dear host was asked why he paid so much,” Felix wound up. “He replied, ‘Because MacMillan wanted it.’”
“Ha,” said Thornhill, slapping his thigh with delight at the conclusion of the story. “I got him, didn’t I?”
Thornhill was a man for whom revenge was sweet, thought Charlotte.
“But my dear Herr Professor, he got the better of you later on, didn’t he?” said Felix. “With Der Gart. ”
“What’s the story of Der Gart? ” asked John eagerly.
“You tell it, Felix. You do it so much better than I,” said Thornhill, who was obviously enjoying himself.
“The book was Der Gart der Gesundheit , or The Garden of Health , an herbal printed in Mainz in 1485 by Peter Schoeffer, Gutenberg’s son-in-law,” said Felix. “A book of extraordinary beauty and rarity, indisputably the most important of the herbal incunabula.”
“Incunabula?” said Charlotte.
“It refers to the earliest printed books—those books printed before 1500,” explained Thornhill.
She nodded.
“It was to go on the block at a London auction house,” Felix continued. “It was the kind of book that comes on the market perhaps only once in a decade.” He suddenly brought his fist down on the table like a gavel, rattling the silverware. “Within seconds of opening, the bidding was up to five thousand pounds. Which was all well and good except for one thing: two people had bid the same amount simultaneously and neither of them would yield.”
“MacMillan and Dr. Thornhill?” asked Daria.
“Exactly. Mr. MacMillan held tight because he thought a break in the deadlock would run the price up, and our dear host held tight because he had promised himself he wouldn’t pay any more than that. The auctioneer bullied, he wheedled, he told stories—nothing worked.”
Thornhill was sitting with his forehead cradled in his palms as if the mere memory of the event were painful.
“What happened?” asked Daria.
“First I’ll tell you where each of them was sitting. Mr. MacMillan was sitting at the front of the room and our dear host was sitting at the back. What happened was this: the auctioneer invoked an obscure rule which holds that the lot goes to the bidder who is sitting nearest the platform.”
“And MacMillan got the book,” said Daria.
“ Ja . But what was so galling to our dear host was that he was outsmarted. You see, Mr. MacMillan knew about the rule.”
“I vowed that from that day forward I’d never lose my nerve again when it came to a book I wanted,” said Thornhill. “And I never have.”
“‘It is not the yielding to temptation that oppresses me, but oh, the remorse for the times I yielded not,’ eh Herr-Professor?” said Felix with a chuckle.
Thornhill nodded.
“The upshot of the story is that this precious book is now a part of our dear host’s collection, along with four other prize herbals from the MacMillan collection,” continued Felix. “They are worth at least five times as much today. They are the crème de la crème of the early herbals.”
“How did they come to be part of your collection?” asked John.
“That’s another story,” replied Thornhill as he refilled his pipe with tobacco from a leather pouch. “I had offered many times to buy MacMillan’s early herbals, but he had always turned me down. Until he astonished me one day by calling me up and offering to sell them to me.”
“Why?” asked Daria.
“He was dying, but I didn’t know that at the time. He had no descendants to leave his collection to. So he sold me the herbals, and left the rest of his collection to the botanical society.”
“It has always puzzled me, this decision to sell his prizes,” said Felix. “Especially to his rival. The real collector would rather give his collection away intact than sell it piecemeal. Many of our greatest libraries owe their existence to a collector’s reluctance to break up a lifetime’s work.”
“Yes,” agreed John. “It seems out of
“Ha,” said Thornhill, slapping his thigh with delight at the conclusion of the story. “I got him, didn’t I?”
Thornhill was a man for whom revenge was sweet, thought Charlotte.
“But my dear Herr Professor, he got the better of you later on, didn’t he?” said Felix. “With Der Gart. ”
“What’s the story of Der Gart? ” asked John eagerly.
“You tell it, Felix. You do it so much better than I,” said Thornhill, who was obviously enjoying himself.
“The book was Der Gart der Gesundheit , or The Garden of Health , an herbal printed in Mainz in 1485 by Peter Schoeffer, Gutenberg’s son-in-law,” said Felix. “A book of extraordinary beauty and rarity, indisputably the most important of the herbal incunabula.”
“Incunabula?” said Charlotte.
“It refers to the earliest printed books—those books printed before 1500,” explained Thornhill.
She nodded.
“It was to go on the block at a London auction house,” Felix continued. “It was the kind of book that comes on the market perhaps only once in a decade.” He suddenly brought his fist down on the table like a gavel, rattling the silverware. “Within seconds of opening, the bidding was up to five thousand pounds. Which was all well and good except for one thing: two people had bid the same amount simultaneously and neither of them would yield.”
“MacMillan and Dr. Thornhill?” asked Daria.
“Exactly. Mr. MacMillan held tight because he thought a break in the deadlock would run the price up, and our dear host held tight because he had promised himself he wouldn’t pay any more than that. The auctioneer bullied, he wheedled, he told stories—nothing worked.”
Thornhill was sitting with his forehead cradled in his palms as if the mere memory of the event were painful.
“What happened?” asked Daria.
“First I’ll tell you where each of them was sitting. Mr. MacMillan was sitting at the front of the room and our dear host was sitting at the back. What happened was this: the auctioneer invoked an obscure rule which holds that the lot goes to the bidder who is sitting nearest the platform.”
“And MacMillan got the book,” said Daria.
“ Ja . But what was so galling to our dear host was that he was outsmarted. You see, Mr. MacMillan knew about the rule.”
“I vowed that from that day forward I’d never lose my nerve again when it came to a book I wanted,” said Thornhill. “And I never have.”
“‘It is not the yielding to temptation that oppresses me, but oh, the remorse for the times I yielded not,’ eh Herr-Professor?” said Felix with a chuckle.
Thornhill nodded.
“The upshot of the story is that this precious book is now a part of our dear host’s collection, along with four other prize herbals from the MacMillan collection,” continued Felix. “They are worth at least five times as much today. They are the crème de la crème of the early herbals.”
“How did they come to be part of your collection?” asked John.
“That’s another story,” replied Thornhill as he refilled his pipe with tobacco from a leather pouch. “I had offered many times to buy MacMillan’s early herbals, but he had always turned me down. Until he astonished me one day by calling me up and offering to sell them to me.”
“Why?” asked Daria.
“He was dying, but I didn’t know that at the time. He had no descendants to leave his collection to. So he sold me the herbals, and left the rest of his collection to the botanical society.”
“It has always puzzled me, this decision to sell his prizes,” said Felix. “Especially to his rival. The real collector would rather give his collection away intact than sell it piecemeal. Many of our greatest libraries owe their existence to a collector’s reluctance to break up a lifetime’s work.”
“Yes,” agreed John. “It seems out of
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