The Langham Hotel,
London, July 6.
My Dear Mother:
This is the letter which I have been intending to answer write this long time, but things have interfered constantly. We had a jolly time here for a month with Miss Clara, but now she has gone to the Continent to remain six weeks.1
We seem to ‸see‸ nothing but English social life; we seem to find no opportunity to see London sights. Tuesday we are to visit an English country gentleman & Friday dance at the Lord Mayor’s.2 But no “sights.” No nothing, in fact, to make a book [of. However], I mean to go to work presently, collecting material.3 We have met many pleasant people at dinners—Tom Hughes, Herbert [Spenscer],4 Joaquin Miller, Hans Breitman,5 Willes Wills (who wrote the two great dramatic successes of the period, Chas. I & Miss Bateman’s Medea),6 Anthony Trollope, Wilkie Collins,7 Edmund Yates, Tom Hood, W. C. Bennett (you remember his poem “Baby May” in the Whittier Bryant Selections)8 Douglas Jerrold, Jr.,9 & i at my Lord —’s we were to have met Mr. [Motley] & Robert Browning, but business interfered & we did not go.10 Tomorrow night I am to meet two or three of England’s great men11—& I find that the really great ones are very easy to get along with, even when hampered with titles. But I will confess that mediocrity with a title is ‸(to me)‸ a [formidable] thing to encounter—it don’t talk, & I’m afraid to.12
But I must tell you a secret, now, & mind you don’t let me be discovered in divulging it. Joaquin Miller, at a date not yet fixed, is to marry the only daughter of Sir Thomas Hardy, Baronet. We see Miller every day or two, & like him better & better all thee time. He is just getting out his Modoc book here & I have made him go to my publishers in America with it (by letter) & they will make some money for him.13
S His sweetheart is rather tall & slender, ‸(about 26)‸ good looking, good hearted, affectionate, frank, honest, cordial, unassuming, educated, intelligent, (she does a little in literature,) thoroughly English, & very much in love with Joaquin.14
Sir Thomas Hardy ‸(aged 70)‸ is grandson to that best beloved Captain of Nelson’s who received the Admiral in his arms when he sank upon the bloody deck of the Victory upon that memorable day that England still glorifies & still mourns, & who heard the dying words “Kiss me, Hardy,” that are a part of English history now.15 And now I am reminded that I saw that colossal & superb old ship the other day, all beflagged in honor of the Shah, & with the signal flying once more at her masthead her old historical guns booming & her old historical signal flying at her masthead once more after all these lagging years, “England expects that every man will do his duty!”16 God knows I wish we had some of England’s reverence for the old & great.
Sir Thomas is a delightful specimen of the right & true Englishman. Loving, cordial, simple-hearted as a girl; fond of people of all ranks, if they are only good & have brains; devoting his house, his heart & his hospitalities four hours every Saturday night to a host of bright people that come & go as freely as if the house was theirs, & waiting for no formal invitation; & he is heartily aided & abetted in all this by his wife & daughter. He is keeper of the Queen’s Records (these 53 years) & is very learned.
Lady Hardy (say 50) looks 40 & is stout & handsome—is even beautiful after one comes to know her—which is after four minutes acquaintanceship. She is a very volcano of warm-heartedness & is in a permanent state of irruption. Perhaps it is all set forth in a remark of Livy’s yesterday when we started up there on her second & my third visit—she felt “ as if she “were going home.” And home it was, all the evening., & I smoked the pla premises all up before the company got there—not by permission, but command. Heaps of people came, & they were bright & talkative, too, having left their English reserve outside the gate.
Lady Hardy has written a number of novels & is well known here, but I think not in America. She told us the facts upon which her “Chance “Casual Acquaintance” was founded,—a thrilling recital & admirably done. Pity people can’t always talk a book instead of writing it.17
The Hardy mansion is a modest, homelike one near Regent’s Park. The grounds at its back are delightful with greensward & trees, & a broad [ cam canal] or stream sweeping past its rear almost hidden with overhanging foliage—& all so still & so rural that one can hardly believe it is in the heart of the greatest city in the world. Miller is visiting there for a while at present & has a room in the house, & mighty cosy it is, too.
Some of the friends & relatives of the family oppose the match, but the family are satisfied.
There, now, you know as much about it, now, as I do., & I have done a wicked thing to tell you; but then you have so warm a friendship & interest in Miller that one could not do less.18
But I must stop, for I do not approve of writing letters on the Sabbath day & am not a person who will do it.
Lovingly
Yr Son.
[on back of letter as
folded:]
Livy & the Modoc are well & they love
you—so they say.19 The Modoc st is able to stand alone, now. She is getting
into a habit of swearing when things don’t suit. This gives us
grave uneasiness.
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
There called one day a large middle aged
gentleman and his wife, returned from Egypt, elegantly and soberly
dressed in black; serious, quiet and cultured. That was C. G.
Leland, talented and learned essayest, etc. But, like most people, I
had associated him with “Hans Breitman,” the
humorous Pennsylvania Dutch dialect poet. (Thompson, 89) The first of the Hans Breitmann ballads, “Hans
Breitmann’s Barty,” was published in 1857, but
Leland did not collect it and his subsequent rhymes until July 1868,
when T. B. Peterson published Hans
Breitmann’s Party in Philadelphia, the book that was
reprinted in London and marked the start of his fame. Before that Leland
had written for and edited a variety of magazines and newspapers,
including Vanity Fair (1860–61), The Knickerbocker (1861–62), Continental Magazine (1862–63), and
the Philadelphia Evening Press
(1866–69) (Sloane, 259–61; Leland).
