As soon as it was fairly out of sight, he rose,
bade adieu to Madame de Blot, and backed out of the room with as great
respect as if he was in the presence of royalty, much to the
satisfaction of Madame de Blot, who was delighted at such homage, and
little thought why the good priest would not turn his back to her. The
story says, that the Madame de Blot never could find out what had become
of her little dog.

CHAPTER FORTY.

Lausanne.
What a continual strife there is between literary men! I can only
compare the world of authors to so many rats drowning in a tub, forcing
each other down to raise themselves, and keep their own heads above
water. And yet they are very respectable, and a very useful body of
men, also, in a politico-economical sense of the word, independent of
the advantages gained by their labours, by the present and the future;
for their capital is _nothing_ except brains, and yet they contrive to
find support for themselves and thousands of others. It is strange when
we consider how very few, comparatively speaking, are the number of
authors, how many people are supported by them.

There are more than a thousand booksellers and publishers in the three
kingdoms, all of whom rent more than a thousand houses, paying rent and
taxes; support more than a thousand families, and many thousand clerks,
as booksellers alone. Then we have to add the paper manufacturers, the
varieties of bookbinders, printing-ink manufacturers, iron pens, and
goose quills. All of which are subservient to and dependent upon these
comparatively few heads.

What a _train_ an author has! unfortunately for him it is too long.
There are too many dependent upon him, and, like some potentates, the
support of his state eats his whole revenue, leaving him nothing but
bread and cheese and fame. Some French writer has said, "La litterature
est le plus noble des loisirs, mais le dernier de tous les metiers;" and
so it is, for this one reason, that according as an author's wants are
cogent, so he is pressed down by the publisher. Authors and publishers
are natural enemies, although they cannot live without each other. If
an author is independent of literature, and has a reputation, he bullies
the publisher: he is right; he is only revenging the insults contumely
heaped upon those whom the publishers know to be in their power, and
obliged to submit to them. Well, every