French Book-plates

by Walter Hamilton

THE SECOND EMPIRE.

Owing to a variety of circumstances Louis Philippe became unpopular, and at length in 1848 there were serious disturbances in Paris. It is probable that a man of strong will might have put these down with some little bloodshed, but Louis Philippe was a kindly, peace-loving man, and rather than face the horrors of a civil war he abdicated, and the second Republic was proclaimed, to be quickly changed into the Second Empire, under Napoléon III.

Par le temps renversé, quand cet empire immense,
Chef-d’œuvre de génie autant que de puissance.
Un jour n’offrira plus aux siécles à venir
Que de grandes leçons et qu’un grand souvenir.

These lines were written about the First Empire, but are still more appropriate to the Second, which is now, indeed, nothing more than a name connected with the saddest of souvenirs.

Under the Second Empire book-plates began to have a distinctly personal character, more originality in conception, together with much greater freedom and abandon in execution. Humorous designs also occasionally appear, where all had hitherto been formal, cold, pompous, or severe. The simple heraldic plate falls into disfavour amongst those who are entitled to bear arms, though curiously enough the assumption of false arms and titles goes on exactly as before.

In 1857 the Minister of Justice addressed a report on this topic to the emperor, asserting “que jamais peut-être la tendance à sortir de sa position et à se parer de titres auxquels on n’a pas droit ne s’est manifesté d’une manière plus regrettable que depuis ces dernières années.”

But the evil had existed, still exists, and will continue so long as the vanity of human nature prompts men to lay claim to ancient descent, and to assume arms and titles either stolen, ready made, or purchased at the Bureaux de Généalogistes which abound in Paris as in London.

It is no new crime, this snobbism—Molière jested at it two centuries ago:

“Je sais un paysan qu’on appelait Gros-Pierre,
Qui n’ayant pour tout bien qu’un seul quartier de terre,
Y fit tout à l’entour faire un fossé bourbeux,
Et de Monsieur de l’Isle en prit le nom pompeux.”

As for the real heraldry of the Second Empire, such as there was of it, the fashion of the First Empire was revived by Napoleon III., whose constant endeavour it was to make the French people recognize in him the nephew of his uncle, whilst they, on the other hand, would not seriously believe that he was even the son of his reputed father. “Vous n’avez rien du grand Empéreur Napoléon,” said his cousin Plon-plon to him one day. “You are mistaken, I have all his poor relations,” replied the easy, good-natured Louis Napoleon, who was in addition hampered by the descendants of the courtiers of the first Napoleon.

The emperor did not possess a book-plate, but books with the imperial arms stamped on their bindings occasionally occur in French sales. More rare, and consequently more sought after, are the volumes which are stamped either with his monogram, or with the elegant little device of the Empress Eugénie.

Severely simple as is the monogram of Napoleon III., it is ingenious, and not without a certain air of grandeur, whilst the badge of the empress, though still preserving an imperial character, is more graceful and ornamental, as was appropriate to its owner, who was considered one of the most beautiful women of her time.

These two stamps were principally used on the bindings of books which were either presented or dedicated to the emperor and empress, and the volumes on which they are found certainly belonged to their private library.

A characteristic example of the formal heraldic book-plate in vogue during the Second Empire is that of Amédée David, Marquis de Pastoret, a politician and littérateur, who was born in 1791, and died on May 19, 1857. His war cry, “France! France!” recalls the fact, little to his credit, that he was one of the first to applaud the Coup d’Etat of Napoleon III. and to profit by it. (See p. 144.)

He was the son of M. Pastoret, a senator and member of the Institute of France, created a Count of the Empire by the first Napoleon, with a grant of arms thus described in the Armorial Général de l’Empire Français: “D’or à la bande de gueules chargée d’un berger paissant un mouton d’argent.”

This Count of the First Empire became a Peer of France under the Restoration, and figures as a brilliant instance of a successful turncoat in the Dictionnaire des Girouettes.

On page 143 is the modern armorial of the Comte Lanjuinais, probably that of the son of the first Comte Lanjuinais, who started in politics as a member of the National Convention, swore fidelity to the Republic and death to the King. This did not prevent him from accepting the title of Count of the Empire from Napoleon, who also named him a knight commander in the Légion d’Honneur. On the return of Louis XVIII. he was named a Peer of France, but he again espoused the cause of Napoleon on his escape from Elba, whilst on the downfall of the Empire for the second time he obtained another appointment by the grace of the king. His name and fame are immortalized in the “Dictionary of Turncoats.”

The Comte de Beugnot was a Councillor of State, and Officer of the Légion d’Honneur under Napoleon I., and he also served under Louis XVIII. The Vicomte, his son, on his modern book-plate (see p. 142) carries quarterly first and fourth, the Beugnot arms, “argent, au chevron d’or, accompagne de trois grappes de raisin de gueules.”

Monsieur Pierre Antoine Berryer was the most famous advocate at the French bar during the Empire, his defence of the Count Montalembert in 1858 created some sensation at the time. He was elected a member of the Académie Française in 1855, and of the Corps Legislatif in 1863.

His book-plate is distinctly in the Louis XVI. style, but this is not so incongruous as it appears at first sight, for M. Berryer was born in 1790, and was first elected a deputy in 1830 when France was still under the Bourbons.

On page 148 is a reproduction of the plate of the Duc de Mouchy, another supporter of the Third Empire, bearing the Cross of the Legion of Honour. He and the duchess for some time resided in Paris in a house which belonged to the empress, but after the downfall of the Empire, this house was bought by the late Baron Hirsch, who also bought Beauregard, near St. Cloud, which had formerly belonged to Mrs. Howard, a mistress of Napoleon.

What a curious comic opera court it was, this of the Second Empire, with the emperor’s life-long friend Persigny at the head of it, and he the son of a pastrycook.

Persigny married the daughter of Marshal Ney, a rich, vulgar, violent woman. When Persigny was appointed Ambassador to the Court of St. James, he unfortunately brought his wife with him. At a bal masqué, attended by the Queen and Prince Albert, the wife of Persigny suddenly slapped a lady in the face because she had copied her costume; consequently “urgent private affairs” required the immediate return to Paris of Mons. de Persigny. The emperor, to console him, shortly afterwards created him a duke.

Then there were De Maupas, the Count Walewski (an illegitimate son of the first Napoleon), the Baron Haussmann, Préfet de la Seine, who rebuilt Paris, and enriched all his friends, De Lesseps, and crowds of political adventurers, feather-bed soldiers, and financial schemers, who thrived in this hot-bed of corruption, and amassed fabulous fortunes at the expense of France.

The festivities came to an end none too soon for the nation, but the bill was a terrible one to pay.

CHAPTER IX.
THE FRONTIER PROVINCES.

We have already seen that 1574 is the year of the earliest known dated French ex-libris; M. Stoeber claims for Alsace a more ancient ex-libris, which is not dated, but from its history must have been engraved before 1561. It belonged to Conrad Wolfhardt, who pedantically translated his family name into Lycosthenes. He was born at Rouffach in 1518, studied at Heidelberg, and became a professor at Basle, where he died on the 25th March, 1561. His book-plate appears to have been engraved on some soft metal, either lead or pewter; there is no attempt to show the tinctures on the shield, which is surmounted by a death’s head and hour-glass. The design is surrounded by Latin mottoes, and beneath is the inscription “Symbolum Conradi Lycosthenis Rubeaquensis.”

M. Auguste Stoeber describes a large number of ex-libris of Alsace, formerly the frontier province of France, but now, owing to the terrible fortune of war, incorporated with Germany. The greater portion of these book-plates bear names of distinctly German origin, and their style is totally dissimilar to that of French art. Take, for example, the modern plate (it is dated 1846) designed by Mons. Arthur Benoit, of Berthelming, to be used by himself and his brother Louis, for their Saargovian collection, in which the artist has represented an Alsatian peasant woman, in the ancient costume of the province, wearing the quaint head-dress called the Winterkappe, which was made of black silk for the Protestants, white silk for the Catholics. The spire of the church of Berthelming rises in the background, and the tout ensemble has a far more German than French character. The brothers Benoit had two other book-plates, different in design, but not more French in appearance.

The plates of Albert Metzger, of Mulhouse (by Ch. Delâtre), and of Jacques Flach, of Strasbourg (by Groskost, of Strasbourg), are equally German in style, although the pretty motto on the latter is essentially French in thought and word. A reproduction of it will be found in Chapter XIV.

Coming to the adjoining frontier province, we find that the plates engraved in Lorraine are rather less influenced by German art and the ponderous German heraldry. Many beautiful ex-libris bear on their faces the name of the city of Nancy as their birthplace, and well-known artists for their fathers.

A few of the leading engravers of ex-libris who sign themselves as of Nancy are J. Valdor (G. Grangier’s plate); C. Charles, 1739; Nicole on a large number of dated plates, from 1743 to 1767; Colin, and two named Collin, whose signatures appear on a number of fine plates. The D. Collin, who produced the interesting plate of “R. Willemet, Apothicaire à Nancy,” describes himself as “Graveur du feu Roy de Pologne.” Further particulars concerning these artists will be found in the chapter on artists and engravers.

The Duchy of Lorraine (formerly known as Lotharingia) was at one time an appanage of the House of Austria, but after several dynastic changes it was conferred, for life only, upon Stanislaus I., the dethroned king of Poland.

Stanislaus held the titles “Duc de Lorraine et de Bar,” and on the large book-plate for the public library of the city of Nancy, the inscription reads “Fondée par le Roy de Pologne, duc de Lorraine, en MDCCL,” whilst the supporters of the central shield are two eagles, each carrying an escutcheon, the dexter eagle bears the arms of Lorraine (or, on a bend gules, three allerions argent), the sinister eagle carries the arms of Bar. On the death of Stanislaus, in February, 1766, the Duchy was united to the crown of France.

The city of Nancy was the capital of Lorraine. Here Stanislaus resided: he did much to embellish the city, where his memory is still highly respected, his portrait is preserved in the library, and a public square is named after him, whilst, as we have seen, D. Collin mentioned on his works that he had been “engraver to the late King of Poland,” a statement which, at first sight, appears to have little relevance to French book-plates.

The handsome plate which has been re-engraved for this work, and forms the frontispiece, belonged to the Prince de Marsan, of the house of Lorraine. It is a grand specimen of the Louis Seize style, but unfortunately it is neither signed nor dated.

The inscription reads “Ex Libris Serenissimi Principis DE MARSAN a Lotharingia.”

The eight quarterings on the shield are the arms of—1. Hungary; 2. Anjou-Sicile; 3. Jerusalem; 4. Aragon; 5. Anjou (modern); 6. Gueldres; 7. Brabant; 8. Bar. On the dexter inescutcheon are the pure arms of Lorraine as borne by the Dukes of Lorraine. The whole within a bordure.

The collars around the arms are those of the French Ordres du Roi, namely the orders of Saint Michel and the Saint Esprit.

As the Channel Islands have long belonged to Great Britain it is obviously incorrect to class them under the Frontier provinces of France. And yet some mention must be made of them, for many book-plates used there have a distinctly French character, whilst a list of the names of some of the leading families (of French origin), will show that a collector might easily be led to mistake their plates for French:

Allès, Le Patourel, Metivier, Mauger, Le Dieu, Bichard, Andros, Bonamy, Brock, Blondel, Beauvoir or De Beauvoir, Carey, Cary, or Careye, De Carteret, Effard, de Jersey, de Havilland or Haviland, Gosselin, Dobrée, Perchard, Le Mesurier, Mesny, Millais, Milais, Milet, Priaulx, De Sausmarez or Saumarez, Fautret, De Vie, Lihou, Guille, Le Marchant, Le Febvre, Le Roy, Le Pelley, Tupper, Le Gros, Lemprière, De Lisle, Falla, De Putron, Renouf, Le Gallienne, Naftel.

