Part 13

The relation of engraving to painting is often discussed; but nobody has treated it with more knowledge or sentiment than the consummate engraver Longhi, in his interesting work “La Calcografia.”[146] Dwelling on the general aid it renders to the lovers of Art, he claims for it greater merit in “publishing and immortalizing the portraits and actions of eminent men as an example to the present and future generations,” and, “better than any other art, serving as a vehicle for the most extended and remote propagation of a deserved celebrity.”[147] Even great monuments in porphyry and bronze are less durable than these light and fragile prints, subject to all the chances of wind, water, and fire, but prevailing by their numbers where hardness and tenacity succumb. In other words, it is with engravings as with books; nor is this the only resemblance between them. According to Longhi, an engraving is not a copy or an imitation, as is sometimes insisted, but a translation.[148] The engraver translates into another language, where light and shade supply the place of colors. The duplication of a book in the same language is a copy, and so is the duplication of a picture in the same material. Evidently an engraving is not a copy; it does not reproduce the original picture, except in drawing and expression: nor is it a mere imitation; but, as Bryant’s Homer and Longfellow’s Dante are presentations of the great originals in another language, so is the engraving a presentation of painting in another material, which is like another language.

Thus does the engraver vindicate his art. But nobody can examine a choice print without feeling that it has a merit of its own, different from any picture, and inferior only to a good picture. A work of Raphael, or any of the great masters, is better in an engraving of Longhi or Morghen than in any ordinary copy, and would probably cost more in the market. A good engraving is an undoubted work of Art; but this cannot be said of many pictures, which, like Peter Pindar’s razors, seem made only to sell.

Much that belongs to the painter belongs also to the engraver, who must have the same knowledge of contours, the same power of expression, the same sense of beauty, and the same ability in drawing with sureness of sight, as if, according to Michel Angelo, he had “a pair of compasses in his eyes.” These qualities in a high degree make the artist, whether painter or engraver, naturally excel in portraits. But choice portraits are less numerous in engraving than in painting, for the reason that painting does not always find a successful translator.

The earliest engraved portraits which attract attention are by Albert Dürer, who engraved his own work, translating himself. His eminence as painter was continued as engraver. Here he surpassed his predecessors,--Martin Schoen in Germany, and Mantegna in Italy,--so that Longhi does not hesitate to say that “he was the first who carried this art from infancy, in which he found it, to a condition not far from flourishing adolescence.”[149] But while recognizing his great place in the history of engraving, it is impossible not to see that he is often hard and constrained, if not unfinished. His portrait of Erasmus is justly famous, and is conspicuous among the prints exhibited in the British Museum. It is dated 1526, two years before the death of Dürer, and has helped to extend the fame of the universal scholar and approved man of letters, who in his own age filled a sphere not unlike that of Voltaire in a later century. There is another portrait of Erasmus by Holbein, often repeated; so that two great artists have contributed to his renown. That by Dürer is admired. The general fineness of touch, with the accessories of books and flowers, shows the care in its execution; but it wants expression, and the hands are far from graceful.

Another most interesting portrait by Dürer, executed in the same year with the Erasmus, is Philip Melanchthon, the Saint John of the Reformation, sometimes called “The Teacher of Germany,”--_Preceptor Germaniæ_. Luther, while speaking of himself as rough, boisterous, stormy, and altogether warlike, says, “But Master Philippus moves gently and quietly along, ploughs and plants, sows and waters with pleasure, according as God hath given him His gifts richly.”[150] At the date of the print he was twenty-nine years of age, and the countenance shows the mild reformer.

