A PLAY IN TWO ACTS.
PRE-CURTAIN
MONOLOGUES BEFORE EACH ACT.
by
Ed DeJean
Copyright © Edgar K. DeJean, 1994
This work may be used freely by educators and researchers.
It may not be performed without permission
of the author and the Mark Twain Foundation.
All comments will be welcomed -- all will be responded to -- friendly ones just might receive priority in answering sequence.
"I like criticism, but it must be my way." M.T.
Meadowood Retirement Community
2455 Tamarack Trail, Apt. 113
Bloomington, IN 47408
Telephone 812-334-8810
This electronic text is from TwainWeb, the web service of the Mark Twain Forum.
In 1989 the local Washington County Actors Community Theater (WCACT) was planning to present the play, "Twain by the Tale". Poor planning left them with one vacancy when the casting was all done and the members were all in. Someone said, "You know Ed DeJean is always dropping Mark Twain quotes, maybe we could get him to take that role. (Not , "try out", mind you. These people were too desperate for that.)
They called my wife to get her opinion. "No problem," she said, "he'll be glad to help you out."
This was a case of very desperate people calling a non-actor's, over-confident wife to get her to commit a non-actor to a role for which he had few qualifications except a Hoosier drawl and a love for reading the works of Mark Twain. But it worked.
The performance did not make it to Broadway, nor beyond the county line, but the profits were satisfactory. A star was not born, but a great friendship evolved from the experience.
Two of the cast: Dick Russell, a Disciples of Christ Pastor, a great voice and a great actor; and Ed DeJean, a Presbyterian Elder, a good drawl but a fair actor, made it though the play and way beyond.
Salem, Indiana is the birthplace of John Hay. Ed DeJean and Dick Russell concocted a skit in which Mark Twain and Joe Twichell recited John Hay poetry and talked about a visit to John Hay. (The one in the Autobiography where Mrs. Hay, "gravely clad, gloved, bonneted, and just from church, and fragrant with the odors of Presbyterian sanctity", entered the house to find Mark and John "having a ball". . . . . on a Sunday morning.)
The local folks were so enthused about these two "budding young actors" that WCACT asked the two if they would do a two man play; which could be produced by WCACT. They hummed and they hawed but egos won and they agreed. Where is such a play for Joe Twichell and Sam Clemens? No problem. They'd write one.
Dick Russell got a call to a church near Dallas, Texas, and Ed DeJean found a young man to take over his practice, so he heard the call to retirement. The DeJeans have children everywhere. Boston - so Ed and Elinor went to Hartford to research Twichell and Clemens . . and it's easy to go through Elmira on the way back from Boston to Indiana. California - some time at the Mark Twain Project was easy. Australia - sure, Mark Twain had been there. Topeka, KS and Marshfield, WI; well, maybe not too much Twain lore there.
So the short of it is, Ed wrote and copyrighted the play. Dick helped with the mind of Joe Twichell. They memorized the lines and the poems in Dallas and in Salem. Dick came back to Salem in September , 1994 for 8 days of rehearsals and daily appearances in all of the schools in the area. Dick directed the play, WCACT paid the royalty fees to the Mark Twain Foundation, and produced it, the community attended the two performances in manageable droves and a great time was had by all.
So, what do we do with such a labor of love? We hope that sharing it with others, who enjoy the works of Samuel Clemens, is a start. But, who knows, -- some of you may be impressed with Rev. Joseph Twichell, as Dick Russell and Ed DeJean have come to be, . . . . and Joe's impact on the life of Sam will receive more study. An excellent place to start is with Leah A. Strong's JOSEPH HOPKINS TWICHELL Mark Twain's Friend and Pastor.
Background:
The play is based within the lives of Mr. Samuel L. Clemens, an author who was better known as Mark Twain the humorist, and The Rev. Mr. Joseph H. Twichell, a minister who was better known as Mark Twain's pastor. It is our hope that this play will make these close friends better known to all of us as Sam and Joe.
One Small Note:
In letters exchanged by the two men, they used the names "Joe" and "Mark" in greetings and salutations. However, when one reads biographical material recorded by the families of the two, it appears more probable that the names used in personal relationships were "Joe" and "Sam". One very explicit source is a quote from Katy Leary, a servant of the Clemens family, on page 70 of the book Susy and Mark Twain, Family Dialogues, arranged and edited by Edith Colgate Salsbury. To quote Katy Leary through author Mary Lawton, A Lifetime with Mark Twain: The Memories of Katy Leary for Thirty Years His Faithful and Devoted Servant :
"Mr. Twichell and Mr. Clemens was just devoted to each other, and Mr. Twichell used to influence him a great deal, I think -- more than anybody else, except Mrs. Clemens. They used to have the grandest times together, tellin' stories and laughing, and every fall when Mr. Clemens came back from Elmira, he and Mr. Twichell (Joe and Sam they called themselves) used to take a long walk together. They'd walk right up Talcott Mountain. 'Twas a ten-mile walk and they'd rig themselves all up good and walk out there and back to that old mountain every fall. Mr. Clemens said they'd have to take the walk at least once a year, just to see if they was holdin' their own."
On this basis the principals will address each other as "Sam" and "Joe" and hence the title: Sam and Joe ©.
Format:
ACT I. Sam and Joe appear before the curtain (One stage left, the other stage right) for their monologues. The open-curtain scene is set in the billiard room of the Clemens home in Hartford.
Act II. Same monologue pattern. The open-curtain scene is set in Sam Clemens' bedroom in his home, "Stormfield", in Redding, Connecticut.
