CHRONOLOGICAL SUMMARY OF THE PRINCIPAL HISTORICAL EVENTS HEREIN ALLUDED TO.

N his “Petite Revue d’Ex-Libris Alsaciens,” Mons. Auguste Stoeber claimed to have discovered an armorial ex-libris which had been engraved for Conrad Wolfhart, of Rouffach, who died in 1561, but the evidence is not conclusive, otherwise this would have been the earliest French book-plate known.

FRENCH EX-LIBRIS.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTION.

T is nearly a quarter of a century since Mons. Maurice Tourneux first drew attention to the subject of French book-plates in an article which appeared in “L’Amateur d’Autographes” for April, 1872. This was descriptive of the famous collection of Mons. Aglaüs Bouvenne, who is himself the designer of some of the most interesting and artistic of modern French book-plates. Next followed the well-known work of Mons. A. Poulet-Malassis, “Les Ex-Libris Français,” the preface to which is dated January 20th, 1874; a second edition was issued in the following year by P. Rouquette, Paris, 1875. Then, after a long interval, appeared “Les Ex-Libris et les Marques de Possession du Livre,” by Henri Bouchot. Paris: Edouard Rouveyre, 1891.

Beyond these, and a few pamphlets descriptive of local collections, such as the “Petite Revue d’Ex-Libris Alsaciens,” by Auguste Stoeber, 1881, and some articles by Octave Uzanne in “Le Livre Moderne,” comparatively little had been written on the topic until the appearance of the first edition of this work.

Indeed, in his last article in “Le Livre Moderne” (No. 24, December, 1891), M. Octave Uzanne deplored the want of interest shown by the French authors in this important branch of bibliographical art. From amongst the hundreds of thousands of book-plates known to exist in public and private collections, there would, he said, be no difficulty in selecting sufficient representative examples to form a magnificent “Dictionnaire Illustré des Ex-Libris.” The task must, however, remain unperformed until an author is found possessing not only sufficient taste, skill, and leisure to undertake it, but also ample means to carry it out, for such a work would undoubtedly be costly, and not many publishers would be willing to undertake the risk of producing it.

Hitherto no such collection has been published, either in Great Britain or in France; the nearest approach, in French, being the “Armorial du Bibliophile,” by Joannis Guigard, which deals only with the stamps on armorial bookbindings, and the splendid work on German Ex-Libris by Herr Frederic Warnecke, published in Berlin in 1890.

M. A. Poulet-Malassis opens his work with the expression: “Pas un des dictionnaires de la langue française n’a admis le terme ex-libris, composé de deux mots latins qui signifient des livres ... faisant partie des livres. II est pourtant consacré par l’usage et se dit de toute marque de propriété appliquée à l’extérieur ou à l’intérieur d’un volume.”

He could, however, no longer complain of the absence of the term ex-libris from the dictionaries, as, since he wrote, M. Pierre Larousse has inserted the following definition in vol. vii. of “Le Grand Dictionnaire Universel du XIX siècle” (Paris, 4to, 1866-1877):

“Ex-Libris, mots latins qui signifient littéralement des livres, d’entre des livres, faisant partie des livres, avec le nom du propriétaire. Ces mots s’inscrivent ordinairement en tête de chaque volume d’une bibliothèque avec la signature du propriétaire. On connait ce trait d’ignorance d’un financier, homme d’ordre avant tout, qui avait ordonné à son chapelier de coller soigneusement au fond de son chapeau ‘Ex-Libris Vaudore.’”

But what is still more singular than the omission of ex-libris from their dictionaries, is that no word, or phrase, in their own pure and beautiful language has been set apart by our neighbours to define these interesting marks of book possession.

On early French ex-libris the phrases of possession are most frequently found in Latin, as, indeed, is the case with the early book-plates of most nations. The earliest known example, and that is simply typographical, is of Ailleboust of Autun, dated 1574; it has the expression Ex bibliotheca; but it was not until about 1700 that this and similar phrases came into general use, and they were then gradually adopted in nearly the following order: Ex bibliotheca; Ex libris; Ex catalogo bibliothecæ; Ex musæo; Insigne librorum; Bibliothèque de—; Du cabinet de—; Je suis à M——; J’appartiens à——.

