Chapter III: Conclusion (2)

Of course it is not to be denied that Huard has “made game” of the provincials; and, knowing the inherent pettiness of the classes he has held up to ridicule, it is small wonder that they resent fun poked at their expense by one who to them can appear to be no less than a traitor. Huard, however, is never spiteful or malicious; he sees better and further than his neighbours, and he knows how to tell the truth about what he has seen, without being warped by local influences.

A perusal of “Province,” and other works to be mentioned, will, I am sure, prove the truth of these remarks.

His figures are as a rule set in fitting urban landscapes, every whit as truthful as the personages they frame. Look at the drawing among those classed _Les Officiels_, entitled _Midday Mass is far the most aristocratic_--wherein a procession of regular church-goers debouches out of a picturesque, half-hearted, somnolent High Street into the blazing sunlight of the “Grande Place.” The local member and his wife, the lawyer, and all the other pious scandalmongers of the town are going to make their daily penitence. We can see these good folk, we can feel the sunshine, and we can even hear the clangour of the bells in the church tower. Then look in another sketch at the two editors of _The Revenge_. Were ever such _chauvinistes_, such firebrands? Getting on in years--true; but as dangerous as not yet extinct volcanoes, they reek of pistols for two and coffee for one.

A drawing labelled _The Express conveying the President will pass at five o’clock_, is most amusing. There, on the little railway platform, is gathered all the official rank and society of Tilliere-Sur-Ruron. Inflated, yet nervous, they fidget about, awaiting impatiently the proudest moment of their lives. We know them all; the mayor with his address is there, surrounded by his satellites of the Municipal Council, all arrayed in heirloom dress suits, members of the Gymnastic Society are there--some lithe, some burly--then there are _ces braves pompiers_, and the stern gendarmes; and behind them, dressed in their best, but shut out from view and from seeing, are the townspeople in their thousands. No matter, they are about to receive a main topic of conversation for many a weary year to come.

Then there are the poor, dear, terrible old ladies, to whom Huard introduces us under the heading “Les Vieilles Dames,”--thin-lipped, moustachioed, bigoted, deadly-dull personages are they, most of them; but they do not think so. They are contented, and are even conceited, as to the figure they cut, despite their shocking clothes; for is not each of them so much more Parisian in appearance and manners than “Madame Chose”--round the corner, and just out of hearing.

Here and there, however, we are presented to some real dignity, the dignity which pertains to old parchment. For example there are the portraits of _the Mlles. Petanville de Grandcourt, in whom will expire the most purple blood of the country_.

Under _Soirs de Province_ we are shown with quaint humour the nocturnal dissipations of a provincial town. Two troopers, one as drunk as the other, are zig-zagging an erratic coursee home to barracks. One says to the other: “Vidalène--you hurt me to the quick ... you won’t wait for me because you think I’m drunk ... you are ashamed of me!” Again, the musical genius of the place has brought his violin to an at-home, and says: “What I prefer in music is imitations. Listen, I’ll give you first ‘Mother-in-Law in hysterics,’ and then ‘The Nightingale.’”

Then amongst the group of drawings headed _Rentiers et Retraités_ look at the two retired tradesmen, chatting in the middle of a deserted square. In bated breath one of these busybodies relates to the other--“You know the whole town is agog with it. Mrs. Lepinçon visited the new dentist three times in the same day!”

A splendid set of drawings is included in the group _Au café_. We can see that they are so many _resumés_ of the hurried sketches, for ever being made in the sketch-books which are Huard’s never-failing companions. The handling, whether in pen and ink or in chalk, is always frank and bold, and occasionally is like that of Raffaëlli. Among the _Raisonneurs et Sentimentaux_ are two old gossips seated on their favourite bench on the fringe of the town; it is evident that neither of them, even in his palmiest days, could have set the local brook on fire. Yet one of them explains that “there have only been two men who have understood the proper course for France to pursue--M. Thiers and I. M. Thiers is dead, and they will not listen to me!” A joyful break in the monotony of life in the provincial town is most admirably rendered in _Market day at Pavigny-le-Gras_. Everyone and everything is fat, and hot, and smiling. Joy and plenty are the key notes of the harmony; exuberant good nature exudes from every pore. Even the houses around the Place de la Cathédrale seem to beam and bulge in purring contentment.

