I am lodged in the Max-Joseph"s-Platz, opposite to the theatre: a situation at once airy, quiet, and cheerful.
The theatre is in itself a beautiful object; the portico, of the Corinthian order, is supported by eight pillars; the ascent is by a n.o.ble flight of steps, with four gigantic bronze candelabras at the corners; and nothing, at least to my unlearned eyes, could be more elegant--more purely cla.s.sical and Greek, than the whole, were it not for the hideous roof _upon the roof_,--one pediment, as it were, riding on the back of the other. Some internal arrangement of the theatre may render this deformity necessary, but it _is_ a deformity, and one that annoys me whenever I look at it.
On the right, I have the new palace, which forms one side of the square: a long range of plain, almost rustic, architecture; altogether a striking, but rather a pleasing contrast, to the luxuriant grace of the theatre.
Just now, when I looked out, what a beautiful scene! The full moon, rising over the theatre, lights up half the white columns, and half are lost in shade. The performances are just over; (half-past nine!) crowds of people emerging from the portico into the brilliant moonshine, (many of them military, in glittering accoutrements,) descend the steps, and spread themselves through the square, single, or in various groups; carriages are drawing up and drawing off,--and all this gay confusion is without the least noise or tumult. Except the occasional low roll of the carriage-wheels over the well-gravelled road, I hear no sound, though within a few yards of the spot. It looks like some lovely optical or scenic illusion; a moving picture, magnified.
_Oct. 4th._--To my great consternation--summoned in form before the police, and condemned to pay a fine of ten florins for having omitted to fill up specifically a certain paper which had been placed in my hands on my arrival. In the first place, I did not understand it; secondly, I never thought about it; and thirdly, I had been too ill to attend to it. I made a show of resistance, but it was all in vain, of course;--my permission to reside here is limited to six weeks, but may be renewed.
Last night I was induced, but only upon great persuasion, to venture over to the theatre. I had been tantalised _so_ long by looking at the exterior! Then it was a pleasant evening--broad daylight; and the whole theatre being heated by stoves to an even regulated warmth according to the season, I was a.s.sured that once within the doors there would be no danger of fresh indisposition from draughts or cold.
Entering the box, my first glance was of course at the stage. The drop-scene, or curtain, a well painted copy of Guido"s Aurora, pleased me infinitely more than the beautiful drop-curtain at Manheim: _that_ was very elegant, but this is more than elegant. It harmonized with the place, and in my own mind it touched certain chords of a.s.sociation, which had long been silent. It was as if the orchestre had suddenly welcomed me with some delicious, often-heard, and well-remembered piece of music: the effect upon the senses was similar--nor can I describe it;--but, surprised and charmed, I kept my eyes fixed for some minutes upon the picture: the light being thrown full upon it, while the rest of the theatre was comparatively in deep shade, like all the foreign theatres, rendered it more effective. The rest of the decorations corresponded in splendour; the two colossal muses, as Caryatides supporting the king"s state box, the n.o.ble columns of white and gold, and the Caryatides on each side of the proscenium, were all in fine taste. The size and proportions of the interior seemed most happily calculated for seeing and hearing. On the whole, I never beheld a theatre which so entirely _satisfied_ me--no one more easily pleased, and no one less easily satisfied!
When I looked down on the _parterre_, I beheld a motley a.s.semblage in various costumes: there were a great number of the military; there were the well-dressed daughters of people of some condition, in the French fashion of two or three years back; there were girls in the Tyrolean costume, with their scarlet boddices and silver chains; and the women of Munich, with their odd little two-horned caps of rich gold or silver brocade,--forming altogether a singular spectacle. As for the scenery, it was very well, but would bear no comparison to Stanfield"s glorious illusions.
