Chapter 15
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When, in the course of our tour of inspection, we came to the
library, we succumbed to the temptation of the luxurious leather
chairs with which it was furnished, and sat down in one of the
book-lined alcoves to rest and chat awhile.[3]
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[3] I cannot sufficiently celebrate the glorious liberty that reigns
in the public libraries of the twentieth century as compared with
the intolerable management of those of the nineteenth century,
in which the books were jealously railed away from the people, and
obtainable only at an expenditure of time and red tape calculated
to discourage any ordinary taste for literature.
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"Edith tells me that you have been in the library all the
morning," said Mrs. Leete. "Do you know, it seems to me, Mr.
West, that you are the most enviable of mortals."
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"I should like to know just why," I replied.
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"Because the books of the last hundred years will be new to
you," she answered. "You will have so much of the most
absorbing literature to read as to leave you scarcely time for
meals these five years to come. Ah, what would I give if I had
not already read Berrian's novels."
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"Or Nesmyth's, mamma," added Edith.
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"Yes, or Oates' poems, or `Past and Present,' or, `In the
Beginning,' or--oh, I could name a dozen books, each worth a
year of one's life," declared Mrs. Leete, enthusiastically.
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"I judge, then, that there has been some notable literature
produced in this century."
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"Yes," said Dr. Leete. "It has been an era of unexampled
intellectual splendor. Probably humanity never before passed
through a moral and material evolution, at once so vast in its
scope and brief in its time of accomplishment, as that from the
old order to the new in the early part of this century. When men
came to realize the greatness of the felicity which had befallen
them, and that the change through which they had passed was
not merely an improvement in details of their condition, but the
rise of the race to a new plane of existence with an illimitable
vista of progress, their minds were affected in all their faculties
with a stimulus, of which the outburst of the mediaeval renaissance
offers a suggestion but faint indeed. There ensued an era of
mechanical invention, scientific discovery, art, musical and literary
productiveness to which no previous age of the world offers
anything comparable."
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"By the way," said I, "talking of literature, how are books
published now? Is that also done by the nation?"
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"Certainly."
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"But how do you manage it? Does the government publish
everything that is brought it as a matter of course, at the public
expense, or does it exercise a censorship and print only what it
approves?"
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"Neither way. The printing department has no censorial
powers. It is bound to print all that is offered it, but prints it
only on condition that the author defray the first cost out of his
credit. He must pay for the privilege of the public ear, and if he
has any message worth hearing we consider that he will be glad
to do it. Of course, if incomes were unequal, as in the old times,
this rule would enable only the rich to be authors, but the
resources of citizens being equal, it merely measures the strength
of the author's motive. The cost of an edition of an average book
can be saved out of a year's credit by the practice of economy
and some sacrifices. The book, on being published, is placed on
sale by the nation."
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"The author receiving a royalty on the sales as with us, I
suppose," I suggested.
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"Not as with you, certainly," replied Dr. Leete, "but nevertheless
in one way. The price of every book is made up of the cost
of its publication with a royalty for the author. The author fixes
this royalty at any figure he pleases. Of course if he puts it
unreasonably high it is his own loss, for the book will not sell.
The amount of this royalty is set to his credit and he is
discharged from other service to the nation for so long a period
as this credit at the rate of allowance for the support of citizens
shall suffice to support him. If his book be moderately successful,
he has thus a furlough for several months, a year, two or three
years, and if he in the mean time produces other successful work,
the remission of service is extended so far as the sale of that may
justify. An author of much acceptance succeeds in supporting
himself by his pen during the entire period of service, and the
degree of any writer's literary ability, as determined by the
popular voice, is thus the measure of the opportunity given him
to devote his time to literature. In this respect the outcome of
our system is not very dissimilar to that of yours, but there are
two notable differences. In the first place, the universally high
level of education nowadays gives the popular verdict a conclusiveness
on the real merit of literary work which in your day it
was as far as possible from having. In the second place, there is
no such thing now as favoritism of any sort to interfere with the
recognition of true merit. Every author has precisely the same
facilities for bringing his work before the popular tribunal. To
judge from the complaints of the writers of your day, this absolute
equality of opportunity would have been greatly prized."
