Chapter X: The Nineteenth Century 121 (2)

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.

Antonio Canale]

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.

Woodcut. Albrecht Dürer]

Albrecht Dürer]

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.

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.

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.

Lucas van Leyden]

A great wave of enthusiasm for Southern ideals swept over the 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.

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.

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.

Paul Pontius]

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.

Cornel Visscher]

Rembrandt]

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.

Rembrandt]

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.

Adriaen van Ostade]

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.

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.

Jacques Callot]

In the early sixteenth century we meet in Jean Duvet an engraver of original merit. He adopts in his work the style of certain early Italian engravers. In his compositions he harks back to Dürer’s imaginative genius. A little later Etienne Delaune appears, affecting the elongated figures of contemporary Italians, while in his graver-work one discerns a resemblance with the manner of the German “little masters.” In etching a vital impulse is given to French work about the middle of the sixteenth century. At that time Francis I called Italian artists to France for the decoration of his castle of Fontainebleau. Many of these Italian artists--Primaticcio, Fantuzzi, and others--made use of etching occasionally in a hasty, sketchy style. The sensuous charm of their lithe, long figures appealed to French taste, and elicited a response in the plates etched by Jean Cousin, for instance. In all this early production we feel the dominating influence of Italian art, with an occasional echo of German thought or German technique. France seeks her own language in the graphic arts, and timidly ventures forth in an original manner of expression. This diffidence is of brief duration, however, and by the end of the seventeenth century we find her a leader in engraving, and by no means in engraving only. As we enter upon this broad development, we must cast a glance on two personalities of distinct originality, namely, Jacques Callot and Claude Lorrain. Both are natives of Lorraine, both are schooled in the art centers of Italy. Callot, endowed with an impulsive, expressive style, full of personal qualities, vividly describes in his plates the habits, customs, pleasures, the life, in short, of France and Italy at his time. He peoples his plates with multitudes of minute figures, with well-accented gestures. These little figures are written down, as it were, with consummate skill; they are expressive in their concerted action; in their grouping, these peasants, soldiers, beggars, cripples, actors, courtiers, as they troop across the scene, unfold a bird’s-eye view of the world in the midst of which the artist lived. From the vast number of his prints, let us select for illustration one of his views of old Paris, with the Tour de Nesle prominent in the foreground. In his hundreds of plates we see the miseries of warfare described as well as the gayety of public festivities and the pomp of ceremonies of state which he witnessed in Florence. Claude Lorrain, an originator and gifted exponent of landscape, has occasionally taken up the etching-needle, largely in an experimental spirit, modifying his technique at different times, and showing himself, like other noted painters and occasional etchers, infinitely more clever in the design than in the actual etching. The plate chosen for illustration, called “Le Bouvier,” is the most famous of his prints; in it we perceive (provided we see a fine early impression) the rich tonal effect, the sense of airiness, of space, the delightful composition, the knowledge of nature’s forms and of atmospheric aspects, which appear far more markedly still in the paintings of this master.

Claude Lorrain]

The new awakening in French engraving in the seventeenth century is especially notable in portrait engraving. Germany has lost its leadership in the graphic arts; the great days of Italian engraving are likewise over, though Italy continues a source of inspiration to painters of all nations, she can add no vital, helpful impulse to engraving. Such life-giving influences could only come from the Netherlands, where the great tide of art is now at its height, where painting _and_ the graphic arts have unfolded all their glory. Here the etcher’s and the engraver’s technique, very highly developed, is growing yet in perfection. What could be more natural than the powerful stimulus exerted by such excellence on French engraving? Its greatest triumphs coincide, in point of time, with the period of political supremacy of France during the reign of Louis XIV. The “Grand Monarque” infused grandeur into all the arts. The stately graver is the medium aptly chosen for numerous portraits of the “roi soleil” himself. In this period of teeming fertility in portraiture, we find an abundance of likenesses of statesmen, generals, princes, nobles, of leaders in art, science, literature, and of distinguished churchmen. One cannot look through these prints without being struck by the prevalence, among them, of an element of stately aloofness which removes these men and women from the everyday sphere of life. They lack some of the freedom, some of the lifelike appearance, which characterize the achievements of the Netherlanders.

