Maryland State Archives

THEME: Tenacious women concerned about making the house a center for culture and interest

(note the original scans from 1999 linked to the descriptions below are very dark in some imaging programs, but oddly look lighter in paperport. EOS hasn't had time to sort out why yet. I have rescanned reference copies and am linking the whole stack as a max file from ADD NOTES.)
Twain/Warfield Correspondence - stacked max reference copy

Invitation to Mr. Clemens from Warfields to dinner, May 9, 1907, MSA SC 4494-1-32

Letter of March 4, 1907 from Mrs. Warfield to Mr. Clemens, MSA SC 4494-1-33 through 35

Letter of March 13, 1907 from Mrs. Warfield to Mr. Clemens, MSA SC 4494-1-36 and 37

Letter of March 14, 1907 from Governor Warfield to Mr. Clemens, MSA SC 4494-1-38

Letter of March 27, 1907 from Mrs. Warfield to Mr. Clemens, MSA SC 4494-1-39 and 40

Undated letter from Mrs. Warfield to Mr. Clemens, MSA SC 4494-1-41 and 42

Letter of April 4, 1907 from Governor Warfield to Miss Lyon[s] (Mr. Clemens' assistant), MSA SC 4494-43 through 46

Letter of May 3, 1907 from Governor Warfield's secretary to Miss Lyon, MSA SC 4494-1-47

Letter of November 2, 1907 from Mrs. Warfield to Miss Lyon, MSA SC 4494-1-48 through 50

Letter of November 21, 1907 from Mrs. Warfield to Mr. Clemens, MSA SC 4494-51 through 53

Handwritten note (undated) from Mr. Clemens to Governor and Mrs. Warfield, MSA SC 4494-1-54

Transcription of handwritten note (undated) from Mr. Clemens to Governor and Mrs. Warfield, MSA SC 4494-1-55

Mark Twain's Speech, Annapolis, May 10, 1907 from Mark Twain Speaking by Paul Fatout

Yes, I have been arrested. I was arrested twice, so that there could be no doubt about it. I have lived many years in the sight of my country an apparently uncaught and blameless life, a model for the young, an inspiring example for the hoary-headed. But at last the law has laid its hand upon me. Mine was no ordinary offense. When I affront the law I choose to do so in no obscure, insignificant, trivial manner. Mine was a crime against nothing less than the federal government. The officers who arrested me were no common, or garden, policemen; they were clothed with the authority of the federal Constitution. I was charged with smoking a cigar within a government reservation. In fact, I was caught red-handed. I came near setting a stone pile on fire. It is true that the arrest was not made effective. One of the party whispered to the marines what Governor Warfield was going to say, and did say, in introducing me to the audience at my lecture- that I was one of the greatest men in the world. I don't know who proposed to tell that to the marines, but it worked like a charm. The minions of the law faltered, hesitated, qualied, and today I am a free man. Twice they laid hands on me; twice were overcome by my deserved reputation. Perhaps I ought not to say myself that it is deserved. But who am I, to contradict the governor of Maryland? Worm that I am, by what right should I reverse the declared opinion of that man of wisdom and judgment, whom I have learned to admire and trust? I never admired him more than I did when he told my audience that they had with him the greatest man in the world. I believe that was his expression. I don't wish to undertake his sentiments, but I will go no further than that- at present. Why, it fairly warmed my heart. It almost made me glad to be there myself. I like good company.

Speaking of greatness it is curious how many grounds there are for great reputations- how many different phases, that is to say, greatness may take on. There was Bishop Potter. He was arrested a few months ago for a crime similar to mine, though he lacked the imagination to select United States government property as the scene of his guilty deed. Now, Bishop Potter is a great man. I am sure he is, because a streetcar motorman told me so. A motorman is not a governor of Maryland, but then Bishop Potter is not a hunorist. He could hardly expect a certificate like mine. I rode with the motorman one day on the front seat of his car. There was a blockade before we got very far, and the motorman, having nothing to do, became talkative. "Oh, yes," he said, "I have a good many distinguished men on this trip. Bishop Potter often rides with me. He likes the front seat. Now there's a great man for you- Bishop Potter."

