Twains Letters vol 4 1886-1900 | Page 7

end of
people took you at your word and believed you. And presently they
find out that you were not in earnest. They have been deceived;
therefore, (as they argue--and there is a sort of argument in it,) you are
a deceiver. If you will deceive in one way, why shouldn't you in
another? So they apply for the use of your trade-mark. You are amazed
and affronted. You retort that you are not that kind of person. Then they
are amazed and affronted; and wonder "since when?"
By this time you have got your bearings. You realize that perhaps there
is a little blame on both sides. You are in the right frame, now. So you
write a letter void of offense, declining. You mail this one; you
pigeon-hole the other.
That is, being old and experienced, you do, but early in your career,

you don't: you mail the first one.
II
An enthusiast who had a new system of musical notation, wrote to me
and suggested that a magazine article from me, contrasting the
absurdities of the old system with the simplicities of his new one,
would be sure to make a "rousing hit." He shouted and shouted over the
marvels wrought by his system, and quoted the handsome compliments
which had been paid it by famous musical people; but he forgot to tell
me what his notation was like, or what its simplicities consisted in. So I
could not have written the article if I had wanted to--which I didn't;
because I hate strangers with axes to grind. I wrote him a courteous
note explaining how busy I was--I always explain how busy I am--and
casually drooped this remark:
"I judge the X-X notation to be a rational mode of representing music,
in place of the prevailing fashion, which was the invention of an idiot."
Next mail he asked permission to print that meaningless remark. I
answered, no--courteously, but still, no; explaining that I could not
afford to be placed in the attitude of trying to influence people with a
mere worthless guess. What a scorcher I got, next mail! Such irony!
such sarcasm, such caustic praise of my superhonorable loyalty to the
public! And withal, such compassion for my stupidity, too, in not being
able to understand my own language. I cannot remember the words of
this letter broadside, but there was about a page used up in turning this
idea round and round and exposing it in different lights.
Unmailed Answer:
DEAR SIR,--What is the trouble with you? If it is your viscera, you
cannot have them taken out and reorganized a moment too soon. I mean,
if they are inside. But if you are composed of them, that is another
matter. Is it your brain? But it could not be your brain. Possibly it is
your skull: you want to look out for that. Some people, when they get
an idea, it pries the structure apart. Your system of notation has got in
there, and couldn't find room, without a doubt that is what the trouble is.
Your skull was not made to put ideas in, it was made to throw potatoes
at. Yours Truly.
Mailed Answer:
DEAR SIR,--Come, come--take a walk; you disturb the children. Yours
Truly.

There was a day, now happily nearly over, when certain newspapers
made a practice of inviting men distinguished in any walk of life to
give their time and effort without charge to express themselves on
some subject of the day, or perhaps they were asked to send their
favorite passages in prose or verse, with the reasons why. Such
symposiums were "features" that cost the newspapers only the writing
of a number of letters, stationery, and postage. To one such invitation
Mark Twain wrote two replies. They follow herewith:
Unmailed Answer:
DEAR SIR,--I have received your proposition--which you have
imitated from a pauper London periodical which had previously
imitated the idea of this sort of mendicancy from seventh-rate
American journalism, where it originated as a variation of the
inexpensive "interview."
Why do you buy Associated Press dispatches? To make your paper the
more salable, you answer. But why don't you try to beg them? Why do
you discriminate? I can sell my stuff; why should I give it to you? Why
don't you ask me for a shirt? What is the difference between asking me
for the worth of a shirt and asking me for the shirt itself? Perhaps you
didn't know you were begging. I would not use that argument--it makes
the user a fool. The passage of poetry--or prose, if you will--which has
taken deepest root in my thought, and which I oftenest return to and
dwell upon with keenest no matter what, is this: That the proper place
for journalists who solicit literary charity is