PART II.

MEMORANDA AT MUNICH, NUREMBURG, AND DRESDEN.

I.

MEMORANDA AT MUNICH.

SEPT. 28th.--A week at Munich! and nothing done! nothing seen! My first

_excursions_ I made to-day--from my bed to the sofa--from the sofa to

the window. Every one told me to be prepared against the caprices of the

climate, but I did not imagine that it would take a week or a fortnight

to be _acclimatée_.

What could induce the princes of Bavaria to plant their capital in the

midst of these wide, marshy, bleak, barren plains, and upon this rough

unmanageable torrent,--"the Isar rolling rapidly,"--when they might have

seated themselves by the majestic Danube? The Tyrolean Alps stretching

south and west, either form a barrier against the most genial airs of

heaven, or if a stray zephyr find his way from Italy, his poor little

wings are frozen to his back among the mountain snows, and he drops

shivering among us, wrapt in a misty cloud. I never saw such fogs:

they are as dense and as white as a fleece, and look, and feel too,

like rarefied snow;--but as no one else complains, I think it must be

indisposition which makes me so peevish and so chilly. Sitting at the

window being my best amusement, I do not like to find the only objects

which are to give me a foretaste of the splendour of Munich, quite

veiled from sight, and shrouded in mist, even for a few morning hours.

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

noble 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 classical 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 assured 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 association,

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 noble 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 assemblage 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_ passages, and his by-play, were admirable. He gave us, in the

scene with Egmont, an exact living transcript of Titian's famous picture

of the Duke of Alva; the dress, the attitude, the position of the

helmet and the glove on the table beside him, every thing was so well

calculated, at once so unobtrusive and so unexpected, that it was like

a recognition. Egmont was well played by Racke, but did not strike me

so much. Mademoiselle Schöller, who plays the young heroines here, is a

pupil of Madame Schröder, (the German Siddons,) and promises well; but

she wants development; she wants the power, the passion, the tenderness,

the energy of Clärchen. Clärchen is a plebeian girl, but an impassioned

and devoted woman--she is a sort of Flemish Juliet. There is the same

truth of nature and passion, the same impress of intense and luxuriant

life--but then it is a different life--it is a Rubens compared to a

Titian--and such Clärchen 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 Clärchen, 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

Schöller, in whose hands Clärchen 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 Schöller was timid even to feebleness; the

change of manner, when Clärchen substitutes 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 Vandyke's

pictures.

After seeing this fine tragedy--surely enough for one evening's

amusement--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 ambassador'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 assumption 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 nobility. 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 gratitude 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-assembled

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

spacious, 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 noble portico of eight

Ionic columns, raised on a flight of steps. As it stands in an open

space, 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 principal

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 noble magnanimity, uniting truth and justice,

has associated 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 appetite for vulgar fame would allow no participation.

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 spacious 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 Leucothoë, 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 classical 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 principal treasure is the colossal

Antinous of Rossoantico, with the attributes of Osiris.

I admired in this room the exquisite beauty and propriety of the

basso-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 classical

beauty and propriety of the arrangement of these singular relics, we

must call to mind their history, their subject, and their original

destination. Thus Æacus, the first king of the Island of Ægina, 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 Æacidæ, descended

from Telamon and Peleus, sons of Æacus. 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 Æacidæ, Æacus, 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 associations together? He replied, after a little thought,

"A sunset from the temple of Ægina;"--and I can conceive this. Lord

Byron introduces it into his Grecian Sunset--but as an object--

"On old Ægina's steep and Idra's Isle,

The god of gladness sheds his parting smile."

From the Ægina gallery we enter the Hall of Apollo. The ceiling of this

room, splendidly decorated in white and gold, represents the emblems

of the four principal 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 massy 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 Ægina 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 god, 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 coarse and heavy; whereas, in the original, the delicate beauty

of the workmanship, and the inimitable sleepy abandonment of the attitude,

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

associations 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 pronounce 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 attitude, 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, recumbent, 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 Ægina 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 passed its zenith when the Apollo and

the Laocoon 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 space 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, (Götter-Saal, or hall of the

gods,) 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 god, Eros,

in four compartments; first, with the dolphin, representing water;

secondly, with the eagle, representing light or fire; thirdly, with the

peacock, 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 classical 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 assemblage

of the gods, and the apotheosis of Psyche. The opposite side represents

the domain of Pluto, with the infernal gods, and the story of Orpheus.

The third side, over against the window, is the triumph of Neptune and

Amphitrite, surrounded by the sea-gods.

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 attitudes 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 assistants.

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 demigods 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 goddess of Discord, with her fatal apple.

Around this are the twelve gods 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

principal 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

attitudes of Polyxena and Cassandra; 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 gods.

The paintings in this hall were finished in 1830.

We then enter the range of galleries, devoted to the later Greek, and

the Roman sculpture. The first, corresponding in size and situation with

the Hall of Niobe, contains nothing peculiarly interesting, except the

famous figure of the young warrior anointing himself after the bath, and

called the Alexander.

The next gallery is the Roman Hall, about one hundred and thirty feet

in length, and forms a glorious _coup d'oeil_. The utmost luxury of

architectural decoration has been lavished on the ceilings; and the

effect of the marble pavement, with the disposition of the busts,

candelabræ, altars, as seen in perspective, is truly and tastefully

magnificent. I particularly admired the ceiling, which is divided into

three domes, adorned with bas-reliefs, taken from the Roman history and

manners: these were designed by Schwanthaler. I cannot remember any

thing remarkable in this gallery; or rather, there were too many things

deserving of notice, for me to note all. The standing Agrippina has,

however, dwelt on my mind; and an exceeding fine bust of Octavius Cæsar,

crowned with the oak leaves.

