THE EX-LIBRIS SERIES. EDITED BY GLEESON WHITE.
FRENCH BOOK-PLATES.

London: George Bell & Sons, York Street,
Covent Garden, & New York.   Mdcccxcvi



CHISWICK PRESS:—CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.

INCE the first edition of this Handbook was published in 1892 the taste for collecting book-plates has spread with such rapidity that that which was formerly the hobby of a few, has now become the serious pursuit of the many.

Societies devoted to the collection and study of ex-libris have been founded by eminent genealogists and heraldists, not only in Great Britain, but also in Germany, France, and the United States, all of which are in a flourishing condition, numbering many active and enthusiastic members. Each of these societies publishes an illustrated Journal in which the book-plates of all ages and countries are being reproduced and described from almost every point of view. Whilst the ever-widening circle of literature on the topic shows that the taste has now also spread to Sweden, to Italy, to Belgium, to Switzerland, and to South America.

Such intense literary activity has led to the recent publication of many interesting records of French ex-libris, and in order to keep my readers au courant with the present state of knowledge, it has been found necessary to increase the number of chapters, to add materially to the others, and to include nearly a hundred facsimiles, in addition to those in the former edition.

The writings of Poulet-Malassis, Henri Bouchot, Octave Uzanne, le Père Ingold, Auguste Castan, A. Benoit, Henri Jadart, and H. Jardère, are all well-known to French collectors, but they have not been translated, and what is even more serious for the British collector, the original editions are now for the most part unobtainable.

I have therefore attempted to embody all the principal facts to be gleaned from these authorities with the information derived from my own collection, so as to produce a succinct history of French book-plates from 1574 (the year named on the first known dated French book-plate) to the present day. In the alphabetical list of artists and engravers will be found such a concentration of information useful to collectors as does not exist in any other work on the subject.

Heraldic details have been avoided as far as possible, yet some little space has necessarily been devoted to the explanation of the principal differences between the systems of the two nations, in order to enable a collector of French book-plates to understand certain peculiarities either not to be found on British armorial bearings, or conveying a different meaning to that ascribed to them in British heraldry.

Of the illustrations, many have been reproduced from rare old examples, whilst those of modern date are of interest, either on account of the fame of their artists, or their owners, or for the beauty or quaintness of their design.

As the majority are dated specimens, they have an educational value in representing the styles of heraldry and of ornamentation in vogue at the various periods during the last three centuries.

To Dr. Bouland, President of the French Society, I am greatly indebted for the loan of several interesting reproductions, and my thanks are also due to Messieurs Aglaüs Bouvenne, Henry André, L. Joly, Léon Quantin, le Père Ingold, and other artists and owners of book-plates for their kind permission to reproduce them here.

A final tribute of gratitude remains to be paid to one who shares all my labours, or my cares, and adds that charm to life that makes success worth striving for.

Every line in this little book has passed under her eyes, for revision or correction, and I would pray:

“ELLARBEE,”
Clapham Common, Surrey.

October, 1896.

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.

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.

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. The collector will soon learn to distinguish early French woodcuts from German, one marked difference being that nearly all German work was cut in relief, whilst French artists worked in the hollow, thus producing an engraving which feels rough where the ink lies. The crests on German plates are also very unlike those used in France; indeed, crests are comparatively rare on French book-plates, whilst the Germans frequently introduce several on one achievement; another very distinctive feature being the two large proboscis, or pipe-like horns, rising from the sides of the helmet, the Chalumeaux, of such constant occurrence in German crest heraldry, but rarely, if ever, found on a purely French ex-libris.

A typical example of this peculiar ornament will be found on the ex-libris of Hieronimus Ebner, of Nuremberg, dated 1516, which is attributed to Albert Dürer; this is reproduced by M. Henri Bouchot, page 25. Another example of this ornament will be seen on the Alsatian plate of Le R. Père Ingold de l’Hay.

The mode of engraving the armorial tinctures and bearings will probably show, as we have seen, whether the plate is earlier or later than 1639. Should the plate carry the name of artist or engraver, the date may be arrived at approximately by reference to the list of Artists and Engravers.

Or, assuming that the plate has neither the name of the owner nor that of the artist, it may carry a motto, in which case several works may be consulted for information. One of the most modern is “Le Dictionnaire des Devises,” by Alphonse Chassant, which contains an enormous number of war cries, mottoes, and devices, adopted by distinguished families, not only in France, but in other nations. For readiness of reference these are arranged in alphabetical order, according to the first word of the sentence.

Another useful reference book is “Historic Devices, Badges, and War Cries,” by Mrs. Bury Palliser (London: Sampson Low, Son, and Marston, 1870). This contains not only war cries and mottoes, but illustrations of some hundreds of family badges and devices, which are of great assistance in deciding the ownership of foreign nameless plates.

Finally, assuming a French plate to have no other distinctive mark than a shield with heraldic bearings, the first work to consult should be the heraldic dictionary of the engraver Paillot, “La vraye et parfaite science des armoiries ou l’indice armorial de feu maistre Louvan Geliot, advocat,” par Pierre Paillot; Paris, 1660. In this M. Paillot has arranged in alphabetical order all the terms used in heraldry, with cross references to those in whose arms the various charges occur. Thus, supposing an ex-libris has a shield on which appears a lion rampant, by consulting his work under the words “lion” and “rampant,” some reference will probably be found to the family in which this ex-libris took its origin.

Although this work dates from the seventeenth century, it may often be consulted with advantage for modern arms, as in many good old families the principal charges have not been altered very materially. Another advantage in Paillot’s “Armorial” is the fact that he has not confined his attention only to princes and the nobility, but has, on the contrary, given the preference to the gentry, the minor public officials, and middle-class families.

There is a similar heraldic table, but on a limited scale, in the “Armorial du Bibliophile,” by Joannis Guigard. This work contains illustrations of many hundreds of French coats-of-arms, copied from the bindings of books, all of which are fully described. There is also an index to the principal charges borne on the shields of most of the great book collectors of France, information which is fully as useful to the collector of ex-libris as to the collector of ancient bindings.

There are other works also, such as “Les Grands Officiers de la Couronne,” by Père Anselme, and the “Armorial” of Chevillard, but they are not so well adapted for book-plate collectors who have only limited time, and probably but a rudimentary knowledge of French heraldry.

On a few early plates the names of French towns may be found latinized, thus:

These are the towns most likely to be met with; should others occur, not here enumerated, the collector may consult A Topographical Gazetteer, by the Rev. Henry Cotton, D.C.L.

Which is the best system of classification?

This question has often been asked, and no satisfactory reply to it has yet been given.

It must, indeed, remain to a large extent a matter of individual taste, depending on the leisure and pecuniary means of the collector, the extent and value of his collection, and the special circumstances (if any) for which the collection has been formed. There are three principal systems, each of which has its advantages and its drawbacks, 1. The simple alphabetical. 2. The national, with subdivisions. 3. The arrangement according to the styles of the designs.

No doubt the purely alphabetical arrangement, according to the family names of the plate owners, is at once the easiest to plan out, and the simplest for the purposes of reference. It also lends itself well to the tracing of family history, and the comparison of the modifications of heraldry in successive generations.

In libraries, public institutions, and very large private collections, this alphabetical method must almost necessarily be adopted, each plate being as readily accessible for reference as is a word in a dictionary. But it involves a large number of albums to allow sufficient room in each letter for additions, and the plates are all mixed in one heterogeneous mass, with little regard to age, style, or beauty in design. In the department of engravings in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, there are upwards of sixty large volumes full of ex-libris, arranged alphabetically. This collection was commenced about twenty years ago, and, under the energetic supervision of M. Georges Duplessis, it has rapidly increased, and the alphabetical arrangement has been adopted to facilitate easy reference and comparison.

But M. Henri Bouchot, who, being an official in the print department there, speaks with authority, remarks that enthusiastic collectors are also students of history in their special branches, and will (that is, if their leisure permit) be certain to prefer some more regular and distinctive system of classification than the simple alphabetical arrangement.

He therefore recommends the second plan, namely, the division by countries first, and next, the arrangement in strict chronological order. There are, however, many difficulties in the way of this seemingly ideal plan. One may, it is true, soon learn to distinguish, with a fair amount of accuracy, between French, German, Italian, and British book-plates; but with other nations the distinctions are less marked, and Spanish, Dutch, Swiss, or Belgian plates can be easily confounded with those of their immediate neighbours.

Again, in dealing with plates which have neither name, artist’s signature, nor date, the chronological subdivisions can only be decided by a constant comparison of the styles in use at various periods, and by well-known artists and engravers.

This practice gives the collector a great insight into the progress of art, and the development of taste, yet it demands both time and patience to carry it out. Finally, it is true, the collector will have formed a continuous series of heraldic devices illustrating family history more completely than can be arrived at in any other manner. It is only by this constant study and comparison that the student of French ex-libris can hope to acquire a knowledge of their details, so as to be able to arrange his collection with a due attention to time, place, and families.

The third system advocated, namely, the arrangement according to the styles of the designs on the plates, may be interesting from an artistic point of view, but is certainly not very methodical.

A collector might divide his French plates under the following heads:

1. Heraldic. Subdivided thus: Before 1639. From 1639 to 1789. From 1789 to 1804. From 1804 to the restoration of the Monarchy. Modern plates. Plates having printed dates to be kept apart from those not dated.

2. Pictorial. Subdivided thus: Woodcuts. Copper plates. Etchings. Lithographs. And, again, as library interiors, portraits, war trophies, ladies’ plates, landscapes, punning plates, etc.

3. Artists. A collection of signed plates carefully arranged under the names of their artists would, no doubt, be of great interest for comparison and study, but rather more for the lover of engraving pur et simple than for the lover of ex-libris, or for the student of heraldry and family history.

The great difficulty of any system of classification by the design is, that some plates might very properly be placed under three or four categories, so that, unless the collection be carefully indexed, the trouble is great in seeking hurriedly for any particular plate. The labour involved in writing an exhaustive index can only be appreciated by those who have once made one, and many who start zealously to work at the outset, let the new additions fall in arrear, and the whole scheme is then abandoned as being too troublesome.

In conclusion, I can only repeat that the choice of the system of arrangement depends more upon the tastes of the collector himself than upon any other consideration; but that, on the whole, the balance of advantages appears to incline in favour of the alphabetical classification under surnames, keeping each family as distinct as the information, heraldic and other, on the plates will allow.

Plates of royalty and nobility should be kept apart from the commoners, and arranged, first, in order of rank, second, alphabetically by name. The method most generally in use at present for preserving the plates, when arranged, appears to be what is known as the ex-libris case. If this arrangement be adopted, then each plate must be separately mounted on a card of the correct size. These cases and cards can be purchased ready for use from Mr. W. H. Batho, of 7, Gresham Street, London, and the advantages of this arrangement are that any plate or plates can be withdrawn without injury, and additions can at any time be made, whilst the backs of the cards may be utilized for MS. information about either the plate or its former owner, and newspaper cuttings can be affixed. If the plates are to be inserted in albums, the following regulations should be carefully observed:

Arrange the plates on one side only of each leaf in the album, allowing ample room for additions in each division of the alphabet. On no account fasten the plate down firmly on the paper, fix it only at one or two corners with a hinge made of gummed paper, or of the outside strip which surrounds sheets of postage stamps.

This method allows of the easy removal of any plate without damage, either to the plate or the album, as often as may be desired. The convenience of this will be readily appreciated by veteran collectors, who know how often one wants to exchange one plate for another, and how many good examples have been damaged in the attempt to remove them when once they have been firmly fixed down with gum or “stickphast” paste.

Albums are more convenient for large plates than the cases. They are also better adapted for showing off several varieties of a plate on one page, whilst, for collections in large numbers, they are certainly rather cheaper.

LTHOUGH the nomenclature and fundamental rules of heraldry in France are somewhat similar to those in use in Great Britain, yet in many important details the two systems differ materially.

To show, first of all, the close family resemblance in nomenclature, an amusing copy of verses may be given from an old work (carefully preserving the quaint orthography of the original), of which the title was: “La Sience de la Noblesse ou la Nouvelle Metode du Blason,” par le P. C. F. Menestrier. A Paris, chez Etiene Michallet, premier Imprimeur du Roi, rue S. Jaque, a l’Image S. Paul, MDCXCI.

The deux panes in the second line refers to furs (pannes in modern heraldry). This book is illustrated, and in it the tinctures are correctly represented by lines and dots, and the remark is made “Autrefois on marquoit les Emaux par des lettres,” but the author does not allude to the invention of the system of dots and lines attributed to Father Silvestre Petra Sancta.

The introduction states that the author, the Reverend Father Claude François Menestrier, was born in Lyons in 1631, and had been for many years a member of the Society of Jesus (Jesuits). He wrote many other learned treatises on heraldry.

For the tinctures the French use the same terms as ourselves, except that for green they employ sinople, because vert, properly pronounced, is not easily to be distinguished from the fur vair. This is a sensible distinction, as is also their expression, contre hermine, to describe what British heralds call ermines, in contradistinction to ermine, a difference so little marked in our case as easily to pass unnoticed and give rise to errors.

The conventional system above mentioned of engraving the tinctures is also the same in France as in Great Britain, and these devices may be easily fixed on the mind of the merest novice by a short study of Mr. J. Ashby-Sterry’s entertaining (proposed) work on “Heraldry made Easy:”

As most of the principal heraldic devices used on British arms were adopted when Norman French was our courtly language, and are described in that tongue, it does not require much study to enable anyone who can decipher a British coat-of-arms to do the same with an ordinary French shield, or even to understand the written description of one.

Yet coming to more advanced heraldry, dealing with such questions as descents, marriages, arms of assumption, of succession, of concession, and the proper marshalling of arms, the difficulties increase, and many apparent contradictions arise.

Until the downfall of Louis XVI., the aristocracy of France was not only the most ancient and the proudest in Europe, but, speaking generally, possessed higher hereditary privileges and greater power than the nobility of any other civilized nation in the world.

One of their most cherished rights was that of bearing coat armour, but little by little a rich middle class sprung up (the despised bourgeoisie), which misappropriated coronets and coats-of-arms, and shortly before the outbreak of the Revolution, heraldry in France was in a most confused and chaotic condition.

As to the origin of French heraldry, little is known with any certainty. That tournaments were first held in Germany about 938 is generally admitted. At these the fundamental rules of all heraldry must, no doubt, have been formulated, whence they gradually passed into France, through the north-eastern provinces. Then followed the Crusades, which gave a great impetus to the science of heraldry, as is shown by the vast number of crosses in early arms; the crescents and stars, which were copied from the captured standards of the Saracens; and the fabulous monsters of the East, which became the heraldic devices of many noble families descended from ancient warriors who fought in Palestine. Louis VII. (Louis le Jeune), who superintended all the arrangements for the coronation of his son, Philip Augustus, was the first to employ the Fleur-de-Lys as the royal badge of France, which he caused to be emblazoned on all the ornaments and utensils employed in the coronation ceremony. He was also the first king who employed that badge on his seal.[1] This was before 1180.

Henceforward heraldry became generally popular, and many works were written to define the rules of chivalry, each one more elaborate than the preceding. King John of France devoted much attention to heraldry, as did several of his successors, and then the historians Froissart, Monstrelet, and Olivier de la Marche introduced it into their chronicles. Indeed, there is scarcely one early French romance which does not contain the full blazon of the imaginary arms conferred upon its fabulous personages.

When at length heraldry became fully recognized, its signs and emblems were chosen as the badges of hereditary nobility. In the course of time this attracted the envy of vain and unscrupulous people, who usurped the insignia of nobility which they were not by law entitled to wear.

These malpractices gave rise to great confusion, and were not only severely reprehended by all true lovers of heraldry, but were the subject of many royal edicts, commanding that all offenders should be heavily fined.

Before the year 1555 it had been a recognized custom that a member of any one of the great families of France might change his name and his arms without royal authority, a practice which was particularly useful in certain marriages.

Thus, supposing the last inheritor of a famous family name to have been a female, on marriage her husband could assume her name and armorial bearings, and thus perpetuate a line which otherwise (as in Great Britain) would have become extinct.

But, as may be easily imagined, this voluntary substitution of name and arms gave rise to many abuses and disputes. Accordingly, by an ordinance of King Henry II., dated at Amboise, March 26, 1555, it was forbidden to assume the name, or the arms, of any family other than one’s own, without having first obtained letters patent, and a fine of 1,000 livres was to be paid by any person usurping the arms and insignia of nobility.

These regulations were renewed and made even more stringent in subsequent reigns, notably by Charles IX. in 1560, by Henry III. in 1579, by Henry IV. in 1600, by Louis XIII. and Louis XIV. at various dates; whilst in 1696 there was a general visitation, when a tax of 20 livres was levied for the registration of every coat-of-arms. Henceforward, and almost up to the outbreak of the Revolution, edicts were issued with the object of preventing the French people from usurping arms and titles of nobility which had not been duly sealed and confirmed by the authorities.

But all these regulations were to very little purpose, and towards the close of the eighteenth century the confusion in heraldry became extreme, especially in the matter of coronets and supporters, which, as the book-plates of the period show, were assumed in a reckless manner by many who had no right to carry them.

Then came the great upheaval of society, and during the first period of the Revolution, when even to be suspected of nobility was a crime, haste was made to erase, or omit, all the signs of noble descent which had hitherto been so readily assumed, and in their places to insert caps of liberty and Republican mottoes, such as Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité, or La Liberté ou la Mort.

But in truth the revolutionary period was not productive of much in the way of books or book-plates. Society was too excited to devote its time to such frivolities, and le rasoir national was more busy than the printing press or the graver’s tool. Most of the literature of the period consisted of polemical tracts or political pamphlets, and comparatively few libraries were formed.

As soon, however, as Napoleon reached the summit of power, he set vigorously to work to restore something like order in all branches of the public services, which had been reduced to chaos during the troubles. One of the topics to which he early directed his attention, and his brilliant talent for organization, was heraldry. Yet, although he readily discarded republican simplicity and equality, he dared not entirely revert to the ancien régime, nor indeed could he have done so had he desired.

Of the old nobility many had perished on the scaffold, or on the battle-fields, others had fled to foreign countries, and their castles and estates had been confiscated by the State. Under the comparatively mild rule of Napoleon a few members of the ancienne noblesse ventured to return to France—indeed, several distinguished Royalists were specially invited to do so,—yet the court of the First Empire was composed, not of these, but for the most part of the soldiers, statesmen, and men of letters who had assisted to place him on the throne, and on whom he, in return, conferred titles as brilliant as any that had been formerly held under the old Bourbon kings.

Marshal of France, prince, duke, marquis, count, baron, all flourished once again. Very new and very grand, but of origin most doubtful. Coats-of-arms were granted, and Louis David, Napoleon’s favourite artist, was called upon to design a new style of head-dress to denote the ranks which had, in former days, been indicated by various forms of coronets and helmets, as in British heraldry.

The blazonry under the Empire, being military in its origin, was conceived in the true spirit of military uniformity, each grade being as distinctively marked as the colonel, officers, and rank and file would be in a regiment of infantry drawn up for a general inspection.

The result of blending these three distinct systems—the old style, the Napoleonic, and that of the Restoration period—is somewhat confusing. A few families adhere to the old style, some to the Napoleonic, and the student of French heraldry must make himself acquainted with all.

But reverting to the pre-Revolution period, it appears that about 1700, helmets, wreaths, and mantling began to go out of use on ex-libris, and were replaced by coronets, which at first indicated with some certainty the rank of the owner. But after a time individuals assumed coronets to which they were not entitled, whilst members of the lower ranks of nobility promoted themselves, without ceremony, to the higher grades; the baron became a marquis, and the count assumed the coronet of a duke. An ordinance of 1663, which forbade the usurpation of the insignia of nobility under the penalty of a fine of 1,500 livres, stopped these abuses for a time. But the law soon became a dead letter, and one might suppose, at the present time, that no such regulation had ever existed, so systematically was it evaded.

As, however, in early unnamed ex-libris the coronets have a certain small value in assisting in their identification, a brief description of the distinctive features of the principal coronets may be useful to collectors.

The royal crown of France was a circle, surrounded by eight fleurs-de-lis, of which only three and two halves are visible in engravings; these were surmounted by the arches of a diadem, on the summit of which was a double fleur-de-lis.

The Dauphin of France (eldest son of the king) carried the same number of fleurs-de-lis, but the arches over them were formed of dolphins. The eldest son of the King of France took his title from the old province of Dauphiné, in the south-east of France, and was usually spoken of as Monsieur Le Dauphin. The first Dauphin was created in 1349, and the last, Louis Antoine, Duc d’Angoulême, son of King Charles X., assumed the title on his father’s accession to the throne of France on September 16th, 1824, but owing to the Revolution of 1830, which dethroned Charles X., he did not succeed to the throne. The Duc d’Angoulême died on June 3rd, 1844, when in all probability this ancient title became extinct. The Dauphin bore quarterly the arms of France and Dauphiné.

The other princes of the blood royal carried a coronet surmounted by the same number of fleurs-de-lis, three and two halves, without any diadem.

Dukes carried a golden crown having eight ornamented strawberry leaves (fleurons), of which, in engravings, only three leaves and two halves are visible.

Marquis: Four strawberry leaves, between each of which is a trefoil formed of pearls. One and two half leaves are visible, separated by two trefoils.

Counts: A coronet surmounted by sixteen large pearls, held upon projecting points. Only nine pearls are shown in engravings.

Viscounts: Four large pearls (three only showing), with smaller pearls between.

Baron: A golden crown surrounded by strings of pearls.

Chevalier-bannerets: They carried a ring of gold ornamented with pearls.

Wreath: A roll of ribbons of the tinctures of the shield, or of the favourite colours of the knight’s betrothed. This was placed over the helmet simply as an ornament, and not as any indication of the rank of the bearer.

The rank of Marshal of France was indicated by two batons in saltire behind the shield. These batons were azure, semée of fleurs-de-lis, or. Under the Bourbons, Marshals of France were numerous, and this badge is frequently met with on book-plates.

Officers of artillery usually decorated their plates with cannons and cannon balls below the arms; cavalry officers placed trophies of flags behind their shields. The Admiral of France (answering to our old title Lord High Admiral) bore two anchors in saltire behind his shield, whilst admirals carried an anchor in pale behind their shields. The Chancellor of France bore two maces in saltire behind his shield.

In a similar manner, all the great Officers of State, and the Court dignitaries, bore the badges of their offices in addition to their family arms, and numerous as were these functionaries, there could be no confusion between their achievements, so appropriate were their devices to their offices.

Such were the Court regulations, and so long as Louis XIV. reigned they were, no doubt, strictly enforced; but later on, under the Régence and Louis XV., a general laxity prevailed, indicative of the coming storm.

Mention is frequently found on old book-plates of various offices held under Parlement. In France, before the Revolution, there were twelve Parlements, namely, those of Paris, Toulouse, Grenoble, Bordeaux, Dijon, Rouen, Aix, Rennes, Pau, Metz, Douay, and Besançon, besides some local councils for the colonies.

These Parlements were simply local Courts of Justice, entitled to deal both with civil and criminal cases, and their functions in no way resembled those of the British Houses of Parliament.

The officers connected with these Courts were very numerous, and those of the higher grades were entitled to carry certain distinctive badges with their arms, and head-dresses denoting their rank.

