Mark Twain's Speeches, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens). This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: Mark Twain's Speeches Author: Mark Twain
(Samuel Clemens) Release Date: August 19, 2006 [EBook http://impiousdigest.com/the-classics-mark-twains-speeches/all/1/#3188] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII Produced by David Widger
MARK TWAIN'S SPEECHES
by Mark Twain
- THE STORY OF A SPEECH
- PLYMOUTH ROCK AND THE PILGRIMS
- COMPLIMENTS AND DEGREES
- BOOKS, AUTHORS, AND HATS
- DEDICATION SPEECH
- DIE SCHRECKEN DER DEUTSCHEN SPRACHE. [THE HORRORS OF THE GERMAN LANGUAGE]
- GERMAN FOR THE HUNGARIANS
- A NEW GERMAN WORD
- UNCONSCIOUS PLAGIARISM
- THE WEATHER
- THE BABIES
- OUR CHILDREN AND GREAT DISCOVERIES
- EDUCATING THEATRE-GOERS
- THE EDUCATIONAL THEATRE
- POETS AS POLICEMEN
- PUDD'NHEAD WILSON DRAMATIZED
- DALY THEATRE
- THE DRESS OF CIVILIZED WOMAN
- DRESS REFORM AND COPYRIGHT
- COLLEGE GIRLS
- THE LADIES
- WOMAN'S PRESS CLUB
- VOTES FOR WOMEN
- WOMAN-AN OPINION
- ADVICE TO GIRLS
- TAXES AND MORALS
- TAMMANY AND CROKER MUNICIPAL CORRUPTION MUNICIPAL GOVERNMENT
- CHINA AND THE PHILIPPINES
- THEORETICAL AND PRACTICAL MORALS
- LAYMAN'S SERMON
- UNIVERSITY SETTLEMENT SOCIETY
- PUBLIC EDUCATION ASSOCIATION
- EDUCATION AND CITIZENSHIP
- THE DINNER TO MR. CHOATE
- ON STANLEY AND LIVINGSTONE
- HENRY M. STANLEY
- DINNER TO MR. JEROME HENRY IRVING
- DINNER TO HAMILTON W. MABIE
- INTRODUCING NYE AND RILEY
- DINNER TO WHITELAW REID
- ROGERS AND RAILROADS
- THE OLD-FASHIONED PRINTER
- SOCIETY OF AMERICAN AUTHORS
- READING-ROOM OPENING
- DISAPPEARANCE OF LITERATURE
- THE NEW YORK PRESS CLUB DINNER
- THE ALPHABET AND SIMPLIFIED SPELLING
- SPELLING AND PICTURES
- BOOKS AND BURGLARS
- AUTHORS' CLUB
- "MARK TWAIN's FIRST APPEARANCE"
- MORALS AND MEMORY
- QUEEN VICTORIA
- JOAN OF ARC
- ACCIDENT INSURANCE--ETC.
- MISTAKEN IDENTITY
- CATS AND CANDY
- OBITUARY POETRY
- CIGARS AND TOBACCO
- THE UNION RIGHT OR WRONG?
- AN IDEAL FRENCH ADDRESS
- GALVESTON ORPHAN BAZAAR
- SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE
- CHARITY AND ACTORS
- RUSSIAN REPUBLIC
- RUSSIAN SUFFERERS
- WATTERSON AND TWAIN AS REBELS
- ROBERT FULTON FUND
- FULTON DAY, JAMESTOWN
- LOTOS CLUB DINNER IN HONOR OF MARK TWAIN
- IN AID OF THE BLIND
- DR. MARK TWAIN, FARMEOPATH
- MISSOURI UNIVERSITY SPEECH
- CARNEGIE THE BENEFACTOR
- ON POETRY, VERACITY, AND SUICIDE
- WELCOME HOME
- AN UNDELIVERED SPEECH
- SIXTY-SEVENTH BIRTHDAY
- TO THE WHITEFRIARS
- THE ASCOT GOLD CUP
- THE SAVAGE CLUB DINNER
- GENERAL MILES AND THE DOG
- WHEN IN DOUBT, TELL THE TRUTH
- THE DAY WE CELEBRATE
- INDEPENDENCE DAY
- AMERICANS AND THE ENGLISH
- ABOUT LONDON
- THE ST. LOUIS HARBOR-BOAT "MARK TWAIN"
- SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY
These speeches will address themselves to the minds and hearts of those who read them, but not with the effect they had with those who heard them; Clemens himself would have said, not with half the effect. I have noted elsewhere how he always held that the actor doubled the value of the author's words; and he was a great actor as well as a great author. He was a most consummate actor, with this difference from other actors, that he was the first to know the thoughts and invent the fancies to which his voice and action gave the color of life. Representation is the art of other actors; his art was creative as well as representative; it was nothing at second hand.
