Recollections of a Varied Life Part 26

LIV

During my service on the _Evening Post_, I made a curious blunder which circ.u.mstances rendered it necessary for others to exploit. The thing grievously annoyed me at the time, but later it only amused me as an ill.u.s.tration of a psychological principle.

Mr. Richard Grant White, writing in some newspaper or magazine in opposition to the proposed adoption of the metric system of weights and measures, had made an amusing blunder. He wrote that the old system was so fixed in men's minds as to admit of no possible mistake. He added something like this:

"n.o.body has any difficulty in remembering that two gills make one pint, two pints one quart, four quarts one gallon, etc."

I cannot pretend to quote his utterance exactly, but that is the substance of it, the marrow of the matter being that in the very act of showing that n.o.body could have the least trouble in remembering the table of liquid measure, he himself got it wrong.

[Sidenote: A Case of Heterophemy]

The derisive comments of all the newspapers upon his blunder may be easily imagined. For reply he invented a word of Greek derivation, "heterophemy." He contended that it was a common thing for one to speak or write one thing when quite another thing was in his mind, and when the speaker or writer perfectly knew the thing he sought to say. He explained that when the mind has once slipped into an error of that kind it is usually unable, or at least unlikely, to detect it in the revision of proofs, or in any other survey of the utterance. His exposition was very learned, very ingenious, and very interesting, but it had no effect in silencing the newspaper wags, who at once adopted his newly-coined word, "heterophemy," and made it the b.u.t.t of many jests.

About that time Mr. Alexander H. Stephens published in one of the more dignified periodicals of the time--the _North American Review_, perhaps--a very learned essay in which he sought to fix the authors.h.i.+p of the letters of Junius upon Sir Philip Francis. Mr. Stephens brought to the discussion a ripe scholars.h.i.+p and a deal of fresh and original thought that gave importance to his paper, and I reviewed it in the _Evening Post_ as carefully and as fully as if it had been a book.

I was deeply concerned to have my review of so important a paper in all respects the best I could make it, and to that end I read my proofs twice, with minute attention, as I thought, to every detail.

The next day, if I remember correctly, was Sunday. At any rate, it was a day on which I remained at home. When I opened my morning newspapers, the first thing that attracted my attention was a letter in one of them from Richard Grant White, of which my article was the subject. Here, he said, was a conspicuous and unmistakable example of heterophemy, which could not be attributed to ignorance or inattention or anything else, except precisely that tendency of the human mind which he had set forth as the source of mistakes otherwise unaccountable. He went on to say that mine was an article founded upon adequate scholars.h.i.+p and evidently written with unusual care; that its writer obviously knew his subject and had written of it with the utmost attention to accuracy of statement in every detail; that he had evidently read his proofs carefully as not a slip appeared in the printed copy of the article, not even so much as a typographical error; and yet that in two or three instances this careful critic had written "Sir Philip Sidney" instead of "Sir Philip Francis." He pointed out that these slips could not have been due to any possible confusion in my mind of two Sir Philips who lived two hundred years apart, chronologically, and whose careers were as wholly unlike as it was possible to conceive; for, he pointed out, my article itself bore ample witness to my familiarity with Sir Philip Francis's history.

Here, Mr. White insisted, was the clearest possible case of heterophemy, untainted by even a possible suspicion of ignorance or confusion of mind.

Further, he urged, the case ill.u.s.trated and confirmed his contention that, having written a word or name or phrase not intended, the writer is extremely unlikely to discover the slip even in the most careful reading of proofs. For in this case every appearance indicated a careful proofreading on the part of the author of the article.

When I read Mr. White's letter I simply could not believe that I had made the slips he attributed to me. Certainly there was no confusion in my mind of Sir Philip Francis with Sir Philip Sidney. I was familiar with the very different histories of the two altogether dissimilar men, and it seemed inconceivable to me that I had written the name of the one for that of the other even once in an article in which the right name was written perhaps a dozen times.

