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diff --git a/old/1478-h/1478-h.htm b/old/1478-h/1478-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f50ddc5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1478-h/1478-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4292 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + A Parody Outline of History, by Donald Ogden Stewart + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's A Parody Outline of History, by Donald Ogden Stewart + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Parody Outline of History + +Author: Donald Ogden Stewart + +Release Date: August 13, 2008 [EBook #1478] +Last Updated: November 17, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A PARODY OUTLINE OF HISTORY *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Keller, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="015 (107K)" src="images/015.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="016 (95K)" src="images/016.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + A PARODY OUTLINE OF HISTORY + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Donald Ogden Stewart + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wherein may be found a curiously irreverent treatment of + AMERICAN HISTORICAL EVENTS + Imagining them as they would be narrated + by American's most characteristic + contemporary authors + </pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To + + GILBERT HOLLAND STEWART, Jr. + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Preface + </h2> + <p> + Mr. H. G. Wells, in his "Outline of History," was of necessity forced to + omit the narration of many of the chief events in the history of these + United States. Such omissions I have in this brief volume endeavored to + supply. And as American history can possibly best be written by Americans + and as we have among us no H. G. Wells, I have imagined an American + history as written conjointly by a group of our most characteristic + literary figures. + </p> + <p> + Apologies are due the various authors whose style and, more particularly, + whose Weltanschauung I have here attempted to reproduce; thanks are due + The Bookman for permission to reprint such of these chapters as appeared + in that publication. I give both freely. D. O. S. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> Preface </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER ONE<br /> I INTRODUCTION: A Critical + Survey of American History In the Manner of <br /> William Lyon + Phelps <br /> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER TWO<br /> II CRISTOFER COLOMBO: A + Comedy of Discovery In the Manner of James <br /> Branch Cabell </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER THREE<br /> III MAIN STREET: + Plymouth, Mass In the Manner of Sinclair Lewis <br /> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER FOUR<br /> IV THE COURTSHIP OF, + MILES STANDISH In the Manner of F. Scott Fitzgerald <br /> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER FIVE<br /> V THE SPIRIT OF '75: + Letters of a Minute Man In the Manner of Ring <br /> Lardner <br /> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER SIX<br /> VI THE WHISKY REBELLION In + the Bedtime Story Manner of Thornton W. <br /> Burgess <br /> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER SEVEN<br /> VII HOW LOVE CAME TO + GENERAL GRANT In the Manner of Harold Bell Wright <br /> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER EIGHT<br /> VIII CUSTER'S LAST STAND + In the Manner of Edith Wharton <br /> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER NINE<br /> IX FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE + WORLD: A Drama of the Great War Act I—In the <br /> Manner of + Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews Act 2—In the Manner of Eugene + <br /> O'Neill <br /> </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER ONE + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <h3> + A CRITICAL SURVEY OF AMERICAN HISTORY + </h3> + <p> + In the Manner of William Lyon Phelps + </p> + <p> + On a memorable evening in the year 1904 I witnessed the opening + performance of Maude Adams in "Peter Pan". Nothing in the world can + describe the tremendous enthusiasm of that night! I shall never forget the + moment when Peter came to the front of the stage and asked the audience if + we believed in fairies. I am happy to say that I was actually the first to + respond. Leaping at once out of my seat, I shouted "Yes—Yes!" To my + intense pleasure the whole house almost instantly followed my example, + with the exception of one man. This man was sitting directly in front of + me. His lack of enthusiasm was to me incredible. I pounded him on the back + and shouted, "Great God, man, are you alive! Wake up! Hurrah for the + fairies! Hurrah!" Finally he uttered a rather feeble "Hurrah!" Childe + Roland to the dark tower came. + </p> + <p> + That was my first meeting with that admirable statesman Woodrow Wilson, + and I am happy to state that from that night we became firm friends. When + Mr. Wilson was inaugurated in 1913 I called on him at the White House, + taking with me some members of my Yale drama class. Each one of us had an + edition of the president's admirable "History of the American People", and + I am glad to say that he was kind enough to autograph each of the ten + volumes for all of us. + </p> + <p> + Early in Mr. Wilson's second term as president, just before the break with + Germany, I was sitting in the quiet of my library rereading Browning's + "Cristina". When I came to the third stanza I leaped to my feet—the + thing seemed incredible, but here before my eyes was actually Browning's + prophetic message to America in regard to the submarine sinkings. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, we're sunk enough here, God knows! But not so sunk that moments—etc." + It is an extraordinary evidence of the man's genius that in 1840 he should + have perhaps foreseen prophetically the happenings of seventy-six years + later! Not only did Browning seem to know what was bound to happen, but he + told us the remedy. I sat right down and wrote to my good friend the + president, enclosing a marked copy of the poem. On the sixth of April, + 1917, war was declared. + </p> + <p> + May 7, 1912, was the one hundredth anniversary of the birth of Robert + Browning. On that memorable date I was traveling to Ohio at the request of + my dear friend Miss Jones to deliver an address at the Columbus School for + Girls. Curiously enough the name of my Pullman car was Pauline. Not only + did that strike me as remarkable, but I occupied upper berth number 9 in + car 11, two numbers which, added together, produced the exact age at which + Browning published the poem of that name. At once I recited the opening + lines, "Pauline, mine own, bend o'er me—thy soft breast shall pant + to mine—bend o'er me," to the porter. + </p> + <p> + I like to believe that the spirit of Browning arranged that entire + journey, for the other occupant of this well-omened berth was that + admirable statesman Warren G. Harding. When I sat down I noticed that he + was reading Henry Sydnor Harrison's "Queed", a book which was justly + popular at that time. I at once showed Mr. Harding an article I had + written in which I stated that not only was "Queed" a real novel, with a + real plot, and real characters, but that I believed the readers were + stimulated by the spiritual advance of the hero. The future president + agreed with me and said he thought that literature was a great thing. + Encouraged by this I confessed that I was on my way to deliver a lecture + on modern poetry. Mr. Harding replied that he thought poetry was a great + thing. "Splendid!" I cried, and taking a copy of Browning from my bag I + read him several selections. Mr. Harding said that of the American poets + he liked James Whitcomb Riley best. Personally, while I have for Mr. Riley + only wonder and praise, I think that the English poet strikes a more + inspiring, more eternal note. + </p> + <p> + I then read to Mr. Harding Browning's "Evelyn Hope". He said that he knew + a Mrs. Walter Hope in Marion, but that he was not sure her first name was + Evelyn. As I knew that Mr. Harding liked a good pun, I remarked + facetiously that "hope springs eternal", meaning that probably there were + in existence several families of that name. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I am happy to state that with that meeting began a friendship which +has lasted for many years. When Mr. Harding was nominated for the +presidency, I wrote at once, enclosing a copy of "The Advance of the +English Novel" which I had published in 1916. On the title-page I wrote, +"To the Hero of a Much More Spectacular Advance", meaning that the +progress made by the English novel was as nothing compared to Mr. +Harding's rapid and well-deserved rise. In reply I received the +following: + + 6 July, 1920. MY DEAR +PROFESSOR PHELPS: +</pre> + <p> + Many thanks to you for your congratulations and your kindness in sending + me your brilliant, searching essays which I hope to be able to read in the + near future. WARREN G. HARDING. + </p> + <p> + Just as I am always glad that I am an American, so I think we should all + believe whole-heartedly in the glorious future which lies ahead of us. We + should all pay high tribute to the ideals and sincerity of those great + leaders Woodrow Wilson and Warren Harding. What a pity that some people + believe that there is any antagonism or essential difference in the aims + of those two worthy men. Both are absolutely sincere—both try to + make the world a better, more happy place. And to the critic of history—as + to the critic of art and literature—those are the essential things. + Viewing the past and glimpsing the future of American history I cannot + help feeling that Browning had us perhaps unconsciously in mind when he + wrote: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + God's in his heaven: All's right with the world! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Two + </h2> + <p> + CRISTOFER COLOMBO A Comedy of Discovery. In the Manner of James Branch + Cabell + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In fourteen hundred ninety two In the city of Genoa. + —Old Song. +</pre> + <p> + They of Genoa tell with a shrug how in the old days Cristofer Colombo whom + men called the Dreamer left Dame Colombo to go in search of the land of + his imagining. + </p> + <p> + And the tale tells how, on a twilight Thursday, Colombo walked alone on + the edge of a doubtful wood, and viewed many things not salutary to + notice. And there came to him one who was as perversely tall as a certain + unmentionable object and bearded in a manner it is not convenient to + describe. + </p> + <p> + But Colombo set about that which the stranger said was necessary and when + he had finished he drank the contents of the curious skull as had been + foretold on a certain All-Saints day. Then it was that the stranger spoke. + </p> + <p> + "Whom are you", said he, "to be thus wandering in the very unspeakable + forest of the very unnamable sorcerer Thyrston?" + </p> + <p> + Said Colombo, "I have heard of this Thyrston. And while I do not + criticize, yet I cannot entirely agree with your improper use of the + pronoun WHOM, and oh my dear sir", said Colombo, "those two VERYS would + surely—oh, most surely—be mentioned in 'The Conning Tower'." + </p> + <p> + "Eh!" said Thyrston, frowning. + </p> + <p> + "I allude", said Colombo, "to the scribbling of a certain Adams with whom + you are doubtless familiar, and of course, my dear Thyrston", said + Colombo, "I spoke only jestingly, for I am Cristofer Colombo whom men call + the Dreamer, and I go in search of the land of my imagining and it is + truly a pleasure to meet the greatest sorcerer since Ckellyr, and how", + said Colombo, "is dear Mrs. Thyrston?" + </p> + <p> + Then Thyrston showed Colombo what was written on the insecure parchment. + It frightened Colombo a little, but he assented. And when the sorcerer had + borrowed a silk hat and a gold watch he caused the skies to darken and + Colombo saw that which men refuse to believe. + </p> + <p> + "But, oh, now really sir", said Colombo, "that is indeed extremely clever + and I do wish that the children were here to see it and would you mind, my + dear Thyrston", said Colombo, "doing that egg trick again?" + </p> + <p> + Then Thyrston showed Colombo that he had nothing up either sleeve and + after an interval he consented to teach Colombo the secret of his + conjuring. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="046 (85K)" src="images/046.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + "Why now to be sure", said Colombo, after he had thoroughly mastered the + trick, "that is indeed quite simple and I am sorry I broke those four eggs + by mistake in your silk hat, and while I do not wish to appear + oversensitive, do you not think, my dear Thyrston", said Colombo, "that + the trick would go just as well without those abominable jokes about + married life?" + </p> + <p> + "My dear sir", said Thyrston, "those jokes have been used by every + conjurer since Merlin, and while perhaps without them your trick would + work, yet I have never heard of it being done and I have found", said + Thyrston, "that in sorcery the best results are obtained by doing the + customary thing." + </p> + <p> + "Which only goes to show", said Colombo, "that sorcery is somewhat akin to + business, and now that I think of it", said Colombo, "I believe that the + term wizard of industry is perhaps not entirely a misnomer." + </p> + <p> + Thus it was that Colombo took leave of Thyrston, and the tale tells how on + Walburga's Eve he came to the court of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabel. + And as he entered one met him who was not unpleasing to the eye, and she + was weeping. And, as it was somewhat dark, Colombo decided to comfort her. + </p> + <p> + "Now, do you tell me, my dear", said Colombo, after an interval, "why it + is you weep, for I am Colombo whom men call the Dreamer, and I go in + search of the land of my imagining, and I think", said Colombo, "that you + have most remarkably lovely eyes." + </p> + <p> + "Oh messire", said the lady, "I weep because it is this evening that I am + to entertain the ladies of our Progress Literary Club, and Donna Margarita + whom men call the Spanish Omelet, but who really, messire, has a lovely + voice, was going to sing 'The Rosary' and now she has a cold and cannot + sing, and King Ferdinand is coming, and oh, messire, what", said the lady, + "shall I do?" + </p> + <p> + "Why now, truly", said Colombo, "in Genoa it was the judgment of all the + really musically intelligent ladies, except perhaps my wife, that I sang + not an unpleasing baritone, and while I do not know the song to which you + refer, yet I have devoted most of my life to the composition of a poem + concerning the land of my imagining which might well be sung and besides + that", said Colombo, "I can do a most remarkable egg trick." + </p> + <p> + So it was that Colombo became for a short time not undeservedly the life + of the Progress Literary Club party. And the tale tells how, after a paper + by Donna Violet Balboa on "Spanish Architecture—Then and Now", + Colombo sang to them the song of the land of Colombo's imagining. And + poignantly beautiful was the song, for in it was the beauty of a poet's + dream, and the eternal loveliness of that vision which men have glimpsed + in all ages if ever so faintly. And when he had finished, the eyes of + Colombo were wet with tears, for into this poem had he woven the dreams of + his disillusionment. And somewhat ironical to Colombo was the applause of + those fine ladies who did not at all understand. + </p> + <p> + "Now that is a pretty song", said King Ferdinand, "and do you tell us, + Colombo, how one may get to this land, so that I may extend the borders of + my most Catholic Kingdom and spread the teachings of the true faith, for + to bring the world under the blessed influence of my religion is my only + purpose, and really now", said King Ferdinand, "is there as much gold + there as you describe?" + </p> + <p> + "Ah, King Ferdinand", replied Colombo, "there is more gold than ever I can + tell, and I see only too plainly how grievously you suffer to think that + perhaps these people are living in ignorance of the true faith. And I + could ask nothing better than that King Ferdinand give me ships in which I + may sail to the westward and come at last to the land of my imagining. + This I would do in order that the blessed soldiers of King Ferdinand who + will follow me may show to the inhabitants of my discovered land the + grievous errors of their ways and bring them at last to a realization of + the true faith which has been so helpful to our own dear Spain, and", + added Colombo, "our gracious sovereign Ferdinand." + </p> + <p> + And droll it was to Colombo to think what might possibly happen were King + Ferdinand to take his dream seriously or were the King perhaps to be + informed as to the true meaning of Colombo's subtleties. + </p> + <p> + "Well, now", said King Ferdinand, "of course, to fit out such an + expedition would require great expense, my dear Colombo—great + expense. And, of course, you know, Colombo, that when investors can buy + Inquisition 4 1/4's for 89 it would be extremely difficult to raise the + money for such a speculative project—oh, extremely difficult. And + then you must consider the present depression—tell me now, Colombo", + said King Ferdinand, "how long do you think this depression will last, for + I seek, above all things, a return to healthy normalcy." + </p> + <p> + "Well, truly", replied Colombo, "that would be most difficult to say. I + note that on Rodigruez Babsyn's last chart—" + </p> + <p> + "I wish this Babsyn and his charts were in hell", said King Ferdinand, + "for it was he who advised me to sell Queen Isabel's silver holdings. But + it occurs to me, Colombo, that in connection with this land-of-gold scheme + of yours, you mentioned something about sailing to the westward. Now + Colombo, that would be a distinct disadvantage when it came to marketing + the bonds, for as you must already know, one cannot sail to the west + without encountering fierce and enormous monsters who swallow, I am told, + whole ships at a gulp." + </p> + <p> + "Now as to that", said Colombo, somewhat embarrassed at the turn of the + conversation for WEST had merely happened to better suit the rhymes of his + poem, "you may be right, and I should not go so far as to say you are + wrong, but still at the same time", said Colombo, "is there any gentleman + in the audience who can lend me an egg and a silk hat?" + </p> + <p> + And when an unmentionable egg and a doubtful silk hat had been produced in + a manner which it is not convenient to mention Colombo rolled up both his + sleeves and spoke the magic speech as he had learned it on a certain + Thursday from the sorcerer Thyrston. + </p> + <p> + "Ladies and gentlemen", said Colombo, "I have here a common household egg + which I shall now ask the ushers to pass among you so you may see for + yourself that there are no wires or strings attached. While this is being + done, ladies and gentlemen, I wish that three of you would step up on the + stage. Any three—don't be bashful girls—I won't hurt you. + Won't that couple over there kindly oblige me—that married couple—no, + folks, I guess they aren't married either—they look too happy." + </p> + <p> + Very painful it was to Colombo to hear these horrible jokes coming from + his mouth, but Thyrston had quoted the authority of all successful + sorcerers and not for anything would Colombo have had his trick a failure. + </p> + <p> + "Now ladies and gentlemen", said Colombo, "I am going to ask this lady and + these two gentlemen if they will be so good as to see if they can take + this little egg and make it stand on end without any support." + </p> + <p> + And very droll it was to see the unsuccessful attempts which the three + made. Finally Colombo said: + </p> + <p> + "Now ladies and gentlemen, I want you to watch me closely. I put the silk + hat on my head—thus. And I take the egg in my right hand—thus. + Now, if this young lady will be kind enough to hold my left hand—I + hope that her best fellow doesn't mind letting such a pretty girl hold my + hand—it's lucky my wife can't see me, though—a friend said to + me the other day, 'Who was that lady I seen you with?' and I said, 'That + wasn't no lady, that was my wife'. Now ladies and gentlemen I take this + egg, and in order to make it stand upright I tap one end gently—thus + against the table until that end is flattened—and then, presto—the + egg stands upright. Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you one and all for your + kind attention." + </p> + <p> + Thus it was that Colombo impressed King Ferdinand and his court with his + profound knowledge of geography. Next the tale tells how there came to + Colombo on Michaelmas Eve one sent by Queen Isabel, And when Colombo had + buckled on his sword Impavide he followed the messenger through winding + corridors and came at last to the chamber of the Queen. And as he knelt + before her it seemed to Colombo that never before had he seen such + unforgettable beauty as shone in the eyes of Queen Isabel. Yes, truly, + this was the loveliest girl that Colombo had ever imagined. + </p> + <p> + "Now do you rise", said she, "and you and I shall have a nice chat alone + here together, and you can tell me all about geography of which I am oh, + frightfully ignorant. In truth", said she, "I have tried to get Ferdinand + to instruct me, but I fear", said Queen Isabel, "that Ferdinand does not + understand me." + </p> + <p> + So Colombo instructed Queen Isabel in the fundamentals of geography. And + after a while he spoke. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="052 (66K)" src="images/052.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + "Now many people", said Colombo, "believe that the earth is flat, but", + said Colombo, "such is not at all the case." + </p> + <p> + And after an interval Colombo said, "There, my dear, do you not see how + ridiculous it is to suppose that the earth is anything but round?" + </p> + <p> + "Why surely, sire", said Queen Isabel, "you make it appear very round. And + I wonder that I had not thought of that before. And I think", said Queen + Isabel, "that geography is a most fascinating subject and oh, messire + Colombo", said the Queen, "you must come and instruct me often." + </p> + <p> + Thus it was that Colombo became Royal Geographer. And the tale tells how + after a while various whisperings came to King Ferdinand of his queen's + curious enthusiasm for study. + </p> + <p> + "Now about this geography", said King Ferdinand one evening to the Queen, + "I am, my dear, indeed glad to see you take an interest in such an + important study and I have arranged", said the King, "to have your + tutoring in the future done by Father Bernadino who has had fifty-two + years' experience at the University, and your lessons", said the King, + "will commence tomorrow." + </p> + <p> + Said the Queen, "How can I thank you enough, dear Ferdinand, for your + untiring interest in my welfare. For I have been struggling along in my + study of geography with a horribly dull clod whose name", said the Queen, + "I cannot remember." + </p> + <p> + "Was it, by any chance, Colombo?" asked the King. + </p> + <p> + "Perhaps", said the Queen. "But I am oh so glad to be rid of him." And + indeed so great was the happiness of Queen Isabel that her pillow that + night was wet with tears. + </p> + <p> + But King Ferdinand was an unusually efficient king, and he spared no pains + in his craving for normalcy. So it was that the next day he called to him + the man who had chanced to be Royal Geographer before the coup d'oeuf of + Colombo. + </p> + <p> + "Now tell me", said the King, "is there any chance that a man who sails to + the westward will ever return?" + </p> + <p> + "None, your Majesty", said the ex-Royal Geographer. "For many have tried + and horrible are the tales which they tell of demons and monsters lying in + wait for the ships of men. And I should say definitely, oh King", said he, + "that whoever sails to the westward will never return." + </p> + <p> + And the tale tells how that afternoon Colombo stood before King Ferdinand. + And very strange to Colombo was the enthusiasm which burned in the King's + otherwise somewhat fishlike eye. + </p> + <p> + "For know you, Colombo", the King was saying, "that God has spoken to me + and commanded me to save from the fires of hell the inhabitants of those + golden lands of which you sang. And to you, my dear Colombo, is to be + given the chance which you so ardently desire. For I have this day + purchased three ships which await your command, and within a week you + should be well on your way on this glorious mission for God and for Spain, + and", said the King, "I might add that the Queen, too, is much interested + in this voyage and has even been persuaded to dispose of her jewels in + order that you may make haste." + </p> + <p> + "Such instant obedience to the will of God", said Colombo, "and such fine + enthusiasm to further His kingdom on earth, does your Majesties great + credit. And I shall indeed congratulate the inhabitants of this + to-be-discovered land for their good fortune in obtaining such a devout + King." + </p> + <p> + And the tale tells how that night Colombo took leave of Queen Isabel. "Now + do not weep, oh Queen", said he, "for I am only Colombo whom men call the + Dreamer, and I go in search of the land of my imagining, and perhaps", + said Colombo, "I shall return." But they tell how Queen Isabel refused to + be comforted for many and many a day. And unexplainably curious to Father + Bernadino was his absolute and complete failure as a royal instructor in + geography, for Father Bernadino had taught for fifty-two years at the + University. + </p> + <p> + And so it was that Colombo sat alone in the cabin of the ship which + carried him towards the land of his imagining. And strange and somewhat + fearsome it was to the sailors to see their captain sitting thus + motionless night after night, for already had they left the Canaries far + behind and some there were who said that a madman commanded their ship, + and others who whispered of horrible monsters in these western seas. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="056 (46K)" src="images/056.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + And the tale tells how one night Colombo observed across his table one who + had not been sitting there a moment before and whose hair was strangely + red. + </p> + <p> + "Well now, truly, sir", said Colombo, "This is very curious. For I do not + remember seeing you among the crew nor were you ever at the court, and on + the whole", said Colombo, "your red hair and your sneering grin interrupt + my dreams, and dreams", said Colombo, "are all that I have left." + </p> + <p> + "For know you, sir", continued he to the stranger who did not speak, "that + on this earth man has been able to endure only by playing the ape to his + dreams. And in every generation", said Colombo, "there have been those who + dreamed of beautiful things and in every age there have been those who + caught some glimpse of that perfect beauty which the Greeks call Helen, + and to have seen Helen", said Colombo, "is to have been touched with + divine and unbearable madness." + </p> + <p> + And it became strangely quiet in the cabin as Colombo continued: + </p> + <p> + "And those authors who wrote perfectly of beautiful dreams", said he, + "will, perchance, endure, and those who saw only men as they are, will + perish—for so has it been in the past and so will it be in the + future. All of which", said Colombo, "is a rather tiresome and pedantic + excuse for the fact that I am about to read you my own poem." + </p> + <p> + And Colombo read to the stranger the dream of the land of Colombo's + imagining, and when he had finished the stranger smiled and shook his head + sadly. + </p> + <p> + "Come, now," said Colombo, somewhat hurt. "Do not, I pray you, pretend to + like it unless you really do. Of course it is not at all the kind of thing + that will sell, is it—and the metre must be patched up in places, + don't you think? And some of the most beautiful passages would never be + permitted by the censor—but still—" and Colombo paused + hopefully, for it was Colombo's poem and into it he had poured the heart + of his life and it seemed to him now, more than ever, a beautiful thing. + </p> + <p> + The stranger handed Colombo a book. + </p> + <p> + "There", said he, "is the land of your imagining", and in his eyes gleamed + a curious sardonic mockery. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="062 (108K)" src="images/062.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + And Colombo read the book. And when he had finished his face was grey as + are old ashes in ancient urns, and about the mouth of him whom men called + the Dreamer were curious hard lines. + </p> + <p> + "Now, by Heaven", said Colombo brandishing his sword Impavide, "you lie. + And your Gopher Prairie is a lie. And you are all, all contemptible, you + who dip your pens in tracing ink and seek to banish beautiful dreams from + the world." + </p> + <p> + But the red-haired stranger had vanished and Colombo found that he was + alone and to Colombo the world seemed cheerless and as a place that none + has lived in for a long time. + </p> + <p> + "Now this is curious", mused Colombo, "for I have evidently been dreaming + and a more horrible dream have I never had, and I think", said Colombo, + "that while all this quite certainly did not actually take place, yet that + grinning red head has upset me horribly and on the whole", said Colombo, + "I believe the safest course would be to put back at once for Spain, for + certainly I have no desire to take the remotest chance of discovering + anything which may in the least resemble that Gopher Prairie." + </p> + <p> + And the tale tells that as Colombo started for the deck in order that he + might give the signal for the return to Spain, there came across the water + from one of the other ships the faint cry of a sailor. And the sailor was + waving his hat and shouting, "Land Ho!" + </p> + <p> + Thus it was that Cristofer Colombo became the discoverer of the land of + his imagining, and as he stood on the deck Colombo mused. + </p> + <p> + "Now this is a sorrowful jest and a very unfair jest that is happening," + said he. "For I who have dreamed a beautiful dream of the land of my + imagining will quite probably henceforth be known only as the discoverer + of what will turn out to be merely one more hideous and stupid country." + And tears came to the eyes of Colombo, for on the waves behind him floated + the torn and scattered pages of the poem which sang the imagined vision of + Beauty of him whom men long and long ago called the Dreamer. + </p> + <p> + Thus it was in the old days. + </p> + <p> + ANALYSIS AND SUMMARY OF THE FOREGOING ARTICLE In the Manner of Dr. Frank + Crane + </p> + <p> + There is a lesson for us all in this beautiful story of how Columbus + realized his ambition to be a great discoverer. + </p> + <p> + Men called Columbus a Dreamer—but that is just what folks once said + about Thomas A. Edison and Henry Ford. + </p> + <p> + The world has a place for Dreamers—if they are Practical Dreamers. + </p> + <p> + Columbus was ambitious. Ambition is a great thing if it is unselfish + ambition. By unselfish I mean for the greatest good of the greatest + number. Shakespeare, the great teacher, shows us in "Macbeth" what happens + to the selfishly ambitious man. + </p> + <p> + Columbus got ahead by paying attention to small details. Whatever he did, + he did to the best of his ability. Even when engaged in teaching geography + to the Queen, Columbus was the best geography teacher he knew how to be. + And before long he was made Royal Geographer. + </p> + <p> + In our daily lives let us all resolve to be good teachers of geography. We + may not all become Royal Geographers—but there will be to us the + lasting satisfaction of having done our best. And that, as a greater than + I has said, is "more precious than rubies—yea, than much fine gold". + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Three + </h2> + <h3> + MAIN STREET: Plymouth, Mass. + </h3> + <p> + In the Manner of Sinclair Lewis + </p> + <p> + I 1620. + </p> + <p> + Late autumn. + </p> + <p> + The sour liver-colored shores of America. + </p> + <p> + Breaking waves dashing too high on a stern and rockbound coast. + </p> + <p> + Woods tossing giant branches planlessly against a stormy sky. + </p> + <p> + Cape Cod Bay—wet and full of codfish. The codfish—wet and full + of bones. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="070 (63K)" src="images/070.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + Standing on the deck of the anchored "Mayflower", gazing reflectively at + the shores of the new world, is Priscilla Kennicott. + </p> + <p> + A youthful bride on a ship full of pilgrims; a lily floating in a dish of + prunes; a cloissone vase in a cargo of oil cans. + </p> + <p> + Her husband joins her. Together they go forward to where their fellow + pilgrims are preparing to embark in small boats. + </p> + <p> + Priscilla jumps into the bow of the first of these to shove off. + </p> + <p> + As the small craft bumps the shore, Priscilla rises joyously. She + stretches her hands in ecstasy toward the new world. She leans forward + against the breeze, her whole figure alive with the joy of expectant + youth. + </p> + <p> + She leaps with an irrepressible "Yippee" from the boat to the shore. + </p> + <p> + She remains for an instant, a vibrant pagan, drunk with the joy of life; + Pan poised for an unforgettable moment on Plymouth Rock. + </p> + <p> + The next minute her foot slips on the hard, wet, unyielding stone. She + clutches desperately. She slides slowly back into the cold chill saltness + of Cape Cod Bay. + </p> + <p> + She is pulled, dripping and ashamed, into the boat. She crouches there, + shivering and hopeless. She hears someone whisper, "Pride goeth before + destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." + </p> + <p> + A coarse mirthless chuckle. + </p> + <p> + The pilgrims disembark. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + Plymouth. + </p> + <p> + A year later. + </p> + <p> + Night. + </p> + <p> + She lay sleepless on her bed. + </p> + <p> + She heard the outside door open; Kennicott returning from prayer meeting. + </p> + <p> + He sat down on the bed and began pulling off his boots. She knew that the + left boot would stick. She knew exactly what he would say and how long it + would take him to get it off. She rolled over in bed, a tactical movement + which left no blanket for her husband. + </p> + <p> + "You weren't at prayer meeting," he said. + </p> + <p> + "I had a headache," she lied. He expressed no sympathy. + </p> + <p> + "Miles Standish was telling me what you did today at the meeting of the + Jolly Seventeen." He had got the boot off at last; he lay down beside her + and pulled all the blankets off her onto himself. + </p> + <p> + "That was kind of Miles." She jerked at the covers but he held them tight. + "What charming story did he tell this time?" + </p> + <p> + "Now look here, Prissie—Miles Standish isn't given to fabrication. + He said you told the Jolly Seventeen that next Thanksgiving they ought to + give a dance instead of an all-day prayer service." + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="074 (99K)" src="images/074.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + "Well—anything else?" She gave a tremendous tug at the bedclothes + and Kennicott was uncovered again. + </p> + <p> + "He said you suggested that they arrange a series of lectures on modern + religions, and invite Quakers and other radicals to speak right here in + Plymouth and tell us all about their beliefs. And not only that but he + said you suggested sending a message to the Roman Catholic exiles from + England, inviting them to make their home with us. You must have made + quite a little speech." + </p> + <p> + "Well this is the land of religious freedom, isn't it? That's what you + came here for, didn't you?" She sat up to deliver this remark—a + movement which enabled Kennicott to win back seven-eighths of the bed + covering. + </p> + <p> + "Now look here Prissie—I'm not narrow like some of these pilgrims + who came over with us. But I won't have my wife intimating that a Roman + Catholic or a Quaker should be allowed to spread his heresies broadcast in + this country. It's all right for you and me to know something about those + things, but we must protect our children and those who have not had our + advantages. The only way to meet this evil is to stamp it out, quick, + before it can get a start. And it's just such so-called broadminded + thinkers as you that encourage these heretics. You'll be criticizing the + Bible next, I suppose." + </p> + <p> + Thus in early times did the pious Right Thinkers save the land from + Hellfire and Damnation; thus the great-grandfathers of middle-western + congressmen; thus the ancestors of platitudinous editorial writers, + Sitters on Committees, and tin-horn prohibitionists. + </p> + <p> + Kennicott got up to cool his wrath and indignation with a drink of water. + He stumbled over a chair, reached for the jug, took a drink, set the jug + down, stumbled over the same chair, and crawled back into bed. His + expedition cost him the loss of all bed covering; he gave up the fight. + </p> + <p> + "Aside from dragging my own private views over the coals of your + righteousness, did you and your friends find anything equally pleasant and + self-satisfying to discuss this evening?" + </p> + <p> + "Eh—what's that? Why, yes, we did. We decided to refuse permission + for one of these traveling medicine shows to operate in Plymouth." + </p> + <p> + "Medicine shows?