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. Crapelet 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 naïf 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. Honoré_, 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 assure 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 principally 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 passion for making his _Alduses_ perfect by means of
_manuscript_; 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 Institutes of Urbanus_, 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 passage, between his principal shew-room and his bed room, is contained
a very large collection of tracts and printed volumes relating to the FAIR
SEX: 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 Hôtel 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
recumbent 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 _Ædes Althorpianæ_. 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 Saturdays and
Sundays at his little "ferme ornée," within some four miles of Paris--
having, as he gaily told me "nothing now to do but to make poesies for the
fair sex."[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. CRAPELET. 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 classical 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'ainé 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 _Rué 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.
I wished to know the costs and charges of _printing_, &c.--from which the
comparative price of labour in the two countries might be estimated. M.
Didot told me that the entire charges for printing, and pulling, one
thousand copies of a full octavo size volume--containing thirty lines in a
page, in a middle-size-letter--including _every thing_ but _paper_--was
thirty-five francs per sheet. I am persuaded that such a thing could not be
done at home under very little short of double the price:--whether it be
that our printers, including the most respectable, are absolutely more
extravagant in their charges, or that the wages of the compositors are
double those which are given in France.
After Didot, comes CRAPELET--in business, skill, and celebrity. He is
himself a very pleasant, unaffected man; scarcely thirty-six; and likely,
in consequence, to become the richest printer in Paris. I have visited him
frequently, and dined with him once--when he was pleased to invite some
agreeable, well-informed, and gentlemanly guests to meet me. Among them was
a M. REY, who has written "_Essais Historiques et Critiques sur Richard
III. Roi d'Angleterre_," just printed in a handsome octavo volume by our
Host. Our conversation, upon the whole; was mixed; agreeable, and
instructive. Madame Crapelet, who is at this moment (as I should
conjecture) perhaps pretty equally divided between her twenty-fifth and
twenty-sixth year, and who may be classed among the prettier ladies of
Paris, did the honours of the fête in a very agreeable manner: nor can it
be a matter of surprise that the choicest Chambertin and Champagne sparkled
upon the table of _one_--who, during the libations of his guests; had the
tympans and friskets of _twenty-two Presses_ in full play![148] We retired,
after dinner, into a spacious drawing room to coffee and liqueurs: and
anon, to a further room, wherein was a BOOK-CASE filled by some of the
choicest specimens of the press of its owner, as well as of other
celebrated printers. I have forgotten what we took down or what we
especially admired: but, to a question respecting the _present_ state of
business, as connected with _literature_ and _printing_, at Paris, M.
Crapelet replied (as indeed, if I remember rightly, M. Didot did also) that
"matters never went on better." Reprints even of old authors were in
agitation: and two editions of _Montaigne_ were at that moment going on in
his own house. I complimented M. Crapelet--and with equal sincerity and
justice--upon the typographical execution of M. Brunet's _Manuel du
Libraire_. No printer in our own country, could have executed it more
perfectly. "What might have been the charge per sheet?" My host received
the compliment very soberly and properly; and gave me a general item about
the expense of printing and paper, &c., which really surprised me; and
returned it with a warm eulogy upon the paper and press-work of a recent
publication from the _Shakspeare press_--which, said he, "I despair of
excelling." "And then (added he), your prettily executed vignettes, and
larger prints! In France this branch of the art is absolutely not
understood[149]--and besides, we cannot publish books at _your_ prices!"
We must now bid adieu to the types of M. Crapelet below stairs, and to his
"good cheer" above; and with him take our leave of Parisian booksellers and
printers.[150] What then remains, in the book way, worthy of especial
notice? Do you ask this question? I will answer it in a
trice--BOOK-BINDING. Yes ... some few hours of my residence in this
metropolis have been devoted to an examination of this _seductive_ branch
of book commerce. And yet I have not seen--nor am I likely to see--one
single binder: either _Thouvenin, or Simier, or Braidel, or Lesné_. I am
not sure whether Courteval, or either of the Bozérians, be living: but
their _handy works_ live and are lauded in every quarter of Paris.
The restorer, or the Father, (if you prefer this latter appellative) of
modern Book-binding in France, was the Elder Bozérian: of whose productions
the book-amateurs of Paris are enthusiastically fond. Bozérian undoubtedly
had his merits;[151] but he was fond of gilt tooling to excess. His
ornaments are too minute and too profuse; and moreover, occasionally, very
unskilfully worked. His choice of morocco is not always to my taste; while
his joints are neither carefully measured, nor do they play easily; and his
linings are often gaudy to excess. He is however hailed as the legitimate
restorer of that taste in binding, which delighted the purchasers in the
Augustan age of book-collecting. One merit must not be denied him: his
boards are usually square, and well measured. His volumes open well, and
are beaten ... too unmercifully. It is the reigning error of French
binders. They think they can never beat a book sufficiently. They exercise
a tyranny over the leaves, as bad as that of eastern despots over their
prostrate slaves. Let them look a little into the bindings of those volumes
before described by me, in the lower regions of the Royal Library[152]--and
hence learn, that, to hear the leases crackle as they are turned over,
produces _nearly_ as much comfort to the thorough-bred collector, as does
the prattling of the first infant to the doating parent.
