It is curious that Cesalpino, who, as we have pointed out, had arrived at the very important principle that the seed and fruit characters were of major value in classification, yet put forward a system which was distinctly inferior to that of Gaspard Bauhin, although the latter appears to have been guided by no such general principles. Probably the reason for this is to be sought in the fact that no system of classification can represent natural affinities, unless it takes into account the nature of the plant as a whole. It is true that, compared with the characters of the reproductive organs, the leaf-form and habit, owing to their plasticity, have to be used with great discretion as systematic criteria, but, nevertheless, no system of classification can afford to ignore them entirely. Cesalpino based his scheme too exclusively upon seed characters, to the neglect even of the structure of the flower, and, curiously enough, although he laid so much stress upon the nature of the seed, he did not grasp the fundamental distinction between the embryos of the Monocotyledons and the Dicotyledons, due to the possession of one, and two seed-leaves respectively. The chief drawback of his scheme, however, was his failure to realise that living organisms are too complex to fall into a classification based on any one feature, important as that feature may prove to be when used in conjunction with other characters.

Those herbalists, on the other hand, who attacked the problem of the classification of plants without any preconceived, academic theory, depended, one might almost say, on the glimmerings of common sense for the recognition of affinities. This was no doubt a dim and fitful illumination, but it was at least less partial than the narrow, lime-light beam of a rigid theory.

CHAPTER VII
THE EVOLUTION OF THE ART OF BOTANICAL ILLUSTRATION

IN the art of botanical illustration, evolution was by no means a simple and straightforward process. We do not find, in Europe, a steady advance from early illustrations of poor quality to later ones of a finer character. On the contrary, among the earliest extant drawings, of a definitely botanical intention, we meet with wonderfully good figures, free from such features as would be now generally regarded as archaic. The famous Vienna manuscript of Dioscorides (see pp. 8 and 85) is a remarkable example of the excellence of some of the very early work. It dates back to the end of the fifth, or the beginning of the sixth century of the Christian era. It is illustrated with brush drawings on a large scale, which in many cases are notably naturalistic, and often quite modern in appearance (Plates I, II, XV). The general habit of the plant is admirably expressed, and occasionally, as in the case of the Bean (Plate XV), the characters of the flowers and seed-vessels are well indicated. In this drawing, also, the leaves are effectively foreshortened.

There are a number of other manuscript herbals in existence, illustrated with interesting figures. The Library of the University of Leyden possesses a particularly fine example33, which is ascribed to the seventh century A.D.

This work contains coloured drawings of exceptional beauty, which are smaller than those in the Vienna manuscript, but quite equally realistic.

It is however with the history of botanical figures since the invention of the printing press that we are here more especially concerned. From this epoch onwards, the history of botanical illustration is intimately bound up with the history of wood-engraving, until, at the extreme end of the sixteenth century, engraving on metal first came into use to illustrate herbals. During the seventeenth century, metal-engravings and wood-cuts existed side by side, but wood-engraving gradually declined, and was in great measure superseded by engraving on metal. The finest period of plant illustration was during the sixteenth century, when wood-engraving was at its zenith.

Botanical wood-engravings may be regarded as belonging to two schools, but it should be understood that the distinction between them is somewhat arbitrary and must not be pressed very far. One of these may perhaps be regarded as representing the last, decadent expression of that school of late classical art which, a thousand years earlier, had given rise to the drawings in the Vienna manuscript. Probably no original wood-cuts of this school were produced after the close of the fifteenth century. In the second phase, on the other hand, which culminated, artistically, if not scientifically, in the sixteenth century, we find a renaissance of the art, due to a more direct study of nature.

The first school, of which we may take the cuts in the Roman edition of the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius Platonicus (? 1484) as typical examples, has, as Dr Payne has pointed out, certain very well-marked characteristics. The figures of the plants (see Plates IV, V, XVI, and Text-figs. 1 and 2), which occupy square or oblong spaces, are very formal and are often represented with complete bilateral symmetry. They show no sign of having been drawn directly from nature, but look as if they were founded on previous work. They have a decorative rather than a naturalistic appearance; it seems, indeed, as if the principle of decorative symmetry controlled the artist almost against his will. These drawings are somewhat of the nature of diagrams by a draughtsman “who generalized his knowledge of the object.” In Dr Payne’s own words, “Such figures, passing through the hands of a hundred copyists, became more and more conventional, till they reached their last and most degraded form in the rude cuts of the Roman Herbarium, which represent not the infancy, but the old age of art. Uncouth as they are, we may regard them with some respect, both as being the images of flowers that bloomed many centuries ago, and also as the last ripple of the receding tide of Classical Art.”

The illustrations of the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius were copied from pre-existing manuscripts, and the age of the originals is no doubt much greater than that of the printed work. Those here reproduced are taken from a copy in the British Museum, in which the pictures were coloured, probably at the time when the book was published.

Colouring of the figures was characteristic of many of the earliest works in which wood-engraving was employed. In cases where uncoloured copies of such books exist, there are often blank spaces in the wood-cuts, which were left in order that certain details might afterwards be added in colour. The origin of wood-engraving is closely connected with the early history of playing-card manufacture. Playing-cards were at first coloured by means of stencil plates, and the same method, very naturally, came to be employed in connection with the wood-blocks used for book illustration.

The engravings in the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius are executed in black, in very crude outline. At least two colours, now much faded, were also employed by means of stencilling. The work was coarsely done, and the colours only “register” very roughly. Brown appears to have been used for the animals, roots and flowers, and green for the leaves. The drawings show some rather curious mannerisms. For instance, in the first cut labelled “Vettonia,” each of the lanceolate leaves is outlined continuously on the one side, but with a broken line on the other. It has been suggested that the illustrations in the ‘Herbarium’ are possibly not wood-engravings, but rude cuts in metal, excavated after the manner of a wood-block.

We have already referred to the imaginative portrait of the Mandrake (Plate V). Figures of the animals whose bites or stings were supposed to be cured by the use of a particular herb, were often introduced into the drawing, as in the case of the Plantain (Text-fig. 1) which is accompanied by a serpent and a scorpion. In this figure the cross-hatching of white lines on black—the simplest possible device from the point of view of the wood-engraver—is employed with good effect. Sometimes the essential character of the plant is seized, but the way in which it is expressed is curiously lacking in a sense of proportion, as in the case of “Dracontea” (Plate XVI), one of the Arum family.

The figures in the ‘Herbarium’ are characterised by an excellent trait, which is common to most of the older herbals, namely the habit of portraying the plant as a whole, including its roots. This came about naturally because the root was often of special value from the druggist’s point of view. It is to be regretted that, in modern botanical drawings, the recognition of the paramount importance of the flower and fruit in classification has led to a comparative neglect of the organs of vegetation, especially those which exist underground.

We now come to a series of illustrations, which may be regarded as occupying an intermediate position between the classical tradition of the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius, and the renaissance of botanical drawing, which took place early in the sixteenth century. These include the illustrations to the ‘Book of Nature,’ and to the Latin and German ‘Herbarius,’ the ‘Ortus Sanitatis,’ and their derivatives, which were discussed in Chapters II and III.

‘Das půch der natur’ of Konrad von Megenberg occupies a unique position in the history of botany, for it is the first work in which a wood-cut representing plants was used with the definite intention of illustrating the text, and not merely for a decorative purpose. It was first printed in Augsburg in 1475, and is thus several years older than the earliest printed edition of the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius Platonicus which we have just discussed. The single plant drawing, which illustrates it, is probably not of such great antiquity, however, as those of the ‘Herbarium,’ for its appearance suggests that it was probably executed from nature for this book, and not copied and recopied from one manuscript to another before it was engraved. The illustration in question is a full-page wood-cut, showing a number of plants, growing in situ (Plate III). Several species (e.g. Ranunculus acris, the Meadow Buttercup, Viola odorata, the Sweet Violet, and Convallaria majalis, the Lily-of-the-Valley) are distinctly recognisable. It is noticeable that, in two cases in which a rosette of radical leaves is represented, the centre of the rosette is filled in in black, upon which the leaf-stalks appear in white. This use of the black background, which gives a rich and solid effect, was carried much further in later books, such as the ‘Ortus Sanitatis.’

A wood-cut, somewhat similar in style to that just described, but more primitive, occurs in Trevisa’s version of the mediæval encyclopædia of Bartholomæus Anglicus, which was printed by Wynkyn de Worde before the end of the fifteenth century. It is probably the first botanical figure illustrating an English book. It is reproduced in Text-fig. 19.

