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not get rid of a feeling of self…consciousness； for most people turned to
look； though I was fully aware that I did not in the least come into
their scope of vision。 They saw only Mark Twain。 The feeling was a more
comfortably one at The Players； where we sometimes went for luncheon； for
the acquaintance there and the democracy of that institution had a
tendency to eliminate contrasts and incongruities。 We sat at the Round
Table among those good fellows who were always so glad to welcome him。
Once we went to the 〃Music Master；〃 that tender play of Charles Klein's；
given by that matchless interpreter； David Warfield。 Clemens was
fascinated； and said more than once：
〃It is as permanent as 'Rip Van Winkle。' Warfield； like Jefferson； can go
on playing it all his life。〃
We went behind when it was over； and I could see that Warfield glowed
with Mark Twain's unstinted approval。 Later； when I saw him at The
Players； he declared that no former compliment had ever made him so
happy。
There were some billiard games going on between the champions Hoppe and
Sutton； at the Madison Square Garden； and Clemens； with his eager
fondness for the sport； was anxious to attend them。 He did not like to
go anywhere alone； and one evening he invited me to accompany him。 Just
as he stepped into the auditorium there was a vigorous round of applause。
The players stopped； somewhat puzzled； for no especially brilliant shot
had been made。 Then they caught the figure of Mark Twain and realized
that the game； for the moment； was not the chief attraction。 The
audience applauded again； and waved their handkerchiefs。 Such a tribute
is not often paid to a private citizen。
Clemens had a great admiration for the young champion Hoppe； which the
billiardist's extreme youth and brilliancy invited； and he watched his
game with intense eagerness。 When it was over the referee said a few
words and invited Mark Twain to speak。 He rose and told them a story…
probably invented on the instant。 He said：
〃Once in Nevada I dropped into a billiard…room casually； and picked
up a cue and began to knock the balls around。 The proprietor； who
was a red…haired man； with such hair as I have never seen anywhere
except on a torch； asked me if I would like to play。 I said； 'Yes。'
He said； 'Knock the balls around a little and let me see how you can
shoot。' So I knocked them around； and thought I was doing pretty
well； when he said； 'That's all right； I'll play you left…handed。'
It hurt my pride； but I played him。 We banked for the shot and he
won it。 Then he commenced to play； and I commenced to chalk my cue
to get ready to play； and he went on playing； and I went on chalking
my cue； and he played and I chalked all through that game。 When he
had run his string out I said：
〃That's wonderful！ perfectly wonderful！ If you can play that way
left…handed what could you do right…handed？'
〃'Couldn't do anything；' he said。 'I'm a left…handed man。'〃
How it delighted them！ I think it was the last speech of any sort he
made that season。 A week or two later he went to Dublin； New Hampshire；
for the summerthis time to the Upton House； which had been engaged a
year before； the Copley Greene place being now occupied by its owner。
CCXLVI
THE SECOND SUMMER AT DUBLIN
The Upton House stands on the edge of a beautiful beech forest some two
or three miles from Dublin； just under Monadnocka good way up the
slope。 It is a handsome； roomy frame…house； and had a long colonnaded
veranda overlooking one of the most beautiful landscape visions on the
planet： lake； forest； hill； and a far range of blue mountainsall the
handiwork of God is there。 I had seen these things in paintings； but I
had not dreamed that such a view really existed。 The immediate
foreground was a grassy slope； with ancient； blooming apple…trees； and
just at the right hand Monadnock rose； superb and lofty； sloping down to
the panorama below that stretched away； taking on an ever deeper blue；
until it reached that remote range on which the sky rested and the world
seemed to end。 It was a masterpiece of the Greater Mind； and of the
highest order； perhaps； for it had in it nothing of the touch of man。 A
church spire glinted here and there； but there was never a bit of field；
or stone wall； or cultivated land。 It was lonely； it was unfriendly； it
cared nothing whatever for humankind； it was as if God； after creating
all the world； had wrought His masterwork here； and had been so engrossed
with the beauty of it that He had forgotten to give it a soul。 In a
