ROME--GERMANY.
The life of Overbeck apportioned itself into successive periods of five,
ten, or more years, corresponding to the important works from time to
time in hand. The painter threw his whole mind into whatever he
undertook, and so his pictures in their conception, and even in their
execution, reflect the thought and the state of consciousness which for
the while held supreme sway. The preceding chapters treat of two
periods; the one describes the early times in Lübeck and Vienna, the
other presents a sketch of the first decade in Rome. The foundations
have been laid; the main principles for the guidance of a true life and
for the building up of a soul-moving art have been firmly fixed; and now
it remains to be seen how far and in what way the lofty aim was reached.
Overbeck, as soon as his prospects in life became somewhat assured,
married. Little is recorded of the wife: the earliest mention I have met
with is in 1818, when the artists in Rome gave a grand fête in honour of
the Crown Prince of Bavaria. Overbeck and Cornelius furnished designs
for pictorial decorations and transparencies: the guests wore mediæval
costumes, and made themselves otherwise attractive; and we learn on the
authority of Madame Bunsen that among the brilliant assembly "the most
admired of the evening was Overbeck's future wife, a lady beautiful,
engaging, and influential, from Vienna."[1] The marriage, which was not
long delayed, proved on the whole happy, though the wife's delicate
health gave constant cause for anxiety, and her other demands on an
indulgent husband are said to have provoked the displeasure of Cornelius
and other friends. Two children were the fruits of the union: a girl,
who died young, and a boy, who lived only long enough to give singular
promise.
Overbeck, as we have seen, had, in common with his brethren, given his
best powers to "monumental painting." For this noble and "architectonic
art" he was not without qualifications. He moved in an exalted sphere,
his mind ranged among immutable truths, his forms were high in type, his
compositions had symmetry and concentration, he knew how to adapt lines
and masses to structural spaces. An occasion calculated to call forth
his powers came with the commission to paint in fresco _The Vision of
St. Francis_ for the church of Sta. Maria degli Angeli, near Assisi.
Overbeck here, as his custom was, remained obedient to tradition, and
yet struck out a new path; he was not content to retrace the footsteps
of Giotto or of Cigoli, he preferred to depict the vision of his own
mind. He enthrones the Madonna as Queen of Heaven, seated by the side of
the risen Saviour, surrounded by the angelic hosts. On the lower earth,
also attended by angels, appears St. Francis in adoration, while on the
other side kneel reverently two mendicant friars. The picture belongs to
the middle period, when the artist had attained the mature age of forty:
the style, speaking historically, is that of the grave and severely
defined Florentine school as represented by the Brancacci chapel. The
fresco has been accounted by some the painter's masterpiece, and it is
pronounced by Count Raczynski as one of the few works of modern days
worthy of transmission to future ages.[2]
Overbeck, it is easy to believe, while painting on the very spot where
St. Francis was in ecstasy, led a life much to his liking. He dwelt
within the monastery, and his pure mind, open only to the good, was
blind to the dissolute ways of monks who became a scandal to the
district. When the fresco was half finished, the master received a visit
from his bosom friends Steinle and Führich, and the three strengthened
one another as they communed on religion and the arts. Overbeck is known
to have had leanings towards a convent life, and at one time, when
seriously thinking of taking the vow, he received from the Pope friendly
admonition that his true mission lay within his art, and that by
renouncing the world his usefulness would be lessened. It can scarcely,
however, be doubted that asceticism became so much the habit of his life
as to afflict his mental condition, and to impoverish his art. Some
critics indeed point to the early picture of _The Seven Years of Famine_
as the origin of a certain starved aspect in subsequent compositions.
Pharaoh's lean kine have been supposed to symbolise the painter, and the
spare fare within the cells of St. Francis served to confirm the
persuasion that flesh and blood, in art as in life, must be kept in
subjection. Nevertheless, I for one, when on the spot, could not but
revere the pictorial outcome; when first I made acquaintance with this
plenary revelation of the painter, I had been taking a walking-tour,
knapsack on back, through the Umbrian hills and valleys, the birth-land
of St. Francis; I had become acquainted with the wall and panel
paintings of Giotto, Gentile di Fabriano, Perugino, Giovanni Santi, and
the youthful Raphael; and while looking on this heavenly "Vision," I
could not but feel that Overbeck ranked among the holy company. Unlike
most modern painters, surely he had not to worship in the outer court of
the Gentiles.
Overbeck received repeated solicitations to return to Germany: he was
asked in 1821 by Cornelius to take the directorship of the Düsseldorf
Academy, and four years later he writes in reply to the further
persuasions of Wintergerst and Mosler. He urges his incapacity for the
duties: he had learnt painting, he says, in a way difficult to impart to
others; moreover, sculpture and architecture he did not understand at
all, and as for the business matters he was without faculty. Further
difficulties were the health of his wife and the welfare of his son:
"every information," he continues, "I receive from my native country
tells me of spiritual fermentations: the sanctuary, insufficiently
protected by the law, suffers under attacks, and a proud worldly spirit
raises its head and proclaims its wisdom. Can parents be blind to the
risks to which they expose their child, till now reared in the most
delightful simplicity of belief? Dearest friends, can you give us the
assurance that we shall be able to educate our son in the simple
Catholic faith which we have learnt to recognise as the most vital and
consoling." Overbeck, it need hardly be added, shrank from the dangers
and declined the duties.
