A Collector's Progress, or, Why I have 500 Copies of the Same Book.

Frank E. Grizzard, Jr.

A Presentation to the 1996 Annual General Meeting of the Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia, held in the McGregor Room of the Alderman Library on 29 March 1996.

Now published in the November-December 1996 issue of Biblio: The Magazine for Collectors of Books, Manuscripts, and Ephemera.


A Collector's Progress

I want to set your minds at ease this afternoon by saying that the title of my paper is not just some kind of trick contrived only for the purpose of catching your attention: I really do have more than 500 copies of John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress. Perhaps many of you might wonder why anyone would want 500 copies of the same book, even a favorite book. By way of self-defense, let me start by saying that when I first began acquiring copies of Bunyan's classic some years ago I did not think in terms of the value of the book or of amassing a collection that might have some legitimate utility to the scholarly community. I bought the book simply because I liked it; I liked reading it; I liked the simplicity of Bunyan's allegorical descriptions; I liked the resonance of truth surrounding the predicaments that his central figure found himself in during his worldly pilgrimage. It was only later, after I had in my possession two or three dozen copies of the book, including several late 19th- and early 20th-century printings, with their elaborate bindings and powerful illustrations, that I began to gain the elementary understanding that each one of the books is a unique physical object, and, in many cases, a distinct work of art.

The discovery that each individual copy of The Pilgrim's Progress was encompassed to a degree by a larger and richer material and mental context only increased my desire to accumulate more copies of the book. After a while my yearning gave way to a more mature craving to amass a real collection, and, as the collection grew, so did the need for some intellectual justification for its existence. Thus I began to contemplate the potential scholarly value or use for a comprehensive collection containing many copies of The Pilgrim's Progress. It did not take me very long to conjure up the notion that students of religion, literature, bibliography, and history could benefit from access to such a collection. For my part, "I swallowed the lie whole," as the saying goes, and the existence of the collection itself then became the justification for sustaining its own growth.

Bunyan's classic, now nearly 325 years old, of course needs no introduction. Its printing history is one of the largest and richest of any single title in the English language. The book will be reprinted numerous times this year, as it often has since its debut in 1678, and new retellings of Bunyan's story will appear side by side with the older versions. A search of several electronic bibliographic utilities reveals about 4,000 different records for the book, and from personal observation I can attest to the incompleteness of these computer databases. How many of these 4,000 or so records constitute separate editions of The Pilgrim's Progess is unknown, although perhaps not unknowable to a patient and earnest bibliographer. I suggest this approximation of the number of different forms of The Pilgrim's Progress only for the purpose of placing the size of my collection into some perspective.

When preparing this account of my progress as a collector I asked myself what I thought were two simple questions: Why amass such a collection by one author in the first place? And why Bunyan?

To the first and more general question I rather quickly satisfied myself that a large collection of many copies of the same work will contain some valuable lessons that cannot possibly be learned through other methods of textual or historical analysis. I especially refer to what a large number of copies will reflect about a book's publication and printing history as well and the elements relative to the kinds of formats that have appeared. Although most of this type of information says more about the producers of the volumes rather than the users, it must be admitted that the producers did not manufacture the books without first giving careful consideration to the preferences and wishes of the intended consumers. Such knowledge gleaned from research in a collection like mine can help reveal how the work was received and perceived by its audience over time, thus adding to our understanding of why The Pilgrim's Progress, for instance, has enjoyed such an obvious and lingering importance in the religious and literary lives of so great a number of people.

The prominence of The Pilgrim's Progress in literature and history is in fact the short answer to the second question, Why Bunyan? A better reply, however, would include trying to respond to a host of more direct and specific questions; questions not only about its enduring publication history but questions such as: What effect did the entrance of the book into the literary "mainstream" have on how it was published and received? Why was the book's influence not confined to Puritan believers? Did people actually read the book? Or, was it, as Terry Belanger once quipped, the coffee-table book of the 19th century? What do dedications, inscriptions, and notations tell us about how the book was perceived and used? These kinds of subjects must be considered in order to adequately respond to the question, Why Bunyan? And some of these subjects can be explored only by examining large numbers of the book.

I now want to turn our attention to my collection specifically. A glance toward the books displayed on the table will enable you to form an idea of the variety of the sizes and formats in the collection. The display represents about 5% of the collection. Besides the variety, you will notice that 80% of the bindings are hardback, the most distinguishing features of which are the stamped and embossed covers which were popular from the 1820s through the 1920s, and the use of leather and cloth in binding. Between the books' covers the most striking feature is the numbers and kinds of illustrations that appear. The very first edition of The Pilgrim's Progress contained illustrations, and so have many editions or printings since. About 80% contain illustrations of some kind, and 25% of that number are in color. Other features that are readily discerned in the collection, which I can mention only in passing, include paperback editions, facsimile editions, children's editions, foreign language editions, educational editions, dustjackets, advertisements, musical scores, audio and video tapes versions, and games.

During the few minutes I have left I want to focus on what I find most intriguing about the collection, the tell-tale signs of ownership that survive in the books themselves. Recurring features like these always are tantalizing to historians because they offer direct and tangible links to past personalities. Although the collection is self-limiting in the kinds of information it can provide, these features are indicative of how the owners used, valued, and perceived their copies of the book. About 40% contain some kind of written marks that reflect ownership, mainly names, dates, or other writing like gift or presentation inscriptions, birth records, notes, underlining, scribbling, or sketches; about 15% contain personalized bookplates or stamps, or markings from a library, school, or sunday school; and about 10% contain newspaper clippings, cards, bookmarks, or floral and faunal material, including leaves and locks of human hair. This raw data reveals little beyond the who, when, and where, however.

