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^¦¦¦^HERE is often a strong feeling of hesitation in
£m\ venturing to approach the "Master" who stands
^F|> at the head of one's own profession, supreme
^¦¦^ as to service and accomplishment — the master
who has long been looked up to, from a distance,
with respect for his character and admiration for his
achievements — and even though the meeting has been
looked forward to with the keenest anticipations, and
hopeful assurances of a kindly welcome, yet as the time
draws near such a sense of diffidence possesses one as
to cause the final effort to seem beyond the power of
the will to compass. One moment one is eager to go,
the next depressed by all sorts of reasons why it were
best not to do so. Quite a little of this feeling took
possession of me, towards the subject of this sketch,
when at last, after long years of waiting, I found myself
speeding away from Tilbury docks on to London Town.
Possibly some of this nervousness was due, and coupled
with, a certain dread of the great City itself. In my
imagination it had always seemed so big, so overpower
ing, such an unwieldy monster, that I fully expected
to feel as strange and helpless as a crofter there. I
smile now at all such childish fears. Dear Old London !
So full of interest, so hospitable, so entertaining, so
restful even in spite of her teeming millions; the home
of everything that counts, the Mecca of many of my
most cherished day-dreams as man and boy.
I did not indeed go and stand in the street where
the good man lived, like the bashful lover in the story,
and turn away without knocking at the door, but I
(i]

did worse — I ran out to Salisbury and stayed a month.
I visited Bath and Bristol, with other places in the West,
for another month. But the loadstone of desire was
strong and soon took me back to the City, helped some
what, I must confess, by a letter or two of kindly re
monstrance received in the meantime.
Much has been said and written of English reserve,
but when once esteem and confidence have been estab
lished, so that both parties may meet upon a common
ground of respect, no people are more kindly, more
hospitable, more demonstrative or more self-sacrificing
in their friendships. This was my experience in more
than a few instances during my year of vacation in
Great Britain.
Having knocked at the door of the house at No. 1
Finborough Road, as well as rung the bell (for at most
places in that favored land you are requested on a neat
little sign to do both) and been admitted, I soon found
myself upon the most delightful footing of friendship,
whence followed a winter of complete enjoyment, in
spiration and education. The many hours spent in
that pleasant studio at the top of the house, together
with the no less happy ones passed with the family
lower down, will be held fast in remembrance so long
as memory serves. Such an assembly of prints as any
collector might take pride in possessing, hung upon the
walls or filled to overflowing fat and bulging portfolios.
These were spread before my delighted eyes day after
day, their beauties admired and discussed, as we sat by
the sputtering and dancing fire, before a truly John
Leech, Christmas Carol little coal-grate, with good
cheer ever at hand simmering upon the hob, while wit,
kindly gossip and keen analysis of men and prints, fell
from the master's lips. And whether the sun shone
upon the thousands of funny roofs and funnier chimney
pots in sight, or the fogs of London closed in and
softened or effaced their fantastic outlines, I neither
knew nor cared.
Durer and Rembrandt, Aldegrever, the Behams,
Van Leyden and Bewick, with others of the "Little
Masters," passed in review, not to mention many
moderns down to Linton, Whistler and Sir Seymour
[2]

Haden. It is easy to discern where Sherborn, this
latter-day king of the graver, has gone for inspiration
and example. There is a certain strength and sweetness
about the work of the early German engravers in line,
seldom seen in modern practice, qualities inherent in
the early Sowings of the streams of human effort, as
there are in nature's rivers, which rarely pertain to
later and deeper floods. The "Little Masters" specially
are rich in feeling and true in technique; they did more,
by their example, to mould the destinies of engraving
to great and noble ends than any other one set of men.
Craftsmen, for the most part, are but creatures of cir
cumstance, products of their own particular time and
country. The exception is the occasional man, who
(despite the tendencies and exactions of his own clime
and age, when that age has passed beyond the maturity
of its powers), having the strength and foresight, insists
upon his own individuality, dominates his environment,
chooses the influences which mould his career, and by
force of character creates his own circumstances. Such
a man, and such a man only, will impress his personality
and practice upon his own and succeeding generations.
Charles William Sherborn was born June 14, 1831,
at 43 Leicester Square, London. The foundation for
his education was obtained, as was that of most English
boys of the time, at a local diocesan school, though he
studied for a while at Cave House, near Uxbridge. But
the real education of the man came as has that of so
many of the world's great workers, from keen personal
observation, constant study, and close contact with
other men, and those of the best. The following facts,
concerning the years of his wanderjahre, are taken from
the Book of the Sherborns compiled by his son Charles
Davies Sherborn. "Leaving school at the age of 14,
he attended the Government School of Drawing and
Design at Sommerset House, and was afterwards ap
prenticed to an engraver in London. In 1851 he went
to Paris, where he studied art for nearly twelve months,
living in the Students' Quarter as an artisan. From
there he went to Rome, where he had the good fortune
to study under Pietro Girometti, the medallist and cameo
worker, and enjoyed the friendship of John Gibson,
[3]

