Lady Book Collectors As Viewed In Victorian Times; Two Paris Book Shops Part 5

AN 1892 OPINION ABOUT "LADY BOOK-LOVERS," AND EVOLVING VICTORIAN VALUES - SEXIST BUT IT'S WHAT THE PERIOD PREVAILED UPON SOCIAL NORMS

RARE BOOKS A PRIVILEGE OF THE WELL-TO-DO WOMAN AND ROYALTY

     For numerous years, I've written frequently about my book collector mentor, David Brown, of Hamilton. Dave had very little interest or personal economy, to have much chance at all, of securing even a token few of the world's rarest books. He never once expressed an interest in quality binding, leather or cloth covers, and settling that it was securely hinged, and acceptably covered to his standard; which wasn't all that high. Dave was primarily interested in editorial content of his non-fiction, and pursued them more as an historian, than an actual hard-core collector. He gave every appearance of being a keen book collector, but I realize now, he was less than objective about the books he didn't want; those having religious, philosophical or literary significance. He told me once that they wouldn't sell, and I should void my book shelves of all of them. I didn't listen, and I have sold thousands of them since he gave me that advice. By itself, it limited how successful he could be, boxing him into a tight corner of collecting. He didn't purchase books because of value, or the fact it had autographs, inscriptions, or an author's notes, unless it was a work of non-fiction, particularly in natural sciences, and North American frontier histories. Unfortunately, the following notes on an 1892 book on "old books" has no relevance to any collecting Dave got up to, other than the fact he had books generally. The real value in collecting old, unique, antique and rare books, is addressed by Mr. Lang, in his book, "Books and Bookmen."
     I have talked to a small number of veteran sellers of old and rare books, and they have volunteered, with gentle coaxing, that males make up the majority of buyers in their respective shops. When I was selling mostly antiquated books, predominantly non-fiction, I could easily state the same for our shop in Bracebridge, and then online, when we sold old books through ebay. It's not a scientific survey by any means, but Suzanne and I had no reason to think much about it then, because the bottom line was to make sales, regardless of who was buying. We did take a practical look at this, when we set up our present antique shop, with an old book component, and tried to find a way of appealing to more women with our selection. When we started setting up shop, we diversified the books as a first step, bringing in slightly more vintage fiction, and many more books that were non-fiction but very lightly used, and of a more contemporary printing date. Suzanne and I began looking at cookbooks, used, collectable, antique and rare, mixed with some related texts, and found it was a big help to balance the book appeal amongst our customers. Suzanne has to admit though, that after two years of having a large vintage cookbook collection, just as many men as women today, are buying them. One month may be higher than the others, for having gentlemen buying more cookbooks, and then it will reverse for the next two months. If we tallied over the course of a year, it would work out pretty close. So it's certainly not the case women are buying more cooking related books than men, and now, with our upgraded mix of books in general, it's a much closer split in buying. There is however, a trend that we can't ignore. Men seem to be willing to pay more for antiquated and rare books, especially those that are inscribed and signed by the authors; and or, association copies, which belonged to the authors themselves, and were signed or book-plated to reflect this former ownership. It can't be said with any significant proof, that women buyers are more frugal about the books they buy, because what we have found, is that they simply buy differently, when it comes to used and nearly new books, we hunt and gather for the book-room. In other words, a woman book buyer, from our experience as shop-keeps, will buy five good quality, used books, or vintage, that will equal the purchase of a male buyer who only has one book. A case in point, was a fellow at Christmas, who bought a $60 double signed and inscribed hockey biography, and later in the day, a couple of ladies shopping together, spent $60 on used books. It happens a lot since we balanced our selection of books, to cover a wider area of interest; with a better range of prices to suit those uninterested in spending a lot of money on a single book. It's not scientific but it is what we see at the sales counter, and it now impacts how we purchase our old books out on the hustings. Looking back at Andrew Lang's editorial overview, from the late Victorian era, circa 1892, taken from his text, "Books and Bookmen," (Longman's, Green & Co.) there is a very curious chapter entitled "Lady Book-Lovers," that attempts, at least mildly, to show how astute women book buyers were, and accomplished they were becoming, as bibliophiles with valuable collections. From the beginning, collecting books was male dominated, and most of the book sellers reflected this, as compared to shops owned and operated by women. What Lang is trying to do, is point out, and rather appropriately for the time, just how women were becoming more of a force to reckon with, in the pursuit of the oldest and best quality books on the market. Now in the words of Mr. Lang:
     Keep in mind, that what we may think of as "rare" and "antiquated" books, not being collectors at the highest level, are a long, long way, from what Mr. Lang is writing about, and unless we have inherited collections from family members in Europe, there is little chance that we could find one of these books on our own book shelves, or afford one let alone a dozen, at a rare book auction. But it's important to understand the differences regardless, of what a muggle like me, plays at, in the name of being an old book dealer. Even in the modern sense, I am but a small example of what passes, on the collector level, for an antiquarian bookman.
     "The biographer of Mrs. Aphra Behn refutes the vulgar error that 'a Dutchman cannot love.' Whether or not a lady can love books is a question that may not be so readily settled. Mr. Ernest Quentin Bauchart has contributed to the discussion of this problem by publishing a bibliography, in two quarto volumes, of books which have been in the libraries of famous beauties of old, queens and princesses of France. There can be no doubt that these ladies were possessors of exquisite printed books and manuscripts wonderfully bound, but it remains uncertain whether the owners, as a rule, were bibliophiles; whether their hearts were with their treasures. Incredible as it may seem to us now, literature was highly respected in the past, and was even fashionable. Poets were in favour at court, and Fashion decided that the great must possess books, and not only books, but books produced in the utmost perfection of art, and bound with all the skill at the disposal of Clovis, Eve, and Padeloup, and Duscull. Therefore, as Fashion gave her commands, we cannot hastily affirm that the ladies who obeyed were really book-lovers. In our more polite age, Fashion has decreed that ladies shall smoke, and bet and romp, but it would be premature to assert that all ladies who do their duty in these matters, are born romps, or have an unaffected liking for cigarettes. History, however, maintains that many of the renowned dames whose books are now the most treasured of literary relics were actually inclined to study as well, as to pleasure, like Marguerite de Valois and the Contess de Verrue, and even Madame de Pompadour. Probably books and arts were more to this lady's liking than the diversions by which she beguiled the tedium of Louis XV; and many a time she would rather have been quiet with her plays and novels than engaged in conscientiously conducted but distasteful revels.
     "Like a true Frenchman, M. Bauchart has only written about French lady book-lovers, or about women who, like Mary Stuart, were more than half French. Nor would it be easy for an English author to name, outside the ranks of crowned heads, like Elizabeth, any English women of distinction who had a passion for the material side of literature, for binding, and first editions, and large papers, and engravings in early 'states.' The practical sex, when studious, is like the same sex when fond of equestrian exercise. A lady says, 'My heyes, he's an 'orse, and he must go,' according to Leech's groom. In the same way, a studious girl or matron says, 'This is a book,' and reads it, if read she does, without caring about the date or the state, or the publisher's name, or even very often about the author's. I remember, before the publication of a novel now celebrated, seeing a privately printed vellum-bound copy on large paper in the hands of a literary lady. She was holding it over the fire, and had already made the vellum covers curl wide open like the shells of an afflicted oyster. When I asked what the volume was, she explained that 'It is a book which a poor man has written, and he's had it printed to see whether some one won't be kind enough to publish it.' I ventured, perhaps pedantically, to point out that the poor man could not be so very poor, or he would not have made so costly and experiment on Dutch paper. But the lady said she did not know how that might be, and she went on toasting the experiment. In all this there is a fine contempt for everything but the spiritual aspect of literature; there is an aversion to the mere coquetry and display of morocco and red letters and the toys which amuse the minds of men. Where ladies have caught 'the bibliomania,' I fancy they have taken this pretty fever from the other sex. But it must be owned that the books they have possessed, being rarer and more romantic, are even more highly prized by amateurs, than examples from the libraries of Grolier, and Longepierre and D'Hoyn.
