Arthur Conan Doyle: A Life in Letters

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  Last night we were entertained by the Fellowship Club which is a unique organisation. There are 40 members, all very rich men & very impressive bright men also, with brains to conceive an idea and cash to carry it out. They work their banquets out on neat lines every time. Now last night the idea was that it was a New England Harvest time supper. The thing was carried out to its last possibility—the room lighted with hollowed out pumpkins, a great harvest moon in the corner, decorations of shucks of corn & maize, live sheep & donkeys &c.round the walls, & the name cards printed as by some poor country printer. The waiters were all in farm dress with big straw hats. Quite an occasion it was, and I never heard better speeches in my life. About 100 sat down.

  We have met a good many interesting people—Howells, Cable, Whitcomb Riley, Hamlin Garland, Jefferson the Actor. We intend to put flowers on Holmes’ grave when we go to Boston next week.

  Well we find it all a great education. I expected to find much to like here & much to learn, but it is far finer than I had expected. I have found all the good I expected, but the sad things which travellers have said are all lies & nonsense. We can find none of them. The women are not as attractive as we had always been told. On the other hand the children are very bright & pretty, though there is a tendency to spoil them. The race as a whole is not only the most prosperous, but the most even-tempered, tolerant and hopeful that I have ever known. They have to meet their own problems in their own way, and I fear it is precious little sympathy they ever get from England in doing it.

  Conan Doyle strongly regretted missing Oliver Wendell Holmes, the physician and man of letters whose essays had alleviated the miseries of the S.S. Mayumba in 1881. (And the man for whom some believe that Conan Doyle gave Sherlock Holmes his name.) ‘Never,’ he wrote in Through the Magic Door, ‘have I so known and loved a man whom I have never seen.’ He had looked forward to seeing Holmes in Boston—but Holmes had died on October 7th, just five days after Conan Doyle landed in New York.

  to Mary Doyle WORCESTER, MASSACHUSETTS, NOVEMBER 2, 1894

  Just a line to let you know that all is well with us. I have lectured this week at Brooklyn, Northampton, Boston, Worcester, tonight at Amherst, tomorrow at Norwich (Connecticut), on Monday at Washington. I find the life suits me well enough, although today I have a slight sore throat. Innes is doing well also. I dont expect we are going to make any large sum of money, but the education is priceless.

  We are staying at a private home here—such kind people. The only objection to private houses is that you have to talk so much. They had 100 people to meet me last night at a reception. Such good people too! When I think of how far they have been allowed to be estranged I could hang a few cabinet ministers & editors.

  We leave, I think, on Dec 8th, reaching Liverpool on the 15th or so. Innes thinks of running through to you for a few days. I’ll go on to London to Willie to fix up the play (I cannot do any of it on my travels). Then I shall push on for Davos.

  Goodbye, my dear. I hope Innes gives you our news more fully than I. I went to Holmes’ grave yesterday and I laid a big wreath on it—not as from myself, but from ‘The Authors Society’. In one beautiful graveyard lie Holmes, Lowell, Longfellow, Channing, Brooks, Agassiz, Parkman, & ever so many more.

  While his own welcome was warm, he noticed some American hostility towards Britain, at this time when traditional American opposition to European colonialism was being aggravated by British pressure upon Venezuela in the hemisphere that the Monroe Doctrine had declared off-limits to Europeans. Conan Doyle cared deeply about relations between the two English-speaking nations. ‘A banquet was given to us at a club in Detroit at which the wine flowed freely,’ he wrote in Memories and Adventures,

  and which ended by a speech by one of our hosts in which he bitterly attacked the British Empire. My brother and I, with one or two Canadians who were present, were naturally much affronted, but we made every allowance for the lateness of the evening. I asked leave, however, to reply to the speech, and some of those who were present have assured me that they have never forgotten what I said. In the course of my remarks I said: ‘You Americans have lived up to now within your own palings, and know nothing of the real world outside. But now your land is filled up, and you will be compelled to mix more with the other nations. When you do so you will find that there is only one which can at all understand your ways and your aspirations, or will have the least sympathy. That is the mother country which you are now so fond of insulting. She is an Empire, and you will soon be an Empire also, and only then will you understand each other, and you will realize that you have only one real friend in the world.’

