v/'^->;:-V'-'<^->\'-?v>.:^:-V;-.-' ",-^ ,::•;;;/ -rv'^' -■;,/>■ 'v/r^ : '1 ,,..-^^^.--- "■ .'■■■■: : f ., J ^^^ff/A y^^^^^^f^ .^^.^*^*y ^r^y^^^t^i^jhf^^^^^ VISITS AND SKETCHES AT HOME AND ABROAD. WITH TALES AND MISCELLANIES NOW FIRST COLLECTED AND A NEW EDITION OF THE "DIARY OF AN ENNUYEE." BY MRS. JAMESON, AUTHOR OF "THE CHARACTERISTICS OF WOMEN," &e. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. NEW-YORK : PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NO. 82 CLIFF-STRKBT. 18 34. THE AUTHOR TO THE READER. It seems a foolish thing to send into the world a book requiring a preface of apologies ; and yet more absurd to presume that any deprecation on the part of the author could possibly win indulgence for what should be in itself worthless. For this reason, and with a very deep feeling of the kindness I have already experienced from the public, I should now abandon these little volumes to their destiny without one word of preface or remark, but that a certain portion of their contents seems to require a little ex- planation. It was the wish and request of my friends, many months ago, that I should collect various literary trifles which were scattered about in print or manuscript, and allow them to be published together. My departure for the continent set aside this intention for the time. I had other and particular objects in view, which still keep full possession of my mind, and which have been suspended not without reluctance, in order to prepare these vol- umes for the press : — neither had I, while travelling in Germany, the slightest idea of writing any thing of that country : so far from it, that except during the last few weeks at Munich, I kept no regular notes ; but finding, on my return to England, that many particulars which had strongly excited my interest with regard to the relative state of art and social existence in the two coun- tries appeared new to those with whom I conversed, — after some hesitation, I was induced to throw into form the few memoranda I had made on the spot. They are now given to the public in the first volume of this little collection with a very sincere feeling of their many im- 8 PREFACE. perfections, and much anxiety with regard to the recep- tion they are hkely to meet with ; yet in the earnest hope that what has been written in perfect simplicity of heart, may be perused both by my English and German friends, particularly the artists, with indulgence ; that those who read and doubt may be awakened to inquiry, and those who read and believe may be led to reflection ; and that those who differ from, and those who agree with, the writer, may both find some interest and amusement in the literal truth of the facts and impressions she has ventured to record. It was difficult to give sketches of art, literature, and character, without making now and then some personal allusions ; but though I have often sketched from the life, I have adhered throughout to this principle — never to give publicity to any name not already before the public, and in a manner public property. Two of the tales in the second volume, " The False One," and " The Indian Mother," were written at dif- ferent times, to prove that I could write in a style which should not be recognised as mine even by my most inti- mate friends, and the ruse so far succeeded that both, as I am informed, have been attributed to other writers. With regard to a certain little Diary, of which it has been thought proper to give here a new edition, so as to complete the collection of miscellanies — what shall I say ? If I have cheated some gentle readers out of much su- perfluous sympathy — as it has been averred — it was certainly without design. I can but repeat here the ex- cuse already inserted in another place, " that the work in question was not written for publication, nor would ever have been printed but for accidental circumstances ; that the title under which it appeared was not given by the writer, but the publisher, who at the time knew no- thing of the real author: — and that some false dates, un- important circumstances, and fictitious characters, were afterward interpolated to conceal, if possible, the real purport and origin of the work ; for the intention was not to create an illusion, by giving to fiction the appear- ance of truth ; but, in fact, to conceal truth by throwing over it the veil of fiction." I regret that even this de- PREFACE. 9 f-eption was practised, but would plead in excuse that the basis of that little book was truth ; that it was, in reality, what it assumed to be, " a true picture of natural and feminine feeling." I confess, that to go over the pages again for the purpose of correction, and for the first time since their publication, has been rather a pain- ful task ; once or twice I have felt inclined to make the amende honourable. They contain some opinions which I have seen reason to alter or modify ; they record some feelings which I would rather have forgotten ; and Italy has since undergone some social and political changes : but the observations on art and natural scenery remain as applicable now as they were ten years ago ; and I found I could make no alterations, no corrections, which would not detract from the sole merit the book could ever have possessed, and which, I presume, it still re- tains, — its truth as a picture of mind. While writing this preface, I learn that the subject of the little sketch at the end of the first volume is expected to return to England before she has finally quitted her profession. The first impulse was, of course, to cancel those pages which w*^re written long ago, and under a far different impression, feeling that their purport might expose either the gifted person alluded to, or the author to misconstruction. But it has been found impossible to do so without causing not only a great expense, but also injury to my publishers, from the consequent delay. The allusion to her immediate retirement from the stage is the only error I am aware of; and that is only a truth deferred for a short period : for the rest — I have no shield against folly and malignity, neither has she — " Une femme — une fleur, s'effeuille sans defence." Under all the circumstances I would rather the sketch had been omitted ; but as this could not be done except by an obvious injustice, after some struggle with my own wishes and feelings, I have suffered the whole to stand as originally written ; and it is trusted to the best and kindest interpretation of the public. A, J. May, 1834. CONTENTS OC THE FIRST VOLUME. SKETfcHEP OF Aet, LlTEBATURE, AND CHARACTER, PaRT I. * IN THREB DIALOG D£S. I. A Scene in a Steamboat A Singular Character . Gallery at Ghent .... The Prince of Orange's Pictures . A FemaJe Gambler Cologne — The Medusa Professor Walraf .... Schlegel and Madame de Stael Story of Archbishop Gerard . Heidelberg — Elizabeth Stuart An English Farmer's idea of the picturesque n. Frankfort . The Theatre, Madame Haitsinger The Versorgung Haus .... The Stadel Museum Dannecker, Memoir of his Life and Works . German Sculpture— Rauch, Tieck, Schwanthaler in. Goethe and his daughter-in-law The German Women ..... German Authoresses ..... German Domestic Life and Manners German Coquetterie and German Romance . The Story of a Devoted Sister 16 21 23 24 29 31 34 35 39 41 47 49 50 53 55 56 72 77 81 84 87 93 95 Sketches of Art, Literature, and Character, Part II. Memoranda at Munich, Nuremberg, aiid Dresden. I. Munich . . . .111 The Theatre— representation of "Egmont" .112 Leo Von Klenze . . .115 The Glyphtothek — Its general arrangement — Egina Marbles — Account of the Frescoes of Cornelius — Canova's Paris and Thorwaldson's Adonis ..... 115 — 124 The Opera at Munich, the Kapel Meister Stuntz . 125 The Poems of the King of Bavaria .127 A public day at the New Palace .128 12 CONTENTS. PAGB Thoughts on Female Singers — Their condition and destiny . 130 The Munich Gallery — Thoughts on Pictures — Their moral influence .......... 131 Rubens and the Flemish Masters ...... 134 The Gallery of Schleisshcim 339 The Boisser^e Gallery — The old German School of Painting — Its effects on the Modern German School of Art 140 Representation of the Braut von Messina .... 141 The Hofgarten at Munich 142 The King's passion for Building— The New Palace— The Beauty of its Decorations — Particular Account of the Modern Paintings on the Walls .... 144 — 152 The Frescoes of Julius Schnorr from the Nibelungen-Lied 16S The Frescoes in the Royal Chapel ....•• 169 The Opera — Madame Scheckner ..... 161 The Kunstverein 163 Karl von Holtei 164 F^te of the Obelisk ........ 165 The Gallery — Pictures and Painters .... 169 Madame de Freyberg — A Visit to Thalkirchen . . 171 Tomb of Eugene Beauharnais ...... 172 The Sculpture in the Glyphtothek .... 175 Plan of the Pinakothek or National Gallery . . .177 The Revival of Fresco Painting ...... 182 Bavarian'Sculptors ........ 183 The Valhalla 184 Stieler, the Portrait Painter 186 Gallery of the Due de Ijeuchtenberg 187 Society at Munich 189 The Liederkranz 190 194 196 197 198 200 201 203 205 207 210 217 221 222 227 230 236 267 271 II. Nuremberg ..... The Old Fortress .... Albert Durer ..... Hans Sachs and Peter Vischer The Cemetery ..... Travelling in Germany III. Dresden ...... The Opera — Madame Schroder Devrient in the " Capelletti Ludwig Tieck ..... The Dresden Gallery and the Italian School Rosalba — Violante Siries — Henrietta Walters — Maria terwyck— Elizabeth Sirani— The Sofonisba Thoughts on Female Artists — Louisa and Eliza Sharpe Countess Julie von Egloffstein .... Moritz Retzsch ....... English and German Art Catalogue of German Artists .... A Visit to Hardwicke A Visit to Althorpe Sketch of Mrs. Siddons Sketch of Fanny Kemble von Os- The f't^y/rK^^/l^-^A/!^ y--/ A^^'/^/*^* ^y%<^ /^r^^wrV 2^ // ^^ ' 2f ^^^^ Jf ^^22y/y^ a^ /-rr:^/ >C^ ^^7' ^J/f 5^^^ CA^^-i^ i»f-^rr^r^^ SKETCHES OF ART, LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. PART I. IN THREE DIALOGUES. Vol. I.— B SKETCHES OFART, LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. PART I. Medon, Alda. Medon. — And so we are to have no " Sentimental Travels in Germany^' on hot-pressed paper, illustrated with views taken on the spot ? Alda. — No. Medon. — You have unloaded Time of his wallet only to deal out his " scraps of things past," his shreds of remem- brance, in beggarly, indolent fashion, over your own fireside ! You are afraid of being termed an egotist ; you, who within these ten minutes have assured me that not any opinion of any human being should prevent you from doing, saying, writing — any thing — Alda. — Finish the sentence — any how,ybr truth's sake. But how is the cause of truth to be advanced by the Insolent pub- lication of a mass of crude thoughts and hasty observations picked up here and there, " as pigeons pick up peas," such as now lie within the clasps of those little great books ? You need not look at them ; they do not contain another Diary of an Ennuyee, thank Heaven ! nor do 1 feel much inclined to play the Ennuyeuse in public. Medon. — "Take any form but that, and my firm nerves shall never tremble ;" but with eyes to see, a heart to feel, a mind to observe, and a pen to record those observations, I do not perceive why you should not contribute one drop to that great ocean of thought which is weltering round the world ! Alda. — If I could. Medon. — There are people who, when they travel, open their eyes and their ears (ay, and their mouths to some pur- pose), and shut up their hearts and souls. I have heard such 16 SKETCHES OF ART, persons make it their boast, that they have returned to old England with all their old prejudices thick upon them ; they have come back, to use their own phrase, " with no foreign ideas — just the same as they went:" they are much to be con- gratulated ! 1 hope you are not one of these ? Alda. — I hope not ; it is this cold impervious pride which is the perdition of us English and of England. I remember, that in one of my several excursions on the Rhine, we had on board the steamboat an English family of high rank. There was the lordly papa, plain and shy, who never spoke to any one except his own family, and then only in the lowest whisper. There was the lady mamma, so truly lady-like, with fine-cut patrician features, and in her countenance a kind of passive hanteur, softened by an appearance of suffering and ill-health. There were two daughters, proud, pale, fine-looking girls, dressed a ravir, with that indescribable air of high pretension, so elegantly impassive — so self-possessed — which some people call Vair distingue, but which, as extremes meet, I would rather call the refinement of vulgarity — the polish we see bestowed on debased material — the plating over the steel — the stucco over the brickwork ! Medon. — Good ; you can be severe then ! Alda. — I spoke generally : bear witness to the general truth of the picture, for it will fit others as well as the personages I have brought before you, who are, indeed, but specimens of a species. This group, then, had designedly or instinctively in- trenched themselves in a corner to the right of the steersman, within a fortification of tables and benches, so arranged as to forbid all approach within two or three yards ; the young ladies had each their sketch-book, and wielded pencil and Indian rubber, I know not with what effect, — but I know that I never saw either countenance once relax or brighten in the midst of the divine scenery through which we glided. Two female at- tendants, seated on the outer fortifications, formed a kind of picket guard ; and two footmen at the other end kept watch over the well-appointed carriages, and came and went as their attendance was required. No one else ventured to approach this aristocratic Olympus ; the celestials within its precincts, though not exactly seated " on golden stools at golden tables," like the divinities in the song of the Parcae,* showed as su- preme, as godlike an indifference to the throng of mortals in the nether sphere ; no word was exclianged during the whole * In Goethe's Iphigenia. WlfERATURfi, AND CHARACTER. 17 day with any of the fifty or sixty human beings who were round them ; nay, when the rain drove us down to the paviUon, even there, amid twelve or fourteen others, they contrived to keep themselves aloof from contact and conversation. In this fashion they probably pursued their tour, exchanging the interior of their travelling carriage for the interior of an hotel ; and everywhere associating only with those of their own caste. What do they see of all that is to be seen? What can they know of what is to be known 1 What do they endure of what is to be endured ? I can speak from experience — I have travelled in that same style. As they went, so they return ; happily, or rather pitifully, uncon- scious of the narrow circle in which move their factitious en- joyments, their confined experience, their half-awakened sym- pathies ' And I should tell you, that in the same steamboat were two German girls, under the care of an elderly relative, I think an aunt, and a brother, who was a celebrated ^umcon- sulte and judge : their rank was equal to that of my country- women ; their blood, perhaps, more purely noble, that is, older by some centuries ; and their family more illustrious, by God knows how many quarterings ; moreover, their father was a minister of state. Both these girls were beautiful ; — fair, and fair-haired, with complexions on which " the rose stood ready with a blush ;" and one, the youngest sister, was exquisitely lovely — in truth, she might have sat for one of Guido's angels. They walked up and down the deck, neither seeking nor avoiding the proximit)' of others. They accepted the tele- scopes which the gentlemen, particularly some young English- men, pressed on them when any distant or remarkable object came in view, and repaid the courtesy with a bright kindly smile ; they were natural and easy, and did not deem it ne- cessary to mount guard over their own dignity. Do you think I did not observe and feel the contrast? Medon. — If nations begin at last to understand each other's true interests, morally and politically, it will be through the agency of gifted men ; but if ever they learn to love and sym- pathize with each other, it will be through the medium of you women. You smile, and shake your head ; but in spite of a late example, which miglit seem to controvert this idea, I still think so : our prejudices are stronger and bitterer than yours, because they are tliose which perverted reason builds up on a foundation of pride ; but yours, which are generally those of fancy and association, soon melt away before your own kindly affections. More mobile, more impressible, more easily yield- B2 18 SKETCHES OF ART, ing to external circumstances, more easily lending yourselves to different manners and habits, more quick to perceive, more gentle to judge ; — yes, it is to you we must look, to break down the outworks of prejudice — you, the advanced guard of humanity and civilization ! " The gentle race and dear. By whom alone the world is glorified !" Every feeling, well educated, generous, and truly refined wo- man who travels is as a dove sent out on a mission of peace ; and should bring back at least an olive-leaf in her hand, if she bring nothing else. It is her part to soften the intercourse be- tween rougher and stronger natures ; to aid in the interfusion of the gentler sympathies ; to speed the interchange of art and literature from pole to pole : not to pervert wit, and talent, and eloquence, and abuse the privileges of hersex, tosow the seeds of hatred where she might plant those of love — to imbitter na- tional discord and aversion, and disseminate individual preju- dice and error. Alda. — Thank you ! I need not say how entirely I agree with you. Medon. — Then tell me, what have you brought home ? if but an olive-leaf, let us have it ; come, unpack your budget. Have you collected store of anecdotes, private, literary, scandalous, abundantly interspersed with proper names of grand-dukes and little dukes, counts, barons, ministers, poets, authors, actors, and opera-dancers 1 Alda. — I ! Medon. — Cry you mercy ! — I did but jest, so do not look so indignant ! But have you then traced the cause and conse- quences of that under-current of opinion which is slowly but surely sapping the foundations of empires ? Have you heard the low booming of that mighty ocean which approaches, wave after wave, to break up the dikes and boundaries of ancient power? Alda. — I! no; how should I — skimming over the surface of society with perpetual sunshine and favouring airs — how should I sound the gulfs and shoals which lie below? Medon. — Have you, then, analyzed that odd combination of poetry, metaphysics, and politics, which, like the three pri- meval colours, tinge in various tints and shades, simple and complex, all literature, morals, art, and even conversation, through Germany ? LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 19 Alda. — No, indeed ! Medon. — Have you decided between the different systems of Jacobi and Schelling ? Alda. — You know I am a poor philosopher ; but when Schelling was introduced to me at Munich, I remember I looked up at him with inexpressible admiration, as one whose giant arm had cut through an isthmus, and whose giant mind had new-modelled the opinions of minds as gigantic as his own. Medon. — Then you are of this new school, which reveals the union of faith and philosophy 1 Alda. — If I am, it is by instinct. Medox. — Well, to descend to your own peculiar sphere, have you satisfied yourself as to the moral and social position of the women in Germany 1 Alda. — No, indeed ! — at least, not yet. Medon. — Have you examined and noted down the routine of the domestic education of their children? (we know some- thing of the public and national systems.) Can you give some accurate notion of the ideas which generally prevail on this subject? Alda. — O no ! you have mentioned things which would require a life to study. Merely to have thought upon them, to have glanced at them, gives me no right to discuss them, unless I could bring my observations to some tangible form, and de- rive from them some useful result. Medon. — Yet in this last journey you had an object — a purpose ? Alda. — I had — a purpose which has long been revolving in my mind — an object never lost sight of; — but give me time ! — time ! Medon. — I see ; but are you prepared for consequences ? Can you task your sensitive mind to stand reproach and ridi- cule ? Remember your own story of Runckten the traveller, who, when about to commence his expedition into the deserts of Africa, prepared himself, by learning beforehand to digest poisons ; to swallow without disgust reptiles, spiders, ver- min — Alda. — " Thou hast the most unsavoury similes !" Medon. — Take a proverb then — " Bisogna coprirsi bene il viso innanzi di struzzicare il vespaio." Ai.da. — 1 will not hide my face ; nor can I answer you in this jesting vein, for to me it is a serious thought. There is in the kindly feelings, the spontaneous sympathy of the public towards me, something which fills me with gratitude and 20 SKETCHES OF ART, respect, and tells me to respect myself; which I would not ex- change for the greater eclat which hangs round greater names ; which I will not forfeit by writing one line from an unworthy motive ; nor flatter, nor invite, by withholding one thought, opinion, or sentiment which I believe to be true, and to which I can put the seal of my heart's conviction. Mr;DON. — Good! I love a little enthusiasm now and then ; so like Britomart in the enchanter's palace, the motto is, " Be bold, be bold, and everywhere be bold." Alda.— I should rather say, be gentle, be gentle, every- where be gentle ; and then we cannot be too bold* Mkdon. — Well, then, I return once more to the charge. Have you been rambling about the world for these six months, yet learned nothing \ Alda. — On the contrary. Medon. — Then what, in Heaven's name, have you learned ? Alda. — ^^Not much ; but I have learned to sweep my mind of some ill-conditioned cobwebs. I have learned to consider my own acquired knowledge but as a torch flung into an abyss, making the darkness visible, and showing me the extent of my own ignorance. Medon. — Then give us — give me, at least — the benefit of your ignorance ; only let it be all your own. I honour a pro- fession of ignorance — if only for its rarity — in these all-know- ing times. Let me tell you, the ignorance of a candid and not uncultivated mind is better than the second-hand wisdom of those who take all things for granted ; who are the echoes of others' opinions, the utterers of others' words ; who think they know, and who thiyik they think : I am sick of them all. Come, refresh me with a little ignorance — and be serious. Alda.— You make me smile ; after all, 'tis only going over old ground, and I know not what pleasure, what interest it can impart, beyond half an hour's amusement. Medon. — Skeptic! is that nothing? In this harsh, cold, working-day world, is half an hour's amusement nothing ? Old ground! — as if you did not know the pleasure of going over old ground whh a new companion to refresh half-faded recollections — to compare impressions — to correct old ideas and acquire new * Over another iron door was writt, Be not too hold. Fabry Queen, Book iii. Canto XI. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. ^1 ones ! O I can suck knowledge out of ignorance, as a weazel sucks eggs ! — Begin, Alda. — Where shall I begin 1 Medon. — Where, but at the beginning ! and then diverge as you will. Your first journey was one of mere amusement 1 Alda. — Merely, and it answered its purpose ; we travelled a la milor Anglais — a partie carree — a barouche hung on the most approved principle — double-cushioned — luxurious — rising and sinking on its springs like a swan on the wave — the pockets stuffed with new publications — maps and guides ad infinitum; English servants for comfort, foreign servants for use ; a chess- board, backgammon tables — in short, surrounded with all that could render us entirely independent of the amusements we had come to seek, and of the people among whom we had come to visit. Medon. — Admirable — and English ! Alda. — Yes, and pleasant. I thought, not without gratitude, of the contrast between present feelings and those of a former journey. To abandon one's self to the quickening influence of new objects without care or thought of to-morrow, with a mind awake in all its strength ; with restored health and cheerfulness ; with sensibility tamed, not dead ; pos- sessing one's soul in quiet ; not seeking, nor yet shrinking from excitement ; not self-engrossed, nor yet piniug for sym- pathy ; was not this much? Not so interesting, perhaps, as playing the ennuyee ; but, oh ! you know not how sad it is to look upon the lovely through tearful eyes, and walk among the loving and the kind wrapped as in a death-shroud ; to carry into the midst of the most glorious scenes of nature, and the divinest creations of art, perceptions dimmed and troubled with sickness and anguish : to move in the morning with aching and reluctance — to faint in the evening with weariness and pain ; to feel all change, all motion, a torment to the dying heart ; all rest, all delay, a burthen to the impatient spirit ; to shiver in the presence of joy, like a ghost in the sunshine, yet have no sympathy to spare for suffering. How could I remember that all this had been, and not bless the miracle-worker — Time? And apropos to the miracles of time— I had on this first journey one source of amusement, which I am sorry I cannot share with you at full length ; it was the near contemplation of a very singular character, of which I can only aflbrd you a sketch. Our CHEF de voyage, for so we chose to entitle him who was the planner and director of our excursion, was one of the most accomplished and most eccentric of human beings : even courtesy might have termed him old, at seventy ; but old age 22 SKETCHES OF ART, and he were many miles asunder, and it seemed as though he had made some compact with Time, like that of Faust with the devil, and was not to surrender to his inevitable adversary till the very last moment. Years could not quench his vivacity, nor " stale his infinite variety." He had been one of the prince's wild companions in the days of Sheridan and Fox, and could play alternately blackguard and gentleman, and both in perfection; but the high-born gentleman ever prevailed. He had been heir to an enormous income, most of which had slipped through his fingers unknotonst, as the Irish say, and had stood in the way of a coronet, which, somehow or other, had passed over his head to light on that of his eldest son. He had lived a life which would have ruined twenty iron constitutions, and had suffered what might well have broken twenty hearts of common stuff; but his self-complacency was invulnerable, his animal spirits inexhaustible, his activity indefatigable. The eccentrici- ties of this singular man have been matter of celebrity ; but against each of these stories it would be easy to place some act of benevolence, some trait of lofty, gentlemanly feeling, which would at least neutralize their effect. He often told me that he had early in life selected three models, after which to form his own conduct and character; namely, De Grammont, Hotspur, and Lord Herbert of Cherbury ; and he certainly did unite, in a greater degree than he knew himself, the characteristics of all three. Such was our chef, and thus led, thus appointed, away we posted, from land to land, from city to city — Medon. — Stay — stay ! this is galloping on at the rate of Lenora and her phantom lover — " Tramp, tramp across the land we go, Splash, splash across the sea !" Take me with yon, and a little more leisurely. Alda. — I think Bruges was the first place which interested me, perhaps from its historical associations. Bruges, where monarchs kissed the hand to merchants, now emptied of its former splendour, reminded me of the improvident steward in Scripture, who could not dig, and to beg was ashamed. It had an air of grave idleness and threadbare dignity ; and its list- less, thinly scattered inhabitants looked as if they had gone astray among the wide streets and huge tenantless edifices. There is one thing here which you must see — the tomb of Charles the Bold, and his daughter Mary of Burgundy. The tomb is of the most exquisite workmanship, composed of pol- LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 23 ished brass and enamelled escutcheons ; and there the fiery father and the gentle daughter lie, side by side, in sculptured bronze, equally still, cold, and silent. I remember that I stood long gazing on the inscription, which made me smile, and made me think. There was no mention of defeat and massacre, dis- graceful flight, or obscure death. " But," says the epitaph, after enumerating his titles, his exploits, and his virtues, "For- tune, who had hitherto been his good lady, ungently turned her back upon him, oti such a day of such a year, and oppressed him" — an, amusing instance of mingled courtesy and naivete. Ghent was our next resting place. The aspect of Ghent, so familiarized to us of late by our travelled artists, made a strong impression upon me, and I used to walk about for hours to- gether, looking at the strange picturesque old buildings coeval with the Spanish dominion, with their ornamented fronts and peaked roofs. There is much trade here, many flourishing manufactories, and the canals and quays often exhibited a lively scene of bustle, of which the form, at least, was new to us. The first exposition, or exhibition, of the newly-founded Royal Academy of the Netherlands was at this season open. You will allow it was a fair opportunity of judging of the present state of painting, in the self-same land where she had once found, if not a temple, at least a home. Mkdon. — And learned to be homely — but the result? Alda. — I can scarcely express the surprise I felt at the time, though it has since diminished on reflection. All the attempts at historical painting were bad, without exception. There was the usual assortment of Virgins, St. Cecilias, Cupids and Psyches, Zephyrs and Floras ; but such incomparable atrocities! There were some cabinet pictures in the same style in which their Flemish ancestors excelled — such as small interior con- versation pieces, battle pieces, and flowers and fruit ; some of these were really excellent, but the proportion of bad to good was certainly fifty to one. Medon. — Something like our own Royal Academy. Alda. — No ; because with much which was quite as bad, quite as insipid, as coarse in taste, as stupidly presumptuous in attempt, and ridiculous in failure, as ever shocked me on the walls of Somerset House, there was nothing to be compared to the best pictures I have seen there. As I looked and lis- tened to the remarks of the crowd around me, I perceived that the taste for art is even as low in the Netherlands as it is here and elsewhere. Medon. — And, surely, not from the want of models, nor from 24 SKETCHES OF ART, the want of facility in the means of studying them. You vis- ited, of course, Schamp's collection ? Alda. — Surely ; there were miracles of art crowded together like goods in a counting-house, with wondrous economy of space, and more lamentable economy of light. Some were nailed against doors, inside and out, or suspended from screens and window-shutters. Here I saw Rubens' picture of Father Rutseli, the confessor of Albert and Isabella : one of those heads more suited to the crown than to the cowl — grand, saga- cious, intellectual, with such a world of meaning in the eye that one almost shrunk away from the expression. Here, too, I found that remarkable picture of Charles the First, painted by Lely during the king's imprisonment at Windsor — the only one for which he sat between his dethronement and his death : he is still melancholy and gentlemanlike, but not quite so dignified as on the canvass of Vandyke. This is the very picture that Horace Walpole mentions as lost or abstracted from the col- lection at Windsor. How it came into Schamp's collection I could not learn. A very small head of an Italian girl by Cor- reggio, or in his manner, hung close beside a Dutch girl by Mieris : equally exquisite as paintings, they gave me an op- portunity of contrasting two styles, both founded in nature — but the nature, how different ! the one all life, the other life and soul. Schamp's collection is liberally open to the public, as well as many others ; if artists fail, it is not for want of models. Medon. — Perhaps for want of patronage ? Yet I hear that the late king of the Netherlands sent several young artists to Italy at his own expense, and that the Prince of Orange was liberal and even munificent in his purchases — particularly of the old masters. Alda. — When I went to see the collection of the Prince of Orange at Brussels, I stepped from the room in which hung the glorious Vandykes, perhaps unequalled in the world, into the adjoining apartment, in which were two unfinished portraits disposed upon easels. They represented members of the prince's family ; and were painted by a native artist of fash- ionable fame, and royally patronised. These were pointed out to my admiration as universally approved. What shall I say of them 1 Believe me, that they were contemptible beyond all terms of contempt ! Can you tell me why the Prince of Orange should have sufficient taste to select and appropriate the finest specimens of art, and yet purchase and patronise the vilest daubs ever perpetrated by imbecility and presumption t riTERATURE, AND CHAKACTER. 25 Medon. — I know not, unless it be that in the former case he made use of others' eyes and judgment, and in the latter of his own. Alda. — I might have anticipated the answer ; but be that as it may, of all the galleries I saw in the Netherlands, the small but invaluable collection he had formed in his palace pleased me most. I remember a portrah of Sir Thomas More, by Hol- bein. A female head, by Leonardo da Vinci, said to be'one of the mistresses of Francis I., but this is doubtful ; that most magnificent group, Clirist delivering the keys to St. Peter, by Rubens, ouce in England ; about eight or ten Vandykes, mas- terpieces—for instance, Philip IV. and his minister Olivarez ; and a Chevalier le Roy and his wife, all that you can imagine of chivalrous dignity and lady-like grace. But there was one picture, u family group, by Gonsalez, which struck me more than all the rest put together. I had never seen any production of this painter, whose works are scarcely known out of Spain; and I looked upon this with equal astonishment and admiration. There was also a small but most curious collection of pictures, of the ancient Flemish and German schools, which it is now the fashion to admire, and, what is worse, to imitate. The word fashion does not express the national enthusiasm on this subject which prevails in Germany, I can understand that these pictures are often most interesting as historic documents, and often admirable for their literal transcripts of nature and expression, but they can only possess comparative excellence and relative value ; and where the feeling of ideal beauty and classic grace has been highly cultivated, the eye shrinks invol- untarily from these hard, grotesque, and glaring productions of an age when genius was blindly groping amid the darkness of ignorance. 'J'o confess the truth, I was sometimes annoyed, and sometimes amused, by the cant 1 heard in Germany about those schools of painting which preceded Albert Durer. Per- haps I should not say cant — it is a vile expression ; and in Ger- man affectation there is something so very peculiar — so poeti- cal, so — so natural, if I might say so, that I would give it an- other name if I could find one. In, this worship of their old painters I really could sympathize*sometimes, even when it most provoked me. Retzsch, whom I had the delight of know- ing at Dresden, showed me a sketch, in which he had ridiculed this mania with the most exquisite humour : it represented the torso of an antique Apollo (emblematical of ideal grace), mu- tUated and half-buried in the earth, and subject to every species of profanation ; it serves as a stool for a German student, who, Vol. I.— C 26 SKETCHES OF ART, with his shirt collar turned down, and his hair dishevelled, and his cap stuck on one side, (i la Kafaelle, is intently copying a stiff, hard, sour-looking old Madonna, while Ignorance looks on, gaping with ad.niration. No one knows better than Retzsch the value oi' tliese ancient masters — no one has a more genuine feeling for all that is admirable in them ; but no one feels more sensibly the gross perversion and exaggeration of the worship paid to them. I wish he would publish this good- humoured little bit of satire, which is too just and too graceful to be called a caricature. I must tell you, however, that there were two most curious old pictures in the Orange Gallery which arrested my atten- tion, and of which I have retained a very distinct and vivid recollection ; and that is more than I can say of many better pictures. They tell, in a striking manner, a very interesting story : the circumstances are said to have occurred about the year 985, but I cannot say that they rest on any very credible authority. Of these two pictures, each exhibits two scenes. A cer- tain nobleman, a favourite of the Emperor Otho, is condemned to death by his master on the false testimony of the empress (a sort of Potiphar's wife), who has accused him of having tempted her to break her marriage vow. In the background we see the unfortunate man led to judgment ; he is in his shirt, bare-footed and bare-headed. His wife walks at his side, to whom he appears to be speaking earnestly, and endeavouring to persuade her of his innocence. A friar precedes them, and a crowd of people follow after. On the walls of the city stand the emperor and his wicked empress, looking down on the melancholy procession. In the foreground, we have the dead body of the victim, stretched upon the earth, and tlie exe- cutioner is in the act of delivering the head to his wife, who looks grim with despair. The severed head and flovving blood are painted with such a horrid and literal fidelity to nature, that it has been found advisable to cover this portion of the picture. In the foreground of the second picture, the Emperor Otho is represented on his throne, surrounded by his counsellors and courtiers. Before him kneels the widow of the count : she has the ghastly head of her husband in her lap, and in her left hand she ^holds firmly and unhurt the red-hot iron, the fiery ordeal by which she proves to the satisfaction of all present the innocence of her murdered lord. The emperor looks thun- derstruck ; the empress stands convicted, and is condemned to LITERATURE, AND CHAKACTKK. 27 death ; and in the background, we have the catastrophe. She is bound to a stake, the fire is kindled, and she suffers the ter- rible penalty of her crime. These pictures, in subject and exe- cution, might be termed tragico-comico-historical ; but in spite of the harshness of the drawing, and the thousand defects of style and taste, they fix the attention by the vigour of the colouring and the expression of the heads, many of which are evidently from the life. The story is told in a very complete though very inartificial manner. The painter, Derick Steuer- bout, was one of the very earliest of the Flemish masters, and lived about 1468, many years before Albert Durer and Holbein. I have heard that they were painted for the city of Lorraine, and until the invasion of the French they remained undisturbed, and almost unnoticed, in the Hotel-de-Ville. Medon. — Does this collection of the Prince of Orange still exist at Brussels t Alda. — I am told that it does — that the whole palace, the furniture, the pictures, remain precisely as the prince and his family left them : that even down to the princess's work-box, and the portraits of her children, which hang in her boudoir, nothing has been touched. This does not speak well for King Leo- pold's gallantry ; and, in his place, 1 think I would have sent the private property of my rival after him. Medon. — So would not I, for this is not the age of chivalry, but of common sense. As to the pictures, the i3elgians might plead that they were purchased with the public money, there- fore justly public property. No, no ; he should not have a picture of them — " If a Vandyke would save his soul, he should not ; I'd keep them, by this hand !" that is, as long as I had a plausible excuse for keeping them ; but the princess should have her work-box and her children by the first courier. What more at Brussels ? Alda. — I can recollect no more. The weather was sultry; we dressed, and dined, and ate ices, and drove up and down the Allee Verte, and saw, I believe, all that is to be seen — churches, palaces, hospitals, and so forth. We went from thence to Aix-la-Chapelle and Spa. As it was the height of the season, and both places were crowded with gay invalids, perhaps I ought to have been very much amused, but I confess I was cnnnijee to death. Medon. — This I can hardly conceive ; for though there might have been little to amuse one of your turn of mind, there should have been much to observe. Alda. — There might have been matter for observation, or 28 SKETCHES OF ART, ridicule, or reflection at the moment, but nothing that I re- member with pleasure. Spa I disliked particularly. I believe 1 am not in my nature cold or stern ; but there was something in the shallow, tawdry, vicious gayety of this place which dis- gusted me. In all watering-places extremes meet; sickness and suflering, youth and dissipation, beggary and riches, col- lect together; but Spa being a very small town, a mere village, the approximation is brought immediately under the eye at every hour, every moment ; and the beauty of the scenery around only rendered it more disagreeable : to me, even the Jiill of Annette and Lul)in was polluted. Our chef de voyage, who had visited Spa fifty years before, when on his grand tour, walked about with great complacency, recalling his youthful pleasures, and the days when he used to gallant his beautiful cousin, the Duchess of Rutland, of divine memory. While the rest of the party were amused, I fell into my old habit of thinking and observing, and my contemplations were not agreeable. But, instead of dealing in these general remarks, I will sketch you one or two pictures which have dwelt upon my memory. We had a well-dressed laquais-de-place, whose honesty and good-humour rendered him an especial favourite. His wife being ill, I went to see her ; to my great surprise he conducted me to a little mud hovel, worse than the worst Irish cabin I ever heard described, where his wife lay stretched upon some straw, covered with a rug, and a little neglected ragged child was crawling about the floor, and about her bed. It seems, then, that this poor man, who every day waited at our luxurious table, dressed in smiles, and must habitually have witnessed the wasteful expenditure of the rich, returned every night to his miserable home, if home it could be called, to feel the stings of want with double bitterness. He told me that he and his wife lived the greater part of the year upon •water-gruel, and that the row of wretched cabins of which his own formed one was inhabited by those who, like himself, were dependent upon the rich, extravagant, and dissipated strangers for the little pittance which was to support them for a twelveinonth. Was not this a fearful contrast ? I should tell you that the benevolence of our chef rendered this poor couple independent of change or chance for the next year. My other picture is in a difi'erent style. You know that at Spa the theatre immediately joins the ball-room. As soon as the per- formances are over, the parterre is laid down with boards, and in a few minutes metamorphosed into a gambling saloon. One night curiosity led me to be a spectator at one of the rouge eS LITERATUBE, AM) CHAIJACTER. 29 noir tables. While I was there, a Flemish lady of rank, the Baroness B , came in, hanging on the arm of a gentleman ; she was not young, but still handsome. I had often met her in our walks, and had been struck by her fine eyes, and the amiable expression of her countenance. After one or two turns up and down the room, laughing and talking, she care- lessly, and as if from a sudden thought, seated herself at the table. By degrees she became interested in the game, her stakes became deeper, her countenance became agitated, and her brow clouded, I left her playing. The next evening when I entered, I found her already seated at the table, as in- deed I had anticipated. I watched her for some time with a painful interest. It was evident that she was not an habitual gambler, like several others at the same table, whose hard im- passive features never varied with the variations of the game. There was one little old withered skeleton of a woman, like a death's head in artificial flowers, who stretched out her harpy claws upon the rouleaus of gold and silver without moving a muscle or a wrinkle of her face, — with hardly an additional twinkle in her gray eye. Not so my poor baroness, who be- came every moment more agitated and more eager : her eyes sparkled with an unnatural keenness, her teeth became set, and her lips, drawn away from them, wore, instead of the sweet smile which had at first attracted my attention, a grin of des- peration. Gradually, as I looked at her, her countenance as- sumed so hideous and, I may add, so vile an expression, that I could no longer endure the spectacle. I hastened from the room — more moved, more shocked than I can express ; and often, since that time, her face has risen upon my day and night dreams like a horrid supernatural mask. Her husband, for this wretched woman was a wife and a mother, came to meet her a few days afterward, and accompany her home ; but I heard that in the interval she had attempted self-destruc- tion, and failed. Medon. — The case is but too common ; and even you, who are always seeking reasons and excuses for the delinquencies of your sex, would hardly find them here. Alda. — And unless I could know what were the previous habits and education of the victim, through what influences, blest or unblest, her mind had been trained, her moral exist- ence built up — shoidd I condemn! Who had taught this woman self-knowledge I — who had instructed her in the ele- ments of her own being, and guarded her against her own C 2 30 SKETCHES OF ARTy excitable temporament? — what friendly voice had warned her ignorance ? — what secret burden of misery — what joyless emp- tiness of heart — what fever of the nerves — what weariness of spirit — what " thankless husband or faithless lover" had driven her to the edge of the precipice? In this particular easel know that the husband bore the character of being both negli- gent and dissipated ; and where was he, — what were his haunts and his amusements, while his wife staked with her gold her honour, her reason, and her life ? Tell me all this before we dare to pass judgment. it is easy to compute what is done ! and yet, who but the Being above us all can know what is resisted ? Medon. — You would plead then for 2i female gambler ? Alda. — Why do you lay such an emphasis upon female gambler? In what respect is a female gambler worse than> one of your sex ? The case is more pitiable — more rare — therefore, perhaps, more shocking ; but why more hateful ? Medon. — You pose me. Alda. — Then I will leave you to ihink ; or shall I go on ? for at this rate we shall never arrive at the end of our journey. I was at Aix-la-Chapelle, was I not? Well, I spare you the relics of Charlemagne, and if you have any dear or splendid associations with that great name, spare your imagination the shock it may receive in the cathedral at Aix, and leave " Yar-^ row unvisited."* Luckily the theatre at Aix is beautiful, and there was a tine opera, and a very perfect orchestra ; the singers tolerable. It was here I first heard the Don Juan and the Freyschutz performed in the German fashion, and with German words. The Freyschutz gave me unmixed pleasure. In the Don Juan I missed the recitative, and the soft Italian flow of syllables, from which the music had been divorced ; so that the ear, long habituated to that marriage of sweet sounds, was disappointed ; but to listen without pleasure and excitement was impossible. I remember that on looking round, after Donna Anna's song, I was surprised to see our chef de voyage bathed in tears ; but, no whit disconcerted, he merely wiped them away, saying, with a smile, " It is the very pret- tiest, softest thing to cry to one's self!" Afterward, when we were in the carriage, he expressed his surprise that any man should be ashamed of tears. " For my own part," he added, »' when I wish to enjoy the very high sublime of luxury, I dine alone, order a mutton cutlet, cuite a point, with a bottle of * See Wordsworth's Poems. LITERATtTRE, AND CHARACTER. 3| Burgundy on one side, and Ovid's epistle of Penelope to Ulysses on the other ; and so I read, and eat, and cry to my- self." And then he repeated with enthusiasm — ♦' Hanc tua Penelope lento tibi mittit Ulysse : Nil mihi rescribas altamen ipse veni ;" his eyes glistening as he recited the lines ; he made me feel their beauty without understanding a word of their sense. " Strangest and happiest of men !" I thought, as I looked at him, " that after living seventy years in this world, can still have tear?, to spare for the sorrows of Penelope !" Well, our next resting place was Cologne. Medon. — You pause : you have nothing to say of Co- logne ? No English traveller, except your professed tourists and guide-book makers, ever has ; of the crowds who pass through the place, on their way up or down the Rhine, how few spend more than a night or a day there f their walk is be- tween the Rheinberg and the cathedral ; they look, perhaps, with a sneering curiosity at the shrine of the Three Kings f cut the usual jests on the Leda and the Cupid and Psyche ;* glance at the St. Peter of Rubens ; lounge on the bridge of boats ; stock themselves with eau de Cologne ; and then away ! And yet this strange old city, which a bigoted priesthood, a jealous magistracy, and a variety of historical causes have so long kept isolated in the midst of Europe, with its Roman origin, its classical associations, the wild gothic superstitions of which k has been the theatre, its legion of martyrs, its three kings and eleven thousand virgins, and the peculiar man- ners and physiognomy of the people, strangely takes the fancy. What has become of its three hundred and fifty churches, and its thirty thousand beggars ? — Thirty thousand beggars ! Was- there ever such a splendid establishment of licensed laziness and consecrated rags and wallets !. What a magnificent idea does it give one of the inexhaustible charity and the incalcu- lable riches of the inhabitants ! But the French came with their besom of purification and destruction ; and lo ! the churches were turned into arsenals, the convents into barracks ; and from its old-accustomed haunts, " the genius of beggary was with sighing sent." I really believe, that were I again to visit Cologne, I would not be content with a mere superficial glance, as heretofore. * Two celebrated antique gpms which adorn the relics of the Three Kings. 32 SKETCHES OF ART, Alda. — And you would do well. To confess the truth, oui first impressions of the place were exceedingl)' disagreeable ; it appeared a huge, rambling, gloomy old city, whose endless narrow dirty streets, and dull dingy-looking edifices, were any thing but inviting. Nor on a second and a third visit were we tempted to prolong our stay. Yet Cologne has since become most interesting to me from a friendship 1 formed vvith a Colo- nese, a descendant of one of the oldest patrician families of the place. How she loved her old city ! — how she worshipped every relic with the most poetical, if not the most pious, ven- eration ! — how she looked down upon Berlin with scorn, as an upstart city, " une ville, ma chere, qui rCa ni histoire ni anti- quite." The cathedral she used to call " mon Berceau" and the three kings " mes trois 'peres." Her profound knowledge of general history, her minute acquaintance with the local an- tiquities, the peculiar customs, the wild legends, the solemn superstitions of her birthplace, added to the most lively imagi- nation and admirable descriptive powers, were to me an inex- haustible source of delight and information. It appears that the people of Cologne have a distinct character, but little modified by intercourse with the surrounding country, and pre- served by continual intermarriages among themselves. They have a dialect, and songs, and ballads, and music, peculiar to their city ; and are remarkable for an original vein of racy hu- mour, a vengeful spirit, an exceeding superstition, a blind attachment to their native customs, a very decided contempt for other people, and a surpassing hatred of all innovations. They never admitted the jurisdiction of the electors of Co- logne, and, although the most bigoted people in the world, were generally at war with their archbishops. Even Napo- leon could not make them conformable. The city is now attached to Prussia, but still retains most of its ancient privi- leges, and all its ancient spirit of insubordination and independ- ence. When, in 1828, the King of Prussia wished to force upon them an unpopular magistrate, the whole city rose, and obliged the obnoxious president to resign ; the government, armed with all its legal and military terrors, could do nothing against the determined spirit of this half-civilized, fearless, reckless, yet merry, good-humoured populace. A history of this grotesque revolution, which had the same duration as the celebrated trois jours de Paris, and exhibited in its progress and issue some of the most striking, most characteristic, most farcical scenes you can imagine, were worthy of a Colonese Walter Scott. How I wish I could give you some of my LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 35 friend's rich graphic sketches and humorous pictures of popular manner ! but I feel that their peculiar spirit would evaporate in my hands. The event is celebrated in their local history as " la Revolution du Carnaval :" and this reminds me of anothcV peculiarity of Cologne. The carnival is still cele- brated there whh a degree of splendour and fantastic humour exceeding even the festivities of Rome and Naples in the pres- ent day ; but as the season of the carnival is not the season for flight with our English birds of passage, few have ever witnessed these extraordinary saturnalia. Such is the general ignorance or indifference relative to Cologne, that I met the other day with a very accomplished man, and a lover of art, who had frequently visited the place, and yet he had never seen the Medusa. Medon. — Nor I, by this good light ! — I never even heard of it! Alda. — And how shall I attempt to describe it ? Unless I had the " large utterance of the early gods," or could pour forth a string of Greek or German compounds, I know not in what words I could do justice to the effect it produced upon me This wondrous mask measures about two feet and a half \n height ;* the colossal features and, I may add, the colossal expression, — grand without exaggeration — so awfully vast, and yet so gloriously beautiful ; the full rich lips curled with dis- dain — the mighty wings overshadowing the knit and tortured brow — the madness in the large dilated eyes — the wreathing and recoiling snakes, — came upon me like something supernat- ural, and impressed me at once with astonishment, horror, and admiration. 1 was quite unprepared for what I beheld. As I stood before it my mind seemed to elevate and enlarge itself to admit this new vision of grandeur. Nothing but the two Fates in the Elgin marbles, and the Torso of the Vatican, ever affected me with the same inexpressible sense of the sublime : and this is not a fragment of some grand mystery, of which the remainder has been " to night and chaos hurled ;" it is entire, in admirable preservation, and the workmanship as perfect as the conception is magnificent. I know not if it would have affected another in the same manner. For me, the ghastly alle- gory of the Medusa has a peculiar fascination. I confess that I have never wholly understood it, nor have any of the usual explanations satisfied me ; it appears to me that the Greeks, * It is nearly twice the size of the famous and well-known Medusa Rondanini, now in the Glyptothek at Munich. 34 SKKTCHES OF ART, in thus blending the extremes of loveliness and terror, had a meaning, a purpose, more than is dreamt of by our philosophy. Medon. — But how came this wonderful relic to Cologne, of all places in the world ! AivDA. — It stopped there on its road to England. Medon. — By what perverse destiny ? — was it avarice on our part, or force or fraud on that of others ? Alda. — It was, as Desdemona says, "our wretched fortune :" but the story, with all its circumstances, does so much honour to human nature, that it has half-reconciled me to our toss. You must have heard of Professor Wallraf of Cologne, one of the canons of the cathedral, who, with his professorship and his canonship together, may have possessed from five to seven hundred francs a year. He was one of those wonderful and universal scholars of whom we read in former times — men who concentrated all their powers, and passions, and intellectual faculties in the acquirement and advancement of knowledge, without any selfish aim or object, and from the mere abstract love of science. Early in life, this man formed the resolution to remove from his native city the reproach of self-satisfied ignorance and monastic prejudices which had hitherto character- ized it ; and in the course of a long existence of labour and privation, as professor and teacher, he contrived to collect to- gether books, manuscripts, pictures, gems, works of art, and objects of natural history, to an immense amount. In the year 1818, on recovering from a dangerous illness, he presented his ■whole collection to his native ciiy ; and the magistracy, hi re- turn, bestowed on him a pension of three thousand francs for the remainder of his life. He was then more than seventy. About the same time a dealer in antiquities arrived from Rome, bringing with him this divine Medusa, with various otiier busts and fragments : he was on his way to England, where he hoped to dispose of them. He asked for his whole collection twelve thousand francs, and refused to sell any part of it sepa- rately. The city refused to make the purchase, thinking it too dear, and Wallraf, in despair at the idea of this glorious relic being consigned to other lands, mortgaged his yearly pension in order to raise the money, purchased the Medusa, presented it to the city, and then cheerfully resumed his accustomed life of self-denial and frugality. His only dread was lest he should die before the period was expired. He lived, however, to pay off his debt, and in three months afterward he died.* Was not * Professor Wallraf died on the 18th of March, 1824. . ij LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 35 this admirable 1 The first time I saw the Medusa I did not know this anecdote ; the second time, as I looked at it, I thought of Wallraf, and felt how much a moral interest can add to the charm of what is in itself most perfect. Medon. — I will certainly make a pilgrimage to this Medusa. She must be worth all the eleven thousand virgins together. What next ? Alda. — Instead of embarking in the steamboat, we posted along the left bank of the Rhine, spending a few days at Bonn, at Godesberg, and at Ehrenbreitstein ; but I should tell you, as you allovv me to diverge, that on my second journey I owed much to a residence of some weeks at Bonn. There I became acquainted with the celebrated Schlegel, or I should rather say, M. le Chevalier de Schlegel, for I believe his titles and his " stHiry honours" are not indifferent to him ; and in truth he wears them very gracefully. I was rather surprised to find in this sublime and eloquent critic, this awful scholar, whose comprehensive mind has grasped the whole universe of art, a most agreeable, lively, social being. Of the judgments passed on him in his own country I know little and understand less ; I am not deep in German literary polemics. To me he was the author of the lectures on " Dramatic Literature," and the translator of Shakspeare, and, moreover, all that was amiable and polite : and was not this enough ? Medon. — Enough for you, certainly ; but I believe that at this time Schlegel would rather found his fame on being one of the greatest oriental critics of the age, than on being the in- terpreter of the beauties of Calderon and Shakspeare. Alda. — I believe so ; but for my own part, I would rather hear him talk of Romeo and Juliet, and of Madame de Stacl, than of the Ramayana, the Bhagvat-Gita, or even the " eastern Con-fut-zee." This, of course, is only a proof of my own ignorance. Conversation may be compared to a lyre with seven chords — philosophy, art, poetry, politics, love, scandal, and tlie weather. 'I'liere are some professors who, like Faganini, " can discourse most eloquent music" upon one string only ; and some who can grasp the whole instrument, and with a master's hand sound it from the top to the bottom of its com- pass. Now, Schlegel is one of the latter : he can thunder in the bass or caper in the treble ; he can be a whole concert in himself. No man can trifle like him, nor, like him, blend in a few hours' converse the critic, philologist, poet, philoso- pher, and man of the world — no man narrates more gracefully, nor more happily illustrates a casual thought. He told me many interesting things. " Do you know," said he one morn- 36 SKETCHES OF ART, ing, as I was looking at a beautiful edition of Corinne, bound in red morocco, the gift of Madame de Slael, " do you know that I figure in that book ?" I asked eagerly in what character ? He bade mo guess. I guessed, playfully, the Comte d'Erfeuil. "No! no!" said he, laughing, "I am im- mortalized in the Prince Castel-Forte, the faithful, humble, un- aspiring friend of Corinne." Mkdon. — To any man but Schlegel such an immortality were worth a life. Nay, there is no man, though his fame extended to the ends of the earth, whom the pen of Madame de Stael could not honour. Alda. — He seemed to think so, and I liked him for the self- complacency with which he twined her little myrtle leaf with his own palmy honours. Nor did he once refer to what I be- lieve everybody knows, her obligations to him in herDe I'Alle- itiagne. Medon. — Apropos — do tell me what is the general opinion of that book among the Germans themselves. Alda. — I think they do not judge it fairly. Some speak of it as eloquent, but superficial ;* others denounce it altogether as a work full of mistakes, and flippant, presumptuous criticism : others again afiectto speak of it, and even of Madame de Stael herself, as things of another era, quite gone by and forgotten ; this appeared to me too ridiculous. They forget, or do not know, what we know, that her De I'Allemagne was the first book which awakened in France and England a lively and general interest in German art and literature. It is now five-and- twenty years since it was published. The march of opinion, and criticism, and knowledge of every kind has been so rapid, that much has become old which then was new ; but this does not detract from its merit. Once or twice I tried to convince my German friends that they were exceedingly ungrateful in abusing Madame de Stael, but it was all in vain; so I sat swelling with indignation to hear my idol traduced, and called — O profanation ! — " cette Sta'tl.'''' Medon. — But do you think the Germans could at all appre- ciate or understand such a phenomenon as Madame de Stael must have appeared in those days? She whisked through their skies like a meteor before they could bring the telescope of their wits to a right focus for observation. How she must have made them open their eyes ! — and you see in the corres- pondence between Goethe and Schiller v/h^xthey thought of her. * Among others, Jean Paul, in the " Heidelberger Jahrbiicher der Lite, ratur," 1815. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 37 Alda. — Yes, I know that with her lively egotism and Parisian volubility, she stunned Schiller and teased Goethe; but while our estimate of manner is relative, our estimate of character should be positive, Madame de Stael was in manner the French woman, accustomed to be the cynosure of a salon, but she was not ridiculous or ego;.-te in character. She was, to use Schlegel's expression, " femme grande et magnanime jusque dansles replis de son ^me." The best proof is the very spirit in which she viewed Germany, in spite of all her natural and national prejudices. To apply your own expression, she went forth in the spirit of peace, and brought back, not only an oliv? ! jaf, but a whole tree, and it has flourished. She had a universal mind. I believe she never thought, and still less made any one ridiculous in her life.* At Bonn much of my time was spent in intimate and almost hourly intercourse with two friends, one of whom I have already mentioned to you — a rare creature !— the other, who was her- self the daughter of a distinguished authoress,! was one of the most generally accomplished women I ever met with. Op- posed to each other in the constitution of their minds — in all their views of literature and art, and all their experience of life — in their tastes, and habits, and feelings — yet mutually appre- ciating each other : both were distinguished by talents of the highest order and by great originality of character, and both were German, and very essentially German : English society * Since the above passage was written, Mrs. Austin has favoured me with the following note : " Goethe aJmiicl, but did not like, still less esteem, Madame de Stael. He begins a sentence about her thus — ' As she had no idea what duty meant,' &c. *' However, after relating a scone which took place at Weimar, h« adds, ' Whatever we may say or think of her, her visit was certainly fol- lowed 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 Gliinese wall of antiquated preju- dices which divided us from France ; so that the people across the Rhine, and afterward those across the channel, at length came to a nearer know- ledge of us; whence we may look to obtain a living influence over the distant west. Let us, therefore, bless that conflict of national peculiari- ties 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 sulFicient strength of mind to break through B " Chinese wall of antiquated prejudices," surely something may be for- given. + Johanna Schopenhauer, well known in Germany for her romances and her works on art. Her little book, " Johan van Eyk und seine Nach- folger," has become the manual of those who study the old German schools of painting. Vol. 1.— D 38 SKETCHES OF ART, and English education would never have produced tviro such women. Their conversation prepared me to form correct ideas of what I was to see and hear, and guarded me against the mistakes and hasty conclusions of vivacious travellers. At Bonn I also saw, for the first time, a specimen of the fresco painting, lately revived in Germany with such brilliant success. By command of the Prussian Board of Education, the hall of the university of Bonn is to be painted in fresco, and the work has been intrusted to C. Hermann, Gotzenburger, and Forster — all, 1 believe, pupils of Cornelius. The three sides of the hall are to represent the three faculties — Theology, Jurispru- dence, and Philosophy ; the first of these is finished, and here is an engraving of it. You see Theology is throned in the centre. The four evangelists, whh St. Peter and St. Paul, stand on the steps of the throne ; around her are the fathers and doctors of the church, and (which is the chief novelty of the composition) grouped together with a very liberal disregard to all religious differences ; for there you see Pope Gregory, and Ignatius Loyola, and St. Bernard, and Abelard, and Dante ; and here we have Luther, and Melancihon, and Calvin, and Wiclif, and Huss. On the opposite side of the hall, Philosophy, under which head are comprised all science, poetry and art, is represented surrounded by the great poets, philosophers, and artists, from Homer, Aristotle, and Phidias, down to Shak- speare, Raffaelle, Goeihe, and Kant. Jurisprudence, which is not begun, is to occupy the third side. The cartoons pleased me better than the paintings, for the drawing and grouping are really fine ; but the execution struck me as somewhat hard and mannered. I shall have much to say hereafter of the fresco- painting in Germany : for the present, proceed we on our journey. Tell me, had you a full moon while you were on the Rhine 1 Medon. — Truly, I forget. Alda. — Then you had not; for it would so have blended with your recollections, that as a circumstance it could not have been forgotten ; and take my advice, when next you are off on your annual flight, consult the calendar, and propitiate the fairest of all the fair existences of heaven to give you the light of her countenance. If you never took a solitary ramble, or, what is better, a tete-d-tete drive through the villages and vineyards between Bonn and Plittersdorf, when the moon hung over the Drachenfels, when the undulating outlines of the Seven Mountains seemed to dissolve into the skies, and the Rhine ■was spread out at their feet like a lake — so ample, and so LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 39 Still ; — if you have never seen the stars shine through the ruined arch of the Rolandseck, and the height of Godesberg, with its single giant tower stand out of the plain, — black, and frowning against the silvery distance — then you have not beheld one of the loveliest landscapes ever presented to a thoughtful wor- shipper of nature. There is a story, too, connected with the ruins of Godesberg : — one of those fine tragedies of real life, which distance all fiction. It is not so popular as the celebrated legend of the brave Roland and his cloistered love ; but it is at least as authentic. You know that, according to tradition, the castle of Godesberg was founded by Julian the Apostate ; an- other, and a more interesting aposiate, was the cause of its destruction. Gerard* de Truchses, Count Waldbourg, who was arch- bishop and elector of Cologne in 1583, scandalized his see, and all the Roman Catholic powers, by turning Protestant. Ac- cording to himself, his conversion was owing to "the goodness of God, who had revealed to him the darkness and the errors of popery;" but, according to his enemies, it was owing to his love for the beautiful Agnes de Mansfeld, canoness of Ger- sheim ; she was a daughter of one of the greatest Protestant houses in Germany; and her two brothers, bigoted Calvinists, and jealous of the honour of their family, conceived themselves insulted by the public homage which a Catholic priest, bound by his vows, dared to pay to their sister. They were yet more incensed on discovering that the love was mutual, and loudly threatened vengeance to both. Gerard renounced the Catholic faith, and the lovers were united. He was excommu- nicated and degraded, of course ; but he insisted on his right to retain his secular dominions and privileges, and refused to resign the electorate, which the emperor, meantime, had awarded to Ernest of Bavaria, Bishop of Liege. The contest became desperate. The whole of that beautiful and fertile plain, from the walls of Cologne to the Godesberg, grew " familiar with bloodshed as the morn with dew ;" and Gerard displayed quali- ties which showed him more fitted to win and wear a bride ihaa to do honour to any priestly vows of sanctity and temperance. Attacked on all sides, — by his subjects, wiio had learned to detest him as an apostate, by the infuriated clergy, and by the Duke of Bavaria, who had brought an army to enforce his brother's claims, — he carried on the struggle for five years ; and at last, reduced to extremity, threw himself, with a few Or Gebhard, for so the name is spelt in the German histories. 40 SKETCHES OF ART, faithful friends, into the castle of Godesberg. After a brave defence, the castle was stormed and taken by the Bavarians, who left it nearly in the state we now see it — a heap of ruins. Gerard escaped with his wife, and fled to Holland, where Maurice, Prince of Orange, granted him an asylum. Thence he sent his beautiful and devoted wife to the court of Queen Elizabeth, to claim a former promise of protection, and suppli- cate her aid, as the great support of the Protestant cause, for the recovery of his rights. lie could not have chosen a more luckless ambassadress ; for Agnes, though her beauty was somewhat impaired by the persecutions and anxieties which had followed her ill-fated union, was yet most lovely and stately, in all the pride of womanhood ; and her misfortunes and her charms, as well as the peculiar circumstances of her marriage, excited the enthusiasm of all the English chivalry. Happily, the Earl of Essex was among the first to espouse her cause with all the generous warmth of his character ; and his visits to her were so frequent, and his admiration so indiscreet, that Elizabeth's jealousy was excited even to fury. Agnes was first driven from the court, and then ordered to quit the kingdom. She took refuge in the Netherlands, where she died soon afterward ; and Gerard, who never recovered his dominions, retired to Strasbourg, where he died. So ends this sad event- ful history, which, methinks, would make a very pretty ro- mance. The tower of Godesberg, lasting as their love and ruined as their fortunes, still remains one of the most striking monuments in that land, where almost every hill is crowned with its castle, and every casde has its tale of terror or of love.* Another beautiful picture, which, merely as a picture, has dwelt on my remembrance, was the city of Coblentz and the fort of Ehrenbreitstein, as viewed from the bridge of boats under a cloudless moon. The city, with its fantastic steeples and masses of building, relieved against the clear deep blue of the summer sky — the lights which sparkled in the windows re- flected in the broad river, and the various forms and tall masts of the craft anchored above and opposite — the huge hill, with its tiara of fortifications, which, in the sunshine and in the broad day, had disappointed me by its formality, now seen under the soft moonlight, as its long lines of architecture and abrupt angles were projected in brightness or receded in shadow,. For the story of Archbishop Gebhard and Agnes de Mansfeld, see- Schiller's History of the Thirty Years' War, and Coxe's History of th& House of Austria. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 41 had altogether a most sublime effect. But apropos to moon- light and pictures — of all the enchanted and enchanting scenes ever lighted by the lull round moon, give me Heidelberg ! Not the Colosseum of Rome — neither in itself, nor yet in Lord Byron's description, and I have both by heart — can be more grand ; and in moral interest, in poetical associations, in varying and wondrous beauty, the castle of Heidelberg has the advantage. In the course of many visits, Heidelberg became to me familiar as the face of a friend, and its remembrance still "hnunts me as a passion." I have known it under every changeful aspect which the seasons, and the hours, and the changeful moods of my own mind could lend it. I have seen it when the sun, rising over the Geisberg, first kindled the va- pours as they floated away from the old towers, and when the ivy and the wreathed verdure on the walls sparkled with dewy light : and I have seen it when its huge black masses stood against the flaming sunset; and its enormous shadow, flung down the chasm beneath, made it night there, while daylight lingered around and above. I have seen it when mantled in all the bloom and fciliage of summer, and when the dead leaves were heaped on the paths, and choked the entrance to many a favourite nook. I have seen it when crowds of gay visiters flitted along its ruined terraces,* and music sounded near ; and with friends, whose presence endeared every pleasure ; and I have walked alone round its desolate precincts, with no companions but my own sad and troubled thoughts. I have seen it when clothed in calm and glorious moonlight. I have seen it when the winds rushed shrieking through its sculptured halls, and when gray clouds came rolling down the mountains, folding it in their ample skirts from the view of the city below. And what have I seen to liken to it by night or by day, in storm or in calm, in summer or in winter! Then its historical and poetical associations — Medon. — There, now ! — will you not leave the picture, per- fect as it is, and not for ever seek in every object something more than is there ? Alda. — I do not seek it — I find it. You will say — I have heard you say — that Heidelberg wants no beauty unborrowed of the eye ; but if history had not clothed it in recollections, fancy must have invested it in its own dreams. It is true, that it is a mere modern edifice compared with all the classic, and * The gardens and plantations round the castle are a favourite prome- nade of the citizens of Heidelberg, and there are in summer bands of music, &.C. D2 42 SKETCHES or ARTf most of the gothic ruins ; yet over Heidelberg there hangs- » terror and a mystery peculiar to itself: for the mind which ac- quiesces in decay recoils from destruction. Here ruin and desolation makes mock with luxurious art and gay magnificence. Here it is not the equal, gradual power of time, adorning and endearing what yet it spares not, which has wrought this devastation, but savage war and elemental rage. Twice blasted by the thunderbolt, three times confcumed by fire, ten times ravaged^ plundered, desecrated by foes, and at last dismantled and abandoned by its own princes, it is still strong to endure and mighty to resist all that time, and war, and the elements may do against it — and, mutilated rather than decayed, may still defy centuries. The very anomalies of architecture and fantastic incongruities of this fortress-palace are to me a fasci- nation. Here are startling and terrific contrasts. That huge round tower — the tower of Frederic the Victorious — now " deep trenched with thunder fires," — looks as if built by the Titans or the Huns ; and those delicate sculptures in the palace of Otho-Henry, as if the genius of Raffaclle or Correggio had breathed on the stone. What flowing grace of outline ! what luxuriant life ! what endless variety and invention in those half-defaced fragments ! These are the work of Italian artists, whose very names have perished : all traces of their existence and of their destinies so utterly lost, that one might almost be- lieve, with the peasantry,, that these exquisite remains are not the work of mortal hands, but of fairies and spirits of air, evoked to do the will of an enchanter. The old palatines, the lords of Heidelberg, were a magnificent and magnanimous race. Louis HI., Frederic the Victorious, Frederic II., Otho-Henry^ were all men who had stepped in advance of their age. They could think as well as fight, in days when fighting, not think- ing, was the established f:ishion among potentates and people. A liberal and enlightened spirit, and a love of all the arts that humanize mankind, seem to have been hereditary in this princely family. Frederic I. lay under the suspicion of heresy and sorcery, in consequence of his tolerant opinions, and his love of mathematics and astronomy. His personal prowess, and the circumstance of his never having been vanquished in battle, gave i-ise to the report that he was assisted by evil demons ; and for years, both before and after his accession, he was under the ban of the secret tribunal. Heidelberg was the scene of some of the mysterious attacks on his life, but they were constantly frustrated by the fidelity of his friends, and tlio watchful love of his wife. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 48 It was at Heidelberg this prince celebrated a festival, re- nowned in German history ; and for the age in which it oc- curred, most extraordinary. He invited to a banquet all the factious barons whom he had vanquished at Seckingen, and who had previously ravaged and laid waste great part of the palatinate. Among them were the Bishop of Metz and the Margrave of Baden. The repast was plentiful and luxurious, but there was no bread. The warrior guests looked round with surprise and inquiry. " Do you ask for bread ?" said Frederic, sternly ; " you, who have wasted the fruits of the earth, and destroyed those whose industry cultivates it? There is no bread. Eat, and be satisfied ; and learn hence- forth mercy to' those who put the bread into your mouths." A singular lesson from the lips of an iron-clad warrior of the mid- dle ages It was Frederic II. and his nephew Otho-Henry, who en- riched the library, then the first in Europe next to the Vatican, with treasures of learning, and who invited painters and sculp- tors from Italy to adorn their noble palace with the treasures of art. In less than one hundred years those beautiful creations were defaced or utterly destroyed, and all the memorials and records of their authors are supposed to have perished at the time when the ruthless Tilly stormed the castle ; and the ar- chives and part of the library of precious MSS. were taken to litter his dragoons' horses, during a transient scarcity of straw.* — You groan ! Mkdon. — The anecdote is not new to me; but I was think- ing, at the moment, of a pretty phrase in the letters of the Prince de Ligne, " la guerre — c'est un malheur — mais c'est le plas beau des malheurs." Alda. — O, if there be any thing more terrific, more disgust- ing, than war and its consequences, it is that perversion of all human intellect — that depravation of all human feeling — that contempt or misconception of every Christian precept, which has permitted the great, and the good, and the tender-hearted, to admire war as a splendid game — a part of the poetry of life — and to defend it as a glorious evil, which the very nature and passions of man have ever rendered, and will ever render, ne- cessary and inevitable ! Perhaps the idea of human suffering * 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 col- elges ; but the vessel in which it was embarked foundered in the Baltic Sea, and the whole went to the bottom. 44 SKETCHES OF ART, — though when we think of it in detail it makes the blood curdle — is not so bad as the general loss to humanity, the in- terruption to the progress of thought in the destruction of the works of wisdom or genius. Listen to this magnificent sen- tence out of the volume now lying open before me — " Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature— God's image ; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself. Many a man lives a burthen to the earth, but a good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life. It is true, no age can restore a life, whereof perhaps there is no great loss : and revolutions of ages do not oft recover the loss of rejected truth, for the want of which whole nations fare the worse ; therefore we should be wary how we spill the seasoned life of man preserved and stored up in books." Medon. — " Methinks we do know the fine Roman hand." Milton, is it not? Alda. — Yes ; and after this, think of Milton's Areopagitica, or his Paradise Lost, under the hoofs of Tilly's dragoon horses, or feeding the fishes in the Baltic ! It might have happened had he written in Germany instead of England, Medon. — Do you forget that the cause of the thirty years' war was a woman ? Alda. — A woman and religion ; the two best or worst things in the world, according as tbey are understood and felt, used and abused. You allude to Elizabeth of Bohemia, who was to Heidelberg what Helen was to Troy 1 One of the most interesting monuments of Heidelberg, at least to an English traveller, is the elegant triumphal arch raised by the Palatine Frederic V. in honour of his bride — this very Elizabeth Stuart. I well remember with what self-compla- cency and enthusiasm our chef walked about in a heavy rain, examining, dwelling upon every trace of this celebrated and un- happy woman. She had been educated at his country-seat, and one of the avenues of his magnificent park yet bears her name. On her fell a double portion of the miseries of her fated family. She had the beauty and the wit, the gay spirits, the elegant tastes, the kindly disposition of her grandmother, Mary of Scotland. Her very virtues as a wife and a woman, not less than her pride and feminine prejudices, ruined herself, her hus- band, and her people. When Frederic hesitated to accept the crown of Bohemia, his high-hearted wife exclaimed — "Let me rather eat dry bread at a king's table than feast at the board of an elector ;" and it seemed as if some avenging demon hov- LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER, 45 ered in the air, to take her literally at her word, for she and her family lived to eat dry bread — ay, and to beg it before they ate it ; but she would be a queen. Blest as she was in love, in all good gifts of nature and fortune, in all means of hap- piness, a kingly crown was wanting to complete her felicity, and it was cemented to her brow with the blood of two millions of men. And who was to blame ? Was not her mode of think- ing the fabhion of her time, the effect of her education ! Who had " Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame Of golden sovereignty l" For how many ages will you men exclaim against the mis- chiefs and miseries caused by the influence of women ; thus allowing the influence, yet taking no thought how to make that influence a means of good instead of an instrument of evil ! Elizabeth had brought with her from England some luxu- rious tastes, as yet unknown in the palatinate ; she had been familiarized with the dramas of Shakspeare and Fletcher, and she had figured in the masques of Ben Jonson. To gratify her, Frederic added to the castle of Heidelberg the theatre and banqueting-room, and all that beautiful group of buildings at the western angle, the ruins of which are still called the Eng- lish palace. She had inlierited from her grandmother, or had early imbibed from education, a love of nature and of amuse- ments in the open air, and a passion for gardening ; and it was to please her, and under her auspices, that Frederic planned those magnificent gardens, which were intended to unite within their bounds all that nature could contribute or art devise; had they been completed, they would have rendered Heidel- berg a pleasure-palace, fit for fairy-land. Nor were those de- signs unworthy of a prosperous and pacific sovereign, whose treasury was full, whose sway was just and mild, whose people had long enjoyed in tranquillity the fruits of their own industry. When I had the pleasure of spending a iew days with the Schlossers, at their beautiful seat on the Necker (Stift Neu- burg), I went over the ground with Madame de Schlosser, who had seen and studied the original plans. Her description of the magnitude and the sumptuous taste of these unfinished de- signs, while we stood together amid a wilderness of ruins, was a commentary on the vicissitudes of this world, worth fifty moral treatises, and as many sermons. 46 SKETCHES OF AKT, "For in the wreck of is and was, Things incomplete and purposes betray'd, Make sadder transit's o'er Truth's mystic glass, Than noblest objects utterly decay'd." Close to the ruins of poor Elizabeth's palace, there where the effigies of her handsome husband and his bearded ancestor Louis V. look down from the ivy-mantled wall, you remember the beautiful terrace towards the west ? It is still, — after four centuries of changes, of disasters, of desolation, — the garden of Clara. When Frederic the Victorious assumed the sove- reignty, in a moment of danger and faction, he took, at the same time, a solemn vow never to marry, that the rights of his infant nephew, the son of the late palatine, should not be prejudiced, nor the peace of the country endangered by a dis- puted succession. He kept his oath religiously, but at that very time he loved Clarra Dettin de Wertheim, a young girl of plebeian origin, and a native of Augsburg, whose musical talents and melody of voice had raised her to a high situation in the court of the late princess-palatine. Frederic, with the consent of his nephew, was united to Clara by a left-hand marriage, an expedient still in use in Germany, and, I believe, peculiar to its constitution ; such a marriage is valid before God and man, yet the wife has no acknowledged rights, and the off- spring no supposed existence. Clara is celebrated by the poets and chroniclers of her time, and appears to have been a very extraordinary being in her way. In that age of igno- rance, she had devoted herself to study — she could sympathize in her husband's pursuits, and share the toils of government — she collected around her the wisest and most learned men of the time — she continued to cultivate the beautiful voice which had won the heart of Frederic, and her song and her lute were always read)^ to sooth his cares. Tradition points out the spot where it is said she loved to meditate, and looking down upon the little hamlet, on the declivity of the hill, to recall her own humble origin ; that little hamlet, embowered in foliage, and the remembrance of Clara, have survived the glories of Heidelberg. Her descendants became princes of the empire, and still exist in the family of Lowenstein. Then, for those who love the marvellous, there is the wild legend of the witch Jetta, who still flits among the ruins, and bathes her golden tresses in the Wolfsbrunnen ; but why should I tell you of these tales — you, whose head is a sort of black- letter library ? LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 47 Medon. — True ; but it is pleasant to have one's old recol- ' ,/ lections taken down from their shelves and dusted, and placed in a new light ; only do not require, even if I again visit Hei- delberg, that I should see it as you have beheld it with your quick spirit of association, and clothed in the hues of your own individual mind. While you speak, it is not so much the places and objects you describe, as their reflection in your own fancy, which I see before me ; and every different mind will reflect them under a difi'erent aspect. Then, where is truth ? you say. If we want information as to mere facts — the situa- tion of a town, the measurement of a church, the date of a ruin, the oaialogue of a gallery — we can go to our dictionaries and our guides des voyageurs. But if, besides form and out- line, we must have colouring too, we should remember that every individual mind will paint the scene with its own proper hues ; and if we judge of the mind and the objects it represents relatively to each other, we may come at the truth, not other- wise. I would ask nothing of a traveller but accuracy and sincerity in the expression of his opinions and feelings. I have then a page out of the great book of human nature — the portrait of a particular mind ; when that is fairly before me I have a standard by which to judge: I can draw my own in- ferences. Will you not allow that it is possible to visit Hei- delberg, and to derive the most intense pleasure from its pic- turesque beauty, without dreaming over witches and warriors, palatines and princes ? Can we not admire and appreciate the sculpture in the palace of Otho-Henry, without losing our- selves in vague, wondering reveries over the destinies of the sculptors ? Alda. — Yes ; but it is amusing, and not less instructive, to observe the manner in which the individual character and pur- suits shall modify the impression's of external things ; only •we should be prepared for this, as the pilot makes aliowance for the variation of the needle, and directs his course accord- ingly. It is a mistake to suppose that those who cannot see ! the imaginative aspect of things, see, therefore, the only true \ aspect ; they only see one aspect of the truth. Vous ties orfevre^ Monsieur Josse, is as applicable to travellers as to every other species of egotist. Once, in an excursion to the north, I fell into conversation with a Sussex farmer, one of that race of sturdy, rich, and in- dependent English yeomen, of which I am afraid few speci- mens remain : he was quite a character in his way. I must sketch him for you ; but only Miss Mitford could do him jus- 48 SKETCHES OF ART, tice. His coat was of the finest broad-cloth ; his shirt-frill, in which was stuck a huge agate pin, and his neckcloth were both white as the snow ; his good beaver shone in all its pristine gloss, and an enormous bunch of gold seals adorned his watch chain ; his voice was loud and dictatorial, and his language surprisingly good and flowing, though tinctured with a little coarseness and a lew provincialisms. He had made up his mind about the Reform Bill — the Catholic Question — the Corn Laws — and about things in general, and things in particular ; he had doubts about nothing : it was evident that he was ac- customed to lay down the law in his own village — that he was the tyrant of his own fireside — that his wife was " his horse, his ox, his ass, his any thing," while his sons went to college, and his daughters played on the piano. London was to him merely a vast congregation of pestilential vapours — a receptacle of thieves, cut-throats and profligates — a place in which no sen- sible man, who had a care for his life, his health, or his pock- ets, would willingly set his foot ; he thanked God that he never spent but two nights in the metropolis, and at intervals of twenty-seven years : the first night he had passed in the streets, in dread of fire and vermin ; and on the last occasion, he had not ventured beyond Smithfield, What he did not know, was to him not worth knowuig ; and the word French, which comprised all that was foreign, he used as a term, express- ing the most unbounded abhorrence, pity, and contempt. I should add, that though rustic, and arrogant, and prejudiced, he was not vulgar. We were at an inn, on the borders of Lei- cestershire, though which we had both recently travelled ; my farmer was enthusiastic in his admiration of the country. " A. fine country, madam — a beautiful country — a splendid country !" " Do you call it a fine country?" said I, absently, my head full of the Alps and Appenines, the Pyrenean, and the river Po. " To be sure I do ; and where would you see a finer ?" " I did not see any thing very picturesque," said L " Picturesque .'" he repeated, with some contempt ; " I don't know what you call picturesque ; but / say, give me a soil, that when you turn it up you have something for your pains ; the fine soil makes the fine country, madam !" SKETCHES OF ART, LITERATURE. AND CHARACTER. H. Medon. — I OBSERVED the other evening that, in making a sort of imaginative bound from Coblentz to Heidelberg, you either skipped over Frankfort, or left it on one side. Alda. — Did 1 1 — if I had done either, in my heart or my memory, I had been most ungrateful ; but I thought you knew Frankfort well. Medon. — I was there for two days, on my way to Switzer- land, and it rained the whole time from morning till night. I have a vision in my mind of dirty streets, chilly houses, dull shops, dingy -looking Jews, dripping umbrellas, luxurious hotels, and exorbitant charges, — and this is all I can recollect of Frankfort. Alda. — Indeed ! — I pity you. To me it was associated only with pleasant feelings, and, in truth, it is a pleasant place. Life, there, appears in a very attractive costume : not in a half-holyday, half-beggarly garb, as at Rome and Naples ; nor in a thin undress of superficial decency, as at Berlin ; nor in a court domino, hiding we know not what — as at Vienna and Munich ; nor half-motley, half-military, as at Paris ; nor in rags and embroidery, as in London ; but at Frankfort all the outside at least is fair, substantial, and consistent. The shops vie in splendour with those of London and Paris ; the princi- pal streets are clean, the houses spacious and airy, and there is a general appearance of cheerfulness and tranquillity, min- gled with the luxury of wealth and the bustle of business, which, after the misery, and murmuring, and bitterness of fac- tion we had left in London, was really a relief to the spirits. It is true that, during my last two visits, this apparent tran- quillity concealed a good deal of political ferment. The pris- ons were filled with those unfortunate wretches who had en- deavoured to excite a popular tumult against the Prussian and Vol. I.— E 50 SKETCHES OF ART, Austrian governments. The trials were going forward every day, but not a syllable of the result transpired beyond the walls of the Romer Saal. Allliough the most reasonable and liberal of the citizens agreed in condemning the rashness and folly of these young men, the tide of feeling was evidently in their fa- vour : for instance, it was not the fashion to invite the Prussian officers, and I well remember that when Goethe's Egmont was announced at the theatre, it was forbidden by the magistracy, from a fear that certain scenes and passages in that play might call forth some open and decided expression of the public feel- ing ; in fact, only a few evenings before, some passages in the Masaniello had been applied and applauded by the audience, in a manner so ill-bred, that the wife of the Prussian minister rose and left her box, followed by some other old women, — male and female. The theatre is rather commodious than splendid ; the established company, both for the opera and the regular drama, excellent, and often varied by temporary visits of great actors and singers from the other theatres of Germany. On my first visit to Frankfort, which was during the fair of 1829, Paganini, then in the zenith of his glory, was giving a series of concerts : but do not ask me any thing about him, for it is a worn-out subject, and you know I am not one of the en- thusiastic, or even the orthodox, with regard to his merits. Medon. — You do not mean — you will not tell me — that with all your love of music, 3fou were insensible to the miraculous powers of that man 1 Alda. — I suppose they were miraculous, as I heard every one say so round me ; but I listened to him as to any other mu- sician, for the sake of the pleasure to be derived from music, not for the sake of wondering at difficulties overcome, and im- possibilities made possible — they might have remained impos- sibilities for me. But insensible I was not to the wondrous charm of his tone and expression. I was thrilled, melted, ex- cited, at the moment, but it left no relish on the palate, if I may use the expression. To throw me into such convulsions of enthusiasm as I saw this man excite here and on the conti- nent, I must have the orchestra with all its various mingling world of sound, or the divine human voice breathing music and passion together ; but this is a matter of feeling, habit, education, like all other tastes in art. I think it was during our third visit to Frankfort that Mad- ame Haitsinger-Neumann was playing the gast-rolles, for so they courteously denominated the parts filled by occasional visiters, to whom, as guests, the precedence is always given. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 51 Madame Haitsinger is the wife of Haitsinger, the tenor singer, who was in London, and sung in the Fidelio, with Madame Devrient-Schroeder. She is one of the most celebrated ac- tresses in Germany for light comedy, if any comedy in Ger- many can be called light, in comparison with the same style of acting in France or England. Her figure is rather large — Medon.— Like most of the German actresses — for I never yet saw one who had attained to celebrity, who was not much too enbonpoint for our ideas of a youthful or sentimental heroine — Alda. — Not Devrient-Schroeder ? Mepon. — Devrient is all impassioned grace ; but I think that in time even she will be in danger of becoming a little — how shall I express it with sufficient delicacy? — a little too substantial. Alda. — No, not if a soul of music and fire, informing a feverish, excitable temperament, which is to the mantling spirit within what the high-pitched instrument is to the breeze which sweeps over its chords, — not if these can avert the catastrophe ; but what if you had seen Mademoiselle Lindner, with a figure like Mrs. Liston's — all but spherical — enacting Fenella and Clfirchen ? Medon. — I should have said, that only a German imagi- nation could stand it ! It is one of Madame de Stael's clever aphorisms, that on the stage, " II faut menager les caprices des yeux avec le plus grand scrupule, car ils peuvent detruire, sans appel tout effet serieux ;" but the Germans do not appear to be subject to these caprices des yeux ; and have not these fastidious scruples about corporeal grace ; for them sentiment, however clumsy, is stdl sentiment. Perhaps they are in the right. Alda. — And Mademoiselle Lindner has sentiment ; she must liave been a fine actress, and is evidently a favourite with the audience. But to return to Madame Haitsinger ; — she is hand- some, with a fair complexion, and no very striking expression ; but there is a heart and soul, and mellowness in her acting, which is delicious. I could not give you an idea of her manner by a comparison with any of our English actresses, for she is es- sentially German ; she never aimed at making points ; she was never broadly arch or comic, but the general effect was as rich as it was true to nature. I saw her in some of her favourite parts : in the comedy of " Stille Wasser sind tiefe" (our Bule a Wife and Have a Wife, admirably adapted to the Ger» 52 SKETCHES OF ART, man stage by Schroeder), in the " Mirandolina" (the famous Locandiera of Goldoni), and in the pretty lively vaudeville composed for her by Holtei, " Die Wiener in Berlin," in which the popular waltzes and airs, sung in the genuine national spirit, and enjoyed by the audience with a true national zest, delighted us foreigners. Herr Beclier is an excellent actor in tragedy and high comedy. Of their singers I could not say so much — there were none I should account first-rate, except Dobler, whom you may remember in England. One of the most delightful peculiarities of Frankfort, one that most struck my fancy, is the public garden, planted on the site of the ramparts ; a girdle of verdure and shade — of trees and flowers circling the whole city ; accessible to all and on every side, — the promenade of the rich, the solace of the poor. Fifty men are employed to keep it in order, and it is forbidden to steal the flowers, or to kill the singing birds which haunt the shrubberies. Mkdon. — And does this prohibition avail much in a popu- lation of sixty thousand persons ? Alda. — It does generally. A short time before we arrived, some mischievous wretch had shot a nightingale, and was caught in the fact. His punishment was characteristic ; his hands were tied behind him, and a label setting forth his crime was fixed on his breast : in this guise, with a police offi- cer on each side, he was marched all round the gardens, and made the circuit of the city, pursued by the hisses of the popu- lace and the abhorrent looks of the upper classes ; he was not otherwise punished, but he never again made his appearance ■within the walls of the city. This was the only instance which I could learn of the infraction of a law which might seem at least nugatory. Of the spacious, magnificent, well-arranged cemetery, its admirable apparatus for restoring suspended animation, and all its beautiful accompaniments and memorials of the dead, there was along account published in London, at the time that a cem- etery was planned for this great overgrown city; and in truth I know not where we could find a better model than the one at Frankfort ; it appeared to me perfection. The institutions at Frankfort, both for charity and education, are numerous, as becomes a rich and free city ; and those I had an opportunity of examining appeared to me admirably man- aged. Besides the orphan schools, and the Burger schule, and the school for female education, established and maintained by \ LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 53 the wives of the citizens, there are several infant schools, where children of a year old and upwards are nursed, and fed, and kept out of mischief and harm, while their parents are at work. These are also maintained by subscription among the ladies, who take upon them in turns the task of daily superin- tendence ; and I shall not easily forget the gentle-looking, ele- gant, well-dressed girl, who, defended from the encroachments of dirty little paws by a large apron, sat in the midst of a swarm of thirty or forty babies (the eldest not four years old), the very personihcation of feminine charity ! But the hospital for the infirm poor — Das Versorgung Haus — pleased me particularly ; 'tis true, ihat the cost was not a third — what do I say 1 not a sixth of the expense of some of our institutions for the same purpose. There was no luxury of architecture, no huge gates shutting in wretchedness, and shutting out hope; nor grated win- dows ; nor were the arrangements on so large a scale as in that splendid edifice, the Hopital des Vieillards, at Brussels ; — a house for the poor need not be either a prison or a palace. But here, I recollect, the door opened with a latch ; we entered unan- nounced, as unexpected. Here there was perfect neatness, abun- dance of space, of air, of light, of water, and also of occupation. I found that, besides the inmates of the place, many poor old crea- tures, who could not have the facilities or materials for work in their own dwellings, or whose relatives were busied in the day- time, might find here employment of any kind suited to their strength or capacity, — for which, observe, they were paid ; thus leaving them to the last possible moment the feeling of inde- pendence and usefulness. I observed that many of those who seemed in the last stage of decrepitude, had hung round their beds sundry little prints and pictures, and slips of paper, on which were written legibly texts from Scripture, moral sentences, and scraps of poetry. The ward of the superannuated and the sick was at a distance from the working and eating rooms ; and all around breathed that peace and quiet which should accom- pany old age, instead of that " life-consuming din" I have heard in such places. On the pillow of one bed there was laid by some chance a bouquet of flowers. In this ward there was an old man nearly blind and lethar- gic ; another old man was reading to him. I remarked a poor bed-ridden woman, utterly helpless, but not old, and with good and even refined features ; and another poor woman, seated by her, was employed in keeping the flies from settling on her face. To one old woman, whose countenance struck me, I said a few words in English — I could speak no German,, E2 54 SKETCHES OF ART, unluckily. She took my hand, kissed it, and turning away, burst into tears. No one asked for any thing even by a look, nor apparently wanted any thing ; and I fell that from the un- affected good-nature of the lady who accompanied us, we had not so much the appearance of coming to look at the poor in- mates as of paying them a kind visit; — and this was as it should be. The mild, open countenances of the two persons who managed the establishment pleased me particularly; and the manner of the matron superintendent, as she led us over the rooms, was so simple and kind, that 1 was quite at ease : I experienced none of that awkward shyness and reluctance I have felt when ostentatiously led over such places in England, — feeling ashamed to stare upon the misery I could not cure. In such cases I have probably attributed to the suflerers a delicacy or a sensibility, long blunted, if ever possessed ; but I was in pain for them and for myself. One thing more : there was a neat chapel ; and we were shown with some pride the only piece of splendour in the estab- lishment. The communion-plate of massy silver was the gift of two brothers, wlio had married on the same day two sisters ; and these two sisters had died nearly at the same time — I be- lieve it was actually on the same day. The widowed hus- bands presented this plate in memory of their loss and the vir- tues of their wives ; and I am sorry I did not copy the simple and affecting inscription in which this is attested. There was also a silver vase, which had been presented as an offering by a poor miller whom an unexpected legacy had raised to inde- pendence. I might give you similar sketches of other institutions, here and elsewhere, but I did not bestow sufficient attention on the practical details, and the comparative merits of the different methods adopted, to render my observations useful. Though deeply interested, as any feeling, thinking being must be on such subjects, I have not studied them sufficiently. There are others, however, who are doing this better than I could ; — blessings be on them, and eternal praise ! My general impres- sion was, pleasure from the benevolence and simplicity of heart witli which these institutions were conducted and super- intended, and wonder not to be expressed at their extreme cheapness. The day preceding my visit to the Versorgung Haus, I had been in a fever of indignation at the fate of poor R , one of the conspirators, who had become insane from the severity of his confmement. I had descanted with great complacency on LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 55 our open tribunals, and our trials by jury; and yet I could not help thinking to myself, " Well, if loe have not their state- prisons, neither have thty our poor-houses !" Medon. — It is plain that the rich, charitable, worldly pros- perous, self-seeking Frankfort, would be your chosen residence after all ! Alda. — No — as a fixed residence I should not prefer Frank- fort. There is a little too much of the pride of purse — too much of the aristocracy of wealth — too much dressing and dinnering — and society is too much broken up into sets and circles tr please me : besides, it must be confessed, that the arts do not flourish in this free imperial city. The Stadel Museum was opened just before our last visit to Frankfort. A rich banker of that name bequeathed, in 1816, his collection of prints and pictures, and nearly a million and a half of florins, for the commencement and maintenance of this institution, and they have certainly begun on a splendid scale. The edifice in which the collection is arranged is spacious, fitted up with great cost, and generally with great taste, except the ceilings, which, being the glory and admiration of the good people of Frankfort, I must endeavour to describe to you par- ticularly. The elaborate beauty of the arabesque ornaments, their endless variety, and the vivid colouring and gilding, re- minded me of some of the illuminated manuscripts ; but I was rather amused than pleased, and rather surprised to see art and ornament so misplaced — invention, labour, money, time, lavished to so little purpose. No effect was aimed at — none produced. The strained and wearied eye wandered amid a profusion of unmeaning forms and of gorgeous colours, which never harmonized into a whole : and after 1 had half-broken my neck by looking up at them through an opera-glass, in order to perceive the elegant interlacing of the minute patterns and exquisite finish of the workmanship, I turned away laugh- ing and provoked, and wondering at such a strange perver- sion, or rather sacrifice, of taste. Medon. — But the collection itself? — Alda. — It is not very interesting. It contains some curious old German pictures : Stiidel having been, like others, smitten with the mania of buying Van Eyks, and Hemlings, and Scho- roels. Here, however, these old masters, as part of a school or history of art, are well placed. There are a iew fine Flemish paintings ; and, in particular, a wondrous portrait by Flinck, which you must see. It is a lady in black, on the left side of the door — of — I forget which room — but you cannot 56 SKETCHES OF ART, miss it : those soft eyes will look out at you, till you will feel inclined to ask her name, and wonder the lips do not unclose to answer you. Of first-rate pictures there are none — I mean none of the historical and Italian schools : the collection of casts from the antique is splendid and well-selected. Mepon. — But Bethmann, the banker, had already set an example of munificent patronage of art: when he shamed kings, for instance, by purchasing Dannecker's Ariadne — one of the chief lions of Frankfort, if fame says true. Alda. — How ! have you not seen it? Medon. — No — unhappily. The weather, as I have told you, was dreadful. I was discouraged — I procrastinated. That flippant observation I had read in some English traveller, that " Dannecker's Ariadne looked as if it had been cut out of old Stilton cheese," was floating in my mind. In short, I was careless, as we often are, when the means of gratifying curiosity appear secure, and within our reach. I repent me now. I wish I had settled to my own satisfaction, and with mine own eyes, the disputed merits of this famous statue ; but I will trust to you. It ought to be something admirable. I do not know much of Dannecker, or his works, but by all accounts he has not to complain of the want of patronage. To him cannot be applied the pathetic commonplace, so familiar in the mouths of our young artists, about " chill penury," the struggle to live, the cares that " freeze the genial current of the soul," the efforts of unassisted genius, and so forth. Want never came to him since he devoted himself to art. He appears to have had leisure and freedom to give full scope to his powers, and to work out his own creations. Alda. — Had he ? Had he, indeed 1 His own story would be different, I fancy. Dannecker, like every patronized artist I ever met with, would execrate patronage, if he dared. Good old man ! The thought of what he might have done, and could have done, breaks out sometimes in the midst of all his self- complacent naive exultation over what he has done. I will endeavour to give you a correct idea of the Ariadne, and then I will tell you something of Dannecker himself. His history is u good commentary upon royal patronage. I had heard so much of this statue, that my curiosity was strongly excited. A part of its fame may be owing to its situa- tion, and the number of travellers who go to visit Bethraann's museum, as a matter of course. I used to observe that all travellers, who were on the road to Italy, praised it ; and all who were on their way home, criticised it. As I ascended th© LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 57 Steps of the pavilion in which it is placed, the enthusiasm of expectation faded away from my mind : I said to myself, " I shall be disappointed !" Yet I was not disappointed. The Ariadne occupied the centre of a cabinet, hung with a dark-gray colour, and illuminated by a high lateral window, so that the light and shade, and the relief of the figure were per- fectly well managed and effective. Dannecker has not repre- sented Ariadne in her more poetical and picturesque character, as, when betrayed and forsaken by Theseus, she stood alone on the wild shore of Naxos, " her hair blown by the winds, and all about her expressing desolation." It is Ariadne, immortal and triumphant, as the bride of Bacchus. The figure is larger than life. She is seated, or rather reclined, on the back of a panther. The right arm is carelessly extended : the left arm rests on the head of the animal, and the hand supports the drapery, which appears to have just dropped from her limbs. The head is turned a little upwards, as if she already antici- pated her starry home ; and her tresses are braided with the vine leaves. The grace and ease of the attitude, so firm, and yet so light ; the flowing beauty of the form, and the position of the head, enchanted me. Perhaps the features are not suf- ficiently Greek; for, though I am not one of those who think all beauty comprised in the antique models, and that nothing can be orthodox but the straight nose and short upper lip, still to Ariadne the pure classical ideal of beauty, both in form and face, is properly in character. A cast from that divine head, the Greek Ariadne, is placed in the same cabinet, and I con- fess to you that the contrast being immediately brought before the eye, Dannecker's Ariadne seemed to want refinement, in comparison. It is true, that the moment chosen by the Ger- man sculptor required an expression altogether different. In the Greek bust, though already circled by the viny crown, and though all heaven seems to repose on the noble arch of that expanded brow, yet the head is declined, and a tender melan- choly lingers round the all-perfect mouth, as if the remem- brance of a mortal love — a mortal sorrow — yet shaded her celestial bridal hours, and made pale her immortality. But Dannecker's Ariadne is the flushed Queen of the Bacchante, and in the clash of the cymbals and the mantling cup, she has already forgotten Theseus. There is a look of life, an indi- vidual truth in the beauty of the form, which distinguishes it from the long-limbed vapid pieces of elegance called nymphs and Venuses, which <' Stretch their v?hite arms, and bend their marble necks," 58 SKETCHES OF ART, in the galleries of our modern sculptors. One objection struck me, but not till after a second or third view of the statue. The panther seemed to me rather loo bulky and ferocious. It is true, it is not a natural, but a mythological panther, such as we see in the antique basso-relievos and the arabesques of Herculaneum ; yet, melhinks, if he appeared a little more con- scious of his lovely burthen, more tamed by the influence of beauty, it would have been better. However, the sculptor may have had a design, a feeling, in this very point, which has escaped me : I regret now that I did not ask him. One thing is certain, that the extreme massiveness of the panther's limbs serves to give a firmness to the support of the figure, and sets off to advantage its lightness and delicacy. It is equally cer- tain that if the head of the animal had been ever so slightly turned, the pose of the right-arm, and with it the whole attitude, must have been altered. The window of the cabinet is so contrived, that by drawing up a blind of stained glass, a soft crimson tint is shed over the figure, as if the marble blushed. This did not please me : partly from a dislike to all trickery in art ; partly because, to my taste, the pale, colourless purity of the marble is one of the beauties of a fine statue. It is true that Dannecker has been unfortunate in his material. The block from which he cut his figure is imperfect and streaky ; but how it could possibly have suggested the idea of Stilton cheese I am at a loss to conceive. It is not worse than Canova's Venus, in the Pitti palace, who has a ter- rible black streak across her bosom. M. Passavant,* who was standing by when I paid my last visit to the Ariadne, as- sured me, that when the statue was placed on its pedestal, about sixteen years ago, these black specks were scarcely vis- ible, and that they seemed to multiply and grow darker with time. This is a lamentable, and, to me, an unaccountable fact. Medon. — And, I am afraid, past cure : but now tell me something of the sculptor himself. After looking on a grand work of art, we naturally turn to look into the mind which con- ceived and created it. Alda. — Dannecker, like all the great modern sculptors, sprung from the people. Thorwaldson, Flaxman, Chantrey, Canova, Schadow, Rauch — I believe we may go farther back, * M. Passavant is a landscape-painter of Frankfort, an intelligent, ac- complished 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 " Kunst- reise durch England und Belgium." LITERATURE AND CHARACTER. 59 t6 Cellini, Bandinelli, Bernini, Pigalle — all I can at this mo- ment recollect, were of plebeian origin. When I was at Dresden, I was told of a young count, of noble family, who had adopted sculpture as a profession. This, I think, is a solitary instance of any person of noble birth devoting himself to this noblest of the arts. Medon, — Do you forget Mrs. Damer and Lady Dacre ? Alda. — No ; but I do not think that either the exquishe mod- elling of Lady Dacre, or the meritorious attempts of Mrs. Damer, come under the head of sculpture in its grand sense. By-the-bv. when Horace Walpole said that Mrs. Damer was the first female sculptor who had attained any celebrity, he forgot the Greek girl, Lala,* and the Properzia Rossi of modern times. Dannecker was born at Stuttgard in 1758. On him de- scended no hereditary mantle of genius ; it was the immediate gift of Heaven, and apparently heaven-directed. His father was a groom in the duke's stable, and appears to have been merely an ill-tempered, thick-headed boor. How young Dannecker picked up the rudiments of reading and writing, he does not him- self remember ; nor by what circumstances the bent of his fancy and genius was directed to the fine arts. Like other great men, who have been led to trace the progress of their own minds, attributed to his mother the first promptings to the fair and good, the first softening and elevating influences which his mind acknowledged. He had neither paper nor pencils ; but next door to his father there lived a stone-cutter, whose blocks of marble and free-stone were every day scrawled over with rude imitations of natural objects in chalk or charcoal — the first essays of the infant Dannecker. When he was beaten by his father for this proof of idleness, his mother interfered to protect or to encourage him. As soon as he was old enough, he assisted his father in the stable ; and while running about the precincts of the palace, ragged and bare-foot, he appears to have attracted, by his vivacity and alertness, the occasional notice of the duke himself. Duke Charles, the grandfather of the present king of Wirt- emburg, had founded a military school, called the Karl Schiile (Charles' school), annexed to the hunting palace of the Solitude. At this academy, music and drawing were taught as well as military tactics. One day, when Dannecker was about thirteen, * She was cotemporary with Cleopatra (B. C. 33), and was particu- larly C(-iebrated for her busts in ivory. The Romans raised a statue to her honour, which was in the Guistiniani collection. — V. Pliny. 