    "M. Bauchart's book is a complete guide to the collector of these expensive relics. He begins his dream of fair women who have owned books with the peral of Valois, Margueritte d' Angouleme, the sister of Francis I. The remains of her library are chiefly devotional manuscripts. Indeed, it is to be noted that all these ladies, however frivolous, possessed the most devout and pious books, and whole collections of prayers copied out by the pen, and decorated with miniatures. Marguerite's library was bound in morocco, stamped with a crowned "m" in iterlacs sown with daisies, or, at least, with conventional flowers which may have been meant for daisies. If ones could choose, perhaps the most desirable of the specimens, extent is 'La Premier Livre du Prince des Poetes, Homere,' in Salel's translation. For this translation Ronsard writes a prologue, addressed to the manes of Salel, in which he complains that he is ridiculed for his poetry. He draws a characteristic picture of Homer and Salel in Elysium, among the learned lovers. Marguerite's manuscript copy of the First Book of the Iliad is a small quarto, adorned with daisies, fleurs de-lis, and the crowned 'M'. It is in the Due d'Aumale's collection at Chantilly. The books of Diane de Poitiers are more numerous and more famous. When first a widow she stamped her volumes with a laurel springing from a tomb, and the motto, 'Sola vivit in illo.' But when she consoled herself with Henri II, she suppressed the tomb, and made the motto meaningless. Her crescent shone not only on her books, but on the palace walls of France, in the Louvre Fontainebleau, and Anet, and her initial D. is inextricably interlaced with the 'H' of her royal lover. Indeed, Henri added the 'D' to his own cypher, and this must have been so embarrassing for his wife Catherine, that people have good-naturedly tried to read the curves of the D's as C's. The 'D's' and the crescents, and the bows of his Diana, are impressed even on the cover of Henri's Book of Hours. Catherine's own cypher is a double 'C' enlaced with an 'H,' or double 'K's' (Katherine) combined in the same manner. These, unlike the 'D.H.' are surmounted with a crown - the one advantage which the wife possessed over the favourite. Among Diane's books are various treatises on medicines and on surgery, and plenty of poetry, and Italian novels. Among the books exhibited at the British Museum in glass cases is Diane's copy of Bembo's 'History of Venice.' An American collector, Mr. Barlow, of New York, is happy enough to possess her 'Singularitiez de la France Antartique (Antwerp 1558).
     Andrew Lang astutely notes, "Catherine de Medicis got splendid books on the same terms as foreign pirates procure English novels - she sold them. The Marshall Strozzi, dying in the French service, left a noble collection, on which Catherine laid her hands. Brantome says that Strozzi's son often expressed to him a candid opinion about this transaction. What with her own collection and what with the Marshall's, Catherine possessed about four thousand volumes. On her death, they were in peril of being seized by her creditors, but her almoner carried them to his own house, and De Thou had them placed in the royal library. Unluckily, it was thought wiser to strip the books of the coats with Catherine's compromising device, lest her creditors should single them out, and take them away in their pockets. Hence, books with her arms and cypher are exceedingly rare. At the sale of the collections, of the Duchesse de Berry, a Book of Hours of Catherine's was sold for 2.400 pounds.
     "Mary Stewart of Scotland was one of the lady book-lovers whose taste was more than a mere following of fashion. Some of her books like one of Marie Antoinette's, were the companions of her captivity, and still bear the sad complaints which she entrusted to these last friends of fallen royalty. Her note-book, in which she wrote her Latin prose exercises when a girl, still survives, bound in red morocco, with the arms of France. In a Book of Hours, now the property of the Czar, may be partly deciphered the quantrains which she composed in her sorrowful years, but many of them are mutilated by the binder's shears. The Queen used the volume as a kind of album; it contains the signatures of the 'Countess of Schrewsbury,' (as M. Bauchart has it), of Walsingham, of the Earl of Sussex, and of Charles Howard, Earl of Nottingham. There is also the signature, 'Your most infortunate, Arbella Seymour;' and 'Fr. Bacon.' This remarkable manuscript was purchased in Paris, during the Revolution by Peter Dubrowsky, who carried it to Russia. Another Book of Hours of the Queen's bears this inscription, in a sixteenth-century hand: 'Cesont les Heures de Marie Setuart Renne. Marguerite de Blacuod de Rosay.' In De Blacuod it is not very easy to recognize 'Blackwood.' Marguerite was probably the daughter of Adam Blackwood, who wrote a volume of Mary Stuart's sufferings (Edinburg, 1587)."
     "The famous Marguerite de Valois, the wife of Henri IV, had certainly a noble library, and many beautifully bound books stamped with daisies are attributed to her collection. They bear the motto, 'Expectata non eludet,' which appears to refer, first to the daisy ('Margarita'), which is punctual in the spring, or rather is next, to the lady, who will 'keep tryst.' But is the lady Margurete de Valois? Though the books have been sold at very high prices as relics of the leman of La Mole, it seems impossible to demonstrate that they were ever on her shelves, that they were bound by Clovis Eve, from her own design. 'No mention is made of them in any contemporary documents and the judicious are reduced to conjectures.' Yet they form a most important collection, systematically bound, science and philosophy in citron morocco, the poets in green, and history and theology in red. In any case, it is absurd to explain, 'Espectata non eludet,' as a reference to the lily of the royal arms, which appears on the centre of the daisy-pied volumes. The motto, in that case, would run 'Expectata non eludent.' As it stands, the feminine adjective 'expectata,' in the singular, must apply either to the lady who owned the volumes or to the 'Margarita,' her emblem, or to both. Yet the ungrammatical rendering is that which M. Bauchart suggests. Many of the books, Marguerite's or not, were sold at prices over one hundred pounds in London, in 1884 and 1883. The Macrobius, and Theocritus, and Homer, are in the Cracherode collection at the British Museum. The daisy-crowned Ronsard went for four hundred and thirty pounds at the Beckford sale. These prices will probably never be reached again."
     Andrew Lang advises that, "If Anne of Austria, the mother of Louis XIV, was a bibliophile, she may be suspected of acting on the motive. 'Love me, love my books.' About her affection for Cardinal Mazarin there seems to be no doubt: the Cardinal had a famous library, and his royal friend probably imitated his tastes. In her time, and on her volumes, the originality and taste of the skilled binder. Le Gascon, begin to declare themselves. The fashionable passion for lace, to which La Fontaine made such sacrifices, affected the art of book decoration, and Le Gascon's beautiful patterns of gold points and dots are copies of the productions of Venice. The Queen-Mother's books include many devotional treatises for, whatever other fashions might come and go, piety was always constant before the Revolution. Anne of Austria seems to have been particularly fond of the lives and work of Saint Theresa, and St. Franscois de Sales, and John of the Cross. But she was not unread in the old French poets such as Coquillart; she condescended to Ariosto; she had that dubious character, Theophile de Viaud, beautifully bound; she owned the Rabelais of 1553; and what is particularly interesting, M. de Lignerolles possessed her copy of 'L ' Eschole des Femmes, Comedie par J.B.P. Moliere, Paris Guillaume de Luynes, 1663.' In red morocco, gilt edges, and the Queen's arms on the covers. This relic is especially valuable when we remember that 'L'Ecole des Femmes' and Arnolphe's sermon to Agnes, and his comic threats of future punishment first made envy take the form of religious persecution. The devout Queen-Mother was often appealed to by the enemies of Moliere, yet Anne of Austria had not only seen his comedy, but possessed this beautiful example of the first edition. M. Paul Lacroix, supposes that this copy was offered to the Queen-Mother by Moliere himself. The frontispiece (Arnolphe preaching to Agnes) is thought to be a portrait of Moliere, but in the reproduction in M. Louis Lacour's edition it is not easy to see any resemblances. Apparently Anne did not share the views, even in her later years, of the converted Prince of Conty, for several comedies and novels remain stamped with her arms and device."
     Please join me tomorrow, for a wrap-up of the stories contained in Andrew Lang's "Book and Bookmen," that relate somewhat more commonly, to what many of us get up to, annually as bibliophiles, in the contemporary, low budget, sense of the regional, provincial and national marketplace. Today, there are many more valuable books, that have nothing whatsoever to do with hand crafted leather covers or gilt-edged texts, or even their great age. There is a new rare book today, and it has brought about an electric jolt to an historic social / cultural / literary preoccupation, and profession, of acquiring books for content, and investment.

