Albert Durer

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[Transcriber's note: The printing errors of the original have been
retained in this etext.]

ALBERT DUeRER

BY

T. STURGE MOORE

PREFACE

When the late Mr. Arthur Strong asked me to undertake the present
volume, I pointed out to him that, to fulfil the advertised programme of
the Series he was editing, was more than could be hoped from my
attainments. He replied, that in the case of Duerer a book, fulfilling
that programme, was not called for, and that what he wished me to
attempt, was an appreciation of this great artist in relation to general
ideas. I had hoped to benefit very largely by my editor's advice and
supervision, but this his illness and death prevented. His great gifts
and brilliant accomplishments, already darkened and distressed by
disease, were all too soon to be utterly quenched; and I can but here
express, not only my sense of personal loss in the hopes which his
friendly welcome and generous intercourse had created and which have
been so cruelly dashed by the event, but also that of the void which his
disappearance has left in the too thin ranks of those who, filled with
reverence and enthusiasm for the great traditions of the past, seem
nevertheless eager and capable of grappling with the unwieldy present.
Let and restricted had been the recognition of his maturing worth, and
now we must do without both him and the impetus of his so nearly
assured success.

The present volume, then, is not the result of new research; nor is it
an abstract resuming historical and critical discoveries on its subject
up to date. Of this latter there are several already before the British
public; the former, as I said, it was not for me to attempt. Nor do I
feel my book to be altogether even what it was intended to be; but am
conscious that too much space has been given to the enumeration of
Duerer's principal works and the events of his life without either being
made exhaustive. Still, I hope that even these parts may be found
profitable by those who are not already familiar with the subjects with
which they deal. To those for whom these subjects are well known, I
should like to point out that Parts I. and IV. and very much of Part
III. embody my chief intention; that chapter 1 of Part I. finds a
further illustration in division iii. of chapter 4, Part II.; and that
division vi., chapter 1, Part II., should be taken as prefatory to
chapter 1, Part IV.

Should exception be taken to the works chosen as illustrations, I would
explain that the means of reproduction, the degree of reduction
necessitated by the size of the page, and other outside considerations,
have severely limited my choice. It is entirely owing to the extreme
kindness of the Duerer Society--more especially of its courteous and
enthusiastic secretaries, Mr. Campbell Dodgson and Mr. Peartree--that
four copper-plates have so greatly enhanced the adequacy of the volume
in this respect.

I have gratefully to acknowledge Sir Martin Conway's kindness in
permitting me to quote so liberally from his "Literary Remains of
Albrecht Duerer," by far the best book on this great artist known to me.
Mr. Charles Eaton's translation of Thausing's "Life of Duerer," the
"Portfolios of the Duerer Society," and Dr. Lippmanb "Drawings of
Albrecht Duerer," are the only other works on my subject to which I feel
bound to acknowledge my indebtedness. Lastly, I must express deep
gratitude to my learned friend, Mr. Campbell Dodgson, for having so
generously consented, by reading the proofs, to mitigate my defect in
scholarship.

CONTENTS

PREFACE

PART I

CONCERNING GENERAL IDEAS IMPORTANT TO THE
COMPREHENSION OF DUeRER'S LIFE AND ART

I. THE IDEA OF PROPORTION
II THE INFLUENCE OF RELIGION ON THE CREATIVE IMPULSE

PART II

DUeRER'S LIFE IN RELATION TO THE TIMES
IN WHICH HE LIVED

I. DUeRER'S ORIGIN, YOUTH, AND EDUCATION
II. THE WORLD IN WHICH HE LIVED
III. DUeRER AT VENICE
IV. HIS PATRONS AND FRIENDS
V. DUeRER, LUTHER, AND THE HUMANISTS
VI. DUeRER'S JOURNEY TO THE NETHERLANDS
VII. DUeRER'S LAST YEARS

PART III

DUeRER AS A CREATOR

I. DUeRER'S PICTURES
II. DUeRER'S PORTRAITS
III. DUeRER'S DRAWINGS
IV. DUeRER'S METAL ENGRAVINGS
V. DUeRER'S WOODCUTS
VI. DUeRER'S INFLUENCES AND VERSES

PART IV

DUeRER'S IDEAS

I. THE IDEA OF A CANON OF PROPORTION FOR THE HUMAN FIGURE
II. THE IMPORTANCE OF DOCILITY
III. THE LAST TRADITION
IV. BEAUTY
V. NATURE
VI. THE CHOICE OF AN ARTIST
VII. TECHNICAL PRECEPTS
VIII. IN CONCLUSION

