RIGHTS AND DUTIES OF OUR COLORED FELLOW-CITIZENS.

ONE TERM FOR PRESIDENT.

This is the era of Civil Service Reform, and the President of the United States, in formal Message, has already called our attention to the important subject, and made recommendations with regard to it.[130] It may be remembered that I hailed that Message at once, as it was read from the desk. I forbore then to observe that I missed one recommendation, a very important recommendation, without which all the other recommendations, I fear, may be futile. I missed a recommendation in conformity with the best precedents of our history, and with the opinions of illustrious men, that the Constitution be amended so as to confine the President to one term.

Sir, that is the initial point of Civil Service Reform; that is the first stage in the great reform. The scheme of the President is the play of “Hamlet” without Hamlet. I propose by the Amendment that I offer to see that Hamlet is brought into the play. I send the resolution to the Chair.

Joint Resolution proposing an Amendment of the Constitution, confining the President to One Term.

Whereas for many years there has been an increasing conviction among the people, without distinction of party, that one wielding the vast patronage of the President should not be a candidate for reëlection, and this conviction has found expression in the solemn warnings of illustrious citizens, and in repeated propositions for an Amendment of the Constitution confining the President to one term:

Whereas Andrew Jackson was so fully impressed by the peril to Republican Institutions from the temptations acting on a President, who, wielding the vast patronage of his office, is a candidate for reëlection, that, in his first Annual Message, he called attention to it;[131] that, in his second Annual Message, after setting forth the design of the Constitution “to secure the independence of each department of the Government, and promote the healthful and equitable administration of all the trusts which it has created,” he did not hesitate to say, “The agent most likely to contravene this design of the Constitution is the Chief Magistrate,” and then proceeded to declare, “In order particularly that his appointment may as far as possible be placed beyond the reach of any improper influences; in order that he may approach the solemn responsibilities of the highest office in the gift of a free people uncommitted to any other course than the strict line of constitutional duty; and that the securities for this independence may be rendered as strong as the nature of power and the weakness of its possessor will admit, I cannot too earnestly invite your attention to the propriety of promoting such an Amendment of the Constitution as will render him ineligible after one term of service”;[132] and then, again, in his third Annual Message, the same President renewed this patriotic appeal:[133]

Whereas William Henry Harrison, following in the footsteps of Andrew Jackson, felt it a primary duty, in accepting his nomination as President, to assert the One-Term principle in these explicit words: “Among the principles proper to be adopted by any Executive sincerely desirous to restore the Administration to its original simplicity and purity, I deem the following to be of prominent importance: first, to confine his service to a single term”;[134] and then, in public speech during the canvass which ended in his election, declared, “If the privilege of being President of the United States had been limited to one term, the incumbent would devote all his time to the public interest, and there would be no cause to misrule the country”; and he concluded by pledging himself “before Heaven and Earth, if elected President of these United States, to lay down, at the end of the term, faithfully, that high trust at the feet of the people”:[135]

Whereas Henry Clay, though differing much from Andrew Jackson, united with him on the One-Term principle, and publicly enforced it in a speech, June 27, 1840, where, after asking for “a provision to render a person ineligible to the office of President of the United States after a service of one term,” he explained the necessity of the Amendment by saying, “Much observation and deliberate reflection have satisfied me that too much of the time, the thoughts, and the exertions of the incumbent are occupied during his first term in securing his reëlection: the public business consequently suffers”;[136] and then, again, in a letter dated September 13, 1842, while setting forth what he calls “principal objects engaging the common desire and the common exertion of the Whig party,” the same statesman specifies “an Amendment of the Constitution, limiting the incumbent of the Presidential office to a single term”:[137]

