my mark twain-第13部分

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urging　my　stay　for　further　intelligence；　and　I　went　about；　till　the　final
summons　came；　with　my　head　in　a　mist　of　care　and　dread。　　Clemens　was　very
kind　and　brotherly　through　it　all。　　He　was　living　greatly　to　his　mind　in
one　of　those　arcaded　little　hotels　in　the　Rue　de　Rivoli；　and　he　was　free
from　all　household　duties　to　range　with　me。　　We　drove　together　to　make
calls　of　digestion　at　many　houses　where　he　had　got　indigestion　through
his　reluctance　from　their　hospitality；　for　he　hated　dining　out。　　But；
as　he　explained；　his　wife　wanted　him　to　make　these　visits；　and　he　did　it；
as　he　did　everything　she　wanted。　　'At　one　place；　some　suburban　villa；
he　could　get　no　answer　to　his　ring；　and　he　〃hove〃　his　cards　over　the　gate
just　as　it　opened；　and　he　had　the　shame　of　explaining　in　his
unexplanatory　French　to　the　man　picking　them　up。　　He　was　excruciatingly
helpless　with　his　cabmen；　but　by　very　cordially　smiling　and　casting
himself　on　the　drivers'　mercy　he　always　managed　to　get　where　he　wanted。
The　family　was　on　the　verge　of　their　many　moves；　and　he　was　doing　some
small　errands；　he　said　that　the　others　did　the　main　things；　and　left　him
to　do　what　the　cat　might。

It　was　with　that　return　upon　the　buoyant　billow　of　plasmon；　renewed　in
look　and　limb；　that　Clemens's　universally　pervasive　popularity　began　in
his　own　country。　　He　had　hitherto　been　more　intelligently　accepted　or
more　largely　imagined　in　Europe；　and　I　suppose　it　was　my　sense　of　this
that　inspired　the　stupidity　of　my　saying　to　him　when　we　came　to　consider
〃the　state　of　polite　learning　〃　among　us；　〃You　mustn't　expect　people　to
keep　it　up　here　as　they　do　in　England。〃　　But　it　appeared　that　his
countrymen　were　only　wanting　the　chance；　and　they　kept　it　up　in　honor　of
him　past　all　precedent。　　One　does　not　go　into　a　catalogue　of　dinners；
receptions；　meetings；　speeches；　and　the　like；　when　there　are　more　vital
things　to　speak　of。　　He　loved　these　obvious　joys；　and　he　eagerly　strove
with　the　occasions　they　gave　him　for　the　brilliancy　which　seemed　so
exhaustless　and　was　so　exhausting。　　His　friends　saw　that　he　was　wearing
himself　out；　and　it　was　not　because　of　Mrs。　Clemens's　health　alone　that
they　were　glad　to　have　him　take　refuge　at　Riverdale。　　The　family　lived
there　two　happy；　hopeless　years；　and　then　it　was　ordered　that　they　should
change　for　his　wife's　sake　to　some　less　exacting　climate。　　Clemens　was
not　eager　to　go　to　Florence；　but　his　imagination　was　taken　as　it　would
have　been　in　the　old…young　days　by　the　notion　of　packing　his　furniture
into　flexible　steel　cages　from　his　house　in　Hartford　and　unpacking　it
from　them　untouched　at　his　villa　in　Fiesole。　　He　got　what　pleasure　any
man　could　out　of　that　triumph　of　mind　over　matter；　but　the　shadow　was
creeping　up　his　life。　　One　sunny　afternoon　we　sat　on　the　grass　before　the
mansion；　after　his　wife　had　begun　to　get　well　enough　for　removal；　and　we
looked　up　toward　a　balcony　where　by…and…by　that　lovely　presence　made
itself　visible；　as　if　it　had　stooped　there　from　a　cloud。　　A　hand　frailly
waved　a　handkerchief；　Clemens　ran　over　the　lawn　toward　it；　calling
tenderly：　〃What？　　What？〃　as　if　it　might　be　an　asking　for　him　instead　of
the　greeting　it　really　was　for　me。　　It　was　the　last　time　I　saw　her；　if
indeed　I　can　be　said　to　have　seen　her　then；　and　long　afterward　when　I
said　how　beautiful　we　all　thought　her；　how　good；　how　wise；　how
wonderfully　perfect　in　every　relation　of　life；　he　cried　out　in　a　breaking
voice：　〃Oh；　why　didn't　you　ever　tell　her？　　She　thought　you　didn't　like
her。〃　　What　a　pang　it　was　then　not　to　have　told　her；　but　how　could　we
have　told　her？　　His　unreason　endeared　him　to　me　more　than　all　his　wisdom。

To　that　Riverdale　sojourn　belong　my　impressions　of　his　most　violent　anti…
Christian　Science　rages；　which　began　with　the　postponement　of　his　book；
and　softened　into　acceptance　of　the　delay　till　he　had　well…nigh　forgotten
his　wrath　when　it　come　out。　　There　was　also　one　of　those　joint　episodes
of　ours；　which；　strangely　enough；　did　not　eventuate　in　entire　failure；　as
most　of　our　joint　episodes　did。　　He　wrote　furiously　to　me　of　a　wrong
which　had　been　done　to　one　of　the　most　helpless　and　one　of　the　most
helped　of　our　literary　brethren；　asking　me　to　join　with　him　in　recovering
the　money　paid　over　by　that　brother's　publisher　to　a　false　friend　who　had
withheld　it　and　would　not　give　any　account　of　it。　　Our　hapless　brother
had　appealed　to　Clemens；　as　he　had　to　me；　with　the　facts；　but　not　asking
our　help；　probably　because　he　knew　he　need　not　ask；　and　Clemens　enclosed
to　me　a　very　taking…by…the…throat　message　which　he　proposed　sending　to
the　false　friend。　　For　once　I　had　some　sense；　and　answered　that　this
would　never　do；　for　we　had　really　no　power　in　the　matter；　and　I　contrived
a　letter　to　the　recreant　so　softly　diplomatic　that　I　shall　always　think
of　it　with　pride　when　my　honesties　no　longer　give　me　satisfaction；　saying
that　this　incident　had　come　to　our　knowledge；　and　suggesting　that　we　felt
sure　he　would　not　finally　wish　to　withhold　the　money。　　Nothing　more；
practically；　than　that；　but　that　was　enough；　there　came　promptly　back　a
letter　of　justification；　covering　a　very　substantial　check；　which　we
hilariously　forwarded　to　our　beneficiary。　　But　the　helpless　man　who　was
so　used　to　being　helped　did　not　answer　with　the　gladness　I；　at　least；
expected　of　him。　　He　acknowledged　the　check　as　he　would　any　ordinary
payment；　and　then　he　made　us　observe　that　there　was　still　a　large　sum　due
him　out　of　the　moneys　withheld。　　At　this　point　I　proposed　to　Clemens　that
we　should　let　the　nonchalant　victim　collect　the　remnant　himself。　　Clouds
of　sorrow　had　gathered　about　the　bowed　head　of　the　delinquent　since　we
began　on　him；　and　my　fickle　sympathies　were　turning　his　way　from　the
victim　who　was　really　to　blame　for　leaving　his　affairs　so　unguardedly　to
him　in　the　first　place。　　Clemens　made　some　sort　of　grit　assent；　and　we
dropped　the　matter。　　He　was　more　used　to　ingratitude　from　those　he　helped
than　I　was；　who　found　being　lain　down　upon　not　so　amusing　as　he　found　my
revolt。　　He　reckoned　I　was　right；　he　said；　and　after　that　I　think　we
never　recurred　to　the　incident。　　It　was　not　ingratitude　that　he　ever
minded；　it　was　treachery；　that　really　maddened　him　past　forgiveness。