THOUVENIN[153] and SIMIER are now the morning and evening stars in the
bibliopegistic hemisphere. Of these, Thouvenin makes a higher circle in the
heavens; but Simier shines with no very despicable lustre. Their work is
good, substantial, and pretty nearly in the same taste. The folio Psalter
of 1502, (I think) in the Royal Library, is considered to be the _ne plus
ultra_ of modern book-binding at Paris; and, if I mistake not, Thouvenin is
the artist in whose charcoal furnace, the tools, which produced this
_êchantillon_, were heated. I have no hesitation in saying, that,
considered as an extraordinary specimen of art, it is a failure. The
ornaments are common place; the lining is decidedly bad; and there is a
clumsiness of finish throughout the whole. The head-bands--as indeed are
those of Bozérian--are clumsily managed: and I may say that it exhibits a
manifest inferiority even to the productions of Mackinlay, Hering, Clarke,
and Fairbairn. Indeed either of these artists would greatly eclipse it. I
learn that Thouvenin keeps books in his possession as long as does a
_certain_ binder with us--- who just now shall be nameless. Of course
Charles Lewis would smile complacently if you talked to _him_ about
rivalling such a performance![154]
There is a book-binder of the name of LESNÉ--just now occupied, as I learn,
in writing a poem upon his Art[155]--who is also talked of as an artist of
respectable skill. They say, however, that he _writes_ better than he
_binds_. So much the worse for his little ones, if he be married. Indeed
several very sensible and impartial collectors, with whom I have
discoursed, also seem to think that the art of book-binding in France is
just now, if not retrograding, at least stationary--and apparently
incapable of being carried to a higher pitch of excellence. I doubt this
very much. They can do what they have done before. And no such great
conjuration is required in going even far beyond it. Let Thouvenin and
Simier, and even the _Poet_ himself, examine carefully the choice of tools,
and manner of gilding, used by our more celebrated binders, and they need
not despair of rivalling them. Above all, let them look well to the
management of the backs of their books, and especially to the headbands.
The latter are in general heavy and inelegant. Let them also avoid too much
choking and beating, (I use technical words--- which you understand as well
as any French or English bookbinder) and especially to be square, even, and
delicate in the bands; and the "Saturnia regna" of book-binding in France
may speedily return.
[121] _Bibliomania_; p. 79. _Bibliographical Decameron_; vol. i.
p. xxii.
[122] See the _Bibliographical Decameron_; vol. ii. p. 20.
[123] [Consistently with the plan intended to be pursued in this edition, I
annex a fac-simile of their autograph.]
[Illustration]
[124] [Madame Debure died a few years ago at an advanced age.]
[125] [Mr. Hibbert obtained this volume from me, which will be sold at the
sale of his Library in the course of this season.]
[126] [Nothing can be more perfectly ridiculous and absurd than the manner
in which M. Crapelet flies out at the above expression! He taunts us,
poor English, with always drawing comparisons against other nations,
in favour of the splendour and opulence of our own Hospitals and
Charitable Foundations--a thought, that never possessed me while
writing the above, and which would require the peculiar obliquity, or
perversity of talents, of my translator to detect. I once thought of
_dissecting_ his petulant and unprovoked note--but it is not worth
blunting the edge of one's pen in the attempt.]
[127] [In a few years afterwards, the body of the husband of Madame
Treuttel was consigned to _this_, its _last_ earthly resting-place. M.
JEAN-GEORGE TREUTTEL, died on the 14th Dec. 1825, not long after the
completion of his 82d year: full of years, full of reputation, and
credit, and of every sublunary comfort, to soothe those who survived
him. I have before me a printed Memoir of his Obsequies--graced by the
presence and by the orations of several excellent Ministers of the
Lutheran persuasion: by all the branches of his numerous family; and
by a great concourse of sympathising neighbours. Few citizens of the
world, in the largest sense of this expression, have so adorned the
particular line of life in which they have walked; and M. Treuttel was
equally, to his country and to his family, an ornament of a high cast
of character. "O bon et vertueux ami, que ne peut tu voir les regrets
de tous ceux qui t' accompagnent à ta derniere demeure, pour te dire
encore une fois à REVOIR!" _Discours_ de M. COMARTIN _Maire de
Groslai_: Dec. 17.]
[128] ["Delightful" as was this Library, the thought of the money for which
it might sell, seems to have been more delightful. The sale of it--
consisting of 1028 articles--took place in the spring of last year,
under the hammer of Mr. Evans; and a surprisingly prosperous sale it
was. I would venture to stake a good round sum, that no one individual
was _more_ surprized at this prosperous result than the OWNER of the
Library himself. The gross produce was £2704. 1s. The net produce was
such... as ought to make that said owner grateful for the spirit of
competition and high liberality which marked the biddings of the
purchasers. In what country but OLD ENGLAND could such a spirit have
been manifested! Will Mons. Renouard, in consequence, venture upon the
transportation of the _remaining_ portion of his Library hither? There
is a strong feeling that he _will_. With all my heart--but let him
beware of his MODERN VELLUMS!!]
