Whenever our book-hunter has an afternoon to spare, pocketing a handful of cards from the index he sets off for the British Museum (or wherever he may happen to be working at the time, where access may be had to the volumes he requires) and settles himself to collate and copy title-pages. But it must be borne in mind that the collation of any volume cannot be considered as 'standard' until at least three copies of the book have been examined, all of which are identical. The majority of the common books printed after the year 1600 vary not at all in their make up; and having once collated such a volume, the comparison with it of other copies takes but a very few minutes. Sixteenth-century books, however, especially those printed in the first half of the century, vary sufficiently in their collations to demand a much more careful scrutiny. If the volume under examination is a book of which different copies vary considerably, you must naturally be exceedingly cautious in declaring that your collation represents the form in which the book was issued from the press. It is quite possible that you will find differences in each of six copies.
At the end of each collation our book-hunter puts a letter or letters in brackets to denote the habitations of the copies he has examined, the tallest copy (of which the title-page's measurements are given) being distinguished by an asterisk; thus: A, B*, N. 'A' represents our book-hunter's own copy, 'B' that in the Bodleian Library, 'N' that in the Bibliothèque Nationale; and so on. Mention, of course, from which copy the collation has been taken is made in the text; or, if you prefer it, you may denote this, so that it may be seen at a glance, by entering the necessary distinguishing letter in red ink.
As I have said, it is a fascinating pursuit, but unless the subject in which you specialise is a narrow one, you may be overwhelmed by the magnitude of the task. Take heed that you do not undertake more than you have time or opportunity to complete; or else, embarking upon a labour of Hercules you may liken yourself to Sisyphus. Mazzuchelli began 'Gli Scrittori d'Italia,' but succeeded in finishing only the first two letters of the alphabet. The temptation to leave behind us some great work by which our name will become in time a household word, is doubtless a great one; but gigantic though our magnum opus may be in our own estimation, it does not follow that others will set a like value upon it, or, indeed, upon the labours of its author. Jean de la Haye, the preacher in ordinary to Anne of Austria, published his Biblia maxima in nineteen folio volumes; but, says the bibliographer, 'no part of it is esteemed except the Prolegomena, and even they are too diffuse.' Louis Barbier gained the confidence of the Duke of Orleans by his great tact (which probably amounted to servility) and skill in repeating the tales of Rabelais. Mazarin appointed him Bishop of Langres for having betrayed his master. When he died in 1670, he left a hundred crowns to whoever would write an epitaph worthy of him. So Bernard de la Monnoye wrote the following:
'Ci git un très grand personnage,
Qui fut d'un illustre lignage,
Qui posseda mille vertus,
Qui ne trompa jamais, qui fut toujours fort sage,
Je n'en dirai pas d'avantage,
C'est trop mentir pour cent écus.'
But whether Bernard got the legacy history does not relate.
It is astonishing, however, what can be accomplished in this direction by diligence. Le Clerc, not content with having produced a 'Bibliothèque Universelle et Historique,' laboured till he had given to the world a 'Bibliothèque Choisie' and a 'Bibliothèque Ancienne et Moderne,' in all eighty-two duodecimo volumes! Beausobre and L'Enfant compiled a 'Bibliothèque Germanique,' comprising the period 1720-40; and published it in fifty volumes. Baillet's 'Catalogue des Matières' occupies thirty-five folio volumes. But of course all these were mere lists and criticisms of books, not detailed bibliographies of carefully collated works.
It is a great gift, this gift of 'finding time.' 'When I see how much Varro wrote,' says St. Augustine in his 'De Civitate Dei,' 'I marvel much that ever he had any leisure to read; and when I perceive how many things he read, I marvel more that ever he had any leisure to write.' The creation of opportunity is no lesser gift. 'A wise man,' says Bacon, 'will make more opportunities than he finds.' Tomaso de Andrada, a Portuguese Jesuit, wrote his magnum opus in a dungeon, in chains, without clothes, with little food, writing only in the middle of the day by the help of a faint light which he received through an air-hole.
The compilation of bibliographies began early in the history of books, and doubtless grew out of the catalogues which the early printers put forth. Conrad von Gesner compiled a 'Bibliotheca Universalis' which was printed at Zurich in four volumes between 1545 and 1555. François Grudé published a 'Bibliothèque Françoise' in 1584. It is a catalogue of French authors and is not confined to any particular subject, but at least it is a step in the direction of classification. From that date the number of these invaluable works has steadily increased, and about the middle of the seventeenth century L'Abbé put forth the first (?) of those useful book-collector's aids, a 'Bibliotheca Bibliothecarum.' This interesting little volume is really a list of books (under their authors' names) which also contain lists of authors. As L'Abbé says in the preface to his volume, so pleasantly dedicated 'Lectoribus Philobiblis,' he designs his book to be a 'Bibliothecam Bibliothecarum, Catalogum Catalogorum, Nomenclatorem Nomenclatorum, Indicem Indicum, et quid non?' The only edition which I have seen was printed at Paris in 1664, but the licence is dated 1651. Another edition was printed at Rouen in 1672, a third at Leipzig in 1682, and a fourth some years later, all in duodecimo or small octavo.
Grudé's book is a choice one. It is entitled 'Le Premier Volume de La Bibliothèque du Sieur de la Croix-du-Maine: Qui est un catalogue général de toutes sortes d'Autheurs, qui ont escrit en François depuis cinq cents ans et plus jusques à ce iourd'huy,' and was published at Paris 'Chez Abel L'Angelier' in 1584. It is one of those folio volumes printed in large pica on thick paper that delight the heart of the bibliophile and are a joy to handle. At the back of the title-page is an oval portrait of Henry of Navarre, dated 1581. He was not a handsome man, if one may judge by this portrait, in fact it would be difficult to draw a more repellent face; yet the book was dedicated to the king in a long 'Epistre au Roy' which ends with the author's quaint anagram 'Race du mans, si fidel a son Roy' (François de la Croix du Maine). But perhaps the portrait was omitted in the royal copy. The work was to have been completed in three volumes, of which the first two were to contain works published in the vernacular, and the third those printed in Latin. But alas! the author left only this first volume, which contains some three thousand authors, with short biographies of them. One hesitates to connect this premature end of the book (or, indeed, the author's assassination six years later) with the unlucky portrait! Altogether a very delightful volume.
Nowadays a bibliography that is not at once complete, detailed, and meticulously accurate is of no value. In this critical age when the methods of modern science are applied to books, it behoves the bibliographer to be careful, thorough, and precise. Unless he can bring these three attributes to bear upon his work, far better that he should never undertake it; for the result will be not only valueless but misleading, and he will certainly fail to obtain 'that lasting fame and perpetuity of praise which God and good men have consented shall be the reward of those whose published labours advance the good of mankind.'