The inducement held out to me to-night was to see Ferdinand Eslair play the Duke of Alva in "Egmont." Eslair, formerly one of the first actors at Manheim, when Manheim boasted the first theatre in Germany, is esteemed the finest tragedian here, and the Duke of Alva is one of his best characters. It appeared to me a superb piece of acting; so quietly stern, so fearfully hard and composed: it was a fine conception cast in bronze:--in this consisted its beauty and truth as a whole. Some of his _silent_ pa.s.sages, and his by-play, were admirable. He gave us, in the scene with Egmont, an exact living transcript of t.i.tian"s famous picture of the Duke of Alva; the dress, the att.i.tude, the position of the helmet and the glove on the table beside him, every thing was so well calculated, at once so un.o.btrusive and so unexpected, that it was like a recognition. Egmont was well played by Racke, but did not strike me so much. Mademoiselle Scholler, who plays the young heroines here, is a pupil of Madame Schroder, (the German Siddons,) and promises well; but she wants development; she wants the power, the pa.s.sion, the tenderness, the energy of Clarchen. Clarchen is a plebeian girl, but an impa.s.sioned and devoted woman--she is a sort of Flemish Juliet. There is the same truth of nature and pa.s.sion, the same impress of intense and luxuriant life--but then it is a different life--it is a Rubens compared to a t.i.tian--and such Clarchen ought to be. Now to give all the internal power and poetry, yet preserve all the external simplicity and homeliness of the character,--to give all the _abandon_, yet preserve all the delicacy,--to give the delicacy, yet keep clear of all super-refinement, and in the concentrated despair of her last scene (where she poisons herself) to be calm without being cold, and profoundly tragic without the usual tragedy airs, must be difficult--exceedingly difficult; in short, to play Clarchen, as I conceive the character ought to be played, would require a young actress, uniting sufficient genius to conceive it aright, with sufficient delicacy and judgment not to colour it too highly: there was no danger of the latter mistake with Mademoiselle Scholler, in whose hands Clarchen became a mere pretty affectionate girl. In that lovely scene with Egmont in the third act, which might be contrasted with Juliet"s balcony scene, as a test of the powers of a young actress, Mademoiselle Scholler was timid even to feebleness; the change of manner, when Clarchen subst.i.tutes the tender familiarity of the second person singular (Du) for the tone of respect in which she before addressed her lover, should have been felt and marked, so as to have been _felt_ and _remarked_: but this was not the case. In short, I was disappointed by this scene.
The Flemish costumes were correct and beautiful. The Prince of Orange, in particular, looked as if he had just walked out of one of Vand.y.k.e"s pictures.
After seeing this fine tragedy--surely enough for one evening"s amus.e.m.e.nt--I was at home and in bed by half-past ten. They manage these things better here than in England.
_Friday._--Dinner at the French amba.s.sador"s _five_ o"clock. I mark this, because extraordinarily late at Munich. The plebeian dinner hour is twelve, or earlier; the general hour, one; the genteel hour, two; the fashionable hour, _three_; but five is super-elegant--in the very extreme of finery--like a nine o"clock dinner in London. There were present some French and Austrians of high rank, who had all visited England; and the conversation turning on our English aristocratic society--the only society they knew any thing about--I had another proof of the ridicule with which foreigners treat our a.s.sumption of superior morality and domestic happiness. But the person who fixed my attention was Leo von Klenze, the celebrated architect, and deservedly a favourite of the king, who has, I believe, bestowed on him the superfluous honours of n.o.bility. With the others, I had no sympathies--with him a thousand, though he knew it not. I looked at him with curiosity--with interest.
I liked his plain, but marked and clever countenance, and his easy manners. I felt an unconscious desire to be agreeable, and longed to make him talk; but I knew that this was not the place or the moment for us to see each other to the greatest advantage. We had, however, some little conversation--a kind of beginning. He told me at dinner that the Glypthothek, (the gallery of sculpture here,) was planned and built by the present king, when only prince royal, and the expenses liquidated from his private purse, out of his yearly savings. He spoke with modesty of himself--with grat.i.tude and admiration of the king, of whose talent, vivacity, impatience, and enthusiasm for art and artists I had already heard some characteristic anecdotes.
After coffee, part of the company dispersed to the opera, or elsewhere; others remained to lounge and converse. After the opera, we re-a.s.sembled with additions, and then tea, and cards, and talk, till past eleven.
Madame de Vaudreuil receives almost every evening, and this seems to be the general routine.
_Oct. 6._--They are now celebrating here the _Volksfest_, (literally the "_people"s feast_,") or annual fair of Munich, and this has been a grand day of festivity. There have been races, a military review, &c.; but, except the race-horses in their embroidered trappings, which were led past my window, and a long cavalcade of royal carriages and crowds of people, in gay and grotesque costumes, hurrying by, I have seen nothing, being obliged to keep my room; so I listened to the firing of the cannon, and the shouts of the populace, and thought.
