BOOK TREASURES

Timaru Herald, Volume CXLIII, Issue 20925, 3 January 1938, Page 16

BOOK TREASURES

RARE AND VALUABLE TURNBULL COLLECTION Visitors to the Turnbull Library within the next few weeks will find a special exhibition on view, giving the most rare and interesting items in the collection. From the 80.000 or so volumes in the library, those have been chosen which have some personal, humorous, or tragic interest.

One of the most amusing items is the Nuremburg Chronicle. 1934, showing the medieval conception of the beginning of the world. In the midst of a stiff, wooded landscape Adam lies resting, while a demure and selfsatisfied Eve is emerging in place of his rib, and the Lord regards his handiwork with a somewhat anxious expression. Had he any doubts? The next page, alas, shows the sad effects of the introduction of woman into the world. There is Eve surveying the apple, and further down, a disconsolate couple being pushed out of Eden.

There are several very beautiful illustrated books of the Middle Ages, when the illuminating was still done by hand, and the blues, reds, and gold are as bright now as when they were applied many hundred years ago. A little missal, hand-printed by some early monk, and a graceful example of gold-leaf lettering are of particular interest. Round the World with the Elizabethans A fascinating section is devoted to early books on travel and exploration. The gallant Sir Walter Raleigh, favourite of Queen Elizabeth, adorns the frontispiece of his ‘‘History of the World,” which he wrote when his fortunes had failed and he was confined in the Tower of London. After several years in the Tower he managed to persuade another Monarch to let him command an expedition abroad in search of Eldorado, an expedition which failed and cost him his head. Near him is a map by which he might have sailed, giving the world as the Elizabethans knew it—a place of great continents, the interiors left blank or labelled “Terra Incognita.” in which the very northernmost part of Australia is represented by a small wriggly line. There is no New Zealand at all. Travellers in this age brought back strange tales, and literary men wrote them down, in Latin for the educated and English for the ignorant. They were illustrated by men who had probably never left their homeland, and there are pictures of very large elephants with very small heads, and a rhinoceros reminiscent of an armoured car. Of the great literary figures of the ar?, Shakespeare is represented by the second collected edition of his plays, 1632, and Milton by the very first edition of ‘Lycidas,” an inconspicuous little poem placed at the end of the other epitaphs written in memory of the unfortunate Edward King, and signed with a simple “J.M."; and by the first edition of ‘‘Paradise Lost.”

Priceless Editions Turning to the more modern books, there are some priceless autographed first editions by great poets—Wordsworth’s elegy on Charles Lamb, for instance, with half a page of corrections in his own handwriting; a manuscript poem by Swinburne, “At a Dog’s Grave,” which has never been published; a copy of Thomson’s “Seasons.” once a “best seller,” with pen and ink emendations by the author. There are also some interesting Browning items, from the library’s very fine collection. In “Pauline” there is a long and involved inscription by the author, incomprehensible to anyone but the person to whom the book was given, and there is another gift copy of “Bells and Pomegranates” presented ‘‘With R.B.’s kind regards.” Filmgoers who saw the popular “Barretts of Wimpole Street” will remember Browning’s romance and marriage with Elizabeth Barrett, and the unpleasantly despotic light in which her father was presented. It may surprise them to read the dedication in her first published work—the “Battle of Marathon,” written when she was 14 years of age, which is full of tender and respectful affection: “To Him to whom I owe the most” she wrote “. . .To the Father, Whose never-failing kindness, whose unwearied affection I never can repay, I offer these pages.” A Tennyson Revision Another great Victorian poet, Tennyson, is represented by his first volume of poems, which contains the original draft of his “Lady of Shalott.” Unfortunately, the mystical lady, in this first version, was not the romantic figure of the later pages, and a little pathos crept in. The critics leapt upon it with dreadful delight. It was obvious, said one, that any woman lying in a barge in a garment of white “which loosely flew to left and right” was courting disaster. No wonder “her blood was frozen slowly.” Why didn’t she wear woollen underclothing? Tennyson brooded over this for some years, and it was noticeable that the later version omitted many of the passages in question. Then there is Keats—his “Lamia” is here, open at the beautiful “Eve of St. Agnes,” and beside it a portrait of the dying poet by his faithful friend Severn. And Lamb, the object of Wordsworth’s careful lines, writes a neat little inscription in his unsuccessful play, “John Woodvil.” It seems strange to think that these volumes were actually held in the hands of long-dead authors. William Blake must have laboured for many long hours over the copy of his “Marriage of Heaven and Hell,” which he wrote, engraved, and coloured by hand, both writing and design showing his weird, overpowering imagination.

