June 6 Friday – Paine writes of Sam’s appearances in St. Louis:
he was due in St. Louis again to join in the dedication of the grounds, where was to be held a World’s Fair, to celebrate the Louisiana Purchase. Another ceremony he attended was the christening of the St. Louis harbor-boat, or rather the rechristening, for it had been decided to change its name from the St. Louis—[Originally the Elon G. Smith, built in 1873]—to the Mark Twain. A short trip was made on it for the ceremony. Governor Francis and Mayor Wells were of the party, and Count and Countess Rochambeau and Marquis de Lafayette, with the rest of the French group that had come over for the dedication of the World’s Fair grounds.
Mark Twain himself was invited to pilot the harbor boat, and so returned for the last time to his old place at the wheel. They all collected in the pilot-house behind him, feeling that it was a memorable occasion. They were going along well enough when he saw a little ripple running out from the shore across the bow. In the old days he could have told whether it indicated a bar there or was only caused by the wind, but he could not be sure any more. Turning to the pilot languidly, he said:
“I feel a little tired. I guess you had better take the wheel.”
Luncheon was served aboard, and Mayor Wells made the christening speech; then the Countess Rochambeau took a bottle of champagne from the hand of Governor Francis and smashed it on the deck, saying, “I christen thee, good boat, Mark Twain.” So it was, the Mississippi joined in according him honors. In his speech of reply he paid tribute to those illustrious visitors from France and recounted something of the story of French exploration along that great river.
“The name of La Salle will last as long as the river itself,” he said, “will last until commerce is dead.
We have allowed the commerce of the river to die, but it was to accommodate the railroads, and we must be grateful.”
Carriages were waiting for them when the boat landed in the afternoon, and the party got in and were driven to a house which had been identified as Eugene Field’s birthplace. A bronze tablet recording this fact had been installed, and this was to be the unveiling. The place was not in an inviting quarter of the town. It stood in what is known as Walsh’s Row—was fashionable enough once, perhaps, but long since fallen into disrepute. Ragged children played in the doorways, and thirsty lodgers were making trips with tin pails to convenient bar-rooms. A curious nondescript audience assembled around the little group of dedicators, wondering what it was all about. The tablet was concealed by the American flag, which could be easily pulled away by an attached cord. Governor Francis spoke a few words, to the effect that they had gathered here to unveil a tablet to an American poet, and that it was fitting that Mark Twain should do this. They removed their hats, and Clemens, his white hair blowing in the wind, said:
“My friends; we are here with reverence and respect to commemorate and enshrine in memory the house where was born a man who, by his life, made bright the lives of all who knew him, and by his literary efforts cheered the thoughts of thousands who never knew him. I take pleasure in unveiling the tablet of Eugene Field.”
The flag fell and the bronze inscription was revealed. By this time the crowd, generally, had recognized who it was that was speaking. A working-man proposed three cheers for Mark Twain, and they were heartily given. Then the little party drove away, while the neighborhood collected to regard the old house with a new interest.
It was reported to Clemens later that there was some dispute as to the identity of the Field birthplace. He said:
“Never mind. It is of no real consequence whether it is his birthplace or not. A rose in any other garden will bloom as sweet” [MTB 1173-5].
Note: Rolla Wells (“Rollo”) (1856-1944), St. Louis Mayor (1901-1909).
The St. Louis Star, June 6, p.1 reported Sam at the wheel:
MARK TWAIN AT THE WHEEL AGAIN
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Captain Jenks was at the wheel when the St. Louis harbor boat pulled out with the Rochambeau and Clemens parties aboard Friday morning, but Mark Twain piloted the Mark Twain back into port after a cruise up and down the muddy stream Mark knew so well forty years ago.
The old boat had been given a coat of white paint in honor of the occasion, and folks will hardly recognize the ancient tub with its new name.
The christening of the harbor boat is Mayor Wells’ idea, and a splendid one it was. …
The party arrived at the wharf in carriages at 11:20 and fifteen minutes later the hawser was cast off and the boat backed away. The band played, the breeze blew and the sun shone brightly.
The Count and Countess Rochambeau occupied the first carriage and were first aboard the steamer, and Missouri’s Mark Twain drove up in the second.
As he stepped from the stringpiece of the wharf to the rail of the boat Mark lifted his Panama, as if in salutation to the river, which once was his pride.
The band was playing “Sewanee River,” too, and the reminiscences must have crowded Twain’s mind.
“Does the river look familiar?” Dr. Clemens was asked.
“Yes, just as wet and muddy,” returned he. … [Note: the Rochambeaus led a French delegation visiting St. Louis in relation to the Louisiana Purchase/World’s Fair preparation; Sorrentino gives 15-30 minutes of piloting for Sam, with lunch on the boat at 2:15 p.m. and unveiling the Eugene Fields tablet at 4:30 p.m.: p.21; MTCI 459-60].
