FRENCH COLLECTORS--NAUDÉ TO RENOUARD.
Gabriel Naudé was a Doctor of Medicine, and held an appointment at one
time as physician in ordinary to Louis XIII. But even as a student he
manifested that passion for books which furnished the real occupation of
his life. Before taking his degree at Padua he was librarian to Henri de
Mesmes, and afterwards to Cardinal Bagni at Rome. On his patron's death
he was placed in charge of the great library which Cardinal Barberini was
establishing in his palace in the Piazza of the Quattro Fontane. Some
part of his time was spent in collecting books for Cardinal Richelieu,
who offered Naudé the charge of his library in 1642; but, the Cardinal
having died in that year, Naudé transferred his services to Mazarin. He
inspired his employer with the desire of emulating the magnificence of
Barberini and the patriotic generosity of Borromeo; and the librarian's
keen scent for books and minute knowledge of their values were
thenceforth utilised in the work of creating the _Bibliothèque Mazarine_.
Richelieu had done things on a grand scale. He had confiscated to his own
use the whole town-library at La Rochelle; and Naudé was anxious that
Mazarin's great undertaking should begin with an acquisition _en bloc_. A
provincial governor named Simeon Dubois had made a collection in the
Limousin. His books had passed into the hands of Jean Descordes, a Canon
of Limoges, who died in 1642 possessed of about 6000 volumes. Naudé
prepared the catalogue, and persuaded the Cardinal to purchase the whole
property by private contract. A few months afterwards the King gave him
the State Papers collected by Antoine de Loménie. A great number of
printed books were added under Naudé's superintendence, and in a short
time the new library was opened to the public. Its regulations were
framed in a very liberal spirit, as may be learned from the first of
Naudé's rules: 'The library is to be open to all the world without the
exception of any living soul; readers will be supplied with chairs and
writing-materials, and the attendants will fetch all books required in
any language or department of learning, and will change them as often as
is necessary.'
In reviewing the condition of the other great libraries, Naudé pointed
out that there was nothing like an unrestrained admission except at the
Bodleian, the Ambrosian, and the Angelica Library at Rome. The public had
no rights at the Vatican, or the Laurentian, or the Library of St. Mark
at Venice. It was just the same at Bologna, or Naples, or in the Duchy of
Urbino. The same thing, he said, might be seen in other countries.
Ximènes built a fine library at Alcalà, and there was a collection of
the books of Nuñez at Salamanca; there were the Rantzaus at Copenhagen
and the Fuggers at Augsburg; they had done everything for the use of
scholars except making the libraries free. The French themselves had the
King's Library, a vast accumulation at St. Victor's, and a rich bequest
from De Thou; but the use of all this wealth of books was hampered by the
most complicated restrictions. We can see that he was rejoicing in his
own good work while he praised the stately Ambrosiana. 'Is it not
astonishing,' he asks, 'that any one can go in when he likes, and stay as
long as he cares to look about or to read or make extracts? All that he
has to do is to sit at a desk and ask for any book that he wishes to
study.'
For some years after the new library was established Naudé travelled in
quest of books over the greater part of Europe. He said that he would
have ransacked Spain if Mazarin had not preferred an invasion by the
regular army. He was the 'familiar spirit' of the auction-room, and it
became a by-word that a visit from the great book-hunter was as bad as a
storm in the book-shops. He boasted in his epigrams of exploits in
Flanders, in Switzerland, and among the Venetian book-stalls. At Rome he
bought books by the fathom; he skimmed the German shelves, and passed
over into England to relieve the islanders of their riches. At Lyons he
met Marshal Villeroi, who gave him a great portion of the books which
Cardinal de Tournon had bequeathed to the Jesuits. We trace the result
of his travels in his description of the libraries of Europe. Certain
subjects, as he said, are in vogue at particular places, and we ought
always to notice the book-fashions to show our respect for the feelings
of mankind. 'For positive science we go to Rome or Florence or Naples,
and for jurisprudence to Paris or Milan; France supplies us with history;
and if we wanted scholastic lore we might go to Spain, or the colleges of
Oxford and Cambridge.'
