'A Tramp Abroad' came from the presses on the 13th of March, 1880. It had been widely heralded, and there was an advance sale of twenty-five thousand copies. It was of the same general size and outward character as the Innocents, numerously illustrated, and was regarded by its publishers as a satisfactory book.
It bore no very striking resemblance to the Innocents on close examination. Its pictures-drawn, for the most part, by a young art student named Brown, whom Clemens had met in Paris—were extraordinarily bad, while the crude engraving process by which they had been reproduced, tended to bring them still further into disrepute. A few drawings by True Williams were better, and those drawn by Clemens himself had a value of their own. The book would have profited had there been more of what the author calls his “works of art.”
Mark Twain himself had dubious anticipations as to the book's reception.
But Howells wrote:
Well, you are a blessing. You ought to believe in God's goodness,
since he has bestowed upon the world such a delightful genius as
yours to lighten its troubles.
Clemens replied:
Your praises have been the greatest uplift I ever had. When a body
is not even remotely expecting such things, how the surprise takes
the breath away! We had been interpreting your stillness to
melancholy and depression, caused by that book. This is honest.
Why, everything looks brighter now. A check for untold cash could
not have made our hearts sing as your letter has done.
A letter from Tauchnitz, proposing to issue an illustrated edition in Germany, besides putting it into his regular series, was an added satisfaction. To be in a Tauchnitz series was of itself a recognition of the book's merit.
To Twichell, Clemens presented a special copy of the Tramp with a personal inscription, which must not be omitted here:
MY DEAR “HARRIS”—NO, I MEAN MY DEAR JOE,—Just imagine it for a
moment: I was collecting material in Europe during fourteen months
for a book, and now that the thing is printed I find that you, who
were with me only a month and a half of the fourteen, are in actual
presence (not imaginary) in 440 of the 531 pages the book contains!
Hang it, if you had stayed at home it would have taken me fourteen
years to get the material. You have saved me an intolerable whole
world of hated labor, and I'll not forget it, my boy.
You'll find reminders of things, all along, that happened to us, and
of others that didn't happen; but you'll remember the spot where
they were invented. You will see how the imaginary perilous trip up
the Riffelberg is preposterously expanded. That horse-student is on
page 192. The “Fremersberg” is neighboring. The Black Forest novel
is on page 211. I remember when and where we projected that: in the
leafy glades with the mountain sublimities dozing in the blue haze
beyond the gorge of Allerheiligen. There's the “new member,” page
213; the dentist yarn, 223; the true Chamois, 242; at page 248 is a
pretty long yarn, spun from a mighty brief text meeting, for a
moment, that pretty girl who knew me and whom I had forgotten; at
281 is “Harris,” and should have been so entitled, but Bliss has
made a mistake and turned you into some other character; 305 brings
back the whole Rigi tramp to me at a glance; at 185 and 186 are
specimens of my art; and the frontispiece is the combination which I
made by pasting one familiar picture over the lower half of an
equally familiar one. This fine work being worthy of Titian, I have
shed the credit of it upon him. Well, you'll find more reminders of
things scattered through here than are printed, or could have been
printed, in many books.
All the “legends of the Neckar,” which I invented for that unstoried
region, are here; one is in the Appendix. The steel portrait of me
is just about perfect.
We had a mighty good time, Joe, and the six weeks I would dearly
like to repeat any time; but the rest of the fourteen months-never.
With love,
Yours, MARK.
Hartford, March 16, 1880.