----Earth-born And sky-engendered--son of mysteries!
was not he a poet? He reminds me often of the Prince Sorcerer, nurtured "in the cave of Domdaniel, under the roots of the sea."[36] Such an enchanted "den of darkness" was his mill and its skylight to him; and there, magician-like, he brooded over half-seen forms, and his imagination framed strange spells out of elemental light and shade.
Thence he brought his unearthly shadows; his dreamy splendours; his supernatural gleams; his gems flashing and sparkling with internal light; his l.u.s.trous glooms; his wreaths of flaming and embossed gold; his wicked wizard-like heads--turbaned, wrinkled, seared, dusky; pale with forbidden studies--solemn with thoughtful pain--keen with the hunger of avarice--and furrowed with an eternity of years! I have seen pictures of his in which the shadowy background is absolutely peopled with life. At first all seems palpable darkness, apparent vacancy; but figure after figure emerges--another and another; they glide into view, they take shape and colour, as if they grew out of the canva.s.s even while we gaze; we rub our eyes, and wonder whether it be the painter"s work or our own fancy!
Of all the great painters Rembrandt is perhaps least understood; the admiration bestowed on him, the enormous prices given for his pictures, is in general a fashion--a mere matter of convention--like the price of a diamond. To feel Rembrandt truly, it is not enough to be an artist or an amateur picture-fancier--one should be something of a poet too.
There are nineteen of his pictures here; of these "Jesus teaching the doctors in the temple," though a small picture, impressed me with awe,--the portraits of the painter Flinck and his wife, with wonder.
All are ill-hung, with their backs against the light--for them the worst possible situation.
Van Dyck is here in all his glory: there are thirty-nine of his pictures.
The celebrated full-length, "the burgomaster"s wife in black," so often engraved, does not equal, in its inexpressible, un.o.btrusive elegance, the "Lady Wharton," at Devonshire House.[37] Then we have Wallenstein with his ample kingly brow; fierce Tilly; the head of Snyders; the lovely head of the painter"s wife, Maria Ruthven,--sweet-looking, delicate, golden-haired, and holding the theorbo, (she excelled in music, I believe,) and virgins, holy families, and other scriptural subjects.
His famous picture of Susanna does not strike me much.
The four apostles of Albert Durer--wonderful! In expression, in calm religious majesty, in suavity of pencilling, and the grand, pure style of the heads and drapery, quite like Raffaelle. I compared, yesterday, the three portraits--that of Raffaelle, by himself; (the famous head once in the Altaviti palace, and engraved by Morghen;) Albert Durer, by himself; and Giorgione, by himself. Raffaelle is the least handsome, and rather disappointed me; the eyes, in particular, rather project, and have an expression which is not pleasing; the mouth and the brow are full of power and pa.s.sion. Albert Durer is beautiful, like the old heads of our Saviour; and the predominant expression is calm, dignified, intellectual, with a tinge of melancholy. This picture was painted at the age of twenty-eight: he was then suffering from that bitter domestic curse, a shrewish, avaricious wife, who finally broke his heart.
Giorgione is not handsome, but it is a sublime head, with such a large intellectual development, such a profound expression of sentiment!
Giorgione died of a faithless mistress, as Albert Durer died of a scolding wife.[38]
By Paris Bordone, of Trevigi, there is a head of a Venetian lady, in a dress of crimson velvet, with dark splendid eyes which tell a whole history. By Murillo, there are eight pictures--not one in his most elevated style, but all perfect miracles of painting and of nature.
There are thirty-three pictures of Vander Werff, a number sufficient to make one"s blood run cold. One, a Magdalene, is of the size of life; the only large picture by this elegant, elaborate, soulless painter I ever saw: he is to me detestable.
By Joseph Vernet there are two delicious landscapes, a morning and an evening. I cannot farther particularize; but there are specimens of almost every known painter; those, however, of t.i.tian, Correggio, Julio Romano, and Nicolo Poussin, are very few and not of a very high cla.s.s, while those of the early German painters, and the Dutch, and the Flemish schools, are first-rate.
There is one English picture--Wilkie"s "Opening of the Will:" it is very much admired here, and looked upon as a sort of curiosity. I wish the artists of the two countries were better known to each other: both would benefit by such an intercourse.
At the palace of Schleissheim[39] there are nearly two thousand pictures: of these some hundreds are positively _bad_; some hundreds are curious and valuable, as ill.u.s.trating the history and progress of art; some few are really and intrinsically admirable.
But the grand attraction here is the far-famed Boisseree Gallery, which is arranged at Schleissheim, until the Pinakothek is ready for its reception. This is the collection about which so many volumes have been written, and which has excited such a general enthusiasm throughout Germany. This enthusiasm, as a fashion, a mania, is beginning to subside, but the impress it has left upon art, and the tone it has given to the pursuit, the feeling of art, will not so soon pa.s.s away. The gallery derives its name from two brothers, Sulpitz and Melchior Boisseree,[40]
who, with a friend (Bertram) were employed for many years in collecting from various convents, and old churches, and obscure collections of family relics, the productions of the early painters of Germany, from William of Cologne, called by the Germans "Meister Wilhelm," down to Albert Durer and Holbein.
