Whenever I linger around my bookshelf, Lamb's "fragments and fragments" always appear before my eyes. Of course, I don’t buy all my books from second-hand bookstores. When I checked them one by one, I often found that there were many intact books, and some were even expensive antique editions. But since I move frequently, my little library is inevitably doomed with each move. To be honest, I often can't deal with it (because I tend to be clumsy and incompetent when it comes to taking care of things). As a result, even my most valuable books often suffer unfair treatment. Many books were even punctured by the long nails used to bind the book boxes. Of course this is just the worst case scenario. But when my life was stable and my mind was at peace, I found that I gradually became shrewd and cautious. Obviously, the environment can hone a person's strengths. But I think a book is fine as long as it has no missing pages, so why pay too much attention to its appearance.
I have heard of people who claim that they read library books as if they were books on their own bookshelf. This is simply incredible to me. For example, I am very familiar with the smell of each of my books. As long as I put my nose close to these books, the smell they exude will immediately bring back memories of the past. Let's just talk about my Gibbon works, which are eight volumes of exquisite Melman editions. I have been reading and reading continuously for more than 30 years. I don't need to turn it over at all, just smell the fragrance of the exquisite paper, and I can recall the happy scene when I accepted it as a prize. And my Shakespeare works, which are Cambridge editions, also have a scent that reminds me of the past. This set of books belonged to my father, and when I could not understand them, I was often allowed to pull one out of the shelf and read it. At this time, I always read it page by page with a pious mood. Those books exude an ancient and peculiar fragrance. Whenever I hold them in my hands, I always have an indescribable feeling. For this reason, I rarely read this set of Shakespeare's works. And when I read another set of Gibbon's books, my eyes always sparkled with excitement, because when I bought this set of books, it was like buying a priceless luxury item, or even more. And nothing less, so I am particularly partial to this set of books. You should know how much sacrifice I made to get it.
Sacrifice - this word is not at all the high-sounding confession in the living room. Many books like mine were indeed purchased with the money that must be used to make a living. I don’t know how many times I have stood in front of a bookstore or at the window of a bookseller. At this moment, the desire for knowledge and the thought of eating while alive are fighting fiercely in my mind. Whenever it's time for lunch, my stomach is always growling for something to eat, but at this juncture, I see a book I've been dreaming of, and the price tag on the book makes it so easy to get rid of it. I stopped in front of the bookstore, thinking that I would never let anyone else buy it, but I would have to endure the pain of starvation if I bought it. It was under such circumstances that I bought the collection of Deborah's poems compiled by Heine. At that time it was placed on a stall in an old bookstore on Goodki Street, where one could find some priceless treasures among the stacks of discarded books. This collection of poems is sold for 6 pence. What a bargain! At that time I often had lunch (my main meal, of course) in a cafe on Oxford Street. It was a cafe worthy of its name, just like the current cafe. I am afraid you will never find it again today. It's a restaurant. That day, 6 pence was all my assets. It was indeed the case, and that was all I had left. This small amount is enough to buy a portion of stir-fried meat with vegetables. But I can't guarantee that I can keep this collection of Deborah's poems until tomorrow, and I can afford such a low price. I paced up and down the sidewalk, rubbing the coins in my pocket with my fingers for a while, and glancing at the bookstall with my eyes. Two appetites were fighting fiercely in my belly. Finally I bought the book. I took it home and turned the pages with delight while eating a lunch of coarse bread dipped in butter.
On the back page of this collection of Deborah's poems, I found a line written in pencil: "Reading completed on November 4, 1792." A hundred years ago, who was the owner of this book? But there were no other marks on it. I would like to imagine him as a poor scholar. He is probably the same as me. He is obviously very poor, but he has a strong thirst for knowledge. He must have used his hard-earned money to buy this book. When he bought it, he would be no less happy than I am now. This joyful state of mind can only be understood but cannot be expressed in words. O generous and merciful Dibalas, your portrait in the collection of poems is more lovely than any portrait in Roman literature.
It's like walking quietly into the dense jungle.
Secretly search for every tree of wisdom.
Later, I inserted this collection of poems into the crowded bookshelf. In fact, as soon as I take these books off the shelf, I can recall the scenes of fierce battles and successes as if they were vividly in my mind.
In those years, money was of absolutely no value to me, and I looked down upon it except to use it to buy books. Only books are my first need. I can skip meals, but I can't skip books. Of course I could go to the British Museum and read these books, but that's not the same thing as owning these books and being able to put them on my own bookshelf. Every now and then I buy a tattered, poorly printed old book, full of messy handwriting, torn pages, and clumps of ink. I don't mind this at all. I would rather be obsessed with such a shabby book that belongs to me than look at those treasured books that do not belong to me. Sometimes I feel uneasy about the sheer hobby. When a book attracts me, maybe it is not a book I urgently need, even though it belongs to the category of valuable books that are hard to get. But after some careful consideration, I had to leave reluctantly. For example, my copy of John Stilling's book was found on Holywell Street. I was very familiar with the title of his book "Poetry and Truth". When my eyes passed over the pages of the book, the idea of ??buying it couldn't help but arise spontaneously. But that day I restrained myself. To be honest, I couldn't afford the 18p price for the book. Money was so tight at the time. But I lingered in front of the desk twice in a row, secretly glad that there was no buyer for this book yet. I finally look forward to the day when I have two coins in my hands. I remember running towards Holywell Street in three steps (my normal walking speed at the time was five miles an hour). I will never forget the little old man with gray hair. I often interacted with him for buying books. What was his name? I believe that this old man who runs a bookstore must have been a Catholic priest, because he has such an extraordinary priestly temperament. He once picked up Jones Stilling's volume, slowly opened it, admired it for a while, and then glanced at me deliberately, as if to say: "No, I wish I could have time to read it." It. ”
Sometimes, I have to go hungry, like a porter, to deliver the books I bought home. Once, in a small bookstore near Portland Road station, I happened to see the first edition of Gibbon's book, and the price of the book was shockingly cheap. I think it was a shilling a volume. But to buy this beautifully decorated quarto, I had to pawn off my coat. I didn't have much money on me at the time, but my family still had some money left. I was living in Islington at that time. I spoke to the owner of the bookstore, flew home to withdraw the money, rushed back to the bookstore, and then carried the large stack of books from Youyou, which was far away from Angel's Apartment where I lived. On the west side of Stone Road, all the way back to the street where I live in Islington. I just walked back and forth twice at once. I have only walked this long distance once in my life. This is what I realize when I recall the weight of Gibbon's work. I took the second trip and then the third trip. That day I kept calculating the round trip distance to get money back home. I walked down Euston Road and up Pentonville Street, but I don't remember exactly what season it was or what kind of weather it was. To be honest, I was so happy that I forgot about it. Except for the weight of the book, I didn't pay attention to anything else. In those days I was very patient, but physically weak. I remember that after I finished the last trip, I fell down on the chair, sweating profusely, my limbs were weak, and my whole body was sore, as if I was about to die.
