One of my previous posts looked at the celebratory volume 500 of the Tauchnitz series in 1860, for which a special gift edition was produced. Copies exist, with dedications from Bernhard Tauchnitz to various friends or colleagues, of an edition bound in full leather with all edges gilt and a portrait of Tauchnitz bound in at the front. In comparison, the standard edition had no portrait and exists in the usual paperback and a range of other bindings, as well as in a green cloth edition produced for sale in the UK.
So what is this? A copy of the gift binding, or at least one very similar to it, with no inscription from Tauchnitz, but instead an inscription 41 years later from a Tauchnitz author. This copy has what seems to be a light-hearted dedication from Tighe Hopkins, author of six Tauchnitz works, perhaps most famously ‘The man in the iron mask’ (Tauchnitz volume 3491, first published in 1901). He inscribes it in that same year to Madge Jones as a Prize for the Ping-Pong (practice) tournament, and adds “Call this a prize!”, which he ascribes to Shakespeare, although it seems unlikely to have anything to do with the bard.
But how did Tighe Hopkins come to have this edition in any case? When the book was published, and presumably this edition was produced, he would have been only four years old, so I think we can rule out this having been presented to him at the time. He became a Tauchnitz author for the first time only in 1899, two years before this dedication and four years after the death of Bernhard Tauchnitz in 1895. Surely the firm did not still have a stock of the special gift editions 40 years on, that it was presenting to new authors? And on closer inspection of the binding, although very similar, it is not quite identical to the original gift binding. It looks like a slightly more modern version of it, so possibly bound up years later.
A clue though comes from an article published in Pall Mall magazine in 1901. There are twelve pages on ‘”The Tauchnitz” Edition – The story of a popular publisher’, written by Tighe Hopkins and illustrated by photos of the first and second Barons Tauchnitz and their home and office buildings. It is extremely complimentary to the firm and quotes extensively from the Tauchnitz archive of letters from authors, much as the firm’s own memorial volumes do. Indeed it’s difficult to avoid the conclusion that it could easily have been written by somebody from the Tauchnitz firm itself. Certainly if Tighe Hopkins was writing it, he was doing the firm a favour and he would have required personal access to the Tauchnitz archive.
So was he perhaps offered a specially bound edition of volume 500 as a thank you present? Or perhaps one of a few that had been bound up as gifts after the original stock had gone? It seems at least possible, although sadly if so, it was not signed by the second Baron. And perhaps equally sadly, Hopkins seems not to have placed great value on the gift, passing it on within months, perhaps to a young friend, or to someone who beat him at table tennis.
Elinor Glyn was not a typical Tauchnitz author. Her work had few literary pretensions. and she wrote light frothy romantic fiction. But what she did have was sex. Not of course anything very explicit – this was in the early twentieth century when Victorian attitudes still prevailed, but even underlying hints of sexual activity could be enough to excite readers in those times.
Her first work published in Tauchnitz created something of a literary sensation, becoming the sixth bestselling novel of 1901. ‘The visits of Elizabeth’ recorded the letters home of a naive young lady on a series of visits around the homes of relatives and friends. She sees a lot of goings-on, to which she is happy in her charming way, to assign the most innocent of explanations. The work appeared as volume 3504 of the Tauchnitz series and the first printing was dated June 1901 on the wrappers. For bound editions, the first printing should show no other titles by the same author on the back of the half-title.
So successful was it that it attracted imitators. Just four months later, as volume 3528, dated October 1901, Tauchnitz published ‘The letters of her mother to Elizabeth’. The book was published anonymously, but was by W.R.H. Trowbridge (a pseudonym for William Rutherford Hayes) and filled in the letters in the other direction that came between Elizabeth’s letters.
Not surprisingly, Elinor Glyn was less than impressed by this. In her next work to appear in the series, ‘The reflections of Ambrosine’ (vol. 3636), she is at pains to emphasis that she had not written either the Trowbridge book or another anonymous work. She was right to be concerned about this. Even today, over a hundred years later, various internet sources cite Elinor Glyn as the author of ‘The letters of her mother to Elizabeth’.
‘The reflections of Ambrosine’ is not written in letters, but is a similar style of first person narrative from a young woman, relating the goings-on in high society. The first printing in Tauchnitz is dated February 1903 on paperback copies, or on bound copies, should list just the one previous title by Glyn on the back of the half-title. It was followed by ‘The vicissitudes of Evangeline’ (vol. 3805, dated April 1905 and listing the two previous works on the back of the half-title) and by ‘Beyond the Rocks’ (vol. 3892, dated June 1906 and listing three previous works).
The next to come was ‘Three weeks’, published in July 1907 as volume 3978, and perhaps the work that more than any other, established Glyn’s name and reputation. It told the story of a three week affair between a young British aristocrat and a much older woman who turns out to be a mysterious foreign Queen. Their romps on a tiger skin led to the popular doggerel “Would you like to sin, with Elinor Glyn, on a tiger skin. Or would you prefer, to err with her, on some other fur’.