Agostino Caracci, of the Bolognese family, memorable in Art, added to considerable success as painter undoubted triumphs as engraver. His prints are numerous, and many are regarded with favor; but in the long list not one is so sure of that longevity allotted to Art as his portrait of Titian, which bears date 1587, eleven years after the death of the latter. Over it is the inscription, “_Titiani Vecellii Pictoris celeberrimi ac famosissimi vera effigies_,”--to which is added beneath, “_Cujus nomen orbis continere non valet_.” Although founded on originals by Titian himself, it was probably designed by the remarkable engraver. It is very like, and yet unlike, the familiar portrait of which we have a recent engraving by Mandel, from a repetition in the Gallery of Berlin. Looking at it, we are reminded of the terms by which Vasari described the great painter: “_Giudizioso, bello e stupendo_.”[151] Such a head, with such visible power, justifies these words, or at least makes us believe them entirely applicable. It is broad, bold, strong, and instinct with life.

This print, like the Erasmus of Dürer, is among those selected for exhibition at the British Museum; and it deserves the honor. Though only paper with black lines, it is, by the genius of the artist, as good as a picture. In all engraving nothing is better.

Contemporary with Caracci was Heinrich Goltzius, at Haarlem, excellent as painter, but, like the Italian, preëminent as engraver. His prints show mastery of the art, making something like an epoch in its history. His unwearied skill in the use of the burin appears in a tradition gathered by Longhi from Wille,--that, having commenced a line, he carried it to the end without once stopping, while the long and bright threads of copper turned up were brushed aside by his flowing beard, which at the end of a day’s labor so shone in the light of the candles, that his companions nicknamed him _The Man with the Golden Beard_.[152] There are prints by him which shine more than his beard. Among his masterpieces is the portrait of his instructor, Dirk Coornhert, engraver, poet, musician, and vindicator of his country, and author of the National air, “William of Nassau,” whose passion for Liberty did not prevent him from giving to the world translations of Cicero’s “Offices” and Seneca’s treatise on Beneficence. But the portrait of the engraver himself, as large as life, is one of the most important in the art. Among the numerous prints by Goltzius, these two will always be conspicuous.

In Holland Goltzius had eminent successors. Among these were Paulus Pontius, designer and engraver, whose portrait of Rubens is of great life and beauty, and Rembrandt, who was not less masterly in engraving than in painting, as appears sufficiently in his portraits of the Burgomaster Six, the two Coppenols, the Advocate Tolling, and the goldsmith Lutma, all showing singular facility and originality. Contemporary with Rembrandt was Cornelis de Visscher, also designer and engraver, whose portraits were unsurpassed in boldness and picturesque effect. At least one authority has accorded to this artist the palm of engraving, hailing him as “Coryphæus of the Art.”[153] Among his successful portraits is that of a Cat; but all yield to what are known as _The Great Beards_, being the portraits of Willem de Ryck, an ophthalmist at Amsterdam, and Gellius de Bouma, the Zutphen ecclesiastic. The latter is especially famous. In harmony with the beard is the heavy face, seventy-seven years old, showing the fulness of long-continued potations, and hands like the face, original and powerful, if not beautiful.

In contrast with Visscher was his countryman Van Dyck, who painted portraits with constant beauty, and carried into etching the same Virgilian taste and skill. His aquafortis was not less gentle than his pencil. Among his etched portraits I would select that of Snyders, the animal-painter, as supremely beautiful. M. Renouvier, in his learned and elaborate work, “Des Types et des Manières des Maîtres Graveurs,” though usually moderate in praise, speaks of these sketches as possessing “a boldness and a delicacy which charm, being taken at the height of the genius of the painter who best knew how to idealize portrait painting.”[154]

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Such are illustrative instances from Germany, Italy, and Holland. As yet, power rather than beauty presided, unless in the etchings of Van Dyck. But the reign of Louis the Fourteenth was beginning to assert a supremacy in engraving as in literature. The great school of French engravers which appeared at this time brought the art to a splendid perfection, which many think has not been equalled since; so that Masson, Nanteuil, Edelinck, and Drevet may claim fellowship in genius with their immortal contemporaries, Corneille, Racine, La Fontaine, and Molière.

