CHAPTER 70
We stopped some time at one of the plantationsⒺexplanatory note, to rest ourselves and refresh the horses. We had a chatty conversation with several gentlemen present; but there was one person, a middle aged man, with an absent look in his face, who simply glanced up, gave us good-day and lapsed again into the meditations which our coming had interrupted. The planters whispered usⒶtextual note not to mind him—crazy. They said he was in the Islands for his health; was a preacher; his home, Michigan. They said that if he woke up presently and fell to talking about a correspondence which he had some time held with Mr. Greeley about a trifle of some kind, we must humor him and listen with interest; and we must humor his fancy that this correspondence was the talk of the world.
It was easy to see that he was a gentle creature and that his madness had nothing vicious in it. He looked pale, and a little worn, as if with perplexing thought and anxiety of mind. He sat a long time, [begin page 482] looking at the floor, and at intervals muttering to himself and nodding his head acquiescingly or shaking it in mild protest. He was lost in his thought, or in his memories. We continued our talk with the planters, branching from subject to subject. But at last the word “circumstance,” casually dropped, in the course of conversation, attracted his attention and brought an eager look into his countenance. He faced about in his chair and said:
“Circumstance? What circumstance? Ah, I know—I know too well. So you have heard of it too.” [With a sigh.] “Well, no matter—all the world has heard of it. All the world. The whole world. It is a large world, too, for a thing to travel so far in—now isn’t it? Yes, yes—the Greeley correspondence with Erickson has created the saddest and bitterest controversy on both sides of the ocean—and still they keep it up! It makes us famous, but at what a sorrowful sacrifice! I was so sorry when I heard that it had caused that bloody and distressful war over there in Italy. It was little comfort to me, after so much bloodshed, to know that the victors sided with me, and the vanquished with Greeley.Ⓐemendation It is little comfort to know that Horace Greeley is responsible for the battle of SadowaⒺexplanatory note, and not me. Queen Victoria wrote me that she felt just as I did about it—she said that as much as she was opposed to Greeley and the spirit he showed in the correspondence with me, she would not have had Sadowa happen for hundreds of dollars. I can show you her letter, if you would like to see it. But gentlemen, much as you may think you know about that unhappy correspondence, you cannot know the straight of it till you hear it from my lips. It has always been garbled in the journals, and even in history. Yes, even in history—think of it! Let me—please let me, give you the matter, exactly as it occurred. I truly will not abuse your confidence.”
Then he leaned forward, all interest, all earnestness, and told his story—and told it appealingly, too, and yet in the simplest and most unpretentious way; indeed, in such a way as to suggest to one, all the time, that this was a faithful, honorable witness, giving evidence in the sacred interest of justice, and under oath. He said:
“Mrs. Beazeley—Mrs. Jackson Beazeley, widow, of the village of Campbellton, Kansas,—wrote me about a matter which was near her heart—a matter which many might think trivial, but to her it was a thing of deep concern. I was living in Michigan, then—serving in the ministry. She was, and is, an estimable woman—a [begin page 483] woman to whom poverty and hardship have proven incentives to industry, in place of discouragements. Her only treasure was her son William, a youth just verging upon manhood; religious, amiable, and sincerely attached to agriculture. He was the widow’s comfort and her pride. And so, moved by her love for him, she wrote me about a matter, as I have said before, which lay near her heart—because it lay near her boy’s. She desired me to confer with Mr. Greeley about turnipsⒺexplanatory note. Turnips were the dream of her child’s young ambition. While other youths were frittering away in frivolous amusements the precious years of budding vigor which God had given them for useful preparation, this boy was patiently enriching his mind with information concerning turnips. The sentiment which he felt toward the turnip was akin to adoration. He could not think of the turnip without emotion; he could not speak of it calmly; he could not contemplate it without exaltation. He could not eat it without shedding tears. All the poetry in his sensitive nature was in sympathy with the gracious vegetable. With the earliest pipe of dawn he sought his patch, and when the curtaining night drove him from it he shut himself up with his books and garnered statistics till sleep overcame him. On rainy days he sat and talked hours together with his mother about turnips. When company came, he made it his loving duty to put aside everything [begin page 484] else and converse with them all the day long of his great joy in the turnip. And yet, was this joy rounded and complete? Was there no secret alloy of unhappiness in it? Alas, there was. There was a canker gnawing at his heart; the noblest inspiration of his soul eluded his endeavor—viz.Ⓐemendation: he could not make of the turnip a climbing vine. Months went by; the bloom forsook his cheek, the fire faded out of his eye; sighings and abstraction usurped the place of smiles and cheerful converse. But a watchful eye noted these things and in time a motherly sympathy unsealed the secret. Hence the letter to me. She pleaded for attention—she said her boy was dying by inches.
