DONALD OGDEN STEWART
A PARODY
OUTLINE OF HISTORY
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
To
GILBERT HOLLAND STEWART, Jr.
Preface
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.
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.
Contents
I INTRODUCTION: A Critical Survey of American History In
the Manner of William Lyon Phelps
II CRISTOFER COLOMBO: A Comedy of Discovery In the Manner of
James Branch Cabell
III MAIN STREET: Plymouth, Mass In the Manner of Sinclair
Lewis
IV THE COURTSHIP OF, MILES STANDISH In the Manner of F. Scott
Fitzgerald
V THE SPIRIT OF ''75: Letters of a Minute Man In the Manner of
Ring Lardner
VI THE WHISKY REBELLION In the Bedtime Story Manner of Thornton
W. Burgess
VII HOW LOVE CAME TO GENERAL GRANT In the Manner of Harold Bell
Wright
VIII CUSTER''S LAST STAND In the Manner of Edith Wharton
IX FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE WORLD: A Drama of the Great War Act
I--In the Manner of Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews Act 2-- In the
Manner of Eugene O''Neill
CHAPTER ONE
INTRODUCTION
A CRITICAL SURVEY OF AMERICAN HISTORY
In the Manner of William Lyon Phelps
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.
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.
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.
"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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
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.
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:
God''s in his heaven: All''s right with the world!
Chapter Two
CRISTOFER COLOMBO A Comedy of Discovery. In the Manner of James
Branch Cabell
In fourteen hundred ninety two In the city of Genoa.
--Old Song.
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.
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.
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.
"Whom are you", said he, "to be thus wandering ...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Go to the beginning of the document
Go to previous page
Go to next page
Go to the end of document