In ex-libris printed before the Revolution it is not unusual to find the collars and insignia of the several orders of French knighthood, the principal of which were the order of Saint Denis, instituted in 1267; of Saint Michel, instituted by Louis XI. at the Château d’Amboise, August 1, 1469; of the Saint Esprit (Holy Ghost), instituted in 1578; of Notre Dame du Mont Carmel, instituted in 1607; and of Saint Louis, instituted in 1693. The chevaliers de Saint Michel wore a collar from which was pendent a medal, representing the archangel overthrowing the dragon; the collar of the Saint Esprit was formed of alternate fleurs-de-lis and the letter H interlaced, from which depended either a dove or a cross, according to the rank of the bearer.

The Knights of the Royal and Military order of Saint Louis carried a star with eight points, on which was the motto of the order: Bellicae virtutis praemium.

There was also a very ancient order, that of St. Lazare de Jerusalem, which was united by Henri IV. with that of Notre Dame du Mont Carmel.

Although the order of the Toison d’Or (Golden Fleece) was founded by a French prince, Philippe, Duke of Burgundy, in 1429, it passed into the hands of the House of Austria, and thence again into the possession of the kings of Spain, who became the sovereigns of the order.

Owing, no doubt, to the close family relations existing between the royal houses of France and Spain, the order of the Golden Fleece was conferred upon many of the French nobles (by permission of their king), and the collar, with the well-known badge of the pendent lamb, is to be found on many French achievements. The motto of the order is Pretium non vile laborum.

Of all these orders the most important were the Saint Michel, the Saint Esprit, and the Saint Louis, which were specially distinguished as “les Ordres du Roi” (the Orders of the King), he being their Chief and Grand Master. Chevaliers of the order of the Saint Esprit were always first admitted into the order of Saint Michel, so that the collars of these two orders are generally found together. The order of Saint Louis having been founded by Louis XIV. exclusively for the reward of military and naval services, is occasionally met with apart from the two other orders of the king. There was also an order, that of the Bee, intended for ladies only, which was founded in 1703.

Most of the above orders ceased to exist during the Revolution. That of the Saint Esprit was revived at the Restoration, but the last installation took place under Charles X., at the Tuileries, on May 31, 1830, and the latest surviving owner of the Order was the late Duc de Nemours; whilst that of Saint Louis, a distinctly Bourbon decoration, is probably still kept alive by the few remaining adherents of that luckless family.

In 1802 Napoleon, then First Consul, instituted the famous order of the Legion of Honour, for the reward of merit either in the army, navy, or in civil life. The order was confirmed by Louis XVIII. in 1815, and its rules and constitution were modified in 1816 and in 1851. M. Ambroise Thomas, on whom the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour was recently bestowed, is one of six civilians who at present hold that order. Meissioner is the only artist who has ever held this distinction. The number of Grand Crosses is limited to eighty, but for a long time past the number actually holding the decoration has varied between forty and fifty. When the Legion of Honour was created in 1802 by General Bonaparte, the holders of the Grand Cordon (now Grand Cross) were entitled to draw £800 a year; at the Restoration this amount was reduced by one-half. Nowadays the members of the Legion of Honour receive the following annuities: Knights, £10; Officers, £20; Commanders, £40; Grand Officers, £80; and Grand Crosses, £120. Decorations conferred on civilians do not carry with them any pension. Practically this is now the only order of knighthood existing in France, yet the number of men who are décoré is remarkable. They can scarcely be all chevaliers de la Légion d’Honneur, but the French have a passion for titles and orders, a craving for le galon, which, though somewhat incompatible with the republican form of government they have adopted, must be gratified.

This desire to raise oneself a rung or two on the social ladder, to which even sensible bibliophiles appear to have succumbed, is no new thing. It exists to-day, and has existed for centuries. Penalties, however severe, seem to have been unavailing, and even ridicule was found powerless to check this silly vanity.

A lawyer of Dijon, named Bernard, was ordered to erase from the tomb of his wife the girdle of nobility he had had carved around her epitaph. Others who carried the full-faced open helmets, proper only for emperors, kings, and sovereign princes, on their fantastic achievements, were compelled to adopt the closed helmet in profile proper for a simple gentleman.

Owners of assumed titles and of manufactured coats-of-arms were greatly alarmed a few years ago by the terribly sarcastic writings of an individual who styled himself the ghost of an ancient herald, Le Toison d’Or.[2]

In a series of letters published in “Le Voltaire” he exposed the faulty and ignorant system of heraldry in vogue, and the deceptive assumptions of titles, coronets, and armorial bearings in modern French Society.

Indeed, he remarked, to judge by appearances, one might imagine that the Revolution had destroyed nothing, but that, on the contrary, it had endeavoured to foster and encourage titles and aristocracy, so rapidly had they increased of late years.

Toison d’Or wished to alter all this, and the salons were greatly disturbed as he went to work chipping off titles and prefixes of nobility right and left. But all to no purpose, except indeed to cast doubts upon all French heraldry since the downfall of the Bourbons.

A title in France costs nothing, and deceives no one who has the slightest knowledge of family history and genealogy.

The following letter appeared in “Notes and Queries,” London, August 25, 1894:

“As there always appears to be a doubt in the public mind as to whether there is any office in France at all corresponding to our heralds’ offices in this country, I ventured to put out this query to a well-known authority in Paris, together with the queries as to whether there is any ground for the statement that the archives of the French Heralds’ College were destroyed by fire by the Commune, and also if there is any Heraldic or Genealogical Society at all corresponding to the Government Office; and I received the following reply:

It will be seen that reference is made in the above letter to a certain un-official Heraldic Society, but shortly after the above correspondence was published, even that body was dissolved.

In May, 1895, there was sold by auction in the Hôtel des Ventes, in Paris, the whole of the archives accumulated by the French Heraldic College. Although it is true the institution was never anything but a private enterprise, it had had an uninterrupted existence of more than half a century, during which period a great store of genealogical documents had been amassed relating to the titled families of France. It was founded in 1841 by the Marquis de Magny, the compiler of the well-known “Livre d’Or de la Noblesse de France,” but the present generation of Frenchmen did not care sufficiently for rules of precedence and genealogical trees to support the institution. Hence the sale, consisting, it is computed, of 40,000 genealogical trees, and about 400,000 original family documents.

As to Frenchmen generally, they seem now to attach little importance to heraldry, and few literary men place arms on their book-plates. In fact, as M. Henri Bouchot observes: “Le blason à fait son temps, il ne se rencontre plus guère que dans les travaux des héraldistes et détonne un peu en ce moment.”

As a simple guide to French heraldic terms may be mentioned: “Traité Complet de la Science du Blason,” par Jouffroy D’Eschavannes. Edouard Rouveyre, rue des Saints Pères, Paris, 1880. This contains an excellent “Dictionnaire des Termes de Blason.”

Heraldically interesting is the ex-libris of the library of the Château du Verdier de Vauprivas, French King of Arms, with the old war-cry of the Bourbons, Mont-Joye St. Denis! and the owner’s motto, “Fear no Evil.”

“Clisson assura sa Majesté du gain de la bataille, le roi lui repondit: Connestable, Dieu le veeulle, nous irons donc avant au nom de Dieu et de Sainct Denis.”—Vulson de la Colombière.

ROM 1574 to 1650 French book-plates were not numerous, and very few dated examples are known, but the age of the plates can generally be approximately decided by their style.

The French shields of this first period are almost invariably square in form, slightly curved at the bottom. As a rule, on early plates the supporters hold the shield upright on a base which rises on each side, or occasionally on a mosaic platform, on the squares of which are emblazoned the principal charges of the shield. This latter decoration, although exceedingly rich in appearance, seems to have fallen rapidly into disuse after 1650. At first the metals and colours are irregularly emblazoned, next they are indicated by the initials of their names, and finally (after 1638) are shown on the present system, although, it must be admitted, that on early plates the tinctures cannot invariably be relied on. French engravers, having the love of beauty more strongly developed than the desire for strict heraldic accuracy, often introduced shading in such a manner as to make it difficult to discriminate between heraldic and non-heraldic lines in their work. Prior to 1638 it was not unusual to “trick” the arms, by placing on them the initials of their metals or colours, as “o.” for or, “ar.” for argent, “g.” for gueules, etc.; whereas soon after the publication of the “Tesseræ gentilitiæ” of Father Sylvestre Petra Sancta, it became the custom to employ dots and lines in conventional forms to indicate colours, metals, and furs in heraldic engravings, in the simple but effective manner which is still employed. Of the early plates, many are of large size, suitable for the folio volumes which then formed the bulk of all libraries. The ex-libris of Lyons are especially notable for their magnitude, as, for example, that of Claude Ruffier.

As in many cases designers’ or engravers’ signatures are found on plates which have no owners’ names, the use of the term anonymous, applied to such ex-libris, would have been ambiguous or misleading. I have, therefore, spoken of ownerless plates as nameless.

I have already alluded in the Introductory Chapter to the three most interesting dated French plates before 1650, namely: Caroli Albosii, 1574, of which a facsimile is here; Alexandre Bouchart, 1611, reproduced by M. Bouchot; and Melchior de la Vallée, 1613, which has been reproduced in both the “Archives de la Société Française” and the “Ex-Libris Journal.”

There is a fourth plate, dated 1644, yet to be described, and a few additional notes about the above will be given, as we reach them in their order.

First, there can be no doubt as to the authenticity of the label of Caroli Albosii, or Charles Ailleboust, Bishop of Autun, whose father had been doctor to Francis I., and died at Fontainebleau, in 1531.

Charles Ailleboust is described in the histories of the time as having been a handsome man, of courtly manners and great learning. He was educated for the Church, but he also obtained several court appointments, through the interest of his father’s many friends, and was procureur-général in the province of Lyons. He died in the town of Autun, on December 29, 1585, and was buried in the Church of Saint Jean-de-la-Grotte.

On his episcopal seal his arms are shown as a chevron between three trefoils within a bordure. No mention is made as to the extent or nature of the library left by this Bishop of Autun, but his ex-libris was found in a work printed in Lyons in 1566, entitled “Les secrets miracles de Nature.”

One of the most curious points about this remarkable label is that it exactly synchronizes with the earliest known dated British book-plate, namely, that of Nicholas Bacon. But for the solace of our national vanity it may be said that the latter is the more important of the two, being a coloured armorial woodcut.

Amongst the finest examples of plates before 1650 may be named the series of three, in different sizes, engraved for Jean Bigot, Sieur de Sommesnil (the head of a Norman family of famous book-lovers).

All three plates are nameless; the arms are irregularly emblazoned, whilst the helmet and supporters are drawn in such an antique style as to give the plates the appearance of even greater age than they possess. Possibly they may have been copied from some very old painting. Later on this Bigot has another suite of armorial book-plates engraved with his name, Johannes Bigot. In these the tinctures are indicated on the shield by their initial letters. As a collector his son Emeric was even more famous, and added greatly to the library he inherited from his father. He had three armorial ex-libris, one large, and two small, on which the tinctures are correctly shown, with the name, L. E. Bigot. These are all signed with a monogram formed of B and D entwined.

Emeric Bigot was born in 1626, so that it is possible that his plates were engraved a little later than 1650.

He was certainly the leading bibliophile of his day, at once the most cultivated and the most liberal in the acquisition of rare books. Contemporary writers mention his literary taste and his fine library, which at the time of his death contained about 40,000 volumes. These he left to a member of his family, Robert Bigot (who also had a book-plate), but eventually they were sold in Paris in 1706.

The following ex-libris have also been identified as belonging to this period, either by the names, the arms, the mottoes, or by the signatures of the artists affixed to them:

Charles de Lorraine, Evêque de Verdun (1592-1631). Fine armorial plate, without the owner’s name.

Alexandre Bouchart, Sieur de Blosseville. Engraved by Léonard Gaultier, dated 1611, and already described on page 12.

Melchior de la Vallée, dated 1613, an armorial plate of extreme rarity. The inscription reads thus: “Melchior a Valle protonotarius Insignis Ecclæ Sancti Georgi Naceis Cantor et Canonicus Henr II. D. Lotharin. et Barri eleemosinarius.” On account of its extreme rarity this ex-libris had long been the subject of doubt and curiosity to collectors, even Mons. Poulet-Malassis had not seen it, and blundered in his notes upon it.

At length Dr. Bouland gave a facsimile of it in the Archives de la Société Française for February, 1895.

The actual engraving measures exactly six inches by four, and in the lower portion the date (1613) is boldly engraved. Dr. Bouland, in his notes upon it, says that this facsimile is taken from the only original copy that is now known to exist, in the possession of Mons. Lucien Wiener, Curator of the Lorraine Museum in Nancy. One other example was discovered some time since, but was unfortunately destroyed in a fire. The design (which it may be said is more curious than beautiful) was at first attributed to Callot, but it is now believed to have been the work of Jacques Bellange, a painter and engraver, who was born in Nancy in 1594, and died about 1638, consequently he might well have produced work of this description in 1613. Melchior de la Vallée was an ecclesiastic, with a passion for collecting rare books and curiosities; unfortunately he incurred the displeasure of Charles IV., Duke of Lorraine, was accused of sorcery, and cruelly burnt alive in 1631.

Chanlecy. The nameless armorial plate of an ecclesiastic belonging to this Burgundian family, quartering the arms of Semur and Thiard.

Claude Sarrau. Armorial plate in two sizes; the larger one only is signed Briot, although it is probable the same artist, Isaac Briot, engraved both. The owner’s name does not appear on either plate. Claude Sarrau, councillor to the parliament of Paris, died in 1651. His correspondence with the savants of the day was edited and published by his son Isaac in 1654.

De Chaponay. Prévôt des Marchands de la Ville de Lyon in 1627. Two handsome armorial plates, quarto and octavo, without the owner’s name. The quarto plate has the arms of Chaponay imposed upon those of family connections; lions support the shield, which rests on a platform composed of a mosaic pattern of all the principal charges found on the various shields. This is a very fine decorative plate. Signed Joan Picart incidit.

“Ex Libris Alexandri Petavii in Francorum curia consiliarii. Pauli filii.” This is the fine armorial plate of Alexandre Petau, who inherited a splendid library from his father, Paul Petau, conseiller au parlement de Paris, born in 1568, died in 1613. On the death of Alexandre his manuscripts were purchased by Christina of Sweden, who bequeathed them to the Vatican. The printed books were sold at the Hague in 1722, along with those of Mansart, the famous architect. On the plate the shield rests on a mosaic platform, composed of the principal charges in alternate squares correctly tinctured. Motto: “Moribus antiquis.” This plate is reproduced by Poulet-Malassis.

Louis Brasdefer. In two sizes, each having the owner’s name. Arms surrounded by two branches of laurel; the tinctures are indicated by their initial letters.

Ex-libris of Guillaume Grangier. Guillelmus Grangierius. Faict à Nancy par J. Valdor. An armorial plate, with six lines of Latin verse. The artist, Jean Valdor, a Liègeois, was residing in Nancy in 1630, which approximately fixes the date of this plate; he afterwards went to Paris, where he was living in 1642.

Auzoles, Sieur de la Peyre, of a family of Auvergne, author of “La Sainte Chronologie” (1571-1642). A quarto armorial plate without owner’s name, but signed Picart ft. The shield hangs from the neck of a lion. Motto: “Sub zodiaco vales.” This plate is reproduced by Poulet-Malassis.

Brinon. Norman family. A nameless armorial plate.

Pierre Sarragoz, of Besançon. Armorial plate, without owner’s name, signed P. Deloysi sc. The plate contains a number of coats-of-arms, statues, and a bust of the Emperor Rodolf II., to whom the Sarragoz family, originally from Spain, owed their nobility. Pierre Sarragoz died October 14, 1649, according to his epitaph in the church of St. Maurice at Besançon.

Of engravings by Pierre Deloysi, of Besançon (called le vieux), few examples are known. He was a goldsmith, and engraved the coins issued in his native town.

De Regnouart. Armorial plate. Motto: “Age. Abstine. Sustine.”

Charreton. Armorial plate, name below shield.

Ex-libris of Roquelaire. Armorial plate, without owner’s name, signed L. Tiphaigne. The arms are surrounded by the collars of the orders of Saint Michael, and of the Holy Ghost.

Chassebras. Armorial plate, with the name on a ribbon.

Boussac, of Limousin. Armorial plate without owner’s name.

Antoine de Lamare, Seigneur de Chenevarin. An armorial plate with the inscription “Ex-libris Antonii de Lamare, D. de Cheneuarin.” This plate was found on the cover of a book having the signature Antoine de Lamare, and the date of its acquisition, 1629. A very interesting feature about it is that above the shield is printed (typographically) the blazon of the arms of Lamare, and of those of the families of Croisset and of Clercy, with whom he was connected.

Ex-libris des frères Sainte-Marthe. Armorial plate. Motto: “Patriæ fœlicia tempora nebunt.” Signed J. Picart sc.

Jean-Pierre de Montchal, Seigneur de la Grange. Armorial, without owner’s name. Motto: “Je lay gaignee.” The shield rests on mosaic work, on which the charges are repeated. In his “Traité des plus belles bibliothèques de l’Europe” (1680), Le Gallois mentions the library of De Montchal amongst those recently sold or dispersed.

Nicolas-Thomas de Saint André. A large plate without owner’s name. Motto: “Pietate fulcior.”

Scott, Marquis de la Mésangère, in Normandy. Armorial plate without the owner’s name.

Ex-libris de Garibal. Languedoc family. Name below shield.

Ex-libris de Berulle. Name below shield.

Bovet. Nameless. Armorial. Family of Dauphiné.

Bernard de Nogaret, duc d’Epernon. Large nameless armorial plate of handsome design. The shield surrounded by the collars of the orders of Saint Michael, and of the Holy Ghost. A very fine plate, probably the work of an Italian artist.

“Messire François de Varoquier. Chevallier de l’ordre du Roy son con^er et maistre d’hostel ord^re Tresorier de France G^nal des Finances et grand voier en la generalité de Paris.”

Motto: “Recta ubique sic et cor.”

Le Féron. Armorial plate without owner’s name. The principal charges are repeated on the mosaic pavement which supports the shield.

Le Puy du Fou. Two sizes, both without owner’s name. Armorial. Signed J. Picart. Poitou family.

Joannes Bardin, presbyter. Motto: “Hic ure, hic seca, modo parcas in æternum.” Two sizes, armorial.

Lesquen. An armorial plate without owner’s name. Motto: “VIN CEN TI.” Breton family.

Large nameless armorial. Signed Raigniauld, Riomi, 1644. See reduced reproduction.

Raigniauld, Riomi, 1644. The late Lord de Tabley, in his “Guide,” says: “This engraver signs and dates a fine, but coarsely executed, anonymous armorial plate. The shield is untinctured and quarterly; first, a star, on a chief, three trefoils slipped; second, a cross pattée; third, a wing; fourth, two bars, in base a wheel; over all an escutcheon charged with a fesse. Fine leaf-like, simple mantling to helmet. No crest. I have no further knowledge of the artist. The more modern French form of this surname is Regnault. Riomi is an old-fashioned town in Auvergne, just north of Clermont.” It is now spelt Riom.

This is the fourth dated plate (1574, 1611, 1613, 1644) before 1650, the next we meet with is that of André Felibien, dated 1650.

François de Malherbe (1555-1628). The poet had plates in two sizes, both armorial, and both probably engraved early in the seventeenth century, and with the tinctures incorrectly shown. Neither bears the owner’s name. Poulet-Malassis reproduces the larger plate.

Amy Lamy. A curious and exceptional plate, having the portrait of this unknown bibliophile, with the motto: “Usque ad aras,” and six lines of complimentary Latin verse.

A large nameless armorial book-plate (unknown), with the motto “In manus tuas Domine sortes mea,” signed J. de Courbes fecit, with several other plates which cannot be identified, complete the list of plates of this period mentioned by Poulet-Malassis. In most cases he gives details of the arms and crests which students who desire to be conversant with French heraldry may consult with advantage.

It will thus be seen that the proportion of book-plates which can be positively assigned to a date prior to 1650 is small. Omitting those which were produced in the provinces on the German frontier, or under the influence of foreign artists, it will be remarked that all the plates produced within the geographical limits of the France of that period were essentially heraldic in character, composed of emblazoned shields, with helmets, crests, mantling, and supporters, often surrounded by wreaths of laurel or palm branches, and frequently resting on handsome mosaic platforms, decorated with the principal charges of the shield. And so generally was the science of heraldry understood in those days, that on only about one-half of the plates was it deemed necessary to add the owner’s name to the shield displaying his arms.

In the reigns of Henri IV. and Louis XIII. book-plates were probably very uncommon, and the large size in which they were produced, for the massive folios then in vogue, has militated much against their preservation. They are, of all book-plates, the most eagerly sought for by collectors; they are rare, they have great artistic merit, and the heraldry is of the grandest and purest style ever known in France. Pierre d’Hozier compiled a list (which has never yet been published) of the names, titles, and arms of one hundred and twenty-five persons, who, living in 1631, were known as collectors and lovers of works on heraldry, history, and genealogy. This list was accompanied by drawings of the armorial bearings of each of the one hundred and twenty-five collectors (engraved by Magneney and J. Picart), the cream of the book-lovers of the day, la fine fleur des bibliophiles, all possessors of libraries, and it may also reasonably be supposed, all possessed of ex-libris.

Yet of all these Poulet-Malassis asserts that he has found but five whose plates are known at present, namely, those of Le Puy du Fou, Montchal, Auzoles de la Peyre, Jean Bigot, and the brothers Sainte-Marthe. Of the remaining one hundred and twenty no book-plates are known; that some amongst their number must have had them is reasonably certain. But where shall we find them, or shall we ever find them?

Mais où sont les neiges d’antan?

HE plates of André Felibien, escuier, sieur des Avaux, seigneur de Iavercy, Historiographe du Roy, are notable as being dated 1650 and as marking the commencement of a transition period. The heraldic style begins to show variations; the mantling becomes less sumptuous and decorative, and the helmets are displaced by coronets, often usurped by those who have no right to them, either by birth, title, or estates. The shields change from the old square French shape to oval, surrounded by a framework, or a decorative cartouche. The fashion of resting the shield and supporters on a mosaic pavement, having a geometrical heraldic design, disappears, to be replaced by a small piece of landscape with grass and flowers, or the shield and supporters stand firmly on a square solid base resembling a flight of steps, or an architectural plinth.

Of this transition period the most interesting plates are those recording, in the one case a gift, in the other a legacy, of valuable books to the College of Jesuits, in Paris, in 1692.

These books had been collected by two of the most famous bibliophiles of the century, Pierre Daniel Huet, Evêque d’Avranches, and Gilles Ménage, Doyen de St. Pierre d’Angers. Bishop Huet chose to present his books during his lifetime (he survived the parting, and lived until 1721), and the gift was of great value, consisting as it did, of 8,312 volumes, besides many rare manuscripts.

The Jesuit fathers recorded their gratitude on ex-libris (in four sizes) of an appropriately rich character, carrying the arms of Bishop Huet. They went to less expense in showing their appreciation of the legacy of Ménage, perhaps because he was dead (he died July 23rd, 1692), or perhaps because he only left them about 2,000 volumes. Neither Bishop Huet nor Dean Ménage appears to have used an ex-libris, but the bindings of their books carried their arms stamped in gold on the covers. An account of the libraries of these famous collectors is given in “L’Armorial du Bibliophile.”