Claude Mellan]

In glancing through the ranks of the French engravers, we come upon Claude Mellan, an artist-engraver of striking originality. He departs from the beaten track of cross-hatching, and develops a manner of shading which relies--for the rendering of shadows--solely on the swelling line peculiar to graver-work. His technique is seen in the portrait of the young Duc de Guise here reproduced. Lines very lightly traced in the lighted portions, grow in strength and swell proportionately to the depth of shadow to be expressed. The direction of the line and its degree of heaviness are the means of expression used by Mellan. The difficulties inherent in such a technique are evident, and it is equally evident that the elimination of cross-hatching is a heavy handicap to an engraver. Naturally enough, Claude Mellan did not have any following to speak of among engravers.

Jean Morin]

From this peculiar but fascinating artist, we pass on to another engraver of marked individuality, Jean Morin, an excellent technician who studied with profit the works of his Dutch and Flemish predecessors. He combines etching and graver-work in his plates, modeling the flesh exquisitely by means of minute stipple-like touches. Among his best productions the portrait of Antoine Vitré stands forth as a plate of great effectiveness and power, with rich, dark tones of shadow and brilliant lights.

The school of Philippe de Champaigne, which disciplined the powers of Morin, set upon his way the greatest of French portrait engravers, Robert Nanteuil. A finished draughtsman, known by his pastel portraits, and an engraver who carried the technique of the graver to perfection; he knows how to blend delicacy and strength in plates like this portrait of Pompone de Bellièvre. The longer one studies such a print, the more one realizes the unerring faculty of this master in the selection of line; each stroke fits the substance which it is meant to express. The eloquence of the graver is a matter too subtle for language, and far transcends the possibilities of reproduction, however skillful; a half-hour spent with some good, early impressions of Nanteuil prints will prove the truth of this assertion. Everything is expressed there, and wondrously well expressed, yet one is quite unconscious of any display of virtuosity. Nanteuil was too great an artist not to subordinate the beauty of line, the marvelous finish of elaborate detail, to the main consideration, namely, the beauty of a well-balanced, well-harmonized _ensemble_. He was an artist-engraver in the true sense of the word, since many of his finest plates have been drawn from life, as well as engraved by him.

Robert Nanteuil]

Gérard Edelinck]

It is usual, in reviews of this period of art, to find the name of the noted Fleming, Gérard Edelinck, mentioned side by side with Nanteuil. With a technique akin to that of the Rubens school, in long, easy strokes, he models his figures and his draperies, and while he lacks the creative originality of Nanteuil, working always after the designs of other artists, his range of subjects is far more extended. In the striking likeness of the painter Philippe de Champaigne, he has left us a splendid example of his powers. His plate after the “Madonna of Francis I,” by Raphael, is a model of interpretative engraving, and when he undertakes to reproduce the canvases of Lebrun, he produces prints admittedly more attractive and brilliant than the originals.

Another man whom we cannot afford to omit from even this hasty enumeration is Antoine Masson, were it only for that superb “gray-haired man,” the portrait of Guillaume de Brisacier, brilliant, powerful, revealing an absolute mastery of the graver. The fact is, that we are drifting now toward an ever-growing worship of technique, at the expense of higher issues, artistically. Many names claim our notice, as we continue our survey, and a few will not be denied,--Gérard Audran, with his great series of the “Triumphs of Alexander,” a series, which, for breadth and beauty of treatment, assures him a place among the leaders, near Edelinck.

Pierre Imbert Drevet]

As we glance at portrait engraving farther afield, there is at least one name, among the notables of the eighteenth century, which demands recognition here: Pierre Imbert Drevet, a member of that well-known family of engravers. Perhaps his greatest title to fame is the portrait--here shown--of Jacques Bénigne Bossuet, the prelate, writer, and orator. Many regard this plate as the greatest engraving of the century. In a manner typical of those pomp-loving times, the eminent churchman is represented amidst columns and sweeping draperies. Here, indeed, we have the last word of technical resourcefulness in expanses of gorgeous silks and delicate laces, and many other textures and substances. If one should feel that all this elaboration of the setting distracts the attention from the portrait itself, he must blame the epoch and the painter whose design the engraver needs must follow.

