The Etchings Of Charles Meryon

No modern author could write on Meryon without acknowledging in the amplest terms, as I do, his indebtedness to M. Loys Delteil’s monograph on this great etcher in his Peintre-Graveur Illustré (1907). The biography which precedes it, and the quotations which it gives from Baudelaire and Burty, and from Meryon’s own comments on what Burty wrote about Meryon, make M. Delteil’s volume much more than a catalogue. The other books that I have chiefly consulted are Burty’s Catalogue of Meryon, translated by M. B. Huish (1879), and Aglaüs Bouvenne’s “Notes et Souvenirs sur Charles Meryon” (1883.) I have had no access to original documents, except the chief documents of all, the etchings themselves, or to books not generally known; but there may be readers, perhaps, who will welcome a brief account in English of Meryon’s career, an estimate of his rank as an etcher, and comments on all of his etchings that they have any need to know and admire. The originals of all the etchings reproduced in the plates, except the portrait by Bracquemond, are in the British Museum.

C. D.

5 September, 1921.

Erratum.—Page 23, line 18 from top, for “February 4th” read “February 14th.”

CENTURY has passed since the birth of Meryon, a circumstance which excuses, if it does not actually demand, a survey in retrospect of the great etcher’s work and the growth of his renown. There is no indication, it must be said at once, that the lapse of time has weakened in any degree the sure fabric of his fame. About no other modern etcher, save Whistler, is there an equal consensus of opinion among those whose opinion counts, that he ranks among the great masters of his art. Whistler himself was a dissentient; he spoke one day to Mr. Wedmore of “Meryon, whom you have taken out of his comfortable place.” Without insinuating that he was jealous of a confrère with whom he was forced to share the honour of a Wedmore catalogue, it may be remarked that the utterances of such a lover of paradox as Whistler need not be taken too seriously. Nor is an artist always the best judge of a fellow artist who pursues very different aims from his own. Meryon’s reputation, though it is ungrudgingly admitted and admired by most etchers of to-day and yesterday, was established by the critics and collectors of a generation now extinct. Philippe Burty, who published the first critical article on Meryon and the first catalogue of his etchings in the Gazette des Beaux-Arts of 1863, was the first to discern clearly and to proclaim to the world his peculiar genius. Charles Baudelaire and Théophile Gautier added their words of praise and the Galerie Notre-Dame evoked the enthusiasm of Victor Hugo. Bracquemond, by twelve years his junior in age but his contemporary in the practice and mastery of etching, gave him all the support of his appreciation, and there was a small enlightened circle of collectors, including Wasset of the War Office, Niel of the Ministry of the Interior, Meryon’s former shipmate De Salicis, the English etcher Seymour Haden, and a few others who saw the great merit of his work from the first. But on the whole his reception in France was cool and discouraging; academic opinion at the time was unfavourable to original etching. The editor of the Gazette des Beaux-Arts grudged admission to Burty’s essay and asked, if two articles were to be devoted to a modern etcher, how many would be needed for Raphael. His Galerie Notre-Dame was refused by the Salon in 1853, and though many of his Paris etchings were exhibited there, they gained no prize. The public collections did not acquire his works and it was not till 1866 that Burty induced the Chalcographie Impériale at the Louvre to commission and publish one of his plates, L’Ancien Louvre, after Zeeman (plate 38). The stories told of the pitiful sums that he used to accept for proofs of his finest etchings, a franc and a half or two francs, sometimes, seem almost incredible now, when such proofs sell for hundreds of pounds. In a pathetic letter which he addressed in 1854 to the Minister of the Interior, appealing to him for the support which he could not obtain from the public, he announced his intention of producing a set of ten etchings of Bourges, and charging fifteen francs for the set. He actually sold the whole series of his masterpieces, “Eaux-fortes sur Paris,” as a set, for twenty-five or thirty francs. They sold very slowly indeed. A receipt is extant from him for twenty-five francs paid by Baron Pichon in 1866, twelve years after the publication of the set, for “une suite de vues anciennes de Paris, gravées par moi à l’eau-forte, intitulées Eaux-fortes sur Paris.”

It was not till 1910 that the first collective exhibition of Meryon’s etched work was held in Paris, at the Galerie Devambez. In England, where his fame was spread by Seymour Haden, Philip Gilbert Hamerton and Wedmore, Meryon’s reputation grew more rapidly, at least after his death. The great French private collections of his etchings crossed the Channel, Burty’s being sold in 1876, and the year 1879, eleven years after Meryon’s death, witnessed the publication of two different English catalogues of his etchings and the holding of a fine exhibition of his etchings and drawings at the Burlington Fine Arts Club, to which the Rev. J. J. Heywood was the largest contributor. Much later, in 1902, an important exhibition was held by Messrs. Obach & Co., while Messrs. P. and D. Colnaghi & Co., arranged another very fine Meryon exhibition in 1919. The British Museum, fortunately, owes to the foresight of a former Keeper of Prints the early formation of a magnificent, though not complete, collection of Meryon, to which additions are still occasionally made, though they must needs be few now that a further stage in the migration of fine proofs is in progress and not the Channel only, but the Atlantic, parts them from their pays d’origine. The National Gallery of Scotland is fortunate in having obtained, by the gift of Mrs. G. R. Halkett, a small selection of very fine proofs of Meryon etchings, but Edinburgh’s gain is far less than was Glasgow’s loss by the sale, in 1916, of the collection of Mr. B. B. Macgeorge, which was undoubtedly the most complete work of Meryon ever brought together, containing, as it did, not merely almost every etching by the master in almost every state, but also a large number of his original drawings for the etchings of Paris. The year 1916 was an unfavourable time for acquiring such a valuable œuvre for any national or municipal museum, and the Macgeorge collection went to America and was dispersed, only a small number of proofs remaining in, or returning to, this country, where, I suppose, no one collection of importance still remains except that of the British Museum. A Meryon exhibition is being held at the Museum this autumn to celebrate the centenary of the artist’s birth.

