From Samuel L. and Olivia L. Clemens
to Charles Dudley Warner
16 June 1878 • Heidelberg, Germany
(MS: CU-MARK, UCCL 01572)
The Schloss Hotel
Heidelberg, June 16.
My Dear Warner:
We are mightily enjoying it here, of course; but Livy & Clra‸ar‸a Spaulding do slave so, night & day, over their German study, that they look pale, jaded, & fagged out. They sleep poorly & are permanently tired. The thing that distresses Livy is that the more she learns of the language the less she understands of it when spoken; but the other morning as we sat at [MS page 2] table, waiting for our breakfast & admiring the fine display of fruits & flowers on another table, an old gGerman gentleman & lady stepped in & the former hauled down the window curtain at the same moment that his wife threw up her hands in presence of the fruits & flowers & ejaculated “Won “Wundercschön!” Livy said, gratefully, “There—Gott sei dank, I understood that, anyway—window-shade!” [MS page 3] It has not been safe to refer to this incident since, but Clara Spaulding & I are not going to forget it, nevertheless. ‸P. S. This incident is several weeks old; it is only fair to say that Livy is making the most excellent progress now. She is far beyond me in the grammar.‸
[in margin: Dear Mr Warner—I am glad to know that you will make allowance for the medium through which this joke passes—affectionatelyLivy.]
Miss Clara speaks German very well & with good confidence, already; she will talk f it fluently, 3 months hence. I shan’t ever be able to talk it; there are devilishnesses about the grammar of it which will always remain inaccessibles to me & tie my tongue through diffidence. I know plenty [MS page 4] words, but only God knows how they terminate. I mean I know them in their root form; but their adjectivorous & jungular form, after they get above form ground & begin to stick on ‸sprout‸ inflections & participles & things is a matter outside of my present or possible attainment. I talked fast enough until I found out that a German is really particular about the sex of a noun m , & lets on that he does not undest ‸rs‸tand you when you misapply your tenses [MS page 5] & cases. Since then I bother no more with speech, except to say to the little boys who infest my way that I do not wish to buy any flowers today. That is all the use I have for the language, since all the rest of the German nation speak English.
Twelve days ago I moved again. I had had my writing-den down yonder opposite here on the other side of the Neckar; but it was no exercise to [MS page 6] trot down there, & the exercise of climbing up here again was valueless because I got it at the wrong end of the day. It was lonesome, too, & far removed from beer. So I have moved my den clear up on the very pinnacle of the Kaiserstuhl 1400 or 1500 feet up in the air above the Schloss Hotel, & 1700 above the Rhine valley—which it overlooks. I have the only room in the little Wirthshaft there not lived in by the family. I start to climb [MS page 7] the mountain every morning about 10 or a little after; I loaf along its steep sides, cogitating & smoking; rest occasionally & peer out through ragged windows in the dense foliage upon the fair world far below; then trudge further, to another resting-place, shared with by the always with an attentive ear to the pleasant woodland sounds, the manifold music of the birds—& finally I reach my den about noon, feeling pretty gorgeous & at peace with the world. I treat [MS page 8] myself to a fiv blast of the summit-breeze & a five minutes’ contemplation of the great Rhine-plain’s slumbering sea of mottled tints & shades, & then shut myself up tight & fast in my noiseless den & go to work. About 4 p.m. I take beer & listen to the family’s domestic news, or get one of the young girls to pilot me through some conjugations & declensions, or hold the book while I curse the Dative Case—then, about 5 or 5.15 I go loafing down the mountain again, find Livy & Clara in the Castle park, & listen to the band in [MS page 9] the shadow of the ruin.
I haven’t every had a workshop before that was situated just to my liking; & I never shall have again, I suppose.
My landlord’s name is Müller. My room opens into what may be called the parlor,—with a sewing machine in it. Day before yesterday I wrote a long chapter on curious accidents, coin correspondences & coincidences—then stepped in there & happened to notice the manufacturer’s name, stamped in gilt letters on that machine: “Clemens Müller.” The odd thing was [MS page 10] By I must add that ‸to‸ my chapter—never thought of it before.
I dreadfully wanted to go to the Paris Literary Congress & see Victor Hugo, but I declined because it would break into my work—which would be bad, now that I am just getting into the swing of my book on Germany.
We have heard from Millet, who is in Paris & well.
We have enjoyed, without stint or alloy, your Atlantic A articles. How true that night-scene in camp is! I have experienced it. With Livy’s love & mine to you both,
Yrs Ever
Mark.
