M. JOURDAIN.
❧ BIBLIOGRAPHY ❧
FRENCH ENGRAVERS AND DRAUGHTSMEN OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. By Lady Dilke. George Bell and Sons.
The book published by Lady Dilke, at the end of last year, is one of the most complete and definite works on an important section of our artistic history that we French possess. For we are marked by this rare characteristic, that the qualities of our own distinguished men are most often revealed to us by foreigners. While we have in our midst a number of specialist writers to instruct us in minute detail concerning the most trifling acts and deeds of a Fleming or Italian, we lack historians who will take a general view of our national art. It would seem that the Frenchman who shall have written a book on the eighteenth century as full and thorough as Lady Dilke’s is yet to be born. From time to time men of great attainments have produced a monograph, have described the work of a Watteau or a Lancret, but this has always wanted the necessary general commentary, the linking with general history, the grouping of facts, which lend so great an attraction to the works of Lady Dilke. It affords me a two-fold pleasure to say this, first because I profess a deep and very respectful sympathy for the author’s person, and secondly because I have always been greatly touched by the French side of her character. Lady Dilke and I know the faults of our respective countrymen; we speak of them when necessary; but we also know our reciprocal good qualities and speak of these too. Lady Dilke has written in praise of the school of the French Minor Masters of the eighteenth century with a conviction and an ardour of which we are very proud, and I feel charged to express to her in this review our deep-felt gratitude. ¶The difference between England and ourselves is made manifest from the very first. Whereas with us a more or less florid, amusing, or, let us say, sensational narrative is in most cases sufficient to satisfy the French reader, Lady Dilke’s book, although intended to be read by everybody, does not fear to display an integral erudition. This handsome and well-illustrated book, while it gladdens the eyes of a person indifferent to these questions, will interest profoundly the specialist and the scholar. It contains not a line unsupported by at least one reference and often by many. All that the contemporaries of our eighteenth-century artists have left concerning them, all records of inventories and even judicial notes, have been read and employed in their season by their kindly historian. It is easy to read into the impartial, nicely-turned, but apparently impassive text a genuine woman’s admiration for these feminine, evasive and exquisite artists; but the passion is restrained and displays itself only at the last. When the author is occasionally obliged to lament certain rather gross errors, she does so with filial moderation, with that which a child might show towards its grandfather; and we have learnt all, we are able to deplore all, while not one serious word of blame shall have fallen from the historian’s pen. ¶ Lady Dilke divides her work into eleven chapters, each bearing the name of an art-lover or artist. The first of these chapters is devoted to the Comte de Caylus and the great amateurs. For, though the collectors date very far back, the ‘amateur,’ in the French and modern sense of the word, came into being together with the speculations of Law. There is a singular and never-changing agreement between the rabid collector and the stock jobbing financier; it is as though the man who had grown suddenly rich wished to find no less suddenly in his new palace the ancestral elegance of the man of quality. ¶ Lady Dilke has selected the Comte de Caylus because he exercised an enormous influence upon the whole of the eighteenth century. Himself an engraver—though of no great merit—he was the cause that men and women of the world amused themselves with the pastime, that Madame de Pompadour tried her hand at engraving, and that, trying her hand, but with only slight success, she favoured to an extreme degree the artist-engravers of her time. ¶ The second chapter is devoted to those lovers of engravings, the print-collectors Mariette and Basan, who, for the rest, had no great affection for the artists of their time, but who favoured the iconographic movement. ¶ The typical French engraver of the eighteenth century is Charles Nicolas Cochin, who was known as the Chevalier Cochin. Cochin, through his family, his connexions and his works, touches every section of society. He belongs to the Court, to the nobility, to the middle class. His mother was a Horthemels; his sisters were Mesdames Tardieu and Belle. Cochin was trained in the school of different masters; he shows traces of Watteau, Gillot, Chardin and Detroy. But