"The firm of Hunt, Parry, & Co., now almost as familiar to the public
under the new name as under the old colors with which it sailed so
long, has been a bulwark and a rallying point for our literature, on
which book buyers as well as book writers depended for many years. It
has always been active, but never so active as now. In another part
of this paper, this house advertise their principal publications
for the past eighteen months. With little more amplification than a
catalogue, the list fills a very considerable space; but it is when we
come to appreciate quality as well as quantity that its full importance
is realized. No other Athenian house could bulletin such a list of
authors, beginning with L., and ranging along the varied types of our
literature, from W., S., H., H., and L., to P., H., and A. Nor can any
house exhibit such a list of English writers, with the added merit of
the authors' sanction, as T., B., H., E., D., and R.
"Periodicals have come to be recognized as necessary tenders to the
business of every book firm; but the monthlies and the quarterly, etc.,
etc., etc.
"Whatever may be the differing opinions after the experiences of this
week, upon the commercial position and prospects of Athens and the
success of her musical experiments, there can be no dispute as to our
preëminence among Greek cities as a literary centre. Even Corinthians,
bitterly as they may sneer at our Jubilee, are forced to read the
works of Athenian authors and to supply their libraries with Athenian
books. It would be impossible to estimate approximately the influence
in producing the literary character of the city, its clustering of
authors, its tone of society, of one great publishing house; but
unquestionably that influence is very great."
An ill-timed modesty on the part of the firm of Hunt, Parry, & Co. has
apparently prevented the publication of the fact, but it is well known
in Athenian social circles that the eclipse which made the last summer
famous, and which elicited so much interest throughout the scientific
world, was not owing to the interposition of the moon between our
planet and the sun, but was chiefly due to the temporary disappearance
from this continent of the senior partner of the house of Hunt, Parry,
& Co.
I do not say that the extracts which I have quoted, and others which
I might quote, emanated from the same pen, or that that pen was held
in the interest of Hunt, Parry, & Co., but I do say that on any other
theory the correspondence of thought, of illustration, and even of
language is not a little remarkable.
And if this theory be correct, if the house which has perhaps the
reputation of being the most liberal, the most generous, and the most
refined publishing house in this country, has attained that reputation
by assiduously blowing its own trumpet while assiduously strangling its
own authors, of what value is reputation?
A novel and striking illustration of my theme has just come to hand in
the publication of Miss Mitbridge's "Letters." In 1754 she writes of
Mr. Hunt: "He is a partner in the greatest publishing house of Greece,
and the especial patron of----, whom he found starving, and has made
affluent by his encouragement and liberality, for the great romancer is
so nervous that he wants as much kindness of management, as much mental
nursing as a sick child. I have never known a more charming person than
Mr. Hunt."
The author to whom Miss Mitbridge refers is the author of whose real
or supposed wrongs I have before spoken. If these publishers were
indeed so liberal towards him, the unanimity with which that author's
family and friends agree in attributing to them the contrary policy
is a singular proof of ingratitude to benefactors; and Mr. Hunt may
well exclaim with the Prophet of old, "I have nourished and brought up
children, and they have rebelled against me."
I do not know what force these adulatory remarks may have upon the
minds of others, but my experience and my information are such that
whenever I see in the newspapers a fresh ascription of praise to the
liberality of this house, I immediately infer that the screw has
been given another turn on some unlucky author. The firm appears
to me in the similitude of evil-minded hens cackling their noisy
cut-cut-cut-ca-dah-cut over each new-laid egg, designing to conceal
from an uninquiring public that, like those laymen denounced by Isaiah,
they "hatch cockatrices' eggs; he that eateth of their eggs dieth, and
that which is crushed breaketh out into a viper."
At a later period these general paragraphs began to converge around a
particular point, and snugly nestled in among the literary items of
religious newspapers may be found such announcements as this:--
"The public is threatened with a new book by the once redoubtable M.
N., in which she is to narrate her tribulations, real or imaginary,
with the eminent publishers, Hunt, Parry, & Co. Authors are very apt to
have extravagant ideas of the popularity and profits of their books,
unmindful of the fact that, generally, they are indebted to their
publishers for a large proportion of their fame, and it will take
several books to convince the public that H., P., & Co. deal unfairly
with their authors. Thus far, H., P., & Co. have kept quiet during M.
N.'s attacks, but we hope the time will come when they will vindicate
themselves."
