Chapter VII: Conclusion: Of the Account of the Royal Library. the Library of the Arsenal (3)

It was early one morning--before I had even commenced my breakfast--that a stranger was announced to me. And who, think you, should that stranger turn out to be? Nothing less than the _Nephew_ of the late Abbé Rive. His name was MORENAS. His countenance was somewhat like that which Sir Thomas More describes the hero of his Utopia to have had. It was hard, swarthy, and severe. He seemed in every respect to be "a travelled man." But his manners and voice were mild and conciliating. "Some one had told him that I had written about the Abbé Rive, and that I was partial to his work. Would I do him the favour of a visit? when I might see, at his house, (_Rue du Vieux Colombier, près St. Sulpice_) the whole of the Abbé's MSS. and all his projected works for the press. They were for sale. Possibly I might wish to possess them?" I thanked the stranger for his intelligence, and promised I would call that same morning.

M. Morenas has been indeed a great traveller. When I called, I found him living up two pair of stairs, preparing for another voyage to Senegal. He was surrounded by _trunks_ ... in which were deposited the literary remains of his uncle. In other words, these remains consisted of innumerable _cards_, closely packed, upon which the Abbé had written all his memoranda relating to ... I scarcely know what. But the whole, from the nephew's statement, seemed to be an encyclopædia of knowledge. In one trunk, were about _six thousand_ notices of MSS. of all ages; and of editions in the fifteenth century. In another trunk, were wedged about _twelve thousand_ descriptions of books in all languages, except those of French and Italian, from the sixteenth century to his own period: these were professed to be accompanied with critical notes. In a third trunk was a bundle of papers relating to the _History of the Troubadours_; in a fourth, was a collection of memoranda and literary sketches, connected with the invention of Arts and Sciences, with Antiquities, Dictionaries, and pieces exclusively bibliographical. A fifth trunk contained between _two and three thousand_ cards, written upon on each side, respecting a collection of prints; describing the ranks, degrees, and dignities of all nations--of which eleven folio _cahiers_ were published, in 1779--without the letter-press-- but in a manner to make the Abbé extremely dissatisfied with the engraver. In a sixth trunk were contained his papers respecting earthquakes, volcanoes, and geographical subjects: so that, you see, the Abbé Rive at least fancied himself a man of tolerably universal attainments. It was of course impossible to calculate the number, or to appreciate the merits, of such a multifarious collection; but on asking M. Morenas if he had made up his mind respecting the _price_ to be put upon it, he answered, that he thought he might safely demand 6000 francs for such a body of miscellaneous information. I told him that this was a sum much beyond my means to adventure; but that it was at least an object worthy of the consideration of the "higher powers" of his own government. He replied, that he had little hopes of success in those quarters: that he was anxious to resume his travels; talked of another trip to Senegal; for that, after so locomotive a life, a sedentary one was wearisome to him....

... "trahit sua quemque voluptas!"

Over the chimney-piece was a portrait, in pencil, of his late uncle: done from the life. It was the only one extant. It struck me indeed as singularly indicative of the keen, lively, penetrating talents of the original. On the back of the portrait were the lines which are here subjoined:

_Dès sa plus tendre enfance aux études livré,
La soif de la science l'a toujours dévoré.
Une immense lecture enrichit ses écrits,
Et la critique sure en augmente le prix._

These lines are copied from the _Journal des Savans_ for October 1779. Iean Joseph Rive was born at Apt, in 1730, and died at Marseilles in 1791. He had doubtless great parts, natural and acquired: a retentive memory, a quick perception, and a vast and varied reading. He probably commenced amassing his literary treasures as early as his fourteenth year; and to his latest breath he pursued his researches with unabated ardour. But his career was embittered by broils and controversies; while the frequent acts of kindness, and the general warmth of heart, evinced in his conduct, hardly sufficed to soften the asperity, or to mitigate the wrath, of a host of enemies--which assailed him to the very last. But Cadmus-like, he sowed the seeds from which these combatants sprung. Whatever were his defects, as a public character, he is said to have been, in private, a kind parent, a warm friend, and an excellent master. The only servant which he ever had, and who remained with him twenty-four years, mourned his loss as that of a father. Peace to his ashes!

From bibliography let me gently, and naturally, as it were, conduct you towards BIBLIOPOLISM. In other words, allow me to give you a sketch of a few of the principal Booksellers in this gay metropolis; who strive, by the sale of instructive and curious tomes, sometimes printed in the black letter of _Gourmont_ and _Marnef_, to stem the torrent of those trivial or mischievous productions which swarm about the avenues of the Palais Royal. In ancient times, the neighbourhood of the SORBONNE was the great mart for books. When I dined in this neighbourhood, with my friend M. Gail, the Greek Professor at the College Royale, I took an opportunity of leisurely examining this once renowned quarter. I felt even proud and happy to walk the streets, or rather tread the earth, which had been once trodden by _Gering_, _Crantz_, and _Fiburger_.[122] Their spirits seemed yet to haunt the spot:--but no volume, nor even traces of one--executed at their press-- could be discovered. To have found a perfect copy of _Terence_, printed in their first Roman character, would have been a _trouvaille_ sufficiently lucky to have compensated for all previous toil, and to have franked me as far as Strasbourg.