But, at length, free from pressing and onerous commissions, he lent a
more willing ear to invitations from Germany. Cornelius in 1830 had come
to Rome from Munich, the better to complete certain cartoons; with him
were a daughter, also his wife, who had under charge Fräulein Emilie
Linder, a young lady of Basle, of some means and given to pictorial
pursuits. Overbeck, on the completion of his wall-painting at Assisi,
rejoined the brilliant art circle of the Roman capital, and from this
time dates the memorable friendship between the lady, then a Protestant,
and the great Catholic painter. After a winter pleasantly passed among
congenial spirits, the whole party in the early summer of 1831 set out
from Rome and reached Florence. Emilie Linder returned for a time to
Basle, while Overbeck, under the care of Cornelius, by way of the Tyrol
reached Munich. On the news of their approach in July, the local
artists, young and old, assembled at the gates, outposts had been
stationed along the road, and the townfolks gathered by thousands in the
streets: from afar the cheering was heard, and then group after group
raised the cry, "Overbeck!" "Cornelius!" The entry soon grew into a
triumphal march, and, protests notwithstanding, the horses were unyoked,
and a company of lusty youths drew the carriage to the dwelling of
Cornelius.
Twenty years had elapsed since Overbeck, an unknown youth, had quitted
his native land; he now returned with a world-wide reputation.
Cornelius, once the sharer of his trials, became the equal recipient of
the triumphs; he had just completed the grand series of frescoes for the
Glyptothek, and with him were brought the cartoons elaborated in Rome
for the wall-paintings in the new Ludwig Kirche. Overbeck, as the guest
of his old friend, passed happy weeks in Munich. The two painters
conferred closely together in the interests of Christian Art, and aided
each other in the arduous works soon to be carried out. The artists of
Bavaria signalised the visit of the apostle of Christian Painting by a
jubilee; they gave in honour of the illustrious stranger one of those
joyous and scenic fêtes for which Munich is famed. The locality chosen
was the Starnberger See, a lovely region of hill and lake lying in the
Bavarian highlands, bordering on the Ammergau, peopled by peasants with
sacred traditions since better known through "The Passion Play."
Overbeck writes gratefully of enjoyment and instruction received through
kind friends among the beauties of nature and of art.
The Roman recluse in his journey northwards had widely extended his
knowledge of nature. On leaving the Apennines he encountered the Alps,
and exchanged beauty for grandeur. His figures were often accompanied by
landscapes; but mountains exceeding in altitude five or six thousand
feet appalled his imagination; masses of such magnitude could not enter
the smaller sphere of his consciousness; hence his northern
peregrinations brought into his compositions no Alpine presences;
indeed, his habitual serenity and simplicity were disturbed by dramatic
stir or storm of the elements, and though his sympathies warmed under
novel experiences, his art failed to take a new departure.
I have often when in Munich regretted that Overbeck had no share in the
Bavarian manifestations of Christian Art. But that he, the head of the
religious revival, is left out was simply his own fault. Cornelius, in
1821, when as director reorganising the Academy, wrote to his friend,
asking assistance; King Ludwig also urged Overbeck to come. But the
timorous artist as usual hesitated; he gave at first assent, conditional
however on a delay of three years to complete works in hand; then he
pleaded the impossibility of taking any step whatsoever without the
sense of religious duty. The King naturally grew weary, and interpreted
the equivocal dealing as a denial. Cornelius again in 1833, when the new
Basilica of St. Boniface needed decoration, once more proposed that his
fellow-labourer in Rome should settle in Munich, but with no avail; the
King evidently had little cordiality for the artist, and so employed
others on the plea, not wholly tenable, that Overbeck was better in oil
than in fresco. Thus the large acreage of wall surfaces dedicated to
Christian Art in the churches of Munich and the Cathedral of Spires fell
into the hands of Cornelius, Hess, and Schraudolph. It is impossible not
to regret that this grand sphere was thus closed to the artist who of
all others had most of beauty to reveal. Yet the sensitive painter might
have encountered much to disturb his peace of mind. King Ludwig could
not assuredly be quite the patron for a spiritual and esoteric artist,
and, moreover, there was something too wholesale in the Munich way of
going on for a man of limited strength. Overbeck, as I can testify, was
about the last person to climb a giddy ladder or to endure a long day's
drudgery before an acreage of wall fifty feet above the ground. He
wisely did not overstep his bounds; he had not the wing of an eagle, and
preferred to keep as a dove, near to the nest.
Nevertheless, Munich is not without witness to the spirit of the mystic
and poetic painter. King Ludwig, himself at least a poetaster, hit upon
a felicitous comparison, oft since reiterated, when he designated
Overbeck the St. John and Cornelius the St. Paul in pictorial art. The
two artists, like the two apostles, had a common faith, though a diverse
calling, and their several works testify how greatly the one was
indebted to the other. Overbeck brought with him to Bavaria a drawing of
exceptional power, _Elias in the Chariot of Fire_ (1827), a composition
which reflects as indubitably the greatness of Cornelius as Raphael's
_Isaiah_ responds to the grandeur of Michelangelo. But this lofty strain
of inspiration proved transient, and Overbeck, as seen in Munich, truly
personates the apostle who leant on the Saviour's breast. The New
Pinakothek is fortunate in the possession of three pictures.[3] One is
the _Portrait of Vittoria Caldoni_, already enumerated among earliest
efforts; another is the _Holy Family_, illustrating these pages; the
composition recalls Raphael's Florentine manner. The third, _Italy and
Germany_, must be accounted exceptional because secular; the motive,
however, rises above common life into symbolism. Two maidens in tender
embrace are depicted seated in a landscape, the one blonde and homely,
personifying Germania; the other dark and ideal, as if Tasso inspired,
typical of Italia. The intention has given rise to interesting
speculation. The German girl leans forward in earnest entreaty, while
her Italian sister remains immobile and impenetrable. And herein some
have seen shadowed forth a divided mind between two nationalities.
