Skip to main content

Full text of "Art and artists of our time"

See other formats














Brandeis University 

In Memory of 

Louis Bliom 

The Gift of 

liir, & llrs. William R. Cori-en 
Chicago, Illinois 

The National Women's Committee 
Brandeis University 


- iW'3 

■*:■:» ■ n * 





Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2010 with funding from 

Boston Library Consortium IVIember Libraries 




yjlANCB. i79b * 








Mitb riDan^ IFIlustrations. 

Vol. II. 


SELMAR HESS, Publisher. 





Contents, IDolume II. 


ACHEXBACH, Akdreas, 288 

Amberg, Wilhelm 231 

asdersen-lundbt, 284 

Angeli, Heinrich von, 260 

Artz, David Adolphe Constant, . . 324 

Becker, Karl Ludwig Friedrich, . . 90 

Begas, Karl, 154 

Benczur, Julius, 213 

Bendemann, Edouard, . . . . ^ 40 

Bendemann, Rudolph 193 

Beyschlag, Julius, 209 

Blau, Tina, 290 

Blommers, Bernardus Johannes, . . 323 

BocKLiN, Arnold, 169 

bodenhausen, cuno von, .... 202 

BodenmCller, Alfons, 197 

BoDMER, Karl, 282 

BosBooM, Johannes, 324 

BWrger, Anton, 300 

Calame, Alexander, 280 

Camphausen, Wilhelm, 51 

Carstens, L. v., 194 

CkderstrOm, Baron Thure von, . . 344 

Cermak, Jaroslav, 304 

Chodowiecki, Daniel Kicolaus, . . . 247 

Cornelius, Peter von, 7 

Dahl, Hans, 112 

Defregger, Franz, 126 

Deger, Ernest, 18 

Deutsch, Rudolph von, I81 



DiEZ, Wilhelm, 181 

Dill, Ludwig, 293 

DtiRER, Albert, 3 

Dvorak, F., 138 

Bpp, Rudolph, 13S 

Erdmann, Otto, 242 

Feuerbach Anselm 17a 

Fink, August, ....... 284 


Gael, Alois, lio 

Gebhardt, Karl Franz Edouard von, . 75 

Gebler, Friedrich Otto, .... 309 

Gentz, Wilhelm Karl, 19^ 

Gossow, 227 

GrUtzner, Eduard, 95 

GuDE, Hans, 349 

Haanen, Cecil von, 388- 

Hagborg, August, 34S 

Harburger, Edmund, 207 

Hasemann, Wilhelm 163- 


Hellqvist, Karl Gustav, .... 346 

Hendschel, Albert, 122 

Herterich, Ludwig, 65 

Hildebrandt, Ferdinand Theodor, . . 213 

Hildebrand, Ernst, 100 

Hildebrandt, Eduard, 278 

Hoecker, Paul, 154 

Hofmann, Heinrich Johann Ferdinand 

Michael, 184 

Holbein, Hans, !> 




HoM, George, 
Igler, G., 
Israels, Josef, . 


Jacobides, G., 

Kaemmerer, Frederik Hendrik 

Kaufmax:^, Hugo, 

Kaulbach, Wilhelm von, 

Kadlbach, Hermann, 

Kaulbach, Fbiedrich August, 

Ketser, Emile, .... 


Kleehaas, Theodore, 

Knaus, Ludwig, . 

KoENiG, Hugo, . 

Krat, Wilhelm, 

Kurtzbauer, E., 

Leibl, Wilhelm, 

Lenbach, Franz, 

Lessing, Charles Frederic 

Liezen-Mayer, Alexander, 


LOfftz, Ludwig, 

Lt'BEN, Adolf, 

Makart, Hans, . 

Marak, Julius, . 

Maris, Jacobus or James, 

Maris, William, 

Maris, Matthew, 

Maute, Anton, . 

Max, Gabriel, . 

Meissner, Ernst Adolf, 

Menzel, Adolf, Friederich, Erdman 

Mesdag, Hendrik Wilhelm, 

Meter, Johann Georg (von Bremen) 

Meter, Glaus, .... 

Meterheim, Paul Friedrich, 

MCCKE, Heinrich, Karl, Anton, 

MCller, Carl, . 

MuNKACST, Michael, 

MuNTHE, Ludwig, 

OvERBECK, Friedrich, 

Passini, Ludwig, 

Pausinger, C. von, . 

Pesne, Antoine, 

Pettenkofen, August von, 

PlLTZ, Otto, 




















PiLOTY, Karl Thkodor von, .... 45 

Pletsch, Oscar, 119 

Plockhorst, Bernhard, 69 

Preller, Friedrich, Johann, Christian, 

Ernst, 273 

Preter, Johann Wilhelm, .... 296 

Ramberg, a. von, 199 

Raupp, Karl, 146 

Rethel, Alfred, 76 

Retzch, Friedrich August Moritz, . . 24 

RicHTER, Karl, Ludwig, Gustav, . . 238 

Richter, Adrian Ludwig, .... 114 

Riefstahl, Wilhelm Ludwig Friedrich, 66 

RONNER, Henriette, 339 

Salentin, Hubert 142 

Schenck, August Frederic-Albrecht, . 286 

SCHMID, Mathias, 131 

Schkorr, von Carolsfeld, Julius, Veit, 

Hans, 18 

ScHREYER, Adolf, 300 


SCHUCH, Werner, Wilhelm, Gustav, . 59 

ScHwiND, Moritz Ludwig von, ... 33 

SchWtze, Wilhelm, 151 

Seifebt, Alfred 303 

Seitz, Otto, ....... 61 

SicHEL, Nathaniel, 303 

Smith-Hald Frietjof, 352 

SoHN, Carl, Jr., 244 

Spa_ngekberg, Gustav Adolf, ... 195 

Stryowski, Wilhelm, 100 

Thoren, Otto von, 303 

Thumann, Paul, ...... 231 

TiscHBEiN, Friedrich, 358 

Treuenfels, N., 103 

Uhde, Fritz von, 73 

Vautier, Marc, Louis, Benjamin, . . 223 

Vogel, Christian Leberecht, ... 341 

Voltz, Friedrich Johann, .... 306 

Wagner, Paul, 137 

Wahlberg, Alfred Leonard, . . . 348 

Wagner, Alexander, 339 

Werner, Anton Alexander von, . . 365 

Winterhalter, Franqois Xavier, . . 358 

Zimmermann, Ernst Karl Georg, . . 73 

Zt'GEL, Heinrich Johann, .... 308 

jfull^lpaGe IFllustrations. Dolume IK 

A Baptism DnBi;sG the Directory 

The Birth of the Vibgi:n 

The Madonna of the Meyer Family 

The Destruction of Troy 


The Holy Family 

The Body of St. Catharine Borne to Mt. 


The Battle of the Huns 

Death of Wallenstein 

Friedrich Wilhelm I. VISITS the Village 


A Chamber-Concert at Sans-Souci . 
Episode from the "Thirty Years' War" 
An Incident in the Peasants' War . 

In the Refectory 

The Adoration of the Shepherds . 
Come, Lord Jesus, and be our Guest 

The Last Supper 

The Visitation of the Sick 

The Death of William of Orange . 
The Last Days of a Condemned Man 

Christ Before Pilate 

The Examination Day 

Shaving-Day in the Monastery 

"Your Health!" 

The Baptism 

Behind the Scenes 

The Story-Teller ." 

By F. H. Kaemmerer 
" Albert Diirer 
" Hans Holbein 
" Peter von Cornelius . 
" Moritz von Sohwind 
'' Franz Ittenbach 

Heinrioh Milcke 
Willielui von Kaulbach 
Karl Theodor von Piloti 

Adolph Menzel 

" W. Schuch . 

" Ludwig Herterioh 

" Wilhelm Riefstahl . 

" Ernst Zimmermann . 

" F. von Uhde 

" E. von Gebhardt 

" Adolf Liiben 

" Wilhelm Lindenschmidt 

" Michael Munkacsy 

F. P. Hansenclever 
Eduard GrUtzner 
E. Hildebrand . 
Ludwig Knaus . 

Alois Gabl 



To Face 






















































Too Late 

A Song of Welcome 

Speckbacher and his Son Andreas . 

The First-born 



Right or Left? . ... 

The Woodland Prayer ..... 

The Coming Storm 

A Nunnery 

Morning Prayer in the Orphanage 

A Tranquil Hour 


Caught at Last 

The Mermaidens 

The Hunt on the Nile 

Penelope . . . . . 


In the Gloaming . . ... 
At the Embroidery Frame .... 
The Waves of the Sea and of Love 
Coming from the Baptism .... 


The Tower-warden 

At Church 

The Spanish Mail-Coaci-i in Toledo 

The Brothers 

At Dessert 

Avarice and Love 

The Work-room of a Painter . 

Calas bidding Farewell to His Family 

Florinda and her Maidens .... 

A Landscape 

Agony . . 

Chased by Wolves 

The Sewing School at Katwyk 
The Departure of the Fishing-boat 

By Hans Dahl . 

" Ludwis; Riohter 

Rudolph Epi3 
Meyer von Bremen 
Theodor Kleehaas 
Hubert Salentin 
Carl Raupp 
Claus Meyer 
Walther Firle . 
W. Hasemann 
Ludwig Passini . 
Hugo Kaufinann 
Arnold Boo^in . 
Hans Makart 
Rudolf von Deutsch 
H. Hofmann 
Gustav Spangenberg 
A. von Ramberg 
Wilhelm Kray 
' Julius Beysohlag 
Julius Benczur . 
Hermann Kaulbacli 
Benjamin Vautier 

■ Alexander Wagner 
Christian Leberecht Vogel 
Carl Sohn, Jr. 
Ludwig Lofftz . 

■ Daniel Nicholaus Chodow 


FranQois Xavier Winterhalter 
Julius Marak .... 
August Frederic-Albrecht Schenck 
Adolf Sehreyer .... 
Josef Israels . . 
Bernardus Johannes Blommers 
Hendrik Wilhehii Mesdag 

On the Ebb 

The Tow-path " James Maris 

The Dispute " F. H. Kaemmerer 


) Face 112 








" 148 






" 173 
























" 333 

" 336 


BROADLY si)eaking, the art of Germany as it exists to-day is an affair of our own 
century. In the general ruin and desolation brought about by the Thirty Years' 
War, Germany, so far as Art and Letters were concerned, had become almost a tabula 
rasa, a clean slate: her older art was more than neglected, it was despised: if any hand were 
discerned busied with the pencil or the chisel, it was a hand taught by Italy and working on 

;V7 Sfri-rr/er fecit- 



models furnished by the later Italian schools. It is a familiar fact in the kingdom of nature 
tliat, after the primeval forest has been cleared by the woodman's axe or by lire, the new 
growth that springs up is of a different species from the old. It was so with the Art of Ger- 
many after the ground had been cleared by the bloody axe of the Thirty Years' War. The 
themes of the older art had been almost exclusively religious. She had provided pictures for 

the churches, illuminated manuscripts for kings and princes, and by the newly introduced arts 
Vol. II.— 1 * * 


of engi'aving and printing, she had circulated broadcast among the people a profusion of 
designs with subjects drawn from the Bible and from the Legends of the Church. The taste 
of the Renaissance had led the Italians to subjects drawn from classic history and poetry. 
These they j^ainted with one hand, while, with the other, they supplied the never-failing 
demand from the churches for religious pictures. The taste of the Italians for classic themes 
was instinctive : it was in their blood : a long inheritance ; and, from the first, as soon as the 
practice of art was taken up in Italy by Italian hands, it recurred, as by a natural bent, to 
antique models. The decorations of the roof of the Upper Church of St. Francis at Assisi, 
attributed to Cimabue, are a prophecy of unearthed Pompeii and. the Baths of Titus. Giotto 

gives to the house of Anna and Joachim, the 
parents of the virgin, a pediment of classic form 
ornamented with the familiar mussel-shell, 
which here incloses, not, as we are wont to see, 
the pagan Venus, but the effigy of God the 
Father: the new wine put into old bottles. 
Nay, did not Raphael himself, when in his 
time the Baths of Titus, with their frescoed 
arabesques, were uncovered, recall Avith leaps 
of heart the days of his youth, when he as- 
sisted his old master, Perugino, in decorating 
the ceilings of tire Perugian Exchange and 
its Chapel with designs in the same spirit: 
wreaths and garlands inclosing Diana, and Venus, and Cupid? And did not Love and 
Memory spur him to the playful task of the Loggie as much as the mere example ^f clas- 
sic precedent and the enthusiasm of his scholar- friends? These are only a few illustrations 
out of many that might be given. But, what was native to Italy was only borrowed in 
Germany, on whom the classic garb of the Renaissance sat with an ill grace. The Italian 
artist following his nature, and inheriting the classic traditions, sought to embody his ideas 
in beautiful and graceful forms. He was instinctively drawn to generalize, to omit all 
details that were not absolutely necessary, and if he were obliged to introduce details, he 
either copied such models about him as were ornamental, or, in default of these, invented such 
as pleased his refined taste. But the Germans w^ere not only less given, on principle, to gen- 






eralize, they seemed to lo\ e details for their own sake; or, if this be not allowed, let it be said 
that they seemed best able to express their conception and tell their story by multiplying 
incidents and details ; and they had no example of classic restraint before their eyes to deter 
them from following their native inclination. The space at our command does not permit us 
to do more, than hint at these differences. But let any of Our readers, who care to look into 
the matter, compare the treatment of any one of the incidents in the Old or New Testament, 
or in the various legends of the Church, by an Italian painter, with the treatment of the same 
subject by a German. Let him compare the " Birth of the Virgin," by Diirer, for example, 
with the " Birth of the Virgin " by Giotto, or by an artist contemporary with Diii-er, Andrea 
del Sarto. In Giotto, the story is told in the fewest possible words : not a syllable could be 
spared. In Andrea's pictui'e, the bare-necessaries-of-life look of the room As^here the scene 
takes place in Giotto's picture, is exchanged for a sumptuousness, expressive at once of the 
i'icher and more luxurious times in which the later artist lived, and of the desire he had 
to emphasize the supposed fact, that the Virgin's parents were people of wealth and position. 
A rich bedstead, a carved marble frieze, a stately fire-place — these, from the artist's point of 
view, are necessary but sufficient indications: they serve their purpose, but they do not dis- 
tract the mind from the main story. How different it is with Diirer ! He shows us a room 
in the house of a comfortable burgher of his own Nuremberg : perhaps his own father's house, 
with its big, heavily-curtained bed, its apparatus for the toilet : a copper water- vessel hanging 
over a sink, a towel on a roller, a shelf for holding household utensils, and chests for clothing. 
In the bed we see the mother to whom her women and neighbors bring refreshment and worda 
of cheer; and in the foreground, a crowd of nurses sit about on chests and stools, some worn 
out with watching, some drinking no end of beer from huge tankards supplied by a sturdy 
servant. Others wash and swaddle the new-born infant — two children being shown, for one — 
as was often done by the old j)ainters to indicate the successive stages of the dressing: the 
washing never omitted, since that was symbolical of the rite of baptism. The whole is a scene 
of homely confusion characteristic, no doubt, of the time, and of the manners of the people 
among whom Diirer lived, but certainly devoid of dignity, and in no wise answering to the 
spirit in which the subject would have been treated by Jan van Eyck, or Roger van der 
Weyden, or by Diirer's immediate predecessor, Schcingauer. Even the angel who has de- 
scended into tliis homely birth-chamber, and hovers in a cloud over the bed of Anna, swinging 
a censer, is in nowise an ideal or beautiful creation. Diirer never even attempts to lift his 

angelic or saintly beings above tlie level of ordinary mortals: 
he always gives them homely, honest burgher-faces and en- 
cumbers them with a prodigious amount of clothing: appar- 
ently for no other reason than the enjoyment he has in 
designing complicated folds of drapery. What stronger 
contrast could there be than that between the clumsy awk- 
wardness of the angel in this design and the sweetness and 
simplicity of the angel who comes floating in at the window 
of Anna's room, in Giotto's picture in the Arena chapel at 

Perhaps a stronger contrast still is that between Diirer's 
designs made for the Prayer-book of the Emperor Maximi- 
lian, and those with which we are all more or less familiar in 
the missals of the middle ages. We give examples of these 
designs of Diirer, printing one to inclose our text, as in the 
original, it incloses the text of the Emperor's missal. Durer's 
designs are drawn with the reed-pen in delicate-colored inks, 
and contrary to the custom of the ordinary illuminator, they 
have, as a rule, only the most forced relation to the text they 
inclose. The one we reproduce is perhaps not well chosen 



to illustrate this point, since it is really a religious subject. St. John is represented at the 
bottom of the page, writing his gospel : his inkstand and pen-case are before him on a rock, 
and his eagle stands at his side. His eyes are uplifted, directed to the vision of the virgin, 
who aj)pears to him with her child in her arms. In other borders we find the most curious 
medley of profane and sacred subjects that can be conceived : crucified Christs, Christ suffer- 
ing, or rising from the tomb, saints of the Bible or of Legend, and all these mingled with 
figures from the life of Nuremberg in Diirer's day : ornaments of pure arabesque drawn with 
dexterous flourishes of the pen, with apes and cranes, dogs and horses, dragged in pell-mell: 
here, a satire on the preaching-monks : the fox with a bird- whistle calling the cocks and hens 
to their desti'uction ; here, an old woman tired out with her spinning, and sleeping of an 
afternoon with her tankard of beer beside her : here, a chubby German Cupid singing to his 
lute with one foot on a snail — the whole making far more the impression of selections at 
random from the artist's sketch-book than of an orderly and deliberate design. Perhaps this 
prayer-book may be looked at as an emblem, not of Diirer's mind alone, but of the spirit 
of his time, when the old social order was changing, and old ideas were losing their influ- 
ence, and things sacred and jsrofane were scrambling and fighting to divide the kingdom 
of man between them. 

A greater painter than Diirer, if a less interesting man, Hans Holbein, a contemporary, 
though born later, shared with him that freer and more familiar style, now in that age 
become universal. In his world-famous " Porti-aits of the Meyer Family," Holbein does only 
what Italian artists of the best rank have done in pictures as famous : he shows us the Virgin 
appearing with her Child to a worshipping family. But although the arrangement of the 
group is classical in its regularity, there is a rude homeliness in the treatment, an awkward- 
ness in the attitudes of the personages, a want of elegance in some of the details, and a 
positive ugliness in the costumes of the women, such as would be impossible to find in an 
Italian painter. At the same time, these defects, it must be allowed, exist alongside traits of 
real beauty, in the Virgin's face ; in her hands — equalling in the painting, if not surpassing, 
the world-famous hands in the Mona Lisa of Leonardo ; in the paiating of the robe of finest 
lawn of the hard-featured young daughter of the house, and in her head-dress; above all in 
the painting of the infant son of the family, making his pretty, innocent salute to a delighted 
world. This picture, best known by the copy in the Dresden Gallery, of the original in the 
Ducal Gallery at Darmstadt, represents the Burgomaster Meyer with his first and second 


wives, his daughter and his two sons, kneeling ia the presence of the Virgin who carries her 
child iu her arms. Reiaelled by the bourgeois homeliness of these j)eople, sentimentalists 
have tried to inject into the picture something of what, in their vocabulary, is called poetry. 
They have iavented a tale out of whole cloth, imagining the Child in the Virgin's arms to be 
a dead child of the Meyer family, to fill whose place on earth she has brought down her own 
child— the one who stands by the kneeling Burgomaster and his eldest son. Not only are 
there no facts whatever to warrant such an interpretation of the picture, it must be admitted 
that the explanation is foreign to the spirit of the time and to the character of the artist, who 
had no such stufl in his thoughts, nor ever appears other than the hard-headed, matter-of-fact 
portrayer of things seen with his bodily eyes, things which he reproduced with consummate 
skUl. indeed, with beauty of coloring and perfection of drawing combined as they were never 
combiaed in mortal before, but never iHumiaated, ia this picture or elsewhere, by the smallest 
ray of fancy or imagination. ^ 

When Holbein died, snatched away by the plague in London ia 1543 in the 46th year of 
his age, there was no artist left in Germany to carry on the great tradition which Diirer and 
himself had taherited from the noble school of the Netherlands and which they, and a multi- 
tude of other artists, had so splendidly maintained. From this time a decline set in, due to 
various causes, pai-tly political, partly religious, which ended for a time in the complete 

yV.' ^'f//'ijr;urfp£ii'- 



Til 'u^DE ^ ^IjLPT 




extinguishment of all art in Grermany worthy of the name. We turn over the pages of the 
latest histories of the subject and while we find a cloud of names, we are struck with the 
scarcity of artists who have attained to any particular distinction, although a few are not 
unknown, and shine with more lustre than is fairly their right, because they are set off by 
such a foU of mediocrity. Nothing would be gained in a sketch like this by attempting to 
free from the tangle of lesser names the few which in a larger survey of German art would 
deserve mention ; and leaving, therefore, behind us the seventeenth century and the greater 
part of the eighteenth, we come at once to the re-birtli of art in Germany in our own century. 

This art, however derived, was in the main personal in the influences that gave it vitality. 
In a time when the practice of art had become purely perfunctory and academic, an affair of 
teaching by rote, the only salvation that could be hoped for must come from men to whom 
art was one with religion, to whom it was a necessary expression of feeling and belief, and 
who not only cherished it for themselves, but ardently longed to make others partakers in 
the consolations they had found in it. In the very close of the eighteenth century, two such 
men appeared in Germany who were destined to work a great revolution in the art of their 
time, and who, no matter what may be the final judgment on their work, must always be 
accorded the praise that belongs to those who, believing they have found the true path, have 
the courage to walk in it. These two men were Cornelius and Overbeck, without some men- 
tion of whom no account of modern German art, however summary, would be complete, since 
it was they who, with their pupUs and friends, gave the first living impulse to the art of their 
country long locked in the stagnation of the eighteenth century. 

Peter von Cornelius was born at Dusseldorf in 1787. His father was the Keeper of 
the picture-gallery, which contained many good paintings, since removed to Munich, and the 
young Cornelius, who early showed a taste for drawing, had that taste confirmed and 
strengthened by the practice of reproducing, from memory alone, the pictures in the collec- 
tion which had most attracted him. He was fond, too, of illustrating his story-books by 
designs made in their margins, and his biographers tell us of almanacs decorated in the same 
way. He early developed a taste for reading, and was especially fond of poetry, and fed full 
on the rich stores j^rovided for him by the living literature of the time: the Golden Age of 
German literature, when Goethe and Schiller, Tieck, Novalis and Lessing were bringing forth 
the books that were to remake, not Germany alone, but the world. So great an impression 
did the youthful talent of Cornelius make on those about him, that, at nineteen, although he 



had not received the advantages of an academic training, he was intrusted with the decora 
tion of the Cathedral of the old town of Neuss. The work was to be executed in fresco, a 
method never practised in Germany to any great extent, and now long disused. The archi 
tecture that prevailed in the countries north of the Alps, and which was marked by large 
windows and correspondingly small wall-spaces — a style naturally developed in a climate 
where abundant light was of the first necessity, had natiirally discouraged the art of wall- 
decoration. In Italy, on the other hand, where the so-called Gothic architecture was not 



native, but imposed, and never successful, the ^tyle of building that had naturally developed 
itself was characterized by few windows and small, since what was needed was, to keep out 
the light and heat of the long summers. This was the style of building that had always 
prevailed in the peninsula, and the large wall-spaces due to the mode of lighting had been 
decorated with painting from the earliest times. 

The revival of the art of fresco painting in Germany — a revival, it may be said in passing, 
that neither went far not continued long — was the consequence of the newly awakened enthu 
siasm for the works of Raphael and Michelangelo and Correggio, excited in the minds of 


travellers, since at this time a new invasion from the North, from England, France, and 
Germany was pouring over the Alps, and returning with fresh tales of the wonders to be 
found there. 

It would seem as if every generation of men must, once in its life, have the Italian 
fever, and rush to her perennial springs for a reviving draught, and now, after a long lull, 
due to the disturbed state of the continent, and in the pause between the last convulsion and 
that great scene of ship\vreck and devastation that was to foUow, we find Italy once more 

I'll f I vi4il{ii{iiiiirii;i"|iiii| I M 



the goal to which all the world of European travel was tending. Poets, artists, writers and 
scholars made up the long procession, and they came back to their several countries filled 
with a desire to renew at home the marvels that had astonished them in Florence, Yenice and 
Rome. In England the fever for Italy had raged more strongly perhaps than anywhere else, 
although with her it was an old story, but now it had become an infatuation, and every 
youth who would be an artist must go to Italy to study, or give up all hope of advancement. 
Hogarth protested in vain : even our Americans succumbed, and West and Copley and Wash- 
ington Allston all joined the ranks, and went to Italy, to lose there the little native force with 
which nature had endowed them. France had gone through the same experience, and now it 


was the turn of Germany. Everywhere we find the minds of her leading men turned toward 
Italy, and directing thither the studies of the youth who came under their influence. 

Among the rest who went to Italy was Cornelius, and it was after his return from this first 
visit, that he made the series of designs for Goethe's Faust which he dedicated to the poet, and 
which show him already under the influence of the great masters, Michelangelo and Raphael, 
who were henceforward to dominate his life and work. He also brought back a great enthu- 
siasm for fresco-painting, and accustomed himself, so far as opportunity allowed, to work in 
that way. Although he had necessarily borrowed his style and practice from the Italians, he 
sought his subjects at first in the poetry and history of his own people and undertook a series 
of designs from the Lay of the Niebelungen. In 1808 he went to Frankfort to execute a 
commission from the Prince Primate, and in 1811 he went to Rome, whither Overbeck had 
preceded him by a year. Here he found himself in the midst of a singular group of enthu- 
siasts, of whom Overbeck was at the head, and who with' Koch, Yogel, John and Philip de 
Veit, Eger, Schnorr von Carolsfeld, and the Schadows, Friedrich the painter and Rudolph the 
sculptor, had formed a brotherhood, and lived a sort of monastic life in the ruined convent of 
St. Isidore. They kept an ascetic rule, emulating the example of artists like Fra Angelico, 
Invoking the guidance of the Holy Ghost each morning before beginning to paint, and looking 
upon their profession as one of the ministries of religion. Of this group of men, nicknamed 
" Nazarites " by the other artists, it is not to be denied that Cornelius was the strongest. In 
the memoirs of Baron Bunsen and in the Letters of the Baroness Bunsen, we find frequent 
allusions to this singular colony, which reminds at once of our own Brook-Farm, and of the 
Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in England: of the fonner in its attempted withdrawal from the 
world while ingeniously keeping iip intimate relations with the selected best part of it ; of 
the latter in its infantine determination to force the genius of art back into the narrow 
boundaries of its beginning. They were all poor, and Cornelius would seem to have been the 
poorest of the comj)any, but this was not a society where people were valued for their money, 
nor in Italy is money a matter of importance for an artist: the German colony of the Convent 
of St. Isidore were to all appearances very happy in their poverty, and when they wanted 
other society, they found themselves always welcome guests in the houses of the Prussian 
Consul Bartholdy or in that of the Chevalier Bunsen. The Consul lived at this time in the 
Casa Zuccari near the Piazza Sta. Trinita di Monte, once the property of the family of the 
artists of that name, and still containing, in rooms on the ground-floor, paintings by Federigo 









































Zuccaro. Bartholdy commissioned Cornelius, Overbeck, Scliadow and Veit to paint in fresco 
one of the rooms in the suite occupied by him in this house. At first he proposed to have 
merely some simple arabesque ornaments, but Cornelius persuaded him to adopt a larger plan, 
and with his consent the four artists undertook the decoration of the four walls of the room 
with frescoes from the Bible-story of Joseph. Bartholdy was to furnish all the mechanical 
assistance : the scaffolding, plastering, and colors, and was to supply the four artist with meat 
and drink while they, in their turn, were to charge nothing for their work. Cornelius 
painted on the smaller side the "Interpretation of Joseph's Dream," and opposite this, 
" Joseph making himself known to his Brethren." " The dramatic character of these two 
paintings, the perfection of their style, and the harmony and force of expression, caused them 
to be greeted with great enthusiasm in Rome, more especially since fresco-painting had been 
long abandoned there, and this revival of it was unexpected." In other parts of the room, 
Overbeck painted "The Seven Years of Famine" (in the lunette on the smaller side over 
Cornelius' painting), and " Joseph sold by his Brethren." Veit's subjects were " Joseph and 
Potiphar's Wife," and in the lunette opposite that filled by Overbeck, " The Seven Years of 
Plenty." Schadow took for his part, " Joseph in Prison telling his Dream to the Butler," and 
" Joseph's Brethren bringing the bloody Coat to Jacob." The friends executed other works 
in Rome, but none that attracted so much attention as those we have mentioned. Their 
intimate association did not last long after the conversion of Overbeck to the Catholic faith, 
although nothing ever occurred to disturb their friendship. In 1824 Cornelius was made 
Director of the Academy at Munich. This Institution, which to-day contains more pupils in 
proportion to the population of the city than any other art-centre in Europe, had been 
founded in 1808 by Maximilian I. of Bavaria. Ludwig I., when in Rome as Crown Prince, had 
been much in the company of the German colony of St. Isidore, and when he became king he 
showed himself an enthusiastic friend of the Arts, and did all that lay in his power to put 
Munich at the head of the Capitals of Europe so far as the patronage of art was concerned. 
Encouraged by him, Cornelius produced there some of his most important works. Already 
in Rome he had been busied with the cartoons for the frescoes with which to decorate the 
two HaUs, of the Cods, and of the Heroes, in the Glyptothek or Museum of Sculpture erected 
by Klenze in 1816. In the Hall of the Gods, the subjects of the frescoes were taken from the 
Poems of Hesiod. In the Hall of the Heroes, Cornelius illustrated the Tale of Troy. The 
design for the Destruction of Troy which we copy, is generally considered the most important 



of these. It represents Hecuba sitting in the midst of her family who are being slaughtered 
about her, and in its rude horror might rather serve as an illustration of Shakespeare's bar- 
barous description of the scene, than of VirgU's classic narrative. The cartoons for these 
frescoes attracted a wide attention in Rome, and owing to theu- more important destination 
were of greater weight in deciding the position of Cornelius as a leader among German artists 

"ST. LUKE." 


than the frescoes in the Casa Bartholdy, although in these his genius showed in a softer, more 
agreeable light. More important iu his owm estimation was his " Last Judgment " in the 
Church of St. Ludwig in Munich, a work on Avhich he expended an incredible amount of 
labor. This fresco covers the entire wall at the back of the high altar: it is sixty feet high 
and forty feet broad and contains a crowd of figures, but as the comparison with the work of 
Michelangelo is inevitable and the absence of original motives painfully evident, this fresco, 
which the artist looked upon as his greatest work, is the one by which in reality he is the 


least to be judged. Ludwig had a great respect for Cornelius, but even in the earlier days of 
their intercourse at Rome, as we perceive by the memoirs of Bunsen, he had found the frank 
criticisms and honest advice of the young artist a somev^hat jarring note in the general 
chorus of adulation, and vs^e are not surprised to read that vs^hen differences arose between 
Klenze, the King's architect, and Cornelius, the King took sides with Klenze, and the painter 
in consequence left Munich for Berlin, where the King Frederick William IV. was endeavor- 
ing to do for his capital, what Ludwig I. had done for Munich. The chief work executed in 
Berlin by Cornelius was the decoration of the Campo Santo or burial-place of the royal 
family which is all that was completed of the Cathedral intended to be erected by the king. 
The subjects of these frescoes which were intended to cover the four walls of the Campo Santo 
— ^modelled on the famous quadrangle of the same name at Pisa — represent the Redemption, 
the Coming of Christ, the Kingdom of his Church, and the Last Judgment. The cartoons or 
drawings for these paintings are exhibited in the I^ational Gallery in Berlin in one of the two 
Halls especially devoted to the works of Cornelius. He was engaged upon them from the 
time of his removal to Berlin in 1841 to the day of his death in 1867. 

Cornelius visited England in his later years, and was received with great distinction, 
owing, no doubt, in a measure, to the favor with which everything having the seal of German 
authority was welcomed at that time in that country. In Paris, too, he was cordially 
received and was made an Honorary Member of the French Institute. His greatness — and 
that he had greatness cannot be denied, however much it was cramped by the unfortunate 
state of the arts in Europe in his time — was freely recognized everywhere in Europe, and in 
Germany the highest honors were generously heaped upon him. If, in our time, he has 
become a name, and his influence a thing of the past, it is not to be ascribed to a mere change 
in the fashion of looking at art, nor to the fact that the subjects with which the artist dealt 
belong to another age than ours. It is rather due to the fact that the genius of Cornelius, 
great as it was, was not yet great enough to let him break definitely with an art which was 
not only past, but with which he had really no legitimate relation. His visit to Rome was 
every way fatal to him, as it was fatal to every member of the German colony. A double 
captivity enthralled them : they became the slaves of the art of Michelangelo and Raphael, 
and they become the slaves of a narrow and pedagogic school of criticism to which they were 
subjected in the highly polished, amiable and accomplished circle of diplomats and scholars 
that had entrenched itself on the Capitoline, and of which Niebuhr and Bunsen were the 



cMef lights. The trouble with Cornelius was that he could not assimilate either the literary 
food or the artistic that was so freely offered him in his youth. Goethe and Michelangelo 
together were too much for him, and he never really expressed what was genuine in his own 
nature and character*. 

And if this were true of Cornelius, what remains to be said of Overbeck, who, with a 

narrower mind, less culture and less artistic skill, early tied 
himself to the chariot wheels of Raphael, and wasted his 
life in attempting to repeat the youthful exploits of the 
painter of Urbino. 

Friedrich Overbeck was born at Lubeck in 1789, 
and after some time spent in study at Vienna, where the 
classic routine was in fashion, he went to Rome in 1810, 
and remained there for the remainder of his life, dying in 
that city in 1869. He had early become interested in the 
works of the Italian Renaissance, and particularly in the 
artists who preceded Raphael, as well as in the Avorks of 
Raphael's early time, in Florence, and he not only gave 
himself up to the study and emulation of their produc- 
tions, but persuaded other German artists of his own age 
to unite with him in a school that should endeavor to bring 
art back to what he believed its highest development in 
the Florentine art of the fifteenth century. We have 
already described the practical social outcome of this 
movement in the establishment of the German colony of 
artists, the so-called "Nazarites," in the convent of St. 
Isidore under the leadership of Overbeck. Overbeck from 
the first insisted upon looking on art as one of the chief 
ministries of religion; he took for his motto: "Art does 
not exist for itself, but as the handmaid of religion," and 
with the exception of a brief period when he turned from the painting of Madonnas, and 
Holy Families, and scenes from the Bible History, to subjects drawn frotn Tasso, his whole 
life was given to following weakly, almost slavishly, in the footsteps of Raphael. Yet he had, 





like Cornelius, an original vein of feeling and invention, and no doubt, in his case as in that 
of Cornelius, an artist of distinct merit was lost to us in this unfortunate subjection to bor- 
rowed influences. In the slight sketch we copy of " The Parents of Tobit waiting for his 




Eetum " there is a genuine note of pathos, a simplicity of feeling not rare in Overbeck's 
early work, while the " Joseph sold by his Brethren" from the fresco in the Casa Bartholdy, 
although it strongly suggests the pictures of Gozzoli, is yet marked by a decided individ- 
uality. In his later works, painted after he became a Catholic and had virtually withdrawn 

* * 



from the world, at least from all intimate companionsliip with those not of his own faith, 
he became more and more mannered and vapid : his ideas revolved in a narrower and nar- 
rower circle, and he ended, as an artist, in mere iaanition. Yet in the beginning, so sincere 
had been his impulsion toward a higher view of art than belonged to his time, and so marked 
were the earnestness and purity of his character, that he exercised a powerful influence for 



a while on men like Cornelius and Schnorr, much stronger naturally than himself, and 
through them he influenced many others of his time. Overbeck's later works are almost 
destitute of color, and indeed he cared so little for the material part of his art, that he 
seemed desirous of reaching a point, if that were possible, where he could dispense with 
color altogether, and even reduce drawing to its lowest terms. Much of his work is in 
crayons, and the engravings made from his pictures are chiefly in outline. Of the two 



Schadows, brothers, wlio went to Rome in 1810 and joined the ISTazarite Brotherhood Fried- 
rich was a painter, and Rudolph, a sciilptor. Two years after their arrival in Rome they 
both became Catholics, and thenceforth devoted their lives to the expression of their relio-i- 
ous feelings in their works. Friedrich Schadow was chiefly distinguished as a teacher. He 
was a professor in the Academies of Berlin and Dusseldorf and for a time he had a syreat 


"virgin and child." 


following. Among his pupils Avere Sohn, Hildebrandt and Lessing, and he thus gave an 
impulse to the art of his time, though after a while, when the first fervor of propagandism had 
died out in his disciples, the zeal of the master turned against himself, and in the criti- 
cisms that began to be freely made of his excessive devotion to external religion, and of 
the weakness, and want of artistic skill that were the consequences of his one-sided teaching 
and practice, the master saw the uselessness of contending against his age and resigned his 

Vol. TL— 3 * * 


place. The influences of his teacliing lingered on in artists like Deger born in 1809, in 
Jaeger born in ISOS, and in Carl JMiiller born in 1818. In all these men, the religious feel- 
ing is manifested in even a weaker and more sentimental fashion than in the work of Over- 
beck himself, as will be manifest by even the slightest consideration of the examples here 
given of their art. No doubt there is much sweetness, delicacy, and purity in the designs 
of this school, but they are wasted in a field where the motives no longer offer any oppor- 
tunity for original expression. Ernest Deger was born at Bockenheim, a village near 
Frankfort. He studied under Schadow at Dusseldorf, having followed him from Rome, 
where he had been one of the disciples of Overbeck. When the Count of Furstemberg 
Stammheim made a vow to build a church dedicated to Saint Apollinaris at Remagen on the 
Rhine, he employed several of the group of Xazarites to decorate it with frescoes, and among 
them Deger, who as an artist is best seen in this beautiful building, one of the finest among the 
many fine modern churches of Germany. It was designed in 1839 by Zwirner, at that time 
the architect of the Cathedral at Cologne. The chureh contains ten large frescoes with some 
smaller works, among them the Virgin and Child by Deger, which we copy. Others by 
Deger are the "Adoration of the Shepherds," " The Crucifixion," and " The Resurrection," and 
" The Savior with the Virgin and St. John the Baptist." The other artists called in to assist 
in the decoration were Ittenbach, and Karl Miiller, but the work of Deger is the chief 

Julius Veit Hans Schnobr von Caeolsfeld deserves a distinguished place among 
the stronger men of the movement that had its beginnings in the teachings of Overbeck and 
Cornelius. He was born at Leipsic in 1794, and studied first with his father, from whom 
he is distinguished by the addition of " von Carolsfeld," to his name, and afterward in the 
Academy at "\"ienna. In 1817 he was drawn by the current to Rome, where he remained for 
ten years a member of the German artistic colony gathered about Overbeck as its head, 
although his sympathies were not altogether in harmony with those that distinguished the 
school. Invited by King Louis to his new cajDital, he left Rome for Munich, and was com- 
missioned by Louis to decorate the palace erected by Klenze in 1827-33 in imitation — for 
imitation was the watch- word in the Munich of that day! — of th»^ Pitti Palace in Florence. 
The apartments given to Schnorr to decorate were those on the ground floor, and as the royal 
architect had shown so fine a sense of fitness in taking an Italian palace of the most lumber- 
ing style of the late Renaissance as a model for a nineteenth-century palace, Schnorr followed 



suit by decorating this palace with, stories from the old Teutonic legend of the Niebelungen., 
He began his work in 1846, and the frescoes cover the walls of five rooms called, from their 
subjects — after the'Entrance Hall where all the persons of the drama are portrayed assembled 
as in the jDrologue to a play — the Marriage Hall, with the nuptials of Siegfried and Kriemhild 
and the incidents connected with it ; the Hall of Treachery, where Siegfried is murdered by 
Hagen at the well ; the Hall of Revenge, with the conquest of Hagen by Dietrich of Berne, 
and the Hall of Mourning, with the burial of the fallen heroes. This work, the greatest 
achievement of Schnorr, is not accessible to the public, or was not during the reign of the late 
fantastic King, but the cartoons of the whole series are in the Museum of Leipsic, including 
those of the last room, the Hall of Mourning, which were painted in 1867 by the pupils of 
Schnorr, among them Jaeger, born, like 
Schnorr, in Leipsic, and of whom we shall 
presently have to speak. Schnorr's work 
is almost exclusively confined to the illus- 
tration of scenes from the old legendary 
history of Germany and from the Bible. 
The work by which he is most popularly 
known is his " Bible," a series of wood-cuts 
intended for jDopular circulation. The work 
had an immediate success: well deserved 


for the clearness, succinctness and energy with which the stories are told. Meant for children, 
and to replace the older designs, or rather— since the old Avood-cuts had now, by reason of their 
scarcity, become objects of curiosity, shut up in the portfolios of museums and collectors— to 
supply the new generation vsdth pictures more suited to their comprehension, these designs of 
Schnorr were undoubtedly the best of their kind that had been produced until Dore came to 
occupy the field with his more picturesque treatment of the subject. The two designs which we 
give will serve to illustrate the character of Schnorr's work. In the " David and Goliath," the 
champion of the Philistines ds lying prostrate on the ground, the blood pouring from the hole 
in his forehead with such force that it has carried with it the stone hurled from David's 
sling. David has leaped upon the giant's back, and draws the great sword from its scabbard 
at the braggart's waist, and in a moment will have hewn his head from his body. In the 
distance we see on one side the camjp of the Philistines, the near ranks of their army already 



in confusion and flight, and on the other the army of Saul exulting, and with levelled spears 
preparing to pursue the foe. Here a great deal is told in little space, and it is told in the way 
that had been pointed out by Raphael and his school. The mind is not disturbed as it would 
be in the treatment of the same subject by Diirer, Lucas of Leyden or Cranach, by absurd 
anachronisms, or grotesqiie incidents or oddities of costume. We have here the precision of 
drawing carried into the minutest details which was the shibboleth of the new school : with- 



out any pedantic straining after realism, there is an attempt to hit the mean of probability in 
the costume: in short, the aim of the artist clearly is, to make the incident he is describing 
intelligible to those for whose use his pictures were intended. In the other design, " Samson 
throwing down the Pillars of the Theatre," Schnorr had a more difficult task, but he has 
acquitted himself with much skUl, while working under restrictions where only genius could 
produce an interesting result. Schnorr cannot fairly be said to have had genius; he had only 
talent of a kind common enough at all times, and, in his case, made the most of by a training 



purely Academic in its principles and its practice. An artist of genius — Delacroix or Gustav 
Dore: and Dore certainly had a genius, tliougli he abused it — would have known how to 
grapple with such a subject, and would have subdued it, even at the risk of swallowing up all 
the minor improbabilites of proportion and composition in one greater improbability. Dore 
has done astonishing things in this way in his " Contes Drolatiques," and in some of his other 
books as well, but we instance this one because there he has had to work in a very restricted 



space. Some of his compositions in this remarkable book are astonishing for the audacity 
with which he has dared, and for the success with which he has achieved, subjects that no 
amount of training, no deliberate thinking could have enabled him to master. They are 
subjects of pure fantasy, wild extravagancies, and no other way of treating them could have 
been successful. And although the story of the destruction of the Philistines by Samson is 
not so extreme an instance as any one of those of Dore which we have in mind, yet it comes 
under the same category. It ought to be presented in a way to confuse and confound the 


eyes and the mind; we ought not to be able to follow it calmly, to count the falling stones, 
to distinguish the features of the victims as they are hurled to their doom. In his picture 
Schnorr has left little, if anything, to the spectator's imagination. He has attempted to tell 
us too much, and to tell it too distinctly. Samson was to be sho\vn as a giant, in thews and 
bulk, and this left no room for more than a symbolic treatment of the ruin his revenge has 
brought about. He stands naked, and with manacled feet, between the " two pillars where- 
upon the house standeth " and which are too small for the service they had to perform, while 
at the same time they are so short that Samson could not have stood erect under the archi- 
trave. And since the building, as Schnorr has devised it, could not have held together had 
Samson never meddled with it, we are the less impressed by the fact of its tumbling down. 
The garlands that are wreathed about the columns, and the harp that lies at their base are 
introduced only as symbols of the festival so rudely interrujjted. In jiistice to Schnorr, and 
to the school of which he was certainly an illustrious member, it must be understood that, 
what in our time are considered defects in their w^ork, were the result, not of weakness, but of 
strength: what they did was done deliberately, in obedience to certain principles, clearly 
defined and earnestly held, and they ought to be j udged by their own standard rather than by 
ours. Their art was essentially a literary art, that is, it tried to tell by pictures what could 
have been told much better by words, written or spoken ; whereas the highest art appeals to 
the imagination through the senses, and deals with what can only be expressed by itself. 
These artists and those who came after them a]iplied their art chiefly to the painting of 
historical, literary, and religious compositions which, by the munificence of their monarchs 
and princes, they were enabled to carry out on a grand scale, but it is painful to reflect upon 
the coldness or indifference with which these works, once so much talked about, written 
about, and extravagantly praised, are now regarded, even in the country that gave them birth. 
MoKiTZ LtTDWiG vojst Sohwind, an artist who belonged to the same school with those 
we have been considering, but who worked upon a different order of siibjects, was born in 
Vienna in 1804, and died in 1871. He studied under Schnorr aad Cornelius, and was later a 
professor at the Academy of Munich. In his manner of working, and in his way of 
regarding his art, he in no way differs from his school : he has the same devotion to line, the 
same indifference, let us say insensibility, to color, and the same conventional Academic way 
of interpreting nature. But, as we have said, he did not apply himself to the same sort of 
subjects : he dealt neither wdth religion nor history, but with themes drawn from the stores 




of poetry and fable. One of liis productions is a series of designs illustrating the loves of a 
young married pair, another is the contest of the Minnesingers on the Wartburg, still others 
are illustrations of the German Fairy-tales: "The Beautiful Melusina," and "The Seven 
Ravens: " these are counted among his chief works, but unfortunately they are not accessible 
in a form to admit of their reproduction for our readers. We have therefore selected one 
which, although a slight and unpretending work, illustrates very well the skill of the artist. 
It is one of a series of wood-cuts, cheaply issued for wide popular circulation ; different artists, 
many of them distinguished, having joined in the work with the design of substituting 
pictures with some artistic merit in place of the inferior things with which the market was 
supplied at that time. The present plate — intended, like all the series, for the amusement of 
children— illustrates the old fairy-tale of Puss in Boots. It is reduced in size from the 
original, but the simplicity and clearness of the style of engraviug makes this reduction a 
matter of no importance. A charming skill is shown in the way in which the story is told in 
a succession of little pictures artlessly connected with one another. Across the top of the 
plate is a row of smaU designs that serve as a prologue to the main story: the younger son of 
the miller weeping over his mean inheritance ; the caresses of the cat who comes to comfort 
him Avith promises, and its appearance on the scene booted and armed for adventure. Then 
we see the cunning creature threatening the astonished peasants and ordering them to tell 
the nobleman who comes lumbering along in his carriage, with his pretty daughter by his 
side, and the coachman and footmen in f aU wig, that these fields belong to his young master, 
" The Marquis of Carabas; " further on he has stolen the clothes of his master while he is 
bathing, and crying out on the imaginary robbers, has persuaded the nobleman, come up in 
the nick of time, to supjily the needs of the Marquis until he can reach his castle near at 
hand. The cat next appears on the terrace of the giant's castle, where he has tried the trick 
of the mischievous Locke of the JSTiebelungen, and has persuaded the monster to prove his 
brag by turning himseK into a mouse. This done, and the mouse gobbled up, the cat issues 
from the stately gate of the castle in time to welcome the arrival of the nobleman and his 
daughter, and as his master hands the princess from the coach, the cat, with a low sweeping 
bow and infinite grace, invites them to enter the castle of the Marquis of Carabas. Surely 
never was a fairy-tale more neatly packed into a few square inches of paper, and although 
Schwind has done many more pretentious things, his whole art may be understood from this 
small specimen. 



Friedkich August Moeitz Retzch is another artist of whom mucli was at one time 
heai'd, but who is to-day ungratefully forgotten, considering the pleasure his works once gave 
to so many and the number of imitators who sprang up about him. He was born in Dresden 
in 1779 and died in 1857. His work as a painter is little known, his popularity was the result 
of the publication of his illustrations to the works of the German poets, chiefly those of 


Goethe and Schiller. These were in outline, recalling the designs for Homier, Dante, and 
Hesiod, by the English artist Flaxman, and probably suggested by them. The outlines of 
Flaxman, however, were more legitimate in their aim, intended rather to serve as suggestions 
for bas-reliefs, and cameos than as pictures, whereas the outlines of Retzch are purely pictorial 
compositions, and have no relation to sculpture ; we miss in them form and color, and are 
poorly compensated by a dry cataloguing way of checking-off, as it were, the incidents of the 
story, very different from the playful narrative fancy of Schwind, where those who think 



themselves too old to care for the story told may enjoy the artistic touches of the telling. 
The design we give by Retzch is one that at the time of its publication enjoyed a favor 
strange to look back upon, considering how vapid the sentiment is that the artist seeks to 
convey, and how mechanical the method that he employs. It is called "The Game of 
Life." Satan, in the well-known disguise of Mephistopheles, is playing with a young man for 
his soul, while the youth's guardian-angel looks on, and watches the game, Prom the passive 
attitude of the angel and the decided want of interest shown in its face, it is rather to be 
feared that the fate of the youth is in the hands of his opponent, who is depicted with all 
the traditional armor of the stage-villain. Retzch had no power to portray delicate shades of 
character, even if we supjDose that he was able to conceive them : he never got beyond the 
conventional abstractions of the stage, and his tastes were rather in the direction of melo- 
dramatic exaggeration than of direct and natural expression. Yet for a while his reputation 
was wide-spread, and his popularity seemed almost sure to ripen into fame. In our own 
country he had several followers : one of the best of them, the late Felix O. Darley, produced 
in his "Margaret," a series of designs illustrating Judd's beautiful but rough-hewn story — 
a work that both in artistic skiU and truth to nature far surpassed its model. 

Gael Mullek was a native of Darmstadt, where he was born in 1818. He studied first 
under his father, and later at Dusseldorf with Professor Sohn; but while Sohn left the 
religious school which inherited, through his master Schadow, from Overbeck, Muller gave 
himself up entirely to the teachings of that school, and carried it to its last consequences in 
servile imitation and even affectation. His frescoes, painted in COTijunction with Deger and 
Ittenbach in the Church of St. Apollinaris, are his best works, but in his easel pictures, not a 
few of which have been seen in this country, he carries the smoothness and minuteness of 
finish which belong only to miniature-painting into canvases that are rather belittled than 
helped by such treatment. Gilded haloes, jewelled borders to the robes of his Virgins and 
other saints, birds and flowers painted as if for the pages of a missal — all these details, 
however they may please as curiosities, do but detract from the pictorial interest of the 
works in which they are found. There can be no doubt, however, that, to a large part of 
the XJublic, there was something in Midler's pictures that proved very pleasing: they 
appealed to a certain sensuous element long starved by the iconoclasm and Philistinism 
of German Protestantism, and now feeling its way to a moi-e externally poetic religion, as 
plants shut up in a cellar, jiush out their tendrils to the light. We see in Miiller's pictures an 



attempt to return to the mysticism of the early Italian painters of the schools of Umbria and 
Siena; but although the effort is successful up to a certain point, the impression left upon 
the mind is always of effort: the unconsciousness of an art that had developed in ignorance 
of any art greater than itself, or even very different from itself, is not to be found in these 
pictures. In the picture by Carl MuUer which we reproduce from an engraving, the youth- 
ful Christ is represented in the courtyard of his parents' house, assisting his foster-father in 
his work as a carpenter. This was not a subject familiar to the older art, nor does it belong 



in the authorized series of scenes from the Life of the Virgin. It is rather an innova- 
tion, particularly as treated by Miiller and other artists of his time, due to the sentimental 
way of looking upon the story fostered by the new school of Catholics and which found a 
profuse expression in poetry and romance. In Muller's picture, Joseph is supposed to be 
cutting a beam intended for a house, and while he stands by the side of the beam and pushes 
the long saw with one hand, the child, kneeling upon the ground, draws the saw toward him 
with both hands. Mary, who has been sitting upon a bench at the side of the house, engaged 
in spinning, has risen and turns to look at her child, lifting her hand with a gesture of pity, 


as if an apprehensive thought of e\-il days in store had crossed her mind. As it is, the 
picture stops far short of the symbolism that in our day has produced such works as the 
" Christ in the Carpenter's Shop " of Millais and the " Shadow of the Cross " of Holman Hunt; 
we have nothing but a commonplace incident in the probable early life of Jesus. It is in the 
treatment of his subject that Muller betrays that morbid affectation, which not in his works 
alone, but in those of all his school, marks the wide difference between these artists and the 
art they sought to emulate. Goethe in his Wilhelrii Meister, in one of the most charming of 
its many charming episodes, has given his version of the story of the Birth and Childhood of 
Jesus, thinly veiled as a real narrative, but the common-sense of Goethe gave an objective 
clearness and reality to the poetry of his idyl. Even Diirer, in spite of his tendency to treat 
his subjects in a fantastic manner, knew how to give a similar scene to this of Miiller's 
picture a real side, making Josej)h working in earnest at his task and Mary singing to her 
baby in the cradle which she rocks with one foot as she spins. But in Miiller's picture 
neither Joseph nor the child is really working: they are merely posing. Joseph could not 
work with such tools as he has, nor with a log so ineffectually braced, while the artist has 
thrown all his learning into the drawing of the child to make him beautiful and graceful, 
playing at pulling the saw with his slender hands, and taking care not to disturb the lines of 
his delicate body by any suggestion of toil or iincomfortable exertion. Yet, that this grace- 
ful, vapid, sentimental treatment of religious subjects has a place in the world, was shown 
some years ago when Miiller's " Holy Family " was brought over to this country by Mr. 
Schaus — the picture, a copy of which has since been presented by him to the Metropolitan 
Museum. In this picture where the infant Christ is sitting in his mother's lap and listening 
in ecstasy to the music of attendant angels, the frank homeliness and simiDlicity, that in the 
pictures of a Botticelli, a Lij^pi, or a Gozzoli act as a healthy antidote to the supersensual 
mysticism of such subjects, are wholly refined away by Miiller. There is an excess of sweet- 
ness and grace, and in the attempt by the artist to portray the ideal, infantine beauty of a 
divine child, the result is a too painful reminder of the abnormal developments sometimes 
produced by excessive religious training. Miiller's ChUd Jesus is the hydrocephalic victim 
of too much Sunday-school. 

A far healthier development in the same general direction is found in Feanz Ittenbach, 
who was born in 1813 at Koenigswinter, a pretty little town on the Rhine near Bonn. He 
studied at Dusseldorf under Schadow and, like Deger, Jaeger, Miiller and the rest, became 


deeply imbued with, tlie mystical-religious ideas tliat permeated the school under the 
influences of the master. Like the rest, too, he travelled in Italy, and gave himself up to the 
study of Raphael and the painters that immediately preceded him. 

Ittenbach was one of the group of artists who were invited by Count Fiirstenberg- 
Stammheim to decorate his newly built votive-church on the Apollinaris-Berg. Ittenbach 
painted a "Child Jesus among tha Doctors," and in the choir, figures of St. Peter, St. 
Apollinaris, and the four Evangelists. His picture of the Holy Family which we copy is in 
the Museum at Berlin, and is a good example of his style. It will be noticed that it is far 
less artificial and less sentimental in treatment than the pictures of Deger and Muller: of 
the morbid feeling of the latter artist there is indeed no trace. The symbolism, of which the 
picture is full, is purely idyllic and unaffected, and considering the nature of his subject, and 
the infinite number of times it has been painted, the artist must be given credit for his 
freedom from direct imitation. Like Miiller, he has borrowed from Raphael and Leonardo, 
who, themselves, learned it from the miniaturists, the delicately painted flowers and leaves 
that spring up about the feet of the Yirgin in the foreground of his picture : the strawberry, 
the violet, the clover, and the muUein: aU executed vnth the precision and painstaking of a 
missal-painter in a mediaeval monastery, and reminding us of such work as well in their 
artiflcial disposition, not growing naturally, but set about in little isolated groups, each one 
asking to be looked at for itself. Ittenbach has introduced some of these plants for their 
symbolism: the lilies of the field that grow by the stone on which Mary is sitting, and the 
ears of Avheat choked by the thorns of the rose that climbs over the parapet at her side. In 
the window of the house a passion-flower is growing, and the fowls of the air are preparing to 
build their nest in the hospitable shelter of the embrasure. In the distance are the columns 
of the ruined temple which Christ came to rebuild. Joseph, the carpenter, girt with his 
workman's apron, and with the main tools of his trade, the saw, axe and plane on his arm, 
and the smaller implements in a wallet at his waist, stops as he goes forth to his day's labor, 
to look at his foster-child asleep on its mother's lap. Joseph who, for some unexplained 
reason, is usually represented in the older pictures as a man advanced in years, hardly needs, 
in Ittenbach's picture, the staff he holds, and which is, indeed, rather a shepherd's crook than 
a staff. The Virgin is also an unusual type, reminding us more of Venice than of Florence: 
of the beautiful and bountiful Violetta with the golden hair, of Palma, than of the aristocratic 
and cloistered virgins of Raphael and Botticelli. The Child, too, is a healthy, hapjDy creature 




enjoying his sound morning sleep : very unlike the precocious swaddled darling of Deger's 
picture, or the too graceful boy in that of Miiller. 

It may be said, in passing, that these German painters — the disciples of Overbeck — 
deserve our thanks for the influence they exerted in awakening the public to the neglected 
merits of the " primitives " as they are called in France, the artists of the Umbrian and 
Florentine school in especial, who were the immediate predecessors of Raphael and to whose 
circle he himself belonged in his youth. It was to the " Nazarites " of the Pincian Hill in 
Rome that was due the revival of interest in Perugino, in Botticelli, Gozzoli, Fra Angelico 
and the young Raphael, which we are apt to ascribe rather to the youth in England, the 
self-styled Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, who made a public announcement of their faith 
transferred to these older men: from the Raphael of the "School of Athens" and the 
"Disputa," to the Raphael of the "Betrothal of the Virgin" and the "Madonna of the 
Grand Duke." And it is due to them to say that they showed a true taste and a sound 
artistic feeling in their choice — a choice which has never been reversed, but rather con- 
firmed since their time, as is showoi by the fact that these earlier pictures are now among 
the choicest treasures of the collector, and have reached prices that are rapidly withdraw- 
ing them from private hands and restoring them to the public by means of museums and 
galleries owned by the State. 

Another service that these artists and their pupils and disciples rendered incidentally 
was the awakening an interest in the work of the old German masters, particularly Diirer 
and Holbein, who, if not despised, were at least neglected and almost forgotten in the 
beginning of the present century. We shall see, a little later, how the revived interest in 
these men led to the restoration of the old art of wood-engraving as it was practised under 
their superintendence, and generally speaking we may say that, in spite of the apparently 
reactionary character of their art, their influence was steadily in the direction of the develop- 
ment of a national spirit, and of a national culture; although it may well be tliat they were 
unconscious of the part they were playing. 

Heinrich Karl Anton Mijoke, the painter of the beautiful " St. Catherine carried to 
Mt. Sinai by Angels," was born in the old city of Breslau in 1806. Drawn to art at an early 
age, he at last made his way to Berlin and entered the Academy there, studying under 
Schadow who was then the Director. "When Schadow went to Dusseldorf to take charge of 
the Academy, Miicke followed him with a crowd of otlier young artists, and soon after his 


arrival was intrusted with a share in the decoration of the Chateau of Heltorf near Dussel- 
dorf. The i^ainting of this chateau, the property of Count Spee, had been begun by Cornelius 
when he was Director of the Academy at Dusseldorf . He had chosen as the subjects of the 
frescoes, scenes from the life of the Emperor Frederic I., Barbarossa, and he was assisted by 
his pupil Karl Sturmer, to whom is due the oldest picture of the series, afterward continued 
and completed by pupils of Schadow — Lessing, Pluddemann, and Miicke. Miicke's work is 
the most important, and he owed his reputation to it. He was employed on these frescoes 
from 1829 to 1838, but in the interval he went to Italy, and it is no doubt to the influence of 
his studies there that we owe the picture we engrave. The motive is distinctly borrowed 
from the well-known painting by Luini in the Brera Gallery at Milan, but Mucke has given 
it independent expression, and has produced a work that at one time enjoyed more popu- 
larity than any of the productions of the mystical-religious school of Dusseldorf. The 
subject of Miicke's picture is taken from the legendary Mstory of St. Catherine of Alex- 
andria, so-called to distinguish her from a more modern saint of the same name, whose legend 
belongs to Siena. St. Catherine is one of the oldest of the legendary saints of the church: 
she belongs to the Eastern branch of the church, and her story seems to have originated with 
the monks of Mt. Sinai. She is the patroness of studies and learning, a combination of the 
types of a Minerva and a Sibyl. Like Minerva, she was an " unconquered Virgin," and one of 
the chief points in her story is her mystical marriage with Christ, which has been made the 
subject of many pictures, the most beautiful and famous of these, the one painted by Correggio 
which is in the Louvre. The King of the country, seized by her beauty and her wonderful 
accomplishments, wished to marry her, and when she refused, and refused also to renounce 
her religion, he caused her to be put to death on the wheel. Her body was carried by angels 
over land and sea to Mt. Sinai, where it was placed in a sepulchre. In the picture by Luini, 
the angels are placing the body of the saint in the tomb, a beautifully designed sarcophagus of 
the Renaissance period. In Miicke's picture, the angels have not yet reached their destination, 
but are still bearing the body of the saint through the air. The sword, carried by the fore- 
most one, is emblematic of her martyrdom, and the stars that strew the robe of the angel at 
the right are perhaps typical of the astronomical studies in which the royal virgin took such 
delight in life. The picture certainly deserves its popularity. We stiU admire in it, seen 
again after the lapse of years, the beauty of the flowing lines of drapery, the grace of the 
angelic forms, the sense of slow onward movement as the saintly convoy is lightly borne 

j"flff^'^'"ff,f-in,^^^ ^ p r 

'tr-H,-,i-x""'''*vii> ' f ^u 





O ^ 

I- S 


UJ s 

g 5 

O E 
m 2 


< ui 

I a 

I- ^ 

W 1- 






along like some flock of soft clouds in the morning air, sailing over the earth just wakening 
from its slumber. Mucke has certainly shown a great deal of poetic feeling in this picture: 
the power to put new life into an old and well-worn theme. 


