The Enemies of Books.
We have seen in former chapters how the books of a library are acquired, how they are prepared for the shelves, or for use, and how they are or should be bound. Let us now consider the important questions which involve the care, the protection, and the preservation of the books.
Every librarian or book owner should be something more than a custodian of the books in his collection. He should also exercise perpetual vigilance with regard to their safety and condition. The books of every library are beset by dangers and by enemies. Some of these are open and palpable; others are secret, illusive, little suspected, and liable to come unlooked for and without warning. Some of these enemies are impersonal and immaterial, but none the less deadly; others are personally human in form, but most inhuman in their careless and brutal treatment of books. How far and how fatally the books of many libraries have been injured by these ever active and persistent enemies can never be adequately told. But we may point out what the several dangers are which beset them, and how far the watchful care of the librarian and his assistants may fore-stall or prevent them.
One of the foremost of the inanimate enemies of books is dust. In some libraries the atmosphere is dust-laden, to a degree which seems incredible until you witness its results in the deposits upon books, which soil your fingers, and contaminate the air you breathe, as you brush or blow it away. Peculiarly liable to dust are library rooms located in populous towns, or in business streets, and built close to the avenues of traffic. Here, the dust is driven in at the windows and doors by every breeze that blows. It is an omnipresent evil, that cannot be escaped or very largely remedied. As preventive measures, care should be taken not to build libraries too near the street, but to have ample front and side yards to isolate the books as far as may be consistent with convenient access. Where the library is already located immediately on the street, a subscription for sprinkling the thoroughfare with water, the year round, would be true economy.
In some cities, the evils of street dust are supplemented by the mischiefs of coal smoke, to an aggravated degree. Wherever soft coal is burned as the principal fuel, a black, fuliginous substance goes floating through the air, and soils every thing it touches. It penetrates into houses and public buildings, often intensified by their own interior use of the same generator of dirt, and covers the books of the library with its foul deposits. You may see, in the public libraries of some western cities, how this perpetual curse of coal smoke has penetrated the leaves of all the books, resisting all efforts to keep it out, and slowly but surely deteriorating both paper and bindings. Here, preventive measures are impossible, unless some device for consuming the coal smoke of chimneys and factories were made compulsory, or the evil somewhat mitigated by using a less dangerous fuel within the library.
But, aside from these afflictions of dust, in its most aggravated form, every library and every room in any building is subject to its persistent visitations. Wherever carpets or rugs cover the floors, there dust has an assured abiding-place, and it is diffused throughout the apartment in impalpable clouds, at every sweeping of the floors. Hence it would be wise to adopt in public libraries a floor-covering like linoleum, or some substance other than woolen, which would be measurably free from dust, while soft enough to deaden the sound of feet upon the floors. Even with this preventive precaution, there will always be dust enough, and too much for comfort, or for the health of the books. Only a thorough dusting, carried on if possible daily, can prevent an accumulation of dust, at once deleterious to the durability of the books, and to the comfort both of librarians and readers. Dust is an insidious foe, stealing on its march silently and unobserved, yet, however impalpable in the atmosphere of a library, it will settle upon the tops of every shelf of books, it will penetrate their inner leaves, it will lodge upon the bindings, soiling books and readers, and constituting a perpetual annoyance.
It is not enough to dust the tops of the books periodically; a more full and radical remedy is required, to render library books presentable. At no long intervals, there should be a thorough library cleaning, as drastic and complete as the house-cleaning which neat housewives institute twice a year, with such wholesome results. The books are to be taken down from the shelves, and subjected to a shaking-up process, which will remove more of the dust they have absorbed than any brush can reach. To do this effectually, take them, if of moderate thickness, by the half-dozen at a time from the shelf, hold them loosely on a table, their fronts downward, backs uppermost, then with a hand at either side of the little pile, strike them smartly together a few times, until the dust, which will fly from them in a very palpable cloud, ceases to fall. Then lay them on their ends, with the tops uppermost on the table, and repeat the concussion in that posture, when you will eliminate a fresh crop of dust, though not so thick as the first. After this, let each volume of the lot be brushed over at the sides and back with a soft (never stiff) brush, or else with a piece of cotton or woolen cloth, and so restored clean to the shelves. While this thorough method of cleansing will take time and pains, it will pay in the long run. It will not eliminate all the dust (which in a large collection is a physical impossibility) but it will reduce it to a minimum. Faithfully carried out, as a periodical supplement to a daily dusting of the books as they stand on the shelves, it will immensely relieve the librarian or book-owner, who can then, (and then only) feel that he has done his whole duty by his books.
