CHAPTER VIII

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.