Then, in the 1890s, his fortune changed. He was buffeted by a series of blows from which he never recovered. Speculative investments brought him to bankruptcy, his oldest daughter, Susy, died of meningitis, his youngest, Jean, was diagnosed an epileptic, Livy began a slide into lasting invalidism (she died in 1904), and Twain's own health was in eclipse. "Having long derided the notion of special providence," said John Tuckey, a Twain scholar, "he was now forced to consider himself the personal victim of a scheme of providential retribution."
When the crushing afflictions were visited on him, he reacted like an irascible Job. He struck back at the abusive Father with his best weapon, words-feverishly, obsessively, endlessly, but never publicly, discharged. Firing these paper bullets of the brain momentarily eased his leaden grief.
For a time, his rancor was confined to the Old Testament god, whom he had intellectually, but never emotionally, sloughed off. Twain "could never quite free himself from reading the Bible with fundamentalist passion," said Twainian Stanley Brodwin, "even as he ridiculed it in the name of reason." Jehovah, Twain calculated, was statistically the biggest mass murderer in history. Offended, he reflexively slew everything in sight: "All the men, all the beasts, all the boys, all the babies, all the women and all the girls, except those that have not been deflowered. What this insane Father requires is blood and misery; he is indifferent as to who furnishes it." Nothing drove Jehovah's dudgeon higher than minor lapses in hygiene. Anyone "who pisseth against the wall" was sure to provoke a wholesale massacre. Despite recurrent bludgeonings, the pious persisted in conferring on the brutal autocrat epithets of love and respect: "With a fine sarcasm we ennoble God with the title of Father-yet we know quite well that we should hang his style of father wherever we might catch him." "There is only one Criminal," catechized Twain, "and it is not man."