my mark twain-第1节

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My　Mark　Twain

by　William　Dean　Howells






I。

It　was　in　the　little　office　of　James　T。　Fields；　over　the　bookstore　of
Ticknor　&　Fields；　at　124　Tremont　Street；　Boston；　that　I　first　met　my
friend　of　now　forty…four　years；　Samuel　L。　Clemens。　　Mr。　Fields　was　then
the　editor　of　The　Atlantic　Monthly；　and　I　was　his　proud　and　glad
assistant；　with　a　pretty　free　hand　as　to　manuscripts；　and　an　unmanacled
command　of　the　book…notices　at　the　end　of　the　magazine。　　I　wrote　nearly
all　of　them　myself；　and　in　1869　I　had　written　rather　a　long　notice　of　a
book　just　winning　its　way　to　universal　favor。　　In　this　review　I　had
intimated　my　reservations　concerning　the　'Innocents　Abroad'；　but　I　had
the　luck；　if　not　the　sense；　to　recognize　that　it　was　such　fun　as　we　had
not　had　before。　　I　forget　just　what　I　said　in　praise　of　it；　and　it　does
not　matter；　it　is　enough　that　I　praised　it　enough　to　satisfy　the　author。
He　now　signified　as　much；　and　he　stamped　his　gratitude　into　my　memory
with　a　story　wonderfully　allegorizing　the　situation；　which　the　mock
modesty　of　print　forbids　my　repeating　here。　　Throughout　my　long
acquaintance　with　him　his　graphic　touch　was　always　allowing　itself　a
freedom　which　I　cannot　bring　my　fainter　pencil　to　illustrate。　　He　had　the
Southwestern；　the　Lincolnian；　the　Elizabethan　breadth　of　parlance；　which
I　suppose　one　ought　not　to　call　coarse　without　calling　one's　self
prudish；　and　I　was　often　hiding　away　in　discreet　holes　and　corners　the
letters　in　which　he　had　loosed　his　bold　fancy　to　stoop　on　rank
suggestion；　I　could　not　bear　to　burn　them；　and　I　could　not；　after　the
first　reading；　quite　bear　to　look　at　them。　　I　shall　best　give　my　feeling
on　this　point　by　saying　that　in　it　he　was　Shakespearian；　or　if　his　ghost
will　not　suffer　me　the　word；　then　he　was　Baconian。

At　the　time　of　our　first　meeting；　which　must　have　been　well　toward　the
winter；　Clemens　（as　I　must　call　him　instead　of　Mark　Twain；　which　seemed
always　somehow　to　mask　him　from　my　personal　sense）　was　wearing　a　sealskin
coat；　with　the　fur　out；　in　the　satisfaction　of　a　caprice；　or　the　love　of
strong　effect　which　he　was　apt　to　indulge　through　life。　　I　do　not　know
what　droll　comment　was　in　Fields's　mind　with　respect　to　this　garment；
but　probably　he　felt　that　here　was　an　original　who　was　not　to　be　brought
to　any　Bostonian　book　in　the　judgment　of　his　vivid　qualities。　　With　his
crest　of　dense　red　hair；　and　the　wide　sweep　of　his　flaming　mustache；
Clemens　was　not　discordantly　clothed　in　that　sealskin　coat；　which
afterward；　in　spite　of　his　own　warmth　in　it；　sent　the　cold　chills　through
me　when　I　once　accompanied　it　down　Broadway；　and　shared　the　immense
publicity　it　won　him。　　He　had　always　a　relish　for　personal　effect；　which
expressed　itself　in　the　white　suit　of　complete　serge　which　he　wore　in　his
last　years；　and　in　the　Oxford　gown　which　he　put　on　for　every　possible
occasion；　and　said　he　would　like　to　wear　all　the　time。　　That　was　not
vanity　in　him；　but　a　keen　feeling　for　costume　which　the　severity　of　our
modern　tailoring　forbids　men；　though　it　flatters　women　to　every　excess　in
it；　yet　he　also　enjoyed　the　shock；　the　offence；　the　pang　which　it　gave
the　sensibilities　of　others。　　Then　there　were　times　he　played　these
pranks　for　pure　fun；　and　for　the　pleasure　of　the　witness。　　Once　I
remember　seeing　him　come　into　his　drawing…room　at　Hartford　in　a　pair　of
white　cowskin　slippers；　with　the　hair　out；　and　do　a　crippled　colored
uncle　to　the　joy　of　all　beholders。　　Or；　I　must　not　say　all；　for　I
remember　also　the　dismay　of　Mrs。　Clemens；　and　her　low；　despairing　cry　of；
〃Oh；　Youth！〃　　That　was　her　name　for　him　among　their　friends；　and　it
fitted　him　as　no　other　would；　though　I　fancied　with　her　it　was　a
shrinking　from　his　baptismal　Samuel；　or　the　vernacular　Sam　of　his　earlier
companionships。　　He　was　a　youth　to　the　end　of　his　days；　the　heart　of　a
boy　with　the　head　of　a　sage；　the　heart　of　a　good　boy；　or　a　bad　boy；　but
always　a　wilful　boy；　and　wilfulest　to　show　himself　out　at　every；　time　for
just　the　boy　he　was。