60 SKETCHES OF ART, his father returned home in a very ill-humour, and informed his family that the duke intended to admit the children of his domestics into his new military school. The boy, with joyful eagerness, declared his intention of going immediately to pre- sent himself as a candidate. The father, with a stare of aston- ishment, desired him to remain at home, and mind his business ; on his persisting, he resorted to blows, and ended by locking him up. The boy escaped by jumping out of the window ; and, collecting several of his comrades, he made them a long harangue in praise of the duke's beneficence, then placing him-* self at their head, marched them up to the palace, where the whole court was assembled for the Easter festivities. On being asked their business, Dannecker replied, as spokesman, — " Tell his highness the duke we want to go to the Karl schule." One of the attendants, amused, perhaps, with this juvenile ardour, went and informed the duke, who had just risen from table. He came out himself and mustered the little troop before him. He first darted a rapid scrutinizing glance along the line, then selecting one from the number, placed him on his right-hand ; then another, and another, till only young Dannecker and two others remained on his left. Dannecker has since acknowledged that he suffered for a few moments such exquisite pain and shame at the idea of being rejected, that his first impulse was to run away and hide himself; and that his surprise and joy, when he found that he and his two companions were the accepted candidates, had nearly over- powered him. The duke ordered them to go the next morn- ing to the Solitude, and then dismissed them. When Dan- necker returned home, his father, enraged at losing the serviees of his son, turned him out of the house, and forbade him ever more to enter it ; but his mother (mother-like) packed up his little bundle of necessaries, accompanied him for some dis- tance on his road, and parted with him with blessings and tears, and words of encouragement and love. At the Karl-schule Dannecker made but little progress in his studies. Nothing could be worse managed than this royal establishment. The inferior teachers were accustomed to employ the poorer boys in the most servile offices, and in this, so called, academy he was actually obliged to learn by stealth : but here he formed a friendship with Schiller, who, like himself, was an ardent genius pining and writhing under a chilling system ; and the two boys, thrown upon one another for con- solation, became friends for life. Dannecker must have been about fifteen when the Karl-schule was removed from the Sol- LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 61 hade to Stuttgard. He was then placed under the tuition of Grubel, a professor of sculpture, and in the following year he produced his first original composition. It was a Milo of Crotona, modelled in clay, and was judged worthy of the first prize. Dannecker was at this time so unfriended and little known, that the duke, who appears to have forgotten him, learned v.ith astonishment that this nameless boy, the son of his groom, had carried ofi' the highest honours of the school from all his competitors. For a few years he was employed in the duke's service in carving cornices, Cupids, and carya- tides, to oaiament the new palaces at Stuttgard and Hohen- heim ; this task-work, over which he often sighed, may pos- sibly have assisted in giving him that certainty and mechan- ical dexterity in the use of his tools for which he is remark- able. About ten years were thus passed ; he then obtained permission to travel for his improvement, with an allowance of three hundred florins a year from the duke. With these slender means Dannecker set off for Paris on foot. There, for the first time, he had opportunities of studying the living model. His enthusiasm for his art enabled him to endure extraordinary privations of every kind, for out of his little pen- sion of 231. a year he had not only to feed and clothe himself, but to purchase all the materials for his art and the means of instruction ; and this in an expensive capital, surrounded with temptations which an artist and an enthusiastic young man finds it difficult to withstand. He told me himself, that day after day he has studied in the Louvre dinnerless, and dressed in a garb which scarce retained even the appear- ance of decency. He left Paris, after a two years' residence, as simple in mind and heart as when he entered it, and con- siderably improved in his knowledge of anatomy, and in the technical part of his profession. The treasures of the Louvre, though far inferior to what they now are, had let in a flood of ideas upon his mind, among which (as he described his own feelings) he groped as one bewildered and intoxicated, amazed rather than enlightened. Medon. — But Dannecker must have been poor in spirit as in pocket — simple indeed, if he did not profit by the oppor- tunities which Paris afibrded of studying human nature, noting the passions and their physiognomy, and gaining other experi- ences most useful to an artist. Alda. — There I difller from you. Would you send a young artist — more particularly a young sculptor — to study the human nature of London or Paris ? — to seek tiie ideal among shop- VoL. L— F 62 SKETCHES OF ART, girls and opera-dancers ? Or the sublime and beautiful among the frivolous and degraded of one sex, the money-making or the brutalized of the other? Is it from the man who has steeped his youthful prime in vulgar dissipation, by way of " seeing life," as it is called, who has courted patronage at the convivial board, that you shall require that union of lofty enthusiasm and patient industry, which is necessary, first to conceive the grand and the poetical, then consume long years in shaping out his creation in the everlasting marble ? Mi'.DON. — But how is the sculptor himself to live during those long years 1 It must needs be a hard struggle. I have heard young artists say, that they have been forced on a dissipated life merely as a means of " getting on in the world," as the phrase is. Alda. — So have I. It is so base a plea, that when I hear it, I generally regard it as the excuse for dispositions already perverted. The men who talk thus are doomed ; they will either creep through life in mediocrity and dependence to their grave ; or, at the best, if they have parts, as well as cunning and assurance, they may make themselves the fashion, and make their fortune ; they may be clever portrait-painters and bust-makers, but when they attempt to soar into the his- torical and ideal department of their art, they move the laughter of gods and men ; to them the higher, holier fountains of inspi- ration are thenceforth sealed. Medon. — But think of the temptations of society ! Alda. — I think of those who have overcome them. " Great men have been among us," though they be rare. Have we not had a Flaxman ? But the artist must choose where he will worship. He cannot serve God and Mammon. That man of genius who thinks he can tamper with his glorious gifts, and for a season indulge in social excesses, stoop from his high calling to the dregs of earth, abandon himself to the stream of common life, and trust to his native powers to bring him up again ; — O, believe it, he plays a desperate game ! — one that in nearly ninety-nine cases out of a hundred is fatal. Medon. — I begin to see your drift ; but you would find it difficult to prove that the men who executed those works, on which we now look with wonder and despair, lived like an- chorites, or were unexceptionable moral characters. Alda. — Will you not allow that they worked in a different spirit ? Or do you suppose that it was by the possession of some sleight-of-hand that these things were performed ? — that it was by some knack of chiselling, some secret of colouring LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 63 now lost, that a Phidias or a Correggio still remains unap- proached, and, as people will tell you, unapproachable? Medon. — They had a different nature to work from. Alda. — A different modification of nature, but not a different nature. Nature and truth are one, and immutable, and insep- arable as beauty and love. I do maintain that, in these latter times, we have artists who, in genius, in the power of looking at nature, and in manual skill are not beneath the great an- cients, buL their works are found wanting in comparison ; they have fallen short of the models their early ambition set before them ; and why ? — because, having genius, they want the moral grandeur that should accompany it, and have neglected the training of their own minds from necessity, or from dissi- pation, or from pride, so that, having imagination and skill, they have yet wanted the materials out of which to work. Recollect that the great artists of old were not mere painters, or mere sculptors, who were nothing except with the pencil or the chisel in their hand. They were philosophers, scholars, poets, musicians, noble beings whose eyes were not ever on themselves, but who looked above, before, and after. Our modern artists turn coxcombs, and then fancy themselves like Rafaelle ; or they are greedy of present praise, or greedy of gain ; or they will not pay the price for immortality ; or they have sold their glorious birthright of fame for a mess of pottage. Poor Dannecker found his mess of pottage bitter now and then, as you shall hear. He set off for Italy, in 1783, with his pension raised to four hundred florins a year, that is, about thirty pounds. He reached Rome on foot, and he told me that, for some months after his arrival, he suffered from a terrible depression of spirits, and a painful sense of loneliness ; like Thorwaldson, when he too visited that city some years afterward a friendless youth, he was often home-sick and heart-sick. At this time he used to wander about among the ruins and relics of almighty Rome, lost in the sense of their grandeur, depressed by his own vague aspirations — ignorant, and without courage to apply himself. Luckily for him, Herder and Goethe were then residing at Rome ; he became known to them, and their conversation directed him to higher sources of inspiration in his art than he had yet contemplated — to the very well-heads and mother-streams of poetry. 'I'hey showed him the distinction between the spirit and the form of ancient art. Dannecker felt, and afterward applied some of the grand revelations of these men, who were at once pro- found critics and inspired poets. He might have grasped at more, but that his early nurture was here against him, and 64: SKETCHES OF ART, his subsequent destinies as a court sculptor seldom left him sufficient freedom of thought or action to follow out his owrt conceptions. While at Rome he also became acquainted with Canova, who, although only one year older than himself, had already achieved great things. He was now at work on the monument of the Pope Ganganelli. The courteous, kind- hearted Italian would sometimes visit the poor German in his studio, and cheer him by his remarks and encouragement. Dannecker remained five years at Rome ; he was then or- dered to return to Stuttgard. As he had already greatly dis- tinguished himself, the Duke of Wurtemburg received him with much kindness, and promised him his protection. Now, the protection and the patronage which a sovereign accords to- an artist generally amount to this : — he begins by carving or painting the portraits of his patron, and of some of the various members of his patron's family. If the^e are approved of, he is allowed to stick a riband in his button-hole, and is appointed professor of fine arts, with a certain stipend, and thenceforth his time, his labour, and his genius belong as entirely to his master as those of a hired servant ; his path is marked out for him. It was thus with Dannecker ; he received a pension of eight hundred florins a year and his professorship ; and upon the strength of this he married Henrietta Rapp. From this period his life has passed in a course of tranquil and un- interrupted occupation, yet, though constantly employed, his works are not numerous ; almost every moment being taken up with the duties of his professorship, in trying to teach what mo man of genius can teach, and in making drawings and de- signs after the fancies of the grand duke. He was required to compose a basso-relievo for the duke's private cabinet. The subject which he chose was as appropriate as it was beautifully treated — Alexander pressing his seal upon the lips ofParmenio. He modelled this in bas-relief, and the best judges pronounced it exquisite ; but it did not please the duke, and, instead of receiving an order to finish it in marble, he was obliged to throw it aside, and to execute some design dictated by his master. The original model remained for many years in his studio ; but a short time before my last visit to him he had presented it as a birth-day gift to a friend. The first great work which gave him celebrity as a sculptor was the mausoleum of Count Zeppelin, the duke's favourite, in which the figure of Friendship has much simplicity and grace : this is now at Louisberg. While he was modelling this beautiful figure, the first idea of the Ariadne was suggested to his fancy, but some years elapsed before it came into form.. At tITERATtJEE, AND CHARACTER. 65 this time he was much employed in executing busts, for which his fine eye for living nature and manly simplicity of taste pecuUarly fitted him. In this particular department of his art he has neither equal nor rival, except our Chantrey. The best I have seen are those of Schiller, Gluck, and Lavater. Never are the fine arts, never are great artists, beter em- ployed, than when they serve to illustrate and to immortalize each other ! About the year 1808, Dannecker was considered, beyond dispute, the first sculptor in Germany ; for as yet, Ranch, Tieck, and Schwanthaler had not worked their way up to tiieir present high celebrity. He received, in 1811, an intimation, that if he would enter the service of the King of Bavaria, he should be placed at the head of the school of sculpture at Munich, with a salary three times the amount of that which he at present enjoyed. — Medon. — Which Dannecker declined ? Alda. — He did. Medon. — I could have sworn to it — extempore ! What is more touching in the history of men of genius than that deep and constant attachment they have shown to their early pat- rons ! Not to go back to the days of Horace and Mecaenas, nor even to those of Ariosto and Tasso and the family of Este, or Cellini and the Duke of Florence, or Lucas Kranacb and the Elector John Frederic* — do you remember Mozart's ex* clamation, when he was offered the most magnificent remuner- ation if he would quit the service of Joseph H. for that of the Elector of Saxony — " Shall 1 leave my good Emperor?" In the same manner Metastaaio rejected every inducement to quit the service of Maria Theresa — Alda. — Add Goethe and the Duke of Weimar, and a hun- dred other instances. The difficulty would be to find one, in which the patronage of the great has not been repaid ten thou- sand fold in gratitude and fame. Dannecker's love for his na- tive city, and his native princes, prevailed over his self-inter-, est ; his decision was honourable to his heart ; but it is not less certain that at Munich he would have found more enlight- ened patronage, and a wider scope for his talents. Frederic, the late King of Wurtemburg, who had married our princess- royal, was a man of a coarse mind and profligate habits. Na- poleon had gratified his vulgar ambition by making him a king,, and thereupon he stuck a huge, tawdry gilt crown on the lop * Lucas Kranacli (1472) was one of the most cele))ratc(l of the old German painters ; from a principle of gratitude and attachment, he shared the imprisonment of the elector John Frederic, during five years. F2 66 SKETCHES OF ART, of his palace, the impudent sign of his subservient majesty. I never looked at it without thinking of an overgrown child and its new toy ; he also, to commemorate the acquisition of his kingly titles, instituted the order of the Wurtemburg crown, and Dannecker was gratified by this new order of merit, and a bit of riband in his button-hole. But in the mean time the model of the Ariadne remained in his studio, and it was not till the year 1809 that he could afford to purchase a block of marble, and begin the statue on specu- lation. It occupied him for seven years, but in the interval he completed other beautiful works. The king ordered him to execute a Cupid in marble, for which he gave him the design. It was a design which displeased the pure mind and high taste of Dannecker ; he would not so desecrate his divine art : " c'etait travailler pour le diable !" said he to me, in telling the story. He therefore only half fulfilled his commission ; and, changing the purpose and sentiment of the figure, he repre- sented the Greek Cupid at the moment that he is waked by the drop of burning oil from Psyche's lamp. An English general, I believe Sir John Murray, saw this charming statue, in 1814, and immediately commanded a work from the sculptor's hands : he wished, but did not absolutely require, a duplicate of the statue he so admired. Dannecker, instead of repeating him- self, produced his Psyche, whom he has represented — not as the Greek allegorical Psyche, the bride of Cupid, " with lucent fans, fluttering" — but as the abstract personification of the human soul ; or, to use Dannecker's own words, " Ein rein, sittlich, sinniges Wesen," — a pure, moral, intellectual being. As he had an idea that Love had become moral and sentimental after he had been waked by the drop of burning oil, so I could not help asking him whether this was Psyche, grown reasona- ble after she had beheld the wings of Love ? He has not in this beautiful statue quite accomplished his own idea. It has much girlish grace and simplicity, but it wants elevation ; it is not sufficiently ideal, and will not stand a comparison either with the Psyche of Westmacott or that of Canova. The Ariadne was finished in 1816, but the sculptor was disap- pointed in his hope that this, his masterpiece, would adorn his native city. The king showed no desire to possess it, and it was purchased by M. Bethmann, of Frankfort, for a sum equal to about one thousand pounds. Soon after the Ariadne was finished, Dannecker conceived, in a moment of pious enthusi- asm, his famous statue of the Redeemer, which has caused a great deal of discussion in Germany. This was standing in LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 67 his work-room when we paid our first visit to him. He told me what I had often heard, that the figure had visited him in a dream three several times ; and the good old man firmly be- lieved that he had been divinely inspired, and predestined to the work. While the visionary image was fresh in his imagi- nation, he first executed a small clay model, and placed it be- fore a child of five or six years old ; — there were none of the usual ei'^blematical accompaniments — no cross — no crown of thorns to assist the fancy — nothing but the simple figure roughly modelled • yet the child immediately exclaimed, "The Re- deemer !" and Dannecker was confirmed in his design. Grad- ually the completion of this statue became the one engrossing idea of his enthusiastic mind: for eight years it was his dream by night, his thought by day ; all things else, all the affairs and duties of life, merged into this. He told me that he frequently felt as if pursued, excited by some strong, irresistible power, which would even visit him in sleep, and impel him to rise from his bed and work. He explained to me some of the difiiculties he encountered, and which he was persuaded that he had per- fectly overcome only through divine aid, and the constant study of the Scriptures. They were not few nor trifling. Physical power, majesty, and beauty, formed no part of the character of the Saviour of the world : the glory that was around him was not of this earth, nor visible to the eye ; "there was nothing in him that he should be desired ;" therefore to throw into the im- personation of exceeding humility and benignity a superhuman grace, and from material elements work out a manifestation of abstract moral grandeur — this was surely not only a new and difficult, but a bold and sublime enterprise. You remember Michael Angelo's statue of Christ in the church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva at Rome ? Medon. — Perfectly ; and I never looked at it without think- ing of Neptune and his trident. Alda. — The same thought occurred to me, and must inevi- tably have occurred to others. Dannecker is not certainly so great a man as Michael Angelo, but here he has surpassed him. Instead of emulating the antique models, he has worked in the antique spirit — the spirit of faith and enthusiasm. He has taken a new form in which to clothe a grand poetical con- ception. Whether the being he has represented be a fit subject for the plastic art, has been disputed ; but it appears to me that Dannecker has more nearly approached the Chris- tian ideal than any of his predecessors ; there is nothing to be compared to it, except Titian's Christo della Moneta, and that 68 SKETCHES OF ART, is a head merely. The sentiment chosen by the sculptor is expressed in the inscription on the pedestal : " Through me, to the Father." The proportions of the figure are exceed- ingly slender and delicate ; the attitude a little drooping ; one hand is pressed on the bosom, the other extended ; the lips are unclosed, as in the act to speak. In the head and facial line, by carefully throwing out every indication of the animal propensities, and giving added importance and development to all that indicates the moral and intellectual faculties, he has succeeded in imbodying a species of ideal, of which there is no other example in art. I have heard (not from Dannecker himself) that, when the head of the Jupiter Tonans was placed beside the Christ, the merely physical grandeur of the former, compared with the purely intellectual expression of the latter, reminded every one present of a lion's head erect and humanized. Medon. — But what were your own impressions ? After all this eulogium, which I believe to be just, tell me frankly, were you satisfied yourself? Alda. — No — not quite. The expression of the mouth in the last finished statue (he has repeated the subject three times) is not so fine as in the model, and the simplicity of the whole bordered on meagerness. This, I think, is a general fault in all Dannecker's works. He has, of course, avoided nudity, but the flowing robe, which completely envelopes the figure, is so managed as to disclose the exact form of the limbs. One little circumstance will give you an idea of the attention and accuracy with which he seized and imbodied every touch of individual character conveyed in holy writ. In the original model he had made the beard rather full and thick, and a little curled, expressing the prime of manhood ; but recollecting that in the gospel the Saviour is represented as sinking under the weight of the cross, which the first man they met acci- dentally was able to carry, he immediately altered his first conception, and gave to the beard that soft, flowing, downy texture which is supposed to indicate a feeble and delicate temperament. I shall not easily forget the countenance of the good and gifted old man, as, leaning on the pedestal, with his cap in his hand, and his long gray hair waving round his face, he looked up at his work with a mixture of reverence and exultation, sayi-ng, in his imperfect and scarce intelligible French, " Oui, quand on a fait comme cela, on reste sur la terre !" meaning, I suppose, that this statue had insured his immortality on earth,. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 69 He added, " They ask me often where are the models after which I worked ? and I answer, here, and here ,•" laying his hand first on liis head, then on his heart. I remember that when we first entered his room he was at work on one of the figures for the tomb of the late Queen Cathe- rine of Wurtemburg. You perhaps recollect her in England when only Duchess of Oldenburg? Medon. — Yes ; I remember, as a youngster, joining the mob who shouted before the windows of the Pulteney-hotel, and hailed her and her brother Alexander as if they had been a newly d8ot;ended Jupiter and Juno ! O verily, times are changed ! Alda. — But in that woman there were the elements of a fine nature. She had the talents, the strength of mind, and far- reaching ambition of her grandmother, Catherine of Russia, but was not so perverted. During her short reign as Queen of Wurtemburg, the influence of her active mind was felt through the whole government. She founded, among other institutions, a school for the daughters of the nobility con- nected with the court, — in plain English, a charity-school for the nobility of Wurtemburg, who are among the, most indigent and most ignorant of Germany. There are a few, very few brilliant exceptions. One lady of rank said to me, "As to an English governess, that is an advantage I never can hope to have for my daughters. The princesses have an English governess, but we cannot dream of such a thing." The late queen really deserved the regrets of her people. The king, whose sluggish mind she ruled or stimulated, is now devoted to his stables and hunting. He has married another wife, but he has erected to the honour of Catherine a splendid mauso- leum, on the peak of a high hill, which can be seen from almost every part of the city ; and on the summer evenings when the red sunset falls upon its white columns, it is a beau- tiful object. The figure on wliich Dannecker was occupied, represented prayer, or what he called, " La triomphe de la Priere ;" it recalled to my mind Flaxman's lovely statue of the same subject, — the " Our Father which art in heaven," but suffered by the involuntary comparison. On the rough base of the statue he had tried to spell the name of Chantrey, but not very successfully. I took up a bit of chalk and wrote underneath in distinct characters, Francis Chantkey. " I grow old," said he, looking from his work to the bust of the late queen, which stood opposite. " I have carved the effigies of three generations of poets, and as many of princes. 70 SKETCHES OF ART, Twenty years ago I was at work on the tomb of the Duke of Oldenburg, and now I am at work upon hers who gave me that order. All die away : soon I shall be left alone. Of my early friends none remain but Goiithe. I shall die before him, and perhaps he will write my epitaph." He spoke with a smile, not foreseeing that he would be the survivor. Three years after* I again paid Dannecker a visit, but a change had come over him ; his feeble, trembling hand could no longer grasp the mallet or guide the chisel ; his eyes were dim ; his fine benevolent countenance wore a childish, vacant smile, now and then crossed by a gleam of awakened memory or thought — and yet he seemed so perfectly happy ! He walked backwards and forwards, from his Christ to his bust of Schiller, with an unwearied self-complacency, in which there was something mournful, and yet delightful. While I sat looking at the magnificent head of Schiller, the original of the multifarious casts and copies which are dispersed through all Germany, he sat down beside me, and taking my hands between his own, which trembled with age and nervous emo- tion, he began to speak of his friend. " Nous etions amis d^s I'enfance ; aussi j'y ai travaille avec amour, avec douleur — on ne peut pas plus faire." He then went on — " When Schiller came to Louisberg, he sent to tell me that he was very ill — that he should not live very long, and that he wished me to execute his bust. It was the first wish of my own heart. I went immediately. When I entered the house, I found a lady sitting on the canape — it was Schiller's wife, and I did not know her ; but she knew me. She said, ' Ah ! you are Dannecker ! — Schiller expects you ;' then she ran into the next room, where Schiller was lying down on a couch, and in a moment after he came in, exclaiming as he entered, ' Where is he? where is Dannecker?' That was the moment — the expression I caught — you see it here — the head raised, the countenance full of inspiration, and affection, and bright hope ! I told him that to keep up this expression he must have some of his best friends to converse whh him while I took the model, for I could not talk and work too. O if I could but remember what glorious things then fell from those lips ! Sometimes I stopped in my work — I could not go on — I could only listen." And here the old man wept ; then suddenly changing his mood, he said — " But I must cut off that long hair ; he never wore it so ; it is not in the fashion, you know !" I begged him for * In September, 1833. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 71 Heaven's sake not to touch it ; he then, with a sad smile, turned up the sleeve of his coat and showed me his wrist, swollen with the continual use of his implements — "You see I cannot .'" And I could not help wishing, at the moment, that while his mind was thus enfeebled, no transient return of physical strength might enable him to put his wild threat in execution. What a noble bequest to posterity is the effigy of a great man, when executed in such a spirit as this of Schiller ! I assure you I could not look at it without feeling my heart " overflow in silent worship" of moral and intellectual power, till the deiiication of great men in the old times appeared to me rather religion than idolatry. I have been affected in the same manner by the busts of Goethe, Scott, Homer, Milton, Howard, Newton ; never by the painted portraits of the same men, however perfect in resemblance and admirable in exe- cution. Medon. — Painting gives us the material, sculpture the ab- stract, ethical aspect of the man. In the bust, whatever is commonplace, familiar, and actual, is thrown out or kept down : in a picture it is not only retained, but in most cases it is necessarily obtrusive. Goethe, in a blue coat and metal buttons, and a white neckcloth, would not recall the author of the " Iphigenia ;" still less does that wrinkled, decrepit-looking face in the gallery at Hardwicke portray Boyle the phi- losopher. Alda. — Dannecker told me that he first modelled the head of Schiller the exact size of life, and conscientiously rendered each, even the slightest, individual trait ; yet this head appeared to every one smaller than nature, and to himself almost mes- quin* He was in despair. He repeated the bust in colossal size; and the development of the intellectual organization on a larger scale immediately gave what was wanting : — it ap- peared to the eye or to the mind's eye as only the size of life. He showed me a beautiful basso-relievo of the Muse of Tra- gedy, listening with an inspired look to the revelations of the Muse of History. 'J'liis admirable little group struck me the more, because long ago I had clothed nearly the same idea in imperfect words. I took leave of Dannecker with emotion : I shall never see him again ! But lie is one of those who cannot die ; to use his own expression — " Quand on a fait comme cela, on reste sur la terre." When Canova, then a melancholy invalid, paid * His own expression. 72 SKETCHES OF ART, him a visit, he was struck by the child-Hke simplicity, the pure unworldly nature, the genuine goodness, and lively happy tem- perament of the German sculptor, that he gave him the sur- name of il Beato ; and if the epithet blessed can, with propriety, be bestowed on any mortal, it is on him whose long life has been one of labour and of love ; who has left behind him last- ing memorials of his genius ; who has never profaned the tal- ents which God has given him to any unworthy purpose : — but in the midst of all the beautiful and exciting influences of poetry and art, has kept from youth to age a soul serene, a conscience and a life pure in the sight of God and man. Such was our own Flaxman — such is Dannecker ! Medon. — Who are now the principal sculptors in Germany? Alda. — Rauch, of Berlin ; Christian Frederic Tieck, the brother of the celebrated poet and critic, Ludwig Tieck ; and Schwanthaler, of Munich. Rauch is the court sculptor of Berim. He has, like Dannecker,* his professorship, his order of merit,! and, I believe, one or two places under the govern- ment, besides constant employment in his art. He works by the piece, as the labourers say. But though he too has yoked his genius to the car of power and patronage, he has done great things. The statue of the late queen of Prussia is reckoned his chef-d'(eiwre, and is not, perhaps, exceeded in modern sculp- ture. It was conceived and worked out in all the inspiration of love and grief; as Dannecker would say, " Mit Lieb und Schmerzen." He had been attached to the queen's personal service, and shared, in an intense degree, the enthusiastic, de- voted aflection with which all her subjects regarded that beau- tiful and amiable woman. This statue he executed at Carrara ; and a living eagle, which had been taken captive among the Appenines, was the original of that magnificent eagle he has placed at her feet : — nothing, you see, like going at once to nature ! In the course of twenty-five years, Rauch has executed sixty-nine busts, of which twenty are colossal. Among his numerous other works, designed or executed within the same time, there is the colossal statue of Blucher, now at Breslau ; this is in bronze, upon a granite pedestal. There is another statue of Blucher at Berlin, of which the pedestal, rich with bas-reliefs, is also in bronze. Rauch has been employed for * Dannecker has been ennobled ; his proper titles run thus — Johan Hienrich von Dannecker, Hofrath (court counsellor), knight of the orders of the Wurtemburg crown, and of Wladimar, and professor of sculpture at Stuttgard. t Rauch is knight of the Red Eagle, and member of the senate. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 73 the last twenty years in modelling field-marshals and generals, and has devoted his best powers to vanquish the difficulties presented by monotonous faces, drilled figures, military uni- forms, and regimental boots and buttons ; and all that man can do, I am told, he has done. I have seen some of his busts, which are quite admirable. At Peterstein, near Munich, I saw his statue of a little girl, about ten years old, which, in its sim- plicity, truth, and elegance, reminded me of Chantrey's Lady Louisa Russell, though in conception and manner as distinct as possible. The full length of Goethe, in his dressing-gown, of which thei* is such an infinitude of casts and copies through- out Germany, is also by Rauch. Christian Tieck. is the old and intimate friend of Rauch. They livo, or did live, under the same roof, and it is not known that a moment of jealousy or rivaiship ever disturbed the union between these two celebrated and gifted men, who, starting nearly at the same time,* have run their brilliant career to- gether in the self-same path, and, whatever judgment the world or posterity may form of their comparative merits, seem determined to enter the temple of immortality hand in hand. Tieck's works are dispersed from one end of Germany to the other. His statue of Neckar, his busts of Madame de Stael, of her second husband Rocca, of the Duke and Duchess de Broglie, and of A. W. Schlegel, I have seen ; and all, particu- larly the busts of Rocca and Schlegel, are exceedingly fine. At Munich, at Dresden, and at Weimar, I saw many of his works; and at Manheim the bust of JMadame de Heygendorf,t * Christian Rauch was born in 1777, and Christian Frederic Tieck in 1776. t 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 orij^lnal Thekla of the Wallenstein, and tbe original Princess Leonora of the Tasso. In these two characters she has never yet been equalled. The quietness, amountinir to passiveness, in Xheexlcrnal delineation of the princess in Tasso, affords so little ma- terial for the stage, that Madame Wolff, then the first actress, preferred the character of Leonora Sanvitale, and Madame .lageman 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 imagina- tion might not be profaned by any tasteless exaggeration of action or ex- pression. 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 Vol. L— G 74 SKETCHES OF ART, full of beauty, and life, and expression. At Berlin, Tieck has been employed for many years in designing and executing the sculptured ornaments of the new theatre. There is a colossal Apollo ; a Pegasus, striking the fountain of Helicon from the rock, colossal Muses, and a variety of other heathen perpetra- tions — all (as I am assured) exceedingly fine in their way. I believe his seated statue of Iffland (the Garrick of Germany) is considered one of his chef-iTceuvres. He also, like Rauch, has been much employed in modelling generals, and trophies in memory of the late war. Schwanthaler, the son of a statuary of Munich, is still a young man ; his works first began to create a sensation in Germany in the year 1823. In spirit and fire, and creative talent, in a fine classic feeling for his art, he appeared to me to be treading in the steps of Flaxman, and, like Mm, he is a pro- found and accomplished scholar, who has sought inspiration at the very fountain of Greek poetry. His basso relievo of the battle of the ships in the Iliad, his games of Greece, his designs from the theogony of Hesiod, and a variety of other works which I have seen, appeared to me full of imagination, and in a pure and vigorous style of art. Of him, and some other sculptors, you will find more particulars in the note-book I kept at Munich ; we will look over it together one of these days. Medon. — Thank you ; but I must needs ask you a question. In the works you have enumerated, nothing has struck me as new, or in a new spirit, except perhaps the Christ of Dan- necker, and the statue of the Queen of Prussia. Now, why should not sculpture have its Gothic (or romantic) school, as well as its antique or classical school ? Alda. — And has it not ? Medon. — If you allude to the sculpture of the middle ages, that has not become a school of art, like their architecture and their painting : yet can it be true that there is something in our modern institutions, our northern descent, our Christian faith, inimical to the spirit of sculpture ? — and, while poetry in every other form is regenerate around us, that in sculpture alone we are doomed to imitate, never to create ? — doomed to the ser- vile reproduction of the same ideas 1 that this alone, of all the fine arts, is to belong to some peculiar mode of existence, some peculiar mode of thinking, feeling, and believing ? " Qui me beauty, fitted her to represent the fair, gentle, fragile, but dignified Leonora. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 75 delivrera des Grecs et des Remains ?" — who will deliver me from gods and goddesses, and from all these " Repetitions, wearisome of sense, Where soul is dead, and feeling hath no place 1" Alda. —You are little better than a heretic in these matters. But I will admit thus much — that the classical and mytho- logical sculpture of our modern artists is to the ancient marbles what Racine's tragedies are to those of Sophocles ; that we are so far condemned to the " repetition wearisome of forms^'' from which the ancient spirit has evaporated ; but that is not the fault of the subjects, but the manner of treating them, for never can the beautiful mythology of ancient Greece, which has woven itself into our earliest dreams of poetry, become a " creed outworn." Its forms, and its symbols, and its imagery have mingled with every branch of art, and become a universal language. It is the deification of the material world ; and therefore that art, which in its perfection may be called the apotheosis of form, finds there its proper region and element. Medon. — You do not suppose that, with all my Gothic tastes, I am such a Goth as not to feel the truth of what you say ? But I am an enemy to the exclusive in every thing ; and — pardon me — your worship of the Elgin marbles and the Niobe is, I think, a little too exclusive. All I ask is, that modern sculpture should be allowed, like painting and poetry, to have its romantic as well as its classical school. Alda. — It has been otherwise decided. Medon. — But it has not been otherwise proved. There has been much theoretical eloquence and criticism expended on the subject, but I deny that the experiment has been fairly and practically brought before us. I know very well you are ready with a thousand instances of attempt and failure, but may we not seek the cause in the mistaken application of certain classical, or I should say pedantic, ideas on the subject \ If I ask for Milton's Satan, standing like a tower in his spiritual miglit, his thunder-scarred brew wreathed with the diadem of hell, why am I to be presented with an Athlete, or an Achilles J "Why would Canova give us for the head of Dante's Beatrice that of a muse, or an Aspasia \ and for Betrarch's Laura, a mere tele de nymphe 1 I contend, that to apply the forms suggested by the modern poetry demands a different spirit from that of classic art. How to apply or modify the example bequeathed to us by the great masters of old, Flaxraan has shown us in his 76 SKETCHES OP ART, ETC. Dante. And why should we not have in sculpture a Lear -s then, may a woman be vain with a good srace, and betray it without ridicule 1 By vanity, I mean now, a great wish to please, mingled with a consciousness of the powers of pleasir.g, and not what Madame Roland describes, — " cette ambition constante, ce soin perpetuel d'occuper de soi, et de paraitre autre ou meilleur que Ton n'est en effet," for this is diseased vanity. ***** Dr. Martius* 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 difl^erent ladies of the court, whom he is said to have particu- larly 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 mus.s es sich gestalten, Wenn es kraftig wirkend soil ersteh'n ; Aus dem Her/en nur kann sich entfalten, Das was wahrh^ft wird zum Herzen geh'n. * The celebrated traveller, natural philosopher, and botanist. He has the direction of most of the scientific institutions at Munich. 128 SKETCHES OF ART, Ja ! ihr nehmct rs aus reinen Tiefen, Fromm und einfach, wie die Vorwelt war, Weekend die Geftihle, welche schliefen, Ehrend zeugt's von Euch und immerdar. Sklavisch an das Alte euch 7.u halten, Eures Strebens Zweck ist dieses nicht Seyd gefasst von himmlischen Gewalten, Dringet rastlos zu dein liehren 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 patronise, the sentiment to feel, the genius to celebrate art, are rarely united, even in individ- uals. He must be a noble being, — a genius born in the purple, on whose laurels there rests not a blood-stain, perhaps not even a tear ! This is aholyday. 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 recognised as a stranger, and everyone 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 suid girls of Munich, soldiers, travelling students. I was much LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 129 amused. While the cicerone held forth, some merely won- dered with foolish faces, some admired, some looked intelli- gent, 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 peo- ple 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 Ba- varian 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 ex- penses of two of his sons. The king is said to be economi- cal in the extreme in his domestic expenses, and not very gen- erous in money to those around him — unlike his open-hearted, open-handed father, Max-Joseph ; in short, there are grum- blers 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 hands. Oct. 1.3. — 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 ex- cellent 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 Schroder Devrient. Other singers have more or less talent and feeling, more or less compass of voice, facility, or agility ; but these three wo- men possess genius, and stamp on every thing they do their 130 SKETCHES OF AHT, own individual character. Of the three, Pasta is the grandest and most finished artist ; Malibran the most versatile in power and passion ; while Schroder 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.* So far we were agreed ; but as the conver- sation went on, I was doomed to listen to a torrent of common- place and sarcastic criticism on the private habits of these and other women of the same profession : one was accused of vul- garity, 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 oc- cupations 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 in- flammable 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 re- moval ? They are evils which press upon few, but are re- flected 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 morn- ing after morning at the gallery of the Hofgarten, at Schleiss- * 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 .'" LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 131 heim, and at the Due 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 methodise my own impressions. Professor Zimmerinann tells me that the King of Bavaria possesses upwards of three thousand pictures : of these about seventeen hundred are at Schleisslieim, nine hundred in the Munich gallery, and the rest distributed tiirough various pal- aces. The national gallery, or Pinakothek, which is now build- ing under the direction of Leo von Klenze, is destined to con- tain a sel«ction from these multilarious 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 Deuxponis, and the electors of Bavaria, all sovereign houses, and descended from Otto von Wittelsbach, who received the investiture of the dukedom of Bavaria in 1 ISO. Tlius it is that the celebrated gallery once at Dusseldorf, formed under the ausjiices 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 Ru- bens who has not siudipd him at Antwerp and Dusseldorf. I begin to leel the truth of this. My devoted worship of the Ital- ian 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 lux- ury and connoisseurship, or u«V a striking moment : for while the outer circle of military remained immoveable as statues, the soldiers within, both those with and those without uniforms, finding themselves out of ear-shot, advanced a few steps, and then breaking their ranks, pressed forward in a confused mass, surrounding the king and his officers in the most eager but respectful manner. I could not distinguish one sentence of the harangue, which, as I afterward heard, was any thing rather than satisfactory. I heard it remarked around me that the Duke de Leuchten- berg (the son of Eugene Beauharnais) was not present, neither as one of the royal cortege nor as a spectator. The whole lasted about twenty minutes. The day was cold ; and, in truth, the ceremony was cold, in every sense ■of the word. The Karoline-Platz is so large that not a third part of the open space was occupied. Had the people, who lingered sullen and discontented outside the military barrier, been admitted under proper restrictions, it had been a grand and imposing sight ; but perhaps the king is following the Austrian tactics, and seeking to crush systematically every thing like feeling or enthusiasm in his people. I know not how he will manage it ; for he is himself the very antipodes of Austrian carelessness and sluggishness : a restless enthu- siast — fond of intellectual excitement — fond of novelty — with no natural taste, one would think, for Metternich's vieilleries. If he adopt Austrian principles, his theory and his practice, his precept and example, will always be at variance. At the con- clusion of the ceremony the king and his suite rode up to the platform and saluted the queen : and when she — who is so uni- versally and truly beloved here that I believe the people would 168 SKETCHES OP ART, die for her at any time — rose to depart, I heard a cheer, the first and last this day ! The disbanded soldiers approached the plat/brm, at first timidly by twos and threes, and then in great numbers, taking off their hats. She stood up, leaning on the Princess Matilda, and bowed. The royal cortege then disappeared. Tlie military bands struck up, and one battalion after another filed off. I expected that the crowd would have rushed in, but the people seemed completely chilled and dis- gusted. Only a few appeared. In about half an hour the obelisk was left alone in its solitude. I spent the rest of the day with Madame de V , and re- turned home quite tired and depressed. 1 understand this morning (Saturday) that the king has ordered a gratuity and dinner to be given to the disbanded soldiers. 1 hope it is true. King Louis ! You ought at least to understand your metier de Roi better than to degrade the " pomp and circumstance of glorious war" in the eyes of your people, and make them feel for what a poor recompense they may fight, bleed, die — be made at once victims and execu- tioners in the contests of royal and ambitious gamblers ! I saw to-day, at the house of the court banker, Eichthal, a most charming picture by the Baroness de Freyberg, the sister of ray good friend M. Stuntz. It is a Madonna and child, loveliest of subjects for a woman and a mother ! — she is sure to put her heart into it, at least ; but, in this particular picture, the surpassing delicacy of touch, the softness and purity of the colouring, the masterly drawing in the hands of the Virgin, and the limbs of the child, equalled the feeling and the expression — and, ill truth, surprised me. Madame de Freyberg gave this picture to her father, who is not rich, and, unhappily, blind. Of him the present possessor purchased it for fifteen hundred florins (about 140/.), and now values it at twice the sum. In the possession of her brother I have seen others of her pro- ductions, and particularly a head of one of his children, of ex- ceeding beauty, and very much in the old Italian style. In the evening, a very lively and amusing .?o?Vee at the house of Dr. Martins. We had some very good music. Young Vieux-tempr>, a pupil of De Beriot, was well accompanied by an orchestra of an^.ateurs. I met here also a young lady of whom I had heard much — Josephine Lang, looking so gentle, so unpretending, so imperturbable, that no one would have ac- cused or suspected her of being one of the Muses in disguise, until she sat down to the piano, and sang her own beautiful and original compositions in a style peculiar to herself. She is a LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 169 musician by nature, by choice, and by profession, exercising her rare talent with as much modesty as good-nature. The painter Zimmermann, who has a magnificent bass voice, sung for me Mignon's song — " Kennst du das Land !" And, lastly, which was the most interesting amusement of t^ie evening, Karl von Holtei read aloud the second act of Goethe's Tasso. He read most admirably, and with a voice which kept attention enchained, enchanted ;, still it was genuine reading. He kept equally clear of acting and of declamation. Oct. 20t/i. Sunday. — I went with M. Stuntz to hear a grand mass at liie royal chapel. ****** 21st.' it rained this morning: — went to the gallery, and amused myself for two hours walking up and down the rooms, sometimes pausing upon my favourite pictures, sometimes abandonr-d to the reveries suggested by these glorious creations of the human intellect. " 'Tvvas like the bright procession Of skiey visions in a solemn dream, From which men wake as from a paradise, And draw fresli strength to tread the thorns of life !" While looking at the Castor and Pollux of Rubens, I re- membered what the biographers asserted of this most wonderful man — that he spoke fluently seven languages, besides being profoundly skilled in many sciences, and one of the most ac- complished diplomatists of his time. Before he took up his palette in the morning, he was accustomed to read, or hear read, some fine passages out of the ancient poets ; and thus releasing his soul from the trammels of low-thoughted care, he let her loose into the airy regions of imagination. What Goethe says of poets must needs be applicable to painters. He says, " If we look only at the principal produc- tions of a poet, and neglect to study himself, his character, and the circumstances with which he had to contend, we fall into a sort of atheism, which forgets the Creator in his creation." I think most people admire pictures in this sort of atheistical fashion ; yet, next to loving pictures, and all the pleasure they give, and revelling in all the feelings they awaken, all the new ideas with which they enrich our mental hoard — next to this, or equal with it, is the inexhaustible interest of studying the painter in his works. It is a lesson in human nature. Almost every picture (which is the production of mind) has an indi- VOL. I.— P 170 SKKTCIIES OF ART, vidual character, reflocting the predominant temperament — nay, sometimes the occasional mood of the artist, its creator. Even portrait painters, renowned for their exact adherence to nature, will be found to iiave stamped upon their ponraits a general and disiinguishing character. There is, besides the physiognomy of the individual represented, the physiognomy, if I may so express myself, of the picture ; detected at once by the mere connoisseur as a distinction of manner, style, execu- tion : but of wbich the reflecting and philosophical observer might discover the key in the mind or life of the individual painter. In the heads of Titian, what subtlety of intellect mixed with sentiment and passion ! In those of Velasquez, what chivalrous grandeur, what high-hearted contemplation ! When Ribera painted a head — what power of sufferance ! In those of Gior- gione, what profound feeling ! In those of Guido, what elysian grace ! In those of Rubens, what energy of intellect — what vigorous life ! In those of Vandyke, what high-bred elegance! In those of Rembrandt, what intense individuality ! Could Sir Joshua Reynolds have painted a vixen without giving her a touch of sentiment? Would not Sir Thomas Lawrence have given re- finement to a cook-inaid ? I do believe that Opie would have made even a calf's head look sensible, as Gainsborough made our Queen Charlotte look picturesque. If 1 should whisper thai since I came to Germany I have not seen one really fine modern portrait, the Germans would never forgive me; they would fall upon me with a score of great names — Wach, Slieler, Vogel, Schadow — and beat me, like Chrimhilde, " black and blue." But before they are angry, and absolutely condemn me, I wish they would place one of their own most admired portraits beside those of Titian or Vandyke, or come to England, and look upon our school of portraiture here ! I think they would allow, that with all their merits thev are in the wrong road. Admirable finished drawing, wonderful dexterity of hand, exquisite and most conscientious truth of imitation they have ; but they abuse these powers. They do not seem to feel the application of the highest, grand- est principles of art to portrait painting — they think too much of the accessories. Are not these clever and accomplished men aware that imitation may be carried so far as to cease to be nature — to be error, not truth ? For instance, by the common laws of vision, I can behold perfectly only one thing at a time. If I look into the face of a person I love or venerate, do I see first the embroidery of the canezou or the pattern on the waist- LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 171 coat ? if not — why should it not be so in a picture ? The vulgar eye alone is caught by such misplaced skill — the vulgar artist only ought to seek to captivate by such means. These would sound in England as the most trite and imper- tinent remarks — the most self-evident propositions : neverthe- less they are truths which the generality of the German por- trait painters and their admirers have not yet felt. # * * * * * I drove, with ray kind-hearted friends M. and Madame Stuntz, to Thalkirchen, the country-house of the Baron de Freyberg. The road pursued the banks of the rapid, impetu- ous Isar, and the range of the Tyrolian Alps bounded the pros- pect befL>re us. An hour's drive brought us to Thalkirchen, where we were obviously quite unexpected, but that was nothing : I was at once received as a friend, and introduced without ceremony to Madame de Freyberg's painting room. Though now the fond mother of a large little family, she still finds some moments to devote to her art. On her easel was the portrait of the Countess M (the sister of De Freyberg), with her child, beautifully painted — particularly the latter. In the same room was an unhiiished portrait of M. de Freyberg, evidently painted con amore, and full of spirit and character ; a head of Cupid, and a piping boy, quite in the Italian manner and feeling ; and a picture of the birth of St. .lohn, exquisitely finished. I was most struck by the heads of two Greeks — members, I believe, of the deputation to King Otho — painted with her peculiar delicacy and transparency of colour, and, at the same time, with a breadth of style and a freedom in the handling which I have not yet seen among the German por- trait painters. A glance over a portfolio of loose sketches and unfinished designs added to my estimation of her talents. She excels in children — her own serving her as models. I do not hesitate to say of this gifted woman, that while she equals An- gelica Kauffman in grace and delicacy, she far exceeds her in power, both of drawing and colouring. She reminded me more of the Sofonisba,* but it is a different and, I think, a more delicate style of colour than I have observed in the pic- tures of the latter. We had coffee, and then strolled through ilie grounds — the children playing around us. If I was struck by the genius and accomplishments of Madame de Freyberg, I was not less Sofonisba Augusciola, one of the most charming of portrait painters. She died in 1626, at the age of ninety-three. 173 SKETcnrs of art, charmed by the frank and nolile manners of her husband, and his honest love and admiration of his wife, whom he married in despite of all prejudices of birth and rank. In tliis truly German dwelling there was an extreme sim- plicity, a sort of negligent elegance, a picturesque and refined homeliness, the presiding influence of a most poetical mind and eye everywhere visible, and a total indifl^erence to what we English denominate comfort ; yet with the obvious presence of that crowning comfort of all comforts — cordial domestic love and union — which impressed me altogether with pleasant ideas, long after borne in my mind, and not yet, nor ever to be, effaced. How little is needed for happiness, when we have not been spoiled in the world, nor our tastes vitiated by artifi- cial wants and habits ! When the hour of departure came, and De Freyberg was handing me to the carriage, he made me advance a few steps, and pause to look round ; he pointed to the western sky, still flushed with a bright geranium tint, between the amber and the rose ; while against it lay the dark purple outline of the 'IVrolian mountains. A branch of the Isar, which just above the house overflowed and spread itself into a wide still pool, mirrored in its clear bosom, not only the glowing sky and the huge dark mountains, and the banks and trees blended into black formless masses, but the very stars above our heads ; — it was a heavenly scene ! — " You will not forget this," said De Freyberg, seeing I was touched to the heart ; " you will think of it when you are in England, and in recalling it, you will perhaps remember us — who will not for- get you ! Adieu, madame !" Afterward to the opera : it was Herold's " Zampa :" noisy, riotous music, which I hate. I thought Madame Scheckner's povvers misplaced in this opera — yet she sang magnificently. Spent the morning with Dr. Martius, looking over the beau- tiful plates and illustrations of his travels and scientific works. It appears, from what he told me, that the institution of the bo- tanic garden is recent, and is owing to the late king Max-Jo- seph, who was a generous patron of scientific and benevolent institutions — as munificent as his son is magnificent. One of the most interesting monuments in Munich is the tomb of Eugene Beauharnais, in the church of St. Michael. It is by Thorwaldson, and one of his most celebrated works. It is finely placed, and all the parts are admirable : but I think it wants completeness and entireness of eflect, and does not toll its story well. Upon a lofty pedestal, there is first, in the centre, the colossal figure of the duke stepping forward ; on& LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 173 hand is pressed upon his heart, and the other presents the civic crown — (but to whom?) — his military accoutrements lie at his feet. The drapery is admirably managed, and the atti- tude simple and full of dignity. On his left is the beautiful and well-known group of the two genii. Love and Life, looking disconsolate. On the right, the seated muse of History is in- scribing the virtues and exploits of the hero ; and as, of all the satellites of Napoleon, Eugene has left beliind the fairest name, I looked at her and her occupation with complacency. The .statue is, moreover, exceedingly beautiful and expressive — so are the genii ; and ilie figure of Eugene is magnificent ; and yet the combination of the whole is not effective. Another fault is tne colour of tlie marble, which has a gray tinge, and ought at least to h ive been relieved by constructing the pedes- tal and accompaniments of black marble ; whereas they are of a reddish hue. The widow of Eugene, the eldest sister of the King of Bava- ria, raised this monument to her husband at an expense of eighty thousand florins. As the whole design is classical, and otherwise in the purest taste and grandest style of art, I ex- claimed with horror at the sight of a vile heraldic crown which is lying at the feet of the muse of History. I was sure that Tliorwaldson would never voluntarily have committed such a solecism. I was informed that the princess-widow insisted on the introduction of this piece of barbarity as emblematical of the viceroyaUy of Italy ; any royalty being apparently better than none. I remember that when travelling in the Netherlands, at a time when the people were celebrating the Fete-Dieit, I saw a village carpenter busily employed in erecting a riposoir for the Madonna, of painted boards and draperies and wreaths of flow- ers. In the mean time, as if to deprecate criticism, he had chalked in large letters over his work, " La critique est aisee, mats Vart est diffcile.'''' I could not help smiling at this appli- cation of one of those undeniable truisms which no one thinks it necessary to remember. When I recall the pleasure I de- rived from this noble work of Thorwaldson, all the genius, all the skill, all the patience, all the time, expended on its pro- duction, I think the foregoing trifling criticisms appear very ungrateful and impertinent ; and yet, as a friend of mine insisted, when I was once upon a time pleading for mercy on certain defects and deficiencies in some other walk of art, " Toleration is the nurse of mediocrity." Artists themselves, as I often observe,— even the vainest of thera — prefer discriminating ad- P2 174 SKETCHES OF ART, miration to wholesale praise. In the Frauen Kirche there is another most admirable monument, a chnfd'oeuvre, in the Gothic style. It is the tomb of the Emperor Louis of liavaria, Avho died excommunicated in 1347; a stupendous work, cast in bronze. At tlie four corners are four colossal knights kneeling, in complete armour, each bearing a lance and en- sign, and guarding the recumbent effigy of the emperor, which lies beneath a magnificent Gothic canopy. At the two sides are standing colossal figures, and I suppose about eight or ten other figures, on a smaller scale, all of admirable design and work- manship.* It should seem that in the sixteenth century the art of casting in bronze was not only brought to the highest perfec- tion in Germany, but found employment on a very grand scale. In the evening there was a concert at the Salle de I'Odeon -^the third I have attended since I came here. This concert room is larger than any public room in London, and admirably constructed for music. Over the orchestra, in a semicircle, are the busts of the twelve great German composers who have flourished during the last hundred years, beginning with Han- del and Bach, and ending with Weber and Beethoven. On this occasion the hall was crowded. We had all the best performers of Munich, led by the Kapelmeister Stuntz, and Scheckner and Meric, who sang « Venvie Vune de Vautre^ The concert began at seven, and ended a little after nine ; and much as I love music, I felt I had had enough. They certainly manage these social pleasures much better here than in London, where a grand concert almost invariably proves a most awful bore, from which we return wearied, yawning, jarred, satiated. Count amused me this evening with his laconic sum- ming up of the rise, progress, and catastrophe of a Polish amour : — se passioner, se battre, se miner, enlever, epouser, et divorcer ; and so ends this six-act tragico-comico-heroica pastoral. 23(i. — To-day went over the Pinakothek (the new grand national picture-gallery) with M. de Klenze, the architect, and Coiivtesse de V . This is the second time ; but I have not yet a clear and connected idea of the general design, the building being still in progress. As far as I can understand the arrangements, they will be admirable. The destination of * I regret that I omitted to note the name of the artists of this magni- ficent work. There is a .still more admirable monument of the same pe- riod in the church at Inspruck, the tomb of the archduke Ferdinand of Tyrol, consisting, I believe, of twelve colossal statues in bronze. LITEEATUEE, AND CHARACTER. 