In the foregoing accounts of black profile painting, the cutting out of a sketched outline obtained by shadowgraphy or any other means, little mention has been made of the freehand scissor artist, who, without pencil or pen sketch, cut a small likeness after studying the sitter for a few seconds.

Though there were many other processes which gave charming and artistic results, there is no doubt that from the dated convent work of 1708 and the first known record in England of Mrs. Pyburg, who cut the portraits of William and Mary, up to the few remaining cutters of the present day, this type of freehand scissor-work has persisted in England, and also in Germany.

Some of the early cut-work examples were made with the assistance of fine small-bladed knives. Specimens of cut vellum exist, which it would have been impossible to cut with scissors alone. A notably fine example is in the Francisco-Carolinum Museum at Linz; it is an Ex Voto offering, and represents the Flight of the Holy Family into Egypt. The parchment mount has the most elaborate tendrils cut out, while typically German flourishes and mantling support birds and beasts. A stag-hunt is seen in one part, while the imperial eagle is not wanting in this skilful production. The picture is dated 1708.

In the same museum is a magnificent Dedication to the State Deputation of the Province of Nymwegen. Justice is surrounded by angels and trophies, painted and gilded, and the arms of the province are cut with much delicacy, and with richly foliated ornament. The whole is mounted on red, and dated 1710, but the artist wielder of the penknife unfortunately does not sign his work.

It is possible that these examples were convent-made. The cutting out of religious subjects and the extreme elaboration of their ornamental borders flourished, to a small extent, for some years after the printing press had destroyed the occupation of the monks in copying and illuminating manuscripts. A reproduction of one of these is now before us. It represents St. Benedict seated in the habit of a monk; a cross, skull, and other symbols are on the rocks at his side; the saint has a halo. A large tree is in the background, and birds and a squirrel are amongst the branches; two steps lead down to a sylvan scene, where the saint is seen walking away in the distance. Conventionalised roses, cornucopia, and floriated forms compose the wide border; this is all cut on the same piece of vellum, but there is no colour used. Another convent-made cut picture, which was exhibited at the Brünn Exhibition, shows a picture of the Baptism of Christ in the Jordan; it is signed “F. Agathaugdus, Bonnensis Capuchin.” In this picture, which is of paper, not vellum, the arms of a bishop appear, together with the inscription, “Johanni Ernesto, S.R.I., Principi Metropolitanæ Eccl., Salisbury.”

An achievement of arms seems to have been a favourite subject for such pieces. A remarkable specimen in cut paper, mounted on looking-glass, is in the collection of Lady Dorothy Nevill. It displays the arms, supporters, and motto of Robert Walpole, Earl of Orford, the ancestor of Lady Dorothy. These examples are very difficult to find; it is probable that many have been destroyed.

Another example, in the possession of the author, shows a heraldic escutcheon, with wolf and hound supporter, etc. This lies between two sheets of glass. The minuteness of the cutting of this fine paper is extraordinary.

A very fine specimen has a miniature of Charles I. In the centre an elaborate mount is cut out of thin paper; the whole is in a fine tortoiseshell frame of the period. This type of work is rare.

Little mention is made of freehand paper or vellum cutting in the early written treatises, probably because, needing only talent for catching a likeness and skill in wielding the scissors, there was little to be said about it; so that the early writers on the black profile work turned their attention to the less gifted workers who needed their help with extraneous and complicated processes.

Of all those who cut the likeness direct after glancing at the sitter, the Frenchman, August Edouart, was undoubtedly the most skilful and prolific. He styles himself “Silhouettist to the French Royal Family. Patronised by His Royal Highness the late Duke of Gloucester and the principal nobility of England, Scotland, and Ireland.” When he first came to England as a refugee, he seems to have supported himself by a strange industry, invented by himself, which he calls mosaic hair-work. In the descriptive catalogue which is before us, of an exhibition of this work held about 1826, such items appear as a wolf’s head; a squirrel, made with real hair, climbing a tree; a marine view with a man-of-war.

“This performance in human hair imitates the finest true engraving; the curious may perceive, with the help of a magnifying glass, the cordage and men on board. This work has taken at least twelve months in its execution.” When he made hair portraits of men, women, or animals, he used their own natural hair, “raising them from the ivory and making bas-reliefs.”