Here follow the monologues as we did them before the first act curtain on Saturday (first) Night, 9/17/94.
Combined Monologues Before Opening Curtain Act I (no dog story)
Joe(1):In 1632 my ancestor, Benjamin Twichell, migrated from Chesham Parish, Buckinghamshire, England to Dorchester, Massachusetts. Joseph Twichell, the son of Benjamin and his wife Mary Riggs, was the first of our line born in America. That Joseph Twichell went from Dorchester to Hartford, Connecticut with Thomas Hooker's group of settlers.
Sam(1):In me there's a contribution from every ancestor I ever had. In me there's atoms of priests, soldiers, crusaders, horse-traders, poets and sweet and gracious women -- all kinds and conditions of folk who trod this earth in old-old centuries.
Joe(2):The intervening generations of Twichells remained in Connecticut where my father Edward was born in Wolcott in 1810. As a young man my father moved to Southington where he began his career by learning the tanner's and currier's trade. Later he made his lifetime's work the manufacture of carriage hardware. He joined the Congregational Church in 1834 and was elected a Deacon in 1851. His beliefs were a combination of Yankee religion and practicality.
Sam(2):My grandfather was Samuel B. Clemens and we didn't even know his date of birth, let alone his parents or the place of that birth. We think that he was living in Bedford County, Virginia when he married Pamela Goggin in 1797. Their eldest child of five children was John Marshall Clemens, my father, who was seven years old when a log rolled onto my grandfather Clemens at a house-raising and crushed him to death.
Joe(3):I was born Joseph Hopkins Twichell in Southington May 27, 1838, the first child of Edward and Selina Delight Carter Twichell. I grew up in a home where living was comfortable and religious beliefs were important. The church was always a part of my life. I learned the three R's at the school at Southington Corners, took college preparatory studies at Sally Lewis Academy, went on to Yale, and, reaching into my past exposure to the Rev. Elisha Cowles Jones and a contact with the dynamic Dr. Horace Bushnell, I chose to go into the ministry. In 1859 I enrolled in Union Seminary in New York City.
Sam(3):I was born Samuel Langhorne Clemens in a tiny two room house in Florida, Missouri November 30, 1835, the fifth child of John and Jane Lampton Clemens. My first real exposure to the church was at the age of five when my family moved to Hannibal, Missouri and my mother, Jane Clemens, joined the Presbyterian Church. Her religion was of that clean cut, strenuous kind which regards as necessary the institutions hell and Satan, though she had been known to express sympathy for the latter for being obliged to surround himself with such poor company.
Joe(4):In 1861 I enlisted for three years in the 71st New York State Infantry and, although I had not yet finished Seminary, I was assigned as a chaplain in the Second Regiment. When my three years were up I mustered out and completed my divinity studies at Andover Seminary.
Sam(4):My father died when I was 12 and formal schooling was no longer pushed upon me since survival was more important. I tried typesetting, river piloting, the Confederate Army for two weeks, gold mining, reporting. (Once I returned from an assignment in the Sandwich Islands to find myself unemployed; so I rented a hall and gave a lecture--I haven't had to do a day's work since). However the ministry was the most earnest ambition I ever had. Not that I ever really wanted to be a preacher, but because it never occurred to me that a preacher could be damned. It looked like a safe job.
Joe(5):Because of previous contacts with Dr. Horace Bushnell, who was a Congregational pastor in Hartford, he recommended me to the pulpit search committee of a new church, The Asylum Hill Congregational Church of Hartford. On June 15, 1865 I was invited to become pastor of that church and on December 13, 1865 I was installed as pastor. In October, 1868 I met Samuel Clemens, a young writer who had come to Hartford to oversee the publication of his book, Innocents Abroad. Thus began a most meaningful friendship which we want to share with you through the next several minutes.
Sam(5):In 1867 I took a trip to the Holy land. On that trip I met Charles Langdon who showed me a picture of his sister, Olivia, whom I later was blessed to marry. In 1868 I went to Hartford to discuss publication of a book about the trip. There I met The Rev. Joe Twichell. We would become such friends that I could say of him later in life that his was a companionship which to me stood first after my wife Livy's. We hope you'll spend some relaxed minutes as we relax too.
Combined Monologues Before Opening Curtain Act I (With dog story - Sunday Afternoon 9/18/94) We put in the dog story (which Ed already knew) as a lightening up exercise for the audience and because we cut out his last part of the monologue before second curtain on Sunday afternoon so that he could have more time to get into his night shirt for Act II.)
Joe(1):In 1632 my ancestor, Benjamin Twichell, migrated from Chesham Parish, Buckinghamshire, England to Dorchester, Massachusetts. Joseph Twichell, the son of Benjamin and his wife Mary Riggs, was the first of our line born in America. That Joseph Twichell went from Dorchester to Hartford, Connecticut with Thomas Hooker's group of settlers.
Sam(1):In me there's a contribution from every ancestor I ever had. In me there's atoms of priests, soldiers, crusaders, horse-traders, poets and sweet and gracious women -- all kinds and conditions of folk who trod this earth in old-old centuries.
Joe(2):The intervening generations of Twichells remained in Connecticut where my father Edward was born in Wolcott in 1810. As a young man my father moved to Southington where he began his career by learning the tanner's and currier's trade. Later he made his lifetime's work the manufacture of carriage hardware. He joined the Congregational Church in 1834 and was elected a Deacon in 1851. His beliefs were a combination of Yankee religion and practicality.
