Delphi Complete Works of Ambrose Bierce (Illustrated)

by Bierce, Ambrose

  These first six years in San Francisco had been interesting and eventful. During this period he had forever abandoned the thought of a career in the regular army and had become, after an interval in the Sub-Treasury, a professional journalist. Then, too, he had married perhaps the most beautiful girl in San Francisco and one of the wealthiest. The young couple had been sent on their way with much ringing of bells, good wishes and prediction of happiness. Along with this good fortune, was a trip to London, London! Bierce’s ultima thule, the symbol of earthly elegance and perfection.

  As they traveled eastward along the line of the railroad that had been completed in 1869, Bierce must have thought that he had come miles in the journey of life since he had ridden westward over these very plains. Indiana was just a memory; the war a vivid recollection temporarily hidden.

  From his farewell note in The News-Letter it is apparent that Bierce did not intend to return to San Francisco. He had finished with the West and was now going to carve a niche in Westminster Abbey, Farewell, San Francisco! “The marble dream by the Ægean Sea,” as his young friend Ina Coolbrith had sung of it. The first great chapter in his life was rounded out: he was on the threshold of fulfillment. And what of Mollie Bierce? Doubtless she was as certain of their success as her handsome young husband. Certainly she could not have been happier. She had a picture taken leaning over the railing of an ocean liner, a diminutive muff raised in a gesture of farewell, her face all laughter and joy. At their age, with money, youth and beauty, happiness was inevitable. Life was an unopened wine bottle.

  CHAPTER VI. LONDON

  THE Bierces arrived in Liverpool and went directly to London. They found Liverpool “a wildly uninteresting commercial soil” but London was “Paradise” and they were possessed of a “haunting fever of impatience to visit Stratford-on-Avon.” They stayed, however, in London for some time. It is apparent from Bierce’s papers that he must have had some correspondence with John Camden Hotten, the publisher, before leaving America. Hotten published Mark Twain and Artemus Ward, and doubtless desired to add the Town Crier to his list of Western Humorists. It has been rumored that Bierce was induced to go to London because of a correspondence with Leigh Hunt. This is erroneous, as Hunt died in 1859; nor are there any letters from Tom Hood addressed to Bierce in America. It would seem that Hotten was perhaps the first person to call on Bierce after his arrival in England, for there is in existence a note from Hotten, dated July 29th, 1872, asking for an appointment. Publisher and author seem to have come to terms quickly for, in September, Hotten was writing Bierce that the “proofs” were ready, and he was doubtless referring to “Nuggets & Dust,” which was merely a compilation of some of the paragraphs from the Town Crier’s page with a few new pieces. It appeared in 1872.

  It was through Hotten that Bierce met many of the men with whom he was to be associated during his residence in England. Foremost among these was, of course, Tom Hood, the younger. Hood was editor of Fun at the time, and asked Bierce to send in some contributions. They were quickly accepted and Bierce was asked to become a regular contributor. His first journalistic work in London was done for Fun, a series of humorous sketches—”Fables of Zambri the Parsee,”

  “translated by Dod Grile,” which was the pen name he used in England. The first series of these sketches ran from July, 1872, until March, 1873, and were published in that year, first, by the Fun office in a paper edition, and later in the same year in regular book form. After his work on Fun became known, Bierce was asked to write for several other publications, and soon became associated with James Mortimer, editor of Figaro. Bierce wrote regularly for Figaro a column called “The Passing Showman.” It is interesting to note that some issues of the magazine are adorned with the vignette of a handsome woman by Faustin, who was none other than Mollie Day Bierce. The same vignette was once reproduced in Fun. It has been said that Bierce wrote for The Bat and The Cuckoo, two publications edited by one “Jimmy” Davis, but I have been unable to find verification for the statement. But his early fame was won with his contributions to Fun. His alleged acquaintance with Mr. Gladstone would seem to be mythical. Gladstone in later years gave an interview to the press, in the course of which he said that he had just purchased from H. H. Harley, 21 Park Street, Camden Town, a copy of “The Fiend’s Delight,” and that he remembered reading the book when it first appeared. The story was current in many papers, and Robert Barr of The Idler sent Bierce a news clipping, and a correspondence with Gladstone resulted. But that he knew Gladstone in England does not seem likely. It is difficult to state accurately just how much work Bierce did for Fun during his residence in England. The few things that were republished can be easily identified in the files of the magazine, as, for example, the Zambri Fables, which were published in “Cobwebs From an Empty Skull,” published in 1874. But he wrote much besides these fables, as is shown by a letter from Henry Sampson, in the course of which Sampson said: “Before you came Tom used to do nine columns, and I one. He used then to average seven columns a week, the paper holds ten or less, and the other three were divided between you and me.”