In 1647 the Mazarine Library contained about 45,000 volumes, and Naudé in
his joy proclaimed it as the eighth wonder of the world. The Parisians
appeared to be delighted with the superb Loménie MSS. and the crowd of
bright volumes in the Cardinal's ordinary livery. But in 1651 the
Parliament got the upper hand of the 'Red Tyrant' in one of the unmeaning
struggles of the Wars of the Fronde; the property of Mazarin was
confiscated for a time, and the library was put up for sale. The list of
Commissioners included the respectable names of Alexandre Pétau and
Pierre Pithou; yet we are assured that the auction resembled a massacre,
and that hardly any obstacle was placed in the way of the most impudent
thefts. Naudé in vain petitioned against a decree which had fallen like a
thunder-bolt on the 'wonderful work of his life.' 'Why will you not save
this daughter of mine, this library that is the fairest and best-endowed
in the world? Can you permit the public to be deprived of such a precious
and useful treasure? Can you endure that this fair flower, which spreads
its perfume through the world, should wither as you hold it in your
hands?'
Naudé spent his own small fortune in ransoming the books on medicine. He
had worked hard to persuade Queen Christina to purchase the whole
collection; but when it came to the point she only bought a few MSS.
which were afterwards returned. The 'Pallas of the North,' was interested
in Naudé's misfortunes. She invited him to take charge of the Royal
Library at Stockholm, and here he rested for a while. He made
acquaintance in Sweden with several celebrated men of letters; Descartes
was a guest at the Court, and used to be ready to begin his metaphysical
discourses at day-break. Naudé on one occasion delighted the young Queen
by stepping a Greek dance with Professor Meibomius, who was just at that
time bringing out his work upon the music of the ancients. The climate,
or the excitement of that vivacious Court, began to disagree with Naudé's
health; he resigned his appointment and returned to France, but died at
Abbeville on his way to Paris, a few months before his patron's return to
power. When the public library was established again the Cardinal
purchased Naudé's private collection of 8000 books; and care was taken to
preserve them apart, as a mark of distinction, in a gallery named after
the famous librarian.
The hereditary collections of Colbert and La Moignon were as much
indebted to their librarians as the Mazarine to the labours of Naudé.
The Minister Jean-Baptiste Colbert was as celebrated for his books as for
his finance: but the magnificence of the library was mainly due to its
guardian Calcavi and his successor the venerable Baluze. Colbert's
manuscripts are believed to have been the most valuable ever amassed by a
person of private fortune. Among their eight thousand volumes were the
choicest treasures from St. Martin's Abbey at Metz, including the _Book
of Hours_ used by Charles the Great, and a Bible said to have been
illuminated for Charles the Bald. There were about 50,000 printed books,
almost all well-bound; and it was thought that the choicest Levantine
moroccos had been secured for the Minister by an article in a treaty with
the Sultan. Colbert died in 1683, and the library remained in his family
for half a century afterwards. In 1728 the Marquis de Seignelaye sold the
books, and began to sell a portion of the manuscripts; the world was
alarmed at the idea of a general dispersion; the remaining manuscripts,
however, were offered to Louis XV.; and there was great rejoicing when he
wrote '_Bon, 300,000 livres_' on the letter received from the Marquis.
The other famous library was amassed by 'an extraordinary family of
book-collectors.' It was begun by Guillaume de la Moignon, who was
President of the Parliament of Paris in 1658. His son Chrétien de la
Moignon was as zealous a book-buyer as his father, and he secured the
renown of their library by engaging the services of Adrien Baillet.
Dibdin quoted passages from Baillet's biography that show the tenderness
with which the family treated his 'crazy body and nervous mind': 'Madame
La Moignon and her son always took a pleasure in anticipating his wishes,
soothing his irritabilities, promoting his views, and speaking loudly and
constantly of the virtues of his head and heart.' Baillet in his turn
gave to his employers the credit of his best literary work. 'It was done
for you,' he wrote, 'and in your house, and by one who is ever yours to
command.' The library was much enlarged by its owner in the third
generation; and by its union with the collection of M. Berryer, who died
in 1762, it became 'one of the most splendid in Europe.' It was dispersed
during the troubles of the Revolution, and a great portion was brought to
London in 1791; but the works on jurisprudence were reserved, and were
sold in Paris a few years afterwards.
