AT A DINNER GIVEN IN HONOR OF AMBASSADOR JOSEPH H. CHOATE AT
THE LOTOS CLUB, NOVEMBER 24, 1902
The speakers, among others, were: Senator Depew, William Henry
White, Speaker Thomas Reed, and Mr. Choate. Mr. Clemens spoke,
in part, as follows:
The greatness of this country rests on two anecdotes. The first one is
that of Washington and his hatchet, representing the foundation of true
speaking, which is the characteristic of our people. The second one is
an old one, and I've been waiting to hear it to-night; but as nobody has
told it yet, I will tell it.
You've heard it before, and you'll hear it many, many times more. It is
an anecdote of our guest, of the time when he was engaged as a young man
with a gentle Hebrew, in the process of skinning the client. The main
part in that business is the collection of the bill for services in
skinning the man. “Services” is the term used in that craft for the
operation of that kind-diplomatic in its nature.
Choate's—co-respondent—made out a bill for $500 for his services, so
called. But Choate told him he had better leave the matter to him,
and the next day he collected the bill for the services and handed the
Hebrew $5000, saying, “That's your half of the loot,” and inducing that
memorable response: “Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.”
The deep-thinkers didn't merely laugh when that happened. They stopped
to think, and said “There's a rising man. He must be rescued from the
law and consecrated to diplomacy. The commercial advantages of a great
nation lie there in that man's keeping. We no longer require a man to
take care of our moral character before the world. Washington and his
anecdote have done that. We require a man to take care of our commercial
prosperity.”
Mr. Choate has carried that trait with him, and, as Mr. Carnegie has
said, he has worked like a mole underground.
We see the result when American railroad iron is sold so cheap in
England that the poorest family can have it. He has so beguiled that
Cabinet of England.
He has been spreading the commerce of this nation, and has depressed
English commerce in the same ratio. This was the principle underlying
that anecdote, and the wise men saw it; the principle of give and
take—give one and take ten—the principle of diplomacy.
ON STANLEY AND LIVINGSTONE
Mr. Clemens was entertained at dinner by the Whitefriars' Club,
London, at the Mitre Tavern, on the evening of August 6, 1872.
In reply to the toast in his honor he said:
GENTLEMEN,—I thank you very heartily indeed for this expression of
kindness toward me. What I have done for England and civilization in the
arduous affairs which I have engaged in (that is good: that is so smooth
that I will say it again and again)—what I have done for England and
civilization in the arduous part I have performed I have done with a
single-hearted devotion and with no hope of reward. I am proud, I am
very proud, that it was reserved for me to find Doctor Livingstone and
for Mr. Stanley to get all the credit. I hunted for that man in Africa
all over seventy-five or one hundred parishes, thousands and thousands
of miles in the wilds and deserts all over the place, sometimes riding
negroes and sometimes travelling by rail. I didn't mind the rail or
anything else, so that I didn't come in for the tar and feathers. I
found that man at Ujiji—a place you may remember if you have ever been
there—and it was a very great satisfaction that I found him just in the
nick of time. I found that poor old man deserted by his niggers and
by his geographers, deserted by all of his kind except the
gorillas—dejected, miserable, famishing, absolutely famishing—but he
was eloquent. Just as I found him he had eaten his last elephant, and
he said to me: “God knows where I shall get another.” He had nothing to
wear except his venerable and honorable naval suit, and nothing to eat
but his diary.
But I said to him: “It is all right; I have discovered you, and Stanley
will be here by the four-o'clock train and will discover you officially,
and then we will turn to and have a reg'lar good time.” I said: “Cheer
up, for Stanley has got corn, ammunition, glass beads, hymn-books,
whiskey, and everything which the human heart can desire; he has got all
kinds of valuables, including telegraph-poles and a few cart-loads of
money. By this time communication has been made with the land of Bibles
and civilization, and property will advance.” And then we surveyed
all that country, from Ujiji, through Unanogo and other places, to
Unyanyembe. I mention these names simply for your edification, nothing
more—do not expect it—particularly as intelligence to the Royal
Geographical Society. And then, having filled up the old man, we were
all too full for utterance and departed. We have since then feasted on
honors.