  Bierce did not stay long in London. After having interviewed Hotten, arranged for his book and started his work for Fun, he left for a visit to Stratford-on-Avon with his wife. He was so enthusiastic about the trip that he wrote a long three-column account of the visit for the California Alta, under date of October 3, 1872, which appeared in the form of a letter to the editor. Parts of this letter were later reprinted in “Nuggets & Dust,” but several significant passages were omitted. Bierce was utterly delighted with Stratford-on-Avon. At last he was before the great literary shrine of the period. He entered the following lines of verse in the Visitors’ Book:

  It nothing boots exchanging “saws.”

  With canting dunces who proclaim

  The lightness of the world’s applause —

  The worthlessness of human fame.

  Fame valueless? They’ll have it so —

  They still will teach and preach the same —

  Until by chance they undergo

  The cheating done in Shakespeare’s name.

  Perhaps they then will bow them down,

  And own there’s profit in renown.”

  And he closed the letter with this sentence: “I did not visit Charlecot, where Shakespeare stole the deer, nor did I extend my pilgrimage to the crab-tree under which Will and his guzzling companions lay drunk. For me it is sufficient that he did steal a deer, and that he did get drunk.”

  Bierce found during his short residence in London that he could not work well in the city, and that his health was seriously affected by the damp climate. Hence, he went to Bristol to live. He wrote to Stoddard, under date of December 29th, 1872, from Bristol: “I am at Bristol because I fear the London fogs and because my boy so far forgot himself as to be born while I was on tour. He swears he won’t travel just yet.” This child was named Day, although in later years, out of vanity, he attempted to rechristen himself “Raymond.” Bierce was fond of telling a story about the birth of his first child. It seems that Mrs. Bierce had ardently desired a daughter, and that she was acutely disappointed when the doctor, a bluff, red-cheeked old fellow, announced that her child was a boy. To comfort her, the Doctor said: “Well, Madam, at his age it really doesn’t make much difference.” Day was a remarkably beautiful child, destined to a short but dramatic life. Always the favorite of both parents, richly endowed with good looks and intelligence, he grew into a handsome, arrogant youth.

  While residing at Bristol, Bierce seems to have had no fixed plans. His residence there was born of three necessities: work, his health, and the birth of his son. He wrote Stoddard that he expected to remain in Bristol for only two months and then he would return to London. He did return to London in January of 1873, but he found it difficult to work there, as his accursed asthma troubled him no end, so that in March he had to move to Bath. He wrote Stoddard, from No. 6 Sydney Building, Bath, on March 16th, 1873: “I am doing just
work enough over here to pay my current expenses at this somewhat expensive place. It does not require much of my time either. Have not attempted to get any permanent work, and don’t suppose I shall, as my object in coming was to loaf and see something of the country — as Walt Whitman expressed it, when the paralysis had, as yet, invaded only his brain, ‘to loaf and invite my soul.’” Of course there was a touch of bravura about this letter, as the father-in-law had sponsored the trip, and what Bierce earned as a journalist was a mere pittance. The passage does show, however, what his object was in going to England.

