Cairo, Feb. 6th, 1861.
My Dear Brother:
After promising Mrs. Holliday a dozen times—(without anything further than a very remote intention of fulfilling the same,) to visit the fortune teller—Mad. Caprell—I have at last done so.1 We lay in New Orleans a week; and towards the last, novelties begun to grow alarmingly scarce; I did not know what [ o to ]do next—Will Bowen had given the matter up, and gone to bed for the balance of the trip; the Captain was on the Sugar Levee, and the clerks were out [ in town on business].2 I was revolving in my mind another foray among the shipping, in search of beautiful figure-heads or paragons of nautical architecture, when I [ remembered happened ]to think of Mrs. Holliday; and as the Devil never comes unattended, I naturally thought of Mad. Caprell immediately after, and then I started toward the St. Charles Hotel for the express purpose of picking up one of the [enchantresse ’s ]bills, with a view to ascertaining her [whereabouts]—or, in [ ot simpler ] [language], where she was supposed to “hang out.” The bill said 37 Conti, above Tchoupitoulas—terms, $2 for gentlemen in my situation, i.e. unaccompanied by a lady.
Arrived at the place, the bell was answered by a middle-aged lady (who certainly pitied me—I saw it in her eye,) who kindly informed me that I was at the wrong door—turn to the left. Which I did. And stood in the Awful Presence. She is a very pleasant little lady—rather pretty—about 28—say 5 feet 2¼—would weigh 116—has black eyes and hair—is polite and intelligent—uses good language, and talks much faster than I do.
She invited me into the little back parlor, closed the door; and we were—alone. We sat down facing each other. Then she asked my age. And then she put her hand before her eyes a moment, and commenced talking as if she had a good deal to say, and not much time to say it in. Something after this style:
“Yours is a watery planet; you gain your livelihood on the water; but you should have been a lawyer—there is where your talents lie; you might [ y have ]distinguished yourself as an orator; or as an editor; you have written a great deal; you write well—but you are rather out of practice; no matter—you will be in practice some day;3 you have a superb [constitution,; ]and as excellent health as any man in the world; you have great powers of endurance; in your profession, [your are strength ]holds out against the longest sieges without flagging; still, the upper part of your lungs—the top of them, is slightly affected—and you must take more care of yourself; you do not drink, but you use entirely too much tobacco; and you must stop it; mind, not moderate, but stop the use of it, totally;4 then, I can almost promise you 86, when you will surely die; otherwise, look out for 28, 31, 34, 47 and 65; be careful—for you are not of a [long-lived ]race, that is, on your father’s side; you are the only healthy member of your family, and the only one in it [ with who ]has any thing like the certainty of attaining to a great age—so, stop using tobacco, and be careful of yourself; in nearly all respects, you are the best sheep in your flock; your brother has an excellent mind, but it is not as well balanced as yours; I should call yours the best mind, altogether; there is more unswerving strength of will, & set purpose, and determination and energy in you than in all the balance of your family put together; in some respects you take after your father, but you are much more like your mother, who belongs to the long-lived, energetic side of the house. (But Madam, you are too fast—you have given me too much of these qualities.) No, I have not. Don’t interrupt me. I am telling the truth. And I’ll prove it. Thus: in reck you never brought all your energies to bear upon an object, but what you accomplished it—for instance, you are self-made, self-educated. (Which proves nothing.) Don’t interrupt. When you sought your present occupation, you found a [thou‸sand‸ gh ]obstacles in your way—obstacles which would have deterred nineteen out of any twenty men—obstacles unknown,—not even suspected by any save you and I, since you keep such matters to [yourself],—but you fought your way through them, during a weary, weary length of time, and never flinched, or quailed, or [ wis never ]once wished to give over the battle—and hid the long struggle under a mask of [cheerfullness], which saved your friends anxiety on your account. To do all this requires the qualities which I have named. (You flatter well, Madam.) Don’t interrupt. [ Y Up ]to within a short time, you had always lived from hand to mouth—now, you are in easy circumstances—for which you need give credit to no one but yourself. The turning-point in your life occurred in 1847–8 (Which was?)