[129] [I shall _now_ presume to say, that M. Renouard is a "VERY rich
man;" and has by this time added _another_ 500 bottles of
high-flavoured Burgundy to his previous stock. The mention of M.
Renouard's Burgundy has again chafed M. Crapelet: who remarks, that
"it is useless to observe how ridiculous such an observation is." Then
why _dwell_ upon it--and why quote three verses of Boileau to bolster
up your vapid prose, Mons. G.A. Crapelet.?]
[130] [The _second_ edition of this work, greatly enlarged and
corrected, appeared in 1825, in 3 volumes: printed very elegantly at
the son's (Paul Renouard's) office. Of this improved edition, the
father was so obliging as to present me with a copy, accompanied by a
letter, of which I am sure that its author will forgive the quotation
of its conclusion--to which is affixed his autograph. "Quoiqu'il en
soit, je vous prie de vouloir bien l'agréer comme un témoignage de nos
anciennes liaisons, et d'être bien persuadé du dévouement sincere et
amical avec lequel je n'ai jamais cessé d'être.
Votre très humble Serviteur,
[Autograph: AulAug. Renouard]
[131] [Now completed in 60 volumes 8vo.: and the most copious and correct
of ALL the editions of the author. It is a monument, as splendid as
honourable, of the Publisher's spirit of enterprise. For particulars,
consult the _Library Companion_, p. 771, edit. 1824.]
[132] The year following the above description, the Catalogue, alluded to,
made its appearance under the title of "_Catalogue de la Bibliothèque
d'un Amateur_," in four not _very_ capacious octavo volumes: printed
by CRAPELET, who finds it impossible to print--_ill_. I am very glad
such a catalogue has been published; and I hope it will be at once a
stimulus and a model for other booksellers, with large and curious
stocks in hand, to do the same thing. But I think M. Renouard might
have conveniently got the essentials of his bibliographical gossipping
into _two_ volumes; particularly as, in reading such a work, one must
necessarily turn rapidly over many leaves which contain articles of
comparatively common occurrence, and of scarcely common interest. It
is more especially in regard to _modern_ French books, of which he
seems to rejoice and revel in the description--(see, among other
references, vol. iii. p. 286-310) that we may be allowed to regret
such dilated statements; the more so, as, to the fastidious taste of
the English, the engravings, in the different articles described, have
not the beauty and merit which are attached to them by the French. Yet
does M. Renouard narrate pleasantly, and write elegantly.
In regard to the "_brush_ at the Decameron," above alluded to, I read
it with surprise and pleasure--on the score of the moderate tone of
criticism which it displayed--and shall wear it in my hat with as much
triumph as a sportsman does a "brush" of a different description! Was
it _originally_ more _piquan?_ I have reason not only to suspect, but
to know, that it WAS. Be this as it may, I should never, in the first
place, have been backward in returning all home thrusts upon the
aggressor--and, in the second place, I am perfectly disposed that my
work may stand by the test of such criticism. It is, upon the whole,
fair and just; and _justice_ always implies the mention of _defects_
as well as of excellencies. It may, however, be material to remark,
that the _third_ volume of the Decameron is hardly amenable to the
tribunal of French criticism; inasmuch as the information which it
contains is almost entirely national--and therefore partial in its
application.
[133] [Not so. Messrs. Payne and Foss once shewed me a yet _larger_
copy of it upon vellum, than even M. Renouard's: but so many of the
leaves had imbibed an indelible stain, which no skill could eradicate,
that it was scarcely a saleable article. It was afterwards bought by
Mr. Bohn at a public auction.]
[134] [It was sold at the Sale of his Aldine Library for £68. 15s. 8d. and
is now, I believe, in the fine Collection of Sir John Thorold, Bart,
at Syston Park. The Cicero did not come over for sale.]
[135] [In the previous edition I had supposed, erroneously, that it was the
Father, M. Renouard himself, who had invoked his name on the occasion.
The verses are pretty enough, and may as well find a place _here_
as in M. Crapelet's performance.
Je l'ai vu ce fameux bouquin
Qui te fait un titre de gloire:
Tout Francois qui passe le Rhin
Doit remporter une Victoire.]
[136] [M. Renouard obtained it at a public sale in Paris, against a very
stiff commission left for it by myself. A copy of equal beauty is in
the Library of the Right Hon. T. Grenville.]
[137] [The Theophrastus was sold for £12 1s. 6d. and the Aristotle for £40.
The latter is in the Library of the Rt. Hon. T. Grenville, having been
subsequently coated in red morocco by C. Lewis.]