A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour in France and Germany Volume I Part 16

SeGUIN. THE PUBLIC LIBRARY.

It is a sad rainy day; and having no temptation to stir abroad, I have shut myself up by the side of a huge wood fire--(surrounded by the dingy tapestry, of which my last letter did not make very honourable mention) in a thoroughly communicative mood--to make you acquainted with all that has pa.s.sed since my previous despatch. Books and the Bibliomania be the chief "burden of my present song!" You may remember, in my account of the public library at Caen, that some mention was made of a certain OLIVIER Ba.s.sELIN--whom I designated as the DRUNKEN BARNABY _of Normandy_. Well, my friend--I have been at length made happy, and comforted in the extreme, by the possession of a copy of the _Vaudevires_ of that said Olivier Ba.s.selin--and from the hands, too, of one of his princ.i.p.al editors ...

Monsieur Lanon de Larenaudiere, Avocat, et Maire, de Tallevende-le-Pet.i.t.

This copy I intend (as indeed I told the donor) for the beloved library at Althorp. But let me tell my tale my own way.

Hard by the hotel of the _Cheval Blanc_, (the best, bad as it is--and indeed the only one in the town) lives a printer of the name of ADAM. He is the princ.i.p.al, and the most respectable of his brethren in the same craft.

After discoursing upon sundry desultory topics--and particularly examining the _books of Education_, among which I was both surprised and pleased to find the _Distichs of Muretus_[160]--I expressed my regret at having travelled through so many towns of Normandy without meeting with one single copy of the _Vaudevires of Olivier Ba.s.selin_ for sale. "It is not very surprising, Sir, since it is a privately printed book, and was never intended for sale. The impression too is very limited. You know, Sir, that the book was published here--and--" "Then I begin to be confident about obtaining it"--replied I. "Gently, Sir;--" resumed Monsieur Adam--"it is not to be bought, even here. But do you know no one...?" "Not a creature."

"Well, Sir, take courage. You are an Englishman. One of its princ.i.p.al editors--a very gallant _Bibliomaniac_--who is a great collector and lover of the literature of your country--(here I picked up courage and gaiety of heart) lives in this town. He is President of the Tribunal. Go to him."

Seeing me hesitate, in consequence of not having a letter of introduction--"Ce n'est rien (said he) allez tout-droit. Il aime vos compatriotes; et soyez persuade de l'accueil le plus favorable." Methought Monsieur Adam spake more eloquently than I had yet heard a Norman speak.[161]

In two seconds I quitted his shop, (promising to return with an account of my reception) and five minutes brought me into the presence of Monsieur Lanon de Larenaudiere, President du Tribunal, &c. It is not possible for me to convey to you a notion of the warmth, cordiality, and joyousness of heart, that marked the reception which this gentleman instantly gave me: and I will frankly own that I was as much "abashed" as ever our ancient friend Caxton had been--in the presence of his patroness the d.u.c.h.ess of Burgundy. I followed my new bibliomaniacal acquaintance rapidly up stairs; and witnessed, with extreme pleasure, a few bundles of books (some of them English) lying upon the window seats of the first landing-place; much after the fashion followed in a certain long, rambling, and antique residence, not quite three quarters of a mile from the towers of Westminster Abbey.

On gaining the first floor, mine host turned the keys of the doors of two contiguous rooms, and exclaimed, "VOILA MA BIBLIOTHEQUE!" The air of conscious triumph with which these words were uttered, delighted me infinitely; but my delight was much increased on a leisurely survey of one of the prettiest, most useful, and commendable collections of books, chiefly in the department of the Belles-Lettres, which I had ever witnessed. Monsieur de Larenaudiere has a library of about 9000 volumes, of which _eight hundred are English_. But the owner is especially fond of poetical archaeology; in other words, of collecting every work which displays the progress of French and English poetry in the middle and immediately following ages; and talks of _Trouveurs_ and _Troubadours_ with an enthusiasm approaching to extacy. Meanwhile he points his finger to our Warton, Ellis, Ritson, and Southey; tells you how dearly he loves them; but yet leads you to conclude that he _rather_ prefers _Le Grand, Ginguene, Sismondi_, and _Raynouard_. Of the venerable living oracle in these matters, the Abbe de la Rue, he said he considered him as "un peu trop systematique." In short, M. de Larenaudiere has almost a complete critical collection, in our tongue, upon the subject of old poetry; and was most anxious and inquisitive about the present state of cultivation of that branch of literature in England: adding, that he himself meditated a work upon the French poetry of the XIIth and XIIIth centuries. He said he thought his library might be worth about 25,000 francs: nor did I consider such a valuation overcharged. He talks rapidly, earnestly, and incessantly; but he talks well: and spoke of the renown of a certain library in _St.

