Books Fatal to Their Authors Part 7

Another son of Robert Stephens, named Henry, was one of those scholars who have ruined themselves by their love of literature, devoting their lives and their fortunes to the production of volumes on some special branch of study in which only a few learned readers are interested.

Hence, while they earn the grat.i.tude of scholars and enrich the world of literature by their knowledge, the sale of their books is limited, and they fail to enrich themselves. The _Thesaurus Linguae Graecae_ cost poor Henry Stephens ten years of labour and nearly all his fortune. This is a very valuable work, and has proved of immense service to subsequent generations of scholars. A second edition was published in London in 1815 in seven folio volumes, and recently another edition has appeared in Paris.

One of his works aroused the indignation of the Parisian authorities. It was ent.i.tled _Introduction au Traite des Merveilles anciennes avec les modernes, ou Traite preparatif a l'Apologie pour Herodote, par Henri Estienne_ (1566, in-8). This work was supposed to contain insidious attacks upon the monks and priests and Roman Catholic faith, comparing the fables of Herodotus with the teaching of Catholicism, and holding up the latter to ridicule. At any rate, the book was condemned and its author burnt in effigy. M. Peignot a.s.serts in his _Dictionnaire Critique, Litteraire, et Bibliographique_ that it was this Henry Stephens who uttered the _bon mot_ with regard to his never feeling so cold as when his effigy was being burnt and he himself was in the snowy mountains of the Auvergne. Other authorities attribute the saying to his father, as we have already narrated.

n.o.ble martyrs Literature has had, men who have sacrificed ease, comfort, and every earthly advantage for her sake, and who have shared with Henry Stephens the direst straits of poverty brought about by the ardour of their love. Such an one was a learned divine, Simon Ockley, Vicar of Swavesey in 1705, and Professor of Arabic at Cambridge in 1711, who devoted his life to Asiatic researches. This study did not prove remunerative; having been seized for debt, he was confined in Cambridge Castle, and there finished his great work, _The History of the Saracens_. His martyrdom was lifelong, as he died in dest.i.tution, having always (to use his own words) given the possession of wisdom the preference to that of riches. Floyer Sydenham, who died in a debtors'

prison in 1788, and incurred his hard fate through devoting his life to a translation of the _Dialogues_ of Plato, was another martyr; from whose ashes arose the Royal Literary Fund, which has prevented many struggling authors from sharing his fate. Seventeen long years of labour, besides a handsome fortune, did Edmund Castell spend on his _Lexicon Heptaglotton_; but a thankless and ungrateful public refused to relieve him of the copies of this learned work, which ruined his health while it dissipated his fortune. These are only a few names which might be mentioned out of the many. What a n.o.ble army of martyrs Literature could boast, if a roll-call were sounded!

Amongst our booksellers we must not omit the name of Page, who suffered with John Stubbs in the market-place at Westminster on account of the latter's work ent.i.tled _The Discoverie of a Gaping Gulf whereinto England is like to be swallowed by another French marriage, if the Lord forbid not the banes by letting her Majestie see the sin and punishment thereof_ (1579). Both author and publisher were condemned to the barbarous penalty of having their right hands cut off, as we have already recorded. [Footnote: Cf. page 129.]

"St.u.r.dy John," as the people called John Lilburne of Commonwealth fame, was another purveyor of books who suffered severely at the hands of both Royalists and Roundheads. At the early age of eighteen he began the circulation of the books of Prynne and Bastwick, and for this enormity he was whipped from the Fleet to Westminster, set in the pillory, gagged, fined, and imprisoned. At a later stage in his career we find him imprisoned in the Tower by Cromwell, for his _Just Reproof to Haberdashers' Hall_, and fined 1,000; and his bitter attack on the Protector, ent.i.tled _England's New Chains Discovered_, caused him to pay another visit to the Tower and to be tried for high treason, of which he was subsequently acquitted. To a.s.sail the "powers that be" seemed ever to be the constant occupation of "St.u.r.dy John" Lilburne. From the above example, and from many others which might be mentioned, it is quite evident that Roundheads, when they held the power, could be quite as severe critics of publications obnoxious to them as the Royalists, and troublesome authors fared little better under Puritan regime than they did under the Stuart monarchs.