A small room contains the sculpture in coloured marble, porphyry, and

bronze; and the last is the hall of modern sculpture. In the centre of

the ceiling is a phoenix, rising from its ashes, and around it the heads

of four distinguished sculptors--Nicolo da Pisa, the restorer of the art

in the fourteenth century; Michael Angelo, Canova, and Thorwaldson.

Two of the most celebrated productions of modern sculpture are

here:--the Paris of Canova, and the Adonis of Thorwaldson. As they are

placed near to each other, and the aim is alike in both to exhibit the

utmost perfection of youthful and effeminate beauty, the merits of the

two artists were fairly brought into comparison. Thorwaldson's statue

reminded me of the Antinous; Canova's recalled the young Apollo. I

hardly know which to prefer as a conception; but the material and

workmanship of the Paris pleased me most. The marble of Thorwaldson's

statue, though faultless in purity of tint, has a coarse _gritty_ grain,

and glitters disagreeably in certain lights, as if it were spar or

lump-sugar; whereas the smooth close compact grain of Canova's marble,

which is something of a creamy white, seemed to me infinitely preferable

to the eye. This, however, is hyper-criticism: in both, the feeling is

classically and beautifully true. The soft melancholy of the countenance

and attitude of Adonis, as if anticipative of his early death, and the

languid self-sufficiency of Paris, appeared to me equally admirable.

There is also in this room a duplicate by Canova of his Venus, in the

Pitti palace; a girl tying her sandal, by Rodolph Schadow--a pendant,

I presume, to his charming Filatrice, now at Chatsworth; and some fine

busts. I looked round in vain for a single specimen of English art.

I thought it just possible that some work of Flaxman, or Chantrey, or

Gibson, might have found its way hither--but no!--

_Oct. 12._--Last night to the opera with a pleasant party; but, tired

and over-excited with my morning at the Glyptothek, I wanted soothing,

and was not in a humour for the noisy florid music of Wilhelm Tell.

It is an opera which, as it becomes familiar, tires, and does not

attach--just like some clever people I have met with. Pellegrini (not

the Pelligrini we had in England, but a fixture here, and their best

male singer--a fine _basso cantante_) acted Tell. I say _acted_, because

he did not merely sing his part--he acted it, and well; so well, that

once I felt my eyes moisten. Madame Spitzeder sang in Matilda von

Hapsburg tolerably. Their first tenor, Bayer, I do not like; his

intonation is defective. The decorations and dresses are beautiful. As

for the dancing, it is not fair to say any thing about it. Unfortunately

the first bars of the Tyrolienne brought Taglioni before my mind's eye,

and who or what could stand the comparison? How she leapt like a stag!

bounded like a young faun! floated like the swan-down on the air! Yet

even Taglioni, though she makes the nearest approach to it, does not

complete my idea of a poetical dancer; but as she improved upon Herbelet,

we may find another to improve upon _her_. One more such _artist_--I use

the word in the general and German sense, not in the French meaning--one

more such artist, who should bring modesty, and sense, and feeling, into

this lovely and most desecrated art, might do something to retrieve

it--might introduce the necessity for dancers having heads as well as

heels, and in time revolutionize the whole _corps de ballet_.

_Wednesday._--This morning, M. Herman Stuntz, the King's chapel-master,

called on me. I had heard of him as a fine composer, and also much of

his opera, produced for the Scala at Milan, the Costantino il Grande.

I was pleased to find him not a musician only, like most musicians, but

intelligent and enthusiastic on other subjects, and with that childlike

simplicity of mind and manner, so often combined with talent. We touched

upon every thing from the high sublime to the deep absurd--ran round the

whole circle of art in a sort of touch-and-go style, and his _naïveté_

and originality pleased me more and more. He said some true and

delightful things about music; but would insist that of all languages

the English is the most difficult to ally to musical sounds--infinitely

worse than German. He complained of the shut mouth, the _claquement

des dents_, and the predominance of aspirates in our pronunciation.

I objected to the guttural sounds, and the open mouths, and the _yaw

yaw_ of the Germans. Then followed an animated discussion on vocal sounds

and musical expression, and we parted, I believe, mutually pleased.

The father of Stuntz is a Swiss--a man of letters, an enthusiast, a

philosopher, an artist; in short, a most extraordinary and eccentric

character. He entirely educated his two children, of whom the son,

Herman Stuntz, takes a high rank as a composer; and the daughter is a

distinguished female artist, but, being nobly married, she now only

paints pictures to give them away, and those who possess them are, with

reason, extremely proud of the possession.

In the evening, Madame Meric, _prima-donna aus London_, as the

play-bills set forth, made her first appearance in the Gazza Ladra. She

is engaged here for a limited time, and takes the _gast-rolles_--that

is, she plays the first parts as a matter of course--in short, she is a

STAR. The regular prima-donna is Madame Scheckner-Wagen. Meric has talent,

voice, style, and unwearied industry; but she has not _genius_, neither

is her organ first-rate. Comparisons in some cases are unjust as well as

odious. Yet was it my fault that I remembered in the same part the syren

Sontag, and the enchantress Malibran? Meric, besides being a fine singer,

is an amiable woman;--married to an extravagant, dissipated husband, and

working to provide for her child--a common fate among the women of her

profession.

