foremost authority on Defoe, after extended research and the
comparison of many copies, states that he is of the opinion that
any purchaser entering Taylor's shop at the sign of the Ship, in
Pater Noster Row on April 25th, 1719 (usually taken as the date of
issue), might have been handed a copy falling under any of the
following categories:--
With "apply" in the preface, and "Pilot," on page 343, line 2.
With "apply" in the preface, and "Pilate" on page 343.
With "apyly" in the preface, and "Pilate" on page 343.
With "apyly" in the preface, and "Pilot" on page 343.
It is unquestionably wrong, in his opinion, to call any one of
these "first issue." Prof. Trent sees no reason to believe that
there was a re-issue with "apyly" corrected in the preface. Both
these mistakes were quite probably corrected while the sheets were
passing through the press, and it depends on how the sheets were
collated by the binder what category of the four given any special
copy belongs to.
This is a great relief to me, as my copy, which was once Congreve's,
while leaving nothing to be desired in the matter of condition, binding,
and plates, has the word "apply" in the preface and "pilot" on page
343; but it is perfectly clear, having in mind the spacing of the types,
that the longer word has given way to the shorter.
There is, however, another edition of "Robinson Crusoe" which, for
rarity, puts all first editions in the shade. So immediate was the
success of this wonderful romance that it was issued in a newspaper,
very much as popular novels are now run. It was published in the
"Original London Post," or "Heathcot's Intelligence," numbers from 125
to 289, October 7, 1719, to October 19, 1720. This was publication in
parts with a vengeance. Of the entire series of 165 leaves, only one is
in facsimile. I see that I have not yet said that I own this copy. There
is a copy in the British Museum, but I am told that it is very
imperfect, and I know of no other.
I was, a few evenings ago, looking over Arnold's "First Report of a
Book-Collector." I had just given an old-time year's salary for a
manuscript poem by Keats, and I was utterly bewildered by reading this:
"Only a few months after I began collecting, more than one hundred pages
of original manuscripts of Keats that were just then offered for sale
came in my way and were secured at one-fifth of their value." If the
price I paid for one page is any criterion as to the value of one
hundred pages, Mr. Arnold is by now a very rich man; and elsewhere in
his "Report" he gives a list of books sold at Sotheby's in 1896 at
prices which make one's mouth water.
Chapman's Homer, 1616, £15;
Chaucer's Works, 1542, £15 10;
"Robinson Crusoe," 1719-20, £75;
Goldsmith's "Vicar," 1766, £65;
Goldsmith's "Deserted Village," 1770, £25;
Herrick's "Hesperides," 1648, £38;
Milton's "Paradise Lost," 1667, £90.
But why continue? The point of it all is his comment: "If the beginner
is alarmed by these prices, let him remember that such are paid only for
well-known and highly prized rarities"; and remember, too, that this is
the comment of an astute collector upon the prices of only twenty years
ago.
[Illustration: First Page of a Rare Edition of "ROBINSON CRUSOE"]
It is, however, only proper to bear in mind, when referring to English
auction prices, that the "knockout" may have been, and probably was, in
operation. This time-honored and beneficent custom results in enriching
the London book-dealer at the expense of the owner or the estate whose
books are being sold. The existence of the "knockout" is pretty
generally admitted by the London dealers, but they usually couple the
admission with the statement that no reputable dealer will have anything
to do with its operations. It is always the other fellow who is in the
ring. Reduced to its simplest terms, a "knockout" consists of a clique
of men who agree that certain books (or anything else) shall be bought
at auction without competition. One book, or class of books, shall be
bought by A, B will buy another, C another, and so on. At some
convenient time or place after the books have been delivered, a second
auction is held and they are again put up. This time there is real
competition, but the profits go into a pool which is equally divided
among the members. This custom has taken such a strong hold on the trade
that it seems impossible to break it up. Should a private person bid at
a sale at which the scheme is intended to operate, he would get, either
nothing, or books at such a price as would cause him to remember the
sale to his dying day. There is nothing analogous to it in this country,
and it was to escape from its operations that it was decided to sell the
great Hoe collection at Anderson's in New York City a few years ago.
Most of the books then sold realized the highest prices ever known. Many
of the London dealers were represented,--Quaritch, Maggs, and several
others came in person,--and the sale will long be remembered in the
annals of the trade.