Suggestions that the book was based on an affair that Glyn herself had with a much younger man (Lord Alistair Innes Ker, brother of the Duxe of Roxburghe), would have done nothing to harm the sales of it. And it does seem to have sold well, with regular reprints and a continuing demand for new works.
Glyn was happy to oblige, coming back next to her first character, Elizabeth, and the same format of letters written home to her mother. ‘Elizabeth visits America’ (vol. 4124, dated June 1909 and listing five previous works) is much the same kind of thing, although Elizabeth is now older, married and a little less naive.
In the meantime, Glyn was herself pursuing another affair, with Lord Curzon, the former Viceroy of India and then Chancellor of Oxford University. To maintain this affair, cover her husband’s debts and keep up her standard of living, she had to keep writing. Five more works followed in the years running up to the first World War – ‘His hour’ (vol. 4230, December 1910), ‘The reason why’ (vol. 4305, January 1912), ‘Halcyone’ (vol. 4367, October 1912), ‘The Contrast (vol. 4427, July 1913) and ‘Guinevere’s Lover’ (vol. 4500, July 1914).
The war years of course interrupted any further publications in Tauchnitz and even afterwards it took several years for the firm to recover anything like its previous position. Elinor Glyn seems to have written less in this period anyway, but her career was starting to move in other directions. In 1914 a silent movie was made of ‘Three weeks’ and in 1920 she herself moved to Hollywood to become a scriptwriter. ‘Beyond the rocks’ was filmed in 1922, starring Rudolph Valentino and Gloria Swanson and although Glyn did not write the screenplay for this, she was involved in the production and worked with Swanson on other films. Two years later she did write the screenplay for a remake of ‘Three weeks’, from which she allegedly made $65,000 as a 40% share of the profits.
As Tauchnitz recovered in the 1920s, it was still keen to publish any new novels by Glyn. ‘Man and Maid’ appeared as volume 4577 in May 1922, followed by ‘Six Days’ (vol. 4631, March 1924), ‘The great moment (vol. 4678, March 1925) and ‘Love’s blindness’ (vol. 4732, May 1926), all appearing relatively quickly after UK publication. Then in 1927 came ‘”It” and other stories’ (vol. 4807, November 1927). By the time it appeared in Tauchnitz, “It” had been made into a silent film earlier in 1927, making a major star of its leading lady, Clara Bow, who became the first ‘It’ girl.
But the era of silent movies was coming to an end, and with it Elinor Glyn’s particular brand of slightly risqué eroticism. She returned to England from Hollywood in 1929, and later attempts at both screenplay writing and film directing were not successful. She continued to write, but her moment had passed. The 1930s were a different era and Tauchnitz with other problems of its own, had had enough of Elinor Glyn. Reprints certainly continued into the early thirties, but there were no more new publications after “It”, so she finished on a total of 16 volumes spread over more than 25 years.
Most of Dickens’ novels were first issued in serial form, either as monthly parts or in some cases serialised in his journals, ‘Household Words’ or ‘All the Year Round’. ‘A tale of two cities’ combined both of these forms.
Dickens used it as the lead story when he launched ‘All the Year Round’ in April 1859, running it in 31 weekly parts from April to November 1859, and so copies of ‘All the Year Round’ represent the true first publication of the story. It was printed in huge numbers and many copies were kept, so it’s not too difficult even now to pick up copies at reasonable cost. Many surviving copies are in bound volumes, but still offer an affordable way to own a Dickens ‘first edition’.
That though is not enough of a challenge for many book collectors. Dickens followed up publication in ‘All the Year Round’ by publishing it in eight monthly parts (six single parts and a final double one) from June to December 1859 and these are much rarer. One bookseller is currently offering a full set of the parts at a mere $30,000, for what is clearly neither the first publication nor the first book edition.
The first book edition followed in November 1859 and you can buy a copy for considerably less than $30,000 although maybe in the thousands rather than the hundreds of dollars.
But over the same period, the story was also being published in English in Continental Europe. Dickens was on friendly terms with the publisher Bernhard Tauchnitz in Leipzig, and offered him the choice of taking the novel either in weekly or monthly parts. Tauchnitz chose to issue it in monthly parts and publication of the first part was announced on 30th June 1859. It’s likely that the parts appeared shortly after the UK parts, although it’s possible that the Tauchnitz part-issues were actually ahead of the equivalent parts in the UK.
The print run would have been much lower than in the UK and surviving copies of the Tauchnitz part-issues might be expected to be much rarer. It’s a meaningless question to ask how valuable such parts might be, because no copies of them have ever been publicly recorded. Until now.
Copies of the first four part-issues of ‘A tale of two cities’ have recently been discovered by a book collector in Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia, where they had been held in a local library and were being disposed of. Some books were being offered free to local residents, but these ones had to be rescued from a dumpster, by someone who recognised their importance before they disappeared. They are now in his personal collection – a reminder of how narrow the line is between survival and destruction.
