Produced by David Widger
By Albert Bigelow Paine
The Browning readings must have begun about this time. Just what kindledMark Twain's interest in the poetry of Robert Browning is not remembered,but very likely his earlier associations with the poet had something todo with it. Whatever the beginning, we find him, during the winter of1886 and 1887, studiously, even violently, interested in Browning'sverses, entertaining a sort of club or class who gathered to hear hisrich, sympathetic, and luminous reading of the Payleyings—"With Bernardde Mandeville," "Daniel Bartoli," or "Christopher Smart." Members of theSaturday Morning Club were among his listeners and others-friends of thefamily. They were rather remarkable gatherings, and no one of that groupbut always vividly remembered the marvelously clear insight which MarkTwain's vocal personality gave to those somewhat obscure measures. Theydid not all of them realize that before reading a poem he studied it lineby line, even word by word; dug out its last syllable of meaning, so faras lay within human possibility, and indicated with pencil every shade ofemphasis which would help to reveal the poet's purpose. No student ofBrowning ever more devoutly persisted in trying to compass a master'sintent—in such poems as "Sordello," for instance—than Mark Twain. Justwhat permanent benefit he received from this particular passion it isdifficult to know. Once, at a class-meeting, after finishing "EasterDay," he made a remark which the class requested him to "write down." Itis recorded on the fly-leaf of Dramatis Personae as follows:
One's glimpses & confusions, as one reads Browning, remind me of looking through a telescope (the small sort which you must move with your hand, not clock-work). You toil across dark spaces which are (to your lens) empty; but every now & then a splendor of stars & suns bursts upon you and fills the whole field with flame. Feb. 23, 1887.
In another note he speaks of the "vague dim flash of splendidhamming-birds through a fog." Whatever mental treasures he may or maynot have laid up from Browning there was assuredly a deep gratificationin the discovery of those splendors of "stars and suns" and the flashing"humming-birds," as there must also have been in pointing out thosewonders to the little circle of devout listeners. It all seemed so worthwhile.
It was at a time when George Meredith was a reigning literary favorite.There was a Meredith cult as distinct as that of Browning. Possibly itexists to-day, but, if so, it is less militant. Mrs. Clemens and herassociates were caught in the Meredith movement and read Diana of theCrossways and the Egoist with reverential appreciation.
The Meredith epidemic did not touch Mark Twain. He read but few novelsat most, and, skilful as was the artistry of the English favorite, hefound his characters artificialities—ingeniously contrived puppetsrather than human beings, and, on the whole, overrated by their creator.Diana of the Crossways was read aloud, and, listening now and then, hewas likely to say:
"It doesn't seem to me that Diana lives up to her reputation. The authorkeeps telling us how smart she is, how brilliant, but I never seem tohear her say anything smart or brilliant. Read me some of Diana's smartutterances."
He was relentless enough in his criticism of a literature he did not