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Thomas Frognall Dibdin - A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour in France and Germany, Volume Two

T >> Thomas Frognall Dibdin >> A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour in France and Germany, Volume Two



A

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL

_Antiquarian_

AND

PICTURESQUE TOUR.




PRINTED BY WILLIAM NICOL, AT THE
Shakespeare Press.




[Illustration: ANN OF BRITTANY.
From an Illustrated Missal in the Royal Library at Paris.]


London. Published June 1829. by R. Jennings. Poultry.




A

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL

_Antiquarian_

AND

PICTURESQUE TOUR

IN

FRANCE AND GERMANY.

BY THE REVEREND
THOMAS FROGNALL DIBDIN, D.D.

MEMBER OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY AT ROUEN, AND OF THE
ACADEMY OF UTRECHT.

SECOND EDITION.

VOLUME II.



DEI OMNIA PLENA.

LONDON:

PUBLISHED BY ROBERT JENNINGS,
AND JOHN MAJOR.

1829.




CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.




CONTENTS.

VOLUME II.



LETTER I.

PARIS. _The Boulevards. Public Buildings. Street Scenery.
Fountains_. 1

LETTER II.

_General Description of the Bibliotheque du Roi. The
Librarians_. 42

LETTER III.

_The same subject continued_. 64

LETTER IV.

_The same subject continued_. 82

LETTER V.

PARIS. _Some Account of the early printed and rare
Books in the Royal Library_. 101

LETTER VI.

_Conclusion of the Account of the Royal Library. The
Library of the Arsenal_. 144

LETTER VII.

_Library of Ste. Genevieve. The Abbe Mercier St.
Leger. Library of the Mazarine College, or Institute.
Private Library of the King. Mons. Barbier,
Librarian_. 169

_Introduction to Letter VIII_. 209

LETTER VIII.

_Some Account of the late Abbe Rive. Booksellers.
Printers. Book Binders_. 214

LETTER IX.

_Men of Letters. Dom Brial. The Abbe Betencourt.
Messrs. Gail, Millin, and Langles. A Roxburghe
Banquet_. 251

LETTER X.

_The Collections of Denon, Quintin Craufurd, and the
Marquis de Sommariva_. 279

LETTER XI.

_Notice of M. Willemin's Monumens Francais inedits.
Miscellaneous Antiquities. Present State of the
Fine Arts. General Observations upon the National
Character_. 317

LETTER XII.

_Paris to Strasbourg. Nancy_. 343

LETTER XIII.

STRASBOURG. _Establishment of the Protestant Religion.
The Cathedral. The Public Library_. 374

LETTER XIV.

_Society. Environs of Strasbourg. Domestic Architecture.
Manners and Customs. Literature. Language_. 413


[Illustration]


_LETTER I._

PARIS. THE BOULEVARDS. PUBLIC BUILDINGS. STREET SCENERY. FOUNTAINS.[1]


_Paris, June 18, 1818_.

You are probably beginning to wonder at the tardiness of my promised
Despatch, in which the architectural minutiae of this City were to be
somewhat systematically described. But, as I have told you towards the
conclusion of my previous letter, it would be to very little purpose to
conduct you over every inch of ground which had been trodden and described
by a host of Tourists, and from which little of interest or of novelty
could be imparted. Yet it seems to be absolutely incumbent upon me to say
_something_ by way of local description.

Perhaps the BOULEVARDS form the most interesting feature about Paris. I
speak here of the _principal_ Boulevards:--of those, extending from _Ste.
Madelaine_ to _St. Antoine_; which encircle nearly one half the capital.
Either on foot, or in a carriage, they afford you singular gratification. A
very broad road way, flanked by two rows of trees on each side, within
which the population of Paris seems to be in incessant agitation--lofty
houses, splendid shops, occasionally a retired mansion, with a parterre of
blooming flowers in front--all manner of merchandize exposed in the open
air--prints, muslins, _kaleidoscopes_, (they have just introduced them[2])
trinkets, and especially watch chains and strings of beads, spread in gay
colours upon the ground--the undulations of the chaussee--and a bright blue
sky above the green trees--all these things irresistibly rivet the
attention and extort the admiration of a stranger. You may have your boots
cleaned, and your breakfast prepared, upon these same boulevards.
Felicitous junction of conveniences!

