In the following paper some account will be given of five book sizes
that have taken rank as favorites. It should excite no surprise that all
are small sizes. Nature's favorites are always small; her insect jewels
outnumber her vertebrates a millionfold; and book-loving human nature
takes the same delight in daintiness.
There is, to be sure, a general impression that the first centuries of
printing were given up to folios, the eighteenth century to quartos and
octavos, and that only the present period has been characterized by
twelvemos and sixteenmos. We think of the Gutenberg Bible, the Nuremberg
Chronicle, the mighty editions of the Fathers, the polyglot Bibles of
Paris, London, and Antwerp,--fairly to be called limp teachers'
Bibles,--the 1611 Bible, the Shakespeare folios; then of the quarto
editions of Addison, Pope, Walpole, and their contemporaries, and the
stately octavo editions of the same writers; and finally of the myriad
_infra_ that have swarmed from the press during the last century. But,
when we walk through a library that offers a representative collection
of books from the invention of printing to the present, we realize that
the bigness of the folios and quartos has deceived us as to their
relative number, all forms of literature being considered.
The parent of our present book form, the Roman codex, split from an
actual block of wood, had a surface hardly as large as the cover of a
Little Classic. The vellum Books of Hours were dainty volumes. Even in
the period between Gutenberg and Aldus, books of moderate size were not
uncommon, and continuously, from the days of the great Venetian
popularizer of literature to the present, the small books have far
outnumbered their heavy-armed allies. Common sense, indeed, would tell
us that this must be so, even if it had not inspired Dr. Johnson, its
eighteenth century exponent, to declare: "Books that you may carry to
the fire, and hold readily in your hand, are the most useful after all."
Our account properly begins with Aldus. From 1494, the date of his first
productions, until 1501 he printed his books in folio and quarto. But in
the first year of the new century he began to use his famous cursive
type, now called italic. The fineness of the new type, as has been
suggested, called for a smaller size of book, which was also favored by
considerations of economy and convenience; and so Aldus made up his
sheets in a form which the fold compels us to call octavo, but which
to-day would be called sixteenmo. Says Horatio F. Brown, in his "The
Venetian Printing Press": "The public welcomed the new type and size.
The College granted Aldus a monopoly for ten years for all books printed
in this manner. The price of books was lowered at once. Didot calculates
that an octavo of Aldus cost, on an average, two francs and a half,
whereas a folio probably cost about twenty francs. These two innovations
on type and on format constituted a veritable revolution in the printing
press and in the book trade, which now began to reach a far more
extensive market than it had ever touched before. With this wide
diffusion of books came the popularization of knowledge at which Aldus
aimed. Scholarship began to lose its exclusive and aristocratic
character when the classics were placed within the reach of any student
who chose to study, meditate, and interpret them for himself. And to
Aldus belongs the credit of having, through his new type and size,
opened the way to the democratization of learning."
That the taste which Aldus so successfully hit was no merely temporary
one, any person will be convinced if he will stand before a shelf full
of these little Aldus classics, handle the light, well-proportioned
volumes, and take in the esthetic charm of their type and page and form,
which, in spite of their four hundred years, by no means savors of
antiquity. In these books Aldus achieved one of the greatest triumphs
possible in any art, a union of beauty and utility, each on so high a
plane that no one is able to decide which is pre-eminent. In a copy
which I have before me of his "Rhetoricorum ad C. Herennium Libri IIII,"
1546, the fine proportions of the page appear in spite of trimming. Very
noticeable are the undersized roman capitals; more curious is the letter
printed in the otherwise blank square to indicate what initial the
illuminator should insert in color, and the irregular use of capitals
and small letters after a period. The catchword appears only on the last
page of the signature, not on every page, as was the later practice.
Modern usage wisely consigns italic to a subordinate place, but in point
of beauty combined with convenience, it may well be questioned if four
centuries of printing have made any advance upon this page.