It will be noticed that Latin gradually gave way to the French language, and on more modern plates French expressions are usually employed. “Je suis à Jean Tommins” (1750) and “J’appartiens à Lucien Werner” have a distinct character of their own. “Ce livre est du Monastère de la visitation de Sainte Marie de Clermont” (1830), or “Ce livre fait partie de la Bibliothèque de M. le Comte de Fortia d’Urban, demeurant à Paris, Chaussée d’Antin, rue de la Rochefoucault,” are clear and positive statements of fact. Other collectors are less explicit, simply inserting: “Bibliothèque de Pastoret,” “Bibliothèque de Rosny,” “De la Bibliothèque de M. le Chevalier Dampoigne,” “Du Cabinet de Messire Barthelemy Gabriel Rolland.”

The term Ex-libris is now generally understood to refer to the labels, either printed or engraved, fixed by owners inside their books, to show by names, arms, or other devices, to whom the volumes belong. But French collectors employ the term Ex-libris in a much wider sense than we do; as, for instance, in reference to the manuscript entries of ownership in books, as we shall see later on, when dealing with the so-called ex-libris of François Rabelais and of Charlotte Corday, which are in reality but the autographs of these celebrities written in books which once belonged to them.

That this is the well-understood rule is borne out in the very opening sentences of the charming little brochure, “Petite Revue d’Ex-Libris Alsaciens,” by the late Mons. Auguste Stoeber (Mulhouse, 1881): “Lorsque, encore assis sur les bancs de l’école, nous tracions, d’une main peu exercée, sur la garde de nos livres de classe notre nom accompagné de ce verset enfantin:

nous ne doutions guère que nous y inscrivions des ex-libris, et cela aussi peu que plus tard, lorsque, entrés au collège, latinistes en herbe, nous y griffonions un gibet auquel était pendu Pierrot, illustration suivie invariablement de ce quatrain macaronique:

A cette époque le nom d’Ex-libris n’était connu et employé que par les savants de profession et par les hommes du monde, amateurs de livres.”

A recent and more authoritative ruling is that of the Council of the Société Française des Collectionneurs d’Ex-Libris, which not only permits autographs and other manuscript entries in books to be styled Ex-libris, but opens the columns of its journal to the consideration and reproduction of the armorial bearings, monograms, and devices to be found stamped on the leather bindings of books, to which it also applies the term Ex-libris.

In the programme issued with the first part of the Archives de la Société Française occurs the following paragraph dealing with this question: “Bien des personnes considèrent, à bon droit, les marques imprimées en or, ou à froid sur les plats des livres, comme de veritables Ex-Libris. Ce sont, disait un érudit, les Ex-Libris Français par excellence, leur étude est liée à celle des Ex-Libris gravés. Les archives donneront une large hospitalité à tous les documents, notes, ou détermination d’armoiries que nos membres voudront bien nous communiquer.”

British collectors treat these super libros as things apart from ex-libris. A system which includes book-plates, autographs, and armorial bearings on bookbindings under the one term Ex-Libris leads to confusion in correspondence, and is therefore to be deprecated.

The earliest known examples of ex-libris are German, and the custom of using them originated no doubt in that country, where costly bindings, with arms emblazoned on the covers, as in France and Italy, were seldom indulged in.

Earliest in the field in the art of printing, and prolific in book-making, the Germans never attached very particular importance to elegant and sumptuous bindings.

Valuing their books for their intrinsic, rather than extrinsic merits, they covered them with good stout wooden boards and strong metal clasps, and soon discovered that a printed label, or a rough woodcut of a coat-of-arms, was as useful a mode of proclaiming the ownership of a volume as the showy, but costly, system of heraldic emblazoning in gold, silver, and colours, adopted by their more luxurious neighbours.