David Ancillon is perhaps best known as the defender of Luther and
Calvin. But according to Bayle he was an indefatigable book-collector,
and notable for having set the fashion of buying books in the first
edition. Most people thought, said D'Israeli, that the first edition was
only an imperfect essay, 'which the author proposes to finish after
trying the sentiments of the literary world.' Bayle was on the side of
Ancillon. There are cases, as he remarked, in which the second edition
has never appeared; and at any rate the man who waits for the reprint
shows 'that he loves a pistole better than knowledge.' Ancillon,
however, always indulged himself with 'the most elegant edition,'
whatever the first might have been; he considered that 'the less the eyes
are fatigued in reading or work the more liberty the mind feels in
judging of it.' It is easier to detect the merits in print than in
manuscript: 'and so we see them more plainly in good paper and clear type
than when the impression and paper are bad?' Some have thought it better
to have many editions of a good book: 'among other things,' says our
critic, 'we feel great satisfaction in tracing the variations.' Ancillon
was naturally accused of an indiscriminate mania for collecting; and he
confessed that he was to some extent infected with the 'book-disease.' It
was said that he never left his books day or night, except when he went
to preach to his humble congregation. He was convinced that some golden
thought might be found in the dullest work. Ancillon remained in France
as long as his religion was tolerated. He found a home across the Rhine
after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes; but from that time he had to
be content with German editions, all his fine tall volumes having been
destroyed by the 'Catholic' rioters at Metz.
If Evelyn can be believed, the art of book-collecting had come to a very
poor pass in France about the seventeenth century. It had been discovered
that certain classes of books were the necessary furniture of every
gentleman's library. If a man of quality built a mansion he would expect
to find a book-room and a quantity of shelves; it was a simple matter
further on to order so many yards of folios or octavos, all in red
morocco, with the coat of arms stamped in gold. Such collections, said La
Bruyère, are like a picture-gallery with a strong smell of leather: the
owner is most polite in showing off 'the gold leaves, Etruscan bindings,
and fine editions'; 'we thank him for his kindness, but care as little as
himself to visit the tan-yard which he calls his library.' We must not
forget the financier Bretonvilliers, who about the year 1657 determined
to become a bibliophile, and so far succeeded that some of his local
books on Lorraine were purchased for the National Library. He first built
a Hôtel, not far from the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, with a large gallery
in which with infinite pains he built up a magnificent book-case; the
contents were of less importance; but he succeeded after a time in
filling it with books stamped with his new device of an eagle holding the
olive-branch.
One or two of the more serious collectors may be noticed before we pass
to the great age of Rothelin and La Vallière. Henri du Bouchet had
gathered about eight thousand books, all very well chosen, according to
the testimony of the Père Jacob; on his death in 1654 he bequeathed them
to the Abbey of St. Victor on public trusts so that those who came after
him might find a solace in what had been 'his dearest delight.' He
requested that they might be free to students for three days in the week
and for seven hours in the day; and his wishes were duly regarded until
the great library of St. Victor was dispersed in 1791. The monks set up a
tablet and bust in memory of the generous donor; and perceiving that the
volumes were not emblazoned in the usual way they adopted the singular
plan of inserting pieces of leather bearing his arms into holes cut in
the ancient bindings.
The Abbé Boisot was another of the scholars who lived entirely for books.
