1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
|
<!DOCTYPE html
PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
<head>
<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" />
<title>The Library, by Andrew Lang</title>
<style type="text/css">
/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */
<!--
P { margin-top: .75em;
margin-bottom: .75em;
}
P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;}
P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; }
.GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; }
H1, H2 {
text-align: center;
margin-top: 2em;
margin-bottom: 2em;
}
H3, H4, H5 {
text-align: center;
margin-top: 1em;
margin-bottom: 1em;
}
BODY{margin-left: 10%;
margin-right: 10%;
}
table { border-collapse: collapse; }
table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;}
td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;}
td p { margin: 0.2em; }
.blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */
.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;}
.pagenum {position: absolute;
left: 92%;
font-size: small;
text-align: right;
font-weight: normal;
color: gray;
}
img { border: none; }
img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; }
p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; }
div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; }
div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;}
div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%;
border-top: 1px solid; }
div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%;
border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;}
div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%;
margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid;
border-bottom: 1px solid; }
div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%;
margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid;
border-bottom: 1px solid;}
div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%;
border-top: 1px solid; }
.citation {vertical-align: super;
font-size: .8em;
text-decoration: none;}
img.floatleft { float: left;
margin-right: 1em;
margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
img.floatright { float: right;
margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em;
margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
img.clearcenter {display: block;
margin-left: auto;
margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em;
margin-bottom: 0.5em}
-->
/* XML end ]]>*/
</style>
</head>
<body>
<pre>
The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Library, by Andrew Lang, et al
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
Title: The Library
Author: Andrew Lang
Release Date: October 5, 2014 [eBook #2018]
[This file was first posted on April 4, 1999]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIBRARY***
</pre>
<p>Transcribed from the 1881 Macmillan and Co. edition by David
Price, email ccx074@pgflaf.org</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/coverb.jpg">
<img alt=
"Book cover"
title=
"Book cover"
src="images/covers.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/fpb.jpg">
<img alt=
"Frontispiece"
title=
"Frontispiece"
src="images/fps.jpg" />
</a></p>
<h1>THE LIBRARY</h1>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br
/>
ANDREW LANG</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">WITH A
CHAPTER ON</span><br />
<span class="GutSmall">MODERN ENGLISH ILLUSTRATED BOOKS
BY</span><br />
<span class="GutSmall">AUSTIN DOBSON</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/tpb.jpg">
<img alt=
"Decorative graphic, ‘Art at Home’"
title=
"Decorative graphic, ‘Art at Home’"
src="images/tps.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center">London<br />
MACMILLAN & CO.<br />
1881</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall"><i>The right
of reproduction is reserved</i></span><span
class="GutSmall">.</span></p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pagevi"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. vi</span><i>Printed by</i> R. & R. <span
class="smcap">Clarke</span>, <i>Edinburgh</i>.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pagevii"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. vii</span><span class="GutSmall">TO</span><br
/>
DR. JOHN BROWN<br />
<span class="GutSmall">AUTHOR OF</span><br />
<span class="GutSmall"><i>RAB AND HIS FRIENDS</i></span><span
class="GutSmall">.</span></p>
<h2><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
ix</span>PREFATORY NOTE</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> pages in this volume on
illuminated and other MSS. (with the exception of some anecdotes
about Bussy Rabutin and Julie de Rambouillet) have been
contributed by the Rev. W. J. Loftie, who has also written on
early printed books (pp. 94–95). The pages on the
Biblioklept (pp. 46–56) are reprinted, with the
Editor’s kind permission, from the <i>Saturday Review</i>;
and a few remarks on the moral lessons of bookstalls are taken
from an essay in the same journal.</p>
<p>Mr. Ingram Bywater, Fellow of Exeter College, and lately
sub-Librarian of the Bodleian, has very kindly read through the
proofs of chapters I., II., and III., and suggested some
alterations.</p>
<p>Thanks are also due to Mr. T. R. Buchanan, Fellow of All Souls
College, for two plates from his “Book-bindings in All
Souls Library” (printed for private circulation), which he
has been good <a name="pagex"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
x</span>enough to lend me. The plates are beautifully drawn
and coloured by Dr. J. J. Wild. Messrs. George Bell &
Sons, Messrs. Bradbury, Agnew, & Co., and Messrs. Chatto
& Windus, must be thanked for the use of some of the woodcuts
which illustrate the concluding chapter.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">A. L.</p>
<h2><a name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
xi</span>CONTENTS.</h2>
<table>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: right"><span
class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER I.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">An Apology for the
Book-hunter</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page1">1</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p>“Every man his own
Librarian”—Bibliography and Literature—Services
of the French to Bibliography—A defence of the taste of the
Book-collector—Should Collectors buy for the purpose of
selling again?—The sport of Book-hunting—M. de
Resbecq’s anecdotes—Stories of success of
Book-hunters—The lessons of old
Bookstalls—Booksellers’ catalogues—Auctions of
Books—Different forms of the taste for collecting—The
taste serviceable to critical Science—Books considered as
literary relics—Examples—The “Imitatio
Christi” of J. J. Rousseau—A brief vision of mighty
Book-hunters.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER II.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">The Library</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page31">31</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p>The size of modern collections—The
Library in English houses—Bookcases—Enemies of
Books—Damp, dust, dirt—The bookworm—Careless
readers—Book plates—Borrowers—Book
stealers—Affecting instance of the Spanish Monk—The
Book-ghoul—Women the natural foes of books—Some
touching exceptions—Homage to Madame Fertiault—Modes
of preserving books; binding—Various sorts of coverings for
books—Half-bindings—Books too good to bind, how to be
entertained—Iniquities of Binders—Cruel case of a
cropped play of Molière—Recipes (not infallible) for
cleaning books—Necessity of possessing bibliographical
works, such as catalogues.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><a
name="pagexii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xii</span>CHAPTER
III.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">The Books of the Collector</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page76">76</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p>Manuscripts, early and late—Early
Printed Books—How to recognise them—Books printed on
<span class="smcap">Vellum</span>—“Uncut”
copies—“Livres de Luxe,” and Illustrated
Books—Invective against “Christmas
Books”—The “Hypnerotomachia
Poliphili”—Old woodcuts—French vignettes of the
eighteenth century—Books of the Aldi—Books of the
Elzevirs—“Curious” Books—Singular old
English poems—First editions—Changes of fashion in
Book-collecting—Examples of the variations in
prices—Books valued for their bindings, and as
relics—Anecdotes of Madame du Barry and Marie
Antoinette.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER IV.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Illustrated Books</span></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page123">123</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p>Beginnings of Modern Book-Illustration in
England—Stothard, Blake, Flaxman—Boydell’s
“Shakespeare,” Macklin’s “Bible,”
Martin’s “Milton”—The
“Annuals”—Rogers’s “Italy”
and “Poems”—Revival of
Wood-Engraving—Bewick—Bewick’s Pupils—The
“London School”—Progress of
Wood-Engraving—Illustrated “Christmas” and
other Books—The Humorous
Artists—Cruikshank—Doyle—Thackeray—Leech—Tenniel—Du
Maurier—Sambourne—Keene—Minor Humorous
Artists—Children’s Books—Crane—Miss
Greenaway—Caldecott—The “New American
School”—Conclusion.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<h2><a name="pagexiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
xiii</span>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2>
<table>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">PLATES.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span
class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>M. <span class="smcap">Annei Lucani de Bello Civili
Libri</span> X. <span class="smcap">Apud Seb. Gryphium
Lugduni</span>. 1551 <i>To face</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page62">62</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Pub. Virgilii Maronis Opera
Parisiis</span>. <span class="smcap">Apud Hieronymum de
Marnef, sub Pelicano, Monte D’Hilurii</span>.
1558 <i>To face</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page64">64</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Title-page</span> of “Le Rommant
de la Rose,” Paris, 1539 <i>To face</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page94">94</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">WOODCUTS.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Frontispiece</span>. <i>Drawn by
Walter Crane</i>; <i>engraved by Swain</i>.</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Initial</span>. <i>Drawn by
Walter Crane</i>; <i>engraved by Swain</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page1">1</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Group of Children</span>.
<i>Drawn by Kate Greenaway</i>; <i>engraved by O. Lacour</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page122">122</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Initial</span>. From
Hughes’s “Scouring of the White Horse,
1858.” <i>Drawn by Richard Doyle</i>; <i>engraved by
W. J. Linton</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page123">123</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><a name="pagexiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
xiv</span>“<span class="smcap">Infant
Joy</span>.” From Blake’s “Songs of
Innocence,” 1789. <i>Engraved by J. F.
Jungling</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page129">129</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>“<span class="smcap">Counsellor, King, Warrior,
Mother and Child, in the Tomb</span>.” From
Blair’s “Grave,” 1808. <i>Designed by
William Blake</i>; <i>facsimiled on wood from the engraving by
Louis Schiavonetti</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page131">131</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>“<span class="smcap">The
Woodcock</span>.” From Jackson & Chatto’s
“History of Wood-Engraving,” 1839.
<i>Engraved</i>, <i>after T. Bewick</i>, <i>by John
Jackson</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page141">141</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Tailpiece</span>. From the
same. <i>Engraved</i>, <i>after T. Bewick</i>, <i>by John
Jackson</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page143">143</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Headpiece</span>. From
Rogers’s “Pleasures of Memory, with other
Poems,” 1810. <i>Drawn by T. Stothard</i>;
<i>engraved</i>, <i>after Luke Clennell</i>, <i>by O.
Lacour</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page145">145</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>“<span class="smcap">Golden head by golden
head</span>.” From Christina Rossetti’s
“Goblin Market and other Poems,” 1862. <i>Drawn
by D. G. Rossetti</i>; <i>engraved by W. J. Linton</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page149">149</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>“<span class="smcap">The Deaf
Post-Boy</span>.” From Clarke’s “Three
Courses and a Dessert,” 1830. <i>Drawn by G.
Cruikshank</i>; <i>engraved by S. Williams</i> [?]</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="imageref"><a
href="#image153">153</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>“<span class="smcap">The Mad
Tea-Party</span>.” From “Alice’s
Adventures in Wonderland,” 1865. <i>Drawn by John
Tenniel</i>; <i>engraved by Dalziel Brothers</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="imageref"><a
href="#image162">162</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><a name="pagexv"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
xv</span><span class="smcap">Black Kitten</span>. From
“Through the Looking-Glass,” 1871. <i>Drawn by
John Tenniel</i>; <i>engraved by Dalziel Brothers</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page163">163</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>“<span class="smcap">The Music of the
Past</span>.” From “Punch’s
Almanack,” 1877. <i>Drawn by George du Maurier</i>;
<i>engraved by Swain</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="imageref"><a
href="#image165">165</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Lion and Tub</span>. From
“Punch’s Pocket-Book,” 1879. <i>Drawn by
Linley Sambourne</i>; <i>engraved by Swain</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="imageref"><a
href="#image167">167</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Boy and Hippocampus</span>. From
Miss E. Keary’s “Magic Valley,” 1877.
<i>Drawn by</i> “<i>E. V. B.</i>” (Hon. Mrs. Boyle);
<i>engraved by T. Quartley</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page171">171</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>“<span class="smcap">Love
Charms</span>.” From Irving’s
“Bracebridge Hall,” 1876. <i>Drawn by Randolph
Caldecott</i>; <i>engraved by J. D. Cooper</i></p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="imageref"><a
href="#image173">173</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<blockquote><p>Books, books again, and books once more!<br />
These are our theme, which some miscall<br />
Mere madness, setting little store<br />
By copies either short or tall.<br />
But you, O slaves of shelf and stall!<br />
We rather write for you that hold<br />
Patched folios dear, and prize “the small,<br />
Rare volume, black with tarnished gold.”</p>
<p style="text-align: right">A. D.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>CHAPTER
I.<br />
AN APOLOGY FOR THE BOOK-HUNTER</h2>
<p>“<span class="smcap">All</span> men,” says Dr.
Dibdin, “like to be their own librarians.” A
writer on the library has no business to lay down the law as to
the books that even the most inexperienced amateurs should try to
collect. There are books which no lover of literature can
afford to be without; classics, ancient and modern, on which the
world has pronounced its verdict. These works, in whatever
shape we may be able to possess them, are the necessary
foundations of even the smallest collections. Homer, Dante
and Milton Shakespeare and Sophocles, Aristophanes and
Molière, Thucydides, Tacitus, and Gibbon, Swift and
Scott,—these every lover of letters will desire to possess
in the original <a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
2</span>languages or in translations. The list of such
classics is short indeed, and when we go beyond it, the tastes of
men begin to differ very widely. An assortment of
broadsheet ballads and scrap-books, bought in boyhood, was the
nucleus of Scott’s library, rich in the works of poets and
magicians, of alchemists, and anecdotists. A childish
liking for coloured prints of stage characters, may be the germ
of a theatrical collection like those of Douce, and Malone, and
Cousin. People who are studying any past period of human
history, or any old phase or expression of human genius, will
eagerly collect little contemporary volumes which seem trash to
other amateurs. For example, to a student of
Molière, it is a happy chance to come across “La
Carte du Royaume des Prétieuses”—(The map of
the kingdom of the “Précieuses”)—written
the year before the comedian brought out his famous play
“Les Précieuses Ridicules.” This
geographical tract appeared in the very “Recueil des Pieces
Choisies,” whose authors Magdelon, in the play, was
expecting to entertain, when Mascarille made his
appearance. There is a faculty which Horace Walpole named
“serendipity,”—the luck of falling on just the
literary document which one wants at the moment. All
collectors of out of the way books know the pleasure of the
exercise of <a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
3</span>serendipity, but they enjoy it in different ways.
One man will go home hugging a volume of sermons, another with a
bulky collection of catalogues, which would have distended the
pockets even of the wide great-coat made for the purpose, that
Charles Nodier used to wear when he went a book-hunting.
Others are captivated by black letter, others by the plays of
such obscurities as Nabbes and Glapthorne. But however
various the tastes of collectors of books, they are all agreed on
one point,—the love of printed paper. Even an Elzevir
man can sympathise with Charles Lamb’s attachment to
“that folio Beaumont and Fletcher which he dragged home
late at night from Barker’s in Covent Garden.”
But it is another thing when Lamb says, “I do not care for
a first folio of Shakespeare.” A bibliophile who
could say this could say anything.</p>
<p>No, there are, in every period of taste, books which, apart
from their literary value, all collectors admit to possess, if
not for themselves, then for others of the brotherhood, a
peculiar preciousness. These books are esteemed for
curiosity, for beauty of type, paper, binding, and illustrations,
for some connection they may have with famous people of the past,
or for their rarity. It is about these books, the method of
preserving them, their enemies, the places in which to hunt for
them, <a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>that
the following pages are to treat. It is a subject more
closely connected with the taste for curiosities than with art,
strictly so called. We are to be occupied, not so much with
literature as with books, not so much with criticism as with
bibliography, the quaint <i>duenna</i> of literature, a study
apparently dry, but not without its humours. And here an
apology must be made for the frequent allusions and anecdotes
derived from French writers. These are as unavoidable,
almost, as the use of French terms of the sport in tennis and in
fencing. In bibliography, in the care for books <i>as</i>
books, the French are still the teachers of Europe, as they were
in tennis and are in fencing. Thus, Richard de Bury,
Chancellor of Edward III., writes in his
“Philobiblon:” “Oh God of Gods in Zion! what a
rushing river of joy gladdens my heart as often as I have a
chance of going to Paris! There the days seem always short;
there are the goodly collections on the delicate fragrant
book-shelves.” Since Dante wrote of—</p>
<blockquote><p>“L’onor di quell’ arte<br />
Ch’ allumare è chiamata in Parisi,”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>“the art that is called illuminating in Paris,”
and all the other arts of writing, printing, binding books, have
been most skilfully practised by France. She improved on
the lessons given by <a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
5</span>Germany and Italy in these crafts. Twenty books
about books are written in Paris for one that is published in
England. In our country Dibdin is out of date (the second
edition of his “Bibliomania” was published in 1811),
and Mr. Hill Burton’s humorous “Book-hunter” is
out of print. Meanwhile, in France, writers grave and gay,
from the gigantic industry of Brunet to Nodier’s quaint
fancy, and Janin’s wit, and the always entertaining
bibliophile Jacob (Paul Lacroix), have written, or are writing,
on books, manuscripts, engravings, editions, and bindings.
In England, therefore, rare French books are eagerly sought, and
may be found in all the booksellers’ catalogues. On
the continent there is no such care for our curious or beautiful
editions, old or new. Here a hint may be given to the
collector. If he “picks up” a rare French book,
at a low price, he would act prudently in having it bound in
France by a good craftsman. Its value, when “the
wicked day of destiny” comes, and the collection is broken
up, will thus be made secure. For the French do not suffer
our English bindings gladly; while we have no narrow prejudice
against the works of Lortic and Capé, but the
reverse. For these reasons then, and also because every
writer is obliged to make the closest acquaintance with books in
the direction where his <a name="page6"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 6</span>own studies lie, the writings of
French authorities are frequently cited in the following
pages.</p>
<p>This apology must be followed by a brief defence of the taste
and passion of book-collecting, and of the class of men known
invidiously as book-worms and book-hunters. They and their
simple pleasures are the butts of a cheap and shrewish set of
critics, who cannot endure in others a taste which is absent in
themselves. Important new books have actually been
condemned of late years because they were printed on good paper,
and a valuable historical treatise was attacked by reviewers
quite angrily because its outward array was not mean and
forbidding. Of course, critics who take this view of new
books have no patience with persons who care for
“margins,” and “condition,” and early
copies of old books. We cannot hope to convert the
adversary, but it is not necessary to be disturbed by his
clamour. People are happier for the possession of a taste
as long as they possess it, and it does not, like the demons of
Scripture, possess them. The wise collector gets
instruction and pleasure from his pursuit, and it may well be
that, in the long run, he and his family do not lose money.
The amusement may chance to prove a very fair investment.</p>
<p>As to this question of making money by <a
name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>collecting, Mr.
Hill Burton speaks very distinctly in “The
Book-hunter:” “Where money is the object let a man
speculate or become a miser. . . Let not the collector ever,
unless in some urgent and necessary circumstances, part with any
of his treasures. Let him not even have recourse to that
practice called barter, which political philosophers tell us is
the universal resource of mankind preparatory to the invention of
money. Let him confine all his transactions in the market
to purchasing only. No good comes of gentlemen-amateurs
buying and selling.” There is room for difference of
opinion here, but there seems to be most reason on the side of
Mr. Hill Burton. It is one thing for the collector to be
able to reflect that the money he expends on books is not lost,
and that his family may find themselves richer, not poorer,
because he indulged his taste. It is quite another thing to
buy books as a speculator buys shares, meaning to sell again at a
profit as soon as occasion offers. It is necessary also to
warn the beginner against indulging extravagant hopes. He
must buy experience with his books, and many of his first
purchases are likely to disappoint him. He will pay dearly
for the wrong “Cæsar” of 1635, the one
<i>without</i> errors in pagination; and this is only a common
example of the beginner’s blunders. Collecting is
like other <a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
8</span>forms of sport; the aim is not certain at first, the
amateur is nervous, and, as in angling, is apt to
“strike” (a bargain) too hurriedly.</p>
<p>I often think that the pleasure of collecting is like that of
sport. People talk of “book-hunting,” and the
old Latin motto says that “one never wearies of the chase
in this forest.” But the analogy to angling seems
even stronger. A collector walks in the London or Paris
streets, as he does by Tweed or Spey. Many a lordly mart of
books he passes, like Mr. Quaritch’s, Mr. Toovey’s,
or M. Fontaine’s, or the shining store of M.M. Morgand et
Fatout, in the Passage des Panoramas. Here I always feel
like Brassicanus in the king of Hungary’s collection,
“non in Bibliotheca, sed in gremio Jovis;” “not
in a library, but in paradise.” It is not given to
every one to cast angle in these preserves. They are kept
for dukes and millionaires. Surely the old Duke of
Roxburghe was the happiest of mortals, for to him both the chief
bookshops and auction rooms, and the famous salmon streams of
Floors, were equally open, and he revelled in the prime of
book-collecting and of angling. But there are little
tributary streets, with humbler stalls, shy pools, as it were,
where the humbler fisher of books may hope to raise an Elzevir,
or an old French play, a first edition of Shelley, or a <a
name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>Restoration
comedy. It is usually a case of hope unfulfilled; but the
merest nibble of a rare book, say Marston’s poems in the
original edition, or Beddoes’s “Love’s Arrow
Poisoned,” or Bankes’s “Bay Horse in a
Trance,” or the “Mel Heliconicum” of Alexander
Ross, or “Les Oeuvres de Clement Marot, de Cahors, Vallet
de Chambre du Roy, A Paris, Ches Pierre Gaultier, 1551;”
even a chance at something of this sort will kindle the waning
excitement, and add a pleasure to a man’s walk in muddy
London. Then, suppose you purchase for a couple of
shillings the “Histoire des Amours de Henry IV, et autres
pieces curieuses, A Leyde, Chez Jean Sambyx (Elzevir),
1664,” it is certainly not unpleasant, on consulting M.
Fontaine’s catalogue, to find that he offers the same work
at the ransom of £10. The beginner thinks himself in
singular luck, even though he has no idea of vending his
collection, and he never reflects that
<i>condition</i>—spotless white leaves and broad margins,
make the market value of a book.</p>
<p>Setting aside such bare considerations of profit, the sport
given by bookstalls is full of variety and charm. In London
it may be pursued in most of the cross streets that stretch a
dirty net between the British Museum and the Strand. There
are other more shy and less frequently <a name="page10"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 10</span>poached resorts which the amateur may
be allowed to find out for himself. In Paris there is the
long sweep of the <i>Quais</i>, where some eighty
<i>bouquinistes</i> set their boxes on the walls of the
embankment of the Seine. There are few country towns so
small but that books, occasionally rare and valuable, may be
found lurking in second-hand furniture warehouses. This is
one of the advantages of living in an old country. The
Colonies are not the home for a collector. I have seen an
Australian bibliophile enraptured by the rare chance of buying,
in Melbourne, an early work on—the history of Port
Jackson! This seems but poor game. But in Europe an
amateur has always occupation for his odd moments in town, and is
for ever lured on by the radiant apparition of Hope. All
collectors tell their anecdotes of wonderful luck, and
magnificent discoveries. There is a volume “Voyages
Littéraires sur les Quais de Paris” (Paris, Durand,
1857), by M. de Fontaine de Resbecq, which might convert the
dullest soul to book-hunting. M. de Resbecq and his friends
had the most amazing good fortune. A M. N— found six
original plays of Molière (worth perhaps as many hundreds
of pounds), bound up with Garth’s “Dispensary,”
an English poem which has long lost its vogue. It is worth
while, indeed, to examine all volumes marked <a
name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
11</span>“Miscellanea,” “Essays,” and the
like, and treasures may possibly lurk, as Snuffy Davy knew,
within the battered sheepskin of school books. Books lie in
out of the way places. Poggio rescued
“Quintilian” from the counter of a wood
merchant. The best time for book-hunting in Paris is the
early morning. “The take,” as anglers say, is
“on” from half-past seven to half-past nine
a.m. At these hours the vendors exhibit their fresh wares,
and the agents of the more wealthy booksellers come and pick up
everything worth having. These agents quite spoil the sport
of the amateur. They keep a strict watch on every country
dealer’s catalogue, snap up all he has worth selling, and
sell it over again, charging pounds in place of shillings.
But M. de Resbecq vows that he once picked up a copy of the first
edition of La Rochefoucauld’s “Maxims” out of a
box which two booksellers had just searched. The same
collector got together very promptly all the original editions of
La Bruyère, and he even found a copy of the Elzevir
“Pastissier Français,” at the humble price of
six sous. Now the “ Pastissier
Français,” an ill-printed little cookery-book of the
Elzevirs, has lately fetched £600 at a sale. The
Antiquary’s story of Snuffy Davy and the “Game of
Chess,” is dwarfed by the luck of M. de Resbecq. <a
name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>Not one
amateur in a thousand can expect such good fortune. There
is, however, a recent instance of a Rugby boy, who picked up, on
a stall, a few fluttering leaves hanging together on a flimsy
thread. The old woman who kept the stall could hardly be
induced to accept the large sum of a shilling for an original
quarto of Shakespeare’s “King John.”
These stories are told that none may despair. That none may
be over confident, an author may recount his own
experience. The only odd <i>trouvaille</i> that ever fell
to me was a clean copy of “La Journée
Chrétienne,” with the name of Léon Gambetta,
1844, on its catholic fly-leaf. Rare books grow rarer every
day, and often ’tis only Hope that remains at the bottom of
the fourpenny boxes. Yet the Paris book-hunters cleave to
the game. August is their favourite season; for in August
there is least competition. Very few people are, as a rule,
in Paris, and these are not tempted to loiter. The
bookseller is drowsy, and glad not to have the trouble of
chaffering. The English go past, and do not tarry beside a
row of dusty boxes of books. The heat threatens the amateur
with sunstroke. Then, says M. Octave Uzanne, in a prose
<i>ballade</i> of book-hunters—then, calm, glad, heroic,
the <i>bouquineurs</i> prowl forth, refreshed with hope.
The brown old calf-skin wrinkles in the <a
name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>sun, the
leaves crackle, you could poach an egg on the cover of a
quarto. The dome of the Institute glitters, the sickly
trees seem to wither, their leaves wax red and grey, a faint warm
wind is walking the streets. Under his vast umbrella the
book-hunter is secure and content; he enjoys the pleasures of the
sport unvexed by poachers, and thinks less of the heat than does
the deer-stalker on the bare hill-side.</p>
<p>There is plenty of morality, if there are few rare books in
the stalls. The decay of affection, the breaking of
friendship, the decline of ambition, are all illustrated in these
fourpenny collections. The presentation volumes are here
which the author gave in the pride of his heart to the poet who
was his “Master,” to the critic whom he feared, to
the friend with whom he was on terms of mutual admiration.
The critic has not even cut the leaves, the poet has brusquely
torn three or four apart with his finger and thumb, the friend
has grown cold, and has let the poems slip into some corner of
his library, whence they were removed on some day of doom and of
general clearing out. The sale of the library of a late
learned prelate who had Boileau’s hatred of a dull book was
a scene to be avoided by his literary friends. The Bishop
always gave the works which were offered to him a fair
chance. <a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
14</span>He read till he could read no longer, cutting the pages
as he went, and thus his progress could be traced like that of a
backwoodsman who “blazes” his way through a primeval
forest. The paper-knife generally ceased to do duty before
the thirtieth page. The melancholy of the book-hunter is
aroused by two questions, “Whence?” and
“Whither?” The bibliophile asks about his books
the question which the metaphysician asks about his soul.