[Sidenote: Richard Grant White's Triumph]

It was a troubled and unhappy "day off" for me. I had no copy of the _Evening Post_ of the preceding day in the house, and a diligent inquiry at all the news-stands in the remote quarter of Brooklyn in which I then lived, failed to discover one. But as I thought of the matter in troubled fas.h.i.+on, I became more and more convinced that Mr. White had misread what I had written, in which case I antic.i.p.ated a good deal of fun in exposing and exploiting his error. As the day waned I became positively certain in my mind that no such mistake had been made, that no mention of Sir Philip Sidney could by any possibility have crept into my article concerning Sir Philip Francis.

But when I arrived at the office of the _Evening Post_ next morning, I found the facts to be as Mr. White had represented them. I had written "Sir Philip Francis" throughout the article, except in two or three places, where the name appeared as "Sir Philip Sidney." I was so incredulous of the blunder that I went to the composing room and secured my ma.n.u.script. The error was there in the written copy. I asked the chief proofreader why he had not observed and queried it in view of the fact that my use of the name had been correct in most instances, but he was unable to offer any explanation except that his mind had accepted the one name for the other. The foreman of the composing room, a man of education and large literary knowledge, had read the proofs merely as a matter of interest, but he had not observed the error. I had no choice but to accept Mr. Richard Grant White's interpretation of the matter and call it a case of heterophemy.

There are blunders made that are not so easily accounted for. A leading New York newspaper once complained of Mr. Cleveland's veto messages as tiresome and impertinent, and asked why he persisted in setting forth his reasons for disapproving acts of Congress, instead of sending them back disapproved without reasons.

The _Evening Post_ found it necessary to direct the newspaper's attention to the fact that the Const.i.tution of the United States expressly requires the President, in vetoing a measure, to set forth his reasons for doing so. In a like forgetfulness of Const.i.tutional provisions for safeguarding the citizen, the same newspaper complained of the police, when Tweed escaped and went into hiding, for not searching every house in New York till the malefactor should be found.

It was Parke G.o.dwin who cited the Const.i.tution in answer to that manifestation of ignorance, and he did it with the strong hand of a master to whom forgetfulness of the fundamental law seemed not only inexcusable, on the part of a newspaper writer, but dangerous to liberty as well.

Perhaps the worst case I ever knew of ignorance a.s.suming the critical functions of expert knowledge, was one which occurred some years later.

William Hamilton Gibson published a superbly ill.u.s.trated work, which won commendation everywhere for the exquisite perfection of the drawings, both in gross and in minute detail. A certain art critic who had made a good deal of noise in the world by his a.s.saults upon the integrity of art treasures in the Metropolitan Museum, a.s.sailed Gibson's work in print. Finding nothing in the ill.u.s.trations that he could criticise, he accused Gibson of sailing under false colors and claiming credit for results that were not of his creation. He said that nearly everything of value in the ill.u.s.trations of Gibson's book was the work not of the artist but of the engraver who, he declared, had "added increment after increment of value" to the crude original drawings.

[Sidenote: The Demolition of a Critic]

In a brief letter to the newspaper which had printed this destructive criticism without its writer's name appended to it, Mr. Gibson had only to direct attention to the fact that the pictures in question were not engravings at all, but slavish photographic reproductions of his original drawings, and that no engraver had had anything whatever to do with them.

The criticism to which so conclusive a reply was possible was anonymous, and its author never acknowledged or in any way sought to atone for the wanton wrong he had sought to inflict under cover of anonymity. But his agency in the matter was known to persons "on the inside" of literature, art, and journalism, and the shame of his deed rankled in the minds of honest men. He wrote little if anything after that, and the reputation he had made faded out of men's memory.

LV

When Mr. Bryant died, Mr. Parke G.o.dwin a.s.sumed editorial control of the _Evening Post_, and his attention promptly wrought something like a miracle in the increased vigor and aggressiveness of its editorial conduct. Mr. G.o.dwin was well advanced in middle life at that time; he was comfortably provided with this world's goods, and he was not anxious to take up again the strenuous journalistic work in which he had already achieved all there was to achieve of reputation. But in his own interest and in the interest of Mr. Bryant's heirs, it seemed necessary for him to step into this breach. Moreover, he had abated none of his interest in public affairs or in those things that make for culture, enlightenment, and human betterment. He had never ceased to write for the _Evening Post_ upon matters of such kind when occasion called for strong, virile utterance.