Another learned French printer was Etienne Dolet, who was burned to death at Paris on account of his books in 1546. He lived and worked at Lyons, and, after the manner of the Stephens, published many of his own writings as well as those of other learned men. He applied his energies to reform the Latin style, and in addition to his theological and linguistical works cultivated the art of poetry. Bayle says that his Latin and French verses "are not amiss." In the opinion of Gruterus they are worthy of a place in the _Deliciae Poetarum Gallorum_; but the impa.s.sioned and scurrilous Scaliger, who hated Dolet, declares that "Dolet may be called the Muse's Canker, or Imposthume; he wildly affects to be absolute in Poetry without the least pretence to wit, and endeavours to make his own base copper pa.s.s by mixing with it Virgil's gold. A driveller, who with some sc.r.a.ps of Cicero has tagged together something, which he calls Orations, but which men of learning rather judge to be Latrations. Whilst he sung the fate of that great and good King Francis, his name found its own evil fate, and the Atheist suffered the punishment of the flames, which both he and his verses so richly merited. But the flames could not purify him, but were by him rather made impure. Why should I mention his Epigrams, which are but a common sink or sh.o.r.e of dull, cold, unmeaning trash, full of that thoughtless arrogance that braves the Almighty, and that denies His Being?" The conclusion of this scathing criticism is hardly meet for polite ears. A private wrong had made the censorious Scaliger more bitter than usual.

In spite of the protection of Castellan, a learned prelate, Dolet at length suffered in the flames, but whether the charge of Atheism was well grounded has never been clearly ascertained.

Certainly the pious prayer which he uttered, when the f.a.ggots were piled around him, would seem to exonerate him from such a charge: "My G.o.d, whom I have so often offended, be merciful to me; and I beseech you, O Virgin Mother, and you, divine Stephen, to intercede with G.o.d for me a sinner." The Parliament of Paris condemned his works as containing "d.a.m.nable, pernicious, and heretical doctrines." The Faculty of Theology censured very severely Dolet's translation of one of the _Dialogues_ of Plato, ent.i.tled _Axiochus_, and especially the pa.s.sage "Apres la mort, tu ne seras rien," which Dolet rendered, "Apres la mort, tu ne seras _plus_ rien _du tout_." The additional words were supposed to convict Dolet of heresy. He certainly disliked the monks, as the following epigram plainly declares:--

_Ad Nicolaum Fabricium Valesium De cucullatis._

"Incurvicervic.u.m cucullatorum habet Grex id subinde in ore, se esse mortuum Mundo: tamen edit eximie pecus, bibit Non pessime, stert.i.t sepultum c.r.a.pula, Operam veneri dat, et voluptatum a.s.secla Est omnium. Idne est mortuum esse mundo?

Aliter interpretare. Mortui sunt Hercule Mundo cucullati, quod inors tense sunt onus, Ad rem utiles nullam, nisi ad scelus et vitium."

Amongst the works published and written by Dolet may be mentioned:--

_Summaire des faits et gestes de Francois I., tant contre l'Empereur que ses sujets, et autres nations etrangeres, composes d'abord en latin par Dolet, puis translates en francais par lui-meme. Lyon, Etienne Dolet, 1540, in-4_.

_Stephani Doleti Carminum, Libri IV. Lugduni, 1538, in-4_.

_Brief Discours de la republique francoyse, desirant la lecture des livres de l'Ecriture saincte luy estre loisable en sa langue vulgaire.

Etienne Dolet, 1544, in-16_.

_La fontaine de vie, in-16_.

Several translations into French of the writings of Erasmus and Melanchthon may also be remembered, and the Geneva Bible, which was printed by Dolet.

