THE BOOB-FANCIER.•
BOOKS about books have of late been plentiful; but they have been written with different objects, and there is no competition between works like Mr. Frederic Harrison's and the amusing gossip and curious information brought together by Mr. Fitzgerald. Ignorant persons are apt to suppose that the chief end of books is to be read ; but this is not the opinion of the bibliomaniac. In his eyes, books are made to ba hunted as the sportsman hunts game, and his joy is in die- covering not what is good, but what is scarce. A writer of our day has said, with pleasant exaggeration, that the loss of an arm or a leg would be a alight price for a genuine student to pay, if only he could discover one new fact about Shakespeare's history ; but if this be true of the student, it is quite as true of the book-hunter. What sacrifice will he not make, what weeks, months, and even years will he not spend, in search of some volume precious for its rarity, or possibly for its binding P The pursuit is one, but the quarry is various ; and as Mr. Burton, a famous " hunter," has said, a man may be " a black- letter man, or a tall copyist, or an uncut man, or a rough- edge man, or an early-English dramatist, or an old-brown- calf man, or a Grangerite, or a tawny moroccoite, or a gilt topper, or a marbled insider, or an editio.princeps man." Whatever field the collector chooses, the pursuit is equally exciting, though the prizes differ in value from the possession of a Mezarin Bible to the ownership of a first edition of Keats or of Tennyson. The joy is in the search almost as much as in the possession. A well-known naturalist describes how his breath came gaspingly and thick, and his heart almost ceased to beat, on discovering, when in the East, a new butterfly ; and this is the kind of tremulous feeling with which the excited book-hunter pounces ou his prey. Unfortunately, every year the game grows rarer, and its value is better under- stood. Mr. Fitzgerald almost seems to imply that the col- lector's "happy hunting days" are well-nigh over. "The system," he writes, "of old-book dealing' has been so per- fected or methodised, that the days for the. patient explorer going his rounds with the certainty of ' picking up,' as it was called, some treasure or rarity, seem to have departed. The value of everything really worth anything is known; no hunting • The Book-Fancier ; or, the Romance of Book-Collecting. By Percy Fitzgerald. London Sampson Low and Co.
in book-bores or on the outside shelves of the stall will discover a prize. The finding an old quarto Shakespeare bound up with a lot of tracts is a dream." We do not believe, however, that the stall-haunting collector's vocation is over, though his prizes may be fewer than of old. Mr. Fitzgerald states in the Preface that there has of late years been "a revival of the old and elegant taste ;" but surely this revival indicates that the pursuit still brings its recompense. As Southey and Macaulay loved the book-stalls years ago, so, the writer informs us, Mr. Gladstone does now; but the man of letters, unlike the collector, picks up books not to put them under glass cases, but to use them.
Mr. Fitzgerald has much to say that is interesting about early printed books, and he points out that every incident connected with the making of a book was to be found within ten years of the introduction of printing almost the same as it is now ; and he adds that the very first editions of Homer, Virgil, Horace, Dante, and the Imitation of Christ "remain, strange to relate, the most dignified forms in which they have ever appeared. They are grand, solid, substantial, well printed, and well edited (for the time)." The careful hand-labour of those days produced far more perfect work than the machinery of our time, and though many of the volumes now issued are extremely attractive in appearance, it may be questioned whether either paper or print will stand the test of time. Too often the one is flimsy and the other becomes faint or discoloured, shoddy, unfortunately, being frequently favoured in the book trade as well as by Manchester manufacturers. Among the best of nineteenth-century printers were the Ballantynes. Their press, Mr. Fitzgerald observes, "under the inspiration of Sir Walter Scott, issued marvels of brilliant and effective printing which seem to ripen with age," and he adds, with perfect truth, that the author's favourite edition of the " Waverleys," published nearly sixty years ago, is superior in brilliance of type to later editions of more show and pretence. And the first editions of the poems and novels are beautiful specimens of the printer's art, books which it is a pleasure to look at as well as to read.
At the recent Conference of Librarians, Mr. Zaelinsdorf spoke of another notable defeat in the manufacture of modern books, the sheets being carelessly sewn, or not sewn at all, but kept together by glue. The result is that almost every cloth-bound volume comes to pieces after a little use, and sometimes has loose pages and loose plates before it has been used at all. Every book- buyer knows the truth of this, and he knows, too, that the defect, which is not confined to cheap books, belongs to the present time, and is rarely to be found in volumes published earlier in the century. Mr. Fitzgerald protests against the hateful custom, now so much in vogue, of " ploughing " the leaves of books in order to save readers the trouble of using the paper-knife. Few will complain of this convenience in the case of " shilling dreadfule," and of books that have no claim to a place in the library, but no work worthy of careful treatment should be degraded in this fashion. "Under the old system of a knife used by the hand, it was possible to apply a certain delicacy and do little more than trim the rough edges. But when the book is issued with shaved edges, a portion of the margin is cut away ; and when it is sent to be bound formally, there is a second shaving, and it becomes a maimed, cut-down, poor thing."