James's Place_, in a manner which could not fail to quicken the pulse and warm the blood of its Librarian. I concluded an interview of nearly two hours, by his compliance with my wish to dine with me on the following day: although he was quite urgent in bargaining for the previous measure of my tasting his _potage_ and _vol au vent_. But the shortness and constant occupation of my time would not allow me to accede to it. M. de Larenaudiere then went to a cabinet-like cupboard, drew forth an uncut copy, st.i.tched in blue spotted paper, of his beloved _Vaudevires_ of OLIVIER Ba.s.sELIN:[162] and presenting it to me, added "Conservez le, pour l'amour de moi." You may be a.s.sured that I received such a present in the most gracious manner I was capable of--but instantly and honestly added--"permettez qu'il soit depose dans la bibliotheque de Milord S...?

"C'est la meme chose"--rejoined he; and giving me the address of the public librarian, we separated in the most cordial manner till the morrow.

I posted back to Monsieur Adam, the printer and bookseller, and held aloft my blue-covered copy of the _Vaudevires_ as an unquestionable proof of the successful result of my visit to Monsieur La Renaudiere. Leaving the precious cargo with him, and telling him that I purposed immediately visiting the public library, he seemed astonished at my eagerness about books--and asked me if I had ever _published_ any thing _bibliographical_?

"Car enfin, Monsieur, la pluspart des _Virois_ ne savent rien de la literature angloise"--concluded he ... But I had just witnessed a splendid exception to this sweeping clause of censure. I then sought the residence of the Abbe Du MORTUEUX, the public librarian. That gentleman was from home, at a dinner party. I obtained information of the place where he might be found; and considering _two_ o'clock to be rather too early an hour (even in France) to disturb a gentleman during the exercise of so important a function, I strolled in the neighbourhood of the street, where he was regaling, for a full hour and half: when, at the expiration of that time, I ventured to knock at the door of a very respectable mansion, and to enquire for the bibliographical Abbe. "He is here, Sir, and has just done dinner.

May I give him your name?" "I am a stranger: an Englishman; who, on the recommendation of Monsieur Larenaudiere, wishes to see the public library.

But I will call again in about an hour." "By no means: by no means: the Abbe will see you immediately." And forthwith appeared a very comely, tall, and respectable-looking gentleman, with his hair en plein costume, both as to form and powder. Indeed I had rarely before witnessed so prepossessing a figure. His salutation and address were most gracious and winning; and he told me that I had nothing to do but to accompany him to the place which I wished to visit. Without even returning to his friends, he took his hat--and in one minute, to my surprise, I found myself in the street with the Abbe de Mortueux, in the high way to the PUBLIC LIBRARY. In our way thither our discourse was constant and unrestrained. "You appear here; Monsieur l'Abbe, to be partial to literature;... but allow me first to congratulate you on the beautiful environs of your town." "For literature in general, we are pretty well disposed. In regard to the beauties of the immediate neighbourhood of Vire, we should be unworthy inhabitants indeed, if we were not sensible of them." In five minutes we reached the Library.

The shutters of the room were fastened, but the worthy Abbe opened them in a trice; when I saw, for the first time in Normandy, what appeared to be a genuine, old, unmutilated, unpillaged library. The room could be scarcely more than twenty-two feet square. I went instantly to work, with eyes and hands, in the ardent hope, and almost full persuasion, of finding something in the shape of a good old Greek or Roman Cla.s.sic, or French Chronicle, or Romance. But, alas, I looked, and handled the tomes in vain! The history of the library is this:--The founder was a Monsieur PICHON; who, on being taken prisoner by the English, at the capture of Louisburg in 1758, resided a long time in England under the name of TYRREL, and lived in circ.u.mstances of respectability and even of opulence. There--whether on the dispersion of the libraries of our Meads, Foulkes', and Rawlinsons, I know not--he made his collection; took his books over with him to Jersey, where he died in 1780: and bequeathed them, about 3000 in number, to his native town of Vire. M. du Mortueux, who gave me these particulars, has drawn up a little memorial about Pichon. His portrait, executed by an English artist, (whilst he lived among us) adorns the library; with which I hope it will go down to a distant and grateful posterity. The colouring of this portrait is faded: but it is evident that Monsieur Pichon had an expressive and sensible physiognomy.