Whereas the Whig party, in its National Convention at Baltimore, May 1, 1844, nominated Henry Clay as President and Theodore Frelinghuysen as Vice-President, with a platform where “a single term for the Presidency” is declared to be among “the great principles of the Whig party, principles inseparable from the public honor and prosperity, to be maintained and advanced by the election of these candidates”;[138] which declaration was echoed at the great National Ratification Convention the next day, addressed by Daniel Webster, where it was resolved that “the limitation of a President to a single term” was among the objects “for which the Whig party will unceasingly strive until their efforts are crowned with a signal and triumphant success”:[139]

Whereas, in the same spirit and in harmony with these authorities, another statesman, Benjamin F. Wade, at the close of his long service in the Senate, most earnestly urged an Amendment of the Constitution confining the President to one term, and in his speech on that occasion, February 20, 1866, said, “The offering of this resolution is no new impulse of mine, for I have been an advocate of the principle contained in it for many years, and I have derived the strong impressions which I entertain on the subject from a very careful observation of the workings of our Government during the period that I have been an observer of them; I believe it has been very rare that we have been able to elect a President of the United States who has not been tempted to use the vast powers intrusted to him according to his own opinions to advance his reëlection”; and then, after exposing at length the necessity of this Amendment, the veteran Senator further declared, “There are defects in the Constitution, and this is among the most glaring; all men have seen it; and now let us have the nerve, let us have the resolution to come up and apply the remedy”:[140]

Whereas these testimonies, revealing intense and wide-spread convictions of the American people, are reinforced by the friendly observations of De Tocqueville, the remarkable Frenchman to whom our country is under such great and lasting obligations, in his famous work on “Democracy in America,” where he says, in words of singular clearness and force, “Intrigue and corruption are vices natural to elective Governments; but when the chief of the State can be reëlected, these vices extend themselves indefinitely, and compromise the very existence of the country: when a simple candidate seeks success by intrigue, his manœuvres can operate only over a circumscribed space; when, on the contrary, the chief of the State himself enters the lists, he borrows for his own use the force of the Government: in the first case, it is a man, with his feeble means; in the second, it is the State itself, with its immense resources, that intrigues and corrupts”:[141] and then, again, the same great writer, who had studied our country so closely, testifies: “It is impossible to consider the ordinary course of affairs in the United States without perceiving that the desire to be reëlected dominates the thoughts of the President; that the whole policy of his Administration tends toward this point; that his least movements are made subservient to this object; that, especially as the moment of crisis approaches, individual interest substitutes itself in his mind for the general interest”:[142]

Whereas all these concurring voices, where patriotism, experience, and reason bear testimony, have additional value at a moment when the country is looking anxiously to a reform of the civil service, for the plain reason that the peril from the Chief Magistrate, so long as he is exposed to temptation, surpasses that from any other quarter, and thus the first stage in this much-desired reform is the One-Term principle, to the end that the President, who exercises the appointing power, reaching into all parts of the country and holding in subserviency a multitudinous army of office-holders, shall be absolutely without motive or inducement to employ it for any other purpose than the public good:

And whereas the character of Republican Institutions requires that the Chief Magistrate shall be above all suspicion of using the machinery of which he is the official head to promote his own personal aims: Therefore,

Be it resolved by the Senate and House of Representatives, &c., That the following Article is hereby proposed as an Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, and, when ratified by the Legislatures of three-fourths of the several States, shall be valid, to all intents and purposes, as part of the Constitution; to wit:

Article ——.

Sec. 1. No person who has once held the office of President of the United States shall be thereafter eligible to that office.

Sec. 2. This Amendment shall not take effect until after the 4th March, 1873.

THE BEST PORTRAITS IN ENGRAVING.

Article in “The City,” an Illustrated Magazine, New York, January 1, 1872.

Engraving is one of the Fine Arts, and in this beautiful family has been the especial hand-maiden of Painting. Another sister is now coming forward to join this service, lending to it the charm of color. If, in our day, the “Chromo” can do more than Engraving, it cannot impair the value of the early masters. With them there is no rivalry or competition. Historically, as well as æsthetically, they will be masters always.

