A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour in France and Germany Volume II Part 14

[120] [A young stranger, a Frenchman--living near the mountainous solitudes between Lyons and the entrance into Italy--and ardently attached to the study of bibliography--applied himself, under the guidance of a common friend--dear to us both from the excellence of his head and heart--to a steady perusal of the _Bibliographical Decameron_, and the _Tour_. He mastered both works within a comparatively short time. He then read _A Roland for an Oliver_--and voluntarily tendered to me his French translation of it. How successfully the whole has been accomplished, may be judged from the following part--being the version of my preface only.

OBSERVATION PRELIMINAIRE.

"La production de M. c.r.a.pelet rappelee, dans le t.i.tre precedent, sera consideree comme un phenomene dans son genre. Elle est, certes, sans antecedent et, pour l'honneur de la France, je desire qu'elle n'ait pas d'imitateurs. Quiconque prendra la peine de lire la trentieme lettre de mon voyage, soit dans l'original, soit dans la version de M.

c.r.a.pelet, en laissant de cote les notes qui appartiennent an traducteur, conviendra facilement que cette lettre manifeste les sentimens les plus impartiaux et les plus honorables a l'etat actuel de la librairie et de l'imprimerie a Paris. Dans plusieurs pa.s.sages, ou l'on compare l'execution typographique, dans les deux pays, la superiorite est decidee en faveur de la France. Quant a _l'esprit_ qui a dicte cette lettre, je declare, comme homme d'honneur, ne l'avoir pas composee, dans un systeme d'opposition, envers ceux qu'elle concerne plus particulierement.

"Cependant, il n'en a pas moins plu a M. c.r.a.pelet, imprimeur de Paris, l'un de ceux dont il y est fait plus specialement l'eloge, d'accompagner sa traduction de cette lettre, de notes deplacees et injurieuses pour le caractere de l'auteur et de son ouvrage. Par suite probablement du peu d'etendue de ses idees et de l'organisation vicieuse de ses autres sens, ce typographe s'est livre a une series d'observations qui outragent autant la raison que la politesse, et qui decelent hautement sa malignite et sa noirceur. Les formes de son procede ne sont pas moins meprisables que le fond. Avec la pretention avouee de ne repandre que partiellement sa version,

(Voulant blesser et cependant timide pour frapper)

il s'est servi de ses propres presses et il a imprime le texte et les notes avec des caracteres et sur un papier aussi semblables que possible a ceux de l'ouvrage qu'il venait de traduire. Il en a surveille, a ce qu'on a.s.sure, l'impression, avec l'attention personelle la plus scrupuleuse, en sorte qu'il n'est aucune _epreuve egaree_, qui ait ete soumise a d'autres yeux que les siens. Il a prit soin, en outre, d'en faire tirer, au moins, cent exemplaires, et de les repandre.[C] Comme ces cent exemplaires seront probablement lus par dix fois le meme nombre de personnes, il y aurait eu plus de franchise et peut-etre plus de bon sens de la part de M. c.r.a.pelet a diriger publiquement ses coups contre moi que de le faire sous la couverture d'un _pamphlet prive_. Il a fait choix de ce genre d'attaque; il ne me reste plus qu'a adopter une semblable methode de defense: si ce n'est, qu'au lieu de cent exemplaires, ces remarques ne seront veritablement imprimee qu'a _trente six_. Ce procede est certes plus delicat que celui de mon adversaire; mais soit que M. c.r.a.pelet ait prefere l'obscurite a la lumiere, il n'en est pas moins evident que son intention a ete d'employer tous ses pet.i.ts moyens, a renverser la reputation d'un ouvrage, dont il avoue lui-meme avoir a peine lu la cinquantieme partie!

"Par le contenu de ses notes, on voit qu'il a cherche, avec une a.s.siduite cond.a.m.nable, a recueillir le mal qu'il me suppose avoir eu l'intention de dire des personnes que j'ai citees, et cependant, apres tout ce travail, a peine a-t-il pu decouvrir l'ombre d'une seule allusion maligne. Jamais on ne fit un usage plus deplorable de son tems et de ses peines, car toutes les phrases de cette production sont aussi obscures que tirees de loin.

"Il est difficile, ainsi que je l'ai deja observe, de se rendre compte des motifs d'une telle conduite. Mais M. c.r.a.pelet n'a fait part de son secret a personne, et d'apres l'echantillon dont il s'agit ici, je n'ai nulle envie de le lui demander.

T.F.D.

