Part 6

One of the most remarkable collections of books ever made by a private individual was that known as the Sunderland Library. It was formed, not only in the short space of twelve years, but at a time when many books, now of almost priceless value, and scarcely to be had at any price, were comparatively common, and certainly not costly. Neither money nor pains was spared, 'and the bibliographical ardour of the founder soon began to be talked of in the bookshops of the chief cities of Europe.' The founder, Charles, third Earl of Sunderland, lived at Althorp, his town house being in Piccadilly, on the site of which the Albany now stands. At the latter place this library was lodged for several years. In Macky's 'Journey through England,' 1724, Sunderland House is there described as being separated from the street of Piccadilly 'by a wall with large grown trees before the gate. . . . The greatest beauty of this palace is the library, running from the house into the garden; and I must say is the finest in Europe, both for the disposition of the apartments, and of the books. The rooms, divided into five apartments, are fully 150 feet long, with two stories of windows, and a gallery runs round the whole in the second story for the taking down books. No nobleman in any nation hath taken greater care to make his collection complete, nor does he spare any cost for the most valuable and rare books. Besides, no bookseller in Europe hath so many editions of the same book as he, for he hath all, especially of the classicks.' The founder of this famous library died on April 19, 1722. Evelyn has left a few very interesting facts concerning this collection. Under the date March 10, 1695, we read: 'I din'd at the Earl of Sunderland's with Lord Spencer. My Lord shew'd me his library, now again improv'd by many books bought at the sale of Sir Charles Scarborough, an eminent physician, which was the very best collection, especially of mathematical books, that was I believe in Europe, once design'd for the King's library at St. James's, but the Queen dying, who was the greate patroness of the designe, it was let fall, and the books were miserably dissipated.' Four years later, April, 1699, we have another entry, to the effect that Lord Spencer purchased 'an incomparable library,' until now the property of 'a very fine scholar, whom from a child I have known,' whose name does not transpire [? Hadrian Beverland], but in whose library were many 'rare books . . . that were printed at the first invention of that wonderful art.' In reference to Macky's incidental allusion to the Earl of Sunderland's indifference to cost in forming his library, Wanley confirms this. Writing in December, 1721, the diarist observes that the books in Mr. Freebairn's library 'in general went low, or rather at vile rates, through a combination of the booksellers against the sale. Yet some books went for unaccountably high prices, which were bought by Mr. Vaillant, the bookseller, who had an unlimited commission from the Earl of Sunderland.' Among the items was an edition of Virgil, printed by Zarothus _circa_ 1475: 'It was noted that when Mr. Vaillant had bought the printed Virgil at £46, he huzza'd out aloud, and threw up his hat, for joy that he had bought it so cheap.' When this famous book-collector died, Wanley observes that 'by reason of his decease some benefit may accrue to this library [Lord Oxford's], even in case his relations will part with none of his books. I mean, _by his raising the price of books no higher now_; so that, in probability, this commodity may fall in the market; and any gentleman be permitted to buy an uncommon old book for less than forty or fifty pounds.' The third son of this famous book-collector, Charles, fifth Earl of Sunderland, and second Duke of Marlborough, greatly enlarged the collection formed by his father; and it was removed to Blenheim probably in 1734. This famous library remained practically intact until it came under the hammer at Puttick and Simpson's, occupying fifty-one days in the dispersal at intervals from December 1, 1881, to March 22, 1883, the total being £55,581 6s. It is stated that the library originally cost about £30,000.

Dr. David Williams, who from 1688 to the end of his life was minister of a Presbyterian congregation which met at Hand Alley, Bishopsgate Street, was a contemporary book-collector and book-hunter. His special line was theology, and his library, which absorbed that of Dr. Bates, once Rector of St. Dunstan's-in-the-East, is still preserved intact, and is now, to a certain degree, a free library. Archbishop Tenison was another great book-hunter of this period, and his library was preserved more or less intact until 1861, when it was dispersed at Sotheby's, under an order of the Charity Commissioners.