The story of Meryon’s life has often been told, but those who do not know it may welcome a brief recapitulation of it here, and indeed some such narrative is needed for the comprehension of his work, which becomes much more interesting when something is known of the period and circumstances in which it was produced. Meryon was born in Paris on November 23rd, 1821, as the natural son of Dr. Charles Lewis Meryon, an English doctor, formerly physician and secretary to Lady Hester Stanhope, and an opera dancer, Pierre-Narcisse Chaspoux, aged twenty-eight, known as Mme. Gentil, who already had a daughter by an English peer. It was not till August 9th, 1824, that Dr. Meryon made a formal recognition of paternity and left a sum of money, on leaving France, for his son’s education. His mother brought him up with tender care, but he inherited from her apparently the mental disease with which he was afterwards afflicted; she died, out of her mind, in 1837 or 1838. At the age of five, under the name of Charles Gentil, he went to school at Passy, where he received some elementary lessons in drawing. A very childish drawing of houses, trees and a well, in red and black chalk, of which at a later period some one made a woodcut, is in the British Museum; by internal evidence one may judge it to be earlier than the elementary lessons. He went to Marseilles, Hyères, and to Italy, as far as Pisa and Leghorn; then returned to Paris till he made up his mind to go into the Navy, and, in 1837, entered the naval school at Brest. It was then that he adopted his father’s name of Meryon. Leaving the naval school in 1839, he sailed from Toulon in October in the Alger for the Levant, and was transferred at Smyrna, as a first-class cadet, to the Montebello. He visited Argos, the tomb of Agamemnon and the lion gate at Mycenae, and at Athens made drawings of the frieze of the Temple of Theseus and of the Choragic Monument of Lysicrates which appears in his etching of the Convent of the French Capuchins at Athens, 1854 (plate 42). On his return to Toulon he had further lessons in drawing. In 1842 he went to sea again, being gazetted as “enseigne de vaisseau” to the corvette Le Rhin, which cruised about New Zealand, New Caledonia, and the islands of the Pacific. The fruits of these years of travel in Oceania may be seen in a number of etchings which he made in later life (Delteil 63-74). A multitude of pencil sketches made on his travels remained in his family’s possession till 1904, when they were given to the British Museum by Mr. Lewis Meryon. They include drawings of his shipmates, of native houses, fetishes and boats, palm trees and other vegetation, studies of skies and sunsets, with notes of colour, sketches of the flight of the albatross, drawings of fish and other fauna of the Pacific, and last, but not least, the original drawings for Le malingre Cryptogame (D. 66) and Tête de chien de la Nouvelle-Hollande (D. 65), the ship’s pet whose queer habits and tragic death by falling overboard before Meryon’s eyes are graphically described in one of his letters quoted at length in Burty’s memoir. Long afterwards, in conversations with Burty, Meryon used to say how his thoughts dwelt on the rocky coast of New Caledonia, where “he had met a race of savages, handsome, heroic, intelligent, where he had breathed an air overladen with balm, where, if he could, he should like one day to return to finish life free and happy.” On the return of Le Rhin in 1846 Meryon received six months’ leave and returned to Paris. He had scruples about his constitution being strong enough for the profession of a sailor; he neglected to ask for an extension of his leave, and in the end his resignation was accepted and he left the Service on September 17th, 1846. He was then in possession of a sum of 20,000 francs left to him by his mother. He took a studio and had lessons from a painter named Philippe. He has recorded his enthusiasm at this time for the pictures of Delacroix, Decamps and Hogarth, whose work he had seen during a short visit to England. After some experiments in allegory, inspired by the proclamation of the republic at the February revolution, he abandoned painting for engraving, and entered the studio of the etcher, Eugène Bléry, in 1848. A circumstance which affected this decision was the discovery that his eyesight suffered from the defect known as Daltonism, a partial colour-blindness.

Bléry as an etcher has little interest for us, but he was sufficiently skilled to impart in six months a sound technique to a pupil, whose interest in the art was fostered by the study of old etchings and especially those of the Dutch etcher of architecture and marine subjects, Renier Zeeman (1623-1663), which he used to pick up for a few sous in the boxes outside the printsellers’ shops. Meryon’s first etching of all was a head of Christ, founded on a miniature after Philippe de Champaigne; the only impression known of this etching is in the Howard Mansfield collection at New York. During the years 1849-50 he produced a number of copies after Loutherbourg, Salvator Rosa, Karel du Jardin and others, but Zeeman fascinated him above all in the double capacity of an etcher of marines and of views of old Paris, and it was from his style that he learnt most. While still with Bléry his mind is said to have been slightly unhinged by an unfortunate love affair with the daughter of a restaurant keeper, who would have nothing to say to him. In solitary wanderings about the old streets of Paris and meditations in his garret in the Rue St. Etienne-du-Mont, he formed plans for his series of etchings of old Paris and began to make studies for them. As early as 1850 one of these masterly plates, Le Petit Pont (plate 7), was finished.

In making his studies of old houses and churches, Meryon seldom made a complete drawing on the spot. He would go every day at the same hour and make minutely finished studies of details on small bits of paper, which he either stuck together or made another drawing from them. He used an exceedingly sharp, hard pencil; the astonishing fineness of the line that he produced with it may be well seen in two early drawings of Rouen Cathedral from the Seine in the British Museum, which also possesses some of the drawings of architecture at Bourges, a place which first fascinated him on a visit made about 1848. In drawing architecture Meryon always worked upwards from the bottom of his object, saying that buildings were begun from the foundation and the artist should follow the same method as the builder. In the same way he would draw men from the feet upwards, saying that they must always be planted firmly on their feet before they began to do anything. Le Petit Pont well illustrates another peculiarity of his practice in drawing architecture. He deliberately renounced any competition with the camera of the photographer, and claimed the right to arrange the different parts of what he drew in the manner best calculated to convey a certain impression, while preserving the utmost exactness in the representation of detail in each part. It has been observed, by those who know the spot well, that the towers of Notre-Dame, which dominate the whole composition, are much too high in the etching in regard to their actual dimensions and to the laws of perspective. After taking a drawing from very low down, near the edge of the water, Meryon drew the towers again from the level of the street, as the passer-by would habitually see them, and fitted this drawing with great skill into the former one, constructing by this combination a composition which produced the desired effect of impressive and majestic height, all the details being absolutely accurate, though on reflection it might be discovered that they could not all be seen at once.