—a death, perhaps; and this threw you upon the world and made you what you are; it was always intended that you should make yourself; therefore, [ had this ca it was well ]that this calamity occurred as early as it did;5 you will never die of water, although your career upon it in the future seems well sprinkled with misfortune; but I intreat you to remember this: no matter what your circumstances are, in September, of the year [ y in ]which you are 28, don’t go near the water—I will not tell you why, but by all that is true and good, I charge you, while that month lasts, keep away from the water (which she repeated several times, with much show of earnestness—“make a note on’t,”6 & let’s see how much the woman knows.) Your life will be menaced in the years I have before-mentioned—[ im will ]be in imminent peril when you are 31—if you escape, then when you are 34—neither 47 or 65 look so badly; you will continue upon the water for some time yet; you will not retire finally until ten years from now; two years from now, [ on or ]a little more, [ you will be a child will ] be born to you! (Permit me to hope, Madam, in view of this prospective good luck, that I may also have the jolly good-fortune to be married before that time.) Well, you are a free-spoken young man. Of course you will. (Make another note, Orion—I think I’ve caught her up a played-out chute in a falling river this time—but who knows?) And mind—your whole future welfare depends upon your getting married as soon as you can; don’t smile—don’t laugh—for it is just as true as truth itself; if you fail to marry within two years from now, you will regret that you paid so little attention to what I am saying now; don’t be foolish, but go and marry—your future depends upon it; you can get the girl you have in your eye, if you are a better man than her mother—she (the girl) is; the old gentleman is not in the way, but the mother is decidedly cranky, and much in the way; she caused the trouble and produced the coolness which has existed between yourself and the young lady for so many months past—and you ought to break through this ice; you won’t commence, and the girld won’t—you are both entirely too proud—a well-matched pair, truly; the young lady is—(but I didn’t ask after the young lady, Madam, and I don’t want to hear about her.) There, just as I said—she would have spoken to me just as you have done. For shame! I must gon on. She is 17—not remarkably pretty, but very intelligent—is educated, and accomplished—and has property—5 feet 3 inches—is slender—dark-brown hair and eyes—you don’t want to see her? Oh, no—but you will, nevertheless, before this year is out—here in New Orleans (mark that,) too—and then—look out! The fact of her being so far away now—which is the case, is it not?—doesn’t affect the matter.7 You will marry twice—your first wife will live (I have forgotten the number of years,)—your second choice will be a widow—[you[r] ] family, finally, all told, will number ten children (slow—Madam—slow—and stand by to ship up8—for I know you are out of the channel,) some of them will live, and some will not at- (there’s consolation in the latter, at least.) Yes, ten is the number. (You must think I am [ fond ] of children.) And you are, although you pretend the contrary—which is an ugly habit; quit it; I grant you that you do not like to handle them, though. What is your brother’s age? 33?—and a lawyer?—and in pursuit of an office?9 Well, he stands a better chance than the other two, and, he may get it—he must do his best—and not trust too much to others, either—which is the very reason why he is so far behind, now; he never does do anything, if he can get anybody else to do it for him; which is bad; he never goes steadily on till he attains an object, but nearly always drops it when the battle is half won; he is too visionary—is always flying off on a new hobby; this will never do—tell him I said so. He is a good lawyer—a very good lawyer—and a fine speaker—is very popular, and much respected, and makes many friends; but although he retains their friendship, he loses their confidence, by displaying his [instability ]of character; he wants to speculate in lands, and will, some day, with very good success; the land he has now will be very valuable after a while (say 250 years hence, or thereabouts, Madam,)—no—less time—but never mind the land, that is a secondary consideration—let him drop that for the present, and devote himself to his business and politics, with all his might, for he must hold offices under government, and 6 or 8 years from this time, he will run for Congress. You will marry, and will finally live in the South—do not live in the north-west; you will not succeed well; you will live in the South, and after a while you will possess a good deal of property—retire at the end of ten years—after which your pursuits will be literary—try the law—you will certainly succeed. I am done, now. If you have any questions to ask—ask them freely—and if it be in my power, I will answer without reserve“—without reserve.”