I never heard Clemens speak when I thought he quite failed; some burst or spurt redeemed him when he seemed flagging short of the goal, and, whoever else was in the running, he came in ahead. His near-failures were the error of a rare trust to the spontaneity in which other speakers confide, or are believed to confide, when they are on their feet. He knew that from the beginning of oratory the orator's spontaneity was for the silence and solitude of the closet where he mused his words to an imagined audience; that this was the use of orators from Demosthenes and Cicero up and down. He studied every word and syllable, and memorized them by a system of mnemonics peculiar to himself, consisting of an arbitrary arrangement of things on a table--knives, forks, salt-cellars; inkstands, pens, boxes, or whatever was at hand--which stood for points and clauses and climaxes, and were at once indelible diction and constant suggestion. He studied every tone and every gesture, and he forecast the result with the real audience from its result with that imagined audience. Therefore, it was beautiful to see him and to hear him; he rejoiced in the pleasure he gave and the blows of surprise which he dealt; and because he had his end in mind, he knew when to stop.
I have been talking of his method and manner; the matter the reader has here before him; and it is good matter, glad, honest, kind, just.
W. D. HOWELLS.
FROM THE PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION OF "MARK TWAIN'S SKETCHES"
If I were to sell the reader a barrel of molasses, and he, instead of sweetening his substantial dinner with the same at judicious intervals, should eat the entire barrel at one sitting, and then abuse me for making him sick, I would say that he deserved to be made sick for not knowing any better how to utilize the blessings this world affords. And if I sell to the reader this volume of nonsense, and he, instead of seasoning his graver reading with a chapter of it now and then, when his mind demands such relaxation, unwisely overdoses himself with several chapters of it at a single sitting, he will deserve to be nauseated, and he will have nobody to blame but himself if he is. There is no more sin in publishing an entire volume of nonsense than there is in keeping a candy-store with no hardware in it. It lies wholly with the customer whether he will injure himself by means of either, or will derive from them the benefits which they will afford him if he uses their possibilities judiciously. Respectfully submitted, THE AUTHOR.
MARK TWAIN'S SPEECHES
An address delivered in 1877, and a review of it twenty-nine years later. The original speech was delivered at a dinner given by the publishers of The Atlantic Monthly in honor of the seventieth anniversary o f the birth of John Greenleaf Whittier, at the Hotel Brunswick, Boston, December 17, 1877.
This is an occasion peculiarly meet for the digging up of pleasant reminiscences concerning literary folk; therefore I will drop lightly into history myself. Standing here on the shore of the Atlantic and contemplating certain of its largest literary billows, I am reminded of a thing which happened to me thirteen years ago, when I had just succeeded in stirring up a little Nevadian literary puddle myself, whose spume-flakes were beginning to blow thinly Californiaward. I started an inspection tramp through the southern mines of California. I was callow and conceited, and I resolved to try the virtue of my 'nom de guerre'.
I very soon had an opportunity. I knocked at a miner's lonely log cabin in the foot-hills of the Sierras just at nightfall. It was snowing at the time. A jaded, melancholy man of fifty, barefooted, opened the door to me. When he heard my 'nom de guerre' he looked more dejected than before. He let me in--pretty reluctantly, I thought--and after the customary bacon and beans, black coffee and hot whiskey, I took a pipe. This sorrowful man had not said three words up to this time. Now he spoke up and said, in the voice of one who is secretly suffering, "You're the fourth--I'm going to move." "The fourth what?" said I. "The fourth littery man that has been here in twenty-four hours--I'm going to move." "You don't tell me!" said I; "who were the others?" "Mr. Longfellow, Mr. Emerson, and Mr. Oliver Wendell Holmes--consound the lot!"
You can, easily believe I was interested. I supplicated--three hot whiskeys did the rest--and finally the melancholy miner began. Said he:
"They came here just at dark yesterday evening, and I let them in of course. Said they were going to the Yosemite. They were a rough lot, but that's nothing; everybody looks rough that travels afoot. Mr. Emerson was a seedy little bit of a chap, red-headed. Mr. Holmes was as fat as a balloon; he weighed as much as three hundred, and had double chins all the way down to his stomach. Mr. Longfellow was built like a prizefighter. His head was cropped and bristly, like as if he had a wig made of hair-brushes. His nose lay straight down, his face, like a finger with the end joint tilted up. They had been drinking, I could see that. And what queer talk they used! Mr. Holmes inspected this cabin, then he took me by the buttonhole, and says he:
"'Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings, Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul!'
"Says I, 'I can't afford it, Mr. Holmes, and moreover I don't want to.' Blamed if I liked it pretty well, either, coming from a stranger, that way. However, I started to get out my bacon and beans, when Mr. Emerson came and looked on awhile, and then he takes me aside by the buttonhole and says:
"'Give me agates for my meat; Give me cantharids to eat; From air and ocean bring me foods, From all zones and altitudes.'
