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[-170-] CHAPTER IV
AUTHORS AND PUBLISHERS.
Literary remuneration of popular authors-Mistaken notions
of authors as to the expected sale of their works - Imprudence of authors in
publishing on their own account- Gentlemen Publishers -
Illustrative anecdotes -Various arrangements between authors and publishers -
Extent of the Editions of various kinds of works-Popularity of works-Expenses
connected with the publication of books-Disposing of works to the trade-Number
of publishers and booksellers in London - Advantages and disadvantages of
popularity to an author - The fate of authors often dependent on purely
accidental and trifling circumstances - An instance given-General remarks.
AUTHORS and publishers are so associated
with each other in the appearance of literary works, that they may with the
greatest propriety be [-171-] classed together in a chapter of such a nature as it is
intended the present shall be.
In the previous chapter I have spoken of the exceedingly
precarious character of the literary profession. My observations, however, will
not have been understood as applying in every case. They do apply in the vast
majority of cases; but there are numerous exceptions. The case of Sir Walter
Scott was an illustrious exception. His average income from his literary talents
could not, for some years before his death, have been much short of 12,000l:
for he received 8,7501. for permission to print an edition of 10,000
copies of several of his novels; and he ordinarily wrote three novels every
year, besides his various contributions to periodicals. Byron, too, turned his
genius to excellent pecuniary account. From first to last, it is understood that
he received upwards of 20,000l from Mr. Murray for his works. Moore also used
to derive a large income from his intellectual exertions. For his life and works
of Lord Byron, he is said to have received from [-172-] Mr. Murray 2,0001. Mr.
Murray is understood to have given 2,0001. for the copyright of
Washington Irving's " Life of Columbus. For the first volume of Colonel
Napier's " History of the Peninsular War, the same publisher gave the
gallant author the sum of one thousand guineas. It is calculated that Southey
derives an annual income of about 1,0001. from his literary labours. There is no
doubt, I believe, that Messrs. Baldwin and Cradock gave him last year 1,000l
for his Life, &c. of Cowper. That literature has proved, and ever will prove
a very lucrative profession to those who have most distinguished themselves in
its higher walks, will appear from a statement of the prices which many authors
have received for their works.
Mr. Edward Lytton Bulwer got, if my information be correct,
no less a sum than 1,6001. for his " Rienzi, from Messrs. Saunders
and Otley, who have also paid him similar amounts for several of his other
works. The same publishers gave Captain Marryat 1,0001., or one thousand
guineas, I am not sure which, for his [-173-] "Japhet in Search of a Father, though
the work had, in some measure, lost the freshness of novelty, through its
previous appearance in the "Metropolitan Magazine. Mr. Gait always got from
2001. to 8001. for his novels; and when any of them came to a second edition, he
usually got something more.
I
could mention several other instances, in which other authors have received
douceurs from publishers, when the works reached second or third editions; but
as the circumstance is by no means uncommon, it is unnecessary to refer
particularly to individual cases. It is but right, however, to state, that this
is, in some cases, more from considerations of good policy than from the mere
impulses of a generous feeling. Publishers sometimes make authors presents of
the kind referred to, as an inducement to write other works, of which they
expect, of course, to have the publication. Let me mention one striking instance
of genuine liberality on the part of the publisher to a successful author. Allan
Cunningham was engaged to furnish [-174-] Mr. Murray with six volumes of his "Lives of the British
Painters, &c. at 600l., or 100l. each volume, for the "Family Library."
He executed his task to the satisfaction of his employer and the public. Mr.
Murray, on its great success, showed that he could appreciate merit by doubling
his terms; in other words, by giving Allan 1,200l., instead of 600l., exclusive
of a handsomely bound set of the Quarterly Review, from the commencement of the work. It is to
the credit of the trade, that while there are some publishers who would screw
.down a poor author to a scale of remuneration for his works which would render
his social condition little better than that of a mechanic, there are others who
are forward not only to appreciate, hut suitably to reward his efforts. Messrs.
Saunders and Otley* (* This was written before the author was aware that Messrs.
Saunders and Otley were to be the publishers of his work.) are favourably known among literary men for the liberality
of their terms to writers of celebrity. [-175-] Messrs.
Longman and Co. have, on several occasions, given a high rate of remuneration
for literary labour. The case I have mentioned of Messrs. Baldwin and Cradock
giving Southey so large a sum for his Life of Cowper, is one instance of their
liberality. I know various instances in which Messrs. Whittaker and Co. have
given large sums for works of merit; hut from the way in which the information
has been communicated to me, I am not sure it would be proper to make a public
use of it. I am in the same situation in respect to the prices given by other
publishers for particular works.
I
have mentioned the sum which Allan Cunningham received for the volumes which he
furnished to Mr. Murray's " Family Library. For his " Life and Works
of Burns, in eight volumes, published by Messrs. Cochrane and Macrone, he got
800l Mr. Galt got from the same publishers, 250l for his "Autobiography.
The price which Mr. Robert Montgomery Martin received, from Mr. Cochrane, for
his "History of the British Colonies, in five volumes, was about 8001. Mr.
Cochrane gave [-176-] very liberal remuneration to literary men in several other
instances which have come under my own immediate observation; but it is not
necessary to allude to them in detail. Mr. Willis got 250l from Mr. Macrone, for his "Pencillings by the Way.
What Messrs. Saunders and Otley gave him for his "Inklings of Adventure, I
have not heard. The usual price of works of fiction, in three volumes, written by
popular authors, has of late been from 200l to 300l: formerly it was higher;
but, as mentioned in the preceding chapter, the falling off in the demand for
works of that class has been so great as to render it hazardous for publishers
to offer a higher sum than the above. As it is, comparatively few, even of those
written by novelists of distinguished reputation, obtain a remunerating sale. In
two or three late instances, novelists of the first class have got as high as
500l, but the publishers have been losers by the transaction. Illustrated
works, got up in the style of the annuals, have, in some recent cases,
"fetched a high price in the literary market. Captain Marryat, in 1835,
received for his " Pirate, [-177-] in
one volume, no less than 750l., from Mr. Heath, who has brought out so many
illustrated works. And Mr. Bulwer, if I remember rightly, got 800l. for his
" Pilgrims of the Rhine, also in one volume.
It
will be seen, from the above statements, that there are a few authors who reap
an abundant pecuniary harvest, as well as a harvest of fame, from their literary
labours; but they are only a few, compared with those who get nothing, or next
to nothing, for their toil and trouble.
Authors
of second or third-rate works of fiction, no doubt, think they are very
inadequately remunerated when they receive from 100l to 200l for the
copyright. What would they have thought of the price usually given half
a-century ago for the same class of publications? At that time it was a rare
circumstance for publishers to give more than 5l. or 10l for the
manuscript of novels, except in those cases in which the author had previously
acquired a first-rate reputation as a novelist. The fact was, that publishers,
fifty years ago, found that [-178-] the public taste was in favour of more solid mental food, and
that the sale of novels was seldom sufficiently large to meet the necessary
expenses of mere paper and print. For historical, philosophical, or any other
class of works, however, conveying important information, when written by
distinguished authors, the publishers of that period were in the habit of paying
large sums. Dr. Hawkesworth got the immense sum of 6,000l for his voyages round
the world, though only a compilation. I do not at this moment recollect the
number of volumes to which the work extended, but I think it did not exceed
fifteen. Dr. Robertson got 4,500l. for his "History of Charles the Fifth,
in four volumes"; and the same writer got 600l. for his " History of
Scotland, in two volumes. Smellie, the translator of Buffon's works, got 1,000l.
for his own work on the " Philosophy of Natural History. Hume only received
200l for his first part of the "History of England ;" but that
proving eminently successful, he got, in one shape or another, full 5,000l for
it, before it was [-179-] finished. Mr. Creech, the then Prince of Publishers, had the
honour of bringing most of these works before the public. Mr. Creech, I believe,
was the first publisher who ever paid for contributions to periodicals. The mode
of making his first payment was curious. He sent two pipes of wine to Mackenzie,
the author ox the "Man of Feeling," as a return for various valuable
contributions which the latter had made to a periodical, "The Lounger," -if
my memory be not at fault,-which then belonged to him. After that time, the same
publisher commenced the practice of paying in money, which soon became general
in the case of all respectable periodicals. I am indebted for this interesting
anecdote to one of the sons of the celebrated author of "The Man of Feeling"
himself.