Yes, We had Ice Storms Back Then As Well; Circa 1890's

The Whole Band Circa 1890's

THOSE UNEXPECTED SITUATIONS THAT POP-UP - THAT KEEP THE ANTIQUE DEALER PEAKED IN CURIOSITY

FUNNY MOMENTS THAT LIGHTEN UP A HEAVY DAY

     DON'T GET ME WRONG. I LOVE BEING THE PROPRIETOR OF AN ANTIQUE SHOP. EVERYTHING I'VE WRITTEN IN THE PAST, ABOUT THE SHOP CULTURE, IS TRUE. I LOVE THE SOCIAL CIRCUMSTANCES. I ENJOY ENCOUNTERS WITH POETS AND SCHOLARS, AND CANDLESTICK MAKERS. THERE ARE HOWEVER, SOME SITUATIONS THAT ARISE, FROM TIME TO TIME, THAT MAKE US WONDER ABOUT THE ATTRACTION OF ANTIQUES TO ECCENTRICS, AND OTHERWISE ODDBALLS. IT'S TRUE, I WOULDN'T WANT TO DEAL WITH A GUY LIKE ME AS A CUSTOMER. I CAN BE VERY DEMANDING, AND I WINK AT THE CUTE SALES STAFF. BUT I AM NOT THE BEST SALES CLERK TO HANDLE THOSE WHO ARE, AS THEY SAY, DIFFICULT BY VIRTUE OF CHARACTER.

     EVERY VETERAN ANTIQUE AND COLLECTABLE DEALER, COULD CONTRIBUTE TWO OR THREE CHAPTERS, JUST ON THE STRANGE OCCURRENCES, THAT HAVE TAKEN PLACE IN THEIR RESPECTIVE SHOPS. FROM CASUAL SIGHTINGS OF GHOSTS AND BANDY-LEGGED WEE BEASTIES, APPEARING AT TIMES, ALOOF IN THE SHOP, TO ODD DUCK CUSTOMERS, WHO SEEM TO HAVE STEPPED OUT OF THE FUNNY PAGES, OR ANOTHER DIMENSION OF TIME AND PLACE. I WON'T SAY THAT I'VE SEEN MORE THAN ANY ONE ELSE, BUT I COULD WRITE A WHOLE BOOK ON THE STRANGE EVENTS AND CIRCUMSTANCES, I HAVE FOUND MYSELF IN, AS AN ANTIQUE SHOP PROPRIETOR. THEY PROBABLY PALE IN COMPARISON TO OTHER TALES OF WOE AND MISADVENTURE, TOLD BY OTHER SHOPKEEPS, ABOUT STRANGE VISITATIONS TO THEIR INNER SANCTUMS. BUT I STILL BELIEVE THERE IS A CURIOUS, UNEXPLAINED ATTRACTION, OF AN ANTIQUE SHOP, THAT BRINGS US SOCIETY'S MOST ECCENTRIC AND UNRESTRAINED.

     One autumn afternoon, a local chap arrived in our basement shop, in Bracebridge, showing signs of intoxication. Suzanne and I knew him from his other exploits, visiting businesses along Manitoba Street. While it was known, by considerable experience, that he was relatively harmless, he did occupy a lot of law enforcement time, officers having to extract him, when he'd worn out his welcome, somewhere or other. In our case, I watched him rummage through the first room in the basement shop, and while he seemed respectful in his conduct, although a little wobbly on his feet, I only got concerned when he grabbed a hold of an old golf club, I had hung on the wall. We had other customers come in, at around the same time, so I had to be concerned about their safety as well as saving my inventory, should he have decided to tee-off. It was a busy afternoon, so we had to work around the counter, unfortunately leaving the young man alone in the small room. After everyone had left, I went to see where our golfer had gone. He had sat down in a big armchair, and fallen asleep with the golf club still in his hands. We had lots of folks coming in and out, and this wasn't a satisfactory situation. I went up the stairs, and out into the driveway, to see if I could find an officer to give me a hand, escorting the man out of the building.

     When I did manage to wave-down a passing officer, he certainly didn't seemed pleased, about having to involve himself in such a menial task. "Why can't you get him out of there yourself," he asked. "Well, for one thing, the guy has a golf club, a lot of booze (or drugs) in him, and I've got lots of customers in the shop....and who knows how he wakes up from these little naps." Another officer showed up, a few minutes later, but his hands on his hims, chortled a bit, and they talked over the strategy for extracting my slumbering guest. I know they were laughing about my situation, but I wasn't going to take any chances, of pissing-off the out-of-place golfer, no matter what they thought of the gutless antique dealer. "Sir, please stand back and let us do our job." Well, the young man seemed pretty upset about having to leave the comfortable chair, and nice digs, he'd enjoyed for forty winks. He didn't leave without the officers helping him from the chair, and then out of the building. They didn't get the golf club back until he was in the front driveway, and the last I saw him, he was stumbling down the street, while elegantly throwing one of Suzanne's hand-knit scarves around his neck. Hey, it was the cost of removal. A small price to pay. I didn't want to strong-arm him out of the shop. He wasn't the first or last intoxicated individual to visit. He was however, the only one to fall asleep in our store, while dreaming, I suppose, of playing the links.

     Another girl came to visit, in roughly the same condition, and asked if we had any old steamer trunks. We pointed to a small hump-back trunk we had just purchased that day, which was still "in the rough," and needed a little bit of work. She immediately began yelling, "It's perfect....it's just perfect for what I need." It was situated close to the counter, and Suzanne and I watched as she opened the lid very slowly, as if she suspected there was something enchanted inside. When she had opened the lid fully, and stepped-up closer, for a good look inside, she began a rather weird dance, hopping up and down, which involved arm movements, as if she was trying to extract something unseen. It was like a dance from the 1960's. The only music was what she was hearing in her head. All we knew, by what she was mumbling, was that she sensed there were (vapor-like) dragons living in that hump-back trunk....which made it all the more fascinating. Eventually it became so disturbing, we had to tell her the trunk was sold to another wizard, and maybe she should check out the second hand shop down the road. She floated out of the shop, as if she was on the back of one of those liberated dragons. We couldn't help but sneak a peak ourselves. Darn it all. Just dust bunnies and bits of paper.

     One afternoon, fairly late in the day, our boys heard someone yelling, that sounded, at first, like the words, "gobble, gobble, gobble," with a shrill voice, over and over, coming from the lobby of our present Gravenhurst shop. It even scared the youngster, in a music lesson (in the studio) with Robert, and the first instinct, we had, was that someone was in medical distress. We all met in the upper hall, to see what was going on, only to find an elderly lady, quite distinctive, elegant, with considerable poise, smiling back at us. She had been making the turkey call, simply to get our attention. Neat eh! Then she told us we had her accordion in our possession, and she wanted it back. Well, we didn't have her accordion, and she was just mixed up, about the shop she had taken it to, for repair. We have had a few other customers, who, for whatever reason, feel it necessary, to blurt out an announcment, that they are officially in the building....and in need of attention. One large gentleman, who visits once a week, comes into the building with a smash of the door, aggressively strums the first guitar he comes to, and then begins singing....., no yelling out, his favorite song, which is usually "Lola". Scares the crap out of us. He also yells a greeting, walks ten feet into the store, then storms out. We know he'll be back. Then we have another bloke we call "The Stair Dweller," because he comes in, stands at the bottom of the stairs, looks for three or four minutes, and then darts out of the building. He bought a guitar off us once, a long time ago, but has never braved those two flights of stairs. We have others who ask the same question each and every time, and when they hear the answer, it's as if they'd never heard it before. These are not people with mental health issues, that we know of.....but there's something about being in company of all this old stuff, that freaks them out.