Stanley has received a snuff-box and I have received considerable snuff;
he has got to write a book and gather in the rest of the credit, and
I am going to levy on the copyright and to collect the money. Nothing
comes amiss to me—cash or credit; but, seriously, I do feel that Stanley
is the chief man and an illustrious one, and I do applaud him with all
my heart. Whether he is an American or a Welshman by birth, or one,
or both, matters not to me. So far as I am personally concerned, I am
simply here to stay a few months, and to see English people and to learn
English manners and customs, and to enjoy myself; so the simplest thing
I can do is to thank you for the toast you have honored me with and
for the remarks you have made, and to wish health and prosperity to the
Whitefriars' Club, and to sink down to my accustomed level.
HENRY M. STANLEY
ADDRESS DELIVERED IN BOSTON, NOVEMBER, 1886
Mr. Clemens introduced Mr. Stanley.
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, if any should ask, Why is it that you are here as
introducer of the lecturer? I should answer that I happened to be around
and was asked to perform this function. I was quite willing to do so,
and, as there was no sort of need of an introduction, anyway, it could
be necessary only that some person come forward for a moment and do an
unnecessary thing, and this is quite in my line. Now, to introduce so
illustrious a name as Henry M. Stanley by any detail of what the man
has done is clear aside from my purpose; that would be stretching the
unnecessary to an unconscionable degree. When I contrast what I have
achieved in my measurably brief life with what he has achieved in his
possibly briefer one, the effect is to sweep utterly away the ten-story
edifice of my own self-appreciation and leave nothing behind but the
cellar. When you compare these achievements of his with the achievements
of really great men who exist in history, the comparison, I believe, is
in his favor. I am not here to disparage Columbus.
No, I won't do that; but when you come to regard the achievements
of these two men, Columbus and Stanley, from the standpoint of the
difficulties they encountered, the advantage is with Stanley and against
Columbus. Now, Columbus started out to discover America. Well, he didn't
need to do anything at all but sit in the cabin of his ship and hold his
grip and sail straight on, and America would discover itself. Here
it was, barring his passage the whole length and breadth of the South
American continent, and he couldn't get by it. He'd got to discover it.
But Stanley started out to find Doctor Livingstone, who was scattered
abroad, as you may say, over the length and breadth of a vast slab of
Africa as big as the United States.
It was a blind kind of search. He was the worst scattered of men. But
I will throw the weight of this introduction upon one very peculiar
feature of Mr. Stanley's character, and that is his indestructible
Americanism—an Americanism which he is proud of. And in this day and
time, when it is the custom to ape and imitate English methods and
fashion, it is like a breath of fresh air to stand in the presence of
this untainted American citizen who has been caressed and complimented
by half of the crowned heads of Europe who could clothe his body from
his head to his heels with the orders and decorations lavished upon
him. And yet, when the untitled myriads of his own country put out their
hands in welcome to him and greet him, “Well done,” through the Congress
of the United States, that is the crown that is worth all the rest to
him. He is a product of institutions which exist in no other country on
earth-institutions that bring out all that is best and most heroic in a
man. I introduce Henry M. Stanley.
DINNER TO MR. JEROME
A dinner to express their confidence in the integrity and good
judgment of District-Attorney Jerome was given at Delmonico's
by over three hundred of his admirers on the evening of May 7,
1909.
Indeed, that is very sudden. I was not informed that the verdict
was going to depend upon my judgment, but that makes not the least
difference in the world when you already know all about it. It is not
any matter when you are called upon to express it; you can get up and do
it, and my verdict has already been recorded in my heart and in my head
as regards Mr. Jerome and his administration of the criminal affairs of
this county.
I agree with everything Mr. Choate has said in his letter regarding Mr.
Jerome; I agree with everything Mr. Shepard has said; and I agree with
everything Mr. Jerome has said in his own commendation. And I thought
Mr. Jerome was modest in that. If he had been talking about another
officer of this county, he could have painted the joys and sorrows of
office and his victories in even stronger language than he did.
