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<h2> CHAPTER VIII. BOOKBINDERS. </h2>
<p>IN the first chapter I mentioned bookbinders among the Enemies of Books,
and I tremble to think what a stinging retort might be made if some irate
bibliopegist were to turn the scales on the printer, and place HIM in the
same category. On the sins of printers, and the unnatural neglect which
has often shortened the lives of their typographical progeny, it is not
for me to dilate. There is an old proverb, "'Tis an ill bird that befouls
its own nest"; a curious chapter thereupon, with many modern examples,
might nevertheless be written. This I will leave, and will now only place
on record some of the cruelties perpetrated upon books by the ignorance or
carelessness of binders.</p>
<p>Like men, books have a soul and body. With the soul, or literary portion,
we have nothing to do at present; the body, which is the outer frame or
covering, and without which the inner would be unusable, is the special
work of the binder. He, so to speak, begets it; he determines its form and
adornment, he doctors it in disease and decay, and, not unseldom, dissects
it after death. Here, too, as through all Nature, we find the good and bad
running side by side. What a treat it is to handle a well-bound volume;
the leaves lie open fully and freely, as if tempting you to read on, and
you handle them without fear of their parting from the back. To look at
the "tooling," too, is a pleasure, for careful thought, combined with
artistic skill, is everywhere apparent. You open the cover and find the
same loving attention inside that has been given to the outside, all the
workmanship being true and thorough. Indeed, so conservative is a good
binding, that many a worthless book has had an honoured old age, simply
out of respect to its outward aspect; and many a real treasure has come to
a degraded end and premature death through the unsightliness of its
outward case and the irreparable damage done to it in binding.</p>
<p>The weapon with which the binder deals the most deadly blows to books is
the "plough," the effect of which is to cut away the margins, placing the
print in a false position relatively to the back and head, and often
denuding the work of portions of the very text. This reduction in size not
seldom brings down a handsome folio to the size of quarto, and a quarto to
an octavo.</p>
<p>With the old hand plough a binder required more care and caution to
produce an even edge throughout than with the new cutting machine. If a
careless workman found that he had not ploughed the margin quite square
with the text, he would put it in his press and take off "another
shaving," and sometimes even a third.</p>
<p>Dante, in his "Inferno," deals out to the lost souls various tortures
suited with dramatic fitness to the past crimes of the victims, and had I
to execute judgment on the criminal binders of certain precious volumes I
have seen, where the untouched maiden sheets entrusted to their care have,
by barbarous treatment, lost dignity, beauty and value, I would collect
the paper shavings so ruthlessly shorn off, and roast the perpetrator of
the outrage over their slow combustion. In olden times, before men had
learned to value the relics of our printers, there was some excuse for the
sins of a binder who erred from ignorance which was general; but in these
times, when the historical and antiquarian value of old books is freely
acknowledged, no quarter should be granted to a careless culprit.</p>
<p>It may be supposed that, from the spread of information, all real danger
from ignorance is past. Not so, good reader; that is a consummation as yet
"devoutly to be wished." Let me relate to you a true bibliographical
anecdote: In 1877, a certain lord, who had succeeded to a fine collection
of old books, promised to send some of the most valuable (among which were
several Caxtons) to the Exhibition at South Kensington. Thinking their
outward appearance too shabby, and not knowing the danger of his conduct,
he decided to have them rebound in the neighbouring county town. The
volumes were soon returned in a resplendent state, and, it is said, quite
to the satisfaction of his lordship, whose pleasure, however, was sadly
damped when a friend pointed out to him that, although the discoloured
edges had all been ploughed off, and the time-stained blanks, with their
fifteenth century autographs, had been replaced by nice clean fly-leaves,
yet, looking at the result in its lowest aspect only—that of market
value—the books had been damaged to at least the amount of L500;
and, moreover, that caustic remarks would most certainly follow upon their
public exhibition. Those poor injured volumes were never sent.</p>
<p>Some years ago one of the most rare books printed by Machlinia—a
thin folio—was discovered bound in sheep by a country bookbinder,
and cut down to suit the size of some quarto tracts. But do not let us
suppose that country binders are the only culprits. It is not very long
since the discovery of a unique Caxton in one of our largest London
libraries. It was in boards, as originally issued by the fifteenth-century
binder, and a great fuss (very properly) was made over the treasure trove.
Of course, cries the reader, it was kept in its original covers, with all
the interesting associations of its early state untouched? No such thing!
