Henry III. scarcely deserves, perhaps, the name of a book-lover, for
he probably never read the works which were bound for him in the
most elaborate way. But that great historian, Alexandre Dumas,
takes a far more friendly view of the king's studies, and, in 'La
Dame de Monsoreau,' introduces us to a learned monarch. Whether he
cared for the contents of his books or not, his books are among the
most singular relics of a character which excites even morbid
curiosity. No more debauched and worthless wretch ever filled a
throne; but, like the bad man in Aristotle, Henri III. was "full of
repentance." When he was not dancing in an unseemly revel, he was
on his knees in his chapel. The board of one of his books, of which
an engraving lies before me, bears his cipher and crown in the
corners; but the centre is occupied in front with a picture of the
Annunciation, while on the back is the crucifixion and the breeding
heart through which the swords have pierced. His favourite device
was the death's-head, with the motto Memento Mori, or Spes mea Deus.
While he was still only Duc d'Anjou, Henri loved Marie de Cleves,
Princesse de Conde. On her sudden death he expressed his grief, as
he had done his piety, by aid of the petits fers of the bookbinder.
Marie's initials were stamped on his book-covers in a chaplet of
laurels. In one corner a skull and cross-bones were figured; in the
other the motto Mort m'est vie; while two curly objects, which did
duty for tears, filled up the lower corners. The books of Henri
III., even when they are absolutely worthless as literature, sell
for high prices; and an inane treatise on theology, decorated with
his sacred emblems, lately brought about 120 pounds in a London
sale.

Francis I., as a patron of all the arts, was naturally an amateur of
bindings. The fates of books were curiously illustrated by the