Chapter 78 dust and waste

Dust on the book is a sign of waste, and waste is more or less slow destruction. Proper gold edging on the top of a book is a great safeguard against dust damage, but left unguarded it is sure to produce spots and dirty edges. In the old days, when few people had private collections of books, college or public libraries were of great use to students.The duties of librarians in those days were by no means idle, and dust rarely had the opportunity to find a resting place in books.The nineteenth century and power printing ushered in a new era.Gradually, the unattended ancient library fell behind, and eventually fell into disrepair.No new books are added.And those useless old books are thrown aside, no one takes care of them, no one patronizes them.I have seen many libraries, the doors of which are closed week after week; you can smell the musty smell of paper in it, and you can't help sneezing every time you take a book; there are many old boxes and baskets , full of ancient documents, are all used as storage rooms for silverfish, and there is not even a measure of autumn cleaning to reduce their reproduction.Sometimes, I mean thirty years ago, these old libraries were put to the worst possible use, and it would be a shock to our ancestors if they could have foreseen their fate.

I vividly remember, many years ago, on a bright autumn morning, in search of Coxton's old plate, I went into the inner courtyard of a wealthy college of our famous university.The surrounding buildings look lovely with their gray tones and dark corners.They all have noble histories, and their learned descendants are worthy heirs of this glorious tradition.The sun was shining warmly, and most of the chamber doors were open.From some there was a whiff of tobacco; from others the hum of conversation; from others the rhythm of a piano.A pair of seniors strolled in the shade, arm in arm, in ragged gowns and battered caps—the proud badge of graduation.The gray stone walls were covered with ivy, except for the sundial with ancient Latin inscriptions, recording the shadow of the sun.On one side is the church, which is discernible only by the form of its windows, which seems to watch over the virtues of the institution, just as the dining hall opposite it, from which steps a cook in a white apron, watching its worldly prosperity. .As you trod the flat flagstones, you passed cozy rooms with silk drapes at the windows, upholstered chairs, silver biscuit chests and tall drinking glasses. This is a tough study.You can see books with golden ridges on golden bookshelves or tables, and when you turn your eyes from this luxurious interior to the flat lawn in the garden, the classical fountain is also sprinkled with the golden light of the sun, your You will feel that all this clearly expresses "the combination of luxury and profoundness" in your mind.

I thought to myself that there is no other place but this place, and ancient literature must be very much valued and cherished; therefore, with a pleasant atmosphere in harmony with everything around me, I asked the librarian where he lived. where.No one seems to know for sure what his name was, or who actually held the title.His position is both noble and leisurely, and it seems that as a rule, it is only performed by junior students.No one wanted the position, so the key and lock of the office rarely met.At last I succeeded, polite but dumb, led by the librarian to his kingdom of dust and silence.

The dark portraits of old donors, from their old dusty frames, watched us pass by with dim eyes in amazement, obviously wondering what we were going to do; The special smell of the library—it fills the air, the floor is full of dust, causing the sun to fly dust as we pass by; the bookshelves are also dusty, and the desks in the building are also full of thick dust. The old leather desk under the window and the armchairs on both sides are very dusty. After my inquiry, my guide thought that there was once a manual copy of the catalog of this library somewhere, but he also thought that it was not easy to find any books from it, and at present he did not know where to find it. place to find this directory.The library, he said, is of little use now, because researchers have their own books and rarely need editions of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and the library has not been filled with new books for a long time.

We went down a few steps and entered an inner room where books were collected, where stacks of large-format ancient books were piled up on the floor.Beneath an ancient ebony table were two long carved oak chests.I lifted the lid of one, and there was a dusty vestment, once white, and a pile of pamphlets—unbound republican quartos—all bookish and moldy. nest.Everything is deserted.The outer door of the library was now open, almost parallel to the courtyard.Coats, trousers, and leather boots were all placed on the ebony table. At this time, a school officer was standing inside the door, brushing these things.If it's raining, he does it entirely in the library—he's completely unaware of his behavior, just like my leader.

Fortunately, the situation has changed now, and there are no such wasteful jokes in the colleges now. Let us hope that today, when the concept of respecting ancient studies has been revived, there are no more college libraries with such jokes. Same tragedy. The British, however, are not unique to such faults, with such merciless treatment of their edition treasures.The following is a translation from an interesting new volume in Paris, (Théromy, The Waste of Books, 1879) which shows that even at present, in the heart of French literary activity, books are What a fate. Mr Dalome said: "Let us now go into the public libraries of some of the large towns in the provinces. They all have a sad look inside; dust and clutter call them homes. They all have a caretaker, but he is treated as little more than He is a janitor, and he only goes once a week to check on the condition of the books entrusted to his care; they are not in good condition, stacked in piles in the corner, and are rotting due to lack of care and binding. At present, many public libraries in Paris receive thousands of books every year, but because they are not bound, they will disappear in about 50 years; there are many rare books, and it is impossible to get a second copy, because rotted to pieces for want of attention; that is to say, for abandonment without binding, a sacrifice to dust and silverfish, and crumbles to pieces at the first tentacle."

All history shows that such desolation did not belong to any particular epoch or country.I quote the following story from Edmond Verté's History of the Books of France (published in 1851): "The poet Bogar Khoo, while traveling in Abria, was eager to see the famous Ghasing Monastery, especially its library, for he was famous for a long time. He asked a monk whose appearance caught his attention. Inquiry, very polite, ask him to show the library. 'Go and see for yourself', the monk said, rudely, pointing to an ancient stone steps, which have been broken due to age. Bao Jiaqiu In anticipation of the present typological feast, hastened up the stone steps with great joy. He was soon inside, and saw no lock or even a door to protect the treasure. Imagine his amazement, the window The growing weeds actually covered the room, and all the books and seats were covered with an inch-thick dust. In extreme amazement, he picked up one book after another. They were all extremely ancient manuscripts, But all of them are horribly dilapidated. Some entire volumes have been roughly torn off, and the edges of many parchments have been cut off. In a word, it is extremely ruined.

"Because of seeing so many great men's wisdom and writings falling into the hands of such incompetent custodians, Bao Jiaqiu felt sad and walked down the stone steps with tears in his eyes. Among the monks, he met another monk , asked how these ancient manuscripts were spoiled like this? 'Hey', he replied, 'you should understand that we had to try to earn a little money to supplement our pockets, so we had to cut the blank margins of those ancient manuscripts. and wrote many little scriptures and prayer-books, and sold them to some women and children.'” As an appendix to the above story, Mr. Timmins of Birmingham told me that the present state of the library of Garcin Abbey is much better than that of Bocca Khoo, and that the worthy presiding officer is very precious for his valuable ancient manuscripts. Ben, glad to show it.

This is probably what many readers will be happy to know. At present, in a large building of this monastery, there is a complete printing office, including lithography and typography. processing.