Book-Lovers, Bibliomaniacs and Book Clubs.

by Henry H. Harper.

PREFATORY

HAVING been asked to make a few remarks upon Book-loving, Book-buying, and Book Clubs,--not for publication before the great audience of readers, but for the exclusive use of the members of a private Book Club,--I venture thus to offer my views, hoping that in the light of my own personal experience I may be able to give a few useful hints and suggestions to those who may peruse the pages which follow.

If this little tome, in which are recorded the reflections of one who for many years has mingled with publishers, booksellers, bibliophiles, collectors, and bibliomaniacs, should prove to be of any interest or service, and is found worthy of a small s.p.a.ce in some sequestered nook in the library, where it may in silent repose behold its more worthy and resplendent companions, the fondest ambition of the author will be gratified beyond peradventure.

THE AUTHOR.

BOOKLOVERS, BIBLIOMANIACS

AND

BOOK CLUBS

BOOK-collecting is undeniably one of the most engaging pursuits in which a refined and artistic taste may be indulged. From the earliest times, and even before the days of printing, this pleasant diversion has been pursued by persons of moderate means as well as by those of wealth and distinction, and every succeeding generation of book-collectors has exceeded its predecessors in numbers and in enthusiasm. The alluring influences of bibliophilism, or book-loving, have silently crept into thousands of homes, whether beautiful or humble; for the library is properly regarded as one of the most important features of home as well as mental equipment.

In _The House Beautiful_ William C. Gannett emphasizes the importance of considering the library as foremost in furnishing a home. He says: "It means admission to the new marvels of science, if one chooses admission. It means an introduction to the n.o.blest company that all the generations have produced, if we claim the introduction.

Remembering this, how can one help wishing to furnish his house with some such furniture? A poet for a table piece! A philosopher upon the shelf! Browning or Emerson for a fireside friend!

"A family's rank in thought and taste can well be gauged by the books and papers that lie upon the shelf or table of the library."

Not many years ago, Mr. Howard Pyle said: "I sometimes think that we are upon the edge of some new era in which the art of beautifying books with pictures shall suddenly be uplifted into a higher and a different plane of excellence; when ornate printed colour and perfect reproduction shall truly depict the labour of the patient draughtsman who strives so earnestly to beautify the world in which he lives, and to lend a grace to the living therein." The prophecy is already fulfilled, and a modern book, in order to win favor among present-day bibliophiles, must embody an harmonious a.s.similation of many arts.

The ardor of possessing books, commonly called bibliomania, also styled bibliophilism and "biblio"--whatever else that has suggested itself to the fruitful imaginations of dozens of felicitous writers upon the subject,--is described by Dibdin as a "disease which grows with our growth, and strengthens with our strength." Kings and queens have not been immune from this prevalent though harmless malady. The vast resources of Henry VII were employed in collecting a library of which a modern millionaire collector might be justly proud. Many specimens of his magnificent collection, bearing the royal stamp, are now to be found in the British Museum. Queen Elizabeth and Lady Jane Grey were submissive victims of the bibliomania. It is worthy of note that while there were but few women book-collectors in the Elizabethan period, there are at the present time in our own country almost as many women as there are men engaged in this fascinating pursuit. As late as 1843, Dibdin remarks that "it is a remarkable circ.u.mstance, that the bibliomania has almost uniformly confined its attacks to the _male_ s.e.x, and among people in the higher and middling cla.s.ses of society. It has raged chiefly in palaces, castles, halls, and gay mansions, and those things which in general are supposed not to be inimical to health,--such as cleanliness, s.p.a.ciousness, and splendour, are only so many inducements to the introduction and propagation of the bibliomania!"

It should be remembered, however, that one possessing a fondness for books is not necessarily a bibliomaniac. There is as much difference between the inclinations and taste of a bibliophile and a bibliomaniac as between a slight cold and the advanced stages of consumption. Some one has said that "to call a bibliophile a bibliomaniac is to conduct a lover, languishing for his maiden's smile, to an asylum for the demented, and to shut him up in the ward for the incurables." _Biblio_ relates to books, and _mania_ is synonymous with madness, insanity, violent derangement, mental aberration, etc. A bibliomaniac, therefore, might properly be called an insane or crazy bibliophile. It is, however, a harmless insanity, and even in its worst stages it injures no one. Rational treatment may cure a bibliomaniac and bring him (or her) back into the congenial folds of bibliophilism, unless, perchance, the victim has pa.s.sed beyond the curative stages into the vast and dreamy realms of extra-ill.u.s.trating, or "grangerizing."

