their homes with woodcuts or engravings instead of paintings.
Pictures are wanted, with figures carefully drawn, explicit pictures,
finished, natural in appearance, with plenty of detail in figures and
accessories, something appealing to their humor, to their piety, to
their own sphere of interest. Hence the tendency to carry every scene
into the familiar setting of actuality; hence the interest in the
natural surroundings of the scene; hence the predominance of Biblical
and religious subjects which appeal to the pious; and for others the
scenes of daily life, tournaments, soldiers, not to forget plates
and books of designs for the use of craftsmen. The production of
picture-like prints in which hand coloring was not to be considered,
necessarily brought about a speedy development of technique. Even in
early work it seems as though the German engraver realized, more than
his Italian contemporary, the possibilities of the engraved plate;
the figures are quaint, reminiscent of the Gothic past, but they are
well cut, in clear, sweeping outline. The shading is simple, but not
timid or awkward, and pleasantly follows and accents the form. Few
of these fifteenth-century engravers have left us as much as a name
or the most meager data as to their lives. In many cases we have not
even a date, a sign, or an initial placed somewhere on the print, as
a means of identification. We are conscious, in these early examples,
of the artistic spirit in which the engraver treats the saint’s
picture and the playing-card, extensive fields, exploited already by
primitive woodcut. A choice between eminent representatives among the
anonymous engravers would lie between the so-called Master of the
Playing-Cards, the Master of the Amsterdam Cabinet, and Master E.
S. An illustration of the excellence achieved by the last named artist
will be found in his presentation of the Madonna of Einsiedeln. Notice
the development of the picture element, the sureness with which the
graver is used, long strokes and delicate touches, varying with the
needs of modeling and design. This mastery over the medium is yet more
apparent in the engravings of Martin Schongauer, the leading figure in
fifteenth-century engraving. In his work we still discern the peculiar
characteristics of the period, long slim hands and feet, an emaciation
which brings the head into prominence, a tendency--reminiscent of
the Middle Ages--to treat each object independently, as a unit, as a
symbol of its kind; but then what purity and sincerity emanate from
his figures. In his “Death of the Virgin,” what a harmonious effect,
what keenness of observation. He knows little of the rendering of
nudity,--all Northern artists are hampered in that way,--but his
bodies, though lacking in structural skill, are wonderfully well
caught in pose and gesture. His observation and his resourceful
imagination were fully recognized by both Dürer and Raphael, who both
availed themselves of his achievements. The graver helps to round
the forms, by following the direction of the curves. Long, steady,
curving strokes, emphasized in the deep shadows, breaking up--in the
lights--into dots which blend into the high lights of white paper. No
hesitating, little criss-cross strokes here, but a dignified simplicity
of line which enhances the dignity and simplicity of his compositions.
Remember that in order to appreciate these essential qualities of
line and of resulting effect, you must consult the original prints;
half-tone illustrations cannot be expected to convey more than a
general idea of the originals.
[Illustration: DEATH OF THE VIRGIN
Martin Schongauer]
It would be unfair to attribute all this artistic development to German
initiative alone. Italy has practically no share in it, at this
period, but the close commercial relations existing between Germany
and the Burgundian Netherlands must have facilitated an artistic
intercourse most beneficial to the former country. The stupendous
creations of the brothers Van Eyck, of Van der Weyden, Memling, Van
der Goes, and others did induce workers in the artistic crafts to
visit the Low Countries. Their contemplation must have been a source
of stimulating inspiration to the German painters, and indirectly to
German engraving. Direct influence there could not be, since we look in
vain through the ranks of this flourishing school of Flemish painters
for any manifestation in the graphic arts. Only the arts of opulence:
painting, costly illuminated manuscripts with miniatures, or the woven
tapestries of Arras and Brussels, brocades, and laces, were produced in
the prosperous towns and at the brilliant ducal court of Burgundy.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SIBILLA SAMIA
Florence, 15th Century]
[Illustration: CLIO, FROM THE SO-CALLED TAROCCHI
Northern Italy, 15th Century]
[Illustration: BATTLE OF NUDE MEN
Antonio Pollajuolo]
[Illustration: CHRIST BETWEEN TWO SAINTS
Andrea Mantegna]
Early Italian engraving begins with the niello of the goldsmith,
little silver plates for ornamental uses, with minute scenes and
figures, usually well cut, as might certainly be expected in a guild so
highly skilled. It is interesting to follow engraving as it broadens
beyond the neat and primarily ornamental sphere of the craft, into the
large field of art. Florence, the center of dignified, conservative
art, the Florence of Botticelli has given us the two classical series
of “Sibyls” and “Prophets.” The manner of execution, as we see in the
example shown, is still that of the goldsmith, fond of ornament, of
detail, shading with minute strokes, close together, which blend to
form a tone. The other example is selected from a North Italian series
of the same period. It forms part of what by some authorities is
thought to be a set of “Tarocchi,” a game of cards peculiar to Italy.
