The Bibliotaph | Page 8

surprising that there is no such record,
for his habits of wandering precluded the possibility of his making a
permanent impression. By the time people had fully awakened to the
significance of his presence among them he was gone. So there grew up
a legend concerning him, but no true biography. He was like a comet,
very shaggy and very brilliant, but he stayed so brief a time in a place
that it was impossible for one man to give either the days or the thought
to the reproduction of his more serious and considered words. A greater
difficulty was involved in the fact that the Bibliotaph had many socii,
but no fidus Achates. Moreover, Achates, in this instance, would have
needed the reportorial powers of a James Boswell that he might
properly interpret genius to the public.
This particular genius illustrated the misfortune of having too great

facility in establishing those relations which lie midway between
acquaintance and friendship. To put the matter in the form of a paradox,
he had so many friends that he had no friend. Perhaps this is unjust, but
friendship has a touch of jealousy and exclusiveness in it. He was too
large-natured to say to one of his admirers, 'Thou shalt have no other
gods save myself;' but there were those among the admirers who were
quite prepared to say to him, 'We prefer that thou shalt have no other
worshipers in addition to us.'
People wondered that he seemed to have no care for a conventional
home life. He was taxed with want of sympathy with what makes even
a humble home a centre of light and happiness. He denied it, and said
to his accusers, 'Can you not understand that after a stay in your home I
go away with much the feeling that must possess a lusty young calf
when his well-equipped mother tells him that henceforth he must find
means of sustenance elsewhere?'
He professed to have been once in love, but no one believed it. He used
to say that his most remarkable experience as a bachelor was in noting
the uniformity with which eligible young women passed him by on the
other side of the way. And when a married friend offered condolence,
with that sleek complacency of manner noteworthy in men who are
conscious of being mated for life better than they deserve, the
Bibliotaph said, with an admiring glance at the wife, 'Your sympathy is
supererogatory, sir, for I fully expect to become your residuary legatee.'
It is most pleasing to think of this unique man 'buffeting his books' in
one of those temporary libraries which formed about him whenever he
stopped four or five weeks in a place. The shops were rifled of not a
few of their choicest possessions, and the spoils carried off to his room.
It was a joy to see him display his treasures, a delight to hear him talk
of them. He would disarm criticism with respect to the more eccentric
purchases by saying, 'You wouldn't approve of this, but I thought it was
curious,'--and then a torrent of facts, criticisms, quotations, all bearing
upon the particular volume which you were supposed not to like; and
so on, hour after hour. There was no limit save that imposed by the
receptive capacity of the guest. It reminded one of the word spoken

concerning a 'hard sitter at books' of the last century, that he was a
literary giant 'born to grapple with whole libraries.' But the fine flavor
of those hours spent in hearing him discourse upon books and men is
not to be recovered. It is evanescent, spectral, now. This talk was like
the improvisation of a musician who is profoundly learned, but has in
him a vein of poetry too. The talk and the music strongly appeal to
robust minds, and at the same time do not repel the sentimentalist.
It is not to be supposed that the Bibliotaph pleased every one with
whom he came in contact. There were people whom his intellectual
potency affected in a disagreeable way. They accused him of applying
great mental force to inconsidered trifles. They said it was a misfortune
that so much talent was going to waste. But there is no task so easy as
criticising an able man's employment of his gifts.

THE BIBLIOTAPH: HIS FRIENDS, SCRAP-BOOKS, AND 'BINS'
To arrive at a high degree of pleasure in collecting a library, one must
travel. The Bibliotaph regularly traveled in search of his volumes. His
theory was that the collector must go to the book, not wait for the book
to come to him. No reputable sportsman, he said, would wish the game
brought alive to his back-yard for him to kill. Half the pleasure was in
tracking the quarry