Remembering Old Books

Recently I pulled an old book of my shelf. The book was so old the gold foil lettering had worn off and I couldn’t tell what it was without opening it up. It was a tiny hard cover, only 4”x5” with scrolling gold leaf on the spine and the author’s signature in relief on the cover. A tattered red ribbon marker fell limply from between the first few pages which hung to the rest of the book by only the thinnest of fibers. There is no publication date but Google tells me Collin’s Clear-Type Press most likely issued this book sometime between 1915 and 1927. Then, it must have been a deep vibrant red. Now it is worn, faded and water stained. As I held it in my hand I saw it was a copy of “The Three Musketeers” by Alexandre Dumas. It’s a story I’ve read before, but not one I’m particularly attached to and considering the poor condition of this copy I wondered why I would bother to buy it. But as I thumbed through it the reason jumped out at me off the page. It wasn’t anything Monsieur Dumas or his translator had written, or even the beautiful illustrations by F.C. Tilney scattered throughout. On the inside of the title page is three short of lines of script written in pencil. Most likely these lines are a quotation from a play or famous poet. I’ve never tried to find out. I prefer to think that they were written by the person who purchased the book, and meant as a comfort to someone they loved. (I’m a romantic, sue me.) Here are the lines as they appear in the book:

When twilight draws the

Curtains and pins them with

A star, I will remember you

Dear.

J.

I keep this book because there is a story behind it. And I don’t mean Porthos, Athos, Aramis and D’Artagnan and “One for all, and all for one.” I mean the story of J. and whomever he or she is remembering. I’ll never know anything about those two people but nonetheless, every time I pull the book off my shelf, I’ll remember them both.