THE papers comprising the following narrative, called "A Battle of the
Books," were found in my state-room after a violent storm, during a
long and dangerous sea-voyage which I was once forced to undertake.
They were much stained with salt-water, but were for the most part
legible. The name of the author or compiler is not given; but I judge,
somewhat from the chirography, chiefly from incontestable internal
evidence, that the writer is a woman. As this evidence will unfold
itself to the reader in the course of the narrative, I shall not dwell
upon it; nor is it, indeed, a matter of importance, except as it bears
upon the question of the participation in the government by both sexes.
Viewed from that point, it shows with great force the inability of
women to understand affairs, and the groundlessness of the present
clamor for a change of status. It proves beyond question that all that
women need do is to trust, and all that men care to do is to protect.
The date given is of the last century, but of its accuracy I am not
assured. The manuscript is soiled, and stained, and shabby enough; but
the storm which brought it to my feet would account for that. There
are references, allusions, and even names which point to a time far
within the memory of men still living; but this is not conclusive,
since I believe, according to the best scriptural exegesis, the name
of a historical person in a book, as, for instance, that of Cyrus in
Isaiah, does not determine the date, so much as the nature of the
writing, simply changing it from history to prophecy. No one, in
reading this story, will suspect it of scriptural inspiration; but
may not the writer have been in that state which is sometimes called
clairvoyant, and which is perhaps but a preternaturally acute condition
of the intellectual perceptions, wherein the logic of events is so
plainly seen that the future is as clear and certain as the past, and
that which is to happen seems as much a matter of fact as that which
has happened? If the human mind can calculate an eclipse of the sun,
with entire accuracy, three thousand years beforehand, why should it
be thought a thing incredible that the human heart should be able to
calculate some of the incidents of an eclipse of faith a hundred years
in advance?
But as upon the question of authorship, so upon that of chronology, I
conceive the strongest evidence to be internal. The state of society
described in this narrative is surely no nearer than a hundred years.
It chronicles an age of barbarism, when author and publisher were
natural enemies, and relieved the monotony of their lives by petty
skirmishing or pitched battles with each other. This age, happily for
us, has passed away, and exists only in tradition. Whether from the
universal softening of manners which accompanies the introduction
of Christianity, and in which both publishers and authors may be
supposed to have shared, or from that equally universal brightening and
quickening of the intellect which attended the Renaissance, and which
may have enabled even publishers to see how he that watereth shall be
watered also himself,--certain it is that these times of turbulence
are gone, and we have peace. No longer does the wily publisher lie in
wait, seeking what chance he may have to devour his author. Rather he
woos him to receive his dues, wins open with gentle urgency the hand
no longer grasping, but modest and reluctant, and presses into it the
crisp, abundant bills. No longer do authors shamelessly drink toasts to
the despotic emperor to whose thousand crimes is linked the one virtue
of having hanged a bookseller. On the contrary, they raise their harps
and join voices to sing their benefactor's praise. Who has not seen in
all the newspapers the affecting tale of the great house of Fields,
Osgood, & Co.,--_nomen clarum et venerabile_,--on whom has fallen the
mantle of Ticknor & Fields?
"Fame spread her wings, and with her trumpet blew"
the story of their having offered payment to an author, which he
declined to receive because he had once had money for the writing.
"But," replied the firm, "we intend to use the article for a book.
We make a profit on both. Why should you hesitate to take pay?" "I
am sure I ought not to take it," said the author; "I should not if I
acted according to my ideal. I don't believe it is honest to take money
twice for the same piece of work." "But do," replied the publisher; "we
insist upon it as our right;" and insist he did, till the author coyly
yielded. History is silent from this point, but the imagination fondly
stoops to trace the scene. Undoubtedly this prince of publishers, like
Mr. Pecksniff when blessing Martin Chuzzlewit for hating him, "waved
his right hand with much solemnity.... There was emotion in his manner,
but his step was firm. Subject to human weaknesses, he was upheld by
conscience."
Hear also what the "Atlantic Monthly" says: "There are no business men
more honorable or more generous than the publishers of the United
States, and especially honorable and considerate towards authors. The
relation usually existing between author and publisher in the United
States is that of a warm and lasting friendship,--such as ... now
animates and dignifies the intercourse between the literary men of New
England and Messrs. Ticknor & Fields.... The relation, too, is one of
a singular mutual trustfulness. The author receives his semi-annual
account from the publisher with as absolute a faith in its correctness
as though he had himself counted the volumes sold.... We have heard of
instances in which a publisher had serious cause of complaint against
an author, but never have we known an author to be intentionally
wronged by a publisher.... How common, too, it is in the trade for a
publisher to go beyond the letter of his bond, and after publishing
five books without profit, to give the author of the successful sixth
more than the stipulated price."
Time and scissors would fail me to cull from the journals all the
ingenious and touching paragraphs which show how the eminent publishers
referred to do good by stealth and blush to find it fame.
Doubtless similar illustrations might also be drawn in great numbers
from other sources, were ordinary publishers in the courtly habit of
keeping a historian to record their royal deeds. But enough has been
said to show that the publishers of to-day have become evangelized, and
no longer seek every man his own, but every man the things of another.
I infer, therefore, without hesitation, that the dates of the following
papers are correct, and that, notwithstanding a certain confusion
in the nomenclature, the state of things they describe, belongs
exclusively to the good old times of a hundred years ago.
Joined to the main body of the narrative were injunctions the most
imperative regarding its publication. But even had I chosen to
disregard these, there are other reasons which might have impelled me
to the same course. As one sitting by his own fireside glows with a
deeper content for the sound of the storm without, so we, who live in
this golden age of love, may all the more rejoice, seeing how they let
their angry passions rise in the brave days of old.
I would say, then, borrowing the language of an old Sunday-school
hymn:--
"Authors, attend, while I relate
A new and simple story;
'Twill teach your hearts with thankfulness
To praise the Lord of glory"
that the lines have fallen to you in pleasant places, and that you
receive your goodly heritage without having to fight for it.
[Illustration]