This morning, the cold sun, contrasting with showers and wind bristling needles winter a gloomy spring, Honore Champion, surrounded by his children and countless friends, will take place in the dormitory of the dead. It was an honest man, intelligent and hardworking. His career may be said company before adolescence, had led to the gates of old age when he could expect more days among those who loved him. The premature end - he was only sixty-seven years - ended so abruptly that the exemplary life of this great worker, carries more responsibility than years of works. No one, indeed, much as he does not deserve this beautiful name of "deceased", so often vilified by the Administrative verbosity, having acquitted, as he did, all the tasks and duties of all.
At thirteen, bookstore clerk, Honore Champion earned his living and support the needs of his family already, a mother tenderly cherished. To handle the books, he learned to enjoy them. He soon asked for this object of his work on intellectual relaxation that never refuse to curious minds of the teachers say. As Alphonse Lemerre, somewhat older, who founded the Parnassus before the Franco German, Honore Champion climbs, one after another, without haste or delay, the degrees that lead bookseller's clerk at the enviable position publisher wealthy and famous. Further, not less known, have taken these steps, but once the most successful come, and money and honors, will jealously guard to rob the old man. Contact the writers did Sides point. They remain, as before, the paper merchant, period. Under the notable merchant, perennial lout, continues to flourish Stumpy shop. And so the issue of Bazaar and clutters the shop, so the book arts in the general degradation of all trades, down to an abjection that exceeds even that of furniture, clothing and architecture.
Honore Champion was, in turn, and following the aptly named, a champion of great labor magnified by Aldus, Etienne Didot and the. His bookstore was at the same time his library is the word could be heard, in such a man, in both senses that lent him the sixteenth century. He walked with ease, as the owner of a beautiful area in the fields that he ordered the culture and who owe their prosperity. Men of letters have in the last century, known some of these models publishers, friends of the poets, supports scholars, who saw in the book trade is something other than the general ledger, in which the appetite for lucre n ' had not extinguished the love of beauty: Chicken-Malassis companion Baudelaire, who carried this robust Lemerre, unabated, until victorious temples, idols heavy Leconte de Lisle, and Quantin Quantin the Small library of literary , overused now reduced to the "spelling dictionary" in squalid books to nineteen sub!
Honore Champion did not seek the authors point to success. Manufacturers of ointments or pelletizing beetles had no access to him. Some dazzling glories do nothing. Perhaps he knew the name of Jacques Dhur and novels that Jules wooden sign. But he was pleased to discover the wonders unpublished, he carried his love of paradox to publish a book simply because he felt this book interesting or beautiful. When he bought shortly after the war, the German library where Wagner enjoyed before the odious scene of Tannhauser , find some friends and compatriots, the house Frank Wieweg-Bouillon, Honore Champion found himself when owners place a strong scholar. In this acquisition it had won a pile of the most learned journals in the world, which have only increased with time: Journal Celtic , Romania , Series works of Maspero, The Middle Ages and much more! He had recently left the dock Voktaire, Thibaud library from which came Anatole France, but he did not leave it to the Seine. He stared at the shelves now dock Malaquais, loving this part of the Mint, where among the stalls of booksellers and bric-a-brac, poor or rich, a flower blooms and dreamy indolence, provincialism "intellectual" that could easily be transplanted beyond the bridges. He published Leopold Delisle, Arbois Jubainville, Alfred Maury, Auguste Longon. He contributed a large part in founding the Society History Paris. Neighbor of the Institute, it hosted the works of scholars, linguists, paleographers. And this neighborhood it was bliss! At the time of floods, the statue of Voltaire preserved his shop, by diverting the waters raging around the Rue de Seine and Rue Bonaparte, as in a tale of The Golden Legend .
However, this lover of old charters, the man who gave scholars the Linguistic Atlas of France and Dictionary of the French language old, was nothing less than a "bookworm" living out of life, between his incunabula, his papers and old editions. No one less than he looked, if not for the kindness, Sylvestre Bonnard. His curiosity of men and things do fixed point in the past. She was shrewd as well as diverse. He lost nothing of the present moment, he felt with perfect lucidity of his contemporaries. He would, without effort, the average age at Boulevard (when the boulevard was not a fair between two rows of cinemas), a life of Saint Remi, calligraphy in the ninth century and sold to Pierpont Morgan, it was this manuscript venerable than Wisdom he bought while still wet with tears and slimes Verlaine, when the whole Parnassus and Coppe himself disowned the author of Poems saturniens . Like all
great workers, Honore Champion greatly enjoyed the theater. He loved the art éleuthérien which gave him the necessary rest after the job done. He enjoyed Tristan Bernard, Rouveyre, held in particular esteem Sacha Guitry had he known his son. He understood all that humor and joke-bellied unbuttoned Sacha contains amused observation, and philosophy of sound bitter. He stood Storming of Bergen-op-Zoom next most notable works. Placing the author at the highest level of comedy, he did not hesitate to talk about it on the name of Molière. He loved strong talent of Mr. Brewer: It rather reminded, about Miss Harriet Roggeri, the memories that remained of the great Rachel. The French comedy was the location of his choice. His home was
friendly, full of courtesy and kindness. In the cabinet, a little dark, a walk and qu'exhausse that closes a window dimly lit, we were sitting at his desk, poring over endless tests that corrected. A bit heavy and movements - had been told - painful, he resumed all his agility when the chat was open. His conversation nourished, impulsive, fun and varied infinity, was full of anecdotes, good points, facts unexpected. It was not any encyclopedia to go in his house. He told delightfully, having seen so many men and things, also free of pedantry and not looking effect. This indefatigable worker who, every morning, abandoned his field, Valley of the Wolves, purchased in memory of Chateaubriand, and he brought roses for visiting the beautiful wharf Malaquais knew give friendly talks for hours it was brief and charming.
He was proud of his children. The beautiful books of his son Pierre, noble and generous scholar artist on Charles d'Orleans, with the touching inscription: "To my beloved editor, recognizing his son," the filling of a just pride. And autumn, full of fruit, blossomed in this atmosphere of pure work, tenderness and beauty.
Death is coming, coming "like a thief" after the word evangelical. Tuesday at five o'clock in the morning, yet he corrected proofs. An hour and a half later, everything was consumed. His work was enormous. He edited, supervised, corrected, aroused, most of the time, some three thousand volumes, over forty years of his effort. In this house
laborious the disappearance of the master will not stop one minute's work. Tomorrow, a son of Honoré Champion, sitting in the closet of his father, before the black table that overload tests and manuscripts, will continue the task paternal fertilize the noble legacy he received from him.
Although the store long wharf Malaquais asylum will still learned Muses and fine interviews. He missed only to animate his friendly wit, her laugh and her kindness, good man, a man of talent that now regret all those who loved him, all those who knew him .
Tailhade Lawrence.
( Com œ dia )
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