ARTICLE IN “THE CITY,” AN ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE, NEW YORK, JANUARY 1,
1872.
Engraving is one of the Fine Arts, and in this beautiful family has
been the especial hand-maiden of Painting. Another sister is now
coming forward to join this service, lending to it the charm of color.
If, in our day, the “Chromo” can do more than Engraving, it cannot
impair the value of the early masters. With them there is no rivalry
or competition. Historically, as well as æsthetically, they will be
masters always.
Everybody knows something of engraving, as of printing, with which
it was associated in origin. School-books, illustrated papers, and
shop-windows are the ordinary opportunities open to all. But, while
creating a transient interest, or perhaps quickening the taste, they
furnish little with regard to the art itself, especially in other days.
And yet, looking at an engraving, like looking at a book, may be the
beginning of a new pleasure and a new study.
Each person has his own story. Mine is simple. Suffering from
continued prostration, disabling me from the ordinary activities of
life, I turned to engravings for employment and pastime. With the
invaluable assistance of that devoted connoisseur, the late Dr. Thies,
I went through the Gray Collection at Cambridge, enjoying it like a
picture-gallery. Other collections in our country were examined also.
Then, in Paris, while undergoing severe medical treatment, my daily
medicine for weeks was the vast cabinet of engravings, then called
Imperial, now National, counted by the million, where was everything to
please or instruct. Thinking of those kindly portfolios, I make this
record of gratitude, as to benefactors. Perhaps some other invalid,
seeking occupation without burden, may find in them the solace that I
did. Happily, it is not necessary to visit Paris for the purpose. Other
collections, on a smaller scale, will furnish the same remedy.
In any considerable collection Portraits occupy an important place.
Their multitude may be inferred, when I mention that in one series of
portfolios in the Paris Cabinet I counted no less than forty-seven
portraits of Franklin and forty-three of Lafayette, with an equal
number of Washington, while all the early Presidents were numerously
represented. But in this large company there are very few possessing
artistic value. The great portraits of modern times constitute a very
short list, like the great poems or histories; and it is the same
with engravings as with pictures. Sir Joshua Reynolds, explaining
the difference between an historical painter and a portrait-painter,
remarks that the former “paints man in general; a portrait-painter a
particular man, and consequently a defective model.”[143] A portrait,
therefore, may be an accurate presentment of its subject without
æsthetic value.
But here, as in other things, genius exercises its accustomed sway
without limitation. Even the difficulties of “a defective model” did
not prevent Raphael, Titian, Rembrandt, Rubens, Velasquez, or Van Dyck
from producing portraits precious in the history of Art. It would be
easy to mention heads by Raphael yielding in value to only two or
three of his larger masterpieces, like the Dresden Madonna. Charles
the Fifth stooped to pick up the pencil of Titian, saying, “It becomes
Cæsar to serve Titian!” True enough; but this unprecedented compliment
from the imperial successor of Charlemagne attests the glory of the
portrait-painter. The female figures of Titian, so much admired under
the names of Flora, La Bella, his Daughter, his Mistress, and even
his Venus were portraits from life. Rembrandt turned from his great
triumphs in his own peculiar school to portraits of unwonted power;
so also did Rubens, showing that in this department his universality
of conquest was not arrested. To these must be added Velasquez
and Van Dyck, each of infinite genius, who won fame especially as
portrait-painters. And what other title has Sir Joshua himself?
Historical pictures are often collections of portraits arranged so
as to illustrate an important event. Such is the famous _Peace of
Münster_, by Terburg, just presented by a liberal Englishman to the
National Gallery at London. Here are the plenipotentiaries of Spain
and the United Provinces joining in the ratification of the treaty
which, after eighty years of war, gave peace and independence to the
latter.[144] The engraving by Suyderhoef is rare and interesting.
Similar in character is _The Death of Chatham_, by Copley, where
the illustrious statesman is surrounded by the peers he had been
addressing,--every one a portrait. To this list must be added the
pictures by Trumbull in the Rotunda of the Capitol at Washington,
especially _The Declaration of Independence_, in which Thackeray took a
sincere interest. Standing before these, the author and artist said to
me, “These are the best pictures in the country,”--and he proceeded to
remark on their honesty and fidelity; but doubtless their real value is
in their portraits.
Unquestionably the finest assemblage of portraits anywhere is that of
the artists occupying two halls in the Uffizi Gallery at Florence,
being autographs contributed by the masters themselves. Here is
Raphael, with chestnut-brown hair, and dark eyes full of sensibility,
painted when he was twenty-three, and known by the engraving of
Forster,--Giulio Romano, in black and red chalk on paper,--Masaccio,
one of the fathers of painting, much admired,--Leonardo da Vinci,
beautiful and grand,--Titian, rich and splendid,--Pietro Perugino,
remarkable for execution and expression,--Albert Dürer, rigid,
but masterly,--Gerard Dow, finished according to his own exacting
style,--and Reynolds, with fresh English face: but these are only
examples of this incomparable collection, which was begun as far back
as the Cardinal Leopoldo de’ Medici, and has been happily continued to
the present time. Here are the lions, painted by themselves,--except,
perhaps, the foremost of all, Michel Angelo, whose portrait seems the
work of another. The impression from this collection is confirmed by
that of any group of historic artists. Their portraits excel those
of statesmen, soldiers, or divines, as is easily seen by engravings
accessible to all. The engraved heads in Arnold Houbraken’s biographies
of the Dutch and Flemish painters, in three volumes, are a family of
rare beauty.[145]
The relation of engraving to painting is often discussed; but nobody
has treated it with more knowledge or sentiment than the consummate
engraver Longhi, in his interesting work “La Calcografia.”[146]
Dwelling on the general aid it renders to the lovers of Art, he claims
for it greater merit in “publishing and immortalizing the portraits
and actions of eminent men as an example to the present and future
generations,” and, “better than any other art, serving as a vehicle for
the most extended and remote propagation of a deserved celebrity.”[147]
Even great monuments in porphyry and bronze are less durable than
these light and fragile prints, subject to all the chances of wind,
water, and fire, but prevailing by their numbers where hardness and
tenacity succumb. In other words, it is with engravings as with books;
nor is this the only resemblance between them. According to Longhi, an
engraving is not a copy or an imitation, as is sometimes insisted,
but a translation.[148] The engraver translates into another language,
where light and shade supply the place of colors. The duplication of
a book in the same language is a copy, and so is the duplication of a
picture in the same material. Evidently an engraving is not a copy;
it does not reproduce the original picture, except in drawing and
expression: nor is it a mere imitation; but, as Bryant’s Homer and
Longfellow’s Dante are presentations of the great originals in another
language, so is the engraving a presentation of painting in another
material, which is like another language.
Thus does the engraver vindicate his art. But nobody can examine a
choice print without feeling that it has a merit of its own, different
from any picture, and inferior only to a good picture. A work of
Raphael, or any of the great masters, is better in an engraving of
Longhi or Morghen than in any ordinary copy, and would probably cost
more in the market. A good engraving is an undoubted work of Art;
but this cannot be said of many pictures, which, like Peter Pindar’s
razors, seem made only to sell.
Much that belongs to the painter belongs also to the engraver, who must
have the same knowledge of contours, the same power of expression, the
same sense of beauty, and the same ability in drawing with sureness of
sight, as if, according to Michel Angelo, he had “a pair of compasses
in his eyes.” These qualities in a high degree make the artist, whether
painter or engraver, naturally excel in portraits. But choice portraits
are less numerous in engraving than in painting, for the reason that
painting does not always find a successful translator.
The earliest engraved portraits which attract attention are by
Albert Dürer, who engraved his own work, translating himself. His
eminence as painter was continued as engraver. Here he surpassed his
predecessors,--Martin Schoen in Germany, and Mantegna in Italy,--so
that Longhi does not hesitate to say that “he was the first who carried
this art from infancy, in which he found it, to a condition not far
from flourishing adolescence.”[149] But while recognizing his great
place in the history of engraving, it is impossible not to see that
he is often hard and constrained, if not unfinished. His portrait of
Erasmus is justly famous, and is conspicuous among the prints exhibited
in the British Museum. It is dated 1526, two years before the death
of Dürer, and has helped to extend the fame of the universal scholar
and approved man of letters, who in his own age filled a sphere not
unlike that of Voltaire in a later century. There is another portrait
of Erasmus by Holbein, often repeated; so that two great artists have
contributed to his renown. That by Dürer is admired. The general
fineness of touch, with the accessories of books and flowers, shows the
care in its execution; but it wants expression, and the hands are far
from graceful.
Another most interesting portrait by Dürer, executed in the same
year with the Erasmus, is Philip Melanchthon, the Saint John of the
Reformation, sometimes called “The Teacher of Germany,”--_Preceptor
Germaniæ_. Luther, while speaking of himself as rough, boisterous,
stormy, and altogether warlike, says, “But Master Philippus moves
gently and quietly along, ploughs and plants, sows and waters with
pleasure, according as God hath given him His gifts richly.”[150]
At the date of the print he was twenty-nine years of age, and the
countenance shows the mild reformer.
Agostino Caracci, of the Bolognese family, memorable in Art, added
to considerable success as painter undoubted triumphs as engraver.
His prints are numerous, and many are regarded with favor; but in the
long list not one is so sure of that longevity allotted to Art as his
portrait of Titian, which bears date 1587, eleven years after the
death of the latter. Over it is the inscription, “_Titiani Vecellii
Pictoris celeberrimi ac famosissimi vera effigies_,”--to which is added
beneath, “_Cujus nomen orbis continere non valet_.” Although founded on
originals by Titian himself, it was probably designed by the remarkable
engraver. It is very like, and yet unlike, the familiar portrait of
which we have a recent engraving by Mandel, from a repetition in
the Gallery of Berlin. Looking at it, we are reminded of the terms
by which Vasari described the great painter: “_Giudizioso, bello e
stupendo_.”[151] Such a head, with such visible power, justifies these
words, or at least makes us believe them entirely applicable. It is
broad, bold, strong, and instinct with life.
This print, like the Erasmus of Dürer, is among those selected for
exhibition at the British Museum; and it deserves the honor. Though
only paper with black lines, it is, by the genius of the artist, as
good as a picture. In all engraving nothing is better.
Contemporary with Caracci was Heinrich Goltzius, at Haarlem, excellent
as painter, but, like the Italian, preëminent as engraver. His prints
show mastery of the art, making something like an epoch in its history.
His unwearied skill in the use of the burin appears in a tradition
gathered by Longhi from Wille,--that, having commenced a line, he
carried it to the end without once stopping, while the long and bright
threads of copper turned up were brushed aside by his flowing beard,
which at the end of a day’s labor so shone in the light of the candles,
that his companions nicknamed him _The Man with the Golden Beard_.[152]
There are prints by him which shine more than his beard. Among his
masterpieces is the portrait of his instructor, Dirk Coornhert,
engraver, poet, musician, and vindicator of his country, and author
of the National air, “William of Nassau,” whose passion for Liberty
did not prevent him from giving to the world translations of Cicero’s
“Offices” and Seneca’s treatise on Beneficence. But the portrait of the
engraver himself, as large as life, is one of the most important in the
art. Among the numerous prints by Goltzius, these two will always be
conspicuous.
In Holland Goltzius had eminent successors. Among these were Paulus
Pontius, designer and engraver, whose portrait of Rubens is of great
life and beauty, and Rembrandt, who was not less masterly in engraving
than in painting, as appears sufficiently in his portraits of the
Burgomaster Six, the two Coppenols, the Advocate Tolling, and the
goldsmith Lutma, all showing singular facility and originality.
Contemporary with Rembrandt was Cornelis de Visscher, also designer
and engraver, whose portraits were unsurpassed in boldness and
picturesque effect. At least one authority has accorded to this artist
the palm of engraving, hailing him as “Coryphæus of the Art.”[153]
Among his successful portraits is that of a Cat; but all yield to what
are known as _The Great Beards_, being the portraits of Willem de
Ryck, an ophthalmist at Amsterdam, and Gellius de Bouma, the Zutphen
ecclesiastic. The latter is especially famous. In harmony with the
beard is the heavy face, seventy-seven years old, showing the fulness
of long-continued potations, and hands like the face, original and
powerful, if not beautiful.
In contrast with Visscher was his countryman Van Dyck, who painted
portraits with constant beauty, and carried into etching the same
Virgilian taste and skill. His aquafortis was not less gentle than his
pencil. Among his etched portraits I would select that of Snyders,
the animal-painter, as supremely beautiful. M. Renouvier, in his
learned and elaborate work, “Des Types et des Manières des Maîtres
Graveurs,” though usually moderate in praise, speaks of these sketches
as possessing “a boldness and a delicacy which charm, being taken at
the height of the genius of the painter who best knew how to idealize
portrait painting.”[154]
* * * * *
Such are illustrative instances from Germany, Italy, and Holland. As
yet, power rather than beauty presided, unless in the etchings of Van
Dyck. But the reign of Louis the Fourteenth was beginning to assert a
supremacy in engraving as in literature. The great school of French
engravers which appeared at this time brought the art to a splendid
perfection, which many think has not been equalled since; so that
Masson, Nanteuil, Edelinck, and Drevet may claim fellowship in genius
with their immortal contemporaries, Corneille, Racine, La Fontaine, and
Molière.
The school was opened by Claude Mellan, more known as engraver than
painter, and also author of most of the designs he engraved. His
life, beginning with the sixteenth century, was protracted to nearly
ninety years, not without signal honor; for his name appears among the
“Illustrious Men” of France, in the beautiful volumes of Perrault,
which is also a homage to the art he practised. One of his works, for a
long time much admired, was described by this author:--
“It is a head of Christ, designed and shaded with his crown of
thorns, and the blood that trickles on all sides, by one single
stroke, which, beginning at the tip of the nose, and continuing
always in a curve, forms very exactly all that is represented
in the plate, merely by the different thickness of this stroke,
which, according as it is more or less broad, makes the eyes,
nose, mouth, cheeks, hair, blood, and thorns; the whole so well
represented, and with such expression of pain and affliction,
that nothing is more sad or more touching.”[155]
This print is known as _The Sudarium of Saint Veronica_. Longhi records
that it was thought at the time “inimitable,” and was “praised to the
skies,”--adding, “But people think differently now.”[156] At best it is
a curiosity among portraits. A traveller reported some time ago that it
was the sole print on the walls of the room occupied by the Director of
the Imperial Cabinet of Engravings at St. Petersburg.
Morin was a contemporary of Mellan, and less famous at the time.
His style of engraving was peculiar, being a mixture of strokes and
dots, but so harmonized as to produce a pleasing effect. One of the
best engraved portraits in the history of the art is his Cardinal
Bentivoglio; but here he translated Van Dyck, whose picture is among
his best. A fine impression of this print is a choice possession.
Among French masters Antoine Masson is conspicuous for brilliant
hardihood of style, which, though failing in taste, is powerful in
effect. Metal, armor, velvet, feather, seem as if painted. He is also
most successful in the treatment of hair. His immense skill made him
welcome difficulties, as if to show his ability in overcoming them.
His print of Henri de Lorraine, Comte d’Harcourt, known as _Cadet à
la Perle_, from the pearl in the ear, with the date 1667, is often
placed at the head of engraved portraits, although not particularly
pleasing or interesting. The vigorous countenance is aided by the gleam
and sheen of the various substances entering into the costume. Less
powerful, but having a charm of its own, is that of Brisacier, known as
_The Gray-Haired Man_, engraved in 1664. The remarkable representation
of hair in this print has been a model for artists, especially for
Longhi, who recounts that he copied it in his head of Washington.[157]
Somewhat similar is the head of Charrier, the Criminal Judge at Lyons.
Though inferior in hair, it surpasses the other in expression.
Nanteuil was an artist of different character, being to Masson as
Van Dyck to Visscher, with less of vigor than beauty. His original
genius was refined by classical studies and quickened by diligence.
Though dying at the age of forty-eight, he had executed as many as two
hundred and eighty plates, nearly all portraits. The favor he enjoyed
during life has not diminished with time. His works illustrate the
reign of Louis the Fourteenth, and are still admired. Among these are
portraits of the King, Anne of Austria, Johan Baptist van Steenberghen,
called _The Advocate of Holland_, a Heavy Dutchman, François de la
Mothe-Le-Vayer, a fine and delicate work, Turenne, Colbert, Lamoignon,
the poet Loret, Maridat de Serrière, Louise-Marie de Gonzague, Louis
Hesselin, Christina of Sweden,--all masterpieces; but above these
is the Pomponne de Bellièvre, foremost among his masterpieces, and
a chief masterpiece of Art, being, in the judgment of more than one
connoisseur, the most beautiful engraved portrait that exists. That
excellent authority Dr. Thies, who knew engraving more thoroughly and
sympathetically than any person I remember in our country, said, in a
letter to myself, as long ago as March, 1858,--
“When I call Nanteuil’s Pomponne the handsomest engraved
portrait, I express a conviction to which I came when I studied
all the remarkable engraved portraits at the royal cabinet
of engravings in Dresden, and at the large and exquisite
collection there of the late King of Saxony, and in which I was
confirmed, or perhaps to which I was led, by the director of
the two establishments, the late Professor Frenzel.”