Essays on Paul Bourget by Mark Twain
page 34 of 37 (91%)
page 34 of 37 (91%)
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way. But I accuse you of nothing--nothing but error. When you say that
I "retort by calling France a nation of bastards," it is an error. And not a small one, but a large one. I made no such remark, nor anything resembling it. Moreover, the magazine would not have allowed me to use so gross a word as that. You told an anecdote. A funny one--I admit that. It hit a foible of our American aristocracy, and it stung me--I admit that; it stung me sharply. It was like this: You found some ancient portraits of French kings in the gallery of one of our aristocracy, and you said: "He has the Grand Monarch, but where is the portrait of his grandfather?" That is, the American aristocrat's grandfather. Now that hits only a few of us, I grant--just the upper crust only--but it hits exceedingly hard. I wondered if there was any way of getting back at you. In one of your chapters I found this chance: "In our high Parisian existence, for instance, we find applied to arts and luxury, and to debauchery, all the powers and all the weaknesses of the French soul." You see? Your "higher Parisian" class--not everybody, not the nation, but only the top crust of the Ovation--applies to debauchery all the powers of its soul. I argued to myself that that energy must produce results. So I built an anecdote out of your remark. In it I make Napoleon Bonaparte say to me |
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