^Tl 7ILHELM VON KAULBACH was born in 1805 at Arolsen in Waldeck, a small 
* " settlement prettily situated not far from Cassel. His father was a goldsmith and 
an engraver on metal, and as Wilhelm was his only son, he naturally exjoected (after the 
fashion of his country) that the boy would learn the same trade and continue the busi- 
ness. But, besides that Wilhelm had no inclination to that particular branch of art, he 
would seem at first to have had no special leaning to art of any kind; and owing to 
domestic misfortunes brought about by unfortunate speculations, his education in the regu- 
lar way was neglected, and he was left to pick up learning in whatever way he could. 
His biographers do not supi^ly us with many details of his boyhood : it may be that in 
after-life he did not care to recur to his early years ; we are therefore left to conjecture, 
in searching for the influences that made him an artist. Arolsen has a small museum 
which contains, among other things, a good collection of antiquities from Herculaneum 
and Pompeii: if that were there in Wilhelm's youth, it may have led his mind to the 
study of the antique in a natural way. And if he had any germs of a love of art in his 
nature, he would have been certain to hear of the gallery at Cassel : a rich collection, one 
of the best of the minor galleries of Europe. Cassel was only a short distance from 
Arolsen, about twenty English miles, and if he felt any desire to go there, the distance would 
have been no obstacle to a stout and healthy German boy. But, however this may have 
been, there was in Arolsen itself a still more powerful influence, a living one, in the person 
of Wilhelm's townsman Ranch, the famous sculptor, author of the statue of Frederick 
the Great with its accompanying groups of the chief men of Frederick's reign, well known 
to every visitor to Berlin. Ranch, born in 1777, was twenty-eight years older than Wilhelm 
Kaulbach, and already distinguished when Wilhelm was a youth. He was an intimate 
friend of the Kaulbach family, and he must have seen evidences of talent in the boy, since 
it was by his advice that he was sent to Dusseldorf in his seventeenth year, and put to 
study under Cornelius, who was at that time Director of the Academy. 



A person skilled in playsiognomy might gather some indications of the influences that 
went to form the domestic training of Wilhelm Kaulbach from the admirable portrait-group 
of his family which we engrave. Unfortunately, it is not dated; but, from the age of the 
persons represented, we gather that it was a study made when Kaulbach was still in his 



father's house; and the style of the drawing, in its clear, hard precision, bears witness to his 
early practice obtained in the use of the graver under the elder Kaulbach's direction. The 
father, a man of middle age, sits at the nearer arm of a sofa, looking earnestly at us, or 
rather at his son wlio is supposed to be making the drawing. The face is that of an intel- 
ligent man of firm but sympathetic character: one from Avhom we should much sooner expect 


the sort of work produced by his son than from the son himself, were we left to judge of the 

latter's character by the hard-headed peasant-type shown in his portraits. The father has on 

his morning-gown, and appears to have seated himself thus for his son's pleasure before 

beginning the day's work. Next him is the mother, who in her plain house-dress, with her 

scissors at her side, and leaning forward with her hands loosely clasped, looks with even 

more earnestness than her husband at the young artist, following his work with a penetrating 

glance, as of a cool and not over-indulgent observer. Of the two sisters, the one next the 

mother, with her elaborately plaited hair, carrying us back directly to the models of the 

sixteenth century preserved in the engravings of Diirer, is the nearest also in character to that 

parent, while the younger daughter, who sits at the right, facing the group, her knitting 

dro]Dj)ed upon her laj), is the child of her father. In her well-fitting but easy and simply 

designed dress, with its falling ruff of muslin; her hair in loose waving ringlets, and her 

sensitive intelligent face, she is the complete opposite of her mother and her elder sister, and 

it may well be that she and her father were the nourishers and supporters of the artistic 

leanings of her brother, in opposition to the cooler and more practical judgment of the other 

two. The reader will judge for himself of the reasonableness of our deductions : we have no 

more to go upon than he himself will find in this group, but it is most certain that the truth 

of this family's history is here recorded ; in its simplicity, its earnestness, its freedom from all 

posing or self-consciousness, it is not only one of the most interesting among the similar 

performances left us by artists, but to our mind one of the most interesting of Kaulbach's 

works, small as it is in bulk, and at first glance insignificant. 

The same qualities that we praise in this drawing, we praise in the " Madhouse," of which 

we judge from the cartoon, as engraved by Johnson. It must be conceded that the subject 

is one abstractly unfit for art to engage itself upon — unfit because repulsive to the mind no 

less than to the eye, and absolutely empty of anything that can elevate, cheer or inspire the 

human mind. It is useless as well, whether for instruction or reproof, since it portrays 

afflictions that ai'e apparently as little to be avoided as they are impossible to cure: so that, 

if Kaulbach had deliberately chosen the subject, he would be to blame as an artist ; but, as we 

shall see, he did not choose it, it forced itself upon him, and the painting the picture was no 

doubt a relief to his mind, over -charged with the spectacle of so much misery. It is this 

necessity of utterance that gives the picture its power over the mind and makes the secret of 

its horrible fascination. 

Vol. II.— 3 * * 

34 .-^A^y^ .ixz) .umsrs of OL'J^: time. 

Cornelius nlso snw tl\e signs of tnleiit in the yourli placed under liis care, and early 
distingnisheil liini among his nuniennis pupils. He employed him upon the cartoons he 
was making for the decoratitni of the Cathedral in Bonn, but Kaulbach was dissatisfied 
with his share in the work, and so much discouraged that he was strongly tempted to 
give up the profession, and to content himself w-th the humbler position of a teacher of 
drawing. From this resolve he was, however, earnestly dissttaded by Cornelius, who per- 
suaded him to accompany him to Munich, whither he had been invited by King Lud- 
wig to take charge of the 'Academy which had been founded there by King Maximilian 
in 1808. Kaulbach ai'cexited the invitation of his master, and went with him to the city, 
where, with the exception of the years spent in Berlin while executing his frescoes in the 
Museum, he was to pass the remainder o"" his life, and to become identified with the art and 
culture that were so energetically de^"elox"led there under the generous encouragement of the 
King and his Court. At hrst, however, Kaulbach found nothing to his mind to do in 
IMunich. lie was given a commission to paint a wall-iiictnre of "Apollo and the Muses," for 
a Concert-Hall, and for the Count aou Birkenfeld he executed a series of designs illustrating 
the story of Cupid and Psyche, but nothing in liis treatment of these subjects betrayed any 
special talent, nor was it until he came to wo. 'n the throne-room of the Queen's palace that 
he seemed to find his proper field. Here lie painted the first of those heroic subjects on 
which his fame was to be founded: "The Victory of Hermann over the Romans,"' but it was 
a picture in a very different vein that immediately followed tJiis, which fixed all eyes tipon 
him, and announced the arrival of a remarkable personality in the world of art. This was his 
"Madhottse," a stibject not arbitrarily selected by him, but the result of a powerful impres- 
sion made upon his mind by an actual experience. He had been invited to paint a grotip of 
angels for the chaiiel of an Insane Asylum at ^Munich, and when the work was finished, the 
keeper, to reward him, invited him to make the rounds of the establishment — a privilege rarely 
accorded to any outsider. The sight of these unhappy peojile so deeply affected the young 
painter that he was unable for some time to rid himself of the impression, and it was while 
the scenes he had witnessed were still haunting him in liis sleeinng and waking hours, that 
he jiainted this picture. Its clear ami unrelenting realism recall the family group of his 
parents and his sisters Nvliii'h we ha\e already described: in both pictures he shows a power 
of observation and a love of truth that ptromise a far dift'erent fruit from th;it whicli his tree 
of life actually bore. We know so little of the infiuences that acted upon our artist in his 


youth, that we are able to say nothing with certainty about the matter, but to ns it looks as 
if the influence of the sculptor Ranch must have told for more at this period than the 
teachings of Dusseldorf. The love of truth to nature, the accuracy of statement, that charac- 
terize the author of the statues of Frederick the Great and of Queen Louisa are far more akin 
to the Kaulbach who made this drawing of his family, the picture of the " Madhouse," and 
the illustrations to Reynard the Fox, than to the Kaulbach of the " Destruction of Jerusalem " 
the " Tower of Babel," and the "Age of the Reformation." In short, it seems to us that in his 
later pictures Kaulbach departed ever more and more from the true path which his native 
genius, aided by sane teaching, had clearly marked out for him. Had he followed his real 
bent, we should have had something pleasanter to record than we find -in these labored 
attempts to give a romantic and mystical interpretation to historical events. But, to admit 
this, is, we are aware, to deny to Kaulbach the possession of genius : genius never makes such 
mistakes : no teaching, no influence can make her desert her own ideal. 

Kaulbach's next picture deepened and strengthened the impression made xipon the public 
by his " Madhouse." This was the " Battle of the Huns " painted in 1837, when he Avas 
thirty -two, and which we reproduce from the engraving made after the cartoon. The scene it 
represents is, of course, a wholly imaginary one, and the choice of such a siibject was, no 
doubt, due entirely to the artist's surroundings, since, in the reviving national spirit of the 
Germans, there was a healthy tendency to seek for themes in the story of their own people. 
If jjreference were given to the legendary history as recorded in the Lay of the Niebelungen, 
or in the other heroic tales that, however born, had taken root in the popular fancy, it was 
due partly to a feeling that such subjects made a more universal a^Dpeal to public interest,, 
and partly because they afl:orded more scope for an artistic treatment in costume and details. 

Kaulbach, as we have seen already, had painted in the throne-room of the Queen, on his 
first coming to Munich, a great event of actual history: "The Defeat of the Romans by 
Hermann." The subject of his next picture in the heroic field was a legend of the arrival of 
Alaric witli his Huns before the walls of Rome in the time of Theodoric the Visigoth. In 
one of the furious combats which ensued, the battle raged so fiercely that the souls of the 
dead rose from the field in the night and continued the fight in the air. Once given the 
subject, we are able to follow Kaulbach's conception, which, as in the case of aU the works of 
its class, is absolutely incomprehensible without the literary comment. This fact, however, 
has to be accepted once for all: these men of the new school were tellers of stories: not 


painters of pictures. They looked ii]Don their art as the handmaid of history and poetry, 
translating to the eye, Avhat the muses sang to the ear. If for this position of " recorder " and 
" translator " they were willing to surrender the nobler name of creator, our part here is not to 
criticise their choice, but, as occasion arises, to ask how they have acquitted themselves of 
their task. The wide apjDlause that greeted the apx^earance of the " Battle of the Huns " 
proved that, to his countrymen at least, Kaulbach had done his work well. Before us in the 
distance rises the city of Rome with the great tomb of Hadrian crowning its mass of buildings, 
and at the extreme left the line of the Alban mountains traced against the sky. Under the 
nearer walls a group of dead and dying warriors serves to connect the battle with the groups 
in the foreground. In the middle foreground we see a group of dead warriors, Romans as Ave 
judge, though pillaged of their arms, and near them their wives, or fellow-combatants, 
Amazons, tilled with the fury of battle, or with despair at their threatened fate, refusing to 
believe that the dead can be deaf to their j^assionate cries, urge them with shrieks and 
prayers to rise and fight on, for them and their children. The dead hear their voice and stir 
in their slumber. The heathen foe, too, hearken the call of their kindred and companions — 
one rough-bearded warrior at the left ah-eady draws his sword again from its sheath, and 
others near him open eyes closed in death and look upward to the sky where the souls of the 
slain on either side, once more reforming their ranks, continue the bloody strife: 

" Fierce, fiery warriors fought upon the clouds 
In ranks and squadrons, and right form of war 
Which drizzled blood upon the cajDitol. 
The noise of battle hurtled in the air. 
Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan." 

In the upper part of the picture, where the aerial combat is waging, we see, on the left, 
the Roman Emperor, supported by attendant youths, advancing with draAvn sword to meet the 
furious Attila, who stands charioted upon a mighty shield upborne by his warriors. Behind 
the Emperor, the souls of dead Romans bear the cross, streaming Avith triumphant light, 
while others in advance of the sacred emblem turn and point to it with loud exultant cries 
and furious gestures, as their standard of victory. No matter what we may think of the 
moral value of the subject, or of its suitableness for the purposes of art, it is impossible to 
avoid praising the skill with which the composition is handled; the dramatic power shown 
in the gradual awakening from death to the acti-'^e renewing of the bitter jDassions of life, 


and the majesty of movement in the contending armies, as they meet on their new battlefield 
in the air. 

The original cartoon for this celebrated picture, painted in monochrome, is in the 
National Gallery at Berlin, in the collection of Count Raczynski, which has been loaned to 
the government for public exhibition. The completed fresco is one of the six immense 
pictures painted by Kaulbach between the years 1847 and 1866, for the decoration of the 
great staircase of the New Museum. The painting of these frescoes was the chief occupation 
of the later years of Kaulbach's life, and necessarily transferred much of his active interest 
from Munich to Berlin. " The Battle of the Huns " was the starting-point of the conception 
of a series of pictures that should illustrate important epochs in the history of mankind. 
" The Battle of the Huns " is the finest of the series, whether we consider the clearness and 
unity of the conception or the harmony of the design in Avhich it is embodied. We shall 
only name the others, without attemjpting any detailed description, since not only has this 
been well done already in many popular works, among which we may refer the reader to Miss 
Howitt's' "An Art Student in Munich," a little book reflecting in its earnest youthful enthu- 
siasm the spirit of forty years ago — that time of strife, intellectual, artistic and political — but 
these pictures have been made common property by innumerable cheap reproductions. The 
subjects of the frescoes are " The Tower of Babel," " Greek Civilization " with Homer reciting 
his poems to the Greek people; "The Battle of the Huns;" The "Taking of Jerusalem by 
the Crusaders," " The Era of the Reformation." Between the large paintings and connected 
with them, are several figures on a gold ground : allegorical representations of Tradition and 
History, Poetry and Science, with colossal figures of Moses, Solon, Charlemagne, Frederick 
the Great, and beside these a cloud of lesser figures, groui^s and symbolic subjects, over which, 
as over the great pictures themselves, the iminstructed eye Avanders in a maze of conjecture, 
for without a guide the work is intelligible only to the learned. No doubt the Avhole idea of 
such a series of pictures with their attendant and connecting allegories and ornaments was 
borrowed from the Camera of Raphael in the Vatican, but beside tliat tlie thing could only 
be done once — and Raphael himself never repeated the triumph of the Camera della 
Segnatura with the " School of Athens," the " Disputa " and the " Parnassus," the minds of 
.the two men were so totally different that the success of Kaulbach's experiment was fatally 
impossible. With all its faults, the work of Raphael is sufficiently clear to make it easily 
enjoyable with slight explanation, and the whole decoration of the room is bound up in a 


unity, tlie beauty and ingenuity of whicli are not less enjoyed as time increases our famil- 
iarity. Witli Kaulbach's work, however, there is no real harmony in the ground-work, and 


^' ■ S 



the whole is so overlaid Avith fantastic symbolism, far-fetched, recondite allusions, pedantic 
display of petty learning, and a misplaced humor, that the mind becomes inexpressibly • 
wearied: we depart Avith a sense of intellectual and festhetic indigestion, and are hardly able 


henceforward to do justice to the real talent and greatness of the man — how much greater, 
had he not been born in that unlucky age of bombast and misdirected art-patronage. No one 
of these paintings in the Staircase-Hall (Treppenhaus) at Berlin is so comical in its tragic 
incompetence as the once much-vaunted "Era of the Reformation," the cartoon of which is 
unhappily owned in this country — a salad where all the great men and women of the time 
are stirred in together without aim, and Avith no attempt at unity of composition, a vast 
charivari, a Mardi Gras, where every one is grinding away at his own little job, Luther bang- 
ing the Bible, Elizabeth strutting like a stage-queen, Albert Diirer painting away for dear life 
in a corner, Petrarch pulling Greek manuscripts out of a chest, Shakespeare " chewing his 
gums," as a clever American critic once said, Copernicus puzzled over his own theories, and so 
forth, and so on— as we look we seem to see the " Madhouse " of the artist's earlier years 
enlarged into a i^anorama of the world. 

Of Kaulbach's once much-praised " illustrations " to " Shakespeare," Goethe," " Schiller," 
nothing is now left for the world at large but the faded memory: as we turn over the crowd 
of photographs in the printsellers' portfolios we cannot but wonder at the popularity they 
once enjoyed— a popularity that must have been factitious, since no critic of to-day could by 
any charm of Avords bring back the public to where it once stood. These works with their 
clumsy type of beauty, their affected simplicity, their incompetence of characterization, are 
their oaati condemnation. Not that they are all alike failures— that would not be possible 
with a man so able in many ways as Kaulbach: had he known and obeyed his own limita- 
tions it may be believed that his place in the history of art would have been far more secure 
than it is. We have selected the " Dorothea," one scene from Goethe's beautiful idyl of the 
exiled peasants, forced from their homes in Salzburg, unwilling emigrants, made to serve the 
will of Frederick by transferring themselves and their belongings to a barren land, Avhere lie 
would sow men as tlie husbandman sows corn. The point chosen by the artist for illustration 
is that where Hermann first meets Dorothea, as he describes the interview to his parents and 
their guests on his return to the house. 

" When, now, as I went, I reach'd the new road through the valley. 
There was a wagon in sight, constructed with suitable timbers. 
Drawn by two oxen, the largest and strongest that foreigners boast of. 
Close by its side, with stejis full of strength, was walking a maiden. 
Guiding with a long rod the pair of powerful cattle; 
Urging on now, and again holding back, as she skillfully led them." 


Anotlier ^York of Kanlbach's that has given much pleasure, and will long continue to give 
it, is his " Reynard the Fox," a series of illustrations to accompany an edition of Goethe's 
translation of the old poem, the delight of Germany in the Middle Ages. No one, not even 
Grandville, has surpassed Kaulbach in the difficult task of representing animals moved by 
human emotions, and yet never losing sight of the animal nature. Here again Kaulbach's 
talent both for clear concej)tion and clear statement are seen working in harmony within 
their natural limits, and we are happily far away from the confused pretension of his so-called 
great works. 

Edouaed Bexdejiann, another artist who pursued the road of "grand art," was bom in 
Berlin in 1811, a few years later than Kaulbach. He too studied at Dusseldorf, but under 
Schadow, who succeeded to the direction on the resignation of the post by Corneliixs. When 
his studies were completed he went to Rome, Mdiere his original tendencies toward religious 
subjects, nourished by Schadow's influence, were still further strengthened, and on his return 
to Germany in 1832, at the age of twenty-one, he painted his " Mourning Jews in Captivity " 
which is now in the Museum of Cologne. In 1837 he sent to . Paris his chief picture, 
" Jeremiah on the Ruins of Jerusalem," Avhich was so much admired that it gained a first 
prize. It is of the same order of work in its conception and artificial arrangement as the 
Destruction of Jerusalem by Kaulbach, but it is more classic in its restraint and in its 
subjection to the laws of unity, while it is far superior to Kaulbach's pretentious and ove]'- 
weighted work in its directness and simiDlicity. Whether Bendemann were a Jew or not we 
do not learn, but these two pictures have the appearance of springing from genuine feeling 
and sympathy; they do not affect us as painted merely to conform to a fashion for grandiose 
historical, or so-called historical, compositions. 

Bendemann's chief work, next to these paintings, is his decoration of the royal palace in 
Dresden, where he painted a series of frescoes completed in 1845. These frescoes cover the 
waUs of two connected apartments: The Bail-Room, and the Throne-Room or Banqueting- 
Hall. In the former are scenes from Greek mythology: a iirocession of Bacchus A^dth allegor- 
ical figures of poetry, music, dancing, architecture, sculpture and painting — the eternal round 
of which the Germans never were known to tire. Then come the Marriage of Alexander and 
Roxana, the Wedding of Thetis, Apollo in his swan-chariot leading the three Greek tribes, 
and Homer. As for the Throne- Room, the pen recoils from the task of recording its perfunc- 
tory themes where the Pour Estates : the Knights, Burghers, Churchmen and Peasants, are 



figured in scenes from history : in the frieze the story of the Occupations and Labors of Life, 
and then a long procession of the great names of the earth from Moses to Maximilian, with all 
the Virtues for outriders and stirrup-holders. In such a riot of allegory and symbolism, since 
no one is capable of unravelling the skein by himself, or would care for it if unravelled for him 



by another, the only satisfaction is in surrendering one's self to the enjoyment of the mere 
physical sensation produced by such a multitude of personages and incidents, following one 
another in swift succession along the walls of these sumptuous palace-rooms. Pleasing forms 
of youth and beauty, manly vigor, and dignified, serene old age— this vision of life is sufficient 
in itself, and we ask no more than to close our guide-book and watch it as it glides before our 



eyes, and mutely praise tlie versatility of the artist. Many other works of the elder Bende- 
manu — for his son Rudolf has inherited much of his father's talent, evince the possession of 
poetic feeling united "with great technical accomialishment ; but, in his case, as in that of the 
other men who at this time were making their mark in the history of German art, neither 
feeling nor skill found subjects of universal interest to work upon, nor even such as could 
long hold the attention of the German people themselves. Even the German mind, with 
all its love of abstractions, cannot live uiDon "allegory," and "symbolism," "types," and 
"epochs," forever, and the fate that has overtaken Cornelius, and Schnorr, Schadow, and 
Kaulbach and the rest of the " grand school " could not be expected to spare Bendemann. 

This artist, less fortunate than some of the 
others, had no opportunity to show to the 
world at large what he coiild do on a mon- 
umental scale, but he has certainly earned 
the high estimation in which he is held as 
a decorative painter. Bendemann married 
a daughter of Schadow and succeeded that 
artist as Director of the Academy at Dus- 
seldorf Avhen he resigned the position in 

Chaeles Fkederio Lessing, born at 
"Wartenberg in Silesia in 1808, was one of 
the first of the modern Germans to apply 
the principles of the " grand school " to 
subjects oiitside the domain of allegory and sjinbolism and bounded in a more objective circle 
of ideas. He received small encouragement at home in his early expressed desire to be an 
artist, but his father gave way on seeing a picture painted by him at seventeen, " The Cemetery 
in Ruins," and sent him to Dusseldorf, where he studied under Schadow, who saAv his talent 
and encouraged him in every way. While a boy, Lessing had studied with deej) interest the 
exciting and romantic history of Bohemia, with which country his native Silesia had been so 
closely connected in earlier times. The story of Huss jjarticularly appealed to him, and his 
&st important picture had for its subject " Huss preaching to his Discij)les." The earnest- 
ness of the painter communicated itself to his work, and the picture was received by the 




public with real enthusiasm. In Paris, where Delaroche was to win fame by a similar 
treatment of historical episodes, Lessing's picture was much applauded, but in Germany, and 
especially in Lessing's country, where the story of Huss still burned in the popular heart, it 
excited acrimonious criticisms. Not daunted by the opposition, Lessing painted other 
pictures illustrating the Huss legend, "Huss before the Council of Constance" and the 
subject we engrave, "The Martyrdom of Huss." This work is well known in America, where 
it is now owned. It originally belonged to the " Dusseldorf Gallery," for many years one of 
the chief attractions of New York City, containing as it did well-chosen examples of many of 
the chief painters of the Dusseldorf School, and Lessing's picture undoubtedly stood at the 
head of the collection in the popular estimation. The story is so well told that no explana- 
tion was needed, and as to the honor of human nature it may be said that hardly any subject 
is of more universal interest than that of a man sacrificing his life for his jDrinciples, the 
picture apjjealed to the heart of almost every spectator. At the same time the numerous 
episodes and manifestations of individual character were not only painted with great techni- 
cal skill, but were ingeniously connected with the main event and made to lead up to it. 
" The moment chosen is that of the memorable scene before Constance, whose steeples are 
seen in the distance. The stake to which the martyr is to be fastened is planted ui^on an 
eminence in the middle of the picture. It is surrounded by the fagots, and three executioners 
stand ready to carry out the punishment. The troops of the Duke of Bavaria are in the 
background with the banner of Constance in their midst. Huss stands before the stake 
about to kneel in prayer. Filled with faith in the righteousness of his cause, he looks toward 
Heaven, and as he turns his face upward, a sun-beam breaking through the fleecy clouds 
illuminates his countenance. As he kneels, the cap of the Heretics has fallen from his head, 
and a citizen has stooped to lift the cap and replace it; another citizen stares scornfully at 
him and a third threatens him with his clenched fist. While the jprisoner and his escort have 
mounted the hill, the chief authorities have remained below: at their head is the Duke of 
Bavaria, charged by the emperor to superintend th^ execution. He is addressing a bishop 
also on horseback, and a cardinal is also seen at the extreme right. Between the horses of 
the duke and the bishop an old Franciscan monk looks at Huss with curiosity through his 
spectacles. Tlius, the whole right side of the picture is filled with the enemies of Huss, while 
at the left are grouped his adherents. At tlie head of the latter group is a young girl 
looking compassionately at Huss, but her rosary shows that in pitying him she goes against 



her conscience. A Bohemian noble on the other hand x-rays openly for him ; a burgher of 
Constance looks at him with interest, but a young woman near liim shows the deepest 
sympathy. This is a portrait of the wife of Lessing, who is thus ingeniously made to express 
her sympathy both with her husband as an artist and with his principles as a man. The 
remaining figures in the picture explain themselves ; no one is introduced without a iDurpose, 
and the necessary violations of perspective and other technical points must be accepted if the 



picture is to be accepted at all. Lessing does not mean to give a picture of the scene that 
shall be historically true : it is a tableau, a stage-xDicture, and it is arranged as it is with full 
consciousness, no doubt, of its artificiality, but wdth the distinct purpose of summarizing the 
feelings of the time by a selection of types. The main purpose of the picture, in full accord- 
ance with the sjDirit of the school to which Lessing belonged, is literary : it is a page of a 
painted story, and is told as Walter Scott would have told it, aiming to bring about a realiza- 
tion of the scene by the selection of a few striking particulars: not as Hugo would have told 


it, storming at our imagination with a multitude of details: an indistinguisliable tempest -of 
hate and scorn, insult and reviling, love and Avorshix) and pity siirging about the one central 
figure of heroic sacrifice and self-abnegation. Such a comparison between Lessing and Hugo 
is no doubt unjust, perhaps it may be reckoned by some absurd, and certainly there cannot 
be comparison between a man of talent — and Lessing was nothing more — and a man of 
mighty genius, such as Hugo was with all his weakness. But a comparison with a painter 
like Delaroche would leave Lessing, in a work like this, defenceless on the score of elegance, 
refinement, and the dramatic power of concentration. Lessing painted many pictures in the 
same vein of pseudo-history: "Luther burning the Bull of the Pope," "Luther and Eck 
disputing at Leipsic," " Pope Pascal II. Prisoner of Henry V. ;" he was also noted in his day 
for his landscapes, but even in Germany they would be reckoned nowhere, to-day. The 
artificiality of his historical pieces may be forgiven : it may even be defended with a show of 
reason, but his landscapes come too late to please a public that has been ministered to by 
painters of nature such as England and France and our own country have produced, and are 
every day producing. 

Karl Theodor von Piloty, the last survivor of the old regime we have been consider- 
ing — for Bendemann is hardly to be reckoned in the list — was born at Munich in 1826, and 
died in that city in 1886. It would be hard to explain his reputation as an artist, and in fact 
it is not as an artist that he will be remembered, but rather as a teacher and the founder of a 
school out of which so many artists of repute have issued, that it has been said, the history of 
art in South Germany for the last thirty years is nothing more than the history of Piloty's 

Piloty was at first the pupil of his father, Ferdinand Piloty, who had some distinction as 
a lithographer. He studied later in the Academy under Schnorr, and later still at Antwerp 
and Paris, but returning to Munich fixed his residence there, and for the remainder of his 
life associated his fame and fortunes with his native city. His picture of the astrologer Seni 
before the body of Wallenstein, which we copy, painted in 1855, when he was twenty-nine, 
was the first of his works to awaken a general interest, and perhaps he never painted a picture 
that more completely expressed his talent. Once given the key to the subject — and in this, 
as in ninety and nine cases out of every hundred " historical " paintings, it cannot be under- 
stood without an explanation— we find the story told in a dignified, impressive way, with sucli 
simplicity and directness as forces our attention upon the fact narrated and makes us for ihe 


moment forget everything but the tragedy enacting before our eyes. The writer saw the 
picture for the first time not long after a visit to Eger, where we were shown the room in 
which Wallenstein was murdered, and this may have added something to the interest with 
which we looked at the work. And yet, on seeing it again, now, after some years have 
elapsed, the first impression is not weakened. 

The subject of Piloty's picture is nowhere literally found in history, but the elements of 
it are derived from Schiller's great drama. As in the case of Shakespeare's historical plays, 
we find onr views of history colored, if not formed, by the poet, from whose interpretation 
sober fact finds it difiicult if not impossible to separate her legitimate share. Even the name 
of Wallenstein would seem to be of Schiller's creating, since all historians are agreed, and 
indeed it is most certain, that the hero's true name was Waldstein. It is to Schiller, too, 
that we owe the emphasis given to Wallenstein's superstitious dependence upon augury and 
astrology, and if he had any authority for the existence of the astrologer Seni, it amounts at 
the best to a mere hint: one or two of the biographers-^of Wallenstein alluding in a cursory 
way to a certain Senni or Zenni, an Italian astrologer whom he supported about his person. 
In both the second and third parts of Schiller's triology : " The Piccolomini " and " The Death 
of Wallenstein," Seni appears among the Dramatis Personoi, but he plays no part of import- 
ance. In the stage directions of the scene in " The Piccolomini " where Seni first appears, he 
is described as fantastically dressed like an old Italian doctor, and Piloty has followed this 
hint in his picture, and has encircled the astrologer's tail hat with a band studded with stars. 
It was said that Seni had been with Wallenstein a few minutes previous to his assassination, 
to warn him that he had been consulting the stars, and that 

"A fearful sign stood in the house of life. 
An enemy, a fiend, hirk'd close behind 
The radiance of his planet." 

He warned his master that the danger had not yet passed. Wallenstein, however, 
assiired him that he had no fear for himself, but as for Seni, 7iis fate was certainly sealed, 
since the stars had assured him that a few hours would see the prophet in prison. Out of 
these scattered hints and suggestions, Piloty has contrived his picture. The scene is in the 
bed-room of Wallenstein in his palace at Eger. The light of early morning steals into the 
room and falls upon the body of Wallenstein as it lies where the dagger of his assassin left 
him. He is dressed for the night as in Schiller's play: in falling he has dragged down the 



cloth from tlie table, and his dark head, still stem in death, is relieved against its folds. On 
the tumbled carpet a hand-bell is lying. Hung from him as if he had tried to summon help 
with it and it had been wrenched from his hand. The bed on which he had not yet slept is 
seen in the background with its richly carved post and its hangings wrought with the Im- 
perial Eagle. On a table at the foot of the bed are the books he has been consulting, a casket 



with letters and documents with their seals, and a sidereal globe where the sign of the Scor- 
pion seems to be threatening the Lion. A candelabrum stands in the middle of the table : it 
is crowned with a Victory whose back is ominously turned toward Wallenstein, and its one 
candle burned to the socket, sends up its thin spire of smoke into the gloom of the not yet 
fully awakened night. By the side of his dead master the old Seni, who has entered by the 
battered doorway, stands looking down upon his dupe with a half -pitying, half-contemptuous 


expression — pity for one ^vho had. trusted liim, contempt for one who in spite of warning had 
refused to see the hand of God in the stars. He has taken off his star-encircled hat and 
holds it in both hands, gripping it strongly by the rim: a gesture full of force and meaning: 
he still holds firm to his belief in destiny; his grasp on the secrets of fate is not relaxed, 
although the arm of the dead hero who would not listen to his warning is stretched out in 
surrender, and his good right hand lies cold upon his heart. 

■ After he had been appointed Professor at the Academy in Munich, Piloty went to Paris 
for a second visit in 1856, and then to Rome, where he busied himself with studies for his 
picture "JSTero at the Burning of Rome." This picture, which made a great sensation 
throughout G-ermany, was finished in 1861 and is now in the gallery of Count Palissy at 
Pressburg. The titles of some of his other pictures will show the principal direction of his 
art: — " Wallenstein on the Road to Eger," " Wallenstein's Entrance into Eger, " " The Death 
of Csesar," " Thusnelda in the Triumphal Procession of Germanicus " — the original sketch 
for this picture is in the Metropolitan Museum, " Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn," " The News 
of her Sentence Announced to Mary Queen of Scots," and " The Council of Three" which we 
copy. This last work depicts no particular event in history; it is intended only to illustrate 
a phase of life in Venice in the sixteenth century at the time when the city was ruled by the 
despotic Council of Three. Hired bravoes have brought to the Council the clothes and 
weapons of their victims to x>rove their obedience, and secure the promised reward. Two 
members of the tribunal keep their places on the bench: the elder of them seems to be 
touched with a shadow of remorse for what has been done; but the third has no compunc- 
tions. He has approached the murderers and listens to their tale while he coolly examines 
the bloody evidences of their crime, and an attendant places on the table the casket that con- 
tains the gold with which that crime is to be rewarded. So long as there is a public eager to 
welcome such pictures they will be painted, and it is i^erhaps useless to complain of their 
want of serious purpose ; of the way in which a pedantic display of furniture and costumes is 
allowed to distract our attention from the vital meaning of the scene: dramatic truth 
sacrificed to stage-effect, and that of a very commonplace kind. Probably no one of the 
Munich masters has had so many distinguished scholars as Piloty, though, as has been said, 
the bond that united pupils and teacher was less a spiritual than a purely technical one. 
Among these names we find those of Makart, Lenbacli, Defregger, Liezen-Mayer, Gabl, Griitz- 
ner, and our own David aS^eal, Toby Rosenthal, and Wm. M. Chase. That Piloty was not 



narrow in his teaching, in s];)ite of his insistance on certain dryasdust rules, is shown by the 
result — his best pupils refiect his manner but slightly ; he alloA^^ed them to give free play to 
their own individuality. His own work is solid, scholarly, and often interesting, in spite of 



Vol. II.— 4 


the faults of artificiality and theatric posing, which hare been so freely brought home to him 
by German critics no less than by Frenchmen and Americans. 

The art of Piloty was of a kind that for some reason, or for many reasons, belongs to Ger- 
many and finds there a hospitable home, a widely spreading circle of kindred, and troops of 
enthusiastic friends. Since the days of AVest and his school, historical painting has steadily 
lost ground in England, and now scarcely survives there ; in France, Delaroche and Horace 
Vernet are almost the only names that keep even the memory of it alive, for such historical 
painting as there is in France, to-day, is hardly more than genre-painting. But, in Germany, 
it survives in full force, and tempts to emulation her best j)ainters ; while public enthusiasm 
for such subjects is always ready to crown with applause and honors any successful effort in 
the field. 

Mr. Wm. M. Chase, who was for some time a pupil of Piloty, and who was invited by 
him to paint the portraits of his children, has commuhicated to us the following interesting 
reminiscence, which will illustrate the theories of Piloty and the practice of his studio. 

The immense room devoted to the pupils of the master was divided by board-partitions 
into a number of smaller rooms, in each of which a pupil was installed and set to work on a 
subject given to the whole class, to treat according to their own ideas, but, at the same time, 
grammatically and orthographically, in obedience to established canons. At one time, when 
a good many of the pupils happened to be Americans, Piloty came into the studio and said 
with his strong voice and energetic manner: "I will give you a subject; it belongs to you; 
take it, and do your best with it: Columbus before the Council." When the young fellows 
were left to themselves, there began a lively debate, accompanied by the usual skylarking, and 
in the midst of it, some one iDut the question to Chase, known perhaps to be not a little 
sceptical as to the merits of the baldng-powder expedients in historical painting: "Well, how 
vidll you treat it then ? " " I'll show you," said Chase; and, turning into his stall, shuts him- 
self up, and in a little while comes out with his Columbus. A long canvas, longer than liigh, 
a table stretching across it, nearly from side to side, and behind it and at the projecting ends, 
a crowd of ecclesiastics, big and little, cardinals, priests, and doctors — listening, or not listen- 
ing, to Columbus, who stands in the middle, facing the table, with a globe and a lot of books 
and papers on the floor at his side, and with one hand raised, energetically arguing his case. 
It was but a sketch, but a sketch of such marked originality in its conception, and showing 
such exceptional skill in the handling, that both the wrath of Piloty on seeing it, and his 


interest in this sinner against all his rules and teachings were alike exiDlicable. He looked at 
it long and earnestly ; he marked the vigorous, succinct painting of the row of heads, all char- 
acteristic of such ah assembly, no two alike, only blocked out, with a few strokes to each, yet 
each alive — eager, indifferent, hostile, supercilious, respectful, haughty. Piloty saw all this, 
but he also saw the figure of Columbus, standing with his back to the spectator — ye powers ! 
The principal personage standing with his back to us ! What folly ! For, of course, in the 
true scheme of historical painting according to the Munich gospel, no matter what the facts, 
or j)robabilities of the case may have been, the spectator has the first right, and Columbus 
should have turned his back not uj)on us but upon his audience; spoken to us, not to the 
CouncU. Therefore it was that Piloty came down upon his pupil with stern rebuke and re- 
monstrance; reminding him of the sacred rules, showing him again for the twentieth, the 
hundredth time, how he ought to have composed his picture, and leaving him with a recom- 
mendation to repentance. That he saw what good material was in his pupil, however, is 
shown by his urging him shortly after that to paint a great historical Columbus — according 
to the rules no doubt ! — with a \ae\v to the Capitol at Washington, offering to help the 
scheme in every way by his influence — but Chase had no mind to the undertaking. 

WiLHELM Camphausen, a painter of battle-scenes, and ideal portraits, was born at Dus- 
seldorf in 1810. He made his studies in the Academy of his native town, and afterward 
became a Professor in that institution. In order to become more familiar with military 
matters he joined a company of hussars, and remained several years with them. Later, he 
travelled in Europe and brought back many studies used since in his numerous pictures and 
in the designs he has made for illustrated j)ublications. The titles of some of his works: 
" Puritans Reconnoitering the Enemy," " Charles II. at the Battle of Worcester," " Taking 
the Entrenchment of Duppel," " Cavaliers and Roundheads," will give an idea of his sjphere 
of activity. The two pictures which we have chosen belong to the- list of his " ideal j)or- 
traits," as we may call them, for lack of a better name. That is, they are portraits founded 
on authentic pictures of their time, but dressed up to suit the artist's notion of the subject's 
personality. The " Frederic the Great " is an animated, stirring image of that " Alexandre 
de nos jours " — a splendid sword in a rough sheath. The " Maria Theresa" is perhaps rather 
the " Rex Noster " of the legend and of our imagination than the Queen of sober history. 
Still, the imagination has her rights, and what is more, in the struggle with facts she 
generally gets the better, in the long run, of her antagonist. 





DOLF FRIEDERICH ERDMANN MENZEL, one of the first of modem draughtsmen, 
recognized both at home and abroad as a chief in the modern school of historical 
painters, was born at Breslan in 1815. 

His father, though not an artist, was interested 

in the arts, and gave up the profession of teach- 
ing to engage in the business of lithograj^hy, the 

new process discovered only a little while before 

by Sennefelder, which was just then interesting 

everybody as photography and process-jDrinting 

are interesting us to-day, and like them threat- 
ening to displace wood-engraving and etching. 

as in fact it did displace them for a time. It 

may be worth noting ia passing, that one of 

the most remarkable though one of the least 

known of Adolf Menzel's published works, the 

"Christ among the Doctors," is executed in 

lithography, the art he learned in his youth 

from his father. It is not, however, a genuine lithograj^h, but rather an engraving, since 

it is etched with acids, not simply drawn upon the stone. 

The boy early showed a strong leaning to art, but his father, with his instincts as a 

teacher, felt that it was desirable his general studies should be attended to before engaging 


















in a special profession. He therefore tried again the experiment that has been tried by un- 
numbered parents since the world began, and sought to put his young Pegasus into useful 
harness. But this colt, lilve all the rest of his kind, kicked the traces and refused to browse 
in the pastures provided for him. His childish studies were neglected, and the world-old 
legend of the scribbled copy-book reappears in the case of the little Adolf, as fresh as if it 
had not been told of a hundred other bom artists. Seeing this, the elder Menzel, aware 
that a talent had been intrusted to him for safe-keeping, and anxious to do the best he 
could to make it profitable, broke up his household at Breslau and removed to Berlin, where 
he thought his boy would have better opportunities. He had the boy fitted for the Aca- 
demy, but though he entered it, he could not be induced to stay there. The methods no 
less than the routine were irksome to him, and he insisted on being allowed to sit by his 
father's side and assist him in his lithographic work. This he did until he was sixteen, when 
his father died, leaving his whole family, a large one, dependent on Adolf's exertions for 

The boy applied himself energetically to the task, working, says Miss Helen Zimmern, in 
her interesting summary of Menzel's life and work, printed in the Magazine of Art, — " work- 
ing almost literally, day and night — twelve hoars beiug his nominal allowance, often ex- 
ceeded. He composed and lithographed dinner. New Year, and birthday cards ; he designed 
and executed bill-heads, and invitations, illustrations to children's books, menus, etc., etc., 
whatever, in short, came in his way. Yet he always looked upon this as merely a way to get 
bread and butter for himself and his family; his aim was to be an artist, and of this he never 
allowed himself to lose sight." In 1833, when only eighteen years old, he made his first appeal 
to the jjublic with an original work, publishiag a series of six lithographed illustrations to 
Goethe's poem "Kiinstler's Erdenwallen." This attracted immediate attention, and the 
publishers soon gave him all he could do, encouraging him to new undertakings. He pro- 
duced a second set of designs, " The Five Senses," and followed it with " The Lord's Prayer," 
and soon after turned his attention to the field in which his most successful Avork has been 
accomplished: the history of the HohenzoUerns. Frederick William IV., who was then 
King of Prussia, was ambitious to play the same part in Prussia that Louis of Bavaria was 
playing so conspicuously in Munich, as modern Maecenas, Patron of the Fine Arts, etc., etc. 
The work that Menzel had already done in his designs for the History of Brandenburg in 
illustration of the life of Germany in the eighteenth century, had drawn the king's attention 


to the artist as the man peculiarly fitted by nature and by the exhaustive studies he had 
made, for the caiTying out of his special hobby, the glorification of his ancestor, Frederick the 
Great. He therefore received the commission to make four hundred illiistrations for Kugler's 
" Life of Frederick the Great." The work occupied four years of Menzel's life. He made all 
the drawings on the block for the wood-engravers, and as the art of engraving on wood was- 
then in a very unsatisfactory state in Germany, the first blocks were sent to Paris to be cut. 
This was done for some time, but as fast as the blocks were returned from Paris they were 
used by Menzel as models for the Berlin engravers, and thanks to his zealous superintendence 
and earnest effort, such an improvement was brought about that the later blocks were cut at 
home. It was absolutely necessary that this should be done if Menzel's work were to be 
faithfully reported; for his vigorous and uncompromising method of dealing with subjects in 
which neither beauty nor grace had any part, was not suited to French elegance and refine- 
ment. This Avork Avas so successful that the king immediately gave Mm another commission, 
that of illustrating the works of Frederick the Great, a most unwelcome task, since the writ- 
ings of Frederick offer scarcely any material for the artist's skill. Beside the mistake of 
employing one of the first artists of the time on such a thanldess task the king, like a truly 
royal connoisseur, Msecenas, Patron of the Fine Arts, ecc, etc., confined the circulation of the 
book wlien completed to the circle of his oavu immediate family, and to the few crowned 
heads and men of mark whom the king wished specially to honor. The late emperor, 
William L, seeing that Menzel's Avork Avas vutually lost to the Avorld by this exclusion, 
alloAved the illustrations to be reproduced Avithout the text, but this has availed but little, 
since even in that state the book is too costly for general circulation. 

Other works of Menzel in this field, are a series of plates filling three thick folio volumes 
and called " The Army of Frederick the Great." This vast storehouse of illustrations of a siib- 
ject of no possible interest to any one but a special student of the time, consists of three hundred 
plates, draAvn upon the stone, and preserving for the antiquarian every possible recoverable 
detail of the costume, arms, wea]Dons and accoutrements of the soldiers and officers of Fred- 
erick's army. Into these draAAings Menzel infused all the life and reality that he Avas capable 
of, but after completing the work and coloring the plates Avith his OAvn hand, he cleaned off 
the stones, preserving only thirty im^jressions. He followed this Avork by one that appealed 
more to the popular taste : a series of tAveh^e large and vigorously draAvn and engraved wood- 
cuts of Frederick's generals, Avith a iilate devoted to Frederick himself. Fortunately for 



Menzel's fame this was not a royal commission, but a work designed for the public, and it is 
likely to prove the most worthy monument of his fame. The Head of Bliicher which we 
copy, will give an idea of the style in which Menzel has treated these soldier-figures, though 
it is not taken from this particular work. 

It woiild be impossible to enumerate even in a summary way, the titles of the works 



produced by Menzel's prodigious activity. He has worked in almost every style and with 
every material, but it must be allowed that it is as a draughtsman, not as a designer, that 
he excels. Of the two pictures that we copy, one, " Frederick playing on the Flute at Sans 
Souci," is from an oil-iiainting, the other, " Frederick William visiting a Village-School," is 
from an illustration made by Menzel for the History of the HohenzoUerns. Menzel's oil- 
painting can be studied at Berlin, in the Museum; as a painting it has small value, but the 


design has all his excellences, and the subjects gave him an opportunity that he did not enjoy 
in his book-illustrations. The picture we hare selected, "The Flute-Concert," is a companion 
to " The Banquet at Sans Souci," which also hangs in the Berlin Museum, where are also 
" Frederick on his Travels," and " Frederick at the Battle of Hochkirch," with others of less 
importance. The scene of our picture is the drawing-room of the i^alace, gorgeous in its 
rococo splendor, dazzling in the blaze of wax-candles clustered innumerable in chandeliers and 
sconces of crystal, their soft light reflected from mirrors and gilding and the polished floor, 
and from the rich dresses of the company ; the costume of a time that was all of a piece with 
the architecture and the decoration. The king is at a music-stand in the middle of the room, 
executing on his flute a difficult piece, with as much dignity as any man, even a king, can 
put into that most undignifled instrument. At the piano near him sits Emanuel Bach, who 
plays the accompaniment, while Benda with his violin awaits the cadence of the musical 
phrase to recommence his playing. The king's music-master, Quanz, sits in the embrasure of 
the window, and on a sofa is the king's sister Wilhelmina, the Margravine of Baireuth, whose 
affection for her brother, as his for her, plays such a jpart in their early life. Near her stands 
Graun, an amateur of music, and the rest of the company is made up of the noble and dis- 
tinguished jDeople whom Frederick gathered about him in his Court. The other picture 
shows Menzel in a very different vein: the old king, in the carrying out of his elaborate 
system of paternal government, has come to a village-school, and the master, for his sovereign's 
pleasure, is subjecting the urchins to the terrors of an examination in their studies. Menzel 
has depicted the various characters with much quiet penetration and sense of humor — the old 
king, vnth his mingled good-nature and patronizing self-importance ; the school-master equally 
anxious for his own credit and that of his boys; the youngsters moved by every emotion 
natural to their years : one with boyish glee showing his slate to the king ; another, vexed 
with failure, cleaning his slate for a new trial — in this slight subject equally as in the more 
important pictures, and as everywhere, Menzel is conspicuous as the story-teller, the nar- 
rator, who to a full knowledge of every detail of fact unites the dramatic power to seize the 
situation as a whole. 

As we have said, it is not alone in his own country, but among artists everywhere, that 
Menzel is honored. Several of his pictures were sent to the Paris Exposition in 1867, and 
they were warmly welcomed, by no one more than by Meissonier. Miss Zimmern tells us 
that Meissonier could not do enough to show his appreciation of Menzel's talent: he not only 





















introduced him everywhere, but by his influence, deservedly povrerful in France, he caused 
him to be decorated with the Order of the Legion of Honor. The two artists were inseparable, 
but as Meissonier could not speak a word of German, and Menzel knew no French, their 
personal communication was confined to repeated pressures of the hand, and gestures of mute 
admiration. Beside his exhaustive work in relation to Frederick and his times, Menzel has 
published several etchings, has made designs for the illustrations of Kleist's drama " The 
Broken Jug," and has painted several pictures on themes drawn fi'om our modern life. The 
most important of these is " The Machine Shop "—as seen from the industrial life of the Berlin 
of our own day, reproduced with that mingling of photographic accuracy and large pictur- 
esqueness in which Menzel excels all his contemporaries. It must be said of Menzel that the 
picturesqueness is, so at least it appears, none of his choosing. He has the indifference of 
Nature to beauty or ugliness — since those terms are our own, not hers — his whole aim, and it 
is his sole enjoyment, is to reproduce with faithfulness either what he sees of the present vsdth 
his eyes, or what an exhaustive and impartial study has taught him must have been seen by 
the men of the past. He accepts with cheerful equanimity, the fact that he lives in an ugly 
city, in an ugly country, among a people indifferent to art and incapable of producing it. 
And where another artist might have sought relief from these conditions in some enchanted 
Armida's garden of the past, Menzel has deliberately plunged, fathom deep, in the study of a 
time when these same conditions existed in even greater force than they do at present. Yet 
by the sheer power of loyalty to truth, and a determination to accept life as he finds it, he 
has not only won for himself a foremost place among the artists of his time, but has done 
much to make impossible a return to the literary treatment and the bombastic methods of the 
earlier historical painters of "the grand school." 

"tail-piece by menzel." 




TRACES of that art, of which Kaulbach and Piloty were the high-priests still remain in 
the studios, bnt they are tempered by the logic of the realistic school. Among the 
pupils of Piloty, Alexander Liezen-Mayer is one who occupies, with no little distinction, this 
middle ground. He was born in 1839, at Raab in Hungary, and after studying for a time in 



the Academies of Vienna and Munich he entered the studio of Piloty, and in 1862, when only 
twenty-three, produced his " Coronation of Charles of Durazzo " — a subject evidently chosen 
— since the Coronation of Charles of Durazzo could be of no interest to any mortal of the 
present day — merely because it lent itself to the picturesque theatrical treatment in vogue in 



the Munich of that day. Neither this picture, however, nor the " Canonization of Saint 
Elizabeth of Hungary," though they were considered to show much promise, liad any marl'Led 
success with the public; the artist's first laurels were gained by his " Maria Theresa Comfort- 
ing a Poor Child," a subject that by its natural and unaffected treatment appealed even to 
people whose aristocratic loyalty was not touched by it. The two jDictares that we copj 
show both sides of Liezen-Mayer's art. The " Queen Elizabeth Signing Mary's Death War- 
rant " is a genuine product of the Piloty school — graceful and dignified, with the gracefulness 
and dignity of the stage, not of real life, since neither in costume nor in person is this the 
true Elizabeth ; but very frank in its appeal to the popular taste for a histrionic presentation 
of a past which exists for us only in the imagination. The picture recalls very vividly the 
personality of the great actress Ristori in the part of Elizabeth which she made so famous. 
The dress of the Queen is the one Ristori idealized from the formality of the contemporary 
portraits, and just so she used to stand, leaning over the fatal parchment, holding the irreso- 
lute pen, and deeply meditating on the chances of the cast she was about to make. In the 
other i)icture, " Saint Elizabeth of Tliuringen," Liezen-Mayer has chosen a theme resembling 
that of his Maria Theresa picture: the charitable princess is sheltering under her ermine 
mantle a mother and her child exposed to the cruelty of the winter's cold. Beside his 
j)ictures, Liezen-Mayer is well known as an illustrator of the poets — his designs for Goethe's 
" Faust," for Schiller's " Song of the Bell," have been very popular, and he has also made 
drawings for Shakespeare's " Cjnnbeline." 

Werner Wilhelm Gustav Schuch, born in Hildesheim in 1843, began life as an 
architect, and did not take up j)ainting until he was thirty years old. In 1872 he began, 
without any teacher, to practise himself in oil-painting, copying pictures in the Dresden 
Gallery and making sketches from nature in the Tyrol, and in Upper Italy. In the intervals 
of his occupation as an architect he made frequent excursions in search of landscape-material 
to serve as backgrounds for his pictures. The subject we copy is called simj)ly an episode of 
the Thirty Years' War, but it has no special interest except as an attempt to depict the 
manners of a bygone time. And to tell the truth, we much prefer to such a jDicture, made by 
a man whose knowledge of the time is necessarily limited to what he has been able to gather 
from books and museums, the old prints and wood-cuts made by contemporary artists 
whose technical skill no doubt was far below that of siich an accomplished draughtsman as 
Professor Schuch, but who, at any rate, described what they saw with their own eyes. But it 



would be unfair to find fault with our artist for doing what aU the rest of his contemporaries 
with few exceptions are doing: let us see how he has told such story as he has to tell. A 
body of troops is crossing a wild stretch of country, and the main, part of the canvas is filled 

















with one of the baggage-wagons and its guard. The ravages of war are hinted at in the ruins 
of a castle with its shattered tower and dismantled gable rising above the boscage of its park, 
while some nearer trees serve, with their blackened trunks and blasted branches, as emblems 
of its former pride, now fallen. The baggage-wagon is a cumbrous structure, too heavy ap- 
parently for the work it has to do in carrying only a barrel of wine and a man whose busi- 
ness seems to be to tap the barrel occasionally for a thirsty officer. The sturdy wheels plough 
deep in the muddy road, but the outrider on one of the two horses that drag the vehicle has 
only an ineffectual dog-whip to iirge his beasts. By tfie side of the team, the captain, bare- 
headed, and with his leathern doublet protected by pieces of armor— since armor died a 
lingering death after the invention of gunpowder, sits on a sturdy cob, and draws the rein as 
he turns to throw back some jest at the man in the wagon. He holds in his hand a flagon, the 
cover raised, from which he will drink again when his jest is sped. By the side of the wagon 
a man-at-arms is walking, matchlock on shoulder, pipe in mouth and hand in pocket; he is 
dressed in doublet and breeches, with iron helmet, and big boots, his thick beard just allowing 
us to see the corners of his falling linen collar. Behind the wagon comes the rest of the 
convoy, a band of musicians with flfe and drum and mounted warriors following, some in 
armor with helmet and plume, some in laced jerkins and broad-brimmed hats and feathers, a 
motley crowd characteristic of this time of change, when old faiths and customs were giving 
way to new, and the world seemed for the time being in chaos. So, at least, the donkey by 
the roadside thinks, as he plants his fore-feet, shakes his conservative head, lifts his remon- 
strating ears to heaven, and lets his angry owner thwack him with the stout oaken cudgel at 
his will. Meanwhile the woman on his back with her nursing baby in her arms joins in the 
laugh of the soldiers at her plight, and shakes her fist at the beast, as if she thought the affair 
a joke. Not so the little daughter, however, who stands by the donkey's side crying, half for 
pity at the beating he is getting, and half for fear of the soldiers; to her the affair is anything 
but a joke. This picture of Prof. Schuch is owned in this country, and has lately been on 
exhibition at the gallery of Mr. William Schaus in New York. 

Otto Seitz, the painter of the " Murder of the Princes in the Tower," was born at 
Munich in 1846, and studied with Piloty. His subjects are, as a rule, of a tragic character— 
" The Murder of Rizzio," " Prometheus Chained to the Rock " and the " Children of Edward 
IV. "—the one we copy— but he has also tried his hand at lighter themes, '' A Faun and 
Nymphs," " Neptune Riding on the AVater," and others. There is no need of repeating for 



the liimdredtli time, tliat such subjects as the one we engrave are chosen by the artist not 
because he has intellectually any concern with them, but simply because he has come across 
them in his search for picturesque incidents. No doubt the murder of the sons of Edward 
changed the course of English history, but in what direction no one can tell; for us, its 
only interest lies in the pathos of its tragedy. Seitz has treated his theme in a less imagina- 



tive way than Delaroche, who, in the two pictures he painted of the affair, shows us the boys 
alone in their room, waiting in foreboding fear for the danger that they feel is hovering about 
them. Seitz shows us the murderers on the very point of their bloody deed: one getting 
ready the bolster with which the victims are to be smothered, while the other, touched with 
remorse, holds back his companion with a gesture, as if he would make sure that the boys are 
asleep. Should they stir, the villain's heart would be softened, and his hand would fail him. 


The story is clearly told, and all the details are true to the time, or probable, at least. But, 
as a work of imagination, we must think it inferior to Delaroche's picture, with which it is 
impossible not to compare it. 

JoHAKN Adolf Paul Kiessling was born in 1836 at Breslau, and studied his art at 
Dresden under Schnorr. He there painted his first j^ictaire; a "Ulysses recognized by his 
nurse Euryclea," which won him a prize and enabled him to go to Italy. Here he gave 
himseli up to the study of the peasant-life under the influence of Passini, but he also painted 
several classical subjects — working in the old, well-worn mine of Venuses and Adonis, Rapes 
of Hylos, Rapes of Europa, and the rest, only half escaping for a time in the invention of 
allegories where antique and modern figures are mingled in illustrations of certain poems of 
Schiller. Later he found a better field for his powers in the decoration of the Chateau of 
Albrechtsburg at Meissen, where he was commissioned to paint two wall-pictures wath scenes 
from the life of Bottcher, the discoverer of porcelain in Germany, and the founder of that 
industry at Meissen. We copy one of these pictures, where Bottcher is seen showing to his 
patron, and long his dupe, August the Strong, the result of one of his experiments. Bottcher 
was an alchemist by profession, one of the tribe who all over Euroj)e were deluding rich men 
and princes with the hope of vast wealth to be acquired when once the secret of transmuting 
the baser metals into gold should be acquired. He found a ready dupe in August the 
Strong, but we should have heard no more of him than of a hundred other men of the same 
character, had he not by accident hit upon the discovery of Kaolin, the long-sought-for 
material of which porcelain is made. The anecdote current is, that one day on calling for his 
wig, Bottcher, taking it from his valet's hands, remarked that it was much heavier than usual, 
and the valet explained that as his supply of the ordinary hair-i^owder was out, he had bor- 
rowed some from an acquaintance, who had discovered a material that he thought suj)erior 
to that in common use. Something in the look of this powder struck the eye of Bottcher, 
accustomed to observe, and after some experiments he found that it was the long desired 
basis of porcelain. This discovery was one of great importance, since it supplied what had 
long been a real need— there being no material for the making of cups, platters, and dishes, 
excepting wood and metal, and clays too coarse to suit the uses of any but the poorest people. 
Bottcher was only one of many who had been looking for a solution of the difficulty, and, as 
in every such case, he has to share the credit of the discovery with men in other countries. 
The seeds of discovery, microbes of thought, so to speak, are always in the air and they may 



lodge simultaneonsly in any brain where tliey find a condition of receptivity. Printing and 
steam, electricity and anfEsthetics, daguerreotypy, and a thousand lesser arts that ameliorate 
the roughness of our material life are brought out of her pocket by Old Dame Nature when- 




ever we spoiled children of hers are fully persuaded that we must and will have them. So it 
was in the case of porcelain in Europe, but so far as Germany is concerned, Bottcher's fame is 
secure, as the benefactor to whom we owe the discovery. 

LuDwiG Herterich, the painter of the "Episode from the Peasants' War," is the son of 
an artist who occupied a respectable position in his profession, but was in no way distin- 
guished. The son made his first success with the public by this picture, exhibited at the 
Kunstausstellung in Munich, in 1883. It was a commission, we believe, from Mr. Henry 
Villard, of New York, and was considered one of the most interesting pictures in an exhibi- 
tion that contained not a few of the best works that the artists of modern Geimany have 
produced, and where it was a distinction in itself for any young artist to attract more than 
a passing glance from the crowd. 

