my mark twain-第3节

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clothing　the　hillside　by　which　his　house　stood。　　We　agreed　that　there　was
a　novel　charm　in　trees　seen　from　such　a　vantage；　far　surpassing　that　of
the　farther　scenery。　　He　had　not　been　a　country　boy　for　nothing；　rather
he　had　been　a　country　boy；　or；　still　better；　a　village　boy；　for
everything　that　Nature　can　offer　the　young　of　our　species；　and　no　aspect
of　her　was　lost　on　him。　　We　were　natives　of　the　same　vast　Mississippi
Valley；　and　Missouri　was　not　so　far　from　Ohio　but　that　we　were　akin　in
our　first　knowledges　of　woods　and　fields　as　we　were　in　our　early
parlance。　　I　had　outgrown　the　use　of　mine　through　my　greater　bookishness；
but　I　gladly　recognized　the　phrases　which　he　employed　for　their　lasting
juiciness　and　the　long…remembered　savor　they　had　on　his　mental　palate。

I　have　elsewhere　sufficiently　spoken　of　his　unsophisticated　use　of　words；
of　the　diction　which　forms　the　backbone　of　his　manly　style。　　If　I　mention
my　own　greater　bookishness；　by　which　I　mean　his　less　quantitative
reading；　it　is　to　give　myself　better　occasion　to　note　that　he　was　always
reading　some　vital　book。　　It　might　be　some　out…of…the…way　book；　but　it
had　the　root　of　the　human　matter　in　it：　a　volume　of　great　trials；　one　of
the　supreme　autobiographies；　a　signal　passage　of　history；　a　narrative　of
travel；　a　story　of　captivity；　which　gave　him　life　at　first…hand。　　As　I
remember；　he　did　not　care　much　for　fiction；　and　in　that　sort　he　had
certain　distinct　loathings；　there　were　certain　authors　whose　names　he
seemed　not　so　much　to　pronounce　as　to　spew　out　of　his　mouth。　　Goldsmith
was　one　of　these；　but　his　prime　abhorrence　was　my　dear　and　honored　prime
favorite；　Jane　Austen。　　He　once　said　to　me；　I　suppose　after　he　had　been
reading　some　of　my　unsparing　praises　of　herI　am　always　praising　her；
〃You　seem　to　think　that　woman　could　write；〃　and　he　forbore　withering　me
with　his　scorn；　apparently　because　we　had　been　friends　so　long；　and　he
more　pitied　than　hated　me　for　my　bad　taste。　　He　seemed　not　to　have　any
preferences　among　novelists；　or　at　least　I　never　heard　him　express　any。
He　used　to　read　the　modern　novels　I　praised；　in　or　out　of　print；　but　I　do
not　think　he　much　liked　reading　fiction。　　As　for　plays；　he　detested　the
theatre；　and　said　he　would　as　lief　do　a　sum　as　follow　a　plot　on　the
stage。　　He　could　not；　or　did　not；　give　any　reasons　for　his　literary
abhorrences；　and　perhaps　he　really　had　none。　　But　he　could　have　said　very
distinctly；　if　he　had　needed；　why　he　liked　the　books　he　did。　　I　was　away
at　the　time　of　his　great　Browning　passion；　and　I　know　of　it　chiefly　from
hearsay；　but　at　the　time　Tolstoy　was　doing　what　could　be　done　to　make　me
over　Clemens　wrote；　〃That　man　seems　to　have　been　to　you　what　Browning　was
to　me。〃　　I　do　not　know　that　he　had　other　favorites　among　the　poets；　but
he　had　favorite　poems　which　he　liked　to　read　to　you；　and　he　read；　of
course；　splendidly。　　I　have　forgotten　what　piece　of　John　Hay's　it　was
that　he　liked　so　much；　but　I　remembered　how　he　fiercely　revelled　in　the
vengefulness　of　William　Morris's　'Sir　Guy　of　the　Dolorous　Blast；'　and　how
he　especially　exalted　in　the　lines　which　tell　of　the　supposed　speaker's
joy　in　slaying　the　murderer　of　his　brother：

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃I　am　threescore　years　and　ten；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　And　my　hair　is　'nigh　turned　gray；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　But　I　am　glad　to　think　of　the　moment　when
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　I　took　his　life　away。〃

Generally；　I　fancy　his　pleasure　in　poetry　was　not　great；　and　I　do　not
believe　he　cared　much　for　the　conventionally　accepted　masterpieces　of
literature。　　He　liked　to　find　out　good　things　and　great　things　for
himself；　sometimes　he　would　discover　these　in　a　masterpiece　new　to　him
alone；　and　then；　if　you　brought　his　ignorance　home　to　him；　he　enjoyed　it；
and　enjoyed　it　the　more　the　more　you　rubbed　it　in。