They’re certainly not pretty. Three of the four parts have been taped around the edges, which is really not a great look. Only Part 4 is untaped and only the first four parts are present. However they offer the first conclusive proof that such part-issues exist at all. The fourth part contains at the front preliminary pages so that the four parts could be taken to a bookbinder and bound up as a single book, which would be identified as volume 479 of the Tauchnitz series.
Tauchnitz itself then published ‘A tale of two cities’ in book form and it’s not entirely clear whether there’s any way of distinguishing copies issued by Tauchnitz as a single book, from copies that might have been bound up from the parts. One thing that the part-issues do make clear though, is that copies with ten preliminary pages, including a dedication and preface, are not the first printing in book form, as suggested in the Todd & Bowden bibliography. To qualify as a first printing in book form, copies must have only 6 pages of preliminaries, with the contents on pages v and vi. Sadly that means that copies in the British Library in London, the Bodleian in Oxford, in Frankfurt, Munich and in Stockholm, can no longer be considered first printings.
The second set of four parts could be bound up as volume 480, and Tauchnitz announced publication of the entire novel in book form in these two volumes on 22nd December 1859. This was about a month after first publication of the complete novel in the UK, although it’s likely, in line with previous practice, that the first Tauchnitz volume would have been sold on its own in advance of this, possibly from September or October.
When Todd & Bowden published their bibliography of Tauchnitz Editions in 1988 they were able to locate only a single Tauchnitz part-issue of any novel, in any of the major Tauchnitz collections, including those in national, state or university libraries around the world. In total 84 different parts are believed to have been published from a total of six novels, but the only remaining example they could find was a tattered copy of one part of ‘Little Dorrit’ in the Bibliotèque Nationale in Paris.
Since then copies of individual parts of ‘Bleak House’ and ‘Our mutual friend’ have come to light, followed by the discovery of a full set of 20 parts of ‘Bleak House’, although the location of these is now unknown. The discovery now of part-issues of ‘A tale of two cities’ means that parts are known of, for four of the five Dickens novels published in this way. No parts of ‘Edwin Drood’ are yet known, nor any of the one non-Dickens novel to be issued in parts by Tauchnitz – ‘A strange story’ by Bulwer Lytton.
My last post looked at the incestuous web of relationships between Tauchnitz authors, concentrating first on parents and children, husbands and wives. But there were many other close relationships.
Perhaps the most famous example of siblings as authors was the Brontë sisters and all three were published Tauchnitz authors, although two of them only posthumously. ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Emily Brontë and ‘Agnes Grey’ by Anne Brontë were published in a combined edition of two volumes in 1851, together with a biographical note by Charlotte, her sisters having died in 1848 / 1849. Four of Charlotte’s own novels appeared in the series.
So far as I know this is the only example of three sisters as Tauchnitz authors, but there were at least three other pairs of sisters who achieved that honour. The two Scottish sisters, Dorothea Gerard and Emily Gerard are reasonably easy to identify, as both wrote under their maiden names. They would have been more camouflaged under their married names as Dorothea Longard de Longgarde and Emily de Laszowska – both sisters married officers in the Austro-Hungarian army.
Irish sisters Agnes and Mary Sweetman are less easy to recognise. Agnes wrote a series of novels with her husband as Agnes and Egerton Castle, while her sister had a single novel published by Tauchnitz, writing as M.E. Francis. It’s not obvious either that Amy Lothrop and Elizabeth Wetherell are sisters, although there are perhaps clues in their jointly authored novel ‘Say and Seal’ (vols. 498/9). On the title page they are described only as the author of ‘Wide, wide world’ and the author of ‘Dollars and cents’. But the preface is signed by both using their pseudonyms, which they admit are their ancestors’ names rather than their own, and describe as a pair of gloves worn to shake hands with the public. Their real names were in fact Anna Warner and Susan Warner. Susan, writing as Elizabeth Wetherell, had four other books published by Tauchnitz as well.
Brothers are less of a problem to identify and examples include Edward and Henry Bulwer Lytton, Wilkie Collins and Charles Allston Collins, Charles and Henry Kingsley, E.F. Benson and Robert Hugh Benson. Brother / sister combinations include Marie Corelli and her half-brother Eric Mackay, and Hilaire Belloc and his sister Marie Belloc-Lowndes.
There are quite a few uncles and aunts. Sheridan Le Fanu, for instance, author of two Tauchnitz novels, was the uncle of Rhoda Broughton, who had a much longer list. John Addington Symonds was the uncle of ‘George Paston’, the pen name for Emily Morse Symonds, and Mary Cholmondeley was the aunt of Stella Benson. George Otto Trevelyan was not only the nephew of Lord Macaulay, but also edited ‘The life and letters’ of his uncle. Both men were historians, MPs and Government ministers.
The most complicated example of uncles and aunts comes from the remarkable Arnold family and spans three generations. In one sense it starts with another even earlier generation, as Thomas Arnold, headmaster of Rugby School, was not a Tauchnitz author, but a Tauchnitz character, featuring in ‘Tom Brown’s schooldays’ written by Thomas Hughes. His son, the poet Matthew Arnold, went on to have two books of essays published by Tauchnitz, and was the uncle of Mary Augusta Ward, writing as Mrs. Humphry Ward, who had many more to her name. She in turn was the aunt of Aldous Huxley, who contributed several more volumes to the family library of Tauchnitz Editions.