"Yes," broke in the motorman, his face beaming with pleasure as he recognized the justice of my tribute and hastened to add one of his own. "Yes, and he's the only man who rides with me who can spit in the slot every time."

That's a good story, isn't it? I like a good story well told. That is the reason I am sometimes forced to tell them myself. Here is one, of which I was reminded yesterday as I was investigating the Naval Academy. I was much impressed with the Naval Academy. I was all over it, and now it is all over me. I am full of the navy. I wanted to march with them on parole, but they didn't think to ask me: curious inattention on their part, and I just ashore after a celebrated cruise. While I was observing the navy on land, I thought of the navy at sea and of this story, so pathetic, so sweet, so really touching. This is one of my pet stories. Something in its delicacy, refinement, and the elusiveness of its humor fits my own quiet tastes. The time is two A.M. after a lively night at the club. The scene is in front of his house. The house is swaying and lurching to and fro. He has succeeded in navigating from the club, but how is he going to get aboard this rolling, tossing thing? He watches the steps go back and forth, up and down. Then he makes a desperate resolve, braces himself, and as the steps comem around he jumps, clutches the handrail, gets aboard, and pulls himself safely up on the piazza. With a like maneuver he gets through the door. Watching his chance, he gains the lowest step of the inside staircase, and painfully makes his way up the swaying and uncertain structure. He has almost reached the top when in a sudden lurch he catches his toe and falls back, rolling to the bottom. At this moment his wife, rushing out into the upper hall, hears coming up from the darkness below, from the discomfited figure sprawled on the floor with his arms around the newel post, this fervent, appropriate, and pious ejaculation, "God help the poor sailors out at sea."

I trust this matter of my arrest will not cause my friends to turn from me. It is true that, no matter what may be said of American public morals, the private morals of Americans as a whole are exceptionally good. I do not mean to say that in their private lives all Americans are faultless. I hardly like to go that far, being a man of carefully weighed words and under a peculiarly vivid sense of the necessity of moderation in statement. I should like to say that we are a faultless people, but I am restrained by recollection. I know several persons who have erred and transgressed- to put it plainly, they have done wrong. I have heard of still others- of a number of persons, in fact, who are not perfect. I am not perfect myself. I confess it. I would have confessed it before the lamentable event of yesterday. For that was not the first time I ever did wrong. No; I have done several things which fill my soul now with regret and contrition. I remember, I remember it so well. I remember it as if it were yesterday, the first time I ever stole a watermelon. Yes, the first time. At least I think it was the first time, or along about there. It was, it was, must have been, about 1848, when I was thirteen or fourteen years old. I remember that watermelon well. I can almost taste it now.

Yes, I stole it. Yet why use such a harsh word? It was the biggest of the load on a farmer's wagon standing in the gutter in the old town of Hannibal, Missouri. While the farmer was so busy with another- another- customer, I withdrew this melon. Yes, "I stole" is too strong. I extracted it. I retired it from circulation. And I myself retired with it.

The place to which the watermelon and I retired was a lumber yard. I knew a nice, quiet alley between the sweet-smelling planks and to that sequestered spot I carried the melon. Indulging in a few moments' contemplation of its freckled rind, I broke it open with a stone, a rock, a dornick, in boy's language.

It was green- impossibly, hopelessly green. I do not know why this circumstance should have affected me, but it did. It affected me deeply. It altered for me the moral values of the universe. It wrought in me a moral revolution. I began to reflect. Now, reflection is the beginning of reform. There can be no reform without reflection.

I asked myself what course of conduct I should pursue. What would conscience dictate? What should a high-minded young man do after retiring a green watermelon? What would George Washington do? Now was the time for all the lessons inculcated at Sunday school to act.

And they did act. The word that came to me was "restitution". Obviously, there lay the path of duty. I reasoned with myself. I labored. At last I was fully resolved. "I'll do it," said I. "I'll take him back his old melon." Not many boys would have been heroic, would so clearly seen the right and so sternly resolved to do it. The moment I reached that resolution I felt a strange uplift. One always feels a strange uplift when he turns from wrong to righteousness. I arose, spiritually strengthened, renewed and refreshed, and in the strength of that refreshment carried back the watermelon- that is, I carried back what was left of it- and made him give me a ripe one.

