by O. Henry
A gay and lively lord who lived in a castle hung with ribbons and streamers and gay devices of all kinds, with other nobles of like character, prostrated themselves before her, but she would listen to none of them.
The Princess rode about in quiet ways in the cool evenings upon a gray palfrey, alone and very quiet, and she seemed to grow silent and thoughtful as time went on and no news came from the western wars, and the Knight came not back again.
To his daughter Margaret
TOLEDO, Ohio, Oct. 1, 1900.
Dear Margaret: I got your very nice, long letter a good many days ago. It didn't come straight to me, but went to a wrong address first. I was very glad indeed to hear from you, and very, very sorry to learn of your getting your finger so badly hurt. I don't think you were to blame at all, as you couldn't know just how that villainous old "hoss" was going to bite. I do hope that it will heal up nicely and leave your finger strong. I am learning to play the mandolin, and we must get you a guitar, and we will learn a lot of duets together when I come home which will certainly not be later than next summer, and maybe earlier.
I suppose you have started to school again some time ago. I hope you like to go, and don't have to study too hard. When one grows up, a thing they never regret is that they went to school long enough to learn all they could. It makes everything easier for them, and if they like books and study they can always content and amuse themselves that way even if other people are cross and tiresome, and the world doesn't go to suit them. You mustn't think that I've forgotten somebody's birthday. I couldn't find just the thing I wanted to send, but I know where it can be had, and it will reach you in a few days. So, when it comes you'll know it is for a birthday remembrance.
I think you write the prettiest hand of any little girl (or big one, either) I ever knew. The letters you make are as even and regular as printed ones. The next time you write, tell me how far you have to go to school and whether you go alone or not.
I am busy all the time writing for the papers and magazines all over the country, so I don't have a chance to come home, but I'm going to try to come this winter. If I don't I will by summer SURE, and then you'll have somebody to boss and make trot around with you.
Write me a letter whenever you have some time to spare, for I am always glad and anxious to hear from you. Be careful when you are on the streets not to feed shucks to strange dogs, or pat snakes on the head or shake hands with cats you haven't been introduced to, or stroke the noses of electric car horses.
Hoping you are well and your finger is getting all right, I am, with much love, as ever, PAPA.
* * * *
My Dear Margaret: Here it is summertime, and the bees are blooming and the flowers are singing and the birds making honey, and we haven't been fishing yet. Well, there's only one more month till July, and then we'll go, and no mistake. I thought you would write and tell me about the high water around Pittsburg some time ago, and whether it came up to where you live, or not. And I haven't heard a thing about Easter, and about the rabbit's eggs--but I suppose you have learned by this time that eggs grow on egg plants and are not laid by rabbits.
I would like very much to hear from you oftener, it has been more than a month now since you wrote. Write soon and tell me how you are, and when school will be out, for we want plenty of holidays in July so we can have a good time. I am going to send you something nice the last of this week. What do you guess it will be?
Lovingly, PAPA.
* * * *
The Caledonia
WEDNESDAY.
My Dear Mr. Jack:
I owe Gilman Hall $175 (or mighty close to it) pussonally--so he tells me. I thought it was only about $30, but he has been keeping the account. He's just got to have it to-day. McClure's will pay me some money on the 15th of June, but I can't get it until then. I was expecting it before this--anyhow before Gilman left, but they stick to the letter.
I wonder if you could give me a check for that much to pay him to-day. If you will I'll hold up my right hand--thus: that I'll have you a first-class story on your desk before the last of this week.
I reckon I'm pretty well overdrawn, but I've sure got to see that Hall gets his before he leaves. I don't want anything for myself.
Please, sir, let me know right away, by return boy if you'll do it.
If you can't, I'll have to make a quick dash at the three-ball magazines; and I do hate to tie up with them for a story.
The Same
MR. J. O. H. COSGRAVE, SYDNEY PORTER.
at this time editor of Everybody's Magazine.
* * * *
A letter to Gilman Hall,
written just before the writer's marriage to Miss Sara Lindsay Coleman of Asheville, N. C.
WEDNESDAY. Dear Gilman:
Your two letters received this A.M. Mighty good letters, too, and cheering.
Mrs. Jas. Coleman is writing Mrs. Ball to-day. She is practically the hostess at Wynn Cottage where the hullabaloo will occur.
Say, won't you please do one or two little things for me before you leave, as you have so kindly offered?
(1) Please go to Tiffany's and get a wedding ring, size 5 1/4. Sara says the bands worn now are quite narrow--and that's the kind she wants.
(2) And bring me a couple of dress collars, size 16 1/2. I have ties.
