [MTP].
Sam also wrote to H.H. Rogers, heading the letter “Wednesday / Clara’s Birthday / June 8/04, afternoon”.
I am very grateful for your cablegram, & for Mr. & Mrs. Coe’s. I must write you a line about our plans, if I can make myself coherent—my head is stunned & muddled. I cannot think clearly. Clara is prostrate, ever since Sunday night, & seldom speaks, seldom eats anything. I am not yet alarmed about her, only troubled. Jean slept none Sunday night, & this brought on an attack—the first she has had in 13 months; but it cleared her up, & she is the executive head & manager now.
I expect to cable you tomorrow that our sad journey homeward will begin June 28—from Naples, steamer Prince Oscar—(Hamburg line, I think.)
The Consul is writing a private letter (he volunteered this) to the Collector of the Port of New York, asking him to make our way as easy & swift as he can, through the Custom’s House. I hope you will make the like request of him. I think we have nothing with us that we did not bring from America except a pair of side-saddles. Our silver all came from home, by American Express from the Lincoln National Bank last winter.
I have cabled Gilder of the Century that I want one of his up-country cottages for the summer & am expecting his answer. The girls are anxious to go there, as the Gilders are specially intimate friends of theirs. I hope there will be no disappointment. We shall stay in Elmira only a few days after the funeral, because of the associations.
We are taking a small ship because there was no large & fast one except the Princess Irene—& we came out in her.
Death came in an instant—no one was dreaming of danger. Mrs. Clemens was chatting cheerfully a minute before. She had been dead some seconds before we suspected it. It was 9.20, & I was just going to say good-night to her. It was a most merciful death & I was & am full of gratitude that it came without warning & was preceded by no fear.
We are planning, now, we are superintending the packing, we are doing the thinking. We have never done any of these things before. / Ever yours [MTHHR 570-1].
Sam also wrote to Joe Twichell.
Dear Joe: We were eager to serve her, all these piteous months. She couldn’t devise a plan, however staggering, that we didn’t applaud, & do our best to bring it to fruitage. Every day, for weeks & weeks, we went out armed with the enclosed paper, hunting for a villa—to rent for a year, but always with an option to buy at a specified figure within the year; & yet, deep down in our unrevealing hearts we believed she would never get out of her bed again.
Only last Sunday evening, with death flying toward her, & due in one hour & a quarter, she was full of interest in that matter, & asked me if I had heard of any more villas for sale. And many a time, these months, she said she wanted a home—a house of her own, that she was tired & wanted rest, & could not rest & be in comfort & peace while she was homeless. And now she is at rest, poor worn heart! Joe, she was so lovely, so patient— a murmur at her hard fate; yet—but I can’t put her sufferings on paper, it breaks my heart to think of them. She sat up in bed 6 months, night & day, & was always in bodily misery, & could get but little sleep,
then only by resting her forehead against a support—think of those lonely nights in the gloom of a taper, with Katy sleeping, & with no company but her fearsome thoughts & her pathetic longings; it makes my heart bleed, it makes me blaspheme, to think of the gratuitous devilishness of it.
How sweet she was in death, how young, how beautiful, how like her girlish self of thirty years ago. Not a gray hair showing. This rejuvenescence was noticeable within 2 hours after death; that was at 11:30; when I went down again (2.30) it was complete; the same at 4, 5, 7, 8—& so remained the whole of the day till the embalmers came at 5; & then I saw her no more. In all that night & all that day she never noticed my caressing hand—it seemed strange.
She so dreaded death, poor timid little prisoner; for it promised to be by strangulation. Five times in 4 months she went through that choking horror for an hour & more, & came out of it white, haggard, exhausted, & quivering with fright. Then cursing failed me; there was no language bitter enough whereby to curse the cowardly invention of those wanton tortures. But when death came, she did not know it. Nor did we. She was chatting cheerfully, only a minute before. We were all present, I was stooping over her; we saw no change—yet she was gone from us! Why am I required to linger here? / SLC [MTP].
Susan Crane wrote a letter to Sam. “All day, and all night, my heart asks, how are they living the weary hours through?”[MTP].
Harmony and Joe Twichell wrote to Sam. “There is nothing that we can say. What is there to say? But here we are—with you all every hour and every minute, filled with unutterable thoughts; unutterable affection for the dead and the living” [MTP]. Note: Written and signed by Joe; catalogued from both.
Louise Du Cros in London, wrote a letter of condolence to Sam [MTP].
Mrs. E.H. Hankin in Brighton, England, wrote a tiny card of condolence to Sam [MTP].
Lady Walburga Paget of Florence wrote a letter of condolence to Sam [MTP].
Francis B. Keene, US Consul, Florence wrote a notarized letter to the Collector of Customs, NY, asking them to make “smooth the way of Mr. Samuel Clemens, ‘Mark Twain’ and his daughters, who are returning to America with the body of Mrs. Clemens.”