175 the edifice seems to have been the first thing kept in view. The situation of particular pictures has been calculated, and accurate experiments have been made for the arrangement of the hght, &c. Professor Zimmermann has kindly promised to take me over the whole once more. He has the direction of the fresco paintings here. ****** Society is becoming so pleasant, and engagements of every kind so muUifarious, that I have little time for scribbling memo- randa. New characters unfold before me, new scenes of in- terest occupy my thoughts. I find myself surrounded with friends, where only a few weeks ago 1 had scarcely one ac- quaint-aice. Time ought not to linger — and yet it does some- times. Our circumstances alter ; our opinions change ; our passions die ; our hopes sicken, and perish utterly : our spirits are broken ; our health is broken, and even our hearts are broken : but WILL survives — the unconquerable strength of will, which is in later life what passion is when young. In this world, there is always something to be done or suffered, even when there is no longer any thing to be desired or attained. The Glypihothek is at certain hours open to strangers onli/^ and strangers do not at present abound : hence it has twice happened that I have found myself in the gallery alone — to-day for the second time. I felt that, under some circumstances, an hour of solitude in a gallery of sculpture may be an epoch in one's life. There was not a sound, no living thing near, to break the stdlness ; and lightly, and with a feeling of awe, I trod the marble pavements, looking upon the calm, pale, mo- tionless forms around me, almost expecting they would open their marble lips and speak to me — or, at least, nod — like the statue in Don Giovanni : and still, as the evening shadows fell deeper and deeper, they waxed, methought, sadder, paler, and more life-like. A dim unearthly glory effused those graceful limbs and perfect forms, of which the exact outline was lost, vanishing into shade, while the sentiment — the ideal — of their immortal loveliness remained disthict, and became every mo- ment more impressive : and thus they stood ; and their melan- choly beauty seemed to melt into the heart. As the Graces round the throne of Venus, so music, paint- ing, sculpture, wait as handmaids round the throne of Poetry. " They from her golden urn draw light," as planets drink the sunbeams ; and in return they array the divinity which created and inspired them, in those sounds, and hues, and forms through 176 SKETCHES OF ART, which she is revealed to our mortal senses. The pleasure, the illusion produced by music, when it is the voice of poetry, is, for the moment, by far the most complete and intoxicating, but also tlie most transient. Painting, with its lovely colours blending into life, and all its " silent poesy of form," is a source of pleasure more lasting, more intellectual. Beyond both is sculpture, the noblest, the least illusive, the most enduring of the imitative arts, because it charms us, not by what it seems to be, but by what it is ; because if the pleasure it imparts be less exciting, the impression it leaves is more profound and permanent ; because it is, or ought to be, the abstract idea of power, beauty, sentiment, made visible in the cold, pure, im- passive, and almost eternal marble. It seems to me that tlie grand secret of that grace of repose which we see developed in the antique statues may be defined as the presence of thought, and the absence of volition. The moment we have, in sculpture, the expression of will or eftbrt, we have tlie idea of someiiiing fixed in its place by an external cause, and a consequent diminution of the effect of internal power. This is not well expressed, I fear. Perhaps I might illustrate the thought thus : the Venus de Medici looks as if she were content to stand on her pedestal and be worshipped ; Canova's Hebe loolvs as if she would fain step off the pedestal — if she could ; the Apollo Belvedere, as if he could step from his pedestal — if he would. Among the Greeks, in the best ages of sculpture, and in all their very finest statues, this seems to be the presiding princi- ple — viz. that in sculpture the repose of suspended motion, or of subsided motion, is graceful ; but arrested motion, and all effort, to be avoided. When the ancients did express motion, they made it flowing or continuous, as in the frieze of the Par- thenon. ALONE, IN THE GALLERY OF SCULPTURE AT MUNICH. Ye pale and glorious forms, to whom was given All that we mortals covet under heaven — Beauty, renown, and immortality, And worship ! — in your passive grandeur, ye Are what we most adore, and least would wish to be ! There's nothing new in life, and nothing old ; The tale that we might tell hath oft been told. Many have looked to the bright sun with sadness, Many have look'd to the dark grave with gladness ; Many have griev'd to death — have lov'd to madness ! LITEBATURE, AND CHAKACTEE. 177 What has been, is ; — what is, will be ;— I know, Even while the heart drops blond, it must be so. I live and smile — for O the griefs that kill. Kill slowly — and I bear within me still My conscious self, and my unconquer'd will ! And knowing what I have been — what has made ' My misery, T will be no more betruy'd By hoUow mockeries of the world around. Or hopes and impulses, which I have found Like ill-aim'd shafts, that kill by their rebound. Complaint is for the feeble, and despair For avil hearts. Mine still can hope — still bear — S^'J' hope for others what it never knew Of truth and peace ; and silently pursue A path beset with briers, " and wet with tears like dew !" ****** To-day I devoted to the Pinakothek— for the last time ! Just before I left England, our projected national gallery had excited much attention. Those who were usually indiflerent to such matters were roused to interest ; and I heard the merits of different designs so warmly, even so violently discussed in public and in private, that for a long time the subject kept pos- session of my mind. On my arrival here, the Pinakothek (for that is the designation given to the new national gallery of Mu- nich) became to me a principal object of interest. I have been most anxious to comprehend both the general design and the nature of the arrangements in detail ; but I might almost doubt my own competency to convey an exact idea of what I under- stand and admire, to the comprehension of another. I must try, however, while the impressions remain fresh and strong, and the memory not yet encumbered and distracted, as it must be, even a few hours hence, by the variety, and novelty, and interest of all I see and hear around me. The Pinakothek was founded in 1826 ; the king himself laying the first stone with much pomp and ceremony on the 7th of April, the birthday of Raffaelle. It is a long narrow edifice, facing the south, measuring about five hundred feet from east to west, and about eighty or eighty- five feet in depth. At the extremities are two wings, or rather projections. The body of the building is of brick, but not of common brickwork : for the bricks, which are of a particular kind of clay, have a singular tint, a kind of greenish yellow ; ■while the friezes, balustrades, architraves of the windows, in short all the ornamental parts, are of stone, the colour of which is a fine warm gray ; and as the stone workmanship is ex- 178 SKETCHES OF ART, tremely rich, and the brickwork of unrivalled elegance and neatness, and the colours harmonize well, the combination produced a very handsome effect, rendering the exterior as pleasing to the eye as the scientific adaptation of the building to its peculiar purpose is to the understanding. Along the roof runs a balustrade of stone, adorned with twenty-four colossal statues of celebrated painters. A public garden, which is already in preparation, will be planted around, beautifully laid out with shady walks, flower-beds, fountains, urns, and statues. I believe the enclosure of this garden will be about a tliousand feet each way, and that it will ultimately be bounded (at least on three sides) with rows of houses forming a vast square, of which the Pinakothek will occupy the centre. It consists of a ground-floor and an upper-story. The ground-floor will comprise, 1st, the collec- tion of the Etruscan vases ; 2dly, the Mosaics, ancient and modern, of which there are here some rare and admirable specimens ; 3dly, the cabinet of drawings by the old masters ; 4thly, the cabinet of engravings, which is said to be one of the richest in Europe ; 5thly, a library of all works pertaining to the fine arts ; lastly, a noble entrance-hall : a private en- trance, with acconunodations for students, and other offices. The upper-story is appropriated to the pictures, and is cal- culated to contain not less than fifteen hundred specimens, selected from various galleries, and arranged according to the schools of art. We ascend from the entrance-hall by a wide and handsome staircase of stone, very elegantly carved, which leads first to a kind of vestibule, where the attendants and keepers of the gallery are in waiting. Thence to a splendid reception-room, about fifty feet in length : this will contain the full-length por- traits of the founders of the gallery of Munich — the Palatine John William ; the Elector, Maximilian Emanuel of Bavaria; the Duke Charles of Deuxponts ; the Palatine Charles Theo- dore ; Maximilian Joseph I., King of Bavaria ; and his son (the present monarch) Louis I. The ceiling and the frieze of this room are splendidly decorated with groups of figures and ornaments in white relief, on a gold ground, and the walls will be hung with crimson damask. Along the south front of the building from east to west runs a gallery or corridor, about four hundred feet in length, and eighteen in width, lighted on one side by twenty-five lofty arched windows, having on the other side ten doors, opening into the suite of picture-galleries, or rather halls. These occupy the centre of the building, and are lighted from above LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 179 by vast lanterns. They are eight in number, varying in length from fifty to eighty feet, but all forty feet in width and fifty feet in height from the floor to the summit of the lantern. The walls will be hung with silk damask, either of a dark crimson or a dark green— according to the style of art for which the room is destined. The ceilings are vaulted, and the decorations are inexpressibly ricli, composed of magnificent arabesques; intermixed with the effigies of celebrated painters, and groups illustrative of the history of art, &;c., all moulded in white relief iipon a ground of dead gold. Mayer, one of the best sculptors in Munich, has the direction of these works. Behind these vast galleries, or saloons, there is a range of cabine's, twenty-three in number, appropriated to the smaller pictures of the different schools : these are each about nine- teen feet by fifteen in size, and lighted from the north, each having one high lateral window. The ceilings and upper part of the walls are painted in fresco (or distemper, I am not sure which), with very graceful arabesques of a quiet colour; the hangings will also be of silk damask. Of the principal saloons, the first is appropriated to the pro- ductions of modern and living artists, and has three cabinets attached to it. The second will contain the old German pic- tures, including the famous Boisseree gallery, and has four cabinets attached to it. The third, fourth, and fifth saloons (of which the central one, the hall of Rubens, is eighty feet in length) are devoted, with the nine adjoining cabinets, to the Flemish and Dutch schools. The sixth, with four cabinets, will contain the French and Spanish pictures ; and the seventh and eijihlh, with three cabinets, will contain the Italian school of painting. All these apartments communicate with each other by ample doors ; but from the corridor already mentioned, which opens into the whole suite, the visiter has access to any particular gallery, or school of painting, without passing through the others : an obvious advantage, which will be duly estimated by those who, in visiting a gallery of painting, have felt their eyes dazzled, their heads bewildered, their auention distracted, by too much variety of temptation and attraction, before they have reached the particular object or school of art to which their attention was especially directed. To this beautiful and most convenient corridor, or, as it is called here, loggia, we must now return. I have said that it is four hundred feet in length, and lighted by five-and-twenty arched windows, which, by-the-way, command a splendid prospect, bounded by the far-off mountains of the Tyrol. The 180 SKETCHES OF ART, wall opposite to these windows is divided into twenty-five corresponding compartments, arched, and each surmounted by a dome ; these compartments are painted in fresco with ara- besques, something in tlie style of Rallaelle's Loggie in the Vatican ; while every arch and cupola contains (also painted in fresco) scenes from the life of some great painter, arranged chronologically : thus, in fact, exhibiting a graphic history of the rise and jirogress of modern painting — from Cimabue down to Rubens, Of this series of frescoes, which are now in progress, a few only are finished, from which, however, a very satisfactory idea may be formed of the whole design. The first cupola is painted from a poem of A. W. Schlegel " Der Bund der Kirche mit den Kiinsten," which celebrates the alliance between re- ligion (or rather the church) and the fine arts. The second cupola represents the Crusades, because from these wild ex- peditions (for so Providence ordained that good should spring from evil) arose the regeneration of art in Europe. With the third cupola commences the series of painters. In the arch, or lunette, is represented the Madonna of Cimabue carried in triumphal procession through the streets of Florence to the church of Santa Maria Novella ; and in the dome above, various scenes from the painter's life. In the next cupola is the history of Giotto ; then follows Angelico da Fesole, who, partly from humility and partly from love for his art, refused to be made Arclibishop of Florence ; then, fourthly, Ma- saccio ; fifthly, Bellini, — in one compartment he is represented painting ihe i^avourite sultana of Mahomet 11. Several of the succeeding cupolas still remain blank, so we pass them over and arrive at Leonardo da Vinci painting the Queen Joanna of Aragon ; then Michael Angelo, meditating the design of St. Peter's ; then the history of Raflaelle, — in the dome are various scenes from his life. The lunette represents his death : he is extended on a couch, beside which sits his virago love, the Fornarina " in disperato dolor ; Pope Leo X. and Cardinal Bembo are looking on overwhelmed with grief; in the back- ground is the Transfiguration. I wonder, if Rafi'aelle had survived this fatal illness, which of the two alternatives he would have chosen — the cardinal's hat or the niece of Cardinal Bibbiena ? M. de Klenze gave us, the other night, a most picturesque and animated descrip- tion of the opening of Rafilaelle's tomb, at which he had himself assisted — the discovery of his remains, and those of bis betrothed bride, the niece of Cardinal Bibbiena, deposited LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 181 near him. She survived him several years, but in her last moments requested to be buried in the same tomb with him. This was, at least, quite in the genre romantique. " Charming !" exclaimed one of the ladies present. " Et genereux .'" exclaimed another. The series of the Italian painters will end with the Car- racci. Those of the German painters will begin with Van Eyck, and end with Rubens. Of many of the frescoes which are not yet executed I saw the cartoons in Professor Zimmer- mann's studio. Though the general decoration of this gallery was planned by Cornelias, the designs for particular parts, and the direction of the '.vlioie, have been confided to Zimniermann, who is as- sisted in the execution by five other painters. One particular picture, which represents Giotto exhibiting his Madonna to the pope, was pointed out to my especial admiration as the most finished specimen of fresco painting which has yet been exe- cuted here ; and in truth, for tenderness and freshness of colour, softness in the shadows, and delicacy in the handling, it might bear comparison with any painting in oils. We were standing near it on a high scaffold, and it endured the closest and most minute consideration ; but when seen from below, it may pos sibly be less efTective. It shows, however, the extreme finish of which the fresco painting is susceptible. This was exe- cuted by Hiltensperger, of Swabia, from the cartoon of Zim- mermann. At one end of this gallery there is to be a large fresco, representing his majesty King Louis, introduced by the muse of Poetry to the assembled poets and painters of Ger- many. Now this species of allegorical adulation appears to me flat and out of date. I well remember that long ago the famous picture of Voltaire introduced into the Elysian fields by Henri Quaire, and making his best bow to Racine and Mo- liere, threw me into a convulsion of laughter: and the cartoon of this royal apotheosis provoked the same irrepressible feeling of the ridiculous. I wish somebody would hint to King Louis that this is not in good taste, and that there are many, many ways in which the compliment (which he truly merits) might be better managed. On the whole, however, it may truly be said that the luxuri- ant and appropriate decorations of this gallery, the variety of colour and ornament lavished on it, agreeably prepare the eye and the imagination (or that glorious feast of beauty widiin to which we are immediately introduced : and thus the overture to the Zauberflbte (which we heard last night), with its rich Vol. I.— Q 182 SKETCHES OF ART, involved harmonies, its brilliant and exciting movements, at- tuned the ear and the fancy to enjoy the grand, thrilling, be- witching, love-breathing melodies of the opera which followed, I omitted to mention that there are also on the upper floor of the Pinakothek two rooms, each about forty feet square ; one, called the Reserve-Saal, is intended for the reception of those pictures which are temporarily removed from their places, new acquisitions, &c. The other room is fitted up with every convenience for students and copyists. The whole of this immense edifice is warmed throughout by heated air ; the stoves being detached from the body of the building, and so managed as to preclude the possibility of danger from fire. It does not appear to be yet decided whether the floors will be of the Venetian stucco, or of parquet. Such, then, is the general plan of the Pinakothek, the na- tional gallery of Bavaria. I make no comment, except that I felt and recognised in every part the presence of a directing mind, and the absence of all narrow views, all truckling to the interests, or tastes, or prejudices, or convenience, of any par- ticular class of persons. It is very possible that when finished it will be found by scientific critics not absolutely perfect, which, as we know, all human works are, at least, intended and expected to be ; but it is equally clear that an honest anxiety for the glory of art and the benefit of the public — not the caprices of the king, nor the individual vanity of the archi- tect — has been the moving principle throughout. ***** Fresco-painting, or, as the Italians call it, buon fresco, had been entirely discontinued since tlie time of Raphael Mengs. It was revived at Rome in 1809-10, when the late M. Bar- tholdy, the Prussian consul-general, caused a saloon in his house to be painted in fresco, by Peter Cornelius, Overbeck, and Philip Veith, all German artists, then resident at Rome. The subjects are taken from the Scriptures, and one of the admirable cartoons of Overbeck (Joseph sold by his brethren), I saw at Frankfort. These first essays are yet to be seen in Bartholdy's house, in the Via Sistina at Rome. They are rather hard, but in a grand style of composition. The success which attended this spirited undertaking excited much atten- tion and enthusiasm, and induced the Marchese Massimi to have his villa near the Lateran adorned in the same style. Accordingly he had three grand halls or saloons painted with subjects from Dante, Ariosto, and Tasso. The first was LITERATURE, A^'D CHARACTER. 183 given to Philip Veith, the second to Julius Schnorr, and the third to Overbeck. Veith did not finish his work, which was afterward terminated by Koch : the two other painters completed their task, much to the satisfaction of the marchese, and to the admiration of all Rome. But these were mere experiments — mere attempts, compared to what has since been executed in the same style at Munich. It is true that the art of fresco-painting had never been entirely lost. The theory of the process was well known, and also the colours formerly used ; only practice, and the oppor- tunity of practice, were wanting. This has been afforded ; and thero is now at Munich a school of fresco-painting, under the dipjciion of Cornelius, Julius Schnorr, and Zimmermann, in which the mechanical process has been brought to such, perfection that the neatness of the execution may vie with oils, and they can even cut out a feature, and replace it if necessary. The palette has also been augmented by the recent improve- ments in chymistry, which have enabled the fresco-painter to apply some most precious colours, unknown to the ancient masters ; only earths and metallic colours are used. I believe it is universally known that the colours are applied while the plaster is wet, and that the preparation of this plaster is a matter of much care and nicety. A good deal of experience and manual dexterity is necessary to enable the painter to execute with rapidity, and calculate the exact degree of hu- midity in the plaster requisite for the effect he wishes to pro- duce. It has been said that fresco-painting is unfitted for our cli- mate, damp and sea-coal fires being equally injurious ; but the new method of warming all large buildings, either by steam or heated air, obviates, at least, this objection. 2&lh. — The morning was spent in the ateliers of two Bava- rian sculptors, Mayer and Bandel. To Mayer the king has confided the decoration of the interior of the Pinakolhek, of which he showed me the drawings and designs. He has also executed the colossal statue of Albert Durer, in stone, for the interior of tliat building. It appears that the pediment of the Glyplhothek, now vacant, will be adorned by a group of fourteen or fifteen figures, rep- resenting all the different processes in the art of sculpture : the modeller in clay, the hewer of the marble, the caster in bronze, the carver in wood or ivory, &;c., all in appropriate attitudes, all colossal, and grouped into a whole. The general design was modelled, 1 believe, by Eberhardt, professor of 1S4 SKETCHES OF ART, sculpture in the academy here ; and the execution of the dif- ferent figures has been given to several young sculptors, among them Mayer and Bandel. This has produced a strong feeling of emulation. I observed, that notwithstanding the height and the situation to which they are destined, nearly one- half of each figure being necessarily turned from the spectator below, each statue is wrought with exceeding care, and per- fectly finished on every side. I admired the purity of the marble, which is from the Tyrol. Mayer informs me that about three years ago enormous quarries of white marble were discovered in the Tyrol, to the great satisfaction of the king, as it diminishes, by one-half, the expense of the material. This native marble is of a dazzling whiteness, and to be had in immense masses without flaw or speck ; but the grain is rather coarse. More than twenty years ago, when the King of Bavaria was prince royal, and could only anticipate at some distant period the execution of his design, he projected a building, of which, at least, the name and purpose must be known to all vvho have ever stepped on German ground. This is the Valhalla, a temple raised to the national glory, and intended to contain ihe busts or statues of all the illustrious characters of Germany, whether distinguished in literature, arts, or arms, from their an- cient hero and patriot Herman, or Arminius, down to Goethe, and those who will succeed him. The idea was assuredly noble, and worthy of a sovereign. The execution — never losl sight of — has been but lately commenced. The Valhalla has been founded on a lofty cliff, which rises above the Danube, not far from Ratisbon.* It will form a conspicuous object to all who pass up and down the Dauube, and the situation, nearly in the centre of Germany, is at least well chosen. But I could hardly express (or repress) my surprise, when I was shown the design for this building. The first glance recalled the Theseum at Athens ; and then follows the very natural ques- tion, why should a Greek model have been chosen for an edi- fice, the object, and purpose, and name of which are so com- pletely, essentially, exclusively gothic ? What, in Heaven's name, has the Theseum to do on the banks of the Danube ? It is true that the purity of forms in the Greek architecture, the effect of the continuous lines and the massy Doric columns, must be grand and beautiful to the eye, place the object where The first stone of the Valhalla was laid by the King of Bavaria, on the 18th of October, 183fl. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 185 you will ; and in the situation designed for it, particularly im- posing : but surely it is not appropriate ; — the name, and the form, and the purpose are all at variance — throwing our most cherished associations into strange confusion. Nor could the explanations and eloquent reasoning with which my objections were met, succeed in convincing me of the propriety of the de- sign, while I acknowledged its magnificence. The sculptor Mayer showed me a group of figures for one of the pediments of this Greek, Valhalla, admirably appropriate to the purpose of the building — but not to the building itself. It represents Her- man introduced by Hermoda (or Mercury) into the Valhalla, and received by Odin and Freya. Iduna advances to meet the hero, picsfenting the apples of immortality, and one of the Vahikiire pours out the mead, to refresh the soul of the Ein- heriar.* To the right of this group are several figures repre- senting the chief epochs in the history of Germany. This design wants unity ; and it is a manifest incongruity to allude to the introduction of Christianity, where the mytholo- gical Valhalla forms the chief point of interest ; notvvithstand- ing, it gave me exceeding pleasure, as furnishing an unanswer- able proof of the possible application of sculpture on the grand scale to the forms of romantic or gothic poetry : all the fig- ures, the accompaniments, attributes, are strictly Teutonic ; the effect of the whole is grand and interesting ; but what would it be on a Greek temple 1 would it not appear misplaced and discordant? I am informed, that of the two pediments of the Valhalla, one will be given to Ranch of Berlin, and the other to Schwanthaler. The sculptor Bandel, with his quick eye, his ample brow, his animated, benevolent face, and his rapid movements, looks like what he is — a genius. In his atelier I saw some things just like what I see in all the ateliers of young sculptors — cold imitations, feeble versions of mythological subjects ; but 1 saw some other things so fresh and beautiful in feeling as to impress me with a high idea of his poetical and creative power. I longed to bring to England one or two casts of his charming Cupid Penseroso, of which the original marble is at Hanover. There is also a very ex- quisite bas-relief of Adam and Eve sleeping : the good angel watching on one side, and the evil angel on the other. This lovely group is the commencement of a series of bas-reliefs, designed, 1 beUeve, for a frieze, and not yet completed, repre- * The Einheriar are the souls of heroes admitted into the Valhalla. Q2 186 SKETCHES OF ART, senting the four ages of tlie world : the age of innocence ; the heroic age, or age of physical jwvver ; the age of poetry ; and the age of philosophy. This new version of the old idea in- terested me, and it is developed and treated with much grace and originality. Bandel told us that he is just going, with his beautiful wife and two or three little children, to settle at Car- rara for a kw years. The marble quarries there are now col- onized by young sculptors of every nation. ***** The King of Bavaria has a gallery of Beauties (the por- traits of some of the most beautiful women of Germany and Italy), which he shuts up from the public eye, like any grand Turk — and neither bribery nor interest can procure admission. A lovely woman to whom I was speaking of it yesterday, and who has been admitted in effigy into this harem, seemed to consider the compliment rather equivocal. " Depend upon it, my dear," said she, " that fifty years hence we shall be all confounded together as the king's very intimate friends ; and to tell you the truth, I am not ambitious of the honour, more particularly as there are some of my illustrious companions in charms who are enough to throw discredit on the whole set !" I saw in Stieler's atelier two portraits for this collection : one, a woman of rank — a dark beauty ; the other, a servant- girl here, with a head like one of RafTaelle's angels, almost di- vine ; she is painted in a little filagree silver cap, the embroi- dered bodice, and silk handkerchief crossed over the bosom, the costume of the women of Munich, to which the king is ex- tremely partial. I am assured that this young girl, vviio is not more than seventeen, is as remarkable for her piety, simplicity, and spotless reputation as for her singular beauty. I have seen her, and the picture merely does her justice. Several other women of the bourgeoisie have been pointed out to me as included in the king's collection. One of these, the daughter, I believe, of an herb-woman, is certainly one of the most ex- quisite creatures I ever heheld. On the whole, I should say that the lower orders of the people of Munich are ilie hand- somest race I have seen in Germany. Stieler is the court and fashionable portrait-painter here — the Sir Thomas Lawrence of Munich — that is, in the estima- tion of the Germans. He is an accomplished man, with amia- ble manners, and a talent for rising in the world ; or, as I heard some one call it, the organ of getting-on-iveness. For the elabo- rate finish of his portraits, for expertness and delicacy of hand, for resemblance and exquisite drawing, I suppose he has few LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 187 equals ; but he has also, in perfection, what I consider the faulty peculiarities of the German school. Stieler's artificial roses are too natural : his caps, and embroidered scarfs, and jewelled bracelets are more real than the things tbemselves — or seem so ; for certainly I never gave to the real objects the attention and tlie admiration they challenge in his pictures. Tlie lamous bunch of grapes, which tempted the birds to peck, could be nothing compared to the felt of Prince Charles's hat in Stiele/s portrait: it actually invites the hat-brush. Strange perversion of power in the artist ! stranger perversion of taste in those who admire it! — Mapazienza! ***** The Dac de Leuchtenberg opens his small but beautiful gal- lery twice a week — Mondays and Tiiursdays. The doors are thrown open, and every respectable person may walk in, with- out distinction or ceremony. It is a delightful morning lounge ; there are not more than one hundred and fifty pictures— enough to excite and gratify, not satiate, admiration. The first room contains a collection of paintings by modern and living artists of France, Germany, and Italy. There is a lovely little pic- ture by Madame de Freyberg of the Maries at the sepulchre of Christ ; and by Heinrich Hess, a group of the three Christian graces — Faith, Hope, and Charity, seated under the German oak, and painted with great simplicity and sentiment ; of his celebrated brother Peter Hess, and Wagenbauer, and Jacob Dorner, and Quaglio there are beautiful specimens. The French pictures did not please me : Girodet's picture of Ossian and the French heroes is a monstrous combination of all man- ner of affectations. I shoidd not forget a fine portrait of Napoleon, by Appiani, crowned with laurel ; and another picture, which represents him throned, with all the insignia of state and power, and sup- ported on either side by Victory and Peace. For a moment we pause before that proud form, to think of all he was, all he might have been— to draw a moral from the fate of selfish- ness. " He lose by blood, he built on man's distress, And th' inheritance of desolation left To great expecting hopes."*^ Among the pictures of the old masters there are many fine ones, and three or four of peculiar interest. There is the fa- * Daniel. 188 SKETCHES OF ART, moiis head by Bronzino, generally entitled Petrarch's Laura, but assuredly without the slightest pretensions to authenticity. The face is that of a prim, starched prccieuse, to which the pe- culiar style of this old portrait painter, with his literal nature, his hardness, and leaden colouring, imparts additional coldness and rigidity. But the finest picture in the gallery — perhaps one of the finest in the world — is the Madonna and Child of Murillo: one of those rare productions of mind which baflle the copyist, and defy the engraver, — which it is worth making a pilgrimage but to gaze on. How true it is that " a thing of beauty is a joy for ever !" When I look at Murillo's roguish, ragged beggar-boys in the royal gallery, and then at the Leuchtenberg gallery turn to con- template his Madonna and his ascending angel, both of such unearthly and inspired beauty, a feeling of the wondrous grasp and versatility of the man's mind almost makes me giddy. The lithographic press of Munich is celebrated all over Europe. Aloys Senefelder, the inventor of the art, has the direction of the works, with a well-merited pension, and the title of Inspector of Lithography.* * Lithography was invented at Munich, between 1795 and 1798, for so long were repeated experiments tried before the art became useful or gen- eral. Senefelder, the inventor, was an actor, and the son of an actor. The first occasion of the invention was his wish to print a little drama of his own, in some manner less expensive than the usual method of type. The tirst successful experiment was the printing of some music, pub- lished (1796) by Gleissner, one of the King of Bavaria's band ; the first drawing attempted was a vignette to a sheet of music. In the course of his attempts to pursue and perfect his discovery, Senefelder was reduced to such poverty that he offered himself to enlist for a common soldier, and, luckily, was refused. He again took heart, and, supported through every difficulty and discouragement by his own strong and enthusiastic mind, he at length overcame all obstacles, and has lived to see his invention es- tablished and spread over the whole civilized world. Hitherto, I believe, the stone used by lithograjjhers is found only in Bavaria, whence it is sent to every part of Europe and America, and forms a most profitable article of commerce. The principal quarries are at Solenholfen, on the Danube, about fifty miles from Munich. Senefelder has published a little memoir of the origin and progress of the invention, in which he relates with great simplicity the hardship, and misery, and contumely he encountered before he could bring it into use. He concludes with an earnest prayer, " that it may contribute to the ben- efit and improvement of mankind, and that it may never be abused to any dishonourable or immoral purpose." If I remember rightly, a detailed history of the art was given in one of the early numbers of the Foreign Review. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 189 The people of Munich are not only a well-dressed and well- looking, but a social, kind-hearted race. The number of unions, or societies, instituted for benevolent or festive purposes, is, for the size of the place, almost incredible.* I had a catalogue of more than forty given to me this morning ; they are for all ranks and professions, and there is scarcely a person in the city who is not enHsted into one or more of these communities. Some have reading-rooms and well-furnished libraries, to which strangers are at once introduced gratis ; they give balls and concerts during the winter, which not only include their own members and their friends, but one society will sometimes in- vite and entertain another. The young artists of Munich, who constitute a numerous body, formed themselves into an association, and gave very ele- gant balls and concerts, at first among themselves and their immediate friends and connexions ; but the circle increased — these balls became more and more splendid — even the king and the royal family frequently honoured them with their presence. It became a point of honour to exceed in elegance and profu- sion all the entertaintnents given by the other societies of Mu- nich. Everybody danced, praised, and enjoyed themselves. At length it occurred to some of the most considerate and kind- hearted of the people, that these young men were going beyond their means to entertain their friends^ and fellow-citizens. It * The population of Munich is estimated at about 60,000. It does not enter into my plan, at present, to give any detailed account of the public institutions, whether academies, schools, hospitals, or prisons ; yet I can- not but mention the prison at Munich, which more than pays its own ex- penses, instead of being a burthen to the state ; the admirable hospital for the poor, in which all who cannot find work elsewhere are provided with occupation ; two large hospitals for the sick poor, in which rooms and attendance are also provided for those who do not choose to be a burthen to their friends, nor yet dependent on charity ; the orphan school ; the female school, endowed by the king ; the foundling and lying- in hospitals, establishments unhappily most necessary in Munich, and certainly most admirably conducted. These, and innumerable private societies for the assistance, the education, and the improvement of the lower classes, ought to receive the attention of every intelligent traveller. There are no poor-laws in operation at Munich, no mendicity societies, ' no tract, and soup, and blanket charities ; yet pauperism, mendicity, and starvation are nearly unknown. For the system of regulations by which these evils have been repressed, or altogether remedied, I believe Bavaria is indebted to the celebrated American, Count Humford, who was in the service of the late king, Max-Joseph, from 1790 to 1799. Several new manufiictories have lately been established, particularly of glass and porcelain, and the latter is carried to a high degree of per- fection. 190 SKETCHES OP AKT, had evidently become a mattur of great expense, and perhaps ostentation, and they resolved to put down this competition at once. An association was formed of persons of all classes, and they gave a fete to the painters of Munich, which eclipsed in magnificence every thingof the kind before or since. It was a ball and supper, on the most ample and splendid scale, and took place at the Odeon. Each lady's ticket contained the name of the cavalier to whose especial protection and gallantry she was consigned for the evening; and so much tacte was shown in this arrangement, that I am told very few were dis- contented with their lot. Nearly three thousand persons were present, and it was the month of February ; yet every lady on entering the room was presented by her cavalier with a bou- quet of hot-house flowers ; and the Salle de I'Odeon was adorned with a profusion of plants and flowering shrubs, col- lected from all the conservatories, private and public, within twenty miles of the capital. The king, the queen, their family and suite, and many of the principal nobles were invited, with, of course, a large portion of the gentry and trades-people of Munich ; but, notwithstanding the miscellaneous nature of the assemblage, and the immense number of persons present, all was harmony, and goofl-breeding, and gayety. This fete pro- duced the desired result; the young painters took the hint, and though they still give balls, which are exceedingly pleasant, they are on a more modest scale than heretofore. The Liederkranz (literally, the circle, or garland of song) is a society of musicians — amateurs and professors — who give concerts, at which the compositions of the members are occa- sionally performed. One of these concerts (Fest-Production) took place this evening, at the Odeon ; and having duly re- ceived, as a stranger, my ticket of invitation, I went early with a very pleasant party. The immense room was crowded in every part, and pre- sented a most brilliant spectacle, from the number of military costumes, and the glittering headdresses of the Munich girls. Our hosts formed the orchestra. The king and qneen had been invited, and had signified their gracious intention of being present. Tlie first row of seats was assigned to them ; but no other distinction was made between the royal family and the rest of the company. The king is generally pimctual on these occasions, but from some accident he was this evening delayed, and we had to wait his arrival about ten minutes ; the company were all as- sembled— servants were already parading up and down the LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 191 room with trays heaped with ices and refreshments — the or- chestra stood up, with fiddle-sliciis suspended ; the chorus, with mouths half-open — and the conductor, Stuntz, brandished his roll of music. At length a side door was thrown open : a voice announced " the king ;" the trumpets sounded a salute ; and all the people rose, and remained standing until the royal guests were seated. The king entered first, the queen hang- ing on his arm. The Duke Bernard of Saxe-Weimar and his duchess* followed ; then the Princess Matilda, leading her younger brother and sister, Prince Luiipold and the Princess Adelgonde, — the former a fine boy of about twelve years old, the latter a pretty little girl of about seven or eight ; a single lady of honour ; the Baron de Freyberg, as principal equerry ; the minister Von Schencke and one or two other officers of the household were in attendance. The king bowed to the gentle- men in tho orchestra, then to the company, and in a few mo- ments all were seated. The music was entirely vocal, consisting of concerted pieces only, for three or more voices, and all were executed in per- fection. I observed several little boys and young girls, of twelve or fourteen, singing in the choruses, apparently much to their own satisfaction — certainly to ours. Their voices were delicious, and perfectly well-managed, and their merry laugh- ing faces were equally pleasant to look upon. We had first a grand loyal anthem, composed for the occa- sion by Lenz, in which the king and queen, and their children, were separately apostrophized. Prince Maximilian, now upon his travels, and young King Olho, " far off upon the throne of Hellas," were not forgotten ; and as the Princess Matilda has lately been verlobt (betrothed) to the hereditary Prince of Hesse- Darmstadt, they put the Futur into a couplet with great efl"ect. It seems that this marriage has been for some time in negotia- tion ; its course did not "run quite smooth," and the heart of the young princess is supposed to be more deeply interested in the aflair than is usual in royal alliances. She is also very generally beloved, so that when the chorus sang, " Hoch lebe Ludvvig und Mathilde ! -J Ein Herz stets Brautigam und Braut !" all eyes were turned towards her with a smiling expression of sympathy and kindness, which really touched me. As I sat, '.^ " * Ida of Saxe-Meiningen, sister of the Queen of England. 192 SKETCHES OP ART, I could only see her side-face, which was declined. There was also an allusion to the late King Max-Joseph, " das beste Herz," who died about five years ago, and who appears to have been absolutely adored by his people. All this passed off very well, and was greatly applauded. At the conclusion the king rose from his seat, and said something courteous and good- natured to the orchestra, and then sat down. The other pieces were by old Schack. (the intimate friend of Mozart), Stuntz, Chelard, and Marschiier; a drinking song by Haydn and one of the choruses in the Cosi fan Tutte were also introduced. The whole concluded with the " song of the heroes in the Val- halla," composed by Siuniz. Between the acts there was an interval of at least half an hour, during which the queen and the Princess Matilda walked up and down in front of the orchestra, entered into conversa- tion with the ladies who were seated near, and those whom the rules of etiquette allowed to approach unsummoned and pay their respects. The king, meanwhile, walked round the room unattended, speaking to different people, and addressing the young bourgeoises, whose looks or whose toilet pleased him, with a bow and a smile ; while they simpered and blushed, and drew themselves up when he had passed. As I see the king frequently, his face is familiar to me, but to-night he looked particularly well, and had on a better coat than he usually condescends to wear, — quite plain, however, and without any order or decoration. He is now in his forty- seventh year, not handsome, with a small well-formed head, an intelligent brow, and a quick penetrating eye. His figure is slight and well-made, his movements quick, and his manner lively — at times even abrupt and impatient. His utterance is often so rapid as to be scarcely intelligible to those who are most accustomed to him. I often meet him walking arm-in- arm with M. de Schenke, M. de Klenze, and others of his friends — for apparently this eccentric, accomplished sovereign h2iS friends, though I believe he is not so popular as his father was before him. The queen (Theresa, princess of Saxe-Hilburghausen) has a sweet open countenance, and a pleasing, elegant figure. The princess Matilda, who is now nineteen, is the express image of her mother, whom she resembles in her amiable disposition as well as her person ; her figure is very pretty, and her de- portment graceful. She looked pensive this evening, which was attributed by the good people around me to the recent LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 193 departure of the Prince of Hesse-Darmstadt, who has been here for some time paying his court. About ten, the concert was over. The king and queen remained a few minutes in conversation with those around them, without displaying any ungracious hurry to depart ; and the whole scene left a pleasant impression upon my fancy. To an English traveller in Germany, nothing is more striking than the e^sy familiar terms on which the sovereign and his family mingle with the people on these and the like occasions ; it certainly would not answer in England : but as they say in this expressive language — Ldndlick, sittlich* Munich. Oct. 28th, 1833. * It is difficult to translate this laconic proverb, because we ha»e not the corresponding words in English : the meaning may be rendtred — "according to the country, so are the manners." Vol. I.— R SKETCHES OF ART, LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. n. NUREMBERG. Nuremberg — with its long, narrow, winding, involved streets, its precipitous ascents and descents, its completely gothic physi- ognomy — is by far the strangest old city I ever beheld ; it has retained in every part the aspect of the middle ages. No two houses resemble each otlier ; yet, differing in form, in colour, in height, in ornament, all have a family likeness ; and with their peaked and carved gables, and projecting central balconies, and painted fronts, stand up in a vow, like so many tall, gaunt, stalely old maids, with the toques and stomachers of the last cen- tury. In the upper part of the town, we find here and there a new house, buiU or rebuilt in a more modern fashion, and even a gay modern theatre, and an unfinished modern church; but these, in- stead of being embellishments, look ill-favoured and mean, like patches of new cloth on a rich old brocade. Age is here, but it does not suggest the idea of dilapidation or decay ; ratherof some- thing which has been put under a glass case, and preserved with care from all extraneous influences. The buildings are so an- cient, the fashions of society so antiquated, the people so pene- trated with veneration for themselves and their city, that in the few days I spent there I began to feel quite old too — my mind was wrinkled up, as it were, with a reverence for the past. I won- dered that people condescended to lalk of any event more recent than the thirty years' war, and the defence of Gustavus Adol- phus;* and all namesof modern date, even of greatest mark, were forgotten in the fame of Albert Durer, Hans Sachs, and Peter Vischer ; the trio of worthies which, in the estimation or ima- * When the city was besieged by Wallenstein in 1632. '^ ■■' SKETCHES OF ART, ETC. 195 gination of the Nurembergers, still live with the freshness of a yesterday's remembrance, and leave no room for the heroes of to-day. My enthusiasm for Albert Durer was already pre- pared, and warm as even the Nurembergers could desire ; but I confess that of that renowned cobbler and meister-singer, Hans Sachs, I knew little but what I had learned from the pretty comedy bearing his name, which I had seen at Manheim ; and of the il'ustrious Peter Vischer I could only remember that I had seen, in the academy at Munich, certain casts from his figures, 'vhich had particularly struck me. Yet to visit Nu- remberg without some previous knowledge of these luminaries of the mjfklle ages, is to lose much of that pleasure of associa- tion without which the eye wearies of the singular, and the mind becomes satiated with change. Nuremberg was the gothic Athens : it was never the seat of government, but as a free imperial city it was independent and self-governed, and took the lead in arts and in literature. Here it was that clocks and watches, maps and musical instru- ments, were manufactured for all Germany ; here, in that truly German spirit of pedantry and simplicity, were music, painting, and poetry at once honoured as sciences and cultivated as handicrafts, each having its guild, or corporation, duly char- tered, like the other trades of this flourishing city, and requiring, by the insthution of the magistracy, a regular apprenticeship. It was here that, on the first discovery of printing, a literary barber and meister-singer (Hans Foltz) set up a printing-press in his own house ; and it was but the natural consequence of all this industry, mental activity, and social cultivation, that Nuremberg should have been one of the first cities which de- clared for the Reformation. But what is most curious and striking in this old city is to see it stationary, while time and change are working such miracles and transformations everywhere else. The house where Martin Behaim, four centuries ago, invented the sphere, and drew the first geographical chart, is still the house of a map-seller. In the house where cards were first manufactured, cards are now sold. In the very shops where clocks and watches were first seen, you may still buy clocks and watches. The same families have inhabited the same mansions from one generation to another for four or five centuries. The great manufactories of those toys commonly called Dutch toys are at Nuremberg. I visited the wholesale depot of Pestelmayer, and it is true that it would cut a poor figure compared to some of our great Birmingham show-rooms ; but the enormous scale 196 SKETCHES OF ART, on which this commerce is conducted, the hundreds of wagon- loads and ship-loads of these trifles and gimcracks which find their way to every part of the known world, even to America and China, must interest a thinking mind. Nothing gave me a more comprehensive idea of the value of the whole than a complaint which I heard from a Nuremberger (and which, though seriously made, sounded not a little ludicrous), of the falling oflT in tiie trade of pill-boxes ! — he said that since the fashionable people of London and Paris had taken to paper pill-boxes, the millions of wooden or chip boxes which used to be annually sent irom Nuremberg to all parts of Europe were no longer required ; and he computed the consequent falling off of the profits at many thousand florins. Nuremberg was rendered so agreeable to me by the kind- ness and hospitality I met with, that instead of merely passing through it, I spent some days wandering about its precincts ; and as it is not very frequently visited by the English, I shall note a few of the objects which have dwelt on my memory, premising, that for the artist and the antiquarian it aflbrds in- exhaustible materials. The whole city, which is very large, lies crowded and com- pact within its walls ; but the fortifications, once the wonder of all Germany, and their three hundred and sixty-five towers, once the glory and safeguard of the inhabhants, exist no longer. Four huge circular towers stand at the principal gates, — four huge towers of almost dateless antiquity, and blackened with age, but of such admirable construction, that the masonry appears, from its entireness and smoothness, as if raised yesterday. The old castle, or fortress, which stands on a height commanding the town and a glorious view, is a strange, dismantled, incongruous heap of buildings. It hap- pened, that in the summer of 1833, the King of Bavaria, ac- companied by the queen and the Princess Matilda, had paid his good city of Nuremberg a visit, and had been most royally entertained by the inhabitants : the apartments in the old castle, long abandoned to the rats and spiders, had been prepared for the royal guests, and when 1 saw it, three or four months after- ward, nothing could be more uncouth and fantastical than the efi'ect of these irregular rooms, with all manner of angles, whh their carved worm-eaten ceilings, their curious latticed and painted windows, and most preposterous stoves, now all tricked out with fresh paint here and there, and hung with gay glazed papers of the most modern fashion, and the most gaudy pat- terns. Even the chapel, with its four old pillars, which. LITERATURE, AWD CHARACTER. 197 according to the legend, had been brought by Old Nick himself from Rome, and the effigy of the monk who had cheated his infernal adversary by saying the litanies faster than had ever been known before or since, had, in honour of the king's visit, received a new coal of paint. There are some very curious old pictures in the castle (which luckily were not repainted for the same grand occasion), among them an original portrait of Albert Durer. In the couri-yard of the fortress stands an extra- ordinary relic — the old lime-tree planted by the Empress Cune- gunde, wife of the Emperor Henry III. ; every thing is done to preserve it from decay, and it still bears its leafy honours, after beholding the revolution of seven centuries. Fro'u the fortress we look down upon the house of Albert Durer, which is preserved with religious care ; it has been hired by a society of artists, who use it as a club-room : his effigy in stone is over the door. In every house there is a picture or print of him, or copies or engravings from his works, and his head hangs in every print-shop. The street in which he lived is called by his name, and the inhabit- ants have moreover bulk a fountain to his honour, and planted trees around it ; — in short, Albert Durer is wherever we look — wherever we move. What can Fuseli mean by saying that Albert Durer "was a man of extreme ingenuity without being a genius ?" Does the man of mere ingenuity step before his age as Albert Durer did, not as an artist only, but as a man of science 1 Is not genius the creative power ? and did not Albert Durer possess this power in an 'fextraordinary degree? Could Fuseli have seen his four apostles now in the gallery of Mu- nich, when he said that Albert Durer never had more than an occasional glimpse of the sublime ? Fuseli, as an artist, is an example of what I have seen in other minds, otherwise directed. The stronger the faculties, the more of original power in the mind, the less diffiised is the sympathy, and the more is the judgment swayed by the indi- vidual character. Thus Fuseli, in his remarks on painters — . excellent and eloquent as they are, — scarcely ever does justice to those who excel in colour. He perceives and admits the excellence, but he shows in his criticisms, as in his pictures, that the faculty was wanting to feel and appreciate it : his remarks on Correggio and Rubens are a proof of this. In listening to the criticisms of an author on literature — of a painter on pictures — and, generally, to the opinion whicli one individual expresses of the character and actions of another, it is wise to take into consideration the modification of mind R2 193 SKETCHES OF ART, in the person who speaks, and how far it may, or must, influ- ence, even where it does not absolutely distort, the judgment ; so many minds are what the Germans call one-sided .' The eduration, habits, mental existence of the individual, are the re- fracting medium through which the rays of truth pass to the mind, more or less bent or absorbed in their passage. We should make philosophical allowance for different degrees of density. Hans Sachs,* the old poet of Nuremberg, did as much for the Reformation by his songs and satires, as Luther and the doctors did by their preaching ; besides being one of the worshipful company of meister-singers, he found time to make shoes, and even enrich himself by his trade ; he informs us himself that he had composed and written with his own hand '•'four thousand two hundred mastership songs ; two hundred and eight comedies, tragedies, and farces ; one thousand seven hundred fables, tales, and miscellaneous poems ; and seventy- tliree devotional, military, and love songs." It is said he ex- celled in humour, but it was such as might have been expected from the times — it was vigorous and coarse. " Hans," says the critic, " tells his tale like a convivial burgher, fond of his can, and still fonder of his drollery."! If this be the case, his house has received a very appropriate designation : it is now an ale-house, from which, as 1 looked up, the mixed odours of beer and tobacco, and the sound of voices singing in chorus, streamed through the old latticed windows. " Drollery" and " the can" were as rife in the dwelling of the immortal shoe- maker as they would have been in his own days, and in his own jovial presence. In the church of St. Sibbald, now the chief Protestant church, I was surprised to find that most of the Roman Catholic sym- bols and relics remained undisturbed : the large crucifix, the old pictures of the saints and Madonnas had been reverentially preserved. The perpetual light which had been vowed four centuries ago by one of the Tucher family was still burning over his tomb ; no puritanic zeal had quenched that tiny flame in its chased silver lamp ; and through successive generations^, and all revolutions of politics and religion, maintained and fed by the pious honesty of the descendants, it still shone on, Like the bright lamp that lay in Kiltiare's holy fane, And burned through long ages of darkness and storm ! * Born at Nuremberg in 1494. t See the admirable " Essay on the Early German and Northern Poetry," already alluded to. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 199 In this Protestant church, even the shrme of St. Sibbald has kept its place, if not to the honour and glory of the saint, at least to the honour and glory of the city of Nuremberg ; it is considered as the chef-d'oenvre of Peter Vischer, a famous sculptor and caster in bronze, contemporary with Albert Durer. It was begun in 1506, and finished in 1519, and is adorned with ninety-six figures, among which the twelve apostles, all varying in character and attitude, are really miracles of grace, power, and expression ; the base of the shrine rests upon six gigantic snails, and the whole is cast in bronze, and finished with exquisite skill and fancy. At one end of this extraordi- nary composition the artificer has placed his own figure, not obtrusively, but retired, in a sort of niche ; he is represented in his working dress, with his cap, leather apron, and tools in his hand. According to tradition, he was paid for his work by the pound weight, twenty gulden (or florins) for every hundred weight of metal ; and the whole weighs one hundred and twenty centners, or hundred weiglit. The man who showed us this shrine was descended from Peter Vischer, lived in the same house which he and his sons had formerly inhabited, and carried on the same trade, that of a smith and brass-founder. The Moritz-Kapel, near the church, is an old gothic chapel once dedicated to St. Maurice, now converted into a public gallery of pictures of the old German school. The collection is exceedingly curious ; there are about one hundred and forty pictures, and besides specimens of Mabuse, Albert Durer, Van Eyck, Martin Schoen, Lucas Kranach, and the two Holbeins, I remember some portraits by a certain Hans Grimmer, which impressed me by their truth and fine painting. It appears from this collection that for some time after Albert Durer, the Ger- man painters continued to paint on a gold ground. Kuhnbach, whose heads are quite marvellous for finish and expression, generally did so. This gallery owes its existence to the pres- ent king, and has been well arranged by the architect Heidel- dofT and Professor Von Dillis of Munich. In the market-place of Nuremberg stands the Schiniebrun- nen, that is, the beautiful fountain ; it bears the date 1355, and in style resembles the crosses which Edward 1. erected to Queen Eleanor, but is of more elaborate beauty ; it is covered ■with gothic figures, carved l)y one of the most ancient of the German sculptors, Schoiiholl'er, who modestly styles himself a stone-cutter. Here we see, placed amicably close, Julius CiEsar, Godfrey of Boulogne, Judas Maccabajus, Alexander 200 SKETCHES OF ART, the Great, Hector of Troy, Charlemagne, and King David : all old acquaintances, certainly, but whom we might have sup- posed that nothing but the day of judgment could ever have assembled together in company. Talking of the day of judgment reminds me of the extraor- dinary cemetery of Nuremberg, certainly as unlike every other cemetery as Nuremberg is unlike every other city. Imagine upon a rising ground an open space of about four acres, com- pletely covered with enormous slabs, or rather blocks of solid stone, about a foot and a half in thickness, seven feet in length, and four in breadth, laid horizontally, and just allowing space for a single person to move between them. The name and the armorial bearings of the dead, cast in bronze, and some- times rich sculpture, decorate these tombs : I remember one^ to the memory of a beautiful girl, who was killed as she lay asleep in her father's garden by a lizard creeping into her mouth. The story is represented in bronze bas-rehef, and the lizard is so constructed as to move when touched. From this I shrunk with disgust, and turned to the sepulchre of a famous worthy, who measured the distance from Nuremberg to the holy sepulchre with his garter ; the implement of his piou& enterprise, twisted into a sort of true-love knot, is carved on his tomb. Two days afterward I entered the dominions of a reigning monarch, who is at this present moment performing a journey to Jerusalem round the walls of his room.