he is above all himself; his mind is composed of a thousand amiable, witty, and refined things; his art is the very spirit of a nation; and it is not too much to say that in him French art is summed up. ¶ The men whom Lady Dilke studies in Chapter IV of her book, the engravers Drevet and Daullé, are different people. They descend from the great century; they go back by easy degrees to Louis XIV and those famous artists, Audran, Nanteuil and Edelinck. But, though they have style and even majesty, they have neither the charm nor the grace of their contemporaries. This is also, to a certain extent, the case with Wille, who came to France to learn and who borrowed from us only the solemn and majestic side of the great masters. ¶ Lady Dilke studies in succession the Laurent Cars, the Le Bas, and, lastly, Gravelot. Gravelot the author regards almost in the light of a fellow-countryman. The greater part of his career was spent in London. We know that, in so far as this part is concerned, the author is in possession of even still more varied and personal notes. From Gravelot to Eisen, from the “Opera de Flora” to the “Contes de Lafontaine,” is an imperceptible transition. And thus we come to the masters of the end of the century, to Moreau the younger in particular, who presents its definite synthesis, linked as he is to Cochin by the brothers Saint-Aubin, the “exquisite poets of the most charming decadence.” ¶ Finally, Lady Dilke speaks of the engravers in colours, of those men, such as Demarteau, Debucourt, and others, who, without eclipsing their English colleagues, keep step with them. And then we come to the relations of the engravers with the Academy. Here, what severity is shown! On one occasion, the engraver Balechou, who is a member of the Academy, engraves a full-length portrait of the King of Poland, Augustus III. He had promised not to pull a separate proof of it. Having done so in one single case—this proof is still preserved in the Paris Print-room—he was struck off the list of Academicians. ¶ It is impossible, in a short review, to set forth in detail the importance of a book of this kind. We need this book in France, and it is to be hoped that one of our publishers will issue a translation, because it is a revelation to us. The English publisher has undoubtedly produced a practical and easily-handled book, but his reproductions are a little inferior in quality, given the value of the work. It would have been desirable that all the illustrations should have taken the form of heliogravures. Nevertheless, and putting this little criticism on one side, Lady Dilke’s book is, sincerely speaking, the newest and most “encyclopaedic” work that we at present possess on the French draughtsmen and engravers of the eighteenth century.
HENRI BOUCHOT.
THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY. Edited by Lionel Cust, M.V.O., F.S.A. Cassell.
It was a happy thought of Messrs. Cassell to issue an illustrated catalogue of the National Portrait Gallery similar to that of the National Gallery. The Portrait Gallery, in spite of great difficulties in the matter of space and funds, has become a place of which the nation may well be proud. It already contains a series of British portraits which if not absolutely complete, is at least representative, sensibly arranged, and catalogued with much more fullness and accuracy than some better endowed collections. One or two possible improvements may suggest themselves to the outsider—the addition, for instance, of photographs (we hear that some arrangement of this kind is actually contemplated) or careful copies of unique portraits of famous men which can never leave their present owners. The colleges of Oxford and Cambridge contain several pictures which would fill gaps in the Gallery, and other works in private hands are equally desirable. Nevertheless, the National Portrait Gallery, like the British Museum, has hitherto been so fortunate in its directors that there is no reason for regarding its future with serious anxiety. ¶ Nor can we be surprised that Mr. Cust, who has had so much to do with the well-being of the Portrait Gallery, has edited its illustrated catalogue on thoroughly sound lines. To precisians a chronological arrangement may seem to have disadvantages. These disadvantages, in our opinion, are minimized by the addition of an index of portraits and an index of artists, while the grouping together of men of the same generation, family, or profession, has the enormous advantage of making the book a thing attractive both to the casual reader and to the student of history, instead of a dry alphabetical list. ¶ We have only one fault to find with the abbreviated biographies which Mr. Cust supplies. They are laudably impartial, but the impartiality is sometimes carried to an extreme which places a second-rate