02-the death of jean- 第1部分

　　　　THE　DEATH　OF　JEAN







The　death　of　Jean　Clemens　occurred　early　in　the　morning　of

December　24；　1909。　　Mr。　Clemens　was　in　great　stress　of　mind　when

I　first　saw　him；　but　a　few　hours　later　I　found　him　writing

steadily。



〃I　am　setting　it　down；〃　he　said；　〃everything。　　It　is　a

relief　to　me　to　write　it。　　It　furnishes　me　an　excuse　for

thinking。〃　　At　intervals　during　that　day　and　the　next　I　looked

in；　and　usually　found　him　writing。　　Then　on　the　evening　of　the

26th；　when　he　knew　that　Jean　had　been　laid　to　rest　in　Elmira；　he

came　to　my　room　with　the　manuscript　in　his　hand。



〃I　have　finished　it；〃　he　said；　〃read　it。　　I　can　form　no

opinion　of　it　myself。　　If　you　think　it　worthy；　some　dayat　the

proper　timeit　can　end　my　autobiography。　　It　is　the　final

chapter。〃



Four　months　lateralmost　to　the　day（April　21st）　he　was

with　Jean。





Albert　Bigelow　Paine。







Stormfield；　Christmas　Eve；　11　A。M。；　1909。





JEAN　IS　DEAD！



Has　any　one　ever　tried　to　put　upon　paper　all　the　little

happenings　connected　with　a　dear　onehappenings　of　the　twenty…

four　hours　preceding　the　sudden　and　unexpected　death　of　that　dear

one？　　Would　a　book　contain　them？　　Would　two　books　contain　them？

I　think　not。　　They　pour　into　the　mind　in　a　flood。　　They　are

little　things　that　have　been　always　happening　every　day；　and　were

always　so　unimportant　and　easily　forgettable　beforebut　now！

Now；　how　different！　how　precious　they　are；　now　dear；　how

unforgettable；　how　pathetic；　how　sacred；　how　clothed　with　dignity！



Last　night　Jean；　all　flushed　with　splendid　health；　and　I　the

same；　from　the　wholesome　effects　of　my　Bermuda　holiday；　strolled

hand　in　hand　from　the　dinner…table　and　sat　down　in　the　library

and　chatted；　and　planned；　and　discussed；　cheerily　and　happily

（and　how　unsuspectingly！）until　ninewhich　is　late　for　usthen

went　upstairs；　Jean's　friendly　German　dog　following。　　At　my　door

Jean　said；　〃I　can't　kiss　you　good　night；　father：　　I　have　a　cold；

and　you　could　catch　it。〃　　I　bent　and　kissed　her　hand。　　She　was

movedI　saw　it　in　her　eyesand　she　impulsively　kissed　my　hand

in　return。　　Then　with　the　usual　gay　〃Sleep　well；　dear！〃　from

both；　we　parted。



At　half　past　seven　this　morning　I　woke；　and　heard　voices

outside　my　door。　　I　said　to　myself；　〃Jean　is　starting　on　her

usual　horseback　flight　to　the　station　for　the　mail。〃　　Then　Katy

＇1＇　entered；　stood　quaking　and　gasping　at　my　bedside　a　moment；

then　found　her　tongue：



〃MISS　JEAN　IS　DEAD！〃



Possibly　I　know　now　what　the　soldier　feels　when　a　bullet

crashes　through　his　heart。



In　her　bathroom　there　she　lay；　the　fair　young　creature；

stretched　upon　the　floor　and　covered　with　a　sheet。　　And　looking

so　placid；　so　natural；　and　as　if　asleep。　　We　knew　what　had

happened。　　She　was　an　epileptic：　　she　had　been　seized　with　a

convulsion　and　heart　failure　in　her　bath。　　The　doctor　had　to　come

several　miles。　　His　efforts；　like　our　previous　ones；　failed　to

bring　her　back　to　life。



It　is　noon；　now。　　How　lovable　she　looks；　how　sweet　and　how

tranquil！　　It　is　a　noble　face；　and　full　of　dignity；　and　that　was

a　good　heart　that　lies　there　so　still。



In　England；　thirteen　years　ago；　my　wife　and　I　were　stabbed

to　the　heart　with　a　cablegram　which　said；　〃Susy　was　mercifully

released　today。〃　　I　had　to　send　a　like　shot　to　Clara；　in　Berlin；

