Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: Facsimile of original cover of Poe's Tamerlane.
_Frontispiece_. _See page_ 138.]
*THE ROMANCE*
*OF*
*BOOK-COLLECTING.*
BY
*J. H. SLATER,*
EDITOR OF 'BOOK PRICES CURRENT;' AUTHOR OF 'EARLY EDITIONS,'
'ROUND AND ABOUT THE BOOKSTALLS,' 'THE LIBRARY MANUAL,'
'ENGRAVINGS AND THEIR VALUE,' ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK:
FRANCES P. HARPER.
1898.
*CONTENTS.*
CHAPTER.
I. IN EULOGY OF CATALOGUES
II. A COMPARISON OF PRICES
III. SOME LUCKY FINDS
IV. THE FORGOTTEN LORE SOCIETY
V. SOME HUNTING-GROUNDS OF LONDON
VI. VAGARIES OF BOOK-HUNTERS
VII. HOW FASHION LIVES
VIII. THE RULES OF THE CHASE
IX. THE GLAMOUR OF BINDINGS
X. THE HAMMER AND THE END
*CHAPTER I.*
*IN EULOGY OF CATALOGUES.*
There are plenty of people--in fact, they are in the great majority even
among bookish men--who regard antiquated sale-catalogues in the light of
so much rubbish, and yet, when intelligently consulted, these memorials
of a bygone day not only have their uses, but are positively
interesting. Truly enough they are not popular, like the last new novel
which, for one reason or another, has taken the town by storm, and it
would not pay to reprint a single one of them, even the best or most
important that has ever held the frequenters of auction-rooms
spell-bound.
Sometimes a 'parcel' will be sold for what it will fetch, and on
investigation may prove to contain a few simple-minded pamphlets on
subjects of no importance, 'and others,' the latter consisting of
book-catalogues of the last or the earlier portion of the present
century. This happens sufficiently often to make it possible for a
bookish enthusiast of an antiquarian turn of mind to lose himself with
marvellous rapidity in a maze of old-time dispersions. But the
enthusiast, unless very determined indeed, knows better than to choke
his library with such material. He is aware that an exhaustive index is
indispensable to the proper appreciation of such literature, and to make
that would occupy his nights indefinitely.
And so it comes to pass that old sale-catalogues of books are consigned
for the most part to the rubbish-heap, or perhaps sent to the mills, to
reappear later on in another guise. They may be scarce in the sense
that, if you wanted a particular one, it could only be got with great
difficulty, and at considerable expense (here the art of selling to
advantage comes in), or perhaps not at all. This, however, makes no
matter, for the fact remains that such things are not inquired for as a
general rule, and that an occasional demand is insufficient to give them
any kind of a status in the world of letters.
Some five or six years ago a member of the Johnson Club, a literary
society which meets at intervals in various parts of London, but more
particularly in Fleet Street, discovered a catalogue of the sale of the
old Doctor's library, neatly marked with the prices each book had
brought. Whether this was a sale _post mortem_ or a casual interlocutory
dispersal at the instance of some soulless creditor, I do not know. In
any case the relic was a find--a fact which the bookseller who bought it
was not slow to appreciate, for he at once assessed its value, to the
society man, at something like forty shillings. This was paid without
demur, because at the time all the other Johnson catalogues were in
mufti, and it had struck no one to exhibit them, and also because it
was, under the circumstances of the case, a very desirable memorial to
present to the society which flourishes on the fame of the great
lexicographer. Here, at any rate, is one exceptional instance of an old
catalogue possessing a distinct pecuniary value up to L2, and though the
noise this discovery made in certain circles led to a general search and
the rescue of other copies, the circumstances are not in the least
affected on that account.
From a literary or even a sentimental standpoint, a long story, full of
speculation and romance, might be written on Dr. Johnson's
long-forgotten catalogue. We might, for instance, trace, by the aid of
Boswell, many of the books mentioned in it to the very hand of the
master himself. We might conjecture the use he made of this volume or
that in his 'Lives of the Poets,' 'The Vanity of Human Wishes,' or in
the ponderous Dictionary that cemented his fame, and by way of interlude
beguile an hour occasionally by contrasting the character of the books
he affected with the quality of those on the shelves of some modern
Johnson, assuming, of course, that his counterpart is to be found. Then
we might look at the prices realized, and compare them with those ruling
at the present day. Some books then in fashion are, we may be sure, now
despised and rejected, others have not been appreciably affected by the
course of time, while others, again, are now sought after throughout the
world, and are hardly to be met with at all. There is no old catalogue
whatever which is not capable of affording considerable instruction if
we only read between the lines.
Then, again, there is one speculation that no true book-lover can
stifle; it haunts him as he passes the barrows with their loads of
sermons and scholastic primers, and it is this: 'Time works wonders.'
Some day may not this heterogeneous mass of rubbish produce as fine a
pearl as ever a diseased oyster was robbed of? May not fashion go off
at a tangent, and dote on lexicons or what not? There have been
men--Rossi, for example, who was so saturated with the suspicion that
fashion might change any moment that the stalls by which he passed were
'like towns through which Attila or the Tartars had swept, with ruin in
their train'--who would buy any book whatever, whether they wanted it or
not, on the bare chance of someone else wanting it, either at the time
or in the days to come.
Such may be the outcome of a too eager perusal of catalogues, focussed
till it produces an absorbing passion, which only departs with life
itself. After a time discrimination, naturally enough, becomes
impossible, and whole masses of books are bought up for what they may
become, not for what they are. This may appear to be an ignoble sort of
pastime, but in reality it is far otherwise, since wholesale purchasers
of this stamp are invariably well read, and know more about their author
than his mere name. I personally was acquainted with a bookworm who
absorbed whole collections at a time. His house was full of books; they
were under the beds, in cupboards, piled up along the walls, under the
tables and chairs, and even on the rafters under the roof. If you
walked without due care, you would, more likely than not, tumble over a
folio in the dark, or bring down a wall of literature, good, bad, or
indifferent, on your head. This library was chaotic to the general,
though the worm himself knew very well where to burrow for anything he
required, and, what is more to the point, would feed for hours on
volumes that few people had ever so much as heard of. The monetary value
of his treasures did not trouble him, though one of his favourite
anecdotes related to the hunting down of a fourth folio Shakespeare,
which, after much haggling, he purchased for a song from a poor woman
who lived in an almshouse. When the delight of the chase was over, he
recompensed her to the full market value, thereby proving that, in his
case at least, a greed for books does not necessarily carry with it a
stifled conscience. Sad to relate, this bibliophile died like other
men, and the collection of a lifetime came to the inevitable hammer.
Most of his books then proved to be portions of sets. If a work were
complete in, say, ten volumes, he would perhaps possess no more than
five or six of the full number in various bindings and editions, while
others, though complete, were imperfect, and many were in rags. Yet
among the whole there were some pearls of great price. Even in his day
the fashion had changed in his favour.
Now, this changing of fashion which is always going on cannot be
prophesied at haphazard, or perhaps even at all; but if there is a way
of forestalling it, it is by the careful comparison of prices realized
for books of a certain kind at different periods of time, and this can
only be accomplished by a study of catalogues. The book-man likes to
think that history repeats itself in this as in other matters, and that
what has happened once will probably occur again in process of time.
Nay, he might, without any great stretch of credulity. persuade himself
that it must occur, if only he live long enough. That's the rub, for
half a dozen lifetimes might not be sufficient to witness a return to
favour of, say, the ponderous works of the Fathers, which were in such
great demand a couple of centuries ago. As of them, so of many other
kinds of books which are only read now by the very few. Some day they
will rise again after their long sleep, but not for us.
As a corollary to this eulogy of catalogues, let us take a few of them
and see where the book-man's steps are leading him. In his wanderings
abroad he must many a time be painfully conscious of the fact that his
own quest is that of everyone else whose tastes are similar to his own.
Let a first edition of the immortal 'Angler' so much as peep from among
the grease and filth of a rag-and-bone shop, and a magnetic current
travels at lightning speed to the homes of a score or more of pickers-up
of unconsidered trifles, who forthwith race for the prize. How they get
to know of its existence is a mystery. Perhaps some strange
psychological influence is at work to prompt them to dive down a
pestilential alley for the first and last time in their lives. Did you
ever see a millionaire groping in the gutter for a dropped coin? His
energy is nothing to that of the book-man who has reason to suspect--why
he knows not--that here or there may perhaps lie hid and unrecognised a
volume which fashion has made omnipotent. And his energy is not
confined to himself alone, for one decree of a naughty world changes
not--it is ever the same: What many men want, more men will search for;
what one man only has, many will want. The path of the book-hunter is
trodden flat and hard with countless footsteps, and this is the reason
why it is so unsatisfactory to look specially for anything valuable.
We may take it, therefore, that, though hunting for books may be a
highly exhilarating pastime, it is seldom remunerative from a pecuniary
point of view. There are, no doubt, hundreds of thousands of good and
useful volumes which can be bought at any time for next to nothing; but
they have no halo round them at the moment, and so they are abandoned to
their fate by the typical collector, who insists not only on having the
best editions in exchange for his money, but that his books shall be of
a certain description--that is to say, of a kind to please him, or which
for the time being is in great demand.
And men are pleased at various times by books of a widely different
character, as the old catalogues tell us plainly enough. In 1676, when
William Cooper bookseller, dwelling at the Sign of the Pelican in Little
Britain, held the first auction sale ever advertised in England--that of
the library of Dr. Lazarus Seaman--works critical of the Fathers and
Schoolmen; learned and critical volumes of distressing profundity,
appealed to the comparative few who could read and write sufficiently
well to make reading a pleasurable experience. Poetry is absent
entirely. Shakespeare and Milton are elbowed out by Puritan fanatics who
fulminate curses against mankind. No doubt, if a book-man of those days
had been asked what kind of literature would be in vogue a couple of
centuries hence, he would have pointed to Seaman's collection and
replied, 'Books like those can never die. So long as learning holds its
sway over the few, they will be bought and treasured by the many.' In
this he would have been wrong, for few people care nowadays for volumes
such as these. The times have changed utterly, and we with them.
At this same sale was a book which sold for less than almost any other,
and it lay hidden away under this bald and misleading title: 'Veteris et
Novi Testamenti in Ling. Indica, Cantabr. in Nova Anglia.' Simply this,
and nothing more. No statement as to date, condition or binding appears
in Cooper's catalogue, and yet this Bible is none other than John
Eliot's translation into the Indian language, with a metrical version of
the Psalms in the same vernacular, published at Cambridge, Mass., in
1663-61. An auctioneer of the present day would print the title of this
volume in large capitals, and tell us whether or no it had the rare
dedication to King Charles II., of pious memory, which was only inserted
in twenty copies sent to England as presents. If it had, then this
book, wherever it may be, is now worth much more than its weight in
gold, for at Lord Hardwicke's sale, held in London on June 29, 1888,
such a desirable copy was knocked down for L580.
Why this immense advance in price, seeing that probably there is no man
in England to-day who could read a single line of John Eliot's free
translation? The reason is plain. Since 1661 sleepy New England has
vanished like the light canoes of countless Indians, and in the busy
United States there has grown up a great demand for anything which
illustrates the early history of North America. Had such a contingency
struck old Lazarus Seaman, he would have made his will to suit the
exigences of the case, and perhaps taken more interest in John Eliot and
his missionary enterprises than anyone did at the time, or has done
since.
It may perhaps be said that Seaman's library must have been of a special
kind, one which such a learned divine might be expected to gather within
his walls; but as a matter of fact this was not so. Between 1676 and
1682, October to October in each of those years, exactly thirty sales of
books were held by auction in London, among them the libraries of Sir
Kenelm Digby, Dr. Castell, the author of the 'Lexicon Heptaglotton,' Dr.
Gataker, Lord Warwick, and other noted persons. The general character
of all the seventeenth-century catalogues which time has spared for our
perusal is substantially the same. Every one of them reflects the taste
and fashion of the day, as did Agrippa's magic glass the forms of absent
friends. Still harping chiefly on theology! as Polonius might say,
these catalogues are crammed with polemics and books of grave discourse.
Anything which could not, by hook or by crook, be dragged, as to its
contents, within the circumference of the fashionable craze, was
disposed of for a trifling sum. Even in 1682 the learned world, or at
least our narrow corner of it, was inhabited almost entirely by
crop-eared Puritans, with sugar-loaf hats on their heads and broad
buckles to their shoes, and by Philosophers. True! Cromwell had gone
to his account, and Charles II. held Court at St. James's and elsewhere,
but the King and his merry companions were not reading men unless a
profound knowledge of 'Hudibras,' that book which Pepys could not abide
the sight of, could make them so. The anti-Puritans patronized Butler,
and doted on Sir Charles Sedley, the Earl of Rochester and a few more,
who scribbled love-verses by day, and gambled and fought and drank at
night. But these worshipped Thalia and Erato only, with music and
dancing and other delights, and knew nothing of solid hard work by the
midnight oil. They had no books to speak of, and the few they had were
light and airy like themselves, and for the most part as worthless.
On November 25, 1678, a great sale was held at the White Hart, in
Bartholomew Close. The books were 'bought out of the best libraries
abroad, and out of the most eminent seats of learning beyond the seas,'
or, more truthfully, had been removed from the shops of seven London
book-sellers who had combined to rig the market. Books of all kinds
were dispersed at this sale, which continued _de die in diem_ till the
heptarchy was satisfied. Were the members of this pioneer combination
alive now, they would weep to think that they gave away on that
occasion--practically gave away--scores of what have long since become
aristocrats among books. Americana were there in plenty, and some of
these are now so extremely rare and valuable that they are hardly to be
procured for love or money; some few, indeed, have completely
disappeared, tossed lightly aside, probably by disgusted purchasers, or
carted back again to the shops from whence they came, to be stacked once
more till they perished utterly of damp and neglect, moth, mice and
rust. On the other hand our old friends, the Puritans, revelled in grim
folios bought up at prices which, the change in the value of money
notwithstanding, would hardly be exceeded now. Walton's 'Biblia Sacra
Polyglotta' was an immense favourite, a distinction it doubtless
deserved, and, indeed, deserves yet, though we can see that Walton must
have 'gone down' woefully in the last hundred years, when we come to
calculate the necessaries of life that could be bought then with a piece
of gold, and to contrast them with the meagre display such a sum would
purchase now. The truth perhaps, is that, although education was less
widely diffused in the days of the Stuarts, it was more deep and
thorough. A savant was then like a huge octopus that devastates whole
districts, and daily grows fatter and more bloated at the expense of
everything that moves within reach of its spreading tendrils.
To this effect are we taught by these ancient catalogues, which,
however, do not exhaust all their interest in mere matters of prices and
fashion. We can learn much from their pages and advertisements of the
manners and customs of our ancestors in Bookland. It seems that there
were travelling auctioneers a couple of centuries ago who prefaced their
remarks with eulogies of the Mayor and Corporation of each town at which
they stopped, by way, no doubt, of securing their patronage. Sales
began at eight o'clock in the morning then, and went on, with a mid-day
interval for refreshment, until late at night. Sometimes the auctioneer
sold by the candle-end; that is to say, lit a morsel of candle on
putting up some coveted volume for competition, and knocked it down to
him who had bid the most when the light flickered out. This was,
distinctly, an excellent method for bolstering up excitement, for every
splutter must have been good for a hasty advance, regretted very
possibly when the modicum of tallow entered on a fresh lease of life.
