We all know that Napoleon Bonaparte was the God of War. But the fact that he was among the dictators the greatest bibliomaniac in history is not known to many. The Emperor of the French read everything that fell into his hands, which could broaden his knowledge, which would allow him to get rid of the complexes of the poor provincial from Corsica, which he remained deep down to the end. Napoleon simply devoured books, especially the latest and most fashionable romances of the time, but he also did not disdain the classics, Herodotus, Tacitus, Plutarch, and especially works on culture, religion, history, topography and customs of those parts of the world that he decided to conquer.
He was by no means a bibliophile. He didn't care about cymelia, first editions or beautiful book bindings. Not that he didn't leave behind great imperial libraries at Trianon, Rambouillet, Fontainebleu, and especially at Malmaison. But that was the work of well-paid librarians and bookkeepers, not himself.
For Napoleon, only the content mattered, only the content. There are anecdotes about him throwing books out the window of a speeding carriage if he didn't like it or got bored, or throwing them into a hot fireplace. On the other hand, he returned to his favorite authors very often. Witnesses recalled how excitedly Napoleon squeezed Goethe's right hand during the Erfurt Congress of 1808, assuring him that he had read The Sorrows of Young Werther at least seven times. A copy of "Vert-vert" by Jean-Baptiste-Luois Gresset, about a parrot that broke into a convent and scandalized the nuns with its obscene screams, Napoleon always kept with him. On Saint Helena, his favorite reading was the bland romance Paul et Virginie by Jacques-Henri Bernardin de St. Pierre, who never failed to bring tears to his eyes.
But Napoleon's mania grew in parallel with his book collection and conquests. Before the Moscow expedition, the Emperor summoned his personal librarian, Antoine Barbier (1765-1825), demanding that his portable library be enlarged by another three thousand volumes, many of which were about Poland and Russia. Horrified, Barbier managed to explain to Napoleon that such a task would cost one and a half million francs and would take about six years. The emperor agreed to a compromise. Instead of special imperial bindings and mahogany chests, a paper ex-libris with a Napoleonic eagle, referring to the earlier super-ex-libris, was ordered from the Parisian lithographer Pierre-Francois-Etienne Besnard, (1789-1836), and the original bindings and cheaper oak cabinets were retained. Some of the books required by Napoleon, Barbier borrowed on behalf of the Emperor on the way, from the Dresden library of the King of Saxony. They never returned to the good Frederick Augustus.
When at the end of June 1812 Napoleon entered Vilnius, one of the first Poles whom he summoned to his presence was the rector of Vilnius University, Jan Śniadecki. The Polish scientist was to the Emperor's liking. The first audition lasted almost an hour, and it was followed by the next ones, during which Napoleon boasted to Śniadecki about his erudition.
Śniadecki described these conversations in detail in his diaries. He expounded on the teachings at great length, and all his inquiries were so pertinent and important, his reasonings so profound and exact, that in every expression of this extraordinary man there was revealed a genius whose power overwhelms all who approached him. Speaking at length about Poland, it was evident that he had read everything about it that was written in foreign languages in major works, but namely about the turbulent events of the second half of the eighteenth century from Rulhière, and he learned it thoroughly. But wanting to know with greater certainty what the leading natives thought of this writer, he asked his opinion many times on this matter, and discussed his merits or errors impartially. But he was also acquainted with earlier history. He liked and respected Jan III very much. Of him he vividly said: “You had great chiefs among your kings. One of the great commanders was Sobieski. I know well that you were unable to appreciate his merits." Well, the main source of Napoleon's knowledge about Sobieski was published in 1761 in French in three volumes, simultaneously in Warsaw and Paris, by Gabriel-Franciszek Coyer entitled "Histoire de Jean Sobieski, Roi de Pologne". This title is widely found in Polish collections: a copy in the National Library from the former Wilanów Potocki Library, and in the Jagiellonian Library from the Prussian Berlin Library.
The book of Abbot Coyer presented below, and kept in the collection of the New York Bloch Foundation, seems to be the only surviving trace of Napoleon's traveling library. For we know, on the other hand, that all his other books and cupboards were used for firewood during the tragic winter retreat of the Grand Army from Moscow. We will never know how the book about Sobieski survived this annihilation. Perhaps Napoleon, as was his wont, lent the Coyer to one of his generals or left it somewhere on his way to or back from Russia, à la Kornel Makuszyński in The Seventh Grade Satan. It came to our collection many years ago from an antique shop in Belgium.
And one more word about the author of the biography of Jan III, Father Gabriel Franciszek Coyer. Although he never visited Poland, about which he wrote so much, he was a protégé of Stanisław Leszczyński and a member of his Lorraine Academy in Nancy, where he was admitted in 1763. Thus, he knew and rubbed shoulders with many Poles who knew Sobieski personally and were able to instill a Polish republican spirit in Coyer. Not without reason, therefore, our abbot's book was perceived at the court of Louis XV as an attack on his dispositional rule. The censor who approved "Historie de Jean Sobieski" for printing was soon after in the Bastille, and the book itself was entered into the register of prohibited books in France in March 1761.
And finally, an anecdote related to Coyer. When he visited Voltaire at his estate in Ferney, he so tired the famous philosopher with his questions that Coyer, upon hearing the promise of Coyer's return in a year's time for a three-month visit, is said to have replied to him: "The difference between you, dear Abbe, and Don Quixote is that Don Quixote confused inns with castles, and you take castles for inns."
The author of the text is Mr. Przemysław Jan Bloch, a New York patron and at the same time an experienced bibliophile.
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