On then to grandchildren, of whom I can find three examples. Daphne du Maurier was the granddaughter of George du Maurier, Caroline Norton was the granddaughter of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, and Christabel Coleridge was the granddaughter of Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Christabel was also more distantly related to Mary E. Coleridge, who was the great-grandniece of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, as well as to Charlotte Yonge. Yonge started an essay society for young women, called the Goslings, of which Christabel and other members of the Coleridge family were part, and which also included Mary Augusta Ward (see above).
We’re starting to get into more distant relationships now, which brings us on to Margaret Oliphant and Laurence Oliphant. They certainly both came from the same family of Scottish landed gentry, and are often described as cousins, but I think that may be distant cousins rather than first cousins. Margaret’s mother was an Oliphant and she was given Oliphant as a middle name, but then went on to marry her cousin and acquired Oliphant as a surname as well. With a naturally heightened sense of family history she then wrote a long memoir of the life of Laurence Oliphant and his wife, Alice Oliphant, also published by Tauchnitz.
In a similar category is Rose Macaulay, who was from the same family, the Macaulays of Lewis as Lord Macaulay, mentioned above, although the relationship was quite distant. And then there is Dinah Craik and the other Craiks. Dinah, the most prolific Craik author, acquired the name by marrying a nephew of George Lillie Craik, who became a Tauchnitz author only after his death. His ‘Manual of English Literature and of the history of the English Language’ was published by Tauchnitz in 1874, by which time both Dinah and his daughter Georgiana Craik were established Tauchnitz authors.
Other more distantly related Tauchnitz authors include Washington Irving and his grand-niece Julia Cruger (writing as Julien Gordon), Lloyd Osbourne, who was the stepson of Robert Louis Stevenson and E.W. Hornung and Arthur Conan Doyle, who were brothers-in-law. E.OE Somerville and Violet Martin (as Martin Ross) jointly authored several novels and were second cousins. They were also more distantly related to Maria Edgeworth, who had a single volume published in the Tauchnitz ‘Series for the Young’. Mortimer Collins, author of two novels published by Tauchnitz in the 1870s, was the step-father of the wife of Tighe Hopkins, who followed him as a Tauchnitz author some twenty-five years later.
I am sure there are other relationships that I’ve missed and in the end it almost feels that it would have been easier to list the Tauchnitz authors who weren’t related to any other authors. But there’s still one relationship that I feel should have been there, but wasn’t. F. Frankfort Moore, an Irish writer with more than twenty Tauchnitz novels to his name, was the brother-in-law of Bram Stoker. The two men were married to Alice and Florence Balcombe, two of six sisters from Dublin. Sadly none of Bram Stoker’s works, most famously ‘Dracula’, were included in the Tauchnitz series. And in another intriguing ‘might have been’ relationship, one of Florence Balcombe’s former suitors had been Oscar Wilde, of course a Tauchnitz author.
The story of the relationships between Tauchnitz and Hitler’s Third Reich is a fascinating one, covered in some detail in Michele Troy’s 2017 book ‘Strange Bird. The Albatross Press and the Third Reich’. The rise to power of the Nazi party in Germany largely coincided with the collapse of Tauchnitz into the arms of its much more modern rival, Albatross. From 1934 until the outbreak of war, the two firms were run together under conditions that were extraordinarily challenging.
For almost a century, Tauchnitz had successfully spread both the English language and Anglo-American culture across Europe. Under Albatross control, and even with a Nazi Government in Germany that was publicly hostile to much of the literature that Tauchnitz and Albatross were publishing, they continued to do so. Michele Troy’s book shows how the Government’s need for foreign currency earnings often trumped ideological concerns.
Books by Jewish authors such as Louis Golding and G.B. Stern and by banned writers like D.H. Lawrence and Aldous Huxley, were printed in Leipzig and exported across Europe throughout the 1930s. Editorial control of the combined business was based in Paris and the more controversial books appeared in the Albatross series rather than Tauchnitz, but production of both series was carried out in Germany by the Tauchnitz owners, Brandstetter. Yes, there was an element of self-censorship and certain books could not be sold within Germany itself, but still it is surprising what they managed to achieve.
Astonishingly, even after the outbreak of war in 1939, both Albatross and Tauchnitz were able to continue selling English Literature in continental Europe, although the flow of new titles inevitably dried up. Even after the entry of German troops into Paris in June 1940, and the appointment of a Nazi custodian of the Albatross business, sales continued and the business continued to make a profit.
But the Nazis also had another purpose in mind for Tauchnitz. What it had previously done for English, they reasoned, it could now do for the German language and culture.
