October 1864–mid-1865
The text of this poem is taken from a photographic copy of the holograph, now in the Doheny collection. The location of the holograph itself is not known.
Clemens wrote at the top of the manuscript, “(Written for M. E. G.'s Album.).” Presumably “M. E. G.” was Mary Elizabeth Gillis, the sister of Clemens' good friends Jim and Steve Gillis. She was the sixth child of Angus and Margaret Alston Gillis, and may be the “Maim” mentioned in the poem. Mary's younger sister, Francina, may be the “Fannie” also mentioned.
The date of composition is difficult to establish, but it was probably in late 1864 or early 1865. Clemens had, of course, known Steve Gillis in Virginia City, and the pair had come together to San Francisco in May 1864. On September 25 Clemens told his family that while he and Steve were “very comfortably fixed” in their present quarters (probably 32 Minna Street), Gillis was about to marry and Clemens was planning to move. On December 4 he went to stay with Steve's older brother Jim in Jackass Hill (Tuolumne County), and did not return to the city until 26 February 1865. The San Francisco directory for 1865 indicates that upon his return Clemens boarded with the Gillis family at 44 Minna Street.1 Although it is possible that Clemens inscribed “The Mysterious Chinaman” in Mary's album in late 1864, before leaving for Jackass Hill, it seems somewhat more likely that he did so while living with the family in March 1865, or somewhat later.
[begin page 63]“The Mysterious Chinaman” is Clemens' earliest known parody of “The Raven,” a poem he knew well. On 20 December 1867 he would include a prose parody of the same poem in his letter to the Virginia City Territorial Enterprise, which read in part:
[Colonel Parker] remembered nothing that occurred after that, save that he awoke out of a deep sleep, apparently in the middle of a dark night—he does not know which night it was—and by his bedside, never flitting, still was sitting, still was sitting, that ghastly, grim and ancient Indian from the night's Plutonian shore—only he, and nothing more. Quoth the Indian, Nevermore. Then this ebon bird beguiling the Colonel's sad soul into smiling, by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it bore, “Bird or fiend,” he cried, upstarting, (wrathful to his heart's hot core). “What's the time of night, I wonder?—tell me that thou son of thunder, from the night's Plutonian shore. How long have I in dreams been soaring?—how long been wheezing, gagging, snoring?—how long in savage nightmares roaring, since I lay down before?” Quoth the buck,
“An hour or more. You've been sick and may be sicker, because of late you've stopped your liquor, a thing you've never done before; here's some stuff the doctor sent ye—of your folly quick repent ye—take it, Chief, and seek nepenthe—rememb'ring grief no more.”
“Bird,” the Colonel cried, upstarting, “Bird or fiend,” he cried, upstanding. “Bird or fiend!” as if his soul in that one phrase he did outpour: “Pass that stuff the Doctor sent me—move the frame thy God hath lent thee —take thy form from off my door. Take thy beak from out my jug—go on thy bust outside my door.” Quoth the Choctaw, “Nevermore.”2
Clemens to Jane Clemens and Pamela Moffett, 25 September 1864, CL1 , letter 91; Langley, Directory for 1864, p. 106; N&J1 , pp. 68, 82; Langley, Directory for 1865, pp. 121, 195.
“Mark Twain's Letters from Washington. Number III,” Virginia City Territorial Enterprise, 11 January 1868, p. 2. The letter is scheduled to appear in the collection of social and political writings in The Works of Mark Twain.
Once upon a morning dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious shirt that me and Steve has wore,*
While I was stretching, yawning, gaping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door—
“I guess it's Maim,” I muttered, “tapping at the chamber door—
At least it's she, if nothing more.”Ⓐemendation
Presently my soul grew stronger—hesitating then no longer,
Maim,” said I, “or Fannie, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was washing, and so gently you came sloshing,
And so faintly you came sloshing, sloshing round my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”Ⓐemendation—here I opened wide the door—
ChungⒶemendation was thereⒶemendation—and nothing more!
Then this leathery wretch beguilingⒶemendation my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he boreⒶemendation—
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no RavenⒶalteration in the MS,
*The sacrifice of grammar to rhyme, in the second line, is a “poetic license” which was imperativelyⒶemendation demanded by the exigences of the case.—M. T. [begin page 65]
Ghastly, grim and long-tailed scullion, wand'ring from the kitchen floor—
Tell me what thy lordly will is, ereⒶemendation you leave my chamber door”—
Quoth Ah Chung, “No shabby ‘door.’ ”Ⓔexplanatory note (hic!)
Much I marveled this ungainly brute to hear discourse so plainly,
Though his answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing Chinaman outside his door
With message like “No Ⓐemendation shabby door.”
A photofacsimile of the manuscript of this poem, tipped into a copy of Memories of Mark Twain and Steve Gillis (Sonora, Calif.: The Banner, 1924), following p. 82, and now in the Doheny collection (acquisition number 6974), is copy-text. The manuscript itself has not been found. Folds and one ink-blot in the manuscript obscure a few letters, occasioning some emendation. At the top of the manuscript Mark Twain wrote, “(Written for M. E. G.'s Album.).”