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

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ANTOINE-AUGUSTIN RENOUARD, living in the _Rue St. Andre des Arts_, is the
next bibliopolist whom I shall introduce to your attention. He is among the
most lynx-eyed of his fraternity: has a great knowledge of books; a
delightful ALDINE LIBRARY;[128]--from which his Annals of the Aldine Press
were chiefly composed--and is withal a man in a great and successful line
of business. I should say he is a rich man; not because he has five hundred
bottles of Burgundy in his cellar, which some may think to be of a more
piquant quality than the like number of his _Alduses_--but because he has
published some very beautiful and expensive editions of the Latin and
French Classics, with equal credit to himself and advantage to his
finances.[129] He _debuted_ with a fine edition of _Lucan_ in 1795, folio;
and the first catalogue of his books was put forth the following year. From
that moment to the present, he has never slackened head, hand, or foot, in
the prosecution of his business; while the publication of his _Annals of
the Aldine Press_ places him among the most skilful and most instructive
booksellers in Europe. It is indeed a masterly performance: and as useful
as it is elegantly printed.[130] M. Renouard is now occupied in an improved
edition of _Voltaire_, which he means to adorn with engravings; and of
which he shewed me the original drawings by Moreau, with many of the
plates.[131] He seems in high spirits about the success of it, and leans
with confidence upon the strength of a host of subscribers. Nor does a
rival edition, just struggling into day, cause him to entertain less
sanguine expectations of final success. This enterprising bookseller is now
also busily occupied about a _Descriptive Catalogue of his own library_, in
which he means to indulge himself in sundry gossipping notes, critical
disquisitions, and piquant anecdotes. I look forward with pleasure to its
appearance; and turn a deaf ear to the whispers which have reached me of an
intended _brush_ at the Decameron.[132]

M. Renouard has allowed me free access to his library; which also contains
some very beautiful copies of books printed in the fifteenth century. Among
these latter, his VELLUM VALDARFER is of course considered, by himself and
his friends, as the _keimelion_ of the collection. It is the edition of the
_Orations of Cicero_, printed by Valdarfer, at Venice, in 1471, folio: a
most exquisite book--which may be fairly considered as perfect throughout.
It is in its second binding, but _that_ may be as old as the time of
Francis I.: perhaps about the middle of the sixteenth century. This copy
measures thirteen inches in height, by eight inches and seven-eighths in
width:--almost, I conceive, in its original state of amplitude. I will
frankly own that I turned over the leaves of this precious book, again and
again--"sighed and looked, &c." "But would no price tempt the owner to part
with it?" "None. It is reserved as the bijou of my catalogue, and departs
not from hence." Severe, but just decree! There is only one other known
copy of it upon vellum, which is in the Royal Library[133]--but which wants
a leaf of the table; an imperfection, not belonging to the present copy.

The other "great guns," as VELLUM BOOKS, in the collection of M. Renouard,
are what is called the _Familiar Epistles of Cicero_ printed by _Aldus_ in
1502, 12mo: and the _Petrarch_ of 1514, 8vo. also printed by Aldus. Of
these, the _latter_ is by much the preferable volume. It is almost as large
as it can well be: but badly bound in red morocco.[134] The Cicero is short
and sallow-looking. It was on the occasion of his son starting for the
first time on a bibliographical tour, and, on crossing the Rhine, and
finding this Cicero and the almost equally rare _Aldine Virgil_ of 1505,
that a relation of this "fortunate youth" invoked his muse in some few
verses, which he printed and gave to me.[135] These are little
"plaisanteries" which give a relish to our favourite pursuits; and which
may at some future day make the son transcend the father in bibliographical
renown. Perhaps the father has already preferred a prayer upon the subject,
as thus:

[Greek: Zeu, alloi te Theoi, dote de kai tonde genesthai
Paid emon os kai ego per, ....]

