March 12 Saturday — In Hamilton, Bermuda Sam wrote to Clara Clemens Gabrilowitsch and Ossip Gabrilowitsch.
Clara dear, last night I went to the Hamilton Hotel to hear the garrison band play, & in the crowd of familiar faces & of unfamiliar faces I encountered a countenance which I supposed I had seen before, & I saluted. The owner of it was a young gentleman whom I had not met; but he turned out to be the son of a gentleman who, entertained us when we were in Allahadbad [sic]—he was Lieutenant Governor. The young man & I went aside & had a long chat. He is a lieutenant in the 24 Bedfordshires, the regiment that arrived here 3 weeks ago.
My mamma has arrived with her husband & a suite of servants & secretaries & trained nurses & so-on, & will stay a fortnight. (Mrs. Robert J. Collier of Collier’s Weekly.) She regards her husband as her other (& eldest & most difficult & way ward) child. He is about 35, & she is about 29 & very small & sweet & gentle. He thinks she made a mistake when she adopted me, because she is not strong enough to take care of two children & do it with safety to herself. It may be that he is right—in fact I think he is right. I have asked him to resign. This will reduce the burden by more than half.
I am still calculating to go home about the end of April, & see the new leafage unfold upon the trees.
Paine has sold Jean’s house & 40 acres of her farm to a gentleman who will be a pleasant neighbor & a fine acquisition I guess. What we need there is company.
[new page]
Dear Son—
It is as you say—the form of address certainly has a new & startling aspect—but it is pleasant & welcome, & will quickly cease from startling. I am grateful to know that Clara & you are getting back your health & strength. Clara must not grieve about Jean, but rejoice that she has escaped & is free, Let us hope she will never wake from her sweet sleep, in this world or any other.
I am well, & hope to see you both by & by, on one side of the ocean or the other. Meantime I love you both & wish the best for you. / Father [MTP]. Note: like his Mar. 6 letter, forwarded to three cities, with Rome, Italy the last. Clemens was in Allahabad, India on Feb. 3-4, 1896 and toured the fort made by 16th Century Akbar, the Mogul emperor, The man he refers to in this letter is not named.
Sam then wrote another letter to daughter Clara, perhaps replying to one just received.
Clärchen dear, it rejoices me! You will be most cordially welcome. I will ask Paine to make those changes at once & arrange the rooms just as you want them. You must write & tell him where to get a piano. Of course it should be on hand & in tune when you arrive.
I am waiting for the mild weather to visit Stormfield—then I will go home. I will ask Paine to watch the opening Spring—& tell me when to sail.
My cough hangs on yet, but in this climate there is not enough of it to be an inconvenience. |I shall be at home by the end of April anyway, if no sooner.
Yesterday I read “A Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur’s Court” for the first time in more than 30 years. I am prodigiously pleased with it—a most gratifying surprise.
I will now rush this note to the mail & catch the steamer.
Bless your hearts, both of you—& lots of love—/ Marcus [MTP].
Sam also wrote to Maud W., Littleton.
Dear Mrs. Linthicum:
In thanking you for the picture I can candidly say that whereas there is plenty of beauty under the hat, the hat itself doesn’t catch any of it. I won’t go so far as to say it is the damdest hat I ever saw, I will only say it is the derndest. Oh, who did start this hat-lunacy? I believe it is two years since I have seen a (woman’s) hat that wasn’t a horror. I suppose yours is no worse than the others, but Lord knows they are all bad enough.
No doubt I shall go home one of these days—possibly a month hence, or two months. Time drifts along here, at about the gait I like. There are no excitements, & I don’t want any. Twice a week we go to hear the garrison band play; twice a week I go to hear the hotel string-bands play, & look on while the multitude dances; a drive once a day, & now & then a sail—these are my activities & they are sufficient. I do not go out to dinner oftener than once a week, & then only to feed with friends. When there’s a stranger |I don’t go. There are no newspapers, no telegrams, no mobiles, no trolleys, no trams, no railways, no theatres, no lectures, no riots, no murders, no fires, no burglaries, no offences of any kind, no follies but church, & I don’t go there. I think I could live here always & be contented. The weekly steamer passes by my window Friday mornings, & again next day outward bound—& that’s the only disturbance.
You go to heaven if you want to—I’d druther stay here. / With love, / ... [MTP].
Sam also wrote to William L. Phelps.
Dear Professor Phelps:
I thank you ever so much for the book, which I find charming indeed, that I read it through in a single night, & did not regret the lost night’s sleep. I am glad if I deserve what you have said about me; & even if I don’t I am proud & well contented, since you think I deserve it.
Yes, I saw Lounsbury, & had a most pleasant time with him. He ought to have stayed longer in this little paradise—partly for his own sake, but mainly for mine.
I knew my poor Jean had written you, I shall not have so dear & sweet a secretary again.
Good health to you, & all good fortune attend you. / Sincerely yours / ... [MTP].
Sam also wrote to Elizabeth Wallace.
Dear Betsy:
You “know there are worlds still unexplored,” do you? Very well, then—you don’t. Why do you want to talk like that, & wither a person’s hopes? Isn’t this life enough for you? Do you wish to continue the foolishness somewhere else? Damnation, you depress me!
Success to Zeublin! If I were to start over again I would be a Reformer. I certainly would. There would be an unceasing interest in it that would pay handsomely for all the hostilities I should raise.
I wish you had given me the name of your pretty & sweet friend who sailed for Bermuda the other day. I would have hunted her up. You know that, well enough. Maybe she looked for us in the donkey-cart—but I haven’t been in it. Helen requires swifter transportation than that.
You ought to be here now! The weather is divine; & you know what it is to drive along the North Shore in such weather & watch the sun paint the waters. We had that happiness today. The joy of it never stales.
And there’s others that don’t stale. To-wit (do you remember?) There are no newspapers, no telegrams, no mobiles, no trolleys, no trains, no tramps, no railways, no theatres, no noise, no lectures, no riots, no murders, no fires, no burglaries, no politics, no offences of any kind, no follies but church, & I don’t go there. I think I could live here always & be contented.
You go to heaven if you want to—I’d druther stay here.
As ever affectionately / ..,
[in left margin of first page:] I have been reading Chapter XIII of “A Yankee at King Arthur’s Court.” Bless you I find it good [MTP].
Albert Bigelow Paine wrote from Redding to Clemens:
“Yes, I’ve had tooth-brushes do that to me. I didn’t like it, at first, but I’m trained to it, now. I’m going to practice swallowing glass next; and tacks.” And, “Yes, we could easily send Clara $200 a month, now, but don’t you think we’d better wait until she uses up her Letter of Credit?” He mentioned David Munro’s death, and also that Major Leigh & wife “are coming up Sat. I can beat the Major” at billiards [MTP]. Note: replied to in Sam’s Mar. 18
Muriel Straithmore wrote from Brooklyn to ask Sam to pose for a drawing to be used in the London “Sketch” [MTP].