my mark twain-第6节

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most　serious；　the　most　humane；　the　most　conscientious　of　men。　　He　was
Southwestern；　and　born　amid　the　oppression　of　a　race　that　had　no　rights
as　against　ours；　but　I　never　saw　a　man　more　regardful　of　negroes。　　He　had
a　yellow　butler　when　I　first　began　to　know　him；　because　he　said　he　could
not　bear　to　order　a　white　man　about；　but　the　terms　of　his　ordering　George
were　those　of　the　softest　entreaty　which　command　ever　wore。　　He　loved　to
rely　upon　George；　who　was　such　a　broken　reed　in　some　things；　though　so
stanch　in　others；　and　the　fervent　Republican　in　politics　that　Clemens
then　liked　him　to　be。　　He　could　interpret　Clemens's　meaning　to　the　public
without　conveying　his　mood；　and　could　render　his　roughest　answer　smooth
to　the　person　denied　his　presence。　　His　general　instructions　were　that
this　presence　was　to　be　denied　all　but　personal　friends；　but　the　soft
heart　of　George　was　sometimes　touched　by　importunity；　and　once　he　came　up
into　the　billiard…room　saying　that　Mr。　Smith　wished　to　see　Clemens。　　Upon
inquiry；　Mr。　Smith　developed　no　ties　of　friendship；　and　Clemens　said；
〃You　go　and　tell　Mr。　Smith　that　I　wouldn't　come　down　to　see　the　Twelve
Apostles。〃　　George　turned　from　the　threshold　where　he　had　kept　himself；
and　framed　a　paraphrase　of　this　message　which　apparently　sent　Mr。　Smith
away　content　with　himself　and　all　the　rest　of　the　world。

The　part　of　him　that　was　Western　in　his　Southwestern　origin　Clemens　kept
to　the　end；　but　he　was　the　most　desouthernized　Southerner　I　ever　knew。
No　man　more　perfectly　sensed　and　more　entirely　abhorred　slavery；　and　no
one　has　ever　poured　such　scorn　upon　the　second…hand；　Walter…Scotticized；
pseudo…chivalry　of　the　Southern　ideal。　　He　held　himself　responsible　for
the　wrong　which　the　white　race　had　done　the　black　race　in　slavery；　and　he
explained；　in　paying　the　way　of　a　negro　student　through　Yale；　that　he　was
doing　it　as　his　part　of　the　reparation　due　from　every　white　to　every
black　man。　　He　said　he　had　never　seen　this　student；　nor　ever　wished　to
see　him　or　know　his　name；　it　was　quite　enough　that　he　was　a　negro。　　About
that　time　a　colored　cadet　was　expelled　from　West　Point　for　some　point　of
conduct　〃unbecoming　an　officer　and　gentleman；〃　and　there　was　the　usual
shabby　philosophy　in　a　portion　of　the　press　to　the　effect　that　a　negro
could　never　feel　the　claim　of　honor。　　The　man　was　fifteen　parts　white；
but；　〃Oh　yes；〃　Clemens　said；　with　bitter　irony；　〃it　was　that　one　part
black　that　undid　him。〃　　It　made　him　a　〃nigger〃　and　incapable　of　being　a
gentleman。　　It　was　to　blame　for　the　whole　thing。　　The　fifteen　parts　white
were　guiltless。

Clemens　was　entirely　satisfied　with　the　result　of　the　Civil　War；　and　he
was　eager　to　have　its　facts　and　meanings　brought　out　at　once　in　history。
He　ridiculed　the　notion；　held　by　many；　that　〃it　was　not　yet　time〃　to
philosophize　the　events　of　the　great　struggle；　that　we　must　〃wait　till
its　passions　had　cooled；〃　and　〃the　clouds　of　strife　had　cleared　away。〃
He　maintained　that　the　time　would　never　come　when　we　should　see　its
motives　and　men　and　deeds　more　clearly；　and　that　now；　now；　was　the　hour
to　ascertain　them　in　lasting　verity。　　Picturesquely　and　dramatically　he
portrayed　the　imbecility　of　deferring　the　inquiry　at　any　point　to　the
distance　of　future　years　when　inevitably　the　facts　would　begin　to　put　on
fable。

He　had　powers　of　sarcasm　and　a　relentless　rancor　in　his　contempt　which
those　who　knew　him　best　appreciated　most。　　The　late　Noah　Brooks；　who　had
been　in　California　at　the　beginning　of　Clemens's　career；　and　had
witnessed　the　effect　of　his　ridicule　before　he　had　learned　to　temper　it；
once　said　to　me　that　he　would　rather　have　any　one　else　in　the　world　down
on　him　than　Mark　Twain。　　But　as　Clemens　grew　older　he　grew　more　merciful；
not　to　the　wrong；　but　to　the　men　who　were　in　it。　　The　wrong　was　often　the
source　of　his　wildest　drolling。　　He　considered　it　in　such　hopelessness　of
ever　doing　it　justice　that　his　despair　broke　in　laughter。