Wonderful to relate, this collection of books was untouched during the Revolution; while the neighbouring library of the _Cordeliers_ was ransacked without mercy. But I regret to say that the books in the cupboards are getting sadly damp. Do not expect any thing very marvellous in the details of this collection; The old-fashioned library doors, of wood, are quite in character with what they protect. Among the earlier printed books, I saw a very bad copy of _Sweynheym and Pannartz's_ edition of the _De Civitate Dei_ of St. Austin, of the date of 1470; and a large folio of _Gering's_ impression of the _Sermons of Leonard de Utino_ printed about the year 1478. This latter was rather a fine book. A little black-letter Latin Bible by Froben, of the date of 1495, somewhat tempted me; but I could not resist asking, in a manner half serious and half jocose, whether a napoleon would not secure me the possession of a piquant little volume of black-letter tracts, printed by my old friend Guido Mercator?[163] The Abbe smiled: observing--"mon ami, on fait voir les livres ici; on les lit meme: mais on ne les vend pas." I felt the force of this pointed reply: and was resolved never again to ask an Ecclesiastic to part with a black-letter volume, even though it should be printed by "my old friend Guido Mercator."

Seeing there was very little more deserving of investigation, I enquired of my amiable guide about the "LIBRARY OF THE CORDELIERS," of which he had just made mention. He told me that it consisted chiefly of canon and civil law, and had been literally almost destroyed: that he had contrived however to secure a great number of "rubbishing theological books," (so he called them!) which he sold for _three sous_ a piece--and with the produce of which he bought many excellent works for the library. I should like to have had the sifting of this "theological rubbish!" It remained only to thank the Abbe most heartily for his patient endurance of my questions and searches, and particularly to apologise for bringing him from his surrounding friends. He told me, beginning with a "soyez tranquille," that the matter was not worth either a thought or a syllable; and ere we quitted the library, he bade me observe the written entries of the numbers of students who came daily thither to read. There were generally (he told me) from fifteen to twenty "hard at it"--and I saw the names of not fewer than _ninety-two_ who aspired to the honour and privilege of having access to the BIBLIOTHECA PICHONIANA.

For the third time, in the same day, I visited Monsieur Adam; to carry away, like a bibliomaniacal Jason, the fleece I had secured. I saw there a grave, stout gentleman--who saluted me on my entrance, and who was introduced to me by Monsieur A. by the name of SeGUIN. He had been waiting (he said) full three quarters of an hour to see me, and concluded by observing, that, although a man in business, he had aspired to the honour of authorship. He had written, in fact, two rather interesting--but wretchedly, and incorrectly printed--duodecimo volumes, relating to the BOCAGE,[164] in the immediate vicinity of Vire; and was himself the sole vender and distributer of his publications. On my expressing a wish to possess these books, he quitted the premises, and begged I would wait his return with a copy or two of them. While he was gone, M. Adam took the opportunity of telling me that he was a rich, respectable tradesman; but that, having said some severe things of the manufactures of Vire in his _first_ publication,[165] relating to the _civil_ history of the Bocains, his townsmen sharply resented what they considered as reflections thrown out against them; and M. Seguin was told that perhaps his personal safety was endangered ... He wanted not a second hint--but fled from home with precipitancy: and in his absence the populace suspended his effigy, and burnt it before the door of his house. This, however, did not _cool_ the ardour of authorship in M. Seguin. He set about publishing his _military_ history of the Bocains; and in the introductory part took occasion to retort upon the violence of his persecutors. To return to M. Seguin. In about ten minutes he appeared, with two copies in his hand--which I purchased, I thought dearly, at five francs each volume; or a napoleon for the four books. After the adventures of this day, I need hardly tell you that I relished a substantial dinner at a late hour, and that I was well satisfied with Vire.

Yesterday M. de Larenaudiere made good his engagement, and dined with me at five, in the salle a manger. This is a large inn; and if good fare depended upon the number and even elegance of female cooks, the traveller ought to expect the very best at the _Cheval Blanc_. The afternoon was so inviting--and my guest having volunteered his services to conduct me to the most beautiful points of view in the immediate neighbourhood--that we each seemed to vie with the other in quickly dispatching what was placed before us; and within thirty-five minutes, from the moment of sitting down, we were in the outskirts of Vire. Never shall I forget that afternoon's ramble. The sun seemed to become more of a golden hue, and the atmosphere to increase in clearness and serenity. A thousand little songsters were warbling in the full-leaved branches of the trees; while the mingled notes of the _blanchisseuses_ and the milk-maids, near the banks of the rippling stream below, reached us in a sort of wild and joyous harmony--as we gazed down from the overhanging heights. The meadows were spotted with sheep, and the orchards teemed with the coming fruit. You may form some notion of the value of this rich and picturesque scenery, when I tell you that M. de Larenaudiere possesses land, in the immediate vicinity of Vire, which lets per acre at the rate of _6l._ _6s._ English. My guide was all gaiety of heart, and activity of step. I followed him through winding paths and devious tracks, amidst coppice-wood and fern--not however till I had viewed, from one particular spot upon the heights, a most commanding and interesting panorama of the town of Vire.

