Originally published in Pearson's Weekly (C. Arthur Pearson Ltd.) vol.1 #31 (21 Feb 1891).
By far the largest library in the world is the Bibliothéque National, at Paris. It is so large that nobody knows how many books it contains. They have never yet been all catalogued or counted, and when the classification of a great library falls behind it takes some time to get it in order, especially when no attempt is made to bring up the arrears.
Current works and new acquisitions are now catalogued in this library as received, but many old collections—amongst others the official documents relating to the Revolution—still lie unassorted, and mere bulk goes for little, unless it is accompanied with utility. As to this, and as to the accommodation it provides for readers, the French National Library is a long way behind the reading-room of the British Museum, and vexatious restrictions and needless formalities meet the reader at every turn.
But before referring to its organisation we will glance over the history of this remarkable collection, which, though sold by impecunious kings and otherwise dispersed more than once, has never been so widely scattered that it could not wholly or partially be brought together again.
The earliest nucleus of a national library in France was made by the Emperor Charlemagne, but the real founder of the Royal Library of France was Charles the Wise. He had a collection of about 1,000 books, which at that time was considerable. He indiscreetly, however, lent some of his books out to read, and as at this early period the habit of never returning borrowed books had been contracted, thus lost several volumes.
Soon after this, the whole collection was sold to the Duke of Bedford, and brought to England; but was dispersed at his death in 1435, and some of the works found their way back to France. Large private collections were bequeathed to the library in the seventeenth century, and, under the indefatigable activity of Colbert, it went on prospering. In 1616 it was installed in the Rue Vivienne, and, after the death of Mazarin—whose great collection went to form a library of itself—was placed in his palace in the Rue de Richelieu, where it has since remained.
In 1688 the library had already swelled to 43,000 printed books and 10,000 manuscripts. Louvois, who succeeded Colbert in its management, resolved to open it to the "learned of all nations" for study. The time for the learned go pursue their researches was limited, only two hours a week, so that we find that Voltaire and others borrowed books from the librarian. The library was well arranged, and getting into good working order at the time of the Revolution, which, we are told, opened a new era of prosperity for it. All the great chateaux were then plundered, monasteries ransacked, religious institutions pillaged, and everything seized was confiscated and declared national property.
In 1807 it was roughly estimated that the library contained about half a million of books. Then came Napoleon, who was also good to it. Wherever his victorious hosts went, a flock of human vultures followed, carrying off the booty, and thus more hauls of books were brought to the French capital. But not all to remain there, for, after Waterloo, Germany, Belgium, Bavaria, Austria, and other countries stepped in and claimed their prints and manuscripts. Since the days of Napoleon the library has gone on augmenting. Now and then an extraordinary grant has been given to purchase books, and every printer is bound to send two copies of every book he prints to the library. Other means which the library has of increasing its stock is by exchanging duplicate copies with foreign libraries, by receiving from learned societies, by donations, and by purchases.
The total number of books in the library is now about two and a half millions. Only part of the books are catalogued, and all the catalogues are not accessible to the readers. There are sets of imperfect catalogues, which the librarians use, and try to ferret out the works asked for, but not always with success. Since 1871 a catalogue of the new acquisitions has been issued as a monthly periodical.
The reading-room is much smaller than the reading-room of the British Museum, and cannot be compared to it in point of arrangement, convenience, or with regard to the service. Readers have to go through useless formalities, but more or less red tape must be expected at every French institution. No writing material beyond ink is supplied, and should anyone attempt to pass out of the room with a twopenny note-book in his hand, although it is his own property, the functionary at the entrance will come down upon him like a detective on a malefactor. As a guarantee that he is not walking off with national property, he must be furnished with a pass.
There is another room for consulting manuscripts, a department for engravings and maps, and a public room, which is open to everybody without tickets, and furnished with about 50,000 books of general literature. The library is open from ten to four o'clock on week-days, and the public part on Sundays as well. From a fear that the building would be set on fire, no light has ever beef introduced into it. The sum allowed for expenses is not a third of that given to the British Museum library.