Diary in America, Series Two

9

To give the reader some idea of the price of European articles in the Western country, I will mention cloth. A coat which costs 4 pounds in England, is charged 7 pounds 10 shillings at New York; and at Cincinnati, in the West, upwards of 10 pounds.

10

Some of the invented calumnies against me found their way to this country. I consider the contents of this chapter to be a sufficient refutation, not only of what has been, but of what will in all probability be hereafter asserted against me by the American press.

11

This chapter was in the press, when a paragraph, cut out of the Baltimore Chronicle, was received from an anonymous hand at New York. Whether with a friendly intention or otherwise, I am equally obliged to the party, as it enables me to further prove, if it were necessary, the vituperation of the American press.

“Many persons in our country had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the Captain. The fast-anchored isle never gave birth to a more unmitigated blackguard. His awkward, unwieldy misshapen body, was but a fair lodging for a low, depraved, licentious soul. Although liberally educated, he seemed insensible to any other enjoyments than those of sense. No human being could in his desires or habits approach more near to the animal than him. No gentleman ever sat down with him an hour without a sensation of loathing and disgust. ‘What kind of man is Captain Marryat?’ was once asked in our presence of a distinguished member of Congress, who had sojourned with him at the White Sulphur Springs. ‘He is no man at all,’ was the reply, ‘he is a beast.’”

This is really “going the whole hog” himself, and making me go it too. Now, if I receive such abuse for my first three volumes, in which I went into little or no analysis, what am I to expect for those which are about to appear? To the editor of the Baltimore Chronicle I feel indebted: but I suspect that the respectable portion of the American community will be very much annoyed at my thus giving his remarks more extensive circulation than he anticipated.

12

Miss Martineau talks of Dr Follett as one of the greatest men in America. I was surprised at this, as I never heard of his name, so I inquired—“Who is Dr Follett?”—“I don’t know.”—“Do you know Dr Follett?”—“Never heard of him.”—“Do you?”—“No.” I asked so many people that at last I became quite tired; at last I found a man who knew him, his answer was—“Oh, yes; he’s an Abolitionist!” As the American critic justly observes, “He shines in the future pages of his grateful guest.”

13

The International Copyright Question.

One of the most important questions, upon principle, that ever was mooted, has for some time placed in juxtaposition the various editors of the corps critical, accordingly as their interests or feelings have been worked upon. Our chief object in these remarks is to hold up to the scorn and derision that it richly merits the assumption of an editor, that an author has no right to the emanations of his own mind—to the productions of his own pen. We do not mean to answer the many and gross absurdities—which this talented gentleman’s sophistry has palmed upon the public,—it would be a work of supererogation, inasmuch as his ‘airy vision’ has already been completely ‘dissolved’ by the breath of that eminent gentleman, well known to us, who has so completely annihilated the wrong which he is so anxious to continue. But the shameful assumption that a writer, universally allowed to be the worst paid artist in creation, should not have—is not entitled to have, by every principle—of courtesy and honour, a sole and undivided right to, and in, his own productions—is so monstrous, that every editor imbued with those feelings, which through life, should be the rule of his conduct, is in duty bound to come forward and express his dissent from such a doctrine, and his abhorrence of a principle so flagitious.

“We avail ourselves of the opportunity this number affords of upholding the poor author’s right, of censuring the greedy spoliation of publishing tribe, who would live, batten, and fatten upon the despoiled labours of those whom their piracy starves—snatching the scanty crust from their needy mouths to pamper their own insatiate maws.

“This matter lies between the publisher and the author. The author claims a right to his own productions, wherever they may be. The publishers, like the Cornwall wreckers, say no, the moment your labours touch our fatal shore they are ours; you have no right to them, no title in them. Good heavens! shall such a cruel despoliation be permitted! The publishers, with consummate cunning, turn to the public, and virtually say, support us in our theft, and we will share the spoil with you; we will give you standard works at a price immeasurably below their value. As well might a thief, brought before the honest and worthy recorder say: If your honour will wink at the crime, you will make me a public benefactor, for whilst I rob one man of an hundred watches, I can sell them to an hundred persons for one-third of their prime cost; and thus injure one and benefit a hundred, you shall have one very cheap. What would this recorder say? He would say, the crime is apparent, and I spurn with indignation and contempt your offer to part with to me that which is not your own. And should not this be the reply of the public to the publishers? Yes, and it will be too. And the vampires who have so long lived upon the spirits of authors, will have tax their own to yield themselves support.”

14

I ought here to remark, that the authors are much injured by the present system. It having been satisfactorily proved, that a three-volume work is the only one that can be published at the minimum of expense, and the magnum of profits, no publisher likes to publish any other. There is the same expense in advertising, etcetera, a two volume, or a one octavo book, as a three. The author, therefore, has to spin out to three volumes, whether he has matter or not; and that is the reason why the second volume, like the fourth act of a five act play, is, generally speaking, so very heavy. Publishers, now-a-days, measure works with a foot-rule, as the critic did in Sterne.

15

The members of the peerage and baronetage of Great Britain, the members of the untitled aristocracy—the staff officers of the army and navy—the members of the different clubs—are each of them sufficiently numerous to effect this object; and if any subscription was opened, it could not fail of being filled up.

16

One of those works was Abbot’s ‘Young Christian’, or some other work by that author.

17

Indeed, one cannot help being reminded of what Beaumarchais makes Figaro say upon the liberty of the press in another country. “On me dit que pendant ma retraite économique il s’est établi dans Madrid un système de liberté sur la vente des productions, qui s’étend même a celles de la presse; et, pourvu que je parle dans mes écrits, ni de l’autorité, ni du culte, ni de la politique, ni de la morale, ni des gens en place, ni des corps en crédit, ni de l’opéra, ni des autres spectacles, ni de personne qui tient a quelque chose, je puis tout imprimer librement; sous l’inspection de deux ou trois censeurs.”