But I had a duty toward that farmer, as well as to myself. I was a sever on him as the circumstances deserved. I did not spare him. I told him he ought to be ashamed of giving his- his customers green melons. And he was ashamed. He said he was. He said he felt as badly about it as I did. In this he was mistaken. He hadn't eaten any of the melon. I told him that the one instance was bad enough, but asked him to consider what would become of him if this should become a habit with him. I pictured his future. And I saved him. He thanked me and promised to do better.

We should always labor thus with those who have taken the wrong road. Very likely this was the farmer's first false step. He had not gone far, but he had put his foot on the downward incline. Happily, a this moment a friend appeared- a friend who stretched out a helping hand and held him back. Other mught have hesitated, have shrunk from speaking to him of his error. I did not hesitate not shrink. And it is one of the gratifications of my life that I can look back on what I did for that man in his hour of need.

The blessing came. He went home with a bright face to his rejoicing wife and I- I got a ripe melon. I trust it was with him as it was with me. Reform with me was no transient emotion, no passing episode, no Philadelphia uprising. It was permanent. Since that day I have never stolen a water- never stolen a green watermelon.

Text from If These Walls Could Speak draft:
An extremely important event for which Mrs. Warfield was directly responsible was the visit of the author Samuel Clemens, or Mark Twain, to Annapolis in May 1907. On March 4, Mrs. Warfield wrote a heartfelt plea to Mr. Clemens: "For the reason that I am to you a perfect stranger and am about to ask of you a great favor I am writing with much embarrassment and hesitancy.

"I asked Dr. Van Dyke who recently visited me in Annapolis if he thought it would be very presuming on my part if I asked you to visit us and to give in the spacious drawing room of the Government House a reading or talk (gratis) for the benefit of our struggling Presbyterian Church in which he - Dr. Van Dyke - preached two weeks ago. That Dr. Van Dyke encouraged me to do so, is why I have come to you direct. This request of mine is a great big one I know Dr. Mr. Clemens, but it lies very close to my heart and I do hope you may see your way clear to grant it. The Governor and I have long wished to know you - and it would indeed be a great pleasure to have you come to this quaint, old historical town, doubly interesting because of the Naval Academy in its midst. We would be most happy to have you bring with you any of your family and would consider you our guests from the time you left your home. Our please would be to have you remain over two evenings and give in your honor a dinner to which we would have ??? congenial people meet you. Annapolis is most attractive in the Spring. The time we would leave to your pleasure and convenience. Hoping we may the the great pleasure of entertaining you and with kind regards from the Governor, believe me Cordially, Emma N. Warfield."

To both the governor's and Mrs. Warfield's great delight, Mr. Clemens accepted her invitation to visit Annapolis and also entertained them at dinner during a visit to New York in late March. The visit to Annapolis took place in early May and it was Mrs. Warfield who took charge of the plans for the visit. On the evening of May 9, the author spoke to an overflow crowd in the House of Delegates Chamber and, according to press accounts, "made the large audience laugh until tears ran down some cheeks." (Capital 5/11/07). The sale of tickets to the talk raised some $600 for the first lady's cause, the First Presbyterian Church of Annapolis. A gala dinner was held the following evening at Government House, and Mr. Clemens made some very amusing after dinner remarks, including recounting his near-arrest for smoking during his day spent touring the Naval Academy. The following day, he was to have joined the Warfields and others for a cruise on the Bay on the state steamer Governor Thomas, but he was called suddenly to New York and had to leave on the morning train. This event was the undoubted highlight of the Warfield administration and a triumph for Maryland's first lady.

"Mark Twain Here," Evening Capital, May 9, 1907

"Mark Twain Here," no citation available

"Mark Twain Entertains," Evening Capital, May 11, 1907

"A Charming Evening at the House of Delegates," Baltimore Sun, May 11, 1907