September 23 Sunday – In Norfolk, Conn. at midnight, Sam added to his Sept. 21 and 22 letter to Mary B. Rogers.

Midnight. It’s over!,

Sack, it was a distinct triumph!—an unqualified triumph—a triumph without any alloying doubts hanging about it—a beautiful, & blood-stirring, & spirit-satisfying triumph; & I would rather have lost one of my ear than missed it, & I would have contributed the other one to have you there.

Everything was in Clara’s favor, even the weather, which was horrible. I was charmed with it & grateful for it, for the delightfulest of all audiences & the most inspiring is a bad-weather audience. It doesn’t come for fashion’s sake for duty’s sake, it comes because it wants to. The contrast between that alert & glowing & expectant company & Melville Stone’s museum of dessicated mummies was the contrast between an living & the dead. It was all on hand, galleries & all, an hour before the advertised hour (8.30) for the beginning. Rodman Gilder & I arrived at 8.30, according to command,  but I was forbidden to enter the greenroom, & also forbidden to lead Clara out. The manager said no, this was Clara’s show & I couldn’t steal any part of it. I was given a seat in the third row & admonished to keep quiet & not try to attract attention. Luckstone’s train was late. He arrived at 9, presently led Clara out. She was Egyptian, & lovely. Sack, you couldn’t have looked lovelier yourself. I knew she was frozen with stage-fright, but she didn’t show it.

Before she reached the middle of No. 1 I saw she was going to win. Then Luckstone turned his head & leaned over his shoulder at her, & Miss Gordon, who sat trembling at my side, heaved a deep relief-sigh and whispered, “There—that’s approval!—she’s perfectly safe, now.”

And so she was. From that time forth to the end she walked in victory. At the end Miss Gordon & I only waited till the house had called her out a couple of times, then we pushed for the stage to congratulate her; & on the stage we met her coming out on the third call, & I kissed her so as to make myself conspicuous, & walked her off with an arm around her waist. Then came the call for your uncle, & Clara led me on.

I spoke for 20 minutes, & that is the only speech I have ever made that entirely satisfied me. I will rest on that—I shan’t ever make another one. Five years from now she will be a celebrity, & I’ll stick my nose in the air & say with complacency, “Why, I was present at the very birth of this renown!”

Good night (or good morning) dear Sack, it is bed-time [Note: Mr. Isidore Luckstone was Clara’s accompaniest.]

At 10 a.m. Sam added more:

 Sunday, 10 a.m. I perceive that you are not writing me yet, about your auto-adventures. But you are better employed I think—& hope—sleeping & resting.

Twelve or 15 New York friends came up, & about the same number from Hartford. Clara will repeat in Hartford pretty soon, & in Providence two or three weeks hence.

She satisfied Mr. Bacon her manager, last night. Perhaps that was the main triumph. I hear Clara’s voice downstairs—there is nothing melancholy about it. It is about time she was coming up to say good-morning. I don’t believe that you or the other member of my family would be so undutiful.

I didn’t half thank you, dear Pal, (in words), for the trouble you took to bring me home from the yacht, & you so full of work, but I thanked you deep down, just the same; & I wanted to spare you, too, but I was born selfish, & I couldn’t. I am impatient to mail you my news. I think I will telegraph you at your New York home & try to get on your track. Meantime I am your affectionate uncle, just the same as before. / Mark [MTP].

Sam also wrote to daughter Jean, describing Clara’s triumph in much the same words as he had to Mary Rogers (above). He added their plans, named a few of the guests, and closed at 11:30 a.m.  

Clara & I will go Newyorking late this afternoon, reaching home toward 10 to-night. All the Gilders except R. W. [Richard Watson Gilder] were there. Mrs. Gilder was with Clara all day, & mothered her charmingly, & took her to the hall in the evening, & dressed her there, & was her good angel all through, & she & Rodman spent the night in this house.

11.30. a.m. I hear Clara’s voice downstairs—it isn’t melancholy. Good-bye, dear heart, with lots of hugs & kisses [MTP].

Isabel Lyon’s journal: “Jean, 11:30” [MTP TS 122].

Minnie Maddern Fiske wrote from White Plains, NY to send praise and thanks to Sam for his story “Soldier Boy” [MTP].