the love affairs of a bibliomaniac-第1部分

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The　Love　Affairs　Of　A　Bibliomaniac

by　Eugene　Field




Introduction


The　determination　to　found　a　story　or　a　series　of　sketches　on　the　delights；　adventures；　and　misadventures　connected　with　bibliomania　did　not　come　impulsively　to　my　brother。　　For　many　years；　in　short　during　the　greater　part　of　nearly　a　quarter　of　a　century　of　journalistic　work；　he　had　celebrated　in　prose　and　verse；　and　always　in　his　happiest　and　most　delightful　vein；　the　pleasures　of　book…hunting。　　Himself　an　indefatigable　collector　of　books；　the　possessor　of　a　library　as　valuable　as　it　was　interesting；　a　library　containing　volumes　obtained　only　at　the　cost　of　great　personal　sacrifice；　he　was　in　the　most　active　sympathy　with　the　disease　called　bibliomania；　and　knew；　as　few　comparatively　poor　men　have　known；　the　half…pathetic；　half…humorous　side　of　that　incurable　mental　infirmity。

The　newspaper　column；　to　which　he　contributed　almost　daily　for　twelve　years；　comprehended　many　sly　digs　and　gentle　scoffings　at　those　of　his　unhappy　fellow　citizens　who　became　notorious；　through　his　instrumentality；　in　their　devotion　to　old　book…shelves　and　auction　sales。　　And　all　the　time　none　was　more　assiduous　than　this　same　good…　natured　cynic　in　running　down　a　musty　prize；　no　matter　what　its　cost　or　what　the　attending　difficulties。　　‘‘I　save　others；　myself　I　cannot　save；''　was　his　humorous　cry。

In　his　published　writings　are　many　evidences　of　my　brother's　appreciation　of　what　he　has　somewhere　characterized　the　‘‘soothing　affliction　of　bibliomania。''　　Nothing　of　book…hunting　love　has　been　more　happily　expressed　than　‘‘The　Bibliomaniac's　Prayer；''　in　which　the　troubled　petitioner　fervently　asserts：

‘‘But　if；　O　Lord；　it　pleaseth　Thee　　　To　keep　me　in　temptation's　way；　　　I　humbly　ask　that　I　may　be　　　Most　notably　beset　to…day；　　　Let　my　temptation　be　a　book；　　　Which　I　shall　purchase；　hold　and　keep；　　　Whereon；　when　other　men　shall　look；　　　They'll　wail　to　know　I　got　it　cheap。''　

And　again；　in　‘‘The　Bibliomaniac's　Bride；''　nothing　breathes　better　the　spirit　of　the　incurable　patient　than　this：　　　‘‘Prose　for　me　when　I　wished　for　prose；　　　Verse　when　to　verse　inclined；　　　Forever　bringing　sweet　repose　　　To　body；　heart　and　mind。　　　Oh；　I　should　bind　this　priceless　prize　　　In　bindings　full　and　fine；　　　And　keep　her　where　no　human　eyes　　Should　see　her　charms；　but　mine！''

In　‘‘Dear　Old　London''　the　poet　wailed　that　‘‘a　splendid　Horace　cheap　for　cash''　laughed　at　his　poverty；　and　in　‘‘Dibdin's　Ghost''　he　revelled　in　the　delights　that　await　the　bibliomaniac　in　the　future　state；　where　there　is　no　admission　to　the　women　folk　who；　‘‘wanting　victuals；　make　a　fuss　if　we　buy　books　instead''；　while　in　‘‘Flail；　Trask　and　Bisland''　is　the　very　essence　of　bibliomania；　the　unquenchable　thirst　for　possession。　　And　yet；　despite　these　self…accusations；　bibliophily　rather　than　bibliomania　would　be　the　word　to　characterize　his　conscientious　purpose。　　If　he　purchased　quaint　and　rare　books　it　was　to　own　them　to　the　　full　extent；　inwardly　as　well　as　outwardly。　　The　mania　for　books　kept　him　continually　buying；　the　love　of　books　supervened　to　make　them　a　part　of　himself　and　his　life。