Something of the interest excited by the work of Herterich was due, no doubt, to the 

tragic nature of his subject, since people in general are strongly drawn to the contemplation 

of horrors, whether described with the pen or the pencil. But it is not given to every one to 

make tragedy real. Founded on historic truth though the subject may be, there is the 

temptation to exaggeration, to melodrama, to be overcome, and in Munich this temptation 

has been too seldom resisted : the public has been habituated, since the days of Kaulbach, to 

a theatrical, a spectacular, treatment of historic scenes, until it has become difficult to get 

back to a sane and natural method. It is worth noting that the earlier men, to whom the 

credit of the revival of art in modern Germany is given, got no nearer to nature than their 

immediate successors, in spite of the fact that they sought inspiration in the works of the 

" primitives," and the artists of the Italian Renaissance. For all their worship of Angelico 

and Gozzoli, Raphael and Michelangelo, such men as Cornelius and Overbeck, Schadow and 

Schnorr were no nearer to nature than Kaulbach or Piloty. Nature alone can impart her 

secret: it is not to be obtained at second-hand. We cannot learn of Chaucer how to be 

simple-hearted, nor from Keats to revel in the luxuries of natural beauty, the delights of 

sensuous being, nor from Shakespeare to read the human heart ; we must carry to Nature the 

nature that she herself has given us, and let her tune its chords as she will. The only true 

historical-painting is that which shows the artist moved to his work by strong independent 

sympathy, and where the instinct bred by such sympathy has shown him the scene, and 

enabled him to show it to us, as it really looked, or as it may have looked. To such art 

Herterich's picture belongs. And the artist has revealed the possession of a finer dramatic 
Vol. II.— 5 * * 


sense in bringing before us in this vivid ^vay, the spiritual agony, the horror of fear, that goes 
before the dread event, than if he had plunged us into the midst of the physical torment and 
outrage that will soon drown the scene in blood. The stage on wliich this tragedy is acting 
is the great Hall of some baronial castle in Germany. The victorious peasants have burst the 
door, and overrun the guards, and armed with pikes and staves are aboiit to revenge their 
centuries of wrongs upon the representatives of those who have inflicted them. The mistress 
of the house has thrown herself in front of the huddling crowd of her family and servants, 
beside themselves with terror, and offers herself as sacrifice or ransom to the men whom she 
and her kind have made wild-beasts, and kept them such. The aspect of the crowd is horri- 
ble, but the artist has avoided all exaggeration, melodrama, and even undue emi)hasis: 
enough for him to state the cold facts, and leave us to work out the details of the dread 
catastrophe by the aid of our own imagination ; and as he has concentrated all that there was 
of true courage and chivalry in the feudal party in the jjerson of the chatelaine who offers 
her own body to the fury of the angry mob, to protect, if so she may, those who are dearer to 
her than life ; so on the other side he has concentrated all the brutal fury and lust of the mob 
in the person of the grinning Caliban who stands mopping and mowing at the prospect of 
his near revenge, and the sating of foul desires blindly nursed through years of serfage. 

WiLHELM LuDwiG Friedricii Riefstahl, boru at New Strelitz in 1827, reminds us, in 
the simplicity and sincerity of his work, of the French painters, Brion and Charles Marchal. 
As with them, too, the incidents and scenes he paints have come under his own direct obser- 
A'ation, and he has painted them because they ajjpealed to his .■■^■:'"'~'"'- 

sympathies and feelings as much as to his artistic sense. He first 
appeared as a designer of book illustrations, making a number of 
the drawings engraved for Kugler's History of Art. In 1869 he 
went to Italy, and brought back sketches for some of his x^ictures — 
" The Anatomical Theatre in the University of Bologna," " The Pan- 
theon of Agrippa at Rome," — the former of them once in this coun- 
try, in the hands of Mr. S. P. Avery, was unfortunately aUowed to wilhelm^lu^ivig^friedrich 
go back to Europe. It was a most interesting portrait of a world-famous room — the Hall 
where many of the most illustrious men in the history of medicine and surgery lectured and 
demonstrated — a picture that, were it here to-day, would surely be secured for some one of oar 
richly endowed medical institutions. The anatomical theatre at Bologna is a noble room, roofed 








Z 1 






and wainscoted, wtli cedar from the forests of Lebanon, and Riefstahl has imagined it filled 
with students, and with some of the famous men associated with its history. Riefstahl has 
painted several pictures illustrating convent-life; one of these, " In the Refectory," belongs to 
Mr. S. P. Avery, and by his permission we are enabled to offer our readers a copy from the 
original painting. Another of these subjects, a " Procession of Monks," belongs to a New York 
collector. Our picture, " In the Refectory," shows a scene that will be familiar to many travel- 
lers who have sought the hospitality and substantial comfort of these religious houses in their 
journeys. In some of these monasteries, the dining-room retains its original fittings and furni- 
ture, but, as a rule, the wars and social ui^heavals, and religious revolutions that have swej^t 
over the face of Europe, have made rough work with the prosperity of these ancient founda- 
tions, and in consequence their rooms have in general a bare look, and are furnished with plain 
but solid chairs and tables of modem make; good for use, but not ornamental. The dining- 
room in Rief stahl's picture is a plain apartment where eight monks, including the reader of 
the day and the brother who is to serve the table, are assembled for dinner. The ceiling of the 
room with its corner escutcheon furnishes the only indication of the time when it was built — 
in the latter part of the last century: so we judge by its rococo curves. For the rest, the 
room is plain to bareness ; a window recessed in the thick wall, its sash filled with square 
panes of white glass, looks out upon trees and a glimpse of blue sky ; at right distance from 
this window a niche, answering to it in fonn, is filled \vq by an altar; a crucified Christ is sus- 
pended at the back with a vase of flowers at its foot, and before the niche an ever-burning 
lamp is siispended from the ceiling. On the wall between these openings, hang symmetri- 
cally-placed pictures of saints, and in front of the window is a plain jpulpit, with a lectern, 
where the brother stands who reads some pious exhortation or gospel-text before the meal 
begins. At the extreme left we see the end of a small modern hai-psichord or piano ; at this, 
one of the brothers skilled in music will, no doubt, sit after dinner and accompany the others 
singing hymns. About the table the brothers are standing, in varied attitudes of devotion ; 
at the head of the board is the Prior, and at the other erid pf the room, opposite the buffet, 
is the servitor for the day, with his napkin over his arm. We note an absence of formality ; 
each monk has his own way of listening to the reader and joining in the devotion. On the 
table the soup is standing ready, and the bread beside it; in contrast to this human restraint 
and deliberation, the eagerness of the tame magpies hurrying to their dish of food without so 
much as-a " by your leave," is in suggestive, somewhat satiric, contrast. 



The artist's other picture, "Funeral of a Child in the Passeir" shows him in a different 
mood. Beginning, as a painter, with landscapes, Riefstahl early peopled his views of places 
with figures, s k ilfully contriving to harmonize them with the scenery, or, rather, since each 



did, in his pictures belong to the other, making us feel their interdependence. Some of his 
most interesting pictures have for their subjects religious meetings or ceremonies of one kind 
or another, taking place in the open air. Such are his " Mountain Chapel in Passeir, with 
































Herdsmen at Devotion," a picture in the Berlin Gallery, and another in the same gallery, 
"All Souls' Day in Bregenz." During his second visit to Rome, where he lived for some time, 
he painted one of his best pictures, " The Pantheon of Agrippa with a Great Procession," but 
as a rule he prefers the open country or the rural towns of South Germany and the Tyrol. 
In the " Funeral of a Child " the scene passes in the street before the gate of the cemetery, 
the priest with his assistants standing on the upper steps, while the father, holding in his 
arms the little coffin covered with its white pall and with the funeral wreath, kneels on the 
lowest stone. Behind him are his daughter and a young son ; the poor bereaved mother, we 
must think, lying at home grieving in her bed, not able to come so far as this with her lost 
one. Sorrowing with their neighbor, the friends of the family kneel in a half circle about 
them, holding lighted candles in their hands ; as we look at the picture we find ourselves 
believing in it, so to speak ; an air of simple truthfulness pervades the scene, these people 
are really mourning and sympathizing, not attitudinizing nor pretending. 

The Passeir is a district of Tyrol intimately associated with the memory of Andreas 
Hofer, the Tyrolese patriot, born in 1767, shot at Mantua in 1810 by the French. The valley 
is rich in memorials of the hero; at Sandhof is the home where he was born, at Pfandlerhof 
the chalet where he was captured. He was buried at Innsbruck, whither his remains were 
brought from Mantua and where a handsome monument is erected in the Franciscan church 
to him and his associates, Speckbacher and Haspinger. What particular village in the 
Passeir Riefstahl has chosen for the scene of his picture, we do not know. Perhaps it is St. 
Leonhard, where there is a churchyard made famous by the fact that in 1809 the Tyrolese 
peasants stormed it and drove out the French who were quartered in the church itself. 

' A group of artists notable for their treatment of religious subjects may be considered 
here; the successors of the earlier sentimental-religious school of the Overbecks, Degers, 
Ittenbachs and the rest, of whom we have already written. These are von Uhde, Zimmer- 
mann, Plockhorst and Gebhardt: of these, Plockhorst is the one whose talent is most nearly 
allied to that of his already-named predecessors. 

Berniiaiu) Plockhorst was born in 1825, in Brunswick. He began his studies in that 
city and thence went to Berlin, and afterward to Dresden, where, in both cities, he studied 
lithography. His natural bent, however, led him to painting, and he made his way to 
Munich. Here he was admitted to the studio of Piloty, and after some time passed there he 
proceeded to Paris and became for a year the pupil of Thomas Couture. He then, in 1854, 


set out on bis travels, visiting Holland and Belgiiim and, later, Italy, where he was especially- 
interested in the works of the Venetians. After his return he settled for a while in Leipzig, 
but in the end fixed his residence in Berlin, where he has continued to live and to paint ; his 
field of work being portrait painting, and religious subjects ; these latter dra^^^l rather from 
the Bible than from the legends. His first important picture was " Mary and John returning 
from the Grave of Jesus," a picture which by its dignity and deep feeling g-ave promise of a 
future, which, withoiit disparagement it may be said, has hardly been fulfilled, although his 
next pictures, " Christ and the Woman taken in Adultery," and " John icomf orting Mary after 
the Death of Jesus," were received with great favor. His large pictxxre, " Tlie Fight between 
tlie Archangel IMichael and Satan," has been mucli lauded, but in it Plockhorst, like many an 
artist before him, exceeded his powers, although it may fairly be said that such a subject is 
one that no artist, not even Michelangelo himself, could do justice to. Nevertheless, there are 
degrees of unfitness, and the graceful, amiable art of Plockhorst is peculiarly unsuited to 
themes of such tragic import as the conflict between Good and Evil embodied in the imagi- 
nary forms of Michael and the Arch-fiend. We have chosen as more characteristic of Plock- 
horst's talent, his picture. " Suffer little Children to come unto Me, for of such is the King- 
dom of Heaven." The theme once given, it must be admitted, Ave think, that the artist has 
treated it with a great deal of natural feeling, and a healthy absence of that morbid 
sentimentality that is too conmion in dealing with Jesus in his relation to other human 
beings. Nevertheless it is plain that Plockhorst has not allowed in the selection of his tj-pes 
for the varieties, not to say the imperfections, of human characters ; all his children, and all 
their mothers, are made as pretty and as agreeable to look at, as possible. Christ is seated 
upon the curb of a stone water-trough, to which a shepherd is driving his flock to diink. 
This somewhat awkward arrangement is, no doubt, intended as symbolical, and recalls, the 
injunction given by Jesus to his disciples: "Feed my Lambs," but the incident is not 
obtruded; it serves perhaps an additional purpose in connecting Jesus himself more immedi- 
ately with his time, and \\'\\\\ tlie work-a-day Avorld about liim. than Avould be suggested by 
this rather idyllic incident, the blessing of the children. Jesus holds on his lap one of the 
youngest of the children who have been brought to him, and two others won over by the 
trusting attitude of the little one ai-e pressing eagerly forward to share the caress. Jesus lays 
his hand upon the elder of the two, and in her turn, a little dai'k-haired girl debates in her 
childish mind, whether she too shall not join the others. For the moment, however, she still 



clings to mother's side, but the mother's friendly looks promise that she will not keep her 
daughter back. Behind this central group another mother stands, holding a baby in her 



arms, wlio beats with its outstretched hand, baby-fashion, as if impatient to do what it sees 
the others doing. In the foreground a young mother, her unbound hair falling over her 


shoulder and her dark mantle slipping down revealing a lighter under garment, half holds 
her son, who asks her consent to share with the kindly man some of the flowers they have 
been gathering in the fields, which he has taken from the wicker basket at his mother's side. 
His sister, meanwhile, has made herself a garland of the same flowers and now looks up 
intently at the gentle stranger with an inquiring gaze, but as yet makes no motion to go 
toward him. Quite at the other side, a boy holding a palm-branch in his hand and sitting on 
the ground, turns and looks up at Jesus and by his action seems as if in a moment he too 
would be at his side. One mo;-e group calls for notice: the three disciples who stand behind 
the mother of the dark-haired little girl. Two of these seem to be intended for Peter and 
John, the third, half concealed by the others, has nothing distinctive about him. Peters face 
has a frowning look, but John, who places a dissuading hand on the mother's shoulder, looks 
far more pleased and interested than the contrary. It would be interesting to set beside this 
modem representation of the Bible story, the picture by Rembrandt in the English National 
Gallery. Here no attempt whatever is made to enlist our aesthetic sympathies by the presen- 
tation of ideal types of childish innocence and beauty. For the somewhat effeminate Jesus 
of Plockhorst we have a plain and rather rough man of the people, and for the pretty, 
laughing boy of our picture on whose head the hand of Jesus is tenderly laid, Rembrandt 
shows us a heavy timbered Dutch child with a cake in one hand, and his finger in his mouth, 
not overwilling, it would seem, to be blessed. The rest of the group is conceived in the same 
spirit; the objecting disciples are not present; their place is taken by a man who, half blotted 
out in the deep shadows of the background, looks at the scene with a suspicion of irony in 
his expression. 

Er]s:st Karl Georg Zimmermann, the painter of the "Adoration of the Shepherds," 
was born in 1852, in Munich, and studied his art in the first instance with his father Reinhard 
Sebastian Zimmermann, the well-known genre painter. Later he became a pupil of Wilhelm 
Diez, the influence of whose style is plainly seen in the present picture. This was one of the 
chief attractions of the Munich Exhibition of 1883, partly owing to the lighting of the scene 
— an old device first made famous, as the reader will remember, by Correggio in his " Holy 
Night," now in the Dresden Gallery ; partly, and perhaps chiefly, by the unconventionality ot 
the treatment, since it must always be difficult for an artist to think out a new setting for an 
old story. It cannot be said that Zimmermann has made his scene much more probable than 
the older men, or than some of them, at least, but there are not a few attractive points in his 




version. He supposes the Virgin to be sheltered rather than housed in a rude shed — a mere 
pent-house of posts and boards wattled with heath and scarcely shielded from the weather, 
although it is in fact under the lee of a big rock and the great branches of a friendly tree 
may serve to keep oif some of the wind that is blowing through an angry-looking sky. Mary, 
well-wrapped up and hooded, " sits smiling, babe in arm," holding the naked infants' feet in 
one hand, while a warm light, stealing glow-worm-like from his divine little body, serves to 
diffuse a soft glow over the people who have come, at the beckoning of the star that struggles 
through the clouds overhead, to see what is this wonder it betokens. Behind Mary stands 
Joseph in an unconsciously humorous attitude as if deprecating any share in this event ; he 
holds a shepherd's crook in his hand, as he does, the reader may remember, in Ittenbach's 
picture, already described here. His carpenter's tools, his saw, and his old hat are in tlie 
foreground and a wash-tub turned upside down which perhaps he has got a job at mending. 
In front of us, prostrated before Mary and her child in an attitude of devotion, is a man 
whom we may take for a shepherd; he has a water-gourd slung over his shoulder: next him 
are two children who bring a present of a lamb ; behind them is an old woman who supports 
her feeble steps with a sort of crutch ; then comes an old shepherd, his half -naked body 
wrapped about with a sheepskin, and an old sheep-skin hat on his head, while the circle is 
completed by a young peasant-woman who clasps her hands in a homely, natural way, as she 
looks down with delight at the new arrival. A point of less importance than some others in 
this picture where Zimmermann has departed from tradition, is the omission of the cus- 
tomary ox: the ass is allowed to represent the stable, all by himself, and he pulls away at 
some loose straws in the manger witliout regard either to the strange occupants of his shed 
or to their visitors. But, according to the prescribed recipe for this composition handed 
down through the ages, the ox and the ass are always to be present, and it is so rare not to 
find them, that we may say they are never wanting. Of the many pictures of this subject 
which we have examined, we do not remember one in which this part of the formula has not 
been respected. " Behind the cradle," says the official " Manual for the Painter of Sacred 
Pictures " now many centures old—" Behind the cradle, an ox and an ass contemplate the 
Christ." But the modern artist has treated the subject so freely in other particulars that he 
probably felt less compunction than another might have had in taking this additional liberty. 
Fritz von Uiide is another artist of our time whose paintings of religious subjects have 
attracted much attention of late, owing to the seemingly bold way in which he attempts to 


make the old mysteries harmonize with the details of every-day life in our own time. The 
picture which we copy will illustrate our meaning. He shows us the interior of a peasant's 
house anywhere in South Germany, with its bare rafters, its earthen floor and its rude 
homely furniture, the clumsy table spread for the spare meal, and the peasants — the old grand- 
parents, the married son and daughter and the fou.r children, about to seat themselves for 
dinner. Just as they are about to repeat the old mystic formula, " Come, Lord Jesus, and be 
our guest," " Komm Herr Jesu, sei unser Gast," Jesus himself appears in person, and is rever- 
ently welcomed by the father of the family, in blouse and sabots, and motioned to the chair 
where the wife would have seated herself as soon as she had placed on the table the bowl of 
soup she has in her hands. The family are so poor that they have only one small roll of 
bread, which has been placed by the mother's plate; perhaps the artist meant to suggest that 
Jesus will work a new miracle by making this one roll feed himself 
and the eight others. Whatever we may think of the reasonableness 
of the artist's conception, it will be admitted that the incident as he 
has depicted it, is treated \vith a naturalness and simplicity that do 
him great credit. To say that the figure of Christ is unsatisfactory is 
to say what would have been true, no matter who, in our time or in any 
former time, had attempted the task. But, to,discuss this side of the 


subject would lead us far beyond our bounds; ^11 we have to deal with fritz von uhde. 

is, the way in which the artist has told such story as he had to tell. The room is well painted 
mthout exaggeration of its bareness, rather with a sense conveyed of rude but sufficient 
comfort. The attitudes and expressions of the children are well given ; that of the little 
boy, whose curiosity has got the better of his piety, although formality still keeps his little 
hands folded; that of the little girl, whose curiosity has not got the better of her devo- 
tion and whose still folded hands are the index of Avhat is going on in her spirit. The 
baby, whose small head just shows above the table, has no curiositj^ for anything beyond her 
meek share of the soup, on which her eyes are fixed with becoming patience. The old mother, 
whose eyes, closed while the customary blessing was saying, are not yet ^lnclosed to the 
answering vision ; the old father mth clasped hands and yearning eyes, the stolid child at the 
right — rather a servant than a child of the house — who looks with dull eyes at this unex- 
pected guest breaking the monotonous routine of their daily life — lastly the practical mother 
of the family who, like Martha of old, has been busied about her household cares, and who 


















does not forget that she has the soup in charge while she looks with curiosity at the new 
comer. The most conspicuous figure in the whole group next to Jesus is the father of the 
family; in his face and action, however, there is rather more of servility than we find agree- 
able, but even this is no doubt true to life in a peasant brought up under a load of supersti- 
tious reverence for those in authority. 

Von Uhde's studies of character are confined to the peasant-class and give him small 
opportunity to express ideas outside the narrow circle of mere material cares and enjoyments. 
Nor does he apparently attenqjt to move beyond the field where his first success was won, but 

repeats the same ground-idea, with a 
persistency that must end in wearisome- 
ness in spite of the variation in the 

Kakl Franz Edouaed vok Geb- 
HARDT, born in St. Joliann, Esthland, in 
1838, studied his art in St. Petersburg, 
and from thence Avent into G-ennany, 
where he has since continued to live 
and work, being to all intents and pur- 
poses a German artist. He studied for 
a year after leaving St. Petersburg, in 
Carlsruhe, then went to Dusseldorf and 
was a puj)il of Carl Sohn, and in the 
intervals of his studio-work travelled 


here and there, in Germany, in the Netherlands, in France, and in North Italy. When he 
began to paint, he followed a strong bent toward religious subjects, but he treated them not 
from the legendary and mystical side, but from the modern standpoint, as history, and with a 
desire to conceive the events as they might actually have happened. His first picture was 
the "Entry of Christ into Jerusalem ;" this was followed by a "Raising of the Daughter 
of Jairus," but his first distinct mark was made by the picture that still remains his mas- 
terpiece—" The Last Supper." Of how many artists may it be said that they struck fire 
at the first blow, and that, ever after, they went on beating the anvil in the vain hope 
of striking-out another authentic spark! However, the world may be grateful if it get 


one good thing from anybody, and in its way Gebhardt's " Last Supper " is a good pic- 
ture ; it is well composed, well painted, with, uncommonly good tone for a modern picture. 
Our engraving gives a very good notion of the composition, and of the various expressions 
in the faces of the actors in this last scene of the tragedy of the Life of Jesus. Gebhardt 
had a theory of his own to disclose, and we know no reason to deprive him of the credit 
of originality, although a picture by Gaye, in the St. Petersburg Academy, is strikingly 
like that of Gebhardt in its general impression. But what Gebhardt had in his mind to 
convey was the idea that the motive of Judas in betraying his comrades and his Master 
is to be found in the essential difference between him and them so far as their aims 
and ideals were concerned. He was a man, Gebhardt would say, of materialistic views, 
a man of business, of practical ideas, and he found himself associated with a band of 
visionaries, of socialists, of theorists, led by one who was more visionary, more of a poet, 
theorist, socialist, than all of them iiut together. Tlie process of alienation has long been 
going on, contempt has given place to disgust, and disgust has grown to hatred, and now the 
hour has come when this Son of man is to be left to his own devices. Judas rises from the 
table and goes out, but as he goes he turns to take one last pitying look at this deluded 
company. All this is so clearly expressed in the picture that it really needs no comment. In 
the face and figure of Jesus, Gebhardt, like all his predecessoi's, has adhered to the old tradi- 
tion, but he has not followed them in making the gap between the outward personality of the 
Master and that of his disciples too broad for a reasonable view of their relation to one 
another as friends and fellow-workers — in the picture they sit together as in a certain 
equality, and Judas, by his build and physiognomy, is really the only irreconcilable member 
of the group. In Gaye's picture all that we see is the departure of Judas, his putting on his 
mantle preparatory to leaving his former friends and companions ; but in Gebhardt's picture 
we are shown an interpretation of the action, that, whether we accept it or not, cannot be held 
unreasonable and is certainly highly dramatic. 


A LPRED RETHEL, who at one time promised a careeer of great distinction, was born in 
t\. 1816 at Aachen or in the suburbs of that town. His father was a native of Alsace, then 
in possession of the French, but he came to Aachen in the course of his duties as a French 

























official and there fell in love with the daughter of a rich merchant, whom he married. At the 
request of his father-in-law he gave up his official employment and settled in Aachen as the 
superintendent of a factory. Here he brought u]3 his family of children, and Alfred, on 
account of his health, which was never strong, Avas allowed to follow his bent toward art. In 
the beginning he came strongly under the influence of the early German artists, Durer, 
Holbein, and others of the time, and finding that the ideas which he wished to express as a 
result of his thinking in this direction needed an outward form in keeping with their origin, 
he sought the aid of wood engravers, who should restore the primitive methods — -methods of 
great value and capacity for exj>ression — in use by the masters of the fifteenth and sixteenth 
centuries. The first that was heard of Rethel in this country was on the appearance of two 
wood-cuts, 'Death as Friend," and "Death as Avenger." They were engraved in a bold, 
simple style, recalling in some respects the wood-cuts designed, but no longer believed to 
have been cut, by Diirer, and the contrast between their method and that of the weak, nig- 
gling cuts in A'ogue at the time, was very striking, and their example was effective in helping to 
break up the system in fashion and to introduce a more manly style. We have selected the 
" Death as Friend " in preference to tlie other, Avhich represented the breaking out of the 
cholera in Paris at a masked-ball; and as Rethel does not s^iare the ghastliest details — among 
other things, some even coarser in expression, crushing the mask of one of the victims into 
the semblance of the facial contortions j^eculiar to this plague — the cut seems to us one to be 
avoided rather than reproduced, since, for all that we can see, such representations serve no 
good purpose whatever. The " Deatli as Friend," though by no means free from morbid 
sentiment, is not without a certain charm, recognizable through all the drawbacks of the 
medisevali-sm in which it is framed. The scene is the topmost room in the tower of a cathe- 
dral. Through a large window, opening ui^on a balcony, we see the top of one of the carved 
finials of the spire, and look far over a \\ide i)lain, through which a river, emblem of human 
life, flowing by cultivated fields and houses of men, makes its way to the sea. The sun is 
setting, and casts broad beams of light upward to the zenith, gladdening all nature with his 
smile, even to the little bird who rests upon the sill and sings his vesper hymn. In a high- 
backed arm-cliair by the window sits an old man, whose shrunken frame, weak limbs, and 
hands feebly clasped in his lap as in prayer, show that his life is drawing to a close. He has 
been for many years the sexton of the church, and the warder of the tower, bat now all his 
watchful cares are over, and his faithful trust is to pass into other hands. His keys hang at 



his girdle, and as the beams of the dying sun strike npon his face, his eyes are fixed upon the 
stairs that lead upward to the platform whence he was wont to sound the horn that caUed 
the laborers from their toil in shop and field. Now, the great horn hangs useless on its nail, 




and though the turret-door stands wide, and the steps invite, his feet will never more mount 
the stairs, nor pass oat again from the door to the cheerful platform. Beside him on the 
table his Bible lies open, and near it the wine-flagon, the drinking-cup, and the bread, while 
over them hangs the image of his Lord upon the cross, whose blessing he had daily sought, 
as he read in the Book of Life or as he ate his slender meal. In his youth, the old sexton 
had been a j)ilgrini, and had gone with others to the Holy Land. He has kept by him for 
memory of those happy days, his cockle-hat and staff, and the palm-branches gathered under 
those sunny skies, and they lie in sight upon the chair where he left them when he last took 
them from their chest. Lonely have been his solitary hours in the great tower, where seldom 
any visitor appeared to disturb the quiet of his watch. But, now, a visitor has come, the like 
of whom he has not seen since those pilgrim days ; and in the gathering twilight, and in the 
dimness of his old eyes he thinks he sees again one of his youthful companions in the Holy 
AVars. But this is no living stranger; this is Death, who, clad as a pilgrim, with sandalled 
feet, and the cockle-shell on his breast, and the water-bottle at his side, has seized with his 
fleshless hands the rope that rings the vesper-bell, and sends out the summons to the world 
below to pray for the speeding soul of the brother whom he is gently leading to the Holy 
Land of Eternal Rest. 

The other engravings which we publish from Rethel's work are from a series of designs 
issued by him in 1848, and called "A Dance of Death." Rethel's mind was naturally of a 
morbid cast, and this disposition was increased by the poor state of his health. His gloomy 
views of life in general colored his views of society, and his reactionary, pessimistic conclu- 
sions as to the political contests of his time are revealed with unmistakable clearness in this 
" Dance of Death." In the " Death the Friend " and " Death the Avenger " Rethel plainly 
appears as a follower in the footsteps of Holbein, although with no trace of direct imitation, 
but in the " Dance of Death " there is nothing of the older master except the name. His 
object here is simply to make Revolution a bugbear to the common people, to frighten them 
from attempting to assert their rights. Accordingly he draws up the Fates as Pride, Igno- 
rance, and Superstition, and makes them give Death a sword, mount him on a Horse from Hell 
and send him out to teach the people the watchwords Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity. 
Whatever we may think of the spirit that animated the artist in these designs, we must 
admit the earnestness, the honesty, and the force with which he preaches his doctrine. And 
there can be as little dispute as to the virility and originality of his imagination. The Horse, 



alone, is a creation that few moderns have ai^proached. He appears in every scene, and with- 
out diablerie or exaggeration contrives to play his part as an avenging Fnry, from the hour 
when with ghastly whining and eager foot he Ul abides the delay of his harnessing by the 
Sisters of Death, to the last scene, when, bearing Death as a Conqueror, he climbs over the 
barricade made of the ruins of peaceful homes, and over the corpses of deluded citizens, and 



quenches his parched tongue in blood lapped from the wounds of the victims of Resistance 
to Law and Order. In this latter picture, Bethel's skill in introducing incidents that add to 
the completeness of his story and enforce its lesson without in the least confusing or over- 
burdening the design, is shown as clearly as we have seen it in his " Death the Friend." The 
ruined and burning house, vnXh its owner lying dead upon the threshold; at the right the 
street, where the soldiers are resting by their successful cannon, while a few of their number 
remove their dead, as the smoke of the conflict saUs slowly away over their heads. Another 




detachment of troops is disappearing in order round a corner, leaving a dead rioter on tlie 
sidewalk, by way of pledge. In the distance, the church-spire rises peacefully, friend and 
ally of the victorious State, and at the angle of the burgher's solid dwelling the statue of the 
owner's patron-saint puts up a perpetual prayer that his client in health and wealth long 
may live. But in the foreground the moral of the story is driven in as it were with a sledge- 



hammer. Death, the garments laid aside in which he has hitherto appeared, shows as a 

naked skeleton crowned w4th a laurel- wreath and bearing in his hand the great banner of 

"victory. As he rides on his way he salutes the victims of his good lessons, one of whom lies 

dead on his face while another drags along his wounded body and greets with his dying 

breath the friend of the people. The Horse meanwhile, as we have said, licks the blood from 

the wounds of the old grandfather over whom his daughter and her little son weep unavailing 

tears. In the other jiicture. Death disguised as a quack preaches to the people his doctrine 
Vol. II.— 


of Eqxtality, and shows tliem by actual experiment liow the laborer's pipe and the King's 
crown balance one another exactly. The Horse, tethered near, grins as he hears the apologue, 
an old woman, smeUing mischief, and like a good church woman, as her cross and rosary show, 
unwilling to have her grandchild subjected to such an experiment in Primary Education, 
sends the boy home, surly and unwilling to lose the treat of the funny man's speech. On the 
other side a group of people listen eagerly to the new doctrine; a nurse-girl and her charge; 
the butcher from his stall, the student from the University, a good woman of the town, a 
commissionaire, a farmer on his way to market, and most amused of all a cobbler, who laughs 
and slaps his thigh and thinks the quack's demonstration perfect. All this passes at the 
tavern-door, where Death has posted up his programme, and where he will soon heat up his 
hearers' blood still higher with a treat all round. 

These works are Rethel's chief legacy. In 1844 he went to Rome, and after his return he 
accepted a commission to pain a series of frescoes in the Council Chamber at Aachen, illus- 
trative of the Life of Charlemagne. But his health failed him, his mind became clouded, and 
he died in 1859 without completing the work. 

Adolf Luben, the painter of " The Visitation of the Sick," was born in St. Petersburg of 
German parents, in 1837. In 1853 he went to Berlin, where he began his studies in art, but 
in 1860 he removed to Antwerp and remained there for several years. After a brief interval, 
in which he gave himself up to land-surveying, he returned to Berlin and took up again the 
profession of painter. He remained in Berlin until 1876, when he went to Munich and estab- 
lished himself permanently in that city. His pictures are in general marked rather by humor 
than by pathos, whereas the one we have been drawn to select for reproduction proves that 
the artist has at least an equal talent for depicting the sorrows of the life about him. A 
poor boy has been sent to fetch the village-priest to come to his dying mother, and administer 
the last consolations of religion. The old priest has put on his surplice and stole, and with 
the sacrament in his hands comes from the church through the gateway, preceded by the 
sexton bearing the lantern with its candle lighted from the altar, and the bell whose tinkle 
calls on all who shall hear it to say a prayer for a parting soul. By the side of the sexton 
walks the lad, shoeless and poorly clad, holding his hat reverently in his hands as he looks 
up in a manly, plaintive way into the old man's face, and asks him questions which he half 
fears to have answered. The priest has a rather stolid, perfunctory expression, but the 
weather-beaten face of the old sexton shows some light of sympathy for the boy soon to be 



left motlieiiess in the world, and in liis rough, kindly way, puts the best face he can on the 
matter. It seems to ns that very few modern painters have shown greater skill than our 
artist has here proved, in telling a simple every-day story of human experience in such a way 
as to appeal to the heart and the consciousness of whoever, young or old, learned or un- 
learned, may chance to see his picture. 

At the right of Liiben's composition we see two of the wrought-iron crosses common in 

"bishop willigis and the children." 


old grave-yards in Germany, -with their projecting covers to keej) the i-ain from the small 
pictures that are fastened to them, or the wi'eaths that are hung on them on ceremonial days. 
These particular crosses mark graves that have been placed along the road leading to the 
church-yard proper: we catch a glimpse of this inclosure with its tombstones through the 
gateway Avith its half -opened gate of wrought-iron. 

WiLHELM LiNDENSCiiMiT, the painter of the two very diiferent jiictures, " Willigis and 
the Children," and the " Death of William of Orange," is the son of a well-known historical 


painter of the same name, who died in 1848. Our artist was born in Munich, in 1829, and 
went with his father when quite young to Mainz. From Mainz he went to Frankfort on the 
Main, and studied there at the Stadelschen Institute; thence he went to Antwerp, but, ill- 
satisfied, he soon left for Paris, where he found the atmosphere and the opportunity he 
needed. His principal field has been the painting of history, here he has showoi himself a 
prolific worker, but as usual with artists of his class he is not limited in his choice of subjects 
by any personal j)redilection in favor of one particular period or one set of events, all is fish 
that comes to the historical-painter's net, and accordingly we find Lindenschmit painting 
"Alva Visiting the Countess vou Rudolstadt," and " Francis I. taken Prisoner at the Battle 
of Pavla," and " Luther in the House of Frau Cotta," and the " Founding of the Jesuit Order 
in Rome," and more of the same sort, with perhaps a particular leaning toward Luther- 
subjects. We have selected two characteristic examples: " The Death of AVilliam of Orange " 
and ''Bishop Willigis and the Children: " they pr^ve the artist's versatility and his skill in 
felling a story. Willigis, or, as his name was Latinized, Quilisius, was bishop of Mainz in 
975. He was distinguished as a builder and as a friend of education. He commenced the 
Dome of Mainz in 978, and built bridges over the Main, at Aschaffenburg, and over the Nahe, 
at Bingen. This latter structure, a bridge of nine arches, was constructed on the foundations 
of a Roman bridge, attributed to Drusus and called by his name. WiUigis founded many 
schools in his diocese, and is reputed to have done more for education than any prelate of his 
time. An anonymous poet has told this anecdote of the good bishop, illustrating his meek- 
ness and simplicity: 

" The Lords of Thule it did not please 
That "Willigis their bishop was. 
For he was a wagoner's son. 
And they drew, to do him scorn. 
Wheels of chalk upon the wall; 
He found them in chamber, found them in hall. 
But the pious Willigis 
Could not be moved to bitterness; 
Seeing the wheels upon the wall. 
He bade his servants a painter call; 
And said, — ' My friend, paint now for me 
On every wall, that I may see, 
A wheel of white in a field of red ; 
Underneath, iu letters plain to be read — 




' Willigis, bishop now by name. 
Forget not whence you came ! ' " 


" The Lords of Thule were full of shame — 
They wiped away their words of blame ; 
For their saw that scorn and jeer 
Cannot wound tlie wise man's ear. 
And all the bishops that after him came 
Quartered the wheels with their arms of fame ; 
Thus came to pious Willigis 
■ . Glory out of bitterness." 

It is said that the wheels in the arms of the city of Mainz were originally in the arms of 
Willigis, bat this is denied by some antiqnarians who, however, have not been able to provide 
ns with a better explanation. We do not know whether the picture by Lindenschmit has for 
foundation any particular incident in the life of Willigis; but so much is plain, that his 
visit to the school is in the interest of a kind and sympathetic treatment of children, as 
opposed to harshness and severity. The bishop sits in the school-room of the monastery sur- 
rounded by the monks on one side and by the village children on the other. At his left is 
the monk whose business it is in general to take charge of the school-room, a sour-faced man 
who holds the rod in his hand with which he is used to enforce discipline, and which he 
grudges at being obliged to spare in consequence of the presence of his kind-hearted superior. 

Another monk, more in sympathy, both with the bishop and with the children, stands 
behind the bishop's chair and listens with a smile to the parable wherewith Willigis is 
enforcing his teaching. The children are well characterized, as they sit or stand about the 
bishop's knee, but one of them, at the extreme left, seems to us more amused at the discom- 
fiture of the surly brother of the rod, than attentive to the Bishop's lesson; 

" The Murder of William of Orange " is a picturesque composition ; its hurry and bustle 
are in striking contrast to the quiet lines and compact grouping of the " Willigis and the 
Children." It was a daring experiment to attempt to depict an action taking place upon a 
stair-case, there being nothing more difficult in draughtsmanship than to show people moving 
on a stairs, unless it be to j^lace them in a boat. Some of our readers may recall a curious 
experiment made by no less a man than Tintoretto, who in his picture of " The Presentation 
of the Virgin," in the church of S. Maria dell' Orto in Venice, has placed the scene directly 
upon the grand circular marble stairs leading to the Temple, the little nine-year-old Virgin sue- 


cessfuUy standing on tlie top-most step, and the spectators of the miracle sitting or standing 
in the intermediate space. The motive of Lindenschmit's picture would almost seem to have 
been suggested by Tintoretto's bold design, but it is far more successful in respect to natural- 
ness and \\gox of action than that of the older master. 

William of Orange, the founder of the Dixtch Republic, called William the Silent, was 
assassinated at Delft in 1584. The deed was done for money, a price having been set on the 
Prince's head by the Spanish General Alexander Farnese. Visitors to Delft are still shown 
the place in the Prinsenhof where William fell and the marks which the bullets of the 
assassins made in the wall. An inscription marks the spot, but the building has been com- 
pletely transformed in fitting it lij) for a barracks. The tomb erected by the States of 
Holland to William is the cliief ornament of the New Church of Delft. 

Our historian Motley, in his " Rise of the Dutch Republic " gives the following account 
of the death of William : 

- " On Tuesday, the 10th of July, 1584, at about half -past twelve the Prince with his wife 
on his arm and followed by the ladies and gentlemen of his family, was going to the dining- 
room. William the Silent was dressed upon that day, according to his usual custom, in very 
plain fashion. He wore a wide-leaved loosely-shaped hat of dark felt with a silken cord 
round the crown — such as had been worn by the Beggars in the early days of the revolt. A 
high ruff encircled his neck, from Avhich also depended one of the Beggars' medals, with the 

" ' Fideles au roy jiisqu' a la besace/ 
While a loose surcoat of gray frieze cloth, over a tavsoiy leather doublet, with wide, slashed 
under clothes completed his costume. Gerard presented himself at the doorway and de- 
manded a passport. The Princess, struck with the pale and agitated countenance of the 
man, anxiously questioned her husband concerning the stranger. The Prince carelessly 
observed that 'it was merely a person who came for a passport,' ordering at the same time, 
a secretary forthwith to prepare one. The Princess still not relieved, observed in an under 
tone, that ' she had never seen so villainous a countenance.' Orange, however, not at all im- 
pressed with the appearance of Gerard, conducted himself at table with his usual cheerfulness, 
conversing much with the Burgomaster of Leewarden, the only guest present at the family 
dinner, concerning the political and religious aspects of Friesland. At two o'clock the com- 
pany rose from table. The Prince led the way, intending to pass to his private apartments 

UJ ^ 

D -■ 

-^ < 

O I 

o y 


< > 

LU " 

o I 

^ i 


< s 

_l o 


U "- 



above. The dining-room, which was on the ground floor, opened into a little square vestibule 
which communicated, through an arched passage-way, with the main entrance into the court- 
yard. This vestibule was also directly at the foot of the wooden staircase leading to the next 
floor, and was scarcely six feet in width. Upon its left side, as one approached the stairway, 
was an obscure arch sunk deep in the wall, and completely in the shadow of the door. Be- 
hind this arch a portal opened to the narrow lane at the side of the house. The stairs them- 
selves were completely lighted by a large window, half Avay up the flight. The Prince came 
from the dining-room, and began leisurely to ascend. He had only reached the second stair 
when a man emerged from the sunken arch, and, standing within a foot or two of him, dis- 
charged a pistol full at his heart. Three balls entered his body, one of which passing quite 
through him struck with violence against the wall beyond. The Prince exclaimed in French, 
as he felt the wound, ' O my God, have mercy on my soul ! O my God, have mercy upon this 
poor people ! ' " 


MICHAEL MUISTKACSY was born at Munkacs, a viUage in Hungary, in 1846. The 
Hungarian form for Michael is Mihaly, and we believe that this is all the name to 
which the artist is strictly entitled, the name of Munkacsy being a mere patronymic derived 
from his native town and serving to distinguish this particular Michael from the thousand 
and one other Michaels on the planet. He was a poor boy, and with few to befriend him, 
since his parents died at the time of the Revolution, in which Hungary tried to escape from the 
grip of the Austrian octopus ; but an uncle took him in charge and put him apprentice to a 
cabinet-maker of the place to earn his living. He stopped for six years with this employer, and 
then launched out for himself as an artist, painting portraits, and small genre pictures, which 
he disposed of in Pesth, until he had laid up enough money to take him to Vienna. In the 
larger city he continued to prosper, and was soon able to go to Munich. Here he entered the 
studio of Franz Adam, and having taken prizes for three genre pictures found himself in 
funds to change Munich for Diisseldorf, where he completed his studies under Knaus and 
Vautier. His first success with the world at large was obtained by his "Last Days of a 
Condemned Man," exhibited at the Salon of 1870, and honored by the gold medal. In his 
earlier pictures, Munkacsy's obligations to Knaus were evident, but in the painting just 




mentioned he had the good fortune, for the first and only time in his life, to hit upon a 
subject drawn from real life and from his own experience. It was an old custom in Hungary 
to place a man condemned to death, just outside the prison-walls, and to put before his chair 
a table wdth a crucifix and a lighted candle, with a plate on which the charitably disposed 
might put an alms for the support of the family of the criminal. Such a scene had, no doubt, 
often met the eyes of the young artist, and the directness and simplicity with which he has 
painted it testify to the strong sympathy it excited in his mind. The artist has not wasted his 
time nor ours in the painting of if/^wi^'^, in this picture; the excellent painting of the table 

and the things it siTpports is not allowed to dis- 
tract our attention from the more important 
study of the human characters that make uj) 
the dramatis personcB of this \illage-tragedy. 
The criminal himself, the true centi'e of the 
story, is also skilfully made the centre of the 
composition — the strong light upon the cloth 
that covers the table draws the eye at ouce his 
way, and his natural isolation, by the drawing 
aloof of the crowd of villagers in a half -circle, 
moved alike by curiosity and fear, still fiu'ther 
emphasizes the importance of this figure. The 
j'P piteous action of the wife and child; the curi- 
osity, not unmixed with admiration, of the 
street-urchin who would fain draw near this chained wild-beast of a man, but that discretion 
gets the better of his valor, the various types of village-life that would naturally be drawn to 
such a scene — all these figures, painted with force in plenty, but without exaggeration and 
without posing, rightly earned for Munkacsy the public applause: applause that was genuine 
and not due to any interested dictation. Munkacsy's later works have not fulfilled these 
promises, although, if we were to judge by outward signs, the public delight in his pictures 
has not only not diminished, but has steadily increased. The truth is, that people in general 
are not deterred in looking at pictures by nice points of accuracy either in costume and sur- 
roundings or in the historical statement. If they were, there would be few pictures that 
would satisfy them, since artists in general care little for these things themselves. Thus 




Miinkacsy's picture, " Milton and his Daughters " has been a great favorite with the public, 
although it misrepresents the poet, puts the daughters in a light to which they have no claim, 
and makes Milton's surroundings those of a rich and luxurious man of the world, instead of 
the poor scholar living in a plainly furnished house as we know him by ample testimony. 
Doubtless, it would have been too much to ask that we should have been shown the grave, 



but cheerful old poet sitting as he is described to us, in his favorite attitude when he was 
dictating poetry, " somewhat aslant in an elbow chair with his leg thrown over one of the 
arms " — but at any rate we might have been spared this grim visage and theatrical attitude 
in depicting so simple-mannered and so honest a man. The daughters were by no means the 
pleasing domestic beings they are here represented— they were cross, undutiful, and disobedient, 
who rendered very grudging service to their father, and made his home so unhappy by their 


neglect, that he was obliged to marry in his old age that he might have some one to take care 
of him. He seldom called on them for assistance in writing from his dictation, generally em- 
ploying a man for that i^nrpose. This i:)icture is in the Lenox Library in New York, and 
whoever sees the richly furnished room in which the artist has placed Milton and his 
daughters will be surprised to learn, if he did not know it before^ that Milton died a poor man, 
leaving to his widow and children only about 900 pounds, in money, the income from his 
printed books amounting virtually to nothing. But it would be idle to push this sort of 
criticism too far in dealing with such a painter as Munkacsy. He cares nothing for such 
things, and had probably never heard the name of Milton before he was asked by the agent 
who exploits his talent to paint it for the market. All his pictures are open to the same 
criticism, and, not only so, but as the present writer has shown in another place (see The 
Studio for December, 1886), the artist's poverty of invention is so marked that nearly all his 
pictures will be found on examination to be built up on one of two schemes of arrangement. 
This was illustrated very amusingly in The Studio, by Mr. Joseph Keppler of Puck, who 
made an analysis in outline of eight of Munkacsy's principal pictures. 

One of the most popxxlar of the modern painters of Germany is Kael Ludwig Fried rich 
Becker, the author of the " Petition to the Doge," which we have selected out of his nu- 
merous works, to copy. Becker was born in Berlin in 1820, but after brief study there he went 
to Munich and worked for a time under the fresco-painter, Heinrich Hess. Later he returned 
to Berlin and assisted Cornelius in his fresco-painting in the Old Museum. By the aid of the 
Berlin Academy, Becker was enabled to go to Italy, where he passed three years, dividing his 
time between Rome and Venice, with which latter city he was greatly taken, and with the art 
of the Venetian school, particularly with that of Paul Veronese, whose coloring and general 
style he has endeavored to emulate, -with, it must be admitted, the least possible success. 
The judgment of his contemporaries on this manifestly clever painter is summed up in the 
nick-name " Costume-Becker " which has been given him, ostensibly to distinguish him from 
the other artists of the same name, of whom Meyer, in his Dictionary, enumerates no less 
than seven. Becker chooses his subjects always with a view to picturesqueness, and never 
from any private or personal interest, nor is his name associated, as in the case of even a mere- 
tricious painter like Munkacsy, with a single picture painted from the heart — all, with him, is 
mere show and stage-play, and the best praise that can be awarded his pictures is, that they 
fulfil the purpose for which they were designed, and give pleasure to a great many people 



who like bright colors and showy dresses with rich furniture setting off a striking dramatic 
incident without regard to possibility or even probability. The picture we copy will abun- 



dantly illustrate this estimate of the general character of Becker's work. An old Doge of 
Venice is issuing from his palace, half supported by the arm of his wife, and half by a stout 


cane. He is dressed in the regulation costume, fisherman's-cap (of stiflE gold brocade instead 
of the rude cotton of its type !), heavy ermine cape and robe of damask silk — without which 
we should not know him for a Doge, though most likely the dress was only worn on state 
occasions. The lady he is with, young and handsome, and of a purely modern type— an 
anachronism into which plenty of artists beside Becker have fallen, in our age of dressed-up 
studio-models — is richly attired in a gown of damasked silk with a costly necklace of pearls' 
and directs the Doge's attention to a lady as young and beautiful and modern as herself who 
has thrown herself on her knees and holds out a petition to the old Doge, doubtless for the 
pardon of her husband condemned to death or banishment for some political offense. She 
holds at her side her richly-dressed little girl, who shrinks in terror from an inoffensive grey- 
hound which turns to look at her as he comes down the steps. The back-ground of the 
picture is filled up with a showy scene-setting of marble columns with useless drapery of rich 
stuff impossibly fastened to them, a marble fire-place and mantel with a mirror, quite out of 
place — except for histrionic reasons — in so small a vestibule and in a Venetian palace to boot. 
We catch a glimpse, too, of a marble statue, and the otherwise vacant spaces are filled with 
officials of the Doge's household, pages and halberdiers. All these details, chosen with a keen 
eye to their decorative effect, are the marks by which we may always know a picture by 
Becker, as far as the eye can distinguish. Of inner meaning, of true human characterization, 
of real historical value, there will be found in them no trace. 

The picture by H^^go Koenig, " Desdemona's Defence of her Marriage with Othello," be- 
longs to the same family as that of Carl Becker, but shows much more dramatic power and 
an equal sense of decorative effect. If the artist have not succeeded in completely avoiding 
the appearance of a theatrical stage-setting, he has at least toned down this element, so hard 
to get completely rid of, and, as some might say, not desirable to get wholly rid of, in painting 
a scene from a stage-play. The main light of the picture falls upon the lovely delicate figure 
of Desdemona, as, supported and partly drawn to himself by Othello, she addresses her father 
Brabantio — who turns in indignation at his defeated purpose, to leave the hall. The artist 
has been particularly successful Avith Brabantio, a noble figure of an old man venerable with 
years and official dignity. Othello, too, is well conceived : his dark Moorish features brought 
into sharp contrast with Desdemona's virgin whiteness; and his bearing, at once proud and 
tender. In the background we see a youthful long-haired page prestimably in attendance 
on the court, and one or two figures dimly descried are probably intended for friends of 



Othello. At tlie right, beyond the Doge, Senators and nobles press forward to listen to this 
strange colloquy. Just behind Desdemona stands Emilia, who puts up her hand with a 
foreboding gesture as she hears Brabantio's word of warning : — 

"Look to her, Moor; have a quick eye to see. 
She has deceived her father, and may, thee." 

"DESDEMONA'S defence of her marriage with OTHELLO." 


At the right are the Senators and the Doge, or, as Shakespeare calls him, both here and 
in " The Merchant of Venice," the Duke. He has half risen from his chair of State, and looks 
at Brabantio eagerly, as if deprecating these harsh words. 


IX tnrning over the jiortfolios of pliotograjalis and etchings of German artists of our o^vn 
immediate time, we are struck with the great number of humorous subjects ; these and the 
sentimental subjects take up by far the larger part of the field ; history and genre occupying 
the rest. This liking for humorous subjects is comparatively of recent gi'owth, or so it appears 
to us ; among the older men, those who presided at the formation of the New School, there is 
but little to be found that is not of a distinctly serious turn ; it is all either religious, or illus- 
trative of history or legend, and the historical painting lends itself rather to epoch-making- 
deeds than to anecdotes of mere manners. In the coUection of modern German pictures that 
made tip the well-known Dusseldorf Gallery, exhibited in this city some twenty years ago, 
there was only one artist whose work was distinctly humorous; aU the others were devoted 
to themes that, in the vocabulary of the critics, are distinguished as the exclusive property 
of high art. The only pictures in this collection that had for sole aim the amusement of the 
spectator, were Hasenclever's (Pierre Paul : born at Remschied, in Westphalia, in 1810 and 
died in 185B) illustrations to the " Jobsiade," with his " Wine-tasters " — all the rest were of a 
more serious turn. In spite of the no doubt respectable claims upon the higher consideration 
of the public made by these more serious comj)ositions, it must be acknowledged that Hasen- 
clever's " Jobsiade " was much enjoyed by the public, and even at this late day it may be con- 
fessed that had the pictures been better painted, the clearness with which the story was told 
and the cleverness of characterization would have gone far to give them a permanent place 
among the modern works of their kind — if there be any permanency for Avork whose sole aim 
is to make us laugh at the follies of our kind ! 

The illtistrations to the "Jobsiade" were three; the "Leaving Home," "The University 
Examination," and " The Return of the Graduate." In the first picture we see the boy 
Hieronymus Jobs, setting out for the University, the object of the affectionate and highly 
demonstrative sympathy of the whole household; all of whom are broken-hearted at the 
prospect of losing, even for a brief period, the pride and pet of the family. The baby in the 
cradle, the little sisters and brothers, the old father and mother, all are weeping; but, with the 
elders, their pride in the prospective noble career of the son of the hoiise, tempers somewhat 
the grief natural to the parting. The second picture is the one we reproduce from the engrav- 
ing. It represents the appearance of Hieronymus before the learned pundits of the Univer- 
sity, who are listening with mingled feelings of amusement, contempt, indignation, and com- 
placency to the youngster's answers to their questions. Hasenclever has been compared to 

< > 

Q m 

5 g 

LiJ ^ 


I- 3 


Hogarth, but without much reason. Such resemblance as may be allowed, is merely superficial. 
Leaving out of view Hogarth's abundance and variety, his superiority as a painter prevents 
comparison with an artist like Hasenclever, who was not entitled to be called a painter ; his 
work is perfectly translatable into black and white ; whereas while the world at large knows 
Hogarth chiefly by engravings from his pictures, artists and amateurs of painting derive their 
greatest pleasure from the sweetness and delicacy of his coloring, and the precision and bril- 
liancy of his touch. A painter, as painters go, may care nothing whatever for what Hogarth 
has to say, but no painter worthy of the name could be insensible to Hogarth's mastery of his 
art. It is this union of qualities that gives him his permanent place in the Avorld of art; the 
skill of a Hasenclever goes only so far as to tickle the fancy of his generation and to raise a 
smile now and then upon the lips of those who come after. In his " Jobsiade," however, there 
is something of that universality of appeal which is recognized as much at one time as at an- 
other, but while the experience of Hieronymus is one that is perennially repeated, it is, for 
aU that, not an experience serious enough, or important enough, to affect us very deeply. The 
third picture in the series of the " Jobsiade " shows the return of the student after his five 
years' course at the University ; he has passed from the chrysalis state to the full blown 
" graduate," who appears in all the glory of the fast young man of the period, booted and 
spurred, his empty head crowned with a cocked hat, cracking his whip, and astonishing his 
simple-hearted family mth his boisterous ways. 

Since Hasenclever's day, the class of subjects he cultivated has been taken up by others, and 
the men of our own day have rather overstocked the market with drinking-bouts, wine-tastings, 
and beer-contests on the one side, and bourgeoise anecdotes on the other. A worthy successor 
to Hasenclever is Eduaed Grxjtzkeb, born in 1846 at Grosskarlowitz— a town of Silesia belong- 
ing to the Circle of Oppeln. He made his first studies at the Grymnasium of Neisse. Here 
the architect Hirschberg recognized his talent and assisted him to make his way to Munich, 
where he became one of the favorite pupils of Piloty. His first work belonged rather to the 
conventional school; he painted for the house of his friend Hirschberg a series of panels in 
oil, representing the "Arts," but his tastes all led him in a different direction, and in 1869 he 
made a marked impression on the public by the first of his well-known illustrations to' Shake- 
speare—the scene from Henry IV. with Falstaff and Mistress Quickly in the Tavern. This 
was generously applauded and followed by others equally successful; "Falstaff and his 
Recruits;" "Falstaff in the Buckbasket "— f rom the Merry AVives of Windsor, with scenes 


from the " Taming of the Shrew " and the " Twelfth Night." From Shakespeare he turned 
to Goethe and painted one or two pictures from Faust. 

The monks then attracted him, and he began that long series of good-natured satires upon 
tlie brotherhood, with whose foibles his name is now as closely associated as that of his French 
contemporary Vibert. As one of the paragraphists says of him : he seems to have been im- 
pressed with the perpetual " thirst " of the monks, and he shows them to us drinking, in all 
sorts of situations. We have tliem tasting wine in the cellar, surprised in their pious cups 
by the ringing of the vesper-bell, tasting the first vintage of the cloister- vineyard and so forth, 
and so on. But Griitzner does not confine himself to the potations of the brothers ; he takes 
the whole life of the monastery — the secular side to be sure, for while there is no malice in 
his pictures there is no trace of religious sentiment in them — and we are presented with a 
series of anecdotes, glimpses of the every-day doings of these religious. Here is the monastery- 
tailor placidly busy mending the garments of his brethren, and here are two brothers who have 
fished out of the library-bookshelves some volunae, not as orthodox as might be, which, for 
all that, seems to have greatly tickled their carnal fancy. But as we have intimated, all this 
is done in a sjjirit very different from that of the French Vibert; one can fancy the German 
monks shaking their fat sides in honest enjoyment over their good-humored countryman's 
account of them. Griitzner has no mind to be called a specialist, and having said his say 
about the monks, he has now turned his guns upon the hunters, and laughs at them in a way 
that recalls Defregger and Vautier, though without imitation. Still later he has tried his 
liand on a subject such as Meissonier might have chosen — "An Amateur of Art in his 
Cabinet." This picture has been much praised for its expression of character, and for the way 
in which the various details are painted. The picture we have chosen to give an idea of 
Griitzner's talent is one of the series of anecdotes of monastic life. It is called " Shaving-day 
in the Monastery," and certainly needs no explanation; even the title is superfluous, and we 
amuse ourselves in studying the different characters of the monks, and the easy, natural way 
in which they are grouped. 

Iglee, an artist whose name has not as yet arrived at the dignity of the dictionaries, never- 
theless shows himself a clever workman in the same field with Griitzner. His " Kindhearted 
Friar " is a picture that would make a good pendant to Adolf Liiben's " Visit to the Sick," 
there is a diSerence, of course, in the way the kindness and pity are shown, but the kindness 
and pity are the same. Here is a poor boy from the village who has, it would appear, no one 



to look after his clothes; either his mother is dead, or she is one of those incapables — happily 
rare among women — who can neither make, mend, nor darn, and whose offspring are necessarily 
left to the tender mercies of others. Happy for such if some good old aunt or grandmother 

Vor,. IT.— 7 




come to th.e rescue, or if necessity teach, the neglected ones to help themselves as we saw 
the " Poor Student " doing, in Steinheil's picture in an earlier number of our book. In the 
case of our boy a kind hearted friar, the convent-tailor, has taken pity on him and while 
he'is mending the urchin's breeches he is at the same time helping him with his book and 
trying to put some good ideas into his head, but it looks very much as if the youngster's 
mind were on the game of ball that is to be played as soon as he can be made presentable to 
the world, rather than on the book he holds in his lap, or on the wise counsels of the friar. 
Yet it is not uncomfortable in the monk's cell. There is a good stove at the boy's back — one of 
those porcelain stoves that are still so common in Germany, and which are not only handsome 
to look at, with their rich green, or brown, or snow-white tiles, but are very comfortable things 
to have in the house. Generally the seat of the old mother or grandmother of the family is 
in the corner where the good brother is sitting, and where, to judge by Ms tailoring-apparatus 
disjDlayed on the table at his side, and the basket on the floor with a supply of clothes to be 
mended, he may often be found at work. On the wall behind him hang his pincushion and 
thread-case, and a beer-mug and a piece of bread are standing ready on the sill. Less acces- 
sible are some books set up on a projecting ledge of the thick wall, and another ledge supports 
a religious picture, about whose frame tke brother has stuck some green branches gathered in 
his walks. A quiet, peaceful little picture, ministering to love and good-will, and sure to 
give pleasure to children and innocent people. It is not what we call high art, but it is not to 
be despised, for the artist has shown no little skiU in the technical part of his work; the 
picture is Avell composed, nothing is here that is not needed, and the effect of the whole is 
as pleasing to the eye as to the mind. 

If we are to judge by their pictures, it would seem that the German artists are as miich 
concerned with celebrating the thirst of their countrymen in general, as Griitzner is said to be 
with, celebrating the thirst of the monks. Here is Albert Schroeder, an artist who came to 
Dresden in 1876 and has since been diligently painting there, pictures that recall the work 
of Moreau and Leloir, though with something less of elegance. Our plate — " Your Health ! " 
is, we imagine nothing more than an incident in the courtly life of the Renaissance time — a 
family-party celebrating the coming of age of the eldest son who responds in gallant fashion to 
the greetings of his parents and sisters. The rich furniture and decoration of the room, the 
refined sumptuosities of tke table, the dresses of the personages — costly enough, for all their 
large simplicity — all this is painted for no other purpose than to please the eye with a picture 



of by -gone luxury and to charm the fancy with the notion that somewhere, at some time, man 
and his surroundings were in a perfect harmony, exempt from all the accidents of wear and 
tear that vex the souls of housekeepers. There is, of course, no more truth in such represen- 
tations than there is in what is know as the " historical novel " — Scott's " Kenilworth " for 
example, that takes no note of the discrepancies that existed in the material surroundings of 



the richest jseople. They could command splendor and luxury, but not comfort, and in many 
cases the contrasts are amusing for us to reflect upon— Queen Elizabeth, for example, dressed 
on days of state with the barbaric sumptuousness of an Indian idol, but A^dthout stockings — 
and while in the best houses and at the table of the queen dishes and drinking- vessels of 
silver and even of gold were to be found, the needs of the mass had to be supplied with 
pewter, or the coarsest earthenware or even wood. But in pictures of the class to which this 


of Schroeder's belongs, we find the objects that in the time which produced them, were scat- 
tered through many houses, here collected into one, and a completeness and unity suggested 
that in reality could not have been possible. However, there is no need of considering this 
too seriously, — such idealizations have always found favor with the public ; they are as old as 
the oldest poetry and fiction, and they will continue to be provided by writers and artists as 
long as the world shall last. 

Ernst Hildebrand, another contributor to our gallery of " drinking-pieces " was bom in 
Falkenburg in 1833, and studied his art under Stefieck, the animal painter, in Berlin. He re- 
mained in Berlin, with the exception of a year's stay in Paris, until 1875, when he accepted a 
professorship in the art-school at Carlsruhe. He began as a decorative painter, then took up 
portraiture, and finally settled down into genre-painting. In this field he has paiuted a great 
many works attractive to the general public; " Margaret in Prison," " Suffer little Children to 
come unto Me," and specially " The Sick Child " — artather and mother watching with anxiety 
the outcome of the crisis in their little one's illness ; this scene is depicted with a deep but 
quiet feeling which would be more remarkable if other Gennan artists had not shown an 
equally sympathetic skill in dealing with subjects of a like nature. The example we have 
selected from Hildebrand's work is of a less serious character. It is the picture of a stoutly 
built younker of the fifteenth century in all his bravery of parti-colored hose, slashed shoes, 
and slashed leathern doublet, with his sword at his belt and a broad hat and feather slung at 
his waist (since for his more ease he wears a loose hood on his head) and holding up a huge 
pewter tankard which, Avith God's blessing on good liquor, he is about to toss off to our better 

WiLHELM Stetowski, the painter of the " Chance Meeting," was born at Danzig in 1884, 
and studied, with so many others of his time, under Yon Schadow at Diisseldorf. His ap- 
prenticeship completed, he made a student-journey to Galicia, led in that direction, perhaps, 
by race-affinities, then to Holland and Paris, returning and settling doA\Ti in his native place. 
His special talent lies in pictures of peasant life, or popular life generally ; he excels particu- 
larly in depicting the life of the Fleissen, Slaves and Jews. He knows these people thoroughly, 
and his pictures are full of characteristic and individual points. Some of the subjects he has 
painted in the last twenty years are " Fleissen by their Evening-fiire on the river Weichsel," 
" Fleissen resting after Work," " Polish Jews in their Synagogue," " Scene during the Polish 
Insurrection," " Israelites in Prayer at the time of the New Moon," etc., etc. As we may see 










by their titles his pictures are generally of a serious character, but the one we have chosen is 
of a decidedly humorous cast. The scene is in Danzig, high up on the roof of a house where 



a tiler, busy at his work setting the ridge-tiles afresh, sees a chimney-sweep emerging from a 
neighboring chimney, and politely offers his grimy brother a pinch of snxiff from his generously 


opened box. Both tlie men perceive the humor of the situation, and sympathetic grins illu- 
minate their respective faces. Under the influence of the odd situation and by the intervention 
of tobacco, the universal solvent — caste is for the moment forgotten, and the man of soot and 
the man of plaster are at one. There is a pleasant sense of open air in this picture. Fortu- 
nately we are not made too uncomfortable by the smoke from the nearest chimney, since the 
%vind beats it down and about the lower tiles ; for the moment its thin veil is withdrawn, and 
we can enjoy the amusing rencounter in company with the other observer who looks at it from 
the window of the opposite tower. The glimpse of the roof -architecture of Danzig is pleasant, 
too; the characteristic tower-forms and the gables rivalling the Jacobean architectures of 
England, aud the winged dragon on the summit of the gable of the house on which these men 
are working, with the lightning-rod ingeniously carried up the monster's back, and ending in 
the sword he waves so menacingly. Yet how few Americans who look at this picture will 
understand by their owtl recollections what it means — this man sitting on the chimney-top, 
so long is it since a veritable chimney-sweep has been seen in these parts. Charles Lamb's 
Essay, " The Praise of Chimney Sweepers," reads to this generation, and especially to Ameri- 
cans, like a tale of medifeval manners ; in his days the law had not yet stepped in to prevent 
the employment of children in sweeping chimneys. " I like," he says, " to meet a sweeps 
understand me —not a grown sweeper — old chimney-sweepers are by no means attractive — but 
one of those tender novices, blooming*through their first nigritude, the maternal washings not 
quite effaced from the cheek —such as come forth with the dawoi, or soinewhat earlier, with 
their little professional notes sounding like the ^eep, peep, of a young sparrow ; or liker to 
the matin lark should I pronounce them, in their aerial ascents not seldom anticipating the 
sun-rise? ******** 

" When a child, what a mysterious pleasure it was to witness their operation ! to see a chit 
no bigger than one's seK, enter, one knew not by what process, into what seemed the fauces 
averni — to pursue him in imagination, as he went sounding on through so many dark stifling 
caverns, horrid shades — to shudder with the idea that 'now, surely he must be lost forever! ' 
— to revive at hearing his feeble shout of discovered daylight — and then (O fulness of 
delight!) running out of doors, to come just in time to see the sable phenomenon emerge 
in safety, the brandished weapon of his art victorious like some flag waved over a con- 
quered citadel ! " 

In short, the chimney-sweeper, young or old, is generally a thing of the past, even in 


countries where the use of bituminous coal or other soot-producing fuel makes frequent 
cleaning of the flues necessary; machinery, coming to the aid of the law, has made it unneces- 
sary for human beings to go up the chimneys broom in hand, and we suspect that, even in 
Danzig, Mr. Stryowski's picture would be considered an amusing picture of a " survival " 
rather than a record of a general contemporary custom. 

In Treuenfels' " En Passant," we have an encounter of a different kind from the one de- 
picted by Stryowski, but the two would make amusing pendants. A Spanish market-man on 
his morning road to market, his donkey laden with the produce of his garden, stops his beast 
under the wall of a house where lives a girl of his acquaintance, who, just in the nick of time — 
knowing nothing, of course, of his hour for passing — pops her head over the terrace-parapet, 
and invites him to a flirtation. He, nothing loth, springs to his donkey's back, and from this 
poiat of vantage carries on the merry war of words ; the objective point being the bunch of 
garden-flowers he holds behind his back. He has not hid them quick eno^^gh, however, to 
escape her discovery, as her pointed finger shows, and she laughingly reproaches him for hav- 
ing destined it for another girl, to which he swears by all the saints in the Spanish calendar, 
etc., etc, 

" Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. 
Men were deceivers ever. 
One foot on sea, and one on shore. 
To one thing constant never." 

Nor is the case altered when both feet are on a donkey's back ; deceiving comes no less 
easy. Constancy is the word, however, with the donkey — comfortable, patient little Creature, 
covered over with his absurdly disproportioned load already, but never so much as winking, 
when the solid avoirdupois of his master is added to the burden. The donkey and his load 
are prettily painted— the so-called animal rather better painted, one may think, than the 
human beings! 

A more important artistic jDersonality than all who have come before us in this part of 
our work is : 

LuDwiG Knaus. This most famous of the German genre-painters and the head of the 
younger Dusseldorf school, was born in 1829 in Wiesbaden. He made his studies at the 
Academy in Dusseldorf in 1846 and remained there, under Sohn and Schadow, until 1852. He 
then betook himself to Paris and studied there continuously, with the exception of one year 



— 1857-58 — passed in Italy, for eight years, during which time he sought to make himself 
familiar with the whole method of modern French painting, and as a result of his industry. 


which would have availed but little had he not possessed a remarkable natural talent, he 
reached a point where his skill was acknowledged bj^ the French themselves. He achieved 

< <3 

5 < 

I- Q- 


distinction at once on Ms first appeal to tlie public; exhibiting in 1858 "The Golden Wed- 
ding," and in 18o9, " The Baptism." It was by this latter picture, better known here as " The 
Christening," that he was first introduced to America, and we must think that in spite of all 
we have seen and learned since that time, this picture, so warmly, enthusiastically greeted, 
would still be found to possess sterling qualities siich as will preserve it, for a long time at 
least, from the fate that so often overtakes popular favorites. Before we come to consider it 
more at length, we will continue our story of Knaus's movements up to the present time, 
although his life, like that of most artists, has been so uneventful that a few words will suffice 
for the outline. In 1860 he left Paris and passed a year in his native Wiesbaden ; lived from 
1861 to '66 in Berlin, then made a brief stay of eight years in Diisseldorf, and in 1874 took up 
his residence in Berlin, accepting the position of Professor in the Academy of that city, where 
he still remains actively engaged in teaching and in painting. Some fears were entertained 
lest the duties of his professorship should engross too much time better given to his art, and 
also lest the narrow, provincial spirit of the capital where, under the shadow of swords, neither 
art nor letters have ever flourished, should quench the light of his talent. But no such bane- 
ful efl:ect has resulted : Knaus's talent is too well grounded to be thrown off its balance so 
easily, his technical skill is the result of long years of steady practice and of conviction, and 
it was not to be supposed that at the age when he went to Berlin to live he would change his 
methods of work or his artistic aims. For the rest, Knaus's aims in art have never been in 
advance of his public ; there is nothing mystic, searching, or aspiring in it, and the only time 
when he attempted to rise above the level of his humorous or pathetic domesticities and anec- 
dotes — in the " Holy Family " painted for the Empress of Russia — he signally failed to satisfy, 
not merely the person for whom it was made, but the public at large. " The Baptism," of 
which our copy gives a reasonably good idea, is perhaps the highest of all Knaus's achieve- 
ments, and certainly shows him in a very favorable light, whether we look at the technical 
excellence of the work or the spirit of the composition. We are shown the living-room of 
the family in a peasant household of the better class ; the furniture and fittings are of the 
simplest character, but all is comfortable if homely. There is the usual porcelain stove with 
the hanging shelf above it ; the rude cupboard ; on the shelf the prayer-book, and the almanac 
on its nail at the side ; the solid table, set with the festival-breakfast, and the plain bench 
alongside it that serves the youngsters of the family for a seat —the few chairs being reserved 
for the elders and for guests. The chief figure in this picture is, no doubt, that of the young 


mother, who for the first time since her confinement, sits up and takes her part in the intro- 
duction of her youngest born to this pleasant world and the pleasant people in it, now to be 
given a name of his own ; no longer an indistinguishable human particle but a concrete John 
or Paul. She has dressed herself for the happy occasion in simple fresh holiday attire ; an 
embroidered stomacher encircled with a cheerful ribbon sash, ..a ruffled muslin fichu that 
allows a necklace of gold beads to peej) out, and a modestly embroidered skirt of muslin over 
her figured gown. She is not very strong as yet ; her hands lie softly in her lap and her head 
rests on the back of tne chair — this chair the best the house affords, relic of some richer 
family in older days — and her face turns with a faint smile toward the queer little chap 
bundled up in old-world fashion — who blindly conceives that something is to be done to him ; 
he knows not what, but doesn't like it, and by no means content with the good old Lutheran 
parson's way of holding him. Near the wife sits the husband, holding one of the younger 
children on his lap while he dips his coffee-cake into his cup, but doesn't eat it as yet, for the 
pride he has in looking over at the baby. The little girl is not altogether content ; she feels 
that something has happened to dethrone her from the place she held but a few days since; 
her eyes are on her mother's face — who is looking somewhere else; so she cuddles up more 
closely to her father's bosom — her father, too, with only half a thought for her. Meanwhile 
the young gentleman, the heir of the family, who, till the appearance of this stranger was 
certainly not second in the family, stands by his father's chair, rosy-cheeked, hair curling 
lightly round his pretty head, slowly making away with a slice of christening-cake, and with 
an annf ul of apples, but even more intent on the new arrival than on the discussion of these 
unwonted dainties — his toy-horse and ball, too, neglected on the floor. The central group 
of the composition is made up of the venerable pastor holding the much-swaddled infant in his 
arms, the old grandparents on either side — the grandmother a little anxious at the creature's 
cries, the grandfather, on the contrary, much pleased thereat and asking the parson whether 
he doesn't consider that cry proof of a lusty pair of lungs. The family poodle, pushing up 
from under the table-cloth, must needs add his voice to the baby's, but his is another nose-out- 
of -joint, for nobody marks him. The slatternly housemaid; the two little girls, the younger 
and older sisters of the baby's mother, equally proud of their new nephew; their big brother, 
who blows his coffee to cool it, with the usual indifference of big-brothers^to family incidents of 
this nature; the neighbor's little daughter, who comes timidly in for her share of the festivity 
and for a sight of the baby, ushered in by one of her village admirers, who looks at her 



askance from behind the friendly shelter of the door, and greeted Avith a friendly word by 
the old schoolmaster, who takes his pipe from his lips to say good-morning — such is the 
draTnatis personce of this once favorite picture, which is now owned in this country. 

The " Glance Behind the Scenes " is one of Knaus's latest pictures ; painted in 1880, it is 
now in the Dresden Museum. Here, surrounded by all the frippery and utilities of their art 
we see the poor family of wandering acrobats resting a bit before they are called on to renew 
their gambols for the village public. The factotum pulls aside the rude curtain to give the 
summons and we catch a glimpse of the slender audience, while, high in the air an unskilful 
apprentice at rope-dancing, essays some anxious steps. Inside the tent, the father in his 
pitiful clown's dress feeds the baby from a nursing-bottle. The wife, resting with outstretched 
legs from her arduous performance of Queen of the Air, and with a big shawl wrapped about 
her shoulders, listens to the delicate compliments of the village lawyer, who puffs his cigar 
between his sallies of bovine wit. This gentleman is well protected from the weather by his 
thick coat and warm gloves, but the father draws close to the stove, where the soup is cooking 
and the potatoes, roasting, and the two pretty children whose part in life it is to be tossed 
about in the air like balls, are trying to get a little warmth from the same source. The per- 
forming-dogs, too, seek the comfortable neighborhood of the stove, and the children, in sj^ite 
of their familiarity with the animals, must chat a little with them as they stretch out their 
hands to the fire. Scattered all about the tent-floor are the properties of the troupe ; the 
mantle of the Queen of the Air inscribed with mystic characters, is drying on the line after the 
recent shower — here are the weights, and the tambourine, and the cannon-balls, and at one 
side, the bedding and the camp-chest of these jioor children of fortune — all this scattered 
detail painted with the utmost skill and delicacy, and yet Avith a freedom that makes the mere 
painting of Knaus a pleasure apart from his subject. 

The other pictures of Knaus need no particular description; he who runs may read. " The 
Cock of the Walk " is not a character peculiar to Germany, nor, were he always so attractive 
in his personality as this manly little chaj?, would the breed be so out of favor. But, it is 
one of Knaus's characteristics that, without being in the least sentimental, he always contrives 
to present everything on its good side or, let us say, its agreeable side — and there are few 
things that have not a side on which they can be enjoyed. A Cock of the Walk might be a 
bullying, blustering, or sulky chap ; such an one Knaus would never be drawn to paint. The 
one he has painted has no doubt a good notion of his own importance and enjoys a pleasing 



contidence in his power to have his own way. But he has two virtues to one fault. He 
stands his ground, but keeps his hands in his pockets till he needs to use them ; the carnation- 
pink he chews on, both shows he has some native refinement — else he might have chosen a 
straw — and serves as an excuse for keeping his mouth shut till the time comes for speaking. 



Though poor, he is a tidy little man, and maintains his dignity by keeping his clothes in 
good order! 

And so with the "Wisdom of Solomon! " Who but Knaus could make an old clothes 
dealer, and a Jew at that (Tell it not in Gath!) instructing his shop-boy in the elusive arts of 



his trade — so essentially human and respectable that, far from being repelled by him we are 
strongly attracted to him and listen to his instructions— or wish we could — with a\adity. 
How he delights in the aptitude of his pupil; how conscious he is to himself of the humorous 



side of Ms code of morals ; the action of Ms right hand compared with that of the boy's shows 
that he has been forestalled in his application of the Wisdom of Solomon to the old-clothes 
trade by the qiiicker wit of his disciple, and a sympathetic chord is struck between the two. 
There has been a war or a revolution, and the old man sits in 2Lfauteuil wrested from some 
palace or chateau; behind him a pUe of rich coats and waistcoats, breeches and top-boots; 
even the trumpet of the regiment's band has made its way to this den with the rest, and the 
sword of some fallen officer. But the elder takes it all philosophically, and teaches the 
younger one the art to transform all this disorder indicative of "second-hand" into the 
tempting regularity and neatness of the " new stock " that shows folded and orderly on the 
shelves at the left. 


ALOIS GABL, a genre painter of talent, the painter of the truthful and amusing " Grand- 
^ mother's Fairy-tale," was born in Wies, in Pitzthal, in Tyrol, in 1845, and made his way 
through many and serious difficulties to the study of art. In 1862 he went to Munich, where 
he studied at first under Schraudolph and Ramberg, and later under Piloty. In the beginning, 
he seemed bent on following the footsteps of Defregger, which would have been a pity, since, 
even if we admit that we cannot have too much of so clever a man as Defregger, we certainly 
can have too much of his imitators — and of imitators, good, bad, and indifferent, Defregger 
has enough and to spare. Gabl's first success with the public was gained by his lively and 
dramatic representation of " Haspinger Preaching Eevolt," but his next picture, " Recruiting 
in Tyrol," was even better received, owing no doubt to the subject. Some of his pictures 
painted after these first successes were not so fortunate with the public, but in 1877, at the 
Berlin Exhibition, he again came to the front with his very clever " His Excellence as Referee," 
in which he took o£E in the most amusing manner the love of quarrelling attribiited — by their 
neighbors, of course — to the people of Uxjper Bavaria. Whether any painter of Upper Bavaria 
has tried to express in a picture the special failing, whatever it may happen to be, of the 
people of Lower Bavaria, we are not informed. Gabl followed this success with others of a 
similar humorous character, among them the picture we here present to our readers. There 
is an Italian character about this picture, reminding us of the work of Chierici, whose clever 
" Fun and Fright " is one of the public's favorites in the Corcoran Gallery. This expression 




may be derived from Gabl's Tyrolean extraction. At any rate, there is a vein of humor in his 
picture, of a sort not common in German subjects ; something appealing more to the fancy and 
less to the animal spirits than we generally find in Teutonic essays in this direction. In this 
plain Tyrolese kitchen the children of the family are gathered together of a cold afternoon 
when the corner by the big porcelain stove is comfortable and cozy, to beg a ghost-story, a real 
creepy-crawly ghost-story, of grandmother. There are five of them, counting the baby, and 
they are seated about the sturdy table with the slanting legs pecu.liar to the Tyrol, listening 
with their bodies as well as with their ears to the delightfully horrible narrative as it spins 
itself slowly out with blood-curdling details to a ghastly close. Slowly, slowly, old Granny's 
finger is raised, and although the children have heard the story before, and know what is 
coming, the fascination is still potent, and they await the climax with the same intensity of 
dread that held them in its grip when the experiment upon their credulity was first tried. 
The only one who is proof against the coming blow is the boy who is chuckling with inward 
delight in the antici]Dation of Granny's final dart at the pale-faced crowd with her pointed 
skinny finger ;' and is fully determined to show her that boys are not as silly as girls ! His 
elder sister has a look of mingled disgust and fear as, conscious of her own weakness to resist, 
she yet dreads the coming climax. The girl next her, holding the baby, is less moved than 
the rest ; the baby itself seems more disturbed at the low whispered crooning of the old dame 
than her nurse. The child in front, sidling away on her big stool, is somewhat in sympathy 
with her brother, whose courage she admires, though she can hardly emulate it. The old 
grandmother is a capital figure, and her attitude is well conceived. She is not too old to enjoy 
the situation ; she enters fully into the humor of it, and will laugh as heartily when the final 
scare comes, as the merry-faced boy himself. There is great skill required in telling a story 
like this with the brush. It is difficult to keep within the line that separates truth from ex- 
aggeration. A word for the technical skill that has placed this group of people so deftly in 
light and air ! " We can see all around them," as the phrase is. And in spite of its homeli- 
ness, there is something pleasant about the room. If it be homely and plain, it is a comfort- 
able place, and the solid furniture and belongings speak of well-to-do people. There are some 
plates of painted faience on a rack, for holiday-use, and grandmother has a chair to herself 
well stuffed and made to shield her from the draughts. High up on the wall by the stove is 
a picture of the Virgin with a lamp suspended before it and a holy-water cup below it, with a 
medal of the Pope, and alongside the Virgin a smaller picture of some other saint. The 


father is out hunting; a pair of shoes is under the bench that goes round the stove, warming 
for him against his return. His young son, as his hat and feather show, shares his sport 
sometimes, or, rather, for liunting is not all sport with these mountaineers, sometimes helps 
him at his trade. 

Hans Dahl, though not a German by birth, has so identified himself with the country 
where he was educated, and where he lives and works, that we are justified in considering him 
hei'e. He Avas born at Hardanger, in Norway, in 1849, as his Scandinavian name would lead 
us to suspect. The first years of his youth were passed in the military school, and he had at 
one time the desire to be an officer in the army, but after two years, in 1871, he abandoned 
this design and gave himself up to the study of painting. He made his first studies at Carls- 
ruhe, where he had for professors, Riefstahl — of whom we have already spoken — and Hans 
Glide, a countryman of his own born at Christiana, in Norway, but now settled at Carlsbad as 
professor in the place of Schirmer, lately deceased. Gude, as we shall see, had found small 
encouragement for his art in Norway, and the same lot befell Dahl, but in spite of this failure 
on the part of their countrymen — a failure due to no want of appreciation, but rather to want 
of means and opportunity, since the Norwegians are not a rich people — both Gude and Dahl 
keep their country constantly in mind in their pictures ; Gude's landscapes have carried the 
beauty and grandeur of Norway scenery over all the world, and in a less imposing, less im- 
portant way, Dahl's pictures convey the same national flavor. The first introduction of this 
pleasant humorist to our country was through a photograph from one of his pictures repre- 
senting some country -girls sliding on the ice. They were coming swiftly toward the spectator, 
in a line, one immediately following the other, their eyes sparkling, their faces aglow with ex- 
citement, their bodies erect, intent, and with such a sense of life, that for weeks, so long as the 
picture remained in the window of the shop where it was shown, it was always surrounded 
by a group of smiling faces. Of course, it was a trifle, but in a world where trifles play so 
large a part, and where it is to be hoped they may long be allowed to plaj^ it, the solemn duty 
of the trifler is to do his work well ; to go at it with zest, to keep it up with spirit, and never, 
on any account, to apologize for his or its existence. 

The picture by Dahl here presented to the reader: "Too Late" is not so full of animal 
spirits as the " Snow Slide," but it is an amusing anecdote of country-side life, and tells its story 
as cleverly. The aftermath is gathering, and the edges of the meadows left untouched by the 
scjrthe of the reaper are cut by the gleaner, and carried off to the farm-yard as bedding for 



O h 

o y 


the cattle. On the farm the women take their turn at field-work with the men, and this' 
afternoon, Olga has gone with Bruno and Olaf to the field that lies along the^orcZ near its 
mouth, separated from the water by a shelving lip of sand, and a narrow belt of thin grass and 
lady-birches. The afternoon has worn away, and Bruno and Olga have scraped together a 
few armfuls of hay, but, with so much laughing and chatting, they have accomplished less 
than might have been hoped for. And now comes Olaf, with a bundle of hay on his head as 
big, to say the least, as Bruno's and Olga's put together. He has come down the bank in 
answer to their call, and balancing his load by the rope that holds it together, has stepped out 
upon the stones, expecting to find the boat in waiting, and after adding his hay to the load, 
to row home to supper with his companions We can see the situation at a glance. No sooner 
have Olaf's sabots landed with a clumjo on the last stone, than Bruno with a malicious grin 
and a strong sweep of the oar has pulled off the boat, and Olga dropping her oar and com- 
mitting it to the care of its improvised rowlock, starts up laughing at the jplight of her good- 
natured companion, and at his puzzled face looking out of his bundle of hay like a bird out 
of its nest. However, with three such friends, we need not trouble ourselves over the out- 
come of this jjiece of sport. After the due amount of chaffing has been gone through Avith, 
Bruno will reverse his sweeps, Olaf will step aboard, add his burden of hay to the rest, and 
taking up Olga's oar, while she seats herself upon the soft pile, they will row home along the 
'liord to tell the story of Olaf's discomfiture to their mates about the supper-table. The land- 
scape in this picture is an example of Dahl's skill in harmonizing his figures with their sur- 
roundings. These hardy, cheerful people mixing up mirth and mischief with the hours of the 
laboring day, have a look very different from that of the French jjeasant, as we see him, at 
least, in pictures; either the real peasant of Millet or the make-believe ones of Breton. And 
Dahl, who knows his native landscape as well as he knows his own people, has placed them 
in a corner of the land just suited to them. They belong to this grassy shore — one of many 
breaks in the gray mountain-wall — with its light fringe of birches, and its strip of silver sand; 
the clear water spreading out with rippling haste into the sunshine from under the dark cliff 
— a scene of mingled brightness and strength. 

There is a group of artists in Germany who are devoted to the cult of little children and 
of youth. They seem to have a peculiar insight into the nature of young people; an innate 
sympathy with them; and certainly they have a skill altogether their own in reporting their 

actions and attitudes. The French had a master in this field — Edouard Frere — but his is 
Vol. II.— 8. * * 


almost the only name of note in Ms country to be seriously considered. Boutet de Monvel 
lias an undeniable cleverness, and is always amusing, but he verges too closely upon carica- 
ture ; even his style of drawing suggests that he is not in earnest, and does not mean to be taken 
seriously. And, then, the world of children he introduces us to is not the world we all know ; 
it is a world peculiar, not to France, even, but to Paris; nowhere outside of Paris could 
children such as this artist has created be found, or, let us say, imagined. The English, too, 
curiously enough, considering how fond they are of children, and what success they have had 
in creating a type of childhood and youth such as has not been approached by any other 
people, have had hardly any success at all in depicting their masterpiece, after they have 
made it. The children of Reynolds are not real children; those of Gainsborough are more 
like flesh and blood, but they rather resemble undergrown men and women than children; an 
objection with which the costume of the time may have something to do. 

In our own day, in England, we have Walter Crane and Kate Greenaway, both of whom 
have made a wide reputation among English-speaking/ people by their illustrated picture-books 
for children, and they have both done pleasant work, especially Walter Crane, but neither 
seems capable of completely sympathizing with childish nature ; neither is as unconscious as 
childhood. Especially is this the case with Miss Greenaway, whose children are not only 
always posing, but pouting as well ; it is noticeable that among all the children she has drawn, 
scarcely one will be found who does not look either cross or unhappy. 

In Germany, however, there are artists not a few, who have taken the field of childhood 
— strevtTi with daisies and buttercups, —for their field, and charming are the things they have 
done in it. This love for children, and sympathy with their lives, is an old inheritance with 
the Germans ; some of old Lucas Cranach's pictures — one subject in particular that he was 
very fond of, " The Repose in Egypt " — are as lively in their presentation of the charm of 
infancy as the bas reliefs of Luca della Robbia; and Diirer himself, in his treatment of the 
same subject, has shown a surprising sense of participation in the frolicsome mirth of children. 
So that our modern Germans come rightly by their prosperity in the same vein. The best of 
them, indeed, Ludwig Richter, would seem to have been inspired by the study of these older 
■German masters. 

Adrian Ludwig Richter was born in 1803 at Dresden. He died in 1884, at the ad- 
vanced age of eighty-one. He learned his art from his father, who was a copper-plate engraver 
.of some repute, but he preferred to be a painter, and it would seem that his tastes led him to 



landscape-painting rather than to the figure. In pursuit of subjects, he travelled Avith Count 
Narischkin through France, and south as far as Nice; later he made a tour in the German 
Alps, and by the sale of the sketches made in these journeys he was enabled in 1826 to go on 
an extended visit to Italy. In 1828 he was made Professor of Drawing at the Meissen Porce- 
lain-factory, and in 1836 he went to Dresden, where he both practised his art as landscape- 
painter and filled the chair of Professor in the Academy. He had already gained some repu- 
tation for his skill in introducing figures into his landscapes, but his biographers tell us that 
it was the sight of certain illustrations by Count von Pocci that first led him to the field he 
came to occupy with so much distinction. In the begin- 
ning, he confined himself to illustrations of books and 
poems; folk-songs, student-songs, the popular tales of 
Musseus, Schiller's " Song of the BeU," etc., etc. ; these 
were so warmly welcomed by the public that he was led on 
to making designs of his own, and from time to time pro- 
duced his illustrations for the " Lord's Prayer," together 
with " Out of Doors," " Old and New," and others, from 
which latter series we have selected two or three designs 
for our readers' pleasure. In these designs, Richter intro- 
duces us into a world of his own discovery; a very pretty 
place indeed, but little less than a children's " Land of 
Cockayne." It is a world of solid German comfort, chiefly adrian ludwig richter. 

inhabited it would seem by children, beings of perfect innocence, as of human doves or lambs, 
and of perfect health of body, who live in the prettiest toy-houses imaginable, with the 
neatest and most picturesque surroundings — ^but all sensible and practical ; with comfortable 
clothes and plenty of meat and drink, and nothing to think aboiit, except to think — softly to 
themselves all the day long — that everything is for the best, in the best of all possible worlds ! 
It would be easy to criticise Richter for the sameness of his faces and figures ; for his 
narrow range of incident and character; but as he is without pretension to any name hisrher 
than that of illustrator, and as his designs are in perfect harmony with the subject-matter, the 
objection has but little weight. Beside, the sameness of the faces is more in seeming than in 
reality. It strikes us at a first glance, but it disappears on a closer examination. Take, for 
example, the children in our engraving, " The Greeting," so immaculate in their get-up, so 




evidently "of the Kingdom of Heaven! " They are by no means all brothers and sisters; on 
the contrary, one of the charms of the picture lies in the variety of faces and characters dis- 

"the garland-weaver." 


cernible under this soft illusive veil of sameness of line and texture. Here is the stolid nurse- 
girl with the baby on her arm holding his own special bouquet, and dancing his feet to the 




music. In front is a chubby child with a wreath of roses and two big bouquets ; her little 
hands so taken up with her burden that she has only one finger to spare for holding the 
address of welcome. She is spokesman 
for the company, and evidently the pride 
of the Deputation, if we may judge by 
the admiring looks that are divided be- 
tween her and the Guest of the Day! 
And how cleverly Richter makes us feel 
that there is a Guest of the Day, and 
that he stands in front of the group of 
innocents, listening to their song of wel- 
come, and responding -with gracious 
smiles to their sweet looks and voices. 
The reader may amuse himself with 
studying out the other i^ersonages in 
this rustic drama; better still, let him 
submit the picture to the judgment of 
a circle of intelligent children, as the 
writer has done. It will be an easy 
proof of the expressive power of Rich- 
ter; the living children will read the 
characters of the painted ones, and call 
them by their names; one little finger 
points out the child in the background 
who is singing his part in the song in 
sweet unconsciousness of everything 
about him. Another pair of bright 
eyes spies out the youngster who peeps 
from behind his big wreath at the small 
spokesman in front. One wee piece of 
humanity is taken with the sedate child in the middle of the group, and so, one after another, 
the favorites are chosen and remarked upon. Nor do the other pictures by Richter fail of 





approval from this unprejudiced audience. Perhaps the young girl twining her rose-wreath 

under the trellis; or the young lover 

singing his serenade beneath the win- 
dow of the room where the maiden lies 
asleep, guarded by the lily-bearing an- 
gel, will interest them less than the 
"Pfingsten Morning," though even in 
these pictures there are many pretty 
details, that childish eyes will be quick 
to discover. In the " Rose- wreath," the 
sense of tranquillity is ingeniously 
heightened by the quiet smoker at the 
casement window looking down from his 
height upon the peaceful terrace with 
its dozing cat and cooing doves, while 
he knows that under the rose-trellis his 
pretty daughter is sitting and making 
herself a garland against the coming of 
her lover. But the " Pfingsten Morning " 
is the best of all. The young mother is 
coming out of the cottage with her baby 
on her ann, and followed by her hus- 
band, both on their way to the christen- 
ing in the church at the toj) of the hill. 
In honor of the day the front of the 
house has been hung with garlands, and 
flowers in pots set on the window-sill, 
and all the neighbors' children have 
come to welcome the baby and its 
mother with songs and bunches of flow- 



ers, gathered in the field. By the mother's side is her little Hans in his quizzical jacket and 
bits of trousers, who has had a rag-baby dressed up for him to hold, and who stands at his 



post like a little man, resisting the allurements of his (and our) favorite poodle! On the 

other side sits the cat, who, in spite of experience, cannot wholly accept assurance that the 

poodle's barking means nothing, and that she is not to be immediately devoured! And the 

tulips lift up their cups to drink the baby's health, and the doves pledge the new-comer in 

water from the crystal spring, while children's voices send down the song of greeting to the 


thou joyful, 

thou blessed 

Bringer of good-will, 

Pfingsten Morn ! 

Oscar Pletsch, whom it would be unfair to call a rival to Richter, though he is a worker 
in the same field, was born in Berlin in 1830. He took early to design, and went to Dresden, 
where he studied with Bendemann, and began under his influences to make Bible- j)ictures, 
from which he was happily called away to do military 
duty. Later he returned to Berlin, and there earned his 
bread by making book-illustrations and designs of one 
kind and another. In 1857 he drew attention to himself 
in high quarters by presenting to the Crown Prince and 
Princess a collection of designs with subjects drawn 
from the life of children, and these were so warmly re- 
ceived that our artist found his vocation fixed, and 
henceforth devoted himself to these themes. Like Rich- 
ter, with whose name his owa is so intimately associated, 
Pletsch has gone outside the beaten track of illustrating 
the works of others, and has made books of his own 
where the designs are held together by some slight 
thread of sympathetic text sufficient to give them a 
reason for being. " The Children's Room," " Little People," " Schnick-Schnak," etc., are 
some of the titles of these collections, and we have selected two of the designs that may 
give a hint as to their general character. The designs of Pletsch are wanting in the 
ideal character that is so marked in Richter's art. They are almost without exception 
faithful transcripts of real life with juSt that touch of refinement, the elimination of the 
ugly— or, rather, the dwelling on what is graceful and pleasing, that is the artist's privi- 




lege to bestow. He is far behind Ricliter in his power of suggesting character, and dis 
tinctly inferior to him in invention and in a sense of humor. The little chap in his Sunday 
rig and with the rag-baby in his arms in the "Pfingsten Morning," would be impossible 1o 
Pletsch, and Richter abounds in such strokes. Pletsch, however, has his own distinct merit, 
and his matter-of-fact notes from every-day life please many who are insensible to the charm 
of Richter's more playful fancy. In the " Young Botanist," a little boy, the child of well-to- 




do parents, has been roaming the fields with his tin plant-case, and leans on the fence to talk 
with a cottage-girl who is carrying her baby-sister pick-a-back. In the other sketch, " Left in 
Charge," the elder sister left in charge of the house while her father and mother are working 
in the field, leans against the door-post knitting, while the baby plays with the newly 
hatched chicks on the doorstep. These are mere incidents, set down, in passing, in the artist's 
note-book and put into more or less conventional lines, but with scarcely anything added 
from the artist's own invention. 



The list of Pletsch's books for children is not a long one, but as in the case of Richter 
and Hendschel, the mere titles are far from representing the amount of work they cover. 
" In the Open Air," " The Alphabet," " What will you be? " " Good friends," " In the Coun- 
try ■' — these are a few of the titles of these albums, x^-- , ^ 

each containing a goodly number of sketches : so 
true to the life of children, so sympathetic with 
their joys and sorrows, their employments and 
their amusements, that not only children them- 
selves, but all who love children, must find pleasure ^v^^^§ i 
in looking at them. And as children are in general 
very matter-of-fact little peoiale, preferring to see 
things as they are, Pletsch has had the good for- 
tune to please the young people more than Richter, 
who finds his best audience among people in whom 
the fancy and the poetic sentiment have been 
somewhat developed. Pletsch's picture-books are 
an encyclopaedia — if the word be not too grand 
for the thing — of the nursery and the home in his 
part of Germany, and the children of his country 
can survey their small lives in his pages as in so 
many mirrors. He is not playful, though he is 
never very serious, and as we have said, he is not 
inventive, unless it may be called invention to have 
created a race of children, all of whom are pretty 
to look at, well behaved, neat and orderly, dutiful 
and obedient — at least, such is the rule : the excep- 
tions are just enough to add a little needed salt 
to season such perfection. But it cannot be denied 
that the panorama of child-life that Pletsch unrolls is a very attractive one ; and however it 
may be in Gemumy, where perhaps the example is not so much needed, since children are 
subjected there to a stricter discipline and a more constant surveillance, yet it may be that, 
here, where children are sweetly encouraged to lawlessness, by parents and friends, the con- 




templation of Pletsch's specimens of infantile perfection may now and then awaken a desire 
for a different state of things. 

Albert Hendschel, another artist who has contributed much to the amusement of his 
generation, and whose vein seems by no means exhausted as yet, was born at Frankfort-on- 

* *^ 


the-Main in 1834. He was the son of a journalist who was also a dabbler in art, and amused 
himself with portrait-painting. He perceived, signs of talent in his son and gave him oppor- 
tunities for study ; sent him to the Stadel Institute, and when he had finished his course there, 
put him in the studio of Jacob Becker, and later furnished him with the means of visiting 
the principal picture-galleries in Germany and Italy. In the beginning, Hendschel painted 
pictures of a half romantic cast; illustrations of favorite poems and popular tales, but his 



popular reputation is founded on the numerous sketches, hints, and anecdotes suggested by 
his daily observation of the life about him. Of his illustrative work the " Dwarf and the 
Sleeping Beauty," from one of Grimm's Fairy Tales, is a pleasing example, the girl is a trifle 
older than the story warrants, and is perhaps too modern, but no fault can be found with the 




dwarf as he sits, sword in hand, watching the enchanted sleeper— he so still, and she so still, 
that the rabbit and the doves are not afraid to come and wonder at the novel sight. The 
greater part of Hendschel's independent sketches are reproduced by photography, and pub- 
lished from time to time in portfolios. They appeal to the public as a rule rather by their 
satiric humor, as seen in the " The Bowling-alley Boy," than by their sentiment, although 



his " Card-House "—a portrait, we are told, of his own boy— shows that he is by no means 
wanting in the liner quality. Beside this pleasure we have in the suggestion of a boyish day- 
dream in the subject itself, there is the charm of the artist's touch in the lightness with which 
the cards are piled up ; the last one so airily poised that we share the child's breathless pleasure 

"the card-house." 


in the issue. Comic subjects are, however, far more numerous in Hendschel's albums than seri- 
ous or even than sentimental ones. He has a boy's love of fun, and of practical jokes, and a 
boy's indifference to the consequences of his mischief -making. Thus, when we see the shoe- 
maker's apprentice about to shy a snow-ball at the pastry-cook's boy who is proudly 
carrying an elaborate sugar-candy trophy on his head to a wedding-breakfast — 



" We know it is a sin 
For us to sit and grin 
At him here — " 

but 'tis impossible to resist the impulse, altogether. A certain resemblance between the 

stage and the art of painting is suggested by the fact, that we smile at this " painted sorrow," 

as we should if we saw it in an acted farce or pantomime ; but we certainly should not smile 

at it, if we saw it acted in real life. In another of Hendschel's sketches, he echoes Daudet's 

satire upon the Swiss. A burly native with an eye to the pennies of tourists in search of the 

romantic, is jodelling upon an enormous horn, forewarned by his small ragamuffin of a son 

of the approach of one of his victims. This turns out to be the stock Englishman of the 

German and French caricaturists, with the well-known hat and veil and alpenstock, leisurely 

climbing the mountain on a donkey several sizes too small for him. He hears the astonishing 

sounds, though, as yet, he does not see the author of them, but his whole being is stirred, and 

he feels that he is repaid by this touch of romance, for 'all the fatigues of his journey. 

Many of Hendschel's sketches are nothing but notes in passing, of incidents that seem too 

trifling for the pains taken with them, but, to the artist, nothing is trifling in which he 

can exercise his powers of observation and his skill of hand. 





NEXT to Knaus in popular estimation, not only at home, in Germany, but abroad, as well, 
comes Franz Defregger, the painter by common consent of peasants — of peasants 
in a world he has made his own, as truly as Millet has made a world for the peasants of his 
creating. Not that either world, that of the Frenchman or that- of the German, is wholly 
unreal; it is based on truth and built up by observation, but the observation is confined 
within narrow bounds and includes only a few tj^es. In either case, the portrait reflects in 
large measure the artist's o^^^l nature : that nature colors the facts, exaggei-ates certain traits, 

and reduces others to insignificance, and thus the chai-m 
of individuality remains to give a zest to subjects that in 
themselves are nothing. 

Frakz Defeeggee was born in 1835 at Stronach, a 
fai'm belonging j;0 the parish of Dolsach in the Puster- 
thal, and passed his boyhood in the midst of the noblest 
mountain-scenery: in the summer watching the herds, in 
the winter going to school. The story of his school-days 
is the old one that we have so often met vdth in our re- 
views of these artists' lives ; the minds of these children 
of fancy are seldom on their books, and like the rest of 
his intellectual kin, Defregger made figures out of his 
luncheon-bread, and scribbled his sketches over every 
blank surface of wall or paper that he came upon. He 
worked upon the home-farm, however, iintil 1857, when his father died, and it became 
necessary for him to take the management of the property upon his own shoulders. But 
he had so little capacity for this enterprise, and found so much that was disagreeable in it, 
that he finally sold the farm and went to Innsbruck with the determination to follow his 
bent and become a sculptor. His teacher, however, found in him a talent so much more 
decided for painting, that be persuaded him to go to Munich, and secured a place for him 
in the studio of PUoty. Piloty was at this time just beginning his " Kero," and the sight 
of this picture made a deep impression on the new comer and confiiToed his desire to become 
a painter. After the first preparatory-classes had been gone through, he was placed in 






the painting-class under Anscliutz, but neither the academic discipline nor the climate of 
Munich agreed with him, and he went to Paris, where, although in his stay of a year and a 
quarter he learned but a little, technically, yet the time he spent there did much for his 
•fcaste. A stranger to the language, and unused to the ways of a great city, his health, be- 
side, none of the best, he went back to Munich, thinking to resume his studies with Piloty. 
But Piloty was away, and would not retvTrn for a month or two, and Defregger, to use the 
time, made a visit to his native place, where he busied himself with sketching and painting. 
Among other things he painted a picture of a Avounded poacher who is brought home to die, 
and is led into the house just as his wife is washing the baby. Armed with this picture and 
with his pile of sketches, he went to Munich, and found Piloty in his studio, who welcomed 
him warmly and encouraged him with praises for his work. Gabriel Max and Hans Makart 
were among Defregger's fellow-pupils, but Piloty seems to have had a special liking for 
Defregger, as was perhaps natural, seeing that at the foundation of their art there was a sym- 
pathy in ideas and aims, although in their actual work they were far enough asunder. The 
first work of importance that Defregger produced after entering Piloty's studio Avas the 
" Speckbacher and his son Andreas," of which we are able to give an excellent engraving by 
Sonnenleiter from the original, now in the Ferdinandeum in Innspruck. It is a scene from 
the rise of the Tyroleans against Austria, and the story is so clearly and vigorously told, that 
it hardly needs to be amplified by description. The scene is in a farm-house in the Tyrol, 
where Speckbacher, the leader of the insurgents, has taken up his head-quarters. He has been 
sitting at a table covered with maps and plans Avhere he has been conferring with his officers, 
and has started up astonished at the entrance of a troop of his followers headed by an old 
huntsman, who with a grin of delight presents the leader's son to his father, as the latest and 
most precious recruit. The father, a giant in stature, looks down at his son with a face where 
displeasure plays a losing game with paternal pride; while the boy, looking up at his father 
Avith an expression subtly compounded of affection, awe, and boldness, awaits his decision, 
with a confidence unconsciously supported, no doubt, by the sympathy and admiration that 
runs through the croAvd of spectators to this singular scene. Speckbacher's companions at 
the table have turned from their employ to look at the daring lad ; the mistress of the house, 
surrounded by her children, regards him admiringly, clasping her hands in delight ; but the 
feeling of the whole assembly is concentrated, as it were, and typified in the face and action 
of the old hunter, Avho acts as spokesman for the boy. He has taken off his hat and holds it 


in one hand near liis head, as ready to resume it again, while with the other arm he seems at 
once to protect and urge forward his young charge, as he smilingly pleads for him with his 
father. The power of facial expression, undoubtedly Def regger's strong point, has seldom 
been more remarkably displayed than in this picture, but in this respect the work is but the 
forerunner of many similar triumphs ; and yet with all its excellence, we venture to question, 
whether the picture tells the story so clearly as to make it impossible to mistake its meaning. 
In our own exjDerience we miay record, for the sake of illustration, that in our ignorance of the 
title, and knowing nothing of the incident but what we could make out from the picture 
itself, we saw in it an old huntsman bringing his son as an offering to the cause of freedom, 
in which he himself is now too old to do active service. There are several such anecdotes in 
history, sufficient to make this interpretation probable, and it is an interpretation, beside, that 
has a more universal, a less personal and anecdotic application than that which, as it happens, 
is the true one. 

In simple incidents of daily life such as Defregger has portrayed in the " First-born," 
other artists have shown as much skill as he. Every character is true to the life, and studied^ 
so to speak, in situ, not in any way from the professional model. Nor, it may be said in 
passing, does the professional model seem to play any part in Defregger's pictures, although 
we come again and again upon the same people. His pictures make us believe that we are 
really making the acquaintance of the Tyrolese of the artist's district, although it may well 
be that if we went there we should find the originals of his familiar faces hard to discover. 
But these are real people nevertheless, wherever he found them; from the jolly old grand- 
mother in her tall hat to whom the laughing baby is more than a nugget of pure gold, down 
to the baby itself, content in its smiling mother's arms and yet willing to go with its grand- 
father, who sits sideways on the chair before him, and cannot admire him enough. The 
baby's young uncle and aunt, too, are favorite types of Defregger's ; the girl would be known, 
as his, among a thousand; perhaps they are his own children, for he has had a handsome boy 
like this one. 

The room in which these people are sitting, although not much is shown of it, is the type 
of a score of rooms in the Tyrol, made famdliar to us by Defregger and his school — for a school 
it may almost be called. These are poor people, and their stove is not one of the even moder- 
ately handsome sort, so picturesque in themselves, and of which the artists make such good 
use in their pictures. The settle runs round it, and about it is the frame on which clothes 



are hung to warm or dry. In the simple ornamentation of this frame, the rude cutting and' 
carving of the chairs, the moulding over the door— we see the rudiments of a certain taste and 
refinement which are met -with everywhere in these cantons, and in the better class of peas- 
ant-houses produce highly pleasing results. There are professional carvers and cabinet- 
makers, of course, who supply the needs of the villagers and townspeople with their wares, 
but skill in handling the carver's tools is widely dispersed, and many a house owes to the 
industry of the men of the family the carved beams and chimney-pieces and chair-backs 
that add so much to its jaicturesqueness. 

If we were asked to name the picture that best rej)resents the talent of Defregger, the 
talent for story-telling and facial expression in which he excels all others who work in the 
same field of homely anecdote, we could not hesitate: we should name the Salontyroler — " The 
Drawing-room Chamois-hiinter." This picture, painted so late as 1882, has had an immense 
vogue, and has made Defregger more than famous. There is a subtlety in the humor of it, 
that gives it a pemianent charm ; we doubt if there was ever a picture painted of this sort 
where the satire was at once so searching and so good-natured, and where the effects of it 
were seen reflected in the faces and actions of so many different characters. The title, even, 
is almost unnecessary for the enjojonent of the picture, where there is certainly no room for 
so much doubt about the story as we have suggested in the " Speckbacher." 

In the " Dravdng-room Chamois-hunter " we are in the big living room of a mountain 
tavern in the Tyrol. The room is scantily furnished, the bare rafters are supported on stout 
posts, and the low oven is roofed ^^dth a projecting cover to carry off the smoke ; at the side 
of the oven is another variation of the hanging-rack for clothes and utensils of one sort and 
another generally seen in these houses — here suspended from the rafters, but more commonly 
built up about the stove, as we have just seen it in Defregger's " The First-born." At one 
end of the room, near the only window that appears, a table is set, covered with a cloth; and 
about it a group of men, some sitting, others standing— huntsmen all, from the young fellow 
of twenty to the grizzled old man of seventy. They are listening with ill-concealed delight 
to a city-bred youth avIio tliinks to astonish the natives by his soberly told tales of hair- 
breadth escapes in his pursuit of the chamois. He is now resting from his labors, and with 
the exception of the embroidered leggings and hobnailed shoes — his credentials as a liimter — 
he has resumed his city costume; his cut-away coat, his cravat with its jjin, his vest, gold 

chain and locket, while on the bench before him are his paletot, his opera-glass and his Bae- 
VoL. II.— 0. 



deker. He is off to day for town, and before starting, is taking a liglit snack, a simple break- 
fast sucIl as befits the hardy hunter ; a bit of meat, the loaf, and a bottle of country wine ; and 
while the rest smoke their native pipes he contents himself with a cigarette. The story of his 
break-neck adventures has been told chiefly to the men, as most likely to be appreciated by 
those who know something about the risks ; but as he reaches the climax, a curious sound, a 


sort of gurgling snicker, strikes his ear, and he turns with a serious and dignified air to meet 
the bold gaze of the sturdy maid-servant who with folded arms and one leg flung over the 
other has been listening with ever-growing amusement to his bounce. Beside her sits another 
damsel leaning her face on her hand and half hid in the shadow of her companion's head as 
she gives way to her uncontrollable mirth ; her knitting dropped, and her risibles still further 
excited by her companion's fingers accenting the good ]Doints of the audacious story by fre- 
quent prodding of her elbow. No living painter, nor any dead one that we remember, has 

"the first-born." 



ever given proof of the skill Defregger has shown in suggesting what is passing in the mind 
of the hero of this scene as he turns to look at these young women. He is too simijle-hearted 
and too good-natured to be vexed, but he is grieved and surprised at being so misunderstood, 
and by two such nice girls besides, for he had an eye to their approval while he Avas talking to 
the men. In a moment, however, he will turn his head, and if he has any wit left, he will 
read in that row of faces such a comment on his folly, such thorough enjoyment of the situ- 
ation as will leave him no alternative but to own iip like a man, treat all hands round, buy 
each of the girls a gay handkerchief and a knot of ribbon, and be off as fast as dignity will 

If few of Defregger's pictures have reached, or deserved, the popularity of the " Salon- 
tyroler," many of them have become favorites with the public, and the liking for his works 
has by no means been confined to the natives of his own Tj^rol. True as he is to the character, 
manners, and customs of his countrjonen, he is true to human nature everywhere, and each 
spectator finds in his pictures something that answers to his own experience. The whole life 
of the Tyrol seems mirrored in his abundant life-work, but his preference is to show the 
sunny side of the existence of these hardy, brave, and frugal mountain-folk. He has illus- 
trated their national history as well as their private life, and once or twice he has tried his 
hand at religious painting, but in this field he has had no success. 

Mathias Schmid, born in 1835 at See, in the Paznaunerthal, in Tyrol, looks at life in a 
much more serious and earnest vein than his countryman Defregger, and though he has not 
succeeded in -winning so large a place in the popular heart, is yet highly esteemed as an inter- 
preter of ideas and feelings that have no place in the gay succession of Defregger's bovine 

Schmid was apprenticed at fifteen to a pictxrre-restorer to whom he had liound himself in 
the hope of becoming a painter, and his first achievement was the fitting out an Eve on a dam- 
aged vaulting in the village-church with a brand-new girdle of fig-leaves. In 1853 he went toi 
Munich, and after two years spent in a gilder's shop, he entered the Academy and studied 
under the direction of Schraiidolph. Schrandolph turned his attention to religious painting,, 
and Schmid's first work was a " Ruth returning to Bethlehem," which he had the good for- 
tune to sell to the Archduke Karl Ludwig. A year later he painted another religious subject 
for a Church in Innspruck, " The Three Maries at the Sepulchre," and this brought him two 
other commissions, so that he saw the way opening before him, when his hopes were suddenly 


dashed by the unexpected withdrawing of the new orders. Embittered by this disappoint- 
ment, he woiild seem to have made some sharp comments on the clergy of the city, for which 
he was made to snffer by a sort of social nagging, and smarting under the treatment he re- 
ceived, he betook himself to Munich, where he worked for some- time as an illustrator for vari- 
ous journals, and at last entered Piloty's studio as a scholar. Up to this time he had never had 
any regular training, but he now began to study in earnest, and to paint such subjects as he was 
moved to by his o\vn experience and convictions. He chose, or rather, painted without choos- 
ing, the seamy side of Tyrolean peasant-life, as Defregger had chosen the bright, attractive side, 
and like another Vibert, only moved by righteous feeling and not by cynicism, he satirized the 
inconsistencies of the clergy, the i^rof essional guardians of religion. His first important picture 
Avas the " Herrgottshancller,"' or the Seller of Crucifixes, a picture which had in Schmid's own 
country a popularity almost equal to that enjoyed by Vibert's "The Missionary's Tale." 
The scene depicted is probably one that had come under the artist's eye, this or something- 
like it, but we cannot help thinking that he has exaggerated the details, and that the moral he 
Avould seem to draw, is one that the facts will not bear. A peddler of church-images, cruci- 
fixes, figures of saints and the like, has been ■^^''andering over the country, dragging and push- 
ing his covered cart with his wife and baby, and has come upon a party of priests and peas- 
ants in' some village, who are playing a game of cards of an afternoon, in the open air. His 
wife, hungry and tired, sits on the ground in front of the cart while the husband with an ap- 
pealing- gesture toward his family, begs the priests for sweet charity's sake to buy one of his 
crucifixes ; a group of little children have left their play and draw near, looking- with innocent 
pity on the poor mother and child, and even the peasants who are taking a hand in the game 
forget their cards for a moment to look with curiosity, if nothing more, upon the group. The 
23riest immediately addressed, however, meets the appeal very ungraciously, and plaiuh' i-e- 
fuses to buy, and is, beside, disposed to be cross on account of his interrupted game. Schmid 
has added a sly touch of humor to a scene of pure pathos in making the other priest take ad- 
vantage of his companion's diverted attention, to look over his cards, and make himself ac- 
quainted with their contents. 

Schmid meant this picture as a satire upon the clergy; but where is the point? Does he 
mean that priests should not plaj^ cards, or that they should buy all the crucifixes and images 
of saints that are ofi'ered them? Either of these objections would seem to be unreasonable, 
and Ave are sure that he would find few people not determined to think ill of priests in general. 


to go along with him. In countries like Spain and Italy, or the Catholic cantons of Switzerland 
and the Tyrol, where religion is as easy as an old shoe, and where there is no hard-headed, 
sour Protestantism to give things a color that doesn't rightly belong to them, no one would 
quarrel with a priest for taking a little innocent recreation ; it would seem the most natural 
thing in the world, and Schmid himself has made it appear such, by showing us his priests 
playing their game of cards in the friendliest manner with some peasants of their parish. As 
for the crucifix-seller, he would not in real life be so unreasonable as to bring his coals to 
Newcastle by offering crucifixes to priests, since they are supposed to be supplied with all 
they need. In short, as it appears to us, Schmid has missed his ];)oint, by overdoing the mat- 
ter. Protestants may see harm in a priest taking a hand at cards, but Catholics would see 
none. Nor is it likely that even Protestants would think a jjriest could be guilty of treating 
the crucifix with indignity. The only charge that might hold would be want of pity, and on 
that, if he were bent on satire, Schmid should have found a way to concentrate his bitterness. 

But in truth, there is no bitterness in this artist's nature, and if he looks askance at the 
religion opi:)osed to his, it is only a transient feeling, born of his own uncomfortable experi- 
ence. And he was soured too, by brooding over the sectional strifes that in his own Tyrol 
had been accompanied by cruel persecutions for oi^inion's sake. And as he felt, he painted, 
and whether he were right or wrong, the fact that he was in earnest undoubtedly gave value 
to his work, even when the subject was slight, for a man avIio is in earnest in one thing is apt 
to be earnest in all. His picture " Driving out the Protestants from the Zillerthal," is a pro- 
test against intolerance, but there is more of sorrow than of anger in it. And in his i^ictures 
which deal with Tyrolean life, although there are notes wholly cheerful, as in the " Game of 
Bowls," yet as a rule, the sentiment inclines to pensiveness, if not to melancholy, as in " The 
Bethrothal," " The Smugglers," and the picture we copy, " The Vow." 

At a first glance, we see in Schmid's pictures, a likeness to Defregger's, but it is merely 
a surface-resemblance; both are dealing with the peasants of Tyrol, but they are drawn to 
different types and to different subjects. The peasant-girls Defregger paints, rarely have a 
trace of sentiment: they are hearty, healthy, honest specimens of womankind, with bright 
eyes, strong limbs, open, cheerful faces, and would appear to be, one and all, blessed with good 
appetites and goo4 digestions. The men are made to match, except that there is no beauty 
to boast of, and hard work has developed their muscles at the expense of their grace. But 
they look as hajipy as the sweethearts they laugh and joke and dance with; if we were to 



trust Defregger's report— a few pictures, and those not among his best, excepted— we should 
believe life on the Aim and in the Pusterthal, made up of nothing but fun and frolic. If we 
find ourselves getting a little tired of this, and incUned at times to resent such a superabun- 

"the vow." 



dance of animal spirits and buxomness, there is Sclimid to turn to, who by no means sees life 
alj in rose-color. 

Here in liis " Vow " are two young peasants wlio, in pursuance of a promise made to tlie 
Virgin for tlie recovery of their little girl when she was sick and given over, have brought 
her, now that she is well again, to kiss the Virgin's picture and lay an offering upon her 
shrine. We are in a small side-chapel of the village-church ; on a pier, with no altar before 
it, that it may be more easily reached, hangs the picture of the Virgin, freshly wreathed with 
a garland of leaves and wild iiowers, and with a lamp hanging before it, and two candles just 
lighted by the young father and mother. On the walls of the chapel are hung various pic- 
tures ; one, a large one, represents Christ standing by the bed of a sick woman, who turns her 
head languidly to look at her baby in its crib, as if commending it to the care of her Lord. 
And on the wall beneath tlie picture of the Virgin there hang suspended a number of votive 
offerings, rude earthenware figures and pictures ; an interesting trait of manners which, like 
enough, gave Schmid the first hint of his work. It is plain that the aid of the Virgin has not 
been invoked alone for human troubles, since among these votive offerings is the image of a 
cow, and no doubt, we should find other domestic animals in the heap if we could examine it 
more closely. Beside animals, and doll-like figures of men and women, we see at least one 
member of the human body, an arm, and we may be reasonably sure that feet and hands, 
eyes, ears, and noses are not absent from such a collection. This is a custom as old as the 
world, and like nearly the whole ritual, costume, and paraphernalia of the Chiirch, is directly 
derived from a pagan original. Such votive images as Schmid has here deiiicted have been 
found in large numbers in excavations in Italy and elsewhere, in the neighborhood of temple- 
ruins and shrines where they had been buried, probably to disjpose of them in a suitable man- 
ner as they accumulated in the course of the year. Though removed from the shrine itself, 
they were stiU, when buried in the sacred inclosure, in the keeping of the divinity whose 
power had been invoked for tlieir benefit. Wherever the Romans went, carrying their reli- 
gion with them along with their laws and their art, these votive offerings are found, and in 
the wilder, less civilized portions of Europe, as here in the Tyrol, the custom may still be 
found surviving. 

These peasants have come from some little distance — as would appear from the baby- 
wagon, with the wife's travelling-bag, and the keys at her waist — seeking some shrine more 
famous, perhaps, tlian tlie one in their own village. The father, with his hat on his arm and 



his beads in his hand, looks on with rather an anxious face as his wife holds the little one up 
in her arms to kiss the Virgin's jDicture. On the steps of the shrine are placed the votive-pic- 
ture the couple have brought with them, and a bunch of flowers to add to the garland that 
already decorates the Virgin's picture. It may be noted that the recurrence of the same 


.,,:. .:..vv^';.:.'.iv^ ■■ 

K ,^ , . 

'■- SM"? 




1 f ^ 







mfeife-^^^^^^v. ^h.y- ■■■■■'■' 













Ai ^^i 


-1^ 'WW §' 




— -A 


IHHE^-W > A' 

\. ■- ■ -^ 


•* \ ipfg 

^ ^ t w 




vl "^ 


,-H-- ■ 1 ■>' 



' '> W" 


tf'.^ L>d 



-s .... T 

^Hl-A. f MRrSfl 


"^ «^ 


■ '"' 


^ ^ 

*".,' ' 

■PE^w, /JHF 



£? _ I 



.--sa-^s^Bj- ■ 

m '■'■-' '' 

W<^^ 1 








Si" r 'x 

S^ Jts-/ ,.,:* 


' ^f ^ 

& J. 



# i 



^/ JK IM 

^v ^ 

%.>' i-«^ 







" 1™ 


^,.«.^S1 » 

^v ^.»^ 



^nHtf B» 


S w 


w^mt --J ^ 

^^ \ 





% £4 


wB^miii •^'*-)- P 





2? ; ..J^v* *«;*«■ :" 

• /'o 

m^^^S^BE^^^^ "^ '.'^■r-" 





■-■''". ...;. ■■ \'C'y-'' 

,,. ,;{'. .' .WK..3i!- _.!. 

^^■n^^^ir ^ 


1' ' 1 

^ ■-;, W -_.■_"-•- >»S 




p|:|A , 

'IHKatt^LJ^ ■ 


V ,^^ ^3Hfc 

Wt-': -■^ijt^-'^-;^^''*. 


iEHH^^ 'a 








model that makes looking over any considerable number of Defregger's pictures rather 
tiresome, does not so much trouble us in the case of Schmid. But the rather sad-faced hus- 
band of this picture appears again in the same attitude, with a bunch of flowers in place of 
the rosary, standing by the side of his young wife that is to be, as she sits listening to the 
Protestant pastor who in " The Betrothal," instructs the pair in the duties of matrimony. 



