I first heard of the existence of Mr. Johnson, who is unquestionably the one dominant9 figure in American literature of to-day, about fourteen years ago, just as I was beginning to learn something about the trade of writing. I had placed in the hands of a literary friend—now well known as one of the most successful of the modern school of story-writers—the manuscript of a story which dealt with the criminal life of the lower east side of the town, and was wondering how soon I was to awake and find myself famous when my manuscript was returned to me with a brief note from my friend, in which he said:
“I read your story through yesterday, and was so much pleased with it that my first impulse was to take it to the Century Magazine.[Pg 64] Indeed, I would have done so had I not remembered at that moment that Johnson does not like low life; so you had better try one of the daily papers.”
“Johnson does not like low life!”
That was encouraging news for a young man who believed that literary methods had not materially altered since the days when Oliver Goldsmith wrote The Vicar of Wakefield.
The pen fell from my hand—it happened to be employed just then on a story dealing10 with life in a Pell Street opium-joint—and I said to myself: “Merciful heavens! must I devote my life to the delineation11 of what are called society types, simply because Johnson—whoever he may be—does not like low life?”
I think that if I had known then that low life was only one of a thousand things that could not meet the approval of Johnson, and that, moreover, Bonner was down on fast horses, stepmothers, sisters, matrimonial[Pg 65] cousins, and brindle-pups, I would have thrown down my pen and endeavored to support myself in some other way.
But I did not know anything about the practical side of literature then, so I blundered on, wasting a great deal of time over forbidden topics, until I made the acquaintance of Jack12 Moran and others of his school, who welcomed me to Bohemia, and generously bade me share their treasure-house of accrued13 knowledge of editorial likes and dislikes. My low-life story—in my sublime14 faith I had written it on the flimsiest sort of paper—traveled from one office to another until it had eaten up $1.28 in postage and looked like Prince Lorenzo in the last act of The Mascot15. Then, held together by copper16 rivets17, it sank into its grave in the old daily Truth, unwept and unsigned.
I came across this forgotten offspring of my literary youth not long ago, and[Pg 66] candor18 compels me to say that if Mr. Johnson had read that story and printed it in the Century Magazine he would not be to-day the dominant figure in the literature of our country that he is. My romance was not nearly as good as a great many that I have read in daily papers from the pens of clever newspaper men who know what they are writing about. In point of intense dramatic interest it was not within a thousand miles of the Sun’s masterly history of the career of George Howard, the bank burglar, who was murdered in the Westchester woods about fifteen years ago. The story of Howard’s life and crimes was told in a page of the Sun, I think by Mr. Amos Cummings, and if I could find any fiction equal to it in one of our magazines I would gladly sound the praises of the editor who was courageous20 enough to publish it.
I can afford to smile now as I recall[Pg 67] the bitterness of spirit in which I used to chafe21 under the restrictions22 imposed upon us by the all-powerful barons23 of literature. I used to console my wounded vanity then by picturing to myself a bright future, when Johnson would stretch out his hands to me and beg me to place on the tip of his parched24 tongue a few pages of my cooling and invigorating manuscript. And with what derision would I have laughed then had any one told me that in the years to come I would be the one to accord to Mr. Johnson the honor which is his just due, and to recognize the wisdom which he showed in rejecting my story of low life!
A truthful25 portrayal26 of life among the criminal and vicious classes would be as much out of place in the Century Magazine as one depicting27 the love of a widower28 for his own cousin, whom he took out to ride behind a horse with a record of 2.53, would have been in the old Ledger;[Pg 68] and I am positive that such a thing will not occur until after the close of the present literary dynasty.
There is an excellent reason for this prohibition29, too. There are no people in the world who have a greater horror of what they consider “low” or “vulgar” than those who are steeped in mediocrity, and who, in this country, form a large part of the reading public. In England they are known as the “lower middle classes,” and they exist in countless30 thousands; but they have a literature of their own—Ouida, the Family Herald31, Ally Sloper’s ’Alf ’Oliday,—and writers like George Meredith and Mrs. Humphry Ward19 and George Du Maurier pay no attention to them or to their prejudices. Nor does it seem to me that these writers are as grievously hampered32 by consideration for the peachy cheek of the British young person as they claim to be.
