THE ROMANCE OF BOOKMAKING
"Ever since last night, Dad," remarked Paul, the next evening at dinner,
"I have been wondering how the old printers got rid of the Latin text,
lettering, or whatever you call it, and got down to printing in English
like ours."
"You're starting on a long story," replied Mr. Cameron, glancing up from
his plate. "The development of our modern type requires a volume in
itself. Many scholars and many craftsmen contributed to that glorious
result. It did not come all in a minute. Gutenburg's uneven Latin
lettering was a far cry from our uniform, clear, well-designed variety
of print. In the first place, as I told you before, good ink and good
paper were necessary to beautiful text, and these Gutenburg did not
have. Gradually, however, as a result of repeated experiments, paper and
ink that were of practical value were manufactured. China had long been
successful in printing because of the fine texture of her paper. Italy,
the home of the arts, caught up Gutenburg's invention and brought not
only lettering but paper-making to a marvelous degree of perfection."
"Italy and China always seem to be doing things," laughed Paul.
"Both nations were inventive and original," answered Mr. Cameron. "The
difference between them was that while China locked all her discoveries
up within her own walled cities, Italy shared her knowledge with the
rest of the world and made it and herself immortal."
"The Italians were a great people, weren't they?"
"They were true lovers of all that was best and most beautiful,"
answered his father gravely. "Even their aristocracy felt it no disgrace
to toil to perfect a fine art. To make that which was excellent more
excellent still was the aim of rich and poor. Nobles, artisans,
barefooted friars worked together towards that common goal. It was an
Italian prince, Nicholas V, a man who afterward became Pope, who founded
the Vatican Library and collected five thousand books, at a time, you
must remember, when a book was a rare and almost priceless treasure. To
him we owe the preservation of many a valuable old manuscript that might
otherwise have been destroyed. Five thousand volumes was in those days a
vast number to get together."
"Our public libraries would not think so now," smiled Paul.
"No, because at present books are so easily within reach that we
scarcely appreciate them. We certainly read only a very small proportion
of them."
"I know I don't read many," said Paul soberly.
"You will read more as you grow older, son," returned his father kindly.
"But most of us are intellectually lazy; even grown-up persons devote a
good part of their short lives to reading things that profit them
nothing."
"Things like the _March Hare_, for example," suggested Paul facetiously.
"Many a worse thing than the _March Hare_, I'm afraid," his father
responded. "We seem to think we have unlimited time before us, and that
there is no hurry about reading the good things we mean to read before
we die; so we waste our precious moments on every sort of trash--cheap
novels, worthless magazines, newspaper gossip, and before we know it,
our lives are gone. I overlook your being so foolish; but for me it is
inexcusable. The Italians of the Renaissance did not give themselves
over to such folly. They put their hearts seriously into building up
their age and generation. Lorenzo de Medici dragged from the corners of
Europe and Asia some two hundred Greek and Latin manuscripts. Other
Florentines, Venetians, Romans collected private libraries. Princes of
the land turned their wealth not to their own idle pleasure but to
financing Gutenburg's invention and establishing printing presses which
the culture and brain of the country controlled. There was a printing
press at the Vatican itself, and scholars who were paid large salaries
met in consultation concerning the literature printed. The best artists
contributed their skill to the undertaking. Indeed, it was a
disagreement about some theological work that Martin Luther had come
from Germany to help with that sent him back home in a temper. And not
only was the matter printed carefully scrutinized but also every detail
of its production was thought out--the size of the page, the size of the
type, the width of the margins, the quality of the paper, the variety of
type to be used. What wonder that under such conditions printing was
rapidly transformed from a trade to an art. When we think of the
exquisite books made in this far-away day, we sigh at our present
output."
Mr. Cameron's face clouded, then brightened.
