Mark Twain's work on the Express represented only a portion of his
literary activities during his Buffalo residence. The Galaxy, an
ambitious New York magazine of that day--[published by Sheldon & Co.
at 498 and 500 Broadway]--proposed to him that he conduct for them a
humorous department. They would pay $2,400 a year for the work, and
allow him a free hand. There was some discussion as to book rights,
but the arrangement was concluded, and his first instalment, under the
general title of “Memoranda,” appeared in the May number, 1870. In
his Introductory he outlined what the reader might expect, such as
“exhaustive statistical tables,” “Patent Office reports,” and “complete
instructions about farming, even from the grafting of the seed to the
harrowing of the matured crops.” He declared that he would throw a
pathos into the subject of agriculture that would surprise and delight
the world. He added that the “Memoranda” was not necessarily a humorous
department.
I would not conduct an exclusively and professedly humorous
department for any one. I would always prefer to have the privilege
of printing a serious and sensible remark, in case one occurred to
me, without the reader's feeling obliged to consider himself
outraged.... Puns cannot be allowed a place in this department....
No circumstance, however dismal, will ever be considered a
sufficient excuse for the admission of that last and saddest
evidence of intellectual poverty, the pun.
The Galaxy was really a fine magazine, with the best contributors
obtainable; among them Justin McCarthy, S. M. B. Piatt, Richard Grant
White, and many others well known in that day, with names that still
flicker here and there in its literary twilight. The new department
appealed to Clemens, and very soon he was writing most of his sketches
for it. They were better literature, as a rule, than those published in
his own paper.
The first number of the “Memoranda” was fairly representative of those
that followed it. “The Facts in the Case of the Great Beef Contract,” a
manuscript which he had undertaken three years before and mislaid,
was its initial contribution. Besides the “Beef Contract,” there was
a tribute to George Wakeman, a well-known journalist of those days;
a stricture on the Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage, who had delivered from the
pulpit an argument against workingmen occupying pews in fashionable
churches; a presentment of the Chinese situation in San Francisco,
depicting the cruel treatment of the Celestial immigrant; a burlesque
of the Sunday-school “good little boy” story,--[“The Story of the Good
Little Boy Who Did Not Prosper” and the “Beef Contract” are included
in Sketches New and Old; also the Chinese sketch, under the title,
“Disgraceful Persecution of a Boy.”]--and several shorter skits--and
anecdotes, ten pages in all; a rather generous contract.
Mark Twain's comment on Talmage was prompted by an article in which
Talmage had assumed the premise that if workingmen attended the churches
it would drive the better class of worshipers away. Among other things
he said:
I have a good Christian friend who, if he sat in the front pew in
church, and a workingman should enter the door at the other end,
would smell him instantly. My friend is not to blame for the
sensitiveness of his nose, any more than you would flog a pointer
for being keener on the scent than a stupid watch-dog. The fact is,
if you had all the churches free, by reason of the mixing of the
common people with the uncommon, you would keep one-half of
Christendom sick at their stomach. If you are going to kill the
church thus with bad smells I will have nothing to do with this work
of evangelization.
Commenting on this Mark Twain said--well, he said a good deal more than
we have room for here, but a portion of his closing paragraphs is
worth preserving. He compares the Reverend Mr. Talmage with the early
disciples of Christ--Paul and Peter and the others; or, rather, he
contrasts him with them.
They healed the very beggars, and held intercourse with people of a
villainous odor every day. If the subject of these remarks had been
chosen among the original Twelve Apostles he would not have
associated with the rest, because he could not have stood the fishy
smell of some of his comrades who came from around the Sea of
Galilee. He would have resigned his commission with some such
remark as he makes in the extract quoted above: “Master, if thou art
going to kill the church thus with bad smells I will have nothing to
do with this work of evangelization.” He is a disciple, and makes
that remark to the Master; the only difference is that he makes it
in the nineteenth instead of the first century.
Talmage was immensely popular at this time, and Mark Twain's open attack
on him must have shocked a good many Galaxy readers, as perhaps his
article on the Chinese cruelties offended the citizens of San Francisco.
It did not matter. He was not likely to worry over the friends he would
lose because of any stand taken for human justice. Lamed said of him:
“He was very far from being one who tried in any way to make himself
popular.” Certainly he never made any such attempt at the expense of his
convictions.