The illustrations to the Latin ‘Herbarius’ or ‘Herbarius Moguntinus,’ published at Mainz in 1484 (Text-figs. 3, 4, 5, 73), form the next group of botanical wood-cuts. The figures are much better than those of the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius, but at the same time they are, as a rule, formal and conventional, and often quite unrecognisable. The want of realism is very conspicuous in such a drawing as that of the Lily (Text-fig. 3), in which the leaves are represented as if they had no organic continuity with the stem. Some of the figures are wonderfully charming, and in their decorative effect recall the plant designs so often used in the Middle Ages to enrich the borders of illuminated manuscripts. This is particularly noticeable in the case of the Briony (Text-fig. 73). The conventional form of tendril here employed is also seen in other early work, such as the roof-painting of a Vine in the Chapel of St Andrew, Canterbury Cathedral, and some “Decorated” stained glass at Wells, both of which are considerably earlier in date than the ‘Herbarius Moguntinus.’

A more interesting series of figures, also illustrating the text of the Latin ‘Herbarius,’ was published in Italy a little later. The wood-cuts are believed to be mostly derived from German originals. Text-figs. 6, 57, 65, 74, 75 and 76 are taken from a Venetian edition of 1499. These drawings are more ambitious than those in the original German issue, and, on the whole, the results are more naturalistic. The fern called “Capillus Veneris,” which is probably intended for the Maidenhair, is represented hanging from rocks over water, just as it does in Devonshire caves to-day (Text-fig. 75). Another delightful wood-cut, almost in the Japanese style, is that of an Iris growing at the margin of a stream, from which a graceful bird is drinking (Text-fig. 74).

In the very symmetrical drawing of the Peony (Text-fig. 57) there is an attempt to represent the tuberous roots, which are indicated in solid black. The no less symmetrical Waterlily (Text-fig. 65) is remarkable for its rhizome, on which the scars of the leaf bases are faithfully represented. This drawing is of interest, also, on account of its frank disregard of proportion. The flower stalks are drawn not more than twice as long as the breadth of the leaf! We may, I think, safely conclude that the draughtsman knew quite well that he was not representing the plant as it was, and that he intentionally gave a conventional rendering, which did not profess to be more than an indication of certain distinctive features of the plant. This attitude of the artist to his work, which is so different from that of the scientific draughtsman of the present day, is seen with great clearness in many of the drawings in mediæval manuscripts. For instance, a plant such as the Houseleek may be represented growing on the roof of a house—the plant being about three times the size of the building. No one would imagine that the artist was under the delusion that these proportions held good in nature. The little house was merely introduced in order to convey graphic information as to the habitat of the plant concerned, and the scale on which it was depicted was simply a matter of convenience. Before an art can be appreciated, its conventions must be accepted. It would be as absurd to quarrel with the illustrations we have just described, on account of their lack of proportion, as to condemn grand opera because, in real life, men and women do not converse in song. The idea of naturalistic drawings, in which the size of the parts should be shown in their true relations, was of comparatively late growth.

In 1485, the year following the first appearance of the Latin ‘Herbarius,’ the very important work known as the German ‘Herbarius,’ or ‘Herbarius zu Teutsch,’ made its appearance at Mainz. As we pointed out in Chapter II, its illustrations, which are executed on a large scale, are often of remarkable beauty. Dr Payne considered some of them comparable to those of Brunfels in fidelity of drawing, though very inferior in wood-cutting. They are distinctly more realistic than even those of the Venetian edition of the Latin ‘Herbarius,’ to which we have just referred. It is interesting, for instance, to compare the drawings of the Dodder (Text-figs. 76 and 77) in the two works. Other excellent drawings are those of the Winter Cherry (Text-fig. 78), Iris (Text-fig. 7), Lily, Chicory, Comfrey and Peony.

In the ‘Ortus Sanitatis’ of 1491, about two-thirds of the drawings of plants are copied from the ‘Herbarius zu Teutsch.’ They are often much spoiled in the process, and it is evident that the copyist frequently failed to grasp the intention of the original artist. The wood-cut of the Dodder (Text-fig. 80), for instance, is lamentably inferior to that in the ‘Herbarius zu Teutsch’ (Text-fig. 77). There is often a tendency, in the later work, to make the figures occupy the space in a more decorative fashion; for instance, where the stalk in the original drawing is simply cut across obliquely at the base, we find in the ‘Ortus Sanitatis’ that its pointed end is continued into a conventional flourish (cf. the figures of the Winter Cherry in the two works, Text-figs. 78 and 79). Among the original figures many, as we have already indicated, represent purely mythical subjects (e.g. Text-figs. 13 and 17).

