THE first half of the sixteenth century was with respect to printing (as with respect to the other arts) a period of renovation, not in the matter of processes of execution, which remained about the same as in the fifteenth century, but in the matter of the make-up of books, which was entirely revolutionized. Typographical arrangement, appearance of the letters and ornaments, everything, even to the cover, was changed almost at the same time, or, at all events, within a very few years. At that time printing gave over the servile copying of manuscripts, which had at first served it as models, and adopted special rules, better adapted to its method of execution. For instance, it relegated notes to the foot of the pages, calling attention to them by marks of reference, instead of placing them at the side of the text, as had previously been the custom, at the cost of an enormous amount of labour, without benefit to the reader. It also abandoned the use of red capitals,[1] which, by increasing the labour twofold, made books expensive, and replaced them by floriated letters, which were quite as distinctive, but were set up and printed with the text. This style of ornament, so favourable to artistic results, developed rapidly, and soon extended from the letters to the illustrations, which began to be introduced in books in constantly increasing numbers. Under the general impulsion of the Renaissance, engraving was transformed: instead of the coarse woodcuts, of the so-called criblÉ style, in which the background was black sprinkled with white dots,[2] and the design stamped in white, as with a punch, engraving in relief came into vogue, just as we have it to-day, identical in form, although the processes have been perfected. A similar revolution took place in the matter of letters: the gothic or semi-gothic characters, which had hitherto been used, were replaced by roman characters of a novel shape, borrowed from the monuments of antiquity (then studied with great ardour), which continued in use until the Revolution. Lastly, the covers of books also underwent a transformation brought about by the force of events: the parchment rolls used by the ancients had been succeeded, during the Middle Ages, by bound volumes, of a shape more convenient for reading; these volumes, of which those who were fortunate enough to own any never owned more than a very small number, being intended to be arranged on the library shelves in such wise as to present one side to the visitor's eye, were adorned with numerous ornaments of various sorts on that side, so that they could easily be distinguished. Later, these ornaments were omitted and the title of the book substituted, in huge black or gauffered letters. But the invention of printing soon caused that device to be abandoned. As the increasing numbers of books made it impossible to give up so much space to them, they were arranged side by side on the shelves, care being taken to print the title in gold letters (so that it might be more legible) on the back of the book, which was the only part of it in sight. This innovation compelled the doing away with raised decorations, especially those in precious stones or in metal, which would have torn the books that stood next them. Thereafter leather binding came into general use; the gauffering on the sides was continued for some time; but in the sixteenth century this in turn was replaced by gold tooling 'À filet,' and the transformation was complete.

THE man who contributed most largely to the threefold evolution I have described was Geofroy Tory, a man who is hardly known to-day,[3] despite all his talents, although he received in 1530, as reward of his labours, the title of king's printer, which FranÇois I had never before bestowed upon any one. I say that Tory is hardly known to-day; in truth, it is, in his case, equivalent to being unknown, to be known, as he is, only as a publisher. Some few scholars, to be sure, are aware that he was a printer; but the fact is so little known that his biographer has denied it.[4] As for his noblest title to fame, that of engraver, nobody is aware of it; and yet we owe to Tory the resuscitation of engraving in France. As the historian of typography,[5] I have thought that it was for me to describe with special care one of the fairest jewels in his crown. Such is the purpose of the work here presented, wherein will also be found, in connection with the honour paid to Tory by FranÇois I, some information concerning the first royal printers, and a list of those officers from the beginning down to the extinction of the office in 1830, three centuries, year for year, after its creation. FranÇois I is, in truth, entitled to be considered the creator of the office of king's printer, for prior to his reign we find but one typographer who bore that title, while, from FranÇois I down, the series of king's printers was not again interrupted. The appointment of Pierre le Rouge, on whom the title was bestowed in 1488,[6] may be creditable to Charles VIII, but it was without result. The honour of having made of the eminently literary post of king's printer a permanent office reverts of right and naturally to the prince who has been called the Father of Letters. In truth that prince, as we shall see hereafter, was not content with a single printer; he had several at once, with distinct functions, and appointed successors without loss of time to such as retired or died during his lifetime.

But, I repeat, the principal purpose of my work is to make Tory known as one of the most skilful engravers we have ever had. Of course I cannot forget that he was the learned editor of the 'Cosmographie du Pape Pie II,' the 'ItinÉraire Antonin,' etc.; the publisher, of rare taste, who put forth the Hours of 1525, 1527, etc.; the accomplished printer of the 'Sacre de la Reine ElÉonore,' and the distinguished philologist of 'Champ fleury,' to whom, as we shall see, we owe the invention of the orthographic forms peculiar to the French language.[7] But what has especially attracted me in Tory is his work as an engraver. In that rÔle he was without predecessor or rival, for those persons who may be represented as such may have been his pupils, nothing more. Jean Duvet alone might quarrel with this limitation; but, although he was Tory's contemporary, he was not his teacher; for Tory had gone for his schooling in the art to the very fountain-head, to Italy, before Duvet produced anything. As for Jean Cousin, de Laulne, du Cerceau, LÉonard Gauthier, and the rest, they did not come until after Tory. The honour of revivifying the art of engraving in France belongs to Tory alone, bestriding two centuries, the fifteenth and sixteenth; indeed, some of his productions are pure gothic. This I propose to demonstrate in the third part of my book, after I have, in the first part, narrated the general facts of our artist's life, in which we may observe also the development of a revolution in the matter of philology; for Tory was a devoted partisan of the classic tongues before he became one of the sturdiest champions of the French language.

In order to emphasize the importance of the orthographic reform achieved by Tory, I have usually followed the orthography of the time in my quotations from ancient works. It is an anachronism, to be sure, but it is of no consequence when the reader is forewarned. I have also felt at liberty to correct now and then, without calling attention to them, the typographical errors found in the texts quoted.

I will not conclude without thanking publicly those persons who have kindly assisted me in my researches concerning Tory. I have had occasion to mention their names in the course of my work, but that is not enough: I beg them to accept in this place the assurance of my gratitude. There are two to whom I am especially grateful, for they have considerably augmented my store of documents: they are MM. Achille DevÉria[8] and Olivier Barbier, of the BibliothÈque ImpÉriale: it is owing to their kind communications to me that the list of Tory's artistic works will be found not far from complete.