THE TOMB OF ELECTOR FREDERICK THE WISE, AND THE RATHAUS RAILING
BUT the work of Peter Vischer the younger was not yet done. It remained,
indeed, for him to perform some of his greatest achievements. Certain
documents quoted by Baader[9] show that it was he who, in the beginning
of the year 1527, completed the monument to the Elector Frederick the
Wise at Wittenberg, of which Lübke writes that it is “a classic work and
through it the German art of that period is worthy to take rank with the
Italian.” The life-size figure of the great Elector stands in strong
relief upon a bronze plate within a frame of Corinthian pillars, outside
which, on either side, the sixteen coats of arms of the ancestors of the
Prince’s house are recorded, whilst his own arms form the central point
of the arch above his head. Above the latter coat-of-arms two sturdy
angels, forming a central headpiece, hold a laurel wreath, and therewith
the Elector’s favourite text inscribed in Latin: “The word of the Lord
endureth for ever.” The base on which the feet rest is richly decorated
with forms of sea monsters and sporting children in the craftsman’s most
joyous and luxuriant manner. Frederick himself is draped boldly in the
broad sweep of the Electoral cloak, and in a cape of rich ermine. Of
ermine, too, is the Elector’s hat, which rests upon a noble brow. But
even beneath those heavy robes the vigour and spring of the man’s
energetic form make themselves felt, nor can the gloved hands disguise
the strength of his grasp upon the Sword of the Realm, which he holds
aslant his shoulder. And the face is full of life and fire, quick with
the keen gaze of a leader of men, and eloquently expressive of
determination and strenuous endeavour. This is, without doubt, a noble
portrait of princely faith and manly strength. “One can imagine,” says
Lübke, “no more beautiful picture of strength, nobility and immovable
Christian trust in God.” What then must have been the feelings of the
craftsman when the Guild of Coppersmiths refused to recognize it as a
“Masterpiece,” as they had already refused to accept his tomb-plate of
Elector Albrecht von Mainz!
Footnote 9:
“Beiträge zur Kunstgeschichte Nürnbergs.”
[Illustration: STEIN PHOTO.] [SCHLOSSKIRCHE, WITTENBERG
23. ELECTOR FREDERICK THE WISE]
Assuredly it was not the Meistersingers of Nuremberg alone who failed to
appreciate a real masterpiece when they saw one. For it is on record
that this noble effigy was rejected by the Incorporated Guild of Masters
of Rotschmiedhandwerk, when it was submitted to them by Peter Vischer
the younger as the piece of work by which, for the second time, he
claimed the rank of master among them. We do not know on what
pettifogging grounds, whether of inaccuracy of detail or of personal
spite, admission was refused him. (Ill. 23.)
But it is clear that a considerable scandal was created by their
refusal. For it is further on record that the Council, moved perhaps by
the influence of his father and his friends, took the step of
interfering on behalf of the artist’s reputation. An appeal had been
made from the decision of the Guild, and the “Members of the Council,”
we learn from Baader, “to whom it was shown gave it their approval, and
on May 22 (1527?) they commanded the Masters of the Guild of
Coppersmiths to accept this monument as a masterpiece, and to recognize
the author of it as a Master.” This, they explained out of deference to
the feelings of the Masters, was to be an exceptional case, and was not
to be held to the prejudice of the Guild and its rules. The sworn
Masters, however, protested against such a proceeding, and they did not
obey the order of the Council. The matter rested there for some time,
but a few years after the death of the artist, in the interests,
perhaps, of his posthumous renown, the Council repeated their command
(May 22, 1532), and added a rider to the effect that Peter Vischer was
qualified as a Master by the monument he had made even if he had not
always executed his masterpieces in strict accordance with the
prescribed rules. As to the artist himself, he was apparently disgusted
by this second failure, and he gave up trying to become a Master in this
Guild on the merits of his work. For we read that “Peter Vischer’s son
of the same name was received as Master of the Guild of Thimble-Makers
in the year 1527. This Guild and that of the Coppersmiths were at that
period still united, though later they separated.”