People who are financially well-off will definitely be surprised after hearing this experience of mine. Why didn’t I ask the bookstore owner to hire someone to deliver these books to their door? In other words, if I couldn't wait any longer, wouldn't there be no coaches or carriages on London's open streets? How do I explain this to these people? That day, I spent all my money to buy the book and could no longer afford to pay a penny. No, absolutely not. I have never dared to imagine this kind of energy-saving expense. My greatest joy at that time was that through my own hard work, I finally became the owner of this set of books. In those years, I had never tasted traveling by carriage. I could walk on the streets of London for 12 or even 15 hours, but I never thought of paying someone to deliver books to save myself. physical strength or time. I am indeed too poor to dare to have any extravagant thoughts, and the above incident is just one example.
Several years later, I sold the first edition of Gibbon's book for much cheaper than when I originally bought it. Also for sale are many valuable folios and quartos. Because I move frequently, I really can’t bring so many books with me. Book buyers once called the books I sold "tombstones." Why can't Jibon's books be sold at such high prices? I often regret selling these books. How pleasant it would be to read the hardcover "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire" again! Only that decoration could be worthy of its sacred theme. As long as people take a glance at it, they will feel relaxed and happy. I knew that it would be a piece of cake to buy a new set of my own. But such a set of books cannot be compared to the set of books I sold. Because that set of books always reminds me of the difficult situation of being unkempt, tired and running around when I was buying books.
(Translated by Zheng Yanguo)
Notes:
Lamb: British essayist and critic.
Gibbon: British historian and author of "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire".
Debalas: Roman poet.
Jones Stilling: German composer, Goethe’s friend.
Appreciation
This article "Going through hardships to buy books" is excerpted from Gissing's "Essays on the Four Seasons". The author describes his difficult journey of loving books and buying them. Read It is both vivid and somewhat poignant, and I can’t help but be moved and sigh for a book lover like the author.
There are countless people at home and abroad who are crazy about books. The biggest reason for Gisin's "hardship" is poverty, that is: "The desire for knowledge and the idea of ??having to eat while alive are fighting fiercely in my mind." The author narrated his story in a plain tone. Previous "sacrifice": enduring hunger for a collection of Deborah's poems; lingering in front of the desk twice in a row for a volume of John Stilling's works; traveling to and from the first edition of Gibbon's works, exhausted... Only those who love and cherish books can understand the author's mood. The obsession and persistence of owning a good book, and the feeling of infinite satisfaction just by touching the pages and smelling the smell, are all described and vividly reflected in this essay.
Books have a smell. "I am very familiar with the smell of each of my books. As long as I put my nose close to these books, the smell they emit will immediately bring back all kinds of memories of the past." The smell of books is a kind of smell that can make people feel happy. Your "scent of reminiscing about the past" represents the memory of a period of time. It's like a belief. In the process of being owned and read, a book is no longer just a book, but a condensation of time and emotion, "turning over page by page", "turning with pleasure", "slowly opening" ", not only a smell, but also a sound of nature.
The pursuit of the tree of wisdom is also a dialogue with fellow travelers from ancient times to modern times. The author found a line of pencil writing written a hundred years ago on the back page of Deborah's collection of poems. He immediately thought: Who was the owner of this book at that time? When he got this book, he must have been as happy and satisfied as himself. The joyful mood is interlinked, and only people like them who know and love books can understand it. The two masters, separated by a hundred years, had a spiritual dialogue through this collection of poems. The sympathy between people who share the same path is vividly reflected on the page.
Books are spiritual love and soul love. Selling books is like selling your soul and past; these books have become shocking "tombstones"! Everyone has their most cherished things, silently narrating time, memory and beliefs. For the things you cherish most, you would rather be a little beggar than throw them away; if you throw them away as a last resort, you will get endless loss and regret.
Gissing said, "Just a glance at the book will make you feel relaxed and happy." This essay is about a book, but the inspiration it gives us is by no means limited to books. What is refreshing is the path of thirst for knowledge and the pursuit of wisdom. As long as you walk on this road, your life will always be full of surprises, joy and satisfaction, even if you are "unkempt" and "tired and busy".
Of course, friends, if you are obsessed with other things than books, then please cherish and stick to your hobby like the author did. When you devote yourself wholeheartedly, you will find how insignificant human animal instincts and those most basic physiological needs are. This is also the characteristic that makes people human.
(Huang Chen)