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wrote　me　with　a　humorous　joy　in　his　mistake　that　Warner　had　advised　him
to　have　the　paper　watched　for　these　injuries。　　He　had　done　so；　and　how
many　mentions　of　him　did　I　reckon　he　had　found　in　three　months？　　Just
two；　and　they　were　rather　indifferent　than　unfriendly。　　So　the　paper　was
acquitted；　and　the　editor's　life　was　spared。　　The　wretch　never　knew　how
near　he　was　to　losing　it；　with　incredible　preliminaries　of　obloquy；　and　a
subsequent　devotion　to　lasting　infamy。

His　memory　for　favors　was　as　good　as　for　injuries；　and　he　liked　to　return
your　friendliness　with　as　loud　a　band　of　music　as　could　be　bought　or
bribed　for　the　occasion。　　All　that　you　had　to　do　was　to　signify　that　you
wanted　his　help。　　When　my　father　was　consul　at　Toronto　during　Arthur's
administration；　he　fancied　that　his　place　was　in　danger；　and　he　appealed
to　me。　　In　turn　I　appealed　to　Clemens；　bethinking　myself　of　his
friendship　with　Grant　and　Grant's　friendship　with　Arthur。　　I　asked　him　to
write　to　Grant　in　my　father's　behalf；　but　No；　he　answered　me；　I　must　come
to　Hartford；　and　we　would　go　on　to　New　York　together　and　see　Grant
personally。　　This　was　before；　and　long　before；　Clemens　became　Grant's
publisher　and　splendid　benefactor；　but　the　men　liked　each　other　as　such
men　could　not　help　doing。　　Clemens　made　the　appointment；　and　we　went　to
find　Grant　in　his　business　office；　that　place　where　his　business
innocence　was　afterward　so　betrayed。　　He　was　very　simple　and　very
cordial；　and　I　was　instantly　the　more　at　home　with　him；　because　his　voice
was　the　soft；　rounded；　Ohio　River　accent　to　which　my　years　were　earliest
used　from　my　steamboating　uncles；　my　earliest　heroes。　　When　I　stated　my
business　he　merely　said；　Oh　no；　that　must　not　be；　he　would　write　to　Mr。
Arthur；　and　he　did　so　that　day；　and　my　father　lived　to　lay　down　his
office；　when　he　tired　of　it；　with　no　urgence　from　above。

It　is　not　irrelevant　to　Clemens　to　say　that　Grant　seemed　to　like　finding
himself　in　company　with　two　literary　men；　one　of　whom　at　least　he　could
make　sure　of；　and　unlike　that　silent　man　he　was　reputed；　he　talked
constantly；　and　so　far　as　he　might　he　talked　literature。　　At　least　he
talked　of　John　Phoenix；　that　delightfulest　of　the　early　Pacific　Slope
humorists；　whom　he　had　known　under　his　real　name　of　George　H。　Derby；　when
they　were　fellow…cadets　at　West　Point。　　It　was　mighty　pretty；　as　Pepys
would　say；　to　see　the　delicate　deference　Clemens　paid　our　plain　hero；　and
the　manly　respect　with　which　he　listened。　　While　Grant　talked；　his
luncheon　was　brought　in　from　some　unassuming　restaurant　near　by；　and　he
asked　us　to　join　him　in　the　baked　beans　and　coffee　which　were　served　us
in　a　little　room　out　of　the　office　with　about　the　same　circumstance　as　at
a　railroad　refreshment…counter。　　The　baked　beans　and　coffee　were　of　about
the　railroad…refreshment　quality；　but　eating　them　with　Grant　was　like
sitting　down　to　baked　beans　and　coffee　with　Julius　Caesar；　or　Alexander；
or　some　other　great　Plutarchan　captain。　　One　of　the　highest　satisfactions
of　Clemens's　often　supremely　satisfactory　life　was　his　relation　to　Grant。
It　was　his　proud　joy　to　tell　how　he　found　Grant　about　to　sign　a　contract
for　his　book　on　certainly　very　good　terms；　and　said　to　him　that　he　would
himself　publish　the　book　and　give　him　a　percentage　three　times　as　large。
He　said　Grant　seemed　to　doubt　whether　he　could　honorably　withdraw　from
the　negotiation　at　that　point；　but　Clemens　overbore　his　scruples；　and　it
was　his　unparalleled　privilege；　his　princely　pleasure；　to　pay　the　author
a　far　larger　check　for　his　work　than　had　ever　been　paid　to　an　author
before。　　He　valued　even　more　than　this　splendid　opportunity　the　sacred
moments　in　which　their　business　brought　him　into　the　presence　of　the
slowly　dying；　heroically　living　man　whom　he　was　so　befriending；　and　he
told　me　in　words　which　surely　lost　none　of　their　simple　pathos　through
his　report　how　Grant　described　his　suffering。

