A monograph on privately illustrated books : a plea for bibliomania

Front matter

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I 0 13 TlS r

JItljata, Kern ^ark

CHAPTER I. Gentlemen of the Rembrandt Club

*HE invitation which has brought me before you this evening, in the capacity of essayist, was to give my experience in the seductive art of privately illustrating books}

One prefatory word, therefore, as to personal experiences ; for, although I am not so daintily endowed as to be deemed axiomatically modest, nor so apathetic of praise as to be indifferent to applause, still I have a consciousness of the insignificant space occupied by the pronoun " I " in the English

1 Probably no man ever lived who has done more to stimulate this department of art than he vifhose name has been assumed by this club.

A descriptive catalogue of the prints of Rembrandt, by an amateur, 1836, has been illustrated by inserting Rembrandt's own works.

" Rembrandt and his Works," by Burnet, 1859, has been many times illustrated.

One of the first privately illustrated books I remember ever having seen was a Dutch book about Rembrandt, by Immerzeel or Nagler. It was illusdictionary, and, on the other hand, of the usual obtrusive and ostentatious pretenses of the first person singular, notwithstanding Descartes has made it the column around which he has fabricated his great system of philosophy : Cogito, ergo sum, and nothing else is.

To present to you the starved and meager compend, the individual gleanings merely of a great subject, while the broader, more fertile, and more cultivated fields of equally easy access beyond the personal domain are inviting us to the harvest, would be an injustice to you and a parade of indefensible conceit in me.

There is a natural egotism or self-glorification in the relation of one's own achievements, even when never so modestly told ; and more especially is this true in the present case, where the individual achievements are dwarfed by comparison with and

trated by reproduced and some original works of Rembrandt. This I saw at Nunan's, in Nassau street, New-York, about forty years ago.

Nor can it be otherwise than that there should be a great desire to possess works so desirable, not only as works of art, but also for their great commercial value.

Passing over the lOO-guilder print of Rembrandt, which at its last sale fetched nearly $6000, " One of the next best evidences of the effect of a man's culture upon the age is the money value which attaches to his works. The most wonderful instance of this is Rembrandt's ' Sleeping Dog,' sketched in the corner of a plate, measuring about four inches and a quarter wide by two and a half high, and afterward cut down to three and a quarter by one and a half inches. Only one impression is known, which was sold at Mr. Hibbert's sale, 1809, for $7.50. The Duke of Buckingham subsequently obtained it for $30. At his sale in 1834 it brought $305, and in 1841 the British Museum paid $600 for it— a little over $130 per square inch."— Hammerton, Etching and Etchers, p. 81.

proximity to the grander and more princely productions of the more cultured and more favored by fortune.

Not that I would in the least degree discourage modest individual effort, nor a just and emulous pride in one's own productions, however unpretentious ; for the pleasure is no less keen (indeed, it is probably much keener) with the humble devotee than with those more bountifully endowed with the omnipotent dollar. There is at least one wholesome truth pervading all human endeavor after happiness ; it is that the racy enjoyments of this life are those enjoyments in the attainment of which there have been an exertion and a force expended. The pleasure derived from this consecrated energy, which so enhances the achievement of the book-lover, cannot be bought with money ; to him his achievement is not mere property — it is a laurel wreath of victory. "And bind it upon the plow," said Pliny.

One of the great reasons why the garrulous Dibdin's riotings among rare and valuable books are, after all, so devoid of genuine interest to the real lover, is that he occupied himself, to a great degree, in catering for men with measureless purses ; hence his writings have the patrician odor of "plush linings," "crushed levant," "spotless India proof before letter," and editions de luxe, rather than the more plebeian smell of "old book-stalls," "cellars," and "hogskin."