ILLUSTRATIONS

Apollo and Diana, Metal Engraving
Water-colour drawing of a Hare
Pilate Washing his Hands. Metal Engraving
Agnes Frey
"Mein Angnes"
Wilibald Pirkheimer
Hans Burgkmair
Adoration of the Trinity
St. Christopher
Assumption of the Magdalen
Duerer's Mother
Maximilian
Frederick the Wise
Silver-point Portrait
Erasmus
Drawing of a Lion
Lucas van der Leyden
Peter and John at the Beautiful Gate. Metal Engraving
St. George and St. Eustache
Martyrdom of Ten Thousand Saints
Road to Calvary
Portrait of Duerer
Portrait of Duerer
Albert Duerer the Elder
Gswolt Krel
Portrait at Hampton Court
Portrait of a Lady
Michel Wolgemuth
Hans Imhof
"Jakob Muffel"
Study of a Hound
Memento Mei
Silver-point Portrait
Portrait in Black Chalk
Cherub for a Crucifixion
Apollo and Diana
An Old Castle
Melancholia
Detail from "The Agony in the Garden"
Angel with Sudarium
The Small Horse
The Great Fortune, or Nemesis
Silver-point Drawing
St. Michael and the Dragon
Detail from "The Meeting at the Golden Gate"
Detail from "The Nativity"
Duerer's Armorial Bearings
Christ haled before Annas
The Last Supper
Saint Antony, Metal Engraving
"In the Eighteenth Year"
"Una Vilana Wendisch"
Charcoal Drawing

PART I

CONCERNING GENERAL IDEAS IMPORTANT TO THE COMPREHENSION OF DUeRER'S LIFE
AND ART

CHAPTER I

THE IDEA OF PROPORTION

I

Ich hab vernomen wie der siben weysen aus kriechenland ainer gelert hab
das dymass in allen dingen sitlichen und naturlichen das pest sey.

DUeRER, British Museum MS., vol. iv., 82a.

I have heard how one of the Seven Sages of Greece taught that measure is
in all things, physical and moral, best.

La souveraine habilete consiste a bien connaitre le prix des choses. LA
ROCHEFOUCAULD, III. 252.

Sovereign skill consists in thoroughly understanding the value of
things.

The attempt that the last quarter century has witnessed, to introduce
the methods of science into the criticism of works of art, has tended,
it seems to me, to put the question of their value into the background.
The easily scandalous inquiries, "Who?" "When?" "Where?" have assumed an
impertinent predominance. When I hear people very decidedly asserting
that such a picture was painted by such an one, not generally supposed
to be the author, at such a time, &c. &c., I often feel uneasy in the
same way as one does on being addressed in a loud voice in a church or a
picture gallery, where other persons are absorbed in an acknowledged and
respected contemplation or study. I feel inclined to blush and whisper,
for fear of being supposed to know the speaker too well. It is an
awkward moment with me, for I am in fact very good friends with many
such persons. "Sovereign skill consists in thoroughly understanding the
value of things"--not their commercial value only, though that is
sovereign skill on the Exchange, but their value for those whose chief
riches are within them. The value of works of art is an intimate
experience, and cannot be estimated by the methods of exact science as
the weight of a planet can. There are and have been forgeries that are
more beautiful, therefore more valuable, than genuine specimens of the
class of work which they figure as. I feel that the specialist, with his
special measure and point of view, often endangers the fair name and
good repute of the real estimate; and that nothing but the dominion and
diffusion of general ideas can defend us against the specialist and keep
the specialist from being carried away by bad habits resulting from his
devotion to a single inquiry.

There was one general idea, of the greatest importance in determining
the true value of things, which preoccupied Duerer's mind and haunted his
imagination: the idea of proportion. I propose therefore to attempt to
make clear to myself and my readers what the idea of proportion really
implies, and of what service a sense for proportion really is; secondly,
to determine the special use of the term in relation to the appreciation
of works of art; thirdly, in relation to their internal
structure;--before proceeding to the special studies of Duerer as a man
and an artist.