sense this was true； for He had not made the place suitable for the
habitation of men。 It lacked the human touch； the human interest； and I
could never quite believe in its reality。
The time of arrival heightened this first impression。 It was mid…May and
the lilacs were prodigally in bloom； but the bright sunlight was chill
and unnatural； and there was a west wind that laid the grass flat and
moaned through the house； and continued as steadily as if it must never
stop from year's end to year's end。 It seemed a spectral land； a place
of supernatural beauty。 Warm； still； languorous days would come； but
that first feeling of unreality would remain permanent。 I believe Jean
Clemens was the only one who ever really loved the place。 Something
about it appealed to her elemental side and blended with her melancholy
moods。 She dressed always in white； and she was tall and pale and
classically beautiful； and she was often silent； like a spirit。 She had
a little retreat for herself farther up the mountain…side； and spent most
of her days there wood…carving； which was her chief diversion。
Clara Clemens did not come to the place at all。 She was not yet strong；
and went to Norfolk； Connecticut； where she could still be in quiet
retirement and have her physician's care。 Miss Hobby came； and on the
21st of May the dictations were resumed。 We began in his bedroom； as
before； but the feeling there was depressingthe absence of the great
carved bed and other furnishings； which had been so much a part of the
picture； was felt by all of us。 Nothing of the old luxury and richness
was there。 It was a summer…furnished place； handsome but with the
customary bareness。 At the end of this first session he dressed in his
snowy flannels； which he had adopted in the place of linen for summer
wear； and we descended to the veranda and looked out over that wide；
wonderful expanse of scenery。
〃I think I shall like it；〃 he said； 〃when I get acquainted with it； and
get it classified and labeled； and I think we'll do our dictating out
here hereafter。 It ought to be an inspiring place。〃
So the dictations were transferred to the long veranda； and he was
generally ready for them； a white figure pacing up and down before that
panoramic background。 During the earlier； cooler weeks he usually
continued walking with measured step during the dictations； pausing now
and then to look across the far…lying horizon。 When it stormed we moved
into the great living…room； where at one end there was a fireplace with
blazing logs； and at the other the orchestrelle； which had once more been
freighted up those mountain heights for the comfort of its harmonies。
Sometimes； when the wind and rain were beating outside； and he was
striding up and down the long room within； with only the blurred shapes
of mountains and trees outlined through the trailing rain； the feeling of
the unreality became so strong that it was hard to believe that somewhere
down below； beyond the rain and the woods； there was a literal worlda
commonplace world； where the ordinary things of life were going on in the
usual way。 When the dictation finished early； there would be musicthe
music that he loved mostBeethoven's symphonies； or the Schubert
impromptu； or the sonata by Chopin。＇Schubert； Op。 142； No。 2； Chopin；
Op。 37； No。 2。＇ It is easy to understand that this carried one a remove
farther from the customary things of life。 It was a setting far out of
the usual； though it became that unique white figure and his occupation。
In my notes； made from day to day； I find that I have set down more than
once an impression of the curious unreality of the place and its
surroundings； which would show that it was not a mere passing fancy。
I had lodgings in the village； and drove out mornings for the dictations；
but often came out again afoot on pleasant afternoons； for he was not
much occupied with social matters； and there was opportunity for quiet；
informing interviews。 There was a woods path to the Upton place； and it
was a walk through a fairyland。 A part of the way was through such a
growth of beech timber as I have never seen elsewhere： tall； straight；
mottled trees with an undergrowth of laurel； the sunlight sifting
through； one found it easy to expect there storybook ladies； wearing
crowns and green mantles； riding on white palfreys。 Then came a more
open way； an abandoned grass…grown road full of sunlight and perfume； and
this led to a dim； religious place； a natural cathedral； where the
columns were stately