My neighbour--His portrait--The _Pastissier françois_--A course in
bibliomania--Madame Méchin and the governor of Soissons--Cannons and
Elzevirs
At this period of my life, being made up entirely of ignorance,
optimism and faith, I did not know in the least what an Elzevir, or
rather Elzevier, was. I learnt that evening, as we shall see; but
I did not understand thoroughly until much later, after I had made
the acquaintance of my learned friend, _la bibliophile_ Jacob. So it
is a little previous to say that the polite gentleman was reading
an Elzevir; I ought to say simply that he was reading a book. I
have related how I had taken the seat next his, and how, having
been distracted from his reading by having to lift his hat off my
seat, he had immediately plunged back again into his reading, more
absorbedly than ever. I have ever admired men who are capable of doing
anything whole-heartedly _(passionnément_);--please do not confound
_passionnément_ with _passionnellement_; this latter adverb was not
invented in 1823, or, if it were, Fourier had not yet exploited it.
It was not surprising that, interested as I was in literature, I should
endeavour to find out what the book was which could inspire such a
powerful influence over my neighbour, who was so deeply absorbed in
his reading that, metaphorically speaking, he gave himself up, bound
hand and foot, into my power. I had more than a quarter of an hour in
which to make this investigation before the curtain rose, therefore I
conducted it at my leisure. First of all, I tried to see the title of
the book; but the binding was carefully hidden by a paper cover, so
it was impossible to read the title on the back of the book. I rose;
in that position I could look down on the reader. Then, thanks to the
excellent sight I have the good fortune to possess, I was able to
read the following curious title on the opposite side to the engraved
frontispiece:--
LE PASTISSIER FRANÇOIS
Où est enseignée la manière de faire toute sorte
de pastisserie
Très-utile à toutes sortes de personnes;
Ensemble le moyen d'apprester toutes sortes;
d'œufs pour les jours maigres et autres
En plus de soixante façons.
AMSTERDAM
CHEZ LOUIS ET DANIEL ELZÉVIER
1655
"Ah! ah!" I said to myself, "now I have it! This well-mannered
gentleman is surely a gourmand of the first order,--M. Grimod de la
Reyniere perhaps, whom I have so often heard described as a rival of
Cambacérès and of d'Aigrefeuille;--but stay, this gentleman has hands
and M. Grimod de la Reyniere has only stumps." At that moment, the
polite gentleman let his hand and the book he held fall on his knees;
then, casting his eyes upward, he appeared to be lost in profound
reflection. He was, as I have said, a man of forty or forty-two years
of age, with an essentially gentle face, kindly and sympathetic; he had
black hair, blue-grey eyes, a nose slightly bent to the left through an
excrescence, a finely cut, clever-looking, witty mouth--the mouth of a
born story-teller.
I was yearning to get up a conversation with him--I, a hobbledehoy of a
country bumpkin, ignorant of everything, but _anxious to learn_ as they
put it in M. Lhomond's elementary lessons. His benevolent countenance
encouraged me. I took advantage of the moment when he stopped reading
to address a word or two to him.
"Monsieur," said I, "pray forgive me if my question seems impertinent,
but are you extremely fond of eggs?"
My neighbour shook his head, came gradually out of his reverie,
and, looking at me with a distraught expression, he said, in a very
pronounced Eastern French accent--
"Pardon me, monsieur, but I believe you did me the honour of addressing
me ...?"
I repeated my sentence.
"Why do you suppose that?" he said.
"The little book you are reading so attentively, monsieur,--excuse
my rudeness, but my eyes fell involuntarily on the title,--contains
recipes, does it not? for cooking eggs in more than sixty different
ways?"
"Oh yes, true...." he said.
"Monsieur, that book would have been of great use to an uncle of
mine, a curé, who was, or rather still is, a great eater, and a fine
sportsman: one day he made a bet with one of his _confrères_ that he
would eat a hundred eggs at his dinner; he was only able to discover
eighteen or twenty ways of serving them ... yes, twenty ways, for he
ate them by fives at a time. You see, if he had known sixty ways of
cooking them, instead of a hundred, he could have eaten two hundred."
My neighbour looked at me with a certain attention which seemed to
imply that he was asking himself, "Am I by any chance seated next to a
young lunatic?"
"Well?" he said.
"Well, if I could procure such a book for my dear uncle, I am sure he
would be most grateful to me."
"Monsieur," said my neighbour, "I doubt if, in spite of the sentiments
which do a nephew's heart the greatest credit, you could procure this
book."
"Why not?"
"Because it is exceedingly rare."
"That little old book exceedingly rare?"
"Do you not know that it is an Elzevir, monsieur?"
"No."
"Do you not know what an Elzevir is?" exclaimed my neighbour,
overwhelmed with astonishment.