Hence it is not so very uncommon to find German ex-libris dated in the early years of the sixteenth century, whereas the earliest known French plate is of a much later date. In fact, no French ex-libris of undoubted authenticity has been discovered with an earlier date than 1574, a memorable year for collectors, as being that which is also found on the earliest known English plate, the fine armorial of Sir Nicholas Bacon, a facsimile of which will be found in Mr. Griggs’s valuable collection of “Examples of Armorial Book-Plates,” 1884.

Unfortunately, the first French dated ex-libris is nothing more than a plain label printed with movable type, and bearing the inscription: “Ex Bibliothecâ Caroli Albosii E. Eduensis. Ex labore quies. 1574.”

Now, with the exception of the dated autographs of owners of books, with which we are not here dealing, this ex-libris of the book collector of Autun is the earliest dated example of a French mark of possession which has yet been found affixed to the interior of a book in any French library.

It may well be, however, that this was not actually the first ex-libris employed in France, for there exist, in collections of old engravings, many nameless coats-of-arms emblazoned by French artists in the sixteenth century, the origin and use of which are doubtful, and may remain unrecognized for ever.

A long interval occurs between 1574 and the next dated plate, which is that of Alexandre Bouchart, Sieur de Blosseville, an ex-libris, folio size, engraved by Léonard Gaultier, and dated 1611.

Alexandre Bouchart was councillor in the parliament of Rouen; he died some time before 1622. His ex-libris was found fixed on the cover of a copy of the works of Ptolemy in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris. The “Ptolemy” was printed in Amsterdam, 1605, folio.

This engraving is exceedingly valuable on account of its rarity, its early date, the beauty of its design, and the simplicity and purity of its heraldry. M. Henri Bouchot gives a reproduction of it in his work on “Les Ex-Libris” (p. 32), but as it is only a quarter the size of the original, and is not clearly printed, it gives but a faint idea of the beauty of the work. This is, according to the most recent investigation, the next French plate to that of Charles Ailleboust d’Autun, in order of date as actually printed or engraved on the ex-libris itself, and of unquestionable authenticity.

Then comes a plate which is not only of the greatest interest on account of its antiquity, but also because of its large size, its extreme rarity, and the quaint design. The plate is that of Melchior de la Vallée, Canon, etc., of St. George at Nancy, which bears the date 1613 in the centre of the pedestal. The shield at the top bears the arms of Melchior de la Vallée, not tinctured, supported by two angels, one of whom holds over the shield the hat of a protonotaire of the Court of Rome. Below, in an oval escutcheon, are the names and titles of the owner, supported on the left by the Virgin Mary carrying the infant Jesus, and on the right by St. Nicholas with three small children.

An account of this plate was furnished to the “Journal de la Société d’Archéologie Lorraine” (Nancy, 1864), by M. Beaupré, and Poulet-Malassis also mentions it, but at second-hand, as he had not seen it, and he gives the date incorrectly as 1611. It is not signed, but has been attributed to Jacques Callot and, with more probability, to Jacques Bellange.

There is a lapse of nearly forty years before we come to the next dated plate—André Felibien, Escuier, Sieur des Avaux, Historiographe du Roy, a fine armorial ex-libris, dated 1650.

Some excellent examples are known which prove that between 1574 and 1650 book-plates were engraved and coming into general use, but as they are not dated their age can only be approximately arrived at from internal evidence. Those French gentlemen of the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries who loved books, and formed large libraries, adopted the Italian fashion of having their treasures sumptuously bound. The magnificently illuminated manuscripts, and livres d’heures, which were produced for the great lords and ladies in the fifteenth century, required no ex-libris, for on nearly every page occurred the arms or badges, the ciphers, or the initials of the fortunate owner, whose right to the book was thus for ever placed beyond all question or doubt. The invention of printing, and the consequent rapid multiplication of books, although it greatly interfered with the choice individuality of each impression, did not at once totally destroy it.

The early printers left blanks for initials and illuminations, which were afterwards filled in, freehand, by the artists who had hitherto been employed to illuminate the manuscripts, their services were thus in greater demand than ever. Most of the early printed books were heavy folios, and were sumptuously bound, the arms of the owners being grandly emblazoned in the centre of the side boards; generally with some cipher, flower, or monogram in the corners, and the monogram, or one of the principal charges of the shield, repeated between each band on the back. The present custom of ranging books closely in cases, with only their backs in view, was not suitable for these ponderous tomes. Some of the more ordinary works were placed loosely in open cases round the library, with their fore-edges towards the reader, but the valuable books were fully displayed on long tables or counters, of the right height for a reader to stand at and turn them over without fatigue. Thus the beauty of the binding was seen at once, and must have been so fearfully tantalizing to the visiting bibliomaniac, that the owners often thought it advisable to chain their volumes in their places. With these, as with the manuscripts, and for similar reasons, the use of ex-libris long appeared unnecessary, which accounts for their somewhat late adoption in France; the marks of ownership are on the bindings themselves, the lovely productions of the early masters of bibliopegy, whose elegance and style modern binders vainly attempt to imitate, and cannot excel.

To collect early bindings is a noble hobby, but one which is, and ever must remain, the hobby of a few wealthy collectors, whereas the collection of ex-libris was, until quite recently, a taste requiring patience and skill rather than a well-filled purse.

Styles and periods in French ex-libris are not nearly so well defined, nor so easily recognized, as they are in British plates by the simple terms we use, such as Early English, Jacobean, Chippendale, wreath and ribbon, book-pile, library interior, etc.

French military plates are often decorated with flags, cannon, and fine trophies of arms, but book-piles and library interiors are somewhat uncommon, as are also early plates containing the portraits of their owners.

One of the earliest portrait plates is that of Amy Lamy, with the motto “Usque ad aras,” probably engraved by some pupil of Thomas de Leu, of which the date is doubtful.

Another, and of greater interest, is that of the famous critic, the Abbé Desfontaines (1685-1745), a fine engraving by Schmit, after Tocqué, representing Petr. Fr. Guyot Desfontaines presb. Rothomag., with the following lines:

Which a French admirer translates thus:

On modern ex-libris portraits occasionally occur, as on that of M. Manet, with the punning phrase, “Manet et Manebit,” and that of a well-known English collector and scholar, Mr. H. S. Ashbee, designed by Paul Avril, a French artist. Another represents M. Georges Vicaire, in the costume of a chef, superintending the preparation of a ragout of books to please the literary gourmands. But probably the finest modern portrait ex-libris is that drawn by M. Henry André, the book-plate artist, for himself: this is dated 1894.

The collector must be on his guard against modern reprints from old plates, or ex-libris printed from re-engraved copper plates.

French collectors will commission engravers to copy rare old plates rather than be without examples of them in their albums; this they do openly and acknowledge frankly; but it is sometimes otherwise with the men whom they employ. They work off a number of copies for sale, mix them up with a parcel of genuine ex-libris, and so deceive the unwary collector.

The British collector will not find it easy to add much to his store in Paris, unless he is prepared to pay prices quite out of proportion to those usually charged for plates in this country.

In the first place, it is almost a waste of time to ask for ex-libris in any of the ordinary second-hand book shops; the books are all fairly well gleaned before reaching there, by individuals who collect the ex-libris for certain dealers who make a speciality of them. These dealers are not very numerous, they are all well known to the French collectors, and they have standing orders to reserve all their finest specimens for these regular customers. Consequently the stray passer-by, or the unfortunate foreigner, has little chance of picking up any but common or uninteresting plates.

In provincial towns there is, of course, less demand for plates, but a second-hand book shop in a French provincial town is usually a depressing place, and the books they have for sale seldom contain plates more interesting than a school or college-prize label. Yet these are occasionally very pretty little engravings, and the collector who prizes pictorial ex-libris would be glad to possess such a plate as that, for instance, designed by Apoux for the Institution Guillot, of Colombes (Seine).