Between 1650 and 1700 the number of book-plates is not large, nor are they of any exceptional interest, beyond showing the gradual alteration in style. It will suffice to name a few of the finest examples.

Nicolas Martigny de Marsal, by Sebastien Le Clerc. Four sizes, two dated respectively 1655 and 1660.

Guillaume Tronson. Signed A. B. Flamen.

Hadriani de Valois, dom. de la Mare.

Jerôme Bignon, grand maitre de la Bibliothèque du Roi. A fine armorial plate, probably engraved by François Chauveau.

Leonor Le François Sr. de Rigawille. Motto: “Meliora sequentr,” dated 1673.

Charles Maurice Le Tellier, archevêque de Reims. Signed J. Blocquet, 1672.

Louis François du Bouchet, Marquis de Souches. Signed “Mavelot, graveur de Mademoiselle.”

Mgr. Pellot, Premier President du Parl^mt de Normandie. Signed J. T., probably Jean Toustain, an engraver of Normandy.

This President Pellot possessed a valuable collection of Spanish and Italian books.

Guyet de la Sordière, a plate bearing the arms of several family alliances of la Sordière.

Charles, Marquis et Comte de Rostaing. Signed P. Nolin. This fine heraldic plate does not bear the name of its owner, but as it is exactly reproduced in the Armorial of Segoing, with the inscription “Armes d’Alliances de Messire Charles marquis et comte de Rostaing, gravées par son très humble serviteur Pierre Nolin, 1650,” we are enabled at once to identify the plate, and to fix its date.

Simon Chauuel, chevalier, Seigneur de la Pigeonnière, Conseiller du Roy, etc. Signed P. Nolin.

This book-plate is also reproduced in the Armorial of Segoing, which indeed contains about sixty copies of ex-libris copied by Nolin, either from his own works, or from other plates belonging to his customers, or engravings by his brother artists.

Denis Godefroy. Died in 1681. Ex-libris in two sizes, both armorial.

Potier de Novion. A nameless ex-libris, identified by the arms, and signed by Trudon. The only known book-plate signed by this artist, who yet engraved all the plates to illustrate his work entitled “Nouveau traité de la science pratique du blason,” published in 1689.

Jules-Hardouin Mansart, superintendent of buildings under Louis XIV. Signed Montulay Lenée. Heraldic plate, no name.

Jean-Nicolas de Tralage, a nephew of La Reynie, commandant of police. De Tralage presented his valuable collections to the Abbey of Saint Victor in 1698.

In many cases these plates have been identified only by the arms they carry. Ex-libris had not yet become truly fashionable amongst bibliophiles of the first rank, arms and devices being still generally stamped on the covers of their books, and the names of the owners were seldom considered necessary in a society where every person of any position was compelled to understand heraldry, and to be acquainted with the armorial bearings of the principal families.

The men of letters of the seventeenth century were not apparently inclined to adopt ex-libris, comparatively few have been found; those of Malherbe (who was, however, a nobleman and a courtier as well as an author), the historiographer, André Félibien; Jerôme Bignon, who was chief librarian in the Royal Library; Denis Godefroy, the historian, have been named, and the collectors, Ménage and Bishop Huet; yet these latter scarcely count, for the plates bearing their names and arms were only engraved to place in the books they had generously presented to the Jesuit fathers.

We seek in vain for the ex-libris of Corneille, Molière, or Racine, Boileau, La Fontaine, La Bruyère, for hitherto none have been discovered. In 1684 Madame de Sévigné wrote: “J’approuve fort de ne mettre autour de mon chiffre que Madame de Sévigné. Il n’en faut pas davantage: on ne me confondra point pendant ma vie et c’est assez.”

HE rapid multiplication of books and libraries during this period naturally led to a corresponding increase in the use of ex-libris. About the same time a new style of ex-libris comes in, more fanciful and artistic than of yore, but it must be confessed of a less practical character. These remain, for the greater part, heraldic in design, in fact, more pretentiously heraldic than ever. For, with the progress of education and the advance of philosophical speculation in France, people began to realize the absurdity of purchasing heraldic bearings, and, seeing what a sham the whole thing had become, finished by assuming arms and coronets to keep in the fashion. “Le blason,” wrote the Sieur de Chevigni in 1723, “est devenu un jardin public où chacun s’accommode à sa fantaisie pour les armoiries comme pour les couronnes.”

Helmet, wreath, and mantling disappear, whilst the shield and coronet no longer face one boldly and squarely, but appear in fantastic perspective; the supporters assume attitudes never before contemplated in heraldry—under or over the shield, or playing at hide and seek behind the shield. Cupids, angels, cherubim, and mythological deities lend their aid, and a background of clouds, with or without rainbows, completes the curious fashion in vogue about 1750, which lasted, with some modifications, down to the time of the Revolution.

As time creeps slowly forward dated plates become more fashionable, and the owners’ names are more generally inserted. Indeed, French vanity begins to assert itself in lengthy inscriptions setting forth the high-sounding titles, distinctions, and offices held by the owners of these elaborate armorial book-plates.

The plate of the Abbé de Gricourt shows us that he considered the terrestrial globe unworthy to bear his coat-of-arms, which is therefore being carried away to its home in paradise by a swarm of little angels singing psalms in his praise, and weaving garlands of flowers to crown his achievement. This ambitious plate is signed by A. T. Cys (Adrien Théry, à Cisoing), who was a brother of the Abbé de Gricourt.

The plates of this later period are, for the most part, affected, pompous, and even ridiculous in their assumptions. Shields in impossible attitudes, either resting on nothing, or falling over the supporters. These, in their turn, no longer perform their ancient duties seriously, but lounge about, lie asleep at their posts, or yawn with ennui at having to take a part in such a farce as heraldry in France had now become. As for the few plates of this period which preserve the ancient regularity of form and correct heraldic drawing, these usually belong to the families most entitled to bear arms, yet they look archaic and formal beside their more ornate brethren.

The plates which have been reproduced to illustrate this period, 1700 to 1789, have been selected principally to show the varying styles in fashion in each decade, until we reach a date when French society is rudely convulsed by political events.

Three scarce plates are those of Louis XV., of Madame Victoire de France, and of the Bastille. That of Louis XV. is a fine plate for folio size, designed by A. Dieu and engraved by L. Audran. It has a monogram of double L on a shield, which is surrounded by trophies, and surmounted by the royal crown.

The plates for Madame Victoire de France (daughter of Louis XV.) and for the Château de la Bastille bear the French royal arms—azure, three fleurs-de-lys or.

Apart from heraldry, we have now reached the period when purely artistic and decorative ex-libris commence to show themselves, and when artists such as Ferrand, Beaumont, F. Montulay, L. Monnier, Nicole and Collin, both of Nancy, J. Traiteur, de la Gardette, Berthault, L. Choffard, Le Roy, Cochin, Gravelot, Marillier, Moreau le jeune, Pierre St.-Aubin, and Gaucher, put some of their best work into these little copper plates.

Even Boucher condescended to engrave a few plates, of which, however, but three are known, and one only is signed.

With the multiplication of books in the eighteenth century came a proportionate decrease in their intrinsic value. With the exception of an occasional édition de luxe, or of books scarce only because they ought never to have existed at all, lovers of artistic bookbinding found their hobby almost useless.

Why spend pounds to bind a book which cost but a few shillings? Why put costly clothing on a child having 999 brothers, all so exactly similar that the father and mother, author and printer, could not discriminate between them? As the book was bought so it generally remained, or, as an especial honour, it might perhaps be put into half calf.

Exit whole morocco, with arms elaborately emblazoned on the sides, and monograms in dainty tooling on the back.

Enter modern book-plate.

Under the Bourbon Kings the government of France was an absolute monarchy tempered by epigrams, and regulated chiefly by priests, soldiers, and the ladies of the Court. The system was vicious and corrupt, but very simple, and eminently satisfactory to the privileged classes. It ruined France, but, whilst it lasted, the kings and their mistresses, the nobility, and the clergy, enjoyed most of the pleasures, and all the vices, this life could afford.

Of the military men who acquired power few appear to have indulged in literary tastes, or to have formed libraries. Many handsome ex-libris exist, carrying warlike trophies,—cannons, drums, tents, and flags,—such, for instance, as that of Claude Martin, but few indeed of these plates bear the names of any of the more famous French commanders. Even the plate of Murat (of later date) is doubtful, for what time had le beau sabreur for books?

Of the famous Court beauties who held influence over the kings, some possessed, and others affected, a taste for books, and volumes from their collections are eagerly sought for, partly for their associations, and partly on account of the elegance of their bindings. To name three or four of the most beautiful and most famous of these fair bibliophiles will suffice. First comes Diane de Poitiers, whose monogram, interlaced with that of her royal lover, Henri II., is to be found (along with the crescent of the chaste goddess Diana) on many books exquisitely bound by Le Faucheux.

The Marquise de Maintenon, widow of the deformed jester Scarron, who became the wife, if not the queen, of Louis XIV., was a woman of great tact and intelligence. She formed a valuable library; her books were handsomely bound, and stamped with her arms,—a lion rampant between two palm leaves.

The Marquise de Pompadour, whose books (principally dedicated to the menus plaisirs du Roi, like their owner) were bound by Biziaux, Derome, or Padeloup, and decorated with her arms,—azure, three towers argent. Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson was born the daughter of a butcher in 1722, but was created the Marquise de Pompadour, and, what is more singular, a “dame du palais de la Reine” by Louis XV. But she was beautiful exceedingly, and clever, and even Voltaire himself could not resist flattering her:

Was it her death from small-pox that suggested to Zola that awful closing chapter in “Nana”?

A book-plate was engraved for her, anonymous, but having the above-named arms; it does not appear, however, to have been fixed in her books. La Pompadour died in 1764, and her books were sold in Paris in the following year.

Next comes the plate of Madame Jeanne-Gomart de Vaubernier, Comtesse Du Barry (born at Vaucouleurs in 1743), the last favourite of Louis XV., who, less fortunate than her rival, la Pompadour, survived her royal protector, nay, even royalty itself, and died on the scaffold in December, 1793. Ignorant as she was, she formed a small but valuable collection, her books being bound in red morocco, all richly gilt, and ornamented on the sides with her arms, and her motto, Boutez en avant. Redan was one of her binders. Louis XV. remarked, “La Pompadour had more books than the countess, but they were neither so well chosen nor so well bound, we therefore create her Bibliothécaire de Versailles.”

Poor Du Barry! She could scarcely read, and could not spell; her books were selected to dispel the ennui and divert the mind of the debauched old king in the last few years of his shameful life. Yet is she worthy of mention here, if for one thing only, she possessed a book-plate engraved by Le Grand, of which, however, she made but little use.

But Louis le Bien-aimé died of small-pox in 1774, and henceforward the Du Barry fades from sight for nearly twenty years, until we see her once again, on the way to the guillotine, where, unlike most of the aristocrats who preceded her, she lost courage, and vainly shrieked for mercy from those who knew not what it was.

“Unclean, yet unmalignant, not unpitiable thing! What a course was thine: from that first truckle-bed where thy mother bore thee, with tears, to an unnamed father: forward, through lowest subterranean depths, and over highest sunlit heights, of Harlotdom and Rascaldom—to the guillotine-axe, which shears away thy vainly whimpering head!” Thus does Carlyle epitomize her career.

Louis XV. was known as le Bien-aimé, but years before his death his name had lost all the influence it had ever possessed, and

It was computed that during his reign 150,000 men had been imprisoned in the Bastille, whose crimes, real or imaginary, had never been investigated in any court of justice.

They were torn without warning from liberty and friends to languish for years in dark loathsome dungeons, without even knowing of what offences they were accused, nor for what period they would be imprisoned.

A simple Lettre de Cachet was all that was required, which it was by no means difficult for a king’s mistress, minister, or favourite to obtain.

Many prisoners became lunatics, others died there whose friends never knew their fate, for a man’s name and individuality were lost when once he passed the gates.

Those who regained their liberty were sworn to secrecy concerning all that they had seen or heard in the Bastille: “Etant en liberté, je promets, conformément aux ordres du Roi, de ne parler à qui que ce soit, d’aucune manière que ce puisse être, des prisonniers ni autre chose concernant le château de la Bastille, qui auraient pu parvenir à ma connaissance.”

As a rule this oath was observed, the dread of another incarceration being sufficient to inculcate the wisdom of silence, the well-known memoirs of Linguet being an exception.

Under Louis XVI., committals were less numerous, and when the Marquis de Launay surrendered the Bastille to the Parisian revolutionaries in July, 1789, only seven prisoners were found in it, although it must be remembered that the governor, recognizing the possibility of an attack, had sent away some of the most important prisoners to Vincennes. If he had had the forethought at the same time to have caused the Bastille to be well supplied with provisions he, with his small garrison of 114 men, might have held out for an almost indefinite period against the attacks of the half-armed, undisciplined Parisian mob.

As it was, the Marquis behaved during a trying time as a brave soldier and a humane gentleman. At length, but only when his scanty provisions were exhausted, he yielded up the castle on condition that the lives of the garrison should be spared. But the inrushing crowd cared nothing for conditions, nor for the rules of civilized warfare, and in a few minutes nearly every man was killed. De Launay himself was aimlessly dragged about for some time, then killed, and his head paraded on a pike round the streets of Paris.

The Bastille itself was demolished by the people, the place where it stood alone preserves its name, and the stones which once formed its melancholy walls are now trodden under foot by the countless myriads who pass over the Pont de la Concorde.

Most of the books found in the prison were destroyed, but a few escaped, and these contained the ex-libris of the Château Royal de la Bastille, certainly one of the scarcest and most interesting in the world.

The accession of Louis XVI. gave rise to great hopes for the regeneration of France, retrenchment in her finances, and reformation in the morals of her court.

The king was young, married to a beautiful and virtuous princess, and was himself credited with the domestic virtues of chastity and sobriety. Indeed, as a master locksmith he might no doubt have earned a comfortable livelihood, for in that occupation, if in no other, he displayed considerable skill and dexterity.

The French have always had a knack of affixing very humorous and catching nicknames to their kings and public men; they might appropriately have christened their new king Louis Trop-tard. He was always Lewis the Too-Late; he was born too late, he resisted the wishes of his people till it was too late; he made concessions when they were too late to conciliate anyone; he practised economy when it only brought him into ridicule; too late he fled from Paris; drank Burgundy, and ate bread and cheese at Varennes until it was too late to escape across the frontier, and finally he died when his death was too late to save his good name, his family, or the monarchy.

He lacked decision of character, and clearness of purpose or perception. He was incapable of reading the signs of the times, or of reforming the vicious system of government he had inherited from his forefathers. So he, who was in many respects the best of the later Bourbons, had to pay the penalty for the crimes, the cruelty, and the follies of his ancestors.

In the best period of French heraldry, supporters were less frequently found than in British heraldry, and it was a rule, or a tradition, that, as marking the divine right of kings, only members of the royal family of France should carry angels as supporters. They were, however, assumed by the illegitimate descendants of the kings, who carried the royal arms with the usual differences.

N Great Britain political changes have had comparatively little effect upon the development of art, whereas in France the great events of her history have left their impress deeply on her arts, and during the last hundred years especially, nearly every political convulsion (and there have been many) has been rapidly followed by some great change in the fashion of her book-plates. It therefore becomes absolutely necessary to refer to some of the leading features in French history in order properly to appreciate the ex-libris of the various periods.

For the antiquary, the prints produced in France before the Revolution must ever possess the greatest interest, indicating as they do so clearly the tastes, the vanity, the luxury of that beau monde which was the France of those days when the lower orders counted for nothing, being but the hewers of wood, the drawers of water, and the chair-à-canon with which her kings and marshals won glory.

No attempt was made to hide the corruption and immorality which prevailed at Court—the amours of the kings were openly acknowledged, the highest titles were bestowed upon their mistresses, and the royal arms of France were borne by their almost innumerable offspring.

Although some of these women were of the humblest origin they affected a taste for literature and art, and the names of Diane de Poitiers, duchesse de Valentinois; Gabrielle d’Estrées; Marie Touchet; la Duchesse de la Vallière; la Marquise de Maintenon; Madame de Montespan; la Marquise de Pompadour; la Comtesse du Barry, with many others of lesser note, remind us that they formed extensive libraries. Books bearing their arms and ciphers on the bindings, or their book-plates, are still those most eagerly sought for by collectors of to-day. But what a bagatelle was all this as compared with the vast sums these courtesans drained from the nation, and the degradation they inflicted upon the aristocracy into whose ranks they and their children were elevated. Whilst on the other hand, the arrogance of the old nobility, their selfishness, their cruelty to their dependants, and their refusal to forego any of their pay or privileges in the black days of famine and national bankruptcy towards the close of the eighteenth century, hastened their fall and that of the monarchy.

Sir Walter Scott states that at the outbreak of the Revolution there were about eighty thousand families enjoying all the rights and privileges of nobility; and the order was divided into different classes, which looked on each other with mutual jealousy and contempt.

On this point let us quote the reports of two acknowledged authorities. M. de Saint-Allais, in his book “L’Ancienne France,” observes: “Nos historiens les plus accrédités ont remarqué qu’il existait en France, avant la Révolution, environ soixante dix mille fiefs, ou arrière-fiefs dont a peu près 3,000 étaient érigés en duchés, marquisats, comtés, vicomtés et baronies, et qu’ils comptaient aussi en ce royaume environ 4,000 families d’ancienne noblesse, c’est-à-dire de noblesse chevaleresque et immémoriale, et environ 90,000 familles qui avaient acquis la noblesse par l’exercice de charges de magistrature et de finances ou par le service militaire ou par des anoblissements quelconques.” Whilst in his “Nobles et Vilains,” M. Chassant states: “Il y avait en France, en 1788, au moins 8,000 marquis, comtes, et barons, dont 2,000 au plus l’étaient légitimement, 4,000 bien dignes de l’être, mais qui ne l’étaient que par tolérance abusive.”

From these statements it is evident that the number of nobles, or soi-disant nobles, was enormous; that their privileges (many of them grossly immoral) caused them to be extremely unpopular; that to keep up some kind of state and show made them exacting as landlords, whilst the etiquette of their rank prevented them from embarking in any kind of trade or business, so that employments in the Court, the Church, the Army, Law and the Civil Service, were almost entirely monopolized by this class. These offices, though highly paid, were, of course, totally unproductive, and created still further burdens to fall on the shoulders of the overtaxed lower orders.

Nor were the nobles themselves altogether to be envied—many of them were miserably poor, and were yet compelled to support the dignity of their rank, and to appear in state at a court, at once the most splendid and most improvident in the world.

They had not the resources possessed by the poorer scions of the British nobility, who are free now to act as directors of public companies, stock-brokers, wine merchants, or railway managers; who may own collieries, or hansom cabs, or breed cattle without loss of caste or privilege.

As to the king, Louis XVI., he was a man of no decision of character, incapable of reading the signs of the times, or of realizing that the future of the monarchy, of France itself, depended on the reforms required in the State. So little did he appreciate the serious position that when, in 1788, his ministers were discussing where the Etats Generaux (nobles, clergy, and tiers états) should assemble in the following May, Louis suddenly cut short all their arguments by exclaiming that they could only meet at Versailles because of the hunting (à cause des chasses).

At length the storm, which had long been foreseen, burst over their heads, and in less than two years a decree was proposed (on June 20th, 1790) by Lameth, that the titles of duke, count, marquis, viscount, baron, and chevalier should be suppressed. This was carried by a large majority in the French Assembly, and all armorial bearings were abolished at the same time.

When all around was in a state of turmoil and revolution, armorial book-plates became dangerous to their owners. Many were torn out and destroyed, others were altered and adapted to the feelings of the time by changing high-sounding titles into the simple style of a French citizen.

The ex-libris of the Citizen Boyveau-Laffecteur may be cited as an example. Before the Revolution he used an allegorical plate on which was shown a young calf drinking at a fountain (Boyveau); on his shield he carried a stork, as an emblem of prudence and wisdom, and the whole was surmounted by the handsome coronet of a count. Now, Monsieur Boyveau-Laffecteur was a doctor of medicine, and the inventor of useful medical receipts, but whether he ever was a count, or entitled to carry the coronet of one, is more than doubtful. These are minor details, however, for when the Doctor found that coronets, and the heads that wore them, were going strangely out of fashion, he effaced the obnoxious emblem of nobility, placing in its stead an enormous and aggressively prominent cap of liberty. This altered plate is found less frequently than the former; it may be that on the restoration of the monarchy he replaced the coronet, and re-elected himself a count.

Another altered plate is rather less striking in its political inconsistency: “De la Bibliothèque de Nic. Franc. Jos. Richard, avocat en Parlement, Président à St. Diez.” Simple and inoffensive as was this label, the owner thought it safer during the Revolution to cover it with another, thus: “De la Bibliothèque de Nicholas François-Joseph Richard, Citoyen de St. Dié.”

But a far more interesting souvenir of the Reign of Terror is the second book-plate of the Vicomte de Bourbon Busset.

The first, which is signed “Fme. Jourdan sculp., 1788,” shows his armorial bearings surmounted by his coronet, whilst beneath are enumerated his titles and offices.

Over this plate is generally found pasted a much simpler design, showing how that the grand noble of 1788 under the monarchy had, in 1793, become plain Bourbon Busset, a French citizen.

Now the Vicomte de Bourbon Busset was an aristocrat (even if an illegitimate one), for on his first book-plate he bore the royal arms of France, (debruised by a baton), with the cross of Jerusalem in chief, and his two supporters the angels hitherto carried only by members of the royal family. Yet he managed to escape the horrors of the revolutionary period, and survived the Reign of Terror, probably by studying the signs of the times, and by casting his lot in with the sans-culottes. In any case, he lived in Paris until the 9th of February, 1802. The bindings on his books were stamped with the arms, as on his book-plate, but without the supporters.

His library was sold in Paris; the catalogue was headed, “Catalogue des livres de la bibliothèque de feu le citoyen Bourbon Busset, 20, nivose an XI.”

Another curious souvenir of the reverses sustained during the revolutionary period exists in the plate of “André Gaspard Parfait, Comte de Bizemont-Prunelé”. Dessiné et gravé par Ch. Gaucher, de l’Acad. des Arts de Londres, 1781.

In the same year the Comte de Bizemont-Prunelé etched an ex-libris for his wife, Marie Catherine d’Hallot, with a design of a somewhat remarkable nature considering the period. He represented himself amongst some ruins carving their arms on a pedestal. Thirteen years later we find this nobleman, a refugee in England, earning his living as a drawing master. His business card, of ornamental design, bears the words: “M. Bizemont, Drawing Master, No. 19 Norton Street, near Portland Street. Bizemont Sc. London, 1794.”

Alexis Foissey, of Dunkirk, removed the coronet from his ex-libris to make way for “Equality”; P. M. Gillet, deputy from Morbihan, adopted the cap of liberty, with the motto, “Liberté, Egalité”; and J. B. Michaud, on his plate, dated 1791, also has the Phrygian cap, with a ribbon inscribed, “La Liberté ou la Mort.”

Above is the book-plate of Thomas Papillon, Esq., evidently engraved in England within the last century, bearing on the first and fourth quarters the canting arms of the old French family of Papillon (Butterfly).

