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[CLEVELAND. To Jane Clemens, 18
November 1868]
Made a splendid hit last night & am the "lion" to-day.
Awful rainy, sloppy night, but there were 1,200 people present,
anyhow -- house full. I captured them, if I
do say it myself. I go hence to Pittsburgh -- thence to
Elmira, N.Y.
[from Mark Twain's Letters 2: 280]
[To Joseph & Harmony Twichell, 18 November
1868]
Congratulate me, my often remembered friends -- for lo, the child
is born! It was most flatteringly received -- 1200 applausive
& appreciative people present.
[from Mark Twain's Letters 2:
282]
[PITTSBURGH. To Jane Clemens, 20
November 1868]
I played against the eastern favorite, Fanny Kemble, in
Pittsburgh, last night. She had 200 in her house, & I had
upwards of 1,500. All the seats were sold (in a driving
rain storm, 3 days ago,) as reserved seats at 25 cents extra,
even those in the second & third tiers -- & when the last
seat was gone the box office had not been open more than 2 hours.
When I reached the theatre they were turning people away &
the house was crammed. 150 or 200 stood up, all the evening. I go
to Elmira tonight. I am simply lecturing for societies, at $100 a
pop.
[from Mark Twain's Letters 2:
282]
[ELMIRA. To Olivia Langdon, 28
November 1868]
When I found myself comfortably on board the cars last night . .
. I said to myself: "Now whatever others may think, it is
my opinion that I am blessed above all other men that
live; I have known supreme happiness for two whole days, &
now I ought to be ready & willing to pay a little attention
to necessary duties, & do it cheerfully." Therefore I
resolved to go deliberately through that lecture, without notes,
& so impress it upon my memory & my understanding as to
secure myself against any such lame delivery of it in future as
I thought characterized it in Elmira. But I had little
calculated the cost of such a resolution. Never was a lecture so
full of parentheses before. It was Livy, Livy, Livy, Livy, all
the way through! It was one sentence of Vandal to ten sentences
about you. The insignificant lecture was hidden, lost,
overwhelmed & buried under a boundless universe of
Livy!
[from Love Letters : 23-24]
[NEWARK. To Olivia Langdon, 10
December 1868]
I just can't estimate how many thanks I owe you, Livy, for your
good, long, delightful letter. It saved me -- saved me
from another Elmira failure before a great audience in Newark. I
felt so heavy & stupid from want of rest & sleep, &
from wearing excitement at Twichell's, that when I went down town
at noon it was with many misgivings about to-night's work. So
much so that I began to think of leaving some of the
serious paragraphs out of the lecture rather than read
them badly. . . . [Your letter] brightened me up so much that I
knew perfectly well I was entirely safe for every line of
the lecture. I said to myself, "I can make that audience
laugh whenever I please -- so I will talk the humorous to
them; but when I come to the serious passages, I will
enthrone my matchless little princess (the same being
you,) in the chief seat in the house, & talk
that to her. And Livy, I would have given
anything if you had really been there. Then you
would have heard a lecture delivered as it should be
delivered; you would have seen a lecturer perfectly at his ease;
you would have seen a brilliant audience pretty completely at the
mercy of the speaker, too, & swung "from grave to gay, from
lively to serene," without the least perceptible effort in the
world. It was splendid. I enjoyed every sentence of the
discourse, & was sorry to quit when it was finished. I wished
it had been before a metropolitan audience of 5,000; I could have
persuaded them with just as much ease -- I could have carried
them with me with just the same facility.
[from Mark Twain's Letters 2:
320-21]
[LANSING. To Olivia Langdon, 23
December 1868]
I was not at all satisfied with my performance in Detroit, for
notwithstanding I had the largest audience they had seen there
for a long time, I was awkward & constrained -- ill at ease
-- & did not satisfy them, I think. But if I had only had
your letter in my pocket, then, how different it would have been!
. . . I can please any audience when I have a new letter
of yours by me. It is because I always feel a tranquil gladness,
a glow of happiness, then, & it is easy to impart it to the
multitude about me. Now tonight we had the largest audience that
has ever attended any lecture here, but Gough's, & I honestly
believe I pleased every individual in the house. The applause of
the serious passages was cordial & unstinted. The gentlemen
of the Society pledged me to come again (in case I lecture
another season -- I always make that reservation, because I don't
want to run about any more unless I must.)
