There had been some delay and postponement in the matter of
the play which Howells and Clemens agreed to write. They
did not put in the entire month of October as they had
planned, but they did put in a portion of that month, the
latter half, working out their old idea. In the end it
became a revival of Colonel Sellers, or rather a caricature
of that gentle hearted old visionary. Clemens had always
complained that the actor Raymond had never brought out the
finer shades of Colonel Sellers's character, but Raymond in
his worst performance never belied his original as did
Howells and Clemens in his dramatic revival. These two,
working together, let their imaginations run riot with
disastrous results. The reader can judge something of this
himself, from The American Claimant the book which Mark
Twain would later build from the play.
But at this time they thought it a great triumph. They had
“cracked their sides” laughing over its construction, as
Howells once said, and they thought the world would do the
same over its performance. They decided to offer it to
Raymond, but rather haughtily, indifferently, because any
number of other actors would be waiting for it.
But this was a miscalculation. Raymond now turned the
tables. Though favorable to the idea of a new play, he
declared this one did not present his old Sellers at all,
but a lunatic. In the end he returned the MS. with a brief
note. Attempts had already been made to interest other
actors, and would continue for some time.
XXIV. LETTERS, 1884, TO HOWELLS AND OTHERS. CABLE'S GREAT APRIL FOOL.
“HUCK FINN” IN PRESS. MARK TWAIN FOR CLEVELAND. CLEMENS AND CABLE.
Mark Twain had a lingering attack of the dramatic fever that
winter. He made a play of the Prince and Pauper, which
Howells pronounced “too thin and slight and not half long
enough.” He made another of Tom Sawyer, and probably
destroyed it, for no trace of the MS. exists to-day. Howells
could not join in these ventures, for he was otherwise
occupied and had sickness in his household.
*****
To W. D. Howells, in Boston:
Jan. 7, '84.
MY DEAR HOWELLS,--“O my goodn's”, as Jean says. You have now encountered
at last the heaviest calamity that can befall an author. The scarlet
fever, once domesticated, is a permanent member of the family. Money may
desert you, friends forsake you, enemies grow indifferent to you, but
the scarlet fever will be true to you, through thick and thin, till
you be all saved or damned, down to the last one. I say these things to
cheer you.
The bare suggestion of scarlet fever in the family makes me shudder; I
believe I would almost rather have Osgood publish a book for me.
You folks have our most sincere sympathy. Oh, the intrusion of this
hideous disease is an unspeakable disaster.
My billiard table is stacked up with books relating to the Sandwich
Islands: the walls axe upholstered with scraps of paper penciled with
notes drawn from them. I have saturated myself with knowledge of that
unimaginably beautiful land and that most strange and fascinating
people. And I have begun a story. Its hidden motive will illustrate a
but-little considered fact in human nature; that the religious folly
you are born in you will die in, no matter what apparently reasonabler
religious folly may seem to have taken its place meanwhile, and
abolished and obliterated it. I start Bill Ragsdale at 12 years of age,
and the heroine at 4, in the midst of the ancient idolatrous system,
with its picturesque and amazing customs and superstitions, 3 months
before the arrival of the missionaries and the erection of a shallow
Christianity upon the ruins of the old paganism. Then these two will
become educated Christians, and highly civilized.
And then I will jump 15 years, and do Ragsdale's leper business. When
we came to dramatize, we can draw a deal of matter from the story, all
ready to our hand.
Yrs Ever
MARK.
He never finished the Sandwich Islands story which he and Howells
were to dramatize later. His head filled up with other projects,
such as publishing plans, reading-tours, and the like. The
type-setting machine does not appear in the letters of this period,
but it was an important factor, nevertheless. It was costing
several thousand dollars a month for construction and becoming
a heavy drain on Mark Twain's finances. It was necessary to
recuperate, and the anxiety for a profitable play, or some other
adventure that would bring a quick and generous return, grew out
of this need.
Clemens had established Charles L. Webster, his nephew by marriage,
in a New York office, as selling agent for the Mississippi book and
for his plays. He was also planning to let Webster publish the new
book, Huck Finn.
George W. Cable had proven his ability as a reader, and Clemens saw
possibilities in a reading combination, which was first planned to
include Aldrich, and Howells, and a private car.
But Aldrich and Howells did not warm to the idea, and the car was
eliminated from the plan. Cable came to visit Clemens in Hartford,
and was taken with the mumps, so that the reading-trip was
postponed.
The fortunes of the Sellers play were most uncertain and becoming
daily more doubtful. In February, Howells wrote: “If you have got
any comfort in regard to our play I wish you would heave it into my
bosom.”
Cable recovered in time, and out of gratitude planned a great
April-fool surprise for his host. He was a systematic man, and did
it in his usual thorough way. He sent a “private and confidential”
suggestion to a hundred and fifty of Mark Twain's friends and
admirers, nearly all distinguished literary men. The suggestion
was that each one of them should send a request for Mark Twain's
autograph, timing it so that it would arrive on the 1st of April.
All seemed to have responded. Mark Twain's writing-table on April
Fool morning was heaped with letters, asking in every ridiculous
fashion for his “valuable autograph.” The one from Aldrich was a
fair sample. He wrote: “I am making a collection of autographs of
our distinguished writers, and having read one of your works,
Gabriel Convoy, I would like to add your name to the list.”
Of course, the joke in this was that Gabriel Convoy was by Bret
Harte, who by this time was thoroughly detested by Mark Twain. The
first one or two of the letters puzzled the victim; then he
comprehended the size and character of the joke and entered into it
thoroughly. One of the letters was from Bloodgood H. Cutter, the
“Poet Lariat” of Innocents Abroad. Cutter, of course, wrote in
“poetry,” that is to say, doggerel. Mark Twain's April Fool was a
most pleasant one.
*****
Rhymed letter by Bloodgood H. Cutter to Mark Twain: