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But　Clemens　was　never　a　man　to　give　up。　　I　relinquished　gratis　all　right
and　title　I　had　in　the　play；　and　he　paid　its　entire　expenses　for　a　week
of　one…night　stands　in　the　country。　　It　never　came　to　New　York；　and　yet　I
think　now　that　if　it　had　come；　it　would　have　succeeded。　　So　hard　does　the
faith　of　the　unsuccessful　dramatist　in　his　work　die。




VII。

There　is　an　incident　of　this　time　so　characteristic　of　both　men　that　I
will　yield　to　the　temptation　of　giving　it　here。　　After　I　had　gone　to
Hartford　in　response　to　Clemens's　telegram；　Matthew　Arnold　arrived　in
Boston；　and　one　of　my　family　called　on　his；　to　explain　why　I　was　not　at
home　to　receive　his　introduction：　I　had　gone　to　see　Mark　Twain。　　〃Oh；　but
he　doesn't　like　that　sort　of　thing；　does　he？〃　　〃He　likes　Mr。　Clemens　very
much；〃　my　representative　answered；　〃and　he　thinks　him　one　of　the　greatest
men　he　ever　knew。〃　　I　was　still　Clemens's　guest　at　Hartford　when　Arnold
came　there　to　lecture；　and　one　night　we　went　to　meet　him　at　a　reception。
While　his　hand　laxly　held　mine　in　greeting；　I　saw　his　eyes　fixed
intensely　on　the　other　side　of　the　room。　　〃Who…who　in　the　world　is　that？〃
I　looked　and　said；　〃Oh；　that　is　Mark　Twain。〃　　I　do　not　remember　just　how
their　instant　encounter　was　contrived　by　Arnold's　wish；　but　I　have　the
impression　that　they　were　not　parted　for　long　during　the　evening；　and　the
next　night　Arnold；　as　if　still　under　the　glamour　of　that　potent　presence；
was　at　Clemens's　house。　　I　cannot　say　how　they　got　on；　or　what　they　made
of　each　other；　if　Clemens　ever　spoke　of　Arnold；　I　do　not　recall　what　he
said；　but　Arnold　had　shown　a　sense　of　him　from　which　the　incredulous
sniff　of　the　polite　world；　now　so　universally　exploded；　had　already
perished。　　It　might　well　have　done　so　with　his　first　dramatic　vision　of
that　prodigious　head。　　Clemens　was　then　hard　upon　fifty；　and　he　had　kept；
as　he　did　to　the　end；　the　slender　figure　of　his　youth；　but　the　ashes　of
the　burnt…out　years　were　beginning　to　gray　the　fires　of　that　splendid
shock　of　red　hair　which　he　held　to　the　height　of　a　stature　apparently
greater　than　it　was；　and　tilted　from　side　to　side　in　his　undulating　walk。
He　glimmered　at　you　from　the　narrow　slits　of　fine　blue…greenish　eyes；
under　branching　brows；　which　with　age　grew　more　and　more　like　a　sort　of
plumage；　and　he　was　apt　to　smile　into　your　face　with　a　subtle　but　amiable
perception；　and　yet　with　a　sort　of　remote　absence；　you　were　all　there　for
him；　but　he　was　not　all　there　for　you。