And almost simultaneously, in another quarter of the heavens, appears
a similar turtle-dove, its pin-feathers developed into well-defined
plumage, but unquestionably a bird of the same brood:--
"M. N., once more famous than now, had a little 'unpleasantness' with
her publishers, Hunt, Parry, & Co. In plain words, she accused them of
cheating her out of some thousands of dollars by making false returns
of sales of her books. Like many authors, she had become inordinately
vain, and had extravagant ideas of the popularity of her books, and
was, as is too often the case, unmindful of the fact that a large
portion of what fame she then had (but has now lost) was made for her
by these self-same publishers. She had a quarrel with them of eighteen
months standing, but they would not even appear in self-defense;
what man would want to have an open quarrel with a woman? To any one
acquainted with the details of book publishing, the charge she brings
against H., P., & Co. is simply absurd; and besides, no business man
would ever dare to suspect this publishing house to attempt such a
system of petty cheating, and which, if attempted, would involve an
amount of detail inconsistent with the end to be reached. H., P., &
Co. are above the taint of suspicion. The truth is, M. N.'s books did
not sell so well as she expected, and her pride (and her pocket) had a
fall. It is known to us that an enormous outlay in advertising failed
to make a remunerative sale on her last book. It fell dead on the
market. It is now very quietly rumored that she has written a little
volume which she proposes to call 'Little Men,' in which she describes
her tribulations with the house of H., P., & Co.... M. N., you had
better not! the public will not believe you."
The public will at least believe that, though a once redoubtable
author, like Giant Pope in the Pilgrim's Progress, by reason of age,
and also of the many shrewd brushes that he met with in his younger
days, be grown crazy and stiff in his joints, he can at least sit in
his cave's mouth, grinning at publishers as they go by, and biting his
nails, because he cannot come at them!
It is not probable that these later paragraphs were actually written
by the rose, but by some one who lives near the rose, and who takes
roseate views of the situation.
When one has been introduced behind the scenes, these little touches
go for what they are worth, but outside, they unquestionably, if
imperceptibly, affect public opinion, and like an army of moral polyps
build high the walls of lofty Rome. (A new species of polyps, the
naturalist will say, but it answers my purpose.)
But while recognizing, to its fullest extent, the great power and
prestige of a flourishing publishing house, and the great risk a
writer runs in opposing it, I cannot bring myself to accept its
invincibility, or its infallibility, or its indispensability. Of
course a good reputation is, or ought to be, the sign of a good
character; but a thing which is wrong is wrong, whatever be the
reputation of him who does it. A charge of wrong is to be met by
denial. It is not to dazzled out of sight in a general brilliancy.
When the course of our true love ceased to run smooth, I supposed
my pebble was the only obstacle which my publishers' rivulet had
ever known, and I was dismayed accordingly. But if all the rocks I
have since discovered could be cast into one heap, we should have a
bigger monument than Joshua made to mark the passage of Jordan. But
the monumenteers suffer in silence or speak with a bated breath that
cannot be heard outside their own circle, while the flourishing firm
keeps up such a continuous tooting with its rams' horns as would have
flung flat the walls of Jericho had they been twice as stout as they
were. Undoubtedly it is not wise always to make an outcry over your
follies or misfortunes. Neither is it wise always to go through the
world with a chip on your shoulder, challenging people to fillip it
off. Yet we all admit that there are times when short, sharp, and
decisive resistance to aggression is the wisest plan. So also is there
a time to speak as well as a time to refrain from speaking. There
may be dignity, there may be generosity, there may be prudence, or
pusillanimity, or selfishness in silence. There may be all in speech.
Of this I am certain, if any of those writers who have escaped harm by
their own skill, or any of those who have thought to escape further
harm by silence had but given warning of the existence of rocks, some
of us, with less skill, would have avoided that vicinage and might have
had smooth sailing through the whole voyage. By their silence they
have not only indirectly contributed to our disaster, but they have
actually strengthened against us the hands of our natural foes, the
publishers. They make it possible for a newspaper to say, in reference
to the present difficulty, "As the house (of H., P., & Co.) has been in
thriving existence for more than a quarter of a century, and has never
before quarreled with an author,--or more correctly speaking, never
had an author quarrel with it,--there will be a general disposition,"
and so forth. They thus directly increase the resistance which any
succeeding author must overcome. "Nothing," says "The Nation" newspaper
of January 13, 1770, in harsher language than I care to use, but we
must take language as we find it,--"Nothing so promotes swindle as the
readiness of the victims to pocket their losses, go their way with a
sickly smile, and let the rogues begin again." But of course this must
be left for each person to decide for himself. It is only that if one
feels moved in the spirit to bear witness against wrong in any of
the relations of life, there is nothing in the height, or depth, or
breadth, or brilliancy of any reputation to overawe him. Nothing is
real but the right. There is no life but in truth. When faith is lost,
when honor dies, the man is dead. Dead? He never was born. There never
was any such person. He was a mirage, an apparition. The stars dim
twinkle through his form.