  The western journalist was, during this period, something of a rara avis in London life. Francis Grierson, in his unpublished memoirs, noticed that London society simply doted on these queer and eccentric fellows. It puzzled him, for, having been born in the Lincoln country, he knew that Joaquin Miller was something of a faker. People had heard fascinating stories about life in far-away California, and it was but natural that they were interested in writers who made a living by telling gorgeous lies about the region. They were never disappointed in these characters, for surely two more interesting and amusing fellows than Mark Twain and Joaquin Miller never lived. Miller was, however, about the only writer of the group who was the complete embodiment of what Europe imagined was a western journalist. He possessed a movie actor’s vanity and was wit enough to be vastly amused at the amazement he created. In any event, Twain, Miller and Bierce formed a great trio and naturally they were well received. The English liked Twain’s gorgeous stories and his inimitable, drawling manner of telling them; they were fascinated by Miller’s hip boots, red belt, flowing locks, and wild west mannerisms; they were puzzled, but amused by Bierce’s studied indifference and his cold, sarcastic turn of mind.

  The three were once guests at the famous White Friars’ Club in the winter of 1873. Bierce later, along with Twain, Miller and Col. Dudley Waring, became an honorary member of the club. The dinner in question was, however, really in honor of Bierce, for in the South London Express the next morning this notice appeared: “Last night a personage of worldwide celebrity dined at the White Friars’ Club — as honorary guest. I refer to the Town Crier, one of the most original and daring humorists this age has produced.” Miller came to the dinner arrayed in his usual western regalia, with a huge knife in his belt. Twain and Bierce feigned indifference and did not so much as comment on their compatriot’s eccentric appearance, giving the impression that such unique costuming was quite common in America. When Miller picked his fish up by the tail and swallowed it whole, they did not appear to notice his conduct. It was on this occasion, too, that Bierce was called upon to make a speech. Thinking to have some fun with Twain, he told the story of Twain’s visit to the office of The News-Letter. But Twain never cracked a smile, and merely appeared to be bored with the story; Bierce said that his expression of sad despair was perfectly feigned. No one laughed and it left Bierce quite stranded. The White Friars’ Club was located in Mitre Court, Fleet Street, nearly opposite Fetter Lane, and the regular meetings were held on Fridays.

  It was about this time that Bierce began to be somewhat annoyed with Joaquin Miller’s irresponsible conduct. An incident occurred which brought the matter to a crisis. Olive Harper, after first seeking and being denied an interview with Bierce, wrote of him in the New York Evening Graphic, that he had once worked in a brickyard, but now that he had married a rich woman and gone to live in England he had given himself airs. Bierce knew immediately that Miller’s hand was in this story. On November 16th, 1873, he wrote a letter, which appeared in several London journals, stating the facts and then quoting the following open letter to Miller:

  “Dear Mr. Miller:

  “It would be a favor to Mrs. Harper if you would kindly indicate to her, in any way you like, that I hope she will not do me the doubtful honor of calling. Perhaps when she shall have associated long enough with the nobility and tradespeople, her manners will improve, and her conversation acquire a touch of decency; at present she is rather vulgar. I trust this will not offend you; if it does I shall be sorry. Anyhow, it is better you should keep her from calling than to have my servant shut the door in her face.”

  Of course, Bierce’s irritation was caused by Mrs. Harper’s taking revenge on him for denying an interview in the manner that she did, but nevertheless he knew that she had gotten her information from Miller. In later years Bierce and Miller tolerated each other in private and admired each other’s work in public, but the personal antipathy was quite apparent.

  The months at Bath were particularly enjoyable to Bierce. His letters of this period have an unmistakable quality of contentment; they are full of wit, to be sure, but it is never shrill or sharp or bitter. He was entranced with the English countryside, and wrote to Stoddard, who was still in San Francisco: “It is the most charming of all imaginable places. Every street has its history, every foot of the lovely country its tradition. Old Roman, and even Druidic, remains are plenty as green peas. You are aware that Bath was the stamping ground of Pope, Fielding, Smollett, Warburton, Malthus, Beau Nash, Ralph Allen, — who ‘did good by stealth and blushed to find it fame’ — and a lot of worthies whose haunts I frequent and over whose graves I shed judicious drops and tried to fancy myself like them. I don’t succeed.”