  Conan Doyle stressed the ties between the two countries as often as possible for the remainder of his time in America. ‘It was only two or three years later that there came the Cuban war, the episode of Manila Bay where the British Commander joined up with the Americans against the Germans, and several other incidents which proved the truth of my remarks,’ he concluded happily.

  to Mary Doyle NEWARK, NEW JERSEY, NOVEMBER 9, 1894

  I am still very much on the rush, though none the worse for it as yet. Next week will be my great test. I give 9 lectures in 5 days, winding up the 6th day with the big Lotos Club dinner to which many hundreds are coming and where I shall have to make a big speech. The menu cards are, I learn, to be decorated with characters from my novels. They are always fixing up graceful little compliments. For example at the last dinner to which I was invited they had a huge red railway lamp in the middle of the table.

  The Lippincotts (whom you know) received us with much hospitality at Philadelphia & we have spent the last 2 days in their palatial house. I have run up tonight to give this lecture, but I will return by the next train. We go to a big football match tomorrow & then in the evening I lecture to a big gathering at Philadelphia. Washington was a very poor audience—General Booth & the Elections drew my flock away.* Next week however if my New York matinees draw I shall do well.

  I left all my English investments so that I could not touch them in my absence. I see they have advanced about £300. They may go further before I return. I hope they wont go back.

  Well, I must go. So glad to get your letter. Even the handwriting shows that you are better for the trip. I fear I grow more democratic than ever. I have left Innes at Phila and I am alone.

  Perhaps the high point of his trip was the Lotos Club dinner on November 18th, honoured by the presence of the leaders of New York public and literary life. ‘Dr Doyle is not more than thirty-five years of age, closely fulfilling his own conditions of the man most to be envied—“a writer of romances who has not passed his thirty-third year”,’ said the club’s twenty-fifth-anniversary history.* In his remarks, Conan Doyle demonstrated that if some Americans were unfriendly towards the British Empire, he was a Briton enchanted by America.

  There was a time in my life which I divided among my patients and literature. It is hard to say which suffered most. But during that time I longed to travel as only a man to whom travel is impossible does long for it, and, most of all, I longed to travel in the United States. Since this was impossible, I contented myself with reading a good deal about them and building up an ideal United States in my own imagination. This is notoriously a dangerous thing to do. I have come to the United States; I have travelled from five to six thousand miles through them, and I find that my ideal picture is not to be whittled down, but to be enlarged on every side.

  I have heard even Americans say that life is too prosaic over here; that romance is wanting. I do not know what they mean. Romance is the very air they breathe. You are hedged in with romance on every side. I can take a morning train in this city of New York, I can pass up the historic and beautiful Hudson, I can dine at Schenectady, where the Huron and the Canadian did such bloody work; and before evening I have found myself in the Adirondack forests, where the bear and the panther are still to be shot, and where within four generations the Indian and frontiersman still fought for the mastery. Wi
th a rifle and a canoe you can glide into one of the black eddies which have been left by the stream of civilization.

  I feel keenly the romance of Europe. I love the memories of the shattered castle and the crumbling abbey; of the steel-clad knights and the archer; but to me the romance of the redskin and the trapper is more vivid, as being more recent. It is so piquant also to stay in a comfortable inn, where you can have your hair dressed by a barber, at the same place where a century ago you might have been left with no hair to dress.

  Then there is the romance of this very city. On the first day of arrival I inquired for the highest building, and I ascended it in an elevator—at least they assured me it was an elevator. I thought at first that I had wandered into the dynamite gun. If a man can look down from that point upon the noble bridge, upon the two rivers crowded with shipping, and upon the magnificent city with its thousand evidences of energy and prosperity, and can afterward find nothing better than a sneer to carry back with him across the ocean, he ought to consult a doctor. His heart must be too hard or his head too soft.

