Book-Lovers, Bibliomaniacs and Book Clubs | Page 5

penetrate, was misled by the word uncut, and chided Stevens for buying an uncut book whose pages were all open. He says: 'Again when his tastes had grown into the mysteries of uncut leaves, he returned a very rare, early New England tract, expensively bound, because it did not answer the description of uncut in the invoice, for the leaves had manifestly been cut open and read.' When it was explained to him that in England the term uncut signified only that the edges were not trimmed, he shelved the rarity with the remark that he 'learned something every day.' . . . Perhaps the Caxton Club of Chicago is wise in describing its productions as 'with edges untrimmed.' Even a Philistine ought to be able to comprehend that description, although I once knew a man who supposed that a book 'bound in boards' had sides composed of planking."
Dr. Ferriar's satirical lines in his Second Maxim will find sympathizers among admirers of uncuts:--
Who, with fantastic pruning-hook, Dresses the borders of his book, Merely to ornament its look-- Amongst philosophers a fop is: What if, perchance, he thence discover Facilities in turning over, The virtuoso is a lover Of coyer charms in "uncut copies."
I have been requested to "explain the reason, if there be any, for leaving leaf-edges fastened [unopened]--even in evanescent magazines--and why people keep books in this condition, without looking at the contents." The reason why the binder does not open all the leaves is that it involves additional labor and expense which the publisher usually does not care to incur, as it does not essentially add to the selling value. Indeed, some collectors hesitate to open the leaves of their books with the paper-knife, for fear that the selling price would be thereby depreciated. This is an entirely mistaken idea, though it prevails very generally among those who do not understand the real meaning of the term "uncut." Most booksellers prefer having the leaves of the volumes all opened, as many buyers and readers object to the nuisance of cutting them open. Some of the magazine publishers have modern folding machines equipped with blades for severing all the leaves. In fine book-making, however, most of the folding and cutting is done by hand.
The third "symptom" defined by Dibdin, viz: "extra-illustrating," commonly called grangerizing, is really so far removed from the indicative stages of bibliomania as to render it entirely inappropriate as a proper single characteristic; it is the whole disease in its worst form. Fortunately, it is not a frequent infirmity among our present day bibliomaniacs. I cannot refrain from quoting Mr. William P. Cutter's vehement denunciation of the class of literary foragers who are thus affected. He observes that "this craze for 'extra-illustrating' seizes remorselessly the previously harmless bibliophile, and leads him to become a wicked despoiler and mutilator of books. The extra-illustrator is nearly always the person responsible for the decrepit condition of many of the books which 'unfortunately lack the rare portrait,' or have, 'as usual,' some valuable plate or map lacking. Were this professional despoiler, or his minions, the ruthless booksellers, to destroy the sad wrecks which result from their piratical depredations, all would be well. But they set these poor maimed hulks adrift again, to seek salvage from some deluded collector, or some impoverished or ignorant librarian.
"It is curious that the very volume in which our reverend friend Dibdin so heartily condemns these inexcusable bandits, should be seized on as a receptacle for their ill-gotten prizes. May the spectre of Thomas Frognall Dibdin haunt the souls of these impious rascals, and torture them with never-ceasing visions of unobtainable and rare portraits, non-existent autographs, and elusive engravings in general! They even dare to profane your sacred work, the Biblia of book-lovers, by the 'insertion' of crudities invented by their fiendish imagination. They have committed the 'unpardonable sin' of bibliophilism. Not only do they carry on this wicked work, but actually flaunt their base crimes in the face of their innocent brethren. Hearken to this:--
"DIBDIN, T.F. Bibliomania. London, 1811. Extended to five volumes, with extra printed titles, and having eight hundred engravings inserted, comprising views, old titles(!), vignettes, and six hundred and seventy-five portraits of authors, actors, poets, sovereigns, artists, prelates, &c., &c., 250 guineas."
Limited space prevents me from making any remarks upon the other five "symptoms," none of which are of any special interest, except to collectors to whose eccentricities they particularly relate.
As to "Autograph Editions," the craze for these continues without abatement. To me, this has always been one of the unsolved mysteries of the book-mania. I can readily appreciate how a collector would prize an author's inscribed copy of some choice edition, but why intelligent people should be allured into the belief that an author's stereotyped autograph displayed upon a front page