Gabriel NaudÉ was a Doctor of Medicine, and held an appointment at one time as physician in ordinary to Louis xiii. But even as a student he manifested that passion for books which furnished the real occupation of his life. Before taking his degree at Padua he was librarian to Henri de Mesmes, and afterwards to Cardinal Bagni at Rome. On his patron's death he was placed in charge of the great library which Cardinal Barberini was establishing in his palace in the Piazza of the Quattro Fontane. Some part of his time was spent in collecting books for Cardinal Richelieu, who offered NaudÉ the charge of his library in 1642; but, the Cardinal having died in that year, NaudÉ transferred his services to Mazarin. He inspired his employer with the desire of emulating the magnificence of Barberini and the patriotic generosity of Borromeo; and the librarian's keen scent for books and minute knowledge of their values were thenceforth utilised in the work of creating the BibliothÈque Mazarine.

Richelieu had done things on a grand scale. He had confiscated to his own use the whole town-library at La Rochelle; and NaudÉ was anxious that Mazarin's great undertaking should begin with an acquisition en bloc. A provincial governor named Simeon Dubois had made a collection in the Limousin. His books had passed into the hands of Jean Descordes, a Canon of Limoges, who died in 1642 possessed of about 6000 volumes. NaudÉ prepared the catalogue, and persuaded the Cardinal to purchase the whole property by private contract. A few months afterwards the King gave him the State Papers collected by Antoine de LomÉnie. A great number of printed books were added under NaudÉ's superintendence, and in a short time the new library was opened to the public. Its regulations were framed in a very liberal spirit, as may be learned from the first of NaudÉ's rules: 'The library is to be open to all the world without the exception of any living soul; readers will be supplied with chairs and writing-materials, and the attendants will fetch all books required in any language or department of learning, and will change them as often as is necessary.'

In reviewing the condition of the other great libraries, NaudÉ pointed out that there was nothing like an unrestrained admission except at the Bodleian, the Ambrosian, and the Angelica Library at Rome. The public had no rights at the Vatican, or the Laurentian, or the Library of St. Mark at Venice. It was just the same at Bologna, or Naples, or in the Duchy of Urbino. The same thing, he said, might be seen in other countries. XimÈnes built a fine library at AlcalÀ, and there was a collection of the books of NuÑez at Salamanca; there were the Rantzaus at Copenhagen and the Fuggers at Augsburg; they had done everything for the use of scholars except making the libraries free. The French themselves had the King's Library, a vast accumulation at St. Victor's, and a rich bequest from De Thou; but the use of all this wealth of books was hampered by the most complicated restrictions. We can see that he was rejoicing in his own good work while he praised the stately Ambrosiana. 'Is it not astonishing,' he asks, 'that any one can go in when he likes, and stay as long as he cares to look about or to read or make extracts? All that he has to do is to sit at a desk and ask for any book that he wishes to study.'

For some years after the new library was established NaudÉ travelled in quest of books over the greater part of Europe. He said that he would have ransacked Spain if Mazarin had not preferred an invasion by the regular army. He was the 'familiar spirit' of the auction-room, and it became a by-word that a visit from the great book-hunter was as bad as a storm in the book-shops. He boasted in his epigrams of exploits in Flanders, in Switzerland, and among the Venetian book-stalls. At Rome he bought books by the fathom; he skimmed the German shelves, and passed over into England to relieve the islanders of their riches. At Lyons he met Marshal Villeroi, who gave him a great portion of the books which Cardinal de Tournon had bequeathed to the Jesuits. We trace the result of his travels in his description of the libraries of Europe. Certain subjects, as he said, are in vogue at particular places, and we ought always to notice the book-fashions to show our respect for the feelings of mankind. 'For positive science we go to Rome or Florence or Naples, and for jurisprudence to Paris or Milan; France supplies us with history; and if we wanted scholastic lore we might go to Spain, or the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge.'

In 1647 the Mazarine Library contained about 45,000 volumes, and NaudÉ in his joy proclaimed it as the eighth wonder of the world. The Parisians appeared to be delighted with the superb LomÉnie mss. and the crowd of bright volumes in the Cardinal's ordinary livery. But in 1651 the Parliament got the upper hand of the 'Red Tyrant' in one of the unmeaning struggles of the Wars of the Fronde; the property of Mazarin was confiscated for a time, and the library was put up for sale. The list of Commissioners included the respectable names of Alexandre PÉtau and Pierre Pithou; yet we are assured that the auction resembled a massacre, and that hardly any obstacle was placed in the way of the most impudent thefts. NaudÉ in vain petitioned against a decree which had fallen like a thunder-bolt on the 'wonderful work of his life.' 'Why will you not save this daughter of mine, this library that is the fairest and best-endowed in the world? Can you permit the public to be deprived of such a precious and useful treasure? Can you endure that this fair flower, which spreads its perfume through the world, should wither as you hold it in your hands?'

