FROM the downfall of the first Napoleon, and the restoration of the Monarchy, until about 1850, art, as shown in ex-libris, appears to have slumbered; scarcely anything can be found but a dreary repetition of heraldic plates, without character and without style, or slavish imitations of designs of the pre-Revolution character, such as those of F. des Robert and Du Puy de Belveze (see pages 276, 277).

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:

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.