“I was a stranger to Mr. Greeley, but what of that? The matter was urgent. I wrote and begged him to solve the difficult problem if possible and save the student’s life. My interest grew, until it partook of the anxiety of the mother. I waited in much suspense.Ⓐemendation At last the answer came.
“I found that I could not read it readilyⒺexplanatory note, the handwriting being unfamiliar and my emotions somewhat wrought up. It seemed to refer in part to the boy’s case, but chiefly to other and irrelevant matters—such as paving-stones, electricity, oysters, and something which I took to be ‘absolution’ or ‘agrarianism,’ I could not be certain which; still, these appeared to be simply casual mentions, nothing more; friendly in spirit, without doubt, but lacking the connection or coherence necessary to make them useful.Ⓐemendation I judged that my understanding was affected by my feelings, and so laid the letter away till morning.
“In the morning I read it again, but with difficulty and uncertainty still, for I had lost some little rest and my mental vision seemed clouded. The note was more connected, now, but did not meet the emergency it was expected to meet. It was too discursive. It appeared to read as follows, though I was not certain of some of the words:
PolygamyⒶemendation dissembles majesty; extracts redeem polarity; causes hitherto exist. Ovations pursue wisdom, or warts inherit and condemn. Boston, botany, cakes, folonyⒶtextual note undertakes, but who shall allay? We fear not.
Yrxwly, Hevace Eveeloj.Ⓐemendation
“But there did not seem to be a word about turnips. There seemed to be no suggestion as to how they might be made to grow [begin page 485]
BoliviaⒶemendation extemporizes mackerel; borax esteems polygamy; sausages wither in the east. Creation perdu, is done; for woes inherent one can damn. Buttons, buttons, corks, geology underrates but we shall allay. My beer’s out. Yrxwly,
Hevace Eveeloj.Ⓐemendation
“I was evidently overworked. My comprehension was impaired. Therefore I gave two days to recreation, and then returned to my task greatly refreshed. The letter now took this form:
PoulticesⒶemendation do sometimes choke swine; tulips reduce posterity; causes leather to resist. Our notions empower wisdom, her let’s afford while we can. Butter but any cakes, fill any undertaker, we’ll wean him from his filly. We feel hot. Yrxwly,
Hevace Eveeloj.Ⓐemendation
“I was still not satisfied. These generalities did not meet the question. They were crisp, and vigorous, and delivered with a confidence that almost compelled conviction; but at such a time as this, with a human life at stake, they seemed inappropriate, worldly, and in bad taste. At any other time I would have been not only glad, but proud, to receive from a man like Mr. Greeley a letter of this kind, and would have studied it earnestly and tried to improve myself all I could; but now, with that poor boy in his far home languishing for relief, I had no heart for learning.
“Three days passed by, and I read the note again. Again its tenor had changed. It now appeared to say:
PotationsⒶemendation do sometimes wake wines; turnips restrain passion; causes necessary to state. Infest the poor widow; her lord’s effects will be void. But dirt, bathing, etc., etc., followed unfairly, will worm him from his folly—so swear not. Yrxwly,
Hevace Eveeloj.Ⓐemendation
“This was more like it. But I was unable to proceed. I was too much worn. The word ‘turnips’ brought temporary joy and encouragement, but my strength was so much impaired, and the delay might be so perilous for the boy, that I relinquished the idea of pursuing the translation further, and resolved to do what I ought to have done at first. I sat down and wrote Mr. Greeley as follows:
[begin page 487] Dear Ⓐemendation Sir: I fear I do not entirely comprehend your kind note. It cannot be possible, sirⒶemendation, that ‘turnips restrain passion’—at least the study or contemplation of turnips cannot—for it is this very employment that has scorched our poor friend’s mind and sapped his bodily strength.Ⓐemendation But if they do restrain it, will you bear with us a little further and explain how they should be prepared? I observe that you say ‘causes necessary to state,’ but you have omitted to state them.
UnderⒶemendation a misapprehension, you seem to attribute to me interested motives in this matter—to call it by no harsher term. But I assure you, dear sir, that if I seem to be ‘infesting the widow,’ it is all seeming, and void of reality. It is from no seeking of mine that I am in this position. She asked me, herself, to write you. I never have infested her—indeed I scarcely know her. I do not infest anybody. I try to go along, in my humble way, doing as near right as I can, never harming anybody, and never throwing out insinuations. As for ‘her lord and his effects,’ they are of no interest to me. I trust I have effects enough of my own—shall endeavor to get along with them, at any rate, and not go mousing around to get hold of somebody’s that are ‘void.’Ⓐemendation But do you not see?—this woman is a widow—she has no ‘lord.’ He is dead—or pretended to be, when they buried him. Therefore, no amount of ‘dirt, bathing,’ etc., etc., howsoever ‘unfairly followed’ will be likely to ‘worm him from his folly’—if being dead and a ghost is ‘folly.’ Your closing remark is as unkind as it was uncalled for; and if report says true you might have applied it to yourself, sir, with more point and less impropriety. Very Truly Yours,
Simon Erickson.