_Oct. 8._--First visit to the Glypthothek--just returned--my imagination, still filled with "the blaze, the splendour, and the symmetry,"--excited as I never thought it could be again excited after seeing the Vatican; but this is the Vatican in miniature. Can it be possible that this glorious edifice was planned by a young prince, and erected out of his yearly savings? I am wonder-struck! I was not prepared for any thing so s.p.a.cious, so magnificent, so perfect in taste and arrangement.
I do not yet know the exact measurement of the building; but it contains twelve galleries, the smallest about fifty, and the largest about one hundred and thirty feet in length. It consists of a square, built round an open central court, and the approach is by a n.o.ble portico of eight Ionic columns, raised on a flight of steps. As it stands in an open s.p.a.ce, a little out of the town, with trees planted on either side, the effect is very imposing and beautiful. There are no exterior windows, they all open into the central court.
From the portico we enter a hall, paved with marble. Over the princ.i.p.al door is the name of the king, and the date of the erection. Two side doors lead to the galleries. Over the door on the left there is an inscription to the honour of Leo von Klenze, the architect of the building. Over the door on the right, is the name of Peter Cornelius, the painter, by whom the frescos were designed and chiefly executed.
Thus the king, with a n.o.ble magnanimity, uniting truth and justice, has a.s.sociated in his glory those to whom he chiefly owes it--and this charmed me. It is in much finer feeling, much higher taste, than those eternal (no, not _eternal_!) great N"s of that imperial egotist, Napoleon, whose vulgar appet.i.te for vulgar fame would allow no partic.i.p.ation.
I walked slowly through the galleries so excited by the feeling of admiration, that I could make no minute or particular observations. The floors are all paved with marbles of various colours--the walls, to a certain height, are stuccoed in imitation of grey or dark green marble, so as to throw out the sculpture, and give it the full effect. The utmost luxury of ornament has been lavished on the walls and ceilings, some in painting, some in relief; but in each, the subjects and ornaments are appropriate to the situation, and as each gallery has been originally adapted to its destination, every where the effect to be produced has been judiciously studied. The light is not too great, nor too generally diffused--it is poured in from high semicircular windows on one side only, so as to throw the sculpture into beautiful relief.
Two lofty and s.p.a.cious halls are richly painted in fresco, with subjects from the Greek mythology, and the whole building would contain, I suppose, six times, or ten times, the number of works of art now there; at the same time all are so arranged that there appears no obvious deficiency. The collection was begun only in 1808, and since that time the king has contrived to make some invaluable acquisitions. I found here many of the most far-famed relics of ancient art, many that I had already seen in Italy; for instance, the Egina marbles, the Barberini Faun, the Barberini Muse, or Apollo, the Leucothoe, the Medusa Rondanini above all, the Ilioneus; but I cannot now dwell on these. I must go again and again before I can methodise my impressions and recollections.
_Oct. 11._--Yesterday and to-day, at the Glypthothek, where the cushioned seats, though rather more cla.s.sical than comfortable, enabled me to lounge away the time, unwearied in body as in mind.
The arrangement of the galleries is such as to form not only a splendid exhibition and school of art, but a regular progressive history of the rise and decline of sculpture. Thus we step from the vestibule into the Egyptian gallery, of which the princ.i.p.al treasure is the colossal Antinous of Rossoantico, with the attributes of Osiris.
I admired in this room the exquisite beauty and propriety of the ba.s.so-relievo over the door, designed and modelled by Schwanthaler. It is of course intended to be symbolical of the birth of art among the Egyptians. Isis discovers the body of her lost husband Osiris, concealed in a sarcophagus: she strikes it with the mystic wand, and he stands revealed, and restored to her. The imitation of the Egyptian style is perfect.