The last Papillon of whom we read in French history was one Denis-Pierre-Jean Papillon de la Ferté, intendant des Menus-plaisirs du Roi, who was born in 1727, and guillotined on the 7th of July, 1794, by the Republicans. Probably Thomas Papillon was a relative who managed to escape, or one of his descendants, as the arms are very similar, being thus blazoned by Guigard: D’azur, au chevron d’argent accompagné en chef de 2 Papillons d’or, et en pointe d’un coq hardi du même. The last charge being the only dissimilarity.

A short time since, a collector in Paris purchased a cover on which was a small mean-looking, printed book-label, under which showed the edges of another. On putting the cover to soak no less than three plates were found, the lowest one being as follows; an armorial plate, below the shield “Bibliothèque de Mr. de Villiers du Terrage, Pr. Commis des Finances.” This plate, signed Branche, had been covered during the revolutionary period by a simple typographical label, reading “Bibliothèque du Citoyen Marc-Etienne Villiers,” omitting all titles, and heraldic decorations, substituting the word “citoyen” in their place, and the whole surrounded by plain border lines.

Later on the book passed into other hands, and a still more humble plate was placed upon it, a small label having only the words “Bibliothèque Le Cauchoix Ferraud.” This democratic individual, who suppressed even the word “citoyen” on his label, does not live in history, nor would he have been mentioned here but that his poor little ticket probably saved two interesting plates from destruction.

“Ex libris Rihan de la Forest” with arms and coronet; then over that was a plain label with the simple inscription, “Ex libris la Forest”; that again covered by a lugubrious-looking plate, “Ex libris la Forest,” surmounted by a cap of liberty, on a pike, and “La liberté ou la mort” printed around it.

To these many others may be added, such as the ex-libris of “Le Prince de Beaufond,” which was altered to “Charles-Louis Le-prince,” and the elaborate heraldic book-plate of the Marquis de Fortia, which was covered by a simple printed label: “Ce livre fait partie de la bibliothèque de M. de Fortia d’Urban, demeurant à Paris, rue de la Rochefoucaud (sic), No. 21, division du Mont Blanc.”

M. Pigou covered his arms and coronet of a Marquis with a plain label in which the name Pigou was surrounded by a garland of roses.

But in those troubled times most men of any position had far more serious topics to occupy their minds than the planning of ex-libris for their books, and indeed the poor heraldic engravers found their business coming to an end, and one of them, M. Crussaire, finding himself without work, advertised that he would gladly execute “tout espèce de sujets sérieux ou agréables relatifs aux diverses circonstances de la Révolution, pour boites, bon-bonnières, boutons, medaillons.”

One of the last ex-libris belonging to the period of the First Republic, and carrying republican emblems, is that bearing the name of Adjudant Général Villatte, who was promoted to that rank on February 5, 1799. His plate bears the Roman fasces surmounted by the cap of liberty, and, oddly enough for a military man, a shepherd’s crook and hat, whilst two doves, or pigeons, complete this incongruous design.

From 1789 to the coronation of Napoleon I. as Emperor in 1804, the use of book-plates was considerably restricted.

Pauline Burghese, a sister of Napoleon, rose superior to heraldic or titular pretensions. She was a sister of Napoleon, that was enough, and her gift book-plate, dated 1825, is but a plain little label:

EX LEGATO
Sororis Napoleonis
Paullinæ Burghesiæ
A.D. MDCCCXXV.

Charles Ambroise Caffarelli, whose plate is in what has been called le style panaché de l’Empire, was Canon of Toul in 1789, but took the oath to the Constitution on the outbreak of the Revolution. He suffered imprisonment in 1793, gained favour under Napoleon, who created him a préfet. He afterwards devoted himself to the study of political economy, and died in 1826 (after seeing many changes of government), under the rule of the Bourbons, his first patrons.

Jean Baptiste Jourdan, who was one of the most famous marshals of Napoleon’s army, began life as a private soldier; under the First Republic he obtained promotion, and swore that his sword should always be drawn in defence of the rights of the people, and against all kings. Yet he afterwards accepted titles and honours from Napoleon, whom he deserted to serve under Louis XVIII., and issued a manifesto to his soldiers asking their fidelity to the restored Bourbons. For this he was rewarded by being created a Chevalier of the Royal and Military Order of St. Louis. When Napoleon returned to Paris from Elba the Maréchal Jourdan was again ready to do him service, and his fidelity was rewarded by an imperial decree dated 4 June, 1815, creating him a Count and Peer of France. Jourdan was born at Limoges in 1762; he died in 1833.

The Baron de Marbot was one of the soldiers ennobled by Napoleon I. He left some memoirs which have points of resemblance to those written by the more celebrated Baron Münchausen.

The short and troubled reign of the Emperor Napoleon left little lasting impression upon the heraldry of France. It is true he introduced some system, and a few innovations, but at the Restoration his innovations were rescinded, and with the Bourbons in power it need hardly be said that no kind of useful system could long exist.

For the heraldry of the First Empire a student cannot do better than consult the fine folios entitled “Armorial Général de l’Empire Français. Contenant les Armes de sa Majesté l’Empereur et Roi, des Princes de sa famille, des Grands Dignitaires, Princes, Ducs, Comtes, Barons, Chevaliers, et celles des Villes de 1^ere 2^me et 3^me Classe, avec les planches des Ornemens exterieurs, des Signes intérieurs et l’explication des Couleurs et des Figures du Blason, pour faciliter l’Etude de cette Science. Présenté à sa Majesté l’Empereur et Roi par Henry Simon, Graveur du Cabinet de sa Majesté l’Empereur et Roi, et du Conseil du Sceau des Titres. Chez l’Auteur, Palais Royal, No. 29 à Paris. MDCCCXII.” The title-page is quoted in full; it is a curiosity in its way, the whole being beautifully engraved on a plate measuring 11½ inches by 8½ inches; all the other plates are of the same size and many hundreds of armorial bearings are accurately engraved and described. The work is a monument of patience and skill, and serves as a record of many princes, nobles, marshals, and generals, whose names and deeds were, during the Napoleonic period, as familiar as household words, but the majority of whom are now almost forgotten.

Napoleon decreed that order should exist in heraldry, as in every other branch of the State. His favourite artist, David, was called in to assist in devising new decorations, head-dresses, etc. The curious head-dress, invented by David to replace coronets, is called in French heraldry “une toque;” this somewhat resembles a flat Tam O’Shanter cap, slightly elevated in front, and, though no longer used, its varieties must be described, as it often occurs on book-plates of the period.

Princes carried a toque of black velvet, with a band around the brim of vair. In front a golden aigrette supported seven ostrich feathers.

Dukes wore the same, simply replacing the band vair by a band ermine.

Counts carried a toque of black velvet, with a band ermine. An aigrette, gold and silver, supported five feathers.

Barons wore the toque with a band counter vair. A silver aigrette supported three feathers.

These were further subdivided and distinguished, so as to show whether the rank was senatorial, military, ecclesiastical, or civil.

Chevaliers carried a black velvet toque with a green band. A silver aigrette with one upright feather.

Further, there were grants of arms for Préfets, Sous-Préfets, and Maires of towns, whilst the towns themselves were divided into classes, each class having on a chief, or a canton, a distinctive badge.

Thus, cities of the first order, such as Amsterdam, Antwerp, Bordeaux, Brussels, Ghent, Geneva, Hamburg, Lyons, Lille, Liège, Montauban, and Paris, bore three golden bees (the Napoleonic badge) on a chief gules, in addition to the arms of the cities here cited, whose names recall the extent of territory over which at one time Napoleon held sway.

Second class towns bore a golden N on a dexter canton azure; and third class towns had a sinister canton gules, on which was a silver N.

Quite recently the French Government conferred the Cross of the Legion of Honour on the town of Belfort, and on Rambervillers, a small place in the Vosges Mountains, as a recognition of the gallant resistance they offered to the Germans in 1870 and 1871. Belfort surrendered only under orders from the French Government, the peace armistice having been concluded. Its garrison left with the honours of war, and, although part of Alsace, it was left to France on account of the indomitable courage of Colonel Denfert-Rochereau (a Protestant of Rochelle), of the garrison, and also of the townspeople, who allowed their houses to be battered to pieces without once speaking of capitulation. The town of Châteaudun was “decorated” with the Legion of Honour by Gambetta, having signalized itself by its resistance to the invader, followed by reprisals. Two or three other towns were decorated with the National Order of Knighthood by Napoleon I. in 1815 for heroic resistance to the Allies in 1814. Altogether nine towns in France have the Cross of the Legion of Honour on their coats-of-arms.

Another feature in Napoleonic heraldry was the revival of an ancient ordinary, entitled champagne, occupying a third of the shield in base; it frequently occurs in arms granted under the Empire, but is now obsolete. In fact, on the restoration of Louis XVIII., an ordinance was issued abolishing all the innovations introduced by Napoleon, some of which deserved a better fate.

One of the most delightful traits in the character of the French people is their readiness to laugh at their own little national failings, their vanity, their volatility, and their political instability.

This power to see and appreciate the humorous side of events was never better shown than in a work entitled “Dictionnaire des Girouettes ou nos contemporains peints d’après eux-mêmes,” published in Paris, anonymously, but ascribed to the Comte de Proisy d’Eppe.

This little book is at once one of the most comical and one of the saddest ever written, being a kind of biographical dictionary of the political turncoats of the period embraced between the years 1790 and 1815. It contains notices of all the leading Frenchmen of the day, with extracts from their political writings and speeches, more especially those containing allusions, complimentary or the reverse, to the heads of the Government. Now, when we consider that during that quarter of a century France experienced a number of sudden and violent changes in her political constitution, going from the extreme of absolute Monarchy to the utmost licence of Republican liberty, it will easily be recognized that this book contains instances of the most astounding weakness of character and political vacillation ever chronicled.

Starting from 1790, when the Government was Royalist, indeed an absolute Monarchy, in 1792 it became Republican, under the Convention, and later, in 1795, under le Directoire.

1799. The Consulate. Napoleon First Consul.

1804. Imperial. Napoleon Emperor.

1814. Royalist again. Restoration of the Bourbon dynasty, Louis XVIII.

1815. The Hundred Days. Flight of the Bourbons, restoration of Napoleon.

1815, July. Deposition of Napoleon; return of Louis XVIII.

Each of these changes, as it occurred, was hailed with rapturous applause, and with that form of gratitude which consists in a lively sense of favours to come.

Now, as this dictionary contains the names of nearly all the eminent Frenchmen of the period, it follows that there are many in it whose book-plates are of interest, concerning whom a few extracts may be given, taken from the second and enlarged edition, published in Paris in 1815. No month is named, but evidently it appeared soon after the final downfall of Napoleon, as it mentions the marriage of the Turncoat Fouché, Minister of Police, in July, 1815, and that the king (Louis XVIII.) signed the marriage contract.

The two plates here introduced (they belonged to Turncoats) show the stiff and formal heraldry of the Empire, and the characteristic toque.

The De Portalis family were rich bankers at Neufchatel in the time of the first Napoleon. This particular member of the family married a Dame d’honneur of the Empress Josephine, and was created a count of the Empire, and an officer of the Légion d’Honneur, as is shown by the title and star on his book-plate.

He was associated with the Casimir-Periers in founding the Bank of France, and died enormously wealthy.

His name occurs in the Dictionnaire des Girouettes, but without any special circumstances; he simply accepted favours and titles from whatever hand they came, royal or imperial, with equal condescension.

Now the plate of Ch. Amb. Caffarelli, given on page 121, is a little puzzling; it is evidently of the First Empire period, and bears the toque of a Baron; whilst the second quarter on the shield shows the arms assigned in Napoleonic heraldry to a Préfet, namely: “De gueules à la muraille crénelée d’argent, surmontée d’une branche de chêne du même.” Armorial Général de l’Empire Français, 1812.

In the Dictionnaire des Girouettes mention is made of a Caffarelli (no Christian name) who was created a Count of the Empire, and Grand Eagle of the Légion d’Honneur by Napoleon. The king afterwards created him Chevalier of the Order of St Louis, and Commandant at Rennes; whilst in 1815 he again reverted to the service of the Emperor. There was also a Baron Caffarelli who bore similar arms, but he was Bishop of Saint Brieux, whilst on this plate no ecclesiastical emblems are shown. He, too, was a member of the Légion d’Honneur.

To which of these two this plate belonged I cannot decide, nor is the matter of the first importance.

One plate may be named which forms an exception to the monotonous regularity of the heraldic style under the First Empire; it is that of Antoine-Pierre-Augustin de Piis, a dramatist. His monogram hangs on a palm tree, each branch of which bears the name of some well-known singer,—Panard, Favart, Collé, etc., whilst beneath are the titles of the vaudevilles he had himself written. Another artistic little plate of this period is that of M. Dubuisson, dated 1805, on page 130.

Lucien Bonaparte, Prince of Canino, younger brother of Napoleon, resided some time in England, but died at Viterbo in 1840. His son, Charles, Prince of Canino, distinguished as a naturalist, died in 1857, and it is not easy to decide to which of the two this quiet, unpretentious little Canino plate belonged.

The books of the first Napoleon were sumptuously bound, but he used no book-plate. Monsieur L. Joly, in his Ex-Libris Imaginaires, furnishes one such as might well have been used by the great soldier and law-maker. An imperial eagle casts a thunder-bolt, which illuminates the peaks of the Alps; below are seen the emblems of war, the owl, symbolic of wisdom, the Cross of the Légion d’Honneur, and the books of the Code Napoléon.

N the abdication of Napoleon, Louis XVIII. was placed on the throne of his ancestors, and reigned over France by the Grace of God and the Holy Alliance.

He had learnt nothing and forgotten nothing during his exile, and notwithstanding the strong advice of the Powers who had set him up in business as a monarch, he encouraged a steady reaction against the improvements that had been so liberally encouraged in the State by Napoleon and his ministers.

The French nation had but little loyalty or affection for this gouty, gluttonous, fat old man, but they ridiculed him, and bore with him, till his death in 1824.

His brother, the Comte d’Artois, who succeeded him as Charles X., a narrow-minded, obstinate, and priest-ridden man, persevered in the same course as Louis XVIII., and was even more unpopular.

Under these two Bourbons, who strove hard to undo all the reforms that the Revolution had effected, those of the old nobility who had survived the Terror and the Wars were encouraged to return to France, and once again the refrain was:

They resumed their ancient titles, estates, and family arms, but the bulk of the French nation declined to consider them, or their claims, seriously. Both Louis XVIII. and Charles X. created new nobles from amongst their personal and political adherents, but few men of worth or importance were willing thus to be ennobled.

The rules of heraldry devised by Napoleon were annulled, and the old system revived. But though the wealth of the nation had greatly increased during the few years of peace, whilst the taste for literature and the formation of large collections of books had once again come into fashion, the book-plates of this period show no improvement in taste, and no originality in design. They are either overladen with meretricious ornamentation, or simple name labels possessing no artistic interest whatever.

One of the very few plates of the time worth naming is that of the Duchesse de Berry for her library at Resny, on which we find the lilies of the French royal family. The Duchess also used a simpler plate similar to a book-binding stamp.

Probably Berryer the famous advocate, had his plate engraved about this time; it is in the Louis XVI. style. (See page 149.)

The pretentious plate of Victor, Duc de Saint Simon Vermandois, Pair de France, Grand d’Espagne, is an example of the want of taste of the Restoration, as is also that of the Bibliothèque de La Motte which is destitute of grace or finish.

At length, in July, 1830, the French, weary of the reactionary rule of Charles X. and of his breaches of faith, drove him from the throne, and he sought refuge in England.

His cousin Louis Philippe was elected king of the French, and for eighteen years the country enjoyed comparative peace, and great commercial prosperity.

Then at last was France released from the nightmare pressure of the ancien régime, and free to choose a constitutional government suited to her requirements and the progress of modern civilization.

During his reign Louis Philippe created a number of new nobles, the chosen men being for the most part politicians who supported the government in parliament, rich tradesmen, office holders, and a few literary men.

Two of the greatest men of the day, Thiers and Guizot, bluntly refused to be ennobled, as later on did Mons. Rouher. The assumption of false titles still continued, whilst the prefix de which had formerly indicated gentle birth or landed estates, came to be so commonly employed as to carry no signification whatever. Book-plates of this period have little to distinguish them from those of the Restoration, except that the seal pattern, or the plain shield within a belt or garter became more common, whilst some artists affected a revival of a kind of Gothic ornamentation, with the inscription in archaic phraseology.

Of this latter style a beautiful example is the plate designed for himself by the late Mons. Claude E. Thiery, of Maxéville.

It represents the interior of a mediæval library, the walls of which are decorated with the arms of Lorraine. A reader is seated in front of two open folios, and above the design the inscription is:

“Cestuy livre est a moy Claude Thiery ymaigier de moult haust et puissant Seigneur Mon seigneur Françoy Joseph empéreur,” etc.

It is unnecessary to quote the whole of the somewhat lengthy inscription, as prints from the original plate were issued with the “Archives de la Société Française des Collectionneurs d’Ex Libris,” January 1895, together with a somewhat indignant letter from its owner pointing out several inaccuracies which had been made in an article describing the plate in “Ex Libris Ana,” page 73.

The description was certainly curiously inexact, but that these laborious imitations of the crabbed handwriting, the archaic phraseology, and the miniature painting to be found on ancient manuscripts are lacking in originality, and out of place on modern book-plates, as says the writer in “Ex Libris Ana” (and herein lay the sting of his remarks), is a conclusion in which many collectors will certainly agree.

Other well-known plates of this period are those of Aimé Leroy, A. Mercier, Viollet Le-Duc, Gabriel Peignot, Milsan, Ambroise Firmin-Didot, Desbarreaux Bernard, Pixérecourt, and Bazot, Notaire à Amiens. Yet even these present few points of interest, literary or artistic.

Aimé Leroy had a Gothic window, through which a student is seen reading. Motto: Mes livres sont ma joie. The plate of Gabriel Peignot was also what we should style a library interior, as was appropriate to its owner who had been for years connected with the libraries of Vésoul and Dijon, and had made bibliography the study of his life which extended to the good old age of eighty-two. He died in 1849.

Bazot, Notaire Amiens, had an imitation of the old style of armorial plate, with a ribbon on which the dates 1548 and 1848 appear. There is no explanation known of the first date, 1548.

Milsan attempts a weak pun on his name, bank notes for 1,000 and 100 francs represent the words Mille cent. This is the kind of joke that even a virtuous man might make in the seclusion of his own family circle, but that any sane man should engrave, revise it, print it, and finally paste it in all his books is something which almost destroys our faith in human nature.

A member of the famous publishing house, Mons. Ambroise Firmin-Didot (author of a “History of Wood-Engraving”) had an original and very appropriate design printed in gold on red morocco. In allusion to the date of the foundation of his firm, and their ancient sign, it bore the device: à la bible d’or 1698, and the inscription Bibliotheca Ambrosii Firmini Didoti, whilst in the centre was an open bible. This is just one of the few plates of this period, interesting for its owner’s sake, and for its originality, which collectors would wish to have, but it is rather difficult to obtain.

R. C. G. de Pixérecourt is found on the book-plate of the prolific dramatic author whose real appellations were René Charles Guilbert. As he was born at Pixérecourt he ennobled himself by calling himself de Pixérecourt, a piece of vanity which probably deceived no one. If the State were to tax all these assumptions of nobility, a good addition would be made to the French revenue. In other respects his ex-libris was modest enough; he did not steal a coat-of-arms, but had the simple Cross of the Legion of Honour with two branches of oak, and for motto the last line of the following charming sonnet by Desbarreaux Bernard.

Owing to a variety of circumstances Louis Philippe became unpopular, and at length in 1848 there were serious disturbances in Paris. It is probable that a man of strong will might have put these down with some little bloodshed, but Louis Philippe was a kindly, peace-loving man, and rather than face the horrors of a civil war he abdicated, and the second Republic was proclaimed, to be quickly changed into the Second Empire, under Napoléon III.

These lines were written about the First Empire, but are still more appropriate to the Second, which is now, indeed, nothing more than a name connected with the saddest of souvenirs.

Under the Second Empire book-plates began to have a distinctly personal character, more originality in conception, together with much greater freedom and abandon in execution. Humorous designs also occasionally appear, where all had hitherto been formal, cold, pompous, or severe. The simple heraldic plate falls into disfavour amongst those who are entitled to bear arms, though curiously enough the assumption of false arms and titles goes on exactly as before.

In 1857 the Minister of Justice addressed a report on this topic to the emperor, asserting “que jamais peut-être la tendance à sortir de sa position et à se parer de titres auxquels on n’a pas droit ne s’est manifesté d’une manière plus regrettable que depuis ces dernières années.”

But the evil had existed, still exists, and will continue so long as the vanity of human nature prompts men to lay claim to ancient descent, and to assume arms and titles either stolen, ready made, or purchased at the Bureaux de Généalogistes which abound in Paris as in London.

It is no new crime, this snobbism—Molière jested at it two centuries ago:

As for the real heraldry of the Second Empire, such as there was of it, the fashion of the First Empire was revived by Napoleon III., whose constant endeavour it was to make the French people recognize in him the nephew of his uncle, whilst they, on the other hand, would not seriously believe that he was even the son of his reputed father. “Vous n’avez rien du grand Empéreur Napoléon,” said his cousin Plon-plon to him one day. “You are mistaken, I have all his poor relations,” replied the easy, good-natured Louis Napoleon, who was in addition hampered by the descendants of the courtiers of the first Napoleon.

The emperor did not possess a book-plate, but books with the imperial arms stamped on their bindings occasionally occur in French sales. More rare, and consequently more sought after, are the volumes which are stamped either with his monogram, or with the elegant little device of the Empress Eugénie.

Severely simple as is the monogram of Napoleon III., it is ingenious, and not without a certain air of grandeur, whilst the badge of the empress, though still preserving an imperial character, is more graceful and ornamental, as was appropriate to its owner, who was considered one of the most beautiful women of her time.

These two stamps were principally used on the bindings of books which were either presented or dedicated to the emperor and empress, and the volumes on which they are found certainly belonged to their private library.

A characteristic example of the formal heraldic book-plate in vogue during the Second Empire is that of Amédée David, Marquis de Pastoret, a politician and littérateur, who was born in 1791, and died on May 19, 1857. His war cry, “France! France!” recalls the fact, little to his credit, that he was one of the first to applaud the Coup d’Etat of Napoleon III. and to profit by it. (See p. 144.)

He was the son of M. Pastoret, a senator and member of the Institute of France, created a Count of the Empire by the first Napoleon, with a grant of arms thus described in the Armorial Général de l’Empire Français: “D’or à la bande de gueules chargée d’un berger paissant un mouton d’argent.”

This Count of the First Empire became a Peer of France under the Restoration, and figures as a brilliant instance of a successful turncoat in the Dictionnaire des Girouettes.

On page 143 is the modern armorial of the Comte Lanjuinais, probably that of the son of the first Comte Lanjuinais, who started in politics as a member of the National Convention, swore fidelity to the Republic and death to the King. This did not prevent him from accepting the title of Count of the Empire from Napoleon, who also named him a knight commander in the Légion d’Honneur. On the return of Louis XVIII. he was named a Peer of France, but he again espoused the cause of Napoleon on his escape from Elba, whilst on the downfall of the Empire for the second time he obtained another appointment by the grace of the king. His name and fame are immortalized in the “Dictionary of Turncoats.”