Whence came they? Their value depends a good deal on the
answer. If they are stamped with arms, then there is a book
(“Armorial du Bibliophile,” by M. Guigard) which
tells you who was their original owner. Any one of twenty
coats-of-arms on the leather is worth a hundred times the value
of the volume which it covers. If there is no such mark,
the fancy is left to devise a romance about the first owner, and
all the hands through which the book has passed. That
Vanini came from a Jesuit college, where it was kept under lock
and key. That copy of Agrippa “De Vanitate
Scientiarum” is marked, in a crabbed hand and in faded ink,
with cynical Latin notes. What pessimist two hundred years
ago made his grumbling so permanent? One can only guess,
but part of the imaginative joys of the book-hunter lies ‘
in the fruitless conjecture. That other question <a
name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
15</span>“Whither?” is graver. Whither are our
treasures to be scattered? Will they find kind masters? or,
worst fate of books, fall into the hands of women who will sell
them to the trunk-maker? Are the leaves to line a box or to
curl a maiden’s locks? Are the rarities to become
more and more rare, and at last fetch prodigious prices?
Some unlucky men are able partly to solve these problems in their
own lifetime. They are constrained to sell their
libraries—an experience full of bitterness, wrath, and
disappointment.</p>
<p>Selling books is nearly as bad as losing friends, than which
life has no worse sorrow. A book is a friend whose face is
constantly changing. If you read it when you are recovering
from an illness, and return to it years after, it is changed
surely, with the change in yourself. As a man’s
tastes and opinions are developed his books put on a different
aspect. He hardly knows the “Poems and Ballads”
he used to declaim, and cannot recover the enigmatic charm of
“Sordello.” Books change like friends, like
ourselves, like everything; but they are most piquant in the
contrasts they provoke, when the friend who gave them and wrote
them is a success, though we laughed at him; a failure, though we
believed in him; altered in any case, and estranged from his old
self and old days. The vanished past returns when we look
at the pages. <a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
16</span>The vicissitudes of years are printed and packed in a
thin octavo, and the shivering ghosts of desire and hope return
to their forbidden home in the heart and fancy. It is as
well to have the power of recalling them always at hand, and to
be able to take a comprehensive glance at the emotions which were
so powerful and full of life, and now are more faded and of less
account than the memory of the dreams of childhood. It is
because our books are friends that do change, and remind us of
change, that we should keep them with us, even at a little
inconvenience, and not turn them adrift in the world to find a
dusty asylum in cheap bookstalls. We are a part of all that
we have read, to parody the saying of Mr. Tennyson’s
Ulysses, and we owe some respect, and house-room at least, to the
early acquaintances who have begun to bore us, and remind us of
the vanity of ambition and the weakness of human purpose.
Old school and college books even have a reproachful and salutary
power of whispering how much a man knew, and at the cost of how
much trouble, that he has absolutely forgotten, and is neither
the better nor the worse for it. It will be the same in the
case of the books he is eager about now; though, to be sure, he
will read with less care, and forget with an ease and readiness
only to be acquired by practice.</p>
<p><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>But we
were apologising for book-hunting, not because it teaches moral
lessons, as “dauncyng” also does, according to Sir
Thomas Elyot, in the “Boke called the Gouvernour,”
but because it affords a kind of sportive excitement.
Bookstalls are not the only field of the chase. Book
catalogues, which reach the collector through the post, give him
all the pleasures of the sport at home. He reads the
booksellers’ catalogues eagerly, he marks his chosen sport
with pencil, he writes by return of post, or he telegraphs to the
vendor. Unfortunately he almost always finds that he has
been forestalled, probably by some bookseller’s
agent. When the catalogue is a French one, it is obvious
that Parisians have the pick of the market before our slow
letters reach M. Claudin, or M. Labitte. Still the
catalogues themselves are a kind of lesson in bibliography.
You see from them how prices are ruling, and you can gloat, in
fancy, over De Luyne’s edition of Molière, 1673, two
volumes in red morocco, <i>doublé</i> (“Trautz
Bauzonnet”), or some other vanity hopelessly out of
reach. In their catalogues, MM. Morgand and Fatout print a
facsimile of the frontispiece of this very rare edition.
The bust of Molière occupies the centre, and portraits of
the great actor, as Sganarelle and Mascarille (of the
“Précieuses Ridicules”), stand on either
side. In the second volume are <a name="page18"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 18</span>Molière, and his wife Armande,
crowned by the muse Thalia. A catalogue which contains such
exact reproductions of rare and authentic portraits, is itself a
work of art, and serviceable to the student. When the shop
of a bookseller, with a promising catalogue which arrives over
night, is not too far distant, bibliophiles have been known to
rush to the spot in the grey morning, before the doors
open. There are amateurs, however, who prefer to stay
comfortably at home, and pity these poor fanatics, shivering in
the rain outside a door in Oxford Street or Booksellers’
Row. There is a length to which enthusiasm cannot go, and
many collectors draw the line at rising early in the
morning. But, when we think of the sport of book-hunting,
it is to sales in auction-rooms that the mind naturally
turns. Here the rival buyers feel the passion of emulation,
and it was in an auction-room that Guibert de
Pixérécourt, being outbid, said, in tones of mortal
hatred, “I will have the book when your collection is sold
after your death.” And he kept his word. The
fever of gambling is not absent from the auction-room, and people
“bid jealous” as they sometimes “ride
jealous” in the hunting-field. Yet, the neophyte, if
he strolls by chance into a sale-room, will be surprised at the
spectacle. The chamber has the look of a rather seedy
“hell.” The <a name="page19"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 19</span>crowd round the auctioneer’s
box contains many persons so dingy and Semitic, that at Monte
Carlo they would be refused admittance; while, in Germany, they
would be persecuted by Herr von Treitschke with Christian
ardour. Bidding is languid, and valuable books are knocked
down for trifling sums. Let the neophyte try his luck,
however, and prices will rise wonderfully. The fact is that
the sale is a “knock out.” The bidders are
professionals, in a league to let the volumes go cheap, and to
distribute them afterwards among themselves. Thus an
amateur can have a good deal of sport by bidding for a book till
it reaches its proper value, and by then leaving in the lurch the
professionals who combine to “run him up.” The
amusement has its obvious perils, but the presence of gentlemen
in an auction-room is a relief to the auctioneer and to the owner
of the books. A bidder must be able to command his temper,
both that he may be able to keep his head cool when tempted to
bid recklessly, and that he may disregard the not very carefully
concealed sneers of the professionals.</p>
<p>In book-hunting the nature of the quarry varies with the taste
of the collector. One man is for bibles, another for
ballads. Some pursue plays, others look for play
bills. “He was not,” says Mr. Hill Burton,
speaking of Kirkpatrick Sharpe, <a name="page20"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 20</span>“he was not a black-letter man,
or a tall copyist, or an uncut man, or a rough-edge man, or an
early-English dramatist, or an Elzevirian, or a broadsider, or a
pasquinader, or an old brown calf man, or a Grangerite, <a
name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1"
class="citation">[1]</a> or a tawny moroccoite, or a gilt topper,
or a marbled insider, or an <i>editio princeps</i>
man.” These nicknames briefly dispose into categories
a good many species of collectors. But there are plenty of
others. You may be a historical-bindings man, and hunt for
books that were bound by the great artists of the past and
belonged to illustrious collectors. Or you may be a
Jametist, and try to gather up the volumes on which Jamet, the
friend of Louis Racine, scribbled his cynical
“Marginalia.” Or you may covet the earliest
editions of modern poets—Shelley, Keats, or Tennyson, or
even Ebenezer Jones. Or the object of your desires may be
the books of the French romanticists, who flourished so freely in
1830. Or, being a person of large fortune and landed
estate, you may collect country histories. Again, your
heart may be set on the books illustrated by Eisen, Cochin, and
Gravelot, or Stothard and Blake, in the last century. Or
you may be so old-fashioned as to care for Aldine classics, and
<a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>for the
books of the Giunta press. In fact, as many as are the
species of rare and beautiful books, so many are the species of
collectors. There is one sort of men, modest but not unwise
in their generations, who buy up the pretty books published in
very limited editions by French booksellers, like MM. Lemerre and
Jouaust. Already their reprints of Rochefoucauld’s
first edition, of Beaumarchais, of La Fontaine, of the lyrics
attributed to Molière, and other volumes, are exhausted,
and fetch high prices in the market. By a singular caprice,
the little volumes of Mr. Thackeray’s miscellaneous
writings, in yellow paper wrappers (when they are first
editions), have become objects of desire, and their old modest
price is increased twenty fold. It is not always easy to
account for these freaks of fashion; but even in book-collecting
there are certain definite laws. “Why do you pay a
large price for a dingy, old book,” outsiders ask,
“when a clean modern reprint can be procured for two or
three shillings?” To this question the collector has
several replies, which he, at least, finds satisfactory. In
the first place, early editions, published during a great
author’s lifetime, and under his supervision, have
authentic texts. The changes in them are the changes that
Prior or La Bruyère themselves made and approved.
You can study, <a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
22</span>in these old editions, the alterations in their taste,
the history of their minds. The case is the same even with
contemporary authors. One likes to have Mr.
Tennyson’s “Poems, chiefly Lyrical” (London:
Effingham Wilson, Royal Exchange, Cornhill, 1830). It is
fifty years old, this little book of one hundred and fifty-four
pages, this first fruit of a stately tree. In half a
century the poet has altered much, and withdrawn much, but
already, in 1830, he had found his distinctive note, and his
“Mariana” is a masterpiece.
“Mariana” is in all the collections, but pieces of
which the execution is less certain must be sought only in the
old volume of 1830. In the same way “The Strayed
Reveller, and other poems, by A.” (London: B.
Fellowes, Ludgate Street, 1849) contains much that Mr. Matthew
Arnold has altered, and this volume, like the suppressed
“Empedocles on Etna, and other Poems, by A.” (1852),
appeals more to the collector than do the new editions which all
the world may possess. There are verses, curious in their
way, in Mr. Clough’s “Ambarvalia” (1849), which
you will not find in his posthumous edition, but which
“repay perusal.” These minutiæ of
literary history become infinitely more important in the early
editions of the great classical writers, and the book-collector
may regard his taste as a kind of handmaid of <a
name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>critical
science. The preservation of rare books, and the collection
of materials for criticism, are the useful functions, then, of
book-collecting. But it is not to be denied that the
sentimental side of the pursuit gives it most of its charm.
Old books are often literary <i>relics</i>, and as dear and
sacred to the lover of literature as are relics of another sort
to the religious devotee. The amateur likes to see the book
in its form as the author knew it. He takes a pious
pleasure in the first edition of “Les Précieuses
Ridicules,” (<span class="GutSmall">M.DC.LX.</span>) just
as Molière saw it, when he was fresh in the business of
authorship, and wrote “Mon Dieu, qu’un Autheur est
neuf, la première fois qu’on
l’imprime.” All editions published during a
great man’s life have this attraction, and seem to bring us
closer to his spirit. Other volumes are relics, as we shall
see later, of some famed collector, and there is a certain piety
in the care we give to books once dear to Longepierre, or Harley,
or d’Hoym, or Buckle, to Madame de Maintenon, or Walpole,
to Grolier, or Askew, or De Thou, or Heber. Such copies
should be handed down from worthy owners to owners not unworthy;
such servants of literature should never have careless
masters. A man may prefer to read for pleasure in a good
clear reprint. M. Charpentier’s
“Montaigne” serves the turn, but it is natural to
treasure more <a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
24</span>“Les Essais de Michel Seigneur de
Montaigne,” that were printed by Francoise le Febre, of
Lyon, in 1595. It is not a beautiful book; the type is
small, and rather blunt, but William Drummond of Hawthornden has
written on the title-page his name and his device, <i>Cipresso e
Palma</i>. There are a dozen modern editions of
Molière more easily read than the four little volumes of
Wetstein (Amsterdam, 1698), but these contain reduced copies of
the original illustrations, and here you see Arnolphe and Agnes
in their habits as they lived, Molière and Mdlle. de Brie
as the public of Paris beheld them more than two hundred years
ago. Suckling’s “Fragmenta Aurea” contain
a good deal of dross, and most of the gold has been gathered into
Miscellanies, but the original edition of 1646, “after his
own copies,” with the portrait of the jolly cavalier who
died <i>ætatis suae</i> 28, has its own allurement.
Theocritus is more easily read, perhaps, in Wordsworth’s
edition, or Ziegler’s; but that which Zacharias Calliergi
printed in Rome (1516), with an excommunication from Leo X.
against infringement of copyright, will always be a beautiful and
desirable book, especially when bound by Derome. The gist
of the pious Prince Conti’s strictures on the wickedness of
comedy may be read in various literary histories, but it is
natural to like his “Traité de la Comedie selon la
<a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>tradition
de l’Eglise, Tirée des Conciles et des saints
Pères,” published by Lovys Billaine in 1660,
especially when the tract is a clean copy, arrayed in a decorous
black morocco.</p>
<p>These are but a few common examples, chosen from a meagre
little library, a “twopenny treasure-house,” but they
illustrate, on a minute scale, the nature of the
collector’s passion,—the character of his innocent
pleasures. He occasionally lights on other literary relics
of a more personal character than mere first editions. A
lucky collector lately bought Shelley’s copy of Ossian,
with the poet’s signature on the title-page, in
Booksellers’ Row. Another possesses a copy of
Foppens’s rare edition of Petrarch’s “Le Sage
Resolu contre l’une et l’autre Fortune,” which
once belonged to Sir Hudson Lowe, the gaoler of Napoleon, and may
have fortified, by its stoical maxims, the soul of one who knew
the extremes of either fortune, the captive of St. Helena.
But the best example of a book, which is also a relic, is the
“Imitatio Christi,” which belonged to J. J.
Rousseau. Let M. Tenant de Latour, lately the happy owner
of this possession, tell his own story of his treasure: It was in
1827 that M. de Latour was walking on the quai of the
Louvre. Among the volumes in a shop, he noticed a shabby
little copy of the “Imitatio Christi.” M. de
Latour, like other <a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
26</span>bibliophiles, was not in the habit of examining stray
copies of this work, except when they were of the Elzevir size,
for the Elzevirs published a famous undated copy of the
“Imitatio,” a book which brings considerable
prices. However, by some lucky chance, some Socratic
dæmon whispering, may be, in his ear, he picked up the
little dingy volume of the last century. It was of a Paris
edition, 1751, but what was the name on the fly-leaf. M. de
Latour read <i>à J. J. Rousseau</i>. There was no
mistake about it, the good bibliophile knew Rousseau’s
handwriting perfectly well; to make still more sure he paid his
seventy-five centimes for the book, and walked across the Pont
des Arts, to his bookbinder’s, where he had a copy of
Rousseau’s works, with a <i>facsimile</i> of his
handwriting. As he walked, M. de Latour read in his book,
and found notes of Rousseau’s on the margin. The
<i>facsimile</i> proved that the inscription was genuine.
The happy de Latour now made for the public office in which he
was a functionary, and rushed into the bureau of his friend the
Marquis de V. The Marquis, a man of great strength of
character, recognised the signature of Rousseau with but little
display of emotion. M. de Latour now noticed some withered
flowers among the sacred pages; but it was reserved for a friend
to discover in the faded petals Rousseau’s favourite <a
name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>flower, the
periwinkle. Like a true Frenchman, like Rousseau himself in
his younger days, M. de Latour had not recognised the periwinkle
when he saw it. That night, so excited was M. de Latour, he
never closed an eye! What puzzled him was that he could not
remember, in all Rousseau’s works, a single allusion to the
“Imitatio Christi.” Time went on, the old book
was not rebound, but kept piously in a case of Russia
leather. M. de Latour did not suppose that “dans ce
bas monde it fût permis aux joies du bibliophile
d’aller encore plus loin.” He imagined that the
delights of the amateur could only go further, in heaven.
It chanced, however, one day that he was turning over the
“Oeuvres Inédites” of Rousseau, when he found
a letter, in which Jean Jacques, writing in 1763, asked
Motiers-Travers to send him the “Imitatio
Christi.” Now the date 1764 is memorable, in
Rousseau’s “Confessions,” for a burst of
sentiment over a periwinkle, the first he had noticed
particularly since his residence at <i>Les Charmettes</i>, where
the flower had been remarked by Madame de Warens. Thus M.
Tenant de Latour had recovered the very identical periwinkle,
which caused the tear of sensibility to moisten the fine eyes of
Jean Jacques Rousseau.</p>
<p>We cannot all be adorers of Rousseau. But M. de Latour
was an enthusiast, and this little <a name="page28"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 28</span>anecdote of his explains the
sentimental side of the bibliophile’s pursuit. Yes,
it is <i>sentiment</i> that makes us feel a lively affection for
the books that seem to connect us with great poets and students
long ago dead. Their hands grasp ours across the
ages. I never see the first edition of Homer, that monument
of typography and of enthusiasm for letters, printed at Florence
(1488) at the expense of young Bernardo and Nerio Nerli, and of
their friend Giovanni Acciajuoli, but I feel moved to cry with
Heyne, “salvete juvenes, nobiles et generosi;
<i>χαίρετέ
μοι καὶ ἐιν
Άΐδαο
δόμοισι</i>.”</p>
<p>Such is our apology for book-collecting. But the best
defence of the taste would be a list of the names of great
collectors, a “vision of mighty book-hunters.”
Let us say nothing of Seth and Noah, for their reputation as
amateurs is only based on the authority of the tract <i>De
Bibliothecis Antediluvianis</i>. The library of
Assurbanipal I pass over, for its volumes were made, as Pliny
says, of <i>coctiles laterculi</i>, of baked tiles, which have
been deciphered by the late Mr. George Smith. Philosophers
as well as immemorial kings, Pharaohs and Ptolemys, are on our
side. It was objected to Plato, by persons answering to the
cheap scribblers of to-day, that he, though a sage, gave a
hundred minae (£360) for three treatises of <a
name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>Philolaus,
while Aristotle paid nearly thrice the sum for a few books that
had been in the library of Speusippus. Did not a Latin
philosopher go great lengths in a laudable anxiety to purchase an
Odyssey “as old as Homer,” and what would not Cicero,
that great collector, have given for the Ascraean <i>editio
princeps</i> of Hesiod, scratched on mouldy old plates of
lead? Perhaps Dr. Schliemann may find an original edition
of the “Iliad” at Orchomenos; but of all early copies
none seems so attractive as that engraved on the leaden plates
which Pausanias saw at Ascra. Then, in modern times, what
“great allies” has the collector, what brethren in
book-hunting? The names are like the catalogue with which
Villon fills his “Ballade des Seigneurs du Temps
Jadis.” A collector was “le preux
Charlemaigne” and our English Alfred. The Kings of
Hungary, as Mathias Corvinus; the Kings of France, and their
queens, and their mistresses, and their lords, were all
amateurs. So was our Henry VIII., and James I., who
“wished he could be chained to a shelf in the
Bodleian.” The middle age gives us Richard de Bury,
among ecclesiastics, and the Renaissance boasts Sir Thomas More,
with that “pretty fardle of books, in the small type of
Aldus,” which he carried for a freight to the people of
Utopia. Men of the world, like Bussy Rabutin, queens like
<a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>our
Elizabeth; popes like Innocent X.; financiers like Colbert (who
made the Grand Turk send him Levant morocco for bindings); men of
letters like Scott and Southey, Janin and Nodier, and Paul
Lacroix; warriors like Junot and Prince Eugène; these are
only leaders of companies in the great army of lovers of books,
in which it is honourable enough to be a private soldier.</p>
<h2><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
31</span>CHAPTER II.<br />
THE LIBRARY</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Library which is to be spoken
of in these pages, is all unlike the halls which a Spencer or a
Huth fills with treasure beyond price. The age of great
libraries has gone by, and where a collector of the old school
survives, he is usually a man of enormous wealth, who might, if
he pleased, be distinguished in parliament, in society, on the
turf itself, or in any of the pursuits where unlimited supplies
of money are strictly necessary. The old amateurs, whom La
Bruyère was wont to sneer at, were not satisfied unless
they possessed many thousands of books. For a collector
like Cardinal Mazarin, Naudé bought up the whole stock of
many a bookseller, and left great towns as bare of printed paper
as if a tornado had passed, and blown the leaves away. <a
name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>In our modern
times, as the industrious Bibliophile Jacob, says, the fashion of
book-collecting has changed; “from the vast hall that it
was, the library of the amateur has shrunk to a closet, to a mere
book-case. Nothing but a neat article of furniture is
needed now, where a great gallery or a long suite of rooms was
once required. The book has become, as it were, a jewel,
and is kept in a kind of jewel-case.” It is not
quantity of pages, nor lofty piles of ordinary binding, nor
theological folios and classic quartos, that the modern amateur
desires. He is content with but a few books of distinction
and elegance, masterpieces of printing and binding, or relics of
famous old collectors, of statesmen, philosophers, beautiful dead
ladies; or, again, he buys illustrated books, or first editions
of the modern classics. No one, not the Duc d’Aumale,
or M. James Rothschild himself, with his 100 books worth
£40,000, can possess very many copies of books which are
inevitably rare. Thus the adviser who would offer
suggestions to the amateur, need scarcely write, like
Naudé and the old authorities, about the size and due
position of the library. He need hardly warn the builder to
make the <i>salle</i> face the east, “because the eastern
winds, being warm and dry of their nature, greatly temper the
air, fortify the senses, make subtle the humours, purify the
spirits, preserve a healthy <a name="page33"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 33</span>disposition of the whole body, and,
to say all in one word, are most wholesome and
salubrious.” The east wind, like the fashion of
book-collecting, has altered in character a good deal since the
days when Naudé was librarian to Cardinal Mazarin.
One might as well repeat the learned Isidorus his counsels about
the panels of green marble (that refreshes the eye), and Boethius
his censures on library walls of ivory and glass, as fall back on
the ancient ideas of librarians dead and gone.</p>
<p>The amateur, then, is the person we have in our eye, and
especially the bibliophile who has but lately been bitten with
this pleasant mania of collecting. We would teach him how
to arrange and keep his books orderly and in good case, and would
tell him what to buy and what to avoid. By the
<i>library</i> we do not understand a study where no one goes,
and where the master of the house keeps his boots, an assortment
of walking-sticks, the “Waverley Novels,”
“Pearson on the Creed,” “Hume’s
Essays,” and a collection of sermons. In, alas! too
many English homes, the Library is no more than this, and each
generation passes without adding a book, except now and then a
Bradshaw or a railway novel, to the collection on the
shelves. The success, perhaps, of circulating libraries,
or, it may be, the Aryan tendencies of our race, “which
does not read, and lives <a name="page34"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 34</span>in the open air,” have made
books the rarest of possessions in many houses. There are
relics of the age before circulating libraries, there are
fragments of the lettered store of some scholarly
great-grandfather, and these, with a few odd numbers of
magazines, a few primers and manuals, some sermons and novels,
make up the ordinary library of an English household. But
the amateur, whom we have in our thoughts, can never be satisfied
with these commonplace supplies. He has a taste for books
more or less rare, and for books neatly bound; in short, for
books, in the fabrication of which <i>art</i> has not been
absent. He loves to have his study, like Montaigne’s,
remote from the interruption of servants, wife, and children; a
kind of shrine, where he may be at home with himself, with the
illustrious dead, and with the genius of literature. The
room may look east, west, or south, provided that it be dry,
warm, light, and airy. Among the many enemies of books the
first great foe is <i>damp</i>, and we must describe the
necessary precautions to be taken against this peril. We
will suppose that the amateur keeps his ordinary working books,
modern tomes, and all that serve him as literary tools, on open
shelves. These may reach the roof, if he has books to fill
them, and it is only necessary to see that the back of the
bookcases <a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
35</span>are slightly removed from contact with the walls.
The more precious and beautifully bound treasures will naturally
be stored in a case with closely-fitting glass-doors. <a
name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2"
class="citation">[2]</a> The shelves should be lined with
velvet or chamois leather, that the delicate edges of the books
may not suffer from contact with the wood. A leather
lining, fitted to the back of the case, will also help to keep
out humidity. Most writers recommend that the bookcases
should be made of wood close in the grain, such as well-seasoned
oak; or, for smaller tabernacles of literature, of mahogany,
satin-wood lined with cedar, ebony, and so forth. These
close-grained woods are less easily penetrated by insects, and it
is fancied that book-worms dislike the aromatic scents of cedar,
sandal wood, and Russia leather. There was once a
bibliophile who said that a man could only love one book at a
time, and the darling of the moment he used to carry about in a
charming leather case. Others, men of few books, preserve
them in long boxes with glass fronts, which may be removed <a
name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>from place to
place as readily as the household gods of Laban. But the
amateur who not only worships but reads books, needs larger
receptacles; and in the open oak cases for modern authors, and
for books with common modern papers and bindings, in the closed
<i>armoire</i> for books of rarity and price, he will find, we
think, the most useful mode of arranging his treasures. His
shelves will decline in height from the lowest, where huge folios
stand at case, to the top ranges, while Elzevirs repose on a
level with the eye. It is well that each upper shelf should
have a leather fringe to keep the dust away.</p>
<p>As to the shape of the bookcases, and the furniture, and
ornaments of the library, every amateur will please
himself. Perhaps the satin-wood or mahogany tabernacles of
rare books are best made after the model of what
furniture-dealers indifferently call the “Queen Anne”
or the “Chippendale” style. There is a pleasant
quaintness in the carved architectural ornaments of the top, and
the inlaid flowers of marquetry go well with the pretty florid
editions of the last century, the books that were illustrated by
Stothard and Gravelot. Ebony suits theological tomes very
well, especially when they are bound in white vellum. As to
furniture, people who can afford it will imitate the arrangements
of Lucullus, in Mr. Hill Burton’s <a
name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>charming
volume “The Book-hunter” (Blackwood, Edinburgh,
1862).—“Everything is of perfect finish,—the
mahogany-railed gallery, the tiny ladders, the broad winged
lecterns, with leathern cushions on the edges to keep the wood
from grazing the rich bindings, the books themselves, each shelf
uniform with its facings, or rather backings, like well-dressed
lines at a review.” The late Sir William
Stirling-Maxwell, a famous bibliophile, invented a very nice
library chair. It is most comfortable to sit on; and, as
the top of the back is broad and flat, it can be used as a ladder
of two high steps, when one wants to reach a book on a lofty
shelf. A kind of square revolving bookcase, an American
invention, manufactured by Messrs. Trübner, is useful to the
working man of letters. Made in oak, stained green, it is
not unsightly. As to ornaments, every man to his
taste. You may have a “pallid bust of Pallas”
above your classical collection, or fill the niches in a shrine
of old French light literature, pastoral and comedy, with
delicate shepherdesses in Chelsea china. On such matters a
modest writer, like Mr. Jingle when Mr. Pickwick ordered dinner,
“will not presume to dictate.”</p>
<p>Next to damp, dust and dirt are the chief enemies of
books. At short intervals, books and shelves ought to be
dusted by the amateur himself. <a name="page38"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 38</span>Even Dr. Johnson, who was careless of
his person, and of volumes lent to him, was careful about the
cleanliness of his own books. Boswell found him one day
with big gloves on his hands beating the dust out of his library,
as was his custom. There is nothing so hideous as a dirty
thumb-mark on a white page. These marks are commonly made,
not because the reader has unwashed hands, but because the dust
which settles on the top edge of books falls in, and is smudged
when they are opened. Gilt-top edges should be smoothed
with a handkerchief, and a small brush should be kept for
brushing the tops of books with rough edges, before they are
opened. But it were well that all books had the top edge
gilt. There is no better preservative against dust.
