innocent travesties of his style and methods, in fact.
This sort of literature being the fashion in both sections of
the country, there was opportunity for the fairest competition;
and as a consequence, the South was able to show as many
well-known literary names, proportioned to population,
as the North could.
But a change has come, and there is no opportunity
now for a fair competition between North and South.
For the North has thrown out that old inflated style,
whereas the Southern writer still clings to it–clings to it
and has a restricted market for his wares, as a consequence.
There is as much literary talent in the South, now, as ever
there was, of course; but its work can gain but slight currency
under present conditions; the authors write for the past,
not the present; they use obsolete forms, and a dead language.
But when a Southerner of genius writes modern English,
his book goes upon crutches no longer, but upon wings;
and they carry it swiftly all about America and England,
and through the great English reprint publishing houses of Germany–
as witness the experience of Mr. Cable and Uncle Remus, two of the
very few Southern authors who do not write in the Southern style.
Instead of three or four widely-known literary names, the South
ought to have a dozen or two–and will have them when Sir Walter’s
time is out.
A curious exemplification of the power of a single book for
good or harm is shown in the effects wrought by ‘Don Quixote’
and those wrought by ‘Ivanhoe.’ The first swept the world’s
admiration for the medieval chivalry-silliness out of existence;
and the other restored it. As far as our South is concerned,
the good work done by Cervantes is pretty nearly a dead letter,
so effectually has Scott’s pernicious work undermined it.
Chapter 47
Uncle Remus and Mr. Cable
MR. JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS (‘Uncle Remus’) was to arrive from Atlanta
at seven o’clock Sunday morning; so we got up and received him.
We were able to detect him among the crowd of arrivals at
the hotel-counter by his correspondence with a description
of him which had been furnished us from a trustworthy source.
He was said to be undersized, red-haired, and somewhat freckled.
He was the only man in the party whose outside tallied with this
bill of particulars. He was said to be very shy. He is a shy man.
Of this there is no doubt. It may not show on the surface,
but the shyness is there. After days of intimacy one wonders
to see that it is still in about as strong force as ever.
There is a fine and beautiful nature hidden behind it, as all know
who have read the Uncle Remus book; and a fine genius, too, as all know
by the same sign. I seem to be talking quite freely about this neighbor;
but in talking to the public I am but talking to his personal friends,
and these things are permissible among friends.
He deeply disappointed a number of children who had flocked
eagerly to Mr. Cable’s house to get a glimpse of the illustrious
sage and oracle of the nation’s nurseries. They said–
‘Why, he ‘s white! ‘
They were grieved about it. So, to console them, the book was brought,
that they might hear Uncle Remus’s Tar-Baby story from the lips of Uncle
Remus himself–or what, in their outraged eyes, was left of him.
But it turned out that he had never read aloud to people, and was too shy
to venture the attempt now. Mr. Cable and I read from books of ours,
to show him what an easy trick it was; but his immortal shyness was
proof against even this sagacious strategy, so we had to read about
Brer Rabbit ourselves.
Mr. Harris ought to be able to read the negro dialect better
than anybody else, for in the matter of writing it he is the only
master the country has produced. Mr. Cable is the only master
in the writing of French dialects that the country has produced;
and he reads them in perfection. It was a great treat to hear him