The first Galaxy instalment was a sort of platform of principles for
the campaign that was to follow. Not that each month's contribution
contained personal criticism, or a defense of the Chinese (of whom he
was always the champion as long as he lived), but a good many of them
did. In the October number he began a series of letters under the
general title of “Goldsmith's Friend Abroad Again,” supposed to have
been written by a Chinese immigrant in San Francisco, detailing his
experience there. In a note the author says: “No experience is set down
in the following letters which had to be invented. Fancy is not needed
to give variety to the history of the Chinaman's sojourn in America.
Plain fact is amply sufficient.” The letters show how the supposed
Chinese writer of them had set out for America, believing it to be
a land whose government was based on the principle that all men are
created equal, and treated accordingly; how, upon arriving in San
Francisco, he was kicked and bruised and beaten, and set upon by dogs,
flung into jail, tried and condemned without witnesses, his own race not
being allowed to testify against Americans--Irish-Americans--in the San
Francisco court. They are scathing, powerful letters, and one cannot
read them, even in this day of improved conditions, without feeling the
hot waves of resentment and indignation which Mark Twain must have felt
when he penned them.
Reverend Mr. Talmage was not the only divine to receive attention in the
“Memoranda.” The Reverend Mr. Sabine, of New York, who had declined to
hold a church burial service for the old actor, George Holland, came
in for the most caustic as well as the most artistic stricture of
the entire series. It deserves preservation to-day, not only for its
literary value, but because no finer defense of the drama, no more
searching sermon on self-righteousness, has ever been put into concrete
form.--[“The Indignity Put Upon the Remains of Gorge Holland by the Rev.
Mr. Sabine”; Galaxy for February, 1871. The reader will find it complete
under Appendix J, at the end of last volume.]
The “Little Church Around the Corner” on Twenty-ninth Street received
that happy title from this incident.
“There is a little church around the corner that will, perhaps, permit
the service,” Mr. Sabine had said to Holland's friends.
The little church did permit the service, and there was conferred upon
it the new name, which it still bears. It has sheltered a long line
of actor folk and their friends since then, earning thereby reverence,
gratitude, and immortal memory.--[Church of the Transfiguration.
Memorial services were held there for Joseph Jefferson; and a memorial
window, by John La Farge, has been placed there in memory of Edwin
Booth.]
Of the Galaxy contributions a number are preserved in Sketches New
and Old. “How I Edited an Agricultural Paper” is one of the best of
these--an excellent example of Mark Twain's more extravagant style of
humor. It is perennially delightful; in France it has been dramatized,
and is still played.
A successful Galaxy feature, also preserved in the Sketches, was
the “Burlesque Map of Paris,” reprinted from the Express. The
Franco-Prussian War was in progress, and this travesty was particularly
timely. It creates only a smile of amusement to-day, but it was all
fresh and delightful then. Schuyler Colfax, by this time Vice-President,
wrote to him: “I have had the heartiest possible laugh over it, and so
have all my family. You are a wicked, conscienceless wag, who ought to
be punished severely.”
The “Official Commendations,” which accompany the map, are its chief
charm. They are from Grant, Bismarck, Brigham Young, and others, the
best one coming from one J. Smith, who says:
My wife was for years afflicted with freckles, and though everything
was done for her relief that could be done, all was in vain. But,
sir, since her first glance at your map they have entirely left her.
She has nothing but convulsions now.
It is said that the “Map of Paris” found its way to Berlin, where the
American students in the beer-halls used to pretend to quarrel over it
until they attracted the attention of the German soldiers that might be
present. Then they would wander away and leave it on the table and watch
results. The soldiers would pounce upon it and lose their tempers over
it; then finally abuse it and revile its author, to the satisfaction of
everybody.
The larger number of “Memoranda” sketches have properly found oblivion
to-day. They were all, or nearly all, collected by a Canadian pirate, C.
A. Backas, in a volume bearing the title of Memoranda,--[Also by a
harpy named John Camden Hotten (of London), of whom we shall hear again.
Hotten had already pirated The Innocents, and had it on the market
before Routledge could bring out the authorized edition. Routledge later
published the “Memoranda” under the title of Sketches, including the
contents of the Jumping Frog book.]--a book long ago suppressed. Only
about twenty of the Galaxy contributions found place in Sketches New
and Old, five years later, and some of these might have been spared
as literature. “To Raise Poultry,” “John Chinaman in New York,” and
“History Repeats Itself” are valuable only as examples of his work at
that period. The reader may consult them for himself.