The fact that Johnson was down on low[Pg 69] life made a deep impression on me, not so much because of what, I must admit, is a most reasonable and proper prejudice, but because I soon found that every literary man of my acquaintance was fully5 aware of his feelings in the matter, and therefore took pains not to introduce into a story any scenes or characters which might serve to render the manuscript unsalable in the eyes of the Century editors; and as years rolled on I could not help noticing the effect which this and other likes and dislikes of this literary Gessler had in moulding the fiction of our day and generation. And it is because of this Century taboo33, which had its origin in the Ledger office, by the way, that I know of hardly a single magazine writer of to-day who has made himself familiar with the great wealth of varied34 material which may be found in that section of New York which it is the custom to refer to vaguely35 as “the great east side.”
[Pg 70]It was not very long after the receipt of the letter which thrust upon my bewildered senses a nebulous comprehension of Mr. Johnson’s influence and importance in the domain36 of letters that a fuller recognition of his omniscience37 was wrung38 from me, all-admiring, yet loath39 to believe. Mr. H. C. Bunner had written a story called “The Red Silk Handkerchief” and sent it to the Century office for approval. The story contained a graphic40 description of the flagging of a train to avert41 a disaster, in which occurred the following passage:
“... and he stood by the platform of the last car as the express stopped.
“There was a crowd around Horace in an instant. His head was whirling; but, in a dull way, he said what he had to say. An officious passenger, who would have explained it all to the conductor if the conductor had waited, took the deliverer in his arms—for the boy was near fainting—and[Pg 71] enlightened the passengers who flocked around.
“Horace hung in his embrace, too deadly weak even to accept the offer of one of dozen flasks43 that were thrust at him.”
Now an ignorant layman44 will, I am bound, find nothing in the quoted sentences that could possibly give offence to the most sensitive reader; but it was precisely45 at the point where the quotation46 ends that the finely trained and ever-alert editorial sense of Mr. Johnson told him of the danger that lurked47 in the author’s apparently48 innocuous phrase.
“Hold on!” he cried; “can’t you make it two or three flasks instead of a dozen?”
Well did the keen-witted Johnson know that to many a serious minded gas-fitter or hay-maker49 the spectacle of a dozen evil-minded and evil-living men riding roughshod through the pages of a[Pg 72] family periodical and over the feelings of its readers would be distasteful in the extreme, if not absolutely shocking. Two or three flasks would lend to the scene a delicate suggestion of the iniquity50 of the world, just enough to make them thank God that they were not as other men are; but a dozen was altogether too much for them, and Johnson was the man who knew it.
It is only fair to add that the author very properly refused to alter his manuscript, and the story stands, to-day, as it was originally written.
It was the flask42 episode that really opened my eyes to the peculiar51 conditions which encompassed52 the modern trade of letters, clogging53 the feet of the laborers54 thereof, and while making the easy declivities about Parnassus accessible to every one who could hold a pen, rendering56 its upper heights more difficult to reach than they ever were before. And[Pg 73] it was the same episode which finally proved to me Mr. Johnson’s leadership in contemporaneous literature—a leadership which he has held from that day to this by sheer force of his intimate knowledge of the tastes, prejudices, and peculiarities57 of the vast army of readers which the Century Magazine has gathered unto itself, and still holds by the closest of ties, and will hold, in my opinion, so long as Mr. Johnson remains58 at the helm, with his pruning-hook in his hand, and reading, with clear, searching eyes, the innermost thoughts of his subscribers.
The present literary era has given us many things to be thankful for, chief among which should be mentioned the enormous advance in the art of illustration—a blessing60 which is shadowed only by the regretful knowledge that literature has not kept pace with her sister art. Indeed, too high praise cannot be given to the proprietors61 of the great monthlies for[Pg 74] the liberality and good taste which they have shown in raising the pictorial62 standard of their publications to its present high plane, from which it commands the admiration63 of all right-minded people. And if we are living in the Johnsonian age of letters we are also living in the Frazeresque period of art, for I doubt if any one man has exercised a wider influence in the field of modern illustration than Mr. W. L. Fraser, the maker of the art department of the Century. Nor should we forget his associate, Mr. Drake.