I give reproductions of three such plates, one a fine specimen of engraving, of Peter Dobree, a family long settled in Guernsey, the other a more modern plate of the Le Mesurier family, to which the fleur-de-lys and the motto give a French appearance. The motto is the same as that used on his book-plate by David Garrick, who was himself of Huguenot descent. The third is a plate of Peter de Havilland, a member of a very old Guernsey family, now represented by General de Havilland. There is a plate of this family by Skinner, of Bath, dated 1742. (See pp. 159, 160, 161.)

There are several instances of ancient French titles being held by residents in Great Britain, or our Colonies, which titles are also recognized by our heraldic authorities. As their book-plates would undoubtedly pass for French, a few explanatory notes about them may be given.

The Barony du Bois de Ferrieres may be instanced. The Du Bois was a Walloon family, whilst the De Ferrieres branch was of Huguenot descent, which removed from France to Holland at the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. The family motto was Tout par et pour Dieu.

The Marquis de Lapasture was created a French nobleman in 1768; his descendants settled in England.

The Baron de Teissier, created by French patent in 1819, was also permitted by royal authority to use that title in Great Britain.

Another descendant of an ancient noble French family identified with this country was the Marquis Ruault de Longueville de Bucy, who was educated at Eton and Cambridge, and served in the Bechuanaland Expedition with Methuen’s Horse.

This marquis (the 11th in descent) belongs to a family whose history is full of curious and romantic vicissitudes. The first Marquis de Bucy et Merval was created in 1602, he being the direct descendant of the ancient feudal Lords of Bucy, successive holders of the Marquisate were Lords-in-Waiting to Louis XIII. and Louis XV. Charles Marc, the 8th marquis, was a Captain in the French King’s Musqueteers, a court post of considerable importance under the ancien régime. During the Reign of Terror he escaped to England, but his wife, Marie Ruault, Marquise de Gamaches, in her own right, was captured and guillotined with Marie Antoinette.

The 9th Marquis, son of the above, was invited by Napoleon I. to return to France, which he did, served as Major in the celebrated Cuirassiers de la Garde, and died a soldier’s death at Waterloo. He was the grandfather of the present holder of the title.

The motto of the family is singularly appropriate to its history: Pour le roi souvent—pour la patrie toujours.

The next family to mention in this connection is one which, though thoroughly identified with this country, carries arms proclaiming their French origin to even the most casual observer. Indeed the Counts de Vismes (or de Visme) asserted their descent from royalty itself, as evidenced by the first quarter, d’azur semée de fleur-de-lys or, for France ancient, whilst the motto Mont Joie St. Denis, and the supporters, two angels, also indicate French royalty. (See page 163.)

The family of De Visme is descended from the sovereign Counts of Ponthieu (dating since the eighth century) of the Blood Royal of France, and the head of the family has, by usage on the continent, borne the title of prince. The title of Count de Visme has also been recognized by the successive governments of France, although the family has long been resident in England, and has furnished many distinguished officers to our army.

Here is another plate of a Frenchman settled in England, and rather more English than the majority of Englishmen themselves.

The Chevalier de Chatelain was a prolific author: poems, essays, and letters without number, flowed from his pen; he translated some of Shakespeare’s plays into French, and endeavoured to explain Victor Hugo’s works to our countrymen. Finally he wrote poems in praise of his deceased wife, Madame Clara de Chatelain, née Clara de Pontigny.

Probably few people have read the praises of this good lady, but she appears to have been a remarkable person, an accomplished musician, a clever linguist, and, what is more to the point, she was for thirty-three years the loving wife of the chevalier, who was enabled, through her amiability, to claim and obtain the Dunmow Flitch in 1855 for their marital felicity.

As for the chevalier himself, he appears to have been a kindly, fussy, well-read old gentleman, seriously afflicted with the cacoëthes scribendi.

CHAPTER X.
ECCLESIASTICAL EX-LIBRIS.

Some of the finest libraries in old France were formed by cardinals and bishops; Richelieu and Mazarin founded free libraries open to the general public, and many of the wealthy religious houses and monastic institutions had collections of the rarest illuminated MSS., such as Livres d’Heures and early Liturgies, of which, alas! most were wantonly destroyed, or dispersed, during the mad period of the Revolution.

It must be admitted that humility was a virtue not much studied by the cardinals or their satellites, their books were sumptuously bound, with their arms ostentatiously emblazoned on the covers, and their book-plates were also of the most pompous description.

When ex-libris became fashionable theirs were the largest and the most elaborate, the insignia of the Church being added to their family arms, and nothing was omitted which could show how vastly superior these men were to their predecessors, the poor fishermen of Judea.

First among the Church dignitaries, who were also statesmen, comes the name of the powerful Cardinal Richelieu, who formed a valuable library, partly by purchase, but principally by robbery or intimidation. To do him justice, however, he dedicated in his will his books to the use of the public, and his grand-nephew saw that his wishes were obeyed. The first idea of creating a free public library in France was due to J. A. de Thou, who, dying in 1617, left all his valuable collections ad usum publicum: but his will was ignored, and his books were dispersed.

Richelieu followed his example, and later on the Cardinal Mazarin, his successor, realized the idea by leaving his magnificent library, with funds to maintain it, for the free use of the public.

Mazarin, that “Laquais parvenu au Cardinal,” the councillor and the minister, if not the husband, of Anne of Austria, the man who, with all the cares of an unruly state on his shoulders, still found time to accumulate two enormous libraries. Of these the first was compulsorily sold in 1652, but the second remains, and now forms the nucleus of the Bibliothèque Mazarine in Paris. It was of this collection that Loret wrote:

“Mais, surtout, la bibliothèque
Contenant maint œuvre à la gréque,
Et des rangs de livres nombreux
Persans, latins, chinois, hébreux,
Turcs, anglois, allemans, cosaques,
Hurons, iroquois, siriaques,
Brefs tant de volumes divers
D’auteurs tant en proze qu’en vers,
Qu’on peut, sans passer pour profane,
Alleguer que la Vaticane
N’a point tant de livres de prix,
N’y tant de rares manuscrits.”

Mazarin confided his books only to the most expert binders; Le Gascon, Saulnier, and Petit were employed by him, whilst he kept a number of clever binders constantly at work in his library under his own supervision. His favourite style was red morocco, stamped on the sides with his arms, surmounted by the cardinal’s hat, and in the angles a monogram, either C. J. M. (Cardinal Jules Mazarin), or simply J. M.

“Livres tant rares que vulgaires
Dont chascun jusqu’aux plus coquins
Revestu d’un beau marroquin,
D’une ravissante manière.”

Thus bound, emblazoned, and identified, the books of Cardinal Mazarin certainly needed no ex-libris, nor does it appear that he used one.

Bishop Huet, who gave his books to the Jesuits, has already been mentioned as the cause of several fine ex-libris.

The arms which Gilles Ménage had stamped on his bookbindings (d’argent, au sautoir d’azur chargé d’un soleil du premier) were also placed on the ex-libris prepared by the Jesuits, to be placed in the books left to them by Ménage. The plate is less elaborate than that of Bishop Huet, but is equally interesting. Ménage was born on August 15, 1613, and displayed an intense love of books from his earliest youth, and what was somewhat remarkable, he inserted the date on which he acquired each book on the title page. Although a great scholar, he possessed little originality; his own most important work was his Dictionnaire Etymologique, whilst that which has best preserved his memory amongst general readers is the curious collection entitled, “Menagiana: ou les Bons Mots et Remarques Critiques, Historiques, Morales et d’Erudition, de M. Ménage. Recueillies par ses Amis.” This is indeed a mine of information; it contains much valuable ore in the shape of epigrams, parodies, and anecdotes, but great labour is required to separate the gold from the quartz. Here is the poem “Le Fameux La Galisse,” which Goldsmith imitated, and here, too, is the famous saying of Ménage, “La première chose qu’on doit faire,” so often quoted on book-plates. Ménage died July 23, 1692, which year is given on the Jesuits’ book-plate.

To assist in identifying ecclesiastical ex-libris, it must here be mentioned that they carry the head-dresses peculiar to the hierarchy of the Catholic Church, which are to be distinguished as follows:

Cardinal.—A red hat having a wide, flat brim, with a cord on each side, from which hang five rows of red tassels.

Archbishop.—A hat similar in shape to that of a cardinal, but green in colour, with a cord on each side, from which hang four rows of green tassels.

Bishop.—The same hat as an archbishop, but with only three rows of green tassels.

Abbé.—A black hat, with a cord on each side, from which hang two rows of black tassels.

As a matter of fact, the distinction between the hats of archbishops and of bishops appears not to have been generally observed, as we find on the book-plates of most of the bishops that they carried four rows of tassels, that is, ten tassels on each side of their shields. Menestrier admits that the number of tassels is immaterial, but he lays stress on the colour: “Les chapeaux sont rouges pour les Cardinaux, verts pour les Archevêques et Evêques, noirs pour les Protonotaires, et autres dignitez au dessoux des Evêques.” These colours are shown in the usual heraldic manner.

Here are a few examples of clerical plates. Caumartin, a bishop, after whom they have named a street in Paris; Chabeuf, a modern bishop of Dijon; Barbier, an abbot; and J. F. Seguret, a canon of the cathedral church of Alais. The last is an old plate, and is remarkable because it contains no ecclesiastical emblems, the arms and supporters being purely heraldic. The same remarks apply to the plate of the Abbé Quarré de Monay, Canon of Autun, which is dated 1776, and is a characteristic specimen of the plate of the period. Observe the large coronet, the oval shield in a cartouche, the heavy pendent festoons, and the solid square base, all distinctive features of the style Louis XVI. (See reproduction, page 188.)

The plate of Dominique-Barnabé Turgot de Saint Clair, bishop of Seez, dated 1716, is a good example of the ecclesiastical plate of the period, in which the mundane coronet is as conspicuous as the bishop’s hat. Bishop Turgot died on December 18th, 1727, leaving a valuable library, which was sold in Paris in 1730.

The ex-libris of the library of the college of Eu, founded by the Duc de Maine in 1729, may be inserted here, as belonging to an educational establishment. It must be confessed that the plate has a very warlike appearance, for it carries the arms of the founder of the college, Louis Auguste de Bourbon, Duc de Maine, who was Captain-General of the Artillery, hence the warlike devices which surround the pedestal. Being a Bourbon, his arms were France, debruised by a baton.

The plate is an interesting example of the artistic regularity which marks the early period of Louis XV. (See next page.)

The armorial plate of the Abbé de Bourbon-Rothelin shows by its inescutcheon, and its supporters, that the owner was a descendant of the royal house of Bourbon. Charles d’Orléans, Abbé de Rothelin, a son of Henri d’Orléans, Marquis de Rothelin, was born August 5, 1691, and died July 17, 1744. He was an ardent collector of medals, books, and manuscripts, and was esteemed one of the most learned men of his day. At his death, his library, which was especially rich in early theological works, was sold and dispersed, but his collection of medals was acquired entire for the museum of the Escurial. (See reproduction, page 187.)

The arms, stamped on the sides of the books bound for him resembled those on his ex-libris, but without the columns in the background.

A very large ecclesiastical plate is that of Franciscus Tristanus de Cambon: Episcopus Mirapiscensis. This plate is in the best style of the early period of Louis XVI., and is signed J. Mercadier. Inv. et sculp. The shield is surmounted by the coronet of a count, over which is the bishop’s hat.