A review of Huard’s work leads one to regret that he does not render his survey of provincial types more complete, by occasionally including studies of that manly and womanly beauty which exists in even the most forsaken community, to leaven the predominant ugliness. However, it may be that such forms of rustic beauty do not attract Huard, and we must rest grateful for his view of such types as do interest him deeply.

M. Huard--equally with several others of the illustrators mentioned in this little volume--has been honoured by having an entire number of “L’Album” devoted to his work. Therein we learn that to the few Huard is known as a most able oil and pastel painter of seafaring folk; and the etchings and chalk drawings reproduced convince us that it is a well-earned reputation. The double-page centre drawing of the number consists of a masterly _Return from Mass_, in which we see the good souls repairing homewards in the moonlight, soothed and contented in mind and in spirit. A few pages further on we come to two _piou-pious_, or “tommies,” enjoying their _Plaisir du Dimanche_: they are seated, and one of them smokes a cheap cigar. The comment runs, “You wanted to come here so as to show yourself off smoking a cigar; but we could have had much more fun at the station watching the trains go through.”

_Le Rire_ has published a quantity of Huard’s work, the strength and vigour of which never seems to fail. The subjects are frequently drawn from the quays of Paris, or from cafés and restaurants patronised by visitors from the provinces to the gay city. The humour of a drawing called _Plages_, in which a rather vulgar Paris tripper to the seaside, paddling with her friends, exclaims in astonished appreciation--“By Jove, sand like at Charenton” (shall we translate Putney?), is apparent to all. In these, as in all his sketches, whether drawn from a low Paris “pub,” or from an innocent village café, indoors or out, the entire truth to nature of the type chosen, the very cut and hang of every garment is absolutely convincing, and unerringly put in with a few bold touches of the pen.

A pathetic drawing is that of the poor workwoman, who has tramped out to the sordid wastes of the _fortifs_, or fortifications of Paris; and, in her enjoyment of the faint echo of the real country, there to be found, exclaims--“If I were rich I’d come here every day!”

Huard has drawn for _L’Assiette au Beurre_, _L’Image_, _Le Rire_, and _Cocorico_ some remarkable military subjects, in which he has depicted the French soldier to the life. Here, we have him disclosing to a comrade on the quay his modest dreams of fortune--there, he is discussing rations with his colonel, and in another splendid double-page drawing we see him at night, shouting some rude refrain, and painting the town scarlet generally; but the finest of all is perhaps a vivid drawing in colour of a squad on a drill ground,--red caps, white suits, and a yellow background,--the whole making a most striking page. Huard is very successful with these coloured illustrations, many of which appear in _Le Rire_, and charm us with their quaint breadth and simplicity of treatment. Nothing in this way could be better than the old _concièrge_ and his dumpy wife, who are painting a cast of the “Venus of Milo” with canary yellow, and decide that it is much prettier like that, and much less indecent.

For the exhibition of _La Demi Douzaine_, the little group of artists among whom he exhibits his marine work, Huard has done an excellent poster.

VIII

J. WÉLY

Wély is one of the more recent stars in the firmament of Parisian illustrators; nevertheless he shines with a peculiar brilliance of his own.

His drawing of the female form divine, more or less disclosed in dainty _décolleté_, is well nigh unsurpassed. The excellence of the draughtsmanship, which is so generally attained in the Paris Schools of Art, is very frequently not traceable in work produced later in the artist’s career. This, however, is not the case with Wély; the sureness of drawing required in the schools remains, plus a large quantity of vim and _esprit_. The adjective which best labels his work is charming; and here it may be well to state that the more emancipated any one is the greater the number of Wély’s drawings he is able to admit to his collection, to charm again and again. For Wély is the artist of adventures--the adventures of the bedroom. He is a humorist, and not a caricaturist. He has too much love of human beauty to caricature the human face and figure, and it is possible that for the same reason he never produces a coarse drawing; however risky the situation he depicts, that which attracts and interests one is the beauty of his drawing, and the technical dexterity of his handling.