Dust not only dirties books, it seems to supply what Mr. Spencer
would call a fitting environment for book-worms. The works
of book-worms speak for themselves, and are manifest to
all. How many a rare and valuable volume is spoiled by neat
round holes drilled through cover and leaves! But as to the
nature of your worm, authorities differ greatly. The
ancients knew this plague, of which Lucian speaks. Mr.
Blades mentions a white book-worm, slain by the librarian of the
Bodleian. In Byzantium the black sort prevailed.
Evenus, the grammarian, <a name="page39"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 39</span>wrote an epigram against the black
book-worm (“Anthol. Pal.,” ix. 251):—</p>
<blockquote><p>Pest of the Muses, devourer of pages, in crannies
that lurkest,<br />
Fruits of the Muses to taint, labour of learning to spoil;<br />
Wherefore, oh black-fleshed worm! wert thou born for the evil
thou workest?<br />
Wherefore thine own foul form shap’st thou with envious
toil?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The learned Mentzelius says he hath heard the book-worm crow
like a cock unto his mate, and “I knew not,” says he,
“whether some local fowl was clamouring or whether there
was but a beating in mine ears. Even at that moment, all
uncertain as I was, I perceived, in the paper whereon I was
writing, a little insect that ceased not to carol like very
chanticleer, until, taking a magnifying glass, I assiduously
observed him. He is about the bigness of a mite, and
carries a grey crest, and the head low, bowed over the bosom; as
to his crowing noise, it comes of his clashing his wings against
each other with an incessant din.” Thus far
Mentzelius, and more to the same purpose, as may be read in the
“Memoirs of famous Foreign Academies” (Dijon,
1755–59, 13 vol. in quarto). But, in our times, the
learned Mr. Blades having a desire to exhibit book-worms in the
body to the Caxtonians at the Caxton <a name="page40"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 40</span>celebration, could find few men that
had so much as seen a book-worm, much less heard him utter his
native wood-notes wild. Yet, in his “Enemies of
Books,” he describes some rare encounters with the
worm. Dirty books, damp books, dusty books, and books that
the owner never opens, are most exposed to the enemy; and
“the worm, the proud worm, is the conqueror still,”
as a didactic poet sings, in an ode on man’s
mortality. As we have quoted Mentzelius, it may not be
amiss to give D’Alembert’s theory of book-worms:
“I believe,” he says, “that a little beetle
lays her eggs in books in August, thence is hatched a mite, like
the cheese-mite, which devours books merely because it is
compelled to gnaw its way out into the air.”
Book-worms like the paste which binders employ, but
D’Alembert adds that they cannot endure absinthe. Mr.
Blades finds too that they disdain to devour our adulterate
modern paper.</p>
<p>“Say, shall I sing of rats,” asked Grainger, when
reading to Johnson his epic, the “Sugar-cane.”
“No,” said the Doctor; and though rats are the foe of
the bibliophile, at least as much as of the sugar-planter, we do
not propose to sing of them. M. Fertiault has done so
already in “Les Sonnets d’un Bibliophile,”
where the reader must be pleased with the beautiful etchings of
rats devouring an illuminated MS., and battening on <a
name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>morocco
bindings stamped with the bees of De Thou. It is
unnecessary and it would be undignified, to give hints on
rat-catching, but the amateur must not forget that these animals
have a passion for bindings.</p>
<p>The book-collector must avoid gas, which deposits a filthy
coat of oil that catches dust. Mr. Blades found that three
jets of gas in a small room soon reduced the leather on his
book-shelves to a powder of the consistency of snuff, and made
the backs of books come away in his hand. Shaded lamps give
the best and most suitable light for the library. As to the
risks which books run at the hands of the owner himself, we
surely need not repeat the advice of Richard de Bury.
Living in an age when tubs (if not unknown as M. Michelet
declares) were far from being common, the old collector inveighed
against the dirty hands of readers, and against their habit of
marking their place in a book with filthy straws, or setting down
a beer pot in the middle of the volume to keep the pages
open. But the amateur, however refined himself, must beware
of men who love not fly leaves neither regard margins, but write
notes over the latter, and light their pipes with the
former. After seeing the wreck of a book which these
persons have been busy with, one appreciates the fine Greek
hyperbole. The Greeks did not <a name="page42"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 42</span>speak of “thumbing” but
of “walking up and down” on a volume
(<i>πατεῖν</i>). To such
fellows it matters not that they make a book dirty and greasy,
cutting the pages with their fingers, and holding the boards over
the fire till they crack. All these slatternly practices,
though they destroy a book as surely as the flames of
Cæsar’s soldiers at Alexandria, seem fine manly acts
to the grobians who use them. What says Jules Janin, who
has written “Contre l’indifference des
Philistins,” “il faut à l’homme sage et
studieux un tome honorable et digne de sa louange.”
The amateur, and all decent men, will beware of lending books to
such rude workers; and this consideration brings us to these
great foes of books, the borrowers and robbers. The lending
of books, and of other property, has been defended by some great
authorities; thus Panurge himself says, “it would prove
much more easy in nature to have fish entertained in the air, and
bullocks fed in the bottom of the ocean, than to support or
tolerate a rascally rabble of people that will not
lend.” Pirckheimer, too, for whom Albert Durer
designed a book-plate, was a lender, and took for his device
<i>Sibi et Amicis</i>; and <i>Jo. Grolierii et amicorum</i>, was
the motto of the renowned Grolier, whom mistaken writers vainly
but frequently report to have been a bookbinder. But as Mr.
Leicester Warren <a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
43</span>says, in his “Study of Book-plates”
(Pearson, 1880), “Christian Charles de Savigny leaves all
the rest behind, exclaiming <i>non mihi sed
aliis</i>.” But the majority of amateurs have chosen
wiser, though more churlish devices, as “the ungodly
borroweth and payeth not again,” or “go to them that
sell, and buy for yourselves.” David Garrick engraved
on his book-plate, beside a bust of Shakspeare, these words of
Ménage, “La première chose qu’on doit
faire, quand on a emprunte’ un livre, c’est de le
lire, afin de pouvoir le rendre plûtôt.”
But the borrower is so minded that the last thing he thinks of is
to read a borrowed book, and the penultimate subject of his
reflections is its restoration. Ménage (Menagiana,
Paris, 1729, vol. i. p. 265), mentions, as if it were a notable
misdeed, this of Angelo Politian’s, “he borrowed a
‘Lucretius’ from Pomponius Laetus, and kept it for
four years.” Four years! in the sight of the borrower
it is but a moment. Ménage reports that a friend
kept his “Pausanias” for three years, whereas four
months was long enough.</p>
<blockquote><p>“At quarto saltem mense redire
decet.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>There is no satisfaction in lending a book; for it is rarely
that borrowers, while they deface your volumes, gather honey for
new stores, as De Quincey did, and Coleridge, and even Dr.
Johnson, <a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
44</span>who “greased and dogs-eared such volumes as were
confided to his tender mercies, with the same indifference
wherewith he singed his own wigs.” But there is a
race of mortals more annoying to a conscientious man than
borrowers. These are the spontaneous lenders, who insist
that you shall borrow their tomes. For my own part, when I
am oppressed with the charity of such, I lock their books up in a
drawer, and behold them not again till the day of their
return. There is no security against borrowers, unless a
man like Guibert de Pixérécourt steadfastly refuses
to lend. The device of Pixérécourt was <i>un
livre est un ami qui ne change jamais</i>. But he knew that
our books change when they have been borrowed, like our friends
when they have been married; when “a lady borrows
them,” as the fairy queen says in the ballad of
“Tamlane.”</p>
<blockquote><p>“But had I kenn’d, Tamlane,” she
says,<br />
“A lady wad borrowed thee,<br />
I wad ta’en out thy twa gray een,<br />
Put in twa een o’ tree!</p>
<p>“Had I but kenn’d, Tamlane,” she says,<br />
“Before ye came frae hame,<br />
I wad ta’en out your heart o’ flesh,<br />
Put in a heart o’ stane!”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Above the lintel of his library door,
Pixérécourt had this couplet carved—</p>
<blockquote><p><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
45</span>“Tel est le triste sort de tout livre
prêté,<br />
Souvent il est perdu, toujours il est
gâté.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>M. Paul Lacroix says he would not have lent a book to his own
daughter. Once Lacroix asked for the loan of a work of
little value. Pixérécourt frowned, and led
his friend beneath the doorway, pointing to the motto.
“Yes,” said M. Lacroix, “but I thought that
verse applied to every one but me.” So
Pixérécourt made him a present of the volume.</p>
<p>We cannot all imitate this “immense” but unamiable
amateur. Therefore, bibliophiles have consoled themselves
with the inventions of book-plates, quaint representations,
perhaps heraldic, perhaps fanciful, of their claims to the
possession of their own dear volumes. Mr. Leicester Warren
and M. Poulet Malassis have written the history of these slender
works of art, and each bibliophile may have his own engraved, and
may formulate his own anathemas on people who borrow and restore
not again. The process is futile, but may comfort the
heart, like the curses against thieves which the Greeks were wont
to scratch on leaden tablets, and deposit in the temple of
Demeter. Each amateur can exercise his own taste in the
design of a book-plate; and for such as love and collect rare
editions of “Homer,” I venture to suggest this motto,
which may move the heart of <a name="page46"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 46</span>the borrower to send back an Aldine
copy of the epic—</p>
<blockquote><p><i>πέμψον
ἐπισταμένως</i>,
<i>δύνασαι
γάρ</i><br />
<i>ὥς κε γάλ’
ἀσκηθὴς ἣν
πατρίδα
γαῖαν
ἵκηται</i>. <a
name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3"
class="citation">[3]</a></p>
</blockquote>
<p>Mr. William Blades, in his pleasant volume, “The Enemies
of Books” (Trübner), makes no account of the
book-thief or biblioklept. “If they injure the
owners,” says Mr. Blades, with real tolerance, “they
do no harm to the books themselves, by merely transferring them
from one set of book-shelves to another.” This
sentence has naturally caused us to reflect on the ethical
character of the biblioklept. He is not always a bad
man. In old times, when language had its delicacies, and
moralists were not devoid of sensibility, the French did not say
“un voleur de livres,” but “un chipeur de
livres;” as the papers call lady shoplifters
“kleptomaniacs.” There are distinctions.
M. Jules Janin mentions a great Parisian bookseller who had an
amiable weakness. He was a bibliokleptomaniac. His
first motion when he saw a book within reach was to put it in his
pocket. Every one knew his habit, and when a volume was
lost at a sale the auctioneer duly announced it, and knocked it
down to the enthusiast, who regularly paid the price. When
<a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>he went to
a private view of books about to be sold, the officials at the
door would ask him, as he was going out, if he did not happen to
have an Elzevir Horace or an Aldine Ovid in his pocket.
Then he would search those receptacles and exclaim, “Yes,
yes, here it is; so much obliged to you; I am so
absent.” M. Janin mentions an English noble, a
“Sir Fitzgerald,” who had the same tastes, but who
unluckily fell into the hands of the police. Yet M. Janin
has a tenderness for the book-stealer, who, after all, is a lover
of books. The moral position of the malefactor is so
delicate and difficult that we shall attempt to treat of it in
the severe, though <i>rococo</i>, manner of Aristotle’s
“Ethics.” Here follows an extract from the lost
Aristotelian treatise “Concerning Books”:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Among the contemplative virtues we reckon
the love of books. Now this virtue, like courage or
liberality, has its mean, its excess, and its defect. The
defect is indifference, and the man who is defective as to the
love of books has no name in common parlance. Therefore, we
may call him the Robustious Philistine. This man will cut
the leaves of his own or his friend’s volumes with the
butter-knife at breakfast. Also he is just the person
wilfully to mistake the double sense of the term
‘fly-leaves,’ and to stick the <a
name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
48</span>‘fly-leaves’ of his volumes full of
fly-hooks. He also loves dogs’-ears, and marks his
place with his pipe when he shuts a book in a hurry; or he will
set the leg of his chair on a page to keep it open. He
praises those who tear off margins for pipe-lights, and he makes
cigarettes with the tissue-paper that covers engravings.
When his books are bound, he sees that the margin is cut to the
quick. He tells you too, that ‘<i>he</i> buys books
to read them.’ But he does not say why he thinks it needful
to spoil them. Also he will drag off bindings—or
should we perhaps call this crime
<i>θηριοτης</i>, or
brutality, rather than mere vice? for vice is essentially human,
but to tear off bindings is bestial. Thus they still speak
of a certain monster who lived during the French Revolution, and
who, having purchased volumes attired in morocco, and stamped
with the devices of the oligarchs, would rip off the leather or
vellum, and throw them into the fire or out of the window, saying
that ‘now he could read with unwashed hands at his
ease.’ Such a person, then, is the man indifferent to
books, and he sins by way of defect, being deficient in the
contemplative virtue of book-loving. As to the man who is
exactly in the right mean, we call him the book-lover. His
happiness consists not in reading, which is an <a
name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>active
virtue, but in the contemplation of bindings, and illustrations,
and title-pages. Thus his felicity partakes of the nature
of the bliss we attribute to the gods, for that also is
contemplative, and we call the book-lover ‘happy,’
and even ‘blessed,’ but within the limits of mortal
happiness. But, just as in the matter of absence of fear
there is a mean which we call courage, and a defect which we call
cowardice, and an excess which is known as foolhardiness; so it
is in the case of the love of books. As to the mean, we
have seen that it is the virtue of the true book-lover, while the
defect constitutes the sin of the Robustious Philistine.
But the extreme is found in covetousness, and the covetous man
who is in the extreme state of book-loving, is the biblioklept,
or book-stealer. Now his vice shows itself, not in
contemplation (for of contemplation there can be no excess), but
in action. For books are procured, as we say, by purchase,
or by barter, and these are voluntary exchanges, both the seller
and the buyer being willing to deal. But books are, again,
procured in another way, by involuntary contract—that is,
when the owner of the book is unwilling to part with it, but he
whose own the book is not is determined to take it. The
book-stealer is such a man as this, and he possesses himself of
books with which the owner does not intend to <a
name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>part, by
virtue of a series of involuntary contracts. Again, the
question may be raised, whether is the Robustious Philistine who
despises books, or the biblioklept who adores them out of measure
and excessively, the worse citizen? Now, if we are to look
to the consequences of actions only (as the followers of Bentham
advise), clearly the Robustious Philistine is the worse citizen,
for he mangles, and dirties, and destroys books which it is the
interest of the State to preserve. But the biblioklept
treasures and adorns the books he has acquired; and when he dies,
or goes to prison, the State receives the benefit at his
sale. Thus Libri, who was the greatest of biblioklepts,
rescued many of the books he stole from dirt and misuse, and had
them bound royally in purple and gold. Also, it may be
argued that books naturally belong to him who can appreciate
them; and if good books are in a dull or indifferent man’s
keeping, this is the sort of slavery which we call
“unnatural” in our <i>Politics</i>, and which is not
to be endured. Shall we say, then, that the Robustious
Philistine is the worse citizen, while the Biblioklept is the
worse man? But this is perhaps matter for a separate
disquisition.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This fragment of the lost Aristotelian treatise
“Concerning Books,” shows what a difficulty the
Stagirite had in determining the precise nature of <a
name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>the moral
offence of the biblioklept. Indeed, both as a collector and
as an intuitive moralist, Aristotle must have found it rather
difficult to condemn the book-thief. He, doubtless, went on
to draw distinctions between the man who steals books to sell
them again for mere pecuniary profit (which he would call
“chrematistic,” or “unnatural,”
book-stealing), and the man who steals them because he feels that
he is their proper and natural possessor. The same
distinction is taken by Jules Janin, who was a more constant
student of Horace than of Aristotle. In his imaginary
dialogue of bibliophiles, Janin introduces a character who
announces the death of M. Libri. The tolerant person who
brings the sad news proposes “to cast a few flowers on the
melancholy tomb. He was a bibliophile, after all.
What do you say to it? Many a good fellow has stolen books,
and died in grace at the last.” “Yes,”
replies the president of the club, “but the good fellows
did not sell the books they stole . . . Cest une grande honte,
une grande misère.” This Libri was an
Inspector-General of French Libraries under Louis Philippe.
When he was tried, in 1848, it was calculated that the sum of his
known thefts amounted to £20,000. Many of his
robberies escaped notice at the time. It is not long since
Lord Ashburnham, according to a <a name="page52"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 52</span>French journal, “Le
Livre,” found in his collection some fragments of a
Pentateuch. These relics had been in the possession of the
Lyons Library, whence Libri stole them in 1847. The late
Lord Ashburnham bought them, without the faintest idea of
Libri’s dishonesty; and when, after eleven years, the
present peer discovered the proper owners of his treasure, he
immediately restored the Pentateuch to the Lyons Library.</p>
<p>Many eminent characters have been biblioklepts. When
Innocent X. was still Monsignor Pamphilio, he stole a
book—so says Tallemant des Réaux—from Du
Monstier, the painter. The amusing thing is that Du
Monstier himself was a book-thief. He used to tell how he
had lifted a book, of which he had long been in search, from a
stall on the Pont-Neuf; “but,” says Tallemant (whom
Janin does not seem to have consulted), “there are many
people who don’t think it thieving to steal a book unless
you sell it afterwards.” But Du Monstier took a less
liberal view where his own books were concerned. The
Cardinal Barberini came to Paris as legate, and brought in his
suite Monsignor Pamphilio, who afterwards became Innocent
X. The Cardinal paid a visit to Du Monstier in his studio,
where Monsignor Pamphilio spied, on a table,
“L’Histoire du Concile de Trent”—the good
edition, the London one. <a name="page53"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 53</span>“What a pity,” thought
the young ecclesiastic, “that such a man should be, by some
accident, the possessor of so valuable a book.” With
these sentiments Monsignor Pamphilio slipped the work under his
<i>soutane</i>. But little Du Monstier observed him, and
said furiously to the Cardinal, that a holy man should not bring
thieves and robbers in his company. With these words, and
with others of a violent and libellous character, he recovered
the “History of the Council of Trent,” and kicked out
the future Pope. Amelot de la Houssaie traces to this
incident the hatred borne by Innocent X. to the Crown and the
people of France. Another Pope, while only a cardinal,
stole a book from Ménage—so M. Janin
reports—but we have not been able to discover
Ménage’s own account of the larceny. The
anecdotist is not so truthful that cardinals need flush a deeper
scarlet, like the roses in Bion’s “Lament for
Adonis,” on account of a scandal resting on the authority
of Ménage. Among Royal persons, Catherine de Medici,
according to Brantôme, was a biblioklept. “The
Marshal Strozzi had a very fine library, and after his death the
Queen-Mother seized it, promising some day to pay the value to
his son, who never got a farthing of the money.” The
Ptolemies, too, were thieves on a large scale. A department
of the Alexandrian Library was <a name="page54"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 54</span>called “The Books from the
Ships,” and was filled with rare volumes stolen from
passengers in vessels that touched at the port. True, the
owners were given copies of their ancient MSS., but the exchange,
as Aristotle says, was an “involuntary” one, and not
distinct from robbery.</p>
<p>The great pattern of biblioklepts, a man who carried his
passion to the most regrettable excesses, was a Spanish priest,
Don Vincente, of the convent of Pobla, in Aragon. When the
Spanish revolution despoiled the convent libraries, Don Vincente
established himself at Barcelona, under the pillars of Los
Encantes, where are the stalls of the merchants of
<i>bric-à-brac</i> and the seats of them that sell
books. In a gloomy den the Don stored up treasures which he
hated to sell. Once he was present at an auction where he
was out-bid in the competition for a rare, perhaps a unique,
volume. Three nights after that, the people of Barcelona
were awakened by cries of “Fire!” The house and
shop of the man who had bought “Ordinacions per los
gloriosos reys de Arago” were blazing. When the fire
was extinguished, the body of the owner of the house was found,
with a pipe in his blackened hand, and some money beside
him. Every one said, “He must have set the house on
fire with a spark from his pipe.” Time went on, and
week by <a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
55</span>week the police found the bodies of slain men, now in
the street, now in a ditch, now in the river. There were
young men and old, all had been harmless and inoffensive in their
lives, and—all had been <i>bibliophiles</i>. A dagger
in an invisible hand had reached their hearts but the assassin
had spared their purses, money, and rings. An organised
search was made in the city, and the shop of Don Vincente was
examined. There, in a hidden recess, the police discovered
the copy of “Ordinacions per los gloriosis reys de
Arago,” which ought by rights to have been burned with the
house of its purchaser. Don Vincente was asked how he got
the book. He replied in a quiet voice, demanded that his
collection should be made over to the Barcelona Library, and then
confessed a long array of crimes. He had strangled his
rival, stolen the “Ordinacions,” and burned the
house. The slain men were people who had bought from him
books which he really could not bear to part with. At his
trial his counsel tried to prove that his confession was false,
and that he might have got his books by honest means. It
was objected that there was in the world only one book printed by
Lambert Palmart in 1482, and that the prisoner must have stolen
this, the only copy, from the library where it was
treasured. The defendant’s counsel proved <a
name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>that there
was another copy in the Louvre; that, therefore, there might be
more, and that the defendant’s might have been honestly
procured. Here Don Vincente, previously callous, uttered an
hysterical cry. Said the Alcalde:—“At last,
Vincente, you begin to understand the enormity of your
offence?” “Ah, Señor Alcalde, my error
was clumsy indeed. If you only knew how miserable I
am!” “If human justice prove inflexible, there
is another justice whose pity is inexhaustible. Repentance
is never too late.” “Ah, Señor Alcalde,
but my copy was not unique!” With the story of this
impenitent thief we may close the roll of biblioklepts, though
Dibdin pretends that Garrick was of the company, and stole
Alleyne’s books at Dulwich.</p>
<p>There is a thievish nature more hateful than even the
biblioklept. The Book-Ghoul is he who combines the larceny
of the biblioklept with the abominable wickedness of breaking up
and mutilating the volumes from which he steals. He is a
collector of title-pages, frontispieces, illustrations, and
book-plates. He prowls furtively among public and private
libraries, inserting wetted threads, which slowly eat away the
illustrations he covets; and he broods, like the obscene demon of
Arabian superstitions, over the fragments of the mighty
dead. His disgusting tastes vary. He <a
name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>prepares
books for the American market. Christmas books are sold in
the States stuffed with pictures cut out of honest volumes.
Here is a quotation from an American paper:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Another style of Christmas book which
deserves to be mentioned, though it is out of the reach of any
but the very rich, is the historical or literary work enriched
with inserted plates. There has never, to our knowledge,
been anything offered in America so supremely excellent as the
$5000 book on Washington, we think—exhibited by Boston last
year, but not a few fine specimens of books of this class are at
present offered to purchasers. Scribner has a beautiful
copy of Forster’s ‘Life of Dickens,’ enlarged
from three volumes octavo to nine volumes quarto, by taking to
pieces, remounting, and inlaying. It contains some eight
hundred engravings, portraits, views, playbills, title-pages,
catalogues, proof illustrations from Dickens’s works, a set
of the Onwhyn plates, rare engravings by Cruikshank and
‘Phiz,’ and autograph letters. Though this
volume does not compare with Harvey’s Dickens, offered for
$1750 two years ago, it is an excellent specimen of books of this
sort, and the veriest tyro in bibliographical affairs knows how
scarce are becoming the early editions of Dickens’s works
and the <a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
58</span>plates illustrating them. <a name="citation4"></a><a
href="#footnote4" class="citation">[4]</a> Anything about
Dickens in the beginning of his career is a sound investment from
a business point of view. Another work of the same sort,
valued at $240, is Lady Trevelyan’s edition of Macaulay,
illustrated with portraits, many of them very rare. Even
cheaper, all things considered, is an extra-illustrated copy of
the ‘Histoire de la Gravure,’ which, besides its
seventy-three reproductions of old engravings, is enriched with
two hundred fine specimens of the early engravers, many of the
impressions being in first and second states. At $155 such
a book is really a bargain, especially for any one who is forming
a collection of engravings. Another delightful work is the
library edition of Bray’s ‘Evelyn,’ illustrated
with some two hundred and fifty portraits and views, and valued
at $175; and still another is Boydell’s
‘Milton,’ with plates after Westall, and further
illustrations in the shape of twenty-eight portraits of the
painter and one hundred and eighty-one plates, and many of them
before letter. The price of this book is $325.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>But few book-ghouls are worse than the moral ghoul. He
defaces, with a pen, the passages, in some precious volume, which
do not meet his idea of moral propriety. I have a
Pine’s “Horace,” <a name="page59"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 59</span>with the engravings from gems, which
has fallen into the hands of a moral ghoul. Not only has he
obliterated the verses which hurt his delicate sense, but he has
actually scraped away portions of the classical figures, and
“the breasts of the nymphs in the brake.” The
soul of Tartuffe had entered into the body of a sinner of the
last century. The antiquarian ghoul steals title-pages and
colophons. The aesthetic ghoul cuts illuminated initials
out of manuscripts. The petty, trivial, and almost idiotic
ghoul of our own days, sponges the fly-leaves and boards of books
for the purpose of cribbing the book-plates. An old
“Complaint of a Book-plate,” in dread of the wet
sponge of the enemy, has been discovered by Mr. Austin
Dobson:—<a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5"
class="citation">[5]</a></p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">THE BOOK-PLATE’S
PETITION.</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>By a Gentleman of the
Temple</i>.</p>
<p>While cynic <span class="smcap">Charles</span> still
trimm’d the vane<br />
’Twixt Querouaille and Castlemaine,<br />
In days that shocked <span class="smcap">John Evelyn</span>,<br
/>
My First Possessor fix’d me in.<br />
In days of Dutchmen and of frost,<br />
The narrow sea with <span class="smcap">James</span> I
cross’d,<br />
Returning when once more began<br />
The Age of Saturn and of <span class="smcap">Anne</span>.<br />
I am a part of all the past;<br />
I knew the <span class="smcap">Georges</span>, first and last;<br
/>
<a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>I have
been oft where else was none<br />
Save the great wig of <span class="smcap">Addison</span>;<br />
And seen on shelves beneath me grope<br />
The little eager form of <span class="smcap">Pope</span>.<br />
I lost the Third that own’d me when<br />
French <span class="smcap">Noailles</span> fled at Dettingen;<br
/>
The year <span class="smcap">James Wolfe</span> surpris’d
Quebec,<br />
The Fourth in hunting broke his neck;<br />
The day that <span class="smcap">William Hogarth</span>
dy’d,<br />
The Fifth one found me in Cheapside.<br />
This was a Scholar, one of those<br />
Whose Greek is sounder than their hose;<br />
He lov’d old Books and nappy ale,<br />
So liv’d at Streatham, next to <span
class="smcap">Thrale</span>.<br />
’Twas there this stain of grease I boast<br />
Was made by Dr. <span class="smcap">Johnson’s</span>
toast.<br />
(He did it, as I think, for Spite;<br />
My Master call’d him Jacobite!)<br />
And now that I so long to-day<br />
Have rested post discrimina,<br />
Safe in the brass-wir’d book-case where<br />
I watch’d the Vicar’s whit’ning hair,<br />
Must I these travell’d bones inter<br />
In some Collector’s sepulchre!<br />
Must I be torn from hence and thrown<br />
With frontispiece and colophon!<br />
With vagrant E’s, and I’s, and O’s,<br />
The spoil of plunder’d Folios!<br />
With scraps and snippets that to <span class="smcap">Me</span><br
/>
Are naught but kitchen company!<br />
Nay, rather, <span class="smcap">Friend</span>, this favour grant
me:<br />
Tear me at once; but don’t transplant me.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Cheltenham</span>,
<i>Sept</i><sup><i>r</i></sup>. 31, 1792.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The conceited ghoul writes his notes across our <a
name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>fair white
margins, in pencil, or in more baneful ink. Or he spills
his ink bottle at large over the pages, as André
Chénier’s friend served his copy of Malherbe.
