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Prologue The Folger Library was unlike other private libraries assembled during the Gilded Age by peers in the Folgers’ social class. It was not a gentleman’s library, which includes a wide range of recognized literary masterpieces rather than esoteric volumes or a specialized collection. It was not a cabinet library, a small collection of highly significant titles where complete works from authors give way to a particular subset of volumes. Nor was it a rich man’s library, more for show than substance, where sumptuous bindings protect gilt-edged pages, sets of books dwarf single editions, and the browser would not find commonplace editions or a sophisticated range of subjects. For many wealthy peers in the Folgers’ milieu, first- or second-generation barons of trade and industry, books mattered for their aesthetic look, as furniture of wealth, not food for the mind. A century after Thomas Jefferson, Emily and Henry Folger built their library not out of social aspiration but out of a Jeffersonian respect for learning. The third American president drew from his library of English and Continental books on political theory, architecture, and agriculture to write the Declaration of Independence , design the University of Virginia, and develop Monticello’s horticulture and vineyards. The Folgers followed his example of developing a scholarly library, whose books would be read and studied with the aim of adding to knowledge. Whereas Jefferson’s library represented the Enlightenment in America, the Folgers’ reached back further in time to collect Renaissance works. Both assembled their libraries largely of books printed in Europe. Jefferson’s 6,487 volumes—in 1814 the largest private library in America—became the seed collection for the Library of Congress. It is more than serendipitous that the two libraries sit across from one another within sight of the Capitol. The Folgers cherished the idea of locating their private and more specialized collection close to—but not as part of—the country’s largest public repository. The Folger Shakespeare Library is a privately endowed research center. Its main users—professors, scholars, graduate students, researchers, and staff—pore over Fol- x Prologue ger treasures with the intent of sharing their findings. Long-term, their inquiries advance knowledge through journal articles, books, and lectures that reach educational institutions and the intellectual community at large. Since the Folgers founded it more than eighty years ago, their library has broadened its mandate. The current mission of the Folger Shakespeare Library is • To preserve and enhance our collection. • To make our collection accessible to scholars and others who can use it productively . • To advance understanding and appreciation of Shakespeare’s writings and the culture of the early modern world.1 Historically, the Folger was, first, a library of research for scholars, and second, a center for education and performance reaching the general public. q The story of the Folgers is a double love story: first, about the love between Henry (1857–1930) and Emily (1858–1936) Folger and, second, about their common love of Shakespeare and his writings. Their story displays a rare single-mindedness of purpose. During their college years, both Emily and Henry fell under the spell of British and American literary giants. Early in their married life, they were particularly attracted to Shakespeare (1564–1616) and his times. They began a collection of antiquarian books and other objects related to the bard from Stratford-upon-Avon. In every phase of developing the collection the couple worked as a team. They remained childless throughout their marriage. A journalist reported that Henry Folger referred to his books as “the boys.”2 The Folgers knew that their collecting obsession turned them into recluses. Such was the price to pay for the enterprise and its lofty goal. They established limits to the time they could spare for family visits. They opened their doors only twice a year, on Thanksgiving and New Year’s. Nieces and nephews, grandnieces and grandnephews described with awe and delight these rare occasions. The young visitors were free to run about the Brooklyn house, opening doors on all floors and discovering only books. I have met some of those grandnieces, now in their eighties. They shared with me recollections of family events at Aunt Emily’s in Glen Cove, Long Island. “We sat at a long table. At each place we found a tiny little red book that was a miniature calendar to take home as a present. The menu was always the same. Aunt Emily gave us ‘samp,’ or corn meal...

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