* * * * *

----Sat up late reading, for the third or fourth time, a chance volume

of Madame Roland's works. What a complete French woman! but then, what

a mind! how large in capacity! how stored with knowledge! how strong

in conscious truth! how finely toned! how soft, and yet how firm! What

wonderful industry united to the quickest talent! Some things written

at eighteen and twenty have most surprised me; some passages in the

"Vie privée," and the "Appel," have most charmed me. She is not very

eloquent, and I should think had not a playful or poetic fancy. There

is an almost total want of imagery in her style; but great power,

unaffected elegance, with a sort of negligence at times, which adds to

its beauty. Then, to remember that all I have just read was written in

a prison, in daily, hourly expectation of death! but _that_ excites more

interest than surprise, for a situation of strong excitement of mind

and passion, with external repose and solitude, must be favourable to

this development of the faculties, where there is character as well as

talent. Some of her disclosures are a little too _naïve_. I am amused

by the quantity of feminine vanity which is mixed up with all this

loftiness of spirit, this real independence of soul. Madame de Staël had

not _more_ vanity, whatever they may say; but it was less balanced by

self-esteem--it required more sympathy. Then we have those two admirable

women * * and * *. What exquisite feminine vanity is there! Yet, happily,

in both instances how far removed from all ill-nature and presumption,

and how unconsciously betrayed! I should think Joanna Baillie, among our

great women, must be most exempt from this failing, perhaps, because, of

all the five, she has the most profound sense of religion. Lavater said,

that "the characteristic of _every_ woman's physiognomy was vanity."

A phrenologist would say that it was the characteristic of every woman's

head. How far, then, may a woman be vain with a good grace and betray

it without ridicule? By vanity, I mean _now_, a great wish to please,

mingled with a consciousness of the powers of pleasing, and not what

Madame Roland describes,--"cette ambition constante, ce soin perpetuel

d'occuper de soi, et de paraitre autre ou meilleur que l'on n'est en

effet," for this is diseased vanity.

* * * * *

Dr. Martius[32] lent me two pretty little volumes of "Poems, by Louis

I. king of Bavaria," the present king--the first royal author we have

had, I believe, since Frederic of Prussia--the best since James I. of

Scotland. These poems are chiefly lyrical, consisting of odes, sonnets,

epigrams. Some are addressed to the queen, others to his children, others

to different ladies of the court, whom he is said to have particularly

admired, and a great number were composed during his tour in Italy in

1817. Of the merit of these poems I cannot judge; and when I appealed to

two different critics, both accomplished men, one assured me they were

admirable; the other shrugged up his shoulders--"Que voulez vous? c'est

un Roi!" The earnest feeling and taste in some of these little poems

pleased me exceedingly--of that alone I could judge: for instance, there

is an address to the German artists, which contains the following

beautiful lines: he is speaking of art--

"In der Stille muss es sich gestalten,

Wenn es kräftig wirkend soll ersteh'n;

Aus dem Herzen nur kann sich entfalten,

Das was wahrhaft wird zum Herzen geh'n.

Ja! ihr nehmet es aus reinen Tiefen,

Fromm und einfach, wie die Vorweit war,

Weckend die Gefühle, welche schliefen,

Ehrend zeugt's von Euch und immerdar.

Sklavisch an das Alte euch zu halten,

Eures Strebens Zweck ist dieses nicht

Seyd gefasst von himmlischen Gewalten,

Dringet rastlos zu dem hehren Licht!"

Which may be thus literally rendered--

"To rise into vigorous, active influence, it (art) must spring

up and develop itself in secrecy and in silence; out of the

heart alone can that unfold itself which shall truly go to the

heart again.

"Yes! pious and simple as the old world was, ye draw it (art)

from the same pure depths, awakening the feelings which slumber!

and it shall bear honourable witness of ye--and for ever!

"Slavishly to cling to antiquity, this is not the end of your

labours! Be ye, therefore, upheld by heavenly power; press on,

and rest not, to the high and holy light!"

Methinks this magnificent prince deserves, even more than his ancestor,

Maximilian I., to be styled the Lorenzo de' Medici of Bavaria. The power

to patronize, the sentiment to feel, the genius to celebrate art, are

rarely united, even in individuals. He must be a noble being--a genius

_born in the purple_, on whose laurels there rests not a bloodstain,

perhaps not even a tear!

This is a holiday. I was sitting at my window, translating some of these

poems, when I saw a crowd round the doors of the new palace; for it is

a day of public admission. Curiosity tempted me to join this crowd;--no

sooner thought than done. I had M. de Klenze's general order for

admittance in my pocket-book, but wished to see how this was managed,

and mingled with the crowd, which was waiting to be admitted _en masse_.

I was at once recognized as a stranger, and every one with simple

civility made way for me. Groups of about twenty or thirty people were

admitted at a time, at intervals of a quarter of an hour, and each group

placed under the guidance of one of the workmen as cicerone. He led

them through the unfinished apartments, explaining to his open-mouthed

auditors the destination of each room, the subjects of the pictures on

the walls and ceilings, &c. &c. There were peasants from the south,

in their singular dresses, mechanics and girls of Munich, soldiers,

travelling students. I was much amused. While the cicerone held

forth, some merely wondered with foolish faces, some admired, some

looked intelligent, and asked various questions, which were readily

answered--all seemed pleased. Every thing was done in order: two

groups were never in the same apartment; but as one went out, another

entered. Thus many hundreds of these poor people were gratified in the

course of the day. It seemed to me a wise as well as benevolent policy

in the king thus to appeal to the sympathy, and gratify the pride, of

his subjects of all classes, by allowing them--inviting them, to take an

interest in his magnificent undertakings, to consider them _national_

as well as royal. I am informed that these works are carried on without

any demands on the Staatskasse, (the public treasury,) and without

any additional taxes: so far from it, that the Bavarian House of

Representatives curtailed the supplies by 300,000 florins only last

year, and refused the king an addition to the civil list, which he had

requested for the travelling expenses of two of his sons. The king is

said to be economical in the _extreme_ in his domestic expenses, and not

very generous in money to those around him--unlike his open-hearted,

open-handed father, Max-Joseph; in short, there are grumblers here as

elsewhere, but strangers and posterity will not sympathize with them.

