there must be both a judgment and a fervor; a discrimination and a boyish eagerness; and (with all due humility) something of a point of contact between authors worth reading and the reader.—leigh hunt, my books.
a truly good book is something as natural and as unexpectedly and unaccountably fair and perfect as a wild flower discovered on the prairies of the west or in the jungles of the east.—thoreau.
certain selfish satisfaction i enjoy in reading a fine limited edition of a classic, or a choice work that is difficult to procure. it is like possessing a gem of an uncommon color, a piece of old chinese glaze, or any rare art object. if the work itself possess intrinsic value i am sure of my investment, while i rejoice in its attractive guise. reading thus becomes more than a pleasure; it is an exquisite luxury. i marvel who secures all the “number 1’s” of the large-paper editions. some bibliotaphe must have a monumental collection, for nobody ever sees one.
251“the passion for first editions, the purest of all passions,” some one remarks. i confess i do not share this passion in its intensity, in all cases, unless the first edition be superior in letterpress or form, or a later edition has been altered, condensed, or enlarged to its disadvantage. the classics in first editions, and the “old melodious lays” in first folios by all means, if you can afford and procure them; gibbon, macaulay, scott, dickens, and the rest of the historians and novelists in the easiest, most attractive page to read and hold in the hand, whatever the edition. this with reference to literature proper, and not to scientific works, of which latter the latest edition is naturally to be preferred.
i sometimes find myself picturing the author behind the page. lang and dobson, are they as merry as the songs they sing? phil robinson, is he half so pleasant a companion in the flesh as on the printed page? bullen, who edits the old poets with such consummate taste, is he as jolly as the elizabethan lyrics ever swarming on the tip of his tongue? higginson, so tender and musical in his polished prose, i wonder does he lose his temper when the sauce piquante proves a failure? the brilliant, entertaining philosopher of a club of one, is he philosophical enough to eschew colchicum for his gout; and, i marvel, is 252he enrolled among the brotherhood of the merry eye?
perhaps the author is most charming, for the most part, between the covers. on paper he is always on his good behavior, his personal facets shaped so as to catch the most favorable light. knowing him and meeting him in every-day life you might find him cold, arrogant, opinionated—an altogether disagreeable companion. forgetful of the flight of time, he might be prone to argument or backbiting. he might be deaf or color-blind, and always late at his engagements. he might be constantly straddling a hobby-horse. he might be an incorrigible whistler, or possess an ungovernable temper. all his petty weaknesses and foibles he conceals, or tries to conceal, on the printed page.
thus, joseph boulmier:
oui, les hommes sont laids, mais leurs œuvres sont belles;
les hommes sont méchants, mais leurs livres sont bons.
men are unlovely, but their works are fair—
ay, men are evil, but their books are good.
if, as has been asserted, he is the best author who gives the reader the most knowledge and takes from him the least time, surely the olive crown should be awarded the composers of the compilations, the digests, and the anthologies, often the fruit of decades spent in poring over manuscripts 253and print. little do we consider the pains they have cost. what an amount of rummaging through faded manuscripts, what ransacking of musty folios and plodding through by-ways of the past has it not required to produce bullen’s smiling volumes from the song-books, masques, and pageants of the elizabethan age, and his other rarer anthologies, speculum amantis and musa proterva. the works themselves of very many of the authors quoted would be a veritable labor to wade through, with few fragrant flowers of poesy to perfume the way. all this the compiler spares us, and with catholic taste gathers a blossom here and a blossom there from the vast fields of little-known song. equally does mr. bullen deserve the thanks of every lover of lyric poetry for his collection of campion’s works, and the chiswick press the tribute of all admirers of beautiful printing for the frame in which campion’s “golden cadence” has been set.