Another dangerous enemy of the library book is damp, already briefly referred to. Books kept in any basement room, or near any wall, absorb moisture with avidity; both paper and bindings becoming mildewed, and often covered with blue mould. If long left in this perilous condition, sure destruction follows; the glue or paste which fastens the cover softens, the leather loses its tenacity, and the leaves slowly rot, until the worthless volumes smell to heaven. Books thus injured may be partially recovered, before the advanced stage of decomposition, by removal to a dry atmosphere, and by taking the volumes apart, drying the sheets, and rebinding—a very expensive, but necessary remedy, provided the books are deemed worth preserving.
But a true remedy is the preventive one. No library should ever be kept, even in part, in a basement story, nor should any books ever be located near the wall of a building. All walls absorb, retain, and give out moisture, and are dangerous and oft-times fatal neighbors to books. Let the shelves be located at right angles to every wall—with the end nearest to it at least twelve to eighteen inches removed, and the danger will be obviated.
A third enemy of the book is heat. Most libraries are unfortunately over-heated,—sometimes from defective means of controlling the temperature, and sometimes from carelessness or want of thought in the attendant. A high temperature is very destructive to books. It warps their covers, so that volumes unprotected by their fellows, or by a book support, tend to curl up, and stay warped until they become a nuisance. It also injures the paper of the volumes by over-heating, and weakening the tenacity of the leaves held together by the glue on the back, besides drying to an extreme the leather, till it cracks or crumbles under the heat. The upper shelves or galleries of any library are most seriously affected by over-heating, because the natural law causes the heat to rise toward the ceiling. If you put your hand on some books occupying the highest places in some library rooms, in mid-winter, when the fires are kept at their maximum, the heat of the volume will almost burn your fingers. If these books were sentient beings, and could speak, would they not say—"our sufferings are intolerable?"
The remedy is of course a preventive one; never to suffer the library to become over-heated, and to have proper ventilation on every floor, communicating with the air outside. Seventy degrees Fahrenheit is a safe and proper maximum temperature for books and librarian.
The mischief arising from gas exhalations is another serious source of danger to books. In many well-lighted libraries, the heat itself from the numerous gas-burners is sufficient to injure them, and there is besides a sulphuric acid escaping from the coal-gas fluid, in combustion, which is most deleterious to bindings. The only remedy appears to be, where libraries are open evenings, to furnish them with electric lights. This improved mode of illumination is now so perfected, and so widely diffused, that it may be reckoned a positive boon to public libraries, in saving their books from one of their worst and most destructive enemies.
Another of the potent enemies of books is fire. I refer, not to over-heating the rooms they occupy, but to the risk they continually run, in most libraries, of total destruction. The chronicle of burned libraries would make a long and melancholy record, on which there is no space here to enter. Irreparable losses of manuscripts and early printed books, and precious volumes printed in small editions, have arisen from men's neglect of building our book-repositories fire-proof. In all libraries not provided with iron or steel shelves, there is perpetual danger. Books do not burn easily, unless surrounded with combustibles, but these are furnished in nearly all libraries, by surrounding the books on three sides with wooden shelves, which need only to be ignited at any point to put the whole collection in a blaze. Then follows the usual abortive endeavor to save the library by the aid of fire engines, which flood the building, until the water spoils nearly all which the fire does not consume. The incalculable losses which the cause of learning has sustained from the burning of public, university and ecclesiastical libraries are far greater than the cost which the provision of fire-proof repositories would have entailed.
