For many years I have had opportunities of inspecting and reporting upon Collections of Books in numerous Country Houses, and I must say that the condition of books in the greater number of them is chaotic. A man will talk about all his possessions—his pictures, his objets d'art, his horses, his garden, and his bicycle, but rarely will he talk about his books; and if he does so, all his geese are swans, or just as often, all his swans are geese. There are servants in every house qualified to do everything except handle a book. There is no reason why the Library should not be just as much a place of amusement as the billiard-room, where the men are usually to be found. Books are much more amusing than billiards, and you may learn to play in jest or work in earnest with books just as you take to any other amusement. The whole truth is that at present books do not get a proper share of attention, and it is with the desire to remedy such a condition of things that I have printed this little volume, containing things that we do know, that we don't know, and that we ought to know about our books.
187 Piccadilly, W.
A good edition should be a complete edition, ungarbled and unabridged. If the author is a classic, the format of the copy chosen should in some way represent the style of the author. Gibbon, for instance, should be in large octavo or quarto, with print of a size to correspond. This is not always possible, for English editions of books often aim at mere cheapness, and of many great authors there exist no good editions. Thus there is no suitable edition of the classics printed in England, as there is and for long has been in France. A good edition is not necessarily an expensive edition, nor is it necessarily noble and generous in print and margin. The editions known as the 'Globe' editions of Pope and others are good editions because (1) They are complete; (2) Each one has been taken in hand and superintended by the most competent scholar and has notes sufficient but not pedantic; (3) Because they are well printed on paper of fair quality by printers who give wages liberally to careful press readers; (4) Because each work being a work of the first or classic order, it is bound in a simple and unaffected style, without meretricious gold or tawdry ornament. Now the 'Globe' editions are fitting in their place as types of right editions of the cheap kind. I will now take right editions of the more liberal and expensive kind. The 'Cambridge' Shakespeare, the last issue, each play in a separate volume, is right because (1) The print, paper, spacing, and simplicity of binding, are suited to the dignity of the work; (2) The edition has had brought to it fulness of knowledge and rightness of judgment; (3) Each volume is light to handle and easy to hold, and flexible in opening.
But it would be misleading to say that these are the only examples of right editions. In other books which I might name, excellent work has been brought to play which in the two types already named there was not scope for. I would like therefore to take another instance, and name the editions of Pope's Works, edited by Courthope and Elwin, of Walpole's Letters, edited by Peter Cunningham, and Boswell's Johnson, edited by Birkbeck Hill. These editions contain excellent and workmanlike features, such as good arrangement and good indexing, with notes and elucidations sufficiently ample. The size too of each volume is not extravagant as in certain éditions de luxe. Now in order that we may have good editions, there are, at least, ten people who must work well together: (1) the Author, (2) the Publisher, (3) the Printer, (4) the Reader, (5) the Compositor, (6) the Pressman, (7) the Paper Maker, (8) the Ink Maker, (9) the Bookbinder, (10) the Consumer.[1] When these ten people are not working in harmony, a book is spoilt. Too often the author, without technical knowledge of book production, insists on certain whims and fancies of his own being carried out. Too often the publisher aims at cheapness and nothing more.
The publications issued by Pickering in the 'forties' and 'fifties' were models of good workmanship. Pickering published and Whittingham printed, and it was their custom to first sit in consultation upon every new book, and painfully hammer out each in his own mind its ideal form and proportions. Then two Sundays at least were required to compare notes in the little summer house in Mr. Whittingham's garden at Chiswick. Here they would discuss size and quality of paper, the shape of the printed page, the number of lines, the size of the type, the form and comeliness of the title-page.[2] In all technical details the Edinburgh edition of R. L. Stevenson's works is satisfying. Here are more 'lines of beauty' than in almost any other modern printed book. As we handle it we feel satisfied that it is right. Perhaps it was such a format that Mr. Ruskin had in mind when he shaped out a scheme of a Royal series of books, which should be models of good work all round. And though it is necessary that we have cheap editions, and that books should circulate everywhere, we want to save the book trade from shoddy work by keeping good models before us. That we produce the best thought in the best form, and not in any mean, shabby dress, ought indeed to be a serious aim of everybody engaged in the matter.
