Text: James Cephas Derby, “J. S. Redfield,” Fifty Years Among Authors, Books and Publishers, New York: G. W. Carleton & Co., pp. 585-590

[page 585:]

J. S. REDFIELD.

ANOTHER old-time publisher whose name was well-known in the book world fifty years ago, still lives, and, like Mr. Francis, can interest his hearers with accounts of the notable authors he has met and whose literary productions bore his imprint as publisher.

I refer to J. S. Redfield, whose list of publications at one time included the works of William Gilmore Simms, Alice Cary, Caroline Cheesebro, Edgar Allan Poe, Cornelius Matthews and many other American authors.

Mr. Redfield's editions of the novels of William Gilmore Simms, then the most noted of Southern authors, are now published by A. C. Armstrong & Sons in seventeen volumes. Mr. Redfield says that twenty years before he knew Mr. Simms, he had read with intense interest his border stories, “Yemasee,” and “Guy Rivers,” also “The Partisan,” and other of his Revolutionary romances, and this reading influenced him to undertake the republication of the works of that notable novelist. Edgar Allen [[Allan]] Poe in a review of one of Mr. Simms, “Martin Faber,” thus speaks of that author as a writer:

Simms’ life of General Francis Marion, a work of great historic value, was published by my firm and always sold steadily and largely.

Mr. Redfield was the first New York publisher for Alice Cary. A volume of her poems and also her “Clovernook” stories, were brought to him by Rufus W. Griswold, who Mr. Redfield says, not only prepared the copy for the press but read the proofs, and, through his painstaking attention, all of her works as they appeared were well noticed by the press; thus much of her earlier literary reputation was due to Dr. Griswold's friendly services.

Among other of Mr. Redfield's authors was the late Caroline Cheesebro, who has written some very excellent books now out of print. None of her volumes proved commercially a success, although she ranked well among the litterati [[literati]] of her day. Her books deserved to be successful, but literary success was not meted out to her. The last two productions from her pen were published by my firm.

The most important of all of Mr. Redfield's publications, however were the works of Edgar Allan Poe. It was also through Dr. Griswold that he was induced to undertake the publication of Poe's works, now one of the most popular authors of the day. Dr. Griswold had offered the works to nearly all the leading publishers, who declined to undertake the publication. He finally persuaded [page 587:] Mr. Redfield to try the experiment of issuing two volumes first, which were published and had a fair sale — then the third, and finally the fourth volume were added to complete the works. The sale reached about fifteen hundred sets every year. The copyright was paid at first to Mr. Poe, and after his death to his mother-in-law, Mrs. Clemm, who received the copyright on several editions. She came to Mr. Redfield one day in a great strait — saying she was going to Baltimore to enter a home for aged females. She wanted to raise two hundred and fifty dollars, and if he would let her have that amount, she would relinquish all claims to copyright. Mr. Redfield hesitated at first, but finally yielded to her importunities and paid her the money, thus becoming owner of the copyright as well as stereotype plates of Poe's complete works. Mrs. Clemm removed to Baltimore, where, soon after, she died.

Mr. Redfield's successor, the late W. J. Widdleton, became the owner of Poe's works, and subsequently sold them to A. C. Armstrong & Son, who are now the publishers of a new and revised edition.

Mr. Redfield thinks great injustice has been done by certain critics to Rev. Dr. Griswold, in reflecting upon him as Poe's biographer.

In a recent letter to me, he says: “Griswold never received a cent for his labors. Poe named him as his literary executor, shortly before he died, although they had quarreled not long before. Griswold's labor was no joke. Few men would heve undertaken it with no hope of reward. It is fashionable now-a-days to throw mud at him. Knowing as I did, both of the men, and knowing also how assiduously Griswold labored to say everything he could in the biography in Poe's favor, it is very annoying to read these things. The matter of the biography was all read over to me, talked and discussed before printing, and I know he did his best to ‘set down naught in malice.’ He was obliged, as he thought, to state the facts in all cases, and he did state them, favorably as he could to Poe. I know [page 588:] he tried to do so. Now he is accused everywhere by people who know nothing about it, of vilely slandering Poe. I had a better opportunity than anyone else to know all about it, and I know he did not. If I had not entirely rusted out of the use of the pen, I should like to write a magazine article on Griswold and Poe, and would give these young scribblers ‘Jesse,’ who are so fond of throwing mud at Griswold and lauding Poe.”

