CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
A man must serve his time to every trade, Save censure.--Critics all are ready made. Take hackneyed jokes from Miller, got by rote, With just enough of learning to misquote; A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault, A turn for punning--call it Attic salt: Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a lucky hit, Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit, Care not for feeling,--pass your proper jest, And stand a critic! hated, yet caress'd. BYRON.
The survey was continued. One morning, after a fatiguing walk frompoint to point, occasionally crossing from one islet to the others inthe boats, the party collected under a projecting rock, which screenedthem from the rays of the vertical sun, and the repast, which had beenbrought from the ship in the morning, was spread before them. The partyconsisted of Captain M---; Pearce, the master; the surgeon, who hadaccompanied them to explore the natural productions of the reef; and theconfidential clerk of Captain M---, a man of the name of Collier, whohad been many years in his service, and who was now employed in notingdown the angles taken with the theodolite.
Tired with the labours of the morning, Captain M--- did not riseimmediately after their meal had been despatched, but entered intoconversation with the surgeon, who was looking over the memoranda whichhe had made relative to the natural history of the reef.
"Do you intend to write a book, Mr Macallan, that you have collected somany remarks?"
"Indeed I do not, sir. I have no ambition to be an author."
The clerk, who was very taciturn in general, and seldom spoke unless onpoints connected with his duty, joined the conversation by addressingthe surgeon.
"It's a service of danger, sir, and you must be prepared to meet theattacks both of authors and reviewers."
"Of reviewers I can imagine," replied Macallan; "but why of authors?"
"That depends very much whether you tread over beaten ground, or strikeinto a new path. In the latter case you will be pretty safe from both,as the authors will be _indifferent_ and the reviewers, in allprobability, _incapable_."
"And why, if I enter upon a beaten track, which, I presume, infers astyle of writing in which others have preceded me?"
"Because, sir, when a new author makes his appearance, he is much in thesame situation as a strange dog entering a kennel preoccupied by manyothers. He is immediately attacked and worried by the rest, until,either by boldly defending himself or pertinaciously refusing to quit,he eventually obtains a domiciliation, and becomes an acknowledgedmember of the fraternity."
"Why, Mr Collier," observed the captain, "you seem to be quite _aufait_ as to literary arrangements."
"I ought to be, sir," replied the clerk, "for in the course of my life Ihave attempted to become an author, and practised as a reviewer."
"Indeed! And did you fail in your attempt at authorship?"
"My work was never printed, sir, for no bookseller would undertake topublish it. I tried the whole town; no man would give himself thetrouble to look over the MS. It was said that the public taste was notthat way, and that it would not do. At last I received a letter ofintroduction from an old acquaintance to his uncle, who was a literarycharacter. He certainly did read some parts of my performance."
"And what then?"
"Why, sir, he shook his head--told me with a sneer that, as an author, Ishould never succeed; but he added, with a sort of encouraging smile,that, from some parts of the MS which he had perused, he thought that hecould find employment for me in the reviewing line, if I chose toundertake it."
"My pride was hurt, and I answered that I could not agree with him, as Iconsidered that it required the ability to write a book yourself toenable you to decide upon the merits of others."
"Well, I must say that I agree with you," replied the captain. "Proceedin your story, for I am interested."
"My friend answered,--`By no means, my dear sir; a _damned bad author_generally makes a _very good reviewer_. Indeed, sir, to be candid withyou, I never allow any gentleman to review for me, unless he has metwith a misfortune similar to yours. It is one of the necessaryqualifications of a good reviewer that he should have failed as anauthor; for without the exacerbated feelings arising fromdisappointment, he would not possess gall sufficient for his task, andhis conscience would stand in his way when he was writing against it, ifhe were not spurred on by the keen probes of envy.'"
"And he convinced you?"
"My poverty did, sir, if he did not. I worked many months for him; butI had better have earned my bread as a common labourer."
"Reviews ought to pay well, too," observed Macallan; "they areperiodicals in great demand."
"They are so," replied Captain M---; "and the reasons are obvious. Fewpeople take the trouble to think for themselves; but, on the contrary,are very glad to find others who will think for them. Some cannot findtime to read--others will not find it. A review removes all thesedifficulties--gives the busy world an insight into what is going on inthe literary world--and enables the lounger not to appear whollyignorant of a work, the merits of which may happen to be discussed. Butwhat is the consequence? That seven-eighths of the town are led by thenose by this or that periodical work, having wholly lost sight of thefact, that reviews are far from being gospel. Indeed, I do not know anyset of men so likely to err as reviewers. In the first place, there isno class of people so irascible, so full of party feeling, so disgracedby envy, as authors; hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness seem topreside over science. Their political opinions step in, and increasethe undue preponderance; and, to crown all, they are more influenced bymoney, being proverbially more in want of it than others. How, then, isit to be expected that reviews can be impartial? I seldom read themmyself as I consider that it is better to know nothing than to bemisled."
"And, if it is a fair question, Mr Collier," continued Captain M---,"in what manner were you employed?"
"I am almost ashamed to tell you, sir--I was a mere automaton, amachine, in the hands of others. A new publication was sent to me, witha private mark from my employer, directing the quantum of praise orcensure which it was to incur. If the former were allotted to it, thebest passages were selected; if condemned to the latter, all the worst.The connecting parts of the review were made up from a commonplace book,in which, by turning to any subject, you found the general heads andextracts from the works of others, which you were directed to alter, soas to retain the ideas, but disguise the style, that it might appearoriginal."
"Are you aware of the grounds of praise or abuse?--for it appears thatthose who directed the censure did not read the publications?"
"The grounds were various. Books printed by a bookseller, to whom mymaster had a dislike, were sure to be run down; on the contrary, thosepublished by his connections or friends were as much applauded.Moreover, the influence of authors, who were afraid of a successfulrival in their own line often damned a work."
"But you do not mean to say that all reviews are conducted with suchwant of principle?"
"By no means. There are many very impartial and clever critiques. Themisfortune is, that unless you read the work that is reviewed, youcannot distinguish one from the other."
"And pray what induced you to abandon this creditable employment?"
"A quarrel, sir. I had reviewed a work, with the private mark ofapproval, when it was found out to be a mistake, and I was desired toreview it with censure. I expected to be paid for the second review aswell as for the first. My employer thought proper to consider it all asone job, and refused--so we parted."
"Pretty tricks in trade, indeed!" replied Captain M---. "Why, MrCollier, you appear to have belonged to a gang of literary bravos, whosepens, like stilettoes, were always ready to stab, in the dark, theunfortunate individuals who might be pointed out to them by interest orrevenge."
"I acknowledge the justice of your remark, sir; all that I can offer inmy defence is, the excuse of the libeller to Cardinal Richelieu--`_Ilfaut vivre, monsieur_.'"
"And I answer you, w
ith the Cardinal--`_Je ne vois pas la necessite_,'"replied Captain M---, with a smile, as he rose to resume his labours.