"J'avais eu d'abord l'intention de relever chacunes des notes de M.

c.r.a.pelet, mais de plus mures reflexions m'ont fait connaitre l'absurdite d'une telle enterprise. Je m'en suis donc tenu a la preface, sans toutefois, ainsi que le lecteur pourra s'en appercevoir, laisser tomber dans l'oubli le merite des notes. Encore un mot; M.

c.r.a.pelet m'a attaque et je me suis defendu. Il peut recommencer, si cela lui fait plaisir; mais desormais je ne lui repondrai que par le silence et le mepris."

[C] "M. c.r.a.pelet, en sa qualite de critique, a mis ici du raffinement; car je soupconne qu'il y a eu au moins vingt cinq exemplaires tires sur papier velin. C'est ainsi qu'il sait dorer sa pillule, pour la rendre plus presentable aux dignes amis de l'auteur, les bibliophiles de Paris. Mais ces Messieurs ont trop bon gout pour l'accepter.

_LETTER VIII._

SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LATE ABBe RIVE. BOOKSELLERS. PRINTERS. BOOK-BINDERS.

I make no doubt that the conclusion of my last letter has led you to expect a renewal of the BOOK THEME: but rather, I should hope, as connected with those Bibliographers, Booksellers, and Printers, who have for so many years shed a sort of l.u.s.tre upon _Parisian Literature_. It will therefore be no unappropriate continuation of this subject, if I commence by furnishing you with some particulars respecting a Bibliographer who was considered, in his life time, as the terror of his acquaintance, and the pride of his patron: and who seems to have never walked abroad, or sat at home, without a scourge in one hand, and a looking-gla.s.s in the other. Droll combination!-- you will exclaim. But it is of the ABBe RIVE of whom I now speak; the very _Ajax flagellifer_ of the bibliographical tribe, and at the same time the vainest and most self-sufficient. He seems, amidst all the controversy in which he delighted to be involved, to have always had _one_ never-failing source of consolation left:--that of seeing himself favourably reflected-- from the recollection of his past performances--in the mirror of his own conceit! I have before[121] descanted somewhat upon probably the most splendid of his projected performances, and now hasten to a more particular account of the man himself.

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 Abbe 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 Abbe 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, pres St. Sulpice_) the whole of the Abbe'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 Abbe had written all his memoranda relating to ... I scarcely know what. But the whole, from the nephew's statement, seemed to be an encyclopaedia 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 Abbe extremely dissatisfied with the engraver.

In a sixth trunk were contained his papers respecting earthquakes, volcanoes, and geographical subjects: so that, you see, the Abbe 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:

_Des sa plus tendre enfance aux etudes livre, La soif de la science l'a toujours devore.

Une immense lecture enrichit ses ecrits, 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 Ma.r.s.eilles 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 ama.s.sing 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 a.s.sailed 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 princ.i.p.al 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 princ.i.p.al mart for booksellers, of old and second hand books, is now nearer the Seine; and especially in the _Quai des Augustins_. _Messrs.

Treuttel and Wurtz, 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 acc.u.mulate, for a few hundred pounds, a very respectable stock of _Editiones principes_ or _rarissimae_. 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 a.s.sured 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'aine 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 Francois 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 pa.s.s 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 cla.s.sical 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 n.o.ble 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 a.s.sented 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 s.e.xes. She is herself a Lutheran Protestant; as are her husband and her son-in-law M. Wurtz. At first, she had some difficulties to encounter respecting the _school_; and sundry conferences with the village Cure, 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 detours, into a retired and wooded part: where, on opening a sort of wicket gate, I found myself in a small square s.p.a.ce, 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 s.p.a.ce.[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. Andre 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 Cla.s.sics, 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 de kai tonde genesthai Paid emon os kai ego per, ....]

There are some few n.o.ble 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 raisonne 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 t.i.tle,) 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 _materiel_ 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 Git-Le-Coeur_. He lives with his father, who superintends the business of the shop. The Rue Git-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 cla.s.ses 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 b.u.t.ton 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 G.o.d!" 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 princ.i.p.al materials. "Vous voila, Mons. Brunet, bien occupe!;" "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. c.r.a.pelet 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 naf 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. Honore_, 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 a.s.sure 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 princ.i.p.ally 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 pa.s.sion for making his _Alduses_ perfect by means of _ma.n.u.script_; 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 Inst.i.tutes of Urba.n.u.s_, 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 pa.s.sage, between his princ.i.p.al shew-room and his bed room, is contained a very large collection of tracts and printed volumes relating to the FAIR s.e.x: 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 Hotel 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 rec.u.mbent 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 _aedes Althorpianae_. 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 Sat.u.r.days and Sundays at his little "ferme ornee," within some four miles of Paris-- having, as he gaily told me "nothing now to do but to make poesies for the fair s.e.x."[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. c.r.a.pELET. 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 cla.s.sical 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'aine 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 _Rue 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.