Now the reign of Louis XIV is over, and we come to the Regency, and to Louis XV. Sensitive art, always the expression of the prevailing attitude of mind, shifts to that well-known sphere of light-hearted, trifling, idyllic, _galant_ subjects, a sphere which we naturally connect with Watteau and Lancret, with Boucher and Greuze: subjects of which the illustration “Champs Élysées,” after Watteau, by Tardieu, is a fairly typical example. Playful shepherd scenes abound, dainty figures masquerading as housekeepers, school-teachers, laundresses; or else we have glimpses of the intimacy of the boudoir and chamber with sensuous allusions more or less veiled. It is clear that such scenes required a medium other than the serious, dignified form of engraving, which we have seen heretofore. Such light, gay, piquant scenes demanded a freer medium of expression; also they required the merry touch of light, joyous coloring.

Nicolas Henri Tardieu]

In response to these demands, Gilles Demarteau perfected a process admirably suited to rendering the effect of sketchy crayon drawing. Leprince devised the process known as “aquatint,” by means of which the washes of water-color or sepia might be closely imitated upon the copper. Both these media came into frequent use, and often a brown ink was used in the printing, being deemed more appropriate to the subjects than the usual black, or the copper plate was painted with colors for each impression, a lengthy and delicate operation, and these color-prints--not to be confounded with prints colored by hand--are prized by many amateurs. A word here on these color-prints: LeBlon evolved a cumbersome method of three-color printing, engraving one plate for each color; often a fourth plate was added, as a foundation for the other three. The other method, mentioned above, was generally adopted, quite a number of engravers devoting themselves to this color-work.

Now again temptation spreads out a world of enticing themes for discussion, which we must pass by: ornaments, elaborate decorations of theses, emblems, armorial designs, calendars. Even the teeming field of book decoration must not keep us long, entrancing though it be as a field for specializing study. It has already been remarked that in this field, formerly held by woodcut, the intaglio processes had assumed a monopoly. Artists of great repute were called upon for designs to ornament the elegant volumes offered to literary amateurs. The character of the illustration and ornamentation was dictated, not so much by the contents of the books as by the predilections of the buying public. A very high degree of technical efficiency prevailed among the engravers who busied themselves with illustrations for literary productions; they entered so thoroughly into the spirit of the designs that their own individual characteristics are hard to discern in the mass of light, dainty embellishments of the printed page. The fine harmony which blends together type and ornamentation in the books of that period, would be well worth imitation in our own advanced days. The subjects are amorous for the most part, as well befits a time when Venus ruled in French society. If you glance through the illustrated editions of the “Fables,” or the “Baisers” of Dorat, the “Temple de Gnide” of Montesquieu, the “Henriade” of Voltaire, the “Contes nouveaux” of Marmontel, or the “Chansons” of Delaborde, you will find there the best efforts of such masters of illustration as Eisen, Choffard, Gravelot, Moreau, and others, who struck the note demanded by the social _élite_ of their day. They idealize a hollow, shamming society, which they carry into fairyland by an art true in its rendering of a play-acting world. The dimpled, rosy Venus, the shepherdess of well-rounded, shapely figure,--these ideals of beauty are not Greek, nor of the great Renaissance period. Such divinities are found in Versailles gardens; their prototypes are Jeanne Dubarry and her like, the ladies of the court, the beauties of the stage; and for this reason French art of the eighteenth century is genuine and true, because it does not seek its ideals in the dim past, but chooses them in contemporary life.

As we follow engraving, it declines from a spontaneous exercise of the thinking, artistic mind into drudgery of systematized routine. Engraving becomes petrified into a thing of tradition, with elaborate systems of lines and dots, to be dutifully acquired during long years of apprenticeship. Originality is frowned down by rigid precept, selection is made subservient to accepted prescription. In this so-called “classical” style of engraving, Georg Wille moves at ease, among the most perplexing technical intricacies. A virtuoso, and a purist, Wille deems the burin the one and only admissible tool of an engraver. The careful detail, the minutely finished paintings of Gérard Dou, Mieris, or Netscher give play to his powers. The plate reproduced here is the famous “Satin Gown” after Terborch, so called because of the wonderful rendering of the girl’s dress, with its silvery sheen and glossy shadows. The lighting of the scene, the modeling of forms, the translation of color-values into terms of black and white, have all received careful consideration, nor do we feel in the work of this leader the cold metallic hardness and monotony which often wearies in the immense output of the classical engravers. The names of Bervic, excellent but slow and excessively systematic, Boucher Desnoyers, the brilliant technician, come to mind among Frenchmen. Italy, however, became the real home of classical engraving, and names such as Longhi, Raphael Morghen, Toschi, with their large plates, chiefly dealing with religious subjects, must be familiar to any amateur of prints. Their fame, the great favor which they enjoyed with the art-loving public for a while, brought pupils from all parts of Europe to these Italian leaders.