     One of my funniest encounters, was with a customer, who accidentally broke a vase, having brushed it with her purse on the way down an aisle; and then showed up at the counter, glass in hand, dumping it in front of me in disgust. "I suppose you're going to make me pay for this, even though it was clearly your fault," she blurted, giving me this really angry look. "You shouldn't leave things like that, so close to the edge of the shelves." She'd given me hell for the first two minutes, after confronting me at the counter, not affording any opportunity to slip in a word, edge-wise, as they say. When I found an interval to make comment, she interjected that "I'm going to pay you for it, but you'd better fix up your store, or there's going to be a lot more smashed inventory." I have only been speechless a few times in my life, but this was definitely the most memorable and awkward at the same time. I really didn't know what to say, because I didn't want to start a fight with the woman, who probably thought it would have been better if I hadn't been born....thus removing the temptation for her to have come into my shop in the first place. So I scooped the shards off the counter, into a small box I had set aside for such situations, and told her that there was no charge for the damaged piece. "Well, that's fine, but you should really tidy up your shop. Someone could have been injured you know?" She was still red in the face, which if there had been a mirror, I would have seen mine glowing, by this point, as well. I thought about what Suzanne told me about handling difficult customers, and I just turned away and went about some other more rewarding tasks. Nothing I could have said, would have stopped an angry person from acting out some inner frustration. The piece hadn't been in a high risk setting at all, and it was what you would expect in any such shop, the world over. Still not happy, that I hadn't handed over the keys of the store, or stabbed myself on the spot, she mumbled about never coming back, as she left the building.

     There was a book collector I used to call "Wally the Weasel," because of the way he acted in the shop. He'd arrive, always when I was alone, and from initial greetings, he seemed to be the happiest most contented guy on earth. It lasted like that during the "small-talk" portion of the visit, until that is, he got into my stash of new "old book" arrivals. They guy was a jerk. And I was giving him the benefit of the doubt. He'd start hauling-up books from the back of the shop, and before long, I wouldn't even be able to see over it. This usually happened on a Saturday morning, and the shop would have had several other regular customers. In the summer, it could get quite busy, in the cooler mornings, making the visit of "Wally" very compromising indeed. His strategy, was to befuddle me. He couldn't do it to Suzanne, but because I got annoyed easily, I'd do just about anything to unload him. He would finish his shopping, and ask me what my "best price" was going to be, for the pile of books on the counter. Early in our relationship, I would have written all of the books onto a receipt, and then given him a discount for such a large purchase. He would buy more than twenty books at a time, or more, so yes, in terms of dollars spent, he was a good customer. It's just that he wore me out, trying to beat me down. Depending on my mood, I'd spar with him for awhile, and he'd whine and fuss, and tell me how he could get the same books elsewhere, for a fraction of the cost. It didn't deter him one bit, when I'd retaliate by saying, "Well then, what are you doing here?" I think he just enjoyed the back and forth negotiations, like chess moves, and nine times out of every ten visits, I'd wind-up surrendering a deal just so he would go home. So here's how I'd get even with him. As a huge bibliomaniac, he'd attend every old book sale in the area. We'd arrive as a family, to the same sales, and out-muster him, by three collectors to one. Andrew, Robert and their mother, Suzanne, have been bibliophiles in training for many years, and know how to book-scout for me. We'd thrust ourselves in his face, and dawdle, procrastinate in certain areas, and basically, my team-mates would block for me, while I ran for the touchdown. He'd get so mad, at our crowding strategy, he mumbled one morning, about never coming in to our shop again. It accomplished more than I had hoped for, and honestly, it was worth losing a customer, to maintain my sanity.

     There was another customer who was a champion "price tag flicker." He never once, in all the years I dealt with him, showed up at our store counter, with a price tag attached to anything he wished to purchase. Yet he never denied flicking it off either, before he reached my desk. Suzanne couldn't tolerate his behaviour, so she'd say, "Just a second, and I'll go and find it for you." He was a little sloppy where he left the price sticker, so she could find it every time. He didn't see it as a dastardly deed. He thought he was being cute. The last time I took the bait, was late one Saturday afternoon, after a day of very poor sales. He came to me with a highly collectable, Shell Oil bottle, with lid, that was in perfect condition. "There's no price on the bottle, Ted.....I guess it's free." This was the same anecdote he used every time he arrived at the desk, with something he wanted to purchase. "How much?" He got me at a bad time. Well, let's just say, a good time for him. I needed grocery money. He was probably going to be the last customer of the day. So let's just say, I suggested a price I could live with, and he had the money on the counter with lightning speed. This was odd, because there was always a certain amount of squabbling and re-negotiating, which I came to despise. I suspected something was wrong, but by that point, I couldn't go back on my word. When he left, I went to the shelf where it had been situated, and I found the price tag on the floor directly below the now empty space. Suzanne had priced it for a consignor at fifty dollars. Now although we factor in some wiggle room, to negotiate a fair price, I had sold it to the chap for twenty bucks, just to get rid of him. I was about as angry as I could get, that afternoon, and vowed from that point on, to never allow it to happen again. When he arrived the next time, and did exactly the same thing, as all the other times, I went and looked for the price tag he had flicked off. Did that ever displease him. "I don't care what was on the price tag.....what will you sell it to me for," he asked, as I came back to the counter, with the price tag on the tip of a finger. So it gave me the opportunity I'd been waiting for, to give him an example of a customer's bad behaviour. Of course, he denied flicking off the price tag, from the oil bottle, and became quite indignant about its fifty dollar asking price. "It certainly wasn't worth that." "Well," I said, "It was worth way more than twenty dollars, and I bet when you go to sell it, the price will be tripled." In fact, for the condition of the bottle, sixty dollars wasn't out of the question. He did come back. He just stopped his "flicking" activity. We became good friends after this.

     On another occasion, I happened to get in the middle of a dispute between customers, that I knew nothing about, until that is, I was up to my neck in the crisis. I was selling a consignment piece for a collector, and I was offered an interesting trade from another customer. There was no sacrifice of price, which I had set, not the consignor. I would simply buy the piece, minus the commission, which for us then, was twenty percent; and then attempt to sell the items I had received in the trade. So what was the problem? Well, when I told the consignor, after having handed over the cheque, that I had made a trade with this particular collector, she was so outraged, all that came out of her mouth besides the foam, were nasty slurs and cussing. I had become the scourge of the earth, because I made a trade to someone she didn't like. She couldn't get mad at me for the price I paid, because it was market value. She just didn't want the other person to have acquired it....and I dare say, that she would have been mad, even if a trade hadn't been involved. I've turned away other consignors since, who have told me, in no uncertain terms, not to sell their pieces to specific individuals. This is when I tell them to take their antiques and leave the building. We don't offer selective sales, or screen our customers, deciding what they can and can not purchase. On the other side, we have customers who claim to know who previously owned the piece in question. Recently, a rather burly man stood at my counter, and demanded to know where we got a Coke cooler, we had on display at the back of the shop. Before I could answer, he told me where I had bought it, and for how much. Don't you just love moments like this? He wasn't mad, just adement. I must have bought it from a yard sale he and his wife had in Toronto. "It has the exact same marks as mine did," he said. There is a point, with customers like this, when you just surrender, nod, wink, and shut-up. I wasn't in Toronto. I purchased it from a long time friend in Gravenhurst. I paid way more than he said it had been sold for, and the friend I purchased it from, hadn't been to Toronto in years. Oh, well!