Sam(2):My grandfather was Samuel B. Clemens and we didn't even know his date of birth, let alone his parents or the place of that birth. We think that he was living in Bedford County, Virginia when he married Pamela Goggin in 1797. Their eldest child of five children was John Marshall Clemens, my father, who was seven years old when a log rolled onto my grandfather Clemens at a house-raising and crushed him to death.
Joe(3):I was born Joseph Hopkins Twichell in Southington May 27, 1838, the first child of Edward and Selina Delight Carter Twichell. I grew up in a home where living was comfortable and religious beliefs were important. The church was always a part of my life. I learned the three R's at the school at Southington Corners, took college preparatory studies at Sally Lewis Academy, went on to Yale, and, reaching into my past exposure to the Rev. Elisha Cowles Jones and a contact with the dynamic Dr. Horace Bushnell, I chose to go into the ministry. In 1859 I enrolled in Union Seminary in New York City.
Sam(3):I was born Samuel Langhorne Clemens in a tiny two room house in Florida, Missouri November 30, 1835, the fifth child of John and Jane Lampton Clemens. My first real exposure to the church was at the age of five when my family moved to Hannibal, Missouri and my mother, Jane Clemens, joined the Presbyterian Church. Her religion was of that clean cut, strenuous kind which regards as necessary the institutions hell and Satan, though she had been known to express sympathy for the latter for being obliged to surround himself with such poor company.
Joe(4):In 1861 I enlisted for three years in the 71st New York State Infantry and, although I had not yet finished Seminary, I was assigned as a chaplain in the Second Regiment. When my three years were up I mustered out and completed my divinity studies at Andover Seminary.
Sam(4):My father died when I was 12 and formal schooling was no longer pushed upon me since survival was more important. I tried typesetting, river piloting, the Confederate Army for two weeks, gold mining, reporting. . . . . . .Once when Bill Swanson and I were poor young cub reporters, a frightful financial shortage occurred. We had to have three dollars that very day. Swanson maintained with simple confidence,"The Lord will provide."
Believing that the Lord helps those who help themselves, I wandered into a hotel lobby, trying to think of some way to get the money. Presently, a handsome dog came along and rested his jaw on my knee. General Miles passed by and stopped to pet him. "He's a beautiful dog. Would you sell him?
" I was greatly moved; it was marvelous the way Swanson's prediction had come true. "Yes," I said. "His price is three dollars." The general was surprised. "Only three dollars? Why, I wouldn't take $100 for him. You must reconsider." "No, three dollars," I said firmly. The general acquiesced and led the dog away. In a few minutes a sad-faced man came along, looking anxiously about. "Are you looking for a dog?" His face lit up. "Yes I am. Have you seen him?" "Yes, and I think I could find him for you." I have seldom seen a person look so grateful. I said I hoped he would not mind paying me three dollars for my trouble. "Dear me!" he said. That is nothing. I will pay you ten dollars willingly." I said, "No, three is the price," and started off. Swanson had said that that was the amount the Lord would provide; it would have been sacrilege to ask more. I went up to the general's room and explained I was sorry but I had to take the dog again; that I had only sold him in the spirit of accommodation. I gave him back the three dollars and returned the dog to his owner. I went away then with a good conscience, because I had acted honorably. I never could have used the three that I had sold the dog for; it was not rightly my own. But the three I got for restoring him was properly mine. That man might never have gotten that dog back if it hadn't been for me.
Once I returned from a reporting assignment in the Sandwich Islands to find myself unemployed; so I rented a hall and gave a lecture--I haven't had to do a day's work since.
However the ministry was the most earnest ambition I ever had. Not that I ever really wanted to be a preacher, but because it never occurred to me that a preacher could be damned. It looked like a safe job.
Joe(5):Because of previous contacts with Dr. Horace Bushnell, who was a Congregational pastor in Hartford, he recommended me to the pulpit search committee of a new church, The Asylum Hill Congregational Church of Hartford. On June 15, 1865 I was invited to become pastor of that church and on December 13, 1865 I was installed as pastor. In October, 1868 I met Samuel Clemens, a young writer who had come to Hartford to oversee the publication of his book, Innocents Abroad. Thus began a most meaningful friendship which we want to share with you through the next several minutes.
Sam(5):In 1867 I took a trip to the Holy land. On that trip I met Charles Langdon who showed me a picture of his sister, Olivia, whom I later was blessed to marry. In 1868 I went to Hartford to discuss publication of a book about the trip. There I met The Rev. Joe Twichell. We would become such friends that I could say of him later in life that his was a companionship which to me stood first after my wife Livy's. We hope you'll spend some relaxed minutes as we relax too.
Sam and Joe have appeared before the curtain for their monologues with the spot going back and forth and each oblivious to the presence of the other: Sam in a grey suit, white shirt, black shoes, and a black bow tie; Joe in a dark suit, white shirt, ascot type bow tie with a stick pin, black shoes. Following Sam's #5 part of the monologue they retire behind the curtain . There are several seconds of silence, then the sound of billiard balls being struck with a cue ball shatters the silence and the curtain slowly opens to reveal Sam shooting billiards. His coat hung on the clothes tree. Joe enters and hangs his coat on tree while speaking first line.
Joe.Sam, I surely thank you for inviting me over. I was glad that we could get together to practice our John Hay poems for next week's Monday Evening Club.
Sam. What's even better is that our wives think we're up here struggling with strenuous cultural exertions and broadening our minds. By the way, whose idea was it to give Hay's poetry at the Monday Evening Club?
Joe. Actually it was Horace Bushnell, but its obvious that Horace hasn't invested much of his personal perspiration and none of his usual insight into a study of Hay's poems or he wouldn't have made the suggestion. It seems to me that Horace and Hay are miles apart when it comes to what they believe -- at least how they express those beliefs.