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes—you know—like a fair in England. This one claims to come + from down south somewhere. 'Smart Set Medicine Show' it's called, run by a + fellow named Mencken. Sells cheap whisky to the Indians—makes them + crazy, they say. He's another one of your radical friends we don't want + around." + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="080 (100K)" src="images/080.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + "Yes, he might cut in on your own trading with the Indians." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, for heaven's sake, Prissie—hire a hall." + </p> + <p> + Silence. He began to snore. + </p> + <p> + She lay there, sleepless and open-eyed. The clock struck eleven. + </p> + <p> + "Why can't I get to sleep?" + </p> + <p> + ("Did Will put the cat out?") + </p> + <p> + "I wonder what this medicine show is like?" + </p> + <p> + "What is the matter with these people?" + </p> + <p> + ("Or is it me?") + </p> + <p> + She reached down, pulled the blankets from under her, spread them + carefully over the sleeping Kennicott, patting them down affectionately. + </p> + <p> + The next day she learned what the medicine show was like. She also learned + what was the matter with the pilgrims. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + Morning. + </p> + <p> + A fog horn. + </p> + <p> + A fog horn blowing unceasingly. + </p> + <p> + At breakfast Kennicott pointed with his fork in the direction of the + persistent sound. + </p> + <p> + "There's your Smart Set medicine show," he said glumly. "He doesn't seem + to care much whether we give him a permit or not." Then, a minute later, + "We'll have to let him stay. Won't do to have the Indians down on us. But + I tell you this, Priscilla, I don't want you to go." + </p> + <p> + "But Will—" + </p> + <p> + "Prissie, please! I'm sorry I said what I did last night. I was tired. But + don't you see, well, I can't just exactly explain—but this fog horn + sort of scares me—I don't like it—" + </p> + <p> + He suddenly rose and put both hands on her shoulders. He looked into her + eyes. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. He picked up his hat + and was gone. It was five minutes before Priscilla noticed that his + breakfast had been left untouched. + </p> + <p> + A fog horn, sounding unceasingly. + </p> + <p> + She listlessly put away the breakfast dishes. She tried to drown out the + sound by singing hymns. She fell on her knees and tried to pray. She found + her prayers keeping time to the rise and fall of the notes of that horn. + She determined to go out in the air—to find her husband—to go + to church, anywhere—as far as possible from the Smart Set medicine + show. + </p> + <p> + So she went out the back door and ran as fast as she could toward the + place from which came the sound of the fog horn. + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + An open space on the edge of the forest. + </p> + <p> + In the centre of the clearing a small gaudily-painted tent. + </p> + <p> + Seated on the ground in a semicircle before the tent, some forty or fifty + Indians. + </p> + <p> + Standing on a box before the entrance to the tent, a man of twenty-five or + fifty. + </p> + <p> + In his left hand he holds a fog horn; in his right, a stein of beer. + </p> + <p> + He puts the horn to his lips and blows heavy blast. + </p> + <p> + He bellows, "Beauty—Beauty—Beauty!" + </p> + <p> + He takes a drink of beer. + </p> + <p> + He repeats this performance nine times. + </p> + <p> + He takes up some mud and deftly models the features of several well-known + characters—statesmen, writers, critics. In many cases the + resemblance is so slight that Priscilla can hardly recognize the + character. + </p> + <p> + He picks up a heavy club and proceeds to beat each one of his modeled + figures into a pulp. + </p> + <p> + The Indians applaud wildly. + </p> + <p> + He pays no attention to this applause. + </p> + <p> + He clears his throat and begins to speak. Priscilla is so deafened by the + roar of his voice that she cannot hear what he says. Apparently he is + introducing somebody; somebody named George. + </p> + <p> + George steps out of the tent, but does not bow to the audience. In one + hand he carries a fencing foil, well constructed, of European workmanship; + in his other hand he holds a number of pretty toy balloons which he has + made himself. + </p> + <p> + He smiles sarcastically, tosses the balloons into the air, and cleverly + punctures them one by one with his rapier. + </p> + <p> + At each "pop" the announcer blows a loud blast on the fog horn. + </p> + <p> + When the last balloon has been punctured George retires without + acknowledging the applause of the Indians. + </p> + <p> + The next act is announced as Helen of Troy in "Six Minutes of Beauty". + Priscilla learns from the announcer that "this little lady is out of + 'Irony' by Theodore Dreiser". + </p> + <p> + "All ready, Helen—" + </p> + <p> + The "little lady" appears. + </p> + <p> + She is somewhat over six feet six in height and built like a boilermaker. + She is dressed in pink tights. + </p> + <p> + "Six Minutes of Beauty" begins when Helen picks up three large iron cannon + balls and juggles them. She tosses them in the air and catches them + cleverly on the back of her neck. + </p> + <p> + The six minutes are brought to a successful conclusion when Helen, hanging + head downward by one foot from a trapeze, balances lighted lamp on the + other foot and plays Beethoven's Fifth Symphony on the slide trombone. + </p> + <p> + The announcer then begins his lecture. Priscilla has by this time gotten + used to the overpowering roar of his voice and she discovers that once + this difficulty is overcome she is tremendously impressed by his words. + </p> + <p> + She becomes more and more attracted to the man. She listens, fascinated, + as his lecture draws to a close and he offers his medicine for sale. She + presses forward through the crowd of Indians surrounding the stand. She + reaches the tent. She gives her coin and receives in return a bottle. She + hides it in her cape and hurries home. + </p> + <p> + She slips in the back way; she pours some of the medicine into a glass; + she drinks it. + </p> + <p> + V + </p> + <p> + A terrible overwhelming nausea. Vomiting, which lasts for agonizing + minutes, leaving her helpless on the floor. + </p> + <p> + Then cessation. + </p> + <p> + Then light—blinding light. + </p> + <p> + VI + </p> + <p> + At 3:10 Priscilla drank the Mencken medicine; at 3:12 she was lying in + agony on the floor; at 3:20 she opened her eyes; at 3:21 she walked out of + her front door; and at 3:22 she discovered what was wrong with Plymouth + and the pilgrims. + </p> + <p> + Main Street. Straight and narrow. A Puritan thoroughfare in a Puritan + town. + </p> + <p> + The church. A centre of Puritan worship. The shrine of a narrow theology + which persistently repressed beauty and joy and life. + </p> + <p> + The Miles Standish house. The house of a Puritan. A squat, unlovely symbol + of repression. Beauty crushed by Morality. + </p> + <p> + Plymouth Rock. Hard, unyielding—like the Puritan moral code. A huge + tombstone on the grave of Pan. + </p> + <p> + She fled home. She flung herself, sobbing, on the bed. She cried, "They're + all Puritans that's what they are, Puritans!" + </p> + <p> + After a while she slept, her cheeks flushed, her heart beating + unnaturally. + </p> + <p> + VII + </p> + <p> + Late that night. + </p> + <p> + She opened her eyes; she heard men's voices; she felt her heart still + pounding within her at an alarming rate. + </p> + <p> + "And I told them then that it would come to no good end. Truly, the Lord + does not countenance such joking." + </p> + <p> + She recognized the voices of Miles Standish and Elder Brewster. + </p> + <p> + "Well—what happened then?" This from Kennicott. + </p> + <p> + "Well, you see, Henry Haydock got some of this Mencken's medicine from one + of the Indians. And he thought it would be a good joke to put it in the + broth at the church supper this evening." + </p> + <p> + "Yes?" + </p> + <p> + "Well—he did it, the fool. And when the broth was served, hell on + earth broke loose. Everyone started calling his neighbor a Puritan, and + cursing him for having banished Beauty from the earth. The Lord knows what + they meant by that; I don't. Old friends fought like wildcats, shrieking + 'Puritan' at each other. Luckily it only got to one table—but there + are ten raving lunatics in the lockup tonight. + </p> + <p> + "It's an awful thing. But thanks to the Lord, some good has come out of + this evil: that medicine man, Mencken, was standing outside looking in at + the rumpus, smiling to himself I guess. Well, somebody saw him and yelled, + 'There's another of those damned Puritans!' and before he could get away + five of them had jumped on him and beaten him to death. He deserved it, + and it's a good joke on him that they killed him for being a Puritan." + </p> + <p> + Priscilla could stand no more. She rose from her bed, rushed into the + room, and faced the three Puritans. In the voice of Priscilla Kennicott + but with the words of the medicine man she scourged them. + </p> + <p> + "A good joke?" she began. "And that is what you Puritan gentlemen of God + and volcanoes of Correct Thought snuffle over as a good joke? Well, with + the highest respect to Professor Doctor Miles Standish, the Puritan + Hearse-hound, and Professor Doctor Elder Brewster, the Plymouth Dr. Frank + Crane—BLAA!" + </p> + <p> + She shrieked this last in their faces and fell lifeless at their feet. + </p> + <p> + She never recovered consciousness; an hour later she died. An overdose of + the medicine had been too much for her weak heart. + </p> + <p> + "Poor William," comforted Elder Brewster, "you must be brave. You will + miss her sorely. But console yourself with the thought that it was for the + best. Priscilla has gone where she will always be happy. She has at last + found that bliss which she searched for in vain on earth." + </p> + <p> + "Yes William," added Miles Standish. "Priscilla has now found eternal + joy." + </p> + <p> + VIII + </p> + <p> + Heaven. + </p> + <p> + Smug saints with ill-fitting halos and imitation wings, singing + meaningless hymns which Priscilla had heard countless times before. + </p> + <p> + Sleek prosaic angels flying aimlessly around playing stale songs on sickly + yellow harps. + </p> + <p> + Three of the harps badly out of tune; two strings missing on another. + </p> + <p> + Moses, a Jew. + </p> + <p> + Methuselah, another Jew. Old and unshaven. + </p> + <p> + Priscilla threw herself on a cloud, sobbing. + </p> + <p> + "Well, sister, what seems to be the matter here?" + </p> + <p> + She looked up; she saw a sympathetic stranger looking down at her. + </p> + <p> + "Because you know, sister," he went on, "if you don't like it here you can + always go back any time you want to." + </p> + <p> + "Do you mean to say," gasped Priscilla, "that I can return to earth?" + </p> + <p> + "You certainly can," said the stranger. "I'm sort of manager here, and + whenever you see any particular part of the earth you'd like to live in, + you just let me know and I'll arrange it." + </p> + <p> + He smiled and was gone. + </p> + <p> + IX + </p> + <p> + It was two hundred years before Priscilla Kennicott definitely decided + that she could stand it no longer in heaven; it was another hundred years + before she located a desirable place on earth to return to. + </p> + <p> + She finally selected a small town in the American northwest, far from the + Puritan-tainted Plymouth; a small town in the midst of fields of beautiful + waving grain; a small town free from the artificiality of large cities; a + small town named Gopher Prairie. + </p> + <p> + She made known her desire to the manager; she said goodby to a small group + of friends who had gathered to see her off; she heard the sound of the + eternal harp playing and hymn singing grow gradually fainter and fainter; + she closed her eyes. + </p> + <p> + When she opened them again she found herself on Main Street in Gopher + Prairie. + </p> + <p> + X + </p> + <p> + From the "Heavenly Harp and Trumpet": + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Priscilla Kennicott, one of our most popular angels, left these parts + last Tuesday for an extended visit to the Earth. Mrs. K. confided to Ye + Editor that she would probably take up her residence in Gopher Prairie, + Minn., under the name of Carol Kennicott. The "Harp and Trumpet" + felicitates the citizens of Gopher Prairie on their acquisition of a + charming and up-to-date young matron whose absence will be keenly + regretted by her many friends in the heavenly younger married set. Good + luck, Priscilla! + </p> + <p> + XI + </p> + <p> + Heaven. + </p> + <p> + Five years later. + </p> + <p> + The monthly meeting of the Celestial Browning Club. + </p> + <p> + Seated in the chair reserved for the guest of honor, the manager. + </p> + <p> + The meeting opens as usual with a reading by Brother Robert Browning of + his poem "Pippa Passes"; as he proclaims that "God's in his heaven, all's + right with the world", the members applaud and the manager rises and bows. + </p> + <p> + The chairman announces that "today we take up a subject in which I am sure + we are all extremely interested—the popular literature of the United + States". + </p> + <p> + The members listen to selected extracts from the writings of Gene + Stratton-Porter, Zane Grey, and Harold Bell Wright; at the conclusion they + applaud and the manager again bows. + </p> + <p> + "I am sure", says the chairman, "that we are all glad to hear that things + are going so nicely in the United States." (Applause.) "And now, in + conclusion, Brother Voltaire has requested permission to address us for a + few minutes, and I am sure that anything Brother Voltaire has to say will + be eminently worthwhile." + </p> + <p> + Brother Voltaire rises and announces that he has listened with interest to + the discussion of American literature; that he, too, rejoices that all is + well in this best of all possible United States; and that he hopes they + will pardon him if he supplements the program by reading a few extracts + from another extremely popular American book recently published under the + name of "Main Street". + </p> + <p> + XII + </p> + <p> + At the next meeting of the Celestial Browning Club it was unanimously + voted that the privileges of the club be denied Brother Voltaire for the + period of one year, and that the name of Priscilla Kennicott be stricken + from the list of non-resident members of heaven. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FOUR + </h2> + <h3> + THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH + </h3> + <p> + In the Manner of F. Scott Fitzgerald + </p> + <p> + This story occurs under the blue skies and bluer laws of Puritan New + England, in the days when religion was still taken seriously by a great + many people, and in the town of Plymouth where the "Mayflower", having + ploughed its platitudinous way from Holland, had landed its precious cargo + of pious Right Thinkers, moral Gentlemen of God, and—Priscilla. + </p> + <p> + Priscilla was—well, Priscilla had yellow hair. In a later + generation, in a 1921 June, if she had toddled by at a country club dance + you would have noticed first of all that glorious mass of bobbed + corn-colored locks. You would, then, perhaps, have glanced idly at her + face, and suddenly said "Oh my gosh!" The next moment you would have + clutched the nearest stag and hissed, "Quick—yellow hair—silver + dress—oh Judas!" You would then have been introduced, and after + dancing nine feet you would have been cut in on by another panting stag. + In those nine delirious feet you would have become completely dazed by one + of the smoothest lines since the building of the Southern Pacific. You + would then have borrowed somebody's flask, gone into the locker room and + gotten an edge—not a bachelor-dinner edge but just enough to give + you the proper amount of confidence. You would have returned to the + ballroom, cut in on this twentieth century Priscilla, and taken her and + your edge out to a convenient limousine, or the first tee. + </p> + <p> + It was of some such yellow-haired Priscilla that Homer dreamed when he + smote his lyre and chanted, "I sing of arms and the man"; it was at the + sight of such as she that rare Ben Johnson's Dr. Faustus cried, "Was this + the face that launched a thousand ships?" In all ages has such beauty + enchanted the minds of men, calling forth in one century the Fiesolian + terza rima of "Paradise Lost", in another the passionate arias of a dozen + Beethoven symphonies. In 1620 the pagan daughter of Helen of Troy and + Cleopatra of the Nile happened, by a characteristic jest of the great + Ironist, to embark with her aunt on the "Mayflower". + </p> + <p> + Like all girls of eighteen Priscilla had learned to kiss and be kissed on + every possible occasion; in the exotic and not at all uncommon pleasure of + "petting" she had acquired infinite wisdom and complete disillusionment. + But in all her "petting parties" on the "Mayflower" and in Plymouth she + had found no Puritan who held her interest beyond the first kiss, and she + had lately reverted in sheer boredom to her boarding school habit of + drinking gin in large quantities, a habit which was not entirely approved + of by her old-fashioned aunt, although Mrs. Brewster was glad to have her + niece stay at home in the evenings "instead", as she told Mrs. Bradford, + "of running around with those boys, and really, my dear, Priscilla says + some of the FUNNIEST things when she gets a little er—'boiled', as + she calls it—you must come over some evening, and bring the + governor." + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brewster, Priscilla's aunt, is the ancestor of all New England aunts. + She may be seen today walking down Tremont Street, Boston, in her Educator + shoes on her way to S. S. Pierce's which she pronounces to rhyme with + HEARSE. The twentieth century Mrs. Brewster wears a highnecked black silk + waist with a chatelaine watch pinned over her left breast and a spot of + Gordon's codfish (no bones) over her right. When a little girl she was + taken to see Longfellow, Lowell, and Ralph Waldo Emerson; she speaks + familiarly of the James boys, but this has no reference to the well-known + Missouri outlaws. She was brought up on blueberry cake, Postum and "The + Atlantic Monthly"; she loves the Boston "Transcript", God, and her + relatives in Newton Centre. Her idea of a daring joke is the remark Susan + Hale made to Edward Everett Hale about sending underwear to the heathen. + She once asked Donald Ogden Stewart to dinner with her niece; she didn't + think his story about the lady mind reader who read the man's mind and + then slapped his face, was very funny; she never asked him again. + </p> + <p> + The action of this story all takes place in MRS. BREWSTER'S Plymouth home + on two successive June evenings. As the figurative curtain rises MRS. + BREWSTER is sitting at a desk reading the latest instalment of Foxe's + "Book of Martyrs". + </p> + <p> + The sound of a clanking sword is heard outside. MRS. BREWSTER looks up, + smiles to herself, and goes on reading. A knock—a timid knock. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BREWSTER: Come in. + </p> + <p> + (Enter CAPTAIN MIKES STANDISH, whiskered and forty. In a later generation, + with that imposing mustache and his hatred of Indians, Miles would + undoubtedly have been a bank president. At present he seems somewhat ill + at ease, and obviously relieved to find only PRISCILLA'S aunt at home.) + </p> + <p> + MRS. BREWSTER: Good evening, Captain Standish. + </p> + <p> + MILES: Good evening, Mrs. Brewster. It's—it's cool for June, isn't + it? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BREWSTER: Yes. I suppose we'll pay, for it with a hot July, though. + </p> + <p> + MILES (nervously): Yes, but it—it is cool for June, isn't it? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BREWSTER: So you said, Captain. + </p> + <p> + MILES: Yes. So I said, didn't I? (Silence.) + </p> + <p> + MILES: Mistress Priscilla isn't home, then? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BREWSTER: Why, I don't think so, Captain But I never can be sure + where Priscilla is. + </p> + <p> + MILES (eagerly): She's a—a fine girl, isn't she? A fine girl. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BREWSTER: Why, yes. Of course, Priscilla has her faults but she'd + make some man a fine wife—some man who knew how to handle her—an + older man, with experience. + </p> + <p> + MILES: Do you really think so, Mrs. Brewster? (After a minute.) Do you + think Priscilla is thinking about marrying anybody in particular? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BREWSTER: Well, I can't say, Captain. You know—she's a little + wild. Her mother was wild, too, you know—that is, before the Lord + spoke to her. They say she used to be seen at the Mermaid Tavern in London + with all those play-acting people. She always used to say that Priscilla + would marry a military man. + </p> + <p> + MILES: A military man? Well, now tell me Mrs. Brewster, do you think that + a sweet delicate creature like Priscilla— + </p> + <p> + A VOICE (in the next room): Oh DAMN! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BREWSTER: That must be Priscilla now. + </p> + <p> + THE VOICE: Auntie! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BREWSTER: Yes, Priscilla dear. + </p> + <p> + THE VOICE: Where in hell did you put the vermouth? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BREWSTER: In the cupboard, dear. I do hope you aren't going to get—er—"boiled" + again tonight, Priscilla. (Enter PRISCILLA, infinitely radiant, infinitely + beautiful, with a bottle of vermouth in one hand and a jug of gin in the + other.) PRISCILLA: Auntie, that was a dirty trick to hide the vermouth. + Hello Miles—shoot many Indians today? + </p> + <p> + MILES: Why—er er—no, Mistress Priscilla. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Wish you'd take me with you next time, Miles. I'd love to shoot + an Indian, wouldn't you, auntie? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BREWSTER: Priscilla! What an idea! And please dear, give Auntie + Brewster the gin. I—er—promised to take some to the church + social tonight and it's almost all gone now. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="015 (107K)" src="images/015.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + MILES: I didn't see you at church last night, Mistress Priscilla. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Well I'll tell you, Miles. I started to go to church—really + felt awfully religious. But just as I was leaving I thought, "Priscilla, + how about a drink—just one little drink?" You know, Miles, church + goes so much better when you're just a little boiled—the lights and + everything just kind of—oh, its glorious. Well last night, after I'd + had a little liquor, the funniest thing happened. I felt awfully good, not + like church at all—so I just thought I'd take a walk in the woods. + And I came to a pool—a wonderful honest-to-God pool—with the + moon shining right into the middle of it. So I just undressed and dove in + and it was the most marvelous thing in the world. And then I danced on the + bank in the grass and the moonlight—oh, Lordy, Miles, you ought to + have seen me. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BREWSTER: Priscilla! + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: 'Scuse me, Auntie Brewster. And then I just lay in the grass + and sang and laughed. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BREWSTER: Dear, you'll catch your death of cold one of these nights. + I hope you'll excuse me, Captain Standish; it's time I was going to our + social. I'll leave Priscilla to entertain you. Now be a good girl, + Priscilla, and please dear don't drink straight vermouth—remember + what happened last time. Good night, Captain—good night, dear. + </p> + <p> + (Exit MRS. BREWSTER with gin.) + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Oh damn! What'll we do, Miles—I'm getting awfully sleepy. + </p> + <p> + MILES: Why—we might—er—pet a bit. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA (yawning): No. I'm too tired—besides, I hate whiskers. + </p> + <p> + MILES: Yes, that's so, I remember. (Ten minutes' silence, with MILES + looking sentimentally into the fireplace, PRISCILLA curled up in a chair + on the other side.) + </p> + <p> + MILES: I was—your aunt and I—we were talking about you before + you came in. It was a talk that meant a lot to me. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Miles, would you mind closing that window? + </p> + <p> + (MILES closes the window and returns to his chair by the fireplace.) + </p> + <p> + MILES: And your aunt told me that your mother said you would some day + marry a military man. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Miles, would you mind passing me that pillow over there? + </p> + <p> + (MILES gets up, takes the pillow to PRISCILLA and again sits down.) + </p> + <p> + MILES: And I thought that if you wanted a military man why—well, + I've always thought a great deal of you, Mistress Priscilla—and + since my Rose died I've been pretty lonely, and while I'm nothing but a + rough old soldier yet—well, what I'm driving at is—you see, + maybe you and I could sort of—well, I'm not much of a hand at fancy + love speeches and all that—but— + </p> + <p> + (He is interrupted by a snore. He glances up and sees that PRISCILLA has + fallen fast asleep. He sits looking hopelessly into the fireplace for a + long time, then gets up, puts on his hat and tiptoes out of the door.) + </p> + <p> + THE NEXT EVENING + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA is sitting alone, lost in revery, before the fireplace. It is + almost as if she had not moved since the evening before. + </p> + <p> + A knock, and the door opens to admit JOHN ALDEN, nonchalant, + disillusioned, and twenty-one. + </p> + <p> + JOHN: Good evening. Hope I don't bother you. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: The only people who bother me are women who tell me I'm + beautiful and men who don't. + </p> + <p> + JOHN: Not a very brilliant epigram—but still—yes, you ARE + beautiful. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Of course, if it's an effort for you to say— + </p> + <p> + JOHN: Nothing is worthwhile without effort. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Sounds like Miles Standish; many things I do without effort are + worthwhile; I am beautiful without the slightest effort. + </p> + <p> + JOHN: Yes, you're right. I could kiss you without any effort—and + that would be worthwhile—perhaps. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Kissing me would prove nothing. I kiss as casually as I + breathe. + </p> + <p> + JOHN: And if you didn't breathe—or kiss—you would die. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Any woman would. + </p> + <p> + JOHN: Then you are like other women. How unfortunate. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: I am like no woman you ever knew. + </p> + <p> + JOHN: You arouse my curiosity. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Curiosity killed a cat. + </p> + <p> + JOHN: A cat may look at a—Queen. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: And a Queen keeps cats for her amusement. They purr so + delightfully when she pets them. + </p> + <p> + JOHN: I never learned to purr; it must be amusing—for the Queen. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Let me teach you. I'm starting a new class tonight. + </p> + <p> + JOHN: I'm afraid I couldn't afford to pay the tuition. + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: For a few exceptionally meritorious pupils, various + scholarships and fellowships have been provided. + </p> + <p> + JOHN: By whom? Old graduates? + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: NO—the institution has been endowed by God— + </p> + <p> + JOHN: With exceptional beauty—I'm afraid I'm going to kiss you. NOW. + </p> + <p> + (They kiss.) + </p> + <p> + (Ten minutes pass.) + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Stop smiling in that inane way. + </p> + <p> + JOHN: I just happened to think of something awfully funny. You know the + reason why I came over here tonight? + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: To see me. I wondered why you hadn't come months ago. + </p> + <p> + JOHN: No. It's really awfully funny—but I came here tonight because + Miles Standish made me promise this morning to ask you to marry him. Miles + is an awfully good egg, really Priscilla. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="110 (79K)" src="images/110.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Speak for yourself, John. (They kiss.) + </p> + <p> + PRISCILLA: Again. + </p> + <p> + JOHN: Again—and again. Oh Lord, I'm gone. + </p> + <p> + (An hour later JOHN leaves. As the door closes behind him PRISCILLA sinks + back into her chair before the fireplace; an hour passes, and she does not + move; her aunt returns from the Bradfords' and after a few ineffectual + attempts at conversation goes to bed alone; the candles gutter, flicker, + and die out; the room is filled of sacred silence. Once more the clock + chimes forth the hour—the hour of fluted peace, of dead desire and + epic love. Oh not for aye, Endymion, mayst thou unfold the purple panoply + of priceless years. She sleeps—PRISCILLA sleeps—and down the + palimpsest of age-old passion the lyres of night breathe forth their + poignant praise. She sleeps—eternal Helen—in the moonlight of + a thousand years; immortal symbol of immortal aeons, flower of the gods + transplanted on a foreign shore, infinitely rare, infinitely erotic.) [1] + </p> + <p> + 1. For the further adventures of Priscilla, see F. Scott Fitzgerald's stories + in the "Girl With the Yellow Hair" series, notably "This Side of + Paradise," "The Offshore Pirate," "The Ice Palace," "Head and Shoulders," + "Bernice Bobs Her Hair," "Benediction" and "The Beautiful and Damned." + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FIVE + </h2> + <h3> + THE SPIRIT OF '75 + </h3> + <p> + LETTERS OF A MINUTE MAN + </p> + <p> + In the Manner of Ring Lardner + </p> + <p> + Friend Ethen— + </p> + <p> + Well Ethen you will be surprised O. K. to hear I & the wife took a + little trip down to Boston last wk. to a T. party & I guess you are + thinking we will be getting the swelt hed over being ast to a T. party. In + Boston. + </p> + <p> + Well Ethen if you think that why you will be a 100 mi. offen the track + because Ethen I and Prudence sent the kind that gets a swelt hed over + being ast any wares like some of are naybers up here when they are ast any + wares so you see Ethen even if we had been ast any wares we wouldnt of had + no swelt hed. On acct of being ast any wares. + </p> + <p> + Well last Thurs. I and Prudence drove old Bessy down to Boston Bessy is + are horse see Ethen which is about 13 mi. from here Boston I mean Ethen as + the crow flys only no crow would ever fly to Boston if he could help it + because all the crows that ever flew to Boston was shot by them lousie + taverin keepers to make meals out of Ethen I never tast it nothing so + rotten in my life as the meals they give us there & the priceis would + knock your I out. 3 shillings for a peace of stake about as big as your I, + and 4 pence for a cup of coffy. The streets sent the only thing about + Boston thats crook it. Them taverin keepers is crook it to I mean see + Ethen. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="118 (109K)" src="images/118.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + After supper I & her was walking a round giving the town the double O + when we seen that Fanny Ewell Hall was all lit up like Charley Davis on + Sat. night & I says to Prudence lets go inside I think its free and + she says I bet you knowed it was free al right befor you ast me & sure + enough it was free only I hadnt knowed it before only I guess that + Prudence knows that when I say a thing it is generally O. K. Well Fanny + Ewell Hall was pack jam full of people & we couldnt see nothing + because there was a cockide stiff standing right in front of us & + jumping up & down & yelling No T. No T. at the top of his lunges + & Prudence says well why dont you take coffy or milk & for Gods + sake stay offen my foot & he turns to her & says maddam do you + want T. & slavery & she says no coffy & a hot dog just kidding + him see Ethen & he says maddam no T. shall ever land & she says no + but my husbend will in a bout 1 min. & I was just going to plank him 1 + when the door behint us bust open & a lot of indyans come in yelling + every body down to Grifins worf there is going to be a T. party only Ethen + they wasnt indyans at all but jest wite men drest up to look like indyans + & I says to a fello those aint indyans & he say no how did you + guess it & I says because I have seen real indyans many a time & + he says to a nother fello say Bill here is a man who says them sent real + indyans & the other fello says gosh I dont believe it & they + laffed only the laff was on them Ethen because they wasnt real indyans + & that is only tipical of how you cant tell these Boston swelt heds + nothing & I guess if they had ever seen a real indyan they would of + known better than to laff. Well I and Prudence follered the crowd down to + Grifins worf & them indyans which was only wite men drest up clumb + onto a ship there & begun throwing the cargo into Boston harber & + I says to a fello what is in them boxes & he says T. & I says well + why are they throwing it away & he says because they do not want to + pay the tacks which is about as sensable Ethen if I was to rite a lot of + letters & then as fast as I rote I would tare it up because I did not + want to pay for a stamp. Well I says somebody ought to catch he—ll + for this & he says are you a torie & I seen he was trying to kid + me & I says no I am a congregationalis & a loyal subject of king + Geo. Rex & he says o I thought you was a torie & a lot of fellos + who was with him give him the laff because he hadnt been abel to kid me. + Well after a whiles he says the indyans seem to be about threw & I + says yes only they sent indyans & the laff was on him again & he + seen it wasnt no use to try & kid me & Prudence says come on lets + beat it & on the way home I says I bet them Boston birds will feel + small when they find out that those wasnt indyans at all & she act it + like she was mad about something & says well they cant blame you for + not trying to tell them & its a wonder you didnt hire Fanny Ewell Hall + while you was about it & I says o is it & I might know youd get + sore because I was the 1st to find out about the indyans being wite men in + disgised & she says yes I suppose if somebody was to paint stripes on + a cow you would make a speech about it & say that you had discovered + that it wasnt no tiger & I wish I had been 1 of them indyans tonight + because I would of loved to of beened you with a Tommy Hawk & I says o + you would would you & she seen it wasnt no use to argue with me & + anyway Ethen nobody would be fool enough to paint stripes on a cow unless + maybe they was born in Boston. Well Ethen thats the way it goes & when + you do put one over on the wife they want to hit you with a Tommy Hawk + with best rgds. Ed. + </p> + <p> + Friend Ethen— + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="122 (121K)" src="images/122.