This is the fourth time I have seen this splendid and truly royal

palace, but will make no memoranda till I have gone over the whole with

Leo von Klenze. He has promised to be my cicerone himself, and I feel

the full value of the compliment. Count V---- told me last night, that

he (De Klenze) has made for this building alone upwards of seven hundred

drawings and designs with his own hand.

_Oct. 13._--Called on my English friends, the C * * s, and found them

pleasantly settled in a beautiful furnished lodging near the Hofgarten,

for which they pay twenty-four florins (or about two pounds) a month.

We had some conversation about music, (they are all musicians,) and the

opera, and Malibran, whom they have lately seen in Italy; and Pasta,

whom they had visited at Como; and they confirmed what Mr. J. M. Stuntz

and M. K. had all told me of her benevolence and excellent character.

I could not find that any new genius had arisen in Italy to share the

glory of our three queens of the lyrical drama,--Pasta, Malibran, and

Schröder Devrient. Other singers have more or less talent and feeling,

more or less compass of voice, facility, or agility; but these three

women possess _genius_, and stamp on every thing they do their own

individual character. Of the three, Pasta is the grandest and most

finished artist; Malibran the most versatile in power and passion; while

Schröder Devrient has that energy of heart and soul--that capacity for

exciting, and being excited, which gives her such unbounded command

over the feelings and senses of her audience.[33] So far we were agreed;

but as the conversation went on, I was doomed to listen to a torrent

of commonplace and sarcastic criticism on the private habits of these

and other women of the same profession: one was accused of vulgarity,

another of bad temper, and another of violence and caprice: one was

suspected of a _penchant_ for porter, another had been heard to swear,

or--something very like it. Even pretty lady-like Sontag was reproached

with some trifling breach of mere conventional manner,--she had used her

fingers where she should have taken a spoon, or some such nonsense.

My God! to think of the situation of these women! and then to look

upon _those_ women, who, fenced in from infancy by all the restraints,

the refinements, the comforts, the precepts of good society,--the one

arranging a new cap, the other embroidering a purse, the third reading

a novel, all satisfied with petty occupations and amusements, "far, far

removed from want and grief and fear,"--now sitting in judgment, and

passing sentence of excommunication on others of their sex, who have

been steeped in excitement from childhood, their nerves for ever in a

state of tension between severest application and maddening flattery;

cast on the world without chart or compass--with energies misdirected,

passions uncontrolled, and all the inflammable and imaginative part of

their being cultivated into excess as a part of their profession--of

their material! O when will there be charity in the world? When will

human beings, women especially, show mercy and justice to each other,

and not judge of results, without a reference to causes? and when will

reflection upon these causes lead to their removal? They are evils which

press upon few, but are reflected on many, inasmuch as they degrade art

and the pursuit of art;--but all can sneer, and few can think.

* * * * *

I begin at length to feel my way among the pictures here. Hitherto

I have been bewildered. I have lounged away morning after morning

at the gallery of the Hofgarten, at Schleissheim, and at the Duc

de Leuchtenberg's; and returned home with dazzled eyes and a mind

overflowing, like one "oppressed with wealth, and with abundance

sad," unable to recall or to methodize my own impressions.

Professor Zimmermann tells me that the king of Bavaria possesses

upwards of three thousand pictures: of these about seventeen hundred

are at Schleissheim; nine hundred in the Munich gallery; and the rest

distributed through various palaces. The national gallery, or Pinakothek,

which is now building under the direction of Leo von Klenze, is destined

to contain a selection from these multifarious treasures, of which the

present arrangement is only temporary.

The king of Bavaria unites in his own person the three branches of

the House of Wittelsbach: the palatines of the Rhine, the dukes of

Deuxponts, and the electors of Bavaria, all sovereign houses, and

descended from Otto von Wittelsbach, who received the investiture of the

dukedom of Bavaria in 1180. Thus it is that the celebrated gallery once

at Dusseldorf, formed under the auspices of the elector John William;

the various collections at Manheim, Deuxponts, and Heidelberg, are now

concentrated at Munich, where, from the days of Duke Albert V. (1550)

up to the present time, works of art have been gradually accumulated

by successive princes.

Somebody calls the gallery at Munich, the court of Rubens; and Sir

Joshua Reynolds says that no one should judge of Rubens who had not

studied him at Antwerp and Dusseldorf. I begin to feel the truth of

this. My devoted worship of the Italian school of art rendered me

long--I will not say _blind_ to the merits of the Flemish painters--for

that were to be "sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing!" but, in

truth, without that full feeling of their power which I have since

acquired.

Certainly we have in these days mean ideas about painting--mean and

false ideas! It has become a mere object of luxury and connoisseurship,

or _virtù_: unless it be addressed to our personal vanity, or to the

puerile taste for ornament, show, furniture,--it is nothing. The noble

art which was once recognized as the priestess of nature, as a great

moral power capable of acting on the senses and the imagination of

assembled human beings--as such applied by the lawgivers of Greece, and

by the clergy of the Roman Catholic church,--how is it now vulgarized

in its objects! how narrowed in its application! And if it be said,

that in the present state of society, in these calculating, money-making,

political, intellectual times, we are acted upon by far different

influences, rendering us infinitely less sensible to the power of

painting, then I think it is _not true_, and that the cultivated

susceptibility to other moral or poetical excitements--as politics or

literature--does not render us less sensible to the moral influence

of painting; on the contrary: but she has fallen from her high estate,

and there are none to raise her. The public--the national spirit, is

wanting; individual patronage is confined, is misdirected, is arbitrary,

demanding of the artist any thing rather than the highest and purest

intellectual application of his art, and affording nor space nor

opportunity for him to address himself to the grand universal passions,

principles, and interests of human nature! Suppose a Michael Angelo

to be born to us in England: we should not, perhaps, set him to make

a statue of snow, but where or how would his gigantic genius, which

revelled in the great deeps of passion and imagination, find scope for

action? He would struggle and gasp like a stranded Leviathan!

