Hall, near Manchester. Mrs. Rylands' career as a _femme bibliophile_ may
be briefly summarised thus: In 1889 this lady formed the plan of
erecting in Manchester a memorial to her late husband, which should
embody one main purpose of his life, as carried out by him very
unostentatiously, but with great delight, during the greater part of his
career. To make the highest literature accessible to the people was with
him a cherished aim, and it was accordingly resolved by his widow that
the memorial should be in the form of a library. To this end Mrs.
Rylands took into her confidence four gentlemen whose names are well
known, and for whom the late Mr. Rylands had the greatest respect and
admiration, namely, the Rev. Dr. S. G. Green, of London; the late Rev.
Dr. MacFadyen, of Manchester; Mr. W. Carnelly and Mr. W. Linnell, both
also of Manchester, with whose aid the preliminaries for carrying out
her purpose were speedily arranged. The site in Deansgate, lying between
Wood Street and Spinningfield, was purchased, and after visits to
several great libraries and other public buildings, Mrs. Rylands
instructed the architect of Mansfield College, Oxford, Mr. Basil
Champneys, of London, to execute plans for a suitable structure, to bear
the name of the John Rylands Library. About the same time she commenced
the purchase of books, being aided in this by her friend, Mr. J. Arnold
Green, son of the Rev. Dr. Green, who, putting himself in communication
with various agents, collected a large number of standard books in
English and foreign literatures, including early Bibles, first editions,
and many other rare and valuable works, with several choice manuscripts
and autographs. The number of volumes purchased reached many thousands,
one of the acquisitions being the celebrated copy of the 'Biblia
Pauperum,' once belonging to the Borghese Library in Rome, at the sale
of which it fetched 15,800 francs. Up to this time a considerable amount
had been spent. When the announcement was made in 1892 that Earl
Spencer, the owner of the Althorp Library, was willing to dispose of
that famous collection, Mrs. Rylands at once felt that its possession
would be the crown of her whole scheme--accomplishing it with a
completeness of which she never dreamed when first she formed her plans.
Mr. Arnold Green accordingly at once communicated on her behalf with Mr.
Railton, of Messrs. Sotheran and Co., a firm which had been largely
employed by her in previous purchases of books. The result is that the
Althorp Library passed into Mrs. Rylands' possession, the price paid
being close on a quarter of a million sterling. The transaction is by
far the largest of its kind which has ever taken place in this or any
other country. It has been calculated that the Althorp Library cost its
founder about £100,000, and that it should have more than doubled in
value in less than a century is an extremely gratifying fact. It
contains a large number of unique and excessively rare books, which
nothing short of an upheaval in this country similar to the French
Revolution could place on the market. Those who depend upon such a
contingency to obtain a few of these splendid books are likely to wait
for a very long time.
But even with the striking examples of Miss Currer and Mrs. Rylands
before us, the conclusion still forces itself upon one that the _femme
bibliophile_ is an all but unknown quantity. The New Woman may develop
into a genuine book-lover; it is certain that the old one will not. The
Chinese article of belief that women have no souls has, after all,
something in its favour.
Bookstall-keepers have a deep contempt for women who patronize them by
turning over their books without purchasing. It would not be possible to
repeat all the hard things they say about the sex. In the words of one:
'They hang around and read the books, and though I have a man to watch
them, while he is driving away one another is reading a chapter. They
can read a chapter in a minute.' 'Does that not interest them in the
book, so that they buy it?' asked an interlocutor. 'No, sir; it don't.
It only makes them go to the other stall and read the last chapter
there. Not once in a blue moon, sir, does womenfolk buy a book. A penny
weekly is what they buy, and before they fix on one they read half a
dozen. You take my word for it, sir, it takes a woman half an hour to
spend a penny at a bookstall.' A characteristic incident once happened
to an old judge's clerk who had a stall a few years ago in Gray's Inn
Road. A lady, with whom there were two or three children, after waiting
about the pavement, at length suddenly became interested in the humble
bookstall. Several pretty picture-books attracted the attention of the
children, and they became clamorous to possess them. The stall-keeper,
in the politest possible manner, offered the books at her own price. The
reply was: 'Oh no, thanks. We are only looking over the books to kill
time.' 'Much obliged to you, ma'am, for your kindness and
consideration,' was the prompt reply.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
BOOK THIEVES, BORROWERS, AND KNOCK-OUTS.
