Clemens had finished his Sellers book and had disposed of the serial rights to the McClure syndicate.  The house in Hartford was closed early in June, and on the 6th the family, with one maid, Katie Leary, sailed on the Gascogne.  Two weeks later they had begun a residence abroad which was to last for more than nine years.

It was not easy to get to work in Europe.  Clemens’s arm remained lame, and any effort at writing brought suffering.  The Century Magazine proposed another set of letters, but by the end of July he had barely begun on those promised to McClure and Laffan.  In August, however, he was able to send three:  one from Aix about the baths there, another from Bayreuth concerning the Wagner festival, and a third from Marienbad, in Bohemia, where they rested for a time.  He decided that he would arrange for no more European letters when the six were finished, but would gather material for a book.  He would take a courier and a kodak and go tramping again in some fashion that would be interesting to do and to write.

The idea finally matured when he reached Switzerland and settled the family at the Hotel Beau Rivage, Ouchy, Lausanne, facing Lake Leman.  He decided to make a floating trip down the Rhone, and he engaged Joseph Very, a courier that had served him on a former European trip, to accompany him.  The courier went over to Bourget and bought for five dollars a flat-bottomed boat and engaged its owner as their pilot.  It was the morning of September 20, when they began their floating-trip down the beautiful historic river that flows through the loveliest and most romantic region of France.  He wrote daily to Mrs. Clemens, and his letters tell the story of that drowsy, happy experience better than the notes made with a view to publication.  Clemens had arrived at Lake Bourget on the evening before the morning of their start and slept on the Island of Chatillon, in an old castle of the same name.  Lake Bourget connects with the Rhone by a small canal.

      Letters and Memoranda to Mrs. Clemens, in Ouchy, Switzerland: 

                                             Sept. 20, 1891. 
                                             Sunday, 11 a.m. 
On the lake Bourget—­just started.  The castle of Chatillon high overhead showing above the trees.  It was a wonderfully still place to sleep in.  Beside us there was nobody in it but a woman, a boy and a dog.  A Pope was born in the room I slept in.  No, he became a Pope later.

The lake is smooth as glass—­a brilliant sun is shining.

Our boat is comfortable and shady with its awning.

11.20 We have crossed the lake and are entering the canal.  Shall presently be in the Rhone.

Noon.  Nearly down to the Rhone.  Passing the village of Chanaz.