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were not themselves mocked； the joke was； of course； beside them；
nevertheless； their personality was trifled with； and I could only end by
reflecting that if I had been in their place I should not have liked it
myself。 Clemens would have liked it himself； for he had the heart for
that sort of wild play； and he so loved a joke that even if it took the
form of a liberty； and was yet a good joke； he would have loved it。 But
perhaps this burlesque was not a good joke。
XVI。
Clemens was oftenest at my house in Cambridge； but he was also sometimes
at my house in Belmont； when； after a year in Europe； we went to live in
Boston； he was more rarely with us。 We could never be long together
without something out of the common happening； and one day something far
out of the common happened； which fortunately refused the nature of
absolute tragedy； while remaining rather the saddest sort of comedy。 We
were looking out of my library window on that view of the Charles which I
was so proud of sharing with my all…but…next…door neighbor； Doctor
Holmes； when another friend who was with us called out with curiously
impersonal interest； 〃 Oh； see that woman getting into the water！〃 This
would have excited curiosity and alarmed anxiety far less lively than
ours； and Clemens and I rushed downstairs and out through my basement and
back gate。 At the same time a coachman came out of a stable next door；
and grappled by the shoulders a woman who was somewhat deliberately
getting down the steps to the water over the face of the embankment。
Before we could reach them he had pulled her up to the driveway； and
stood holding her there while she crazily grieved at her rescue。 As soon
as he saw us he went back into his stable； and left us with the poor wild
creature on our hands。 She was not very young and not very pretty； and
we could not have flattered ourselves with the notion of anything
romantic in her suicidal mania； but we could take her on the broad human
level； and on this we proposed to escort her up Beacon Street till we
could give her into the keeping of one of those kindly policemen whom our
neighborhood knew。 Naturally there was no policeman known to us or
unknown the whole way to the Public Garden。 We had to circumvent our
charge in her present design of drowning herself； and walk her past the
streets crossing Beacon to the river。 At these points it needed
considerable reasoning to overcome her wish and some active manoeuvring
in both of us to enforce our arguments。 Nobody else appeared to be
interested； and though we did not court publicity in the performance of
the duty so strangely laid upon us； still it was rather disappointing to
be so entirely ignored。
There are some four or five crossings to the river between 302 Beacon
Street and the Public Garden； and the suggestions at our command were
pretty well exhausted by the time we reached it。 Still the expected
policeman was nowhere in sight； but a brilliant thought occurred to
Clemens。 He asked me where the nearest police station was； and when I
told him； he started off at his highest speed； leaving me in sole charge
of our hapless ward。 All my powers of suasion were now taxed to the
utmost； and I began attracting attention as a short； stout gentleman in
early middle life endeavoring to distrain a respectable female of her
personal liberty； when his accomplice had abandoned him to his wicked
design。 After a much longer time than I thought I should have taken to
get a policeman from the station； Clemens reappeared in easy conversation
with an officer who had probably realized that he was in the company of
Mark Twain； and was in no hurry to end the interview。 He took possession
of our captive； and we saw her no more。 I now wonder that with our joint
instinct for failure we ever got rid of her； but I am sure we did； and
few things in life have given me greater relief。 When we got back to my
house we found the friend we had left there quite unruffled and not much
concerned to know the facts of our adventure。 My impression is that he
had been taking a nap on my lounge； be appeared refreshed and even gay；
but if I am inexact in these details he is alive to refute me。
XVII。
A little after this Clemens went abroad with his family； and lived
several years in Germany。 His letters still came； but at longer
intervals； and the thread of our intimate relations was inevitably
broken。 He would write me when something I had written pleased him；
or when something signal occurred to him； or some political or social
outrage stirred him to wrath； and he wished to free his mind in pious
profanity。 During this sojourn he came near dying of pneumonia in
Berlin； and he had slight relapses from it after coming home。 In Berlin
also he had the honor of dining with the German Emperor at the table of
a cousin married to a high officer of the court。 Clemens was a man to
enjoy such a distinction； he knew how to take it as a delegated
recognition from the German people； but as coming from a rather cockahoop
sovereign who had as yet only his sovereignty to value himself upon； he
was not very proud of it。 He expressed a quiet disdain of the event as
between the imperiality and himself； on whom it was supposed to confer
such glory； crowning his life with the topmost leaf of laurel。 He was in
the same mood in his account of an English dinner many years before；
where there was a 〃little Scotch lord〃 present； to whom the English
tacitly referred Clemens's talk； and laughed when the lord laughed； and
were grave when he failed to smile。 Of all the men I have known he was
the farthest from a snob； though he valued recognition； and liked the
flattery of the fashionable fair when it came in his way。 He would not
go out of his way for it； but like most able and brilliant men he loved
the minds of women； their wit； their agile cleverness； their sensitive
perception； their humorous appreciation； the saucy things they would say；
and their pretty； temerarious defiances。 He had； of course； the keenest
sense of what was truly dignified and truly undignified in people； but he
was not really interested in what we call society affairs； they scarcely
existed for him； though his books witness how he abhorred the dreadful
fools who through some chance of birth or wealth hold themselves
different from other men。
Commonly he did not keep things to himself； especially dislikes and
condemnations。 Upon most current events he had strong opinions； and he
uttered them strongly。 After a while he was silent in them； but if you
tried him you found him in them still。 He was tremendously worked up by
a certain famous trial； as most of us were who lived in the time of it。
He believed the accused guilty； but when we met some months after it was
over； and I tempted him to speak his mind upon it； he would only say。
The man had suffered enough； as if the man had expiated his wrong； and he
was not going to do anything to renew his penalty。 I found that very
curious； very delicate。 His continued blame could not come to the
sufferer's knowledge； but he felt it his duty to forbear it。
He was apt to wear himself out in the vehemence of his resentments； or；
he had so spent himself in uttering them that he had literally nothing
more to say。 You could offer Clemens offences that would anger other men
and he did not mind； he would account for them from human nature； but if
he thought you had in any way played him false you were anathema and
maranatha forever。 Yet not forever； perhaps； for by and…by； after years；
he would be silent。 There were two men； half a generation apart in their
succession； whom he thought equally atrocious in their treason to him；
and of whom he used to talk terrifyingly； even after they were out of the
world。 He went farther than Heine； who said that he forgave his enemies；
but not till they were dead。 Clemens did not forgive his dead enemies；
their death seemed to deepen their crimes； like a base evasion； or a
cowardly attempt to escape； he pursued them to the grave； he would like
to dig them up and take vengeance upon their clay。 So he said； but no
doubt he would not have hurt them if he had had them living before him。
He was generous without stint； he trusted without measure； but where his
generosity was abused； or his trust betrayed； he was a fire of vengeance；
a consuming flame of suspicion that no sprinkling of cool patience from
others could quench； it had to burn itself out。 He was eagerly and
lavishly hospitable； but if a man seemed willing to batten on him； or in
any way to lie down upon him； Clemens despised him unutterably。 In his
frenzies of resentment or suspicion he would not； and doubtless could
not； listen to reason。 But if between the paroxysms he were confronted
with the facts he would own them； no matter how much they told against
him。 At one period he fancied that a certain newspaper was hounding him
with biting censure and poisonous paragraphs； and he was filling himself
up with wrath to be duly discharged on the editor's head。 Later； he
wrote me with a humorous joy in his mistake that Warner had advised him
to have the paper watched for these