A group of painters of cliildreh may be noticed here — among them, Paul Wagner, 
Rudolf Epp, F. Dvorak, and Anton Bieffenbach, may be briefly noticed. Their pictures of 
children attempt nothing ideal, as in the case of Richter and 
Pletsch, but are happy transcripts of the life of the little ones 
in their every-day sports and pastimes. In "Wagner's " The Drill," 
the characters of the boys are nicely discriminated, and in so slight 
a subject the artist has had the skill to introduce a dramatic touch 
in the giggling comment of the two little girls upon the bare legs ( J\^ 

and feet of the eldest boy. He overhears the oifenders, and for- > '\\\^-^i;' 

getting discijpline, turns his head to call them to order. rudolph eppT 

Anton Heinrich Dieffenbach, born in Wiesbaden in 1831, has devoted his talent almost ex- 
clusively to the painting of children, and his " Day before the Wedding," is almost as well 
knovnti as Knaus's " Golden Wedding," with which it is often hung as a pendant. He began 
life as a sculptor, studying with his father at first, and later -with Pradier, in Paris. He prac- 
tised his art for some time in Wiesbaden, but feeling more drawn to painting, went to Diis- 
seldorf and studied there under Jordan. Later he found himself again in Paris, but in the 
siege of 1870 he Avas glad to get away from the city and take refuge in Switzerland. "When 
the war was over he went to Berlin to live, and has since remained there. Our picture 
" Learning to Shoot," is a good example of the artist's cleverness, not merely in the delinea- 
tion of character, but in making everything tend to the clear telling of his anecdote. The 
father has just come home from hunting, and in rather unsportsmanlike fashion has thrown 
liis brace of j^heasants on the ground while he gives his little boy a lesson in liandling his 
gun. Behind him, the dog waits for the Avell-known "crack! " the pretty mother with her 
becoming " Black Forest " headdress, and holding her baby-girl on one arm, betrays by the 
action of her other hand that she is as nervously expectant as can be permitted to a hunts- 
man's wife. But her pride in her manly little curh'-pated son is master of her fear; she 
watches his earnest actions with a delighted face. His arms on the window-sill, the grand- 
father smokes his pii)e and scrutinizes the youngster with an old huntsman's critical eye. 
The two figures, the father and the son, as they are the centre and gist of the picture, will 
bear the closest study ; every point in the action is rendered with a truthfulness that shows 
an observant eye. Note the father's firm right hand with its delicately adjusting movement, 
the looser left hand liolding the pipe ; the weaker hands of the child, closely following his in- 



structions, liowever;^ then the amusingly earnest face of the youngster, and his small body 
strained to the crisis. 

Dvorak's children, in his " Eing-a-Ring-a-Eosy," are children of another class than those 
we have seen in the pictures of Richter, Ptiecht, Wagner, and even Knaus; there is the same 



naturalness in the action and expression, but it is the naturalness of beings, more formally, 
artificially brought up. Dvorak is not specially given to painting children, but several of his 
subjects in this kind have lieen seen in our shop-windows, where, by a certain quaintness and 
oddity, they have attracted a good deal of attention. The picture by Eudolf Epp, 



" Spring," belongs more to the region of sentiment than the pictures we have been consider- ' 
ing, those of Schmid excepted, and with Schmid the sentiment or feeling is less abstract than 
it is here, it is more closely connected with some anecdote or incident. All that EpxD shows 
us is the delight of this mother and her child in the spring season; both breathing the atmos- 

I *.i 


ii/ /' ' 





phere of love ; the child's radiant face turned upward to the play of the butterflies, but his 
arms unconsciously clinging to his mother's breast, while the mother, not insensible to the 
charm of nature, yet finds her heaven complete in her baby's eyes. 



JOHANN GEORG MEYER, called, from his birth-place, " Meyer von Bremen," to distin- 
guish him from the swarm of Meyers— a name as common in Germany as that of Smith 
in America or England, was born in 1813, and died in 1889. This was a long life of prosperity, 
and of what may pass for fame, since, for many years, no name'among the minor names of 
his native Germany was more widely known abroad, especially in America, and no talent in 
the same field was more steadily and richly rewarded than that of Meyer von Bremen. The 
explanation lies alike in the character of his subjects and in the character of his Avork. Each. 
was of a kind to please the general public; his pictures appealed to the common sentiments 
of every-day people ; the love of home, the simple piety, the domestic affections, the pleasures 
of childhood — to the ideal characteristics, in short, of the German people, and he found that 
this was a clientage he could safely rely on. The people who year after year bought his pic- 
tures were content with what he gave them, and on his part the supply never failed, nor ever 
showed signs of diminution. At the same time, it must be said that he was never careless, 
never slighted his work, and never repeated himself, although his subjects were always taken 
from the same field. What that field was, is well enough indicated in the picture we have 
selected for reproduction—" Expectation." A young girl sits by the window of her father's 
house, engaged in sewing. All her surroundings show the comfortable living of a w^ell-to-do 
family, between the actual peasant-class and the bourgeois; the house is well built, the furni- 
ture solid, and suited to its uses, and while there is no luxury, there are evidences everywhere 
of that natural taste which often accomplishes what money cannot compass. The walls of 
the cottage are of stone, covered with cement and whitewashed, the ceiling is unplastered, the 
planks of the floor are uncarpeted, the table is uncovered, and there are no draperies at the 
window for ornament, only the muslin curtains that are necessary to temper the light or to 
secure privacy. But everything shows a scrupulous neatness, and while there is little in the 
room that cannot give the excuse of utility for its presence, all that we see derives a certain 
elegance, from its good proportions, and its fitness for its purpose. Everything here, unpre- 
tending as it is, pleases the eye and contents it; the embrasured window, its sashes filled with 
leaded glass, the bird in its wicker-cage, and the rose-bush in bloom ; the painted shelf where 
the well-polished coffee-urn and flowered milk-pitcher stand in comfortable sight; the colored 
print of the Virgin, the lamp that hangs below its black frame not so well seen in our plate 





as it is in tlie original picture; the pot of garden-flowers on the table by the side of Gretchen's 
work-basket; and Gretchen herself— she, too, is a pretty, eye-pleasing object in her coquet- 
tish cap over her soft hair, her trim bodice, and her well-molded arm showing below the snowy 
linen sleeve. She has this morning received a letter from her sweetheart; it lies open npon 
the table by her scissors and thread, the envelope dropped in her impatience upon the floor, 
and she stops every now and then in her work, to lift the muslin shade and look out at the 
w^indow, that she may catch the first glimpse of his coming as he clinks the latch of the gar- 
den-gate. Without loading his pictures with detail, Meyer von Bremen sometimes adds a 
suggestive touch, as here, where the grandmother's spectacles are hung on a convenient nail in 
the window-jamb, as if to assure us that Gretchen has some one to watch over her youth and 
innocence. This ai-tist has by no means confined his industry to pictures of the class to 
which the one we engrave belongs ; " The Praying Child," " The Knitter," " The Little House- 
keeper," "Fii-st, a Kiss!" and others; he has painted several more ambitious works ; "The 
Penitent Daughter," " The Soldier's Keturn," " The Inundation "—these pictures are by no 
means without merit and of a marked kind, but, as we said in the beginning, neither what 
Meyer von Bremen has to say, nor the way in which he says it, has any interest for amateurs 
of painting, who care for something beyond a high degree of mechanical finish, and elabora- 
tion of detail ; nor for those who look for elevation of thought and feeling. Even in Ger- 
many, the popularity of Meyer von Bremem has suffered a serious 
diminution in these later years, while in our own country the com- 
mercial value of his paintings has almost reached low- water mark. 

A few years ago there were shown at one of the exhibitions of 
the Art-Students' League of New York, two large studies from the 
life, signed " G. Jacobides." These had so much force of intention ig^l vj 
and largeness in the execution that they made a lasting impression '*' * , '^^ i^- 
on some of those who heard the artist's name for the first time, and g- jacobides 

kept us on the look-out for whatever he might produce. The next time we heard of him 
was, however, in his own country; at the KunstaussteUung in Munich in 1883, his picture 
of " The New Earrings," was one of the most remarked of the contributions, and was at 
once taken to the popular heart and reprodi»ced by photography, and in wood-cuts in the 
illustrated journals. The picture itself was purchased by an American, and brought over 
to this country; after remaining for a while in New Yoi'k it was added to the collection 


of a San Francisco millionaire. The subject was an every-day one, such as would have 
pleased Sleyer von Bremen; it represented nothing of more importance than an old 
woman who is piercing a little girl's ear for her first pair of ear-rings. But in such mat- 
ters, the charm is in the telling, and Jacobides showed a dramatic power in his picture far 
beyond the reach of Meyer von Bremen, in the skill with which he represented the strug- 
gle in the child's mind between her desire to have the ear-rings, and her unwillingness 
to bear the pain. In this respect the pictiire was a remarkable one, and the effect was 
heightened by the successful depicting of the old woman's face, absorbed in her profes- 
sional duty and benevolently indifferent to the suffering of her x^atient. Jacobides it 
would appear, is not a prolific artist, and there was for a time some reason to fear that 
he might fall into the snare of repeating his model. The j)icture that followed the one 
we have described was not so agreeable in its subject, but it showed the same dramatic 
power over expression; it Avas an old peasant-grandfather who is subduing his rebellious 
grandchild, and the face of the old man showed a most amusing mixture of exasperation and 
doting affection — an expression seized in a masterly way Avithout a touch of caricature. The 
same subtilty is shown in our engraving, " The Knitting Lesson," from the picture painted 
by Jacobides in 1886. Here, the absorption of the child in her task is shown not alone in 
her face, but in the action of her hands, and even in the way in which she holds the ball of 
yarn between her knees, and it is this sympathy, recalling the poet's line : 

" That one might almost say, her body thought," 
which gives to the picture a dignity that does not naturally belong to the subject. As a 
painter, Jacobides is far in advance of Meyer von Bremen ; he belongs, indeed, to the school 
of younger men, with whom style in j)ainting is the main thing, and subject altogether 
secondary, only considered, in fact, as it lends itself to a display of the artist's technical 
ability. Jacobides has no claim to the title of colorist; he often spoils Avhat would otherwise 
prove a harmonious whole, by a single false note. Thus " The First Earring," was sorely 
injured by the color of the earring, a long old-fashioned "drop" of crude turquoise-blue. 
We wished it could have been painted out ; but nothing would have been gained by that. 
Inherent faults are as essential to the understanding of character as the inherent virtues to 
which they serve as foils. Jacobides would nat be Jacobides AAdthout the blue earring. 

HuBEKT Salentin, the painter of the "Woodland Prayer," was born at Zul2:»ich, 
anciently known as Tolbiach, and famous as the place where Clovis defeated the Alemanni. 



It lies betAveen Cologne and Aachen, in a region so rich in legends and art-traditions that it 
is no Avonder a boy of Salentin's temperament was eager to exchange the blacksmith's forge 




for the easel. Tt was not, however, until he was twenty-eight years old that he was able to 
accomplish his desire. But as soon as he could free himself, he made his way to Diisseldorf 
and entered the Academy there. His teachers were AY. von Schadow, and Karl Sohn, but 
Tidemand was more especiallj' his instructor. The subjects chosen by Salentin were drawn 
from the humble life of the people among whom his early youth had been spent, but he pre- 
ferred such scenes as permitted a landscape-setting, in harmony with the action of his person- 
ages. The picture which we have chosen for copying, and which is reckoned among Ms best 
works, is a good example of his manner. A young girl on her way to market sets do^vn her, 
as yet, empty basket by her side and kneels for a moment before one of those pretty wood- 
land shrines that meet the pedestrian's eye all over Europe, only oftener, perhaps, in Catholic 
countries than in those where something like Protestantism is the rule. Our pretty maiden, 
still at the age when the hair is permitted to hang in a silken braid, has removed her straw 
hat, and with lightly folded hands says the prescribed prayer before the image of the Holy 
Mother tabernacled in this leafy wood ; but the smile upon her face seems to show that her 
young thoughts are not as serious as her attitude of devotion would imply; she is happy with 
the thoughts of childhood, -with the birds, and the flowers, and the bright sunshine of the sum- 
mer-morning, and in a few miniites she wiU be up and away, leaving the wood somewhat less 
sunshiny for her absence. It is a remarkable fact that Salentin's best work has been done 
since he was fifty: "The Foundling," "The Blacksmith's Apprentice," "Interior of a Tillage- 
Church," and .many others. One of Salentin's pictures ; " A Pilgrim at a Holy Spring," is in 
the Museum at Cologne. Another, " A Pilgrim at a Shrine," is in the National GaUery at 

The picture by Theodore Kleehaas, " Right or Left " or, as our children sometimes call the 
game, " "Which Hand ^vill you have? " is one that could hardly have been painted out of Ger- 
many. Seven children playing in a garret, a homely old-world game ; '" only this, and noth- 
ing more," yet how few are the artists of our time outside of Germany who could j^aint a 
scene like this with such perfect naturalness and unconsciousness as we find in Kleehaas' 
picture? The effect is curiously real, as if we were looking in upon the chamber, and we 
seem to share the children's absorption in their play, to the exclusion of all oiitside matters. 
The different individualities of the children give opportunity for much pretty by-play. The 
hero of the moment is the child with bare legs and arms, who, all aglow with excitement, is 
making up his small mind which hand to choose, and the rest of the circle are intent on the 



outcome, watching him ^\-ith mingled love and pride, for 'tis plain that he is the pet of the - 
society, as the youngest child is apt to be. At the right, two older children, a nice-looking 
boy and a rather grandmotherly girl, are waiting their turn; the boy with his hand on her 
shoulder, points to the hand of the leader in the game, which he is sure is the one to choose. 
Tlie action of the girl who is leader for the time being, is given with much expression and 
shows nice observation. As the question, " Right or Left? " is uttered, the clenched hands of 
the asker are to be thrown strongly down and out, and this requires a rigid bending of the 
body quite at war with grace. This may seem a small matter, but in reality it is of great im- 
portance ; the presence of this truthfulness pervading the picture, gives dignity and perma- 
nence to what, in less careful hands, would be merely trivial. Instances will occur to every 
one who is in the habit of looking at pictures, of subjects where children are the actors— 
street-arabs, shoe-blacks, match-boys, etc., in which there is no trace of nature; nothing but 
grimace and affectation, and these begin by being wearisome, and end by losing all hold upon 
the public. The German artists in their pictures of child-life go on a principle exactly the 
opposite of the one they follow in their so-called " historical " painting. lu the former, they 
either try to get inside theii- subject, as it were, or else a natural sympathy with childhood 
carries them there without effort on their part. Of how many German artists we must be- 
lieve, when we see their pictures, that they love children, and paint them because they love 
them ! Whether it be true or not that children in Germany are exceptionally happy, German 
artists have almost persuaded us that such is the fact. Sometimes, as in Richter's case, they 
show as a transfigured world with all its smirch and grossness washed clean away, but the 
elements of truth, sincerity, and naturalness are there in force and give an enduring charm. 
And then, again, we have pictures in plenty of every-day life, in which, as here in that of 
Kleehaas, there is no attempt made at idealizing, but things are shown as the artist sees them; 
though it must be admitted that artists, the true artists at any rate, see things not exactly as 
the world in general sees them. But, when the German artist comes to paint " history " or 
attempts to recall the manners of a past time, he seems, as a rule, incapable of seeing things as 
they must have been. A true action, a natural, unaffected gesture ; these are the exception, 
not the rule. Yet the French, and even the Spanish in their great monumental canvases, are 
almost free from these vices— while the Germans are still in slavery to the traditions of the 
late Italian Renaissance, the French have thrown them off completely, and almost as little 

remains of their own pseudo-classic legends. 

Vol. II.— 10 ** 



Karl Raupp is another pupil of Piloty who bears witness to the liberality of the mas- 
ter's teaching. He was bom in 1837 at Darmstadt, and from 1856 to 1858, studied under 
Jacob Becker at the Stadelschen Institute in Frankfort. He then went to Munich and be- 
came a pupil of Piloty, remaining in his studio for eight years, until 1866. In 1868 he was 
made Professor in the School of Industrial Design at Nuremberg, but he returned later to 
Munich, where he has since continued to reside. Like Salentin, and like others of the 



younger men, Raupp is almost equally interested in the landscai^e in which his figures 
are placed, as in the people themselves. He does not treat this landscape conventionally, as 
.many of the old Dutchmen did; he gives to each group a frame of its own, suited to the 
action, and reports the aspects of nature with poetic faithfulness. Here in the " Merry Voy- 
age," it is a day in early spring ; the sky is clear of all but a f eAv light cirrus clouds ; the wil- 
lows are just in leaf, and the rushes on the bank and in the water, have not as yet mustered 
their full forces. A merry party of children have come down to the bank of the canal and 
are starting off with plenty of enthusiasm on a voyage round the world — if once they can get 




their good ship off the mud ! The sail is hoisted and a light breeze is doing its best to puff 
it out, aided by the boy at the tiller, while another boy at the bow does what a boy of his 
size can to persuade the heavy scow to move along. Standing by the mast the captain gives 
the orders to the crew in a voice of such proportions, as nearly deafens the first mate, who 
shuts his ears lest he should hear what is said to him! The passengers meantime are happy 
in anticipation of the sights they are to see, once they get afloat ; the chief lady-passenger 
mildly hoping that her doll's head will not be sawed off by the sail-rope, the youngest pas- 
senger leaning over the boat-side Avatching the water, and one boy, luxuriously inclined," 
stretched his length in the shadow of the sail and lazily looking up into the sky. On the 
shore sits the old grandfather smoking his pipe, and occasionally throwing in a word of ad- 
vice, while the mother has brought down the baby to see the party off. " Storm-brewing," is 
another of Eaupp's pictures ; one that has obtained the po]Dularit j' of the shop-windows and 
of repeated reproductions, so that it appears to have earned the right to represent him here. 
The young woman who handles the oar in this heavy boat is not new to her business ; she 
does not see a storm brewing for the first time, and her confidence communicates itself to her 
companions, so that we can enjoy the disjilay of so much health and vigor as this young- 
woman is possessed of, without any fear for her safety. 

Emile Keyser's picture under the title " Schaukelnde Kinder," — " Children playing at 
See-saw" — was exhibited at the Munich Kunstausstellung in 1883. Its painting was its chief 
charm, the incident being slight and slightly handled, no paiticulai- study of childish charac- 
ter attempted, but a general breezy, out-of-door effect, and much freedom in the action of the 
girl on the see-saw, her pretty head, with its hair streaming in the wind, relieved against the 
sky. If the landscape seem more important than the figures, this is only in seeming, for if 
the composition be looked at Avith care it will be found that the figures and their action are 
necessary to give the landscape its full effect, and that the animation of the landscape is, on 
the other hand, reflected in the animation of the figures. In other words, the Avhole picture 
is in harmony, the artist, it is plain, thought it nil out at once, and it is this that gives it life 
and character. A blight afternoon -breeze lightly bends the trees before it, and clears the 
west of clouds, and sets the grass and weeds astir, and the blood astir in the bodies of these 
merry, out-of-door children, making them ready for any sport that has excitement in it. Two 
of the youngest have been sent for water to the sjiring that we see in the lower right-hand 
corner of the picture, but the temptation of the plank lying beside the big log has been too 



mucli for tliem; they laave dropped their pitcher, set the plank astride the log and persuaded 
their sister to join them in their game. The willing child mounts her improvised steed, and 
is tossed higher and higher; and her hair flies out behind, and the fun waxes fast and furious, 
so that one of their playmates between delight and fear makes such an outcry that his big 
sister must needs try to stop him ! A little child in the foreground who has been pulling 
flowers for her doll in its cart, twists her whole small body about to see what is the matter, 



thus accenting the hurly-burly. Yet the artist knew better than to leave the hurly-burly in 
complete possession of his picture; he has therefore withdrawn from the noisy youngsters a 
group upon the hill-side where one of the smaller children, tired of the boisterous game, 
leans both elbows on her sister's knee, and listens to her soothing chat, while her brother, 
bound for home and supper, after a day's hard work, just turns to give a glance at the others. 
E. KuKTZBAUER is another of the younger race of Munich artists, too young, as yet, like 
Keyser, to have found his way to the dictionaries, but, like him, sure to win his way there 




before long. His picture, "The New Picture-book," is a fresli illustration of the German 
skill in making much of little; three children about a table looking over a picture-book with 



their grandfather; what could be more elementary? And yet with such simple materials he 
has made a picture that, whatever way we look at it, whether as a study of life or as a idIc- 


ture merely, deserves higli praise. In the corner by the stove with its settle, the table (a 
manifest Tyrolean, by its slanting legs!) has been drawn up close to the seat, that grandr 
father's little girl may look comfortably at the picture-book he has bought for her of the 
peddler. Her two younger brothers, nice, comfortable little chaps, one with light hair and the 
other -with dark, have left their play and come to take a look at the treasure. The brown 
boy, true to his colors, has mounted the table, shoes and all , in his eagerness ; the fair-haired, 
more gentle and graceful, is content with the chair: kneeling on it and leaning an elbow on 
the table as he looks at the pictures. The very way in which the t^vo boys look at their sis- 
ter's book reveals something of their characters. The blonde looks quietly, earnestly, and 
Avith an exjjression in his attitude as if he would like to look at the picture as long as his 
sister will be pleased to let him. The other boy who has jumped on the table in his eager- 
ness, will jump down again in a minute, and even as it is, cannot restrain his impatience — 
though he is too good-natured to be cross about it — at his sister's slow way of turning over 
the leaves. There is a funny expression on the little girl's face, as if part of her pleasure in 
looking at the book were in knowing that it is hei's, and that no one else can look at it with- 
out her permission or make her turn over the leaves a bit faster than she is inclined to. Not 
that she is a naughty child! Far be it from us to wrong such a tidy, trim little piece, by so 
unkind a suspicion! She is no worse than the rest of us, or than jproperty-owners in general! 
And her brothers evidently think it all right. Her hands are folded on the table in front of 
the book ; it is plainly too beautiful to be touched. But, then, she is not in the least afraid 
that her brothers will touch it either! The old grandfather is a good study, too; tranquil, 
sedate, he smokes his pipe in silence, and looks at the pictures with the rest, but leaves their 
appreciation to the children. He loves to hear their prattle, and marks how in their com- 
ments, and in their prefei'ences, they betray their individual characters. 

Certainly this is a pleasant glimpse of family-life in a far-away corner of the world. 
But, 'tis only one of many, shown us by these German painters. The impression these 
pictures make when seen, in mass, as it were, in turning over portfolio after portfolio, is very 
different from that we get from French pictures of child-life; there is far less sentiment, as a 
rule, in German pictures than is to be found in the French, and in French studies of peasant- 
life there is always an undertone of sadness ; even in their games the children seem as if they 
bore a yoke, whereas we do not remember a German picture, dealing specially with children, 
that is not cheerful, and generally they are of a decidedly merry cast. The German children, 


as shown by their artists, are usually, too, more robust and solid than the French children, 
and I suppose this may represent the truth, though generalizing on such data is not very 
profitable. Still, one can but be struck with the difl'erence between the sort of child depicted 
by Edouard Frere for example— to take the best French painter of children for comparison, 
and the children whom Richter shows us, and we mention Richter because he is the German 
who more than any other idealizes his subjects and puts into them a good dose of sentiment. 
If we were to compare Jlidouard Frere with any of the artists spoken of in these pages : with 
Raupp or Kurtzbauer or Kleehaas, the difference would be felt to be much more striking. 
Frere's children are, in by far the greater number of instances, frail, delicate beings, who 
seem too often over-weighted with responsibilities; they are seldom playing; are almost 
always engaged upon some light task; they are not unhappy, but they are not gay, they are 
too sage to be gay ; and whether he be true to nature or not, the impression left upon us 
by Frere's pictures, is certainly a pathetic impression. We must always find ourselves feel- 
ing a little sad in looking at them. Richter's children, on the contrary, if they are not as 
gay as those of the later men, are always healthy, active little mortals, in the best of spirits, 
and enjoying the simple pleasures of their lives in a hearty, wholesome way. And this is 
even truer of the child-pictures painted by the Germans of our more immediate time. In 
these, all is frolic, the free play of animal spirits in tight little bodies Avith never a trace of 
sorrow or sentiment, and if set to tasks, turning these, too, to play and getting all the amuse- 
ment out of them that is possible. Thus, on the principle of the stingy old farmer who called 
to his men after supper at the end of a day's hard work, " Come, boys, let's go out and play 
'dig cellar' by moonlight!" we have seen small German children carrying strapped to their 
backs, baskets, miniature copies of those worn by rag-pickers and others, and taught to play 
at picking up things and putting them into their receptacles. And, no doubt, they thought 
it quite a good game in its way ! 

A scene like this of Wilhelm Schtitze's "Mousie's Caught! " is, of course, fun to children 
everywhere, since children are, as a rule, a cruel race and have to be taught sympathy and 
compassion by a good deal of x>ersonal experience. Every time a child knocks its shins, or 
stubs its toe, or has a toothache, it comes a step nearer to feeling a bit sorry for other people's 
shins, toes, and teeth. A mouse in a trap, however, is a pleasure which cannot be dampened 
to them by any personal suffering of a similar sort, nor are we at all sure that it would be any 
comfort to the ordinary child to be assured that it does not hurt a mouse to be played with 



by a cat. The children in this picture are looking forward to a glorious time as soon as 
Gretchen shall permit the house-cat, which she has lugged for this purpose from his warm 



bed on the heai'th, to jum]D down and go for the mouse in the trap. Gretchen is a neat 
matronly little maiden, and she holds the cat with great care, and counts the steps as she de- 



scends ; but this decorum cannot last long : the cat's eyes have caught sight of her destined ' 
prey, and in a minute there will be fine times in the old shed. The boy just home from school, 


or called in by his friends as a compliment, to share the treat, will probably do his full part 
in making things lively. Tlie children in the picture are well characterized, but the cat is 


better conceived than any of them. Yet, as a cat, she looks a poor creature by the side of the 
one in Paul Hoecker's picture ; a royal beast indeed, but less like a tiger than most of her 
kind. The youthful Dutch maiden who holds her has her arms fully occupied, but should 
Piiss once make a spring for liberty, her keeper would hare small chance in the race to recap- 
ture her unless she could slip her ark-like clogs! Paul Hoeker is a name just emerging, but 
from this picture and one recentlj' engraved from the Munich Kunstausstelluug of the pi'esent 
year, it is certain we are to hear more of him. He has a style, more than commonly large and 
simple, and his decorative-sense is sure ; his pictures, or the engravings from them, make agree- 
able spots on the wall ; a sort of recommendation that the reader may think not very high, 
but it is one that we can give to many of the older masters and to some of the new who would 
not be ashamed of it, as one recommendation among others. It is only when an artist is satis- 
lied if his picture be called decorative, and nothing more asked of it, that we are disappointed 
in his aim. Paul Hoecker's girl in our picture is good to look at for herself; she has a frank, 
honest face with a dash of humor in it; we like her neat Dutch dress and her cap with its 
outlandish ornaments. These Dutch maidens have been much painted of late by the Munich 
artists and even by our own men who have studied there, and of late the French artists have 
found them out ; but the French are somewhat less fond of subjects not indigenous to their 
own soil, than we are, or perhaj)s than the Germans themselves. Besides, they are supplied 
with artistic peasants and work-people enough to satisfy their oavii needs. It is one mark of 
the difference between the older times and ours that, in the sixteenth century let us say — be- 
fore that, certainly, and even for some time after — one could judge by the material contents of 
an artist's pictures, the costumes of his people, the architecture, the landscape even, from 
what part of the world he came, or where he lived; whereas, nowadays, we can have no such 
certainty. To judge by his subjects, Paul Hoecker should be a Hollander, but it is by no 
means necessary to believe it. He lives and paints in Munich, and merely works the Dutch 
mine in company mth a good many others of the younger race, who supply us with Dutch 
fisher-folk, milk -girls, flower-sellers, and orphans, ad libitum, good, bad, and indifferent. 

The picture by Karl Begas, "Washing Blacky," has an old-time look among these newer 
pictures, and many an elderly reader of these pages will recognize it as an old favorite. 
Karl Begas, one of four artists of this name — Reinhold Begas, the sculptor, w^ho made the bust 
of Menzel, shown on a previous page, among them — was born near Aix-la-Chapelle in 1794 and 
died in 1854. He became a Professor in the Berlin Academy and Court Painter. His educa- 



tion, however, was French ; he studied under Baron Gros, and travelled in Italy. The pictm-e 
we engrave is his best known work, although his aims were in the direction of what his coun- 
trymen call High Art ; historical subjects, altar-pieces for the churches, and the like. Our 



picture is a jDlayful commentary on Jeremiah's query, " Can the Ethiopian change his skin? " 
this Raphaelesque child is trying what soai? and water may do to make her good-natured 
nuraey as white as herself! 


1]Sr no art of modern times is the peaceful, ruminating side of life so sympathetically mir- 
rored as it is in that of Germany. In the regions of fancy and imagination the art of the 
German people is no more at home than is their literature. A few great names exhaust 
their capabilities in these directions. As a rule, for fancy, whether in books or on canvas, they 
give us the grotesque merely; for history, melodrama and bombast; and their humor, if it be 


allowed hearty and sincere, is, nevertheless, of a very earthly sort, shovring a plentiful supply 
of animal spiiits and strongly suggestive of abundant beer and good dinners. This is not to 
say that their grotesqueo'ie, their melodrama, and their humor are not good of their kind. 
All is, that they take the place of other things which the world, long ago, made up its mind 
were better worth having. But, as we began by saying, there is one side of life which the 
German knows better how to deal with than any other people, the peaceful, ruminating side 
— the life of childhood and the domestic life. The treatment of subjects drawn from the 
former of these topics has already been discussed here ; something, too, has been said about 
German painting of domestic scenes — of this, we have a few fresh illustrations to consider. 

Otto Piltz, the painter of " The Sewing-class," is a native of Weimar, where we believe 
he resides for the most of the year, although he holds a professorship at Berlin. As a painter 
he is distinguished for the naturalness of his treatment : his subjects too are nearly all drawn 
from the daily life of his own time, and he excels in the painting of children and young 
people. Our picture is as good an example as could be found of his skill in interesting the 
spectator by the facial expression alone of his personages, without incident of any but the 
most trivial kind, or action, except the quietest. It is the hoiar for hand-sewing in a girls' 
school. Nine young women are assembled in a cozy mansarde engaged in needlework of one 
kind or another under the charge of a matron. As they work, they listen to a book read by 
one of their number ; from the expression of the reader's face we should guess that the book 
is a novel, biit that we suppose a novel would hardly be permitted in such a place. And it is 
true that only one of the circle shows any lively interest in the reading ; the girl at the ex- 
treme right stops in her work, with suspended needle, and turns to look at the reader as if 
struck by something in the narrative. But with the others, the listening is rather perfunc- 
tory, although no two are listening alike, and so sharply defined are the characters, that a 
keen analyst could almost read the thoughts that are passing through these comely heads. 
The girl who has been appointed reader has the most intellectual head in the company ; she 
thoroughly enjoys what she is reading and understands it, but with the one exception we 
have noted, her appreciation of the author is hardly shared by her audience. They listen, but 
their thoughts are otherwhere ; and the cunning of the artist is most enjoyably shown in the 
way in which, in eA'ery one of the four girls seated in front of the reader, and immediately 
about the table, a threefold action of the mind is shown — they are all thinking of their work ; 
the one who crochets, the one who sews, she who embroiders and she who threads hei' needle; 



they are all listening to the reading; and they are all thinking of something equally removed 
from the reading and from their work, and disconnected with either. In the corner, two girls 
are seated; one of them with an embroidery-frame, the other marking a handkerchief — both 
intent on a bit of gossip that may possibly be inspired by the mischievous Cupid on the 



bracket over their heads. The expression in the face of the listening girl is most cleverly 
caught; her hand arrested in the act of taking the next stitch, the smile just breaking on 
her face, her eyes watching the words as they come from her companion's lij)s, her whole 
action showing the progress of the story to which she is listening. The details of this quiet 
little j)icture are well invented; tlie litter on the table; the formally disposed pictures on the 
wall; the small engraved portrait of Goethe — at home here in Weimar; the mirror fixed 


upon the slanting wall, tlie lower edge of the frame of the larger engraving reflected in it and 
helj)ing with all the perpendicular and horizontal lines on the wall, of picture-frames and 
cornice-ornament, to counteract the strong sloping lines of the two dormers. And the room 
itself ; how cozy and comfortable it is ; how well suited to the company and their occupation ! 
The picture by Glaus Meyer, a Munich painter, " A Nunnery in Bruges," shows us a 
very different " Sewing-class " from the one we have just been studying. We are in one of the 
rooms of the Beguinage of Bruges, an institution which is similar in kind though inferior in 
size and importance to the more celebrated Beguinage of Ghent with its seven-hundred in- 
habitants and over, a smaller city within the greater one, surrounded by a moat and a wall, 
with its gates, its squares, and streets, its eighteen convents and its church. The Beguinage 
of Bruges, though inferior in extent to that of Ghent, is for that reason more likely to please 
the searcher after the picturesque. Bruges is a quiet, deserted place, where the symbol of its 
departed commercial prosperity is not, as in other (?ities, the grass growing in the streets, but 
the water-lilies that brighten up the dark canals that^/once were all astir with boats and ship- 
ping. A curious fact is reported of Bruges; that out of the forty-five thousand inhabitants 
of the city, nearly one-third are in poverty. When we consider the ancient splendor and 
prosperity of this once famous city, teeming with wealth that flowered in sumptuosities of 
architecture, civil and religious ; where all the arts brought to a noble perfection combined to 
make the homes of her burghers, and the aisles and altars of her sanctuaries, the wonder of 
her own day and the rich legend of after ages — when we read of this prosperity, the present 
condition of Bruges seems mournful indeed. Yet, considering the large proportion of the 
poor in Bruges to the whole population, the visitor is agreeably surprised to find that the 
city, instead of swarming with beggars, is singularly free from this nuisance that infests so 
many cities of the continent. And not only are beggars absent; one misses also, at least, we 
missed on the occasion of our visit, the usual and not always inconvenient proffers of assistance 
in one way or another, that commonly greet the traveller in these parts as he leaves the 
railway -station and passes out into the square. Hacks are scarce, and their drivers far from 
demonstrative, no one offers to carry your bag, no touters insist on your seeking the hospital- 
ity of their favorite hotel ; you are left delightfully to yourself, and happy in unaccustomed 
freedom, were it not for the haunting feeling, born of so many disagreeable experiences, that 
such immunity from the pest of guides and beggars, touters and the ostentatious owners of 
blind eyes, rheumatisms, and lame legs, cannot last long. But it does, and the too brief day 






1 z 2 


comes to a close without a single call made upon what is euphemistically called our charity. 
Dining at the homely estaminet of the Golden Eagle — at a table by the window, where, as we 
discussed our frugal meal, we looked out upon the great square crowned by the Tour des 
Halles, and listened to its chimes, marking with April showers of melody all the divisions of 
the hour — we fell into chat with a young clerk, our chance companion, about Bruges and its 
condition. From him we learned the curious secret of the beggary of Bruges, and if it be 
the true explanation, we commend it to the consideration of our socialists, and to the members 
of the anti-poverty society. According to our informant, the reason why we met no beggars on 
the streets was, that the multitude of charitable Foundations established by the merchants and 
grandees of the middle-ages, and in the years that immediately succeeded the blooming-time 
of the city, have so accustomed the people to depend upon the helj) afforded by these Foun- 
dations that aU stimulus to industry and self-help is wanting. No one will work, because the 
actual necessaries of life can be had without working. Does a man feel hungry? He goes to 
one of the convents and gets sufficient food to stave off the present discomfort. Does he need 
shoes, a coat, shelter from the cold? — the same wide charity covers him with its demoralizing 
mantle. The great square on which we looked out was surrounded by huge deserted ware- 
houses ; and similar buildings, once swarming with the life of .trade and industry, stood loafing 
and sullen along all the side-streets. "Why are they empty?" we asked; "why don't the 
English or the Americans come and set up factories in them : put them to some use ? Here is 
all the enginery of commerce ; why is it not set in motion? " " Because," said my young fellow, 
" workmen couldn't be hired to run the factories if they were set going ! No one in Bruges 
will do more work than is necessary to keep body and soul together — and why should he, 
when he has but to ring a convent door-bell, and have his more pressing wants supplied ? " 
"And these people of whom I read here in my Baedeker: he has been speaking of the fifteen 
thousand people or so who are in poverty — ' On the other side, there are in the city plenty of 
rich Flemish burghers who have retired from business and live here in Bruges, preferring it 
to other cities of Flanders? ' " " Oh, these burghers ! " he laughed, " what could be duller, more 
starving than the life they lead in those empty houses? They have pinched and saved, all 
their days, to get together enough to enable them, by the closest economy, to live like the 
beggars, mthout work, and here they are, shut up in their houses, visiting nobody, receiving 
no visitors, their only occupation to nurse their pennies and their pride." We leave this 
solution of the beggary-question in Bruges to the economists ; satisfactory as it seemed for 


the moment, yet eren to a layman the query would present itself: how and where has the 
money originally devoted to the support of these various Foundations, the Beguiaages, the 
convents and hospitals, been invested, that it still suj)plies the income necessary to carry out 
— even in part — the purposes for which it was bequeathed ? Doubtless there is an answer, 
even though that of my young acquaintance — himself a native of Bruges, yet weary and dis- 
gusted mth the inanity of the society he lived in, and so doubtless seeing things somewhat 
awry — be not the whole truth. But, whatever may be the explanation, this is plain, that 
something has killed Bruges, and something keeps her dead. 

Here, in Clans Meyers picture, we get a glimpse of a room in one of the houses of the 
Beguinage, and see the occupants at their work. The place is bright and sunny, scrupulously 
clean, and absolutely devoid of everything that is not necessary for the liie that is led in it. 
The large, clear windows look out ujion a sunny court, and through an open door we see 
another room, a sort of vestibule, where one of the nuns is returning from some household 
errand in the town. She wears the street dress of her-^order, the ample /"azZZe or cloak and the 
white head-dress, which, as we see, is also Avorn in-doors. The effect is very striking, when, 
as in church for instance, the whole body of nuns are assembled ; the mass of Avhite in the 
head-gear seems to hover like a lighted cloud over the congregation, contrasting most pictur- 
esquely with the dark of the cloaks. Here in the living-room of the convent a half-dozen of 
the nuns are sitting, under the superintendence of an older one, who examines with a critical 
eye a piece of cloth which one of the women has brought for her inspection. She sits in a 
chair somewhat more comfortably made than the others are provided with ; it is covered with 
leather and studded with brass nails, while the other chairs are plain, rush-bottomed affairs ; 
and three of the nuns are obliged to content themselves with a wooden bench placed against 
the wall. The corner of the room where these women are sitting, is floored with planks laid 
for warmth over the flagging that is used for the rest. In some of the houses tUes are to be 
seen instead of flagging, but even these are of the simplest make ; everything savoring of eye- 
pleasing ornament is avoided in these religious houses as if it were unfit — as indeed we may 
suppose it is thought to be. The walls of this room are bare except between the windows, 
where hangs a crucifix, and, below it, what looks mischievously like a bit of looMng-giass in 
its black frame ; on the moulding that caps the wainscot, is a prayer-book with its clasp, an 
ink-bottle, a medicine-bottle, a pill-box — no doubt in such a place even pill- taking is felt to be 
a diversion ! One only idler is seen in this abode of silence, for the nun on the right with her 


liands in her lap is not idling, she is waiting for her neighbor, whose more experienced hands 
are turning down a hem for her. No, the idler is the kitten, who, una wed by the solemnity of 
the hour, and by no means alarmed at her neai'ness to the somewhat grim-looking Superior, 
is playing ^vith that good lady's ball of knitting-cotton, as if it were not a sacred and inviola- 
ble thing ! Here in this bare and silent nunnery, from which everything human that can 
possibly be dispensed with has been cut oflE, we find a ray of conscienceless and libertine 
beauty and gayety crept in in the shape of Pussy, the perpetual incarnation, with a slightly 
modernized name, of the venerable Pasht, the cat-faced, whose living originals disported 
themselves in the old monasteries and temple-palaces of Egypt. In a world of mutability 
where almost nothing is at a stay, pussy at least abides with us; the embodiment of beauty 
in line, color, and motion, a perpetual protest against dulness and conformity ! 

AVhen we pass with AValtheu Fiule from Bruges to Holland, and under his sympathe- 
tic guidance exchange the Beguinage for the Waisenhaus, or Orphan Asylum, of Haarlem, or 
any other town in Holland, we find ourselves in a different atmosphere. These orphan-houses 
as constituted in Holland seem to be an institution peculiar to that country, but it is not easy 
to learn much about them ; all that meets the eye of the ordinary traveller is the inmates of 
the asylums as they walk about the streets, or come and go from the churches where, in some 
of the towns at least, they assist in the singing. But some of the artists, our own Mr. Chase 
among them, have been of late allowed to visit the houses themselves, and for that matter it 
may be a common privilege enough, but naturally the interest felt by the ordinary traveller 
is slight, and he is content, as a rule, with what is, after all, the most interesting feature: 
the sight of the boys and girls, young men and maideus, whom he meets in the streets. Their 
costumes, as is seen in Firle's picture, " Morning- worship in the Orphanage," is simple enough 
and not very different from that of other people in the town; the most striking peculiarity in 
the dress is the parti-colored sleeves, one red and one black, or dark-blue and red, or blue and 
black, while the skirt is sometimes red, with a black waist and ficliu, or black with a red 
waist. As the young people are wisely allowed a good deal of liberty, and as it is for the 
interest of the town to which they belong that these orphans should be well-behaved, the 
uniform serves as a kind of police to keep a quiet watch upon them. The girls are not 
expected to go where they ought not, and the uniform, in their case, is rather to keep others 
in order than themselves; but, with the boys, it serves to put them on their good behavior as 

to taverns and other questionable resorts. Should a boy from one of these institutions be 
Vol. II.— 11 # » 


seen by a townsman going into a drinking-place, information would at once be given, and tlie 
delinquent brought up with a round turn. In the old church at Delft we heard the sweet 
voices of these orjphan-girls in the choir, and afterward saw them coming down from the 
gallery and lighting up the dull uninteresting interior — what can be meaner, more poverty- 
stricken than the Dutch churches ? — with their scarlet sleeves. In Walther Firle's picture 
we see a group of orphan-girls assembled in the parlor of the Superior, singing their morning 
hymn. The bright sunny room looks out through large windows, not upon the street, as one 
might suppose from the appearance of the opposite buildings, but upon the opposite side of 
the large garden about which the buildings of the Orphanage are placed. It is one of these 
ample gardens which Mr. Wm. M. Chase has painted for us, with the girls in groups quietly 
enjoying the pleasant summer's day. What touches us in Mr. Firle's picture is its unaflfected- 
ness; the simple, unadorned expression of natural feeling running through the whole scene ; 
from the company of comely maidens at the left, in their snowy aprons, fichus, and caps, con- 
trasting with their dark gowns, as they stand circle-wise about their leader, to the aged 
Superior, sitting with clasped hands in her arm-chair, and listening with half-closed eyes and 
spirit withdrawn, to the song in which, as a girl, she once took part. Behind the polished 
table by which she sits, another of the inmates, somewhat older than the girls who are sing- 
ing, but still young, has come in to spread the cloth for the Superior's breakfast, thinking the 
service over ; she stops, with the cloth folded over her arm, and with clasped hands listens to 
the closing notes of the hymn. A lovely tranquil picture, and if we look at it from the pro- 
fessional point, composed with much skill; the risk the artist ran was, lest he should make two 
pictures of one, since the groups at the right and left are so strongly divided. But the senti- 
ment of the scene ciilminates in the figure of the Superior; we feel that it is for her that the 
picture was painted; and the action and expression of the young woman who is entering, as 
it leads us back again to the group of singers, binds the whole composition once more 
together. It will be noticed that the room we are now looking at has with all its simplicity 
of furnishing, a touch of refinement and grace of living in Avhich Claus Meyer's room in the 
Beguinage is wanting. It would be hard to say in just what this touch consists; the hand- 
some clock, the flowering-plants on the window-sill, the sheer muslin curtains, the manifest 
mirror, in its moulded frame; these things hardly account for the expression we have 
remarked. After all, is it not in these young girls themselves, in their erect and unaffected 
bearing, in their faces, speaking of health of body and mind, that the greater charm of this 













scene consists ? Youtli is the true sunshine of the world ; the sun that lights the earth is 
only an image of it. 

WiLHELM Hasemann, an artist of the younger race, who hails from Carlsruhe, has 
expressed in his picture, " A Young Grirl Sewing " the same tranquil domesticity that we 
find so often celebrated in German genre painting, but which is seldom treated with the 
taste and artistic completeness shown in this work. Apart from the sentiment that would 
attract the general public to the subject, there are many persons who will find a pleasure in 
looking at the picture for the sake of the pretty bow- window and the comfortable look of 
the corner in which this young girl has ensconced herself. Many and many a hint for the 
artistic arrangement of our houses, for their furniture and their decoration in general, has 
been gathered from such pictures as this. And if much that is in vogue in owe coxmtry now- 
adays has a German, and sometimes a medifeval German, look, it is because ten such interiors 
as this are painted to one French one, and ten German books dealing with old-time household 
manners and customs are ]3ublished where one appears in France or England. And as all 
these pictures and books influence public taste, and beside giving hints to private persons, 
are largely drawoi upon by professional designers and decorators, it is natural that the German 
influence should get the upper hand. In Germany itself, the influence of the new studies in 
this direction has had striking results. The nationalizing of Germany has, as we have already 
seen, given a great impetus to the study of her past, not merely in what is usually dignified 
\\ith the title of history, but in every department of life, and the house and its belongings 
have become a rich and fruitful field of research and discovery. Not a stone has been left 
unturned, and as the scientific students did their Avork in gleaning from books, pictures, old 
monuments of every kind, a knowledge of how their ancestors lived, moved, and had their 
being, the writers took up the subject and popularized it — such books as Falk's " The House" 
and Georges Hirtil's " The German Room," have done good service in the cause — and then the 
artists presented the theme to the eye, and made the old chairs and tables, and panelled walls, 
and timbered ceilings, and hospitable chimney-pieces more attractive still. It became the 
fashion to furnish houses in the old German style; the jpictares of Diirer and Holbein, and 
the cuts of the old book-illustrators, were freely drawn upon for models, and much that was 
superficially attractive was produced. Then, as now, the artists helped the cause along with 
their pictures, popularizing it in a way that could not have been done by the mere practice of 
private persons. Where only a man's family and friends would see the interior of his house, 


a picture could communicate a similar model to a whole cityful of people. Beside private 
houses, it became the fashion to put up taverns, restaurants, and club-rooms in old Gennan 
style; there are many places in Germany where this fad has been carried out with great 
thoroughness; not only the chairs and tables, the wainscoting, and the fittings of the room 
are exact reproductions of the style of the early sixteenth century, but the earthenware, 
the beer-mugs, the linen, are all of the same style ; yet as in all such matters, human nature 
itself makes her protest against turning back the hands of the social clock, by refusing to 
make her men and women over in the old, moulds. French bonnets, stove-pipe hats, coats 
and trousers, obstinately refuse to make concessions, and the anachronism is fatally exposed. 
Later, with the growing influence of Prussia, and the worship of the Great Frederick, the 
counter-current of the Rococo set in, and to-day, although the old Gothic style of Diirer and 
Holbein's time has many advocates, the freer, looser style of Louis XV. has been cultivated 
with vigor and success, and has once again become almost a national style. It is used with 
surprising dexterity and grace by the artists of Munich among others, and even the stone- 
cutters, the workers in that cement which gives at small expense such a grandiose air to 
many of her buildings, the carvers in wood and the workers in metal, have learned to handle 
this style with an ease and skill that are like a second nature. 

Pictures such as this we give by Hasemann have the advantage of recommending a style 
that is more distinctly amenable to modern ways of living. There is nothing here that might 
not be transplanted to the most modern house even in our own country, and made at home 
there, provided that a certain degree of culture had prepared the way for such simplicity, 
and for the true enjoyment of the home-side of life, the side that is not meant for strangers 
or the public. 

In another picture by the painter of the " Nunnery in Bruges," " The Dice-throwers," the 
artist has given us a glimpse of a corner in one of the inns in Munich that we have alluded to, 
as having been refitted in the style of an older time. If it were not for the young man's big 
hat and the still bigger hat of the old man who sits at the end of the table we might take this 
lot of dice-throwers for contemporaries, but we suppose that was not Meyer's intention. He has 
rather wished to carry us back to the times of Terburg and Pieter de Hooghe, but, however it 
may be with the painting, it may be admitted that his people have much more life in them 
than the older men knew how to put in theirs. This picture has become a great favorite with 
the artist's public at home, and even here has met with much favor; its picturesqueness wins 




^.<«4.-Wi» ■'•i^V>m4j!u9)uw^ f 







it friends on one side; the earnestness of the actors attracts others. The head of the old man 
who has just made the throw is painted with great force— the ownership of the broad piece 




of gold at his side hangs upon the whim of the die, that for a second, as we look at it, dances 
on its edge ! Will he keep thera, or will they pass ov^er to the young man who watches the 
cast with knitted bi'ows ? The old man nearest us seems to be the least interested in the game 
of the party ; he cares more for his beer than for the throw, and holds his old Flemish mug in 
readiness to drain it the instant the die has made up its mind on which side to fall. 

LrD\\'iG Passini, in spite of his Italian name, is a native of Vien^ia, where he was born in 
1832. He must not be confounded with Alberto Passini, the painter of scenes from the life of 
Turkey and Persia, who was born at Busseto, in Italy. Ludwig Passini was taken early by his 
parents to Trieste and thence to Venice. He studied with Karl Werner and accompanied 
him on a visit to Dalmatia; afterward the two artists worked much in comj)any with Carl 
Haag. After a visit to Rome, and another to Berlin, where he was married, he returned to 
Venice, and has since lived altogether in that city. He paints principally in water-coiors, m 
Avhich he is one of the first masters of his time. His picture " Curiosity " gives an excellent 
idea of his work, although he has done more serious tjiings — Mr. Vanderbilt's line example, 
for instance, " Peasants hearing Mass." With a nice sense of humor, Passini has kept us 
from seeing what it is that so excites the curiosity of these Venetians. AVho is in the gondola, 
the prow of which we just discover passing under the bridge ? There is no knowing. Perhaps 
some person of distinction has just arrived in the city, more likely it is a pair of lovers newly 
wed, or on their way to church. But, in fact, anything at all unusual Avill gather a crowd in 
Venice, or, for that matter, in any Italian city. On this occasion we find almost every rank 
in life represented, except the highest — there is no gentleman visible, much less any lady ; no 
Venetian lady being ever seen in the streets. Here, however, are good people enough, and a 
j)riest or two to bless them ; the variety of character is remarkable, and so great is the artist's 
skill, that the individuality of the smallest face is preserved, while the essentially Venetian 
characteristics of the ci'owd are given with a freedom and spontaneity of touch thgit can only 
oome of long familiarity and constant study. All these people, forgetting their occupations, 
forgetting what brought them out of their houses, have rushed to the parapet of the bridge — 
'tis in one of the caUe, or narrow streets — to catch a glimpse of the stranger, were it only for a 
second. Only one person in the crowd keeps cool and remains indiffei'ent — the baby on its 
young nurse's arm ! His eyes are rather attracted by the boys who are racing up the street 
at the call of the noisy gamin, who is shouting in our ears — a figure adroitly introduced by 
the artist to carry his subject outside his frame. We may study the picture as long as we 





will; every face is a type and gives us something to study; the two girls drawing water ia 
their copper buckets, of whom one still clings to her duty while the other yields to resistless 
curiosity; the pretty girl who rests her fan on the parapet, and looks as if she thought to 
herself that another girl she knows would make as fair a bride; or the young hsherman in 
front, an undeveloped tenor, Masaniello or Edgardo ; the girls pressing on one another, eager 
for a sight and making their feminine comments ; the priest on his dignity, a little scornful 

"the pumpkin-seller." 


of himseK for yielding to his ciiriosity, and drawing back his cloak with professional discre- 
tion; and so the character-dravdng goes on, true to the life in the smallest head of the group 
that ends the line. 

The same traits of observation apjjear in our other picture, " The Zucca (pumpkin) Seller," 
and which needs no help to understand from any commentator. These men, with their boat- 
load of pumpkins brought from their farm on the mainland, are making their way to a sale 
through a sea of gossip and small talk. As yet, only one pumpkin has been got rid of and 
that is being carried into her house by the buyer under considerable difficulties. It is at 

1 68 


present extremely dubious whether the superior young person with a black jacket and lace 
on her sleeves, will decide to take either of the pumpkins on which the dealer is volubly 
descanting. His assistant, in charge of the tiller, gossips with a girl who is fetching water, 
while he tills his pipe anew. In the stern of the boat the farmer's boy takes a rest from 
handling the oar, and chews a straw by way of appetizer for a breakfast that depends on the 



sale of enough pumpkins for a profit. In the distance a young woman walks off like a 
duchess, with a fine scorn of pumpkins, and of mere vulgar cares of all sorts. Passini remains 
the painter of the popular life of Venice before all others. No one has interpreted that life 
with a fulness, a humanity, and a dramatic sense in any way comparable to his. 

Hugo Kauffmank, born in Hamburg, in 1844, draws almost all his subjects from the life 


of the common people, and invests his scenes with no little dramatic power. His " Poachers 






Surprised," tells over again a story that has always been a favorite one in countries where the 
game-laws are made in the interest of a class, and where their violation is a crime liable to the 
severest penalties. These men have been discovered in their rude retreat where, after a 
day's successful sport, they were amusing themselves, in company with the woman who shares 
their fortunes. Their guns, unwarily laid aside upon the stone bench, are of no use to them, 
nor would they, perhaps, dare to use them if they could. Their offence is flagrant enough, 
for the fawns that they have killed are in plain view upon the floor. Hatred is on the man's 
face who has sprung to his feet; his clenched flst motions revenge, but he feels his powerless- 
ness. His companion keeps his seat and instinctively puts his arm about the woman at his 
side to protect her. The guitar on which she has been playing has slipped to the floor. A 
few minutes, and the unlucky pair will be marching hand-cuffed before their captor on their 
road to judgment. This is good, vigorous jjainting, a story clearly told, but it has only a local 
interest, and as it deals with only a constructive offence, and not a crime in itself, its interest 
is purely local; here in America, for instance, such a picture has no value outside its technical 
merit. In Germany, it is supposed to convey a deep moral lesson. 

The little sketch, " The Conscript's Wagon," by August Von Pettestkofen, an artist of 
Vienna, who began life as a soldier, is a vigorous, lively study of a scene in Hungary, where 
the artist spent much time. He has also lived in Venice, but his working place is Vienna. 
There is plenty of "go " in tliis picture; tlie horses dash madly along, the captain beats the 
drum, and all shout and sing together to keep up their spirits, for may they not all be shot 
to-morrow ? 


A PLACE apart in the art of modern Germany is held by Arnold Bocklin, from the long 
list of whose productions we present our readers with two cliaracteristic examples. He 
was born in 1827 at Basle, and took up the study of art in obedience to an over-mastering incli- 
nation, and in spite of the obstinate opposition of his father. His flrst studies were made at 
Diisseldorf, under Schirmer, and were devoted to landscape, but later he withdrew from the 
Academy and gave himself up to the direct study of nature, laboring long and diligently at 
recording his observations and impressions received at flrst hand. Leaving Schirmer's direc- 
tion, he passed to Brussels, where he studied flgure-painting as earnestly as he had before 


studied landscape. Restlessness was characteristic of Bocklin's youth, and wearying of 
Brussels he turned to Paris, but arrived there at an unfortunate time, when the Revolution 
of 1848 was turning everything topsy-turvy. His stay in Paris was short, and he learned but 
little there ; although some of his German biographers trace to the impression made upon his 
sensitive youthful mind by the cruelties he witnessed on the part of the soldiery, the discord 
of his coloring and the want of harmony between the contents of his pictures and their out- 
ward form ! Perhaps if the Germans would cease thinking it a moral duty to attempt an 
explanation of every fact in the universe, they would be saved from some of the absurdities 
they occasionally fall into. Hastily quitting Paris and its disagreeable soldiery, Bocklin 
returned to his paternal Basle, and from thence went to Rome, where for some time he sup- 
ported a scanty existence by working for the publishers, finding solace for his hard experiences 
in the congenial society of other artists as poor as himself, among theui the now deceased 
Dreber and Feuerbach, with whom he enjoyed to the full their common wanderings in the 
field of classic art. In Rome, in spite of his poverty, he must needs take to himself a wife, and 
after a short acquaintance he married Angelina Pascucci, a poor orphan whom he had found 
living in the sorest need. Happy as he found himself in his new relation, — a happiness that 
suffered a cruel check in the loss of his first-born child — life in Rome proved too hard for Bock- 
lin, and he went again to Basle, where he hoped that he might find an opening for his talent. 
But things were no better there, and the history of his first commission is a melancholy episode 
in his life. He received an invitation from a rich amateur of Hanover to paint the walls of 
his dining-room with a subject of his own choosing. Filled Avith high hopes, he took his wife 
and child, and left Basle for Hanover, where he soon covered the walls of the room consigned 
to him with a series of landscapes painted in distemper on linen, where man's relations, so to 
speak, with Fire, were indicated in that allegorical fashion so dear to the German mind. These 
pictures have since been transferred to Cassel, where their owner has built himself a Gothic 
villa. On the first wall is painted, at one side, a nymph in a meadow, symbolizing, in ways 
best known to the allegorizing mind, the primaeval ages ; then comes Prometheus, the luckless 
inventor of fire, and lastly Adam and Eve. Then follows the Age of Gold; the farmer sows 
Ms field, women fetch water from the spring, an altar smokes with the sacrifice which the 
shepherds bring to the god of the wood. The series ends with the burning of a villa crowning 
a rocky steep ; the foreground is filled with people who rend the heaven with their cries. 
When all was finished, the astonished amateur, not at all comprehending this strange mixture 



of subjects and motives, expressed his dissatisfaction with the way in which his well-meant 
commission had been filled, and in plain terms refused at first to accept the worli. A lawsuit 
ensued, and while it was pending, the artist and his family, dependent on this work for their 
support in a strange city, were put to great straits, and in the end he left inhospitable Hanover 
and made his way to Munich, where, as it proved, better luck awaited him. Among the many 
friends he had made in the early days in Rome, Paul Heyse, the novelist, was one of those 
most strongly attracted to him. They came together again at Munich, and the poet of the 
pen introduced the poet of the brush to Count Schack, who at once found in the talent of the 
artist something congenial, and gave him so many commissions that it is only in his gallery 
in Munich that we can get a complete idea of Bocklin's talent. From this time the success 
of Bocklin was assured, and whatever his talent has been able to accomplish has been pro- 
duced under circumstances altogether favorable. His position among German artists, though 
certainly not universally accepted, is with the foremost, and whatever faults he may be justly 
charged with, and certainly they are not few, it must be admitted that his distinctive merits 
richly overweigh them. His work may be classed under the two heads of landscape and 
romantic genre, and the examples in Count Schack's gallery are among his chief ]Droductions 
in either class. In this famous gallery, one of the finest collections of modern German art to 
be found anywhere, we meet with the pictures of many artists not seen elsewhere in places 
accessible to the public; while some, like Schwind, Feuerbach, Genelli, and Bocklin, are only 
to be completely understood by the visitor to this gallery, so generously made free to all, since 
the insignificant porter's fee cannot be a bar to any one who cares for pictures at all. The 
landscape we copy from Bocklin, "The Villa by the Sea," is one of the pictures by him in the 
Schack gallery, and it is a subject that so greatly interests the artist that he has painted 
several repetitions of it, varying, of course, somewhat in the details. Bocklin's idea, according 
to Pecht, is to represent a rich villa by the sea, that has been burned and plundered in the 
early morning by pirates, the owner murdered, and the women and treasure carried away. 
This is the general theme, but in the example we give, the calamity would not appear to be 
so recent. The flames are long since extinguished ; nature, as is her way, has sought by new 
growths of vine and verdure, to hide the traces of rapine and destruction, and one of those 
who in happier times dwelt in this stately palace, has returned to weep over the memory of 
the past. The ruin wrought by the pirates is complete, but enough is left to show us what 
the place was in its days of prosperity. The marble columns of the portico still stand, and 



against the blue sky one or two of the statues remain that formerly guarded the terrace upon 
its top. Still m the garden, now encumbered and overlaid with fallen trees and shrubbery, 
Neptune tries to guide the ramping horses of the fountain, but as the vandals have left the 
once smiling place, it will forever remain. The sea-birds, hoarsely screaming, will fly about 
the rocks, the stormy winds will beat the shrubbery and bend the tall cedars like reeds, and 



little by little the desolation and ruin will be complete. Much of this we feel in looking at 
Bocklin's picture, but we feel, too, that the subject is not treated with the dignity that belongs 
to it. There is too much detail, and the pictorial interest is frittered away; the eye wanders 
all over the canvas seeking for a place where it may rest. Nor is this the only difficulty; we 
feel that the sky and the land are not in sympathy; they do not belong together. A wind 
that could so drive the shrubbery before it, and bend the tall trees, would never let the waves 
play so at their ease along the shore, nor show us a sky so clear of clotids. There is a want 


of tone, a crudity of coloring, which betrays itself as plainly in the picture as it does in the 
engraving. It seems to us that Bcicklin shows to most advantage in such pictures as " The 
Mermaidens "—the one we copy — the " Nereid " of the Schack Gallery, the " Fight of the 
Centaurs," and others of the same general character — attempts to put life and reality into the 
long departed fancies of antique poetry and fable. In his " ideal landscapes "—of which 
" The Villa by the Sea " is one of the most striking, we may think we discover a relationship 
to the art of the French romantics, although he came too late to share in the glow of dis- 
covery; and other influences, derived from literature and the experiences of travel, especially 
from his life in Italy, where he wandered over classic ground, arm in arm with love and 
friendship, had, no doubt, much to do with these creations, all of which are variations upon a 
common theme. As we look at these landscapes, certain poems, or passages of poetry, come 
back to the mind; we remember Uhland, or Poe, or Cobridge, or Keats with his — 

" Charm'd magic casements opening on the foam 
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn ; " 

but there is no reason for supposing that Bocklin looked anywhere but within himself for his 
interpretation of nature. As for the other subjects— the class to which the " Nereid " of the 
Schack. Gallery, the "Mermaidens" and the rest, belong, their origin is not difficult to trace. 
Such themes are familiar to the German people, whose literature from old times of Norse and 
Teuton is filled with legends of pixies, faeries, gnomes, water-sprites, sea-serpents, and many 
other denizens of the woods, and waves, and secret places of the earth, and German poets, and 
story-tellers, and painters have always delighted in depicting them. In Bocklin's fancy these 
have taken a form at once more native and more realistic than we generally see; his creations 
are freer from admixture with the classic, or the Kenaissance transformation of the classic, 
such as we find in most of the German allegorizing, and in their grotesque subjects. Some- 
times Bocklin's pictures of this sort suggest William Blake, and again Henry Fuseli, himself 
a Swiss, a native of Zurich, a man with a head full of strange fancies, but incapable of weav- 
ing them into artistic harmony. Nor is Bocklin himself capable of beautiful painting. Our 
engraving of " The Mermaids "—a very skilful piece of work— does the artist something more 
than justice by ridding us of the raw and dissonant color of the original, and fixing our 
attention upon the graceful lines, the spirited action, the ovei-flowing animal spirits, the 
abounding playful fancy of the scene. In the first act of Richard Wagner's opera "Das 
Rheingold," a fancy like this of Bocklin's is given a sort of reality, but the painter's theme 


admitted of far more life and variety than were allowed the poet — for our time has produced 
few poets equal to Wagner. Noi' is Bocklin guilty of weighting his pictures with allegorical 
significance or nioi-al teaching of any Ivind. They do not typify the cardinal virtues, nor the 
cardinal sins either, nor the arts and sciences, nor any of the too well-known ingredients with 
which his German and French contemporaries are so fond of peopling wall and ceilings and 
acres of perfunctory canvas. These creatures of his fancy are simply, bent on having a good 
time, sporting in the water that is their home. This storm-beaten rock in mid-ocean is their 
play-ground, and many are the antics it has witnessed. Just now, in the foreground, a 
wicked old merman is in hot pursuit of two stout young damsels, unaware of the jealous 
dash that the legitimate partner of his joys and sorrows is making for him, while the catas- 
trophe is waited for with glee by two other maidens, one of whom clings to the rock, and the 
other watches the game from its top. Blake himself would have enjoyed the weird head of 
the other old merman that just rises above the water, as he tries to steal unawares upon the 
merry group. The luckless baby at the left who, in his^ eagerness to seize a small fish, has 
slipped upon the rock, is an amusing freak of fancy, and so is that of the youthful remora 
who is turning a hand-spring in the air. With what spirit and abandonment, this figure is 
drawn! BticlvMn has imagined- for him a tail with a limpet-like end, by which he can attach 
himself to the rock and i)lny with the waves at^ his ease. This picture might serve as an 
illustration for Tennyson's youtliful jjoem: 

" I would be a mermaid fair; 
I would sing to myself the whole of the day; 
With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair; 
AtkI still, as I comb'd I would sing and say, 
■ Who is it loves me ? Who loves not me ? ' 

* 'h ***** I 

■ But at iiight I would wander away, away, 

■I would fling on each side my low-flowing locks. 
And lightly vault from the throne and play 

With the mermen in and out of the rocks ; 
We would run to and fro, and hide ixnd seek 

On the broad sea-wolds 1' the crimson shells 

Whose silvery spikes are nighest tlie sea. 
But if any came near I would call, and shriek, 
And adown the steep like a wave I would leap 

From the diamond ledges that jut from the dells; 


For I would not be kiss'd by all who would list 
Of the bold merry mermen under the sea; 
They would sue me and woo me, and flatter me, 
In the purple twilights under the sea; 
But the king of them all would carry me, 
Woo me, and and win me, and marry me, 
In the branching jaspers under the sea." 