Le Petit Pont is the first of his mature works, and marks an astonishing advance upon the exercises in copying other etchers which, with the exception of a few important portraits, are all that had preceded it. “Unimportant,” his own portrait, seated before an easel, could never have been, at least as a document, though it may have been immature, but we cannot judge of its quality, for Meryon destroyed it and preserved no proofs, and we only know of its existence from his own statement recorded by Burty. The only proof of his portrait of Eugène Bléry was destroyed by Bléry’s wife because she did not like it. Thus the only portrait of his quite early time which is actually extant is that of Edmond de Courtives, and of this only one impression, formerly in the Macgeorge collection, can actually be traced. It is a little medallion containing the head, reduced from an etching which according to Meryon’s own account was originally a half length, in which a violin and some chemical apparatus were introduced beside the sitter. It was an original etching, based on a drawing from life by Meryon himself.

All the other portraits are of much later date, one belonging to the year 1856, the rest to 1861 or 1862 (plate 47). None of them are original etchings; they are founded on drawings by others, old prints or photographs, in one case on a medallion by David d’Angers; they are quite insignificant and we shall have no need to mention them again. The other etchings of 1849-50 would have no interest for us if anyone else but Meryon had etched them. It is only the four oblong subjects of Paris and its vicinity after Zeeman that count for something more, because they show very plainly on what Meryon formed his taste, and anticipate, in the proportions and ordonnance of the plate and in the treatment of river boats and of the little figures on the banks of the Seine that we see in Le Pavillon de Mademoiselle and in La Rivière de Seine et l’angle du Mail, habits that we shall soon come to regard, when we consider the original etchings of Paris, as specially characteristic of Meryon himself.

But when we come to Le Petit Pont (plate 7), etched in the same year as these copies after Zeeman, and exhibited in the Salon of 1850, we are aware of quite a different vision, a different order of intellect, as well as greater perfection of technical skill. It is becoming difficult for us after the lapse of seventy years, in which so many other etchers have been working on Meryon’s lines, to realise how new, how epoch-making in the strict sense of the word, was such an etching as Le Petit Pont in 1850. There had been fine engravers and etchers of architecture before Meryon; there had been Hollar, there had been Canale, Piranesi and Rossini. But they in their different degrees were facile and fluent, rhetorical, diffuse, commercial, in comparison with the severe, tense, concentrated style of Meryon. In his “Eaux-Fortes sur Paris,” which extend in date from 1850 to 1854, he achieved a body of work which led the way in what is called the modern revival of etching and in its own special style has never been surpassed, though other etchers have triumphed in other styles of etching which were entirely outside Meryon’s limited compass. Not only was he in advance of all the other notable etchers of his generation, but he had finished this series of masterpieces before the others had begun to produce anything of importance. Millet began to etch in 1855; Whistler’s Paris set dates from 1858; Haden, though he had etched in the forties, did little that really counts till about 1858. Jacque and Daubigny were working before Meryon, but they are hardly in the same class. It was consonant with Meryon’s brooding, introspective temperament that he took the work of etching very seriously. He acquired a profound knowledge of the technique of the art and applied it, in the case of all his important etchings, with conscientious thoroughness. Disdaining anything like a sketchy treatment of his subject, he built up the whole design laboriously, painfully, with tireless perseverance, after making the most conscientious studies of detail. He was, in fact, by habit and temperament more an engraver than an etcher, though he used the etching process instead of attacking the copper with a burin.

But nothing that I have yet said explains what there is in Meryon that makes us regard him as a great artist. Any etcher might have taken all these pains and yet remained to the end nothing but an industrious plodder. It was the combination, in Meryon, of this high degree of mechanical skill with a fine instinct for design and the poet’s vision which was still more specially his prerogative, that places him in a different category from a Lalanne, a Martial-Potémont or an Edwin Edwards. The old streets of Paris were not, for him, merely storehouses of picturesque motives, structures composed of walls and porticoes, gables and spires, on which the sun arranged at different times of day different patterns of light and shade; they were that, certainly, and his etcher’s eye, trained to observe niceties of gradation between black and white rather than varieties of actual colour, took full advantage of their hitherto unexplored wealth of suggestion. Leaving all metaphor out of court, his actual eyesight was astonishingly keen; he saw details of architecture with the naked eye which would be revealed to average persons only by a telescope. But to him the streets of Paris were haunted places, peopled with ghosts and wet with tears. Their atmosphere was infected by old crimes and miseries and sins. The lonely meditations of a brain already morbid, affected even when he was a boy by the discovery that he was a bastard, suspicious in later life and shrinking from human intercourse, were reflected in the melancholy which seems, to sympathetic observers, to brood over the dark narrow streets, survivors of a mediæval Paris, much of which was doomed to destruction in the great demolitions and reconstructions of the Second Empire. But Meryon did not trust entirely to sympathetic observation to discern his meaning. He expressed himself directly in verses, which were meant to be published, and in some cases actually were published, along with the architectural etchings, to explain what reflections the subjects aroused in the etcher’s mind. Sometimes these verses were etched at the foot of the subject itself, as in the fourth state of Le Stryge; more often they were etched on separate plates, in cursive writing, with little ornaments and rather elaborate capitals, the stanzas carefully spaced in a decorative arrangement. They may be seen reproduced, so far as they were actually etched, in M. Loys Delteil’s catalogue, but the whole of Meryon’s verses, including some that he did not etch, are collected and presented in a more legible form, being printed with type, in Aglaüs Bouvenne’s “Notes et Souvenirs sur Charles Meryon.” They are jerky, queer and amateurish verses, but they throw so much light on Meryon’s mentality that they must not be neglected by any student of his art.

