He was much taken with the new idea, and his request for such obituaries, with an offer of a prize for the best—a portrait of himself drawn by his own hand—really appeared in Harper's Weekly later in the year. Naturally he got a shower of responses—serious, playful, burlesque. Some of them were quite worth while.
The obvious “Death loves a shining Mark” was of course numerously duplicated, and some varied it “Death loves an Easy Mark,” and there was “Mark, the perfect man.”
The two that follow gave him especial pleasure.
OBITUARY FOR “MARK TWAIN”
Worthy of his portrait, a place on his monument, as well as a place
among his “perennial-consolation heirlooms”:
“Got up; washed; went to bed.”
The subject's own words (see Innocents Abroad). Can't go back on
your own words, Mark Twain. There's nothing “to strike out”;
nothing “to replace.” What more could be said of any one?
“Got up!”—Think of the fullness of meaning! The possibilities of
life, its achievements—physical, intellectual, spiritual. Got up
to the top!—the climax of human aspiration on earth!
“Washed”—Every whit clean; purified—body, soul, thoughts,
purposes.
“Went to bed”—Work all done—to rest, to sleep. The culmination of
the day well spent!
God looks after the awakening.
Mrs. S. A. OREN-HAYNES.
Mark Twain was the only man who ever lived, so far as we know, whose
lies were so innocent, and withal so helpful, as to make them worth
more than a whole lot of fossilized priests' eternal truths.
D. H. KENNER.
CCXIX. YACHTING AND THEOLOGY
Clemens made fewer speeches during the Riverdale period. He was as frequently demanded, but he had a better excuse for refusing, especially the evening functions. He attended a good many luncheons with friendly spirits like Howells, Matthews, James L. Ford, and Hamlin Garland. At the end of February he came down to the Mayor's dinner given to Prince Henry of Prussia, but he did not speak. Clemens used to say afterward that he had not been asked to speak, and that it was probably because of his supposed breach of etiquette at the Kaiser's dinner in Berlin; but the fact that Prince Henry sought him out, and was most cordially and humanly attentive during a considerable portion of the evening, is against the supposition.
Clemens attended a Yale alumni dinner that winter and incidentally visited Twichell in Hartford. The old question of moral responsibility came up and Twichell lent his visitor a copy of Jonathan Edwards's 'Freedom of the Will' for train perusal. Clemens found it absorbing. Later he wrote Twichell his views.
DEAR JOE,—(After compliments.)—[Meaning “What a good time you gave
me; what a happiness it was to be under your roof again,” etc. See
opening sentence of all translations of letters passing between Lord
Roberts and Indian princes and rulers.]—From Bridgeport to New
York, thence to home, & continuously until near midnight I wallowed
& reeked with Jonathan in his insane debauch; rose immensely
refreshed & fine at ten this morning, but with a strange & haunting
sense of having been on a three days' tear with a drunken lunatic.
It is years since I have known these sensations. All through the
book is the glare of a resplendent intellect gone mad—a marvelous
spectacle. No, not all through the book—the drunk does not come
on till the last third, where what I take to be Calvinism & its God
begins to show up & shine red & hideous in the glow from the fires
of hell, their only right and proper adornment.
Jonathan seems to hold (as against the Armenian position) that the
man (or his soul or his will) never creates an impulse itself, but
is moved to action by an impulse back of it. That's sound!
Also, that of two or more things offered it, it infallibly chooses
the one which for the moment is most pleasing to ITSELF. Perfectly
correct! An immense admission for a man not otherwise sane.
Up to that point he could have written Chapters III & IV of my
suppressed Gospel. But there we seem to separate. He seems to
concede the indisputable & unshaken dominion of Motive & Necessity
(call them what he may, these are exterior forces & not under the
man's authority, guidance, or even suggestion); then he suddenly
flies the logical track & (to all seeming) makes the man & not those
exterior forces responsible to God for the man's thoughts, words, &
acts. It is frank insanity.
I think that when he concedes the autocratic dominion of Motive and
Necessity he grants a third position of mine—that a man's mind is a
mere machine—an automatic machine—which is handled entirely from
the outside, the man himself furnishing it absolutely nothing; not
an ounce of its fuel, & not so much as a bare suggestion to that
exterior engineer as to what the machine shall do nor how it shall
do it nor when.
After that concession it was time for him to get alarmed & shirk
—for he was pointed straight for the only rational & possible next
station on that piece of road—the irresponsibility of man to God.
And so he shirked. Shirked, and arrived at this handsome result:
Man is commanded to do so & so.
It has been ordained from the beginning of time that some men
sha'n't & others can't.
These are to blame: let them be damned.
I enjoy the Colonel very much, & shall enjoy the rest of him with an
obscene delight.
Joe, the whole tribe shout love to you & yours!
MARK.
Clemens was moved to set down some theology of his own, and did so in a manuscript which he entitled, “If I Could Be There.” It is in the dialogue form he often adopted for polemic writing. It is a colloquy between the Master of the Universe and a Stranger. It begins: I. If I could be there, hidden under the steps of the throne, I should hear conversations like this: