The Book-Hunter
somewhat singular, at the same time quite novel, in amusing the company
with Robin Hood ditties and similar productions. I give this on after
report, having left the room very early from severe attack of sickness,
which appeared to originate in some vile compound partook of at
dinner."]
When Dibdin protested against the publication of this record, he
described it a great deal too attractively when he called it "the
concoction of one in his gayer and unsuspecting moments--the repository
of private confidential communications--a mere memorandum-book of what
had passed at convivial meetings, and in which 'winged words' and flying
notes of merry gentlemen and friends were obviously incorporated." No!
certainly wings and flying are not the ideas that naturally associate
with the historian of the Roxburghe, although, in one instance, the
dinner is sketched off in the following epigrammatic sentence, which
startles the reader like a plover starting up in a dreary moor:
"Twenty-one members met joyfully, dined comfortably, challenged eagerly,
tippled prettily, divided regretfully, and paid the bill most
cheerfully." On another occasion the historian's enthusiasm was too
expansive to be confined to plain prose, and he inflated it in lyric
verse:--
"Brave was the banquet, the red red juice,
Hilarity's gift sublime,
Invoking the heart to kindred use,
And bright'ning halo of time."
This, and a quantity of additional matter of like kind, was good fun to
the scorners, and, whether any of the unskilful laughed at it, scarcely
made even the judicious grieve, for they thought that those who had
embarked in such pompous follies deserved the lash unconsciously
administered to them in his blunders by an unhappy member of their own
order.
In fact, however, this was the youthful giant sowing his wild oats.
Along with them there lay also, unseen at first, the seed of good fruit.
Of these, was a resolution adopted at the second meeting, and thus set
forth by the historian in his own peculiar style: "It was proposed and
concluded for each member of the club to reprint a scarce piece of
ancient lore to be given to the members, one copy to be on vellum for
the chairman, and only as many copies as members."
The earliest productions following on this resolution were on a very
minute scale. One member, stimulated to distinguish himself by "a merry
conceited jest," reprinted a French morsel called "La Contenance de la
Table," and had it disposed of in such wise, that as each guest opened
his napkin expecting to find a dinner-roll, he disclosed the
typographical treasure. It stands No. 6 on the list of Roxburghe books,
and is probably worth an enormous sum. The same enthusiast reprinted in
a more formal manner a rarity called "News from Scotland, declaring the
damnable life of Dr Fian, a notable sorcerer," &c. This same morsel was
afterwards reprinted for another club, in a shape calculated almost to
create a contemptuous contrast between the infantine efforts of the
Roxburghe and the manly labours of its robust followers. It is inserted
as what the French call a _piece justificative_ in Pitcairn's Criminal
Trials, edited for the Bannatyne, and there occupies ten of the more
than 2000 pages which make up that solid book.
It was not until the year 1827 that a step was taken by the Roxburghe
Club which might be called its first exhibition of sober manhood. Some
of the members, ashamed of the paltry nature of the volumes circulated
in the name of the club, bethought themselves of uniting to produce a
book of national value. They took Sir Frederick Madden into their
counsels, and authorised him to print eighty copies of the old metrical
romance of Havelok the Dane. This gave great dissatisfaction to the
historian, who muttered how "a MS. not discovered by a member of the
club was selected, and an excerpt obtained, not furnished by the
industry or under the inspection of any one member, nor edited by a
member; but, in fact, after much _pro_ and _con._, it was made a
complete hireling concern, truly at the expense of the club, from the
copying to the publishing."
The value of this book has been attested by the extensive critical
examination it has received, and by the serviceable aid it has given to
all recent writers on the infancy of English literature. It was followed
by another interesting old romance, William and the Wer Wolf, valuable
not only as a specimen of early literature, but for the light it throws
on the strange wild superstition dealing with the conversion of men
into wolves, which has been found so widely prevalent that it has
received a sort of scientific title in the word Lycanthropy. These two
books made the reputation of the Roxburghe, and proved an example and
encouragement to the clubs which began to arise more or less on its
model. It was a healthy protest against the Dibdinism which had ruled
the destinies of the club, for Dibdin had been its master, and was the
Gamaliel at whose feet Hazlewood and others patiently sat. Of the term
now used, the best explanation I can give is this, that in the selection
of books--other questions, such as rarity or condition, being set aside
or equally balanced--a general preference is to be given to those which
are the most witless, preposterous, and in every literary sense
valueless--which are, in short, rubbish. What is here meant will be
easily felt by any one who chooses to consult the book which Dibdin
issued under the title of "The Library Companion, or the Young Man's
Guide and the Old Man's Comfort in the choice of a Library." This, it
will be observed, is not intended as a manual of rare or curious, or in
any way peculiar books, but as the instruction of a Nestor on the best
books for study and use in all departments of literature. Yet one will
look in vain there for such names as Montaigne, Shaftesbury, Benjamin
Franklin, D'Alembert, Turgot, Adam Smith, Malebranche, Lessing, Goethe,
Schiller, Fenelon, Burke, Kant, Richter, Spinoza, Flechier, and many
others. Characteristically enough, if you turn up Rousseau in the index,
you will find Jean Baptiste, but not Jean Jacques. You will search in
vain for Dr Thomas Reid, the metaphysician, but will readily find Isaac
Reed, the editor. If you look for Molinaeus or Du Moulin, it is not
there, but alphabetic vicinity gives you the good fortune to become
acquainted with "Moule, Mr, his Bibliotheca Heraldica." The name Hooker
will be found, not to guide the reader to the Ecclesiastical Polity, but
to Dr Jackson Hooker's Tour in Iceland. Lastly, if any one shall search
for Hartley on Man, he will find in the place it might occupy, or has
reference to, the editorial services of "Hazlewood, Mr Joseph."
Though the Roxburghe, when it came under the fostering care of the
scholarly Botfield, and secured the services of men like Madden, Wright,
and Taylor, outgrew the pedantries in which it had been reared, and
performed much valuable literary work, yet its chief merit is in the
hints its practice afforded to others. The leading principle, indeed,
which the other clubs so largely adopted after the example of the
Roxburghe, was not an entire novelty. The idea of keeping up the value
of a book by limiting the impression, so as to restrain it within the
number who might desire to possess it, was known before the birth of
this the oldest book club. The practice was sedulously followed by
Hearne the antiquary, and others, who provided old chronicles and books
of the class chiefly esteemed by the book-hunter. The very fame of the
restricted number, operating on the selfish jealousy of man's nature,
brought out competitors for the possession of the book, who never would
have thought of it but for the pleasant idea of keeping it out of the
hands of some one else.
There are several instances on record of an unknown book lying in the
printer's warerooms, dead from birth and forgotten, having life and
importance given to it by the report that all the copies, save a few,
have been destroyed by a fire in the premises. This is an illustration
in the sibylline direction of value being conferred by the decrease of
the commodity; but by judiciously adjusting the number of copies
printed, the remarkable phenomenon has been exhibited of the rarity of a
book being increased by an increase in the number of copies. To
understand how this may come to pass, it is necessary to recall the
precept elsewhere set forth, and look on rarity as not an absolute
quality, but as relative to the number who desire to possess the
article. Ten copies which two hundred people want constitute a rarer
book than two copies which twenty people want. Even to a sole remaining
copy of some forgotten book, lying dead, as it were, and buried in some
obscure library, may collective vital rarity be imparted. Let its owner
print, say, twenty copies for distribution--the book-hunting community
have got the "hark-away," and are off after it. In this way, before the
days of the clubs, many knowing people multiplied rarities; and at the
present day there are reprints by the clubs themselves of much greater
pecuniary value than the rare books from which they have been
multiplied.
Some Book-Club Men.
No one probably did more to raise the condition of the book clubs than
Sir Walter Scott. In 1823 the Roxburghe made proffers of membership to
him, partly, it would seem, under the influence of a waggish desire to
disturb his great secret, which had not yet been revealed. Dibdin,
weighting himself with more than his usual burden of ponderous
jocularity, set himself in motion to intimate to Scott the desire of the
club that the Author of Waverley, with whom it was supposed that he had
the means of communicating, would accept of the seat at the club vacated
by the death of Sir Mark Sykes. Scott got through the affair ingeniously
with a little coy fencing that deceived no one, and was finally accepted
as the Author of Waverley's representative. The Roxburghe had, however,
at that time, done nothing in serious book-club business, having let
loose only the small flight of flimsy sheets of letterpress already
referred to. It was Scott's own favourite club, the Bannatyne, that
first projected the plan of printing substantial and valuable volumes.
At the commencement of the same year, 1823, when he took his seat at the
Roxburghe (he did not take his bottle there, which was the more
important object, for some time after), he wrote to the late Robert
Pitcairn, the editor of the Criminal Trials, in these terms: "I have
long thought that a something of a bibliomaniacal society might be
formed here, for the prosecution of the important task of publishing
_dilettante_ editions of our national literary curiosities. Several
persons of rank, I believe, would willingly become members, and there
are enough of good operatives. What would you think of such an
association? David Laing was ever keen for it; but the death of Sir
Alexander Boswell and of Alexander Oswald has damped his zeal. I think,
if a good plan were formed, and a certain number of members chosen, the
thing would still do well."[71]
[Footnote 71: Notices of the Bannatyne Club, privately printed.]
Scott gave the Bannatyners a song for their festivities. It goes to the
tune of "One Bottle More," and is a wonderful illustration of his
versatile powers, in the admirable bibulous sort of joviality which he
distils, as it were, from the very dust of musty volumes, thus:--
"John Pinkerton next, and I'm truly concerned
I can't call that worthy so candid as learned;
He railed at the plaid, and blasphemed the claymore,
And set Scots by the ears in his one volume more.
One volume more, my friends, one volume more--
Celt and Goth shall be pleased with one volume more.