"Nevertheless when all is said and done, books are not for the person of
wealth alone. The work of the Aldi of Italy, the Elzevirs of Leyden, the
Estiennes of Paris, although of finest quality, was much too expensive
for universal use. For it is the subject matter inside the book which,
when all is said and done, is the thing we are after, and which we are
eager to spread abroad; and never in any age has every type of
literature been so cheap and accessible, or the average of culture so
high as now. If a person is ignorant to-day it is his own fault. Nothing
stands between him and the stars but his own laziness and indifference."
"_Time_, my dear Henry," interrupted Mrs. Cameron. "Do not leave out the
element of time. Remember that the farther away we get from the
beginning of learning, the greater accumulation there is for us to
master. Like a mammoth snowball, each century has rolled up its treasure
until such a mass has come down to us that it is practically impossible
for us to possess ourselves of it. Sometimes when I think of all there
is to know, I am depressed."
"And me, too, Mater," echoed Paul. "It seems hopeless."
"But there are short outs," argued Mr. Cameron. "No one expects any of
us to read all the books of the past. The years have sifted the wheat
from the chaff, and by a process of elimination we have found out pretty
well by this time what the great books are. By classifying our subjects
we can easily trace the growth and development of any of the really
significant movements of the world; we can follow the path of the
sciences; study the progress of the drama from its infancy to the
present moment; trace the growth of the novel; note the perfecting of
the poetic form. History, philosophy, the thought of all the ages is
ours. That is what I mean when I say there is no excuse for persons of
our era being uninformed. We are reaping the results of many unfoldings
and can see things with a degree of completeness that our ancestors
could not; they looked at life's problems from the bottom of the hill
and got only a partial view; we are seeing them from the top, and
understanding--or we should be understanding--more fully, their
interrelation."
"I suppose," mused Paul thoughtfully, "that those who come after us will
see even farther than we."
"They ought to, and I believe they will," his father answered. "_Nothing
walks with aimless feet_, in my opinion. It is all part of a gigantic,
divine plan. The small beginnings of the past have been the seed of
to-day's harvest. We thank Gutenburg for our books. We thank such men as
Nicholas V and many another of his ilk for the Vatican Library, the
British Museum, the numberless foreign museums; we owe a debt to our
nation for our own Congressional Library, to say nothing of the smaller
ones that, through the public spirit of generous citizens, have opened
their doors to our people and done so much to educate and democratize
our country."
There was a moment of silence.
"And quite aside from the thousands of volumes written in our own
language, we have access to the literature of other nations both in
translation and in their mother tongue. Remember that after printing had
got well under way, type in other languages--Arabic, Greek, Hebrew--had
to be developed in order that the literature of other languages might
augment our own."
"I don't think I took that into account," remarked Paul.
"Of course," continued Mr. Cameron less seriously, "not every person of
the olden time was alert for learning. Human nature was much the same
then as now.
"I'm afraid even in the midst of all this thirst for knowledge there
were those who cared far more for the outside of a book than for the
inside," he continued humorously. "Books were bound in brocade, in
richly ornamented leather embossed with gilt; some had covers of gold or
silver studded with gems, while others were adorned with carved ivory or
enamel. As time went on and the religious manuscripts written,
illuminated, and bound by the monks gave place to the more elaborate
productions of a printing age, ecclesiasts were not skilful enough to do
the illustrating demanded, and a guild of bookbinders sprang up. Into
the hands of artists outside the cloister were put the more dainty and
worldly pictures required by secular text. Then followed a period when
scholars who owned books were no longer forced to loan them to students
to copy for their own use, as had been the case in the past. Books
became less expensive and were accessible to everybody. Slowly they were
got into more practical form--were made smaller and less bulky; not only
outside but inside they were improved. 'The Lives of Saints' and Fox's
'Book of Martyrs' gave way first to the tales of Merlin and King Arthur
in various versions, stories of Charlemagne, and romances of similar
character. Copyrights being unknown, there was no law to protect a book,
and hence all the adventures of the hero of any one tongue were passed
on to the favorite hero of another nationality; as a result French,
Italian, Spanish, and Celtic literature teem with heroes who perform
marvellous deeds of identical character."