But whether the monument won the young Peter Vischer the Mastership or
not, it is undoubtedly a masterpiece of German Renaissance. It is by
document and signature his as it is his in design and execution. There
are, indeed, still a few traces of the earlier influences of his house
visible. The background, for instance, is decorated in the Gothic style,
and the fantastic figures in the two corners formed by the arch remind
us of those on the tomb-plate of the Duchess Helene von Mecklenburg, for
whose father. Elector Philip of the Palatinate, his father had worked in
Heidelberg thirty-three years before. But in spite of the beauty of the
rich details of the elaborate architecture, arms and pilasters, that
form the setting of this work, it is the central commanding figure of
the whole which rightly rivets our attention. In this strong and
thoughtful man of action and man of mind, who is a Christian and a
fighter, a warrior, but none the less a theologian, whose watchword
recorded on the monument was (in spite of all the Popes and princes of
Europe), “The word of the Lord endureth for ever,” Peter Vischer has
proclaimed, so it has been suggested, the ideal Kaiser for whom Germany
was looking in vain, the perfect Emperor of the Reformation movement.
The power of portraiture which his practice as a maker of medallions had
developed, has enabled him to lend to the bronze a wonderful force of
expression, so that he may even challenge a comparison with Dürer, who,
thirty years previously, had portrayed the protector of Luther.
The design of this monument was borrowed by Hans Vischer, who copied it
in 1534 to serve as a memorial of Prince John the Stable, producing,
however, but a feeble version of the original.
It may be supposed that the relations between Peter Vischer the younger
and the Guild of Coppersmiths were somewhat strained by their treatment
of him. For this reason, perhaps, and also for the reason that the new
Italian fashion of tombstones, had, by this time, injuriously affected
the demand for bronze work, he seems to have thought seriously of
leaving Nuremberg in the year following the completion of the Wittenberg
monument. The quarrel with the House of Fugger, which we shall presently
relate, may likewise have conduced to make him entertain the proposal
which came to him now from the agent of Duke Albrecht of Prussia, or it
may be that he approached the agent on his own initiative. That prince
was, for reasons of his own with which we have no concern, anxious to
secure the services of a cannon-founder. It was suggested that the young
Peter Vischer should go to Prussia to act in this capacity. But he was
not destined to do so. The Duke’s agent reports unfavourably. “He is too
delicate a craftsman,” he says, “and has no experience in casting large
pieces.” It would have made little difference, in fact, if he had gone,
for he died in this same year—the year in which Nuremberg lost also her
prince of draughtsmen—Albert Dürer.
The documents which refer to this matter of the Duke Albrecht are to be
found in the State Archives at Königsberg, and were first quoted by
Döbner,[10] who writes as follows:
“Duke Albrecht of Prussia had corresponded in January, 1528, with a
citizen of Nuremberg named Bastian Startz, who was to procure a
cannon-founder for him from that city.” Startz wrote to him from there
on May 30, 1528, in very illiterate German, to the effect that “Jorg
Clingenbeck has had dealings with one who professes to be a
_Puxsengeisser_. Clingenbeck and I could not subsequently discover that
he had ever in his life cast any large pieces, but only monuments and
statuettes, and on that account your Highness is hereby advised that he
is too delicate a craftsman. And this _Puxsenmeister_ is called by the
name of Petter Vischer.”
Footnote 10:
“Peter-Vischer-Studien.” A. W. Döbner.
As early as March 8, in the same year, “Pawl Viescher, son of Peter
Vischer, the copper worker at Nuremberg,” had received the following
letter from Königsberg:
“We have received your letter in which you say that we have it in mind
to have several cannons cast, and that we shall require a Master for
that purpose, and further that you are inclined to visit this country
and to see what is to be seen, and also that for the time being work
with your father is slack, and so forth. These and other matters in your
letter have been communicated to us. And on these points we give you to
understand that we do have it in view to cast several cannon, and,
seeing that we have heard favourable mention made of your father’s work,
we think it likely that you have learnt much from this same father of
yours, and we are therefore disposed to allow you to come here, and we
will then inspect your work and speak with you and have you bargained
with. This is the answer which we are graciously pleased to make to your
letter, and we consent to express to you our gracious favour. Given at
Königsberg. (Konigsperkuts.)”
[Illustration: STEIN PHOTO.] [FORMERLY AT NÜRNBERG
24. THE RATHAUS RAILING]
Whether Paul did avail himself of this princely permission to go to
Prussia and be bargained with we do not know. If he did, he did not stay
there more than a year. For he was back in Nuremberg in September, 1529,
and in the following August he had sold the foundry which he had
inherited to his brother Hans, and was already settled at Mainz. There
he acquired the rights of a citizen, and died in December, 1531.