"No, monsieur, no; but do not be alarmed at such a trifle: since I came
to Paris not quite a week ago, I have discovered that I am ignorant of
nearly everything. Tell me what it is, please: I am not well enough off
to afford myself masters, I am too old to go back to college and I have
made up my mind to take _the whole world_ as my teacher--a teacher whom
report says is even more learned than Voltaire."
"Ah! ah! quite right, monsieur," said my neighbour, looking at me with
some interest; "and if you profit by the lessons that teacher will give
you, you will become a great philosopher, as well as a great savant.
Well, what is an Elzevir?... First of all, and in particular, this
little volume that you see is one; or, in general, every book that
came from the establishment of Louis Elzevir and of his successors,
booksellers of Amsterdam. But do you know what a bibliomaniac is?"
"I do not know Greek, monsieur."
"You know your ignorance and that is something. The bibliomaniac--root,
βιβλιο, book; μανια, madness--is a variety of the species
man--_species bipes et genus homo._"
"I understand."
"This animal has two legs and is featherless, wanders usually up and
down the quays and the boulevards, stopping at all the old bookstalls,
turning over every book on them; he is habitually clad in a coat that
is too long for him and trousers that are too short; he always wears on
his feet shoes that are down at the heel, a dirty hat on his head, and,
under his coat, and over his trousers, a waistcoat fastened together
with string. One of the signs by which he can be recognised is that he
never washes his hands."
"But you are describing a perfectly disgusting animal. I hope the race
does not consist entirely of specimens like that, and that there are
exceptions."
"Yes, but these exceptions are rare. Well, what this creature is in
particular quest after, among the old shopkeepers and on the old
bookstalls,--for you know that all animals hunt for something or
other,--is for Elzevirs."
"Are they hard to find?"
"Yes, more and more difficult every day."
"And how can Elzevirs be recognised?... Pray remember, monsieur, that
you are not risking anything by instructing me; I do not ever expect to
become a bibliomaniac, and my questions are solely out of curiosity."
"How can they be recognised? I will tell you. In the first place,
monsieur, the first volume in which one finds the name of Elzevir or
Elzevier is one entitled _Eutropii histories romanæ_, _lib. X. Lugduni
Batavorum, apud Ludovicum Elzevierum_, 1592, in 8°, 2 leaves, 169
pages. The design on the frontispiece,--remember this carefully, it is
the key to the whole mystery,--the design on the frontispiece is that
of an angel holding a book in one hand and a scythe in the other."
"Yes, I understand: 1592, in 8°, 2 leaves, 169 pages, an angel holding
a book in one hand and a scythe in the other."
"Bravo!... Isaac Elzevir--whom some declare to be the son and others
the nephew of Louis Elzevir: I maintain that he is the son; Bérard
maintains that he is the nephew, and, although he has Techener on his
side, I still think I am right--Isaac Elzevir substituted for this
design an elm tree, encircled by a vine laden with grapes, with this
device: _Non solus._ Do you follow me?"
"The Latin, yes."
"Well, then, Daniel Elzevir, in his turn, adopted Minerva and the olive
tree as his mark, with the device: _Ne extra oleas_. You still follow
me?"
"Perfectly: Isaac, a vine laden with grapes; Daniel, Minerva and the
olive tree."
"Better and better. But, besides these recognised editions, there
are anonymous and pseudonymous editions, and there is where the
inexperienced bibliomaniacs get confused. Ah!"
"Will you be my Ariadne?"
"Well, these editions are usually designated by a sphere."
"Then that is a guide."
"Yes, but you will see! These brothers, cousins or nephews Elzevir were
a very capricious lot of fellows. Thus, for example, one finds, since
1629, a buffalo head forming part of the headpieces in their books, at
the beginning of prefaces, dedicatory epistles and text."
"Well, thanks to the buffalo's head, it seems...."
"Wait a bit ... this lasted for five years. Since the _Sallust_ of 1634
and even perhaps earlier, they adopted another sign which resembled a
siren. Also in this edition...."
"The _Sallust_ of 1634?"
"Exactly! They adopted also, for the first time, on page 216, a
tail-piece of a head of Medusa."
"So, when once this principle is fixed and one knows that on page 216
of the _Sallust_ of 1634 there is a figure representing ...."
"Yes, yes, upon my word, that would be delightful, if it could be laid
down as a positive rule; but, bah! Daniel did not remain constant to
his designs. For example, in the 1661 _Terence_, he substitutes a
garland of hollyhocks for the buffalo head and the siren, and this
garland is to be found in a great many of his editions. But, in the
_Persius_ of 1664 he does not even put that."
"Oh, gracious! and what does he adopt in the _Persius_ of 1664?"
"He adopts a large ornament, in the centre of which are two swords
crossed over a crown."
"As though to indicate that the Elzevirs are the kings of the
book-selling world."
"You have hit it exactly, monsieur: a sovereignty no one disputes with
them."
"And the one you have there, monsieur,--which treats of French
confectionery and the sixty ways of cooking eggs,--is it the angel with
the book and the scythe? Is it the vine cluster? Is it the Minerva and
the olive tree? Is it the buffalo head? Is it the siren? Is it the head
of Medusa? Is it the garland of hollyhocks? Or is it the crown and two
swords?"