II

I conceive the human reason to be the antagonist of all known forces
other than itself, and that therefore its most essential character is
the hope and desire to control and transform the universe; or, failing
that, to annihilate, if not the universe, at least itself and the
consciousness of a monster fact which it entirely condemns. In this
conception I believe myself to be at one with those by whom men have
been most influenced, and who, with or without confidence in the support
of unknown powers, have set themselves deliberately against the face of
things to die or conquer. This being so, and man individually weak, it
has been the avowed object of great characters--carrying with them the
instinctive consent of nations--to establish current values for all
things, according as their imagination could turn them to account as
effective aids of reason: that is, as they could be made to advance her
apparent empire over other elemental forces, such as motion, physical
life, &c. This evaluation, in so far as it is constant, results in what
we call civilisation, and is the only bond of society. With difficulty
is the value of new acquisitions recognised even in the realm of
science, until the imagination can place them in such a light as shall
make them appear to advance reason's ends, which accounts for the
reluctance that has been shown to accept many scientific results. Reason
demands that the world she would create shall be a fact, and declares
that the world she would transform is the real world, but until the
imagination can find a function for it in reason's ideal realm, every
piece of knowledge remains useless, or even an obstacle in the way of
our intended advance. This applies to individuals just as truly as it
does to mankind. And since man's reason is a natural phenomenon and does
apparently belong to the class of elemental forces, this warfare against
the apparent fact, and the fortitude and hope which its whole-hearted
prosecution begets, appear as a natural law to the intelligence and as a
command and promise to the reason.

The alternative between the will to cease and the will to serve reason,
with which I start out, may not seem necessary to all. "Forgive their
sin--and if not, blot me I pray thee out of thy book," was Moses'
prayer; and to me it seems that only by lethargy can any soul escape
from facing this alternative. The human mind in so far as it is active
always postulates, "Let that which I desire come to pass, or let me
cease!" Nor is there any diversity possible as to what really is
desirable: Man desires the full and harmonious development of his
faculties. As to how this end may most probably be attained, there is
diversity enough to represent every possible blend of ignorance with
knowledge, of lethargy with energy, of cowardice with courage.

"So endless and exorbitant are the desires of men, whether considered in
their persons or their states, that they will grasp at all, and can form
no scheme of perfect happiness with less."[1] So writes the most
powerful of English prose-writers. And this hope and desire, which is
reason, once thrown down, the most powerful among poets has brought from
human lips this estimate of life--

"It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

No one knows whether reason's object will or can be attained; but for
the present each man finds confidence and encouragement in so far as he
is able to imagine all things working together for the good of those who
desire good--in short, for "reasonable beings."[2] The more he knows,
the greater labour it is for him to imagine this; but the more he
concentrates his faculties on doing good and creating good things, the
more his imagination glows and shines and discovers to him new
possibilities of success: the better he is able to find--

"Sermons in stones and good in everything;"
"And make a moral of the devil himself."

But how is it that reason can accept an imagination that makes what in a
cold light she considers her enemy, appear her friend? All things
impress the mind with two contradictory notions--their actual condition
and their perfection. Even the worst of its kind impresses on us an idea
of what the best would be, or we could not know it for the worst.
Reason, then, seizes on this aspect of things which suggests their
perfection, and awards them her attention in proportion as such aspect
makes their perfection seem near, or as it may further her in
transforming the most pressing of other evils. All life tends to affirm
its own character; and the essential characteristic of man is reason,
which labours to perfect all things that he judges to be good, and to
transform all evil. Ultimate results are out of sight for all human
faculties except the early-waking eyes of long-chastened hope; but
reason loves this visionary mood, though she prefer that it be sung, and
find that less lyrical speech brings on it something of ridicule; for
such a rendering betrays, as a rule, faint desire or small power to
serve her in those who use it.

The sense of proportion, then, is that fineness of susceptibility by
which we appreciate in a given object, person, force, or mood,
serviceableness in regard to reason's work; in other words, by which we
estimate the capacity to transform the Universe in such a way that men
may ultimately be enabled to give their hearty consent to its existence,
which at present no man rationally can.

III

Now, art appeals to fine susceptibilities; for, as I have explained
elsewhere,[3] the value of works of art depends on their having come as
"real and intimate experiences to a large number of gifted men"--men who
have some kinship to that "finely touched and gifted man, the [Greek
_heuphnaes_] of the Greeks," to use the phrase of our greatest modern
critic. And in so far as we are able to judge between works successfully
making such an appeal, we must be governed by this sense of proportion,
which measures how things stand in regard to reason; that is, not merely
intellect, not merely emotion, but the alliance of both by means of the
imagination in aid of man's most central demand--the demand for
nobler life.