The plate of Archambault is a handsome specimen of the work of Sergent, signed “Sergent scul. Carnuti.” The date is very faint, but appears to be 1773.

“Affaires du Clergé” on the open book, the tables with the commandments, the mitre and crozier, sufficiently indicate that the owner of the plate was connected with the Church.

Des Livres de M. Dubut is the title of the pretentious book-plate of the Curé de Viroflay, signed Le Roy, and dated 1782.

Here we have the arms of this pious son of the Church going straight to Paradise on a thunder-cloud, under the protection of two rather mundane-looking ladies. The world, the flesh, and—but no—the cross of St. Louis in the background prevents the completion of the trio. (See page 181.)

In a somewhat similar style of thunder-cloud decoration is the dated plate of the Abbé de Gricourt, already referred to.

The plates of J. A. Le Mercier show that at first over his arms he bore the coronet of a count, but that later on, probably during the revolutionary period, he had that erased to make way for a meaningless finial ornament, on the lower half of which the back part of the coronet can still be seen.

A modern addition to the French literature on book-plates is a sixteen-page pamphlet, entitled, Les Ex-Libris Oratoriens, published in 1892 by Charles Poussielgue, in the Rue Cassette, Paris.

This is a brief sketch of some ecclesiastical ex-libris, written by a priest, the Rev. Father Ingold, of L’Hay, near Paris. The pamphlet contains some facsimile illustrations, of which three are reproductions of exquisite plates designed by M. Claude Thièry, of Nancy. These are the plates of the library of the Oratory of Tours, of the library of the Massillon School, and lastly that of the author, Father Ingold, said to be copied from an original miniature, dated 1466. The Ingold family was of Alsatian origin, and the plate is essentially German in its design, the helmet being surmounted by the characteristic proboscis.

This artist, Claude Thièry, who died in 1895, excelled in small delicate hand-work, full of minute detail, in the manner of Callot; his own ex-libris is an admirable specimen of his style. A facsimile of it is given as a frontispiece to Henri Bouchot’s Les Ex-Libris. It represents a fifteenth-century student at work amongst his books, with the inscription: “Cestuy livre est à moy Claude Thiery, ymaigier du moult hault et puissant seigneur Monseigneur François Joseph Empéreur.”

By permission of Father Ingold a few of his illustrations of clerical ex-libris are inserted here, namely, those of Quiqueran de Beaujeu, of Joan de Montmeau, of François Jannart, and the simple little stamp illustrated below, which was used by the priests for marking the books in their own collection in the College of Lyons.

Father Ingold complains, however, that in most of the ancient abbeys and monasteries in France the officials who had charge of the books were content simply to inscribe the name of the establishment in MS. on the title-pages, and did not use book-plates. He gives a long list of these inscriptions (all in Latin), some of which contain allusions to interesting historical and bibliographical facts; but as all these entries are written in, they cannot be considered ex-libris in the sense that we attach to the expression.

A work of the greatest utility to those interested in the study of ecclesiastical book-plates is the “Catalogue des Incunables de la Bibliothèque Publique de Besançon,” par Auguste Castan. This was a posthumous book, published in 1893, by J. Dodivers, Grande Rue, Besançon.

The author was Conservateur de la Bibliothèque de Besançon, a position which gave him ample opportunities for the pursuit of bibliographical studies, to which he devoted his life. The library of Besançon is particularly rich in unique early printed books, and in MSS. It contains no less than 985 volumes or pamphlets, printed during the fifteenth century, amongst which are examples of the rarest works from the early printing offices of Germany, Italy, France, and Switzerland.

These are all fully described by Mons. Castan, who gives biographical accounts of their printers, the watermarks on their paper, their bindings, notes concerning their former owners, and, what is more to our purpose, descriptions of the ex-libris found in them.

Of these there appear to be about 500, all being carefully indexed, but the confusing French practice is adopted of including manuscript entries of ownership amongst what we term book-plates.

Several fine old armorials are reproduced, such as those of the “Bibliothèques des Grands-Carmes de Besançon, Claud Boisot Canon Cantoris Maj. Bisuntini Prioris Commen De Calce 1749.” (Two varieties.) Nameless armorial of Laurent Chiflet, and a few typographical “Ex Bibliotheca” and book-stamps. The plate inscribed “Bibliothèque des Grands-Carmes de Besançon” is one of the reproductions; it was found in a folio, printed in Venice, dated 1481, in which was also a written inscription “fr. B. Bouchier, Conventus Vallenceynarum 1522”—by which was meant the Convent of the Carmelites at Valenciennes. (See next page.)

Those who have been educated in France will remember the solemn annual distribution of prizes. The preparations that were made for weeks beforehand; the erection of the grand stand in the courtyard of the college for the authorities and visitors; the excitement of the day itself; the arrivals of the proud mothers and sisters; the stately procession of the principal, the under principals, the professors, and last of all, the poor, wretched, badgered pions (resident class masters) up to the entrance to receive the Préfet of the Department and his staff, resplendent in court dresses stiff with gold embroidery; the prosy speeches, full of platitudes and truisms, addressed to the four or five hundred youngsters simmering in the August sun in closely buttoned-up military uniforms; the report of the principal that the conduct of all had been most exemplary, with other stereotyped phrases equally stale and devoid of truth; and then the solemn march up of the successful prize-winners, and their return laden with books (destined never to be read), gorgeously bound in purple and gold, or blue and silver. In each book was carefully inserted a book-plate, giving the name of the lycée, or college, the date, name of prize-winner, and nature of the examination.

The custom is so universal, and has been so long established, both in lay and clerical seminaries, that no class of book-plates is so common in France as these.

CHAPTER XI.
THE HUGUENOTS.

It is as well to remember that living as we do in a Protestant country, our historians have been strongly biassed in their favour, and that whilst the horrors of St. Bartholomew’s Day are always depicted in the most lurid manner, little or nothing is said about the bloodshed and cruelties inflicted by the Calvinists on the Catholics in those parts of the country where they happened to be numerous and powerful. The two factions hated one another for the love of God; it was a cruel period, and, as Baron Rothschild remarks in his “Characteristics from French History,” “There was nothing to choose between Protestants and Catholics in their savage hatred of each other. The Protestants butchered the Catholics whenever they had an opportunity, and all that happened at St. Bartholomew was that the Catholics made a good score.” And this view naturally presents itself to any unprejudiced reader of the history of the period.

After frightful massacres and civil wars, the accession of Henry IV. (himself a Calvinist) to the throne of France in 1589, gave promise of a more tolerant spirit, and in April, 1598, he promulgated the famous Edict of Nantes giving the Protestants a certain amount of religious freedom. This wise measure was confirmed by his successors Louis XIII. in 1610, and Louis XIV. in 1652. But later on, Louis XIV., under the influence of Madame de Montespan and the Romish Church, saw fit to revoke the Edict of Nantes in October, 1658, an act which was in its consequences one of the most disastrous for the commerce and prosperity of France.

It was the aim of Louis, and his ministers, to compel the members of the Reformed Church to abjure their heresies, and return to the Catholic Church, and in some remote country districts, or places where the Huguenots were few and isolated, the plan succeeded. But in the main it failed, as all forced religious conversions ever have failed, a lesson which kings and priests have always before them, and yet never seem to learn.

The forced exile of the Huguenot Ministers, after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, was the signal for flight to thousands of French Protestants of both sexes, and of all classes and ages, and in spite of the penalties proclaimed against emigration, and the punishments inflicted upon those who were arrested in the attempt to leave their country, an enormous number of persons did effect their escape to the various Protestant States in Europe, and even to the then newly-settled American colonies, but principally to our shores.

They brought with them the art of manufacturing silk, and founded a prosperous colony in Spitalfields, where their descendants yet remain. Glass making, jewellery, and other trades in which taste and skill are required, were also understood by them; they rapidly became naturalized, and useful citizens, and the names and histories of many of our wealthy families attest their Huguenot descent.

The term Huguenot seems first to have been applied to the Calvinists about 1560, on the occasion of the Alboise conspiracy; some say the word was derived from the German Eidgenossen, signifying a sworn confederacy, whilst others say it was founded on the name of Hugues, a Genevese Calvinist.

That the sobriquet Huguenot was well known and understood as early as 1622, is shown by the existence of a rare tract entitled “La Trompette de salut aux Huguenots de ce temps, 1622,” written in verse in the following vein:

Huguenots, l’Eglise Romaine
Vous purgera tous du venin
De la doctrine de Calvin
Et vous ôtera de peine.

In glancing over a collection of British book-plates we shall be struck with the French appearance of many names, such as the following: Arabin, Barré, Boileau, Dampier, Ferrier, Martineau, Maturin, Labouchere, Delarue, Harcourt, Vignoles, Curtois, Poignand, Lempriere, Drinquebier, Drucquer, Duhamel, Lemercier, La Mallière, Leschallas, Monteuuis, Laprimaudaye.

David Garrick, we know, was of Huguenot descent, and carried a French motto on his book-plate.

The name of Le Keux occurs as an interesting one in this connection, as representatives of the family still exist, whilst its pedigree has been traced back to one John Le Keux, who married Antoinette Le Quien in the French church at Canterbury as far back as 25 December, 1645.

In this pedigree it is curious to note how frequently members of the Le Keux family allied themselves in marriage with the descendants of other French refugees: thus we meet with the names Didier, Mariscaux, Mariette, De Ribeaucour, Paillet, and Debonnaire. In 1783 was born John Le Keux, and in 1787 Henry Le Keux; both became eminent engravers: John died in 1846, and was buried in Bunhill Fields Cemetery. He was the father of the late John Henry Le Keux, who was born in 1812, and died quite recently (February 4th, 1896), in Durham. His fame as an engraver exceeded that of either his father or his uncle, and although he did not produce many book-plates, those he did were indeed works of art.

As will be seen from the pedigree published in the Miscellanea Genealogica et Heraldica the Le Keux family had for generations resided in, or near Spitalfields, but in 1863 Mr. J. H. Le Keux married a Durham lady, and henceforward resided in that city till his death.

In the north-east of London there exists an institution which, in a quiet and unostentatious manner, does good work amongst a very deserving class of the community. This institution, known as the French Protestant Hospital, is in reality a home for a certain number of elderly people, all of whom are descendants of French Protestants who have at various times sought refuge in England. In 1708 Monsieur de Gastigny, a French Protestant refugee in the service of the Prince of Orange, bequeathed £1,000 for the purpose of founding a hospital. Many other refugees also contributed, so that within a few years the scheme for a Huguenot Asylum took definite shape, and in 1718 the founders commenced the building, and obtained a charter of incorporation under the title of “The Hospital for poor French Protestants and their Descendants residing in Great Britain.”

Amongst the inmates the asylum was more lovingly known as “La Providence,” a title it still deserves, owing to the beauty of the building and its grounds, and the kind and generous treatment of its inmates by the Governor and the Court of Directors.

Although the book-plate in use in the library of “La Providence” is an English production, it belongs to an essentially French religious community, and so is entitled to a place here (see page 199), especially as it bears the well-known and oft-quoted motto from Menagiana. Of a somewhat similar nature is the ex-libris, dated 1868, of the library of the Society of the History of Protestantism in France, founded in 1852.

There is also the well-known Huguenot Society of London, a powerful body which aims at preserving the old religious and national spirit amongst the descendants of the refugee families, and has done much service in preserving the ancient history and traditions of the Huguenots.

