There is also some information to be found in a chapter, called “Supposition d’Auteurs,” in Curiosités Littéraires, par Ludovic Lalanne. Paris, Adolphe Delahays, 1857. This also deals principally with the works of foreign literary Impostors. But by far the most important and most reliable work on the subject is that written by the late M. Octave Delepierre, entitled “Supercheries Littéraires, Pastiches, Suppositions d’Auteur, dans les lettres et dans les Arts.” London, N. Trubner & Co. 1872. Only 200 copies of this valuable work were issued, it is consequently very difficult to procure. Most literary frauds have been exposed, and not a few of the forgers have been punished. Chatterton and Shapira committed suicide, and Vrain-Lucas was sent to prison for two years, and fined 500 francs.
A writer in the Daily News (July 17, 1886) observed: “The motives of the Literary Forger seem obscure to plain people. He has nothing to gain by it all, they say; he does not make money, like the forger of a cheque; he can seldom sell his forgery to advantage, as the latest biblical forger, Shapira, of the sham manuscript gospel, discovered. He merely poisons the very wells of history and throws doubt on all original “sources.” People who reason thus forget that every artist takes joy in his art, and that all art is imitation. The art of the forger is to imitate ancient manuscripts and inscriptions. L’Art pour l’art is his motto. He revels in his own cleverness and power of deceiving others. This is his reward. Thus a famous French archæologist, now dead, took in his own father with some sham Greek inscriptions. Thus William Ireland went on writing Shakespearian autographs, and even Shakespearian manuscript plays, chiefly to satisfy the most tricky sense of humour, and delight in the absurdities of learned men. Probably enough Joe Smith began his Mormon Bible with no serious thought of founding a religion, but merely, as other literary forgers used, for the fun of the thing. Sooner or later these things are found out. They amuse the learned, and no great harm is done. But perhaps the jester Rabelais did not see the jest when he was beguiled into publishing, with grave and learned notes, a classical manuscript which was really the work of two of his contemporaries. These clever ghosts must chuckle still over the trick they played the author of “Pantagruel.” A meaner joke was passed on Meursius, whose respectable name is inextricably associated with a peculiarly abominable Latin work, attributed to him by its actual author, who thus gratified a spite of long standing. Literary forgers are the very Pucks of letters, and all honest men will hope they find their deserts in a Hades of their own.”
A BIBLIOGRAPHY OF PARODY AND BURLESQUE.
The approaching completion of the sixth and last volume of Parodies has by no means exhausted the materials which, for five and twenty years past, I have been accumulating. Indeed the subject is inexhaustible, but having given all the best parodies of English and American writers, it only remains now to mention others which were either too long, or too dull, to find a home herein, and to refer briefly to some of the principal Foreign travesties.
Only the true book hunter can appreciate the pleasures I have experienced in the never ending search for parodies and burlesques. The difficulty in obtaining some particular volumes, not to be found in the British Museum Library, which might (and sometimes did) turn up in some out-of-the-way old book shop. The delight with which they were carried home, collated, cleaned, patched and mended, to be finally packed off to Zaehnsdorf who clothes them in all the glory of calf and gilt, artistically, as his name does warrant.
In walking tours in England, in holiday trips on the Continent, and even in the few spare moments stolen to turn aside from the noise and bustle of London city into back streets and dingy alleys; in pawnbrokers, and in secondhand furniture shops, aye, even in rag and waste paper shops, have been gathered up little, dirty, torn odd volumes to add to my store, my beloved Parody Collection. Thus have materials been gathered for such a Collection of Literary trifles and jeux d’esprit as has never yet been published.
London, dear old London! is the paradise of the book hunter, and of the book worm; of the one who buys books, and of the other, who merely reads them. Here all tastes and all purses may be gratified; the rare and costly volumes of the King of Collectors, Bernard Quaritch; the humble “All at 2d. in this Box;” the first editions as collected by Elkin Mathews; or the cheap, but curious volumes to be found in the long book room of honest, kindly John Salkeld in the Clapham Road, whose catalogues (good as they are), but faintly express the wonderful knowledge of books and men he possesses.