Part 3

In Germany purses are more slender, customers are content to adorn their homes with woodcuts or engravings instead of paintings. Pictures are wanted, with figures carefully drawn, explicit pictures, finished, natural in appearance, with plenty of detail in figures and accessories, something appealing to their humor, to their piety, to their own sphere of interest. Hence the tendency to carry every scene into the familiar setting of actuality; hence the interest in the natural surroundings of the scene; hence the predominance of Biblical and religious subjects which appeal to the pious; and for others the scenes of daily life, tournaments, soldiers, not to forget plates and books of designs for the use of craftsmen. The production of picture-like prints in which hand coloring was not to be considered, necessarily brought about a speedy development of technique. Even in early work it seems as though the German engraver realized, more than his Italian contemporary, the possibilities of the engraved plate; the figures are quaint, reminiscent of the Gothic past, but they are well cut, in clear, sweeping outline. The shading is simple, but not timid or awkward, and pleasantly follows and accents the form. Few of these fifteenth-century engravers have left us as much as a name or the most meager data as to their lives. In many cases we have not even a date, a sign, or an initial placed somewhere on the print, as a means of identification. We are conscious, in these early examples, of the artistic spirit in which the engraver treats the saint’s picture and the playing-card, extensive fields, exploited already by primitive woodcut. A choice between eminent representatives among the anonymous engravers would lie between the so-called Master of the Playing-Cards, the Master of the Amsterdam Cabinet, and Master E. S. An illustration of the excellence achieved by the last named artist will be found in his presentation of the Madonna of Einsiedeln. Notice the development of the picture element, the sureness with which the graver is used, long strokes and delicate touches, varying with the needs of modeling and design. This mastery over the medium is yet more apparent in the engravings of Martin Schongauer, the leading figure in fifteenth-century engraving. In his work we still discern the peculiar characteristics of the period, long slim hands and feet, an emaciation which brings the head into prominence, a tendency--reminiscent of the Middle Ages--to treat each object independently, as a unit, as a symbol of its kind; but then what purity and sincerity emanate from his figures. In his “Death of the Virgin,” what a harmonious effect, what keenness of observation. He knows little of the rendering of nudity,--all Northern artists are hampered in that way,--but his bodies, though lacking in structural skill, are wonderfully well caught in pose and gesture. His observation and his resourceful imagination were fully recognized by both Dürer and Raphael, who both availed themselves of his achievements. The graver helps to round the forms, by following the direction of the curves. Long, steady, curving strokes, emphasized in the deep shadows, breaking up--in the lights--into dots which blend into the high lights of white paper. No hesitating, little criss-cross strokes here, but a dignified simplicity of line which enhances the dignity and simplicity of his compositions. Remember that in order to appreciate these essential qualities of line and of resulting effect, you must consult the original prints; half-tone illustrations cannot be expected to convey more than a general idea of the originals.

It would be unfair to attribute all this artistic development to German initiative alone. Italy has practically no share in it, at this period, but the close commercial relations existing between Germany and the Burgundian Netherlands must have facilitated an artistic intercourse most beneficial to the former country. The stupendous creations of the brothers Van Eyck, of Van der Weyden, Memling, Van der Goes, and others did induce workers in the artistic crafts to visit the Low Countries. Their contemplation must have been a source of stimulating inspiration to the German painters, and indirectly to German engraving. Direct influence there could not be, since we look in vain through the ranks of this flourishing school of Flemish painters for any manifestation in the graphic arts. Only the arts of opulence: painting, costly illuminated manuscripts with miniatures, or the woven tapestries of Arras and Brussels, brocades, and laces, were produced in the prosperous towns and at the brilliant ducal court of Burgundy.

