transcend them, shall have the
income, say, of a rising young
physician, known to a few people in a
subordinate city.
In view of this fact, so humiliating to an author in the presence
of a nation of business men like ours, I do not know that I can
establish the man of letters in the popular
esteem as very much
of a business man after all. He must still have a low rank among
practical people; and he will be regarded by the great mass of
Americans as perhaps a little off, a little funny, a little soft!
Perhaps not; and yet I would rather not have a consensus of
public opinion on the question; I think I am more comfortable
without it.
IV.
There is this to be said in defence of men of letters on the
business side, that
literature is still an
infant industry with
us, and so far from having been protected by our laws it was
exposed for ninety years after the
foundation of the
republic to
the
viciouscompetition of
stolen goods. It is true that we now
have the
internationalcopyright law at last, and we can at least
begin to forget our shame; but
literary property has only
forty-two years of life under our
unjust statutes, and if it is
attacked by robbers the law does not seek out the aggressors and
punish them, as it would seek out and
punish the trespassers upon
any other kind of property; but it leaves the aggrieved owner to
bring suit against them, and recover damages, if he can. This
may be right enough in itself; but I think, then, that all
property should be defended by civil suit, and should become
public after forty-two years of private tenure. The Constitution
guarantees us all
equality before the law, but the law-makers
seem to have forgotten this in the case of our
infantliteraryindustry. So long as this remains the case, we cannot expect the
best business
talent to go into
literature, and the man of
letters must keep his present low grade among business men.
As I have hinted, it is but a little while that he has had any
standing at all. I may say that it is only since the was that
literature has become a business with us. Before that time we
had authors, and very good ones; it is
astonishing how good they
were; but I do not remember any of them who lived by
literatureexcept Edgar A. Poe, perhaps; and we all know how he lived; it
was largely upon loans. They were either men of fortune, or they
were editors, or professors, with salaries or
incomes apart from
the small gains of their pens; or they were helped out with
public offices; one need not go over their names, or classify
them. Some of them must have made money by their books, but I
question whether any one could have lived, even very simply, upon
the money his books brought him. No one could do that now,
unless he wrote a book that we could not recognize as a work of
literature. But many authors live now, and live prettily enough,
by the sale of the serial
publication of their
writings to the
magazines. They do not live so
nicely as successful
tradespeople, of course, or as men in the other professions when
they begin to make themselves names; the high state of brokers,
bankers, railroad operators, and the like is, in the nature of
the case, beyond their fondest dreams of pecuniary affluence and
social
splendor. Perhaps they do not want the chief seats in the
synagogue; it is certain they do not get them. Still, they do
very fairly well, as things go; and several have
incomes that
would seem
riches to the great mass of
worthy Americans who work
with their hands for a living--when they can get the work. Their
incomes are
mainly from serial
publication in the different
magazines; and the
prosperity of the magazines has given a whole
class
existence which, as a class, was
wholly unknown among us
before the war. It is not only the famous or fully recognized
authors who live in this way, but the much larger number of
clever people who are as yet known
chiefly to the editors, and