It is scarcely necessary to warn the amateur against the society
of book-ghouls, who are generally snuffy and foul in appearance,
and by no means so insinuating as that fair lady-ghoul, Amina, of
the Arabian Nights.</p>
<p>Another enemy of books must be mentioned with the delicacy
that befits the topic. Almost all women are the inveterate
foes, not of novels, of course, nor peerages and popular volumes
of history, but of books worthy of the name. It is true
that Isabelle d’Este, and Madame de Pompadour, and Madame
de Maintenon, were collectors; and, doubtless, there are other
brilliant exceptions to a general rule. But, broadly
speaking, women detest the books which the collector desires and
admires. First, they don’t understand them; second,
they are jealous of their mysterious charms; third, books cost
money; and it really is a hard thing for a lady to see money
expended on what seems a dingy old binding, or yellow paper
scored with crabbed characters. Thus ladies wage a
skirmishing war against booksellers’ catalogues, and
history speaks of husbands who have had to practise the guile of
smugglers when they conveyed a new purchase across their own
frontier. <a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
62</span>Thus many married men are reduced to collecting
Elzevirs, which go readily into the pocket, for you cannot
smuggle a folio volume easily. This inveterate dislike of
books often produces a very deplorable result when an old
collector dies. His “womankind,” as the
Antiquary called them, sell all his treasures for the price of
waste-paper, to the nearest country bookseller. It is a
melancholy duty which forces one to introduce such topics into a
volume on “Art at Home.” But this little work
will not have been written in vain if it persuades ladies who
inherit books not to sell them hastily, without taking good and
disinterested opinion as to their value. They often dispose
of treasures worth thousands, for a ten pound note, and take
pride in the bargain. Here, let history mention with due
honour the paragon of her sex and the pattern to all wives of
book-collecting men—Madame Fertiault. It is thus that
she addresses her lord in a charming triolet (“Les Amoureux
du Livre,” p. xxxv):—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Le livre a ton esprit . . . tant mieux!<br
/>
Moi, j’ai ton coeur, et sans partage.<br />
Puis-je désirer davantage?<br />
Le livre a ton esprit . . . tant mieux!<br />
Heureuse de te voir joyeux,<br />
Je t’en voudrais . . . tout un étage.<br />
Le livre a ton esprit . . . tant mieux!<br />
Moi, j’ai ton coeur, et sans partage.”</p>
<p><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 63</span>Books
rule thy mind, so let it be!<br />
Thy heart is mine, and mine alone.<br />
What more can I require of thee?<br />
Books rule thy mind, so let it be!<br />
Contented when thy bliss I see,<br />
I wish a world of books thine own.<br />
Books rule thy mind, so let it be!<br />
Thy heart is mine, and mine alone.</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p62b.jpg">
<img alt=
"M. Annei Lucani de Bello Civili Libri X. Apud Seb. Gryphium
Lugduni. 1551"
title=
"M. Annei Lucani de Bello Civili Libri X. Apud Seb. Gryphium
Lugduni. 1551"
src="images/p62s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>There is one method of preserving books, which, alas, only
tempts the borrower, the stealer, the rat, and the book-worm; but
which is absolutely necessary as a defence against dust and
neglect. This is binding. The bookbinder’s art
too often destroys books when the artist is careless, but it is
the only mode of preventing our volumes from falling to pieces,
and from being some day disregarded as waste-paper. A
well-bound book, especially a book from a famous collection, has
its price, even if its literary contents be of trifling
value. A leather coat fashioned by Derome, or Le Gascon, or
Duseuil, will win respect and careful handling for one specimen
of an edition whereof all the others have perished. Nothing
is so slatternly as the aspect of a book merely stitched, in the
French fashion, when the threads begin to stretch, and the paper
covers to curl and be torn. Worse consequences follow,
whole sheets are lost, the volume becomes worthless, and the
owner must often be at the expense of purchasing another copy, <a
name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>if he can,
for the edition may now be out of print. Thus binding of
some sort not only adds a grace to the library, presenting to the
eye the cheerful gilded rows of our volumes, but is a positive
economy. In the case of our cloth-covered English works,
the need of binding is not so immediately obvious. But our
publishers have a taste for clothing their editions in tender
tones of colour, stamped, often, with landscapes printed in gold,
in white, or what not. Covers like this, may or may not
please the eye while they are new and clean, but they soon become
dirty and hideous. When a book is covered in cloth of a
good dark tint it may be allowed to remain unbound, but the
primrose and lilac hues soon call out for the aid of the
binder.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p64b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Pub. Virgilii Maronis Opera Parisiis. Apud Hieronymum de
Marnef, sub Pelicano, Monte D’Hilurii. 1558"
title=
"Pub. Virgilii Maronis Opera Parisiis. Apud Hieronymum de
Marnef, sub Pelicano, Monte D’Hilurii. 1558"
src="images/p64s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>Much has been written of late about book-binding. In a
later part of this manual we shall have something to say about
historical examples of the art, and the performances of the great
masters. At present one must begin by giving the practical
rule, that a book should be bound in harmony with its character
and its value. The bibliophile, if he could give the rein
to his passions, would bind every book he cares to possess in a
full coat of morocco, or (if it did not age so fast) of Russia
leather. But to do this is beyond the power of most of
us. Only <a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
65</span>works of great rarity or value should be full bound in
morocco. If we have the luck to light on a Shakespeare
quarto, on some masterpiece of Aldus Manutius, by all means let
us entrust it to the most competent binder, and instruct him to
do justice to the volume. Let old English books, as
More’s “Utopia,” have a cover of stamped and
blazoned calf. Let the binder clothe an early Rabelais or
Marot in the style favoured by Grolier, in leather tooled with
geometrical patterns. Let a Molière or Corneille be
bound in the graceful contemporary style of Le Gascon, where the
lace-like pattern of the gilding resembles the Venetian
point-lace, for which La Fontaine liked to ruin himself.
Let a binding, <i>à la fanfare</i>, in the style of
Thouvenin, denote a novelist of the last century, let panelled
Russia leather array a folio of Shakespeare, and let English
works of a hundred years ago be clothed in the sturdy fashion of
Roger Payne. Again, the bibliophile may prefer to have the
leather stamped with his arms and crest, like de Thou, Henri
III., D’Hoym, Madame du Barry, and most of the collectors
of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Yet there are
books of great price which one would hesitate to bind in new
covers. An Aldine or an Elzevir, in its old vellum or paper
wrapper, with uncut leaves, should be left just as it came from
the <a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
66</span>presses of the great printers. In this condition
it is a far more interesting relic. But a morocco case may
be made for the book, and lettered properly on the back, so that
the volume, though really unbound, may take its place with the
bound books on the shelves. A copy of any of
Shelley’s poems, in the original wrappers, should I venture
to think be treated thus, and so should the original editions of
Keats’s and of Mr. Tennyson’s works. A
collector, who is also an author, will perhaps like to have
copies of his own works in morocco, for their coats will give
them a chance of surviving the storms of time. But most
other books, not of the highest rarity and interest, will be
sufficiently clothed in half-bindings, that is, with leather
backs and corners, while the rest of the cover is of cloth or
paper, or whatever other substance seems most appropriate.
An Oxford tutor used to give half-binding as an example of what
Aristotle calls
<i>Μικροπρέπεια</i>,
or “shabbiness,” and when we recommend such coverings
for books it is as a counsel of expediency, not of
perfection. But we cannot all be millionaires; and, let it
be remembered, the really wise amateur will never be extravagant,
nor let his taste lead him into “the ignoble melancholy of
pecuniary embarrassment.” Let the example of Charles
Nodier be our warning; nay, let us <a name="page67"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 67</span>remember that while Nodier could get
out of debt by selling his collection, <i>ours</i> will probably
not fetch anything like what we gave for it. In
half-bindings there is a good deal of room for the exercise of
the collector’s taste. M. Octave Uzanne, in a tract
called “Les Caprices d’un Bibliophile,” gives
some hints on this topic, which may be taken or let alone.
M. Uzanne has noticed the monotony, and the want of meaning and
suggestion in ordinary half-bindings. The paper or cloth
which covers the greater part of the surface of half-bound books
is usually inartistic and even ugly. He proposes to use old
scraps of brocade, embroidery, Venice velvet, or what not; and
doubtless a covering made of some dead fair lady’s train
goes well with a romance by Crébillon, and engravings by
Marillier. “Voici un cartonnage Pompadour de notre
invention,” says M. Uzanne, with pride; but he observes
that it needs a strong will to make a bookbinder execute such
orders. For another class of books, which our honest
English shelves reject with disgust, M. Uzanne proposes a binding
of the skin of the boa constrictor; undoubtedly appropriate and
“admonishing.” The leathers of China and Japan,
with their strange tints and gilded devices may be used for books
of fantasy, like “Gaspard de la Nuit,” or the
“Opium Eater,” or Poe’s poems, <a
name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>or the verses
of Gérard de Nerval. Here, in short, is an almost
unexplored field for the taste of the bibliophile, who, with some
expenditure of time, and not much of money, may make half-binding
an art, and give modern books a peculiar and appropriate
raiment.</p>
<p>M. Ambrose Firmin Didot has left some notes on a more serious
topic,—the colours to be chosen when books are full-bound
in morocco. Thus he would have the “Iliad”
clothed in red, the “Odyssey” in blue, because the
old Greek rhapsodists wore a scarlet cloak when they recited the
Wrath of Achilles, a blue one when they chanted of the Return of
Odysseus. The writings of the great dignitaries of the
Church, M. Didot would array in violet; scarlet goes well with
the productions of cardinals; philosophers have their sober suit
of black morocco, poets like Panard may be dressed in rose
colour. A collector of this sort would like, were it
possible, to attire Goldsmith’s poems in a “coat of
Tyrian bloom, satin grain.” As an antithesis to these
extravagant fancies, we may add that for ordinary books no
binding is cheaper, neater, and more durable, than a coat of
buckram.</p>
<p>The conditions of a well bound book may be tersely
enumerated. The binding should unite solidity and
elegance. The book should open <a name="page69"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 69</span>easily, and remain open at any page
you please. It should never be necessary, in reading, to
squeeze back the covers; and no book, however expensively bound,
has been properly treated, if it does not open with ease.
It is a mistake to send recently printed books to the binder,
especially books which contain engravings. The printing ink
dries slowly, and, in the process called “beating,”
the text is often transferred to the opposite page. M.
Rouveyre recommends that one or two years should pass before the
binding of a newly printed book. The owner will, of course,
implore the binder to, spare the margins; and, almost equally of
course, the binder, <i>durus arator</i>, will cut them down with
his abominable plough. One is almost tempted to say that
margins should always be left untouched, for if once the binder
begins to clip he is unable to resist the seductive joy, and cuts
the paper to the quick, even into the printed matter. Mr.
Blades tells a very sad story of a nobleman who handed over some
Caxtons to a provincial binder, and received them back
<i>minus</i> £500 worth of margin. Margins make a
book worth perhaps £400, while their absence reduces the
same volume to the box marked “all these at
fourpence.” <i>Intonsis capillis</i>, with locks
unshorn, as Motteley the old dealer used to say, an Elzevir in
its paper wrapper may be worth more than the <a
name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>same tome in
morocco, stamped with Longepierre’s fleece of gold.
But these things are indifferent to bookbinders, new and
old. There lies on the table, as I write, “Les
Provinciales, ou Les Lettres Ecrites par Louis de Montalte
à un Provincial de ses amis, & aux R.R. P.P.
Jesuites. A Cologne, Ches <span class="smcap">Pierre</span>
de la <span class="smcap">Vallée</span>, <span
class="GutSmall">M.DC.LVIII</span>.” It is the
Elzevir edition, or what passes for such; but the binder has cut
down the margin so that the words “Les Provinciales”
almost touch the top of the page. Often the wretch—he
lived, judging by his style, in Derome’s time, before the
Revolution—has sliced into the head-titles of the
pages. Thus the book, with its old red morocco cover and
gilded flowers on the back, is no proper companion for “Les
Pensées de M. <span class="smcap">Pascal</span>
(Wolfganck, 1672),” which some sober Dutchman has left with
a fair allowance of margin, an inch “taller” in its
vellum coat than its neighbour in morocco. Here once more,
is “<span class="smcap">Les Fascheux</span>, Comedie de I.
B. P. <span class="smcap">Molière</span>, Representee sur
Le <i>Theatre du Palais Royal</i>. A Paris, Chez <span
class="smcap">Gabriel Quinet</span>, au Palais, dans la Galerie
des Prisonniers, à l’Ange Gabriel, <span
class="GutSmall">M.DCLXIII</span>. Avec privilege du
Roy.” What a crowd of pleasant memories the
bibliophile, and he only, finds in these dry words of the
title. Quinet, the bookseller, lived “au
Palais,” in that pretty old arcade where Corneille cast the
scene <a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>of
his comedy, “La Galerie du Palais.” In the
Geneva edition of Corneille, 1774, you can see Gravelot’s
engraving of the place; it is a print full of exquisite charm
(engraved by Le Mure in 1762). Here is the long arcade, in
shape exactly like the galleries of the Bodleian Library at
Oxford. The bookseller’s booth is arched over, and is
open at front and side. Dorimant and Cléante are
looking out; one leans on the books on the window-sill, the other
lounges at the door, and they watch the pretty Hippolyte who is
chaffering with the lace-seller at the opposite shop.
“Ce visage vaut mieux que toutes vos chansons,” says
Dorimant to the bookseller. So they loitered, and bought
books, and flirted in their lace ruffles, and ribbons, and
flowing locks, and wide <i>canons</i>, when Molière was
young, and when this little old book was new, and lying on the
shelves of honest Quinet in the Palace Gallery. The very
title-page, and pagination, not of this second edition, but of
the first of “Les Fascheux,” had their own fortunes,
for the dedication to Fouquet was perforce withdrawn. That
favourite entertained La Vallière and the King with the
comedy at his house of Vaux, and then instantly fell from power
and favour, and, losing his place and his freedom, naturally lost
the flattery of a dedication. But <i>retombons à nos
</i><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
72</span><i>coches</i>, as Montaigne says. This pleasant
little copy of the play, which is a kind of relic of
Molière and his old world, has been ruthlessly bound up
with a treatise, “Des Pierres Précieuses,”
published by Didot in 1776. Now the play is naturally a
larger book than the treatise on precious stones, so the binder
has cut down the margins to the size of those of the work on
amethysts and rubies. As the Italian tyrant chained the
dead and the living together, as Procrustes maimed his victims on
his cruel bed, so a hard-hearted French binder has tied up, and
mutilated, and spoiled the old play, which otherwise would have
had considerable value as well as interest.</p>
<p>We have tried to teach the beginner how to keep his books neat
and clean; what men and monsters he should avoid; how he should
guard himself against borrowers, book-worms, damp, and
dirt. But we are sometimes compelled to buy books already
dirty and dingy, foxed, or spotted with red, worn by greasy
hands, stained with ink spots, or covered with MS. notes.
The art of man has found a remedy for these defects. I have
never myself tried to wash a book, and this care is best left to
professional hands. But the French and English writers give
various recipes for cleaning old books, which the amateur may <a
name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>try on any
old rubbish out of the fourpenny box of a bookstall, till he
finds that he can trust his own manipulations. There are
“fat stains” on books, as thumb marks, traces of oil
(the midnight oil), flakes of old pasty crust left in old
Shakespeares, and candle drippings. There are “thin
stains,” as of mud, scaling-wax, ink, dust, and damp.
To clean a book you first carefully unbind it, take off the old
covers, cut the old stitching, and separate sheet from
sheet. Then take a page with “fat stains” of
any kind of grease (except finger-marks), pass a hot flat iron
over it, and press on it a clean piece of blotting paper till the
paper sucks up the grease. Then charge a camel-hair brush
with heated turpentine, and pass it over the places that were
stained. If the paper loses its colour press softly over it
a delicate handkerchief, soaked in heated spirits of wine.
Finger-marks you will cover with clean soap, leave this on for
some hours, and then rub with a sponge filled with hot
water. Afterwards dip in weak acid and water, and then soak
the page in a bath of clean water. Ink-stained pages you
will first dip in a strong solution of oxalic acid and then in
hydrochloric acid mixed in six times its quantity of water.
Then bathe in clean water and allow to dry slowly.</p>
<p>Some English recipes may also be given. <a
name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>“Grease
or wax spots,” says Hannett, in “Bibliopegia,”
“may be removed by washing the part with ether, chloroform,
or benzine, and placing it between pieces of white blotting
paper, then pass a hot iron over it.” “Chlorine
water,” says the same writer, removes ink stains, and
bleaches the paper at the same time. Of chloride of lime,
“a piece the size of a nut” (a cocoa nut or a hazel
nut?) in a pint of water, may be applied with a camel’s
hair pencil, and plenty of patience. To polish old
bindings, “take the yolk of an egg, beat it up with a fork,
apply it with a sponge, having first cleaned the leather with a
dry flannel.” The following, says a writer in
“Notes and Queries,” with perfect truth, is “an
easier if not a better method; purchase some bookbinder’s
varnish,” and use it as you did the rudimentary omelette of
the former recipe. Vellum covers may be cleaned with soap
and water, or in bad cases by a weak solution of salts of
lemon.</p>
<p>Lastly, the collector should acquire such books as
Lowndes’s “Bibliography,” Brunet’s
“Manuel,” and as many priced catalogues as he can
secure. The catalogues of Mr. Quaritch, Mr. Bohn, M.
Fontaine, M.M. Morgand et Fatout, are excellent guides to a
knowledge of the market value of books. Other special
works, as Renouard’s for Aldines, Willems’s for
Elzevirs, and Cohen’s for French <a name="page75"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 75</span>engravings, will be mentioned in
their proper place. Dibdin’s books are inaccurate and
long-winded, but may occasionally be dipped into with
pleasure.</p>
<h2><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
76</span>CHAPTER III.<br />
THE BOOKS OF THE COLLECTOR.</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> easiest way to bring order into
the chaos of desirable books, is, doubtless, to begin
historically with manuscripts. Almost every age that has
left any literary remains, has bequeathed to us relics which are
cherished by collectors. We may leave the clay books of the
Chaldeans out of the account. These tomes resemble nothing
so much as sticks of chocolate, and, however useful they may be
to the student, the clay MSS. of Assurbanipal are not coveted by
the collector. He finds his earliest objects of desire in
illuminated manuscripts. The art of decorating manuscripts
is as old as Egypt; but we need not linger over the beautiful
papyri, which are silent books to all but a few
Egyptologists. Greece, out of all her tomes, has left us
but a few ill-written <a name="page77"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 77</span>papyri. Roman and early
Byzantine art are represented by a “Virgil,” and
fragments of an “Iliad”; the drawings in the latter
have been reproduced in a splendid volume (Milan 1819), and shew
Greek art passing into barbarism. The illumination of MSS.
was a favourite art in the later empire, and is said to have been
practised by Boethius. The iconoclasts of the Eastern
empire destroyed the books which contained representations of
saints and of the persons of the Trinity, and the monk Lazarus, a
famous artist, was cruelly tortured for his skill in illuminating
sacred works. The art was decaying in Western Europe when
Charlemagne sought for painters of MSS. in England and Ireland,
where the monks, in their monasteries, had developed a style with
original qualities. The library of Corpus Christi at
Cambridge, contains some of the earliest and most beautiful of
extant English MSS. These parchments, stained purple or
violet, and inscribed with characters of gold; are too often
beyond the reach of the amateur for whom we write. The MSS.
which he can hope to acquire are neither very early nor very
sumptuous, and, as a rule, MSS. of secular books are apt to be
out of his reach.</p>
<p>Yet a collection of MSS. has this great advantage over a
collection of printed books, that every item in it is absolutely
unique, no two MSS. being <a name="page78"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 78</span>ever really the same. This
circumstance alone would entitle a good collection of MSS. to
very high consideration on the part of book-collectors.
But, in addition to the great expense of such a collection, there
is another and even more serious drawback. It is sometimes
impossible, and is often extremely difficult, to tell whether a
MS. is perfect or not.</p>
<p>This difficulty can only be got over by an amount of learning
on the part of the collector to which, unfortunately, he is too
often a stranger. On the other hand, the advantages of
collecting MSS. are sometimes very great.</p>
<p>In addition to the pleasure—a pleasure at once literary
and artistic—which the study of illuminated MSS. affords,
there is the certainty that, as years go on, the value of such a
collection increases in a proportion altogether marvellous.</p>
<p>I will take two examples to prove this point. Some years
ago an eminent collector gave the price of £30 for a small
French book of Hours, painted in <i>grisaille</i>. It was
in a country town that he met with this treasure, for a treasure
he considered the book, in spite of its being of the very latest
school of illumination. When his collection was dispersed a
few years ago this one book fetched £260.</p>
<p>In the celebrated Perkins sale, in 1873, a magnificent <a
name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>early MS.,
part of which was written in gold on a purple ground, and which
was dated in the catalogue “ninth or tenth century,”
but was in reality of the end of the tenth or beginning of the
eleventh, was sold for £565 to a dealer. It found its
way into Mr. Bragge’s collection, at what price I do not
know, and was resold, three years later, for £780.</p>
<p>Any person desirous of making a collection of illuminated
MSS., should study seriously for some time at the British Museum,
or some such place, until he is thoroughly acquainted (1) with
the styles of writing in use in the Middle Ages, so that he can
at a glance make a fairly accurate estimate of the age of the
book submitted to him; and (2) with the proper means of collating
the several kinds of service-books, which, in nine cases out of
ten, were those chosen for illumination.</p>
<p>A knowledge of the styles of writing can be acquired at second
hand in a book lately published by Mr. Charles Trice Martin,
F.S.A., being a new edition of “Astle’s Progress of
Writing.” Still better, of course, is the actual
inspection and comparison of books to which a date can be with
some degree of certainty assigned.</p>
<p>It is very common for the age of a book to be misstated in the
catalogues of sales, for the simple reason that the older the
writing, the plainer, in <a name="page80"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 80</span>all probability, it is. Let the
student compare writing of the twelfth century with that of the
sixteenth, and he will be able to judge at once of the truth of
this assertion. I had once the good fortune to “pick
up” a small Testament of the early part of the twelfth
century, if not older, which was catalogued as belonging to the
fifteenth, a date which would have made it of very moderate
value.</p>
<p>With regard to the second point, the collation of MSS., I fear
there is no royal road to knowing whether a book is perfect or
imperfect. In some cases the catchwords remain at the foot
of the pages. It is then of course easy to see if a page is
lost, but where no such clue is given the student’s only
chance is to be fully acquainted with what a book <i>ought</i> to
contain. He can only do this when he has a knowledge of the
different kinds of service-books which were in use, and of their
most usual contents.</p>
<p>I am indebted to a paper, read by the late Sir William Tite at
a meeting of the Society of Antiquaries, for the collation of
“Books of Hours,” but there are many kinds of MSS.
besides these, and it is well to know something of them.
The Horae, or Books of Hours, were the latest development of the
service-books used at an earlier period. They cannot, in
fact, be strictly called service-books, being intended only for
private devotion. <a name="page81"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 81</span>But in the thirteenth century and
before it, Psalters were in use for this purpose, and the
collation of a Psalter is in truth more important than that of a
Book of Hours. It will be well for a student, therefore, to
begin with Psalters, as he can then get up the Hours in their
elementary form. I subjoin a bibliographical account of
both kinds of MSS. In the famous Exhibition at the
Burlington Club in 1874, a number of volumes was arranged to show
how persistent one type of the age could be. The form of
the decorations, and the arrangement of the figures in borders,
once invented, was fixed for generations. In a Psalter of
the thirteenth century there was, under the month of January in
the calendar, a picture of a grotesque little figure warming
himself at a stove. The hearth below, the chimney-pot
above, on which a stork was feeding her brood, with the
intermediate chimney shaft used as a border, looked like a
scientific preparation from the interior anatomy of a house of
the period. In one of the latest of the MSS. exhibited on
that occasion was the self-same design again. The little
man was no longer a grotesque, and the picture had all the high
finish and completeness in drawing that we might expect in the
workmanship of a contemporary of Van Eyck. There was a full
series of intermediate books, showing the gradual growth of the
picture.</p>
<p><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>With
regard to chronology, it may be roughly asserted that the
earliest books which occur are Psalters of the thirteenth
century. Next to them come Bibles, of which an enormous
issue took place before the middle of the fourteenth
century. These are followed by an endless series of books
of Hours, which, as the sixteenth century is reached, appear in
several vernacular languages. Those in English, being both
very rare and of great importance in liturgical history, are of a
value altogether out of proportion to the beauty of their
illuminations. Side by side with this succession are the
Evangelistina, which, like the example mentioned above, are of
the highest merit, beauty, and value; followed by sermons and
homilies, and the Breviary, which itself shows signs of growth as
the years go on. The real Missal, with which all
illuminated books used to be confounded, is of rare occurrence,
but I have given a collation of it also. Besides these
devotional or religious books, I must mention chronicles and
romances, and the semi-religious and moral allegories, such as
the “Pélérinage de l’Ame,” which
is said to have given Bunyan the machinery of the
“Pilgrim’s Progress.” Chaucer’s and
Gower’s poetry exists in many MSS., as does the
“Polychronicon” of Higden; but, as a rule, the
mediæval chronicles are of single origin, and were not
copied. To collate MSS. of these kinds is <a
name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>quite
impossible, unless by carefully reading them, and seeing that the
pages run on without break.</p>
<p>I should advise the young collector who wishes to make sure of
success not to be too catholic in his tastes at first, but to
confine his attention to a single period and a single
school. I should also advise him to make from time to time
a careful catalogue of what he buys, and to preserve it even
after he has weeded out certain items. He will then be able
to make a clear comparative estimate of the importance and value
of his collection, and by studying one species at a time, to
become thoroughly conversant with what it can teach him.