But this is digressing: the question is, may not the moral effect of

painting be still counted on, if the painter be himself imbued with the

right spirit?[34]

There is, in the academy at Antwerp, a picture by Rubens, which represents

St. Theresa kneeling before Christ, and interceding for the souls in

purgatory. The treatment of the subject is exceedingly simple; the

upper part of the picture is occupied by the Redeemer, with his usual

attributes, and the saint, habited as a nun. In the lower part of the

picture, instead of a confused mob of tormented souls, and flames, and

devils with pitchforks, the painter has represented a few heads as if

rising from below. I remember those of Adam, Eve, and Mary Magdalene. I

remember--and never shall forget--the expression of each! The extremity

of misery in the countenance of Adam; the averted, disconsolate, repentant

wretchedness of Eve, who hides her face in her hair; the mixture of agony,

supplication, hope, in the face of the Magdalene, while a cherub of pity

extends his hand to her, as if to aid her to rise, and at the same

time turns an imploring look towards the Saviour. As I gazed upon this

picture, a feeling sank deep into my heart, which did not pass away with

the tears it made to flow, but has ever since remained there, and has

become an abiding principle of action. This is only one instance out of

many, of the _moral_ effect which has been produced by painting.

To me it is amusing, and it cannot but be interesting and instructive to

the philosopher and artist, to observe how various people, uninitiated

into any of the technicalities of art, unable to appreciate the amount

of difficulties overcome, are affected by pictures and sculpture. But

in forming our judgment, our taste in art, it is unsafe to listen to

opinions springing from this vague kind of enthusiasm; for in painting,

as in music--"just as the soul is pitched, the _eye_ is pleased."

I amuse myself in the gallery here with watching the countenances of

those who look at the pictures. I see that the uneducated eye is caught

by subjects in which the individual mind sympathizes, and the educated

taste seeks abstract excellence. Which has the most enjoyment? The last,

I think. Sensibility, imagination, and quick perception of form and

colour, are not alone necessary to feel a work of art; there must be the

power of association; the mind trained to habitual sympathy with the

beautiful and the good; the knowledge of the meaning, and the

comprehension of the object of the artist.

In the gallery here there are eighty-eight pictures of Rubens--some

among the very finest he ever painted; for instance, that splendid

picture, Castor and Pollux carrying off the daughters of Leucippus, so

full of rich life and movement; the destruction of Sennacherib's host;

Rubens and his wife, full lengths, seated in a garden; that wonderful

picture of the defeat of the Amazons; the meeting of Jacob and Laban;

the picture of the Earl of Arundel and his wife, with other figures,

full lengths;[35] and a series of the designs for the large paintings

of the history of Marie de' Medici, now in the Louvre. His group of boys

with fruits and flowers, exhibits the richest, loveliest combination

of colours ever presented to the eye; and on that wonderful picture of

the fallen (or rather _falling_) angels, he has lavished such endless

variety of form, attitude, and expression, that it would take a day to

study it. It is not a large picture: the eye, or rather the imagination,

easily takes in the general effect of tumult, horror, destruction, but

the understanding dwells on the detail with still increasing astonishment

and admiration. These are a few that struck me, but it is quite in vain

to attempt to particularize.

One may begin by disliking Rubens in general, (I think I did,) but one

must end by standing before him in ecstacy and wonder. It is true, that

always luxuriant, he is often gross and sensual--he can sometimes be

brutally so. His bacchanalian scenes are not like those of Poussin,

classical, godlike debauchery, but the abandoned drunken revelry of

animals--the very sublime of brute licentiousness; and painted with a

breadth of style, a magnificent luxuriance of colour, which renders them

more revolting. The _physique_ predominates in all his pictures, and not

only to grossness, even to ferocity. His picture here of the slaughter

of the Innocents, makes me sick--it has absolutely polluted my

imagination. Surely this is not the vocation of high art.--And as for

his martyrdoms--they are worse than Spagnoletto's.

For all this, he is the TITAN of painting: his creations are "of the earth

and earthy," but he has called down fire and light from heaven, wherewith

to animate and to illumine them.

Rubens is just such a painter as Dryden is a poet, and _vice versâ_:

his women are just like Dryden's women, gross, exaggerated, unrefined

animals: his men, like Dryden's men, grand, thinking, acting animals.

Like Dryden, he could clothe his genius in thunder, dip his pencil in

the lightning and the sunbeams of heaven, and rush fearlessly upon a

subject which others had trembled to approach. In both we see a singular

and extraordinary combination of the plainest, coarsest realities of

life, with the loftiest imagery, the most luxurious tints of poetry.

Both had the same passion for allegory, and managed it with equal

success. "The thoughts that breathe and words that burn" of Dryden, may

be compared to the living, moving forms, the glowing, melting, dazzling

hues of Rubens, under whose pencil

"Desires and adorations,

Winged persuasions and wild destinies,

Splendours, and glooms, and glimmering incarnations

Of hopes, and fears, and twilight fantasies,--"

took form and being--became palpable existences: and yet with all this

inventive power, this love of allegorical fiction, it is _life_, the

spirit of animal life, diffused through and over their works; it is the

blending of the plain reasoning with splendid creative powers;--of

wonderful fertility of conception with more wonderful facility of

execution; it is the combination of truth, and grandeur, and masculine

vigour, with a general coarseness of taste, which may be said to

characterise both these great men. Neither are, or can be, favourites

of the women, for the same reasons.