Everybody knows something of engraving, as of printing, with which it was associated in origin. School-books, illustrated papers, and shop-windows are the ordinary opportunities open to all. But, while creating a transient interest, or perhaps quickening the taste, they furnish little with regard to the art itself, especially in other days. And yet, looking at an engraving, like looking at a book, may be the beginning of a new pleasure and a new study.

Each person has his own story. Mine is simple. Suffering from continued prostration, disabling me from the ordinary activities of life, I turned to engravings for employment and pastime. With the invaluable assistance of that devoted connoisseur, the late Dr. Thies, I went through the Gray Collection at Cambridge, enjoying it like a picture-gallery. Other collections in our country were examined also. Then, in Paris, while undergoing severe medical treatment, my daily medicine for weeks was the vast cabinet of engravings, then called Imperial, now National, counted by the million, where was everything to please or instruct. Thinking of those kindly portfolios, I make this record of gratitude, as to benefactors. Perhaps some other invalid, seeking occupation without burden, may find in them the solace that I did. Happily, it is not necessary to visit Paris for the purpose. Other collections, on a smaller scale, will furnish the same remedy.

In any considerable collection Portraits occupy an important place. Their multitude may be inferred, when I mention that in one series of portfolios in the Paris Cabinet I counted no less than forty-seven portraits of Franklin and forty-three of Lafayette, with an equal number of Washington, while all the early Presidents were numerously represented. But in this large company there are very few possessing artistic value. The great portraits of modern times constitute a very short list, like the great poems or histories; and it is the same with engravings as with pictures. Sir Joshua Reynolds, explaining the difference between an historical painter and a portrait-painter, remarks that the former “paints man in general; a portrait-painter a particular man, and consequently a defective model.”[143] A portrait, therefore, may be an accurate presentment of its subject without æsthetic value.

But here, as in other things, genius exercises its accustomed sway without limitation. Even the difficulties of “a defective model” did not prevent Raphael, Titian, Rembrandt, Rubens, Velasquez, or Van Dyck from producing portraits precious in the history of Art. It would be easy to mention heads by Raphael yielding in value to only two or three of his larger masterpieces, like the Dresden Madonna. Charles the Fifth stooped to pick up the pencil of Titian, saying, “It becomes Cæsar to serve Titian!” True enough; but this unprecedented compliment from the imperial successor of Charlemagne attests the glory of the portrait-painter. The female figures of Titian, so much admired under the names of Flora, La Bella, his Daughter, his Mistress, and even his Venus were portraits from life. Rembrandt turned from his great triumphs in his own peculiar school to portraits of unwonted power; so also did Rubens, showing that in this department his universality of conquest was not arrested. To these must be added Velasquez and Van Dyck, each of infinite genius, who won fame especially as portrait-painters. And what other title has Sir Joshua himself?

Historical pictures are often collections of portraits arranged so as to illustrate an important event. Such is the famous Peace of Münster, by Terburg, just presented by a liberal Englishman to the National Gallery at London. Here are the plenipotentiaries of Spain and the United Provinces joining in the ratification of the treaty which, after eighty years of war, gave peace and independence to the latter.[144] The engraving by Suyderhoef is rare and interesting. Similar in character is The Death of Chatham, by Copley, where the illustrious statesman is surrounded by the peers he had been addressing,—every one a portrait. To this list must be added the pictures by Trumbull in the Rotunda of the Capitol at Washington, especially The Declaration of Independence, in which Thackeray took a sincere interest. Standing before these, the author and artist said to me, “These are the best pictures in the country,”—and he proceeded to remark on their honesty and fidelity; but doubtless their real value is in their portraits.