     There was another man, who used to drop-in, who truly believed he was an exceptional salesman. Every time he came in, he would engage me, or Suzanne, in a lengthy debate about some aspect of antiques and collecting, that while interesting, was pointless banter, with no right or wrong answers, even without any sensible wrap-up to our multi-hour investment. There were times, in his counter-side chats, when honest to God, I wanted to climb through some portal under the counter, and liberate myself from this mind-numbing incarceration. No matter how hard I tried to stop him, even feigning sudden illness, this guy wouldn't quit the barrage of questions he'd ask, and then answer himself. He only needed me for when, in his estimation, it was the perfect time for the "pitch" line, which usually came shortly after hour one. He could eat up two hours if he had a lot to sell. When he suspected I was at my most vulnerable, he would suddenly get very spry, and suggest that he had a few things he brought to show me, stored at that moment, in his car parked in front. As a picker myself, in a family of trained pickers, we don't buy much at all, over the counter. So when he'd get to this stage of our one-sided conversation, I still had enough gumption left, to slam down his ambitions like a volleyball hitting the hardwood. He'd look disgruntled, ask me why not, and I'd slam him down one more time. One day he got four of them in a row. Now he doesn't visit. It's true. Maybe one day he would have actually purchased something from our shop. I doubt it though. Even if he had, it would have been at a ration of one hundred to one....meaning I would have had to purchase a hundred items from him, to warrant him making one purchase from me. You'd be shocked to know how many of these folks exist out there, to tantalize us antique dealers with great deals that will make us a fortune. Believe me, we've heard all the sale's pitches, and they can get pretty extravagant. It doesn't take too much willpower to resist these great offers.

     A very nice lady showed up at my counter one day, to return a crystal bowl she claimed to have purchased from us several weeks earlier. We try to be as fair about this as possible, but there are occasions, when someone will try to pull a fast one. Even kindly older ladies, who seem so pleasant and passive. Anyway, it didn't take me too long, to determine, that we had never owned or sold the crystal bowl she was trying to return. She certainly didn't like the fact, I wasn't willing to take her word for it, and her attitude changed in an instant. She was going to call her lawyer if I didn't give her back the thirty dollars she had paid for the bowl. I got suspicious, when I found a receipt in the bottom of the bag from the local Salvation Army. Although it wasn't showing a purchase for this particular bowl, it had been from a bag they had given her at the Thrift Shop. The glass piece had a chip on the top, and even if we had sold the bowl, it would have been for well less than thirty dollars, considering the damage. Basically, she was trying to con us into buying a bowl she had just bought....thinking we would just take her word. When I pointed her out, one day to Suzanne, she recognized her from our shop, but agreed, she had never bought a single item from us. Certainly not a crystal bowl.

     Lots more stories to come.

THE PERSONALITIES AND THE BOOKSELLER - YOU JUST NEVER KNOW WHO MIGHT POP-UP NEXT

GOOD BOOKS, GOOD CONVERSATION, GOOD TIMES - GOOD REASON TO RUN A BOOK SHOP

     "IT WAS ON DECEMBER 7, 1921, THAT VALERY LARBAUD PRESENTED THE IRISH WRITER JAMES JOYCE TO THE AMIS DES LIVRES. (THE BOOKSHOP OWNED BY ADRIENNE MONNIER, IN PARIS, FRANCE.)

     "THAT WAS ONE OF THE MEMORABLE MEETINGS AT OUR HOUSE. THE FIRST FRAGMENTS OF THE TRANSLATION OF 'ULYSSES,' WERE GIVEN A READING THERE AFTER THE WARNING, 'CERTAIN PAGES HAVE AN UNCOMMON BOLDNESS OF EXPRESSION THAT MIGHT QUITE LEGITIMATELY BE SHOCKING' (I QUOTE FROM THE PROSPECTUS). AS AUGUSTINE MOREL HAD NOT YET UNDERTAKEN HIS TRANSLATION, IT WAS JACQUES BENOIST-MECHIN WHO HAD COURAGEOUSLY ATTACKED THESE FIRST FRAGMENTS; AND LEON-PAUL FARGUE HAD BEEN ESPECIALLY CONSULTED FOR THE ADAPTATION OF THE MOST DARING PASSAGES," WROTE ADRIENNE MONNIER, AS TRANSLATED, IN THE BOOK, "THE VERY RICH HOURS OF ADRIENNE MONNIER," PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS OF NEW YORK.

     "JOYCE WAS THEN UNKNOWN TO THE FRENCH PUBLIC. IT WAS NOT HERE, HOWEVER, AT LA MAISON DES AMIS DES LIVRES, NOR WITH VALERY LARBAUD, THAT HE FOUND HIS FIRST WELCOME. A LITTLE WHILE AFTER HIS ARRIVAL FROM TRIESTE, HIS FRIEND THE AMERICAN POET, EZRA POUND HAD TAKEN HIM TO THE HOUSE OF ANDRE SPIRE, WHO HAD RECEIVED HIM WITH HIS CUSTOMARY KINDNESS. IT WAS AT ANDRE SPIRE'S HOUSE THAT SYLVIA AND I MET HIM, IN THE COURSE OF A RECEPTION AT WHICH MANY LITERARY PEOPLE WERE PRESENT," SHE WRITES OF MEETING THE AUTHOR. "I HAD A LITTLE DISCUSSION WITH JUSTIN BENDA; HE MAINTAINED THAT THERE DID NOT EXIST IN FRANCE, FOR THE MOMENT, ANY WRITER CAPABLE OF GREAT FLIGHTS. WHILE WE WERE DELIBERATING, MR. JOYCE, WHO WAS SITTING IN A CORNER, REMAINED SILENT, HIS WINGS FOLDED. SYLVIA BEACH, WHO HAD READ HIS BOOKS AND EVEN THE CHAPTERS OF 'ULYSSES,' THAT APPEARED IN NEW YORK, IN THE 'LITTLE REVIEW, 'AND WHO ADMIRED HIM PASSIONATELY, HAD IN THE COURSE OF THE EVENING SUMMONED UP HER COURAGE TO APPROACH HIM. FOR IT WAS AN EXTREMELY CONGENIAL RECEPTION; SPIRE OFFERED US TEA AND SUPPER AT THE SAME TIME. THERE WAS NO LACK OF TIME TO TALK AND EVEN TO THINK A BIT ABOUT ONE MEANT TO SAY. THIS IS THE WAY THEN, THAT OUR RELATIONS WITH JOYCE BEGAN.