NaudÉ spent his own small fortune in ransoming the books on medicine. He had worked hard to persuade Queen Christina to purchase the whole collection; but when it came to the point she only bought a few mss. which were afterwards returned. The 'Pallas of the North,' was interested in NaudÉ's misfortunes. She invited him to take charge of the Royal Library at Stockholm, and here he rested for a while. He made acquaintance in Sweden with several celebrated men of letters; Descartes was a guest at the Court, and used to be ready to begin his metaphysical discourses at day-break. NaudÉ on one occasion delighted the young Queen by stepping a Greek dance with Professor Meibomius, who was just at that time bringing out his work upon the music of the ancients. The climate, or the excitement of that vivacious Court, began to disagree with NaudÉ's health; he resigned his appointment and returned to France, but died at Abbeville on his way to Paris, a few months before his patron's return to power. When the public library was established again the Cardinal purchased NaudÉ's private collection of 8000 books; and care was taken to preserve them apart, as a mark of distinction, in a gallery named after the famous librarian.

The hereditary collections of Colbert and La Moignon were as much indebted to their librarians as the Mazarine to the labours of NaudÉ. The Minister Jean-Baptiste Colbert was as celebrated for his books as for his finance: but the magnificence of the library was mainly due to its guardian Calcavi and his successor the venerable Baluze. Colbert's manuscripts are believed to have been the most valuable ever amassed by a person of private fortune. Among their eight thousand volumes were the choicest treasures from St. Martin's Abbey at Metz, including the Book of Hours used by Charles the Great, and a Bible said to have been illuminated for Charles the Bald. There were about 50,000 printed books, almost all well-bound; and it was thought that the choicest Levantine moroccos had been secured for the Minister by an article in a treaty with the Sultan. Colbert died in 1683, and the library remained in his family for half a century afterwards. In 1728 the Marquis de Seignelaye sold the books, and began to sell a portion of the manuscripts; the world was alarmed at the idea of a general dispersion; the remaining manuscripts, however, were offered to Louis xv.; and there was great rejoicing when he wrote 'Bon, 300,000 livres' on the letter received from the Marquis.

The other famous library was amassed by 'an extraordinary family of book-collectors.' It was begun by Guillaume de la Moignon, who was President of the Parliament of Paris in 1658. His son ChrÉtien de la Moignon was as zealous a book-buyer as his father, and he secured the renown of their library by engaging the services of Adrien Baillet. Dibdin quoted passages from Baillet's biography that show the tenderness with which the family treated his 'crazy body and nervous mind': 'Madame La Moignon and her son always took a pleasure in anticipating his wishes, soothing his irritabilities, promoting his views, and speaking loudly and constantly of the virtues of his head and heart.' Baillet in his turn gave to his employers the credit of his best literary work. 'It was done for you,' he wrote, 'and in your house, and by one who is ever yours to command.' The library was much enlarged by its owner in the third generation; and by its union with the collection of M. Berryer, who died in 1762, it became 'one of the most splendid in Europe.' It was dispersed during the troubles of the Revolution, and a great portion was brought to London in 1791; but the works on jurisprudence were reserved, and were sold in Paris a few years afterwards.

David Ancillon is perhaps best known as the defender of Luther and Calvin. But according to Bayle he was an indefatigable book-collector, and notable for having set the fashion of buying books in the first edition. Most people thought, said D'Israeli, that the first edition was only an imperfect essay, 'which the author proposes to finish after trying the sentiments of the literary world.' Bayle was on the side of Ancillon. There are cases, as he remarked, in which the second edition has never appeared; and at any rate the man who waits for the reprint shows 'that he loves a pistole better than knowledge.' Ancillon, however, always indulged himself with 'the most elegant edition,' whatever the first might have been; he considered that 'the less the eyes are fatigued in reading or work the more liberty the mind feels in judging of it.' It is easier to detect the merits in print than in manuscript: 'and so we see them more plainly in good paper and clear type than when the impression and paper are bad?' Some have thought it better to have many editions of a good book: 'among other things,' says our critic, 'we feel great satisfaction in tracing the variations.' Ancillon was naturally accused of an indiscriminate mania for collecting; and he confessed that he was to some extent infected with the 'book-disease.' It was said that he never left his books day or night, except when he went to preach to his humble congregation. He was convinced that some golden thought might be found in the dullest work. Ancillon remained in France as long as his religion was tolerated. He found a home across the Rhine after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes; but from that time he had to be content with German editions, all his fine tall volumes having been destroyed by the 'Catholic' rioters at Metz.

