my mark twain-第11节

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were　not　themselves　mocked；　the　joke　was；　of　course；　beside　them；
nevertheless；　their　personality　was　trifled　with；　and　I　could　only　end　by
reflecting　that　if　I　had　been　in　their　place　I　should　not　have　liked　it
myself。　　Clemens　would　have　liked　it　himself；　for　he　had　the　heart　for
that　sort　of　wild　play；　and　he　so　loved　a　joke　that　even　if　it　took　the
form　of　a　liberty；　and　was　yet　a　good　joke；　he　would　have　loved　it。　　But
perhaps　this　burlesque　was　not　a　good　joke。




XVI。

Clemens　was　oftenest　at　my　house　in　Cambridge；　but　he　was　also　sometimes
at　my　house　in　Belmont；　when；　after　a　year　in　Europe；　we　went　to　live　in
Boston；　he　was　more　rarely　with　us。　　We　could　never　be　long　together
without　something　out　of　the　common　happening；　and　one　day　something　far
out　of　the　common　happened；　which　fortunately　refused　the　nature　of
absolute　tragedy；　while　remaining　rather　the　saddest　sort　of　comedy。　　We
were　looking　out　of　my　library　window　on　that　view　of　the　Charles　which　I
was　so　proud　of　sharing　with　my　all…but…next…door　neighbor；　Doctor
Holmes；　when　another　friend　who　was　with　us　called　out　with　curiously
impersonal　interest；　〃　Oh；　see　that　woman　getting　into　the　water！〃　　This
would　have　excited　curiosity　and　alarmed　anxiety　far　less　lively　than
ours；　and　Clemens　and　I　rushed　downstairs　and　out　through　my　basement　and
back　gate。　　At　the　same　time　a　coachman　came　out　of　a　stable　next　door；
and　grappled　by　the　shoulders　a　woman　who　was　somewhat　deliberately
getting　down　the　steps　to　the　water　over　the　face　of　the　embankment。
Before　we　could　reach　them　he　had　pulled　her　up　to　the　driveway；　and
stood　holding　her　there　while　she　crazily　grieved　at　her　rescue。　　As　soon
as　he　saw　us　he　went　back　into　his　stable；　and　left　us　with　the　poor　wild
creature　on　our　hands。　　She　was　not　very　young　and　not　very　pretty；　and
we　could　not　have　flattered　ourselves　with　the　notion　of　anything
romantic　in　her　suicidal　mania；　but　we　could　take　her　on　the　broad　human
level；　and　on　this　we　proposed　to　escort　her　up　Beacon　Street　till　we
could　give　her　into　the　keeping　of　one　of　those　kindly　policemen　whom　our
neighborhood　knew。　　Naturally　there　was　no　policeman　known　to　us　or
unknown　the　whole　way　to　the　Public　Garden。　　We　had　to　circumvent　our
charge　in　her　present　design　of　drowning　herself；　and　walk　her　past　the
streets　crossing　Beacon　to　the　river。　　At　these　points　it　needed
considerable　reasoning　to　overcome　her　wish　and　some　active　manoeuvring
in　both　of　us　to　enforce　our　arguments。　　Nobody　else　appeared　to　be
interested；　and　though　we　did　not　court　publicity　in　the　performance　of
the　duty　so　strangely　laid　upon　us；　still　it　was　rather　disappointing　to
be　so　entirely　ignored。

There　are　some　four　or　five　crossings　to　the　river　between　302　Beacon
Street　and　the　Public　Garden；　and　the　suggestions　at　our　command　were
pretty　well　exhausted　by　the　time　we　reached　it。　　Still　the　expected
policeman　was　nowhere　in　sight；　but　a　brilliant　thought　occurred　to
Clemens。　　He　asked　me　where　the　nearest　police　station　was；　and　when　I
told　him；　he　started　off　at　his　highest　speed；　leaving　me　in　sole　charge
of　our　hapless　ward。　　All　my　powers　of　suasion　were　now　taxed　to　the
utmost；　and　I　began　attracting　attention　as　a　short；　stout　gentleman　in
early　middle　life　endeavoring　to　distrain　a　respectable　female　of　her
personal　liberty；　when　his　accomplice　had　abandoned　him　to　his　wicked
design。　　After　a　much　longer　time　than　I　thought　I　should　have　taken　to
get　a　policeman　from　the　station；　Clemens　reappeared　in　easy　conversation
with　an　officer　who　had　probably　realized　that　he　was　in　the　company　of
Mark　Twain；　and　was　in　no　hurry　to　end　the　interview。　　He　took　possession
of　our　captive；　and　we　saw　her　no　more。　　I　now　wonder　that　with　our　joint
instinct　for　failure　we　ever　got　rid　of　her；　but　I　am　sure　we　did；　and
few　things　in　life　have　given　me　greater　relief。　　When　we　got　back　to　my
house　we　found　the　friend　we　had　left　there　quite　unruffled　and　not　much
concerned　to　know　the　facts　of　our　adventure。　　My　impression　is　that　he
had　been　taking　a　nap　on　my　lounge；　be　appeared　refreshed　and　even　gay；
but　if　I　am　inexact　in　these　details　he　is　alive　to　refute　me。