Of all hopes there are none so illusory as those which are
based on one's literary labours; and yet there are none in which authors are so
apt to indulge. They are cheered and supported amidst all the labour they are
doomed, [-180-] or, rather, which they doom themselves, to undergo, by the
expectation of fame and profit. Almost every one flatters himself that the
publication of his work will create a sensation in the literary world. The day
of publication comes - and passes away too - and what does he find? The
realisation of his sanguine and dearly-cherished hopes? No: but in all
probability he hears nothing of his work except in the advertisements of the
publishers, or, it may be, in a passing faint commendation given it in some
review. He asks his publishers how it sells. The answer comes on him with the
effect of a thunderbolt, as if launched by the hand of Jove himself - "It
does not sell at all:" in other words, only a few copies have been disposed
of. In the agony and mortification of the moment, he wishes, it may be, he had
never been born; certain it is, he wishes his book had never been born.
And yet, in the course of a year or two, if he have the means, you will find the
unfortunate author again continuing the midnight [-181-] toil, hoping against hope
he will be more fortunate next time. Next time comes and he encounters the same
disappointment, and so on to the end of the chapter.
The uninitiated will wonder, after what I have stated of the
immense number of failures on the part of authors, how it happens that
publishers undertake to bring out their works at all. The publishers are,
generally, a shrewd class of men; and they do not incur the risk of publishing
one half perhaps of the works which are daily making their appearance. The other
half are published at the expense of the authors, many of whom lose a great deal
in this way. A popular tragedian, about eighteen months since, published a
novel, in two volume, on his own account, which he had written. It never sold to
the extent of twenty-five copies: he was a loser by his adventure to the extent
of 200l. Several other similar miscalculations have been made by authors
within the last twelve months. I know some instances in which the works were
what is called heavy, that is, large in size [-182-] and closely printed; in which authors have lost nearly 1,000l at once. Even
in the pamphlet way, great losses are sometimes sustained. I lately heard the
Rev. Mr. P., a metropolitan clergyman of the Church of England, mention that he
had lost altogether 600l by his various pamphlets against the Socinians and
Roman Catholics. The Rev. Dr. Dibdin, in his "Literary Reminiscences,
lately published, gives some particulars of a rather interesting nature
respecting his adventures in this way.
I would lay it down as a rule, and it will be found to admit of but few
exceptions, that those who cannot afford, or who have not the disposition to
lose money, should not risk the publication of a work which the leading
publishers have declined to undertake on their own account. From what I know of
the publishing trade, I can say with confidence that, taken in the aggregate,
they are much more apt to err in accepting than in rejecting works. Take all
those works which, when refused by the trade, have been published by the authors
themselves, [-183-] and it will be found that not one out of fifty pays its
expenses. These are odds sufficiently fearful, one would think, to make an
author, to whom money is an object, hesitate before he engages in the
speculation of publishing of his own account.
There is another class of authors, though their number is now
much less than it was some years ago, who publish on their own account for very
different reasons. They do so from that avaricious spirit which causes men to
grasp at the profits of both author and publisher. A well-known bibliopole with
whom I lately had some conversation on the subject, happily characterised such
authors, as " Gentlemen Publishers. It will be found in a number of cases, that those who publish their works on
their own account, merely employing some bookselling house as their agent, are gentlemen of rank, and
that they have previously received considerable reputation as literary men. This
practice of uniting the functions of the publisher with those of the author, is
not very reputable [-184-] in the cases to which I refer. It is not merely a violation
of good taste, inasmuch as it is an intrusion into a field which they have no
right to enter, but it is, practically, to all intents and purposes, an attempt
to deprive a most meritorious class of individuals of the means of existence.
The trade has suffered severely from these gentlemen interlopers.
It is idle to say, that though gentlemen become their own
publishers, they must of necessity employ booksellers, as they cannot themselves
sell every isolated copy of their works. All true; but the profit which an agent
or deputy publisher is in this case allowed, is so small, that no respectable
house could maintain its character with it. The commission, as I have before
mentioned, allowed to the house which acts as agent, is usually only ten per
cent. on the amount sold. With this sum the house is not only to be remunerated
for the trouble to which it must put itself in the sale of the work, but it has
also to defray the expenses of the establishment. The house must further run the
risk of bad debts; [-185-] the author making no allowance for these. It is clear, I
repeats that on such a source of revenue none of our large publishing
houses could long maintain their influence and respectability.
The circumstance which has of late led so many gentlemen
authors to become their own publishers, thus blending in discordant harmony,
as an Irishman would say, the character of tradesman with that of gentleman the supposed prodigious profits which publishers derive from their trade. How far the profits of
publishers are exaggerated, may be inferred from the fact, that very few of them, even
after a very laborious application for many years to their calling, have succeeded in making more than a
respectable livelihood. It is true they have very large profits in some cases. I
know a late instance in which a house cleared about 1,200l on two volumes, in
little more than eighteen months; but then what is gained on the one hand, is
often lost on the other. That a few enterprising houses have made handsome[-186-]
fortunes by publishing, is not to be denied; but what are
such instances, compared with the hundreds in which publishers have either
failed in business, or only succeeded, by great care and exertion, in making the
bare means of subsistence?
As regards the profits of the mere venders of books, very
extravagant notions are also entertained by those unacquainted with the subject.
Mr. Babbage, in his work on the "Economy of Manufactures", has done much to
confirm and extend the error. The nominal profits of booksellers, in retailing
literary works, is twenty-five per cent.; but this amount of profit dwindles
down to a mere trifle, when due allowances are made for bad debts, for the
number of copies which often remain unsold, and for the outlay of capital on
which returns are seldom obtained sooner than twelve months; often not even in
that lengthened time. Mr. Babbage says, that booksellers need not order books
except when they are bespoke. Here Mr. Babbage, while assuming to be much better
informed on the [-187-] subject than the rest of his fellow-men, betrays
a degree of ignorance which would be discreditable to a schoolboy of the fourth
or fifth class. Authors mourn over the lack of literary taste that obtains, as
evinced in the limited sale of their works; but were Mr. Babbage's notions of
bookselling generally adopted, their ground for lamentation would be increased
in a tenfold degree. It is only by booksellers taking a number of copies of new
works on chance, and then exhibit1ng them in their shops, and otherwise
submitting
them to the inspection of their customers, that the majority of copies are
disposed of. Of all commodities, those of a literary kind stand most in need of what is called pushing and if book sellers make the necessary exertion,
take the necessary trouble, and incur the risk of serious loss from bad debts
and unsold copies, it is but fair they should have a reasonable allowance made them.
But
the trade are not the only parties injured by the practice of gentlemen
publishing their [-188-] own works. In the majority of cases, these gentlemen
publishers are serious sufferers themselves from their bibliopolic
speculations. Poor Sir Egerton Brydges has lost a little fortune in this way.
His "Autobiography" contains some useful admonitions to gentlemen publishers, grounded on his
own experience, respecting the pecuniary disadvantages of authors publishing their own
works. One may safely undertake to say, that though Sir Egerton were to live to
the age of Methuselah, he would never publish another work on his own account.
There are others I could name, and men of great reputation too, who have been
out of pocket to a considerable extent by publishing on their own account, who,
if they had sold their works to publishers, would have got a handsome sum for
them.
The truth is that no author, whatever his popularity, can do
the same justice to his work as regards the promotion of its sale, as a
respectable publisher. The agent he employs has not the same inducement to
exertion as if the property were his own, and consequently will [-189-] not make the same exertions to insure an extensive sale. It
is in the bookselling world, as in everything else, the greatness of a man's
exertions will always be proportioned to the strength of the motive. No
influential house, where they are only the agents, will ever call their full
forces into play. They will only do that - they will only avail themselves of the
aid of their various and powerful connexions in trade, when the property is
their own, and the alternative of considerable gain or considerable loss affects
themselves alone.
I could illustrate, by innumerable instances, the extent to
which the success of a work is affected by the circumstance of whether it be published for the author, or for some respectable house. I will, however,
confine myself to a single case. A literary friend of my own was some time
since employed by one of the most influential publishing firms in town, to write
a short treatise on a subject of general interest. The terms were high-twenty
guineas per sheet. The work was written and printed, and every [-190-] exertion possible made to insure its success. The price was
cheap, and the publishers having influential connexions in every part of the
kingdom, the sale in the space of a few months exceeded 20,000 copies. The
author, though in the first instance perfectly satisfied with the terms he
received, grew discontented when he saw the extent of the sale, and deeply
regretted that he had not published the work on his own account. He calculated
the enormous profits the publishers must have made, and thought they would have
been much better in his pocket than in theirs. Regret, however, was unavailing
in so far as the past was concerned; but, as he conceived, a happy idea occurred
to him as to the future. He would extend the work to other two parts, and
publish it himself; in other words, he would join the brotherhood of gentlemen
publishers. The house for which he had written the two first parts, heard of his
being engaged on two additional ones, and offered him the same terms as before.
