"He was a yearning psychologist—she was a suburban flirt. He sighed, and analysed; she listened, and yawned. Finally, she went on the stage, and he compiled this record of the stirring transaction."
But at last there came a longer criticism of Wilton's Wooing in the Erechtheum. Somebody took Browzer to pieces, averring that "Mr. Browzer has neither grammar" (here followed a string of examples of Browzer's idioms) "nor humour," (here came instances of his wit and fancy), "nor taste" (again reinforced by specimens), "nor even knowledge of the French language, which he habitually massacres." (Here followed à l'outrance, bête noir, soubriquet, all our old friends.) Finally, Mr. Browzer was informed that many fields of honourable distinction might be open to him, but that a novelist he could never be.
The wrath of Browzer was magnificent. He went about among his friends, who told him that the critique was clearly by that brute St. Clair; they knew his hand, they said; a confounded, conceited pendant, and a stuck-up puppy. The review was calculated to damage the sale of any book; it was a dastardly attack on Browzer's reputation as a man of wit and humour, a linguist, and a grammarian. They thought (as Browzer wished to know) that an action would lie against the reviewer, or the review. Browzer went to a Solicitor, who espoused his cause, but without enthusiasm. The name of the reviewer was demanded. Now St. Clair was not the reviewer; the critic was a man just from College, hence his fresh indignation. Whether for the sake of diversion, or for the advertisement, the critic wished himself to bear the brunt of Browzer's anger, and the Erechtheum handed him over to justice; his name was Smith. This damped Browzer's eagerness; no laurels were to be won from the obscure Smith. The advocate of that culprit made out a case highly satisfactory to the learned Judge, who had been a reviewer himself upon a time. He showed that malice was out of the question; Smith had never heard Browzer's name, nor Browzer, Smith's (in this instance) before the book was published. He called several professors of the French tongue, to prove that Browzer's French was that usual in fiction, but not the language of Molière, or of the Academy. He left no doubt on the question of grammar. As to the wit and pathos, he made much mirth out of them. He cross-examined Browzer: had other reviews praised him? Had publishers leaped eagerly at his work? On what terms was it published? Browzer's answer appeared to show that Wilton's Wooing was not regarded as a masterpiece by the Trade.
Browzer's advocate put it that Browzer was being crushed by unfair ridicule on his first entry into a noble profession, or art, that of Scott and Fielding. He spoke of mighty poets in their misery dead. He drew a picture of Browzer's agonies of mind. He showed that masterpieces had, ere now, been rejected by the publishers. He denounced the licence of the Press. Who was an unheard-of Smith, who had written nothing, to come forward and shout at Browzer from behind the hedge of the anonymous? The novelist was a creature of delicate organisation; he suffered as others did not suffer; his only aim was to lighten care, and instruct ignorance. Why was he to be selected for cruel sarcasm and insult?
The learned Judge summed-up dead against Browzer. Browzer had published a book, had invited criticism, and then, when he only got what his work merited, he came and asked for damages.
The question of malice he left to the Jury, who must see that the Critic and Author had each been ignorant of the other's existence.
The Jury did not deliberate long. They brought in a verdict for Browzer, damages £500, and costs.
The advertisement, the publicity, caused Wilton's Wooing to be eagerly asked for. Browzer's book went into ten editions, and a large issue, at six shillings. Next year Browzer's publishers proved that he owed them £37 14s. 6d. This was disappointing, and even inexplicable, but Browzer's fortune was made, and now he is much lauded by all the reviewers.
The Foreman of the Jury is my grocer, and I ventured, in the confidence of private life, to question the justice of the verdict. "Well," he said, "you see it comes to this: where is this to stop? Mr. Browzer, he sells novels; I sell groceries."
"Excellent of their kind!" I interrupted.