Paul was amused.
"Amadis of France, the popular idol of the French people, worked the
same marvels as King Arthur did, only under another name. Every nation
borrowed (or rather stole) from every other. It was not considered
reprehensible to do so. Shakespeare worked over the Italian _novelle_ of
Boccaccio, weaving them into his great English dramas, and nobody
censured him. It was this craving for romance that overcame the delight
in mere display and roused interest not alone in the binding of a book
but in its contents. True collectors and book-fanciers still strove with
one another to obtain choice, beautiful, and fabulously expensive
volumes. But for the most part the book came back to its original
purpose and took its place as a mouthpiece of literature."
"Do you mean that books became cheap?" asked Paul.
"Not what we should consider cheap--that is, not for a long time. You
see, the thing that makes a book cheap is not alone the material put
into it, or the price for which it can be obtained of the author; it is
largely the size of the edition printed that reduces the expense of
production. It is practically as much work to print fifty copies of a
volume as several hundred. The labor of setting the type is the same.
The circle of readers was not large enough in olden times to justify a
volume being manufactured in large numbers; nor were there any methods
for advertising and distributing books broadcast as there are now."
"Oh," exclaimed Paul, "I see. Of course there weren't."
"Advertising and distribution play a very important part in our
present-day book trade," his father went on. "To-day publishers
frequently announce and advertise the book of a well-known author before
the manuscript is completed, sometimes even before it is written at
all. They get a scenario or resume of the story, and take orders for the
book as if it were really already finished. Or with the manuscript in
their hands they will often begin 'traveling it' long before it is
printed. The reason for this is that in a large country like ours it
takes a long time for salesmen to get about and secure orders from the
various selling houses of our large cities. It means spreading a book
from coast to coast. While the publisher is getting the book through the
press, correcting proof, having illustrations and the colored jacket
designed and printed, perhaps having posters made for advertising, his
salesmen are taking orders for it by means of a condensation of the
story and a dummy cover similar to the one which later will be put on
the volume. Then, when the books are ready, they are shipped east and
west, north and south, but are not released for sale until a given date,
when all the stores begin selling them simultaneously. You can see that
this is the only fair method, for it would be impossible, for example,
for San Francisco to advertise a book as new, if it had been already
selling in Boston for a month or so. All the selling houses must have
the same chance. So a date of publication is usually set and announced.
Frequently, however, long before that date an edition, or several
editions of a popular book will be sold out. Booksellers will be so
certain that they can dispose of a great number of volumes that they
will place large orders ahead in order to be sure of securing the books
they desire."
"Can they always tell ahead what people will want?" inquired Paul.
"No, not always. Sometimes the public will be caught by a story and it
will become popular not only to the amazement of the bookseller, but to
the surprise of both publisher and author as well. One cannot always
prophesy what readers will like, especially if an author is new. It is a
great gamble. But usually an author whose work is known and liked can
safely be calculated upon to sell."
"Is it much work for a publisher to get a book ready for the market
after he once gets the manuscript from the author?" asked Paul.
"To produce a well-printed, artistic book requires infinite care and
pains," replied Mr. Cameron. "Of course a book can be rushed through.
