The Love Affairs Of A Bibliomaniac [32]
immortalization of Marcus Varro. I have had among, my papers for thirty years the verses which Judge Methuen dashed off (for poets invariably dash off their poetry), and they are such pleasant verses that I don't mind letting the world see them.
MARCUS VARRO
Marcus Varro went up and down The places where old books were sold; He ransacked all the shops in town For pictures new and pictures old. He gave the folk of earth no peace; Snooping around by day and night, He plied the trade in Rome and Greece Of an insatiate Grangerite.
``Pictures!'' was evermore his cry-- ``Pictures of old or recent date,'' And pictures only would he buy Wherewith to ``extra-illustrate.'' Full many a tome of ancient type And many a manuscript he took, For nary purpose but to swipe Their pictures for some other book.
While Marcus Varro plied his fad There was not in the shops of Greece A book or pamphlet to be had That was not minus frontispiece. Nor did he hesitate to ply His baleful practices at home; It was not possible to buy A perfect book in all of Rome!
What must the other folk have done-- Who, glancing o'er the books they bought, Came soon and suddenly upon The vandalism Varro wrought! How must their cheeks have flamed with red-- How did their hearts with choler beat! We can imagine what they said-- We can imagine, not repeat!
Where are the books that Varro made-- The pride of dilettante Rome-- With divers portraitures inlaid Swiped from so many another tome? The worms devoured them long ago-- O wretched worms! ye should have fed Not on the books ``extended'' so, But on old Varro's flesh instead!
Alas, that Marcus Varro lives And is a potent factor yet! Alas, that still his practice gives Good men occasion for regret! To yonder bookstall, pri'thee, go, And by the ``missing'' prints and plates And frontispieces you shall know He lives, and ``extra-illustrates''!
In justice to the Judge and to myself I should say that neither of us wholly approves the sentiment which the poem I have quoted implies. We regard Grangerism as one of the unfortunate stages in bibliomania; it is a period which seldom covers more than five years, although Dr. O'Rell has met with one case in his practice that has lasted ten years and still gives no symptom of abating in virulence.
Humanity invariably condones the pranks of youth on the broad and charitable grounds that ``boys will be boys''; so we bibliomaniacs are prone to wink at the follies of the Grangerite, for we know that he will know better by and by and will heartily repent of the mischief he has done. We know the power of books so well that we know that no man can have to do with books that presently he does not love them. He may at first endure them; then he may come only to pity them; anon, as surely as the morrow's sun riseth, he shall embrace and love those precious things.
So we say that we would put no curb upon any man, it being better that many books should be destroyed, if ultimately by that destruction a penitent and loyal soul be added to the roster of bibliomaniacs. There is more joy over one Grangerite that repenteth than over ninety and nine just men that need no repentance.
And we have a similar feeling toward such of our number as for the nonce become imbued with a passion for any of the other little fads which bibliomaniac flesh is heir to. All the soldiers in an army cannot be foot, or horse, or captains, or majors, or generals, or artillery, or ensigns, or drummers, or buglers. Each one has his place to fill and his part to do, and the consequence is a concinnate whole. Bibliomania is beautiful as an entirety, as a symmetrical blending of a multitude of component parts, and he is indeed disloyal to the cause who, through envy or shortsightedness or ignorance, argues to the discredit of angling, or Napoleonana,
MARCUS VARRO
Marcus Varro went up and down The places where old books were sold; He ransacked all the shops in town For pictures new and pictures old. He gave the folk of earth no peace; Snooping around by day and night, He plied the trade in Rome and Greece Of an insatiate Grangerite.
``Pictures!'' was evermore his cry-- ``Pictures of old or recent date,'' And pictures only would he buy Wherewith to ``extra-illustrate.'' Full many a tome of ancient type And many a manuscript he took, For nary purpose but to swipe Their pictures for some other book.
While Marcus Varro plied his fad There was not in the shops of Greece A book or pamphlet to be had That was not minus frontispiece. Nor did he hesitate to ply His baleful practices at home; It was not possible to buy A perfect book in all of Rome!
What must the other folk have done-- Who, glancing o'er the books they bought, Came soon and suddenly upon The vandalism Varro wrought! How must their cheeks have flamed with red-- How did their hearts with choler beat! We can imagine what they said-- We can imagine, not repeat!
Where are the books that Varro made-- The pride of dilettante Rome-- With divers portraitures inlaid Swiped from so many another tome? The worms devoured them long ago-- O wretched worms! ye should have fed Not on the books ``extended'' so, But on old Varro's flesh instead!
Alas, that Marcus Varro lives And is a potent factor yet! Alas, that still his practice gives Good men occasion for regret! To yonder bookstall, pri'thee, go, And by the ``missing'' prints and plates And frontispieces you shall know He lives, and ``extra-illustrates''!
In justice to the Judge and to myself I should say that neither of us wholly approves the sentiment which the poem I have quoted implies. We regard Grangerism as one of the unfortunate stages in bibliomania; it is a period which seldom covers more than five years, although Dr. O'Rell has met with one case in his practice that has lasted ten years and still gives no symptom of abating in virulence.
Humanity invariably condones the pranks of youth on the broad and charitable grounds that ``boys will be boys''; so we bibliomaniacs are prone to wink at the follies of the Grangerite, for we know that he will know better by and by and will heartily repent of the mischief he has done. We know the power of books so well that we know that no man can have to do with books that presently he does not love them. He may at first endure them; then he may come only to pity them; anon, as surely as the morrow's sun riseth, he shall embrace and love those precious things.
So we say that we would put no curb upon any man, it being better that many books should be destroyed, if ultimately by that destruction a penitent and loyal soul be added to the roster of bibliomaniacs. There is more joy over one Grangerite that repenteth than over ninety and nine just men that need no repentance.
And we have a similar feeling toward such of our number as for the nonce become imbued with a passion for any of the other little fads which bibliomaniac flesh is heir to. All the soldiers in an army cannot be foot, or horse, or captains, or majors, or generals, or artillery, or ensigns, or drummers, or buglers. Each one has his place to fill and his part to do, and the consequence is a concinnate whole. Bibliomania is beautiful as an entirety, as a symmetrical blending of a multitude of component parts, and he is indeed disloyal to the cause who, through envy or shortsightedness or ignorance, argues to the discredit of angling, or Napoleonana,