this　morning。　　With　the　peremptory　addition；　〃You　must　not　come

home。〃　　Clara　and　her　husband　sailed　from　here　on　the　11th　of

this　month。　　How　will　Clara　bear　it？　　Jean；　from　her　babyhood；

was　a　worshiper　of　Clara。



Four　days　ago　I　came　back　from　a　month's　holiday　in　Bermuda

in　perfected　health；　but　by　some　accident　the　reporters　failed　to

perceive　this。　　Day　before　yesterday；　letters　and　telegrams　began

to　arrive　from　friends　and　strangers　which　indicated　that　I　was

supposed　to　be　dangerously　ill。　　Yesterday　Jean　begged　me　to

explain　my　case　through　the　Associated　Press。　　I　said　it　was　not

important　enough；　but　she　was　distressed　and　said　I　must　think　of

Clara。　　Clara　would　see　the　report　in　the　German　papers；　and　as

she　had　been　nursing　her　husband　day　and　night　for　four　months

＇2＇　and　was　worn　out　and　feeble；　the　shock　might　be　disastrous。

There　was　reason　in　that；　so　I　sent　a　humorous　paragraph　by

telephone　to　the　Associated　Press　denying　the　〃charge〃　that　I　was

〃dying；〃　and　saying　〃I　would　not　do　such　a　thing　at　my　time　of

life。〃



Jean　was　a　little　troubled；　and　did　not　like　to　see　me　treat

the　matter　so　lightly；　but　I　said　it　was　best　to　treat　it　so；　for

there　was　nothing　serious　about　it。　　This　morning　I　sent　the

sorrowful　facts　of　this　day's　irremediable　disaster　to　the

Associated　Press。　　Will　both　appear　in　this　evening's　papers？

the　one　so　blithe；　the　other　so　tragic？





I　lost　Susy　thirteen　years　ago；　I　lost　her　motherher

incomparable　mother！five　and　a　half　years　ago；　Clara　has　gone

away　to　live　in　Europe；　and　now　I　have　lost　Jean。　　How　poor　I　am；

who　was　once　so　rich！　　Seven　months　ago　Mr。　Roger　diedone　of

the　best　friends　I　ever　had；　and　the　nearest　perfect；　as　man　and

gentleman；　I　have　yet　met　among　my　race；　within　the　last　six

weeks　Gilder　has　passed　away；　and　Laffanold；　old　friends　of

mine。　　Jean　lies　yonder；　I　sit　here；　we　are　strangers　under　our

own　roof；　we　kissed　hands　good…by　at　this　door　last　nightand　it

was　forever；　we　never　suspecting　it。　　She　lies　there；　and　I　sit

herewriting；　busying　myself；　to　keep　my　heart　from　breaking。

How　dazzlingly　the　sunshine　is　flooding　the　hills　around！　　It　is

like　a　mockery。



Seventy…four　years　ago　twenty…four　days　ago。　　Seventy…four

years　old　yesterday。　　Who　can　estimate　my　age　today？



I　have　looked　upon　her　again。　　I　wonder　I　can　bear　it。　　She

looks　just　as　her　mother　looked　when　she　lay　dead　in　that

Florentine　villa　so　long　ago。　　The　sweet　placidity　of　death！　it

is　more　beautiful　than　sleep。



I　saw　her　mother　buried。　　I　said　I　would　never　endure　that

horror　again；　that　I　would　never　again　look　into　the　grave　of　any

one　dear　to　me。　　I　have　kept　to　that。　　They　will　take　Jean　from

this　house　tomorrow；　and　bear　her　to　Elmira；　New　York；　where　lie

those　of　us　that　have　been　released；　but　I　shall　not　follow。



Jean　was　on　the　dock　when　the　ship　came　in；　only　four　days

ago。　　She　was　at　the　door；　beaming　a　welcome；　when　I　reached　this

house　the　next　evening。　　We　played　cards；　and　she　tried　to　teach

me　a　new　game　called　〃Mark　Twain。〃　　We　sat　chatting　cheerily　in

the　library　last　night；　and　she　wouldn't　let　me　look　into　the

loggia；　where　she　was　making　Christmas　preparations。　　She　said

