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]