my mark twain-第7部分

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his　mind　and　soul　were　with　those　who　do　the　hard　work　of　the　world；　in
fear　of　those　who　give　them　a　chance　for　their　livelihoods　and　underpay
them　all　they　can。　　He　never　went　so　far　in　socialism　as　I　have　gone；　if
he　went　that　way　at　all；　but　he　was　fascinated　with　Looking　Backward　and
had　Bellamy　to　visit　him；　and　from　the　first　he　had　a　luminous　vision　of
organized　labor　as　the　only　present　help　for　working…men。　　He　would　show
that　side　with　such　clearness　and　such　force　that　you　could　not　say
anything　in　hopeful　contradiction；　he　saw　with　that　relentless　insight　of
his　that　with　Unions　was　the　working…man's　only　present　hope　of　standing
up　like　a　man　against　money　and　the　power　of　it。　　There　was　a　time　when　I
was　afraid　that　his　eves　were　a　little　holden　from　the　truth；　but　in　the
very　last　talk　I　heard　from　him　I　found　that　I　was　wrong；　and　that　this
great　humorist　was　as　great　a　humanist　as　ever。　　I　wish　that　all　the
work…folk　could　know　this；　and　could　know　him　their　friend　in　life　as　he
was　in　literature；　as　he　was　in　such　a　glorious　gospel　of　equality　as　the
'Connecticut　Yankee　in　King　Arthur's　Court。'




XII。

Whether　I　will　or　no　I　must　let　things　come　into　my　story　thoughtwise；　as
he　would　have　let　them；　for　I　cannot　remember　them　in　their　order。　　One
night；　while　we　were　giving　a　party；　he　suddenly　stormed　in　with　a　friend
of　his　and　mine；　Mr。　Twichell；　and　immediately　began　to　eat　and　drink　of
our　supper；　for　they　had　come　straight　to　our　house　from　walking　to
Boston；　or　so　great　a　part　of　the　way　as　to　be　a…hungered　and　a…thirst。
I　can　see　him　now　as　he　stood　up　in　the　midst　of　our　friends；　with　his
head　thrown　back；　and　in　his　hand　a　dish　of　those　escalloped　oysters
without　which　no　party　in　Cambridge　was　really　a　party；　exulting　in　the
tale　of　his　adventure；　which　had　abounded　in　the　most　original　characters
and　amusing　incidents　at　every　mile　of　their　progress。　　They　had　broken
their　journey　with　a　night's　rest；　and　they　had　helped　themselves
lavishly　out　by　rail　in　the　last　half；　but　still　it　had　been　a　mighty
walk　to　do　in　two　days。　　Clemens　was　a　great　walker；　in　those　years；　and
was　always　telling　of　his　tramps　with　Mr。　Twichell　to　Talcott's　Tower；
ten　miles　out　of　Hartford。　　As　he　walked　of　course　he　talked；　and　of
course　he　smoked。　　Whenever　he　had　been　a　few　days　with　us；　the　whole
house　had　to　be　aired；　for　he　smoked　all　over　it　from　breakfast　to
bedtime。　　He　always　went　to　bed　with　a　cigar　in　his　mouth；　and　sometimes；
mindful　of　my　fire　insurance；　I　went　up　and　took　it　away；　still　burning；
after　he　had　fallen　asleep。　　I　do　not　know　how　much　a　man　may　smoke　and
live；　but　apparently　he　smoked　as　much　as　a　man　could；　for　he　smoked
incessantly。

