Mark Twain, A Biography 1900-1907 | Page 4

redemption. At the moment when this Mecca, was in
view a great sorrow had befallen him and, stirred a world-wide and

soul-deep tide of human sympathy. Then there had followed such
ovation as has seldom been conferred upon a private citizen, and now
approaching old age, still in the fullness of his mental vigor, he had
returned to his native soil with the prestige of these honors upon him
and the vast added glory of having made his financial fight
single-handed-and won.
He was heralded literally as a conquering hero. Every paper in the land
had an editorial telling the story of his debts, his sorrow, and his
triumphs.
"He had behaved like Walter Scott," says Howells, "as millions
rejoiced to know who had not known how Walter Scott had behaved till
they knew it was like Clemens."
Howells acknowledges that he had some doubts as to the permanency
of the vast acclaim of the American public, remembering, or perhaps
assuming, a national fickleness. Says Howells:
He had hitherto been more intelligently accepted or more largely
imagined in Europe, and I suppose it was my sense of this that inspired
the stupidity of my saying to him when we came to consider "the state
of polite learning" among us, "You mustn't expect people to keep it up
here as they do in England." But it appeared that his countrymen were
only wanting the chance, and they kept it up in honor of him past all
precedent.
Clemens went to the Earlington Hotel and began search for a furnished
house in New York. They would not return to Hartford--at least not yet.
The associations there were still too sad, and they immediately became
more so. Five days after Mark Twain's return to America, his old friend
and co-worker, Charles Dudley Warner, died. Clemens went to
Hartford to act as a pall-bearer and while there looked into the old
home. To Sylvester Baxter, of Boston, who had been present, he wrote
a few days later:
It was a great pleasure to me to renew the other days with you, & there
was a pathetic pleasure in seeing Hartford & the house again; but I
realized that if we ever enter the house again to live our hearts will
break. I am not sure that we shall ever be strong enough to endure that
strain.
Even if the surroundings had been less sorrowful it is not likely that
Clemens would have returned to Hartford at this time. He had become a

world-character, a dweller in capitals. Everywhere he moved a world
revolved about him. Such a figure in Germany would live naturally in
Berlin; in England London; in France, Paris; in Austria, Vienna; in
America his headquarters could only be New York.
Clemens empowered certain of his friends to find a home for him, and
Mr. Frank N. Doubleday discovered an attractive and handsomely
furnished residence at 14 West Tenth Street, which was promptly
approved. Doubleday, who was going to Boston, left orders with the
agent to draw the lease and take it up to the new tenant for signature.
To Clemens he said:
"The house is as good as yours. All you've got to do is to sign the lease.
You can consider it all settled."
When Doubleday returned from Boston a few days later the agent
called on him and complained that he couldn't find Mark Twain
anywhere. It was reported at his hotel that he had gone and left no
address. Doubleday was mystified; then, reflecting, he had an
inspiration. He walked over to 14 West Tenth Street and found what he
had suspected--Mark Twain had moved in. He had convinced the
caretaker that everything was all right and he was quite at home.
Doubleday said:
"Why, you haven't executed the lease yet."
"No," said Clemens, "but you said the house was as good as mine," to
which Doubleday agreed, but suggested that they go up to the
real-estate office and give the agent notice that he was in possession of
the premises.
Doubleday's troubles were not quite over, however. Clemens began to
find defects in his new home and assumed to hold Doubleday
responsible for them. He sent a daily postal card complaining of the
windows, furnace, the range, the water-whatever he thought might lend
interest to Doubleday's life. As a matter of fact, he was pleased with the
place. To MacAlister he wrote:
We were very lucky to get this big house furnished. There was not
another one in town procurable that would answer us, but this one is all
right-space enough in it for several families, the rooms all
old-fashioned, great size.
The house at 14 West Tenth Street became suddenly one of the most
conspicuous residences in New York. The papers immediately made its

appearance familiar. Many people passed