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wrote me with a humorous joy in his mistake that Warner had advised him
to have the paper watched for these injuries。 He had done so； and how
many mentions of him did I reckon he had found in three months？ Just
two； and they were rather indifferent than unfriendly。 So the paper was
acquitted； and the editor's life was spared。 The wretch never knew how
near he was to losing it； with incredible preliminaries of obloquy； and a
subsequent devotion to lasting infamy。
His memory for favors was as good as for injuries； and he liked to return
your friendliness with as loud a band of music as could be bought or
bribed for the occasion。 All that you had to do was to signify that you
wanted his help。 When my father was consul at Toronto during Arthur's
administration； he fancied that his place was in danger； and he appealed
to me。 In turn I appealed to Clemens； bethinking myself of his
friendship with Grant and Grant's friendship with Arthur。 I asked him to
write to Grant in my father's behalf； but No； he answered me； I must come
to Hartford； and we would go on to New York together and see Grant
personally。 This was before； and long before； Clemens became Grant's
publisher and splendid benefactor； but the men liked each other as such
men could not help doing。 Clemens made the appointment； and we went to
find Grant in his business office； that place where his business
innocence was afterward so betrayed。 He was very simple and very
cordial； and I was instantly the more at home with him； because his voice
was the soft； rounded； Ohio River accent to which my years were earliest
used from my steamboating uncles； my earliest heroes。 When I stated my
business he merely said； Oh no； that must not be； he would write to Mr。
Arthur； and he did so that day； and my father lived to lay down his
office； when he tired of it； with no urgence from above。
It is not irrelevant to Clemens to say that Grant seemed to like finding
himself in company with two literary men； one of whom at least he could
make sure of； and unlike that silent man he was reputed； he talked
constantly； and so far as he might he talked literature。 At least he
talked of John Phoenix； that delightfulest of the early Pacific Slope
humorists； whom he had known under his real name of George H。 Derby； when
they were fellow…cadets at West Point。 It was mighty pretty； as Pepys
would say； to see the delicate deference Clemens paid our plain hero； and
the manly respect with which he listened。 While Grant talked； his
luncheon was brought in from some unassuming restaurant near by； and he
asked us to join him in the baked beans and coffee which were served us
in a little room out of the office with about the same circumstance as at
a railroad refreshment…counter。 The baked beans and coffee were of about
the railroad…refreshment quality； but eating them with Grant was like
sitting down to baked beans and coffee with Julius Caesar； or Alexander；
or some other great Plutarchan captain。 One of the highest satisfactions
of Clemens's often supremely satisfactory life was his relation to Grant。
It was his proud joy to tell how he found Grant about to sign a contract
for his book on certainly very good terms； and said to him that he would
himself publish the book and give him a percentage three times as large。
He said Grant seemed to doubt whether he could honorably withdraw from
the negotiation at that point； but Clemens overbore his scruples； and it
was his unparalleled privilege； his princely pleasure； to pay the author
a far larger check for his work than had ever been paid to an author
before。 He valued even more than this splendid opportunity the sacred
moments in which their business brought him into the presence of the
slowly dying； heroically living man whom he was so befriending； and he
told me in words which surely lost none of their simple pathos through
his report how Grant described his suffering。
The prosperity； of this venture was the beginning of Clemens's adversity；
for it led to excesses of enterprise which were forms of dissipation。
The young sculptor who had come back to him from Paris modelled a small
bust of Grant； which Clemens multiplied in great numbers to his great
loss； and the success of Grant's book tempted him to launch on publishing
seas where his bark presently foundered。 The first and greatest of his
disasters was the Life of Pope Leo XIII； which he came to tell me of；
when he had imagined it； in a sort of delirious exultation。 He had no
words in which to paint the magnificence of the project； or to forecast
its colossal success。 It would have a currency bounded only by the
number of Catholics in Christendom。 It would be translated into every
language which was anywhere written or printed； it would be circulated
literally in every country of the globe； and Clemens's book agents would
carry the prospectuses and then the bound copies of the work to the ends
of the whole earth。 Not only would every Catholic buy it； but every
Catholic must； as he was a good Catholic； as he hoped to be saved。 It
was a magnificent scheme； and it captivated me； as it had captivated
Clemens； it dazzled us both； and neither of us saw the fatal defect in
it。 We did not consider how often Catholics could not read； how often
when they could； they might not wish to read。 The event proved that
whether they could read or not the immeasurable majority did not wish to
read the life of the Pope； though it was written by a dignitary of the
Church and issued to the world with every sanction from the Vatican。
The failure was incredible to Clemens； his sanguine soul was utterly
confounded； and soon a silence fell upon it where it had been so
exuberantly jubilant。
XIX。
The occasions which brought us to New York together were not nearly so
frequent as those which united us in Boston； but there was a dinner given
him by a friend which remains memorable from the fatuity of two men
present； so different in everything but their fatuity。 One was the sweet
old comedian Billy Florence； who was urging the unsuccessful dramatist
across the table to write him a play about Oliver Cromwell； and giving
the reasons why he thought himself peculiarly fitted to portray the
character of Cromwell。 The other was a modestly millioned rich man who
was then only beginning to amass the moneys afterward heaped so high； and
was still in the condition to be flattered by the condescension of a yet
greater millionaire。 His contribution to our gaiety was the verbatim
report of a call he had made upon William H。 Vanderbilt； whom he had
found just about starting out of town； with his trunks actually in the
front hall； but who had stayed to receive the narrator。 He had； in fact；
sat down on one of the trunks； and talked with the easiest friendliness；
and quite； we were given to infer； like an ordinary human being。 Clemens
often kept on with some thread of the talk when we came away from a
dinner； but now he was silent； as if 〃high sorrowful and cloyed〃； and it
was not till well afterward that I found he had noted the facts from the
bitterness with which he mocked the rich man； and the pity he expressed
for the actor。
He had begun before that to amass those evidences against mankind which
eventuated with him in his theory of what he called 〃the damned human
race。〃 This was not an expression of piety； but of the kind contempt to
which he was driven by our follies and iniquities as he had observed them
in himself as well as in others。 It was as mild a misanthropy； probably；
as ever caressed the objects of its malediction。 But I believe it was
about the year 1900 that his sense of our perdition became insupportable
and broke out in a mixed abhorrence and amusement which spared no
occasion； so that I could quite understand why Mrs。 Clemens should have
found some compensation； when kept to her room by sickness； in the
reflection that now she should not hear so much about 〃the damned human
race。〃 He told of that with the same wild joy that he told of
overhearing her repetition of one of his most inclusive profanities； and
her explanation that she meant him to hear it so that he might know how
it sounded。 The contrast of the lurid blasphemy with her heavenly
whiteness should have been enough to cure any one less grounded than he
in what must be owned was as fixed a habit as smoking with him。 When I
first knew him he rarely vented his fury in that sort； and I fancy he was
under a promise to her which he kept sacred till the wear and tear of his
nerves with advancing years disabled him。 Then it would be like him to
struggle with himself till he could struggle no longer and to ask his
promise back； and it would be like her to give it back。 His profanity
was the heritage of his boyhood and young manhood in social conditions
and under the duress of exigencies in which everybody swore about as
impersonally as he smoked。 It is best to recognize the fact of it； and I
do so the more readily because I cannot suppose the Recording Angel
really minded it much more than that Guardian。 Angel of his。 It
probably grieved them about equally； but they could equally forgive it。
Nothing came o