The Life and Beauties of Fanny Fern. William U. Moulton
bewilderment, at the thing of smiles and tears standing before him.
No wonder that he thought the sensitive, impulsive Fanny must be faultless, and sympathized profoundly in her execrations on hard-hearted parents and tyrannical husbands. No wonder, if defended by such lips, the worse appeared the better reason—and the price per column dwindled into comparative insignificance. Mr. Norris was Fanny's faithful friend. Already tottering toward the grave, he was not, indeed, able to render her as much actual service as the younger and more vigorous editor of The True Flag, who was, next to Mr. N., her earliest patron, but the proprietor of the Olive Branch gave her employment, friendship and counsel, which should have secured in return, at least gratitude.
As we have intimated, Fanny had contributed but few articles to the Olive Branch, before forming an engagement with the Boston True Flag, and our next chapter will be devoted to a graphic description of her connection with that paper, by its editor.
VIII.
FANNY AND THE TRUE FLAG.
Scene, True Flag Office, Morning.—Industrious Editor at his desk.—Enter dapper young gentleman, bowing.—Editor, with a pen over each ear and one in his fingers, looks up, nodding politely.
Young Gent.—Are you in want of contributions to your paper?
Ed.—We are always glad to get good original articles, sir. Please take a seat.
Y. G.—Thank you, sir. (Sits down in a Flag-bottomed chair—we mean, a chair with a pile of True Flags in it.) I am not a writer myself, but I have a lady friend, who, although inexperienced, manifests a good deal of literary talent, and would like to try her hand at an article or two for your paper. She belongs to a distinguished literary family; her father is an editor, and she has a brother who is also an editor, and the author of several of the most popular books ever published in this country.
Ed.—Very well; we should be pleased to see a specimen of what she can do. (Y. G. withdraws.)
Such was substantially the manner in which the yet unknown authoress, destined soon to become so celebrated, was first introduced to our notice. We should not, however, fail to state, in this connection, that already Mr. Norris, of the Olive Branch, had communicated to a member of our firm the fact, that a sister of Mr. N. P. Willis had applied to him for employment, and that he had recommended the True Flag as an additional source of income. Therefore, without the calling of names, we were prepared to make a shrewd guess at the identity of the young gent's lady friend.
According to agreement, a couple of fragrant Ferns were plucked in due season, (no pun on the word due,) and sent to our office. We found the leaves a little coarse in fibre, but spicy, and acceptable. Fanny wrote upon a big foolscap page, in a large, open, very masculine hand. The manuscript was characteristic—decidedly Ferny—dashed all over with astonishing capitals and crazy italics—and stuck full with staggering exclamation points, as a pin-cushion with pins. In print, the italics were intended to resemble jolly words leaning over and tumbling down with laughter, and the interjections were supposed to be tottering under the two-fold weight of double-entendres and puns. At first sight, the writing looked as though it might have been paced off by trained canary-birds—driven first through puddles of ink, then marched into hieroglyphic drill on the sheet like a militia company on parade. All Fanny's manuscripts demanded a good deal of editorial care to prepare them for the press; her first productions, particularly, requiring as thorough weeding as so many beds of juvenile beets and carrots.
Fanny's price—we mean the price of her articles—was two dollars a column. This was readily acceded to; and the young gent received the money for her first contributions—eight dollars for four columns—the morning after their delivery into our hands. In this place, it would be inexcusable not to speak of another characteristic of the Fern manuscripts. When purchased, paid for, properly pruned and prepared for the printer's hands, they were invariably found to fall short of the stipulated amount of reading matter—one of her spread-eagle pages nestling very quietly and nicely into a few lines of print. So trifling a circumstance, however, was not, of course, to be considered, in dealing with a lady.
Another Scene. True Flag Office, ten o'clock, A. M. Editor at his desk, with pens as before, and an additional pencil in his hair.—Enter jaunty bonnet, with gay feathers, elegant veil, rich broadcloth cloak, and silk dress—rather magnificent, if not more so. Editor hastens to place a chair.
Jaunty Bonnet, (in a low, half-whisper, under the veil)—Excuse me—I'm a little out of breath, running up stairs. I've brought Mr. Snooks to introduce me.
Mr. Snooks turned out to be a Fern manuscript. The jaunty bonnet carried him in an elegant reticule, in close proximity to a coquettish hankerchief, redolent of perfume. The jaunty bonnet turned out to be—Fanny herself! Mr. Snooks was for sale, and we bought him. Price, two dollars a column—cheap enough for Snooks. We afterwards dotted his i's, dressed him up a little, changed his name—Snooks was a bad name—and printed him.
This was our first interview with the witty and brilliant Fanny. Certainly, we did not judge that so gay and fashionable an attire had that morning issued from a dismal garret, in a dark and narrow lane—that those well-rounded proportions drew their sole subsistence from the "homœopathic broth" of niggardly landladies. Indeed, no starving necessity had compelled her to resort to the pen. With a true woman's spirit, she believed she could do something for herself, and determined to try. We liked her articles—she liked our pay—so we engaged her as a regular contributor. We suggested that she should write stories, in addition to her sketches—by which arrangement she might easily earn fifteen dollars a week. She pleaded the necessity of finishing everything she undertook, at one sitting, and her inability to elaborate a long story. Still she desired more employment; at the same time, the too-frequent repetition of "Fanny Fern" in our columns would injure both herself and us; so the matter was compromised by giving her a second nom de plume—that of "Olivia,"—which was attached to a number of her sketches.
Up to this period, Mrs. Farrington had no reputation whatever as a writer, and we purchased her articles for their intrinsic merits only, paying for them what they were actually worth to us. As her reputation increased, and her value as a contributor was heightened, her remuneration was augmented accordingly. Although we paid her five dollars a column,—the columns generally falling short one-third, at that,—we cheerfully gave her her own terms, until, when she demanded twelve dollars a column, we thought we would just take three or four days to scratch our editorial ear, and think about it. In this place, it may be proper to state that, at one time, without giving us any notice whatever, she broke her engagement, and entered into a contract with a New York publisher, by which she was to write exclusively for his paper for one year. The terms offered were liberal, and for her sake, we rejoiced at her good future. But munificent promises do not always lead to rich fulfilment; and it was not long before Mrs. Farrington gladly returned to those in whose service she had always been promptly and handsomely paid.
Fanny's style was novel and sparkling, if not very refined, and her fame sprang up almost in a night-time. Messrs. Derby & Miller, booksellers, of Auburn, N. Y., had the shrewdness to see that a volume of her sketches would be apt to make a stir in the market, and wrote to us for information touching her real name and address. We replied that we were not then at liberty to divulge the name, but that any communications directed to our care would reach her. A correspondence was at once opened, and Mrs. Farrington was offered four hundred dollars for sufficient material for a volume—or, if she preferred, ten cents a copy on every edition printed.
Now four hundred dollars cash, was tempting. It would purchase a rich dress, a dashing shawl, "several pairs of gaiter-boots," and numerous boxes of those sovereign preparations, noted for the qualities that "impart a natural beauty to the complexion." In accordance with our advice, however, (for we foresaw a large sale for the book,) she resolved to risk a little, in the hope that much might be gained, and accept the commission of ten cents a copy. The volume was