More celebrity has attached to the finder of an entombed literary nugget, amid the accumulated dust and filth of ages (which nothing short of the keenness of scent, the latent sagacity of the persistent "book-hunter" would ever have brought to the light of day), than the quiet enjoyment of all that could be bought with the wealth of Croesus. The works of Aristotle, which have had more influence on the human mind than any other writings in existence, owe their discovery — after having been lost two hundred years — to an old book-collector named Apellicon, who will never be forgotten while Aristotle lasts. The priceless volumes of Quintilian, rotten with damp, amid filth and dirt, were unearthed by Poggio, equally immortal.^ The commentaries and orations of Cicero were found under similar circumstances, begrimed, corroded,

1 The works of Aristotle were found in a cellar by Apellicon, a book-collector of Teos, where they had been hid by Neleus and forgotten. For two hundred years the precious documents remained in their subterranean prison. When found, damp, moths, and worms had made great inroads upon them, but Apellicon had them immediately copied, and hence the preservation of these writings, which have had more influence on the human mind than any other writings in existence. There are many strange stories of the finding of manuscripts, such as the history of the "War of Ilium," "Geoffrey of Monmouth's story of Gaultier's discovery of the Cimbric volume," " Chatterton's discovery of Rowley's poems, " and " Ireland's discovery of the Vortigern." But let us turn to the more historical. In a dark and filthy dungeon, begrimed with dirt and rotten with damp, Poggio found the priceless works of Quintilian. Groping about in the same noisome cavern, he rescued the first three books and part of the fourth of the " Argonautica " of

I8 and soiled. This is also true of the annals of Tacitus, which lay in darkness until the fifteenth century.

The first book printed in England was "The Game of Chesse," by William Caxton, in 1474. A book-hunter nicknamed Snuffy Davy^ found at an old book-stall in Holland an only copy of this book, which he bought for twopence sterling, and which he sold to Osborne, a London bookseller, for $100. Osborne sold it to Dr. Anthony Askew for $320, and at Dr. Askew's sale it was purchased for $850, for the Royal Library, where it will ever

Valerius Flaccus. Many of Cicero's orations were discovered under similar circumstances lurking in out-of-the-way places, where they had been hid to escape the despoiler. The grand and glorious masterpiece of Lucretius was found in a monastery. Many other classics, among them Plautus,- Tacitus, Manilius, Petronius, and Arbiter, were stumbled upon in the monasteries of Germany. Propertius, the prince of the Latin elegiac poets, had a narrow escape indeed. The manuscript, and, there is reason to believe, the only manuscript that contained his poems, was found stained, squalid, and crumpled under the casks in a wine-cellar. In Westphalia a monk came accidentally upon the histories of Tacitus, and to this happy chance we are indebted for one of the most priceless volumes of antiquity, a work which has had more influence on modern prose literature than any single book in the world. The most interesting treatise which Cicero has bequeathed to us was discovered amid a heap of refuse and rubbish near Milan, by a bishop of Lodi, early in the fifteenth century, and the only valuable manuscript of Dioscorides was when found in a similar state, so thoroughly riddled by insects, says Lambecius, that one would have scarcely stooped to pick it up. Livy, or rather what remains of him, was picked up piecemeal. One of Horace's odes was found sticking to an early impression of Cicero's " Offices.'' Part of the " Odyssey " (300 lines) was found grasped in the hands of a mummy.

1 Davie Wilson, from his inveterate addiction to black rappee, was called Snuffy Davy. He was the prince of scouts for searching blind alleys, cellars, and stalls for rare volumes. He would detect for you an old black-letter ballad among the leaves of a law paper, and find an editio princeps under the mask of a school Corderius.

remain.^ Should another perfect copy of this book turn up, heaven only knows what it would fetch. Quaritch, a London bookseller, has now an imperfect copy, for which his price is $2000.^

I might animadvert upon the gems which have been resurrected by the book-hunter from the basement of WilHam Gowans, in Nassau street, New- York. Of choice books, however, Mr. Joseph Sabin, also of Nassau street, undoubtedly kept, during a period of ten years, from 1865 to 1875, the finest stock in New-York.^

Gowans probably had the largest collection of its kind in the world. And some of these restored

1 And we all remember Sir Walter's quiet satire on the book-collecting race in the mock heroics which he puts into the mouth of Jonathan Oldbuck ; " Happy, thrice happy Snuffy Davie, and blessed were the times when thy industry could be thus rewarded."

2 The questions, " What becomes of all the books ? " " Who are the great biblioclasts ? " are certain to be asked by the inquisitive reader at some stage of this lecture, and they may as well be answered here as elsewhere. I would refer the inquirer to a beautiful little book, published in 1880, by Triibner & Co., London, called " The Enemies of Books," by William Blades, in which he enumerates and devotes Chapter I. to Fire as one of the enemies. Chapter II. to Water, Chapter III. to Gas and Heat, Chapter IV. to Dust and Neglect, Chapter V. to Ignorance, Chapter VI. to The Book Worm, Chapter VII. to Other Vermin, Chapter VIII. to Bookbinders, Chapter IX. to Collectors. With all these and many other enemies, is it at all surprising that whole editions have passed into the realms of the unknowable?

3 Mr. Sabin's knowledge was probably greater than that of any man in this country, and his fame extended to all the book-markets of the world. He was an Englishman, born in Hampshire, in 1821. He died leaving the great work of his life unfinished. It was a dictionary of all the books ever published relating to America. In alphabetic order he had reached " Pa " ; his strong desire to live was associated with the completion of this work. The task was colossal. Mr. Sabin's son succeeded him in the business, or in that department relating specially to prints.

volumes in princely wardrobes, still retaining the genuine perfume of time, are now the pride of the Lenox Library.'^

The many anecdotes related of Mr. Gowans will not be transmitted here. But were we called upon to advance advice to novitiates in book-hunting out of the storehouse of our knowledge obtained through personal attrition with old-book sellers generally, and the like of Mr. Gowans specially, we should say that of all the places known to us an old-book store is probably the most hazardous in which to make an ostentatious display of your learning — you are never quite sure of your audience. Many a young man and, in truth, older men have been taken down in their high conceits most unexpectedly, and from sources startling as thunder from a cloudless sky. " Never volunteer literary information to an old-book seller," says J. Hill Burton — "for two reasons. He regards you only in the light of your cash value, and is absolutely indifferent about your learning. And, secondly, he is quite likely to be better informed upon your pet subject than you are yourself"

Treasures of books in soiled and worn exteriors

1 There are at this moment books to be purchased for trivial sums which will eventually be worth their weight in gold; this much we know from a contemplation of the fact ; but to identify them among the mass of extant worthless literature pitched into your lap in railroad-cars, and rained upon you at the stations, requires a shrewder discernment than we possess.

are not the only surprises one is likely to encounter in an old-book store.^

Charles Nodier, one of the greatest and most learned of all the French literati of the first half of the present century, was also a great book-collector, and was frequently seen around the book-stalls of the city. He took great delight in these excursions, and frequently boasted of the conquests he had made. One day he went from one boquiniste to another, trying to complete a collection of classics in which he took deep interest. He entered a stall at the corner of the Pont des Arts, kept by a shabby little man, where he discovered the treasure — a Schrevelius in the Leyden edition of 1671. He opened it to make sure he was right, and then said in a careless tone: "Well, my good fellow, what do you want for this rubbish ? I '11 give you thirty sous." "Rubbish — thirty sous!" cried the stallman, in apparent holy horror. " Rubbish ! But, Mr. Nodier — " "What! you know my name!" " Oh, monsieur, who is there who does not know the

1 This class of old-book sellers seems to have become nearly extinct. A large percentage of the present race know as little about old books as old books know about them. And of those who now buy old books " The Collector " says : " — new kind of book-collector has been created in America by our purely commercial time and civilization, and one who would make the ancient patrons of Quaritch and Bouton shudder with horror, should they be brought into comparison with him. This is the collector who hires his collecting done for him. There are more of these mechanical and soulless beings among us than we wot of, perhaps. Certainly their agents are everywhere. One ferrets out one species of literature, and one another. Their principals sit at their ease, and have neither the delight of discovery nor the name of the learned, the accomplished, the kindlyacademician to whom we are indebted for so many delightful works ? " Nodier, highly flattered, looked at the little man with the utmost astonishment and curiosity. "Thirty sous, Mr. Nodier!" the other continued ; " rubbish — this Schrevelius ! This variorum edition, though it is less looked for than the Amsterdam edition of 1684, is not a whit less remarkable, and certainly does not deserve the scorn you profess to have for it. I will not go so far as to compare it with the Venice Aldines of 1 501, but still — " Nodier, astonished to hear the little man talking like this, put a host of bibliographical questions to him, all of which he answered in a manner that completed the academician's surprise. Delighted to find so much learning under the wellworn surtout of the book-stall keeper, Nodier asked his opinion on a new edition of Juvenal which Achaintre, the first Latinist of the day, had just brought out. At this the old man seemed confused. "Surely, monsieur," said Nodier, "you

bliss of bargaining. They amass their hbraries in ^ purely business way, insensible to the fascination of a find, and callous to those charms of chance that transport the true bibliophile to his seventh heaven. Even the booksellers do not know their names, for secrecy is part of their program. It is one of the vulgar affectations of American collectorship of the shoddy order for the collector to conceal his identity; but I have never yet known a true amateur who was ashamed to have his acquisitions known. Charles Monselet's aphorism holds here as in France. ' Mere purchasing,' said he, 'does not constitute collecting. Any one with money can buy. It is he who seeks, uncovers, and wrests from obscurity that which is worth preservation whom we may safely call an amateur. ' " — The Collector, March 1, 1891.

have heard of this monumental work, which will be the envy and the despair of the German philologists." "The fact is, monsieur," replied the little man, with growing embarrassment, "the fact is that I am Achaintre."^

But all this is merely introductory. We deal this evening with a more special phase of the bookmalady, and yet we cannot well treat them entirely apart. A collector of rare books may not necessarily be an illustrator; but I have never known an illustrator who was not also a collector.

Why I should have been selected for this honor, in the presence of connoisseurs and men of superior attainment and experience in this department of art, is more than I am able to determine.^ I know of no commendable qualifications of my own in the line of literature, unless it be an almost boundless enthusiasm.

There is a saying of Comte de Buffon which has been a wonderful solace to me, and I will repeat it here for the benefit of all whom it may concern, believing them to be many: "I would give nothing," said he, "for a young man who did not be-

1 Nicholas Louis Achaintre, school-teacher, born 1 771. Produced Horace in 1806, Juvenal in i8lo, Perseus in 1812.

2 A great misconception seems to have gone abroad concerning my collection of books. It is not large; it is unimportant, except from a scientific point of view. And even in that relation it is far from being a notable library. It would be called a collection of books on ethnology and the kindred sciences of mythology and philology, a few classics, some books on art, and some works on bibliography.

gin life with an enthusiasm of some kind ; it shows, at least, that he had faith in something good, lofty, and generous from his own standpoint."

We have always had our distrust of moral perfection. The man who has no defect, no crack in his character, no tinge of the minor immoralities, no fantastic humor carrying him sometimes off his feet, no preposterous hobby — such a man, walking straight along the surface of this earth in the arc of a circle, is a dangerous character. I think Lord Brougham said, " Blessed is the man who has a hobby." It may be dogs.

My own illustrated books are all of a very humble character indeed. All small and unpretentious, there are no towering folios among them, no unique editions, no Whatman drawing-paper. Nor did it ever occur to me, in building them up, that I was performing more than a purely selfish act, or anything worthy of the least public attention. I have felt rather ashamed than exalted by my weakness.

I shall, therefore, in this essay, lay before you :

First. Very briefly, indeed, the account of my life's experience in this department of art.

Secondly. Illustrations of the process of this unique book-making.

Thirdly. The names, attainment, career (and nature of the work) of the most accomplished men who have fallen victims to this infatuation.

Our theme, then, must be illustrated copies in the concrete, their styles and their growth. No matter how severely tempted we may be to enter the domain of Elzevirs, Aldines, Baskervilles, Pickerings, Chiswicks, black-letter, vellum, first editions, large paper, privately printed and uncut copies, by the terms of our invitation we are forbidden the indulgence of this unique luxury. We are also interdicted the princely libraries of our esteemed citizens — Hon. Henry C. Murphy, on American colonial history ; J. Carson Brevoort, on early voyages, travels and geography; the now dispersed collection of Thos. W. Field, on the ethnology of the aboriginal Americans ;^ of Whitman W. Kenyon (president-elect of this association), on art and artculture ; Dr. Charles E. West, on Icelandic and Anglo-Saxon literature ; Mr. Havemeyer, on general history and political economy ; Mr. James Bell, covering the entire field of ancient and modern literature ; the thirty thousand volumes of Hon.

1 This was the finest special collection of works relating to the Indians of America and Indian Antiquities that has ever been gathered in this country.

