that ever lived. As Inspector-General of French Libraries under Louis
Philippe, he had special facilities for helping himself--his known
thefts have been valued at £20,000. We mention him here because his
collections were sold at Sotheby's in 1860. One of the most interesting
illustrations of this man's depredations was exposed in 1868, when Lord
Ashburnham issued a translation of the Pentateuch from a Latin MS. which
had been purchased by a previous holder of the title from Libri, who
sold it under the condition that it was not to be published for twenty
years. It had been stolen in 1847 from the Lyons Library, and the clause
in the agreement, therefore, is easily understood. Libri evidently was
not one of those whom Jules Janin describes as 'people who don't think
it thieving to steal a book unless you sell it afterwards.'
Unfortunately, education has knocked all the virtue out of charms and
incantation. Madame de Genlis is said to have fenced the greater part of
her library with the following lines:
'Imparibus meritis pendent tria corpora ramis;
Dismas, et Gesmas, media est Divina Potestas;
Alta petit Dismas, infelix infima Gesmas.
Nos et res nostras conservet Summa Potestas!--
Hos versus dicas, ne tu furto tua perdas.'
Quite a long chapter could be made up of the doggerel rhymes frequently
made use of in bygone days in which the prospective thief was warned off
under penalties of a prison, or even of a worse end. Here is one:
'Si quisquis furetur
This little Libellum
Per Phoebum, per Jovem,
I'll kill him--I'll fell him--
In ventrem illius
I'll stick my scalpellum,
And teach him to steal
My little Libellum.'
And here is another:
'Qui ce livre volera,
Pro suis criminibus
Au gibet il dansera,
Pedibus pendentibus.'
A curious and interesting chapter in the history of book-stealing is
furnished us by Mr. F. S. Ellis. 'Some thirty years since I was talking
with Mr. Hunt, for many years Town Clerk of Ipswich, who was an ardent
book-collector, and in the course of conversation he lamented how some
ten years previously he had missed an opportunity of buying a first
edition of "Paradise Lost" under the following circumstances. There was
a sale in the neighbourhood of Ipswich, in which a number of books were
included. These were all tied in bundles and catalogued simply as so
many books in one lot. Going over one of these bundles, what was his
surprise to find a first edition of "Paradise Lost," with the first
title-page, and in the original sheepskin binding! He said nothing, but
went round to the auctioneer's house and asked him if he would be
willing to sell him a particular book out of the collection previous to
auction. "Oh, by all means," said the auctioneer; "just point me out the
volume and say what you are willing to give me for it, and you can take
it out at once." What was Mr. Hunt's chagrin and disappointment, on
again taking up the bundle, to find that the number of books was all
right according to the catalogue, but Milton's "Paradise Lost" had
disappeared. Someone with as keen an eye as the Town Clerk had also
discovered the jewel, and had put in practice the theory that exchange
is no robbery, and had substituted some other volume for the Milton
without going through the formality of a consultation with the
auctioneer. Not long after this, a "Paradise Lost," which I have every
reason to believe was _the_ "Paradise Lost" described above, in the
original sheepskin binding, and having the "first" title-page, was
offered for sale to Mr. Simpson, who carried on an old-book business for
Mr. Skeat, in King William Street, Strand. He purchased it for what in
those days was considered a high price; but how much it was below what
is now esteemed its value is witnessed by the fact that he offered it to
the late Mr. Crossley, of Manchester, and after much haggling sold it to
him for £12 12s. When Mr. Crossley had secured it, he quietly remarked,
"And now let me tell you that if you find a dozen more copies in similar
condition, I will give you the same price for every one." It remained in
Mr. Crossley's library for many years, and at the sale of his books in
1884 realized what was considered the very high price of £25. Eight
years after it had advanced to £120.'
The book-borrower is, perhaps, a greater curse than the thief, for he
simulates a virtue to which the latter makes no pretension. The
book-plate of a certain French collector bore this text from the parable
of the Ten Virgins: 'Go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for
yourselves.' 'Sir,' said a man of wit to an acquaintance who lamented
the difficulty which he found in persuading his friends to return the
volumes that he had lent them, 'Sir, your acquaintances find, I suppose,
that it is much more easy to retain the books themselves than what is
contained in them.' A certain wise physician took a gentle way of
reminding the borrower who dog-eared or tore the pages of his books:
pasted on the fly-leaf of each of his books is a printed tag, bearing
this legend: 'Library of Galen, M.D. "And if a man borrow aught of his
neighbour and it be hurt, he shall surely make it good," Exodus xxii.