The Comte de Beugnot was a Councillor of State, and Officer of the Légion d’Honneur under Napoleon I., and he also served under Louis XVIII. The Vicomte, his son, on his modern book-plate (see p. 142) carries quarterly first and fourth, the Beugnot arms, “argent, au chevron d’or, accompagne de trois grappes de raisin de gueules.”

Monsieur Pierre Antoine Berryer was the most famous advocate at the French bar during the Empire, his defence of the Count Montalembert in 1858 created some sensation at the time. He was elected a member of the Académie Française in 1855, and of the Corps Legislatif in 1863.

His book-plate is distinctly in the Louis XVI. style, but this is not so incongruous as it appears at first sight, for M. Berryer was born in 1790, and was first elected a deputy in 1830 when France was still under the Bourbons.

On page 148 is a reproduction of the plate of the Duc de Mouchy, another supporter of the Third Empire, bearing the Cross of the Legion of Honour. He and the duchess for some time resided in Paris in a house which belonged to the empress, but after the downfall of the Empire, this house was bought by the late Baron Hirsch, who also bought Beauregard, near St. Cloud, which had formerly belonged to Mrs. Howard, a mistress of Napoleon.

What a curious comic opera court it was, this of the Second Empire, with the emperor’s life-long friend Persigny at the head of it, and he the son of a pastrycook.

Persigny married the daughter of Marshal Ney, a rich, vulgar, violent woman. When Persigny was appointed Ambassador to the Court of St. James, he unfortunately brought his wife with him. At a bal masqué, attended by the Queen and Prince Albert, the wife of Persigny suddenly slapped a lady in the face because she had copied her costume; consequently “urgent private affairs” required the immediate return to Paris of Mons. de Persigny. The emperor, to console him, shortly afterwards created him a duke.

Then there were De Maupas, the Count Walewski (an illegitimate son of the first Napoleon), the Baron Haussmann, Préfet de la Seine, who rebuilt Paris, and enriched all his friends, De Lesseps, and crowds of political adventurers, feather-bed soldiers, and financial schemers, who thrived in this hot-bed of corruption, and amassed fabulous fortunes at the expense of France.

The festivities came to an end none too soon for the nation, but the bill was a terrible one to pay.

N June, 1881, M. Auguste Stoeber wrote some articles on Alsatian book-plates which were published in the “Express de Mulhouse.” In response to the persuasion of his friends he re-published these notes in a pamphlet entitled “Petite Revue d’Ex-Libris Alsaciens, par Auguste Stoeber, avec un facsimile de l’Ex-Libris de C. Wolfhardt, dit Lycosthenes, de Rouffach.” Mulhouse, Veuve Bader et Cie, 1881. M. Stoeber died a few years later, and his little pamphlet is now very rare.

We have already seen that 1574 is the year of the earliest known dated French ex-libris; M. Stoeber claims for Alsace a more ancient ex-libris, which is not dated, but from its history must have been engraved before 1561. It belonged to Conrad Wolfhardt, who pedantically translated his family name into Lycosthenes. He was born at Rouffach in 1518, studied at Heidelberg, and became a professor at Basle, where he died on the 25th March, 1561. His book-plate appears to have been engraved on some soft metal, either lead or pewter; there is no attempt to show the tinctures on the shield, which is surmounted by a death’s head and hour-glass. The design is surrounded by Latin mottoes, and beneath is the inscription “Symbolum Conradi Lycosthenis Rubeaquensis.”

M. Auguste Stoeber describes a large number of ex-libris of Alsace, formerly the frontier province of France, but now, owing to the terrible fortune of war, incorporated with Germany. The greater portion of these book-plates bear names of distinctly German origin, and their style is totally dissimilar to that of French art. Take, for example, the modern plate (it is dated 1846) designed by Mons. Arthur Benoit, of Berthelming, to be used by himself and his brother Louis, for their Saargovian collection, in which the artist has represented an Alsatian peasant woman, in the ancient costume of the province, wearing the quaint head-dress called the Winterkappe, which was made of black silk for the Protestants, white silk for the Catholics. The spire of the church of Berthelming rises in the background, and the tout ensemble has a far more German than French character. The brothers Benoit had two other book-plates, different in design, but not more French in appearance.

The plates of Albert Metzger, of Mulhouse (by Ch. Delâtre), and of Jacques Flach, of Strasbourg (by Groskost, of Strasbourg), are equally German in style, although the pretty motto on the latter is essentially French in thought and word. A reproduction of it will be found in Chapter XIV.

Coming to the adjoining frontier province, we find that the plates engraved in Lorraine are rather less influenced by German art and the ponderous German heraldry. Many beautiful ex-libris bear on their faces the name of the city of Nancy as their birthplace, and well-known artists for their fathers.

A few of the leading engravers of ex-libris who sign themselves as of Nancy are J. Valdor (G. Grangier’s plate); C. Charles, 1739; Nicole on a large number of dated plates, from 1743 to 1767; Colin, and two named Collin, whose signatures appear on a number of fine plates. The D. Collin, who produced the interesting plate of “R. Willemet, Apothicaire à Nancy,” describes himself as “Graveur du feu Roy de Pologne.” Further particulars concerning these artists will be found in the chapter on artists and engravers.

The Duchy of Lorraine (formerly known as Lotharingia) was at one time an appanage of the House of Austria, but after several dynastic changes it was conferred, for life only, upon Stanislaus I., the dethroned king of Poland.

Stanislaus held the titles “Duc de Lorraine et de Bar,” and on the large book-plate for the public library of the city of Nancy, the inscription reads “Fondée par le Roy de Pologne, duc de Lorraine, en MDCCL,” whilst the supporters of the central shield are two eagles, each carrying an escutcheon, the dexter eagle bears the arms of Lorraine (or, on a bend gules, three allerions argent), the sinister eagle carries the arms of Bar. On the death of Stanislaus, in February, 1766, the Duchy was united to the crown of France.

The city of Nancy was the capital of Lorraine. Here Stanislaus resided: he did much to embellish the city, where his memory is still highly respected, his portrait is preserved in the library, and a public square is named after him, whilst, as we have seen, D. Collin mentioned on his works that he had been “engraver to the late King of Poland,” a statement which, at first sight, appears to have little relevance to French book-plates.

The handsome plate which has been re-engraved for this work, and forms the frontispiece, belonged to the Prince de Marsan, of the house of Lorraine. It is a grand specimen of the Louis Seize style, but unfortunately it is neither signed nor dated.

The inscription reads “Ex Libris Serenissimi Principis DE MARSAN a Lotharingia.”

The eight quarterings on the shield are the arms of—1. Hungary; 2. Anjou-Sicile; 3. Jerusalem; 4. Aragon; 5. Anjou (modern); 6. Gueldres; 7. Brabant; 8. Bar. On the dexter inescutcheon are the pure arms of Lorraine as borne by the Dukes of Lorraine. The whole within a bordure.

The collars around the arms are those of the French Ordres du Roi, namely the orders of Saint Michel and the Saint Esprit.

As the Channel Islands have long belonged to Great Britain it is obviously incorrect to class them under the Frontier provinces of France. And yet some mention must be made of them, for many book-plates used there have a distinctly French character, whilst a list of the names of some of the leading families (of French origin), will show that a collector might easily be led to mistake their plates for French:

Allès, Le Patourel, Metivier, Mauger, Le Dieu, Bichard, Andros, Bonamy, Brock, Blondel, Beauvoir or De Beauvoir, Carey, Cary, or Careye, De Carteret, Effard, de Jersey, de Havilland or Haviland, Gosselin, Dobrée, Perchard, Le Mesurier, Mesny, Millais, Milais, Milet, Priaulx, De Sausmarez or Saumarez, Fautret, De Vie, Lihou, Guille, Le Marchant, Le Febvre, Le Roy, Le Pelley, Tupper, Le Gros, Lemprière, De Lisle, Falla, De Putron, Renouf, Le Gallienne, Naftel.

I give reproductions of three such plates, one a fine specimen of engraving, of Peter Dobree, a family long settled in Guernsey, the other a more modern plate of the Le Mesurier family, to which the fleur-de-lys and the motto give a French appearance. The motto is the same as that used on his book-plate by David Garrick, who was himself of Huguenot descent. The third is a plate of Peter de Havilland, a member of a very old Guernsey family, now represented by General de Havilland. There is a plate of this family by Skinner, of Bath, dated 1742. (See pp. 159, 160, 161.)

There are several instances of ancient French titles being held by residents in Great Britain, or our Colonies, which titles are also recognized by our heraldic authorities. As their book-plates would undoubtedly pass for French, a few explanatory notes about them may be given.

The Barony du Bois de Ferrieres may be instanced. The Du Bois was a Walloon family, whilst the De Ferrieres branch was of Huguenot descent, which removed from France to Holland at the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. The family motto was Tout par et pour Dieu.

The Marquis de Lapasture was created a French nobleman in 1768; his descendants settled in England.

The Baron de Teissier, created by French patent in 1819, was also permitted by royal authority to use that title in Great Britain.

Another descendant of an ancient noble French family identified with this country was the Marquis Ruault de Longueville de Bucy, who was educated at Eton and Cambridge, and served in the Bechuanaland Expedition with Methuen’s Horse.

This marquis (the 11th in descent) belongs to a family whose history is full of curious and romantic vicissitudes. The first Marquis de Bucy et Merval was created in 1602, he being the direct descendant of the ancient feudal Lords of Bucy, successive holders of the Marquisate were Lords-in-Waiting to Louis XIII. and Louis XV. Charles Marc, the 8th marquis, was a Captain in the French King’s Musqueteers, a court post of considerable importance under the ancien régime. During the Reign of Terror he escaped to England, but his wife, Marie Ruault, Marquise de Gamaches, in her own right, was captured and guillotined with Marie Antoinette.

The 9th Marquis, son of the above, was invited by Napoleon I. to return to France, which he did, served as Major in the celebrated Cuirassiers de la Garde, and died a soldier’s death at Waterloo. He was the grandfather of the present holder of the title.

The motto of the family is singularly appropriate to its history: Pour le roi souvent—pour la patrie toujours.

The next family to mention in this connection is one which, though thoroughly identified with this country, carries arms proclaiming their French origin to even the most casual observer. Indeed the Counts de Vismes (or de Visme) asserted their descent from royalty itself, as evidenced by the first quarter, d’azur semée de fleur-de-lys or, for France ancient, whilst the motto Mont Joie St. Denis, and the supporters, two angels, also indicate French royalty. (See page 163.)

The family of De Visme is descended from the sovereign Counts of Ponthieu (dating since the eighth century) of the Blood Royal of France, and the head of the family has, by usage on the continent, borne the title of prince. The title of Count de Visme has also been recognized by the successive governments of France, although the family has long been resident in England, and has furnished many distinguished officers to our army.

Here is another plate of a Frenchman settled in England, and rather more English than the majority of Englishmen themselves.

The Chevalier de Chatelain was a prolific author: poems, essays, and letters without number, flowed from his pen; he translated some of Shakespeare’s plays into French, and endeavoured to explain Victor Hugo’s works to our countrymen. Finally he wrote poems in praise of his deceased wife, Madame Clara de Chatelain, née Clara de Pontigny.

Probably few people have read the praises of this good lady, but she appears to have been a remarkable person, an accomplished musician, a clever linguist, and, what is more to the point, she was for thirty-three years the loving wife of the chevalier, who was enabled, through her amiability, to claim and obtain the Dunmow Flitch in 1855 for their marital felicity.

As for the chevalier himself, he appears to have been a kindly, fussy, well-read old gentleman, seriously afflicted with the cacoëthes scribendi.

O long as the government of France was monarchical, it was largely influenced by the priests, and her most famous statesmen were such princes of the Church as Richelieu, Mazarin, De Retz, Rohan-Soubize, La Rochefoucauld, and Talleyrand-Périgord. Whether their power was always exercised solely for the good of France is not a question to be discussed here, but, speaking generally, it is certain that they did much to encourage the progress of art, science, and literature.

Some of the finest libraries in old France were formed by cardinals and bishops; Richelieu and Mazarin founded free libraries open to the general public, and many of the wealthy religious houses and monastic institutions had collections of the rarest illuminated MSS., such as Livres d’Heures and early Liturgies, of which, alas! most were wantonly destroyed, or dispersed, during the mad period of the Revolution.

It must be admitted that humility was a virtue not much studied by the cardinals or their satellites, their books were sumptuously bound, with their arms ostentatiously emblazoned on the covers, and their book-plates were also of the most pompous description.

When ex-libris became fashionable theirs were the largest and the most elaborate, the insignia of the Church being added to their family arms, and nothing was omitted which could show how vastly superior these men were to their predecessors, the poor fishermen of Judea.

First among the Church dignitaries, who were also statesmen, comes the name of the powerful Cardinal Richelieu, who formed a valuable library, partly by purchase, but principally by robbery or intimidation. To do him justice, however, he dedicated in his will his books to the use of the public, and his grand-nephew saw that his wishes were obeyed. The first idea of creating a free public library in France was due to J. A. de Thou, who, dying in 1617, left all his valuable collections ad usum publicum: but his will was ignored, and his books were dispersed.

Richelieu followed his example, and later on the Cardinal Mazarin, his successor, realized the idea by leaving his magnificent library, with funds to maintain it, for the free use of the public.

Mazarin, that “Laquais parvenu au Cardinal,” the councillor and the minister, if not the husband, of Anne of Austria, the man who, with all the cares of an unruly state on his shoulders, still found time to accumulate two enormous libraries. Of these the first was compulsorily sold in 1652, but the second remains, and now forms the nucleus of the Bibliothèque Mazarine in Paris. It was of this collection that Loret wrote:

Mazarin confided his books only to the most expert binders; Le Gascon, Saulnier, and Petit were employed by him, whilst he kept a number of clever binders constantly at work in his library under his own supervision. His favourite style was red morocco, stamped on the sides with his arms, surmounted by the cardinal’s hat, and in the angles a monogram, either C. J. M. (Cardinal Jules Mazarin), or simply J. M.

Thus bound, emblazoned, and identified, the books of Cardinal Mazarin certainly needed no ex-libris, nor does it appear that he used one.

Bishop Huet, who gave his books to the Jesuits, has already been mentioned as the cause of several fine ex-libris.

The arms which Gilles Ménage had stamped on his bookbindings (d’argent, au sautoir d’azur chargé d’un soleil du premier) were also placed on the ex-libris prepared by the Jesuits, to be placed in the books left to them by Ménage. The plate is less elaborate than that of Bishop Huet, but is equally interesting. Ménage was born on August 15, 1613, and displayed an intense love of books from his earliest youth, and what was somewhat remarkable, he inserted the date on which he acquired each book on the title page. Although a great scholar, he possessed little originality; his own most important work was his Dictionnaire Etymologique, whilst that which has best preserved his memory amongst general readers is the curious collection entitled, “Menagiana: ou les Bons Mots et Remarques Critiques, Historiques, Morales et d’Erudition, de M. Ménage. Recueillies par ses Amis.” This is indeed a mine of information; it contains much valuable ore in the shape of epigrams, parodies, and anecdotes, but great labour is required to separate the gold from the quartz. Here is the poem “Le Fameux La Galisse,” which Goldsmith imitated, and here, too, is the famous saying of Ménage, “La première chose qu’on doit faire,” so often quoted on book-plates. Ménage died July 23, 1692, which year is given on the Jesuits’ book-plate.

To assist in identifying ecclesiastical ex-libris, it must here be mentioned that they carry the head-dresses peculiar to the hierarchy of the Catholic Church, which are to be distinguished as follows:

Cardinal.—A red hat having a wide, flat brim, with a cord on each side, from which hang five rows of red tassels.

Archbishop.—A hat similar in shape to that of a cardinal, but green in colour, with a cord on each side, from which hang four rows of green tassels.

Bishop.—The same hat as an archbishop, but with only three rows of green tassels.

Abbé.—A black hat, with a cord on each side, from which hang two rows of black tassels.

As a matter of fact, the distinction between the hats of archbishops and of bishops appears not to have been generally observed, as we find on the book-plates of most of the bishops that they carried four rows of tassels, that is, ten tassels on each side of their shields. Menestrier admits that the number of tassels is immaterial, but he lays stress on the colour: “Les chapeaux sont rouges pour les Cardinaux, verts pour les Archevêques et Evêques, noirs pour les Protonotaires, et autres dignitez au dessoux des Evêques.” These colours are shown in the usual heraldic manner.

Here are a few examples of clerical plates. Caumartin, a bishop, after whom they have named a street in Paris; Chabeuf, a modern bishop of Dijon; Barbier, an abbot; and J. F. Seguret, a canon of the cathedral church of Alais. The last is an old plate, and is remarkable because it contains no ecclesiastical emblems, the arms and supporters being purely heraldic. The same remarks apply to the plate of the Abbé Quarré de Monay, Canon of Autun, which is dated 1776, and is a characteristic specimen of the plate of the period. Observe the large coronet, the oval shield in a cartouche, the heavy pendent festoons, and the solid square base, all distinctive features of the style Louis XVI. (See reproduction, page 188.)

The plate of Dominique-Barnabé Turgot de Saint Clair, bishop of Seez, dated 1716, is a good example of the ecclesiastical plate of the period, in which the mundane coronet is as conspicuous as the bishop’s hat. Bishop Turgot died on December 18th, 1727, leaving a valuable library, which was sold in Paris in 1730.

The ex-libris of the library of the college of Eu, founded by the Duc de Maine in 1729, may be inserted here, as belonging to an educational establishment. It must be confessed that the plate has a very warlike appearance, for it carries the arms of the founder of the college, Louis Auguste de Bourbon, Duc de Maine, who was Captain-General of the Artillery, hence the warlike devices which surround the pedestal. Being a Bourbon, his arms were France, debruised by a baton.

The plate is an interesting example of the artistic regularity which marks the early period of Louis XV. (See next page.)

The armorial plate of the Abbé de Bourbon-Rothelin shows by its inescutcheon, and its supporters, that the owner was a descendant of the royal house of Bourbon. Charles d’Orléans, Abbé de Rothelin, a son of Henri d’Orléans, Marquis de Rothelin, was born August 5, 1691, and died July 17, 1744. He was an ardent collector of medals, books, and manuscripts, and was esteemed one of the most learned men of his day. At his death, his library, which was especially rich in early theological works, was sold and dispersed, but his collection of medals was acquired entire for the museum of the Escurial. (See reproduction, page 187.)

The arms, stamped on the sides of the books bound for him resembled those on his ex-libris, but without the columns in the background.

A very large ecclesiastical plate is that of Franciscus Tristanus de Cambon: Episcopus Mirapiscensis. This plate is in the best style of the early period of Louis XVI., and is signed J. Mercadier. Inv. et sculp. The shield is surmounted by the coronet of a count, over which is the bishop’s hat.

The plate of Archambault is a handsome specimen of the work of Sergent, signed “Sergent scul. Carnuti.” The date is very faint, but appears to be 1773.

“Affaires du Clergé” on the open book, the tables with the commandments, the mitre and crozier, sufficiently indicate that the owner of the plate was connected with the Church.

Des Livres de M. Dubut is the title of the pretentious book-plate of the Curé de Viroflay, signed Le Roy, and dated 1782.

Here we have the arms of this pious son of the Church going straight to Paradise on a thunder-cloud, under the protection of two rather mundane-looking ladies. The world, the flesh, and—but no—the cross of St. Louis in the background prevents the completion of the trio. (See page 181.)

In a somewhat similar style of thunder-cloud decoration is the dated plate of the Abbé de Gricourt, already referred to.

The plates of J. A. Le Mercier show that at first over his arms he bore the coronet of a count, but that later on, probably during the revolutionary period, he had that erased to make way for a meaningless finial ornament, on the lower half of which the back part of the coronet can still be seen.

A modern addition to the French literature on book-plates is a sixteen-page pamphlet, entitled, Les Ex-Libris Oratoriens, published in 1892 by Charles Poussielgue, in the Rue Cassette, Paris.

This is a brief sketch of some ecclesiastical ex-libris, written by a priest, the Rev. Father Ingold, of L’Hay, near Paris. The pamphlet contains some facsimile illustrations, of which three are reproductions of exquisite plates designed by M. Claude Thièry, of Nancy. These are the plates of the library of the Oratory of Tours, of the library of the Massillon School, and lastly that of the author, Father Ingold, said to be copied from an original miniature, dated 1466. The Ingold family was of Alsatian origin, and the plate is essentially German in its design, the helmet being surmounted by the characteristic proboscis.

This artist, Claude Thièry, who died in 1895, excelled in small delicate hand-work, full of minute detail, in the manner of Callot; his own ex-libris is an admirable specimen of his style. A facsimile of it is given as a frontispiece to Henri Bouchot’s Les Ex-Libris. It represents a fifteenth-century student at work amongst his books, with the inscription: “Cestuy livre est à moy Claude Thiery, ymaigier du moult hault et puissant seigneur Monseigneur François Joseph Empéreur.”

By permission of Father Ingold a few of his illustrations of clerical ex-libris are inserted here, namely, those of Quiqueran de Beaujeu, of Joan de Montmeau, of François Jannart, and the simple little stamp illustrated below, which was used by the priests for marking the books in their own collection in the College of Lyons.

Father Ingold complains, however, that in most of the ancient abbeys and monasteries in France the officials who had charge of the books were content simply to inscribe the name of the establishment in MS. on the title-pages, and did not use book-plates. He gives a long list of these inscriptions (all in Latin), some of which contain allusions to interesting historical and bibliographical facts; but as all these entries are written in, they cannot be considered ex-libris in the sense that we attach to the expression.

A work of the greatest utility to those interested in the study of ecclesiastical book-plates is the “Catalogue des Incunables de la Bibliothèque Publique de Besançon,” par Auguste Castan. This was a posthumous book, published in 1893, by J. Dodivers, Grande Rue, Besançon.

The author was Conservateur de la Bibliothèque de Besançon, a position which gave him ample opportunities for the pursuit of bibliographical studies, to which he devoted his life. The library of Besançon is particularly rich in unique early printed books, and in MSS. It contains no less than 985 volumes or pamphlets, printed during the fifteenth century, amongst which are examples of the rarest works from the early printing offices of Germany, Italy, France, and Switzerland.

These are all fully described by Mons. Castan, who gives biographical accounts of their printers, the watermarks on their paper, their bindings, notes concerning their former owners, and, what is more to our purpose, descriptions of the ex-libris found in them.

Of these there appear to be about 500, all being carefully indexed, but the confusing French practice is adopted of including manuscript entries of ownership amongst what we term book-plates.

Several fine old armorials are reproduced, such as those of the “Bibliothèques des Grands-Carmes de Besançon, Claud Boisot Canon Cantoris Maj. Bisuntini Prioris Commen De Calce 1749.” (Two varieties.) Nameless armorial of Laurent Chiflet, and a few typographical “Ex Bibliotheca” and book-stamps. The plate inscribed “Bibliothèque des Grands-Carmes de Besançon” is one of the reproductions; it was found in a folio, printed in Venice, dated 1481, in which was also a written inscription “fr. B. Bouchier, Conventus Vallenceynarum 1522”—by which was meant the Convent of the Carmelites at Valenciennes. (See next page.)