DeBry's " grand collection of voyages" are, as every one knows, excessively rare in a perfect state. The set of Mr. Field was the most perfect ever sold in America. The editor of Mr. Field's sale catalogue (Mr. Sabin) says " that this set was purchased by him at the sale of the library of the late Baron de Sobolewski, of Moscow, in 1873, since which Mr. Field has supplied some of its defects. It now lacks only two leaves in the letter-press of part XIII. Mr. Field also supplied many plates in duplicate. The publication of this great work occupied nearly fifty years. The DeBrys — father, son, and grandson — successively wrought upon this work, which was completed to and included the thirteenth part, which last is the rarest of aU. A book-col-

2$

John R. Reid, of Babylon, on general literature, belles-lettres, and fine arts; the antiquarian and anthropological collection of Hon. E. G. Squier — all of which have no status under our title; and, although I much regret the drawing in of our lines, yet it must be confessed that the field, even thus contracted, is quite broad enough upon which to discuss the ethics of our subject. No greater inspiration is necessary to an unsullied moral life than a full and absolute fellowship with an illustrated copy, full bound, by Matthews, in crushed levant, of Boswell's "Johnson," or of Walton's "Complete Angler" — two books of noble, moral repute, and which take to illustrations more naturally than any other two books in the English language.

The Grolier ornamentation, the watered-silk linings, the spotless leaves, the amphtude of margins, the clean, sharp-cut typography, the charming and seductive manner in which the skill of an

lector of Brooklyn, the most persistent in America, has for twenty-five years vainly sought for this thirteenth part.''

There was also in this collection Lord Kingsborough's "Antiquities of Mexico" — one of the few with colored prints. It was published at $875. Sold for $225. — John Eliot's "Tears of Repentance," London, 1653, $36. — • Eliot's " Further Account," London, 1655, $75. — Eliot's " Brief Narrative," London, 1671, $72.50. — Baron Von Humboldt's " Cordilleras," Paris, 1810, $40. — Marc Lescarbot's " Nouvelle France," Paris, 1618, $110. — " Londoni," 1609, $110. — Loudon's "Indian Narratives," 2 vols., London, 1808, $200. — Mather's "War with the Indians," London, 1676, $100. — Samuel Penhallow's "Indian Wars," Boston, 1725, $105. — Daniel C. Sanders' "Indian Wars," Montpelier,Vt., l8l2,$i02.5o. — John Smith's "General History of Virginia," London, 1624, $147. — Capt. J. Smith's "TrueTravels," London, 1630, $147.50.

expert has arranged the choicest specimens in India proof of the engraver's art, leaf succeeding leaf of the most exquisite portraits by Longhi, Nanteuil, Morghen, Houbraken, Strange, and Faithorne must broaden the latitude of humanity.

I believe "a companionship of art, whether its utterance is in sound, or in word, or in form, is a noble and moral association ; its culture penetrates and mingles in the very currents of our blood."

And, notwithstanding all this, I still regret that I must take the circumscribed path of the specialist, and turn my back upon the broad road which leads me to the glorious uncut copies of Sir William Jones, Wilkinson, Ferguson, Brunet, Purchas, De Bry, or the twenty-seven gorgeous volumes of L'Art, which rise up in all their rough, half- Roxburg majesty before me.

But our mission here is monographic. We do not come as idolatrous disciples of the honest old James Granger, the Vicar of Shiplake;^ we have been redeemed from "book-madness," and are inexorable in our resolve to buy no more books,

1 The first book ever illustrated was by James Granger. It was Granger's "Biographical History of England, from Egbert the Great," and was first pubUshed in 1769 — quarto.in 2 vols.* It has since undergone four impres-

* To illustrate this work, which contained short and pithy notices of every person in England who had an engraved portrait, became quite a mania, and illustrated Grangers became as thick as blackberries, and portraits became correspondingly scarce. The next books selected for privately illustrating were Clarendon's " Rebellion," Burnet's '* History of the Reformation," and Walpole's *' Royal and Noble Autliors."

even though we die broken-hearted. But humanity is weak ; for —

Five hundred times at least, I 've said, My wife assures me, '' I would never

Buy more old books." Yet lists are made, And shelves are lumbered more than ever.

Oh, that our wives could only see How well the money is invested

In these old books, which seem to be By them, alas ! so much detested.

