Autobiography of Anthony Trollope - Anthony Trollope

interest, he also goes to work among the editors, or the editors'

wives,--or perhaps, if he cannot reach their wives, with their

wives' first or second cousins. When once the feeling has come upon

an editor or a critic that he may allow himself to be influenced

by other considerations than the duty h owes to the public, all

sense of critical or of editorial honesty falls from him at once.

Facilis descensus Averni. In a very short time that editorial

honesty becomes ridiculous to himself. It is for other purpose that

he wields the power; and when he is told what is his duty, and what

should be his conduct, the preacher of such doctrine seems to him

to be quixotic. "Where have you lived, my friend, for the last

twenty years," he says in spirit, if not in word, "that you come out

now with such stuff as old-fashioned as this?" And thus dishonesty

begets dishonesty, till dishonesty seems to be beautiful. How nice

to be good-natured! How glorious to assist struggling young authors,

especially if the young author be also a pretty woman! How gracious

to oblige a friend! Then the motive, though still pleasing, departs

further from the border of what is good. In what way can the critic

better repay the hospitality of his wealthy literary friend than

by good-natured criticism,--or more certainly ensure for himself

a continuation of hospitable favours?

Some years since a critic of the day, a gentleman well known then

in literary circles, showed me the manuscript of a book recently

published,--the work of a popular author. It was handsomely bound,

and was a valuable and desirable possession. It had just been given

to him by the author as an acknowledgment for a laudatory review in

one of the leading journals of the day. As I was expressly asked

whether I did not regard such a token as a sign of grace both

in the giver and in the receiver, I said that I thought it should

neither have been given nor have been taken. My theory was repudiated

with scorn, and I was told that I was strait-laced, visionary, and

impracticable! In all that the damage did not lie in the fact of

that one present, but in the feeling on the part of the critic that

his office was not debased by the acceptance of presents from those

whom he criticised. This man was a professional critic, bound by

his contract with certain employers to review such books as were

sent to him. How could he, when he had received a valuable present

for praising one book, censure another by the same author?

While I write this I well know that what I say, if it be ever

noticed at all, will be taken as a straining at gnats, as a pretence

of honesty, or at any rate as an exaggeration of scruples. I have

said the same thing before, and have been ridiculed for saying it.

But none the less am I sure that English literature generally is

suffering much under this evil. All those who are struggling for

success have forced upon them the idea that their strongest efforts

should be made in touting for praise. Those who are not familiar

with the lives of authors will hardly believe how low will be the

forms which their struggles will take:--how little presents will

be sent to men who write little articles; how much flattery may

be expended even on the keeper of a circulating library; with what

profuse and distant genuflexions approaches are made to the outside

railing of the temple which contains within it the great thunderer

of some metropolitan periodical publication! The evil here is not

only that done to the public when interested counsel is given to

them, but extends to the debasement of those who have at any rate

considered themselves fit to provide literature for the public.

I am satisfied that the remedy for this evil must lie in the conscience

and deportment of authors themselves. If once the feeling could be

produced that it is disgraceful for an author to ask for praise,--and

demands for praise are, I think, disgraceful in every walk of

life,--the practice would gradually fall into the hands only of

the lowest, and that which is done only by the lowest soon becomes

despicable even to them. The sin, when perpetuated with unflagging

labour, brings with it at best very poor reward. That work of running

after critics, editors, publishers, the keepers of circulating

libraries, and their clerks, is very hard, and must be very disagreeable.

He who does it must feel himself to be dishonoured,--or she. It

may perhaps help to sell an edition, but can never make an author

successful.

I think it may be laid down as a golden rule in literature that

there should be no intercourse at all between an author and his

critic. The critic, as critic, should not know his author, nor the

author, as author, his critic. As censure should beget no anger,

so should praise beget no gratitude. The young author should feel

that criticisms fall upon him as dew or hail from heaven,--which,

as coming from heaven, man accepts as fate. Praise let the author

try to obtain by wholesome effort; censure let him avoid, if

possible, by care and industry. But when they come, let him take

them as coming from some source which he cannot influence, and with

which be should not meddle.