One of the few remaining copies of _Cymbalum mundi, en francais, contenant quatre Dialogues poetiques, antiques, joyeux, et facetieux, par Thomas Duclevier (Bonaventure Desperiers, Valet de chambre de la Reyne de Navarre_) (Paris, Jehan Morin, 1537, in-8) reveals the fact that the printer, Jean Morin, was imprisoned on account of this work.

Therein it is recorded that he presented the copy to the Chancellor with the request that he might be released from prison, where he had been placed on account of this work. The reasons given for its condemnation are various. Some state that the author, a friend of Clement Marot, intended to preach by the use of allegories the Reformed religion.

Others say that it was directed against the manners and conduct of some members of the Court. Whether Morin's request was granted I know not, nor whether Desperiers shared his imprisonment. At any rate, the author died in 1544 from an attack of frenzy.

Another famous printer at Paris in the sixteenth century was Christian Wechel, who published a large number of works. He was persecuted for publishing a book of Erasmus ent.i.tled _De esu interdicto carnium_, and some declare that he fell into grievous poverty, being cursed by G.o.d for printing an impious book. Thus one writer says that "in the year 1530 arose this abortive child of h.e.l.l, who wrote a book against the Divine Justice in favour of infants dying without baptism, and several have wisely observed that the ruin of Christian Wechel and his labours fell out as a punishment for his presses and characters being employed in such an infamous work." However, there is reason to believe that the book was not so "impious," expressing only the pious hope that the souls of such infants might not be lost, and also that no great "curse" fell upon the printer, and that his poverty was apocryphal. At any rate, his son Andrew was a very flourishing printer; but he too was persecuted for his religious opinions, and narrowly escaped destruction in the Ma.s.sacre of St. Bartholomew. He ran in great danger on that eventful night, and states that he would have been slaughtered but for the kindness of Hubert Languet, who lodged in his house. Andrew Wechel fled to Frankfort, where he continued to ply his trade in safety; and when more favourable times came re-established his presses at Paris. He had the reputation of being one of the most able printers and booksellers of his time.

The Revolutionary period in France was not a safe time for either authors or booksellers. Jacques Froulle was condemned to death in 1793 for publishing the lists of names of those who pa.s.sed sentence on their King, Louis XVI., and doomed him to death. This work was ent.i.tled _Liste comparative des cinq appels nominaux sur le proces et jugement de Louis XVI., avec les declarations que les Deputes ont faites a chacune des seances_ (Paris, Froulle, 1793, in-8). He gives the names of the deputies who voted on each of the five appeals, until at length the terrible sentence was p.r.o.nounced, 310 voting for the reprieve and 380 for the execution of their monarch. The deputies were so ashamed of their work that they doomed the recorder of their infamous deed to share the punishment of their sovereign.

We have few instances of the ill.u.s.trators of books sharing the misfortunes of authors and publishers, but we have met with one such example. Nicolas G.o.donesche made the engravings for a work by Jean Laurent Boursier, a doctor of the Sorbonne, ent.i.tled _Explication abregee des princ.i.p.ales questions qui ont rapport aux affaires presentes_ (1731, in-12), and found that work fatal to him. This book was one of many published by Boursier concerning the unhappy contentions which for a long time agitated the Church of France. G.o.donesche, who engraved pictures for the work, was sent to the Bastille, and the author banished.

In all ages complaints are heard of the prolific writers who have been seized by the scribbling demon, and made to pour forth page after page which the public decline to read, and bring grief to the publishers.

Pasquier's _Letters_ contains the following pa.s.sage, which applies perhaps quite as forcibly to the present age as to his own time: "I cannot forbear complaining at this time of the calamity of this age which has produced such a plenty of reputed or untimely authors. Any pitiful scribbler will have his first thoughts to come to light; lest, being too long shut up, they should grow musty. Good G.o.d! how apposite are these verses of Jodelle:--

"'Et tant ceux d'aujourd'huy me fashent, Qui des lors que leurs plumes laschent Quelque-trait soit mauvais ou bon, En lumiere le vont produire, Pour souvent avec leur renom, Les pauvres Imprimeurs destruire.'"