To judge of a fine copy requires some years' handling of books. To some, the school prize, in light brown calf, represents an ideal of book beauty; to others, a padded binding and round corners. But these are neither beautiful nor in any way fine copies. The school prize book is not a fine copy (1) Because it is bound in a very perishable leather; (2) Because its margins have been trimmed away and ploughed into; (3) Because it is received in a form which renders it impossible to stamp one's own individuality upon it; (4) It has gaudy and meaningless ornaments stamped down the back. The padded binding is impossible as a fine copy because it has had applied to it a wholly incongruous method of preservation. Books require to be clothed, but not to be upholstered. The round corners usually adopted by the upholster binder can claim no advantage, and they rob the book of its natural neatness and squareness of edge. School prize bindings and padded bindings are sins against the sanctity of common sense. What then is a fine copy? Almost, though not entirely, essential is it that it be in the original binding as put out by the publisher, whether it be a paper covering, or cloth, or boards. The reason for this is that in securing a book in such a condition one has the book in full measure, and there is no necessity to undo anything which has already been done. Now, if a book be bought in a leather binding, the chances are that it is a leather binding which in no way suits its new owner, and he therefore has not only to sacrifice the binding, but in rebinding it he must sacrifice some of the margins too. The novels of Scott and Marryat in their original boards are delightful to handle. A fine copy should be a clean copy free from spots. When a book is spotted it is called 'foxed,' and these 'foxey' books are for the most part books printed in the early part of this century, when paper-makers first discovered that they could bleach their rags, and, owing to the inefficient means used to neutralise the bleach, the book carried the seeds of decay in itself, and when exposed to any damp soon became discoloured with brown stains.[3] A foxed book cannot have the fox marks removed, and such a book should be avoided. Ink marks can be removed, and a name written upon a title-page can generally be entirely obliterated without leaving any sign that it has been there. Here let me beg people who give presents of books never to write upon title-pages, but upon the fly-leaf. Many thousands of beautiful and valuable volumes are annually ruined for ever by their owners cutting the name from the title. A cut title-page is irreparable. A fine copy may be a bound copy, in which case the edges must not have been cut down, though the top edge may have been gilded, and the binding must be appropriate and not provincial in appearance. A provincial binding lacks finish, the board used is too thick or too thin, or not of good quality, and the leather not properly pared down and turned in. All such things go to spoil good books. In North's Lives of the Norths there is a passage which well describes the man of judgment in books. Dr. John North, whose life forms part of this work, is most picturesquely described in his book-loving habits. 'He courted, as a fond lover, all best editions, fairest characters, best bound and preserved. If the subject were in his favour (as the Classics), he cared not how many of them he had, even of the same edition, if he thought it among the best, rather better bound, squarer cut, neater covers, or some such qualification caught him.' And then his biographer adds, what is so true, and especially of books, 'Continual use gives men a judgment of things comparatively, and they come to fix on what is most proper and easy, which no man upon cursory view would determine.'
Large paper copies are not necessarily fine copies. When a cheap trumpery piece of book-making is printed on hand-made paper or Japanese vellum paper the result is vulgarity, just as when a common person attempts to swagger about in fine clothes. No, a book must show good binding and be appropriately apparelled, or it cannot be referred to as a fine copy. In the matter of large paper copies it is necessary to form a separate judgment in each case. One thing is certain, that the man who collects large paper books as large paper books is a vulgarian and a fool. He who collects such large paper books as mature judgment determines are appropriate, and because he sees them to have genuine points of merit over and above small paper copies, is a book lover. In a charming little volume, written by an American bibliophile, I read the following passage, confirming in part the foregoing:—
'Good editions of good books, though they may often be expensive, cannot be too highly commended. One can turn to a page in inviting letterpress so much easier than to a page of an unattractive volume.'[4]
It would be impossible to tell all the causes which go towards determining the value of a book and which cause it to fluctuate in price. There is but one way to arrive at a reliable knowledge of book values, and that is to begin stall-hunting as soon as you leave school or college and continue until past middle age, absorbing information from stalls, from catalogues, and from sale-rooms. The records of prices at which books have been sold in the auction rooms, and which are regularly issued, are useless in the hands of an inexperienced person. To make up your mind on Monday that you are going to begin a career of successful bargain-hunting and book-collecting is only to be defrauded on all the other five remaining days. Experience must be bought, and an eye for a good copy of a book, or for a bargain of any kind, only comes after years of practice. I admit that if a man begins collecting some particular class of books, say Angling books, he may sooner arrive at safe judgment alone; but even here he has a pretty wide field to make blunders in. When Gabriel Naudé wrote his pamphlet, Avis pour dresser une Bibliothèque, he laid down his first rule thus:—'The first means is to take the counsel and advice of such as are able to give it viva voce.' This was written more than two hundred years ago, and still no better advice could possibly be given to a book collector. By all means find a man whom you can trust, and whose knowledge is ample, and stick to him. Do not yourself bid in the auction room, or you will soon find out your mistake. Place your list of wants and your list of commissions in the hands of one good man whom you have reason to trust, and you will then get your money's worth.
I have said that it is impossible to set down all the causes which affect the prices of books, but in an old French bibliographical book, by D. Clement,[5] the subject is gone into more minutely than it has ever since been treated. First, there are causes which may be classed under the heading of Rarity. Secondly, there are causes which must be grouped under the head Condition.