The principal mart for booksellers, of old and second hand books, is now nearer the Seine; and especially in the _Quai des Augustins_. _Messrs. Treuttel and Würtz, Panckoucke, Renouard_, and _Brunet_, live within a quarter of a mile of each other: about a couple of hundred yards from the _Quai des Augustins_. Further to the south, and not far from the Hotel de Clugny, in the _Rue Serpente_, live the celebrated DEBURE. They are booksellers to the King, and to the Royal Library; and a more respectable house, or a more ancient firm, is probably not to be found in Europe. Messrs. Debure are as straight-forward, obliging, and correct, in their transactions, as they are knowing in the value, and upright in the sale, of their stock in trade. No bookseller in Paris possesses a more judicious stock, or can point to so many rare and curious books. A young collector may rely with perfect safety upon them; and accumulate, for a few hundred pounds, a very respectable stock of _Editiones principes_ or _rarissimæ_. I do not say that such young collector would find them _cheaper there_, or _so cheap_ as in _Pall-Mall_; but I do say that he may rest assured that Messieurs Debure would never, knowingly, sell him an imperfect book. Of the Debure, there are two brothers: of whom the elder hath a most gallant propensity to _portrait-collecting_--and is even rich in portraits relating to _our_ history. Of course the chief strength lies in French history; and I should think that Monsieur Debure l'ainé shewed me almost as many portraits of Louis XIV. as there are editions of the various works of Cicero in the fifteenth century.[123] But my attention was more particularly directed to a certain boudoir, up one pair of stairs, in which Madame Debure, their venerable and excellent mother, chooses to deposit some few very choice copies of works in almost every department of knowledge. There was about _one_ of the _best_ editions in each department: and whether it were the Bible, or the History of the Bucaineers--whether a lyrical poet of the reign of Louis XIV. or the ballad metres of that of François Premier ... there you found it!--bound by Padaloup, or Deseuille, or De Rome. What think you, among these "choice copies," of the _Cancionero Generale_ printed at Toledo in 1527, in the black letter, double columned, in folio? Enough to madden even our poet-laureat--for life! I should add, that these books are not thus carefully kept together for the sake of _shew_: for their owner is a fair good linguist, and can read the Spanish with tolerable fluency. Long may she yet read it.[124]

The Debure had the selling, by auction, of the far-famed M'CARTHY LIBRARY; and I saw upon their shelves some of the remains of that splendid membranaceous collection. Indeed I bought several desirable specimens of it: among them, a fine copy of _Vindelin de Spira's_ edition (1471) of _St. Cyprians Epistles_, UPON VELLUM.[125] Like their leading brethren in the neighbourhood, Messieurs Debure keep their country house, and there pass the Sabbath.

The house of TREUTTEL and WURTZ is one of the richest and one of the most respectable in Europe. The commerce of that House is chiefly in the wholesale way; and they are, in particular, the publishers and proprietors of all the great classical works put forth at _Strasbourg_. Indeed, it was at this latter place where the family first took root: but the branches of their prosperity have spread to Paris and to London with nearly equal luxuriance. They have a noble house in the _Rue de Bourbon_, no. 17: like unto an hotel; where each day's post brings them despatches from the chief towns in Europe. Their business is regulated with care, civility, and dispatch; and their manners are at once courteous and frank. Nothing would satisfy them but I must spend a Sabbath with them, at their country house at _Groslai_; hard by the village and vale of Montmorenci. I assented willingly. On the following Sunday, their capacious family coach, and pair of sleek, round, fat black horses, arrived at my lodgings by ten o'clock; and an hour and three quarters brought me to Groslai. The cherries were ripe, and the trees were well laden with fruit: for Montmorenci cherries, as you may have heard, are proverbial for their excellence. I spent a very agreeable day with mine hosts. Their house is large and pleasantly situated, and the view of Paris from thence is rather picturesque. But I was most struck with the conversation and conduct of Madame Treuttel. She is a thoroughly good woman. She has raised, at her own expense, an alms-house in the village for twelve poor men; and built a national school for the instruction of the poor and ignorant of both sexes. She is herself a Lutheran Protestant; as are her husband and her son-in-law M. Würtz. At first, she had some difficulties to encounter respecting the _school_; and sundry conferences with the village Curé, and some of the head clergy of Paris, were in consequence held. At length all difficulties were surmounted by the promise given, on the part of Madame Treuttel, to introduce only the French version of the Bible by _De Sacy_. Hence the school was built, and the children of the village flocked in numbers to it for instruction. I visited both the alms-house and the school, and could not withhold my tribute of hearty commendation at the generosity, and thoroughly Christian spirit, of the foundress of such establishments. There is more good sense and more private and public virtue, in the application of superfluous wealth in this manner, than in the erection of a hundred palaces like that at _Versailles!_[126]

A different, and a more touching object presented itself to my view in the garden. Walking with Madame, we came, through various détours, into a retired and wooded part: where, on opening a sort of wicket gate, I found myself in a small square space, with hillocks in the shape of _tumuli_ before me. A bench was at the extremity. It was a resting place for the living, and a depository of the dead. Flowers, now a good deal faded, were growing upon these little mounds--beneath which the dead seemed to sleep in peace. "What might this mean?" "Sir," replied Madame Treuttel, "this is consecrated ground. My son-in-law sleeps here--and his only and beloved child lies by the side of him. You will meet my daughter, his wife, at dinner. She, with myself, visit this spot at stated seasons--when we renew and indulge our sorrows on the recollection of those who sleep beneath. These are losses which the world can never repair. We all mean to be interred within the same little fenced space.[127] I have obtained a long lease of it--for some fifty years: at the expiration of which time, the work of dissolution will be sufficiently complete with us all." So spake my amiable and enlightened guide. The remainder of the day--during which we took a stroll to Montmorenci, and saw the house and gardens where Rousseau wrote his _Emile_--was spent in a mixed but not irrational manner: much accordant with my own feelings, and most congenial with a languid state of body which had endured the heats of Paris for a month, without feeling scarcely a breath of air the whole time.