  And no less wonderful to me are those Western cities which, without any period of development, seem to spring straight into a full growth of every modern convenience, but where, even among the rush of cable cars and the ringing of telephone bells, one seems still to catch the echoes of the woodsman’s axe and of the scout’s rifle.

  These things are the romance of America, the romance of change, of contrast, of danger met and difficulty overcome, and let me say that we, your kinsmen, upon the other side, exult in your success and in your prosperity, and it is those who know British feeling—true British feeling—best, who will best understand how true are my words. I hope you don’t think I say this or that I express my admiration for your country merely because I am addressing an American audience. Those who know me better on the other side will exonerate me from so unworthy a motive.

  to Mary Doyle BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, NOVEMBER 20, 1894

  We have fired off our second Boston lecture, and we now start by the evening train for Rochester which we reach at 9 tomorrow morning. We sleep very well upon the trains. Then our route runs to Elmira, Schenectady, Glen Falls, Toronto, Niagara & Buffalo & so to Rudyard Kipling in Vermont, where we spend two days.* Then back to New York where we lecture for about a week, then a dinner at the Aldine Club upon the 7th and off on the 8th in the Etruria.

  I shall be very glad to get off, and yet I would not have missed the experience for anything. I have had much kindness and am ready to go. I want to do some work as I find that even with success there is no money—that I cannot hope to take more than £100 out of the country & yet we have done quite excellently—at least everyone says so.

  We have seen much however & have met Howells, Cable, Eugene Field, Garland, Riley & many whom I wanted to know.

  I have been thinking. Would it not be better for us, instead of coming to England for the summer, to go across to Colorado in the Rockies, so that Touie might have a summer & winter right away there. She would really get a good chance then at clearing her system & be ready by the end of that time perhaps to settle once more & finally this time—in England. I should put Tootsie to school at Norwood, & take Lottie (if she wanted), Ada, & Baby.* It is a most glorious place, climate always the same, summer & winter, splendid shooting, magnificent scenery, Denver, a city larger than Edinburgh, quite close. I am sure I could work there. If Touie comes to England every summer it may take years to cure her, but if she does well at Davos this year, she might manage in another year of dry air, to shake it off altogether. You might write to me at Connie’s and let me know what you think. I see a good deal to be said for it. Colorado is very central for Utah, the Cowboy frontier, Yosemite Valley, and all sorts of interesting places. Prices in America have, I find, been very much exaggerated. It is quite as cheap as Davos anyhow.

  I am full of literary schemes. I want to do a whole series of Brigadier Gerard stories. Did I read you that? It is in the Xmas Strand. I read it today & the people were very pleased.†

  Well, it is nearly cab time. Next Sunday we shall spend at Niagara. The Red Lamp has been very successful here. Between 8 & 10,000 have been sold (at 6/).

  I bought 1000 shares in McClure’s publishing business last week. 1030 pounds I gave. I believe in the man & the magazine, and if it goes well it will bring me an income. It is capitalised only at £20,000, so that when it succeeds, and it has already turned the corner, it wont take much to pay big dividends.‡

  to Mary Doyle THE ALDINE CLUB, NEW YORK, DECEMBER 7, 1894

  We have had some very hard work, but are all right & full of joy to think that we shall be upon the seas in a week from now. The trip has been from an educational, personal, and even international point of view a great success. As far as money goes there is no return to compare with the hard work, but at least we have seen everything for nothing and have something over. We are back in New York now and have no more very tiring work. Yesterday I had 16 hours travelling. I have been staying two days with Kipling & we had a great time—golf & much high converse. He is a wonderful chap. Have you read his poem, McAndrews Hymn, in Scribner’s Xmas number. It’s grand! He will never do a great long book.