The use of a black background, against which the stalks and leaves form a contrast in white, which we noticed in the ‘Book of Nature,’ is carried further in the ‘Ortus Sanitatis.’ This is shown particularly well in the Tree of Paradise (Text-fig. 12) and also in Text-figs. 10 and 81. No consistent method is followed in the coarse shading which is employed. In some cases there seems to have been an attempt at the convention, used so successfully by the Japanese, of darkening the underside of the leaf, but, sometimes, in the same figure, certain leaves are treated in this way, and others not. In some of the genre pictures, Noah’s Ark trees are introduced, with crowns consisting entirely of parallel horizontal lines, decreasing in length from below upwards, so as to give a triangular form.

An edition of the ‘Ortus Sanitatis,’ which was published in Venice in 1511, is illustrated in great part with wood-cuts based on the original figures. They have, however, a very different appearance, since a great deal of shading is introduced, and in some cases parallel lines are laid in with considerable dexterity.

‘The Grete Herball’ and a number of works of the early sixteenth century derived from the ‘Herbarius zu Teutsch,’ the ‘Ortus Sanitatis,’ and similar sources, are of no importance in the history of botanical illustration, since scarcely any of their figures are original. The oft-repeated set of wood-cuts, ultimately derived from the ‘Herbarius zu Teutsch,’ were also used to illustrate Hieronymus Braunschweig’s Distillation Book (Liber de arte distillandi de Simplicibus, 1500). That the conventional figures of the period did not satisfy the botanist is shown by some interesting remarks by Hieronymus at the conclusion of his work. He tells the reader that he must attend to the text rather than the figures, “for the figures are nothing more than a feast for the eyes, and for the information of those who cannot read or write34.”

During the first three decades of the sixteenth century, the art of botanical illustration was practically in abeyance in Europe. Such books as were published were chiefly supplied with mere copies of older wood-cuts. But, in 1530, an entirely new era was inaugurated with the appearance of Brunfels’ great work, the ‘Herbarum vivæ eicones,’ in which a number of plants native to Germany, or commonly cultivated there, were drawn with a beauty and fidelity which have rarely been surpassed (Text-figs. 22, 23, 24, 25, 66, 82, 83, 84). It is interesting to recall that the date 1530 is often taken, in the study of other arts (e.g. stained glass), as the limit of the “Gothic” period, and the beginning of the “Renaissance.”

Brunfels’ illustrations represent a notable advance on any previous botanical wood-cuts, so much so, indeed, that the suddenness of the improvement seems to call for some special explanation. On taking a broader view of the subject, we find that, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, there was a marked advance in all the branches of book illustration, and not merely in the botanical side with which we are here concerned. This impetus seems to have been due to the fact that many of the best artists, above all Albrecht Dürer, began at that period to draw for wood-engraving, whereas in the fifteenth century the ablest men had shown a tendency to despise the craft and to hold aloof from it.

The engravings in Brunfels’ herbal and the fine books which succeeded it, should not be considered as if they were an isolated manifestation, but should be viewed in relation to other contemporary and even earlier plant drawings, which were not intended for book illustrations. Some of the most remarkable are those by Albrecht Dürer, which were produced before the appearance of Brunfels’ herbal, during the first thirty years of the sixteenth century. In each of his coloured drawings of sods of turf, known as “das grosse Rasenstück,” and “das kleine Rasenstück,” a tangled group of growing plants is portrayed exactly as it occurred in nature, with a marvellous combination of artistic charm and scientific accuracy. Prof. Killermann has been at pains to identify the genus and species of almost every plant represented, and has described the drawings as “das erste Denkmal der Pflanzenökologie.” In 1526, Dürer carried out a beautiful series of plant drawings, among the most famous of which are those of the Columbine, and the Greater Celandine. The former is reproduced on a small scale in Plate XVII; it is scarcely possible to imagine a more perfect “habit drawing” of a plant.

In Italy, Leonardo da Vinci’s exquisite studies of plants, of which Plate XVIII is an example, must also have pointed the way to a better era of herbal illustration. In his work, the artistic interest predominates over the botanical to a greater extent than is the case with Dürer’s drawings. It is strange to think that numerous editions of the ‘Ortus Sanitatis’ and similar books, with their crude and primitive wood-cuts, should have been published while such an artist as Leonardo da Vinci was at the zenith of his powers. If internal evidence alone were available, it might plausibly be maintained that the engravings in the ‘Ortus Sanitatis’ and the drawings of Leonardo da Vinci were centuries apart.

