Look, for instance, at the old fair held at Versailles, the fair of Saint Louis, which, annually, in the heart of August, placards on the doors of the railway stations, between the lists of circular excursions and the advertisements of summer pleasures, long descriptions of its attractions: water-jousts, fanfares of horns sounded through the alleys of the park, display of fountains in the Neptune basin, shows accompanied [p049] by big drums, the music of the roundabouts, the gaiety of the little booths, side by side with the great empty palace. Is it through the immense width of the alleys that the noise of the bands seems scattered and lost? Or can it be a secret dread of disturbing the king’s slumbers, which still haunts all these small folk, and causes them to subdue the rough music of their orchestras? [Illustration] Surrounded by barriers, this agglomeration of diminutive white shops resembles a flock of timid sheep huddling close together, not venturing to ring their bells too loudly through fear of the wolf. Here, too, are stalls of rosaries, holy-water vases, and crucifixes, recalling the sacred origin of the fair. [Illustration] No doubt you will recognize the same faces that you have [p050] seen everywhere else; the same brightly painted caravans, with small muslin curtains in the windows; the same gaufre-seller, mixing the same paste, in the same moulds, with the same gesticulations; and lastly the same horrible trumpery, utterly devoid of any originality: blue-eyed dolls, miniature Zouaves, sixpenny knives, imitation tortoise-shell frames, rabbits playing the drum, reed pipes, and brass trumpets. No one knows why workmen are so entirely bereft of imagination or self-respect as to persevere in the manufacture of these inferior toys for at least a hundred years; yet these “fairings” travel all over the world. You will find them in Algiers as soon as you land; on the threshold of Asia, at Constantinople, shops full of this rubbish are installed side by side with bazaars for Turkish carpets; the ships which bring from Japan the delicious knicknacks which fill our houses, [p051] return to the far East laden with cargoes of plush frames and rabbits playing drums. But the idiosyncrasy which distinguishes Versailles and its neighbourhood, the chosen retreat of literary men and elderly magistrates, is the presence of the dealer in old books who annually attends this fair. From a little distance the reddish-brown covers of his wares resemble gingerbread paving-stones. Men in spectacles bend lovingly over the stall, the scent of mouldy leather gently tickling their nostrils.