It is possible that admiration for the work of Jules Chéret, the master poster-maker, has had something to do with the formation of his style. His work, like that of most of the later illustrators, is done with chalk or charcoal, very little pen-work being produced. The perfection to which the photo-reproduction of drawings now attains has been chiefly responsible for this, together with the praiseworthy attempt of the modern men to vie with the magnificent series of drawings on stone, done half a century ago, by Gavarni, Daumier, De Beaumont, Cham, and other splendid draughtsmen. The revival of their method of treating drawings with a broad point seems for the time to have more than half submerged the exquisite pen-and-ink work, such as was contributed to the illustrated papers some twenty years ago by Lunel, Courboin, Jeanniot, Vogel, José Roy, Vierge, Luigi Loir, Moulignié, Gorguet, Robida, G. Stein, Galice, Myrbach, G. Scott, F. Fau and others. But the situation is saved by the fact that Guillaume, Caran-d’Ache, Job, Morin, and a few other leading illustrators are still faithful to pen and ink. In any case it is certain that of those who use crayon, charcoal, or lithographic chalk, none produce work which is so subtle and yet so facile and so sure as Wély. He is a light-hearted Steinlen of my lady’s dressing-room; or an emboldened Helleu.

The relations between artist and artist’s model frequently attract Wély’s pencil, while other outside subjects seem to tempt him much less frequently. The hard-working, penniless, happy-go-lucky artist _rapins_ he draws are a delightful crew, most excellently put upon paper.

A specimen of his humour is indicated in the words accompanying one of his rare pen and ink drawings, which appeared in _Cocorico_. A _chic_ little lady is seated in a shop, while a female attendant unrolls pile after pile of material in the hope of supplying her wants. The lady says: “Why certainly, show me some more: I’m not a bit tired.”

A beautiful little drawing, of two dainty Parisiennes gossiping on a pier, discloses the method he has employed to produce a telling piece of work. The outline has been rapidly sketched in with a few bold, subtly curving lines from a pen, while modelling and colour have been given to the whole with deft crayon touches. We feel the joy the artist must have evinced in regulating the pressure he put on the crayon, so as to give each line its exact breadth, and depth of tone. The pleasure he takes in manipulating his medium is always manifest in his work. The complete modelling of a dainty neck and shoulders, or of a shapely ankle, is frequently accomplished by the merest touch of the chalk--but a touch in exactly the right place, and of exactly the right size.

Wély has contributed to the pages of the _Frou Frou_; and very frequently to _La Vie en Rose_. His small illustrations to “Aristophane à Paris,” and to “La Maîtresse du Prince Jean,” which first appeared in the latter journal, are full of ability, humour and vivacity. A drawing entitled _Quelques Predictions pour 1902_, shows us a delightful little coquette in _déshabillé_, who is consulting the cards with an old woman fortune-teller, the while a tiny kitten plays with a ball of worsted. They are so life-like and so subtly depicted that we almost expect to see them move on the paper. _Passe temps du jeune Age_, is one of the most astoundingly able and beautiful studies of the nude that one can recall by any artist, and also appears in _La Vie en Rose_.

The type of man usually introduced into our artist’s drawings is not conspicuous for its beauty; it generally depicts a bit of a scamp, a _bon viveur_, who is used artistically as a foil to some fresh and dainty young person of the opposite sex.

Several pages in colour, which appeared in the _Vie en Rose_, evinced a charmingly refined sense in that direction; while some illustrated covers for _Le Rabelais_, each most successfully dealing with an entirely different and difficult colour problem were among the most striking examples of that branch of art yet produced.

_By J. Wély_
]

_By Malteste_

PSYCHOLOGUE]

IX

LOUIS MALTESTE

Among the workers on the French illustrated papers none produces a steadier flow of thoroughly conscientious, sound work than Louis Malteste.

His are no chance effects, no _tours de force_ of mere eccentricity or charlatanism, but are the outcome of knowledge, hard work and assurance.

He is a splendid draughtsman, unerring and direct, a seeker and finder of individual character, who does not attempt to electrify the world with his audacity, or his at-any-cost originality; for he is content to delineate for us, in masterly fashion, specimens of humanity as they appear to the man of keen discernment.

