le, in
aqua-tint; cleverly enough--for three francs a piece. I told Benard that
the Duke of Wellington had recently bespoke a picture from Mr. Wilkie's
pencil. "What is the subject to be?"--demanded he, quickly. I replied, in
the very simplicity of my heart, "Soldiers regaling themselves, on
receiving the news of the victory of Waterloo." Mons. Benard was paralised
for one little moment: but rallying quickly, he answered, with perfect
truth, as I conceive "_Comment donc_, TOUT EST WATERLOO, _chez vous!_" M.
Benard spoke very naturally, and I will not find fault with him for such a
response; for he is an obliging, knowing, and a very pleasant tradesman to
do business with. He admits, readily and warmly, that we have great
artists, both as painters and engravers; and pointing to Sharpe's _John
Hunter_ and _The Doctors of the Church_--which happened to be hanging just
before us--he observed that "these, efforts had never been surpassed by his
own countrymen." I told him (while conversing about the respective merits
of the British and French Schools of Engraving) that it appeared to me,
that in France, there was no fine feeling for LANDSCAPE ENGRAVING; and
that, as to ANTIQUARIAN art, what had been produced in the publications of
Mr. Britton, and in the two fine topographical works--Mr. Clutterbuck's
Hertfordshire," and. Mr. Surtees' Durham--exhibited such specimens of the
burin, in that department, as could scarcely be hoped to be excelled.[197]
M. Benard did not very strenuously combat these observations. The great
mart for _Printselling_ is the Boulevards; and more especially that of the
_Boulevards Italiens_. A stranger can have no conception of the gaiety and
brilliance of the print-shops, and print-stalls, in this neighbourhood. Let
him first visit it in the morning about nine o'clock; with the sun-beams
sparkling among the foliage of the trees, and the incessant movements of
the populace below, who are about commencing another day's pilgrimage of
human life. A pleasant air is stirring at this time; and the freshness
arising from the watering of the footpath--but more particularly the
fragrance from innumerable bouquets, with mignonette, rose trees, and
lilacs--extended in fair array--is altogether quite charming and singularly
characteristic. But my present business is with prints. You see them,
hanging in the open air--framed and not framed--for some quarter of a mile:
with the intermediate space filled by piles of cal