Unquestionably the finest assemblage of portraits anywhere is that of the artists occupying two halls in the Uffizi Gallery at Florence, being autographs contributed by the masters themselves. Here is Raphael, with chestnut-brown hair, and dark eyes full of sensibility, painted when he was twenty-three, and known by the engraving of Forster,—Giulio Romano, in black and red chalk on paper,—Masaccio, one of the fathers of painting, much admired,—Leonardo da Vinci, beautiful and grand,—Titian, rich and splendid,—Pietro Perugino, remarkable for execution and expression,—Albert Dürer, rigid, but masterly,—Gerard Dow, finished according to his own exacting style,—and Reynolds, with fresh English face: but these are only examples of this incomparable collection, which was begun as far back as the Cardinal Leopoldo de’ Medici, and has been happily continued to the present time. Here are the lions, painted by themselves,—except, perhaps, the foremost of all, Michel Angelo, whose portrait seems the work of another. The impression from this collection is confirmed by that of any group of historic artists. Their portraits excel those of statesmen, soldiers, or divines, as is easily seen by engravings accessible to all. The engraved heads in Arnold Houbraken’s biographies of the Dutch and Flemish painters, in three volumes, are a family of rare beauty.[145]

The relation of engraving to painting is often discussed; but nobody has treated it with more knowledge or sentiment than the consummate engraver Longhi, in his interesting work “La Calcografia.”[146] Dwelling on the general aid it renders to the lovers of Art, he claims for it greater merit in “publishing and immortalizing the portraits and actions of eminent men as an example to the present and future generations,” and, “better than any other art, serving as a vehicle for the most extended and remote propagation of a deserved celebrity.”[147] Even great monuments in porphyry and bronze are less durable than these light and fragile prints, subject to all the chances of wind, water, and fire, but prevailing by their numbers where hardness and tenacity succumb. In other words, it is with engravings as with books; nor is this the only resemblance between them. According to Longhi, an engraving is not a copy or an imitation, as is sometimes insisted, but a translation.[148] The engraver translates into another language, where light and shade supply the place of colors. The duplication of a book in the same language is a copy, and so is the duplication of a picture in the same material. Evidently an engraving is not a copy; it does not reproduce the original picture, except in drawing and expression: nor is it a mere imitation; but, as Bryant’s Homer and Longfellow’s Dante are presentations of the great originals in another language, so is the engraving a presentation of painting in another material, which is like another language.

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]

Such are illustrative instances from Germany, Italy, and Holland. As yet, power rather than beauty presided, unless in the etchings of Van Dyck. But the reign of Louis the Fourteenth was beginning to assert a supremacy in engraving as in literature. The great school of French engravers which appeared at this time brought the art to a splendid perfection, which many think has not been equalled since; so that Masson, Nanteuil, Edelinck, and Drevet may claim fellowship in genius with their immortal contemporaries, Corneille, Racine, La Fontaine, and Molière.

The school was opened by Claude Mellan, more known as engraver than painter, and also author of most of the designs he engraved. His life, beginning with the sixteenth century, was protracted to nearly ninety years, not without signal honor; for his name appears among the “Illustrious Men” of France, in the beautiful volumes of Perrault, which is also a homage to the art he practised. One of his works, for a long time much admired, was described by this author:—

This print is known as The Sudarium of Saint Veronica. Longhi records that it was thought at the time “inimitable,” and was “praised to the skies,”—adding, “But people think differently now.”[156] At best it is a curiosity among portraits. A traveller reported some time ago that it was the sole print on the walls of the room occupied by the Director of the Imperial Cabinet of Engravings at St. Petersburg.

Morin was a contemporary of Mellan, and less famous at the time. His style of engraving was peculiar, being a mixture of strokes and dots, but so harmonized as to produce a pleasing effect. One of the best engraved portraits in the history of the art is his Cardinal Bentivoglio; but here he translated Van Dyck, whose picture is among his best. A fine impression of this print is a choice possession.