Sam wrote to James R. Clemens also in St. Louis: “May my namesake follow in my righteous footsteps, then neither of us will need any fire insurance” [MTP]. Note: Sam had planned to stay with his cousin and family after the ceremonies at Columbia.
The Ralls County Record ran an interview with Mark Twain as he toured Hannibal [MTCI 456-9].
The St. Louis Republic, p. 2 ran “Renewed Welcome to Mark Twain”
The New York Times, p.8, June 7, reported on Sam leaving St. Louis:
MARK TWAIN’S FAREWELL.
———
He Bids Dramatic Adieu to the Mississippi River.
Special to The New York Times.
ST. LOUIS, June 6.—Mark Twain bade a dramatic farewell to the Mississippi River, where he earned his pen name, this afternoon. He piloted the harbor boat, with a distinguished party on board, for more than half an hour. Luncheon was served, and Mayor Wells made a speech. Then the Countess de Rochambeau took a bottle of champagne from the hand of ex-Gov. Francis and broke it on the deck, saying: “I christen thee, good boat, ‘Mark Twain.’”
In his response Mr. Clemens said:
“I wish to offer my thanks for the honor done me by naming this last rose of Summer of the Mississippi Valley for me, this boat which represents a perished interest, which I fortified long ago, but whose life I did not save. And, in the first place, I wish to thank the Countess de Rochambeau for the honor she has done me in presiding at this christening.
“I believe that it is peculiarly appropriate that I should be allowed the privilege of joining my voice with the general voice of St. Louis and Missouri in welcoming to the Mississippi Valley and this part of the continent these illustrious visitors from France.
“I consider it just and right that I should be allotted this from the fact that for many years I have represented the people of the United States without special request, and without salary, as Special Ambassador to the World.
“We owe much to the French, and I am sure that we will always remember and shall never forget it. We are glad to welcome these visitors here, to show them the results of what was done long ago by their ancestors, and we are glad to point out the fact that St. Louis is a French city. When La Salle came down this river a century and a quarter ago there was nothing on its banks but savages. He opened up this great river and by his simple act was gathered in this great Louisiana territory. I would have done it myself for half the money.
“The name of La Salle will last as long as the river itself—will last until commerce is dead. We have allowed the commerce of the river to die, but it was to accommodate the railroads, and we are grateful. We have here with us a man who tells me he knew this river in the early ages, Pierre Chouteau, who says that he can remember when he could jump over it, and I believe that statement because he made it. Under no other circumstances would I.
“I have come across a quality of veracity here in St. Louis which is new to me. It is the development of these later ages. I must call your attention to the fact that on this boat you are quite safe. I am here with a knowledge acquired long ago with the peculiarities of these waters, which is so pleasant to the strangers, from the color it bears and from its taste, but you will have to take the testimony of others for that.
“Now the Governor and the Mayor have utilized their opportunities to advertise the World’s Fair and I have taken the occasion to advertise myself, so there is nothing remaining but to again extend that welcome to our illustrious guests and to assure them that that welcome is heartfelt and sincere, and I am sure that we will spread open to them wide the doors of the whole continent.”
Sorrentino gives a 6:30 p.m. dinner at the St. Louis Club and an 8:30 p.m. reception at the University Club [21]. According to the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, June 8, Mark Twain spoke to the University Club:
If I am not called at least “Doc” from now on…there will be a decided coolness. This is a university club. No ignorant person can enter here. You are my collegiate colleagues—perhaps I may say collegiate inferiors, those of you who are not doctors yet. I have done a great deal of useful work during the past week, chiefly in the line of giving good advice. I have delivered diplomas and told the graduates what they must do, if they wanted to become doctors like me. I have talked to old soldiers and told them how much I admired them and how glad they ought to be that they had not got into such scraps as I had. I have talked in church on Sunday morning, to my own satisfaction at least. I have piloted a steamboat on the Mississippi river, and by the help of Providence that ship is still safe. When I saw a line in the Mississippi which looked partly like wind and partly like a snag, I simply told the regular pilot I was tired of steering and gave him the wheel. I could have told once what made the line on the water, but a man loses that trick. I would not lose that last week and my visit to Hannibal for anything. My joy has been made perfect by the handshaking of these Missourians. There has not been a cold handshake among them. Some have asked me if I were not tired of all this. That has seemed hardly a proper question. Missouri cordiality does not tire a man. If it is true, as has been published, that I have made the world laugh, it is also true that Missouri has made me shed tears. …Life is just a sandwich of pleasures and heartaches. You have to have the pains to appreciate the pleasures.