The brothers Thomas and Richard Rawlinson were, probably, the most omnivorous collectors of the earlier part of the last century. Everything in the shape of a book was welcomed. The former (1681-1725), whose 'C. & P.' (collated and perfect) appears on the frontispiece, title-page, or fly-leaf of books, when he lived in Gray's Inn, had so filled his set of four rooms with books that he was obliged to sleep in the passage. He is said to be the original study for the 158th _Tatler_, in which 'Tom Folio' and other _soi-disant_ scholars are trounced. 'He has a greater esteem for Aldus and Elzevir than for Virgil and Horace.' It is very doubtful whether Addison (who wrote this particular _Tatler_) really had Thomas Rawlinson in mind, whom he describes as 'a learned idiot.' Swift has declared that some know books as they do lords; learn their titles exactly, and then brag of their acquaintance. But neither description is applicable to Rawlinson, who, for all that, may have known much more about Aldus or the Elzevirs than about Virgil or Horace. With a pretty taste for epithets, in which our forefathers sometimes indulged, Hearne has defended his friend from Addison's sarcasms by declaring that the mistake could only have been made by a 'shallow buffoon.' That Rawlinson was a bibliomaniac there can be no question, for if he had a score copies of one book, he would purchase another for the mere gratification of possessing it. When he removed to the large mansion in Aldersgate Street, which had been the palace of the Bishops of London, and which he shared with his brother, 'the books still continued to be better lodged than their owner.' He died, at the comparatively early age of forty-four, as he had lived, among dust and cobwebs, 'in his bundles, piles and bulwarks of paper.' The catalogue of his huge mass of books was divided into nine parts; the sale of the MSS. alone occupied sixteen days. Richard Rawlinson (died 1755) survived his brother thirty years, and continued to collect books with all his brother's enthusiasm, but without his sheer book-greed. His MSS. are at Oxford, and the extent and richness of his accumulations may be gathered from the fact that the collector laid nearly thirty libraries under contribution. His printed books were sold in 1756 by Samuel Baker (now Sotheby's), the sale occupying forty-nine days, and the total amounting to £1,155 1s.; a second sale included 20,000 pamphlets, and a third sale consisted of prints.

Among the wisest and most distinguished book-collectors of the first half of the last century is Dr. Richard Mead (1673-1754), a physician by profession, but a bibliophile by instinct, and whom Dr. Johnson described as having 'lived more in the broad sunshine of life than almost any other man.' As Dr. Mead's fine library was 'picked up at Rome,' it scarcely comes within our purview; but it may be mentioned that so long as this fine collection remained intact in London, it was _ipso facto_ a free library; it was especially rich in the classics, sciences and history. The first part was sold by Samuel Baker in 1754, and the second in the following year, the 6,592 lots occupying fifty-seven days, the total of the books being £5,496 15s. Dr. Mead's mantle descended to his great friend and pupil, Dr. Anthony Askew (1722-1774), who had an exceedingly fine library; his career as a collector began in Paris in 1749, and nearly all his choicest treasures appear to have been gathered on the Continent, and chiefly it seems by Joseph Smith, the English Consul at Venice. Askew's first library was purchased by George III. in 1762, and now forms an integral part of the British Museum. His subsequent accumulations were dispersed in two sections, the books in 1775, and the MSS. ten years later. We shall have occasion to refer again to the Askew sale. Dr. Richard Farmer appears to have imbibed his taste for book-collecting from Askew, and became an indefatigable haunter of the London and country bookstalls, his special line being Early English literature, then scarcely at all appreciated; it is stated that the collection, which cost him less than £500, realized, when sold by auction by King in 1798, upwards of £2,000. Dr. Farmer is better remembered by posterity as a Shakespearian critic or commentator. He was a Canon Residentiary of St. Paul's, and appears to have had what Dibdin describes as 'his foragers, his jackalls, and his _avant-couriers_,' who picked up for him every item of interest in his particular lines. As becomes the true bibliophile, he was peculiarly indifferent to his dress, but he was a scholar of great abilities. A glance at a priced copy of his sale catalogue is enough to turn any book-lover green with envy. For example, his copy of Richard Barnfield's 'Encomion of Lady Pecunia, or the Praise of Money' (1598), sold for 19s., Malone being the purchaser. That copy is now in the Bodleian. In 1882, the Ouvry copy of the same book realized 100 guineas! A copy of Milton's 'Paradise Lost' (1667), with the first title-page, sold for 11s.; a volume of twelve poems, chiefly printed by Wynkyn de Worde and Pynson, realized 25 guineas. Each item would probably realize the amount paid for the whole, should they again occur for sale, which is most unlikely. Both his friends, George Steevens and Isaac Reed, were equally zealous collectors, and each had a strong weakness for the same groove of collecting. The library of Steevens was sold, also by King, in 1800, and the 1,943 items realized £2,740 15s.; whilst that of Reed, sold seven years later, contained 8,957 articles, and realized £4,387.