“In the course of a few days, Mr. Greeley did what would have saved a world of trouble, and much mental and bodily suffering and misunderstanding, if he had done it sooner. To witⒶemendation, he sent an intelligible rescript or translation of his original note, made in a plain hand by his clerk. Then the mystery cleared, and I saw that his heart had been right, all the time. I will recite the note in its clarified form:
[Translation.]
PotatoesⒶemendation do sometimes make vines; turnips remain passive: cause unnecessary to state. Inform the poor widow her lad’s efforts will be vain. But diet, bathing, etc. etc., followed uniformly, will wean him from his folly—so fear not. Yours,
Horace Greeley.Ⓐemendation
“But alas, it was too late, gentlemen—too late. The criminal delay had done its work—young BeazeleyⒶemendation was no more. His spirit had taken its flight to a land where all anxieties shall be charmed [begin page 488] away, all desires gratified, all ambitions realized. Poor lad, they laid him to his rest with a turnip in each hand.”
So ended Erickson, and lapsed again into nodding, mumbling, and abstraction. The company broke up, and left him so. . . . But they did not say what drove him crazy. In the momentary confusion, I forgot to ask.
She desired me to confer with Mr. Greeley about turnips] Horace Greeley (see the note at 131.12), an enthusiastic amateur farmer at his home in Chappaqua, New York, aired his views on agriculture in speeches, books, and the columns of the New York Tribune. “It became the fashion for critics and fun makers to jibe at Greeley’s farming efforts, and the Chappaqua wood chopper was made the butt of much merriment” (Van Deusen, 147). In 1868, in a humorous but fundamentally respectful sketch of Greeley entitled “Private Habits of Horace Greeley,” Mark Twain wrote that every day before a late breakfast Greeley
goes out into his model garden, and applies his vast store of agricultural knowledge to the amelioration of his cabbages; after which he writes an able agricultural [begin page 728] article for the instruction of American farmers, his soul cheered the while with the reflection that if cabbages were worth eleven dollars apiece his model farm would pay. (SLC 1868j)
An 1870 Tribune series of Greeley’s essays, entitled “What I Know of Farming,” was collected in a book of the same name (Greeley 1871). In mid-April 1871 Greeley gave Clemens a copy inscribed as follows: “To Mark Twain, Esq., Ed. Buffalo Express who knows even less of my farming than does Horace Greeley. N. York” (Anderson, lot 204); a slightly different version of the inscription was quoted in “H. G. as a Joker,” Buffalo Courier, 21 Apr 71, 1).
I could not read it readily] Greeley’s hand was notoriously illegible: “No doubt the ‘worm fence’ handwriting was difficult for a stranger to decipher, but Tribune printers and proofreaders were familiar with it. Others compared it to gridirons struck by lightning” (Stoddard, 140, facsimile facing 241). The newspapers of the day frequently printed jokes about the difficulty of reading Greeley’s handwriting. In May 1871, for example, the following anecdote appeared in the Boston Post:
Greeley wrote a letter to the Iowa Press Association, in which he said: “I have hominy, carrots and R. R. ties more than I could move with eight steers. If eels are blighted, dig them early. Any insinuation that brick ovens are dangerous to hams, gives me the horrors. Greeley.” That is, they read it so. They have since learned what he meant to say was: “I find so many cares and duties pressing upon me, that with the weight of years I feel obliged to decline nearly every invitation that takes me over a day’s journey from home. Yours among them. Horace Greeley.” (“Varieties,” Buffalo Express, 10 May 71, 2, reprinting the Boston Post)
Mark Twain himself had commented on Greeley’s penmanship in “Private Habits of Horace Greeley” and in a Buffalo Express column of 4 September 1869. He may have been further inspired by the facsimile of Greeley’s hand published in Richardson’s Beyond the Mississippi (SLC 1868j, 1869h; Richardson, 163–64). In any event, the immediate occasion for the illustration on page 485 (possibly engraved from a drawing by Mark Twain himself), and its accompanying “transcriptions,” was undoubtedly a letter that Greeley wrote to Clemens on 7 May 1871, presumably in response to a letter from Clemens (now lost) thanking Greeley for the gift of his book (see the previous note). Greeley’s letter is reproduced in supplement C.