Progress-Glorious John-Utterly unintelligible-What a difference.
BY the month of October I had,in spite of all difficulties and obstacles,accomplished about two-thirds of the principal task which I had undertaken,the compiling of the Newgate lives;I had also made some progress in translating the publisher's philosophy into German.But about this time I began to see very clearly that it was impossible that our connection should prove of long duration;yet,in the event of my leaving the big man,what other resource had I-another publisher?But what had I to offer?
There were my ballads,my Ab Gwilym,but then I thought of Taggart and his snuff,his pinch of snuff.However,I determined to see what could be done,so I took my ballads under my arm,and went to various publishers;some took snuff,others did not,but none took my ballads or Ab Gwilym,they would not even look at them.One asked me if I had anything else-he was a snuff-taker-I said yes;and going home,returned with my translation of the German novel,to which I have before alluded.After keeping it for a fortnight,he returned it to me on my visiting him,and,taking a pinch of snuff,told me it would not do.There were marks of snuff on the outside of the manu,which was a roll of paper bound with red tape,but there were no marks of snuff on the interior of the manu,from which I concluded that he had never opened it.
I had often heard of one Glorious John,who lived at the western end of the town;on consulting Taggart,he told me that it was possible that Glorious John would publish my ballads and Ab Gwilym,that is,said he,taking a pinch of snuff,provided you can see him;so I went to the house where Glorious John resided,and a glorious house it was,but I could not see Glorious John-I called a dozen times,but I never could see Glorious John.Twenty years after,by the greatest chance in the world,I saw Glorious John,and sure enough Glorious John published my books,but they were different books from the first;I never offered my ballads or Ab Gwilym to Glorious John.Glorious John was no snuff-taker.He asked me to dinner,and treated me with superb Rhenish wine.
Glorious John is now gone to his rest,but I-what was I going to say?-the world will never forget Glorious John.
So I returned to my last resource for the time then being-to the publisher,persevering doggedly in my labour.One day,on visiting the publisher,I found him stamping with fury upon certain fragments of paper.'Sir,'said he,'you know nothing of German;I have shown your translation of the first chapter of my Philosophy to several Germans:it is utterly unintelligible to them.''Did they see the Philosophy?'I replied.'They did,sir,but they did not profess to understand English.''No more do I,'I replied,'if that Philosophy be English.'
The publisher was furious-I was silent.For want of a pinch of snuff,I had recourse to something which is no bad substitute for a pinch of snuff,to those who can't take it,silent contempt;at first it made the publisher more furious,as perhaps a pinch of snuff would;it,however,eventually calmed him,and he ordered me back to my occupations,in other words,the compilation.To be brief,the compilation was completed,I got paid in the usual manner,and forthwith left him.
He was a clever man,but what a difference in clever men!