You know the great text in Burns, I am sure, where
he wishes he could see himself as others see him.
Well, here lies the hitch in many a work of art:
if its maker—poet, painter, or novelist—could
but have become its audience too, for a single day,
before he launched it irrevocably upon the uncertain
ocean of publicity, how much better his boat would
often sail! How many little touches to the rigging
he would give, how many little drops of oil to the
engines here and there, the need of which he had never
suspected, but for that trial trip! That’s
where the ship-builders and dramatists have the advantage
over us others: they can dock their productions
and tinker at them. Even to the musician comes
this useful chance, and Schumann can reform the proclamation
which opens his B-flat Symphony.
Still, to publish a story in weekly numbers previously
to its appearance as a book does sometimes give to
the watchful author an opportunity to learn, before
it is too late, where he has failed in clearness; and
it brings him also, through the mails, some few questions
that are pleasant and proper to answer when his story
sets forth united upon its journey of 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, and more entertaining too, The Life
of Paul Jones, by Mr. Buell, you will find the real
ancestor of this imaginary boy, and fall in love with
John Mayrant the First, as did his immortal captain
of the Bon Homme Richard. He came from South
Carolina; and believing his seed and name were perished
there to-day, I gave him a descendant. I have
learned that the name, until recently, was in existence;
I trust it will not seem taken in vain in these pages.
Whence came such a person as Augustus?
Our happier cities produce many Augustuses, and may
they long continue to do so! If Augustus displeases
any one, so much the worse for that one, not for Augustus.
To be sure, he doesn’t admire over heartily the
parvenus of steel or oil, whose too sudden money takes
them to the divorce court; he calls them the ‘yellow
rich’; do you object to that? Nor does
he think that those Americans who prefer their pockets
to their patriotism, are good citizens. He says
of such people that ’eternal vigilance cannot
watch liberty and the ticker at the same time.’
Do you object to that? Why, the young man would
be perfect, did he but attend his primaries and vote
more regularly,—and who wants a perfect
young man?
What would John Mayrant have done if Hortense had
not challenged him as she 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 love difficulties of John Mayrant?
I must plead guilty. The old ladies of Kings
Port, like American gentlefolk everywhere, keep family
matters sacredly inside the family circle. But
you see, had they not told Augustus, how in the world
could I have told—however, I plead guilty.