ANTOINE-AUGUSTIN RENOUARD, living in the _Rue St. André des Arts_, is the next bibliopolist whom I shall introduce to your attention. He is among the most lynx-eyed of his fraternity: has a great knowledge of books; a delightful ALDINE LIBRARY;[128]--from which his Annals of the Aldine Press were chiefly composed--and is withal a man in a great and successful line of business. I should say he is a rich man; not because he has five hundred bottles of Burgundy in his cellar, which some may think to be of a more piquant quality than the like number of his _Alduses_--but because he has published some very beautiful and expensive editions of the Latin and French Classics, with equal credit to himself and advantage to his finances.[129] He _debuted_ with a fine edition of _Lucan_ in 1795, folio; and the first catalogue of his books was put forth the following year. From that moment to the present, he has never slackened head, hand, or foot, in the prosecution of his business; while the publication of his _Annals of the Aldine Press_ places him among the most skilful and most instructive booksellers in Europe. It is indeed a masterly performance: and as useful as it is elegantly printed.[130] M. Renouard is now occupied in an improved edition of _Voltaire_, which he means to adorn with engravings; and of which he shewed me the original drawings by Moreau, with many of the plates.[131] He seems in high spirits about the success of it, and leans with confidence upon the strength of a host of subscribers. Nor does a rival edition, just struggling into day, cause him to entertain less sanguine expectations of final success. This enterprising bookseller is now also busily occupied about a _Descriptive Catalogue of his own library_, in which he means to indulge himself in sundry gossipping notes, critical disquisitions, and piquant anecdotes. I look forward with pleasure to its appearance; and turn a deaf ear to the whispers which have reached me of an intended _brush_ at the Decameron.[132]

M. Renouard has allowed me free access to his library; which also contains some very beautiful copies of books printed in the fifteenth century. Among these latter, his VELLUM VALDARFER is of course considered, by himself and his friends, as the _keimelion_ of the collection. It is the edition of the _Orations of Cicero_, printed by Valdarfer, at Venice, in 1471, folio: a most exquisite book--which may be fairly considered as perfect throughout. It is in its second binding, but _that_ may be as old as the time of Francis I.: perhaps about the middle of the sixteenth century. This copy measures thirteen inches in height, by eight inches and seven-eighths in width:--almost, I conceive, in its original state of amplitude. I will frankly own that I turned over the leaves of this precious book, again and again--"sighed and looked, &c." "But would no price tempt the owner to part with it?" "None. It is reserved as the bijou of my catalogue, and departs not from hence." Severe, but just decree! There is only one other known copy of it upon vellum, which is in the Royal Library[133]--but which wants a leaf of the table; an imperfection, not belonging to the present copy.

The other "great guns," as VELLUM BOOKS, in the collection of M. Renouard, are what is called the _Familiar Epistles of Cicero_ printed by _Aldus_ in 1502, 12mo: and the _Petrarch_ of 1514, 8vo. also printed by Aldus. Of these, the _latter_ is by much the preferable volume. It is almost as large as it can well be: but badly bound in red morocco.[134] The Cicero is short and sallow-looking. It was on the occasion of his son starting for the first time on a bibliographical tour, and, on crossing the Rhine, and finding this Cicero and the almost equally rare _Aldine Virgil_ of 1505, that a relation of this "fortunate youth" invoked his muse in some few verses, which he printed and gave to me.[135] These are little "plaisanteries" which give a relish to our favourite pursuits; and which may at some future day make the son transcend the father in bibliographical renown. Perhaps the father has already preferred a prayer upon the subject, as thus:

[Greek: Zeu, alloi te Theoi, dote dê kai tonde genesthai
Paid emon ôs kai egô per, ....]

There are some few noble volumes, from the press of _Sweynheym and Pannartz_, in this collection; and the finest copy of the FIRST LUCIAN in Greek, which perhaps any where exists.[136] It was obtained at a recent sale, (where it was coated in a lapping-over vellum surtout) at a pretty smart price; and has been recently clothed in blue morocco. M. Renouard has also some beautiful copies from the library of _De Thou_, and a partly uncut _Aldine Theophrastus_ of 1497, which belonged to Henry the Second and Diane de Poictiers; as well as a completely uncut copy of the first _Aldine Aristotle_.[137] Few men probably have been luckier in obtaining several of their choice articles; and the little anecdotes which he related to me, are such as I make no doubt will appear in the projected catalogue raisonné of his library. He is just now briskly engaged in the pursuit of _uncut Elzevirs_ ... and coming to breakfast with me, the other morning, he must needs pick up a beautiful copy of this kind, in two small volumes, neatly half bound, (of which I have forgotten the title,) and of which he had been for some time in the pursuit. M. Renouard also took occasion to tell me that, in his way to my chambers, he had sold, or subscribed, of a forthcoming work to be published by him--just _nine hundred and ninety-nine copies!_ Of course, after such a _trouvaille_ and such a subscription, he relished his breakfast exceedingly. He is a man of quick movements, of acute perceptions, of unremitting ardour and activity of mind and body-- constantly engaged in his business, managing a very extensive correspondence, and personally known to the most distinguished Collectors of Italy. Like his neighbours, he has his country-house, or rather farm, in Picardy[138] whither he retires, occasionally to view the condition and growing strength of that species of animal, from the backs of which his beloved Aldus of old, obtained the _matériel_ for his vellum copies. But it is time to wish M. Renouard a good morning, and to take you with me to his neighbour--