man on the same level as a first-rate one. ¶ As a rule, a very wise discretion has been exercised in reproducing the pictures on a scale proportionate to their actual size and importance, so that the defects which marred the kindred volumes on the National Gallery have generally been avoided. One or two exceptions may perhaps be noted. We do not, for instance, think that justice is done to Kneller’s vivid portrait of the poet Gay (No. 622) by a cut less than two inches in height and less than one and a half inches in breadth, especially when Mr. Sargent’s portrait of Coventry Patmore is honoured by a full-page engraving. The juxtaposition of the two portraits of Sir William Hamilton also is not a success. The figure by David Allan looks a giant compared with that painted by Reynolds. ¶ The photographing, engraving, and printing of the pictures have on the whole been so admirably done that we have no more fault to find with them than with the letterpress or the arrangement of the book. We notice, indeed, that Kneller is again unfortunate. His portrait of John Smith, the mezzotint engraver (No. 699), is one of his most masterly works, showing a grip of character, an artistic taste, and a technical perfection for which in his Court portraits we seek in vain. In the reproduction the portrait loses all its spirit and all its quality. On the other hand, almost all the slight sketches and pencil drawings in the gallery come out excellently, so that any occasional failure cannot be attributed to want of care or want of science. ¶ Perhaps, considering its price, the publishers might have bound the book more strongly, even if they retained the limp cover which allows the book to open comfortably. The present paper binding is too flimsy for a book that has to be used for reference, and to send a work of reference to the binder often results in deprivation just when one needs the book most. ¶ These, after all, are minor details. As a whole, the catalogue is a thoroughly sound piece of work, and does credit to its editor, publishers, and printers (if not to its binder), and we have no doubt it will take its place by the Dictionary of National Biography on the shelves of all who are interested in the past history of the British race.
C. J. H.
ISABELLA D’ESTE, MARCHIONESS OF MANTUA, 1474–1539. A Study of the Renaissance. By Julia Cartwright (Mrs. Ady). John Murray. 1903.
There are three ways of writing history which rejoice all serious readers and students. The first and best is, alas, rare, for it requires constructive imagination based on sound scholarship. It is the history which bestows upon the characters portrayed that quality which makes them live on in the reader’s mind like great myths. Gibbon’s ‘Julian,’ Mommsen’s ‘Hannibal,’ Carlyle’s ‘Voltaire,’ Creighton’s ‘Pius II’—to take a very few instances chosen at random—live on in our imaginations like the heroes of romance, like Don Quixote, or Julien Sorel, or the ‘Egoist.’ ¶ On the other hand, there is the work of the mere archivist, the conscientious finder and transcriber of documents, who leaves the imaginative reconstruction of character entirely to the reader. For this, too, the student cannot be too grateful. And then there is the via media of the gifted compiler, whose efforts are also welcome, provided they are honest and careful, and free from the taint of journalism. ¶ It is this middle path that Mrs. Ady is accustomed to take, and always with peculiar success in her biographies of women. Those who have already enjoyed her ‘Beatrice d’Este’ will be prepared for finding interest and pleasure in reading her account of that noble lady’s even more accomplished and more famous sister, Isabella, marchioness of Mantua, the leader for more than forty years of the most continuously brilliant and intellectual court in Italy. Mrs. Ady does not claim originality of research, but her task of weaving the documentary researches of others into a readable, accurate, and interesting account is extremely well done. It is true that she has no great or genial gifts for the presentment of character, but she knows at least how to describe it with the appropriate background of historical events and of court and family life. She has better taste than to make of it a lurid tale, as some popular writers would have done. Isabella is painted as the faithful and devoted wife and daughter and sister, the careful and affectionate mother—nay, even the doting grandmother—as well as the ‘prima donna del mondo,’ the Muse of poets and humanists, the patroness and friend of great artists, the confidante of popes and emperors, and the victim, too, of family and political tragedies. ¶ For us in this place, her interest lies chiefly in one aspect of her many activities—in her relations with the artists of her day. Her portrait was drawn by