Between us we spoke all the languages there are; I
one and she all the rest.... Melancholy spectacle of the son of Douglas
Jerrold sitting around in the hall of magnificent house. His turn to
come out and speak or recite or imitate something, then be up and go
about his business. 45 years old. (N&J1, 551–52) Thompson recalled years later that Clemens
“mentioned as rather pathetic, a well known writer
[who] read selections from his more distinguished
father’s writings at grand receptions and recieved for it
five guineas as he quietly left” (Thompson, 86). Clemens was sufficiently struck by
this incident to remind himself to make use of it on at least three
separate occasions, the first in early 1885: “Describe Judge
Turner, Countess so-& so’s rout; polyglot woman;
poor Douglas Jerrold jr & his dirty shirt standing in hall
with footmen” (N&J3, 87).
Then, in 1888: & the awful spectacle of Douglas
Jerrold’s son at the grand evening blow-out of the noble
bitch with the Italian name. I was [one canceled word] into that business
through that ass Judge Turner. Polyglot woman there. (N&J3, 407) And, finally, in 1897: “Douglas
Jerrold’s son at the grand evening party”
(Notebook 41, TS p. 37, CU-MARK).
Anthony Trollope was the host, and the dinner was in
honor of Joaquin Miller, who was on the top wave of his English
notoriety at that time. There were three other guests; one is
obliterated, but I remember two of them, Tom Hughes and
Levison-Gower. No trace of that obliterated guest remains with
me—I mean the other obliterated
guest, for I was an obliterated guest also. I don’t
remember that anybody ever addressed a remark to either of us; no,
that is a mistake—Tom Hughes addressed remarks to us
occasionally; it was not in his nature to forget or neglect any
stranger. Trollope was voluble and animated, and was but vaguely
aware that any other person was present excepting him of the noble
blood, Levison-Gower. Trollope and Hughes addressed their talk
almost altogether to Levison-Gower, and there was a deferential
something about it that almost made me feel that I was at a
religious service; that Levison-Gower was the acting deity, and that
the illusion would be perfect if somebody would do a hymn or pass
the contribution-box. All this was most curious and unfamiliar and
interesting. Joaquin Miller did his full share of the talking, but
he was a discordant note, a disturber and degrader of the
solemnities. He was affecting the picturesque and untamed costume of
the wild Sierras at the time, to the charmed astonishment of
conventional London, and was helping out the effects with the breezy
and independent and aggressive manners of that far away and romantic
region. He and Trollope talked all the time and both at the same
time, Trollope pouring forth a smooth and limpid and sparkling
stream of faultless English, and Joaquin discharging into it,
and tumbling it, and disordering it,—his
muddy and tumultuous mountain torrent, and— Well, there
was never anything just like it except the Whirlpool Rapids under
Niagara Falls. (AD, 19 Aug 1907, CU-MARK, in MTE, 332–33) Edward Levy was presumably the other
“obliterated” guest, for Miller mentioned him in a
letter he wrote to Lord Houghton shortly after the dinner: Trollopes dinner at the Garrick was very
pleasant indeed. My genial countryman—Mark
Twain—was there; the editor of the Telegraph also. There was a member of the Cabinet I
believe but not being familiar with your great politicians and being
unfortunate in remembering names I cant tell you who he was. Also
some members of Parliament all genial gentlemen. (Gohdes, 298) According to Frederick Locker, Trollope was combative, and he was boisterous, but good-naturedly
so. He was abrupt in manners and speech; he was ebullient, and
therefore he sometimes offended people. ... Some of
Trollope’s acquaintance used to wonder how so commonplace
a person could have written such excellent novels; but I maintain
that so honourable and interesting a man could not be commonplace.
(Locker-Lampson, 331–32)
What you tell me of the lonely condition of Miss
Crewe only makes me feel a deeper interest in her and if I had a
home worthy of her and she would accept it I know of nothing that
would stimulate me to offer it her more than this statement of
yours. But her answer to my letter was brief and indifferent so that
the matter ended almost as soon as it began. ... I do confess to you
that I was looking very seriously in the direction of Miss Crewe,
for I am growing weary of this wandering about forever. I thought I
saw a way to get on, but of course I was mistaken. (Gohdes, 300) By all accounts, Miller was unconventionally free with
his attentions to women: according to the Troy (N.Y.) Press, in January 1872 he had been “engaged to a
lady of the Scottish nobility”
(“Personal,” 30 Jan 72, 2). In an undated note
made late in life, Clemens himself recalled Miller’s roving
eye at this time: “Joaquin Miller ... engaged to daughter of
Sir Thomas Hardy & made love to Clara Spaulding”
(CU-MARK). Although Iza Hardy never
married, she and Miller remained friendly, and were still corresponding
in 1912 (Black, 204; Kirk, 764; “Death of Miss I. Duffus
Hardy,” London Times, 31 Aug 1922, 9;
Hardy to Miller, 9 Feb 1912, CU-BANC).
Source text(s):
Previous publication:
L5, 402–409; MTMF, 172–77; Harnsberger, 64, brief excerpt.
Provenance:see Huntington Library in Description of Provenance.
Emendations and textual notes:
of. However • of.—|However
Spenscer • [‘s’ partly formed]
Motley • M Motley [corrected miswriting]
formidable • formiidable
cam canal • camnal