Both Steevens and Isaac Reed call for a much more extended notice than it is possible to give them here. Many of Steevens' books realized twenty times the amount which he paid for them. Steevens, who was born in 1736, resided in a retired house 'just on the rise of Hampstead Heath,' so Dibdin tells us, the house being formerly known as the Upper Flask Tavern, to which 'Richardson sends Clarissa in one of her escapes from Lovelace.' Here, as Dibdin further tells us, Steevens lived, embosomed in books, shrubs, and trees. 'His habits were indeed peculiar; not much to be envied or imitated, as they sometimes betrayed the flights of a madman, and sometimes the asperities of the cynic. His attachments were warm, but fickle, both in choice and duration.' Several of his letters are printed in Dibdin's 'Bibliomania' (edit. 1842), in which will also be found a long series of extracts from the sale catalogue of his library. There were nearly fifty copies of the first or early quartos of the Shakespearian plays, which were knocked down at prices varying from 5s. to, in a few instances, over £20. The first, second, third and fourth folios realized £22, £18 18s., £8 8s., and £2 12s. 6d., respectively! Isaac Reed was in many ways a remarkable man. He was the son of a baker in the parish of St. Dunstan's-in-the-West. Born in 1742, he commenced professional life as a solicitor, which he soon abandoned for the more congenial pursuit of literature. His knowledge of English literature was unbounded, and the dispersal of his remarkable library was one of the wonders of the year 1807. He was for over forty years a diligent collector, and few days passed in that period which did not witness an addition to his library. He died at his chambers in Staple Inn. 'I have been almost daily at a book-auction,' writes Malone--'the library of the late Mr. Reed, the last Shakespearian, except myself, where my purse has been drained as usual. But what I have purchased are chiefly books of my own trade. There is hardly a library of this kind now left, except my own and Mr. Bindley's, neither of us having the least desire to succeed the other in his peculiar species of literary wealth.'

FOOTNOTES:

[27:A] In Hearne's 'Diary,' published by the Oxford Historical Society, there is a very quaint note about the Duke of Lauderdale, who is described as 'a Curious Collector of Books, and when in London would very often go to y{e} Booksellers shops and pick up w{t} curious Books he could meet with; but y{t} in his Elder years he lost much of his Learning by minding too much Politicks.'

[27:B] At the Cambridge University Library there are some very interesting diaries of this famous book-lover, styled 'Father of Black Letter Collectors,' chiefly relating to the purchases of books. All the more important facts have been published in the pages of the _Bibliographer_.

FROM THE OLD TO THE NEW.

I.

IN few phases of human action are the foibles and preferences of individuals more completely imbricated than in that of book-collecting. Widely different as were the book-hunters' fancies at the beginning and at the end of the eighteenth century, yet it would not be possible to draw a hard and fast line. For the greater part of that time the classics of every description and of every degree of unimportance held their own. Reluctant, therefore, to abandon the chief stimulant of their earlier book-hunting careers, many collectors still took a keen interest in their _primi pensieri_. But their real passion found a vent in other and less beaten directions. In addition to this, during the eighteenth century a large number of small working libraries were formed by men who _used_ books. Henry Fielding, Goldsmith, Dr. Johnson, David Hume, Smollett, Gibbon, Pope, and many others, are essentially figures in the history of book-hunting in London, but they had neither the means nor, so far as we are aware, the inclination to indulge in book-collecting as a mere fashionable hobby. Mr. Austin Dobson has lately published an interesting account of Fielding's library, in which he proves not only that Fielding had been a fervent student of the classics in his youth and that he remained a voracious reader through life, but that he made good use of a large collection of Greek and Latin authors, which was sold at his death.

The eighteenth century may be regarded as the Augustan age so far as book-hunting in London is concerned. A large percentage of the most famous collections were either formed, or the collectors themselves were either born or died, in that period. The Beckford and Hamilton, the Heber, the Sunderland, the Althorp, and the King's Library, all had their origins prior to 1800.

Richard Heber (1773-1833), with all his vast knowledge, learning, and accomplishments, was a bibliomaniac in the more unpleasant sense of the word. No confirmed drunkard, no incurable opium-eater, ever had less self-control than Heber had. To him, to see a book was to possess it. Cicero has said that the heart into which the love of gold has entered is shut to every other feeling. Heber was very wealthy, so that with him the love of books blinded him to almost everything else. He began to collect when at Oxford, chiefly classics for the purpose of study. He is said to have caught the disease from Bindley, the veteran collector, who began book-hunting early in the last century. Having one day accidentally met with a copy of Henry Peacham's 'Valley of Varietie,' 1638, which professed to give 'rare passages out of antiquity,' etc., he showed it to Bindley, who described it as 'rather a curious book.' Why such an incident should have set Heber on his terrible career history telleth not. Under the name of 'Atticus,' Dibdin, who knew Heber well, has described him in this fashion: 'Atticus unites all the activity of De Witt and Lomenie, with the retentiveness of Magliabechi, and the learning of Le Long. . . . Yet Atticus doth sometimes sadly err. He has now and then an ungovernable passion to possess more copies of a book than there were ever parties to a deed or stamina to a plant; and therefore, I cannot call him a "duplicate" or a triplicate collector. . . . But he atones for this by being liberal in the loan of his volumes. The learned and curious, whether rich or poor, have always free access to his library.' Heber's own explanation of this plurality of purchase was cast somewhat in this fashion: 'Why, you see, sir, no man can comfortably do without _three_ copies of a book. One he must have for his show copy, and he will probably keep it at his country house. Another he will require for his own use and reference; and unless he is inclined to part with this, which is very inconvenient, or risk the injury of his best copy, he must needs have a third at the service of his friends.' The late Mr. Edward Solly was also a pluralist in the matter of books, and had even six or seven copies of a large number of works. He justified himself on the plea that he liked to have one to read, one to make notes in, another with notes by a previous owner, one in a choice binding, a 'tall' copy, a short ditto, and so forth. So far, however, as Heber is concerned, no one could be more generous than he in lending books. This might be proved from a dozen different sources, including the lengthy introduction 'To Richard Heber, Esq.,' to the sixth canto of Scott's 'Marmion':

'But why such instances to you, Who, in an instant, can renew Your treasured hoards of various lore, And furnish twenty thousand more? Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes rest Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest, While gripple owners still refuse To others what they cannot use: Give them the priest's whole century, They shall not spell you letters three; Their pleasure in the books the same The magpie takes in pilfer'd gem. Thy volumes, open as thy heart, Delight, amusement, science, art, To every ear and eye impart; Yet who of all who thus employ them, Can, like their owner's self, enjoy them?'

