STEINLEN 
 AND HIS ART 
 
 TWENTY-FOUR CARTOONS 
 
 WITH A CRITICAL INTRODUCTION AND DESCRIPTIVE NOTES 
 
 NEW-YORK ■ BRENTANO ■ 1912 
 
STEINLEN AND HIS ART. 
 
 T HE following pages offer a selection from the work of one who ranks among 
 the great artists of France. And this not only from the artistic standpoint. 
 In the education and improvement of the more ignorant and degraded section of 
 the people — especially French people — the pictures of Steinlen have played 
 a very important part, and, by the magic of their inspiration, have often proved 
 more effective than the harangues of the most famous orators and demagogues. 
 
 No illustrator of our time has been more successful in the interpretation of 
 French character and of Parisian character in particular, none more able in the 
 delineation of its countless aspects and manifestations. Wherever his art is exer¬ 
 cised, the result is perfect and assured. 
 
 Nor is this altogether extraordinary, because in Steinlen’s pictures the figures 
 and attitudes of men and women, the very groupings of animals, are made to 
 express a psychology so striking in its significance as to be almost oppressive. 
 Again and again one may be confronted by one of these drawings, and experience 
 the same emotion, the same surprise at the impulse hidden and unexplained, 
 which yet can thrill so strangely the imagination. 
 
 Is it astonishing, then, that an artist of this stamp has become the founder 
 of a school, and can claim, throughout France and even Europe, a large following 
 of pupils, not to mention a whole crowd of imitators and plagiarists? 
 
 The French Government itself has not failed to realise the importance of 
 Steinlen as a force in politics, and has even felt some uneasiness at a popularity 
 so extensive as to appear almost dangerous to the national security. It was for 
 this reason that the Chambard Socialiste found itself suddenly forbidden to issue 
 certain numbers containing drawings by Steinlen of a too revolutionary nature. 
 These drawings were considered dangerous by the authorities, who were no doubt 
 influenced by their desire to restrain the popular unrest which was particularly 
 active at the time, owing to the strike at the mines of the Pas de Calais. Simul¬ 
 taneously it was rumoured that pressure was being put on the artist to leave 
 France for a while, a course which calls to mind the exiles and excommunications 
 which, in other countries, have been the fate of so many men of outstanding 
 genius. Whether the rumour be true or false, it serves at any rate as a convinc¬ 
 ing proof of the amazing force of Steinlen’s artistic personality. 
 
 For Steinlen, pre-eminently among draughtsmen, has known how to endow 
 his art with a social, an almost economic significance. The misery of the poor, 
 their immorality, the corruption that is rampant everywhere and in every class, 
 such are his themes. The picture of things thus conjured up may well appear 
 little short of a menace to the future, a menace above all to those at the head 
 of affairs. No wonder the authorities like to close their eyes. No wonder they are 
 
6 
 
 anxious to be rid of such a prophet, even to the extent of ordering him to leave 
 their country and shake off its dust from his feet. 
 
 Only a few years ago the number of doubtful characters in Paris ( apaches , 
 procurers, and dangerous criminals) was estimated at 30,000. The police, on the 
 other hand, was a body only some 8,000 strong. Such a disparity is deplorable, 
 for it is a fact that nowhere else in Europe is crime so bold and shameless, by 
 day and by night, as it is in the shadow of La Ville Lumiere. The apaches, 
 especially, wage war against the police like veritable wild beasts, inventing for 
 this purpose methods of almost diabolical originality. A police officer, on ap¬ 
 proaching what appears to be a gentleman in an automobile, is killed by a revolver 
 fired point-blank by the motorist, who turns out to be an apache in disguise; 
 while the infamous Liaboeuf, with his leather bracelets furnished with spikes of 
 iron, is only one more example of the malignant weapons of defence which are 
 being adopted by the up-to-date criminal. Too cowardly to use the ordinary 
 human means of selfprotection, he adopts the methods of the porcupine! 
 
 So much for the tigers and the wolves of Paris. There are also its hyenas, 
 prowling round the outlying quarters of the city, solitary, the better to hunt and 
 catch their human prey. Along the banks of the river they lurk, catlike, waiting 
 for sunset and the darkness that shall provide a fit veil for their horrible trade 
 of savage and stealthy assassination. 
 
 And she has too, this city of splendor her little gutter-snipes, her children 
 that are the very incarnation of poverty, rummaging about, for all the world 
 like little animals, among the offal, and quarrelling over the rags they find 
 there. And Paris, finally, harbours her serpents, brilliantly habited, luxuriously 
 housed, but dangerous none the less; and her vipers, that wait shamefully till 
 fall of day and then come out from their sordid lairs with appalling boldness to 
 work mischief on the race of men. Women these, or what once were women. 
 
 It is not, though, to such types only that the art of Steinlen is attracted. 
 He shows us the whole of Paris, and France itself, and that from every possible 
 aspect. The life of Paris, indeed, he has seen and known in all its completeness. 
 That life so complicated, so troubled, so nervous, so often diseased, so invariably 
 feverish, he has studied experimentally, and with the eyes of genius. So it is that 
 each drawing, each sketch, whether in colours or in black and white, becomes in 
 its groups of figures, faces, furniture, or surroundings, the expression of a diagnosis. 
 Steinlen, no less psychologist than artist, is naturally concerned for the most part 
 with the life of the metropolis which he has also made his home, and the 
 artist's choice in this respect has risen doubtless from his realization of the fact 
 that Paris is the heart of France, and that being diseased, and dangerous there¬ 
 fore to the whole organism, it is there that treatment is most needed. 
 
 Critics have often pretended to explain the much-imitated quality of the 
 master’s style and the peculiar cachet parisien which pervades it, by the fact 
 that Steinlen has passed the greater part of his life in Montmartre, a quarter 
 notoriously devoted to bohemian artists, demi-mondaines, good-for-nothings, idlers 
 and vagabonds of all descriptions. But this is only half the truth and likely to 
 
7 
 
 lead to misunderstanding. For that which primarily inspires a man of great creative 
 power is not the special aspect of things so much as their very essence. What 
 must have touched Steinlen most cannot then be conceived simply as the life of 
 Montmartre, but rather as the essential life of Paris as he found it reflected there. 
 In making Montmartre his home, Steinlen simply chose that quarter of the city 
 which inevitably attracts to itself those sections of the population in whom the 
 essential spirit of Paris is most flagrantly demonstrated. And in this, as a true 
 student of psychology, he acted wisely, inevitably; allowing the effect of his 
 environment upon himself to exercise its due and normal influence on the 
 external direction, so to speak, of his talent. 
 
 In this connection it should be noted that Steinlen is not French by birth, 
 but Swiss, though at the age of 23, a full-grown man, he was born again at 
 Paris. It is said that a novel of Zola’s first drew him there. It is therefore a 
 reasonable surmise that the artist of the pen made a profound impression on his 
 brother of the pencil. Yet it must be borne in mind that facts such as these 
 represent probably little more than a coincidence, and only illustrate what was 
 said above as to the influence of external conditions on the art of a master. The 
 motive power of the artist remains inexplicable. Derived from other sources, it 
 is but little affected by the hazards of this life. Silently it grows out of 
 actions and re-actions in the soul of the man of genius, mysterious even to him¬ 
 self. For is it not possible — probable even — that a book by Dostoieffsky might 
 have attracted Steinlen to the other end of Europe with consequences to his art 
 similar to those which followed his residence in Paris ? 
 
 That Steinlen seems more powerful as a personality than most of his con¬ 
 temporaries results from the fact that he envisages life more intensely, more 
 vehemently than they. He is more penetrated by his subjects than other artists, 
 and so is better able to pierce to their fundamentals. So also is he able to render 
 outward appearances in a style which reveals so particularly and exactly their 
 character that when confronted at an exhibition by one of his pictures amid a 
 crowd of alien works, one cries out almost instinctively, "There’s a Steinlen!” 
 
 This style, naturally enough, has found a host of imitators. It is seductive 
 especially to young artists, sometimes to the extent of endangering individuality. 
 But for him who is thoroughly imbued with the authentic work of the master, 
 the counterfeit will be readily detected. There can be no mistake, for the imitation 
 is like an envelope, sealed, it is true, but with a seal which is obviously a forgery. 
 
 When all is said, it remains an almost impossible task to portray by verbal 
 details the inner quality of a work of art. It is much easier to insist on the 
 negative side than the positive, to point a contrast than to demonstrate the real 
 source of its individuality. Pursuing the easier line of criticism, one may say that 
 in the works of Steinlen it will be wasted labour to search for intricacy, com¬ 
 plexity of line, refinement or nuance of colour. Like all the greatest artists, 
 Steinlen seeks and finds his effects by the simplest means. With a palette of 
 only three or four colours he wields the wand of a magician, and transforms the 
 most trivial objects into things of the most valuable significance. In some such 
 
8 
 
 way Rodin has also worked, in the not wholly dissimilar medium of marble. 
 For, in a sense, the sculptor and the artist in black and white share a common 
 difficulty which does not face those painters who have at their command the whole 
 complex range of colour out of which to pick and choose at will. Steinlen has 
 discovered that greater secret of selection and simplicity — virtues which have 
 been praised so eloquently by almost every writer on art. Voltaire, indeed, has 
 put the matter in a nutshell when he says, very wittily, that “the secret of being 
 a bore is the art of saying everything”; while Schopenhauer, in his chapter on 
 the Metaphysic of the Beautiful (Parerga et Paralogomena) calls attention to the 
 well known paradox, that the effect produced by a complete picture is often far 
 less profound than that of the simple rough sketch on which the picture is based. 
 The truth of these two observations, and others of the same kind, seems to 
 consist particularly in this, that the great geniuses of the world have always dealt 
 with the essential, and that for the artist who has penetrated to the essential, 
 unrelated secondary qualities need not loom too large. It is by the representation 
 of inherent character rather than of accidental or special features that works of 
 art absorb us and make us think of the eternal verities. This is a mysterious 
 conception, but one which all true lovers of fine art will understand. It suggests 
 the reason why it is so important that the creative impulse should have its source 
 in the essential rather than the external, and explains also, incidentally, how it is 
 that this impulse is often shown at its strongest in the mere sketch, the rough 
 outline, the melody still unharmonised, the piece of sculpture that yet lacks the 
 crowning touch. Secondary features come after, and it is not in them that we 
 must search for the breath of life. They only add a decoration, splendid perhaps, 
 but for ever extraneous. Such an aesthetic theory is well applicable to the drawings 
 of Steinlen. For if ever there was an artist who went straight to the heart of 
 his subject, that artist is he; so that, whether he is presenting to us the figure of 
 a man of Paris, or of Lyons, or France itself, it is always the image of universal 
 humanity that he shows us — humanity with all its weakness, its passion, its 
 happiness and its sorrows. 
 
 It may be readily understood that art of this kind lends itself pre-emi¬ 
 nently to combination with literature and poetry. Hence springs the collaboration 
 with the popular and witty poet Aristide Bruant, which has resulted in those two 
 admirable and charming collections of French chansons known as Dans la Rue 
 and Sur la Route. So, too, the French author, Emil Morel, could have chosen 
 no better illustrator than Steinlen for his book dealing with the life of the miner, 
 Les Gueules Noires. 
 
 So much for the principal characteristics of Steinlen’s art. Let the reader now 
 proceed to consider the actual examples which follow. As a help to the proper 
 estimation of them this slight Introduction may perhaps be of some value. We 
 shall, in any case, say no more, except to accompany each drawing with a short 
 explanatory note or a brief reflection on subject or situation, where such seems 
 to be required. 
 
I. 
 
 PORTRAIT OF STEINLEN. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE OUTRAGE OF THE PAS DE CALAIS. 
 
 This drawing was made in 1893, and has reference to the dismissal of 
 800 miners from the works of the Calais Gas Company. This dismissal, said 
 the popular press at the time, was equivalent to a sentence of death, because 
 all the French mining companies were at that time leagued together in a 
 confederation. This meant the institution of a general lock-out. 
 
 III. 
 
 MISERY IN THE SNOW. 
 
 This picture of a procession of unemployed needs no comment. It is the 
 reality itself. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ON STRIKE. 
 
 This appeared in La F&uille, an anarchist journal, and affords a good 
 example of what was said in the introduction concerning the simplicity of Stein- 
 len’s method. Here is no complication of line or detail. A few strokes are all 
 that is needed to express the cruel and disdainful attitude of the soldiers towards 
 the workmen over whom they are keeping guard. 
 
 V. 
 
 A DISHONOURABLE PROPOSAL. 
 
 “Choose, my pretty one, choose. You are free to stay with me on my own 
 terms, or to leave my employment.” Such an episode is, alas, only too common 
 in the life of the working woman, especially in Paris. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE CHILDREN AND THE RICH MAN’S DOG. 
 
 Some children are foraging in a dust-bin. The impertinent little dog near 
 Ly, in his embroidered covering, points a vivid contrast between wealth and 
 poverty. 
 
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 VII. 
 
 HOT CHESTNUTS. 
 
 This drawing is inspired by a poem by Jules Youy. The children are 
 famished and half frozen. With the penny which they have begged, they are 
 buying hot chestnuts. The girl is about to eat them straight away. But the boy 
 prevents her. The more practical of the two, he bids her warm her hands from 
 them first, and eat them afterwards. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE THIEF. 
 
 A terrible representation of incipient crime. Here, in the face of the boy, 
 are expressed all the instincts, the latent possibilities of evil, the very lust of 
 theft, realising itself and claiming its victim. 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 Scene: a country village. The villagers are coming out of church, gossiping 
 together over the details of the day. Some of the women and children stand 
 about listening to an old beggar singing in the street. Quite the type of wan¬ 
 dering beggar is he, roaming from village to village, imposing on the simple 
 country folk with his romantic decrepitude. All this is expressed most sensi¬ 
 tively in the man’s whole pose, and especially in his face. And he sings — bleats 
 like a sheep, rather — the same old song, day after day, week after week. He 
 is a sly fellow, and a little hysterical, touching the women when occasion offers, 
 and chucking the girls under the chin. 
 
 X. 
 
 MISERY. 
 
 A young mother, destitute, her baby dying on her knee, dying of hunger, 
 content to die. The mother also is helpless, half storved, with no force left even 
 to feed her baby. The whole figure is eloquent of a dull, stupid misery, the 
 misery which has forgotten how to help itself, and is next door to madness. 
 
 XI. 
 
 WAITING THEIR TURN. 
 
 A scene in a soup kitchen. 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE ORGAN-PLAYER. 
 
 Remarkable for the suggestion of colour, conveyed by three simple tints. 
 
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 XIII. 
 
 THE CROSSING-SWEEPERS. 
 
 Early morning, the wonderful moment when night wakes into day. Behind 
 that great building which resembles the Opera, the sky is reddening. In the fore¬ 
 ground a humorous scene is being enacted. Two crossing-sweepers, old friends, 
 meet by chance for the first time after many years of separation. The result — 
 for we are in France — is obvious. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 AN APACHE. 
 
 He is a mystery. Whence does he come? Whither is he going? What does 
 he want? That is his secret. When day dims to evening, and darkness falls on 
 the Seine, then out he comes like a beast of prey, wandering along the river 
 bank, tracking among the shadows. Suddenly, he looms up before some fright¬ 
 ened passer-by. A knife gleams, and before the other has time to think of 
 defending himself, the deed is done. And after he has despoiled his victim, he 
 makes away as silently as he came. 
 
 XV. 
 
 AT THE BALL. 
 
 The clumsy dancers in the background remind one somewhat of those 
 rather brutally realistic dancers in some of the fair-scenes of Peter Breughel: a 
 similarity, no doubt, unconscious on Steinlen’s part. 
 
 The scene in the foreground is a touching one. Note the contrast between 
 the fine gentleman with his trimmed moustache, his shiny top-hat and artistic 
 tie, and the delicate little girl apparently far gone in consumption. The atmo¬ 
 sphere of viciousness that hangs over it all is unpleasant to a degree, yet incom¬ 
 parable in the ability of its suggestion. 
 
 XVI, XVII, XVIII. 
 
 IN THE SUBURBS. 
 
 In this series of prints Steinlen is depicting feminine vice at its lowest and 
 most sordid. Women, who have not even the pretence of womanliness, ply their 
 trade as best they may, under conditions of the utmost degradation. This is the 
 dark side which the conventional conception of Paris as the gay city falsifies 
 and conceals. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 THE LUMP OF SUGAR. 
 
 A picture which must appeal to all lovers of animals. 
 
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 XX. 
 
 THE RETURN FROM THE WASH-HOUSE. 
 
 The public wash-houses are one of the institutions of Paris. Here is a group 
 of muscular young women bringing home their clean linen tied up in bundles. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE STRIKER. 
 
 A dangerous figure, this man who makes it his business to excite his 
 comrades by revolutionary theories, encouraged too often by a state of semi¬ 
 intoxication. It is in just such an atmosphere as this that the political propaganda 
 of the poor is carried on. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 A procession of work-people following the hearse which carries the body 
 of their late employer. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 METAMORPHOSIS. 
 
 Suggested by a poem of Raoul Gineste. Midnight has struck, and from the 
 chimneys of the city rise witches, riding through the air on their broomsticks. 
 An example of the more fantastic side of Steinlen’s art, and remarkable as 
 demonstrating how close is his grasp of actuality even when dealing with the 
 wildest flights of the imagination. The realism of this drawing in no sense falls 
 short of that displayed in his most every-day subjects. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 SUBURBAN LOVE. 
 


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