Among French masters Antoine Masson is conspicuous for brilliant hardihood of style, which, though failing in taste, is powerful in effect. Metal, armor, velvet, feather, seem as if painted. He is also most successful in the treatment of hair. His immense skill made him welcome difficulties, as if to show his ability in overcoming them. His print of Henri de Lorraine, Comte d’Harcourt, known as Cadet à la Perle, from the pearl in the ear, with the date 1667, is often placed at the head of engraved portraits, although not particularly pleasing or interesting. The vigorous countenance is aided by the gleam and sheen of the various substances entering into the costume. Less powerful, but having a charm of its own, is that of Brisacier, known as The Gray-Haired Man, engraved in 1664. The remarkable representation of hair in this print has been a model for artists, especially for Longhi, who recounts that he copied it in his head of Washington.[157] Somewhat similar is the head of Charrier, the Criminal Judge at Lyons. Though inferior in hair, it surpasses the other in expression.

Nanteuil was an artist of different character, being to Masson as Van Dyck to Visscher, with less of vigor than beauty. His original genius was refined by classical studies and quickened by diligence. Though dying at the age of forty-eight, he had executed as many as two hundred and eighty plates, nearly all portraits. The favor he enjoyed during life has not diminished with time. His works illustrate the reign of Louis the Fourteenth, and are still admired. Among these are portraits of the King, Anne of Austria, Johan Baptist van Steenberghen, called The Advocate of Holland, a Heavy Dutchman, François de la Mothe-Le-Vayer, a fine and delicate work, Turenne, Colbert, Lamoignon, the poet Loret, Maridat de Serrière, Louise-Marie de Gonzague, Louis Hesselin, Christina of Sweden,—all masterpieces; but above these is the Pomponne de Bellièvre, foremost among his masterpieces, and a chief masterpiece of Art, being, in the judgment of more than one connoisseur, the most beautiful engraved portrait that exists. That excellent authority Dr. Thies, who knew engraving more thoroughly and sympathetically than any person I remember in our country, said, in a letter to myself, as long ago as March, 1858,—

And after describing this head, the learned connoisseur proceeds:—

It is bold, perhaps, thus to exalt a single portrait, giving to it the palm of Venus; nor do I know that it is entirely proper to classify portraits according to beauty. In disputing about beauty, we are too often lost in the variety of individual tastes; and yet each person knows when he is touched. In proportion as multitudes are touched, there must be merit. As in music a simple heart-melody is often more effective than any triumph over difficulties or bravura of manner, so in engraving, the sense of the beautiful may prevail over all else; and this is the case with the Pomponne, although there are portraits by others showing higher art.

No doubt there have been as handsome men, whose portraits were engraved, but not so well. I know not if Pomponne was what would be called a handsome man, although his air is noble and his countenance bright; but among portraits more boldly, delicately, or elaborately engraved, there are very few to contest the palm of beauty.[158]

And who is this handsome man to whom the engraver has given a lease of fame? Son, nephew, and grandson of high dignitaries in Church and State,—with two grandfathers Chancellors of France, two uncles Archbishops, his father President of the Parliament of Paris and Councillor of State,—himself at the head of the magistracy of France, First President of Parliament, according to an inscription on the engraving, Senatus Galliarum Princeps, Ambassador to Italy, Holland, and England, charged in the last-named country by Cardinal Mazarin with the impossible duty of making peace between the Long Parliament and Charles the First, and at his death great benefactor of the General Hospital of Paris, bestowing upon it riches and the very bed on which he died. Such is the simple catalogue; and yet it is all forgotten.

