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 men in general, a portrait-painter a
particular man, and consequently a defective model."[1] A portrait,
therefore, may be an accurate presentment of its subject without
aesthetic value.

But here, as in other things, genius exercises its accustomed sway
without limitation. Even the difficulties of a "defective model" did
not prevent Raffaelle, Titian, Rembrandt, Rubens, Velasquez, or
Vandyck from producing portraits precious in the history of art. It
would be easy to mention heads by Raffaelle, 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 Caesar 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 arr