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:
Vous purgera tous du venin
De la doctrine de Calvin
Et vous ôtera de peine.
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:
“THE DANIEL RAVENEL BOOK-PLATE.
“My coat of arms (according to d’Hozier and other celebrated authors on Heraldry) consists of a field gules,[3] with six crescents of gold, each surmounted by a star of the same placed two and two, with a gold star at the base of the shield.
“This shield rests on a larger shield, showing, first, the fleurs-de-lis of France: second, a cross, denoting persecution: third, an open Bible, denoting the cause: fourth, a palmetto tree, showing where freedom was found.
“On one side of this large shield is a spray of marigold, the Huguenot emblem, and on the other side, a spray of wall-flower, the French name for which is Ravenelle.”
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.
CHAPTER XII.
BOOK-PLATES OF MEDICAL MEN.
“ 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.
CHAPTER XIII.
CANTING ARMS AND PUNNING PLATES.
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:
That gave him name, and in his shield of arms emblazoned well,
He rides amid the armëd troop.”
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?
CHAPTER XIV.
PHRASES OF POSSESSION.
Allez cherchant es plus vieilles reliques
Venez icy, et aux proffitz publiques
Imitez en les plus laborieux ...”
J. Bullant.
(From the ex-libris of H. Destailleur.)
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:
Comme Paris est au roi.
Qui veut savoir mon nom
Regarde dans ce rond.”
Or, he would threaten borrowers with dire penalties:
Ou on te pendras.”
Becoming more ambitious, he would launch out into a Macaronic verse:
Quia ce livre n’a pas rendu.
Si librum reddidisset
Pierrot pendu non fuisset.”
Or, another way, as the cookery books say:
Quod librum n’a pas rendu.
Pierrot pendu non fuisset,
Si librum reddidisset.”
Or, in Alsatian German:
Wer mir’s nimmt, der ist ein Dieb,
Wer mir’s aber wieder bringt,
Der ist ein Gotteskind.”
Or, he would descend into trivial details, thus:
Ce n’est pas sans raison
C’est pour plaire aux curieux
Et non pas aux envieux
De ce Livre tant beau
Qui eclaire comme un flambeau
Tout homme savant
Aussi bien que l’ignorant
Michel Dupray
son livre
acheté le 26 de Juillet
1775
chez Wagstaff 9 Sols”
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:
“O mes chers livres! Je les ai tous choisis un à un, et je les aime tant!”
Others have expressed their sentiments in moral platitudes:
“C’est la meilleure munition que j’aye trouvé à cet humain voyage.”—Montaigne. (Bibliothèque de M. le Baron de T——.)
“Le plaisir de l’esprit passe celui des yeux.” (De la Bibliothèque de M. de Cailly.)
“Un livre est un ami qui ne change jamais.”—On the plate of Guilbert de Pixérécourt, and others.
“Les lettres nourissent l’âme.”—Lemoine.
“S’occuper c’est savoir jouir.”—A. E. Tscharner, and others.
“Amis vieux sont bons en tous lieux.”
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:
De tout livre preté
Souvent il est perdu,
Toujours il est gâté.”
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:
Gardez vous bien de me quitter
Quoi qu’on vienne vous emprunter.
Chacun de vous m’est une femme
Qui peut se laisser voir sans blâme
Et ne se doit jamais préster.”
“Aux Emprunteurs de Livres qui ne les rendent point.
Ma bibliothèque connue
Est un meuble de cabinet
Qu’on ne crotte point dans la rue.”
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:
“Lex Bibliothecae.
Intra quatuor decim dies, commodatum ni redderis, neque belle custodieris, alio tempore dominus: Non habeo dicet.”
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:
Bleib nicht zu lang aus;
Komm zurück nach Haus:
Nicht mit Flecken oder Ohren,
Wie sie machen nur die Thoren,
Und geh ja mir nicht verloren!”[4]
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:
“Les livres qui auront souffert quelques dommages, comme déchirés, tachés, et sur lesquels on aura écrit dans les marges et sur les gardes avec la plume ou le crayon, seront payés a leur valeur, c’est-à-dire, tout l’ouvrage entier; un seul volume perdu ou mutilé, emporte tout l’ouvrage.
“S’il s’égare quelques uns de ces livres ainsi marqués, on prie ceux, entre les mains de qui ils seront, de les faire rendre à l’adresse ci-dessus.”
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:
Le laboureur conduit sa fertile charrue,
Le savant pense et lit, le guerrier frappe et tue,
Le mendiant s’assied sur le bord du chemin:
Où vont-ils cependant? Ils vont où va la feuille
Que chasse devant lui le souffle des hivers!
Ainsi vont se flétrir, dans leurs travaux divers,
Ces générations que le temps sème et cueille.
Lamartine, Méditations.
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):
Sérieux aussi,
Frivoles de même
Pédants—merci!”
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,
Dieu fut! et l’ouvrier adora son image,”
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:
La Nature c’est la mort.”
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:
Les livres, les beaux arts, et la philosophie
Voila le vrai bonheur, il suffit a mes voeux.”
Valentin Mourie. (See page 238.)
Edward S. Potter.
L. Delatre. (See page 240.)
Ex-Libris Fr. Serrier. (See page 242.)
On the plate of M. Joy.
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.