In nearly every library for scholars is to be found a row of plump
little books that never fail to catch the eye of the sightseer. If the
visitor does not know beforehand what they are, he is little enlightened
on being told that they are "Elzevirs," and the attendant must needs
supply the information that the Elzevirs were a family of Dutch printers
who flourished during the century that closed with the arrival of
William III in England, and that these tiny volumes represent their most
popular productions. Says George Haven Putnam in his "Books and their
Makers during the Middle Ages": "The Elzevirs, following the example set
a century and a half earlier by Aldus, but since that time very
generally lost sight of by the later publishers, initiated a number of
series of books in small and convenient forms, twelvemo and sixteenmo,
which were offered to book buyers at prices considerably lower than
those they had been in the habit of paying for similar material printed
in folio, quarto, or octavo.... These well-edited, carefully printed,
and low-priced editions of the classics won for the Elzevirs the cordial
appreciation of scholars and of students throughout Europe."
Among the authors who acknowledged their indebtedness to the Elzevirs
may be mentioned Galileo, the elder Balzac, and the poet Ménage. I have
before me more than six feet of shelving filled with these tiny books.
They are nearly all bound in vellum, and thus retain their antique
appearance without as well as within. Their subject-matter is in the
fields of literature, ancient and contemporary, and the history,
geography, and political constitution of the principal countries. The
books of the latter division are known as "Respublicæ Variæ." It is
impossible to resist the conclusion that this book form was chosen not
more to supply cheap books which could be sold to impecunious scholars
than to provide portable volumes for travelers. The Elzevir
"Commonwealths" were the predecessors of our "satchel guides," and the
literary publications in this form were evidently designed to be pocket
editions. It was to such books that Dr. Johnson referred when he advised
his friends "never to go out without some little book or other in their
pocket. Much time is lost by waiting, by travelling, etc., and this may
be prevented by making use of every possible opportunity for
improvement." When the positive doctor, on his journey to the Hebrides,
paid his tribute to George Buchanan at St. Andrews, his acquaintance
with the Latin poetry of the Scotch professor may well have arisen from
his having thus made a pocket piece of one of the several Elzevir
editions of the poet.
The characteristics of the "Elzevirs" are that they range from about
four to about five inches in height, are always narrow, 2-1/4 to 2-3/4
inches in width, and are usually thick, in some cases even 1-1/2 inches.
It is hardly necessary to say that the esthetic impression of these
"jewels of typography" is wholly different from that produced by the
"Alduses." It is the beauty of an infant compared with that of a youth,
and, as in the case of the infant, plumpness is a part of the charm. The
thinnest of the "Elzevirs" (about three-fourths of an inch thick) lack
much of the characteristic quality. It is of course granted that no
small portion of the charm exerted by these volumes is due to their
type, which in artistic excellence and practical effectiveness has
hardly been surpassed before or since.
When William Pickering, in 1830, began to issue his Aldine edition of
the British Poets in the most beautiful and appropriate form that he
could devise, the design which he placed upon the title-page, a dolphin
and an anchor, with the words "Aldi discip. Anglus," was an expression
at once of pride and of obligation. He had gone back to Aldus for his
model, and the book which he produced was in all but its change of type
from italic to roman a nearly exact reproduction of the form which Aldus
had employed so successfully three centuries before. Even the relative
thinness of the volumes was preserved as an important element of their
attractiveness to eye and hand. Whoever would learn what an enormous
difference in esthetic effect can be produced by slight differences in
style and size, especially in thickness, should compare the Pickering
"Aldines" with the rival set of British Poets published by Little and
Brown. The latter series is a noble one, often showing better presswork
than Pickering's, and it was deservedly popular, but it is many degrees
removed from the totality of esthetic charm that would entitle it to
rank as a favorite.
We said that Pickering went back to Aldus for his model, but he did not
travel a lonely road. The book size in question had never ceased to be
used, and in the eighteenth century it was in full favor. The writings
of the novelists and essayists found ready buyers in this form, as
witness, among others, the Strahan Fielding of 1783, the Rivington Idler
of the same year, and the Rivington Sterne of 1788. The size of the
printed page is usually larger, but that of the Sterne corresponds as
closely to that of the two "Aldines" as the difference in the size of
type will permit. Pickering's contemporaries and successors in the
publishing field recognized the attractiveness of this book size, and
the works of the poets generally were issued in this form; hence we
have, for example, the Longman Southey, the Moxon Wordsworth, and the
Murray Crabbe. The latest series to appeal for popular favor by the use
of this book form is Everyman's Library, in which, though much has been
sacrificed to cheapness, the outward proportions of the volumes are
almost identical with those adopted by Aldus and Pickering.
Go, little book, whose pages hold
Those garnered years in loving trust;
How long before your blue and gold
Shall fade and whiten in the dust?
