Book-Lovers, Bibliomaniacs and Book Clubs

by Henry Howard Harper

In an article written for The Bibliophile Society's (1903) Year Book, Caroline Ticknor says, "The true book-lover loves his books for their helpfulness, for their companionship; but he regards them as well for their elegant settings." She also observes that "strange as the anomaly may seem, there are still many persons of ample means, and some education, who, although they would be horrified at the very thought of admitting to the home a cheap rug or vase, to destroy the harmony and bring discord and confusion into the luxuriance of the furnishings, yet will nonchalantly tolerate the incongruity of a miserable fragment of a library made up of the cheapest and meanest editions to be found in the market, such as would be scorned by those of the most limited means and plebeian tastes. These will be found inappropriately housed amid the most sumptuous surroundings. A single rug to adorn the floor, or a single vase resting on a mantle, will often be found to have cost ten times as much as the whole home library. And yet the intellects of these people have been nurtured and trained in their youth by the brilliant thoughts of ancient and modern writers! Even the favorite author, be it Shakespeare, Dickens, Longfellow, Tennyson, or some other, is frequently represented by a half dozen or so disconsolate-looking volumes, the remainder of the set either never having been bought, or else, if bought, thrown aside, or strewn around the attic, or abandoned as a child would discard a toy which afforded it no further amusement.

"It is worthy of remark, however, that the enormously increased demand of late for beautiful books evinces the fact that cultured and wealthy people are growing to appreciate the importance not only of having a good library, but that its quality should embody a degree of estheticism to correspond with the surroundings."

Many of the most delightful persons, well read and competent to discourse intelligently upon the merits of books and authors, have never experienced a single pulsation of true bibliophilism; they have never known the joy of possessing and admiring a beautiful book, and that the attachment one bears for such a treasure is wholly reciprocal. They have not learned that fine books, like human beings, are capable of mutual affection, and that it is not necessary to devour them in order to value their charms. "We do not gather books to read them, my Bœotian friend," says Mr. Joline; "the idea is a childish delusion. 'In early life,' says Walter Bagehot, 'there is an opinion that the obvious thing to do with a horse is to ride it; with a cake, to eat it; with a sixpence to spend it.' A few boyish persons carry this further, and think that the natural thing to do with a book is to read it. The mere reading of a rare book is a puerility, an idiosyncrasy of adolescence; it is the ownership of the book which is the matter of distinction. The collector of coins does not accumulate his treasures for the purpose of ultimately spending them in the marketplace. The lover of postage-stamps, small as his horizon may be, does not hoard his colored bits of paper with the intent to employ them in the mailing of letters. When some one complained to Bedford that a book which he had bound did not shut properly, he exclaimed, 'Why, bless me, sir, you've been reading it!'"

Herrick says that "the truest owner of a library is he who has bought each book for the love he bears to it; who is happy and content to say, 'Here are my jewels, my choicest possessions!'" Seneca, the great Roman philologer, wrote: "If you are fond of books, you will escape the ennui of life; you will neither sigh for evening, disgusted with the occupations of the day, nor will you live dissatisfied with yourself or unprofitable with others." "I am quite transported and comforted in the midst of my books," says the younger Pliny, who was an ardent book-fancier; "they give a zest to the happiest and assuage the anguish of the bitterest moments of existence. Therefore, whether distracted by the cares or losses of my family or my friends, I fly to my library as the only refuge in distress: here I learn to bear adversity with fortitude."

Southey thus immortalizes his speechless, yet beloved, library companions:

My never failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.

Balfour is no less eloquent in paying worthy tribute to his library: "The world may be kind or hostile; it may seem to us to be hastening on the wings of enlightenment and progress to an imminent millennium, or it may weigh us down with the sense of insoluble difficulty and irremediable wrong; but whatever else it may be, so long as we have good health and a library, it can never be dull."

"Bookes," said the immortal Milton, "demeane themselves as well as men. Books are not absolutely dead things, but doe contain a potencie of life in them to be as active as that soule was whose progeny they are: nay they do preserve as in a violl the purest efficacie and extraction of that living intellect that bred them. Unlesse warinesse be us'd, as good almost kill a Man as kill a good Book; who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's Image; but Hee who destroys a good Booke, kills reason itselfe, kills the image of God, as it were in the eye."

In the garnering of book-treasures, some collectors are prompted wholly by mercenary motives—most of them, fortunately, are not. There are biblio-mercenaries of such sordid inclinations that they would readily part with almost any book in their possession,—even inscribed presentation copies!—if lightly tempted with money considerations. Verily, these parsimonious traders would barter their own souls, if they possessed any value.

I am indebted to the Secretary of a well-known book club for the following facts, to confirm which I saw all the correspondence. A certain book-buyer joined the club some time ago, and subscribed for the first publication issued after he became a member. Upon receiving the work he wrote: "I consider them among the most beautiful examples of book-making that I have ever seen, and prize them above all other books in my library." Six months later he sold the copy to a book-agent for twice its original cost. He "passed" the next publication issued by the club, as it did not interest him, but appended a postscript to his letter, saying: "If any member wants an extra copy, I have no objection to one being issued upon my membership and turned over to him, provided I receive the increase in price."