Less severe, more graceful than the Florentine example, it is another
triumph of the goldsmith in the field of the graphic arts. From him
engraving passes under the sway of the painter. If we compare
Italian and German graver-work of those days, a plate of Mantegna, for
instance, and a plate of Schongauer, we shall readily perceive that
in engraving the German master _thinks_ in line. The Italian painter
thinks, not in line, but in masses of light and shade, in terms of
the antique marbles, which he has studied with such enthusiasm. His
design goes on the copper as it would be jotted down on paper with
the pen, without consideration of the graver, except that it seems a
useful implement for multiplying his sketches, which are wanted in
many studios and workshops. A simple, even outline, and for shading,
parallel lines, straight and close together, generally in a uniform
diagonal direction,--that is all. Fine early impressions from plates
of this character have quite the charm of a drawing; deep shadow-tones
are then visible, caused by a system of slight, tone-giving lines
over the heavier shadings. When these have worn off, they leave only
a system of hard, wiry-looking shade-strokes; unfortunately the good
early impressions are very, very rare, so that we are accustomed
to look upon the gray, worn impressions usually found as being the
actual work of the artist, which is unfair. The absorbing interest of
antique bas-reliefs is evident in the large “Battle of Nude Men,” by
Antonio Pollajuolo, breathing the enthusiasm with which Italy told
anew the artistic message of the distant past, yet lacking the poise
and moderation which we admire in the grand classical sculptures. In
his eagerness to proclaim the beauty and power of the human body in
vigorous action, he far outstrips his powers of expression, yet his
muscular exaggerations need not materially lessen our enjoyment of this
powerful, expressive print. In Andrea Mantegna, we reach the central
figure of this early period of Italian engraving. In him are combined
the humanist’s devotion to classical art and the fiery energy of a
man of action, filled with his art, rugged, stern, taking from
nature and antiquity the forms of artistic expression. At his hands
the world is invested with a grandeur seldom achieved, inspiring to
his contemporaries, helpful and stimulating to young Dürer in his
strivings toward greater breadth, simplicity, and unity of composition.
In Mantegna’s “Christ between two Saints,” we find the same scant means
of graver-work which he employed in all his austere compositions: a
well-defined outline, even, without swelling, softening accents, simple
shading, generally in a uniform diagonal direction; nowhere an attempt
at texture, or differentiation of color. The subjects are all treated
as though they were cut in high relief on slabs of stone, without
variation of surface or suggestion of distance. Venetian influence
mitigates the ruggedness of Mantegna’s gaunt, imposing “John the
Baptist,” by means of the unusual, soft, stippling technique adopted
by Giulio Campagnola, which gives the print more the appearance of a
grainy wash drawing, in contrast with the usual pen-and-ink aspect
of early Italian prints. Scores of other important examples might be
adduced, but they can easily be found in any good history of engraving.
[Illustration: ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST
Giulio Campagnola]
IV
ITALY
The sixteenth century brings new developments to be noted, new factors
to be considered. In Germany it rings in the culmination of artistic
development under the leadership of Albrecht Dürer, whose towering
personality lifts both engraving and woodcut to high levels of
excellence. The cultivation of the technique of engraving has carried
Germany far and away beyond the South, in a technical perfection duly
appreciated in Italy; and when the demand for prints grows, when they
become a marketable article, the Italian engraver copies German prints
in order to gain the requisite technical knowledge. This Italian
_engraver_, however, is not a painter-engraver as in Germany, an
artist, namely, engraving his own designs. We know that the Italian
artist continues intent on grander tasks and indifferent to the charms
of the graver, hence a division of labor: the busy painter jots down
the sketch or cartoon and the professional engraver undertakes the
lengthy task of transferring, of interpreting the artist’s drawing
by means of the graver. The subtle continuity of thought, from the
first conception to the finished plate, which we prize in original
engraving, is necessarily destroyed in such collaboration, but the
engraver, working exclusively on the copper plate, is able infinitely
to vary and develop the resources of the process by dint of practice. A
noted instance of such collaboration is found in the “Death of Dido,”
engraved after Raphael’s design by Marcantonio Raimondi. The lifework
of Marcantonio is mainly devoted to the reproduction of sketches of the
great Urbinate, whose genius inspires the engraver and lifts him to the
highest rank in sixteenth-century Italy. His pliable graver, trained
by much copying after Dürer and other Northern masters, delicately
outlines the figures. The shade-strokes follow and accent in
easy curves the rounding forms and the gradations of light and shade.