As to the harm that may accrue to an author from adopting the course
which he counts wise, it seems to me entirely insignificant. Nobody
expects to go through the world intact, but we all expect to do that
which presents itself to be done. If a writer has life in himself he
will not easily die. If he has not life in himself the sooner he dies
the better. If there is no life outside one charmed circle,
"Then am I dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me."
Nothing is indispensable but a mind at peace with itself. It is
pleasant to celebrate the glory of those you love, but better trudge
comfortably across country on foot and alone, with all your worldly
goods knotted up in a yellow bandana than ride unwillingly behind
anybody's triumphal car.
So then, while it is undoubtedly best as a general thing for an author
to live at peace with publishers, and sinners, there is also no reason
why he should not make war if it is borne in upon him to do so.
But the only royal road to justice is for authors, in the beginning,
to be intelligent, prompt, exact and exacting on all business matters
which come within their scope. This seems a little thing, but it
would work a revolution in the literary world. Let writers deal
with publishers, not like women and idiots, but as business men
with business men. If an author chooses to relinquish all pecuniary
rewards from his books and to make an outright gift of the profits to
his publishers, he may leave the whole matter in their hands; but if
he condescends to take any part in the spoils, he thereby becomes a
business partner, and the only question is whether he shall be a good
business man or a poor one. By not being prompt and intelligent, by
neglecting to secure or to examine his accounts, or to correct them
when they are wrong, or to understand them when they are obscure,
he does not approve himself an unmercenary person; he simply shows
himself to be shambling and shiftless, and puts a direct temptation in
his publisher's path. Many a servant would be honest if her careless
mistress would not leave money lying about. Had I but used the ordinary
care and caution which a lawyer, or a merchant, or a marketman brings
to his business, this trouble doubtless would never have happened, and
we should all have been the happier for it. The simple consciousness
on the part of a publisher, that an author is observant of what is
visible, will have a tendency to make him exact and upright concerning
what is invisible. An author should so order his affairs that a
publisher must make an effort to be dishonest. On the contrary, he
so neglects them that a publisher must make an effort to be honest.
Confidence and trust are excellent things and never more excellent than
when they have a solid basis of paper and ink. Do the best he can there
will still be points enough for the author to exercise his trust on,
but to do business wholly on the trust system is utterly childish. No
confidence can be more complete than was mine, and none apparently can
be founded on a more honorable reputation. The confidential, friendly
way of conducting affairs is pretty and sentimental, grateful to one's
indolence and vanity and over fastidiousness, and confirmatory of one's
conviction that he is too dainty and delicate to touch a bargain with
the tips of his fingers. But in fact we all do take money for our work
when we can get it; we want just as much money and money just as much
as other people--rather more--and, in sober truth, the friction, the
sacrifice of delicacy in keeping your money affairs straight from day
to day, is not for a moment to be compared to the delicacy which may
be sacrificed by leaving them at the mercy of others. You run well for
a while, but a day of reckoning is almost sure to come. The thriftless,
hap-hazard way of bargaining or not bargaining, common among literary
people, is the fruitful parent of uneasiness, anxiety, disappointment,
and bitterness, before which delicacy must be rudely and ruthlessly
brushed.
It is the same with women as with men, for in literature as in the
gospel, there is neither male nor female. When a woman does any work
for which she receives money she becomes so far a man, and passes
immediately and inevitably under the yoke of trade. She has no right
to demand a favorable judgment of her work because she is a woman,
nor has she the least right to require that chivalry shall come in
to help fix or secure her compensation. Trade laws know no more of
gallantry than trade winds--and it is well they do not. Individuals and
societies wheedle and flatter and threaten and torture according to the
fashion, or passion, or panic of the hour, but under it all, the great,
pitiless, unseen, inexorable law of the world holds from age to age,
never relaxing its grasp, never revoking its decree, deaf to the wail
of weakness, dumb to the cry of despair, forever and forever teaching
with unrelenting persistency, _by_ unrelenting persistency, the good
and wholesome lesson that will be taught no other way. Under this law
there is no sex, no chivalry, no deference, no mercy. There is nothing
but supply and demand; nothing but buy and sell. To him who understands
it, and guides himself by it, it is a chariot of state bearing him
on to fame and fortune. To him who does not comprehend it and flings
himself against it, it is a car of Juggernaut, crushing him beneath its
wheels, without passion, but without pity.
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