There must have been something analogous in the genius of Rubens and

Titian. The distinction was of climate and country. They appear to

have looked at nature under the same aspect, but it was a different

nature,--the difference between Flanders and Venice. They were both

painters of flesh and blood: by nature, poets; by conformation,

colourists; by temperament and education, magnificent spirits, scholars,

and gentlemen, lovers of pleasure and of fame. The superior sentiment

and grace, the refinement and elevation of Titian he owed to the poetical

and chivalrous spirit of his age and country. The delicacy of taste

which reigned in the Italian literature of that period influenced the

arts of design. As to the colouring--we see in the pictures of Rubens

the broad daylight effects of a northern climate, and in those of

Titian, the burning fervid sun of a southern clime, necessarily modified

by shade, before the objects could be seen: hence the difference between

the _glow_ of Rubens, and the _glow_ of Titian: the first "i' the colours

of the rainbow lived," and the other bathed himself in the evening sky;

the one dazzles, the other warms. I can bring before my fancy at this

moment, the Helen Forman of Rubens, and Titian's "La Manto;" the "man

with a hawk" of Rubens, and Titian's "Falconer;" can any thing in heaven

or earth be more opposed? Yet in all alike, is it not the intense feeling

of life and individual nature which charms, which fixes us? I know not

which I admire most; but I adore Titian--his men are all made for power,

and his women for love.

And Rembrandt--king of shadows!

----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 lustrous 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 canvass 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, unobtrusive 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 passion. 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 Titian, Correggio, Julio

Romano, and Nicolo Poussin, are very few and not of a very high class,

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 illustrating the history and progress of art; some few

are really and intrinsically admirable.

But the grand attraction here is the far-famed Boisserée 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 pass away. The gallery

derives its name from two brothers, Sulpitz and Melchior Boisserée,[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 Schoreel, 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 Boisserée 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

Schoreel, 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

Schoreel, 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 Schröder

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 Cæsar were

played by Forst and Schunke--both were young, very well looking, and

good actors. Beatrice was played by Madll. Shöller. 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 attitude, 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 soirée.

* * * * *

_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, cafés, 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 fresco by 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 investiture of the dukedom of Bavaria in 1180, painted

by Zimmermann.

The marriage of Otho the Illustrious, to Agnes, Countess Palatine of the

Rhine, in 1225, painted by my friend, Wilhelm Röckel, 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 Mühldorf, in 1258,

painted by Stürmer 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 competitor for the empire in 1322, painted by Hermann of Dresden.

The storming of Godesberg, when the unfortunate Archbishop Gerard, and

Agnes of Mansfield had taken refuge there in 1583,[44] painted by Gassen

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 constitution 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 titles, 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 assures 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 passion 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 Strasse, 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.

[Illustration]

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 sex, 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.

Page 2, line 16, _for_ great, _read_ green.

43 -- 14, _for_ altamen, _read_ attamen.

46 -- 5, omit _patrician_.

47 -- 2, _for_ 'vengeful, _read_ revengeful.

95 -- 2, _for_ Haitsinger, _read_ Haitzinger.

95 -- 12, _for_ tiefe, _read_ tief.

95 -- 21, _for_ Becher, _read_ Becker.

147 -- 2, in the note, _for_ Hienrich, _read_ Heinrich.

147 -- 3, in the note, _for_ Wladimer, _read_ Wladimir.

181 -- 1, _for_ first, _read_ second.

184 -- 17, _for_ Erden, _read_ Erben.

193 -- 5, _for_ wsäche, _read_ wäsche.

197 -- 14, _after_ since, _insert_ "High-born Hoel."

211 -- 9, _for_ Elangau, _read_ Erlangen.

230 -- 10, _for_ liebe, _read_ lieber.

230 -- 11, _for_ schrecklich Schichsal, _read_ schreckliches

Schicksal.

230 -- 13, _for_ grab, _read_ Grab.

252 -- 19, _for_ twelve, _read_ eight.

270 -- 16, _for_ Neurather, _read_ Neureuther.

291 -- 1, in the note, _for_ par, _read_ pas; and _for_ pas

_read_ par.

* * * * *

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: In Goethe's Iphigenia.]

[Footnote 2: Over another iron door was writt,

_Be not too bold._

FAIRY QUEEN, Book iii. Canto XI.]

[Footnote 3: See Wordsworth's Poems.]

[Footnote 4: Two celebrated antique gems which adorn the relics of the

Three Kings.]

[Footnote 5: It is nearly twice the size of the famous and well known

Medusa Rondinelli, now in the Glyptothek at Munich.]

[Footnote 6: Professor Wallraff died on the 18th of March, 1824.]

[Footnote 7: Amongst others, Jean Paul, in the "Heidelberger Jahrbücher

der Literatur," 1815.]

[Footnote 8: Since the above passage was written, Mrs. Austin has

favoured me with the following note: "Goëthe admired, but did not like,

still less esteem, Madame de Staël. He begins a sentence about her

thus--'As she had no idea what duty meant,' &c.

"However, after relating a scene which took place at Weimar, he adds,

'Whatever we may say or think of her, her visit was certainly followed

by very important results. Her work upon Germany, which owed its rise

to social conversations, is to be regarded as a mighty engine which at

once made a wide breach in that Chinese wall of antiquated prejudices,

which divided us from France; so that the people across the Rhine,

and afterwards those across the channel, at length came to a nearer

knowledge of us; whence we may look to obtain a living influence over

the distant west. Let us, therefore, bless that conflict of national

peculiarities which annoyed us at the time, and seemed by no means

profitable.'"--_Tag- und Jahres Hefte_, vol. 31, last edit.

To that WOMAN who had sufficient strength of mind to break through a

"Chinese wall of antiquated prejudices," surely something may be

forgiven.]

[Footnote 9: Johanna Schopenhauer, well known in Germany for her

romances and her works on art. Her little book, "Johan van Eyk und seine

Nachfolger," has become the manual of those who study the old German

schools of painting.]