It is time that we returned to the Paris etchings themselves, of which only one, Le Petit Pont (plate 7), has hitherto been mentioned in our survey of the progress of Meryon’s work. The complete series as he published them himself, in three parts, between 1852 and 1854, consists of twenty-two etchings,[2] preceded by a portrait of Meryon etched by Bracquemond; not the half-length portrait, seated, with the hand resting on the back of a chair (plate 1),[3] which was etched in 1853 (Beraldi 77), but the head in profile to the left (Beraldi 78), in imitation of an antique sculpture in relief, with the legend, composed and etched by Meryon himself, in 1854:

Of the “cahiers” which were issued of the Paris set, containing this portrait, probably not one remains to-day intact. The twenty-two etchings by Meryon himself consisted of an etched title (plate 2) printed on grey, brown, blue or green paper (in which, it should be noticed, as well as in the address etched at the foot of each plate, the etcher calls himself Meryon, not Méryon), four small preliminary etchings, twelve important subjects, which bear numbers in the final state, which was not printed till 1861 and then in an edition of thirty only, and five more plates which were never numbered, and which, as regards size at least, must be counted as “minor” works, though they include La Rue des Mauvais Garçons (plate 10), a plate to which posterity attaches a high value, if Meryon did not do so himself. Some of the minor etchings are so extremely rare that they must have been printed in small numbers and not generally included in the “cahier.” Several rather important etchings of Paris were done at a later date, and did not form part of the “Eaux-Fortes sur Paris” set.

The dedication to Zeeman, “peintre des matelots” (plate 3), is in verses which express in simple language Meryon’s love and admiration for the master who had inspired his early efforts, concluding with the words:—

The frontispiece (plate 4), a round composition in which a devil carrying a great scroll hovers against a lurid sky over the Gothic gateway of the Palais de Justice, is a sinister design. The Tomb of Molière (plate 23), tail-piece to the set, was etched on the same plate, and a proof exists from the undivided copper containing both designs. The verses following the frontispiece are a comment on the latter, and express Meryon’s conviction that the city of Paris, “Paris le Paradis des amours et des Ris,” is possessed by a “noir Diabloton, malicieux, mutin,” fostered by science, and that this “méchant animal, Origine du mal” cannot be exorcised without razing the city to the ground. These etched verses are very rare. The symbolical coat of arms of the city of Paris (plate 5) is another of the minor pieces inserted in 1854, when the set was being completed. Then follows Le Stryge (plate 6), etched in 1853, one of the most original and impressive of all Meryon’s etchings. His elbows propped on the ledge of the balcony, one of the Gothic monsters of the western towers of Notre-Dame broods with head in hands and lolling tongue, an enigmatical and evil expression in his eye, over the city of Paris seen far below, with the Tour St. Jacques as the most prominent object. Jackdaws circle in the air about the towers, and graven beneath the oval, in one state only of the plate, is the sinister couplet:—

The delicacy of the work, in fine proofs, is beyond the power of any mechanical process to reproduce. Two pencil studies, formerly in the Macgeorge collection, are very interesting as showing Meryon’s conscientious method of preparation for this plate. He made one very highly finished drawing of all that is seen of the city of Paris down below, reserving blank spaces for the Stryge and for the Tour St. Jacques—there is also a trial state of the plate, showing that all this portion of the design was etched first, directly from this drawing—and then another equally finished drawing of the tower and the stone monster by themselves, with all the rest of the subject drawn in outline, probably traced from the first drawing. A drawing by Meryon of another of the monsters of Notre Dame, a monkey, with a set of verses written beside it, is reproduced in Bouvenne’s “Notes et Souvenirs.” Then follows Le Petit Pont (plate 7), in which the twin towers of Notre-Dame, beautifully placed on the plate, surmount the long rows of houses on the Quai du Marché Neuf and dominate the whole composition. The outline drawing which Meryon made from the level of the shore, showing the towers very much lower, is reproduced in M. Delteil’s catalogue. L’Arche du Pont Notre-Dame (plate 8), especially in the beautiful proofs on green paper, is one of the most charming of the whole series and free from any eccentricity. La Galerie Notre-Dame (plate 9) is a very beautiful rendering of Gothic architecture, and a most delicate study of effects of light, direct and reflected. The impressions vary much, some being rich in tone and rather veiled, others clean wiped and of a silvery clearness. The highly finished drawing which Meryon etched almost in facsimile, only adding clouds in the sky, was in the Macgeorge collection.

La Rue des Mauvais Garçons (plate 10), which formed the cul-de-lampe or tail-piece of the first livraison of “Eaux-Fortes sur Paris,” has always impressed modern observers as one of the most powerful and impressive of the etchings, fraught with mystery, enigmatic, suggestive of long past tragedies. “Quel mortel habitait,” are the verses etched on the building, “En ce gîte si sombre? Qui donc là se cachait Dans la nuit et dans l’ombre?” Was it Virtue, in silent poverty; was it Crime? No answer to the riddle is attempted. The street exists no longer.

La Tour de l’Horloge (plate 11) was drawn and etched in 1852 while alterations were in progress which materially altered the appearance of Le Châtelet. This plate has always struck me as being a very straightforward and masterly portrait of a building, but without so much personal expression as Meryon generally contrived to impart to his other etchings. An edition of 600 copies of Delteil’s sixth state was published in L’Artiste in 1858, and it was only after this large edition had been struck off that Meryon made a rather important change in the plate, which appears in the last two states, by making rays of light issue, somewhat unaccountably, from the windows between the high square tower and the first of the round ones. Tourelle de la rue de la Tixéranderie (plate 12), also etched in 1852, was drawn just before its demolition. The etching gives a very beautiful effect of sunlight on a most picturesque old house, with the lower part of its turret wreathed in the foliage of a creeper; but the mediæval knight in helm and plumes, who rides along the street, and the nude woman standing in the doorway (in the first state) are curious additions to the scene. The latter figure was retouched in the final state. Saint-Etienne-du-Mont (plate 13), also etched in 1852, is similar in style, as in dimensions, to the last subject. It gives, again, a beautiful effect of sunlight, and the architectural details of the church are shown with an exquisite clearness. The little figures are lively and interesting, but in the state here reproduced a blemish may be noticed; the raised arms of a workman on the scaffolding, near the gas lamp on the right, have been effaced, to be restored in the next state.