I know no more disagreeable trouble into which an author may plunge

himself than of a quarrel with his critics, or any more useless

labour than that of answering them. It is wise to presume, at any

rate, that the reviewer has simply done his duty, and has spoken

of the book according to the dictates of his conscience. Nothing

can be gained by combating the reviewer's opinion. If the book

which he has disparaged be good, his judgment will be condemned by

the praise of others; if bad, his judgment will he confirmed by

others. Or if, unfortunately, the criticism of the day be in so evil

a condition generally that such ultimate truth cannot be expected,

the author may be sure that his efforts made on behalf of his own

book will not set matters right. If injustice be done him, let him

bear it. To do so is consonant with the dignity of the position

which he ought to assume. To shriek, and scream, and sputter,

to threaten actions, and to swear about the town that he has been

belied and defamed in that he has been accused of bad grammar or a

false metaphor, of a dull chapter, or even of a borrowed heroine,

will leave on the minds of the public nothing but a sense of

irritated impotence.

If, indeed, there should spring from an author's work any assertion

by a critic injurious to the author's honour, if the author be

accused of falsehood or of personal motives which are discreditable

to him, then, indeed, he may be bound to answer the charge. It is

hoped, however, that he may be able to do so with clean hands, or

he will so stir the mud in the pool as to come forth dirtier than

he went into it.

I have lived much among men by whom the English criticism of the day

has been vehemently abused. I have heard it said that to the public

it is a false guide, and that to authors it is never a trustworthy

Mentor. I do not concur in this wholesale censure. There is, of

course, criticism and criticism. There are at this moment one or

two periodicals to which both public and authors may safely look

for guidance, though there are many others from which no spark of

literary advantage may be obtained. But it is well that both public

and authors should know what is the advantage which they have a

right to expect. There have been critics,--and there probably will

be again, though the circumstances of English literature do not

tend to produce them,--with power sufficient to entitle them to

speak with authority. These great men have declared, tanquam ex

cathedra, that such a book has been so far good and so far bad, or

that it has been altogether good or altogether bad;--and the world

has believed them. When making such assertions they have given

their reasons, explained their causes, and have carried conviction.

Very great reputations have been achieved by such critics, but not

without infinite study and the labour of many years.

Such are not the critics of the day, of whom we are now speaking.

In the literary world as it lives at present some writer is selected

for the place of critic to a newspaper, generally some young

writer, who for so many shillings a column shall review whatever

book is sent to him and express an opinion,--reading the book through

for the purpose, if the amount of honorarium as measured with the

amount of labour will enable him to do so. A labourer must measure

his work by his pay or he cannot live. From criticism such as this

must far the most part be, the general reader has no right to expect

philosophical analysis, or literary judgment on which confidence

may be placed. But he probably may believe that the books praised

will be better than the books censured, and that those which are

praised by periodicals which never censure are better worth his

attention than those which are not noticed. And readers will also

find that by devoting an hour or two on Saturday to the criticisms

of the week, they will enable themselves to have an opinion about

the books of the day. The knowledge so acquired will not be great,

nor will that little be lasting; but it adds something to the

pleasure of life to be able to talk on subjects of which others are

speaking; and the man who has sedulously gone through the literary

notices in the Spectator and the Saturday may perhaps be justified

in thinking himself as well able to talk about the new book as

his friend who has bought that new book on the tapis, and who, not

improbably, obtained his information from the same source.

As an author, I have paid careful attention to the reviews which

have been written on my own work; and I think that now I well know

where I may look for a little instruction, where I may expect only

greasy adulation, where I shall be cut up into mince-meat for the

delight of those who love sharp invective, and where I shall find

an equal mixture of praise and censure so adjusted, without much

judgment, as to exhibit the impartiality of the newspaper and its

staff. Among it all there is much chaff, which I have learned bow

to throw to the winds, with equal disregard whether it praises or

blames;--but I have also found some corn, on which I have fed and

nourished myself, and for which I have been thankful.