At the time of the loathsome trials of Dreyfus, Malteste was one of several artists who specially distinguished themselves by splendid sketches of the actors concerned therein. In the writer’s possession is a collection of these spirited and life-like drawings. They are doubly admirable when one considers under what disadvantages they were produced. The task of the artist, told off to a sweltering, over-crowded court-house, surcharged with violent excitement, and commissioned to make portrait groups of interested persons, who are incessantly changing their positions, is none too easy. Yet these drawings show no hesitation; in each case some fleeting gesture or attitude is caught in a vigorous drawing, and fixed for ever.

No wonder then that publishers such as Hachette, and the weekly illustrated papers _Le Monde Illustré_, _L’Illustration_, &c., should have availed themselves of his talent; or that when he turned his crayon to more fanciful subjects he should have found a ready outlet in the pages of such papers as _La Vie en Rose_, _Le Rire_, _L’Assiette au Beurre_, and many others, wherein to let fly that _gauloiserie_ which flows in the veins of even the most serious Frenchman.

Most of the drawings in _La Vie en Rose_ are excellent works in chalk of actions governed by sudden impulse; and, in technique, strongly recall the admirable drawings of the English draughtsman, Gunning King, whose work Malteste has probably never seen. It is most likely, however, that the style of both artists has largely resulted from profound and well-placed admiration of the work of the veteran Renouard.

There is in _La Vie en Rose_ an amusing series of drawings by Malteste of coachmen of all grades--each a strong piece of work, full of character, and well placed on the page. Another series in colour consists of fancy portraits of potentates; here again Malteste has distinguished himself, as witness the _Léopold, Roi des Belges_, a harmony in white, yellow, and brown. Malteste shows himself as a tender colourist in the excellent drawing of a milking scene, entitled _La Traité des Blanches_; another farm scene, _Le Fléau_, is as excellent an example of black and white work, and only surpassed by the chalk drawing _Psychologue_, a superb delineation of two ragged, storm-beaten rag pickers toiling homewards with their baskets.

His little studies of queer bits of gnarled humanity are splendid; witness his _Femmes Fidèles_, _La Femme qui prise_, his droll lady who declares _There is nothing like a good swig_, his _Woman with a Dog_, his _Woman with the Cats_, or the group called _Types of Electors in the Ville Lumière_. We recognise all those electors at first sight; there is the heavy, obstinate man, who gets his way by force of sheer dead-weight, there the suave complaisant “good-sort,” there the pugnacious, quixotic fellow, who adores a riotous meeting, there the pensive philosopher, and so on. There is no mistaking the true character of any one of them; to a companion page of _Femmes Infidèles_ the same remarks apply.

A noteworthy quality in Malteste’s work is the invariably excellent drawing of the hands. To any but the surest draughtsmen hands are a veritable _bête noire_, to be avoided whenever possible.

Besides his reputation as an illustrator, Malteste has made his mark as a painter of note, and in collaboration with Gélis-Didot has executed a charming poster for _L’Absinthe Parisienne_; while his poster for the Théâtre Antoine is one of the finest things of its kind yet produced.

X

J. L. FORAIN

The collection of two hundred and fifty sketches, published in book form under the title “La Comédie Parisienne,” at once established Forain as a firm favourite both with the public and with artists.

It could not well have been otherwise. For these tender, graceful, little sketches touching on the private life and foibles of dancers, bankers, lawyers and others, appealed to the risible faculties and the sympathies of all Parisians; while artists admired the delicacy of touch and apparent facility with which the little scenes were “flicked in.” The expression “apparent facility” is purposely employed; for despite the appearance of careless ease of execution conveyed by the slightness of these sketches, those who have seen the artist at work know that for each sketch presented to the public three or four have been rejected by their author as unsatisfactory.

A very large proportion of the drawings in “La Comédie Parisienne,” treat of matters to which it is quite customary to refer in French publications, but which in England are discreetly relegated to the confidential whisper of intimates; so that it is rather difficult here to give specimens of the delicate wit displayed therein,--lest it should be classed as indelicate wit. The standard of delicacy topples over at such very different angles in England and on the Continent.

Whatever the subject treated, however, one is struck by the keen observation these drawings display, the requisite movement or attitude being perfectly rendered with the minimum number of lines. They are snap-shots of propitious moments; but taken by an artist’s eye in place of a photographic lens, and an artist’s science to display what is necessary and to discard what is unnecessary for the illustration of the point at issue.