Hans Makart, when he died in 1883, at the early age of forty-three, enjoyed, especially 
among the younger artists of every country, a reputation as a colorist that in itself was 
enough to show how dead we have become in this generation to that quality which is the 
highest charm of art. Nor was it as a colorist alone that in the estimation of his time he 
stood head and shoulders above all his contemporaries. He was praised for the richness of 
his composition, for the exuberant fancy, the wide knowledge, the vast executive j)ower that 
were displayed in his canvases. We wei'e told, by sound of trumpet, that he had brought 
back the golden age of Paul Veronese, of Tintoretto, of the whole Venetian galaxy, but that 
he added to this rather dry and outworn repertory, a modernism, a power of sympathy with 
the feelings and aspirations of our own time, that made hi in more than the peer of the great 
ones gone! His reputation, that had' been steadily growing since the appearance of his 
" Plague in Florence," was at its height in 1876,' when his " Catharine Cornaro," his " Abun- 
dantia," and some of his smaller pictures, were brought to this country and shown at the 
Philadelphia Exposition; and it is to our credit that they made much less impression here 
than might have been expected, seeing how naturally pi'one we are to accept the judgment of 
older nations in matters where we take it for granted that their larger experience and ampler 
opportunities have given them a right to be heard; In truth, it was difficult then to under- 
stand, and it is well-nigh impossible to understand now, how Makart climbed to the position 
he held so long. For, to-day, it is all but universally admitted that canvases more empty of 
meaning, more wanting in everything that gives worth and dignity to painting, have seldom 
been seen. Even their boasted color no longer finds any one so poor to do it honor: And 
yet, as no reputation of such magnitude was ever built upon nothing, but always represents 
something real, it will be found that Makart, too, , had a reason for being. Something, no 
doubt, was due to the colossal advertising he received at the hands of the dealers. In Mun- 
kacsy and Makart we have two men who owe nine-tenths of what they stand for to the 
magnificent skill the dealers and other men who had them in tow displayed, in rearing in 


their behalf tlie whole vast enginery of modern "advertising." But without some basis to 
build upon, even this great skill, to which all Yankeedom combined could not hold a candle, 
would not have availed. And in Makart's case he represented the reaction against the for- 
malizing spirit, the worn-out allegorizing, the stilted historical-painting, the dead monotony 
of color, which had long made of German painting the dreary sepulchre of the dry bones of 
art. The spirit of the whole body of the younger men was in revolt- against the formalities of 
the studios of Munich and Berlin — a lot of dry-as-dust professors, men of no little mechanical 
sl-;i]l. but without a drop of the poetry of art in their veins, were in possession of the schools — 
and it was inevitaiiie tliat change nuist come, and that the stream so long pent up would one 
ilay burst its barriers and come down with a rush. Makart was not the only "sign of the 
times," but he was one of the most auspicious, because he had more ability, such as it was, 
than the rest of his young contemporaries, and had he applied that ability to painting big 
religious pictures, as Munkacsy did, he would certainly have cut a much greater figure than 
he actually fLUed, large as was the place, while his fame was at its height. Munkacsy, as 
we have seen, had but a few notes at his command; he had not an atom of inventive power; 
he painted big pictures not because he wanted to paint them — at least, their thinness and their 
perfunctory character make it appear so — but because those who helped him to his public 
knew the commercial value of big pictures. But Makart painted his great " machines," as 
the French call such canvases, because he delighted in a wide field, and plenty of figures, and 
noisy colors. His first big canvas, " The Plague in Florence," was such a hurly-burly of m«n, 
women, and colors, as up to that time had not been seen. It was painted after Makart came 
back from Rome to raise money, since he was in straits with poverty. He sold it out of hand 
to a dealer for a few hundred marks. The dealer sold it for ten thousand marks, and when it 
was exhibited at the Kunstverein in Munich, Makart's fame (for his lifetime at least) was 
secured. As the picture made its triumphal progress through the German cities, the enthu- 
siasm increased, and even in Paris, amid the babel of voices, the praise was louder than the 
fault-findings, though it must not be forgotten that sober criticism outside of Germany never 
accepted Makart. But at home, and everywhere indeed, at first, the public cheered his work 
to the echo, and the Emperor of Austria set the seal to popular approval by giving the artist a 
commission for ten thousand marks. He then produced the " Juliet mourned by Romeo," a 
picture that added greatly to his reputation. Encouraged by a material success that almost 
at a bound had lifted him from pDverty to affluence, Makart now opened a studio in Vienna 



and began to paint with great industry. He produced in rapid succession the " Abundantia," 
the "Catarina Cornaro," the " Cleopatra," and among a crowd of smaller works which filled 



up the crevices of his time devoted to these huge canvases, he found leisure also to paint the 

drop-curtain for the Vienna Stadt Theatre. In 1875 and 1876 he passed a winter in Effvpt 
Vol. II.— 12. Sij V 


■with Lenbach and Leopold Miiller, and on Ms return painted the "Nile Hunt," which we 
engrave. This was followed by the " Entry of Charles V. into Antwerp," which was sent to 
the Paris Exposition of 1878 ; the next year, 1879, came the " Five Senses," and in 1880 ap- 
peared the "Diana Hunting," which is owned in this country and was exhibited at the 
Gallerj^ of the American Art Association. The pictures we have named, with a considerable 
number of allegorical and fanciful pieces, figures named after legendary or poetical characters, 
such as the " Brunhilde," here given, make iip the chief life-work of Makart, and his ability as 
a composer — or let us frankly say, his manner as a composer — for ability in this field he had 
absolutely none — may be judged once for all by such a subject as the " Nile Hunt." It is 
impossible to believe that the painter had in his mind, before beginning such a picture as this, 
any clear idea of what he meant to make of it. The more we study it, the more absurdities 
we discover, and the same may be said of every one of his large scenic loaintings. He had 
never studied anything to the bottom ; to the last, he never knew how to draw anything ; he 
relied on dashing brush-work, and color piled on in large masses, and in rich bewildering 
harmonies to blind the spectator to all other considerations. It is, in fact, in the highest 
degree unfair to Makart to criticise his work to those who can only see it reproduced in black 
and white as it is here ; but if the reader will look at the engraving with a view simply to 
discover the various details of the composition, he can at least see what a man might make 
out of these nude Egyptian bodies of men and women ; these richly jewelled head-dresses ; 
these boats ornamented with barbaric splendor, this trophy of game-birds, these crowded and 
heaped-up accessories of riotous luxury — the whole a charivari of unreason and impossibility, 
conceived and carried out in mere wanton lust of the eyes. AH that a man with such an 
aim, and with power to revel to the end in fulfilling his desire could do, Makart has done, 
but this is the limit of his accomplishment. For the mind, for the gratification of the higher 
faculties, his pictures do nothing. We do not mean that they teach no moral lesson ; that is 
not required ; our criticism is, that they give no lasting pleasure of any kind. On the material 
side of his art, all is failure. There is no composition, no harmonizing of lines or masses, no 
intelligible grouping ; the wearied eye seeks rest all over the crowded canvas and finds none 
anywhere. In this hurly-burly nobody is really doing anything, though everybody is 
violently pretending to do something. In the foreground is a boat, over the edge of which a 
net is drawn, not by the people in the boat, but by two slaves in another boat alongside. The 
net is found to contain a crocodile, and some fish selected apparently on account of their color, 









that quality being a claim that Makart always pays on demand. As the crocodile is not 
welcome, two of the occui)ants of the boat are making believe despatch him, but it is plain, 
from the way they go to work, that the crocodile is in no great danger. As a specimen of 
Makart's rather insolent contempt of drawing, the reader may be asked to look at the man 
who is thrusting a spear at the crocodile, and to discover, if he can, what he has done with the 
lower half of his body. But, in truth, it is sheer waste of time to attem^Jt to account for any- 
thing whatever in such a picture as this. The artist did not mean to make a reasonable 
work. He chose what he thought a picturesque subject, with plenty of excuse for rich color- 
ing, gave himself free play, and produced such a gorgeous salad as satisfied the popular crav- 
ing, and made him the favorite of the hour. But, even the coloring of Makart's pictures has 
no permanent charm. It surprises, and even pleases at first, because it is a relief from the 
dull and muddy, or crude and gaudy, coloring of German pictures in general. And no doubt 
Makart was strong on this side and had a great natural talent for harmonic combinations. 
But we soon weary of his morbid tones, hints of nature's decay, or, at the best, of her fading 
and declining hours; neither pure and sweet, like that of the early Italian art; nor rich and 
reviving, the breath of some sumptuous garden that takes our senses cajptive in the art of 
Italy's blooming-time. The test of beautiful color is the painting of the human body ; all the 
great colorists have made this the object of their art, and everything else in their pictures has 
been subsidiary to this perfection. With Makart, the exact opposite is true. No painter 
that ever lived has shown us so many naked bodies as he, but he treats them as a part merely 
of his ornamental scheme, and so far from being principal, they are only foils to his flowers 
and gems, rich draperies, the plumes of birds, and the rest of his luxurious apparatus. This 
is a fatal defect, and no amount of dash or of skill in any other direction will atone for it. It 
is the sufficient cause of the decline of the artist's reputation, which has vanished almost as 
rapid] y as it arose. 

Anselm Feueebacii, the painter of the "Dante and the Noble Women of Ravenna,'' 
has been mentioned already in connection with Arnold Bocklin. An intimate friendship 
sprang up between the two in Italy, and at bottom there is much in common in their pictures 
— leaving out of consideration those playful subjects drawn from tlie Northern mythology in 
which Bocklin really resembles no one. Feuerbach was born at Speyer, in 1829. After some 
time spent in Diisseldorf under Schadow, and then at Munich with Rahl, he went to Paris and 
studied with Couture. He then made his way to Rome, and there gave himself up to the 

* -s 



study of the old Italian masters, and developed a style in Avliicli this influence is clearly 
manifested while at the same time the sentiment of his pictures is as clearly his own. The 
first picture that drew attention to his name was the one we copy — " Dante with the Noble 
Women of Ravenna.'' This was first exhibited at Carlsruhe, and afterward purchased by 
the Grand Duke. It was destined for the Carlsruhe Museum, but the opposition of Lessing, 
at that time Director of the Museum, was so strong that the Grand Duke gave way, and 



retained the pictiire for his ]3rivate collection. Lessing was obstinately opposed to the new 
movement in art making itself felt in the works of Feuerbach, Bocklin, and the rest of those 
who wei'e striving to give expression to a romantic and idyllic art founded on the classic 
traditions of the Italian Renaissance, in opposition to the purely narrative and literary art of 
the Diisseldorf school represented by such men as Lessing. Othei' subjects chosen by 
Feuerbach show a similar leaning to serious and lofty themes, in which the treatment is in 
direct opposition to the spectacular and histrionic character of the art at that time the fashion 


in Germany. Feuerbacli rejects everything of an anecdotic or trivial nature, and translates 
the sentiment of his subject by simple lines and massive forms, with the action reduced to 
the least possible. In the " Dante and the Noble Women of Ravenna " we are free to explain 
the subject for ourselves, since so far as Ave can learn it has no historical foundation. We 
know little of Dante's life at Ravenna, where he passed his last days under the protection of 
his friend Guido Novello da Polenta, a protector of learned men, himself a poet, and the 
father of that Francesca da Rimini whose story Dante has told with such unrivalled pathos. 
By a slip of his j)en, an eminent German writer, in describing this picture, makes the girl who 
leans upon Dante's shoulder, no other than Beatrice herself. Beatrice had, however, been dead 
many and many a year before Dante sought refuge in Ravenna, but in truth we suppose the 
time would be wasted that were given to a.literal exj^lanation of the jiicture. It is unfortu- 
nate, or so it seems to us, that it is so precisely named, because it sets us searching for an ex- 
planation that is hard to find. Were Dante's face not modelled on the weU-known mask that 
shows him in his last years, if not in death, we might refer the subject to the Vita Nova, and 
explain it by the passage where Dante describes himself as walking with a company of ladies 
who question him about his love for Beatrice. But, as we have said, conjecture as to Feuer- 
bach's meaning is limited by the title he has himself given to his picture. 

Similar in character to this work of Feuerbach is the " Penelope " of Rudolf von 
Deutscii, a Russian artist by birth, born in Moscow in 1835, but who learned his art in Dresden 
and has lived since 1855 in Germany. He resides at present in Berlin. His subjects are almost 
exclusively dravm from classic poetry or from mythology: " The Chaining of Prometheus," 
" The Carrying off of Helena," and others. His treatment of his subjects is at once simple and 
grandiose; the lines and masses are severe, but in the details and the expression there is a 
sympathetic feeling that forbids the charge of coldness. This figure of Penelope, her loom 
abandoned, watching on the terrace of her palace in the fading light of day for the return of 
her lord Ulysses, while it reminds us in its attitude and in the lines of its drapery of the Fates 
of the Parthenon, is yet instinct with warm human life, and shows an intimate sympathy with 
the poet in whose gallery of women Penelope is one of the most beautiful figures. No one in 
modern times has painted anything of this kind more worthy to stand as an illustration of 
Homer than this. 

WiLHELM DiEZ, distinguished among the artists of our day as a genre-painter and illus- 
trator, wasbo]'n at Baireufli in 1839. At fourteen he went to Munich, where he has since 



continued to live and work. He began his studies there under Piloty, and he is another 
example of the freedom enjoyed in that school, since in his case as in that of so many others, 
his way of looking at nature and his way of painting are as unlike his master as can be 
imagined. He has been compared to Wouverman, but this is unnecessary; his manner is 
really his own, and his individuality so strong, that it makes itself felt even when his pictures 



are seen for the first time in a large collection of miscellaneous Avorks. And yet they are but 
of small dimensions, and their" subjects amount to but little in themselves. The two that 
we give, " The Camp-Follower " and the " Marauders," are illustrations of the time of the 
Thirty Years' War, a period with which Diez has made himself thoroughly acquainted. Mr. 
Kurz's excellent reproduction from the photograph, and Mr. Rhodes' equally good copy of 
the wood-cut, give an excellent idea of the look of his pictures, though Mr. Kurz had the 
advantage of the better original ; the rich, flowing touch and the delightful sense of relation 

























between sky, earth, and things which make the charm of Diez's pictures, are perfectly trans- 
latable by the photograph ; they escape to a certain degi'ee the skill of the engraver. In 
looking over a considerable collection of photographs after Diez the impression made by his 
pictures was renewed, that his love of painting is greater than his care for the detail of his 


subject; he strives to express it, in spirit, as a whole; to give the sentiment of the scene, 
and to make the details ratlier felt than perceived. This may not be very clearly expressed; 
what we would like to convey may perhaps be better sho\vn by a comparison. Thus, in 
Makart's pictures, we have the artist working with the same aim; he wishes us to forget the 
details and to see the picture as a whole. But, as Makart cannot, or what is the same in 
result, will not, draw any single thing so tliat it can be looked at and enjoyed for itself; as he 


cannot draw — or neA-er does di-aw — a hand, or a foot, or a face, we perverseh^ look for these 
things and as we are continually disappointed, we end by refusing to take the whole for a 
part, particularly as Ave find that truth of action and truth of attitude are no easier to find 
than truth in the lesser details. Now Diez, though he sinks, or never obtrudes, the details of 
his subject, yet proves again and again that he is master of them, and that, therefore, he can 
trust to our knowledge of his science, and let him hide his detail or show it, as he will. At 
the same time, the i^ublic is entirely right in the pleasure it tries to get out of Makart's 
pictures and pictures like them. If they were painted as they ought to be, they would be 
far better worth seeing than pictures, however clever, that deal only with the vices and the 
failings of mankind — with Nym and Bardolph, drunken marauders, retailing their camp- 
stories to one another as they stagger along the dusty road, or disgruntled soldiers lingering 
on the march to fill their canteens at the sutler's cart. 

XI. ^ 

THE three pictures contributed to oixr collection by Heustrich Hofmann show that ver- 
satility for which he is distinguished ; but it cannot be said that this extends further 
than to a variety in his choice of subjects; in his treatment of his themes we find that same 
mannerism which balks us in the works of nearly all his countrymen ; that love of stage-play, 
that inability to look at their subject with the eye of imagination. One and all — how few the 
exceptions! — see the thing as they have-been taught to see it, not as they would have seen it 
had they trusted to the eyes and the intuitions that nature gave them. Yet Hofmann has 
not wanted for opportunity. He has travelled much, and seen much, and studied with more 
than one master. K the end have found him not far from where he began, this is a fate 
common to all who reduce to routine what was meant to be individual and spontaneous. 

Heinrich Johann Ferdinand Michael Hofmann— it is not often that a German is weighted 
with so many names — Avas born at Darmstadt in 1824. He Avas a younger brother of the 
Secretary of State for Alsace and Lorraine, Karl Hofmann, and made his first essays in art 
under the engraver Ernst Ranch. At eighteen he went to Diisseldorf and studied in the 
Academy there under Theodore Hildebrandt and Schadow, and, as might have been predicted, 
produced a huge canvas, " A Scene from the History of the Longobards," for Avliich Schadow 
Avas mainly responsible. For a time, however, Hofmann escaped from the traditional bonds; 


went to Antwerp and studied in tlie Academy there, then travelled in Holland and visited 
Paris, but returned to Darmstadt and took up portrait-painting, which he practised with great 
success. We next hear of him in Munich, where he is deep in Shakespeare, j)ainting the 
regulation "Romeo and Jaliet," his particular rendering earning him much applause. After 
three years' stay in the Bavarian capital he exchanged it for Darmstadt and Frankfort, where 
he once more took up portrait-painting, and found some distinguished sitters. In Dresden, 
where he lived for three years, he finished one of his jjrincipal pictiires, " Enzio in Prison." 
'■ Enzio " is Henry, the natural son of Frederick II., Emperor of Germany, who was taken 
prisoner by the Bolognese, and held in captivity for twenty-two years. As the sole object of 
his enemies was to keep so strong and brave a man out of the fight they were waging with 
him and his father — GueK against GhibeUine — Henry's prison was a jirison only in name; he 
was lodged in a palace, where he kept a luxurious court, and lived the life of a prince. As 
we have seen in other cases, it was the opportunity the subject gave for a sumptuous display 
of material splendor that led the artist to choose it, and not any interest in Henry, for whom 
lie, of course, could care nothing. In 1854 he went to Rome, where he came under the influence 
of Cornelius, and painted what by his admirers is considered his masterpiece — " Christ taken 
Prisoner," a picture which bears unmistakable signs of the teaching of Cornelius. This paint- 
ing is now in the Gallery at Darmstadt, whither Hofmann repaired, on leaving Rome, and 
where he passed the next three years. In 1862 he took up his residence at Dresden, where he 
has since continued to live and work. With indefatigable industry he has all his life long- 
produced picture after picture, of which the best that can be said is that they satisfy the taste 
of a large part of the German art-public ; contented if it be provided with a painted story, 
clearly and intelligibly told, making no call upon their imagination or fancy, and presenting 
no point likely to provoke disturbing discussion. The titles of a few of Hofmann's pictures 
will show the nature of the field in which he works: "Othello and Desdemona," " Shylock 
and Jessica," " St. Cecilia," " Venus and Cupid," " Christ and the Woman taken in Adultery " 
(Museum in Dresden), and " Christ Preaching on the Sea of Gennesaret " (Museum in Berlin). 
In the upper vestibule of the new Hoftheater, Hofmann has jjainted the ceiling with an 
apotheosis of the heroes of the old German mythology, and in the Albrechtsburg at Meissen— 
once, in the decline of its fortune, abandoned to the uses of the porcelain manufactory, but 
since renovated, and restored to something like its old splendor — Hofmann, working with 
other artists, took i^art in the decoration ; his share consisting in a painting representing the 


betrothal of tlie little prince of Saxony with the eleven-year old Bohemian princess, Sidonie. 
Of the three examples of Hofmann which we place before our readers, the " Othello and 
Desdemona " best illustrates the defects of the school to which the artist belongs, while the 
others show him in a more agreeable light. In the " Othello " it is easy to perceive that 
Hofmann conceives his subjects as a scene from a stage-play, and he has composed it as a 
stage-director of the old time would have done, with little reference to nature, but thinking 
only of stage-effect. We are so much in the habit of seeing this done that we rarely stop to 
analyze the matter, and discover wherein the difference between the natural and the artificial 
treatment lies. Of course if we were to ask for a purely natural treatment of such a subject 
we should be in the wrong. Shakespeare is not natural, in the legitimate meaning of the 
word; he invents an unreal world, and makes his people act consistently in that. And this 
is all that we can properly demand of the artist who attempts to make pictures of the actions 
Shakespeare describes. The highest art of the actor is to make the unreal, real; and the 
artist's aim should be no less. He certainly should carry us as far away from the actual stage 
' as possible, and he is little to be praised if he do not, since he is much freer from the limita- 
tions of hard fact than the actor or the stage-manager. They are hampei'ed in their aspira- 
tions by having to deal with make-believes of all sorts, not merely with make-believe men and 
women, but with painted canvas, oiled-paper moons, calcium-lights, and tinsel sj^lendors of 
costume. The reader in his closet, if he have full sympathy with his poet, can see in his 
mind's eye a lovelier Verona, a more enchanting Venice than any that the stage-carpenter can 
show him, even if an Irving or a Booth should give him his design. And the painter is 
bound to be an enchanter, too ; we have a right to ask of him that he leave the poet whom he 
attempts to " illustrate," In the realm of the imagination where he found him. But what has 
Hofmann done in his " Othello " ? Is this stout, well-fed lady, laid so comfortably abed, and 
sleeping the sleep of a year-old child — is this the Desdemona whom her father described a 
little before: 

" A maiden never bold: 

Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion 
Blush'd at herself ? " 

Is this the delicate being whom we heard but now singing her " song of willow," and saw 
beating her torn and bleeding wings against the net that villainy had wove about her ? Even 
on the stage, surely, such a Desdemona would be regarded as ill-suited to the character. So 




very neat! So carefully adjusted! With such a becoming night-dress a la Grecque; fibula, 
and golden pendant too, all complete, and suitable for the purpose ! This might be Imogen, 
now, as lachimo saw her lying asleep, and took note of her perfections before he slipped the 
bracelet from her arm. 

" I will write all down: 

Such and such j)ictures; there the windows; such 

The adornment of her bed 


She hath been reading late 

The tale of Tereus; here's the leaf turned down 
Where Philomel gave up. * * * * " 

There might be some reason in the picture then, and it would be economy in the artist to 
make a few changes — throw away Othello's dagger (with which he has no business, any way!), 
take the kinks out of his hair, make an lachimo of him, and so get two pictures out of one ! 
This was the cheap expedient often practised by men 'tis no offence to call superior to Mr. 
Hofmann — Tintoretto, for example— and therefore we may make bold to recommend it. As 
for Othello himself, he is familiar to us on the boards ; with his conventional stage-hero's 
attitude, his face made up after the well-proved recipe for passion — his voluminous mantle 
tossed so picturesquely over his shoulder, though we think that even on the stage such a vast 
piece of upholstery would be found unmanageable. The artist would hardly find in his 
Shakespeare a warrant for the dagger he has made plaj' so important a part in his picture; 
considering that he has come resolved to shed no blood. Othello is well armed; his big 
sword, and his dagger just pulled from its sheath, are very threatening ! 

" The Child Jesus in the Temple," is not only one of the best of Hofmann's pictures, it 
seems to us one of the most pleasing among the many representations of the subject. There 
is no attempt here at a recondite treatment of the story, such as we find in Holman Hunt's 
celebrated picture. Hofmann has not wasted his time and hours in efforts at restoring Solo- 
mon's Temple, with nothing worth mentioning to go upon ; nor has he thought it worth his 
while to spend six years in Jerusalem in order to paint what he might have found in London 
or Berlin, without trouble. Following the simple words of the story as told in Luke, he 
shows the child standing in the midst of the doctors. The group is placed in front of the 
tabernacle, which is merely indicated; its veiling curtain half withdrawn, a detail meant 
perhaps to be symbolical of the part Jesus was to play in the religious teaching of the race. 



At the right of the picture, one of the doctors is sitting with a boolc in his lap which he has 
been examining for some text tliat miglit confute the boy's argument. The gesture of Jesus 
shows that he is answering the question, and his answer evidently moves the minds of all his 
hearers, each of whom expresses his feeling in liis own way, according to his character. A 
very old rabbi near him, leaning on his staff, regards the child with the pleased wonder of age 




in the brightness of youth. Next him, a younger man, keen-witted and intellectual, follows 
the argument with interested attention, the action of his hand showing his readiness to in- 
terrupt the speaker with an objection, but that respect, as for a superior, restrains him until 
the proper moment. On the other side, a sterner auditor listens in no relenting mood to words 
that even from the mouth of a child, threaten the stability of a creed to which he is pledged. 
His arm resting strongly on the book of his faith, he grasps his beard, and looks earnestly in 


the face of the youthful prophet, while with the other hand he holds the scroll of the law, as- 
if it were a weapon whose temper against such a foe he almost doubts. Behind this man 
appears the head of still another who looks on at what is passing with an expression of mere 
curiosity. We have said that Hofmann has not attempted to make of his pictures an anti- 
quarian study. He has no doubt been wise in this, since we really know but little of what 
the costumes, furniture, and details in general of the outward life of the time were like. He 
has dressed his doctors in costumes partly Eoman and partly Oriental, and with the exception, 
perhaps, of the oldest of the group, has not attempted to mark these people with the supposed 
distinctive features of their race. He has certainly succeeded, if that were his aim, in making 
an interesting picture of an event that can never lose its charm ; one of those anecdotes of the 
childhood of great men that the world cherishes as among its pleasantest possessions. It has 
from earliest time had a j)lace in the pictured series of the Life of Christ, and in that of his 
Mother, and it would be an interesting study to bring together the various interpretations of 
it by the masters of the art. The directions given in the most ancient Greek manual for the 
assistance of painters charged with the decoration of churches and missals, for the treatment 
of this subject, were followed by all the earliest artists in the west, and continued to be so 
followed down to the time of the Renaissance. These directions are as follows, given with 
the terse simplicity that marks all the contents of the book: 

" Within the temple, Christ is seated on a throne. In one hand he holds an unopened 
scroll ; the other hand is extended. About him, the scribes and pharisees are seated ; they 
look at him with astonishment. Behind the throne Joseph is seen, to whom the mother of 
Ood jpoints out the Christ." 

Among the older German artists Diirer has treated this subject, introducing it into his 
series of designs for the Life of the ^^irgin. As is too common with him, the quaintness of 
his conception, and his independence of convention makes his representation interesting at 
the expense of its dignity. Christ sits at a high desk on a platform under a canopy, and 
lectures his audience with an energy that has plunged them all into confusion. They gather 
into groups to conjure up arguments of defence against the unlooked-for invader, they shut 
up their books wdth bangs of despair ; lean their heads on their hands ; shake warning fingers, 
or gaze up at the ceiling as if hoping against hope for help from heaven. One very old 
pharisee, still trusting in his books, has toddled out after a convincing volume, which he brings 
back, supporting his steps with a crutch. Opposite, entering by the porch, we see Mary and 

I go 


Joseph; Mary with her hands folded in prayer; Joseph, hat in hand, in his usual attitude 
of humility. Diirer's design is a type of the disorder that was brought into the domain of 



religious teaching by means of art, when every artist thought himself at liberty to translate 
the subject according to his own taste. Perhaps the most extraordinary i^erversion of the 


poetic interest of the story is, however, found in the representation by Menzel alluded to in 
our notice of that artist, where the whole force of his undoubted talent has been brought 
to bear in putting the Jews in a hateful light. Jesus himself is hardly spared, since he appears 
as a youth of preternatural sharpness, who sees with intellectual gusto the confusion of his 
adversaries. It is worth remarking in passing, that this vein of malice, so foreign to modern 
ideas of the character of Jesus, is cons]Dicuous in the so-called apocryphal books that describe 
his infancy. One of these, bearing on our subject, relates that in school, the teacher, instruct- 
ing the boy in the alphabet, asked him to say Aleph. He said it, and was then told to say 
Beth. " No," rebelled the child, " not till you tell me what Aleph means ! " The teacher 
raised his hand to strike him, and immediately it was withered. It can hardly be denied that 
something of this harshness appears in the answer that the boy made to his mother when she 
reproached him for putting his parents to so much trouble in searching for him: " How is it 
that ye sought me ? Wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business ? " 

In still a third picture, Hofmann deals with the fairy-tales of his oavu country; painting 
the scene from the story of the " Sleeping Beauty " where the Prince arrives who will break 
the chai-m. This is a subject not above the artist's powers, and his treatment of it is pleasing 
enough. Domroeschen, as the Germans call the maiden, has gone to sleep in a cheerful place, 
in an open gallery at the top of the castle. A rich arcade rose-wreathed looks out upon the 
sunlit landscape, and roses, growing at their will for aU their hundred siimmers, have covered 
wall and stairway with their fragrant barrier. Dornroeschen sits in slumber; one hand half 
supporting her head as it leans against the marble pillar, the other, drooping at her side, just 
iiolds without holding, the spindle that has wounded her, while at her side is the basket of 
wool that she was spinning when her drowsy eyelids began to fall. On the rod that ties the 
arches of the arcade, her hawks are perched asleej), on the ledge asleep, curled up and quite 
content to sleep forever, is her favorite cat, and on the parapet of the stairs, with his head 
under his wing, the peacock sleeps with all the hundred eyes of his gorgeous tail. But, up 
the stairs the prince at last is coming ; in his hunter's dress, with cap and feather, his horn 
slung about his neck, he tears the hindering thorns aside, and mounts the stairs — 

"More close and close his footsteps wiud; 
The magic music as his heart 
Beats quick and quicker, till he find 
The quiet chamber far apart. 



His spirit flutters like a lark, 

He stoops, — to kiss her — on his knee, 

' Love, if thy tresses be so dark. 

How dark those hidden eyes must be! " 




Another tale of fairy-land is illustrated by Rudolph Bendemann, tlie sou of that 
Edouard Bendemann already spoken of in these pages. This artist, whose full name is Rudolf 
Christian Eugen, was born in Dresden in 1851, and studied first at Dusseldorf and later with 
liis father, under whose direction he was still working when he painted the scene from the 
Frithiof's Saga, which we engrave. At the same period he painted other pictures that gave 
him rej)utation, and took part in the decoration of the New Museum in Berlin, where he exe- 
cuted, in encaustic, some of the groups of the Geniuses who preside over the different arts. 
The scene from the Frithiof's Saga is treated with much directness, grace, and poetic sympathy, 
characteristics Avhich the young artist has inherited from his father, whose " Jews in Cap- 
tivity " and " Jeremiah on the Ruins of Jerusalem " are remarkably free from the grandiose 
mannerisms of the time when they - were painted, but who excelled in the treatment of those 
allegorical decorations, the love of which seems ineradicable from the German breast. If we 
must have them, Edouard Bendemann has had the skill to make them tolerable, and his son 
has shown the power of sympathy to put life into an old world-story. 

The Frithiof's Saga, or, as we should say, the Tale of Frithiof , is a poem translated into 
the Swedish language out of the Saxon by Esaias Tegner, the author of that " Children of the 
Lord's Supper " which was long ago translated into English by our Longfellow. It relates 
the loves of Frithiof the lowly-born son of Thorsten, for Ingeborg, the daughter of the great 
Jarl Bele; and the adventures of the youth in search of perils and dangers to be overcome for 
the sake of his mistress, since it was only by bravery and heroic deeds that he could hope to 
break down the barriers that his birth interposed between them. The children had been 
brought up together, living under the same roof in constant companionship, sharing one an- 
other's sports and occupations, and growing up unconsciously into mutual love. This part of 
the poem reminds us of the opening chapters of " Paul and Virginia," the rudeness of the 
only accessible English translation cannot blind us to the simple charm of the narrative — 

" How gladly at lier side steer'd he 
Ills barque across the deep blue sea; 
While gayly tacking, Frithiof stands. 
How merrily clap her soft white hands. 

" No birds' nests yet so lofty were. 

That thitlier lie not climb'd for her. 

Even the eagle, as he cloudward swung. 

Was plunder'd both of eggs and young. 
Vol. II.— l.S 


" No streamlet's water rush'd so swift, 
O'er which he would not Ingeborg lift; 
So pleasant feels, when foam-rush 'larms, 
The gentle cling of small white arms. 

"The first pale flower that spring has shed. 
The strawberry sweet that first grows red. 
The corn-ear, first in ripe gold clad. 
To her he offer'd, true and glad." 

These verses gave young Bendemann liis theme, and certainly he has made a pretty pastoral 
out of it. While the boy has been busy with his bow-and-arrows, the girl has been weaving 
him a crown of wild-flowers, as she sat awaiting him on the stone seat he built for her on the 
shore of the fiord, and now she leans forward to place it on his head as he kneels before her 
with the first fruits of his hunting. Like the young Parsifal, he would seem to have for his 
motto: "I shoot at everything that flies," and in the pride of his exploit, that shines in his 
face and transflgures his boyish body, he forgets that dead birds may not be the fittest offer- 
ings for a girl's delighting ! All the romance is, however, on Frithiof 's side. Ingeborg is a 
tight, practical Norse maiden, not a bit sentimental, and, for all that appears, she will wel- 
come Frithiof's gifts with an eye to a good dinner for their outing, cooked to a turn in a cleft 
t)f the rock, and seasoned with that best of relishes that health and youth have always at 

L. V. Carstens, a Munich artist, has found an attractive subject in this " Cosy Corner " — 
a nook in the deserted garden of an old castle such as are foand all over Europe, sad, romantic 
vestiges of times gone-by forever. Perhaps, this castle is once again inhabited in part, as is 
the fortune of some of them nowadays, and this young girl, in wandering through the neg- 
lected rooms, has come upon some book full of forgotten joys and sorrows, and taking her 
knitting with her, has sought out her favorite corner in the park; here, lost in the mazes of 
the romance, she forgets her work and forgets the time. Behind.her, rises the great wall of the 
castle; its stones covered with moss and lichen, and embroidered on this soft-hued back- 
ground with the tender tracery of the ivy. The shrubbery, grown rank and spindling for 
want of care, strains upward to the light, and weaves a trellis of its slender branches, through 
which the sunlight streams, softly diffused. Grass and weeds have long ago marked out the 
pattern of the pavement with their fringing growth between the edges of the flagging-stones, 
and although tlje stone bench yet holds its place, and the great slab still serves for a table, as 



it did in tlie old days when the master of the castle and his friends came here after dinner to 
drink their wine and discuss the times, yet these marble blocks are worn and shaken with the 
years, their angles marred and their surface stained with mould. But, in the midst of all this 
ruin, the old ramping lion loyally guards the stone shields that keep his ancient master's titles 

"a cosy corner." 


alive, although his once bristling mane and angry i^ride are tamed by centuries of storm; and 
his mouth, that once roared as threateningly, is now only a safe resting-place for birds. Time, 
too, that, so softly takes our joys away, yet is not altogether cruel, since he hides his wounds 
in moss and flowers, and lightens up this sjiot, so full of saddening memories, with this fair 
blossom of youth and gracefulness for whom all this ruin is but a foil. 

GusTAV Adolf Spangenbekg, the painter of " The Twilight Hour," is an artist of pure 


(xerman type in his choice of subject, in his way of conceiving it, and in his style of execu- 
tion. In the choice of liis subject he confines liimself to liis own countrj^, to its history, its 
legends, and its beliefs; he looks at it with the eyes of those about him, aiming no higher than 
to give expression to the thoughts and feelings of those among whoin he lives, and in his way 
of painting keeping to the well-worn paths which were marked out by the early masters of 
painting in Germany, not, however, following them slavishly, but moved by reverence for tlieir 
greatness and by sympathy with their aims. As we have jinrsued our narrative, in however 
rambling a fashion, it must have occurred more than once to the reader, that compared with 
the French, the German artists are much given to wandering. The French artist born in the 
• provinces, makes his way by hook-or-crook to Paris. He has no other goal. Once planted 
there, he makes no other move, unless it be in summer time to stroll a little in the near 
country side, until the' day comes when as a reward for his labors, he is sent for a four years' 
study-time to Italy. This finished, he gladly comes back again to Paris, and if he is so happy 
as to obtain employment there, he is content never te^leave it, happy if he can spend his days 
In the sacred city. Of course, there are exceptions, but this is the rule for France. How 
different it is in Germany! There is no centre and there never can be for Germans; there is 
no city of the heart nor will there ever be. Diisseldorf, Munich, Vienna, Berlin — each has its 
attractions, and now one seems to promise a permanent home, and now another; while, for 
many a German artist, Paris or Rome, London or America, offers attractions stronger than nny 
place in his own country, although it must be confessed, that the instances are few where 
German artists succeed in escaping from the limitations of their home-training. Like the 
greater number of his artist brethren, Spangenberg has made his wandering year — born in 
Hamburg in 1828, he has studied in his native city, in Antwerp, in Paris, England, Holland, 
again in Paris, with Couture, and a year in the atelier of that very amateurish amateur, 
Triqueti, then to Italy, and at last to Berlin, where he finally settled down, and where Ave 
believe he is still painting. He began with small genre pieces, leaning to no special class of 
subjects—" The Stolen Child," " The Eat-catcher of Hamelin," " St. John's Eve in Cologne,'' 
" Tlie Forester's Family," etc., etc., then took a fancy to the Reformation-time, and painted 
no end of Luthers— our readers know them well ; the good Martin is the George Washington 
of Germany, and Spangenberg's article is as sound and reliable as a Trumbull or a Stuart. 
" Luther in the Bosom of his Family," " Luther Translating the Bible," " Luther in the House 
of Cotta," "Luther's Entrance into Worms "---these are a few titles by way of sainple; we 




have no mind, to ^Yeary our readers with a sight of the pictures the titles stand for, but rather 
j)refer to show them one wliere tlie artist has stepped a little out of the conventional ruts, 
without at the same time losing the German accent. " The Twilight Hour," embodies one of 
the many old legends of the German fireside, that relate to the fairies, gnomes, pixies, and 
other creatures that haunt the woods and waters, and the secret places of the earth, and exer- 
cise an influence on man and his belongings. As the mother sits in her arm-chair by the 
cradle of her child, after the day's work done, the gnomes steal up from the earth — queer, un- 
canny beings, in the shape of little, stunted, deformed old men — and draw near to the cradle 
to watch the sleeping baby. The gnomes are the embodiment of the earth-forces: the strength 
of the metals is in their sinews, they bind the roots of oak and pine like cordage to the 
foundations of the world, and swarm like sailors to their task when the tempests bend these 
mighty masts ; the lava's molten fire burns in their veins, theirs is the savor of salt, the reviv- 
ing purity of springs: they light their way with the gems imprisoned in the rocks, and so thej^ 
come to the cradles of mortal children, and if they think them worthy, breathe into them the 
forces by which the earth is conquered for the brave, the earnest, and the pure. In the mean 
time, while the gnomes keep watch-and-ward over their unconscious charge, the mother sleeps. 
and smiles as she sees in dreams what her waking-eye could never see, the good people of the 
under- world blessing her child. She is not of our time, this solid and contented piece of 
femininity; she belongs to ]N"uremberg, and may be a neighbor of Albert Diirer— except that 
he seldom painted so pretty a face, we should say we remembered her in his pictures. Dressed 
in her best coif and fur-trimmed cape, with her housekeeping keys and bag safe at her side, 
she has been spinning all the afternoon," relieving her light labor with an occasional draught 
of beer from the big tankard on the window sill, and an occasional verse from the Bible by 
its side. Her white, well-shaped hands are lightly interlocked, her dress is rich but plain; 
except the wedding-ring upon her finger, the gold buttons on her sleeve and the brooch at her 
neck, she wears no ornaments; yet the richly carved cradle of the child and the brocaded stuff 
that makes its coverlid, with the Eastern rug— a rarity in those days— all show that this is a 
well-to-do household. 

Alfons BoDENMiJLLER's picture, " Think of the Poor," is one of a class of pictures com- 
mon enough in Germany, that are rightly enough called costume-pictures— this one has really 
little other motive for being than the desire on the artist's part to reproduce some of the 
picturesque details of life in Nuremberg or elsewhere in the Germany of the XVI. century. 



All is pretty enough, though naturally a little exaggerated; the costume of the mother who 
is teaching her little girl to be charitable, is rather a resume of the possibilities of female dress 



at a given epoch than a probable example, and as for the recipient of charity, she has been 
suddenly whisked-back, face, dress, baby and all, from the nineteenth century to the sixteenth 


— a strange piece of forgetfulness on the part of an artist wlio has made up his mind to paint 
a costume-piece. The view of the square with its fountain and the people getting water; the 
climbing gabled houses, the oriel-window, are all cleverly done, and remind one \T.vidly of 
Nuremberg ; the window near us with its wi'ought-iron cage, is a good example too, though a 
trifle too delicate for its place and duty. 

WiLHELM Karl Gentz, the painter of "A Story-teller of Cairo," has made himself a wide- 
spread fame by his pictures of Eastern life. He is a native of New Ruppin, near Berlin, where 
he was born in 1822. He has been a traveller from early in life. After a brief course in the 
Berlin University, he devoted himself to painting, going first to Antwerp and then studying 
six years in Paris under Couture and Gleyre. He then set out on his travels, visiting Spain, 
Morocco, Egypt, Nubia, Asia Mipor, and Turkey. He has visited Egypt at least five times, 
and has painted a large number of pictures, and made drawings innumerable of scenes, inci- 
dents, and landscapes in that country and in Nubia. In 1873 he visited Jerusalem, and made 
careful studies of the localities for his great picture, now in the Berlin National Gallery, " The 
Entry of the Crown-Prince into Jerusalem in 1869." He also contributed a large number of 
illustrations to George Ebers's " Egypt," his pictures making indeed the chief attraction of the 
work. The picture we coj)y is interesting as showing us the birth-place, so to speak, of the 
delightful stories which we call the "Arabian Nights"— not that they came from any one 
author or were confined to any one circle of hearers, but that they have been handed down 
in this way by reading and recital to infinite groups of listeners from ancient times, and are 
5till one of the chief amusements of the people. Here in this cool cavern, the lower part of the 
wall lined with a wainscoting of stuccoed stone, and a high bench of stone running along it, a 
motley group of natives are assembled listening to the reader who faces his audience. On the 
wall over his hearers' heads a large family of pigeons come and go, or rest on the perches 
provided for them; at the end of the room an Arab on his part of the bench has a family of 
kittens in his charge, the mother-cat playing on the floor beside him. The reader, too, has 
his cat beside him — there are no other animals in sight. There is a freedom and naturalness 
about Gentz's Eastern studies that we do not find in Gerome's pictures. The French artist 
has too much self -consciousness, is too much bent on picture-making ; Gentz is perhaps more 
of a photographer than a painter, but in his line he is unrivalled. 

A. VON Ramberg's "At the Embroidery -frame," is a i^iece of innocent sentimentality 
altogether German in its way, but not belonging to our time; it is the innocence of our grand- 



mothers' day — these are creatures quite too bright and good for the daily food of this genera- 
tion, and indeed at any time we fear tliey would be safer in a glass case than in the jostling 



world. Considering the deep absorption in his devotion expressed by the gentleman's coun- 
tenance, the object of it is singularly unmoved, but then it may be questioned whether any- 

M Ml ]gmii€)]DD)iM)r ^mmm 




thing short of the house tumbling over her head, or the cat jumping up on her embroidery, 
frame could move this piece of excessive placidity. We fear that our gentleman is wasting 

"the song." 


his manly heart in sighs over a being not capable of comprehending his superior worth, and 
we strongly advise his putting his extraordinary legs to a good use, by getting up from his 



seat, making his best bow, and walking away. We doubt if tlie young lady would so much 
as stop counting her stitches ! 




CuNO VON Bodenhaitsen's •' The Song," is a graceful piece of sentiment, much more 
French than German in its refinement and delicacy. This young girl wlio has stopped in her 
garland-making to listen to the song of the bird on the branch over her head does not belong 


to any particular age or place. A more ideal treatment of the landscape, which is far too real 
for the figure, would have made less obvious the violation of wholesome sanitary laws implied 
in sitting barefoot and half clad, in so dam]3 a situation! The girl being improbable, the land- 
scape should have been made so also, and then we should not have been annoyed by the obsei'- 
vations of practical and common-sense people, but could have done full justice to this Dryad. 
Nathaniel Sichel, born at Mainz in 1844, has been a rather prolific producer of " his- 
torical " pictures after the usual manner, subjects chosen for no reason in the world but be- 
cause they ofl'ered good histrionic opportunities, and treated accordingly — but of late years 
he has lived in Paris and gone extensively into the painting of good-looking models, or rather 
of models dressed in a bewildering variety of costumes of all nations — the so-called " Medi- 
tation," which we copy, for example. They have all the mechanical cleverness to which we 
are accustomed nowadays, and no doubt, since they are supplied in such quantities, there 
must be a demand for them, but when the spectator has seen one of them, he has seen all. 


ALFRED SEIFERT'S " In Memoriam " is, in spite of its title, to be reckoned little more 
^ than what the Germans call, "a costume-picture"; by which they mean a subject 
chosen mainly with reference to its suitability for picturesque treatment; for the sake of 
showing off the dress of men and women of some by-gone age, when dress played more of a 
part in keeping up the distinctions of rank than it does to-day ; or, for creating a showy effect 
by the display of handsome furniture, rich draperies and hangings, and costly things in gen- 
eral It is not, perhaps, too much to say, that three-fourths of the pictures that supply the 
German market, at home and abroad, belong to this class. In this regard, the contrast be- 
tween the state of things in France and that in Germany is as amusing as it is striking. In 
France, the artist chooses his subject, in nine cases out of ten, for the opportunity it gives him, 

" To twitch the Nymph's last garment off " 

or, in any case to rid his model of as much clothing as possible. Pictures of the nude are as 
common in France as they are rare in Germany. Indeed, we should be almost justified in 
saying that as the French consider the painting of the nude the highest test (as it certainly 
is) of an artist's skill, so no artist thinks he has earned a right to sit among the elect until he 
has proved himself a master in that field. 


With tlie Germans, on the contrary, ever since the beginning of their art, the tendency 
has been to muffle-nji and swathe their models in bountiful clothing. Diirer often carries this 
to excess, but his predecessors, Wohlgemiith and Schongauer, far surpassed liim in the ampli- 
tude of the draperies that seem to overburden and vreigh down their personages. That this 
was not Avholly the fancy of the artist, is made probable by the numerous publications of the 
time; the " costume-books " — answering in some way to our collections of "fashion-plates " — of 
Hollar, Jost Amman, and Holbein, to mention the best known, where w^e are impressed with 
the weighty look of the dresses, and the solidity of their manufacture. We are sometimes 
struck with the same thing in the early sculpture ; a curious example is shown in some of the 
monumental effigies of the Cathedral church of Naumberg, where several of the personages 
are covered with large and ample cloaks having the broad collar turned up about the neck of 
the wearer, and the garment held closed with one hand as if to ward off the cold. In the 
most of these cases the folds of the cloaks are managed with great dignity and simplicity, free 
from the multiplied and tormented crinkly folds of the early German painters ; but the intro- 
duction of the standing collar, and the action of the hands, still keeps up the personal, indi- 
vidual note, the constant obtrusion of which serves to mark the line that separates the German 
from the Classic spirit. 

The German artists of to-day who employ their time in painting costume-pictures, would 
seem, as a general thing, to prefer the dress and belongings of the sixteenth-century in their own 
country ; although not a few have devoted themselves with more or less fidelity to the classic 
world of Greece and Rome, while others find a fruitful field in the late Italian Renaissance. 
Recently, with the revival of the interest in the Rococo or Baroque style of the eighteenth- 
century, a few artists have found it profitable to supply a houdoir and 5«fo;^demand for 
" conversation-parties," " musicales," birth-day festivals, and other subjects of like nature, 
where powdered hair, and garlanded petticoats, and high-heeled shoes, and all the parapher- 
nalia of the heau monde that delighted the souls of abies and marquises, and dames galantes 
is once more brought upon the stage to delight a world as frivolous as their own. 

Seifert's picture shows us a young lady dressed in a style recalling that which Diirer's 
j)ictures and those of his contemporaries have made familiar. Seifert's rendering of it is not 
very accurate ; it is leather a studio-costume than a street rendering of the dress of Diirer's 
time. But, like Sichel, one of whose pictures we reproduced a few pages back, Seifert is 
more anxious to make a pleasing picture than to be coiimiended for his archeeology, and he 



chooses this particular dress, partly for its oddity, and partly because he knows the taste of 
a goodlv number of his countrymen for something that savors of the past. One thing, how- 



ever, eludes the skill of most modern artists who attempt this putting of new wine into old 
bottles. They show great cleverness in painting the dress and the belongings of past ages; 


but, thougli they can inform us with, in general, trustworthy accuracy. Just how a Greek, or a 
Roman, or a person of the sixteenth-century dressed, they seldom show us the face that went 
witli the dress. Thus, in Seifert's picture, here given, the model is distinctly a person of our 
owTtt time, dressed up for purely pictorial reasons, in a sixteenth century costume, or one re- 
sembling it. It is not easy to define the difference, nor to show in what it consists ; but it is 
most certain that the difference exists ; and the conditions kno\\Ti on which life is held in 
a given country at any one time — the climate, the government (whether a restrictive and 
tyrannical one, or a free and liberal system) the state of society ; these things known, it might 
be possible for an acute observer, a Diderot or a Herbert Spencer, to predicate something as 
to what manner of man would be the result. 

However, the general j)ublic cares very little for these refinements, and the young men 
especially, for whose pleasure pictures like this of Seifert's and others of the same sort are 
painted, will be indifferent to everything but the fact that, here is a girl with a very pretty 
face, as faces go, sweet and intelligent, dressed in a-becoming costume, and occupied with a 
duty that adds to her material attractions, the charms of sentiment and religious feeling. It 
is All-Souls' Day, and this maiden among others is going to the graves of her friends, to deck 
them A\-ith wreaths and flowers. We catch a glimpse of the church-wall, and of the iron 
crosses on some of the graves, but it must be admitted that in the face of the girl herself, there 
is little expression to suggest the sad errand she is upon. This, however, is characteristic of 
the costume-picture. The expression of grief, or pain, or any other emotion that would 
disturb the repose of the features, and, by so doing, make them less agreeable to the adoles- 
cent public, will be carefully avoided by any artist with a keen eye to the market, and, as in 
this case, the necessary ingredients of melancholy or sadness will be supplied by the subor- 
dinate details ; the church-wall aforesaid, the grave-crosses, and the funeral wreath (not too 
obtrusive) in the hand of the fair mourner! One can easily imagine an order given to the 
painter by an enthusiastic admirer of pretty girls, for a replica of this very picture — " More 
cheerful, you know, sir; nothing sad, now, no reference to death or disagreeables of any 
sort ! " — and the painter with commercial alacrity, whisking-out the church and the grave- 
crosses, and the funeral-wreath, but leaving the face and figure of the girl untouched ; then 
putting in a busy background of street and houses, and people, and calling the picture '' Home 
from the Flower-market ! " Every one familiar with pictures knows that such transfonma- 
tions are of every-day occurrence. 














In " The Mourner," by Edjiund Harburger, a picture owned we believe by the Metro-' 
politan Museum of Art, we have a Avork of a very different quality from that of Seifert. This 
has been painted with the distinct purpose of expressing a certain sentiment by the whole 
contents of the artist's canvas, not merely by some subordinate details. And the success 
obtained is noteworthy, although from what we learn of the artist's practice we should not 
have looked for anything so serious. Harburger, who was born at Eichstadt, in 1846, was 
employed in a builder's office until he was twenty, when he went to Munich, and studied with 



Lindenschmidt. His principal field of work has been the comic journal the "' Fliegende 
Blatter," for which he has made many illustrations, but it is evident he has powers that do 
not find room for their full exercise in that Journal, clever as it is. Nor, when we read the 
list of the pictures by which the artist is principally known— "The Beer-drinker," "The 
Village Barber," "The Education of Bacchus," "The Young Venetian-girl," etc., etc., do we 
understand how the painter of such trivial and conventional subjects can also have produced 
a picture like the present, so full of deep and solemn feeling expressed in so natural and un- 
conventional a style. There is no attempt on the artist's part to dress up his theme in 


borrowed robes. He has taken such a room as may be found in a hundred Bavarian hoi;ses 
of the better chiss of peasants, and painted it as he saw it, in its furniture and general aspect, 
only throwing over it the charm born of the eye that can see its artistic possibilities. In the 
twilight hour, a widow in her cottage sits in the high-backed arm-chair that gives its German 
title to the picture (" Im Sorgenstuhl "), and leaning her head on her hand meditates upon her 
lot. The fading light of day comes in through the window sunk in the embrasure of the 
thick wall, and striking upon the snowy table-cloth spread for the evening meal, lights iip the 
wall behind the lonely woman, making more gloomy by contrast the dark chair on which she 
sits, and her dark dress only relieved by the white cap and cufPs, and the handkerchief that 
from time to time must dry her tears. The bird is silent in its cage, the cat sleeps on the chair 
where, a while ago, the widow sat, looking out upon the busy village street ; only the sound 
of the ticking clock, and occasionally the crackling fagots on the hearth break the quiet of 
the hour, sacred to memory and holy thoughts. Nothing could be simpler than the com^sosi- 
tion; there are no incidents, there is no by-play; but in the harmony between the attitude of 
the mourning woman, and the large lines and masses of the picture, Ave are reminded of some 
of the Dutch masters. 

AViLiTELjr Kray, whose " Love Wakes while Age Sleeps" makes such a contrast with the 
latest pictures of our list, was born at Berlin — a cold cradle for such a romancer as he — and 
he would aj)pear to have got as far away from it as he could on the first opportunity, speeding 
to Rome and Venice, and biinging iip at Vienna, where, at present, he lives and works. His 
subjects in general are of the same character as that of the picture we coi)y: "The Mermaid 
and the Fisher-boy " (Das Wasser rauscht, das Wasser schwoll "), " K"ight on the Bay of r 
Naples," " The Dance of the Will o' the Wisp," " Undine " — and he treats tliem with much 
playful freedom, and with as much earnestness as the theme admits of. The present picture 
has for title, '' The Waves of the Sea and of Love " ('' Des Meeres und der Liebe Welleu "), and 
seems to to imply a " moral " — but in fact we suj)j)ose that just at present there is no danger 
from either quarter. The old father of this pretty fisher-maiden has gone confidingly to sleep, 
and is giving his mind to it with such a will that he does not heed an occasional ducking from 
an unruly w^ave. Meantime the young man presses his suit under what must be allowed 
extremely favorable circumstances, and with an earnestness that no one can have the heart to 
blame him for, who can fancy himself in the same circumstances. The young fellow himself 
looks, we fear, dangerously like a marine Don Juan, but tlie maiden's face is reassuring; she 


is apparently quite certain of herself, and pleasingly aware of the neighborhood of her papa. 

As for the probabilities of all this we are no more concerned than Kray himself. What that 

audacious iconoclast, Mr. Mark Twain, who has recently been slaying Raphael over again, and 

following the other critics in laughing at his " boat " in the cartoons — what our Connecticut 

Ruskin would say to Mr. Kray's boat, we do not know ; perliaps he would say that for the 

innocents who are abroad in it, the boat is quite good enough. The picture ought to tempt 

Mr. Stockton to write a story about it ; the adventure is every bit as i^rei^osterous as any one 

of his own inventing. 

Next to " Costume-Becker," Julius Beyschlag is the most prolific purveyor to the taste 

for such j)ictures among his countrymen that we have thus far met-with. He was born at Nord- 

lingen in 1838, and studied in Munich with Philipp Foltz, travelling afterward for a while in 

Italy and visiting Paris. He is essentially a costume-painter, making no pretence of high-art, 

or high aims of any sort, more than industry and honest doing of the tasks he undertakes, can 

give him a right to claim. His name has been widely sjiread by the aid of ijhotography and 

wood-engraving in the illustrated journals : he appears to be a Avelcome guest in these sheets, 

and in the portfolios of the dealers as well. It is difficult to choose among the hundreds of 

his designs that have been published, because one is as good as another, and there is nothing- 

really interesting in any of them, while at the same time it must be admitted that the artist 

knows his public, and succeeds in maldng pictures that in the aggregate give a good deal of 

pleasure, year in and year out, to an audience who ask for nothing more than picturesque 

costumes, i^retty faces, and an agreeable landscape-setting for the personages of the artists* ■ 

small domestic dramas. The " Coming from the Baptism," is a pure piece of picture-making: 

these people having really no errand in this year of grace but to show off gowns that have 

been cut on the old pattern of Nuremberg, Basle, or Augsburg, foand in Holbein's or Diirer's 

picture-books. We must think that the older woman who is pretending to hold what we are 

asked to accept as a baby, is, as one might say, " rather queer "in her drawing; her head 

appears to have been left behind by her body, and though we make no pretence to expert 

knowledge on the subject, we feel confident that no real woman would hold a real baby in this 

fashion. The younger woman, too, who vdshes us to think she is looking at the baby, is really 

cl oing nothing of the sort, and if she could see it as well as we can, she would not wish to see 

it at all. As for the costumes of the women, they are neither right nor wrong; the artist has 

not followed his painted or engraved originals with accuracy, nor would he appear to have 
Vol. II.— 14 ** 


gone to the trouble, as so many modern artists do, to have careful copies made of the old 
costumes, and painting from them. For ourselves, we confess to caring nothing whatever for 
these modern reproductions of old things ; the pictures that are the result of all the infinite 
pains bestowed on their preparation, seem to us mere curiosities, idle toys ; and in very few 
cases does the artist succeed in putting life into his work after he has finished it. The news- 
paper-writers have told us how hard Meissonier works, sparing neither money, time, nor 
patience, in getting up his historical pictures ; ransacking Paris for a button, a shoulder-strap, 
a liat, or a pair of breeches, and yet, when these tithes of mint, anise, and cummin are paid to 
the god of accuracy, the weightier matters of the law are too often forgotten, and we miss the 
life, that, if we could find it, would make all this pedantry of straps and buttons ridiculous. 