     "WHEN ONE RECOGNIZES THE IMPORTANCE OF THE SYMBOL IN JOYCE'S WORK AND THE CONSTANT CARE THAT HE TAKES TO ESTABLISH MYSTICAL CORRESPONDENCES, ONE IS STRUCT BY THE FACT THAT THE FIRST PERSON WHO RECEIVED HIM IN FRANCE, AND PUT HIM IN CONTACT WITH HIS FUTURE PUBLISHERS, IS A JEWISH POET - FOR JOYCE HAD CREATED IN ULYSSES A GREAT TYPE OF JEWISH HUMANITY, AND HE WAS TO FIND WITH US A PLACE FAVORABLE TO THE APPEARANCE OF HIS WORK AND THE ESTABLISHMENT OF HIS REPUTATION." MONNIER WRITES, "SO, IN 1921, VALERY LARBAUD (WRITER) SPOKE IN MY BOOKSHOP ABOUT JAMES JOYCE, AND ABOVE ALL ABOUT HIS 'ULYSSES,' WHICH HAD NOT YET APPEARED IN BOOK FORM. THIS LECTURE, WHICH WAS PUBLISHED AFTERWARD IN THE 'NOUVELLE REVUE FRANCOISE,' AND WHICH PRESENTLY SERVES AS THE PREFACE TO THE TRANSLATION OF 'DUBLINERS,' IS A UNIQUE ACHIEVEMENT IN THE HISTORY CRITICISM. IT IS CERTAINLY THE FIRST TIME, I BELIEVE, THAT A WORK IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE HAS BEEN STUDIED IN FRANCE, BY A FRENCH WRITER, BEFORE BEING STUDIED IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA. CERTAINLY THE PRESENCE OF JOYCE AMONG US HAD PROVOKED THIS PHENOMENON, BUT IF ONE THINKS ABOUT THE DIFFICULTIES OF A TEXT LIKE ULYSSES, ONE IS ASTOUNDED BY THE TOUR DE FORCE THAT LARBAUD BROUGHT OFF. ALL THE MORE SO BECAUSE HIS STUDY IS AND WILL NO DOUBT REMAIN THE MOST PERFECT, THE MOST UNDERSTANDING ANALYSIS THAT COULD BE MADE OF JOYCE'S WORK. HOW LARBAUD WAS ABLE TO EXTRACT FROM IT A SUBSTANCE SO CLEAR, SO COMPACT, SO PLEASING, IN SO LITTLE TIME AND WITHOUT THE HELP OF AN EARLIER WORK - THIS IS WHAT WILL NEVER CEASE TO AMAZE US."

THE PERKS OF OWNING A FAMOUS BOOK SHOP IN PARIS

     ADRIENNE MONNIER, WRITES OF ANOTHER EXCITING MEETING, THAT WAS CONNECTED TO HER PARIS BOOKSHOP.

     The bookstore proprietor records that, "Upon our arrival in London, Sylvia (Beach, owner of the bookshop, Shakespeare and Co., also in Paris) had telephone T.S. Eliot to ask if it would be possible to pay him a visit. He at once proposed that we come dine with him, which charmed and flattered us very much. In english letters, Eliot enjoys an almost royal prestige - not without giving rise to a certain amount of grumbling. Here, in spite of his Nobel Prize, he is only a poor, translated poet. I do not say this to belittle him: Dante, Shakespeare, and Milton are also poor, translated poets. It is a terrible trial for a poet (spared the musician and the painter) that he must undergo translation if he wants to be read outside of this country. In no case can he emerge from this trial to his advantage; the fruit of his labor is spoiled, he is stripped of his most precious possessions, he becomes like an emigrant, who must start his life over again upon hostile soil, with means that are often uncertain. (Eliott has such a liking for penitence that it is possible that these hardships give him a kind of pleasure.) And that is so whatever talent of the translator may be. A Baudelaire, a Mallarme crown with a halo the foreign poet, whom they strive to transplant among us, but they do not communicate their genius to him - if they wish to remain translators. As Baudelaire says in the notice that precedes his translation of 'The Raven,': In the mold of prose when it is applied to poetry, there is necessarily a frightful imperfection; but the harm would be still greater in rhymed mimicry."

     She writes of the poet that, "On a visit to Paris in 1936, T.S. Eliott gave a poetry reading at Shakespeare and Company. On this occasion we had the pleasure of having him to dinner at our place in the company of (French authors) Gide, Jean Schlumberger, and Francois Valery. In the course of this dinner Gide tried to tear apart the spirit of the Orient completely, and in particular certain works that Eliott, Schlumberger, and I myself said that we liked. The 'Bhagavad-gita,' for example, or Milarepa (I have a very amusing letter from him on the subject of Milarepa). Schlumberger let him speak, then he said to him gently, 'All the same there is one Orient work that you have loved very much,' - and as Gide looked at him with a questioning air, he added, "the Gospels.' Following that I tried rather wickedly to prove that Buddha had had a particular attachment to his disciple Ananda, and that it was after a disappointment in love caused by him, that he had decided to leave the earth."