"Says I, 'Mr. Emerson, if you'll excuse me, this ain't no hotel.' You see it sort of riled me--I warn't used to the ways of littery swells. But I went on a-sweating over my work, and next comes Mr. Longfellow and buttonholes me, and interrupts me. Says he:
"'Honor be to Mudjekeewis! You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis--'
"But I broke in, and says I, 'Beg your pardon, Mr. Longfellow, if you'll be so kind as to hold your yawp for about five minutes and let me get this grub ready, you'll do me proud.' Well, sir, after they'd filled up I set out the jug. Mr. Holmes looks at it, and then he fires up all of a sudden and yells:
"Flash out a stream of blood-red wine! For I would drink to other days.'
"By George, I was getting kind of worked up. I don't deny it, I was getting kind of worked up. I turns to Mr. Holmes, and says I, 'Looky here, my fat friend, I'm a-running this shanty, and if the court knows herself, you'll take whiskey straight or you'll go dry.' Them's the very words I said to him. Now I don't want to sass such famous littery people, but you see they kind of forced me. There ain't nothing onreasonable 'bout me; I don't mind a passel of guests a-treadin' on my tail three or four times, but when it comes to standing on it it's different, 'and if the court knows herself,' I says, 'you'll take whiskey straight or you'll go dry.' Well, between drinks they'd swell around the cabin and strike attitudes and spout; and pretty soon they got out a greasy old deck and went to playing euchre at ten cents a corner--on trust. I began to notice some pretty suspicious things. Mr. Emerson dealt, looked at his hand, shook his head, says:
"'I am the doubter and the doubt--'
and ca'mly bunched the hands and went to shuffling for a new layout. Says he:
"'They reckon ill who leave me out; They know not well the subtle ways I keep. I pass and deal again!'
Hang'd if he didn't go ahead and do it, too! Oh, he was a cool one! Well, in about a minute things were running pretty tight, but all of a sudden I see by Mr. Emerson's eye he judged he had 'em. He had already corralled two tricks, and each of the others one. So now he kind of lifts a little in his chair and says:
"'I tire of globes and aces! Too long the game is played!'
--and down he fetched a right bower. Mr. Longfellow smiles as sweet as pie and says:
"'Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught,'
--and blamed if he didn't down with another right bower! Emerson claps his hand on his bowie, Longfellow claps his on his revolver, and I went under a bunk. There was going to be trouble; but that monstrous Holmes rose up, wobbling his double chins, and says he, 'Order, gentlemen; the first man that draws, I'll lay down on him and smother him!' All quiet on the Potomac, you bet!
"They were pretty how-come-you-so by now, and they begun to blow. Emerson says, 'The nobbiest thing I ever wrote was "Barbara Frietchie."' Says Longfellow, 'It don't begin with my "Biglow Papers."' Says Holmes, 'My "Thanatopsis" lays over 'em both.' They mighty near ended in a fight. Then they wished they had some more company--and Mr. Emerson pointed to me and says:
"'Is yonder squalid peasant all That this proud nursery could breed?'
He was a-whetting his bowie on his boot--so I let it pass. Well, sir, next they took it into their heads that they would like some music; so they made me stand up and sing "When Johnny Comes Marching Home" till I dropped-at thirteen minutes past four this morning. That's what I've been through, my friend. When I woke at seven, they were leaving, thank goodness, and Mr. Longfellow had my only boots on, and his'n under his arm. Says I, 'Hold on, there, Evangeline, what are you going to do with them?' He says, 'Going to make tracks with 'em; because:
"'Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime; And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.'
"As I said, Mr. Twain, you are the fourth in twenty-four hours--and I'm going to move; I ain't suited to a littery atmosphere."
I said to the miner, "Why, my dear sir, these were not the gracious singers to whom we and the world pay loving reverence and homage; these were impostors."
The miner investigated me with a calm eye for a while; then said he, "Ah! impostors, were they? Are you?"
I did not pursue the subject, and since then I have not travelled on my 'nom de guerre' enough to hurt. Such was the reminiscence I was moved to contribute, Mr. Chairman. In my enthusiasm I may have exaggerated the details a little, but you will easily forgive me that fault, since I believe it is the first time I have ever deflected from perpendicular fact on an occasion like this.
From Mark Twain's Autobiography.
January 11, 1906.
Answer to a letter received this morning:
DEAR MRS. H.,--I am forever your debtor for reminding me of that curious passage in my life. During the first year or, two after it happened, I could not bear to think of it. My pain and shame were so intense, and my sense of having been an imbecile so settled, established and confirmed, that I drove the episode entirely from my mind--and so all these twenty-eight or twenty-nine years I have lived in the conviction that my performance of that time was coarse, vulgar, and destitute of humor. But your suggestion that you and your family found humor in it twenty-eight years ago moved me to look into the matter. So I commissioned a Boston typewriter to delve among the Boston papers of that bygone time and send me a copy of it.
It came this morning, and if there is any vulgarity about it I am not able to discover it. If it isn't innocently and ridiculously funny, I am no judge. I will see to it that you get a copy.