Solicitations had come from Germany, yet, after moments of hesitation,
Overbeck held fast to the land of his adoption, and his resolve may not
inaptly find expression in "Italia," a figure which seems to say, "Vex
not my spirit; leave me to rest in this land of peace and of beauty."
But this composition is supposed to speak of yet wider experiences. The
painter had given much time to the writing of a romance descriptive or
symbolic of human life, wherein he embodied his own personal feelings
and aspirations. The two principal characters in this unpublished story
are said to be here depicted under the guise of "Italia and Germania."
The composition thus becomes somewhat autobiographic.
Munich is identified with a friendship between Overbeck and a lady,
which ranks among the most memorable of Platonic attachments. Fräulein
Emilie Linder we have already encountered in Rome, where an abiding
friendship was rooted, and the devoted lady, on separation, soon found
occasion to open a correspondence which was prolonged over a period of
thirty years. Overbeck was a persistent letter-writer; he wasted no time
on society, and so gained leisure to write epistles and publish essays.
And yet it cannot be said that, had he not been an artist, he would have
shone as the brightest of authors. On the contrary, as with the majority
of painters, he never acquired an adroitness of pen commensurate with
his mastery in the use of his pencil; and it is certain that if his
pictures had been without adorers, his prose would have remained without
readers. The great painter was destitute of literary style; his
sentences are cumbrous and confused; his pages grow wearisome by wordy
repetition. Doubtless his thoughts are pure and elevated, but, lacking
originality, they run into platitudes, and barely escape commonplace.
The prolonged correspondence with Emilie Linder[4] contracts the flavour
peculiar to polemics. Overbeck had grown into a "fanatic Catholic"; he
was ever casting out nets to catch converts; his tactics were enticing;
his own example proved persuasive. Moreover, about his mind and method
was something effusive, which won on the hearts of emotional women. At
all events, these letters brought over to the Roman Catholic Church the
lady and others. And so it naturally came to pass that the bonds of
union were drawn very close when the revered apostle and the devout
disciple reposed within the same sheepfold. These letters have a further
significance; they declare what indeed is otherwise well established,
that the Catholic faith served as the prime moving power in the life and
the art of Overbeck.
The painter brought to Munich ten or more drawings executed in Rome with
a view to his travelling expenses, and Emilie Linder lost no time in
making an offer for the set, to add to her private collection. The
artist, with suitable diffidence, hesitated, yet looked on the proposal
as an interposition of Providence, and then begged for the money at
once, to help him on his further journey into Germany. Though success
had delivered him from poverty, and commissions came in faster than he
could paint, yet at no time did he roll in wealth; spite of scrupulous
economy, he never much more than paid his way; and a few years later,
when, for Emilie Linder, engaged on _The Death of St. Joseph_,[5] he
gladly accepted beforehand the price by instalments. The correspondence
shows a tender conscience, with a humility not devoid of independence.
The art products were in fact of so high a quality that the painter
conferred a greater favour than any he could receive in return.
Overbeck left the hospitable roof of Cornelius in Munich at the end of
August, 1831, and reached Heidelberg, there to meet with an enthusiastic
reception from friends and admirers; there also, after a separation of
five-and-twenty years, he saw once more, and for the last time, his
elder brother from Lübeck. Close to Heidelberg, overhanging the banks of
the Necker, is Stift Neuburg, formerly a monastic establishment, but
then the picturesque residence of a family in warmest bonds of
friendship with the art brethren. At this lovely spot, I am told by the
present owner, "Overbeck stayed several days, and a seat in the garden
is still called after him 'Overbeck's Plätzchen.'" On this rustic bench
the painter was wont to sit meditatively amid scenery of surpassing
beauty; the quietude of nature and the converse of kindred minds were to
his heart's content. Within the old mansion, on the walls and in
portfolios, are the choicest examples of the artist's early and middle
periods; thus Stift Neuburg in its house and grounds remains sacred to
the painter's memory.[6]
From Heidelberg Overbeck travelled to Frankfort--a city soon to become a
focus of the wide-spreading revival. Here the apostle of sacred art made
the acquaintance of the poet Clemens Brentano, and fell among other
friends and adorers. Philip Veit, his fellow-worker in the Casa
Bartholdi and the Villa Massimo, had just been appointed Director of the
Städel Institute, where he executed one of the noblest of frescoes--_The
Introduction of the Arts into Germany through Christianity_. Likewise
among warm adherents was Johann Passavant, a painter who in Rome had
joined the brethren, a critic who made a name by the 'Life of Raphael.'