Of　all　the　literary　men　I　have　known　he　was　the　most　unliterary　in　his
make　and　manner。　　I　do　not　know　whether　he　had　any　acquaintance　with
Latin；　but　I　believe　not　the　least；　German　he　knew　pretty　well；　and
Italian　enough　late　in　life　to　have　fun　with　it；　but　he　used　English　in
all　its　alien　derivations　as　if　it　were　native　to　his　own　air；　as　if　it
had　come　up　out　of　American；　out　of　Missourian　ground。　　His　style　was
what　we　know；　for　good　and　for　bad；　but　his　manner；　if　I　may　difference
the　two；　was　as　entirely　his　own　as　if　no　one　had　ever　written　before。
I　have　noted　before　this　how　he　was　not　enslaved　to　the　consecutiveness
in　writing　which　the　rest　of　us　try　to　keep　chained　to。　　That　is；　he
wrote　as　he　thought；　and　as　all　men　think；　without　sequence；　without　an
eye　to　what　went　before　or　should　come　after。　　If　something　beyond　or
beside　what　he　was　saying　occurred　to　him；　he　invited　it　into　his　page；
and　made　it　as　much　at　home　there　as　the　nature　of　it　would　suffer　him。
Then；　when　he　was　through　with　the　welcoming　of　this　casual　and
unexpected　guest；　he　would　go　back　to　the　company　he　was　entertaining；
and　keep　on　with　what　he　had　been　talking　about。　　He　observed　this　manner
in　the　construction　of　his　sentences；　and　the　arrangement　of　his
chapters；　and　the　ordering　or　disordering　of　his　compilations。　＇Nowhere
is　this　characteristic　better　found　than　in　Twain's　Autobiography；'　it
was　not　a　〃style〃　it　was　unselfconscious　thought　　D。W。＇　I　helped　him
with　a　Library　of　Humor；　which　he　once　edited；　and　when　I　had　done　my
work　according　to　tradition；　with　authors；　times；　and　topics　carefully
studied　in　due　sequence；　he　tore　it　all　apart；　and　〃chucked〃　the　pieces
in　wherever　the　fancy；　for　them　took　him　at　the　moment。　　He　was　right：　we
were　not　making　a　text…book；　but　a　book　for　the　pleasure　rather　than　the
instruction　of　the　reader；　and　he　did　not　see　why　the　principle　on　which
he　built　his　travels　and　reminiscences　and　tales　and　novels　should　not
apply　to　it；　and　I　do　not　now　see；　either；　though　at　the　time　it
confounded　me。　　On　minor　points　he　was；　beyond　any　author　I　have　known；
without　favorite　phrases　or　pet　words。　　He　utterly　despised　the　avoidance
of　repetitions　out　of　fear　of　tautology。　　If　a　word　served　his　turn
better　than　a　substitute；　he　would　use　it　as　many　times　in　a　page　as　he
chose。




V。

At　that　time　I　had　become　editor　of　The　Atlantic　Monthly；　and　I　had
allegiances　belonging　to　the　conduct　of　what　was　and　still　remains　the
most　scrupulously　cultivated　of　our　periodicals。　　When　Clemens　began　to
write　for　it　he　came　willingly　under　its　rules；　for　with　all　his
wilfulness　there　never　was　a　more　biddable　man　in　things　you　could　show
him　a　reason　for。　　He　never　made　the　least　of　that　trouble　which　so
abounds　for　the　hapless　editor　from　narrower…minded　contributors。　　If　you
wanted　a　thing　changed；　very　good；　he　changed　it；　if　you　suggested　that　a
word　or　a　sentence　or　a　paragraph　had　better　be　struck　out；　very　good；
he　struck　it　out。　　His　proof…sheets　came　back　each　a　veritable　〃mush　of
concession；〃　as　Emerson　says。　　Now　and　then　he　would　try　a　little
stronger　language　than　'The　Atlantic'　had　stomach　for；　and　once　when　I
sent　him　a　proof　I　made　him　observe　that　I　had　left　out　the　profanity。
He　wrote　back：　〃Mrs。　Clemens　opened　that　proof；　and　lit　into　the　room
with　danger　in　her　eye。　　What　profanity？　　You　see；　when　I　read　the
manuscript　to　her　I　skipped　that。〃　　It　was　part　of　his　joke　to　pretend　a
violence　in　that　gentlest　creature　which　the　more　amusingly　realized　the
situation　to　their　friends。

I　was　always　very　glad　of　him　and　proud　of　him　as　a　contributor；　but　I
must　not　claim　the　whole　merit；　or　the　first　merit　of　having　him　write
for　us。　　It　was　the　publisher；　the　late　H。　O。　Houghton；　who　felt　the
incongruity　of　his　absence　from　the　leading　periodical　of　the　country；
and　was　always　urging　me　to　get　him　to　write。　　I　will　take　the　credit　of
being　eager　for　him；　but　it　is　to　the　publisher's　credit　that　he　tried；
so　far　as　the　modest　traditions　of　'The　Atlantic'　would　permit；　to　meet
the　expectations　in　pay　which　the　colossal　profits　of　Clemens's　books
might　naturally　have　bred　in　him。　　Whether　he　was　really　able　to　do　this
he　never　knew　from　Clemens　himself；　but　probably　twenty　dollars　a　page
did　not　surfeit　the　author　of　books　that　〃sold　right　along　just　like　the
Bible。〃

We　had　several　short　contributions　from　Clemens　first；　all　of　capital
quality；　and　then　we　had　the　series　of　papers　which　went　mainly　to　the
making　of　his　great　book；　'Life　on　the　Mississippi'。　　Upon　the　whole　I
have　the　notion　that　Clemens　thought　this　his　greatest　book；　and　he　was
supported　in　his　opinion　by　that　of　the　'portier'　in　his　hotel　at　Vienna；
and　that　of　the　German　Emperor；　who；　as　he　told　me　with　equal　respect　for
the　preference　of　each；　united　in　thinking　it　his　best；　with　such　far…
sundered　social　poles　approaching　in　its　favor；　he　apparently　found
himself　without　standing　for　opposition。　　At　any　rate；　the　papers　won
instant　appreciation　from　his　editor　and　publisher；　and　from　the　readers
of　their　periodical；　which　they　expected　to　prosper　beyond　precedent　in
its　circulation。　　But　those　were　days　of　simpler　acceptance　of　the
popular　rights　of　newspapers　than　these　are；　when　magazines　strictly
guard　their　vested　interests　against　them。　　'The　New　York　Times'　and　the
'St。　Louis　Democrat'　pro