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + No matter what a married man does in this world he gets in wrong & I + suppose if I was to die tonight Prudence would bawl me out for not having + let her know I was going to do it & just because I joined the minit + men the other eve. she has been acting like as if I had joined the Baptis + Church & I bet you are saying what in the h—ll is a minit man. + Well Ethen I will tell you. The other night I says to Prudence I think I + will drive over to Lexington to get Bessy shodd. Bessy is are horse see + Ethen. Well she says you will do nothing of the kind because all you want + to do in Lexington is get a snoot ful & if you think I am going to + wate up all night while you get boiled well you have got another guess + coming. She says the last time you had Bessy shodd the naybers are talking + about it yet & I says do you mean because I & Charley Davis was + singing & having a little fun & she says no because nobody wouldnt + call that singing & do you call it a little fun when you brought Bessy + up stares with you to show me how well she had been shodd at 3 A. M. in + the morning answer me that which is only her way of exagerating things + Ethen because we didnt bring Bessy only as far as the stares & I only + did it because Charley had been drinking a little to much & I didnt + want to iritate him because the way to handel drunks is to not iritate + them they are only worse only you cant tell a woman that & they think + the way to handel drunks is to look him in the eye & say arent you + ashamed of yourselves which only iritates him the moar. Well I says I am + not going to half no horse of mine going a round 1/2 shodd al the time + & Prudence says well I am not going to half no husband of mine going a + round 1/2 shot al the time & I says I will not go near Charley Davis + this time because I have lernt my lesson & she says al right if you + will promise to not go near Charley Davis you can go & when I got to + Lexington I thought I would stop in the taverin a min. just to say hulloh + to the boys because if a fello doesnt stop in the taverin to say hulloh to + the boys who are just as good as he is they are lible to say he has a + swelt hed & is to proud to stop in the taverin to say hulloh to the + boys. Who are just as good as he is. Well I didnt have any i dear that + Charley Davis would be there because I had told Prudence I wasnt going to + go near him & just because I said that I cant be expect it to sneek + into toun like as if I was a convick can I Ethen. Well the taverin was + crowd it & they had all got a good start & the long & the + short of it was that the 1st person I seen was Charley Davis & he says + hulloh there pink whiskers you are just in time to join the minit men + which is only a nicked name he has for me because my whiskers are red + brown. No I says I cannot join anything tonight fellos because I must go + right back home & he says if you dont join the minit men now some day + you wont have no home to go home to & I says what do you mean I wont + have no home to go home to & he says because the Brittish are going to + burn down all the homes of we farmers because we will not sell them any + food but first you had better have a drink. Well Ethen a fello dont like + to be a sissey about taking 1 drink does he & then I says now fellos I + must go home & then a couple of more fellos come in & they said Ed + you wont go home till we have brought you a drink & elect it you to + the minit men will you & I said no but I must go home right after + that. Well then we got to singing & we was going pretty good & + after a while I said now fellos I must go home & Charley Davis says to + me Ed before you go I want to have you shake hands with my friend Tom + Duffy who is here from Boston & he will tell you all about the minit + men & you can join tonight but look out or he will drink you under the + tabel because he is the worst fish in Boston & I says sure only I have + got to be going home soon because you remember what hapend last time & + I would like to see any body from Boston drink me under the tabel & + bet. you & I Ethen if that fellow is a fish then my grandmother is the + prince of whales & let me tell you what hapend. After we had drank + about 4 or 5 I seen he was getting sort of wite & I says well Boston + lets settle down now to some good steady drinking & he says listen + & I says what & he says listen & I says what & he says do + you know my wife & I says no & he says listen & I says what + & he says shes the best little woman in the world & I says sure + & he says what did you say & I says when & he says you have + insult it my wife the best little woman in the world & he begun to cry + & we had only had a bout 1 qt & wouldnt that knock you for a + cockide gool Ethen, only I guess you arent surprised knowing how much I + can holt without feeling any affects. Well I was feeling pretty good on + acct. of drinking the pride of Boston under the tabel & not feeling + any affects only I was feeling good like a fello naturely feels & the + fellos kind of made a lot of fuss on acct. me drinking him under the tabel + so I couldnt very well of gone home then & after a while Charley Davis + made a speech & well comed me into the minit men & so I am a minit + man Ethen but I cant exackly explain it to you until I see Charley again + because he didnt make it very clear that night. Well after a while we woke + the Boston fish up & we all went home & I was feeling pretty good + on acct. it being such a nice night & all the stars being out & + etc. & when I got home I said Prudence guess what hapend & she + says I can guess & I says Prudence I have been elect it a minit man + & she says well go on up stares & sleep it off & I says sleep + what off & she says stop talking so loud do you want the naybers to + wake up & I says whos talking loud & she says o go to bed & I + says I am talking in conversational tones & she says well you must be + conversing with somebody in Boston & I says o you mean that little + blond on Beecon St. & Ethen she went a 1,000,000 mi. up in the air + & I seen it wasnt no use to try & tell her that the reason I was + feeling good was on acct. having drank a Boston swelt hed to sleep without + feeling any affects & I bet the next time I get a chanct I am going to + get snooted right because a fello gets blamed just as much if he doesnt + feel the affects as if he was brought home in a stuper & I was just + kidding her about that blond on Beecon St. Some women dont know when they + are well off Ethen & I bet that guy from Bostons Tom Duffy I mean wife + wishes she was in Prudences shoes instead of her having married a man what + cant holt no more than a qt. without being brought home in a stuper. Best + rgds. Ed. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="128 (90K)" src="images/128.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + Friend Ethen— + </p> + <p> + Well Ethen this is a funny world & when I joined the minit men last + mo. how was I to know that they called them minit men because they was + lible to get shot any minit. & here I am riteing to you in a tent + outside Boston & any minit a canon ball is lible to knock me for a + continental loop & my house has been burnt & Prudence is up in + Conk Cord with her sister the one who married that short skate dum bell + Collins who has owed me 2 lbs. for a yr. & 1/2 well Ethen it never + ranes but it pores & you can be glad you are liveing in a nice quiet + place like Philly. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="134 (68K)" src="images/134.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + Well the other night I and Prudence was sound asleep when I heard some + body banging at the frt. door & I stuck my head out the up stares + window & I says who are you & he says I am Paul Revear & I + says well this is a h—ll of a time to be wakeing a peaceiful man out + of their bed what do you want & he says the Brittish are comeing & + I says o are they well this is the 19 of April not the 1st & I was + going down stares to plank him 1 but he had rode away tow wards Lexington + before I had a chanct & as it turned out after words the joke was on + me O. K. Well who is it says Prudence Charley Davis again because you + might as well come back to bed if it is & I says no it was some Boston + smart alick trying to be funny & I guess they are soar down there on + acct. what hapened to their prize fish up here last mo. & are trying + to get even do you know a Paul Revear & she says yes there was a boy + at school named Paul Revear who was crazy about me was he dark well Ethen + if all the fellos she says has been crazy about her was layed end to end + they would circum navygate the globe twicet & I says no he was yello + & that had her stopt so we went back to sleep only I couldn't help + laffing over the way I had slipt it across. About Revear being yello. Well + along a bout A. M. there was a lot of gun firing tow wards Lexington & + Prudence grabed me & says whets the shooting for & I says probably + that fello Revear who was so crazy a bout you has got funny oncet to oft + ten & it will teach them Boston doodes a lesson. Well Ethen I was + wrong for oncet & the firing kept getting worse & I hitcht up old + Bessy & drove over to Lexington Bessy is are horse & Ethen there + was the h—ll to pay there because the g—d d—m Brittish + redcotes had marcht nup from Boston & had fired on the Lexington + fellos & Charley Davis had been shot dead & a lot of the other + fellos was wooned it & they said you had better get your wife to the h—ll + out of your house because the g—d d—m Brittish redcotes are + coming back & they will burn everything along the rode the —— + I guess you know what word goes there Ethen & I was so d—m mad + at those g—d d—m Brittish redcotes on acct. shooting Charley + Davis dead that I said give me a gun & show me the —— who + done it & they says no you had better get your wife to a safe place to + go to & then you can come back because the —— will be + along this way again the ——. Well I drove as fast as I could + back to the farm & somebody had already told Prudence what had hapend + & as soon as I drove into the yd. she come out with my muskit & + hand it it to me & says dont you worry about me but you kill every d—m + redcote you can see & I says the ——s has killed Charley + Davis & she says I know it & here is all the bullits I could find. + Well when I got back to Lexington the redcotes was just coming along & + Ethen I guess they wont forget that march back to Boston for a little + whiles & I guess I wont either because the ——s burnt down + my house & barn & Prudence is gone to stay with her sister in Conk + Cord & here I am camping in a tent with a lot of other minit men on + the out skirts of Boston & there is a roomer a round camp that to + morrow we are going to move over to Bunker Hill which is a good name for a + Boston Hill Ill say & Ethen if you was to of told me a mo. ago that I + would be fighting to get Boston away from the Brittish I would of planked + you 1 because they could of had Boston for all I cared. Well Ethen I must + go out and drill some more now & probably we will half to listen to + some Boston bird makeing a speech they are great fellos for speeches about + down with Brittish tirrany & give me liberty or give me death but if + you was to ast me Ethen I would say give me back that house & barn + what those lousie redcotes burnt & when this excitement is all over + what I want to know is Ethen where do I get off at. Yrs Ed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Six + </h2> + <h3> + THE WHISKY REBELLION. + </h3> + <p> + In the Bedtime Story Manner of Thornton W. Burgess + </p> + <p> + "Just the DAY for a Whisky Rebellion," said Aunt Polly and off she ran, + lipperty-lipperty-lip, to get a few shooting rifles. + </p> + <p> + "Oh goody goody," cried little Emily. "Now we can all shoot at those + horrid Revenue Officers," for the collectors of internal revenue were far + from popular with these kindly Pennsylvania folk and Aunt Polly Pinkwood + had often promised the children that if they were good some day they would + be allowed to take a shot at a Revenue Officer. + </p> + <p> + Soon she returned, bearing in her arms a number of bright shiny new guns. + The children crowded around in glee and soon all were supplied with + weapons except little Frank who of course was too young to use a gun and + was given a two-gallon jug of nice, old whisky to carry. Jed hitched up + old Taylor, the faithful farm horse, and as quick as you could say Jack + Robinson the little ones had piled into the old carryall. Round Mr. Sun + was just peeping over the Purple Hills when the merry little party started + on its way, singing and laughing at the prospect of the day's sport. + </p> + <p> + "I bet I kill five Revenue Officers," said little Edgar. + </p> + <p> + "Ha Ha Ha—you boaster, you," laughed Aunt Polly. "You will be lucky + if you kill two, for I fear they will be hard to find today." + </p> + <p> + "Oh do you think so, Aunt Polly?" said little Elinor and she began to cry, + for Elinor dearly loved to shoot. + </p> + <p> + "Hush dear," said Miss Pinkwood with a kindly pat, for she loved her + little charges and it hurt her to see them unhappy. "I was only joking. + And now children I will tell you a story." + </p> + <p> + "Oh goody goody," cried they all. "Tell us a true story." + </p> + <p> + "All right," said Aunt Polly. "I shall tell you a true story," and she + began. + </p> + <p> + "Once there was a brave handsome man—" + </p> + <p> + "Mr. Welsbach," cried the children with one voice, for it was well known + in the neighborhood that Aunt Polly had long been sweet on Julius + Welsbach, the popular superintendent of the Sabbath School and the best + whisky maker for miles around. + </p> + <p> + "Hush children," said Aunt Polly blushing in vexation. "Of course not. And + if you interrupt me I shall not tell my story at all." But she was not + really angry. + </p> + <p> + "And one day this brave handsome man was out making whisky and he had just + sampled some when he looked up and what do you suppose he saw?" + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="144 (48K)" src="images/144.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + "Snakes," cried little Elmer whose father had often had delirium tremens, + greatly to the delight of his children. + </p> + <p> + "No, Elmer," said Miss Pinkwood, "not snakes." + </p> + <p> + "Pink lizards," cried little Esther, Elmer's sister. + </p> + <p> + "No," said Aunt Polly, with a hearty laugh, "he saw a—stranger. And + what do you suppose the stranger had?" + </p> + <p> + "A snoot full," chorused the Schultz twins. "He was pie-eyed." + </p> + <p> + "No," replied Miss Pinkwood laughing merrily. "It was before noon. Guess + again children. What did the stranger have?" + </p> + <p> + "Blind staggers," suggested little Faith whose mother had recently been + adjudged insane. + </p> + <p> + "Come children," replied Aunt Polly. "You are not very wide awake this + morning. The stranger had a gun. And when the brave handsome man offered + the stranger a drink what do you suppose the stranger said?" + </p> + <p> + "I know," cried little Prudence eagerly. "He said, 'Why yes I don't care + if I do.' That's what they all say." + </p> + <p> + "No, Prudence," replied Miss Pinkwood. "The stranger refused a drink." + </p> + <p> + "Oh come now, Aunt Polly," chorused the boys and girls. "You said you were + going to tell us a true story." And their little faces fell. + </p> + <p> + "Children," said Miss Polly, "the stranger refused the drink because he + was a Revenue Officer. And he pointed his gun at the brave handsome man + and said he would have to go to jail because he had not paid the tax on + his whisky. And the brave handsome man would have had to have gone to + jail, too; but fortunately his brother came up just at the right time and—" + </p> + <p> + "Shot the Revenuer dead," cried the children in glee. + </p> + <p> + "Yes children," said Miss Polly. "He shot the Revenue Officer dead." + </p> + <p> + "Oh goody goody," cried all. "Now tell us another story. Tell us about the + time your father killed a Revenue Officer with an ax." + </p> + <p> + "Oh you don't want to hear that again, do you children?" said Aunt Polly. + </p> + <p> + "Oh yes—yes—please," they cried, and Aunt Polly was just going + to begin when Jed the driver stopped his horses and said: + </p> + <p> + "This hilltop is as good a place to shoot from as I know of, Miss + Pinkwood. You can see both roads, and nobody can see you." + </p> + <p> + "Thank you, Jed," said Aunt Polly giving him a kindly smile, and without + more ado the children clambered out of the carryall and filled their guns + with powder and bullets. + </p> + <p> + "I get first shot," proudly announced Robert, the oldest boy, and somewhat + of a bully. + </p> + <p> + "Robert!" said Aunt Polly severely, and she looked almost ready to cry, + for Aunt Polly had tried hard to teach the boys to be true knights of + chivalry and it hurt her to have Robert wish to shoot a Revenue Officer + before the girls had had a chance. Robert had not meant to hurt Aunt + Polly's feelings but had only been thoughtless, and soon all was sunshine + again as little Ellen the youngest made ready to fire the first shot. + </p> + <p> + The children waited patiently and soon they were rewarded by the sight of + a Revenue Officer riding on horseback in the distant valley, as pretty a + target as one could wish. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="150 (47K)" src="images/150.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + "Now do be careful, dear," whispered Miss Pinkwood, "for if you miss, he + may take alarm and be off." But little Ellen did not miss. "Bang" went her + gun and the little Merry Breezes echoed back and forth, "She got him. She + got him", and old Mother West Wind smiled down at the happy sport. Sure + enough, when old Mr. Smoke had cleared away there was a nice dead Revenue + Officer lying in the road. "Well done, Ellen," said Miss Pinkwood, patting + her little charge affectionately which caused the happy girl to coo with + childish delight. + </p> + <p> + Mary had next shot and soon all were popping away in great glee. All the + merry wood folk gathered near to watch the children at their sport. There + was Johnny Chuck and Reddy Fox and Jimmy Skunk and Bobby Coon and oh + everybody. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="154 (107K)" src="images/154.