When he has, so to speak, burnt his fingers once or twice, he
will find himself able to distinguish at sight what no amount of
teaching by word of mouth or by writing could ever possibly
impart to any advantage.</p>
<p>One thing I should like if possible to impress very strongly
upon the reader. That is the fact that a MS. which is not
absolutely perfect, if it is in a genuine state, is of much more
value than one which has been made perfect by the skill of a
modern restorer. The more skilful he is, that is to say the
better he can forge the style of the original, the more worthless
he renders the volume.</p>
<p>Printing seems to have superseded the art of <a
name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>the
illuminator more promptly and completely in England than on the
Continent. The <i>dames galantes</i> of
Brantôme’s memoirs took pleasure in illuminated Books
of Hours, suited to the nature of their devotions. As late
as the time of Louis XIV., Bussy Rabutin had a volume of the same
kind, illuminated with portraits of “saints,” of his
own canonisation. The most famous of these modern examples
of costly MSS. was “La Guirlande de Julie,” a
collection of madrigals by various courtly hands, presented to
the illustrious Julie, daughter of the Marquise de Rambouillet,
most distinguished of the <i>Précieuses</i>, and wife of
the Duc de Montausier, the supposed original of
Molière’s Alceste. The MS. was copied on
vellum by Nicholas Jarry, the great calligraph of his time.
The flowers on the margin were painted by Robert. Not long
ago a French amateur was so lucky as to discover the MS. book of
prayers of Julie’s noble mother, the Marquise de
Rambouillet. The Marquise wrote these prayers for her own
devotions, and Jarry, the illuminator, declared that he found
them most edifying, and delightful to study. The manuscript
is written on vellum by the famous Jarry, contains a portrait of
the fair Julie herself, and is bound in morocco by Le
Gascon. The happy collector who possesses the volume now,
heard vaguely that a manuscript <a name="page85"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 85</span>of some interest was being exposed
for sale at a trifling price in the shop of a country
bookseller. The description of the book, casual as it was,
made mention of the monogram on the cover. This was enough
for the amateur. He rushed to a railway station, travelled
some three hundred miles, reached the country town, hastened to
the bookseller’s shop, and found that the book had been
withdrawn by its owner. Happily the possessor, unconscious
of his bliss, was at home. The amateur sought him out, paid
the small sum demanded, and returned to Paris in triumph.
Thus, even in the region of manuscript-collecting, there are
extraordinary prizes for the intelligent collector.</p>
<h3>TO KNOW IF A MANUSCRIPT IS PERFECT.</h3>
<p>If the manuscript is of English or French writing of the
twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, or fifteenth centuries, it is
probably either—(1) a Bible, (2) a Psalter, (3) a book of
Hours, or (4), but rarely, a Missal. It is not worth while
to give the collation of a gradual, or a hymnal, or a
processional, or a breviary, or any of the fifty different kinds
of service-books which are occasionally met with, but which are
never twice the same.</p>
<p>To collate one of them, the reader must go <a
name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>carefully
through the book, seeing that the catch-words, if there are any,
answer to the head lines; and if there are
“signatures,” that is, if the foot of the leaves of a
sheet of parchment has any mark for enabling the binder to
“gather” them correctly, going through them, and
seeing that each signed leaf has its corresponding
“blank.”</p>
<p>1. To collate a Bible, it will be necessary first to go
through the catch-words, if any, and signatures, as above; then
to notice the contents. The first page should contain the
Epistle of St. Jerome to the reader. It will be observed
that there is nothing of the nature of a title-page, but I have
often seen title-pages supplied by some ignorant imitator in the
last century, with the idea that the book was imperfect without
one. The books of the Bible follow in order—but the
order not only differs from ours, but differs in different
copies. The Apocryphal books are always included. The
New Testament usually follows on the Old without any break; and
the book concludes with an index of the Hebrew names and their
signification in Latin, intended to help preachers to the
figurative meaning of the biblical types and parables. The
last line of the Bible itself usually contains a colophon, in
which sometimes the name of the writer is given, sometimes the
length of time it has taken him to write, and <a
name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>sometimes
merely the “Explicit. Laus Deo,” which has found its
way into many modern books. This colophon, which comes as a
rule immediately before the index, often contains curious notes,
hexameters giving the names of all the books, biographical or
local memoranda, and should always be looked for by the
collector. One such line occurs to me. It is in a
Bible written in Italy in the thirteenth century—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Qui scripsit scribat. Vergilius spe
domini vivat.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Vergilius was, no doubt, in this case the scribe. The
Latin and the writing are often equally crabbed. In the
Bodleian there is a Bible with this colophon—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Finito libro referemus gratias Christo
m.cc.lxv. indict. viij.<br />
Ego Lafräcus de Päcis de Cmoa scriptor
scripsi.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This was also written in Italy. English colophons are
often very quaint—“Qui scripsit hunc librum fiat
collocatus in Paradisum,” is an example. The
following gives us the name of one Master Gerard, who, in the
fourteenth century, thus poetically described his
ownership:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Si Ge ponatur—et <i>rar</i> simul
associatur—<br />
Et <i>dus</i> reddatur—cui pertinet ita vocatur.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In a Bible written in England, in the British <a
name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>Museum, there
is a long colophon, in which, after the name of the
writer—“hunc librum scripsit Wills de
Hales,”—there is a prayer for Ralph of Nebham, who
had called Hales to the writing of the book, followed by a
date—“Fes. fuit liber anno M.cc.i. quarto ab
incarnatione domini.” In this Bible the books of the
New Testament were in the following order:—the Evangelists,
the Acts, the Epistles of S. Peter, S. James, and S. John, the
Epistles of S. Paul, and the Apocalypse. In a Bible at
Brussels I found the colophon after the index:—“Hic
expliciunt interpretationes Hebrayorum nominum Do gris qui potens
est p. süp. omia.” Some of these Bibles are of
marvellously small dimensions. The smallest I ever saw was
at Ghent, but it was very imperfect. I have one in which
there are thirteen lines of writing in an inch of the
column. The order of the books of the New Testament in
Bibles of the thirteenth century is usually according to one or
other of the three following arrangements:—</p>
<p class="gutsumm">(1.) The Evangelists, Romans to Hebrews,
Acts, Epistles of S. Peter, S. James, and S. John,
Apocalypse.</p>
<p class="gutsumm">(2.) The Evangelists, Acts, Epistles of
S. Peter, S. James, and S. John, Epistles of S. Paul,
Apocalypse. This is the most common.</p>
<p class="gutsumm"><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
89</span>(3.) The Evangelists, Acts, Epistles of S. Peter,
S. James, and S. John, Apocalypse, and Epistles of S. Paul.</p>
<p>On the fly leaves of these old Bibles there are often very
curious inscriptions. In one I have
this:—“Hæc biblia emi Haquinas prior monasterii
Hatharbiensis de dono domini regis Norwegie.” Who was
this King of Norway who, in 1310, gave the Prior of Hatherby
money to buy a Bible, which was probably written at
Canterbury? And who was Haquinas? His name has a
Norwegian sound, and reminds us of St. Thomas of that
surname. In another manuscript I have seen:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Articula Fidei:—<br />
Nascitur, abluitur, patitur, descendit at ima<br />
Surgit et ascendit, veniens discernere cuncta.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In another this:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Sacramenta ecclesiæ:—<br />
Abluo, fumo, cibo, piget, ordinat, uxor et ungit.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I will conclude these notes on MS. Bibles with the following
colophon from a copy written in Italy in the fifteenth
century:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Finito libro vivamus semper in
Christo—<br />
Si semper in Christo carebimus ultimo leto.<br />
Explicit Deo gratias; Amen. Stephanus de<br />
Tantaldis scripsit in pergamo.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>2. The “Psalter” of the thirteenth century
is usually to be considered a forerunner of the “Book <a
name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>of
Hours.” It always contains, and usually commences
with, a Calendar, in which are written against certain days the
“obits” of benefactors and others, so that a
well-filled Psalter often becomes a historical document of high
value and importance. The first page of the psalms is
ornamented with a huge B, which often fills the whole page, and
contains a representation of David and Goliath ingeniously fitted
to the shape of the letter. At the end are usually to be
found the hymns of the Three Children, and others from the Bible
together with the Te Deum; and sometimes, in late examples, a
litany. In some psalters the calendar is at the end.
These Psalters, and the Bibles described above, are very
frequently of English work; more frequently, that is, than the
books of Hours and Missals. The study of the Scriptures was
evidently more popular in England than in the other countries of
Europe during the Middle Ages; and the early success of the
Reformers here, must in part, no doubt, be attributed to the wide
circulation of the Bible even before it had been translated from
the Latin. I need hardly, perhaps, observe that even
fragments of a Psalter, a Testament, or a Bible in English, are
so precious as to be practically invaluable.</p>
<p>3. We are indebted to Sir W. Tite for the following
collation of a Flemish “Book of Hours”:—</p>
<p class="gutindent"><a name="page91"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 91</span>1. The Calendar.</p>
<p class="gutindent">2. Gospels of the Nativity and the
Resurrection.</p>
<p class="gutindent">3. Preliminary Prayers (inserted
occasionally).</p>
<p class="gutindent">4. Horæ—(Nocturns and
Matins).</p>
<p class="gutindent">5. ,, (Lauds).</p>
<p class="gutindent">6. ,, (Prime).</p>
<p class="gutindent">7. ,, (Tierce).</p>
<p class="gutindent">8. ,, (Sexte).</p>
<p class="gutindent">9. ,, (None).</p>
<p class="gutindent">10. ,, (Vespers).</p>
<p class="gutindent">11. ,, (Compline).</p>
<p class="gutindent">12. The seven penitential Psalms</p>
<p class="gutindent">13. The Litany.</p>
<p class="gutindent">14. Hours of the Cross.</p>
<p class="gutindent">15. Hours of the Holy Spirit.</p>
<p class="gutindent">16. Office of the Dead.</p>
<p class="gutindent">17. The Fifteen Joys of B. V. M.</p>
<p class="gutindent">18. The seven requests to our
Lord.</p>
<p class="gutindent">19. Prayers and Suffrages to various
Saints.</p>
<p class="gutindent">20. Several prayers, petitions, and
devotions.</p>
<p>This is an unusually full example, but the calendar, the
hours, the seven psalms, and the litany, are in almost all the
MSS. The buyer must look carefully to see that no
miniatures have been cut out; but it is only by counting the
leaves in their gatherings that he can make sure. This is
often impossible without breaking the binding.</p>
<p>The most valuable “Horæ” are those written
in England. Some are of the English use (Sarum or York, or
whatever it may happen to be), but <a name="page92"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 92</span>were written abroad, especially in
Normandy, for the English market. These are also valuable,
even when imperfect. Look for the page before the
commencement of the Hours (No. 4 in the list above), and at the
end will be found a line in red,—“Incipit Horæ
secundum usum Sarum,” or otherwise, as the case may be.</p>
<p>4. Missals do not often occur, and are not only very
valuable but very difficult to collate, unless furnished with
catch-words or signatures. But no Missal is complete
without the Canon of the Mass, usually in the middle of the book,
and if there are any illuminations throughout the volume, there
will be a full page Crucifixion, facing the Canon. Missals
of large size and completeness contain—(1) a Calendar; (2)
“the proper of the Season;” (3) the ordinary and
Canon of the Mass; (4) the Communal of Saints; (5) the proper of
Saints and special occasions; (6) the lessons, epistles, and
gospels; with (7) some hymns, “proses,” and
canticles. This is Sir W. Tite’s list; but, as he
remarks, MS. Missals seldom contain so much. The collector
will look for the Canon, which is invariable.</p>
<p>Breviaries run to an immense length, and are seldom
illuminated. It would be impossible to give them any kind
of collation, and the same may be said of many other kinds of old
service-<a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
93</span>books, and of the chronicles, poems, romances, and
herbals, in which mediæval literature abounded, and which
the collector must judge as best he can.</p>
<p>The name of “missal” is commonly and falsely given
to all old service-books by the booksellers, but the collector
will easily distinguish one when he sees it, from the notes I
have given. In a Sarum Missal, at Alnwick, there is a
colophon quoted by my lamented friend Dr. Rock in his
“Textile Fabrics.” It is appropriate both to
the labours of the old scribes and also to those of their modern
readers:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Librum Scribendo—Jon Whas Monachus
laborabat—<br />
Et mane Surgendo—multum corpus macerabat.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It is one of the charms of manuscripts that they illustrate,
in their minute way, all the art, and even the social condition,
of the period in which they were produced. Apostles,
saints, and prophets wear the contemporary costume, and Jonah,
when thrown to the hungry whale, wears doublet and trunk
hose. The ornaments illustrate the architectural taste of
the day. The backgrounds change from diapered patterns to
landscapes, as the modern way of looking at nature penetrates the
monasteries and reaches the <i>scriptorium</i> where the
illuminator sits and refreshes his eyes with <a
name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>the sight of
the slender trees and blue distant hills. Printed books
have not such resources. They can only show varieties of
type, quaint frontispieces, printers’ devices, and
<i>fleurons</i> at the heads of chapters. These
attractions, and even the engravings of a later day, seem meagre
enough compared with the allurements of manuscripts. Yet
printed books must almost always make the greater part of a
collection, and it may be well to give some rules as to the
features that distinguish the productions of the early
press. But no amount of “rules” is worth six
months’ practical experience in bibliography. That
experience the amateur, if he is wise, will obtain in a public
library, like the British Museum or the Bodleian. Nowhere
else is he likely to see much of the earliest of printed books,
which very seldom come into the market.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p94b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Title-page of “Le Rommant de la Rose,” Paris, 1539"
title=
"Title-page of “Le Rommant de la Rose,” Paris, 1539"
src="images/p94s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>Those of the first German press are so rare that practically
they never reach the hands of the ordinary collector. Among
them are the famous Psalters printed by Fust and Schoffer, the
earliest of which is dated 1457; and the bible known as the
Mazarine Bible. Two copies of this last were in the Perkins
sale. I well remember the excitement on that
occasion. The first copy put up was the best, being printed
upon vellum. The bidding commenced at £1000, and very
speedily <a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
95</span>rose to £2200, at which point there was a long
pause; it then rose in hundreds with very little delay to
£3400, at which it was knocked down to a bookseller.
The second copy was on paper, and there were those present who
said it was better than the other, which had a suspicion
attaching to it of having been “restored” with a
facsimile leaf. The first bid was again £1000, which
the buyer of the previous copy made guineas, and the bidding
speedily went up to £2660, at which price the first bidder
paused. A third bidder had stepped in at £1960, and
now, amid breathless excitement, bid £10 more. This
he had to do twice before the book was knocked down to him at
£2690.</p>
<p>A scene like this has really very little to do with
book-collecting. The beginner must labour hard to
distinguish different kinds of printing; he must be able to
recognise at a glance even fragments from the press of
Caxton. His eye must be accustomed to all the tricks of the
trade and others, so that he may tell a facsimile in a moment, or
detect a forgery.</p>
<p>But now let us return to the distinctive marks of early
printed books. The first is, says M. Rouveyre,—</p>
<p>1. <i>The absence of a separate title-page</i>. It
was not till 1476–1480 that the titles of books were <a
name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span>printed on
separate pages. The next mark is—</p>
<p>2. <i>The absence of capital letters at the beginnings
of divisions</i>. For example, in an Aldine Iliad, the
fifth book begins thus—</p>
<blockquote><p> Νθ
αυ τὖδέιδῃ
Διυμήδεῑ<br />
ἔ
παλλὰς
ἀθήνη<br />
δῶκε μένος
καὶ
θάρσος
ἵν’<br />
ἔκδηλος
μετὰ πᾶσιν<br
/>
ἀργείοισι
γένοιτο,
ἰδέ κλέος
ἐσθλὸν
ἄροιτο.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It was intended that the open space, occupied by the small
epsilon (ἔ), should be filled up with a coloured and gilded
initial letter by the illuminator. Copies thus decorated
are not very common, but the Aldine “Homer” of
Francis I., rescued by M. Didot from a rubbish heap in an English
cellar, had its due illuminations. In the earliest books
the guide to the illuminator, the small printed letter, does not
appear, and he often puts in the wrong initial.</p>
<p>3. <i>Irregularity and rudeness of type</i> is a
“note” of the primitive printing press, which very
early disappeared. Nothing in the history of printing is so
remarkable as the beauty of almost its first efforts. Other
notes are—</p>
<p>4. <i>The absence of figures at the top of the
pages</i>, <i>and of signatures at the foot</i>. The
thickness and solidity of the paper, the absence of the
printer’s <a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
97</span>name, of the date, and of the name of the town where the
press stood, and the abundance of crabbed abbreviations, are all
marks, more or less trustworthy, of the antiquity of books.
It must not be supposed that all books published, let us say
before 1500, are rare, or deserve the notice of the
collector. More than 18,000 works, it has been calculated,
left the press before the end of the fifteenth century. All
of these cannot possibly be of interest, and many of them that
are “rare,” are rare precisely because they are
uninteresting. They have not been preserved because they
were thought not worth preserving. This is a great cause of
rarity; but we must not hastily conclude that because a book
found no favour in its own age, therefore it has no claim on our
attention. A London bookseller tells me that he bought the
“remainder” of Keats’s “Endymion”
for fourpence a copy! The first edition of
“Endymion” is now rare and valued. In trying to
mend the binding of an old “Odyssey” lately, I
extracted from the vellum covers parts of two copies of a very
scarce and curious French dictionary of slang, “Le Jargon,
ou Langage de l’Argot Reformé.” This
treatise may have been valueless, almost, when it appeared, but
now it is serviceable to the philologist, and to all who care to
try to interpret the slang <i>ballades</i> <a
name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>of the poet
Villon. An old pamphlet, an old satire, may hold the key to
some historical problem, or throw light on the past of manners
and customs. Still, of the earliest printed books,
collectors prefer such rare and beautiful ones as the oldest
printed Bibles: German, English,—as Taverner’s and
the Bishop’s,—or Hebrew and Greek, or the first
editions of the ancient classics, which may contain the readings
of MSS. now lost or destroyed. Talking of early Bibles, let
us admire the luck and prudence of a certain Mr. Sandford.
He always longed for the first Hebrew Bible, but would offer no
fancy price, being convinced that the book would one day fall in
his way. His foreboding was fulfilled, and he picked up his
treasure for ten shillings in a shop in the Strand. The
taste for <i>incunabula</i>, or very early printed books,
slumbered in the latter half of the sixteenth, and all the
seventeenth century. It revived with the third jubilee of
printing in 1740, and since then has refined itself, and only
craves books very early, very important, or works from the press
of Caxton, the St. Albans Schoolmaster, or other famous old
artists. Enough has been said to show the beginner, always
enthusiastic, that all old books are not precious. For
further information, the “Biography and Typography of
William Caxton,” by Mr. Blades (Trübner, London,
1877), may be consulted with profit.</p>
<p><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
99</span>Following the categories into which M. Brunet classifies
desirable books in his invaluable manual, we now come to books
printed on vellum, and on peculiar papers. At the origin of
printing, examples of many books, probably presentation copies,
were printed on vellum. There is a vellum copy of the
celebrated Florentine first edition of Homer; but it is truly sad
to think that the twin volumes, Iliad and Odyssey, have been
separated, and pine in distant libraries. Early printed
books on vellum often have beautifully illuminated
capitals. Dibdin mentions in “Bibliomania”
(London, 1811), p. 90, that a M. Van Praet was compiling a
catalogue of works printed on vellum, and had collected more than
2000 articles. When hard things are said about Henry VIII.,
let us remember that this monarch had a few copies of his book
against Luther printed on vellum. The Duke of
Marlborough’s library possessed twenty-five books on
vellum, all printed before 1496. The chapter-house at Padua
has a “Catullus” of 1472 on vellum; let Mr. Robinson
Ellis think wistfully of that treasure. The notable Count
M’Carthy of Toulouse had a wonderful library of books in
<i>membranis</i>, including a book much coveted for its rarity,
oddity, and the beauty of its illustrations, the
“Hypnerotomachia” of Poliphilus (Venice, <a
name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
100</span>1499). Vellum was the favourite
“vanity” of Junot, Napoleon’s general.
For reasons connected with its manufacture, and best not inquired
into, the Italian vellum enjoyed the greatest reputation for
smooth and silky whiteness. Dibdin calls “our modern
books on vellum little short of downright wretched.”
But the editor of this series could, I think, show examples that
would have made Dibdin change his opinion.</p>
<p>Many comparatively expensive papers, large in <i>format</i>,
are used in choice editions of books. Whatman papers, Dutch
papers, Chinese papers, and even <i>papier vergé</i>, have
all their admirers. The amateur will soon learn to
distinguish these materials. As to books printed on
coloured paper—green, blue, yellow, rhubarb-coloured, and
the like, they are an offence to the eyes and to the taste.
Yet even these have their admirers and collectors, and the great
Aldus himself occasionally used azure paper. Under the head
of “large paper,” perhaps “uncut copies”
should be mentioned. Most owners of books have had the
edges of the volumes gilded or marbled by the binders. Thus
part of the margin is lost, an offence to the eye of the
bibliomaniac, while copies untouched by the binder’s shears
are rare, and therefore prized. The inconvenience of uncut
copies is, that one cannot easily turn over the <a
name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
101</span>leaves. But, in the present state of the fashion,
a really rare uncut Elzevir may be worth hundreds of pounds,
while a cropped example scarcely fetches as many shillings.
A set of Shakespeare’s quartoes, uncut, would be worth more
than a respectable landed estate in Connemara. For these
reasons the amateur will do well to have new books of price bound
“uncut.” It is always easy to have the leaves
pared away; but not even the fabled fountain at Argos, in which
Hera yearly renewed her maidenhood, could restore margins once
clipped away. So much for books which are chiefly precious
for the quantity and quality of the material on which they are
printed. Even this rather foolish weakness of the amateur
would not be useless if it made our publishers more careful to
employ a sound clean hand-made paper, instead of drugged trash,
for their more valuable new productions. Indeed, a taste
for hand-made paper is coming in, and is part of the revolt
against the passion for everything machine-made, which ruined art
and handiwork in the years between 1840 and 1870.</p>
<p>The third of M. Brunet’s categories of books of prose,
includes <i>livres de luxe</i>, and illustrated literature.
Every Christmas brings us <i>livres de luxe</i> in plenty, books
which are no books, but have gilt and magenta covers, and great
staring illustrations. These are regarded as drawing-<a
name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>room
ornaments by people who never read. It is scarcely
necessary to warn the collector against these gaudy baits of
unregulated Christmas generosity. All ages have not
produced quite such garish <i>livres de luxe</i> as ours.
But, on the whole, a book brought out merely for the sake of
display, is generally a book ill “got up,” and not
worth reading. Moreover, it is generally a folio, or
quarto, so large that he who tries to read it must support it on
a kind of scaffolding. In the class of illustrated books
two sorts are at present most in demand. The ancient
woodcuts and engravings, often the work of artists like Holbein
and Dürer, can never lose their interest. Among old
illustrated books, the most famous, and one of the rarest, is the
“Hypnerotomachia Poliphili,” “wherein all human
matters are proved to be no more than a dream.” This
is an allegorical romance, published in 1499, for Francesco
Colonna, by Aldus Manucius. <i>Poliam Frater Franciscus
Columna peramavit</i>. “Brother Francesco Colonna
dearly loved Polia,” is the inscription and device of this
romance. Poor Francesco, of the order of preachers,
disguised in this strange work his passion for a lady of
uncertain name. Here is a translation of the passage in
which the lady describes the beginning of his affection.
“I was standing, as is the manner of women young and fair,
at the <a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
103</span>window, or rather on the balcony, of my palace.
My yellow hair, the charm of maidens, was floating round my
shining shoulders. My locks were steeped in unguents that
made them glitter like threads of gold, and they were slowly
drying in the rays of the burning sun. A handmaid, happy in
her task, was drawing a comb through my tresses, and surely these
of Andromeda seemed not more lovely to Perseus, nor to Lucius the
locks of Photis. <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6"
class="citation">[6]</a> On a sudden, Poliphilus beheld me,
and could not withdraw from me his glances of fire, and even in
that moment a ray of the sun of love was kindled in his
heart.”</p>
<p>The fragment is itself a picture from the world of the
Renaissance. We watch the blonde, learned lady, dreaming of
Perseus, and Lucius, Greek lovers of old time, while the sun
gilds her yellow hair, and the young monk, passing below, sees
and loves, and “falls into the deep waters of
desire.” The lover is no less learned than the lady,
and there is a great deal of amorous archæology in his
account of his voyage to Cythera. As to the designs in
wood, quaint in their vigorous effort to be classical, they have
been attributed to Mantegna, to Bellini, and other artists.
Jean Cousin is said to have executed the imitations, in the Paris
editions of 1546, 1556, and 1561.</p>
<p><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>The
“Hypnerotomachia” seems to deserve notice, because it
is the very type of the books that are dear to collectors, as
distinct from the books that, in any shape, are for ever valuable
to the world. A cheap Tauchnitz copy of the Iliad and
Odyssey, or a Globe Shakespeare, are, from the point of view of
literature, worth a wilderness of
“Hypnerotomachiæ.” But a clean copy of
the “Hypnerotomachia,” especially on <span
class="GutSmall">VELLUM</span>, is one of the jewels of
bibliography. It has all the right qualities; it is very
rare, it is very beautiful as a work of art, it is curious and
even <i>bizarre</i>, it is the record of a strange time, and a
strange passion; it is a relic, lastly, of its printer, the great
and good Aldus Manutius.</p>
<p>Next to the old woodcuts and engravings, executed in times
when artists were versatile and did not disdain even to draw a
book-plate (as Dürer did for Pirckheimer), the designs of
the French “little masters,” are at present in most
demand. The book illustrations of the seventeenth century
are curious enough, and invaluable as authorities on manners and
costume. But the attitudes of the figures are too often
stiff and ungainly; while the composition is frequently left to
chance. England could show nothing much better than
Ogilby’s translations of Homer, illustrated with big florid
engravings in sham antique <a name="page105"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 105</span>style. The years between 1730
and 1820, saw the French “little masters” in their
perfection. The dress of the middle of the eighteenth
century, of the age of Watteau, was precisely suited to the gay
and graceful pencils of Gravelot, Moreau, Eisen, Boucher, Cochin,
Marillier, and Choffard. To understand their merits, and
the limits of their art, it is enough to glance through a series
of the designs for Voltaire, Corneille, or Molière.
The drawings of society are almost invariably dainty and
pleasing, the serious scenes of tragedy leave the spectator quite
unmoved. Thus it is but natural that these artists should
have shone most in the illustration of airy trifles like
Dorat’s “Baisers,” or tales like Manon Lescaut,
or in designing tailpieces for translations of the Greek idyllic
poets, such as Moschus and Bion. In some of his
illustrations of books, especially, perhaps, in the designs for
“La Physiologie de Gout” (Jouaust, Paris, 1879), M.
Lalauze has shown himself the worthy rival of Eisen and
Cochin. Perhaps it is unnecessary to add that the beauty
and value of all such engravings depends almost entirely on their
“state.” The earlier proofs are much more
brilliant than those drawn later, and etchings on fine papers are
justly preferred. For example, M. Lalauze’s
engravings on “Whatman paper,” have a beauty which
could scarcely be guessed by people who have only seen <a
name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>specimens
on “papier vergé.” Every collector of
the old French <i>vignettes</i>, should possess himself of the
“Guide de l’amateur,” by M. Henry Cohen
(Rouquette, Paris, 1880). Among English illustrated books,
various tastes prefer the imaginative works of William Blake, the
etchings of Cruikshank, and the woodcuts of Bewick. The
whole of the last chapter of this sketch is devoted, by Mr.