she　would　finish　them　in　the　morning；　and　then　her　little　French

friend　would　arrive　from　New　Yorkthe　surprise　would　follow；　the

surprise　she　had　been　working　over　for　days。　　While　she　was　out

for　a　moment　I　disloyally　stole　a　look。　　The　loggia　floor　was

clothed　with　rugs　and　furnished　with　chairs　and　sofas；　and　the

uncompleted　surprise　was　there：　　in　the　form　of　a　Christmas　tree

that　was　drenched　with　silver　film　in　a　most　wonderful　way；　and

on　a　table　was　prodigal　profusion　of　bright　things　which　she　was

going　to　hang　upon　it　today。　　What　desecrating　hand　will　ever

banish　that　eloquent　unfinished　surprise　from　that　place？　　Not

mine；　surely。　　All　these　little　matters　have　happened　in　the　last

four　days。　　〃Little。〃　　YesTHEN。　　But　not　now。　　Nothing　she　said

or　thought　or　did　is　little　now。　　And　all　the　lavish　humor！what

is　become　of　it？　　It　is　pathos；　now。　　Pathos；　and　the　thought　of

it　brings　tears。



All　these　little　things　happened　such　a　few　hours　agoand

now　she　lies　yonder。　　Lies　yonder；　and　cares　for　nothing　any

more。　　Strangemarvelousincredible！　　I　have　had　this

experience　before；　but　it　would　still　be　incredible　if　I　had　had

it　a　thousand　times。





〃MISS　JEAN　IS　DEAD！〃



That　is　what　Katy　said。　　When　I　heard　the　door　open　behind

the　bed's　head　without　a　preliminary　knock；　I　supposed　it　was

Jean　coming　to　kiss　me　good　morning；　she　being　the　only　person

who　was　used　to　entering　without　formalities。



And　so



I　have　been　to　Jean's　parlor。　　Such　a　turmoil　of　Christmas

presents　for　servants　and　friends！　　They　are　everywhere；　tables；

chairs；　sofas；　the　flooreverything　is　occupied；　and　over…

occupied。　　It　is　many　and　many　a　year　since　I　have　seen　the　like。

In　that　ancient　day　Mrs。　Clemens　and　I　used　to　slip　softly　into

the　nursery　at　midnight　on　Christmas　Eve　and　look　the　array　of

presents　over。　　The　children　were　little　then。　　And　now　here　is

Jean's　parlor　looking　just　as　that　nursery　used　to　look。　　The

presents　are　not　labeledthe　hands　are　forever　idle　that　would

have　labeled　them　today。　　Jean's　mother　always　worked　herself

down　with　her　Christmas　preparations。　　Jean　did　the　same

yesterday　and　the　preceding　days；　and　the　fatigue　has　cost　her

her　life。　　The　fatigue　caused　the　convulsion　that　attacked　her

this　morning。　　She　had　had　no　attack　for　months。





Jean　was　so　full　of　life　and　energy　that　she　was　constantly

is　danger　of　overtaxing　her　strength。　　Every　morning　she　was　in

the　saddle　by　half　past　seven；　and　off　to　the　station　for　her

mail。　　She　examined　the　letters　and　I　distributed　them：　　some　to

her；　some　to　Mr。　Paine；　the　others　to　the　stenographer　and

myself。　　She　dispatched　her　share　and　then　mounted　her　horse

again　and　went　around　superintending　her　farm　and　her　poultry　the

rest　of　the　day。　　Sometimes　she　played　billiards　with　me　after

dinner；　but　she　was　usually　too　tired　to　play；　and　went　early　to

bed。



Yesterday　afternoon　I　told　her　about　some　plans　I　had　been

devising　while　absent　in　Bermuda；　to　lighten　her　burdens。　　We

would　get　a　housekeeper；　also　we　would　put　her　share　of　the

secretary…work　into　Mr。　Paine's　hands。



Noshe　wasn't　willing。　　She　had　been　making　plans　herself。

The　matter　ended　in　a　compromise；　I　submitted。　　I　always　did。

She　wouldn't　audit　the　bills　and　let　Paine　fill　out　the　checks

she　would　c