A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour in France and Germany, Volume Two

In Short

This volume is the second installment of a grand, epistolary travelogue through the intellectual landscape of post-Napoleonic Europe. The narrator, a dedicated bibliophile and clergyman, travels from the bustling streets of Paris to the gothic corners of Strasbourg, meticulously cataloging early printed books, illuminated missals, and the eccentric lives of the librarians who preserve them. It remains a foundational text for historians of the book, offering a vivid, eyewitness account of library collections, private cabinets, and the vanished social milieu of 19th-century European scholars and antiquaries.

The Story

The narrative begins in the heart of Paris, where the author immerses himself in the architectural and literary wonders of the city. His primary objective is the exploration of the Royal Library—the Bibliothèque du Roi—where he spends days scrutinizing early printed editions, block-books, and exquisite medieval manuscripts. He moves with a scholar’s precision, describing the condition of bindings, the quality of vellum, and the history of specific, often unique, copies. His journey is not merely a dry inventory; it is a quest for the "finds" that define a collector’s career, punctuated by visits to the library of the Arsenal and the private collections of men like the Marquis de Sommariva.

The author’s journey through Paris is colored by his encounters with the human stewards of these treasures. He introduces figures like the Abbé Rive, a man of profound learning and equal bitterness, and the devoted M. Willemin, whose own personal losses reflect the fragility of the antiquarian life. These encounters provide the emotional architecture for his bibliographical reports. He reflects on the vanity of collectors and the inevitable "cropping" of rare volumes by indifferent bookbinders, a practice that elicits his genuine distress.

As the narrative progresses, the author’s focus shifts from the institutional wealth of Paris toward the provinces. He describes the arduous, heat-stricken carriage journey toward Strasbourg, a passage marked by the humorous and frustrating realities of road travel, including encounters with opportunistic blacksmiths and the exhaustion of summer heat. His arrival in Strasbourg marks a transition into a deeper study of Germanic history and the Reformation’s influence on the region’s intellectual life.

In Strasbourg, the focus turns to the Cathedral and the public library, where the author examines early editions of the Bible and the works of medieval theologians. He meticulously records the provenance of these volumes, finding beauty in the "crackling" pages of wood-bound bibles and the coarse, bold gothic types of early printers like Mentelin and Eggesteyn. The volume concludes not with a grand climax, but with a quiet, reflective summation of his time in Alsace, honoring the scholars he met there. He leaves the reader with the image of his final academic exchanges and the realization that his pursuit—the preservation of the written word—is a perpetual, often solitary, labor of love.

How It Unfolds

The Parisian survey The narrator begins by assessing the architectural beauty of Paris before turning his full attention to the Bibliothèque du Roi. He provides an exhaustive account of the rare prints and manuscripts housed within, comparing them against the standards of the greatest private libraries in England.

The society of books Interspersed with his technical descriptions are portraits of the librarians, printers, and collectors he encounters. These vignettes reveal the underlying tensions of the intellectual community, from petty rivalries over rare editions to the generous spirit of sharing scholarly discoveries.

The transition to the provinces The narrative moves outward from the capital toward the east, capturing the sensory details of travel by carriage. This segment grounds the intellectual pursuits in the physical reality of the landscape, the climate, and the practical challenges of traversing post-war France.

The Strasbourg catalog The final movement centers on the libraries of Strasbourg, where the focus shifts toward the history of the Reformation and early Germanic printing. The author concludes by documenting the specific editions of the sacred texts and chronicles he encounters, framing them as both historical artifacts and spiritual heirlooms.

The People

The book is populated by an assembly of scholars and keepers whose identities are inextricably tied to their collections. The Abbé Rive stands out as a tragic figure of the old guard; possessing a vast, restless intelligence, his life is defined by the very controversies and intellectual "broils" that his own zeal ignited. He is depicted as a man of great internal contradiction—a combative public figure who was, in his private life, a tender master and friend.

Then there is M. Willemin, an antiquarian whose modest present belies a once-prosperous life surrounded by six cabinets of curiosities. His presence underscores the theme of loss; he represents the scholar who has survived the turbulence of his era but has had to sacrifice his personal fortune to continue his work. His interactions with the narrator are marked by a quiet, dignified melancholy.

Finally, the Librarians, such as the meticulous M. Van Praet and the venerable Schweighæuser, serve as the patient, often invisible guardians of history. Their knowledge is vast and hyper-specific—they are individuals who can discuss the provenance of a 12th-century fief more easily than they can navigate the politics of their own century. They act as the author’s gatekeepers, facilitating his access to the "precious membranaceous leaves" that fuel his lifelong passion, ultimately becoming the human symbols of the knowledge they protect.

In Its Own Voice

"It should seem as if the first layer, upon which the gold is placed, had been composed of the white of an egg--or of some such glutinous substance."

The author pauses his search for a rare portrait of King John to theorize about the ancient methods used by medieval artists to prepare their gold-leaf backgrounds.

"I confess I was glad to obtain the drawing of Langlois for two napoleons."

After commiserating with the modest M. Willemin about the decline of his fortunes, the author finds a small, tangible way to support his friend’s work by purchasing a sketch.

"The women, of the description before alluded to, used to wear black and white hats, of a sugar-loaf form, over the veil which covered their faces."

During his stay in Strasbourg, the author notes the social regulations of the past, contrasting the city's current order with the historical records of the Reformation era.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the preservation of human memory through the medium of the book. The author treats every volume—whether a "precious and resplendent tome" or a "coarse, wretched performance"—as a vessel of cultural continuity. He is preoccupied with the tension between the fragility of physical artifacts and the permanence of the ideas they contain. The book also serves as an argument for the scholar's duty: to seek out, document, and authenticate the remnants of the past before they are lost to the "book-devourers" of neglect or the "cropping" shears of bad taste. Beneath the technical descriptions lies a deeper question about the nature of legacy, asking what we owe to the individuals who labored to create these records and those who fight to keep them intact.

Why Read It Today

Readers who find joy in the "dusty" details of history will find this volume deeply rewarding. It is a work for those who appreciate the tactile experience of reading—the mention of rough edges, vellum textures, and the smell of ancient bindings will resonate strongly. The prose is warm and personal, reflecting the enthusiasm of a man who feels genuinely privileged to hold a manuscript once touched by a Renaissance scholar.

However, the reader should be prepared for the book's density. It is not a casual travelogue; it is a focused, technical study that assumes a high level of interest in bibliography and historical minutiae. The author’s period attitudes and his occasional, testy exchanges with contemporary critics are present, serving as a reminder of his specific place and time. You will not find modern, fast-paced storytelling here. Instead, you will find a slow, deliberate walk through a world that values the silent, steady labor of the mind. What remains with you is the quiet sanctity of the library—a feeling that the pages you are reading are part of a long, unbroken chain of inquiry that reaches back to the very dawn of the printed word.