When not selling by the candle-end, an auctioneer would dispose of about
thirty lots in the course of an hour, and was quite willing to accept
the most trifling bids. Business is more rapidly conducted now, for few
auctioneers stop to curse their fate, or to regale their audience with
anecdotes, as one George Smalridge, who in 1689 wrote and published a
skit on the prevalent way of doing business, says was quite the usual
custom in his day. His tract is written in Latin, under the title
'Auctio Davisiana,' and gives a fanciful account of the extraordinary
proceedings that took place at the sale of the books of Richard Davis,
an ancient bookseller of Oxford, who had fallen into the clutches of the
bailiffs. The auctioneer commences with a dirge said, or perhaps sung,
over the miserable Davis: 'O the vanity of human wishes! O the
changeableness of fate and its settled unkindness to us,' etc. Each
book is extolled at length, and there are pages of lamentation and woe
as Hobbes of Malmesbury, his 'Leviathan,' 'a very large and famous
beast,' is knocked down, by mistake, for the miserable sum of five
pieces of silver.
An exhaustive chapter on early book auctions would necessarily commence
with the dispersion of the stock of Bonaventure and Abraham Elzevir at
Leyden in April, 1653; but the Elzevirs must look to themselves, nor are
these remarks intended to be even approximately full. Rather are they
discursive, and in praise of catalogues in the mass; intended merely to
put someone else with more space and time at his disposal in the way of
rescuing them from the neglect into which they have fallen. The next
chapter is more specific, for in that we will take a very famous sale of
less antiquity, and endeavour to draw comparisons between then and now.
And these comparisons will perhaps be very odious, for they will
necessarily appeal directly to the cupidity of every bookworm that
breathes, to every book-hunter who prowls around in search of rarities,
and returns home--empty handed.
*CHAPTER II.*
*A COMPARISON OF PRICES.*
The important sale to which reference was made in the last chapter is
that of the library of John, Duke of Roxburghe, which was dispersed on
May 18, 1812, and forty-one following days, by Robert H. Evans, a
bookseller of Pall Mall. This sale is of extreme interest for two
reasons. In the first place, the collection was the most extensive,
varied, and important that had hitherto been offered for sale in
England, or indeed, anywhere else; and, secondly, it may fairly be
regarded in the light of a connecting-link between the old state of
things and the new. The Roxburghe library was not 'erected,' as Gabriel
Naudaeus has it, on traditional principles; it was of a general
character that appealed to all classes of book-men. On the other hand,
it was not quite such a library as a collector of large means might be
expected to get together at the present day, for the tendency is now to
specialize, and in any case many of the books that the Duke obviously
took an interest in are of such little importance now, and so
infrequently inquired for, that they would most assuredly be refused
admission to any private library of equal importance and magnitude.
Even a general lover would hardly be likely to manifest much interest in
a number of volumes on Scots law or to hob-a-nob with Cheyne, who in
1720 wrote a book on the gout, or with Sir R. Blackmore, notwithstanding
that eminent physician's great experience of the spleen and vapours.
That lore of this kind has its merits I dispute in no way, but it is not
exactly of a kind to interest the modern collector, who, even if he aim
at all branches of literature alike, would much prefer to have his legal
and medical instruction boiled down, so to speak, to the compass of a
good digest or cyclopaedia.
Nevertheless, May 18, 1812, is among the _fasti_ of those who to a love
of letters add a passion for books. It is the opening day of the new
regime--the birthday, in fact, of those who revel in first editions and
early English texts. Brunet said that the 'thermometer of
bibliomania'--objectionable word!--'attained its maximum in England'
during these forty-two days of ceaseless hammering, and Dibdin went
perfectly insane whenever he thought of this 'Waterloo among
book-battles,' as he called it. Everyone of course knows the chief
episode; that struggle between Earl Spencer and the Marquis of Blandford
for the 1471 Boccaccio, in its faded yellow morocco binding, and how the
latter carried it off for L2,260, a most idiotic price to pay, as
subsequent events abundantly proved; for seven years later, when Lord
Blandford's library came to be sold, the coveted volume was acquired by
his former rival for considerably less than half the money. It now
reposes in state at Manchester, or, as some choose to say, is in prison
there, though it is perhaps too much to expect that all good things
should be forcibly removed to London, as some greedy Metropolitans wish
them to be.
The Duke of Roxburghe's library comprised rather more than 10,000 works
in about 30,000 volumes, and the auctioneer's method of classifying this
large assortment was so peculiar that he feels constrained to apologize
for it in a rather extensive preface.
'For instance,' says he, 'the _Festyvale_ of Caxton, printed in two
columns, of which no other copy is at present known, may be found
classed with a small edition of the Common Prayer of one shilling
value.'
The 'Festyval' brought L105, and the little Prayer-Book, which proves to
have been printed at London in 1707, 8s. 6d., which is more than it
would be at all likely to sell for now. But what about Caxton's lordly
tome; how much might that be expected to bring in case it should once
again find its way into the open market? Judging from the present price
of Caxtons, perhaps five or six times the money would not be an
impossible figure, but there is no telling. It might bring more, even
though it has the misfortune to belong to the second edition, for only
six copies are known, and several of those are imperfect. Of the first
edition of 1483, only three perfect copies are to be met with, and that
is, of course, quite a different matter. The auctioneer need not, as it
happens, have sought to excuse himself so energetically for placing good
and bad books side by side, for the whole catalogue is arranged under
subjects, and to do otherwise would have been manifestly impossible. He
might, however, have entered somewhat more fully into detail as to
condition and binding, for some of the books were, confessedly, 'thumbed
to tatters,' and a suspicion that this or that 'lot' may be so afflicted
lurks in every page of the catalogue.