[from Mark Twain's Letters 2:
342]
[AKRON. To Olivia Langdon, 31
December 1868]
Your Christmas letter arrived an hour before I went on the stage
at Akron, last night, & of course I captured that
audience. It was much the largest gathering a lecture had called
out since Gough talked there 2 years ago. It couldn't have been
larger, for all standing room was filled. Then I went to a large
private dancing party & stayed till 12:30, though I only
danced, 3 times. I made it up talking & making friends. There
were a large number of comely & companionable young ladies
there, & the young gentlemen were cordial, intelligent &
agreeable. . . . I escaped a serenade by a brass band by going to
the party, & so escaped making a speech. I liked the friendly
idea of the serenade, but wouldn't have enjoyed being so
pointedly lionized.
[from Mark Twain's Letters 2:
367-68]
[FORT WAYNE.
To Olivia Langdon, 2 January 1869]
(Through a failure in his records, MT had stood up the people
of Fort Wayne on 29 December 1868. The 2 January lecture was a
make up date.)
How they have abused me in this town, for the last two or three
days! But they couldn't get the newspapers to do it. They said
there was some mistake, & steadfastly refused -- for which I
am grateful. The night I should have lectured here, the
house was crowded, & yet there was not room for all who came.
To-night it was rainy, slushy & sloppy, & only two-thirds
of a house came. They were very cool, & did not welcome me to
the stage. They were still offended, & showed it. But as soon
as I saw that, all my distress of mind, all my wavering
confidence, all my down-heartedness vanished, & I never felt
happier or better satisfied on a stage before. And so, within ten
minutes we were splendid friends -- they unbent, banished their
frowns, & the affair went off gallantly. A really hearty
opposition is inspiring, sometimes. . . .
[from Mark Twain'sTwain's Letters
3: 2-3]
[EL PASO,
ILLINOIS. To Olivia Langdon, 12 January
1869]
I talked in Peoria, last night, to a large audience, & one
whose intellectual faces surprised as well as pleased me, for I
certainly had expected no such experience in Peoria. They want me
to come again next season, & I am sure I shall like to do it
if I am so unhappy as to be still in the lecture field. That
audience reminded me of my Michigan audiences. Do you know, that
with the exception, perhaps, of Mrs. Fairbanks', the Michigan
reviews of the lecture were the best-written I have seen yet. . .
.
[from Mark Twain's Letters 3:
24-25]
[OTTAWA. To Olivia Langdon, 13
January 1869]
Another botch of a lecture! -- even worse than Elmira, I think.
And it was such a pity -- for we had a beautiful church
entirely full of handsome, well-dressed, intellectual
ladies & gentlemen. They say I didn't botch it, but I
should think I ought to know. I closed with a fervent
apology for my failure, just as I did in Elmira -- & the
apology was the only thing in the lecture that had any life or
feeling in it. It cuts me to the very quick to make a failure. I
did feel so ashamed of myself. I even distressed the committee --
I touched their hearts with my genuine suffering, & real good
fellows as they are, they came up to my room to comfort me. The
failure was chiefly owing to an idiot president, who insisted
upon introducing me while the people were still pouring in --
& they kept on coming in till one-fourth of the lecture had
been delivered to an audience who were exclusively engaged in
watching the newcomers to their seats -- it seemed that I
never would get their attention. I grew so exasperated at
last, that I shouted to the doorkeeper to close the doors &
not open them again on any account. But my confidence was
gone. The church was harder to speak in than an empty barrel
would have been. I was angry, wearied to death with travel, &
I just hobbled miserably through, apologized, bade the house
good-night, & then gave the President a piece of my mind,
without any butter or sugar on it. And now I have to pray for
forgiveness for these things --
[from Love Letters : 49]
(Later in this letter MT mentions a fact that might provide
another reason for his unsatisfying performance--)
Lost my baggage somewhere, day before yesterday -- heard of it
to-day, but can't get it before I arrive in Toledo -- am
lecturing in my bob-tail coat & that makes me feel awkward
& uncomfortable before an audience.
[from Mark Twain's Letters 3:
31]
[CHICAGO. To Olivia Langdon, 16
January 1869]
I have just been doing that thing which is sometimes so hard to
do -- making an apology. Yesterday morning, at the hotel in Iowa
City, the landlord called me at 9 o'clock, & it made me so
mad I stormed at him with some little violence. I tried for an
hour to go to sleep again & couldn't -- I wanted that sleep
particularly, because I wanted to write a certain thing that
would require a clear head & choice language. Finally I
thought a cup of coffee might help the matter, & was going to
ring up for it -- no bell. I was mad again. When I
did get the landlord up there at last, by slamming the
door till I annoyed everybody on my floor, I showed temper again
-- & he didn't. See the advantage it gave him. His
mild replies shamed me into silence, but I was still too
obstinate, too proud, to ask his pardon. But last night, in the
cars, the more I thought of it the more I repented & the more
ashamed I was; & so resolved to make the repentance good by
apologizing -- which I have done, in the most ample &
unmincing form, by letter, this morning. I feel satisfied &
jolly, now.