Another author on Mr. Redfield's list was Cornelius Matthews, who was the editor in connection with the late Evert A. Duyckinck, of a literary magazine of considerable merit called “Arcturus, a journal of Books and Opinion,” in which appeared his “Career of Puffer Hopkins,” afterwards published in book form. Edgar Allan Poe, said at the time, of “Arcturus”: “It is decidedly the very best magazine in some respects ever published in the United States.” Mr. Matthews also was the author of some well-written works of fiction and Indian legendary lore.

Mr. Matthews knew Mr. Poe very well, was a personal friend, and often saw him at his editorial rooms, as well as at his city residence and his home in Fordham, of which the following interesting account is given me in a recent letter received from him.

“On the next occasion the author of the ‘Rue Morgue’ appeared in a different light. It was at the bedside of his wife Virginia, his cousin, the daughter of Mrs. Clemm, then lying very sick in their chambers on East Broadway. His bearing was brave, sympathetic and affectionate, that of the gentleman in grief.”

“My next interview with this singular genius had a less serious complexion. He, now a widower, settled in a little cottage on the rocks at Fordham, just across Harlem Bridge. There was quite a little party gathered to take tea with Poe and his mother-in-law and aunt, Mrs. Clemm. When we were summoned into the supper-room we found to the open-eyed wonder of the company, the floor laid [page 589:] with a brand-new rag carpet, an ample table, sumptuous with delicacies, and Mrs. Clemm at the head of the table, decanting, from a new silver-plated urn, amber coffee, which glowed as it fell in the light of the setting sun. All this was in strong contravention of Poe's proclaimed abject poverty, unless observers had brought to mind that the equipage represented in part of the proceeds of a libel suit collected by the poet in the previous week from Hiram Fuller, editor of the Evening Mirror. We walked about the roads after supper discoursing on one subject and another, in which the poet took part, confining himself as usual to abstract subjects and analytic disquisitions. Much as he had traveled, and much as he must have seen, I never heard an anecdote nor personal trait nor incident or circumstance having any color in it as introduced by him.

“Another occasion in keeping with Poe's character was an encounter with him at the old Olympic Theatre (Mitchell's), emerging from which together after the play, he invited me to join him in a stroll down Broadway. We had reached a lamp-post at the foot of the City Hall Park, then standing on the site of the present post-office. He brought up along side of the post, and embracing it partially, proceeded to give me the history of the “Raven” which was then beginning to command attention in the literary world. The explanation was substantially this: That when he made up his mind to write a poem that should be popular, he took into account these conditions. First, it must be of such length as to be embraced at one reading. Secondly, it must be serious and sentimental, rather than light and romantic. To this end also, the measure should be rather long than short. In the next place, it must have a refrain melodious and mournful. The word so chosen was “ Nevermore,” beyond which in the qualities required, no word in the language could go. Read the “Raven,” and you will find all these ingredients and essentials faithfully provided. And now, continued Mr. Matthews, we have announced but not builded [[built]] a monument [page 590:] to be erected in Central Park, to “That illustrious poet, Edgar Allan Poe.”

Among the amusing anecdotes connected with the book trade, Mr. Redfield relates the following:

Some of the older members of the trade will have pleasant remembrances of the late John Doyle, an Irish Catholic publisher and bookseller, who did business in the city for many years. He was a good deal of a wag and was very fond of a joke, and it was not easy to get ahead of him. When he and Mayor Harper met, the sparks used to fly. At a trade-sale in Boston years ago, which was attended generally by the booksellers, Doyle among the rest, the invoice of J. B. Lippincott, was begun with some very elegant family Bibles, in superb binding, and heavily-gilt clasps. Some one bid three dollars a piece. “Why, gentlemen,” said Lippincott's representative, “these clasps alone on this Bible cost five dollars.” Doyle was sitting directly in front of the auctioneer's stand. He got up and examined the Bible and stamps, and says: “Why, Mr. Lippincott, we can buy such stamps as these in New York for two dollars and a half!” “Yes, Mr. Doyle,” was the reply, “but you know, you have more brass in New York than we have in Philadelphia.” The roar that shook that salesroom made the welkin ring, and Doyle subsided.