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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