The chase for a rare first folio

You must surely have heard of the collector Henry Folger and his obsession to collect every copy of Shakespeare’s First Folio in existence? With money, determination, and the help of book dealers, he nearly managed it — except for one particular copy that eluded him. He was willing to wait years and years for this copy, pay any price for it, and in the end, nearly went out of his mind with the thought that it might never be his. This is curious for many reasons: why would Folger, who had several copies of the First Folio, lust after this one in particular? It turns out that as scarce and expensive as the First Folio is in the market, they are, give or take a few missing leaves or printing variants, remarkably (or unremarkably) the same.

How does a rare edition become rarer, more distinguished or special? If it has the author’s signature or inscription. But, in this instance, that was impossible since the Bard had departed (1616) well before the Folio was printed (1623). So, what could have excited this billionaire bibliomaniac so much about this one Folio copy? One day in March 1899, Henry Folger in New York received a letter from Sotheran & Co, an antiquarian book dealer in London, notifying him that they had come across a most interesting specimen of the First Folio, something hitherto unheard of and unseen. It was this: it was a presentation copy from Jaggard, the printer of the First Folio, to a friend and subscriber, Augustine Vincent. This, to Folger, was stunning. No such copy of the Folio had been sighted in centuries. The next best thing to actually owning a copy signed by the author is a copy signed by the printer, especially where the Folio is concerned.

In this copy also was a handwritten inscription by Vincent. Further, this could also be the first copy of the Folio to come out of Jaggard’s press.

All this was too much for Folger who was relentless in hunting down even incomplete, poor copies of the Folio lacking many leaves — he wanted every single copy, perfect or imperfect. How could he not have this? But even Folger could not have known how long and protracted and painful the negotiations would become in trying to acquire it. Andrea Mays’s recent book on Folger’s hunt for Shakespeare’s First Folios intricately details the transaction. The present owner of the Jaggard-Vincent Folio was an Englishman named Coningsby Sibthorp, and he was not willing to put it up for sale. Though Folger was disappointed, he consoled himself that at least Sibthorp had not sold it to another collector.

But a few months later, Sotheran and Folger were surprised when the owner decided he would sell — but at a record price that no Folio had been sold for before: 5,000 pounds. Even Folger who was used to paying high prices to snap up his Folios balked at this. And then, notes Andrea Mays, Folger made several mistakes concerning the transaction: he waited instead of pouncing, he acted casual instead of desperate, and the last being the most fatal: he bargained, offering a little less with a half now, half later kind of deal. For a collector who wanted this book more than anything else in the world, this behaviour would seem odd, but another collector would understand: it is the deep fear and superstition of losing it that makes you act in the opposite way, and of course, the idiocy and arrogance of thinking you could still turn it in your favour by negotiating.

Sotheran, fearing it would put off Sibthorp, did not bargain, but accepted his price of 5,000 pounds without consulting the American collector. Sibthorp cabled his agreement. Rejoicing, Sotheran wrote to Folger, “The precious treasure is now secured for you...” How, then, did things go so wrong? Apparently, a rival book dealer poisoned Folger’s mind about the Vincent Folio, saying some of its leaves were in facsimile (a common practice then to complete an incomplete copy). Folger, once again, quite foolishly felt he had paid too much for it, and asked if he could have the Folio on approval? That is, if he did not like it, he would send it back.

Sibthorp felt insulted, and to Folger’s horror, called off the deal, returning the deposit paid to him. Folger entreated through Sotheran, but in vain. Sibthorp had closed all doors. After many cables back and forth, Folger grew desperate and now offered 8,000 pounds, and was willing to sail across the Atlantic and come in person to seal the deal. Sotheran felt Sibthorp would only feel more offended, and did not convey Folger’s offer. Then Folger wrote to Sibthorp, explaining his self-destructive behaviour. Sibthorp politely but firmly refused to entertain a new offer.

Now, other collectors and rare book institutions had heard of this unique Folio copy and petitions were being taken out in Britain that it should not leave the country. That it was a national treasure. Now, Folger not only had competition, but also opposition to acquiring the Vincent Folio. Sibthorp had promised long ago that if at all he would sell, it would be through Sotheran. Would he keep up his word? If so, Folger would have one last shot at bidding for it. The collector was now offering 10,000 pounds for it, approximately $50,000, the highest price anyone in the world had ever offered for a printed book at that time.

Who won in the end? Did the British manage to keep it in the country and secure it for the British Museum, or did another collector snatch it from Folger, or did Sibthorp drop his principles in the face of so much money and let Folger have it? I won’t reveal the outcome here. If you are curious, it might be fun to dig further and find out what eventually happened to the rarest of Shakespeare’s First Folio.