While quite a young man he acquired a considerable library in his travels
through Spain and Italy; and in 1664, during an official visit to
Besançon, he was so fortunate as to acquire the MSS. of the Cardinal de
Granvelle, who had been the confidential minister of the Emperor Charles
V. Boisot wrote a delightful account of the adventures through which this
collection had passed. 'At first,' he says, 'the servants used what they
pleased, and then the neighbours' children helped themselves; when some
packing-cases were wanted, the butler, to show his economy, sold the
records contained in them to a grocer.' At last they were all tired of
these 'useless old papers,' and determined to throw them away. Jules
Chifflet, according to Guigard, was the means of saving the remainder. He
examined a number of the documents and recognised their importance,
though they were mostly in cipher; but he died before they could be
sorted out. Boisot bought what he could from the heirs, and found a good
many more MSS. in the neighbourhood. They passed with the rest of
Boisot's books to the Abbey of St. Vincent at Besançon; and during the
Revolution the whole collection became the property of the citizens and
was transferred to the public library.
The hereditary treasures of the Bouhier family were dispersed in the same
way through several provincial libraries. The collection had begun in the
reign of Louis XII., and something had been done in each generation
afterwards by way of adding fine books and manuscripts. Étienne Bouhier
had collected in all parts of Italy. Jean Bouhier in 1642 bought the
accumulations of Pontus de Thyard, the learned Bishop of Châlons. His
father's own library had been dispersed among his children; but Jean
Bouhier succeeded in getting it together again, and added a large number
of MSS. which he had gathered for the illustration of the history of
Burgundy. The library became still more famous in the time of his
grandson the President Jean Bouhier, who has been admired as the type of
the true bibliophile. The bibliomaniac heaps up books from avarice or
some animal instinct; he is a collector, it is said, 'without intelligent
curiosity.' Bouhier used to read his books and make notes upon them; and
it is said that he carried the practice to such excess as to deface with
marginal scribblings the finest work of Henri Estienne and Antoine
Vérard. A visitor to his library described the sober magnificence of the
rosewood shelves with silken hangings in which the rare editions and
long rows of manuscripts were ranged. In the next generation there was a
startling change. The library had been left to Bouhier's son-in-law,
Chartraire de Bourbonne: the grave offspring of Aldus and Gryphius found
themselves in company with poets of the _talon rouge_ and muses of the
_Opéra bouffe_. When the gay De Bourbonne died, the ill-assorted crowd
passed to his son-in-law in his turn, and was transferred in 1784 to the
Abbey of Clairvaux.
We cannot name or classify the bibliophiles of the eighteenth century. It
would be endless to describe them with the briefest of personal notes;
how M. Barré loved out-of-the-way books and fugitive pieces, or Lambert
de Thorigny a good history, or how Gabriel de Sartines, the policeman of
the Parc aux Cerfs, had a marvellous collection about Paris. When Count
Macarthy sold his books at Toulouse his catalogue contained a list of
about ninety others, issued in the same century, from which his riches
were derived. We can point to a few of the mightiest Nimrods. We see the
serene Gaignat pass, and the bustling La Vallière; the Duc d'Estrées is
recognised as a busy book-hunter, and there are the physicians Hyacinthe
Baron and Falconnet whose keenness no prey could escape. We can
distinguish the forms of the elegant '_bibliomanes_' to whom their books
were as pictures or as jewels to be enclosed in a shrine; there is Count
d'Hoym with a house full of treasures, and Boisset and Girardot de
Préfond with their cabinets of marvels. If the crowds in the
old-fashioned libraries are like the multitude at Babel, these tall
volumes in crushed morocco and 'triple gold bands' remind us of what our
antiquaries have said of books glimmering in their wire cases 'like
eastern beauties peering through their jalousies.' We ought to say
something of M. de Chamillard, best known in his public capacity as a
good match for the King at billiards and as the minister who proposed the
revocation of the Edict of Nantes. In private life Michael de Chamillard
was a virtuoso with well-filled galleries and portfolios; and he had
assembled a large company of books of fashionable appearance. But our
real interest is not so much with the Minister of Billiards, as M. Uzanne
described him, but rather with his wife and three daughters, who were all
true female bibliophiles. The eldest daughter, the Marquise de Dreux, was
wife of the Grand Master of the Ceremonies; but though his collection was
gay and polite the Marquise insisted on a separate establishment for the
books that she had discovered and bought and bound. The Duchesse de la
Feuillade and the Duchesse de Lorges insisted, like their elder sister,
on having libraries for their separate use. The minister's wife was
celebrated for the splendour of her books, and marvellous prices have
been paid for specimens of her earlier style. But 'little Madame de
Chamillard' attached herself in all things to the Maintenon, and followed
the uncrowned queen in abandoning the paths of vanity; she gave up the
world, so far as gilt arabesques and crushed morocco were concerned, and
dressed all her later acquisitions _à la Janséniste_, in plain leather
with perhaps the thinnest line of blind-tooling for an ornament.