“These works,” writes Edouart, “being of my own invention and execution, I have desisted from making for the last twelve years, since the death of my royal and distinguished patrons, Queen Charlotte, the Prince of Saxe-Coburg, and others.”

It is strange that Edouart never combined hair-work with shadow portraiture, as did some of the German exponents. Being so expert a hair artist, it would have been natural to expect some examples of this rare combination; none, however, have as yet come before the author, though, knowing Edouart was an expert in both crafts, such examples have been sought.

Edouart wrote a treatise on “Silhouette Likenesses,” a book which is now very rare. It was published by Longman & Co., Paternoster Row, in 1835, and is illustrated with eighteen full-page plates, and it is characteristic of the man that the first is a portrait of himself; others are of celebrated personages of the day, and there are also several genre pictures executed with considerable skill. It is in portraiture, however, that his unrivalled skill has placed him high above all other workers in black paper cutting.

He describes his discovery of his talent for likeness cutting at some length. At the end of 1825 he was shown black shades which had been taken with a patent machine, and condemned them as unlike the originals. He was challenged to do them as well. “I replied that my finding a fault was not a reason that I could do better, and that I had never even dreamed of taking likenesses .... I then took a pair of scissors, I tore the cover off a letter that lay on the table; I took the old father by the arm and led him to a chair, that I placed in a proper manner, so as to see his profile, then in an instant I produced the likeness. The paper being white, I took the black snuffers and rubbed it on with my fingers; this likeness and preparation, made so quickly, as if by inspiration, was at once approved of, and found so like that the ladies changed their teasing and ironical tone to praises, and begged me to take their mothers’ likeness, which I did with the same facility and exactness.”

There is much long-winded explanation in this egotistical and somewhat priggish style, but delightful sidelights are thrown on the adventures of a silhouettist in the performance of his craft, of the status of the artist, his contempt of all methods except his own, and the naïve devices used for gaining advertisement. As these have no place in the present chapter, they will be found elsewhere under “August Edouart and his Book.”

Edouart nearly always cut the full-length figure. Amongst some thousands of his portraits which have been examined, only about fifty of bust size have been discovered.

“The figure adds materially to the effect that produces a likeness, and combines with the outline of the face to render, as it were, a double likeness in the same subject. From this combination of face and figure arises the pleasing and not less surprising result of a striking resemblance. The many thousands I have taken of the full-length enable me confidently to make this assertion.”

He argues that, in catching a likeness, attitude and demeanour are as important as the features of the face and contours of the head. The silhouette is the representation of a shade, he says, and if it be not critically exact, the principal part of its merit is lost.

He considers that the grouping of several figures makes the emphasising of a likeness in any one of the figures more noticeable, the difference existing between individuals, whether in height, gesture, or attitude, being a great advantage to the artist in giving point to the likeness.

He also lays great stress on the proportions in the figure of the sitter, which can be shown only in the full-length. Some have a long body and small legs, others long legs and a short body; in fact, everything in nature varies, and all these variations help to make the portrait of the individual, and not the features alone. Beauty, he continues, has respect to form. Now, one part of a figure may exhibit a beautiful form, and yet that figure may not be well proportioned throughout. For instance, a man may have a handsome leg, or arm, considered in itself, but the other parts of his figure may not equal this part in beauty, or this part may not be accurately proportioned to the rest of the figure; and so on through many pages, in which Edouart proves to his own satisfaction that, in order to give a correct shade likeness of a person, it is necessary to portray the whole and not one part only of that person. He goes further, and maintains that, as the manner of dress is often as characteristic as the gait, what is most usual for the sitter to wear should be depicted.

Edouart’s portraits are to be found in many parts of the British Isles and the United States of America, for his custom was to take up his abode in a town, to advertise in the papers, and to stay there while he took the silhouette portraits of the surrounding gentry and noblemen. Quite early in his career, his albums of duplicates contained 50,000 (the late Mr. Andrew Tuer computes them at 100,000) portraits, so that his whole output must have been enormous. He seems to have worked with great method, keeping a note of “the names of the persons I take, and the dates. These are written five times over—first, on the duplicate of the likeness; secondly, in my day book; thirdly, in the book in which I preserve them; fourthly, in the index of that book; and fifthly, in the general index. Without this arrangement, how could I at a minute’s notice tell whether I had taken the likeness of any person enquired for, and could it be otherwise possible to produce the silhouette, or to know from about 50 books, folio size, and above 50,000 likenesses, if I had taken the one required?”