This stanza from Dr. Holmes's introduction to his "Poems" of 1862 may
well be claimed by the Blue and Gold edition of the poets as its
passport to the recognition of future generations. But it will need no
passport; its own enduring charm is sufficient. The volumes of this
dainty series, while larger in all but thickness than the "Elzevirs,"
yet make their appeal by much the same qualities, compactness and
portability, with a suggestion of the Elzevirian plumpness. To the
attraction of the size is added the contrasted charm of the blue cover
and the gilt stamp and edges. That a Blue and Gold edition, in the
absence of its name qualities, becomes something far inferior may be
seen from a copy that has lost them in rebinding. In spite of the
hardness of their blue and the crudeness of their stamped designs, these
little volumes attract every reader and never remain long on the shelves
of the second-hand bookstores. We should not expect a publisher to
succeed were he now to put them upon the market for the first time or in
an exact reproduction. But the publisher who shall so recombine their
elements as to produce upon his public the effect which they made upon
theirs, and which they still make as reminiscent of an earlier taste,
will be the envy of his fellows. It is interesting to note that after
fifty years these volumes show no sign of fading, so that Dr. Holmes
might well have made his stanza an exclamation instead of a question.
They seem likely to last as long as the "Elzevirs" or even the "Alduses"
have already lasted, and possibly to outlast the fame, though hardly the
memory, of the poet who sang them. The dimensions of the cover are 5-5/8
by 3-3/8 inches; the thickness is about an inch. There was a larger Blue
and Gold format, as well as several smaller, but only the standard is
now valued.
We cannot bring our list of favorite book sizes much nearer the present
without running the risk of confusing the temporary and the permanent in
popular approval. We will, therefore, close with a mention of the Little
Classics. At about the time when the Blue and Gold series ceased to be
published, more exactly in 1874, Mr. Rossiter Johnson designed for the
now famous series which he was then editing a book form that sprang at
once into a favor that it still retains. In this form, which appears to
have no near counterpart in either earlier or later bookmaking, the
volumes are closely six by four inches by three-quarters of an inch in
thickness. The edges are colored red, whatever the color of the sides.
The printed page is relatively wide, and the whole effect of the book is
that of a tiny quarto, though in reality the dimensions are those of a
rather small sixteenmo of normal proportions. Thus the volume produces
upon the eye the charm of daintiness, while the page contains a
sufficient amount of matter to make the volume profitable to the
purchaser.
This series naturally suggests comparison with the Tauchnitz editions,
which consist of volumes only slightly larger. But really no comparison
is possible. The Tauchnitz editions are merely convenient carriers of
letterpress. The Little Classics are a genuine art product. That the
latter book size has not been more widely used than it has, by its own
and by other publishers, is perhaps due to commercial reasons. But there
can be no question of the esthetic appeal which it makes upon the reader
who is looking for compactness and beauty rather than for the greatest
bulk for his money. With the modern demand for the saving of space in
private libraries we may reasonably look for a revival of this condensed
and charming book size.
The adoption of a few standard sizes for all books was urged some years
ago at a meeting of American librarians. Commenting on this proposal, a
New York publisher remarked that he should be glad to have such standard
sizes adopted by others, but he should take pains to avoid them in his
own publications in order to gain the distinction of difference. The
discussion stopped suddenly under the impact of this unexpected assault.
But a second thought shows that the publisher's comment leaves the
question still open. It is obvious that if we were to adopt standard
sizes based upon nothing more fundamental than the librarian's desire
for uniformity or the printer's mechanical convenience, without regard
to the tastes and preferences of the reader, who is the final judge, the
publisher might well find his gain in disregarding them. But if the
standards adopted all represented sizes long tested and approved by
popular favor, the publisher who should avoid them would display a
confidence in the Spirit of the Perverse as sublime as it would be
hazardous. Fortunately no formal standardization of book sizes is likely
to be attempted. But, keenly as a publisher would resent any limitation
upon his freedom in book design, he is just as keenly desirous that his
books shall be favorites. To attain his coveted end he has two
resources, experience and experiment, or a mixture of both. While the
book sizes that have been discussed in this chapter do not include all
the favorites, they certainly include some of the first favorites, and
are worthy of study by everyone who is seeking public favor in the
design of that complex art product known as a Book.