* How long-lived are the follies of mankind ! Have, then, five cen- turies made so little difference 1 The tombs of Albert Durer, Hans Sachs, and Sandraart were pointed out to me, resembling the rest in size and form. I was assured that these huge sepulchral stones exceeded three thousand in number, and the whole aspect of this singular burial-place is, in truth, beyond measure striking — I could almost add, appalling. I was not a little surprised and interested to find that the principal gazette of Nuremberg, which has a wide circulation through all this part of Germany, extending even to Frankfort, Munich, Dresden, and Leipsic, is entirely in female hands. Madame de Schaden is the proprietor, and the responsible editor of the paper; she has the printing apparatus and offices under her own roof, and though advanced in years, conducts the whole concern with a degree of activity, spirit, and talent * Frederic Augustus, the present King of Saxony. He is, however,, in his dotage, being now in his eighty-fifth year. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 201 which delighted me. The circulation of this paper amounts to about four thousand ; a trifling number compared to our pa- pers, but a large number in this economical country, where the same paper is generally read by fifty or sixty persons at least. All travellers agree that benevolence and integrity are the national characteristics of the Germans. Of their honesty I had dai])' proofs : I do not consider that I was ever imposed upon or overcharged during my journey except once, and then it was by a Frenchman. Their benevolence is displayed in the treat- ment of animals, particularly of their horses. It was some- where bei'reen Nuremberg and Hof, that, for the first and only time, I saw a postillion flog his horse unmercifully, or at least unreasonably. The Germans very seldom beat their horses : they talk to them, remonstrate, encourage, or upbraid them. I have frequently known a voiturier, or postillion, go a whole stage — which is seldom less than fifteen English miles — at a very fair pace, without once raising his whip ; and have often witnessed, not without amusement, long conversations between. a driver and his steed — the man, with his arm thrown over the animal's neck, discoursing in a strange jargon, and the intelli- gent brute turning his eye on his master with such a responsive expression ! In this part of Germany there is a popular verse repeated by the postillions, which may be called the German rule of the road. It is the horse who speaks — Berg auf, ubertrieb mich nicht ; Berg ab, ubereil mich nicht ; Auf ebenen Weg, vershone mich nicht ; Im Stahi, vergiss mich nicht : which is, literally. Up hill, overdrive me not ; Down hill, hurry me not ; On level ground, spare me not ; In the stable, forget me not. The German postillions form a very numerous and distinct class : they wear a half-military costume — a laced or em- broidered jacket, across which is invariably slung the bugle- horn, with its party-coloured cord and tassels ; huge jack-boots, and a smart glazed hat, not unfrequently surmounted with a feather (as in Hesse Cassel and Saxe Weimar), complete their appearance. They are in the direct service and pay of the 202 SKETCHES OF ART, ETC. government ; they must have an excellent character for fidelity and good conduct before they are engaged, and the slightest failing in duty or punctuality subjects them to severe punish- ment ; thus they enjoy some degree of respectability as a body, and Marscliner thought it not unworthy of his talents to com- pose a fine piece of music, which he called The Postillion's " Morgen-lied," or morning song. I found them generally a good-humoured, honest set of men ; obliging, but not servile or cringing ; they are not allowed to smoke without the express leave of the traveller, nor to stop or delay on the road on any pretence whatever. In short, though the burley German pos- tillions do not present the neat compact turn-out of an English postboy, nor the horses any thing like the speed of " New- man's grays," or the Brighton Age, and though the traveller must now and then submit to arbitrary laws and individual in- convenience ; still the travelling regulations all over Germany, more especially in Prussia, are so precise, so admirable, and so strictly enforced, that nowhere could an unprotected female journey with more complete comfort and security. This I have proved by experience, after having tried every different mode of conveyance in Prussia, Bavaria, Baden, Saxony, and Hesse. My road expenses, for myself and an attendant, seldom ex- ceeded a Napoleon a-day. SKETCHES OF ART, LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. III. MEMOBANDA AT DRESDEN.* Beautiful, stately Dresden ! if not the queen, the fine lady of the German cities ! Surrounded with what is most enchant- ing in nature, and adorned with what is most enchanting in art, she sits by the Elbe like a fair one in romance, wreathing her towery diadem — so often scathed by war — with the vine and the myrtle, and looking on her own beauty imaged in the river flood, which, after rolling an impetuous torrent through the mountain gorges, here seems to pause and spread itself into a lucid mirror to catch the reflection of her airy magnificence. No doubt misery and evil dwell in Dresden, as in all the con- gregated societies of men, but nowhere are they less obtru- * The description of Dresden and its environs, in Russel's Tour in Germany, is one of the best-written passages in that amusing book — so admirably graphic and faithful, that nothing can be added to it as a de- scription; therefore I have effaced those notes which it has rendered super- fluous. It must, however, be remembered by those who refer to Mr. Rus- sel's work, that a revolution has taken place, by which the king, now fallen into absolute dotage, has been removed from the direct administration of the government, and a much more popular and liberal tone prevails in the estates : the two princes, nephews of the king, whom Mr. Russel men- tions as " persons of whom scarcely anybody thinks of speaking at all," have since made themselves extremely conspicuous : — Prince Frederic has been declared regent, and is apparently much respected and beloved ; and Prince John has distinguished himself as a speaker in the Assembly of the States, and takes the liberal side on most occasions. A spirit of amelioration is at work in Dresden, as elsewhere, and the ten or twelve years which have elapsed since Mr. Russel's visit have not passed away without some salutary changes, while more are evidently at hand. Mr. Russel speaks of the secrecy with which the sittings of the Cham- bers were then conducted : they are now public, and the debates are printed in the Gazette at considerable length. 204 SKETCHES OF ART, sive. The city has all the advantages, and none of the disad- vantages, of a capital ; the treasures of art accumulated here — the mild government, the delightful climate, the beauty of the environs, and the cheerfulness and simplicity of social in- tercourse, have rendered it a favourite residence for artists and literary characters, and to foreigners one of the most captiva- ting places in the world. How often have I stood in the open space in front of the gorgeous Italian church, or on the summit of the flight of steps leading to the public walk, gazing upon the noble bridge which bestrides the majestic Elbe, and con- nects the new and the old town ; or, pursuing with enchanted eye the winding course of the river to the foot of those undulating purple hills, covered with villas and vineyards, till a feeling of quiet, grateful enjoyment has stolen over me, like that which Wordsworth describes — Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart, And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration. But it is not only the natural beauties of the scene which strike a stranger; the city itself has this peculiarity in common with Florence, to which it has been so often compared, that instead of being an accident in the landscape — a dim, smoky, care- haunted spot upon the all-lovely face of nature — a discord in the soothing harmony of that quiet enchanting scene which steals like music over the fancy, — it is rather a charm the more — an ornament — a crowning splendour — a fulfilling and completing chord. Its unrivalled elegance and neatness, a general air of cheerfulness combined with a certain dignity and tranquillity, the purity and elasticity of the atmosphere, the brilliant shops, the well-dressed women, and the lively looks and good-humoured alertness of the people, who, like the Flor- entines, are more remarkable for their tact and acuteness than for their personal attractions ; — all these advantages render Dresden, though certainly one of the smallest, and by no means one of the richest, capitals in Europe, one of the most delight- ful residences on the Continent. I am struck, too, by the silver- toned voices of the women, and the courtesy and vivacity of the men ; for in Bavaria the intonation is broad and harsh, and the people, though frank, and honest, and good-natured, are rather slow, and not particularly polished in their demeanour. It is the general aspect of Dresden which charms us : it is not distinguished by any vast or striking architectural decora- tions, if we except the Italian church, which, with all its thou- LITKRATURE, AND CHARACTER. 205 sand faults of style, pleases from its beautiful situation and its exceeding richness. This is the only Roman Catholic church in Dresden : for it is curious enough, that while the national religion, or, if I may so use the word, the state religion, is Protestant — the court religion is Catholic ; the royal family having been for several generations of that persuasion ;* but this has caused neither intolerance on the one hand, nor jealousy on the other The Saxons, the first who hailed and embraced the doctrines of Luther, seem quite content to allow their anointed king to go to heaven his own way ; and though the priests who surround him are, of course, mindful to keep up their own influence, there is no spirit of proselytism ; and 1 believe the most perfect equality with regard to religious matters prevails here. The Catholic church is almost always half-full of Protestants, attracted by tlie delicious music, for all the corps d'oj)era sing in the choir. High mass begins about the time that the sermon is over in the other churches, and you see the Protestants hurrying from their own service, crowding in at the portals of the Catholic church, and taking their places, the men on one side and the women on the other, with looks of infinite gravity and devotion; the king being always present, it would here be a breach of etiquette to behave as I have often seen the English behave in the Catholic churches — pre- cisely as if in a theatre. But if the good old monarch imagines that his heretic subjects are to be converted by Ceci'sf divine voice, he is wonderfully mistaken. The people of Dresden have always been distinguished by their love of music ; I was therefore rather surprised to find here a little paltry theatre, ugly without, and mean within ; a new edifice has been for some time in contemplation, therefore to decorate or repair the old one may seem superfluous. That it is not nearly large enough for the place is its worst fault. I have never been in it that it was not crowded to suffocation. At this time Bellini's opera, / Capclletti, is the rage at Dresden, or rather Madame Devrient's impersonation of the Romeo, has completely turned all heads and melted all hearts — that are fusible. Bellini is only one of the thousand and one imitators of Rossini ; and the Capelletti only the last of the thousand and one versions of Romeo and Juliet ; and Devrient is not generally heard to the greatest advantage in the modern Italian music ; but her conception of the part of Romeo is new and * Augustus II. abjured the Protestant religion in 1700, in order to obtain the crown of Poland. t The first tenor at Dresden in 1833. Vol. I.— S 206 SKETCHES OF ART, belongs to herself; like a woman of feeling and genius she has put her stamp upon it : it is quite distinct from the same char- acter as represented by Pasta and M-a.\'\br?.n— character perhaps I should not say, for in the lyrical drama therq is properly no room for any such gradual development of individual senti- ments and motives ; a powerful and graceful sketch, of which the outline is filled up by music, is all that the artist is required to give ; and within this boundary a more beautiful delineation of youthful fervid passion I never beheld ; if Devrient must yield to Pasta in grandeur, and to Malibran in versatility of power and liquid flexibility of voice, she yields to neither in pathos, to neither in delicious modulation, to neither in passion, power, and origi- nality, though in her, in a still greater degree, the talent of the artist is modified by individual temperament. Like other gifted women, who are blessed or cursed with a most excitable nervous system, Devrient is a good deal under the influence of moods of feeling and temper, and in the performance of her favourite parts (as this of Romeo, the Armida, Emmeline in the Sweitzer Familie), is subject to inequalities, which are not caprices, but arise from an exuberance of soul and power, and only render her performance more interesting. Every night that I have seen her since my arrival here, even in parts which are un- worthy of her, as in the " Eagle's Nest,"* has increased my estimate of her talents ; and last night when I saw her for the third time in the Romeo, she certainly surpassed herself. The duet with Juliet (Madlle. Schneider), at the end of the first act, threw the whole audience into a tumult of admiration ; they invariably encore this touching and impassioned scene, which is really a positive cruelty, besides being a piece of stupidity ; for though it viaij be as well sung the second time, it must sufl'er in eff"ect from the repetition. The music, though very pretty, is in itself nothing without the situation and senti- ment ; and after the senses and imagination have been wound up to the most thrilling excitement by tones of melting affec- tion and despair, and Romeo and Juliet have been finally torn asunder by a flinty-hearted slick of a father, with a black cloak and a bass voice— *eZo?i les regies— it is ridiculous to see them come back from opposite sides of the stage, bow to the audience, and then, throwing themselves into each other's arms, pour out * An opera by Franz Glazer, of Berlin. The subject, which is the well-known story of the mother who delivers her infant when carried away by the eagle, or rather vulture of the Alps, might make a good melodrama, but is not fit for an opera— and the music is trainante and monotonous. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 207 the same passionate strains of love and sorrow. As to Dev- rient's acting in the last scene, I think even Pasta's Romeo would have seemed colourless beside hers ; and this arises perhaps from the character of the music, from the very different style in which Zingarelli and Bellini have treated their last scene. The former has made Romeo tender and plaintive, and Pasta accordingly subdued her conception to this tone; but Bellini hns thrown into the same scene more animation and more various effect.* Devrient, thus enabled to colour more highly, has gone beyond the composer. There was a flush of poetry and passion, a heart-breaking struggle of love and life against an overwhelming destiny, which thrilled me. Never did I hear any one sing so completely from her own soul as this astonishing creature. In certain tones and passages her voice issued from the depths of her bosom as if steeped in tears ; and her countenance, when she hears Juliet sigh from the tomb, was such a sudden and divine gleam of expression as 1 have never seen on any face but Fanny Kemble's. I was not surprised to learn that Madame Devrient is generally ill after her performance, and unable to sing in this part more than once or twice a week. ^ * * ff * Tieck is the literary Colossus of Dresden ; perhaps I should say of Germany. There are those who dispute his infallibility as a critic ; there are those who will not walk under the ban- ners of his philosophy ; but since the death of Goethe, I believe Ludwig Tieck holds undisputed the first rank as an original poet, and powerful writer, and has succeeded, by right divine, to the vacant throne of genius. His house in the Altmarkt (the tall, red house at the south-east corner), henceforth con- secrated by that power which can " hallow in the core of human hearts even the ruin of a wall,"t is the resort of all the enlightened strangers who flock to Dresden : even those who know nothing of Tieck but his name, deem an introduction to him as indispensable as a visit to the Madonna del Sisto. To the English, he is particularly interesting : his knowledge of * Zingarelli composed his Romeo e Giulietta in 1797 : Bellini produced the Capeiletti at Venice in 1832, for our silver-voiced Caradori and the contr'alto Giudita Grisi, sister of that accomplished singer, Giulietta Grisi. Thirty-five years are an age in the history of music. Of the two operas, Bellini's is the most effective, from the number of the con- certed pieces, without containing a single air which can be placed in comparison with five or six in Zingarelli's opera, t Jvord Byron, 208 SKETCHES OF ART, our language and literaiure, and especially of our older writers, is profound. Endued with an imagination which luxuriates in the world of marvels, which "dwells delightedly midst fays and talismans," and embraces in its range of power what is highest, deepest, most subtle, most practical — gifted with a creative spirit, for ever moving and working within the illimit- able universe of fancy, Tieck is yet one of the most poignant satirists and profound critics of the age. He has for the last twenty years devoted his time and talents, in conjunction with Schlegel, to the study, translation, and illustration of Shak- speare. The combination of these two minds has done per- haps what no single mind could have effected in developing, elucidating, and clothing in a new language the creations of that mighty and inspired being. It is to be hoped that some translator will rise up among us to do justice in return to Tieck. No one tells a fairy tale like him : the earnest simplicity of style and manner is so exquisite that he always gives the idea of one whose hair was on end at his own wonders, who was entangled by the spell of his own enchantments. A few of these lighter productions (his Volks- miirchen, or popular Tales) have been rendered into our language ; but those of his works which have given him the highest estimation among his own countrymen, still remain a sealed fountain to English readers.* It was with some trepidation I found myself in the presence of this extraordinary man. Notwithstanding his profound knowledge of our language, he rarely speaks English, and, like Alfieri, he will not speak French. I addressed him in English, and he spoke to me in German. The conversation * " Tieck," sa5's Carlyle, " is a poet boryi as well as made. — He is ik> mere observist and compiler, rendering back to us, with additions or subtractions, the beauty which existing things have of themselves pre- sented to him ; but a true maker, to whom the actual and external is but the excitement for ideal creations, representing and ennobling its eflfecta. His feeling or knowledge, his love or scorn, his gay humour or solemn earnestness ; all the'riches of his inward world are pervaded and mastered by the living energy of the soul which possesses them, and their finer essence is wafted to us in his poetry, like Arabian odours on the wings of the wind. But this may be said of all true poets ; and each is distin- guished from all by his individual characteristics. Among Tieck's, one of the most remarkable is his combination of so many gifts in such full and simple harmony. His ridicule does not obstruct his adoration ; his gay southern fancy lives in union with a northern heart ; with the mood« of a longing and impassioned spirit, he seems deeply conversant ; and a still imagination, in the highest sense of that word, reigns over all bis poetic world." LifERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 209 ill ftiy first visit fell very naturally upon Shakspeare, for I had been looking over his admirable new translation of Macbeth, which he had just completed. Macbeth led us to the English theatre and English acting — to Mrs. Siddons and the Kembles, and the actual character and state of our stage. While he spoke, I could not help looking at his head, which is wonderfully fine 5 the noble breadth and amplitude of his brow, and his quiet, but penetrating eye, with an expression of latent humour hovering round his lips, formed altogether a striking physiognomy. The numerous prints and portraits of Tieck which are scattered over Germany are very defective as resemblances. They have a heavy look ; they give the weight and power of his head, but nothing of the ^wc^i'e which lurks in the lower part of his face. His manner is courteous* and his voice particularly sweet and winning. He is ap- parently fond of the society of women ; or the women are fond of his society, for in the evening his room is generally crowded with fair worshippers. Yet Tieck, like Goethe, is accused of entertaining some unworthy sentiments with regard to the sex ; and is also said, like Goethe, not to have upheld us in his writings, as the true philosopher, to say nothing of the true poet, ought to have done. It is a fact upon which I shall take an opportunity of enlarging, that almost all the greatest men who have lived in the world, whether poets, philosophers, artists, or statesmen, have derived their mental and physical organiza- tion more from the mother's than the father's side ; and the same is true, unhappily, of those who have been in an extra- ordinary degree perverted. And does not this lead us to some awful considerations on the importance of the moral and phy- sical well-being of women, and their present condition in society, as a branch of legislation and politics, which must ere long be moditied 1 Let our lords and masters reflect, that if an extensive influence for good or for evil be not denied to us, an influence commencing not only with, but before the birth of their children, it is time that the manifold mischiefs and miseries lurking in the bosom of society, and of which woman is at once the wretched instrument and more wretched victim, be looked to. Sometimes I am induced to think that Tieck is misinter- preted or libelled by those who pretend to take the tone from his writings and opinions : it is evident that he delights in being surrounded by a crowd of admiring women, therefore he must in his heart honour and reverence us as being morally equal with man, — for who could suspect the great Tieck of that S2 210 SKETCHES OP ART, paltry coxcombry which can be gratified by the adulation of inferior beings 1 Tieek's extraordinary talent for reading aloud is much and deservedly celebrated : he gives dramatic readings two or three times a week when his health and his avocations allow this exertion ; the company assemble at six, and itis advisable to be punctual to the moment ; soon afterward tea is served : he begins to read at seven precisely, when the doors are closed against all intrusion whatever, and he reads through a whole play without pause, rest, omission, or interruption. Thus I heard him read Julius Cssar and the Midsummer Night's Dream (in the German translation by himself and Schlegel), and except Mrs. Siddons, I never heard any thing comparable as dramatic reading. His voice is rich, and capable of great variety of modulation. I observed that the humorous and de- clamatory passages were rather better than the pathetic and tender passages : he was quite at home among the elves and clowns in the Midsummer Night's Dream, of which he gave the fantastic and comic parts with indescribable humour and effect. As to the translation, I could only judge of its marvel- lous fidelity, which enabled me to follow him, word for word, — but the Germans themselves are equally enchanted by its vig- our, and elegance, and poetical colouring. ^ * *■ * * » The far-famed gallery of Dresden is, of course, the first and grand attraction to a stranger. The regidation of this gallery, and the difficulty of obtaining admission, struck me at first as rather inhospitable and ill- natured. In the summer months it is open to the public two days in the week ; but during the winter months, from Septem- ber to March, it is closed. In order to obtain admittance du- ring this recess, you must pay three dollars to one of the prin- cipal keepers on duty, and a gyatuity to the porter, — in all about half a guinea. Having once paid this sum, you are free to enter whenever the gallery has been opened for another party. The ceremony is, to send the laquais-de-place at nine in the morning to inquire whether the gallery will be open in the course of the day ; if tlie answer be in the affirmative, it is advisable to make your appearance as early as possible, and I believe you may stay as long as you please (at least / did) ; nothing more is afterward demanded, though something may perhaps be expected — if you are a verij frequent visiter. All this is rather ungracious. It is true that the gallery is not a national, but a royal gallery, — that it was founded and enriched LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 211 by princes for their private recreation ; that Augustus III. pur- chased the Modena gallery for his kingly pleasure ; that from the original construction of the building it is impossible to heat it with stoves, without incurring some risk, and that to oblige the poor professors and attendants to linger benumbed and shivering in the gallery from morning to night, is cruel. In fact, it would be difficult to give an idea of the deadly cold which prevails in the inner gallery, where the beams of the sun scarcely ever penetrate. And it may happen that only a chance visiter, or one or two strangers, may ask admittance in the course of the day. But poor as Saxony now is, — drained, and exhfi'.isted, and maimed by successive wars, and trampled by successive conquerors, this glorious gallery, which Frederic spared, and Napoleon left inviolate, remains the chief attraction to strangers ; and it may be doubted whether there is good policy in making admittance to its treasures a matter of diffi- culty, vexation, and expense. There would be little fear, if all strangers were as obstinate and enthusiastic as myself, — for, to confess the truth, I know not what obstacle, or difficulty, or inconvenience could have kept me out ; if all legal avenues had been hermetically sealed, I would have prayed, bribed, persevered, till I had attained my purpose, and after travelling three hundred miles to achieve an object, what are a few dol- lars ? But still it is ungracious, and methinks, in this courte- ous and liberal capital, these regulations ought to be reformed or modified. On entering the gallery for the first time, I walked straight forward, without pausing, or turning to the right or the left, into the Raflfaelle-room, and looked round for the Madonna del Sisto, — literally with a kind of misgiving. Familiar as the form might be to the eye and the fancy, from numerous copies and prints, still the unknown original held a sanctuary in my imagination, like the mystic Isis behind her veil : and it seemed that whatever I beheld of lovely, or perfect, or soul-speaking in art, had an unrevealed rival in my imagination : something was beyond — there was a criterion of possible excellence as yet only conjectured — for I had not seen the Madonna del Sisto. Now, when I was about to lift my eyes to it, I literally hesi- tated — I drew a long sigh, as if resigning myself to disappoint- ment, and looked Yes ! there she was indeed ! that di- vinest image that ever shaped itself in palpable hues and forms to the living eye ! What a revelation of ineffable grace, and purity, and truth, and goodness ! There is no use attempting to say any thing about it ; too much has already been said and 212 SKETCHES OF ART, written — and what are words ? After gazing on it again and again, day after day, I feel that to attempt to describe the im- pression is like measuring the infinite, and sounding the un- fathomable. When I looked up at it to-day it gave me the idea, or rather the feeling, of a vision descending and floating down upon me. The head of the virgin is quite superhuman ; to say that it is beautiful, gives no idea of it. Some of Cor- reggio's and Guido's virgins — the virgin of Murillo at the Leuch- tenberg palace — have more beauty, in the common meaning of the word ; but every other female face, however lovely, how- ever majestic, would, I am convinced, appear either trite or exaggerated if brought into immediate comparison with this divine countenance. There is such a blessed calm in every feature ! and the eyes, beaming with a kind of internal light, look straight out of the picture — not at you or me — not at any thing belonging to this world, — but through and through the universe. The unearthly child is a sublime vision of power and grandeur, and seems not so much supported as enthroned in her arms, and what fitter throne for the Divinity than a wo- man's bosom full of innocence and love 1 The expression in the face of St. Barbara, who looks down, has been differently interpreted : to me she seems to be giving a last look at the earth, above which the group is raised as on a hovering cloud. St. Sixtus is evidently pleading in all the combined fervour of faith, hope, and charity, for the congregation of sinners, who are supposed to be kneeling before the picture — that is, for us — to whom he points. Finally, the cherubs below, with their upward look of rapture and wonder, blending the most childish innocence with a sublime inspiration, complete the harmonious whole, uniting heaven with earth. While I stood in contemplation of this all-perfect work, I felt the impression of its loveliness in my deepest heart, not only without the power, but without the thought or wish to give it voice or words, till some lines of Shelley's — lines which were not, but, methinks, ought to have been, inspired by the Madonna — came, uncalled, floating through ray memory— Seraph of Heaven ! too gentle to be human, Veiling beneath that radiant form of woman All that is insupportable in thee, Of light, and love, and immortality ! Sweet Benediction in the eternal curse ! Veil'd Glory of this lampless universe ! Thou Harmony of Nature's art ! LITERATtRE, AND CHARACTER. 213 I measure " The world of fancies, seeking one like thee, , And find — alas ! mine one infirmity I* On the first morning I spent in the gallery, a most benevo- lent-looking old gentleman came up to me, and half lifting his velvet cap from his gray hairs, courteously saluted me by name. I replied, without knowing at the moment to whom I spoke. It M'as Sottigar, the most formidable — no, not formidable — but the most erudite scholar, critic, antiquarian, in Germany. Bottigar, I do believe, has read every book that ever was writ- ten ; knows every thing that ever was known ; and is ac- quainted vvith everybody, who is anybody, in the four quarters of the world. He is not the author of any large work, but his writings, in a variety of form, on art, ancient and modem, — on literature, on the classics, on the stage, are known over all Germany ; and in his best days few have exercised so wide an influence over opinion and literature. It is said, that in his latter years his criticism has been too vague, his praise too in- discriminate, to be trusted ; but I know not why this should excite indignation, though it may produce mistrust : in Botti- gar's conformation, benevolence must always have been promi- nent, and in the decline of his life — for he is now seventy-eight — this natural courtesy combining with a good deal of vanity and imagination, would necessarily produce the result of ex- treme mildness, — a disposition to see, or try to see, all en beau. The happier for him, and the pleasanter for others. We were standing together in the room with the Madonna, but I did not allude to it, nor attempt to express by a word the impression it had made on me ; but he seemed to understand my silence ; he afterward told me that it is ascertained that Raffaelle em- ployed only three months in executing this picture : it was thrown upon his canvass in a glow of inspiration, and is painted very lightly and thinly. When Palmeroli, the Italian restorer, was brought here at an expense of more than three thousand ducats, he ventured to clean and retouch the background and accessories, but dared not touch the figures of the Virgin and the Child, which retain their sombre tint. This has perhaps destroyed the harmony of the general effect, but if the man mistrusted himself, he was right : in such a case, however, he had better have let the background alone. In taking down the picture for the purpose of cleaning, it was discovered that a part of the original [canvass, about a quarter of a yard, was Vide Shelley's Epipsychidion. 214 SKETCHES OP ART, turned back in order to make it fit the frame. Every one must have observed, that in Midler's engraving, and all the known copies of this Madonna, the head is too near the top of the picture, so as to mar the just proportion. This is now- amended : the veil, or curtain, which appears to have been just drawn aside to disclose the celestial vision, does not now reach the boundary of the picture, as heretofore ; the original effect is restored, and it is infinitely better. As if to produce a surfeit of excellence, the five Corregios hang together in the same room with the Raffaelle.* They are the Madonna di San Georgio ; the Madonna di San Fran- cisco ; the Madonna di Santo Sebasiiano ; the famous Na- tivity, called La Notte ; and the small Magdalene reading, of which there exist an incalculable number of copies and prints. I know not that any thing can be added to what has been said a hundred times over, of these wondrous pieces of poetry. Their excellence and value, as unequalled productions of art, may not perhaps be understood by all, — the poetical charm, the something more than meets the eye, is not perhaps equally felt by all, — but the sentiment is intelligible to every mind, and goes at once to every heart ; the most uneducated eye, the merest tyro in art, gazes with delight on the Notte ; and the Magdalene reading has given more pleasure than any known picture, — it is so quiet, so simple, so touching in its heavenly beauty ! Those who may not perfectly understand what artists mean when they dwell with rapture on Correggio's wonderful chiaro-scuro, should look close into this little picture, which hangs at a convenient height : they will perceive that they can look through the shadows into the substance, — as it might be, into the flesh and blood ; — the shadows seem accidental — as if between the eye and the colours, and not incorporated with them ; in this lies the inimitable excellence of this master. The Magdalene was once surrounded by a rich frame of silver gilt, chased, and adorned with gems, turquoises, and pearls : but some years ago a thief found means to enter at the window, and cai'ried off the picture for the sake of the frame. A reward of two hundred ducats and a pardon were offered for the picture only, and in a fortnight afterward it was * Mr. Russel is quite right in his observation that the Correggios are hung too near together : the fact is, that in the Dresden gallery, the pic- tures are not well hung, nor well arranged ; there is too little light in the outer gallery. Lastly, the numbers are so confused that I found the catalogue of little use. A new arrangement and a new catalogue by Professor Matthai, are in contemplation. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 215 happily restored to the gallery uninjured ; but I did not hear that the frame and jewels were ever recovered. Of Correggio's larger pictures, I think the Madonna di San Georgio pleased me most. The Virgin is seated on a throne, holding the sacred Infant, who extends his arms and smiles out upon the world he has come to save. On the right stands St. George, his foot on the dragon's head ; behind him St. Peter Martyr ; on the left, St. Geminiano and St. John the Baptist. In the front of the picture two heavenly boys are playing with the sword and helmet of St. George, which he has apparently cast down at the foot of the throne. All this picture is grand and sublime, in the feeling, the forms, the colouring, the ex- pression. But what, says a wiseacre of a critic, rubbing up his school chronology, what have St. Francis, and St. George, and St. John the Baptist to do in the same picture with the Virgin Mary 1 Did not St. George live nine hundred years after St. John ? and St. Francis five hundred years after St. George? and so on. Yet this is properly no anachronism — no violation of the proprieties of action, place, or time. These and similar pic- tures, as the St. Jerome at Parma, and Raffaelle's Madonna, are not to be considered as historical paintings, but as grand pieces of lyrical and sacred poetry. In this particular picture, which was an altar-piece in the church of Our Lady at Parma, we have in St. George the representation of religious magni- nimity ; in St. John, religious enthusiasm : in St. Geminiano, religious munificence ; in St. Peter Martyr, religious fortitude ; and these are grouped round the most lovely impersonation of innocence, chastity, and heavenly love. Such, as it appears to me, is the true intention and signification of this and similar pictures. But in the " Notte" (the Nativity) the case is different. It is properly an historical picture ; and if Correggio had placed St. George, or St. Francis, or the Magdalene, as spectators, we might then exclaim at the absurdity of the anachronism ; but here Corregio has converted the literal representation of a circumstance in sacred history into a divine piece of poetry, when he gave us that emanation of supernatural light, stream- ing from the form of the celestial child, and illuminating the ecstatic face of the virgin mother, who bends over her infant undazzled ; while another female draws back, veiling her eyes with her hand, as if unable to endure the radiance. Far off, through the gloom of night, we see the morning just breaking along the eastern horizon — emblem of the " day-spring from on high." 216 SKETCHES OF ART, This is precisely one of those pictures of which no copy or engraving could convey any adequate idea ; the sentiment of maternity (in which Correggio excelled) is so exquisitely tender, and the colouring so inconceivably transparent and deli- cate. I suppose it is a sort of treason to say that in the Madonna di San Francisco, the face of the virgin is tinctured with affec- tation ; but such was and is my impression. If I were to plan a new Dresden gallery, the iVIadonna del Sisto and the " Nolle" should each have a sanctuary apart, and be lighted from above ; at present, they are ill-placed for effect. When I could move from the Raffaelle room, I took advan- tage of the presence and attendance of Professor Matthai (who is himself a painter of eminence here), and went through a regular course of the Italian schools of painting, beginning with Giotto. The collection is extremely rich in the early Ferarese and Venetian painters, and it was most interesting thus to trace the gradual improvement and development of the school of colourists through Squarcione, Mantegna, the Bellini, Giorgione, Paris Bordone, Palma, and Titian ; until richness became exuberance, and power verged upon excess in Paul Veronese and Tintoretto. Certainly, I feel no inclination to turn my note-book into a catalogue ; but I must mention Titian's Christo della Moneta : — such a head ! — so pure from any trace of passion ! — so re- fined, so intellectual, so benevolent ! The only head of Christ I ever entirely approved. Here they have Giorgione's master-piece — the meeting of Rachel and Jacob ; and the three daughters of Palma, half- lengths, in the same picture. The centre one, Violante, is a most lovely head. There is here an extraordinary picture by Titian, represent- ing Lucrezia Borgia, presented by her husband to the Ma- donna. The portraits are the size of life, half-lengths. I looked in vain in the countenance of Lucrezia for some trace, some testimony of the crimes imputed to her ; but she is a fair, golden-haired, gentle-looking creature, with a feeble and vapid expression. The head of her husband, Alphonso, is fine and full of power. There are, 1 suppose, not less than fourteen or fifteen pictures by Titian. The Concina family, by Paul Veronese, esteemed his finest production, is in the Dresden gallery, with ten others of the same master. Of Guido, there are ten pictures, particularly LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 217 that extraordinary one, called Ninus and Semiramis, life size. Of the Carracci, at least eight or nine, particularly the Genius of Fame, which should be compared with that of Guido. There are numerous pictures of Albano and Ribera ; but very few specimens of Salvator Rosa and Domenichiuo. On the whole, I suppose that no gallery, except that of Flor- ence, can compete with the Dresden gallery in the treasures of Italian ait. In all, there are five hundred and thirty-four Ital- ian pictures. I pas3 over the Flemish, Dutch, and French pictures, which fill the outer gallery : these exceed the Italian school in num- ber, anr* many of them are of surpassing merit and value, but, having just come from Munich, where the eye and fancy arp both satiated with this class of pictures, I gave my attention principally to the Italian masters. There is one room here entirely filled with the crayon paint- ings of Rosalba, including a few by Liotard. Among them is a very interesting head of Melastasio, painted when he was young. He has fair hair and blue eyes, with small features, and an expression of mingled sensibility and acuteness : no power. Rosalba Carriera, perhaps the finest crayon painter who ever existed, was a Venetian, born at Chiozza in 1675. She was an admirable creature in every respect, possessing many accom- plishments, besides the beautiful art in which she excelled. Several anecdotes are preserved which prove the sweetness of her disposition, and the clear simplicity of her mind. Spence, who knew her personally, calls her " the most modest of painters ;" yet she used to say playfully, " I am charmed with everything I do for eight hours after it is done!" This was natural while the excitement of conception was fresh upon the mind. No one, however, could be more fastidious and difficuli about their own works than Rosalba. She was not only an observer of countenance by profession, but a most acute ob- server of character, as revealed in all its external indications. She said of Sir Godfrey Kneller, after he had paid her a visit, " I concluded he could not be religious, for he has no modesty." The general philosophical truth comprised in these few words is not less admirable than the acuteness of the remark, as ap- plied to Kneller — a professed skeptic, and the most self-suffi- cient coxcomb of his time. Rosalba was invited at difi'erent times to almost all the courts of Europe, and painted most of the distinguished per- sons of her lime at Vienna, Dresden, Berlin, and Paris ; the Vol. I.— T 218 SKETCHES OF ART, lady-like refinements of her mind and manners, which also marked her style of painting, recommended her not less than her talents. She used, after her return to Italy, to say her prayers in German, " because the language was so express- ive."* Rosalba became blind before her death, which occurred in 1757. Her works in the Dresden gallery amount to at least one hundred and fifty — principally portraits — but there are also some exquisite fancy heads. Thinking of Rosalba reminds me that there are some pretty stories told of women who have excelled as professed artists. In general, the conscious power of maintaining themselves, habits of attention and manual industry, the application of our feminine superfluity of sensibility and imagination to a tangi- ble result — have produced fine characters. The daughter of Tintoretto, when invited to the courts of Maximilian and Philip II., refused to leave her father. Violante Siries of Florence gave a similar proof of fiUal aflection ; and when the grand duke commanded her to paint her own portrait for the Floren- tine gallery, where it now hangs, she introduced the portrait of her father, because he had been her first instructer in art. When Henrietta Walters, the famous Dutch miniature painter, was invited by Peter the Great and Frederic to their respect- ive courts, with magnificent promises of favour and patronage, she steadily refused ; and when Peter, who had no idea of giv- ing way to obstacles, particularly in the female form, pressed upon her in person the most splendid offers, and demanded the reason of her refusal, she replied, that she was contented with her lot, and could not bear the idea of living out of a free country. Maria von Osterwyck, one of the most admirable flower painters, had a lover, to whom she was a little partial, but his idleness and dissipation distressed her. At length she pro- mised to give him her hand on condition that during one year he would work regularly ten hours a day, observing that it was only what she had done herself from a very early age. He agreed ; and took a house opposite to her that she might witness his industry ; but habit was too strong, his love or his resolution failed, and he broke the compact. She refused to be his wife ; and no entreaties could afterward alter her de- termination never to accept the man who had shown so little strength of character, and so little real love. She was a wise * Spence. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 219 woman, and, as the event showed, not a heartless one. She died unmarried, though surrounded by suitors. It was the fate of Elizabeth Sirani, one of the most beau- tififl' women, as well as one of the most exquisite painters of her time, to live in the midst of those deadly feuds between the pupils of Guido and those of Domenichino, and she was poisoned at the age of twenty-six. She left behind her one hundred and fifty pictures, an astonishing number if we con- sider the age at which the world was deprived of this won- derful creature, for they are finished with the utmost care in every part. Madonnas and Magdalenes were her favourite subjects. She died in 1526. Her best pictures are at Flor- ence. Sofonisba Angusciola had two sisters, Lucia and Europa, almost as gifted, though not quite so celebrated as herself; these three "virtuous gentlewomen," as Vasari calls them, lived together in the most delightful sisterly union. One of Sofonisba's most beautiful pictures represents her two sisters playing at chess, attended by the old duenna, who accom- panied them everywhere. When Sofonisba was invited to the court of Spain, in 1560, she took her sisters with her — in short, they were inseparable. They were all accomplished women. " We hear," said the pope, in a complimentary letter to Sofonisba on one of her pictures, " that this your great talent is among the least you possess :" which letter is said by Vasari to be a sufficient proof of the genius of Sofonisba — as if the holy father's mfallibility extended to painting ! Luckily, we have proofs more undeniable in her own most lovely works — glowing with life like those of Titian ; and in the testimony of Vandyke, who said of her in her later years, that " he had learned more from one old blind woman in Italy than from all the masters of his art." It is worth remarking, that almost all the women who have attained celebrity in painting, have excelled in portraiture. The characteristic of Rosalba is an exceeding elegance ; of Angelica Kauffman exceeding grace : but she wants nerve. Lavinia Fontana threw a look of sensibility into her most mas- culine heads — she died broken-hearted for the loss of an only son, whose portrait is her masterpiece.* The Sofonisba had most dignity, and in her own portrait,! a certain dignified sim- * Lanzi says, that many of the works of Lavinia Fontana might easily pass for those of Guido ; — her best works are at Bologna. She died in 1614. t At Allhorpe. 230 SKETCHES OP ART, piicity in the air and attitude strikes us immediately. Gen- tileschi has most power : she was a gifted, but a profligate woman. All those whom I have mentioned were women of undoubted genius ; for they have each a style apart, peculiar, and tinted by their individual character : but all, except Gen- tileschi, were feminine painters. They succeeded best in feminine portraits, and when they painted history they were only admirable in that class of subjects which came within the province of their sex ; beyond tliat boundary they became fade, insipid, or exaggerated ; thus Elizabeth Sirani's Annun- ciation is exquisite, and her Crucifixion feeble ; Angelica Kauffman's Nymphs and Madonnas are lovely ; but her pic- ture of the warrior Herman, returning home after the defeat of the Roman legions, is cold and ineffective. The result of these reflections is, that there is a walk of art in which woman may attain perfection, and excel the other sex ; as there is another department from which they are excluded. You must change the physical organization of the race of women before we produce a Rubens or a Michael Angelo. Then, on the other hand, I fancy, no maji could p^int like Louisa Sharpe, any more than write like Mrs. Hemans. Louisa Sharpe and her sister are in painting just what Mrs. Hemans is in poetry ; we see in their works the same characteristics — no feebleness, no littleness of design or manner, nothing vapid, trivial, or affected, — and nothing masculine ; all is supereminently, essen- tially feminine, in subject, style, and sentiment. I wish to combat in every way that oft-repeated, but most false com- pliment unthinkingly paid to women, that genius is of no sex ; there may be equality of power, but in its quality and appli- cation there will and must be diff"erence and distinction. If men would but rememember this truth, they would cease to treat with ridicule and jealousy the attainments and aspira- tions of women, knowing that there never could be real com- petition or rivalry. If women would admit this truth, they would not presume out of their sphere : — but then we come to the necessity for some key to the knowledge of ourselves and others — some scale for the just estimation of our own qualities and powers, compared with those of others — the great secret of self-regulation and happiness — the beginning, middle, and end of all education. But to return from this tirade. I wish my vagrant pen were less discursive. In the works of art, the presence of a power, felt rather than perceived, and kept subordinate to the sentiment of grace. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 231 should mark the female mind and hand. This is what I love in Rosalba, in her own Mrs. Carpenter, in Madame de Frey- berg, and in Eliza and Louisa Sharpe : in the latter there is a high tone of moral as well as poetical feeling. Thus her pic- ture of the young girl coming out of church after disturbing the equanimity of a whole congregation by her fine lady airs and her silk attire, is a charming and most graceful satire on the foibles of her sex. The idea, however, is taken from the Spectator. But Louisa Sharpe can also create. Of another lovely picture, — that of the young, forsaken, disconsolate, re- pentant mother, who sits drooping over her child, " with looks bowed down in penetrative shame," while one or two of the rigidly righteous of her own sex turn from her with a scornful and upbraiding air — I believe the subject is original ; but it is obviously one which never could have occurred, except to the most consciously pure as well as the gentlest and kindest heart in the world. Never was a more beautiful and Christian lesson conveyed by woman to woman ; at once a warning to our weakness, and a rebuke to our pride.* Apropos of female artists : I met here with a lady of noble birth and high rank, the Countess Julie von Egloflstein,! who in spite of the prejudices still prevailing in Germany, has de- voted herself to painting as a profession. Her vocation for the art was early displayed ; but combated and discouraged as derogatory to her rank and station ; she was for many years demoiselle (Thonneur to the grand Duchess Luise of Weimar. Under all these circumstances, it required real strength of mind to take the step she has taken ; but a less decided course could not well have emancipated her from trammels, the force of which can hardly be estimated out of Germany. A recent journey to Italy, undertaken on account of her health, fixed her determination and her destiny for life. In looking over her drawings and pictures, I was particularly struck by one singularity, which yet, on reflection, appears perfectly comprehensible. This high-born and court-bred wo- man shows a decided predilection for the picturesque in humble * The Miss Sharpcs were at Dresden while I was there, and their names and some of their works were fresh in my mind and eye when I wrote the above ; but think it fair to add, that I had not the opportunity I could have wished of cultivating their acquaintance. These three sis- ters, all so talented and so inseparable, — all artists, and bound together in affectionate communion of hearts and interests, reminded me of the Sofonisba and her sisters. t She is the "Julie" celebrated in some of Goethe's minor poems. T 2 222 SKETCHES OF ART, life, and seems to have turned to simple nature in perfect sim- plicity of heart. Being self-taught and self-formed, there is nothing mannered or conventional in her style ; and I do hope she will assert the privilege of genius, and, looking only into nature out of her own heart and soul, form and keep a style to herself. I remember one little picture, painted either for the queen of England or the queen of Bavaria, representing a young Neapolitan peasant, seated at her cottage door, contemplating her child cradled at her feet, while the fishing-bark of her husband is sailing away in the distance. In this little bit of natural poetry there was no seeking after effect, no prettiness, no pretension ; but a quiet genuine simplicity of feeling, which surprised while it pleased me. When I have looked at the Countess Julie in her painting-room, surrounded by her draw- ings, models, casts — all the powers of her exuberant enthusi- astic mind flowing free in their natural direction, I have felt at once pleasure, and admiration, and respect. It should seem that the energy of spirit and real magnanimity of mind which could trample over social prejudices, not the less strong because manifestly absurd, united to genius and perseverance, may, if life be granted, safely draw upon futurity both for success and for fame. ****** I consider my introduction to Moritz Retzsch as one of the most memorable and agreeable incidents of my short sojourn at Dresden. This extraordinary genius, who is almost as popular and in- teresting in England as in his own country, seems to have re- ceived from nature a double portion of the inventive faculty — that rarest of all her good gifts, even to those who are her especial favourites. As his published works, by which he is principally known in England (the Outlines to the Faust, to Shakspeare, to Schiller's Song of the Bell, &c.) are illustra- tions of the ideas of others, few but those who may possess some of his original drawings are aware that Retzsch is him- self a poet of the first order, using his glorious power of graphic delineation to throw into form the conceptions, thoughts, aspi- rations of his own glowing imagination and fertile fancy. Retzsch was born at Dresden in 1779, and has never, I believe, been far from his native place. From childhood he was a singular being, giving early indications of his imitative power by drawing or carving in wood resemblances of the objects which struck his attention, without the slightest idea in himself or others of becoming eventually an artist ; and I have even LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 223 heard that, when he was quite a youth, his enthusiastic mind, labouring with a power which he felt rather than knew, his love of the wilder aspects of nature, and impatience of the re- straints of artificial life, had nearly induced him to become a huntsman or forester (jager) in the royal service. However, at the age of twenty, his love of art became a decided vocation. The little property he had inherited or accumulated was dissi- pated during that war, which swept like a whirlwind over all Germany, overwhelming prince and peasant, artist, mechanic, in one wide-spreading desolation. Since that time Retzsch has depended on his talents alone — content to live poor in a poor country. He has, by the exertion of his talents, achieved for himsrlf a small independence, and contributed to the sup- port of a large family of relations, also ruined by the casualties of war. His usual residence is at his own pretty little farm or vineyard a few miles from Dresden. When m the town, where his duties as professor of the academy frequently call him, he lodges in a small house in the Neustadt, close upon the banks of the Elbe, in a retired and beautiful situation. Thither I was conducted by our mutual friend N , whose appreciation of Retzsch's talents, and knowledge of his peculiarities, rendered him the best possible intermediator on this occasion. The professor received us in a room which appeared to an- swer many purposes, being obviously a sleeping as well as a sitting-room, but perfectly neat. I savv at once that there was everywhere a woman's superintending eye and thoughtful care; but did not know at the moment that he was married. He re- ceived us with open-hearted frankness, at the same time throw- ing on the stranger one of those quick glances which seemed to look through me : in return, I contemplated him with inex- pressible interest. His figure is rather larger, and more portly than I had expected ; but I admired his fine Titanic head, so large, and so sublime in its expression ; his light blue eye, wild and wide, which seemed to drink in meaning and flash out light ; his hair profuse, grizzled, and flowing in masses round his head : and his expanded brow full of poetry and power. In his deportment he is a mere child of nature, sim- ple, careless, saying just what he feels and thinks at the mo- ment, without regard to forms ; yet pleasing from the benevolent earnestness of his manner, and intuitively polite without being polished. After some conversation he took us into his painting room. As a colourist, I believe his style is criticised, and open to criticism ; it is at least singular ; but I must confess that while JJ34 SKETCHES OF ART, I was looking over his things, I was engrossed by the one con- viction ; — that while his peculiar merits, and the preference of one manner to another may be a matter of argument or taste, it is certain and indisputable, that no one paints like Retzsch, and that, in the original power and fertdity of conception, in the quantity of mind which he brings to bear upon his subject, he is in his own style unequalled and inimitable. I was rather surprised to see in some of his designs and pencil drawings, the most elaborate delicacy of touch, and most finished execu- tion of parts, combined with a fancy which seems to run wild over his paper or his canvass ; but only seems — for it must be remarked, that with all this luxuriance of imagination, there is no exaggeration either of form or feeling ; he is peculiar, fan- tastic, even extravagant — but never false in sentiment or ex- pression. The reason is, that in Retzsch's character the moral sentiments are strongly developed ; where they are deficient, let the artist who aims at the highest poetical department of excellence despair ; for no possession of creative talent, nor professional skill, nor conventional taste, will supply that main deficiency. I saw in Retzsch's atelier many things novel, beautiful, and interesting ; but will note only a few, which have dwelt upon my memory as being characteristic of the man as well as the artist. There was, on a small panel, the head of an angel smiling. He said he was often pursued by dark fancies, haunted by melancholy forebodings, desponding over himself and his art, " and he resolved to create an angel for himself, which should smile upon him out of heaven." So he painted this most lovely head, in which the radiant spirit of joy seems to beam from every feature at once ; and I thought, while I looked upon it, that it were enough to exorcise a whole legion of blue devils. It is rarely that we can associate the mirthful with the beauti- ful and the sublime — even I could have deemed it next to im- possible ; but the effulgent cheerfulness of this divine face corrected that idea, which, after all, is not in bright lovely nature, but in the shadow which the mighty spirit of humanity casts from his wings, as he hangs brooding over her, between heaven and earth. Afterward he placed upon his easel a wondrous face, which made me shrink back — not with terror, for it was perfectly beautiful — but with awe, for it was unspeakably fearful : the hair streamed back from the pale brow — the orbs of sight ap- peared at first two dark, hollow, unfathomable spaces, like LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 225 those in a scull ; but when I drew nearer, and looked atten- tively, two lovely living eyes looked at me again out of the depth of shadow, as if from the bottom of an abyss. The mouth was divinely sweet, but sad, and the softest repose rested on every feature. This, he told me, was the Angel of Death : it was the original conception of a head for the large picture now at Vienna, representing the Angel of Death bearing aloft two children into the regions of the blessed ; the heavens open- ing above, and the earth and stars sinking beneath his feet. The next thing which struck me was a small picture — two satyrs butting at each other, while a shepherd carries off the nymph for whom they are contending. This was most admi- rable for its grotesque power and spirit, and, moreover, ex- tremely well coloured. Another in the same style represented a satyr sitting on a wine-skin, out of which he drinks ; two arch-looking nymphs are stealing on him from behind, and one of them pierces the wine-skin w ith her hunting-spear. There was a portrait of himself, but I would not laud it — in fact, he has not done himself justice. Only a colossal bust, in the same style, and wrought with the same feeling as Dan- neckar's bust of Schiller, could convey to posterity an adequate idea of the head and countenance of Retzsch. I complimented him on the effect which his Hamlet had produced in England ; he told me that it had been his wish to illustrate the Midsum- mer Night's Dream, or the Tempest, rather than Macbeth : the former he will still undertake, and, in truth, if any one suc- ceeds in imbodying a just idea of a Miranda, a Caliban, a Ti- tania, and the poetical burlesque of the Athenian clowns, it will be Retzsch, whose genius embraces at once the grotesque, the comic, the wild, the wonderful, the fanciful, the elegant ! A few days afterward we accepted Retzsch's invitation to visit him at his campagna — for whether it were farm-house, villa, or vineyard, or all together, I could not well decide. The drive was delicious. The road wound along the banks of the magnificent Elbe, the gently-swelling hills, all laid out in vine- yards, rising on our right ; and though it was in November, the air was soft as summer. Retzsch, who had perceived our ap- proach from his window, came out to meet us — took me under his arm as if we had been friends of twenty years standing, and leading me into his picturesque domicile, introduced me to his wife — as pretty a piece of domestic poetry as one shall see in a summer's day. She was the daughter of a vine- dresser, whom Retzsch fell in love with while she was yet al- most a child, and educated for his wife — at least so runs the 226 SKETCHES OF ART, tale. At the first glance I detected the original of that coun- tenance which, more or less idealized, runs through all his representations of female youth and beauty : here was the model, both in feature and expression ; she smiled upon us a most cordial welcome, regaled us with delicious coffee and cakes prepared by herself, then taking up her knitting, sat down beside us ; and while I turned over admiringly the beautiful designs with which her husband had decorated her album, the looks of veneration and love with which she regarded him, and the expression of kindly, delighted sympathy with which she smiled upon me, I shall not easily forget. As for the album itself, queens might have envied her such homage : and what would not a dilettante collector have given for such a possession ! I remember two or three of these designs which must serve to give an idea of the rest: — 1st. The good genius descending to bless his wife. — 2d. The birthday of his wife — a lovely fe- male infant is asleep under a vine, which is wreathed round the tree of life ; the spirits of the four elements are bringing votive gifts with which they endow her. 3d. The Enigma of Human Life. The Genius of Humanity is reclining on the back of a gigantic sphinx, of M'hich the features are averted, and partly veiled by a cloud ; he holds a rose half-withered in his hand, and looks up with a divine expression towards two butterflies which have escaped from the chrysalis state, and are sporting above his head ; at his feet are a dead bird and reptile — emblematical of sin and death. 