This however is only a hasty sketch of what may be called a morning scene.
AFTERNOON approaches: then, the innumerable chairs, which have been a long
time unoccupied, are put into immediate requisition: then commences the
"high exchange" of the loungers. One man hires two chairs, for which he
pays two sous: he places his legs upon one of them; while his body, in a
slanting position, occupies the other. The places, where these chairs are
found, are usually flanked by coffee houses. Incessant reports from drawing
the corks of beer bottles resound on all sides. The ordinary people are
fond of this beverage; and for four or six sous they get a bottle of
pleasant, refreshing, small beer. The draught is usually succeeded by a
doze--in the open air. What is common, excites no surprise; and the stream
of population rushes on without stopping one instant to notice these
somniferous indulgences. Or, if they are not disposed to sleep, they sit
and look about them: abstractedly gazing upon the multitude around, or at
the heavens above. Pure, idle, unproductive listlessness is the necessary
cause of such enjoyment.

Evening approaches: when the Boulevards put on their gayest and most
fascinating livery. Then commences the bustle of the _Ice Mart_: in other
words, then commences the general demand for ices: while the rival and
neighbouring _caffes_ of TORTONI and RICHE have their porches of entrance
choked by the incessant ingress and egress of customers. The full moon
shines beautifully above the foliage of the trees; and an equal number of
customers, occupying chairs, sit without, and call for ices to be brought
to them. Meanwhile, between these loungers, and the entrances to the
caffes, move on, closely wedged, and yet scarcely in perceptible motion,
the mass of human beings who come only to exercise their eyes, by turning
them to the right or to the left: while, on the outside, upon the chaussee,
are drawn up the carriages of visitors (chiefly English ladies) who prefer
taking their ice within their closed morocco quarters. The varieties of ice
are endless, but that of the _Vanille_ is justly a general favourite: not
but that you may have coffee, chocolate, punch, peach, almond, and in short
every species of gratification of this kind; while the glasses are filled
to a great height, in a pyramidal shape, and some of them with layers of
strawberry, gooseberry, and other coloured ice--looking like pieces of a
Harlequin's jacket--are seen moving to and fro, to be silently and
certainly devoured by those who bespeak them. Add to this, every one has
his tumbler and small water-bottle by the side of him: in the centre of the
bottle is a large piece of ice, and with a tumbler of water, poured out
from it, the visitor usually concludes his repast. The most luxurious of
these ices scarcely exceeds a shilling of our money; and the quantity is at
least half as much again as you get at a certain well-known confectioner's
in Piccadilly.

It is getting towards MIDNIGHT; but the bustle and activity of the
Boulevards have not yet much abated. Groups of musicians, ballad-singers,
tumblers, actors, conjurors, slight-of-hand professors, and raree-shew men,
have each their distinct audiences. You advance. A little girl with a
raised turban (as usual, tastefully put on) seems to have no mercy either
upon her own voice or upon the hurdy-gurdy on which she plays: her father
shews his skill upon a violin, and the mother is equally active with the
organ; after "a flourish"--not of "trumpets"--but of these instruments--the
tumblers commence their operations. But a great crowd is collected to the
right. What may this mean? All are silent; a ring is made, of which the
boundaries are marked by small lighted candles stuck in pieces of clay.
Within this circle stands a man--apparently strangled: both arms are
extended, and his eyes are stretched to their utmost limits. You look more
closely--and the hilt of a dagger is seen in his mouth, of which the blade
is introduced into his stomach! He is almost breathless, and ready to
faint--but he approaches, with the crown of a hat in one hand, into which
he expects you should drop a sous. Having made his collection, he draws
forth the dagger from its carnal sheath, and, making his bow, seems to
anticipate the plaudits which invariably follow.[3] Or, he changes his plan
of operations on the following evening. Instead of the dagger put down his
throat, he introduces a piece of wire up one nostril, to descend by the
other--and, thus self-tortured, demands the remuneration and the applause
of his audience. In short, from one end of the Boulevards to the other, for
nearly two English miles, there is nought but animation, good humour, and,
it is right to add, good order;--while, having strolled as far as the
Boulevards _de Bondy_, and watched the moon-beams sparkling in the waters
which play there within the beautiful fountain so called,--I retread my
steps, and seek the quiet quarters in which this epistle is penned.

