short stories and essays-第27章

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plagiarist　openly　claims　and　urges　his　right　to　a　well…known　piece　of
literary　property。　　When　Mr。　William　Allen　Butler's　famous　poem　of
〃Nothing　to　Wear〃　achieved　its　extraordinary　popularity；　a　young　girl
declared　and　apparently　quite　believed　that　she　had　written　it　and　lost
the　MS。　in　an　omnibus。　　All　her　friends　apparently　believed　so；　too；　and
the　friends　of　the　different　gentlemen　and　ladies　who　claimed　the
authorship　of　〃Beautiful　Snow〃　and　〃Rock　Me　to　Sleep〃　were　ready　to
support　them　by　affidavit　against　the　real　authors　of　those　pretty
worthless　pieces。

From　all　these　facts　it　must　appear　to　the　philosophic　reader　that
plagiarism　is　not　the　simple　〃crime〃　or　〃theft〃　that　the　lexicographers
would　have　us　believe。　　It　argues　a　strange　and　peculiar　courage　on　the
part　of　those　who　commit　it　or　indulge　it；　since　they　are　sure　of　having
it　brought　home　to　them；　for　they　seem　to　dread　the　exposure；　though　it
involves　no　punishment　outside　of　themselves。　　Why　do　they　do　it；　or；
having　done　it；　why　do　they　mind　it；　since　the　public　does　not？　　Their
temerity　and　their　timidity　are　things　almost　irreconcilable；　and　the
whole　position　leaves　one　quite　puzzled　as　to　what　one　would　do　if　one's
own　plagiarisms　were　found　out。　　But　this　is　a　mere　question　of　conduct；
and　of　infinitely　less　interest　than　that　of　the　nature　or　essence　of　the
thing　itself。






PURITANISM　IN　AMERICAN　FICTION

The　question　whether　the　fiction　which　gives　a　vivid　impression　of
reality　does　truly　represent　the　conditions　studied　in　it；　is　one　of
those　inquiries　to　which　there　is　no　very　final　answer。　　The　most
baffling　fact　of　such　fiction　is　that　its　truths　are　self…evident；
and　if　you　go　about　to　prove　them　you　are　in　some　danger　of　shaking　the
convictions　of　those　whom　they　have　persuaded。　　It　will　not　do　to　affirm
anything　wholesale　concerning　them；　a　hundred　examples　to　the　contrary
present　themselves　if　you　know　the　ground；　and　you　are　left　in　doubt　of
the　verity　which　you　cannot　gainsay。　　The　most　that　you　can　do　is　to
appeal　to　your　own　consciousness；　and　that　is　not　proof　to　anybody　else。
Perhaps　the　best　test　in　this　difficult　matter　is　the　quality　of　the　art
which　created　the　picture。　　Is　it　clear；　simple；　unaffected？　　Is　it　true
to　human　experience　generally？　　If　it　is　so；　then　it　cannot　well　be　false
to　the　special　human　experience　it　deals　with。




I。

Not　long　ago　I　heard　of　something　which　amusingly；　which　pathetically；
illustrated　the　sense　of　reality　imparted　by　the　work　of　one　of　our
writers；　whose　art　is　of　the　kind　I　mean。　　A　lady　was　driving　with　a
young　girl　of　the　lighter…minded　civilization　of　New　York　through　one　of
those　little　towns　of　the　North　Shore　in　Massachusetts；　where　the　small；
wooden　houses　cling　to　the　edges　of　the　shallow　bay；　and　the　schooners
slip；　in　and　out　on　the　hidden　channels　of　the　salt　meadows　as　if　they
were　blown　about　through　the　tall　grass。　　She　tried　to　make　her　feel　the
shy　charm　of　the　place；　that　almost　subjective　beauty；　which　those　to　the
manner　born　are　so　keenly　aware　of　in　old…fashioned　New　England　villages；
but　she　found　that　the　girl　was　not　only　not　looking　at　the　sad…colored
cottages；　with　their　weather…worn　shingle　walls；　their　grassy　door…yards
lit　by　patches　of　summer　bloom；　and　their　shutterless　windows　with　their
close…drawn　shades；　but　she　was　resolutely　averting　her　eyes　from　them；
and　staring　straightforward　until　she　should　be　out　of　sight　of　them
altogether。　　She　said　that　they　were　terrible；　and　she　knew　that　in　each
of　them　was　one　of　those　dreary　old　women；　or　disappointed　girls；　or
unhappy　wives；　or　bereaved　mothers；　she　had　read　of　in　Miss　Wilkins's
stories。

