This is why, if you take up any sale catalogue of old books, you are certain to find here and there, appended to the description, "Wanting the title," "Wanting two plates," or "Wanting the last page."
It is quite common to find in old MSS., especially fifteenth century, both vellum and paper, the blank margins of leaves cut away. This will be from the side edge or from the foot, and the recurrence of this mutilation puzzled me for many years. It arose from the scarcity of paper in former times, so that when a message had to be sent which required more exactitude than could be entrusted to the stupid memory of a household messenger, the Master or Chaplain went to the library, and, not having paper to use, took down an old book, and cut from its broad margins one or more slips to serve his present need.
I feel quite inclined to reckon among "enemies" those bibliomaniacs and over-careful possessors, who, being unable to carry their treasures into the next world, do all they can to hinder their usefulness in this. What a difficulty there is to obtain admission to the curious library of old Samuel Pepys, the well-known diarist. There it is at Magdalene College, Cambridge, in the identical book-cases provided for the books by Pepys himself; but no one can gain admission except in company of two Fellows of the College, and if a single book be lost, the whole library goes away to a neighbouring college. However willing and anxious to oblige, it is evident that no one can use the library at the expense of the time, if not temper, of two Fellows. Some similar restrictions are in force at the Teylerian Museum, Haarlem, where a lifelong imprisonment is inflicted upon its many treasures.
Some centuries ago a valuable collection of books was left to the Guildford Endowed Grammar School. The schoolmaster was to be held personally responsible for the safety of every volume, which, if lost, he was bound to replace. I am told that one master, to minimize his risk as much as possible, took the following barbarous course:—As soon as he was in possession, he raised the boards of the schoolroom floor, and, having carefully packed all the books between the joists, had the boards nailed down again. Little recked he how many rats and mice made their nests there; he was bound to account some day for every single volume, and he saw no way so safe as rigid imprisonment.
The late Sir Thomas Phillipps, of Middle Hill, was a remarkable instance of a bibliotaph. He bought bibliographical treasures simply to bury them. His mansion was crammed with books; he purchased whole libraries, and never even saw what he had bought. Among some of his purchases was the first book printed in the English language, "The Recuyell of the Histories of Troye," translated and printed by William Caxton, for the Duchess of Burgundy, sister to our Edward IV. It is true, though almost incredible, that Sir Thomas could never find this volume, although it is doubtless still in the collection, and no wonder, when cases of books bought twenty years before his death were never opened, and the only knowledge of their contents which he possessed was the Sale Catalogue or the bookseller's invoice.
CHAPTER X. SERVANTS AND CHILDREN.
READER! are you married? Have you offspring, boys especially I mean, say between six and twelve years of age? Have you also a literary workshop, supplied with choice tools, some for use, some for ornament, where you pass pleasant hours? and is—ah! there's the rub!—is there a special hand-maid, whose special duty it is to keep your den daily dusted and in order? Plead you guilty to these indictments? then am I sure of a sympathetic co-sufferer.
Dust! it is all a delusion. It is not the dust that makes women anxious to invade the inmost recesses of your Sanctum—it is an ingrained curiosity. And this feminine weakness, which dates from Eve, is a common motive in the stories of our oldest literature and Folk-lore. What made Fatima so anxious to know the contents of the room forbidden her by Bluebeard? It was positively nothing to her, and its contents caused not the slightest annoyance to anybody. That story has a bad moral, and it would, in many ways, have been more satisfactory had the heroine been left to take her place in the blood-stained chamber, side by side with her peccant predecessors. Why need the women-folk (God forgive me!) bother themselves about the inside of a man's library, and whether it wants dusting or not? My boys' playroom, in which is a carpenter's bench, a lathe, and no end of litter, is never tidied—perhaps it can't be, or perhaps their youthful vigour won't stand it—but my workroom must needs be dusted daily, with the delusive promise that each book and paper shall be replaced exactly where it was. The damage done by such continued treatment is incalculable. At certain times these observances are kept more religiously than others; but especially should the book-lover, married or single, beware of the Ides of March. So soon as February is dead and gone, a feeling of unrest seizes the housewife's mind. This increases day by day, and becomes dominant towards the middle of the month, about which period sundry hints are thrown out as to whether you are likely to be absent for a day or two. Beware! the fever called "Spring Clean" is on, and unless you stand firm, you will rue it. Go away, if the Fates so will, but take the key of your own domain with you.
Do not misunderstand. Not for a moment would I advocate dust and dirt; they are enemies, and should be routed; but let the necessary routing be done under your own eye. Explain where caution must be used, and in what cases tenderness is a virtue; and if one Eve in the family can be indoctrinated with book-reverence you are a happy man; her price is above that of rubies; she will prolong your life. Books MUST now and then be taken clean out of their shelves, but they should be tended lovingly and with judgment. If the dusting can be done just outside the room so much the better. The books removed, the shelf should be lifted quite out of its bearings, cleansed and wiped, and then each volume should be taken separately, and gently rubbed on back and sides with a soft cloth. In returning the volumes to their places, notice should be taken of the binding, and especially when the books are in whole calf or morocco care should be taken not to let them rub together. The best bound books are soonest injured, and quickly deteriorate in bad company. Certain volumes, indeed, have evil tempers, and will scratch the faces of all their neighbours who are too familiar with them. Such are books with metal clasps and rivets on their edges; and such, again, are those abominable old rascals, chiefly born in the fifteenth century, who are proud of being dressed in REAL boards with brass corners, and pass their lives with fearful knobs and metal bosses, mostly five in number, firmly fixed on one of their sides. If the tendencies of such ruffians are not curbed, they will do as much mischief to their gentle neighbours as when a "collie" worries the sheep. These evil results may always be minimized by placing a piece of millboard between the culprit and his victim. I have seen lovely bindings sadly marked by such uncanny neighbours.