* * * * *
A member of the firm which has the honour of publishing Meredith's novels
was interviewed by the _Daily Mail_ on the day after his death. The
gentleman interviewed gave vent to the usual insolence about our own
times. "He belonged," said the gentleman, "to a very different age from
the _modern_ writer--an age before the literary agent; and with Mr.
Meredith the feeling of intimacy as between author and publisher--the
feeling that gave to publishing as it was its charm--was always existent."
Charm--yes, for the publisher. The secret history of the publishing of
Meredith's earlier books (long before Constables had ever dreamed of
publishing him) is more than curious. I have heard some details of it. My
only wonder is that human ingenuity did not invent literary agents forty
years ago. Then the person interviewed went grandly on: "In his manner of
writing the great novelist was very different from the _modern_ fashion.
He wrote with such care that judged by _modern_ standards he would be
considered a trifle slow." Tut-tut! It may interest the gentleman
interviewed to learn that no modern writer would dare to produce work at
the rate at which Scott, Dickens, Trollope, and Thackeray produced it when
their prices were at their highest.
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