The letters have the same appeal as the autographed copies. A heavilyscented note, written in an affected Greek script, by the fascinating and tragic Oscar Wilde, had been pasted into his “Picture of Dorian Grey,” and gives his explanation of the three principal characters in the book. One, he says, represents what he thinks he is; one, what the world thinks him; and the third, Dorian himself, what he would like to be, “in other eyes, perhaps.” Letters by Gladstone Matthew Arnold, Sir George Grey, R. L. Stevenson, Galsworthy, and R. D. Blackmore, author of Lorna Doone” are on view; there is the manuscript of the Australian classic “The Sentimental Bloke,” by Dennis, and another item rendered

topical by the films, a letter from Bligh of the Bounty. “Fur Tippets and Charity” While the Napoleonic wars were raging in Europe two girls in a quiet town in England were keeping a careful watch on their expenditure. Every yard of muslin, every yard of tape, the penny that went for "charity,” and the pound for the fur tippet, were entered into a small red notebook. So were the events, the walks, and tea-drink-ings, and occasional concerts and dances; but life moved quietly, and many times a regretful hand had to write "No event” in the space reserved for the day’s doings. No event!—with Wellington’s hooked nose and Napoleon’s forelock on the scene! These were the Misses Jane and Ann Taylor. W’ho kept these careful diaries, writing their cautionary tales—" Meddlesome Matty” and “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” a favourite poem ever since. New Zealand interest is represented by two logs, one kept by Cook, and written in his own hand, the other by one of his officers on his second voyage to the South Seas; and there are letters and journals of poor, paralysed, unpopular Hobson, the first Governor, and Marsden, the first missionary. Samples of tapa cloth, made by South Sea natives, and collected by Cook, are also of great interest, as is an account in Spanish of Mendana’s discovery of the Solomon Islands.

Bindings and Illustrations Some really beautiful bindings may be seen, some of the finest in the world, with exquisite gold tooling in fine designs; and another colourful and fascinating section is devoted to modem illustration. Hugh Thomson uses a light and delicate touch in his drawing of the little ladies of Quality Street, as they turn to watch the passing of the dashing Captain Brown, of whom Phoebe has hopes. Perhaps Jane and Ann Taylor dressed like this. Arthur Rackham’s “Alice in Wonderland” captures the charm and quaintness of the little girl and the strange creatures she meets, and there is a fearsome picture of Bluebeard and a poetic one of “Lizette,” by Edmund Dulac. Children’s Books Children s books have been improved considerably in the last thirty or forty years. The eighteenth-century child as a rule had to sit down to moral tales, with few illustrations, but there were some exceptions. One was Goldsmith’s “Lament on Madame Blaise,” a very small book printed in colour, with satirical verses showing Mary Blaise in full skirts and powdered hair, and wearing pattens. For all that, however, she was not a nice character. “She freely lent to all the poor,” but only when “they left a pledge behind.” Another quaint little book is the only known copy in the world of “The Life and Adventures of a Fly.” This has a moral, but it is carefully introduced and sweetened by a story that shows the author to have had a sense cf humour.

Adventure stories have always been popular. “Gulliver’s Travels” was one of the first. Then followed “Robinson Crusoe,” 1719, which has a map of the world, showing New Zealand. “The Swiss Family Robinson,” with its perfect island equipped with everything any shipwrecked family could possibly wish for, from sugar-cane and rock salt to ostriches which allow themselves to be tamed and mounted as steeds. In a more modern tradition is R.L.S.’s “Treasure Island,” a valuable copy of the rare first edition.

The most tragic item is in the Polar section. There, beside beautiful paintings of the Antarctic by Dr. Wilson, who died at the Pole with Scott, and two books printed by members of Shackleton’s expedition in the long winter nights, and bound in wood from cases containing their tinned food, is a page from the diary of Captain Scott. As he lay in his tent he wrote his last farewells in his pocketbook, and these were torn out and sent to his friends after the discovery of his body. Sir Joseph Kinsey, of Christchurch, who last year left his large library to join the Turnbull collection, had assisted Scott in every possible way; and to him the explorer wrote, in pencil:

“If I knew the wife and boy were in safe keeping I should have little regret in leaving the world, for I feel that the country need not be ashamed of us—our journey has been the biggest on record and nothing but the most exceptional bad luck at the end would have caused us to fail to return. We have been to the Pole as we set out—God bless you and dear Mrs Kinsey. It is good to remember you and your kindness. “Your friend. “R. Scott.”