Austin Dobson, to the topic of English illustrated books.
Here it may be said, in passing, that an early copy of William
Blake’s “Songs of Innocence,” written,
illustrated, printed, coloured, and boarded by the author’s
own hand, is one of the most charming objects that a bibliophile
can hope to possess. The verses of Blake, in a framework of
birds, and flowers, and plumes, all softly and magically tinted,
seem like some book out of King Oberon’s library in
fairyland, rather than the productions of a mortal press.
The pictures in Blake’s “prophetic books,” and
even his illustrations to “Job,” show an imagination
more heavily weighted by the technical difficulties of
drawing.</p>
<p>The next class of rare books is composed of works from the
famous presses of the Aldi and the Elzevirs. Other presses
have, perhaps, done work as good, but Estienne, the Giunta, and
Plantin, are comparatively neglected, while the taste for the
performances of Baskerville and Foulis is not <a
name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>very
eager. A safe judgment about Aldines and Elzevirs is the
gift of years and of long experience. In this place it is
only possible to say a few words on a wide subject. The
founder of the Aldine press, Aldus Pius Manutius, was born about
1450, and died at Venice in 1514. He was a man of careful
and profound learning, and was deeply interested in Greek
studies, then encouraged by the arrival in Italy of many educated
Greeks and Cretans. Only four Greek authors had as yet been
printed in Italy, when (1495) Aldus established his press at
Venice. Theocritus, Homer, Æsop, and Isocrates,
probably in very limited editions, were in the hands of
students. The purpose of Aldus was to put Greek and Latin
works, beautifully printed in a convenient shape, within the
reach of all the world. His reform was the introduction of
books at once cheap, studiously correct, and convenient in actual
use. It was in 1498 that he first adopted the small octavo
size, and in his “Virgil” of 1501, he introduced the
type called <i>Aldine</i> or <i>Italic</i>. The letters
were united as in writing, and the type is said to have been cut
by Francesco da Bologna, better known as Francia, in imitation of
the hand of Petrarch. For full information about Aldus and
his descendants and successors, the work of M. Firmin Didot,
(“Alde <a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
108</span>Manuce et l’Hellénisme à Venise:
Paris 1875),” and the Aldine annals of Renouard, must be
consulted. These two works are necessary to the collector,
who will otherwise be deceived by the misleading assertions of
the booksellers. As a rule, the volumes published in the
lifetime of Aldus Manutius are the most esteemed, and of these
the Aristotle, the first Homer, the Virgil, and the Ovid, are
perhaps most in demand. The earlier Aldines are consulted
almost as studiously as MSS. by modern editors of the
classics.</p>
<p>Just as the house of Aldus waned and expired, that of the
great Dutch printers, the Elzevirs, began obscurely enough at
Leyden in 1583. The Elzevirs were not, like Aldus, ripe
scholars and men of devotion to learning. Aldus laboured
for the love of noble studies; the Elzevirs were acute, and too
often “smart” men of business. The founder of
the family was Louis (born at Louvain, 1540, died 1617).
But it was in the second and third generations that Bonaventura
and Abraham Elzevir began to publish at Leyden, their editions in
small duodecimo. Like Aldus, these Elzevirs aimed at
producing books at once handy, cheap, correct, and beautiful in
execution. Their adventure was a complete success.
The Elzevirs did not, like Aldus, surround themselves with the
most learned scholars of their time. <a
name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>Their
famous literary adviser, Heinsius, was full of literary
jealousies, and kept students of his own calibre at a
distance. The classical editions of the Elzevirs,
beautiful, but too small in type for modern eyes, are anything
but exquisitely correct. Their editions of the
contemporary. French authors, now classics themselves, are
lovely examples of skill in practical enterprise. The
Elzevirs treated the French authors much as American publishers
treat Englishmen. They stole right and left, but no one
complained much in these times of slack copyright; and, at all
events, the piratic larcenous publications of the Dutch printers
were pretty, and so far satisfactory. They themselves, in
turn, were the victims of fraudulent and untradesmanlike
imitations. It is for this, among other reasons, that the
collector of Elzevirs must make M. Willems’s book
(“Les Elzevier,” Brussels and Paris, 1880) his
constant study. Differences so minute that they escape the
unpractised eye, denote editions of most various value. In
Elzevirs a line’s breadth of margin is often worth a
hundred pounds, and a misprint is quoted at no less a sum.
The fantastic caprice of bibliophiles has revelled in the
bibliography of these Dutch editions. They are at present
very scarce in England, where a change in fashion some years ago
had made them common enough. No Elzevir <a
name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>is valuable
unless it be clean and large in the margins. When these
conditions are satisfied the question of rarity comes in, and
Remy Belleau’s Macaronic poem, or “Le Pastissier
Français,” may rise to the price of four or five
hundred pounds. A Rabelais, Molière, or Corneille,
of a “good” edition, is now more in request than the
once adored “Imitatio Christi” (dateless), or the
“Virgil”’ of 1646, which is full of gross
errors of the press, but is esteemed for red characters in the
letter to Augustus, and another passage at page 92. The
ordinary marks of the Elzevirs were the sphere, the old hermit,
the Athena, the eagle, and the burning faggot. But all
little old books marked with spheres are not Elzevirs, as many
booksellers suppose. Other printers also stole the designs
for the tops of chapters, the Aegipan, the Siren, the head of
Medusa, the crossed sceptres, and the rest. In some cases
the Elzevirs published their books, especially when they were
piracies, anonymously. When they published for the
Jansenists, they allowed their clients to put fantastic
pseudonyms on the title pages. But, except in four cases,
they had only two pseudonyms used on the titles of books
published by and for themselves. These disguises are
“Jean Sambix” for Jean and Daniel Elzevir, at Leyden,
and for the Elzevirs of Amsterdam, <a name="page111"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 111</span>“Jacques le
Jeune.” The last of the great representatives of the
house, Daniel, died at Amsterdam, 1680. Abraham, an
unworthy scion, struggled on at Leyden till 1712. The
family still prospers, but no longer prints, in Holland. It
is common to add duodecimos of Foppens, Wolfgang, and other
printers, to the collections of the Elzevirs. The books of
Wolfgang have the sign of the fox robbing a wild bee’s
nest, with the motto <i>Quaerendo</i>.</p>
<p><i>Curious and singular books</i> are the next in our
classification. The category is too large. The books
that be “curious” (not in the booksellers’
sense of “prurient” and “disgusting,”)
are innumerable. All suppressed and condemned books, from
“Les Fleurs du Mal” to Vanini’s
“Amphitheatrum,” or the English translation of
Bruno’s “Spaccia della Bestia Trionfante,” are
more or less rare, and more or less curious. Wild books,
like William Postel’s “Three Marvellous Triumphs of
Women,” are “curious.” Freakish books,
like macaronic poetry, written in a medley of languages, are
curious. Books from private presses are singular. The
old English poets and satirists turned out many a book curious to
the last degree, and priced at a fantastic value. Such are
“Jordan’s Jewels of Ingenuity,”
“Micro-cynicon, six Snarling Satyres” (1599), and the
“Treatize made of a <a name="page112"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 112</span>Galaunt,” printed by Wynkyn de
Worde, and found pasted into the fly-leaf, on the oak-board
binding of an imperfect volume of Pynson’s
“Statutes.” All our early English poems and
miscellanies are curious; and, as relics of delightful singers,
are most charming possessions. Such are the “Songes
and Sonnettes of Surrey” (1557), the “Paradyce of
daynty Deuices” (1576), the “Small Handful of
Fragrant Flowers,” and “The Handful of Dainty
Delights, gathered out of the lovely Garden of Sacred Scripture,
fit for any worshipful Gentlewoman to smell unto,”
(1584). “The Teares of Ireland” (1642), are
said, though one would not expect it, to be “extremely
rare,” and, therefore, precious. But there is no end
to the list of such desirable rarities. If we add to them
all books coveted as early editions, and, therefore, as relics of
great writers, Bunyan, Shakespeare, Milton, Sterne, Walton, and
the rest, we might easily fill a book with remarks on this topic
alone. The collection of such editions is the most
respectable, the most useful, and, alas, the most expensive of
the amateur’s pursuits. It is curious enough that the
early editions of Swift, Scott, and Byron, are little sought for,
if not wholly neglected; while early copies of Shelley, Tennyson,
and Keats, have a great price set on their heads. The
quartoes of Shakespeare, like first editions of <a
name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>Racine, are
out of the reach of any but very opulent purchasers, or unusually
lucky, fortunate book-hunters. Before leaving the topic of
books which derive their value from the taste and fantasy of
collectors, it must be remarked that, in this matter, the fashion
of the world changes. Dr. Dibdin lamented, seventy years
ago, the waning respect paid to certain editions of the
classics. He would find that things have become worse now,
and modern German editions, on execrable paper, have supplanted
his old favourites. Fifty years ago, M. Brunet expressed
his contempt for the designs of Boucher; now they are at the top
of the fashion. The study of old booksellers’
catalogues is full of instruction as to the changes of
caprice. The collection of Dr. Rawlinson was sold in
1756. “The Vision of Pierce Plowman” (1561),
and the “Creede of Pierce Plowman” (1553), brought
between them no more than three shillings and sixpence.
Eleven shillings were paid for the “Boke of
Chivalrie” by Caxton. The “Boke of St.
Albans,” by Wynkyn de Worde, cost £ 1: 1s., and this
was the highest sum paid for any one of two hundred rare pieces
of early English literature. In 1764, a copy of the
“Hypnerotomachia” was sold for two shillings,
“A Pettie Pallace of Pettie his Pleasures,” (ah, what
a thought for the amateur!) went for three <a
name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>shillings,
while “Palmerin of England” (1602), attained no more
than the paltry sum of fourteen shillings. When Osborne
sold the Harley collection, the scarcest old English books
fetched but three or four shillings. If the wandering Jew
had been a collector in the last century he might have turned a
pretty profit by selling his old English books in this age of
ours. In old French, too, Ahasuerus would have done a good
stroke of business, for the prices brought by old Villons,
Romances of the Rose, “Les Marguerites de
Marguerite,” and so forth, at the M’Carthy sale, were
truly pitiable. A hundred years hence the original editions
of Thackeray, or of Miss Greenaway’s Christmas books, or
“Modern Painters,” may be the ruling passion, and
Aldines and Elzevirs, black letter and French vignettes may all
be despised. A book which is commonplace in our century is
curious in the next, and disregarded in that which follows.
Old books of a heretical character were treasures once, rare
unholy possessions. Now we have seen so many heretics that
the world is indifferent to the audacities of Bruno, and the
veiled impieties of Vanini.</p>
<p>The last of our categories of books much sought by the
collector includes all volumes valued for their ancient bindings,
for the mark and stamp of famous amateurs. The French, who
have <a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
115</span>supplied the world with so many eminent
binders,—as Eve, Padeloup, Duseuil, Le Gascon, Derome,
Simier, Bozérian, Thouvenin, Trautz-Bauzonnet, and
Lortic—are the chief patrons of books in historical
bindings. In England an historical binding, a book of
Laud’s, or James’s, or Garrick’s, or even of
Queen Elizabeth’s, does not seem to derive much added charm
from its associations. But, in France, peculiar bindings
are now the objects most in demand among collectors. The
series of books thus rendered precious begins with those of
Maioli and of Grolier (1479–1565), remarkable for their
mottoes and the geometrical patterns on the covers. Then
comes De Thou (who had three sets of arms), with his blazon, the
bees stamped on the morocco. The volumes of Marguerite of
Angoulême are sprinkled with golden daisies. Diane de
Poictiers had her crescents and her bow, and the initial of her
royal lover was intertwined with her own. The three
daughters of Louis XV. had each their favourite colour, and their
books wear liveries of citron, red, and olive morocco. The
Abbé Cotin, the original of Molière’s
Trissotin, stamped his books with intertwined C’s.
Henri III. preferred religious emblems, and sepulchral
mottoes—skulls, crossbones, tears, and the insignia of the
Passion. <i>Mort m’est vie</i> is a favourite device
of the effeminate <a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
116</span>and voluptuous prince. Molière himself was
a collector, <i>il n’es pas de bouquin qui
s’échappe de ses mains</i>,—“never an
old book escapes him,” says the author of “La Guerre
Comique,” the last of the pamphlets which flew from side to
side in the great literary squabble about
“L’École des Femmes.” M.
Soulié has found a rough catalogue of
Molière’s library, but the books, except a little
Elzevir, have disappeared. <a name="citation7"></a><a
href="#footnote7" class="citation">[7]</a> Madame de
Maintenon was fond of bindings. Mr. Toovey possesses a copy
of a devotional work in red morocco, tooled and gilt, which she
presented to a friendly abbess. The books at Saint-Cyr were
stamped with a crowned cross, besprent with
<i>fleurs-de-lys</i>. The books of the later
collectors—Longepierre, the translator of Bion and Moschus;
D’Hoym the diplomatist; McCarthy, and La Vallière,
are all valued at a rate which seems fair game for satire.</p>
<p>Among the most interesting bibliophiles of the eighteenth
century is Madame Du Barry. In 1771, this notorious beauty
could scarcely read or write. She had rooms, however, in
the Château de Versailles, thanks to the kindness of a
monarch who admired those native qualities which education may
polish, but which it can never confer. <a
name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>At
Versailles, Madame Du Barry heard of the literary genius of
Madame de Pompadour. The Pompadour was a person of
taste. Her large library of some four thousand works of the
lightest sort of light literature was bound by Biziaux. Mr.
Toovey possesses the Brantôme of this <i>dame
galante</i>. Madame herself had published etchings by her
own fair hands; and to hear of these things excited the emulation
of Madame Du Barry. She might not be <i>clever</i>, but she
could have a library like another, if libraries were in
fashion. One day Madame Du Barry astonished the Court by
announcing that her collection of books would presently arrive at
Versailles. Meantime she took counsel with a bookseller,
who bought up examples of all the cheap “remainders,”
as they are called in the trade, that he could lay his hands
upon. The whole assortment, about one thousand volumes in
all, was hastily bound in rose morocco, elegantly gilt, and
stamped with the arms of the noble house of Du Barry. The
bill which Madame Du Barry owed her enterprising agent is still
in existence. The thousand volumes cost about three francs
each; the binding (extremely cheap) came to nearly as much.
The amusing thing is that the bookseller, in the catalogue which
he sent with the improvised library, marked the books which
Madame Du Barry possessed <i>before</i> <a
name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>her large
order was so punctually executed. There were two
“Mémoires de Du Barry,” an old newspaper, two
or three plays, and “L’Historie Amoureuse de Pierre
le Long.” Louis XV. observed with pride that, though
Madame Pompadour had possessed a larger library, that of Madame
Du Barry was the better selected. Thanks to her new
collection, the lady learned to read with fluency, but she never
overcame the difficulties of spelling.</p>
<p>A lady collector who loved books not very well perhaps, but
certainly not wisely, was the unhappy Marie Antoinette. The
controversy in France about the private character of the Queen
has been as acrimonious as the Scotch discussion about Mary
Stuart. Evidence, good and bad, letters as apocryphal as
the letters of the famous “casket,” have been
produced on both sides. A few years ago, under the empire,
M. Louis Lacour found a manuscript catalogue of the books in the
Queen’s <i>boudoir</i>. They were all novels of the
flimsiest sort,—“L’Amitié
Dangereuse,” “Les Suites d’un Moment
d’Erreur,” and even the stories of Louvet and of
Rétif de la Bretonne. These volumes all bore the
letters “C. T.” (Château de Trianon), and
during the Revolution they were scattered among the various
public libraries of Paris. The Queen’s more important
<a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>library
was at the Tuileries, but at Versailles she had only three books,
as the commissioners of the Convention found, when they made an
inventory of the property of <i>la femme Capet</i>. Among
the three was the “Gerusalemme Liberata,” printed,
with eighty exquisite designs by Cochin, at the expense of
“Monsieur,” afterwards Louis XVIII. Books with
the arms of Marie Antoinette are very rare in private
collections; in sales they are as much sought after as those of
Madame Du Barry.</p>
<p>With these illustrations of the kind of interest that belongs
to books of old collectors, we may close this chapter. The
reader has before him a list, with examples, of the kinds of
books at present most in vogue among amateurs. He must
judge for himself whether he will follow the fashion, by aid
either of a long purse or of patient research, or whether he will
find out new paths for himself. A scholar is rarely a rich
man. He cannot compete with plutocrats who buy by
deputy. But, if he pursues the works he really needs, he
may make a valuable collection. He cannot go far wrong
while he brings together the books that he finds most congenial
to his own taste and most useful to his own studies. Here,
then, in the words of the old “sentiment,” I bid him
farewell, and wish “success to his inclinations, <a
name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>provided
they are virtuous.” There is a set of collectors,
alas! whose inclinations are not virtuous. The most famous
of them, a Frenchman, observed that his own collection of bad
books was unique. That of an English rival, he admitted,
was respectable,—“<i>mais milord se livre à
des autres préoccupations</i>!” He thought a
collector’s whole heart should be with his treasures.</p>
<div class="gapshortline"> </div>
<p class="poetry"><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
121</span>En bouquinant se trouve grand soulas.<br />
Soubent m’en vay musant, à petis pas,<br />
Au long des quais, pour flairer maint bieux livre.<br />
Des Elzevier la Sphere me rend yure,<br />
Et la Sirène aussi m’esmeut. Grand cas<br />
Fais-je d’Estienne, Aide, ou Dolet. Mais Ias!<br />
Le vieux Caxton ne se rencontre pas,<br />
Plus qu’ agneau d’or parmi jetons de cuivre,<br />
En bouquinant!</p>
<p class="poetry">Pour tout plaisir que l’on goute
icy-bas<br />
La Grace a Dieu. Mieux vaut, sans altercas,<br />
Chasser bouquin: Nul mal n’en peult s’ensuivre.<br />
Dr sus au livre: il est le grand appas.<br />
Clair est le ciel. Amis, qui veut me suivre<br />
En bouquinant?</p>
<p style="text-align: right">A. L.</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page122"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 122</span>
<a href="images/p122b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Group of Children. Drawn by Kate Greenaway; engraved by O.
Lacour"
title=
"Group of Children. Drawn by Kate Greenaway; engraved by O.
Lacour"
src="images/p122s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<h2><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
123</span>CHAPTER IV.<br />
ILLUSTRATED BOOKS <a name="citation123"></a><a
href="#footnote123" class="citation">[123]</a></h2>
<p>
<a href="images/p123b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Highly decorative letter M, first letter of Modern"
title=
"Highly decorative letter M, first letter of Modern"
src="images/p123s.jpg" />
</a><span class="GutSmall">ODERN</span> English
book-illustration—to which the present chapter is
restricted—has no long or doubtful history, since to find
its first beginnings, it is needless to go farther back than the
last quarter of the eighteenth century. Not that
“illustrated” books of a certain class were by any
means unknown before that period. On the contrary, for many
years previously, literature <a name="page124"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 124</span>had boasted its
“sculptures” of be-wigged and be-laurelled
“worthies,” its “prospects” and
“land-skips,” its phenomenal monsters and its
“curious antiques.” But, despite the couplet in
the “Dunciad” respecting books where</p>
<blockquote><p>“ . . . the pictures for the page
atone,<br />
And Quarles is saved by beauties not his own;”—</p>
</blockquote>
<p>illustrations, in which the designer attempted the actual
delineation of scenes or occurrences in the text, were certainly
not common when Pope wrote, nor were they for some time
afterwards either very numerous or very noteworthy. There
are Hogarth’s engravings to “Hudibras” and
“Don Quixote;” there are the designs of his crony
Frank Hayman to Theobald’s “Shakespeare,” to
Milton, to Pope, to Cervantes; there are Pine’s
“Horace” and Sturt’s “Prayer-Book”
(in both of which text and ornament were alike engraved); there
are the historical and topographical drawings of Sandby, Wale,
and others; and yet—notwithstanding all these—it is
with Bewick’s cuts to Gay’s “Fables” in
1779, and Stothard’s plates to Harrison’s
“Novelist’s Magazine” in 1780, that
book-illustration by imaginative compositions really begins to
flourish in England. Those little masterpieces of the
Newcastle artist brought about a revival of wood-engraving which
continues to this day; but engraving <a name="page125"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 125</span>upon metal, as a means of decorating
books, practically came to an end with the “Annuals”
of thirty years ago. It will therefore be well to speak
first of illustrations upon copper and steel.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>Stothard, Blake, and Flaxman are the names that come freshest
to memory in this connection. For a period of fifty years
Stothard stands pre-eminent in illustrated literature.
Measuring time by poets, he may be said to have lent something of
his fancy and amenity to most of the writers from Cowper to
Rogers. As a draughtsman he is undoubtedly weak: his
figures are often limp and invertebrate, and his type of beauty
insipid. Still, regarded as groups, the majority of his
designs are exquisite, and he possessed one all-pervading and
un-English quality—the quality of grace. This is his
dominant note. Nothing can be more seductive than the suave
flow of his line, his feeling for costume, his gentle and
chastened humour. Many of his women and children are models
of purity and innocence. But he works at ease only within
the limits of his special powers; he is happier in the pastoral
and domestic than the heroic and supernatural, and his style is
better fitted to the formal salutations of “Clarissa”
and “Sir <a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
126</span>Charles Grandison,” than the rough horse-play of
“Peregrine Pickle.” Where Rowlandson would have
revelled, Stothard would be awkward and constrained; where Blake
would give us a new sensation, Stothard would be poor and
mechanical. Nevertheless the gifts he possessed were
thoroughly recognised in his own day, and brought him, if not
riches, at least competence and honour. It is said that
more than three thousand of his drawings have been engraved, and
they are scattered through a hundred publications. Those to
the “Pilgrim’s Progress” and the poems of
Rogers are commonly spoken of as his best, though he never
excelled some of the old-fashioned plates (with their pretty
borders in the style of Gravelot and the Frenchmen) to
Richardson’s novels, and such forgotten
“classics” as “Joe Thompson”,
“Jessamy,” “Betsy Thoughtless,” and one
or two others in Harrison’s very miscellaneous
collection.</p>
<p>Stothard was fortunate in his engravers. Besides James
Heath, his best interpreter, Schiavonetti, Sharp, Finden, the
Cookes, Bartolozzi, most of the fashionable translators into
copper were busily employed upon his inventions. Among the
rest was an artist of powers far greater than his own, although
scarcely so happy in turning them to profitable account.
The genius of William <a name="page127"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 127</span>Blake was not a marketable commodity
in the same way as Stothard’s talent. The one caught
the trick of the time with his facile elegance; the other scorned
to make any concessions, either in conception or execution, to
the mere popularity of prettiness.</p>
<blockquote><p>“Give pensions to the learned pig,<br />
Or the hare playing on a tabor;<br />
Anglus can never see perfection<br />
But in the journeyman’s labour,”—</p>
</blockquote>
<p>he wrote in one of those rough-hewn and bitter epigrams of
his. Yet the work that was then so lukewarmly
received—if, indeed, it can be said to have been received
at all—is at present far more sought after than
Stothard’s, and the prices now given for the “Songs
of Innocence and Experience,” the “Inventions to the
Book of Job,” and even “The Grave,” would have
brought affluence to the struggling artist, who (as Cromek
taunted him) was frequently “reduced so low as to be
obliged to live on half a guinea a week.” Not that
this was entirely the fault of his contemporaries. Blake
was a visionary, and an untuneable man; and, like others who work
for the select public of all ages, he could not always escape the
consequence that the select public of his own, however willing,
were scarcely numerous enough <a name="page128"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 128</span>to support him. His most
individual works are the “Songs of Innocence,” 1789,
and the “Songs of Experience,” 1794. These,
afterwards united in one volume, were unique in their method of
production; indeed, they do not perhaps strictly come within the
category of what is generally understood to be copperplate
engraving. The drawings were outlined and the songs written
upon the metal with some liquid that resisted the action of acid,
and the remainder of the surface of the plate was eaten away with
<i>aqua-fortis</i>, leaving the design in bold relief, like a
rude stereotype. This was then printed off in the
predominant tone—blue, brown, or yellow, as the case might
be—and delicately tinted by the artist in a prismatic and
ethereal fashion peculiarly his own. Stitched and bound in
boards by Mrs. Blake, a certain number of these
leaflets—twenty-seven in the case of the first
issue—made up a tiny <i>octavo</i> of a wholly exceptional
kind. Words indeed fail to exactly describe the flower-like
beauty—the fascination of these “fairy
missals,” in which, it has been finely said, “the
thrilling music of the verse, and the gentle bedazzlement of the
lines and colours so intermingle, that the mind hangs in a
pleasant uncertainty as to whether it is a picture that is
singing, or a song which has newly budded and blossomed into
colour and <a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
129</span>form.” The accompanying woodcut, after one
of the illustrations to the “Songs of Innocence,”
gives some indication of the general composition, but it can
convey no hint of the gorgeous purple, and crimson, and orange of
the original.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p129b.jpg">
<img alt=
"“Infant Joy.” From Blake’s “Songs of
Innocence,” 1789. Engraved by J. F. Jungling"
title=
"“Infant Joy.” From Blake’s “Songs of
Innocence,” 1789. Engraved by J. F. Jungling"
src="images/p129s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>Of the “Illustrations to the Book of Job,” 1826,
there are excellent reduced facsimiles by <a
name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>the
recently-discovered photo-intaglio process, in the new edition of
Gilchrist’s “Life.” The originals were
engraved by Blake himself in his strong decisive fashion, and
they are his best work. A kind of
<i>deisidaimonia</i>—a sacred awe—falls upon one in
turning over these wonderful productions of the artist’s
declining years and failing hand.</p>
<blockquote><p>“Leaving the old, both worlds at once they
view,<br />
That stand upon the threshold of the new,”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>sings Waller; and it is almost possible to believe for a
moment that their creator was (as he said) “under the
direction of messengers from Heaven.” But his designs
for Blair’s “Grave,” 1808, popularised by the
burin of Schiavonetti, attracted greater attention at the time of
publication; and, being less rare, they are even now perhaps
better known than the others. The facsimile here given is
from the latter book. The worn old man, the trustful woman,
and the guileless child are sleeping peacefully; but the king
with his sceptre, and the warrior with his hand on his
sword-hilt, lie open-eyed, waiting the summons of the
trumpet. One cannot help fancying that the artist’s
long vigils among the Abbey tombs, during his apprenticeship to
James Basire, must have been present to his mind when he selected
this impressive monumental subject.</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page131"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 131</span>
<a href="images/p131b.jpg">
<img alt=
"“Counsellor, King, Warrior, Mother and Child, in the
Tomb.” From Blair’s “Grave,” 1808.