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + Soon round Mr. Sun was high in the Blue Sky and the children began to tire + somewhat of their sport. "I'm as hungry as a bear," said little Dick. "I'm + as hungry as two bears," said Emily. "Ha Ha Ha," laughed Miss Pinkwood, "I + know what will fix that," and soon she had spread out a delicious repast. + "Now children," said Miss Pinkwood when all had washed their faces and + hands, "while you were busy washing I prepared a surprise for you," and + from a large jug, before their delighted gaze, she poured out—what + do you think? "Bronxes," cried little Harriet. "Oh goody goody." And sure + enough Aunt Polly had prepared a jug of delicious Bronx cocktails which + all pronounced excellent. + </p> + <p> + And after that there were sandwiches and olives and pie and good three + year old whisky, too. + </p> + <p> + "That's awfully smooth rye, Aunt Polly," said little Prudence smacking her + two red lips. "I think I'll have another shot." + </p> + <p> + "No dear," said Miss Pinkwood, pleased by the compliment, but firm withal. + "Not now. Perhaps on the way home, if there is any left," for Aunt Polly + knew that too much alcohol in the middle of the day is bad for growing + children, and she had seen many a promising child spoiled by + over-indulgent parents. + </p> + <p> + After lunch those children who could stand helped Aunt Polly to clear away + the dishes and then all went sound asleep, as is the custom in + Pennsylvania. + </p> + <p> + When they awoke round Mr. Sun was just sinking behind the Purple Hills and + so, after taking a few more scattered shots at Revenue Officers, they + piled once more into the carryall and drove back to town. And as they + passed Mrs. Oliphant's house (Aunt Polly's sister) Aunt Flo Oliphant came + out on the porch and waved her handkerchief at the merry party. + </p> + <p> + "Let's give her a cheer," said Fred. + </p> + <p> + "Agreed," cried they all, and so twelve little throats united in three + lusty "huzzahs" which made Auntie Flo very happy you may be sure. + </p> + <p> + And as they drove up before the Pinkwoods' modest home twelve tired but + happy children with one accord voted the Whisky Rebellion capital fun and + Aunt Polly a brick. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER SEVEN + </h2> + <h3> + HOW LOVE CAME TO GENERAL GRANT + </h3> + <p> + In the Manner of Harold Bell Wright + </p> + <p> + On a brisk winter evening in the winter of 1864 the palatial Fifth Avenue + "palace" of Cornelius van der Griff was brilliantly lighted with many + brilliant lights. Outside the imposing front entrance a small group of + pedestrians had gathered to gape enviously at the invited guests of the + "four hundred" who were beginning to arrive in elegant equipages, + expensive ball-dresses and fashionable "swallowtails". + </p> + <p> + "Hully gee!" exclaimed little Frank, a crippled newsboy who was the only + support of an aged mother, as a particularly sumptuous carriage drove up + and a stylishly dressed lady of fifty-five or sixty stepped out + accompanied by a haughty society girl and an elderly gentleman in clerical + dress. It was Mrs. Rhinelander, a social leader, and her daughter + Geraldine, together with the Rev. Dr. Gedney, pastor of an exclusive Fifth + Avenue church. + </p> + <p> + "What common looking people," said Mrs. Rhinelander, surveying the crowd + aristocratically with her lorgnette. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, aren't they?" replied the clergyman with a condescending glance + which ill befit his clerical garb. + </p> + <p> + "I'm glad you don't have people like that dans votre eglise, Dr. Gedney," + said young Geraldine, who thought it was "smart" to display her + proficiency in the stylish French tongue. At this moment the door of the + van der Griff residence was opened for them by an imposing footman in + scarlet livery and they passed into the abode of the "elect". + </p> + <p> + "Hully gee!" repeated little Frank. + </p> + <p> + "What's going on to-night?" asked a newcomer. + </p> + <p> + "Gee—don't youse know?" answered the newsboy. "Dis is de van der + Griffs' and tonight dey are giving a swell dinner for General Grant. Dat + lady wot just went in was old Mrs. Rhinelander. I seen her pitcher in de + last Harper's Weekly and dere was a story in de paper dis morning dat her + daughter Geraldine was going to marry de General." + </p> + <p> + "That isn't so," broke in another. "It was just a rumor." + </p> + <p> + "Well, anyway," said Frank, "I wisht de General would hurry up and come—it's + getting cold enough to freeze the tail off a brass monkey." The onlookers + laughed merrily at his humorous reference to the frigid temperature, + although many cast sympathetic looks at his thin threadbare garments and + registered a kindly thought for this brave boy who so philosophically + accepted the buffets of fate. + </p> + <p> + "I bet this is him now," cried Frank, and all waited expectantly as a + vehicle drove up. The cabman jumped off his box and held the carriage door + open. + </p> + <p> + "Here you are, Miss Flowers," he said, touching his hat respectfully. + </p> + <p> + A silver peal of rippling laughter sounded from the interior of the + carriage. + </p> + <p> + "Why Jerry," came in velvet tones addressed to the coachman, "You mustn't + be so formal just because I have come to New York to live. Call me 'Miss + Ella,' of course, just like you did when we lived out in Kansas," and with + these words Miss Ella Flowers, for it was she, stepped out of the + carriage. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="164 (107K)" src="images/164.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + A hush fell on the crowd as they caught sight of her face—a hush of + silent tribute to the clear sweet womanhood of that pure countenance. A + young man on the edge of the crowd who was on the verge of becoming a + drunkard burst into tears and walked rapidly away to join the nearest + church. A pr-st—-te who had been plying her nefarious trade on the + avenue, sank to her knees to pray for strength to go back to her aged + parents on the farm. Another young man, catching sight of Ella's pure + face, vowed to write home to his old mother and send her the money he had + been expending in the city on drinks and dissipation. + </p> + <p> + And well might these city people be affected by the glimpse of the sweet + noble virtue which shone forth so radiantly in this Kansas girl's + countenance. Although born in Jersey City, Ella had moved with her parents + to the west at an early age and she had grown up in the open country where + a man's a man and women lead clean sweet womanly lives. Out in the pure + air of God's green places and amid kindly, simple, big hearted folks, + little Ella had blossomed and thrived, the pride of the whole country, and + as she had grown to womanhood there was many a masculine heart beat a + little faster for her presence and many a manly blush of admiration came + into the features of her admirers as she whirled gracefully with them in + the innocent pleasure of a simple country dance. But on her eighteenth + birthday, her parents had passed on to the Great Beyond and the + heartbroken Ella had come East to live with Mrs. Montgomery, her aunt in + Jersey City. This lady, being socially prominent in New York's "four + hundred", was of course quite ambitious that her pretty little niece from + the West should also enter society. For the last three months, therefore, + Ella had been feted at all the better class homes in New York and Jersey + City, and as Mrs. van der Griff, the Fifth Avenue social leader, was in + the same set as Ella's aunt, it was only natural that when making out her + list of guests for the dinner in honor of General Grant she should include + the beautiful niece of her friend. + </p> + <p> + As Ella stepped from the carriage, her gaze fell upon little Frank, the + crippled newsboy, and her eyes quickly filled with tears, for social + success had not yet caused her to forget that "blessed are the weak". + Taking out her purse, she gave Frank a silver dollar and a warm look of + sympathy as she passed into the house. + </p> + <p> + "Gee, there went an angel," whispered the little cripple, and many who + heard him silently echoed that thought in their hearts. Nor were they far + from wrong. + </p> + <p> + But even an angel is not free from temptation, and by letting Ella go into + society her aunt was exposing the girl to the whisperings of Satan—whisperings + of things material rather than things spiritual. Many a girl just as pure + as Ella has found her standards gradually lowered and her moral character + slowly weakened by the contact with the so-called "refined" and "cultured" + infidels one meets in fashionable society. Many a father and mother whose + ambition has caused them to have their daughter go out in society have + bitterly repented of that step as they watched the poor girl gradually + succumbing to the temptation of the world. Let her who thinks it is + "smart" to be in society consider that our brothels with their red plush + curtains, their hardwood floors and their luxurious appointments, are + filled largely with the worn out belles and debutantes of fashionable + society. + </p> + <p> + The next minute a bugle call sounded down the street and up drove a team + of prancing grays. Two soldiers sprang down from the coachman's box and + stood at rigid attention while the door of the carriage opened and out + stepped General Ulysses S. Grant. + </p> + <p> + A murmur of admiration swept over the crowd at the sight of his manly + inspiring features, in which the clean cut virility of a life free from + dissipation was accentuated by the neatly trimmed black beard. His erect + military bearing—his neat, well fitting uniform—but above all + his frank open face proclaimed him a man's man—a man among men. A + cheer burst from the lips of the onlookers and the brave but modest + general lowered his eyes and blushed as he acknowledged their greeting. + </p> + <p> + "Men and women," he said, in a voice which although low, one could see was + accustomed to being obeyed, "I thank you for your cheers. It makes my + heart rejoice to hear them, for I know you are not cheering me personally + but only as one of the many men who are fighting for the cause of liberty + and freedom, and for——" the general's voice broke a little, + but he mastered his emotion and went on—"for the flag we all love." + </p> + <p> + At this he pulled from his pocket an American flag and held it up so that + all could see. Cheer after cheer rent the air, and tears came to the + general's eyes at this mark of devotion to the common cause. + </p> + <p> + "Wipe the d—d rebels off the face of the earth, G-d d—'em," + shouted a too enthusiastic member of the crowd who, I fear, was a little + the worse for drink. In an instant General Grant had stepped up to him and + fixed upon him those fearless blue eyes. + </p> + <p> + "My man," said the general, "It hurts me to hear you give vent to those + oaths, especially in the presence of ladies. Soldiers do not curse, and I + think you would do well to follow their example." + </p> + <p> + The other lowered his head shamefacedly. "General," he said, "You're right + and I apologize." + </p> + <p> + A smile lit up the general's handsome features and he extended his hand to + the other. + </p> + <p> + "Shake on it," he said simply, and as the crowd roared its approval of + this speech the two men "shook". + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile within the van der Griff house all were agog with excitement in + expectation of the arrival of the distinguished guest. Expensively dressed + ladies fluttered here and there amid the elegant appointments; servants in + stylish livery passed to and fro with trays of wine and other spirituous + liquors. + </p> + <p> + At the sound of the cheering outside, the haughty Mrs. Rhinelander patted + her daughter Geraldine nervously, and between mother and daughter passed a + glance of understanding, for both felt that to-night, if ever, was + Geraldine's opportunity to win the handsome and popular general. + </p> + <p> + The doorbell rang, and a hush fell over the chattering assemblage; then + came the proud announcement from the doorman—"General Ulysses S. + Grant"—and all the society belles crowded forward around the guest + of honor. + </p> + <p> + It had been rumored that the general, being a soldier, was ignorant of + social etiquette, but such proved to be far from the case. Indeed, he + handled himself with such ease of manner that he captivated all, and for + each and every young miss he had an apt phrase or a pretty compliment, + greatly to their delight. + </p> + <p> + "Pleased to know you"—"Glad to shake the hand of such a pretty girl"—"What + a nice little hand—I wish I might hold it all evening"—with + these and kindred pleasantries the general won the way into the graces of + Mrs. van der Griff's fair guests, and many a female heart fluttered in her + bosom as she gazed into the clear blue eyes of the soldier, and listened + to his well chosen tactful words. + </p> + <p> + "And how is the dear General this evening?"—this in the affected + tone of old Mrs. Rhinelander, as she forced her way through the crowd. + </p> + <p> + "Finer than silk," replied he, and he added, solicitously, "I hope you + have recovered from your lumbago, Mrs. Rhinelander." + </p> + <p> + "Oh quite," answered she, "and here is Geraldine, General," and the + ambitious mother pushed her daughter forward. + </p> + <p> + "Comment vous portez vous, mon General," said Geraldine in French, "I hope + we can have a nice tete-a-tete to-night," and she fawned upon her prey in + a manner that would have sickened a less artificial gathering. + </p> + <p> + Were there not some amid all that fashionable throng in whom ideals of + purity and true womanhood lived—some who cared enough for the + sacredness of real love to cry upon this hollow mockery that was being + used to ensnare the simple, honest soldier? There was only one, and she + was at that moment entering the drawing room for the purpose of being + presented to the general. Need I name her? + </p> + <p> + Ella, for it was she, had been upstairs busying herself with her toilet + when General Grant had arrived and she now hurried forward to pay her + homage to the great soldier. And then, as she caught sight of his face, + she stopped suddenly and a deep crimson blush spread over her features. + She looked again, and then drew back behind a nearby portiere, her heart + beating wildly. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="176 (73K)" src="images/176.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + Well did Ella remember where she had seen that countenance before, and as + she stood there trembling the whole scene of her folly came back to her. + It had happened in Kansas, just before her parents died, on one sunny May + morning. She had gone for a walk; her footsteps had led her to the banks + of a secluded lake where she often went when she wished to be alone. Many + an afternoon had Ella dreamed idly away on this shore, but that day, for + some reason, she had felt unusually full of life and not at all like + dreaming. Obeying a thoughtless but innocent impulse, with no intention of + evil, she had taken off her clothes and plunged thus n-k-d into the cool + waters of the lake. After she had swum around a little she began to + realize the extent of her folly and was hurriedly swimming towards the + shore when a terrific cramp had seized her lower limbs, rendering them + powerless. Her first impulse, to scream for help, was quickly checked with + a deep blush, as she realized the consequences if a man should hear her + call, for nearby was an encampment of Union soldiers, none of whom she + knew. The perplexed and helpless girl was in sore straits and was slowly + sinking for the third time, when a bearded stranger in soldier's uniform + appeared on the bank and dove into the water. To her horror he swam + rapidly towards her—but her shame was soon changed to joy when she + realized that he was purposely keeping his eyes tight shut. With a few + swift powerful strokes he reached her side, and, blushing deeply, took off + his blue coat, fastened it around her, opened his eyes, and swam with her + to the shore. Carrying her to where she had left her clothes he stayed + only long enough to assure himself that she had completely recovered the + use of her limbs, and evidently to spare her further embarrassment, had + vanished as quickly and as mysteriously as he had appeared. + </p> + <p> + Many a night after that had Ella lain awake thinking of the splendid + features and, the even more splendid conduct of this unknown knight who + wore the uniform of the Union army. "How I love him," she would whisper to + herself; "but how he must despise me!" she would cry, and her pillow was + often wet with tears of shame and mortification at her folly. + </p> + <p> + It was shortly after this episode that her parents had taken sick and + passed away. Ella had come East and had given up hope of ever seeing her + rescuer again. You may imagine her feelings then when, on entering the + drawing room at the van der Griffs', she discovered that the stranger who + had so gallantly and tactfully rescued her from a watery grave was none + other than General Ulysses S. Grant. + </p> + <p> + The poor girl was torn by a tumult of contrary emotions. Suppose he should + remember her face. She blushed at the thought. And besides what chance had + she to win such a great man's heart in competition with these society + girls like Geraldine Rhinelander who had been "abroad" and spoke French. + </p> + <p> + At that moment one of the liveried servants approached the general with a + trayful of filled wine glasses. So engrossed was the soldier hero in + talking to Geraldine—or, rather, in listening to her alluring + chatter—that he did not at first notice what was being offered him. + </p> + <p> + "Will you have a drink of champagne wine, General?" said Mrs. van der + Griff who stood near. + </p> + <p> + The general raised his head and frowned as if he did not understand. + </p> + <p> + "Come, mon General," cried Geraldine gayly, "We shall drink a votre succes + dans la guerre," and the flighty girl raised a glass of wine on high. + Several of the guests crowded around and all were about to drink to the + general's health. + </p> + <p> + "Stop," cried General Grant suddenly realizing what was being done, and + something in the tone of his voice made everyone pause. + </p> + <p> + "Madam," said he, turning to Mrs. van der Griff, "Am I to understand that + there is liquor in those glasses?" + </p> + <p> + "Why yes, General," said the hostess smiling uneasily. "It is just a + little champagne wine." + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="180 (66K)" src="images/180.