I voted for Mr. Jerome in those old days, and I should like to vote for
him again if he runs for any office. I moved out of New York, and that
is the reason, I suppose, I cannot vote for him again. There may be some
way, but I have not found it out. But now I am a farmer—a farmer up in
Connecticut, and winning laurels. Those people already speak with such
high favor, admiration, of my farming, and they say that I am the only
man that has ever come to that region who could make two blades of grass
grow where only three grew before.
Well, I cannot vote for him. You see that. As it stands now, I cannot.
I am crippled in that way and to that extent, for I would ever so much
like to do it. I am not a Congress, and I cannot distribute pensions,
and I don't know any other legitimate way to buy a vote. But if I should
think of any legitimate way, I shall make use of it, and then I shall
vote for Mr. Jerome.
HENRY IRVING
The Dramatic and Literary Society of London gave a welcome-home
dinner to Sir Henry Irving at the Savoy Hotel, London, June 9,
1900. In proposing the toast of “The Drama” Mr. Clemens said:
I find my task a very easy one. I have been a dramatist for thirty
years. I have had an ambition in all that time to overdo the work of the
Spaniard who said he left behind him four hundred dramas when he died. I
leave behind me four hundred and fifteen, and am not yet dead.
The greatest of all the arts is to write a drama. It is a most difficult
thing. It requires the highest talent possible and the rarest gifts.
No, there is another talent that ranks with it—for anybody can write a
drama—I had four hundred of them—but to get one accepted requires real
ability. And I have never had that felicity yet.
But human nature is so constructed, we are so persistent, that when we
know that we are born to a thing we do not care what the world thinks
about it. We go on exploiting that talent year after year, as I have
done. I shall go on writing dramas, and some day the impossible may
happen, but I am not looking for it.
In writing plays the chief thing is novelty. The world grows tired of
solid forms in all the arts. I struck a new idea myself years ago. I was
not surprised at it. I was always expecting it would happen. A person
who has suffered disappointment for many years loses confidence, and I
thought I had better make inquiries before I exploited my new idea of
doing a drama in the form of a dream, so I wrote to a great authority on
knowledge of all kinds, and asked him whether it was new.
I could depend upon him. He lived in my dear home in America—that dear
home, dearer to me through taxes. He sent me a list of plays in which
that old device had been used, and he said that there was also a modern
lot. He travelled back to China and to a play dated two thousand six
hundred years before the Christian era. He said he would follow it up
with a list of the previous plays of the kind, and in his innocence
would have carried them back to the Flood.
That is the most discouraging thing that has ever happened to me in my
dramatic career. I have done a world of good in a silent and private
way, and have furnished Sir Henry Irving with plays and plays and plays.
What has he achieved through that influence? See where he stands now—on
the summit of his art in two worlds and it was I who put him there—that
partly put him there.
I need not enlarge upon the influence the drama has exerted upon
civilization. It has made good morals entertaining. I am to be followed
by Mr. Pinero. I conceive that we stand at the head of the profession.
He has not written as many plays as I have, but he has lead that
God-given talent, which I lack, of working them off on the manager. I
couple his name with this toast, and add the hope that his influence
will be supported in exercising his masterly handicraft in that great
gift, and that he will long live to continue his fine work.
DINNER TO HAMILTON W. MABIE
ADDRESS DELIVERED APRIL 29, 1901
In introducing Mr. Clemens, Doctor Van Dyke said:
“The longer the speaking goes on to-night the more I wonder how
I got this job, and the only explanation I can give for it is
that it is the same kind of compensation for the number of
articles I have sent to The Outlook, to be rejected by Hamilton
W. Mabie. There is one man here to-night that has a job cut
out for him that none of you would have had--a man whose humor
has put a girdle of light around the globe, and whose sense of
humor has been an example for all five continents. He is going
to speak to you. Gentlemen, you know him best as Mark Twain.”
MR. CHAIRMAN AND GENTLEMEN,—This man knows now how it feels to be the
chief guest, and if he has enjoyed it he is the first man I have ever
seen in that position that did enjoy it. And I know, by side-remarks
which he made to me before his ordeal came upon him, that he was feeling
as some of the rest of us have felt under the same circumstances. He was
afraid that he would not do himself justice; but he did—to my surprise.
It is a most serious thing to be a chief guest on an occasion like this,
and it is admirable, it is fine. It is a great compliment to a man
that he shall come out of it so gloriously as Mr. Mabie came out of it
tonight—to my surprise. He did it well.
