The nearer we approach our own time, the more difficult it becomes to write of illustration. For, although it is the duty of an editor, and even of an artist, to note all that is going on around him, at the present time this is almost impossible, so great is the output from the press, so varying are the fortunes of many artists. The man who, one day, promises to revolutionize all illustration, the next, disappears, or, worse still, becomes absolutely common-place. And process supersedes process with a rapidity that is perfectly bewildering.

But it seems best to begin with modern illustration in France, where the greatest activity has, until lately, existed. In the decade from 1875 to 1885, nowhere in the world were such big men working, or having their work so well reproduced. Fortuny and Rico, settled in Paris, were exhibiting their marvellous drawings. If Meissonier had ceased to illustrate, DorÉ, Detaille, De Neuville, and Jacquemart were at the height of their powers. The first great book illustrated by process appeared in the midst of this period: Vierge's "Pablo de SÉgovie," published in 1882; while the last years saw the appearance of the Guillaume series which, it was believed, would prove to be the final triumph of process. At the same time Baude, Leveille, LepÈre, and Florian were busy producing their masterpieces of wood-engraving. Publishing houses were issuing the most artistic journals, probably, the world has ever seen: "La Vie Moderne," "L'Art," "La Gazette des Beaux-arts," "Paris IllustrÉ," "La Revue IllustrÉe," "Le Monde IllustrÉ," "L'Illustration," and "Le Courrier FranÇais."

But from 1885 onward, there has been a change, and this change is not difficult to account for. There are too many illustrators and too few publishers—I mean publishers worthy of the name—and, most important, too few real artists.

When, in 1879, the new process of "Gillotage," as all process is described in France, was reasonably perfected—Jacquemart's "Histoire de Mobilier," being one of the first important books to be reproduced mechanically—every artist wished to try it. The consequence was that the catalogues of the Salon, the weekly papers and monthly magazines, were made bright and gay and charming with autographic artistic work; while wood-engravers, feeling that their art was in danger, were put upon their mettle and engraved a multitude of amazing blocks. Now that illustration has arrived, and by its aid many of the biggest men in France have arrived too, there has come a period of commonplaceness and content. The Frenchman, who is even more insular in his views of art than the Englishman,—unless his art is brought to him, when he proves himself catholic enough,—knows that bad work is being turned out in his own country, but believes that the same thing must be happening the world over, though he has heard vaguely of the American magazine, the German paper, and the English book. But since 1885, it may be said that every French periodical has fallen away in quality, if it has not ceased to appear altogether. The fine and expensive volumes, which in 1835 were published in France, have been succeeded by the three-franc-fifty Guillaume form, which, since the immortal "Tartarin," has degenerated steadily both in number and excellence of illustrations. Looking back on the original series, it does not seem so very fine, but eight years ago it was an enormous advance on anything that had been done. Even then, however, there was a rumour that this excellence was obtained at the expense of the artist, and that most of the clever work of Myrbach and of Rossi was more in the nature of an advertisement than anything else. It is perfectly well known that even Vierge had to await the generosity of an English publisher to recompense him for "Pablo de SÉgovie." It will also be found that certain of the large French publishing houses and leading magazines have become limited companies, or "SociÉtÉs Anonymes;" while men, who may be clever enough in business affairs, have been set to direct artistic matters of which they are entirely ignorant. If the standard of illustration is daily falling in France, this fall is owing mainly to the incompetence of editors and the rapacity of publishers. To-day, if one wishes to see the best work of French draughtsmen and engravers, one looks abroad for it, to America first and then to England and Germany, where French artists are forced to publish their drawings in order to obtain adequate pay or decent printing. It is pitiful, but the example is very contagious.

Another cause too has operated against the production of fine books and fine magazines. This is the "SupplÉment littÉraire et artistique" given away each week with papers like "Gil Blas," "L'Echo de Paris," "La Lanterne," "Le Petit Journal," and occasionally "Le Figaro." It is especially in "Gil Blas" that the best French work is now to be found, usually printed in colour. But most of the others—there are notable exceptions—either publish the veriest drivel and dirt, both from the literary and artistic standpoint, or else the drawings of mere boys and girls just out of the art schools, who give their designs to the publishers for little more than the sake of having their names in the papers. Under these circumstances, which actually exist, it is becoming well-nigh impossible for a draughtsman to live in France. Printing, too, has degenerated, until French printing now ranks with the worst.

On the other hand, a few firms, like Goupils, are producing excellent colour work in the most expensive fashion, and good cheap prints as well. The printing of Guillaume for Dentu's "Le Bambou"—most of the illustrations are on wood—is to be commended, as it shows off the work of artists and engravers to perfection. While one notes clever paper-cover designs on many new books.

