Festival of the Cobblers of Paris, August 1, 1641.
The entire occupation of the preceding page by a cut, which is the first of the kind in the Every-Day Book, may startle a few readers, but it must gratify every person who regards it either as a faithful transcript of the most interesting part of a very rare engraving, or as a representation of the mode of feasting in the old pot-houses of Paris.
Nothing of consequence is lost by the omission of the other part of the engraving; for it is merely a crowd of smaller figures, seated at the table, eating and drinking, or reeling, or lying on the floor inebriated. The only figure worth notice, is a man employed in turning a spit, and he has really so lack-a-daisical an appearance, that it seems worth while to give the top corner of the print in [fac-simile].
We perceive from the [page-cut] that at the period when the original was executed, the French landlords “chalked up the score” as ours do, and that cobblers had music at their dinners as well as their betters. The band might not be so complete, but it was as good as they could get, and the king and his nobles could not have more than money could procure. The two musicians are of some consideration, as well suited to the scene; nor is the mendicant near them to be disregarded; he is only a little more needy, and, perhaps, a little less importunate than certain suitors for court favours. The singer who accompanies himself on the guitar at the table, is tricked out with a standing ruff and ruffles, and ear-rings, and seems a “joculator” of the first order;—and laying aside his dress, and the jaunty set of his hat, which we may almost imagine had been a pattern for a recent fashion, his face of “infinite humour” would distinguish him any where. However rudely the characters are cut, they are well discriminated. The serving man, with a spur on one foot and without a shoe on the other, who pours wine into a glass, is evidently a person—
“contented in his station
who minds his occupation.”
Vandyke himself could scarcely have afforded more grace to a countess, than the artist of the feast has bestowed on a cobbler’s wife.