The next out-of-door sources of gratification, of importance, are the
_Gardens of the Thuileries_, the _Champs Elysees_, and the promenade within
the _Palais Royal_; in which latter plays a small, but, in my humble
opinion, the most beautifully constructed fountain which Paris can boast
of. Of this, presently. The former of these spots is rather pretty than
picturesque: rather limited than extensive: a raised terrace to the left,
on looking from the front of the Thuileries, is the only commanding
situation--from which you observe the Seine, running with its green tint,
and rapid current, to the left--while on the right you leisurely examine
the rows of orange trees and statuary which give an imposing air of
grandeur to the scene. At this season of the year, the fragrance of the
blossoms of the orange trees is most delicious. The statues are of a
colossal, and rather superior kind ... for garden decoration. There are
pleasing vistas and wide gravel walks, and a fine evening usually fills
them with crowds of Parisians. The palace is long, but rather too low and
narrow; yet there is an air of elegance about it, which, with the
immediately surrounding scenery, cannot fail to strike you very agreeably.
The white flag of St. Louis floats upon the top of the central dome. The
_Champs Elysees_ consist of extensive wooded walks; and a magnificent road
divides them, which serves as the great attractive mall for carriages--
especially on Sundays--while, upon the grass, between the trees, on that
day, appear knots of male and female citizens enjoying the waltz or
quadrille. It is doubtless a most singular, and animated scene: the utmost
order and good humour prevailing. The _Place Louis Quinze_, running at
right angles with the Thuileries, and which is intersected in your route to
the _Rue de la Paix_, is certainly a most magnificent front elevation;
containing large and splendid houses, of elaborate exterior ornament. When
completed, to the right, it will present an almost matchless front of
domestic architecture, built upon the Grecian model. It was in this place,
facing his own regal residence of the Thuileries, that the unfortunate
Louis--surrounded by a ferocious and bloodthirsty mob--was butchered by the
guillotine.

Come back with me now into the very heart of Paris, and let us stroll
within the area of the _Palais Royal_. You may remember that I spoke of a
fountain, which played within the centre of this popular resort. The
different branches, or _jets d'eau_, spring from a low, central point; and
crossing each other in a variety of angles, and in the most pleasing manner
of intersection, produce, altogether, the appearance of the blossom of a
large flower: so silvery and transparent is the water, and so gracefully
are its glassy petals disposed. Meanwhile, the rays of the sun, streaming
down from above, produce a sort of stationary rainbow: and, in the heat of
the day, as you sit upon the chairs, or saunter beneath the trees, the
effect is both grateful and refreshing. The little flower garden, in the
centre of which this fountain seems to be for ever playing, is a perfect
model of neatness and tasteful disposition: not a weed dare intrude: and
the earth seems always fresh and moist from the spray of the fountain--
while roses, jonquils, and hyacinths scatter their delicious fragrance
around. For one minute only let us visit the _Caffe des Mille Colonnes_: so
called (as you well know) from the number of upright mirrors and glasses
which reflect the small columns by which the ceiling is supported.
Brilliant and singular as is this effect, it is almost eclipsed by the
appearance of the Mistress of the House; who, decorated with rich and rare
gems, and seated upon a sort of elevated throne--uniting great comeliness
and (as some think) beauty of person--receives both the homage and (what is
doubtless preferable to her) the _francs_ of numerous customers and
admirers. The "wealth of either Ind" sparkles upon her hand, or glitters
upon her attire: and if the sun of her beauty be somewhat verging towards
its declension, it sets with a glow which reminds her old acquaintance of
the splendour of its noon-day power. It is yet a sharply contested point
whether the ice of this house be preferable to that of Tortoni: a point,
too intricate and momentous for my solution. "Non nostrum est ... tantas
componere lites."

Of the _Jardin des Plantes_, which I have once visited, but am not likely
to revisit--owing to the extreme heat of the weather, and the distance of
the spot from this place--scarcely too much can be said in commendation:
whether we consider it as a _depot_ for live or dead animals, or as a
school of study and instruction for the cultivators of natural history. The
wild animals are kept, in their respective cages, out of doors, which is
equally salutary for themselves and agreeable to their visitors. I was much
struck by the perpetual motion of a huge, restless, black bear, who has
left the marks of his footsteps by a concavity in the floor:--as well as by
the panting, and apparently painful, inaction of an equally huge white or
gray bear--who, nurtured upon beds of Greenland ice, seemed to be dying
beneath the oppressive heat of a Parisian atmosphere. The same misery
appeared to beset the bears who are confined, in an open space, below. They
searched every where for shade; while a scorching sun was darting its
vertical rays upon their heads. In the Museum of dead, or stuffed animals,
you have every thing that is minute or magnificent in nature, from the
creeping lizard to the towering giraffe, arranged systematically, and in a
manner the most obvious and intelligible: while Cuvier's collection of
fossil bones equally surprises and instructs you. It is worth all the
_catacombs_ of all the capitals in the world. If we turn to the softer and
more beauteous parts of creation, we are dazzled and bewildered by the
radiance and variety of the tribes of vegetables--whether as fruits or
flowers; and, upon the whole, this is an establishment which, in no age or
country, hath been surpassed.