A glance at its roll-call suffices to recall the fact that many names held by families long since thoroughly anglicised, are of French origin.

Indeed an amusing chapter might be written on the curious modifications of certain old French names, by which they have gradually acquired an anglicised appearance in print, whilst still preserving some little similarity to their original pronunciation. Cottew (Côteaux), Cussans (De Cusance), Dampier (Dampierre), Dobree (D’Aubraye), Ducane (Du Quesne), Margary (De Marguerie), Perowne (Piron), Rainier (Regnier), Shoppee (Chapuis), Woollett (Viollet), and many others might be cited.

The Secretary of the Huguenot Society of London is Mr. G. H. Overend, F.S.A.

There is also a German Huguenot Society, a Huguenot Society of America, and another for South Carolina, besides La Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français, all of which tend to preserve the traditions of the Huguenots, and to encourage the study of their history and genealogy.

In the United States there are also numerous families claiming Huguenot descent; take Gabriel Duvall as an instance, born in Maryland, 1752, Member of Congress, Comptroller of Currency, 1802, Associate Justice, U.S. Supreme Court, 1811. Died 1844. He had a book-plate dated 1778.

A more modern example is the book-plate of the late Mr. Daniel Ravenel, curious on account of its heraldic bearings, which its owner in simple good faith, and in ignorance of all the laws of heraldry, thought himself entitled to assume, as he would have done a trade-mark. In the innocence of his heart the good gentleman accompanied each copy of his book-plate with the following curious explanation:

“THE DANIEL RAVENEL BOOK-PLATE.

“My coat of arms (according to d’Hozier and other celebrated authors on Heraldry) consists of a field gules,[3] with six crescents of gold, each surmounted by a star of the same placed two and two, with a gold star at the base of the shield.

“This shield rests on a larger shield, showing, first, the fleurs-de-lis of France: second, a cross, denoting persecution: third, an open Bible, denoting the cause: fourth, a palmetto tree, showing where freedom was found.

“On one side of this large shield is a spray of marigold, the Huguenot emblem, and on the other side, a spray of wall-flower, the French name for which is Ravenelle.”

Mr. Ravenel died in September, 1894; he was a direct descendant of René Ravenel, a Huguenot emigré from Bretagne, who settled in South Carolina in 1685.

Another of Mr. Ravenel’s ancestors was the first pastor of the little French Protestant church in Charleston, S.C., of which Mr. Ravenel was one of the elders at the time of his death. Indeed, everything connected with Huguenot history had a charm for him, as was shown by his zeal in collecting books, maps, manuscripts and coins dealing with it. He was almost as keen in searching for records concerning his native state of South Carolina, in addition to which he possessed one of the most interesting and valuable collections of book-plates then known in the United States.

CHAPTER XII.
BOOK-PLATES OF MEDICAL MEN.

“

In many early plates we find doctors are content to describe themselves simply as Doct. Med., but later they displayed ghastly views of dead bodies in dissecting-rooms surrounded by curious students; or sick patients in bed with skeletons beckoning them away.

Such plates may be interesting in a collection, but designs so lugubrious are totally unfit to perform the duties of book-plates even in a library devoted entirely to medical works. What, for instance, can be more incongruous than the plate of Matthew Turner, with its handsome coat-of-arms in a Chippendale frame and the quotation from Cicero: “Salutem hominibus dando,” as compared with its accessories, a grinning skeleton in a cupboard on the left of the shield, whilst below it are several naked little urchins dragging a dead body on to a dissecting-board, a dissecting-saw lies in the foreground, close to the serpent-twined rod sacred to Æsculapius.

Even more curious is the design (wretchedly engraved) on the plate, inscribed J. B. Swett. The owner was Dr. J. Barnard Swett of New Buryport, Mass.; and no doubt the plate was engraved in America about 120 years ago, or even earlier.

Here indeed the ludicrous element comes in, for though the dead body is present, the whole design is so quaintly bad that it is impossible to criticise it with any severity. All the usual emblems of medical science are present in this plate, which was reproduced on p. 289 of Mr. C. D. Allen’s “American Book-plates.”

J. C. Harrer, M.D., also had a skeleton, accompanied by books, pots of ointment, etc., whilst Daniel Chodowiecki, the celebrated engraver, signed a plate, dated 1792, for one C. S. Schinz, Med. Dr., in which the design is of a sensational character, meant to proclaim the healing powers of the owner. “In the foreground (I quote Lord de Tabley, not having the plate myself) Æsculapius is pushing out a skeleton draped in a long white sheet, with a scythe across its shoulder. The god is sturdily applying his serpent-twined staff to the somewhat too solid back of this terrible phantom. Behind, and beneath a kind of pavilion, lies a sick person in bed, his hands upraised in silent thankfulness.”

This Schinz was probably a German, although he might have belonged to the north-east frontier of France, but we will now turn our attention to plates which undoubtedly belonged to French medical men.

Dumont de Valdajou Chirurgien carries arms, perhaps specially granted, for he boldly proclaims below his shield “Brevété du Roy,” but even that would not excuse him in the eyes of a strict king of arms for assuming as supporters two angels, a distinction officially reserved for the French Royal family alone.

Another armorial plate is that of Jos. Philip: Grumet; above the shield shows the badge of Æsculapius, an attribute common to many medical book-plates.

But why Dr. Correard should have appropriated not only the general design, but also the actual arms on this shield, is a mystery; indeed, it is not easy to decide which of these two plates is the actual original.

Colin, graveur de feu Roy de Pologne, as he proudly describes himself, engraved a pretty and appropriate little vignette for a chemist of Nancy, Mons. R. Willemet; a reduced copy of this was done for Mons. Soyer-Willemet.

Another plate by the same engraver was done for D. Laflize, also of Nancy. This melancholy design is one of those to which exception has already been taken.

Amongst modern medical plates, that done by Mons. Henry André for the Doctor F. Bargalló of Paris is probably the most striking in its originality, and the most pleasing in its execution.

First of all are the owner’s initials, F. B.: in the B. the whole name will be found; the accent over the “o” is intentional, and indicates the Spanish origin of the name. The professional attributes are the cup and the serpent, whilst the poppy points also to the study of botany, an all-important branch of medical education.

The lighter studies and amusements are indicated in the books, the music, and the portfolio of engravings. The dainty little female figure emerging from the album gives some indication of the date by the style of her costume. There is a strong relation between the motto and the attributes on the design. Thus the wicked books that corrupt youth may be likened to the serpent; silly books that bore one resemble in their effect the sleep-producing power of the poppy; whilst the good books that console and amuse us have an affinity to the powers of a health-giving draught of restorative medicine. Thus, then, we have the venenum, the somnus, the solamen, of the motto. Such is the explanation politely sent me by the owner, which I give, as nearly as a translation can render, in his own words.

CHAPTER XIII.
CANTING ARMS AND PUNNING PLATES.

Thus the Montagues bear in their arms three fusils in fesse, the sharply serrated points of which suggest mountain peaks—the original name of the family having been Montacute. The French word for hedgehog is hérisson, therefore the hedgehog is the charge of the family of Harrison; the swallow is in French the hirondelle, hence the swallow is placed on the shield of the Arundels:

“More swift than bird hight Arundelle,
That gave him name, and in his shield of arms emblazoned well,
He rides amid the armëd troop.”

Instances might be almost indefinitely multiplied; these are amongst the best because the most obvious, others, which are so recondite as to require lengthy descriptions, defeat their own purpose.

The French expression les armes parlantes is more musical than ours, and examples of canting arms are perhaps as common in French as in English heraldry, whilst punning book-plates are numerous amongst modern specimens, especially those belonging to men of arts and letters.

The Gallic cock is naturally a favourite charge, and may be found frequently in conjunction with such names as Lecoq, or Coquebert, or Coquereau, yet it by no means follows that these can be strictly termed canting arms, for, as Salverte remarks in his “Essai sur les Noms,” “Le même usage à été alternativement cause et effet,” so that whilst numerous armorial ensigns were borrowed from the bearers’ names, so also, in many cases, surnames were borrowed from the arms. He, therefore, who bore a cock on his shield may well have become known in the course of time as Jean Le Coq.

One of the funniest bits of canting heraldry ever printed occurred in the “Daily News” (London) of 5th April, 1892. The Paris correspondent, writing of Ravachol, the murderer, said: “His family have a place in the ‘Armorial de Forez,’ the peerage and gentry book of Saint-Chamond, where Ravachol was born. His ancestors are set down in that volume as dating from 1600. Their shield bears argent with a fess azure, three roses or, and a head of cabbage or, with a radish argent. On the maternal side the motto is a canting one, being ‘Rave-à-chou,’ which is doubtless the origin of the curiously striking name of Ravachol.”

It would be amusing to see how the writer would “trick” the shield he has vainly endeavoured to describe; besides, as was proved at the trial, the murderer’s name was not Ravachol, nor was he even a Frenchman by birth.

In 1768 Monier designed a very handsome plate for Louis Vacher, in which not only does a cow appear on the shield, but both the supporters are also cows, in allusion to the owner’s name.

A plate recently found in an old French book bore the inscription: “Des livres de M. Fauveau, avocat au Parlement.” The arms were, Party per fess azure and or, in chief three scythes (faux) argent, and in base a calf’s head (veau) gules.

There is no term of opprobrium more offensive to a Frenchman than that of cochon, although ignorant English tourists occasionally apply it by mistake to a cabdriver. But here we have a gentleman of the old school who rejoiced in the name, and put a little pig in his field in order that there might be no mistake about it. The moon and stars are thrown into the bargain, as being of secondary importance.

This plate of Jacob Houblon, Esq., is unmistakably the work of R. Mountaine, and we may therefore fix its date as 1750, or thereabouts. Although the workmanship of the plate is English, the armes parlantes it bears are obviously of French origin, the hop vine signifying Houblon.

Samuel Pepys in his diary mentions that the five brothers Houblon came to supper at his house on May 15, 1666. They were rich merchants, one of them later on coming to be Lord Mayor of London, and the first Governor of the Bank of England.

According to an epitaph in the church of St. Mary Woolnoth, in London, their ancestor was one Peter Houblon, who came over from Flanders.

The late Lord Palmerston was descended from a Sir John Houblon, who was Lord Mayor of London in 1695.

As recently as 1894 the death of a descendant of the family was announced, that of Mr. Richard Archer Houblon, J.P., of Cambridgeshire, aged eighty-five years, whose estate was valued at over £50,000, whilst but a short time since a Colonel Archer Houblon was in command of a battalion of the Royal Berkshire Regiment.

Of somewhat similar origin, but from the grapevine, come the arms of the Vignoles family, a branch of which, long settled in England, produced the well-known civil engineer.

On a shield borne by Robillard are two billiard cues in saltire between four billiard balls.

For M. Champfleury, the artist, Aglaüs Bouvenne has drawn a flowery field (a champ fleurie), and for the Comtesse de Noé a Noah’s ark, whilst Paul Cordier plays on his own name in a charming little vignette representing a rope-maker (cordier) at work in his rope-walk.

A plate composed and engraved by Evart Van Mayders for Mons. F. Raisin, has a fox vainly climbing over a book to reach some grapes (raisins), and exclaiming, in disgust, “They are too green.”

Although the late M. Eugene Rimmel lived many years in England, and wrote a charming “History of Perfumes” in our language, he was a thoroughly patriotic Frenchman. His countrymen ever found a friend in him, and his exertions on behalf of their sick and wounded during the terrible war of 1870-71 should keep his memory for ever fresh. His book-plate is a quaint little medley of the useful and the ornamental; the distilling apparatus, and a fountain of perfume, surmounted by a crest of rose-buds, suffice to indicate the scent, but not the descent, of Eugene Rimmel.