He at once rejected them. They raised their offer to twenty-four guineas [-191-] per sheet; but he unceremoniously declined it, telling them
he was determined on publishing the work on his own account. They disadvised him
from the speculation, and pointed out the probable difference as to sale,
between their extensive and powerful bookselling connexion, and his utter want
of such connexion. The advice was disregarded: it was ascribed to interested
motives. To press he would go, and to press he went, on his own account. The
same number of copies, viz. 20,000, was ordered to be thrown off. The book
appeared; it was largely advertised. What does the reader suppose was the number
of copies sold in the same time as it required to dispose of 20,000 of the
former- parts, published by the influential house alluded to? It
was considerably under 500!
The public have no idea of the activity, and tact, and
influence, necessary to insure a remunerating sale to any literary work; and
these, I repeat, are qualities which are only possessed in their combination by
the most respectable publishing houses. The public, I may add, have no [-192-]
idea of the extensive losses which many gentlemen publishers incur, who either
overrate the merits of their own works, or underrate the difficulties which
attend the publishing business. It is only two or three years, since I myself
was consulted by the near relative of a well-known nobleman residing in the
country, about the publication in London, of a work of the former. I advised him
to dispose of the copyright to some respectable publisher. He would not hear of
the proposition; he looked at it in very much the same light as if I had
seriously meditated an attack on his pocket. He would have it brought out on his
own account, for no other reason in the world than that he wished to pocket all
the fancied profits himself. He asked my opinion of what the extent as to the
impression ought in the first instance to be: his own notion was that 2,000 was
the lowest number of copies he should print. I advised him to content himself
with 500. My counsel was looked on by him in very much the same light as a
deliberate insult. Eventually, I got him per-[-193-]suaded to throw off no more
than 1,000 copies. When, however, he concurred in my suggestion to that effect,
it was only because he thought it would be an object to have another 1,000
printed immediately after, as a second edition. That a second edition would be
called for in a few weeks after the publication of the work, appeared to him as
certain as his own existence. In due time, the work made its appearance; the
agents were a respectable house in the metropolis; it was extensively
advertised; but the agents had no special inducement to push its sale. Anxious
to learn indirectly how the work was selling, the author desired a friend, who
was in town, to get a copy of it for him from the agent's, without, however,
letting his friend know (the work was published anonymously) that he was the
author. His friend did call at a bookseller's, but not at the agent's for the
work, and asked for a copy. The bookseller not having seen the volume, but
confounding it with one similar in title, which had been published some years
before, and the whole impression of which [-194-] had by that time been sold off, stated that the work the
gentleman inquired for had been some time out of print. The author's friend
immediately wrote to him that the work he had commissioned him to procure was
out of print. It will readily be guessed with what sovereign contempt on
receiving the letter, my literary judgment and my opinion of the wants of the
reading public, were regarded. The author wrote by return of post to his London
agents, to get a second edition printed forthwith, and dreaming of
nothing but pecuniary profit and literary glory, desired them to send him a
statement of his and their account. The agents, with the most provoking
nonchalance, wrote in answer that they thought it would be in all good time to
publish a second edition when there was some appearance of getting rid of
the first; that the demand, if such it might ever be called, was
completely over, no copy of the work having been called for for the last month,
and that the entire number of copies sold was seven! With what surprise and
horror the author received this inti-[-195-]mation,
it is left to the reader to guess. The statements I have made are, I repeat,
facts which came under my own immediate cognizance.
The
late Mr. Johnson, of St. Paul's Churchyard, a well-known publisher of religious
works, used to tell a laughable anecdote illustrative of the extravagant notions
which authors often entertain of the demand there will be for their works. A
clergyman called on him, and said that he wished him to be the agent for a
volume of sermons, price l0s. 6d., which he (the clergyman) had resolved
on publishing on his own account. The bibliopole asked him how many copies he
meant to throw off. "At least 10,000,', replied the divine. - The worthy
publisher remonstrated, saying that 250 would be nearer the mark. "Two
hundred and fifty! exclaimed the theologian, in a tone of stifled indignation
at the censure cast on his professional acquirements, as he thought, by the
observation. " Two hundred and fifty! Why there are at least 10,000
clergymen in the communion of the [-196-] Church of England, and every one of them will have a copy.
Get me 10,000 copies printed, said the divine, with an air of self-importance,
"and if they are not all sold, I myself will have to sustain the loss
alone. " Very well, said the publisher, and the parties bade each other
good morning. The volume of divinity appeared, and continued to be advertised in
all the magazines and papers for nearly six weeks. In about three months after
the publication, the reverend author came to town (he was the rector of a parish
in Yorkshire) with the sole view of balancing accounts with his bookseller, and
receive the anticipated profits. A statement of accounts was demanded by the
clergyman, and instantly furnished by the other. It was substantially as follows
£ | s | d | |
To printing and correcting | 246 | 0 | 0 |
To paper | 482 | 0 | 0 |
To boarding | 180 | 0 | 0 |
To advertising | 66 | 15 | 0 |
[-197-]
Brought forward | 974 | 15 | 0 |
The number of copies sold was 45, amounting, after deducting commission and allowance to the trade, to . . | 15 | 15 | 0 |
Making the balance due by author to his agents, &c. - | 959 | 0 | 0 |
The rev, gentleman was quite horror-struck at this
"statement of accounts. He declared himself a ruined man by the result of
his publishing speculation. The worthy bibliopole, seeing he had fairly
convinced the divine how grossly he had over-estimated the demand for books,
told him the account he had submitted to him was drawn out agreeably to the
number of copies he had ordered to be printed; but that he, knowing
better about such matters, had instructed the printer to throw off only 250
copies. A thousand blessings invoked on the head of Mr. Johnson, was the
emphatic manner in which the reverend author expressed his obligations to his
benefactor.
[-198-] But
of all men, Sir Walter Scott was the greatest sufferer, though not in the same
way as in the case alluded to, from publishing on his own account. It is true,
Sir Walter was not his own publisher altogether; but he was partly so. The
profits of his later works were to be shared between him and his printer and
publisher. These arrangements ultimately led to his engaging in other
speculations, and to his acceptance of bills to a large amount. The consequence
was, that Sir Walter got himself involved in pecuniary responsibilities for
Mr. Constable to an extent which eventually proved ruinous. His pecuniary
embarrassments preyed so much on his sensitive mind, as to bring on that disease
of which he at last became the victim. Had the author of "Waverley
contented himself with entirely disposing of the copyright of his later works as
he did of the earlier ones, for a specific sum, he might still have been the
brightest living ornament of modern literature. But pecuniary disadvantages are
not the only evils which result to authors from the injudicious practice
of publishing on their own ac-[-199-]count;
their literary reputation also suffers severely from it. I have already shown,
that authors can never do that justice to their works, in the article of sale,
which publishers can. It consequently follows, that where books' are not read,
their merits cannot be appreciated.
It
is no less obvious, that literature itself is an equal sufferer from the
practice I am condemning. Many a meritorious work has fallen still-born from the
press, in consequence of the author becoming his own publisher. The result is,
that not only is the work in question comparatively lost to the world of
literature, but the author himself, disgusted with his failure, most probably
resolves that he shall never again make his appearance in the republic
of'letters. I am convinced that the flame of many a bright genius has by this
means been extinguished, which otherwise would have shone on the world with
great splendour.
And
here I must remark, that both authors and
literature are under the deepest obligations [-200-] to publishers. I do not mean to say that a publisher can put
brains into a brainless author, or can make the hook intrinsically better than
it is; but by his tact, his activity, and enterprise, he gives it an opportunity
which it would never otherwise have had of being seen and read, and consequently
of its merits, if it have any, being duly appreciated. So far, therefore,
publishers have the making of authors, and so far they prove most efficient
auxiliaries in the cause of literature. I hold that we are to a very great
extent indebted to judicious publishers for many of the best and most popular
works in modern literature. Had these works not made their appearance under the
auspices of influential publishers, and been by them kept ingeniously and
perseveringly before the public, their merits would have been but slightly
known, and the books themselves consequently suffered to sleep in undisturbed
oblivion on the shelf or in the warehouse. The authors, as a matter of course,
would, as already hinted, shrink from a second [-201-] experiment on the literary discernment of the public, and
fall back into that obscurity whence they had vainly endeavoured to emerge.