After the above explanation it is hardly necessary to say that "Book
Auction Records," published by Karslake in London, has no value whatever
as a guide to prices, in comparison with "American Book Prices Current,"
to the compilation of which the late Luther S. Livingston devoted so
much of his time--time which we now know should have been spent in doing
original work in bibliography.
Returning for a moment to Mr. Arnold and his contributions to
bibliography, he did the booksellers a good turn and helped collectors
justify their extravagance to their wives by publishing some years ago
"A Record of Books and Letters." Mr. Arnold devoted the leisure of six
years to forming a collection of books with perseverance and
intelligence; then he suddenly stopped and turned over to Bangs &
Company, the auctioneers, the greater part of his collection, and
awaited the result with interest. I say "with interest" advisedly, for
the result fully justified his judgment. In his "Record" he gives the
date of acquisition, together with the cost of each item, in one column,
and in another the selling price. He also states whether the item was
bought of a bookseller or a collector, or at auction. He had spent a
trifle over ten thousand dollars, and his profit almost exactly equalled
his outlay. I said his profit, but I have used the wrong word. His
profit was the pleasure he received in discovering, buying, and owning
the treasures which for a time were in his possession. The difference in
actual money between what he paid and what he received, some ten
thousand dollars, was the reward for his industry and courage in paying
what doubtless many people supposed to be extravagant prices for his
books.
[Illustration: Autograph MS. of a Poem by Keats--"To the Misses M---- at
Hastings]
[Illustration: signature]
Let us examine one only. It is certainly not a fair example, but it
happens to interest me. He had a copy of Keats's "Poems," 1817, with an
inscription in the poet's handwriting: "My dear Giovanni, I hope your
eyes will soon be well enough to read this with pleasure and ease."
There were some other inscriptions in Keats's hand, and for this
treasure Arnold paid a bookseller, in 1895, seventy-one dollars. At the
auction in 1901 it brought five hundred dollars, and it subsequently
passed into the Van Antwerp collection, finally going back to London,
where it was sold in 1907 for ninety pounds, being bought by Quaritch.
Finally it passed into the possession of the late W. H. Hagen and, at
the sale of his library, in May, 1918, was knocked down to "G.D.S." for
$1950. From him I tried to secure it, but was "too late."[7]
My copy of the Poems has, alas, no inscription, but it cost me in excess
of five hundred dollars; and a well-known collector has just paid
Rosenbach nine thousand dollars for Keats's three slender volumes, each
with inscriptions in the poet's hand. Three into nine is a simple
problem: even I can do it; but the volume of "Poems" is much rarer than
"Endymion" or "Lamia."
IV
"ASSOCIATION" BOOKS AND FIRST EDITIONS
No books have appreciated more in value than presentation or association
volumes, and the reason is not far to seek. Of any given copy there can
hardly be a duplicate. For the most part presentation copies are first
editions--_plus_. Frequently there is a note or a comment which sheds
biographical light on the author. In the slightest inscription there is
the record of a friendship by means of which we get back of the book to
the writer. And speaking of association books, every one will remember
the story that General Wolfe, in an open boat on the St. Lawrence as he
was being rowed down the stream to a point just below Quebec, recited
the lines from Gray's "Elegy,"--
"The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth, e'er gave
Await alike the inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave,"--
adding, "I would rather be the author of that piece than have the honor
of beating the French to-morrow." When Wolfe left England he carried
with him a copy of the "Elegy," the gift of his fiancée, Miss Katherine
Lowther. He learned the poem by heart, he underscored his favorite
lines, among them the passage quoted; he filled the book with his
notes. After his death the book and a miniature of the lady were
returned to her, and only a few days ago this book, a priceless volume
of unique association interest, was offered for sale. The first man who
saw it bought it. He had never bought a fine book before, but he could
not resist this one. When I heard of the transaction I was grieved and
delighted--grieved that so wonderful a volume had escaped me, delighted
that I had not been subjected to so terrible a temptation. What was the
price of it? Only the seller and the buyer know, but I fancy some
gilt-edged securities had to be parted with.