I asked a few questions of minor importance—paid her $2 and left—under the decided impression that going to the fortune-teller’s was just as good as going to the Opera, and cost scarcely a trifle more—ergo, I would disguise myself and go again, one of these days, when other amusements failed.
Now isn’t she the devil? That is to say, isn’t she a right smart little woman? I have given you almost her very language to me, and nothing extenuated, nor set down aught in malice.10 Whenever she said anything pointed about you, she would ask me to tell you of it, so that you might profit by it—and confound me if I don’t think she read you a good deal better than she did me. That Congress business amused me a little, for she wasn’t far wide of the mark you set yourself, as to time. And Pa’s death in ’47–8, and the turning-point in my life, was very good. I wonder if there is a Past and future chronological table of events in a man’s life written in his forehead for the special convenience of these clairvoyants? She said Pa’s side of the house was not long-lived, but that he doctored himself to death. I do noth know about that, though.11 She said that up to 7 years, I had no health, and then mentioned several dates after that when my health had been very bad.12 But that about that girl’s [mother] being “cranky,” and playing the devil with me, was about the neatest thing she performed—for although I have never spoken of the matter, I happen to know that she spoke truth. The young lady has been beaten by the old one, ‸though‸, through the romantic agency of intercepted letters, and the girl still thinks I was in fault—and always will, I reckon, for I don’t see how she’ll ever find out the contrary. And the woman had the impudence to say that although I was eternally falling in love, still, when I went to bed at night, I somehow always happened to think of Miss Laura before I thought of my last new flame—and it always would be the case [(which will be devilish comfortable, won’t it, when both she and I (like one of Dickens’ characters,) are Another’s?[)] ] 13 But drat the woman, she did tell the truth, and I won’t deny it. But she said I would speak to Miss Laura first—and I’ll stake my last shirt on it, she missed it there.14
So much for Madame Caprell. Although of course, I [ p have ]no faith in her pretended powers, I listened to her in silence for half an hour, without the greatest interest, and I am willing to acknowledge that she said some very startling things, and made some wonderful guesses. Upon leaving, she said I must take care of myself; that it had cost me [ ‸several‸ years ]to build up my constitution to its present state of perfection, and now I must watch it. And she would give me this motto: “L’ouvrage de l’année est détruit dans un jour,”—which means, if you don’t know it, “The work of a year is destroyed in a day.”
We shall not go to St. Louis. Turn back from here, to-morrow or next day. When you want money, let Ma know, and she will send it. She and Pamela are always fussing about small change, so I sent them a hundred and twenty quarters yesterday—fiddler’s change enough to last till I get back, I reckon.
Sam.
Dear Mollie: You owe me one. (over
(To be continued.)
Sam Clemens
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
He was speaking of the power of breaking away
from a habit & said that when he was a cub pilot he
made up his mind not to chew tobacco any longer. He had the plug
in his pocket, & he didn’t throw it away
& so burn his bridges behind
him—no,—he kept the plug in his pocket
until it was in a powder, & he never chewed again. He
said probably some outside influence was the cause of his
reform. Then he decided twice to stop smoking, once when he was
a young man in Keokuk I should say & he was firm in
his resolve until he decided to resume again. Then just before
he married he stopped again. (Lyon, 238)
a letter introducing you to Mr. Glover. I think if
not very busy he will immediately write you a letter of introduction
to Mr. Bates, and also a letter recommending me for a clerkship. He
would do this with you sitting by him, when probably he would not
take the trouble or time to do so if I merely wrote directly to him.
. . . It will be a great advantage to me to get some such office, as
I can then support myself and family, which will be a huge
gratification, and probably be able to pay some debts, which will
also be gratifying. (CU-MARK) The upshot of this process was that Edward Bates
(1793–1869), Lincoln’s attorney general, secured
Orion’s appointment as secretary of the newly formed Nevada
Territory. Orion “received notice of his appointment on the
27 of March” (MEC, 10).