Of late years, there has been a partial reform in library construction. Some have been built fire-proof throughout, with only stone, brick, concrete and iron material, even to the floors and window casings. Many more have had iron shelves and iron stacks to hold the shelves constructed, and there are now several competing manufacturers of these invaluable safeguards to books. The first library interior constructed wholly of iron was that of the Library of Congress at Washington, which had been twice consumed, first when the Capitol was burned by the British army in 1814, and again in 1851, through a defective flue, when only 20,000 volumes were saved from the flames, out of a total of 55,000. The example of iron construction has been slowly followed, until now the large cities have most of their newly-constructed libraries approximately fire-proof, although many are exposed to fire in parts, owing to a niggardly and false economy. The lesson that what is worth doing at all is worth doing well, and that every neglect of security brings sooner or later irreparable loss, is very slowly learned. Whole hecatombs of books have been sacrificed to the spirit of commercial greed, blind or short-sighted enough not to see that secure protection to public property, though costlier at first, is far cheaper in the end. You may speak of insurance against library losses by fire, but what insurance could restore the rare and costly Shakespearean treasures of the Birmingham Free Library, or the unique and priceless manuscripts that went up in flames in the city library of Strasburg, in 1870, or the many precious and irreplaceable manuscript archives of so many of our States, burned in the conflagration of their capitols?
One would think that the civilized world had had lessons enough, ever since that seventh century burning of the Alexandrian library by the Caliph Omar, with that famous but apocryphal rhetorical dilemma, put in his mouth perhaps by some nimble-witted reporter:—"If these books agree with the Koran, they are useless, and should be burned: if not, they are pernicious, and must not be spared." But the heedless world goes carelessly on, deaf to the voice of reason, and the lessons of history, amid the holocausts of literature and the wreck of blazing libraries, uttering loud newspaper wails at each new instance of destruction, forgotten in a week, then cheerfully renewing the business of building libraries that invite the flames.
Nothing here said should be interpreted as advice not to insure any library, in all cases where it is not provided with iron cases for the books, or a fire-proof building. On the contrary, the menaced destruction of books or manuscripts that cannot be replaced should lead to securing means in advance for replacing all the rest in case of loss by fire. And the experience of the past points the wisdom of locating every library in an isolated building, where risks of fire from other buildings are reduced to a minimum, instead of in a block whose buildings (as in most commercial structures) are lined with wood.
You will perhaps attach but small importance at first thought, to the next insidious foe to library books that I shall name—that is, wetting by rain. Yet most buildings leak at the roof, sometime, and some old buildings are subject to leaks all the time. Even under the roof of the Capitol at Washington, at every melting of a heavy snow-fall, and on occasion of violent and protracted rains, there have been leaks pouring down water into the libraries located in the old part of the building. Each of these saturated and injured its quota of books, some of which could only be restored to available use by re-binding, and even then the leaves were left water-stained in part. See to it that your library roof is water-tight, or the contents of your library will be constantly exposed to damage against which there is no insurance.
Another besetting danger to the books of our libraries arises from insects and vermin. These animated foes appear chiefly in the form of book-worms, cockroaches, and mice. The first-named is rare in American libraries, though its ravages have extended far and wide among the old European ones. This minute little insect, whose scientific name is the anobium paniceum, bores through the leaves of old volumes, making sometimes holes which deface and mutilate the text. All our public libraries, doubtless, have on their shelves old folios in vellum or leather bindings, which present upon opening the disagreeable vision of leaves eaten through (usually before they crossed the sea) by these pernicious little borers. It is comforting to add, that I have never known of any book-worm in the Congressional Library—except the human variety, which is frequently in evidence. Georgetown College library once sent me a specimen of the insect, which was found alive in one of its volumes, but the united testimony of librarians is that this pest is rare in the United States. As to remedies, the preventive one of sprinkling the shelves twice a year with a mixture of powdered camphor and snuff, or the vapor of benzine or carbolic acid, or other repellant chemicals, is resorted to abroad, but I have not heard of any similar practice in this country. I may remark in passing, that the term "book-worm" is a misnomer, since it is not a worm at all, but an insect. A more serious insect menace is the cockroach, a hungry, unclean little beast, which frequents a good many libraries, and devours bindings (especially fresh ones) to get at the paste or savory parts of the binding. The remedy for this evil, when once found to exist, is to scatter the most effective roach poison that can be found, which may arrest further ravages.