If Evelyn can be believed, the art of book-collecting had come to a very poor pass in France about the seventeenth century. It had been discovered that certain classes of books were the necessary furniture of every gentleman's library. If a man of quality built a mansion he would expect to find a book-room and a quantity of shelves; it was a simple matter further on to order so many yards of folios or octavos, all in red morocco, with the coat of arms stamped in gold. Such collections, said La BruyÈre, are like a picture-gallery with a strong smell of leather: the owner is most polite in showing off 'the gold leaves, Etruscan bindings, and fine editions'; 'we thank him for his kindness, but care as little as himself to visit the tan-yard which he calls his library.' We must not forget the financier Bretonvilliers, who about the year 1657 determined to become a bibliophile, and so far succeeded that some of his local books on Lorraine were purchased for the National Library. He first built a HÔtel, not far from the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, with a large gallery in which with infinite pains he built up a magnificent book-case; the contents were of less importance; but he succeeded after a time in filling it with books stamped with his new device of an eagle holding the olive-branch.

One or two of the more serious collectors may be noticed before we pass to the great age of Rothelin and La ValliÈre. Henri du Bouchet had gathered about eight thousand books, all very well chosen, according to the testimony of the PÈre Jacob; on his death in 1654 he bequeathed them to the Abbey of St. Victor on public trusts so that those who came after him might find a solace in what had been 'his dearest delight.' He requested that they might be free to students for three days in the week and for seven hours in the day; and his wishes were duly regarded until the great library of St. Victor was dispersed in 1791. The monks set up a tablet and bust in memory of the generous donor; and perceiving that the volumes were not emblazoned in the usual way they adopted the singular plan of inserting pieces of leather bearing his arms into holes cut in the ancient bindings.

The AbbÉ Boisot was another of the scholars who lived entirely for books. While quite a young man he acquired a considerable library in his travels through Spain and Italy; and in 1664, during an official visit to BesanÇon, he was so fortunate as to acquire the mss. of the Cardinal de Granvelle, who had been the confidential minister of the Emperor Charles v. Boisot wrote a delightful account of the adventures through which this collection had passed. 'At first,' he says, 'the servants used what they pleased, and then the neighbours' children helped themselves; when some packing-cases were wanted, the butler, to show his economy, sold the records contained in them to a grocer.' At last they were all tired of these 'useless old papers,' and determined to throw them away. Jules Chifflet, according to Guigard, was the means of saving the remainder. He examined a number of the documents and recognised their importance, though they were mostly in cipher; but he died before they could be sorted out. Boisot bought what he could from the heirs, and found a good many more mss. in the neighbourhood. They passed with the rest of Boisot's books to the Abbey of St. Vincent at BesanÇon; and during the Revolution the whole collection became the property of the citizens and was transferred to the public library.

The hereditary treasures of the Bouhier family were dispersed in the same way through several provincial libraries. The collection had begun in the reign of Louis xii., and something had been done in each generation afterwards by way of adding fine books and manuscripts. Étienne Bouhier had collected in all parts of Italy. Jean Bouhier in 1642 bought the accumulations of Pontus de Thyard, the learned Bishop of ChÂlons. His father's own library had been dispersed among his children; but Jean Bouhier succeeded in getting it together again, and added a large number of mss. which he had gathered for the illustration of the history of Burgundy. The library became still more famous in the time of his grandson the President Jean Bouhier, who has been admired as the type of the true bibliophile. The bibliomaniac heaps up books from avarice or some animal instinct; he is a collector, it is said, 'without intelligent curiosity.' Bouhier used to read his books and make notes upon them; and it is said that he carried the practice to such excess as to deface with marginal scribblings the finest work of Henri Estienne and Antoine VÉrard. A visitor to his library described the sober magnificence of the rosewood shelves with silken hangings in which the rare editions and long rows of manuscripts were ranged. In the next generation there was a startling change. The library had been left to Bouhier's son-in-law, Chartraire de Bourbonne: the grave offspring of Aldus and Gryphius found themselves in company with poets of the talon rouge and muses of the OpÉra bouffe. When the gay De Bourbonne died, the ill-assorted crowd passed to his son-in-law in his turn, and was transferred in 1784 to the Abbey of Clairvaux.

