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.