The result was a series of German language novels under the heading of ‘Der Deutsche Tauchnitz’. Instead of the usual notice saying that copies were ‘ not to be introduced into the British Empire’, these books now say ‘Nur zum Verkauf ausserhalb des Grossdeutschen Reiches’, or ‘only for sale outside the Greater German Empire’. They were not sold in Germany or the areas annexed into Greater Germany, including Austria, the Sudetenland and Alsace / Lorraine. But they were for sale in Belgium, Holland, France and other areas where the Nazis wanted to spread a Germanic culture.
In this context it’s worth remembering that the Tauchnitz editions in English were not launched by the British, or even by a Briton, in order to spread British culture. They were launched by a German to meet an existing market demand. Tauchnitz Editions in German though were very definitely launched by the Germans to spread German culture. Der Deutsche Tauchnitz was not a product launched to meet market demand. It was a product seeking a market.
That was not easy in wartime Europe. If there had been a natural market for German novels in France or the Netherlands, Tauchnitz might have been amongst the first to launch one, much earlier. The market for English language novels in peacetime had depended on British and American travellers in Europe, as well as on the significant number of speakers of English as a second language. But in wartime there was no demand from tourists and the number of people with German as a second language good enough to read novels, was probably lower than for English. So even without taking into account the natural resentment that many people would have had towards the occupiers, it’s apparent that the task would not have been easy.
The one natural market they did have was amongst the occupiers themselves. German soldiers in the occupied territories may have bought a relatively high proportion of the books that were sold. Certainly by one route or another, many of the copies found today are back in Germany. But that was not the point of these books. It was the local populations that were their target.
Physically the books look very like the pre-war Tauchnitz volumes in English. They have the same brightly coloured covers, colour-coded by genre, and they use the same circular symbol with a small crown over a ‘T’ that had been introduced shortly before the war. For the early editions there are dustwrappers in the same design as the book and the dustwrapper flaps have a short description of the book in English, German and French at the front and an explanation of the colour scheme at the back. Later on, these descriptions move to the inside of the covers, and the explanation of the colour scheme is dropped in favour of additional languages.
One small design change is to abandon the uniformity of style for the book titles on the front cover. Instead there is a profusion of different styles of lettering, giving each title some individuality within the constraints of an otherwise standard series design.
There is no price on the books themselves, or on the lists of titles inside, but the price quoted in ‘A strange bird’ is the equivalent of 1.2 Deutschmarks, which compares with a price of 2 DM for the pre-war Tauchnitz Editions in English. Start-up costs had been covered by the German Propaganda Ministry and Foreign Office, so that the books may have been sold more or less on a marginal cost basis. They may also have had quite long print runs to keep costs low, but with disappointing sales that led to a build-up of unsold stocks.
The series launched in April 1941 and had extended to 18 titles by the end of the year. Volume number 1 was ‘Effi Briest’ by Theodor Fontane, a classic German novel from a 19th century author, although not really typical of the rest of the series. Most of the books were by more modern authors and probably rather lighter, although there were a few other classics including Goethe’s ‘Faust’ and Wilhelm Hauff’s fairy tales. There are no dominant authors – in fact other than Goethe with two, no author seems to have more than one title published in the series. Readers were invited though to nominate their own suggestions for the series, using cards inserted in some of the books.
21 titles appeared in 1942, taking the series on to volume 139, although after volume 130 the dustwrappers were dropped, as they had been on paperbacks in Britain a year or two earlier. Wartime conditions were perhaps starting to bite and the quality of paper used began to deteriorate, although these are still relatively lavishly produced books in comparison with British paperbacks from the same era. Another twenty or so new titles were added in 1943 so that by early 1944 the series had reached volume 166.
Volume 164 was advertised in the list of titles as ‘Petja’ by Marissa von der Osten, although I have never seen a copy and I suspect it was never published. From here on, and not surprisingly given the progress of the war, things start to go rather downhill. I have seen no evidence of books numbered 167, 168, 169, 171 or 173 and I have been unable to find a copy of volume 174, which is advertised as Adalbert Stifter’s ‘Erzählungen’. Again it may well have never been published.
That leaves volumes 170, 172, 175 and 176 which certainly do exist, for a total of 69 confirmed volumes over a three year period from 1941 to 1944. On some of the later volumes though, I have seen examples where the phrase forbidding sales within the German Reich has been blacked out, presumably because access to other markets had been lost and copies had been repatriated to Germany towards the end, or after the end of the war.
Overall it seems unlikely that the series was a success in terms of its objective to spread German culture. It was not the only attempt though. Alongside the German language series, Tauchnitz also launched a series of French translations of German novels, including some of the same titles. I’ll come back to that another time.
The recent collapse of the Thomas Cook travel firm brings to an end a history of over 175 years, since the original Thomas Cook (1808 – 1892) founded the firm in 1841. In some ways and at some times in the past, Thomas Cook was not just a travel firm, it was the travel firm – the firm responsible for organising and popularising the idea of travel in the second half of the 19th century.