The productions of the Greek or Byzantine painters found their way into Germany, as into Italy, in the thirteenth century, and Wilhelm of Cologne appeared to have been the Cimabue of the north--the founder of that school of painting called the _Byzantine-Niederrheinische_, or Flemish school, and the precursor of Rubens, as Cimabue was the precursor of Michael Angelo.
Out of this stiff, and rude, and barbarous style of art, arose and spread the Alt-Deutsche, or Gothic school of painting, which produced successively, Van Eyck, (1370,) Hemling, Wohlgemuth,[41] Martin Schoen, Mabuse, Johan Sch.o.r.eel, Lucas Kranach, Kulmbach, Albert Altorffer, Hans Asper, Johan von Mechlem, Behem, Albert Durer, and the two Holbeins. I mention here only those artists whose pictures fixed my attention; there are many others, and many pictures by unknown authors. Albert Durer was born exactly one hundred years after Van Eyck.
The Boisseree gallery contains about three hundred and fifty pictures; but I did not count them; and no official catalogue has yet been published. The subjects are generally sacred; the figures are heads of saints, and scenes from Scripture. A few are portraits; and there are a few, but very few, subjects from profane history. The painters whose works I at once distinguished from all others, were Van Eyck, Johan Sch.o.r.eel, Hemling, and Lucas Kranach. I can truly say that the two pictures of Van Eyck, representing St. Luke painting the portrait of the Virgin, and the offering of the three kings; and that of Johan Sch.o.r.eel, representing the death of the Virgin Mary, perfectly amazed me. I remember also several wondrous heads by Lucas Kranach; one by Behem, called, I know not why, "Helena:" and a picture of Christ and the little children, differing from all the rest in style, with something of the Italian grace of drawing, and suavity of colour. The artist, Sedlar, had studied in Lombardy, probably under Correggio; (one of the children certainly might call Correggio father.) The date on this extraordinary production is 1530. Of the painter I know nothing. The general and striking faults, or rather deficiencies of the old German school of art, are easily enumerated. The most flagrant violations of taste and costume,[42] bad drawing of the figure and extremities, faulty perspective; stiff, hard meagre composition, negligence or ignorance of all effect of chiaro-scuro. But what, then, is the secret of the interest which these old painters inspire, of the enthusiasm they excite, even in these cultivated days? It arises from a perception of the _mind_ they brought to bear upon their subjects, the simplicity and integrity of feeling with which they worked, and the elaborate marvellous beauty of the execution of parts. I could give no idea in words of the intense nature and expression in some of the heads, of the grand feeling united to the most finished delicacy in the conception and painting of _countenance_, of the dazzling splendour of colouring in the draperies, and the richness of fancy in the ornaments and accessories.
But I _do_ fear that the just admiration excited by this kind of excellence, and a great deal of national enthusiasm, has misled the modern German artists to a false, at least an exaggerated estimate, and an injudicious imitation, of their favourite models. It has produced or encouraged that general hardness of manner, that tendency to violent colour, and high glazy finish, which interfere too often with the beauty, and feeling, and effect of their compositions, at least in the eyes of those who are accustomed to the free broad style of English art.[43]
_Thursday Evening._--At the theatre. Schiller"s "Braut von Messina."
This was the first time I had ever seen the tragic choruses brought on the stage, in the genuine style of the Greek drama; and the deep sonorous voice and measured recitation (I could almost say _recitative_) of Eslair, who was at the head of the chorus of Don Manuel--the emphatic lines being repeated or echoed by his followers--as well as the peculiar style of the whole representation, impressed me with a kind of solemn terror. It was wholly different from any thing I had ever witnessed, and was rather like a poem declaimed on the stage, than what we are accustomed to call a play. I was fortunate in seeing Madame Schroder in Donna Isabella, for she does not often perform, and it is one of the finest parts of this grand actress. Don Manuel and Don Caesar were played by Forst and Schunke--both were young, very well looking, and good actors. Beatrice was played by Madll. Sholler. The costumes were beautiful, and all the arrangements of the stage contrived with the most poetical effect. One scene in the first act, where Donna Isabella stands between her two sons, a hand on the shoulder of each, beseeching them to be reconciled; while they remain silent, turning from each other with folded arms, and dark averted faces;--the chorusses drawn up on each side, all dressed alike, all precisely in the same att.i.tude, leaning on their shields, with lowering looks fixed on the group in the centre, was admirably managed; and, from the effect that it produced, made me feel that uniformity may be one element of the sublime. Afterwards, a very lively soiree.
_Friday._--The Hofgarten at Munich is a square, planted with trees, and gravelled, and serving as a public promenade. On one side is the royal palace; opposite to it, the picture gallery; on the east, the king"s riding house, and on the west, a long arcade, open towards the garden which connects the palace and the picture gallery; under this arcade are shops, cafes, restaurateurs, &c. as in the _Palais Royal_ at Paris.