There are some few noble volumes, from the press of _Sweynheym and
Pannartz_, in this collection; and the finest copy of the FIRST LUCIAN in
Greek, which perhaps any where exists.[136] It was obtained at a recent
sale, (where it was coated in a lapping-over vellum surtout) at a pretty
smart price; and has been recently clothed in blue morocco. M. Renouard has
also some beautiful copies from the library of _De Thou_, and a partly
uncut _Aldine Theophrastus_ of 1497, which belonged to Henry the Second and
Diane de Poictiers; as well as a completely uncut copy of the first _Aldine
Aristotle_.[137] Few men probably have been luckier in obtaining several of
their choice articles; and the little anecdotes which he related to me, are
such as I make no doubt will appear in the projected catalogue raisonne of
his library. He is just now briskly engaged in the pursuit of _uncut
Elzevirs_ ... and coming to breakfast with me, the other morning, he must
needs pick up a beautiful copy of this kind, in two small volumes, neatly
half bound, (of which I have forgotten the title,) and of which he had been
for some time in the pursuit. M. Renouard also took occasion to tell me
that, in his way to my chambers, he had sold, or subscribed, of a
forthcoming work to be published by him--just _nine hundred and ninety-nine
copies!_ Of course, after such a _trouvaille_ and such a subscription, he
relished his breakfast exceedingly. He is a man of quick movements, of
acute perceptions, of unremitting ardour and activity of mind and body--
constantly engaged in his business, managing a very extensive
correspondence, and personally known to the most distinguished Collectors
of Italy. Like his neighbours, he has his country-house, or rather farm, in
Picardy[138] whither he retires, occasionally to view the condition and
growing strength of that species of animal, from the backs of which his
beloved Aldus of old, obtained the _materiel_ for his vellum copies. But it
is time to wish M. Renouard a good morning, and to take you with me to his
neighbour--

MONS. BRUNET, THE YOUNGER. This distinguished bibliographer, rather than
bookseller, lives hard by--in the _Rue Git-Le-Coeur_. He lives with his
father, who superintends the business of the shop. The Rue Git-Le-Coeur is
a sorry street--very diminutive, and a sort of cropt copy--to what it
should have been, or what it might have been. However, there lives JACQ.
CH. BRUNET, FILS: a writer, who will be known to the latest times in the
bibliographical world. He will be also thanked as well as known; for his
_Manuel du Libraire_ is a performance of incomparable utility to all
classes of readers and collectors. You mount up one pair of stairs:--the
way is gloomy, and might well lead to a chamber in the monastery of La
Trappe. You then read an incription, which tells you that "in turning the
button you pull the bell." The bell sounds, and _Mons. Brunet, Pere_,
receives you--with, or without, a silken cap upon his head. He sits in a
small room, sufficiently well filled with books. "Is the Son at home?"
"Open that door, Sir, you will find him in the next room." The door is
immediately opened--and there sits the son, surrounded by, and almost
imprisoned in, papers and books. His pen is in his hand: his spectacles are
upon his nose: and he is transcribing or re-casting some precious little
bit of bibliographical intelligence; while, on looking up and receiving
you, he seems to be "full of the labouring God!" In short, he is just now
deeply and unintermittingly engaged in a new and _third_ edition of his
_Manuel_.[139] The shelves of his room almost groan beneath the weight of
those writers from whom he gathers his principal materials. "Vous voila,
Mons. Brunet, bien occupe!;" "Oui, Monsieur, cela me fait autant de plaisir
que de peine."

This is a very picture of the man.... "The labour we delight in physics
pain,"--said Lady Macbeth of old; and of a most extraordinary kind must the
labour of Mons. Brunet be considered, when the pleasure in the prosecution
of it balances the pain. We talked much and variously at our first
interview: having previously interchanged many civilities by letter, and
myself having been benefitted by such correspondence, in the possession of
a _large paper_ copy of his first edition--of which he was pleased to make
me a present, and of which only twenty copies were struck off. I told him
that I had given Charles Lewis a carte blanche for its binding, and that I
would back _his_ skill--the result of such an order--against any binding at
that time visible in any quarter of Paris! Mons. B. could not, in his
heart, have considered any other binding superior.

He told me, somewhat to my astonishment, and much to my gratification,
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 naif 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. Honore_, 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 Hotel 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 _AEdes Althorpianae_. 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 ornee," 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'aine 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 _Rue 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 fete 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 Lesne_. I am
not sure whether Courteval, or either of the Bozerians, 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 Bozerian: of whose productions
the book-amateurs of Paris are enthusiastically fond. Bozerian 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
_echantillon_, 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 Bozerian--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 LESNE--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.

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