M. Milsand, of Dijon, used a book-plate containing an imitation of a bank-note, having on it the figures 1000 and 100 (mille cent), whilst Charles Monselet has a pretty little sketch, by Devambez, of a corner of his library with some books heaped up (Livres amoncelés). The plate of M. Wolf explains itself better in English than in French. “Quærens quem devoret” (see page 229).

M. Aglaüs Bouvenne represents a dog balancing the monogram of Alexis Martin (page 158), whilst Mons. L. Delatre confides a book, in sumptuous binding, to the mouth of another, with the motto, “Honneur a qui rapporte.” A pretty idea, but surely not a very practical one (see page 240).

It is his whim! C’est sa toquade, as M. Cousin remarks on his plate (see page 231).

In their treatment of his dread Satanic Majesty the French display delightful grace and delicacy.

Indeed, Le Diable Boiteux of Le Sage is very much of a gentleman; Mephistopheles in Gounod’s opera is a far more interesting personality than his pupil Faust; whilst in “Orphée aux Enfers” Offenbach certainly contrived to enlist our sympathies on behalf of Pluto.

Many a French shop is dedicated to the Evil One, but in every case the inscription is respectful, as, for instance, Au Bon Diable. It is almost a term of endearment, the expression “un mauvais petit Diable,” whilst no proper English word can convey the sense of rollicking fun contained in Diablerie.

As in literature, so in art, the Devil of the French, may be grotesque, bizarre, comic, terrible, yet in all he is a superior being, in short a Gentleman in Black, never the hideous, repulsive individual we are accustomed to see portrayed (with two horns and a tail) in English comic art.

Nothing could more eloquently convey the French conception of the character than Sir Henry Irving’s inimitable representation of Mephistopheles at the Lyceum a short time since. Does not this book-plate recall his appearance in the part?

CHAPTER XIV.
PHRASES OF POSSESSION.

“Gentilz Ouvriers, qui d’un soing curieux
Allez cherchant es plus vieilles reliques
Venez icy, et aux proffitz publiques
Imitez en les plus laborieux ...”
J. Bullant.
(From the ex-libris of H. Destailleur.)

Little Victor Dupuis is very like Master Tommy Smith in the habit he has of scribbling nonsense verses in his school books; one very popular quatrain in the good old days of the French monarchy was:

“Ce livre est à moi
Comme Paris est au roi.
Qui veut savoir mon nom
Regarde dans ce rond.”

Or, he would threaten borrowers with dire penalties:

“Ne me prends pas
Ou on te pendras.”

Becoming more ambitious, he would launch out into a Macaronic verse:

“Aspice Pierrot pendu
Quia ce livre n’a pas rendu.
Si librum reddidisset
Pierrot pendu non fuisset.”

Or, another way, as the cookery books say:

“Aspice Pierrot pendu
Quod librum n’a pas rendu.
Pierrot pendu non fuisset,
Si librum reddidisset.”

Or, in Alsatian German:

“Dieses Büchlein ist mir lieb,
Wer mir’s nimmt, der ist ein Dieb,
Wer mir’s aber wieder bringt,
Der ist ein Gotteskind.”

Or, he would descend into trivial details, thus:

“Je mets ici mon nom
Ce n’est pas sans raison
C’est pour plaire aux curieux
Et non pas aux envieux
De ce Livre tant beau
Qui eclaire comme un flambeau
Tout homme savant
Aussi bien que l’ignorant
Michel Dupray
son livre
acheté le 26 de Juillet
1775
chez Wagstaff 9 Sols”

Finally, arrived at a mature age, he would order a book-plate, inscribing on it an expression of his love for literature in some such manner as did M. Leonis Schück, upon his ex-libris designed by Hirsch:

“C’est par l’amour des lettres qu’il faut être conduit à l’amour des livres.
“O mes chers livres! Je les ai tous choisis un à un, et je les aime tant!”

Others have expressed their sentiments in moral platitudes:

“C’est la meilleure munition que j’aye trouvé à cet humain voyage.”—Montaigne. (Bibliothèque de M. le Baron de T——.)

“Le plaisir de l’esprit passe celui des yeux.” (De la Bibliothèque de M. de Cailly.)

“Un livre est un ami qui ne change jamais.”—On the plate of Guilbert de Pixérécourt, and others.

“Les lettres nourissent l’âme.”—Lemoine.

“S’occuper c’est savoir jouir.”—A. E. Tscharner, and others.

“Amis vieux sont bons en tous lieux.”

But one of the most useful axioms is that borrowed from “Menagiana” vol. iv.: “La première chose qu’on doit faire quand on à emprunté un livre, c’est de le lire afin de pouvoir le rendre plutot.” Hugo de Bassville employed this, with the addition of “Rendez le livre s’il vous plait,” whilst such ardent book-lovers as David Garrick and George Augustus Sala have placed it on their book-plates; it figures also with perfect propriety on the fine ex-libris of the “Bibliothèque de la Providence” (the French Protestant Hospital at Victoria Park), and on those of Frederick Le Mesurier, and John Meybohm.

Following these come a long list of verses directed against book borrowers in general, commencing with the verse attributed to Guilbert de Pixérécourt, although he does not use it on his book-plate:

“Tel est le triste sort
De tout livre preté
Souvent il est perdu,
Toujours il est gâté.”

(On the book-plate of Louis Mohr, 1879. See [page 237].)

The two epigrams below were written by Guillaume Colletet, and have been quoted on several ex-libris, though curiously enough their author did not use one, but was content to sign his name in his books, which were numerous:

“A mes Livres.

Chères delices de mon âme
Gardez vous bien de me quitter
Quoi qu’on vienne vous emprunter.
Chacun de vous m’est une femme
Qui peut se laisser voir sans blâme
Et ne se doit jamais préster.”

(Book-plate of Ch. Mehl, designed by Gustave Jundt, of Strasbourg.)

“Aux Emprunteurs de Livres qui ne les rendent point.

Emprunteurs, pour vous parler net,
Ma bibliothèque connue
Est un meuble de cabinet
Qu’on ne crotte point dans la rue.”

Both these verses were first published in the “Epigrammes du Sieur Guillaume Colletet.” Paris, 1653.

“Un livre preté, comme la vieille Garde, ne se rend pas.”

Charles Frédéric Hommeau, whose ex-libris represents the interior of his library, gives notice to borrowers that they must return his book in fourteen days and in good condition. In order that there may be no mistake as to his meaning, he has the rule engraved at the foot of his plate:

“Lex Bibliothecae.

Intra quatuor decim dies, commodatum ni redderis, neque belle custodieris, alio tempore dominus: Non habeo dicet.”

Indeed he loved not borrowers, for he adds, “Ite ad vendentes, et emite vobis!”

M. Auguste Stoeber, author of the “Petite Revue d’Ex-Libris Alsaciens,” used the following lines for the German books in his library:

“Leih ich dich hinaus,
Bleib nicht zu lang aus;
Komm zurück nach Haus:
Nicht mit Flecken oder Ohren,
Wie sie machen nur die Thoren,
Und geh ja mir nicht verloren!”[4]

The late Rev. Mr. Carson possessed a handsome book-plate designed for M. Abel Lemercier, which is one of the largest modern French plates, measuring, as it does, 8½ inches by 5½ inches.

It is especially remarkable on account of the number of mottoes it contains, commencing at the top with “Le gaing de nostre science, c’est en estre devenu meilleur et plus sage,” followed by four or five other maxims, which have been already quoted.

This plate is not dated, but it is signed M. Potemont inv., R. Martial sc. It combines some of the characteristics of a “library interior” with those of a “book-pile,” and is altogether a sumptuous and imposing, though somewhat cumbersome design.

On a singular old library interior plate, headed “Du Cabinet Littéraire de P. Cellier, Libraire, quai St. Antoine, à Lyon,” were found the following instructions to book borrowers:

“Les livres qui auront souffert quelques dommages, comme déchirés, tachés, et sur lesquels on aura écrit dans les marges et sur les gardes avec la plume ou le crayon, seront payés a leur valeur, c’est-à-dire, tout l’ouvrage entier; un seul volume perdu ou mutilé, emporte tout l’ouvrage.

“S’il s’égare quelques uns de ces livres ainsi marqués, on prie ceux, entre les mains de qui ils seront, de les faire rendre à l’adresse ci-dessus.”

A Frenchman resident in this country, early in the century, had a roughly printed label, in which the inscription was surrounded by a small woodcut border. The inscription is curious for its errors; it runs thus: “J. Admans, son livre, mil huit sens seize. Rue de Palais. Cantorbery.”

M. Gouache, whose plate informs us that he resided at number 13 in the Boulevard de la Madeleine, quotes the following:

“Stance.

Le paresseux s’endort dans les bras de la faim,
Le laboureur conduit sa fertile charrue,
Le savant pense et lit, le guerrier frappe et tue,
Le mendiant s’assied sur le bord du chemin:
Où vont-ils cependant? Ils vont où va la feuille
Que chasse devant lui le souffle des hivers!
Ainsi vont se flétrir, dans leurs travaux divers,
Ces générations que le temps sème et cueille.
Lamartine, Méditations.

Gouache, Boulevard de la Madeleine, 13.”

The French are not particularly rich in mottoes in praise of books. Adolphe Borgnet, of Liège, quotes Montaigne, thus:

“Les Historiens sont le vray gibbier de mon estude.”

On a nameless pictorial plate (signed F. Groskost, Strasbourg) occur some lines attributed to M. Jacques Flach (see [page 243]):

“A mes Livres.

Plaisants, je vous aime
Sérieux aussi,
Frivoles de même
Pédants—merci!”

“Un livre est un ami qui ne trompe jamais” (on page 240)

says a nameless moralist, who probably had not read Lord Macaulay’s account of William III., whilst

“Je rapporte fidèlement ce que je découvre,”

says the historian Chevillard.

On the plate of M. Jules, Baron de St. Genois, is the motto:

“Bon livre d’ennui delivre.”

The following cynical epigram,

“L’homme a dit: ‘Faisons Dieu, qu’il soit à notre image.’
Dieu fut! et l’ouvrier adora son image,”

was placed on his book-plate by the philosophical atheist Sylvain Maréchal, who wrote a work entitled “Fragmens d’un poeme moral sur Dieu,” dated 1781.

David Köning remarks:

“L’Art c’est la vie.
La Nature c’est la mort.”

Whilst Patrice Salin fairly gives himself away:

“Tel que je suis, prends moi.”

Others have used mottoes which come under no special category, such as that on an engraved label bearing the name J. G. Lafont:

“Des plaisirs sans apprêts, des amis peu nombreux
Les livres, les beaux arts, et la philosophie
Voila le vrai bonheur, il suffit a mes voeux.”

“Tots besoingners tots escripre.”
Valentin Mourie. (See page 238.)

“Point de Roses sans épignes.”
Edward S. Potter.

“Honneur à qui rapporte.”
L. Delatre. (See page 240.)

“La mort n’y mord.”
Ex-Libris Fr. Serrier. (See page 242.)

“Vive la Joie.”
On the plate of M. Joy.

In 1791 Monsieur J. B. Michaud cried aloud on his book-plate for “La Liberté ou la Mort” and many others adopted the phrase, at a time when Death was certainly more en évidence than Liberty.

Poor Léon Gambetta, probably the most daring and original of modern French politicians, had his book-plate inscribed “Vouloir c’est Pouvoir,” an axiom which he, the son of a poor provincial grocer, had proved correct up to a certain point.