In our perambulation, we discoursed of English poetry; and I found that THOMSON was as great a favourite with my guide as with the rest of his countrymen. Indeed he frankly told me that he had translated him into French verse, and intended to publish his translation. I urged him to quote specimens; which he did with a readiness and force, and felicity of version, that quite delighted me. He thoroughly understands the original; and in the description of a cataract, or mountain torrent, from the Summer, he appeared to me almost to surpa.s.s it. My guide then proceeded to quote Young and Pope, and delivered his opinion of our two great Whig and Tory Reviews. He said he preferred the politics and vivacity of the _Edinburgh_, but thought the _Quarterly_ more instructive and more carefully written.

"Enfin (he concluded) j'aime infiniment votre gouvernement, et vos ecrivains; mais j'aime moins le peuple Anglois." I replied that he had at least very recently shewn an exception to this opinion, in his treatment of _one_ among this _very_ people. "C'est une autre chose"--replied he briskly, and laughingly--"vous allez voir deux de vos compatriotes, qui sont mes intimes, et vous en serez bien content!" So saying, we continued our route through a delightful avenue of beech-trees, upon the most elevated part within the vicinity of the town; and my companion bade me view from thence the surrounding country. It was rich and beautiful in the extreme; and with perfect truth, I must say, resembled much more strongly the generality of our own scenery than what I had hitherto witnessed in Normandy. But the sun was beginning to cast his shadows broader and broader, and where was the residence of Monsieur and Madame S----?

It was almost close at hand. We reached it in a quarter of an hour--but the inmates were unluckily from home. The house is low and long, but respectable in appearance both within and without. The approach to it is through a pretty copse, terminated by a garden; and the surrounding grounds are rather tastefully laid out. A portion of it indeed had been trained into something in the shape of a labyrinth; in the centre of which was a rocky seat, embedded as it were in moss--and from which some fine glimpses were caught of the surrounding country. The fragrance from the orchard trees, which had not yet quite shed their blossoms, was perfectly delicious; while the stillness of evening added to the peculiar harmony of the whole. We had scarcely sauntered ten minutes before Madame arrived. She had been twelve years in France, and spoke her own language so imperfectly, or rather so unintelligibly, that I begged of her to resume the French. Her reception of us was most hospitable: but we declined cakes and wine, on account of the lateness of the hour. She told us that her husband was in possession of from fourscore to a hundred acres of the most productive land; and regretted that he was from home, on a visit to a neighbouring gentleman; a.s.suring us, if we could stay, that he would be heartily glad to see us--"especially any of his _countrymen_, when introduced by Monsieur de Larenaudiere." It was difficult to say who smiled and bowed with the greater complacency, at this double-shotted compliment. I now pressed our retreat homewards. We bade this agreeable lady farewell, and returned down the heights, and through the devious paths by which we had ascended,

While talk of various kind deceived the road.

A more active and profitable day has not yet been devoted to Norman objects, whether of art or of nature. Tomorrow I breakfast with my friend and guide, and immediately afterwards push on for FALAISE. A cabriolet is hired, but doubts are entertained respecting the practicability of the route. My next epistle will be therefore from Falaise--where the renowned William the Conqueror was born, whose body we left entombed at Caen. The day is clearing up; and I yet hope for a stroll upon the site of the castle.

[160] "_Les Distiques de Muret, traduits en vers Francais, par Aug.

A_. Se vend a Vire, chez Adam imprimeur-lib. An. 1809. The reader may not be displeased to have a specimen of the manner of rendering these distichs into French verse:

1.

Dum tener es, MURETE, avidis haec auribus hauri: Nec memori mod conde animo, sed et exprime factis.

2.

Imprimis venerare Deum; venerare parentes: Et quos ipsa loco tibi dat natura parentum.

&c.

1.

_Jeune encore, o mon fils! pour etre homme de bien, Ecoute, et dans ton coeur grave cet entretien_.

2.

_Sers, honors le Dieu qui crea tous les etres; Sois fils respectueux, sois docile a tes maitres.

&c_.

[161] [Smartly and felicitously rendered by my translator Mons. Licquet; "Jamais bouche Normande ne m'avait paru plus eloquente que celle de M.

Adam." vol. ii. p. 220.]

[162] The present seems to be the proper place to give the reader some account of this once famous Baccha.n.a.lian poet. It is not often that France rests her pretensions to poetical celebrity upon such claims.

