All books should be in one volume. I always thought so, but now I know.
The reason why I know is because I possess two or three thousand books,
and I have recently moved into a new house, and the books were at first
put on the shelves indiscriminately as they came out of the packing
cases. And how better spend a wet bank holiday than in arranging them
properly--bringing parted couples together, adjusting involuntary
divorces, reuniting the separated members of families and tribes?
This is the merciful work on which Parolles and I have been engaged for
too long. (I call her Parolles because she is so fond of words of which
neither the meaning nor pronunciation has quite been mastered.) We meet
each other all over the house with pathetic inquiries, "Have you seen
Volume IV. of _Dumas' Memoirs_?" "No, but have you noticed Volume I. of
_Fors Clavigera_?" It is like a game of "Families."
The worst of the game is that one cannot concentrate. I may ascend the
stairs bent wholly upon securing Volume III. of PROTHERO AND COLERIDGE'S
_Byron_, and then chancing to observe Volume II. of INGPEN'S _Boswell_ I
leap at it in ecstasy and, forgetting all about the noble misanthrope,
hasten back with this prize and join it to its lonely mate.
My _Dictionary of National Biography_, for all its fifty-eight volumes,
not counting Supplements or Errata, was simple, on account of its size
and unusual appearance. But what word can I find to express the
annoyance and trouble given us by a small Pope in sheepskin? We roamed
the house together--there are shelves in every room--striving to collect
this family; but three of them are still on the loose. There is a
Balzac, too, in a number of volumes not mentioned on any title-page and
not numbered individually, so that time alone can tell whether that
group is ever fully assembled. But as we placed them side by side we
could almost hear them sigh after their long separation--though whether
with satisfaction or annoyance who shall say? Volumes, may be, can get
as tired of their companions as human beings can.
During such an occupation as this a vast deal of time vanishes also in
trying to remember where it was that I saw that copy of _Friendship's
Garland_, so as to place it with the other Arnolds. Even more time goes
in dipping into books which I had clean forgotten I possessed, such as
_The Cricketers' Manual_, by "Bat," in which my eyes alighted upon this
excellent story:
"The Duchess de Berri, being present at a match between two clubs of
Englishmen at Dieppe [in 1824], looked on very attentively for nearly
three hours, then, turning to one of her attendants, said, '_Mais, quand
est-ce que le jeu va commencer?_'" But the time which I have frittered
away in this frivolity is as nothing compared with that wasted by
Parolles, who has a way of subsiding upon the ground wherever she may
happen to be and instantly becoming absorbed in the printed page. It is
not as if she exercised any selective power, as I do. All books are the
same to her in that they contain type on which the eye can fasten to the
detriment of her labour. In every room I have stumbled over her long
black legs as she thus abused her trust.
And not only has she read more than I have, but she has become steadily
dirtier than I, too; partly because of a native _flair_ for whatever
makes smears and smudges, and partly because, her hair being long and
falling on the page, owing to her crouched attitude when perusing, it
has to be swept back, and each sweep leaves its mark. Considering how
they set themselves up to be superior and instruct, books are curiously
grubby things.
And, as I said before, they should be in one volume.
* * * * *
Illustration: _First Politician._ "SAY, BILL, WOT'S THIS BLOOMIN'
MORTUARIUM THEY BE TARKIN' SO MUCH ABOUT?"
_Second Politician._ "WELL, YE SEE, IT'S LIKE THIS. YOU DON'T PAY
NOTHIN' TO NOBODY AND THE GOVERNMENT PAYS IT FOR YE."
_First Politician._ "WELL, THAT SOUNDS A BIT OF ALL RIGHT, DOAN'T IT?"
* * * * *