In his declining years Mr. Bryant had not lost interest in these things, but he had abated somewhat his activity with reference to them. He had more and more left the conduct of the newspaper to his subordinates, trusting to what he used to call his "volunteer staff"--Parke G.o.dwin, John Bigelow, Samuel J. Tilden, and other strong men, to furnish voluntarily all that was needed of strenuosity in the discussion of matters closely concerning the public weal. I do not know that Mr.

Tilden was ever known to the public even as an occasional writer for the _Evening Post_. He was a man of singularly secretive temperament, and when he wrote anything for the _Evening Post_ its anonymity was guarded with a jealousy such as I have never known any other person to exercise.

What he wrote--on the infrequent occasions of his writing at all--was given to Mr. Bryant and by him handed in with instructions for its publication and without a hint to anybody concerning its authors.h.i.+p.

It was only by accident that I learned whence certain articles came, and I think that knowledge was not usually shared with any other member of Mr. Bryant's staff.

Mr. G.o.dwin pursued a different course. These occasional contributions did not satisfy his ideas of what the _Evening Post_ should be in its editorial utterances. He set to work to stimulate a greater aggressiveness on the part of the staff writers, and he himself brought a strong hand to bear upon the work.

[Sidenote: "A Lion in a Den of Daniels"]

When Mr. G.o.dwin died, a few years ago, Dr. t.i.tus Munson Coan, in an obituary sketch read before the Authors Club, said with reference to this part of his career that in the _Evening Post_ office "he was a lion in a den of Daniels," and the figure of speech was altogether apt.

He had gifts of an uncommon sort. He knew how to say strong things in a strong way. He could wield the rapier of subtle sarcasm, and the bludgeon of denunciation with an equally skilled hand. Sometimes he brought even a trip-hammer into play with startling effect.

I remember one conspicuous case of the kind. Sara Bernhardt was playing one of her earliest and most brilliant engagements in New York. Mr.

G.o.dwin's alert interest in every form of high art led him not only to employ critics of specially expert quality to write of her work, but himself now and then to write something of more than ordinary appreciation of the great Frenchwoman's genius as ill.u.s.trated in her performance.

Presently a certain clergyman of the "sensational" school, who had denounced the theater as "the door of h.e.l.l and the open gateway of d.a.m.nation," sent to the _Evening Post_ an intemperate protest against the large s.p.a.ce it was giving to Sara Bernhardt and her art. The letter was ent.i.tled "Quite Enough of Sara Bernhardt," and in the course of it the writer declared the great actress to be a woman of immoral character and dissolute life, whom it was a shame, a disgrace, and a public calamity for the _Evening Post_ even to name in its columns.

Mr. G.o.dwin wrote an answer to the tirade. He ent.i.tled it "Quite Enough of X"--the "X" standing here for the clergyman's name, which he used in full. It was one of the most effective bits of criticism and destructive a.n.a.lysis I ever saw in print, and it left the critic of Sara Bernhardt with not a leg to stand upon, and with no possibility of reply. Mr.

G.o.dwin pointed out that Sara Bernhardt had asked American attention, not as a woman, but solely as an artist; that it was of her art alone, and not of her personality that the _Evening Post_ had written; that she had neither asked admission to American society nor accepted it when pressed upon her; and that her personal character and mode of life had no more to do with the duty of considering her art than had the sins of any old master when one viewed his paintings and sought to interpret the genius that inspired them.

So far Mr. G.o.dwin was argumentative and placative. But he had other arrows in his quiver. He challenged the clergyman to say how he knew that the actress was a person of immoral character and dissolute life, and to explain what right he had to make charges of that kind against a woman without the smallest evidence of their truth. And so on to the end of a chapter that must have been very bitter reading to the offender if he had been a person of normal sensitiveness, as he was not.

I have cited this occurrence merely by way of explaining the fact that Mr. G.o.dwin had many critics and many enemies. A man of sincere mind and aggressive temper upon proper occasion, and especially one possessed of his gift of vigorous expression, must needs make enemies in plenty, if he edits a newspaper or otherwise writes for publication. But on the other hand, those who knew him best were all and always his devoted friends--those who knew his st.u.r.dy character, his unflinching honesty of mind, and his sincere devotion to the right as he saw it.