The French take considerable interest in the historical, antiquarian, and literary associations of their country, and there are many enthusiastic collectors of ex-libris in France; it was therefore somewhat remarkable that a society of collectors was not formed at least as early in Paris as ours was in London. At length, however, the topic was broached by Dr. Louis Bouland in a letter published in “La Curiosité Universelle” (1, Rue Rameau, Paris) on March 14, 1892, No. 269, from which the following are extracts:

“In No. 266 of ‘La Curiosité Universelle’ I pointed out the advantages and pleasures to be derived from the formation of a Society of Collectors of Ex-Libris. I then mentioned that I should be pleased to correspond with collectors who might be willing to form the nucleus of such a society, and I have already received many promises of support.

“Those who have written to me are of the opinion, in which I concur, that the best way to arrive at a practical result would be to constitute a society to which each member should pay a subscription, the funds thus obtained being employed in printing and publishing a small independent journal.

“To achieve this result some one must take the initiative, write to the collectors, and call a preliminary meeting.

“I am quite willing to do this, and ask the support of all my brother collectors, to whom I offer the use of my rooms for their first meeting.

“They have but to write to me, and if they only take as much interest in the scheme as I do, it must be a success.”

At first the efforts of Dr. Bouland did not meet with much encouragement, and for a whole year he was striving to start the society. At length the first meeting was held at his house on the 30th April, 1893, when a committee was appointed, the rules were drawn up, and the society definitely formed. That Dr. Bouland should have been elected its president was a compliment which was due to him as its founder, but those who have the honour of his acquaintance well know that he also merited the distinction on account of his learning, his researches in all branches of bibliographical lore, his tastes for heraldry and art, and his ardour as a book-plate collector.

In December, 1893, the first number of the Society’s Journal was published, entitled Archives de la Société Française des Collectionneurs d’Ex-Libris, a handsome folio which has since been issued regularly every month, with numerous illustrations and reproductions. In this publication it will be seen that the name of the energetic president frequently appears as a contributor.

Les Archives de la Société are published by Messrs. Paul L. Huard, No. 28, rue des Bons Enfants, Paris, and the Secretary is Mons. Léon Quantin, 20 bis, rue Louis Blanc, Paris.

BOOK-PLATE OF M. LÉON QUANTIN,
Secrétaire de la Société Française des Collectionneurs d’Ex-Libris.

CHAPTER II.

IDENTIFICATION AND CLASSIFICATION.

COLLECTOR will probably find it more difficult to identify and classify the ex-libris of France than those of any other country. The number of anonymous plates of comparatively early date is so large, the coronets of nobility are so irregular and so frequently misappropriated, and the great Revolution created such a general confusion in family history and in heraldry, that the identification of anonymous French ex-libris is embarrassing in most instances, impossible in some. In the rare cases where the book-plate remains fixed in the book to which it originally belonged, some little assistance may be derived as to its date and possible ownership, and at least one point may be settled with tolerable certainty, namely, that the engraving has really been intended for, and has served as, an ex-libris; whereas, when once extracted from its book, many an early armorial ex-libris may be easily mistaken for a woodcut used on a dedication, or for an illustration extracted from some old treatise on heraldry.

The French name the styles in vogue at certain periods after their kings, as the style Henri IV., Louis XIII., Louis XIV., Régence., Louis XV., and Louis XVI.; but it must not be assumed that these styles exactly synchronize with the reigns of the monarchs whose names they bear; neither are they so easily classified or differentiated as are our British styles. The following designs, however, are never found earlier than the periods whose names and dates they bear.

The Henri IV. and Louis XIII. styles are very similar, an oval shield surrounded by an ornamental cartouche, either having angels or mermaids, or garlands of flowers, worked into the frame, both sides of which are alike, or only differ in small details of light and shade, etc. Of the two, the later style is the simpler and less decorative.

The style Louis XIV. is but a development of the above. It is grander, more pompous, more ornate. The cartouche projects further from the edge of the shield, it terminates at the top in a large shell, in which sometimes a female face is shown, or it may be a canopy is suspended above by festoons of flowers. The ornamentation is still symmetrical, and the foliations of the frame are precise and formal, every line having a definite purpose in the design.

