A Rare Book Saga

 

Unbridled elation and bitter disappointment pretty much sum up the extremes of a book collector’s psyche. An instance of either is well-remembered. But when the two intertwine over the same book a story must be told, for that is my only relief.

The elation came at a cost, naturally. The book involved was H.P. Kraus’ A Rare Book Saga (1978). This copy is inscribed to Arthur Houghton, Jr., “To Arthur, the Great Collector, With best wishes, Hans, Sept. 12, 1978.”

Hans P. Kraus (1907-1988) was a budding bookseller in Europe but lost almost everything when he fled Nazi Germany after spending time in a concentration camp. He re-established his rare book business in New York in 1939. Within a decade, he was well on his way to becoming one of the most dominant rare book dealers in the world.  In many ways, he assumed the mantle of A.S.W. Rosenbach in America. A Rare Book Saga recounts his trials and adventures set against the backdrop of a world in turmoil.
The recipient, Arthur Houghton, Jr. (1906-1990) was a famous bibliophile whom Kraus himself discusses below.

The seller was James Pepper, well-known West Coast book dealer, who has a discerning eye for important items and on occasion an unrestrained enthusiasm for pricing. However, he and I are on good terms, and I’ve enjoyed a couple fine conversations with him regarding specific books and the rare book trade in general. He also has a personal collection with many jaw dropping items, but that is his story to tell.

The asking price for Houghton’s copy of A Rare Book Saga was $750. Now biblio-ladies and gents that may not sound like a lot to ye collectors of Incunabula, High Spot Modern Literature, Western Americana, or Heralds of Science, but an inscribed copy of A Rare Book Saga typically sells for much less. I know because I’ve been the primary market for them, and I have six other inscribed copies. So, in my realm this was sticker shock. I put the book in my online “save for later” cart and tried to forget about it, buying a couple less expensive items that day to soothe my irritation.

But the mental gnawing began, like a rogue squirrel in an attic chewing on an exposed wire, at first relatively harmless, but then not so harmless, and we won’t get too graphic, but the finale did not go well for the squirrel, and my mental gnawing reached the point that for my own well-being, I had to buy the book. My wife Nicole found my excuse of mental anguish flimsy but acquiesced.

In retrospect, I now view this recent purchase as a bargain, a what-was-I-thinking-if-it-got-away item, a priceless relic of biblio-history, which it is. Kraus provides an account of buying Houghton’s Gutenberg Bible in A Rare Book Saga. Let’s let him tell it in his own words:
 

“What was the pinnacle of my bookselling career? What better encore, after buying and selling a Constance Missal, than buying a Gutenberg Bible, the king of all book rarities? . . . To buy a copy for stock, without immediate prospect of sale, was risky, considering monetary uncertainties and the threat of recession. No bookseller could tie up that much capital. Or so it was believed. The doubts persisted on that day in 1970, unforgettable to me, when the world learned of my acquisition of the Houghton copy.

“On Monday, February 2, 1970, out of the blue Arthur A. Houghton [Jr.] called me at my office. He asked me to come for cocktails to his Sutton Place house. . . I knew Houghton and he wasn’t the sort to invite anyone for small talk.  I had a hunch he might be ready to sell [his Gutenberg Bible], or at least explore the possibility, so I accepted the invitation.

“Houghton, president of Steuben Glass, had started young as a book collector.  I met him first in 1940, when he was curator of rare books at the Library of Congress.  He is one of America’s great collectors and his library consists of rare and beautiful books and manuscripts that struck his fancy. . .

“Houghton came right to the point. After exchanging amenities, during which he probably sensed that I knew what was coming, he announced:

“’I want to sell the Bible.’

“These words danced in my ears. . . Though hard negotiations might follow, I knew the book was mine.

“The decision, he explained, had not been reached overnight.  Houghton had owned a Gutenberg Bible, first the very incomplete duplicate of the Stadtbibliothek Trier bought at Sotheby’s in 1937 and then this one, for more than 30 years.  His fascination with the book had not diminished in all that time, but his insurance company insisted he keep it in the bank and he did not want a book he could not keep at home.  The urge to sell comes to many collectors, especially in a bull market.  In 1970 the bulls definitely had the best of the antiquarian book trade. 

“I immediately made a substantial offer.

“This took him by surprise. . .

“’How will you pay?’ he asked.

“’Cash.’

“This, too, proved a surprise.  Not every bookseller is in a position to write out a seven-figure check. 

“After minor bargaining, we reached a firm price.  This was later reported in the press as ‘between one and two million dollars.’  I agreed with Houghton not to reveal the exact sum.”

 Kraus garnered much publicity from owning the Gutenberg Bible. He eventually sold the book to the Gutenberg Museum in Mainz. Kraus wrote, “It is especially gratifying to us that our copy goes home, not only to the country but also to the city of its birth.”

My savoring of this special association copy of A Rare Book Saga continues and will continue but that doesn’t mean I’m not ready to add another unique copy to my holdings.

Thus, we come to the bitter disappointment. It involved an Ebay seller, but that won’t shock most, as Ebay is both a potpourri of amazing finds and squirrely misfires.  A collector must keep an eye on the site though or miss out.

I did a regular online sweep of copies of A Rare Book Saga and noticed one offered on Ebay that instantly stirred my biblio-juices. Listed ostensibly by a UK seller with the handle of “plsshipfast,” this copy was inscribed by Kraus to the famous American bookseller Jacob Zeitlin (1902-1987) with a related letter from Kraus laid in. The inscription read, “To my good friend Jake, with best wishes, Hans.” 

Both the inscription and letter were prominently illustrated in the online listing. I wisely in retrospect downloaded copies of each. The price was a very reasonable fifty British pounds (plus the usual zillion shipping fee to the US).

In many ways this association copy was a rival for the Houghton copy already in my hands. Zeitlin, based in Los Angeles, was the doyen of West Coast dealers. He and Kraus brokered one of the greatest sales in the history of the rare book trade (in this case illuminated manuscripts). The transaction happened in 1983 and is not recorded in Kraus’ autobiography because it occurred after the book was published.

Kraus represented the German collectors Peter & Irene Ludwig in the transaction. They were important clients of Kraus. Zeitlin was agent for the Getty Museum who purchased the Ludewig Collection of 144 illuminated manuscripts for a reported forty-two million dollars (roughly one hundred and forty million in 2025 dollars). This filled a major gap in the Getty Museum’s holdings. In financial terms, this was the summit of both men’s bookselling careers. There are more details online about the transaction for those interested.  But this brief synopsis shows why this association copy was so appealing to me. I needed it. I could just imagine it rubbing jackets—gently-- with the Houghton copy.

A hiccup happened when I hit the order button. The seller would not ship from the UK to the United States (and this was before tariffs).  Oddly, the seller was also listed as being located in Houston, my hometown. In retrospect this incongruity was a yellow flag, but I was staring at the copy online with the illustrated inscription and letter and thinking you can’t get more copy specific than that, so let’s proceed.  I emailed the seller, told them I was interested, and asked about options to get the book shipped to me.

In the meantime, my fervor for the book led to extreme proactivity. I went into deep thinking mode, got tired of doing that, took a break to eat, then came back to deep thinking mode, and my internal AI eventually produced an English contact that could order the book for me: Howard Mather of Wykeham Books.  Howard is an experienced bookseller specializing in books about books, bibliography, the book arts and related subjects. I have never met him, but we have become epistolary friends. I’ve bought several nice association items from him over the years. I also found out during this adventure that he had been a corporate lawyer, and this escapade would eventually stir up his legal hackles.

I emailed Mather, told him of my predicament, asked him if he would order the book for me, ship it on, invoicing me for his services, including my contribution to his pub fund. In the meantime, I emailed the Ebay seller again and said I’d found a shipping solution so no worries.

Book time can move slowly when awaiting the arrival of an exciting acquisition. I tamped down the urge to check in with Mather for an update. The monetary amount involved was small beer, but the importance of preserving this copy a large one.

Mather’s first update arrived. He said the book has been mailed to him, but it is coming from Australia according to tracking information. Both of us were perplexed and we decided to just play it out. I was getting a sinking feeling.

A week later Mather’s second update confirmed the book’s arrival, but it is “a very average ex-library copy with stamps and tape marks.”

I let fly favorite expletives. Lots of them. However, we both held a glimmer of hope that perhaps they simply shipped the wrong copy.

The so-called seller replies to Mather’s concern and inquiry:
 
“Thank you again for bringing this to our attention. We truly understand how disappointing this experience must have been, especially when your expectation was set by the description and images provided. We’re genuinely sorry for the inconvenience caused.

“To clarify once more, the listing was for a Used – Good condition copy, and the images were intended as stock photos for reference only. While some listings may include extras like inscriptions or letters, these are not guaranteed unless specifically stated in the written description. [my italics].

“As a USA-based seller, this order was fulfilled by one of our vendor partners. To avoid the inconvenience of an international return, we would like to offer you a 10% partial refund as a goodwill gesture and a sign of our responsibility.”
 
Can there be any more classic case of bait-and-switch, or bookselling incompetence? Both Mather and my biblio-motors were running hot after this ridiculous response.

Mather responded to the message, “No. That is wholly unsatisfactory and unless you resolve this properly now, I shall be forced to leave very negative feedback and raise the matter with Ebay. As for ‘While some listings may include extras like inscriptions or letters, these are not guaranteed unless specifically stated in the written description.’ I happen to have been a corporate lawyer for 20 years and this made me laugh. Kindly tell me where to send the book and send me a full refund without delay.”

The seller eventually complied after more vigorous correspondence, the book was returned, and Mather was refunded the money. I felt horrible to have gotten Mather mixed up in this, and I appreciated his professionalism the whole way through.

This episode served to remind me that an online journey into the biblio-unknown, usually the most rewarding of desk-bound adventures, can occasionally be arduous and frustrating.

Yet someone, somewhere has the Zeitlin copy. Where art thou, A Rare Book Saga? You should be on my shelves nestled next to Mr. Houghton’s copy. Eternally optimistic I remain, as all collectors must be, and I await your re-discovery and arrival.

This essay first appeared in my column in the FABS Journal, Fall 2025.

Where art thou?

The Sporting Side of Book Collecting

The sporting side of book collecting is like any other sport.  Hot streaks, great plays, an amazing moment, all unpredictable, all driving an adrenaline rush.  And I must say my 2024 book collecting season is off to a fine start.  I may be topping the leaderboard in my league right now.   However what really matters is simply being in the game.  Participation trophies count in book collecting.  In this spirit of participation, I’d like to share the excitement of a few recent acquisitions.  I cast a wide net in gathering my biblio-collection (sometimes too wide it feels) but that’s the way I’ve always played.  I find items everywhere and I never know what’s coming or how.  Here are a few recent game winners.
    The first is a Belle da Costa Greene letter from 1930 to prominent book collector George Plimpton thanking him for the gift to the Pierpont Morgan Library of his The Frances Taylor Pearsons Plimpton Collection of Italian Books and Manuscripts in the Library of Wellesley College (1929).  She adds as a P.S., “I am thrilled by your inscription to me in the book!” 
    I’ve collected both Greene and Plimpton material over the years so this letter linking the two has a special appeal.  Greene (1879-1950) was the private librarian for both J. Pierpont Morgan, Sr. and Jr., the first director of the Pierpont Morgan Library, and a force in the rare book world, playing a key role in building the magnificent collection.  I began collecting Greene before she rose to prominence in the wider scholarly community / world at large.  This surge of general interest occurred when it was revealed in Jean Strouse’s 1999 biography Morgan: American Financier that Greene was African-American but passed as white.  What Greene would think about the resulting focus on her racial origins is of course speculative.  Perhaps she saw passing as white as a practical, necessary step for advancement, not a larger statement.  Being a woman at the time presented enough challenges on its own.  Evidence indicates that many contemporaries close to her knew of, or at least suspected, her African-American heritage.  But to their credit, particularly the Morgan’s, both father and son, her talents and abilities were first and foremost, her council valued, and she held a position in the rare book world unique for its time.
    The letter’s recipient George A. Plimpton (1855-1936) was a formidable collector, building a 15,000-volume library focusing on textbooks and instructional materials that spanned the 10^th century to the middle of the 19^th century.  He presented a large collection of Italian literature to Wellesley College in memory of his wife, described in the book presented to Greene, and assembled a sizable collection on the French and Indian War.  His primary library went to Columbia University and the collection of French and Indian War material to Amherst. 
     The next buzzer beater is an original, signed 1923 typescript essay by Edward A. Ayer (1841-1927) titled “Why I Love Prescott’s ‘Conquest of Mexico.” Ayer recalls how a chance encounter with a copy of William Prescott’s famous history while serving in the Army during the Civil War sparked his interest in the American Indian and the Southwest.  He writes, “I read it through twice and was astonished to find that history could be so interesting and everything painted so clearly in words.”  
    After he returned home from the war in 1864, he sought out a copy of the book to own.  He purchased a set in Chicago of Prescott’s Conquest of Mexico and Conquest of Peru for $17.50, a huge amount for him at the time.  The bookseller was Cobb and Pritchard Book Store.  We’ll let Ayer himself continue the story, “I was being served by one of the proprietors and I never wanted anything so badly in my life.  I finally said, ‘My name is Edward Ayer, I live in Harvard (IL).  I have been on the plains and in the war four years and returned a month ago.  My father has given me an interest in a store.  I have $3.50 that I can spare now.  If you let me have Volume 1 of Mexico, I will give you the $3.50 I have and every month when I come in I will take and pay for another volume.  He said (bless him) ‘Young man you give me the $3.50 and take the whole set home with you now.’  My return home was a triumphal procession.  I was certainly the happiest boy in the world and only touched the earth in high places.  I continued to prosper and in a few years had a fine library of about one thousand volumes.  When it got so I had to separate the Indian works from the others, this volume of Mexico was number one.”
    Ayer’s prominence as a collector rose exponentially over the years, his enthusiasm never wavering.  Dickinson writes in Dictionary of American Book Collectors, “As the books and manuscripts overflowed Ayer’s home, he transferred them regularly to the Newberry Library in Chicago, where he served as a trustee.  In 1910 the Newberry Library set aside special rooms for the materials, and in the following year it dedicated the entire collection as ‘The Edward Ayer Collection on the North American Indian.’  The Ayer collection included early exploration, Indian warfare, Spanish government affairs in the Southwest, linguistics, art, and culture.”
    Ayer’s original copy of Conquest of Mexico purchased in Chicago retained a special place in his heart.  He recalls in the essay how many years later he had the famous London binder Zaehnsdorf rebind the set in sumptuous fashion in honor of its importance to him.  Written on the flyleaves of that copy, still housed in the Newberry Library, is his preliminary draft of the essay.  The expanded typescript version now in my collection is unpublished.

