‸ Business ‸
slc/mt
3/24/74.
My Dear Aldrich:
All right, my boy, send along the proofs.1
Never mind Bliss. I don’t feel around him. When you’ve a book ready, I’ll only say, “I’ve the MS here, of a book by Aldrich. Can you pay him 10 per cent royalty, or shall I carry it over the way, to Worthington, Dustin & Co?”2 The same with a book by Howells. Precious little tortuous diplomacy required when one names his price with a stiff upper lip & mentions the hated rival over the way. I’ll attend to the business details, & the framing of the contract, if you’ll let me.3
Bliss had contracted to pay me 10 p.c. on my next book (contract made 18 months ago) so I made him pay that on Roughing Gilded Age. He paid 7½ p.c. on Roughing It & 5 p.c. on Innocents Abroad.4 I only made him pay 7½ p.c. on Joaquin Miller’s Modoc book, because I don’t think Miller much of a card in America.5
There’s an unknown cuss in N. Y.6 who wants to write a book on a purely commercial subject & make a reputation—but I reckon the lack of a publisher was rather a stumbling block in his way. So I have commissioned him to write the book for me & am to pay him $2,000 when he hands me the MS for said book—500 pages [octavo. ] ‸—that is 1800 pages of note paper MS.‸ He is to put his own name to it, & read the proofs. I’ll make $10,000 out of that books, but not by publishing it as you & Howells publish.
‸ Grief. ‸
There is one discomfort which I fear a man must put up with when he publishes by subscription, & that is wretched paper & vile engravings. I fancy the publisher don’t make a very large pile when he pays his author 10 p.c. You notice that the Gilded Age is rather a rubbishy looking book; well, the sale has now reached about 50,000 copies—so the royalty now due the authorship is $ ‸is‸ about $18,0007—yet the Company have declared only one ten [per-cent ] dividend since the book was issued;8 they would have declared at least 30 ‸25‸ per cent in dividends on 50,000 copies of a 7½ p.c. book.
Now I think seriously of printing my own next book & publishing it thro’ this same subscription house. It will thus be a mighty starchy book, but I reckon I won’t get so much money out of it.9
Homeward Bound 10
‸Mrs. C. gets along very, very slowly. But a week hence, if she can travel, we’ll leave for Elmira. I must get her away from [household ] & building cares. She don’t sleep worth a cent.
We are also sorry about the “frustration” (as you call it—frustratification is the correct word) of our Cambridge plans. But then the best laid gangs of mice & men are often frustratified,11 in the [providence of
‸ Hope & Gratulation. ‸ ]
God. But never mind—next fall we’ll come—or rather you’ll come here, for then you’ll be no longer at Elmwood & you’d be too high-toned to receive country folk in the city, wouldn’t you?12 We did all most royally enjoy the visit of You Trinity here, & are exceeding glad that you folks enjoyed it, [too.13 Old ] Joe Twichell, that born prince of men, was in last night, & he is still gloating over the joys of that time. He says that next to being great one’s self, is the luxury of meeting the great, face to face. You people made a rare sensation in this neighborhood.
‸ General Observations. ‸
Had a note from the Spectre14 last night, jolly, splendid old soul. It speaks well for your good heart that you call him s Skeleton & ‸so‸ please him with the harmless notion that there is something substantial about his ethereal get-up.
I’m to run back to Hartford in the course of a few weeks, & then I’ll try to come up & discuss those plans of yours over a jorum of lager (jorum’s good.)
And still no tidings from poor unnecessary but still delightful Keeler! I am getting well discouraged in that direction.15
The Little Violinist’s prayer struck water in my lower level, as the silver miner says when he is affected. Pretty sketch—good sketch.16
‸ Ahoy! ‸
All our crowd send greeting, good wishes & benediction—
Including
Ys Ever
Mark.
[in margin: Satchel has arrived. O. K] 17
P. S. Excuse brevity.
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
as we were dressing and talking of the pleasant plans of the day, there was a loud and rather authoritative
knock at the bedroom door, and Mr. Clemens’s voice was heard, saying, “Aldrich, come out, I want to
speak to you.” The other occupant of the room wrapped her kimono round her more closely, and crept to the door,
for evidently something of serious import was happening, or about to happen. The words overheard were most disquieting.