The first book brought to the hammer at this sale; the preliminary
bombshell which, to pursue Dibdin's metaphor, was the signal for a
furious cannonade, consisted of the 'Biblia Sacra Graeca,' printed by
Aldus in 1518. This is the first complete edition of the Bible in
Greek, and an important book on that account. It brought L4 15s., and
any book-hunter might heartily pray for half a dozen copies now, on the
same terms, for the present auction value runs to about six times as
much. In fact, a sound copy sold only the other day for L27. So, too,
Schoiffer's Latin Bible, printed at Mayence in 1472, folio, would be
considered cheap now at L8 8s., assuming nothing was wrong with it. In
1893 a copy in oak boards brought L20 exactly. On the other hand,
Baskerville's Bible, Cambridge, 1763, was excessively dear at L10 15s.,
seeing that a very fair copy can be got at the present time for about L1
10s. Collectors of Bibles are responsible for much of the terrible
confusion that takes place when we begin to draw comparisons in matters
of filthy lucre. If a Bible come from a noted press, or is an original
edition of its version, or very old indeed, then up goes the price,
especially if it be printed in English. One would have thought that
Baskerville being an Englishman, and a fine printer in his way, would
have been good for much more than L1 10s. But no; he has not been dead
long enough, for the collectors have made it a rule that no English
Bible printed after 1717 is any good at all, and consequently that the
'Vinegar Bible' is the last book of the kind in point of date worth
looking at, unless, indeed, exception be made in favour of one of the
six large-paper copies of Bentham's Cambridge Bible of 1762, which are
reported to have luckily escaped a conflagration. The late Mr. Dore, who
was a strong man on the subject of old Bibles, says that a little
research would reveal the existence of many more than the traditional
half-dozen copies, so perhaps, after all, the conflagration is a myth.
But if Baskerville's Bible brought what we should now consider to be an
outrageous sum, what shall be said of 'The Holy Bible, illustrated with
Prints, published by T. Macklin, six volumes, folio, 1800,' which went
for L43, incomplete though it was. Some L2 10s. for the whole seven
volumes is not at all an uncommon auction price at the present day, and
this amount and more would most certainly be swallowed up by the binding
alone. What it comes to is that among all these books of theology,
Biblical comment, criticism, polemics, sermons, and works of the
Fathers, prices have fallen since 1812, except in those cases where
collectors have stepped in to rescue old Bibles, works associated with
some great religious revolution, or specimens of rare typography from
the presses of old and noted printers.
For instance, there was here another Caxton called 'The Prouffytable
boke for Mane's Soul,' folio, described as 'a beautiful copy,' which
went for L140, and 'A Lytell Treatyse called Lucydarye,' 4to., Wynkyn de
Worde, which brought L10. During the last dozen years the former book
has appeared twice. At the Earl of Aylesford's sale in March, 1888, it
brought (in company with 'The Tretyse of the Love of Jhesu Christ,' by
Wynkyn de Worde, 1493) L305, and in July, 1889, an inferior copy, badly
wormed, sold for L100.
These are the sort of books beloved by large public libraries, which are
fast swallowing up the few that remain. From a pecuniary point of view
it would perhaps pay some rich book-hunter of the Lenox type to buy up
everything of the kind he could lay his hands on, though the worst of
speculations such as these is that the interest on the money invested
has a tendency to swell the principal, and so to add enormously to the
original cost.
Among books that have gone down in price since the Duke of Roxburghe
made his famed collection are those classical works of the ancients
which were at that time all the rage. Virgil is no longer a name to
conjure with, unless he happen to rank as a sound copy of the _editio
princeps_. The first edition of Virgil was printed by Sweynheym and
Pannartz at Rome, without date (1469?), and the Duke, notwithstanding
the search of a lifetime, never came across a copy of that. Not more
than seven copies can now be traced, and only two of these have come to
the hammer for more than a hundred years. One, though imperfect,
realized 4,101 francs at the La Valliere sale held at Paris in 1784, and
the other L590 at the Hopetoun House sale at London in February, 1889.
Then Homer is also a most desirable companion if he happen to have been
printed at Florence, in two volumes, folio, 1488. About L100 is his
price under those circumstances. Speaking generally, however, unless the
printer comes to the rescue of a Greek or Latin classic, it may fairly
be said to have fallen on an unappreciative generation. Scores upon
scores of volumes, the very flowers of classic days, edited by
Cunningham, Heyne, Person, and other first-rate scholars of the last
century, are to be met with in this bulky catalogue at sums varying from
L2 to L3 each. In an old book of this class, a copy of Epictetus,
edited by Heyne, and published at Dresden in 1756, was a slip of paper
with a memorandum of the price at which it had been purchased in 1760.