'FACILIS descensus Averni' might well be the motto for any article or
chapter dealing with the above comprehensive 'avocations.' Once started
on his career, the book-thief may be regarded as entirely lost. At the
Middlesex Sessions a few years ago a genius of the name of Terry was
sentenced to six years' imprisonment for stealing books. On inquiry it
was found that this same person had already been in prison six times,
two terms of eighteen months each, one term of five years' penal
servitude, and another of seven years, all for stealing books.
Each thief has his own special _modus operandi_, which he varies
according to circumstances. There are those who do it without any
adventitious aid, and those who cover their sin with various
accessories. First, the ordinary book-thief, who watches his opportunity
when the shopkeeper is not looking, and simply slips the book quickly
under his coat and departs. This method is plain and simple in
execution, but sometimes dangerous in practice. Then there is the man
who wears an overcoat, the lining of the pocket of which he has
previously removed, so that he can pass his hand right through while
apparently only standing still looking on, with his hands quietly in his
pocket, possibly with one hand openly touching something, whilst the
other is earning his dinner.
[Illustration: '_Earning his Dinner._']
An amusing incident was once the experience of a London bookseller.
While sitting behind his counter inside the shop, he was amazed one day
at seeing a man running at a tremendous rate, and, momentarily
slackening his speed to seize a book off the stall, he had disappeared
before the astounded bookseller was able to get to the door. And it is
remarkable that, though many people were about, no one seems to have
noticed the thief take the book, though they saw him running. Another
favourite device is to carry a newspaper in the hand, and when no one is
looking deposit the paper on a carefully-selected book within the folds;
or having an overcoat carried on the arm to quickly hide something
under cover of it. This latter method requires, of course, a
well-to-do-looking man, and obviously is chiefly confined to the
stealers of the higher class of valuable books. It also requires, like
every well-managed business, a certain amount of capital, for it is
absolutely necessary--in order to lull suspicion--that small purchases
should be made from time to time in the hunting-ground that has been
chosen for the season.
[Illustration: _The King's Library, British Museum._]
Then there is the mean man who, having money, is yet lacking in the will
to spend it. Such individuals in these days of disguising bad deeds
under grand names are euphemistically designated kleptomaniacs. Most
London booksellers have had experience of this class. It is a known fact
that a literary man whose name is familiar to many readers was expelled
from the reading-room of the British Museum for this sort of conduct,
stealing small trifling things that could easily have been bought, and
mutilating other books by cutting out passages which he was too lazy to
transcribe, and too mean, although a well-to-do man, to employ an
amanuensis.
'Steal?' quoth ancient Pistol. 'Foh! a fico for the phrase. Convey the
wise it call.' Had Pistol lived in these days he would have said,
'Kleptomania the wise it call.' Some years ago there resided in the
West End of London a Belgian gentleman well known in literary circles,
and a man of good position to boot. He possessed a valuable library, and
was a frequent visitor at shops where he could add to his collections.
One dealer noticed that, whenever Monsieur Y. called upon him, one or
two valuable books mysteriously disappeared, and he was not long before
he arrived at the conclusion that his Belgian customer appropriated his
wares without attending to the customary, but disagreeable, process of
exchanging the coin of the realm for his bargains. Our friend the
dealer, an honest but remarkably plain-spoken and fearless individual,
made careful notes of all his losses and their prices.
One day he stopped Monsieur Y. just as he was leaving the shop, and
remarked that he might as well pay for the little volumes he had stowed
away in the pockets of the capacious overcoat he almost invariably wore.
Great was the assumed indignation of the Belgian bibliophile, who
asserted that he had no books on him but those he had already accounted
for. 'Come, come,' said the dealer, 'that won't do; I left you alone in
the room upstairs, but I watched you through the door, and saw you
pocket the books, of which the price is so much. Unless you pay for them
I shall send for a policeman; and whilst I am on the topic you may as
well settle for those other books you have taken from my shelves at
various times.' Here he produced his list, with the prices all affixed,
and a certain small sum added by way of interest. Hereupon Monsieur Y.
