The Millionaire and the Bard

by Andrea Mays

  In 1902 and 1903, Folger’s assets—and the value of the entire Standard Oil Company—faced a dangerous attack. While the New York Times was covering rare books, McClure’s magazine rocked the very foundation of Standard Oil. Ida Minerva Tarbell, a pioneering, muckraking journalist obsessed with exposing corruption, created the narrative of “the Trust” with a series of articles that McClure’s published between November 1902 and October 1904. In her detailed nineteen-part exposé, she revealed what she claimed were abuses by Standard Oil. Driven by an obsession to destroy Rockefeller, Tarbell ignored the consumer welfare that Standard had created by cutting its costs and reducing prices to consumers and demonized Rockefeller as a ruthless, pitiless mogul who crushed his rivals. She caricatured Henry Folger’s regular golfing partner as “the oldest man in the world—a living mummy”; “money mad”; “a hypocrite”; and “ungentlemanly.” She concluded that “our national life is on every side distinctly poorer, uglier, meaner, for the kind of influence he exercises.” In Tarbell’s anticompetitive religion, Rockefeller’s original sin was that he “had never played fair.”

  Tarbell, the daughter of a failed barrel maker and independent oilman, and sister to another, began a one-woman crusade to influence public opinion about the activities of the Standard Oil Company. She blamed the trust for putting her father out of the oil business years earlier in Pennsylvania, and for robbing her of her comfortable life. She conceded her bias in an interview in The Bookman: “My childhood was spent in the oil regions, and if I have any natural sympathy, it is with the independent operators.” Horrified by the devastation and poverty left behind in some Pennsylvania towns in the aftermath of the “bust” of the oil expansion, and depressed by scenes of vacant landscapes and dried-up wells, she sought an explanation; someone had to be blamed. The press had already demonized and lampooned Standard Oil as a greedy corporation with its tentacles wrapped around the U.S. Capitol. It was common knowledge that Standard had participated in the two failed attempts at forming a refiners’ cartel.

  Tarbell was not the only one complaining. Accusations also came from Standard’s competitors: independent crude oil producers, barrel makers, refiners, and marketers, many of them cut out of the production chain by Rockefeller’s earlier campaign of vertical integration. The McClure’s articles convinced many that Standard had used unfair means to eliminate its competitors and control the market. More than any other writer, Tarbell created the persistent but largely mythical narrative of the bad behavior of the Standard Oil Company. In her zeal to influence public policy, she was not afraid to bend the truth. The preferential railroad rates, along with rebates and drawbacks, were the “abuses” Tarbell found most offensive. The rebates and preferential treatment were real, but her interpretation of the events was skewed in favor of the small, inefficient competitor, rather than in favor of consumers, who benefited from Rockefeller’s vigorous cost cutting.

  Standard Oil did not tolerate her accusations without comment. After a long period of silence during which Rockefeller refused to speak to the press, his lawyer S. C. T. Dodd, principal attorney advising Standard on antitrust issues, published and distributed to libraries free of charge four hundred pages of testimony that company officers had provided to the government in an attempt to explain its practices. Not only did they refute many of the accusations made against the company, but Dodd and Rockefeller also explained how Standard, far from harming the consumer, created advantages for the public. They distinguished between combinations of firms whose goal was to limit production—to restrict output, raise prices, and harm consumers—and those that took advantage of the economies of scale, mass production, and advanced technologies, which lowered costs and benefited consumers. After all, wasn’t the intention of the Sherman Antitrust Act to encourage competition and promote consumer well-being, rather than to protect inefficient producers? If Standard was guilty of anything, wasn’t it too much competition rather than too little?

  Tarbell’s literary indictment foreshadowed a legal one, and it disturbed Henry Folger. He knew Standard’s business strategies and practices inside out. Indeed, for the past quarter century, he had helped Rockefeller build the largest industrial organization in the world. As a lawyer, he was familiar with the new antitrust law. As far as Folger was concerned, Standard Oil was an ethical and law-abiding company. And Ida Tarbell was nothing but a vexatious intermeddler who had defamed not only John D. Rockefeller but him too.

