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The Grolier Club

Once upon a time M. Francisque Sarcey, wishing to express his abhorrent contempt for a poor play, doubted whether it would please even the inhabitants of Carpentras or of New York. I think we New Yorkers may fairly protest against this likening of our fellow citizens to the dwellers in the Breotia of France, even though we do not dare to call our city the Athens of America. In the noisy and futile discussion as to the future literary capital of these United States, one agreement was clear above the din, that this country had not as yet such a focus of intellectual, political, and material activity as London was in the days of Queen Elizabeth; and to the want of one such here Lowell attributed much of the "backwardness and provincialism of our Own literature."

Although there is, very fortunately, a centrifugal tendency in our system of politics and education, aiding in the starting of little literary centres here and there throughout the land, it is clear also, I think, that there is quite as strong a centripetal tendency towards the concentration of a large portion of the intellectual, material, and political activity of the United States here in the city of New York. And it will be well for us if the intellectual activities are not pushed aside and thrust under by the overmastering stress of material or political activities.

The fact that most of the leading American publishing houses are, in New York may bear witness chiefly perhaps to the material activity of the city; but the fact that most of the best magazines and reviews (weekly and monthly) issue hence, and that most of the exhibitions and sales of pictures are held here, goes to show that the intellectual movement is not sluggish. This movement is strengthened and sustained by many clubs and associations of all sorts and for all purposes, made up of little knots of men interested in one or another manifestation of literature or art. I need not refer to the Authors Club, housed for several years, oddly enough, over the Fencers' Club, and having so many members in common with it that the fighting editor was no myth and the quarrels of authors under this roof were briefer and more pointed and less acrimonious than those recorded by Disraeli. I need do no more than note the disputatious Nineteenth Century Club; the venerable Century and the revived University Clubs; the Tile Club; the kindred Salmagundi and Kit-Cat Clubs; the old Greek Club and the new Library Club; the Architectural League; the Aldine Club, composed of the men who make books; and The Players (the Garrick Club of New York), with its beautiful home in Gramercy Park and its fine gallery of histrionic portraits, both presented by Edwin Booth. A rare wealth of material will lie ready to the hand of the Dr. Francis of the twentieth century who may write about old New York clubs; but I doubt if he shall find anywhere in his catalogue a more interesting association than the Grolier.

The Grolier Club is a gathering of those who love books for their external beauty for the choice quality of the paper, for the graceful firmness of the type, for the even clearness of the presswork, for the harmonious elegance of the illustrations, and for the decorative skill bestowed on the binding. Its constitution declares that "its object shall be the literary study and promotion of the arts pertaining to the production of books." That is to say, the Grolier Club is interested in books not as literature but as works of art. It is with the art and mystery of the book maker, the printer, the engraver, and the binder, and not with the secrets of authorship, that the members of the Grolier Club concern themselves, although many of them are scholars and students of literature. They are true book lovers, and not mere book-hoarders; they are bibliophiles, not bibliomaniacs; they love a book for its intrinsic beauty, not for its accidental rarity; they cherish a volume because of its charming vignettes or its vigorous press-work, not because it belongs to" the good edition - the one with the two misprints :

Ah, je la tiens! - Que je suis aise!
C'est bien la bonne edition
Car viola, pages quinze et seize,
Les deux fautes d'impressoin
Qui ne sont point dans la mauvaise.