The steamship St. Paul was to
have been launched from Cramp’s shipyard
in Philadelphia on March 25, 1895. After the
launching a luncheon was to nave been given,
at which Mr. Clemens was to make a speech.
Just before the final word was given a
reporter asked Mr. Clemens for a copy of his speech
to be delivered at the luncheon. To
facilitate the work of the reporter he loaned
him a typewritten copy of the speech. It happened,
however, that when the blocks were knocked away the
big ship refused to budge, and no amount
of labor could move her an inch. She
had stuck fast upon the ways. As a result, the
launching was postponed for a week or two; but in the
mean time Mr. Clemens had gone to Europe.
Years after a reporter called on Mr. Clemens
and submitted the manuscript of the speech,
which was as follows:
Day after to-morrow I sail for England in a ship of
this line, the Paris. It will be my fourteenth
crossing in three years and a half. Therefore,
my presence here, as you see, is quite natural, quite
commercial. I am interested in ships.
They interest me more now than hotels do. When
a new ship is launched I feel a desire to go and see
if she will be good quarters for me to live in, particularly
if she belongs to this line, for it is by this line
that I have done most of my ferrying.
People wonder why I go so much. Well, I go partly
for my health, partly to familiarize myself with the
road. I have gone over the same road so many
times now that I know all the whales that belong along
the route, and latterly it is an embarrassment to
me to meet them, for they do not look glad to see
me, but annoyed, and they seem to say: “Here
is this old derelict again.”
Earlier in life this would have pained me and made
me ashamed, but I am older now, and when I am behaving
myself, and doing right, I do not care for a whale’s
opinion about me. When we are young we generally
estimate an opinion by the size of the person that
holds it, but later we find that that is an uncertain
rule, for we realize that there are times when a hornet’s
opinion disturbs us more than an emperor’s.
I do not mean that I care nothing at all for a whale’s
opinion, for that would be going to too great a length.
Of course, it is better to have the good opinion
of a whale than his disapproval; but my position is
that if you cannot have a whale’s good opinion,
except at some sacrifice of principle or personal
dignity, it is better to try to live without it.
That is my idea about whales.
Yes, I have gone over that same route so often that
I know my way without a compass, just by the waves.
I know all the large waves and a good many of the
small ones. Also the sunsets. I know every
sunset and where it belongs just by its color.
Necessarily, then, I do not make the passage now
for scenery. That is all gone by.
Copyrights
Mark Twain's Speeches from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
