Phantoms on the Bookshelves Read Online Free Page A

one senses the pride Charles Nodier felt in owning one of only seven or eight copies of the
Oeuvres diverses d’un auteur de sept ans
(Various works by a seven-year-old author), published “without any indication of place and date,” but probably in Paris, by the Imprimerie Royale in 1678. Nodier explains, “This book, which contains a few schoolbook exercises and letters written by the little duc de Maine, was printed by his governess, Mme de Maintenon, and his tutor, M. de Ragois.”
    Even I, although I do not count myself a real bibliophile, am quite moved to think I own copy number 696 of the four-volume catalog of the works of Edgar Degas edited by P. A. Lemoine,
Degas et son oeuvre
(Degas and his works), published by Paul Brame/C. M. de Hauke, Arts et Métiers graphiques, in Paris in 1946–9. This was not quite as exclusively produced as Charles Nodier’s rarity, being in an edition of 950 copies (plus fifty “not for sale”) printed on watermarked Arches paper. But it was really the interest of Degas’s works that was the decisive factor, outweighing eventhe price. And I do have one precious and mysterious possession, whose riddle I hope to solve one day. This is a copy of a book called
Sagesse et chimères
(Wisdom and fantasies) by René Bertrand, with a preface by Jean Cocteau. The book was published by Grasset in 1953, but with a white Gallimard cover which has nothing to do with it, since it carries the title
Kleist ou la fascination de la mort
(Kleist or fascination with death) by one Jean-Martin Pradès. One might imagine that there was some mix-up at the printers between two books published respectively by Gallimard and Grasset, and that somehow the wrong cover had been attached—which would be mystery enough. But there are two details which complicate matters even further: the endpaper inside the book indicates one printer: “This edition (1st impression) was completed on November 2 1953 for Bernard Grasset, Publishers, Paris, by Floch Printers, Mayenne, etc,” while the cover carries a note that it was printed at another, by “Didot et Cie, Paris XIe, Roq-08-60.” What is more, there is no mention of a work on Kleist by Jean-Martin Pradès in the Gallimard catalog, nor indeed anywhere else, not in any bibliography of Kleist, not even in the catalog of the French National Library, the Bibliothèque Nationale de France. Nor can I find any trace anywhere of the said Jean-Martin Pradès. How did this Grasset title come to have a Gallimard cover for a non-existent book by an entirely unknown author? Where could this odd volume have come from?
    There is a lithograph by Daumier called “The book-lover in heaven” (from
Le Charivari
, November 5, 1844) which perfectlyillustrates the fascination rarity holds for the bibliophile. It shows a man thumbing through a little book and explaining to another book-lover, “I can’t tell you how happy I am … I’ve just found the 1780 Amsterdam edition of Horace for fifty
écus
—it’s very valuable, because every page is covered with misprints!”
    The mania for collecting can easily turn simply into accumulating. All one has to do is develop one collecting interest after another, and so on. But collectors of a particular category of articles almost always lose interest once they have reached their goal. When the collection is complete, what else is there to do? With nothing else to look for, the fascination of the thing completely evaporates. The collector contemplates the collection for a while (and through the collection, the image of him or herself, persevering and eventually reaching the desired goal) then neglects it, puts it aside, or gets rid of it, and starts another. The important thing is the chase. One can’t help thinking of the beaming face of Mr Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet) at the end of the film
The Maltese Falcon
, when he realizes that the object on