To
establish my position still more clearly; suppose Sir Walter Scott, instead of
selling the copyright of "Waverley, which everybody knows was his first
novel, to the late enterprising and influential Mr. Constable, bad, like the
gentlemen publishers of the present day, got it out on his own account, will any
one who knows any thing of publishing maintain, that in that case "Waverley
would have met with a tithe of the success it did meet with as the property of
Mr. Constable? And if it had not succeeded, the illustrious author would never
have written another novel; for he has expressly recorded, that it was put
forward as an experiment on public taste, and that the circumstance of his
proceeding in, or relinquishing for ever the new walk of fiction he had chalked
out for himself, wholly depended on the reception which "Waverley should
meet with. To Mr. Constable, therefore, and to the circumstance of his having
bought the copyright [-202-] of that novel, we are in one sense as much indebted, as to
the author himself, for the most splendid series of fictions which ever emanated
from the human imagination. No one was more sensible of this than Sir Walter
himself; and no one could have been more forward to acknowledge it. I myself
have seen several such acknowledgments under his own hand, made spontaneously to
persons with whom he was corresponding. What a number of other authors are under
equal obligations, in the same respect, to their publishers ! I wish that they
and the public were equally sensible of them.
From all I have said, it is demonstrably obvious, as already
hinted, that the fortunes of literature are in a great measure in the hands of
publishers. If their influence and respectability be not sustained and fostered
by the confidence and liberality of authors, English literature must of
necessity be a serious sufferer.
An arrangement is sometimes made between authors and
publishers, which is a sort of medium between an author's publishing the [-203-] book on his own account, or disposing of it to a publisher. I
allude to the practice of going half-and-half, as it is called. The parties
agree that they shall equally share the losses, or divide the profits, or that
the publisher take all the risk, just as the case happens. This has been found
to work well, where the house is honourable, as it secures to the author the
full benefit of the publisher's exertions. It has, besides, the recommendation
of its being perfectly equitable. I have heard that Mrs. Jamieson's popular
works have been all brought out in this way, very much to her satisfaction and
advantage,
There
is another arrangement between authors and publishers which has become very
frequent of late. I refer to the practice of an author agreeing to let his
publisher print a certain number of copies on certain terms; and in the event of
the impression being got rid of, the copyright reverting to him. This is,
perhaps, as fair an arrangement for both parties as could be made. If the
publisher disposes of the edition, he is sure, from the terms he has made, [-204-]
to have a fair profit; and it is optional for him to make a
new arrangement with the author or not, just as he thinks the demand for the
book is or is not likely to continue. If it be, then the author shares with his
publisher the benefit of the proceeds from the new edition. It is on these terms
that many of our most popular authors dispose of their works. The same kind of
arrangement is becoming general among the most distinguished writers in France.
Balzaac never consents to the publication of any of his works on any other
terms. No price which a bookseller can offer, will induce him to part with the
entire copyright of any of his productions.
Another arrangement which is4air and equitable to all
parties, is that of an author agreeing to make the amount of his remuneration
contingent on the sale of the work. Supposing, for example, it were deemed
probable that a work would reach a sale of 1,250 copies, the author, according
to the arrangement to which I refer, would consent to take a given sum, say
100l on the day of publication, and make another 100l [-205-] or 50l., according to the size and price of the book,
contingent on the sale of 1,000 copies. The author, by such an arrangement,
secures, as it is reasonable he should, a certain sum in return for his literary
labours; while the publishers, by his consenting to make.the remainder of the
price agreed on conditional on a certain amount of sale, are not exposed to the
risk of losing so much by their enterprise, as if they had had to pay down the
entire sum unconditionally and at once. I do think it unreasonable on the part
of authors to decline coming to terms with publishers unless they get the amount
of money they are willing to take paid to them, without regard to the success of
the work. I think it is all that can be reasonably expected of publishers, that
they should, in addition to incurring all the expenses of publication, which are
heavy, make the author such an advance, without reference to the sale of the
work, as affords him a fair remuneration for his labour. I often wonder how
authors, especially those who are in easy circumstances, could have [-206-]any pleasure in getting large sums of money for their works,
when aware that the publishers are serious losers by them. I have no notion of
publishers having by far the greater share of the profits of a work, when an
author has spun his brains to some purpose; but neither, on the other hand, do I
think it fair or reasonable, that authors should exact such terms of them, after
they run all the risk of publication, as will leave them but a trifling profit,
should the work meet with the expected success, but which, in the event of its
not reaching the anticipated sale, will leave them with a loss. My impression
is, that the most equitable arrangement for both parties, is that which, in the
event of the book meeting with the expected success, gives to each, nearly as
may be, the same amount of profit.
I have often heard the question asked, of what number of
copies does an edition of a work consist? There is no fixed number: the thing
depends entirely on circumstances. There is, however, a kind of conventional
understanding on the subject among the trade. What would [-207-] be considered a large edition of one book, would be
considered a small one of another. For example; a thousand copies of any of the
"Standard Novels, &c., which Mr. Colburn and Mr. Bentley are severally
publishing, at five or six shillings each, would be considered a small edition;
while the same number of copies of any of the works, when originally published
in three volumes at a guinea and a-half, would have been considered a large
edition. It is always assumed, that in proportion to the cheapness of a book,
will be the extent of its sale; and vice versa. Of very expensive books,
the edition often consists of only 250 copies. Five hundred copies of a work
published at half-a-guinea or seven shillings and sixpence a volume, are con-
considered a small edition: 750 copies of such works are considered a fair
edition. That indeed is the number usually printed of novels, and other works of
fiction, except where the great popularity of the author is supposed likely to
carry off a larger impression. One thousand copies of such works, or of any
works published at or about the same price, and containing a corres-[-208-]ponding quantity of matter, are regarded as forming a large
edition.
The public are sometimes deceived as to the number of
editions a book goes through. In various instances, a new title-page is printed,
with the words "Second Edition, or "Third Edition, as the case may be,
on it, while in point of fact a dozen copies perhaps, of the work has never been
sold. I knew an instance last year in which a second edition of a half-guinea
work was advertised, while in reality only nine or ten copies were sold. The
object in such cases is to give the work a character, by conveying to the public
mind an idea that it is in extensive demand. It is right, however, to mention,
that not only are the majority of the respectable publishers incapable of
practising such an imposition on the public themselves, but they will not be
parties to it by allowing authors to practise it who have published their works
with them by commission, in those cases where the words "second, "
third, " fourth " or other edition, are seen in the
title-page of any work which emanates from a respectable house, the fair
pre-[-209-]sumption
is, that the number making fair editions has been sold.
It
is curious to reflect on the nature of the popularity of different works. Some
rise into notice in the course of a few days, and are quite popular for a
fortnight or three weeks, but after that time are never seen or heard of; they
fall into as great oblivion as if they had never been published. The vast
majority of our novels are among this class of works. No one ever thinks of
purchasing a copy of any of these works, two or three months after its
publication. The publisher, indeed, knows that if he do not obtain a
remunerating sale within five or six weeks after their appearance he has made a
bad speculation. What copies remain on hand after that time he Looks on as
little better than waste paper. He would be glad to dispose of them at a sixth
or seventh of the usual price, were it not that it would prove injurious to the
sale of his other works.
Other
works often take some time before they attain
any degree of popularity; but when they [-210-] have done so, they usually retain it much longer. It is
generally some time before works of a scientific, philosophical, or historical
nature command a tolerable sale; but when they once get a hold on the public
mind, they usually keep it for a length of time. The sale, however, even then,
is seldom or never rapid; it is slow or gradual, but steady.