Perhaps I ought to point out before proceeding, that this position is
not that of the writers on art most in view at the present day. It is
the negation of the so-called scientific criticism, and also of the
personal theory that reduces art to an expression of, and an appeal to,
individual temperaments; it is the assertion of the sovereignty of the
aesthetic conscience on exactly the same grounds as sovereignty is
claimed for the moral conscience. AEsthetics deals with the morality of
appeals addressed to the senses. That is, it estimates the success of
such appeals in regard to the promotion of fuller and more harmonious
life. Flaubert wrote:

"Le genie n'est pas rare maintenant, mais ce que personne n'a plus et ce
qu'il faut tacher d'avoir, c'est la conscience."

("Genius is not rare nowadays, but conscience is what nobody has and
what one should strive after.")

To-day I am thinking of a painter. Painting is an art addressed
primarily to the eye, and not to the intelligence, not to the
imagination, save as these may be reached through the eye--that most
delicate organ of infinite susceptibility, which teaches us the meaning
of the word light--a word so often uttered with stress of ecstasy, of
longing, of despair, and of every other shade of emotion, that the sound
of it must soon be almost as powerful with the young heart, almost as
immediate in its effect, as the break of day itself, gladdening the eyes
and glorifying the earth. And how often is this joy received through the
eye entrusted back to it for expression? For the eye can speak with
varieties, delicacies, and subtle shades of motion far beyond the
attainment of any other organ. "This art of painting is made for the
eyes, for sight is the noblest sense of man,"[4] says Duerer; and again:

"It is ordained that never shall any man be able, out of his own
thoughts, to make a beautiful figure, unless, by much study, he hath
well stored his mind. That then is no longer to be called his own; it is
art acquired and learnt, which soweth, waxeth, and beareth fruit after
its kind. Thence the gathered secret treasure of the heart is manifested
openly in the work, and the new creature which a man createth in his
heart, appeareth in the form of a thing."[5]

Yes, indeed, the function of art is far from being confined to telling
us what we see, whatever some may pretend, or however naturally any
small nature may desire to continue, teach, or regulate great ones. All
so-called scientific methods of creating or criticising works of art are
inadequate, because the only truly scientific statements that can be
made about these inquiries are that nothing is certain--that no method
ensures success, and that no really important quality can be defined;
for what man can say why one cloud is more beautiful than another in the
same sky, any more than he can explain why, of two men equally absorbed
in doing their duty, one impresses him as being more holy than the
other? The degrees essential to both kinds of judgment escape all
definition; only the imagination can at times bring them home to us,
only the refined taste or chastened conscience, as the case may be,
witnesses with our spirit that its judgment is just, and bids us
recognise a master in him who delivers it. As the expression on a face
speaks to a delicate sense, often communicating more, other, and better
than can be seen, so the proportion, harmony, rhythm of a painting may
beget moods and joys that require the full resources of a well-stored
mind and disciplined character in order that they may be fully
relished--in brief, demand that maturity of reason which is the mark of
victorious man.

Such being my conception, it will easily be perceived how anxious I must
be to truly discern and express the relation between such objects as
works of art by common consent so highly honoured, and at the same time
so active in their effect upon the most exquisitely endowed of mankind.
Especially since to-day caprice, humour and temperament are, by the
majority of writers on art, acclaimed for the radical characteristic of
the human creative faculty, instead of its perversion and disease; and
it is thought that to be whimsical, moody, or self-indulgent best fits a
man both to create and appraise works of art, whereas to become so
really is the only way in which a man capable of such high tasks can
with certainty ruin and degrade his faculties. Precious, surpassingly
precious indeed, must every manifestation of such faculty before its
final extinction remain, since the race produces comparatively few
endowed after this kind.

Perhaps a sufficient illustration of this prevalent fallacy may be drawn
from Mr. Whistler's "Ten O'Clock," where he speaks of art:

"A whimsical goddess, and a capricious, her strong sense of joy
tolerates no dulness, and, live we never so spotlessly, still may she
turn her back upon us."

"As from time immemorial, she has done upon the Swiss in their
mountains."

