May 29 Tuesday – In Dublin, N.H. Sam began a letter to Charlotte Teller Johnson that he added to on May 30, 31 and June 2, 1906.
I recognized your voice almost immediately in the telephone, although I hadn’t heard it since last year when I was leaving for those woods & hills. It was a very welcome sound. I suppose I broke into your work. I wouldn’t have done that if I had thought. Next time, I will wait till evening—6 o’clock. I’m not overworking, these days, but you are, without a doubt. I was overworking, the whole winter; & the very day that the strain was removed with my last engagement, the collapse came—& the recovery hasn’t arrived yet. If it doesn’t happen to you when you finish this tremendous tour de force—but it well, & sorry am I.
Indeed I shall be glad to get that carbon print—it isn’t far away now. Last night I read myself to sleep with Saint-Simon, & was again astonished at that man’s facility in dealing off vivid & delightful portraits with his felicitous pen. And behold, after I talked with you I set about the dreary work of revising some chapters of my autobiography, & made the happy discovery that (I pay myself complements when I stand in great need.) I had to have a listener, for a person can tell very little about a piece of literature without reading it aloud—so I interrupted Miss Lyon’s work & made her do the listening—the very service which you shirked, & I forgave you for it, too—I don’t know why I am so good, I don’t get any credit for it. At least not in this world; but in the next there’ll be a good many white marks. You don’t know what you lost, Charlotte. I didn’t find it a dreary labor at all. I give you my word I haven’t come across anything more entertaining in seven years. It is the first time I have ever read anything of my own & not been able to keep from laughing. I mean, when I knew it was my own. But you wouldn’t have laughed. You are the soberest, gravest [rest of the page and top of the next cut off]
The deep stillness & repose of this place is a comforting contrast to the rage & turmoil of New York. The house stands on a wooded hill overlooking the United States, & there are but two houses in sight. I should like to stay here the rest of my days. Which reminds me that I am not properly treated by my tribe. I am never allowed to talk about the human race, & now they have taken to interrupting me every time I try to arrange about my funeral. It is to be in January, a th year & seven months from now—January the 4 ; if I told you the 6th it was a mistake, it is the 4th; I tell strangers it is the 6 , but I do not intentionally deceive friends. Last night I was arranging about lamentations, & was remarking that friends who cried would get a chromo, but I was as rudely stopped, there, as if I had been committing a felony. Do you know, some people have no feeling. But you are not that way; you know how to sympathise with the down-trodden & oppressed; I will fly to you when I wish to discuss those matters. 10 p.m. It is a homelike place, & delightful. The five places are spacious, & the woods is excellent. I read aloud, nights—& the others grind music out of the machine. I come to bed at 9.30; by 11 my neglected fire goes out; before morning I catch a fresh cold every time; but I am used to it now, & it doesn’t matter. It is an ideal life, & full of satisfactions; & if I could have anything like a fair chance at the human race & the funeral, I should be perfectly happy. Write—& tell me all you know. You said you would [MTP]. Note: Louis de Rouvroy Saint- Simon (1675-1755); see Gribben p. 601-2.
Charles Barmore (“Famous men in fine art portraiture”) wrote from NYC to ask Sam to sign some photos he was sending by a.m. express [MTP].
Frank N. Doubleday wrote to Sam on a letter from the printer, Theodore L. De Vinne & Co., NYC. De Vinne questioned Sam’s directive to put a half title to precede Chapter 3 on p. 39. De Vinne’s May 29 to Doubleday: “I fail to see the reason for it, unless he wants to make a decided break in the book at this point…” Doubleday asked if they should include a brief title between each chapter [MTP].
Elizabeth Jordan for Harper & Brothers wrote to Sam.
Notes: During the spring and summer of 1906 Elizabeth Jordan, editor of Harper’s Bazaar, made several attempts to persuade Clemens to write a chapter in a novel of plural authorship suggested to her by Howells for serial publication in the magazine. The story was to be called The Whole Family, and its plot concerned “the engagement of an unmarried daughter of the house.” As Miss Jordan described the project, “The Father, (Mr. Howells), begins the story, the Mother, (Mrs. Deland) continues it, the Son, (Mr. Thomas Janvier) tells his side of it, and so on….Mr. Howells and I are very anxious that you write the Small Boy’s chapter” (Elizabeth Jordan to SLC, New York, 29 May 1906, MTP). see more MTHL 818-19. Thomas Allibone Janvier (1849–1913), writer and historian from Philadelphia.
Clemens’ A.D. for the day: Webster’s fine new quarters—Clemens calls on General Grant when he hears that his sore throat has been pronounced cancer—General Grant tells him of the ways in which Ferdinand Ward deceived him [MTP Autodict2].