La Pompe Notre-Dame (plate 14), another plate belonging to the prolific year 1852, is one of the most picturesque etchings of the series. The proportions of the various masses of architecture to the oblong plate are perfectly satisfying, and the eye delights in the intricate lines, alternately light and dark, of the two wooden structures that rise out of the water like the piles of a “lake dwelling.” Meryon excuses himself, in an interesting letter, for making the towers of Notre-Dame higher than they should be, as actually seen from this point of view: “Les Tours saillent aussi un peu plus que dans la réalité; mais je considère que ce sont licenses permises, puisque c’est pour ainsi dire dans ce sens que travaille l’esprit, sitôt que l’objet qui l’a frappé a disparu de devant les yeux” (quoted by M. Loys Delteil from a letter to Paul Mantz). This plate was published in an edition of 600 by L’Artiste in 1858; before that time the building itself had been demolished. Meryon alludes to the impending demolition in the rather insignificant little design, with some doggerel verses etched within it, known as La Petite Pompe (plate 15), of 1854.

Le Pont-Neuf (plate 16), an etching of 1853, is the ninth of the set as Meryon numbered it. It is a solid, masterly piece of architectural etching about which there is not much to be said. The light falling on the truncated turrets of the bridge and reflected on the surface of the river is very subtly observed. In the sixth state, and in that only, eight verses are etched, beginning

This is poor stuff, and Meryon was well advised to suppress it in later states.

Le Pont-au-Change (plates 17, 18), etched in 1854, shows again Le Châtelet and the Tour de l’Horloge, and, beyond the bridge, the tower, with which we are now familiar, of La Pompe Notre-Dame. This etching is remarkable for the many changes introduced into the sky in successive states. From the second to the sixth state of Delteil there is a balloon floating in the sky towards the left, inscribed SPERANZA (plate 17), to which the verses L’Espérance (plate 19) allude. In the seventh state this balloon disappears; in its stead there are great flights of birds across the sky, of which the lower resemble wild duck, while the upper ones, with longer wings, have got hooked beaks which make them look more like birds of prey than the jackdaws which one would expect to fly round the towers of a city. These remain (plate 18) during several alterations in the plate, until the tenth state, when they have disappeared from the left, though a concentrated flock wheels about the Tour de l’Horloge, and their place is taken by new balloons, near and distant, and in the eleventh state by still more balloons, one of which bears the name of Vasco de Gama. This is all rather crazy, and the alterations were made, like those on other plates to which we shall refer later, after Meryon’s mind had finally become deranged. This is evidently the etching referred to in a letter from Baudelaire to Poulet Malassis (quoted by M. Loys Delteil): “Dans une de ses grandes planches, il a substituté à un petit ballon une nuée d’oiseaux de proie, et, comme je lui faisais remarquer qu’il était invraisemblable de mettre tant d’aigles dans un ciel parisien, il m’a répondu que cela n’était pas dénué de fondement, puisque ces gens-là (le gouvernement de l’Empereur) avaient souvent lâché des aigles pour étudier les présages, suivant le rite,—et que cela avait été imprimé dans les journaux, même dans le Moniteur. Je dois dire qu’il ne se cache en aucune façon de son respect pour toutes les superstitions, mais il les explique mal, et il voit de la cabale partout.” This letter dates from January 1860, a few months after Meryon had been released from his first confinement in an asylum, and it must be observed that any eccentricities due to mental derangement can only be traced in plates etched subsequently to 1859, or in the late states, produced by re-touching after that date, of the “Eaux-fortes sur Paris” themselves, which, as first completed in 1854, the year of this publication, had been perfectly normal.

Another of the etched poems, “L’Espérance,” accompanies Le Pont-au-Change. After this, two more of the “Eaux-Fortes” remain to be noticed, and they are by general agreement the finest of the whole set: La Morgue and L’Abside de Notre-Dame de Paris, both etched in 1854. La Morgue (plate 20) combines a masterly distribution of black and white spaces and a perfectly successful treatment of the windows, roofs and chimneys, which rise in a curious succession of different levels from the riverside, with a motive of poignant human interest in the dramatic group that bears, on the left, the body of a drowned man from the Seine towards the “Doric little Morgue,” as Browning calls it, on the right. The associations of the building, irresistibly suggested by this incident, are explained in the pathetic little poem, “L’Hôtellerie de la Mort” (plate 21), Meryon’s finest effort in verse, etched on two separate plates and intended to accompany La Morgue, but so rare that it very seldom does so. “The bed and the table that the City of Paris offers gratis at any time to its poor children,” we can imagine what they are—a marble slab, with water dripping down it, under that roof so magnificently etched.

The poem was evidently completed originally in the first column, ending with Meryon’s name, address and date, to which he added as an afterthought a second column of verses full of consoling thoughts and ending with words of faith and hope about the expansion of a flower “à la fraiche corolle, à la sainte auréole,” a flower of love and happiness, from the germ that is in man’s heart. In the impression at the British Museum, words of bad omen, like “Mort,” “Misère,” “Plaisir,” are printed in red, and the good words, “Dieu,” “Cieux,” “Amour,” and “Bonheur,” are printed in blue. Then follows L’Abside (plate 22), the justly famous masterpiece for which higher sums are paid to-day than for any other etching except some of Rembrandt’s. The design of the whole plate, the lighting of the sky and of the side of the majestic cathedral, the proportion of the towers and high-pitched roof of Notre-Dame to the massive but comparatively insignificant buildings along the line of the Seine combine to produce a total effect of unrivalled dignity and charm. How eloquent, too, is the contrast of all that splendid architecture across the river with the squalid foreground, where heaps of sand are being shovelled into carts, and barges of the humblest kind are moored along the shore. L’Abside, again, has a little etched poem “O toi dégustateur de tout morceau gothique,” to accompany it, but this is one of the very rarest of Meryon’s etchings and is not in the British Museum, though the verses are written in pencil by Meryon’s hand on the margin of one of the states of L’Abside in that collection. Then, with the Tombeau de Molière (plate 23) the series closes. Not only in the intensity of this realisation of his subject and in the perfect skill of the actual etching was Meryon a great innovator, but also in the importance that he attached to the utmost care in printing. In collaboration with Auguste Delâtre, the best printer of etchings of his day, Meryon produced exquisite proofs of the early states of the “Eaux-fortes sur Paris” printed in carefully composed brown and black inks on the choicest papers, green, brown, yellowish, white, of old Dutch manufacture or imported from Japan. This was a complete innovation in 1850, and he set an example which the most scrupulous etchers and printers have endeavoured to follow to this day but have never surpassed. Like most French etchers, Meryon preferred proofs from clean wiped plates to those printed with any considerable amount of tone. A letter from Meryon himself on this subject, written in 1863, is quoted by Burty.