Sam. Tell you what, let's postpone serious considerations a while. We'll just have a good afternoon of billiards and conversation and when we hear the ladies return from the tea at the Warner's we'll put up the cue-sticks and get down to serious practicing.
Joe. Like we'd been at it all afternoon.
Sam. Oh, we won't get by with that. Livy knows me too well for that one to sail, and I'm sure Harmony has you deciphered that well too.
Joe. You're right. By the way, you just missed the second ball and somehow I didn't hear you tell me it's my shot . . . . .
Sam. I'm sorry. It's just that deep, philosophical discussions take my mind off the game.
Joe. My dear friend, we aren't discussing deep philosophical potentialities, we're discussing cold, hard realities . . . . . that our wives know us much better than we begin to realize.
Sam. And love us still.
Joe. Yes, still. But not in spite of . . . . . . . .because our wives are noble saints who have dedicated themselves to straightening out two of the most convoluted men in Hartford . . . . . . as their gift to society.
Sam. But just remember, Joe, you can straighten a worm, but the crook is in him and only waiting.
Joe. And no matter how you spell w-o-r-m it's still a worm.
Sam. Now, you're just remembering my lecture on spelling at the orthological solemnities at your church festival last night.
Joe. Yes, everyone at the spelling contest liked your little speech in which you stated that you "didn't see any use in having a uniform and arbitrary way of spelling words, and that we might as well make all clothes alike and cook all dishes alike, that sameness is tiresome, variety is pleasing -- Kow spelled with a large K is just as good as with a small one. . . in fact it is better. . . It gives the imagination a broader field, a wider scope. it suggests to the mind a grand, vague, impressive new kind of a cow." Sam, that was indeed a profound batch of observation.
Sam. The sad part was that natural born speller that I am, I didn't win the prize. But my poor Livy has so much trouble with spelling. She reasons that close is adequate, that getting ones ideas across is the important thing. I try to explain to her that accurate spelling is just as important as using the right word; that the difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and the lightning bug.
Joe. Did you hear that two hikers were struck by lightning yesterday on a hike to Talcott's Tower?
Sam. A pity, but it certainly is a pity I wasn't hiking with them. My mother always insisted that anyone meant to hang was perfectly safe around water or lightning. My mother had a great deal of trouble with me. . . . . . . . but I think she enjoyed it.
Joe. We sure have had some fine conversations on our hikes out to the Tower. Do you remember that November when we hiked out there and decided on the way back to branch out and hike from Hartford to Boston, all 100 miles of it?
Sam. I do indeed. We started at half past eight on a Thursday morning and planned to walk to Boston in twenty-four hours . . . . . .
give or take.
Joe. As I remember it we did pretty good the first day. Didn't we make it the twenty-eight miles to Westford by seven o'clock that first evening?
Sam. We did, and do you remember that tavern, a sort of a semi-hotel we stayed at? The one that had the sublimely profane hostler whom you couldn't jostle with any sort of mild remark without bringing down upon yourself a perfect avalanche of oaths. I respect your abilities immensely, but I must say that when your usual expertise in diverting blasphemy came up against that fellow it went about as lame as my knees.
Joe. And when you complained about your lameness there was the mellow inebriate behind the stove who recommended kerosene and offered a testimony that he had frequently used it for stiffness in his joints induced by lying out all night in cold weather after partaking of too much of another remedy.
Sam. But the next morning we didn't have any kerosene and I only had six miles left in me before I had to give it up at North Ashford, send a telegram to William Dean Howells who was waiting for us in Boston, and advise him that we were finishing our hike by train.
Joe. I don't remember exactly what your telegram said, but it was to the effect that, "We would arrive by rail at seven o'clock. The first of a series of annual pedestrian tours from Hartford to Boston to be performed by us with the next one taking place next year."
Sam. Next year. . . . It was every bit of nine o'clock when we finally arrived but I recall that the food they had waiting for us made the whole adventure worthwhile. At least we didn't let that defeat knock us out of the glorious hike we took later in the Black Forest and the Alps.
Joe. That was truly a pay-off hike. It was good for several sermons for me and a book for you.
Sam. Did I ever tell you what a great day it was when you said yes to my invitation to join me in Europe in '78 for that hike?
Joe. Yes, by letter and by word of mouth, I have often gathered that you appreciated my going over and joining you for those six weeks.
Sam. Those six weeks we were together, I'd repeat anytime. The other fourteen months of that trip, never. Why I'd as soon spend one day in East Hartford as a month in Rome; and you well know the excitements of East Hartford.
Joe. How about when we decided that we could walk to Oppenau in one day?
Sam. I remember that. It was a lovely day. What I remember most is the discovery we made that day -- that the true charm of pedestrianism does not lie in the walking, or in the scenery, but in the talking. It's no matter whether one talks wisdom or nonsense, the case is the same, the bulk of the enjoyment lies in the wagging of the gladsome jaw and the flapping of the sympathetic ear.
Joe. We discussed everything we knew, during the first fifteen or twenty minutes that morning , and then branched out into the glad, free, boundless realm of the things we were not certain about.
Sam. That was when you propounded on the doubling up of "have's".
Joe. You know better than to get me started on that. If the best writer in the world once gets the slovenly habit of doubling up his have's he won't get rid of it in a lifetime. That is to say, if a person gets the habit of writing, "I should have liked to have known more about it" instead of saying simply and sensibly "I should have liked to know more about it", that person's disease is incurable. I see it in newspapers and print all the time. It even appears in Kirkham's grammar and in Macaulay. Why, doubled-up haves are commoner in the human mouth than decayed teeth.