From the Egyptian, we step into the Etruscan gallery, of which the ceiling is painted in the most vivid and beautiful colours. The third room contains the famous Egina marbles, which I had seen at Rome when Thorwaldson was engaged in restoring them. To appreciate the cla.s.sical beauty and propriety of the arrangement of these singular relics, we must call to mind their history, their subject, and their original destination. Thus aeacus, the first king of the Island of aegina, was the son of Jupiter, or rather Zeus, (for the Greek designations are infinitely more elegant and expressive than the Roman.) The temple was dedicated to Zeus, and the groups which adorned the pediments represented the history of the two branches of the aeacidae, descended from Telamon and Peleus, sons of aeacus. On two long tables or stands of marble, supported by griffins, imitated from those which originally ornamented the temple, are ranged the two groups of figures: neither group is quite entire. Of that which represents the fight of Telamon and Hercules with Laomedon, King of Troy, there are only five figures remaining; and of the other group, the conflict for the body of Patroclus, there are ten figures. Along the walls, on tables of marble, are ranged a variety of fragments from the same temple, which must have been splendidly rich in sculpture, within and without. On the ceiling of this room, the four aeacidae, aeacus, Peleus, Achilles, and Neoptolemus, are represented in relief, by Schwanthaler. There is also a small model of the western front of the temple restored, and painted as it is proved to have been originally; (for instance, the field of the Tympanum was of a sky blue.) This model is fixed in the wall opposite to the window. It is extremely curious and interesting, but I thought not well placed as an ornament.[30]
I remember asking W----, who has been in every part of the world, what was the most beautiful scene he had ever beheld, taking natural beauty and poetical a.s.sociations together? He replied, after a little thought, "A sunset from the temple of aegina;"--and I can conceive this. Lord Byron introduces it into his Grecian Sunset--but as an object--
"On old aegina"s steep and Idra"s Isle, The G.o.d of gladness sheds his parting smile."
From the aegina gallery we enter the Hall of Apollo. The ceiling of this room, splendidly decorated in white and gold, represents the emblems of the four princ.i.p.al cities of Greece, viz. the Athenian owl, the winged-horse of Corinth, the Chimera of Sicyon, and the wolf of Argos.
The chief glory of this apartment is that celebrated colossal statue, once known as the Barberini muse, now considered by antiquarians as an Apollo, and supposed to be the work of Ageladas, the master of Phidias.
It is certainly older than the sculptures of the Parthenon. In its severe ma.s.sy grandeur, there is something of the heaviness and formality of the most ancient Greek school, and in point of style it forms a link between the aegina marbles and the Elgin marbles. It should seem that the eyes of this statue were once represented by gems--the orifices remain, surrounded by a ring of bronze.
In the same room are those two sublime busts which almost take away one"s breath--the colossal head of Pallas, resembling that of the Minerva of Velletri, now in the Vatican; and the Achilles.
The next room is the Hall of Bacchus. The ceiling is richly ornamented with all the festive emblems of the G.o.d, in white and gold relief. In the centre we have that wondrous statue, the gigantic Sleeping Satyr, called by some the Barberini Faun. Antiquaries and connoisseurs refer this work either to Scopas or Praxiteles, and, from the situation in which it was discovered, suppose it to have once ornamented the tomb of Adrian. I cannot tell how this may be, but here we behold with astonishment the grotesque, the elegant, and the sublime mingled together, and each in perfection: _how_, I know not; but I feel it is so. I once saw a drawing of this statue, which gave me the idea of something coa.r.s.e and heavy; whereas, in the original, the delicate beauty of the workmanship, and the inimitable sleepy abandonment of the att.i.tude, soften the effect of the colossal forms. I would place this statue immediately after the Elgin marbles; it is, with all its excellence, a degree lower in style.
In this gallery I found the famous head of the laughing faun, called from the greenish stain on the cheek, the fauno colla macchia, and also a sarcophagus, representing in the most exquisite sculpture, the marriage of Bacchus and Ariadne. The blending of the idea of death with the fullness of life, and even with the most luxuriant and festive a.s.sociations of life, is common among the Greeks, and, from one or two known instances, appears to have been carried to an extreme which makes one shrink; still, any thing rather than our detestable death"s head and cross bones! In nature, and in poetry, death is beautiful. It is the diseases and vices of artificial life which have rendered it lamentable, terrible, disgusting.
Fixed in the wall, opposite to the window, there is a bas relief of amazing beauty--the marriage of Neptune and Amphitrite. It is a piece of lyric poetry.
The Hall of Niobe contains few objects; but among them some of the most perfect specimens of Grecian art; and first, the ILIONEUS.
