Limited Editions and the Pleasures of Collecting
It would be quite impossible within the limits of a short chapter to deal with such a great subject as the above title represents. The subject, however, is fascinating not only to the book collector but to those in the trade, both new and second-hand, through whose hands the books pass.
Until the introduction of printing, what may be termed books or literature were all limited editions, as in olden times it was only by the industry of the scribes that other copies could be produced. Privately printed originally meant printed in a university or private residence and not in the offices of an ordinary printer. Now, however, privately printed and limited editions have each much the same meaning, as they are both practically limited in the numbers printed.
I must confess that I have a profound sympathy with all collectors of this particular class of book-producing, for it is with great pride that one takes down from the shelves a volume of this class of literature and reads how many copies of it were printed, and any history that may be connected with it. This attraction is from my point of view as far apart as the poles from that of collecting works produced before the origin of printing or even those in the centuries afterwards, where frequently the mistakes in printing make the value of the book. Such, for instance, as that of the Bible where the word "not" is left out in one of the commandments, or where a chance misprint or mistake is noted in some of Shakespeare's or other Elizabethan plays. A long list could easily be made of the small things that render some of these ancient volumes valuable.
To-day, these limited editions are produced in the most careful, complete, and perfect manner possible. From a real book-lover's point of view, the beauty of the type, the excellency of the paper and the artistic merit of its binding, coupled with the literary value of the book itself, make a volume which one is proud to possess and have upon one's shelves. For some years past there has been a considerable demand for the limited issue of well-illustrated books numbered and signed by such artists as Rackham, Dulac, and others; these are widely sought after and collected; so also are those works issued by private presses of which the past fifty years has seen some splendid developments. Take, for instance, the Ashenden Press, with its beautiful edition of Dante; the Kelmscott Press, under the guidance of William Morris, which issued many of his own books (the wood-blocks of his works are now in the keeping of the British Museum, with whom they were deposited on the understanding that no one is to be at liberty to print from them for a hundred years); the Vale Press, which limited its editions to 200 copies; the Cardoc Press; the Eragny Press; the Essex House Press; the Dove Press, which finished its course in 1917 by the type being "cast" into the Thames and "distributed" at the bottom of the river; and Mr. Daniel's Press at Oxford. Although these various presses appeal to the collector, first editions and rare books have a greater number of collectors, whose lives are frequently passed in hunting after and trying to discover and secure lost old volumes.
This pleasurable following to-day has not the advantages that existed in the middle of the past century, as not only are there now more seekers after these treasures of the past, but America has so many collectors of old books that the demand is greater and the prices higher. These drawbacks will greatly interfere with both the business and the enjoyment of future collectors. The chances, too, of the old-book collector are not nearly so great as formerly, for the changes which have taken place, particularly in London, have certainly swept away many of their favourite haunts. It is to many a very great pleasure to look back in memory upon old Holywell Street, with its scores of book-hunters turning over the boxes and seeking for treasures. Mr. W.E. Gladstone and many dignitaries of the Church could often be seen there. Fleet Street, the Strand, Holborn, and many of the by-streets between Oxford Street and Trafalgar Square, were great thoroughfares for the book-hunter; and although the barrows of Farringdon Street are still in existence, either the bookstall man now knows his business better than his predecessor or the gems are sold before he places these precious books on his barrow. Many times I have turned over the stock of old books on these Farringdon Street barrows, but have never yet been able to find anything of value, although others have been more fortunate. We have now no such opportunities as those of Charles Lamb; and I cannot say if we would avail ourselves of them even if we had. Lamb writes (March 25, 1829):—
"I have just come from town where I have been to get my bit of quarterly pension. I have brought home from stalls in Barbican the old 'Pilgrims Progress' with the prints Vanity Fair, etc., now scarce, four shillings, cheap. And also one of whom I have oft heard and had dreams, but never saw it in the flesh—that is in sheep-skin—'The whole Theological works of Thomas Aquinas.' My arms ached with lugging it a mile to the stage, but the burden was a pleasure."
All lovers of books must at some time feel the fascination of the second-hand bookseller's shop, and especially when it has a "Tuppenny Box" attached to it. At such shops, you may examine every book in the place, read a little, look at the pictures and the binding, have a gossip with the intelligent bookseller, and never be asked to spend a penny. The keeper of such books usually knows his business and the origin and history of much of his stock, and is able to tell some good bookish stories in keeping with his profession. A true lover of books thinks little of their monetary value but treasures a volume because of its contents, or perhaps for some association or memory connected with the author.