A word now for BIBLIOPOLISTS--including _Bouquinistes_, or venders of "old and second-hand books." The very morning following my arrival in Caen, I walked to the abbey of St. Stephen, before breakfast, and in the way thither stopped at a book stall, to the right,--and purchased some black letter folios: among which the French version of _Caesar's Commentaries,_ printed by Verard, in 1488, was the most desirable acquisition. It is reserved for Lord Spencer's library;[128] at a price which, freight and duty included, cannot reach the sum of twelve shillings of our money. Of venders of second hand and old books, the elder and younger MANOURY take a decisive lead. The former lives in the _Rue Froide_; the latter in the _Rue Notre Dame._ The father boasts of having upwards of thirty thousand volumes, but I much doubt whether his stock amount to one half of that number. He unhesitatingly asked me two _louis d'or_ for a copy of the _Vaudevires_ of OLIVIER BASSELIN, which is a modern, but privately printed, volume; and of which I hope to give you some amusing particulars by and by. He also told me that he had formerly sold a paper copy of _Fust's Bible of 1462,_ with many of the illuminated initials cut out, to the library of the Arsenal, at Paris, for 100 louis d'or. I only know that, if I had been librarian, he should not have had one half the money.
Now for Manoury the younger. Old and young are comparative terms: for be it known that the son is "agé de soixante ans." Over his door you read an ancient inscription, thus:
"_Battu, percé, lié, Je veux changer de main_."
This implies either (like Aladdin's old lamps for new) that he wishes to give new books in exchange for old ones, or that he can smarten up old ones by binding, or otherwise, and give them a renovated appearance. But the solution is immaterial: the inscription being as above. The interior of the younger Manoury's book repository almost appalled me. His front shop, and a corridor communicating with the back part of the house, are rank with moisture; and his books are consequently rotting apace. Upon my making as pitiable a statement as I was able of this melancholy state of things--and pleading with all my energies against the inevitable destruction which threatened the dear books--the obdurate bibliopolist displayed not one scintillation of sympathy. He was absolutely indifferent to the whole concern. In the back parlour, almost impervious to day-light, his daughter, and a stout and handsome bourgeoise, with rather an unusually elevated cauchoise, were regaling themselves with soup and herbs at dinner. I hurried through, in my way to the upper regions, with apologies for the intrusion; but was told that none were necessary--that I might go where, and stay as long, as I pleased--and that any explanation would be given to my interrogatories in the way of business. I expressed my obligations for such civility; and gaining an upper room, by the help of a chair, made a survey of its contents. What piles of interminable rubbish! I selected, as the only rational or desirable volume--half rotted with moisture--_Belon's Marine Fishes_, 1551, 4to; and placing six francs (the price demanded) upon the table, hurried back, through this sable and dismal territory, with a sort of precipitancy amounting to horrour. What struck me, as productive of a very extraordinary effect--was the cheerfulness and _gaieté de coeur_ of these females, in the midst of this region of darkness and desolation. Manoury told me that the Revolution had deprived him of the opportunity of having the finest bookselling stock in France! His own carelessness and utter apathy are likely to prove yet more destructive enemies.