A Funeral Panegyric pronounced at his death, now before me in the original pamphlet of the time,[159] testifies to more than family or office. In himself he was much, and not of those who, according to the saying of Saint Bernard, “give out smoke rather than light.”[160] “Pure glory and innocent riches”[161] were his; and he was the more precious in the sight of all good men, that he showed himself incorruptible, and not to be bought at any price. It were easy for him to have turned a deluge of wealth into his house; but he knew that gifts insensibly entangle,—that the specious pretext of gratitude is the snare in which the greatest souls allow themselves to be caught,—that a man covered with favors has difficulty in setting himself against injustice in all its forms,—and that a magistrate divided between a sense of obligations received and the care of the public interest, which he ought always to promote, is a paralytic magistrate, a magistrate deprived of a moiety of himself. So spoke the preacher, while he portrayed a charity tender and effective for the wretched, a vehemence just and inflexible toward the dishonest and wicked, and a sweetness noble and beneficent for all; dwelling also on his countenance, which had nothing of that severe and sour austerity that renders justice to the good only as if with regret, and to the guilty only in anger; then on his pleasant and gracious address, his intellectual and charming conversation, his ready and judicious replies, his agreeable and intelligible silence,—even his refusals being well received and obliging,—while, amidst all the pomp and splendor accompanying him, there shone in his eyes a certain air of sweetness and majesty, which secured for him, and for justice itself, love as well as respect. His benefactions were constant. Not content with merely giving, he gave with a beautiful manner, still more rare. He could not abide beauty of intelligence without goodness of soul; and he preferred always the poor, having for them not only compassion, but a sort of reverence. He knew that the way to take the poison from riches was to let the poor taste of them. The sentiment of Christian charity for the poor, who were to him in the place of children, was his last thought,—as witness especially the General Hospital endowed by him, and represented by the preacher as the greatest and most illustrious work ever undertaken by charity the most heroic.

Thus lived and died the splendid Pomponne de Bellièvre, with no other children than his works. Celebrated at the time by a Funeral Panegyric now forgotten, and placed among the Illustrious Men of France in a work remembered only for its engraved portraits,[162] his famous life shrinks in the voluminous “Biographic Universelle” of Michaud to the sixth part of a single page, and in the later “Biographic Générale” of Didot disappears entirely. History forgets to mention him. But the lofty magistrate, ambassador, and benefactor, founder of a great hospital, cannot be entirely lost from sight so long as his portrait by Nanteuil holds a place in Art.

Younger than Nanteuil by ten years, Gerard Edelinck excelled him in genuine mastery. Born at Antwerp, he became French by adoption, occupying apartments in the Gobelins, and enjoying a pension from Louis the Fourteenth. Longhi says that he is “the engraver whose works, not only in my opinion, but in that of the best judges, deserve the first place among exemplars of the art”; and he attributes to him, “in a high degree, design, chiaroscuro, aërial perspective, local tints, softness, lightness, variety, in short everything which can form the most exact representation of the true and beautiful without the aid of color.” Others may have surpassed him in particular things, but, according to the Italian teacher, “he still remains by common consent the prince of engraving.”[163] Another critic calls him “king.”

It requires no remarkable knowledge to recognize his great merits. Evidently he is a master, exercising sway with absolute art, and without attempt to bribe the eye by special effects of light, as on metal or satin. Among his conspicuous productions is The Tent of Darius, a large engraving on two sheets, after Le Brun, where the family of the Persian monarch prostrate themselves before Alexander, who approaches with Hephæstion. There is also a Holy Family, after Raphael, and The Battle of the Standard, after Leonardo da Vinci. But these are less interesting than his numerous portraits, among which that of Philippe de Champagne is the chief masterpiece; and there are others of signal merit, including especially Madame Helyot, or La belle Religieuse, a beautiful French coquette praying before a crucifix; Martin van den Bogaert (Des Jardins,) the sculptor; Frédéric Léonard, Printer to the King; Mouton, the Lute-Player; Nathanael Dilgerus, with a venerable beard white with age; Jules Hardouin Mansart, the architect; also a portrait of Pomponne de Bellièvre, which will be found among the prints of Perrault’s “Illustrious Men.”

The Philippe de Champagne is the head of that eminent French artist after a painting by himself, and it contests the palm with the Pomponne. Mr. Marsh, who is an authority, prefers it. Dr. Thies, who places the latter first in beauty, is constrained to allow that the other is “superior as a work of the graver,” being executed with all the resources of the art in its chastest form. The enthusiasm of Longhi finds expression in unusual praise:—