02-the death of jean-第1节
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
THE DEATH OF JEAN
The death of Jean Clemens occurred early in the morning of
December 24； 1909。 Mr。 Clemens was in great stress of mind when
I first saw him； but a few hours later I found him writing
steadily。
〃I am setting it down；〃 he said； 〃everything。 It is a
relief to me to write it。 It furnishes me an excuse for
thinking。〃 At intervals during that day and the next I looked
in； and usually found him writing。 Then on the evening of the
26th； when he knew that Jean had been laid to rest in Elmira； he
came to my room with the manuscript in his hand。
〃I have finished it；〃 he said； 〃read it。 I can form no
opinion of it myself。 If you think it worthy； some dayat the
proper timeit can end my autobiography。 It is the final
chapter。〃
Four months lateralmost to the day（April 21st） he was
with Jean。
Albert Bigelow Paine。
Stormfield； Christmas Eve； 11 A。M。； 1909。
JEAN IS DEAD！
Has any one ever tried to put upon paper all the little
happenings connected with a dear onehappenings of the twenty…
four hours preceding the sudden and unexpected death of that dear
one？ Would a book contain them？ Would two books contain them？
I think not。 They pour into the mind in a flood。 They are
little things that have been always happening every day； and were
always so unimportant and easily forgettable beforebut now！
Now； how different！ how precious they are； now dear； how
unforgettable； how pathetic； how sacred； how clothed with dignity！
Last night Jean； all flushed with splendid health； and I the
same； from the wholesome effects of my Bermuda holiday； strolled
hand in hand from the dinner…table and sat down in the library
and chatted； and planned； and discussed； cheerily and happily
（and how unsuspectingly！）until ninewhich is late for usthen
went upstairs； Jean's friendly German dog following。 At my door
Jean said； 〃I can't kiss you good night； father： I have a cold；
and you could catch it。〃 I bent and kissed her hand。 She was
movedI saw it in her eyesand she impulsively kissed my hand
in return。 Then with the usual gay 〃Sleep well； dear！〃 from
both； we parted。
At half past seven this morning I woke； and heard voices
outside my door。 I said to myself； 〃Jean is starting on her
usual horseback flight to the station for the mail。〃 Then Katy
＇1＇ entered； stood quaking and gasping at my bedside a moment；
then found her tongue：
〃MISS JEAN IS DEAD！〃
Possibly I know now what the soldier feels when a bullet
crashes through his heart。
In her bathroom there she lay； the fair young creature；
stretched upon the floor and covered with a sheet。 And looking
so placid； so natural； and as if asleep。 We knew what had
happened。 She was an epileptic： she had been seized with a
convulsion and heart failure in her bath。 The doctor had to come
several miles。 His efforts； like our previous ones； failed to
bring her back to life。
It is noon； now。 How lovable she looks； how sweet and how
tranquil！ It is a noble face； and full of dignity； and that was
a good heart that lies there so still。
In England； thirteen years ago； my wife and I were stabbed
to the heart with a cablegram which said； 〃Susy was mercifully
released today。〃 I had to send a like shot to Clara； in Berlin；
this morning。 With the peremptory addition； 〃You must not come
home。〃 Clara and her husband sailed from here on the 11th of
this month。 How will Clara bear it？ Jean； from her babyhood；
was a worshiper of Clara。
Four days ago I came back from a month's holiday in Bermuda
in perfected health； but by some accident the reporters failed to
perceive this。 Day before yesterday； letters and telegrams began
to arrive from friends and strangers which indicated that I was
supposed to be dangerously ill。 Yesterday Jean begged me to
explain my case through the Associated Press。 I said it was not
important enough； but she was distressed and said I must think of
Clara。 Clara would see the report in the German papers； and as
she had been nursing her husband day and night for four months
＇2＇ and was worn out and feeble； the shock might be disastrous。
There was reason in that； so I sent a humorous paragraph by
telephone to the Associated Press denying the 〃charge〃 that I was
〃dying；〃 and saying 〃I would not do such a thing at my time of
life。〃
Jean was a little troubled； and did not like to see me treat