My acquaintance with him, before his a.s.sumption of control on the _Evening Post_, was comparatively slight, and in all that I here write of his character and mind, I am drawing upon my recollection of him during a later intimacy which, beginning on the _Evening Post_, was drawn closer during my service on another newspaper, and endured until his death.

After a brief period of editors.h.i.+p Mr. G.o.dwin sold a controlling interest in the _Evening Post_ to a company of men represented by Messrs. Horace White, E. L. G.o.dkin, and Carl Schurz--Mr. Schurz becoming the t.i.tular editor for a time. When Mr. G.o.dwin learned, after the sale was agreed upon, that Mr. G.o.dkin was one of the incoming group, he sought to buy Mr. G.o.dkin's weekly newspaper, _The Nation_, and as the negotiation seemed for a time to promise well, he arranged to make me editor of that periodical. This opened to me a prospect of congenial work, more agreeable to me than any that a daily newspaper could offer.

But in the end Mr. G.o.dkin declined to sell the _Nation_ at any price that Mr. G.o.dwin thought fair, and made it instead the weekly edition of the _Evening Post_.

[Sidenote: The Literary Shop Again]

Accordingly, I again quitted the newspaper life, fully intending to enter it no more. Literary work of many kinds was open to me, and it was my purpose to devote myself exclusively to it, maintaining a literary workshop in my own home. I became an adviser of the Harper publis.h.i.+ng house, with no office attendance required of me, no working time fixed, and no interference of any kind with my entire liberty. I was writing now and then for the editorial pages of the great newspapers, regularly for a number of magazines, and occasionally writing a book, though that was infrequent for the reason that in the absence of international copyright, there was no encouragement to American authors to write books in compet.i.tion with reprints that cost their publishers nothing.

In mentioning this matter of so-called "piracy," I do not mean to accuse the reputable American publishers of English books of any wrong, for they were guilty of none. They were victims of the lack of law as truly as the authors on either side were. They were as eager as the authors--English or American--could be, for an international copyright law. For lack of it their profits were cut short and their business enterprises set awry. The reputable publis.h.i.+ng houses in this country actually purchased the American publis.h.i.+ng rights of many English books with no other protection of what they had purchased than such as was afforded by the "courtesy of the trade"--a certain gentlemen's agreement under which no reputable American publisher would reprint a book of which another publisher had bought the advance sheets. This protection was uncertain, meager, and often ineffective for the reason that there were disreputable publishers in plenty who paid no heed to the "courtesy of the trade" but reprinted whatsoever they thought would sell.

In the case of such works as those of Herbert Spencer and some others, I believe I am correctly informed that the American publishers paid larger royalties to the authors--larger in gross amount, at least--than those authors received from their English publishers. In the same way American publishers of the better cla.s.s paid liberally for advance sheets of the best foreign fiction, often at heavy loss to themselves because the books they had bought were promptly reprinted in very cheap form by their less scrupulous compet.i.tors. In the case of fiction of a less distinguished kind, of which no advance sheets were offered, they had no choice but to make cheap reprints on their own account.

It is proper to say also that if this was "piracy," the American publishers were by no means the worst pirates or the most conspicuous ones, though the complaints made were chiefly of English origin and were all directed against the Americans.

[Sidenote: Piracy--British and American]

I shall never forget the way in which my brother, Edward Eggleston --himself an active worker for international copyright--met the complaints of one English critic who was more lavish and less discriminative in his criticism in a company of Americans than Edward thought good manners justified. The critic was the son of an English poet, whose father's chief work had won considerable popularity in America. The young man was a guest at one of the receptions of the Authors Club, every member of which was directly or indirectly a sufferer by reason of the lack of international copyright. He seized upon the occasion for the delivery of a tirade against the American dishonesty which, he said, threatened to cut short his travel year by depriving his father of the money justly due him as royalty on the American reprints of his books.

My brother listened in silence for a time. Then that pinch of gunpowder that lies somewhere in every human make-up "went off."

"The American publishers of your father's poem," he said, "have paid him all they could afford to pay in the present state of the law, I believe?"