Sam. And that led you to the observation that when the men in your regiment had the toothache during the war the removal of the offending member prompted yelling which sounded very much like the opera we went to in Mannheim shortly before that walk to Oppenau?
Joe. Do I ever remember that performance of Lohengrin?!
Sam. The banging and slamming and booming and crashing were something beyond belief. The racking and pitiless pain of it remains stored up in my brain alongside the memory of the time that I had my teeth fixed. It sounded very much like a shivaree and as far as I could tell had just about as much plot. That is to say, there was not much really done, it was only talked about; and always so violently.
Joe. And the woman in the seat ahead of you turned to remind us that Lohengrin was written by the great Wagner and your response was that it was such a pity he put himself to all the trouble.
Sam. The book on that trip will be out soon and in it you'll find reminders of things, all along, that happened to us, and of others that didn't happen: but you'll remember the spots where they were invented. . . . . Shh, I think I heard the door. Quick, let me take your copy of Hay's "Little Breeches" and you light into it.
Joe starts recitation . . . . can work out style at rehearsals, use prompting or not as suits best. . . . . Completes poem.
Joe. I really have trouble with the concept that a father would teach a four year old to chew tobacco.
Sam. Oh, I don't know. I took up smoking myself when I was eight -- but then again I wasn't constant. Seriously though, I have question and concern over man's inventing his way out of tight places by pulling out some handy creation he calls a guardian angel.
Joe. I appreciate your questions about those things which remain a mystery to us. However, in spite of all our questions, we do know enough about God to affirm that his basic nature is to care for his children . . . . . and that always remains the intent of his working.
Sam. Somehow I think you unloaded more answer than I posed question . . . . . Maybe you and Horace can get in cahoots and give us an interpretation Monday night of what Hay had in mind when he scribbled out Little Breeches.
Joe. We certainly can try. Now, let's hear what Hay wrote about Jim Bludso. This poem has to do with life on the river so I'm sure you can interpret it for me.
Sam. I'll try. Now let's see. . . . watch your copy. . . . Jim Bludso. . . . .
Sam recites poem, Jim Bludso. Again, may ask for prompting
through intention or through necessity.
Sam. It seems to me there are a powerful lot of do's and don'ts related to the Christian religion, Joe.
Joe. I suppose there are Sam. Only I might say that the reason for the don'ts would be to help us practice the do's. We must be cleansed from hate in order to be free to love.
Sam. What do you suppose that the Almighty really has in mind for us anyway? Where is he trying to take folks, through everything he asks of them?
Joe. Jesus was answering a similar question when he told the parable of the Good Samaritan. Through that tale we learn that in the last analysis God would exact every discipline of the spirit, and expect compliance to all else that he asks of us in order to condition us to love, compassion and sacrifice. But I do feel that you are setting me up with all of this, Sam.
Sam. Well, maybe. Let's see. You said in regards to Little Breeches that God's basic nature is to care for his children; and that always remains the intent of his working.
Joe. Indeed. . . I did. . . . I believe that.
Sam. Seems to me that Jim Bludso sure was assisting the Almighty in that basic nature when he saved all those peoples lives. Especially since he knowingly gave up his own life in the process. . . . Well, Monday night you and Horace can add a report on what happened to Bludso's ghost to your discourse on how the angels saved Little Breeches . . . . . I know I heard the front door this time.
Joe. Now remember to tell them how hard we struggled with our poems.
Sam. But not until we pump out all the latest gossip they took in at
the tea.
Freeze. Curtain
Joe(1). Life has been kind to me since that day long ago when Sam and I played billiards and practiced our John Hay poems. I have continued as pastor of the Asylum Hill Congregational Church for 44 years. I came as pastor in 1865 just as the new church building was completed. When Sam Clemens came to Hartford in 1868 the church was three years old and no steeple had been built. Charles Warner jokingly suggested that it was a pity no steeple had grown from the good root which the members had planted. Sam Clemens was a bit more direct. He nicknamed it the "stub-tailed church". Later when he learned how many wealthy members it had he called it the "Church of the Holy Speculators."
Sam(1). In spite of my irreverent nick-names for their church, Joe Twichell and Harmony took me under their wing in 1868. Not only did he and I become life-long friends, our families joined in the project. As for my personal life, I never had but two powerful ambitions. One was to be a pilot on the river, and the other to be a preacher of the gospel. I accomplished the one and failed the other because I could never supply myself with the necessary stock in trade . . . . religion. I gave it up forever. . I never had a call in that direction anyhow. But I did have a call to literature of a low order . . . . humorous. I turned my attention to seriously scribbling to excite the laughter of God's creatures. Mankind needs laughter, since I believe our Heavenly Father invented the human because he was disappointed in the monkey. Some may think that my statements should make me blush. Well, as you know, man is the only one of God's creatures which blushes. . . . . or needs to.
Joe(2). Sam has always had coarse spots in him. But I never knew a person so finely regardful of the feelings of others in some ways. He is exceedingly timid about approaching strangers but he has a sensitive regard for them. He has always been exceedingly considerate toward me in everything . . . . or most things. He has often told me that, "the Almighty did his part by Sam Clemens . . . . . though talent is a mightier engine when supplied with the steam of education". . . . Sam always has felt insecure because he did not have a formal education whereas he should have found security in the awesome knowledge which he gleans on his own within this world of experiences. He takes great pride in his honorary degrees from schools like Yale and Oxford. Perhaps a bit too much at times, like wearing his Oxford gown to his daughter Clara's wedding. But as Sam often says, "It isn't always easy to be eccentric, you know."