by reading hazlitt’s gleanings in old garden literature i am saved the fatigue of perusing countless uninteresting tomes on the subject. he has extracted the honey for me from innumerable flowers. yet my parkinson, my gerarde, my evelyn, my bacon i must read between the lines myself; it is to the dull books he has been the bee for me. to gather the sweets is often 254a difficult and always a laborious task. not these plodding compilers, the class who are referred to in the wise old precept, the source of which i have never been able to trace: “those who do not practice what they preach resemble those sign-posts in the country which point out the weary way to the traveler without taking the trouble of traversing it themselves.”
without doubt, among the most beloved of books are those written for pure love of the beautiful, distinct from literary ambition or posthumous fame, especially when to this is added a sympathetic, lucid, and unconscious style, such as we love to linger over in the complete angler or white’s selborne. walton himself has epitomized this charm in a line introductory to his angling idyl: “i wish the reader also to take notice that in the writing of it i have made myself a recreation of a recreation.”
johnson has said books that you may carry to the fire and hold readily in your hand are the most useful, after all. before johnson, and long before printing was dreamed of, an old greek proverb held that a great book was a great evil, and martial wrote:
buy books that but one hand engage,
in parchment bound, with tiny page.
assuredly, the little book is a delight. it is a joy in the hand when well bound, and 255may serve to take the place of fire-arms in a public conveyance where one otherwise might find himself at the mercy of an uncongenial or too loquacious passenger. but the life of the library were dull were it confined to the 18 and 24 mos. let each book and each subject have its appropriate setting, and let there be variety of sizes. the majesty of the shelves were fled without the thick quarto and tall old folio.
apart from de bury, dibdin, disraeli, burton, didot, janin, the bibliophile jacob, and other universally known bibliographical writers, there are innumerable pleasant books on books. of such, in addition to those previously alluded to, may be specified lang’s books and bookmen and the library; the pleasures of a bookworm and the diversions of a bookworm, by j. rogers rees, delightfully written volumes attractively printed by elliott stock; alexander ireland’s book-lover’s enchiridion; saunder’s the story of some famous books; wheatley’s the dedication of books, and how to form a library, the latter three volumes likewise daintily printed by elliott stock in the series of the book-lovers’ library.
in a club corner, by a. p. russell, a volume previously mentioned, is largely devoted to books and authors. a store-house of literary and bibliographical information 256exists between the covers of library notes, and characteristics, by the same author. books and how to use them is the title of an instructive and entertaining small duodecimo by j. c. van dyke, librarian of the sage library, new brunswick, n. j., a writer deep versed in books, but not shallow in himself. brander mathews’s ballads of books, or lang’s recast of this volume, is a most excellently chosen collection of poems relating to books. every one will read with pleasure percy fitzgerald’s the book fancier, or the romance of book-collecting, a work replete with curious information. the french scholar has a host of kindred works to choose from, all written de cœur; for in france the passion for books, book-collecting, fine letterpress, and fine bindings exists to a greater degree than anywhere else. it was a frenchman, the famed bouquineur nodier, who worried through life without a copy of virgil “because he could not succeed in finding the ideal virgil of his dreams.”
what instructive, sparkling volumes are these: l’enfer du bibliophile, mes livres, connaissances nécessaires à un bibliophile, derome’s le luxe des livres and the two beautifully-printed and entertaining volumes, causeries d’un ami des livres, le petit’s l’art d’aimer les livres, peignot’s manuel du bibliophile, octave uzanne’s 257caprices d’un bibliophile, mouravit’s petite bibliothèque d’amateur, jacob’s les amateurs de vieux livres, and how many more!
i know of no more fascinating volume of its class, however, than de resbecq’s voyages littéraires sur les quais de paris, paris, a. durand, 1857. the contents are in the form of letters from an indefatigable hunter of the book-stalls along the seine to a fellow-bibliophile in the provinces. daily, through summer’s sun and winter’s cold, he continues the chase, scenting the spoils of the stalls like a harrier beating the ground for game, chatting with the book dealers, and philosophizing as he scans the volumes. among the many prizes which persistent foragings secured was a copy of that rarest of the elzevirs, the pastissier françois. the volume had been denuded of its covers, but had the engraved title-page, the celebrated scène de cuisine with the range, the tables, the cooks, and the fowls entirely intact. “the box in which this jewel reposed, its interior in perfect preservation, contained no price-mark.