Here is no proof of caprice, save on the witty writer's part; for men
who fast are not saved from bad temper, nor have the kindly necessarily
discreet tongues. The Swiss may be brave and honest, and yet dull.
Virtue is her own reward, and art her own. Virtue rewards the saint, art
the artist; but men are rewarded for attention to morality by some
measure of joy in virtue, for attention to beauty by some measure of joy
in works of art. Between the artist and the Philistine is no great gulf
fixed, in the sense that the witty "master of the butterfly" pretends to
assume, but an infinite and gentle decline of persons representing every
possible blend of the virtues and faults of these two types. Again, an
artist is miscalled "master of art." "Where he is, there she appears,"
is airy impudence. "Where she wills to be, there she chooses a man to
serve her," would not only have been more gallant but more reasonable;
for that "The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound
thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh and whither it goeth: so is
every one that is born of the spirit," and that "many are called, few
chosen," are sayings as true of the influence which kindleth art as of
that which quickeneth to holiness. Art is not dignified by being called
whimsical--or capricious. What can a man explain? The intention, behind
the wind, behind the spirit, behind the creative instinct, is dark. But
man is true to his own most essential character when, if he cannot
refrain from prating of such mysteries, he qualifies them as hope would
have him, with the noblest of his virtues; not when he speaks of the
unknown, in whose hands his destiny so largely rests, slightingly, as of
a woman whom he has seduced because he despised her--calling her
capricious because she answered to his caprice, whimsical, because she
was as flighty as his error. It is not art's function to reward virtue.
But, caprices and whimseys being ascribed to a goddess, it will be
natural to expect them in her worshipper; and Mr. Whistler revealed the
limitations of his genius by whimseys and caprice. Though it was in
their relations to the world that this goddess and her devotee claimed
freedoms so far from perfect, yet this, their avowed characteristic
abroad, I think in some degree disturbed their domestic relations,
Though others have underlined the absurdity of this theory by applying
themselves to it with more faith and less sense, I have chosen to quote
from the "Ten O'Clock," because I admire it and accept most of the ideas
about art advanced therein. The artist who wrote it was able, in Duerer's
phrase, "to prove" what he wrote "with his hand." Most of those who have
elaborated what was an occasional unsoundness of his doctrine into
ridiculous religions are as unable to create as they are to think; there
is no need to record names which it is wisdom to forget. But it may be
well to point out that Mr. Whistler does not succeed in glorifying great
artists when he declares that beauty "to them was as much a matter of
certainty and triumph as is to the astronomer the verification of the
result, foreseen with the light granted to him alone." No, he only sets
up a false analogy; for the true parallel to the artist is the saint,
not the astronomer; both are convinced, neither understands. Art is no
more the reward of intelligence than of virtue. She permits no caprice
in her own realm. Loyalty is the only virtue she insists on, loyalty in
regard to her servant's experience of beauty; he may be immoral in every
other way and she not desert him; but let him turn Balaam and declare
beauty absent where he feels its presence--though in doing this he hopes
to advance virtue or knowledge, she needs no better than an ass to
rebuke him. Nothing effects more for anarchy than these notions that art
derives from individual caprice, or defends virtue, or demonstrates
knowledge; for they are all based on those flattering hopes of the
unsuccessful, that chance, rules both in life and art, or that it is
possible to serve two masters.

Doctrines often repeated gain easy credence; and, since art demands
leisure in order to be at all enjoyed, ideas about it, in so fatiguing a
life as ours has become, take men off their guard, when their habitual
caution is laid to sleep, and, by an over-easiness, they are inclined to
spoil both their sense of distinction and their children. Yes, they
consent to theatres that degrade them, because they distract and amuse;
and read journals that are smart and diverting at the expense of dignity
and truth--in the same way as they smile at the child whom reason bids
them reprove, and with the like tragic result; for they become incapable
of enjoying works of art, as the child is incapacitated for the best of
social intercourse. To prophesy smooth things to people in this
condition, and flatter their dulness, is to be no true friend; and so
the modern art-critic and journalist is often the insidious enemy of the
civilisation he contents.

Nothing strikes the foreigner coming to England more than our lack of
general ideas. Our art criticism is no exception; it, like our
literature and politics, is happy-go-lucky and delights in the pot-shot.
We often hear this attributed admiringly to "the sporting instinct." "If
God, in his own time, granteth me to write something further about
matters connected with painting, I will do so, in hope that this art may
not rest upon use and wont alone, but that in time it may be taught on
true and orderly principles, and may be understood to the praise of God
and the use and pleasure of all lovers of art."[6]

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