14.' A much more effective plan is that described some time ago in the
_Graphic_ by Mr. Ashby Sterry. In all the books of a certain cunning
bibliophile he had the price written in plain figures; when anyone asked
him for the loan of a book he invariably replied, 'Yes, with pleasure,'
and, looking in the volume, further added, 'I see the price of this work
is £2 17s. 6d.'--or whatever the value might happen to be--'you may take
it at this figure, which will, of course, be refunded when the volume is
returned.' If a person really wished to read the volume he would of
course be glad to leave this deposit; and if he did not return it he
would not be altogether an unmitigated thief. Mr. John Ashton relates,
in his volume on the 'Wit, Humour, and Satire of the Seventeenth
Century,' a curious anecdote which may be here quoted: 'Master Mason, of
Trinity Colledge, sent his pupil to another of the Fellows to borrow a
Book of him, who told him, _I am loathe to lend my books out of my
chamber, but if it please thy Tutor to come and read upon it in my
chamber, he shall as long as he will._'
When Harrison Ainsworth was a youth and living at Manchester, he
contracted an enthusiastic admiration for Elia, to whom he sent some
curious books on loan. One of these was a black-letter volume entitled
'Syrinx or a sevenfold History, handled with a variety of pleasant and
profitable both comical and tragical Arguments,' etc., by W. Warner,
1597. Lamb replied, December 9, 1823: 'I do not mean to keep the book,
for I suspect you are forming a curious collection, and I do not
pretend to anything of the kind. I have not a black-letter book among
mine, old Chaucer excepted, and am not bibliomanist enough to like
black-letter. It is painful to read; therefore I must insist on
returning it, at opportunity, not from contumacy and reluctance to be
obliged, but because it must suit you better than me.' The copy of
Warner's 'Syrinx' Ainsworth had borrowed from Dr. Hibbert-Wade, and
therefore it was not the future novelist's book to give. Ignoring,
however, his expressed determination to return it, Elia lent the book to
another friend, who shortly after went to New York, and may have taken
the Warner with him, much to Dr. Hibbert-Wade's annoyance, of which he
did not, it is said, fail to let Harrison Ainsworth know. It appears,
however, to have returned again--indeed, it is probable that the book
never left England--for it is now in the Dyce Collection at South
Kensington, with 'Mr. Charles Lamb' written on one of the fly-leaves,
and Dyce's note, 'This rare book was given to me by Mr. Moxon after
Lamb's death.'
The ranks of London book-borrowers, as those of book-thieves, have
included a number of men eminent or distinguished in some particular
way. The Duke of Lauderdale was one of these. Evelyn tells us that he
was a dangerous borrower of other men's books, as the diarist knew to
his cost. Coleridge was a wholesale book-borrower, and the manner in
which he annotated the books of his friends caused much strong and deep
lamentation at the time. These 'annotated' books have now acquired a
very distinct commercial and literary value.
The _London Chronicle_ of December 3-5, 1767, contains a curious
advertisement, headed 'Book-Missing.' It goes on, 'Whereas there is
missing out of the late Dr. Chandler's Library the _fifth Volume of
Cardinal Pool's Letters_, and it is presumed that the said volume of
Letters was borrowed by some friend of the Doctor's; it is earnestly
requested by the Widow and Executrix of the said Dr. Chandler that
whoever is in possession of the said volume would be so kind as
immediately to send it to Mr. Buckland, Bookseller, Paternoster Row,
and the favour will be gratefully acknowledged.'
When Sir Walter Scott lent a book, he put in its place a wooden block
bearing the name of the borrower and the date of the loan. Charles Lamb,
tired of lending his books, threatened to chain Wordsworth's poems to
his shelves, adding, 'For of those who borrow, some read slow; some mean
to read, but don't read; and some neither read nor mean to read, but
borrow to give you an opinion of their sagacity. I must do my
money-borrowing friends the justice to say that there is nothing of this
caprice or wantonness of alienation in them. When they borrow money they
never fail to make use of it.'
Just as the difference between the book-thief and the book-borrower is
of too slight a nature to warrant independent chapters, so the hero who
indulges in the luxury of a 'knock-out' is more or less of a thief, and
this company is, essentially, a very proper place in which to find him.
