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Overview
IN the edition of Virgil published by Grüninger at Strassburg in 1502, Sebastian Brant boasted that the illustrations to it, whose preparation he had superintended, made the story of the book as plain to the unlearned as to the learned:
'Hic legere historias commentaque plurima doctus,
Nec minus indoctus perlegere illa potest.'
The boast was no ill-founded one, though it must be granted that Virgil would have been puzzled by the cannon here shown as employed in the siege of Nova Troja, and similar mediævalisms abound throughout the volume. Coming almost at the end of the first series of early illustrated books, the Virgil of 1502 thus exemplifies two of the chief features to which they owe their charm: the power of telling a story and the readiness to import into the most uncongenial themes some touches of the life of their own day. But by Brant's time illustration was already losing its pristine simplicity. It could hardly be otherwise when such a man as Brant, who had just gained a European reputation by his 'Narrenschiff,' was concerning himself with it. At the outset it had been rather a craft than an art, alike in Germany, in Italy, in the Netherlands, and in France, and, if we do not add England to the list, it is only because in England the workmen, though naïve enough in all conscience, were so entirely untrained that to call them craftsmen would be too great a compliment. But whether skilled or unskilled, the woodcutters' objects were everywhere the same: to render his design with the greatest possible simplicity of outline, to tell the story with a directness which often verges on caricature, and to keep his pictures in decorative harmony with the type-page on which they were to appear, printed with the same pull of the press, with the same excellent ink, on the same excellent paper.
In papers brought together in this volume the reader is asked to look at the woodcuts to two old Italian Bibles, at the beautiful cuts which make the Florentine Miracle Plays or Rappresentazioni so highly esteemed, at the illustrations to French editions of the 'Hours of the Blessed Virgin,' and at some examples of the curious transformations and vicissitudes which old wood blocks and the designs for them went through ere yet either clichés or photographic processes had been invented. The reproductions which accompany these and other articles will give a better idea of these Old Picture Books to those who do not already know them than could be conveyed by any verbal descriptions. Here it may suffice to emphasise one or two points which are often overlooked.
In the first place, it may have been noticed that not only do we speak of woodcuts, a common enough word, but also of woodcutters, a term which, until Sir Martin Conway used it in the title of his 'The Woodcutters of the Netherlands,' where it was ridiculed at the time as suggesting the stalwart workmen who cut down trees, was hardly ever employed in this sense. It cannot be denied that the use of the word sometimes lands us in incongruities of phrase; but inasmuch as there is no evidence of the graver having been used in woodcuts before the eighteenth century, it is clearly wrong to speak of the early craftsmen as engravers, and it is only fair in estimating their performance to remember that they worked with no better tool than a knife.
As regards the material they used, it was no doubt as a rule wood; but experts are agreed—I know not on what evidence—that instead of the blocks cut across the grain adopted by the modern engraver, they used wood sawn perpendicularly down the grain, as in an ordinary plank. It is certain, however, that in addition to wood some soft kind of metal, spoken of in one place (the list of border-cuts in one of Du Pré's 'Horae') as cuivre, or copper, but generally identified with pewter, was also used. This use of metal encouraged in some of the French 'Books of Hours,' notably in those of Philippe Pigouchet, a finer and closer method of work than we can believe was at that time possible on wood; but the general handling was precisely the same, and it is often only when we see a thin line bending instead of breaking, as wood did, that we know for certain that the craftsman was working on metal. For this reason the term woodcut is often applied to metal cuts worked in the style of wood as well as to woodcuts properly so called, and though doubtless reprehensible, the confusion is not nearly so misleading as that between cuts and engravings.
A third fact has already been emphasised, namely, that the makers of the woodcuts, and I think we may add the designers of them also, never put their names to their work or troubled themselves in any way to preserve their individuality.
'Hic legere historias commentaque plurima doctus,
Nec minus indoctus perlegere illa potest.'
The boast was no ill-founded one, though it must be granted that Virgil would have been puzzled by the cannon here shown as employed in the siege of Nova Troja, and similar mediævalisms abound throughout the volume. Coming almost at the end of the first series of early illustrated books, the Virgil of 1502 thus exemplifies two of the chief features to which they owe their charm: the power of telling a story and the readiness to import into the most uncongenial themes some touches of the life of their own day. But by Brant's time illustration was already losing its pristine simplicity. It could hardly be otherwise when such a man as Brant, who had just gained a European reputation by his 'Narrenschiff,' was concerning himself with it. At the outset it had been rather a craft than an art, alike in Germany, in Italy, in the Netherlands, and in France, and, if we do not add England to the list, it is only because in England the workmen, though naïve enough in all conscience, were so entirely untrained that to call them craftsmen would be too great a compliment. But whether skilled or unskilled, the woodcutters' objects were everywhere the same: to render his design with the greatest possible simplicity of outline, to tell the story with a directness which often verges on caricature, and to keep his pictures in decorative harmony with the type-page on which they were to appear, printed with the same pull of the press, with the same excellent ink, on the same excellent paper.
In papers brought together in this volume the reader is asked to look at the woodcuts to two old Italian Bibles, at the beautiful cuts which make the Florentine Miracle Plays or Rappresentazioni so highly esteemed, at the illustrations to French editions of the 'Hours of the Blessed Virgin,' and at some examples of the curious transformations and vicissitudes which old wood blocks and the designs for them went through ere yet either clichés or photographic processes had been invented. The reproductions which accompany these and other articles will give a better idea of these Old Picture Books to those who do not already know them than could be conveyed by any verbal descriptions. Here it may suffice to emphasise one or two points which are often overlooked.
In the first place, it may have been noticed that not only do we speak of woodcuts, a common enough word, but also of woodcutters, a term which, until Sir Martin Conway used it in the title of his 'The Woodcutters of the Netherlands,' where it was ridiculed at the time as suggesting the stalwart workmen who cut down trees, was hardly ever employed in this sense. It cannot be denied that the use of the word sometimes lands us in incongruities of phrase; but inasmuch as there is no evidence of the graver having been used in woodcuts before the eighteenth century, it is clearly wrong to speak of the early craftsmen as engravers, and it is only fair in estimating their performance to remember that they worked with no better tool than a knife.
As regards the material they used, it was no doubt as a rule wood; but experts are agreed—I know not on what evidence—that instead of the blocks cut across the grain adopted by the modern engraver, they used wood sawn perpendicularly down the grain, as in an ordinary plank. It is certain, however, that in addition to wood some soft kind of metal, spoken of in one place (the list of border-cuts in one of Du Pré's 'Horae') as cuivre, or copper, but generally identified with pewter, was also used. This use of metal encouraged in some of the French 'Books of Hours,' notably in those of Philippe Pigouchet, a finer and closer method of work than we can believe was at that time possible on wood; but the general handling was precisely the same, and it is often only when we see a thin line bending instead of breaking, as wood did, that we know for certain that the craftsman was working on metal. For this reason the term woodcut is often applied to metal cuts worked in the style of wood as well as to woodcuts properly so called, and though doubtless reprehensible, the confusion is not nearly so misleading as that between cuts and engravings.
A third fact has already been emphasised, namely, that the makers of the woodcuts, and I think we may add the designers of them also, never put their names to their work or troubled themselves in any way to preserve their individuality.
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940148787075 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Lost Leaf Publications |
| Publication date: | 10/23/2013 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 6 MB |
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