That bad or mediocre work is supreme in France at the present time is proven by the fact that two of the most artistic journals have ceased to appear; Goupil's "Les Lettres et les Arts," and Octave Uzanne's "L'Art et L'IdÉe." Neither of these magazines was very expensive to produce,—that is in comparison with many others. But it is a self-evident fact, to anyone who has studied illustration, that the art passes every few years through periods of great depression; in France, art of all sorts is at the present moment in the most disorganized and unsettled state, and illustration is in as bad a way as any other branch. Nor is it for lack of illustrators, but because some of the publishers and editors of the country—and France is not solitary and alone in this matter—are a set of money-grubbing, ignorant fools, who have been able temporarily to impress their contemptible view of art, or rather their miserable failure to understand it from any other standpoint than that of their money-bags, upon a sufficient number of gullible people to make a fairly good living for themselves out of the public ignorance. And as for the rest of the world, why what of it? It is true Steinlein rivals Gavarni, and Marold, engraved by Florian, equals in certain ways Meissonier, engraved by Orrinsmith;—but in the majority of cases politics sit on art, and the photograph glares from the pages of the Édition de luxe.

To-day an attempt is also being made to revive wood-engraving in France, and almost all over the world, except in England—where nothing would be known of any revival, or improvement, until long years after the whole matter had been settled and pigeon-holed everywhere else—and in America, where every endeavour now is made to perfect process. But the reason for this revival in France, Germany, and the other countries of the Continent is not the advancement of the art of wood-engraving, or the benefit of the wood-engraver; it comes from the willingness of good wood-engravers to work very cheaply, simply to secure the chance of working at all, and also from the increase of the electrotype business. Although an enormous trade has been developed in the production of electrotypes from large wood-engravings for publication in different papers, I am informed that editors who wish to make use, at so much an inch, of the brains of other people, will not publish electros from process blocks, for some reason known to none but themselves, only buying clichÉs from wood blocks. However, it is quite possible that this revival of wood-engraving may encourage original work, and a new period of fine original engraving may be its result, little as those who are bringing this result about are interested in it.

A few words as to the men, and the books they have illustrated. The artist who was most in evidence twenty years ago was Gustave DorÉ. The unceasing stream of books which continued for years to delight the provinces and to amaze his biographers was then at its flood. That DorÉ was a man of the most marvellous imagination, no one will doubt; that his imagination ran completely away with him is equally true. He has had no influence upon anything but the very cheapest form of wood-engraving. Though it is easy to understand his popularity, it is difficult, considering how much really good work he did, to explain why he has been completely ignored as an artist. There is no question that some of his compositions were magnificent, even if every figure and type in them was mannered and hackneyed to a horrible degree. The only way in which we can account for his utter failure as an artist, is the fact that he was ruined by the praise of his friends. Although DorÉ started as a lithographer, carrying on the traditions of his immediate predecessors and contemporaries, Daumier and Gavarni, Raffet and Charlet, he soon took to drawing on the block, and for years the world was inundated with his work. In popularity no one ever approached him, but his drawing on the block is no more to be compared to Meissonier's, than his lithographs to Gavarni's, who contributed some of the most exquisite designs to "L'Artiste" in its early days.

In Alphonse de Neuville's "Coups de Fusil," one will find most delightful renderings of the late war, while many of his illustrations to Guizot's "History of France," or "En Campagne" are superb. His rival and successor, Detaille, has carried on the military tradition very well in "L'ArmÉe FranÇaise," which contains the best illustrations of any sort that he ever did. P. G. Jeanniot also has done excellent work in the same field, but his studies of Parisian types are probably still more successful. The best work of all is probably contained in Dentu's edition of "Tartarin de Tarascon." L. Lhermitte, too, has made some striking drawings in charcoal, both for reproduction by photography and for engraving on wood, especially in "La Vie Rustique," where the designs were extraordinarily well engraved. Jean Paul Laurens heads a long list of painters who have made many pictures in black and white for the illustration of books, but most of them are duller as illustrators than painters. Maurice Leloir and V. A. Poirson have illustrated the "Sentimental Journey," the "Vicar of Wakefield," and some other English books, though their point of view is always that of the Frenchman who knows little about England; their drawings were reproduced mainly by photogravure, with small blocks printed in colour, or black and white process, interspersed. About 1880 an illustrated theatrical journal was started, "Les PremiÈres IllustrÉes," and in this F. Lunel, Fernand Fau, L. Galice, G. Rochegrosse, and A. F. Gourget did remarkable work. Some of the painters, too, have allowed their sketch-books to be used, and from them books of travel have been manufactured, but these are hardly to be considered seriously as illustrations, as they were not specially made for the works which contain them.

