Books and Bookmen [31]
comedies. From these he took what suited him
wherever he found it. He had plenty of classics, histories,
philosophic treatises, the essays of Montaigne, a Plutarch, and a
Bible.
We know nothing, to the regret of bibliophiles, of Moliere's taste
in bindings. Did he have a comic mask stamped on the leather (that
device was chased on his plate), or did he display his cognizance
and arms, the two apes that support a shield charged with three
mirrors of Truth? It is certain--La Bruyere tells us as much--that
the sillier sort of book-lover in the seventeenth century was much
the same sort of person as his successor in our own time. "A man
tells me he has a library," says La Bruyere (De la Mode); "I ask
permission to see it. I go to visit my friend, and he receives me
in a house where, even on the stairs, the smell of the black morocco
with which his books are covered is so strong that I nearly faint.
He does his best to revive me; shouts in my ear that the volumes
'have gilt edges,' that they are 'elegantly tooled,' that they are
'of the good edition,' . . . and informs me that 'he never reads,'
that 'he never sets foot in this part of his house,' that he 'will
come to oblige me!' I thank him for all his kindness, and have no
more desire than himself to see the tanner's shop that he calls his
library."
Colbert, the great minister of Louis XIV., was a bibliophile at whom
perhaps La Bruyere would have sneered. He was a collector who did
not read, but who amassed beautiful books, and looked forward, as
business men do, to the day when he would have time to study them.
After Grolier, De Thou, and Mazarin, Colbert possessed probably the
richest private library in Europe. The ambassadors of France were
charged to procure him rare books and manuscripts, and it is said
that in a commercial treaty with the Porte he inserted a clause
demanding a certain quantity of Levant morocco for the use of the
royal bookbinders. England, in those days, had no literature with
which France deigned to be acquainted. Even into England, however,
valuable books had been imported; and we find Colbert pressing the
French ambassador at St. James's to bid for him at a certain sale of
rare heretical writings. People who wanted to gain his favour
approached him with presents of books, and the city of Metz gave him
two real curiosities--the famous "Metz Bible" and the Missal of
Charles the Bald. The Elzevirs sent him their best examples, and
though Colbert probably saw more of the gilt covers of his books
than of their contents, at least he preserved and handed down many
valuable works. As much may be said for the reprobate Cardinal
Dubois, who, with all his faults, was a collector. Bossuet, on the
other hand, left little or nothing of interest except a copy of the
1682 edition of Moliere, whom he detested and condemned to "the
punishment of those who laugh." Even this book, which has a curious
interest, has slipped out of sight, and may have ceased to exist.
If Colbert and Dubois preserved books from destruction, there are
collectors enough who have been rescued from oblivion by books. The
diplomacy of D'Hoym is forgotten; the plays of Longepierre, and his
quarrels with J. B. Rousseau, are known only to the literary
historian. These great amateurs have secured an eternity of gilt
edges, an immortality of morocco. Absurd prices are given for any
trash that belonged to them, and the writer of this notice has
bought for four shillings an Elzevir classic, which when it bears
the golden fleece of Longepierre is worth about 100 pounds.
Longepierre, D'Hoym, McCarthy, and the Duc de la Valliere, with all
their treasures, are less interesting to us than Graille, Coche and
Loque, the neglected daughters of Louis XV. They found some pale
consolation in their little cabinets of books, in their various
liveries of olive, citron, and red morocco.
A lady amateur of high (book-collecting) reputation, the Comtesse de
Verrue, was represented in the Beckford sale by one of three copies
of
wherever he found it. He had plenty of classics, histories,
philosophic treatises, the essays of Montaigne, a Plutarch, and a
Bible.
We know nothing, to the regret of bibliophiles, of Moliere's taste
in bindings. Did he have a comic mask stamped on the leather (that
device was chased on his plate), or did he display his cognizance
and arms, the two apes that support a shield charged with three
mirrors of Truth? It is certain--La Bruyere tells us as much--that
the sillier sort of book-lover in the seventeenth century was much
the same sort of person as his successor in our own time. "A man
tells me he has a library," says La Bruyere (De la Mode); "I ask
permission to see it. I go to visit my friend, and he receives me
in a house where, even on the stairs, the smell of the black morocco
with which his books are covered is so strong that I nearly faint.
He does his best to revive me; shouts in my ear that the volumes
'have gilt edges,' that they are 'elegantly tooled,' that they are
'of the good edition,' . . . and informs me that 'he never reads,'
that 'he never sets foot in this part of his house,' that he 'will
come to oblige me!' I thank him for all his kindness, and have no
more desire than himself to see the tanner's shop that he calls his
library."
Colbert, the great minister of Louis XIV., was a bibliophile at whom
perhaps La Bruyere would have sneered. He was a collector who did
not read, but who amassed beautiful books, and looked forward, as
business men do, to the day when he would have time to study them.
After Grolier, De Thou, and Mazarin, Colbert possessed probably the
richest private library in Europe. The ambassadors of France were
charged to procure him rare books and manuscripts, and it is said
that in a commercial treaty with the Porte he inserted a clause
demanding a certain quantity of Levant morocco for the use of the
royal bookbinders. England, in those days, had no literature with
which France deigned to be acquainted. Even into England, however,
valuable books had been imported; and we find Colbert pressing the
French ambassador at St. James's to bid for him at a certain sale of
rare heretical writings. People who wanted to gain his favour
approached him with presents of books, and the city of Metz gave him
two real curiosities--the famous "Metz Bible" and the Missal of
Charles the Bald. The Elzevirs sent him their best examples, and
though Colbert probably saw more of the gilt covers of his books
than of their contents, at least he preserved and handed down many
valuable works. As much may be said for the reprobate Cardinal
Dubois, who, with all his faults, was a collector. Bossuet, on the
other hand, left little or nothing of interest except a copy of the
1682 edition of Moliere, whom he detested and condemned to "the
punishment of those who laugh." Even this book, which has a curious
interest, has slipped out of sight, and may have ceased to exist.
If Colbert and Dubois preserved books from destruction, there are
collectors enough who have been rescued from oblivion by books. The
diplomacy of D'Hoym is forgotten; the plays of Longepierre, and his
quarrels with J. B. Rousseau, are known only to the literary
historian. These great amateurs have secured an eternity of gilt
edges, an immortality of morocco. Absurd prices are given for any
trash that belonged to them, and the writer of this notice has
bought for four shillings an Elzevir classic, which when it bears
the golden fleece of Longepierre is worth about 100 pounds.
Longepierre, D'Hoym, McCarthy, and the Duc de la Valliere, with all
their treasures, are less interesting to us than Graille, Coche and
Loque, the neglected daughters of Louis XV. They found some pale
consolation in their little cabinets of books, in their various
liveries of olive, citron, and red morocco.
A lady amateur of high (book-collecting) reputation, the Comtesse de
Verrue, was represented in the Beckford sale by one of three copies
of