“‘how much?’ said i to the merchant.
“‘well, for you, six sous; is it too dear?’”
i recall few more delightful books for the bibliophile than jules richard’s beautifully-printed small volume l’art de former 258une bibliothèque, published by edouard rouveyre, paris, 1883. his advice to the collector, which terminates the preface, is well worth transcribing:
“always distrust your enthusiasm.
“distrust the enormous prices at which certain original editions of secondary authors are quoted. for acknowledged genius one can afford to pay generously, but for the others, how many disappointments the future has in store!
“never pay a high price for a book you do not know.
“verify the titles, the pagination, the tables, and count the plates, if it is an illustrated book.
“the same observation holds good for editions on extraordinary paper of books absolutely ordinary. whatman and vellum require to be well placed in order to sustain their value.
“one knows when he begins to collect, one never knows when he will cease; therein consists the pleasure.”
a work of much interest is that of philomeste junior (gustave brunet), published in four small brochure volumes severally entitled la bibliomanie en 1878, 1880, 1881, 1883, ou bibliographie rétrospective des adjudications les plus remarquables faites cette année, et de la valeur primitive de ces ouvrages. it is in france that bibliomania 259seems to have reached its apotheosis. la bibliomanie furnishes some interesting facts with regard to the steady advance in the prices of certain classes of french books. “fashion dictates her laws for the choice of books as for the toilet of fashionable ladies; they are without appeal.” to be the happy possessor of a cabinet in which are enshrined a dozen tomes of unexceptional condition, illustrated by celebrated eighteenth-century artists like eisen, gravelot, moreau, marillier, and bound by du seuil, padeloup, derome, or trautz, calls for an elastic portemonnaie.
to cite a few examples of the advance in french books, paralleled also in english books, a copy of manon lescaut (1753) sold in 1839 for 109 frs., in 1870 for 355 frs., in 1875 for 1,335 frs. the edition of montaigne’s essays: bourdens, s. millanges, 1580, two parts in one octavo vol., sold for 24 frs., in 1784. the same copy recently sold for 2,060 frs. another edition of the essays, 1725, 3 vols. 4to, with the arms of the maréchal de luxembourg, brought 2,900 frs. for the “arms.” still another edition, paris, 1669, 3 vols., 12mo, a poor edition, brought 1,960 frs. at the cormon sale, paris, 1883. it had the stamp of the golden fleece, the insignia of longpierre, a mediocre poet, and the purchaser paid for the fleece. the edition of 2601595, paris, chez a. l’angelier, 1 vol., infol. veau, brought 1,100 frs., in 1881. a “clean and sound copy” of this edition in the original calf was quoted in a recent london catalogue at £12 12s., another london dealer pricing a copy of the same edition soon afterward at £60.
the edition of 1588, paris, abel l’angelier, in 4, mar., du seuil, was recently quoted by morgand who is termed la bourse des livres, at 4,000 frs. this was the last edition published during the author’s lifetime, and the first to contain the third book. it was marked on the frontispiece “fifth edition,” though only three are known to have preceded it. the library of bordeaux possesses an example of this edition filled with annotations and corrections by the hand of montaigne. up to the present time, no editor of the essais has availed himself of these resources, of inestimable value from the point of view of the study of the text of montaigne. it would be of more than passing interest to know whether in these corrections the author mitigated his observation with regard to authors correcting their work.
a copy of the pastissier françois, bound by trautz, was purchased not long since by a french amateur for 4,100 frs. in 1883 a copy sold for 3,100 frs., at the sale of m. delestre-cormon, paris. “this 261broché copy, uncut (extremely rare in this condition), cost its owner 10,000 frs.; it has suffered a justifiable reduction. despite the entire absence of interest it presents, this volume being the least known of the elzevir collection, it has often obtained enormous prices, but they are not sustained; it has been recognized that its rarity has been exaggerated.”