Overbeck was here esteemed "the greatest living artist," and some
expressed "the cherished thought, the earnest desire" that the painter
should be secured for Frankfort. But as this proved out of the question,
the promise was gladly accepted of the master-work since famous as _The
Triumph of Religion in the Arts_. Cologne next received a visit, and the
Cathedral choir having advanced towards completion, the assistance of
the Christian painter was naturally solicited: _The Assumption of the
Virgin_, now adorning a side chapel, counts among the memorable fruits
of the painter's timely visit to his native land. This northern journey
was extended as far as Düsseldorf, a sequestered town already growing
illustrious for its school of religious painting. Wilhelm Schadow,
co-partner in Roman labours, had here, as Director of the Academy,
gathered round him devoted scholars, and Overbeck greeted his old friend
as a missionary in the common cause. After receiving on all hands
respectful adulations which would have turned a vainer head, the
traveller bent his steps southwards, and reached Italy by way of
Strasburg and Switzerland. On reaching Rome, he writes on the 1st of
December to Cornelius in characteristic tone: "You will understand with
what lively joy I once more saw my beloved Rome; I therefore will not
conceal the painful impression which the distracted opinions and
doctrines in the Fatherland have left in my mind, but I feel rest in the
persuasion that, through the dispensation of Providence, my lot has been
cast in this Roman seclusion, not that I intend to lay my hands idly in
my lap, but, on the contrary, I shall endeavour to work with my utmost
ability, spurred on all the more by the thought that even here at a
distance I shall move in your circle." Assuredly as to professional
prospects the passage of the Alps had extended the artist's circuit: the
Italian works which chiefly mark the painter's first period had come to
an end; henceforth Overbeck's labours, though prosecuted within the
Roman studio, were for the good of Germany.
Overbeck, in September, 1833, witnessed an event memorable in the
history of art: he was present at the opening of Raphael's tomb in the
Pantheon, and a few days after he wrote to his friend Veit at Frankfort
a circumstantial account, as some relief to his overwhelming emotions.
The letter is here of interest as evidence of Overbeck's unshaken
allegiance to the great master; if called by others a pre-Raphaelite, he
remained at heart faithful to the painter from whom indeed he borrowed
largely. Unlike certain of our English artists and critics, he never
decried Raphael. He writes: "Know, then, I was present at the opening of
Raphael's grave, and have looked upon the true and incomparable master.
What a shudder came over me when the remains of the honoured painter
were laid open, thou canst better conceive than I can describe. May this
deep experience not be without good results for us: may the remembrance
of the honoured one make us more worthy inheritors of his spirit!"[7]
Overbeck about this time, in letters to Emilie Linder, begins to express
ultra views, to the prejudice of his art. He pleads that certain
Biblical drawings may have for her more worth because the religious
meaning dominates over the art skill. In like manner he writes
apologetically concerning _The Death of St. Joseph_. The picture, he
urges, embodies not so much a historic fact as an idea, the intent being
not to lead the spectator to the real, but to something beyond. The
purist painter then proceeds to express his invincible reluctance to
study the subject from the side of life; models he had carefully
avoided, because he feared that a single glance at nature would destroy
the whole conception. It is with sincere regret that I have to record so
pernicious a doctrine. Surely the artist's special function must always
be to find out the divine element in nature, and fatal is the day when
first he calls into question the essential oneness between Nature and
God. But Overbeck's peculiar phase of Catholicism marred as well as made
his art. Through the Church he entered a holy, heavenly sphere, and his
pictures verily stand forth as the revelation of his soul. But the
sublimest of doctrines sometimes prove to be utterly unpaintable, and
certainly the tenets to which Overbeck gave a super-sensuous turn, in
the end perplexed and clouded his art. Outraged nature took her revenge,
and the sequel shows that Overbeck so diverted his vision and narrowed
his pictorial range that his art fell short of the largeness of nature
and humanity.
Northern Germany claimed the illustrious painter as her son, and so
fitly came commissions from Cologne, Lübeck, and Hamburg. For the great
Hospital in this last commercial town was painted the large oil-picture,
_Christ's Agony in the Garden_. This impressive composition represents
the Saviour kneeling; the head is bowed in anguish, the hands are raised
in ecstasy; below, the three disciples lie asleep, and in the glory of
the upper sky amid rolling clouds appears as a vision the angel bearing
the cross. I paid a visit to Hamburg in order to judge of a work of
which I could find but slight mention. Its characteristics are just what
might have been anticipated. The drawing is studious, the expression
intense, the execution feeble; in short, the technique becomes wholly
subordinate to the intention. The conception has Giottesque simplicity:
the shade of night brings solemnity, and the longer I stood before the
canvas the more I became impressed with the quietude and fervour of the
scene.[8]
We find an epitome of Overbeck's mind and art in a lovely composition,
_Lo Sposalizio_. Count Raczynski had as far back as 1819 given a general
commission, and at first was proposed as a subject the _Sibyl_, for
which the drawing in sepia, dated 1821, now hangs in the Count's Gallery
in Berlin. The figure, pensive and poetic, resembles a mediæval Saint
rather than a Sibyl. The painter afterwards found a more congenial theme
in _The Marriage of the Virgin_. The treatment is wholly traditional,
the style austerely pre-Raphaelite; the only expletive in the way of an
idea comes with attendant angels, lyres in hand. The work was not
delivered till 1836, in the meanwhile the first fire had died out, and
nature was thrust into the distance. The technique had not improved, the
material clothing becomes subject to the mental conception, thus are
eschewed _chic_ of touch and surface texture. The colour is
indescribable: it pertains neither to earth nor to heaven, and yet it
has more of dull clay than of iridescent light. What a misfortune that
the gem-like lustre of the early Italians escaped this modern disciple!