Toward　the　close　of　August　of　the　present　year　my　brother　wrote　the　first　chapter　of　　　‘‘The　Love　Affairs　of　a　Bibliomaniac。''　　At　that　time　he　was　in　an　exhausted　physical　condition　and　apparently　unfit　for　any　protracted　literary　labor。　　But　the　prospect　of　gratifying　a　long…cherished　ambition；　the　delight　of　beginning　the　story　he　had　planned　so　hopefully；　seemed　to　give　him　new　strength；　and　he　threw　himself　into　the　work　with　an　enthusiasm　that　was；　alas；　misleading　to　those　who　had　noted　fearfully　his　declining　vigor　of　body。　　For　years　no　literary　occupation　had　seemed　to　give　him　equal　pleasure；　and　in　the　discussion　of　the　progress　of　his　writing　from　day　to　day　his　eye　would　brighten；　all　of　his　old　animation　would　return；　and　everything　would　betray　the　lively　interest　he　felt　in　the　creature　of　his　imagination　in　whom　he　was　living　over　the　delights　of　the　book…hunter's　chase。　　It　was　his　ardent　wish　that　this　work；　for　the　　fulfilment　of　which　he　had　been　so　long　preparing；　should　be；　as　he　playfully　expressed　it；　a　monument　of　apologetic　compensation　to　a　class　of　people　he　had　so　humorously　maligned；　and　those　who　knew　him　intimately　will　recognize　in　the　shortcomings　of　the　bibliomaniac　the　humble　confession　of　his　own　weaknesses。

It　is　easy　to　understand　from　the　very　nature　of　the　undertaking　that　it　was　practically　limitless；　that　a　bibliomaniac　of　so　many　years'　experience　could　prattle　on　indefinitely　concerning　his　‘‘love　affairs；''　and　at　the　same　time　be　in　no　danger　of　repetition。　　Indeed　my　brother's　plans　at　the　outset　were　not　definitely　formed。　　He　would　say；　when　questioned　or　joked　about　these　amours；　that　he　was　in　the　easy　position　of　Sam　Weller　when　he　indited　his　famous　valentine；　and　could　‘‘pull　up''　at　any　moment。　　One　week　he　would　contend　that　a　book…hunter　ought　to　be　good　for　a　year　at　least；　and　the　next　week　he　would　argue　as　strongly　that　it　was　time　to　send　the　old　man　into　winter　quarters　and　go　to　press。　　But　though　the　approach　of　cold　weather　　increased　his　physical　indisposition；　he　was　not　the　less　interested　in　his　prescribed　hours　of　labor；　howbeit　his　weakness　warned　him　that　he　should　say　to　his　book；　as　his　much…　loved　Horace　had　written：

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　‘‘Fuge　quo　descendere　gestis：　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Non　erit　emisso　reditis　tibi。''


Was　it　strange　that　his　heart　should　relent；　and　that　he　should　write　on；　unwilling　to　give　the　word　of　dismissal　to　the　book　whose　preparation　had　been　a　work　of　such　love　and　solace？

During　the　afternoon　of　Saturday；　November　2；　the　nineteenth　instalment　of　‘‘The　Love　Affairs''　was　written。　　It　was　the　conclusion　of　his　literary　life。　　The　verses　supposably　contributed　by　Judge　Methuen's　friend；　with　which　the　chapter　ends；　were　the　last　words　written　by　Eugene　Field。　　He　was　at　that　time　apparently　quite　as　well　as　on　any　day　during　the　fall　months；　and　neither　he　nor　any　member　of　his　family　had　the　slightest　premonition　that　death　was　hovering　about　the　household。　　The　next　day；　though　still　feeling　indisposed；　he　　was　at　times　up　and　about；　always　cheerful　and　full　of　that　sweetness　and　sunshine　which；　in　his　last　years；　seem　now　to　have　been　the　preparation　for　the　life　beyond。　　He　spoke　of　the　chapter　he　had　written　the　day　before；　and　it　was　then　that　he　outlined　his　plan　of　completing　the　work。　　One　chapter　only　remained　to　be　written；　and　it　was　to　chronicle　the　death　of　the　old　bibliomaniac；　but　not　until　he　had　unexpectedly　fallen　heir　to　a　very　rare　and　almost　priceless　copy　of　Horace；　which　acquisition　marked　the　pinnacle　of　the　book…hunter's　conquest。　　True　to　his　love　for　the　Sabine　singer；　the　western　poet　characterized　the　immortal　odes　of　twenty　centuries　gone　the　greatest　happiness　of　bibliomania。