among the numerous causes, especially in france, which operate in the value of a volume are previous distinguished ownership, and the garb of an illustrious binder. in books the habit frequently makes the “monk.” it is sufficient for a mediocre work to be emblazoned with the crest of pompadour or to have been fingered by du barry to make it worth its weight in gold. all their légèretés are freely forgiven by the bibliophile in view of the lovely bindings with which they clothed their books. of recent years, as is well known, the greek and latin classics have found far less favor than they did a few years since. in france, and equally in england, the craze is for first editions of standard works, for rare works, for works formerly belonging to some distinguished personage, for rare or beautiful bindings, and for special beauty of letterpress or illustration.
a late illustrated catalogue, issued by bouton, the new york bookseller, furnishes 262some interesting facts with regard to the increase in the price of books in this country. if we consider the rapidly advancing taste for literature in america, it is safe to predict that it will not be long before rare and valuable books will be as generally sought for here as they are in france and england, and become as well distributed as are the choice treasures of the world of art which find the highest competition in the metropolis of the new world.
reviewing the book trade of the past thirty years, a retrospect shows that year by year the competition for rare and standard books has become more keen and the older ones necessarily more and more difficult to procure. “in the english book-centers,” says the reviewer, “besides a large home demand, the purchases for the united states and the english colonies keep up a steady stream outward, and first editions must sooner or later become unattainable, as they will ultimately find a place in public institutions.” comparing the prices quoted in early catalogues with those of to-day, for instance, a copy of the abbotsford edition of scott’s works, 17 vols., handsomely whole-bound, priced twenty-five years since at $125, is now priced at $225. the pickering chaucer, then priced at $10, is now held at $30. major walpole’s anecdotes, priced $22.50, is in the present catalogue 263at $75. rowlandson’s dance of death at $6.50 and the dance of life at $1.75 have advanced to $75, for the three volumes. in catalogue no. 2 a fine copy of purchas’s pilgrims is quoted at $175. a similar copy would now command $500. in catalogue no. 3 a fine copy of the nuremberg chronicle is priced at $35; in the present catalogue a copy is priced $150. based upon an experience of over thirty years, the reviewer asserts that, however fashion may change and this or that class of books come into or pass out of vogue, good sterling books of real merit will always be in demand, while the first editions of the works of great writers will continue to rise steadily in value, and will be prized as long as the english language is spoken.
la chasse aux bouquins is not without its disappointments and surprises. time and again one misses the mark, finally to secure a rare prize. a captivating title is not always a safe target. appearances are deceitful in book-titles, and the old book catalogues have very winning ways. the two bound volumes of les trois mousquetaires, which i picked up in a book-stall along the quay at paris years ago, contained a pencil drawing of porthos inserted between the fly-leaf and title-page of volume i, worth a hundred times their cost. 264fortunately, they had escaped de resbecq. whether edouard olin, the artist whose name figures below, ever exhibited a picture in the salon subsequently, i do not know. but his porthos is a marvel of conception and execution that would have delighted dumas and that would honor détaille.
a german catalogue was the means of procuring me, at half the original cost of the volume, a clean and perfect copy of joseph boulmier’s rimes loyales. paris: poulet-malassis et de brosse, 1857. the copy contains on the false title the author’s ex dono to mademoiselle andréa bourgeois, and on the reverse of the title-page, in the same singularly neat handwriting, signed “j. b.,” is a poem of six stanzas, scarcely exceeded in beauty and finish by any from the pen of the author of rimes loyales or les villanelles. the lines are entitled du haut de montmartre, the first and sixth stanzas being identical, and reading as follows:
l’aigle n’habite pas au fond de la vallée
il choisit pour son aire une cime isolée,
et c’est de là qu’il part, libre et capricieux.
le poète est semblable à l’aigle magnanime:
il aime les hauteurs où l’air vif le ranime,
où, plus loin de la terre, il est plus près des cieux.