Of the eccentricities of the book-binding art the author has several anecdotes to tell
"In a bookseller's catalogue we read of a Latin copy of Apuleius' Golden Ass bound in ass's akin. The Duke of Rexburg/la's library contained a collection of pamphlets respecting Mary Toffs (who pre- tended to be confined of rabbits), of Godalming, Surrey, bound in rabbit-akin. The Hon. George Napier had a work relating to the celebrated dwarf, Jeffrey Hudson, bound in a piece of Charles l.'s silk waistcoat. At Perry's sale, a copy of the New Year's Gift, also boned in a piece of the waistcoat of Charles I., sold for £8 Se Tuberuille on Hunting was bound by Whittaker in deer-skin, on the cover of which was placed a silver stag. Fox's historical works were bound in fox-skin, and Bacon's works in hog•skin. It is said Dr. Askers had a work bound in human skin, for the payment of which his binder prosecuted him. One offspring of the horrors of the first French Revolution was this grim humour of binding books with the skins of human beings."
Among the oddities of binding, the expensive and foolish fancy may be mentioned of drawing a landscape or figures on the edges of the leaves. When the book is closed, nothing is visible ; but when the leaves are slightly separated, the picture, if such it may be called, appears. There is, as Mr. Fitzgerald observes, a Swedish Bible in the library of the British and Foreign Bible Society with a figure of Christian on his journey to the Heavenly City painted on the leaves ; and the writer of this article has a pretty copy of Rogers's poems, published in 1822, and adorned in a similar fashion.
All hobbies are ridiculous when carried to excess, and the craze of the book-collector becomes as absurd as the mania for accumulating walking-sticks or postage.stamps. Yet the pursuit of books has an extraordinary fascination alike for poor men and for rich. It is said that Queen Charlotte was in the habit of paying visits to second-hand book-stalls, and " the old Duke of Roxbarghe wandered industriously and zealously from book- shop to book-stall over the world, just as he wandered over the moor stalking the deer." It is a joyful moment when the book- collector discovers a treasure, and strange are the places in which treasures may be found. Poggio discovered Quintillion on the counter of a book-merchant; Sterne's Diary was found in a plate-warmer ; and Boswell's Lettere to Temple were captured in a shop in Boulogne, in use for wrapping-paper ; Lamb's Poetry for Children disappeared for years, and Mr. Fitzgerald relates how large rewards were offered for a copy which turned up at last in one of the Colonies. From many anecdotes relating to the book-hunter's pursuit given in this volume, a few may be selected. In the last century, a man known as " Snuffy Davy" picked up in Holland Caxton's Game of Chem, one of the first books printed in England. For this treasure he gave 2d., and then sold it to Osborne (Dr. Johnson's Osborne) for 220. The bookseller parted with it for £65, and on the death of the pur- chaser, the Windsor Library secured it for £370. At the present time it would be worth £1,000. An old tragedy, printed in 1594, cost Henderson, the actor, 4d., and was sold at the Heber sale for 239. A well-known bookseller of our century bought a volume of rare tracts for 3fd., and sold it for £50. Two years ago, a copy of the Mazarin Bible—only five copies are known—was knocked down to Mr. Quaritch, the famous possessor of inestimable treasures, for £3,900, the largest sum ever paid for a book ; but this enormous sum was surpassed a few days later, when the Pealmorum Codex, four years earlier in date, was also secured by Mr. Quaritch for £4,950, that bookseller saying that in his experience of forty years, he had never before handled a copy. It needs a long purse to hunt game like this ; but the excitement of the sport does not depend upon the value of the prize. Moreover, it would be unwise to rank Mr. Qnaritch, who is a man of business, with the biblio- maniacs, who may be accounted the veritable book-hunters. Of these, one of the most notable in our century, and one of the craziest, was Mr. Heber, the brother of the Bishop, who bought libraries without seeing them, and died before he had seen all the books he possessed. The poor man—for poor he was, save in the ownership of countless volumes—died, it is said, broken- hearted and without a friend to close his eyes. Yet his ruling passion, according to Mr. Dyce, was strong to the last, and on the morning of his death he wrote out some memoranda about books which he wished to be pur- chased for him. And then came the sale, that certain end of a collector's labours, which extended over some months, the catalogue filling six thick and closely printed volumes. Of another of the race, Magliabecchi, we read that books covered every portion of his house. " When he wished to sleep, he would throw an old rug over any books that were on the floor, and stretch himself upon them, or he would cast himself, completely dressed, into his unmade bed, which was filled fall of books, taking a basin of coals with him. Often he thus, quite unin- tentionally, set himself and his bed on fire. Notwithstanding this confusion, he could lay his hand on any book at any moment."
Men like Scott, and Southey, and Macaulay, have loved books as warmly as the biblipohiles who accumulate uncut copies ; but they loved them as friends and wise counsellors, and knew well how to use them. A passion of this kind for books has something noble in it ; it expands the narrowest life, it adds an interest and a charm to the fullest and most conspicuous. On the other hand, the veritable bibliomaniac, who loves the most contemptible of books if it is rare, and apart from rarity cares nothing for the greatest works of literature, is not much wiser, although more harmless, than the unhappy inmates of our lunatic asylums. In The Ship of Fools, as Mr. Fitzgerald does not forget to mention, this folly is thus sharply satirised
"Still am I busy booker' assembling, For to have plentie it is a pleasant thing In my concept, to have them ay at hand, But what they means do I not understands."
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