the love affairs of a bibliomaniac-第20部分

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if　caught　young；''　and　he　asserts　that　this　is　equally　true　of　woman。　　Mrs。　O'Rell　was　a　mere　girl　when　she　wedded　with　the　doctor；　and　the　result　of　thirty　years'　experience　and　training　is　that　this　model　woman　sympathizes　with　her　excellent　husband's　tastes；　and　actually　has　a　feeling　of　contempt　for　other　wives　who　have　never　heard　of　Father　Prout　and　Kit　North；　and　who　object　to　their　husbands'　smoking　in　bed。

I　recall　with　what　enthusiasm　I　once　heard　this　superior　creature　commend　the　doctor　for　having　accepted　in　lieu　of　a　fee　a　set　of　Calvin's　‘‘Institutes；''　with　copious　notes；　in　twelve　octavo　volumes；　and　a　portfolio　of　colored　fox…hunting　prints。　　My　admiration　for　this　model　wife　could　find　expression　in　no　other　way；　I　jumped　from　my　chair；　seized　her　in　my　arms；　and　imprinted　upon　her　brow　a　fervent　but　respectful　kiss。

It　would　be　hard　to　imagine　a　prettier　picture　than　that　presented　to　my　vision　as　I　looked　in　from　the　porch　of　the　doctor's　residence　upon　the　doctor's　family　gathered　together　in　the　library　after　dinner。　　The　doctor　himself；　snuggled　down　in　a　vast　easy…chair；　was　dividing　his　attention　between　a　brier　pipe　and　the　odes　of　Propertius；　his　wife；　beside　him　in　her　rocker；　smiled　and　smiled　again　over　the　quaint　humor　of　Mrs。　Gaskell's　‘‘Cranford''；　upon　yonder　settee；　Francis　Mahony　Methuen；　the　oldest　son；　was　deep　in　the　perusal　of　Wilson's　‘‘Tales　of　the　Border''；　his　brother；　　Russell　Lowell；　was　equally　absorbed　in　the　pathetic　tale　of　‘‘The　Man　without　a　Country''；　Letitia　Landon　Methuen；　the　daughter；　was　quietly　sobbing　over　the　tragedy　of　‘‘Evangeline''；　in　his　high　chair　sat　the　chubby　baby　boy；　Beranger　Methuen；　crowing　gleefully　over　an　illustrated　copy　of　that　grand　old　classic；　‘‘Poems　for　Infant　Minds　by　Two　Young　Persons。''

For　several　moments　I　stood　spellbound；　regarding　with　ineffable　rapture　this　inspiring　spectacle。　　‘‘How　manifold　are　thy　blessings；　O　Bibliomania；''　thought　I；　‘‘and　how　graciously　they　are　distributed　in　this　joyous　circle；　wherein　it　is　permitted　to　see　not　only　the　maturer　members；　but；　alas；　the　youth　and　even　the　babes　and　sucklings　drinking　freely　and　gratefully　at　the　fountain…head　of　thy　delights！''

Dr。　O'Rell's　library　is　one　of　the　most　charming　apartments　I　know　of。　　It　looks　out　upon　every　variety　of　scenery；　for　Dr。　O'Rell　has　had　constructed　at　considerable　expense　a　light　iron　framework　from　which　are　suspended　at　different　times　cunningly　painted　canvases　representing　landscapes　　and　marines　corresponding　to　the　most　whimsical　fancy。

In　the　dead　of　winter；　the　doctor　often　has　a　desire　to　look　out　upon　a　cheery　landscape；　thereupon；　by　a　simple　manipulation　of　a　keyboard；　there　is　unrolled　a　panorama　of　velvety　hillsides　and　flowery　meads；　of　grazing　sheep；　and　of　piping　rustics；　so　natural　is　the　spectacle　that　one　can　almost　hear　the　music　of　the　reeds；　and　fancy　himself　in　Arcadia。　　If　in　midsummer　the　heat　is　oppressive　and　life　seems　burthensome；　forthwith　another　canvas　is　outspread；　and　the　glories　of　the　Alps　appear；　or　a　stretch　of　blue　sea；　or　a　corner　of　a　primeval　forest。