How the prices of these books go a-soaring is shown by the continuous
advance in the price of a copy of Shelley's "Queen Mab." It is a notable
copy, referred to in Dowden's "Life of Shelley." On the fly leaf is an
inscription in Shelley's hand, "Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, from
P.B.S."; inside of the back cover Shelley has written in pencil, "You
see, Mary, I have not forgotten you"; and elsewhere in the book in
Mary's hand, we read, "This book is sacred to me, and as no other
creature shall ever look into it, I may write in it what I please. Yet
what shall I write? That I love the author beyond all powers of
expression and that I am parted from him"; and much more to the same
effect. At the Ives sale in 1891 this volume of supreme interest brought
$190; in 1897, at the Frederickson sale, it brought $615; and a year ago
a dealer sold it for $7500; and cheap at that, I say, for where will you
find another?
I have before me a copy of Stevenson's "Inland Voyage." Pamphlets aside,
which, by reason of their manner of publication, are now rare, it may be
said to be the author's first book. It has an inscription, "My dear
Cummy: If you had not taken so much trouble with me all the years of my
childhood, this little book would never have been written. Many a long
night you sat up with me when I was ill; I wish I could hope by way of
return to amuse a single evening for you with my little book! But
whatever you may think of it, I know you will continue to think kindly
of the Author." I thought, when I gave four hundred dollars for it, that
I was paying a fabulous price; but as I have since been offered twice
that sum, Rosenbach evidently let me have a bargain. He tells me that it
is good business sometimes to sell a book for less than it is worth. He
regards it as bait. He angles for you very skilfully, does Rosy, and
lands you--me--every time.
[Illustration: Autograph Inscription by Stevenson, in a Copy of his
"Inland Voyage]
"A Child's Garden of Verses" is another book which has doubled in value
two or three times in the last few years. Gabriel Wells is now offering
a copy, with a brief inscription, for three hundred dollars, having sold
me not long ago, for twice this sum, a copy in which Stevenson's writing
is mingled with the type of the title-page so that it reads:--
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
his copy of
A CHILD'S GARDEN OF
VERSES
and if it is [in] the hands of any one
else, explain it who can!
but not by the gift of
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
That Stevenson afterward changed his mind and gave it to "E. F. Russell,
with hearty good will," is shown by another inscription. This copy was
purchased at the sale for the British Red Cross in London, shortly after
the outbreak of the war. It may be some time before it is worth what I
paid for it, or the price may look cheap to-morrow--who shall say?
Watching the quotations of the first editions of Stevenson is rather
like looking at the quotations of stocks you haven't got, as they
recover from a panic. A point or two a day is added to their prices; but
Stevenson's move five or ten points at a time, and there has been no
reaction--as yet. Only a year or two ago I paid Drake fifty dollars for
a copy of "The New Arabian Nights"; and a few days ago I saw in the
papers that a copy had just been sold for fifty pounds in a London
auction room.[8]
[Illustration: Title of a Unique Copy of Stevenson's "Child's Garden of
Verses"]
I cannot quite understand Stevenson's immense vogue. Perhaps it is the
rare personality of the man. Try as we may, it is impossible to separate
the personality of a man from his work. Why is one author "collected"
and another not? I do not know. Practically no one collects Scott, or
George Eliot, or Trollope; but Trollope collectors there will be, and
"The Macdermots of Ballycloran" and "The Kellys and the O'Kellys" will
bring fabulous prices some of these days--five hundred dollars each;
more, a thousand, I should say; and when you pay this sum, look well for
the errors in pagination and see that Mortimer Street is spelt Morimer
on the title-page of volume three of the former. And remember, too, that
this book is so rare that there is no copy of it in the British
Museum--at least so I am told; but you will find one on my shelves, in
the corner over there, together with everything else this great
Victorian has written--of all novelists my favorite. Trollope proved the
correctness of Johnson's remark, "A man may write at any time if he will
set himself doggedly at it." This we know Trollope did, we have his word
for it. His personality was too sane, too matter of fact, to be
attractive; but his books are delightful. One doesn't read Trollope as
Coleridge did Shakespeare--by flashes of lighting (this isn't right, but
it expresses the idea); but there is a good, steady glow emanating from
the author himself, which, once you get accustomed to it, will enable
you to see a whole group of mid-Victorian characters so perfectly that
you come to know them as well as the members of your own family, and, I
sometimes think, understand them better.