stormed and raved, swore it was an attempt to extort money from him, and
threatened legal proceedings. 'If,' said the dealer, 'you can empty your
pockets now without producing any book of mine, except those you have
paid for, I will withdraw my claim and apologize, otherwise I shall at
once send my man' (whom he then called) 'for a policeman.' Whereupon
Monsieur Y. paid the full claim, walked out of the shop, and never
entered it again. But the catalogues were regularly sent to him, and as
the dealer constantly had books that he required, he ordered what he
wanted by post, so that in the long-run the bookseller really lost
little or nothing by his boldness. The same bookseller complained that
people often ordered his books but neglected to pay for them, whilst
intending purchasers who meant to pay ready money, and called at the
shop for the books, had to be sent away disconsolate, sometimes after
having come long distances to secure the long-wished-for volume. 'But
first come, first served, is my motto, and if six orders come for the
same book, it goes to the man whose letter or card I first receive.' A
sturdy John Bull sort of man this, with a great knowledge of books, who
has had to fight a long uphill battle, and is perhaps one of the
best-known men in the trade.
An awkward incident for the thief happened once. A bookseller, the
proprietor of two or three shops, was in one of them, when a person
entered and offered for sale a couple of books. The proprietor
recognised one of them as being his property, he having that morning
sent it to the other of his shops, from which it had been apparently
almost immediately removed. When questioned, the intending vendor
pretended to be much insulted, and asserted the book had been in his
possession for some considerable time, and even threatened the
bookseller, when he insisted on detaining the book, with the police.
This was rather unfortunate, for at that moment a constable passing by
was called in, and, in spite of a great deal of bluster and many
threats, the thief was marched off to the nearest police-station. The
other book, it was found, had also been stolen that morning from another
shop, and the result was four months' imprisonment.
The remarkable fact is that book-thieves are nearly always well-to-do
people; if hunger induced them to steal a book to get a dinner, they
would come in the category of ordinary thieves. If they stole books
because they wanted to read them, and were unable to pay for them, one
might overlook their crime. One of the most remarkable illustrations of
the past few years is that in which an ex-lieutenant in the Royal Scots
Greys was implicated. The books belonged to a lady who had let her house
to the prisoner's father. She left a number of books, which were in
three bookcases. They were locked, and contained valuable books. She was
informed (so runs the report) that several of the books were missing,
and a few weeks after she saw a number of books, including Ruskin's
'Stones of Venice' and 'Modern Painters,' which she identified as her
property. The law was put into motion, and the case came into the
courts. The value of the two books mentioned she estimated at £60, and
the other books at £50. Mr. Reeves, bookseller, then of 196, Strand,
deposed that he could identify the prisoner, and on June 21 he purchased
five volumes of Ruskin's 'Modern Painters,' and gave a cheque for £16.
He understood that the accused had come into possession of them through
a death. On that occasion the prisoner asked the witness what he would
give for three volumes of 'The Stones of Venice.' Witness offered him
£9. On June 28 the prisoner brought the book, and finding it not to be
in such good condition, witness offered him £7 10s. This was accepted,
and witness handed a cheque to the prisoner for that amount. Witness
bought other books from the prisoner for £3 2s. 6d. Mr. Reeves said that
he sold 'Modern Painters' for £18, and 'The Stones of Venice' for £8
10s.
Here is another illustration, gleaned from the Greenwich Police Court: A
person, forty-six, of ladylike appearance, and no occupation, was
charged at Greenwich with stealing a book, valued 4d., from outside the
shop of Charles Humphreys, 114, South Street. She was seen to take a
book from a stall, place it in a novelette, and walk away. Prosecutor
followed, stopped her, and said, 'I've got you now.' She cried out, 'Oh,
for God's sake, don't, don't! Let me pay for it.' But he said, 'No, not
for £5, as you are an old thief.' At her house he found over a hundred
books bearing his private mark, but he could not swear that they had not
been bought. Once he bought some books from the prisoner which she had
stolen from his shop, but he did not know that when he bought them.
Prisoner pleaded guilty to stealing one book, and on her behalf a
solicitor produced a certificate from a medical man, stating that she
was suffering from general weakness of system, loss of appetite,
sleeplessness, and evident mental disorder. Those symptoms he attributed
to causes which induced the magistrate to deal leniently, and a fine of
£5 was imposed.