the sculptor. After leaving Rome he visited Naples,
Pisa, Florence, and other Italian cities, made a tour
through Tuscany, and returning through Switzerland,
settled in Geneva for two years. Here he pursued his
craft of designer and gold-worker, and obtained a
general knowledge of watch and clock manufacture.
He became a member of the Artist's Club and of the
Swiss Gymnastic Society of Geneva. Returning to
London in 1856, he continued his work till 1872, when
misfortune in business gave him his opportunity of
showing his true powers as an etcher and engraver in
pure line. During the time spent as a craftsman Charles
William was an indefatigable student, working at the
night schools at South Kensington and the classes at
the Royal Academy. His earliest exhibited work at
the Royal Academy was in 1862-3, and since that date
he has been fairly constantly represented. On the
foundation of the Society of Painter-Etchers in 1884
he was chosen one of the original members, and one of
the finest of his works is the line-engraved portrait of
his friend, the President of the Society, Sir Seymour
Haden." The art of engraving in all its branches is subject
to the same tendency as every other form of the expres
sion of man's restless industry, namely that of rise and
fall, birth and decay; being born in strength it dies in
weakness, and that not once or twice in the history of
the art, but over and over again many times.
C. W. Sherborn entered the ranks of metal engravers
for printing purposes (circa 1860) at a time when the
art was well nigh at its lowest ebb, being given over to
the universal practice of machine-ruled skies and every
other abomination for furthering the commercial de
mands for quick, and consequently cheap, reproduction
of light and shade, seemingly without regard for, or
knowledge of, beauty of line. It is not tone, light and
shade and perfect gradation of color, that [makes an
engraving noble and worthy of all admiration, but it is
fitness and beauty of line, and above all, in the final
summing up, it is the richness of each individual line,
taken in connection with all the other lines in the
picture, which union of lines has the supreme quality
[4]

of impressing the beholder with a sense of atmospheric
suggestion, and with the feeling also that there was
the utmost freedom in execution, for without full
freedom in the cutting there can be no suggestion of
atmosphere in the resultant printing.
As in 1452 the niello cutters of Italy had but little
to learn in regard to the skilful use of the graver, when
they finally turned their attention to the produc
tion of copper plates for printing purposes, so our
artist, when he entered this, to him, new field of
artistic endeavors, found himself already well equipped
in the use of his instrument for expression. And while
there has been, as was to be expected as time rolled on,
a steady increase in power over the graver, a subtler
touch, a surer and more delicate hand in the rendering
of forms and shades, yet the evidence of the finest
artistic feeling is not lacking in those plates done in
earlier years. Whether consciously or not, the engraver
by ignoring the prevailing practice of his own day and
generation, and yielding to the wholesome influences
of the earlier workers, merits no less than they the
honorable title of "Little Master," not because his
works are small as measured in inches, but because he
has kept the faith and labored in that simple and direct
style of truth to nature and first regard for beauty of
technique. Full worthily does he wear the robe dropped
from their shoulders and they would have been proud
to welcome him as a kindred spirit into their guild.
Mention has been made of the portrait of Sir Seymour
Haden. It is a superb piece of designing and engraving,
worthy to rank with the best of any school, rich in tone,
true in choice of line, combining as do most of his works,
the right degree of strength and delicacy, not spoiled by
over-refinement, but satisfying in us that sense which
recognizes, craves and demands the beautiful. And
while on the subject of portraits it may be well to say
that the artist considers that this is the department in
which he could have surpassed all his other efforts.
And he feels, feels strongly, and justly too, that he should
have been encouraged with commissions to work much
more largely in this field. The heads he has engraved
will cause coming lovers of the limner's art to regret
[51