MONS. BRUNET, THE YOUNGER. This distinguished bibliographer, rather than bookseller, lives hard by--in the _Rue Gît-Le-Coeur_. He lives with his father, who superintends the business of the shop. The Rue Gît-Le-Coeur is a sorry street--very diminutive, and a sort of cropt copy--to what it should have been, or what it might have been. However, there lives JACQ. CH. BRUNET, FILS: a writer, who will be known to the latest times in the bibliographical world. He will be also thanked as well as known; for his _Manuel du Libraire_ is a performance of incomparable utility to all classes of readers and collectors. You mount up one pair of stairs:--the way is gloomy, and might well lead to a chamber in the monastery of La Trappe. You then read an incription, which tells you that "in turning the button you pull the bell." The bell sounds, and _Mons. Brunet, Pere_, receives you--with, or without, a silken cap upon his head. He sits in a small room, sufficiently well filled with books. "Is the Son at home?" "Open that door, Sir, you will find him in the next room." The door is immediately opened--and there sits the son, surrounded by, and almost imprisoned in, papers and books. His pen is in his hand: his spectacles are upon his nose: and he is transcribing or re-casting some precious little bit of bibliographical intelligence; while, on looking up and receiving you, he seems to be "full of the labouring God!" In short, he is just now deeply and unintermittingly engaged in a new and _third_ edition of his _Manuel_.[139] The shelves of his room almost groan beneath the weight of those writers from whom he gathers his principal materials. "Vous voilà, Mons. Brunet, bien occupé!;" "Oui, Monsieur, cela me fait autant de plaisir que de peine."

This is a very picture of the man.... "The labour we delight in physics pain,"--said Lady Macbeth of old; and of a most extraordinary kind must the labour of Mons. Brunet be considered, when the pleasure in the prosecution of it balances the pain. We talked much and variously at our first interview: having previously interchanged many civilities by letter, and myself having been benefitted by such correspondence, in the possession of a _large paper_ copy of his first edition--of which he was pleased to make me a present, and of which only twenty copies were struck off. I told him that I had given Charles Lewis a carte blanche for its binding, and that I would back _his_ skill--the result of such an order--against any binding at that time visible in any quarter of Paris! Mons. B. could not, in his heart, have considered any other binding superior.

He told me, somewhat to my astonishment, and much to my gratification, that, of the first edition of his _Manuel_, he had printed and sold _two thousand_ copies. This could never have been done in our country: because, doubting whether it would have been so accurately printed, it could never have been published, in the same elegant manner, for the same price. The charges of our printers would have been at least double. In the typographical execution of it, M. Crapelet has almost outdone himself. Reverting to the author, I must honestly declare that he has well merited all he has gained, and will well merit all the gains which are in store for him. His application is severe, constant, and of long continuance. He discards all ornament,[140] whether graphic or literary. He is never therefore digressive; having only a simple tale to tell, and that tale being almost always _well_ and _truly_ told.[141] In his opinions, he is firm and rational, and sometimes a little pugnacious in the upholding of them. But he loves only to breathe in a bibliographical element, and is never happier than when he has detected some error, or acquired some new information; especially if it relate to an _Editio Princeps_.[142] There is also something very naïf and characteristic in his manner and conversation. He copies no one; and may be said to be a citizen of the world. In short, he has as little _nationality_ in his opinions and conversation, as any Frenchman with whom I have yet conversed.

Thus much for the leading booksellers of Paris on the south side of the Seine: or, indeed, I may say in the whole city. But, because the south is a warm and genial aspect in the bringing forth of all species of productions, it does not necessarily follow that ... there should be _no_ bibliopolistic vegetation on the _north_ side of the Seine. Prepare therefore to be introduced to MONS. CHARDIN, in the _Rue St. Anne_, no. 19; running nearly at right angles with the _Rue St. Honoré_, not far from the _Eglise St. Roq._ M. Chardin is the last surviving remains of the OLD SCHOOL of booksellers in Paris; and as I love antiquities of almost all kinds, I love to have a little occasional gossip with M. Chardin. A finer old man, with a more characteristic physiognomy, hath not appeared in France from the time of Gering downwards. M. Chardin is above the mean height; is usually attired in a rocquelaure; and his fine flowing grey locks are usually surmounted by a small black silk cap. His countenance is penetrating, but mild: and he has a certain air of the "Old School" about him, which is always, to my old-fashioned taste, interesting and pleasing.

In his youth he must have been handsome, and his complexion is yet delicate. But good old M. Chardin is an oddity in his way. He physics "according to the book"--that is, according to the Almanack; although I should think he had scarcely one spare ounce of blood in his veins. Phlebotomy is his "dear delight." He is always complaining, and yet expects to be always free from complaint. But Madame will have it so, and Monsieur is consenting. He lives on the floor just above the entresol, and his two or three small apartments are gaily furnished with books. The interior is very interesting; for his chief treasures are locked up within glazed cabinets, which display many a rich and rare article. These cabinets are beautifully ornamented: and I do assure you that it is but justice to their owner to say, that they contain many an article which does credit to his taste.

This taste consists principally in a love of ornamented MSS. and printed books UPON VELLUM, in general very richly bound.[143] It is scarcely seven years ago since M. Chardin published an octavo catalogue, of nearly two hundred pages, of MSS. and printed books ... all upon vellum. He has been long noted for rarities of this kind. "Il n'y a que des livres rares" is his constant exclamation--as you open his glazed doors, and stretch forth your hand to take down his treasures. He is the EDWARDS of France, but upon a smaller scale of action. Nor does he push his _wares_, although he does his _prices_. You may buy or not, but you must _pay_ for what you _do_ buy. There is another oddity about this courteous and venerable bibliopolist. He has a great passion for making his _Alduses_ perfect by means of _manuscript_; and I must say, that, supposing this plan to be a good one, he has carried it into execution in a surprisingly perfect manner: for you can scarcely, by candle-light, detect the difference between what is printed and what is executed with a pen. I think it was the whole of the _Scholia_ attached to the Aldine _Discorides_, in folio, and a great number of leaves in the _Grammatical Institutes of Urbanus_, of 1497, 4to. with several other smaller volumes, which I saw thus rendered perfect: How any scribe can be sufficiently paid for such toil, is to me inconceivable: and how it can answer the purpose of any bookseller so to complete his copies, is also equally unaccountable: for be it known, that good M. Chardin leaves _you_ to make the _discovery_ of the MS. portion; and when you _have_ made it,--he innocently subjoins--"Oui, Monsieur, n'est il pas beau?" In a sort of passage, between his principal shew-room and his bed room, is contained a very large collection of tracts and printed volumes relating to the FAIR SEX: being, in fact, nothing less than a prodigious heap of publications "FOR and AGAINST" the ladies. M. Chardin will not separate them--adding that the "bane and antidote must always go together."

