THE SKETCHER. STRANGE REVERSALS OF FORTUNE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3351, 5 June 1918, Page 59

THE SKETCHER.

STRANGE REVERSALS OF FORTUNE.

LITERARY TIDES WHICH HAVE TURNED. "Fortune turns round like a mill-wheel, and he that was yesterday at the top lies to-day at the bottom," says an old Spanish proverb. In no walk of life perhaps do we find such striking instances of the turn of Fortune's wheel as in the literary profession. A pathetic example of this occurred not long ago. A sometime playwright and actor named Sydney Gordon, author of "A Drifting Spar," wrote from the Marylebone Workhouse: I am an actor of nearly 30 years' experience, also a playwright and author of "A Drifting Spar," produced by me in August, 1893, at the Theatre Royal, Edmonton, which was then under my_ own management. And still I am a pauper, and have, been so for weeks past. I have walked about homeless until my boots were done for, and I was famishing. . . . Truly, one of Life's drifting spars. It is pleasing to reflect, however, that the reversal more often brings writers from the bottom, to top than the other way. Everybody knows the story of how Byron "awoke one morning and found himself famous." He had returned to

England from the Near East on July 2, 1811, and in an interview Avith Robert Dallas he admitted, somewhat reluctantly, that he had a great many stanzas in Spenserian metre, "which," he said, "are not worth troubling you with, but which you shall have if you like." These "stanzas" were nothing less than the famous "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," which secured immediate success and subsequent immortality for the poet. —Found with Fishing Tackle.—

Some of the most famour books owe their existence, as it were, to the merest accident. "Waverley," which began and gave its name to the incomparable series of Scott's romances, might never have been written had not its author suddenly stumbled across a half-finished manuscript. It happened in this way. One day Scott, who was a keen fisherman, happened to want some extra tackle, and not being a particularly tidy man he had to ransack the house for it. In his search ho came across a partly-written " tale which he had commenced some years before, but had forgotten all about. He decided to finish it. The result was "Waverley; or, 'Tis Sixty Years Since." The success of the book was unprecedented : 1000 copies were sold within five weeks, and edition followed edition with scarcely a break. And yet, but for that lucky chance of having to look for the fishing-tackle, the book might never have seen the light. Another famous novel which might well have remained uncompleted is "Lady Audley's Secret." It was begun as a serial for a periodical called Robin Goodfellow, ' which, unfortunately, came to an abrupt end while the story was still running. Shortly after this collapse, however, the young and then almost unknown author received a letter from J. B. Buckstone, a brilliant actor and playwright of his

day, in which he said he was very disappointed at the premature ending of the

story, and was dying to know how it went on. This so encouraged Miss Braddon that she took up the story again, and continued it for another magazine. Then it attracted the attention, of the Brothers Tinsley, who had just set up in business as publishers. They offered to publish it at once, and Miss Braddon finished it against time for this purpose. Within 24 hours of its appearance in book form Lionel Brough, a representative of the firm, called to announce to the young author the novel's instantaneous success. From that day Miss Braddon's reputation and fortune were made.

"East Lynne," again, which brought immediate fame for its author, was undertaken solely to soothe the weariness of a sick-bed. Incidentally it may be recalled that Meredith, in his- capacity of reader to Messrs Chapman and Hall," advised the rejection of Mrs Henry Wood's masterpiece. —The " Scarlet Pimpernel."—

A writer who suddenly leapt into prominence is Baroness D'Orczy. Ten years ago, we are told, she was absolutely unknown at the libraries. And yet to-day, both as playwright and novelist, her name is a household Avord. With regard to the 'Scarlet Pimpernel," it is interesting to learn that the play was written before the novel, which, by the way, was refused by no less than a dozen publishers. When finally it was published it was hailed with a chorus of acclaim bv both critics and public. The success of the play is too well known to need comment, although it may be remarked that at first it was decried by the critics. —From Carpenter to Playwright.—

Many writers have begun life in a humble walk, and almost by chance found themselves possessed of literary genius. Brieux, the famous French dramatist, two of whose plays have recently been produced in London, started life as a car■penter. He made bookcases by .the score, but had no idea then that he would one day be making their contents. His interest in books. was always keen, however, and he read them a.s he planed and fitted. In these early "days he was so poor that it is said he acquired his learning by the furtive glimmer of the stair gas jet of the tenement in which he lived (not being able to afford candles). He attended night schools, and finally abandoned carpentry for journalism. In Rouen he served a seven years' apprenticeship to his new trade, ' during which time he haunted the law courts. There lie amassed the material which he was later to use in his book entitled "Red

Robe," a terrible indictment against advocates and judges. His plays, too, owe much to the experience he gained as reporter. From the sub-editorship of a Rouen paper he forced his way on to the stage, with what success all the world knows. . —The Penny Box.— Books, no less than their authors, have their sudden reversals of fortune. FitzGerald's "Omar Khayyam" owes its popularity to a more or less fortuitous circumstance. It was published by the late Mr Bernard Quaritch's father, who, finding the thing did not sell, relegated it to the penny box. Two friends of Rossetti came across the poem, and, thinking it worth reading, called the poet's attention! to it. He, in turn, recommended it to Swinburne. What followed shall he _ told in Swinburne's own words. "Having read it," he says, "Rossetti and I invested upwards of*6d a-piece—or possibly 3d—l would not wish to exaggerate our extravagance—in copies at that not exorbitant price. Next day we thought we might get some more for our friends, but the man at the stall asked 2d! Rossetti expostulated with him in terms of such humorously indignant remonstrance as none hut he could ever have commanded. We took a few, and left him. In a week or two, if I am not mistaken, the remaining copies were sold at a guinea. I have since seen copies offered for still more absurd prices. I kept my pennyworth (the tidiest of the lot), and'have it still." To-day those penny books would be cheap indeed at a guinea. —£lo,ooo for £lO

Unfortunately for the author, it is usually the publisher who catches the flood-tide of a writers success. Particularly would this seem to be the case with song-writers. Many a composer who has produced a work of lasting merit, if not of genius, has been forced to accept a mere pittance for it, leaving its publisher to reap a golden harvest. For "Come into the garden:, Maud," for instance. Balfe received no more than £100; "Kathleen Mavourneen" brought its composer a paltry £5; the right of "Cheer, boys, cheer" ' parted from Henry Russell for 60s; while "Some Buy" brought its writer lOgs. This last is said to have yielded well over £IO,OOO.