the short-sightedness of present-day patrons, and the
future will be well within its bounds if it upbraids us
for our neglect in this respect.
His portrait of Shakespeare, from his own design,
is but another evidence in favor of the word spoken
above. It is bright, clear, dignified, noble in conception
and execution, worthy of the poet, as few of his engraved
presentments have been.
Were I a modern Croesus, and thus able to afford
a 1623 folio, I would place these two together, and cry,
"Alpha and Omega, the first and the last; and the first
has come by it's own". If this should seem extrava
gant praise, all I can say is, just examine a fine proof
from this plate and say if I am not justified in this
estimate. His original portrait of John Phelps, the Putney
waterman, is a remarkable piece of drawing and en
graving. It has nothing in common with the practice
of our time. It is unique to a degree. It shines and
sparkles like a rare old piece of silver in the sun. It
is the "golden age" of engraving born anew. Had
Sherborn never done anything else than this one head
it would carry his name down in glory as long as ink
and paper last.
His Apollo, as well as the figures on his own personal
book-plate, show how successful the artist has been in
rendering the nude with dignity, chastity and beauty.
If fortunate enough to possess, or see, a copy of either
of these rare plates, look at it closely with reference to
the one quality of beauty of line.
Many other plates will answer as well — the Lord
Battersea, the Burlington Club, the Samuel S. Joseph
or the Thomas T. Greg, to mention only a few, but those
of the best. This supreme quality of beauty of line,
sweet line, atmospheric line, is conspicuous in all of
these plates and many others. I make much of this
point, because it is the very highest quality in all en
graving; without this, no engraving however perfect in
other respects can be considered great and noble. The
gift of beauty of line is wholly a matter of feeling, for
it can neither be taught nor acquired. It is a royal
endowment out of the great unknown, some nervous
[6]

connection between the brain and hand of the artist.
I know of no metal engraver of ancient or modern
practice who has surpassed our friend in this respect.
Strange as it may appear, few engravers on metal have
possessed this highest quality in any great degree, while
many wood engravers have, and more etchers have been
so gifted than either. The engraver himself does not
consider this, nor would it avail him if he did. His
mind is occupied with other things — form, color and
composition — necessary adjuncts, but all to be attained
to by thought and labor. Not so this other. "Which
of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his
stature." Neither can he in this other respect, but,
endowed at birth with this God-given gift of feeling for
beauty of line, our artist shall not lack in other directions,
but be counted as kindred with those who, standing
alone, loom up in bold relief above their fellows, land
marks in the art of engraving for all time, like Aldegrever,
Rembrandt, Edelinck, Bewick and Linton.
"He that hath eyes to see, let him see."

(Thanks are due to Mr. Sherborn for his kindness
in overseeing the printing of the two illustrations from
his original coppers, and to Mr. Robert Day for permission
to use his plate in this form. The portrait of Mr.
Sherborn was taken in his studio by Mr. Hopson, in
September of this year. )

m

Co Cfjarleg William §>fyttbavn
Thus, in the jewelled East, skilled craftsmen old
Thread opals, smoldering fires, on chains of gold
To pendants of surpassing loveliness
That rival the white throats which they caress.
Thus slender hands in flower-strewn Japan,
In memory of some dream of bathing girl
Glimpsed on the flashing sands, from lustrous pearl
Fashion a white-limbed Venus, fairer than
The slim and faultless model.
But, Master! Through the labyrinthine ways
Of beauty's world I wandered wistful days,
Nor knew the wonder of the graven line
So wrought with love and pain, till I saw thine.
For in it glows the opal's fire, and glint
Of ivory limbs, love-wrought in jewelled print.
For only Durer's burin has yet caught
Such brilliants in the mesh of line, and wrought
In such deep, subtle meanings.
Yea, these long-treasured little prints of thine
Had not been stored with all life's pretty things —
Dew-moistened flowers; the purple patterned wings
Of butterflies; and sweet pale women more divine
Than mortal; simple truth; and the clear flame
Of perfect beauty lighting all — except
That thou hadst had a poet's heart, and wept
With music. Poet-graver, know thy name
Deathless till beauty dies. Sheldon Cheney.
[8]

One hundred copies of this essay are
reprinted from The Book-plate Booklet
of November, Nineteen hundred and ten.
This is number Q2r

YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

3 9002 01344 6340

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