The　prosperity；　of　this　venture　was　the　beginning　of　Clemens's　adversity；
for　it　led　to　excesses　of　enterprise　which　were　forms　of　dissipation。
The　young　sculptor　who　had　come　back　to　him　from　Paris　modelled　a　small
bust　of　Grant；　which　Clemens　multiplied　in　great　numbers　to　his　great
loss；　and　the　success　of　Grant's　book　tempted　him　to　launch　on　publishing
seas　where　his　bark　presently　foundered。　　The　first　and　greatest　of　his
disasters　was　the　Life　of　Pope　Leo　XIII；　which　he　came　to　tell　me　of；
when　he　had　imagined　it；　in　a　sort　of　delirious　exultation。　　He　had　no
words　in　which　to　paint　the　magnificence　of　the　project；　or　to　forecast
its　colossal　success。　　It　would　have　a　currency　bounded　only　by　the
number　of　Catholics　in　Christendom。　　It　would　be　translated　into　every
language　which　was　anywhere　written　or　printed；　it　would　be　circulated
literally　in　every　country　of　the　globe；　and　Clemens's　book　agents　would
carry　the　prospectuses　and　then　the　bound　copies　of　the　work　to　the　ends
of　the　whole　earth。　　Not　only　would　every　Catholic　buy　it；　but　every
Catholic　must；　as　he　was　a　good　Catholic；　as　he　hoped　to　be　saved。　　It
was　a　magnificent　scheme；　and　it　captivated　me；　as　it　had　captivated
Clemens；　it　dazzled　us　both；　and　neither　of　us　saw　the　fatal　defect　in
it。　　We　did　not　consider　how　often　Catholics　could　not　read；　how　often
when　they　could；　they　might　not　wish　to　read。　　The　event　proved　that
whether　they　could　read　or　not　the　immeasurable　majority　did　not　wish　to
read　the　life　of　the　Pope；　though　it　was　written　by　a　dignitary　of　the
Church　and　issued　to　the　world　with　every　sanction　from　the　Vatican。
The　failure　was　incredible　to　Clemens；　his　sanguine　soul　was　utterly
confounded；　and　soon　a　silence　fell　upon　it　where　it　had　been　so
exuberantly　jubilant。




XIX。

The　occasions　which　brought　us　to　New　York　together　were　not　nearly　so
frequent　as　those　which　united　us　in　Boston；　but　there　was　a　dinner　given
him　by　a　friend　which　remains　memorable　from　the　fatuity　of　two　men
present；　so　different　in　everything　but　their　fatuity。　　One　was　the　sweet
old　comedian　Billy　Florence；　who　was　urging　the　unsuccessful　dramatist
across　the　table　to　write　him　a　play　about　Oliver　Cromwell；　and　giving
the　reasons　why　he　thought　himself　peculiarly　fitted　to　portray　the
character　of　Cromwell。　　The　other　was　a　modestly　millioned　rich　man　who
was　then　only　beginning　to　amass　the　moneys　afterward　heaped　so　high；　and
was　still　in　the　condition　to　be　flattered　by　the　condescension　of　a　yet
greater　millionaire。　　His　contribution　to　our　gaiety　was　the　verbatim
report　of　a　call　he　had　made　upon　William　H。　Vanderbilt；　whom　he　had
found　just　about　starting　out　of　town；　with　his　trunks　actually　in　the
front　hall；　but　who　had　stayed　to　receive　the　narrator。　　He　had；　in　fact；
sat　down　on　one　of　the　trunks；　and　talked　with　the　easiest　friendliness；
and　quite；　we　were　given　to　infer；　like　an　ordinary　human　being。　　Clemens
often　kept　on　with　some　thread　of　the　talk　when　we　came　away　from　a
dinner；　but　now　he　was　silent；　as　if　〃high　sorrowful　and　cloyed〃；　and　it
was　not　till　well　afterward　that　I　found　he　had　noted　the　facts　from　the
bitterness　with　which　he　mocked　the　rich　man；　and　the　pity　he　expressed
for　the　actor。

He　had　begun　before　that　to　amass　those　evidences　against　mankind　which
eventuated　with　him　in　his　theory　of　what　he　called　〃the　damned　human
race。〃　　This　was　not　an　expression　of　piety；　but　of　the　kind　contempt　to
which　he　was　driven　by　our　follies　and　iniquities　as　he　had　observed　them
in　himself　as　well　as　in　others。　　It　was　as　mild　a　misanthropy；　probably；
as　ever　caressed　the　objects　of　its　malediction。　　But　I　believe　it　was
about　the　year　1900　that　his　sense　of　our　perdition　became　insupportable
and　broke　out　in　a　mixed　abhorrence　and　amusement　which　spared　no
occasion；　so　that　I　could　quite　understand　why　Mrs。　Clemens　should　have
found　some　compensation；　when　kept　to　her　room　by　sickness；　in　the
reflection　that　now　she　should　not　hear　so　much　about　〃the　damned　human
race。〃　　He　told　of　that　with　the　same　wild　joy　that　he　told　of
overhearing　her　repetition　of　one　of　his　most　inclusive　profanities；　and
her　explanation　that　she　meant　him　to　hear　it　so　that　he　might　know　how
it　sounded。　　The　contrast　of　the　lurid　blasphemy　with　her　heavenly
whiteness　should　have　been　enough　to　cure　any　one　less　grounded　than　he
in　what　must　be　owned　was　as　fixed　a　habit　as　smoking　with　him。　　When　I
first　knew　him　he　rarely　vented　his　fury　in　that　sort；　and　I　fancy　he　was
under　a　promise　to　her　which　he　kept　sacred　till　the　wear　and　tear　of　his
nerves　with　advancing　years　disabled　him。　　Then　it　would　be　like　him　to
struggle　with　himself　till　he　could　struggle　no　longer　and　to　ask　his
promise　back；　and　it　would　be　like　her　to　give　it　back。　　His　profanity
was　the　heritage　of　his　boyhood　and　young　manhood　in　social　conditions
and　under　the　duress　of　exigencies　in　which　everybody　swore　about　as
impersonally　as　he　smoked。　　It　is　best　to　recognize　the　fact　of　it；　and　I
do　so　the　more　readily　because　I　cannot　suppose　the　Recording　Angel
really　minded　it　much　more　than　that　Guardian。　　Angel　of　his。　　It
probably　grieved　them　about　equally；　but　they　could　equally　forgive　it。
Nothing　came　o