The drawings here and there reflect the touch of melancholy in the author’s nature, as well as his caustic wit.

A charming and sympathetic drawing is that of the working man playing with his crooning babe, while the mother, who is getting supper ready, says to her husband “Ah! wouldn’t you be stunning, if you’d only give up drinking.” In another drawing a poor woman says to her drunken husband “Aren’t you ashamed to be in this state on a Tuesday?” How telling too the sketch of the rascally picture dealer who bursts in on the famishing artist and his starving wife and baby, and says--“I must have three Corots and a Diaz within six days--Madame, make him work!”

Then there is another delightful artist subject. The landlord breaks in on poor hard-working Pinceau. “Sir, you’ve made me call twenty times--you owe me seven quarters’ rent, I tell you I’ve had enough of it!” “Gracious--is that all you’ve got to think about then,” is the cool reply.

How beautiful in its simplicity and how exquisitely the curt legend “---- Rothschild,” fits that drawing of the little ballet dancer who whispers the portentous name into the ear of her sister _coryphée_, the while the moneyed man behind the scenes passes them.

Once more, look at the husband stupefied at the bill which accompanies the host of packages in the midst of which he and his wife are standing. “What, what! two thousand seven hundred and fifty-three francs, forty five centimes! and all that so as to go away to the seaside for three weeks!”--“Well, yes, you are right, my dear, I will send back one of the umbrellas!”

These drawings are almost all executed with a thin, pin-point pen line, of even thickness throughout, and with flat tones of shading added by means of mechanically engraved dots. Forain, Vogel, and Willette, although their methods differ, are among the few who now illustrate with such faint lines and aim at such fragile effects.

A collection in book form of his political and topical illustrations, which had appeared in _Le Figaro_ were republished under the title “Doux Pays.”

The number of _L’Album_ devoted to Forain contains able sketches, done in wash and chalk, which are stronger in effect, although incomplete looking; and bear the impress of having been dashed off at great speed while the inspiration lasted. A very subtle drawing of the nude, entitled, _The Tub_, however, is included in the number, as well as some strongly indicated work in colour.

Forain’s work has been widely published; we have seen it in _Nous, Vous, Eux_, in _Le Figaro_, in _Les Femmes, il n’y a qu’ça_, _Le Courrier Français_, _L’Indiscret_, _Le Rire_, in _L’Assiette au Beurre_, in _The Studio_, and elsewhere.

He has done bold poster work, _Le Salon du Cycle_, _La Parisienne du Siècle_, &c.; and he did a series of splendid up-to-date designs for a mosaic frieze, which was inserted in the front of a boulevard restaurant some few years back.

To _Le Rire_ he has been a pillar of strength; and this journal has called forth some of his best efforts, generally drawn in with crayon or brush, and completed with a wash of two or three such faint colours as grey-green and pale brick-colour, being treated frankly as sketches and nothing more. Yet how amply complete is such a drawing as that of the little powdered _cocotte_ in the black hat receiving the last touches to her toilette from her maid, while her vicious, bony, mother waits impatiently to hurry her off to the evening’s rendezvous. Another fine drawing culled from the same source introduces us to a squat lady sculptor, modelling from a beautiful nude female model. The shapeless sculptor cries out, “There! you’re posing so badly that I shall have to finish it from myself--before the glass.”

An exhibition of Forain’s work, which was held on the Eiffel Tower in 1890 or 1891, under the auspices of the _Courrier Français_, achieved for the artist a great success; although he had a terrible struggle at the outset of his career, even at one time appealing to Renouard to get him a job to draw anything,--“anything, fashion plates, or never mind whatsoever.”

Forain is yet another past _habitué_ of the Montmartre “Café des Hydropathes” (which later developed into the “Chat Noir”) who has achieved fame and riches. He now lives in a splendid mansion in one of the most fashionable quarters of Paris, immersed as ever in his studies, and taking up sculpture as a relaxation. He works in a vast, untidy studio amidst an astounding litter of studies and papers, from which he but occasionally tears himself for a rapid spin in his beloved motor-car.