  Tarbell’s journalistic siege may have annoyed and distracted Rockefeller, Folger, and the rest of the Standard Oil leadership, but that alone could not deter Henry from pursuing Shakespeare. Ida Tarbell was not the cause of the lull in his acquisitions. There is another explanation for the absence of major purchases—aside from the $9,000 First Folio of 1900—between 1900 and 1903. Folger was keeping his powder dry. In private, behind the scenes, he was in the grip of a furious but secret pursuit of what he believed was the single most valuable and desirable copy of the First Folio in the world.

  That hunt, which climaxed in 1903, had begun in March 1899, on the day Henry Folger received a letter from the London bookseller Sotheran & Co., the firm that had acquired the Warwick Castle library for him. Sotheran, explained the letter’s author, Alexander B. Railton, had discovered a most extraordinary and hitherto unknown specimen of the First Folio. Its condition, history, provenance, ownership, and contemporary handwritten inscription revealed multiple cross-connections to Shakespeare’s contemporaries, and to the origins of the First Folio. It might have been the very first copy sewn and bound. From the moment Henry Folger learned of its existence, he was seized by an irresistible compulsion to own it. His pursuit of this book also signaled a turning point in his development as a collector, and in the intensity of his intellectual and financial commitment to his Shakespeare obsession. He was far from the world’s richest man. He had been promoted from secretary to chairman of the manufacturing committee that year, but he had not yet climbed anywhere near the top of Standard’s ladder. This chase would determine whether he was willing to pay the world’s richest price for a book.

  A. B. Railton’s letter of March 4, 1899, tempted Folger with a copy not present in the Lee catalogue, observing that “at present my own belief is that it is without exception the most interesting copy extant.”8 The story, continued Railton, began in 1891, when he was summoned to an English country house to evaluate the library kept there. In a flashback, Railton recounted what happened:

  In April 1891 I was engaged on behalf of my firm Messr. H. Sotheran & Co. in weeding out worthless books and arranging, preparatory to a catalogue being made of the Library of Mr. Coningsby Sibthorp of Canwick Hall, Lincoln.

  Having finished work in the library which was also used as a Billiard Room, I was taken to the Coach-House in which was a very large case of books; on the top of the case outside were stacked a great number of old folios covered with dust, these were being thrown down to me by an assistant who lived on the estate. On throwing down a folio volume which lacked one of the covers, had many leaves in tatters, and was tightly wound with a rough piece of cord, he remarked to me “that is no good. Sir, it is only old poetry.”9 I unloosened the string, opened the book, and at a glance saw what a treasure was found. Having shown it in due course to Mr. Sibthorp, I took it to London, supplied several missing leaves from another copy in the possession of Messrs. H. Sotheran & Co.

  So far Railton’s story was exciting to Henry Folger—the discovery of a lost copy of the First Folio was always that—but not amazing. At that moment Railton could not have understood the magnitude of the discovery. All he knew was that he had found a hitherto unrecorded copy of the First Folio.

  But Railton continued: “[I] had it finally restored by Mr. Pratt as nearly as possible to the state in which it was originally presented by Jaggard the printer to his friend Augustine Vincent.”

  “Presented by Jaggard”? Now Railton had Folger’s full attention. In nearly three centuries, no presentation copy of the
First Folio had ever been discovered. That fact alone made this copy special. But presented by Jaggard, the printer of the book? It seemed almost too incredible to be true. Railton laid out the evidence. The volume contained a handwritten inscription written in ink and dated 1623. But who had written it? And the front cover of the binding, which appeared to be original and seemed to date to the 1620s, was decorated with a coat of arms. But whose coat of arms did it proclaim? It had, Railton revealed, taken eight years to find out. In an effort worthy of a team of cryptographers, only the combined talents and patience of paleographers, the bibliographer Sidney Lee, and three librarians from the British Museum—Principal Librarian Sir Edward Maunde Thompson, Mr. Warner of the manuscript department, and Alfred W. Pollard of the books department—could decode the triple mysteries of the book. The presentation inscription was in the hand of Augustine Vincent, the Windsor Herald; the book was the very copy given to him 276 years earlier by Isaac Jaggard, printer of the First Folio; and the decoration stamped on the front cover was Vincent’s coat of arms.