A thoroughly characteristic letter accompanied the picture. Overbeck
having shut himself out from the world, seeks for his creations a like
seclusion. He writes to Raczynski: "As you are wishing to send my
picture to the public exhibition in Berlin, I cannot refrain from
expressing my anxiety. Paintings of this kind appear to me not fitted to
be seen by the motley multitude usually gathered together in
exhibitions. The general public are almost sure to measure wrongly works
like this, for as the eye is attracted to outward means and is engaged
on technical splendours, pictures in which these qualities are held in
subordination to higher aims cannot but sink into the shade. The
spectator is not in the mood to honour a spiritual subject which has
been thought out from a spiritual side. The place in which this picture
should be seen is a chapel, or some such peaceful spot removed from
disturbing surroundings."[9]
I now wish to direct the reader's attention to _The Triumph of Religion
in the Arts_, otherwise _The Magnificat of Art_, or _The Christian
Parnassus_, or the triumph of Mariolatry. This large and elaborate
composition embodied the artist's best thoughts for ten years in the
prime of life, from 1831 to 1840. Accompanying the work was a written
explanation, which comprises a confession of Overbeck's art faith.[10]
The Madonna, with the Infant in her arms, sits enthroned in the upper
half of the canvas, and around, in mid-heaven, are ranged prophets,
evangelists, and saints. On the earth below stand some sixty painters,
sculptors, and architects; the heads as far as possible are taken from
authentic portraits. In the midst is a fountain, the upper waters rising
into the sky, the lower falling into two basins beneath. The painter
explains his meaning as follows: "The fountain in the centre is the
emblem of the well of water springing up into eternal life, thus
denoting the heavenward direction of Christian Art as opposed to the
idea of the ancients, who represented the stream as flowing downwards
from Mount Parnassus. Every manifestation of art therefore is honoured
so far only as it looks towards heaven. The fountain descends into two
mirrors: the upper one reflects heaven, the lower receives earthly
objects; thus is indicated the twofold character of art, which, on the
one hand, in its spiritual essence comes with every good thought from
above, and which, on the other, is derived from the outward forms of
nature. This twofold sphere of art is signified by the position assigned
to the assembled artists in relation to the two mirrors of water."
Overbeck next proceeds to expound his pictorial judgments. He gives
Raphael a white robe as symbolic of universal genius, "for as white
light contains the seven prismatic colours, so does Raphael's art unite
all the qualities we gaze on with wonder." Michelangelo sits apart on a
fragment of antique sculpture, his back turned alike on the Fountain and
the Madonna. I once ventured to ask Overbeck in his studio for some
explanation of this harsh judgment; he calmly but firmly replied that he
thought the verdict according to the evidence. Still less mercy is shown
to the Venetians, and as for Correggio, he is stigmatised as utterly
lost. On the other hand, Fra Angelico, the Tuscan School, Dürer, and the
brothers Van Eyck receive due reverence. But it has fairly been
questioned whether the majority of the sixty or more artists here
immortalised would thank the painter for his pains. The reading given to
historic facts is narrow, partial, not to say perverted, and could
content only such ultra critics as Rio, Montalembert, and Pugin.
_The Triumph of Religion_[11] I have known for more than a quarter of a
century, and have heard much of its profundity, spiritualism, and
symbolism. But no critic will assign to the picture the first rank among
works of creative reason and imagination; the comparison has inevitably
been instituted with Raphael's _Disputa_, in the Vatican, to which it is
confessedly inferior. Historically, it finds a place sufficiently
honourable by the side of Francia and Pinturicchio. Its avowed merits
are considerable; its very scale and the vastness of the labour give
importance; the canvas extends to a breadth and height of about fifteen
feet. The composition, if not bold or masterly, is careful and
thoughtful, the drawing scholastic; the heads are wrought as biographic
studies, the draperies cast into balanced harmonies. The execution is
steady, without show or fling; the colour, as always, is the reverse of
alluring: Venetian splendours are eschewed in favour of pigments thin,
dull, and crude. Yet the technique has usual soundness; the materials
stand firm and unchanged. The picture has the advantage of a commanding
position in the handsome new gallery in Frankfort, and, notwithstanding
its defects and shortcomings, must be accounted as among the most
memorable achievements of the century.
Overbeck made _The Triumph of Religion_ a propaganda of his pictorial
faith, and wrote his explanatory text for the special benefit of young
painters. The document concludes with the following emphatic and
affectionate appeal: "And now, my dear young friend and brother artist,
so ardently striving to excel in the Fine Arts, I have placed a picture
before you in which you may wander as in a garden. Here you see all the
great masters: behold how the future lies spread before you, like the
bright distance in this picture, so that you may be encouraged thereby
in your noble task. Strive to approach the great masters with all the
powers of your mind, but know that you can only reach their eminence by
steadily keeping in view the goal which I have endeavoured in this
painting to place before you. Several of the artists here assembled may
serve as warnings to you: the Venetians went astray as soon as they made
colouring the principal object of attraction, and so by degrees they
sank in sensuality. The effeminate Correggio proceeded in this career at
a more rapid rate, until he had cast aside every restraint of modesty
and morality, and gave himself up to unbridled voluptuousness.[12]
Michael Angelo set up the antique as an object of idolatry, and Raphael
was tempted to taste the forbidden fruit, and so the sin of apostasy in
the fine arts became manifest. In after times, indeed, various attempts
have been made to elevate the arts; but as no remedy was applied to the
source of the evil, the result proved on the whole unsuccessful. This is
also the reason why none of the celebrated masters of late times have
been introduced into our painting.[13] In conclusion, you may
unhesitatingly adopt as a principle that the fine arts can alone be
beneficial to man when, like the wise virgins, they go out to meet the
bridegroom in humility and modesty, with their lamps burning and fed
with the faith and the fear of God: only as such daughters of heaven are
they worthy of your love."
Ten years of the painter's later period, reaching from 1843 to 1852,
were dedicated to the Life of Christ as recorded by the four
Evangelists. German artists of the modern time have revived the practice
of the old religious painters of composing Biblical series, and such a
narrative is technically termed a "cyclus." Overbeck evolved three such
consecutive compositions--"The Gospels" in forty cartoons, "The
Sacraments" in seven, and "The Stations" in fourteen. The large drawings
for "The Gospels" or "Evangelists"[14] I was accustomed to see from time
to time while in progress within the studio; none were ever carried out,
as the artist might have hoped, in oils, or as wall pictures or
tapestries, but all, in common with most of his drawings, have been
widely diffused by means of engraving.[15] Overbeck was specially
qualified by his habits of mind and literary tastes and antecedents thus
to write off his thoughts in outline; his drawings may be compared to
"thinking aloud," and one scene after another reads as consecutive
sonnets bearing on continuous themes. The events depicted as a matter of
course fall into accustomed routine; they almost of necessity begin with
_The Annunciation_ and end with _The Ascension_. Yet Overbeck, while
inspired was not enslaved by his predecessors; often are presented novel
and even bold conceptions, as in _The Massacre of the Innocents_ (1843)
and _Barabbas released and borne in Triumph_ (1849). Such designs prove
an intellect neither servile nor sterile. Certain other compositions are
marred by affectation and sentimentality, traits of morbid moods
increasing with years, and which contrast strangely with the healthiness
and robustness of the great old masters. Fitly have been chosen to
illustrate these pages _The Naming of St. John_ (1843), _Christ Healing
the Sick_ (1843), _Christ's Entry into Jerusalem_ (1849), _The
Entombment_ (1844), and _The Resurrection_ (1848). Two other
illustrations, _Christ in the Temple_ and Christ _falling under the
Cross_ show variations on the Gospel series. Overbeck may be compared to
certain fastidious writers who mature by endless emendations and
finishing touches; he loved to recur oft and again to favourite texts,
changing attitudes, adding or subtracting figures, episodes, or
accessories. His lifelong compositions are as a peopled world of the
elect and precious: many of the characters we claim as old
acquaintances; the figures come, go, and return again, changed, yet
without a break in personal identity. They move round a common centre;
Christ is their life; they are in soul and body Christian.
These "Gospels" have taken a permanent place in the world's Christian
Art. If not wholly worthy of so large and grand a theme, they yet
scarcely suffer from comparison with like efforts by other artists. They
have hardly less of unction and holiness than Fra Angelico's designs,
while undoubtedly they display profounder science and art. That they
have nothing in common with the Bible of Gustave Doré is much to their
praise; on the other hand, that they lack the inventive fertility and
the imaginative flight of the Bible of Julius Schnorr indicates that
they fall short of universality. These Gospels, it may also be said,
pertain not to the Church militant, but to the Church triumphant; not to
the world at large, but to a select company of believers. They teach the
passive virtues--patience, resignation, long-suffering, and so far
realise the painter's ideal of earth as the portal to heaven. Certain
spheres were beyond his ken. The marriage of Cana did not for him flow
with the wine of gladness; he had no fellowship with the nuptial banquet
as painted by Veronese. His pencil shunned the Song of Miriam and the
Dance of the Daughter of Herodias; it could not pass, like the pen of
England's epic poet, with a light fantastic touch from "Il Penseroso" to
"L'Allegro;" his walk was narrow as a convent cloister; his art was
attuned to the sound of the vesper bell.
Overbeck's modes of study and habits of work were like himself--secluded
and self-contained. His strength did not permit prolonged labour, and
his mind was easily put out of tune; yet by method and strict economy of
time he was able, as we have seen, to get through a very considerable
amount of work. Each day had its allotted task. He rose summer and
winter between five and six o'clock, and usually went to church; at
seven he took a simple breakfast, then entered his studio and worked on
till one. This was the hour for dinner, a frugal meal preceded by the
customary grace. After a little repose, action was resumed about
half-past two, and continued till four, or sometimes even to six. Then
came exercise, mostly a meditative walk; in early times, before the
habits of a recluse had grown confirmed, the painter enjoyed an
evening's stroll with choice spirits, such as Niebuhr and Bunsen, but in
later years he preferred his own communings, his thoughts turning upon
art or finding diversion only among the beauties of nature. Within the
house he became abstracted; he wandered about lost to outward
surroundings, and would brook no interruption. In the winter evenings,
at least in later life, he relaxed so far as to join in some table game;
but his hours were early, he supped at eight, then retired to his room
for meditation, and was always in bed by ten. General family prayers
were not the order of the household; the constant habit was individual
devotion in private. The Pope took a fatherly care over the pious
artist, and granted him privileges permitted only to the few. And
Overbeck was on his part strict and zealous in all Church functions, and
neglected no means of building up the Christian life. Each day in fact
was so nicely apportioned between religion and art, that the morning and
the evening worship blended indissolubly with the midday work.
The bodily and mental aspect of Overbeck is well known. I myself had the
privilege of first seeing the painter when in the Cenci Palace, as far
back as the year 1848. My journal describes a man impressive in
presence, tall and attenuated in body, worn by ill-health and suffering,
the face emaciated and tied round by a piece of black silk. The mind had
eaten into the flesh; the features were sorrow-laden. The voice sank
into whispers, the words were plaintive and sparse; noiselessly the
artist glided among easels bearing pictorial forms austere as his own
person, meekly he offered explanations of works which embodied his very
soul, timidly sought retreat and passed as a shadow by--the emblem of an
art given in answer to prayer and pertaining to two worlds.