It was a bookseller's bill for L1 12s., made out to one 'Mr. Richard
Cosgrove,' doubtless a good customer in his day. I have the book now,
and it cost me fourpence, as much as it was worth. At the Duke of
Roxburghe's sale a copy of this same edition brought L1 4s. This, no
doubt, is rather an extreme case, but it will serve to illustrate the
general principle sought to be enunciated, namely, that
eighteenth-century classics are, for the most part, but wastepaper, for
the simple reason that only a comparatively small number of people can
read them. The learning of the schools may be deep and thorough--to
assert the contrary would be to offend many excellent scholars of our
own day; but it is nevertheless extremely probable, to say the least,
that there are more books of the kind than there is any demand for, and
so they litter the stalls, braving the wind and rain, till they are
rescued by the merest chance and given house-room for a brief space.
In the opinion of many collectors the word 'poetry' only embraces
English verse of a certain period, or written by certain people. The
Duke's library was particularly rich in ancient English verse, lyric and
dramatic, and some of the prices realized were very high. Webbe's 'A
Discourse of English Poetrie,' 4to., 1586, brought L64, and 'The
Paradyse of Daintie Devises,' 4to., 1580, L55. A curious collection of
some thousands of ancient ballads, in three large folio volumes, sold
for L477 15s. This collection, which was stated to be the finest in
England, was originally formed for the celebrated library of the Earl of
Oxford in the beginning of the eighteenth century, and was even then
supposed to excel the Pepys collection at Cambridge. It came from the
Harleian Library, and was purchased and afterwards largely added to by
the Duke, who managed to secure a ballad printed by Leprevik at
Edinburgh in 1570, a ballad quoted in 'Hamlet,' of which no other copy
was known to exist, and many other extraordinary rarities. Dibdin was
present when the 'poetry' was competed for, and bought several hundred
pounds' worth of books, either on his own or somebody else's account,
the whole of which he could easily have stowed away in his capacious
pockets.
Naturally enough, the works of Shakespeare would first be turned to by
anyone who held this catalogue in his hand for the first time. There
are nearly three pages of closely printed entries referring to the great
dramatist, and the only conclusion that can be arrived at is that in
1812 the early quartos must have been, if not exactly common, at any
rate of no great rarity. It would be impossible to argue that
Shakespeare was not then appreciated, for the contrary is well known to
have been the fact. The late Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps in after-years
talked of picking up early quartos for a few shillings each, and
lamented that, for some mysterious reason which he found himself unable
to explain, they had suddenly become scarce. Very likely he himself had
excited a keen desire to possess them in the breasts of those who read
his numerous books, or--publish it not in Gath!--the bulk of them may
have fallen into unappreciative hands, and been used to light the fires
withal.
However this may be, the early Shakespearian quartos, now of great
price, were disposed of at the Roxburghe sale for only a little more,
and occasionally for less, than the first editions of Marlowe,
Massinger, and several other of the chief Elizabethan dramatists. A
copy of the first folio sold, it is true, for L100, but the second only
brought L15, the third L35, and the fourth L6 6s. This record, in the
face of L84 for Boydell's edition in nine volumes, folio, 1802--a work
which may now be expected to sell for L5 or L6, even with some of the
illustrations after Smirke and others in proof state--is most
extraordinary.
But let us get to the quartos and compare the prices of then and now.
The first-named are those realized at the Roxburghe sale; those in
brackets are modern, and authenticated with dates and items complete.
There is more scope for reflection here, and a whole volume might be
written on the mutability of fashion. 'Much a-doe about Nothing,' first
edition, 4to., London, 1600, L2 17s. (the Gaisford sale, April 23, 1890,
L130); 'A Midsommer Night's Dreame,' first edition, 4to., 1600, L3 3s.
(_ibid._, L116); 'The Merchant of Venice,' by Roberts, first edition,
4to., 1600, L2 14s. (the Cosens sale, November 11, 1890, L270);
'Pericles, Prince of Tyre,' 4to., 1619, 5s. (the Lakelands Library,
March 12, 1891, L37); 'Pericles, Prince of Tyre,' 4to., 1635, 14s.
(_ibid._, L15); 'Romeo and Juliet,' second, or first complete edition,
4to., 1599, L12 12s. (the Perkins sale, July 10, 1889, L164); 'King
Lear,' 4to., 1608, L6 12s. (the Brayton-Ives sale, New York, March 5,
1891, $425); 'Sir John Oldcastle,' first edition, 4to., 1600, 19s. (the
Gaisford sale, April 23, 1890, L46).
These modern prices are small in comparison with what might have been,
for none of the copies above mentioned were in the finest condition. If
we want first-rate records we must go further back--to the Daniell sale,
for instance, held in 1864, when thousands of pounds were paid as a
matter of course for a selection of these little quarto volumes, which
had successfully eluded the greasy fingers of generations of playgoers,
the fires of disgusted Puritans, and the ignorance of our own people.
Never shall we see nearly three thousand distinct lots of English poetry
as previously defined disposed of at one single sale again, never again
will prices rule so low. Many of these books are not to be met with at
all in our generation, no matter what price may be offered for them,
seeing that, as an old book-hunting friend used to say, they have become
'scandalously uniquitous.'