People usually have a horror of insane persons, and one might well beware of indulging a taste for books, if there were any reasonable probability that this would lead to mental derangement. There could be furniture-maniacs, rug-maniacs, and china-maniacs just as well as book-maniacs, but people do not generally hesitate to purchase furniture, rugs, and china for fear of going crazy on the subject, and no more reason is there why rational persons should hesitate to make a collection of good books for a library, for fear of being called bibliomaniacs. In _Sesame and Lilies_ Ruskin says: "If a man spends lavishly on his library, you call him mad--a bibliomaniac. But you never call one a horse-maniac, though men ruin themselves every day by their horses, and you do not hear of people ruining themselves by their books."

This is preeminently the age of collectors, and scarcely a week pa.s.ses without the discovery of some new dementia in this direction. Only a few days ago I read of a new delirium which threatens disaster to the feline progeny; it may be called the _cat-tail mania_, seeing that its victims possess an insatiable desire for amputating and preserving the caudal appendages of all the neighborhood cats. A self-confessed member of this cult was recently arrested in one of the eastern States.

There are several species of bibliophiles; there are _many_ species of bibliomaniacs. Some admire books for what they contain; others for their beautiful type, hand-made paper, artistic ill.u.s.trations, ample margins, untrimmed edges, etc.; and there are others who attach more importance to the limited number of copies issued than to either the contents or workmanship.

If a book is to attain any considerable commercial value and increase in worth year after year, it is of first importance that the number of copies issued be actually limited; and the greater the restriction the more likelihood that the monetary value will be steadily enhanced. But it must not be forgotten that the mere "limitation" will not of itself create a furore among judicious book-buyers; the book, or set of books, should rest upon some more secure basis of valuation than that of scarcity.

Dibdin says in his _Bibliomania_, issued in 1811: "About twelve years ago I was rash enough to publish a small volume of poems, with my name affixed. They were the productions of my juvenile years; and I need hardly say at this period how ashamed I am of their authorship. The monthly and a.n.a.lytical reviews did me the kindness of just tolerating them, and of warning me not to commit any future trespa.s.s upon the premises of Parna.s.sus. I struck off five hundred copies, and was glad to get rid of half of them as wastepaper; the remaining half has been partly destroyed by my own hands, and has partly mouldered away in oblivion amidst the dust of booksellers' shelves. My only consolation is that the volume is _exceedingly rare_!"

The contents, first to be considered, should be worthy of preservation; next in importance is the selection of appropriate type, and the size and style of page, which should be determined by the nature of the work and the period in which it was written. The size of the book and the margins of the page must be carefully considered in order to harmonize with the text-page. In choosing ill.u.s.trations it is important to determine whether they should be ornate and ill.u.s.trative, or cla.s.sic and emblematical in design. The paper should be handmade, to order, and of such correct size as not to lose the deckle edges in cutting; and the printing should be done in "forms" of not more than eight. The paper should be scientifically moistened before printing, and the ink allowed several weeks in which to dry before handling the printed sheets. The bindings should harmonize with interiors, and due care taken against over-decoration of the covers. These few technical hints will serve to acquaint the book-lover with some at least of the many important features which must be regarded in the preparation of a fine book,--a book fitted to demand and merit a place upon the library shelves of discriminating bibliophiles, and as well increase in demand and price whenever thereafter its copies may "turn up" for sale.

Next in importance, after considering literary and mechanical fitness, and the limitation of the work, is the question of distribution; its scope, and the cla.s.s of subscribers. The stock of a corporation, if limited to a reasonable number of shares and issued only to a few expert investors of high standing, and for tangible considerations, will obviously be considered a safer and more attractive investment than if it be scattered indiscriminately among a cla.s.s of professional manipulators for stock-jobbing purposes. With such a stock where thus closely held for investment purposes, an order for a few shares may largely elevate its market value. But if the stock were issued in unlimited quant.i.ties, the monetary value would be entirely lost. Again, if the stock had no corporeal a.s.sets as a basis for its issue, the "limited and registered" clause could not sustain it in the market.

So it is with books: if the number of copies issued be held within a reasonable constraint, consistent with the price charged per copy, and if they are subscribed for by book-lovers who prize them for their literary or historic value and luxurious appearance no less than for pecuniary values, they are not likely to find their way into the bookstalls, or to be "picked up" in auction rooms at less than their original price. This condition applies particularly to legitimate club editions and privately printed editions. If an edition of five hundred copies is widely distributed throughout the country, it is reasonable to a.s.sume that the speculative market therefor would be less apt to suffer from congestion than if the sale of the whole number of sets were confined to one locality.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Pa.s.sing now to those who, in one way or another, are to meet with and handle the completed book, we may begin with a cla.s.s of _literary barnacles_ who stick about the libraries of their friends and of the public inst.i.tutions, and feed their bibliophilistic appet.i.tes on what others have spent much time and money in collecting. These may perhaps more appropriately be called biblio-spongers, and are of all ranks in the community, many even owning beautiful homes, and having ample resources at command; but while enjoying the congenial atmosphere of a well-furnished library, and the delights of caressing the precious and wisely selected tomes of others, they are still of such temperaments that they would no more think of _buying_ books than would another of buying an opera-house in order to satisfy theatre-going propensities.