A 'knock-out,' it may be briefly explained to the uninitiated, is a
system by which two or more booksellers--or, for the matter of that, any
other tradesmen--combine to procure certain books at a lower than normal
auction value. An American paper stated, some time ago, and among many
other remarkable things, that 'a private buyer cannot obtain a book by
auction in London at any price.' The extreme foolishness of such a
statement need not be enlarged upon in this place. That the knock-out
system does exist in London no one but a fool would deny. That it does
occur now and then at such places as Sotheby's, Christie's, Puttick and
Simpson's and Hodgson's, is without any manner of doubt, but not to any
extent worth mentioning. Where the system is in vogue is at sales held
in private houses, and at auction-rooms where books are not generally
sold. At such places books are usually knocked down at absurdly low
figures, until the private person steps in, when the prices begin to go
up with a bound; they then realize oftentimes figures far above those at
which they may be acquired at the shops. After the private bidder has
been excited into paying an excessive price for his lots, he realizes
that he is doing a foolish thing, and resigns the game into the hands of
the trade, when the prices again begin to assume their former very low
levels. The knock-out books are taken away by their nominal purchaser,
and in a convenient back parlour of some handy 'pub' they are put up
again for competition among the clique, when all profits realized are
thrown into a pool, and afterwards equally divided.
'The two books you commissioned me to get were knocked down at £1 15s.
and 10s. respectively,' said a bookseller to a well-known collector only
the other day; 'and if you insist upon having them at these prices, plus
the commission, you must have them. But as a matter of fact they cost me
£1 over and above the total of £2 5s.' The reply to the collector's
demand for an explanation was, 'Smith agreed to let me have these two
books if I did not oppose his bidding for the Fielding.' It is scarcely
necessary to say that the total cost, with the £1 thrown in, was much
below the original commission, whilst the Fielding ran up to
considerably over the price Smith intended to have given. By striking a
balance, the two cronies each obtained what he wanted. An arrangement of
this sort is nearly invariably the explanation of two extreme prices
being paid for equally good copies of one book in a single season.
In 1781 a portion of the library formed by Ralph Sheldon, of Weston,
Warwickshire, chiefly in the third quarter of the seventeenth century,
was sold at Christie's, but the auctioneer throughout appears to have
been victimized by the knock-out system. One of the lots, comprising a
large collection of scarce old plays in fifty-six volumes, quarto, was
knocked down to one bookseller for £5 5s.; he then passed it on to
another for £18, and the collection was sold on the spot to Henderson
the actor for £31 10s. At this same sale the English Bible, 1537,
realized 13s.; two copies of the Common Prayer Book, 1552, 8s.; the
First Folio Shakespeare, with two other books, £2 4s.; the 'Legenda
Aurea,' printed by Notary, 1503, 10s. 6d. It would not be difficult to
extend this list of illustrations, but perhaps one example is as good as
a hundred.
We may, appropriately enough, conclude this brief but sufficiently
lengthy notice of the knock-out system with an anecdote which shows
that, in this case, a 'knock-out' would have been justifiable. At a
certain famous book-sale a few years ago, a volume of no particular
interest, except that it contained the autograph of the Earl of
Derwentwater, was possibly worth £5. But the bidding was brisk, two of
the dealers being evidently bent on having the prize. To the
astonishment of everybody, the price went up to about 120 guineas, when
one of the dealers gave in. Taking the other man aside, he said, 'Who
have you been bidding for?' 'Mr. So-and-So.' 'So have I.' Another
illustration of the unexpected and incomprehensibly sudden rise in the
auction value of books is explained in the following extract of a letter
from Horace Walpole: 'I cannot conclude my letter without telling you
what an escape I had, at the sale of Dr. Mead's library, which goes
extremely dear. In the catalogue I saw Winstanley's "Views of Audley
End," which I concluded was a thin dirty folio, worth about fifteen
shillings. As I thought it might be scarce, it might run to two or three
guineas; however, I bid Graham _certainly_ buy it for me. He came the
next morning in a great fright, said he did not know whether he had done
right or very wrong; that he had gone as far as _nine and forty
guineas_. I started in such a fright! Another bookseller had, luckily,
as unlimited a commission, and bid fifty. I shall never give an
unbounded commission again.'
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
SOME HUMOURS OF BOOK-CATALOGUES.
AN interesting and curious pendant to Mr. H. B. Wheatley's 'Literary
Blunders' might be made up of the errors which have occurred from time
to time in booksellers' catalogues. These errors are sometimes
grotesquely amusing, and are perhaps as often attributable to the
ingenuity of the printer as to the ignorance of the cataloguer.
