September 22 Saturday – At 3 p.m. in Norfolk, Conn. Sam added to his Sept. 21 to Mary B. Rogers. Norfolk, 3 p.m., 22
I have gone to bed—as usual. It is to be hope that you are in bed, too, & that last night’s hilarious late hours & this morning’s murderously early ones have not broken you down utterly & condemned you to Norfolk again. I had a marvelously narrow escape from death coming up in the train.
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Terese has been in, interrupting. She is the lovable Tuscan girl we had with us in Florence. She was at the door when I drove up in the downpour, & the tears were running down her face. I said reproachfully, “Terese, I am hurt, & I am going away; I never expected to see you cry to see me come.” She looked distressed, & seized me by both hands & exclaimed, “Oh, it is not that—it is that I cry for joy to see the signor padrone again!”
That is very nice butter, & I know how to make Terese furnish it; for she believes everything I say. She is smitten with death & doesn’t know it; no one would imagine it, for she does not look ill. It is very pathetic.
She came up to unpack my things, & put everything to rights & make me comfortable, & now I shall have to do her work all over again, I think, for she has been so busy talking her captivating broken English for half an hour that with all her good intentions she has only arranged to make me uncomfortable—just as happened with my amended buttonhole flower Wednesday evening—it was much more to my liking before.
Miss Gordon (of the 69 street infirmary) was in the train, & she had a box of flowers for Clara. Why wasn’t I as thoughtful! It is a shame to be so thoughtless as I am.
Clara & I have had a chat. She is in bed; she had a fright in the train yesterday. She says I mustn’t lead her on the stage; also she says I must. She has a dread that the house will call for a speech. I said “I will excuse myself.” “But they won’t take the excuse.” “Then I will say, “I would gladly respond, but Mr. Luckstone, who was to accompany me on the trombone has unfortunately caught a cold.” She said that if I would be sure & stop there—& so forth & so forth. We had a most entertaining dispute but didn’t really settle anything. I wish you were here, to settle it in your arbitrary way. We reach New York Sunday eve.
At 6 p.m. Sam added that “telegrams of hope and encouragement” poured in for Clara [MTP].
In Dublin, N.H. Jean Clemens telegrammed her sister Clara: “My love and warmest wishes for the best health, voice and greatest success” [MTP: Jean’s Diary, Vol 5].
The New York Times, Sept. 23, p.9 ran a Special report from Winstead, Conn., datelined Sept. 22 about Clara’s debut.
MISS CLEMENS IN CONCERT.
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Mark Twain Makes a Speech at His Daughter’s Debut.
Special to The New York Times.
WINSTED, Conn., Sept. 22.—Before a large audience in the Norfolk Gymnasium, Norfolk, this evening, Miss Clara Clemens, the daughter of Mark Twain, made her debut as a concert singer. A large delegation of the young singer’s friends was present from New York and other places. Miss Clemens was assisted by Marie Nichols, a Boston violinist. Miss Clemens, who is the possessor of a rich contralto voice, was enthusiastically received.
Mark Twain made a short speech at the close of the recital. He described his first appearance before an audience in San Francisco and told of a sudden stage fright that overcame him then. He compared stage fright to seasickness and said he wished his choicest enemy could have both at the same time.
Isabel Lyon’s journal: “Santissima’s concert tonight—& the King will be there” [MTP TS 121-122].
E.M. Blaikie, secretary for Rudyard Kipling wrote from Sussex, England to thank Sam for the book What is Man? which had reached them [MTP].
Lois Kellogg wrote to Sam, reacting to “A Dog’s Tale.”
Dear Author / I think you are awfully mean to write such a sad, terrificly [sic] sad story, I cried and cried and could not finish it.
I am going to keep the book just the same because I like you, but not as much as before (just now), but maybe I will like you more afterwards, but I really do not see how you can be quite so hard hard hearted.
With lots of thanks and no thanks at all I am / Your friend always…” [MTP]. Note: Sam wrote at the top, “No answer required.”
Collier’s Weekly ran “The Innocent Endorsers of Quackery” [Camfield’s bibliog.].