a friend and tom folio, who devours the old book catalogues, saw this advertisement a short time since in an english pamphlet: 265“machiavelli (nicolo). opere, 11 vols., 4to, whole-bound russia extra, gilt edges, with portrait, printed throughout on blue paper (only eight copies so made), a most superb set. milan, 1810.... £4.” he cabled for it and secured it. it proved a blue diamond. within a week after receiving it he was offered two hundred dollars for the work. within a fortnight he disposed of it for three hundred dollars, a sufficient advance to make a large addition to his library.
many tempting and deceptive titles occur under the heading of “curious” and “facetiæ,” but experience will cause one to fight shy of catching titles and annotations unless one knows the work to be meritorious. frequently the gold is in the tooling, and the pure ore concealed beneath an unattractive cover. perhaps the windfalls are more than offset by the disappointments. inviting volume after inviting volume will present itself when one is not in the humor, thrusting itself before you in the book-stalls and auction sales, mutely appealing to you to become its possessor, only to elude you when you earnestly desire it.
but auction sales are dangerous, and are apt to lead to lapses and excesses that one would not commit in calmer moments. there it is difficult to decide dispassionately, while the lots invariably bring far higher 266prices than if obtained in the ordinary way. even those of stern judgment are led into purchases they afterward regret, carried away by the excitement of the moment. the seductive voice of the auctioneer, the passion for possession, the rivalry of the bidders, and the excitement of the hour, all exert their influence and combine to weaken even the most stoical and wary. the fly is placed temptingly upon the current, and instantly it is seized.
again, you dive into the foreign book pamphlets, where a coveted treasure is catalogued, almost inevitably upon application to find it “sold,” the prize is so far out of reach. but how elated you are when you do secure a long-sought prize, and after repeated attempts a tall old copy in perfect condition and in lovely first letterpress rewards your endeavors!
sainte-beuve speaks of “the smiling and sensible grace of charles lamb.” i am inclined to think the latter’s characteristic good humor was in part due to the facility with which he procured the rare old editions he loved. they were easier to lift from the shelves in lamb’s days than now, and the old book-dealer possessed far less “imperfect sympathies” than the hardened modern autolycus.
my interpretation of montaigne by florio, “thick folio, large copy, old calf, neat, 267scarce, 1632,” and its predecessor of 1613 that lend such dignity to their companions in old calf, were not obtained without persistent efforts. sometimes i think many of my old books are not unlike sir roger de coverley’s fox, whose brush cost him fifteen hours’ riding, carried him through half a dozen counties, killed him a brace of geldings, and lost above half his dogs. but one’s rare editions need no brass nails to record their bewitching title-pages or mark their place amid the vistas of the shelves.
preferable to the editions of 1613 and 1603 is the later edition, the former lacking the index, though containing the fine portrait of the translator by hole. florio’s strong and masterly english has well reflected the original. i regard his translation as far superior to the more generally accepted version by cotton. cotton is frequently more literal; but florio, despite not unfrequent interpolations and slight departures, comes nearer to the coloring and picturesqueness of the text. take the spirited passage of the hare and the harrier, for instance:
ce liéure qu’ vn leurier imagine en songe: apres lequel nous le voyons haleter en dormant, allonger la queuë, secoüer les jarrets, & representer parfaitement les mouuemens de sa course: c’est vn liéure sans poil & sans os.—book ii, chap. xii.
the hare that a grey-hound imagines in his sleep, after which we see him pant so whilst he sleeps, stretch 268out his tail, shake his legs, and perfectly represent all the motions of a course, is a hare without furr and without bones.—cotton’s translation.
that hare, which a grey-hound imagineth in his dreame, after whom as he sleepeth we see him bay, quest, yelp, and snort, stretch out his taile, shake his legs, and perfectly represent the motions of his course; the same is a hare without bones, without haire.—florio’s translation.