The school was opened by Claude Mellan, more known as engraver than painter, and also author of most of the designs he engraved. His life, beginning with the sixteenth century, was protracted to nearly ninety years, not without signal honor; for his name appears among the “Illustrious Men” of France, in the beautiful volumes of Perrault, which is also a homage to the art he practised. One of his works, for a long time much admired, was described by this author:--

“It is a head of Christ, designed and shaded with his crown of thorns, and the blood that trickles on all sides, by one single stroke, which, beginning at the tip of the nose, and continuing always in a curve, forms very exactly all that is represented in the plate, merely by the different thickness of this stroke, which, according as it is more or less broad, makes the eyes, nose, mouth, cheeks, hair, blood, and thorns; the whole so well represented, and with such expression of pain and affliction, that nothing is more sad or more touching.”[155]

This print is known as _The Sudarium of Saint Veronica_. Longhi records that it was thought at the time “inimitable,” and was “praised to the skies,”--adding, “But people think differently now.”[156] At best it is a curiosity among portraits. A traveller reported some time ago that it was the sole print on the walls of the room occupied by the Director of the Imperial Cabinet of Engravings at St. Petersburg.

Morin was a contemporary of Mellan, and less famous at the time. His style of engraving was peculiar, being a mixture of strokes and dots, but so harmonized as to produce a pleasing effect. One of the best engraved portraits in the history of the art is his Cardinal Bentivoglio; but here he translated Van Dyck, whose picture is among his best. A fine impression of this print is a choice possession.

Among French masters Antoine Masson is conspicuous for brilliant hardihood of style, which, though failing in taste, is powerful in effect. Metal, armor, velvet, feather, seem as if painted. He is also most successful in the treatment of hair. His immense skill made him welcome difficulties, as if to show his ability in overcoming them. His print of Henri de Lorraine, Comte d’Harcourt, known as _Cadet à la Perle_, from the pearl in the ear, with the date 1667, is often placed at the head of engraved portraits, although not particularly pleasing or interesting. The vigorous countenance is aided by the gleam and sheen of the various substances entering into the costume. Less powerful, but having a charm of its own, is that of Brisacier, known as _The Gray-Haired Man_, engraved in 1664. The remarkable representation of hair in this print has been a model for artists, especially for Longhi, who recounts that he copied it in his head of Washington.[157] Somewhat similar is the head of Charrier, the Criminal Judge at Lyons. Though inferior in hair, it surpasses the other in expression.

Nanteuil was an artist of different character, being to Masson as Van Dyck to Visscher, with less of vigor than beauty. His original genius was refined by classical studies and quickened by diligence. Though dying at the age of forty-eight, he had executed as many as two hundred and eighty plates, nearly all portraits. The favor he enjoyed during life has not diminished with time. His works illustrate the reign of Louis the Fourteenth, and are still admired. Among these are portraits of the King, Anne of Austria, Johan Baptist van Steenberghen, called _The Advocate of Holland_, a Heavy Dutchman, François de la Mothe-Le-Vayer, a fine and delicate work, Turenne, Colbert, Lamoignon, the poet Loret, Maridat de Serrière, Louise-Marie de Gonzague, Louis Hesselin, Christina of Sweden,--all masterpieces; but above these is the Pomponne de Bellièvre, foremost among his masterpieces, and a chief masterpiece of Art, being, in the judgment of more than one connoisseur, the most beautiful engraved portrait that exists. That excellent authority Dr. Thies, who knew engraving more thoroughly and sympathetically than any person I remember in our country, said, in a letter to myself, as long ago as March, 1858,--

“When I call Nanteuil’s Pomponne the handsomest engraved portrait, I express a conviction to which I came when I studied all the remarkable engraved portraits at the royal cabinet of engravings in Dresden, and at the large and exquisite collection there of the late King of Saxony, and in which I was confirmed, or perhaps to which I was led, by the director of the two establishments, the late Professor Frenzel.”