[Illustration: '_Steals a book, places it in a novelette, and walks
away._']
About a couple of years ago, two maiden sisters, Grace and Blanche ----,
were charged at Bow Street with theft. To all appearances they were
highly respectable members of the community. Grace was seventy-four;
Blanche had only seen sixty summers. They visited Shoolbred's,
apparently wanting to buy some Prayer-books and Bibles. They looked at
many, but none suited them. They left without purchasing anything, no
suspicions being aroused on the part of the attendants. But Detective
Butler and Constable 173 D, who had taken great interest in the old
ladies' movements, saw Grace hand a Book of Common Prayer, a hymn-book,
and ladies' companion to her sister. Shoolbred's manager identified the
articles as the property of the firm, but declined to prosecute on
account of the old ladies' ages. Grace admitted the theft, but said she
did not know what she was doing. A small fine was inflicted.
Even so astute a tradesman as Bernard Quaritch has been victimized by
the book-thief. These are his own words: 'A little dark man, of about
forty-five years of age, with a sallow complexion, apparently a Dutch or
German Jew, speaking in broken English in an undertone, introduced
himself, showing me a business card, "Wunderlich and Co." The following
day the pretended Wunderlich selected books from my stock to the amount
of £270, and said he would come again and select more. At the same time
the little dark, sallow man saw, but refused to buy, a very sweet little
"Livre d'Heures," with lovely miniatures in _camaïeu-gris_, bound in
black morocco, with silver clasp. The price of this lovely MS. was 50
guineas. Since then this mysterious little dark man has disappeared, and
my very sweet little "Livre d'Heures," with its lovely miniatures, has
disappeared also.'
In 1891 Messrs. Sotheran and Co. discovered that a number of rare books
had been abstracted from their Strand shop, including a first edition of
Burns's 'Poems,' 1786; Shakespeare's 'Poems,' 1640, first edition, with
portrait by Marshall, and eleven extra leaves at the end; Heywood's
'Thyestes of Seneca,' 1560; and Piers Plowman's 'Vision and Crede,'
1561--all choice volumes. The Burns was valued at £30, and this was
traced a month or two after its sudden disappearance to a bookbinder,
who offered it to Mrs. Groves, who, however, wisely declined to lend
money on it. Subsequently the book was sent to Mr. Pearson, Exmouth,
who, knowing it had been stolen, at once communicated with the
prosecutors. Two of the other books were traced to New York, and were
returned to the firm at cost price. The enterprising bookbinder received
twelve months' hard.
Mr. Waller, the bookseller, formerly of Fleet Street, relates a rather
amusing incident connected with Thackeray: 'I think it was a book of
"Services" in four small volumes, two of which he already possessed, and
one, completing the set, he saw in my window. He came in, said he wanted
that book, and gleefully told how he had picked up the third a few
minutes before in Holywell Street. He dived into his pocket to show me
his precious "find." It was not there! Between Holywell Street and Fleet
Street someone had relieved him of it, in the belief, apparently, that
it was an ordinary pocket-book with valuables in it!'
[Illustration: '_He had placed the book in his pocket. Someone had
relieved him of it._']
A by no means uncommon person is what may be described as the
conscientious thief, or the man who steals one book and replaces it by
another, which he considers to be of equal value. But a much cleverer
dodge was that of a wily villain who selected a book from the stock of a
firm of booksellers in the Strand, asking one member of the firm to
charge it to him, and then selling it to the other partner at the
opposite end of the shop a few minutes later! This can scarcely be
described as book-stealing, for there is no proof that the 'book-lover'
did not intend paying for the article ultimately. In this case the
assumption was distinctly against his doing anything of the sort.
It will be seen from the foregoing facts that the book-thief hesitates
at no class of book. But would he draw the line at stealing a book which
deals with thieves? The late Charles Reade appears to have thought that
he would not, for he has inscribed not only his name, but the following
somewhat plaintive request, 'Please not to steal this book; I value it,'
in a volume which Mr. Menken once possessed. The book in question is
entitled 'Inventaire général de L'Histoire des Larrons,' Rouen, 1657.
This singular work gives at length the stratagems, tricks, and
artifices, the thefts of and assassinations by thieves, with a full
account of their most memorable exploits in France. One cannot help
wondering if a copy of this extraordinary book has ever been stolen from
a book-collector, and of the remorse which must have overtaken the thief
when he discovered the character of his prize. That indeed would be a
strange irony!
