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The Library-第10部分
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arto; by taking to pieces; remounting; and inlaying。 It contains some eight hundred engravings; portraits; views; playbills; titlepages; catalogues; proof illustrations from Dickens's works; a set of the Onwhyn plates; rare engravings by Cruikshank and 'Phiz;' and autograph letters。 Though this volume does not pare with Harvey's Dickens; offered for 1750 two years ago; it is an excellent specimen of books of this sort; and the veriest tyro in bibliographical affairs knows how scarce are being the early editions of Dickens's works and the plates illustrating them。 {4} Anything about Dickens in the beginning of his career is a sound investment from a business point of view。 Another work of the same sort; valued at 240; is Lady Trevelyan's edition of Macaulay; illustrated with portraits; many of them very rare。 Even cheaper; all things considered; is an extra illustrated copy of the 'Histoire de la Gravure;' which; besides its seventythree reproductions of old engravings; is enriched with two hundred fine specimens of the early engravers; many of the impressions being in first and second states。 At 155 such a book is really a bargain; especially for any one who is forming a collection of engravings。 Another delightful work is the library edition of Bray's 'Evelyn;' illustrated with some two hundred and fifty portraits and views; and valued at 175; and still another is Boydell's 'Milton;' with plates after Westall; and further illustrations in the shape of twentyeight portraits of the painter and one hundred and eightyone plates; and many of them before letter。 The price of this book is 325。〃
But few bookghouls are worse than the moral ghoul。 He defaces; with a pen; the passages; in some precious volume; which do not meet his idea of moral propriety。 I have a Pine's 〃Horace;〃 with the engravings from gems; which has fallen into the hands of a moral ghoul。 Not only has he obliterated the verses which hurt his delicate sense; but he has actually scraped away portions of the classical figures; and 〃the breasts of the nymphs in the brake。〃 The soul of Tartuffe had entered into the body of a sinner of the last century。 The antiquarian ghoul steals titlepages and colophons。 The aesthetic ghoul cuts illuminated initials out of manuscripts。 The petty; trivial; and almost idiotic ghoul of our own days; sponges the flyleaves and boards of books for the purpose of cribbing the bookplates。 An old 〃plaint of a Bookplate;〃 in dread of the wet sponge of the enemy; has been discovered by Mr。 Austin Dobson: {5}
THE BOOKPLATE'S PETITION。 By a Gentleman of the Temple。
While cynic CHARLES still trimm'd the vane 'Twixt Querouaille and Castlemaine; In days that shocked JOHN EVELYN; My First Possessor fix'd me in。 In days of Dutchmen and of frost; The narrow sea with JAMES I cross'd; Returning when once more began The Age of Saturn and of ANNE。 I am a part of all the past; I knew the GEES; first and last; I have been oft where else was none Save the great wig of ADDISON; And seen on shelves beneath me grope The little eager form of POPE。 I lost the Third that own'd me when French NOAILLES fled at Dettingen; The year JAMES WOLFE surpris'd Quebec; The Fourth in hunting broke his neck; The day that WILLIAM HOGARTH dy'd; The Fifth one found me in Cheapside。 This was a Scholar; one of those Whose Greek is sounder than their hose; He lov'd old Books and nappy ale; So liv'd at Streatham; next to THRALE。 'Twas there this stain of grease I boast Was made by Dr。 JOHNSON'S toast。 (He did it; as I think; for Spite; My Master call'd him Jacobite!) And now that I so long today Have rested post discrimina; Safe in the brasswir'd bookcase where I watch'd the Vicar's whit'ning hair; Must I these travell'd bones inter In some Collector's sepulchre! Must I be torn from hence and thrown With frontispiece and colophon! With vagrant E's; and I's; and O's; The spoil of plunder'd Folios! With scraps and snippets that to ME Are naught but kitchen pany! Nay; rather; FRIEND; this favour grant me: Tear me at once; but don't transplant me。
CHELTENHAM; Sept。 31; 1792。
The conceited ghoul writes his notes across our fair white margins; in pencil; or in more baneful ink。 Or he spills his ink bottle at large over the pages; as Andre Chenier's friend served his copy of Malherbe。 It is scarcely necessary to warn the amateur against the society of bookghouls; who are generally snuffy and foul in appearance; and by no means so insinuating as that fair ladyghoul; Amina; of the Arabian Nights。
Another enemy of books must be mentioned with the delicacy that befits the topic。 Almost all women are the inveterate foes; not of novels; of course; nor peerages and popular volumes of history; but of books worthy of the name。 It is true that Isabelle d'Este; and Madame de Pompadour; and Madame de Maintenon; were collectors; and; doubtless; there are other brilliant exceptions to a general rule。 But; broadly speaking; women detest the books which the collector desires and admires。 First; they don't understand them; second; they are jealous of their mysterious charms; third; books cost money; and it really is a hard thing for a lady to see money expended on what seems a dingy old binding; or yellow paper scored with crabbed characters。 Thus ladies wage a skirmishing war against booksellers' catalogues; and history speaks of husbands who have had to practise the guile of smugglers when they conveyed a new purchase across their own frontier。 Thus many married men are reduced to collecting Elzevirs; which go readily into the pocket; for you cannot smuggle a folio volume easily。 This inveterate dislike of books often produces a very deplorable result when an old collector dies。 His 〃womankind;〃 as the Antiquary called them; sell all his treasures for the price of wastepaper; to the nearest country bookseller。 It is a melancholy duty which forces one to introduce such topics into a volume on 〃Art at Home。〃 But this little work will not have been written in vain if it persuades ladies who inherit books not to sell them hastily; without taking good and disinterested opinion as to their value。 They often dispose of treasures worth thousands; for a ten pound note; and take pride in the bargain。 Here; let history mention with due honour the paragon of her sex and the pattern to all wives of bookcollecting men Madame Fertiault。 It is thus that she addresses her lord in a charming triolet (〃Les Amoureux du Livre;〃 p。 xxxv):
〃Le livre a ton esprit 。 。 。 tant mieux! Moi; j'ai ton coeur; et sans partage。 Puisje desirer davantage? Le livre a ton esprit 。 。 。 tant mieux! Heureuse de te voir joyeux; Je t'en voudrais 。 。 。 tout un etage。 Le livre a ton esprit 。 。 。 tant mieux! Moi; j'ai ton coeur; et sans partage。〃
Books rule thy mind; so let it be! Thy heart is mine; and mine alone。 What more can I require of thee? Books rule thy mind; so let it be! Contented when thy bliss I see; I wish a world of books thine own。 Books rule thy mind; so let it be! Thy heart is mine; and mine alone。
There is one method of preserving books; which; alas; only tempts the borrower; the stealer; the rat; and the bookworm; but which is absolutely necessary as a defence against dust and neglect。 This is binding。 The bookbinder's art too often destroys books when the artist is careless; but it is the only mode of preventing our volumes from falling to pieces; and from being some day disregarded as wastepaper。 A wellbound book; especially a book from a famous collection; has its price; even if its literary contents be of trifling value。 A leather coat fashioned by Derome; or Le Gascon; or Duseuil; will win respect and careful handling for one specimen of an edition whereof all the others have perished。 Nothing is so slatternly as the aspect of a book merely stitched; in the French fashion; when the threads begin to stretch; and the paper covers to curl and be torn。 Worse consequences follow; whole sheets are lost; the volume bees worthless; and the owner must often be at the expense of purchasing another copy; if he can; for the edition may now be out of print。 Thus binding of some sort not only adds a grace to the library; presenting to the eye the cheerful gilded rows of our volumes;
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