Another insect pest is the Croton bug, (Blatta Germanica) which eats into cloth bindings to get at the sizing or albumen. The late eminent entomologist, Dr. C. V. Riley, pronounced them the worst pest known in libraries, but observed that they do not attack books bound in leather, and confine their ravages to the outside of cloth-bound books, never troubling the leaves. The remedy prescribed is a powder in which pyrethrum is the chief ingredient, sprinkled about the shelves.
Among the rodents, mice are apt to be busy and mischievous infesters of libraries. They are extremely fond of paste, and being in a chronic state of hunger, they watch opportunities of getting at any library receptacle of it. They will gnaw any fresh binding, whether of cloth, board, or leather, to get at the coveted food. They will also gnaw some books, and even pamphlets, without any apparent temptation of a succulent nature. A good library cat or a series of mouse traps, skilfully baited, may rid you of this evil.
The injury that comes to library books from insufficient care in protecting them on the shelves is great and incalculable. There are to be seen in every library, volumes all twisted out of shape by the sagging or leaning, to which the end-book is subjected, and which is often shared by all its neighbors on the shelf. The inevitable result is that the book is not only spoiled in its good looks, but (which is vastly more important) it is injured in its binding, which is strained and weakened just in proportion to the length of time in which it is subjected to such risks. The plain remedy is to take care that every volume is supported upright upon the shelf, in some way. When the shelf is full, the books will support one another. But when volumes are withdrawn, or when a shelf is only partly filled with books, the unsupported volumes tumble by force of gravitation, and those next them sag and lean, or fall like a row of bricks, pushing one another over. No shelf of books can safely be left in this condition. Some one of the numerous book-supports that have been contrived should be always ready, to hold up the volumes which are liable to lean and fall.
We come now to the active human enemies of books, and these are unhappily found among some of the readers who frequent our libraries. These abuses are manifold and far-reaching. Most of them are committed through ignorance, and can be corrected by the courteous but firm interposition of the librarian, instructing the delinquent how to treat a book in hand. Others are wilful and unpardonable offences against property rights and public morals, even if not made penal offences by law. One of these is book mutilation, very widely practiced, but rarely detected until the mischief is done, and the culprit gone. I have found whole pages torn out of translations, in the volumes of Bohn's Classical Library, doubtless by students wanting the translated text as a "crib" in their study of the original tongue. Some readers will watch their opportunity, and mutilate a book by cutting out plates or a map, to please their fancy, or perhaps to make up a defective copy of the same work. Those consulting bound files of newspapers will ruthlessly despoil them by cutting out articles or correspondence, or advertisements, and carrying off the stolen extracts, to save themselves the trouble of copying. Others, bolder still, if not more unscrupulous, will deliberately carry off a library book under a coat, or in a pocket, perhaps signing a false name to a reader's ticket to hide the theft, or escape detection. Against these scandalous practices, there is no absolute safeguard in any library. Even where a police watch is kept, thefts are perpetrated, and in most libraries where no watchman is employed, the librarian and his assistants are commonly far too busy to exercise close scrutiny of all readers. As one safeguard, no rare or specially costly book should be entrusted to a reader except under the immediate eye of the librarian or assistant. Ordinary books can be replaced if carried off, and by watching the rarities, risk of theft can be reduced to a minimum.
When newspapers are given out to readers, it should always be in a part of the library where those using them are conscious of a surveillance exercised over their movements. The penalty of neglecting this may at any time be the mutilation of an important file, and it must be remembered that such damage, once done, cannot be repaired. You can replace a mutilated book usually by buying a new one, but a newspaper can almost never be replaced. Even in the city of Boston, the librarian of the Athenaeum library records the disgraceful fact, that "the temptation to avoid the trouble of copying, by cutting out articles from newspapers is too strong for the honesty of a considerable part of the public." And it was recorded by the custodian of a public library in Albany that all the plates were missing from certain books, that the poetry and best illustrations were cut from magazines before they had lain on the tables a week, and strange to say, that many of these depredations were committed by women.