These people should be taught that fine books, like friends, are not loanable or exchangeable chattels. They will argue that there is no use spending money for books, because they reside within easy reach of a public library where such books as they desire are readily obtainable, or perhaps suggest that "I have free access to my friend Smith's library; he scarcely ever uses it;" without reflecting that Smith would probably use it more, if his friends used it less. And yet such folk will still incur the needless expense of providing their own homes with chairs, unless, haply, such homes may chance to be within convenient reach of some park or public inst.i.tution where _free_ seats are provided.

Most of us are disposed to idealize a besotted bibliomaniac as a harmless being whose companionship and favor are neither to be courted nor particularly avoided,--a sort of sh.e.l.lfish basking on the bank of life's flow in whatever sunshine it may absorb, and paying little heed to the thoughts or actions of others.

The following curious inscription which is found on an old copperplate print of the famous bibliomaniac, John Murray, will ill.u.s.trate one of the varieties:--

Hoh Maister John Murray of Sacomb, The Works of old Time to collect was his pride, Till Oblivion dreaded his Care: Regardless of Friends, intestate he dy'd, So the Rooks and the Crows were his Heir.

Mr. Nathan Haskell Dole, President of The Bibliophile Society, aptly describes a miserly bibliomaniac as a

Victim of a frenzied pa.s.sion, He is lean and lank and crusty; Naught he cares for dress or fashion And his rusty coat smells musty;

while in characterizing the natural impulses of true bibliophilism, he says that

Bibliophiles take pride in showing All the gems of their collections; They are generous in bestowing, They have genuine affections.

Peignot says a bibliomaniac is one who has "a pa.s.sion for possessing books; not so much to be instructed by them as to gratify the eye by looking on them." This presumption is about as reasonable as it would be to say that a man is a monomaniac because he gets married when he is in no special need of a house-servant, or body-guard.

In his _Bibliomania_ Dibdin enumerates eight symptoms of this "darling pa.s.sion or insanity," in the following order: "A pa.s.sion for large-paper copies, uncut copies, extra-ill.u.s.trated copies, unique copies, copies printed on vellum, first editions, true editions, and black-letter copies."

The first of these should be omitted from the symptomatic category: it would be fallacy to a.s.sume that one is a maniac because one admires the ample margins and paramount qualities of these large-paper copies, which Dibdin himself says are "printed upon paper of a larger dimension and superior quality than the ordinary copies. The presswork and ink are always proportionately better in these copies, and the price of them is enhanced according to their beauty and rarity... .

That a volume so published has a more pleasing aspect cannot be denied." He adds that "this symptom of the bibliomania is at the present day both general and violent." No wonder! And yet the charming Dr. Ferriar dips his pen in gall and writes the following satirical lines upon this highly commendable "weakness:"--

But devious oft, from every cla.s.sic Muse, The keen collector, meaner paths will choose.

And first the margin's breadth his soul employs, Pure, snowy, broad, the type of n.o.bler joys.

In vain might Homer roll the tide of song, Or Horace smile, or Tully charm the throng, If, crost by Pallas' ire, the trenchant blade Or too oblique or near the edge invade, The Bibliomane exclaims with haggard eye, "No margin!"--turns in haste, and scorns to buy.

Dibdin ventures to further a.s.sert that "the day is not far distant when _females_ will begin to have as high a relish for large-paper copies of every work as their male rivals." If he could return to this sphere and behold the enormously increased number of women bibliophiles in our country at the present time, the subject would doubtless furnish him with a congenial theme for another of his rambling discourses, this time perhaps under the caption of _Bibliowomania_. He was far in advance of the age in which he lived; for although he had very little upon which to base the prediction, he yet prophesied that not many years would lapse before women would invade the fields of book-collecting and prove themselves valiant compet.i.tors in the market. This, in fact, is now common enough, and I myself have known of many instances in auction-rooms where a small army of rampant bibliomaniacs have been obliged to retreat and to abandon their pursuit of some coveted treasure, on finding it boldly covered by a _carte-blanche_ order from a feminine compet.i.tor. Women rarely appear in the book auction-room, but leave their orders to be executed through a trusted broker, and many a collector has found himself suddenly obliged to soar aloft to dizzy heights in quest of some prize, on being thus lifted and pursued by one of the representatives of an unseen and unknown member of the gentler s.e.x.

Many people suppose the term "uncut," characteristic of Dibdin's second "symptom," to signify that the leaves of such volume as may be concerned have never been severed, whether for convenience of reading or otherwise. "Uncut," however, in its technical sense does not imply that the sheets are folded and bound just as they came from the press.