But for one collector who expresses a mild interest in Trollope, there
are a thousand who regard the brave invalid, who, little more than
twenty years ago, passed away on that lonely Samoan island in the
Pacific, as one of the greatest of the moderns, as certain of
immortality as Charles Lamb. They may be right. His little toy books and
leaflets, those which
The author and the printer
With various kinds of skill
Concocted in the Winter
At Davos on the Hill,
and elsewhere, are simply invaluable. The author and the printer were
one and the same--R. L. S., assisted, or perhaps hindered, by S. L. O.,
Mrs. Stevenson's son, then a lad. Of these Stevensons, "Penny Whistles"
is the rarest. But two copies are known. One is in a private collection
in England; the other was bought at the Borden sale in 1913 by Mrs.
Widener, for twenty-five hundred dollars, in order to complete, as far
as might be, the Stevenson collection now in the Widener Memorial
Library. It was a privately printed forerunner of "A Child's Garden of
Verses," published several years later.
It is a far cry from these bijoux to Stevenson's regularly published
volumes; but when it is remembered that these latter were printed in
fairly large editions and relatively only a few years ago, it will be
seen that no other author of yesterday fetches such high prices as
Stevenson.
In recent years there have been published a number of bibliographies
without which no collector can be expected to keep house. We are
indebted to the Grolier Club for some of the best of these. Its members
have the books and are most generous in exhibiting them, and it must
indeed be a churlish scholar who cannot freely secure access to the
collections of its members.
Aside from the three volumes entitled "Contributions to English
Bibliography," published and sold by the Club, the handbooks of the
exhibitions held from time to time are much sought, for the wealth of
information they contain. The Club's librarian, Miss Ruth S. Granniss,
working in coöperation with the members, is largely responsible for the
skill and intelligence with which these little catalogues are compiled.
The time and amount of painstaking research which enter into the making
of them is simply enormous. Indeed, no one quite understands the many
questions which arise to vex the bibliographer unless they have
attempted to make for themselves even the simplest form of catalogue.
Over the door of the room in which they work should be inscribed the
text, "Be sure your sin will find you out." Some blunders are redeemed
by the laughter they arouse. Here is a famous one:--
Shelley--Prometheus--unbound, etc.
" --Prometheus--bound in olive morocco, etc.
But for the most part the lot of the bibliographer, as Dr. Johnson said
of the dictionary-maker, is to be exposed to censure without hope of
praise.
That Oscar Wilde continues to interest the collector is proved, if proof
were necessary, by the splendid bibliography by Stuart Mason, in two
large volumes. Its editor tells us that it was the work of ten years,
which I can readily believe; and Robert Ross, Wilde's literary executor,
says in the introduction, that, in turning over the proof for ten
minutes, he learned more about Wilde's writings than Wilde himself ever
knew. It gave me some pleasure, when I first took the book up, to see
that Mason had used for his frontispiece the caricature of Wilde by
Aubrey Beardsley, the original of which now hangs on the wall near my
writing-table, together with a letter from Ross in which he says, "From
a technical point of view this drawing is interesting as showing the
artistic development of what afterwards was called his Japanese method
in the 'Salome' drawings. Here it is only in embryo, but this is the
earliest drawing I remember in which the use of dotted lines, a
peculiarity of Beardsley, can be traced."[9]
[Illustration: THE NEW BUILDING OF THE GROLIER CLUB 47 EAST SIXTIETH
ST., NEW YORK]
Another favorite bibliography is that of Dickens, by John C. Eckel. His
"First Editions of Charles Dickens" is a book which no lover of
Dickens--and who is not?--can do without. It is a book to be read, as
well as a book of reference. In it Mr. Eckel does one thing, however,
which is, from its very nature, hopeless and discouraging. He
attempts to indicate the prices at which first editions of his favorite
author can be secured at auction, or from the dealers in London and this
country. Alas, alas! while waiting to secure prizes at Eckel's prices I
have seen them soaring to figures undreamed of a few years ago. In his
chapter on "Presentation Copies," he refers to a copy of "Bleak House"
given by Dickens to Dudley Costello. "Some years ago," he says, "it sold
for $150.00. Eighteen months later the collector resold the book to the
dealer for $380.00, who made a quick turn and sold the book for ten per
cent advance, or $418.00." These figures Mr. Eckel considers
astonishing. I now own the book, but it came into my possession at a
figure considerably in excess of that named.