The newest addition to my collection, which I purchased two days ago, perfectly illustrates some of these features. It was printed in England during WW I and was quite handsome when it was new, although now its is dirty and the war-time paper is quite brittle and yellowed. I will pass it around for you to look at; notice that the cover illustration is repeated in the frontispiece, an that it has a bookplate indicating that it was a presentation copy given at Christmas 1918 by a Sunday School class to Mary Russ for good attendance. Notice also that it contains notes and underlining with a ballpoint pen, and an index, which is unusual in The Pilgrim's Progress. There is also one other important feature now part of the bibliographical evidence, the price that I paid for it--$4.50.

Some of the miscellany found in different copies provides by far the more interesting subject matter, and reveals what was at least temporarily important to the owners of the books. A newspaper clipping glued to the inside cover of a 1775 edition contains a report on the auction of one the 5 then-known surviving 1st editions of The Pilgrim's Progress, which sold for œ1,475. An 1829 edition contains a note in ink that reads "Ashley J. Bells Book Bought at the sale of John Slater at Louisa Ct House the 13th June 1842." An otherwise clean copy from 1831 has some child's scribbling, a leaf, and the mysterious words "Don't do Tommie Don't do," written inside the cover, perhaps an admonition for Tommie not to write in his book! An 1847 edition contains a newspaper account of the christening of the infant Victoria Alberta Elizabeth Matilda Mary, which "took place on Monday at one o'clock, in the Green Drawing-room at Windsor Castle, according to the rites of the Lutheran Church." Mary Bickerton's 1893 edition has pencil drawings of an adult reposing on the ground and watching children at play in Victoria Park in Leith that were sketched on July 27th 1913.

A development visible in the collection which chiefly appears in the 20th-century is the increased use of bookplates, which owners especially liked to place in older books. One 19th-century example in an 1835 edition reads, "Presented to Mrs Lambert, from her son James. 13th October 1873." An edition published in 1775 contains Eleanor Butler's 1932 bookplate. Franklin A. Greene, Jr., of Baltimore signed his 1859 copy in 1950 when he placed a Greene Family bookplate inside the front cover. An elaborate and colorful bookplate in John Sheffield's copy shows that he received the book from the Salvation Army in January 1900 "for good conduct diligence and regular attendance" in the "Junior War." John H. Barnes, whose library was dispersed across central Virginia after his death, placed a bookplate containing his name only in his little 20th-century facsimile of the 1st edition.

Another development, the 18th-century trend of inscribing gift or presentation copies, seems to have intensified in the middle of the 19th century and might correspond to the increased sentimentalism of the era. Reasons for giving the book included friendship, Christmas and birthday gifts, keepsake remembrances, religious encouragement, and achievement awards for school, sunday school, and Bible class. Family members and friends inscribed the copies that they gave to one another, as did teachers and ministers when presenting copies to their students and parishioners.

Such Inscriptions are more tantalizing than revealing, however. An 1856 edition has the note "Remember me as often as you see this. Shilo." Shilo, you may recall, is a Hebrew word from the Old Testament meaning tranquil. An American Bible Tract Society copy presented as a gift during the War Between the States contains the inscription "William L. Hardy--With best wishes for his happiness. J. Hawes[,] Hartford May 25th 1864." Julie L. Stephenson received her copy of The Pilgrim's Progress in Words of One Syllable from her mother for Christmas 1869. A cheap late 19th-century edition published by the J. B. Lippincott Company has the ambiguous inscription "presented to Stella M. Edwards for untiring energy in one of the duties assigned her and may your progress toward that Eternal Home be more Successful than your Earthly progress, Is the prayer of your true friend and teacher Augustus Stuart Houff Jan 20th 1890." Below the inscription is written in a shaky and apparently aged handwriting, "To go to Connie Johnson from her Gran Mother May 2 1942." This volume also contains two locks of hair, one blonde, and one auburn, a newspaper clipping from a Shenandoah Valley newspaper about a local store owner, Henry Ney, a bookmark, and a little illustrated folding card containing daily scripture readings from the Old Testament. An early 20th-century edition has the inscription "Many Happy Birthdays Jake from Florence. Feb. 14. 1905." A 1933 copy has the inscription "To--Chester Arthur From-- Mothers Friend Mrs Madden. Christmas 1946." (Obviously not the president, who died in 1886.) Finally, a 1967 edition contains an editor's inscription, "For Ed and Shirley Rose, who know that Bunyan is important--Jim Forrest July, 1967."

In closing, let me say that the range and richness of the marginalia from the books sampled from my collection of John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress reveals some of the kinds of patterns that might emerge through a systematic study of the entire collection, patterns that ultimately will yield the definitive kind of findings necessary to truly answer the questions, Why amass a collection of 500 copies of the same book? And Why Bunyan? Once answered, Bunyan with relish might be compared to some of the subjects of other large collections, like those of Alexander Pope and Owen Meredith, to name two close at hand.


[Note: I would like to express my appreciation to Professors David Vander Meulen and Terry Belanger of the University of Virginia for reading the draft of the paper that I wrote in preparation for this presentation and to thank the Bibliographical Society for awarding me its 1995 student book-collecting award for my collection of John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress.]
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Frank E. Grizzard, Jr.
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Copyright 1996 by Frank E. Grizzard, Jr., all rights reserved
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