  On December 8th, after two months in America, he and Innes boarded a Cunard Liner for home. As landfall approached six days later, he wrote the following letter to one of his second mothers:

  to Charlotte Drummond S.S. ETRURIA, DECEMBER 14, 1894

  We are rolling about 200 miles south of Ireland. Tomorrow evening sees me back in London, for which I am heartily thankful. America is good & Americans are kind, but there’s none like your ain folk, when all is said & done. But we have had a great time. We have been far & wide & seen great cities & spoken to famous people and learned much & unlearned a little. But now I want peace, and I’ll find it among the Alps where I shall be before another week passes.

  My lecture tour has been a success. We have had good sympathetic houses everywhere. But I’ve done with lecturing now. It’s an excellent aid to travel. But I have done with it, and I dont suppose I shall ever give a lecture again.

  I dont know what my plans are. They must depend upon Touie’s health, of which I hear nothing that is not encouraging. Now that we are free of the house we shall not take another in Great Britain until her health is quite reestablished. I had rather live all our lives in health resorts, than risk undoing the good we have done. So until May at any rate Belvedere Hotel, Davos Platz, will be our address.

  You heard, I suppose, of Ida’s engagement. I dont know when it will be consummated. He is of course much older than she, but he is a very exceptionally fine fellow in every way.*

  Innes has been with me & has had a rare good time. He had more play & less work than I, but I’m sure it was an education to him. My word, we did do a lot in the time!

  Goodbye, my dear, and excuse this hurried scrawl, which is only to show that I cant get within 500 miles of you without thinking of you. My love to all Edinburgh friends.

  Soon he was in Davos with Touie again.

  to Mary Doyle GRAND HOTEL BELVEDERE, DAVOS, JANUARY 24, 1895

  We have had very bad weather here this season—not five fine days since I came—but we hope every morning to reach the end of the snow. Everybody has sore throats, coughs &c. We feel inclined to try Egypt next winter. In the desert it is as dry as here & more sun. Touie holds her own but cant be expected to improve.

  I have done two of the new series of Brigadier Gerard. The first is ‘How the Brigadier Gerard held the King’. The second is ‘How the King held Brigadier Gerard’. They are both pretty good. So now I have already 30,000 words of the Brigadier done, so when I get the 4 remaining ones finished I shall have quite a nice little book—and one which should sell well also. I hope to do them all before the end of winter—two a month. I think they are new. Newnes wants to call them ‘Adventures of B.G’. I want ‘Exploits of B.G’. Which do you like best? Adventures are cheap now.†

  I had a letter fro
m an Italian agent offering me a decoration (!) if I would allow Signor Crespi’s paper to translate ‘The Naval Treaty’ story. It is funny is it not? I wonder what it will be. ‘Knight Commander of the Imperial Order of the Iron Crown of Lombardy’ would do for me.

  We have a ball tonight & Lottie leads the Cotillion with Captain Wynyard.* It is an honour as she is picked out of all the spinsters of Davos. She is quite the most popular person in the town. Last night we gave a little fete—had some Tyrolese singers in our rooms, and about 20 friends to coffee and music. It went very well.

  I sent Ida her cheque at Xmas & had four lines about the weather in reply. What’s the matter with the young lady & why doesn’t she write to her own people. The cheque before that she never acknowledged at all.

  Touie is in very good spirits & the children seem to prosper. The boy is wonderfully hearty.

  to Mary Doyle DAVOS, FEBRUARY 12, 1895

  We have had wretched weather here on the whole, in spite of which Touie is better than she has ever been. I have grave thoughts of the Egyptian desert for next winter. I think I told you of the Mena Hotel which lies in the shadow of the Pyramids. They say that for 3 winter months the climate and air are perfection.

  David is here & enjoys the change of life. He really needs a complete rest and he is getting it—mentally. Physically we keep him hard at it all the time.

  I have done 3 Brigadier tales now—they are all pretty good, but the third is the best. It will make a spirited little book, I think. ‘The Red Lamp’ is in a second edition, I see & the first one was 10,000. The same in America.