The history of literature and bookselling abounds with
instances in which a work has fallen still-born from the press, and yet at some
distance of time has been, by some accidental circumstance, restored from the
dead, and become eventually a part of our standard literature. Milton's "
Paradise Lost, as mentioned in my last chapter, is a case in point. It was
wholly unknown until Addison, by his criticisms on it in the Spectator, brought
its beauties before the public eye. Another striking instance of the same thing
occurred in the case of Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wakefield. It was, for some
time after its appearance, so much literary lumber on the shelves of the
bibliopole who [-211-] ushered
it into existence. It dates its popularity from the accidental circumstance of
Lord Chesterfield chancing to meet with it in the publisher's shop. His lordship
was so struck with its merits, that he perseveringly recommended it to every
person he met with, until it was fairly brought into notice. The only other
instance I shall mention of the same thing, refers to a living author of great
popularity. A good many years ago, he published a book in two octavo volumes, of
an "Imaginary kind, which was, perhaps, for some time, one of the most
striking bibliopolic failures on record; for within twelve months of the
publication of the work, only three copies were sold. At the end of that time it
was brought into notice by an elaborate and commendatory critique in the
"Edinburgh Review. Other periodicals followed the example of the Northern
Leviathan, and eventually the book attained an extensive sale, and is now the
groundwork of the author's reputation.
The
expenses of printing books are pretty much the
same in all the respectable typographical [-212-] establishments in the metropolis. The usual charge for the
paper and printing of 1000 copies of such a work as the present varies from 61.
to 71. per sheet. This, of course, is exclusive of corrections: if
the author makes any alterations on the proof sheets, when the work is going
through the press, he or the publisher is charged according to their number or
importance. The price of such a quality of paper as that on which this work is
printed varies from twenty-six to thirty shillings per ream. Printing and paper,
however, are not the only expenses incurred in the publication of a book. One
very important item in those expenses is that of advertising. Unless a book be
extensively advertised, there is little chance of its selling to any extent,
whatever may be its merits. If a book command a fair sale without much
advertising, there must be something extremely attractive in it. Some publishers
are of opinion, that it were to incur an unnecessary expenditure of money to
advertise a book which sells well without advertising. This is an error; for
it will always be found, [-213-] that if a book sell well without advertising, it would have
twice the sale if liberally advertised. No book is done any degree of justice to
if not advertised to the extent of at least 801.; the sum usually expended by
spirited publishers in advertising interesting books is about 1001. The
best proof of the beneficial effects of advertising is to be found in the fact,
that those houses which have once begun the practice of liberal advertising,
invariably continue it. The amount of money which some of the larger houses
expend in advertising their works in the course of the year, is little short of
5,0001.
A day or two before the publication of a work, some one
connected with the house from which it emanates, goes round among the trade to
show it them, and to receive, in a book kept for the purpose, the order for any
number of copies which the various booksellers may be inclined to take. Messrs.
Longman and Co. are always waited on first, as being the oldest established
house in town. Messrs. Simpkin and Marshall, Messrs. Whittaker and Co., Messrs.
Baldwin [-214-] and Cradock, Messrs. Sherwood and Co., Messrs. Hamilton and
Co., Mr. James Duncan, and some other houses in the "Row, as Paternoster
Row is always called, are then severally waited on. The number of copies which the different houses engage to
take depends, of course, on the probable popularity of the book. Where the work
is by an unknown author, the amount engaged for, or " subscribed, as it is
technically called, is always small. It may be twenty- five, or fifty copies,
according to the price and appearance of the book, and the nature of the
subject. When, however, the new work is by a popular author, and is in the same
walk of literature as that in which he has distinguished himself, the number
subscribed is always large. Any new novel of Mr. Bulwer, for example, is sure to
be ordered by the trade to a very great extent; perhaps to the extent of 1,500
or 1,800 copies. One of the largest subscriptions I have heard of for some
years, of an expensive work, was that of one published in the winter of 1835.
The number [-215-] ordered before the book was ready for delivery exceeded 2,000
copies. Paternoster Row is the great place on such occasions. Four or five
copies of every book of importance are always sold there for every one in all
the other parts of the metropolis put together. The large houses there supply
the booksellers in other parts of the town, and the whole of the country, with
every new book on the same terms as they would get it from the publishers,
namely, at a reduction of twenty-five per cent. on the published price. The
profit of the large houses in "the Row arises from an allowance of five per
cent. additional, which the publishers make them, coupled with the gift of one
copy of the work for every twenty-five they order.
There is another way in which new works are sometimes
disposed of to the trade. An extensive publisher who has several books in the
press, or ready for publication, invites the leading men among the trade, by
means of printed circulars, to a dinner sale, as it is called, in a particular
hotel, on a given day. The works which are ready are shown, and the [-216-] names of the authors, the subject, the price, &c. of
those which are not, are mentioned. Placed by an excellent dinner and an
abundant supply of the choicest wines, in that happy frame of mind which leads
one to look on the sunny side of the picture, it is no wonder if the merits of
the arious works are sometimes a little magnified, and the probable amount of
the demand for them somewhat exaggerated. The principal reason for this method,
however, is the selling a large quantity of books at once; and they are
therefore on such occasions offered on very advantageous terms to the trade. The
trade then put down their names for copies to be delivered when ready. Mr.
Murray, and many others, do a great deal of business in this way. Mr. Murray has
one great dinner of the kind every year, at which there are sometimes from one
hundred to one hundred and fifty of the leading men in the trade. In the spring
of last year, he sold new works, in one day, to the amount of nearly 20,0001. at
one of these dinner sales.
The
publishers and booksellers in the metro-[-217-]polis
are very numerous. Perhaps the former, including those who only occasionally publish a
small work or two, are about fifty in number. The number of the trade altogether, that is,
including both publishers and booksellers, is estimated by Mr. Babbage, in his "Economy of
Manufactures, at 4,000. As a body they are men of great intelligence; but as there are
exceptions to every rule, so among the smaller booksellers there are several individuals who
are by no means remarkable for the extent of their literary knowledge. I could give some
amusing instances in proof of their ignorance of books and of literary men. When one
of Dr. Wolcott's volumes of poems which, as everybody knows, were represented on the
title-page as being the productions of "Peter Pindar", was in the course of being subscribed,
the publisher, on submitting the work to one of the smaller booksellers, was accosted by the
latter in these terms, and in a tone of serious indignation which heightened the ludicrousness
of the reproof- I will take no copies of the [-218-] work; and you may rely on it, it never will sell. Mr. Pindar
has been dead* (* The bibliopole had heard something of the Peter Pindar of
ancient Greece) for more than one or two thousand years: he is quite forgotten
now, and I think it was very foolish of you to disturb the poor man's bones. I
don't like that sort of resurrection-work, and will have nothing to do with the
book. When the new edition of Mr. Peter Cunningham's (son of Allan Cunningham)
"Poems of Drummond of Hawthorn- den, was being subscribed, one of the same
class of booksellers to whom the volume was submitted inquired of the publisher,
whether this Henry Drummond of Hawthornden was any. relation of Henry Drummond
the banker, adding, that if he was, he would take a couple of copies, as he was
sure the private friends of the author would insure the sale of the book to a
certain extent.
The observation of Shakspeare, that "there is a tide in
the affairs of men," holds eminently true of authors. A name is everything to
them. [-219-] Once an author has got a name-if Juliet had been an author
she would never have asked What's in a name ? -it is his own fault in most cases
if he do not make his way in the world. A popular writer, if he wish it, may
dispose of his manuscript works to a publisher without the latter even seeing
them. This, indeed, is often done. Nay more, surprising as it may seem, an
author sometimes sells a work and receives the price for it too, before he has
written a line of it; before, indeed, it has any other existence than in his own
head. Sir Walter Scott in his anxiety to get the means of carrying into effect
his darling improvements at Abbotsford, often got large sums of money in
advance, on projected works from Mr. Constable, before a single line of the
intended work was written. Mr. Constable often anticipated Sir Walter's wishes
in this respect. I saw a short time since a letter from that gentleman to the
author of Waverley, in which, in reference to an observation of the latter, that
he was employed in a work, to be. in one volume, on [-220-] "Superstition and
Witchcraft", Mr. Constable said, that
if he thought 500l was sufficient for the copyright he might draw on him for
that amount whenever he pleased. I may mention one other instance. A work by a
well- known author having been very successful, and the publisher having met him
one day at Brighton, he made him a handsome douceur, making the whole price he
gave for his work 7501. Mr. S., after expressing his grateful sense of
the publisher's liberality, expressed a hope they should soon have another
transaction together of a similar kind. The publisher responded to the hope, and
said Mr. S. should have the same terms for anything else he wrote. The author
and bibliopole shook hands, and bade each other good morning. Mr. S. wrote
several other works of fiction, and received the same terms for them. In Mr.