Instead of making a suitable case, in which it could be preserved just as
it was, it was placed in the hands of a well-known London binder, with the
order, "Whole bind in velvet." He did his best, and the volume now glows
luxuriously in its gilt edges and its inappropriate covering, and, alas!
with half-an-inch of its uncut margin taken off all round. How do I know
that? because the clever binder, seeing some MS. remarks on one of the
margins, turned the leaf down to avoid cutting them off, and that stern
witness will always testify, to the observant reader, the original size of
the book. This same binder, on another occasion, placed a unique fifteenth
century Indulgence in warm water, to separate it from the cover upon which
it was pasted, the result being that, when dry, it was so distorted as to
be useless. That man soon after passed to another world, where, we may
hope, his works have not followed him, and that his merits as a good
citizen and an honest man counterbalanced his de-merits as a binder.</p>
<p>Other similar instances will occur to the memory of many a reader, and
doubtless the same sin will be committed from time to time by certain
binders, who seem to have an ingrained antipathy to rough edges and large
margins, which of course are, in their view, made by Nature as food for
the shaving tub.</p>
<p>De Rome, a celebrated bookbinder of the eighteenth century, who was
nicknamed by Dibdin "The Great Cropper," was, although in private life an
estimable man, much addicted to the vice of reducing the margins of all
books sent to him to bind. So far did he go, that he even spared not a
fine copy of Froissart's Chronicles, on vellum, in which was the autograph
of the well-known book-lover, De Thou, but cropped it most cruelly.</p>
<p>Owners, too, have occasionally diseased minds with regard to margins. A
friend writes: "Your amusing anecdotes have brought to my memory several
biblioclasts whom I have known. One roughly cut the margins off his books
with a knife, hacking away very much like a hedger and ditcher. Large
paper volumes were his especial delight, as they gave more paper. The
slips thus obtained were used for index-making! Another, with the bump of
order unnaturally developed, had his folios and quartos all reduced, in
binding, to one size, so that they might look even on his bookshelves."</p>
<p>This latter was, doubtless, cousin to him who deliberately cut down all
his books close to the text, because he had been several times annoyed by
readers who made marginal notes.</p>
<p>The indignities, too, suffered by some books in their lettering! Fancy an
early black-letter fifteenth-century quarto on Knighthood, labelled
"Tracts"; or a translation of Virgil, "Sermons"! The "Histories of Troy,"
printed by Caxton, still exists with "Eracles" on the back, as its title,
because that name occurs several times in the early chapters, and the
binder was too proud to seek advice. The words "Miscellaneous," or "Old
Pieces," were sometimes used when binders were at a loss for lettering,
and many other instances might be mentioned.</p>
<p>The rapid spread of printing throughout Europe in the latter part of the
fifteenth century caused a great fall in the value of plain un-illuminated
MSS., and the immediate consequence of this was the destruction of
numerous volumes written upon parchment, which were used by the binders to
strengthen the backs of their newly-printed rivals. These slips of vellum
or parchment are quite common in old books. Sometimes whole sheets are
used as fly-leaves, and often reveal the existence of most valuable works,
unknown before—proving, at the same time, the small value formerly
attached to them.</p>
<p>Many a bibliographer, while examining old books, has to his great
puzzlement come across short slips of parchment, nearly always from some
old manuscript, sticking out like "guards" from the midst of the leaves.
These suggest, at first, imperfections or damage done to the volume; but
if examined closely it will be found that they are always in the middle of
a paper section, and the real reason of their existence is just the same
as when two leaves of parchment occur here and there in a paper volume,
viz.: strength—strength to resist the lug which the strong thread
makes against the middle of each section. These slips represent old books
destroyed, and like the slips already noticed, should always be carefully
examined.</p>
<p>When valuable books have been evil-entreated, when they have become soiled
by dirty hands, or spoiled by water stains, or injured by grease spots,
nothing is more astonishing to the uninitiated than the transformation
they undergo in the hands of a skilful restorer. The covers are first
carefully dissected, the eye of the operator keeping a careful outlook for
any fragments of old MSS. or early printed books, which may have been used
by the original binder. No force should be applied to separate parts which
adhere together; a little warm water and care is sure to overcome that
difficulty. When all the sections are loose, the separate sheets are
placed singly in a bath of cold water, and allowed to remain there until
all the dirt has soaked out. If not sufficiently purified, a little
hydrochloric or oxalic acid, or caustic potash may be put in the water,
according as the stains are from grease or from ink. Here is where an
unpractised binder will probably injure a book for life. If the chemicals
are too strong, or the sheets remain too long in the bath, or are not
thoroughly cleansed from the bleach before they are re-sized, the certain
seeds of decay are planted in the paper, and although for a time the
leaves may look bright to the eye, and even crackle under the hand like
the soundest paper, yet in the course of a few years the enemy will
appear, the fibre will decay, and the existence of the books will
terminate in a state of white tinder.</p>
<p>Everything which diminishes the interest of a book is inimical to its
preservation, and in fact is its enemy. Therefore, a few words upon the
destruction of old bindings.</p>
<p>I remember purchasing many years ago at a suburban book stall, a perfect
copy of Moxon's Mechanic Exercises, now a scarce work. The volumes were
uncut, and had the original marble covers. They looked so attractive in
their old fashioned dress, that I at once determined to preserve it. My
binder soon made for them a neat wooden box in the shape of a book, with
morocco back properly lettered, where I trust the originals will be
preserved from dust and injury for many a long year.</p>
<p>Old covers, whether boards or paper, should always be retained if in any
state approaching decency. A case, which can be embellished to any extent
looks every whit as well upon the shelf! and gives even greater protection
than binding. It has also this great advantage: it does not deprive your
descendants of the opportunity of seeing for themselves exactly in what
dress the book buyers of four centuries ago received their volumes.</p>
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