(3) And go to a florist's--there is one named Mackintosh (or something like that) on Broadway, East side of street five or site doors north of 26th St., where I used to buy a good many times. He told me he could ship flowers in good shape to Asheville--you might remind him that I used to send flowers to 36 West 17th Street some time ago. I am told by the mistress of ceremonies that I am to furnish two bouquets--one of lilies of the valley and one of pale pink roses. Get plenty of each-- say enough lilies to make a large bunch to be carried in the hand, and say three or four dozen of the roses.
I note what you say about hard times and will take heed. I'm not going into any extravagances at all, and I'm going to pitch into hard work just as soon as I get the rice grains out of my ear.
I wired you to-day "MS. mailed to-day, please rush one century by wire."
That will exhaust the Reader check--if it isn't too exhausted itself to come. You, of course, will keep the check when it arrives--I don't think they will fall down on it surely. I wrote Howland a pretty sharp letter and ordered him to send it at once care of Everybody's.
When this story reaches you it will cut down the overdraft "right smart," but if the house is willing I'd mighty well like to run it up to the limit again, because cash is sure scarce, and I'll have to have something like $300 more to see me through. The story I am sending is a new one; I still have another partly written for you, which I shall finish and turn in before I get back to New York and then we'll begin to clean up all debts.
Just after the wedding we are going to Hot Spring, N. C., only thirty-five miles from Asheville, where there is a big winter resort hotel, and stay there about a week or ten days. Then back to New York.
Please look over the story and arrange for bringing me the $300 when you come--it will still keep me below the allowed limit and thereafter I will cut down instead of raising it.
Just had a 'phone message from S. L. C. saying how pleased she was with your letter to her.
I'm right with you on the question of the "home-like" system of having fun. I think we'll all agree beautifully on that. I've had all the cheap bohemia that I want. I can tell you, none of the "climbers" and the cocktail crowd are going to bring their vaporings into my house. It's for the clean, merry life, with your best friends in the game and a general concentration of energies and aims. I am having a cedarwood club cut from the mountains with knots on it, and I am going to stand in my hallway (when I have one) and edit with it the cards of all callers. You and Mrs. will have latchkeys, of course.
Yes, I think you'd better stay at the hotel ---- Of course they'd want you out at Mrs. C's. But suppose we take Mrs. Hall out there, and you and I remain at the B. P. We
'll be out at the Cottage every day anyhow, and it'll be scrumptious all round.
I'm simply tickled to death that "you all" are coming. The protoplasm is in Heaven; all's right with the world. Pippa passes.
Yours as ever,
BILL.
* * * *
My Dear Col. Griffith:
FRIDAY.
Keep your shirt on. I found I had to re-write the story when it came in. I am sending you part of it just so you will have something tangible to remind you that you can't measure the water from the Pierian Spring in spoonfuls.
I've got the story in much better form; and I'll have the rest of it ready this evening.
I'm sorry to have delayed it; but it's best for both of us to have it a little late and a good deal better.
I'll send over the rest before closing time this afternoon or the first thing in the morning.
In its revised form I'm much better pleased with it.
Yours truly,
SYDNEY PORTER.
* * * *
To Mr. Jennings
Mr. Al. Jennings, of Oklahoma City, was an early friend of O. Henry's. Now, in 1.9122, a prominent attorney, Mr. Jennings, in his youth, held up trains.
28 W. 26. N. Y. SUNDAY. ALGIE JENNINGS, ESQ., THE WEST.
DEAR BILL:
Glad you've been sick too. I'm well again. Are you? Well, as I had nothing to do I thought I would write you a letter; and as I have nothing to say I will close. How are ye, Bill? How's old Initiative and Referendum? When you cming back to Manhattan? You wouldn't know the old town now. Main Street is building up, and there is talk of an English firm putting up a new hotel. I saw Duffy a few days ago. He looks kind of thoughtful as if he were trying to calculate how much he'd have been ahead on Gerald's board and clothes by now if you bad taken him with you. Mrs. Hale is up in Maine for a 3 weeks' vacation.
Say, Bill, I'm sending your MS. back by mail to-day. I kept it a little longer after you sent for it because one of the McClure & Phillips firm wanted to see it first. Everybody says it is full of good stuff, but thinks it should be put in a more connected shape by some skilful writer who has been trained to that sort work.
It seems to me that you ought to do better with it out there than you could here. If you can get somebody out there to publish it it ought to sell all right. N. Y. is a pretty cold proposition and it can't see as far as the Oklahoma country when it is looking for sales. How about trying Indianapolis or Chicago? Duffy told me about the other MS sent out by your friend Abbott. Kind of a bum friendly trick, wasn't it?
Why don't you get "Arizona's Hand" done and send it on? Seems to me you could handle a short story all right.
My regards to Mrs. Jennings and Bro. Frank. Write some more.
Still BILL.
* * * *
Dear Jennings:
N. Y., May 23, '05.
Got your letter all right. Hope you'll follow it soon. I'd advise you not to build any high hopes on your book--just consider that you're on a little pleasure trip, and taking it along as a side line. Mighty few MSS. ever get to be books, and mighty few books pay.
