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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.
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.
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
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.