There is variety in the line, no longer the uniform diagonal shading
of the early period. It is, in a word, excellent engraving, which is
seen likewise in his “Adam and Eve,” after a figure sketch of Raphael.
The latter print shows also the pitfalls which await the thoughtless
copyist. Raphael’s cartoon for this print shows the two lovely figures
without any background whatever; Marcantonio, always at a loss without
a definite model to copy, looked for a suitable background, and found
it in a German print which he faithfully pieced in, peasant houses and
all, as a setting for Adam and Eve!
[Illustration: DEATH OF DIDO
Marcantonio Raimondi]
[Illustration: ADAM AND EVE
Marcantonio Raimondi]
About this time the publisher of prints appears, buying plates from
engravers and publishing them, centralizing a commerce which--before
this--had been carried on by the engraver himself or by the artist who
employed him. This commercial factor lowers the standard of engraving,
both by the choice of subjects demanded of the engraver, with a view
mainly to a ready sale, and by the quality of work tolerated. The
only excuse for some of the plates published must have been their
cheapness. Under these conditions and, moreover, at a time when
painting was rapidly declining, one cannot look to the graphic arts
for masterpieces. Venice, it is true, is yet in her glory; encouraged
by the interest of Titian, woodcut flourishes for a while at the hands
of Boldrini and others. As to engraving, Venetian art demanded of it
a technique strongly expressive of color; a new impetus was needed
for a revival of the medium. This was supplied by engravers from
the Netherlands, where the technique of engraving had been highly
elaborated in this the latter part of the sixteenth century. A noted
representative of this Italian revival is the painter-engraver Agostino
Carracci. If we examine this portrait of Titian, engraved after the
great master’s own painting, Carracci’s skill in engraving will be
at once apparent. Long parallel strokes, close together, give a rich
deep hue to cloak and cap. The brown fur trimming, with its loose,
broad handling, contrasts effectively with the delicate work on beard
and hair. The short, swelling stroke used in the light background,
the clear, transparent cross-hatching on the cheek, all denote great
advance in differentiating this variety of textures.
[Illustration: TITIAN
Agostino Carracci]
[Illustration: MADONNA AND CHILD
Federigo Barocci]
Thereafter, as engraving sinks into routine and commercialism, let
us turn to etching, a process likewise introduced from the North and
practiced in Italy since the sixteenth century. Its easy technique
offered many advantages to the artist over the intricacies which
had crept into engraving, to be mastered only by long practice. The
ease and freedom of the etched line, its expressiveness and--not
least--the accidental effects resulting from unforeseen action of
the acid, appealed to the artists, but the process came too late to
share with engraving in the reflected glory of the grand Renaissance
period. Etching is the medium used by Parmeggiano, Primaticcio, Guido
Reni, and many others, but they do not take the graphic arts any more
seriously than their predecessors in Italian art. Their plates are
hasty experimental jottings, which show that their main interest is
centered on more pretentious conceptions; only rarely do they attempt
the picture-like elaboration which we find in this “Madonna and
Child.” It is the work of Federigo Barocci, certainly one of the best
painter-etchers of the period, and reveals to some extent the rich,
effective accents, the freshness and freedom of line attainable in
etching, which is to find such splendid exponents in the Netherlands.
It is well worth while, though not within the scope of this condensed
review, to dally amidst these sixteenth-century etchings, and then,
proceeding to a later period, to linger over the powerful, direct
presentations of Giuseppe Ribera and to glance at the figure
sketches of Salvator Rosa. The eighteenth century brings us the spirits
compositions of the two Tiepolo, effective, with sharp, sparkling play
of light and shade, and Antonio Canale (Canaletto), who makes us feel
the very breeze which blows, in his etchings, and the warmth of the
sunshine which bathes his Venetian views. What more delightful glimpse
of the Italian coast than this “Torre di Malghera” with the dazzling
white watch-tower and the exquisite, luminous handling of sea, sky, and
distance. The same eighteenth century witnesses an intense revival of
activity in engraving. The technical triumphs then achieved in France
stimulate Italian engravers, whose mastery of an elaborate technique
is plentifully exemplified in the plates of Raphael Morghen, Volpato,
Longhi, Toschi, and a number of other well-known men in the large group
of “classical” engravers. Their energies and skill are mainly devoted
to the interpretation of those glorious creations of painters of the
Renaissance, which had entirely baffled the early engravers with their
limited technical resources. These thousands of plates were exceedingly
popular for many years, some of them--the “Last Supper” after Leonardo,
engraved by Morghen, for instance--is much sought for to this day
in fine impressions. Broadly speaking, while these engravings are
certainly skillful achievements in a highly systematized, elaborate
technique, their technical perfection is aggressive and imparts
a formal coldness, a lifelessness, and a metallic quality, which
doubtless explains--in part--their decline in popular favor during
recent years.
[Illustration: TORRE DI MALGHERA
Antonio Canale]
[Illustration: DIOGENES
Chiaroscuro woodcut by Ugo da Carpi]
Before leaving the South, we must yet cast a glance at an interesting
though minor manifestation of the graphic arts, the _chiaroscuro_.
Repeated allusions have been made to the demand for color on the part
of the general public. In response to this ever-present craving for
the joy of varied tones, the _chiaroscuro_ takes a step in the
direction of painting by translating color into several graded tones
giving the effect of a semi-colored wash-drawing. The process was used
in various ways, in various countries and at various times, but the
golden era of _chiaroscuro_ is the sixteenth century in Italy. The
example selected, “Diogenes,” by Ugo da Carpi, is one of the finest of
the period. It is impossible to render in this monochrome reproduction
the rich glow of superimposed tones of golden and greenish browns,
which constitute its greatest charm; _chiaroscuros_ must be seen
themselves to be appreciated. One can then see what manner of success
attended the wood-cutter’s endeavors, the endless possibilities of
variety of tones become apparent, also the difficulty attendant upon
the accurate placing (register) of the paper on the three or more
successive blocks printed from, one for each tone. A few scattered
experiments in Germany, during the period of extensive production in
northern Italy, and thereafter a short-lived appearance here and there,
such is--briefly--the history of the _chiaroscuro_ woodcut.
V
GERMANY
In former chapters, we have followed the origin of woodcut and
engraving in Germany, to the end of the fifteenth century; we have
seen woodcut grow from the crude conceits of the early craftsman to
illustrations of distinct artistic merit; we have followed engraving
from its origin in the goldsmith’s shop to the expressive beauty of
Martin Schongauer’s plates. Both are to culminate during the early
sixteenth century. At this time Maximilian reigned over the vast
German Empire: “Massimiliano pochi denari” the Italians called him,
because of the insufficiency of the imperial resources. Ambitious to
perpetuate the glory of his illustrious house, yet quite unable to
vie with the Pope and Italian princes in the erection of sumptuous
edifices, the Emperor saw in the effective and inexpensive woodcut
a means of transmitting to posterity a record of his own deeds and
adventures and of the virtues of his ancestors. The leading German
artists of the time were employed on designs for their imperial patron,
chiefly Hans Burgkmair of Augsburg, and Albrecht Dürer of Nuremberg.
With Dürer we reach the zenith of the graphic arts in Germany. He
stands, a monumental figure, seen from afar, influencing--not only
his German contemporaries, but the artists of Italy and of the Low
Countries. Dürer was a thoughtful, forceful, imaginative leader; he
was more--he had thought out the resources, the latent possibilities
of engraving and of woodcut, he knew their limitations and the manner
of presentation most adequate for either process. These principles
of treatment are illustrated in his prints, set forth so clearly as
to be readily understood and applied by other engravers, by other
designers for woodcut. For this reason he has become a teacher for
all times. His development may be followed through many stages,
from his early manner, imitative of fifteenth-century masters, to the
pictorial finish and wonderful play of light in his grand “St. Jerome
in his Study.” Italian influence is felt in many of his early plates,
the “Effect of Jealousy,” for instance, the “Apollo and Diana,” or the
charming “Madonna with the Monkey”; but his vigorous individuality was
not swayed long nor impaired by these Southern charms which were soon
to overwhelm Northern art. Even in the days when young Dürer responds
with enthusiasm to the power, to the passionate energy of Mantegna,
his German characteristics are plainly apparent; I am thinking of his
famous series of illustrations to the Apocalypse. Take the powerful
print of the “Four Horsemen,” with their resistless onward rush,
violent action vividly expressed, every figure, every detail instinct
with close scrutiny and conscientious rendering of nature. Then as to
technique, see how outline and shade-stroke are made to yield their
full measure of expressiveness. None of the uniform diagonal shading
of early Italian masters is found in these woodcuts; nor shall we
find such summary treatment in Dürer’s engravings. If we turn to his
“Arms with the Skull,” for instance, we see there no mere suggestion
of shadow, every line tells. The outline swells and accents the
form, the shading-strokes curve and bend to accent the rounding, the
modeling of the figure; the quality, strength, tonality of the line
varies with every texture which is to be expressed, such as the metal
of the helmet, the feathers on the crest, the cloth, the leather,
the wood, the hair. The modest means of black lines and white paper,
which at first had seemed barely sufficient for suggestive outline
and indications of the rounding of form, are now becoming a medium
fit for the presentation of all the infinite phenomena of visible
nature. From the large, predominant figures massed in the immediate
foreground of early woodcut series like the Apocalypse, or the
large Passion, Dürer progresses to a deepening of the scene in the
serene woodcut illustrations of the “Life of the Virgin.” We are led
along the pleasant, peaceful paths of life, we are spared the anguish
and suffering of the previous series. In this illustration, for
instance, we see the Holy Family at rest in Egypt; Joseph is working
at his trade, while the Mother watches her sleeping Babe, and angels
busy themselves or gambol about the Holy group. The scene is laid in
a pleasing German landscape, among low hills, which carry out the
serenity of the composition.
[Illustration: APOCALYPSE: THE FOUR HORSEMEN
Woodcut. Albrecht Dürer]
[Illustration: ARMS WITH THE SKULL
Albrecht Dürer]
[Illustration: LIFE OF THE VIRGIN: REST IN EGYPT
Woodcut. Albrecht Dürer]
The fullness of Dürer’s powers as an engraver is manifested in the
three plates which typify man’s attitude toward life. First comes the
good, steadfast knight, the champion of righteousness, unmindful of
his weird escort of death and a hellish monster as he wends his way
through a dark defile to his home on a distant sunlit hill. We then see
despondent, bitter Melancholy, vainly demanding of science the answer
to life’s riddle. Finally, we come to St. Jerome, serene in his chosen
solitude: a mind resigned, at peace with the world which has been left
behind. These engravings take a very high rank, indeed, in German art.
Such technique of engraving as that here found had never before been
even approached: broad gleams of sunlight brighten the room, striking
the walls and floor; in the silvery half-light every texture, every
substance is expressed by differentiations of the graver-stroke. Yet
with all the infinite detail which abounds in the plate, the tonality
is so sustained and detail so discreetly introduced, that the general
feeling, after all, is one of simplicity.
[Illustration: ST. JEROME IN HIS STUDY
Albrecht Dürer]
One other aspect of Dürer’s genius must be introduced, namely, his
mastery in portraiture. In the strong face of Cardinal Albrecht of
Mayence, the keenest observation of the man is revealed with means
astonishingly simple. Notice how far from extreme depth the
shadings have been kept; all in the range of silvery grays, which Dürer
sought in preference to dark shadows. The values in the figure, the
arms and the inscription have all received careful consideration from
this master whose genius was, indeed, the faculty of taking infinite
pains.
[Illustration: CARDINAL ALBRECHT OF MAYENCE
Albrecht Dürer]
From this brief glance at the great Nuremberg artist, we must turn
now to his Northern contemporary, Lucas van Leyden, likewise a
painter-engraver, and a solitary figure in the Netherlands at that
period. Bred in the realistic maxims of the fifteenth century, his
Northern origin asserts itself in the careful detail and truthful
presentation of nature, in the characteristic types of his figures.
Truthful rendering of natural facts--as has been mentioned before--is
a quality common to Northern artists. Dürer, in his fondness for
psychological themes, is in tune with the humanists of his time.
Leyden, though strongly influenced by the German master, has not
Dürer’s depth of thought. He does not infuse that deeper meaning
into his plates. Following the bent of his Germanic mind, he reverts
to the simple, daily scenes of life, and when he undertakes to render
scenes from other times and from distant places, he transforms them
into events of his own day and his own surroundings. He can thus
express himself with the directness of an eye-witness, and therein
lies much of the charm of his work, which was much appreciated even in
Italy. One of the few large plates of Lucas van Leyden will illustrate
his artistic and technical powers. The “Adoration of the Magi,”
broad in composition, sober and harmonious in the handling of the
graver, typically Northern in feeling, is perhaps the finest of his
achievements. Later in life his restless, searching mind was diverted
to the allurements of Italian grace of form, and gave itself up to its
influence without reserve.
[Illustration: ADORATION OF THE MAGI
Lucas van Leyden]