According to Clement, there are two sorts of rarity in books; the one absolute, the other conditional or contingent. There are rare editions of very common books. There are books of almost common occurrence in public libraries, which are rarely seen in the market. A book or an edition of which but very few copies exist is called 'necessarily rare;' one which is only with difficulty to be met with—however many copies may be extant—he calls 'contingently rare.'
Under the first head he classes; (1) Books of which few copies were printed; (2) Books which have been suppressed; (3) Books which have been almost entirely destroyed by casual fire, or other accident; (4) Books of which a large portion of the impression has been wasted—usually for want of success when published; (5) Volumes of which the printing was never completed; (6) Copies on large paper or on vellum.
Under the second head, he enumerates; (1) Books on subjects which interest only a particular class of students; (2) Books in languages which are little known; (3) Heretical, licentious, and libellous books; (4) First editions of a classic author from MS.; (5) First productions of the printing press in a particular town; (6) The productions of the celebrated printers of the sixteenth century; (7) Books in the vernacular language of an author who printed them in a foreign country; (8) Books privately printed; (9) Works, the various parts of which have been published under different titles, in different sizes, or in various places.
Clement then analyses the degrees of rarity thus: (1) Every book, which is no longer current in the trade, and requires some pains in the search for it, is 'of infrequent occurrence;' (2) If there are but few copies in the country in which we live, and those not easily met with, it is 'rare;' (3) If the copies are so dispersed that there are but few of them, even in the neighbouring countries, so that there is increased difficulty to procure them, it is 'very rare;' (4) If the number of copies be but fifty or sixty, and those scattered, it is 'extremely rare;' (5) And finally, every work of which there are not ten copies in the world is 'excessively rare.' In all these cases, it must be supposed that the book is a book sought for, and that the seekers are more numerous than the sought.[6]
In the matter of Condition and its effect upon price, long training is required before all the qualities of a copy can be properly defined. There are copies on 'vellum,' 'large paper,' 'fine paper,' 'coloured paper.' There are 'crisp' copies, 'uncut' copies, 'tall' copies, 'ruled' copies, and 'illustrated' copies, cum multis aliis.[7]
Fashion determines much as to price. As soon as it becomes a fad to collect books relating to some particular subject, competition instantly steps in, and prices go up. It may be well to state, for the benefit of a very numerous and uninitiated public, that, because a book is old, it is not necessarily rare. There are many thousands of people who have most imperfect and valueless books, mostly on theology, or some controversial abominations, and these people spend days wasting their own and booksellers' time in seeking to sell at prices which their own imagination alone has determined is right. Distrust the advertisements of large paper editions. Very few of them are worth purchasing, and very few, indeed, increase in value. Fight against the first-edition craze, which is the maddest craze that ever affected book collecting. Again and again it must be repeated, and cannot be gainsaid, that a first edition may be the best, but in most cases it is the worst. In every case, inquire and find out which is the best edition as to completeness, good paper and print, and safe editing, if such has been necessary, and then purchase a copy of that edition. One remark finally. The prices of all good books are going up, and any one who lays out money with care within the next ten years will have the enjoyment of his library and a good investment as well.
The two things most neglected in houses are the trimming of lamps and the care of the books. The condition of many libraries in large country houses is most lamentable. In such neglect are they that it would take months, and in some cases years, working day and night, to restore them to a healthy condition. For, poor things! they are really so neglected, that their covers become like the limbs of rheumatic people. If you touch them they seem to shriek and cry with pain. They are either parched for lack of a proper atmosphere, or else they are sticking together with the damp or thickly covered with dust.[8] There is nothing else in a house like this, and why are these things so? It is because there are so few people who understand the care of books. I once read the following in a daily paper, and thought I recognised in it a familiar hand, that of Mr. Andrew Lang:—
'The foes of books are careless people—first of all. They tear pages open with their thumbs, or cut them with sharp knives which damage the margins. It is so difficult to keep paper knives, and ivory paper knives are the favourite pasture of some scholars, who bite the edges till the weapon resembles a dissipated saw. To avoid this temptation some employ mediæval daggers, or skene dhus, but the edges spoil a book. Cigarette ashes are very bad for books, so is butter, also marmalade. Dr. Johnson and Wordsworth are said to have been very careless with their books. Dr. Johnson used to clean his from dust by knocking them together, as Mr. Leighton says housemaids do. Scott was very careful; he had a number of wooden dummies made, and, when a volume was borrowed, he put the dummy in its place on the shelf, inscribing it with the name of the borrower. He also defended his shelves with locked brazen wires. "Tutus clausus ero" ("IGrote