There is no article in the “Dictionnaire des Girouettes” more laughable than that devoted to Monsieur Nicholas François de Neufchateau, who, not content with being a political turncoat of the first order, celebrated each of his changes of faith by songs in honour of his new ideal of government. These poems, here side by side in the dictionary, proclaim the man at once a venal weathercock and a conceited prig.

He was born in 1752; before the outbreak of the Revolution he was a lawyer in Paris; afterwards he became President of the National Assembly, when he called King Louis XVI. a traitor, yet this did not prevent his being sent to prison by Barrère in 1793. On his release he wrote a poem in honour of Barrère; later on he joined with the senate in advising Napoleon to create himself emperor. The emperor could do no less in return than create Neufchateau a Count of the Empire. What became of him on the Restoration does not appear, except that in 1815 he obtained permission to dedicate a volume of his fables to the king.

To the end of time the ex-libris of Monsieur N. François de Neufchateau will not only pompously proclaim all the titles given to him by Napoleon I., but describe in verse the blazon of his arms, in which, as he says, the useful and the ornamental are curiously blended, the whole being surmounted by one of David’s toques, with the five waving ostrich feathers denoting senatorial rank.

Yet this was the man who had previously written:

“Ces rubans, ces cordons, et ces chaines dorées:
Des esclaves des rois ces pompeuses livrées,
Ne sont que des hochets dont la vaine splendeur
Deguise le néant d’une folle grandeur.”

M. de Neufchateau was a busy man and a versatile, writing on politics, social economy, history, and agriculture in turns, but it is as a poet that he will be known to posterity through his book-plate, which collectors will ever prize as a monument of egregious vanity.

M. François de Neufchateau died in 1828.

There is a chapter in “Ex-Libris Ana” (Paris, L. Joly) devoted to manuscript inscriptions of ownership in books; one is given, as having been commonly written in his books, by an author named Collé:

“A Collé ce livre apartint
Auparavant qu’il te parvint.”

Contrasting with this schoolboy rhyme is the sad farewell to her children, written by Marie Antoinette in her prayer-book only a few hours before she went to the scaffold:

“Ce 16 Octobre, à 4 h. ½ du matin. Mon Dieu! ayez pitié de moi! mes yeux n’ont plus de larmes pour prier pour vous, mes pauvres enfants. Adieu, adieu!

“Marie Antoinette.”

Scarcely does the world contain a more pathetic document.

CHAPTER XV.
BOOK-PLATES OF SOME FAMOUS MEN.

It is singular that such an assertion, made so long ago, should have received so little attention. Could it have been verified, the plate would certainly be one of the most precious relics in the world, not only as a personal souvenir of the creator of Gargantua and Pantagruel, but as the very earliest known French ex-libris.

As Rabelais died in 1553 his book-plate would necessarily be at least twenty years earlier than that of Alboise of Autun, which is dated 1574, and probably even some years older than that.

But in the earlier edition of this treatise, I remarked that it was scarcely credible that such a treasure as this could exist without having become generally known to collectors of literary curios, who would, long ere now, have fully described the book-plate of François Rabelais.

This paragraph was noted by several French collectors, and more particularly by Doctor L. Bouland, President of the French Society, who at once put himself in communication with M. Georges d’Albenas.

His reply showed that this was only another instance of the confusion that arises from the French custom of styling the written inscription of an owner’s name in a book, an ex-libris. Technically the term may be correct, but it would be advisable in the interest of collectors to describe the one as the “owner’s autograph” to distinguish it from the engraved or printed ex-libris fastened on the inside of a book.

M. d’Albenas wrote thus: “L’Ex-libris de Rabelais dont il est question, en note, dans Les portraits de Rabelais, est ecrit de la main de l’illustre auteur de Gargantua, sur le titre d’un exemplaire de la première édition des ‘Œuvres de Platon,’ publiée par les soins réunis de Marc Manuce et d’Alde Manuce 1513.

M. le professeur Cavalier ayant légué sa riche bibliothèque et ses précieuses collections à Montpellier, sa ville natale, elles ont été réunies selon ses dispositions testamentaires dans une salle spéciale, portant son nom, par les soins de son ami et exécuteur testamentaire, votre serviteur.”

Here, then, is a facsimile of this famous inscription, partly in Latin, partly in Greek, which is said to signify “Belonging to François Rabelais, a zealous doctor, and to his Christian friends.”

Plainly an anticipation of the “Io: Grolierii et amicorum.”

Another signature of Rabelais exists in a book which was presented to the school of medicine of Montpellier in 1776 by a lawyer, one Mons. J. Grosley. This resembles generally the one already described.

The name of Jean Grolier is one of the earliest and most famous in the history of French Bibliolatry and Bibliopegy. Jean Grolier, Vicomte d’Aguisy, was born in 1479 in Lyons, and died in Paris on October 22nd, 1565. He was treasurer of France, and collected a library of about 3,000 volumes (an enormous number in those early days of printing), all of which he had sumptuously bound, and generally with the Grolier arms richly emblazoned on the sides. His books had also various mottoes on them, sometimes written in his own hand on blank pages or on the title, sometimes printed in letters of gold around the edges of the binding.

The most usual of these mottoes is one that is constantly referred to, and has been often borrowed by other book-lovers and collectors:

“Io Grollierii et amicorum.”

Others that occur are:

“Mei Grollierii Lugdunens, et amicorum.”

“Portio mea, Domine, sit in terra viventium.”

“Tanquam ventus est vita mea.”

“Custodit Dominus omnes diligentes se, et omnes impios disperdet.”

“Æque difficulter.”

Io: Grollierii et amicorum reads as a very pretty and unselfish sentiment, but it requires some explanation. Mons. Grolier did not allow his treasured volumes to leave his possession. Those who were privileged to enjoy his friendship, were permitted to consult his books; they had no choice, however, but to do so in the spacious salons of Mons. Grolier, after partaking of his hospitality.

On the death of Grolier, in 1565, his valuable collection became the property of Emeric de Vic, Keeper of the Seals, from whom it passed to his son. On his death, this library, which had been the pride of three generations of book-lovers, was sold and dispersed in 1676. Some of the principal books came into the possession of such well-known collectors as Paul Petau, de Thou, and the Chancellor P. Séguier; they have been well preserved till the present day, but they contain no book-plates belonging to Grolier.

Paul Petau was a councillor in the Parliament of Paris. He formed the nucleus of a library, rich in early French and Latin MSS., and was also an enthusiastic collector of coins and antiquities. On his death, in 1613, he left the whole of his collections to his son Alexander, who not only succeeded to his public offices, but also inherited his cultivated tastes for art and literature.

Paul Petau had his books handsomely bound, with his arms stamped on the sides. His arms are thus emblazoned by French heraldists: Ecartelé: au 1 et 4, d’azur, à 3 roses d’argent, au chef-d’or chargé d’une aigle issante éployée de sable; au 2 et 3, d’argent, à la croix pattée de gueules. Devise: Non est mortale quod opto.

It will thus be seen that the arms are precisely the same as those carried by his son Alexander on his book-plate, the motto alone being changed in the latter to “Moribus Antiquis.”

M. Poulet-Malassis makes a curious misstatement in describing this ex-libris, for he asserts that the shield bears quarterly the arms of Alexander Petau and of his wife. It may be that M. Poulet-Malassis intended to say the arms of Paul Petau and of his wife, for Paul, the father, certainly carried these arms, as did Alexander afterwards, with the statement that he was the son of Paul. Now Paul Petau could not have carried the arms of his son’s wife.

The shield rests on a mosaic pavement, on which are reproduced in alternate squares the three principal charges, namely, the eagle issuant, the three roses, and the cross pattée (see plate, page 69).

On the death of Alexander Petau his MSS. were purchased by Queen Christina of Sweden, who bequeathed them to the Vatican Library. His printed books were sold at the Hague in 1722, with those of François Mansart. “Catalogue des bibliothèques de feu M.M. Alexandre Pétau, conseiller au Parlement de Paris, et François Mansart, intendant des bâtiments de France.” La Haye, A. de Hondt, 1722.

Had the king of France himself desired a new book-plate he could scarcely have been provided with one more gorgeous or imposing than that engraved by Daudin, in 1702, for Michel Bégon. Although according to its date it must be classed as an eighteenth century plate, its style belongs to an earlier period, as indeed, properly speaking, did its owner, for he was born at Blois on December 26, 1638, so that he did not have this sumptuous ex-libris engraved till comparatively late in his life, and did not long survive to enjoy it, for he died on the 14th of March, 1710.

The arms (blazoned thus by French heraldists: d’azur au chevron d’or, accompagné en chef de deux roses, et d’un lion en pointe) on an oval shield surmounted by the coronet of a count, supporters two lions. Inscription: Michaeli Begon et amicis 1702.

Here we have at once a plate remarkable for its beauty, and interesting on account of its owner, who was a man of note in his day, and famous as a collector.

He was thus described in the official registration of his death: “Messire Michel Bégon, chevalier, seigneur de la Picardière et autres lieux, conseiller du Roy en ses conseils et d’honneur au Parlement de Provence. Intendant de Justice et finances de la Généralité de la Rochelle et de la Marine à Rochefort.”

Mons. Bégon came of good family, was well educated, and appears to have been very successful in his career as a government official. He held appointments successively at Martinique, San Domingo, and Marseilles, and finally, in 1688, was appointed Intendant de la Rochelle of the port of Rochefort, which post he held for the rest of his life. On the death of his father, he had succeeded to a valuable library which he continued to enrich; he was also an indefatigable collector of medals, of natural history specimens, and of engravings, especially portraits.

From an inventory made after his death, it appears he left 7,000 volumes, and more than sixty valuable manuscripts of the ancient classics. His collection of prints, which comprised about 8,000 portraits, 15,600 general engravings, and 925 maps, was valued at 16,481 livres, and was acquired for the library of the King of France in 1770.

Michel Bégon was therefore a man worthy to possess a really handsome book-plate such as his was, but we may take it that the expression “for his friends” (et amicorum he wrote on some of his books) did not imply they were to be removed from his custody, but only that they might be consulted by his friends when they visited him, as we know was the intention of Grolier who also used this apparently self-denying expression.

It may be added that in the “Biographie Universelle” (De Feller, Paris, 1834), a short account is given of Michel Bégon, in which it is said: “Le goût avait presidé au choix de ses livres dont la plupart portaient sur le frontispice Michaelis Begon et Amicorum.”

It is therefore somewhat singular that no mention of him, or his arms, occurs in the “Armorial Français” of Johannis Guigard. This is to be regretted, as it renders it difficult to trace in what way the family of Bégon and the old French family of Chapuy were related. That some kind of relationship existed can scarcely be doubted; in view of the following application received from Mr. Charles J. Shoppee, President of the Surveyor’s Institution, and Vice President of the Ex-Libris Society:

“I am anxious to know something of the origin of the armorial bearings of Michael Bégon, 1702, the coat being the same as that of Chapuis of Dauphiné, viz., ‘D’azur au chevron d’or, accompagné de deux roses d’argent en chef, et en pointe, d’un lion rampant, de même.’ These arms I bear, as the representative of the branch of the Chapuis family settled in England.”

Amongst a list of the French officers taken at the battle of Oudenarde, July 11th, 1708, “Of the regiment of dragoons of Pouriere, Lieutenant Chapuy” is recorded. This officer was the ancestor of Mr. C. J. Shoppee.

