SERIALIZATION OF “REBEL WITH A CAUSE: MARK TWAIN’S HIDDEN MEMOIRS” -- CHAPTER 54 (of 78)
The Three Days (Mistress of the Emergency; 1881)
Chapter 54
The Three Days (Mistress of the Emergency; 1881)
When I resumed in earnest work on a novel I had long contemplated, my older daughters, Susy and Clara, had already grown out of toddlerhood and Jean was just entering that stage of life. Now that I had these three—and Livy—as a target audience for it, the self-imposed push was upon me to finish my medieval-era book revolving around mistaken identity between the scion of a family who infested a palace and the son of another family who lived nearby, albeit in vastly more humble circumstances.
It was in 1880, I believe, when I put The Prince and the Pauper on the front burner.
To make a long drawn-out story less tedious, the thing was published in 1881, and proved a success. I say this mainly because my target audience received it favorably. It was, at the time, at least, their favorite book of mine—that goes for Livy as well as our girls.
It was their favorite book of mine, which gave it special meaning to me. Livy and the girls even surprised me with a rendition of some of its scenes in a neighborhood play they staged for me by surprise at the end of one of my long lecture tours.
On that occasion, when I returned home to a practically empty house, and was thoroughly ignored by the few who were there—all of whom seemed to be doing their best to avoid me, and frantically rushing off, first to one place and then another—I was at first disappointed and even considerably annoyed.
So when I was soon called to the Warner’s home next door, I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wanted to stay home and fume and vent. Nevertheless, I went. But not in a state of mind conducive to being a pleasant guest.
What a surprise it was when I arrived there to see a makeshift stage, and the cast—my daughters and the neighborhood children—in their period pieces, festooned with regalia fit for a king—or a prince and his court, at any rate. Livy had adapted my story for the stage, and the children had worked hard on learning their parts and put on a “command performance” for me, as a tribute to my work.
Which proves that the initial appearance of a thing can be deceiving. I am so happy that I wrote that book for them. Because it was for them that I wrote it, primarily. The tribute they gave it, and thus me, by calling it my best book—as Susy did in her diary—and showing their love for it in action, as they did, is the critical acclaim that has always meant the most to me.
EDITOR’S NOTES: In Susy’s biography of her father (which is included in its entirety—along with Twain’s annotations and running commentary on it—in his dictated autobiography), she expressed her admiration for The Prince and the Pauper, especially because this work would, in her opinion, open people’s eyes to her father’s sensitive side, and help them see that he was more than simply a humorist.
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One of the most unusual series of events to ever occur in the Clemens household was in 1881 when, on three successive days, each one of the Clemens girls was saved from a fire.
In A Family Sketch, Twain described the events, which feature nursemaid/tutor Rosina Hay and Twain’s barber as the heroes:
Rosa had a two-thirds share in “The Three Days:” the barber had the other third. We were living in the Hartford home at the time, and it was cold weather. Clara had diptheria, and her crib was in our bedroom, which was on the second floor; over the crib was built a tent of blankets, into which projected the pipe of a steaming apparatus which stood upon the floor. Mrs. Clemens left the room for a little while, and presently Rosa entered on an errand, and found a conflagration; the alcohol lamp had set fire to the tent and the blankets were blazing. Rosa snatched the patient out and put her on the bed, then gathered up the burning mattress and blankets and threw them out of the window. The crib itself had caught fire; she smothered that detail. Clara’s burns were very slight, and Rosa got no burns, except on her hands.
That was the First Day. The next morning Jean, the baby, was asleep in her crib in front of a vigorous wood fire in the nursery on the second floor. The crib had a tall lawn canopy over it. A spark was driven through the close-webbed fire-screen and it lit on the slant of the canopy, and presently the result was a blaze. After a little a Polish servant-woman entered the nursery, caught sight of the tall flame, and rushed out shrieking. That brought Rosa from somewhere, and she rescued the child and threw the burning mattress and bedding out of the window. The baby was slightly burnt in several spots, and again Rosa’s hands suffered, but otherwise no harm was done. Nothing but instant perception of the right thing to do, and lightning promptness in doing it could save the children’s lives, a minute’s delay in either case would have been fatal; but Rosa had the quick eye, the sane mind and the prompt hand, and these great qualities made her mistress of the emergency.
The next day was the Third Day, and completed the series. The barber came out daily from town to shave me. His function was performed in a room on the first floor—it was the rule; but this time, by luck, he was sent up to the schoolroom, which adjoined the nursery, on the second floor. He knocked; there being no response, he entered. Susy’s back was visible at the far end of the room; she was deep in a piano lesson, and unconscious as to other matters. A log had burned in two, the ends had fallen against the heavy woodwork which enclosed the fireplace and supported the mantel piece, and the conflagration was just beginning. Five minutes later the house would have been past saving. The barber did the requisite thing, and the danger was over. So ended what in the family history we call “The Three Days,” and aggrandize them with capital letters, as is proper.
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