     In 1928, the author of The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald met with Adrienne Monnier, and there is a picture of the bookshop owner and the writer, in the text of, "The Very Rich Hours of Adrienne Monnier," sitting on the doorstep of Sylvia Beach's "Shakespeare and Company." There are several photographs of T.S. Eliot, and James Joyce, with Adrienne's mother and father. There is a terrific image of Joyce sitting with Beach and Monnier inside Shakespeare and Company, and another wonderful streetscape, where Joyce and Monnier are walking down the Rue de L' Odeon, where the two famous book shops were situated.

     Richard McDougall, translator and author of the book's introduction, offers this insight at the end of Monnier's life. "In the final weeks of her life, Adrienne Monnier had secretly and with great difficulty arranged her personal papers. Her final note which she wrote in May, was found at the head of these after her death. In Monnier's words, "I am penning an end to my days, no longer able to support the noises that have been martyrizing me for eight months, with continuing fatigue and the suffering that I have endured these recent years. I am going to death without fear, knowing that I found a mother on being born here, and that I shall likewise find a mother in the other life."

     "The news of her passing, in France, and abroad, was greeted with reverence, sorrow and love," writes McDougall in his overview of her life. "Alone, Sylvia Beach in her own last years received the honors that go to survivors, the official consecrations that must always seem in spirit to be somewhat at odds with the spirit of obscure beginnings. From March 11 to April 25, 1959, the cultural section of the United States Embassy in Paris, sponsored an exhibition, 'Les Annees Vingt: Les Ecrivains Americains a Paris et leers amis,' (The Twenties; American Writers in Paris and Their Friends') at the headquarters of the American Cultural Center in the Rue du Dragon, near the Pace St. Germain-des-Pres. Because most of the items on display - some six hundred photographs, letters, page proofs, first editions, and the like, belonged to Sylvia Beach and collectively signified her central position in the life of the decade, the show was as much a tribute to her as it was a retrospective survey. In the same year, Harcourt, Brace published her memoirs, 'Shakespeare and Company,' and in June, during the course of a visit to the United States, she received an honorary doctorate of letters from the University of Buffalo, to which she donated material from her Joyce Collection. On June 16, 1962, Bloomsday, the anniversary of the day of which the action of Ulysses takes place, she was in Dublin to participate in the dedication of the Martello Tower, at Sandycove, the setting for the opening of the novel, as a memorial to James Joyce.

     He notes that, "In Paris, Sylvia Beach continued to live in her apartment at 12 Rue de L'Odeon above the premises that Shakespeare and Company had once occupied. Here, On October 6, 1962, she was found dead, apparently of a heart attack, 'kneeling but not brought down,' as the friend who found her said; she had died a day or two before. Her body was cremated at Pere Lachaise cemetery and her ashes were sent to Princeton, where they now rest. Her funeral service, which took place in the chapel of the Columbarium in the cemetery, was attended by crowds of mourners, many of them neighbors in her quarter who knew her not as a literary personality but simply as a friend whose kindness was unfailing. And of Adrienne Monnier herself, what more is there that need or can be said here. Her own life, simple and profound, simple in its purpose, profound in its motives - has the configuration of a heroic legend and even a legend of saintliness. Her simplicity was that of an undivided mind and a whole heart that followed from girlhood on, in the direction of a calling that she seems never to have doubted. We can trace this direction but the act, simple in itself, of describing the outward achievements of her vocation. As for the motives of her 'whose life was so mysteriously moving,' as Katherine Anne Porter has said, those motives that came 'from such depths of feeling and intelligence they were hardly fathomable…..but always to be believed in and loved,' to these her work alone will bear witness. For the rest, all one has attempted has been to give back to Adrienne Monnier, in the words of another language the gift that she gave so fully in the words of her own."

THE FASCINATING FOLKS WE MEET IN RETAIL EVERY DAY

     Ever since I began writing professionally, and retailing antiques and old books, at virtually the same time in my life, (late 1970's), I have needed my sources of inspiration. I have found both occupations profoundly difficult at times, demanding a vigor I sometimes can't muster. I have called upon books, like I have just reviewed, so many times, that my fingerprints and folded-over page tops, indicated all the best locations for seeking out inspirational passages, and chapters, that will help me on either a difficult writing project (that I may not be looking forward to); or having to spend a month or so manning the retail component of our antique business, which for me, is hugely limiting, seeing as I'm usually the official "on the road everyday picker," where I am the happiest to roam freely. I look up at my shelf of poor condition reference books, and other texts I keep for special occasions, of low ambition, and thank all the authors, including Richard McDougall, for his fine work on Adrienne Monnier, which has been my source of joy for many years…….as well as all the other researchers and writers, who without knowing it, have kicked me into place, with a few well chosen words, and insightful revelations, about the milestone achievements of others.

     There is a lot of interesting stuff that happens in an antique shop (that also sells old books), and while I will never have the rich stories, as told by Ms. Monnier, from her Paris bookshop, there are some tidbits of information, and actuality I've experienced, that seem entirely worthy of a little exploration. Connections that I've made with historians, writers, and oh so many fascinating collectors, just because they happened to wander in, to a little shop known as Birch Hollow Antiques. This was my own beginning, and it was fabulous.

     As far as literature goes, and for those reading this blog, who don't know our area of Ontario, Canada very well,……. our Town of Gravenhurst, where we are situated as a main street business, was named in the year 1862, by a Canadian Postal Authority, who moonlighted as a literary critic for publications throughout North America. To name our new post office, he borrowed a name from a book written by British poet / philosopher, William Henry Smith, entitled "Gravenhurst; or Thoughts on Good and Evil." You can archive this, if interested, back to the first of August 2012, where I have written five special feature blogs on our literary provenance, on the occasion of the 150th anniversary of its naming. Our previous antique shop, was located in Bracebridge, ten miles north of Gravenhurst, and that town was named, in 1864, by the same Postal Authority, William Dawson LeSueur, after a book written by American author, Washington Irving, entitled "Bracebridge Hall." Irving was of course famous for his stories, 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," and "Rip Van Winkle." So, while we can't say we entertained James Joyce, T.S. Eliot, F. Scott Fitzgerald or Ezra Pound, we were named after two very astute authors from abroad. Thanks so much for taking the time out of your busy schedule, to sit down with me, for this visit to old Paris, and the shops made famous by Adrienne Monnier and Sylvia Beach. Please visit again soon, as we continue our antique and collecting series of stories to educate, titillate, and always….to entertain.