Nicolas Joseph Foucault was a councillor to the Parliament of Paris, and a member of the Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-lettres. He died in 1720, aged seventy-seven, leaving a library which was considered particularly rich in relation to the early history of France. Unfortunately it was dispersed on his decease, and his ex-libris given herewith is consequently scarce. It was probably engraved between about 1680 and 1700, and carries the same arms as were embossed on the bindings of his books.

It would perhaps be more interesting to know the name of the artist who designed this beautiful plate for Mr. de Joubert, than who and what Mr. de Joubert himself was. Unfortunately the plate is not signed, but it is in the style of the Louis XV. period, and was probably the work of some artistic engraver in the south of France.

The date of the plate can only be approximately fixed on the following train of reasoning. Mr. de Joubert styles himself “Tresorier des Etats de Languedoc;” now on reference to an old French work, somewhat similar to a Court Guide, we find a mention of this gentleman.

In “L’Etat de la France,” published in Paris in 1749, his name is given as Président des Chambres des Comptes de Languedoc, with the date of his appointment, thus:

“25 Février, 1733. Laurent-Ignace Joubert, Chevalier, cy-devant Syndic Général de la Province de Languedoc.”

It thus appears that Joubert was alive in 1749, and still holding the high office in the provincial treasury to which he was appointed in 1733; the date of his plate may therefore be assumed to have been not earlier than 1733, and in all probability it was not much later.

In this entry he is called Chevalier, which accounts for the De on the book-plate. This is an instance of the difficulties a collector has to contend with in deciding the period of undated plates, especially where the artist has not signed his work.

Mons. Gueulette was a French novelist and dramatist, who enjoyed considerable fame in the first half of the last century. He died in December, 1766, at the ripe old age of eighty-three years, and his writings have since sunk into undeserved oblivion, although, it is true, Messrs. Nichols published a translation of his “Contes Tartares” (an imitation of the “Arabian Nights”) in 1893, but of this only a small edition was printed. His book-plate, signed H. Becat, is inscribed “Ex libris Thomae Gueulette et Amicorum.” It represents the Gueulette arms, with two supporters on each side, namely, an Italian Arlequin, a Tartar, a Chinese Mandarin, and a Cyclops holding an infant in his arms. Each of these figures has some reference to the works of the owner of the plate; thus, the Arlequin is in allusion to the numberless farces he wrote for the Théâtre Italien and the Théâtre des Boulevards; the other works alluded to are his “Contes Tartares” and “Les Aventures du Mandarin Fum Hoam.” The design is surmounted by a graceful little Cupid bearing aloft a scroll, on which is inscribed the epicurean motto “Dulce est desipere in loco,” which has been thus happily translated by a distinguished member of the Sette of Odd Volumes:

“Dulce—Delightful, says the poet,
Est—is it, and right well we know it,
Desipere—to play the fool
In loco—when we’re out of school.”

M. Gueulette was a worthy disciple of Horace, for more than eighty years he enjoyed the work, the pleasures, and the success of life; he accumulated a large and valuable library, and his books were probably the first to be decorated with a book-plate bearing not only the arms of their owner, but also allegorical allusions to his tastes and literary labours.

M. Gueulette had a second and smaller plate, signed Bellanger; this was similar in its general features, but different in many of its details to the above.

The Abbé Joseph-Marie Terray, Controller-General of Finance under Louis XV., was one of those men who, by their cruel exactions, dissolute living, and reckless expenditure, were directly responsible for the ruin of French credit and for the great Revolution which ensued. Terray was born at Boen in 1715, and died in Paris in February, 1778, almost universally hated and despised. It is true that he had collected a handsome library, that his books were sumptuously bound, and that he had a reputation as a patron of art and letters. But holding many highly paid sinecure offices, and being the proprietor of rich ecclesiastical livings (not to mention the gross jobbery he exercised in the state finances), he could well afford to buy expensive books and to employ a few bookbinders. History records no other good trait in the character of this priestly financier, who was both physically and morally ugly, depraved, and rapacious.

Was it for him that this epitaph was written?—

“Ci-git un grand personnage,
Qui fut d’un illustre lignage,
Qui posséda mille vertus;
Qui ne se trompa jamais, qui fut toujours fort sage;
Je n’en dirai pas d’avantage,
C’est trop mentir pour cent écus.”

The game cock was a favourite emblem with the ancient Greeks and Romans, on account of its courage and endurance. “The gait of the cock,” writes Pliny, “is proud and commanding; he walks in a stately stride, with his head erect and elevated crest; alone, of all birds, he habitually looks up to the sky, raising at the same time his curved and graceful tail, and inspiring terror even in the lion himself, that most intrepid of animals.” He will fight to the death, and use his last breath to crow out a defiance, whilst the conqueror, standing over his vanquished rival, will flap his wings and loudly proclaim his victory.

For many ages the game cock, as brave and noble a bird as any that lives, was the badge of our Gallic neighbours:

“Le coq français est le coq de la gloire,
Par les revers il n’est point abattu;
Il chante fort lorsqu’il à la victoire,
Encor plus fort quand il est bien battu.
Le coq français est le coq de la gloire
Toujours chanter est sa grande vertu.
Est il imprudent, est-il sage?
C’est ce qu’on ne peut définir:
Mais qui ne perd jamais courage,
Se rend maitre de l’avenir.”

Besides being a national emblem, many ancient and noble French houses bore a cock on their shields. There were cocks “cantant,” holding up their heads with opened beaks, as though they were crowing, and cocks “hardy,” which stood on one leg with the other aggressively uplifted. Louis-Philippe, on being made King of the French, adopted the bird standing in this warlike attitude, a circumstance which did not escape the attention of the Legitimist opponents of the bourgeois king. Shortly after his accession a biting satire was circulated in anti-Orleanist society. It set forth how the noble Gallic cock, raking in the dunghill, had scratched up King Louis-Philippe, who, in exulting gratitude, had placed the bird in the arms of France. Be this as it may, the Gallic cock held his place on the escutcheon of the Orleanist dynasty until the events of 1848 compelled Louis-Philippe to escape to England under the assumed name of Mr. Smith.

M. Gambetta carried this bird, in the act of crowing, on his book-plate, with an equally gallant motto, “Vouloir c’est Pouvoir,” but we seek in vain to learn of what was composed the library of Gambetta. This is a mystery! It may be readily surmised that he had not many of the tastes of a bibliophile, nor time in which to indulge them. As to the plate itself, the design was probably suggested by Poulet-Malassis, and it was engraved by M. Alphonse Legros about 1874, when that artist was commissioned by Sir Charles Dilke to go to Paris to procure a portrait of M. Léon Gambetta.

Proof impressions of the plate exist in four states, all very rare; but the curious feature about it is that M. Gambetta certified in 1882 that he had never made use of it as a book-plate, and when in May, 1895, Dr. Bouland obtained the loan of the original copper to publish in the “Archives de la Société Française,” he found it had scarcely been used. So that the numerous copies of the Gambetta book-plate scattered about must be looked upon as forgeries.

The book-plate of another distinguished Frenchman, Victor Hugo, is also somewhat of a puzzle.

It has been reproduced in nearly every illustrated article that has been printed on French ex-libris, with its towers of the cathedral of Notre Dame illuminated by the flash of lightning carrying his name:

“Les tours de Notre-Dame étaient l’H. de son Nom!”

On what occasion can M. Aglaüs Bouvenne have designed this celebrated book-plate, seeing that at the time of his death the library of Victor Hugo consisted of less than fifty volumes?

The history is a somewhat curious one.

As is well known, Victor Hugo was an implacable enemy of Napoleon III., and during his reign resided in Guernsey. Wishing to pay his great countryman a compliment, Mons. Aglaüs Bouvenne designed this plate, the towers of Notre Dame being introduced not only to remind Hugo of his beloved Paris, but also in allusion to his famous novel.

On the 10th July, 1870, Victor Hugo wrote from Hauteville House to thank the artist for the plate: “Votre ex-libris fait par vous pour moi me charme—j’accepte avec reconnaissance cette jolie petite planche.... Votre ex-libris marquera tous les livres de la Bibliothèque de Hauteville House.”

But the great war came, the downfall of the Empire, the return of Victor Hugo to Paris, and amidst so much change and excitement the poor little ex-libris appears to have been neglected. After the poet’s death forgeries of it flooded the market, and many unwary collectors purchased worthless copies.

At length Mons. Aglaüs Bouvenne, who possessed the original copper, allowed prints of it to be taken to be issued with the “Archives de la Société Française des Collectionneurs d’Ex Libris” for June, 1895, together with a facsimile of Victor Hugo’s letter of thanks above quoted.

It should be noticed that the original plate is signed Aglaüs Bouvenne del et sculp. 70 (for 1870), and although it may please collectors to possess a copy of this ex-libris, they must not assume, when purchasing one, that it ever was in the possession of the great poet himself.

M. Bouvenne also designed a plate, dated 1872, for the late novelist and dramatist Théophile Gautier, enshrining his monogram on the entablature of an Egyptian temple, but in this case he had to deal with a veritable lover of books, who possessed a library of some importance, which was sold, after his death, at the Hôtel Drouot. A catalogue was issued describing the books, but, although they were mostly in good condition, and bore the book-plate of a man somewhat famous in his day, they realized but a small sum under the hammer.

Of the Comte d’Orsay, at one time the leader of fashion, the Prince of Dandies, and the associate of the lovely but unfortunate Lady Blessington, there is little to be said, nor would that little be complimentary.

On page 38 is the tiny little plate of Paul Lacroix, better known, perhaps, as the bibliophile Jacob, whose writings have done so much to popularize the study of the manners of the Middle Ages, and the progress of civilization in France.

The two naked little gamins are gazing at the P.L. on the open volume, illuminated by a lamp of ancient Greek design. The motto runs, “Livres nouveaux, livres vielz et antiques, Etienne Dolet.”

Mons. Paul Lacroix was appointed curator of the Library of the Arsenal in 1855, where he died a few years ago.

The Vicomte de Rougé, who died in 1873, was a famous Egyptologist, whose translations from the papyri and inscriptions on the Egyptian monuments were considered of the highest philological value. In 1860 M. de Rougé was installed in the chair of Egyptology in the College of France, where for some years he expounded the principles of careful analysis, upon which his own successful studies had been based. He left a son, who shared his father’s enthusiasm for research, and was also a frequent contributor to the “Revue Archéologique.”

The device of Ferdinand de Lesseps was a Hercules with the motto “Aperire terram gentibus,” in allusion to his great work on the Isthmus of Suez. He did not then foresee his defeat and ruin in the Panama Canal.

The Comtesse de Noë possesses a name which permits her to represent the prehistoric ark as a kind of rebus; whilst Mons. Eugène Jacob, notary of Angerville, possesses a small ex-libris, designed by his nephew, Mons. Métivet, which represents a Jacob’s ladder crowded with book-loving angels.

Albert Tissandier, the learned aëronaut, proclaims his specialty on his circular book-plate, which shows an inflated balloon soaring aloft to the realms of thought and ideality.

Whilst Prince Roland Bonaparte, who possessed one of the largest and most valuable libraries of modern collectors, was content to use nothing more elaborate than the Napoleonic eagle.

One of the most interesting and also one of the scarcest book-plates of modern French men of letters is the tiny ex-libris of Prosper-Mérimée, whose library was burnt during the troubles of the Commune in 1871.

It is, as nearly as possible, the size of a penny postage-stamp, but it was designed and engraved by no less a man than Viollet Le Duc. The Gothic letters P. M. are surrounded by a scroll in the shape of a horse-shoe, with the opening directed upwards. The motto, in Greek, may be thus translated, “Do not forget to doubt.” Here, too, is the unpretentious plate of the bibliophile Jacob, with angels bringing him his favourite volumes; whilst that of Charles Monselet, the author, has been inserted already in the chapter on punning plates.