He　did　not　care　much　to　meet　people；　as　I　fancied；　and　we　were　greedy　of
him　for　ourselves；　he　was　precious　to　us；　and　I　would　not　have　exposed
him　to　the　critical　edge　of　that　Cambridge　acquaintance　which　might　not
have　appreciated　him　at；　say；　his　transatlantic　value。　　In　America　his
popularity　was　as　instant　as　it　was　vast。　　But　it　must　be　acknowledged
that　for　a　much　longer　time　here　than　in　England　polite　learning
hesitated　his　praise。　　In　England　rank；　fashion；　and　culture　rejoiced　in
him。　　Lord　mayors；　lord　chief　justices；　and　magnates　of　many　kinds　were
his　hosts；　he　was　desired　in　country　houses；　and　his　bold　genius
captivated　the　favor　of　periodicals　which　spurned　the　rest　of　our　nation。
But　in　his　own　country　it　was　different。　　In　proportion　as　people　thought
themselves　refined　they　questioned　that　quality　which　all　recognize　in
him　now；　but　which　was　then　the　inspired　knowledge　of　the　simple…hearted
multitude。　　I　went　with　him　to　see　Longfellow；　but　I　do　not　think
Longfellow　made　much　of　him；　and　Lowell　made　less。　　He　stopped　as　if　with
the　long　Semitic　curve　of　Clemens's　nose；　which　in　the　indulgence　of　his
passion　for　finding　every　one　more　or　less　a　Jew　he　pronounced
unmistakably　racial。　　It　was　two　of　my　most　fastidious　Cambridge　friends
who　accepted　him　with　the　English；　the　European　entiretynamely；　Charles
Eliot　Norton　and　Professor　Francis　J。　Child。　　Norton　was　then　newly　back
from　a　long　sojourn　abroad；　and　his　judgments　were　delocalized。　　He　met
Clemens　as　if　they　had　both　been　in　England；　and　rejoiced　in　his　bold
freedom　from　environment；　and　in　the　rich　variety　and　boundless　reach　of
his　talk。　　Child　was　of　a　personal　liberty　as　great　in　its　fastidious　way
as　that　of　Clemens　himself；　and　though　he　knew　him　only　at　second　hand；
he　exulted　in　the　most　audacious　instance　of　his　grotesquery；　as　I　shall
have　to　tell　by…and…by；　almost　solely。　　I　cannot　say　just　why　Clemens
seemed　not　to　hit　the　favor　of　our　community　of　scribes　and　scholars；　as
Bret　Harte　had　done；　when　he　came　on　from　California；　and　swept　them
before　him；　disrupting　their　dinners　and　delaying　their　lunches　with
impunity；　but　it　is　certain　he　did　not；　and　I　had　better　say　so。

I　am　surprised　to　find　from　the　bibliographical　authorities　that　it　was
so　late　as　1875　when　he　came　with　the　manuscript　of　Tom　Sawyer；　and　asked
me　to　read　it；　as　a　friend　and　critic；　and　not　as　an　editor。　　I　have　an
impression　that　this　was　at　Mrs。　Clemens's　instance　in　his　own
uncertainty　about　printing　it。　　She　trusted　me；　I　can　say　with　a
satisfaction　few　things　now　give　me；　to　be　her　husband's　true　and　cordial
adviser；　and　I　was　so。　　I　believe　I　never　failed　him　in　this　part；　though
in　so　many　of　our　enterprises　and　projects　I　was　false　as　water　through
my　temperamental　love　of　backing　out　of　any　undertaking。　　I　believe　this
never　ceased　to　astonish　him；　and　it　has　always　astonished　me；　it　appears
to　me　quite　out　of　character；　though　it　is　certain　that　an　undertaking；
when　I　have　entered　upon　it；　holds　me　rather　than　I　it。　　But　however　this
immaterial　matter　may　be；　I　am　glad　to　remember　that　I　thoroughly　liked
Tom　Sawyer；　and　said　so　with　every　possible　amplification。　　Very　likely；
I　also　made　my　suggestions　for　its　improvement；　I　could　not　have　been　a
real　critic　without　that；　and　I　have　no　doubt　they　were　gratefully
accepted　and；　I　hope；　never　acted　upon。　　I　went　with　him　to　the　horse…car
station　in　Harvard　Square；　as　my　frequent　wont　was；　and　put　him　aboard　a
car　with　his　MS。　in　his　hand；　stayed　and　reassured；　so　far　as　I　counted；
concerning　it。　　I　do　not　know　what　his　misgivings　were；　perhaps　they　were
his　wife's　misgivings；　for　she　wished　him　to　be　known　not　only　for　the
wild　and　boundless　humor　that　was　in　him；　but　for　the　beauty　and
tenderness　and　〃natural　piety〃；　and　she　would　not　have　had　him　judged　by
a　too　close　fidelity　to　the　rude　conditions　of　Tom　Sawyer's　life。　　This
is　the　meaning　that　I　read　into　the　fact　of　his　coming　to　me　with　those
doubts。