Designed by William Blake; facsimiled on wood from the engraving
by Louis Schiavonetti"
title=
"“Counsellor, King, Warrior, Mother and Child, in the
Tomb.” From Blair’s “Grave,” 1808.
Designed by William Blake; facsimiled on wood from the engraving
by Louis Schiavonetti"
src="images/p131s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>To
one of Blake’s few friends—to the “dear
Sculptor of Eternity,” as he wrote to Flaxman from
Felpham—the world is indebted for some notable book
illustrations. Whether the greatest writers—the
Homers, the Shakespeares, the Dantes—can ever be
“illustrated” without loss may fairly be
questioned. At all events, the showy dexterities of the
Dorés and Gilberts prove nothing to the contrary.
But now and then there comes to the graphic interpretation of a
great author an artist either so reverential, or so strongly
sympathetic at some given point, that, in default of any relation
more narrowly intimate, we at once accept his conceptions as the
best attainable. In this class are Flaxman’s outlines
to Homer and Æschylus. Flaxman was not a Hellenist as
men are Hellenists to-day. Nevertheless, his Roman studies
had saturated him with the spirit of antique beauty, and by his
grand knowledge of the nude, his calm, his restraint, he is such
an illustrator of Homer as is not likely to arise again.
For who—with all our added knowledge of classical
antiquity—who, of our modern artists, could hope to rival
such thoroughly Greek compositions as the ball-play of Nausicaa
in the “Odyssey,” or that lovely group from
Æschylus of the tender-hearted, womanly Oceanides, cowering
like flowers beaten by the storm under the <a
name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>terrible
anger of Zeus? In our day Flaxman’s drawings would
have been reproduced by some of the modern facsimile processes,
and the gain would have been great. As it is, something is
lost by their transference to copper, even though the translators
be Piroli and Blake. Blake, in fact, did more than he is
usually credited with, for (beside the acknowledged and later
“Hesiod,” 1817) he really engraved the whole of the
“Odyssey,” Piroli’s plates having been lost on
the voyage to England. The name of the Roman artist,
nevertheless, appears on the title-page (1793). But Blake
was too original to be a successful copyist of other men’s
work, and to appreciate the full value of Flaxman’s
drawings, they should be studied in the collections at University
College, the Royal Academy, and elsewhere. <a
name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9"
class="citation">[9]</a></p>
<p>Flaxman and Blake had few imitators. But a host of
clever designers, such as Cipriani, Angelica Kauffmann, Westall,
Uwins, Smirke, Burney, Corbould, Dodd, and others, vied with the
popular Stothard in “embellishing” the endless
“Poets,” “novelists,” and
“essayists” of our forefathers. Some of these,
and most of the recognised artists of the period, lent their aid
to that <a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
134</span>boldly-planned but unhappily-executed
“Shakespeare” of Boydell,—“black and
ghastly gallery of murky Opies, glum Northcotes, straddling
Fuselis,” as Thackeray calls it. They are certainly
not enlivening—those cumbrous “atlas”
<i>folios</i> of 1803–5, and they helped to ruin the worthy
alderman. Even courtly Sir Joshua is clearly ill at ease
among the pushing Hamiltons and Mortimers; and, were it not for
the whimsical discovery that Westall’s “Ghost of
Cæsar” strangely resembles Mr. Gladstone, there would
be no resting-place for the modern student of these dismal
masterpieces. The truth is, Reynolds excepted, there were
no contemporary painters strong enough for the task, and the
honours of the enterprise belong almost exclusively to
Smirke’s “Seven Ages” and one or two plates
from the lighter comedies. The great “Bible” of
Macklin, a rival and even more incongruous publication, upon
which some of the same designers were employed, has fallen into
completer oblivion. A rather better fate attended another
book of this class, which, although belonging to a later period,
may be briefly referred to here. The “Milton”
of John Martin has distinct individuality, and some of the
needful qualities of imagination. Nevertheless, posterity
has practically decided that scenic grandeur and sombre effects
alone are not a sufficient pictorial equipment for the varied
story of “Paradise Lost.”</p>
<p><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>It is
to Boydell of the Shakespeare gallery that we owe the
“Liber Veritatis” of Claude, engraved by Richard
Earlom; and indirectly, since rivalry of Claude prompted the
attempt, the famous “Liber Studiorum” of
Turner. Neither of these, however—which, like the
“Rivers of France” and the “Picturesque Views
in England and Wales” of the latter artist, are collections
of engravings rather than illustrated books—belongs to the
present purpose. But Turner’s name may fitly serve to
introduce those once familiar “Annuals” and
“Keepsakes,” that, beginning in 1823 with
Ackermann’s “Forget-me-Not,” enjoyed a
popularity of more than thirty years. Their general
characteristics have been pleasantly satirised in
Thackeray’s account of the elegant miscellany of Bacon the
publisher, to which Mr. Arthur Pendennis contributed his pretty
poem of “The Church Porch.” His editress, it
will be remembered, was the Lady Violet Lebas, and his colleagues
the Honourable Percy Popjoy, Lord Dodo, and the gifted Bedwin
Sands, whose “Eastern Ghazuls” lent so special a
distinction to the volume in watered-silk binding. The
talented authors, it is true, were in most cases under the
disadvantage of having to write to the plates of the talented
artists, a practice which even now is not extinct, though it is
scarcely considered favourable to <a name="page136"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 136</span>literary merit. And the real
“Annuals” were no exception to the rule. As a
matter of fact, their general literary merit was not obtrusive,
although, of course, they sometimes contained work which
afterwards became famous. They are now so completely
forgotten and out of date, that one scarcely expects to find that
Wordsworth, Coleridge, Macaulay, and Southey, were among the
occasional contributors. Lamb’s beautiful
“Album verses” appeared in the “Bijou,”
Scott’s “Bonnie Dundee” in the “Christmas
Box,” and Tennyson’s “St. Agnes’
Eve” in the “Keepsake.” But the plates
were, after all, the leading attraction. These, prepared
for the most part under the superintendence of the younger Heath,
and executed on the steel which by this time had supplanted the
old “coppers,” were supplied by, or were
“after,” almost every contemporary artist of
note. Stothard, now growing old and past his prime, Turner,
Etty, Stanfield, Leslie, Roberts, Danby, Maclise, Lawrence,
Cattermole, and numbers of others, found profitable labour in
this fashionable field until 1856, when the last of the
“Annuals” disappeared, driven from the market by the
rapid development of wood engraving. About a million, it is
roughly estimated, was squandered in producing them.</p>
<p>In connection with the “Annuals” must be mentioned
two illustrated books which were in <a name="page137"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 137</span>all probability suggested by
them—the “Poems” and “Italy” of
Rogers. The designs to these are chiefly by Turner and
Stothard, although there are a few by Prout and others.
Stothard’s have been already referred to; Turner’s
are almost universally held to be the most successful of his many
vignettes. It has been truly said—in a recent
excellent life of this artist <a name="citation10"></a><a
href="#footnote10" class="citation">[10]</a>—that it would
be difficult to find in the whole of his works two really greater
than the “Alps at Daybreak,” and the “Datur
Hora Quieti,” in the former of these volumes. Almost
equally beautiful are the “Valombré Falls” and
“Tornaro’s misty brow.” Of the
“Italy” set Mr. Ruskin writes:—“They are
entirely exquisite; poetical in the highest and purest sense,
exemplary and delightful beyond all praise.” To such
words it is not possible to add much. But it is pretty
clear that the poetical vitality of Rogers was secured by these
well-timed illustrations, over which he is admitted by his nephew
Mr. Sharpe to have spent about £7000, and far larger sums
have been named by good authorities. The artist received
from fifteen to twenty guineas for each of the drawings; the
engravers (Goodall, Miller, Wallis, Smith, and others), sixty
guineas a plate. The “Poems” and the
“Italy,” in the original issues of 1830 and <a
name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>1834, are
still precious to collectors, and are likely to remain so.
Turner also illustrated Scott, Milton, Campbell, and Byron; but
this series of designs has not received equal commendation from
his greatest eulogist, who declares them to be “much more
laboured, and more or less artificial and unequal.”
Among the numerous imitations directly induced by the Rogers
books was the “Lyrics of the Heart,” by Alaric Attila
Watts, a forgotten versifier and sometime editor of
“Annuals,” but it did not meet with similar
success.</p>
<p>Many illustrated works, originating in the perfection and
opportunities of engraving on metal, are necessarily unnoticed in
this rapid summary. As far, however, as book-illustration
is concerned, copper and steel plate engraving may be held to
have gone out of fashion with the “Annuals.” It
is still, indeed, to be found lingering in that mine of modern
art-books—the “Art Journal;” and, not so very
long ago, it made a sumptuous and fugitive reappearance in
Doré’s “Idylls of the King,” Birket
Foster’s “Hood,” and one or two other imposing
volumes. But it was badly injured by modern wood-engraving;
it has since been crippled for life by photography; and it is
more than probable that the present rapid rise of modern etching
will give it the <i>coup de grace</i>. <a
name="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11"
class="citation">[11]</a></p>
<p><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>By
the end of the seventeenth century the art of engraving on wood
had fallen into disuse. Writing <i>circa</i> 1770, Horace
Walpole goes so far as to say that it “never was executed
in any perfection in England;” and, speaking afterwards of
Papillon’s “Traité de la Gravure,” 1766,
he takes occasion to doubt if that author would ever
“persuade the world to return to wooden cuts.”
Nevertheless, with Bewick, a few years later, wood-engraving took
a fresh departure so conspicuous that it amounts to a
revival. In what this consisted it is clearly impossible to
show here with any sufficiency of detail; but between the method
of the old wood-cutters who reproduced the drawings of
Dürer, and the method of the Newcastle artist, there are two
marked and well-defined differences. One of these is a
difference in the preparation of the wood and the tool
employed. The old wood-cutters carved their designs with
knives and chisels on strips of wood sawn lengthwise—that
is to say, upon the <i>plank</i>; Bewick used a graver, and
worked upon slices of box or pear cut across the
grain,—that is to say upon the <i>end</i> of the
wood. The other difference, of which Bewick is said to have
been the inventor, <a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
140</span>is less easy to describe. It consisted in the
employment of what is technically known as “white
line.” In all antecedent wood-cutting the cutter had
simply cleared away those portions of the block left bare by the
design, so that the design remained in relief to be printed from
like type. Using the smooth box block as a uniform surface
from which, if covered with printing ink, a uniformly black
impression might be obtained, Bewick, by cutting white lines
across it at greater or lesser intervals, produced gradations of
shade, from the absolute black of the block to the lightest
tints. The general result of this method was to give a
greater depth of colouring and variety to the engraving, but its
advantages may perhaps be best understood by a glance at the
background of the “Woodcock” on the following
page.</p>
<p>Bewick’s first work of any importance was the
Gay’s “Fables” of 1779. In 1784 he did
another series of “Select Fables.” Neither of
these books, however, can be compared with the “General
History of Quadrupeds,” 1790, and the “British Land
and Water Birds,” 1797 and 1804. The illustrations to
the “Quadrupeds” are in many instances excellent, and
large additions were made to them in subsequent issues. But
in this collection Bewick laboured to a great extent under the
disadvantage of representing <a name="page141"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 141</span>animals with which he was familiar
only through the medium of stuffed specimens or incorrect
drawings. In the “British Birds,” on the
contrary, his facilities for study from the life were greater,
and his success was consequently more complete. Indeed, it
may be safely affirmed that of all the engravers of the present
century, none have excelled Bewick for beauty of black and white,
for skilful rendering of plumage and foliage, and for fidelity of
detail and accessory. The “Woodcock” (here
given), the “Partridge,” the “Owl,” the
“Yellow-Hammer,” the “Yellow-Bunting,”
the “Willow-Wren,” are popular examples <a
name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>of these
qualities. But there are a hundred others nearly as
good.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p141b.jpg">
<img alt=
"“The Woodcock.” From Jackson & Chatto’s
“History of Wood-Engraving,” 1839. Engraved, after
T. Bewick, by John Jackson"
title=
"“The Woodcock.” From Jackson & Chatto’s
“History of Wood-Engraving,” 1839. Engraved, after
T. Bewick, by John Jackson"
src="images/p141s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>Among sundry conventional decorations after the old German
fashion in the first edition of the “Quadrupeds,”
there are a fair number of those famous tail-pieces which, to a
good many people, constitute Bewick’s chief claim to
immortality. That it is not easy to imitate them is plain
from the failure of Branston’s attempts, and from the
inferior character of those by John Thompson in Yarrell’s
“Fishes.” The genius of Bewick was, in fact,
entirely individual and particular. He had the humour of a
Hogarth in little, as well as some of his special
characteristics,—notably his faculty of telling a story by
suggestive detail. An instance may be taken at random from
vol. I. of the “Birds.” A man, whose wig and
hat have fallen off, lies asleep with open mouth under some
bushes. He is manifestly drunk, and the date “4
June,” on a neighbouring stone, gives us the reason and
occasion of his catastrophe. He has been too loyally
celebrating the birthday of his majesty King George III.
Another of Bewick’s gifts is his wonderful skill in
foreshadowing a tragedy. Take as an example, this truly
appalling incident from the “Quadrupeds.” The
tottering child, whose nurse is seen in the background, has
strayed into the meadow, and is pulling at the <a
name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>tail of a
vicious-looking colt, with back-turned eye and lifted heel.
Down the garden-steps the mother hurries headlong; but she can
hardly be in time. And of all this—sufficient, one
would say, for a fairly-sized canvas—the artist has managed
to give a vivid impression in a block of three inches by
two! Then, again, like Hogarth once more, he rejoices in
multiplications of dilemma. What, for instance, can be more
comically pathetic than the head-piece to the
“Contents” in vol. I. of the
“Birds”? The old horse has been seized with an
invincible fit of stubbornness. The day is both windy and
rainy. The rider has broken his stick and lost his hat; but
he is too much encumbered with his cackling and excited stock to
dare to dismount. Nothing can help him but a <i>Deus ex
machinâ</i>,—of whom there is no sign.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p143b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Tailpiece. From the same. Engraved, after T. Bewick, by John
Jackson"
title=
"Tailpiece. From the same. Engraved, after T. Bewick, by John
Jackson"
src="images/p143s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
144</span>Besides his humour, Bewick has a delightfully rustic
side, of which Hogarth gives but little indication. From
the starved ewe in the snow nibbling forlornly at a worn-out
broom, to the cow which has broken through the rail to reach the
running water, there are numberless designs which reveal that
faithful lover of the field and hillside, who, as he said,
“would rather be herding sheep on Mickle bank top”
than remain in London to be made premier of England. He
loved the country and the country-life; and he drew them as one
who loved them. It is this rural quality which helps to
give such a lasting freshness to his quaint and picturesque
fancies; and it is this which will continue to preserve their
popularity, even if they should cease to be valued for their
wealth of whimsical invention.</p>
<p>In referring to these masterpieces of Bewick’s, it must
not be forgotten that he had the aid of some clever
assistants. His younger brother John was not without
talent, as is clear from his work for Somervile’s
“Chace,” 1796, and that highly edifying book, the
“Blossoms of Morality.” Many of the tail-pieces
to the “Water Birds” were designed by Robert Johnson,
who also did most of the illustrations to Bewick’s
“Fables” of 1818, which were engraved by Temple and
Harvey, two other pupils. Another <a
name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>pupil was
Charlton Nesbit, an excellent engraver, who was employed upon the
“Birds,” and did good work in Ackermann’s
“Religious Emblems” of 1808, and the second series of
Northcote’s “Fables.” But by far the
largest portion of the tail-pieces in the second volume of the
“Birds” was engraved by Luke Clennell, a very skilful
but unfortunate artist, who ultimately became insane. To
him we owe the woodcuts, after Stothard’s charming
sketches, to the Rogers volume of 1810, an edition preceding
those already mentioned as illustrated with steel-plates, and
containing some of the artist’s happiest pictures of
children and <i>amorini</i>. Many of these little groups
would make admirable designs for gems, if indeed they are not
already derived from them, since one at least is an obvious copy
of a well-known sardonyx—(“The Marriage of Cupid and
Psyche.”) This volume, generally known by the name of
the “Firebrand” edition, is highly prized by
collectors; and, as intelligent renderings of pen and ink, there
is little better than these <a name="page146"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 146</span>engravings of Clennell’s. <a
name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12"
class="citation">[12]</a> Finally, among others of
Bewick’s pupils, must be mentioned William Harvey, who
survived to 1866. It has been already stated that he
engraved part of the illustrations to Bewick’s
“Fables,” but his best known block is the large one
of Haydon’s “Death of Dentatus.” Soon
after this he relinquished wood-engraving in favour of design,
and for a long period was one of the most fertile and popular of
book-illustrators. His style, however, is unpleasantly
mannered; and it is sufficient to make mention of his
masterpiece, the “Arabian Nights” of Lane, the
illustrations to which, produced under the supervision of the
translator, are said to be so accurate as to give the appropriate
turbans for every hour of the day. They show considerable
freedom of invention and a large fund of Orientalism.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p145b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Headpiece. From Rogers’s “Pleasures of Memory, with
other Poems,” 1810. Drawn by T. Stothard; engraved, after
Luke Clennell, by O. Lacour"
title=
"Headpiece. From Rogers’s “Pleasures of Memory, with
other Poems,” 1810. Drawn by T. Stothard; engraved, after
Luke Clennell, by O. Lacour"
src="images/p145s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>Harvey came to London in 1817; Clennell had preceded him by
some years; and Nesbit lived there for a considerable time.
What distinguishes these pupils of Bewick especially is, that
they were artists as well as engravers, capable of producing the
designs they engraved. The “London School” of
engravers, on the contrary, were mostly engravers, who depended
<a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>upon
others for their designs. The foremost of these was Robert
Branston, a skilful renderer of human figures and indoor
scenes. He worked in rivalry with Bewick and Nesbit; but he
excelled neither, while he fell far behind the former. John
Thompson, one of the very best of modern English engravers on
wood, was Branston’s pupil. His range was of the
widest, and he succeeded as well in engraving fishes and birds
for Yarrell and Walton’s “Angler,” as in
illustrations to Molière and “Hudibras.”
He was, besides, a clever draughtsman, though he worked chiefly
from the designs of Thurston and others. One of the most
successful of his illustrated books is the “Vicar of
Wakefield,” after Mulready, whose simplicity and homely
feeling were well suited to Goldsmith’s style.
Another excellent engraver of this date is Samuel Williams.
There is an edition of Thomson’s “Seasons,”
with cuts both drawn and engraved by him, which is well worthy of
attention, and (like Thompson and Branston) he was very skilful
in reproducing the designs of Cruikshank. Some of his best
work in this way is to be found in Clarke’s “Three
Courses and a Dessert,” published by Vizetelly in 1830.</p>
<p>From this time forth, however, one hears less of the engraver
and more of the artist. The establishment of the
“Penny Magazine” in 1832, <a name="page148"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 148</span>and the multifarious publications of
Charles Knight, gave an extraordinary impetus to
wood-engraving. Ten years later came “Punch,”
and the “Illustrated London News,” which further
increased its popularity. Artists of eminence began to draw
on or for the block, as they had drawn, and were still drawing,
for the “Annuals.” In 1842–6 was issued
the great “Abbotsford” edition of the “Waverley
Novels,” which, besides 120 plates, contained nearly 2000
wood-engravings; and with the “Book of British
Ballads,” 1843, edited by Mr. S. C. Hall, arose that long
series of illustrated Christmas books, which gradually supplanted
the “Annuals,” and made familiar the names of
Gilbert, Birket Foster, Harrison Weir, John Absolon, and a crowd
of others. The poems of Longfellow, Montgomery, Burns,
“Barry Cornwall,” Poe, Miss Ingelow, were all
successively “illustrated.” Besides these,
there were numerous selections, such as Willmott’s
“Poets of the Nineteenth Century,” Wills’s
“Poets’ Wit and Humour,” and so forth.
But the field here grows too wide to be dealt with in detail, and
it is impossible to do more than mention a few of the books most
prominent for merit or originality. Amongst these there is
the “Shakespeare” of Sir John Gilbert. Regarded
as an interpretative edition of the great dramatist, this is
little more than a <a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
149</span>brilliant <i>tour de force</i>; but it is nevertheless
infinitely superior to the earlier efforts of Kenny Meadows in
1843, and also to the fancy designs of Harvey in Knight’s
“Pictorial Shakespeare.” The “Illustrated
Tennyson” of 1858 is also a remarkable production.
The Laureate, almost more than any other, requires a variety of
illustrators; and here, for his idylls, he had Mulready and
Millais, and for his romances Rossetti and Holman Hunt. His
“Princess” was afterwards illustrated by Maclise, and
his “Enoch Arden” by Arthur Hughes; but neither of
these can be said to be wholly adequate. The “Lalla
Rookh” of John Tenniel, 1860, albeit somewhat stiff and <a
name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>cold, after
this artist’s fashion, is a superb collection of carefully
studied oriental designs. With these may be classed the
illustrations to Aytoun’s “Lays of the Scottish
Cavaliers,” by Sir Noel Paton, which have the same finished
qualities of composition and the same academic hardness.
Several good editions of the “Pilgrim’s
Progress” have appeared,—notably those of C. H.
Bennett, J. D. Watson, and G. H. Thomas. Other books are
Millais’s “Parables of our Lord,”
Leighton’s “Romola,” Walker’s
“Philip” and “Denis Duval,” the
“Don Quixote,” “Dante,” “La
Fontaine” and other works of Doré, Dalziel’s
“Arabian Nights,” Leighton’s “Lyra
Germanica” and “Moral Emblems,” and the
“Spiritual Conceits” of W. Harry Rogers. These
are some only of the number, which does not include books like
Mrs. Hugh Blackburn’s “British Birds,”
Wolf’s “Wild Animals,” Wise’s “New
Forest,” Linton’s “Lake Country,”
Wood’s “Natural History,” and many more.
Nor does it take in the various illustrated periodicals which
have multiplied so freely since, in 1859, “Once a
Week” first began to attract and train such younger
draughtsmen as Sandys, Lawless, Pinwell, Houghton, Morten, and
Paul Grey, some of whose best work in this way has been revived
in the edition of Thornbury’s “Ballads and
Songs,” recently published by <a name="page151"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 151</span>Chatto and Windus. Ten years
later came the “Graphic,” offering still wider
opportunities to wood-cut art, and bringing with it a fresh
school of artists. Herkomer, Fildes, Small, Green, Barnard,
Barnes, Crane, Caldecott, Hopkins, and others,—<i>quos nunc
perscribere longum est</i>—have contributed good work to
this popular rival of the older, but still vigorous,
“Illustrated.” And now again, another promising
serial, the “Magazine of Art,” affords a
supplementary field to modern refinements and younger
energies.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p149b.jpg">
<img alt=
"“Golden head by golden head.” From Christina
Rossetti’s “Goblin Market and other Poems,”
1862. Drawn by D. G. Rossetti; engraved by W. J. Linton"
title=
"“Golden head by golden head.” From Christina
Rossetti’s “Goblin Market and other Poems,”
1862. Drawn by D. G. Rossetti; engraved by W. J. Linton"
src="images/p149s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>Not a few of the artists named in the preceding paragraph have
also earned distinction in separate branches of the pictorial
art, and specially in that of humorous design,—a department
which has always been so richly recruited in this country that it
deserves more than a passing mention. From the days of
Hogarth onwards there has been an almost unbroken series of
humorous draughtsmen, who, both on wood and metal, play a
distinguished part in our illustrated literature.
Rowlandson, one of the earliest, was a caricaturist of
inexhaustible facility, and an artist who scarcely did justice to
his own powers. He illustrated several books, but he is
chiefly remembered in this way by his plates to Combe’s
“Three Tours of Dr. Syntax.” Gillray, his
contemporary, whose bias was political rather than social, is
said to <a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
152</span>have illustrated “The Deserted Village” in
his youth; but he is not famous as a book-illustrator.
Another of the early men was Bunbury, whom
“quality”-loving Mr. Walpole calls “the second
Hogarth, and first imitator who ever fully equalled his original
(!);” but whose prints to “Tristram Shandy,”
are nevertheless completely forgotten, while, if he be remembered
at all, it is by the plate of “The Long Minuet,” and
the vulgar “Directions to Bad Horsemen.” With
the first years of the century, however, appears the great master
of modern humorists, whose long life ended only a few years
since, “the veteran George Cruikshank”—as his
admirers were wont to style him. He indeed may justly be
compared to Hogarth, since, in tragic power and intensity he
occasionally comes nearer to him than any artist of our
time. It is manifestly impossible to mention here all the
more important efforts of this indefatigable worker, from those
far-away days when he caricatured “Boney” and
championed Queen Caroline, to that final frontispiece for
“The Rose and the Lily”—“designed and
etched (according to the inscription) by George Cruikshank, age
83;” but the plates to the “Points of Humour,”
to Grimm’s “Goblins,” to “Oliver
Twist,” “Jack Sheppard,” Maxwell’s
“Irish Rebellion,” and the “Table Book,”
are sufficiently favourable and varied specimens of <a
name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>his skill
with the needle, while the woodcuts to “Three Courses and a
Dessert,” one of which is here given, are equally good
examples of his work on the block. The “Triumph of
Cupid,” which begins the “Table Book,” is an
excellent instance of his lavish wealth of fancy, and it contains
beside, one—nay more than one—of the many portraits
of the artist. He is shown <i>en robe de chambre</i>,
smoking (this was before his regenerate days!) in front of a
blazing fire, with a pet spaniel on his knee. In the cloud
which curls from his lips is a motley procession of sailors,
sweeps, jockeys, Greenwich pensioners, Jew clothesmen, flunkies,
and others more illustrious, chained to the chariot wheels of
Cupid, who, preceded by cherubic acolytes and banner-bearers,
winds round the top of the picture towards an altar of Hymen on
the table. When, by the aid of a pocket-glass, one has
mastered these swarming figures, as well as those in the
foreground, it gradually dawns upon one that all the furniture is
strangely vitalised. Masks laugh round the border of the
tablecloth, the markings of the mantelpiece resolve themselves
into rows of madly-racing figures, the tongs leers in a
<i>degagé</i> and cavalier way at the artist, the shovel
and poker grin in sympathy; there are faces in the smoke, in the
fire, in the fireplace,—the very <a
name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>fender
itself is a ring of fantastic creatures who jubilantly hem in the
ashes. And it is not only in the grotesque and fanciful
that Cruikshank excels; he is master of the strange, the
supernatural, and the terrible. In range of character (the
comparison is probably a hackneyed one), both by his gifts and
his limitations, he resembles Dickens; and had he illustrated
more of that writer’s works the resemblance would probably
have been more evident. In “Oliver Twist,” for
example, where Dickens is strong, Cruikshank is strong; where
Dickens is weak, he is weak too. His Fagin, his Bill Sikes,
his Bumble, and their following, are on a level with
Dickens’s conceptions; his Monk and Rose Maylie are as poor
as the originals. But as the defects of Dickens are
overbalanced by his merits, so Cruikshank’s strength is far
in excess of his weakness. It is not to his melodramatic
heroes or wasp-waisted heroines that we must look for his
triumphs; it is to his delineations, from the moralist’s
point of view, of vulgarity and vice,—of the “rank
life of towns,” with all its squalid tragedy and
comedy. Here he finds his strongest ground, and possibly,
notwithstanding his powers as a comic artist and caricaturist,
his loftiest claim to recollection.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a name="image153" href="images/p153b.jpg">
<img alt=
"“The Deaf Post-Boy.” From Clarke’s
“Three Courses and a Dessert,” 1830. Drawn by G.