She　had　been　too　little　sensible　of　the　humor　which　forms　the　relief　of
these　stories；　as　it　forms　the　relief　of　the　bare；　duteous；
conscientious；　deeply　individualized　lives　portrayed　in　them；　and　no
doubt　this　cannot　make　its　full　appeal　to　the　heart　of　youth　aching　for
their　stoical　sorrows。　　Without　being　so　very　young；　I；　too；　have　found
the　humor　hardly　enough　at　times；　and　if　one　has　not　the　habit　of
experiencing　support　in　tragedy　itself；　one　gets　through　a　remote　New
England　village；　at　nightfall；　say；　rather　limp　than　otherwise；　and　in
quite　the　mood　that　Miss　Wilkins's　bleaker　studies　leave　one　in。　　At　mid…
day；　or　in　the　bright　sunshine　of　the　morning；　it　is　quite　possible　to
fling　off　the　melancholy　which　breathes　the　same　note　in　the　fact　and　the
fiction；　and　I　have　even　had　some　pleasure　at　such　times　in　identifying
this　or；　that　one…story　cottage　with　its　lean…to　as　a　Mary　Wilkins　house
and　in　placing　one　of　her　muted　dramas　in　it。　　One　cannot　know　the　people
of　such　places　without　recognizing　her　types　in　them；　and　one　cannot　know
New　England　without　owning　the　fidelity　of　her　stories　to　New　England
character；　though；　as　I　have　already　suggested；　quite　another　sort　of
stories　could　be　written　which　should　as　faithfully　represent　other
phases　of　New　England　village　life。

To　the　alien　inquirer；　however；　I　should　be　by　no　means　confident　that
their　truth　would　evince　itself；　for　the　reason　that　human　nature　is
seldom　on　show　anywhere。　　I　am　perfectly　certain　of　the　truth　of　Tolstoy
and　Tourguenief　to　Russian　life；　yet　I　should　not　be　surprised　if　I　went
through　Russia　and　met　none　of　their　people。　　I　should　be　rather　more
surprised　if　I　went　through　Italy　and　met　none　of　Verga's　or　Fogazzaro's；
but　that　would　be　because　I　already　knew　Italy　a　little。　　In　fact；　I
suspect　that　the　last　delight　of　truth　in　any　art　comes　only　to　the
connoisseur　who　is　as　well　acquainted　with　the　subject　as　the　artist
himself。　　One　must　not　be　too　severe　in　challenging　the　truth　of　an
author　to　life；　and　one　must　bring　a　great　deal　of　sympathy　and　a　great
deal　of　patience　to　the　scrutiny。　　Types　are　very　backward　and　shrinking
things；　after　all；　character　is　of　such　a　mimosan　sensibility　that　if　you
seize　it　too　abruptly　its　leaves　are　apt　to　shut　and　hide　all　that　is
distinctive　in　it；　so　that　it　is　not　without　some　risk　to　an　author's
reputation　for　honesty　that　he　gives　his　readers　the　impression　of　his
truth。




II。

The　difficulty　with　characters　in　fiction　is　that　the　reader　there　finds
them　dramatized；　not　only　their　actions；　but　also　their　emotions　are
dramatized；　and　the　very　same　sort　of　persons　when　one　meets　them　in　real
life　are　recreantly　undramatic。　　One　might　go　through　a　New　England
village　and　see　Mary　Wilkins　houses　and　Mary　Wilkins　people；　and　yet　not
witness　a　scene　nor　hear　a　word　such　as　one　finds　in　her　tales。　　It　is
only　too　probable　that　the　inhabitants　one　met　would　say　nothing　quaint
or　humorous；　or　betray　at　all　the　nature　that　she　reveals　in　them；　and
yet　I　should　not　question　her　revelation　on　that　account。　　The　life　of
New　England；　such　as　Miss　Wilkins　deals　with；　and　Miss　Sarah　O。　Jewett；
and　Miss　Alice　Brown；　is　not　on　the　surface；　or　not　visibly　so；　except　to
the　accustomed　eye。　　It　is　Puritanism　scarcely　animated　at　all　by　the
Puritanic　theology。　　One　must　not　be　very　positive　in　such　things；　and　I
may　be　too　bold　in　venturing　to　say　that　while　the　belief　of　some　New
Englanders　approaches　this　theology　the　belief　of　most　is　now　far　from
it；　and　yet　its　penetrating　individualism　so　deeply　influenced　the　New
England　character　that　Puritanism　survives　in　the　moral　and　mental　make
of　the　people　almost　in　its　early　strength。　　Conduct　and　manner　conform
to　a　dead　religious　ideal；　the　wish　to　be　sincere；　the　wish　to　be　just；
the　wish　to　be　righteous　are　before　the　wish　to　be　kind；　merciful；
humble。　　A　people　are　not　a　chosen　people　for　half　a　dozen　generations
without　acquiring　a　spiritual　pride　that　remains　with　them　long　after
they　cease　to　believe　themselves　chosen。　　They　are　often　stiffened　in　the
neck　and　they　are　often　hardened　in　the　heart　by　it；　to　the　point　of
making　them　angular　and　cold；　but　they　are　of　an　inveterate
responsibility　to　a　power　higher　than　themselves；　and　they　are
strengthened　for　any　fate。　　They　are　what　we　see　in　the　stories　which；
perhaps；　hold　the　first　place　in　American　fiction。

As　a　matter　of　fact；　the　religion　of　New　England　is