This singular character is also vehemently attached to antiquarian _nick-knackery_. Old china, old drawings, old paintings, old carvings, and old relics--of whatever kind--are surveyed by him with a curious eye, and purchased with a well-laden purse. He never speaks of GOUJIN but in raptures. We made an exchange the other day. M. Chardin hath no small variety of walking canes. He visited me at the Hôtel one morning, leaning upon a fine dark bamboo-stick, which was _headed_ by an elaborately carved piece of ivory--the performance of the said Goujon. It consisted of a recumbent female, (with a large flapped hat on) of which the head was supported by a shield of coat armour.[144] We struck a bargain in five minutes. He presented me the _stick_, on condition of my presenting him with a choice copy of the _Ædes Althorpianæ_. We parted well satisfied with each other; but I suspect that the purchase of about four-score pounds worth of books, added much to the satisfaction on his part. Like all his brethren of the same craft, M. Chardin disports himself on Saturdays and Sundays at his little "ferme ornée," within some four miles of Paris-- having, as he gaily told me "nothing now to do but to make poesies for the fair sex."[145]

With Chardin I close my bibliopolistic narrative; not meaning thereby to throw other booksellers into the least degree of shade, but simply to transmit to you an account of such as I have seen and have transacted business with. And now, prepare for some account of PRINTERS ... or rather of _three presses_ only,--certainly the most distinguished in Paris. I mean those of the DIDOT and that of M. CRAPELET. The name of Didot will last as long as learning and taste shall last in any quarter of the globe: nor am I sure, after all, that what _Bodoni, Bensley_, and _Bulmer_ have done, collectively, has redounded _more_ to the credit of their countries than what Didot has achieved for France. In ancient classical literature, however, Bodoni has a right to claim an exception and a superiority. The elder, _Pierre Didot_, is Printer to his Majesty. But when Pierre Didot l'ainé chose to adopt his _own_ fount of letter--how exquisitely does his skill appear in the folio _Virgil_ of 1798, and yet more, perhaps, in the folio Horace of 1799!? These are books which never have been, and never _can_ be, eclipsed. Yet I own that the Horace, from the enchanting vignettes of _Percier_, engraved by Girardais, is to my taste the preferable volume.[146]

FIRMIN DIDOT now manages the press in the _Rué Jacob;_ and if he had never executed any thing but the _Lusiad_ of _Camoens_, his name would be worthy to go down to posterity by the side of that of his uncle. The number of books printed and published by the Didots is almost incredible; especially of publications in the Latin and French languages. Of course I include the _Stereotype_ productions: which are very neat and very commodious--but perhaps the page has rather too dazzling an effect. I paid a visit the other day to the office of Firmin Didot; who is a letter founder "as well as a printer.[147] To a question which I asked the nephew, (I think) respecting the number of copies and sizes, of the famous _Lusiad_ just mentioned, he answered, that there were only _two hundred_ copies, and those only of _one size_. Let that suffice to comfort those who are in terror of having the small paper, and to silence such as try to depreciate the value of the book, from the supposed additional number of copies struck off.

I wished to know the costs and charges of _printing_, &c.--from which the comparative price of labour in the two countries might be estimated. M. Didot told me that the entire charges for printing, and pulling, one thousand copies of a full octavo size volume--containing thirty lines in a page, in a middle-size-letter--including _every thing_ but _paper_--was thirty-five francs per sheet. I am persuaded that such a thing could not be done at home under very little short of double the price:--whether it be that our printers, including the most respectable, are absolutely more extravagant in their charges, or that the wages of the compositors are double those which are given in France.

After Didot, comes CRAPELET--in business, skill, and celebrity. He is himself a very pleasant, unaffected man; scarcely thirty-six; and likely, in consequence, to become the richest printer in Paris. I have visited him frequently, and dined with him once--when he was pleased to invite some agreeable, well-informed, and gentlemanly guests to meet me. Among them was a M. REY, who has written "_Essais Historiques et Critiques sur Richard III. Roi d'Angleterre_," just printed in a handsome octavo volume by our Host. Our conversation, upon the whole; was mixed; agreeable, and instructive. Madame Crapelet, who is at this moment (as I should conjecture) perhaps pretty equally divided between her twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth year, and who may be classed among the prettier ladies of Paris, did the honours of the fête in a very agreeable manner: nor can it be a matter of surprise that the choicest Chambertin and Champagne sparkled upon the table of _one_--who, during the libations of his guests; had the tympans and friskets of _twenty-two Presses_ in full play![148] We retired, after dinner, into a spacious drawing room to coffee and liqueurs: and anon, to a further room, wherein was a BOOK-CASE filled by some of the choicest specimens of the press of its owner, as well as of other celebrated printers. I have forgotten what we took down or what we especially admired: but, to a question respecting the _present_ state of business, as connected with _literature_ and _printing_, at Paris, M. Crapelet replied (as indeed, if I remember rightly, M. Didot did also) that "matters never went on better." Reprints even of old authors were in agitation: and two editions of _Montaigne_ were at that moment going on in his own house. I complimented M. Crapelet--and with equal sincerity and justice--upon the typographical execution of M. Brunet's _Manuel du Libraire_. No printer in our own country, could have executed it more perfectly. "What might have been the charge per sheet?" My host received the compliment very soberly and properly; and gave me a general item about the expense of printing and paper, &c., which really surprised me; and returned it with a warm eulogy upon the paper and press-work of a recent publication from the _Shakspeare press_--which, said he, "I despair of excelling." "And then (added he), your prettily executed vignettes, and larger prints! In France this branch of the art is absolutely not understood[149]--and besides, we cannot publish books at _your_ prices!"