In addition to early English texts, the great Duke had amassed a
splendid collection of romances of the Quixotic school, known in polite
circles as the _Table Ronde_. He was not content, it seems, with the
printed editions, but also collected many manuscripts on vellum,
illustrated with beautiful illuminations. Among these curious
manuscripts were several which had been used and translated by the
celebrated Walter de Mapes for the entertainment of his Sovereign, Henry
II. The printed books of this character, some of which occasionally,
though very rarely, gladden the hearts of romantic bibliophiles,
included the twenty-four small volumes recounting the exploits of Amadis
of Gaul, published at Lyons and Paris in 1577, etc., and also several
duplicates, L16 16s. A fairly good set, without the duplicates, brought
L4. 4s. in April, 1887--a dreadful drop, considering the demand there is
for books of the kind. Still, this particular work has undoubtedly
fallen, for another copy produced only L6 the June following. Nor,
should I imagine, would 'L'Histoire du Noble Chavelier Berinus,' a
quarto book printed at Paris, without date, sell for as much as L7 7s.
at the present time, or 'Le Livre de Beufves de Hautonne,' folio, Paris,
1502, for L13 13s., or 'L'Histoire Merveilleuse du Grand Chan de
Tartarie,' folio, 1524, for L22.
The twelve pages devoted to the enumeration of works of chivalry and
romance glow with the martial achievements of Palmerin of England,
Godeffroy de Boulion, Perceforest, Roy de la Grande Bretaigne, Perceval
le Galleys, and scores of other champions who went about rescuing
damsels in distress, sleeping in enchanted castles, and challenging the
whole civilized race of men, one at a time, to mortal combat.
Perceforest, by the way, in six folio volumes, Paris, 1528, went for
L30, a fact worthy of note, inasmuch as another copy sold, a few months
ago, for L10 l0s. Of all the knights of ancient days, the regal
Perceforest was the least worthy of credence, which is saying a great
deal. His folios bristle with dragons, necromancers of the worst type,
heroic rescues, combats with giants, devils, and all kinds of monsters
who strove, and in vain, to destroy this past-master of Quixotic
enterprise. That such books did at one time exercise considerable
influence over adventurous spirits is undoubted. They were the only
novels of the day, the only bit of light reading to be had in the
interval between one tourney and another.
Passing by a large and almost complete collection of the separately
published works of Robin Greene, that unfortunate who bought a groat's
worth of wit with a million of repentance, we come to the Voyages and
Travels, and note, as before, the differences in prices. Hakluyt's
'Collection of Voyages,' 2 vols., folio, 1589-99, brought L4. 14s. 6d.
(the Holding sale, January 17, 1895, L16; the Langham sale, June 19,
1894, L375, second edition, 3 vols., folio, which contained the map by
Molyneux, of which only twelve copies are known. This copy belonged to
the first issue, without the cartouche about Sir Francis Drake, which
was subsequently added); 'Hakluytus Posthumus; or, Purchas his
Pilgrimes,' 5 vols., folio, 1625-26, L42 (the Toovey sale, February 26,
1894, L51); 'Sir Francis Drake Revived,' 1652, and 'The World
Encompassed by Sir Francis Drake,' 1652, the two pieces 7s. (the Hawley
sale, July 2, 1894, L6 5s.); 'Cooke's Voyages,' 8 vols., 4to., 1773-84,
with the large plates bound in two folio volumes, L63 (December 5, 1893,
at Christie's, L3 12s., and on many other occasions for about the same
amount); Eden's 'History of Travayle in the West and East Indies,'
London, 1577, L6 10s. (the Thornhill sale, April 15, 1889, L10 5s.; the
Wimpole Sale, June 29, 1888, L18 10s., original binding); Vancouver's
'Voyage of Discovery to the North Pacific Ocean,' 3 vols., 4to., and
folio atlas of plates, 1798, L8 18s. (the Holding sale, January 17;
l895, L5 5s.). It would be more than tedious to pursue this comparative
analysis further. Suffice it to say that as a rule the prices realized
in 1812 for books of travel were greater than would be realized now
under similar circumstances, especially when the journeys undertaken
were about the foot-worn Continent of Europe or in the various English
counties. Pennant's 'Journey from Chester to London,' for example, is
now a book of small account, yet the Duke of Roxburghe's copy sold for
L7 15s.
Works relating to America are, curiously enough, almost absent from the
Duke's catalogue, and it may fairly be taken for granted that at the
beginning of the present century no one cared much about them. This
will explain the extreme scarcity of many of these books now, for what
people think lightly of they take no care to preserve. Hundreds and
thousands of Americana must have been torn to fragments or otherwise
destroyed in past days. Often of small size, they would escape the
notice of lovers of folios, nor is their general appearance sufficiently
imposing to appeal to those who value a book strictly in proportion to
its external beauty. The Duke had only a few works of travel in any way
relating to America, and as the list may be interesting, I have thought
it best to transcribe it _verbatim et literatim_:
Schmidel 'Navigatio in Americam,' 4to., _Norib._, 1599. L1 6s.
Las Casas's 'Discoveries, etc., of the Spaniards in America,' _Lond._,
1699, 3s. 6d.
'History of the Bucaniers of America,' 4to., _Lond._, 1684, L2 6s.
Hennepin's 'Discoveries in America,' 8vo., _Lond._, 1698, 3s.
'Voyage dans l'Amerique,' par La Hontan, 2 vols., 8vo. _La Haye_, 1703,
and 'Dialogues avec un Sauvage de l'Amerique,' par La Hontan, 8vo.,
_Amst._, 1704, the two volumes 7s. 6d.