VIII。

I　shall；　not　try　to　give　chronological　order　to　my　recollections　of　him；
but　since　I　am　just　now　with　him　in　Hartford　I　will　speak　of　him　in
association　with　the　place。　　Once　when　I　came　on　from　Cambridge　he
followed　me　to　my　room　to　see　that　the　water　was　not　frozen　in　my　bath；
or　something　of　the　kind；　for　it　was　very　cold　weather；　and　then
hospitably　lingered。　　Not　to　lose　time　in　banalities　I　began　at　once　from
the　thread　of　thought　in　my　mind。　　〃I　wonder　why　we　hate　the　past　so；〃
and　he　responded　from　the　depths　of　his　own　consciousness；　〃It's　so
damned　humiliating；〃　which　is　what　any　man　would　say　of　his　past　if　he
were　honest；　but　honest　men　are　few　when　it　comes　to　themselves。　　Clemens
was　one　of　the　few；　and　the　first　of　them　among　all　the　people　I　have
known。　　I　have　known；　I　suppose；　men　as　truthful；　but　not　so　promptly；　so
absolutely；　so　positively；　so　almost　aggressively　truthful。　　He　could
lie；　of　course；　and　did　to　save　others　from　grief　or　harm；　he　was；　not
stupidly　truthful；　but　his　first　impulse　was　to　say　out　the　thing　and
everything　that　was　in　him。　　To　those　who　can　understand　it　will　not　be
contradictory　of　his　sense　of　humiliation　from　the　past；　that　he　was　not
ashamed　for　anything　he　ever　did　to　the　point　of　wishing　to　hide　it。　　He
could　be；　and　he　was；　bitterly　sorry　for　his　errors；　which　he　had　enough
of　in　his　life；　but　he　was　not　ashamed　in　that　mean　way。　　What　he　had
done　he　owned　to；　good；　bad；　or　indifferent；　and　if　it　was　bad　he　was
rather　amused　than　troubled　as　to　the　effect　in　your　mind。　　He　would　not
obtrude　the　fact　upon　you；　but　if　it　were　in　the　way　of　personal　history
he　would　not　dream　of　withholding　it；　far　less　of　hiding　it。

He　was　the　readiest　of　men　to　allow　an　error　if　he　were　found　in　it。　　In
one　of　our　walks　about　Hartford；　when　he　was　in　the　first　fine　flush　of
his　agnosticism；　be　declared　that　Christianity　had　done　nothing　to
improve　morals　and　conditions；　and　that　the　world　under　the　highest　pagan
civilization　was　as　well　off　as　it　was　under　the　highest　Christian
influences。　　I　happened　to　be　fresh　from　the　reading　of　Charles　Loring
Brace's　'Gesta　Christi'；　or；　'History　of　Humane　Progress'；　and　I　could
offer　him　abundant　proofs　that　he　was　wrong。　　He　did　not　like　that
evidently；　but　he　instantly　gave　way；　saying　be　had　not　known　those
things。　　Later　be　was　more　tolerant　in　his　denials　of　Christianity；　but
just　then　he　was　feeling　his　freedom　from　it；　and　rejoicing　in　having
broken　what　he　felt　to　have　been　the　shackles　of　belief　worn　so　long。
He　greatly　admired　Robert　Ingersoll；　whom　he　called　an　angelic　orator；
and　regarded　as　an　evangel　of　a　new　gospelthe　gospel　of　free　thought。；
He　took　the　warmest　interest　in　the　newspaper　controversy　raging　at　the
time　as　to　the　existence　of　a　hell；　when　the　noes　carried　the　day；　I
suppose　that　no　enemy　of　perdition　was　more　pleased。　　He　still　loved　his
old　friend　and　pastor；　Mr。　Twichell；　but　he　no　longer　went　to　hear　him
preach　his　sage　and　beautiful　sermons；　and　was；　I　think；　thereby　the
greater　loser。　　Long　before　that　I　had　asked　him　if　he　went　regularly　to
church；　and　he　groaned　out：　〃Oh　yes；　I　go。　　It　'most　kills　me；　but　I　go；〃
and　I　did　not　need　his　telling　me　to　understand　that　he　went　because　his
wife　wished　it。　　He　did　tell　me；　after　they　both　ceased　to　go；　that　it
had　finally　come　to　her　saying；　〃Well；　if　you　are　to　be　lost；　I　want　to
be　lost　with　you。〃　　He　could　accept　that　willingness　for　supreme
sacrifice　and　exult　in　it　because　of　the　supreme　truth　as　he　saw　it。
After　they　had　both　ceased　to　be　formal　Christians；　she　was　still　grieved
by　his　denial　of　immortality；　so　grieved　that　he　resolved　upon　one　of
those　heroic　lies；　which　for　love's　sake　he　held　above　even　the　truth；
and　he　went　to　her；　saying　that　he　had　been　thinking　the　whole　matter
over；　and　now　he　was　convinced　that　the　soul　did　live　after　death。　　It
was　too　late。　　Her　keen　vision　pierced　through　his　ruse；　as　it　did　when
he　brought　the　doctor　who　had　diagnosticated　her　case　as　organic　disease
of　the　heart；　and；　after　making　him　go　over　the　facts　of　it　again　with
her；　made　him　declare　it　merely　functional。