"This one, monsieur, is the rarest of all. I found it, this evening,
as I was coming here. Just think how I have argued with that idiot of
a Bérard over this Elzevir, for three years; he thinks himself a great
savant, and is not even half instructed."
"And, without seeming too inquisitive, monsieur, may I ask what was the
object of the discussion?"
"He would have it that _le Pastissier françois_ was printed in 1654,
and contained only four preliminary leaves; whilst I maintained, and
with reason, as you see, that it was printed in 1655 and that it had
five preliminary leaves and a frontispiece. Now here is the very
date, 1655; here are the five preliminary leaves; here is the very
frontispiece."
"Upon my word, so it is."
"Ah! ah! how sheepish, how utterly foolish my friend Bérard will look
now!"
"But, monsieur," I suggested timidly, "did you not tell me that you had
argued over this little volume for the past three years?"
"Yes, indeed, for more than three years."
"Well, it seems to me that if the discussion no longer amused you, you
had a very simple remedy at hand to stop it."
"What?"
"Does not one of the ancient philosophers prove the incontestability of
movement to another philosopher who denies movement, by walking before
him?"
"Well?"
"Well, then, you must prove to M. Bérard the superiority of your
knowledge over his, by showing him the Elzevir you have there, and
unless he is more incredulous than St. Thomas...."
"But, to show it, monsieur, it was necessary to possess it, and I had
it not."
"This little volume is, then, very rare?"
"It is the rarest of the lot! There are probably only ten examples of
it left in Europe."
"And why is this particular volume rarer than the others? Were there
fewer copies printed?"
"On the contrary, Techener declares that there were five thousand five
hundred copies issued, and I maintain that there were more than ten
thousand printed."
"The deuce! was the edition burnt, then, with the library of
Alexandria?"
"No; but it was lost, spoilt, torn up in kitchens. You can quite
understand that chefs and cookmaids are indifferent bibliomaniacs:
they served the _Pastissier françois_ as they served _Carême_ or the
_Cuisinier royal_; hence the rarity of the book."
"So rare that, as you say, you have not found one before to-night?"
"Oh, I knew of it six weeks ago. I told Frank to keep it for me, as I
was not well enough off to buy it."
"What! You were not rich enough to buy it, not rich enough to buy that
little old book?"
The bibliomaniac smiled disdainfully.
"Do you know, monsieur," he said to me, "what a copy of the _Pastissier
françois_ is worth?"
"Why, I should judge it worth about a crown."
"A copy of the _Pastissier françois,_ monsieur, is worth from two
hundred to four hundred francs."
"From two to four hundred francs ...?"
"Yes, indeed.... Only a week ago, old Brunet, the author of _Manuel des
libraires_, an enthusiastic Elzeviriomaniac, inserted a notice in the
papers that he was willing to pay three hundred francs for a copy such
as this. Luckily, Frank did not see the notice."
"Pardon me, monsieur! but I warned you what an ignoramus lam ... you
said a book like that was worth from two hundred to four hundred
francs."
"Yes, from two hundred to four hundred francs."
"Why is there such a difference in the price?"
"Because of the margins."
"Ah! the margins?"
"All the value of an Elzevir consists in the width of its margins; the
wider they are, the dearer the Elzevir. An Elzevir without a margin is
worth next to nothing; they measure the margins with compasses, and,
according as they have twelve, fifteen or eighteen lines, the Elzevir
is worth two hundred, three hundred, four hundred and even six hundred
francs."
"Six hundred francs!... I am of Madame Méchin's way of thinking."
"And what was Madame Méchin's way of thinking?"
"Madame Méchin is a very witty woman."
"Yes, I am aware of that."
"Her husband was prefect of the department of Aisne."
"I know that too."
"Well, one day when she was visiting Soissons with her husband, the
governor of the place, to do her honour, showed her the guns upon the
ramparts, one after the other. When she had seen all the kinds, of
every date and every shape, and had exhausted her repertory of _Ohs!_
and _Reallys!_ and _Is it possibles! _ Madame Méchin, who did not know
what to say next to the governor, asked him, 'How much does a pair of
cannon cost, M. le gouverneur?' 'A twelve, twenty-four or thirty-six
pounder, madame la comtesse?' 'Oh, let us say thirty-six?' 'A pair
of thirty-six cannon, madame,' replied the governor,--'a pair of
thirty-six cannon might cost from eight to ten thousand francs. 'Well,
then,' replied Madame Méchin, 'I am not going to put my money on them.'"
My neighbour looked at me, doubtful whether I had told the story
innocently or jokingly. He was possibly going to question me on that
head, when we heard the call bell; the overture began, and there were
cries for silence. Upon this, I prepared myself to listen, whilst
my neighbour plunged more deeply than ever into the reading of his
precious Elzevir.
The curtain rose.