[Rabbit-proxy-announce] Ation, and that mere chance arrested it

[Langmo A. <ver...@fl...>]

Eserved. A Frenchman, in nine cases out of ten, will not, in the
first place, buy any book that was born out of France, any more than he
will buy an article
of furniture or china, or a coin, emanating from a less favoured soil;
nor will he willingly acquire even a volume of native origin in any
state but the orthodox morocco; but his first impulse and act, if he
does so under protest, is to strip and re-clothe the disreputable
article, and have it put into habiliments worthy of the _cabinet choisi_
of Monsieur. Now, we have had, and no doubt have still, on this side of
the Channel certain heathens in the
likeness of collectors who, no matter how perfect
and how fresh, and how suitable, the original jacket,
commit the heinous offence of following the Continental mode, and in
such a way thousands of lovely examples,
transmitted to us as heirlooms from our ancient families, have been
sacrificed.
But let us congratulate
ourselves that we have among us many who know better, who will not even
let the binder desecrate a faultless copy of Tennyson, Byron, Shelley,
or
Keats in the publisher's boards. This is, however, not exactly an
analogy. The analogy arises and grows possible when we compare such
writers
as Montaigne, Moliere, Corneille, or again, certain of the Elzevir
series, with our corresponding foremost names. If we meet with the
latter in vellum or in sheep, we only too gladly preserve them as we
find them, provided that the outward garb is irreproachable.
Of how many gems do we not know, in all the peerless glory of their
pristine life, tenderly ensconced in morocco envelopes. Let them never
be acquainted with another existence! Let no binder's unholy hand come
near them! Let them be exhibited as historical monuments. On the other
hand, if we could oblige Monsieur to comply with this law, he would be
_desole_; for it is not
the matter which makes the book; it is the _maroquin
rouge_. Even in England, where we are more robust in our taste,
the t