To　make　an　end　of　these　records　as　to　Clemens's　beliefs；　so　far　as　I　knew
them；　I　should　say　that　he　never　went　back　to　anything　like　faith　in　the
Christian　theology；　or　in　the　notion　of　life　after　death；　or　in　a
conscious　divinity。　　It　is　best　to　be　honest　in　this　matter；　he　would
have　hated　anything　else；　and　I　do　not　believe　that　the　truth　in　it　can
hurt　any　one。　　At　one　period　he　argued　that　there　must　have　been　a　cause；
a　conscious　source　of　things；　that　the　universe　could　not　have　come　by
chance。　　I　have　heard　also　that　in　his　last　hours　or　moments　he　said；　or
his　dearest　ones　hoped　he　had　said；　something　about　meeting　again。　　But
the　expression；　of　which　they　could　not　be　certain；　was　of　the　vaguest；
and　it　was　perhaps　addressed　to　their　tenderness　out　of　his　tenderness。
All　his　expressions　to　me　were　of　a　courageous；　renunciation　of　any　hope
of　living　again；　or　elsewhere　seeing　those　he　had　lost。　　He　suffered
terribly　in　their　loss；　and　he　was　not　fool　enough　to　try　ignoring　his
grief。　　He　knew　that　for　this　there　were　but　two　medicines；　that　it　would
wear　itself　out　with　the　years；　and　that　meanwhile　there　was　nothing　for
it　but　those　respites　in　which　the　mourner　forgets　himself　in　slumber。
I　remember　that　in　a　black　hour　of　my　own　when　I　was　called　down　to　see
him；　as　he　thought　from　sleep；　he　said　with　an　infinite；　an　exquisite
compassion；　〃Oh；　did　I　wake　you；　did　I　wake；　you？〃　　Nothing　more；　but　the
look；　the　voice；　were　everything；　and　while　I　live　they　cannot　pass　from
my　sense。




IX。

He　was　the　most　caressing　of　men　in　his　pity；　but　he　had　the　fine
instinct；　which　would　have　pleased　Lowell；　of　never　putting　his　hands　on
youfine；　delicate　hands；　with　taper　fingers；　and　pink　nails；　like　a
girl's；　and　sensitively　quivering　in　moments　of　emotion；　he　did　not　paw
you　with　them　to　show　his　affection；　as　so　many　of　us　Americans　are　apt
to　do。　　Among　the　half…dozen；　or　half…hundred；　personalities　that　each　of
us　becomes；　I　should　say　that　Clemens's　central　and　final　personality　was
something　exquisite。　　His　casual　acquaintance　might　know　him；　perhaps；
from　his　fierce　intensity；　his　wild　pleasure　in　shocking　people　with　his
ribaldries　and　profanities；　or　from　the　mere　need　of　loosing　his
rebellious　spirit　in　that　way；　as　anything　but　exquisite；　and　yet　that
was　what　in　the　last　analysis　he　was。　　They　might　come　away　loathing　or
hating　him；　but　one　could　not　know　him　well　without　realizing　him　the
most　serious；　the　most　humane；　the　most　conscientious　of　men。　　He　was
Southwes