We must now bid adieu to the types of M. Crapelet below stairs, and to his "good cheer" above; and with him take our leave of Parisian booksellers and printers.[150] What then remains, in the book way, worthy of especial notice? Do you ask this question? I will answer it in a trice--BOOK-BINDING. Yes ... some few hours of my residence in this metropolis have been devoted to an examination of this _seductive_ branch of book commerce. And yet I have not seen--nor am I likely to see--one single binder: either _Thouvenin, or Simier, or Braidel, or Lesné_. I am not sure whether Courteval, or either of the Bozérians, be living: but their _handy works_ live and are lauded in every quarter of Paris.

The restorer, or the Father, (if you prefer this latter appellative) of modern Book-binding in France, was the Elder Bozérian: of whose productions the book-amateurs of Paris are enthusiastically fond. Bozérian undoubtedly had his merits;[151] but he was fond of gilt tooling to excess. His ornaments are too minute and too profuse; and moreover, occasionally, very unskilfully worked. His choice of morocco is not always to my taste; while his joints are neither carefully measured, nor do they play easily; and his linings are often gaudy to excess. He is however hailed as the legitimate restorer of that taste in binding, which delighted the purchasers in the Augustan age of book-collecting. One merit must not be denied him: his boards are usually square, and well measured. His volumes open well, and are beaten ... too unmercifully. It is the reigning error of French binders. They think they can never beat a book sufficiently. They exercise a tyranny over the leaves, as bad as that of eastern despots over their prostrate slaves. Let them look a little into the bindings of those volumes before described by me, in the lower regions of the Royal Library[152]--and hence learn, that, to hear the leases crackle as they are turned over, produces _nearly_ as much comfort to the thorough-bred collector, as does the prattling of the first infant to the doating parent.

THOUVENIN[153] and SIMIER are now the morning and evening stars in the bibliopegistic hemisphere. Of these, Thouvenin makes a higher circle in the heavens; but Simier shines with no very despicable lustre. Their work is good, substantial, and pretty nearly in the same taste. The folio Psalter of 1502, (I think) in the Royal Library, is considered to be the _ne plus ultra_ of modern book-binding at Paris; and, if I mistake not, Thouvenin is the artist in whose charcoal furnace, the tools, which produced this _êchantillon_, were heated. I have no hesitation in saying, that, considered as an extraordinary specimen of art, it is a failure. The ornaments are common place; the lining is decidedly bad; and there is a clumsiness of finish throughout the whole. The head-bands--as indeed are those of Bozérian--are clumsily managed: and I may say that it exhibits a manifest inferiority even to the productions of Mackinlay, Hering, Clarke, and Fairbairn. Indeed either of these artists would greatly eclipse it. I learn that Thouvenin keeps books in his possession as long as does a _certain_ binder with us--- who just now shall be nameless. Of course Charles Lewis would smile complacently if you talked to _him_ about rivalling such a performance![154]

There is a book-binder of the name of LESNÉ--just now occupied, as I learn, in writing a poem upon his Art[155]--who is also talked of as an artist of respectable skill. They say, however, that he _writes_ better than he _binds_. So much the worse for his little ones, if he be married. Indeed several very sensible and impartial collectors, with whom I have discoursed, also seem to think that the art of book-binding in France is just now, if not retrograding, at least stationary--and apparently incapable of being carried to a higher pitch of excellence. I doubt this very much. They can do what they have done before. And no such great conjuration is required in going even far beyond it. Let Thouvenin and Simier, and even the _Poet_ himself, examine carefully the choice of tools, and manner of gilding, used by our more celebrated binders, and they need not despair of rivalling them. Above all, let them look well to the management of the backs of their books, and especially to the headbands. The latter are in general heavy and inelegant. Let them also avoid too much choking and beating, (I use technical words--- which you understand as well as any French or English bookbinder) and especially to be square, even, and delicate in the bands; and the "Saturnia regna" of book-binding in France may speedily return.

[121] _Bibliomania_; p. 79. _Bibliographical Decameron_; vol. i.
p. xxii.

[122] See the _Bibliographical Decameron_; vol. ii. p. 20.

[123] [Consistently with the plan intended to be pursued in this edition, I
annex a fac-simile of their autograph.]

[124] [Madame Debure died a few years ago at an advanced age.]

[125] [Mr. Hibbert obtained this volume from me, which will be sold at the
sale of his Library in the course of this season.]

[126] [Nothing can be more perfectly ridiculous and absurd than the manner
in which M. Crapelet flies out at the above expression! He taunts us,
poor English, with always drawing comparisons against other nations,
in favour of the splendour and opulence of our own Hospitals and
Charitable Foundations--a thought, that never possessed me while
writing the above, and which would require the peculiar obliquity, or
perversity of talents, of my translator to detect. I once thought of
_dissecting_ his petulant and unprovoked note--but it is not worth
blunting the edge of one's pen in the attempt.]

