Lost at Sea

Shakespeare liked shipwrecks, including one in at least five of his plays. Sea storms and shipwrecks were a convenient way to separate characters or bring them into conflict, as well as stranding them in a strange place. In the “Age of Exploration,” sea voyages became enticingly more possible over time, in spite of the dangers. But although Shakespeare himself never sailed to new lands, his printed words have circled the globe. Before flight was possible (and even after), such travel of course happened by ship.

When Henry Folger was purchasing the works that make up the core of the Folger collections today, most came to the United States from Great Britain. The correspondence that he and Emily carefully saved between dealers and agents is filled with trans-Atlantic letters and cablegrams. Living in the time of free 2-day shipping from Amazon, we don’t often consider what such a lengthy shipping process might entail. Books and manuscripts were carefully wrapped and sent to a ship, followed by a two-week journey to the Folgers in New York City. Unfortunately, like some of Shakespeare’s “sea-swallow’d” sailors, one shipment never made it to its destination.

In 1915, the North Atlantic was a dangerous place. With World War I raging, the waters were filled with German U-boats avoiding the British blockade and hunting Allied vessels. Perhaps most infamously, German submarine U-24 torpedoed and sank the Lusitania in June of 1915, killing two-thirds of her 2,000 passengers and causing international uproar. As the war continued, Germany targeted more and more merchant vessels, ultimately sinking 5,000 ships by the time of the Armistice in 1918.

Neither this rising threat, nor the fate of the Lusitania, stopped an eager representative of the London antiquarian dealer Maggs Bros. from writing to Henry Folger in July of 1915. Henry frequently purchased items from this respected, well-established firm, having enjoyed doing business with them nearly since he began collecting. As was customary with overseas clientele, Maggs would often send rare items “on approval” so that the customer could examine the item personally. This was not a guarantee of purchase: Folger didn’t hesitate to return items he found “wanting.” But on July 27th, the author of this letter from Maggs was certain he had found something special to pique Henry’s interest:

Maggs Bros. writes to Henry Folger on July 27th, 1915. Photo by Elizabeth DeBold.

Dear Sir,

We have pleasure in enclosing detailed report [sic] of a magnificent collection of Garrick letters and documents which we have recently acquired.

Should you like to have these over, we shall be glad of a cable.

The collection is offered, of course, subject to being unsold at the time of receiving order.

They enclosed a typescript catalog tied with a green ribbon, detailing 21 letters and 4 poems written by David Garrick, noting that one poem in particular was “a love poem to Peg Woffington.” Maggs valued the collection at £420, and went into extreme detail in describing each item. The authors of the catalog were particularly keen to point out letters including “Shakespearean interest,” transcribing from one letter to a Miss Cadogan: “My dearly beloved — we shall be most happy to see you & your Anti-Shakespearean Father on Sunday night, tho’ he has manifest sins & much wickedness, they shall be forgiven on your account…”

Maggs Bros.’ catalog of Garrick autograph letters and poems, 1915. Photo by Elizabeth DeBold.

By mid-August Folger reached a decision, cabling back tersely via Western Union:

SEND GARRICK COLLECTION APPROVAL

FOLGER

Despite this confident cablegram, Henry confided in an accompanying letter that he wasn’t so sure he would keep the letters, writing that “the price [may] make it impossible for me to do so.” Maggs packed and readied the items anyway, writing back on August 17th:

Dear Sir, 

We thank you very much for your cablegram and in accordance therewith have pleasure in sending you per parcel post in two parcels the Garrick Collection as per enclosed invoice, and trust it will reach you safely. 

We also enclose certified consular invoice. 

Unfortunately, their trust was misplaced: German submarine U-24 torpedoed the “Arabic” 50 miles south of Kinsale on August 19th. The “Arabic” sank obligingly in the space of 10 minutes, killing 44, and taking Garrick’s letters and his love poem to Peg Woffington to the bottom of the sea. Maggs wrote with the bad news the next day:

Letter from Maggs, August 20th, 1915, with personalized post-script. Photo by Elizabeth DeBold

We enclose a duplicate of our letter sent by last mail and which we believe was on the S.S. “Arabic” so dastardly torpedoed by the Germans. 

Would you kindly upon receipt of this letter, advise us if the original has been received or not. 

P.S. The packages were duly insured by us and although there doubtless will be no monetary loss, still the loss to Dramatic literature and history is unrepairable as the Garrick Collection was of the greatest importance possible. We are very, very grieved over it. 

On September 3rd, Folger replied, confirming the sad truth: the collection of Garrickiana was lost.

Henry Folger writes on September 3rd, 1915 to confirm Maggs’ suspicions that the Garrick letters were on the “Arabic.” Photo by Elizabeth DeBold.

Gentlemen:

Replying to yours of August 20th, just received, I am sorry to say that the package containing the Garrick collection, which you report as having been shipped on the 17th, has not yet come to hand, and as packages from London shipped on a later date than the 17th have been received, I fear, with you, that the package was lost on the Arabic. I am quite as sorry as you are to have to make this report. 

Thankfully, Folger did keep the catalog with the descriptions and transcriptions, marking simply on the back:

Garrick Autograph Letters etc–

Lost on the “Arabic”, 1915.

As terrible as this loss was for our collections, and as Maggs notes, for history, the correspondence that Henry Folger saved gives us insight into the dangers of the Atlantic crossing even in the 20th century. Garrick’s love poem to Peg Woffington wasn’t the only item of literary or cultural value to go down—Henry Elkins Widener, namesake of Harvard’s Widener Library, supposedly sank on the Titanic with a second edition of Bacon’s Essais  (1598) in his pocket.

Human conflict (as well as accident) has shaped the cultural repositories of our time, and will likely continue to do so—these letters are not the greatest loss we have experienced or ever will. But I am thankful to the perhaps overzealous catalogers at Maggs in 1915, who went to the trouble of describing and transcribing these letters, and to Henry and Emily Folger, for the instincts that have preserved not only their collection, but the documentation behind their collecting for future study.

During wartime, rare dealers included “War Risk Insurance” on their packages, as noted on this receipt for another item sent to Folger in the summer of 1915. Photo by Elizabeth DeBold.