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + "Madam," said the general, "It may be 'just champagne wine' to you, but + 'just champagne wine' has ruined many a poor fellow and to me all + alcoholic beverages are an abomination. I cannot consent, madam, to remain + under your roof if they are to be served. I have never taken a drop—I + have tried to stamp it out of the army, and I owe it to my soldiers to + decline to be a guest at a house where wine and liquor are served." + </p> + <p> + An excited buzz of comment arose as the general delivered this ultimatum. + A few there were who secretly approved his sentiments, but they were far + too few in numbers and constant indulgence in alcohol had weakened their + wills so that they dared not stand forth. An angry flush appeared on the + face of the hostess, for in society, "good form" is more important than + courage and ideals, and by his frank statement General Grant had violently + violated the canons of correct social etiquette. + </p> + <p> + "Very well, Mr. Grant," she said, stressing the "Mr."—"if that's the + way you feel about it——" + </p> + <p> + "Stop," cried an unexpected voice, and to the amazement of all Ella + Flowers stepped forward, her teeth clenched, her eyes blazing. + </p> + <p> + "Stop," she repeated, "He is right—the liquor evil is one of the + worst curses of modern civilization, and if General Grant leaves, so do + I." + </p> + <p> + Mrs. van der Griff hesitated for an instant, and then suddenly forced a + smile. + </p> + <p> + "Why Ella dear, of course General Grant is right," said she, for it was + well known in financial circles that her husband, Mr. van der Griff, had + recently borrowed heavily from Ella's uncle. "There will not be a drop of + wine served to-night, and now General, shall we go in to dinner? Will you + be so kind as to lead the way with Miss Rhinelander?" The hostess had + recovered her composure, and smiling sweetly at the guest of honor, gave + orders to the servants to remove the wine glasses. + </p> + <p> + But General Grant did not hear her; he was looking at Ella Flowers. And as + he gazed at the sweet beauty of her countenance he seemed to feel rising + within him something which he had never felt before—something which + made everything else seem petty and trivial. And as he looked into her + eyes and she looked into his, he read her answer—the only answer + true womanhood can make to clean, worthy manhood. + </p> + <p> + "Shall we go a la salle-a-manger?" sounded a voice in his ears, and + Geraldine's sinuous arm was thrust through his. + </p> + <p> + General Grant took the proffered talon and gently removed it from him. + </p> + <p> + "Miss Rhinelander," he said firmly, "I am taking this young lady as my + partner," and suiting the action to the word, he graciously extended his + arm to Ella who took it with a pretty blush. + </p> + <p> + It was General Grant's turn to blush when the other guests, with a few + exceptions, applauded his choice loudly, and made way enthusiastically as + the handsome couple advanced to the brilliantly lighted dining room. + </p> + <p> + But although the hostess had provided the most costly of viands, I am + afraid that the brave general did not fully appreciate them, for in his + soul was the joy of a strong man who has found his mate and in his heart + was the singing of the eternal song, "I love her—I love her—I + love her!" + </p> + <p> + It was only too apparent to the other guests what had happened and to + their credit be it said that they heartily approved his choice, for Mrs. + Rhinelander and her scheming daughter Geraldine had made countless enemies + with their haughty manners, whereas the sweet simplicity of Ella Flowers + had won her numerous friends. And all laughed merrily when General Grant, + in his after dinner speech, said "flowers" instead of "flour" when + speaking of provisioning the army—a slip which caused both the + general and Miss Flowers to blush furiously, greatly to the delight of the + good-natured guests. "All the world loves a lover"—truer words were + never penned. + </p> + <p> + After dinner, while the other men, according to the usages of best + society, were filling the air of the dining room with the fumes of + nicotine, the general, who did not use tobacco, excused himself—amid + many sly winks from the other men—and wandered out into the + conservatory. + </p> + <p> + There he found Ella. + </p> + <p> + "General," she began. + </p> + <p> + "Miss Flowers," said the strong man simply, "Call me Ulysses." + </p> + <p> + And there let us leave them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER EIGHT + </h2> + <h3> + CUSTER'S LAST STAND + </h3> + <p> + In the Manner of Edith Wharton + </p> + <p> + It was already late afternoon and the gas street lamps of the Boul' Mich' + were being lighted for Paris, or at least for Paris in summer, by a + somewhat frigid looking allumeur, when Philip Custer came to the end of + his letter. He hesitated for an instant, wrote "Your——," then + crossed that out and substituted "Sincerely." No, decidedly the first + ending, with its, as is, or, rather, as ordinarily is, the case in + hymeneal epistles, somewhat possessive sense, would no longer suffice. + "Yours truly"—perhaps; "sincerely"—better; but certainly not + "Your husband." He was done, thank God, with presences. + </p> + <p> + Philip sipped his absinthe and gazed for an instant through the Cafe + window; a solitary fiacre rattled by; he picked up the result of his + afternoon's labor, wearily. + </p> + <p> + "Dear Mary," he read, "When I told you that my employers were sending me + to Paris, I lied to you. It was, perhaps, the first direct lie that I ever + told you; it was, I know now, the last. But a falsehood by word of mouth + mattered really very little in comparison with the enormous lie that my + life with you had become." + </p> + <p> + Philip paused and smiled, somewhat bitterly, at that point in the letter. + Mary, with her American woman's intuition, would undoubtedly surmise that + he had run off with Mrs. Everett; there was a certain ironical humor in + the fact that Mary's mistaken guess would be sadly indicative of her whole + failure to understand what her husband was, to use a slang expression, + "driving at." + </p> + <p> + "I hope that you will believe me when I say that I came to Paris to paint. + In the past four years the desire to do that has grown steadily until it + has mastered me. You do not understand. I found no one in America who did. + I think my mother might have, had she lived; certainly it is utterly + incomprehensible to father." + </p> + <p> + Philip stopped. Ay, there was the rub—General Custer, and all that + he stood for. Philip glimpsed momentarily those early boyhood days with + his father, spent mainly in army posts; the boy's cavalry uniform, in + which he had ridden old Bess about the camp, waving his miniature sabre; + the day he had been thrown to the ground by a strange horse which he had + disobediently mounted, just as his father arrived on the scene. Philip had + never forgotten his father's words that day. "Don't crawl, son,—don't + whine. It was your fault this time and you deserved what you got. Lots of + times it won't be your fault, but you'll have to take your licking anyway. + But remember this, son—take your medicine like a man—always." + </p> + <p> + Philip groaned; he knew what the general would say when the news of his + son's desertion of his wife and four year old boy reached him. He knew + that he never could explain to his father the absolute torture of the last + four years of enervating domesticity and business mediocrity—the + torture of the Beauty within him crying for expression, half satisfied by + the stolen evenings at the art school but constantly growing stronger in + its all-consuming appeal. No, life to his father was a simple problem in + army ethics—a problem in which duty was "a", one of the known + factors; "x," the unknown, was either "bravery" or "cowardice" when + brought in contact with "a". Having solved this problem, his father had + closed the book; of the higher mathematics, and especially of those + complex problems to which no living man knew the final answer, he had no + conception. And yet—— + </p> + <p> + Philip resumed his reading to avoid the old endless maze of subtleties. + </p> + <p> + "It is not that I did not—or do not—love you. It is, rather, + that something within me is crying out—something which is stronger + than I, and which I cannot resist. I have waited two years to be sure. + Yesterday, as soon as I reached here, I took my work to the man who is + considered the finest art critic in Paris. He told me that there was a + quality to my painting which he had seen in that of no living artist; he + told me that in five years of hard work I should be able to produce work + which Botticelli would be proud to have done. Do you understand that, Mary—Botticelli! + </p> + <p> + "But no, forgive me. My paean of joy comes strangely in a letter which + should be of abject humility for what must seem to you, to father, and to + all, a cowardly, selfish act of desertion—a whining failure to face + life. Oh dear, dear Mary if you could but understand what a hell I have + been through—" + </p> + <p> + Philip took his pen and crossed out the last line so that no one could + read what had been there. + </p> + <p> + "Materially, of course, you and little George will be better off; the + foolish pride with which I refused to let your parents help us now no + longer stands in their way. You should have no difficulty about a divorce. + </p> + <p> + "You can dispose of my things as you see fit; there is nothing I care + about keeping which I did not bring. + </p> + <p> + "Again, Mary, I cannot ask you to forgive, or even to understand, but I do + hope that you will believe me when I say that this act of mine is the most + honest thing I have ever done, and that to have acted out the tragi-comedy + in the part of a happy contented husband would have made of both of our + lives a bitter useless farce. Sincerely, Philip." + </p> + <p> + He folded the pages and addressed the envelope. + </p> + <p> + "Pardon, Monsieur"—a whiff of sulphur came to his nose as the waiter + bent over the table to light the gas above him. "Would Monsieur like to + see the journal? There is a most amusing story about—— The + bill, Monsieur? Yes—in a moment." + </p> + <p> + Philip glanced nervously through the pages of the Temps. He was anxious to + get the letter to the post—to have done with indecision and worry. + It would be a blessed relief when the thing was finally done beyond chance + of recall; why couldn't that stupid waiter hurry? + </p> + <p> + On the last page of the newspaper was an item headlined "Recent News from + America." Below was a sub-heading "Horrible Massacre of Soldiers by + Indians—Brave Stand of American Troopers." He caught the name + "Custer" and read: + </p> + <p> + "And by his brave death at the hands of the Indians, this gallant American + general has made the name of Custer one which will forever be associated + with courage of the highest type." + </p> + <p> + He read it all through again and sat quietly as the hand of Polyphemus + closed over him. He even smiled a little—a weary, ironic smile. + </p> + <p> + "Monsieur desires something more, perhaps"—the waiter held out the + bill. + </p> + <p> + Philip smiled. "No—Monsieur has finished—there is nothing + more." + </p> + <p> + Then he repeated slowly, "There is nothing more." + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Philip watched his son George blow out the twelve candles on his birthday + cake. + </p> + <p> + "Mother," said George, "when I get to be eighteen, can I be a soldier just + like grandfather up there?" He pointed to the portrait of Philip's father + in uniform which hung in the dining room. + </p> + <p> + "Of course you can, dear," said his mother. "But you must be a brave boy". + </p> + <p> + "Grandfather was awful brave, wasn't he father?" This from little Mary + between mouthfuls of cake. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, Mary," Philip answered. "He was very, very brave." + </p> + <p> + "Of course he was," said George. "He was an American." + </p> + <p> + "Yes," answered Philip, "That explains it.—he was an American." + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Custer looked up at the portrait of her distinguished father-in-law. + </p> + <p> + "You know Philip, I think it must be quite nice to be able to paint a + picture like that. I've often wondered why you never kept up your art." + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER NINE + </h2> + <h3> + "FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE WORLD" + </h3> + <p> + A DRAMA OF THE GREAT WAR + </p> + <p> + Act I: In the Manner of Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews + </p> + <p> + Act 2: In the Manner of Eugene O'Neill + </p> + <p> + ACT ONE + </p> + <p> + (Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews) + </p> + <p> + SCENE I + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A principal street of an American city in the spring of 1918. +</pre> + <p> + At the rear of the stage, representing the opposite sidewalk of the + street, are gathered many people come to bid farewell to the boys of the + Blankth regiment who are soon to march past on their way to France. + </p> + <p> + Extending across the "street", from footlights to "sidewalk", is a large + white plaster arch, gayly decorated with the Allied colors. + </p> + <p> + On this arch is the inscription "For the Freedom of the World." + </p> + <p> + At the rising of the curtain, distant march music is heard (off stage, + right); this constantly grows louder during the ensuing dialogue which + takes place between three elderly women crowded together at the edge of + the sidewalk. These women, although, before the war, of different stations + in social rank, are now united, as are all mothers in the Allied + countries, by the glorious badge which each proudly wears pinned over her + heart—the service star. + </p> + <p> + The Professor's Wife—I hear them coming. + </p> + <p> + The Street-cleaner's Wife—So do I. I hope my boy Pat sees me. + </p> + <p> + The Pawnbroker's Wife—I told my Jean where to look. + </p> + <p> + The approaching music and the cheering of the spectators drowns out + further conversation. + </p> + <p> + Enter (right) the regimental band playing the "Stars and Stripes Forever." + They march through the arch and exit left. Following them comes the flag, + at the sight of which all the male spectators (young boys and men too old + to fight) remove their hats. After the colors come the troops, splendid + clean faced fellows, in whose eyes shines the light of civilization's + ideals, in whose ears rings the never forgettable cry of heroic France and + brave little Belgium. The boys are marching four abreast, with a firm + determined step; it is as though each man were saying to himself "They + shall not pass." + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="204 (101K)" src="images/204.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + After the first few squads have marched through the arch and off left, the + command is issued off-stage "Company—HALT." A young lieutenant + repeats this order to his men, and the column comes to a stop. The men + stand at attention until given the command "Rest", when they relax and a + murmur of conversation arises from the ranks, in which characteristic + sentences "German ideals are not our ideals" and "Suppose it was your own + sister" show only too well what the boys are thinking of day and night. + </p> + <p> + As the column halts, the three service star mothers rush out from the curb + and embrace their sons who happen to be in this company. At the same time + a very attractive girl runs up to the young lieutenant. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Lieutenant—Ellen! + His Fiancee—John! + The Professor's Son} + The Streetcleaner's Son } Mother! + The Pawnbroker's Son } + + The Professor's Wife } + The Streetcleaner's Wife } My Boy! + The Pawnbroker's Wife } + Voice off stage—Company—Atten SHUN! +</pre> + <p> + The farewells are said, the men come to attention. + </p> + <p> + Voice off stage—Forward—MARCH + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—(Pointing with his sword to the inscription on the + arch)—Forward for the Freedom of the World—MARCH. + </p> + <p> + The men's teeth click together, their heads are thrown back, and with a + light in their eyes that somehow suggests Joan of Arc the Crusaders move + on. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 2 + + Three months later. +</pre> + <p> + A section of an American front line trench now occupied by the Blankth + regiment. + </p> + <p> + It is early morning and the three soldiers mentioned in Scene 1 are + conversing together for perhaps the last time, for soon they are to be + given the chance which every American man desires more than anything in + the world—the opportunity to go "over the top". + </p> + <p> + The Professor's Son—Well fellows, in a few minutes we shall be able + to show the people at home that their boys are not cowards when the fate + of civilization is at stake. + </p> + <p> + The Pawnbroker's Son—Here's a newspaper clipping mother sent me. + It's from a speech made the other day in Congress. (He reads) "And we and + our children—and our children's children will never forget the debt + we owe those brave boys who are now in France." + </p> + <p> + The Streetcleaner's Son—That makes a fellow feel pretty good inside, + doesn't it? It makes me glad I'm doing my bit—and after the war I + hope the ideals which have inspired us all will make us better citizens in + a better world. + </p> + <p> + The Professor's Son—Not only will we be better citizens—not + only will the torch of liberty shine more brightly—but also each one + of us will go back to his job with a deeper vision. + </p> + <p> + The Pawnbroker's Son—That's right I am a musician—a pianist, + you know—and I hope that after the war I shall be able to tell + America, through my music, of the glory of this holy cause. + </p> + <p> + The Professor's Son—I didn't know you were a pianist. + </p> + <p> + The Pawnbroker's Son—Yes—ever since I was a boy—I have + had no other interest. My father tried to make me go into his shop but I + couldn't stand it. He got angry and refused to support me; I had a hard + time until I won a scholarship at a New York musical college. Just before + the war I had a chance to play the Schumann concerto with the + Philharmonic; the critics all said that in another year I would be—but + fellows—you must think me frightfully conceited to talk so, and + besides what matters my musical career in comparison with the sacrifice + which everyone is making? + </p> + <p> + The Streetcleaner's Son—And gladly making, too, for it is easy to + give up all, as did Joan of Arc, for France. Attention, men! here comes + one of our officers. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The three stand at attention. +</pre> + <p> + Enter the Lieutenant. + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—Well, men, do you feel ready? + </p> + <p> + The Three—More than ready, sir—eager. + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—Brave men! (To the Professor's Son) Come here a + minute, Keating. I have something to ask you before we go over the top. + </p> + <p> + The Professor's Son and the Lieutenant go to one side. + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—(To the other two in a kindly manner)—At ease! + </p> + <p> + The Streetcleaner's Son—Thank you, sir. + </p> + <p> + They relax from their rigid posture of "attention". + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—(To the Professor's Son)—Keating, when we "go + over", we—may—never come back, you know. And I want to ask a + favor of you. I am engaged—to a girl back home—here is her + picture (he draws a photograph from his inner breast pocket and shows it + to the Professor's Son.) + </p> + <p> + The Professor's Son—She is beautiful, Sir. + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—(Putting the photograph back in his pocket)—Yes + very beautiful. And (dropping his eyes)—I love her. If—if I + should "go west" I want you to write her and tell her that my last + thoughts were of my country and—her. We are to be married—after + the war—if (suddenly clearing his throat). Her name is Ellen + Radcliff—here, I'll write the address down for you. + </p> + <p> + He does so, and hands the slip of paper to the Professor's Son, who + discreetly turns away. + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—(Brusquely)—That's all, Keating. + </p> + <p> + A bugle sounds. + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—Attention men! At the next bugle call you go over the + top—remember that you are Americans and that Americans know how to + fight and die in the cause of liberty and for the freedom of the world. + The Three Soldiers—We are ready to make the supreme sacrifice if + need be. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The bugle sounds. +</pre> + <p> + The Lieutenant—(Climbing up the ladder to the top of the trench)—Follow + me, men— + </p> + <p> + The Three Soldiers—(Climbing up after him)—Lafayette—we + come, though poppies bloom in Flanders field. + </p> + <p> + They go "over the top". + </p> + <p> + SCENE 3 + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A section of a Hun trench a minute later. Two Hun soldiers are +conversing together; another Hun is reading a copy of Nietzsche. +</pre> + <p> + First Hun Soldier—And then we cut the hands off all the little + children—oh it was wonderful. + </p> + <p> + Second Hun Soldier—I wish I had been there. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A Hun Lieutenant rushes in. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Hun Lieutenant—(Kicking the three men and brandishing his +revolver)—Swine—wake up—here come the Americans. + + The three spring to their feet and seize their guns. At the top +of the trench appears the American lieutenant, closely followed by the +three soldiers. +</pre> + <p> + The American Lieutenant—(Coolly)—We come to avenge the sinking + of the Lusitania. + </p> + <p> + The Hun Lieutenant—Hoch der Kaiser! Might is stronger than right! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He treacherously tries to shoot the American but the Professor's +Son disarms him with his bayonet. The three Hun soldiers offer a show of +resistance. +</pre> + <p> + The Streetcleaner's Son—(To first Hun soldier)—Your hands are + unclean with the murder of innocent women and children. + </p> + <p> + First Hun Soldier—(Dropping his gun)—Kamerad! + </p> + <p> + The Pawnbroker's Son—(To the other Hun soldiers)—Prussianism + has destroyed the Germany of Bach and Beethoven and you fellows know it, + too. + </p> + <p> + Second and third Hun Soldiers—(Dropping their guns)—Kamerad! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The American Lieutenant—Men—you have kept the faith. I am proud of +you. Forward! + + An explosion (not too loud to annoy the audience) is heard off +stage right. +</pre> + <p> + The Professor's Son—(Sinking to the ground) Fellows, I'm afraid + they've got me. + </p> + <p> + The Streetcleaner's Son—What a shame! + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—Is there anything we can do to ease the pain? + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="218 (119K)" src="images/218.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + The Professor's Son—(Weakening rapidly) No—go on, boys, carry + the—banner of—civilization's ideals—forward—without + me—Tell mother I'm glad—I did—my bit—for the + freedom—of the world—fellows, the only—thing—I + regret—is that I won't—be able to be with you—when you—go + back—to enjoy the gratitude—of America—good-bye, + fellows, may you drink—to the full—the rewards of a grateful + nation. + </p> + <p> + He dies. The others regretfully leave him behind as they push on after the + fleeing Huns. + </p> + <p> + The stage is slowly darkened—the noise of battle dies away. + </p> + <p> + Enter an Angel in the uniform of the Y.M.C.A. She goes up to the fallen + hero and taking him in her arms tenderly carries him off the stage. + </p> + <p> + CURTAIN TWO YEARS PASS ACT TWO + </p> + <p> + (Eugene O'Neill) + </p> + <p> + SCENE I + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The bedroom of a bachelor apartment in New York City in the Fall +of 1920. +</pre> + <p> + There is about the room an air of neglect, as though the occupant did not + particularly give a damn whether he slept in this room or in hell. This is + evidenced in a general way by the absence of any attempts at decoration + and by the presence of dirty laundry and unopened letters scattered about + the room. + </p> + <p> + The furniture consists of a bed and a bureau; at the foot of the former is + a trunk such as was used by American army officers in the recent war. + </p> + <p> + Although it is three in the morning, the bed is unoccupied. The electric + light over the bureau has been left lighted. + </p> + <p> + The lamp flickers and goes out for a minute; when it again flashes on, the + Angel and the Professor's Son are seen standing in the room, as though + they had come there directly from the close of the preceding act; the + Angel, however, has completely removed all Y.M.C.A. insignia and now has a + beard and chews tobacco; from time to time he spits out of the window. + </p> + <p> + The angel—Why the hell weren't you satisfied to stay in heaven? + </p> + <p> + The Professor's Son—Well, I just wanted to see my old buddies once + more—I want to see them enjoying the gratitude of the world. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Angel—Hmmmm—well, this is where your Lieutenant now lives—and I +think I hear him coming. + + They step behind a curtain. The noise of a key rattling in a +lock is heard, then a light flashes on in the next room. The sound of +unsteady footsteps—a vase is knocked over—a curse—then enter the +Lieutenant. +</pre> + <p> + He wears a dinner-coat, one sleeve of which hangs empty. His face is + white, his eyes set, his mouth hard and hopeless. He is drunk—not + hilariously—but with the drunkenness of despair. + </p> + <p> + He sits down on the bed and remains for several minutes, his head in his + hands. + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—God, I'm drunk—(after a pause)—drunk + again—well, what of it—what the hell difference does it make—get + drunk if I want to—sure I will—get drunk—that's the dope + DRUNK—oh Christ—! + </p> + <p> + He throws himself on the bed and after lying there a few minutes sits up. + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—Gotta have another drink—can't go sleep, God + damn it—brain too clear—gotta kill brain—that's the dope—kill + brain—forget—wipe out past— + </p> + <p> + He opens the trunk in his search for liquor. He suddenly pulls out his + lieutenant's coat and holds it up. + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—There's that God damn thing—never wanted to see + it again—wound stripes on right sleeve, too—hurrah for brave + soldier—arm shot off to—to make world safe for democracy—blaa—the + god damn hypocrites—democracy hell—arm shot off because I + wasn't clever enough to stay out of it—ought to have had sense + enough to join the—the ordinance department or—or the Y.M.C.A. + </p> + <p> + He feels aimlessly through the pockets of the coat. Suddenly, from the + inside breast pocket he draws out something—a photograph— + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—Ellen! Oh God! + </p> + <p> + He gazes at the picture for a long time. + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="226 (76K)" src="images/226.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—Yes, Ellen, I should have joined the Y.M.C.A. + shouldn't I?—where they don't get their arms shot off—couldn't + marry a man with one arm, could you?—of course not—think of + looking at an empty sleeve year after year—children might be born + with only one arm, too—children—oh God damn you, Ellen, you + and your Y.M.C.A. husband! + </p> + <p> + He tears the picture in two and hurls it into the trunk. Then he sinks + onto the bed, sobbing drunkenly. After a few minutes, he walks over to the + trunk and picks up one half of the torn picture. He turns it over in his + hand and reads the writing on the back. + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant (Reading)—"I'm waiting for you, dear—when you + have done your bit 'for the freedom of the world'." + </p> + <p> + He smiles, wearily, and reaches down to pick up the other half of the + picture. His eye is caught by something shiny; it is his army revolver. He + slowly picks it up and looks at it for a long time. + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—For the freedom of the world— + </p> + <p> + He quickly opens his top bureau drawer and takes out a box of cartridges. + One of these he inserts in a chamber of his revolver. + </p> + <p> + The Lieutenant—For the FREEDOM— + </p> + <p> + He laughs. + </p> + <p> + As the curtain falls he presses the revolver against his temple and fires. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 2 + + A bare room in a boarding house. To the left is a bed, to the +right a grand piano—the latter curiously out of keeping with the other +cheap furnishings. The room is in partial darkness. +</pre> + <p> + The door slowly swings open; the Angel and the Professor's Son enter. + </p> + <p> + The Angel—And here you have the room of your friend the Pawnbroker's + Son—the musical genius—with a brilliant future. + </p> + <p> + They hide in a closet, leaving the door partly open. + </p> + <p> + Enter Jean, the Pawnbroker's Son. He has on a cutaway suit—a relic + of his first and last public concert before the war. His shoulders sag + dejectedly and his face is drawn and white. He comes in and sits on the + bed. A knock—a determined knock—is heard at the door but Jean + does not move. The door opens and his landlady—a shrewish, sharp + faced woman of 40—appears. He gets up off the bed when he sees her + and bows. + </p> + <p> + The Landlady—I forgot you was deef or I wouldn't have wasted my time + hitting my knuckles against your door. + </p> + <p> + Jean gazes at her. + </p> + <p> + The Landlady—Well Mr. Rosen I guess you know why I'm here—it's + pay up today or get out. + </p> + <p> + Jean—Please write it down—you know I cannot hear a word you + say. I suppose it's about the rent. + </p> + <p> + The landlady takes paper and pencil and writes. + </p> + <p> + The Landlady—(Reading over the result of her labor)—"To-day—is—the—last + day. If you can't pay, you must get out." + </p> + <p> + She hands it to Jean and he reads. + </p> + <p> + Jean—But I cannot pay. Next week perhaps I shall get work— + </p> + <p> + The Landlady—(Scornfully)—Yes—Next week maybe I have to + sell another liberty bond for seventy dollars what I paid a hundred + dollars for, too. No sir I need the money NOW. Here— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + She writes and hands it to him. +</pre> + <p> + Jean (Reading)—Sell my piano? But please I cannot do that—yet. + </p> + <p> + The Landlady—A lot of good a piano does a deef person like you. + That's a good one—( She laughs harshly). The deef musician—ho + ho—with a piano. + </p> + <p> + Jean—Madam, I shall pay you surely next week. There has been some + delay in my war risk insurance payment. I should think that you would + trust a soldier who lost his hearing in the trenches— + </p> + <p> + The Landlady—That's old stuff. You soldiers think just because you + were unlucky enough to get drafted you can spend the rest of your life + patting yourselves on the back. Besides—what good did the war do + anyway—except make a lot of rich people richer? + </p> + <p> + She scribbles emphatically "Either you pay up tonight or out you go." + </p> + <p> + Handing this to Jean with a flourish, she exits. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He sits on the bed for a long time. +</pre> + <p> + Finally he glances up at the wall over his bed where hangs a cheap photo + frame. In the center is a picture of President Wilson; on one side of this + is a crude print of a soldier, on the other side a sailor; above is the + inscription "For the Freedom of the World." + </p> + <p> + Jean takes down the picture and looks at it. As he replaces it on the wall + he sees hanging above it the bayonet which he had carried through the war. + He slowly takes the weapon down, runs his fingers along the edge and + smiles—a quiet tired smile which does not leave his face during the + rest of the scene. + </p> + <p> + He walks over to the piano and plays the opening chords of the Schumann + concerto. Then shaking his head sadly, he tenderly closes down the lid and + locks it. + </p> + <p> + He next writes a note which he folds and places, with the key to the + piano, in an envelope. Sealing and addressing the envelope, he places it + on the piano. Then, walking over to the bed, he picks up the bayonet, and + shutting his eyes for an instant, he steps forward and cuts his throat as + the curtain falls. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 3 + + Same as Act 1, Scene 1 except for the changes made in the city +street by a year or more of peace. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="236 (86K)" src="images/236.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + The arch across the thoroughfare still stands, although it has become + badly discolored and dirty; the inscription "For the Freedom of the World" + is but faintly visible. As the curtain rises workmen are busy at work + tearing the arch down. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Enter the Angel and the Professor's Son. +</pre> + <p> + The Angel—Stand over here, out of the way, and you'll see the last + of your cronies—Pat, the Streetcleaner's Son—enjoying the + gratitude of the world. + </p> + <p> + The Professor's Son does not answer. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Enter Pat. He has on an old pair of corduroy trousers, with his +brown army shirt, and shoes out at the heel. +</pre> + <p> + He looks as if he had not slept for days certainly he has not shaved for a + week. He approaches one of the workmen. + </p> + <p> + Pat—Say buddy any chance for a job here? + </p> + <p> + The Workman—Hell no. They was fifty applicants yesterday. (Looking + at his army shirt) Most of them ex-soldiers like you. Jobs is mighty + scarce. + </p> + <p> + Pat—I'll tell the world they are. I'd almost join the army again, + except for my wife and kid. + </p> + <p> + The Workman—God—don't do it. + </p> + <p> + Pat—Why—was you across? + </p> + <p> + The Workman—Yes, God damn it—eight months. Next war I'll let + somebody else do the fighting. + </p> + <p> + Pat—Same here. The wise guys were them that stayed at home and kept + their jobs. + </p> + <p> + The Workman—I'll say they were. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Pat—(Growing more excited)—And while we was over there fighting, +nothing was too good for us—"brave boys," they said, "we shall never +forget what you have done for us." Never forget—hell! In about a year +everybody forgot there ever was a war and a fellow has a hell of a time +getting a job—and when you mention the war they just laugh—why God +damn it, I've been out of work for six months and I ain't no loafer +either and my wife has had to go back to her folks and I'm just about +all in— + + During this speech the work on dismantling the arch has steadily +progressed. Suddenly there comes a warning cry—"Look out"—as the +supports unexpectedly give way. Pat is too engrossed in his tirade to +take heed, and as the center portion of the arch falls it crushes him +beneath its weight. After the cloud of dust clears, he is seen lying +under the mass. By a curious twist of fate he has been crushed by the +portion of the arch bearing the inscription "For the Freedom of the +World." His eyes open for an instant—he reads, through the mist of +approaching death, the words, and he laughs— +</pre> + <p> + Pat—For the Freedom of the World—Oh Christ! + </p> + <p> + His mocking laughter is interrupted by a severe fit of coughing and he + sinks back dead. + </p> + <p> + The Professor's Son—Oh God—take me somewhere where I can't + ever see the world. + </p> + <p> + The angel—Come to heaven. + </p> + <p> + CURTAIN <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Parody Outline of History, by +Donald Ogden Stewart + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A PARODY OUTLINE OF HISTORY *** + +***** This file should be named 1478-h.htm or 1478-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/7/1478/ + +Produced by Charles Keller, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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