This has been translated as follows:--

"The scribbling crew would make one's vitals bleed, They write such trash, no mortal e'er will read; Yet they will publish, they must have a name; So Printers starve, to get their authors fame."

One would be curious to see the form of agreement between such prolific authors and their deluded publishers, and to learn by what arts, other than magical, the former ever induced the latter to undertake the publication of such fatal books.

The story of the establishment of the liberty of the Press in England is full of interest, and tells the history of several books which involved their authors and publishers in many difficulties. The censors of books did not always occupy an enviable post, and were the objects of many attacks. "Catalogue" Fraser lost his office for daring to license Walker's book on the _Eikon Basilike_, which a.s.serted that Gauden and not Charles I. was the author. His successor Bohun was deprived of his orffice as licenser and sent to prison for allowing a pamphlet to be printed ent.i.tled _King William and Queen Mary, Conquerors_. The Jacobite printers suffered severely when they were caught, which was not very frequent. In obscure lanes and garrets they plied their secret trade, and deluged the land with seditious books and papers. One William Anderton was tracked to a house near St. James's Street, where he was known as a jeweller. Behind the bed in his room was discovered a door which led to a dark closet, and there were the types and a press, and heaps of Jacobite literature. Anderton was found guilty of treason, and paid the penalty of death for his crime. In 1695 the Press was emanc.i.p.ated from its thraldom, and the office of licenser ceased to exist. Henceforward popular judgment and the general good sense and right feeling of the community const.i.tuted the only licensing authority of the Press of England. Occasionally, when a publisher or author makes too free with the good name of an English citizen, the restraint of a prison cell is imposed upon the audacious libeller. Sometimes when a book offends against the public morals, and contains the outpourings of a voluptuous imagination, its author is condemned to lament in confinement over his indecorous pages. The world knows that Vizetelly, the publisher, was imprisoned for translating and publishing some of Zola's novels. _Nana_ and _L'a.s.sommoir_ were indeed fatal books to him, as his imprisonment and the anxiety caused by the prosecution are said to have hastened his death. The right feeling and sound sense of the nation has guided the Press of this country into safe channels, and few books are fatal now on account of their unseemly contents or immoral tendencies.

CHAPTER XI. SOME LITERARY MARTYRS.

Leland--Strutt--Cotgrave--Henry Wharton--Robert Heron--Collins--William Cole--Homeric victims--Joshua Barnes--An example of unrequited toil--Borgarutius--Pays.

We have still a list far too long of literary martyrs whose works have proved fatal to them, and yet whose names have not appeared in the foregoing chapters. These are they who have sacrificed their lives, their health and fortunes, for the sake of their works, and who had no sympathy with the saying of a professional hack writer, "Till fame appears to be worth more than money, I shall always prefer money to fame." For the labours of their lives they have received no compensation at all. Health, eyesight, and even life itself have been devoted to the service of mankind, who have shown themselves somewhat ungrateful recipients of their bounty.

Some of the more ill.u.s.trious scholars indeed enjoy a posthumous fame,--their names are still honoured; their works are still read and studied by the learned,--but what countless mult.i.tudes are those who have sacrificed their all, and yet slumber in nameless graves, the ocean of oblivion having long since washed out the footprints they hoped to leave upon the shifting sands of Time! Of these we have no record; let us enumerate a few of the scholars of an elder age whose books proved fatal to them, and whose sorrows and early deaths were brought on by their devotion to literature.

What antiquary has not been grateful to Leland, the father of English archaeology! He possessed that ardent love for the records of the past which must inspire the heart and the pen of every true antiquary; that accurate learning and indefatigable spirit of research without which the historian, however zealous, must inevitably err; and that st.u.r.dy patriotism which led him to prefer the study of the past glories of his own to those of any other people or land. His _Cygnea Cantio_ will live as long as the silvery Thames, whose glories he loved to sing, pursues its beauteous way through the loveliest vales of England. While his royal patron, Henry VIII., lived, all went well; after the death of that monarch his anxieties and troubles began. His pension became smaller, and at length ceased. No one seemed to appreciate his toil. He became melancholy and morose, and the effect of nightly vigils and years of toil began to tell upon his const.i.tution. At length his mind gave way, ere yet the middle stage of life was pa.s.sed; and although many other famous antiquaries have followed his steps and profited by his writings and his example, English scholars will ever mourn the sad and painful end of unhappy Leland.