Meantime the Vischers, father and sons, were busy, and had at intervals
long been busy, with the last supreme work of their foundry, the Rathaus
Railing. The story of the chequered career of this beautiful work takes
us back some years in the history of the House. At the same time as
Maximilian commissioned Peter Vischer to execute two bronze figures for
his tomb, the great family of Fugger ordered a railing to be made to
shut off their family chapel, in St. Anne’s Church at Augsburg. The
design for this railing was completed by the old Peter Vischer. It was
submitted to and received the approval of the patron. This was during
the absence of Hermann Vischer in his journey to Rome in 1514-15. But
when he returned full of new ideas and laden with sketches of the
beautiful things he had seen, his enthusiasm for the new style of the
antique quickly imparted itself to his father and brothers. Always eager
to learn and ready to appreciate the best, father and brothers alike
studied the sketches of Hermann, and thus, after his early death, his
influence asserted itself more strongly than ever before. The result was
that the design for the railing no longer satisfied its author. It was
overhauled, and soon revised and improved in many details suggested by
the new-found inspiration of the later renaissance. (Ill. 24 and 25.)
The alterations thus introduced by the Vischer family can only have been
improvements; improvements introduced by these craftsmen because
anything below their best was intolerable to their artistic conscience.
But it does not pay to be an artist when you work on commission. So
Dürer also had found. And the Vischers in their turn suffered from their
enthusiasm. The Fuggers, who had given the commission and had expressed
their approval of the original design, died. Their heirs, noticing a
difference between the approved sketch and the finished product,
suspected a fraud, or, perhaps, seized the opportunity of avoiding the
expense of this piece of ancestral extravagance. They therefore brought
an action for breach of contract against the house of Vischer. After
several weary years of litigation—for the law’s delays stretched from
1522 to 1529—a decision was given. The Fuggers were released from the
responsibility of their ancestors’ commission, and the railing was
thrown upon the hands of the heirs of Peter Vischer. For the verdict was
not awarded till eight months after the old man’s death, which occurred
on the 7th of January, 1529, when he was buried in the same grave as his
two sons and three wives who had died before him. His heirs, then, the
sons who survived him, were left to dispose of the railing as best they
could, but they were not called upon to restore the money which had
already been paid on account, and which amounted to some fourteen
hundred odd gulden. They turned therefore to the Nuremberg Council and
offered the railing to them to adorn the Rathaus. On July 15, 1530, the
Council bought it as it was, paying six gulden per hundredweight for it.
The railing, still incomplete, was allowed to lie neglected in the
cellars of the Rathaus for some years. But at last it was finished and
erected. For when the Council heard on good authority that Count Otto
Heinrich of the Palatinate was anxious to secure it in order to adorn
his castle at Neuburg therewith, they were afraid lest if they did not
put it to some immediate use they might be forced into the position of
having no excuse for not making a present of it to that powerful
nobleman. They therefore hastily commissioned Hans Vischer, “the
Bronze-founder,” to complete the work—for a quarter of it still remained
uncast—and to set it up in the Rathaus. This, accordingly, he did, and
erected it on the 19th of April, 1540, twenty-seven years after the
Fugger family had first ordered it for their chapel. It was used for the
purpose of dividing the western portion of the great Hall, where the
Court of Justice held its sessions, from the rest of the room. The total
cost of the work amounted to 2,796 gulden. But so admirable did the
Council find it that they actually made a present of one hundred and
fifty gulden to the craftsman in addition to the price named, as a token
of their pleasure and satisfaction.
[Illustration: STEIN PHOTO.] [FORMERLY AT NÜRNBERG
25. THE RATHAUS RAILING]
Unfortunately, the history of the misadventures of this railing is not
yet finished. It was removed in 1806 by the Bavarian Government, and,
just for the mere value of the metal contained in it, sold to a merchant
in Fürth. From him it passed again into the possession of a Nuremberger,
and some years later found its way to the South of France. There all
trace of this beautiful work of art has disappeared, and one is forced
to the reluctant conclusion that it was melted down by the purchaser for
the sake of the bronze of which it was composed. Our knowledge of it at
the present day is owing to a careful set of drawings which were made of
it in 1806, and which have been reproduced excellently and in full
detail by Dr. Lübke in the work to which we have so often referred.