[from Mark Twain's Letters 3:
45]
[TOLEDO. To Olivia Langdon. 20
January 1869]
It was splendid, to-night -- the great hall was crowded full of
the pleasantest & handsomest people, & I did the very
best I possibly could -- & did better than I ever did
before -- I felt the importance of the occasion, for I knew that,
this being Nasby's residence, every person in the audience would
be comparing & contrasting me with him -- & I am
satisfied with the performance. The audience were quiet &
critical at first, but presently they became warmly
enthusiastic, & remained so to the very close. They
applauded the serious passages handsomely. I have carried off the
honors on the Rev. Nasby's own ground -- you can believe that,
Livy.
[from Mark Twain's Letters 3:
51-52]
[GALENA. To Olivia Langdon. 29
January 1869]
Livy darling, I have received your letter, & am perfectly
delighted with it. I have finished my lecture tonight, the people
are satisfied, your kiss has comforted me, & I am as
happy & contented as anybody in the world to-night. And I am
not sick yet, & even believe I shall not be -- though for
many days I have believed that only the will to finish my
allotted task was really keeping me up, -- & have felt
sometimes that if I were delivering the last lecture of the list,
and knew all responsibility was at last removed, that with
the passing away of the tense strain I would surely drop to the
floor without strength enough to rise again for weeks.
[from Mark Twain's Letters 3:
81-82]
[RAVENNA. To Olivia Langdon, 13
February 1869]
I am able to inform the blessedest girl in all the world that the
lecture to-night was a complete success -- & they
said, as usual, that it was the largest audience of the season, a
thing that necessarily gratifies me, for you know one naturally
likes to be popular. And it is Saturday night, too -- think of
it! -- & I need not hide to-morrow, but can go to church
morning & evening. Somehow I don't often make a Saturday
success.
[from Mark Twain's Letters 3:
94-95]
[ROCHESTER. To Olivia Langdon, 28
February 1869]
(The Lockport lecture was originally scheduled for 27
February, but had to be postponed, as MT explains to
Livy--)
For the first time, I had to dismiss an audience last night
without lecturing. It was a fearful storm, & the people could
not get out. Not more than a hundred were present. Perhaps I
ought to have gone on & lectured, but then the gentlemen of
the Grand Army of the Republic had treated me so well (&
besides there was a much-prized old California friend or so among
them,) that I hated to see them lose money, & so I said I
would foot the expense-bills & dismiss the house -- but they
wouldn't permit me to pay anything, or depart without my regular
salary -- & I rebelled against that. So we compromised
-- that is, I talked to the audience a minute or two about the
weather & got them to laughing, & so dismissed them in a
good humor & invited them to come back Wednesday night &
hear "the rest of the discourse" -- an invitation which nearly
all of them accepted, for they took their tickets back, as they
went out, instead of their money.
(After returning and giving the performance, he wrote
this--)
[LOCKPORT. To Olivia Langdon, 4 March
1869]
My last lecture (for some time, at least) is delivered,
& I am so glad that I must fly to you (on paper,)
& make you help me hurrah. The long seige is over, & I
may rest at last. I feel like a captive set free.
[from Mark Twain's Letters 3: 126
& 134]
[GENESEO. To Olivia Langdon, 1 March
1869]
Half a dozen young gentlemen 20 to 25 years of age, received me
at the depot with a handsome open sleigh, & drove me to the
hotel in style -- & then took possession of my room,
& invited a dozen more in, & ordered cigars, & made
themselves entirely happy & contented. But they were hard to
entertain, for they took me for a lion, & I had to carry the
bulk of the conversation myself . . . Then I rose & said,
"Boys, I shall have to bid you a good-afternoon, for I am stupid
& sleepy -- & you must pardon my bluntness but I
must go to bed." Poor fellows, they were stricken
speechless . . . I undressed & went to bed, &
tried to go to sleep -- but again & again my
conscience smote me -- again & again I thought of how mean
& how shameful a return I had made for their well-meant &
whole-hearted friendliness to me a stranger within their gates .
. . And then I said to myself, I'll make amends for this -- &
so got up & dressed & gave the boys all of my time
till midnight -- & also from this noon till I left at four
this afternoon. And so, if any man is thoroughly popular with the
young people of Geneseo to-day, it is I. We had a full house last
night, & a fine success.
[from Love Letters: 72-73]
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