But the book-thief is not by any means one of the numerous penalties of
modern civilization. He has an antiquity which almost makes him
respectable. Hearne, in his 'Johannes Glastoniensis,' states that Sir
Henry Saville once wrote a warning letter to Sir Robert Cotton, who had
offered some additions to the library of the founder of the Bodleian. An
appointment had been made with Sir Robert to give Bodley an opportunity
of inspecting the treasures on his shelves, and it was in anticipation
of this that Saville thought it his duty to warn his friend in the
following terms: 'And remember I give you faire warning that if you hold
any booke so deare as that you would bee loath to have him out of your
sight, set him aside beforehand.' On the authority of the above extract,
Gough has charged Bodley with being a suspicious character--or, in other
words, a thief; but the complete letter puts a very different complexion
on the extract. He tars with the same brush Dr. Moore, Bishop of Ely,
Dr. Rawlinson, and his friend Umfreville. In connection with the
first-named, Gough repeats an anecdote which crops up every now and then
as authentic, for these half-truths have an extraordinary vitality. The
anecdote runs as follows: 'A gentleman calling on a friend who had a
choice library, found him unusually busy in putting his best books out
of sight; upon asking his view in this, he answered, "Don't you know
that the Bishop of Ely dines with me to-day?"' There can be only one
inference, of course. As a matter of fact, we do not believe that there
is any truth in either rumour. So far as Dr. Moore, 'the Father of
Black-letter Collectors,' is concerned, there can be no doubt that he
had a fairly elastic conscience in the matter of book-collecting. He is
said to have collected his library by plundering those of the clergy of
his diocese, justifying himself by the cynical remark, _Quid illiterati
cum libris?_ We do not vouch for the truth of this anecdote, any more
than for the graver charge, but probably there is some foundation for
it. In the Harleian MSS. there is an interesting account of the several
libraries, public and private, which existed in London during the
earlier part of the last century. From this source we learn that 'in the
days of Edward VI., in the chapel adjoining to the Guildhall, called my
Lord Maiors Chapell, was a library well furnisht, being all MSS. Stow
says the Duke of Somerset borrowed them, with a design never to return
them, but furnisht his own study in his pompous house in the Strand;
they were five cartloads.'
Horace Walpole expressed his opinion to the effect that virtuosi have
been long remarked to have little conscience in their favourite
pursuits. A man will steal a rarity, who would cut off his hand rather
than take the money it is worth. Yet in fact the crime is the same. He
tells us of a 'truly worthy clergyman, who collects coins and books. A
friend of mine mentioning to him that he had several of the Strawberry
Hill editions, this clergyman said, "Aye, but I can show you what it is
not in Mr. Walpole's power to give you." He then produced a list of the
pictures in the Devonshire, and other two collections in London, printed
at my press. I was much surprised. It was, I think, about the year 1764,
that, on reading the six volumes of "London and its Environs," I ordered
my printer to throw off one copy for my own use. This printer was the
very man who, after he had left my service, produced the noted copy of
Wilkes's "Essay on Woman." He had stolen one copy of this list; and I
must blame the reverend amateur for purchasing it of him, as it was like
receiving stolen goods.'
The number of book-thieves has increased with the extension of public
(or free) libraries. Here, the accumulated ingenuity of the literary
thief has an ample scope, and he is not the man to let an opportunity
escape. Some of the tribe have a mania for old directories; but novels
are the most popular. The clerical thief with a thirst for sermons and
theological literature is a by no means infrequent customer--and truly
the indictment of a thief of this description ought to bear the fatal
endorsement continued almost up to our own times, _sus. per coll._--'let
him be hanged by the neck.'
At one time nearly all the volumes in the very useful Bohn's Library
series were kept in the Reading-room of the British Museum, but they so
frequently disappeared that the authorities decided upon their permanent
sequestration to a less handy part of the building. Last year Mr. C.
Trice Martin's new 'Record Interpreter' was so highly appreciated both
at the Record Office and at the Reading-room, that the copy at each
institution was stolen from the shelves within twenty-four hours of its
being placed there.
Women more or less respectably dressed are often objects of suspicion to
public librarians; they are also a class infinitely more difficult to
deal with than men, for, whilst the receptivity of their cloaks is
infinite, their 'feelings' have to be considered. Whether guilty or
innocent, the suspected party is bound to create a 'scene,' probably
hysterics--and what is a public librarian, or, indeed, any other man, to
do under such circumstances?