Frits Lugt was able, relatively early in his long life (1884-1970), to make it absolutely secure that his name would long outlive him, or that at least his initial would. He did this in the same way used by the otherwise forgotten Köchel, whose “K.” is commemorated daily on concert programs because he put together a reliable catalogue of Mozart’s works. The first person of this very special type was, I would think, the Viennese librarian Adam Bartsch; he recorded the engravings of artists in twenty-two little volumes, published around 1800 in French, and lives forever as “B.” in the small world of private and public collectors. Of course, many others have produced catalogues of something of interest, and some were plainly aware of the value to their egos. But Lugt is different because what he catalogued was really of very minor attraction even if it was vital to those concerned; it also could have seemed impossible to catalogue in any reasonably complete way. His subject was the marks—rubber stamps and the like—which collectors apply to their prints and drawings to show ownership. There were some three thousand of them in Lugt’s book published in 1921. (Typically, it too was written in French rather than in the author’s native Dutch.) The book’s very long title explains that it embraces the marks of dealers, museums, and individuals, whether done in ink, with blind stamps, or by hand. It is still hard to imagine putting together such