We cannot name or classify the bibliophiles of the eighteenth century. It would be endless to describe them with the briefest of personal notes; how M. BarrÉ loved out-of-the-way books and fugitive pieces, or Lambert de Thorigny a good history, or how Gabriel de Sartines, the policeman of the Parc aux Cerfs, had a marvellous collection about Paris. When Count Macarthy sold his books at Toulouse his catalogue contained a list of about ninety others, issued in the same century, from which his riches were derived. We can point to a few of the mightiest Nimrods. We see the serene Gaignat pass, and the bustling La ValliÈre; the Duc d'EstrÉes is recognised as a busy book-hunter, and there are the physicians Hyacinthe Baron and Falconnet whose keenness no prey could escape. We can distinguish the forms of the elegant 'bibliomanes' to whom their books were as pictures or as jewels to be enclosed in a shrine; there is Count d'Hoym with a house full of treasures, and Boisset and Girardot de PrÉfond with their cabinets of marvels. If the crowds in the old-fashioned libraries are like the multitude at Babel, these tall volumes in crushed morocco and 'triple gold bands' remind us of what our antiquaries have said of books glimmering in their wire cases 'like eastern beauties peering through their jalousies.' We ought to say something of M. de Chamillard, best known in his public capacity as a good match for the King at billiards and as the minister who proposed the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. In private life Michael de Chamillard was a virtuoso with well-filled galleries and portfolios; and he had assembled a large company of books of fashionable appearance. But our real interest is not so much with the Minister of Billiards, as M. Uzanne described him, but rather with his wife and three daughters, who were all true female bibliophiles. The eldest daughter, the Marquise de Dreux, was wife of the Grand Master of the Ceremonies; but though his collection was gay and polite the Marquise insisted on a separate establishment for the books that she had discovered and bought and bound. The Duchesse de la Feuillade and the Duchesse de Lorges insisted, like their elder sister, on having libraries for their separate use. The minister's wife was celebrated for the splendour of her books, and marvellous prices have been paid for specimens of her earlier style. But 'little Madame de Chamillard' attached herself in all things to the Maintenon, and followed the uncrowned queen in abandoning the paths of vanity; she gave up the world, so far as gilt arabesques and crushed morocco were concerned, and dressed all her later acquisitions À la JansÉniste, in plain leather with perhaps the thinnest line of blind-tooling for an ornament.

Charles du Fay was a captain in the Guards, compelled by his misfortunes to confine himself to the battles of the book-sale. He lost a leg at the bombardment of Brussels in 1695; and though he was promoted to a company in the Guards, it became at last apparent that he could not serve on horseback. Du Fay, we are told, was fortunately fond of literature; and he devoted himself with eagerness to the task of collecting a magnificent library. History and Latin poetry had always been his favourite subjects, and it appears that he was already collecting fine examples in this department during his campaigns in Germany and Flanders.

M. de Lincy commemorates the good taste that impelled Du Fay to buy several of Grolier's books, and records the industry with which he sought to remedy his defects of education. Professor Brochard, he says, was a learned man, with a good library of his own, who went to inspect the books gathered by Du Fay from all parts of Europe. The visitor expressed surprise that out of nearly four thousand volumes there should hardly be any in Greek. 'I have hardly retained a word of the language,' said Du Fay. 'Cato in his old age,' replied the Professor, 'did not hesitate for a moment to learn it; and a person quite ignorant of Greek can never know Latin well.' Du Fay was an easy good-natured man, and at once followed his friend's advice, beginning from that day to buy Greek books and to work at the language so as to be able to read them. His object, however, in forming a library was not so much to gather useful information as to set up a museum of literary rarities. The idea is in accordance with our modern taste, and perhaps with the common sense of mankind; but some of the old-fashioned collectors were angry with the poor epicure of learning. The PrÉsident Bouhier writes to Marais in 1725 on seeing a catalogue of the library: 'This savours more of bibliomania than scholarship.' Marais at once replied: 'Your judgment on Du Fay's catalogue is most excellent: it is not a library, but a shop full of curious book-specimens, made to sell and not to keep for one's self.'

Many of Du Fay's books were bought by Count d'Hoym, who lived for many years at Paris as ambassador from Augustus of Poland and Saxony. The Count has been accused of showing bad manners at Court, and of bad faith in giving the trade secrets of Dresden to the factory at SÈvres; in bibliography at any rate, he was supreme among the amateurs, and his White Eagle of Poland appears upon no volume that is not among the best of its kind. He sat at one time at the feet of the AbbÉ de Rothelin; but he soon became his master's equal in matters of taste, and was accepted until his exile at Nancy as the arbiter of elegance among the Parisians. M. Guigard quotes from the dedication of a 'treasury' of French poetry a passage that indicates his high position: 'To the poets in this assemblage, whoever they be, it is a glory, Monseigneur, to enter your Excellency's library, so full, so magnificent, so well chosen, that it is justly accounted the prodigy of learning.'