XI

CHARLES LÉANDRE

Léandre must be a terror to the members of the official classes in Paris, for they must live from day to day in mortal fear lest they shall have fallen a prey to his deft pencil. He must ever persuade them of their own irresistible comicality, and thereafter they must always feel more like Léandre’s caricatures than like themselves, and must inevitably act likewise.

Léandre not only caricatures the faces and figures of his subjects, but he caricatures their mien and manners; their politeness, their self-satisfaction, their _hauteur_, their cringing, in his hands exudes from every pore.

(_From the collection of the Chat-Noir_)

RUDOLPH SALIS

(_Seigneur de Chat-noir ville_)]

Yet he is not cruel, he does not lead us to hate his originals; he makes us enjoy them, and laugh good naturedly at and with them. He shows us their unmistakable features, as though seen through a distorting but discriminating mirror. We can well imagine one of his victims, impressed with the undeniable truth of Léandre’s portrait of himself, shunning daylight altogether, after the publication thereof; and refusing to walk abroad carrying those weasel eyes and that terrible nose, which previously he had flaunted on the boulevards with such evident pride. Indeed, a dose of Léandre might well be prescribed as a cure for swollen head.

MA CHANDELLE EST MORTE]

It must not be imagined from the foregoing that portrait caricature alone occupies the pencil of our artist. His book of subtle wash drawings entitled “Nocturnes,” and the lively pages of _Le Rire_, _L’Album_, _L’Assiette au Beurre_, and other journals are embellished with his cartoons and comic drawings, covering a fairly wide range of subjects. He is moreover a serious portrait-painter of great feeling and delicacy. We may look on him almost as an _animalier_, or natural history artist making a speciality of that droll, brainy, beast--man, recording all his different varieties, and watching his every gesture and movement.

In his cartoons he occasionally approaches the somewhat nervous style of Willette, whom we incline to think time may prove to have been an overrated artist. The stronger method of Léandre, however, is particularly noticed in such drawings as _Le Ministère en Vacances_ and _Le Retour du Général Duchesne_ in _Le Rire_; and here we may mention how much many of the most excellent of the younger artists--such as Steinlen, Léandre, Malteste, Redon, Sabattier, Tilly, and Huard in France, Lockhart-Bogle, Hartrick, Almond and Gunning King in England, evidently owe to that giant among draughtsmen--Paul Renouard.

Léandre was born at Champsecret, Orne. It is easy to trace the influence that a course of modelling in plaster under the decorator Bin, which he attended after leaving college and arriving in Paris, impressed on his work, for all his heads have a strong sculpturesque feeling about them. Later he became a pupil of Cabanel at the Beaux Arts School; and we, who know the ways of Paris art students, can well imagine the uproarious series of “_charges_” or caricatures, he must have painted of his fellow students, and possibly of his professor. For it is certain that later on he handled the _gens sérieux_, with whom he was brought into contact at the _reunions_ given by his uncle--the Deputy Christofle, with but scant regard for their dignity.

Settling in Montmartre, he rapidly captured the _quartier_ with his marvellous caricatures of the “types” of the neighbourhood, and of the Bohemians of the greater Paris who flocked to its _cabarets artistiques_. Thenceforward his fame has rapidly spread far and wide: of course he was a patron of the _Chat Noir_, and later of the _Quat’z’Arts_, to whose papers he contributed.

We have only to examine his drawings to realise that--given the opportunity to publish his work--success was inevitable. Before me is one of his drawings in _Le Rire_--“The effect of Latin and table salt on a youth of Normandy.” It represents a christening scene in the church of a Normandy village. The irreverent babe in granny’s arms is howling the roof off its mouth, while the ancient cleric with port-wine nose, his service interrupted, essays to quiet the little darling; and we can see he is only debarred by professional etiquette from using language unfitting the Church. Grandpa beams good-naturedly at the wickedness of his latest descendant, while the fond mamma joyfully simpers her complete approval of the hopeful’s lung power. A priggish chorister holds a long guttering church candle, which his hot hands are melting in the middle; outside in the porch the bell-ringer with a jug of cider and a glass is pulling his hardest at the joy bells, and a background of fidgeting, yawning children completes the picture.