XVII。

A　little　after　this　Clemens　went　abroad　with　his　family；　and　lived
several　years　in　Germany。　　His　letters　still　came；　but　at　longer
intervals；　and　the　thread　of　our　intimate　relations　was　inevitably
broken。　　He　would　write　me　when　something　I　had　written　pleased　him；
or　when　something　signal　occurred　to　him；　or　some　political　or　social
outrage　stirred　him　to　wrath；　and　he　wished　to　free　his　mind　in　pious
profanity。　　During　this　sojourn　he　came　near　dying　of　pneumonia　in
Berlin；　and　he　had　slight　relapses　from　it　after　coming　home。　　In　Berlin
also　he　had　the　honor　of　dining　with　the　German　Emperor　at　the　table　of
a　cousin　married　to　a　high　officer　of　the　court。　　Clemens　was　a　man　to
enjoy　such　a　distinction；　he　knew　how　to　take　it　as　a　delegated
recognition　from　the　German　people；　but　as　coming　from　a　rather　cockahoop
sovereign　who　had　as　yet　only　his　sovereignty　to　value　himself　upon；　he
was　not　very　proud　of　it。　　He　expressed　a　quiet　disdain　of　the　event　as
between　the　imperiality　and　himself；　on　whom　it　was　supposed　to　confer
such　glory；　crowning　his　life　with　the　topmost　leaf　of　laurel。　　He　was　in
the　same　mood　in　his　account　of　an　English　dinner　many　years　before；
where　there　was　a　〃little　Scotch　lord〃　present；　to　whom　the　English
tacitly　referred　Clemens's　talk；　and　laughed　when　the　lord　laughed；　and
were　grave　when　he　failed　to　smile。　　Of　all　the　men　I　have　known　he　was
the　farthest　from　a　snob；　though　he　valued　recognition；　and　liked　the
flattery　of　the　fashionable　fair　when　it　came　in　his　way。　　He　would　not
go　out　of　his　way　for　it；　but　like　most　able　and　brilliant　men　he　loved
the　minds　of　women；　their　wit；　their　agile　cleverness；　their　sensitive
perception；　their　humorous　appreciation；　the　saucy　things　they　would　say；
and　their　pretty；　temerarious　defiances。　　He　had；　of　course；　the　keenest
sense　of　what　was　truly　dignified　and　truly　undignified　in　people；　but　he
was　not　really　interested　in　what　we　call　society　affairs；　they　scarcely
existed　for　him；　though　his　books　witness　how　he　abhorred　the　dreadful
fools　who　through　some　chance　of　birth　or　wealth　hold　themselves
different　from　other　men。

Commonly　he　did　not　keep　things　to　himself；　especially　dislikes　and
condemnations。　　Upon　most　current　events　he　had　strong　opinions；　and　he
uttered　them　strongly。　　After　a　while　he　was　silent　in　them；　but　if　you
tried　him　you　found　him　in　them　still。　　He　was　tremendously　worked　up　by
a　certain　famous　trial；　as　most　of　us　were　who　lived　in　the　time　of　it。
He　believed　the　accused　guilty；　but　when　we　met　some　months　after　it　was
over；　and　I　tempted　him　to　speak　his　mind　upon　it；　he　would　only　say。
The　man　had　suffered　enough；　as　if　the　man　had　expiated　his　wrong；　and　he
was　not　going　to　do　anything　to　renew　his　penalty。　　I　found　that　very
curious；　very　delicate。　　His　continued　blame　could　not　come　to　the
sufferer's　knowledge；　but　he　felt　it　his　duty　to　forbear　it。

He　was　apt　to　wear　himself　out　in　the　vehemence　of　his　resentments；　or；
he　had　so　spent　himself　in　uttering　them　that　he　had　literally　nothing
more　to　say。　　You　could　offer　Clemens　offences　that　would　anger　other　men
and　he　did　not　mind；　he　would　account　for　them　from　human　nature；　but　if
he　thought　you　had　in　any　way　played　him　false　you　were　anathema　and
maranatha　forever。　　Yet　not　forever；　perhaps；　for　by　and…by；　after　years；
he　would　be　silent。　　There　were　two　men；　half　a　generation　apart　in　their
succession；　whom　he　thought　equally　atrocious　in　their　treason　to　him；
and　of　whom　he　used　to　talk　terrifyingly；　even　after　they　were　out　of　the
world。　　He　went　farther　than　Heine；　who　said　that　he　forgave　his　enemies；
but　not　till　they　were　dead。　　Clemens　did　not　forgive　his　dead　enemies；
their　death　seemed　to　deepen　their　crimes；　like　a　base　evasion；　or　a
cowardly　attempt　to　escape；　he　pursued　them　to　the　grave；　he　would　like
to　dig　them　up　and　take　vengeance　upon　their　clay。　　So　he　said；　but　no
doubt　he　would　not　have　hurt　them　if　he　had　had　them　living　before　him。
He　was　generous　without　stint；　he　trusted　without　measure；　but　where　his
generosity　was　abused；　or　his　trust　betrayed；　he　was　a　fire　of　vengeance；
a　consuming　flame　of　suspicion　that　no　sprinkling　of　cool　patience　from
others　could　quench；　it　had　to　burn　itself　out。　　He　was　eagerly　and
lavishly　hospitable；　but　if　a　man　seemed　willing　to　batten　on　him；　or　in
any　way　to　lie　down　upon　him；　Clemens　despised　him　unutterably。　　In　his
frenzies　of　resentment　or　suspicion　he　would　not；　and　doubtless　could
not；　listen　to　reason。　　But　if　between　the　paroxysms　he　were　confronted
with　the　facts　he　would　own　them；　no　matter　how　much　they　told　against
him。　　At　one　period　he　fancied　that　a　certain　newspaper　was　hounding　him
with　biting　censure　and　poisonous　paragraphs；　and　he　was　filling　himself
up　with　wrath　to　be　duly　discharged　on　the　editor's　head。　　Later；　he
wrote　me　with　a　humorous　joy　in　his　mistake　that　Warner　had　advised　him
to　have　the　paper　watched　for　these