I am aware that the bibliophile is an easy target for smart marksmanship. He is a dullard, a dotard, a grub, a pedant, a pettifogger, a second-hand observer of life, a potterer, an etiolated mole burrowing from REALITY, a palimpsest, a caterpillar feeding on the leaf. As if one little 18mo were not a greater reality than a score of Stock Exchanges and a dozen Wall Streets! Alas, I am not yet mellowed to passive resistance. I feel truculent over my loves. I would like to beat two stout folios like cymbals in the market-place and drone a jeremiad over the sciolism of this generation. Sweet are the uses of antiquity!
"A peculiar anthologic maze, an amusing literary chaos, a farrago of quotations, a mere olla podrida of quaintness, a pot pourri of pleasant delites, a florilegium of elegant extracts, a tangled fardel of old-world flowers of thought, a faggot of odd fancies, quips, facetiae, loosely tied" (Holbrook Jackson, Anatomy of Bibliomania) by a "laudator temporis acti," a "praiser of time past" (Horace, Ars Poetica 173).
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Monday, July 07, 2014
An Easy Target
H.J. Massingham (1888-1952), Letters to X (London: Constable & Company Ltd., 1919), p. 131:
Luc-Albert Moreau (1882-1948), Le Bibliophile