We are thus led to the conclusion that, though the engravings in Brunfels’ herbal are separated from previous botanical figures by an almost impassable gulf, they should not be regarded as a sudden and inexplicable development. The art of naturalistic plant drawing had arrived independently at what was perhaps its high-water mark of excellence, but it is in Brunfels’ great work that we find it, for the first time, applied to the illustration of a botanical book.

The illustrations in Brunfels’ herbal were engraved, and probably drawn also, by Hans Weiditz, or Guiditius, some of whose work has been ascribed to Albrecht Dürer. The title ‘Herbarum vivæ eicones’—‘Living Pictures of Plants’—indicates the most distinctive feature of the book, namely that the artist went direct to nature, instead of regarding the plant world through the eyes of previous draughtsmen. This characteristic is best appreciated on comparing Brunfels’ figures with those of his predecessors. His picture of the Waterlily (Text-fig. 66), for example, contrasts notably with that of the same subject from the Venetian ‘Herbarius’ (Text-fig. 65). In the former the artist has caught the exact look of the leaves and stalks, buoyed up by the water. Throughout the work, the drawing seems to be of a slightly higher quality than the actual engraving; the lines are, to use the technical term, occasionally somewhat “rotten” or even broken.

In one respect the welcome reaction from the conventional and generalised early drawings went almost too far. Many of Brunfels’ wood-cuts were done from imperfect specimens, in which, for example, the leaves had withered or had been damaged by insects. This is clearly shown in Text-fig. 84. The artist’s ambition was evidently limited to representing the specimen he had before him, whether it was typical or not. The notion had not then been grasped that the ideal botanical drawing avoids the peculiarities of any individual specimen, and seeks to portray the characters really typical of the species. These characters can sometimes only be arrived at by a comparison of numerous specimens.

From the figures here reproduced a good idea of the style of Weiditz can be obtained. His line is usually firm and broad, and but little shading is employed. The chief merit of the drawings lies in their crisp and virile outlines.

Regarded from the point of view of decorative book illustration, the beautiful drawings of the period under consideration sometimes failed to reach the standard set by earlier work. The very strong, black, velvety line of many of the fifteenth-century wood-engravings, and the occasional use of solid black backgrounds (cf. Text-fig. 81) give a great sense of richness, especially in combination with the black letter type, with which they harmonise so admirably. A page bearing such illustrations is often more satisfying to the eye than one in which the desire to express the subtleties of plant form, in realistic fashion, has led to the use of a more delicate line. However, the primary object of the herbal illustrations was, after all, a scientific and not a decorative one, and, from this point of view, the gain in realism more than compensates for the loss in the harmonious balance of black and white.

Our chronological survey of the chief botanical wood-cuts brings us next to those published by Egenolph in 1533, to illustrate Rhodion’s ‘Kreutterbůch.’ These have sometimes been regarded as of considerable importance, almost comparable, in fact, with those of Brunfels. A careful examination of these wood-engravings leads, however, to the conclusion that practically all the chief figures in Egenolph’s book have been copied from those of Brunfels, but on a smaller scale, and reversed. It is true that the style of engraving is different, and that, as Hatton has pointed out, Egenolph’s flowing, easy, almost brush-like line is very distinct from that of Weiditz. But the fact of the plagiarism remains. The two figures here reproduced—the Lesser Celandine (Text-fig. 33) and the Hart’s-tongue Fern (Text-fig. 85)—are reduced copies from Brunfels.

It is interesting to notice that, as the third part of Brunfels’ great work had not appeared when Egenolph’s book was published, the latter must have been at a loss for figures of the plants which Brunfels had reserved for his third volume. We find that in the case of one such plant, the Asparagus, he solved the problem by going back to the old familiar wood-cut which had done duty in the ‘Ortus Sanitatis’ and the ‘Herbarius zu Teutsch.’

In the third volume of Brunfels’ herbal (which appeared after his death) there is a small figure, that of “Auricula muris,” which differs conspicuously in style from the other engravings, and which appears to represent a case in which the tables were turned, and a figure was borrowed from Egenolph.

In his later books, Egenolph used wood-cuts pirated from those of Fuchs and Bock, which we must now consider.

In the work of Leonhard Fuchs (Frontispiece) plant drawing, as an art, may be said to have reached its culminating point. It is true that, at a later period, when the botanical importance of the detailed structure of the flower and fruit was recognised, figures were produced which conveyed exacter and more copious information on these points than did those of Fuchs. Nevertheless, at least in the opinion of the present writer, the illustrations to Fuchs’ herbals (‘De historia stirpium,’ 1542, and ‘New Kreüterbůch,’ 1543) represent the high-water mark of that type of botanical drawing which seeks to express the individual character and habit of each species, treating the plant broadly as a whole, and not laying more stress upon the reproductive than the vegetative organs.