So　there　is　an　outlook　for　every　mood；　and　I　doubt　not　that　this　ingenious　provision　contributes　potently　towards　promoting　bibliomaniac　harmony　and　prosperity　in　my　friend's　household。　　It　is　true　that　I　myself　am　not　susceptible　to　external　influences　when　once　I　am　surrounded　by　books；　I　do　not　care　a　fig　whether　my　library　overlooks　a　garden　or　a　desert；　give　me　my　dear　companions　in　their　dress　of　leather；　cloth；　or　boards；　and　it　matters　not　to　me　whether　God　sends　storm　or　sunshine；　flowers　or　hail；　light　or　darkness；　noise　or　calm。　　Yet　I　know　and　admit　that　environment　means　much　to　most　people；　and　I　do　most　heartily　applaud　Dr。　O'Rell's　versatile　device。

I　have　always　thought　that　De　Quincey's　workshop　would　have　given　me　great　delight。　　The　particular　thing　that　excited　De　Quincey's　choler　was　interference　with　his　books　and　manuscripts；　which　he　piled　atop　of　one　another　upon　the　floor　and　over　his　desk；　until　at　last　there　would　be　but　a　narrow　little　pathway　from　the　desk　to　the　fireplace　and　from　the　fireplace　to　the　door；　and　his　writing…tablegracious！　what　a　Pelion　upon　Ossa　of　confusion　it　must　have　been！

Yet　De　Quincey　insisted　that　he　knew　‘‘just　where　everything　was；''　and　he　merely　exacted　that　the　servants　attempt　no　such　vandalism　as　‘‘cleaning　up''　in　his　workshop。　　Of　course　there　would　presently　come　a　time　when　there　was　no　more　room　on　the　table　and　when　the　little　pathway　to　the　fireplace　and　the　door　would　be　no　longer　visible；　then；　with　a　sigh；　De　Quincey　would　lock　the　door　of　that　room　and　betake　himself　to　other　quarters；　which　in　turn　would　eventually　become　quite　as　littered　up；　cluttered　up；　and　impassable　as　the　first　rooms。

From　all　that　can　be　gathered　upon　the　subject　it　would　appear　that　De　Quincey　was　careless　in　his　treatment　of　books；　I　have　read　somewhere　（but　I　forget　where）　that　he　used　his　forefinger　as　a　paper…cutter　and　that　he　did　not　hesitate　to　mutilate　old　folios　which　he　borrowed。　　But　he　was　extraordinarily　tender　with　his　manuscripts；　and　he　was　wont　to　carry　in　his　pockets　a　soft　brush　with　which　he　used　to　dust　off　his　manuscripts　most　carefully　before　handing　them　to　the　publisher。

Sir　Walter　Scott　was　similarly　careful　with　his　books；　and　he　used；　for　purposes　of　dusting　them；　the　end　of　a　fox's　tail　set　in　a　handle　of　silver。　　Scott；　was；　however；　particular　and　systematic　in　the　arrangement　of　his　books；　and　his　work…room；　with　its　choice　bric…a…brac　and　its　interesting　collection　of　pictures　and　framed　letters；　was　a　veritable　paradise　to　the　visiting　book…lover　and　curio…　lover。　　He　was　as　fond　of　early　rising　as　Francis　Jeffrey　was　averse　to　it；　and　both　these　eminent　men　were　strongly　attached　to　animal　pets。　　Jeffrey　particularly　affected　an　aged　and　garrulous　parrot　and　an　equally　disreputable　little　dog。　　Scott　was　so　stanch　a　friend　of　dogs　that　wherever　he　went　he　was　accompanied　by　one　or　twosometimes　by　a　whole　kennelof　these　faithful　brutes。

In　Mrs。　Gordon's　noble　‘‘Memoirs''　we　have　a　vivid　picture　of　Professor　Wilson's　workroom。　　All　was　confusion　there：　‘‘his　room　was　a　strange　mixture　of　what　may　be　called　order　and　untidiness；　for　there　was　not　a　scrap　of　paper　or　a　book　that　his　hand　could　not　light　upon　in　a　moment；　while　to　the　casual　eye；　in　search　of　discovery；　it　would　appear　chaos。''　　Wilson　had　no　love　for　fine　furniture；　and　he　seems　to　have　crowded　his　books　together　without　regard　to　any　system　of　classification。　　He　had　a　habit　of　mixing　his　books　around　with　fishing…tackle；　and　his　charming　biographer　tells　us　it　was　no　uncommon　thing　to　find　the　‘‘Wealth　of　Nations；''　‘‘Boxiana；''　　the　‘‘Faerie　Queen；''　Jeremy　Taylor；　and　Ben　Jonson　occupying　close　quarters　with　fishing…rods；　boxing…gloves；　and　tins　of　barley…sugar。