The leaves may all be cut, and the tops trimmed, and even gilded, without striking terror to the heart of the bibliomaniac. Dibdin, indeed, treats this last mentioned symptom in merely a superficial way and dismisses it with a few cursory remarks, viz: "It may be defined a pa.s.sion to possess books of which the edges have never been sheared by the binder's tools." This definition is vague and unsatisfactory. Mr.

Adrian H. Joline (_Diversions of a Booklover_, Harper & Bros., New York, 1903,--a charming book that should be read by every book-fancier) discourses upon the subject more intelligently; he observes that the word _uncut_ appears to be a stumbling-block to the unwary, and says: "The casual purchaser is sometimes deceived by it, for he thinks that it means that the leaves have not been severed by the paper-knife. I have read with much glee divers indignant letters in the very interesting 'Sat.u.r.day Review' of one of our best New York journals, in which the barbarian writers have denounced the _uncut_, and have a.s.sailed in vigorous but misguided phrases those who prefer to have their books in that condition. Henry Stevens tells us that even such a famous collector as James Lenox, founder of the splendid library into whose magnificent mysteries so few of us dare to penetrate, was misled by the word _uncut_, and chided Stevens for buying an _uncut_ book whose pages were all open. He says: 'Again when his tastes had grown into the mysteries of _uncut_ leaves, he returned a very rare, early New England tract, expensively bound, because it did not answer the description of _uncut_ in the invoice, for the leaves had manifestly been cut open and read.' When it was explained to him that in England the term _uncut_ signified only that the edges were not _trimmed_, he shelved the rarity with the remark that he 'learned something every day.' ... Perhaps the Caxton Club of Chicago is wise in describing its productions as 'with edges untrimmed.' Even a Philistine ought to be able to comprehend that description, although I once knew a man who supposed that a book 'bound in boards' had sides composed of planking."

Dr. Ferriar's satirical lines in his _Second Maxim_ will find sympathizers among admirers of uncuts:--

Who, with fantastic pruning-hook, Dresses the borders of his book, Merely to ornament its look-- Amongst philosophers a fop is: What if, perchance, he thence discover Facilities in turning over, The virtuoso is a lover Of coyer charms in "uncut copies."

I have been requested to "explain the reason, if there be any, for leaving leaf-edges fastened [unopened]--even in evanescent magazines--and why people keep books in this condition, without looking at the contents." The reason why the binder does not open all the leaves is that it involves additional labor and expense which the publisher usually does not care to incur, as it does not essentially add to the selling value. Indeed, some collectors hesitate to open the leaves of their books with the paper-knife, for fear that the selling price would be thereby depreciated. This is an entirely mistaken idea, though it prevails very generally among those who do not understand the real meaning of the term "uncut." Most booksellers prefer having the leaves of the volumes all opened, as many buyers and readers object to the nuisance of cutting them open. Some of the magazine publishers have modern folding machines equipped with blades for severing all the leaves. In fine book-making, however, most of the folding and cutting is done by hand.

The third "symptom" defined by Dibdin, viz: "extra-ill.u.s.trating,"

commonly called _grangerizing_, is really so far removed from the indicative stages of bibliomania as to render it entirely inappropriate as a proper single characteristic; it is the whole disease in its worst form. Fortunately, it is not a frequent infirmity among our present day bibliomaniacs. I cannot refrain from quoting Mr.

William P. Cutter's vehement denunciation of the cla.s.s of literary foragers who are thus affected. He observes that "this craze for 'extra-ill.u.s.trating' seizes remorselessly the previously harmless bibliophile, and leads him to become a wicked despoiler and mutilator of books. The extra-ill.u.s.trator is nearly always the person responsible for the decrepit condition of many of the books which 'unfortunately lack the rare portrait,' or have, 'as usual,' some valuable plate or map lacking. Were this professional despoiler, or his minions, the ruthless booksellers, to destroy the sad wrecks which result from their piratical depredations, all would be well. But they set these poor maimed hulks adrift again, to seek salvage from some deluded collector, or some impoverished or ignorant librarian.

"It is curious that the very volume in which our reverend friend Dibdin so heartily condemns these inexcusable bandits, should be seized on as a receptacle for their ill-gotten prizes. May the spectre of Thomas Frognall Dibdin haunt the souls of these impious rascals, and torture them with never-ceasing visions of un.o.btainable and rare portraits, non-existent autographs, and elusive engravings in general!

They even dare to profane your sacred work, the _Biblia_ of book-lovers, by the 'insertion' of crudities invented by their fiendish imagination. They have committed the 'unpardonable sin' of bibliophilism. Not only do they carry on this wicked work, but actually flaunt their base crimes in the face of their innocent brethren. Hearken to this:--