The value of such method and classification, when some of these long-lost volumes came to the writer for identification, can be imagined. The story of the romance of the lost folios is too long a one to include in a general chapter on silhouette cutters and their work. It will appear in its place elsewhere, together with a notice of some of the extraordinarily interesting groups of famous people, especially those of the United States, where presidents and senators, public officials, professional men, famous characters, their wives and children, appear in startling sequence, crowded with order and method on to the pages of the numerous large volumes.

It was when on his way home from the American continent that Edouart met with that misfortune which so preyed upon his mind that he died in a short time. The ship “Oneida,” on which he travelled, was wrecked off the coast of Guernsey, and a large portion of Edouart’s collection was lost, together with much personal luggage, and a good deal of the cargo of cotton from Maryland. He died near Calais in 1861.

The very clever freehand scissor pictures of Paul Konewka are justly famous. Like Edouart, he was of the nineteenth century. Born in 1840, he was the son of a university official in Greifswald. After a public school education, he studied under Menzel, for whose influence he was ever grateful. He dedicated his Falstaff and his Companions to him while his master lay dying.

During his travels through Germany, Konewka cut a very large number of portraits which are now treasured in the possession of private owners. The actress, Anna Klenk, served as a model for many of his very beautiful figures.

While in Tübingen, at the Clinical Institute, he used quietly to cut the portraits of many of the listeners, and the professor who was lecturing as well. Such was his skill that he did his work by touch alone under the table. He was introduced to a general in Berlin, who flattered him, but called his gift dangerous. Konewka immediately handed him his own likeness, cut out of the lining of his dress-coat at the back while the general addressed him. Surely the same might be said of Konewka as was said of Runge, “the scissors have become nothing less than a lengthening of my fingers.”

It is as a book illustrator that Konewka is best known to the world. Besides the Falstaff and his Companions dedicated to Paul Heyse, illustrations for Midsummer Night’s Dream and twelve sheets for Goëthe’s Faust, children’s picture books, loose sheets, and many other illustrations, were cut by him. Konewka died in Berlin in 1871, his last silhouette being that of a dying trooper to illustrate the German song, “O Strasburg du wunderschœn Stadt.”

No less gifted in the art of scissor-cutting was Karl Fröhlich, once a compositor. His skill was chiefly directed towards little genre pictures of children plucking flowers, winged cupids, old men and women drinking coffee, and much fine landscape work. Unlike Konewka, he never cut wood blocks, so that his work has not been accessible for publication.

P. Packeny was an enthusiastic amateur, who worked in Vienna from 1846. He cut landscapes and genre pictures, but unfortunately did not confine himself to black and white effects, so that much of his work is spoilt by the use of brightly coloured papers.

Runge, the German artist, it is said, learnt silhouette cutting by watching his sister at her embroidery. In 1806 he sent some marvellously cut-out flowers to Goëthe. The poet was so charmed with them that he declared he would decorate a whole room with Runge’s work; this was never done. The artist wrote early in his career: “If chance had put a pencil instead of scissors into my hand, I would draw you all, so plainly do I see you.” Herr Julius Leisching agrees with Lichtwark that the cutting out of silhouettes had great influence on Runge’s pictures. Runge’s studies of plants with scissors and paper have been privately published. He cut out while out walking; saw and cut nature down to the roots.

