Engraving: Its Origin, Processes, and History

by comte Henri Delaborde

But in thus substituting his own manner, and the caprices of his individual taste, for the manner and the taste of the painter of "The Last Supper," Morghen only treated this great master as he was in the habit of treating others. Whether it was his lot to interpret Raphael or Poussin, Andrea del Sarto or Correggio, he had but one uniform method for the most conflicting types; and to his tricks of hand he subjected, without remorse, the inspired grace or the noble energy of whatever he copied. Once, however, it was given him to entertain higher aspirations, and to study more conscientiously the particular characteristics of the work he was to reproduce. It would be impossible without deliberate injustice to avoid recognising merit in his plate from Van Dyck's "Francesco de Moncada," as much on the score of intelligent fidelity as of skilful execution. But, for his other works, could one, without equal injustice, condone the inadequacy of expression and drawing, the systematic contempt of all effort, the many evidences of vain and self-confident ease which refuses to be humbled even in the presence of genius?

Morghen preserved till the end the brilliant reputation which his extreme fertility and the complacent patriotism of the Italians had won for him at the outset. Born in Naples, he settled in Florence, whither he had been allured by the Grand Duke Ferdinand III., and where he remained during the French occupation, and, much less resentful than Alfieri, repulsed neither the homage nor the favour of the foreigner. On the return of the Grand Duke, his old protector, he was still less ready to yield to the Neapolitans, who coveted the honour of recalling the renowned artist to his native country. When at length he died in 1833, all Italy was stirred at the news, and innumerable sonnets, the usual expression of public regret or enthusiasm, celebrated "the undying glory of the illustrious engraver of 'The Last Supper.'"

Johann Godard Müller, who early in life had had nearly as widespread a recognition in Germany as Morghen in Italy, departed this world in lonely misery three years before the Neapolitan. Beyond the walls of Stuttgart, scarce any one remembered the existence or the brief renown of the engraver of the "Madonna della Sedia" and the "Battle of Bunker's Hill." For he had long ceased to trouble about his work or his reputation, and lived only to mourn a son, who in 1816 died at the very time when, in his turn, he was about to become one of the most distinguished engravers of his country.

From childhood this son, Christian Frederick Müller, had been devoted to his father's art. His first attempts were successful enough to warrant his early admittance to the school of engraving recently founded at Stuttgart by Duke Charles of Wurtemberg. We have seen that during the second half of the eighteenth century many German engravers came to Paris for training, and that many remained there. Expelled from France, their adopted country, by the Revolution, they returned to Germany, and the institution of a school of engraving in Stuttgart was one result of their expulsion. But by 1802 many of the fugitives were already back in Paris, and the studios, closed for ten years, once more opened their doors to numerous pupils. Frederick Müller, then barely twenty, followed his father's example, and in his turn went to perfect himself under French masters.

Commended to the good offices of Wille, then past eighty, who felt it an honour to have taught Johann Godard Müller, and introduced by him, the young man was soon in relation with Bervic, Tardieu, and Desnoyers; and without constituting himself a thorough-going imitator of these fine craftsmen, he yet borrowed enough from them to be considered, if not their rival, at least one of their most faithful disciples. The plates he engraved for the "Musée Français," published by Laurent and Robillard[50] show laudable submission to the principles of the masters and an already sound experience of art; but it is in the "Madonna di San Sisto," in which he seems to have arrived at maturity, that his talent may be fully measured. Before undertaking this plate, the young engraver went to Italy to study other work by the "Divine Painter," and to prepare himself for the interpretation of the picture in the Dresden Gallery by drawing from the Vatican frescoes. On his return to Germany, he at once applied himself to the task, and pursued it with such ardour that, towards the end of 1815, that is in three years, he had brought it to an end. The "Madonna di San Sisto" deserves to rank with the finest line engravings of the beginning of the century. It has long been popular; but renown came too slowly for the engraver, and unhappily he lacked the patience to await its coming.

When Müller had finished his work, he determined to publish it himself, hoping to gain not only honour but legitimate profit. He was exhausted by hard work, but he trusted to meet with the reward which he felt to be due to such continual effort, and to meet with it at once. Time passed, however, and the young engraver, a prey to feverish anxiety, began to rail at the indifference of his contemporaries. He had soon to make arrangements with a publisher, that the fruit of his labours might not be altogether lost. Several amateurs then bought proofs, but there was as yet no general popularity for a print the appearance of which, in the expectation of its author, should have had all the importance of a public event. So many disappointments completed the ruin of his health, and at last affected his reason. In a paroxysm of excitement, Müller stabbed himself with a burnisher. Shortly after his "Sistine Madonna" obtained that great success which the poor artist had fondly anticipated. The publisher grew rich upon the proofs; and the name of the young engraver who had made too great haste to sell them was with justice acclaimed throughout Europe.

The works of Bervic, of Desnoyers, of Morghen and of Müller, may be said to represent the state of engraving in France, in Italy, and in Germany during the early years of the nineteenth century. They show that at that time the three schools professed the same doctrines, or, at least, followed the same masters; but this seeming conformity was not destined to be of long duration. The principles of art were soon modified by the influence of new ideas, and the German engravers (taking the lead in this change of aim) entered the path which they are still following.

At the time of Müller's death, the influence of Goethe and Schiller on German literature had begun to extend to the pictorial arts. Passionate study of the Middle Ages took the place of the worship of antiquity, and whilst the classical dictionary was still the only gospel for French painters, those beyond the Rhine were already drinking inspiration from Christian tradition and national legend. This was a happy reaction in so far as it reinvested art with that ethereal character which is indispensable to its higher developments; but, on the other hand, rapidly degenerating into mere archæology, the movement ended by oppressing and imprisoning talent under invariable formulas. A few years sufficed to reduce German art to such a condition that asceticism became the established rule. Since then Overbeck, Cornelius, and Kaulbach have added the weight of their authority and example, and continued and perfected the tradition of their forerunners; and this reformation has been as thorough in Germany as the far different revolution accomplished by David in France.

The German painters having thus laid aside a part of their material resources, the German engravers have been obliged to confine themselves to a translation of the ideal sentiment of their originals. In this task it must be allowed they have perfectly succeeded. They reproduce with singular completeness that generative thought, and religious, philosophical, or literary imagination, which, far more than any pictorial idea, inspires the German painter.

Strictly speaking, they do not produce engravings: that is, they do not produce works in which the burin has sought to render the value of tone, colour, chiaroscuro, or any constituent of a picture save composition and drawing; they are satisfied to cut in the copper, with a precision frequently approaching dryness, the outlines of simple forms; while, by way of concession to the true pictorial spirit, they think it enough to throw in here and there a few suggestions of modelling and light masses of shadow. Among the numerous specimens of this extreme reticence of execution, it is sufficient to mention the "Apostolical Scenes" engraved, after Overbeck, by Franz Keller, Ludy, and Steinfensand; the plates after Cornelius, published at Carlsruhe and Munich, by Schäffer, Merz, and others; and lastly, Thaeter's big "Battle of the Huns," after Kaulbach.