In　the　early　morning　of　November　4　the　soul　of　Eugene　Field　passed　upward。　　On　the　table；　folded　and　sealed；　were　the　memoirs　of　the　old　man　upon　whom　the　sentence　of　death　had　been　pronounced。　　On　the　bed　in　the　corner　of　the　room；　with　one　arm　thrown　over　his　breast；　and　the　smile　of　peace　and　rest　on　his　tranquil　face；　the　poet　lay。　　All　around　him；　on　the　shelves　　and　in　the　cases；　were　the　books　he　loved　so　well。　　Ah；　who　shall　say　that　on　that　morning　his　fancy　was　not　verified；　and　that　as　the　gray　light　came　reverently　through　the　window；　those　cherished　volumes　did　not　bestir　themselves；　awaiting　the　cheery　voice：　　‘‘Good　day　to　you；　my　sweet　friends。　　How　lovingly　they　beam　upon　me；　and　how　glad　they　are　that　my　rest　has　been　unbroken。''

Could　they　beam　upon　you　less　lovingly；　great　heart；　in　the　chamber　warmed　by　your　affection　and　now　sanctified　by　death？　　Were　they　less　glad　to　know　that　the　repose　would　be　unbroken　forevermore；　since　it　came　the　glorious　reward；　my　brother；　of　the　friend　who　went　gladly　to　it　through　his　faith；　having　striven　for　it　through　his　works？　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　ROSWELL　MARTIN　FIELD　　　　　　　Buena　Park；　December；　1895。


　The　Chapters　in　this　Book

MY　FIRST　LOVE　　THE　BIRTH　OF　A　NEW　PASSION　　THE　LUXURY　OF　READING　IN　BED　　THE　MANIA　OF　COLLECTING　SEIZES　ME　　BALDNESS　AND　INTELLECTUALITY　　MY　ROMANCE　WITH　FIAMMETTA　　THE　DELIGHTS　OF　FENDER…FISHING　　BALLADS　AND　THEIR　MAKERS　　BOOKSELLERS　AND　PRINTERS；　OLD　AND　NEW　　WHEN　FANCHONETTE　BEWITCHED　ME　　DIAGNOSIS　OF　THE　BACILLUS　LIBRORUM　　THE　PLEASURES　OF　EXTRA…ILLUSTRATION　　ON　THE　ODORS　WHICH　MY　BOOKS　EXHALE　　ELZEVIRS　AND　DIVERS　OTHER　MATTERS　　A　BOOK　THAT　BRINGS　SOLACE　AND　CHEER　　THE　MALADY　CALLED　CATALOGITIS　　THE　NAPOLEONIC　RENAISSANCE　　MY　WORKSHOP　AND　OTHERS　　OUR　DEBT　TO　MONKISH　MEN




I

MY　FIRST　LOVE


At　this　moment；　when　I　am　about　to　begin　the　most　important　undertaking　of　my　life；　I　recall　the　sense　of　abhorrence　with　which　I　have　at　different　times　read　the　confessions　of　men　famed　for　their　prowess　in　the　realm　of　love。　　These　boastings　have　always　shocked　me；　for　I　reverence　love　as　the　noblest　of　the　passions；　and　it　is　impossible　for　me　to　conceive　how　one　who　has　truly　fallen　victim　to　its　benign　influence　can　ever　thereafter　speak　flippantly　of　it。

Yet　there　have　been；　and　there　still　are；　many　who　take　a　seeming　delight　in　telling　you　how　many　conquests　they　have　made；　and　they　not　infrequently　have　the　bad　taste　to　explain　with　wearisome　prolixity　the　ways　and　the　means　whereby　those　conquests　were　wrought；　as；　forsooth；　an　unfeeling　huntsman　is　forever　boasting　of　the　game　he　has　slaughtered　and　is　forever　dilating　upon　the　repulsive　details　of　his　butcheries。

I　have　always　contended　that　one　who　is　in　love　（and　having　once　been　in　love　is　to　be　always　in　love）　has；　actually；　no　confession　to　make。　　Love　is　so　guileless；　so　proper；　so　pure　a　passion　as　to　involve　none　of　those　things　which　require　or　which　admit　of　confession。　　He；　therefore；　who　surmises　that　in　this　exposition　of　my　affaires　du　coeur　there　is　to　be　any　betrayal　of　confidences；　or　any　discussion；　suggestion；　or　hint　likely　either　to　shame　love　or　its　votaries　or　to　bring　a　blush　to　the　cheek　of　the　fastidioushe　is　grievously　in　error。

Nor　am　I　going　to　boast；　for　I　have　made　no　conquests。　　I　am