Another antiquary was scarcely more fortunate. Strutt, the author of _English Sports and Pastimes_, whose works every student of the manners and customs of our forefathers has read and delighted in, pa.s.sed his days in poverty and obscurity, and often received no recompense for the works which are now so valuable. At least he had his early wish gratified,--"I will strive to leave my name behind me in the world, if not in the splendour that some have, at least with some marks of a.s.siduity and study which shall never be wanting in me."

Randle Cotgrave, the compiler of one of the most valuable dictionaries of early English words, lost his eyesight through laboriously studying ancient MSS. in his pursuit of knowledge. The sixteen volumes of MS.

preserved in the Lambeth Library of English literature killed their author, Henry Wharton, before he reached his thirtieth year. By the indiscreet exertion of his mind, in protracted and incessant literary labours, poor Robert Heron destroyed his health, and after years of toil spent in producing volumes so numerous and so varied as to stagger one to contemplate, ended his days in Newgate. In his pathetic appeal for help to the Literary Fund, wherein he enumerates the labours of his life, he wrote, "I shudder at the thought of perishing in gaol." And yet that was the fate of Heron, a man of amazing industry and vast learning and ability, a martyr to literature.

He has unhappily many companions, whose names appear upon that mournful roll of luckless authors. There is the unfortunate poet Collins, who was driven insane by the disappointment attending his unremunerative toil, and the want of public appreciation of his verses. William Cole, the writer of fifty volumes in MS. of the _Athenae Cantabrigienses_, founded upon the same principle as the _Athenae Oxonienses_ of Anthony Wood, lived to see his hopes of fame die, and yet to feel that he could not abandon his self-imposed task, as that would be death to him. Homer, too, has had some victims; and if he has suffered from translation, he has revenged himself on his translators. A learned writer, Joshua Barnes, Professor of Greek at Cambridge, devoted his whole energy to the task, and ended his days in abject poverty, disgusted with the scanty rewards his great industry and scholarship had attained. A more humble translator, a chemist of Reading, published an English version of the _Iliad_. The fascination of the work drew him away from his business, and caused his ruin. A clergyman died a few years ago who had devoted many years to a learned Biblical Commentary; it was the work of his life, and contained the results of much original research. After his death his effects were sold, and with them the precious MS., the result of so many hours of patient labour; this MS. realised three shillings and sixpence!

Fatal indeed have their works and love of literature proved to be to many a luckless author. No wonder that many of them have vowed, like Borgarutius, that they would write no more nor spend their life-blood for the sake of so fickle a mistress, or so thankless a public. This author was so troubled by the difficulties he encountered in printing his book on Anatomy, that he made the rash vow that he would never publish anything more; but, like many other authors, he broke his word.

Poets are especially liable to this change of intention, as La Fontaine observes:--

"O! combien l'homme est inconstant, divers, Foible, leger, tenant mal sa parole, J'avois jure, meme en a.s.sez beaux vers, De renouncer a tout Conte frivole.

Depuis deux jours j'ai fait cette promesse Puis fiez-vous a Rimeur qui repond D'un seul moment. Dieu ne fit la sagesse Pour les cerveaux qui hantent les neuf Soeurs."