The Railing was of bronze throughout, wrought with equal care and finish
on both sides, and composed of one hundred and fifty-eight separate
pieces. In length it measured nearly forty feet, and stood sixteen feet
high, rising at the highest point to twenty-five feet. The drawings
which have come down to us show that the fertility of the artist’s
invention did not interfere with his harmonious conception of the whole.
For though there is a truly wonderful wealth of decorative detail, all
in the style of the full Renaissance, it is admirably arranged and
subdued to its proper proportion.
Eight Corinthian pillars, with richly ornamented capitals, carried (I
base this description on Lübke’s work) a superstructure which terminated
throughout in an entablature, frieze and dog-tooth cornice. Of the seven
bays comprehended by these columns, three, alternating with the grilles,
formed the means of access to the other parts of the hall.
The principal entrance, in the centre, was ten feet high and was
finished with a semi-circular arch formed by a moulded architrave. The
spandrels of this arch were decorated with figures in relief, and these
figures were supported on caps which surmounted decorative panels
forming columns without bases. The two smaller and lower gates on either
side had square heads with crowning pediments. All three entrances were
still more distinctly set off in the composition of the whole, the
centre one by means of a rectangular superstructure in the form of an
ædicule with a crowning pediment, the two side ones by a segmental
pediment directly over the cornice, the upper members of which were the
details of the pediment. The erection over the central gate, one may
remark, is a blot in the composition: there is nothing to carry the eye
up to this abrupt, unsupported rectangle, and it does not harmonize with
the beautiful segmental pediments over the other two entrances.
Such was the simple framework, which, says Lübke, thanks to the
perfection of its arrangement and the beauty of its proportions, proved
so admirably effective. But the Master contributed also to the
decoration of every part of it all the wealth of his luxuriant
imagination. And he made use of the patterns of the full Renaissance,
such as were to be met with in Italy about the beginning of the
sixteenth century, in the works of Andrea Sansovino.
The columns, with their varied capitals in the Corinthian manner,
exhibited a beautiful diversity of invention. Every surface, too, was
most richly decorated; every member daintily wrought; the pilasters,
shafts of the columns, pedestals, borders and doorways, were embellished
with exquisitely drawn foliage-work mingled with masks and fantastic
beasts in ever fresh variations. Especial mention must be made of the
magnificent frieze of acanthus with figures of savage men interlaced in
different moments of combat. Other friezes showed garlands, wreaths, and
festoons of fruit hanging from the horns of oxen, and, between them,
winged angels’ heads and cornucopias overflowing with fruit and flowers.
The great bays or compartments arranged between the entrances were
filled with open metal-work, the bars whereof at the points of
intersection were embellished with ornaments of manifold devices. A
marvellous wealth of figures in relief was to be found in every
quarter—over the arch of the doorway; on the spandrels of the side gates
as well as on both the crowning segmental pediments and the rectangular
centre-piece. Even the angles of the cornice were adorned with fantastic
beings in whose manifold forms the humour of the Master, known to us
already from our study of the Sebaldusgrab, was revealed in full play.
Everywhere, and on either side of the railing, the same wealth of fancy
and freshness of invention is displayed in these ever varying, never
repeated forms.
In the spandrels of the arch of the central door were, on the outside,
struggling heroes, on the inside, figures of Victory. On the two
pediments of the side gates were the four Cardinal Virtues, surrounded
by beasts and creations of the fancy. The curved pediments above them
exhibited the battles of fantastic creatures of the sea, tritons and
nereids, and between them, within and without, the Arms of Nuremberg.
The great frieze showed us sporting children making music, and heroic
scenes of the battle of the Centaurs distinguished by a bold handling of
movement and a masterly freedom of form. Finally, in the pediment of the
centre-piece, crowning the whole, the Saviour was portrayed in the act
of benediction, holding the globe of the earth and surrounded by angel
children.
The whole of this work, so far as we can judge from the drawings, adds
Lübke, is full of the highest beauty and life, and of such richness in
design and execution, that one is forced to reckon this noble creation
as the third great masterpiece of Vischer, after the monument at
Magdeburg and the tomb of St. Sebald at Nuremberg. In the general
design, as well as in the details of the ornament, the complete triumph
of the worship of the antique is evident. Only the figures of the
Saviour and of the Cardinal Virtues are borrowed from the ideas of
Christian art. The rest is sheer paganism.
“Without question Vischer’s Rathaus Railing takes the first place among
the masterpieces of the distinct and complete Renaissance in Germany.”
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