Daniel Vierge's "Pablo de SÉgovie," though the work of a Spaniard, has for twelve years held its own as the best example of pen drawing for process reproduction published in France. Following, a long way behind, come men like Henri Pille and Edouard Toudouze. The development of the Guillaume half-tone process produced the curious series of little books known under that title; and also the larger series which contained "Madame ChrysanthÈme" and "FranÇois le Champi," books which made tone-process in France, and also the reputation of Myrbach and Rossi.

Several fine and limited editions have been published lately, illustrated by Albert Lynch, Mme. Lemaire, and Paul Avril, such as the "Dame aux CamÉlias;" while Octave Uzanne's series on fans and fashions were a great success. So, too, are many of the books issued by Conquet. Robida's designs for Rabelais virtually superseded those of DorÉ, and he followed up the success of this book with a number of others which have gradually degenerated in quality. Louis Morin, who is author as well as artist; E. Grasset, who, not content with this, is an architect too, and whose "Quatre Fils d'Aymon" should be seen as a beautiful piece of colour-printing; and Georges Auriol have done extremely good work in their different ways. FÉlicien Rops is a man who stands apart from all other illustrators; he possesses a style and individuality so marked that, at times, it is not easy to obtain any of his books, so carefully are they watched by that Cerberus of the press: the social puritan, who never fails to see anything to which he can possibly find objection. From the mystic Rops, have sprung, one might almost say, even more mystic Rosicrucians, headed by Carlos Schwabe, who has produced, in "Le RÊve" of Zola, one of the most beautiful and refined books, despite its disgraceful printing, ever issued from the French press.

But less mystical, and, possibly, even more beautifully drawn, are some of Luc Ollivier Merson's designs, notably those for Victor Hugo's works: a charming series of drawings, etched, I think, by Lalauze—to the national edition of Hugo almost every French painter has contributed—and the more mystic but less accomplished SÉon is another of the same group; while the latest and most advanced are the Vebers. The list of really clever men is long. Marchetti and Tofani, Italians, whose work, continually seen in the supplements to "L'Illustration," is engraved with the greatest charm and distinction; RaffaËlli, who, though he draws but little now, has decorated during the last fifteen years some of the most notable French books. Giacomelli, Riou, Bayard, Haennen, Adrian Marie,[18] Metivet, who are willing, at a moment's notice, to make you a drawing, often distinguished, of any subject, no matter whether they have seen it or not, though Giacomelli is best known for his renderings of birds and flowers, often very charming; Habert Dys and Felix RÉgamey, who have adapted the methods of Japan to their own needs; Paul Renouard whose work is, as it should be, appreciated in England, and who has the distinction, when any important event is coming off in this country, to be commissioned by the "Graphic" to cross the Channel and "do" it; Boutet de Monvel, whose books for children have gained him a world-wide reputation; the long list of delineators of character, costume, and caricature who weekly fill the lighter papers: Ibels, the decadent of decadents, Caran d'Ache, Willette, Steinlein, Mars, Legrand, Forain, Job, Guillaume, and Courboin, whose work can be seen more or less badly reproduced every week in the comic papers to which they contribute. Caran d'Ache has made himself, one might almost predict, a lasting reputation with his "Courses dans l'AntiquitÉ," his "Carnet de ChÈques," and his various other "Albums." A. Willette, when not playing at politics, is seriously working at his adventures of Pierrot. Steinlein, in his illustrations to Bruant's "Dans la Rue," probably did as much as the author to make known the life of Batignolles. Mars rules the fashions of the provinces, while if one were to take Forain's Albums as absolutely typical of French morals, France certainly would seem the most distressful country on the face of the earth. To Grasset and ChÉret, Lautrec and Auriol have fallen the task of looking after the so-called decorative part of French work. But the fact that not only these men will do you a poster, a cover design, a head, or a tail-piece, but that almost all others will too, is a positive proof that decoration cannot be separated from illustration, and also that all true artists are decorators.

Among wood-engravers, Baude and Florian hold the foremost place as reproductive artists, while LepÈre stands quite apart, a brilliant many-sided man, at once draughtsman, engraver, etcher, and painter, a true craftsman in the best sense. Another man, F. Valloton, is making an endeavour to revive original wood-cutting, and though but few of his cuts are anything like so good as "EntÊrrement en Province," he is the leader of a movement which may result in the resurrection, or indeed the creation of an original art of wood-cutting. But this desire of artists to engrave and print their own work is growing in France, as may be seen in such a collection as "Estampe Originale." Pannemacker and his followers have been the most popular, and their influence has been felt, sometimes with distinction, in all cheap French wood-engraving.

After enumerating this long list, it seems as if I had contradicted my own rather pessimistic view of illustration in France. I do not think so. It is true that the artists, though few in number, are in the country, but to-day the opportunities for them to express their art are lacking: as a proof, the only book devoted solely to French illustration which has ever appeared has just been published in America.