the matter so lightly； but I said it was best to treat it so； for
there was nothing serious about it。 This morning I sent the
sorrowful facts of this day's irremediable disaster to the
Associated Press。 Will both appear in this evening's papers？
the one so blithe； the other so tragic？
I lost Susy thirteen years ago； I lost her motherher
incomparable mother！five and a half years ago； Clara has gone
away to live in Europe； and now I have lost Jean。 How poor I am；
who was once so rich！ Seven months ago Mr。 Roger diedone of
the best friends I ever had； and the nearest perfect； as man and
gentleman； I have yet met among my race； within the last six
weeks Gilder has passed away； and Laffanold； old friends of
mine。 Jean lies yonder； I sit here； we are strangers under our
own roof； we kissed hands good…by at this door last nightand it
was forever； we never suspecting it。 She lies there； and I sit
herewriting； busying myself； to keep my heart from breaking。
How dazzlingly the sunshine is flooding the hills around！ It is
like a mockery。
Seventy…four years ago twenty…four days ago。 Seventy…four
years old yesterday。 Who can estimate my age today？
I have looked upon her again。 I wonder I can bear it。 She
looks just as her mother looked when she lay dead in that
Florentine villa so long ago。 The sweet placidity of death！ it
is more beautiful than sleep。
I saw her mother buried。 I said I would never endure that
horror again； that I would never again look into the grave of any
one dear to me。 I have kept to that。 They will take Jean from
this house tomorrow； and bear her to Elmira； New York； where lie
those of us that have been released； but I shall not follow。
Jean was on the dock when the ship came in； only four days
ago。 She was at the door； beaming a welcome； when I reached this
house the next evening。 We played cards； and she tried to teach
me a new game called 〃Mark Twain。〃 We sat chatting cheerily in
the library last night； and she wouldn't let me look into the
loggia； where she was making Christmas preparations。 She said
she would finish them in the morning； and then her little French
friend would arrive from New Yorkthe surprise would follow； the
surprise she had been working over for days。 While she was out
for a moment I disloyally stole a look。 The loggia floor was
clothed with rugs and furnished with chairs and sofas； and the
uncompleted surprise was there： in the form of a Christmas tree
that was drenched with silver film in a most wonderful way； and
on a table was prodigal profusion of bright things which she was
going to hang upon it today。 What desecrating hand will ever
banish that eloquent unfinished surprise from that place？ Not
mine； surely。 All these little matters have happened in the last
four days。 〃Little。〃 YesTHEN。 But not now。 Nothing she said
or thought or did is little now。 And all the lavish humor！what
is become of it？ It is pathos； now。 Pathos； and the thought of
it brings tears。
All these little things happened such a few hours agoand
now she lies yonder。 Lies yonder； and cares for nothing any
more。 Strangemarvelousincredible！ I have had this
experience before； but it would still be incredible if I had had
it a thousand times。
〃MISS JEAN IS DEAD！〃
That is what Katy said。 When I heard the door open behind
the bed's head without a preliminary knock； I supposed it was
Jean coming to kiss me good morning； she being the only person
who was used to entering without formalities。
And so
I have been to Jean's parlor。 Such a turmoil of Christmas
presents for servants and friends！ They are everywhere； tables；
chairs； sofas； the flooreverything is occupied； and over…
occupied。 It is many and many a year since I have seen the like。
In that ancient day Mrs。 Clemens and I used to slip softly into
the nursery at midnight on Christmas Eve and look the array of
presents over。 The children were little then。 And now here is
Jean's parlor looking just as that nursery used to look。 The
presents are not labeledthe hands are forever idle that would
have labeled them today。 Jean's mother always worked herself
down with her Christmas preparations。 Jean did the same
yesterday and the preceding days； and the fatigue has cost her
her life。 The fatigue caused the convulsion that attacked her
this morning。 She had had no attack for months。
Jean was so full of