I recognized your voice almost immediately in the telephone, although I hadn’t heard it since last year when I was leaving for those woods & hills. It was a very welcome sound. I suppose I broke into your work. I wouldn’t have done that if I had thought. Next time, I will wait till evening—6 o’clock. I’m not overworking, these days, but you are, without a doubt. I was overworking, the whole winter; & the very day that the strain was removed with my last engagement, the collapse came—& the recovery hasn’t arrived yet. If it doesn’t happen to you when you finish this tremendous tour de force—but it well, & sorry am I.
Indeed I shall be glad to get that carbon print—it isn’t far away now. Last night I read myself to sleep with Saint-Simon, & was again astonished at that man’s facility in dealing off vivid & delightful portraits with his felicitous pen. And behold, after I talked with you I set about the dreary work of revising some chapters of my autobiography, & made the happy discovery that (I pay myself complements when I stand in great need.) I had to have a listener, for a person can tell very little about a piece of literature without reading it aloud—so I interrupted Miss Lyon’s work & made her do the listening—the very service which you shirked, & I forgave you for it, too—I don’t know why I am so good, I don’t get any credit for it. At least not in this world; but in the next there’ll be a good many white marks. You don’t know what you lost, Charlotte. I didn’t find it a dreary labor at all. I give you my word I haven’t come across anything more entertaining in seven years. It is the first time I have ever read anything of my own & not been able to keep from laughing. I mean, when I knew it was my own. But you wouldn’t have laughed. You are the soberest, gravest [rest of the page and top of the next cut off]
The deep stillness & repose of this place is a comforting contrast to the rage & turmoil of New York. The house stands on a wooded hill overlooking the United States, & there are but two houses in sight. I should like to stay here the rest of my days. Which reminds me that I am not properly treated by my tribe. I am never allowed to talk about the human race, & now they have taken to interrupting me every time I try to arrange about my funeral. It is to be in January, a th year & seven months from now—January the 4 ; if I told you the 6th it was a mistake, it is the 4th; I tell strangers it is the 6 , but I do not intentionally deceive friends. Last night I was arranging about lamentations, & was remarking that friends who cried would get a chromo, but I was as rudely stopped, there, as if I had been committing a felony. Do you know, some people have no feeling. But you are not that way; you know how to sympathise with the down-trodden & oppressed; I will fly to you when I wish to discuss those matters. 10 p.m. It is a homelike place, & delightful. The five places are spacious, & the woods is excellent. I read aloud, nights—& the others grind music out of the machine. I come to bed at 9.30; by 11 my neglected fire goes out; before morning I catch a fresh cold every time; but I am used to it now, & it doesn’t matter. It is an ideal life, & full of satisfactions; & if I could have anything like a fair chance at the human race & the funeral, I should be perfectly happy. Write—& tell me all you know. You said you would [MTP]. Note: Louis de Rouvroy Saint- Simon (1675-1755); see Gribben p. 601-2.
Charles Barmore (“Famous men in fine art portraiture”) wrote from NYC to ask Sam to sign some photos he was sending by a.m. express [MTP].
Frank N. Doubleday wrote to Sam on a letter from the printer, Theodore L. De Vinne & Co., NYC. De Vinne questioned Sam’s directive to put a half title to precede Chapter 3 on p. 39. De Vinne’s May 29 to Doubleday: “I fail to see the reason for it, unless he wants to make a decided break in the book at this point…” Doubleday asked if they should include a brief title between each chapter [MTP].
Elizabeth Jordan for Harper & Brothers wrote to Sam.
Notes: During the spring and summer of 1906 Elizabeth Jordan, editor of Harper’s Bazaar, made several attempts to persuade Clemens to write a chapter in a novel of plural authorship suggested to her by Howells for serial publication in the magazine. The story was to be called The Whole Family, and its plot concerned “the engagement of an unmarried daughter of the house.” As Miss Jordan described the project, “The Father, (Mr. Howells), begins the story, the Mother, (Mrs. Deland) continues it, the Son, (Mr. Thomas Janvier) tells his side of it, and so on….Mr. Howells and I are very anxious that you write the Small Boy’s chapter” (Elizabeth Jordan to SLC, New York, 29 May 1906, MTP). see more MTHL 818-19. Thomas Allibone Janvier (1849–1913), writer and historian from Philadelphia.
Clemens’ A.D. for the day: Webster’s fine new quarters—Clemens calls on General Grant when he hears that his sore throat has been pronounced cancer—General Grant tells him of the ways in which Ferdinand Ward deceived him [MTP Autodict2].
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