S.'s case I do not suppose there was any necessity to pay the money, or any part
of it, in advance; but several instances have come to my [-221-] knowledge, in which other publishers have in this way
advanced several hundred pounds to improvident authors. It is a decidedly bad
practice, and is sure, in the end, to lead to unpleasant differences between the
parties. Publishers should set their faces against it: they are generally
sufferers by it: so is literature. A book is never written so well where the
author has received his money in advance and spent it. He has no pleasure in his
labour, any more than the common mechanic who is working for a person to whom he
is in debt. So far from regarding his task as a labour of love, he feels
himself, for the time being, the slave of the publisher. Falstaff would do
nothing on compulsion: the author in such a case feels his labour is nothing but
compulsion; and he feels he must perform it, however reluctantly.
To be a popular author is not so enviable a distinction as
most persons imagine. It has its pleasures, undoubtedly; but these are mingled
with a large proportion of pains and penalties. [-222-] I will not specify these: they are too numerous for that.
Suffice it to say that the repeated applications made to him to assist obscure
authors, who are very numerous, and for the most part very poor, are not among
the least. Let one of these be only introduced to a writer of celebrity and have
a ten minutes' conversation with him, and, not content with boasting among all
his acquaintances that the popular author is his particular friend, it is a
thousand to one if he do not next day apply to him either for his subscription
to some forthcoming work, or for the use of his influence with some
publisher to get the applicant's book "brought; out. What is the
"distinguished writer to do in the latter,-which is a most common case? If
he decline in the most polite terms he can employ, to recommend the work to
any publisher, the applicant's pride is wounded-for the poorer and more
obscure the party, the greater is sure to be his pride-and he may expect
to be heartily abused. If he do speak to a publisher, and prevail on him to go
to [-223-] press,
he becomes to all intents and purposes guilty of aiding and abetting the
would-be- author, to pick the unfortunate bibliopole's pocket. Here is a dilemma
for you. It is one in which literary men of distinction find themselves
placed every day of their lives. Happily, in the great majority of cases, they
prefer the alter- native of wounding the pride of the would-be- author, to that
of becoming a party to an at- tempt on the pockets of the publisher. Did - they
act otherwise, the result would he equally disastrous to literature and to
publishers. As it is, we have literary trash enough of all sorts and in all
shapes, as everybody knows; and - publishers are, for the most part,
sufferers by their speculations to as great an extent as their worst enemies
could wish: let authors of reputation only induce bibliopoles to publish all
the works on whose behalf their services are solicited, and we should not only
have a deluge of nonsense in the form both of poetry and prose, - such as the
world never dreamed of; but in a few years there would not remain one of the
existing [-224-] race of publishers; all of them would be involved in one
common ruin. The bitter experience of many a bibliopole will cause him to
respond to me when I say, that there are at present various writers who have
entailed a world of mischief on publishers by using the influence they possess
in consequence of their popularity, to force pure nonsense in the shape of
manuscript, from would -be authors, down their throats. They do it
thoughtlessly, to be sure; but the results are not on that account less
injurious to the bibliopoles. I would not have the sins in this respect on my
head, which some of our most celebrated writers have on theirs, for all the
laurels which adorn their brows. But publishers are not, in such cases, the only
parties injured: you commit, in most eases, an act of inhumanity towards the
would-be-authors themselves. You seduce them, as I mentioned in my last chapter,
from the occupations, whatever these may chance to be, by which they
earned their bread; for, once give persons of this description reason to believe
you think [-225-] them literary men, and there is no use of them afterwards.
Ordinary labour is below their notice: they will not stoop to it. They
must ever afterwards soar in the lofty regions of intellect; and nothing but the gravitating tendencies of poverty and neglect can bring them down
again to the level of the earth. Thousands of young men have been ruined for
ever in this way.
He who would do a humane and friendly turn to a poor person
applying for his influence to get his book published, will, except in
very extraordinary circumstances, advise him at once to give up all ideas of
literary distinction, and devote his attention to his calling in life, be that
calling what it may. If a shoemaker, urge him by all means to stick to
his last: if a tailor, -though I doubt if literary aspirations be compatible with
tailorifics-implore him to think of nothing but his goose; or, at all events,
let such persons be advised, as Sir Walter Scott always advised them, as
mentioned in my last chapter, when they applied in such circumstances [-226-] to
him, - to make literature only an amusement for their
leisure hours, never trusting to it for their daily bread.
Authors are often the mere creatures of circumstances. The
most purely accidental matters have frequently decided the fate of some of the
greatest literary geniuses which have ever appeared. History abounds with
instances of literary men dating their success to circumstances which in
themselves were of the most trifling and unimportant kind. I will not refer to
any of these; but I may mention one which was lately communicated to me by a
gentleman who was personally privy to it. All the extensive publishers have one
or more gentlemen- literary men they are technically called-to whom they submit
the manuscripts of such works as they themselves deem likely to command a
remunerating sale. Publishers generally form their own opinion as to the
attractiveness or otherwise of the subjects of the works offered them for
publication; but they have not time, even were they always disposed to trust to
their own judgment, [-227-] to
read the manuscript so carefully, as to form an opinion of the merit of the
literary execution. This, then, is the province of the gentlemen I have referred
to as being in the employment of all the respectable houses. In the instance to
which I refer, the publisher had two literary men in his employ for the purpose
of reading the manuscripts offered him for publication. Some years since, a
gentleman well known in the fashionable and military world, and who had in
addition the magical appendage of an M.P. to
his name, called on the bibliopole and begged to introduce to him a young
gentleman, his friend. After the usual civilities had been exchanged, the latter
stated the object of his visit was to see whether he and the bibliopole could come
to any arrangement regarding the publication of a work which be had almost
ready. Knowing that the young gentleman belonged to a respectable family
residing in St. James's Square, and hearing him warmly eulogised for his
literary taste by the gallant M.P. who introduced him, the bibliopole
undertook the publication of the [-228-] work, and to give 2001. to the author without even seeing the
manuscript. This was certainly an adventurous step on the part of the publisher,
where the work was the author's maiden production. The author being in want of
money, the bibliopole drew out a bill at once for the amount. In about a
fortnight afterwards, the manuscript was sent to the publisher and he handed it
over to one of his literary men, with a request that he would read it carefully
and state his opinion of it; but without mentioning that he had already bought
and paid for it. The gentleman called on the publisher some days afterwards,
when the latter asked him whether he had read the manuscript.
"1 have gone through the first volume, * (*The work was a fashionable novel in three
volumes.) said the
literary gentleman.
"And what do you think of it ?" said the
bibliopole, eagerly. "Favourably, I have no doubt.
"The greatest trash, without exception, I ever read,"
said the other.
[-229-] The vender of literature turned pale. He was quite
confounded, and a few minutes elapsed before he was able to utter a word.
"You don't mean to say it's so very bad," he at length stuttered out.
"It is, I assure you, the most consummate nonsense that
ever soiled paper," observed the literary man.
The bibliopole rubbed his hands in an agony of mortification.
"But perhaps, though deficient in literary merit, it may
display a knowledge of high life and consequently sell," he observed, after a
momentary silence.
"A knowledge of high life !" exclaimed the
other, making a wry face; "why, if we may judge from the style and
sentiments of the work, the author knows no more about high life than if his
occupation were to sweep the crossings. * (*In order that the judgment of these literary men may be
unbiassed, the publishers always conceal the name of the author of the
manuscript.)
The bibliopole thrust his hands into his small [-230-] clothes pockets, and made two or three hasty paces through
the apartment.
"But
you have not read the whole through: possibly if you finish the manuscript you may think
better of it," said the patron of literature, as he loves to be considered.
"Read the whole through !" exclaimed the
literary man, "why, I would not wade through the other two volumes for
fifty pounds. It is, you may depend upon it, the most unadulterated nonsense that ever emanated from the human mind.
The bibliopole looked at a heap of papers which lay on the
table, scratched his head, and then muttered out, "Well, bring me back the
manuscript, if you please."
The literary man quitted the place, and the poor publisher
was left to ruminate on the folly, as he now thought it, of buying a pig in a
poke. He vowed in his own mind that he would never afterwards purchase any work
of an unknown author, without first examining the manuscript. But what was to be
done touching [-231-] the 2001.? The loss of the money haunted him like a spectre.
While reproaching himself as the greatest fool in Christendom, his other
"literary man chanced to drop in. A thought struck the bibliopole.
"Good morning, Mr. Thompson."
"Good
morning, sir," responded the other.
