Part 9

This extraordinary genius, who is almost as popular and interesting in England as in his own country, seems to have received 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 illustrations of the ideas of others, few but those who may possess some of his original drawings are aware, that Retzsch is himself a poet of the first order, using his glorious power of graphic delineation to throw into form the conceptions, thoughts, aspirations, 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 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 restraints of artificial life, had nearly induced him to become a huntsman or forester (Jaeger) 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 dissipated 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 himself a small independence, and contributed to the support 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 in 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 answer many purposes, being obviously a sleeping as well as a sitting-room, but perfectly neat. I saw at once that there was every where a woman's superintending eye and thoughtful care; but did not know at the moment that he was married. He received us with open-hearted frankness, at the same time throwing on the stranger one of those quick glances which seemed to look through me: in return, I contemplated him with inexpressible 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, simple, careless, saying just what he feels and thinks at the moment, 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 I was looking over his things I was engrossed by the one conviction;--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 fertility 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 execution of parts, combined with a fancy which seems to run wild over his paper or his canvas; 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, fantastic, even extravagant--but never false in sentiment or expression. 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 pannel, 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 his 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 beautiful and the sublime--even I could have deemed it next to impossible; 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.

Afterwards 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 appeared at first two dark, hollow, unfathomable spaces, like those in a skull; but when I drew nearer, and looked attentively, two lovely living eyes looked at me again out of the depth of shadow, as of 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 opening 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 admirable for its grotesque power and spirit, and, moreover, extremely 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 with 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 Dannecker'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 Midsummer Night's Dream, or the Tempest, rather than Macbeth: the former he will still undertake, and, in truth, if any one succeeds in embodying a just idea of a Miranda, a Caliban, a Titania, 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 afterwards 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 vineyards, rising on our right; and though it was in November, the air was soft as summer. Retzsch, who had perceived our approach 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 almost a child, and educated for his wife--at least so runs the tale. At the first glance I detected the original of that countenance 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.--2nd. The birthday of his wife--a lovely female 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.--3rd. The Enigma of Human Life.--The Genius of Humanity is reclining on the back of a gigantic sphinx, of which 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, Ignorance, 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 innocence by an evil spirit, while a good genius warns them to beware.--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 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 beneath the light of the silent stars. On a subsequent visit, Retzsch showed me many more 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 remember, in particular, one of striking and even of appalling interest. The Genius of Humanity and the Spirit of Evil are playing at chess for the souls of men: the Genius 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 fortitude; 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 lanthorn. 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 better than publish some of these exquisite _Fancies_, and when I left him he entertained the idea of doing so at some future period. To adopt his own language, the Genius of Art could not present to the Genius of Humanity a more delightful and a more profitable gift.[39]

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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 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 adhere to a principle which, after all, seems to be the best--viz. never to speak but of what we _know_; 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 Germany increases every day, and a mutual esteem and understanding 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 some 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, Etty, 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 prevalent 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.[40] "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 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 pursued 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 cultivation, 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 sun-beams 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 recently done. _We_ know that it is not the genius, but the opportunity which has been wanting, but we cannot ask foreigners 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 expenditure of our rulers, and the grandeur of our public institutions, that painting has not oftener been summoned in aid of her eldest sister architecture. On the other hand, their school of portraiture and landscape is decidedly inferior to ours. Not only have they no landscape painters who can compare with Callcott 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 portraits I have already spoken; the eye which has rested in delight upon one of Wilkie's or Phillips's fine manly portraits, (not to mention Reynolds, Gainsborough, Romney, and Lawrence,) 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.

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HISTORY.

Peter Cornelius, born at Dusseldorf in 1778, was for a considerable 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 Glyptothek at Munich, already described.

Friedrich 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: esteemed 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 conceived, and most admirably painted. In the style of colour, in the singular combination of grand feeling and delicate execution, this picture reminded me of Leonardo da Vinci.

Professor Julius Schnorr von Carolsfeld, born at Leipsig in 1794. His frescos from the Nibelungen Lied in the new palace at Munich have been already mentioned at length.

Professor Heinrich Hesse: the frescos 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 Schlotthauer, professor of historical and fresco painting 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 information, and his frank and amiable character.

Moritz Retzsch of Dresden.

Professor Vogel, of Dresden, principal painter to the king of Saxony. He paints in fresco and history, but excels in portraits.

Stieler, 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 Exile."

"By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept."

The colouring I thought rather hard, but the conception and drawing were in a grand style.

Wilhelm Schadow, director of the academy at Dusseldorf.

Hetzsch of Stuttgardt.

The brothers Riepenhausen, of Goettingen, resident at Rome. They are celebrated for their designs of the pictures of Polygnotus, as described by Pausanius.

Koehler. He exhibited at the Kunstverein at Dusseldorf a picture of "Rebecca at the well," very well executed.

Ernst Foerster, of Altenburg, employed in the palace at Munich. This clever young painter married the daughter of Jean Paul Richter.

Gassen, of Goblentz; Hiltensberger, of Suabia; Hermann, of Dresden; Foltz, of Bingen; Kaulbach, of Munich; Eugene Neureuther, of Munich; Wilhelm Roeckel, of Schleissheim; Von Schwind, of Vienna; Wilhelm Lindenschmidt, of Mayence. All these painters are at present in the service of the king of Bavaria.

Julius Huebner; Hildebrand; Lessing; Sohn; history and portraits;--these four painters are the most distinguished scholars of the Dusseldorf school.

SMALL SUBJECTS AND CONVERSATION PIECES.

Peter Hess, of Munich, one of the most eminent painters in Germany. In his choice of subjects he reminded me sometimes 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 Fraser.

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, scenes in Greece and Spain, and other subjects by Von Heydeck, very admirably painted.

F. Mueller, of Cassel. 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.

Plueddeman, of Colberg.

T. B. Sonderland, of Dusseldorf. Fairs and merrymakings.

H. Rustige. The same subjects. Both are good artists.

H. Kretzschmar, of Pomerania. His picture of "Little Red Ridinghood," (Rothkaeppchen,) at the Kunstverein, at Dusseldorf, had great merit.

Adolf Scroette. Rustic scenes in the Dutch manner.

LANDSCAPE.