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Early Italian engraving begins with the niello of the goldsmith, little silver plates for ornamental uses, with minute scenes and figures, usually well cut, as might certainly be expected in a guild so highly skilled. It is interesting to follow engraving as it broadens beyond the neat and primarily ornamental sphere of the craft, into the large field of art. Florence, the center of dignified, conservative art, the Florence of Botticelli has given us the two classical series of “Sibyls” and “Prophets.” The manner of execution, as we see in the example shown, is still that of the goldsmith, fond of ornament, of detail, shading with minute strokes, close together, which blend to form a tone. The other example is selected from a North Italian series of the same period. It forms part of what by some authorities is thought to be a set of “Tarocchi,” a game of cards peculiar to Italy. Less severe, more graceful than the Florentine example, it is another triumph of the goldsmith in the field of the graphic arts. From him engraving passes under the sway of the painter. If we compare Italian and German graver-work of those days, a plate of Mantegna, for instance, and a plate of Schongauer, we shall readily perceive that in engraving the German master _thinks_ in line. The Italian painter thinks, not in line, but in masses of light and shade, in terms of the antique marbles, which he has studied with such enthusiasm. His design goes on the copper as it would be jotted down on paper with the pen, without consideration of the graver, except that it seems a useful implement for multiplying his sketches, which are wanted in many studios and workshops. A simple, even outline, and for shading, parallel lines, straight and close together, generally in a uniform diagonal direction,--that is all. Fine early impressions from plates of this character have quite the charm of a drawing; deep shadow-tones are then visible, caused by a system of slight, tone-giving lines over the heavier shadings. When these have worn off, they leave only a system of hard, wiry-looking shade-strokes; unfortunately the good early impressions are very, very rare, so that we are accustomed to look upon the gray, worn impressions usually found as being the actual work of the artist, which is unfair. The absorbing interest of antique bas-reliefs is evident in the large “Battle of Nude Men,” by Antonio Pollajuolo, breathing the enthusiasm with which Italy told anew the artistic message of the distant past, yet lacking the poise and moderation which we admire in the grand classical sculptures. In his eagerness to proclaim the beauty and power of the human body in vigorous action, he far outstrips his powers of expression, yet his muscular exaggerations need not materially lessen our enjoyment of this powerful, expressive print. In Andrea Mantegna, we reach the central figure of this early period of Italian engraving. In him are combined the humanist’s devotion to classical art and the fiery energy of a man of action, filled with his art, rugged, stern, taking from nature and antiquity the forms of artistic expression. At his hands the world is invested with a grandeur seldom achieved, inspiring to his contemporaries, helpful and stimulating to young Dürer in his strivings toward greater breadth, simplicity, and unity of composition. In Mantegna’s “Christ between two Saints,” we find the same scant means of graver-work which he employed in all his austere compositions: a well-defined outline, even, without swelling, softening accents, simple shading, generally in a uniform diagonal direction; nowhere an attempt at texture, or differentiation of color. The subjects are all treated as though they were cut in high relief on slabs of stone, without variation of surface or suggestion of distance. Venetian influence mitigates the ruggedness of Mantegna’s gaunt, imposing “John the Baptist,” by means of the unusual, soft, stippling technique adopted by Giulio Campagnola, which gives the print more the appearance of a grainy wash drawing, in contrast with the usual pen-and-ink aspect of early Italian prints. Scores of other important examples might be adduced, but they can easily be found in any good history of engraving.

IV

ITALY

The sixteenth century brings new developments to be noted, new factors to be considered. In Germany it rings in the culmination of artistic development under the leadership of Albrecht Dürer, whose towering personality lifts both engraving and woodcut to high levels of excellence. The cultivation of the technique of engraving has carried Germany far and away beyond the South, in a technical perfection duly appreciated in Italy; and when the demand for prints grows, when they become a marketable article, the Italian engraver copies German prints in order to gain the requisite technical knowledge. This Italian _engraver_, however, is not a painter-engraver as in Germany, an artist, namely, engraving his own designs. We know that the Italian artist continues intent on grander tasks and indifferent to the charms of the graver, hence a division of labor: the busy painter jots down the sketch or cartoon and the professional engraver undertakes the lengthy task of transferring, of interpreting the artist’s drawing by means of the graver. The subtle continuity of thought, from the first conception to the finished plate, which we prize in original engraving, is necessarily destroyed in such collaboration, but the engraver, working exclusively on the copper plate, is able infinitely to vary and develop the resources of the process by dint of practice. A noted instance of such collaboration is found in the “Death of Dido,” engraved after Raphael’s design by Marcantonio Raimondi. The lifework of Marcantonio is mainly devoted to the reproduction of sketches of the great Urbinate, whose genius inspires the engraver and lifts him to the highest rank in sixteenth-century Italy. His pliable graver, trained by much copying after Dürer and other Northern masters, delicately outlines the figures. The shade-strokes follow and accent in easy curves the rounding forms and the gradations of light and shade. There is variety in the line, no longer the uniform diagonal shading of the early period. It is, in a word, excellent engraving, which is seen likewise in his “Adam and Eve,” after a figure sketch of Raphael. The latter print shows also the pitfalls which await the thoughtless copyist. Raphael’s cartoon for this print shows the two lovely figures without any background whatever; Marcantonio, always at a loss without a definite model to copy, looked for a suitable background, and found it in a German print which he faithfully pieced in, peasant houses and all, as a setting for Adam and Eve!

About this time the publisher of prints appears, buying plates from engravers and publishing them, centralizing a commerce which--before this--had been carried on by the engraver himself or by the artist who employed him. This commercial factor lowers the standard of engraving, both by the choice of subjects demanded of the engraver, with a view mainly to a ready sale, and by the quality of work tolerated. The only excuse for some of the plates published must have been their cheapness. Under these conditions and, moreover, at a time when painting was rapidly declining, one cannot look to the graphic arts for masterpieces. Venice, it is true, is yet in her glory; encouraged by the interest of Titian, woodcut flourishes for a while at the hands of Boldrini and others. As to engraving, Venetian art demanded of it a technique strongly expressive of color; a new impetus was needed for a revival of the medium. This was supplied by engravers from the Netherlands, where the technique of engraving had been highly elaborated in this the latter part of the sixteenth century. A noted representative of this Italian revival is the painter-engraver Agostino Carracci. If we examine this portrait of Titian, engraved after the great master’s own painting, Carracci’s skill in engraving will be at once apparent. Long parallel strokes, close together, give a rich deep hue to cloak and cap. The brown fur trimming, with its loose, broad handling, contrasts effectively with the delicate work on beard and hair. The short, swelling stroke used in the light background, the clear, transparent cross-hatching on the cheek, all denote great advance in differentiating this variety of textures.

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.

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.