To the present literary era, we are indebted, also, for the higher development of that peculiar form of fiction called the short story, the popularity of which has at least served to give employment to a large number of worthy64 people who would otherwise have been compelled to eke65 out an existence by humbler and more exhausting forms of labor55. No sooner had the short-story fever taken[Pg 75] possession of the magazine offices than there appeared from various corners of the earth men, women, and children, many of whom had never written anything before in their lives, but who now besieged66 the Franklin and union Square strongholds, bearing in their inky hands manuscript which in many instances they were fortunate enough to dispose of, to the rage and wonder of those old-timers who, having learned their trade under Mr. Bonner and Dr. Holland, now found themselves too old to readily fall in with the new order of things.
Of this new brood a few were chosen, and among them were the writers of dialect stories, which enjoyed an astonishing vogue67 for several years, and are now, happily enough, losing ground. I think the banner writer of dialect stories of this period was a certain Mr. William McLellan, who contributed a number of unique specimens68 of his wares69 to Harper’s Monthly.[Pg 76] He could spell more words wrong than any other writer I ever heard of and I have often wished that I could read one of his stories.
Some of these short-story marvels70 have been extremely successful, and now take rank as first-class writers of fiction. I would have a much higher regard for them, though, if they could write novels—not serials71, but novels.
Among other notable products of the fecund72 Johnsonian age the future historian of American literature will dwell upon the Century war-papers, well calculated to extend the circulation of the magazine over vast areas in the South as well as the North where it had been almost unknown before; the Siberian experiences of Mr. George Kennan; autobiographies73 of celebrated74 men and women; and idyllic75 phases of New England life from the pen of the inimitable Mr. Gladden.
The Kennan articles were of enormous[Pg 77] value, apart from their own intrinsic merit, because their purpose was the reform of certain abuses. We Americans are so fond of reform that we are always getting it in one shape or another, and the more we get of it the more we want; and these papers were aimed only at the Czar of Russia and his advisers—men who neither subscribe59 for nor advertise in American monthlies. I doubt if a proposition to undertake a crusade against plumbers76 and compel them to lower their prices would awaken77 a tidal wave of enthusiasm in the Century office.
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1
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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canny
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| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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delineation
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| n.记述；描写 | |
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12
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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13
accrued
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| adj.权责已发生的v.增加( accrue的过去式和过去分词 )；（通过自然增长）产生；获得；（使钱款、债务）积累 | |
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14
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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mascot
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| n.福神，吉祥的东西 | |
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16
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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17
rivets
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| 铆钉( rivet的名词复数 ) | |
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18
candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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21
chafe
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| v.擦伤；冲洗；惹怒 | |
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restrictions
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| 约束( restriction的名词复数 )； 管制； 制约因素； 带限制性的条件（或规则） | |
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barons
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| 男爵( baron的名词复数 )； 巨头； 大王； 大亨 | |
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24
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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portrayal
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| n.饰演；描画 | |
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depicting
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| 描绘，描画( depict的现在分词 )； 描述 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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taboo
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| n.禁忌，禁止接近，禁止使用；adj.禁忌的；v.禁忌，禁制，禁止 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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omniscience
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| n.全知，全知者，上帝 | |
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38
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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41
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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42
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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43
flasks
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| n.瓶，长颈瓶， 烧瓶( flask的名词复数 ) | |
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44
layman
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| n.俗人，门外汉，凡人 | |
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45
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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46
quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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47
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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48
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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49
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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50
iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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51
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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52
encompassed
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| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
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53
clogging
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| 堵塞，闭合 | |
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54
laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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55
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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56
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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57
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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58
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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59
subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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60
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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pictorial
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| adj.绘画的；图片的；n．画报 | |
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63
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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64
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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65
eke
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| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
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66
besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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68
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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69
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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70
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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71
serials
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| n.连载小说，电视连续剧( serial的名词复数 ) | |
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72
fecund
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| adj.多产的，丰饶的，肥沃的 | |
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autobiographies
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| n.自传( autobiography的名词复数 )；自传文学 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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idyllic
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| adj.质朴宜人的，田园风光的 | |
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76
plumbers
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| n.管子工，水暖工( plumber的名词复数 )；[美][口]（防止泄密的）堵漏人员 | |
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77
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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