In what is called the style Régence (some time after 1715) all this is changed, a light arabesque design is found, quite à la Watteau, graceful and frivolous. Little urns on little brackets, tiny heads springing up from nowhere, dainty festoons trailing round and about without any definite aim in life, and finials at top and bottom which finish nothing because nothing has been commenced.

Pretty, but short-lived, the style Régence gave way to what is known as the Louis XV. This has been stigmatized as Rococo, but little we heed the sneer; it has given us the loveliest of book-plates, and fortunately this was the period when libraries and book-plates were most in fashion in France. Curiously enough our artistic neighbours claim this style, with all its graceful convolutions and irregularities, its scorn for anything approaching regularity of form, as essentially French, whilst we, with equal certainty, assign its invention to Chippendale and name it after him. Without stopping to discuss the question of precedence, that name will suffice to indicate to any British collector the style Louis XV.: a pear-shaped shield in a framework ornamented with rockwork, flowers, branches, and ribbons, a coronet, probably very much on one side, not a straight line anywhere, and no two parts of the design similar, the supporters being shown with the same disregard for method or heraldic convention.

The reaction from this style to that of Louis XVI. is again clearly marked. Straight lines and formal outlines reappear with solid square bases to support the shields. Above the shields the coronets are clearly and neatly shown, and from them hang, in graceful curves, wreaths of flowers, festoons of roses, palm branches, or laurel leaves. On the bases, in some cases, the names of the owners appear, in others geometrical ornaments, Greek key patterns, or simple festoons. This style, somewhat formal and severe, yet essentially French, lasted until the Revolution.

Under the first Empire there was no style, or what was worse, a bad style, stiff, formal, semi-Greek, semi-Egyptian, and wholly false.

The Restoration brought little improvement—a Gothic revival, here borrowing, there stealing, from all the styles that had been in vogue, and spoiling all in turn.

And so it lasted until the fall of the second Empire, since when a revival has set in of national life, of national art, and of art in book-plates.

In attempting to identify anonymous and undated French plates, the first point to be noticed is, whether the tinctures and metals are clearly defined in the conventional manner; if they are, the plate will not be earlier than about 1638 or 1639, when this system was first generally adopted.

The heraldic shield, thus emblazoned, with more or less embellishment, allegorical and pictorial, flourished, from 1639, for just 150 years. In 1789 almost all the old symbols of nobility and titles of honour in France ceased abruptly; crowns and coronets were thought little of at that date, but—and this was worse—a little later on they were thought so much of as greatly to imperil the lives of those who bore them. Indeed, the revolutionary period affected book-plates very severely from 1789 until the end of 1804, when Napoleon, having obtained the dignity of emperor, wished to restore some appearance of a court. He therefore revived heraldry in a modified form, and placed it under certain clearly defined regulations.

But the new nobility of the Empire cared little for heraldic insignia, and still less for books or book-plates, consequently for the next ten years the crop is small and comparatively uninteresting. As a rule the plates of the Empire are easily identified; if heraldic, by the simplicity and regularity of the design, and by the peculiarly characteristic cap, or toque, designed by David, Napoleon’s favourite artist, which was used on most of them in place of crest or coronet.

The non-heraldic plates of this period are also very plain, often indeed being merely printed labels, as in the case, for instance, of that of Marshal Suchet.

On the Restoration of the Bourbon, Louis XVIII., all the Napoleonic badges and devices were swept away, and no satisfactory regulations were devised to replace them. The old nobility, or what remained of them, returned to France and resumed their ancient titles and armorial bearings, but the general public refused to treat them seriously, and heraldic book-plates have been on the wane ever since. Of late years nearly all men celebrated in arts or letters have adopted either allegorical, pictorial, or humorous ex-libris, whilst modern plates which contain the grandest coats-of-arms frequently belong to those who are least entitled to bear them.

The task of identifying unknown ex-libris of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, those which bear a simple coat-of-arms without name of owner, or of artist or engraver, requires some patience, a collection of books of reference, and a knowledge of at least the rudiments of heraldry.Chalumeaux