II。

There　is　a　gap　in　my　recollections　of　Clemens；　which　I　think　is　of　a　year
or　two；　for　the　next　thing　I　remember　of　him　is　meeting　him　at　a　lunch　in
Boston；　given　us　by　that　genius　of　hospitality；　the　tragically　destined
Ralph　Keeler；　author　of　one　of　the　most　unjustly　forgotten　books；
'Vagabond　Adventures'；　a　true　bit　of　picaresque　autobiography。　　Keeler
never　had　any　money；　to　the　general　knowledge；　and　he　never　borrowed；　and
he　could　not　have　had　credit　at　the　restaurant　where　he　invited　us　to
feast　at　his　expense。　　There　was　T。　B。　Aldrich；　there　was　J。　T。　Fields；
much　the　oldest　of　our　company；　who　had　just　freed　himself　from　the
trammels　of　the　publishing　business；　and　was　feeling　his　freedom　in　every
word；　there　was　Bret　Harte；　who　had　lately　come　East　in　his　princely
progress　from　California；　and　there　was　Clemens。　　Nothing　remains　to　me
of　the　happy　time　but　a　sense　of　idle　and　aimless　and　joyful　talk…play；
beginning　and　ending　nowhere；　of　eager　laughter；　of　countless　good
stories　from　Fields；　of　a　heat…lightning　shimmer　of　wit　from　Aldrich；
of　an　occasional　concentration　of　our　joint　mockeries　upon　our　host；
who　took　it　gladly；　and　amid　the　discourse；　so　little　improving；　but　so
full　of　good　fellowship；　Bret　Harte's　fleeting　dramatization　of　Clemens's
mental　attitude　toward　a　symposium　of　Boston　illuminates。　　〃Why；
fellows；〃　he　spluttered；　〃this　is　the　dream　of　Mark's　life；〃　and　I
remember　the　glance　from　under　Clemens's　feathery　eyebrows　which　betrayed
his　enjoyment　of　the　fun。　　We　had　beefsteak　with　mushrooms；　which　in
recognition　of　their　shape　Aldrich　hailed　as　shoe…pegs；　and　to　crown　the
feast　we　had　an　omelette　souse；　which　the　waiter　brought　in　as　flat　as　a
pancake；　amid　our　shouts　of　congratulations　to　poor　Keeler；　who　took　them
with　appreciative　submission。　　It　was　in　every　way　what　a　Boston　literary
lunch　ought　not　to　have　been　in　the　popular　ideal　which　Harte　attributed
to　Clemens。