[Footnote 10: Or Gebhard, for so the name is spelt in the German

histories.]

[Footnote 11: For the story of Archbishop Gebhard and Agnes de Mansfeld,

see Schiller's History of the Thirty Years' War, and Coxe's History of

the House of Austria.]

[Footnote 12: The gardens and plantations round the castle are a

favourite promenade of the citizens of Heidelberg, and there are in

summer bands of music, &c.]

[Footnote 13: When Gustavus Adolphus took Mayence, during the same

war, he presented the whole of the valuable library to his chancellor,

Oxenstiern; the chancellor sent it to Sweden, intending to bestow it on

one of the colleges; but the vessel in which it was embarked foundered

in the Baltic sea, and the whole went to the bottom.]

[Footnote 14: M. Passavant is a landscape-painter of Frankfort, an

intelligent, accomplished man, and one of the few German artists who

had a tolerably correct idea of the state of art in England. He is the

author of "Kunstreise durch England und Belgium."]

[Footnote 15: She was cotemporary with Cleopatra, (B. C. 33,) and was

particularly celebrated for her busts in ivory. The Romans raised a

statue to her honour, which was in the Guistiniani collection.--V. PLINY.]

[Footnote 16: Lucas Kranach (1472) was one of the most celebrated of the

old German painters; from a principle of gratitude and attachment, he

shared the imprisonment of the elector John Frederic, during five years.]

[Footnote 17: In September, 1833.]

[Footnote 18: His own expression.]

[Footnote 19: Dannecker has been ennobled; his proper titles run

thus--Johan Heinrich von Dannecker, Hofrath, (court counsellor,) knight

of the orders of the Wurtemburg crown, and of Wladimir, and professor

of sculpture at Stuttgardt.]

[Footnote 20: Rauch is knight of the Red Eagle, and member of the

senate.]

[Footnote 21: Christian Rauch was born in 1777, and Christian Frederic

Tieck in 1776.]

[Footnote 22: Formerly Madame Jageman, the principal actress of the

theatre at Weimar. Her talents were developed under the auspices of

Goethe and Schiller. She was the original Thekla of the Wallenstein, and

the original Princess Leonora of the Tasso. In these two characters she

has never yet been equalled. The quietness, amounting to passiveness, in

the _external_ delineation of the Princess in Tasso, affords so little

_material_ for the stage, that Madame Wolff, then the first actress,

preferred the character of Leonora Sanvitale, and Madame Jageman was

supposed to derogate in accepting that of the Princess. Such is the

consummate, but evanescent delicacy of the conception, that Goethe never

expected to see it developed on the stage; and at the rehearsal he threw

himself back in his chair, and shut his eyes, that the image which lived

in his imagination might not be profaned by any tasteless exaggeration

of action or expression. He soon opened them, however, and before the

rehearsal was finished, started off the chair, and nearly embraced the

actress. She looked and felt the part as only a woman of exceeding

taste and delicacy would have done; the very tone of her mind, and the

character of her beauty, fitted her to represent the fair, gentle,

fragile, but dignified Leonora.]

[Footnote 23: Lessing.]

[Footnote 24: Characteristics of Goethe, vol. i. p. 29.]

[Footnote 25: I believe it was in allusion to this distinction, and her

own noble birth, that her father-in-law used to call her playfully,

"_die kleine Ahnfrau_," (the little ancestress.)]

[Footnote 26: M. Besle, otherwise the Comte de Stendhal, and, I believe,

he has half a dozen other _aliases_.]

[Footnote 27: Alfred Tennyson.]

[Footnote 28: "Thro' Erin's isle, to sport awhile," &c.]

[Footnote 29: In the German maps, Zweibrücken; the capital of those

provinces of the kingdom of Bavaria, which lie on the left bank of

the Rhine.]

[Footnote 30: The entire grouping of these figures is from the design

of Mr. Robert Cockerell, one of the original discoverers, who in

ascertaining their relative position has been guided in some measure

by the situation in which their fragments were found strewed in front

of the temple, and overwhelmed with masses of the frieze and pediment;

but has been much more indebted to his own artist-like feeling, and

architectural skill. He is of opinion that the western pediment

contained several other figures besides the ten which have been

restored.]

[Footnote 31: The character of the Emperor Rodolph would be one of the

most interesting speculations in philosophical history. He was evidently

a fine artist, degraded into a bad sovereign--a man whose constructive

and imaginative genius was misplaced upon a throne. The melancholy, and

incipient madness which hovered over him, was possibly the result of the

natural faculties suppressed or perverted.]

[Footnote 32: The celebrated traveller, natural philosopher, and botanist.

He has the direction of most of the scientific institutions at

Munich.]

[Footnote 33: I remember Madame Devrient, in describing the effect which

music had upon herself, pressing her hand upon her bosom, and saying,

with simple but profound feeling, "_Ah! cela use la vie!_"]

[Footnote 34: "A l'exposition de Paris (1822) on a vu un millier de

tableaux représentant des sujets de l'Ecritoire Sainte, peints par des

peintres qui n'y croient pas du tout: admirés et jugés par des gens qui

n'y croient pas beaucoup, et enfin payés par des gens qui, apparemment,

n'y croient pas, non plus.

"L'on cherche après cela le pourquoi de la décadence de l'art!"]

[Footnote 35: Of this celebrated picture, Sir Joshua Reynolds says,

that it is miscalled, and certainly does _not_ contain the portraits

of the Earl and Countess of Arundel. Perhaps he is mistaken. It appears

that the Earl of Arundel, of James the First's time, (the collector of

the Arundelian marbles,) with his Countess, sat to Rubens in 1620, and

that "Robin the Dwarf" was introduced into this picture, which was not

painted in England, but at Brussels. Rubens was at this time at the

height of his reputation, and when requested to paint the portrait of

the Countess of Arundel, he replied, "Although I have refused to execute

the portraits of many princes and noblemen, especially of his lordship's

rank yet from the Earl I am bound to receive the honour he does me

in commanding my services, regarding him as I do, in the light of

an evangelist to the world of art, and the great supporter of our

profession."--(See Tierney's History and Antiquities of the Castle and

Town of Arundel.)]

[Footnote 36: In Southey's Thalaba.]

[Footnote 37: Now removed with the other Vandykes to Chatsworth.]

[Footnote 38: See a curious letter of Pirkheimer on the death of Albert

Durer, quoted in the Foreign Quarterly Review, No. 21. "In Albert I have

truly lost one of the best friends I had in the whole world, and nothing

grieves me deeper than that he should have died so painful a death,

which, under God's providence, I can ascribe to nobody but his huswife,

who gnawed into his very heart, and so tormented him that he departed

hence the sooner; for he was dried up to a faggot, and might nowhere

seek him a jovial humour or go to his friends." (After much more,

reflecting on this intolerable woman, he concludes with edifying

_naïveté_;) "She and her sister are not queans; they are, I doubt not,

in the number of honest, devout, and altogether God-fearing women, but

a man might better have a quean who was otherwise kindly, than such a

gnawing, suspicious, quarrelsome, _good_ woman, with whom he can have

no peace or quiet neither by day nor by night."]

[Footnote 39: Schleissheim is a country palace of the king of Bavaria,

about six miles from Munich; it has originally been a beautiful

building, but is not now inhabited, and looks forlorn and dilapidated.

The pictures are distributed, without any attempt at arrangement,

through forty-five rooms.]

[Footnote 40: Natives, I believe, of Cologne.]

[Footnote 41: Albert Durer was the scholar of Wohlgemuth.]

[Footnote 42: I particularly recollect a picture, containing many

hundred figures, all painted with the elaborate finish of a miniature,

and representing the victory of Alexander over Darius. All the Persians

are dressed like Turks, while Alexander and his host are armed to the

teeth, in the full costume of chivalry, with heraldic banners, displaying

the different devices of the old Germanic nobles, the cross, the black

eagle, &c. &c.]

[Footnote 43: The observations of Mr. Phillips, (Lectures on the History

and Principles of Painting,) on Giotto, and the earliest Italian school,

apply in a great measure to the early German painters, and I cannot

refuse myself the pleasure of quoting them.--"As it appears to me, that

painting at the present time, is swerving among us from the true point

of interest, tending to ornament, to the loss of truth and sentiment, I

think I cannot do better than endeavour to restrain the encroachment of

so insidious a foe, to prevent, if possible, our advance in so erroneous

and fatal a course, by showing how strong is the influence of art

where truth and simplicity prevail; and that, where no ornament is

to be found--nay, where imperfections are numerous; where drawing is

frequently defective, perspective violated, colouring employed without

science, and chiaro-scuro rarely, if ever thought of. The natural

question then is, what can excite so much interest in pictures, where

so much is wanting to render them perfect? I answer, that which leads

to the forgetfulness of the want of those interesting and desirable

qualities in the pictures of Giotto, is the excitation caused by their

fulness of feeling--well-directed, ardent, concentrated feeling! by

which his mind was engaged in comprehending the points most worthy of

display in the subject he undertook to represent, and led to the

clearness and intelligence with which he has selected them; add to this

the simplicity and ability with which he has displayed that feeling."

* * * "This is the first true step in the natural system of the art, or

of the application of it, and this was Giotto's more especially. The rest

is useful, as it assists the influence of this, the _indispensable_.

This, to continue the figure, taken from the stage, (in a previous part

of the Lecture,) is as Garrick acting Macbeth or Lear in a tie-wig and

a general's uniform of his day; the passion and the character reaching

men's hearts, notwithstanding the absurd costume. If the art be found

thus strong to attract the mind, to excite feeling and thought, and to

engage the heart, by the mere force of unadorned truth in the important

points, and without the aid of the valuable auxiliaries I have above

alluded to, is it not manifest that in its basis it is correct? and that

the utmost force of historical painting is to be sought by continual

emendation of this system, maintaining the spirit of its simplicity,

supplying its wants, calling in the aid of those auxiliaries within

reasonable bounds, not permitting them to usurp the throne of taste and

attraction, but rather requiring them to assist in humbler guise to

maintain and strengthen the legitimate authority of feeling.

After reading these beautiful passages, written by a man who unites

the acute discriminative judgment of a practical artist with the finest

feeling of the ultimate object and aim of high poetical art, I felt

almost tempted to expunge my own superficial and imperfect notes, (above

written,) and should have done so, but for the hope that my deficiencies

will induce some one more competent in taste and knowledge to take up

the subject of the early German painters. It is certain that the modern

historical painters of Germany are working on the principle here

laid down by Mr. Phillips, particularly Overbeck and Wach, which they

have derived from a study of their national school of art; but other

enthusiasts should remember that the redeeming excellence of this school

was feeling, and that feeling can never be a matter of mere imitation.

I cannot understand why the omissions of ignorance should be confounded

with the achievements of native genius, by those for whom "knowledge

has unlocked her ample stores," and to whom the recovery of those

"rich spoils of time," the antique marbles, must have revealed the wide

difference between "the simplicity of elegance" and "the simplicity of

indigence."]

[Footnote 44: See p. 56.]

[Footnote 45: See p. 66.]

* * * * *

[Transcriber's Note: Errata as given in the original have been applied to

the text. Other than the most exceedingly obvious typographical errors,

all inconsistent spelling, hyphenation, diacriticals, archaic usage, etc.

have been preserved as printed in the original. The equals signs used

to bracket the signature at the end of part I indicate characters in a

Fraktur typeface.]