Leonardo, and painted by Mantegna, Titian, Francia, Costa, as well as by various artists of less importance, such as Maineri and Buonsignori, and her medal was cast in bronze by the sculptor Cristoforo Romano. She was a passionate collector of beautiful things, decorating her private apartment with pictures by Mantegna, Costa, and Perugino, and sending her emissaries over nearly the whole of Italy to extort from dilatory or overworked painters the fulfilment of commissions she had given them, getting now a Nativity from Giovanni Bellini, a Magdalen and a St. Jerome from Titian, Allegories from Correggio, portraits from Francia, and even from Raphael himself. She employed Timoteo Viti to make designs for her majolica dinner-service, and most of the northern sculptors of note were at one time or another set to work for her. Lorenzo da Pavia made her priceless viols and lutes of inlaid ivory and ebony, and Caradosso carved her a wonderful inkstand in ebony and silver, while the most famous glass-blowers and jewellers of her time contributed their best efforts to her matchless collection. But even dearer to her than contemporary art was the antique, and she spared no pains or expense, no wiles or selfishness, to get into her possession every available antique statue or fragment that she heard of. The collector’s passion was on her, and even her fine taste and that of her cultivated advisers did not always protect her from the collector’s misfortunes. In the light of recent revelations, it is amusing to hear how she was taken in by the forgeries of a certain Roman dealer who bore the splendid name of Raphael of Urbino, and how this shifty precursor of many an Italian ‘antiquario’ of to-day managed to get out of giving her back her money! ¶ Curiously enough, Isabella, although a fast friend of the Medicean popes and their relatives, seems to have taken no interest at all in the art of Florence, except in Michelangelo, and in Leonardo, who came to her, not from Florence, but from Milan. She sent to Florence, it is true, for a picture, but it was to Perugino she wrote, and not to any of the great Florentine masters. ¶ Mrs. Ady has tried to trace carefully the present whereabouts of Isabella’s portraits and possessions, but we miss in the index any assembling of her scattered remarks on this interesting subject. The Leonardo pastel sketch (reproduced as frontispiece to Vol. I, but wrongly described as red chalk) is well known in the Louvre; one of the Titians (the one copied by Rubens) she identifies in the collection of M. Leopold Goldschmid at Paris, while the other, in Vienna, is reproduced as the frontispiece to the second volume. As to the latter, she says it was painted by Titian after a portrait by Francia, itself not done from the life, but from sketches and descriptions. If this be indeed the one referred to, Titian has managed to give no hint of his obligation to the Bolognese master. The portrait by Maineri, a painter of Parma, the author suggests as being the same as that in Mrs. Alfred Morrison’s collection, exhibited at the Burlington Fine Arts Club in 1894; but she admits, on the other hand, that this portrait may be from the hand of Beltraffio, which indeed it clearly is. Although it has apparently not occurred to Mrs. Ady, is it not possible that the untraced portrait of Isabella painted by Costa, was, like so many of her treasures, bought for Charles I, and that it is the Portrait of a Lady which now hangs in Hampton Court (No. 295)? The face resembles the one he painted as Isabella’s in the Louvre Allegory, but, on the other hand, they are both so thoroughly Costa in every detail that neither can be called real portraits in the modern sense of the word. The objective photographic style of portraiture in vogue to-day was quite foreign to the habits of most Renaissance painters, who were satisfied, once they had found a type that suited them, to stick to it for everything—Madonnas, portraits of ladies, and allegorical figures, indifferently. ¶ Perhaps the most vivid part of Mrs. Ady’s book is her description of Isabella’s experiences in that fatal sack of Rome, which, as Erasmus wrote to her friend Sadoleto, was ‘not the ruin of one city, but of the whole world.’ Barricaded in the Palazzo Colonna with three thousand distressed souls under her care, Isabella, safe in the protection of her son, Ferrante, one of the leaders of the imperial forces, looked down from her windows with anguish upon the scenes of horror and vandalism enacted in the streets below. Her house was the only one in Rome that escaped, except the Cancelleria, which was occupied by Cardinal Colonna. But except for the irreparable destruction of so many of the world’s masterpieces of beauty, this and many another interesting incident in Isabella’s career belong rather to history than to art.