And after describing this head, the learned connoisseur proceeds:--

“There is an air of refinement (_Vornehmheit_) round the mouth and nose as in no other engraving. Color and life shine through the skin, and the lips appear red.”

It is bold, perhaps, thus to exalt a single portrait, giving to it the palm of Venus; nor do I know that it is entirely proper to classify portraits according to beauty. In disputing about beauty, we are too often lost in the variety of individual tastes; and yet each person knows when he is touched. In proportion as multitudes are touched, there must be merit. As in music a simple heart-melody is often more effective than any triumph over difficulties or bravura of manner, so in engraving, the sense of the beautiful may prevail over all else; and this is the case with the Pomponne, although there are portraits by others showing higher art.

No doubt there have been as handsome men, whose portraits were engraved, but not so well. I know not if Pomponne was what would be called a handsome man, although his air is noble and his countenance bright; but among portraits more boldly, delicately, or elaborately engraved, there are very few to contest the palm of beauty.[158]

And who is this handsome man to whom the engraver has given a lease of fame? Son, nephew, and grandson of high dignitaries in Church and State,--with two grandfathers Chancellors of France, two uncles Archbishops, his father President of the Parliament of Paris and Councillor of State,--himself at the head of the magistracy of France, First President of Parliament, according to an inscription on the engraving, _Senatus Galliarum Princeps_, Ambassador to Italy, Holland, and England, charged in the last-named country by Cardinal Mazarin with the impossible duty of making peace between the Long Parliament and Charles the First, and at his death great benefactor of the General Hospital of Paris, bestowing upon it riches and the very bed on which he died. Such is the simple catalogue; and yet it is all forgotten.

A Funeral Panegyric pronounced at his death, now before me in the original pamphlet of the time,[159] testifies to more than family or office. In himself he was much, and not of those who, according to the saying of Saint Bernard, “give out smoke rather than light.”[160] “Pure glory and innocent riches”[161] were his; and he was the more precious in the sight of all good men, that he showed himself incorruptible, and not to be bought at any price. It were easy for him to have turned a deluge of wealth into his house; but he knew that gifts insensibly entangle,--that the specious pretext of gratitude is the snare in which the greatest souls allow themselves to be caught,--that a man covered with favors has difficulty in setting himself against injustice in all its forms,--and that a magistrate divided between a sense of obligations received and the care of the public interest, which he ought always to promote, is a paralytic magistrate, a magistrate deprived of a moiety of himself. So spoke the preacher, while he portrayed a charity tender and effective for the wretched, a vehemence just and inflexible toward the dishonest and wicked, and a sweetness noble and beneficent for all; dwelling also on his countenance, which had nothing of that severe and sour austerity that renders justice to the good only as if with regret, and to the guilty only in anger; then on his pleasant and gracious address, his intellectual and charming conversation, his ready and judicious replies, his agreeable and intelligible silence,--even his refusals being well received and obliging,--while, amidst all the pomp and splendor accompanying him, there shone in his eyes a certain air of sweetness and majesty, which secured for him, and for justice itself, love as well as respect. His benefactions were constant. Not content with merely giving, he gave with a beautiful manner, still more rare. He could not abide beauty of intelligence without goodness of soul; and he preferred always the poor, having for them not only compassion, but a sort of reverence. He knew that the way to take the poison from riches was to let the poor taste of them. The sentiment of Christian charity for the poor, who were to him in the place of children, was his last thought,--as witness especially the General Hospital endowed by him, and represented by the preacher as the greatest and most illustrious work ever undertaken by charity the most heroic.

Thus lived and died the splendid Pomponne de Bellièvre, with no other children than his works. Celebrated at the time by a Funeral Panegyric now forgotten, and placed among the Illustrious Men of France in a work remembered only for its engraved portraits,[162] his famous life shrinks in the voluminous “Biographic Universelle” of Michaud to the sixth part of a single page, and in the later “Biographic Générale” of Didot disappears entirely. History forgets to mention him. But the lofty magistrate, ambassador, and benefactor, founder of a great hospital, cannot be entirely lost from sight so long as his portrait by Nanteuil holds a place in Art.