Georg Wille]

In France the triumphs which painter-etching achieved in the Netherlands had but a faint echo: Callot and Claude Lorrain have already been mentioned. Painters like Lebrun or Largillière left the graphic arts to the engravers; they viewed their skillful translations of painting into black and white as the work of colleagues, not craftsmen. We have noted the influence of Watteau on the “etcher-engravers”; he himself handled the etching-point at times, in a few sketchy plates; Boucher, Fragonard, and others dabbled in etching a little, nothing more. Jean Jacques de Boissieu and Jean Pierre Norblin, the latter an enthusiastic student of Rembrandt’s perplexing technique, should be mentioned as leading exponents of etching before the great nineteenth-century revival to which we shall presently turn. Now we must leave France, with the classical engravers at the helm, their formula spreading far and wide and with the vignettists busy on their portrayal of French society at the end of the _ancien régime_. As Watteau had shown us the customs of the grandfathers, at the beginning of the century, so Saint-Aubin, Eisen, Moreau, and other clever artists show us the life of the grandchildren: a society bound up in the pursuit of pleasure, blindly rushing on toward exile or the guillotine of the French Revolution.

Francisco Goya]

Before proceeding to English prints, let us glance at the one prominent figure in Spanish etching: Francisco Goya. A painter-etcher of intense feeling, fiery, impulsive, he feels acutely the evils under which his country is groaning. In an art largely allusive and bitterly satirical, he conjures before us an abyss of human wretchedness, greed, and misrule in those strange “Caprichos” from which an illustration has been selected. In other series he shows with the same graphic power the hazards of the bull-fight, and again the fearful consequences of warfare. Filled with his thought, he compels the copper to express the intensity of his conception. His medium is whatever will convey the message, usually an etched outline, modeled into with aquatint in a bold sketchy manner. His few, rare lithographs have the same powerful characteristics, and it is this energy of expression which makes his prints distinctive and desirable.

VIII

ENGLAND

In point of time England is last, among European countries, in bringing forth any important manifestation in the realm of prints. During the early centuries of engraving the artistic demands of the country were supplied by foreigners. In the seventeenth century Wenzel Hollar accompanied the Earl of Arundel to England, and the name of this prolific etcher is, without a doubt, the most important for that period. Among his 2750 plates are landscapes, views, portraits, plates of costumes and events of the day, allegories, and what-not: all done with the skill of the practiced etcher, though not exalted by the master-touch of genius. Other foreign-born engravers are not lacking; among native Britons, Faithorne, Robert White, and George Vertue are the most noted. A portrait by William Faithorne gives an idea of early English work. It cannot offer anything new, relying as it does on the art of the Continent for every artistic impulse; imitative, not yet creative. Even well-known men of the eighteenth century--Robert Strange, William Sharp, and William Woollett, with his large ideal landscapes--hark back to the teachings of the Continent and follow in the beaten track. One personality stands out prominently in this period, a man with a message delivered by means of his prints, the painter-engraver William Hogarth, who, like Goya, uses the needle and graver as a medium for a powerful crusade against the social evils of his day. These he castigates with biting satire and forceful preachment. His might be called a literary art, with the stress laid on the moral theme, not on technical perfection.

William Faithorne]

Francesco Bartolozzi]

Among the foreign talent Francesco Bartolozzi is preëminent as a stipple engraver in England. He is the foremost interpreter of the dainty compositions of Angelica Kauffmann and of Cipriani. Our illustration, “The Hon. Miss Bingham,” after Sir Joshua Reynolds, shows the Italian engraver at his best. The whole plate is a mass of minute dots which form the lines and the tones of the portrait. An adaptation, in a more minute grain, of the French crayon-manner, the English stipple lends itself admirably to the smooth blendings and soft modeling of the sweet allegorical plates, which Bartolozzi produced with indefatigable industry. Stipple prints quickly gained the favor not only of the British public, but also held sway for a while on the Continent. The process was eminently suited, and often used, for color-printing, or for slight suggestions of color introduced in the printing, to add to their charm.