Cruikshank; engraved by S. Williams [?]"
title=
"“The Deaf Post-Boy.” From Clarke’s
“Three Courses and a Dessert,” 1830. Drawn by G.
Cruikshank; engraved by S. Williams [?]"
src="images/p153s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>Cruikshank was employed on two only of Dickens’s
books—“Oliver Twist” and the <a
name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
156</span>“Sketches by Boz.” <a
name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13"
class="citation">[13]</a> The great majority of them were
illustrated by Hablot K. Browne, an artist who followed the
ill-fated Seymour on the “Pickwick Papers.” To
“Phiz,” as he is popularly called, we are indebted
for our pictorial ideas of Sam Weller, Mrs. Gamp, Captain Cuttle,
and most of the author’s characters, down to the
“Tale of Two Cities.” “Phiz” also
illustrated a great many of Lever’s novels, for which his
skill in hunting and other Lever-like scenes especially qualified
him.</p>
<p>With the name of Richard Doyle we come to the first of a group
of artists whose main work was, or is still, done for the
time-honoured miscellany of Mr. Punch. So familiar an
object is “Punch” upon our tables, that one is
sometimes apt to forget how unfailing, and how good on the whole,
is the work we take so complacently as a matter of course.
And of this good work, in the earlier days, a large proportion
was done by Mr. Doyle. He is still living, although he has
long ceased to gladden those sprightly pages. But it was to
“Punch” that he contributed his masterpiece, the
“Manners and Customs of ye Englyshe,” a series of
outlines illustrating social life in 1849, and cleverly commented
by a shadowy “Mr. <a name="page157"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 157</span>Pips,” a sort of fetch or
double of the bustling and garrulous old Caroline diarist.
In these captivating pictures the life of thirty years ago is
indeed, as the title-page has it, “drawn from ye
quick.” We see the Molesworths and Cantilupes of the
day parading the Park; we watch Brougham fretting at a hearing in
the Lords, or Peel holding forth to the Commons (where the Irish
members are already obstructive); we squeeze in at the Haymarket
to listen to Jenny Lind, or we run down the river to Greenwich
Fair, and visit “Mr. Richardson, his show.”
Many years after, in the “Bird’s Eye Views of
Society,” which appeared in the early numbers of the
“Cornhill Magazine,” Mr. Doyle returned to this
attractive theme. But the later designs were more
elaborate, and not equally fortunate. They bear the same
relationship to Mr. Pips’s pictorial chronicle, as the
laboured “Temperance Fairy Tales” of
Cruikshank’s old age bear to the little-worked
Grimm’s “Goblins” of his youth. So
hazardous is the attempt to repeat an old success!
Nevertheless, many of the initial letters to the
“Bird’s Eye Views” are in the artist’s
best and most frolicsome manner. “The Foreign Tour of
Brown, Jones, and Robinson” is another of his happy
thoughts for “Punch;” and some of his most popular
designs are to be found in Thackeray’s
“Newcomes,” <a name="page158"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 158</span>where his satire and fancy seem
thoroughly suited to his text. He has also illustrated
Locker’s well-known “London Lyrics,”
Ruskin’s “King of the Golden River,” and
Hughes’s “Scouring of the White Horse,” from
which last the initial at the beginning of this chapter has been
borrowed. His latest important effort was the series of
drawings called “In Fairy Land,” to which Mr. William
Allingham contributed the verses.</p>
<p>In speaking of the “Newcomes,” one is reminded
that its illustrious author was himself a “Punch”
artist, and would probably have been a designer alone, had it not
been decreed “that he should paint in colours which will
never crack and never need restoration.” Everyone
knows the story of the rejected illustrator of
“Pickwick,” whom that and other rebuffs drove
permanently to letters. To his death, however, he clung
fondly to his pencil. In <i>technique</i> he never attained
to certainty or strength, and his genius was too quick and
creative—perhaps also too desultory—for finished
work, while he was always indifferent to costume and
accessory. But many of his sketches for “Vanity
Fair,” for “Pendennis,” for “The
Virginians,” for “The Rose and the Ring,” the
Christmas books, and the posthumously published “Orphan of
Pimlico,” <a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
159</span>have a vigour of impromptu, and a happy suggestiveness
which is better than correct drawing. Often the realisation
is almost photographic. Look, for example, at the portrait
in “Pendennis” of the dilapidated Major as he crawls
downstairs in the dawn after the ball at Gaunt House, and then
listen to the inimitable context: “That admirable and
devoted Major above all,—who had been for hours by Lady
Clavering’s side ministering to her and feeding her body
with everything that was nice, and her ear with everything that
was sweet and flattering—oh! what an object he was!
The rings round his eyes were of the colour of bistre; those orbs
themselves were like the plovers’ eggs whereof Lady
Clavering and Blanche had each tasted; the wrinkles in his old
face were furrowed in deep gashes; and a silver stubble, <i>like
an elderly morning dew</i>, was glittering on his chin, and
alongside the dyed whiskers, now limp and out of
curl.” A good deal of this—that fine touch in
italics especially—could not possibly be rendered in black
and white, and yet how much is indicated, and how thoroughly the
whole is felt! One turns to the woodcut from the words, and
back again to the words from the woodcut with ever-increasing
gratification. Then again, Thackeray’s little initial
letters are charmingly arch and playful. <a
name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>They seem
to throw a shy side-light upon the text, giving, as it were, an
additional and confidential hint of the working of the
author’s mind. To those who, with the present writer,
love every tiny scratch and quirk and flourish of the
Master’s hand, these small but priceless memorials are far
beyond the frigid appraising of academics and schools of art.</p>
<p>After Doyle and Thackeray come a couple of well-known
artists—John Leech and John Tenniel. The latter still
lives (may he long live!) to delight and instruct us. Of
the former, whose genial and manly “Pictures of Life and
Character” are in every home where good-humoured raillery
is prized and appreciated, it is scarcely necessary to
speak. Who does not remember the splendid languid swells,
the bright-eyed rosy girls (“with no nonsense about
them!”) in pork pie hats and crinolines, the superlative
“Jeames’s,” the hairy “Mossoos,”
the music-grinding Italian desperadoes whom their kind creator
hated so? And then the intrepidity of “Mr.
Briggs,” the Roman rule of “Paterfamilias,” the
vagaries of the “Rising Generation!” There are
things in this gallery over which the severest misanthrope must
chuckle—they are simply irresistible. Let any one
take, say that smallest sketch of the hapless mortal who has
turned on the hot water in the bath and <a
name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>cannot turn
it off again, and see if he is able to restrain his
laughter. In this one gift of producing instant mirth Leech
is almost alone. It would be easy to assail his manner and
his skill, but for sheer fun, for the invention of downright
humorous situation, he is unapproached, except by
Cruikshank. He did a few illustrations to Dickens’s
Christmas books; but his best-known book-illustrations properly
so called are to “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” the
“Comic Histories” of A’Beckett, the
“Little Tour in Ireland,” and certain sporting novels
by the late Mr. Surtees. Tenniel now confines himself
almost exclusively to the weekly cartoons with which his name is
popularly associated. But years ago he used to invent the
most daintily fanciful initial letters; and many of his admirers
prefer the serio-grotesque designs of “Punch’s
Pocket-Book,” “Alice in Wonderland,” and
“Through the Looking-Glass,” to the always
correctly-drawn but sometimes stiffly-conceived cartoons.
What, for example, could be more delightful than the picture, in
“Alice in Wonderland,” of the “Mad Tea
Party?” Observe the hopelessly distraught expression
of the March hare, and the eager incoherence of the hatter!
A little further on the pair are trying to squeeze the dormouse
into the teapot; and a few pages back the blue caterpillar is
discovered smoking <a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
163</span>his hookah on the top of a mushroom. He was
exactly three inches long, says the veracious chronicle, but what
a dignity!—what an oriental flexibility of gesture!
Speaking of animals, it must not be forgotten that Tenniel is a
master in this line. His “British Lion,” in
particular, is a most imposing quadruped, and so often in request
that it is not necessary to go back to the famous cartoons on the
Indian mutiny to seek for examples of that magnificent
presence. As a specimen of the artist’s treatment of
the lesser <i>felidæ</i>, the reader’s attention is
invited to this charming little kitten from “Through the
Looking-Glass.”</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a name="image162" href="images/p162b.jpg">
<img alt=
"“The Mad Tea-Party.” From “Alice’s
Adventures in Wonderland,” 1865. Drawn by John Tenniel;
engraved by Dalziel Brothers"
title=
"“The Mad Tea-Party.” From “Alice’s
Adventures in Wonderland,” 1865. Drawn by John Tenniel;
engraved by Dalziel Brothers"
src="images/p162s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>
<a href="images/p163b.jpg">
<img class='floatright' alt=
"Black Kitten. From “Through the Looking-Glass,”
1871. Drawn by John Tenniel; engraved by Dalziel Brothers"
title=
"Black Kitten. From “Through the Looking-Glass,”
1871. Drawn by John Tenniel; engraved by Dalziel Brothers"
src="images/p163s.jpg" />
</a>Mr. Tenniel is a link between Leech and the younger school of
“Punch” artists, of whom Mr. George du Maurier, Mr.
Linley Sambourne, and Mr. Charles Keene are the most
illustrious. The first is nearly as popular as Leech, and
is certainly a greater favourite with cultivated audiences.
He is not so much a humorist as a satirist of the Thackeray
type,—unsparing in his denunciation of shams, affectations,
and flimsy pretences of all kinds. A master of composition
and accomplished draughtsman, he excels in the delineation of
“society”—its bishops, its “professional
beauties” and “æsthetes,” its <i>nouveaux
riches</i>, its distinguished foreigners,—while now and
then (but not too often) he lets us know that if he chose he
could be equally happy in depicting the lowest classes.
There was a bar-room scene not long ago in “Punch”
which gave the clearest evidence of this. Some of those for
whom no good thing is good enough complain, it is said, that he
lacks variety—that he is too constant to one type of
feminine beauty. But any one who will be at the pains to
study a group of conventional “society” faces from
any of his “At Homes” or “Musical
Parties” will speedily discover that they are really very
subtly diversified and contrasted. For a case in point,
take the decorously sympathetic group round the sensitive German
musician, who is <a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
166</span>“veeping” over one of his own
compositions. Or follow the titter running round that
amused assembly to whom the tenor warbler is singing
“Me-e-e-et me once again,” with such passionate
emphasis that the domestic cat mistakes it for a well-known area
cry. As for his ladies, it may perhaps be conceded that his
type is a little persistent. Still it is a type so refined,
so graceful, so attractive altogether, that in the jarring of
less well-favoured realities it is an advantage to have it always
before our eyes as a standard to which we can appeal. Mr.
du Maurier is a fertile book-illustrator, whose hand is
frequently seen in the “Cornhill,” and
elsewhere. Some of his best work of this kind is in Douglas
Jerrold’s “Story of a Feather,” in
Thackeray’s “Ballads,” and the large edition of
the “Ingoldsby Legends,” to which Leech, Tenniel, and
Cruikshank also contributed. One of his prettiest
compositions is the group here reproduced from
“Punch’s Almanack” for 1877. The talent
of his colleague, Mr. Linley Sambourne, may fairly be styled
unique. It is difficult to compare it with anything in its
way, except some of the happier efforts of the late Mr. Charles
Bennett, to which, nevertheless, it is greatly superior in
execution. To this clever artist’s invention
everything seems to present itself with a train of fantastic
accessory so whimsically inexhaustible <a
name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>that it
almost overpowers one with its prodigality. Each fresh
examination of his designs discloses something overlooked or
unexpected. Let the reader study for a moment the famous
“Birds of a Feather” of 1875, or that ingenious skit
of 1877 upon the rival Grosvenor Gallery and Academy, in which
the late President of the latter is shown as the proudest of
peacocks, the eyes of whose tail are portraits of Royal
Academicians, and whose body-feathers are paint brushes and
shillings of admission. Mr. Sambourne is excellent, too, at
adaptations of popular pictures,—witness the more than
happy parodies of Herrman’s “À Bout
d’Arguments,” and “Une Bonne
Histoire.” His book-illustrations have been
comparatively few, those to Burnand’s laughable burlesque
of “Sandford and Merton” being among the best.
Rumour asserts that he is at present engaged upon
Kingsley’s “Water Babies,” a subject which
might almost be supposed to have been created for his
pencil. There are indications, it may be added, that Mr.
Sambourne’s talents are by no means limited to the domain
in which for the present he chooses to exercise them, and it is
not impossible that he may hereafter take high rank as a
cartoonist. Mr. Charles Keene, a selection from whose
sketches has recently been issued under the title of “Our
People,” is <a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
169</span>unrivalled in certain <i>bourgeois</i>, military, and
provincial types. No one can draw a volunteer, a monthly
nurse, a Scotchman, an “ancient mariner” of the
watering-place species, with such absolutely humorous
verisimilitude. Personages, too, in whose eyes—to use
Mr. Swiveller’s euphemism—“the sun has shone
too strongly,” find in Mr. Keene a merciless satirist of
their “pleasant vices.” Like Leech, he has also
a remarkable power of indicating a landscape background with the
fewest possible touches. His book-illustrations have been
mainly confined to magazines and novels. Those in
“Once a Week” to a “Good Fight,” the tale
subsequently elaborated by Charles Reade into the “Cloister
and the Hearth,” present some good specimens of his earlier
work. One of these, in which the dwarf of the story is seen
climbing up a wall with a lantern at his back, will probably be
remembered by many.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a name="image165" href="images/p165b.jpg">
<img alt=
"“The Music of the Past.” From “Punch’s
Almanack,” 1877. Drawn by George du Maurier; engraved by
Swain"
title=
"“The Music of the Past.” From “Punch’s
Almanack,” 1877. Drawn by George du Maurier; engraved by
Swain"
src="images/p165s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a name="image167" href="images/p167b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Lion and Tub. From “Punch’s Pocket-Book,”
1879. Drawn by Linley Sambourne; engraved by Swain"
title=
"Lion and Tub. From “Punch’s Pocket-Book,”
1879. Drawn by Linley Sambourne; engraved by Swain"
src="images/p167s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>After the “Punch” school there are other lesser
luminaries. Mr. W. S. Gilbert’s drawings to his own
inimitable “Bab Ballads” have a perverse drollery
which is quite in keeping with that erratic text. Mr. F.
Barnard, whose exceptional talents have not been sufficiently
recognised, is a master of certain phases of strongly marked
character, and, like Mr. Charles Green, has contributed some
excellent sketches to the “Household <a
name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
170</span>Edition” of Dickens. Mr. Sullivan of
“Fun,” whose grotesque studies of the “British
Tradesman” and “Workman” have recently been
republished, has abounding <i>vis comica</i>, but he has hitherto
done little in the way of illustrating books. For minute
pictorial stocktaking and photographic retention of detail, Mr.
Sullivan’s artistic memory may almost be compared to the
wonderful literary memory of Mr. Sala. Mr. John Proctor,
who some years ago (in “Will o’ the Wisp”)
seemed likely to rival Tenniel as a cartoonist, has not been very
active in this way; while Mr. Matthew Morgan, the clever artist
of the “Tomahawk,” has transferred his services to
the United States. Of Mr. Bowcher of “Judy,”
and various other professedly humorous designers, space permits
no further mention.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>There remains, however, one popular branch of
book-illustration, which has attracted the talents of some of the
most skilful and original of modern draughtsmen, i.e. the
embellishment of children’s books. From the days when
Mulready drew the old “Butterfly’s Ball” and
“Peacock at Home” of our youth, to those of the
delightfully Blake-like fancies of E. V. B., whose
“Child’s Play” has recently been re-published
for the delectation of a new generation of admirers, this has
always been a <a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
171</span>popular and profitable employment; but of late years it
has been raised to the level of a fine art. Mr. H. S.
Marks, Mr. J. D. Watson, Mr. Walter Crane, have produced
specimens of nursery literature which, for refinement of
colouring and beauty of ornament, cannot easily be
surpassed. The equipments of the last named, especially,
are of a very high order. He began as a landscapist on
wood; he now chiefly devotes himself to the figure; and he seems
to have the decorative art at his fingers’ ends as a
natural gift. Such work as “King Luckieboy’s
Party” was a <a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
172</span>revelation in the way of toy books, while the
“Baby’s Opera” and “Baby’s
Bouquet” are <i>petits chefs d’oeuvre</i>, of which
the sagacious collector will do well to secure copies, not for
his nursery, but his library. Nor can his “Mrs. Mundi
at Home” be neglected by the curious in quaint and graceful
invention. <a name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14"
class="citation">[14]</a> Another book—the
“Under the Window” of Miss Kate Greenaway—comes
within the same category. Since Stothard, no one has given
us such a clear-eyed, soft-faced, happy-hearted childhood; or so
poetically “apprehended” the coy reticences, the
simplicities, and the small solemnities of little people.
Added to this, the old-world costume in which she usually elects
to clothe her characters, lends an arch piquancy of contrast to
their innocent rites and ceremonies. Her taste in tinting,
too, is very sweet and spring-like; and there is a fresh, pure
fragrance about all her pictures as of new-gathered nosegays; or,
perhaps, looking to the fashions that she favours, it would be
better to say “bow-pots.” But the latest
“good genius” of this branch of book-illustrating is
Mr. Randolph Caldecott, a designer assuredly of the very first
order. There is a spontaneity of fun, an unforced invention
about everything he does, that is infinitely entertaining.
Other <a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
174</span>artists draw to amuse us; Mr. Caldecott seems to draw
to amuse himself,—and this is his charm. One feels
that he must have chuckled inwardly as he puffed the cheeks of
his “Jovial Huntsmen;” or sketched that inimitably
complacent dog in the “House that Jack Built;” or
exhibited the exploits of the immortal “train-band
captain” of “famous London town.” This
last is his masterpiece. Cowper himself must have rejoiced
at it,—and Lady Austen. There are two sketches in
this book—they occupy the concluding pages—which are
especially fascinating. On one, John Gilpin, in a forlorn
and flaccid condition, is helped into the house by the
sympathising (and very attractive) Betty; on the other he has
donned his slippers, refreshed his inner man with a cordial, and
over the heaving shoulder of his “spouse,” who lies
dissolved upon his martial bosom, he is taking the spectators
into his confidence with a wink worthy of the late Mr.
Buckstone. Nothing more genuine, more heartily laughable,
than this set of designs has appeared in our day. And Mr.
Caldecott has few limitations. Not only does he draw human
nature admirably, but he draws animals and landscapes equally
well, so one may praise him without reserve. Though not
children’s books, mention should here be made of his
“Bracebridge Hall,” and “Old Christmas,”
the <a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
175</span>illustrations to which are the nearest approach to that
<i>beau-ideal</i>, perfect sympathy between the artist and the
author, with which the writer is acquainted. The cut on
page 173 is from the former of these works.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p171b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Boy and Hippocampus. From Miss E. Keary’s “Magic
Valley,” 1877. Drawn by “E. V. B.” (Hon. Mrs.
Boyle); engraved by T. Quartley"
title=
"Boy and Hippocampus. From Miss E. Keary’s “Magic
Valley,” 1877. Drawn by “E. V. B.” (Hon. Mrs.
Boyle); engraved by T. Quartley"
src="images/p171s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a name="image173" href="images/p173b.jpg">
<img alt=
"“Love Charms.” From Irving’s
“Bracebridge Hall,” 1876. Drawn by Randolph
Caldecott; engraved by J. D. Cooper"
title=
"“Love Charms.” From Irving’s
“Bracebridge Hall,” 1876. Drawn by Randolph
Caldecott; engraved by J. D. Cooper"
src="images/p173s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>Many of the books above mentioned are printed in colours by
various processes, and they are not always engraved on
wood. But—to close the account of modern
wood-engraving—some brief reference must be made to what is
styled the “new American School,” as exhibited for
the most part in “Scribner’s” and other
Transatlantic magazines. Authorities, it is reported, shake
their heads over these performances. “<i>C’est
magnifique</i>, <i>mais ce nest pas la gravure</i>,” they
whisper. Into the matter in dispute, it is perhaps
presumptuous for an “atechnic” to adventure
himself. But to the outsider it would certainly seem as if
the chief ground of complaint is that the new comers do not play
the game according to the old rules, and that this (alleged)
irregular mode of procedure tends to lessen the status of the
engraver as an artist. False or true, this, it may fairly
be advanced, has nothing whatever to do with the matter, as far,
at least, as the public are concerned. For them the
question is, simply and solely—What is the result <a
name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
176</span>obtained? The new school, availing themselves
largely of the assistance of photography, are able to dispense,
in a great measure, with the old tedious method of drawing on the
block, and to leave the artist to choose what medium he prefers
for his design—be it oil, water-colour, or black and
white—concerning themselves only to reproduce its
characteristics on the wood. This is, of course, a
deviation from the method of Bewick. But would Bewick have
adhered to his method in these days? Even in his last hours
he was seeking for new processes. What we want is to get
nearest to the artist himself with the least amount of
interpretation or intermediation on the part of the
engraver. Is engraving on copper to be reproduced, we want
a facsimile if possible, and not a rendering into something which
is supposed to be the orthodox utterance of wood-engraving.
Take, for example, the copy of Schiavonetti’s engraving of
Blake’s <i>Death’s Door</i> in
“Scribner’s Magazine” for June 1880, or the cut
from the same source at page 131 of this book. These are
faithful line for line transcriptions, as far as wood can give
them, of the original copper-plates; and, this being the case, it
is not to be wondered at that the public, who, for a few pence
can have practical facsimiles of Blake, of Cruikshank, or of
Whistler, are loud in their appreciation of the <a
name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 177</span>“new
American School.” Nor are its successes confined to
reproduction in facsimile. Those who look at the exquisite
illustrations, in the same periodical, to the “Tile Club at
Play,” to Roe’s “Success with Small
Fruits,” and Harris’s “Insects Injurious to
Vegetation,”—to say nothing of the selected specimens
in the recently issued “Portfolios”—will see
that the latest comers can hold their own on all fields with any
school that has gone before. <a name="citation15"></a><a
href="#footnote15" class="citation">[15]</a></p>
<p>Besides copperplate and wood, there are many processes which
have been and are still employed for book-illustrations, although
the brief limits of this chapter make any account of them
impossible. Lithography was at one time very popular, and,
in books like Roberts’s “Holy Land,”
exceedingly effective. The “Etching Club”
issued a number of books <i>circa</i> 1841–52; and most of
the work of “Phiz” and Cruikshank was done with the
needle. It is probable that, as we have already seen, the
impetus given to modern etching by Messrs. Hamerton, Seymour
Haden, and Whistler, will lead to a specific revival of etching
as a means of book-illustration. Already beautiful etchings
have for some time appeared in “L’Art,” <a
name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>the
“Portfolio,” and the “Etcher;” and at
least one book of poems has been entirely illustrated in this
way,—the poems of Mr. W. Bell Scott. For reproducing
old engravings, maps, drawings, and the like, it is not too much
to say that we shall never get anything much closer than the
facsimiles of M. Amand-Durand and the Typographic Etching and
Autotype Companies. But further improvements will probably
have to be made before these can compete commercially with
wood-engraving as practised by the “new American
School.”</p>
<blockquote><p><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
179</span>“Of making many books,” ’twais
said,<br />
“There is no end;” and who thereon<br />
The ever-running ink doth shed<br />
But probes the words of Solomon:<br />
Wherefore we now, for colophon,<br />
From London’s city drear and dark,<br />
In the year Eighteen Eight-One,<br />
Reprint them at the press of Clark.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">A. D.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2>
<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1"
class="footnote">[1]</a> This is the technical name for
people who “illustrate” books with engravings from
other works. The practice became popular when Granger
published his “Biographical History of England.”</p>
<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2"
class="footnote">[2]</a> Mr. William Blades, in his
“Enemies of Books” (Trübner, 1880), decries
glass-doors,—“the absence of ventilation will assist
the formation of mould.” But M. Rouveyre bids us open
the doors on sunny days, that the air may be renewed, and, close
them in the evening hours, lest moths should enter and lay their
eggs among the treasures. And, with all deference to Mr.
Blades, glass-doors do seem to be useful in excluding dust.</p>
<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3"
class="footnote">[3]</a> “Send him back carefully,
for you can if you like, that all unharmed he may return to his
own place.”</p>
<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4"
class="footnote">[4]</a> No wonder the books are scarce, if
they are being hacked to pieces by Grangerites.</p>
<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5"
class="footnote">[5]</a> These lines appeared in
“Notes and Queries,” Jan. 8, 1881.</p>
<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6"
class="footnote">[6]</a> In the Golden Ass of Apuleius,
which Polia should not have read.</p>
<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7"
class="footnote">[7]</a> M. Arsène Houssaye seems to
think he has found them; marked on the fly-leaves with an
impression, in wax, of a seal engraved with the head of
Epicurus.</p>
<p><a name="footnote123"></a><a href="#citation123"
class="footnote">[123]</a> This chapter was written by
Austin Dobson.—DP</p>
<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9"
class="footnote">[9]</a> The recent Winter Exhibition of
the Old Masters (1881) contained a fine display of
Flaxman’s drawings, a large number of which belonged to Mr.
F. T. Palgrave.</p>
<p><a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10"
class="footnote">[10]</a> By Mr. Cosmo Monkhouse.</p>
<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11"
class="footnote">[11]</a> These words were written before
the “Art Journal” had published its programme for
1881. From this it appears that the present editor fully
recognises the necessity for calling in the assistance of the
needle.</p>
<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12"
class="footnote">[12]</a> The example, here copied on the
wood by M. Lacour, is a very successful reproduction of
Clennell’s style.</p>
<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13"
class="footnote">[13]</a> He also illustrated the
“Memoirs of Joseph Grimaldi.” But this was
simply “edited” by “Boz.”</p>
<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14"
class="footnote">[14]</a> The reader will observe that this
volume is indebted to Mr. Crane for its beautiful
frontispiece.</p>
<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15"
class="footnote">[15]</a> Since this paragraph was first
written an interesting paper on the illustrations in
“Scribner,” from the pen of Mr. J. Comyns Carr, has
appeared in “L’Art.”</p>
<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIBRARY***</p>
<pre>
***** This file should be named 2018-h.htm or 2018-h.zip******
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/1/2018
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive
specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook
for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports,
performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given
away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks
not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the
trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
1.E.8.
1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country outside the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you
are located before using this ebook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
provided that
* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation."
* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
works.
* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The
Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the
mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its
volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous
locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt
Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to
date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and
official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
For additional contact information:
Dr. Gregory B. Newby
Chief Executive and Director
gbnewby@pglaf.org
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org
This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
</pre></body>
</html>
|