[127] [In a few years afterwards, the body of the husband of Madame
Treuttel was consigned to _this_, its _last_ earthly resting-place. M.
JEAN-GEORGE TREUTTEL, died on the 14th Dec. 1825, not long after the
completion of his 82d year: full of years, full of reputation, and
credit, and of every sublunary comfort, to soothe those who survived
him. I have before me a printed Memoir of his Obsequies--graced by the
presence and by the orations of several excellent Ministers of the
Lutheran persuasion: by all the branches of his numerous family; and
by a great concourse of sympathising neighbours. Few citizens of the
world, in the largest sense of this expression, have so adorned the
particular line of life in which they have walked; and M. Treuttel was
equally, to his country and to his family, an ornament of a high cast
of character. "O bon et vertueux ami, que ne peut tu voir les regrets
de tous ceux qui t' accompagnent à ta derniere demeure, pour te dire
encore une fois à REVOIR!" _Discours_ de M. COMARTIN _Maire de
Groslai_: Dec. 17.]

[128] ["Delightful" as was this Library, the thought of the money for which
it might sell, seems to have been more delightful. The sale of it--
consisting of 1028 articles--took place in the spring of last year,
under the hammer of Mr. Evans; and a surprisingly prosperous sale it
was. I would venture to stake a good round sum, that no one individual
was _more_ surprized at this prosperous result than the OWNER of the
Library himself. The gross produce was £2704. 1s. The net produce was
such... as ought to make that said owner grateful for the spirit of
competition and high liberality which marked the biddings of the
purchasers. In what country but OLD ENGLAND could such a spirit have
been manifested! Will Mons. Renouard, in consequence, venture upon the
transportation of the _remaining_ portion of his Library hither? There
is a strong feeling that he _will_. With all my heart--but let him
beware of his MODERN VELLUMS!!]

[129] [I shall _now_ presume to say, that M. Renouard is a "VERY rich
man;" and has by this time added _another_ 500 bottles of
high-flavoured Burgundy to his previous stock. The mention of M.
Renouard's Burgundy has again chafed M. Crapelet: who remarks, that
"it is useless to observe how ridiculous such an observation is." Then
why _dwell_ upon it--and why quote three verses of Boileau to bolster
up your vapid prose, Mons. G.A. Crapelet.?]

[130] [The _second_ edition of this work, greatly enlarged and
corrected, appeared in 1825, in 3 volumes: printed very elegantly at
the son's (Paul Renouard's) office. Of this improved edition, the
father was so obliging as to present me with a copy, accompanied by a
letter, of which I am sure that its author will forgive the quotation
of its conclusion--to which is affixed his autograph. "Quoiqu'il en
soit, je vous prie de vouloir bien l'agréer comme un témoignage de nos
anciennes liaisons, et d'être bien persuadé du dévouement sincere et
amical avec lequel je n'ai jamais cessé d'être.

Votre très humble Serviteur,

[Autograph: AulAug. Renouard]

[131] [Now completed in 60 volumes 8vo.: and the most copious and correct
of ALL the editions of the author. It is a monument, as splendid as
honourable, of the Publisher's spirit of enterprise. For particulars,
consult the _Library Companion_, p. 771, edit. 1824.]

[132] The year following the above description, the Catalogue, alluded to,
made its appearance under the title of "_Catalogue de la Bibliothèque
d'un Amateur_," in four not _very_ capacious octavo volumes: printed
by CRAPELET, who finds it impossible to print--_ill_. I am very glad
such a catalogue has been published; and I hope it will be at once a
stimulus and a model for other booksellers, with large and curious
stocks in hand, to do the same thing. But I think M. Renouard might
have conveniently got the essentials of his bibliographical gossipping
into _two_ volumes; particularly as, in reading such a work, one must
necessarily turn rapidly over many leaves which contain articles of
comparatively common occurrence, and of scarcely common interest. It
is more especially in regard to _modern_ French books, of which he
seems to rejoice and revel in the description--(see, among other
references, vol. iii. p. 286-310) that we may be allowed to regret
such dilated statements; the more so, as, to the fastidious taste of
the English, the engravings, in the different articles described, have
not the beauty and merit which are attached to them by the French. Yet
does M. Renouard narrate pleasantly, and write elegantly.

In regard to the "_brush_ at the Decameron," above alluded to, I read
it with surprise and pleasure--on the score of the moderate tone of
criticism which it displayed--and shall wear it in my hat with as much
triumph as a sportsman does a "brush" of a different description! Was
it _originally_ more _piquan?_ I have reason not only to suspect, but
to know, that it WAS. Be this as it may, I should never, in the first
place, have been backward in returning all home thrusts upon the
aggressor--and, in the second place, I am perfectly disposed that my
work may stand by the test of such criticism. It is, upon the whole,
fair and just; and _justice_ always implies the mention of _defects_
as well as of excellencies. It may, however, be material to remark,
that the _third_ volume of the Decameron is hardly amenable to the
tribunal of French criticism; inasmuch as the information which it
contains is almost entirely national--and therefore partial in its
application.

[133] [Not so. Messrs. Payne and Foss once shewed me a yet _larger_
copy of it upon vellum, than even M. Renouard's: but so many of the
leaves had imbibed an indelible stain, which no skill could eradicate,
that it was scarcely a saleable article. It was afterwards bought by
Mr. Bohn at a public auction.]

[134] [It was sold at the Sale of his Aldine Library for £68. 15s. 8d. and
is now, I believe, in the fine Collection of Sir John Thorold, Bart,
at Syston Park. The Cicero did not come over for sale.]

[135] [In the previous edition I had supposed, erroneously, that it was the
Father, M. Renouard himself, who had invoked his name on the occasion.
The verses are pretty enough, and may as well find a place _here_
as in M. Crapelet's performance.

Je l'ai vu ce fameux bouquin
Qui te fait un titre de gloire:
Tout Francois qui passe le Rhin
Doit remporter une Victoire.]