Those who have been educated in France will remember the solemn annual distribution of prizes. The preparations that were made for weeks beforehand; the erection of the grand stand in the courtyard of the college for the authorities and visitors; the excitement of the day itself; the arrivals of the proud mothers and sisters; the stately procession of the principal, the under principals, the professors, and last of all, the poor, wretched, badgered pions (resident class masters) up to the entrance to receive the Préfet of the Department and his staff, resplendent in court dresses stiff with gold embroidery; the prosy speeches, full of platitudes and truisms, addressed to the four or five hundred youngsters simmering in the August sun in closely buttoned-up military uniforms; the report of the principal that the conduct of all had been most exemplary, with other stereotyped phrases equally stale and devoid of truth; and then the solemn march up of the successful prize-winners, and their return laden with books (destined never to be read), gorgeously bound in purple and gold, or blue and silver. In each book was carefully inserted a book-plate, giving the name of the lycée, or college, the date, name of prize-winner, and nature of the examination.

The custom is so universal, and has been so long established, both in lay and clerical seminaries, that no class of book-plates is so common in France as these.

EMBERS of the Reformed Church in France had to submit to persecutions similar to those endured by their co-religionists in other European countries.

It is as well to remember that living as we do in a Protestant country, our historians have been strongly biassed in their favour, and that whilst the horrors of St. Bartholomew’s Day are always depicted in the most lurid manner, little or nothing is said about the bloodshed and cruelties inflicted by the Calvinists on the Catholics in those parts of the country where they happened to be numerous and powerful. The two factions hated one another for the love of God; it was a cruel period, and, as Baron Rothschild remarks in his “Characteristics from French History,” “There was nothing to choose between Protestants and Catholics in their savage hatred of each other. The Protestants butchered the Catholics whenever they had an opportunity, and all that happened at St. Bartholomew was that the Catholics made a good score.” And this view naturally presents itself to any unprejudiced reader of the history of the period.

After frightful massacres and civil wars, the accession of Henry IV. (himself a Calvinist) to the throne of France in 1589, gave promise of a more tolerant spirit, and in April, 1598, he promulgated the famous Edict of Nantes giving the Protestants a certain amount of religious freedom. This wise measure was confirmed by his successors Louis XIII. in 1610, and Louis XIV. in 1652. But later on, Louis XIV., under the influence of Madame de Montespan and the Romish Church, saw fit to revoke the Edict of Nantes in October, 1658, an act which was in its consequences one of the most disastrous for the commerce and prosperity of France.

It was the aim of Louis, and his ministers, to compel the members of the Reformed Church to abjure their heresies, and return to the Catholic Church, and in some remote country districts, or places where the Huguenots were few and isolated, the plan succeeded. But in the main it failed, as all forced religious conversions ever have failed, a lesson which kings and priests have always before them, and yet never seem to learn.

The forced exile of the Huguenot Ministers, after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, was the signal for flight to thousands of French Protestants of both sexes, and of all classes and ages, and in spite of the penalties proclaimed against emigration, and the punishments inflicted upon those who were arrested in the attempt to leave their country, an enormous number of persons did effect their escape to the various Protestant States in Europe, and even to the then newly-settled American colonies, but principally to our shores.

They brought with them the art of manufacturing silk, and founded a prosperous colony in Spitalfields, where their descendants yet remain. Glass making, jewellery, and other trades in which taste and skill are required, were also understood by them; they rapidly became naturalized, and useful citizens, and the names and histories of many of our wealthy families attest their Huguenot descent.

The term Huguenot seems first to have been applied to the Calvinists about 1560, on the occasion of the Alboise conspiracy; some say the word was derived from the German Eidgenossen, signifying a sworn confederacy, whilst others say it was founded on the name of Hugues, a Genevese Calvinist.

That the sobriquet Huguenot was well known and understood as early as 1622, is shown by the existence of a rare tract entitled “La Trompette de salut aux Huguenots de ce temps, 1622,” written in verse in the following vein:

In glancing over a collection of British book-plates we shall be struck with the French appearance of many names, such as the following: Arabin, Barré, Boileau, Dampier, Ferrier, Martineau, Maturin, Labouchere, Delarue, Harcourt, Vignoles, Curtois, Poignand, Lempriere, Drinquebier, Drucquer, Duhamel, Lemercier, La Mallière, Leschallas, Monteuuis, Laprimaudaye.

David Garrick, we know, was of Huguenot descent, and carried a French motto on his book-plate.

The name of Le Keux occurs as an interesting one in this connection, as representatives of the family still exist, whilst its pedigree has been traced back to one John Le Keux, who married Antoinette Le Quien in the French church at Canterbury as far back as 25 December, 1645.

In this pedigree it is curious to note how frequently members of the Le Keux family allied themselves in marriage with the descendants of other French refugees: thus we meet with the names Didier, Mariscaux, Mariette, De Ribeaucour, Paillet, and Debonnaire. In 1783 was born John Le Keux, and in 1787 Henry Le Keux; both became eminent engravers: John died in 1846, and was buried in Bunhill Fields Cemetery. He was the father of the late John Henry Le Keux, who was born in 1812, and died quite recently (February 4th, 1896), in Durham. His fame as an engraver exceeded that of either his father or his uncle, and although he did not produce many book-plates, those he did were indeed works of art.

As will be seen from the pedigree published in the Miscellanea Genealogica et Heraldica the Le Keux family had for generations resided in, or near Spitalfields, but in 1863 Mr. J. H. Le Keux married a Durham lady, and henceforward resided in that city till his death.

In the north-east of London there exists an institution which, in a quiet and unostentatious manner, does good work amongst a very deserving class of the community. This institution, known as the French Protestant Hospital, is in reality a home for a certain number of elderly people, all of whom are descendants of French Protestants who have at various times sought refuge in England. In 1708 Monsieur de Gastigny, a French Protestant refugee in the service of the Prince of Orange, bequeathed £1,000 for the purpose of founding a hospital. Many other refugees also contributed, so that within a few years the scheme for a Huguenot Asylum took definite shape, and in 1718 the founders commenced the building, and obtained a charter of incorporation under the title of “The Hospital for poor French Protestants and their Descendants residing in Great Britain.”

Amongst the inmates the asylum was more lovingly known as “La Providence,” a title it still deserves, owing to the beauty of the building and its grounds, and the kind and generous treatment of its inmates by the Governor and the Court of Directors.

Although the book-plate in use in the library of “La Providence” is an English production, it belongs to an essentially French religious community, and so is entitled to a place here (see page 199), especially as it bears the well-known and oft-quoted motto from Menagiana. Of a somewhat similar nature is the ex-libris, dated 1868, of the library of the Society of the History of Protestantism in France, founded in 1852.

There is also the well-known Huguenot Society of London, a powerful body which aims at preserving the old religious and national spirit amongst the descendants of the refugee families, and has done much service in preserving the ancient history and traditions of the Huguenots.

A glance at its roll-call suffices to recall the fact that many names held by families long since thoroughly anglicised, are of French origin.

Indeed an amusing chapter might be written on the curious modifications of certain old French names, by which they have gradually acquired an anglicised appearance in print, whilst still preserving some little similarity to their original pronunciation. Cottew (Côteaux), Cussans (De Cusance), Dampier (Dampierre), Dobree (D’Aubraye), Ducane (Du Quesne), Margary (De Marguerie), Perowne (Piron), Rainier (Regnier), Shoppee (Chapuis), Woollett (Viollet), and many others might be cited.

The Secretary of the Huguenot Society of London is Mr. G. H. Overend, F.S.A.

There is also a German Huguenot Society, a Huguenot Society of America, and another for South Carolina, besides La Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français, all of which tend to preserve the traditions of the Huguenots, and to encourage the study of their history and genealogy.

In the United States there are also numerous families claiming Huguenot descent; take Gabriel Duvall as an instance, born in Maryland, 1752, Member of Congress, Comptroller of Currency, 1802, Associate Justice, U.S. Supreme Court, 1811. Died 1844. He had a book-plate dated 1778.

A more modern example is the book-plate of the late Mr. Daniel Ravenel, curious on account of its heraldic bearings, which its owner in simple good faith, and in ignorance of all the laws of heraldry, thought himself entitled to assume, as he would have done a trade-mark. In the innocence of his heart the good gentleman accompanied each copy of his book-plate with the following curious explanation:

Mr. Ravenel died in September, 1894; he was a direct descendant of René Ravenel, a Huguenot emigré from Bretagne, who settled in South Carolina in 1685.

Another of Mr. Ravenel’s ancestors was the first pastor of the little French Protestant church in Charleston, S.C., of which Mr. Ravenel was one of the elders at the time of his death. Indeed, everything connected with Huguenot history had a charm for him, as was shown by his zeal in collecting books, maps, manuscripts and coins dealing with it. He was almost as keen in searching for records concerning his native state of South Carolina, in addition to which he possessed one of the most interesting and valuable collections of book-plates then known in the United States.

“ ONOUR a physician with the honour due unto him for the uses which ye may have of him” says the old book, and having considered the plates of those whose duty it is to attend to the cure of souls, we may now briefly consider the ex-libris belonging to the kindred profession whose aim it is to cure the body of all the ills that flesh is heir to.

In many early plates we find doctors are content to describe themselves simply as Doct. Med., but later they displayed ghastly views of dead bodies in dissecting-rooms surrounded by curious students; or sick patients in bed with skeletons beckoning them away.

Such plates may be interesting in a collection, but designs so lugubrious are totally unfit to perform the duties of book-plates even in a library devoted entirely to medical works. What, for instance, can be more incongruous than the plate of Matthew Turner, with its handsome coat-of-arms in a Chippendale frame and the quotation from Cicero: “Salutem hominibus dando,” as compared with its accessories, a grinning skeleton in a cupboard on the left of the shield, whilst below it are several naked little urchins dragging a dead body on to a dissecting-board, a dissecting-saw lies in the foreground, close to the serpent-twined rod sacred to Æsculapius.

Even more curious is the design (wretchedly engraved) on the plate, inscribed J. B. Swett. The owner was Dr. J. Barnard Swett of New Buryport, Mass.; and no doubt the plate was engraved in America about 120 years ago, or even earlier.

Here indeed the ludicrous element comes in, for though the dead body is present, the whole design is so quaintly bad that it is impossible to criticise it with any severity. All the usual emblems of medical science are present in this plate, which was reproduced on p. 289 of Mr. C. D. Allen’s “American Book-plates.”

J. C. Harrer, M.D., also had a skeleton, accompanied by books, pots of ointment, etc., whilst Daniel Chodowiecki, the celebrated engraver, signed a plate, dated 1792, for one C. S. Schinz, Med. Dr., in which the design is of a sensational character, meant to proclaim the healing powers of the owner. “In the foreground (I quote Lord de Tabley, not having the plate myself) Æsculapius is pushing out a skeleton draped in a long white sheet, with a scythe across its shoulder. The god is sturdily applying his serpent-twined staff to the somewhat too solid back of this terrible phantom. Behind, and beneath a kind of pavilion, lies a sick person in bed, his hands upraised in silent thankfulness.”

This Schinz was probably a German, although he might have belonged to the north-east frontier of France, but we will now turn our attention to plates which undoubtedly belonged to French medical men.

Dumont de Valdajou Chirurgien carries arms, perhaps specially granted, for he boldly proclaims below his shield “Brevété du Roy,” but even that would not excuse him in the eyes of a strict king of arms for assuming as supporters two angels, a distinction officially reserved for the French Royal family alone.

Another armorial plate is that of Jos. Philip: Grumet; above the shield shows the badge of Æsculapius, an attribute common to many medical book-plates.

But why Dr. Correard should have appropriated not only the general design, but also the actual arms on this shield, is a mystery; indeed, it is not easy to decide which of these two plates is the actual original.

Colin, graveur de feu Roy de Pologne, as he proudly describes himself, engraved a pretty and appropriate little vignette for a chemist of Nancy, Mons. R. Willemet; a reduced copy of this was done for Mons. Soyer-Willemet.

Another plate by the same engraver was done for D. Laflize, also of Nancy. This melancholy design is one of those to which exception has already been taken.

Amongst modern medical plates, that done by Mons. Henry André for the Doctor F. Bargalló of Paris is probably the most striking in its originality, and the most pleasing in its execution.

First of all are the owner’s initials, F. B.: in the B. the whole name will be found; the accent over the “o” is intentional, and indicates the Spanish origin of the name. The professional attributes are the cup and the serpent, whilst the poppy points also to the study of botany, an all-important branch of medical education.

The lighter studies and amusements are indicated in the books, the music, and the portfolio of engravings. The dainty little female figure emerging from the album gives some indication of the date by the style of her costume. There is a strong relation between the motto and the attributes on the design. Thus the wicked books that corrupt youth may be likened to the serpent; silly books that bore one resemble in their effect the sleep-producing power of the poppy; whilst the good books that console and amuse us have an affinity to the powers of a health-giving draught of restorative medicine. Thus, then, we have the venenum, the somnus, the solamen, of the motto. Such is the explanation politely sent me by the owner, which I give, as nearly as a translation can render, in his own words.

ANY of these quaint devices on British coats-of-arms are distinctly of French origin.

Thus the Montagues bear in their arms three fusils in fesse, the sharply serrated points of which suggest mountain peaks—the original name of the family having been Montacute. The French word for hedgehog is hérisson, therefore the hedgehog is the charge of the family of Harrison; the swallow is in French the hirondelle, hence the swallow is placed on the shield of the Arundels:

Instances might be almost indefinitely multiplied; these are amongst the best because the most obvious, others, which are so recondite as to require lengthy descriptions, defeat their own purpose.

The French expression les armes parlantes is more musical than ours, and examples of canting arms are perhaps as common in French as in English heraldry, whilst punning book-plates are numerous amongst modern specimens, especially those belonging to men of arts and letters.

The Gallic cock is naturally a favourite charge, and may be found frequently in conjunction with such names as Lecoq, or Coquebert, or Coquereau, yet it by no means follows that these can be strictly termed canting arms, for, as Salverte remarks in his “Essai sur les Noms,” “Le même usage à été alternativement cause et effet,” so that whilst numerous armorial ensigns were borrowed from the bearers’ names, so also, in many cases, surnames were borrowed from the arms. He, therefore, who bore a cock on his shield may well have become known in the course of time as Jean Le Coq.

One of the funniest bits of canting heraldry ever printed occurred in the “Daily News” (London) of 5th April, 1892. The Paris correspondent, writing of Ravachol, the murderer, said: “His family have a place in the ‘Armorial de Forez,’ the peerage and gentry book of Saint-Chamond, where Ravachol was born. His ancestors are set down in that volume as dating from 1600. Their shield bears argent with a fess azure, three roses or, and a head of cabbage or, with a radish argent. On the maternal side the motto is a canting one, being ‘Rave-à-chou,’ which is doubtless the origin of the curiously striking name of Ravachol.”

It would be amusing to see how the writer would “trick” the shield he has vainly endeavoured to describe; besides, as was proved at the trial, the murderer’s name was not Ravachol, nor was he even a Frenchman by birth.

In 1768 Monier designed a very handsome plate for Louis Vacher, in which not only does a cow appear on the shield, but both the supporters are also cows, in allusion to the owner’s name.

A plate recently found in an old French book bore the inscription: “Des livres de M. Fauveau, avocat au Parlement.” The arms were, Party per fess azure and or, in chief three scythes (faux) argent, and in base a calf’s head (veau) gules.

There is no term of opprobrium more offensive to a Frenchman than that of cochon, although ignorant English tourists occasionally apply it by mistake to a cabdriver. But here we have a gentleman of the old school who rejoiced in the name, and put a little pig in his field in order that there might be no mistake about it. The moon and stars are thrown into the bargain, as being of secondary importance.

This plate of Jacob Houblon, Esq., is unmistakably the work of R. Mountaine, and we may therefore fix its date as 1750, or thereabouts. Although the workmanship of the plate is English, the armes parlantes it bears are obviously of French origin, the hop vine signifying Houblon.

Samuel Pepys in his diary mentions that the five brothers Houblon came to supper at his house on May 15, 1666. They were rich merchants, one of them later on coming to be Lord Mayor of London, and the first Governor of the Bank of England.

According to an epitaph in the church of St. Mary Woolnoth, in London, their ancestor was one Peter Houblon, who came over from Flanders.

The late Lord Palmerston was descended from a Sir John Houblon, who was Lord Mayor of London in 1695.

As recently as 1894 the death of a descendant of the family was announced, that of Mr. Richard Archer Houblon, J.P., of Cambridgeshire, aged eighty-five years, whose estate was valued at over £50,000, whilst but a short time since a Colonel Archer Houblon was in command of a battalion of the Royal Berkshire Regiment.

Of somewhat similar origin, but from the grapevine, come the arms of the Vignoles family, a branch of which, long settled in England, produced the well-known civil engineer.

On a shield borne by Robillard are two billiard cues in saltire between four billiard balls.

For M. Champfleury, the artist, Aglaüs Bouvenne has drawn a flowery field (a champ fleurie), and for the Comtesse de Noé a Noah’s ark, whilst Paul Cordier plays on his own name in a charming little vignette representing a rope-maker (cordier) at work in his rope-walk.

A plate composed and engraved by Evart Van Mayders for Mons. F. Raisin, has a fox vainly climbing over a book to reach some grapes (raisins), and exclaiming, in disgust, “They are too green.”

Although the late M. Eugene Rimmel lived many years in England, and wrote a charming “History of Perfumes” in our language, he was a thoroughly patriotic Frenchman. His countrymen ever found a friend in him, and his exertions on behalf of their sick and wounded during the terrible war of 1870-71 should keep his memory for ever fresh. His book-plate is a quaint little medley of the useful and the ornamental; the distilling apparatus, and a fountain of perfume, surmounted by a crest of rose-buds, suffice to indicate the scent, but not the descent, of Eugene Rimmel.

M. Milsand, of Dijon, used a book-plate containing an imitation of a bank-note, having on it the figures 1000 and 100 (mille cent), whilst Charles Monselet has a pretty little sketch, by Devambez, of a corner of his library with some books heaped up (Livres amoncelés). The plate of M. Wolf explains itself better in English than in French. “Quærens quem devoret” (see page 229).

M. Aglaüs Bouvenne represents a dog balancing the monogram of Alexis Martin (page 158), whilst Mons. L. Delatre confides a book, in sumptuous binding, to the mouth of another, with the motto, “Honneur a qui rapporte.” A pretty idea, but surely not a very practical one (see page 240).

It is his whim! C’est sa toquade, as M. Cousin remarks on his plate (see page 231).

In their treatment of his dread Satanic Majesty the French display delightful grace and delicacy.

Indeed, Le Diable Boiteux of Le Sage is very much of a gentleman; Mephistopheles in Gounod’s opera is a far more interesting personality than his pupil Faust; whilst in “Orphée aux Enfers” Offenbach certainly contrived to enlist our sympathies on behalf of Pluto.

Many a French shop is dedicated to the Evil One, but in every case the inscription is respectful, as, for instance, Au Bon Diable. It is almost a term of endearment, the expression “un mauvais petit Diable,” whilst no proper English word can convey the sense of rollicking fun contained in Diablerie.

As in literature, so in art, the Devil of the French, may be grotesque, bizarre, comic, terrible, yet in all he is a superior being, in short a Gentleman in Black, never the hideous, repulsive individual we are accustomed to see portrayed (with two horns and a tail) in English comic art.

Nothing could more eloquently convey the French conception of the character than Sir Henry Irving’s inimitable representation of Mephistopheles at the Lyceum a short time since. Does not this book-plate recall his appearance in the part?

EREIN an attempt has been made to gather in such French phrases of book possession, and inscriptions on book-plates, as may be deemed interesting, quaint, or humorous, avoiding in this instance all mottoes or war cries which are obviously of heraldic origin.

Little Victor Dupuis is very like Master Tommy Smith in the habit he has of scribbling nonsense verses in his school books; one very popular quatrain in the good old days of the French monarchy was:

Or, he would threaten borrowers with dire penalties:

Becoming more ambitious, he would launch out into a Macaronic verse:

Or, another way, as the cookery books say:

Or, in Alsatian German:

Or, he would descend into trivial details, thus:

Finally, arrived at a mature age, he would order a book-plate, inscribing on it an expression of his love for literature in some such manner as did M. Leonis Schück, upon his ex-libris designed by Hirsch:

Others have expressed their sentiments in moral platitudes:

But one of the most useful axioms is that borrowed from “Menagiana” vol. iv.: “La première chose qu’on doit faire quand on à emprunté un livre, c’est de le lire afin de pouvoir le rendre plutot.” Hugo de Bassville employed this, with the addition of “Rendez le livre s’il vous plait,” whilst such ardent book-lovers as David Garrick and George Augustus Sala have placed it on their book-plates; it figures also with perfect propriety on the fine ex-libris of the “Bibliothèque de la Providence” (the French Protestant Hospital at Victoria Park), and on those of Frederick Le Mesurier, and John Meybohm.

Following these come a long list of verses directed against book borrowers in general, commencing with the verse attributed to Guilbert de Pixérécourt, although he does not use it on his book-plate:

The two epigrams below were written by Guillaume Colletet, and have been quoted on several ex-libris, though curiously enough their author did not use one, but was content to sign his name in his books, which were numerous:

“Aux Emprunteurs de Livres qui ne les rendent point.

Both these verses were first published in the “Epigrammes du Sieur Guillaume Colletet.” Paris, 1653.

Charles Frédéric Hommeau, whose ex-libris represents the interior of his library, gives notice to borrowers that they must return his book in fourteen days and in good condition. In order that there may be no mistake as to his meaning, he has the rule engraved at the foot of his plate:

Indeed he loved not borrowers, for he adds, “Ite ad vendentes, et emite vobis!”

M. Auguste Stoeber, author of the “Petite Revue d’Ex-Libris Alsaciens,” used the following lines for the German books in his library:

The late Rev. Mr. Carson possessed a handsome book-plate designed for M. Abel Lemercier, which is one of the largest modern French plates, measuring, as it does, 8½ inches by 5½ inches.

It is especially remarkable on account of the number of mottoes it contains, commencing at the top with “Le gaing de nostre science, c’est en estre devenu meilleur et plus sage,” followed by four or five other maxims, which have been already quoted.

This plate is not dated, but it is signed M. Potemont inv., R. Martial sc. It combines some of the characteristics of a “library interior” with those of a “book-pile,” and is altogether a sumptuous and imposing, though somewhat cumbersome design.

On a singular old library interior plate, headed “Du Cabinet Littéraire de P. Cellier, Libraire, quai St. Antoine, à Lyon,” were found the following instructions to book borrowers:

A Frenchman resident in this country, early in the century, had a roughly printed label, in which the inscription was surrounded by a small woodcut border. The inscription is curious for its errors; it runs thus: “J. Admans, son livre, mil huit sens seize. Rue de Palais. Cantorbery.”

M. Gouache, whose plate informs us that he resided at number 13 in the Boulevard de la Madeleine, quotes the following:

The French are not particularly rich in mottoes in praise of books. Adolphe Borgnet, of Liège, quotes Montaigne, thus:

On a nameless pictorial plate (signed F. Groskost, Strasbourg) occur some lines attributed to M. Jacques Flach (see page 243):

says a nameless moralist, who probably had not read Lord Macaulay’s account of William III., whilst

says the historian Chevillard.

On the plate of M. Jules, Baron de St. Genois, is the motto:

The following cynical epigram,

was placed on his book-plate by the philosophical atheist Sylvain Maréchal, who wrote a work entitled “Fragmens d’un poeme moral sur Dieu,” dated 1781.