Sam (2).The accounts of my eccentricities have often been exaggerated, just like that premature report of my death, which was greatly exaggerated. A news item like that can be depressing. There have been many times in the past several years when depression has claimed my attention: Times of illness and death; Times, when, for no apparent reason, the well has gone dry and I couldn't make ink flow onto the page; Times when I got involved in costly business ventures which grabbed me like an addiction. If only I could have followed my own advice that there are two kinds of people who shouldn't speculate in stocks or business . . . . . .those who have money and those who don't. Some folks build houses which put them into debt. We built one in Hartford which put us into bankruptcy. It had seven bathrooms and several mortgages When the house was finally finished Livy and I discovered a small bank account . . . . .which the plumbers didn't know we had.
Joe(3). My experiences in householding have been much different from Sam's. Whereas he found his Hartford house so expensive to maintain that he finally spent several years in Europe to escape the burden, our family was most surprised at my 50th birthday party given by my church when the congregation presented us the clear title to our house which they had paid off in full. This is the blessed relationship which our family has enjoyed with the church and the community over the years. Incidentally, Sam composed and read a poem at that party in honor of my birthday. He is obviously better at prose than poetry but he demonstrated that he does not always write, " in the low order . . . . humorous." The poem was quite sentimental, even bordering on being blubbery. My wife Harmony and I have had nine children, all surviving in good health and character. Our belief systems and our good health have sustained us over the years.
Author's Note: In actual performance we found that it was much better to cut out Sam's #3 Monologue (see below) so that he could disappear as soon as he finished his #2 Monologue and change into the nightshirt and be in bed for curtain opening on Act II.
Author's note again: I was kinda' sad to see this material left out because it contains some things the average person doesn't know. But as I have come to relize in Show Biz. . . . . . . . .The show must go on!
Sam(3). My grandfather was killed when my father was seven. My father died when I was twelve. My brother, Henry, died at age 19 in a steamboat explosion. Our only son, our first-born, Langdon died at age one and one-half of diphtheria, after I let his coach-covers fall from him during an outing. On August 18, 1896 in the dining room of a rented house in Guildford, England I was handed a cable telling me that our 24 year old daughter, Susy, had died of meningitis at the Hartford house. It is one of the mysteries of our nature that a man, all unprepared, can receive a thunder-stroke like that and live. On Sunday evening, June 5, 1904 in Florence, Italy where we had gone for Livy's health, I sat by her bedside for a half hour. She appeared more bright and cheerful than she had in weeks. Out of joy I left her room and went to the piano and did a thing which I had hardly done since we lost our incomparable Susy eight years before. I sang the old songs, the quaint Negro hymns which no one cared for when I sang them, except Susy and her mother. As I prepared to go tell Livy good-night, I met Miss Lyons, the secretary, at the head of the stairs. Her face was ashen and I knew, though unbelievingly, that Livy was gone. She who was the most beautiful spirit, and the highest and noblest I have known. And now she was dead. . . . . . . Many times in my adult years I have wondered why I inherited the vague, wandering, doubting mind of my father, whom I related to poorly, as opposed to the clean-cut, strenuous, believing mind of my caring mother, whom I loved.
Curtain opens to find Sam in bed propped up, reading a book. with half glasses, and in a long night shirt. Legs and feet under covers -- but bare legs and feet.
Voice: Mr. Clemens, Reverend Twichell has arrived.
Sam. Then send him in to King Arthur's Court.
Joe enters dressed in a dark suit as in monologue. He carries a small wrapped package. He goes immediately to the bed and gives Sam an affectionate handshake and close to, but not quite, an embrace.
Joe. Sam, let me look at you. My, how good you look. It's remarkable how many of your imperfections the climate in Bermuda covers up.
Sam. Strange coincidence, dear old Joe, I was just about to commiserate how many of your imperfections the hard winters here in Connecticut bring out.
Joe. What good fortune that I had to go to a conference in New York and could stop in on you on my way home. You see there is such a thing as providence. You came home to spend the holidays with your daughter Jean. . . . . I had to be in New York . . . . . and so we could grab this moment within the eternal scheme of things.
Sam. Now, Joe, I feel it's only fair to report that I still have strained relations with the eternal. Where you use the word providence I'd more'n likely slip in the word happenstance.
Joe. Do you remember that time we were, not by happenstance, in Bermuda together and you said, "this place is just like Heaven and I'm going to make the most of it"?
Sam. I do indeed and as I recall your response was, "That's right and you should make the most of a place that is like Heaven . . . . . while you have the chance. . . . . ." Joe, if it hadn't been for seeing Jean and you I wouldn't have made the effort to come home. Everything is such an effort these days . . . . but somehow I breath better and it takes a little less effort in Bermuda than up here.
Joe. What does your doctor tell you?
Sam. Oh, he has a whole bag full of diagnoses he's wanted to try ever since his medical school days, but "tobacco heart" seems to be his favorite. You can guess what remedy his logical, scientific mind would come up with. Well I tried his suggestion and cut down from forty to four cigars a day . . . . .fully expecting to feel ten times better in a fortnight. The only change I can see is that the doctor has richer by the amount of his fees and I was poorer by that exact amount, unless you figure in 36 cigars a day for two weeks.
Joe. My logical, unscientific mind tells me that he has given you good advice and I would encourage you to follow it. In fact I'll add a reinforcing statistic in the vein of your formula. Follow his advice and the chances of your burning down the house are decreased by ten times. By the way, what did your reference to King Arthur's Court mean before I was admitted to what I thought was your bedroom?