XXIII。

During　the　summer　he　spent　at　York　Harbor　I　was　only　forty　minutes　away
at　Kittery　Point；　and　we　saw　each　other　often；　but　this　was　before　the
last　time　at　Riverdale。　　He　had　a　wide；　low　cottage　in　a　pine　grove
overlooking　York　River；　and　we　used　to　sit　at　a　corner　of　the　veranda
farthest　away　from　Mrs。　Clemens's　window；　where　we　could　read　our
manuscripts　to　each　other；　and　tell　our　stories；　and　laugh　our　hearts　out
without　disturbing　her。　　At　first　she　had　been　about　the　house；　and　there
was　one　gentle　afternoon　when　she　made　tea　for　us　in　the　parlor；　but　that
was　the　last　time　I　spoke　with　her。　　After　that　it　was　really　a　question
of　how　soonest　and　easiest　she　could　be　got　back　to　Riverdale；　but；　of
course；　there　were　specious　delays　in　which　she　seemed　no　worse　and
seemed　a　little　better；　and　Clemens　could　work　at　a　novel　he　had　begun。
He　had　taken　a　room　in　the　house　of　a　friend　and　neighbor；　a　fisherman
and　boatman；　there　was　a　table　where　he　could　write；　and　a　bed　where　he
could　lie　down　and　read；　and　there；　unless　my　memory　has　played　me　one　of
those　constructive　tricks　that　people's　memories　indulge　in；　he　read　me
the　first　chapters　of　an　admirable　story。　　The　scene　was　laid　in　a
Missouri　town；　and　the　characters　such　as　he　had　known　in　boyhood；　but　as
often　as　I　tried　to　make　him　own　it；　he　denied　having　written　any　such
story；　it　is　possible　that　I　dreamed　it；　but　I　hope　the　MS。　will　yet　be
found。　　Upon　reflection　I　cannot　believe　that　I　dreamed　it；　and　I　cannot
believe　that　it　was　an　effect　of　that　sort　of　pseudomnemonics　which　I
have　mentioned。　　The　characters　in　the　novel　are　too　clearly　outlined　in
my　recollection；　together　with　some　critical　reservations　of　my　own
concerning　them。　　Not　only　does　he　seem　to　have　read　me　those　first
chapters；　but　to　have　talked　them　over　with　me　and　outlined　the　whole
story。

I　cannot　say　whether　or　not　he　believed　that　his　wife　would　recover；　he
fought　the　fear　of　her　death　to　the　end；　for　her　life　was　far　more
largely　his　than　the　lives　of　most　men's　wives　are　theirs。　　For　his　own
life　I　believe　he　would　never　have　much　cared；　if　I　may　trust　a　saying　of
one　who　was　so　absolutely　without　pose　as　he　was。　　He　said　that　he　never
saw　a　dead　man　whom　he　did　not　envy　for　having　had　it　over　and　being　done
with　it。　　Life　had　always　amused　him；　and　in　the　resurgence　of　its
interests　after　his　sorrow　had　ebbed　away　he　was　again　deeply　interested
in　the　world　and　in　the　human　race；　which；　though　damned；　abounded　in
subjects　of　curious　inquiry。　　When　the　time　came　for　his　wife's　removal
from　York　Harbor　I　went　with　him　to　Boston；　where　he　wished　to　look　up
the　best　means　of　her　conveyance　to　New　York。　　The　inquiry　absorbed　him：
the　sort　of　invalid　car　he　could　get；　how　she　could　be　carried　to　the
village　station；　how　the　car　could　be　detached　from　the　eastern　train　at
Boston　and　carried　round　to　the　southern　train　on　the　other　side　of　the
city；　and　then　how　it　could　be　attached　to　the　Hudson　River　train　at　New
York　and　left　at　Riverdale。　　There　was　no　particular　of　the　business
which　he　did　not　scrutinize　and　master；　not　only　with　his　poignant
concern　for　her　welfare；　but　with　his　strong　curiosity　as　to　how　these
unusual　things　were　done　with　the　usual　means。　　With　the　inertness　that
grows　upon　an　aging　man　he　had　been　used　to　delegating　more　and　more
things；　but　of　that　thing　I　perceived　that　he　would　not　delegate　the
least　detail。

He　had　meant　never　to　go　abroad　again；　but　when　it　came　time　to　go　he　did
not　look　forward　to　returning；　he　expected　to　live　in　Florence　always
after　that；　they　were　used　to　the　life　and　they　had　been　happy　there　some
years　earlier　before　he　went　with　his　wife　for　the　cure　of　Nauheim。　　But
when　he　came　home　again　it　was　for　good　and　all。　　It　was　natural　that　he
should　wish　to　live　in　New　York；　where　they　had　already　had　a　pleasant
year　in　Tenth　Street。　　I　used　to　see　him　there　in　an　upper　room；　looki