4th. The genius of art, represented as a young Apollo, turns, with a melancholy, abstracted air, the handle of a barrel-organ, while Vulgarity, Ig- norance, and Folly listen with approbation ; meantime his lyre and his palette lie neglected at his feet, together with an empty purse and wallet : the mixture of pathos, poetry, and satire in this little drawing can hardly be described in words. 5th. Hope, represented by a lovely group of playful children, who are peeping under a hat for a butterfly, which they fancy they have caught, but which has escaped, and is hovering above their reach. 6th. Temptation presented to youth and inno- cence by an evil spirit, while a good genius warns them to be- ware. In this drawing, the figures of the boy and girl, but more particularly of the latter, appeared to me of the most consummate and touching beauty. 7th. His wife walking on a windy day : a number of little sylphs are agitating her drapery, lifting the tresses of her hair, playing with her LITERATTRE, AND CHARACTER. 227 sash; while another party have flown off with her hat, and are bearing it away in triumph. After spending three or four hours delightfully, we drove home in silence by the gleaming, murmuring river, and be- neath the light of silent stars. On a subsequent visit, Retzsch showed me many of these delicious phantasie, or fancies, as he termed them, — or more truly, little pieces of moral and lyrical poetry, thrown into palpable form, speaking in the universal language of the eye to the universal heart of man. I remem'^er, in particular, one of striking and even of ap- palling interest. The Genius of Humanity and the Spirit of Evil ai-e playing at chess for the souls of men : the CTcnius of Humanity has lost to his infernal adversary some of his principal pieces, — love, humility, innocence, and lastly, peace of mind ; — but he still retains faith, truth, and for- titude ; and is sitting in a contemplative attitude, considering his next move ; his adversary, who opposes him with pride, avarice, irreligion, luxury, and a host of evil passions, looks at him with a Mephistophiles' expression, anticipating his devilish triumph. The pawns on the one side are prayers — on the other, doubts. A little behind stands the angel of conscience as arbitrator. In this most exquisite allegory, so beautifully, so clearly conveyed to the heart, there lurked a deeper moral than in many a sermon. There was another beautiful little allegory of love, in the character of a Picklock, opening, or trying to open, a variety of albums, lettered, the " Human Heart, No. 1 ; Human Heart, No. 2 ;" while Philosophy lights him with her lantern. There were besides many other designs of equal poetry, beauty, and moral interest — I think, a whole portfolio full of them. I endeavoured to persuade Retzsch that he could not do belter than publish some of these exquisite Fancies, and when I left him he entertained the idea of doing so at some future period. To adi)pt his own language, the Genius of Art could not present to the Genius of Humanity a more delightful and a more profitable gift.* The following list of German painters comprehends those only whose works I had an opportunity of considering, and who appeared to me to possess decided merit. I might easily have extended this catalogue to thrice its length, had I included all those whose names were given to me as being distinguished and Since this was written, in November 1833, Retzsch has sent over to England a series of these Fancies for publication. 228 SKETCHES OF ART, celebrated among their own countrymen. From Munich alone I brought a list of two hundred artists, and from other parts of Germany nearly as many more. But in confining myself to those whose productions I saw, I adhered to a principle which, after all, seems to be the best — viz. never to speak but of what we knoui ; and then only of the individual impression : it is necessary to know so many things before we can give, with confidence, an opinion about any one thing ! While the literary intercourse between England and Ger- many increases every day, and a mutual esteem and under- standing is the natural consequence of this approximation of mind, there is a singular and mutual ignorance in all matters appertaining to art, and consequently, a good deal of injustice and prejudice on both sides. The Germans were amazed and incredulous, when I informed them that in England there are many admirers of art, to whom the very names of Schnorr, Overbeck, Rauch, Peter Hess, Wach, Wagenbauer, and even their great Cornelius, are unknown ; and I met with very clever, well-informed Germans, who had, by chance, heard of Sir Thomas Lawrence, and knew something of Wilkie, Turner, and Martin, from the engravings after their works ; who thought Sir Joshua Reynolds and his engraver Reynolds one and the same person ; and of Callcott, Landseer, Eily, and Hilton, and others of our shining lights, they knew nothing at all. I must say, however, that they have generally a more just idea of English art than we have of German art, and their veneration for Flaxman, like their veneration for Shakspeare, is a sort of enthusiasm all over Germany. Those who have contemplated the actual state of art, and compared the preva- lent tastes and feelings in both countries, will allow that much advantage would result from a better mutual understanding. We English accuse the German artists of mannerism, of a formal, hard, and elaborate execution, — a pedantic style of composition, and sundry other sins. The Germans accuse us, in return, of excessive coarseness and carelessness, a loose sketchy style of execution, and a general inattention to truth of character.* " You English have no school of art," was often said to me ; I could have replied — if it had not been a solecism in grammar — "You Germans have too much school." The " esprit de secte," which in Germany has broken up their We have among us .1 young German painter (Theodor" von Hoist), who, uniting the exuberant enthusiasm and rich imagination of this country with a just appreciation of the style of English art, is likely to achieve great things. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 229 poetry, literature, and philosophy into schisms and schools, descends unhappily to art, and every professor, to use the Highland expression, has his tail. At the same time we cannot deny to the Germans the merit of great earnestness of feeling, and that characteristic integrity of purpose which they throw into every thing they undertake or perform. Art with them is oftener held in honour, and pur- sued truly for its own sake, than among us : too many of our English artists consider their lofty and noble vocation simply as the means to an end, be that end fame or gain. Generally speaking, too, the German artists are men of superior cultiva- tion, so that when the creative inspiration falls upon them, the material on which to work is already stored up : " nothing can come of nothing," and the sunbeams descend in vain on the richest soil, where the seed has not been sown. It is certain that we have not in England any historical painters who have given evidence of their genius on so grand a scale as some of the historical painters of Germany have re- cently done. We know that it is not the genius, but the op- portunity which has been wanting, but we cannot ask foreign- ers to admit this, — they can only judge from results, and they must either suppose us to be without eminent men in the higher walks of art, — or they must wonder, with their magnificent ideas of the incalculable wealth of our nobles, the prodigal ex- penditure of our rulers, and the grandeur of our public institu- tions, that painting has not oftener been summoned in aid of her eldest sister architecture. On the otlier hand, their school of portraiture and landscape is decidedly inferior to ours. Not only have they no landscape painters who can compare with Calcott and Turner, But they do not appear to have imagined the kind of excellence achieved by these wonderful artists. I should say, generally, that their most beautiful landscapes want atmosphere. I used to feel while looking at them as if I were in the exhausted receiver of an air-pump. Of their por- traits I have already spoken ; the eye which has rested in de- light upon one of Wilkie's or Phillips's line manly portraits (not to mention Reynolds, Gainsborough, Romney, and Law- rence), cannot easily be reconciled to the hard, frittered manner of some of the most admired of the German painters ; it is a difference of taste, which I will not call natural but national ; — the remains of the old gothic school, which, as the study of Italian art becomes more diffused, will be modified or pass away. Vol. L— U 230 SKETCHES OF ART, HISTORY. Peter Cornelius, born at Dusseldorf in 1778, was for a con- siderable time the director (president) of the academy there, and is now the director of the academy of art at Munich : much of his time, however, is spent in Italy. The Germans esteem him their best historical painter. He has invention, expression, and power, but appears to me rather deficient in the feeling of beauty and tenderness. His grand works are the fresco painting in the Glyphtothek at Munich, already de- scribed. Friederich Overbeck, born at Lubeck in 1789 : he excels in scriptural subjects, which he treats with infinite grandeur and simplicity of feeling. Wilhelm Wach, born at Berlin in 1787 : first painter to the King of Prussia, and professor in the academy of Berlin : es- teemed one of the best painters and most accomplished men in Germany. Not having visited Berlin, where his finest works exist, I have as yet seen but one picture by this painter — the head of an angel, at the palace of Peterstein, sublimely con- ceived, and most admirably painted. In the style of colour, in the singular combination of grand feeling and delicate exe- cution, this picture reminded me of Leonardo da Vinci. Professor Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld, born at Leipsig in 1794. His frescoes from the Nibelungen Lied in the new pal- ace at Munich have been already mentioned at length. Professor Heinrich Hesse : the frescoes in the Royal Chapel at Munich, already described. Wilhelm Tischbein, born at Heyna in 1751. He is director of the academy at Naples, and highly celebrated. He must not be confounded with his uncle, a mediocre artist, who was the court painter of Hesse Cassel, and whose pictures swarm in all the palaces there. Philip Veit, of Frankfort — fresco painter. Joseph Sehlotthauer, professor of historical and fresco paint- ing at Munich. (I believe this artist is dead. He held a high rank.) Clement Zimmermann, now employed in the Pinakothek, and in the new palace at Munich, where he takes a high rank as painter, and is not less distinguished by his general infor- mation, and his frank and amiable character. Moritz Retzsch of Dresden. Professor Vogel, of Dresden, principal painter to the King LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 231 of Saxony. He paints in fresco and history, but excels in portraits. Steiler, of Munich, court painter to the King of Bavaria, esteemed one of the best portrait painters in Germany. Goetzenberger, fresco painter. He is employed in painting the University Hall at Bonn. Eduard Bendeman, of Berlin. I saw at the exhibition of the Kunstverein at Dusseldorf, a fine picture by this painter — ^ « The Hebrews in ExUe." " By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept." The ci.'lounng I thought rather hard, but the couoeption and drawing were in a grand style. Wilhelm Schadow, director of the academy at Dusseldorf. Hetzsch of Stuttgardt. The brothers Riepenhausen, of Gottingen, resident at Rome. They are celebrated for their designs of the pictures of Polyg- notus, as described by Pausanius. Koehler. He exhibited at the Kunstverein at Dusseldorf a picture of " Rebecca at the well," very well executed. Ernst Forster, of Altenburg, employed in the palace at Mu- nich. This clever young painter married the daughter of .lean Paul Richter. Gassen, of Coblentz ; Hiltensberger, of Suabia ; Hermann, of Dresden ; Foltz, of Bingen ; Kaulbach, of Munich ; Eu^ gene Neurather, of Munich; Wilhelm Rockel, of Schleiss- heim ; Von Schwind (I believe of Munich) ; Wilhelm Lin- denschmidt, of Mayence. All these painters are at present in the service of the King of Bavaria. Julius Hubner of Breslaw— portraits ; Greveu, of Cologne ■^portraits. S3IALL SUBJECTS AND CONVERSATION PIECES. Peter Hess, of Munich, one of the most eminent painters in Germany. In his choice of subjects he reminded me some- times of Eastlake, and sometimes of Wilkie, and his style is rather in Wilkie's first manner. His pictures are full of spirit, truth, and character. Dominique Quaglio, of Munich. Interiors, &c. He also ranks very high : he reminds me of Frazer. Major General von Heydeck, of Munich, an amateur painter of merited celebrity. In the collection of M. de Klenze, and in the Leuchtenberg Gallery, there are some small battle-pieces, 232 SKETCHKS OF ART, scenes in Greece and Spain, and other subjects by Von Hey- deck, very admirably painted. F. Miiller, of Casscl. At the exhibition at Dusseldorf I saw a picture by this artist, " A rustic bridal procession in the Campagna," painted with a freedom and lightness of pencil not common among the German artists. Pliiddeman, of Colberg. T. B. Sonderland, of Dusseldorf. Fairs and merrimakings. H. Ruslige. Tlie same subjects. Both are good artists. H. Kretzschmar, of Pomerania. His picture of " Little Red Ridinghood" (Rothkappchen), at the Kunstverein, at Dussel- dorf, had great merit. Adolf Schrotte. Rustic scenes in the Dutch manner. LANDSCAPE. Dahl, a Norwegian settled at Dresden, esteemed one of the best landscape painters in Germany. There is a very fine sea-piece by this artist in the possession of the Countess von Seebach at Dresden, with, however, all the characteristic pecu- liarities of the German school. T. D. Passavant, of Frankfort. Friedrich, of Dresden, one of the most poetical of the Ger- man landscape painters. He is rather a mannerist in colour, like Turner, but in the opposite excess : his genius revels in gloom, as that of Turner revels in light. Professor von Dillis, of Munich. Max Wagenbauer, of Munich. He is called, most de- servedly, the German Paul Potter. Jacob Dorner, of Munich. A charming painter; perhaps a little too minute in his finishing. Catel, of Dusseldorf. Scenes on the Mediterranean. This painter resides chiefly in Italy ; but in the collection of M. de Klenze I saw some admirable specimens of his works. Rothman, of Heidelberg. I saw some pictures and sketches by this young painter, full of genius and feeling. Fries of Munich, a young painter of great promise. He put an end to his own life, while I was at Munich, in a fit of de- lirium, caused by fever, and was very generally lamented. Wilhelm Schirmer, of Juliers, an exceedingly fine landscape painter. Andreas Achenbach, of Dusseldorf: he has also great merit. LITERATURE, AND CHARACTER. 233 There are several female artists in Germany of more or less celebrity. The Baroness von Freyberg (born Electrina Stuntz) holds the first rank in original talent. She resides near Mu- nich, but no longer paints professionally. The Countess Julie von Egloffstein has also the rare gift of original and creative genius. Luise Sidlar, of Weimar ; Madlle. de Winkel and Madame de Loqueyssie, of Dresden, are distinguished in their art. The two latter are exquisite copyists. In architecture, Leo von Klenze and Professor Girtner, of Munich ; and Heideloff of Ntiremburg, are deservedly cele- brated iii Germany. Thf inost distinguished sculptors in Germany are Christian Rauch, and Christian Friedrich Tieck, of Berlin ; Johan Heinrich von Dannecker, of Stuttgardt ; Schvvanthaler, Eber- hardt, Bandel, Kirchmayer, Mayer, all of Munich ; Reitchel, of Dresden ; and Imhoff, of Cologne. Those of their works which I had an opportunity of seeing have been mentioned in the course of these sketches U2 HARDWICKE. Who that has exulted over the heroic reign of our gorgeous Elizabeth, or wept over the fate of Mary Stuart, but will re- member the name of the only woman whose high and haughty spirit outfaced the lion port of one queen, and whose audacity trampled over the sorrows of the other — " Brow-beating her fair form, and troubling her sweet pride 1" But this is anticipation. If it be so laudable, according to the excellent, oft-quoted advice of the giant Moulineau, to begin at the beginning* what must it be to improve upon the pre- cept ? for so, in relating the fallen and fading glories of Hard- wicke, do I intend to exceed even " mon ami le Belier" in his- toric accuracy, and take up our tale at a period ere Hardwicke itself — the Hardwicke that now stands — had a beginning. There lived, then, in the days of Queen Bess, a woman well worthy to be her majesty's namesake, — Elizabeth Hardwicke, more commonly called, in her own country, Bess of Hardwicke, and distinguished in the page of history as the old Countess of Shrewsbury. She resembled Queen Elizabeth in all her best and worst qualities, and, putting royalty out of the scale, would certainly have been more than a match for that sharp-witted virago, in subtlety of intellect, and intrepidity of temper and manner. She was the only daughter of John Hardwicke, of Hard- wicke,! and being early left an orphan and an heiress, was * "Belier ! mon ami ! commence par le commencement 1" — Contesdc Hamilton. t A manor situated on the borders of Derbyshire, between Chesterfield and Mansfield. 236 HAncwicKE. married ere she was fourteen, to a certain Master Robert Barley, who was about her own age. Death dissolved this premature union within a few months, but her husband's large estates had been settled on her and her heirs ; and at the age of fifteen, Dame Elizabeth was a blooming widow, amply dowered with fair and fertile lands, and free to bestow her hand again where she listed. Suitors abounded, of course ; but Elizabeth, it should seem, was hard to please. She was beautiful, if the annals of her family say true, — she had wit, and spirit, and above all, an in- finite love of independence. After taking the management of her property into her own hands, she for some time reigned and revelled (with all decorum be it understood) in what might be truly termed a state of single blessedness ; but at length, tired of being lord and lady too — " master o'er her vassals," if not exactly " queen o'er herself — she thought fit, having reached the discreet age of four-and-twenty, to bestow her hand on Sir William Cavendish. He was a man of substance and power, already enriched by vast grants of abbey lands in the time of Henry VIII.,* all which, by the marriage contract, were settled on the lady. After this marriage, they passed some years in retirement, having the wisdom to keep clear of the political storms and factions which intervened between the death of Henry VIII. and the accession of Mary, and yet the sense to profit by them. While Cavendish, taking advantage of these troublous times, went on adding manor after manor to his vast possessions, dame Elizabeth was busy providing heirs to inherit them : she became the mother of six hopeful chil- dren, who were destined eventually to found two illustrious dukedoms, and mingle blood with the oldest nobility of Eng- land — nay, with royalty itself. " Moreover," says the family chronicle, "the said Dame Elizabeth persuaded her husband, out of the great love he had for her, to sell his estates in the south, and purchase lands in her native county of Derby, where- with to endow her and her children, and at her farther per- suasion he began to build the noble seat of Chatsworth, but left it to her to complete, he dying about the year 1559." Apparently, this second experiment in matrimony pleased the lady of Hardwicke better than the first, for she was not long a widow. We are not in this case informed how long — her * The Cavendishes were originally of Suffolk. Whether this William. Cavendish was the same who was gentleman ushes and secretary to Car- dinal Wolsey, is, I believe, a disputed point. HARDWICKE. 237 biographer having discreetly left it to our imagination ; and the Peerages, though not in general famed for discretion on such points, have in this case affected the same delicate uncertainty. However this may be, she gave her hand, after no long court- ship, to Sir William St. Loo, captain of Elizabeth's guard, and then chief butler of England — a man equally distinguished for his fine person and large possessions, but otherwise not super- fluously gifted by nature. So well did the lady manage him^ that, with equal hardihood and rapacity, she contrived to have all his " fair lordships in Gloucestershire and elsewhere" settled on herself and her children, to the manifest injury of St. Loo's own brothers, and his daughters by a former union : and he dying not long after without any issue by her, she made good her title to his vast estates, added them to her own, and they became the inheritance of the Cavendishes. But three husbands, six children, almost boundless opulence, did not yet satisfy this extraordinary woman — for extraordinary she certainly was, not more in the wit, subtlety, and unflinching steadiness of purpose with which she amassed wealth and achieved power, but in the manner in which she used both. She ruled her husband, her family, her vassals, despotically, needing little aid, suffering no interference, asking no counsel. She managed her immense estates, and the local power and political weight which her enormous possessions naturally threw into her hands, with singular capacity and decision. She farmed the lands; she collected her rents ; she built ; she planted ; she bought and sold ; she lent out money on usury; she traded in timber, coals, lead : in short, the object she had apparently proposed to herself, the aggrandizement of her chil- dren by all and any means, she pursued with a wonderful per- severance and good sense. Power so consistently wielded, purposes so indefatigably followed up, and means so success- fully adapted to an end, are, in a female, very striking. A slight sprinkling of the softer qualities of her sex, a little more elevation of principle, would have rendered her as respectable and admirable as she was extraordinary ; but there was in this woman's mind the same " fond de vulgarite" which we see in the character of Queen Elizabeth, and which no height of rank, or power, or estate could do away with. In this respect the lady of Hardwicke was much inferior to that splendid crea- ture, Anne Clifford, Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Cum- berland, another masculine spirit in the female form, who had the same propensity for building castles and mansions, the same passion for power and independence, but with more true gene- 238 HABDWICKE. rosity and magnanimity, and a touch of poetry and genuine nobility about lier, which the other wanted : in short, it was all the difference between the amazon and the heroine. It is curious enough that the Duke of Devonshire should be the present representative of both these remarkable women. But to return : Bess of Hardvvicke was now approaching her fortieth year ; she had achieved all but nobility — the one thing yet wanting to crown her swelling fortunes. About ^the year 1565 (I cannot find the exact date) she was sought in marriage by George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury. There is no reason to doubt what is asserted, that she had captivated the earl by her wit and her matronly beauty.* He could hardly have married her from motives of interest : he was himself the rich- est and greatest subject in England ; a fine chivalrous char- acter, vvith a reputation as unstained as his rank was splendid, and his descent illustrious. He had a family by a former wife (Gertrude Manners) to inherit his titles, and her estates were settled on her children by Cavendish. It should seem, there- fore, that mutual inclination alone could have made the match advantageous to either party ; but Bess of Hardwicke was still Bess of Hardvvicke. She took advantage of her power over her husband in the first days of their union. " She induced Shrewsbury by entreaties or threats to sacrifice, in a measure, the fortune, interest, and happiness of himself and family to the aggrandizement of her and her family."! She contrived in the first place to have a large jointure settled on herself ; and she arranged a double union, by which the wealth and interests of the two great families should be amalgamated. She stipulated that her eldest daughter Mary Cavendish, should marry the earl's son Lord Talbot ; and that his youngest daughter Grace Talbot, should marry her eldest son Henry Cavendish. The French have a proverb worthy of their gallantry — " Ce que femme veut, Dieu veut ;" but even in the feminine gender we are sometimes reminded of another proverb equally signifi- cant — " Uhommc propose et Dieu dispose.'''' Now was Bess of Hardwicke queen of the Peak ; she had built her aerie so high, it seemed to dally with the winds of heaven ; her young eaglets were worthy of their dam, ready plumed to fly at fortune ; she had placed the coronet of the oldest peerage in England on her own brow, she had secured the reversion of it to her daughter, and she had married a man whose character * Bishop Rennet's Memoirs of the family of Cavendish, t Lodge's Illustrations of British History. HARDWICKE. 239 was indeed opposed to her own, but who, from his chivalrous and confiding nature, was calculated to make her happy, by leaving her mistress of herself. In 1568, Mary Stuart, flying into England, was placed in the custody of the Earl of Shrewsbury, and remained under his care for sixteen years, a long period of restless misery to the unhappy earl not less than to his wretched captive. In this dangerous and odious charge was involved the sacrifice of his domestic happiness, his peace of mind, his health, and great part of his fortune. His castle was converted into a prison, his servants into guards, his porter into a turnkey, his wife into a spy, and himself into a jailer, to gratify the ever-waking jealousy of Queen Elizabeth."* But the earl's greatest mis- fortune was the estrangement, and at length enmity, of his violent, high-spirited wife. She beheld the unhappy Mary with a hatred for which there was httle excuse, but many intelligible reasons ; she saw her, not as a captive committed to her womanly mercy, but as an intruder on her rights. Her haughty spirit was continually irritated by the presence of one in whom she was forced to acknowledge a superior, even in that very house and domain where she herself had been used to reign as absolute queen and mistress. The enormous expenses which this charge entailed on her household were distracting to her avarice ; and, worse than all, jealousy of the youthful charms and winning manners of the Queen of Scots, and of the constant intercourse between her and her husband, seem at length to have driven her half frantic, and degraded her, with all her wit, and sense, and spirit, into the despicable treacherous tool of the more artful and despotic Elizabeth, who knew how to turn the angry and jealous passions of the countess to her own purposes. It was not, however, all at once that matters rose to such a height : the fire smouldered for some time ere it burst forth. There is a letter preserved among the Shrewsbury correspond- encet which the countess addressed to her husband from Chats- worth, at a time when the earl was keeping guard over Mary at Sheffield castle. It is a most curious specimen of character. It treats chiefly of household matters, of the price and good- ness of malt and hops, iron and timber, and reproaches him for not sending her money which was due to her, adding, " I see, out of sight out of mind with you ;" she sarcastically inquires * Scott's Memoirs of Sir Ralph Sadler, t Lodge's " Illustrations.'' 240 HARDWICKE. " how his charge and love doth ;" she sends him " some letyss (lettuces) for tliat he loves them" (this common sallad herb was then a rare delicacy) ; and she concludes affectionately, " God send my juill helthe." ' The incipient jealousy betrayed in this letter soon after broke forth openly with a degree of violence towards her husband, and malignity towards his prisoner, which can hardly be believed. There is distinct evi- dence that Shrewsbury was not only a trustworthy, but a rigorous jailer ; that he detested the office forced upon him^; that he often begged in the most abject terms to be released from it ; and that, harassed on every side by the tormenting jealous)' of his wife, the unrelenting severity and mistrust of Elizabeth, and the complaints of Mary, he was seized with several fits of illness, and once by a mental attack, or " phrene- sie," as Cecil terms it, brought on by the agitation of his mind ; yet the idea of resigning his office, except at the pleasure of Queen Elizabeth, never seems to have entered his imagination. On one occasion Lady Shrewsbury went so far as to accuse her husband openly of intriguing with his prisoner, in every sense of the word ; and she at the same time abused Mary in terms which John Knox himself could not have exceeded. Mary, deeply incensed, complained of this outrage : the earl also appealed to Queen Elizabeth, and the countess and her daughter, Lady Talbot, were obliged to declare upon oath, that this accusation was false, scandalous, and malicious, and that they were not the authors of it. This curious affidavit of the mother and daughter is preserved in the Record office. In a letter to Lord Leicester, Shrewsbury calls his wife " his wicked and malicious wife," and accuses her and " her imps," as he irreverently styles the whole brood of Caven- dishes, of conspiring to sow dissensions between him and his eldest son. These disputes being carried to Elizabeth, she set herself with heartless policy to foment them in every possible way. She deemed that her safety consisted in employing t)ne part of the earl's family as spies on the other. In some signal quarrel about the property round Chatsworth, she commanded the earl to submit to his wife's pleasure : and though no " tame snake" towards his imperious lady, as St. Loo and Cavendish had been before liim, he bowed at once to the mandate of his unfeeling sovereign — such was the despotism and such the loyalty of those days. His reply, however, speaks the bitter- ness of his heart. " Sith that her majesty hath set down this hard sentence against me to my perpetual infamy and dishonour, that I should be ruled and overrunne by my wife, so bad and wicked a HARDWICKE. 241 v;oman ; yet her majesty shall see that I will obey her majes- ty's commandment, though no curse or plague on the earth could be more grievous to me." * * "It is too much," he adds, "to be made my wife's pensioner." Poor Lord Shrews- bury I Can one help pitying him ? Not the least curious part of this family history is the double dealing of the imperious countess. While employed as a spy on Mary, whom she detested, she, from the natural fearlessness and frankness of her temper, not unfrequently betrayed Eliza- beth, whom she also detested. While in attendance on Mary, she often gratified her own satirical humour, and amused her prisoner by giving her a coarse and bitter portraiture of Eliza- beth, her court, her favourites, her miserable temper, her vanity, and her personal defects. Some reports of these conversations soon reached the queen (who is very significantly drawn in one of rier portraits in a dress embroidered over with eyes and ears), and she required from Mary an account of whatever Lady Shrewsbury had said to her prejudice. Mary, hating equally the rival who oppressed her and the domestic harpy who daily persecuted her, was nothing loath to indulge her feminine spirit against the two, and sent Elizabeth such a cir- cumstantial list of the most gross and hateful imputations (all the time politely assuring her good sister that she did not believe a word of them), that the rage and mortification of the queen must have exceeded all bounds.* She kept the letter secret ; but Lady Shrewsbury never was suffered to appear in court after the death of Mary had rendered her services super- fluous. Through all these scenes, the Lady of Hardwicke still pursued her settled purpose. Her husband complained that he was " never quiet to satisfy her greedie appetite for money for purchases to set up her children." Her ambition was equally insatiate, and generally successful : but in one memo- rable instance she overshot her mark. She contrived (unknown to her lord) to marry her favourite daughter Elizabeth Caven- dish, to Lord Lennox, the younger brother of the murdered Darnley, and consequently standing in the same degree of re- lationship to the crown. Queen Elizabeth, in the extremity of her rage and consternation, ordered both the dowager Lady Lennox and Lady Shrewsbury to the Tower, where the * This celebrated letter is yet preserved, and well known to historians and antiquarians. It is sufficient to say that scarce any part of it would bear transcribing. Vol. L— X 242 hARDwrcUE. latter remained for some months ; we may suppose, to the great relief of her husband. He used, however, all his in- terest to excuse her delinquency, and at lenglh procured her liberation. But this was not all. Elizabeth Cavendish, the young Lady Lennox, wliile yet in all her bridal bloom, died in the arms of her mother, who appears to have sufi'ered that searing, lasting grief which stern hearts sometimes feel. The only issue of this marriage was an infant daughter, that un- happy Arabella Stuart, who was one of the most memorable victims of jealous tyranny which our history has recorded. Her very existence, from her near relationship to the throne, was a crime in the eyes of Elizabeth and James I. There is no evi^ dence that Lady Shrewsbury indulged in any ambitious schemes for this favourite grand-daughter, " her dear jewel, Arbell," as she terms her :* but she did not hesitate to enforce her claims to royal blood by requiring 600Z. a year from the treasury for her board and education as became the queen's kinswoman. Ehzabeth allowed her 200Z. a year, and this pittance Lady Shrewsbury accepted. Her rent-roll was at this time 60,000Z. a year, equal to at least 200,000Z. at the present day. The Earl of Shrewsbury died in 1590, at enmity to the last moment with his wife and son ; and the Lady of Hard- wicke having survived four husbands, and seeing all her chil- dren settled and prosperous, still absolute mistress over her family, resided during the last seventeen years of her life in great state and plenty at Hardwicke, her birth-place. Here she superintended the education of Arabella Stuart, who, as she grew up to womanhood, was kept by her grandmother in a state of seclusion, amounting almost to imprisonment, lest the jealousy of Elizabeth should rob her of her treasure.! Next to the love of money and povver, the chief passion of this magnificent old beldam was building. It is a family tra- dition, that some prophet had foretold that she should never die as long as she was building, and she died at last, in 1607, during a hard frost, when her labourers were obliged to sus- pend their work. She built Chatsworth, Oldcotes, and Hard- wicke ; and Fuller adds in his quaint style that she left " two sacred (besides civil) monuments of her memory; one that I hope will not be taken away (her splendid tomb, erected by * See two of her letters in Sir Henry Ellis's Collection. + See some letters in Ellis's Collection, vol. ii. series 1, which show with what constant jealousy^ Lady Shrewsbury and her charge were watched by the court. MARDWICKE. 24S herself*), and one that I am sure cannot be taken away, being registered in the court of heaven, viz. her stately almshouses for twelve poor people at Derby." Of Chatsworlh, the hereditary palace of the Dukes of Devon- shire, all its luxurious grandeur, all its treasures of art, it is not here " ray hint to speak." It has been entirely rebuilt since the days of its founder. Oldcotes was once a magnifi- cent place. There is a tradition at Hardwicke that old Bess, being provoked by a splendid mansion which the Suttons had lately erected within view of her windows, declared she would build a finer dwelling for the owlets (hence Owlcots or Old- cotes). ;She kept her word, more truly perhaps than she in- tended, lor Oldcotes has since become literally a dwelling for the owls ; the chief part of it is in ruins, and the rest con- verted into a farm-house. Her younger daughter, Frances Cavendiih, married Sir Henry Pierrepoint, of Holme-Pierpoint, and one of the grand-daughters married another Pierrepoint— through one of these marriages, but I know not which, Oldcotes has descended to the present Earl Manvers. The mansion of Hardwicke was commenced about the year 1592, and finished in 1597. It stands about a stone's throw from the old house in which the old countess was born, and which she left standing, as if, says her biographer, she intended to construct her bed of state close by her cradle. This fine old ruin remains, gray, shattered, and open to all the winds of heaven, almost overgrown with ivy, and threatening to tumble about the ears of tlie bats and owls which are its sole inhabit- ants. One majestic room remains entire. It is called the " Giant's Chamber," from two colossal figures in Roman ar- mour which stand over the huge chimney-piece. This room has long been considered by architects as a perfect specimen of grand and beautiful proportion, and has been copied at Chatsworth and at Blenheim. f It must have been in this old hall, and not in the present edifice, that Mary Stuart resided during her short stay at Hardwicke. I am sorry to disturb the fanciful or sentimental * In All Hallows, in Derby. After leaving Hardwicke, I went, of course, to pay my respects to it. It is a vast and gorgeous shrine of many coloured marbles, covered with painting, gilding, emblazonments, and'inscriptions, within which the lady lies at full length in a golden ruff, and a most sumptuous farthingale. t As the measurements are interesting from this fact, I took care to note them exactly, as follows :— length 55 feet G inches ; breadth 30 feet 6 inches ; height 34 feet 6 iru:hes. 244 HARDWICKE. tourists and sight-seers ; but so it is, or rather so it must have been. Yet it is not surprising that the memory of Mary Stuart should now form the principal charm and interest of Hardvvicke, and that she should be in a manner the tutelary genius of the place. Chatsworth has been burnt and rebuilt. Tutbury, Sheffield castle, Wingfield, Fotheringay, and the old house of Hardwicke, in short every place vi'hich Mary inhabited during her captivity, all lie in ruins, as if struck vv^ith a doleful curse. But Hardwicke Hall exists just as it stood in the reign of Elizabeth. The present Duke of Devonshire, with excellent taste and feeling, keeps up the old costume within and without. The bed and furniture which had been used by Mary, the cushions of her oratory, the tapestry wrought by her own hands, have been removed hither, and are carefully preserved. There can be no doubt of the authenticity of these relics, and there is enough surely to consecrate the whole to our imagi- nation. Moreover, we have but to go to the window and see the very spot, the very walls which once enclosed her, the very casements from which she probably gazed with a sigh over the far hills ; and indulge, without one intrusive doubt, in all the romantic, and fascinating, and mysterious, and sorrow- ful associations Avhich hang round the memory of Mary Stuart. With what different eyes may people view the same things ! " We receive but what we give," says the poet ; and all the light, and glory, and beauty with which certain objects are in a manner suffused to the eye of fancy, must issue from our own souls, and be reflected back to us, else 'tis all in vain. " We may not hope from outward forms to win, The passion and the life, whose fountains are within !" When Gray, the poet, visited Hardwicke, he fell at once into a very poet-like rapture, and- did not stop to criticise pic- tures, and question authorities. He says in one of his letters to Dr. Wharton, "Of all the places I have seen in my return from you, Hardwicke pleased me most. One would think that Mary Queen of Scots was but just walked down into the park with her guard for half an hour : her gallery, her room of audience, her ante-chamber, with the very canopies, chair of state, footstool, lit dc repos, oratory, carpets, hangings, just as she left them, a little tattered indeed, but the more venera- ble," &c. &c. Now let us hear Horace Walpole, antiquarian, virtuoso, HARDWICKE. 245 dilettante, fUosofastro — but, in truth, no poet. He is, how- ever, in general so good-natured, so amusing, and so tasteful, that I cannot conceive what put him into such a Smelfungus humour when he visited Hardwicke, with a Cavendish too at his elbow as his cicerone ! He says, " The duke sent Lord John with me to Hardwicke, where I was again disappointed ; but I will not take relations from others ; they either don't see for themselves, or can't see for me. How I had been promised that I should be charmed with Hardwicke, and told that the Devonshires ought to have established themselves there ! Never was I less charmed in my life. The house is not Gothic, but of that betweenity that intervened when Gothic declined, and Palladian was creeping in ; rather, this is totally naked of either. It has vast cham- bers — ay, vast, such as the nobility of that time delighted in, and did not know how to furnish. The great apartment is ex* actly what it was when the Queen of Scots was kept there.* Her council-chamber (the council-chamber of a poor v.'omaa who had only two secretaries, a gentleman usher, an apothe- cary, a confessor, and three maids) is so outrageously spacious that you would take it for King David's, who thought, contrary to all modern experience, that in the multitude of counsellors there is wisdom. At the upper end is the state, with a long table, covered "with a sumptuous cloth, embroidered and em- bossed with gold — at least what was gold ; so are all the tables. Round the top of the chamber runs a monstrous frieze, \ei\. or twelve feet deep, representing a stag-hunt in miserable plastered relief.t " The next is her dressing-room, hung with patchwork on black velvet ; then her state bed-chamber. The bed has been rich beyond description, and now hangs in costly golden tat- ters ; the hangings, part of which they say her majesty worked, are composed of figures as large as life, sewed and embroidered on black velvet, white satin, &c., and represent the virtues that were necessary to her, or that she was found to have — as patience, temperance,^ &c. The fire-screens are particular ; — « * Horace Walpole, as an antiquarian, should have known that Mary was never kept there. t It had formerly been richly painted, and must then have had an effect superior to tapestry ; the colours are still visible here and there. % Mary's own account of her occupations displays the natural elegance of her mind. " I asked her grace, since the weather did cut off all exer- cises abroad, how she passed her time within ? She sayd that all day she wrought with her needle, and that the diversitie of the colours made the work appear leas tedious, and that she continued at it till pain made her to X2 246 HAKDWICKE. pieces of yellow velvet, fringed with gold, hung on a cross-bar of wood, which is fixed on the top of a single stick that rises from the foot.* The only furniture which has any appearance of taste are the table and cabinets, which are of oak, richly carved." (I must observe en passant, that I wonder Horace did not go mad about the chairs, which are exactly in the Strawberry Hill taste, only infinitely finer, crimson velvet, with backs six feet high, and sumptuously carved.) " There is a private chamber within, where she lay : her arms and style over the door. The arras hangs over all the doors. The gallery is sixty yards in length, covered with bad tapestry and wretched pictures of Mary herself, Elizabeth in a gown of sea-monsters. Lord Darnley, James the Fifth and his queen (curious), and a whole history of kings of England not worth sixpence apiece. t " There is a fine bank of old oaks in the park over a lake : nothing else pleased me there." Nothing else ! Monsieur Traveller? — cerles, this is one way of seeing things ! Yei, perhaps, if I had only visited Hard- wicke as a casual object of curiosity — had merely walked over the place — I had left it, like Gray, with some vague impression of pleasure, or like Walpole, with some flippant criticisms, ac^ cording to the mood of the moment ; or, at the most, I had quitted it as we generally leave show-places, with some con- fused recollection of state-rooms, and .blue-rooms, and yellow- rooms, and storied tapestries, and nameless, or misnamed pictures, floating through the muddled brain ; but it was far otherwise : I was ten days at Hardwicke — ten delightful days — time enough to get it by heart ; ay, and what is more, ten nights ; and I am convinced that to feel all the interest of such a place one should sleep in it. There is much, too, in firsi give o'er ; and with, that laid her hand «n her lefl side, and complayne" of an old grief newly increased there. Upon this occasion she, ths Scottish queen, with the agreeable and lively wit natural to her, entered into a pretty disputable comparison between carving, painting, and work- ing with the needle, affirming painting, in her opinion, for the most com- mendable quality." — Letter of Nicholas While to Cecil. * I was as much dehghted by these singular fire-screens as Horace himself could have been ; they aie about seven feet high. The yelloHT velvet suspended from the bar is embossed with black velvet, and inter- mingled with embroidery of various colours and gold-— something like a Persian carpet — but most dazzling and gorgeous in the effect. I believe there is nothing like them anywhere. t Now replaced by ths family portraits brought from Cbatsworth. HARDWICKE. 247 impressions, and the circumstances under which we approachecL Hardwicke were sufficiently striking. It was on a gusty, dark autumnal evening ; and as our carriage wound slowly up the hill, we could but just discern an isolated building, standing above us on the edge of the eminence, a black mass against the darkening sky. No light was to be seen, and when we drove clattering under the old gateway, and up the paved court, the hollow echoes broke a silence which was almost awful. Then we were ushered into a hall so spacious and lofty that I could not at the moment discern its bounds ; but I had glimpses of huge escutcheons, and antlers of deer, and great carved human arms projecting from the walls, intended to sustain lamps or torches, but looking as if they were stretched out to clutch one. Thence up a stone staircase, vast, and grand, and gloomy — leading we knew not where, and hung with pictures of we knew not what — and conducted into a chamber fitted up as a dining-room, in which the remnants of antique grandeur, the rich carved oak wainscoting, the tapestry above it, the embroi- dered chairs, the colossal armorial bearings above the chimney, and the huge recessed windows, formed a curious contrast with the comfortable modern sofas and easy chairs, the blazing fire, and table hospitably spread in expectation of our arrival. Then I was sent to repose in a room hung with rich faded tapestry. On one side of my bed I had King David dancing before the ark, and on the other the judgment of Solomon. The executioner in the latter piece, a grisly giant, seven or eight feet high, seemed to me, as the arras stirred with the wind, to wave his sword, and looked as if he were going to eat up the poor child, which he flourished by one leg ; and for some time I lay awake, unable to take my eyes from the figure. At length fatigue overcame this unpleasant fascination, and I fell asleep. The next morning I began to ramble about, and so day after day, till every stately chamber, every haunted nook, every se- cret door, curtained with heavy arras, and every winding stair, became familiar to me. What a passion our ancestors must have had for space and light ! and what an ignorance of com- fort ! Here are no ottomans of eider-down, no spring cushions, no " boudoirs ctroits, oil Ton ne boude point," no "demijour de rendezvous ;" but what vast chambers ! what interminable gal- leries ! what huge windows pouring in floods of sunshine ! what great carved oak chests, such as lachinio hid himself in ! now stufTed full ofrich tattered hangings, tarnished gold fringes, and remnants of embroidered quilts, what acres — not yards — 248 HARDWICKE. of tapestries, once of " sky-tinctured woof," now faded and motheaten ! what massy chairs and immoveable tables ! what heaps of portraits, the men looking so grim and magnificent, and the women so formal and faded ! Before I left the place I had them all by heart ; there was not one among them who would not have bowed or courtesied to me out of their frames. But there were three rooms in which I especially delighted, and passed most of my time. The first was the council-cham- ber described by Walpole : it is sixty-five feet in length, by thirty-three in width, and twenty-six feet high. Rich tapestry, representing the story of Ulysses, runs round the room to the height of fifteen or sixteen feet, and above it the stag-hunt in ugly relief. On one side of this room there is a spacious re- cess, at least eighteen or twenty feet square ; and across this, from side to side, to divide it from the body of the room, was suspended a magnificent piece of tapestry (real Gobelin's) of the time of Louis Quatorze, still fresh and even vivid in tint, which from its weight hung in immense wavy folds ; above it we could just discern the canopy of a lofty state-bed, with nodding ostrich plumes, which had been placed there out of the way. The effect of the whole, as I have seen it, when the red western light streamed through the enormous windows, was, in its shadowy beauty and depth of colour, that of a " realized Rembrandt" — if, indeed, even Rembrandt ever painted any thing at once so elegant, so fanciful, so gorgeous, and so gloomy. From this chamber, by a folding-door, beautifully inlaid with ebony, but opening with a common latch, we pass into the library, as it is called. Here the Duke of Devonshire generally sits when he visits Hardwicke, perhaps on account of the glorious prospect from the windows. It contains a grand piano, a sofa, and a range of book-shelves, on which I found some curious old books. Here I used to sit and read the voluminous works of that dear, half-mad, absurd, but clever and good- natured Duchess of Newcastle,* and yawn and laugh alter- nately : or pore over Guillim on Heraldry ; fit studies for the place ! In this room are some good pictures, particularly the por- trait of Lady Anne Boyle, daughter of the first Earl of Bur- lington, the Lady Sandwich of Charles the Second's time. This is, without exception, the finest specimen of Sir Peter Lely I ever saw — so unlike the usual style of his half-dressed, Margaret Cavendish, wife of the first Duke of Newcastle. HARDWICKE. 249 leering women — so full of pensive grace and simplicity — the hands and arms so exquisitely drawn, and the colouring so rich and so tender, that I was at once surprised and enchanted. There is also a remarkably fine picture of a youth with a mon- ' key on his shoulder, said to be Jeffrey Hudson (Queen Hen- rietta's celebrated dwarf), and painted by Vandyke. I doubt both. Over the chimney of this room there is a piece of sculptured bas-relief, in Derbyshire marble, representing Mount Parnas- sus, with Apollo and the Muses ; in one corner the arms of Queen Ehzabeth, and in the other her cipher E. R., and the royal crown. I could neither learn the meaning of this nor the name of the artist. Could it have been a gift from Queen Elizabeth ? There is, I think in the next room, another piece of sculpture representing the marriage of Tobias ; and I re- member a third, representing a group of Charity. The work- manship of all these is surprisingly good for the time, and some of the figures very graceful. I am surprised that they escaped the notice of Horace Walpole, in his remarks on the decora- lions of Hardwicke.* Richard Stephens, a Flemish sculptor and painter, and Valerio Vicentino, an Italian carver in pre- cious stones, were both employed by the munificent Caven- dishes of that time ; and these pieces of sculpture were prob- ably the vvork of one of these artists. When tired of turning over the old books, a door concealed behind the arras admitted me at once into the great gallery — my favourite haunt and daily promenade. It is near one hun- dred and eighty feet in length, lighted along one side by a range of stupendous windows, which project outwards from so many angular recesses. In the centre pier is a throne, or couch of state, on a raised platform, under a canopy of crimson and gold, surmounted by plumes of ostrich feathers. The walls are partly tapestried, and covered with some hundreds of family pictures ; none indeed of any superlative merit — none that emulate within a thousand degrees the matchless Vandykes and glorious Titians of Devonshire House ; but among many that are positively bad, and more that are lamentably mediocre as works of art, there are several of great interest. At each end of this gallery is a door, and according to the tradition of the place, every night, at the witching hour of twelve. Queen Eliza- beth enters at one door, and Mary of Scotland at the other ; they advance to the centre, courtesy profoundly, then sit down * Anecdotes of Painting. Reigns of Elizabeth and James L 250 HARDWICKE. together under the canopy, and converse amicably, — till the crowing of the cock breaks up the conference, and sends the two majesties back to their respective hiding-places, i Somebody who was asked if he had ever seen a ghost ? re- plied gravely, "No; but I was once very near seeing one !" In the same manner I was once very near being a witness to one of these ghostly confabs. Late one evening, having left my sketch-book in the gallery, I went to seek it. I made my way up the great stone stair- case with considerable intrepidity, passed through one end of the council-chamber without casting a glance through the pal- pable obscure, the feeble ray of my wax-light just spreading about a yard around me, and lifting aside the tapestry door, stepped into the gallery. Just as tlie heavy arras fell behind me, with a dull echoing sound, a sudden gust of wind came rushing by, and extinguished my taper. Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! — not that I felt afraid — O no ! but just a little what the Scotch call " eerie." A thrill, not altogether unpleasant, came over me : the visionary turn of mind which once united me in fancy " with the w^orld unseen," had long been sobered and reasoned away. I heard no " viewless paces of the dead," nor " airy skirts unseen that rustled by ;" but what I did see and hear was enough. The wind whispering and moaning along the tapestried walls, and every now and then rattling twenty or thirty windows at once, with such a crash ! — and the pictures around just sufiiciently perceptible in the faint light to make me fancy them staring at me. Then immediately behind me was the very recess, or rather abyss, where Queen Elizabeth was at that moment settling her farthingale, to sally out upon me ; aud before me, but lost in blackest gloom, the spectral door where Mary — not that I should have minded encountering poor Mary, provided always that she had worn her own beautiful head where heaven placed it, and not carried it, as Bertrand de Born carried his, " a guisa di lanterna."* As to what followed, it is a secret. Suffice it that I found myself by the fireside in my bedroom, without any very distinct recol- lection of how I got there. Of all the scenes in which to moralize and meditate, a pic- ture gallery is to me the most impressive. With the most in- tense feeling of the beauty of painting, I cannot help thinking with Dr. Johnson, that as far as regards portraits, their chief ex- * Dante. Inferno, Canto 28. HARDWICKE, 251 Cellence and value consist in the likeness and the authenticity,* and not in the merit of the execution. When we can associate a story or a sentiment with every face and form, they almost live to us — they do in a manner speak to us. There is specu- lation in those fixed eyes — there is eloquence in those mute lips — and, O ! what tales they tell ! One of the first pictures which caught my attention as I entered the gallery was a small head of Arabella Stuart, when an infant. The painting is poor enough : it is a little round rosy face in a child's cap, and she holds an embroidered doll in her hand. Who could look on this picture, and not glance forward through succeeding years, and see the pretty playful infant transformed into the impas- sioned woman, writing to her husband — " In sickness, and in despair, wheresoever thou art, or howsoever I be, it sufficeth me always that thou art mine !" Arabella Stuart was not clever ; but not Heloise, nor Corinne, nor Madlle. De I'Espi- nasse ever penned such a dear little morsel of touching elo- quence — so full of all a woman's tenderness ! Her stern grand- mother, the lady and foundress of Hardwicke, hangs near. There are three pictures of her : all the faces have an expres- sion of sense and acuteness, but none of them the beauty which is attributed to her. There are also two of her husbands, Cavendish and Shrewsbury. The former a grave, intelligent head ; the latter very striking from the lofty furrowed brow, the ample beard, and regular but care-worn features. A little farther on we find his son Gilbert, seventh earl of Shrewsbury, and Mary Cavendish, wife of the latter, and daughter of Bess of Hardwicke. She resembled her mother in features as in character. The expression is determined, intelligent, and rather cunning. Of her haughty and almost fierce temper, a curious instance is recorded. She had quarrelled with her neighbours, the Stanhopes, and not being able to defy them with sword and buckler, she sent one of her gentlemen, prop- erly attended, with a message to Sir Thomas Stanhope, to be delivered in presence of witnesses, in these words — "My lady hath commanded me to say thus much to you : that though you be more wretched, vile, and miserable than any creature living, and for your wickedness become more ugly in shape than the vilest toad in the world ; and one to whom none of any reputa- * Life of Johnson, vol. ii.p. 144. Boswell asked, "Are you of that opinion as to the portraits of ancestors one has never seen?" Johnson — *' It then becomes of still more consequence that they should be like." 252 HARDWICKE. tion would vouchsafe to send any message ; yet she hath thought good to send this much to you, that she be contented you should live, and doth noways wish your death, but to this end : that all the plagues and miseries that may befall any man, may light on such a caitifl' as you are," &c. (and then a few ana- themas, yet more energetic, not fit to be transcribed by " pen polite," but ending with hell-fire). " With many other oppro- brious and hateful words which could not be remembered, be- cause the bearer would deliver it but once, as he said he was commanded ; but said if he had failed in any thing, it was in speaking it more mildly, and not in terms of such disdain as he was commanded." We are not told whether the gallantry of Stanhope suffered him to throw the herald out of the window who brought him this gentle missive. As for the termagant countess, his adversary, she was afterward imprisoned in the Tower for upwards of two years, on account of Lady Arabella Stuart's stolen match with Lord Seymour. She ought as- suredly to have " brought forth men children only ;" but she left no son. Her three daughters married the earls of Pem- broke, of Arundel, and of Kent. The portraits of James V. of Scotland and his queen, Mary of Guise, are extremely curious. There is something ideal and elegant about the head of James V. — the look we might expect to find in a man who died from wounded feeling. His more unhappy daughter, poor Mary, hangs near — a full length in a mourning habit, with a white cap (of her own peculiar fashion), and a veil of white gauze. This, I believe, is the celebrated picture so often copied and engraved. It is dated 1578, the thirty-sixth of her age, and the tenth of her captivity. The figure is elegant, and the face pensive and sweet.* Be- side her, in strong contrast, hangs Elizabeth, in a most prepos- terous farthingale, and a superabundance of all her usual ab- surdities and enormities of dress. The petticoat is embroid- ered over with snakes, crocodiles, and all manner of creeping things. We feel almost inclined to ask whether the artist could possibly have intended them as emblems, like the eyes * This picture and the next are said to be by Richard Stevens, of whom there is some account in Walpole (Anecdotes of Painting). Mary also sat to Hilliard and to Zucchero. The lovely picture by Zucchero is at Chiswick. There is another small head of her at Hardwicke, said to have been painted in France, in a cap and feather. The turn of the head is airy and graceful. As to the features, they have been so marred by some sor-disant restorer, it is difficult to say what they may have been origin- ally. HARDWICH.E. 253 and ears in her picture at Hatfield ; but it may have been one of the three thousand gowns, in which Spenser's Gloriana, Raleigh's Venus, loved to array her old wrinkled, crooked car- cass. Katherine of Arragon is here — a small head in a hood: the face not only harsh, as in all her pictures, but vulgar, a characteristic I never saw in any other. There is that pecu- liar expression round the mouth which might be called either decision or obstinacy. And here too is tlie famous Lucy Har- rington, Countess of Bedford, the friend and patroness of Ben Jonson, looking sentimental in a widow's dress, with a white pocket handkerchief. There is character enough in the coun- tenance to make us turn with pleasure to Ben Jonson's exqui- site eulcgium on her. " I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet, Hating that solemn vice of greatness, pride : I meant each softest virtue there should meet. Fit in that softer bosom to reside. Only a learned and a manly soul I purposed her ; that should with even powers The rock, the spindle, and the shears control Of destiny, and spin her own free hours !" Farther on is another more celebrated woman, Christian Bruce, the second Countess of Devonshire, so distinguished in the reigns of Charles I. and Charles H. She had all the good qualities of Bess of Hardwicke : her sense, her firmness, her talents for business, her magnificent and independent spirit, and none of her faults. She was as feminine as she was gen- erous and high-minded ; fond of literature, and a patroness of poets and learned men : — altogether a noble creature. She was the mother of that lovely Lady Rich, " the wise, the fair, the virtuous, and the young,"* whose picture by Vandyke is at Devonshire-house, and there are two pictures at Hardwicke of her handsome, gallant, and accomplished son Charles Cav- endish, who was killed at the battle of Gainsborough. Many fair eyes almost wept iheniNelves blind for his loss, and his mother never recovered the " sore heart-break of his death." There are several pictures of her grandson, the first Duke of Devonshire — the patriot, the statesman, the munificent pat- ron of letters, the poet, the man of gallantry, and, to crown all, the handsomest man of his day. He was one of the leaders in the revolution of 1688 — for be it remembered that the Caven- dishes, from generation to generation, have ennobled their no- bility by their love of liberty, as well as their love of literature * Waller's lines on Lady Rich. Vol. L— Y 254 HARDWICKE. and the arts. One picture of this duke on horseback, en grand costume a la Louis Quatorze, is so embroidered and bewigged, so plumed, and booted, and spurred, that he is scarcely to be discerned through his accoutrements. A cavalier of those days in full dress must have been a ponderous concern ; but then the ladies were as formidably vast and aspiring. The petticoats at this time were so discursive, and the head-dresses so ambitious, that I think it must have been to save in canvass what they expended in satin or brocade, that so many of the pretty women of that day were painted en bergere. Apropos to the first Duke of Devonshire : I cannot help re- marking the resemblance of the present duke to his illustrious ancestor, as well as to several other portraits, and particularly to a very distant relative — the first Countess of Burlington, ■who was, 1 believe the great-grandmother of his grace's grand- mother ; — in both these instances the likeness is so striking as to be recognised at once, and not without a smiling exclama- tion of surprise. Another interesting picture is that of Rachael Russell, the second Duchess of Devonshire, daughter of that heroine and saint Lady Russell : the face is very beautiful, and the air elegant and high-bred — with rather a pouting expression in the full red lips. Here is also the third duchess. Miss Hoskins, a great city heiress. The painter, I suspect, has flattered her, for she had not in her day the reputation of beauty. When I looked at this picture, so full of delicate, and youthful, and smiling love- liness, I could not help recurring to a passage in Horace Wal- pole's letters, in which he alludes to this sylph-like being, as the " ancient grace," and congratulates himself on finding her in good-humour. But of all the female portraits, the one which struck me most was that of Lady Charlotte Boyle, the young Marchioness of Hartington, in a masquerade habit of purple satin, embroidered with silver ; a fanciful little cap and feathers, thrown on one side, and the dark hair escaping in luxuriant tresses ; she holds a mask in her hand, which she has just taken off, and looks round upon us in all the consciousness of happy and high-born loveliness. She was the daughter and heiress of Richard Boyle, the last Earl of Burlington and Cork, and Baroness ClifTord in her own right. The merits of the Cavendishes were their own, but their riches and power, in several instances, were brought into the family by a softer influence. Through her, I believe, the vast estates of the Boyles and Cliffords in Ireland and the north of England, including Chiswick andBol- HARDWICKE. 355 ton Abbey, have descended to her grandson, the present duke.* There are several pictures of her here — one playing on the harpsichord, and another, small and very elegant, in which she is mounted on a spirited horse. There are two heads of her in crayons, by her mother, Lady Burlington,! ill-executed, but said to be like her. And another picture, representing her and her beautiful but ill-fated sister, Lady Dorothy, who was mar- ried very young to Lord Euston, and died six months after- ward, in consequence of the brutal treatment of her husband.J All the pictures of Lady Hartington have the same marked character of pride, intellect, vivacity, and loveliness. But short was her gay and splendid career ! She died of a decline in the sixth year of her marriage, at the age of four-and-twenty. Here is also her father, Lord Burlington, celebrated by Pope (who has dedicated to him the second of his epistles " on the use of liches"), and styled by Walpole "the Apollo of the Arts, which he not only patronised, but studied and cultivated ; his enthusiasm for architecture was such, that he not only designed and executed buildings for himself (the villa at Chiswick, for example), but contributed great sums to public works ; and at his own expense published an edition of the designs of Palladio and of Inigo Jones. In one picture of Lord Burlington there is a head of his idol, Inigo Jones, in the background. There is also a good picture of Robert ? Boyle, the philosopher, a spare, acute, contemplative, inter- esting face, in which there is as much sensibility as thought. He is said to have died of grief for the loss of his favourite sister. Lady Ranelagh ; and when we recollect who and what she was — the sole friend of the solitary heart — the partner of his studies, and with qualities which rendered her the object of Milton's enthusiastic admiration, and almost tender regard, we * William, sixth Duke of Devonshire. t "Lady Dorothy Savile, daughter of the Marquis of Halifax : she had no less attachment to the arts than her husband ; she drew in crayons and succeeded admirably in likenesses, but working with too much ra- pidity, did not do justice to her genius ; she had an uncommon talent too for caricature." — Anecdotes of Painting. t He was a monster ; and no wife of the coarsest plebeian profligate could have suffered more than this lovely, amiable being, of the highest blood and greatest fortune in England. *' She was," says the affecting in- scription on her picture at Chiswick, " the comfort and joy of her parents, the delight of all who knew her angelic temper, and the admiration of all who saw her beauty She was married October 10th, 1741, and delivered by death from misery. May 2d, 1742." But how did it happen that, from a condition like this, there was no release but by death 1 — See Horace Walpole's Correspondence to Sir Horace Mann, vol i p. 328. 256 HARDWICKE. scarce think less of her brother's philosophy, that it afforded him no consolation for the loss of such a sister. On the other side hangs another philosopher, Thomas Hobbes, of Malmsbury, whose bold speculations in politics and metaphysics, and the odium they drew on him, rendered his whole life one continued warfare with established prejudices and opinions. He was tutor in the family of the first Earl of Devonshire, in 1607 — remained constantly attached to the house of Cavendish — and never lost their countenance and patronage in the midst of all the calumnies heaped upon him. He died at Hardwicke under the protection of the first Duke of Devonshire, in 1678. This curious portrait represents him at the age of ninety-two. The picture is not good as a pic- ture, but strildng from the evident truth of the expression — uniting the last lingering gleam of thought with the withered, wrinkled, and almost ghastly decrepitude of extreme age. It has, I believe, been engraved by Hollar. I looked round for Henry Cavendish, the great chymist and natural philosopher — another bright ornament of a family every way ennobled — but there is no portrait of him at Hard- wicke. I was also disappointed not to find the '• limned effigy," as she would call it, of my dear Margaret of New- castle. There are plenty of kings and queens, truly not worth "six- pence apiece," as Walpole observes ; but there is one pic- ture I must not forget — that of the brave and accomplished Earl of Derby, who was beheaded at Bolton-le-Moor, the husband of the heroic " I^ady of Lathom," who figures in Peveril of the Peak. The head has a grand melancholy ex- pression, and I should suppose it to be a copy from Vandyke. Besides these, were many others calculated to awaken in the thoughtful mind both sweet and bitter fancies. How often have I walked up and down this noble gallery lost in "com- miserating reveries" on the vicissitudes of departed grandeur ! — on the nothingness that life could give ! — on the fate of youth- ful beauties who lived to be broken-hearted, grow old, and die ! — on heroes that once walked the earth in the blaze of their fame, now gone down to dust and an endless darkness ! — on bright faces, " petries de lis et de roses," since time-wrinkled ! — on noble forms since mangled in the battle-field ! — on high- born heads that fell beneath the axe of the executioner ! O, ye starred and ribanded ! ye jewelled and embroidered ! ye wise, rich, great, noble, brave, and beautiful, of all your loves and .smiles, your graces and excellences, your deeds and honours — does then a "painted board circumscribe all?" A L T H O R P E. A FRAGMENT. It was on such a day as I have seen in Italy in the month of December, but which, in our chill climate, seemed so un- seasonably, so ominously beautiful, that it was like the hectic loveliness brightening the eyes and flushing the cheek of con- sumption, — that I found myself in the domains of Althorpe. Autumn, dying in the lap of winter, looked out with one bright parting smile ; — the soft air breathed of summer ; the withered leaves, heaped on the path, told a different tale. The slant, pale sun shone out with all heaven to himself; not a cloud was there, not a breeze to stir the leafless woods — those ven- erable woods, which Evelyn loved and commemorated :* the fine majestic old oaks, scattered over the park, tossed their huge bare arms against the blue sky ; a thin hoar frost, dis- solving as the sun rose higher, left the lawns and hills spark- ling and glancing in its ray ; now and then, a hare raced across the open glade — " And with her feet she from the plashy earth Raises a mist, which glittering in the sun, Runs with her all the waj-, wherever she doth run." Nothing disturbed the serene stillness except a pheasant whir- ring from a neighbouring thicket, or at intervals the belling of the deer — a sound so peculiar, and so fitted to the scene, that I * I was much struck with the inscription on a stone tablet, in a fine old wood near the house : " This wood was planted by Sir William Spencer, Knighte of the Bathe, in the year of our Lord 1624 ;" — on the other side, " Up and bee doing, and God will prosper." It is mentioned in Evelyn's " Sylva." Y 2 358 ALTHOBPE. sympathized in the taste of one of the noble progenitors of the Spencers, who had built a hunting lodge in a sequestered spot that he might hear " the harte bell." This was a day, an hour, a scene, with all its associations, its quietness and "beauty, " felt in the blood, and feU along the heart." All worldly cares and pains were laid asleep; while memory, fancy, and feeling waked. Althorpe does not frown upon us in the gloom of remote antiquity ; it has not the warlike glories of some of the baronial residences of our old nobility ; it is not built like a watch-tower on a hill, to lord ic over feudal vassals ; it is not bristled whh battlements and turrets. It stands in a valley, whh the gradual hills undulating round it, clothed with rich woods. It has altogether a look of compactness and comfort, without pretension, which, with tlie pastoral beauty of the landscape, and low situation, recall the ancient vocation of the family, whose grandeur was first founded, like that of the patriarchs of old, on the multitude of their flocks and herds.* It was in the reign of Henry the Eighth that Althorpe became the principal seat of the Spencers, and no place of the same date can boast so many delightful, romantic, and historical associations. There is Spenser the poet, " high-priest of all the Muses' mysteries," who modestly claimed, as an honour, his relationship to those Spencers who now, with a just pride, boast of him, and deem his Faery Queen " the brightest jewel in their coronet ;" and the beau- tiful Alice Spencer, countess of Derby, who was celebrated in early youth by her poet-cousin, and for whom Milton, in her old age, wrote his " Arcades." At Althorpe, in 1603, the queen and son of James the First were, on their arrival in England, nobly entertained with a mask, written for the occasion by Ben Jonson, in which the young ladies and nobles of the country enacted nymphs and fairies, satyrs and hunters, and danced to the sound of " excellent soft music," their scenery the natural woods, their stage the green lawn, their canopy the summer sky. What poetical picturesque hospitality! In these days it would have been a dinner, with French cooks and confectioners express from London to dress it. Here lived Waller's famous Sacharissa, the first Lady Sunderland — so beautiful and good, so interesting in herself, she needed not his wit nor his poetry to enshrine her. Here she parted from her young husband,! when he left her to join * See the accounts of Sir John Spencer, in Collins's Peerage, and prefixed to Dibdins' " ^des Althorpianse." t Henry, first Earl of Sunderland. ALTHORPE. 259 the king in the field ; and here, a few months after, she re- ceived the news of his death in the battle of Newbury, and saw her happiness wrecked at the age of three-and-twenty. Here plotted her distinguished son, that Proteus of politics, the second Lord Sunderland. Charles the First was playing at bowls on the green at Althorpe, when Colonel Joyce's de- tachment surprised him, and carried him ofi' to imprisonment and to death. Here the excellent and accomplished Evelyn used to meditate in the " noble gallerie," and in the " ample gardens," of which he has left us an admiring and admirable descripiion, which would be as suitable to-day as it was a hundred and fifty years ago, with the single exception of the great ri"&pnetor, deservedly far more honoured in this genera- tion than was his apostate time-serving ancestor, the Lord Sunderland of Evelyn's day.* When the Spencers were divided, the eldest branch of the family becoming Dukes of Marlborough, and the youngest Earls Spencer — if the former inherited glory, Blenheim, and poverty — to the latter have belonged more true and more substantial distinctions : for the last three generations, the Spencers have been remarked for talents, for benevolence, for constancy, for love of literature, and patronage of the fine arts. The house retains the form described by Evelyn — that of a half H : a slight irregularity is caused by the new Gothic room, built by the present earl, to contain part of his magnifi- cent library, which, like the statue in the Castle of Otranto, had grown " too big for what contained it." We entered by a central door the large and lofty hall, or vestibule, hung round with pictures of fox-chases and those who figured in them, famous hunters, quadruped and biped, all as large as life, spread over as much canvass as would make a mainsail for a man-of-war. These huge perpetrations are of the time of Jack Spencer, a noted Nimrod in his day ; and are very fine, as we were told, but they did not interest me. I had caught a glimpse of the superb staircase, hung round with pictures above and below, and not the less interesting as having been erected by Sacharissa herself during the few years she was mistress of Althorpe. A face looked at us from over an oppo- site door, which there was no resisting. Does the reader re- member Horace Walpole's pleasant description of a party of seers posting through the apartments of a show-place ? " They * This Lord Sunderland not only changed his party and his opinions, but his religion, with every breath that blew from the court. 260 ALTHORPE, come ; ask what such a room is called ? — write it down ; admire a lobster or cabbage in a Dutch market piece ; dispute whether the last room was green or purple ; and then hurry 10 the inn, for fear the fish should be over-dressed."* We , were not such a party ; but with imaginations ready primed to take fire, and memories enriched with all the associations the place could suggest, to us every portrait was a history. The orthodox style of seeing the house is to turn to the left, and view the ground-floor apartments first : but the face I have mentioned seemed to beckon me straightforward, and I could not choose but obey the invitation : it was that of Lady Bridge- water, the loveliest of the four lovely daughters of the Duke of Marlborough : she had the misfortune to be painted by Jervas, and the good fortune to be celebrated by Pope as the " tender sister, daughter, friend, and wife ;" and again — " Thence Beauty, waking, all her forms supplies — An angel's sweetness — or Bridgewater's eyes." Jervas was supposed to have been presumptuously and des- perately in love with this beautiful woman, who died at the age of five-and-twenty : hence Pope has taken the liberty — by a poetical license, no doubt — to call her, in his Epistle to Jervas, " thy Bridgewater." Two of her fair sisters, the Duchess of Montagu and Lady Godolphin, hung near her ; and above, her fairer sister Lady Sunderland. Ascending the magnificent staircase, a hundred faces look down upon us, in a hundred different varieties of expression, in a hundred diflTerent cos- / tumes. Here are Queen Anne and Sarah, Duchess of Marl- borough, placed amicably side by side, as in the days of their romantic friendship, when they conversed and corresponded as Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman : the beauty, the intellect, the epiri:, are all on the side of the imperious duchess ; the poor queen looks like what she was, a good-natured fool. On the left is the cunning abigail, who supplanted the duchess in favour of Queen Anne — Mrs. Mashani. Proceeding along the < gallery, we are met by the portrait of that angel-devil. Lady I Shrewsbury,! whose exquisite beauty fascinates at once and shocks the eye like the gorgeous colour of an adder. I be- lieve the story of her holding the Duke of Buckingham's horse while he shot her husband in a duel, has been disputed ; but her attempt to assassinate Killegrew, while she sat by in her * Horace Walpole's Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 227. t Anne Brudenel. ALTHORPE. 261 carriage,* is too true. So far had her depranties unsexed her! •' Lorsque la vertu, avec peine abjuree, Nous fait voir une fsmme a ses fureurs livree, S'irritant par I'effort que ce pas a coute, Son ame avec plus d'art a plus de cruaut6." She was even less famous for the number of her lovers, thau the catastrophes of which she was the cause. " Had ever nymph such reason to be glad ? Two in a duel fell, and one ran mad." Not two, but half a dozen fell in duels ; and if her lovers " ran mad," it was in despite, not in despair. Lady Shrews- bury is past jesting or satire ; and after a first involuntary- pause of admiration before her matchless beauty, we turn away with horror. For the rest of the portraits on this vast staircase, it would take a volume to give a catalogue raisonnee of them. We pass, then, into a corridor hung with two large and very mediocre landscapes, representing Tivoli and Terni. Any attempt, even the best, to paint a cataract, must be abor- tive. How render to the fancy the two grandest of its features — sound and motion ? the thunder and the tumult of the head- long waters ? We will pass on to the gallery, and lose our- selves in its enchantments. Where shall we begin? — Anywhere. Throw away the catalogue : all are old acquaintances. We are tempted to speak to them, and they look as if they could courtesy to us. The very walls breathe around us. What Vandykes — what Lelys — what Sir Joshuas ! what a congregation of all that is beauteous and noble ! — what Spencers, Sydneys, Digbys, Russels, Cavendishes, and Churchills ! — O what a scene to moralize, to philosophize, to sentimentalize in ! — what histories in those eyes, that look yet see not ! — wliat sermons on those lips that all but speak ; I would rather reflect in a picture-gal- lery, than elegize in a churchyard. The " poca polvere che nulla sente," can only tell us we must die ; these, with a more useful and deep-felt morality, tell us how to live. Yet I cannot say I felt thus pensive and serious the first time I looked round the gallery at Althorpe. Curiosity, ex- citement, interest, admiration — a crowd of quick successive * See Pepys's Diary. 252 ALTHORPE. images and recollections fleeting across the memory — left me no time to think. 1 remember being startled, the moment I entered, by a most extraordinary picture, — the second Prince of Orange, and his preceptor Katts, by Flinck. The eyes of the latter are really shockingly alive ; they stare out of the canvass, and glitter and fascinate like those of a serpent. If 1 had been a Roman Catholic, I should have crossed myself, as I looked at them, to shield me from their evil and supernatural expression.* The picture of the two Sforzas, Maximilian and his brother Francis, by Albert Durer, is quite a curiosity ; and so is another, by Holbein, near it, containing the portraits of Henry the Eighth, his daughter Mary, and his jester, Will Somers, — all full of individuality and truth. The expression in Mary's face, at once saturnine, discontented, and vulgar, is espe- cially full of character. These last three pictures are curious and valuable as specimens of art ; but they are not pleasing. We turn to the matchless Vandykes, at once admirable as paint- ings, and yet more interesting as portraits. A full-length of his master and friend, Rubens, dressed in black, is magnificent ; the attitude particularly graceful. Near the centre of the gal- lery is the charming full-length of Queen Henrietta Maria, a virell-known and celebrated picture. She is dressed in white satin, and stands near a table on which is a vase of white roses, and, more in the shade, her regal crown. Nothing can be in finer taste than the contrast between the rich, various, but subdued colours of the carpet and background, and the delicate, and harmonious, and brilliant tints which throw out the figure. None of the pictures I had hitherto seen of Hen- rietta, either in the king's private collection or at Windsor, do justice to the sparkling grace of her figure, or the vivacity and beauty of her eyes, so celebrated by all the contemporary poets. Waller, for instance : — " Could nature then no private woman grace, Whom we might dare to love, with such a face, Such a complexion, and so radiant eyes, Such lovely motion, and such sharp replies V Davenant styles her, very beautifully, " The rich-eyed darling of a monarch's breast." Lord Holland, in the description he sent from Paris, dwells on the charm of her eyes, her smile, * I was told that a female servant of the family was so terrified by thi-s picture, that she could never be prevailed on to pass through the door near which it hangs, but made a circuit of several rooms to avoid it. ALTHORPE. 268 and her graceful figure, though he admits her to be rather petite ; and if the poet and the courtier be distrusted, we have the authority of the puritanic Sir Symond d'Ewes, who allows the inliuence of her " excellent and sparkling black eyes." Henrietta could be very seductive, and had all the French grace of manner ; but, as is well known, she could play the virago, " and cast such a scowl as frightened all the lords and ladies in waiting." Too much importance is attached to her charac- ter and her influence over her husband, in the histories of that time. She was a fascinating, but a superficial and volatile French-woman. With all her feminine love of sway, she had not sufficient energy to govern ; and with all her disposition to intrigue, she never had discretion enough to keep her own or the king's secrets. When she rushed through a storm of bul- lets to save a favourite lap-dog : or when, amid the shrieks and entreaties of her terrified attendants, she commanded the cap- tain of her vessel to " blow up the ship rather than strike to the Parliamentarian," — it was more the spirit and wilfulness of a woman, who, with all her faults, had the blood of Henri Quatre in her veins, than the mental energy and resolute forti- tude of a heroine. Near her hangs her daughter, who inherited her grace, her beauty, her petulance, — the unhappy Henriette d'Orleans,* fair, radiant, and lively, with a profusion of beau- tiful hair ; it is impossible to look from the mother to the daughter, without remembering the scene in Retz's memoirs, when the queen said to him, in excuse for her daughter's ab- sence, "My poor Henrietta is obliged lo lie in bed, for I have no wood to make a fire for her — et la pauvre enfant etait tran- sie de froid." Another picture by Vandyke hangs at the top of the room, one of the grandest and most spirited of his productions. It represents William, the first Duke of Bedford, the father of Lord William Russell, when young, and his brother-in-law, the famous (and infamous) Digby, Earl of Bristol. How admira- bly Vandyke has caught the characters of the two men ! — the fine commanding form of the duke, as he steps forward, the frank, open countenance, expressive of all that is good and noble, speak him what he was — not less than that of Digby, which, though eminently handsome, has not one elevated or amiable trait in the countenance ; the drapery, hackground, and more especially the hands, are magnificentlypa nted. On *^ She is supposed to have been poisoned ky her husband, at the insti- gation of the Chevalier de Lorraine. 264 ALTHOKPE. one side of this superb picture, hangs the present Earl Spen- Ser when a youth ; and on the other, his sister Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, at the age of eighteen, looking all life and high-born loveliness, and reminding one of Coleridge's beautiful lines to her: — " Light as a dream your days their circlets ran From all that teaches brotherhood to man, Far, far removed ! from want, from grief, from fear ! Obedient music luU'd your infant ear; Obedient praises soothed your infant heart ; Emblazonments and old ancestral crests. With many a bright obtrusive form of art, Detain'd your eye from nature. Stately vests, That veiling strove to deck your charms divine. Rich viands and the pleasurable wine, Were yours unearn'd by toil." — And he thus beautifully alludes to her maternal character ; for this accomplished woman set the example to the highest ranks, of nursing her own children : — «» You were a mother ! at your bosom fed The babes that loved you. You, with laughing eye, Each twilight thought, each nascent feeling read. Which you yourself created." Alas, that such a beginning should have such an end ! Both these are whole-lengths, by Sir Joshua Reynolds : the middle tints are a little flown, else they were perfect ; they suffer by being hung near the glowing yet mellowed tints of Vandyke. We have here a whole bevy of the heroines of De Gram- mont, delightful to those who have what Walpole used to call the "De Grammont madness" upon them. Here is that beau- tiful, audacious termagant, Castlemaine, very like her picture at Windsor, and with the same characteristic bit of storm gleam- ing in the background. — Lady Denham,* the wife of the poet Sir John Denham, and niece of that Lord Bristol who figures in Vandyke's picture above mentioned — a lovely creature, and a sweet picture — Louise de Querouaille, Duchess of Ports- mouth, who so long ruled the heart and counsels of Charles the Second, in Lely's finest style ; the face has a look of bloom- mg innocence, soon exchanged for coarseness and arrogance. * Elizabeth Brooke, poisoned at the age of twenty. ALTHORPE. 266 The indolent, alluring Middleton, looking from under her sleepy- eyelids, " trop coquette pour rebuter personne." — " La Belle Haniillon," the lovely prize of the volatile De Grammont ; very like her portrait at Windsor, with the same finely formed bust and compressed ruby lips, but with an expression more viva- cious and saucy, and less elevated.— Two portraits of Nell Gwyn, with the fair brown hair and small bright eyes they ought to have ; au refute, with such prim, sanctified mouths, and dressed with such elaborate decency, that instead of reminding us of the " parole sciolte d'ogni freno, risi, vezzi, giuochi" — they are more like Beck Marshall, the puritan's daughter, on her good behaviour.* Here is that extraordinary woman Hortense Mancini, Duch- ess of Mazarin, the fame of whose beauty and gallantries filled all Europe, and once the intended wife of Charles the Second, though she afterward intrigued in vain for the less (or more) eligible post of maitresse en litre. What an extraordi- nary, wild, perverted, good-for-nothing, yet interesting set of women were those four Mancini sisters ! all victims, more or less, to the pride, policy, or avarice of their cardinal imcle ; all gifted by nature with the fervid Italian blood and the plot- ting Italian brain ; all really aveiiturieres, while they figured as duchesses and princesses. They wore their coronets and er- mine as strolling players wear their robes of state — with a sort of picturesque awkwardness — and they proved rather too scanty to cover a multitude of sins. This head of Hortenpe Mancini, as Cleopatra dissolving the pearl, is the most spirited, but the least beautiful, portrait I have seen of her. An appropriate pendant on the opposite side is her lover, philosopher, and eulogist, the witty St. Evre- mond — Grammont's " Caton de Normandie ;" but instead of looking like a good-natured epicurean, a man " who thought as he liked, and liked what he thought,"! his nose is here wrinkled up into an expression of the most supercilious scorn, adding to his native ugliness. | Both these are by Kneller. Farther on is another of Charles's beauties, whose sagesse has never been disputed — Elizabeth Wriothesley, Countess of Northumberland, the sister of that half saint, half heroine, and all woman — Lady Russell. * See the scene between Beck Marshall and Nell Gwyn, in " Pepys." t Walpole. X The gay, gallant St. Evremond, besides being naturally ugly, had a wen between his eyebrows. There is a fine picture of him and Hor- tense as Vertumiius and Pomona, in the Staflbrd gallery. Vol. L— Z 266 ALTHORPE. There is also a lovely picture of that magnificent brunette Miss Bagot, " EUe avait," says Hamilton, " ce teint rembruni qui plait tant quand il plait." She married Berkeley Lord Fal- mouth, a man who, though unprincipled, seems to have loved her ; at least, was not long enough her husband to forget to be her lover : he was killed, shortly after his marriage, in the battle of Southvvold-bay. This is assuredly one of the most splendid pictures Lely ever painted : and it is, besides, full of character and interest. She holds a cannon-ball in her lap (only an airy emblematical cannon-ball, for she poises it like a feather), and the countenance is touched with a sweet ex- pression of melancholy : hence it is plain that she sat for it soon after the death of her first husband, and before her mar- riage with the witty Earl of Dorset. — Near her hangs another fair piece of witchcraft, " La Belle Jennings," who in her day played with hearts as if they had been billiard-balls ; and no wonder, considering what things she had to deal with :* there was a great difierence between her vivacity and that of her vi- vacious sister, the Duchess of Marlborough. — Old Sarah hangs near her. One would think that Kneller, in spite, had watched the moment to take a characteristic likeness, and catch, not the Cynthia, but the Fury of the minute ; as, for instance, when she cut off her luxuriant tresses, so worshipped by her husband, and flung them in his face ; for so she tosses back her disdain- ful head, and curls her lip like an insolent, pouting, spoiled, grown-up baby. The life of this woman is as fine a lesson on the emptiness of all worldly advantages, boundless wealth, power, fame, beauty, wit, as ever was set forth by moralist or divine. " By spirit robb'd of power— hy warmth, of friends— By wealth, of followers ! — without one distress, Sick of herself through very selfishness."! And yet I suspect that the Duchess of Marlborough has never met with justice. History knows her only as Marl- borough's wife, an intriguing dame d'honneur, and a cast-off favourite. Vituperated by Swift, satirized by Pope, ridiculed * The pictures of Miss Jennings are very rare. This one at Althorpe was copied for H. Walpole, and I have heard of another in Ireland. Miss Jennings was afterward Duchess of Tyrconnel. t Pope. One hates him for taking a thousand pounds to suppress this character of Atossa, and publishing it after all ; yet who for a thousand pounds vrould have lost it ? ALTHOKPE. 267 by Walpole — what angel could have stood such bedaubing and from such pens 1 " she has fallen into a pit of ink !" But glorious talents she had, strength of mind, generosity, the power to feel and inspire the strongest attachment, — and all these quahties were degraded, or rendered useless, by temper ! Her avarice was not the love of money for its own sake, but the love of power ; and her bitter contempt for " knaves and fools" may be excused, if not justified. Imagine such a wo- man as the Duchess of Marlboro ilgh out-faced, out-plotted by that crown§d cipher, that sceptred commonplace. Queen Anne ! It should seem that the constant habit of being forced to serve outwardly, where She really ruled, — the consciousness of her own brilliant and powerful faculties brought into immediate hourly comparison with the confined trifling understanding of her mistress, a disdain of her own forced hypocrisy, and a per- ception of the heartless baseness of the courtiers around her, disgusting to a mind naturally high-toned, produced at length that extreme of bitterness and insolence which made her so often " an imbodied storm." She was always a termagant — but of a very different description from the vulgar Castle- maine. Though the picture of Colonel Russell, by Dobson, is really fine as a portrait, the recollection of the scene between him and Miss Hamilton* — his love of dancing, to prove he was not old and asthmatical, and his attachment to his " chapeau pointu,^^ make it impossible to look at him without a smile — but a good- humoured smile, such as his lovely mistress gave him when she rejected him with so much politeness. — Arabella Churchill, the sister of the great Duke of Marlborough, and mistress of the Duke of York, has been better treated by the painter than by Hamilton ; instead of " La grande cre;Uure, pale et dechar- nee," she appears here a very lovely woman. But enough of these equivocal ladies. No — before we leave them, there are yet two to be noticed, more equivocal, more interesting, and more extraordinary than all the rest put together — Bianca di Capello, who, from a washerwoman, became Grand-duchess of Florence, with less beauty than I should have expected, but as much countenance; and the beautiful, but appalling picture of Venitia Digby, painted after she was dead, by Vandyke ; * See his declaration of love — " Je suis frere du Comte de Bedford ; je commande le regiment des gardes," &c. 268 ALTHORPE. she was found one morning sitting up in her bed, leaning her head on her hand, and lifeless ; and thus she is painted. Not- withstanding the ease and grace of the attitude, and the deli- cacy of the features, there is no mistaking this for slumber : a heavier hand has pressed upon those eyelids, which will never more open to the light : there is a leaden lifelessness about them, too shockingly true and real — " It thrills us with mortality, And curdles to the gazer's heart," Her picture at Windsor is the most perfectly beautiful and im- pressive female portrait I ever saw. How have I longed, when gazing at it, to conjure her out of her frame, and bid her reveal the secret of her mysterious life and death ! — Nearly opposite to the dead Venitia, in strange contrast, hangs her husband, who loved her to madness, or was mad before he married her, in the very prime of life and youth. This picture, by Cornelius Jansen, is as fine as any thing of Vandyke's; the character ex- presses more of intellectual power and physical strength, than of that elegance efface and form we should have looked for in such a fanciful being as Sir Kenelm Digby : he looks more like one of the Athleta; than a poet, a metaphysician, and a •' squire of dames." There are three pictures of Waller's famed Sacharissa, the first Lady Sunderland : one in a hat, at the age of fifteen or sixteen, gay and blooming ; the second, far more interesting, ■was painted about the time of her marriage with the young Earl of Sunderland, or shortly after — very sweet and lady-like. I should say that the high-breeding of the face and air was more conspicuous ihan the beauty ; the neck and hands ex- quisite. Both these are Vandyke's. A third picture represents her about the lime of her second marriage : the expression v/holly chdiiged — cold, sad, faded, but pretty still : one might fancy her contemplating, whh a sick heart, the portrait of Lord Sunderland, the lover and husband of her early youth, who hangs on the opposite side of the gallery, in complete armour ; he fell in the same battle M'ith Lord Falkland, at the age of three-and-twenty. The brother of Sacharissa, the famous Algernon Sidney, is suspended near her : a fine head, full of contemplation and power. Among the most intercFting pictures in the gallery is an un- doubted original of Lady Jane Grey. After seeing so many hideous, hard, prim-looking pictures and prints of this gentle- ALTHOHPE. 369 spirited heroine, it is consoling to trust in the genuineness of a face which has all the sweetness and dignity we look for and ought to find. Then, by way of contrast, we have that most curious picture of Diana of Poitiers, once in the Crawfurd col- lection : it is a small half-length ; the features fair and regu- lar ; the hair is elaborately dressed with a profusion of jewels ; but there is no drapery whatever — " force pierreries ettres peu de linge," as Madame de Sevigne described the two Mancini.* Round the head is the legend from the 42d Psalm — " Comme le cerf braie apr^s le decours des eaues, ainsi brait mon ame apr^s toi, O Dieu," which is certainly an extraordinary appli- cation. In the days of Diana of Poitiers, the beautiful mistress of Henry the Second of France, it was the court fashion to sing the Psalms of David to dance and song tunes ;t and the courtiers and beauties had each their favourite Psalm, which served as a kind o[ devise : this may explain the very singular inscription on this very singular picture. Here are also the portraits of Otway and Cowley, and of Montaigne ; the last from the Crawfurd collection. I had nearly omitted to mention a magnificent whole-length of the Due de Guise — who was stabbed in the closet of Henry the Third — whose life contains materials for ten romances and a dozen epics, and whose death has furnished subjects for as many tragedies. And not far from him that not less daring, and more successful chief, Oliver Cromwell ; a page is tying on his sash. There is a vulgar power and boldness about this head, in fine contrast with the high-born, fearless, chivalrous- looking Guise. In the library is the splendid picture of Sofonisba Angus- ciola, by herself; she is touching the harpsichord, for, like many others of her craft, she excelled in music. Angelica Kauffman had nearly been an opera-singer. The instances of great paint- ers being also excellent musicians are numerous ; Salvator Rosa could have led an orchestra, and Vernet could not exist without Pergolesi's piano. But I cannot recollect an instance of a great musician by profession who has also been a painter ; the range of faculties is generally more confined. Rembrandt's large picture of his mother, which is, I think, the most magnificent specimen of this master now in England, hangs over llie chimney in the same room with the Sofonisba. The Princess Colonna and the Duchess de Mazarin. t Clement Marot had composed a version of the Psalms, then very popular. See Bayle, and the Curiosities of Literature. 270 ALTHORKE. The last picture I can distinctly remember is a portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds, with all his perfections combined in their perfection. It is that of a beautiful Frenchwoman, an intimate friend of the last Lady Spencer — with as much intellect, senti- ment, and depth of feeling as would have furnished out twenty ordinary heads ; all harmony in the colouring, all grace in the drawing. Here then was food for the eye and for the memory — for sweet and bitter fancy — for the amateur, and for the connois- seur — for antiquary, historian, painter, and poet. Well might Horace Walpole say that the gallery at Althorpe was " endeared to the pensive spectator." He tells us in his letters, that when here (about seventy years since), he surprised the house- keeper by "his intimate acquaintance with all the faces in the gallery." 1 was amused at the thought that we caused a simi- lar si'rprise in our day. I hope his female cicerone was as civil and intelligent as ours ; as worthy to be the keeper of the pictorial treasures of Althorpe. When we lingered and lin- gered, spell-bound, and apologized for making such uncon- scionable demands on her patience, she replied, " that she was flattered ; that she felt affronted when any visiter hurried through the apartments." Old Horace would have been de- lighted with her ; and not less with the biblical enthusiasm of a village glazier, whom we found dusting the books in the library, and who had such a sublime reverence for old editions, unique copies, illuminated MSS., and rare bindings, that it was quite edifying. MRS. SIDDONS. [The following little sketch was written a few days after the death of Mrs. Siddons, and was called forth by certain paragraphs which appeared in the daily papers. A misapprehension of the real character of this re- markable woman, which I know to exist in the minds of many who ad- mired and venerated her talents, has induced me to enlarge the first very slight sketch into a more finished but still inadequate portrait. I have spared no pains to verify the truth of my own conception by testimony of every kind that was attainable. I have penned every word as if I had been in that great final court where the thoughts of all hearts are mani- fested ; and those who best knew the individual I have attempted to delineate, bear witness to the fidelity of the portrait as far as it goes. I must be permitted to add, that in this and the succeding sketch I have not only been inspired by the wish to do justice to individual virtue and talent, — I wished to impress and illustrate that important truth, that a gifted woman may pursue a public vocation, yet preserve the purity and maintain the dignity of her sex — that there is no prejudice which will not shrink away before moral energy, and no profession which may not be made compatible with the respect due to us as women, the cultiva- tion of every feminine virtue, and the practice of every private duty. I might here multiply examples and exceptions, and discuss causes and results ; but it is a consideration I reserve for another opportunity.] " Implora pace .'" — She, who upon earth ruled the souls and senses of men, as the moon rules the surge of waters ; the acknowledged and liege empress of all the realms of illusion; the crowned queen ; the throned muse ; the sceptred shadow of departed genius, majesty, and beauty, — supplicates Peace I What unhallowed work has been going forward in some of the daily papers since this illustrious creature has been laid in her quiet unostentatious grave 1 ay, even before her poor 272 MRS. SIDDONS, remains were cold ! "What pains have been taken to cater trifling scandal for the blind, heartless, gossip-loving vulgar ! and to throw round the memory of a woman whose private life was as irreproachable as her public career was glorious, some ridiculous or unaniiable association which should tend to unsphere her from her throne in our imagination, and de- grade from her towering pride of place the heroine of Shak- speare, and the Muse of Tragedy ! That stupid malignity which revels in the martyrdom of fame — which rejoices when, by some approximation of the mean and ludicrous with the beautiful and sublime, it can for a moment bring down the rainbow-like glory in which the fancy invests genius lo the drab-coloured level of mediocrity — is always hateful and contemptible ; but in the present case it is something worse — it has a peculiar degree of cowardly injustice. If some elegant biographer informs us that the same liand which painted the infant Hercules, or Ugolino, or Mrs. Sheridan, half seraph and half saint, could clutch a guinea with satisfaction, or drive a bargain with a footman ; if some discreet friend, from the mere love of truth, no doubt, reveal to us the puerile, lamentable frailties of that bright spirit which poured itself forth in torrents of song and passion ; what then ? 'tis pitiful, certainly wondrous pitiful, but there is no great harm done, — no irremediable injury inflicted ; for there stand their works : the poet's immortal page, the painter's breathing canvass witness for them. " Death hath had no power yet upon their beauty" — over them scandal cannot draw her cold slimy finger ; — on them calumny cannot breathe her mildew ; nor envy wither them with a blast from hell. There they stand for ever to confute injustice, to rectify error, to defy malice ; to silence, and long outlive, the sneer, the lie, the jest, the reproach. But she — who was of painters the model, the wonder, the despair ; — she, who realized in her own presence and person the poet's divinest dreams and noblest creations ; — she, who has enriched our language with a new epithet, and made the word Siddonian synonymous with all we can im- agine of feminine grace and grandeur : she has left nothing behind her but the memory of a great name : she has be- queathed it to our reverence, our gratitude, our charity, and our sympathy ; and if it is not to be sacred, I know not what is — or ever will be. Mrs. Siddons, as an artist, presented a singular example of the union of all the faculties, mental and physical, which con- stitute excellence in her art, directed to the end for which they HRS. SIDDONS. 273 seemed created. In any other situation or profession, some one or other of her splendid gifts would have been misplaced or dormant. It was her especial good fortune, and not less that of the time in which she lived, that this wonderful com- bination of mental powers and external graces was fully and completely developed by the circumstances in which she was placed.* " With the most commanding beauty of face and form, and varied grace of action ; with the most noble com- bination of features, and extensive capability of expression in each of them ; with an unequalled genius for her art, the utmost patience in study, and the strongest ardour of feeling ; there was not a passion which she could not delineate ; not the nicest shade, not the most delicate modification of passion, which she could not seize with philosophical accuracy, and render with such immediate force of nature and truth, as well as precision, that what was the result of profound study and unwearied practice appeared like sudden inspiration. There was not a height of grandeur to Avhich she could not soar, nor a darkness of misery to which she could not descend ; not a chord of feeling, from the sternest to the most delicate, which she could not cause to vibrate at her will. She had reached that point of perfection in an where it ceases to be art, and becomes a second nature. She had studied most pro- foundly the powers and capabilities of language ; so that the most critical sagacity could not have suggested a delicacy of emphasis by which the meaning of the author might be more distinctly conveyed, or a shade of intonation by which the sentiment could be more fully or more faithfully expressed. While other performers of the past or present time have made approaches to excellence, or attain it now and then, Mrs. Siddons alone was pronounced faultless ; and, in her, the last generation witnessed what we shall not see in ours, — no, nor our children after us ; — that amazing union of splendid intel- lectual powers with unequalled charms of person, which, in the tragic department of her art, realized the idea of perfection." Such was the magnificent portrait drawn of Mrs. Siddons twenty years ago ; and it will be admitted by those who re- member her, and must be believed by those who do not, that in this case, eulogy could not v/ander into exaggeration, nor enthusiasm be exalted beyond the bounds of truth. I have heard people most unreasonably surprised or dis- * Some of the sentences which follow (marked by inverted commas) are taken from a portrait of Mrs. Siddons, dated 1812, and attributed to Sir Walter Scott. 274 MRS. SIDDONS. pleased, because this exceeding dignity of demeanour was not confined to the stage, but was carried into private life. Had it been merely conventional, — a thing put on and put off, — it might have been so ; but the grandeur of her mind, and the light of her glorious beauty, were not as a diadem and robe for state occasions only : hers was not only dignity of manner and person, it was moral and innate, and, I may add, hereditary. Mrs, Siddons, with all her graces of form and feature, her magnificence of deportment, her deep-toned, measured voice, and impressive enunciation, was in reality a softened reflection of her more stern, stately, majestic mother, whose genuine lofti- ness of spirit and of bearing, whose rare beauty, and imperious despotism of character, have often been described to me as absolutely awful, — even her children trembled in her presence. " AH the Kembles," said Sir Thomas Lawrence, " have his- . torical faces ;" and for several generations their minds seem to have been cast in a poetical mould. It has, however, been disputed whether Mrs. Siddons possessed genius. Whether genius be exclusively defined as the creative and, inventive faculty of the soul, or taken, in its usual acceptation, as " a mind of large general faculties, accidentally determined to some particular direction," I diiuk she did possess it in both senses. The grand characteristic of her mind was power, but it was power of a very peculiar kind ; it was slowly roused— slowly developed — not easily moved ; her perceptions were not rapid, nor her sensations quick ; she required time for every thing, time to think, time to comprehend, time to speak. There was nothing superficial about her ; no vivacity of manner ; to petty gossip she would not descend, and evil-speaking she abhorred ; she cared not to shine in general conversation. Like some ma- jestic " Argosie," bearing freight of precious metal, she was aground and cumbrous and motionless among the shallows of common life ; but set her upon the deep waters of poetry and passion— there was her element— there was her reign. Ask her an opinion, she could not give it you till she had looked on the subject, and considered it on every side, — then you might trust to it without appeal. Her powers, though not easily put in motion, were directed by an incredible energy ; her mind, when called to action, seemed to rear itself up like a great wave of the sea, and roll forwards with an irresistible force. This prodigious intellectual power was one of her chief charac- teristics. Another was truth, which in the human mind is gener- ally allied with power. It is, I think, a mistaken idea, that habits of impersonation on the stage tend to impair the sin- MRS. SIDDONS. 275 cerity or the individuality of a character. If any injury is done in this way, it is by the continual and strong exchement of the vanity, the dependence on applause, which in time may certainly corrode away the integrity of the manner, if not of the mind. It is difficult for an admired actress not to be vain, and difficult for a very vain person to be quite unaffected, on or off the stage ; it is, however, certain, that some of the truest per- sons I eyer met with in my life were actresses. In the character of Mrs. Siddons, truth, and a reverence for truth, were commensurate with her vast power : heaven is not farther removed from earth than she was from falsehood. Al- lied to this conscientious turn was her love of order. She was extremely punctual in all her arrangements ; methodical and exact in every thing she did ; circumstantial and accurate in all she said. In Uttle and in great things, in the very texture and constitution of her mind, she was integrity itself : " It was," said one of her most intimate friends, " a mind far above the average standard, not only in ability, but in moral and religious qualities ; that these should have exhausted themselves in the world of fiction, may be regretted in reference to her individual happiness, but she certainly exercised, during her reign, a most powerful moral influence : — she excited the nobler feel- ings and higher faculties of every mind which came in contact with her own. I speak with the deepest sense of personal obligation: it was at a very early age that she repeated to me, in a manner and tone which left an indelible impression, ' Sincerity, Thou first of virtues ! let no mortal leave Thy onward path,' &c. and I never knew her to omit an opportunity of making her fine genius minister to piety and virtue." Now what are the bravoes of a whole theatre, " When all the thunder of the pit ascends," compared to such praise as this ? " Her mind" (again I am enabled to give the very words of one who knew her well) " was a perfect mirror of the sublime and beautiful ; like a lake that reflected only the heavens above, or the summits of the mountains around ; nothing below a certain level could appear in it. The ideal was her vital air. She breathed with difficulty in the atmosphere of this ' work- ing-day world,' and withdrew from it as much as possible. 27(5 MRS. SIDDONS. Hence her moral principles were seldom brought to bear upon the actual and ordinary concerns of life. She was rather the associate of ' the mighty dead,' than the fellow-creature of the living. To the latter she was known chiefly through others, and often through those who were incapable of reflecting her qualities faithfully, though impressed with the utmost venera- tion for her genius. In their very anxiety for what they con- sidered her interests (and of her worldly interests she took no charge), they would in her name authorize prudential ar- rangements, which gave rise to the suspicion of covetousness, •while she was sitting rapt in heaveidy contemplation. Had she given her mind to the consideration and investigation of relative claims, she might on some occasions have acted difler- ently — or, rather, she would have acted where in fact others only acted : for never, as I have reason to believe, was a case of distress presented to her without her being ready to give even till her 'hand lacked means.' Many of the poor in her neighbourhood were pensioned by her. " She was credulous — simple — to an extraordinary degree. Profession had, therefore, too much weight with her. She was accustomed to manifestations of the sentiments she excited, and, in seeking the demonstration, sometimes overlooked the silent reality ; — this was a consequence of her profession. " She was not only exact in the performance of her religious duties ; her religion was a pervading sentiment, influencing her to the strictest observance of truth and charity — I mean charity in judging others : the very active and excursive benevolence which ' Seeks the duty, nay, p-events the need,' ■would have been incompatible with her toilsome, engrossing avocations, and with the visionary tendencies of her character. But the visionary has his own sphere of action, and can often touch the master-springs of other minds, so as to give the first impulse to the good deeds flowing from them. There are some who can trace back to the sympathies which Mrs. Siddons awakened, their devotedness to the cause of the sufl^ering and oppressed. Faithfully did she perform the part in life which she believed allotted to her ; and who may presume to judge that she did not choose the better part ?" The idea that she was a cold woman is eminently false. Her afiections, like her intellectual powers, were slow, but te- nacious ; they enveloped in folds, strong as flesh and blood, MRS. SIDBOIW. 37? those whom she had found worthy and taken to her heart ; and her happiness was more entwined with them than those who knew her only in her professional character could have sup- posed ; she would return home from the theatre, every nerve thrilling with the excitement of sympathy, and applause, and admiration, and a cold look or word from her husband has sent her to bed in tears. She had that sure indication of a good heart and a fine mind, an exceeding love for children, and a power to attract and amuse them. It was remarked that her voice always softened in addressing a child. I remember a letter of hers relative to a young mother and her infant, in which, among other tender and playful things, she says, " I wonder whether Lady N is as good a talker of baby non- sense as I flatter myself I am !" A lady, who was intimate with her, happening to enter her bedroom early one morning, found her with two of her little grandchildren romping on her bed, and playing with the tresses of her long dark hair, which she had let down for their amusement. Her own children adored her ; her surviving friends refer to her with tenderness, with gratitude, even with tears. I speak here of what I know. I have seldom been more touched to the heart than by the pe- rusal of some of her most private letters and notes, which for tenderness of sentiment, genuine feeling, and simple yet forcible expression, could not be surpassed.* Actress though she was, she had no idea of doing any thing ior the sake of appearances, or of courting popularity by any means but excellence in her art. She loved the elegances and refinements of life — enjoyed, and freely shared what she had toiled to obtain — and, in the early part of her career, was the frequent victim of her own kind and careless nature. She has been known to give gene- rously, nobly, — to sympathize warmly ; but did she deny to greedy selfishness or spendthrift vanity the twentieth demand on her purse or her benevolence ? Was she, while absorbed * I am permitted to give the following little extract as farther illustra- ting that tenderness of nature which I have only touched upon. " I owe a letter, but I don't know how it is, now that I am arrived at that time oflife when I supposed I should be able to sit down and in- dulge my natural indolence, I find the business of it thickens and increases around me ; and I am now as much occupied about the affairs of others as I have been about my own. I am just now expecting my son George's two babies from India. The ship which took them from their parents, I thank heaven, is safely arrived : Oh ! that they could knoiv it '. For the present I shall have them near me. There is a school between my little hut and the church, where they will have delicious air, and I shall be abla to see the poor dears every day." Vol. I. — A a 278 MRS. aiDDONS. in her poetical, ideal existence, the dupe of exterior shows in judging of character ? Or did she, from total ignorance of, or indifference to, the commonplace prejudices, or customary forms of society, unconsciously wound the amour-propre of some shallow flatterer or critic, — or by bringing the gravity and glory of her histrionic impersonations into the frivolities and hard realities of this our world, render herself obnoxious to vulgar ridicule 1 — then was she made to feel what it is to live in the public eye : then flew round the malignant slander, the vengeful lie, the base sneer, the impertinent misinterpretation of what few could understand and fewer feel ! Reach her these libels could not — but sometimes they reached those whose affectionate reverence fenced her round from the rude contact of real life. In some things Mrs. Siddons was like a child. I have heard anecdotes of her extreme simplicity, which by the force of contrast made me smile — at them, not at her : who could have laughed at Mrs. Siddons ? I should as soon have thought of laughing at the Delphic Sybil. As an artist, her genius appears to have been slowly de- veloped. She did not, as it has been said of her niece, " spring at once into the chair of the Tragic Muse ;" but toiled her way up to glory and excellence in her profession, through length of time, difficulties, and obstacles innumerable. She was exclu- sively professional ; and all her attainments, and all her powers, seem to have been directed to one end and aim. Yet I sup- pose no one would have said of Mrs. Siddons, that she was a " mere actress,^'' as it was usually said of Garrick that he was a " mere player ;" — the most admirable and versatile actor that ever existed; but still the mere player; — nothing more — nothing better. He does not appear to have had a tincture of that high gentlemanly feeling, that native elevation of character, and general literary taste which strike us in John Kemble and his brother Charles ; nor any thing of the splendid imagination, the enthusiasm of art, the personal grace and grandeur, which threw such a glory around Mrs. Siddons. Of John Kemble it might be said,* as Dryden said of Harte in his time, that "kings and princes might have come to him, and taken lessons how to comport themselves with dignity." And with the noble pres- ence of Mrs. Siddons, we associated in pubhc and in private something absolutely awful. We were accustomed to bring * I believe it has been said ; but, like Madlle. de Montpensier, my imagination and my memory are sometimes confounded. MRS. SIDDONS. 279 her before our fancy as one habitually elevated above the sphere of familiar life, — " Attired in all the majesty of art — Crown'd with the rich traditions of a soul That hates to have her dignity profan'd By any relish of an earthly thought."* Who was it 1 — (I think Northcote the painter,) who said he had seen a group of young ladies of rank, Lady Fannys and Lady Marys, peeping through the half-open door of a room where Mrs. Siddons was sitting, with the same timidity and curiosity as if it had been some preternatural being — much more than if it had been the queen : which I can easily believe. I remember that the first time I found myself in the same room with Mrs. Siddons (I was then about twenty), I gazed on her as I should have gazed at one of the Egyptian pyramids — nay, "with a deeper awe, for what is material and physical immensity, compared with moral and poetical grandeur 1 I was struck with a sensation which made my heart pause, and rendered me dumb for some minutes ; and when I was led into conver- sation with her, my first words came faltering and thick, — which never certainly would have been the case in presence of the autocratrix of all the Russias. The greatest, the noblest in the land approached her with a deference not unmingled with a shade of embarrassment, while she stood in regal guise majestic, with the air of one who bestowed and never received honour.! Nor was this feeling of her power, — which was de- rived, partly from her own peculiar dignity of deportment, partly from her association with all that was grand, poetical, terrible, — confined to those who could nppreciate the full measure of her endowments. Every member of that public, whose idol she was, from the greatest down to the meanest, felt it more or less. I knew a poor woman who once went to the house of Mrs. Siddons to be paid by her daughter for some embroidery. Mrs. Siddons happened to be in the room, and the woman, per- ceiving who it was, was so overpowered that she could not count her money, and scarcely dared to draw her breath. "And when I went away, ma'am," added she, in describing her own sensations, " I walked all the way down the street feeling my- self a great deal taller." This was the same unconscious * Ben Jonson. + George the fourth, after conversing with her, said with emphasis, <' She is the only real queen !" 2Sa MRS. S1DD0N3. feeling of the sublime which made Bouchardon say that, after reading the Iliad, he fancied himself seven feet high. She modelled very beautifully, and in this talent, which was in a manner intuitive, she displayed a creative as well as an imitative power. Might we not say that in the peculiar char- acter of her genius — in the combination of the very real with the very ideal, of the demonstrative and the visionary, of vast- ness and symmetry, of the massive material and the grand un- earthly forms into which it shaped itself — there was something analogous to sculpture ? At all events, it is the opinion of many who knew her, that if she had not been a great actress, she would have devoted herself to sculpture. She was never so happy as when occupied with her modelling tools ; she M'ould stand at her work eight hours together, scarcely turning her head. Music she passionately loved : in her younger days her voice in singing was exquisitely sweet and flexible. She would sometimes compose verses, and sing them to an extem- poraneous air ; but I believe she did not perform on any instru- ment. To complete this sketch, I shall add an outline of her pro- fessional life. Mrs. Siddona was born in 1755. She might be said, almost without metaphor, to have been " born on the stage." All the family, I believe, for two or three generations, had been play- ers. In her early life she endured many vicissitudes, and was acquainted with misery and hardship in many repulsive forms. On this subject she had none of the pride of a little mind ; but alluded to her former situation v/ith perfect simplicity. The description in Mrs. Inchbald's Memoirs of " Mrs. Siddons sing- ing and mending her children's clothes," is from the life, and charming as well as touching, when we consider her peculiar character and her subsequent destinies. She was in her twenty-first year when she made her first attempt in London (for it was but an attempt), in the character of Portia. She also appeared as Lady Anne in Richard IIL, and in comedy as Mrs. Strickland to Garrick's Ranger. She was not successful : Garrick is said to have been jealous of her rising powers : the public did not discover in her the future Tragic Muse, and for herself — " She felt that she was greater than she knew." She returned to her provincial career ; she spent seven years in patient study, in reflection, in contemplation, and in mastering the practical part of her profession ; and then she returned at the age of twenty-eight, and burst upon the world iu the prime MRS. sinnoNS. 281 of her beauty and transcendent powers, with all the attributes of confirmed and acknowledged excellence. It appears that, in her first season, she did not play one of Shakspeare's characters : she performed Isabella, Euphrasia, Jane Shore, Calista, and Zara. In a visit she paid to Dr. Johnson, at the conclusion of the season, she informed him that it was her intention, the following year, to bring out some of Shakspeare's heroines, particularly Katherine of Arragon, to which she then gave the preference as a character. Dr. John- son agreed with her, and added that when she played Kathe- rine, he would hobble to the theatre himself to see her ; but he did not live to pay her this tribute of admiration. He, how- ever, paid her another not less valuable : describing his visiter after her departure, he said, " she left nothing behind her to be censured or despised ; neither praise nor money, those two powerful corrupters of mankind, seem to have depraved her."* In this interview she seems to have pleased the old critic and moralist, who was also a severe and acute judge of human na- ture, and not inclined to judge favourably of actresses, by the union of modesty wuh native dignity which at all times distin- guished her ; — a rare union ! and most delightful in those who are the objects of the public gaze, and when the popular en- thusiasm is still in all its first intoxicating effervescence. The first of Shakspeare's characters which Mrs. Siddons performed was Isabella, in Measure for Measure (1784), and the next Constance. In the same year Sir Joshua painted her as the Tragic Muse.f With what a deep interest shall we now visit this her true apotheosis, — now that it has received its last consecration! The rest of Shakspeare's characters followed in this order : Lady Macbeth in 1785, and, soon afterward, as if by way of contrast, Desdemona, OpheUa, Rosalind. In 1786 she played Imogen ; in 1788, Katherine of Arragon ; and, in 1789, Volumnia ; and in the same season she played Juliet, being then in her thirty-fifth year, — too old for Juliet ; nor did this ever become one of her popular parts ; she left it to her niece to identify herself for ever with the poetry and sensi- bility, the youthful grace and fervid passion of Shakspeare's Juliet; and we have as little chance of ever seeing such an- other Juliet as Fanny Kemble, as of ever seeing such another Lady Macbeth as her magnificent aunt. * In a letter to Mrs. Thrale. t In the Grosvenor gallery. There is a duplicate of this picture in the Dulwich gallery. A a2 282 MRS. STDDOJIff- A good critic, who was also a great admirer of Mrs. Sid- dons, asserts that there must be something in acting which levels all poetical distinctions, since people talked in the same breath of her Lady Macbeth and Mrs. Beverley as being equally " fine pieces of acting." I think he is mistaken. No one — no one at least but the most vulgar part of her audience — ever equalized these two characters, even as pieces of acting ; or imagined for a moment that the same degree of talent which sufficed to represent Mrs. Beverley could have grasped the tow- ering grandeur af sucli a character as Lady Macbeth ; — dived into its profound and gloomy depths — seized and reflected its wonderful gradations — displayed its magnificence — developed its beauties, and revealed its terrors : no such thing. She might have drawn more tears in Isabella than in Constance — thrown more young ladies into hysterics in Belvidera than in Katherine of Arragon ; but all with whom I have conversed on the subject of Mrs. Siddons, are agreed in this ; — that her finest characters, as pieces of art, were those which afforded the fullest scope for her powers, and contained in themselves the largest materials in poetry, grandeur, and passion : conse- quently, that her Constance, Katherine of Arragon, Volumnia, Hermione, and Lady Macbeth stood pre-eminent. In playing Jane de Montfort, in Joanna Baillie's tragedy, her audience al- most lost the sense of impersonation in the feeling of identity. She was Jane de Montfort — the actress, the woman, the char- acter, blended into each other. It is a mistaken idea that she herself preferred the part of Aspasia (in Rowe's Bajazet) to any of these grand impersonations. She spoke of it as one in which she had produced the most extraordinary effect on the nerves of her audience ; and this is true. " I recollect," said a gentleman to me, " being present at one of the last repre- sentations of Bajazet : and at the moment when the order is given to strangle Moneses, while Aspasia stands immoveable in front of the stage, I turned my head, unable to endure more, and to my amazement I beheld the whole pit staring ghastly, with upward faces, dilated eyes, and mouths wide open — gasping — fascinated. Nor shall I ever forget the strange ef- fect produced by that sea of human faces, all fixed in one simultaneous expression of stony horror. It realized for a moment the fabled power of the Medusa — it was terrible !" Of all her great characters, Lord Byron, I believe, preferred Constance, to which she gave the preference herself, and es- teemed it the most difficult and the most finished of all her im- personations ; but the general opinion stamps her Lady Mac- MRS. STT>noNs. 283 beth as the grandest effort of her art ; and therefore, as she was the first m her art, as the ne plus ultra of acting. This at least was the opinion of one who admired her with all the fer- vour of a kindred genius, and could lavish on her praise of such " rich words composed as made the gift more sweet." Of her Lady Macbeth, he says, " nothing could have been imagined grander, — it was something above nature ; it seemed almost as if a being of a superior order had dropped from a higher sphere to awe the world with the majesty of her ap- pearance. Power was seated on her brow, passion emanated from her breast as from a shrine. In coming on in the sleep- ing scene, her eyes were open, but their sense was shut ; she was like a person bewildered ; her lips moved involuntarily ; all her gestures seemed mechanical — she glided on and off the stage like an apparition. To have seen her in that character was an event in every one's life never to be forgotten." By profound and incessant study, she had brought her con- ception and representation of this character to such a pitch of perfection, that the imagination could conceive of nothing more magnificent or more finished ; and yet she has been heard to say, after playing it for thirty years, that she never read over the part without discovering in it something new ; nor ever went on the stage to perform it, without spending the whole morn- ing in studying and meditating it, line by line, as intently as if she were about to act it for the first time. In this character she bade farewell to her profession and the public (June 29th, 1812). The audience, on this occasion, paid her a singular and touching tribute of respect. On her going off in the sleep- ing-scene, they commanded the curtain to fall, and would not suffer the play to proceed.* The idea that Mrs. Siddons was quite unmoved by the emo- tions she portrayed — the sorrows and the passions she im- bodied with such inimitable skill and truth, is altogether false. Fine acting may accidentally be mere impulse ; it never can be wholly mechanical. To a late period of her life she con- tinued to be strongly, sometimes painfully, excited by her own * She afterward played Lady Randolph for Mr. Charles Kemble's bene- fit, and performed Lady Macbeth at the request of the Princess Charlotte in 1816 This was her final appearance. She was then sixty-one, and her powers unabated. I recollect a characteristic passage in one of her letters relating to this circumstance: she says, " The princess honoured me with several gracious {not graceful) nods: but the newspapers gave me credit for much more sensibility than I either felt or displayed on the occasion. I was by no means so much overwhelmed by her royal high- ness's kindness as they were pleased to represent me." 284 MRS. RTnnmvs- acting ; the part of Constance always affected her powerfully ; she invariably left the stage, her face streaming with tears ; and after playing Lady Macbeth, she could not sleep : even after reading the play of Macbeth, a feverish, wakeful night was generally the consequence. I am not old enough to remember Mrs. Siddons in her best days; but, judging from my own recollections, I should say that, to hear her read one of Shakspeare's plays, was a higher, a more complete gratification, and a more astonishing display of her powers, than her performance of any single character. On the stage she was tlie perfect actress ; when she was read- ing Shakspeare,her profound enthusiastic admiration of the poet, and deep insight into his most hidden beauties, made her almost a poetess, or at least, like a priestess, full of the god of her idolatry. Her whole soul looked out from her regal brow and effulgent eyes ; and then her countenance ! — the inconceivable flexibility and musical intonations of her voice ! there was no got-up illusion here ; no scenes — no trickery of the stage ; there needed no sceptered pall, no sweeping train, nor any of the gorgeous accompaniments of tragedy : She was tragedy ! When in reading Macbeth she said, " give me the daggers !" they gleamed before our eyes. The witch scenes in the same play she rendered awfully terrific by the magic of looks and tones ; she invested the weird sisters with all their own in- fernal fascinations ; they were the serious, poetical, tragical personages which the poet intended them to be, and the wild grotesque horror of their enchantments made the blood curdle. When, in King John, she came to the passage beginning — • " If the midnight bell, Did with his iron tongue and brazen note," &c. I remember I felt every drop of blood pause, and then run backwards through my veins with an overpowering awe and horror. No scenic representation I ever witnessed produced the hundredth part of the eflect of her reading Hamlet. This tragedy was the triumph of her art. Hamlet and his mother, Polonius, Ophelia, were all there before us. Those who ever heard her give Opheha's reply to Hamlet, Hamlet. I loved you not, Ophelia. I was the more deceived ! and the lines — And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, That suck'd the honey of his music vows, &c. MRS. SIDD0N8. "285 will never forget their exquisite pathos. What a revelation of love and wo was there ! — the very heart seemed to break upon the utterance. Lear was another of her grandest efforts ; but her rare talent was not confined to tragedy ; none could exceed her in the power to conceive and render witty and humorous character. I thought I had never understood or felt the comic force of such parts as Polonius, Lucio, Gratiano, and Shakspeare's clowns, till I heard the dialogue from her lips : and to hear her read the Merchant of Venice and As You Like It, was hardly a less perfect treat than to hear her read Macbeth. The following short extract from a letter of Mrs. Joanna Baillie, dated about a year before the death of Mrs. Siddons, will, I am persuaded, be read with a double interest, for her sake who penned it, not less than hers who is the subject of it. " The most agreeable thing I have to begin with is a visit we paid last week to Mrs. Siddons. We hitl met her at dinner at Mr. Rogers's a few days before, and she kindly asked us, our liost and his sister, the Thursday following ; an invitation which we gladly accepted, though we expected to see much decay in her powers of expression, and consequently to have our pleasure mingled with pain. Judge then of our delight when we heard her read the best scenes of Hamlet with ex- pression of countenance, voice, and action that would have done honour to her best days ! She was before us as an un- conquerable creature, over whose astonishing gifts of nature time had no power.* She complained of her voice, which she said was not obedient to her will ; but it appeared to my ear to be peculiarly true to nature : and the more so, because it had lost that deep solemnity of tone which she, perhaps, had con- sidered as an excellence. I thought I could trace in the pity and tenderness, mixed with her awe of the ghost, the natural feelings of one who had lost dear friends, and expected to go to them soon ; and her reading of that scene (the noblest which dramatic art ever achieved) went to my heart as it had never done before. At the end, Mr. Rogers very justly said, ' Oh, that we could have assembled a company of young people to witness this, that they might have conveyed the memory of it down to another generation !' In short, we left her full of admiration, as well as of gratitude, that she had made such an exertion to gratify so small an audience ; for, exclusive of her own family, we were but five." " For time hath laid his hand so gently on her As he too had been a^ed." De Montfort. 286 MRS. SIDDONS. She continued to exercise her power of reading and reciting long after the date of this letter, even till within a few days of her death, although her health had long been in a declining state.* She died at length on the 8th of June, 1831, after a few hours of acute suffering. She had lived nearly seventy- six years, of which forty-six were spent in the constant pres- ence and service of the public. She was an honour to her profession, which was more honoured and honourable in her person and family than it ever was before, or will be hereafter, till the stage becomes something very different from what it now is. And, since it has pleased some writers (who apparently knew as little of her real situation as of her real character) to lament over the misfortune of this celebrated woman, in having survived all her children, &^c. &c. it may be interesting to add that, a short time before her death, she was seated in a room in her own house, when about thirty of her young relatives, children, grandchildren, nephews and nieces, were assembled, and looked on while they were dancing with great and evident pleasure : and that her surviving daughter, Cecilia Siddons,t who had been for many years the inseparable friend and companion of her mother, attended upon her with true filial devotion and reverence to the last moments of existence. Her admirers may, therefore, console themselves with the idea that in " love, obedience, troops of friends," as well as afiluence and fame, she had " all that should accompany old age." She died full of years and honours ; having enjoyed, in her long life, as much glory and prosperity as any mortal could expect : having imparted more intense and general pleasure than ever mortal did ; and having paid the tribute of mortahty in such suffering and sorrow as wait on the widowed w^ife and the be- reaved mother. If with such rare natural gifts were blended some human infirmities ; — if the cultivation of the imaginative far above the perceptive faculties, hazarded her individual hap- piness ; — if, in the course of a professional career of unexam- pled continuance and splendour, the love of praise ever degene- rated into the appetite for applause ; — if the worshipped actress languished out of her atmosphere of incense, — is this to be made matter of wonder or of ill-natured comment ? Did ever any human being escape more intacte in person and mind from the fiery furnace of popular admiration ? Let us remember the * The last play she read aloud was Henry V., only ten days before she died. t Now Mrs. George Combe. MRS. SIDDONS. 287 severity of the ordeal to which she was exposed ; the hard lot of those who pass their lives in the full-noon glare of public observation, where every speck is noted ! What a difference, too, between the aspiration after immortality and the pursuit of celebrity ! — The noise of distant and future fame is like the soimd of the far-off sea, and the mingled roll of hs multitu- dinous waves, which, as it swells on the ear, elevates the soul with a sublime emotion ; but present and loud applause, flung continually in one's face, is hke the noisy dash of the surf upon the rock, — and it requires the firmness of the rock to bear it. SKETCHES OF FANNY KEMBLE IN JULIET. INTRODUCTION AND NOTES TO MR. JOHN HAYTER's SKETCHES OF FANNY KEMBLE, IN THE CHARACTER OF JULIET.* " Non piace a lei che innumerabil turba Viva in atto di fuor, morta di dentro, Le applauda a caso, e mano a man percuota ; Ne si rallegra se le rozzi voci Volgano a lei quelle infiniti lodi — — Ma la possanza del divino ingegno Vita di dentro." It would be doing an injustice to the author of these sketches, and something worse than injustice to her who is the subject of them, should more be expected than the pencil could possibly convey, and more required than the artist ever in- tended to execute. Their merit consists in their fidelity, as far as they go ; their interest in conveying a lively and distinct idea of some immediate and transient effects of grace and ex- pression. They do not assume to be portraits of Miss Kem- ble ; they are merely a series of rapid outlines, caught from her action, and exhibiting, at the first glance, just so much of the individual and peculiar character she has thrown into her impersonation of Juhet, as at once to be recognised by those who have seen her. To them alone these isolated passages — linked together in the imagination by all the intervening graces of attitude and sentiment, by the recollection of a coun- * These sketches, once intended for publication, are now in the posses- sion of Lord Francis Egerton. The introduction and notes were writtea in March, 1830 — the conclusion in March, 1834. TANNY KEMBLE IN JULIET. 289 tenance where the kindled soul looks out through every feature, and of a voice whose tones tremble into one's very heart — will give some faint reflection of the effect produced by the whole of this beautiful piece of acting, — or rather of nature, for here "each seems either." It will be allowed, even by the most enthusiastic lover of painting, that the merely imitative arts can do but feeble justice to the powers of a fine actress ; for what graphic skill can fix the evanescent shades of feeling as they melt one into another 1 — " What fine chisel could ever yet cut breath 1" — and yet even those who have not witnessed, and may never witness, Miss Kemble's performance, to whom her name alone can be borne through long intervals of space and time, will not regard these little sketches without curiosity and interest. If any one had thought of transferring to paper a connected series of some of the awe-commanding gestures of Mrs. Siddons in one of her great parts, or caught (flying) some of the inimit- able graces of movement and attitude, and sparkling efl^ects of manner, with which Mrs. Charles Kemble once enchanted the world, with what avidity would they now be sought ! — they would have served as studies for their successors in art to the end of time. All the fine arts, poetry excepted, possess a limited range of power. Painting and sculpture can convey none of the graces that belong to movement, and sound : music can suggest vague sentiments and feelings, but it cannot express incident, or situation, or form, or colour. Poetry alone grasps an unlimited sceptre, rules over the wliole visible and intellectual universe, and knows no bounds but those of human genius. And it is here that tragic acting, considered in its perfection, and in its relation to the fine arts, is allied to poetry, or rather is itself living, breathing poetry ; made sensible in a degree to the hard- est and dullest minds, seizing on the dormant sympathies of our nature, and dismissing us again to the cares of this " working- day world," if not very much wiser, or better, or happier, at least enabled to digest with less bitterness the mixture of our good and evil days. But in the midst of the just enthusiasm which a great actor or actress excites, so long as they exist to minister to our de- light ; — in the midst of that atmosphere of light and life they shed around them, it is a common subject of repining that such glory should be so transient; that an art requiring iu its perfec- VoL. I.— B b 200 FANNY KEMBLE IN JULIET. tion such a rare combination of mental and external quali- ties, can leave behind no permanent monument of its own ex- cellence, but must depend on the other fine arts for all it can claim of immortality : that Garrick, for instance, has become a name — no more— his fame the echo of an echo! that Mrs. Siddons herself has bequeathed to posterity only a pictured semblance ; — that when the voice of Pasta is heard no longer upon earth, the utmost pomp of words can only attest her powers! The painter and the poet, struggling through ob- scurity to the heights of fame, and consuming a life in the pur- suit of (perhaps) posthumous celebrity, may say to the subUme actress, " Thou in thy generation hast had thy meed ; we have waited patiently for ours : thou art vanished, like a lost star from the firmament, into the ' uncomfortable night of nothing ;' we have left the light of our souls behind us, and survive to ' blessings and eternal praise !' " And why should it not be so ? Were it otherwise, the even-handed distribution of the best gifts of Heaven among favoured mortals might with reason be impugned. Shall the young spirit " damped by the necessity of oblivion" disdain what is attainable because it cannot grasp all ? Conceive for a moment the situation of a woman, in the prime and bloom of existence, with all her youthful enthusiasm, her unworn feelings fresh about her, privileged to step forth for a short space out of the bounds of common life, without o'erstepping the modesty of her feminine nature, permitted to cast off for awhile, unreproved and unre- strained, the conventional trammels of form and manner; and called upon to realize in her own presence and person the di- vinest dreams of poetry and romance ; to send forth in a word — a glance — the electric flash which is felt through a thousand bosoms at once, till every heart beats the same measure with her own ! Is there nothing in all this to countervail the dan- gers, the evils, and the vicissitudes attendant on this splendid and public exercise of talent ? It may possibly become, in time, a thing of habitude ; it may be degraded into a mere hesoin deVamour propre — a necessary, yet palling excitement : but in its outset it is surely a triiunph far beyond the mere in- toxication of personal vanity ; and to the very last, it must be deemed a magnificent and an enviable power. It was difficult to select for graphic delineation any par- ticular points from Miss Kemble's representation of Juliet. These drawings may not, perhaps, justify the enthusiasm she excited ; but it ought to add to their value rather than de- tract from it, that the causes of their imperfection comprehend FANNY KEMBIiE IN JULIET. 291 the very foundation on which the present and future celebrity of this young actress may be said to rest. In the first place, the power by which she seized at once on public admiration and sympathy was not derived from any thing external. It was not founded in the splendour of her hereditary pretensions, though in them there was much to fascinate : nor in the de- parted or fading glories of her race : nor in the remembrance of her mother — once the young Euphrosyne of our stage : nor in the name and high talent of her father, with whom, it was once feared, the poetical and classical school of acting was des- tined to perish from the scene : nor in any mere personal ad- vantages, for in these she has been excelled, — " Though on her eyelids many graces sit Under the shadow of those even brows :" nor in her extreme youth, and delicacy of figure, which tell so beautifully in the character of Juliet : nor in the acclaim of public favour — " To have all eyes Dazzled with admiration, and all tongues Shouting loud praises ; to rob every heart ' Of love— This glory round about her hath thrown beams :" But such glory has circled other brows ere now, and left them again " shorn of their beams." No ! her success was founded on a power superior to all these — on the power of genius su- peradded to that moral interest which claimed irresistibly the best sympathies of her audience. The peculiar circumstances and feelings which brought Miss Kemble before the public, contrary (as it is understood) to all the previous wishes and in- tentions of her parents, were such as would have justified less decided talent, — honourable to herself and to her family. The feeling entertained towards her on this score was really de- lightful ; it was a species of homage, which, like the quality of mercy, was " twice blessed ;" blessing those who gave and her who received. It produced a feeling between herself and the public, which mere admiration on the one hand, and grati- fied vanity on the other, could not have excited. She strongly felt this, and no change, no reverse, diminished her feeling of the kindness with which she had once been received ; but her own fervid genius and sensibility did as much for her. She was herself a poetess ; her mind claimed a natural affinity with 292 FANNY KEMBLE IN JULIET. all that is feeling, passionate, and imaginative ; not her voice only, but her soul and ear w^ere attuned to the harmony of verse ; and hence she gave forth the poetry of such parts as Juliet and Portia with an intense and familiar power, as though every line and sentiment in Shakspeare had been early trans- planted into her heart, — had long been brooded over in silence, watered with her tears, — to burst forth at last, like the spon- taneous and native growth of her own soul. An excellent critic of our day has said, that " poetical enthusiasm is the rarest faculty among players ;" if so, it cannot be too highly valued. Fanny Kemble possessed this rare faculty ; and in it a power that cannot be taught, or analyzed, or feigned, or put on and off with her tragic drapery ; it pervaded all she was called upon to do. It was this M'hich in the Grecian Daugh- ter made her look and step so like a young Muse ; which enabled her, by a single glance — a tone — a gesture — to elevate the character far above the language — and exalt the most com- monplace declamation into power and passion. The indis- putable fact, that she appeared on the stage without any pre- vious study or tuition, ought in justice to her to be generally known ; it is most certain that she was not nineteen when she made her first appearance, and that six weeks before her debut there was no more thought of her becoming an actress than of her becoming an empress. The assertion must appear super- fluous to those who have seen her ; for what teaching or what ar- tificial aids could endue her with the advantages just described, "unless Philosophy could make a Juliet !" or what power of pencil, though it were dipped in the rainbow and tempered in the sunbeams, could convey this bright intelligence, or jiistify the enthusiasm with which it is hailed by her audience ? There is a second difficulty which the artist has had to contend with, not less honourable to the actress : the charm of her impersonation of Juliet consisted not so much in any particular points as in the general conception of the whole part, and in the sustained preservation and gradual development of the individual char- acter, from the first scene to the last. Where the merit lies in the beautiful gradations of feeling, succeeding each other like waves of the sea, till the flood of passion swells and towers and sweeps away all perceptible distinctions, the pencil must necessarily be at fault ; for, as Madame de Stael says truly, ^"•Viiiexprimable est precisement ce qu'-un grand acteur nous fait connaitre.''^ The first drawing is taken from the scene in which Juliet first appears. The actress has little to do but to look the charac- FANNY KEMBLE IN JULIET. 293 ter : that is, to convey the impression of a gentle, graceful girl, whose passions and energies lie folded up within her, like gathered lightning in the summer cloud ; all her affections " soft as dews on roses," which must ere long turn to the fire- shower, and blast her to the earth. The moment chosen is immediately after Juliet's expostulation to her garrulous old nurse — " I prithee, peace !" The second, third, and fourth sketches are all from the mas- querade scene. The manner in which Juliet receives the parting salutations of the guests has been justly admired; — nothing is denied to genius and taste, aided by natural grace, else it might have been thought impossible to throw so much meaning and sentiment into so common an action. The first courtesy is to Benvolio. The second, to Mercutio, is distinctly marked, as though in him she recognised the chosen friend of Romeo. In the third, to Romeo himself, the bashful sinking of the whole figure, the conscious drooping of the eyelids, and the hurried yet graceful recovery of herself as she exclaims — ^ " Who's -he that follows there that would not dance ? '~~" Go ask his name !" \fhich is the subject of the third sketch; and lastly, the tone in which she gave the succeeding lines — " If he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding-bed !" which seems, in its deep quiet pathos, to anticipate " some consequence yet hanging in the stars," — form one unbroken series of the most beautiful and heartfelt touches of nature. The fourth sketch is from the conclusion of the same scene, where Juliet, with reluctant steps and many a lingering look back on the portal through which her lover has departed, fol- lows her nurse out of the banquet-room. The next two drawings are from the balcony scene, which has usually been considered the criterion of the talent of an actress in this part. The first represents the action yvhich ac- companied the line — " By whose direction found'st thou out this place 1" The second is the first " Good night I" " Sweet, good night ! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath. May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet." Bb2 294 FANNY KEMBLE IN JULIET. Fanny Kemble's conception of character and sentiment in this scene was pecuharly and entirely her own. Juhet, as she properly felt, is a young impassioned Italian girl, who has flung her heart and soul and existence upon one cast. " She was not made Thro' years or moons the inner weight to bear, Which colder hearts endure till they are laid By age in earth." In this view, the pretty coyness, the playful coquetterie, which has sometimes been thrown into the balcony scene, by way of making an effect, is out of place, and false to the poetry and feeling of the part ; but in Fanny Kemble's delineation, the earnest yet bashful tenderness, the timid yet growing con- fidence, the gradual swelling of emotion from the depths of the heart, up to that fine burst of enthusiastic passion — " Swear by thy gracious self, Thou art the god of my idolatry, j And I'll believe thee !" were all as true to the situation and sentiment as they were beautifully and delicately conveyed. The whole of the speech, " Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face," was in truth, " like softest music to attending ears," from the exquisite and various modulation of voice with which it was uttered. Per- haps one of the most beautiful and entirely original points in the whole scene was the accent and gesture with which she gave the lines — " Romeo, doff thy name ; And for that name, which is no part of thee, Take— all myself!" The grace and abandon in the manner, and the softness of ac- cent, which imparted a new and charming effect to this pas- sage, cannot be expressed in words ; and it was so delicately touched, and so transitorj^, — so dependent, like a beautiful chord in music, on that which prepared and followed it, that it was found impossible to seize and fix it in a drawing. From the first scene with the nurse, two drawings have been made. The idea of Juliet discovered as the curtain rises, ga- zing from the window, and watching for the return of her con- FANNY KEMBLE IN JULIET. 295 fidante, is perfectly new. The attitude (or, more properly, one of her attitudes, for they are various as they are graceful and appropriate) is given in the seventh sketch, and the artist has conveyed it with peculiar grace and truth. The action chosen for the eighth drawing occurs immediately after Juliet's little moment of petulance (so justly provoked), and before she utters in a caressing tone, " Come, what says Romeo ?" The first speech in this scene, " O, she is lame ! love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, Driving back shadov? s over low'riiig hills : , Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love. And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid — wings." — and the soliloquy in the second scene of the third act, " Gal- lop apace, ye fiery-footed steeds !" in which there is no par- ticular point of dramatic effect to be made, are instances of that innate sense of poetical harmony which enabled her to impart the most exquisite pleasure, merely by her feeling, graceful, animated delivery of these beautiful lines. The most musical intonation of voice, the happiest emphasis, and the ut- most refinement, as well as the most expressive grace of action, were here combined to carry passion and poetry at once and vividly to the heart ; but this perfect triumph of illusion is more than painting could convey. The ninth and tenth sketches are from the second scene with the nurse, called in theatrical phrase " the Banishment Scene." One of the grandest and most impressive passages in the whole performance was Juliet's reply to her nurse. " Nurse. Shame come to Romeo ! Juliet. Blister'd be thy tongue. For such a wish I he was not born to shame : Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit ; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth." The loftiness of look and gesture with which she pronounced the last line cannot be forgotten : but the effect consisted so much in the action of the arm, as she stepped across the stage, and in the kindling eye and brow, rather than in the altitude only, that it could not well be conveyed in a drawing. The first point selected is from the passage, " break, my heart ! — poor bankrupt, break at once !" in which the gesture is full 296 FANNV KEMBLE IN JULIET. of expressive and pathetic grace. The tenth drawing repre- sents the action which accompanied her exclamation, " Tybalt is dead — and Romeo — banished !" The tone of piercing an- guish in which she pronounced the last word, banished, and then threw herself into the arms of her nurse, in all the help- lessness of utter desolation, formed one of the finest passages in her performance. The scene in which the lovers part, called the Garden Scene, follows ; and the passage selected is — " Art thou gone so ! my love, my lord, my friend ! I must hear from thee every day i' the hour 1" The subdued and tremulous intonation with which all the speeches in this scene were given, as though the voice were broken and exhausted with excessive weeping, and the man- ner in which she still, though half insensible in her nurse's arms, signed a last farewell to her husband, were among the most delicate and original beauties of the character. The next two drawings are from the fifth scene of the third act. The latter part of this scene contained many new and beautiful touches of feeling, which originated with Miss Kem- ble herself. It is here that the real character of Juliet is first developed ; — it is here that, abandoned by the whole world, and left to struggle alone with her fearful destiny, the high- souled and devoted woman takes place of the tender, trembling girl. The confiding, helpless anguish with which she at first throws herself upon her nurse— (" Some comfort, nurse !") — the gradual relaxing of her embrace, as the old woman coun- sels her to forget Romeo and marry Paris — the tone in which she utters the question — " Speakest thou from thy heart \ Nurse. From my soul too, Or else beshrew them both !" And then the gathering up of herself with all the majesty of offended virtue, as she pronounces that grand " Amen !" — the effect of which was felt in every bosom — these were revelations of beauty and feeling which we owed to Fanny Kemble alone. They were points which had never before been felt or con- veyed in the same manner. The shrinking up wholly into her- self, and the concentrated scorn with which she uttered the lines — FANNY KEMBLE IN JULIET. 297 "Go, counsellor ! Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain !" are very spiritedly given in the fourteenth drawing. From the scene with the friar, in the fourth act, the action selected is where she grasps her poniard with the resolution of despair — *' Give me some present counsel ; or, behold, 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire !" One of the most original effects of feeling and genius in the whole play occurred in the course of this scene ; but, unfortu- nately, it was not found susceptible of graphic delineation. It was the peculiar manner with which she uttered the words — " Are you at leisure, holy father, now ? Or shall I come to you at evening mass V The question in itself is nothing ; but what a volume of misery and dread suspense was in that look with which she turned from Paris to the friar, and the tone with which she uttered those simple words ! This was beyond the pencil's art to con- vey, and could but be felt and remembered. The next draw- ing is therefore from the scene in which she drinks the sleep- ing potion. The idea of speaking the first part of the solilo- quy seated, and with the calmness of one settled and bent up " to act a dismal scene alone," until her fixed meditation on the fearful issue, and the horrible images crowding on her mind, work her up to gradual phrensy, was new, and originated with Miss Kemble. The attitude expressed in the drawing — *' O look, methinks I see my cousin's ghost," — was always hailed with an excess of enthusiasm of which I thought many parts of her performance far more deserving. The eighteenth sketch is from the sleeping scene ; and the last two drawings are from the tomb scene. The merits of this last scene were chiefly those of attitude, look, and manner ; and the whole were at once so graceful and beautiful, as well as terribly impressive, that they afforded some relief from the horrors of the situation and the ravings of Romeo. The altera- tion of Shakspeare, in the last act, is certainly founded on the historical tale of the Giulietta : but though the circumstances are borrowed, yet the spirit in which they are related by the ancient novelist has not been taken into consideration by those 298 FANNY KEMBLE IN JULIET. who manufactured this additional scene of superfluous horror.* In Juliet's death, Miss Kemble seized an original idea, and worked it up with the most powerful and beautiful effect ; but this effect consisted not so much in one attitude or look, as in a progressive series of action and expression, so true — so pain- fully true, that as one of the chief beauties was the rapidity with which the whole passed from the fascinated yet aching sight — the artist has relinquished any attempt to fix it on paper. Fanny Kemble made her first appearance in the character of Juliet, October 6th, 1829, and bade a last farewell to a London audience in May, 1832 : during these three years she played through a very diversified range of parts, both in tragedy and high comedy.f Sustained by her native genius and good taste, and by the kindly feeling of her audience, she could not be said to have failed in any, not even in those which her inexpe- rience and extreme youth rendered premature, to say the least. She never — except in one or two instances^ — had a voice in the selection of her parts, which, I think, was in some cases exceedingly injudicious, as far as her individual powers were concerned. I know that she played in several contrary to her own opinion, taste, and judgment, and from a principle of duty. Not duty only, but a feeling of delicacy natural to a generous mind, which disdained the appearance of presuming on her real power, rendered her docile, in some instances, to a degree which I regretted while I loved her for it. She had a percep- tion of some of the traditional absurdities of dress, and ridicu- lous technical anomalies of theatrical arrangements, which she * The alteration and interpolations are by Garrick, of whom it was said and believed, that " he never read through a whole play of Shaks- peare's except with some nefarious design of cutting and mangling it." t She played in London the following parts successively : — Juliet, Bel- videra, the Grecian Daughter, Mrs. Beverley, Portia, Isabella, Lady Townly, Calista, Bianca, Beatrice, Constance, Camiola, Lady Teazle, Donna Sol (in Lord Francis Egerton's translation of Hernani, when played before the queen at Bridgewater House), Queen Katherine, Cath- erine of Cleves, Louisa of Savoy in Francis L, Lady Macbeth, Julia in the Hunchback. X The only parts which, to my knowledge, she chose for herself, were Portia, Camiola, and Julia in the Hunchback. She was accused of having declined playing Inez de Castro in Miss Mitford's tragedy, and I heard her repel that accusation very indignantly. She added — " Setting aside my respect for Miss Mitford, I never, on principle, have refused a part. It is my business to do whatever is deemed advantageous to the whole concern, to do as much good as I can ; not to think of myself. If they bid me act Scrubb, I would act it !" FANNY K£MBLE IN JULIET. 899 had not power to alter, and which I have seen her endure with wondrous good temper. Had she remained on the stage, her fine taste and original and powerful mind would have carried the public whh her in some things which she contemplated : for instance, she had an idea of restoring King Lear, as origi- nally written by Shakspeare, and playing the real Cordelia to her father's Lear. When left to her own judgment, she ever thought more of what was worthy and beautiful in itself, than she calculated on the amount of vulgar applause it might at- tract, or the sums it might bring to the treasury. Thus, for her first benefit she played Portia, a character which no vain, self-confident actress would have selected for such an occasion, because, as the play is now performed, the part is compara- tively short, is always considered of secondary importance, and affords but few effective points : this was represented to her ; but she persisted in her choice : and how she played it out of her own heart and soul ! how she revelled in the poetry of the part, with a conscious sense and enjoyment of its beauty, which was communicated to her audience ! Self, after the first tre- mor, was forgotten, and vanity lost in her glowing perception of the charm of the cliaracter. She lamented over every beau- tiful line and passage which had been " cut out" by profane hands.* To those which remained the rich and mellow tones of her voice gave added power, blending with the music of the verse. It was by her own earnest wish that she played Ca- miola, in Massinger's Maid of Honour, and this was certainly one of her most exquisite and most finished parts ; but the quiet elegance, the perfect dehcacy of the delineation were never appreciated. She was aware of this : she said, " The first rows of the pit and the first few boxes will understand me ; for the rest of that great tlieatre, I ought to play as they paint the scenes — in great splashes of black and white." Bi- • At Dresden and at Frankfort I saw the Merchant of Venice played as it stands in Shakspeare, with all the stately scenes between Portia and her suitors — the whole of the character of Jessica — the lovely moon-light dialogue between Jessica and Lorenzo, and the beautiful speeches given to Portia, all which, by sufferance of an English audience, are omitted on our stage. When I confessed to some of the great German critics, that the Merchant of Venice, Romeo and Juliet, King Lear, &c. were per- formed in England, not only with important omissions of the text, but with absolute alterations, affecting equally the truth of character and the construction of the story, they looked at me, at first, as if half incredu- lous, and their perception of the barbarism, as well as the absurdity, was so forcibly expressed on their countenances, and their contempt so justi- fiable, that I confess I felt ashamed for my countrymen. 300 FANNY KEIHBLE IN JtTLlET. anca, in Millman's Fazio, was another of her finest parts, and as it contained more stage effect, it told more with the public. In this character she certainly took even her greatest admirers by surprise. The expression of slumbering passion, and its gradual development, were so fervently portrayed, and yet so nicely shaded ; the phrensy of jealousy, and the alienation of intellect, so admirably discriminated, and so powerfully given, that when the first emotions had subsided, not admiration only, but wonder seized upon her audience : nor shall I easily forget the pale composure with which she bore this — one of her most intoxicating triumphs. In Constance, in Queen Katherine, in Lady Macbeth, the want of amplitude and maturity of person, of physical weight and power, and a deficiency both of experience and self-con- fidence, were against her ; but her conception of character was so true, and her personal resemblance to her aunt so striking, in spite of her comparatively diminutive features and figure, that one of the best and severest of our dramatic critics said, " it was like looking at Mrs. Siddons through the wrong end of an opera-glass."* She had conceived the idea of giving quite a new reading, which undoubtedly would have been the true reading, of the character of Katherine of Arragon, and instead of playing it with the splendid poetical colouring in which Mrs. Siddons had arrayed it, bring it down to the prosaic delineation which Shakspeare really gave, and history and Holbein have transmitted to us ; but the experiment was deemed loo hazard- ous ; and it was so. The public at large would never have understood it. The character of the queen-mother, in her own tragedy of Francis I., was another part of which the weight seemed to overwhelm her youthful powers, and after the first few nights she ceased to play it. * The resemblance was in the brow and eye. When she was sitting to Sir Thomas Lawrence, he said, " These 'are the eyes of Mrs. Sid- dons." She said, " You mean like those of Mrs. Siddons." " No," he repHed, " they are the same eyes, the construction is the same, and to draw them is the same thing." I have ever been at a loss for a word which should express the peculiar property of an eye like that of Mrs. Siddons, which could not be called piercing or penetrating, or any thing that gives the idea of searching or acute ; but it was an eye which, in its softest look, and, to a late period of her life, went straight into the depths of the soul as a ray of light finds the bottom of the ocean. Once, when I was conversing with the celebrated German critic Bottigar, of Dresden, and he was describing the person of Madame Schirmer, after floundering in a sea of English epi- thets, none of which conveyed his meaning, he at last exclaimed with enthusiasm — " Madam ! her eys was f erf orating .'" FANNY KEMBLE IN JUHET. 301 While on the English stage, she never became so far the finished artist as to be independent of her own emotions, her own individual sentiments, ft was not only necessary that she should understand a character, it was necessary that she should feel it. She invariably excelled in those characters in which her sympathies were awakened. In Juliet, in Portia, in Camiola, in Julia* (perhaps the most popular of all her parts), and I believe I may add, in Bianca, she will not soon or easily be surpassed. For the same reason, if she could be said to have failed in any part, it was in that of Calista, which she abhorred, and never, I believe, could comprehend. Isabellaf was another part which I think she never really felt ; she aever could throw her powers into it. The bald style and the prosaic monotonous misery of the first acts, in which her aunt called forth such torrents of tears, wearied her ; though the tragic of the situation in the last act roused her, and was given most effectively. She had not, at the time she took leave of us, conquered the mechanical part of her profession — the last, but not the least necessary department of her art, which it had taken her aunt Siddons seven years, and Pasta almost as long, to achieve ; she was too much under the in- fluence of her own nerves and moods of feeling ; the warm blushes, the hot tears, the sob, the tremour, were at times too real. After playing in Mrs. Beverly, Bianca, and Julia, the physical suffering and excitement were sometimes most pain- ful ; and the performance of Constance actually deprived her of her hearing for several hours, and rendered her own voice maudible to her ; this, it will be allowed, was paying some- what dear for her laurels, even though she had valued them more than in truth she ever did. Fanny Kemble, as one of a gifted race, " the latest born of all Olympus' faded hierarchy," had really a just pride in the professional distinction of her family. She was proud of being a Kemble, and not insensible to the idea of treading in the steps of her aunt. But she had seen the stage desecrated, and never for a moment indulged the thought that she was destined to regenerate it. She felt truly her own position. Her ambition was not professional. She had always the con- sciousness of a power — of which she has already given evi- dence — to ensure to herself a higher, a more real immortality than that which the stage can bestow. She had a very high idea, abstractedly, of the capabilities of her art ; but the * In the Hunchback. t In the Fatal Marriage. Vol. I.— C c 302 FANNY KEMBLE IN JIT1.IET- native, elegance of her mind, her poetical temperament, her profound sense of the serious ideal, rendered her extremelyj and at times painfully, sensitive to the prosaic drawbacks vv^hich attended its exercise in public, and her strong under- standing showed her its possible evils. She feared for the effect that incessant praise, incessant excitement, might at length produce on her temper. " I am in dismay," said she (I give her own words), " when I think that all this may be- come necessary to me. Could I be sure of retaining my love for higher and belter occupations, and my desire for a nobler, thougli more distant fame, I should not have these apprehen- sions ; but 1 am cut off by constant labour from those pursuits ■which I love and honour, and neither they, nor any of our capabilities, can outlive long neglect and disuse." Thus she felt, and thus she expressed herself at the age of twenty, and even while enjoying her success with a true girlish buoyancy of spirit, the more delightful, the more interesting, inasmuch as it seemed to tremble at itself. I have actually heard her reproached for not being sufficiently elated and excited by the public homage ; but, the truth is, she was grateful for praise, rather than intoxicated by it — more pleased with her success than proud of it.* " I dare not," said she, " feel all I could. feel ; I must watch myself." And by a more exact attention to her religious duties, and by giving as much time as possible to the cultivation of many resources and accomplishments, she endeavoured to preserve the command over her own faculties, and the even balance of her mind. I am persuaded that this lofty tone of feeling, this mixture of self-subjection and self- respect, gave to her general deportment on the stage that in- describable charm, quite apart from any grace of person or action, which all who have seen her must have felt, and none can have forgotten. And now, what shall I say more ? If I dared to violate the sacredness of private intercourse, I could indeed say much — much more. That she came forward and devoted herself for * I recollect being present when some one was repeating to her a very high-flown and enthusiastic eulogy, of which she was the subject. Sh^ listened very quietly, and then said with indescribable nahieti — " Perhaps I ought io blusli to have all these things thus repeated to my face ; but the truth is, I cannot. I cannot, by any effort of my own imagination, see myself as people speak of me. It gives no reflection back to my mind. I cannot fancy myself like this. All I can clearly understand is"., that you and everybody are very much pleased, and I am verv glad «£ it f" * ' " FANNY KEMBLE UN JULIET. 303 her family in times of trial and trouble — that twice she saved them from ruin — that she has achieved two fortunes, besides a brilliant fame, and by her talents won independence for her- self and those she loved, — and that she has done all this before the age of five-and-twenty, is known to many ; but few are aware how much more admirable, more respectable than any of her mental gifts and her well-earned distinction, were the moral strength with which she sustained the severest ordeal to which a youthful character could be exposed ; the simplicity with which she endured — half-recoiling — the incessant adula- tion which beset her from morn to eight ;* her self-command in success ; her gentle dignity in reverse ; her straightforward integrity; tvhich knew no turning nor shadow of turning ; her noble spirit, which disdained all petty rivalry ; her earnest sense of religion, " to which alone she trusted to keep her right."! Suddenly she became the idol of the public ; sud- denly she was transplanted into a sphere of society, where, as long as she could administer excitement to fashionable insanity, she was worshipped. She carried into those circles all the freshness of her vigorous and poetical mind — all the unworn feelings of her young heart. So much genuine simplicity, such perfect innocence and modesty, allied to such rare powers, and to an habitual familiarity with the language of poetry and the delineation of passion, was not there understood, or rather was nn\s-understood — and no wonder! To the blase men, the vapid girls, and artificial women who then surrounded her, her gen- erous feelings, " when the bright soul broke forth on every side," appeared mere acting ; they were indeed constrained to believe it such ; for if for a moment they had deemed it all real, it must have forced on them comparisons by no means favourable to themselves. If, under these circumstances, her quick sensibility to pleasurable emotion of all kinds, and her ready sympatliy with all the external refinement, splendour, and luxury of aristocratic life, conspired for a moment to dazzle her imagination, she recovered herself immediately, and from * It must be remembered that it was not only fashionable incense and public applause ; it was the open enthusiastic admiration of such men as Sir Walter Scott, Sir Thomas Lawrence, Moore, Rogers, Campbell, Barry Cornwall, and others of great name, who brought rich flattery in prose and in verse, and laid it at her feet. Just before she caiuc on the stage she had spent about a year in Scotland with her excellent relative and friend Mrs. Henry Siddons, and always ret' '•ed to this period as her " Sabbatical year, granted to her to prepare her mind and principles iox this great iTial." t Her own word*. 304 FANNY KBMBLE IN JUUET. first to last, her warm and strong affections, the moral texture of her character ; the refinement, which was as native to her mind " as fragrance to the rose," remained unimpaired. These — a rich dower — she is about to carry into the shades of do- mestic life. Another land will be her future home. By an- other name shall fame speak of her, who was endeared to us as Fanny Kemble : and she, who with no steady hand pens this slight tribute to the virtues she loved, bids to that name — farewell ! enb of vol. I. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 328 342 THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Santa Barbara THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. i^yif a flnn Series 9482 3 1205 00240 3473