Many of the travellers in 19th century Europe, particularly the British, would have booked their travel with Thomas Cook. Many of them were also of course customers of Tauchnitz, the dominant publisher of English language books in continental Europe at the time. Bernhard Tauchnitz had founded his publishing firm in 1837, but it was in 1841, the same year that Thomas Cook set out in business, that he launched the ‘Collection of British Authors’, the series that was to make his fortune.
So it was fitting that when Thomas Cook (the firm) commissioned W. Fraser Rae to write a 50th anniversary history in 1891, the resulting book, ‘The business of travel’, should also appear in the Tauchnitz series. Corporate histories are not always easy to read or popular to sell, but if anyone was going to be interested in this one, it was likely to be travellers, particularly those whose travel had been arranged by the firm.
‘The business of travel’ appeared as volume 2802 of the Tauchnitz series in January 1892, with an additional introductory chapter written by the author for the Tauchnitz Edition. This chapter, like the rest of the book, lavishes praise on John Mason Cook, the then head of the firm, and rather brushes over the contribution of Thomas Cook, his father. Thomas Cook was at that point still alive, although he died later in 1892. There had been a big argument between father and son, which had led to the founder retiring from the business in 1878. Rae, the author of the history, clearly knew on which side his bread was buttered.
Although the Tauchnitz bibliography shows only one edition of Rae’s volume, a paperback copy of the book dated 1928 on the wrapper is recorded, and the hardback copy in my own collection may be even later, judging by the binding. So it seems it must have sold reasonably well over an extended period, almost until the firm’s centenary was approaching.
By the time that centenary came in 1941, the firm would have been in no mood to celebrate it, and even less likely to ask Tauchnitz to publish a history. But after the war there were various attempts to revive the Tauchnitz brand, including a series of 40 titles published from Stuttgart as numbers 101 to 140 of the ‘New Series’. Volume 127, published in 1953, was ‘The Thomas Cook Story’ by John Pudney, a book that had been published in the UK by Michael Joseph in the same year, although not commissioned by Thomas Cook. It appeared both in paperback and in hardback versions.
The Tauchnitz Stuttgart Editions were not a great success. Post-war market conditions were very different from those that had existed before the war. Amongst other things, the rise of Penguin had brought in a formidable new competitor, so the series was short-lived and sales were almost certainly disappointing. The books continued to be sold for several years after the flow of new titles stopped, presumably to dispose of a substantial level of unsold stock. ‘The Thomas Cook story’ is one of the few titles in this series that I have seen with a dustwrapper on the hardback edition, so it may be that it was added later to freshen up old stock.
In the search for a profitable market in the 1950s, Tauchnitz also looked again at the idea of publishing German translations of foreign books. John Pudney’s book was one of five books translated into German and appearing under the series title of ‘Der Deutsche Tauchnitz’. Rather unfortunately this was the same title that had been used for a series of German novels published under Nazi control during the war, for sale outside Germany, although there was really no connection between the two ventures.
The translation appeared in 1955 under the title ‘Alles inbegriffen’, meaning ‘everything included’ or ‘all-inclusive’. So far as I know it was published only in hardback and sported a brightly coloured dustwrapper. Again, given that the series ran to only five volumes, it seems unlikely that it was a best-seller.
The market for English language publishing in Continental Europe existed well before Tauchnitz came along in 1842. It was dominated by two large French publishers, Galignani and Baudry, both of which published the latest English novels without any authorisation or any payment to the author. But there was also a German publisher, Frederick Fleischer of Leipzig with an interest in the market.
Fleischer’s niche seems to have been publishing series of books by particular authors, starting with Edward Lytton Bulwer (later Bulwer-Lytton) in 1834. Bulwer was only 31 at the time, perhaps a bit young for a ‘Complete Works’, but he was at the height of his popularity with already several novels to his name. Fleischer launched the series with ‘Pelham’ (later to be the first novel in the Tauchnitz series as well) and followed up with another five volumes of the series in that first year.
By the end of 1935 Fleischer had more or less caught up with Bulwer Lytton’s published output to date and celebrated with his portrait and signature as a frontispiece to volume 10. This might well have reinforced the impression that the series had his authorisation, which it certainly didn’t.
The publisher would now have to wait for new works – not for long as Bulwer was a prolific writer, but in the meantime it was time to launch a new author. Fleischer now settled on Frederick Marryat, another popular and prolific novelist and particularly a writer of sea stories. He too was given the honour of a ‘complete works’ series, although not the honour of any payment.
Eight novels by Marryat were published in 1836 and three more in 1837 and 1838, taking the series to eleven volumes, while the Bulwer Lytton series gradually extended to 15 volumes over the same period.
But by 1838 there was a new literary star on the horizon. The Pickwick Papers, serialised in the UK in 1836/7 and published in book form at the end of 1837, had been a huge success. Charles Dickens was now the author everyone wanted to read and Fleischer was not going to disappoint them. The Pickwick Papers appeared as the first two volumes of a new Complete Works of Charles Dickens in early 1839.