But what distinguishes this arcade from all others, is the peculiar style of decoration. It is painted in fres...o...b.. the young artists who studied under Cornelius. There is, first, a series of sixteen compartments, about eleven feet in length, containing subjects from the history of Bavaria.
They are all by various artists, and of course of different degrees of merit, generally better in the composition than the painting, but some have great vigour and animation in both respects.
For instance, Otho von Wittelsbach receiving from the emperor, Frederic Barbarossa, the invest.i.ture of the dukedom of Bavaria in 1180, painted by Zimmermann.
The marriage of Otho the Ill.u.s.trious, to Agnes, Countess Palatine of the Rhine, in 1225, painted by my friend, Wilhelm Rockel, of Schleissheim, to whom I am indebted for many polite attentions.
The engagement between Louis the Severe, of Bavaria, and the fierce fiery Ottocar, king of Bohemia, upon the bridge at Muhldorf, in 1258, painted by Sturmer of Berlin. This is very animated and terrific. I think the artist had Rubens" defeat of the Amazons full in his mind.
The victory of the emperor, Louis of Bavaria, over Frederic of Austria, his compet.i.tor for the empire in 1322, painted by Hermann of Dresden.
The storming of G.o.desberg, when the unfortunate Archbishop Gerard, and Agnes of Mansfield had taken refuge there in 1583,[44] painted by Ga.s.sen of Coblentz.
Maximilian I. in 1623, invested with the forfeit electorate of the Palatine Frederic V.[45] painted by Eberle of Dusseldorf.
Maximilian Joseph I. father of the present king, bestowing on his people a new const.i.tution and representative government in 1818, painted by Monten of Dusseldorf.
These have dwelt on my memory. Over all the pictures, the name of the subject and the date are inscribed in large gold letters, so that those who walk may read. The costumes and manners of each epoch have been attended to with the most scrupulous accuracy; and I see every day groups of soldiers, and of the common people, with their children, standing before these paintings, spelling the t.i.tles, and discussing the various subjects represented. The further end of the arcade is painted with a series of Italian scenes, selected by the king after his return from Italy, and executed by Rottmann of Heidelberg, a young landscape-painter of great merit, as De Klenze a.s.sures me, and he is a judge of _genius_. Under each picture is a distich, composed by the king himself. These are in distemper, I believe: freely, but rather hastily executed, and cold and ineffective in colour, perhaps the fault of the vehicle. The ceilings and pillars are also gaily painted with arabesques, and other ornaments; and at the upper end there is a grand seated figure, looking magnificent and contemplative, and calling herself BAVARIA. This is well painted by Kaulbach.
I walk through these arcades once or twice every day, as I have several friends lodged over them; and can seldom arrive at the end without pausing two or three times.
I learn that the king"s pa.s.sion for building, and the forced encouragement given to the enlargement and decoration of his capital, has been carried to an excess, and, like all extremes, has proved mischievous, at least for the time. He has rendered it too much a fashion among his subjects, who are suffering from rash speculations of this kind. Many beautiful edifices in the Ludwig"s Stra.s.se, and the neighbourhood of the Maximilian"s Platz, and the Karoline"s Platz, remain untenanted. A suite of beautiful unfurnished apartments, and even a pretty house in the finest part of Munich may be had for a trifle.
Some of these new houses are enormous. Madame M. told me that she has her whole establishment on one floor, but then she has twenty-three rooms.
Though the country round Munich is flat and ugly, a few hours" journey brings us into the very midst of the Tyrolian Alps. In June or July all the people fly to the mountains, and baths, and lakes in South Bavaria, and rusticate among the most glorious scenery in the world. "Come to us," said my friend, Luise K----; "come to us in the summer months, _and we will play at Arcadia_."
And truly, when I listened to her description of her mountain life, and all its tranquil, primitive pleasures, and all the beauty and grandeur which lie beyond that giant-barrier which lifts itself against the evening sky, and when I looked into those clear affectionate eyes--"dieser Blick voll Treu und Gute," and beheld the expression of a settled happiness, the light of a heart at peace with itself and all the world, reflected on the countenances of her children--a recollection of the unquiet destiny which drives me in an opposite direction came over me--
Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, which mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
END OF VOL. I.
LONDON:
IBOTSON & PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY STREET, STRAND.
ADDENDA
_To Page 179, Vol._ i.
Therese Huber, who died in 1829, was a woman every way remarkable, in her domestic history, in her position, her writings, and her character.
She was employed by Cotta to edit his famous "Morgenblatt," in her time the most esteemed and the most influential of the literary periodicals of Germany, and which she conducted for many years with extraordinary energy and success; she wrote also several romances, published under her husband"s name, and long attributed to him even by her most intimate friends. Therese Huber is distinguished by a profound knowledge of her own s.e.x, and by her just and admirable views of our destination and situation in society. Some of her private letters have been published, since her death, with those of Caroline Woltmann, in the "Deutsche Briefe," and they place in yet stronger light the fine original powers of this gifted woman.
VOL. I.