"A gentleman has promised to send me the manuscript of a
fashionable novel Will you set to work and read it carefully through as soon as you
can, and let me know your opinion of it."
"Certainly, said Mr. Thompson.
"I expect it here every minute, said the vender of
literature. "I will send it to your house the moment it comes, as I am
quite impatient to know what you think of it.
"It shall have my immediate and best attention, remarked
Mr. Thompson.
The manuscript was forwarded to the latter, and carefully
examined. His opinion of it was the very reverse of that of the other
"literary man". He pronounced it the best work of fiction he had ever read,
and assured the bibliopole he had [-232-] been entranced by it, and that it would create a great
sensation among the higher classes, with whose habits the author manifested a
most intimate acquaintance.
The patron of literature was now thrown into a state of utter
perplexity. "Who shall decide when doctors differ ?" was a remark he
had often heard before, but the full force of which he had never until now
experienced in his own person. To lose his 2001. was an evil of no ordinary
magnitude; but it would have been a less evil than the loss of 5001. or
6001. by
printing and advertising a book which would not sell. If, therefore, both his
"literary men had concurred in condemning the work, he would have consented
to the loss of his 2001., on the principle of choosing the least of two evils.
Here, however, their opinions as to the merits of the book were the very
antipodes of each other. If the judgment of the first literary man were correct,
the loss incurred by the publication would be enormous; if that of the other
were sound, the bibliopole must make a little fortune by the [-233-] work. To what decision, then, was the perplexed publisher to
come? He waddled through the room, -knit his brow, and heaved two or three
broken sighs, as he thought of the dilemma in which he was placed. He had often
experienced the sorrows of a publisher before; but here were sorrows of a new
class, or, to use his own words, a "new series. He thought with himself
that if the unknown poet who begins his touching lines, "Pity the sorrows
of a poor old man!" had been alive at the time, and been aware of
his distressing perplexity, he would have made it- Pity the sorrows of a bibliopole!" While in this pitiable state, an acquaintance of mine who was in
the confidence of the publisher, chanced to call on him. "O, Mr. Thomas, I'm so glad you're come
!" he exclaimed
as the other entered his room.
"What's
the matter ?" said the latter.
"O these two rascals of
readers ! (another of his terms,) what a couple of vagabonds they are! he answered.
[-234-] "What have they done ?" inquired Mr.
Thomas.
"Why, the one pronounces a fashionable novel I have
given him to read to be the most arrant trash ever penned, and says the author
knows nothing of fashionable life; while the other represents the work as the
best he ever read, and says the writer displays a most intimate acquaintance
with the habits of the higher classes."
"Well, that is differing with a vengeance, certainly !"
said Mr. Thomas.
"It is, indeed, observed the literary merchant;
"and what am I to do between the two rogues ?"
"Stop a moment, said Mr. Thomas, putting his hand to his
head, and looking thoughtfully. "Stop a moment! I think I know how you may
decide at once as to whose judgment is to be relied on."
"By what means can I decide the point ?" said
the bibliopole eagerly, his little countenance brightening up as he spoke.
[-235-] "Of course you know the author ?" said Mr.
Thomas.
"O yes, certainly, replied the perplexed publisher.
"Then you must know whether he be a man accustomed to
move in the higher circles of society; and as the one literary man affirms that
he knows nothing of the manners of the upper classes, while the other says he
evinces a most intimate acquaintance with fashionable life, the fair presumption
is that the one who is right as to that point, is also right as to the literary
merits of the work."
"Bless me! I never thought of that," said the publisher,
overjoyed at the discovery of Mr. Thomas, and amazed at his own stupidity in not
having made it himself.
The literary man who pronounced the work to be one of
transcendent merit, having been the party who expressed his conviction that the
writer was in the habit of mixing with the upper classes of society, the
bibliopole, of course, at once determined on publication. The work ap-[-236-]peared; it made a great noise, and the author is now one of
the most popular writers of the day.
In this anecdote we have a remarkable proof of the position
for the illustration of which I have told it; the position, namely, that
circumstances, purely accidental, and of the most trifling nature in themselves,
are often decisive of the fate of authors. But for the accidental circumstance
of the writer having got the 2001. before the manuscript was read by the
bibliopole's literary man, the work would most certainly have been rejected; for
the publisher would never have dreamed in that case, of asking the opinion of
the second "reader. And as the bibliopole in question chanced to be at that
time the only publisher of fashionable novels, the probability is that it would
never have been published at all, and the author might therefore have abjured
literature entirely and for ever.
Another singularly striking illustration of the influence
which accidental circumstances of the most trivial nature, have on the fortunes
of [-237-] authors, occurred in the case of Sir Walter Scott. His
"Waverley having been represented as not likely to sell by a party
to whom it was submitted, it had lain five years in manuscript in a drawer,
quite forgotten by him; and it was not until he one day stumbled on it, while
looking for some fishing-tackle, that the idea of trying to get a publisher for
it occurred to him. But for the trifling circumstance of Sir Walter, then Mr.
Scott, having resolved on going out to fish on a certain day, the probability is
his name would never have been heard of as a novelist; he had never published a
page of that splendid series of works of fiction which has afforded so much
intellectual enjoyment to the world. That many other distinguished literary
geniuses have been lost to mankind through accidental circumstances preventing
their being fairly brought before the public, is a fact of which no doubt can be
entertained.
It is a curious reflection, but an undoubted truth,
that so different is the mental temperament of different individuals, that what
would for ever [-238-] crush one's aspirations as an author, is the very thing which
would call forth another's latent powers in all their force. Had some authors
been treated, on the appearance of their maiden production as Byron was by the
"Edinburgh Review, they would have shrunk from the very idea of any future
publication; whereas, the furious attack in question was the very thing which
called into full exercise the gigantic powers of that extraordinary genius. Had
the "Edinburgh Review allowed "The Hours of Idleness to pass
unnoticed, the probability was, the little work would have sunk into oblivion,
and Byron might never have made a second attempt at authorship.
There
are two or three houses in the publishing trade which, in their dealings with
authors, afford a remarkable illustration of Pope's celebrated couplet-
"
Tis from high life, high characters are drawn;
A saint
in crape, is twice a saint in lawn."
The houses to which I refer evince a marked predilection for the writings of noblemen and
[-239-] persons
of title. One of our Annuals, a few years since, prided itself on the
circumstance of almost all its articles being written by individuals of
rank,-just as if rank and talent were synonymous terms. The fortunes of the
Annual in question rectified this erroneous impression; and the houses to which
I refer have also learned from experience that a high status in society and a
high status in literature are very different things. One publisher was, some
years since, provokingly tantalised by a noble author, as well as doomed to be a
serious sufferer in purse by his confounding literary merit with exalted rank.
Lord Orton called one day on an enterprising bibliopole, and was shown into the
sanctum of the latter. "I have come, Mr. Monthly, to see if we can make any
arrangement about a book I mean to publish, said his lordship.
The
little countenance of the bibliopole brightened up at the very idea of
"having the honour to usher into the world, as he used afterwards to say in
his advertisements of the book, a work by a nobleman.
[-240-] "I shall be most happy to be your publisher, my lord,"
said the patron of literature.
"But you have not heard the subject yet, Mr.
Monthly," said the noble lord.
"No matter what subject, my lord," answered Mr. Monthly;
"anything
from your pen and with your name is sure to take."
"You flatter me," observed his lordship.
"Not at all, I assure your lordship," said Mr. Monthly,
making one of his own peculiar bows, and moving both his arms and both his feet
at the same time.
"The subject is the late war."
"My lord," exclaimed Mr. Monthly, almost leaping off his
feet in the ardour of his congratulations of the noble author at his choice of a
subject; "My lord, it is an excellent subject- there could not be a
better: it is the best in the world."
"But I expect a very large sum for the manuscript, Mr.
Monthly."
"My lord, I shall have the greatest pleasure, [-241-]
I assure your lordship, in giving you any reasonable sum,"
said the bibliopole.
"The work will be in two large octavo volumes, and I
expect 1,500l. for the copyright."
"Fifteen hundred pounds! my lord, exclaimed Mr. Monthly,
in a subdued tone, and with an altered expression of countenance, "Fifteen
hundred pounds! That is a large sum, my lord;" but, he continued, after a
moment's hesitation, "but you shall have it, as I doubt not the work, with
your lordship's name on the title- page, will have a large sale."
"Then I'll send my solicitor here to-morrow, to draw up
a written agreement," said his lordship.