It is not necessary to trouble you with much more of this strain. The
out-of-door enjoyments in Paris are so well known, and have been so
frequently described--and my objects of research being altogether of a very
different complexion--you will not, I conclude, scold me if I cease to
expatiate upon this topic, but direct your attention to others. Not however
but that I think you may wish to know my sentiments about the principal
ARCHITECTURAL BUILDINGS of Paris--as you are yourself not only a lover, but
a judge, of these matters--and therefore the better qualified to criticise
and correct the following remarks--which flow "au bout de la plume"--as
Madame de Sevigne says. In the first place, then, let us stop a few minutes
before the THUILERIES. It hath a beautiful front: beautiful from its
lightness and airiness of effect. The small central dome is the only raised
part in the long horizontal line of this extended building: not but what
the extremities are raised in the old fashioned sloping manner: but if
there had been a similar dome at each end, and that in the centre had been
just double its present height, the effect, in my humble opinion, would
have harmonised better with the extreme length of the building. It is very
narrow; so much so, that the same room contains windows from which you may
look on either side of the palace: upon the gardens to the west, or within
the square to the east.

Adjoining to the Thuileries is the LOUVRE: that is to say, a long range of
building to the south, parallel with the Seine, connects these magnificent
residences: and it is precisely along this extensive range that the
celebrated _Gallery of the Louvre_ runs. The principal exterior front, or
southern extremity of the Louvre, faces the Seine; and to my eye it is
nearly faultless as a piece of architecture constructed upon Grecian and
Roman models. But the interior is yet more splendid. I speak more
particularly of the south and western fronts: that facing the north being
more ancient, and containing female figure ornaments which are palpably of
a disproportionate length. The Louvre quadrangle (if I may borrow our old
college phrase) is assuredly the most splendid piece of ornamental
architecture which Paris contains. The interior of the edifice itself is as
yet in an unfinished condition;[4] but you must not conclude the
examination of this glorious pile of building, without going round to visit
the _eastern_ exterior front--looking towards Notre-Dame. Of all sides of
the square, within or without, this colonnade front is doubtless the most
perfect of its kind. It is less rich and crowded with ornament than any
side of the interior--but it assumes one of the most elegant, airy, and
perfectly proportionate aspects, of any which I am just now able to
recollect. Perhaps the basement story, upon which this double columned
colonnade of the Corinthian Order runs, is somewhat too plain--a sort of
affectation of the rustic. The alto-relievo figures in the centre of the
tympanum have a decisive and appropriate effect. The advantage both of the
Thuileries and Louvre is, that they are well seen from the principal
thoroughfares of Paris: that is to say, along the quays, and from the chief
streets running from the more ancient parts on the south side of the Seine.
The evil attending our own principal public edifices is, that they are
generally constructed where they _cannot_ be seen to advantage. Supposing
one of the principal entrances or malls of London, both for carriages and
foot, to be on the _south_ side of the Thames, what could be more
magnificent than the front of _Somerset House_, rising upon its hundred
columns perpendicularly from the sides of a river... three times as broad
as the Seine, with the majestic arches of _Waterloo Bridge!_--before which,
however, the stupendous elevation of _St. Paul's_ and its correspondent
bridge of _Black Friars_, could not fail to excite the wonder, and extort
the praise, of the most anti-anglican stranger. And to crown the whole, how
would the venerable nave and the towers of _Westminster Abbey_--with its
peculiar bridge of Westminster ... give a finish to such a succession of
architectural objects of metropolitan grandeur! Although in the very heart,
of Parisian wonder, I cannot help, you see, carrying my imagination towards
our own capital; and suggesting that, if, instead of furnaces, forges, and
flickering flames--and correspondent clouds of dense smoke--which give to
the southern side of the Thames the appearance of its being the abode of
legions of blacksmiths, and glass and shot makers--we introduced a little
of the good taste and good sense of our neighbours--and if ... But all this
is mighty easily said--though not quite so easily put in practice. The
truth however is, my dear friend, that we should _approximate_ a little
towards each other. Let the Parisians attend somewhat more to our domestic
comforts and commercial advantages--and let the Londoners sacrifice
somewhat of their love of warehouses and manufactories--and then you will
have hit the happy medium, which, in the metropolis of a great empire,
would unite all the conveniences, with all the magnificence, of situation.