    My next acquisition was the result of a quick play for an under-catalogued item.  I didn’t miss the short putt for the win.  It is Henry Stevens’ Historical Nuggets: Bibliotheca Americana or a Descriptive Account of My Collection of Rare Books Relating to America. (2 vols. London: 1862).  This beauty is from Stevens’ own library “bound by W. Pratt for H. Stevens. 1876” in elaborate red three-fourths morocco.  The set is inscribed by Stevens and signed by both he and his wife, “To Father [August] Fischer, A Souvenir of ‘Vermont House’ Sunday, Dec. 7, 1879, Henry Stevens, Mary Stevens.” (Vermont House was the Stevens home in London.)  It is the only presentation set I’ve encountered and as a bonus the only item I’ve seen signed by both Stevens and his wife.
    Historical Nuggets describes over three thousand titles in detail.  It long served as a primary reference for Americana and is still useful.  Much of the best material was sold by Stevens to John Carter Brown and James Lenox.  This was Stevens’ majestic precursor to his long planned but never finished Bibliotheca Americana, a bibliography of works related to America, similar in general concept to Sabin.   Stevens (1819-1886), born in Vermont, was the most prominent American bookseller of the 19^th century and one of the greatest of all time.  His story is a fascinating one, but generally available, and I’ll let you explore him on your own.  However, the recipient of this copy deserves elucidation. 
    Bibliophile and Roman Catholic priest August Fischer (1825-1887) led an adventurous and checkered life.  He was an unruly teenager and had to flee his native Germany for the United States after severely injuring a fellow worker in a blacksmith shop.  He ended up in Texas from 1845-48 before he moved to California in search of gold. While there, he accepted the Catholic faith and trained as a clergyman, even though he lived for several years with a woman with whom he had two children. He left them and moved to Mexico in 1852 where he was ordained a priest.  Soon he was dismissed by the bishop when he was caught having an affair with a servant girl.  He then became pastor in Parras, Mexico, and improbably rose to political power within conservative circles culminating in his appointment as Cabinet Secretary to the ill-fated Emperor Maximillan of Mexico (1832-1867). Maximillan also appointed Fischer as director of the newly formed Mexican National Library. Maximillan, at the urging of Fischer, remained in Mexico instead of leaving when political unrest became acute. Bad choice. Maximillan was captured and executed in 1867.  Fischer himself was captured but released and made his way to Europe.  Many of the books destined for the National Library were scattered abroad and sold.  Fischer’s private collection contained numerous rarities including a large group of 16^th century Mexican imprints. It was auctioned in London by Puttick & Simpson on June 1-8, 1869, in 2962 lots under the title Bibliotheca Mejicana: A Catalogue of an Extraordinary Collection of Books & Manuscripts, Almost Wholly Relating to the History and Literature of North and South America, Particularly Mexico (Collected During 20 Years Official Residence in Mexico). An early version of Stevens’ Historical Nuggets (1859) was sold in the auction (lot 1629).
    There is correspondence between Fischer and Henry Stevens in the Steven papers at UCLA which I have not yet seen.  It is highly likely that Stevens both sold books to Fischer and bought books from his collection when it appeared at auction in 1869.  This “souvenir” of a visit to Stevens ten years after the Fischer sale almost certainly was meant to replace Fischer’s copy sold in the auction.