David Köning remarks:

Whilst Patrice Salin fairly gives himself away:

Others have used mottoes which come under no special category, such as that on an engraved label bearing the name J. G. Lafont:

In 1791 Monsieur J. B. Michaud cried aloud on his book-plate for “La Liberté ou la Mort” and many others adopted the phrase, at a time when Death was certainly more en évidence than Liberty.

Poor Léon Gambetta, probably the most daring and original of modern French politicians, had his book-plate inscribed “Vouloir c’est Pouvoir,” an axiom which he, the son of a poor provincial grocer, had proved correct up to a certain point.

There is no article in the “Dictionnaire des Girouettes” more laughable than that devoted to Monsieur Nicholas François de Neufchateau, who, not content with being a political turncoat of the first order, celebrated each of his changes of faith by songs in honour of his new ideal of government. These poems, here side by side in the dictionary, proclaim the man at once a venal weathercock and a conceited prig.

He was born in 1752; before the outbreak of the Revolution he was a lawyer in Paris; afterwards he became President of the National Assembly, when he called King Louis XVI. a traitor, yet this did not prevent his being sent to prison by Barrère in 1793. On his release he wrote a poem in honour of Barrère; later on he joined with the senate in advising Napoleon to create himself emperor. The emperor could do no less in return than create Neufchateau a Count of the Empire. What became of him on the Restoration does not appear, except that in 1815 he obtained permission to dedicate a volume of his fables to the king.

To the end of time the ex-libris of Monsieur N. François de Neufchateau will not only pompously proclaim all the titles given to him by Napoleon I., but describe in verse the blazon of his arms, in which, as he says, the useful and the ornamental are curiously blended, the whole being surmounted by one of David’s toques, with the five waving ostrich feathers denoting senatorial rank.

Yet this was the man who had previously written:

M. de Neufchateau was a busy man and a versatile, writing on politics, social economy, history, and agriculture in turns, but it is as a poet that he will be known to posterity through his book-plate, which collectors will ever prize as a monument of egregious vanity.

M. François de Neufchateau died in 1828.

There is a chapter in “Ex-Libris Ana” (Paris, L. Joly) devoted to manuscript inscriptions of ownership in books; one is given, as having been commonly written in his books, by an author named Collé:

Contrasting with this schoolboy rhyme is the sad farewell to her children, written by Marie Antoinette in her prayer-book only a few hours before she went to the scaffold:

Scarcely does the world contain a more pathetic document.

HE name of François Rabelais, priest, doctor, wit, satirist, and philanthropist, eclipses all other early French writers. In “Les Portraits de Rabelais” (1880), M. Georges d’Albenas asserted that a certain Professor C. Cavalier possessed an Aldine Plato in which was a piquant ex-libris of the illustrious Rabelais, of undoubted authenticity.

It is singular that such an assertion, made so long ago, should have received so little attention. Could it have been verified, the plate would certainly be one of the most precious relics in the world, not only as a personal souvenir of the creator of Gargantua and Pantagruel, but as the very earliest known French ex-libris.

As Rabelais died in 1553 his book-plate would necessarily be at least twenty years earlier than that of Alboise of Autun, which is dated 1574, and probably even some years older than that.

But in the earlier edition of this treatise, I remarked that it was scarcely credible that such a treasure as this could exist without having become generally known to collectors of literary curios, who would, long ere now, have fully described the book-plate of François Rabelais.

This paragraph was noted by several French collectors, and more particularly by Doctor L. Bouland, President of the French Society, who at once put himself in communication with M. Georges d’Albenas.

His reply showed that this was only another instance of the confusion that arises from the French custom of styling the written inscription of an owner’s name in a book, an ex-libris. Technically the term may be correct, but it would be advisable in the interest of collectors to describe the one as the “owner’s autograph” to distinguish it from the engraved or printed ex-libris fastened on the inside of a book.

M. d’Albenas wrote thus: “L’Ex-libris de Rabelais dont il est question, en note, dans Les portraits de Rabelais, est ecrit de la main de l’illustre auteur de Gargantua, sur le titre d’un exemplaire de la première édition des ‘Œuvres de Platon,’ publiée par les soins réunis de Marc Manuce et d’Alde Manuce 1513.

M. le professeur Cavalier ayant légué sa riche bibliothèque et ses précieuses collections à Montpellier, sa ville natale, elles ont été réunies selon ses dispositions testamentaires dans une salle spéciale, portant son nom, par les soins de son ami et exécuteur testamentaire, votre serviteur.”

Here, then, is a facsimile of this famous inscription, partly in Latin, partly in Greek, which is said to signify “Belonging to François Rabelais, a zealous doctor, and to his Christian friends.”

Plainly an anticipation of the “Io: Grolierii et amicorum.”

Another signature of Rabelais exists in a book which was presented to the school of medicine of Montpellier in 1776 by a lawyer, one Mons. J. Grosley. This resembles generally the one already described.

The name of Jean Grolier is one of the earliest and most famous in the history of French Bibliolatry and Bibliopegy. Jean Grolier, Vicomte d’Aguisy, was born in 1479 in Lyons, and died in Paris on October 22nd, 1565. He was treasurer of France, and collected a library of about 3,000 volumes (an enormous number in those early days of printing), all of which he had sumptuously bound, and generally with the Grolier arms richly emblazoned on the sides. His books had also various mottoes on them, sometimes written in his own hand on blank pages or on the title, sometimes printed in letters of gold around the edges of the binding.

The most usual of these mottoes is one that is constantly referred to, and has been often borrowed by other book-lovers and collectors:

Others that occur are:

Io: Grollierii et amicorum reads as a very pretty and unselfish sentiment, but it requires some explanation. Mons. Grolier did not allow his treasured volumes to leave his possession. Those who were privileged to enjoy his friendship, were permitted to consult his books; they had no choice, however, but to do so in the spacious salons of Mons. Grolier, after partaking of his hospitality.

On the death of Grolier, in 1565, his valuable collection became the property of Emeric de Vic, Keeper of the Seals, from whom it passed to his son. On his death, this library, which had been the pride of three generations of book-lovers, was sold and dispersed in 1676. Some of the principal books came into the possession of such well-known collectors as Paul Petau, de Thou, and the Chancellor P. Séguier; they have been well preserved till the present day, but they contain no book-plates belonging to Grolier.

Paul Petau was a councillor in the Parliament of Paris. He formed the nucleus of a library, rich in early French and Latin MSS., and was also an enthusiastic collector of coins and antiquities. On his death, in 1613, he left the whole of his collections to his son Alexander, who not only succeeded to his public offices, but also inherited his cultivated tastes for art and literature.

Paul Petau had his books handsomely bound, with his arms stamped on the sides. His arms are thus emblazoned by French heraldists: Ecartelé: au 1 et 4, d’azur, à 3 roses d’argent, au chef-d’or chargé d’une aigle issante éployée de sable; au 2 et 3, d’argent, à la croix pattée de gueules. Devise: Non est mortale quod opto.

It will thus be seen that the arms are precisely the same as those carried by his son Alexander on his book-plate, the motto alone being changed in the latter to “Moribus Antiquis.”

M. Poulet-Malassis makes a curious misstatement in describing this ex-libris, for he asserts that the shield bears quarterly the arms of Alexander Petau and of his wife. It may be that M. Poulet-Malassis intended to say the arms of Paul Petau and of his wife, for Paul, the father, certainly carried these arms, as did Alexander afterwards, with the statement that he was the son of Paul. Now Paul Petau could not have carried the arms of his son’s wife.

The shield rests on a mosaic pavement, on which are reproduced in alternate squares the three principal charges, namely, the eagle issuant, the three roses, and the cross pattée (see plate, page 69).

On the death of Alexander Petau his MSS. were purchased by Queen Christina of Sweden, who bequeathed them to the Vatican Library. His printed books were sold at the Hague in 1722, with those of François Mansart. “Catalogue des bibliothèques de feu M.M. Alexandre Pétau, conseiller au Parlement de Paris, et François Mansart, intendant des bâtiments de France.” La Haye, A. de Hondt, 1722.

Had the king of France himself desired a new book-plate he could scarcely have been provided with one more gorgeous or imposing than that engraved by Daudin, in 1702, for Michel Bégon. Although according to its date it must be classed as an eighteenth century plate, its style belongs to an earlier period, as indeed, properly speaking, did its owner, for he was born at Blois on December 26, 1638, so that he did not have this sumptuous ex-libris engraved till comparatively late in his life, and did not long survive to enjoy it, for he died on the 14th of March, 1710.

The arms (blazoned thus by French heraldists: d’azur au chevron d’or, accompagné en chef de deux roses, et d’un lion en pointe) on an oval shield surmounted by the coronet of a count, supporters two lions. Inscription: Michaeli Begon et amicis 1702.

Here we have at once a plate remarkable for its beauty, and interesting on account of its owner, who was a man of note in his day, and famous as a collector.

He was thus described in the official registration of his death: “Messire Michel Bégon, chevalier, seigneur de la Picardière et autres lieux, conseiller du Roy en ses conseils et d’honneur au Parlement de Provence. Intendant de Justice et finances de la Généralité de la Rochelle et de la Marine à Rochefort.”

Mons. Bégon came of good family, was well educated, and appears to have been very successful in his career as a government official. He held appointments successively at Martinique, San Domingo, and Marseilles, and finally, in 1688, was appointed Intendant de la Rochelle of the port of Rochefort, which post he held for the rest of his life. On the death of his father, he had succeeded to a valuable library which he continued to enrich; he was also an indefatigable collector of medals, of natural history specimens, and of engravings, especially portraits.

From an inventory made after his death, it appears he left 7,000 volumes, and more than sixty valuable manuscripts of the ancient classics. His collection of prints, which comprised about 8,000 portraits, 15,600 general engravings, and 925 maps, was valued at 16,481 livres, and was acquired for the library of the King of France in 1770.

Michel Bégon was therefore a man worthy to possess a really handsome book-plate such as his was, but we may take it that the expression “for his friends” (et amicorum he wrote on some of his books) did not imply they were to be removed from his custody, but only that they might be consulted by his friends when they visited him, as we know was the intention of Grolier who also used this apparently self-denying expression.

It may be added that in the “Biographie Universelle” (De Feller, Paris, 1834), a short account is given of Michel Bégon, in which it is said: “Le goût avait presidé au choix de ses livres dont la plupart portaient sur le frontispice Michaelis Begon et Amicorum.”

It is therefore somewhat singular that no mention of him, or his arms, occurs in the “Armorial Français” of Johannis Guigard. This is to be regretted, as it renders it difficult to trace in what way the family of Bégon and the old French family of Chapuy were related. That some kind of relationship existed can scarcely be doubted; in view of the following application received from Mr. Charles J. Shoppee, President of the Surveyor’s Institution, and Vice President of the Ex-Libris Society:

“I am anxious to know something of the origin of the armorial bearings of Michael Bégon, 1702, the coat being the same as that of Chapuis of Dauphiné, viz., ‘D’azur au chevron d’or, accompagné de deux roses d’argent en chef, et en pointe, d’un lion rampant, de même.’ These arms I bear, as the representative of the branch of the Chapuis family settled in England.”

Amongst a list of the French officers taken at the battle of Oudenarde, July 11th, 1708, “Of the regiment of dragoons of Pouriere, Lieutenant Chapuy” is recorded. This officer was the ancestor of Mr. C. J. Shoppee.

Nicolas Joseph Foucault was a councillor to the Parliament of Paris, and a member of the Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-lettres. He died in 1720, aged seventy-seven, leaving a library which was considered particularly rich in relation to the early history of France. Unfortunately it was dispersed on his decease, and his ex-libris given herewith is consequently scarce. It was probably engraved between about 1680 and 1700, and carries the same arms as were embossed on the bindings of his books.

It would perhaps be more interesting to know the name of the artist who designed this beautiful plate for Mr. de Joubert, than who and what Mr. de Joubert himself was. Unfortunately the plate is not signed, but it is in the style of the Louis XV. period, and was probably the work of some artistic engraver in the south of France.

The date of the plate can only be approximately fixed on the following train of reasoning. Mr. de Joubert styles himself “Tresorier des Etats de Languedoc;” now on reference to an old French work, somewhat similar to a Court Guide, we find a mention of this gentleman.

In “L’Etat de la France,” published in Paris in 1749, his name is given as Président des Chambres des Comptes de Languedoc, with the date of his appointment, thus:

It thus appears that Joubert was alive in 1749, and still holding the high office in the provincial treasury to which he was appointed in 1733; the date of his plate may therefore be assumed to have been not earlier than 1733, and in all probability it was not much later.

In this entry he is called Chevalier, which accounts for the De on the book-plate. This is an instance of the difficulties a collector has to contend with in deciding the period of undated plates, especially where the artist has not signed his work.

Mons. Gueulette was a French novelist and dramatist, who enjoyed considerable fame in the first half of the last century. He died in December, 1766, at the ripe old age of eighty-three years, and his writings have since sunk into undeserved oblivion, although, it is true, Messrs. Nichols published a translation of his “Contes Tartares” (an imitation of the “Arabian Nights”) in 1893, but of this only a small edition was printed. His book-plate, signed H. Becat, is inscribed “Ex libris Thomae Gueulette et Amicorum.” It represents the Gueulette arms, with two supporters on each side, namely, an Italian Arlequin, a Tartar, a Chinese Mandarin, and a Cyclops holding an infant in his arms. Each of these figures has some reference to the works of the owner of the plate; thus, the Arlequin is in allusion to the numberless farces he wrote for the Théâtre Italien and the Théâtre des Boulevards; the other works alluded to are his “Contes Tartares” and “Les Aventures du Mandarin Fum Hoam.” The design is surmounted by a graceful little Cupid bearing aloft a scroll, on which is inscribed the epicurean motto “Dulce est desipere in loco,” which has been thus happily translated by a distinguished member of the Sette of Odd Volumes:

M. Gueulette was a worthy disciple of Horace, for more than eighty years he enjoyed the work, the pleasures, and the success of life; he accumulated a large and valuable library, and his books were probably the first to be decorated with a book-plate bearing not only the arms of their owner, but also allegorical allusions to his tastes and literary labours.

M. Gueulette had a second and smaller plate, signed Bellanger; this was similar in its general features, but different in many of its details to the above.

The Abbé Joseph-Marie Terray, Controller-General of Finance under Louis XV., was one of those men who, by their cruel exactions, dissolute living, and reckless expenditure, were directly responsible for the ruin of French credit and for the great Revolution which ensued. Terray was born at Boen in 1715, and died in Paris in February, 1778, almost universally hated and despised. It is true that he had collected a handsome library, that his books were sumptuously bound, and that he had a reputation as a patron of art and letters. But holding many highly paid sinecure offices, and being the proprietor of rich ecclesiastical livings (not to mention the gross jobbery he exercised in the state finances), he could well afford to buy expensive books and to employ a few bookbinders. History records no other good trait in the character of this priestly financier, who was both physically and morally ugly, depraved, and rapacious.

Was it for him that this epitaph was written?—

The game cock was a favourite emblem with the ancient Greeks and Romans, on account of its courage and endurance. “The gait of the cock,” writes Pliny, “is proud and commanding; he walks in a stately stride, with his head erect and elevated crest; alone, of all birds, he habitually looks up to the sky, raising at the same time his curved and graceful tail, and inspiring terror even in the lion himself, that most intrepid of animals.” He will fight to the death, and use his last breath to crow out a defiance, whilst the conqueror, standing over his vanquished rival, will flap his wings and loudly proclaim his victory.

For many ages the game cock, as brave and noble a bird as any that lives, was the badge of our Gallic neighbours:

Besides being a national emblem, many ancient and noble French houses bore a cock on their shields. There were cocks “cantant,” holding up their heads with opened beaks, as though they were crowing, and cocks “hardy,” which stood on one leg with the other aggressively uplifted. Louis-Philippe, on being made King of the French, adopted the bird standing in this warlike attitude, a circumstance which did not escape the attention of the Legitimist opponents of the bourgeois king. Shortly after his accession a biting satire was circulated in anti-Orleanist society. It set forth how the noble Gallic cock, raking in the dunghill, had scratched up King Louis-Philippe, who, in exulting gratitude, had placed the bird in the arms of France. Be this as it may, the Gallic cock held his place on the escutcheon of the Orleanist dynasty until the events of 1848 compelled Louis-Philippe to escape to England under the assumed name of Mr. Smith.

M. Gambetta carried this bird, in the act of crowing, on his book-plate, with an equally gallant motto, “Vouloir c’est Pouvoir,” but we seek in vain to learn of what was composed the library of Gambetta. This is a mystery! It may be readily surmised that he had not many of the tastes of a bibliophile, nor time in which to indulge them. As to the plate itself, the design was probably suggested by Poulet-Malassis, and it was engraved by M. Alphonse Legros about 1874, when that artist was commissioned by Sir Charles Dilke to go to Paris to procure a portrait of M. Léon Gambetta.

Proof impressions of the plate exist in four states, all very rare; but the curious feature about it is that M. Gambetta certified in 1882 that he had never made use of it as a book-plate, and when in May, 1895, Dr. Bouland obtained the loan of the original copper to publish in the “Archives de la Société Française,” he found it had scarcely been used. So that the numerous copies of the Gambetta book-plate scattered about must be looked upon as forgeries.

The book-plate of another distinguished Frenchman, Victor Hugo, is also somewhat of a puzzle.

It has been reproduced in nearly every illustrated article that has been printed on French ex-libris, with its towers of the cathedral of Notre Dame illuminated by the flash of lightning carrying his name:

On what occasion can M. Aglaüs Bouvenne have designed this celebrated book-plate, seeing that at the time of his death the library of Victor Hugo consisted of less than fifty volumes?

The history is a somewhat curious one.

As is well known, Victor Hugo was an implacable enemy of Napoleon III., and during his reign resided in Guernsey. Wishing to pay his great countryman a compliment, Mons. Aglaüs Bouvenne designed this plate, the towers of Notre Dame being introduced not only to remind Hugo of his beloved Paris, but also in allusion to his famous novel.

On the 10th July, 1870, Victor Hugo wrote from Hauteville House to thank the artist for the plate: “Votre ex-libris fait par vous pour moi me charme—j’accepte avec reconnaissance cette jolie petite planche.... Votre ex-libris marquera tous les livres de la Bibliothèque de Hauteville House.”

But the great war came, the downfall of the Empire, the return of Victor Hugo to Paris, and amidst so much change and excitement the poor little ex-libris appears to have been neglected. After the poet’s death forgeries of it flooded the market, and many unwary collectors purchased worthless copies.

At length Mons. Aglaüs Bouvenne, who possessed the original copper, allowed prints of it to be taken to be issued with the “Archives de la Société Française des Collectionneurs d’Ex Libris” for June, 1895, together with a facsimile of Victor Hugo’s letter of thanks above quoted.

It should be noticed that the original plate is signed Aglaüs Bouvenne del et sculp. 70 (for 1870), and although it may please collectors to possess a copy of this ex-libris, they must not assume, when purchasing one, that it ever was in the possession of the great poet himself.

M. Bouvenne also designed a plate, dated 1872, for the late novelist and dramatist Théophile Gautier, enshrining his monogram on the entablature of an Egyptian temple, but in this case he had to deal with a veritable lover of books, who possessed a library of some importance, which was sold, after his death, at the Hôtel Drouot. A catalogue was issued describing the books, but, although they were mostly in good condition, and bore the book-plate of a man somewhat famous in his day, they realized but a small sum under the hammer.

Of the Comte d’Orsay, at one time the leader of fashion, the Prince of Dandies, and the associate of the lovely but unfortunate Lady Blessington, there is little to be said, nor would that little be complimentary.

On page 38 is the tiny little plate of Paul Lacroix, better known, perhaps, as the bibliophile Jacob, whose writings have done so much to popularize the study of the manners of the Middle Ages, and the progress of civilization in France.

The two naked little gamins are gazing at the P.L. on the open volume, illuminated by a lamp of ancient Greek design. The motto runs, “Livres nouveaux, livres vielz et antiques, Etienne Dolet.”

Mons. Paul Lacroix was appointed curator of the Library of the Arsenal in 1855, where he died a few years ago.

The Vicomte de Rougé, who died in 1873, was a famous Egyptologist, whose translations from the papyri and inscriptions on the Egyptian monuments were considered of the highest philological value. In 1860 M. de Rougé was installed in the chair of Egyptology in the College of France, where for some years he expounded the principles of careful analysis, upon which his own successful studies had been based. He left a son, who shared his father’s enthusiasm for research, and was also a frequent contributor to the “Revue Archéologique.”

The device of Ferdinand de Lesseps was a Hercules with the motto “Aperire terram gentibus,” in allusion to his great work on the Isthmus of Suez. He did not then foresee his defeat and ruin in the Panama Canal.

The Comtesse de Noë possesses a name which permits her to represent the prehistoric ark as a kind of rebus; whilst Mons. Eugène Jacob, notary of Angerville, possesses a small ex-libris, designed by his nephew, Mons. Métivet, which represents a Jacob’s ladder crowded with book-loving angels.

Albert Tissandier, the learned aëronaut, proclaims his specialty on his circular book-plate, which shows an inflated balloon soaring aloft to the realms of thought and ideality.

Whilst Prince Roland Bonaparte, who possessed one of the largest and most valuable libraries of modern collectors, was content to use nothing more elaborate than the Napoleonic eagle.

One of the most interesting and also one of the scarcest book-plates of modern French men of letters is the tiny ex-libris of Prosper-Mérimée, whose library was burnt during the troubles of the Commune in 1871.

It is, as nearly as possible, the size of a penny postage-stamp, but it was designed and engraved by no less a man than Viollet Le Duc. The Gothic letters P. M. are surrounded by a scroll in the shape of a horse-shoe, with the opening directed upwards. The motto, in Greek, may be thus translated, “Do not forget to doubt.” Here, too, is the unpretentious plate of the bibliophile Jacob, with angels bringing him his favourite volumes; whilst that of Charles Monselet, the author, has been inserted already in the chapter on punning plates.

A well-known plate is that designed by Gavarni for the brothers Edmond and Jules de Goncourt, and engraved by Jules de Goncourt himself. These brothers have written much on French art, and, in allusion to their literary partnership, the plate shows a sheet of paper on which are the letters E. J. held down by the two outstretched fingers of a hand. The design is at once simple and striking, but it has the great demerit of not proclaiming its owner’s name, which is, after all, the raison d’être of a book-plate.

I cannot conclude this short chapter on distinguished plate-owners better than by giving the Japanesque ex-libris of Octave Uzanne, who has not only produced many charming volumes, the delight of all book-lovers, but is also himself an enthusiastic collector of ex-libris, and a writer of authority on their history.

In this plate the exigencies of space have compelled the artist, M. Aglaüs Bouvenne, to so divide the name that it reads as though M. Uzanne were in the act of courteously saluting himself!

Well, why not? Ave Uzanne!

ROM 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.

N the following list no attempt has been made to enumerate every separate ex-libris signed by each artist; such works as would best illustrate their style, or the period they worked in, only have been selected, or plates possessing other features of interest, literary, artistic, or personal.

It must be borne in mind that a large proportion of the early French plates bore no owners’ names, although they were frequently signed by the engraver. Many of these plates have been identified by the arms, the mottoes, or other peculiarities in design, but some still remain unidentified.