The suggestion of a ‘Complete Works’ of Dickens in 1839 was even more odd than it had been for Bulwer five years earlier. Dickens was barely 27 years old and had just two or three published works to his name. ‘Sketches by Boz’ had appeared in 1836 and ‘Oliver Twist’ appeared in book form in April 1839.
But Fleischer was far from alone in seeing the potential of Dickens. Both Baudry and Galignani had already published pirate editions of Pickwick in English in 1838 (with Galignani probably the first). J.J. Weber had also published a German translations in parts in 1837/8 and 1839 saw a second translation from Vieweg & Sohn of Braunschweig.
Fleischer followed up with ‘Oliver Twist’ as volume 3, ‘Nicholas Nickleby’ as volumes 4 and 5 and ‘Sketches’ as volume 6, so that by the end of 1940 he was up to date with Dickens’ works. Three volumes of ‘Master Humphrey’s Clock’ followed in 1841/2, taking Dickens to 9 volumes, while Bulwer gradually increased to 20 volumes and Marryat to 14.
Then in 1942 the rival Tauchnitz series launched, also in Leipzig, and it was very quickly all over for Fleischer. Even before Tauchnitz in mid-1843 landed the hammer blow of obtaining authorisation from the authors in return for payment, Fleischer had more or less given up. The final volume, ‘The last of the barons’ by Bulwer, appeared in 1843 and Fleischer, one of the last of the pirates, hauled down his Jolly Roger and went back to publishing books in German.
By the time P.G. Wodehouse first appeared in a Tauchnitz Edition in 1924, he was already a well-established and successful writer with around 20 novels to his name. For an author who went on to have around 40 books published by Tauchnitz, this was a surprisingly late start. But Wodehouse had started to come to prominence just as the First World War effectively took the German firm out of the market for new English language books, and the effects of the war lingered on for several years afterwards.
It was at least 1923 before Tauchnitz could get back to anything like a normal publishing programme and it never really recovered its former dominance of the market. The ability to spot promising new writers and publish their latest works almost simultaneously with the first UK editions, had been a defining feature of the business for much of the nineteenth century, but by the mid-1920s it was a fading memory. And Tauchnitz was entering a period that would prove to be one of the most turbulent of its existence. So we should perhaps be grateful that they were able to publish Wodehouse at all.
As usual with a new writer, Tauchnitz were keen to start with Wodehouse’s latest new work, rather than going back to earlier works. So the first in the series was a volume of short stories, ‘Ukridge’, published in the UK in June 1924, and then two months later in Tauchnitz as volume 4651, dated August 1924 at the top of the back wrapper on the first printing.
As always with Tauchnitz paperbacks, it’s the date on the back wrapper that’s important for dating, rather than the date on the title page, which remains fixed at the first printing year, even on reprints many years later. First printing paperbacks from this period also have a distinctive two column format for the latest volumes, which was not used on reprints.
For Tauchnitz Editions from the 1920s and 1930s far more copies do survive in paperback than is the case for 19th century novels and they’re much easier to date than bound copies, so I’ve focused on these.
Wodehouse’s next new novel was ‘Bill the Conqueror’, published in the UK in November 1924 and again following rapidly in Tauchnitz as volume 4669, dated January 1925 in the first printing (and listing only ‘Ukridge’ on the back of the half-title). Another volume of short stories, ‘Carry on, Jeeves’, appeared in the UK in October 1925 and the novel ‘Sam the sudden’ came out in the same month. Both were taken up by Tauchnitz – ‘Carry on, Jeeves!’ as volume 4710, dated November 1925 and ‘Sam the sudden’ as volume 4714, dated January 1926.
The pattern seemed to be set, with Tauchnitz taking each new work of Wodehouse’s as quickly as possible after UK printing. But prolific as Wodehouse was, new works were not coming fast enough to satisfy the appetite of continental readers, and there was still a temptingly long list of older works that could be issued. So along with the next volume of short stories, ‘The heart of a goof’ (volume 4641, dated July 1926), Tauchnitz also published a much earlier work ‘ Love among the chickens’ (volume 4640, July 1926), that Wodehouse had first written in 1906 and then rewritten in 1921.
Two other older works, ‘Psmith, journalist’ (vol. 4776, April 1927) and ‘Leave it to Psmith’ (vol. 4777, April 1927) followed in 1927 and from then on two or three new volumes were added almost every year, in a mix of completely new works and older works, both novels and short story collections. By mid 1929, when Curt Otto, the Managing Director, died, fourteen volumes of P.G. Wodehouse had been issued by Tauchnitz.
The incoming General Manager, Christian Wegner, set about making some significant changes, starting with a modernisation of the cover design for the series. After keeping essentially the same cover design for the first 70 years of its existence, a first real change had come in 1914, and now it was entering on a period of continual change. The new design appeared on a Wodehouse novel for the first time, with publication of ‘Mr. Mulliner speaking (vol. 4963, November 1930), followed quickly by ‘Very good, Jeeves!’ (vol. 4983, March 1931) and ‘Summer lightning’ (vol. 4995, June 1931).