Hontan's 'Voyages to North America,' 2 vols., 8vo., _Lond._, 1735, 6s.
6d.
Joutel's 'Voyage to the Missisippi,' 8vo., _Lond._, 1714, 4s.
Jones' 'Present State of Virginia,' 8vo., _Lond._ 1724, 2s.
Carver's 'Travels in N. America,' with plates, 8vo., _Lond._, 1778, 10s.
Long's 'Voyages and Travels in N. America,' 4to., _Lond._, 1791, 11s.
6d.
'Histoire des Antilles,' par Pere du Tertre, 3 vols., 4to., _Paris,_
1667, L2 2s.
Blome's 'Description of Jamaica,' etc., 8vo., _Lond._, 1678, 8s.
Gage's 'Travels in America and the W. Indies,' 8vo., _Lond._, 1699, 2s.
6d.
Wafer's 'Description of the Isthmus of America,' 8vo., _Lond._, 1699,
9s.
'Collectio Peregrinationum in Indiam Orientalem et in Indiam
Occidentalem, 19 partibus comprehensa, cum multis figuris Fratrum De
Bry, 4 vols., folio, _Francof._, L51 9s.
This 'Collectio Peregrinationum,' or Grands Voyages of Theodore de Bry,
nearly always makes its appearance in the auction-room in sections.
Nine of the parts, including the Additamentum, all first editions, with
the plates and maps, sold on July 1, 1895, for L18 10s.
And now we must take a final leave of the Duke of Roxburghe and the
collection which he got together during the course of a long life of
painstaking and critical research. His catalogue is worth comparing
with several important records of the present day, but to do this
thoroughly would involve a tabulated analysis quite out of keeping with
a work such as I am engaged upon. There is magic in comparisons, for
they tell us what to avoid, and it may be that by their aid we could in
a measure take fashion by the forelock and jump the years to come. Such
a consummation is possible, but life is rounded too narrowly by the
present, and therefore too short to make it worth anyone's while to
endeavour to peep into futurity.
*CHAPTER III.*
*SOME LUCKY FINDS.*
The book-hunter whose heart is in his quest never tires of tales of
lucky discoveries, and of rare books bought for a song. This is natural
enough, and, moreover, authentic details of some great find invariably
stimulate his eagerness, and encourage him to persevere in the search
for what he is repeatedly being told--as though he of all men did not
know it already--is only to be met with casually, and by the merest of
accidents. Now that all of us have settled among ourselves what books
are rare, and desirable to possess on that account, as well as for many
other reasons, everyone is, of course, naturally anxious to obtain the
credit and still more the solid advantages of a startling discovery. It
is each man for himself, and that perhaps is the reason why book-men of
the old school invariably dressed in staid and sober black, like Sisters
of Charity, to show the world at large that charity in matters that
relate to their pursuit is dead. What man among the whole fraternity
would give away his suspicions that, in such and such a place, something
may lie hidden? Rather would he make his way to the spot, in fear lest
some other explorer might not, after all, have forestalled him, and
during his journey there look to the right and the left of him, and get
lost in crowds, as part of a deep design to shake off any other bookworm
who, knowing his hunting instincts and great experience, might perchance
be shadowing his footsteps. It has, indeed, been seriously questioned
more than once by learned divines whether any collector, and more
especially a collector of books, can by any possibility reach the
kingdom of heaven, seeing that the inestimable gift of charity is by him
regarded of such little account that he would do anything rather than
practise it. It were best, however, to leave such polemical discussions
to those who take an interest in them, and content ourselves with saying
that the bookman's ways are necessarily tortuous, and his route through
life circuitous.
It is next to impossible to open any book about books without meeting
with instances of lucky finds, and the most curious part of the matter
is that the stories are invariably more or less the same. Like the
literary man's collection of stock phrases, which he uses with or
without variation as occasion may require, and at judicious intervals,
so these records of the chase strike us as being peculiarly liable to
recur. From their opening sentences we know them--nay, the very mention
of a place or a name is often sufficient to make an adept take up his
parable and finish the narration. Let a man but whisper Hungerford
Market, and we know that he is going to tell us of the fishmonger's shop
where about half a century ago 'autograph signatures of Godolphin,
Sunderland, Ashley, Lauderdale, Ministers of James II.; Accounts of the
Exchequer Office, signed by Henry VII. and Henry VIII.; Wardrobe
Accounts of Queen Anne; Secret Service Accounts, marked with the "E.G."
of Nell Gwynne; a treatise on the Eucharist, in the boyish hand of
Edward VI.; and a disquisition on the Order of the Garter in the
scholarly writing of Elizabeth,' were rescued from the eaters of fried
plaice, and the tender mercies of the barbaric tradesman who supplied
them. Mr. Rogers Rees, of 'Diversions of a Bookworm' fame, got this
story from somewhere, though he perhaps would not know it now, for it
has been altered and added to in a score or more of competing
publications. Then there are stories of Resbecque, who had a nose for a
book second to that of no hound for a fox, of Naude, Colbert, the great
Pixerecourt, and many more. It would be a shame to dish up these plats
again, for to make them palatable they would have to be seasoned with
imaginative details--an objectionable, not to say fraudulent, practice
at its best.