During the production of all these masterpieces Meryon was living, almost a recluse, in his rooms in the Rue St. Etienne-du-Mont. He had great difficulty in selling proofs of his etchings, though he asked no more than 30 francs for a Paris set. He took them in vain to various publishers; there were then no dealers who sold etchings of this kind. He had spent the money left to him by his mother; he gained no rewards at the Salon; the Chalcographie Impériale du Louvre ignored him. He was almost starving, says Burty, when he made the acquaintance of M. Jules Niel, librarian at the Ministry of the Interior, a cultivated man who recognised at once the significance of Meryon’s work. He obtained the purchase of several sets of the etchings by the Minister and orders for other work to be done by Meryon in the shape of reproductions of historical drawings. In the winter of 1855-56 the Duke of Aremberg had seen the Views of Paris at Montpellier. In 1857 he sent for Meryon to Belgium, and commissioned him to etch views of his park at Enghien. But Meryon was just then becoming a prey to mental disease, and he returned to Paris, in great trouble of mind, in March 1858. He became more and more unsociable, especially after he removed to a little hotel in the Rue Fossé St. Jacques. Delâtre looked after him as best he could, but Meryon refused to leave his bed, saying that he could not cross a sea of blood, and threatened with a pistol those who approached him. Whilst he was in this state Léopold Flameng drew, in May 1858, the well-known portrait of Meryon in bed, sitting up, with a large black cravat round his neck, the dark shadow of his head thrown upon the wall by the rays of a lamp (plate 24). The features are sharp and emaciated with self-imposed fasting. When the drawing was finished, Meryon asked to see it. He sprang out of bed and tried to tear it up, but Flameng fled with the portrait. On the following day, May 12th, Meryon was carried off to the asylum at Charenton St. Maurice. The discipline and regular food, instead of semi-starvation, had a good effect on him, and he was quiet, gentle and polite. While he was in the asylum he made one etching, from a drawing of the ruins of Pierrefonds brought to him by the architect, Viollet le Duc. It was during this time that Delâtre had impressions of some of his plates published by L’Artiste. On the 25th August, 1859, Meryon was released on leave for three weeks, and did not actually go back to the asylum until 1866.

The Paris set had almost entirely absorbed his energies during the years of its production, but he made one or two other good etchings during the same period. Two of the Bourges etchings belong to this time, the third being much later. The only etching of 1851 was Porte d’un ancien Couvent, Bourges (plate 39), a lightly etched plate, parts of which were only drawn in outline. Meryon printed very few copies of it, and intended to complete it later, but it is a very beautiful piece of work in its present condition. Meryon projected the publication of a Bourges set, but it always remained in abeyance. Two draughts exist in his handwriting, dated 1852, for the lettering of a title page to such a set, and M. Delteil prints a letter addressed by him in 1854 to the Ministry of the Interior, in which he sends a proof of the first plate etched of the proposed Bourges set (meaning, no doubt, Rue des Toiles, Bourges) and begs for a subscription for fifty copies of a set of ten etchings at fifteen francs a set. The set was to consist of four etchings of the same dimensions as the specimen submitted and six etchings of details of buildings. The etchings were to represent private houses, which were in more danger of demolition than public monuments. He sent Porte d’un ancien Couvent (plate 39) as a specimen of the less important etchings that he projected. In the same letter he recalls that the Ministry had subscribed for fifty copies of the Paris set, which had been originally intended to consist of ten etchings (he counts only the important subjects which ultimately received numbers); he had now decided to add two more (La Morgue and L’Abside) and begged the Minister to subscribe for fifty copies of these additional plates at two francs each, adding that such help as he would get from the Ministry was almost his only assistance in view of the indifference of the public. Rue des Toiles à Bourges (plate 40) is a very fine etching, comparable to some of the rather similar subjects in the Paris set, notably Tourelle, Rue de la Tixéranderie. The early impressions of it are very beautifully printed. The British Museum has recently acquired a probably unique first state, earlier than any described by M. Delteil, printed before the plate had been reduced to its ultimate dimensions. The third Bourges etching, Ancienne habitation à Bourges (plate 41) was added much later, in 1860, and is in the style of some of the late Paris etchings, but not so good. The only other etchings that date from the period of the “Eaux-Fortes sur Paris” are the Verses to Eugène Bléry (two different plates with the same contents, D. 88, 89) and the fine Entrée du Couvent des Capucins à Athènes (plate 42), both etched in 1854. Though Meryon had drawn in early youth the Choragic Monument of Lysicrates which was then partly embedded in the buildings of the French Capuchins at Athens, though it was afterwards detached from the wall, his etching is copied from one of the plates by J. P. Le Bas in J. D. Le Roy’s “Ruines des plus beaux monuments de la Grèce,” Paris, 1758.

It was about this time that Meryon began to etch plates of antiquarian interest from old drawings or prints. Though they were commissioned for illustrations, it is evident, among other things from a letter of Baudelaire’s written in 1860, that Meryon himself developed a rather tiresome habit of research, both pedantic and eccentric in its methods. One of the best of these derivative etchings, the Salle des Pas-Perdus (plate 35), after Ducerceau, dates from 1855, and Le Pont-Neuf et la Samaritaine (plate 33) and Le Pont-au-Change vers 1784 (plate 34) were also etched in the same year. They are fine etchings, but do not arouse the same interest as Meryon’s first-hand impressions of the Paris of his own day. Le Château de Chenonceau, also after Ducerceau, and etched in a very dry manner, is a plate of 1856, and in the same year he etched, from photographs, the large panoramic view of San Francisco. More typical Meryons are the two queer etchings of 1855 and 1856 called La Loi Solaire and La Loi Lunaire, in which he propounded very crazy views on morality, one of them being that an upright posture is the proper attitude for sleep, a theory which he himself carried into practice in later years, by passing the night between two upright boards with his arms supported by loops of rope to keep him from falling. Le Pilote de Tonga, a prose poem in a frame, etched in 1856, is the first of what grew, in the sixties, into a long series of etchings founded on his sketches and reminiscences of his early voyage to the South Seas. These filled an even larger place in his thoughts in his last years, but it is to be feared that the etchings of these subjects, of which a few specimens are here reproduced (plates 43-46), leave posterity rather cold.

The only etchings of any importance that Meryon produced after his release from confinement are some of the last views of Paris, done at the time when he was retouching his old plates of Paris and making the, not very judicious, alterations which distinguish their latest states. The new ones are: Rue Pirouette (1860, plate 36), Tourelle de la rue de l’Ecole-de-Médecine (1861), which shows the house in which Marat was assassinated (plates 25, 26), Rue des Chantres (1862, plates 27, 28), Collège Henri IV (1864, plate 29), Bain-froid Chevrier (1864, plate 30), Le Ministère de la Marine (1866, plates 31, 32) and L’ancien Louvre, vers 1650 (1866, plate 38), in which, fulfilling a commission from the Chalcographie du Louvre, he returned to the study of his old love, Renier Zeeman. The Rue des Chantres is incomparably the finest of these, but it can only be seen to real advantage in the very rare early states, one of which the British Museum possesses (plate 27), in which the spire, a recent addition to Notre-Dame designed by Viollet-le-Duc, soars into an empty sky, which was afterwards disfigured by the incongruous insertion of two bells and a device with the initials J. B. (plate 28). The streets of all the etchings of the sixties are filled with excited crowds or little groups of tall, unnatural looking people, and all kinds of curious monsters and allegorical figures hover in the sky or swoop in rapid flight across it. The Collège Henri IV (plate 29) in some of its states, has for background a sea with sails and whales and sea-gods, and the figures in the foreground are the most extraordinary that Meryon ever drew.

It is of no use to dwell at length on these symptoms of mental decline. The lonely artist, subject to hallucinations, thinking that Jesuits were watching him in every street, quarrelling with his best friends, who found it impossible to help him, almost starving because he thought it wrong to eat when others were in need, was no longer capable of the concentrated effort that had produced the masterpieces of the first half of the fifties. On October 12th, 1866, he was shut up again at Charenton, where he died on February 4th, 1868, and where a friend of his sailor days, De Salicis, pronounced an oration over his grave. Bracquemond etched, with a few symbolical ornaments, a copper plate to be laid on the slab of black Breton stone, resting on cubes on white stone, which covered his tomb.

His life had been a failure; he was himself only too ready to proclaim it. He regarded art as something so mysterious, so sacred, as to be quite out of reach. “L’art pour lui n’existait qu’ à l’état de fétiche, d’idéal,” wrote Dr. Gachet to Bouvenne, “on ne devait pas y toucher—il n’y avait pas d’artistes.” To praise him as an artist was to make of him an enemy. To such a temperament fame was denied while he lived. It remained for posterity to do homage that could meet with no rebuff. The sincerest flattery, that of imitation, has been offered to Meryon without stint by a generation of etchers that was being born while he was relaxing by degrees his imperfect grasp of life.

Besides the earliest full catalogue of Meryon’s etchings, that by P. Burty, translated into English by M. B. Huish (1879), which derives its value from Burty’s Memoir of Meryon and his notes on certain of the etchings, there are two catalogues of Meryon in general use, that written by the late Sir F. Wedmore (“Méryon and Méryon’s Paris,” 2nd ed., London, 1892) and the much more thorough catalogue by M. Loys Delteil (1907) which forms Tome II. of the series, “Le Peintre-Graveur illustré.” The British Museum collection is still arranged in Wedmore’s order, which has one practical advantage: it gives precedence to the important works, the etchings of Paris, and describes the other etchings as minor works after these. Thus the visitor, not an expert, who asks for Meryon’s etchings and receives the first volume, finds in it at once a number of the masterpieces. He can persevere, if he will, and see the minor works also; but, if he is more easily tired, he will at least have seen the Paris set while his eye is fresh, and will have spent none of his energy on the early experiments. On the other hand, Delteil is not pedantically chronological; he also places the Paris etchings early, by themselves, and groups the remainder, unlike Wedmore, by a subject arrangement, in various classes. By his more scientific description of states Delteil has superseded Wedmore, and is now invariably quoted in sale catalogues. How far even his catalogue is from being exhaustive is proved by the numerous additional states, chiefly based on the examination of the British Museum and Macgeorge collections, which Mr. H. J. L. Wright has described in the July number (1921) of the Print Collector’s Quarterly. It is understood that a new edition of Delteil is projected, containing a definitive numeration of the states, in which these and other corrections will be incorporated. The present list attempts no description of states. The titles are given in M. Delteil’s order, Wedmore’s numbers following in brackets, with the date of each etching and a summary indication of the number of states at present known to exist, quoted from Delteil except where the reference “see Wright” is given.

PLATE 1. CHARLES MERYON. BY FÉLIX BRACQUEMOND. 9 × 5⁷/₈ in.

(From a proof in the possession of Campbell Dodgson, Esq., M.A., C.B.E.).

PLATE 2. TITRE DES EAUX-FORTES SUR PARIS. (D.17.) 6½ × 4¹⁵/₁₆ in.

PLATE 3. DÉDICACE À REYNIER NOOMS, DIT ZEEMAN. (D.18.) 6¹⁵/₁₆ × 2¾ in.

PLATE 4. ANCIENNE PORTE DU PALAIS DE JUSTICE. (D.19). THIRD STATE. 3⁷/₁₆ × 3³/₈ in.

PLATE 5. ARMES SYMBOLIQUES DE LA VILLE DE PARIS. (D.21.) THIRD STATE. 5³/₈ × 4³/₈ in.

PLATE 6. LE STRYGE. (D.23.) EIGHTH STATE. 6¾ × 5⅛ in.

PLATE 7. LE PETIT PONT. (D.24.) FIFTH STATE. 10¼ × 7½ in.

PLATE 8. L’ARCHE DU PONT NOTRE-DAME. (D.25.) THIRD STATE. 6 × 7¾ in.

PLATE 9. LA GALERIE NOTRE-DAME. (D.26.) THIRD STATE. 11⅛ × 6¹⁵/₁₆ in.

PLATE 10. LA RUE DES MAUVAIS GARÇONS (D.27.) THIRD STATE. 5 × 3⁷/₈ in.

PLATE 11. LA TOUR DE L’HORLOGE. (D.28.) THIRD STATE. 10⁵/₁₆ × 7¼ in.

PLATE 12. TOURELLE DE LA RUE DE LA TIXÉRANDERIE. (D.29.) SECOND STATE. 9¾ × 5³/₁₆ in.

PLATE 13. SAINT-ÉTIENNE-DU-MONT. (D.30.) FIFTH STATE. 9¾ × 5⅛ in.

PLATE 14. LA POMPE NOTRE-DAME. (D.31.) NINTH STATE. 6¾ × 9⁷/₈ in.

PLATE 15. LA PETITE POMPE. (D.32.) SECOND STATE. 4¼ x 3¼ in.

PLATE 16. LE PONT-NEUF. (D.33.) EIGHTH STATE. 7³/₁₆ × 7¼ in.

PLATE 17. LE PONT-AU-CHANGE. (D.84.) SECOND STATE. 6⅛ × 13¹/₁₆ in.

PLATE 18. LE PONT-AU-CHANGE. (D.34.) NINTH STATE. 6¼ × 13¹/₁₆ in.

PLATE 19. L’ESPÉRANCE. (D.35.) (VERS DESTINÉS À ACCOMPAGNER LE PONT-AU-CHANGE.) 2½ × 5in.

PLATE 20. LA MORGUE. (D. 36.) THIRD STATE. 9⅛ × 8⅛ in.

PLATE 21. L’HÔTELLERIE DE LA MORT. (D.37.) TWO PLATES EACH 4¾ × 1³/₈ in.

PLATE 22. L’ABSIDE DE NOTRE-DAME DE PARIS. (D.38.) FOURTH STATE. 6½ × 11¾ in.

PLATE 23. TOMBEAU DE MOLIÈRE. (D.40.) SECOND STATE. 2⁵/₈ × 2¾ in.

PLATE 24. CHARLES MERYON, 1858. BY LÉOPOLD FLAMENG. 8¾ × 10¾ in.

PLATE 25. TOURELLE DE LA RUE DE L’ÉCOLE-DE-MÉDECINE. (D.41.) SIXTH STATE. 8³/₈ × 5³/₁₆ in.

PLATE 26. TOURELLE DE LA RUE DE L’ÉCOLE-DE-MÉDECINE. (D.41) NINTH STATE. 8³/₈ × 5³/₁₆ in.

PLATE 27. RUE DES CHANTRES. (D.42.) FIRST STATE. 11¾ × 5⁷/₈ in.

PLATE 28. RUE DES CHANTRES. (D.42.) FOURTH STATE. 11¾ × 5⁷/₈ in.

PLATE 29. COLLÈGE HENRI IV. (D.48.) SIXTH STATE. 11⁵/₈ × 18⁷/₈ in.

PLATE 30. BAIN-FROID CHEVRIER. (D. 44.) FOURTH STATE. 5⅛ × 5⁵/₈ in.

PLATE 31. LE MINISTÈRE DE LA MARINE. (D. 45.) FIRST STATE. 6⁵/₈ × 5¾ in.

PLATE 32. LE MINISTÈRE DE LA MARINE. (D. 45.) FIFTH STATE. 6⁵/₈ × 5¾ in.

PLATE 33. LE PONT-NEUF ET LA SAMARITAINE (D. 46.) THIRD STATE. 5¹¹/₁₆ × 8 in.

PLATE 34. LE PONT-AU-CHANGE VERS 1784, D’APRÈS NICOLLE. (D. 47.) THIRD STATE. 5⁵/₁₆ × 9³/₈ in.

PLATE 36. LA SALLE DES PAS-PERDUS À L’ANCIEN PALAIS-DE-JUSTICE. (D. 48.) FOURTH STATE. 10⁵/₈ × 17⅛ in.

PLATE 36. RUE PIROUETTE AUX HALLES. (D. 49.) THIRD STATE. 6⅛ × 4⁹/₁₆ in.

PLATE 37. PARTIE DE LA CITÉ VERS LA FIN DU XVIIe SIÈCLE. (D. 51.) SEVENTH STATE. 6 × 12⁵/₈ in.

PLATE 38. L’ANCIEN LOUVRE, D’APRÈS UNE PEINTURE DE ZEEMAN. (D. 53.) FIFTH STATE. 6⁵/₈ × 10½ in.

PLATE 39. PORTE D’UN ANCIEN COUVENT À BOURGES. (D. 54.) SECOND STATE. 6⁵/₈ x 4¾ in.

PLATE 40. RUE DES TOILES À BOURGES. (D. 55.) FIFTH STATE. 8½ × 4¾ in.

PLATE 41. ANCIENNE HABITATION À BOURGES. (D. 56.) FOURTH STATE. 9⁵/₈ x 5⁷/₁₆ in.

PLATE 42. ENTRÉE DU COUVENT DES CAPUCINS À ATHÈNES. (D. 61.) THIRD STATE. 7⁵/₈ × 5 in.

PLATE 43. NOUVELLE-CALÉDONIE. GRANDE CASE INDIGÈNE SUR LE CHEMIN DE BALLADE À POEPO. (D. 67.) FOURTH STATE. 5⁵/₈ × 9¾ in.

PLATE 44. OCÉANIE, PECHE AUX PALMES. (D. 68.) FOURTH STATE. 6¼ × 13¼ in.

PLATE 45. LA CHAUMIÈRE DU COLON. (D. 72.) THIRD STATE. 3⅛ × 3 in.

PLATE 46. PRÔ-VOLANT DES ÎLES MULGRAVE. (D. 74.) FIFTH STATE. 5¾ × 3⅛ in.

PLATE 47. L. J.-MARIE BIZEUL. (D.83.) FOURTH STATE 6½ × 4⁵/₈ in.