Beyschlag has found the material for his studies of costume in this picture from two 
drawings by Albert Durer, published in fac-simile in 1871, on the occasion of the four-hun- 
dredth anniversary of his birth.^ The young woman at the left is lifting her over-skirt and 
showing the rich embroidered petticoat Just as the lady in Durer's drawing is doing, and the 
head-dress of the older woman and her peculiar over-skirt are found in another of the draw- 
ings referred to, although Beyschlag has exaggerated the character of the folds. It is inter- 
esting (to those who care for such trifles!) to find in Diirer's picture the " accordion " pleating 
of to-day faithfully re^Dresented. In Beyschlag's picture, the over-skirt of the nurse is rather 
like the stuffs which Mr. Millet, in those interesting lectures of his on Greek and Roman 
costumes, used to prepare by rolling them up very tight and hard when damp, and unrolling 
them when he came to drape his model. The reader will, we hope, pardon these details ; it is 
not useless, once in a while, to take these made-up compositions to pieces and see how they are 
put together. It is seldom done with skill, and never affords, not even when it is best done, 
more than a brief satisfaction. Two of the greatest masters in this mosaic-work in our day 
are Baron Leys, and Alma Tadema his pupil. Baron Leys wasted great talent and splendid 
opportunities ill painting picture that are already passed into the category of curiosities, and 
are on their way to neglect and oblivion; and Alma Tadema, with all his skill, which is un- 
deniably great, can have no enduring hold on those who ask for something more at an artist's 
hands, that the perpetual imitation of tilings. 

The other picture by Beyschlag, " The Father's Return," shows him in a somewhat more 
agreeable asj^ect, for thoiigh this is really as much a " costume-picture " as the Baptism — and, 
indeed, Beyschlag never paints anything else — yet there is here a little more of a story to 



tell, and more variety of incident. There is a select set of artists at the present day who make 
a great deal of fun over pictures with a story ; one would think, to hear them talk, and to 
mark the fine scorn with which they consign the whole tribe to limbo, that pictures with a 
story were an invention of modern times, like sewing-machines, railroads, patent cow-milkers, 
and newspapers, instead of being as they are, of course, coeval with the art of painting. This 
is such a mere truism, that one would be ashamed to take the time needed to set it down, 
were it not for the fact we have mentioned that some among our cleverest artists profess to 
have found some other reason for painting than to record their observations of nature or their 
experiences of human life. These discoverers talk and write a great deal about "technique," 
and " brush-work," " values," " methods," etc., etc., in a jargon as unintelligible to the world 
at large as that of medical-men, chemists, or stock-brokers ; they dwell entirely in the externals 
of their art, and have, or profess to have, no interest in the contents of a picture, unless the 
execution be in a style that answers to their notion of what " painting " should be. Of coiirse 
such notions are really confined to a small circle, but the pity is that, here it is the best men 
we have who indulge in such heresies; for, heresies they are, let who will defend them. It is 
no doubt, true, that the first duty of an artist as a professional man, is to know how to paint, 
carve, or design — according to the field he has chosen; in other words, he must know his 
trade. But, for the general public, what is of the most importance is that he should have 
something to say. If what the artists have to communicate be interesting, it is enough for 
the pleasure of the majority if he can contrive to make it intelligible. Let him i^aint a« well 
as he may, the extent of his public will depend far more upon the interest he is able to excite 
in what he has to say, than upon the technical excellence of his work. 

To return from our digression to Beyschlag's " The Father's Return ; " it is certainly easy 
to understand why such a picture should be popular, and why its popularity should be proof 
against the strictures of the professed critic. It is a simple story told for simple-hearted 
people who are not expected to care for the principles of art, but who will be interested in 
this picture, because it puts into a romantic form, with an appeal to their imagination, a 
domestic experience that has as many manifestations as there are modes of human life. The 
return of every kind of father has an interest (either of attraction or repulsion) to his par- 
ticular family; but it cannot be said, that all of them, if painted, would have the same interest 
for the world at large. Therefore we have no end of Sailor's Returns, Soldier's Returns (the 
modem variety), with Warrior's Returns (for the antique or mediaeval expression) and corre- 



spending Farewells — all of which used to be painted in pairs, and sold as such, and Mr. Bey- 
schlag's picture here presented takes its natural place in the series. We confess to finding 
the " Father " in this case a rather wooden personage : he seems to find some difhculty in 
keeping his right leg in his boot, and has, we may suspect, the air of being a victim to loco- 
motor ataxia, but the other members of the family are less open to criticism. The young 


daughter is a pleasing womanly figure as she looks up lovingly at her father, holding the 
nosegay of flowers that he would take from her were not one hand occupied with cordially 
grasping the hand of his comely wife, and the other with supporting the baby-daughter sit- 
ting on his arm. In front of the group the son and heir, a pretty child in velvet doublet and 
breeches with hat-and-feather, is proudly marching off, trundling his father's sword. 

"' To a tune by fairies played." 


All are on tlieir way to the castle, preceded at some distance by the mounted man-at-arms 
leading his master's horse, who extends a greeting to the two serving-women sitting waiting 
for the coming of the family under the branches of the old oak. The warden has lowered the 
drawbridge, and stands at guard in the shadow of the portal ; from a window in the donjon- 
tower a banner is idly flapping in the air, and two women by the parapet of the moat-bridge 
are waiting the arrival, one sitting on the grass, the other shading her eyes with her hand as 
she spies the approaching party. 

Ferdinand Theodoe Hildebrandt, the painter of " A Warrior and his Child," was born 
at Stettin in 1804, and died ia 1874. He studied at Berlin under von Schadow, and went with 
that master to Diisseldorf, where he took charge of the Academy there. Afterward Hildebrandt 
settled in Diisseldorf, and is considered one of the best artists of that school. He painted the 
stock subjects: "Othello Telling His Adventures," '-Romeo and Juliet," "Judith and Holo- 
fernes," " The Death of the Children of Edward," etc., etc., but he occasionally stepped out- 
side the consecrated bounds and invented — if this be not too large a word for the occasion — 
subjects of his own; " Children Around a Christmas Tree," "Children in a Boat," " Choir-boys 
at Vespers," and, among many others of a like kind, the present painting. There is little in 
this picture to remark upon; a soldier of the mediaeval time has his little boy upon his knee, 
and is apparently giving him some religious instructions, if we may judge by the raised fore- 
finger and the Bible on the window-ledge -with its mark at the Kew Testament, where perhaps 
he has been reading him one of the parables. The sentiment of the picture is pleasing enough, 
and the listening aspect of the child clinging to his father's gorget and dreamily smiling as 
he follows his words, is rendered with simple feeling. Where the main of the picture is so 
good it would doubtless be hj^jercriticism to note, that the suit-of-armor hanging on the wall 
is api)arently too small for any grown j)erson, althoiigh the sword that hangs with it is of the 
right size ; the handle of the inevitable beer-mug, too, could in this case hardly be grasped by 
our doughty warrior's hand. These points are, after all, not unimportant; they detract from 
the truthfulness of the general effect and seem to indicate a want of correctness in the artist's 

Julius Benczue, the painter of " Forsaken," is a native of Hungary, born in 1844 at 
Nyiregyhaza. When yet a child his parents removed to Kaschau, where he had better advan- 
tages for education in the excellent high-school, and improved his time so well that by the ad- 
vice of friends who thought they saw signs of uncommon talent in the lad, he was sent to 



Munich to study art. He was at first the pupil in the academy of Hiltensperger and Anschutz 
and later entered the studio of Piloty. Here he became intimate with his fellow pupil Gabriel 



Max, whose sister he afterward married. After an extended tour in Hungary, South Germany, 
Prance, and Upper Italy, he settled in Munich, where he lives and works at present. His field 






of work is chiefly Mstorical painting : he made a number of pictures for the late King of Bava- 
ria, treating mostly scenes from French history connected with the life of Louis XV. and Louis 
XVI. He has also painted several subjects drawn from the history of his native Hungary, 
which have won him considerable reputation. The picture we copy was sent to the Munich 
Exhibition of 1883. The subject explains itself so far as we see a woman, young and meant 
for handsome, who, in some sore strait, abandoned doubtless by lover or husband, has sought 
consolation on the bosom of this somewhat severe mother in her church. Her rich attire of 
lace and satin contrasts with the austere habit of the nun who holds her hands softly in hers, 
and waits in calm assurance until the first tempest of passion and grief shall have subsided, 
before she speaks the words of faith and trust, born of her own experience, and fortified by the 
prayer-book that she was reading when her unhappy sister entered. On the missal lies a 
spray of willow-catkins, first-fruits of spring; and haply from this symbol of life reviving 
after the death of winter, this daughter of a church that lives by symbols, may draw some 
fresh consolation — better than old books can ofi'er — for the wounded heart that now lies 
broken and desolate upon her heart, that perhaps has known its own bitterness and found the 
remedy in days long gone by. 

Gabriel Max, the painter of the " Penitent Madgalen," and the " Visit to the Fortune- 
teller," is the son of the sculj)tor, Joseph Max, Avith whom he worked as an assistant until the 
death of the latter in 1855. Gabriel was born at Prague in 1840, and after his father's death 
he studied in the Academy of his native town until 1858. He then went to Vienna, where he 
worked for three years in the Academy, and became so deeply interested in music that he 
attempted to embody the ideas of Beethoven, Mendelssohn, and other masters in a series of 
drawings which had a great success and created a wide interest in the young artist. His next 
achievement was the painting of the Martyr Julia, a supposed victim of the Roman persecu- 
tion, who was shown in his picture nailed to the cross, while a young Roman, passing by, 
takes the rose-wreath from liis head and lays it at her feet. This picture of pure, sensation, 
made, of course, a great impression in Munich — the hot-bed of this vicious art, where the 
greatest extravagances are sure of the warmest welcome, and Max was not the man to hide his 
talent under a bushel. One scene of melodrama followed another: "The Last Token," a girl 
in the arena stooping to pick uji a rose flung to her by her lover, while round her — 

"Ramp'd and roar'd the lions, with horrid, laughing jaws;" 
"The Melancholy Nun " brooding over joys fled or untasted; the inevitable "Gretchenj" 



" Juliet " in lier feigned death-sleep, witli, oli, most touching symbol of a woman's abandon- 
ment to grief — a hair-pin, lying conspicuous on the coverlid! Then, the " Lion's Bride," after 



Yon Chamisso's poem; then " Ahasuerus, the Wandering Jew, Looking at a Dead Child; " the 
'• Child-murderess," and " Christ Briiiging-back to Life the Daugher of Jairus," where, that 




no doubting Thomas may question her death, the artist has, with exquisite taste, placed a 
corrupting liy already fastened upon her arm ! 


What it is that pleases in Gabriel Max, it would be hard to say. Beyond a certain arti- 
ficial clearness of coloring, as if he used wax for a medium, and a choice of morbid colors, that 


degenerates into mannerism, there is little in his execution that would seem suited to please 
artists, and it might be -thought that even the public would tire of the sensational subjects 
he delights in. His drawing is clumsy and careless ; his forms heavy, his power of facial ex- 
pression almost nothing— yet, for a time, he seemed likely to become a power in the art- world. 
The subjects we have selected show him in as favorable a light as could be contrived ; " The 
Penitent Magdalen," is a sweet-faced model, as capable of moral emotion as a canary-bird, and 
the dravsdng of her arm, huge beyond reason, and of the hand with its impossible finger, shows 
the carelessness of the artist, when seen undisguised by the luxurious morbidness of his palette. 
The " Consulting the Fortune-teller," is, like all the artist's subjects, one chosen out of pure in- 
difference, with the result that the spectator's indifference matches the artist's ! The only 
curiosity we feel is, as to what this old woman will make out of the object she appears to be ex- 
amining — whether she vdll finally decide that it is, really, a hand; and whether her chiromancy 
will prove equal to reading the lines of life in a member that could never have been alive. 


HERMANN KAULBACH, the painter of " The Tower- warden," is the son of Wilhelm 
Kaulbach (see p. 35), and was born at Munich in 1846. There are now three artists 
of the name of Kaulbach living and working in Germany : Friedrich, distinguished as a por- 
trait-painter, a nephew and pupil of Wilhelm (the chief of the family), born in 1822 at Arolsen; 
Friedrich August, his son, portrait and genre painter, born in 1850 at Hanover, and Her- 
mann, of whom we are now to speak. After completing a course of study at the University of 
Munich, he took up painting as a profession, and entered the studio of Piloty. After leaving 
that master, he made his Wandering- year in Italy, and after his return, settled down in 
Munich, where he has since continued to live and to paint. His pictures are distinguished 
for the technical skill they display and for the finish of the details, Avhich, nevertheless, is not 
allowed to usurp an undue place, bat is always kept in proper subordination to the subject 
Some of his historical pictures are " Louis XI. and his Barber, Olivier le Dain, at Peronne ; " 
"The Children's Confession;" "Hansel and Grethel vsdth the Witch," — from one of Grimm's 
stories — " The Last Moments of Mozart," and " Sebastian Bach with Frederick the Great and 
Turmfalken." Our picture shows the artist in one of his more playful moods; he has imag- 
ined a scene which is a good many thousand years older than the far-away mediaeval times in 


which he has chosen to place it, and which will probably renew itself an innumerable number 
of times before the sun shall have kept faith with the scientific men, and turned into an ice- 
berg. The Warden keeping his traditional post of watchman on the old tower that has 
outlived the stormy scenes of its youth, has amused himself as he best could through the 
long sunny hours of the morning ; now trying an arrow upon the birds that circle round the 
turret, now watching what life of man or beast might chance be stirring in the village below 
him, or what boats might put out upon the distant lake. And time has hung heavier on his 
hands for knowing that it must be noon before Gretchen will climb the tower-stair to bring 
him his bowl of porridge, and to ask his help in stringing the clothes-line, and hanging out the 
wash! But she has come at last, and now the birds may circle the tower at their will, or 
stream out from its topmost weather-vane like a pennon; and the people in the village street 
may come and go as they please, for Rudolf has business in hand, that interests him much 
more than mere birds or villagers ! Many and many a day has Rudolf enjoyed these meet- 
ings with the pretty daughter of his friend and companion, the warden of the castle, and often 
has he watched for an opportunity to tell her what lay nearest to his heart. But, though she 
has given him chances enough, of which perhaps a younger man would have been quick to 
avail himself, it is only to-day that he has plucked up courage to whisper in her ear the secret 
hope, that has long kept youth and he from parting company. The lucky moment came just 
as he had fastened one end of the clothes-line to the staple that, with its fellow on the other 
side of the embrasure in the wall, served, in less peaceful times, to hold the oaken shutters 
that sheltered the besieged while they shot their arrows at the besiegers. As he turns to slip 
down from the stone ledge on which he was sitting that he might fasten the cord at the other 
side of the platform, he finds himself close to Gretchen, who had been paying out the line 
from its reel, and the next minute he has caught one of her hands in his, and drawn her 
to his side, and whispered such an old-time tale of love-making in her ear, that before the 
clothes are half hung up, she has promised to marry him if her father will consent. While 
thus playing with the artist's subject, and trying our hand at translating it into words, we 
must confess to an unwillingness to accept the details of his picture as in all cases correct. 
Thus the costume of the young woman, whom we have, out of hand, christened Gretchen, is 
certainly too modern, and we are sure no " girl of the period " would ever have gone up to the 
platform of the castle tower to hang out the week's wash, clad in such a gown as this, lying 
in folds about her feet. And the fashion of it is incorrect— not merely in the details, but in 


general ; it does not belong to the time. And this is the less excusable because we know so 
well, from countless pictures and engravings, and other sources, just how people in Germany 
dressed at the period indicated by the dress of the man; though, even in his case, we should 
question whether such an amount of cross-gartering were ever thought necessary to hold 
one's sandals on one's feet. It is not hypercriticism to notice points like these in such a 
picture as the present, for it assumes to be a picture of manners at a given time, and with all 
the knowledge on the subject at one's easy command in these days, no excuses for inaccuracy 
can be accepted. 

" The Fishermaiden " of Friedrich August Kaulbacii is a j^icture that recalls, in its 
own way, the treatment of such subjects, which perhaps we may be permitted to class under 
the head of "rural," by the painters of the Rococo; by Watteau, Fragonard, Boucher, and 
the rest. AVhat it amounts-to is nothing of more value than a j)retty masquerading ; the 
dressing-up of comely young maidens in the guise of peasants, milk-women, flower-sellers, 
and fishermaidens with no other intention than to please the fancy. Kaulbach's Fisher- 
maiden may be com]Dared mth the well-known picture by the late Feyen-Perrin, "Les 
Gancalaises," where a flock of pretty Parisian models with dainty figures, delicate com- 
plexions, and fine feet and hands are trijDijing over the sands at even-tide laden with baskets 
of oysters. Kaulbach's "Fishermaiden" is not quite of the same breed; she is rather made 
to suit the German taste for a sturdier type of womanhood, but she is none the less city-bred, 
and her head, at least, is of a type that would suit a more dignified subject. However, there 
is no doubt that too much questioning is out of place in dealing with iDictures of this char- 
acter. They are meant only to amuse, or to serve a decorative ptirpose; we can easily imagine 
that a large dining-room, in some handsome restaurant or hotel, would be much enlivened by 
panels filled with graceful figures such as this, of young men and maidens : 

Much too good 

For human nature's food 

engaged in offering to the guests the different raw materials of the bill-of-fare. We think we 
should much prefer such a decoration to the well-worn classic nymphs, goddesses, or genii 
who are usually employed for this purpose. Frankly acknowledged as a compromise be- 
tween fact and fancy, the artist might successfully stave off the troublesome questions of a 
Gradgrind who should insist on asking, what this buxom maiden is doing all alone on this 
barren shore; whether this boat, stranded high and dry on the bank, is hers; and whether in 



this matter-of-fact, prosaic world of ours, it is to be looked upon as quite in the natural 
course of things that fish should be offered us in this summary way by pretty girls, as- we 


take our morning-stroll on the beach, for all the world as if the cold, clammy, slippery things 
were fresh-cut roses! And, indeed, there is a merry twinkle in Piscatoria's eye as if she were 
laughing to herself at Gradgrind's dulness! 



Marc Louis Benjamin Vautier, the painter of "At Church," one of the most widely 
popular, as a designer, of the school which Knaus, Defregger, Schmid, and others have done 
so much to establish in the public favor, was born in 1829 at Morges, a brisk commercial 
town in the Canton Yaud, on the northern side of the Lake of Geneva, not far from Lausanne. 
He was educated at Geneva, and on leaving school he worked for two years as a painter of 
enamels for the jewellers ; but in 1849 he took up the study of painting under a local artist 
Lugardon. Feeling the need of better instruction, he went in 1850 to Diisseldorf, then, out- 
side of Paris, the principal art-school in Europe, when after a short course at the Academy 
he became the puj^il of Rudolph Jordan. He made his wandering-year in the Black-forest 

and in Switzerland, and spent a year in Paris, but returned to 
Diisseldorf, where he has since continued to live, and work. 
His pictures are found in the museums of Berlin and Dresden 
as well as in jirivate collections in Europe, and here in Amer- 
ica. In the collection of Mr. John Taylor Johnston, now un- 
happily dispersed, was ^s " Music-Lesson," and Mr. William 
T. Walters, of Baltimore, owns the " Consulting his Lawyer," 
and in Mr. George I. Seney's collection was an excellent ex- 
ample "Bringing Home the Bride." Vautier's subjects are 
almost exclusively drawn from the peasant-life of Westphalia, 
Bavaria, and the Rhine provinces, and he has been much 
praised for the acuteness of his observation, shown by the clear way in which he discrimi- 
nates between the characteristics of the different populations. "There is nothing superfi- 
cial," says Wilhelm Liibke, " in his treatment of the scenes from the peasant-life which he 
depicts. He never puts us off with costumes for character. On the contrary, the different 
individualities of his personages are forcibly expressed not only in their faces but in their 
figures and their gestures, and this individuality controls every detail. Vautier knows, and 
makes us perceive, that the wine-merchant of the Rhine differs from the beer-merchant of 
Bavaria, and the cit, the SpiessMorger — the German equivalent for the contemptuous French 
epicier — differs again from both these." 

Something of this excellence is discoverable in the picture we copy. " In Church," 
represents a Sunday morning in some village church in Swabia, where only the dress of the 
peasant-flock of worshippers, and the character of their heads, differentiates the scene from 



what we may see in a hundred places in Protestant Germany and Holland. Here-and-there 
in Holland — the sight is common enough — we have seen the short rod of the sexton in our 
picture with its bag for collecting the offering, amusingly replaced, among that half-aquatic 
fishing-population, by a prodigiously long fishing-rod with a similar bag at the end, which was 
kept bobbing over the heads of the people ; the persistent angler reaching even the most shy 
and sheltered denizen of the pews, and waiting with the patience of a born fisherman until the 
tricky penny shall let itself be taken. Here, in the Swabian church, the sexton has his 
victims at short range ; he has pocketed his dues from all but one of them, and he, if we may 
judge by the action of his head, is looking in his wallet for the needed penny. Vautier has, 
certainly, not flattered his sitters ; they are a hard-featured and not very intelligent set, and 
it is plain that the young boy in the foreground is growing up to be like the rest of them. 
With his hat in one hand, he seems to be waiting with dogged patience for the moment when 
he can be let free, but in the mean while he is tethered, as it were, to his father's big cane and 
there is nothing for it bat to submit. The most pleasing part of the picture and that which 
explains its pojjularity, is the row of women, sitting by themselves, as is the time-honored 
custom in all the older churches. The old grandmother, in her queer bonnet with its lace fall 
shading her face as she follows the words of the hymn in her book, has the seat of honor in 
the stall, handsomely carved by the rude skill of some village genius. Her book, too, is a 
handsomer one than the rest, with its clasps, and its case that lies in her lap on its cover, in 
which the whole is wrapped-up and laid aside in the drawer of her press, on week-days. 
How persistent are these minor fashions, that, seemingly, a part of the old-world order of 
things, come to the surface again in later times with a new face adapted to new manners ! In 
old pictures, particularly in those of the early Flemish masters, we see the sacred personages, 
the Virgin or the saints, reading in illuminated missals richly boimd, and protected by covers 
of embroidered or brocaded silk. An example of this will be found in the onc^ beautiful, but 
now hopelessly damaged picture, attributed too confidently to Hans Memling, in the Bryan 
Collection in the New York Historical Society. This was at a time when books were all 
written by hand, and were consequently very precious and treated with great care. And the 
custom held for some time, and from being merely a precautionary measure, for the safe 
keeping of a valuable possession, became a symbol of sanctity; and printed Bibles and prayer- 
books, of no great money-value, were for some time longer protected with cases and covers, 
until, by the vulgarizing influence of printing, the eustom was given up ; as people cease always 


to take much care of things that can be replaced at a wish. Now, again, with the revival of 
so many old customs, taken njj as fads by people in search of novelties, we have this one 
restored to favor, and prayer-books, missals, and hymnals in their dainty morocco or velvet 
cases, with gold or silver clasps (the cases of far more money-value, often, than the book they 
protect — since these are seldom well-printed or on good paper). Gift-books, too, are common, 
in loose covers of silk or velvet, embroidered by the fair hands of the giver ; and, of late, 
publishers send out book after book wdth a false cover of paper, repeating, in text and device, 
the design of the true cover, which for the time being it protects from the wear and tear of 
the shop-counter. But our old grandame's book has kept us too long from her matronly 
daughter at her side and her younger grand-children beyond, the elder a jDretty girl of 
sixteen; while beyond these still is another family of three; a grandmother, not so old as the 
one who sits nearest us, and who puts on her spectacles to follow the hymn, in the book 
which her daughter is holding before the baby-grandchild, who plays at reading in it for 

In this picture we find the artist essaying a task, tlo^ representation of the act of singing, 
in which he had been jjreceded by three artists of note: Van Eyck in his " Saint Cecilia sur- 
rounded by Singing Angels," in the Altar-piece of Ghent; Luca Delia Robbia, in the bas- 
relief of the Singing-choir formerly in the Cathedral of Florence, now in the gallery of the 
Uffizii, and Benozzo Gozzoli, an artist of deserved repute, though far inferior to the other two, 
in his Angels singing the Gloria in Excelsis, in the Chapel of the Riccardi palace in Florence 
(one of these groups was engraved by Mr. Cole for the Century Magazine of November, 
1889). Of these three, it may be allowed that Van Eyck has accomplished the feat aimed-at 
most scientifically, and with the least exaggeration; we not only see that these angels of his 
are singing, by the nicely expressed action of heads, throats, and bodies, but it is hardly an 
extravagance to say that we hear them ; and some of the German critics in their enthusiasm 
insist on our believing them, when they declare that they can distinguish the very note in the 
scale that each angel is sounding. Gozzoli's picture would almost seem to have been painted 
in rivalry with Van Eyck, so marked is the efl:'ort on the artist's part to express, by bodily 
movement and gesture, the act of singing, and even the character of the emitted sounds. But 
there is a sense of exaggeration, and of self -consciousness in Gozzoli's work, that are entirely 
absent from that of Van Eyck, while at the same time there are certain features in it that 
would almost persuade us that it had been painted in rivalry with the great Fleming. Of 


the three works cited as examples of effort in the same field in which Vautier has tried liis 
hand, that of Delia Robbia is the one most likely to be recognized by our readers, since casts 
of his group of singing-boys, Avith others, dancing, and playing upon musical-instruments, are 
now often met with in our museums, private-houses, and shops. 

In the case of Yautier's picture, the illusion produced by the other artist Ave have men- 
tioned has been by no means so successfully attempted. There is no question as to the 
individuality of the several heads; each of these jDersons has a character of his own; they 
are plainly studied by the artist from the people in the world about him, as he saw and 
sketched them in their daily life. There is no look of the professional model about them. 
But, as for expression, we fear that no more of it can be found in the supposed living person- 
ages than there is in the painted ones which we dimly discern on the screen at the back of 
the choii". Four of the men — counting the one whose head is half hid by the old woman's 
bonnet — four of the men, and two of the women, have their mouths arranged according to 
the academic prescription for "singing," but the result hardly carries 11s farther than 
academic prescriptions in general. 

George Hom, born at Frankfort-on-the-Main in 1838, has shown considerable power in 
facial expression in his "A Secret ! " and has also been successful in the management of the 
candle-like effect in the same picture. As in so many German pictures of this domestic 
character of subject (and who can number them!), the incident depicted is nothing in itself, 
but the artist has plainly enjoyed the narrating it. Two girls are off for bed, but just at 
parting at the stair-head, the one Avhispers to the other the secret which has been filling her 
bosom with ill-repressed Joy since Fritz left her at the garden-gate, an hour ago. The secret is 
plainly no news to her companion, but she listens in full sympathy, and a smile of genuine 
pleasure lights up her face in serene response to the mirth that tmnkles in the other's eyes. 
The candle-light effect in this picture is one of those feats-of-skill which are always sure of 
applause from the general public, but which have long ceased to interest artists, or connois- 
seurs, because they express nothing beyond what is attainable by the patient application of 
mechanical skill. All depends however, upon what is the object of the artist's skill, and 
whether he rests in the exercise of a merely mechanical facility, or produces effects that are 
beautiful in themselves. A Van Schendel. or any one of his many imitators, becomes very 
|tiresome with his eternal market-scenes, where puppet-like figures from the fashion-plates of 
the period are engaged in examining some improbable market-woman's wooden carrots, cab. 

VOL. II.— 15 * * 



bages, or fish, by the light of torches or lanterns managed with theatrical conventionality. 
£ut it is not the subject itself we tire-of, it is only of Van Schendel, and his way of dealing 



with his really picturesque material, of which a Rembrandt would make something we 
should never tire-of if it were to hang before our eyes a life long. And so even a minor 



painter, like the one whose picture we are at present considering, may turn a merely mechan- 
ical effect to good account, and give us all an honest pleasure by illuminating with his candle- 
light two human faces all aglow with the answering light of youth and innocent enjoyment. 
It is only as tricks, that effects such as we have been discussing are not considered worth 
admiring by people of mature taste. They become admirable in proportion as they serve 
some purpose higher than a display of merely mechanical skill. It is a trick, by which the 
eyes of a portrait are made to follow us round the room : it is a noble art, by which the eyes 
of a portrait.are made to look into ours with an answering human look, especially if he who 
so regards us be one to meet hope with higher hope, to breathe courage to the faint in heart, 
to restore even to a momentary bloom our fading belief in virtue and heroism. In short it is 
as true in art as it is in other matters, that skill has two sides, a vulgar one, and a noble or 
beautiful one : the tricks of the every-day j aggier who breaks a watch to pieces in a mortar, 
and takes it, whole, out of the gaping spectator's pocket, or makes an omelette in the bride- 
groom's new hat and restores it to him unsoiled and fresh as he received it, are certainly not 
to be compared to the delicate fancy of the Japanese magician who plants a seed in a flower- 
pot, and when, in a moment after, it sj)rings up, and puts forth leaves, and bursts into bloom, 
makes the butterflies he has adroitly twisted out of bits of pajDer, hover and flutter about the 
flowers and light upon them as if to feed upon their honey. The tricks of the one man 
appeal solely to our curiosity, those of the other delight our poetic sense. 

Gossow's " News " is a clever bit of anecdote-telling, where, as in the case of Diez, ive 
perceive a design to make the picture interesting as a decorative scheme ; but Grossow suc- 
ceeds better than Diez in making these tAvo elements of more nearly equal value. Apart 
from their pictorial effect, not much is to be had from the pictures of Diez: in Gossow's 
picture we can enjoy the play of character in these four people independently of the play of 
lights-and-darks, and broken tones that make, in our plate at least, a mosaic of no little rich- 
ness. The manners of the old world differ so miich from the more formal and rigid manners 
of our world, where every man is afraid of his neighbor's criticism, that we cannot understand 
how these three people, the old grandam, her son, and her daughter-in-law should be so much 
interested in the letter which Bettina, the servant, has just received from her sweetheart, who 
has gone to the war. So impatient is she to read it, and so eager are they to hear it, that no 
note is taken of the fact that the cabbage and the other vegetables she was sent into the 
garden to cut, have been brought into the sitting-room and put down upon the floor, regard- 



less, for the monieut, of propriety; nobody minds it, however; nor does it matter that the 
coffee-pot and the table-cloth, the last vestiges of the breakfast, have not yet been removed. 



The letter is the thing, and as it is evident that it contains nothing but good news it shall be 
read and heard in spite of cabbages, coffee-pots, table-cloths and the proprieties in general. 









< UJ 







The old woman, who in her bonnet and shawl has just looked in for a chat with her daughter, 
has taken off her spectacles, and folded her gouty lingers, and fixed her face in an attitude of 
attention and is ready for a good time. Her son, who is deaf, leans over his mother and bends 
his head that he may lose no word of the letter, while his wife, in her striped woollen petticoat, 
warm jacket, and shawl, with her head prodigiously muffled uj), though not to the prejudice 
of a large receptive ear, follows the narrative point by point, beating time, as it were, with her 
hand ux^on the table. Bettina, sitting at the corner of the table, in her working-gown, with 
her apron pinned up, and a handkerchief over her head, reads the letter with a smile of 
mingled pride and affection; and when she has shared it with her friends, and received their 
congratulations on her good news, will tuck the missive inside her bodice, and go about her 
chores with a lighter heart for the rest of the day. 

Alexander Wagner, the painter of " The Spanish Mail-Coach in Toledo," was born in 
Hungary in 1838, but made his artistic studies in Munich under Karl Piloty, and has ever 
since continued to live in that city, where he holds a Professorship in the Academy of Fine 
Arts. Both in his o^N^x country and in Germany he is much esteemed as a painter of history, 
and his name has been carried into a much wider field by his " Chariot-race," known all over 
the world by jDhotographs and reproductions of all sorts. He has produced many scenes 
from the history of his native Hungary, as well as from that of Austria and her piovinces. 
The first picture that he exhibited after leaving the studio of Piloty: "Isabella Zapolya 
taking leave of Siebenbiirgen (Transylvania)," made a good foundation for his reputation; it 
was followed by two wall-paintings, in the Bavarian National Museum at Mimich, — "The 
Entrance of Gustavus Adqlphus into Aschaffenburg " and " The Marriage of Otho the Great " 
—which are counted among the best of those with which the building is ornamented. Other 
paintings followed in rapid succession, all of them dealing with subjects of national interest, 
and insuring the popular favor, but belonging to an order of work essentially melodramatic 
and superficial, akin to the mass of " historical painting " for whicli his countrymen have 
such a rooted affection — shared alike by the cultivated and the uncultivated — but which out- 
side of Germany is by no means so indiscriminately admired. Later on, Wagner visited 
Spain, and the fruit of his travels was a large number of pictures with subjects illustrating 
the more striking and picturesque episodes in the life of that half-medijBval, half -barbaric 
land, most of which subjects were reproduced for a show-book on Spain, published in Berlin 
in 1880. " The Mail-Coach in Toledo," which we place before our readers, was one of the 



pictures engraved for this book; and to those who are familiar with the artist's earlier 
picture, the "Roman Chariot- Race" — and who is not? — it will be evident that the composi- 



tion and the essential spirit of the scene are to all intents and purposes the same in the two 
works. Wagner painted the " Roman Chariot- Race " twice; the first was a small picture, 


now owned in England ; tlie second, a much larger work, is the one painted for the Philadel- 
phia Exposition of 1876, where it was much admired, although it is considered far inferior to 
the original painting. The subject was, however, well-suited to the larger canvas, and there 
can be no doubt that as a purely spectacular and sensational performance it deserved all the 
applause it received. It was a very vivid, and no doubt in the main true, object-lesson in 
Roman manners, and it will certainly long hold its place in ]3opular favor by virtue of its 
spirited and energetic expression of rapid movement animating the whole scene as in real 
life, and by no means confined to the main actors. In the " Mail-Coach," the same merit is to 
be acknowledged, but the artist has been carried further, and has narrowly escaped transgress- 
ing the limits of art, by adding the suggestion of danger to the excitement of his scene. It is, 
indeed, doubtful whether we are on the verge of a catastrophe : whether the great lumbering, 
overloaded vehicle is to be upset or not, but it is certain that the passengers on top of the 
coach are prepared for the worst, and if our ears were sharp enough we should be able to hear 
a volley of adjurations to the Virgin and all the saints shouted above the oaths and yells of 
the outriders, the clatter of the harness and hoofs, the cracking of whips and the crunching 
and grinding of the nearly shipwrecked ark. The ubiquitous beggars at the side of the road 
join their cries to the din, and have good hope that in case the dreadful corner be once safely 
turned, a few pence may be tossed them by some grateful survivor, giving his prayers for 
mercy a practical form. We suppose there is little use in remonstrating against these painted 
agonies, these high-strung representations of blood-curdling crises in which the modem world 
delights, and which modem artists so plentifully sujpply. It is the artists who suffer most 
from this perversion of the healthy service of art and literature to the needs of a growing 
excitement and unrest, since thej^ are put to it ever more and more to invent the means of 
gratifying the wants of their insatiable clients. Still, as we have seen, there is another audi- 
ence in Germany and a large one, and, i)erhaps, we may allow that it is chiefly in what they 
are pleased to call historical-painting that the love of bombast and of horrors prevails. We 
have certainly chronicled enough of quiet and tranquil domestic scenes, and here, at the end 
of our chapter, we come upon two idyllic experiences which may serve to rest the mind after 
its strained watching for the upset or the hair-breadth salvation of the Spanish Mail. The 
"At the Lake," by Wilhelm Amberg, of Berlin, born in 1822, and "The Betrothal-Ring" of 
Friedrich Paul Thumann, born in 1834 at Tschacksdorf in the Lausitz, are pretty pastorals, 
such as need no comment for man or maid, and such as every country nowadays provides in 



plenty for the deliglit of its youtlifiil clientage. Botli these artists carry us back to the 
love-makino- of a little earlier time than ours. But, after all, the comedy or tragedy of 



love-making is ever the same, no matter in what dress it be played, or on what scene the 
prompter's bell ring up the curtaia. 



T 1 yiLHELM LEIBL, the painter of "At Church," and "The Hunter," was born at 
' ' Cologne in 1844. He was at iirst apprenticed to a locksmith; but he had the instincts 
of an artist, and in 1864 he made his way to Munich, where he became a pupil of Piloty. 
His tastes led him to choose genre subjects and portrait as his special field, and we read that 
he was particularly drawn to the painting of Van Dyck, whom he took as his model in his 
early work. In 1869, he was at Paris; but, on the breaking-out of the Franco-Prussian War 
he returned to Munich, and has since remained there, working still in the same field in which 
he began. Leibl's pictures have been called coarse, ugly, verging on caricature, while they 
are also praised for their fidelity to local types, for their independence of convention, both in 
motive and in treatment, and for the excellence of theu' coloring. As in the case of J. F. 
Millet, something of the rudeness and narrowness of the early life and employment of the 
artist may affect his choice of subject, and color his treatment of it. As will be remembered, 
his youth was spent at the forge, and his associations were necessarily with the lower or mid- 
dling class of his people, and his symxjathies have plainly never been alienated from them, 
while at the same time his artistic sense has kept him, in feeling and sentiment, above the 
level of his surroundings. The examples we give of Leibl are characteristic of his manner of 
looking at things, but as in the case of all reproductions in black-and-white, the artist's color- 
ing has to be left out of the account. It will be interesting to compare the treatment of his 
subject by Leibl in liis "At Church," mth that of Vautier in his picture bearing the same 
title. Both in the conception of his subject, and in his treatment of it, Vautier is much 
more conventional than Leibl : he follows ih.Q old rules, and selects his types with as much 
consideration for gesthetic laws as is consistent with a desire to be faithful to their essential 
character. But Leibl is a law to himself, and his pictures, in general, are constructed on a 
principle which, as there is no authority for it in the books, the spectator must make out for 
himself. So far as arrangement is concerned, there is little of anything added by Leibl to 
what nature might have supplied by chance ; his groujps and their surroundings are, for the 
most part, what a man might see by looking out at a window, or in at a door. Take, for 
example, the "At Church." These three women might have been photographed, just as they 
are sitting in their pew, each figure artistically independent of the others, and with not so 
much attempt to bring their grouping into harmonious arrangement with any scheme of pic- 



torial composition as is commonly made by pliotograpliers in placing their sitters. In this 
respect Leibl often reminds us of Ms contemporary, James Tissot, and between both these 





artists and the English school of Pre-Raphaelites, there is a certain affinity, which, if its 
existence be allowed, is probably due to what we may call a special condition of the moral 


atmosphere of their time, since, so far as we are informed, there was never any personal 
relation between these artists ; and in their training they came under very different masters. 
As a detail, which will probably not be reckoned of much importance, we may allude to the 
gowns of the nearest two of the three women in this picture — the one made of a striped 
stuff, the other of a plaid pattern. To an artist trained in the conventional rules, either of 
these would be objectionable. Stripes, indeed, can be made decorative under certain condi- 
tions: but they must always be used with moderation. As for the plaid, we hardly remem- 
ber, however, an instance of its employment by any artist of eminence among the older 
painters. There is one instance of such employment, in the fourteenth century, which we 
may cite as an illustration of that direct following of facts without regard to their pictorial 
effect, that was one of the principles of the English Pre-Raphaelites, and to which they might 
have referred among hundreds of other similar violations of academic rules by the artists 
who preceded Raphael, in justification of their own practices. The picture we refer to is a 
fresco in the Lower Church of the Church of Saint Francis at Assissi, in the chapel dedicated 
to Saint Martin (Pope Martin IV., a.d. 1281). It is attributed by Vasari to one Puccio 
Capanna, but later writers give it to a better known artist, Simone Memmi. Whoever painted 
it, has gone to work like all the men of his time, taking the facts of the everyday life about 
him, and using them as the setting for his story; clothing its personages — sacred or pro- 
fane, near in time, or far-off — in the dress of the artist's own time, and surrounding them 
with the utensils and furniture that were familiar to the people for whom the picture was 
painted. So, here, in Memmi's picture we see the Pope lying asleep, and visited in his dream 
by the Saviour. He has not taken off his halo, but has it conveniently disposed around his 
night-cap, and he rests placidly on his bed — a plain, homespun affair, such as any Italian 
peasant of that day — or this^ — might sleep in, comfortably tucked in under a homespun plaid 
counterpane, no better than would be found in any one of the poor houses that nestle at the 
foot of the hill on whose side the great convent of Saint Francis suns itself at ease. 

In our own time we do not remember any painter who has been so audacious as to dress 
his personages in a gown with a plaid pattern, except Leibl and James Tissot. Tissot has 
done this in a picture representing two ladies in high-life, and Leibl has done it, here, in his 
picture of peasants in church. This, of course, might be an accident, and ordinarily would 
indicate nothing deeper in the way of resemblance between the two artists. But it seems to 
us that there is something deeper, a more intimate relation, however it has come about, 



between the art of the French painter who has been devoted all his life to the dej)icting the 
manners and experiences of the upper classes — for, even his Margaret is a lady, albeit of the 




middle-class, and the art of the German, who, born a laborer, has painted little beside scenes 
from the life of the iaboring-peoiale. Each of them turns his back peremptorily on the 


Academic teaching, and insists on conceiving the scene he has to paint as nearly as possible 
as it would have looked in reality ; not, indeed, attempting to deceive the eye by any tricks 
of imitation of stuff, or materials, or by feats of perspective, but aiming at deeper things : 
truth of human characterization, truth of gesture, and action. In each artist, too, is the same 
indifference to beauty, and it must be admitted to grace, as well. It is long since we saw 
Tissot's lady in the plaid gown, but we remember her tormented attitude as she sat upon the 
grass, and the multitudinous folds of her " tempestuous petticoat " ; there was a plenty of 
veracity and energy in the picture, but there was little to attract the lover of prettiness. 
But as this print after Leibl's picture lies before us on the table while we write, we are more 
and more impressed with its unpretending earnestness of feeling, which, in the end, makes us. 
oblivious to the homeliness of these poor people and the awkwardness of their attitudes. In 
fact, everything in the picture is ugly and awkward. The carved end of the seat in front of 
the one that holds these women is of such a coarse and unmeaning design that it would 
seem as if Leibl must have gone out of his way to find it. The old women are as ugly as 
hard work from youth to age, slender meals, and the aches and pains that come with poverty 
could make them. As for the young woman, her ctress is neat enough, and no doubt con- 
sidered quite the correct thing by herself and her neighbors, but nothing could well be more 
tasteless than the whole get-up, accented as it is by the ridiculous hat. There is, therefore, 
nothing pleasing in the picture to the eye that is wont to take pleasure in externals ; here, as 
in Millet's pictures, or in Tissot's, we must look for the pleasure that comes from expression: 
we must get what we can from human sympathy felt for these people with whom the artist 
has himself plainly sympathized ; the woman with deeply earnest look and clasped hands 
telling her beads; her neighbor, bent with age and holding her prayer-book — protected by 
its cloth cover like the one in Vautier's picture — in her long, bony hands ; then the younger 
one who, just come in from market, with the Jug she has been getting filled set down by her 
side, and turning over the leaves of her prayer-book to find the place with hands as big as 
those of the old grandame at her side, and on the way to be as knotty and bony, in time. 
Our other example of Leibl, " The Hunter," shows the artist still in quest of awkwardness 
and always in luck to find it! What a clumsy lout this is, to be sure; with his small head, his 
big legs, and his semi-detached feet! His dog is the best part of him! And yet the man has 
a real look; he does not look like a Salon Tyroler, but like a man of deeds, such as they are. 
Here again, we note the absence of composition, in the academic sense. The straight line 


formed by the rougli- rail extending from tree to tree, no doubt was there when Leibl made 
his slsetch; but an academician would certainly have left it out. Nor would he have put 
the young fellow's foot on that ragged log, certainly no comfortable foothold. But, then, an 
academician would never have given us LeibFs excellent pollard willow, nor would he have 
cauglit his easy way of resting on his gun. Judging even by the print in its black and white 
this must be a well-painted picture. 

Beauty carries the day, and how few would look at Leibl in his best estate if Gustav 
Richter's " Young Neapolitan " were to be seen! This almost ideal piece of human loveliness 
has had such a vogue, that some of our readers may wonder at our selecting it, but this is 
such an honest, healthy beauty, with neither sentimentality nor consciousness to mar it, that 
we see no reason why, if everybody has seen it once, everybody should not see it again ! The 
only harm it can do is the persuading us that all Neapolitan fisher-boys are models of ideal 
beauty — a too large deduction from this one splendid fact! The truth is, as every one who 
has visited Naples knows, the people are no handsomer than we may see them any day in 
our. streets. They are a strong, hard-featured, rather stunted race, with plenty of rough 
intelligence looking out of their dark eyes, often shaded by a forest of stormy hair, 
as, here, in our Beppo. But Beppo is one in ten thousand, and Richter was lucky to 
find him. 

Kael Ludwig Gustav Richter, to give him his full tale of names and so distinguish 
him from his namesake, plain Gustav, the landscape painter, was born in Berlin in 1823, and 
died in 1884. After finishing his studies at the Academy in Berlin, he went to Paris and 
there entered the atelier of Cogniet, with whom he remained for two years, and by whom 
his style was greatly influenced. Leaving Paris, he went to Rome, where he studied for two 
years, and on his return to Berlin was intrusted with a share in the decoration of the Hall of 
Northern Antiquities in the New Museum. The work of filling the wall-space above the 
cases and over the doors and windows with subjects from the Northern Mythology was 
divided among several artists, Bellermann, Miiller, Heidenreich, and Richter, and the pictures 
were executed in the then newly-revived art of wax-painting (stereochromy). To Richter were 
given the three subjects " Balder " — the Northern Apollo, the " Walkyrie " — who conducted 
the souls of the illustrious dead to Walhalla, and " Walhalla " itself, the abode of the gods 
and heroes. Later, for a Christmas festival, Richter painted for an exhibition of transparent 
pictures, a " Resurrection of Jairus' Daughter " which so delighted the king that he gave the 



artist a commisaion to paint it on a larger scale in oils. Ricliter's next success was gained at 
the exhibition of 1856, when he showed his first portrait. This was considered the crown of 



the collection and still maintains its reputation. In 1859, he received the commission to 
daint one of the thirty large oil-paintings intended for the decoration of the great Entrance- 


Hall of the Maximilianeum at Munich — an institution founded by King Maximilian the II. 
for the advanced education of young men who have proved their special fitness for the civil- 
service of the state. Many of the most distinguished artists of Germany were invited to take 
part in this work of decoration, which, after the grand German manner, was intended to be 
illustrative of the most important events in the history of the world. Cabanel and Pauwels 
were, we believe, the only artists outside of Germany invited to participate in this work. 
Cabanel painted, " The Fall of Man," and Pauwels, " Louis XIV. receiving a Deputation from 
the Republic of Genoa" — this latter, a singular choice of subject Avhen the limits of the 
scheme are considered; and the mention of Genoa leads to the reflection that in this salad of 
big and little events, on which the destiny of the world was supposed to have turned — no one 
seems to have suggested the " Discovery of America " by Columbus ! The discovery of a new 
world might have been worth mentioning along with " The Olympian Games " and " Haroun 
al Raschid," and if it were thought desirable to include for the most part in these epoch- 
making events only the doings of Teutons and Scandinavians, that of the finding of America 
might have been given to the Northmen in general, or to Leif Eric in particular, the latest 
rival to Columbus! The subject assigned to Richter was, "The Construction of the Pyra- 
mids " — another amusing selection, seeing how vast a part these buildings have played in the 
history of the world, and how much we know about them ! Richter, instead of following the 
example of the other German in the well-known squib, and constructing his pyramids " out 
of his moral consciousness " did as the Englishman in the story did : packed his valise and 
started for Egypt! What he expected to find there suitable for his commission we know 
not ; certain it is that he brought back nothing for that purpose that he might not have had 
without the journey. His picture, however, when finished was considered one of the best of 
the series, and still holds its oavh alongside the " Battle of Salamis " by Katilbach, and the 
works of PUoty, Hess, and Muller. His reputation does not rest on these larger and more 
pretending works, but upon his portraits and the " Heads " he painted on themes found in the 
course of his visit to Egypt and later (1873) in the Crimea. Among these, the " Neapolitan 
Fisher-boy" ranks perha]3s first, in popularity at least, but his "Fellah-Woman," his 
" Odalisque," and his " Gipsy- woman of the Crimea," are also great favorites Avith the public. 
The " Odalisque " is almost as well known as the Neapolitan boy. Among his portraits, too, 
that of Queen Luisa of Prussia has been the subject of a sort of ovation at the hands of the 
artist's own people, and, indeed, the graceful figure of the good and beautiful woman de- 


I ■ 


/ < '■ 



scending the steps of her palace has met with a welcome the world over, and has been repro- 
duced by every known process, to meet the varied popular demand. 

Another picture that has taken the popular fancy is " The Brothers " by Vogel, in the 
Dresden Gallery. 

Christian Lebeeecht Yogel was born in Dresden in 1759. He studied his art under 
Schonau, the Director of the Dresden Academy, who inherited French traditions from the 
teaching of Silvestre, brought from Paris by August the Strong to take charge of his new 
Academy, and to be court-painter. In 1780, at the agg of twenty-one, Vogel had begun to. 
make himself a name, and was invited by Count Solms-Wildenfels to accompany him to his 
Chateau near Wildenfels, a small town near Zwickau in the Erzgebirge, where he was kept 
employed for a long time in painting pictures for his patron and for his patron's friends, the 
owners of neighboring castles. Considering, says Woltmann, the comparatively small extent 
of the estate ruled by Count Solms, the number of pictures painted for him by Vogel must 
be reckoned considerable; they consisted of portraits, decorative ceiling-pictures, and altar- 
pieces. When in 1804 he was elected a member of the Dresden Academy, Vogel returned to 
his native town, where, in 1814, he was made Professor at the Academy, and where he died in 
1816. Vogel excelled in painting the portraits of children, and pictures in which children 
play the principal part, as in the allegorical ceiling-painting in the Library of the Castle at 
WUdenfels, and in the " Christ with the Children " in the same castle. But he is, perhaps, 
more at home in smaller, less pretending pictures, chiefly known through engravings, as they 
are mostly in private houses, such as his " Ganymede," his "Boy with a Canary-bird," "Boy 
with a Book and a Birdcage," and the present picture, the best known, as it is reckoned the 
best, of his works. It has been many times engraved, and is always copying by professional 
copyists in the gallery at Dresden, where it hangs. The children in "The Brothers" are the 
two Little sons of the artist who are sitting side by side on the floor. One of them, in a brown 
jacket and with shoes, holds a picture-book on his knees from which he looks up with a sweet 
expression, as if he were spoken to by father or mother. His dress is of an older fashion 
than his brother's, he not only has shoes, but stockings and loose trousers and a large linen 
collar with a ruffled edge turned over his jacket. His long fair hair falls on his neck in curls 
and is cut short on his forehead. He reminds us of pictures of French children of his time, 
painted by Greuze or Drouais. His brother is of a sturdier build, a younger child, bare- 
footed and bare-armed and dressed in a loose red frock with a handkerchief tied bib-fashion 
Vol. II.— 16 » * 


about Ms neck. His hair is dark and stronger than his brother's, and is cnt short in the neck 
and on the forehead. He holds a whip in his hand, and looks, but none too eagerly, into the 
book in his brother's lap. On a loosely folded shawl by the elder brother's side is his hat, of 
a size and shape to amuse a child of to-day, since it is of the same pattern as that which 
would be worn by the child's father. Such, however, was the fashion in that day ; the dress 
of children in the lower class, no less than in the higher, was the same in substance as that of 
their elders, and even at the present time in England it is very common to see little boys, on 
a Sunday especially, in tall hats like their fathers', while we are all familiar with the German 
and Scandinavian emigrant-children dressed like their grandfathers in clothes that, as we say, 
" look as if they had come out of the ark." And half the perennial charm of the cuts engraved 
by Bewick and so cleverly copied by our American Anderson, lies in the harmony between 
the dress of the boys and girls, and their general priggishness and airs of wisdom beyond 
their years. Nothing but prudence and discretion, with contempt for youthful follies, could 
be looked for in the wearers of these high hats, tail-coats, breeches, knee-buckles, and low-cut 
shoes ; these long-skirted, short- waisted gowns, with flowing sashes, and taU, pointed beaver- 
hats trimmed with flowers and ribbons. The expression given by this dress, so outlandish in 
our eyes, is not, however, always that of priggishness. In Madame Le Brun's " Marie Antoi- 
nette and her Children," given in the first volume of this work (p. liv.. Introduction) the 
Dauphin's costume is in keeping with the sweet childish dignity of his bearing; and, here, in 
Vogel's picture, 4he miniature man's dress does not detract from the look of infant innocence. 
It may be noticed that Karl Woermann, the continuator of the excellent history of painting 
begun by Alfred Woltmann, cannot enough praise the painting of this picture ; he exhausts 
his German adjectives in expressing his delight, and makes its warm, glowing, luminous 
coloring, the text of a sermon on the recreancy of modern German art to its splendid begin- 
nings as illustrated by the " Portrait of a Man " by Peter von Cornelius that hangs near it in 
the gaUery. 

Otto Eedmaistn, the painter of the " Bringing-home the Bride " was bom at Leipzig in 
1834 and after studying his art first at home and then in Dresden and Munich, fixed his 
residence at Diisseldorf, where he has since continued to live and to paint. He has been a 
successful caterer to the public taste for anecdotes, setting his little tales of high-life in a 
fashionable Rococo frame- work, polished marquetry floor, panelled walls in white and gold, 
lambrequined windows, mirrors, and porcelain vases, and people to match ; all convention- 



ality, formality, and high-caste German exclusiveness, and touch-me-nottery. The present 
picture is a good example of the artist's manner when he is at his best: there is more 
dramatic feeling, and clear character-drawing in this scene than his pictures call for in 
general. The son of this high-born and dignified lady has chosen a bride for himself a little 



outside the charmed circle in which his family moves. There have been hard thoughts, if not 
hard words, in consequence, and it is only now that, after much letter-writing and embassies 
to-and-fro, the mother has consented to receive her danghter-in-law, and see with her own 
eyes what she looks like. She sits in her gilded and brocaded ./a?ifeMiZ, dressed in her stateli- 
est, satin and silk and lace, and does her best, with a wintry smile and a dubious hand, to 
welcome the intruder, this bird from the outer world who has dared to come and sit on the 


branclies of her family tree; but for her son's sake and for the sake of peace she will give 
her such welcome as she can. Judging by the consternation of the family, we must think 
this a terrible old lady, in spite of her calm exterior and general air of harmless respecta- 
bility. Yet, all these people seem to be expecting or fearing an explosion ; the young bride, 
a most delicate piece of Dresden china, approaches her new relative with a faltering heart 
and a timid foot, supported by her young husband's arm ; the husband himself seems pre- 
pared to snatch his wife away on the first spark of danger; his sister, with one arm on the 
back of her mother's chair and the other raised in a gesture of expectancy, stands lightly 
balanced between hope and fear; the father in the background, still unreconciled, looks 
severely at the offending pair, and adds his well-dressed mite to the general sum of discom- 
fort. However, let us hope for the best; let us believe that the mother, an excellent person at 
heart, no doubt, underneath this shell of convention, has been led to a proper and becoming 
state of mind by the Court-chapel book of devotion she was reading when the footman an- 
nounced her son, and that when the ijretty young creature before her shall have kissed the 
proffered hand, and asked her blessing, there will be an end to this high-born nonsense, and 
that the heads of this aristocratic family will begin to appreciate the kindness of fortune in 
sending such a gleam of sunshine to light up their dull formality. 

Carl SoHisr, Jr., as he signs himself in the corner of this picture "At Dessert," is the son 
■of the once distinguished painter, a chief of the Dusseldorf school; remembered here, perhaps, 
by some as the painter of a " Diana and her Nymphs " that was one of the main attractions 
of the Dusseldorf gallery. The son was bom at Dusseldorf in 1845, where his father died in 
1869. An older brother, Richard, still lives and paints portraits in his native town, and there 
is also a cousin, Wilhelm, a painter of history and genre, bom in Berlin, but living and work- 
ing at Diisseldorf, so that the family is well represented. The younger Carl Sohn's "At 
Dessert" is one of the regulation costume and studio-property pieces with which we are 
already so familiar ; but we must confess to finding it not so reasonable as many of its com- 
panions. Considering the venerable character of the company seated at the table — so much 
of it, at least, as we can see through the open door-way — we are not surprised that this young 
eouple should have slipped away for a quiet chat in the ante-room, where, seated on an old 
carved settee by the side of his lady, the young gentleman has preluded his love-making by 
an airor two strummed upon his lute. But, what puzzles us is the action of the young lady, 
whose state of violent commotion is in curious contrast to the cool undemonstrative air of her 



lover. He would seem to have stated his case with unusual deliberation and to be awaiting- a 
reply with an air that might equally well be translated as indifference, or assurance. The 
lady, on the contrary, starts back with a frightened air, and appears to be in some danger of 
losing her balance ; at any rate, her next movement will be, apparently, to spring to her feet, 
and leave her companion to strum on his lute to himself. Or, can it be that all this agitation 
is caused by the unwelcome appearance of the young lady's little sister, a miniature copy of 
herself, dressed in festal array, in a brocaded gown, satin shoes and a jaunty cap and heron's 
feather, who has begged a plate of bon-bons from her rather grim-visaged aunt who lowers in 
ruff and bodice on the other end of the table; and, under pretence of offering them a share of 
the dessert, has come olit, just at the wrong moment, after the fashion of small sisters, moved 
by mere chUdish curiosity to see what her big sister Wilhelmina is doing? This might possi- 
bly explain the fact that the young lady is so flustered while her lover is so calm — for she 
sees the pretty intruder, and he doesn't. Yet, even so, her evident agitation ought to pique his 
curiosity, since he must know very well that as the lady has been for some weeks well aware 
of his intention, and she herself prepared to hear his declaration, there cannot be any reason 
for surprise on her part. As a composition Sohn's picture has merit sufficient, albeit it is of 
a conventional kind, and follows rules easily taught. The lighting of the inner room is 
cleverly managed, and the people are well-seated at the table. Were we practically disposed, 
we might object to the architectural disposition of the rooms ; such a screen between two 
principal apartments in a handsome house calling for an explanation, since in the times when 
the handsome dress of this young lady was worn, with its graceful compromise between the 
stiffness of the preceding era and the freedom of the next to come, in the early seventeenth 
century, there was no lack of light in the houses; they were far enough away from the 
troglodyte system of house-building to which we are accustomed. Or, if these rich people 
had had a screen only, to separate their dining-room from the hall, we may be sure they 
would have known how to arrange the glass in it. Small square panes diversified with glass 
dinner-plates — for there are no joints in these discs to make us think them properly leaded 
ornaments — would not have found their way to such a place. But the whole screen looks like 
a cheap collection of bits put together for studio-purposes, an inexcusable make-shift when 
we think of the abundant models that are at any artist's disposal in any old European town. 