Of other buildings, devoted to civil purposes, the CHAMBER OF DEPUTIES, the
HOTEL DES INVALIDES, with its gilded dome (a little too profusely adorned,)
the INSTITUTE, and more particularly the MINT, are the chief ornaments on
the south side of the Seine. In these I am not disposed to pick the least
hole, by fastidious or hypercritical observations. Only I wish that they
would contrive to let the lions, in front of the facade of the Institute,
(sometimes called the _College Mazarin_ or _des Quatre Nations_--upon the
whole, a magnificent pile) discharge a good large mouthful of water--
instead of the drivelling stream which is for ever trickling from their
closed jaws. Nothing can be more ridiculous than the appearance of these
meagre and unappropriate objects: the more to be condemned, because the
French in general assume great credit for the management of their
fountains. Of the four great buildings just noticed, that of the Mint, or
rather its facade, pleases me most. It is a beautiful elevation, in pure
good taste; but the stone is unfortunately of a coarse grain and of a dingy
colour. Of the BRIDGES thrown across the Seine, connecting all the fine
objects on either side, it must be allowed that they are generally in good
taste: light, yet firm; but those, in iron, of Louis XVI. and _des Arts_,
are perhaps to be preferred. The _Pont Neuf_, where the ancient part of
Paris begins, is a large, long, clumsy piece of stone work: communicating
with the island upon which _Notre Dame_ is built. But if you look eastward,
towards old Paris, from the top of this bridge--or if you look in the same
direction, a little towards the western side, or upon the quays,--you
contemplate, in my humble opinion, one of the grandest views of street
scenery that can be imagined! The houses are very lofty--occasionally of
six or even eight stories--the material with which they are built is a fine
cream-coloured stone: the two branches of the river, and the back ground
afforded by _Notre Dame_, and a few other subordinate public buildings,
altogether produce an effect--especially as you turn your back upon the
sun, sinking low behind the _Barriere de Neuilly_--which would equally warm
the hearts and exercise the pencils of the TURNERS and CALCOTS of our own
shores. Indeed, I learn that the former distinguished artist has actually
made a drawing of this picture. But let me add, that my own unqualified
admiration had preceded the knowledge of this latter fact. Among other
buildings, I must put in a word of praise in behalf of the
HALLE-AUX-BLE'S--built after the model of the Pantheon at Rome. It is one
hundred and twenty French feet in diameter; has twenty-five covered
archways, or arcades, of ten feet in width; of which six are open, as
passages of ingress and egress--corresponding with the like number of
opposite streets. The present cupola (preceded by one almost as large as
that of the Pantheon at Rome) is built of iron and brass--of a curious,
light, and yet sufficiently substantial construction--and is unassailable
by fire. I never passed through this building without seeing it well
stocked with provender; while its area was filled with farmers, who, like
our own, assemble to make the best bargain. Yet let me observe that, owing
to the height of the neighbouring houses, this building loses almost the
whole of its appropriate effect.

Nor should the EXCHANGE, in the _Rue des Filles St. Thomas_, be dismissed
without slight notice and commendation. It is equally simple, magnificent,
and striking: composed of a single row, or peristyle, of Corinthian
pillars, flanking a square of no mean dimensions, and presenting fourteen
pillars in its principal front. At this present moment, it is not quite
finished; but when completed, it promises to be among the most splendid and
the most perfect specimens of public architecture in Paris.[5] Beautiful as
many may think _our_ Exchange, in my humble opinion it has no pretensions
to compete with that at Paris. The HOTEL DE VILLE, near the _Place de
Greve_, is rather in the character of the more ancient buildings in France:
it is exceedingly picturesque, and presents a noble facade. Being situated
amidst the older streets of Paris, nothing can harmonise better with the
surrounding objects. Compared with the metropolis, on its present extended
scale, it is hardly of sufficient importance for the consequence usually
attached to this kind of building; but you must remember that the greater
part of it was built in the sixteenth century, when the capital had
scarcely attained half its present size. The _Place de Greve_ during the
Revolution, was the spot in which the guillotine performed almost all its
butcheries. I walked over it with a hurrying step: fancying the earth to be
yet moist with the blood of so many immolated victims. Of other HOTELS, I
shall mention only those of DE SENS and DE SOUBISE. The entrance into the
former yet exhibits a most picturesque specimen of the architecture of the
early part of the XVIth century. Its interior is devoted to every thing ...
which it ought _not_ to be. The Hotel de Soubise is still a consequential
building. It was sufficiently notorious during the reigns of Charles V. and
VI.: and it owes its present form to the enterprising spirit of Cardinal
Rohan, who purchased it of the Guise family towards the end of the XVIIth
century. There is now, neither pomp nor splendour, nor revelry, within this
vast building. All its aristocratic magnificence is fled; but the antiquary
and the man of curious research console themselves on its possessing
treasures of a more substantial and covetable kind. You are to know that it
contains the _Archives of State_ and the _Royal Printing Office_.

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