In addition to this reference, Scott, in one of his letters, speaks of 'Heber the magnificent, whose library and cellar are so superior to all others in the world.' Frequent mention is made of Heber in the notes to the Waverley novels. At one period of his life Heber was a Member of Parliament, and throughout his career it seems that he found recreation from the sport of collecting in the sport of the fields. He has been known to take a journey of four or five hundred miles to obtain a rare volume, 'fearful to trust to a mere commission.' He bought by all methods, in all places, and at all times, a single purchase on one occasion being an entire library of 30,000 volumes. Curiously enough, he disliked large-paper copies, on account of the space they filled. When he died, he had eight houses full of books--two in London, one in Oxford, and others at Paris, Brussels, Antwerp, and Ghent, besides smaller collections in Germany. When sold, the number of lots was 52,000, and of volumes about 147,000, and the total amount realized £57,000, or about two-thirds of the original expenditure. The sale, which commenced in 1834, lasted over several years, and the catalogue alone comprises six thick octavo volumes. He is described as a tall, strong, well-made man.

Writing to Sir Egerton Brydges, the Rev. A. Dyce observes concerning Heber's death: 'Poor man! He expired at Pimlico,[47:A] in the midst of his rare property, without a friend to close his eyes, and from all I have heard I am led to believe that he died broken-hearted. He had been ailing some time, but took no care of himself, and seemed, indeed, to court death. Yet his ruling passion was strong to the last. The morning he died he wrote out some memoranda for Thorpe about books which he wished to be purchased for him' (Fitzgerald, 'The Book-Fancier,' p. 230).

In noticing Scott's edition of Dryden, and in alluding to the help which Scott obtained from Heber and Bindley, the _Edinburgh Review_ speaks of the two as 'gentlemen in whom the love of collecting, which is an amusement to others, assumes the dignity of a virtue, because it gives ampler scope to the exercise of friendship, and of a generous sympathy with the common cause of literature.'

William Beckford (1761-1844) and the tenth Duke of Hamilton (1767-1852), for several reasons, may be bracketed together as book-collectors. Each was a remarkable man in several respects. William Beckford, the author of 'Vathek' and the owner of Fonthill, was a universal collector. No less enthusiastic in amassing pictures and objects of art than books, he never scrupled to sell anything and everything except his books, which he dearly loved. A man who could draw eulogy from Byron could not have been an ordinary person. Fonthill and its treasures were announced for sale in September, 1822, the auctioneer being James Christie, the catalogue being in quarto size, and comprising ninety-five pages. The auction, however, did not take place, but the collection was sold _en masse_ to a Mr. John Farquhar for £330,000, Beckford reserving, however, some of his choicest books, pictures, and curiosities. In the following year the whole collection was dispersed by Phillips, the auctioneer, the sale occupying thirty-seven days. With the money he received from Farquhar, Beckford purchased annuities and land near Bath. He united two houses in the Royal Crescent by a flying gallery extending over the road, and his dwelling became one vast library. He added to his collection up to his last days, and obtained many books at Charles Nodier's sale. Beckford was one of the greatest book-enthusiasts that ever lived. His passion was more particularly for Aldines, and other early books bearing the insignia of celebrities, such as Frances I., Henri et Diane, and De Thou, and especially of choice old morocco bindings by Desseuil, Padeloup, and Derome. He was especially strong in old French and Italian books, generically classified as _facetiæ_. Beckford would read for days and weeks at a stretch, with no more recreation than an occasional ride. That he read his books there is ample testimony, for at his sale one lot comprised seven folio volumes of transcripts from the autograph notes written by him on the fly-leaves of the various works in his library. For example, to the copy of Peter Beckford's 'Familiar Letters from Italy,' 1805, he concludes five pages of notes with, 'This book has at least some merit. The language is simple; an ill-natured person might add, and the thoughts not less so.' In Brasbridge's 'Fruits of Experience,' 1824, he writes: 'They who like hog-wash--and there are amateurs for anything--will not turn away disappointed or disgusted with this book, but relish the stale, trashy anecdotes it contains, and gobble them up with avidity.' After Beckford's death, Henry G. Bohn offered £30,000 for the whole library; but Beckford's second daughter, who married the Duke of Hamilton, refused to sanction the sale. It, however, came under the hammer at Sotheby's, 1881-1884, in four parts of twelve days each, the net result being £73,551 18s.