Fourteen books appeared in the revised design taking the total to 28 and then from 1935, there was another change. Wegner had left under a cloud, but by mid 1934 he was effectively back as one of the managers of Albatross Books, which took over editorial control of Tauchnitz. The two lists for Albatross and Tauchnitz were managed together, but with Wodehouse remaining very much a Tauchnitz writer, with no entry to the (arguably more prestigious) Albatross list.
Another new cover design was launched in mid 1935, this time colour-coded to indicate genre. All Wodehouse volumes were coded orange, the colour for ‘tales and short stories, humorous and satirical works’. Shortly afterwards the size of the books changed to match the size of the Albatross volumes and dustwrappers in the same design as the covers were introduced, again in line with Albatross.
A further new design was introduced in 1938 that used colour more strikingly, but by this time war was approaching fast, and with it the end of the Tauchnitz series.
‘The code of the Woosters’, issued in June 1939 as volume 5357, was the last Wodehouse title to appear in the series before the outbreak of the Second World War, but it was not to be the last title of all. Wodehouse had been living in Le Touquet in France and was interned by the Germans after the invasion of France. He wrote ‘Money in the Bank’ on a typewriter provided by the Germans while in internment and the text was made available to Tauchnitz. It appeared in August 1943 as the very last volume in the Tauchnitz series, volume 5370, bringing the total number of Wodehouse works published in the series up to thirty-nine. It was the only new writing in English to be published in the Tauchnitz series after 1939.
Along with the infamous broadcasts on German radio, this was another example of Wodehouse being perhaps too willingly duped by the enemy. Certainly for them it was a publicity coup, and the book seems to have been printed in substantial numbers, although it’s hard to imagine much market in Germany in 1943 for Wodehouse’s brand of comedy.
The story should really end here. Shortly after publication of ‘Money in the bank’, the Tauchnitz premises were destroyed in an Allied bombing raid and after 100 years and 5370 volumes, the Tauchnitz Collection of British (and American) Authors came to an end.
But in fact it’s not the end of the story. After the war there were various attempts to revive Tauchnitz. A series of books reprinted from Hamburg, included ‘Money in the Bank’ as volume 16 in 1949. Then a short series of mostly new works published from Stuttgart, included two Wodehouse volumes -‘The mating season’ (volume 107 in 1952) and ‘Ring for Jeeves’ (volume 137 in 1954).
Neither of these post-war ventures was much of a success, and although no new volumes were published after 1955, unsold stock hung around for many years. In an attempt to shift it, more modern covers were added in the early 1960s and ‘Ring for Jeeves’ was certainly one of the books to appear in this style, at least the eighth style of wrapper to be applied to Wodehouse volumes by Tauchnitz.
There were a large number of fiction magazines in Victorian Britain, publishing short stories and /or serialised versions of full novels. Dickens had been one of the pioneers of the format, editing ‘Household Words’ and ‘All the year round’ for many years. By the 1890s, there were many more magazines and a small industry of authors providing appropriate material for them.
So, it was probably natural that Tauchnitz, the dominant publisher of English language books on the continent, should be interested in the idea of publishing a continental equivalent. The Tauchnitz Magazine was launched in August 1891 as a monthly magazine of 80 pages, usually with between five and seven short stories, followed by some publishing industry gossip and a review of the latest volumes of the Tauchnitz Edition.
Each issue was sold in light blue wrappers, highly decorated, with a heraldic crest at the top combining the arms of both Britain and the United States with those of Tauchnitz himself. The eighty pages of text were preceded by around six pages of adverts and there was also advertising on the back and on the inside of the covers, often but not always for other Tauchnitz publications.
According to an introduction in the first issue, the magazine aimed ‘to satisfy a want long felt by all readers of English and American literature on the Continent, and especially by English and American tourists’. The price is at first shown as 50 pfennigs or 65 centimes, but on later issues only as 50 pfennigs, suggesting that sales may have been limited principally to Germany. This is also suggested by the German language being used in some of the advertising in later issues for Tauchnitz Dictionaries and the Students’ Edition.
The first few issues were edited in the UK under the control of James Payn, editor of the Cornhill magazine and a regular Tauchnitz author. From issue number 6 onwards they were edited in Leipzig, but followed the same format, with many of the stories appearing also in one or other of the UK fiction magazines, such as the Strand magazine, the Idler or Longman’s magazine. It’s possible that in other cases the Tauchnitz magazine may have been the first or only publication for a story, but I’m not aware of any comprehensive research into this.
Generally the stories were by much the same authors as appeared in the main Tauchnitz series, among them Arthur Conan Doyle, Rudyard Kipling and Jerome K. Jerome. But there were less familiar names too such as George Burgin, Francis Gribble and George Lionel Stevens.
The magazine survived for only two years from August 1891 to July 1893. Circulation is likely to have been low, possibly only a thousand copies or so, and few have survived. Copies in the original wrappers are now rare (do contact me if you have any), but some copies were bound, usually in volumes containing six issues. In most cases the bound volumes do not contain either the original wrappers or the advertising pages, but of course they’re much more likely to survive than unbound magazines.