(Edited and modified by Clara Clemens, deputy to her mother, who for more than 7 months has been ill in bed and unable to exercise her official function.)The burden of the Clemens household had fallen almost entirely upon Clara Clemens.In addition to supervising its customary affairs, she also shouldered the responsibility of an unusual combination of misfortunes, for besides the critical condition of her mother, her sister, Jean Clemens, was down with pneumonia, no word of which must come to Mrs.Clemens.Certainly it was a difficult position.In some account of it, which he set down later, Clemens wrote: "It was fortunate for us all that Clara's reputation for truthfulness was so well established in her mother's mind.It was our daily protection from disaster.The mother never doubted Clara's word.Clara could tell her large improbabilities without exciting any suspicion, whereas if I tried to market even a small and simple one the case would have been different.I was never able to get a reputation like Clara's."The accumulation of physical ailments in the Clemens home had somewhat modified Mark Twain's notion of medical practice.He was no longer radical; he had become eclectic.It is a good deal of a concession that he makes to Twichell, after those earlier letters from Sweden, in which osteopathy had been heralded as the anodyne for all human ills.
To Rev.J.H.Twichell, in Hartford:
DEAR JOE,--Livy does really make a little progress these past 3 or 4days, progress which is visible to even the untrained eye.The physicians are doing good work with her, but my notion is, that no art of healing is the best for all ills.I should distribute the ailments around: surgery cases to the surgeons; lupus to the actinic-ray specialist; nervous prostration to the Christian Scientist; most ills to the allopath and the homeopath; (in my own particular case) rheumatism, gout and bronchial attacks to the osteopathist.
Mr.Rogers was to sail southward this morning--and here is this weather!
I am sorry.I think it's a question if he gets away tomorrow.
Ys Ever MARK.
It was through J.Y.M.MacAlister, to whom the next letter is written, that Mark Twain had become associated with the Plasmon Company, which explains the reference to "shares." He had seen much of MacAlister during the winter at Tedworth Square, and had grown fond of him.It is a characteristic letter, and one of interesting fact.
To J.Y.M.MacAlister, in London:
RIVERDALE, NEW YORK.
April, 7, '03.
DEAR MACALISTER,--Yours arrived last night, and God knows I was glad to get it, for I was afraid I had blundered into an offence in some way and forfeited your friendship--a kind of blunder I have made so many times in my life that I am always standing in a waiting and morbid dread of its occurrence.
Three days ago I was in condition--during one horribly long night--to sympathetically roast with you in your "hell of troubles." During that night I was back again where I was in the black days when I was buried under a mountain of debt.I called the daughters to me in private council and paralysed them with the announcement, "Our outgo has increased in the past 8 months until our expenses are now 125 per cent.
greater than our income."
It was a mistake.When I came down in the morning a gray and aged wreck, and went over the figures again, I found that in some unaccountable way (unaccountable to a business man but not to me) I had multiplied the totals by 2.By God I dropped 75 years on the floor where I stood.
Do you know it affected me as one is affected when he wakes out of a hideous dream and finds that it was only a dream.It was a great comfort and satisfaction to me to call the daughters to a private meeting of the Board again and say, "You need not worry any more; our outgo is only a third more than our income; in a few months your mother will be out of her bed and on her feet again--then we shall drop back to normal and be all right."Certainly there is a blistering and awful reality about a well-arranged unreality.It is quite within the possibilities that two or three nights like that night of mine could drive a man to suicide.He would refuse to examine the figures; they would revolt him so, and he could go to his death unaware that there was nothing serious about them.I cannot get that night out of my head, it was so vivid, so real, so ghastly.In any other year of these 33 the relief would have been simple: go where you can cut your cloth to fit your income.You can't do that when your wife can't be moved, even from one room to the next.
Clam spells the trained nurse afternoons; I am allowed to see Mrs.
Clemens 20 minutes twice a day and write her two letters a day provided Iput no news in them.No other person ever sees her except the physician and now and then a nerve-specialist from New York.She saw there was something the matter that morning, but she got no facts out of me.But that is nothing--she hasn't had anything but lies for 8 months.A fact would give her a relapse.
The doctor and a specialist met in conspiracy five days ago, and in their belief she will by and by come out of this as good as new, substantially.
They ordered her to Italy for next winter--which seems to indicate that by autumn she will be able to undertake the voyage.So Clara is writing a Florence friend to take a look round among the villas for us in the regions near that city.It seems early to do this, but Joan Bergheim thought it would be wise.
He and his wife lunched with us here yesterday.They have been abroad in Havana 4 months, and they sailed for England this morning.