Charles d'OrlÉans, AbbÉ de Rothelin, had died in 1744, when most of his books became the property of the nation. In some respects he was the most distinguished of the book-collectors. His learning and wealth enabled him to make a collection of theology that has never been surpassed; and he had the good fortune to acquire the vast series of State Papers and the priceless mediÆval mss. collected by Nicolas Foucault. His special taste was for immaculate editions in splendid bindings; but nothing escaped his notice that was in any way remarkable or interesting.

Paul Girardot de PrÉfond was a timber-merchant who fell into an apathetic state on retiring from active business. His physician, Hyacinthe Baron, was an eminent book-collector, and he advised the patient to take up the task of forming a library. So successful was the prescription that the merchant became renowned during the next half century for his superb bindings, his specimens from Grolier's stores, and the Delphin and Variorum classics which he procured from the library of Gascq de la Lande. On two occasions the sale of his surplus treasures made an excitement for the literary world. Some of his rarest books were sold in 1757, and twelve years afterwards his Delphin series and the greater part of his general collection were purchased by Count Macarthy.

MÉrard de St. Just was another collector, whose exquisite taste is still gratefully remembered, though his small library has long been dispersed, and was indeed almost destroyed by a series of accidents before the outbreak of the great Revolution. 'My library,' he said, 'is very small, but it is too large for me to fill it with good books.' He would not have the first editions of the classics, because they were generally printed on bad paper which it was disagreeable to touch, with the exception of works produced by the Aldine Press. Nor would he buy mere curiosities, says Guigard, but left them to persons who cared for empty display, 'like one who proudly exhibits his patents of nobility without being able to point to any distinguished action of his ancestors.' He was the owner of many choice books that had belonged to Gaignat and Charron de MÉnars, or had been bound for Madame de Pompadour, or to the undiscriminating Du Barry. In 1782, we are told, he despatched the best part of his library to America, but had the grief of learning soon afterwards that they had been captured at sea by the English. His philosophical temper was shown in his reply to the bad news: 'I have but one wish upon the subject; I hope that the person who gets this part of the booty will be able to comprehend the value of the treasure that has come to his hands.'

The elder Mirabeau was a collector of another type. The 'friend of mankind' intended to gather together the best and largest library in the world. He cared nothing for the scarcity or the external adornments of a volume; but he had a huge appetite for knowledge, and he longed to have the means of referring to all that could illustrate the progress of the race. He did not live to attain any marked success in his gigantic design; but his library had at least the distinction of containing all the books of the Comte de Buffon, enriched with marginal notes in the naturalist's handwriting.

A modest collection was formed a few years afterwards by Pierre-Louis GuinguenÉ, who wrote a valuable work on the literary history of Italy. He is remembered as having published amid the terrors of 1791 an amusing essay on the authority of Rabelais 'in the matter of this present Revolution.' He led a peaceful life through all that troubled time, and succeeded in forming a very useful library containing about 3000 volumes; it was purchased for the British Museum on his death, and became the foundation of the great series of works on the French Revolution which has been brought together there.

The long life of M. Antoine Renouard bridges over the space between the days of Mirabeau and the time when the ÉlÉgants of the Third Empire had invented a new bibliomania. Renouard had ordered bindings from the elder DerÔme; in 1785 he bought a book at La ValliÈre's sale. In his Epictetus there is the following note: 'Bought in May 1785, the first book printed on vellum that entered my library; rather luxurious for a young fellow of seventeen, but then all my little savings were devoted to acquiring books; parties of pleasure, and elegancies of toilette, everything was sacrificed to my beloved books; and at that time a brisk and brilliant business permitted expenses which were followed by hard years of privation; it was in my first youth that I found it easiest to spend money on my books.' Renouard began life as a manufacturer. His father made gauze stuffs, and kept a shop in the Rue Apolline. In 1787 the AbbÉ le Blond, the librarian of the CollÈge Mazarin, heard that Molini had sold a fine Aldine Horace to a shopkeeper. 'The next day,' says Renouard, 'Le Blond came into my library. "Oh! I shall not have the book," he exclaimed, and when I looked round, he said, "I beg your pardon, I hoped to tempt you with a few louis for your bargain, but I have given up the idea at once, and I only ask the double favour of seeing the book and of being allowed to make your acquaintance."' Renouard was the historian of the House of Aldus, and naturally became the possessor of some of Grolier's finest books. During his career as a bookseller he parted with most of them; and at the sale of his library in 1854 the 'Lucretius,' the 'Virgil,' and the 'Erasmus,' were all that remained in his collection.