A well-known plate is that designed by Gavarni for the brothers Edmond and Jules de Goncourt, and engraved by Jules de Goncourt himself. These brothers have written much on French art, and, in allusion to their literary partnership, the plate shows a sheet of paper on which are the letters E. J. held down by the two outstretched fingers of a hand. The design is at once simple and striking, but it has the great demerit of not proclaiming its owner’s name, which is, after all, the raison d’être of a book-plate.

I cannot conclude this short chapter on distinguished plate-owners better than by giving the Japanesque ex-libris of Octave Uzanne, who has not only produced many charming volumes, the delight of all book-lovers, but is also himself an enthusiastic collector of ex-libris, and a writer of authority on their history.

In this plate the exigencies of space have compelled the artist, M. Aglaüs Bouvenne, to so divide the name that it reads as though M. Uzanne were in the act of courteously saluting himself!

Well, why not? Ave Uzanne!

CHAPTER XVI.
MODERN EX-LIBRIS.

As Poulet-Malassis observes, they appear to have been turned out to pattern indiscriminately by the Parisian engravers. The pattern most in request was a kind of strap, or sword-belt, which surrounded the shield or monogram of the owner.

Even in this dreary waste, without art, without originality, there is just one plate which calls for remark. It is that of Alphonse Karr, the author, and represents a wasp (the symbol he chose) busy writing on a long parchment. Probably this was designed for him by Grandville, the caricaturist. This plate almost marks a division line between the old engraved copper-plates with their stiff and formal heraldry, and the modern etched ex-libris, with designs free and graceful,—allegoric, pictorial, allusive, humorous, anything, in fact, that is not heraldic, or in which, at least, if there be anything of an armorial nature, it is made subservient to the general design, and as little conspicuous as possible.

Some well-known artists of the day having set the fashion, it became “the thing” with literary men—plebeian people, of course—to discard heraldry, and to have ex-libris emblematical of their studies, their tastes, or their principal works, as in the plates, for instance, of Victor Hugo, Théophile Gautier, Manet, the Brothers Goncourt, Octave Uzanne, Paul Lacroix, and others.

Apart from what may be termed the original and characteristic book-plates of some of the leading men in arts and letters, French ex-libris of the first fifty years of this century may be divided into three leading styles: 1. The plain armorial shield, or seal, with heraldic bearings. 2. The plain printed label, either in modern type, or in imitation of that of the fifteenth century. 3. Type-printed, surrounded by a wreath of flowers, a belt, or a strap.

All, or nearly all, come under these headings, and are about as artistic as the label on a bottle of champagne, or a box of bonbons. They accomplish their object, for they proclaim the ownership of the volume, but tell us nothing of the owner’s personality.

A new fashion which arose in ex-libris, almost synchronous with the rise of the Second Empire, dispelled much of this formality and monotony. Individuality and originality were displayed, often weak and puerile, but infinitely superior to the dull uniformity which had prevailed in the previous generation. Statesmen, literary and scientific men, even artists, began to mark their books in this way, and their plates were almost as varied as their tastes and characters. Their designs may not always please, may sometimes even shock, as does that of Niniche, but at least they do not weary with their sameness.

But of all the modes in ex-libris there is one, at least, which always pleases, whether French or English, namely, the photographic portrait of the owner carefully reproduced by a cunning engraver, and furnished with bookish surroundings.

This portrait ex-libris has great interest for the collector, but the simple photograph, in all its detestably scientific truth and brutal exactitude, cannot be considered as a respectable or desirable member of the ex-libris family.

Little need be said concerning modern French armorial plates, they are neither numerous nor especially characteristic. Some of the neatest amongst them are signed Stern, graveur, Paris, and in their formality and clearness resemble our own modern heraldic work.

But it is in the light, graceful plates of to-day that we find the fullest development of French art and originality. They style them Ex-Libris de Fantaisie. They illustrate the transient humour of the owner, his caprices, his studies, or his recreations; they obey no rule, they elude analysis or classification, they defy description:

“Their beauties are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed!
Or, like the snow-falls in the river,
A moment white—then melts for ever.”

It were, indeed, as ridiculous as “gilding refined gold, or painting the lily,” to venture to describe the coquettish Parisienne on the plate of G. Malet; or the fanciful design for Georges Mantin; the charming decorative plate of Henri Tausin, or the quaint monogram designed for Alexis Martin by Aglaüs Bouvenne. Art pour l’Art, Fantaisie, Diablerie; democratic ideas prevalent in the mottoes, armorial bearings discarded, even titles and prefixes of honour abandoned by those who have the most right to use them. Henri Béraldi goes even further, and asserts that the size of a man’s book-plate is in inverse ratio to the value of his library, but let him speak for himself:

“Il est à remarquer, qu’aujourd’hui les vrais Bibliophiles s’efforcent de contaminer le moins possible leurs livres par l’apposition de leurs Ex-Libris. Ils ont donc des Ex-Libris aussi petits que possible. En général, ce sont de simples filets d’encadrements entourant le nom. On les fait faire par son relieur. Les non-Bibliophiles ont des Ex-Libris gigantesques, où ils étalent des blasons, des chiffres, des emblèmes, des devises, des rébus, des sujets de guerre, placards qui encombrent toute la garde des volumes. On devrait se garder de déposer ces choses-là sur des livres precieux.”

“Considérons l’Ex-Libris comme un aréomètre servant à titrer le degré de force bibliophilique de son possesseur, et formulons un axiome à la Balzac:

La valeur d’un Bibliophile est en raison inverse de la dimension de son Ex-Libris.”

We protest, and pass on.

During the last few years an artist has come to the front, Mons. Henry André, who has devoted so much of his invention and his skill to book-plates that it is difficult to decide which of his numerous works to select as best illustrating his style. He has kindly permitted eight designs to be reproduced; one, that of Doctor F. Bargallò, will be found amongst the medical plates, the others are those belonging to Messieurs Auguste Geoffroy, an art expert; Alexandre Geoffrey, an art critic, with the telling motto, “A Tous Vents Je Seme,” appropriate to the editor of such a journal as “La Curiosité Universelle”; Jules Lermina, also a man of letters, with the motto “Fiat Lux” emerging from the clouds, a very quaint and original conception; Ch. Guinot, a poet and a bibliophile, with the emblems of death and immortality.

The plate of Mons. Jan des Vignes is a singular design. The owner, a poet and journalist, is a native of Cluny, in Burgundy, famous for its abbey, and as having given birth to the painters, Greuze and Prud’hon, and to the celebrated poets Lamartine and P. Dupont. The view of the ancient abbey, surrounded by the vine, proclaims at once the owner’s birthplace and his name, whilst the exquisite sonnet reveals his poetical genius.

The Docteur Jules Le Bayon is a Breton, a native of Carnac, where are to be seen the wonderful Druidical stones, a few of which are depicted on his ex-libris. Mons. Le Bayon is a doctor of medicine by profession, but he is also an enthusiastic amateur of music, hence the introduction of a peasant clad in the old Brittany costume, playing on the rural pipes. The sprig of mistletoe, the sacred plant of the Druids, completes an engraving which is full of picturesque allusiveness.

And lastly, we have that of Mons. Abel Picard, an eminent bibliophile holding a high official position in Paris. The ribbon, that so ingeniously curves itself into the owner’s initials, enfolds a view of the quays along the Seine, with their stalls of second-hand books, and the flaneurs on the look-out for bargains. In the distance may faintly be descried the towers of Notre Dame. Below we have indications that the owner’s tastes in reading are varied: Michelet, the historian, is near a volume on art; whilst the novels of Daudet and Zola are only separated by a sliding partition from a bulky and well thumbed tome on the “Droit Administratif,” surely a suggestive contrast. As for the perky little Parisian sparrow (for such I am informed is the bird), c’est un plat de supplément à cinquante centimes that I do not feel called upon to describe.

Mons. L. P. Couraud, of Cognac, designed his own armorial plate; the motto (a translation from Virgil) is appropriate to one who has won success by his own energy and skill.

Mons. Couraud, who is an enthusiastic collector of prints, medals, and ancient furniture, thus describes the origin of his book-plate: “Dans une vieille édition du ‘Roman du Renart’ je recontrai cette devise, ‘Fortune secort les hardiz,’ dès lors mon ex-libris était trouvé. Je fis représenter la classique Fortune dans un écusson d’or, au chef cousu d’azur (shown gules in the engraving) chargé de trois fleurs-de-lis, avec deux coqs pour supports; ce qui faisait allusion à mes opinions politiques.” This was drawn by Mons. Couraud and engraved by Devambez.

It will be seen that the owner frankly admits not only that the arms were assumed, but that they were purely fanciful. For a trade label such a device might be excused, but all who have any respect for the science of heraldry will be pleased to learn that the owner has determined to suppress this plate, and has had another engraved for him by Henry André, after a pretty floral design of Van Spaendonck, and printed in colours.

The power to appreciate beauty is but one factor in many that go to the forming of an artist, yet it is the indispensable.

Who, then, amongst modern French artists, has produced the most beautiful and characteristic ex-libris? The question is too difficult to solve offhand; it is, indeed, a matter of taste. Many would select Aglaüs Bouvenne, Léopold Flameng; others might suggest C. E. Thiéry or Henry André.

Other modern artists who should be mentioned are Bracquemond, who produced a plate for M. Aglaüs Bouvenne himself, and the very simple severe mark for the late Poulet-Malassis, with its vigorous assertion, Je l’ai, as well as the plates for Charles Asselineau and Paul Arnauldet, the latter with its anti-Grolier motto, Nunquam amicorum!

François Courboin, Félicien Rops, and Paul Avril have also produced some light and graceful designs for modern ex-libris.

The style of a book-plate may be taken as some indication of the tastes and nature of the owner, and this is particularly true of modern French ex-libris, in which artistic fancy and originality have full swing. From this point of view a collection may have more value than might at first be supposed. It would be claiming too much to assert that no great man ever had an ugly or an inappropriate ex-libris, yet it may be safely assumed that few but men of taste and culture possess really artistic book-plates.

CHAPTER XVII.
ARTISTS AND ENGRAVERS WHOSE SIGNATURES ARE FOUND UPON FRENCH BOOK-PLATES.

It must be borne in mind that a large proportion of the early French plates bore no owners’ names, although they were frequently signed by the engraver. Many of these plates have been identified by the arms, the mottoes, or other peculiarities in design, but some still remain unidentified.

Where engraved dates appear on the ex-libris these have been mentioned, but no notice has been taken of dates inserted in manuscript, these, as is well known, being quite unreliable.

For certain engravers, on whose work no date has been found, a century has been named approximately from an examination of the plates they produced.

Some of this information must necessarily be conjectural, and Mons. Poulet-Malassis mentions certain artists and engravers of book-plates of whose work it has not been possible either to obtain copies, or any information whatever.

For facility of reference a strictly alphabetical arrangement of the names has been adopted.

Wherever it was possible, the inscriptions and signatures have been copied from the book-plates themselves, carefully preserving the arbitrary contractions, the obsolete orthography, and even the errors and the faulty accentuation found on many of them.

It will be observed that Mr. as a contraction for Monsieur was formerly more generally used in France than it now is, whilst Escuyer, Escuier, or Ecuyer (for Esquire) was occasionally added after a gentleman’s name, a custom which has, since the Revolution, become quite obsolete.

One of the latest examples of the use of this title will be found on the ex-libris of Jean François-Gillet, dated 1778, of which a reproduction appears on p. 96.