Love, romantic adventures, gaiety of heart and of disposition, form the chief materials of her minor poems; but we have here before us, in the person and productions of OLIVIER Ba.s.sELIN, a rival to ANACREON of old; to our own RICHARD BRAITHWAIT, VINCENT BOURNE, and THOMAS MOORE.

As this volume may not be of general notoriety, the reader may be prepared to receive an account of its contents with the greater readiness and satisfaction. First, then, of the life and occupations of Olivier Ba.s.selin; which, as Goujet has entirely pa.s.sed over all notice of him, we can gather only from the editors of the present edition of his works. Ba.s.selin appears to have been a _Virois_; in other words, an inhabitant of the town of Vire. But he had a strange propensity to rusticating, and preferred the immediate vicinity of Vire--its quiet little valleys, running streams, and rocky recesses--to a more open and more distant residence. In such places, therefore, he carried with him his flasks of cider and his flagons of wine. Thither he resorted with his "boon and merry companions," and there he poured forth his ardent and unpremeditated strains. These "strains" all savoured of the jovial propensities of their author; it being very rarely that tenderness of sentiment, whether connected with friendship or love, is admitted into his compositions. He was the thorough-bred Anacreon of France at the close of the fifteenth century.

The town of Vire, as the reader may have already had intimation, is the chief town of that department of Normandy called the BOCAGE; and in this department few places have been, of old, more celebrated than the _Vaux de Vire_; on account of the number of manufactories which have existed there from time immemorial. It derives its name from two princ.i.p.al valleys, in the form of a T, of which the base (if it may be so called--"jambage") rests upon the _Place du Chateau de Vire_. It is sufficiently contiguous to the town to be considered among the fauxbourgs. The rivers _Vire_ and _Virene_, which unite at the bridge of Vaux, run somewhat rapidly through the valleys. These rivers are flanked by manufactories of paper and cloth, which, from the XVth century, have been distinguished for their prosperous condition.

Indeed, Ba.s.sELIN himself was a sort of cloth manufacturer. In this valley he pa.s.sed his life in fulling his cloths, and "in composing those gay and delightful songs which are contained in the volume under consideration." _Discours Preliminaire_, p. 17, &c. Olivier Ba.s.selin is the parent of the t.i.tle _Vaudevire--_which has since been corrupted into _Vaudeville_. From the observation of his critics, Ba.s.selin appears to have been the FATHER of BACCHa.n.a.lIAN POETRY in France. He frequented public festivals, and was a welcome guest at the tables of the rich; where the Vaudevire was in such request, that it is supposed to have superseded the "Conte, or Fabliau, or the Chanson d'Amour."[B]

p. xviij:

Sur ce point-la, soyez tranquille: Nos neveux, j'en suis bien certain, Se souviendront de Ba.s.sELIN, _Pere joyeux du Vaudeville:_ p. xxiij.

I proceed to submit a few specimens of the muse of this ancient ANACREON of France; and must necessarily begin with a few of those that are chiefly of a baccha.n.a.lian quality.

_VAUDEVIRE II_.

AYANT le doz au feu et le ventre a la table, Estant parmi les pots pleins de vin delectable, Ainsi comme ung poulet Je ne me laisseray morir de la pepie, Quant en debvroye avoir la face cramoisie Et le nez violet;

QUANT mon nez devendra de couleur rouge ou perse, Porteray les couleurs que cherit ma maitresse.

Le vin rent le teint beau.

Vault-il pas mieulx avoir la couleur rouge et vive, Riche de beaulx rubis, que si pasle et chetive Ainsi qu'ung beuveur d'eau.

_VAUDEVIRE XI_.

CERTES _hoc vinum est bonus_: Du maulvais latin ne nous chaille, Se bien congru n'estoit ce jus, Le tout ne vauldroit rien que vaille.

Escolier j'appris que bon vin Aide bien au maulvais latin.

CESTE sentence praticquant, De latin je n'en appris guere; Y pensant estre a.s.sez scavant, Puisque bon vin aimoye a boire.

Lorsque maulvais vin on a beu, Latin n'est bon, fust-il congru.

Fy du latin, parlons francois, Je m'y recongnois davantaige.

Je vueil boire une bonne fois, Car voicy ung maistre breuvaige; Certes se j'en beuvoye soubvent, Je deviendroye fort eloquent.

_VAUDEVIRE XXII_.

HE! qu'avons-nous affaire Du Turc ny du Sophy, Don don.

Pourveu que j'aye a boire, Des grandeurs je dis fy.

Don don.

Trincque, Seigneur, le vin est bon: _Hoc acuit ingenium._