Twain’s voice had its usual calmness and slowness of speech, but was lacking in the kindly mellow quality of its
accustomed tone, as he said: “In Heaven’s name, Aldrich, what are you doing? Are you emulating the
kangaroos, with hob-nails in your shoes, or trying the jumping-frog business? Our bedroom is directly under yours, and poor
’Livy and her headache—do try to move more quietly, though ’Livy would rather suffer than
have you give up your game on her account.” Then the sound of receding footsteps. Our consternation was as great as our surprise at the reprimand, for we had been unconscious of walking heavily, or of
making unnecessary noise. The bedroom was luxurious in its appointments, the rugs soft on the floor; we could only surmise
that the floor boards had some peculiar acoustic quality that emphasized sound. On tiptoe we finished our toilets, and spoke
only in whispers, much disturbed in mind that we had troubled our hostess, and hoped she knew that we would not willingly
have added to her headache even the weight of a hummingbird’s wing. When the toilets were finished, slowly and
softly we went down the stairs and into the breakfast room, where, behind the large silver coffee urn, sat Mrs. Clemens.
With sorrowful solicitude we asked if her headache was better, and begged forgiveness for adding to her pain. To our
amazement she answered, “I have no headache.” In perplexed confusion we apologized for the noise we
inadvertently made. “Noise!” Mrs. Clemens replied. “We have not heard a sound. If you had
shouted we should not have known it, for our rooms are in another wing of the house.” At the other end of the
table Mark Twain sat, looking as guileless as a combination of cherubim and seraphim—never a word, excepting with
lengthened drawl, more slow than usual, “Oh, do come to your breakfast, Aldrich, and don’t talk all
day.” It was a joyous group that came together at the table that morning, and loud was the laughter, and rapid the talk. (Lilian W. Aldrich, 146–48) Mrs. Aldrich described other convivial breakfasts and dinners and the final gathering, on the evening of 9
March, “clustered about the blazing fire in the long red-curtained room” in the Clemenses’
rented house: It was voted at dinner that the company would not disband until the genial morn appeared, and that there should be at
midnight a wassail brewed. The rosy apples roasted at the open fire, the wine and sugar added, and the ale—but at
this point Mrs. Clemens said, “Youth, we have no ale.” There was a rapid exit by Mr. Clemens, who
reappeared in a moment in his historic sealskin coat and cap, but still wearing his lowcut evening shoes. He said he wanted
a walk, and was going to the village for the ale and should shortly return with the ingredient. Deaf, absolutely deaf, to
Mrs. Clemens’s earnest voice, that he should at least wear overshoes that snowy night, he disappeared. In an
incredibly short time he reappeared, excited and hilarious, with his rapid walk in the frosty air—very wet shoes,
and no cap. To Mrs. Clemens’s inquiry, “Youth, what have you done with your cap?” there was
a hurried search in all his pockets, a blank and surprised look on his face, as he said: “Why, I am afraid I have
thrown it away. I remember being very warm and taking it off, carrying it in my hand, and now I do remember, at such a turn
in the road, my hand feeling a strain of position, opening it and throwing away in the darkness something in my hand that
caused the sensation.” Then, in real anxiety, “’Livy, do you think it could have been my
cap?” (Lilian W. Aldrich, 158–59)
Source text(s):Previous publication:
L6, 89–94; MTLP, 80–81, excerpt.
Provenance:The MS at MH-H was deposited by Talbot Aldrich in June 1942, and donated
in 1949. The MS at DLC was donated by Frances R. Friedman on 15 June 1992.
Emendations and textual notes:
octavo. • [deletion implied]
per-cent • per-|cent
household • house-|hold
providence of | ‸ Hope & Gratulation. ‸ | God. • [centered heading added in top margin of MS page, which begins with the syllable ‘dence’; the first part of the word, ‘provi-’, ends the previous page]
too. Old • too.—|Old