He appears to be editor of The Outlook, and notwithstanding that, I
have every admiration, because when everything is said concerning The
Outlook, after all one must admit that it is frank in its delinquencies,
that it is outspoken in its departures from fact, that it is vigorous
in its mistaken criticisms of men like me. I have lived in this world a
long, long time, and I know you must not judge a man by the editorials
that he puts in his paper. A man is always better than his printed
opinions. A man always reserves to himself on the inside a purity and an
honesty and a justice that are a credit to him, whereas the things that
he prints are just the reverse.
Oh yes, you must not judge a man by what he writes in his paper. Even in
an ordinary secular paper a man must observe some care about it; he must
be better than the principles which he puts in print. And that is
the case with Mr. Mabie. Why, to see what he writes about me and the
missionaries you would think he did not have any principles. But that is
Mr. Mabie in his public capacity. Mr. Mabie in his private capacity is
just as clean a man as I am.
In this very room, a month or two ago, some people admired that
portrait; some admired this, but the great majority fastened on that,
and said, “There is a portrait that is a beautiful piece of art.” When
that portrait is a hundred years old it will suggest what were the
manners and customs in our time. Just as they talk about Mr. Mabie
to-night, in that enthusiastic way, pointing out the various virtues of
the man and the grace of his spirit, and all that, so was that portrait
talked about. They were enthusiastic, just as we men have been over the
character and the work of Mr. Mabie. And when they were through they
said that portrait, fine as it is, that work, beautiful as it is, that
piece of humanity on that canvas, gracious and fine as it is, does not
rise to those perfections that exist in the man himself. Come up, Mr.
Alexander. [The reference was to James W. Alexander, who happened to be
sitting—beneath the portrait of himself on the wall.] Now, I should come
up and show myself. But he cannot do it, he cannot do it. He was born
that way, he was reared in that way. Let his modesty be an example,
and I wish some of you had it, too. But that is just what I have been
saying—that portrait, fine as it is, is not as fine as the man it
represents, and all the things that have been said about Mr. Mabie, and
certainly they have been very nobly worded and beautiful, still fall
short of the real Mabie.
INTRODUCING NYE AND RILEY
James Whitcomb Riley and Edgar Wilson Nye (Bill Nye) were to
give readings in Tremont Temple, Boston, November, 1888. Mr.
Clemens was induced to introduce Messrs. Riley and Nye. His
appearance on the platform was a surprise to the audience, and
when they recognized him there was a tremendous demonstration.
I am very glad indeed to introduce these young people to you, and at the
same time get acquainted with them myself. I have seen them more than
once for a moment, but have not had the privilege of knowing them
personally as intimately as I wanted to. I saw them first, a great many
years ago, when Mr. Barnum had them, and they were just fresh from Siam.
The ligature was their best hold then, the literature became their best
hold later, when one of them committed an indiscretion, and they had to
cut the old bond to accommodate the sheriff.
In that old former time this one was Chang, that one was Eng. The
sympathy existing between the two was most extraordinary; it was so
fine, so strong, so subtle, that what the one ate the other digested;
when one slept, the other snored; if one sold a thing, the other scooped
the usufruct. This independent and yet dependent action was observable
in all the details of their daily life—I mean this quaint and arbitrary
distribution of originating cause and resulting effect between the
two—between, I may say, this dynamo and the other always motor, or,
in other words, that the one was always the creating force, the other
always the utilizing force; no, no, for while it is true that within
certain well-defined zones of activity the one was always dynamo and
the other always motor, within certain other well-defined zones these
positions became exactly reversed.
For instance, in moral matters Mr. Chang Riley was always dynamo, Mr.
Eng Nye was always motor; for while Mr. Chang Riley had a high—in fact,
an abnormally high and fine moral sense, he had no machinery to work
it with; whereas, Mr. Eng Nye, who hadn't any moral sense at all, and
hasn't yet, was equipped with all the necessary plant for putting a
noble deed through, if he could only get the inspiration on reasonable
terms outside.