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"In the recognition of merit in other fields of original genius,
such as music, art, invention, design," I said, "I suppose you
follow a similar principle."
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"Yes," he replied, "although the details differ. In art, for
example, as in literature, the people are the sole judges. They
vote upon the acceptance of statues and paintings for the public
buildings, and their favorable verdict carries with it the artist's
remission from other tasks to devote himself to his vocation. On
copies of his work disposed of, he also derives the same advantage
as the author on sales of his books. In all these lines of
original genius the plan pursued is the same to offer a free field
to aspirants, and as soon as exceptional talent is recognized to
release it from all trammels and let it have free course. The
remission of other service in these cases is not intended as a gift
or reward, but as the means of obtaining more and higher
service. Of course there are various literary, art, and scientific
institutes to which membership comes to the famous and is
greatly prized. The highest of all honors in the nation, higher
than the presidency, which calls merely for good sense and
devotion to duty, is the red ribbon awarded by the vote of the
people to the great authors, artists, engineers, physicians, and
inventors of the generation. Not over a certain number wear it at
any one time, though every bright young fellow in the country
loses innumerable nights' sleep dreaming of it. I even did
myself."
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"Just as if mamma and I would have thought any more of you
with it," exclaimed Edith; "not that it isn't, of course, a very
fine thing to have."
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"You had no choice, my dear, but to take your father as you
found him and make the best of him," Dr. Leete replied; "but as
for your mother, there, she would never have had me if l had
not assured her that I was bound to get the red ribbon or at least
the blue."
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On this extravagance Mrs. Leete's only comment was a smile.
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"How about periodicals and newspapers?" I said. "I won't
deny that your book publishing system is a considerable
improvement on ours, both as to its tendency to encourage a real
literary vocation, and, quite as important, to discourage mere
scribblers; but I don't see how it can be made to apply to
magazines and newspapers. It is very well to make a man pay for
publishing a book, because the expense will be only occasional;
but no man could afford the expense of publishing a newspaper
every day in the year. It took the deep pockets of our private
capitalists to do that, and often exhausted even them before the
returns came in. If you have newspapers at all, they must, I
fancy, be published by the government at the public expense,
with government editors, reflecting government opinions. Now,
if your system is so perfect that there is never anything to
criticize in the conduct of affairs, this arrangement may answer.
Otherwise I should think the lack of an independent unofficial
medium for the expression of public opinion would have most
unfortunate results. Confess, Dr. Leete, that a free newspaper
press, with all that it implies, was a redeeming incident of the
old system when capital was in private hands, and that you have
to set off the loss of that against your gains in other respects."
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"I am afraid I can't give you even that consolation," replied
Dr. Leete, laughing. "In the first place, Mr. West, the newspaper
press is by no means the only or, as we look at it, the best
vehicle for serious criticism of public affairs. To us, the
judgments of your newspapers on such themes seem generally to
have been crude and flippant, as well as deeply tinctured with
prejudice and bitterness. In so far as they may be taken as
expressing public opinion, they give an unfavorable impression
of the popular intelligence, while so far as they may have
formed public opinion, the nation was not to be felicitated.
Nowadays, when a citizen desires to make a serious impression
upon the public mind as to any aspect of public affairs, he comes
out with a book or pamphlet, published as other books are. But
this is not because we lack newspapers and magazines, or that
they lack the most absolute freedom. The newspaper press is
organized so as to be a more perfect expression of public opinion
than it possibly could be in your day, when private capital
controlled and managed it primarily as a money-making business,
and secondarily only as a mouthpiece for the people."
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"But," said I, "if the government prints the papers at the
public expense, how can it fail to control their policy? Who
appoints the editors, if not the government?"
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"The government does not pay the expense of the papers, nor
appoint their editors, nor in any way exert the slightest influence
on their policy," replied Dr. Leete. "The people who take the
paper pay the expense of its publication, choose its editor, and
remove him when unsatisfactory. You will scarcely say, I think,
that such a newspaper press is not a free organ of popular
opinion."
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"Decidedly I shall not," I replied, "but how is it practicable?"
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"Nothing could be simpler. Supposing some of my neighbors
or myself think we ought to have a newspaper reflecting our
opinions, and devoted especially to our locality, trade, or profession.