Sam. Oh, this book I'm reading is that immortal prose: A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, by a not so immortal author. I just got carried away by some of the lines and tried to be clever upon your arrival. A peculiar thing, I came across this book in the library yesterday and something prompted me to read in it. A letter fell out and then I remembered. I had tried to find a poultice for my feverish mind after Livy's death and had somehow latched onto this book. At that same time this letter came from John Hay and instead of filing it, I kept it with the book to read time and again. I guess I put the book away with the letter in it.
Joe. Would you?, or could you? share the letter with me?
Sam. Of course. How unthoughtful of me not to offer the sharing. Livy died on June 5, 1904 and the letter is dated June 7, 1904. Hay sent it to the American Consulate in Florence, Italy for delivery to me.(Sam reads the letter: See Appendix C )"Department of State, etc.".
Sam. Joe, Hay was so kind and so right and yet so wrong in that letter. I didn't have to bear my burden alone. I had Clara and Jean and You and Harmony, and the Gilders, and Howells, and Hay and on and on.
Joe. Of course you did. Your letters and your words to us proved that you accepted and understood our support. Sam your problem has not been in accepting the support of your peers who love you. It has been in accepting the support of your Creator God who loves you and cares for you . . . . . . not because of who you are, or the good or evil you have done, but just because that is God's nature.
Sam. But my ideas of God's nature are so different from those of so many other people. They design a God of the past and present whom they can't understand at times but who, in the main, performs to suit them. They have that God prepare one hereafter for them and another for those who don't think like they do. Since I'm not on the invitation list for theirs I have no intention of believing in either.
Joe. I remember you told me once that a woman said to you, "Mr. Clemens you are not a pessimist; you only think you are." She was right and I'll go even further. Your disbelief and your pessimism are identical in their structure . . . . . they are of your mind and not of your heart. You are not a disbeliever in immortality; you only think you are.
Sam. There may be a hereafter and there may not be, but for sure I cannot see how eternal punishment could accomplish any good end, therefore I am not able to believe in it. To chasten a person in order to perfect them might be reasonable enough; to annihilate them when they shall have proved incapable of reaching perfection might be reasonable enough; but to roast them forever for the mere satisfaction of seeing them roast would not be reasonable -- even the atrocious God imagined in the Old Testament would tire of the spectacle eventually.
Joe. You remember how some of my parishioners complain that all of my sermons have manhood . . . . womanhood . . . . humanhood as their theme. That's because I believe that, although God does not need a reason for being, . . . . God is God . . . . God does have a nature and that nature is love. Humans have not only a nature they have a reason for being. Their nature is love because they are created in the image of God. Their reason for being is to fulfill that created image, that being, that manhood, that womanhood, that humanhood.
Sam. But it's in fulfilling our beings that we face the most destructive force within human existence; the two kinds of people force; the conviction that other peoples belief systems must be wrong because they differ from ours. How amazing it is that the easy confidence which tells me that another man's religion is folly does not teach me to suspect that mine is also.
Joe. Twos as schisms are indeed dangerous. I've always wondered why we humans as theologians . . . . . and we all are theologians, you know, because whether we realize it or not we all study the nature of God in some degree . . . . . . why we as theologians don't follow the number one path, studying the nature of God, and leave the number two path, studying what is not the nature of God, for days when we're on vacation from fulfilling our beings.
Sam. Joe, that last speech has to be plagiarism. You had to lift it straight out of my works. If you didn't, and if I were still putting pen to paper, I'd lift it from you and have it in tomorrow's mail to a publisher.
Joe. I consider that a compliment, but you'll understand if I don't convey this anecdote to my parishioners, without some preparation.
Sam. Incidentally, do you remember that poem on war I gave you to read with the admonition not to tell or reveal any of it to anyone?
Joe. I do indeed. I've read it often. I've pondered it's words in the light of your intent and tested them against my Christian beliefs. The words come through stronger each time they course my mind. Eventually suffering humanity will throw off its brute inheritance; its spiritual nature will predominate and whereas the soul has long been an appendage of the body the body will become the vehicle and appendage of the soul . . . . . War is a manifestation of our brute inheritance which must be muted by that emerging spirituality else; ever more awesome weapons will destroy our very species. You must not hesitate to publish this prayer.
Sam. That's what Dan Beard told me one day in this very room as I paced it off to him. But Jean has told me it is sacrilegious: it does, after all, suggest the paradox of God being on both sides in any war between two Christian peoples such as the North and the South. I asserted to Beard that I would not permit it to be published in my lifetime. I do not care to invite the public verdict that I am a lunatic, or even a fanatic with a mission to destroy the illusions, traditions and conclusions of mankind.
Joe. Who could say that it is lunatic to at least point out that . . . when one side prays to God to protect its young men, to give its side the victory; that side is at the same instant praying the unspoken prayer which calls down death and destruction on the other side . . . . . . peoples who are praying to the same God? . . . . Fanatical? . . . . To the contrary, not questioning many of the illusions, traditions and conclusions of mankind, especially the genocide of war, may be mankind's ultimate fanaticism.
Sam. I feel much the better for your words, Joe, however, I'm old and tired and some of the bounding pulse of eccentricity is gone out of me. Maybe this lack of circulation is giving me cold feet.
Joe. Oh, I almost forgot. Here is a gift Harmony made for you. She said anyone coming from Bermuda to Connecticut in December would need these.
Hands Sam small package. Sam immediately opens it to reveal a pair of bed socks.