In intellectual matters, on the other hand, Mr. Eng Nye was always
dynamo, Mr. Chang Riley was always motor; Mr. Eng Nye had a stately
intellect, but couldn't make it go; Mr. Chang Riley hadn't, but could.
That is to say, that while Mr. Chang Riley couldn't think things
himself, he had a marvellous natural grace in setting them down and
weaving them together when his pal furnished the raw material.
Thus, working together, they made a strong team; laboring together, they
could do miracles; but break the circuit, and both were impotent. It has
remained so to this day: they must travel together, hoe, and plant, and
plough, and reap, and sell their public together, or there's no result.
I have made this explanation, this analysis, this vivisection, so
to speak, in order that you may enjoy these delightful adventurers
understandingly. When Mr. Eng Nye's deep and broad and limpid
philosophies flow by in front of you, refreshing all the regions round
about with their gracious floods, you will remember that it isn't his
water; it's the other man's, and he is only working the pump. And when
Mr. Chang Riley enchants your ear, and soothes your spirit, and touches
your heart with the sweet and genuine music of his poetry—as sweet and
as genuine as any that his friends, the birds and the bees, make about
his other friends, the woods and the flowers—you will remember, while
placing justice where justice is due, that it isn't his music, but the
other man's—he is only turning the crank.
I beseech for these visitors a fair field, a singleminded, one-eyed
umpire, and a score bulletin barren of goose-eggs if they earn it—and I
judge they will and hope they will. Mr. James Whitcomb Chang Riley will
now go to the bat.
DINNER TO WHITELAW REID
ADDRESS AT THE DINNER IN HONOR OF AMBASSADOR REID, GIVEN BY THE
PILGRIMS' CLUB OF NEW YORK ON FEBRUARY 19, 1908
I am very proud to respond to this toast, as it recalls the proudest day
of my life. The delightful hospitality shown me at the time of my visit
to Oxford I shall cherish until I die. In that long and distinguished
career of mine I value that degree above all other honors. When the ship
landed even the stevedores gathered on the shore and gave an English
cheer. Nothing could surpass in my life the pleasure of those four
weeks. No one could pass by me without taking my hand, even the
policemen. I've been in all the principal capitals of Christendom in my
life, and have always been an object of interest to policemen. Sometimes
there was suspicion in their eyes, but not always. With their puissant
hand they would hold up the commerce of the world to let me pass.
I noticed in the papers this afternoon a despatch from Washington,
saying that Congress would immediately pass a bill restoring to our gold
coinage the motto “In God We Trust.” I'm glad of that; I'm glad of
that. I was troubled when that motto was removed. Sure enough, the
prosperities of the whole nation went down in a heap when we ceased to
trust in God in that conspicuously advertised way. I knew there would
be trouble. And if Pierpont Morgan hadn't stepped in—Bishop Lawrence may
now add to his message to the old country that we are now trusting in
God again. So we can discharge Mr. Morgan from his office with honor.
Mr. Reid said an hour or so ago something about my ruining my activities
last summer. They are not ruined, they are renewed. I am stronger
now—much stronger. I suppose that the spiritual uplift I received
increased my physical power more than anything I ever had before. I was
dancing last night at 2.30 o'clock.
Mr. Choate has mentioned Mr. Reid's predecessors. Mr. Choate's head is
full of history, and some of it is true, too. I enjoyed hearing him tell
about the list of the men who had the place before he did. He mentioned
a long list of those predecessors, people I never heard of before, and
elected five of them to the Presidency by his own vote. I'm glad and
proud to find Mr. Reid in that high position, because he didn't look it
when I knew him forty years ago. I was talking to Reid the other day,
and he showed me my autograph on an old paper twenty years old. I didn't
know I had an autograph twenty years ago. Nobody ever asked me for it.
I remember a dinner I had long ago with Whitelaw Reid and John Hay at
Reid's expense. I had another last summer when I was in London at the
embassy that Choate blackguards so. I'd like to live there.
Some people say they couldn't live on the salary, but I could live on
the salary and the nation together. Some of us don't appreciate what
this country can do. There's John Hay, Reid, Choate, and me. This is the
only country in the world where youth, talent, and energy can reach such
heights. It shows what we could do without means, and what people can do
with talent and energy when they find it in people like us.