It was because the Grecian sculptors were themselves poets and creators, that "marble grew divine" beneath their hands, and became so instinct with the indestructible spirit of life, that their half-defaced ruins retain their immortality: else how should we stand shivering with awe before those tremendous fragments--the sister Fates in the Elgin marbles! Or, how should I, who am incapable of estimating the technical perfection of art, stand entranced--as to-day I stood--before the Ilioneus? It was not merely admiration; it was the overpowering sentiment of harmonious and pathetic beauty running along every nerve--such a feeling as music has sometimes awakened. I suppose the Ilioneus stands alone, like the Torso of the Vatican--the _ne plus ultra_ of grace, as the latter is of grandeur.
The first time I ever saw a cast of this divine statue was in the vestibule of Goethe"s house, at Weimar. It immediately fixed my attention. Afterwards I saw another in Dannecker"s studio, and from him I learned its history. It was discovered about ten years ago at Prague, in the possession of a stone-mason, and is supposed to have formed part of the collection of ancient works of art which the Emperor Rodolph collected in Italy about 1600.[31] A certain Dr. Barth purchased it for a trifle, and brought it to Vienna, where Dannecker happened to be at that time, and was called upon with others to p.r.o.nounce on its merits and value. It was at once attributed to the hand, either of Praxiteles or Scopas, and on farther and minute examination, the style, the proportions, and the evident purport of the figure, have decided that it belongs to the group of Niobe and her children. It has attained the appellation of Ilioneus, which Ovid gives to the youngest of her sons. It represents a youth kneeling. The head and arms are wanting; but the supplicatory expression of the att.i.tude, the turn of the body, so deprecating, so imploring; the bloom of adolescence, which seems absolutely shed over the cold marble, the unequalled delicacy and elegance of the whole, touched me unspeakably.
The King of Bavaria is said to have paid for this exquisite relic 15,000 florins--a large sum for a little potentate; but for the object itself, its value is not to be computed by money. Its weight in gold were poor in comparison.
In the same room is the Medusa Rondanini, the common model of almost all the Medusa heads, but certainly not equal to the sublime colossal mask at Cologne. There is also an antique duplicate of the Mercury of the Belvidere; another of the Venus of Cnidos; another (most beautiful) of one of the sons of Niobe, rec.u.mbent, lifeless; and some other master-pieces.
These six rooms occupy one side of the building, and contain altogether one hundred and forty-seven specimens of ancient art.
I do not quite understand Flaxman"s division of ancient art into three periods--the heroic age, the philosophic age, and the age of perfection.
Perhaps if he had lived to correct his essays, he would have made this more clear. According to his distinction, would not the group of the Niobe belong to the age of perfection?--and the Parthenon to the philosophic age? which, allowing his definition of the two styles, I cannot grant. I suppose these six galleries include a period of about seven hundred years; (putting the dateless antiquity of some of the Egyptian relics out of the question.) We begin with the heavy motionless forms, "looking tranquillity," which yet have often a certain dignity; then the stiff hard elaborate figures of the earliest Greek school, with their curled heads and perpendicular draperies, in some of which dawns the first feeling of vigour and grace, as in the aegina marbles; the next is the union of grandeur and elegance; and the next is the utmost poetical refinement. I recollect that somewhere in Boswell"s life of Johnson, a conversation is recorded as taking place at the table of Sir Joshua Reynolds; in the course of which Sir Joshua remarked, that it was impossible to conceive what the ancient writers meant, when they represented sculpture as having pa.s.sed its zenith when the Apollo and the Laoc.o.o.n were produced. None of the great scholars or artists then present could explain the mystery--now no longer a mystery. When Sir Joshua made this remark, the Elgin marbles were unknown in England.
Between this range of galleries, and a corresponding range on the opposite side, are two immense halls, called the Fest-Saale, or banqueting halls, and as yet containing no sculpture. Here the painter Cornelius has found "ample s.p.a.ce and verge enough" for his grand conceptions, and the subjects are appropriate to the general destination of the whole building. The frescos in the first hall, (Gotter-Saal, or hall of the G.o.ds,) present a magnificent view of the whole Greek mythology.