Booksellers usually content themselves with seeing one proof of their
catalogues, and as the variety of books dealt with is so great, it would
need at least half a dozen careful revisions to secure anything like
correctness. As a general rule, the catalogues of London booksellers are
exceptionally free of blunders, provincial compilers (notably one or two
in Birmingham) being far behind their Metropolitan rivals. The example
of
'Mill, John S., On Liberty,
" " On the Floss,'
is almost too well known to again bear repeating; the same may be said
of the instance in which Ruskin's 'Notes on the Construction of
Sheepfolds' was catalogued as a book for farmers, and of that in which
Swinburne's 'Under the Microscope' was classed among optical
instruments. The cross-reference of
'God: _see_ Fiske, J.,'
is a gem of absent-mindedness. Here are four more gems which appeared in
the catalogue of a public library:
'Aristophanes: The Clouds of the Greek Text.'
'Boy's Own Annual: Magazine of Gymnastics.'
'Swedenborg: Conjugal Love and its Opposite.'
'Tiziano (Titian), Vicelli Da Cadore.'
The following is a good specimen of a bookseller's inspiration in
reference to the entry 'Bible--2 vols., 12mo., _Edin._, 1811' in his
catalogue: 'Sir Brunet and Dibdin in praise of this beautiful edition.
As most nearly approaching unimaculateness a better copy than the
present one could not be found.' This example is on a par with that in
which an early Missal is catalogued as an 'extremely rare old printing
and engraved work,' its author being 'Horæ B. V. Mariæ and usum
Romanum,' whilst it is stated to be bound by 'Chamholfen Duru,' whoever
he may be. Equally intelligent is another item from the same source,
'Newcastle (Marguis de Methode, etc.), oeuvre auquel on apprende,' etc.
Perhaps it was the cheapness--sixpence each--which prevented two items
from having fuller descriptions:
'Horace, the Poems of, very interesting.'
'Jokely, very interesting, 12 months.'
Perhaps '12 months' is the term of imprisonment which any bookseller
deserves for publishing such absurdities. Another gem in the way of
blunders is the following:
'There's (Lord and Lady) Legends of the Library at Lilies,
2 vols., 8vo., bds., 2s. 6d., 1832.'
The book catalogued in this puzzling manner is by Lord and Lady Nugent,
and is entitled 'Legends of the Library at Lilies [the Nugents'
residence], by the Lord and Lady thereof.' A similar carelessness
resulted in Sir Astley Cooper's 'Treatise on Dislocations,' 1822, being
catalogued as follows: 'Bart (C. A.), a Treatise on Discolourations and
Fractures of the Joints,' etc., and also of books by Sir James Y.
Simpson, Bart., as by 'Bart (S.)' and 'Bart (J.).' The following entries
speak for themselves:
'Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Pottery.'
'The New Wig Guide.'
'The Rose and the Ring by R. Browing.'
'Marryat's "Pirate and Three Butlers."'
Under 'Devil, The,' we find the following entry: 'Le Deuil sou
observation dans tous les Temps,' 1877; and under Numismatics the
following delightful bull: 'Money, a comedy, a poor copy, 1s.'
As an instance of official cataloguing, it would be difficult to beat
the following description of a familiar classic which appeared in a list
issued a few years ago (according to a writer in _Notes and Queries_) in
a certain presidency of India, 'by order of the Right Hon. the Governor
in Council':
'Title--Commentarii (_sic_) De Bello Gallico in usum Scholarum,
Liber Tirtius (_sic_).
Author--Mr. C. J. Caesoris. Subject--Religion.'
Nichols, in his 'Literary Anecdotes' (iv. 493), mentions that Dr.