  During the summer of 1873, Mrs. Day came to England from San Francisco to visit her daughter and to see the grandchild. Upon her arrival, the Bierces moved back to London, and took up temporary quarters at 19 Downshire Hill, Hampstead, and it was there that Bierce planned to receive his friend, Charles Warren Stoddard, who by then had sailed for England. Bierce wrote to Stoddard and insisted that he come directly to their home until he was located, and closed the letter with a characteristic touch: “And so God(?) bless you (!) and by-by.” To this letter is appended a succinct postscript: “My Mother-in-law is here, wife is well, and baby marvelous.”

  Just what had been Bierce’s reactions to literary London during this first year? The matter is not a subject of speculation, for it is summed up admirably in one of the most remarkable Bierce letters in existence. It is addressed to Stoddard, under date of September 28th, 1873, and posted from the Hampstead residence. In order to get the full purport and meaning of the letter, one must remember the circumstances. Bierce had been in England for over a year as a journalist, and during this time he had seen something of literary London and had come to know its chief personalities. His friend, Charles Stoddard, would have to face the same tests and under the same circumstances that Bierce had previously experienced. Naturally, Bierce would have preferred to advise Stoddard orally, but it so happened that he was leaving England for two months in Paris with his wife, Mrs. Day and the baby. So he wrote the letter, pinned it on the door at the Hampstead residence so that Stoddard might find it when he called and thus be carefully and wisely advised as to how he should conduct himself. With these circumstances in mind, the letter is most illuminating:

  “I have told Tom Hood to look after you. Now mark this: Tom is one of the very dearest fellows in the world, and an awful good friend to me. But he has the worst lot of associates I ever saw — men who (with one or two noble exceptions, whom you cannot readily pick out) are not worthy to untie his shoe latchet. He will introduce you to them all. Treat them well, of course, but (1) don’t gush over them; (2) don’t let them gush over you; (3) don’t accept invitations from them; (4) don’t get drunk with them; (5) don’t let them in any way monopolize you; (6) don’t let them shine by your reflected light. 1 have done all these things, and it is not a good plan, ‘for at the last it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder.’ I don’t mind biting and stinging, but you would — particularly if done in the dark.

  “Remember this: London — literary London — is divided into innumerable cliques which it will require some time to get the run of. Remember, also, that if you fall into the hands of one clique, all the others will give you the cold shoulder. Remember, also, that everybody will profess the most unbounded admirati
on for you, and not one of them can tell a line you have written.... You will, by the way, be under a microscope here; your slightest word and most careless action noted down, and commented on by men who cannot understand how a person of individuality in thought or conduct can be other than a very bad man. Lord! how I have laid myself out inventing preposterous speech and demeanor just to get their silly tongues wagging. It is good fun for me. Walk, therefore, circumspectly, keep your own counsel, don’t make speeches at clubs, avoid any appearance of eccentricity, don’t admire anything, and don’t disparage anything; don’t eat mustard on mutton!

  “You just ‘bet your boots’ I know these fellows and their ways. They think they know me, but they don’t. I am hand-in-glove with some hundreds of them, and they think they are my intimate friends. If any man says he is, or acts as if he were, avoid him, he is an impostor. This letter is strictly confidential, and when I come back I shall ask you to hand it to me.”

  It has been suggested that Bierce was rather flattered and swept off his feet by the reception given him by these Fleet Street journalists whom the London Spectator referred to as “raffish celebrities.” That such was not the case is shown by the letter to Stoddard. However much Bierce might have been affected by his first exposure to their flattery, it is apparent that one year’s experience with them was enough to open his eyes. As a matter of fact, he loved Tom Hood; was very fond of Henry Sampson, editor of The Referee, and co-editor with Bierce of a “Dictionary of Slang”; liked James Mortimer; and was amused by George Augustus Sala, but it cannot be said that he entertained a very high regard for his other associates. He did know, however, quite a number of prominent literary figures. The vignette in “The Fiend’s Delight” is said to have been done by W. S. Gilbert. Bierce also knew Barry Sullivan, G. R. Sims, Henry S. Leigh, who wrote some charming songs and died a pauper; Austin Dobson, and quite a host of others, including William Black, the novelist — Capt. Mayne Reid. Bierce denied that he ever knew Clement Scott and once gave him an unmerciful pummeling in “Prattle.”