equally well rendered, and an excellent specimen of the translator’s style, is the passage of volumnius referring to the election of certain roman citizens as consuls: “they are men borne unto warre, of high spirits, of great performance, and able to effect anything; but rude, simple, and unarted in the combat of talking; minds truly consulare. they only are good pretors, to do justice in the citie that are subtile, cautelous, well-spoken, wily, and lip-wise.” florid and redundant, florio nevertheless employed his words as walton did his frog; and in numerous passages he out-montaignes montaigne, his vocabulary, as montaigne says of the italian cook’s, being “stuffed with rich, magnificent words and well-couched phrases; yea, such as learned men use and employ in speaking of the government of an empire.”
speaking of florio’s rendition, the sonnet concerning the honour of bookes—
since honour from the honorer proceeds,
269etc.—is well known. not so familiar, however, the preceding lines, likewise prefixed to the editions of 1613 and 1632, and relating equally to books. the sonnet, which has no name attached and which was naturally attributed to the translator, is now generally thought by critics to be by his friend daniel, “of whom it is abundantly worthy, and, indeed, most characteristic in sentiment and diction,” observes david main. the somewhat extended eulogium of author and translator is worth transcribing for those who may not be familiar with it. it corroborates, withal, a view regarding the increasing multitude of books, a multitude increased a thousand-fold since daniel’s time, that i have previously touched upon. relating as it does to the french philosopher, it may well be diffusive.
but no extended transcription of an old author can stand out upon a modern page with the vividness it does in a well-preserved old edition. apart from the charm of antiquity, the old edition has an added virtue which the new edition lacks—the odor that clings to a venerable tome, a fragrance as of the everlasting or immortelle of the autumn fields, lingering amid its ancient leaves. nor is this altogether fancy; the faded pages recall the ashen hue of the flower, and like it they survive to preach the sermon of immortality.
270daniel’s lines are thus inscribed: “to my deare brother and friend m. john florio, one of the gentlemen of her majesties most royall privie chamber”:
books, like superfluous humors bred with ease,
so stuffe the world, as it becomes opprest
with taking more than it can well digest;
and now are turnd to be a great disease.
for by this overcharging we confound
the appetite of skill they had before:
there be’ng no end of words, nor any bound
set to conceit the ocean without shore.
as if man laboured with himselfe to be
as infinite in writing, as intents;
and draw his manifold uncertaintie
in any shape that passion represents:
that these innumerable images
and figures of opinion and discourse
draw’n out in leaves, may be the witnesses
of our defects much rather than our force.
———————
but yet although wee labour with this store
and with the presse of writings seeme opprest,
and have too many bookes, yet want wee more,
feeling great dearth and scarcenesse of the best;
which cast in choicer shapes have been produc’d,
to give the best proportions to the minde
of our confusion, and have introduc’d
the likeliest images frailtie can finde,
and wherein most the skill-desiring soule
takes her delight, the best of all delight,
and where her motions evenest come to rowle
about this doubtful center of the right.
———————
wrap excellencie up never so much
in hierogliphicques, ciphers, caracters,
and let her speake never so strange a speech,
her genius yet findes apt discipherers:
271and never was she borne to dye obscure,
but guided by the starres of her owne grace,
makes her owne fortune, and is ever sure
in mans best hold to hold the strongest place.
and let the critick say the worst he can,
he cannot say but that montaigne yet
yeelds most rich peeces and extracts of man;
though in a troubled frame confus’dly set,
which yet h’is blest that he hath ever seene,
and therefore as a guest in gratefulnesse,
for the great good the house yeelds him within
might spare to tax th’ unapt convoyances.
but this breath hurts not, for both work and frame,
whilst england english speakes, is of that store
and that choice stuffe as that without the same
the richest librarie can be but poore
and they unblest who letters doe professe
and have him not: whose owne fate beats their want
with more sound blowes than alcibiades
did his pedante that did homer want.
my 1603 folio florio bound by roger payne, my foppens’s elzevir with autograph and annotations of molière, my 1580 bourdens edition placed in its robe of honor by derome—all these my ship contained among her precious stores.