Charles du Fay was a captain in the Guards, compelled by his misfortunes
to confine himself to the battles of the book-sale. He lost a leg at the
bombardment of Brussels in 1695; and though he was promoted to a company
in the Guards, it became at last apparent that he could not serve on
horseback. Du Fay, we are told, was fortunately fond of literature; and
he devoted himself with eagerness to the task of collecting a magnificent
library. History and Latin poetry had always been his favourite subjects,
and it appears that he was already collecting fine examples in this
department during his campaigns in Germany and Flanders.
M. de Lincy commemorates the good taste that impelled Du Fay to buy
several of Grolier's books, and records the industry with which he sought
to remedy his defects of education. Professor Brochard, he says, was a
learned man, with a good library of his own, who went to inspect the
books gathered by Du Fay from all parts of Europe. The visitor expressed
surprise that out of nearly four thousand volumes there should hardly be
any in Greek. 'I have hardly retained a word of the language,' said Du
Fay. 'Cato in his old age,' replied the Professor, 'did not hesitate for
a moment to learn it; and a person quite ignorant of Greek can never know
Latin well.' Du Fay was an easy good-natured man, and at once followed
his friend's advice, beginning from that day to buy Greek books and to
work at the language so as to be able to read them. His object, however,
in forming a library was not so much to gather useful information as to
set up a museum of literary rarities. The idea is in accordance with our
modern taste, and perhaps with the common sense of mankind; but some of
the old-fashioned collectors were angry with the poor epicure of
learning. The Président Bouhier writes to Marais in 1725 on seeing a
catalogue of the library: 'This savours more of bibliomania than
scholarship.' Marais at once replied: 'Your judgment on Du Fay's
catalogue is most excellent: it is not a library, but a shop full of
curious book-specimens, made to sell and not to keep for one's self.'
Many of Du Fay's books were bought by Count d'Hoym, who lived for many
years at Paris as ambassador from Augustus of Poland and Saxony. The
Count has been accused of showing bad manners at Court, and of bad faith
in giving the trade secrets of Dresden to the factory at Sèvres; in
bibliography at any rate, he was supreme among the amateurs, and his
White Eagle of Poland appears upon no volume that is not among the best
of its kind. He sat at one time at the feet of the Abbé de Rothelin; but
he soon became his master's equal in matters of taste, and was accepted
until his exile at Nancy as the arbiter of elegance among the Parisians.
M. Guigard quotes from the dedication of a 'treasury' of French poetry a
passage that indicates his high position: 'To the poets in this
assemblage, whoever they be, it is a glory, Monseigneur, to enter your
Excellency's library, so full, so magnificent, so well chosen, that it is
justly accounted the prodigy of learning.'
Charles d'Orléans, Abbé de Rothelin, had died in 1744, when most of his
books became the property of the nation. In some respects he was the most
distinguished of the book-collectors. His learning and wealth enabled him
to make a collection of theology that has never been surpassed; and he
had the good fortune to acquire the vast series of State Papers and the
priceless mediæval MSS. collected by Nicolas Foucault. His special taste
was for immaculate editions in splendid bindings; but nothing escaped his
notice that was in any way remarkable or interesting.