XIII。

Clemens　had　then　and　for　many　years　the　habit　of　writing　to　me　about　what
he　was　doing；　and　still　more　of　what　he　was　experiencing。　　Nothing　struck
his　imagination；　in　or　out　of　the　daily　routine；　but　he　wished　to　write
me　of　it；　and　he　wrote　with　the　greatest　fulness　and　a　lavish
dramatization；　sometimes　to　the　length　of　twenty　or　forty　pages；　so　that
I　have　now　perhaps　fifteen　hundred　pages　of　his　letters。　　They　will　no
doubt　some　day　be　published；　but　I　am　not　even　referring　to　them　in　these
records；　which　I　think　had　best　come　to　the　reader　with　an　old　man's
falterings　and　uncertainties。　　With　his　frequent　absences　and　my　own
abroad；　and　the　intrusion　of　calamitous　cares；　the　rich　tide　of　his
letters　was　more　and　more　interrupted。　　At　times　it　almost　ceased；　and
then　it　would　come　again；　a　torrent。　　In　the　very　last　weeks　of　his　life
he　burst　forth；　and；　though　too　weak　himself　to　write；　he　dictated　his
rage　with　me　for　recommending　to　him　a　certain　author　whose　truthfulness
he　could　not　deny；　but　whom　he　hated　for　his　truthfulness　to　sordid　and
ugly　conditions。　　At　heart　Clemens　was　romantic；　and　he　would　have　had
the　world　of　fiction　stately　and　handsome　and　whatever　the　real　world　was
not；　but　he　was　not　romanticistic；　and　he　was　too　helplessly　an　artist
not　to　wish　his　own　work　to　show　life　as　he　had　seen　it。　　I　was　preparing
to　rap　him　back　for　these　letters　when　I　read　that　he　had　got　home　to
die；　he　would　have　liked　the　rapping　back。

He　liked　coming　to　Boston；　especially　for　those　luncheons　and　dinners　in
which　the　fertile　hospitality　of　our　publisher；　Osgood；　abounded。　　He
dwelt　equidistant　from　Boston　and　New　York；　and　he　had　special　friends　in
New　York；　but　he　said　he　much　preferred　coming　to　Boston；　of　late　years
he　never　went　there；　and　he　had　lost　the　habit　of　it　long　before　he　came
home　from　Europe　to　live　in　New　York。　　At　these　feasts；　which　were　often
of　after…dinner…speaking　measure；　he　could　always　be　trusted　for
something　of　amazing　delightfulness。　　Once；　when　Osgood　could　think　of　no
other　occasion　for　a　dinner；　he　gave　himself　a　birthday　dinner；　and　asked
his　friends　and　authors。　　The　beautiful　and　splendid　trooper…like　blaring
was　there；　and　I　recall　how　in　the　long；　rambling　speech　in　which　Clemens
went　round　the　table　hitting　every　head　at　it；　and　especially　visiting
Osgood　with　thanks　for　his　ingenious　pretext　for　our　entertainment；
he　congratulated　blaring　upon　his　engineering　genius　and　his　hypnotic
control　of　municipal　governments。　　He　said　that　if　there　was　a　plan　for
draining　a　city　at　a　cost　of　a　million；　by　seeking　the　level　of　the　water
in　the　down…hill　course　of　the　sewers；　blaring　would　come　with　a　plan　to
drain　that　town　up…hill　at　twice　the　cost　and　carry　it　through　the　Common
Council　without　opposition。　　It　is　hard　to　say　whether　the　time　was
gladder　at　these　dinners；　or　at　the　small　lunches　at　which　Osgood　and
Aldrich　and　I　foregathered　with　him　and　talked　the　afternoon　away　till
well　toward　the　winter　twilight。

He　was　a　great　figure；　and　the　principal　figure；　at　one　of　the　first　of
the　now　worn…out　Authors'　Readings；　which　was　held　in　the　Boston　Museum
to　aid　a　Longfellow　memorial。　　It　was　the　late　George　Parsons　Lathrop
（everybody　seems　to　be　late　in　these　sad　days）　who　imagined　the　reading；
but　when　it　came　to　a　price　for　seats　I　can　always　claim　the　glory　of
fixing　it　at　five　dollars。　　The　price　if　not　the　occasion　proved
irresistible；　and