I have to go to Pittsburg the first of next week to be gone about 3 or 4 days. If you decide to come here any time after the latter part of next week I will be ready to meet you. Let me know in advance a day or two.
Gallot is in Grand Rapids--maybe he will run over for a day or two.
In haste and truly yours, W. S. P.
* * * *
[It was hard to get O. Henry to take an interest in his books. He was always eager to be at the undone work, to be writing a new story instead of collecting old ones. This letter came from North Carolina. It shows how much thought he gave always to titles.]
LAND o' THE SKY, Monday, 1909.
My dear Colonel Steger: As I wired you to-day, I like "Man About Town" for a title.
But I am sending in a few others for you to look at; and if any other suits you better, I'm agreeable. Here they are, in preferred order:
The Venturers. Transfers. Merry-Go-Rounds. Babylonica. Brickdust from Babel. Babes in the Jungle.
If none of these hit you right, let me know and I'll get busy again. But I think "Man About Town" is about the right thing. It gives the city idea without using the old hackneyed words.
I am going to write you a letter in a day or so "touchin' on and appertainin' to" other matters and topics. I am still improving and feeling pretty good. Colonel Bingham has put in a new ash-sifter and expects you to come down and see that it works all right.
All send regards to you. You seem to have made quite a hit down here for a Yankee.
Salutations and good wishes. Yours, S. P.
[This letter was found unfinished, among his papers after his death. His publishers had discussed many times his writing of a novel, but the following letter constitutes the only record of his own opinions in the matter. The date is surely 1909 or 1910.]
My Dear Mr. Steger: My idea is to write the story of a man--an individual, not a type--but a man who, at the same time, I want to represent a "human nature type," if such a person could exist. The story will teach no lesson, inculcate no moral, advance no theory. I want it to be something that it won't or can't be--but as near as I can make it--the true record of a man's thoughts, his description of his mischances and adventures, his TRUE opinions of life as he has seen it and his ABSOLUTELY HONEST deductions, comments, and views upon the different phases of life that he passes through.
I do not remember ever to have read an autobiography, a biography, or a piece of fiction that told the TRUTH. Of course, I have read stuff such as Rousseau and Zola and George Moore and various memoirs that were supposed to be window panes in their respective breasts; but, mostly, all of them were either liars, actors, or posers. (Of course, I'm not trying to belittle the greatness of their literary expression.)
All of us have to be prevaricators, hypocrites and liars every day of our lives; otherwise the social structure would fall into pieces the first day. We must act in one another's presence just as we must wear clothes. It is for the best.
The trouble about writing the truth has been that the writers have kept in their minds one or another or all of three thoughts that made a handicap--they were trying either to do a piece of immortal literature, or to shock the public or to please editors. Some of them succeeded in all three, but they did not write the TRUTH. Most autobiographies are insincere from beginning to end. About the only chance for the truth to be told is in fiction. It is well understood that "all the truth" cannot be told in print--but how about "nothing but the truth"? That's what I want to do.
I want the man who is telling the story to tell it--not as he would to a reading public or to a confessor--but something in this way: Suppose he were marooned on an island in mid-ocean with no hope of ever being rescued; and, in order to pass away some of the time he should tell a story to HIMSELF embodying his adventure and experiences and opinions. Having a certain respect for himself (let us hope) he would leave out the "realism" that he would have no chance of selling in the market; he would omit the lies and self-conscious poses, and would turn out to his one auditor something real and true.
So, as truth is not to be found in history, autobiography, press reports (nor at the bottom of an H. G. Wells), let us hope that fiction may be the means of bringing out a few grains of it.
The "hero" of the story will be a man born and "raised" in a somnolent little southern town. His education is about a common school one, but he learns afterward from reading and life. I'm going to try to give him a "style" in narrative and speech--the best I've got in the shop. I'm going to take him through all the main phases of life--wild adventure, city, society, something of the "under world," and among many characteristic planes of the phases. I want him to acquire all the sophistication that experience can give him, and always preserve his individual honest HUMAN view, and have him tell the TRUTH about everything.
It is time to say now, that by the "truth" I don't mean the objectionable stuff
that so often masquerades under the name. I mean true opinions a true estimate of all things as they seem to the "hero." If you find a word or a suggestive line or sentence in any of my copy, you cut it out and deduct it from the royalties.
I want this man to be a man of natural intelligence, of individual character, absolutely open and broad minded; and show how the Creator of the earth has got him in a rat trap--put him here "willy nilly" (you know the Omar verse); and then I want to show what he does about it. There is always the eternal question from the Primal Source--"What are you going to do about it?" Please don't think for the half of a moment that the story is going to be anything of an autobiography. I have a distinct character in my mind for the part, and he does not at all.