To S. Weir Mitchell With the Affection and Memories of All My Life
To the Reader
You know the great text in Burns, I am sure, where he wishes he couldsee himself as others see him. Well, here lies the hitch in many a workof art: if its maker--poet, painter, or novelist--could but have becomeits audience too, for a single day, before he launched it irrevocablyupon the uncertain ocean of publicity, how much better his boat wouldoften sail! How many little touches to the rigging he would give, howmany little drops of oil to the engines here and there, the need ofwhich he had never suspected, but for that trial trip! That's where theship-builders and dramatists have the advantage over us others: they candock their productions and tinker at them. Even to the musician comesthis useful chance, and Schumann can reform the proclamation which openshis B-flat Symphony.
Still, to publish a story in weekly numbers previously to its appearanceas a book does sometimes give to the watchful author an opportunity tolearn, before it is too late, where he has failed in clearness; and itbrings him also, through the mails, some few questions that are pleasantand proper to answer when his story sets forth united upon its journeyof adventure among gentle readers.
How came my hero by his name?
If you will open a book more valuable than any I dare hope to write, andmore entertaining too, The Life of Paul Jones, by Mr. Buell, you willfind the real ancestor of this imaginary boy, and fall in love with JohnMayrant the First, as did his immortal captain of the Bon Homme Richard.He came from South Carolina; and believing his seed and name wereperished there to-day, I gave him a descendant. I have learned that thename, until recently, was in existence; I trust it will not seem takenin vain in these pages.
Whence came such a person as Augustus?
Our happier cities produce many Augustuses, and may they long continueto do so! If Augustus displeases any one, so much the worse for thatone, not for Augustus. To be sure, he doesn't admire over heartilythe parvenus of steel or oil, whose too sudden money takes them to thedivorce court; he calls them the 'yellow rich'; do you object to that?Nor does he think that those Americans who prefer their pockets to theirpatriotism, are good citizens. He says of such people that 'eternalvigilance cannot watch liberty and the ticker at the same time.' Do youobject to that? Why, the young man would be perfect, did he but attendhis primaries and vote more regularly,--and who wants a perfect youngman?
What would John Mayrant have done if Hortense had not challenged him asshe did?
I have never known, and I fear we might have had a tragedy.
Would the old ladies really have spoken to Augustus about the lovedifficulties of John Mayrant?
I must plead guilty. The old ladies of Kings Port, like Americangentlefolk everywhere, keep family matters sacredly inside the familycircle. But you see, had they not told Augustus, how in the world couldI have told--however, I plead guilty.
Certain passages have been interpreted most surprisingly to signify afeeling against the colored race, that is by no means mine. My only wishregarding these people, to whom we owe an immeasurable responsibility,is to see the best that is in them prevail. Discord over this seems onthe wane, and sane views gaining. The issue sits on all our shoulders,but local variations call for a sliding scale of policy. So admirablydispassionate a novel as The Elder Brother, by Mr. Jervey, forwards theunderstanding of Northerners unfamiliar with the South, and also thatfriendliness between the two places, which is retarded chiefly bytactless newspapers.
Ah, tact should have been one of the cardinal virtues; and if I didn'tpossess a spice of it myself, I should here thank by name certain twomembers of the St. Michael family of Kings Port for their patience withthis comedy, before ever it saw the light. Tact bids us away from manypleasures; but it can never efface the memory of kindness.