Then look at the gaily-coloured page which transports us to the middle of a village fête. All among the garlands and Japanese lanterns the firemen are making merry with their lady admirers. The drummer of the squad, a lusty fellow, is stealing a kiss from a protesting, yet willing, kitchen-maid.

An astounding drawing of a bacchanalian orgy entitled _Ribote de Noël_ appeared in No. 112 of _Le Rire_, and the whole reeling scene of drunken revelry is marvellously rendered. In the largeness of the forms and the rollicking _abandon_ of the whole scene we are reminded of our own Rowlandson, an artist whose work is thoroughly appreciated across the Channel. The quintessence of quaintness is reached in another drawing, which again reminds us somewhat of Rowlandson. It is a drawing contained in _L’Album_, entitled “La Folie des Grandeurs--Les Yeux plus grands que le Ventre”; and shows us a queer little Tom Thumb of a man smoking a cigar, and speaking in the language of the eye volumes of admiration for the mountainous woman against whose knee he lolls.

LES CHANTEURS DE MONTMARTRE

(_Tourney Poster for Yvette Guilbert_)]

Other illustrations by Léandre appear in _Le Grand Guignol_, and in the comic paper _La Vie en Rose_. To a little collection of caricatures of (then) reigning sovereigns, entitled “Le Musée des Souverains,” Léandre contributed some remarkably clever work. President Faure, Queen Victoria, the Emperor of Austria, the King of the Belgians and King Menelik, all come in for a more or less trying pictorial analysis by Léandre. The drawing of Menelik is a most wonderful piece of work, but unfortunately intended to be humiliating to Italy; and here we may mention that Léandre has always been attracted by general political cartooning, as well as his more frequent local cartoon work, but however much his estimate of the nations, as seen from the Gallic point of view, may tickle outsiders, we feel he is a good Frenchman, and the artistic quality of his work never fails. His double-page drawing in _Le Rire_ of the “Senators going to War against the Chamber” is crowded with caricature portraits of politicians hurrying out to do vigorous battle, each showing by the introduction of some subtle little device his own marked peculiarity or fad.

(_By himself_)]

Léandre has frequently introduced a self-portrait into his sketches, and he is evidently as critical of himself as of others. He always shows us a serio-comic little man with chubby cheeks, bulging, spectacled eyes, and a big inquisitive nose dominating a small turned-up moustache and starveling beard. Some of his own military service adventures he has depicted for us in mock heroic style in “Les Treize Jours de Léandre.” Among notable caricature portraits is that of Drumont, the arch Jew-baiter. In a coloured drawing entitled “The Ogre’s Repast,” we see this noisome person with a chain of Semite “portions” round his neck poising a gory Jewish head on his fork previous to making a meal of it. In fine irony a cross hangs on his breast.

His drawings of concerts and musical conductors throb and thrill with sound, the very paper on which they are printed seems to vibrate with the volume of it.

The Comédie Française supplied him with subjects for a splendid set of caricatures; and the rustic inhabitants of his native village of Champsecret form the foundation of yet another delightful series entitled “Ma Normandie.”

That the tragic side of life touches Léandre deeply is evident, if only from a couple of drawings which appeared in _L’Assiette au Beurre_. The first is entitled “Saison des eaux--chacun va aux eaux suivant ses moyens”; and we see a starving, distracted mother, plunging to eternity in the foul depths of a canal, while her tiny children, all unconscious of their fate, clutch her skirts and are being hurled to death with her. The other drawing bears the legend, “What have they been doing, sir? Sleeping without paying for it!”--which is given as the conversation passing between a little milliner’s girl and an old gentleman, who are watching a long procession of dejected outcasts being led to the lock-up by ferocious-looking policemen, while behind them is a wall inscribed with the mocking legend, “Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité.” The poor prisoners are evidently not criminals, but merely the crowded-out failures of a great city, who have perforce been obliged to sleep in the streets.

Léandre’s posters, such as his “Les Cartomimes” and “Le Vieux Marcheur” display all his captivating characteristics, but look hardly robust enough in style to stand the attacks of weather on a street hoarding.

Léandre, however, is a great draughtsman, and there can be no mistaking this fact.

_From l’Album_ DEUX AMIS By LÉANDRE
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