Where engraved dates appear on the ex-libris these have been mentioned, but no notice has been taken of dates inserted in manuscript, these, as is well known, being quite unreliable.

For certain engravers, on whose work no date has been found, a century has been named approximately from an examination of the plates they produced.

Some of this information must necessarily be conjectural, and Mons. Poulet-Malassis mentions certain artists and engravers of book-plates of whose work it has not been possible either to obtain copies, or any information whatever.

For facility of reference a strictly alphabetical arrangement of the names has been adopted.

Wherever it was possible, the inscriptions and signatures have been copied from the book-plates themselves, carefully preserving the arbitrary contractions, the obsolete orthography, and even the errors and the faulty accentuation found on many of them.

It will be observed that Mr. as a contraction for Monsieur was formerly more generally used in France than it now is, whilst Escuyer, Escuier, or Ecuyer (for Esquire) was occasionally added after a gentleman’s name, a custom which has, since the Revolution, become quite obsolete.

One of the latest examples of the use of this title will be found on the ex-libris of Jean François-Gillet, dated 1778, of which a reproduction appears on p. 96.

Abot.
Engraved a plate for M.
Greppe. Designed by Giacomelli.
Modern.

Tancrède Abraham.
Château de Ruillé. (De la
Planche, Comte de Ruillé.)
1874. Armorial.

Adeline, Jules.
Ex-libris de Champfleury dessiné
et gravé par J. Adeline.

Portrait plate. Modern.
(See also Aglaüs Bouvenne.)
M. Henri Bouchot reproduced
several works by this
artist.

Agry. 14 Castiglione. Maison
Bouvet (Paris). Modern.

Bibliothèque de Mouchy.
Armorial.

Bibliothèque de Lafitte.

Alès Sc.
Hilarii Grésy, 1868. Pictorial.

Ex-libris Gustave Chancel,
1876. Pictorial.

Aliamet Scul. (See Eisen.)
On a nameless armorial, designed
by C. Eisen for
Claude Antoine de Choiseul-Beaupré.
18th cent.

“J. Aliamet” on the nameless
armorial, designed by C.
Eisen, for the Marquis de
Paulmy.

Allin Sculp. fecit.
Robert Jehannot de Beaumont,
Conseilleur du Roy,
etc., Verdun, 1742.
Armorial.

Conrad Robert, Comte de
Wignacourt, Major au Regiment,
etc. Armorial.

Aloys Comte la Rosée, fecit
1760, on a library interior,
name indistinct; and on the
plate of Theod. Cte. Morawitzky,
1770.

Aloys, comes de la Rosée, inv.
del. et sculpst., on his own
ex-libris, dated 1769. He was
a German from the
Rhine provinces.

Ancelet, E. 19th cent.

Andouard. 18th cent.

André, Henry. Modern.
Jules Lermina. Symbolic
plate.

Alex. Geoffrey. 1893.

Henry André, Secrétaire de
la Société Française, etc.
1893.

Paul Vibert. Portrait plate.

Th^re. Vibert. Portrait plate.

Louis Bihn. 1893.

Abel Picard. A view of the
book-stalls on the quays
of Paris.

Ch. Guinot. 1894.

Léon Quantin. 1894.

Henry André 1894. Portrait.

Auguste-Geoffroy. 1895.

F. Bargallo. 1895. Allegorical.

L. P. Couraud. Pictorial.

Jan-des-Vignes. 1896.

Ex Libris P. P. Capucinorum
Conventus Parisiensis.
1896.

Docteur Jules Le Bayon.
1896.

Ex Libris du Marquis de
Gourdon de l’Echo.
Armorial.

Apoux. Modern.
Ex Libris Lucien Bodin.
Pictorial. Motto, “Oh!
combien gai c’est!”

Aribaud, J. P. 18th cent.

Arthaud. 18th cent.

Aublé. 18th cent.

P. Audinet Sculp.
Rev. H. S. Cotton. Angling
scene.

Audran, J. 18th cent.
Engraved the monogram trophy
plate for Louis XV.,
designed by A. Dieu.

Auger, E. Modern.
Designed the plate for Mons.
Charles Givelet of Reims.
Motto, “Remensia colui,
mihi et amicis.” Engraved
by A. Bellevoie. (See Les
Bibliophiles Rémois, pp.
101, 116.)

Augustus In. et Sculp.
Madame De Bouchard. Label.
18th cent.

Auroux, N. 17th cent.

A. Aveline Sculp.

On the armorial ex-libris of
Carolus de Brosses, Comes
Tornaci, Baro Montis, etc.,
with the motto “Homunculi
quanti sunt.” 18th cent.

M. Poulet-Malassis devotes
considerable space to this
very little man—Charles de
Brosses—and his quarrel
with Voltaire. De Brosses
had two other armorial
book-plates engraved by
Durand, from which the
unfortunate motto was
omitted.

Charles de Brosses, Comte de
Tournay, was born in Dijon
in 1709, and died in Paris in
1777. He was a true bibliophile,
and his books were
sumptuously bound in morocco
stamped with his
arms—azure three trefoils
or.

They were sold in Dijon in
1778. See an illustrated
article on his ex-libris in
“Les Archives de la Société
Française,” Jany., 1896.

Avisse fecit. (Signature indistinct.)

Josephi Xaupi, 1750 and 1765.
Ecclesiastical.

Avril, Paul. Modern.
Philippe Gille.

Ex-Libris H. S. Ashbee. 1890.
Portrait rebus plate.

Ex-Libris Geo. B. de Forest
(of New York). Library
interior.

A. B. del.

M. Arthur Benoit, of Berthelming
in Alsace, designed
several book-plates for himself
and for his late brother
Mons. Louis Benoit, librarian
to the city of Nancy.
These ex-libris contain views
of Alsatian buildings and
costumes.

Mons. A. Benoit designed a
modern plate for himself,
copied from a library device
of the last century; Motto,
“Avec le temps.”

See “Petite Revue d’Ex libris
Alsaciens,” p. 37.

Bacheley, del. et sculp. 1768.
P. R. Le Cornier de Cideville.
Armorial.

Baltazard. 1755.

L. F. Baour, fecit.
P. L. de Carbon, sen.
Armorial. 18th cent.

Baquoy, C. 18th cent.

Barbat, à Chalons, 19th cent.
Ex libris C. Remy. Armorial.

Mons. Charles Remy, Membre
de l’Académie de
Reims, carries the arms of
a Chevalier de l’Empire, a
title granted to his father,
the Baron Claude Charles
Remy, on April 25, 1811.
(See “Les Bibliophiles
Rémois,” p. 117.)

C. Baron Sculp.
Bibliothèque de Madame
Victoire de France. 18th
cent.

This has the arms of
France in a lozenge. (See
p. 53, “Ladies’ Book-plates.”)

Baumés fecit.
Ex-libris D. D. Postic.
Armorial. 18th cent.
Reproduced in “Ex-Libris
Ana.”

Baumés, à Montpellier. 18th
cent.

Beau, fils. 18th cent.

Beaumont fecit.
On the armorial Ex Libris
Vaucresson de Cormainville,
etc., 1743.

And “Gravé par Beaumont,
grav^r ord^re de la ville,” on
the “Ex-libris D. Jacobi
Olivarii Vallée, Equitis, regi
à Consilius, et in Camerâ
regiarum Rationum Magistri
Anno 1730.” Armorial.
Two supporters.

H. Bécat inv.
Signed the large allegorical
“Ex-libris Thomæ Gueulette
et amicorum.” With the
motto, “Dulce est desipere
in Loco.” See reproduction.

Simon-Thomas Gueulette was
a prolific writer of farces for
the Théâtre Italien, and the
Théâtre des Boulevards; he
died in 1766.

Béha, Lith. Metz.
Ex-libris Arthur Benoit.
Modern; armorial.

Beillet Impr. 35 Quai de la
Tournelle. Modern.

Bibliothèque de Mme. la
Comtesse de Montblanc,
Baronne d’Ingelmunster.
Armorial.

J. D. Beleau, à Rouen, 1724.

Belille, à Verdun. 19th cent.

Bellange, Jacques. Painter
and etcher. Born at Nancy,
October 13th, 1594; died
about 1638.

He is supposed to have engraved
the large armorial
plate for Melchior de la
Vallée, dated 1613. (See
“Archives de la Société
Française,” vol. ii., February,
1895.)

Bellanger Inv. et Sc.
Signed an allegorical book-plate
for Simon Thomas
Gueulette, the novelist and
farce writer, who died in
1766. (See also H. Bécat.)

Bellevoye, Adolphe.
Modern.

Mons. Bellevoye, an engraver,
formerly of Metz, afterwards
of Reims. Engraved
a landscape plate for himself,
inscribed: “Bibliothèque
d’Adolphe Bellevoye
de Metz”; also the plates
for Mons. Charles Givelet
and Mons. Anatole Paroissien.
(See “Les Bibliophiles
Rémois,” pp. 91, 101, and
113.)

Berain C., 17th cent.

Berger D., 1786.

Berlier. 1740.

Bert, J., à Granmont. 18th cent.

Berthault sculp. 1777.
Ex Museo J. G. R. Boscheron.
Armorial.

Bes. 18th cent.

Beugnet. 1769.
Le Comte de Luzignem.
Armorial.

Bida, Alexandre. 19th cent.
Designed a book-plate for
Mons. Félix Solar. It was
engraved by M. Pollet.

M. Solar had a second book-plate
engraved by Paul
Chenay.

Bidault. 1707.
Nameless armorial, no motto.

Billé. 18th cent.

Binard, J. Modern.
Ex Bib: Michaelis Chasles.
Engraved label.

Bis, à Douay. 18th cent.

Bizémont-prunelé (André-Gaspard
Parfait, Comte de
Bizémont-Prunelé.)

Signed Bizémont, sc., London,
1794 on his ornamental
card: “M. Bizemont, Drawing
Master, 19, Norton
Street, near Portland
Street.” He was then residing
in London as a
political refugee, earning
his living by his talents.

There is a plate, which was
designed and engraved for
him by Ch. Gaucher in 1781,
on which his full names and
title are given.

M. Bizémont-Prunelé also
etched a pictorial plate for
his wife, Marie Catherine
d’Hallot.

J. Blocquet, 1672.
The large nameless armorial
plate of Charles Maurice
le Tellier, archevêque de
Reims. (See M. Poulet-Malassis,
page 23.)

Boily, L.
Nameless armorial. Motto,
“Sine macula.”

L. Boisson Sc. (1881.)
Ex-libris C. Sagnier, Juin, 81.
Pictorial.

Bonnard. J. B. H. 17th cent.

E. Bonnejoy del. et sc., 1875.
Ex Libris Docteur Bonnejoy.
Pictorial. Motto. “Salus
ex aquis.” (The Doctor is
a vegetarian, and an abstainer.)

J. Bonneton scul. 1888.
J. Bonneton, président du tribunal.
Library interior.

De Bonrecueille. 18th cent.

Ed. Bouchardon in. del.
On the plate of Louise le
Daulceur, engraved by herself.
(See also Louise le
Daulceur.) 18th cent.

Boucher, Francois. 18th cent.
Designed the plate, but did
not sign it, for Le Président
Hénault de l’Académie
Française. It was engraved
by the Comte de Caylus.
(See Poulet-Malassis, pp. 28,
33, and 58.)

Ex Libris Joannis Laurentii
Aublé, signed “F. Bouchier
in. Pariset Sc.”

This handsome armorial
plate is reproduced by
Poulet-Malassis, p. 58.

Ex-libris de Crozat, baron de
Thiers. Armorial.

Reproduced by H. Bouchot.

F. B. inv. is also found on
the nameless plate of the
Chevalier de Valori, with
J. H. V. (Valori), scul.

Bouchy Sculp.
Steph. Ign., et Joan. Jac.
Michelet fratres, Capellani
S^ti. Petri Bisontini 1714.

Signed the following—“Bouchy
Sculp. Vesuntione:—”

Ant. Ign. de Camus de Filain,
1732.

Ex Libris Antonii Lengroignet,
1732.

And another plate dated 1739.

Boullay, J. 19th cent.

Boulonois fecit. 18th cent.
Signed the large decorated
armorial “Ex-libris Franc.
Le Vignon Doct. Me. Paris.”

Bourcier, Jeanne.
Signed Gra^e. de Jeanne Bourcier,
Bar le Duc, 1760, on
the armorial plate of Antoine
de la Falloize, Seigneur du
Bau de Chaumont.

Bourgeois. 18th cent.

Boutet, Henri. Modern
Ernest Maindron (a collector).

Ex-libris Catel. Fantaisie.
Motto, “Nocturna versate
manu, versate diurna.”

Bouvenne, Aglaüs.
Designed and engraved the
following:

Ex-libris Ch. Asselineau, with
the curious enigmatical
motto, “La femme qui n’est
pas la colombe et le roseau
est un monstre.” M. Asselinea
had another book-plate
by Braquemond.

He was an employé in the
Bibliothèque Mazarine, and
produced some bibliographical
works. He died
in June, 1874.

Jules Cousin. A punning
plate (a gnat).

A mon cher Edouard Castillon-Aglaüs
Bouvenne, 1882.
Motto, “Travail liberté.”

Ex Libris Mario Proth.
(Author and Art Critic.)
Motto, “Sempre Vagare.”

Maurice Tourneux. Author
and critic, died in 1867.

Ex Libris Alexis Martin, 1868.
Pictorial.

Théophile Gautier.
Monogram. 1872.

Ex Libris Champfleury, 1874.
Eau-forte.

Ex Libris François Coppée.
Monogram on a lyre.

L. West, 1876.
Library interior.

Victor Hugo. View of the
Towers of Notre Dame,
Paris, 1870.

Octave Uzanne, 1882.
Pictorial. Author and art
critic.

Monogram (for M. Benoit).
Motto, “Avec le temps,”
Signed, Agaus (sic) Bouvenne,
Inv. Sculp. ’83.

Ex Libris de Madame la
Comtesse de Noë, 1888.
Fantaisie.

For M. Léon Sapin the Bookseller
of the Rue Bonaparte,
Paris, a plate showing an
avenue of fir trees (Sapins)
Signed, Aglaüs Bouvenne
sc. à l’ami L. Sapin. (See
“Archives de la Société
Française,” May, 1895.)

Bracquemond del. et sculp. on
the cypher book-plate of
Aglaüs Bouvenne, 1875.
Motto, “Colligebat—quis
perficiet.”

Mons. Félix Braquemond also
designed the following
plates:

A monogram plate for Paul
Arnauldet, signed B. Motto,
“Nunquam amicorum.”

Charles Asselineau.

Philippe Burty.
An allegorical design for
this author, art critic and
collector. Motto, “Libre et
fidèle.”

Georges Pouchet.

Edouard Manet, the painter.
With the motto “Manet
et manebit.” In the first
state there were accessories
peculiar to the worship of
Priapus, which were removed.

Christophe, the sculptor.

He also designed a plate for
himself. (See Poulet-Malassis,
p. 38.)

Branche. 18th cent.
“Bibliothèque de M. de Villiers
du Terrage, Pr. commis des
Finances.”

This was an armorial
plate, style Louis XVI.,
the owner of which was
a Viscount, yet bore the
coronet of a Marquis. He
survived the revolution,
aristocrat though he was,
and served in the Ministry
of Police, under the first
Empire and the Restoration.

Braspacher. 1775.

Bréant. 18th cent.

Brenet fecit.
Louis Pfyffer de Wyher, Capitaine
aux Gardes Suisses.
Armorial. 18th cent.

Ce livre Appartient à M^r. Le
Maire. Armorial.

R. Brichet inv. sculp.
I. Ph. Grauss. Armorial.

Dumont de Valdajou.
Chirurgien. Armorial. 18th
cent. (See reproduction.)

Briot, Isaac. 17th cent.
Signed “Briot” on the plate
of Claude Sarrau, who died
in 1651.

Isaac Briot signed an engraving
of Henri IV. lying in
state, dated 1610.

Brochery fecit.
J. Hoop. Pictorial plate, no
arms or motto. 18th cent.

Brochery, Thérèse.
On the ex-libris of Alexis
Foissey of Dunkirk. Two
states, one with coronet, one
without. 18th cent.

B. H. de Brockes.
Clemens Augustus. 1760.
Ecclesiastical.

Brondes.
“Joannis Baptistae Grenier
Caus. Patroni.” Armorial.

Brupacher fec.
Ex: Lib: Monast: St. Petri.
Montis Majoris 1765.
Armorial. Ecclesiastical.

Buhot, Felix. A famous
etcher and book illustrator,
born at Valognes in Normandy,
but now resident in
Paris.

M. Octave Uzanne wrote a
critical account of his works
in “Le Livre” for March,
1888, but no mention is made
of any ex-libris engraved by
him.

Burdet. 19th cent.

Burty, J. 3 Rue de la V^le.
Estrapade.

Lejay, fils ainé. Rue St.
Etienne des Grès, 12, Paris.
Landscape.


C. (Comte de Caylus.)

Engraved the plate designed
by Boucher for Le Président
Hénault de l’Académie
Française. 18th cent.
(See Poulet-Malassis.)

Callot, Jaques. Of Nancy,
died 1635.

I have never heard of an ex-libris
by this famous engraver,
but some may yet be
found, as he had a preference
for fine small work
suitable for this purpose.

Calmettes, F. 19th cent.

De la Bibliothèque de Madame
Anatole France.
Engraved label.

Carpentier, J. B. 18th cent.

Cars, J. F. 18th cent.

Catelin, J. B. 18th cent.

Cathey. 18th cent.

cava, F. 18th cent.

Chabany.
De Maridort. Armorial.

Chappron, P. H. Meûnier.
Engraved an armorial plate
for himself, dated
(See “Les Bibliophiles
Rémois,” p. 57.)

Charles, C.
J. G. F. Chassel, 1792. (See
Warren’s “Guide,” p. 147.)

“C. Charles in.” on a nameless
plate, dated 1739, signed J.
C. Fran^s. sculp.

Charpentier. 1709.

Chauveau, François. (Died
in 1676.)

Ex-libris de Clerget.
Armorial.

A majestic armorial plate for
Jérôme Bignon, is also attributed
to Chauveau.

Chauvet, J. Modern.

Ex Libris D. Jouast. (A journalist.)

H. S. Ashbee (of London).

Cheffer, A. Grav. 22, Rue
Dauphine. Modern.

Paul Chenay Sculp.

Ex-libris F. Solar. Modern.

This plate is after a design by
Andrea del Sarto, and was
printed on the catalogue
of the library of M. Solar,
sold in 1860.

Mons. Félix Solar had another
ex-libris, designed by Bida,
and engraved by Pollet.

L. Chenu. F. 1780. Desmaison
invenit.

Ex-Libris Bouju. Armorial.

Chevalier. 17th cent.

Chevalier sculp. 18th cent.

M. L’Abbé Desmarestz. Armorial.
Ecclesiastical.

Chevrier, L. Modern.

A nameless etched plate, dated
1875, representing a child
beneath a pile of old books.

Chinon, B. 18th cent.

P. P. Choffard fecit.

On the plates of De Cursay,
de Landry, etc., 1756.
De Cursay-Thomasseau, 1756.

Ex-libris de Buissy, 1759.

Franc. Jos. Ant. Hell (of Alsace),
1773.

Ex-libris Souchay, Eq^is. Lugduni
“C. Monet del. P. P.
Choffard, sculp. 1776.” This
handsome plate is reproduced
in “Ex-Libris Ana.”

Jean Armand Tronchin, 1779.

Thellusson, 1782. Poulet-Malassis
speaks of Thellusson
as a Prussian Baron,
whereas he was a descendant
of a French Protestant
family, and in 1806 was
created Baron Rendlesham
in the peerage of Ireland.

Andreas de Salis, Curia Rhaetorum.

Pinsot d’Armand.

M. Henri Bouchot reproduces
a lady’s armorial plate,
nameless, engraved by
Choffard, after a design by
Moreau le Jeune.

Chollet. 18th cent.

Choubard sculp.

H. Christophe Lith. Nancy.

Ex Libris A. Benoit, Berthelmingen,
1894.

Ex Libris Francisci de Chanteau.

L. Christophe Nancy, 1852.

M. Ch. de Beauminy.
Armorial; literary.

Clouzier, A. 18th cent.

Cochin, Charles Nicolas.
Known as Cochin fils. 18th
cent.

He signed a nameless plate
Cochin inv. 1750. (De Lafosse,
sc.)

Also a nameless armorial
plate for the Abbé Leblanc.
C. Cochin filius inv. (C. O.
Galimard, sculp.), and another
for Poisson de Marigny,
dated 1752.

He also designed an armorial
plate for the Marquise de
Pompadour. (See Poulet-Malassis,
p. 60.)

C. N. C. d. (Cochin fils.)

Ex Libris Le Vassor de la
Touche. (See J. Ingram.)

L. P. C. inv.

On the plate of L. P. Couraud,
also signed Henry-André
del. et sc.

Mons. Couraud also designed
an armorial plate for himself.

Cochon, J. Modern.

Ex Libris M. Descoutures.

Cole. 18th cent.

J. Colin. 1685.

Colinet fecit. 18th cent.

M. Thierry de Villedavray.
Armorial.

Collard. 18th cent.

Collin, Dominique (known as
Collin père). 18th cent.

This famous engraver was
born at Mirécourt, in Lorraine,
in 1725. He first
studied engraving under a
goldsmith in Metz, and
afterwards under Jean
Striedbeck of Strasburg.

In 1752 Collin married and
settled in Nancy, where he
soon acquired a reputation,
and was named engraver to
the town, and also to the
King of Poland, Stanislas,
Duc de Lorraine et de Bar.

He died in Nancy, December
21st, 1781. He produced
more than 300 engravings,
on many of which he signed
himself “graveur du feu roi
de Pologne.”

A catalogue of his works was
given by Mons. le Conseiller
Beaupré in “Les Mémoires
de la Société d’Archéologie
Lorraine,” and a supplemental
list, drawn up by
Mons. A. Benoit, with illustrations,
appeared in the
“Archives de la Société
Française,” April, 1895.

His son, Yves Dominique
Collin, also worked on
book-plates, and, judging
by the few known examples
of his work, would probably
have surpassed his
father, but, unfortunately,
his career was brief. He
was born in Nancy, in February,
1753, and died in the
same city on April 26th,
1792. He signed his plates
Y. D. Collin, fils.

The following is a list of the
known book-plates of Dominique
Collin; his mode of
signature varied, and he
spelt his name Collin or
Colin indifferently.

Bourgeois.

Des Salles.

Du Perron.

Aubrussel.

Charles, Comte de Lavaux, etc.

Lespée.

Maillart.

Mengin.

Regnard de Gironcourt.

Riston. (See reproduction.)

Bibliothèque de Mr. J.
Anthoine. (Very rare plate.)
Armorial. Library interior.

Hr. M. B. Bach. Armorial;
signed D. Colin fecit, 1747.
Reproduced in the “Archives
de la Société Française,”
April, 1895, as the
earliest known dated ex-libris
engraved by Collin
in Alsace.

Nameless armorial, dated 1748.

Friedrich Alexander Freyherr
von Schell. Signed D. Colin
fecit, 1751.

Nameless armorial, with supporters,
1750.

Bibliotècque de Mr. Héré.
1752. Armorial; pictorial.
(See reproduction.)

Nameless armorial, dated
1754.

Sirejean Fils. 1754.
Armorial; pictorial.