A copy of "American Notes," with an inscription, "Thomas Carlyle from
Charles Dickens, Nineteenth October, 1842," gives an excellent idea of
the rise in the price of a book, interesting itself and on account of
its inscription. At auction, in London, in 1902, it sold for £45. After
passing through the hands of several dealers it was purchased by W. E.
Allis, of Milwaukee; and at the sale of his books in New York, in 1912,
it was bought by George D. Smith for $1050. Smith passed the book on to
Edwin W. Coggeshall; but its history is not yet at an end, for at his
sale, on April 25, 1916, it was bought by the firm of Dutton for $1850,
and by them passed on, the story goes, to a discriminating collector in
Detroit, a man who can call all the parts of an automobile by name.
Fortunately, while this book was in full flight, I secured a copy with
an inscription, "W. C. Macready from his friend Charles Dickens,
Eighteenth October, 1842." Now, what is my copy worth?
[Illustration: Inscription to Charles Dickens, Junior, from Charles
Dickens]
Seven years ago I paid Charles Sessler nine hundred dollars for three
books: a presentation "Carol," to Tom Beard, a "Cricket," to Macready,
and a "Haunted Man," to Maclise. At the Coggeshall sale a dealer paid a
thousand dollars for a "Carol," while I gave Smith ten per cent advance
on a thousand dollars for a "Chimes," with an inscription, "Charles
Dickens, Junior, from his affectionate father, Charles Dickens." This
copy at the Allis sale had brought seven hundred and seventy-five
dollars, at which time I was prepared to pay five hundred dollars for
it.
[Illustration: AN ILLUSTRATION, "THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS," BY JOHN
LEECH, FOR DICKENS'S "CHRISTMAS CAROL"
_From the original water-color drawing_]
I always return from these all-star performances depressed in spirit and
shattered in pocket. "Where will it stop?" I say to myself. "When will
you stop?" my wife says to me. And both questions remain unanswered;
certainly not, while presentation Dickenses can be had and are lacking
from my collection. I now possess twenty-one, and it is with
presentation Dickenses as with elephants--a good many go to the dozen;
but I lack and sadly want--Shall I give a list? No, the prices are going
up fast enough without stimulation from me. Wait until my "wants" are
complete; then let joy be unconfined.
A final word on Dickens: the prices are skyrocketing because everyone
loves him. Age cannot wither nor custom stale his infinite variety. As a
great creative genius he ranks with Shakespeare. He has given pleasure
to millions; he has been translated into all the languages of Europe.
"Pickwick," it is said, stands fourth in circulation among English
printed books, being exceeded only by the Bible, Shakespeare, and the
English Prayer-Book; and the marvel is that when Dickens is spoken of,
it is difficult to arrive at an agreement as to which is his greatest
book.
But this paper is supposed to relate to prices rather than to books
themselves. Other seductive arguments having failed, one sometimes hears
a vendor of rare books add, in his most convincing manner, "And you
couldn't possibly make a better investment." The idea, I suppose, is
calculated to enable a man to meet his wife's reproachful glance, or
something worse, as he returns home with a book under his arm. But
when one is about to commit some piece of extravagance, such as buying a
book of which one already has several copies, one will grasp at any
straw, the more so as there may be some truth in the statement.
[Illustration: DEDICATION TO "THE VILLAGE COQUETTES," BY CHARLES DICKENS
_From the manuscript formerly in the Coggeshall collection, much reduced
in size_]
There are, however, so many good reasons why we should buy rare books,
that it seems a pity ever to refer to the least of them. I am not sure
that I am called on to give any judgment in the matter; but my belief is
that the one best and sufficient reason for a man to buy a book is
because he thinks he will be happier with it than without it. I always
question myself on this point, and another which presses it closely--can
I pay for it? I confess that I do not always listen so attentively for
the answer to this second question; but I try so to live as to be able
to look my bookseller in the eye and tell him where to go. I govern
myself by few rules, but this is one of them--never to allow a book to
enter my library as a creditor.