    Our final acquisition is akin to a final drive in overtime to win the Super Bowl.   This one came expensively for my budget, but you can’t have a great team without great players, and they never sign for cheap.  And the monetary cost is soon forgotten with the victory.  It is a magnificent association copy of H.P. Kraus’ autobiography A Rare Book Saga (1978) inscribed to Arthur Houghton, “To Arthur, the Great Collector, With best wishes, Hans, Sept. 12, 1978.”
    H.P. Kraus (1907-1988) fled Nazi Germany and established his rare book business in New York in 1939.  He had experience as a bookseller in Europe but lost almost everything when he left Germany.  This did not deter him and within a decade he was well on his way to becoming one of the most dominant rare book dealers in the world.  In many ways he assumed the mantle of A.S.W. Rosenbach.  He bought and sold more great books and manuscripts than anyone in his time.  Kraus recounts his trials and adventures in this classic biblio-autobiography.
    Kraus writes, “What was the pinnacle of my bookselling career? What better encore, after buying and selling a Constance Missal, than buying a Gutenberg Bible, the king of all book rarities? . . To buy a copy for stock, without immediate prospect of sale, was risky, considering monetary uncertainties and the threat of recession. No bookseller could tie up that much capital. Or so it was believed. The doubts persisted on that day in 1970, unforgettable to me, when the world learned of my acquisition of the Houghton copy.
    “On Monday, February 2, 1970, out of the blue Arthur A. Houghton [1906-1990] called me at my office. He asked me to come for cocktails to his Sutton Place house. . . I knew Houghton and he wasn’t the sort to invite anyone for small talk.  I had a hunch he might be ready to sell [his Gutenberg Bible], or at least explore the possibility, so I accepted the invitation.
    “Arthur Houghton, president of Steuben Glass, had started young as a book collector.  I met him first in 1940, when he was curator of rare books at the Library of Congress.  He is one of America’s great collectors and his library consists of rare and beautiful books and manuscripts that struck his fancy. . .
    “Houghton came right to the point. After exchanging amenities, during which he probably sensed that I knew what was coming, he announced:
    “’I want to sell the Bible.’
    “These words danced in my ears. . . Though hard negotiations might follow, I knew the book was mine.
    “The decision, he explained, had not been reached overnight.  Houghton had owned a Gutenberg Bible, first the very incomplete duplicate of the Stadtbibliothek Trier bought at Sotheby’s in 1937 and then this one, for more than 30 years.  His fascination with the book had not diminished in all that time, but his insurance company insisted he keep it in the bank and he did not want a book he could not keep at home.  The urge to sell comes to many collectors, especially in a bull market.  In 1970 the bulls definitely had the best of the antiquarian book trade.
    “I immediately made a substantial offer.
    “This took him by surprise. . .
    “’How will you pay?’ he asked.
    “’Cash.’
    “This, too, proved a surprise.  Not every bookseller is in a position to write out a seven-figure check.
    “After minor bargaining, we reached a firm price.  This was later reported in the press as ‘between one and two million dollars.’  I agreed with Houghton not to reveal the exact sum.”
    This excerpt about the pinnacle of Kraus’ bookselling career is from a much lengthier account of the acquisition in A Rare Book Saga (pp. 234-241).  The Gutenberg remained in Kraus’ stock a number of years, garnering Kraus much publicity, before he sold the Bible to the Gutenberg Museum in Mainz.  Kraus writes, “It is especially gratifying to us that our copy goes home, not only to the country but also to the city of its birth.”
    I will now ask forgiveness from the non-sporting types for the barrage of sporting anecdotes.  (Particularly to my wife.)  But if you are a serious book collector, you’re participating in a sport whether you realize it or not.  Go out, play hard, play well, and see what happens.  The highs and lows, the wins and losses, the rivalries, the comraderies, the evolution of your skills, all combined with the pure enjoyment of it, are worth the exertion.  And as a bonus, you rarely get sweaty.