Such a thing is possible. But under ordinary conditions it is several
months, sometimes a year, before the book is ready for sale. First a
galley proof of the manuscript is made; by this I mean the subject
matter is printed on a long strip of paper about the width of a page but
several times as long. Then this proof, which is made chiefly to be sure
the type is correctly set, is examined, and the errors in it are
rectified. After this it is again corrected and is cut up into lengths
suitable for a page. Following this the page proof is printed, care
being taken that the last word at the bottom of one page joins on to the
top word of the next. It is very easy to omit a word and thus mar the
sense. It is also a rule of most publishing houses that the top line of
each page shall be a full line, and in consequence it is often a Chinese
puzzle to make the text conform to the rule. Readers often have to
insert a line or take one out to meet this necessity, and sometimes an
author's text is garbled as a result. No writer likes having words or
whole sentences introduced or omitted; and you can't quite blame him,
either, for he has to stand behind the book and receive not only what
praise it may win but also the blame showered on it by both the public
and the reviewers. Naturally the book--not alone the story but the style
and choice of words--is assumed to be his. If he is a careful worker he
has probably weighed every word that has gone into the phrasing. He
therefore does not relish having his style meddled with, even for such a
technicality as the filling out of a short line."
"Is it really better to heed this printer's edict?" laughed Paul.
"I think without question the book makes a better appearance if the rule
is heeded," declared Mr. Cameron. "A printer does and should take pride
in the looks of his page. The beauty of a book is quite an element in
its production. After the type has been set up and corrected, and the
proof paged, the next consideration is the size of the paper to be used,
the quality, the texture. The width of the margins, the clearness or
brilliancy of the text, the appearance and flexibility of the binding
all have to do with the artistic result which is, or should be, the aim
of every publisher. When all these details have been decided upon there
is yet another important factor in book-producing--the item of expense.
Books being no longer the property of the few, they must be within the
reach of the many, and the book-manufacturer's business is to make them
so. It is precisely because we have such a large reading public that
America has attained her high intellectual average. Not that we are a
cultured nation. By no means. What I mean is that our public school
system offers education so freely, and even compels it so drastically,
that there is a much smaller proportion of illiterate persons here than
in most lands. Our illiterates are largely foreigners who have not been
in our country long enough to become educated. Most of them have
immigrated from places where they had no educational advantages, and
some of them are, alas, now too old to learn. The great part of our
native-born citizens can read and write, and vast numbers of them have a
much broader education than that. It is by means of the wide
distribution of learning and enlightenment that we hope to banish
ignorance and superstition and spread patriotism and democracy. So you
see books are a giant element in our national plan, and the writing and
publishing of what is worthy and helpful is a service to the country. To
do all this the publisher has no easy puzzle to solve--to produce what
is good literature artistically, and at a price where he shall have his
legitimate profit, and yet give to the public something within the range
of its purse."
"I guess I'd rather stick to my job on the _March Hare_!" exclaimed
Paul.
"I imagine it is quite big enough for you at present," smiled his
father. "Between the public, and the printer, and the bookbinder the
publisher is torn in many directions. And then there is the author, who,
as I say, does not like his text tampered with. Firms differ greatly
about this. Some publishers feel perfectly justified in going ahead and
remodeling a writer's work to suit themselves; others regard an author's
manuscript as a sacred possession and never change so much as a
punctuation mark on it without asking permission. They may suggest
changes but they will not make them. It is a point of honor with them
not to do so."
Mr. Cameron smoked reflectively.
"Authors, however," he went on, "are not as badly off as they were
before they had the copyright. Their stories can no longer be stolen
with impunity as in the past. They are better paid, too. Many an
olden-time author received very scant remuneration for his labor;
sometimes he received none at all. Many had to beg the patronage of the
rich in order to get their works printed; contracts were unfair and
publishers unprincipled. The unfortunate author was the prey of vultures
who cheated him at every turn. Many died in extreme poverty, only to
become famous when it was too late. In our day the law has
revolutionized most of these injustices, and although there are still
unprincipled publishers as there are always scamps in every calling, the
best class houses deal honorably with their writers, transforming the
relation between author and publisher into one of friendliness and
confidence rather than one of animosity and distrust."
"I suppose it is policy for a publisher to be fair."
"It is more than policy; it is honesty," returned Mr. Cameron. "It does,
however, pay, for without the writer the publisher could not exist, and
no writer is going to put his work in the hands of a person he cannot
trust. It is a short-sighted man who kills the goose that lays the
golden egg!"