Taylor, who about the year 1732 was librarian at Cambridge, used to
relate of himself that one day throwing books in heaps for the purpose
of classing and arranging them, he put one among works on Mensuration,
because his eye caught the word _height_ in the title-page, and another
which had the word _salt_ conspicuous he threw among books on Chemistry
or Cookery. But when he began a regular classification, it appeared that
the former was 'Longinus on the Sublime,' and the other a 'Theological
Discourse on the _Salt_ of the World, that good Christians ought to be
seasoned with.' Thus, in a catalogue published about eighty years ago
the 'Flowers of Ancient Literature' are found among books on Gardening
and Botany, and Burton's 'Anatomy of Melancholy' is placed among works
on Medicine and Surgery. Some blundering bibliographer has classed the
'Fuggerarum Imagines,' the account of the once mighty Italian family,
among botanical works, under the 'Resemblance of Ferns.' Dibdin states
that he once saw the first Aldine Homer in a country bookseller's
catalogue described as 'a beautiful copy of the _Koraun_.' The Rev. John
Mitford sent to a Woodbridge bookseller for a copy of Shelley's
'Prometheus Unbound,' and received the answer that no copy of
'Prometheus' _in sheets_ could be obtained--a misconception which
Bernard Barton promptly forwarded to London, to Charles Lamb's great
content. We have heard of the following blunder, but have never actually
seen it:
'SHELLEY--Prometheus, unbound,' etc.
' ---- ---- another copy, olive morocco,' etc.
The nearest approach to it occurred a few years ago in a Glasgow
auctioneer's catalogue: 'Lot 282, Sir Noel Paton's Illustrations,
Shelley's _Prometheus_, unbound, 12 plates, N.D.' As a matter of fact,
the copy was bound in cloth. 'Please send the ax relating to a justus
pease' is a phrase which will be remembered by readers of 'Guy
Mannering.' Only recently a post-card reached Messrs. Smith, Elder and
Co. requesting the immediate despatch of a copy of 'Hard on Horace,'
which was the inaccurate, or perhaps waggish, sender's rendering of the
'Hawarden Horace.' This will be remembered with the request for 'The
Crockit Minister,' by Stickett, and 'Sheep that Pass in the Night.' Some
of the foregoing budget can scarcely be placed to the discredit of the
cataloguer, but they are sufficiently _apropos_ to be included here.
The following amusing entry occurs in the sale catalogue of the library
of the late Mr. R. Montgomery, which was dispersed by auction at Antwerp
the other day: 'Plain or Ringlets? by Alfred Tennyson, Poet Laureate,
with illustrations by John Leech. London, s.d., 8{o} d. rel. dos et
coins chagr. rouge, tête dorée, figg. coloriées et noires.' Messrs.
Longmans had a letter a few weeks ago asking for a copy of 'Chips from a
German Workshop,' by Max Müller, for review in a trade paper dealing
with carpentering, etc.! This reminds one of the story of Edwardes, the
Republican bookseller of a century ago, who put a Government spy to
confusion by re-binding a Bible and giving it the seditious title, 'The
Rights of Man.' Burke's 'Thoughts on the French Revolution' was
advertised by him as 'The Gospel according to St. Burke.' Outside a
certain bookseller's shop, Mr. R. C. Christie once saw a book in six
duodecimo volumes, bound in dark antique calf, and lettered 'Calvini
Opera.' Knowing of no edition of the works of Calvin in that form, Mr.
Christie took down a volume, and found it was 'Faublas!' It was the
original edition in thirteen parts, with the seventeen engravings, and
was so lettered, no doubt, by its former owner to shelter it from
indiscreet curiosity!
The practice of giving books of poetry, novels, etc., what may be
described as floricultural titles, has landed cataloguers into an
astonishing number and variety of errors, some of which have been
pointed out by Mr. B. Daydon Jackson in the _Bibliographer_. The chief
sinners have been foreign bibliographers, who, not being able to examine
the books which they catalogue, depend entirely upon the titles. The
same error occurs frequently here in this country. An English trade
journal included Dr. Garnett's selection from Coventry Patmore's poems,
'Florilegium Amantis,' under 'Botany, Farming, and Gardening.' Two of
Mayne Reid's novels, 'The Forest Exiles' and 'The Plant-Hunters,' have
been included among scientific books, but in these cases the errors seem
to have arisen from the misleadingly translated titles, the former in
Italian ('Gli esuli nella foresta; cognizioni di scienza fiscia e
naturale'), and the latter in French, 'Le Chasseur de Plantes.' The
learned Pritzel included among botanical treatises 'The Lotus, or Faery
Flower of the Poets.' In the earlier part of the century a story was in
circulation relative to an erudite collector who was accustomed to boast
of his discoveries in Venetian history from the perusal of a rare
quarto, 'De Re Venaticâ.' A brother bibliographer one day lowered his
pretensions by gravely informing him that the historical discoveries to
which he laid claim had been anticipated by Mr. Beckford, who, towards
the close of the last century, published them to the world under the
analogous title of 'Thoughts on Hunting.'