It is a difficult problem how to prevent such outrages to decency, and such irreparable depredations on the books in our libraries as destroy, in great part, their value. A posted notice, reminding readers that mutilation of books or periodicals is a penal offence, will warn off many, if not all, from such acts of vandalism. If there is no law punishing the offence, agitate until you get one. Expose through the press such thefts and mutilations as are discovered. Interest readers whom you know, to be watchful of those you do not know, and to quietly report any observed violation of rules. When a culprit is detected, push the case to prompt legal hearing, and let the penalty of the law be enforced. Let it be known that the public property in books is too sacred a right to be violated with impunity. Inculcate by every means and on every opportunity the sentiment that readers who freely benefit by the books supplied should themselves feel personal concern in their cleanliness and preservation, and that the interest of the library is really the interest of all.
A daily abuse practiced by many readers in libraries, though without wrongful intent, is the piling of one book on top of another while open. This is inexcusable ill-treatment, for it subjects the open book thus burdened, to injury, besides probably soiling its pages with dust. Especially harmful is such careless treatment of large volumes of newspapers or illustrated works.
Careless use of ink is the cause of much injury to library books. As a rule (to which the very fewest exceptions should be made) pencils only should be allowed to readers, who must forego the use of ink, with the inevitable risk of dropping it upon the book to its irreparable injury. The use of ink in fountain pens is less objectionable. Tracing of maps or plates should not be allowed, unless with a soft pencil. Under no circumstances should tracing with a pen or other hard instrument be permitted to any reader. Failure to enforce this rule may result in ruin of valuable engravings or maps.
There is one class of books which demand special and watchful care at the hands of the librarian. These are the fine illustrated works, mostly in large folio, which include the engravings of the art galleries of Europe, and many other specially rare or costly publications. These should be carefully shelved in cases where they can lie on their sides, not placed upright, as in some collections, to lean over, and, sooner or later to break their backs, and necessitate rebinding. When supplied to readers, there should not be more than one volume at a time given out, to avoid the risk, always threatening, of careless handling or of opening one volume on top of another that is open. There should also be a printed notice or label affixed to the side cover of every illustrated work reading, "Never touch an engraving," or an equivalent warning. This will go far, by its plain reminder, to prevent soiling the pages by the fingers, a practice which rapidly deteriorates fine books, and if long continued, renders them unfit to be exhibited to clean-handed readers.
All plates should be stamped at some portion of their surface (it is often done on the back) with the embossing stamp of the library, as a means of identification if abstracted from the volume to which they belong.
Such books should, moreover, be consulted on a large table, or better an adjustable stand (to avoid frequent lifting or shifting of the position of the volume when inspecting the plates) and always under the eye of the librarian or an assistant not far removed. These precautions will insure far more careful treatment, and will result in handing down to a new generation of readers many a rare and precious volume, which would otherwise be destroyed or irretrievably injured in a very few years. The library treasures which cost so much to bring together should never be permitted to suffer from want of care to preserve them.
All writing upon the margins of books should be prohibited—other than simple pencil corrections of the text, as to an erroneous date, name, etc., which corrections of errors should not only be permitted, but welcomed, upon due verification. The marking of passages for copying or citation should be tolerated only upon the rigid condition that every user of the book rubs out his own pencil marks before returning it. I have seen lawyers and others thoughtless enough of right and wrong to mark long passages in pen and ink in books belonging to public libraries. This is a practice to be sternly repressed, even at the cost of denying further library privileges to the offender.
