ROADSIDE MEETINGS of a LITERARY NOMAD by HAMLIN GARLAND 197
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(rfo <r>#o ROADSIDE MEETINGS OF A LITERARY NOMAD VII. EDITORS OF THE NINETIES SOUTHERN NOVELISTS THE KLONDIKE by Hamlin Garland HE PLAYERS was a great place at which stockbroker and his stories at the club, and to drop in for breakfast in the late honored him as a scholarly and charming T nineties and the early years of the man of letters as he sat behind his desk sur new century. And indeed it still is one of the rounded by treasured portraits, manuscripts most friendly and interesting haunts in New and letters. He knew almost every distin York. It was there, over coffee and rolls, that guished writer in England and America, by I frequently sat with Edmund Clarence Sted- correspondence at least, and his judgments on man whose "Pan in Wall Street" and "Creole the' whole were sound. There was nothing Lover's Song" still endure to prove him a malicious or bitter in his criticism. Like Gil fine poet. der and Howells he desired to be helpful and Stedman's home was out of the city but he was especially hospitable to young poets. Per usually came to town for the winter. He was haps, like Howells, he isometimes took prom growing gray and his face was often worn ise for achievement, but our verse writers' and sad. He complained continually of over needed just such an advocate at this time. work and often spoke of a pain in the back That a man so fine, so learned in letters as of his head, keeping his hand pressed against he, should be forced to descend into Wall it as if to relieve the ache; but he seemed fo Street and fight for money with which to enjoy the thought of his serious condition. keep the roof above his books and manu "It is my heart," he said; "I expect to fall scripts was sadly disconcerting. dead some day." Notwithstanding his aphasia, his memory Unlike Howells, he spoke openly of his for poetry was amazing. He could quote, and troubles, of his sickness and of his discon did quote, long passages from all the poets tent with his home. He characterized his and essayists he most admired, a faculty work on the stock exchange as "mere gam which Howells apparently did not possess. bling". His manner impressed me as that of a Howells seldom quoted anything and never poet driven to imperil his life in every way in to make display of his reading, which was the v^ar of business—yet enjoying it. Spright wide and thoughtful. He belonged to the ly, airy, not too refined, a boy with the boys, modern type of literary man who has no he refused to grow old. need to illustrate his point by quoting from He had a house in Lawrence Park, some another author or from another language. fifteen miles north of the city, and I some Stedman was naturally much beloved by times went out there on Sundays. In his study Southern writers for he had been generous in he was wholly admirable. I forgot his work as his estimate of their work. In The Poets of 196 PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG ELECTRONIC REPRODUCTION PROHIBITED ROADSIDE MEETINGS OF A LITERARY NOMAD by HAMLIN GARLAND 197 America, he had given adequate space to time to time. As near as I could understand Timrod, Haynes, Lanier, Poe and other men it, he was discoursing on the mystery and the whom other Northern critics had minimized; beneficence of death; but I hardly under and he had been quick to praise James Lane stood two connected sentences of that four- Allen, Thomas Nelson Page, George W. Ca hour irionologue. I comprehended the words ble and others of the younger Southern nov but the argument was a mist, a bleak ob elists. His influence was altogether helpful to scurity. I did my best to look interested and authorship. To me, he was one of the sav with an occasional "I see it!"—"Quite so", ing graces of New York. Like Gilder and tried to follow him, pinching myself now and Howells he stood for plain living and high again,to keep awake. thinking quite as distinctly as Emerson and It was a torturing session and I never was Lowell had done in their time, and held ah more relieved in my life than when, along even clearer notion of what American lit about one o'clock he paused and remarked, erature and art should become. with a kindly beam in his eye, "Whenever With a similar high standard of workman you feel like retiring—." Springing instantly ship, Henry M. Alden was editing Harper's to my feet I assured him that I felt very Magazine. His office which was two flights much like it, so he showed me to my room. up a circular iron stairway, was a queer little As he said good night, I vowed riever to put box of a room hardly larger than a closet, a myself into his hands in that way again. den in which he had worked for nearly fifty As an author he was of subordinate rank. years. Just large enough for a battered desk His writing was dignified and weighty but and an extra chair for a caller, its window without special distinction. Sitting in judg almost touched the elevated road and when ment as he did on the manuscripts of all a train passed its rattling thunder made con the writers of his time, he failed to compose versation difficult. Nevertheless the inhabitant a book of any permanent value. Whether he of this dusty closet was a power for good was a great editor or not is debatable, but in American literature. He was a kindly there can be no doubt as to his effect on the dragon, so low-voiced that I missed something young writers of that day. His kindliness, of his monologue even when the street was his sympathy and the nobility of his taste quiet. For all his gentleness and remoteness profoundly aided in the development of a he was a shrewd and practical trader when characteristic American fiction. Like Gilder, it came to dealing with an author, a curious he was receptive to the vernacular whenever blend of the mystic and the Yankee. With it was truthfully and artistically employed; well-defined notions of what fiction should but he never edited down to his readers. He be, he let his writers know very firmly that bought what appealed to him and not the he was editing a magazine to suit himself. kind of stuff which the millions were sup And authors in discussing their work with posed to want. one another often asked, "Is this the kind of thing Alden would like?" When at leisure he was inclined to philoso LVI . phize along certain lines of a foggy transcen Meanwhile another editorial group was dentalism; and once when I wentout to visit coming into power, led by Sam McClure and him in his New Jersey home, he took me to Edward Bok, men who believed in reaching his study after dinner, and there talked and the millions. Associated with them were John talked and talked, smoking cigar after cigar S. Phillips and Walter Page. Bok, the most ' while I kept myself awake by gripping the successful of them all, lived in Philadelphia, arms of my chair and leaning forward from and I was often an over-night guest at his PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG ELECTRONIC REPRODUCTION PROHIBITED igS' THE BOOKMAN for APRIL & MAY I93O house. It was the fashion in New York to Whether Gilder and Alden saw the end'of sneer at Bok's Ladies' Home. Journal, and their reign before it came I cannot say, but I professional jesters hke James L. Ford made think they did. They lasted well on towards sport of its "Heart to Heart Talks" and cul 1900, maintaining themselves and their maga inary department; but this was a very super zines side by side with the on-rushing stream ficial view of the magazine. Bok had a well- of "flat magazines", supported by a diminish defined policy: he employed the best writers ing list of subscribers, men and women of and paid them well. His Journal carried adult intelligence whose tastes were for the household hints but it also included excellent carefully considered page, content to get their fiction (some of mine) and stood editorially news from other periodicals. for the highest ideals in social and political As a lover of literature I leaned to the side life. It catered to an enormous list of readers, of Gilder and Alden, but I sold most of my and remained essentially aspiring. Bok and stories to Bok and McClure. Corrupted with McClure, like' Lorimer of the Post, had the out realizing it, I pretended to scorn, the will and the skill to represent the American tempter. One day McClure turned on me. mind. The invasion from' the south of Eu "Garland, you're on the wrong track. You rope had not yet colored their periodicals. despise journalism but the journalist is the Sam McClure represented the conquering man who wins. Now you can write, but you side of the editors' guild. He was all for write of people and subjects that only a few making a magazine popular, and James L. care about. Why not take subjects which in Ford or some other wicked paragrapher re terest everybody.? You would then stand a ported McClure as demanding of a noted au double chance of winning.