Nearly fifty years ago I began amusing myself with books by adding an occasional print. Private illustrating was almost an unknown passion in this country at that time. What I mean by privately illustrated books is, books in which prints are inserted which do not belong to the book, but which are pertinent to the subject treated. Under this method.

Sometimes the pictures for the page atone, And the text is saved by beauties not its own.

The first book which I attempted systematically to illustrate was Giraud's "Birds of Long

sions, the last being in 1804 — octavo, in 4 vols. A continuation of the same, by Rev. Mark Noble, was published in 1807, in 3 vols. So that if the lover of rare and curious prints gets possession of these volumes, with Ames's " Catalogue of English Heads," 1748; Walpole's "Catalogue of Engravings," 1775; Burnley's "Catalogue of Engraved Portraits," 1793, with Catalogues of the Collections of Mr. Barnard, Sir W. Musgrave, Mr. Tysson, Sir James Winter Lake, and a little work, " The Print Collector" — edited by Robert Hoe, Jr., of New-York, 1880, he has put himself in the way of becoming a print-collector.

Island," a work somewhat distinguished for its scientific accuracy, to obtain materials for which I dismembered the rare and splendid quarto volume belonging to the "Natural History of the State of New- York." ^ For this piece of vandalism I have never forgiven myself This was my first little folly. I have committed many and greater since; nor is that man an orthodox collector or a true bibliophile who has not at some time committed a great and foolish extravagance. There are one hundred and forty-seven prints inserted in the text of this book, which is only a common octavo, published by Wiley & Putnam in 1844.* It is now very rare. Few persons in this room have ever seen it. But, however great the folly in destroying so valuable a book for so insignificant a one, the knowledge incidentally acquired in the science of ornithology while engaged upon it was most thorough, and was, maybe, a full, or more than a full, compensation for the mischief otherwise done. I have never been proud of the book, and seldom show it ; for no man of culture, especially if he be a naturalist, fails to reprove me

1 " Natural History of the State of New- York." Published by the authority of the State, viz. ; " Zoology, Mammalia, Ornithology, Reptiles, Fishes, MoUusca, and Crustacea," by J. deKay; "Botany," by Torrey; "Mineralogy," by L. C. Beck; "Geology," by Wm. W. Mather and E. Emmons; "Paleontology," by J. Hall; "Agriculture," by E. Emmons. Together 20 vols, royal 4to, with upward of 800 plates. New- York, 1842. Published at $200.

2"The Birds of Long Island." J. P. Giraud. 8vo. New-York, 1844.

for this act — so similar to that of the foolish old lady who cut up a new garment to mend an old one. And I have no doubt some who have seen it, and whose excessive good breeding restrained them from outward demonstration, have inwardly applied to me the words of Sir Isaac Newton to his little dog Diamond, which, during his absence from his study, threw down a lighted candle among his papers and destroyed the labor of years of the great philosopher: "O Diamond! Diamond ! thou little knowest the mischief thou hast done."

My last book, and which is still unfinished, is a large-paper copy of Dr. Henry R. Stiles's "History of the City of Brooklyn." It was commenced thirty years ago. I have illustrated many in the mean time. A great number of the prints were collected before the work issued from the press. Although elegance has by no means been neglected in the ensemble of this book, beauty was not the great prime object in view, but the preservation of perishable and perishing material of value relating to the city of Brooklyn. I have added to the original work about two thousand three hundred pages of various kinds of matter and decorations, mostly portraits and prints of old historical landmarks. There are seven hundred and eighty prints, two hundred and sixty pages of new matter in manuscript, sixty photographs, fifty-one old maps (some of them unique), twenty-two original sketches and water-colors, besides original letters, etc. The original three volumes have been extended thus far to nine. The cost of the work up to the present cannot be much under two thousand dollars, and an approximation to the number of shekels it would take to ransom it under the methods of Bangs, Merwin & Co., providing there is no greater public appreciation of my labor than of Dr. Henry R. Stiles's in its original production, would be about one twentieth of the cost in labor and money which have been bestowed upon it. During this interval — thirty-odd years from the production of my first illustrated book and the present — I have done more or less illustrating, probably sixty works in all, or about one hundred and twenty volumes, although a catalogue of the books in my library which have more or less undergone this process of mutilation would possibly exceed three hundred.