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.