Younger than Nanteuil by ten years, Gerard Edelinck excelled him in genuine mastery. Born at Antwerp, he became French by adoption, occupying apartments in the Gobelins, and enjoying a pension from Louis the Fourteenth. Longhi says that he is “the engraver whose works, not only in my opinion, but in that of the best judges, deserve the first place among exemplars of the art”; and he attributes to him, “in a high degree, design, chiaroscuro, aërial perspective, local tints, softness, lightness, variety, in short everything which can form the most exact representation of the true and beautiful without the aid of color.” Others may have surpassed him in particular things, but, according to the Italian teacher, “he still remains by common consent the prince of engraving.”[163] Another critic calls him “king.”

It requires no remarkable knowledge to recognize his great merits. Evidently he is a master, exercising sway with absolute art, and without attempt to bribe the eye by special effects of light, as on metal or satin. Among his conspicuous productions is _The Tent of Darius_, a large engraving on two sheets, after Le Brun, where the family of the Persian monarch prostrate themselves before Alexander, who approaches with Hephæstion. There is also a _Holy Family_, after Raphael, and _The Battle of the Standard_, after Leonardo da Vinci. But these are less interesting than his numerous portraits, among which that of Philippe de Champagne is the chief masterpiece; and there are others of signal merit, including especially Madame Helyot, or _La belle Religieuse_, a beautiful French coquette praying before a crucifix; Martin van den Bogaert (Des Jardins,) the sculptor; Frédéric Léonard, Printer to the King; Mouton, the Lute-Player; Nathanael Dilgerus, with a venerable beard white with age; Jules Hardouin Mansart, the architect; also a portrait of Pomponne de Bellièvre, which will be found among the prints of Perrault’s “Illustrious Men.”

The Philippe de Champagne is the head of that eminent French artist after a painting by himself, and it contests the palm with the Pomponne. Mr. Marsh, who is an authority, prefers it. Dr. Thies, who places the latter first in beauty, is constrained to allow that the other is “superior as a work of the graver,” being executed with all the resources of the art in its chastest form. The enthusiasm of Longhi finds expression in unusual praise:--

“The work which goes most to my blood, and of which Edelinck himself was justly proud, is the portrait of Champagne. I shall die before I cease often to contemplate it with ever new wonder. Here is seen how he was equally great as designer and engraver.”[164]

And he then dwells on various details,--the bones, the skin, the flesh, the eyes living and seeing, the moistened lips, the chin covered with a beard unshaven for many days, and the hair in all its forms.

Between the rival portraits by Nanteuil and Edelinck it is unnecessary to decide. Each is beautiful. In looking at them we recognize anew the transient honors of public service. The present fame of Champagne surpasses that of Pomponne. The artist outlives the magistrate. But does not the poet tell us that “the artist never dies”?

As Edelinck passed from the scene the family of Drevet appeared, especially the son, Pierre Imbert Drevet, born in 1697, who developed a rare excellence, improving even upon the technics of his predecessor, and gilding his refined gold. The son was born engraver, for at the age of thirteen he produced an engraving of exceeding merit. Like Masson he manifested a singular skill in rendering different substances by the effect of light, and at the same time gave to flesh a softness and transparency which remain unsurpassed. To these he added great richness in picturing costumes and drapery, especially in lace.

He was eminently a portrait engraver, which I must insist is the highest form of the art, as the human face is the most important object for its exercise. Less clear and simple than Nanteuil, and less severe than Edelinck, he gave to the face individuality of character, and made his works conspicuous in Art. If there was excess in the accessories, it was before the age of _Sartor Resartus_, and he only followed the prevailing style in the popular paintings of Hyacinthe Rigaud. Art in all its forms had become florid, if not meretricious; and Drevet was a representative of his age.