In these days of omnivorous readers, the position of authors has decidedly improved. We no longer see the half-starved poets bartering their sonnets for a meal; learned scholars pining in Newgate; nor is "half the pay of a scavenger" [Footnote: A remark of Granger--vide _Calamities of Authors_, p. 85.] considered sufficient remuneration for recondite treatises. It has been the fashion of authors of all ages to complain bitterly of their own times. Bayle calls it an epidemical disease in the republic of letters, and poets seem especially liable to this complaint. Usually those who are most favoured by fortune bewail their fate with vehemence; while poor and unfortunate authors write cheerfully. To judge from his writings one would imagine that Balzac pined in poverty; whereas he was living in the greatest luxury, surrounded by friends who enjoyed his hospitality. Oftentimes this language of complaint is a sign of the ingrat.i.tude of authors towards their age, rather than a testimony of the ingrat.i.tude of the age towards authors. Thus did the French poet Pays abuse his fate: "I was born under a certain star, whose malignity cannot be overcome; and I am so persuaded of the power of this malevolent star, that I accuse it of all misfortunes, and I never lay the fault upon anybody." He has courted Fortune in vain. She will have nought to do with his addresses, and it would be just as foolish to afflict oneself because of an eclipse of the sun or moon, as to be grieved on account of the changes which Fortune is pleased to cause. Many other writers speak in the same fretful strain.

There is now work in the vast field of literature for all who have the taste, ability, and requisite knowledge; and few authors now find their books fatal to them--except perhaps to their reputation, when they deserve the critics' censures. The writers of novels certainly have no cause to complain of the unkindness of the public and their lack of appreciation, and the vast numbers of novels which are produced every year would have certainly astonished the readers of thirty or forty years ago.

For the production of learned works which appeal only to a few scholars, modern authors have the aid of the Clarendon Press and other inst.i.tutions which are subsidised by the Universities for the purpose of publishing such works. But in spite of all the advantages which modern authors enjoy, the great demand for literature of all kinds, the justice and fair dealing of publishers, the adequate remuneration which is usually received for their works, the favourable laws of copyright--in spite of all these and other advantages, the lamentable woes of authors have not yet ceased. The leaders of literature can hold their own, and prosper well; but the men who stand in the second, third, or fourth rank in the great literary army, have still cause to bewail the unkindness of the blind G.o.ddess who contrives to see sufficiently to avoid all their approaches to her.

For these brave, but often disheartened, toilers that n.o.ble inst.i.tution, the Royal Literary Fund, has accomplished great things. During a period of more than a century it has carried on its beneficent work, relieving poor struggling authors when poverty and sickness have laid them low; and it has proved itself to be a "nursing mother" to the wives and children of literary martyrs who have been quite unable to provide for the wants of their distressed families. We have already alluded to the foundation of the Royal Literary Fund, which arose from the feelings of pity and regret excited by the death of Floyer Sydenham in a debtors'

prison. It is unnecessary to record its history, its n.o.ble career of un.o.btrusive usefulness in saving from ruin and ministering consolation to those unhappy authors who have been wounded in the world's warfare, and who, but for the Literary Fund, would have been left to perish on the hard battlefield of life. Since its foundation 115,677 has been spent in 4,332 grants to distressed authors. All book-lovers will, we doubt not, seek to help forward this n.o.ble work, and will endeavour to prevent, as far as possible, any more distressing cases of literary martyrdom, which have so often stained the sad pages of our literary history.

In order to diminish the woes of authors and to help the maimed and wounded warriors in the service of Literature, we should like to rear a large Literary College, where those who have borne the burden and heat of the day may rest secure from all anxieties and worldly worries when the evening shadows of life fall around. Possibly the authorities of the Royal Literary Fund might be able to accomplish this grand enterprise.

In imagination we seem to see a n.o.ble building like an Oxford College, or the Charterhouse, wherein the veterans of Literature can live and work and end their days, free from the perplexities and difficulties to which poverty and distress have so long accustomed them. There is a Library, rich with the choicest works. The Historian, the Poet, the Divine, the Scientist, can here pursue their studies, and breathe forth inspired thoughts which the _res angusta domi_ have so long stifled. In society congenial to their tastes, far from "the madding crowd's ign.o.ble strife," they may succeed in accomplishing their life's work, and their happiness would be the happiness of the community.

If this be but a dream, it is a pleasant one. But if all book-lovers would unite for the purpose of founding such a Literary College, it might be possible for the dream to be realised. Then the woes of future generations of authors might be effectually diminished, and Fatal Books have less unhappy victims.