  The condition of the book was not perfect, Railton reported. Sotheran had restored the volume, replacing two missing pages with pages from other copies of the First Folio, and had also replaced two leaves in facsimile. When the treasure was discovered, its binding was held on with a piece of string; Sotheran’s had the book rebound, incorporating much of the original calf binding—including the coat of arms—into the new cover.

  Despite the volume’s flaws, it was exceptional in that the pages had never been trimmed—reduced in size by previous binders. The stunning provenance of the Sibthorp volume, combined with its status as the tallest known copy, and the likelihood that it was one of the first copies assembled by the printer, made it the most important and coveted copy of the First Folio in the world.

  To Henry Folger, this was all good news. It would make a perfect addition to his collection. Even better for Henry, Sotheran, an important dealer with whom, through the Warwick Castle purchase, he had established a satisfactory, prior business relationship, had discovered the volume. If Sotheran offered him first choice now, it would just be a matter of settling upon the price. Folger was ready to cable funds to London at once to complete the purchase.

  But there was more, advised Railton. And this news was not good. Sotheran had failed to gain control of the volume, and it was not for sale. After Sotheran & Co. had researched, identified, and repaired the book, Coningsby Sibthorp went to London to reclaim his property. Railton tried to purchase the First Folio that day:

  When the volume was ready, Mr. & Mrs. Sibthorp called together for it, I held it out and said “Which is it to be, the book or a Cheque?” Naming a large sum; Mrs. Sibthorp replied “Ah, Mr. Railton, if we take the Cheque we may spend the money, but in taking the book we shall always have a treasure to look at.”

  To Henry that report, though unwelcome, was not disastrous. At least Sibthorp had not sold the book to a rival collector, an institution, or a dealer not loyal to Folger. He calculated that he would still have a chance to buy the Sibthorp Folio. He could direct Sotheran to stay in touch with the owner, and pounce when the time was right. Then Railton dropped a bombshell that must have dismayed Folger. Sidney Lee had just written an article about the remarkable Sibthorp Folio, and had published it in the April 1899 issue of the Cornhill Magazine. Railton included a copy of the article in a letter to Folger.10 Now the whole world was in on the secret. Soon, Folger worried, every important collector in Great Britain and America would covet the book. Railton confirmed those fears: “As I expected Mr. Lee’s article has put hounds upon the track and now Mr. Sibthorp is being sorely tested.” Railton assured Folger that if Sibthorp sold the book at all, he had agreed to sell it through Sotheran: “He as good as promised if he fails he will do so into our hands—naturally nothing is certain in this life. Now do you wish the volume and if so we will act for you but the price must be high, 1,000 pounds will not do it—a long way above that in my opinion.”

  On May 3, 1899, Sotheran & Co. sent Folger a cryptic telegram: “Approached about folio do you wish it (signed) Bookmen” (Sotheran’s telex address). Henry confirmed his interest two days later: “To Bookmen London. Any progress Sibthorp. Folger.” Railton cabled Henry the next day. Sibthorp was now willing to sell his folio, but at a record high price of almost $25,000: “May 6, 1899. Bookmen to Folger: Owner replies five thousand pounds which I take to be prohibitive.” It was almost three times what Folger had paid for his best copy, and at least two and a half times the record price for any First Folio. Railton assumed that Folger would never pay it. After cabling Folger, he also wrote him a letter, describing his failed attempt to visit Sibthorp and negotiate in person. Sibthorp had declined to meet, telling Railton he should write him a letter, which he did. Railton quoted Sibthorp’s reply to Folger: “I am not wishing to sell my 1st Folio Edition of Shakespeare. I have been twice asked to answer a price and have replied 5,000 pounds—which I take to be prohibitive.” Railton ended his letter on a discouraging note: “As I anticipated Mr. Lee’s article has advertised the volume. . . . I may go further and say that Shakespearian students look upon it as a ‘National Treasure’ and desire its retention here.”