Our　next　meeting　was　at　Hartford；　or；　rather；　at　Springfield；　where
Clemens　greeted　us　on　the　way　to　Hartford。　　Aldrich　was　going　on　to　be
his　guest；　and　I　was　going　to　be　Charles　Dudley　Warner's；　but　Clemens　had
come　part　way　to　welcome　us　both。　　In　the　good　fellowship　of　that　cordial
neighborhood　we　had　two　such　days　as　the　aging　sun　no　longer　shines　on　in
his　round。　　There　was　constant　running　in　and　out　of　friendly　houses
where　the　lively　hosts　and　guests　called　one　another　by　their　Christian
names　or　nicknames；　and　no　such　vain　ceremony　as　knocking　or　ringing　at
doors。　　Clemens　was　then　building　the　stately　mansion　in　which　he
satisfied　his　love　of　magnificence　as　if　it　had　been　another　sealskin
coat；　and　he　was　at　the　crest　of　the　prosperity　which　enabled　him　to
humor　every　whim　or　extravagance。　　The　house　was　the　design　of　that　most
original　artist；　Edward　Potter；　who　once；　when　hard　pressed　by
incompetent　curiosity　for　the　name　of　his　style　in　a　certain　church；
proposed　that　it　should　be　called　the　English　violet　order　of
architecture；　and　this　house　was　so　absolutely　suited　to　the　owner's
humor　that　I　suppose　there　never　was　another　house　like　it；　but　its
character　must　be　for　recognition　farther　along　in　these　reminiscences。
The　vividest　impression　which　Clemens　gave　us　two　ravenous　young　Boston
authors　was　of　the　satisfying；　the　surfeiting　nature　of　subscription
publication。　　An　army　of　agents　was　overrunning　the　country　with　the
prospectuses　of　his　books；　and　delivering　them　by　the　scores　of　thousands
in　completed　sale。　　Of　the　'Innocents　Abroad'　he　said；　〃It　sells　right
along　just　like　the　Bible；〃　and　'Roughing　It'　was　swiftly　following；
without　perhaps　ever　quite　overtaking　it　in　popularity。　　But　he　lectured
Aldrich　and　me　on　the　folly　of　that　mode　of　publication　in　the　trade
which　we　had　thought　it　the　highest　success　to　achieve　a　chance　in。
〃Anything　but　subscription　publication　is　printing　for　private
circulation；〃　he　maintained；　and　he　so　won　upon　our　greed　and　hope　that
on　the　way　back　to　Boston　we　planned　the　joint　authorship　of　a　volume
adapted　to　subscription　publication。　　We　got　a　very　good　name　for　it；　as
we　believed；　in　Memorable　Murders；　and　we　never　got　farther　with　it；　but
by　the　time　we　reached　Boston　we　were　rolling　in　wealth　so　deep　that　we
could　hardly　walk　home　in　the　frugal　fashion　by　which　we　still　thought　it
best　to　spare　car　fare；　carriage　fare　we　did　not　dream　of　even　in　that
opulence。




III。

The　visits　to　Hartford　which　had　begun　with　this　affluence　continued
without　actual　increase　of　riches　for　me；　but　now　I　went　alone；　and　in
Warner's　European　and　Egyptian　absences　I　formed　the　habit　of　going　to
Clemens。　　By　this　time　he　was　in　his　new　house；　where　he　used　to　give　me
a　royal　chamber　on　the　ground　floor；　and　come　in　at　night　after　I　had
gone　to　bed　to　take　off　the　burglar　alarm　so　that　the　family　should　not
be　roused　if　anybody　tried　to　get　in　at　my　window。　　This　would　be　after
we　had　sat　up　late；　he　smoking　the　last　of　his　innumerable　cigars；　and
soothing　his　tense　nerves　with　a　mild　hot　Scotch；　while　we　both　talked
and　talked　and　talked；　of　everything　in　the　heavens　and　on　the　earth；
and　the　waters　under　the