X。

I　go　back　to　that　house　in　Hartford；　where　I　was　so　often　a　happy　guest；
with　tenderness　for　each　of　its　endearing　aspects。　　Over　the　chimney　in
the　library　which　had　been　cured　of　smoking　by　so　much　art　and　science；
Clemens　had　written　in　perennial　brass　the　words　of　Emerson；　〃The
ornament　of　a　house　is　the　friends　who　frequent　it；〃　and　he　gave　his
guests　a　welcome　of　the　simplest　and　sweetest　cordiality：　but　I　must　not
go　aside　to　them　from　my　recollections　of　him；　which　will　be　of
sufficient　garrulity；　if　I　give　them　as　fully　as　I　wish。　　The　windows　of
the　library　looked　northward　from　the　hillside　above　which　the　house
stood；　and　over　the　little　valley　with　the　stream　in　it；　and　they　showed
the　leaves　of　the　trees　that　almost　brushed　them　as　in　a　Claude　Lorraine
glass。　　To　the　eastward　the　dining…room　opened　amply；　and　to　the　south
there　was　a　wide　hall；　where　the　voices　of　friends　made　themselves　heard
as　they　entered　without　ceremony　and　answered　his　joyous　hail。　　At　the
west　was　a　little　semicircular　conservatory　of　a　pattern　invented　by　Mrs。
Harriet　Beecher　Stowe；　and　adopted　in　most　of　the　houses　of　her　kindly
neighborhood。　　The　plants　were　set　in　the　ground；　and　the　flowering　vines
climbed　up　the　sides　and　overhung　the　roof　above　the　silent　spray　of　a
fountain　companied　by　callas　and　other　water…loving　lilies。　　There；　while
we　breakfasted；　Patrick　came　in　from　the　barn　and　sprinkled　the　pretty
bower；　which　poured　out　its　responsive　perfume　in　the　delicate　accents　of
its　varied　blossoms。　　Breakfast　was　Clemens's　best　meal；　and　he　sat
longer　at　his　steak　and　coffee　than　at　the　courses　of　his　dinner；
luncheon　was　nothing　to　him；　unless；　as　might　happen；　he　made　it　his
dinner；　and　reserved　the　later　repast　as　the　occasion　of　walking　up　and
down　the　room；　and　discoursing　at　large　on　anything　that　came　into　his
head。　　Like　most　good　talkers；　he　liked　other　people　to　have　their　say；
he　did　not　talk　them　down；　he　stopped　instantly　at　another's　remark　and
gladly　or　politely　heard　him　through；　he　even　made　believe　to　find
suggestion　or　inspiration　in　what　was　said。　　His　children　came　to　the
table；　as　I　have　told；　and　after　dinner　he　was　apt　to　join　his　fine　tenor
to　their　trebles　in　singing。

Fully　half　our　meetings　were　at　my　house　in　Cambridge；　where　he　made
himself　as　much　at　home　as　in　Hartford。　　He　would　come　ostensibly　to　stay
at　the　Parker　House；　in　Boston；　and　take　a　room；　where　he　would　light　the
gas　and　leave　it　burning；　after　dressing；　while　he　drove　out　to　Cambridge
and　stayed　two　or　three　days　with　us。　　Once；　I　suppose　it　was　after　a
lecture；　he　came　in　evening　dress　and　passed　twenty…four　hours　with　us　in
that　guise；　wearing　an　overcoat　to　hide　it　when　we　went　for　a　walk。
Sometimes　he　wore　the　slippers　which　he　preferred　to　shoes　at　home；　and
if　it　was　muddy；　as　it　was　wont　to　be　in　Cambridge；　he　would　put　a　pair
of　rubbers　over　them　for　our　rambles。　　He　liked　the　lawlessness　and　our
delight　in　allowing　it；　and　he　rejoiced　in　the　confession　of　his　hostess；
after　we　had　once　almost　worn　ourselves　out　in　our　pleasure　with　the
intense　talk；　with　the　stories　and　the　laughing；　that　his　coming　almost
killed　her；　but　it　was　worth　it。

In　those　days　he　was　troubled　with　sleeplessness；　or；　rather；　with
reluctant　sleepiness；　and　he　had　various　specifics　for　promoting　it。
At　first　it　had　been　champagne　just　before　going　to　bed；　and　we　provided
that；　but　later　he　appeared　from　Boston　with　four　bottles　of　lager…beer
under　his　arms；　lager…beer；　he　said　now；　was　the　only　thing　to　make　you
go　to　sleep；　and　we　provided　that。　　Still　later；　on　a　visit　I　paid　him　at
Hartford；　I　learned　that　hot　Scotch　was　the　only　soporific　worth
considering；　and　Scotch…whiskey　duly　found　its　place　on　our　sideboard。
One　day；　very　long　afterward；　I　asked　him　if　he　were　still　taking　hot
Scotch　to　make　him　sleep。　　He　said　he　was　not　taking　anything。　　For　a
while　he　had　found　going　to　bed　on　the　bath…room　floor　a　soporific；　then
one　night　he　went　to　rest　in　his　own　bed　at　ten　o'clock；　and　had　gone
promptly　to　sleep　without　anything。　　He　had　done　the　like　with　the　like
effect　ever　since。　　Of　course；　it　amused　him；　there　were　few　experiences
of　life；　grave　or　gay；　which　did　not　amuse　him；　even　when　they　wronged
him。

He　came　on　to　Cambridge　in　April；　1875；　to　go　with　me　to　the　centennial
ceremonies　at　Concord　in　celebration　of　the　battle　of　the　Minute　Men　with
the　British　troops　a　hundred　years　before。　　We　both　had　special
invitations；　including　passage　from　Boston；　but　I　said；　Why　bother　to　go
into　Boston　when　we　could　just　as　well　take　the　train　for　Concord　at　the
Cambridge　station？　　He　equally　decided　that　it　would　be　absurd；　so　we
breakfasted　deliberately；　and　then　walked　to　the　station；　reasoning　of
many　things　as　usual。　　When　the　train　stopped；　we　found　it　packed　inside
and　out。　　People　stood　dense　on　the　platforms　of　the　cars；　to　our
startled　eyes　they　seemed　to　project　from　the　windows；　and　unless　memory
betrays　me　they　lay　strewn　upon　the　roofs　like　brakemen　slain　at　the　post
of　duty。

Whether　this　was　really　so　or　not；　it　is　certain　that　the　train　presented
an　impenetrable　front　even　to　our　imagination；　and　we　left　it　to　go　its
way