A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour in France and Germany, Volume Two. Thomas Frognall Dibdin
in which a comparatively large column of water rushes down precipitously between two Doric pillars--which form the central ones of four--in an elegant façade.
Yet more simple, more graceful, and more capacious, is the fountain of the BOULEVARD BONDY--which I first saw sparkling beneath the lustre of a full moon. This is, in every sense of the word, a fountain. A constant but gentle undulation of water, from three aqueous terraces, surmounted by three basins, gradually diminishing in size, strike you with peculiar gratification--view it from whatever quarter you will: but seen in the neighbourhood of trees, the effect, in weather like this, is absolutely heart-refreshing. The only objectionable part of this elegant structure, on the score of art, are the lions, and their positions. In the first place, it is difficult to comprehend why the mouth of a lion is introduced as a channel for the transmission of water; and, in the second place, these lions should have occupied the basement portion of the structure. This beautiful fountain, of which the water is supplied by the Canal d'Ourcq, was finished only about seven or eight years ago. Nor let the FOUNTAIN OF TRIUMPH or VICTORY, in the Place du Châtelet, be forgotten. It is a column, surmounted by a gilt statue of Victory, with four figures towards its pedestal. The four jets-d'eau, from its base,--which are sufficiently insignificant--empty themselves into a circular basin; but the shaft of the column, to my eye, is not free from affectation. The names of some of Bonaparte's principal victories are inscribed upon that part of the column which faces the Pont au Change. There is a classical air of elegance about this fountain, which is fifty feet in height.
But where is the ELEPHANT Fountain?--methinks I hear you exclaim. It is yet little more than in embryo: that is to say, the plaster-cast of it only is visible--with the model, on a smaller scale, completed in all its parts, by the side of it. It is really a stupendous affair.15 On entering the temporary shed erected for its construction, on the site of the Bastille, I was almost breathless with astonishment for a moment. Imagine an enormous figure of the unwieldy elephant, full fifty feet high! You see it, in the front, foreshortened--as you enter; and as the head is the bulkiest portion of the animal, you may imagine something of the probable resulting effect. Certainly it is most imposing. The visitor, who wishes to make himself acquainted with the older, and more original, national character of the French--whether as respects manners, dresses, domestic occupations, and public places of resort--will take up his residence in the Rue du Bac, or at the Hotel des Bourbons; within twenty minutes walk of the more curious objects which are to be found in the Quartiers Saint André des Arcs, du Luxembourg, and Saint Germain des Près. Ere he commence his morning perambulations, he will look well at his map, and to what is described, in the route which he is to take, in the works of Landon and of Legrand, or of other equally accurate topographers. Two things he ought invariably to bear in mind: the first, not to undertake too much, for the sake of saying how many things he has seen:--and the second, to make himself thoroughly master of what he does see. All this is very easily accomplished: and a fare of thirty sous will take you, at starting, to almost any part of Paris, however remote: from whence you may shape your course homewards at leisure, and with little fatigue. Such a visitor will, however, sigh, ere he set out on his journey, on being told that the old Gothic church of St. André-des-Arcs--the Abbey of St. Victor --the churches of the Bernardins, and of St. Etienne des Près, the Cloisters of the Cordeliers, and the Convent of the Celestins … exist no longer … or, that their remains are mere shadows of shades! But in the three quarters of Paris, above mentioned, he will gather much curious information--in spite of the havoc and waste which the Revolution has made; and on his return to his own country he will reflect, with pride and satisfaction, on the result of his enterprise and perseverance.
To my whimsically formed taste, OLD PARIS has in it very much to delight, and afford valuable information. Not that I would decry the absolute splendor, gaiety, comfort, and interminable variety, which prevail in its more modern and fashionable quarters. And certainly one may fairly say, that, on either side the Seine, Paris is a city in which an Englishman,--who is resolved to be in good humour with all about him, and to shew that civility to others which he is sure to receive from the better educated classes of society here--cannot fail to find himself pleased, perfectly at ease, and well contented with his fare. Compared with the older part of London, the more ancient division of Paris is infinitely more interesting, and of a finer architectural construction. The conical roofs every now and then remind you of the times of Francis I.; and the clustered arabesques, upon pilasters, or running between the bolder projections of the façades, confirm you in the chronology of the buildings. But time, caprice, fashion, or poverty, will, in less than half a century, materially change both the substance and surfaces of things. It is here, as at Rouen-- you bewail the work of destruction which has oftentimes converted cloisters into workshops, and consecrated edifices into warehouses of every description. Human nature and the fate of human works are every where the same. Let two more centuries revolve, and the THUILERIES and the LOUVRE may possibly be as the BASTILLE and the TEMPLE.
Such, to my feelings, is Paris--considered only with reference to its local: for I have really done little more than perambulate its streets, and survey its house-tops--with the important exceptions to be detailed in the succeeding letters from hence. Of the treasures contained beneath some of those "housetops"--more especially of such as are found in the shape of a BOOK--whether as a MS. or a Printed Volume--prepare to receive some particulars in my next.
LETTER II.
GENERAL DESCRIPTION OF THE BIBLIOTHÈQUE DU ROI. THE LIBRARIANS.
Hôtel des Colonies, Rue de Richelieu.
The moment is at length arrived when you are to receive from me an account of some of the principal treasures contained in the ROYAL LIBRARY of Paris. I say "some":--because, in an epistolary communication, consistently with my time, and general objects of research--it must be considered only as a slight selection, compared with what a longer residence, and a more general examination of the contents of such a collection, might furnish. Yet, limited as my view may have been, the objects of that view are at once rich and rare, and likely to afford all true sons of BIBLIOMANIA and VIRTU the most lively gratification. This is a bold avowal: but I fear not to make it, and: the sequel shall be the test of its modesty and truth.
You observe, I have dated my letter from a different quarter. In fact, the distance of my former residence from the Bibliothèque du Roi--coupled with the oppressive heat of the weather--rendered my morning excursions thither rather uncomfortable; and instead of going to work with elastic spirits, and an untired frame, both Mr. Lewis and myself felt jaded and oppressed upon our arrival. We are now, on the contrary, scarcely fifty yards from the grand door of entrance into the library. But this is only tantalizing you. To the LIBRARY, therefore, at once let us go. The exterior and interior, as to architectural appearance, are rather of a sorry description: heavy; comparatively low, without ornament, and of a dark and dingy tint. Towards the street, it has the melancholy air of a workhouse. But none of the apartments, in which the books are contained, look into this street; so that, consequently, little inconvenience is experienced from the incessant motion and rattling of carts and carriages--the Rue de Richelieu being probably the most frequented in Paris. Yet, repulsive as may be this exterior, it was observed to me--on my suggesting what a fine situation the quadrangle of the Louvre would make for the reception of the royal library--that, it might be questioned whether even that quadrangle were large enough to contain it;--and that the present building, however heavy and ungracious of aspect, was better calculated for its present purpose than probably any other in Paris. In the centre of the edifice--for it is a square, or rather a parallelogram-shaped building-- stands a bronze naked figure of Diana; stiff and meagre both in design and execution. It is of the size of life; but surely a statue of Minerva would have been a little more appropriate? On entering the principal door, in the street just mentioned, you turn to the right, and mount a large stone staircase--after attending to the request, printed in large characters, of "Essuyez vos Souliers"--as fixed against the wall. This entrance goes directly to the collection of PRINTED BOOKS. On reaching the first floor, you go straight forward, within folding