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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 in the very
unspeakable forest of the very unnamable sorcerer Thyrston?"
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'."
"Eh!" said Thyrston, frowning.
"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?"
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.
"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?"
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.
"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?"
"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."
"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."
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.
"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."
"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?"
"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."
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.
"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?"
"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."
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.
"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."
"Well, truly", replied Colombo, "that would be most difficult to
say. I note that on Rodigruez Babsyn's last chart--"
"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."
"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?"
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.
"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."
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.
"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."
And very droll it was to see the unsuccessful attempts which the
three made. Finally Colombo said:
"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."
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.
"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."
So Colombo instructed Queen Isabel in the fundamentals of
geography. And after a while he spoke.
"Now many people", said Colombo, "believe that the earth is flat,
but", said Colombo, "such is not at all the case."
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?"
"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."
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.
"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."
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."
"Was it, by any chance, Colombo?" asked the King.
"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.
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.
"Now tell me", said the King, "is there any chance that a man who
sails to the westward will ever return?"
"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."
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.
"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."
"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."
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.
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.
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.
"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."
"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."
And it became strangely quiet in the cabin as Colombo continued:
"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."
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.
"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.
The stranger handed Colombo a book.
"There", said he, "is the land of your imagining", and in his
eyes gleamed a curious sardonic mockery.
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