Turning down leaves in a book to keep the place is one of the easily besetting sins of too many readers. Those who thus dogs-ear a volume should be taught that the vile practice weakens and wears out the leaves thus folded down, and makes the book a more easy prey to dust and disintegration. However busy I may be, I instinctively turn back every turned-down leaf I notice in any book, before using it, or handing it to another. A good safe-guard would be to provide a supply of little narrow strips of paper, in the ticket boxes at the library tables to serve as the book-markers so frequently needed by readers. For this purpose, no thick or smooth calendered paper should be used, which falls out of any loosely bound book too readily—but a thin soft paper un-sized, which will be apt to retain its place. I have lost valuable time (which I shall never see again) in trying to find the pages marked for me by a searcher who had thoughtlessly inserted bits of card-board as markers—which kept falling out by their own weight. The book-marks should be at least two inches long, and not more than half an inch wide; and rough edges are better than smooth ones, for they will adhere better to the head of the volume where placed. Better still it is, to provide paper book-marks forked at the lower end by slitting, then doubled so that the mark will go on both sides of the leaf at once. This is the only sure safe-guard against these bits of paper falling out, and thus losing the place. Never put cards, or letters, or documents, or any solid substance into a book. It weakens the binding, and if continued, often breaks the back. The fact that most of the injuries to which books are exposed are unintentional injuries does not alter the fact that they are none the less injuries to be guarded against. Wilful perpetration of the many abuses referred to may be rare, but the unconscious perpetrators should be instructed how to use books by a vigilant librarian. And they who have thus been taught to be careful of the books in a public library will learn to be more careful of their own, which is a great step in the education of any one.
It ought not to be needful to charge any one never to wet the finger to turn over the leaves of a book—a childish habit, akin to running out the tongue when writing, or moving the lips when reading to one's self. The only proper way to turn the leaf is at the upper right-hand corner, and the index-finger of the right hand will always be found competent to that duty.
Still less should it be needful to insist upon the importance to every reader of books, of coming to their perusal clean-handed. When you reflect that nine-tenths of the soiling and spoiling which books undergo comes from the dirty hands of many readers, this becomes a vital point. Fouquet, a learned book collector of France, used to keep a pile of white gloves in the ante-room of his library, and no visitor was allowed to cross the threshold, or to handle a book without putting on a pair, lest he should soil the precious volumes with naked hands. Such a refinement of care to keep books immaculate is not to be expected in this age of the world; and yet, a librarian who respects his calling is often tempted to wish that there were some means of compelling people to be more careful about books than they are.
It ought not ever to be true that an enemy to the welfare of library books is found in the librarian himself, or in any of his assistants, yet there have been those employed in the care of books who have abused their positions and the volumes entrusted to their charge, not only by neglect of care, (which is a negative injury) but by positive and continual ill treatment. This may arise from ignorance of better methods, but ignorance is a poor excuse for one credited with the intelligence of a librarian. In some libraries, books are treated with positive indignity, and are permanently injured by tightly wedging them together. Never crowd books by main force into shelves too short or too small for them. It strains the backs, and seriously injures the bindings. Every book should slip easily past its fellows on the shelf. If a volume is too tall to go in its place, it should be relegated to lower shelves for larger books, never letting its head be crowded against the shelf above it.
One should never pull books out from the shelf by their head-bands, or by pulling at the binding, but place the finger firmly on the top of the book, next to the binding, and press down while drawing out the volume. From failure to observe this simple precaution, you will find in all libraries multitudes of torn or broken bindings at the top—a wholly needless defacement and waste.
Never permit a book to be turned down on its face to keep the place. This easily besetting habit weakens the book, and frequently soils its leaves by contact with a dusty table. For the same reason, one volume should not be placed within the leaves of another to keep the place where a book-mark of paper, so easily supplied, should always be used. Books should not be turned down on the fore-edges or fronts on the library tables, as practiced in most book-stores, in order to better display the stock. The same habit prevails in many libraries, from careless inattention. When necessary, in order to better read the titles, they should never be left long in such position. This treatment weakens the back infallibly, and if long continued breaks it. Librarians, of all persons in the world, should learn, and should lead others to learn, never to treat a book with indignity, and how truly the life of a book depends upon proper treatment, as well as that of an animated being.
These things, and others of my suggestions, may seem trifles to some; but to those who consider how much success in life depends upon attention to what are called trifles—nay, how much both human taste and human happiness are promoted by care regarding trifles, they will not appear unimportant. The existence of schools to teach library science, and of manuals devoted to similar laudable aims, is an auspicious omen of the new reign of refined taste in those nobler arts of life which connect themselves with literature, and are to be hailed as authentic evidences of the onward progress of civilization.
