Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius - Kevin J Anderson [160]
Years ago, Pierre-Jules Hetzel had made his mark in the publishing world, though he was a Protestant and had thus suffered many difficulties during the turmoil in France. An outspoken supporter of the Second Republic after the Revolutions of 1848, he had managed to escape arrest when Napoleon III proclaimed himself Emperor. While hiding in Brussels for eight years, Hetzel published the work of fellow exile Victor Hugo until an amnesty in 1859 allowed him to return to Paris. Back again, Hetzel had rapidly become very successful, and now was ready to expand his publishing endeavors.
The man remained in bed, sitting up in his blankets and pillows to greet his visitor. Despite the fact that he was about fifteen years older than Verne, Hetzel had an energetic intensity that shaved years from his age. His pale hair was not entirely gray, and he appeared healthy as an ox.
Both men had full, stylish beards, but the publisher’s face had sharper angles, a hawkish nose, and close-set eyes that brightened when he saw the young writer enter his bedchamber. Without a word, the consumptive clerk disappeared. Verne remained standing, looking down at the important man sitting in his nightshirt on the canopied bed.
Beside him, on the blankets, lay the manuscript of Verne’s balloon book.
Jules Verne’s heart pounded. He smelled the beeswax candles in the enclosed room, noted the publisher’s picked-over dinner tray lying on the floor on the opposite side of the bed. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, and only dim morning light intruded. He felt like an intruder here, but he didn’t dare leave -- not until he had heard what Hetzel had to say.
The publisher looked at him for a few moments. Verne wondered desperately what to say. None of the other publishers had bothered to call him in person; they’d merely sent declining letters. His hopes ran high. The other man picked up the thick stack of papers, and Verne held his breath.
“I am sorry, Monsieur, but I cannot publish this manuscript,” Hetzel said.
Verne felt as if the building had crashed down upon him. Already lacking confidence, he felt that this man had made a fool of him. His face reddened, and cold sweat trickled beneath his collar. “I apologize for wasting your time, Monsieur,” Verne choked out the words. He reached for the manuscript to snatch it away. This time he would burn it far from where Honorine could see and stop him.
“On the contrary,” Hetzel added, raising a scolding finger. His thin, businesslike voice held no anger. “I cannot publish this book as it is. I do believe, however, it can be made publishable . . . if you are willing to do the work. I want authors who are hard workers. Are you a hard worker and persistent -- or will I never see you again?”
Verne didn’t comprehend what the publisher was saying and wondered if the man were taunting him. Hetzel tapped the thick manuscript. “What you have written, Monsieur Verne, is nothing but a dry lecture about balloons and their potential. I am convinced that you have apprehended the facts, but you have not presented them in an interesting manner.”
Verne drew a deep, cold breath. “My book is about science, sir. It is not meant to be a comedy or a farce.”
“But why not an adventure?” Hetzel locked his gaze with the young writer’s. “It must be a story with a scientific basis, not a treatise about scientific fact. To captivate your readers, you must wrap your research within a tale so exciting that the people will cry out for more.” His eyes sparkled. “You will become a teacher, introducing the public to new concepts without their realizing it.” He chuckled.
Verne stopped, allowing the words to penetrate. What