BIBLIOGRAPHY. MONSIEUR ADAM. MONSIEUR DE LARENAUDIERE. OLIVIER BASSELIN. M.
SÉGUIN. 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
passed 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
BASSELIN--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
Basselin--and from the hands, too, of one of his principal editors ...
Monsieur Lanon de Larenaudiere, Avocat, et Maire, de Tallevende-le-Petit.
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 principal, 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 Basselin_ 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 principal
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 persuadé 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, Président 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 Duchess 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, Ginguené,
Sismondi_, and _Raynouard_. Of the venerable living oracle in these
matters, the Abbé de la Rue, he said he considered him as "un peu trop
systématique." 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 _pôtage_ 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, stitched in blue spotted paper, of his beloved _Vaudevires_ of
OLIVIER BASSELIN:[162] and presenting it to me, added "Conservez le, pour
l'amour de moi." You may be assured that I received such a present in the
most gracious manner I was capable of--but instantly and honestly
added--"permettez qu'il soit déposé dans la bibliothèque de Milord S...?
"C'est la même 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
litérature angloise"--concluded he ... But I had just witnessed a splendid
exception to this sweeping clause of censure. I then sought the residence
of the Abbé 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 Abbé. "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
Abbé 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 Abbé 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'Abbé, 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 Abbé 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 Classic, 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 circumstances
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 Abbé smiled: observing--"mon ami, on fait voir les
livres ici; on les lit même: 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 Abbé 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 SÉGUIN. 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. Séguin 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. Séguin. 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. Séguin. 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 à 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 surpass 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
écrivains; 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; assuring 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 Français, par Aug.
A_. Se vend à 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 hæc auribus hauri:
Nec memori modò conde animo, sed et exprime factis.
2.
Imprimis venerare Deum; venerare parentes:
Et quos ipsa loco tibi dat natura parentum.
&c.
1.
_Jeune encore, ô mon fils! pour être homme de bien,
Ecoute, et dans ton coeur grave cet entretien_.
2.
_Sers, honors le Dieu qui créa tous les êtres;
Sois fils respectueux, sois docile à tes maîtres.
&c_.
[161] [Smartly and felicitously rendered by my translator Mons. Licquet;
"Jamais bouche Normande ne m'avait paru plus éloquente 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 Bacchanalian 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 BASSELIN, 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 Basselin; which, as Goujet has entirely passed over all
notice of him, we can gather only from the editors of the present
edition of his works. Basselin 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
principal 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 _Viréne_, 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, BASSELIN himself was a sort of cloth manufacturer. In this
valley he passed his life in fulling his cloths, and "in composing
those gay and delightful songs which are contained in the volume under
consideration." _Discours Préliminaire_, p. 17, &c. Olivier Basselin
is the parent of the title _Vaudevire--_which has since been corrupted
into _Vaudeville_. From the observation of his critics, Basselin
appears to have been the FATHER of BACCHANALIAN 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-là, soyez tranquille:
Nos neveux, j'én suis bien certain,
Se souviendront de BASSELIN,
_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 bacchanalian quality.
_VAUDEVIRE II_.
AYANT le doz au feu et le ventre à la table,
Estant parmi les pots pleins de vin délectable,
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 chérit 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 chétive
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 guère;
Y pensant estre assez sçavant,
Puisque bon vin aimoye à boire.
Lorsque maulvais vin on a beu,
Latin n'est bon, fust-il congru.
Fy du latin, parlons françois,
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 éloquent.
_VAUDEVIRE XXII_.
HE! qu'avons-nous affaire
Du Turc ny du Sophy,
Don don.
Pourveu que j'aye à boire,
Des grandeurs je dis fy.
Don don.
Trincque, Seigneur, le vin est bon:
_Hoc acuit ingenium._
QUI songe en vin ou vigne,
Est ung présaige heureux,
Don don.
Le vin à qui réchigne
Rent le coeur tout joyeux,
Don don.
Trincque, Seigneur, le vin est bon:
_Hoc acuit ingenium_.
&c.
The poetry of Basselin is almost wholly devoted to the celebration of
the physical effects of wine upon the body and animal spirits; and the
gentler emotions of the TENDER PASSION are rarely described in his
numbers. In consequence, he has not invoked the Goddess of Beauty to
associate with the God of Wine: to
"Drop from her myrtle one leaf in his bowl;"
or, when he does venture to introduce the society of a female, it is
done after the following fashion--which discovers however an extreme
facility and melody of rhythm. The burden of the song seems
wonderfully accordant with a Bacchanalian note.
_VAUDEVIRE XIX_.
En ung jardin d'ombraige tout couvert,
Au chaud du jour, ay treuvé Madalaine,
Qui près le pié d'ung sicomorre vert
Dormoit au bort d'une claire fontaine;
Son lit estoit de thin et marjolaine.
Son tetin frais n'estoit pas bien caché:
D'amour touché,
Pour contempler sa beauté souveraine
Incontinent je m'en suys approché.
Sus, sus, qu'on se resveille,
Voicy vin excellent
Qui faict lever l'oreille;
Il faict mol qui n'en prent.
Je n'eus pouvoir, si belle la voyant,
De m'abstenir de baizotter sa bouche;
Si bien qu'enfin la belle s'esveillant,
Me regardant avec ung oeil farouche,
Me dit ces mots: Biberon, ne me touche.
Belle fillette à son aize ne couche
Avecq celuy qui ne faict qu'yvrongner,
&c. &c.
The preceding extracts will suffice. This is a volume in every respect
interesting--both to the literary antiquary and to the Book-Collector.
A NEW EDITION of this work has appeared under the editorial care of M.
Louis Dubois, published at Caen in 1821, 8vo. obtainable at a very
moderate price.
[B] The host, at these public and private festivals, usually called
upon some one to recite or sing a song, chiefly of an amatory or
chivalrous character; and this custom prevailed more particularly in
Normandy than in other parts of France:
Usaige est en Normandie,
Que qui hebergiez est qu'il die
Fable ou Chanson à son oste.
See the authorities cited at page XV, of this Discours préliminaire.
[163] Some account of this printer, together with a fac-simile of his
device, may be seen in the _Bibliographical Decameron_, vol. ii.
p. 33-6.
[164] The first publication is entitled "_Essai sur l'Histoire de
l'Industrie du Bocage en Général et de la Ville de Vire sa capitale en
particulier, &c._" Par M. RICHARD SEGUIN. _A Vire, chez Adam,
Imprimeur, an_ 1810, 12mo. It is not improbable that I may have
been the only importer of this useful and crowdedly-paged duodecimo
volume; which presents us with so varied and animated a picture of the
manners, customs, trades, and occupations of the Bocains and the
Virois.
[165] I subjoin an extract which relates to the