"Very good, my lord, I shall be happy to see him."
"Good morning, Mr. Monthly," said his lordship, as he
quitted the sanctum.
"I wish your Lordship a very good morning," said the
bibliopole, making one of his lowest and best bows.
Next day his lordship's solicitor called on the [-242-] publisher and got the agreement duly ratified. Mr. Monthly having first
signed the paper, and then put his bills for the 1,500l into the legal
gentleman's hand, said, "Now, sir, perhaps you will favour me with his
lordship's manuscript, that we may go to press directly.
"The manuscript !" exclaimed the solicitor, with infinite
amazement. "The manuscript! why, did not his lordship tell you that he had
not yet put pen to paper ?"
Mr. Monthly turned as pale as the unsoiled margin of his own books, and with
difficulty resisted an undefinable tendency to fall back in the chair from
which he had just arisen to pay his respects to his lordship's man of business.
"I
understood," said the disappointed bibliopole, as soon as he was competent to the
utterance of a syllable, "I understood the manuscript was quite ready.
"That
is a slight mistake," said the man of law. "It is all, as yet, snug enough
in his lordship's head."
[-243-] "This is a very awkward affair, sir, said Mr. Monthly. "This is a
grievous disappointment to me, sir," he added.
"Well, the only thing that can be now done, I suppose, will be to spur
his lordship on as much as possible."
"But how long may he take to finish it? inquired the bibliopole.
"That I cannot say," answered the solicitor.
Mr. Monthly scratched his head, and lifted up and threw down again two or
three proof- sheets which lay on the table.
"I shall tell his Lordship you are very anxious about the manuscript,"
said the solicitor, taking up his hat in his hand.
"I beg- I beg you will, sir; very impatient about it, indeed, sir,"
remarked Mr. Monthly.
"Good morning," said the legal gentleman, as he quitted the place.
Mr. Monthly was so overcome with disappointment and mortification, that it
was with difficulty he muttered out a "good morning" in return.
[-244-] Next day a note was sent to Mr. Monthly from the embryo noble
author, requesting that he would send him all the works he had on the late war.
The note was delivered by a friend of the noble lord who, it was stated,
would wait for an answer.
"What! What! What's the meaning of this ?" said
the bjbliopole, his face colouring as he read the letter.
"His lordship wants all the works you have got on the
war," answered the bearer of the letter.
"I have not got a single volume on the subject. I never
published anything on the subject," said Mr. Monthly, in hurried, half-pronounced
accents.
"Well, then, you must get them from some one else," said
the other, with provoking coolness.
"What does his lordship mean to do with them ?" inquired
the confounded bibliopole, eagerly.
"Why to write his book, to be sure !" was
the reply.
I shall not attempt to describe "the confusion [-245-]
worse confounded" which followed. Mr. Monthly had expected the
volumes were to consist entirely of the author's own personal observations and
official documents.
However, the bargain was made and the money had been paid,
and he could not now help himself. It was a bad bargain, and as the proverb
says, he felt he "must now make the best of it". He had committed a greater
folly than that of buying a pig in a poke; he had bought the pig before it was
in a poke, or anywhere else- before it had an existence,-unless, indeed, it could
be said to have existed in the noble author's head.
Mr. Monthly accordingly collected all the books - he could
find on the subject of the war, and sent them up in a truck to the noble
author's residence in May Fair. The noble lord handed them over, with all the
official documents in his possession, together with some personal reminiscences,
to a literary friend, and desired him to write the book. It was six months,
however, before this was done; and several other [-246-] works having in the interim appeared on the subject, taken in
conjunction with the specific gravity, as a chemist would say, of the work
itself, it was such a decided failure that Mr. Monthly would have been a
considerable loser by it, even though, instead of giving 1,5001. for the
copyright, he had got it for nothing.
As still further illustrating the position with which I set
out, namely, the importance which one or two publishers attach to the author's
station in society, I may mention that, much about the same time as that at
which the above transaction with the noble lord took place, a person called on
the same publisher with a great quantity of manuscript, consisting of anecdotes
of the most celebrated wits of the latter part of the last and beginning of the
present century. The manuscript was carried in to the bibliopole, who was in his
sanctum, by a friend with whom he used to advise on such matters,-while the
author who had brought it stood in the front premises. Mr. Monthly glanced it
over, and saw at once that it was admirably adapted for a periodical [-247-] in whose destinies he was deeply interested. "What does
he ask for it ?" said the bibliopole to his friend.
"He has not named his price, but I have no doubt from
his appearance that he would be glad to take twenty pounds," was the answer.
"Oh, he is a poor fellow, is he ?" inquired
Mr. Monthly, eagerly, at the same time rising and taking a glance at the party
through a small loop-hole in the partition.
"He is evidently hard up," said the other.
"Oh, that poor fellow will be glad to take anything he
can get; try him with 2l." said the bibliopole, as he withdrew his eye from the
loophole.
Two pounds were offered the poor fellow. He stated it was a
great deal too little; but after hesitating for a moment or two, he said he must
take it.
Authors may learn an important lesson from this anecdote,
which is only one among many others of a similar kind I could tell. That lesson
is, the importance of having, if possible, a good [-248-] coat on their backs when about to negotiate with some
publisher for the sale of their literary works. I would advise authors, in such
circumstances, who may not happen to have a good coat of their own, not
certainly to steal one, but by all means to beg or borrow so useful an article
before making their appearance in the sanctum of a publisher.
Some of the leading publishers often act on a principle which
is injudicious for themselves and injurious to literature. I allude to the
practice which is common to several respectable houses, of accepting the
manuscript of an author, when they are perfectly convinced in their own minds
that there is no probability whatever of the work commanding a sale which will
do more than pay the expenses. In many such cases they, as might be expected,
over-estimate rather than under-estimate the sale of the work, and are
consequently losers to the extent to which the sale falls short of their
expectations. But even where their expectations are realised, and the work
barely pays the expenses, they are indi-[-249-]rectly losers by the speculation. Such works, however limited
their sale, withdraw in a greater or less degree the public attention from books
of real merit, and lessen the demand for them. The wisest course, therefore, for
publishers to pursue, even regarding the question as one of mere business only,
would be, never to undertake the publication of works for which they do not
anticipate such a sale as will yield themselves a fair remuneration. By this
means they would be enabled to pay more attention to those works of merit which
hold out the prospect of a liberal sale and reasonable profits; and thus, by
pushing the sale of such books, they would, in that proportion, be adding to
their own profits. It is true, that a publisher may form an exaggerated
estimate of the merits of a work, and of its consequent sale. To such cases my
observations do not apply; they apply only in those instances in which a house
undertakes the publication of a work,. with the full persuasion on their own
minds that it will barely pay its expenses. How [-250-] far literature suffers from this practice, I will not take
upon me to say.
There is another error into which I think some of the leading
publishing houses fall. It is an error which arises from a spirit of misdirected
rivalry, and entails suffering on all parties. My allusion is to the practice
which has been so common of late years among the leading houses, of bringing out
important works as nearly as they can about the same time. If one house sees a
rival establishment announce a work which promises to be popular, at a given
time, such house very often makes a point of either delaying or accelerating,
according to circumstances, some important work of which it may have undertaken
the publication,-so as that it may appear about the same time as the other. I
have often known three, sometimes four, interesting works brought out within a
few days of each other, solely from this spirit of rivalry. The consequence is,
that the public attention being distracted between [-251-] them, they all suffer to a greater or less extent;
whereas,
if an interval of a few weeks had taken place in the publication, the public
attention could have been exclusively given for a short time to each, and
thus greatly increased the sale of all. I say nothing of the extent to which
literature suffers from this injudicious rivalry among publishers; because that,
strictly speaking, is no matter for their consideration. I put the question
wholly on the broad ground of business. I may be told that the number of books
which are published in the course of a year is so great that two or three, from
rival houses, must necessarily appear more or less frequently at a time. In
answer to this, Let me remark, that my observations do not apply to books taken
in the mass; they have a reference only to works whose interest and popularity
are in some degree guaranteed by the name of the author; and these assuredly are
not so numerous that an interval of two or three weeks could not be suffered to
pass, by a little arrangement, between their respective publica-[-252-]tions. I would throw it out as a suggestion to publishers,
whether it would not be advisable, viewed merely as a matter affecting their own
pecuniary interests, to come to some understanding with each other on the
subject.
[nb. grey numbers in brackets indicate page number, (ie. where new page begins), ed.] |