  Henry Folger hesitated. From the moment that Henry learned of the Sibthorp Folio, he had longed to possess it. Sotheran had come to him first, and in turn he had asked Railton to act as his agent and convince Sibthorp to sell. Railton had brought the eccentric Sibthorp to the table—but at an astonishing price that the owner secretly hoped that Sotheran’s client would not meet. Uncharacteristically, Folger’s negotiating skills failed him during this first, disastrous attempt to acquire the book. He made several amateurish mistakes. He wanted this Folio so badly that he restrained himself, fearing that his passion might overcome his judgment, causing him to pay an obscenely high price. His Shakespeare obsession had become so widely known among sellers that they used it against him to drive up the prices of the best books. Just as he had feared, the more famous he became, the more money sellers tried to charge him. Had Sibthorp guessed his identity? Is that why he had named such a preposterous price for the book? Folger overcompensated, and treated this unique transaction too casually, as though he were bargaining over any unremarkable commodity. But this was not a shipment of crude oil, of which there was a vast supply. This was the only known copy in the world of a presentation First Folio. If Henry failed to obtain it, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

  He did not cable orders to Sotheran to act at once and grab the book. Instead, he tarried seven weeks before replying to Railton’s telegram. Then he bargained. On June 25, Folger cabled Railton: “To Bookmen London. Offer Sibthorp up to Four thousand pounds, half cash half January first. Commission 250. Folger.” On July 6, Sibthorp, perhaps believing that bargaining over money was ungentlemanly, said no. “I beg you to decline offer on my behalf,” he cabled Sotheran. Folger’s bargaining had alarmed his agents. They had known Coningsby Sibthorp for several years, and were in the best position to judge his quixotic nature. If he said £5,000, the price was £5,000. It was not an invitation to negotiate. Railton knew this and warned Folger by telegram the same day: “We urge cash offer full price hopeless otherwise.”

  Henry, still eager to bargain and save at least £500, did not grasp the nuance coded within Railton’s advice and cabled another offer on July 6: “Think 4000 cash enough but see Sibthorp do your best 4500 half cash half January first. If 5000 [then] 2000 cash 3000 January first purchase kept secret.” In other words, Folger made two separate offers: $4,500 with $2,250 payable now and $2,250 due six months later, or $5,000 with $2,000 payable now and $3,000 paid six months later. Unwisely, Folger asked Railton to offer £4,500, conceding that he would go to £5,000 if absolutely necessary, but only if he could pay in two installments. Railton ignored Folger’s bargaining over a measly £500, knowing that it would infuriate Sibthorp.

  Frustrated with Folger’s dithering, and acting in what he believed was Henry’s best i
nterest, Railton chose not to inform Sibthorp of the lower, £4,500 offer. Instead, on July 8, he simply wired Sibthorp, “five thousand now offered [by] our client.” Then Railton wrote to Folger to confess what he had done. He told Henry that he had stayed late at the office “in anticipation of cabling you Mr. Sibthorp’s reply. . . . I shall cable you . . . feeling assured that you, like myself, are a little anxious as to the result.” On July 10, in a follow-up letter to Sibthorp, Railton breached Folger’s confidence by revealing to Sibthorp Henry’s private instructions to Sotheran: “His suggestion that we should offer an intermediate price we decided not to carry out, as we quite understood from the first that your price of 5000 pounds was final . . . [Y]ou will also note that our customer makes a proposition as to payment by two installments, this also we did not telegraph . . . but we shall say to him . . . that we do not anticipate you will wish to part with the folio before the completion of the payment . . . [W]e shall of course respect our customer’s request that the transaction be kept strictly secret.” Railton had done this not to harm Folger but to flatter Sibthorp’s sense of propriety and enhance the likelihood that he would close the deal.