Fuchs’ figures are on so large a scale that the plant frequently had to be represented as curved, in order to fit it into the folio page. The illustrations here reproduced (Text-figs. 30, 31, 32, 58, 69, 70, 86, 87, 88) do not give an entirely just idea of their beauty, since the line employed in the original is so thin that it is ill-adapted to the reduction necessary here. If the drawings have any fault, it is perhaps to be found in the somewhat blank and unfinished look, occasionally produced when unshaded outline drawings are used on so large a scale. This is the case for instance in the figure of the Aloe. It may be that Fuchs had in mind the possibility that the purchaser might wish to colour the work, and to fill in a certain amount of detail for himself. The existing copies of this and other old herbals often have the figures painted, generally in a distressingly crude and heavy fashion. The colouring in many cases appears to have been done at a very early date. In the octavo edition of Fuchs’ herbal published in 1545, small versions of the large wood-cuts appeared. It is perhaps invidious to draw distinctions between the work of Fuchs and that of Brunfels, since they are both of such exquisite quality. However, merely as an expression of personal opinion, the present writer must confess to feeling that there is a finer sense of power and freedom of handling about the illustrations in Fuchs’ herbal than those of Brunfels.

Sometimes in Fuchs’ figures a wonderfully decorative spirit is shown, as in the case of the Earth-nut Pea (Text-fig. 87) which fills the rectangular space almost in the manner of an “all-over” wall-paper pattern. It must not be forgotten, when discussing wood-cuts, that the artist, who drew upon the block for the engraver, was working under peculiar conditions. It was impossible for him to be unmindful of the boundaries of the block, when these took the form, as it were, of miniature precipices under his hand. These boundaries marked out the exact limit of space which the figure could occupy. It is not surprising, under these circumstances, that the artist who drew upon the block should often seem to have been obsessed by its rectangularity, and should have accommodated his drawing to its form in a way that was unnecessary and far from realistic, though sometimes very decorative. This is exemplified in the figure of the Earth-nut Pea, to which we have just referred and also in Text-figs. 41, 44, 62, 92, 95, 101, etc. The writer has been told by an artist accustomed, in former years, to draw upon the wood for the engraver, that to avoid a rectangular effect required a distinct effort of will. At the present day, when photographic methods of reproduction are almost exclusively used, the artist is no longer oppressively conscious of the exact outline of the space which his figure will occupy.

The figures here reproduced show how great a variety of subjects were successfully dealt with in Fuchs’ work. The Cabbage (Text-fig. 30) is realised in a way that brings home to us the intrinsic beauty of this somewhat prosaic subject. In the Wild Arum (Text-fig. 88) the fruit and a dissection of the inflorescence are represented, so that, botanically, the drawing reaches a high level. Fuchs’ wood-cuts are nearly all original, but that of the White Waterlily appears to have been founded upon Brunfels’ figure.

We have so far spoken, for the sake of brevity, as if Fuchs actually executed the figures himself. This, however, was not the case. He employed two draughtsmen, Heinrich Füllmaurer, who drew the plants from nature, and Albrecht Meyer, who copied the drawings on to the wood, and also an engraver, Veit Růdolf Speckle, who actually cut the blocks. Fuchs evidently delighted to honour his colleagues, for at the end of the book there are portraits of all three at work (Text-fig. 89). The artist is drawing a plant with a brush fixed in a quill.

The drawing and painting of flowers is sometimes dismissed almost contemptuously, as though it were a humble art in which an inferior artist, incapable of the more exacting work of drawing “from the life,” might be able to excel. The falsity of this view is shown by the fact that the greatest of flower painters have generally been men who also did admirable figure work. Fantin-Latour is a striking modern instance, and one has but to glance at the studies of Leonardo da Vinci (e.g. Plate XVIII) and Albrecht Dürer (e.g. Plate XVII) to feel that the finest plant drawings can only be produced by a master hand, capable of achieving success on more ambitious lines. The wood-engravings in Fuchs’ herbal are a case in point. The portraits which also illustrate the book (Frontispiece and Text-fig. 89) show that the talents of the artists whom he employed were not confined to plant drawing, but were also strong in the direction of vigorous and able portraiture.