Charles　Lamb's　favorite　workshop　was　in　an　attic；　upon　the　walls　of　this　room　he　and　his　sister　pasted　old　prints　and　gay　pictures；　and　this　resulted　in　giving　the　place　a　cheery　aspect。　　Lamb　loved　old　books；　old　friends；　old　times；　‘‘he　evades　the　present；　he　works　at　the　future；　and　his　affections　revert　to　and　settle　on　the　past；''so　says　Hazlitt。　　His　favorite　books　seem　to　have　been　Bunyan's　‘‘Holy　War；''　Browne's　‘‘Urn…Burial；''　Burton's　‘‘Anatomy　of　Melancholy；''　Fuller's　‘‘Worthies；''　and　Taylor's　‘‘Holy　Living　and　Dying。''　　Thomas　Westwood　tells　us　that　there　were　few　modern　volumes　in　his　library；　it　being　his　custom　to　give　away　and　throw　away　（as　the　same　writer　asserts）　presentation　copies　of　contemporaneous　literature。　　Says　Barry　Cornwall：　　‘‘Lamb's　pleasures　lay　amongst　the　books　of　the　old　English　writers；''　and　Lamb　himself　uttered　these　memorable　words：　　‘‘I　cannot　sit　and　thinkbooks　think　for　me。''　

Wordsworth；　on　the　other　hand；　cared　little　for　books；　his　library　was　a　small　one；　embracing　hardly　more　than　five　hundred　volumes。　　He　drew　his　inspiration　not　from　books；　but　from　Nature。　　From　all　that　I　have　heard　of　him　I　judge　him　to　have　been　a　very　dull　man。　　Allibone　relates　of　him　that　he　once　remarked　that　he　did　not　consider　himself　a　witty　poet。　　‘‘Indeed；''　quoth　he；　‘‘I　don't　think　I　ever　was　witty　but　once　in　my　life。''

His　friends　urged　him　to　tell　them　about　it。　　After　some　hesitation；　he　said：　　‘‘Well；　I　will　tell　you。　　I　was　standing　some　time　ago　at　the　entrance　of　Rydal　Mount。　　A　man　accosted　me　with　the　question：　　‘Pray；　sir；　have　you　seen　my　wife　pass　by？'　　Whereupon　I　retorted；　‘Why；　my　good　friend；　I　didn't　know　till　this　moment　that　you　had　a　wife。'　''

Illustrative　of　Wordsworth's　vanity；　it　is　told　that　when　it　was　reported　that　the　next　Waverley　novel　was　to　be　‘‘Rob　Roy；''　the　poet　took　down　his　‘‘Ballads''　and　read　to　the　company　‘‘Rob　Roy's　Grave。''　　Then　he　said　gravely：　　‘‘I　do　not　know　what　more　Mr。　Scott　can　have　to　say　on　the　subject。''

Wordsworth　and　Dickens　disliked　each　other　cordially。　　Having　been　asked　his　opinion　of　the　young　novelist；　Wordsworth　answered：　　‘‘Why；　I'm　not　much　given　to　turn　critic　on　people　I　meet；　but；　as　you　ask　me；　I　will　cordially　avow　that　I　thought　him　a　very　talkative　young　personbut　I　dare　say　he　may　be　very　clever。　　Mind；　I　don't　want　to　say　a　word　against　him；　for　I　have　never　read　a　line　he　has　written。''

The　same　inquirer　subsequently　asked　Dickens　how　he　liked　Wordsworth。

‘‘Like　him！''　roared　Dickens；　‘‘not　at　all；　he　is　a　dreadful　Old　Ass！''





　XIX

OUR　DEBT　TO　MONKISH　MEN

Where　one　has　the　time　and　the　money　to　devote　to　the　collection　of　missals　and　illuminated　books；　the　avocation　must　be　a　very　delightful　one。　　I　never　look　upon　a　missal　or　upon　a　bit　of　antique　illumination　that　I　do　not　invest　that　object　with　a　certain　poetic　romance；　and　I　picture　to　myself　long　lines　of　monkish　men　bending　over　their　tasks；　and　applying　themselves　with　pious　enthusiasm　thereto。　　We　should　not　flatter　ourselves　that　the　enjoyment　of　the　delights　of　bibliomania　was　reserved　to　one　time　and　generation；　a　greater　than　any　of　us　lived　many　centuries　ago；　and　went　his　bibliomaniacal　way；　gathering　together　treasures　from　every　quarter；　and　diffusing　every　where　a　veneration　and　love　for　books。　

Richard　de　Bury　was　the　king