The week so blissfully begun in the Chapdelaines' garden and at Spanish
Fort was near its end.
The _Courier des Etats-Unis_ had told the Royal Street coterie of
mighty doings far away in Italy, of misdoings in Galicia, and of
horrors on the Atlantic fouler than all its deeps can ever cleanse; but
nothing was yet reported to have "tranzpired" in the _vieux carré_.
The fortunes of "the book" seemed becalmed.
It was Saturday evening. The streets had just been lighted. Mlles.
Corinne and Yvonne, dingy even by starlight, were in one of
them--Conti. Now they turned into Royal, and after them turned Chester
and Aline. Presently the four entered the parlor of the Castanados.
Their coming made its group eleven, and all being seated Castanado rose.
After the proper compliments--"They were called," he said, "to
receive----"
"And discuss," Chester put in.
"To receive and discuss the judgment of their----"
"The suggestions," Chester amended.
"The judgment and suggestion' of their counsel, how tha'z best to
publish the literary treasure they've foun' and which has egspand' from
one story to three or four. Biccause the one which was firzt acquire'
is laztly turn' out to be the only one of a su'possible
incompat'--eh--in-com-pat-a-bil-ity--to the others." His bow yielded
the floor to Chester. "Remain seated, if you please," he said.
"In spite of my wish to save this manuscript all avoidable delay,"
Chester began, "I've kept it a week. I like it--much. I think that in
quieter times, with the reading world in a more contemplative mood, any
publisher would be glad to print it. At the same time it seems to me
to have faults of construction that ought to come out of it before it
goes to a possibly unsympathetic publisher. Yet after--was Mme.
Alexandre about----?"
"Juz' to say tha'z maybe better those fault' are there. If the
publisher be not _sympathetique_ we want him to rif-use that
manuscrip'."
"Yes!" several responded. "Yes! He can't have it! Tha'z the en' of
_that_ publisher."
"Well, at any rate," Chester said, "after using up this whole week
trying, fruitlessly, to edit those faults out of it, here it is
unaltered. I still feel them, but I have to confess that to feel them
is one thing and to find them is quite another. Maybe they're only in
me."
"Tha'z the only plase they are," said Dubroca, with kind gravity. "I
had the same feeling--till a dream, which reveal' to me that the
feeling was my fault. The manuscrip' is perfec'."
"Messieurs," Mme. Castanado broke in, "please to hear Mlle. Aline."
And Aline spoke:
"Perfect or no, I think that's what we don't require to conclude. But
if that manuscript will join well with those other two--or three, or
four, if we find so many--or if it will rather disjoint them--'tis that
we must decide; is it not, M. De l'Isle?"
"Yes, and tha'z easy. That story is going to assimilate those other'
to a perfegtion! For several reason'. Firz', like those other', 'tis
not figtion; 'tis true. Second, like those, 'tis a personal
egsperienze told by the person egsperienzing. Third, every one of
those person' were known to some of us, an' we can certify that person
that he or she was of the greatez' veracity! Fourth, the United States
they've juz' lately purchaze' that island where that story tranzpire.
And, fifthly, the three storie' they are joint'; not stiff', like
board' of a floor, but loozly, like those link' of a chain. They are
jointed in the subjec' of friddom! 'Tis true, only friddom of negro',
yet still--friddom! An', _messieurs et mesdames_, that is now the
precise moment when that whole worl' is _wile_ on that _topique_;
friddom of citizen', friddom of nation', friddom of race', friddom of
the sea'! And there is ferociouz demand for short storie' joint' on
that _topique_, biccause now at the lazt that whole worl' is biccome
furiouzly conscientiouz to get at the bottom of that _topique_; an'
biccause those negro' are the lowez' race, they are there, of co'se, ad
the bottom!"
"M. Beloiseau?" the chair--hostess--said; and Scipion, with languor in
his voice but a burning fervor in his eye, responded:
"I think Mr. Chezter he's speaking with a too great modestie--or else
_dip_-lomacie. Tha'z not good! If _fid_-elitie to art inspire me a
conceitednezz as high"--his upthrown hand quivered at arm's length--"as
the flagpole of Hotel St. Louis dome yonder, tha'z better than a
modestie withoud that. That origin-al manuscrip' we don't want that
ag-ain; we've all read that. But I think Mr. Chezter he's also maybe
got that _riv_-ision in his pocket, an' we ought to hear, now, at ones,
that _riv_-ision!"
Miles. Corinne and Yvonne led the applause, and presently Chester was
reading: