entire North about the third decade of the sixteenth century. It
established the supremacy of Italian standards of artistic merit,
which--as we know--were not such as to give new life to the graphic
arts. This wave of Italian influence was felt in the immediate
following of Dürer, in that group of painter-engravers, known to us as
the “little masters,” though _little_ only in the size of their plates.
A high standard of technique is common to them all, with variations in
their perfection. Variations there are also in the measure in which
they yielded to Italian influence. Their graver was devoted to the
rendering of a great variety of subjects; Northern characteristics
are still evident in their portraits, in their Biblical scenes with
German types of figures. Northern customs are depicted with Northern
minuteness; on the other hand, the study of Southern models has
developed in these Northern engravers an appreciation of the beauty of
the nude, which is freely introduced in mythological, allegorical,
Biblical, and other subjects, and very skillfully handled. We are
apt not to appreciate the gravity of this Italian invasion, of this
Southern supremacy in Northern art. Ideal perfection of form was a new
language to the Germanic artists, accustomed to the realistic, faithful
rendering of nature as they saw it, with all its facts, perfections,
and imperfections alike. The change often meant that the artist forgot
his native tongue, if the expression may be used--a harsh tongue, if
you will, but sincere and expressive; in return he acquired, often
but imperfectly, a new language in which his expression needs must be
imitative, not original.
[Illustration: TOURNAMENT
Woodcut. Lucas Cranach]
The true Northern spirit still greets us in the woodcut productions of
that period. Woodcut was used for subjects of wide popular interest,
for Passion series, portraits, religious subjects, and all manner
of illustration. Dürer had used the relief process extensively for
such purposes, likewise Burgkmair, who was, with Dürer, one of
the foremost designers for the extensive publications of Emperor
Maximilian. Lucas Cranach elected the strong, emphatic woodcut for
much of his graphic work, prominently employed in the service of
the Reformation. An example of his work, this tournament scene, is
a reminder of the times in which he dwelt, and an illustration of
his vivid power of presentation, typically Northern with its crowded
figures.
Other masters there are in plenty, whom we must neglect, as we shift
our abode to Basle for a moment. We find ourselves here, about 1516, in
the midst of a thriving publishing center. Enterprising printers seek
to secure pleasing decorations and illustrations for their scientific
and literary output. They look for a good draughtsman to design some
tasteful headings and end-pieces, borders and initials, and are well
pleased with the samples submitted by a young newcomer, by name Hans
Holbein. At first the cutting of his designs offers some difficulties,
but when the right man has appeared, when Hans Lützelburger has joined
his skill to the genius of Holbein, their joint productions attain
a peerless mastery. High summits in art always invite comparison;
this is true of Dürer and Holbein, even though these two great German
masters are so widely different from each other. Dürer is nowhere
greater than in engraving, while Holbein excels in painting; both are
masters of woodcut. Dürer, with his scholarly, analytical nature,
ponders over the deep, essential meaning which underlies the multitude
of his observations, and sets down his conclusions in types broadly
generalized. His St. Jerome--to quote but one instance--is not so
much a specific old man in his study as the expression of a mental
attitude common to mankind generally. Holbein is more a man of impulse,
quick to express himself in a direct manner full of life. He is more
sensual, and has much feeling for pleasing form and a beautiful flow
of lines. He accents the event itself more strongly than Dürer, who
is given to express himself rather by association of ideas. It is a
significant fact that Dürer chooses his subjects with preference from
the figurative New Testament, with its parables, while Holbein prefers
to illustrate the Old Testament, a book of essentially historical
character. Every scene is plainly told and intensely human in Holbein’s
Biblical illustrations, as well as in that masterpiece of his, the
“Dance of Death.” We cannot but marvel at the feeling of spaciousness
in these small prints, at the lifelike action of the expressive little
figures, at the perfect harmony of these figures and their surroundings.
At the time of Dürer’s death, in 1528, the long period of warfare,
devastation, and misery had begun which was to end only after the
Thirty Years’ War. Emperor Maximilian was dead; Charles V had broken
the power of France in Italy; his mercenaries had sacked Rome, and
incidentally ruined Marcantonio, the Italian engraver. His promising
school was dispersed. It was a period of decline, both north and south
of the Alps.
From that time on, the successive influences of Italy, of the
Netherlands, and of France sway the character of German art. A clever
superficiality develops, which adapts itself to the characteristics of
the art in vogue. Etching, the sister art of engraving, cannot boast
any signal triumphs during this period of German art, although, from
the early days of its adoption, it was used to a considerable extent
by the Hopfer family. Dürer experimented with the process, but soon
returned to engraving. The greatest German etcher of the following
(seventeenth) century, Wenzel Hollar followed the Earl of Arundel to
England, there to build up his fame.
VI
THE NETHERLANDS
The seventeenth century, which witnesses German art in its decline,
brings about a wonderful flowering of art in the neighboring
Netherlands. This country had passed from Burgundian rule to the
Hapsburg dynasty. With the advent of Charles V, it passed under the
rule of Spain. The master hand of that emperor had been able to curb
the feeling of unrest and ferment caused by the Reformation, but the
oppressive measures of his somber successor, Philip II, drove the Dutch
and Flemish people to rise in arms for the defense of their liberties.
A long, cruel war of emancipation ensued, and near its close there came
a parting of the ways which bears directly upon our subject. In 1598,
the division occurred; the southern--Flemish--provinces remained true
to the House of Hapsburg, true also to the long-established Catholic
faith. Consequently their art retained its strongly religious element,
tinged with Italian traditions. The great exponent of this Flemish
trend of art is Peter Paul Rubens, of whom more presently.
The northern (Dutch) provinces adopted the teachings of Calvin, and
soon established their independence. Their churches were bare of any
pictorial adornment; their art was forced, therefore, to develop mainly
in the sphere of home life. If we term Rubens the leader of Flemish
art, Rembrandt stands for the highest development of Dutch art. Between
these two leaders lies a broad field with many blending, interweaving
influences, many local characteristics, in this magnificent epoch.
The only way to approach the subject in a few brief sentences is by
considering as one vast unit the whole period of seventeenth-century
art in the Netherlands, both Dutch and Flemish.
[Illustration: JOHANNES ZURENUS
Hendrik Goltzius]
It will ever be a matter for surprise that this small country
should burst into the full glory of a great period of art at a time
of incessant, strenuous warfare. First the long, exhausting war with
Spain; then a war with England; finally, a war with the powerful France
of Louis XIV. Within the time limit of these wars lie the dates of the
birth of Rubens, and of Rembrandt’s death, marking the culmination
of art in the Netherlands. If we look back to earlier days of Dutch
engraving, we discern the isolated figure of Lucas van Leyden, the
only painter-engraver of fame in the Netherlands at the time of Dürer.
After his death no master of similar merit arose to carry on his
traditions. Engraving, deprived of eminent guidance, sank to levels of
commercialism. Saints’ pictures being always in great demand throughout
Christendom, engravers in the Netherlands devoted their energies
largely to this field, and that country became the center of production
of all kinds of engraved devotional prints. Trained by daily routine
practice, the engravers acquired a high degree of dexterity in handling
the graver. Whole families of engravers--the Wierix, the Van de Passe,
the Galle--devoted themselves to this work, which assumed the character
of a _manufacture_ of engravings. One did the figures, another the
backgrounds, another again the draperies, ornaments, etc., according
to their respective aptitudes. Toward the close of the sixteenth
century, this Northern skill in handling the graver was communicated
to Italy, and there mastered by Agostino Carracci. In Holland manual
dexterity was carried to its height by a virtuoso of the graver,
Hendrik Goltzius. His “Pietà” in the manner of Dürer, and a series of
large plates, in which he exhibits, in turn, characteristics of this
and other noted artists, reveal his technical mastery. They disclose
also his power of close observation, which appears to best advantage
in portraits such as that of Zurenus. Excellent judgment is shown
in the selection of line; the effect is sparkling, brilliant; in fact,
this very brilliancy, this cleverness in the telling use of the line,
becomes an end to be striven for, and no longer the means only employed
to express an artistic thought. This worship of technique carries
Goltzius and his numerous followers to extremes of mannerism, where we
must leave them and turn to the engravers grouped around Rubens.
[Illustration: PETER PAUL RUBENS
Paul Pontius]
[Illustration: JAN BRUEGHEL
Anthony van Dyck]
Peter Paul Rubens perceived the advantages which prints might bring
to a painter by the propagation of his compositions. So he surrounded
himself with experienced engravers, whom he guided by suggestions and
corrections. How well they interpreted the work of the master may be
seen in Rubens’s portrait of himself, engraved by Paul Pontius, one of
the noted engravers of this group. A stride toward the expression of
color is to be perceived in this plate; great variety in the rendering
of cloth, hair, lace, the face, the background and frame. The problem
of expressing color, as well as form, now enters more and more into
the sphere of engraving; a problem much more difficult than would
appear at first thought. Here is the task which faces the engraver: he
must keep true to the original he reproduces, true in form, true in
color values, by a judicious gradation of tone. At the same time he
must strive to make his plate interesting, spirited, brilliant, and
apparently easy and free in handling. Singly these qualities are not
uncommon, but that engraver is far from common, who, having the power
to do such brilliant work, has moreover the wish and ability to efface
himself, and let only the artist speak, whose work he interprets. It is
a claim to distinction for many engravers of the Rubens group that they
came so near to solving this problem. Whether or not Rubens made use
of the etching-needle himself remains a matter for speculation; there
is no doubt, however, that his great pupil--Anthony van Dyck--used
etching very effectively, as will be seen by this portrait taken
from his famous “Iconography.”[4] The likeness is sketched with his
characteristic sureness and ease upon the grounded copper plate. The
biting was doubtless left to the engraver who was to finish the plate.
Neither Rubens nor Van Dyck seems to have been interested in etching
or engraving as such; to them the graphic arts were excellent means of
reproduction, nothing more.
[4] A large series of portraits after Van Dyck, engraved by a
number of the Rubens engravers.
[Illustration: GELLIUS DE BOUMA
Cornel Visscher]
[Illustration: ADORATION OF THE SHEPHERDS
Rembrandt]
[Illustration: THE THREE TREES
Rembrandt]
You will notice that the engraver has begun his work in fine, parallel
lines, close together, in the upper corner of the plate. The print thus
presents one aspect of the use--conjointly--of etching and engraving,
which had then come into universal use. Another example of the combined
use of the two processes, blended into a rich harmonious tone, is the
portrait of Gellius de Bouma by one of the great portrait engravers
of the seventeenth century, Cornel Visscher, an artist who tolerated
no hard-and-fast system in the graphic arts. Here is a vigorous,
well-modeled figure, broadly treated in so interesting a manner that
the means of expression are quite forgotten in the enjoyment of the
effect achieved. A new element now enters the sphere of our interest:
the problem of light, bright or subdued, in infinite gradations.
Interiors with the light focused on one spot; night effects partially
brightened by a torch or lantern, or by a fire, all else enfolded in
darkness. The pioneer in this _clair-obscur_ manner is the painter,
Adam Elzheimer, but no one made more effective use of this play of
light and shade in the graphic arts than Rembrandt. Take the “Adoration
of the Shepherds” as an instance, with the feeble light of the lantern
and the rich tone of surrounding darkness, with indistinct forms of
figures and objects half seen and half guessed, which gain shape as we
look more closely. In the famous plate known as the “Three Trees”
our attention is at first attracted by the vast expanse of threatening
sky, with its lofty thunder-clouds, and the immense plains, with dikes
and level fields stretching to the distant horizon. As we look at the
picture, details appear,--the team behind the trees, the people in
the fields, the couple in the bushes. They are overlooked, then seen,
just as they would be in nature; they keep their subordinate places,
and do not intrude and disturb the general effect of grand simplicity.
Color is so well suggested by differentiations in handling and varying
intensities of tone that one almost forgets the simple black and
white presentation of the scene. As an example of Rembrandt’s mastery
in etching applied to portraiture, no better print could be chosen
than the “Janus Lutma,” especially if we can see it in the glorious
richness exhibited by the first state of the plate. All the resources
of the process are in evidence here,--they are seen in the subtle
modeling, in the insensible gradations of tone, in the brilliancy of
the accents, in the depth of the velvety shadows. It will be readily
understood that such delicate, almost breathlike differences in
shading, cannot long withstand the wear and strain to which they are
subjected at each successive impression. Every print taken from the
plate means rubbing the ink into every one of these delicate incisions
in the copper; then comes the severe pressure as the plate passes
through the press. A soft metal like copper soon shows the effect of
these wearing influences: the delicate ridges of the dry-point work
flatten down, and the edges of the etched lines become blunt. After
a very little while the difference in the impressions grows more
and more noticeable; then comes the touching-up of the plate, in an
endeavor to restore--in a measure--its former brilliancy and freshness;
naturally this modifies the appearance of the print to some extent.
The first of these retouches are probably made by the artist himself;
later on, as the plate again wears, it may have passed into the
hands of dealers, who, in turn, have the copper touched up repeatedly
for further printing. Thus you may have a Rembrandt print, from the
original copper, yet without even the echo of that which the great
master had originally expressed. This applies not to Rembrandt etchings
only, but to prints in general; whatever the print, the first essential
must always be to secure a good impression of it.
[Illustration: JANUS LUTMA
Rembrandt]
[Illustration: TOBIT BLIND
Rembrandt]
We cannot leave Rembrandt without glancing at one of those sketchy
little prints which, upon examination, reveal to us his big-hearted
knowledge of human nature and his keen powers of observation. Here is
the old Tobit, a groping figure, eloquently described by means of a
few telling lines in its pathetic, helpless blindness, the little dog
acting as a guide.
[Illustration: THE SPINNER
Adriaen van Ostade]
[Illustration: THE TRAVELERS
Jacob Ruysdael]
The influence of Rembrandt on his contemporaries and on subsequent
artistic productions is very great indeed; none of his followers,
gifted though they be, approach him in excellence and universality.
To the Northern mind there is a great fascination in presentments
of the life of the common people. Brouwer, Brueghel, Teniers are
among those partial to this theme, and each of them has done some
experimental work with the etching-needle. In Germany we find plates
relating to peasant life among the prints of Dürer, Holbein, and the
little masters. Rembrandt has devoted a good many plates to character
sketches of beggars and of peasants. Among the other Dutch etchers the
greatest interpreter of the peasantry is without doubt Adriaen van
Ostade. He shows them to us at their homes, or at the tavern, smoking,
drinking, dancing, merrymaking. The gay, sunny side of their existence
is revealed in his fifty etchings, which display a thorough command of
the medium employed. In the scene which has been chosen as an example
of his powers, we discern the sympathetic interest in country
life which characterizes all his work. Jacob Ruysdael, the landscape
painter, has sketched on the copper a number of characteristic
subjects, none, perhaps, finer than this clump of sturdy, gnarled oaks,
with roots bathed in a shallow pool. The distant trees are flooded
with sunlight, while the foreground is toned down to a lower key. All
this is done in the simplest possible manner. The whole plate speaks
of close, careful observation, and truthfully, suggestively expresses
actual nature. Another notable feature is the subordination of the
figures. Here, as in Rembrandt’s “Three Trees,” the figures are quite
subordinate; the quiet beauty of the scenery presented is the main
theme of the artist’s message. Passing by numerous other delightful
landscape etchers, Everdingen, Waterloo, Saftleven, likewise the
gifted etcher of animals, Paul Potter, we must turn now to Nicolas
Berghem, who combines animal life with landscape. In his masterpiece,
known as the “Diamond,” there is apparent the close study of nature,
characteristic of the period, also much clever _mise en scène_, but as
we examine the plate more closely, we realize the admixture of Italian
inspiration. The vigor of home influences is weakening, and the art of
the South again asserts itself as we approach the eighteenth century.
The same Southern influence pervades the landscapes of Jan Both;
they are very pleasing, technically fine, but the evil which creeps
into Dutch art is quite evident here. The ideal landscape of Titian,
Poussin, and Claude Lorrain gradually warps the former frank realistic
rendering of nature; elegance, hollow display gradually take the place
of the good, wholesome naturalness of Dutch art.
With the advent of the eighteenth century, painting and the graphic
arts decline to levels which we may pass by in this rapid survey.
[Illustration: THE DIAMOND
Nicolaes Berghem]
VII
FRANCE
Having considered the fate of the graphic arts in Italy, Germany, and
the Netherlands, our attention must dwell for a while on developments
of the printed picture in France. In each of the countries above
mentioned, we have witnessed a definite era of excellence in the sphere
of prints; in Germany and in Italy, this zenith was reached in the late
fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. In the Netherlands, as we have
just seen, the great awakening took place fully a century later. In
this same seventeenth century, toward its close, as art declines in the
Low Countries, French engraving rises to its highest perfection.
We needs must deal briefly with early French productions in relief
and intaglio processes. Woodcut first: some few examples of early
playing-cards which have survived destruction to these days, prove the
trade of the card-printer to have flourished in France as well as in
Germany. Book-printing speedily grew to important proportions; great
printing firms were founded in Lyons and elsewhere, and carried on
an extensive trade. Men of artistic originality, like Geoffroy Tory,
knew how to infuse a distinctive character into type and illustration
of their books; but apart from a few choice spirits, artistic France
is not conspicuous in these early productions. Not only is printing
largely carried on by printers from Germany and Switzerland, but these
countries likewise furnish a large share of the relief-blocks needed
for illustration. The Holbein “Dance of Death” is a notable instance
of this practice. That series of wood-blocks had passed to Lyons, and
there one edition after another was printed from the blocks, until
they were quite worn out. Woodcut never was, in France, the important
means of artistic expression which we have found it to have been in
Germany. Its days sped by unheeded. The chief field of usefulness of
the woodcut, the decoration and illustration of books and the sphere
of the devotional print, were invaded by the intaglio processes. The
woodcut lost ground everywhere in the seventeenth century; it had
practically no share in solving the problems set to the graphic arts
by the rising schools of Dutch, Flemish, and French painters. It sank
to mere imitation of the fashionable book-decorations done in etching
or engraving. The true, bold language of woodcut, spoken during the
sixteenth century, finds no counterpart in the seventeenth; we must,
therefore, turn to engraving, to vindicate France as a great center of
development in the graphic arts.
[Illustration: TOUR DE NESLE
Jacques Callot]