The painter, as drawn or described by himself and others, presents an
interesting psychological study: no historic portrait reveals closer
correspondence between the inner and the outer man. Cornelius delineated
his friend at the age of twenty-three: the type is ascetic and æsthetic
after the pre-Raphaelite pattern affected by the Nazarites. Führich, one
of the fraternity, describes his first impressions: on entering the
studio he beheld a tall, spare figure, noble in head, the hair flowing
over smooth temples to the shoulders, the forehead reflective, the calm
eye "soul-full," the whole aspect that of "inner living." It is added,
"at once I felt a soul fulfilment." Yet another artist-disciple, Edwin
Speckter,[16] also leaves a graphic record penned in 1831 as follows: "A
melancholy and heart-moving impression has Overbeck made upon me: I
beheld a tall, spare man, with thin, light hair, shadowed by a black
cap, whose eyes looked forth sadly, as with an expression of unutterable
suffering. His mouth contracted at each word into a forced yet sweet
smile. He looked just as a timid prisoner, who dreads in every corner to
see a spy. Yet in all his speech and ways appeared wondrous humility,
modesty, and kindly geniality, which, however, did not attract, but in
a strange manner repelled. I hardly dared to open my mouth, and only
spoke softly and by way of inquiry. Freely to impart my mind as with
others was impossible. My breast felt oppressed, and truly I scarcely
knew what to say when he unceasingly begged pardon that he should dare
to show his works: he called them 'insignificant,' 'nothing,' esteemed
himself fortunate that people should choose to give commissions to so
unworthy an individual, only he pitied the patrons that they had not
fallen on a more capable man. And then when I asked if I might come
again, he replied, 'Good heavens! if I would give myself the trouble, he
should be only too delighted.' I could almost have laughed, but with
tears in my eyes."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: For further particulars as to Overbeck's wife, "Nina," see
'Erinnerungen und Leben der Malerin Louise Seidler,' Berlin, Verlag von
Wilhelm Hertz, 1875. According to this authority the young lady was the
illegitimate daughter of a gentleman of aristocratic family in Vienna,
from whom she received a dowry. She had come to Rome in search of
health, and possessing talents, accomplishments and charms, and being
withal a "fanatic Catholic," she won the affections of the impressible
painter. "The young couple," we are told, passed "a soul-satisfying"
honeymoon, and took up their abode in the Villa Palombara, near the
Baths of Diocletian. In the private collection of Herr Bockenheimer,
Frankfort, I have found an exquisite drawing, wherein the artist is said
to have depicted himself, his wife, and two children.]
[Footnote 2: Mrs. Jameson, in 'The Legends of the Monastic Orders,'
illustrates the visions and ecstasies of St. Francis from the pictures
of Giotto and others down to Domenichino. Coming to our times, the only
work found worthy of such companionship is that of Overbeck. The modern
German does not suffer by comparison with the old Italian masters. The
fresco was finished 1830; shortly after, an earthquake visited the spot
and destroyed a large portion of the church, but _The Vision of St.
Francis_ remained intact. The cartoon for the picture is in the Library,
Lübeck, framed, hung, but badly seen. I examined and noted it October
1880. It is in chalk, on paper mounted on canvas; the form is lunette,
the base about 20 feet broad; the figures are life-size. The heads,
hands and draperies are thoroughly studied in a broad, large manner. The
work when exhibited in Munich in 1831, on the artist's visit to Germany,
obtained high commendation. The oil study made for the colour is now in
the Leipzig Museum: measurement, 2 feet 3 inches by 2 feet 7 inches. The
cartoon has been lithographed by Koch: the fresco itself is
photographed.]
[Footnote 3: Portrait of _Vittoria Caldoni_, oil, on canvas, nearly
life-size, about 3 feet by 2 feet. _Holy Family_, about 4 feet 6 inches
by 3 feet: oil, on rough Roman canvas, signed "F. O. 1825": better
colour than usual: in good condition, but, like many pictures in the New
Pinakothek, revived by the Pettenkofer process: the beautiful engraving
by Felsing has a sale quite unusual for Overbeck. "Italia und Germania,"
about 3 feet 5 inches by 2 feet 9 inches, oil, on canvas: manner hard
and dry: lithographed by F. Piloty.]
[Footnote 4: See 'Historisch-Politische Blätter für das Katholische
Deutschland,' before quoted.]
[Footnote 5: _The Death of St. Joseph_, oil, on canvas, 3 feet by 2 feet
3 inches, was at last completed 1836, and appeared two years later in
the Munich Exhibition: the price was less than 100_l._ A small drawing
for the picture was, with others in the possession of Emilie Linder,
lithographed for devotional purposes: the lady with characteristic
generosity sent the proceeds of publication to the painter. On her death
in 1867 her collection went by bequest to the Basle Museum, where are
conserved, besides _The Death of St. Joseph_, ten drawings in pencil.
Among the last are _God appearing to Elias on Mount Horeb_, _The Finding
of Moses_, _The Israelites gathering Manna_, _The Madonna and St. Joseph
worshipping the Infant Jesus_, _Christ found in the Temple_, and _The
Awakening of Jairus's Daughter_. Of the last I have met with two other
examples. The engraving, _Christ in the Temple_, illustrating this
volume, is from the drawing in this collection.]