We go about among the people till we get the names of
such a number that their annual subscriptions will meet the cost
of the paper, which is little or big according to the largeness of
its constituency. The amount of the subscriptions marked off the
credits of the citizens guarantees the nation against loss in
publishing the paper, its business, you understand, being that of
a publisher purely, with no option to refuse the duty required.
The subscribers to the paper now elect somebody as editor, who,
if he accepts the office, is discharged from other service during
his incumbency. Instead of paying a salary to him, as in your
day, the subscribers pay the nation an indemnity equal to the
cost of his support for taking him away from the general service.
He manages the paper just as one of your editors did, except that
he has no counting-room to obey, or interests of private capital
as against the public good to defend. At the end of the first year,
the subscribers for the next either re-elect the former editor or
choose any one else to his place. An able editor, of course, keeps
his place indefinitely. As the subscription list enlarges, the funds
of the paper increase, and it is improved by the securing of more
and better contributors, just as your papers were."
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"How is the staff of contributors recompensed, since they
cannot be paid in money?"
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"The editor settles with them the price of their wares. The
amount is transferred to their individual credit from the guarantee
credit of the paper, and a remission of service is granted the
contributor for a length of time corresponding to the amount
credited him, just as to other authors. As to magazines, the
system is the same. Those interested in the prospectus of a new
periodical pledge enough subscriptions to run it for a year; select
their editor, who recompenses his contributors just as in the
other case, the printing bureau furnishing the necessary force
and material for publication, as a matter of course. When an
editor's services are no longer desired, if he cannot earn the right
to his time by other literary work, he simply resumes his place in
the industrial army. I should add that, though ordinarily the
editor is elected only at the end of the year, and as a rule is
continued in office for a term of years, in case of any sudden
change he should give to the tone of the paper, provision is
made for taking the sense of the subscribers as to his removal at
any time."
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"However earnestly a man may long for leisure for purposes of
study or meditation," I remarked, "he cannot get out of the
harness, if I understand you rightly, except in these two ways you
have mentioned. He must either by literary, artistic, or inventive
productiveness indemnify the nation for the loss of his services,
or must get a sufficient number of other people to contribute to
such an indemnity."
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"It is most certain," replied Dr. Leete, "that no able-bodied
man nowadays can evade his share of work and live on the toil of
others, whether he calls himself by the fine name of student or
confesses to being simply lazy. At the same time our system is
elastic enough to give free play to every instinct of human nature
which does not aim at dominating others or living on the fruit of
others' labor. There is not only the remission by indemnification
but the remission by abnegation. Any man in his thirty-third
year, his term of service being then half done, can obtain an
honorable discharge from the army, provided he accepts for the
rest of his life one half the rate of maintenance other citizens
receive. It is quite possible to live on this amount, though one
must forego the luxuries and elegancies of life, with some,
perhaps, of its comforts."
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When the ladies retired that evening, Edith brought me a
book and said:
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"If you should be wakeful to-night, Mr. West, you might be
interested in looking over this story by Berrian. It is considered
his masterpiece, and will at least give you an idea what the
stories nowadays are like."
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I sat up in my room that night reading "Penthesilia" till it
grew gray in the east, and did not lay it down till I had finished
it. And yet let no admirer of the great romancer of the twentieth
century resent my saying that at the first reading what most
impressed me was not so much what was in the book as what
was left out of it. The story-writers of my day would have
deemed the making of bricks without straw a light task compared
with the construction of a romance from which should be
excluded all effects drawn from the contrasts of wealth and
poverty, education and ignorance, coarseness and refinement,
high and low, all motives drawn from social pride and ambition,
the desire of being richer or the fear of being poorer, together
with sordid anxieties of any sort for one's self or others; a
romance in which there should, indeed, be love galore, but love
unfretted by artificial barriers created by differences of station or
possessions, owning no other law but that of the heart. The
reading of "Penthesilia" was of more value than almost any
amount of explanation would have been in giving me something
like a general impression of the social aspect of the twentieth
century. The information Dr. Leete had imparted was indeed
extensive as to facts, but they had affected my mind as so many
separate impressions, which I had as yet succeeded but imperfectly
in making cohere. Berrian put them together for me in a
picture.
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