Paul Girardot de Préfond was a timber-merchant who fell into an apathetic
state on retiring from active business. His physician, Hyacinthe Baron,
was an eminent book-collector, and he advised the patient to take up the
task of forming a library. So successful was the prescription that the
merchant became renowned during the next half century for his superb
bindings, his specimens from Grolier's stores, and the Delphin and
Variorum classics which he procured from the library of Gascq de la
Lande. On two occasions the sale of his surplus treasures made an
excitement for the literary world. Some of his rarest books were sold in
1757, and twelve years afterwards his Delphin series and the greater part
of his general collection were purchased by Count Macarthy.
Mérard de St. Just was another collector, whose exquisite taste is still
gratefully remembered, though his small library has long been dispersed,
and was indeed almost destroyed by a series of accidents before the
outbreak of the great Revolution. 'My library,' he said, 'is very small,
but it is too large for me to fill it with good books.' He would not have
the first editions of the classics, because they were generally printed
on bad paper which it was disagreeable to touch, with the exception of
works produced by the Aldine Press. Nor would he buy mere curiosities,
says Guigard, but left them to persons who cared for empty display, 'like
one who proudly exhibits his patents of nobility without being able to
point to any distinguished action of his ancestors.' He was the owner of
many choice books that had belonged to Gaignat and Charron de Ménars, or
had been bound for Madame de Pompadour, or to the undiscriminating Du
Barry. In 1782, we are told, he despatched the best part of his library
to America, but had the grief of learning soon afterwards that they had
been captured at sea by the English. His philosophical temper was shown
in his reply to the bad news: 'I have but one wish upon the subject; I
hope that the person who gets this part of the booty will be able to
comprehend the value of the treasure that has come to his hands.'
The elder Mirabeau was a collector of another type. The 'friend of
mankind' intended to gather together the best and largest library in the
world. He cared nothing for the scarcity or the external adornments of a
volume; but he had a huge appetite for knowledge, and he longed to have
the means of referring to all that could illustrate the progress of the
race. He did not live to attain any marked success in his gigantic
design; but his library had at least the distinction of containing all
the books of the Comte de Buffon, enriched with marginal notes in the
naturalist's handwriting.
A modest collection was formed a few years afterwards by Pierre-Louis
Guinguené, who wrote a valuable work on the literary history of Italy. He
is remembered as having published amid the terrors of 1791 an amusing
essay on the authority of Rabelais 'in the matter of this present
Revolution.' He led a peaceful life through all that troubled time, and
succeeded in forming a very useful library containing about 3000 volumes;
it was purchased for the British Museum on his death, and became the
foundation of the great series of works on the French Revolution which
has been brought together there.
The long life of M. Antoine Renouard bridges over the space between the
days of Mirabeau and the time when the _élégants_ of the Third Empire had
invented a new bibliomania. Renouard had ordered bindings from the elder
Derôme; in 1785 he bought a book at La Vallière's sale. In his
_Epictetus_ there is the following note: 'Bought in May 1785, the first
book printed on vellum that entered my library; rather luxurious for a
young fellow of seventeen, but then all my little savings were devoted to
acquiring books; parties of pleasure, and elegancies of toilette,
everything was sacrificed to my beloved books; and at that time a brisk
and brilliant business permitted expenses which were followed by hard
years of privation; it was in my first youth that I found it easiest to
spend money on my books.' Renouard began life as a manufacturer. His
father made gauze stuffs, and kept a shop in the Rue Apolline. In 1787
the Abbé le Blond, the librarian of the Collège Mazarin, heard that
Molini had sold a fine Aldine Horace to a shopkeeper. 'The next day,'
says Renouard, 'Le Blond came into my library. "Oh! I shall not have the
book," he exclaimed, and when I looked round, he said, "I beg your
pardon, I hoped to tempt you with a few _louis_ for your bargain, but I
have given up the idea at once, and I only ask the double favour of
seeing the book and of being allowed to make your acquaintance."'
Renouard was the historian of the House of Aldus, and naturally became
the possessor of some of Grolier's finest books. During his career as a
bookseller he parted with most of them; and at the sale of his library in
1854 the 'Lucretius,' the 'Virgil,' and the 'Erasmus,' were all that
remained in his collection.