Whatever may be thought of the conception and execution of certain parts, on minute examination the grand, yet simple arrangement of the whole design addresses itself to the understanding, while the splendour of colour, and variety of the grouping, seize on the imagination: certainly, when we look round, the first feeling is not critical. But this beautiful, progressive, and pictorial development of the old mythology, as it must have been the result of profound learning and study, ought to be considered methodically to understand all its merit; for instance, in the centre of the roof we have the primeval G.o.d, Eros, in four compartments; first, with the dolphin, representing water; secondly, with the eagle, representing light or fire; thirdly, with the peac.o.c.k, representing air; and lastly, with Cerberus, representing earth. Disposed around these primeval elements, we have the seasons of the year, and the day. The spring, as Psyche, is followed by the history of Aurora, (the morning,) in four compartments. The summer, as Ceres, is followed by the noon, i. e. the history of Helios or Apollo, in four compartments. The autumn, as Bacchus; and then evening, expressed in the history of Diana. Winter, as Saturn, and the history of night, and the divinities which preside over it. These twenty-four compartments, of various forms and sizes, compose the ceiling, intermingled with ornaments of rich and rare device, and appropriate arabesques, combining, with much fancy and invention, all the cla.s.sical emblems and allegories, such as satyrs, fauns, syrens, dryads, Graces, Furies, &c. &c.
But the grand summary is reserved for the walls. On one side is represented the kingdom of Olympus, with Jove in his state, the a.s.semblage of the G.o.ds, and the apotheosis of Psyche. The opposite side represents the domain of Pluto, with the infernal G.o.ds, and the story of Orpheus.
The third side, over against the window, is the triumph of Neptune and Amphitrite, surrounded by the sea-G.o.ds.
The figures in these three frescos are colossal, about eight feet in height. The colouring of the flesh is a little too red and dingy, and in some of the att.i.tudes I thought that the energy was strained into contortion; but through the whole there is a grand poetic feeling. All the designs are by Peter Cornelius, executed by himself, with the aid of professor Zimmerman, Schlotthauer, Heinrich Hess, and a number of pupils and a.s.sistants.
There are also along the frieze some beautiful bas-reliefs; and over the two doors are two alto-relievos by Schwanthaler, the one representing Cupid and Psyche in each others arms, the symbol of immortal love: the other, the re-union of Ceres and Proserpine, emblematical of eternal life after death. This is all I can remember, except that the painting of this hall occupied six years, and was finished in 1826.
_Oct. 11._--A small vestibule divides the two great halls. This is painted with the history of Prometheus and Pandora; but, owing to the unavoidable disposition of the light, much of the beauty is lost.
From this vestibule we enter the second great banqueting hall, or the Hall of the Trojans, painted like the former in fresco, and on the same enormous scale, but with a different distribution of the parts.
It represents chiefly the history of those demiG.o.ds and heroes who contended in the Trojan war. Thus, in the centre of the ceiling we have first the original cause of the war, the marriage of Peleus and Thetis, and the appearance of the G.o.ddess of Discord, with her fatal apple.
Around this are the twelve G.o.ds who were present at the feast, modelled in relief by Schwanthaler. Then follow twelve compartments, containing the most striking scenes of the Iliad, divided and adorned by the most rich and fanciful arabesques, combining the exploits or histories of the Grecian heroes, which are not included in the Iliad. The figures in these compartments are the size of life. On the walls we have the three princ.i.p.al incidents of the Trojan war; first, the wrath of Achilles; secondly, opposite to the window, the fight for the body of Patrocles, and Achilles shouting to the warriors. There is wonderful energy and movement in this picture. The third is the destruction of Troy. The figure of Hecuba sitting in motionless horror and despair, with her dishevelled grey hair, her daughters clinging to her;--the beautiful att.i.tudes of Polyxena and Ca.s.sandra; the silent remorse of Helen; the wild fury of the conquerors, and the vigour and splendour of the whole painting, render this composition exceedingly striking:--I did not quite like the figure of Priam. All these designs are by Cornelius, and executed partly by him, and partly under his direction by Zimmermann, Schlotthauer, and their pupils. The arabesques are by Eugene Neureuther: and there are two admirable and spirited bas-reliefs by Schwanthaler--one representing the battle of the ships, and the other the combat of Achilles with the river G.o.ds.
The paintings in this hall were finished in 1830.