Reading the foregoing letter after 20 years, I
thought she might have read Sam’s mind, till I came to
the paragraph in which he states that he did not know that our
father doctored himself to death. He doctored himself from my
earliest remembrance. During the latter part of his life he bought
Cook’s pills by the box, and took some daily. He was very
dexterous at throwing a pill to the root of his tongue, washing it
down with a sip of water. And in the notes preserved in Clemens’s
autobiographical dictation, he somewhat expanded this comment: My mother’s mother died when my
mother was 13 years of age. Her father died at the age of 63. Her
grandfather on her father’s side lived beyond 60, and his
widow beyond 80. On my father’s side his father was
killed accidentally when my father was 7 years old. My
father’s mother lived beyond 60. My father died at 48. My
mother is now (1880) 78. My father may have hastened the ending of
his life by the use of too much medicine. He doctored himself from
my earliest remembrance. During the latter part of his life he
bought Cook’s pills by the box and took one or more
daily. In taking a pill he held it between his right thumb and
forefinger, turned his head back, cast the pill to the root of his
tongue, and from a glass of water in his left hand, took a sup and
washed down the bitter dose. (AD, 29 Jan 1907, CU-MARK) Family records indicate that pneumonia was the immediate
cause of John Marshall Clemens’s death.
Source text(s):
Previous publication:
L1, 107–116; MTB, 1:157–59, with omissions; MTL, 1:48–51, with omissions; MTBus, 52–57.
Provenance:see McKinney Family Papers, pp. 459–61. About 1880 Orion marked
the MS for inclusion in his autobiography.
Emendations and textual notes:
A Steamer • [‘S’ over ‘A’]
o to • [‘t’ over ‘o’]
in town on business • [‘on business’ over ‘in town’]
remembered happened • [‘happened’ over ‘remembered’]
enchantresse ’s • [apostrophe over ‘e’]
whereabouts • where-|abouts
ot simpler • [‘s’ over ‘ot’]
language • langau ‸ua‸ge [‘ua’ over ‘au’]
y have • [‘h’ over ‘y’]
constitution,; • [semicolon over comma]
your are strength • [‘r’ in ‘your’ and ‘str’ in ‘strength’ over ‘are’]
long-|lived • long-lived
with who • [‘who’ over ‘with’]
thou‸sand‸ gh • [‘s’ over ‘gh’]
yourself • yourseflf [‘l’ over ‘f’]
wis never • [‘ne’ over ‘wis’]
cheerfullness • [‘n’ over second ‘l’]
Y Up • [‘Y’ mended to ‘U’]
had this ca it was well • [‘it was we’ over ‘had this ca’]
y in • [‘i’ over ‘y’]
im will • [‘wi’ over ‘im’]
on or • or n [‘r’ over ‘n’]
you will be a child will • [‘a child w’ over ‘you will be’]
you[r] • [possibly ‘your’. The needed ‘r’ squeezed in, probably by Orion.]
fond • [Probable but not certain: two folds in the MS intersect, obscuring the text at this point, and Orion mistakenly wrote ‘proud’ heavily over the original word, further obscuring it.]
instability • [possibly ‘un instability’, ‘un‸in‸stability’, or ‘un‸ins‸tability’; ‘in’ or ‘ins’ over possible ‘un’ or miswritten ‘in’. Orion traced over ‘ins’, presumably because some such underlying change by Clemens made the letters unclear, but the overwriting has made the original inscription and its correction or repair too uncertain to include in the text.]
(which . . . (like . . . characters,) . . . Another’s?[)] • [possibly ‘([ which . . . (like . . . characters,) . . . Another’s?]’; an opening square bracket written over the first opening parenthesis and a closing bracket added following the question mark. The form of the brackets and the dark, blunt pencil with which they were inscribed suggest that Orion, rather than his brother, probably supplied them.]
p have • [‘h’ over ‘p’]
‸several‸ years • ‸sever[al] ‸ years [torn]
Y Votre • [‘V’ over ‘Y’]
V Ton • [‘T’ over ‘V’]
b F • [canceled ‘F’ or ‘T’ over doubtful ‘b’ or ‘le’]