Sam. She's right. . . . . .(puts on bed-socks by swinging legs over side of bed) . . . . . and they're just right. Do thank her for me and give her, and all the family, my warmest regards. While you're at it take my greetings to all the folks in Hartford. Well maybe not all of them -- you know the ones I would encourage you to leave out.
Joe stands and prepares to leave. Clasps Sam's hand until point of "Speaking of dates. . . ." in next line and then lets it go.
Joe. I'm so thankful that you made the effort to come home and that I had the chance to see you. Promise me that you'll follow your doctor's instructions, write often and let me know the date you'll arrive back from Bermuda next spring. Speaking of dates. . . . what a coincidence . . . . this is December 13 and on this date in 1865, forty-four years ago, I was installed as pastor of Asylum Hill.
Sam. I will do the best I can to lift my doctor's spirits, he's a sort of a peevish fellow and I don't want my vacation to spoil his winter. I do indeed promise to write because I desperately want your letters in reply. I'm not sure of the date of my return next Spring, but I too want to mention a coincidental date. . . . . I came in in 1835, with Halley's Comet. It's coming again pretty soon and I expect to go out with it. It will be the greatest disappointment of my life if I don't go out with Halley's Comet. The Almighty has said, no doubt, now here are these two indefinable freaks -- they came in together, they must go out together. Oh, I'm looking forward to that. . . . . . . . .
Sam extends hand and clasps Joe's until curtain is closed.
A 2-3 second pause between phrases in the next line.
Thank you so much for coming . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Good-bye, Joe.
Freeze, hold until curtain closes completely.
LITTLE BREECHES
I don't go much on religion,
I never ain't had no show;
But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir,
On the handful o' things I know.
I don't pan out on the prophets
And free-will, and that sort of thing,--
But I b'lieve in God and the angels,
Ever sence one night last spring.
I come into town with some turnips,
And my little Gabe come along,--
No four-year-old in the county
Could beat him for pretty and strong,
Peart and chipper and sassy,
Always ready to swear and fight,--
And I'd larned him to chaw terbacker
Jest to keep his milk teeth white.
The snow come down like a blanket
As I passed by Taggart's store;
I went in for a jug of molasses
And left the team at the door.
They scared at something and started,--
I heard one little squall,
And hell-to-split over the prairie!
Went team, Little Breeches, and all.
Hell-to-split over the prairie!
I was almost froze with skeer;
But we rousted up some torches,
And searched for 'em far and near.
At last we struck hosses and wagon,
Snowed under a soft white mound,
Upsot, dead beat, but of little Gabe
No hide nor hair was found.
And here all hope soured on me,
Of my fellow-critter's aid,--
I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones,
Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed.
*****
By this, the torches was played out,
And me and Isrul Parr
Went off for some wood to a sheepfold
That he said was somewhar thar.
We found it at last, and a little shed
Where they shut up the lambs at night.
We looked in and seen them huddled thar,
So warm and sleepy and white;
And thar sot Little Breeches and chirped,
As peart as ever you see,
"I want a chaw of terbacker,
And that's what's the matter of me."
How did he git thar? Angels.
He could never have walked in that storm;
They jest scooped down and toted him
To whar it was safe and warm.
And I think that saving a little child,
And fotching him to his own,
Is a derned sight better business
Than loafing around the Throne.
JIM BLUDSO
Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives,
Because he don't live, you see;
Leastways, he's got out of the habit
Of livin' like you and me.
Whar have you been for the last three year
That you haven't heard folks tell
How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks
The night of the Prairie Belle?
He weren't no saint, -- them engineers
Is all pretty much alike, --
One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill
And another one here, in Pike;
A keerless man in his talk was Jim,
And an awkard hand in a row,
But he never flunked, and he never lied,-
I reckon he never knowed how.
And this was all the religion he had, --
To treat his engine well;
Never be passed on the river;
To mind the pilot's bell;
And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire, --
A thousand times he swore,
He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank
Till the last soul got ashore.
All boats has their day on the Mississip,
And her day come at last, --
The Movastar was a better boat,
But the Belle she wouldn't be passed.
And so she come tearin' along that night --
The oldest craft on the line --
With a deck-hand squat on her safety-valve,
And her furnace crammed rosin and pine.
The fire bust out as she clared the bar,
And burned a hole in the night,
And quick as a flash she turned, and made
For that willer-bank on the right.
There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out,
Over all the infernal roar,
"I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank
Till the last galoot's ashore."
Through the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat
Jim Bludso's voice was heard,
And they all had trust in his cussedness,
And knowed he would keep his word.
And, sure's you're born, they all got off
Afore the smokestacks fell, --
And Bludso's ghost went up alone
In the Smoke of the Prairie Belle.
He weren't no saint, -- but at jedgment
I'd run my chance with Jim,
'Longside of some pious gentlemen
That wouldn't shook hands with him.
He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing, --
And went for it thar and then;
And Christ ain't a-going to be too hard
On a man that died for men.
DEPARTMENT OF STATE.
WASHINGTON.
June 7, 1904
Dear Clemens,
The papers
this morning bring us the
dolorous news of your
affliction. My wife
and I join in sending
our love and
sympathy. We have known
sorrow -- but not this;
and if our lives are perma-
nently darkened by the
death of our boy, we can
form some idea of
what this bereavement
means to you.
I wish I could say
something to comfort
you. But there is
no use in trying. You
have got to bear your
burden alone. All we
can say is that
thousands of people
are sorrowing with
you -- and that
there are many friends
who would divide
your suffering with
you, if they could.
Yours affectionately,
John Hay