[136] [M. Renouard obtained it at a public sale in Paris, against a very
stiff commission left for it by myself. A copy of equal beauty is in
the Library of the Right Hon. T. Grenville.]

[137] [The Theophrastus was sold for £12 1s. 6d. and the Aristotle for £40.
The latter is in the Library of the Rt. Hon. T. Grenville, having been
subsequently coated in red morocco by C. Lewis.]

[138] [It seems that I have committed a very grave error, in the preceding
edition, by making Mons. Renouard "superintend the gathering in of his
VINTAGE," at his country-house (St. Valerie) whereas there are no
Vineyards in Picardy. France and Wine seemed such synonymes, that I
almost naturally attached a vineyard to every country villa.]

[139] [It was published in 1820.]

[140] "The luxurious English Bibliographer is astonished at the publication
of the "Manuel" without the accompaniment of Plates, Fac-similes,
Vignettes, and other graphic attractions. It is because _intrinsic
merit_ is preferable to form and ornament: _that_ at once establishes
its worth and its success." CRAPELET, vol. iv. p. 88. This amiable
Translator and sharp-sighted Critic never loses an opportunity of a
_fling_ at the "luxurious English Bibliographer!"

[141] [My translator again brandishes his pen in order to draw
_good-natured_ comparisons. "It would be lucky for him, if, to the
qualities he possesses, M. Dibdin would unite those which he praises
in M. Brunet: his work and the public would be considerable gainers by
it: his books would not be so costly, and would be more profitable.
The English Author describes nothing in a _sang-froid_ manner: he is
for ever _charging_: and, as he does not want originality in his
vivacity, he should seem to wish to be the CALLOT of Bibliography."
CRAPELET. _Ibid_. I accept the title with all my heart.]

[142] When he waited upon Lord Spencer at Paris, in 1819, and was shewn by
his Lordship the _Ulric Han Juvenal_ (in the smallest character of the
printer) and the _Horace_ of 1474, by _Arnoldus de Bruxella_, his
voice, eyes, arms, and entire action ... gave manifest proofs how he
FELT upon the occasion! [It only remains to dismiss this slight and
inadequate account of so amiable and well-versed a bibliographer, with
the ensuing-fac-simile of his autograph.]

[Autograph: Brunet, Libraire, rue Gît-le-Couer, No 10.]

[143]

Chardin passe surtout parmi les amateurs
Pour le plus vétilleux de tous les connaisseurs;
Il fait naître, encourage, anime l'industrie;
LES BEAUX LIVRES font seul le CHARME DE SA VIE.
LA RELIURE, _poëme didactique_.
Par LESNE'. 1820, 8vo. p. 31.

[144] [This curiosity is now in the limited, but choice and curious,
collection of my old and very worthy friend Mr. Joseph Haslewood. The
handle of the stick is decorated by a bird's head, in ivory, which I
conjectured to be that of an _Eagle_; but my friend insisted upon it
that it was the head of an _Hawk_. I knew what this _meant_--and what
it would _end_ in: especially when he grasped and brandished the Cane,
as if he were convinced that the sculptor had anticipated the
possession of it by the Editor of Juliana Barnes. It is whispered that
my friend intends to surprise the ROXBURGHE CLUB (of which he is, in
all respects a most efficient member) with proofs of an _Engraving_ of
this charming little piece of old French carving.]

[145] Mons. Chardin is since dead at a very advanced age. His mental
faculties had deserted him a good while before his decease: and his
decease was gentle and scarcely perceptible. The portrait of him, in
the preceding edition of this work, is literally the MAN HIMSELF. M.
Crapelet has appended one very silly, and one very rude, if not
insulting, note, to my account of the deceased, which I will not
gratify him by translating, or by quoting in its original words.

[146] [A copy of the Horace UPON VELLUM (and I believe, the _only_
one) with the original drawings of Percier, will be sold in the
library of Mr. Hibbert, during the present season.]

[147] ["And unquestionably the best Letter Founder. His son, M. Amb. Firmin
Didot; who has for a long time past cut the punches for his father,
exhibits proof of a talent worthy, of his instructor." CRAPELET.]

[148] [The translation of the above passage runs so smoothly and so evenly
upon "all fours," that the curious reader may be gratified by its
transcription: "On ne doit pas être surpris que le meilleur vin de
Champagne et de Chambertin ait été servi sur la tablé de celui qui, au
milieu des toasts de ses convives, avait pour accompagnement le bruit
agréable. des frisquettes et des tympans de vingt-deux presses.".Vol.
ii. 102.]

[149] ["Would one not suppose that I had told M. Dibdin that it was
impossible for the French to execute as fine plates as the English? If
so, I should stand alone in that opinion. I only expatiated on the
beauty of the wood-cut vignettes which adorn many volumes of the 4to.
Shakspeare by Bulmer. (N.B. Mr. Bulmer never printed a Shakspeare in
4to. or with wood cuts; but Mr. Bensley _did_--in an 8vo. form.) Their
execution is astonishing. Wood engraving, carried to such a pitch of
excellence in England, is, in fact, very little advanced in France:
and on this head I agree with M. Dibdin." CRAPELET, iv. 104.]

[150] ["How can M. Dibdin forget the respect due to his readers, to give
them a recital of dinners, partaken of at the houses of private
persons, as if he were describing those of a tavern? How comes it that
he was never conscious of the want of good taste and propriety of
conduct, to put the individuals, of whom he was speaking, into a sort
of dramatic form, and even the MISTTRESSES OF THE HOUSE! CRAPELET:
Vol. iv. 106. I have given as unsparing a version as I could (against
myself) in the preceding extract; but the _sting_ of the whole matter,
as affecting M. Crapelet, may be drawn from the concluding words. And
yet, where have I spoken ungraciously and uncourteously of Madame?]