[Footnote 6: The principal drawings at Stift Neuburg have been mentioned
in previous pages. I will now add from notes taken on the spot: Portrait
of Cornelius by Overbeck and a companion portrait on the same paper of
Overbeck by Cornelius. Pencil: 1 foot 4 inches by 1 foot 3 inches. This
joint handiwork, presented to their friend on the eve of his leaving
Rome for Germany, bears the following inscription: "In Remembrance of
our friend C. F. Schlosser, from F. Overbeck and J. P. Cornelius. Rome,
16 March, 1812." The latest drawing in the collection, date 1836,
represents Christ bearing the Lamb: the Saviour opens His mantle and
shows a flaming heart. This is one of the first signs of the painter's
ultimate tendency to exalt dogmas and legends at the expense of
essential truth and beauty. Some of the chief drawings at Stift Neuburg
have been published in photography by Bruckmann, Munich.]
[Footnote 7: Overbeck's letter on the opening of the tomb in the
Pantheon is published in Passavant's 'Life of Raphael.']
[Footnote 8: _Christ's Agony in the Garden_ is on canvas, 7 feet wide by
11 feet high: figures size of life: without signature or date: the
manner is that of the middle period: the year I believe to be between
1831 and 1835. The system of colour, though not without the depth and
solemnity of the early schools of Lombardy, is that peculiar to the
religious art of modern Germany: it is dull, heavy and opaque. I would
quote as an interesting proof of nature-study, still maintained at this
pronounced period, a foreground plant and flower exquisitely drawn and
affectionately painted. The picture is seen to utmost disadvantage: the
cold and poverty-stricken surroundings are those usually deemed
appropriate in Lutheran Germany.]
[Footnote 9: The present position of _The Marriage of the Virgin_ in the
Raczynski Gallery, Berlin, has just those "disturbing surroundings"
which the painter dreaded. It is crowded among discordant works, and is
hung so high that I had to ask for a ladder to examine its quality and
condition. The oil pigments remain sound save some small surface cracks.
The size is about 6 feet by 4 feet. The modest price paid by the
munificent patron, and for which he received the artist's grateful
acknowledgments, was somewhat under 100_l_. sterling. Surely Overbeck
did not paint for filthy lucre.]
[Footnote 10: See account of 'Religion glorified by the Fine Arts,'
written by the painter himself and translated by Mr. John Macray:
published by Ryman, Oxford; 2nd edition, 1850.]
[Footnote 11: The picture has been engraved by Amsler, and is also
photographed. The cartoon is in the Carlsruhe Gallery, framed and hung:
it measures about 12 feet wide by 14 feet high: it is in charcoal or
chalk, on squares of whity-brown paper mounted on canvas. This drawing
is remarkable for thoroughness in form and character; indeed, it is just
what a cartoon should be. Countless preliminary studies of separate
figures and draperies must have preceded it. Overbeck in a letter, 28th
December, 1839, to Emilie Linder mentions three cartoons or studies. One
large one being the above. A second smaller, 4 feet 8 inches square, in
sepia, on canvas. This I examined October, 1880, in the National
Gallery, Berlin: the execution in parts is poor. The work had been sent
for sale, but was not purchased. The third sketch is described by the
artist as different in proportions and composition. It is in black chalk
and pencil on red paper. The painter names £100 as the price: he
received £1300 for the picture.]
[Footnote 12: Surely Overbeck is unjust to the masterpieces of Correggio
in Parma and Dresden, including two Holy Families, _Il Giorno_ and _La
Notte_. He likewise must have forgotten Titian's religious pictures in
Venice and Vienna, _The Assumption_ and sundry Holy Families. The "young
artist" has to remember that a picture is different from a homily: that
art has to be valued for her own sake, that drawing, composition, light,
shade and colour are indispensable elements in every art work. Overbeck
shirks the stern truth that the first duty of a painter is to paint.]
[Footnote 13: It is difficult to remain tolerant of such intolerance.
Why does not Overbeck declare plainly that Ary Scheffer is excluded
because he was a Protestant? As spectators a place in the picture is
assigned to Cornelius, Veit, and to Overbeck himself, all Roman
Catholics, whilst Schnorr, as a Protestant, is deemed unworthy to
appear. It is interesting to observe that Overbeck's darling son is
introduced in the character of a young Englishman.]
[Footnote 14: The cartoons for the Gospels, originally made for an art
dealer in Prague, were afterwards acquired by the late Baron Lotzbeck of
Weihern, near Munich, and are now in the possession of the son, the
present Baron: they are framed and protected under glass.]
[Footnote 15: See 'L'Évangile Illustré: Quarante Compositions de
Fréderic Overbeck: gravées par les meilleurs Artistes de l'Allemagne:'
Schulgen, Düsseldorf and Paris. Overbeck had an aversion to the heavy
and mechanical schools of engraving; he objected to meaningless masses
of shadow and to the multiplication of lines inexpressive of form.
Accordingly these engravings from the Gospels, in common with other
plates from the master, possess merits the opposites to such defects.
Like the original drawings, they are chiefly dependent on outline, and
even their slightness is not without the advantage of suggestiveness.
Four illustrations here are facsimiles of the engravings.]
[Footnote 16: See 'Briefe eines deutschen Künstlers aus Italien, aus den
nachgelassenen Papieren von Edwin Speckter.' Leipzig: Brockhaus, 1846.
Also see 'Bunte Blätter, von A. W. Ambros.' Leipzig: Leuckart, 1872.]