A Battle of the Books, recorded by an unknown writer for the use of authors and publishers. Gail Hamilton

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       Gail Hamilton

      A Battle of the Books, recorded by an unknown writer for the use of authors and publishers

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066168025

Table of Contents

       I.

       II.

       III.

       IV.

       V.

       VI.

       VII.

       VIII.

       IX.

       X.

      A BATTLE OF THE BOOKS.

I.

       Table of Contents

      EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION.

      

THE papers comprising the following narrative, called “A Battle of the Books,” were found in my state-room after a violent storm, during a long and dangerous sea-voyage which I was once forced to undertake. They were much stained with salt-water, but were for the most part legible. The name of the author or compiler is not given; but I judge, somewhat from the chirography, chiefly from incontestable internal evidence, that the writer is a woman. As this evidence will unfold itself to the reader in the course of the narrative, I shall not dwell upon it; nor is it, indeed, a matter of importance, except as it bears upon the question of the participation in the government by both sexes. Viewed from that point, it shows with great force the inability of women to understand affairs, and the groundlessness of the present clamor for a change of status. It proves beyond question that all that women need do is to trust, and all that men care to do is to protect.

      The date given is of the last century, but of its accuracy I am not assured. The manuscript is soiled, and stained, and shabby enough; but the storm which brought it to my feet would account for that. There are references, allusions, and even names which point to a time far within the memory of men still living; but this is not conclusive, since I believe, according to the best scriptural exegesis, the name of a historical person in a book, as, for instance, that of Cyrus in Isaiah, does not determine the date, so much as the nature of the writing, simply changing it from history to prophecy. No one, in reading this story, will suspect it of scriptural inspiration; but may not the writer have been in that state which is sometimes called clairvoyant, and which is perhaps but a preternaturally acute condition of the intellectual perceptions, wherein the logic of events is so plainly seen that the future is as clear and certain as the past, and that which is to happen seems as much a matter of fact as that which has happened? If the human mind can calculate an eclipse of the sun, with entire accuracy, three thousand years beforehand, why should it be thought a thing incredible that the human heart should be able to calculate some of the incidents of an eclipse of faith a hundred years in advance?

       But as upon the question of authorship, so upon that of chronology, I conceive the strongest evidence to be internal. The state of society described in this narrative is surely no nearer than a hundred years. It chronicles an age of barbarism, when author and publisher were natural enemies, and relieved the monotony of their lives by petty skirmishing or pitched battles with each other. This age, happily for us, has passed away, and exists only in tradition. Whether from the universal softening of manners which accompanies the introduction of Christianity, and in which both publishers and authors may be supposed to have shared, or from that equally universal brightening and quickening of the intellect which attended the Renaissance, and which may have enabled even publishers to see how he that watereth shall be watered also himself—certain it is that these times of turbulence are gone, and we have peace. No longer does the wily publisher lie in wait, seeking what chance he may have to devour his author. Rather he woos him to receive his dues, wins open with gentle urgency the hand no longer grasping, but modest and reluctant, and presses into it the crisp, abundant bills. No longer do authors shamelessly drink toasts to the despotic emperor to whose thousand crimes is linked the one virtue of having hanged a bookseller. On the contrary, they raise their harps and join voices to sing their benefactor's praise. Who has not seen in all the newspapers the affecting tale of the great house of Fields, Osgood, & Co.—nomen clarum et venerabile—on whom has fallen the mantle of Ticknor & Fields?

      “Fame spread her wings, and with her trumpet blew”

      the story of their having offered payment to an author, which he declined to receive because he had once had money for the writing. “But,” replied the firm, “we intend to use the article for a book. We make a profit on both. Why should you hesitate to take pay?” “I am sure I ought not to take it,” said the author; “I should not if I acted according to my ideal. I don't believe it is honest to take money twice for the same piece of work.” “But do,” replied the publisher; “we insist upon it as our right;” and insist he did, till the author coyly yielded. History is silent from this point, but the imagination fondly stoops to trace the scene. Undoubtedly this prince of publishers, like Mr. Pecksniff when blessing Martin Chuzzlewit for hating him, “waved his right hand with much solemnity. … There was emotion in his manner, but his step was firm. Subject to human weaknesses, he was upheld by conscience.”

      Hear also what the “Atlantic Monthly” says: “There are no business men more honorable or more generous than the publishers of the United States, and especially honorable and considerate towards authors. The relation usually existing between author and publisher in the United States is that of a warm and lasting friendship—such as … now animates and dignifies the intercourse between the literary men of New England and Messrs. Ticknor & Fields. … The relation, too, is one of a singular mutual trustfulness. The author receives his semi-annual account from the publisher with as absolute a faith in its correctness as though he had himself counted the volumes sold. … We have heard of instances in which a publisher had serious cause of complaint against an author, but never have we known an author to be intentionally wronged by a publisher. … How common, too, it is in the trade for a publisher to go beyond the letter of his bond, and after publishing five books without profit, to give the author of the successful sixth more than the stipulated price.”

      Time and scissors would fail me to cull from the journals all the ingenious and touching paragraphs which show how the eminent publishers referred to do good by stealth and blush to find it fame.

      Doubtless similar illustrations might also be drawn in great numbers from other sources, were ordinary publishers in the courtly habit of keeping a historian to record their royal deeds. But enough has been said to show that the publishers of to-day have become evangelized, and