One of the most remarkable of the paper cutters of the early nineteenth century was Hubard, who seems to have been the inevitable infant prodigy of the craft. He began his freehand scissor-work in portraiture and landscape at the early age of thirteen. The handbill which lies before us advertises his art as “Papyrolomia”—a terrible word, which doubtless had its uses in whetting the appetite of the public by mystifying them and suggesting terrifying adventures. This leaflet is illustrated with a grotesque figure, which has obviously been some of the printer’s stock-in-trade, for it is hardly germane to the subject of silhouette cutting, nor could it be the portrait of a scissor-worker of such tender years as Master Hubard, though this artist is only a secondary attraction in the show. The handbill runs thus:—

This device with regard to a return visit to the gallery was probably highly successful, and adopted by Master Hubard on his visit to the United States about 1833. He was seventeen years of age when he went to America and established a Hubard Gallery in New York, where for fifty cents he cut the portraits of many well-known people. His gallery was thronged. His pictures are usually full-length portraits, and are pasted on card, having “Hubard Gallery” embossed in the left-hand corner. The example before us shows a handsome man with frock-coat and high stock collar. Though most of his work was done with scissors, Hubard also worked in Indian ink, and sometimes used gold pencilling to heighten the effect. An interesting example of his work is the portrait of little Princess Victoria, when about ten years of age. This was doubtless cut at Kensington Palace; possibly the little maid would be allowed to visit the gallery, or Hubard may have been summoned to the palace, as Edouart was to Holyrood.

J. Gapp was another early Victorian profile cutter, whose skill with the scissors is markedly in advance of his artistic sense. In his advertisement of about the year 1829, at the back of a boy’s full-length in Eton suit and aggressively large white collar, he describes himself as “The original Profilist for cutting accurate Likenesses attends daily at the Third Tower in the centre of the Chain Pier (Brighton), and begs to observe that he has no connection with any other person, and that he continues to produce the most wonderful Likenesses, in which the expression and peculiarity of character are brought into action in a very superior style on the following terms:—Full-length likenesses at 2s. 6d. each, two of the same 4s., or in bronze 4s.; profile to the bust 1s., two of the same 1s. 6d., or in bronze 2s. Ladies and gentlemen on horseback 7s. 6d.; single horses 5s.; dogs 1s. 6d. N.B.—A variety of interesting small cuttings for Ladies’ Scrap-books.”

Here we have a clue to the great scrap-book mania of the day. Everyone, from royalty downwards, collected treasures to paste in scrap-books, and Gapp, of the Chain Pier, like Hubard, was clever enough to offer to supply the want of interesting items.

E. Haines, patronised by the Royal Family, also worked on the Chain Pier at Brighton, at “the first left-hand tower.” He describes himself as a “Profilist and Scissorgraphist.” His trade label is on the back of a fine full-length portrait of a man, once in the collection of Mr. Montague J. Guest. There is great vigour and character in Haines’ work; the specimen before us is untouched with gold.

G. Atkinson (1815) also describes himself as “Silhouettist to the Royal Family.” He lived at Windsor, and there are some fine portraits of George III. and his sons, which, though stilted and without imagination, show considerable skill in the cutting. A group cut out in black and touched with gold was exhibited by G. Sharland, Esq., at the Royal Amateur Art Society’s Exhibition in 1911.

Though there are many other scissor-workers who might be mentioned, and examples described of graceful women in hooped skirts and fascinating side ringlets, maidens in cottage bonnets, and dainty children whose ringing voices one can almost hear as the shadow pageant passes, yet sufficient examples have been mentioned to show how popular was the craze for black portrait cutting, and how large a branch it was of the black profile processes.

That silhouettes are kept in the reference library of our National Portrait Gallery, because, on account of their life-like resemblance, they are of great value to the authorities in the identification of unknown portraits, is a fact which speaks for the great historic value of these pictorial records. In the cuttings of Edouart there is the ego of the man or woman as well as the bodily form. A gesture, the poise of the body, the arrested movement of the limbs, are shown with more than photographic correctness—when photography was as yet unborn. In the picture of a blind man we see by the tilt of the chin, the angle of the head, that, like all so afflicted, the man is exercising senses which are dormant in those who have sight. The simple black outline of the American deaf and dumb poet Nack, by this master-cutter, is instinct with the patient silence of the dumb, the aloofness of the deaf. Fine oil paintings and miniatures give us a man or woman interpreted through the senses of the artist and idealised or distorted through the alchemy of the artist’s mind. The shadow portrait is nature herself, and its very simplicity of line imposes a keener effect on the mind of the student, because there are no contours to confuse the outline.