LuDWiG LoFFTZ, the painter of "Avarice and Love " was born at Darmstadt in 1845, and 
was apprenticed at seventeen to an upholsterer. He had already a few years' instruction at 


the Technical Institute in his native place, but at the end of his apprenticeship, he decided to 
become an artist, and give up trade. He went first, in 1869, to Nurembeig, where he studied 
under Kreling for a year, but the next year found him in Munich, where he entered tlie studio 
of Wilhelm Dies. After a number of essays in genre painting, with a certain success, he 
produced the j)resent picture exhibited at Munich in 1879, and won the willing suffrages of 
the public and the artists. The work was plainly suggested by the famous picture, in the 
Louvre, by Quentin Matsys: "The Gold-merchant and his Wife" although there cannot be 
said to be more than a suggestion of an original, either in the coloring or the design of Lofftz's 
picture. Matsys' work shows us simply a merchant and his young wife sitting side by side 
in his counting-room, he examining a piece of gold he has been weighing, and she pausing in 
turning over the pages of an illuminated missal, to look at the coin and to listen to what he 
is saying about it. The table is strewed with various objects that have come to the merchant 
in exchange, and which are all painted with the utmost care, an ostensoir, or crystal shrine 
for the altar, a watch in its jponderous case, a small convex mirror with its reflections, such as 
more than one of the sixteenth-century artists tried his skill upon, and a pile of gold pieces. 
On shelves behind the couj)le are a number of small objects, all painted with the sam^. 
precision. Another picture at Windsor Castle, " The Misers," once attributed to Quentin 
Matsys, but now given to his son Jan, may have mingled in the mind of Lofftz the idea of 
avarice with that of love, as suggested by the Louvre picture. But this is as far as the 
resemblance goes. This sturdy yeoman, whom we suppose we must allow young (after a 
mediaeval fashion) has found the merchant sitting with his bountifully blooming daughter in 
his counting-room and takes the opportunity to exchange glances with her, while her father 
carefully counts out the money he has brought in settlement of some transaction. The rose, 
too, which he had slipped into the mouth of the bag of money as he handed it to her on 
entering, she acknowledges with a speaking look that seems to promise him prosperity in his 
suit. As in Matsys' pictures, the table is strewn with things in the painting of Avhich the 
modern artist has attempted no rivalry Avith the work of the older master. They are here 
simply as necessaiy facts, to have their dues, but to be subordinated to the main purpose of 
the composition, whereas, vdth a Matsys, Van Eyck, and even Holbein, these details seem 
often to have been painted for their own sake, for the mere pleasure of wrestling with diffi- 



T N" the somewhat wearisome waste of modern German art, the name of Daniel Nicolaus 
*■ Chodowiecki stands out as a cheerful luminary. "Pronounce Kodov-yetski," says 
Thomas Carlyle, " and endeavor to make some acquaintance with the ' Prussian Hogarth ' 
who has real worth and originality." He was an artist of a marked personality, whose work, 
if it had but little influence on the art of his own time, and if, for us, it form merely a part of 
the baggage of curiosity bequeathed by his age to ours, must yet always have an interest for 
the student of manners in his part of Germany in the last quarter of the Eighteenth Century. 
Chodowiecki was born at Dantzig in 1726. This city, although it had been for a long time 
one of the most important places in that part of the dominions of Prussia which was ruled by 
the Order of Teutonic Knights, had joined the league of the towns that threw off the yoke of 
the Order, and placed herself under the protection of Poland, while still maintaining her 
municipal independence. The second partition of Poland which gave Dantzig back to 
Prussia and to Germany, did not take place until 1793, when Chodowiecki was nearly seventy 
years of age, so that, had he continued to live and to work in his native town all those years, 
his fame must have been given to Poland, to which, as it is, nothing but his Polish name 
belongs. Chodowiecki's father was a corn-merchant in a small way, his mother, we are told, 
was of French descent, and yet the artistic leaning in their son's nature would seem to have 
been derived not from the mother, but from the father, who not only put no obstacle in the 
boy's way when he saw him resolutely bent toward art, but himself gave him his first instruc- 
tions, since he was not without some little talent in that direction. An aunt, too, who 
painted in enamel, assisted him in his studies, but there was little doing, in the town, in the 
way of art to encourage him in the pursuit, and few pictures, either in public or private 
possession, to stimulate or instruct his youthful talent. One important picture by a great 
artist, " The Last Judgment " of Hans Memling, of Bruges, did, indeed, hang in Chodowiecki's 
time, in the Church of St. Mary, where it is still to be seen. But, though, to amateurs of 
painting and lovers of the earlier art, it is to-day chief among the few attractions of the old 
sea-port, it may reasonably be doubted whether it had ever received more than a casual 
glance from Chodowiecki. In his time, the art of the middle ages was more than neglected, 
it was despised ; and the art of the Renaisance was hardly in better favor. A picture by 
Memling, or Van Eyck, or Matsys, covered now by buyers with gold-pieces, was then looked 


at merely as a curiosity, Avell enough, perhaps, in a church, but by no means a fit ornament 
for a room in whicli one was to live. In the picture by Cliodowiecki which accompanies this 
notice : " The Work-room of a Painter," all the pictures that hang on the wall are the pro- 
ductions of the later Dutchmen, or of the Italian Eclectics; the men who were just before 
Chodo%viecki's time, and in vogue when he was coming on the stage or was just in his prime. 
We may ask ourselves, too, whether the picturesque old town of his youth was more to his 
mind than the old art ; whether the narrow streets, with their tall houses, built for the most 
part of brick, some of them plain to austerity, though well designed, others richly ornamented, 
with columns and cornices, window and door-frames of carved stone, would excite him to 
artistic sympathy, or would leave him cold, as before so much mere survival of a barbarous 
past? Ought he not, if he had in him any artistic instincts, to have taken some little 
pleasure in the multitude of gables which give such a rich and varied sky-line to every street ; 
or in that picturesque feature, once common to nearly all the houses of Dantzig, and peculiar 
to the city, the Beyschldge or " stoops," as we call their degenerate descendants here in New 
York: stone platforms extending weU out from the fronts of the houses, handsomely railed 
in, and reached from the sidewalk by comfortable steps? Here, under the shade of trees, the 
owners of the houses and their friends would sit on summer-evenings, enjoying the cool air 
and the long twilights, and filling the narrow streets with a cheerful murmur of friendly 
voices. Bat, though in those sketch-books of which we shall speak presently, and especially 
in the sketches made during the visit to Dantzig in 1773, where he went to see his mother, 
whom he had not met for thirty years, he records the backgrounds of his groups, however 
slightly, yet with the same truthfulness with which he depicts the groups themselves, we can 
find no evidence that he cared at all for what most interests us of this generation when we 
visit the ancient sea-port on the Vistula. For want, then of better models in his art, Chodo- 
wiecki feU back upon the engravers, and under his aunt's direction began to copy the etch- 
ings of Callot, and such prints as he could obtain after the works of the Dutch and Flemish 
artists. Later, he obtained engravings after Watteau and Lancret, and with these he now 
began the practice of making small-size reductions of his originals, doubtless aided in this, as 
in all his efforts, by the aunt, whose work as a miniaturist and enamel-painter, lay in the 
direction of minute and finely finished execution. All his drawings up to this time had been 
made vsith the pen and washed with India-ink, but he now began to painf upon parchment, 
and he soon made such progress that an uncle, a shop-keeper, who lived at Berlin, and who 


used to buy for his customers the aunt's enamels as they were sent him, now encouraged the 
nephew by buying some of his drawings that from time to time were sent to him along with 
these. Life was thus made a little easier for the lad, as the small sums of money he received 
refreshed his slim pockets and gave him the means of procuring the materials for his drawing 
and painting, vrithout calling on his parents, who were ill able to gratify him. 

In 1740, when Chodowiecki was only fourteen, his father died, and his mother, who had 
never encouraged him in his efforts to make himself an artist, apprenticed him to a relative, a 
widow who kept a small grocery shop in Dantzig. Here began a dreary episode in the life of 
the boy, who was now obliged to serve behind the counter from six in the morning until ten 
at night, and in the evening, after supper, to go to church with his mistress for vespers, and 
to join her in singing the hymns. Yet so strong was his bent toward art, that even in church 
his thoughts went wandering that way ; he would study the pictures on the wall and try to 
lix their composition in his memory by foUovdng their main lines with his finger in the 
hollow of his hand or on the cover of his prayer book, and afterward on reaching his bed- 
room would reproduce them as well as he could from memory. Thus hard necessity schooled 
him, and taught him a method which no master could have bettered. In the shop, too, were 
many hours when little was doing in the way of business, and these he improved by sketch- 
ing the shop and its contents, and once made a drawing of his mistress and her friends at 
table which is still to be seen among his sketches, and shows the considerable progress he 
was making in his studies from nature. 

Finding that all their efforts to crush the boy were in vain, the Fates, who perhaps only 
meant to try his mettle, resolved to do him a good turn. They bankrupted the old widow 
and shut up her shop, a happy event for Chodovsdecki, who now returned to his mother's 
house, and after a brief stay there, followed his younger brother to Berlin, where his uncle 
already mentioned was ready to give him a helping hand. For some time he worked away at 
his water-color drawing, and made attempts at enamel-painting, but he found little success in 
disposing of his work and was at length reluctantly obliged to abandon the hope of earning 
a living in Berlin by art of that kind. Here, as in many another instance, we who look back- 
ward upon the event, can see how circumstances that at the time seemed to be hardships, 
were really spurs to drive the supposed victim into the true path to success. Chodowiecki 
was not meant by nature to be a mere copyist of other men's work; neither was he meant to 
be a shopkeeper. Yet like a brave young fellow, he did his best to bend his neck to the 


yoke, and finding that he could not as yet earn his bread by his drawings, rather than be a 
burden to his uncle he went into his shop to assist him and to gain a living. The uncle, on 
his side, showed his good will, and gave his consent that both Daniel and his brother Gott- 
fried should take lessons of Rode, a Polish artist settled in Berlin, and who had been himself 
a pupil of Rugendas, the Director of the Academy of Augsburg. Rode's name hardly appears 
in the dictionaries; he could probably do little for his pupils technically, but he was enthusi- 
astic on the subject of art; he had seen pictures, if he could not paint them, and he did 
Chodowiecki a service by stimulating his ambition and keeping his hope alive. This was the 
more needed, as Berlin at that time was poor both in art and artists; there were no pictures 
of any merit in the churches, and the royal collection, such as it was, was not accessible to the 
public. Little by little Chodowiecki began to experiment with original designs, and he 
improved the chances that were every now and then thrown in his way of seeing pictures, and 
of making acquaintance with artists ; among these, Antoine Pesne — of whom we shall have 
to speak later — was the most useful to him ; much older than Chodowiecki — he was born in 
1683 — he was able by his position in the art- world and by his relations with the court, to be of 
service to our artist and he showed great friendliness to him. Chodowiecki studied for a 
while in the life-school of Christian Rode, and in 1755 he married Jeanne Barez, and took up 
art seriously as a profession. 

After his marriage Chodowiecki settled down to his work as a painter of miniatures, and 
of enamels — these latter often intended for the decoration of snuff-boxes, then as much 
objects of ornament as of use, and greatly in vogue for gifts and souvenirs. He kept up also 
his early practice of copying engravings, and chiefly delighted in those from the pictures of 
Watteau and Boucher, the favorites of their time, not only in France but wherever in Europe 
France was the arbiter elegantiarum; the mistress in the realm of taste. Little by little he 
began to exercise himself in original design ; and it was to enable him to supply his friends 
with copies of some drawings he had made with subjects of local interest, that he took up 
etching. At first, he was discouraged, and after some efforts that he felt to be unsuccessful, 
gave it up, but still returned to it, until at last by a happy accident as we may call it, he 
produced a plate that both for its subject and for the way in which he treated it, interested 
everybody and opened for him the way to reputation and employment. This was the plate 
called " Der grosse Calas," the larger Calas, to distinguish it from a smaller plate of the same 
composition made for the frontispiece to a play by H. Weisse, " Der Fanatismus." The story 




of Galas, and of the indignant protest of Voltaire against the atrocious mockery of justice 
that led to his death, is well known and needs to be only referred to here. In 1762, a young 
man named Marc Antoine Galas, a native of Lacaparede, in Languedoe, committed suicide in 
a fit of temporary insanity. There was not the slightest reason to doubt the fact that the 
young man, addicted to gambling, and subject to deep fits of melancholy, had killed himself, 
but the religious strifes that were raging had worked up the popular mind to a state of 
morbid intolerance and suspicion, and some one having said that the young man's father, a 
Protestant and a person of very good reputation, or some member of his family, had mur- 
dered him to prevent his turning Roman Catholic, the whole mass of inflammable bigotry in 
suspense in the community caught fire from this spark, and the entire Galas family became 
the objects of a barbarous social jDersecution. The old man was put to the torture, but refus- 
ing to confess, he was haled before the Parliament at Toulouse, and as the result of the 
inquiry was sentenced to be broken ixpon the wheel. The wife and children were acquitted 
after having been put to the torture, and finally fled to Geneva and took refuge with Voltaire. 
Three years later, through the influence of Voltaire, the sentence was revised, the Parliament 
of Paris declared the innocence of Galas, and the King, Louis XV., ordered the sum of 30,000 
livres to be given to his family. This was only one of a series of atrocious persecutions which 
had brought the public mind of Prance and Germany to a state of high excitement. Voltaire 
had become so well known in Prussia, so admired, almost worshipped by the one side, so 
hated and feared by the other, that his fierce espousal of the cause of Galas had made the 
story almost a household one. A French print called " La malheureuse Famille Galas " was 
brought to Berlin, and fell under the eyes of Chodowiecki, who interested, like the rest of the 
world, in the story, copied the print in oil. He became so much absorbed in the story, that it 
took a new shape in his mind, and he re-created the scene of the parting between Galas and 
his family, on his way to the scafi'old, in a composition of his own which he called " Les 
Adieux de Galas a sa Famille." This picture excited so much admiration that he was minded 
to etch it, in order that he might more easily gratify the popular wisli to see it, and the result 
of his effort was the plate we have already mentioned, " Der grosse Galas." By the kind- 
ness of Mr. Gardiner G. Hubbard, of Washington, we are enabled to give our readers a 
reproduction of this rare plate from a copy in that gentleman's possession. Pecht has 
pointed out, in his interesting sketch of Ghodowiecki's life, that in the general conception of 
Ms picture, the artist has imitated Greuze, but that he is far more faithful to nature, and not 



so sentimental. And thoiigli the comj)osition may recall the French artist (and it will be 
remembered that all Chodowiecki's instruction has been filtered through French influences, 
and nearly all his life spent in copying directly from French models), yet in the feeling of 
this picture there was nothing French at all. We see before us an honest Berlin father of a 
family, who is about taking leave of mother, wife, and child, in his prison cell, while the 
priest who is to prepare him for death enters the room, and the jailer knocks off his chains. 







Tlie fainting mother, the weeping and lamenting wife and daughter all this is so truly 
German, so Berlinish, and yet so true to universal human nature, and withal so moving, that 
we may well call the composition the first genre picture that was produced in Germany. It 
had at the time a far-reaching influence, and imitators by the score. 

The success of this plate was so great that it decided the fortunes of Chodowiecki, who 
from that time was overrun with orders from the booksellers, and found he had no longer 
leisure to paint his laborious miniatures. In 1764 he was made an associate of the Berlin 
Academy, and in 1769 he was appointed engraver and etcher to the same society. In 1770 he 
























































produced, for himself, a series of twelve designs to Lessing's " Minna Von Barnhelm," and 
with these small oval pictures, set, like many of the miniatures and silhoaette likenesses of 
the time, in a simply decorated panel, a new era in book illustration was introduced into 
Germany. Here, again, France was (as she has for all the world so often) the inspirer and 
director of this new departure. Of his contemx^oraries who have gained the greatest distinc- 
tion in this same field, Moreau the younger, and Eisen, in Prance, and Stothard, in England, 
Moreau was fifteen years his junior, and Eisen his senior by six years, while Stothard was 
twenty -nine years younger. Stothard, like Chodowiecki, owed much of his inspiration to 
France, but he is far inferior to his Prussian contemporary in the intellectual value of his 
work as well as in the variety and force of his design. The facility, energy, and fruitfulness 
of Chodowiecki are wonderful. Engelmann's Catalogue gives us the titles of 2,075 distinct 
designs in 978 plates. In the thirty years of life that remained to him after the appearance of 
his " Minna von Barnhelm," he illustrated the works of almost every celebrity of his time, in 
England, France, and Germany, beside a cloud of others whose books, long since forgotten for 
themselves, are still sought out on the musty shelves of the dealers at second-hand for the 
sake of the designs by our artists which give them all their value. In 1775, Chodowiecki, 
after a lapse of thirty years, took a holiday, and re-visited Dantzig to see his now aged 
mother. He had left her, poor and unknown, to seek a doubtful fortune; he returned, 
famous and well to do, changed in everything but his good heart and kindly nature. Of this 
journey and his visit he has left a most interesting record in a series of sketches, over a 
hundred in number, in which he has noted down everything he saw that interested him. He 
rode all the way from Berlin to Dantzig, and might often have been seen standing by his 
horse's side with the bridle held in his teeth, to leave both hands free while he sketched in his 
note-book something that had attracted him. On reaching his inn he would finish his 
sketch from memory, sometimes washing it with India-ink. A selection of these drawings 
has recently been published m facsimile in Berlin. He made other journeys on horseback, 
visiting Dresden, Hamburg, Leipzig, and other North-German cities, sketching most industri- 
ously and accumulating in this way a multitude of studies which he put to good use in his 
book-illustrations. Many of these, it is said, were etched directly upon the plate without 
making a finished design beforehand, a practice not uncommon perhaps in the case of certain 
artists who are not particularly solicitous for form, but rare, surely, with those whose work 
is of so precise and orderly a character as that of Chodowiecki. His early studies, and the 



miniature and enamel-painting that liad occupied Ms time for so many years, had in great 
measure limited his skill to small compositions, and when he attempted larger plates, his 
good genius too often deserted him. His first plate, the " Galas," and " The Painter and his 
Family " both which we copy— are reckoned his best productions in this more ambitious field. 
His " Ziethen Sleeping," the scene where Frederick finds the old general sleeping in a chair 
in his audience-room, and forbids his waking by his attendants,, saying, " he has watched 
often enough for us, now let him sleep," and that other anecdote, of Frederick insisting on 





Ziethen, old and infirm, sitting, while he, the King, stands and talks to him, both these 
plates are interesting from their subjects, but they are of no great artistic vahie. The repro- 
duction of the " Painter and his Family " which we publish, is interesting, as a direct copy 
from the rare original plate as well as for its subject. We see the artist sitting at his small 
table by the window, the curtain drawn aside for more light, and held in its place by the 
back of the chair, while he draws the miniature of his little daughter, seated with the four 
other children at a large table near their father. The long wall of the room that faces us is 
hung with pictures, small and large, of which we see thirteen either in whole or in part, and 
there are consoles also supporting casts. On the floor leaning against the wall there are big 


portfolios, and on a pier table at the right, under a mirror, is a cast of a Crouching Venus^ 
probably she of the Capitol. All these pictures, as nearly as we can make out, are, as we have 
already described them, of the later French school, or of the Eclectic, but we fancy there is 
also a Diirer among them — a copy, perhaps by Chodowiecki himself, of the Flight into Egypt, 
from the " Life of the Virgin," and below it is also, if we are not mistaken, Tenier's picture of 
the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard. If this be so, it shows that Chodowiecki was 
not shut up to the works of one school, although it is true that his studies in art had lain 
almost exclusively among the favorites of his time, where Diirer and Teniers certainly had 
no place. The group about the table seems to us very attractive; the kindly-natured, 
pleasant-faced mother in her simple bourgeois house-dress, with her arm on the back of the 
eldest daughter's chair, and caressing the cheek of the next oldest, who leans toward her 
affectionately while she holds fast to the wee baby in the big chair with one hand ; the eldest 
son, in his queer little German dressing-gown tied round his waist, and with his head tied up 
in a handkerchief (he is drawing a picture of his sister to rival his father's!), while his small 
brother, also capped and gowned, is pointing out this and that in his work and asking him 
small-brother questions about it. The eldest daughter — no beauty she, with her long slender 
face drawn out into a tremulous pointed nose (the image, as we can see, of her mother at her 
age) is conscious that she is sitting for her portrait, and not ill-pleased thereat. She has a big 
picture book before her, but she is not looking at it just at present, is more concerned in the 
result of the contest between the two artists, the older and the younger one. 

As we look up from this picture of Chodowiecki's to the smaller subjects, the vignettes 
to the plays, novels, romances of the time, we see that the general air is the same, although, as 
a rule, he was content with much simpler backgrounds and with plainer surroundings. It 
may be that he dressed up his own room a little, or he may have copied it with the accuracy 
so characteristic of his work in general ; in either case we cannot find much to say in praise 
of his taste. But in these numerous vignettes of his, aM in the series of his own designs 
" The Amateurs," the '' Occupations des Dames," the " Centifolium Stultorum," we find the 
mirror held up plainly to the society he saw about him. The costume of aU the people he 
sketched or drew, the rich and the poor, the high and the low, people of all professions and 
occupations, are there for us to study as they lived, moved, and had their being in the Berlin 
or Dantzig or Dresden of his day. The comparison between him and Hogarth was never a 
very appropriate one. He has neither fiattered his world nor ridiculed it; his satire, when he 


indulged it, was but gentle, lie was content to depict things as lie saw tliem and left them to 
speak for themselves their OAvn praise or blame. He had, for a German, far more grace and 
playfulness than Hogarth, he had also more native refinement, but far less dramatic power 
and less earnestness. Beside, he had not so ample a stage on which to present his characters ; 
he could never do with his small plates, no larger, for the most part, than the small oval of a 
lady's palm, what Hogarth could accomplish with his large engravings, permitting the intro- 
duction of a great number of figures, with a multitude of accessory episodes. Chodowiecki 
does not play so epic a part ; he is rather the Theocritus of the bourgeois world in which he 
Kved, and a part of which he was. He made few excursions outside this world, and when he 
attempted to depict high life, he certainly was less happy than when he kept at home, in his 
own circle. During the last few years of his life Chodowiecki suflEered much from swelling 
of the feet, which confined him to his house and his desk for the greater part of the time. 
But his industry and his energy were indomitable, and he continued to produce to the last 
and with little diminution in the excellence of his work. He died on the 1st of February, 
1801. , " 

One of Chodowiecki's most distinguished contemporaries living in Berlin was Antoine 
Pesne, the painter of the portrait of Frederick II. and his sister WUhelmina, Marchioness of 
Baireuth, as children — " The Little Drummer " as it is sometimes called. Pesne was in truth 
a Frenchman, bom at Paris in 1683, but he spent the greater part of his active life in Berlin, 
where he was called by the King of Prussia in 1710, and made court-painter, and the next 
year was appointed Director of the Academy in Berlin. In 1720 he returned to Paris, where 
he was elected a member of the Academy, but returned shoi-tly to Berlin and passed there the 
remainder of his life, dying in 1757. He is the painter of a great number of the portraits of 
celebrities that now adorn the palaces of Berlin, but he has most endeared himself to the 
German worshippers of Frederick by the picture which we have chosen as an example of hie 
skUl. Carlyle in his great epic, the Frederick II., incomparably the richest of all his works, 
has much to say about this picture, and we cannot do better than to give the reader his own 
words in describing it. 

" For the rest, here is another little incident. We said it had been a disappointment to 
Papa that his little Fritz showed no appetite for soldiering, but found other sights more 
interesting to him than the drill-ground. Sympathize then, with the earnest papa as he 
returns home one afternoon — date not given — but, to all appearance, of that year 1715, when 




there was such, war-rumoring and marching toward Stralsund, and found the little Fritz , 
with WilhelmiQa looking over him, strutting about and assiduously beating a little drum. 

" The paternal heart ran over with glad fondness, invoking Heaven to conlirm the omen. 
Mother was told of it ; the phenomenon was talked of — beautif ullest, hopef uUest of little 
drummers. Painter Pesne, a French immigrant or importee, of the last reign, a man of great 



skill with his brush, whom history yet thanks on several occasions, was sent for; or he had 

heard of the incident and volunteered his services. A Portrait of Little Fritz drumming, 

with Wilhelmina looking on; to which, probably for the sake of color and pictorial effect, a 

Blackamoor aside with parasol in hand grinning approbation has been added— was sketched 

and dexterously worked out in oil by Painter Pesne. Picture approved by mankind there 

and then, and it still hangs on the wall in a perfect state at Charlottenburg Palace, where the 
Vol. II.-17 ** 


judicious tourist may see it without difficulty, and institute reflections on it. * * * * 
Fritz is still, if not in long clothes, at least in longish and flowing clothes, of the petticoat 
sort, which look as of dark-blue velvet, very simple, pretty, and appropriate ; in a cap of the 
same ; has a short raven's feather in the cap ; and looks up with a face and eye full of beauti- 
ful vivacity and child's enthusiasm; one of the beautifuUest little figures, while the little 
drum responds to his bits of drum-sticks. Sister Wilhelmina, taUer by some three years, 
looks on in pretty marching attitude and with a graver smile. Blackamoor and accompani- 
ments elegant enough ; and finally the figure of a grenadier or guard, seen far ofl' through an 
opening — make up the background." It may be added that Carlyle tells us, with the excep- 
tion of this picture and one of Frederick when a young man, also painted by Pesne, there 
exists no authentic portrait of him. " It seems he never sat to any painter in his reigning 
days, and the Prussian Chodowiecki, Saxon Graff, and English Cunningham had to pick u]3 
his physiognomy in the distance, intermittingly, as he could." 

F. TiscHBEiN, the painter of the portraits of Queen Louisa of Prussia and her sister 
Friederika, was one of a large family of artists of that name, most of whom are associated 
with Cassel and its Academy, of which the oldest of the name, Johann Heinrich Tischbein, 
born in 1772, was the Director. The painter of our picture, Johann Friedrich August Tisch- 
bein — born in 1750, and died in 1812 — was the nephew of this one, and was Court-painter to 
the Prince Von Waldeck, and Director of the Academy at Leipzig. He painted a great 
number of portraits which are to be seen in the galleries of Leipzig, Weimar, Brunswick, and 
Frankfort, but the best known is this portrait of Queen Louisa, the mother of the late 
Emperor William, the beautiful and high-hearted woman, whose statue by Ranch is so well 
known. Our engraving is only of a portion of a larger plate, which it was thought would 
sufl'er, as a portrait, by the attempt to reduce it. It represents the two sisters standing at the 
foot of a terrace-steps, and looking out upon the garden beyond. It will be remembered that 
Richter has painted a similar portrait of the Queen, in which she is seen descending the 
palace steps to the terrace — a portrait of maturer years. 

As we come down to later times, the names of portrait-painters in Germany become, if 
not more numerous, more individualized; the artists showing less the influence of routine and 
conventional models than we find in the older painters, who worked more frequently in 
schools. Few words will suffice for Francois Xavier Winterhalter, whose name by grace of 
royal favor once fLQed the fashionable world, but is now passed away with other tinsel glories 



of the Second Empire. He was born at Baden in 1806, but after studying at Munich and in 
Rome finally settled in Paris in 1834. He travelled much, however, during all his life, visit- 



ing England, Germany, and Spain, and painting a prodigious number of portraits, of Louis 
Philippe and Queen Amelia with aU the Orleans family, but especially known as the Court- 
painter of Napoleon III. and the Empress Eugenie. The present picture, which now hangs 


on tlie staircase of the Metropolitan Museum, is a singular relic of that singular time. It 
represents the Empress and the ladies of her Court at St. Cloud, but it is unnecessary to say 
that it is not intended as a literal presentation, but rather as a poetical grouping of the 
\Tomen thoiight pretty, who surrounded that queer, vixenish doll who played the devil with 
France and her fortunes for so many years, and finally proved the riiin of the witches' palace 
she had helped to build. Loose and shameless as was the court over which she ruled, this 
picture of Winterhalter's was too much even for its stomach, and its public exhibition made 
such a breeze that it was withdraAvn from view, and later found its way to this country, as 
not to be allowed at home. 

Heixrich vox Angeli, who, less frivolous than Winterhalter, yet fills in some measure 
his vacant place, was born at Odenburg, in Hungary, in 1840. Already, as a child, he showed 
a strong artistic bent, which was developed by careful training; first, at the Academy in 
Vienna, then at Dusseldorf, and later at Paris and Munich. Although now known chiefly as 
a portrait-painter, he did not at once enter on the field where he has made both fortune and 
renown, but first aj)peared as a painter of history ; this being the most natural outcome of 
his Dusseldorf and Munich training. His earliest exhibited picture was " Mary Stuart on her 
way to Execution," and this was followed by a subject commissioned by the King of Bavaria: 
'* Louis XL entreating Franz von Paula to prolong his Life." These paintings, with his 
"Cleopati'a and Antony" and ''Ladj' Jane Grey before her Execution" made a strong 
impression at the time, by the skill shown in the technical part of his art. In 1862, he 
returned to Vienna, where he soon found his true field of work in portrait-painting. In this 
he was successful from the start, and rapidly rising in favor found himself before long 
established as the painter of the high aristocracy, first in Vienna, and at last in all the 
palaces of Europe. A list of the portraits painted by Angeli would include almost every 
member of the royal and imperial houses of Europe. He is often criticised as a flatterer of 
his subject: a charge that seems to have no better foundation than a certain softness in the 
handling — very skilful withal — and a preference for the best side of his sitter, a preference 
certainly not peculiar to this artist. From the time when ApeUes painted Alexander in 
profile, to hide a defect in one of the royal eyes, down to our own day, the powerful and 
the rich have expected of the artists they employ that they would make as good a report 
of them to posterity as a decent respect for truth would permit. If Angeli have ofl'ended, 
this is, we believe, the head and front of the matter, and it is offset by the fact that he gives 



as, in all his portraits, a distinct and individual character, which extends even to the dress of 
his sitter. Thus, in the portrait of then crown-princess, now the ex-empress Victoria, the 



clumsy and ill-arranged costume is inevitably English or German, but we find so much to 
attract us in the intelligent face, where sweetness and strength are so well commingled, that 



we forget to dwell upon these inartistic details. In the long list of portraits of notables 
painted by Angeli, this of the Crown-princess Victoria is spoken of as holding the highest 
place, and certainly the events of the last few years have made it one of the most interest- 
ing to admirers of noble womanhood, especially when the light that streams from their 
character illumines the high places of the world, affording a welcome relief to the pettiness 
of their surroundings. In the portrait of the princess Henry of the Netherlands, there is 
more elegance, both in the subject itself, and in the treatment, but, in truth, this quality, 
which exists in Angeli's mind, and for which he has therefore a remarkably clear perception, 
is only seen at its best in his portraits of titled or high-placed ladies of Vienna, but these 
naturally were not obtainable for reproduction. Angeli has painted, among other distin- 
guished women, Queen Victoria and the Empress of Russia. In Ms portraits of men he is 
not reckoned so successful, and yet he has had many distinguished sitters: Grilparzer, 
Alexandre Dumas, Prince Manteuffel and the Emperor of Austria. Beside the Queen herself, 
Angeli has been called on to paint nearly all the members of the English Royal family, to 
the annoyance of those who justly think that the unquestioned talent of English portrait- 
painters should be employed by those in authority in preference to that of a foreigner, espe- 
cially when that foreigner is one, like Angeli or Winterhalter, whose position is rather facti- 
tious than real. Much as we should like to ignore the fact, it cannot be concealed that both 
by her German origin, and by the influence of Prince Albert, the Queen has been strongly 
inclined toward everything German, and that, in matters of art especially, she and all her 
family have exerted an influence adverse to the prosperity of English art; always employing 
Germans in preference to Englishmen, and throwing the whole weight of her influence 
against the development of a national art. In the intervals of this industrious portrait- 
painting, Angeli has found time for not a few genre and anecdotic subjects that have added 
to his popularity, and made him known where his work as a portrait-painter would never have 
carried his name. His principal achievement in this direction is his " The Avenger of his 
Honor," a picture familiar to the shop-windows and always sure to attract the gaze of the 
passing crowd. The subject is the unexpected return of a husband to his home, where he finds 
the betrayer of his honor seated among a party of guests invited in his absence, and making 
merry about his own table. Like another Ulysses, he has made short work of the offender, 
and it cannot be denied that the artist has shown considerable dramatic power in depicting 
the varied emotions of the spectators of this grim tragedy. Other pictures by Angeli, skilful 



works, but less striking, are " Young Love," the " Italian Lovers," and " The Refused Abso- 
lution," this last, a picture reckoned among the artist's chief productions. 

"the princess henry of the NETHERLANDS.' 


The " Souvenir of the Fair " by C. von Pausinger, is a trifle which we have inserted in our 
collection rather as an example of the German way of treating this class of subjects, than as 



worthy of mudi consideration for itself. This smart soubrette in the costume (above her waist) 
of a postilion of Louis XV.'s time, is betrayed in her masquerading by her essentially nine- 



teenth-century face— a deficiency in invention not peculiar to this artist, but shared in com- 
mon with almost all the men of our time who endeavor to depict the manners of a by-gone 



time. But, perhaps, our artist might reply that he had no such intention, nor any higher 
aim than just to set dowTi a memorandum of a fleeting, and not very important phase of 
modern life. His cleverness is vrell-known, and our picture is only one of many like it, made 
to meet the fancy of the gay youth of our time whose liking for a pretty woman has no taint 
of archaeological pedantry in it. 

Antojst Alexander vo]s^ Weener was born in 1843 at Frankfort-on-the-Oder. He 
had his first instruction in his art at the Berlin Academy, but after reaching a certain point, 
went to Carlsruhe, where he studied with Lessing and Schroedter. From thence he went 
in 1867 and again in 1868, to Paris, and in 1869 to Italy. After his return, he settled down at 
Berlin, and in 1875 was made Director of the academy where 
he had once been a pupil. His earliest successes were 
gained as an illustrator of poems — first, for those of von 
Scheffel, for which he made designs while at Carlsruhe 
under the influence of Schroedter. The spirit he threw 
into his sketches was so in harmony with the rollicking stu- 
dent-life echoed in Scheffel's songs that his pencil became in 
great request, and for a time, he seemed destined to settle 
down in permanent employment as an illustrator of books. 
Beside the well-kno-wn songs, " Frau Aventiure," " Junipe- 
rus," " Gaudeamus," and " The Trumpeter of Sackingen," 
for which last he made thii-ty-nine drawings, Von Werner 
made designs for Herder's " Cid " and for one of Schiller's plays. In the intervals of this work 
he produced several genre pictures, showing no particular direction in his talent, but growing 
naturally enough out of his excursions in the world of poetry and song. Such trivial themes as 
" The Quartette," " Life in the Cloister," " The Friar," and " Don Quixote among the Shepherds," 
are the common stock of artists nowadays, and Von AVerner put his hand into the bag vrith 
the rest and accepted what he found there. After a while he turned his attention to historical- 
painting, where in fact his best laurels were, in time, to be won, but at first he simply followed 
the general run, and produced for a while the same crop of lay-figures and marionettes, culti- 
vated with such mechanical success by the rank-and-file of his artist-countrymen. It is impos- 
sible to avoid smiling as one reads for the fiftieth time the old titles : " Conrad in Prison," 
"Archbishop Hanno of Cologne carrying ofl' Henry IV.," and, of course, our steady friend 




" Luther at the Diet of Worms." It was not until the stirring times of 1871, that the true 
talent of "Werner, which is at least a respectable one, found a field for itself where it could 
work in freedom, on subjects not outworn. He himseK took part in the Franco-Prussian 
Wai-, and no doubt his particiiDation in the siege of Paris gave a stimulus to his talent which 
it would not have received from merely reading about the events, while there can be no doubt 
that the fact that he saw what he has painted, and was a part of it," adds much to the vahie of 



his pictures as contributions to the history of the time. His two small pictures : " Moltke 
before Paris," and " Moltke in his Study," are better examples of his talent than the more 
pretentious work with which his name is so conspicuously associated in Berlin : "■ The 
Emperor proclaimed at Versailles " — rightly enough judged by German critics to be merely a 
dry "and tame official performance. It is, however, valuable as a collection of portraits, a fact 
that has added greatly to its popularity at home, while, considering the difficulty inherent in 
disposing of so large a number of persons naturally-, and with due regard to official preced- 
ence, the painting has a right to stand among the best of its kind. The same commendation 


may be given to the picture by Werner which, we have chosen to represent him. " The Con- 
gress of Berlin, 1878," contains nearly thirty portraits of men, almost all of whom are con- 
spicuous in the history of our time, and whose names are familiar to all who keep up even 
superficially with what is going on in the world of European politics. The faces are so 
clearly characterized that even in our small reduction of the large plate, the separate portraits 
can be easily distinguished. At the extreme left we see Baron GortschakoflE seated, with 
D'Israeli standing before him leaning on his cane, and Waddington at his side. The central 
group is composed of Prince Bismarck, who grasps the hand of General Schuvaloff, while 
Count Andrassy at his elbow waits his turn to salute the Russian commander. At the right 
of the picture, standing and looking out at the spectator, is Mehmed Ali Pasha, while Salis- 
bury listens to the conversation between Lord Odo Russell and two of the Egyptian diplo- 
mats. The art that can combine so many separate ijortraitures in one easy and consistent 
grouping is not, of course, very high art, but it serves a useful purpose, and will perhaps be 
better appreciated by posterity than by the artists' contemporaries. 

Feaistz Lenbach, a painter of a very different stamp, was born at Schrobenhausen, in 
Upper Bavaria, in 1836. His father was a bricklayer, and the boy was sent to the technical 
school at Landshut to learn his trade, but he was less attracted by the lessons he received in 
the art of building than by the beauty of the Gothic church in that city. Neglecting his 
trade-lessons, he began to paint portraits for his own amusement, and made such striking 
likenesses that his vocation seemed clearly enough pointed-out. From Landshut he went to 
Augsburg, to pass a term, at the polytechnic school of that city, and while there he heard so 
much talk of the treasures of art to be seen at Munich that he made his way thither— his 
biographers say on an allowance of fifteen cents a day from his father— and succeeded in 
getting a place in the studio of the wood-carver Sickinger. While at work in Munich, his 
father died, and in 1856 he entered the Academy there, determined to be a painter; but the 
Academic instruction did not suit him, and he applied for admission to the studio of Piloty. 
He was long in finding his place in art, now acknowledged to be among the best of living 
portrait-painters, for his first efforts were in the field of genre, and were marked by no special 
individuality— his " Peasant-family in a Storm," attracted notice by its coloring, but for the 
rest did not differ from the ordinary run of such subjects as treated by clever men. In 1858 
he accompanied Piloty on a short visit to Rome, and while there painted a view of the 
Roman Forum and its surroundings, which, when exhibited at Munich, created a lively inter- 



est, and fixed public attention upon the artist as a man certain to be heard from. This 
impression was strengthened by his next performance, the Portrait of a Physician, where for 



the first time he showed his great skill in this field in full force. The absence of all detail 
that could distract attention from the head itself, the strong life-like expression, and the 


energy of the handling, called forth the warmest expressions of admiration from his fellow- 
artists and from the public, and with this work his success began. In 1860, he received a call 
to take charge of the art-school at Weimar, but he remained there only a short time. Count 
Schack invited him to go a second time to Rome, and he joyfully accepted the offer. Still 
later, he visited Spain, and both there and in Italy made those copies of the old masters 
which adorn the gallery of Count Schack in Munich, and which so far excel the coj)ies made 
for that collection by other artists of the time. But a man of Lenbach's powers was not born 
to be a copyist of other men, even of the greatest, and his success in portrait-painting soon 
led to his absorption in that pursuit. The example that we give in the " Bismarck," one of 
several representations of " the man of blood and iron,'' will indicate the force and clearness 
of vision which Lenbach brings to his task. At the same time we do not get from any mere 
transcript in black and white, the full impression received from the painting of the artist ; 
the rich but sober coloring of his pictures — though tone would be the more appropriate word, 
since of color, in the ti-ue acceptation of the word, there is none — adds powerfully to the hold 
they take upon every spectator. With Lenbach all his skill is concentrated upon the head 
of his subject, and he often neglects details in a way to deceive the unthinking into a sus- 
picion that he is a careless draughtsman. Thus, the hand of Bismarck in our picture is not, 
properly speaking, a hand at all, but the mere symbol of a hand, yet no man living can paint 
a hand better than Lenbach when he must ; he is in fact a most accomplished draughtsman, 
which no one could really doubt who should leave the hands in this picture, to study the 
strongly built, massive, yet mobile head of the great bulwark of German unity — the con- 
sistent enemy of liberalism and progress; the Goliath of modern Philistinism. Many of the 
greatest names of the Germany of our time will be made living presences to future genera- 
tions in their portraits as painted by Lenbach, yet it is safe to say that in his case, as in that 
of Holbein, these portraits will be prized as much for their value as laaintings as for their 
value as likenesses. How many times he has painted Bismarck we do not know, but he 
must have j)ainted Dr. Dollinger oftener still; the head of this venerable man seems to have 
had a special charm for Lenbach ; when in Munich, w^e saw several examples in the artist's 
studio. Among his other portraits are those of Moltke, King Ludwig II., Wagner, Helm- 
holtz, Liszt, Paul Heyse and his wife, and Count Schack, the noble amateur to whom the arts 
in Germany owe so much. Lenbach has painted but few portraits of women ; and indeed 
his style is not suited to this softer employment. 



THE realism that is tlie strongest point in German art, and which comes in as a disturbing 
element in the attempts of her painters to treat ideal subjects, has had a still more 
unfortunate influence on the landscape-art of the country. German landscape— a very few 
names excepted — ^has never made any impression upon the outside world, and even at home 
seems to have but little hold upon the popular fancy. A Corot, a Rousseau, a Daubigny, 
would seem an impossibility in Germany; at any rate, none such has, as yet, appeared there, 
nor does there seem to be any tendency in that direction. The German landscapes that have 
made a name for themselves outside of Germany are, with so few exceptions as to be scarcely 
worth mentioning, more allied to science than to poetry. In their landscapes, as in their 
historical painting, the pedagogue plays a more conspicuous part than the seer of visions, 
and even when the seer of visions appears, he is apt to be somewhat of a prosaic person. As 
Titian was the first landscape-painter in Italy, so Diirer was the first landscape-painter in Ger- 
many, and there was between them all the difference that there is between Italy and Germany. 
The reaKsm of Diirer, too often intruding pettiness and meanness between us and the heart of 
his subject, caused him constantly to belittle his landscape with a multitude of unnecessary 
details ; in his '' Great Cannon " we can count every tree and bush on the slopes of the distant 
mountain-range; in his "Great Fortune" we can number the logs in the piles of wood 
stacked-up in the farm-house yard. In Diirer, we lose the general in the particular; in 
Titian, we are impressed by the grand facts of light and air, the height of the mountains, the 
noble forms of the trees; we are not disturbed by petty accidents in our enjoyment of the 
impression due to the scene itself. Titian cared no more to make an exact portrait of a 
place, than Turner or Claude; Diirer was never able to idealize any landscape, he painted 
every separate tree in the distance, and every separate stone, or leaf, or curling tendril of vine 
at our feet, with the same fidelity and enjoyment with which he drew the separate hairs in 
his own beard in his famous portrait of himself, or the separate lines in the sole of the 
Apostle's foot in the Heller tryptich; and out of Durer's practice and silent teaching, 
has grown modern German landscape, as modern French landscape, led off by Claude and 
Poussin, and the best English landscape, with Wilson and Turner at the head, have grown 
out of the practice and silent teaching of the great Italians, however it may have been 
modified by the influence of Rembrandt — that wonderful genius who created a new world 


of art and peopled it with artists !— and by the direct and ardent study of nature at first- 
hand by the race that began with Constable, Crome and DeWint. In the case of the 
French and the English we may suppose that there can be no doubt of the parentage 
of their landscape-art, but with the Gemians Durer may rather be accepted as a type 
of his countrymen, than as a distinct forerunner; he looked at nature as they all look at 
it ; Titian looked at nature in his own way and taught those who came after him how to 
look at it. 

But, at the time of the modern revival of art in Germany, another influence, much more 
disastrous than that of a Diirer could ever be, was imposed upon the studios. We say, 
imposed upon the studios, because, although it appeared and grew up, keeping equal step 
with what was going on in literature and social life, yet in reality this new influence, derived 
from the revived study of the classics, and the opening to Germany of the ways that led to 
Italy, was not native to the German people, but was imposed upon them by the literary men 
and scholars who were then preparing for her a new birth of Fame. The old German art was 
despised ; alike its painting, its sculpture, its architecture — and the Germans of the new day 
sought for inspiration, as the French were at the same time seeking it, in classical models, 
but with results far colder and more prosaic than those obtained by their Gallic neighbors. 
Could the German artists of the new era have remained at home; had there been in any part 
of Germany a central rallying-place such as we have already pointed out the French had in 
Paris, there might have come about a normal development of native art, that would have 
absorbed the new influences instead of being absorbed by them, as was unfortunately the 
case. As we have seen, these earlier artists all made their way to Rome, and though they 
for the most part returned to Germany and took up their residence at Munich, or Diisseldorf, 
or Berlin, yet they could not escape from the influences of their Italian training. The laurels 
of Michelangelo and Raphael would not let them sleep, and for a long time the works of the 
new men infallibly reflected, and seemed proud to reflect, either one or the other of these 
masters ; and even to-day, it is still the fashion in some quarters to call Cornelius the Michel- 
angelo, and Overbeck, the Raphael, of the new renaissance. It is true that the founders of 
this German renaissance sought for national subjects on which to exercise their skill, and 
that they stoutly upheld the dignity of their native legends and their native history as 
against the themes of classic history and fable. But it was not possible for them, looking at 
art as they did, to express their ideas in a language of their own; they presented their 


subjects in a guise that either concealed their individuality entirely, or confounded them 
with the very subjects they sought to avoid. 

The few artists who were drawn to landscape-painting were not so hampered as the ideal- 
ists, but they had to contend both with the influence of Claude and with the scientific spirit 
of the time, just then waking into new life. On the one side all was imitation and slavish 
subjection to a model ; on the other side was a spirit, utterly antagonistic to poetry, but, it 
must be confessed, by no means alien to the German mind. And between the two there was 
born the landscape-art of modern Germany, which, if, in our day, it has forsaken Claude, has 
only clung more closely to a scientific realism that is the antipodes of poetry, or that, at any 
rate, can only be made to serve the uses of art in the hands of a poet, and which, as a general 
thing, we would gladly exchange for even the imitation of a poet's handiwork. 

Feibdeeich Johawn Cheistian Eenst Peellee was born at Eisenach in 1804. His 
father was a confectioner, whose modicum of inborn talent for art found ample scope and 
verge enough for its exercise in modelling the ornaments for his cakes and candy-trophies, 
and who was not displeased to find a son of his disj)osed to do something more venturesome 
in the field of art. About a year after the birth of this second of his three sons, the elder 
Preller removed to Weimar in order to look after the affairs of his father, then an old. man 
in feeble health. Here he brought up his son, who, in course of time, was put to learn at the 
public school and afterward at the gymnasium, where, as he tells us in his pleasant autobio- 
graphical sketch, he made a fair acquaintance with Greek and Latin. It was in Weimar that 
fortune came to him with the friendship of Goethe, whose acquaintance he made when he was 
in his fifteenth year, the poet being then seventy. Young Preller had shown so strong a 
predilection for art, and had given such marked signs of talent, that he attracted the atten- 
tion of Goethe's friend, the Counsellor Meyer, called Kunst Meyer from his love of art, who, 
there being as yet no art-school in Weimar, invited Preller to his own house and gave him 
instruction in the use of oils. A little later he encouraged the boy to call upon Goethe, and 
he did so, moved, as he saj^s, by curiosity, but wondering at the same time what a boy of 
fifteen could find to say to so great a man. " But Meyer urged me, and I went. The poet 
who, though really only of middle size, seemed, when sitting, to be j)Owerfully built, and with 
those wonderful eyes that looked one through and through, received me with a bewitching 
friendliness that yet could not wholly overcome the awe that his presence imposed upon me." 
After some talk of this and that, Goethe opened up the subject, which very likely he had 


discussed beforehand witli Kunst Meyer, and in which he wished for the assistance of some 
person who would be skilful enough to follow his directions, and yet young enough to work 
at a reasonable rate. Remembering all that Ruskin has written about the study of cloud- 
forms, and the impression he contrives to give that no one before himself and Turner had 
ever thought these forms worth mentioning, it is certainly interesting to find that in the very 
year in which he was born, 1819, Goethe, led by the study of an English book on Cloud- 
formation, was himself studying the subject, and that he was looking about for a draughts- 
man who could make for him some cloud-studies from nature. He proposed the matter to 
young Preller, who gladly agreed to do what Avas wanted, and who made, to Goethe's great 
contentment, at least a dozen studies of the sky from nature. The old poet took a great 
interest in Preller from this time, and by his aid the young artist was shortly after enabled 
to Adsit Dresden, where by making sketches for the book-publishers and cojpies in the gallery, 
of Ruysdae], Claude, and Poussin for Goethe and his friends, he made a comfortable living. 
Preller was introduced by Goethe to Carl- August, the Grand Duke of Weimar, who took a 
great liking to the young artist, and invited him to accompany him on a visit to Belgium and 
Holland. After making the round of the chief cities, they brought up at Antwerp, where the 
Duke introdiiced Preller to the chief of the Antwerp school of artists at that time, and 
Director of the Academy, Matthijs von Bree, a painter who had learned his art in Paris of a 
pupil of Vien. Into his hands the Duke put his young protege, and after a stay of a few days 
left him to pursue his studies, his parting words to Preller being, " See that you do me 
honor! " In Antwerp, Preller says, landscape-painting was thought nothing of, and although 
his taste lay strongly in that direction, he gave himself up with docility to the teaching of 
his new master. He worked industriously, drawing morning and evening from life, and 
between times from the antique, for which he already began to feel a strong attraction. After 
some time spent in Antwerp, he was enabled by the help of the Grand Duke to visit Italy, 
and at Milan he studied in the Academy before proceeding to Rome, the goal of all his hopes 
and his highest ambition. Here he found the famous German colony of artists in fuU pos- 
session: Overbeck, Thorwaldsen, Wagner, Koch, Genelli and the rest; Cornelius no longer 
there, but returning soon after and greeted like a king by his loyal people. In Rome, Preller 
came under the influence of Koch — " Koch, the witty cynic," as Preller calls him, and from 
him learned to apply to landscape-painting the principles that at Antwerj) he had been 

trained to applj' to the figure. He travelled over Italy with Koch, and the two made inces- 
VoL. II.— 18 «* 


sant studies from nature, which in Preller's case at least would have been more fruitful had 
they not been passed through the academic sieve. Preller returned in 1831 to Weimar, where 
he was received by Goethe with the old kindness, although he died too soon after Preller's 
aiTival to be of nuich further service to him. The outcome of all our artist's studies and 
travels was now to appear in the form of those designs for the Odyssey which adorn the hall 
now called after himself, the Preller Hall, in the Museum at Weimar. In these pictures he 
^vished to express his doixble love for nature and for classic fable, and he chose the story of 
the wanderings of Ulysses as the theme about which to weave his memories of the fair ItaKan 
land where so many happy years had been passed and where he was at last to die. He made 
his first essay in this important undertaking in seven compositions painted in distemper on 
the walls of the so-called Roman House in Leipzig (Romische-Haus) built by the architect 
Hermann in 1833 in the then prevailing classic taste, for Preller's friend Hartel; afterward he 
made additional designs in black and white, and sent them to Munich to the exhibition of 
1858. Here they were received with great enthusiasm, which was not lessened by their sub- 
sequent journey through Germany, where they were shown in all the chief cities and enjoyed 
a long drawn-out triumph. When shown at Munich they had been competed for by the 
Grand Duke of Weimar and by Count Schack, each desiring that the artist should complete 
the cartoons for himself. Count Schack gave way to the Duke, and Preller having received 
the commission to paint the pictures for Weimar, at once set out with his family for Italy in 
order to make his studies for the composition directly from nature. When he had comiDleted 
his work, he returned to Weimar and execiTted the wax-frescos in the Museum, of which we 
have already spoken. The cycle of subjects is designed to represent the chief events in the 
wanderings of Ulysses from his leaving Troy until his return to Ithaca. The paintings are 
very skilfully adapted to the architectural arrangement of the rooms. Round the base of 
the wall are painted in red on a black ground, in imitation of the Greek vases, different 
scenes at Ithaca before and after the return of Ulysses. Two of the subjects from this cycle 
were painted for Count Schack by Preller, and we copy one of these, the " Ulysses and the 
Nymph Calypso," which may give a notion of the general treatment of these subjects at the: 
hands of Preller. The wish of the artist was, to make a complete accord between the land- 
scape and the figures of his story. But it is inevitable that every such attempt should fail,, 
since man is too insignificant a being to hold his own as an element in any landscape, if he is 
shown in his true proportion. It follows, then, that either the landscape must be sacrificed 



to the ll^^man figures, or the figures to the landscape; and which of these shall be done will 
depend upon the artist's personal preference. That of Preller was plainly for the landscape, 
and it is as a landscape-painter that he has conceived his subjects. His figures are purely- 
conventional, and of no more value than those of any other x^ainter of " landscape-with- 


figures," from Claude to Turner. Although Count Schack was not able to secure from Preller 
the prize he coveted: the whole series of the Odyssey pictures, he obtained from him two 
companion-subjects; the "Calypso" and the "Leucothea," representing successive scenes in 
the adventures of the hero. The one we engrave, the "Calypso," represents the nymph 


taking leave of Ulysses after she has assisted him in building his raft. " But when," sings 
Homer, " the mother of dawn, rosy-fingered morning appeared, Ulysses immediately put on a 
cloak and a garment, and the Nymph herself put on a large white veil, thin and graceful, and 
around her loins she placed a beauteous golden girdle ; and she placed a head-dress on her 
head; and then she prepared the voyage for the strong-hearted Ulysses. She gave him a 
large axe, fitted to his hands, of steel sharpened on both sides; and with it a very beautiful 
handle of olive-wood well fitted to it ; then she gave him a well-polished adze ; and she led 
the way to the extreme part of the island where tall trees sjjrung up, alder and poplar, and 
there was a pine reaching to heaven, long since seasoned very dry, which would sail lightly 
for him. But when she had shown where the tall trees had sprung up, Calypso, divine one 
of goddesses, returned to the house; but he began to cut the wood, and his work was quickly 
performed. And he felled twenty in all, and cut them with the steel, and polished them 
skilfully, and directed them by a rule. In the mean time Calypso, divine one of goddesses, 
brought augers, and he then perforated all ; and fitted them to one another ; and he fixed it 
with pegs and cramps." Homer goes on to describe the building of the sides of the raft and 
the furnishing it with decks, and masts, and sail-yards and a rudder ; so that in truth what 
began as a raft, ends by being something very like a ship ! As we read in the Odyssey the 
description of the building of this ^aft, the imagination keeps pace with the magniloquence 
of the poet's phrases and epithets until the image in the mind has grown to ideal proportions, 
far beyond those of any merely human ship or raft. And it is but fair to demand of the 
artist who pretends to set before us a series of pictures illustrating the Homeric ]3oem, that 
he should at least keep his performance up to the level of our oAvn interpretation. But this 
has certainly not been done by Preller ; on the contrary, he hardly gives to his conception the 
■dignity of commonplace reality. The raft-ship is seen at the right, in appearance not much 
bigger than an ordinary yawl, and a very clumsy yawl at that. When Ulysses mounted his 
shij), he was clad in perfumed garments brought him by Calypso, and even while at work, 
we read of him as clothed, but Preller represents him as all but naked, having a nonde- 
script mantle thrown across one thigh. In short, there is no connection worth speaking of 
between the description of the poet and the jpicture of the painter; and after seeing this 
series of paintings in the Museum of Weimar, we listen with incredulity to the artist's own 
account of the hold that Homer had taken of his admiration, causing him to dream for years 
of painting the story of the Odyssey, and leading him to take long journeys in search of land- 


scape-material to serve as a setting for liis subjects. Even his landscapes have little that is 
ideal in their treatment of nature; at the same time they do not compensate us for the loss of 
poetry, by a literal portraiture. The scenery of the coast of Southern Italy, which seems to 
have suggested his choice of subject, is done scant justice to ; and all these XDictures might 
have been painted without the artist putting himself to the expenditure of time and money 
in order to study a landscape which, after all, had nothing to d® with his story. It is plain, 
however, that Preller's ideas of landscape-painting were born of the same movement that 
produced the so-called historical-painting and ideal-painting of his generation. It grew up 
side by side with the work of Cornelius and Overbeck, von Schwind, Bendemann and the 
rest — Bendemann almost the last of his race ; his death reported, even as we are writing his 
name — and it suffered like the work of these his contemporaries from the attempt to be 
faithful at one and the same time to two irreconcilable things: to the s^Dirit of an art that 
had lost its vitality, and to the scientific spirit that was just beginning to move over the face 
of the earth. All the young artists of Germany were flocking to Rome, to worship at the 
shrines of Michelangelo and Raphael; but when they came to paint their pictures, they 
found themselves confronted with the realism of the new time ; the demand for accuracy in 
the portrayal of costume, of furniture, of things in general. Later, foUoAved a similar demand 
for accuracy in depicting natural objects ; the age of observation and discovery had set in, 
and the enthusiasm excited was not confined to the i^rofessed scientific world, bat invaded all 
classes. AVe have seen Goethe interested in the study of cloud-forms, and employing Preller 
to make drawings of their different varieties for him, and Goethe was only the most conspic- 
uous among the many men of his time outside the ranks of the scientific professions, who 
were interested in the study of natiiral ]3henomena, finding in these an inexhaustible well of 
poetic and philosophical ideas and suggestions. But the influence of all this new-born 
interest in nature upon art in Germany was but slight. If we look from Preller and Rott- 
mann — the beginners of landscape-painting in Germany, in the new era— to England, with 
her Constable, her DeWint, her Crome, her Cox, and her Turner; or, to France, with her 
Corot, her Rousseau, her Daubigny and her Dupre— the last three a few years younger than 
Preller, but yet his active contemporaries; we shall see how great was the distance between 
the landscape-art of Germany, and that of England and France, in the beginning of the 
century, a distance that, in the case of France and Germany, is as great to-day as ever it was. 
The landscape-art of France is the vision of the earth reveated by poets, and appealing to all 


tliat is poetic and romantic in the nature of the beholder. But the landscape-painter of 
Germany is not a poet ; he is a pedant, a pedagogue, a reporter, his aim is geographical or 
topographical; learned and painstaking, he seeks to inform us, to play the guide; and if by 
chance a gleam of poetry should shoot athwart his picture, he makes haste to shut the blinds, 
and apologizes for the intrusion. Preller, with all his laborious journeying and sketching, 
and his derotion to Ulysses, accomplished little beside the example given of a constant refer- 
ence to nature, however inadequate his interpretation of nature may have turned out to be. 
To his contemporaries, his countrymen, he seems to have been almost a discoverer; they 
took him at his own valuation and saw in his pictures all that he himself believed to be there. 
And so it was ^^^.th Rottmann, whose Italian views seem to us the merest statements of fact, 
such as industry and a trained eye have always- within their jDower. But the Italy of Claude, 
of Turner, of Corot, is another land ; it is the Italy of poetry and of the soul, and in spite of 
all protests from well-meaning sensible ]people, it is the Italy that the mass of men and 
women expect the artist to show them. If they wpjit the dry facts, they can buy photo- 
graphs, or travel, and see the country for themselves. 

Eduaed Hildebeandt, a native of Dantzig, where he was born in 1817 — he died in 1868 
— was at one time a great favorite in Germany among those to whom this purely topographi- 
cal landscape appeals. His reputation was more widely extended by the publication of some 
very clever chromo-lithographic copies of his pictures, which, for a time, went everywhere, and, 
to tell the truth, were as good as the pictures themselves. Hildebrandt was a pupil of Isabey, • 
and he had certainly caught a good deal of his master's manner, bxit he had very little wine 
of his own to put into this borrowed bottle. Isabey's work, well known here by many first- 
rate examples, is rich, sensuous, flowing, and as full of color as that of Diaz; and though 
ideas may be wanting — and neither Diaz nor Isabey was troubled by an overplus of ideas — 
yet, as the one feasted the eye with hints of the sumptuosities of nature, so the other made 
real to us the descriptions of medieval splendor and picturesqueness in the romances of a 
Scott, a Hugo, or a Dumas. But Hildebrandt's performance was less than his promise. He 
dazzled expectation, in his Eastern views, by startling effects of light, by brilliantly colored 
architecture and varied costumes ; but all was superficial ; there was no unfolding, so to speak, 
no afterglow, such as draws us again and again to the pictures of the old Venetians or to those 
of Turner, Isabey, Diaz, or MonticeUi in our own day. He did not confine himself to Eastern 
scenes, although his popularity was largely due to them, his Oriental landscapes, but painted 




English and Frencli subjects, cities, and sea-ports, Hastings and Heligoland, Rouen, and 
Lyons and Rio Janeiro and Teneriffe — in sliort his pictures are a painted itinerary of a large 
portion of the planet, and serve a useful purpose as such. The diflSculty with them is, that 
their aim is too plainly picturesqueness rather than accuracy, and as Hildebrandt's imagina- 
tive power, his creative faculty was not great, he satisfied neither the poets nor the scientific 



people. For all that, it is hardly fair to him to copy his work in black and white as we have 
done in our "Suez," since its poverty of motive, and the thinness of the treatment are 
brought out in too strong relief divested of the brilliant, and theatric coloring of the original. 
One of Hildebrandt's best pictures, " Moonrise in Madeira " is in the Corcoran Gallery. It 
was a commission given the artist by Baron Humboldt, who wished to present it to Mr. 
Corcoran. The talent of Hildebrandt would have found a proper field in scene-painting for 


the theatre, or in a panorama, the only ways left lis in which large bodies of people can be 
reached by pictorial art, and either of them offering a worthy career, if artists could be made 
to believe that it is ever worth while to paint for the people ! 

Alexander Calame, born at Vevey in 1810, is much better known by his lithographs 
and etchings than by his paintings; and indeed his paintings are by no means common; he 
seems to have preferred the copper-plate or the lithographic stone to the canvas, and his 
productiveness and picturesquesness combined, made him at one time extremely popular, 
abroad as weU as at home. His pictures are found in many public and private galleries ; his 
"Lake Lucerne" and "A Mountain Ravine" are in the Berlin National Gallery; other pic- 
tures are in Leipzig, and there are several in this country, mostly in private possession. Mr. 
Wm. T. Walters, of Baltimore, has an important example. As Goethe cultivated the talent of 
Preller, and Humboldt that of Hildebrandfc, so the art of Calame, which found its subjects 
almost exclusively in the region of the Alps of Switzerland, was much approved by the great 
Swiss naturalist, Louis Agassiz, and the circle of scientific men whom he gathered about him. 
It was they who brought the first knowledge of the artist to this country; it was Professor 
E. Desor, one of the most accomplished of the companions of Agassiz during his residence 
in Cambridge, who first introduced the writer to the engraved works of Calame, and put into 
his hands the portfolio of his Alpine etchings and lithographs. To these men of science the 
work of Calame recommended itself alike by its truthfulness to the sentiment of Alpine 
scenery and by its accuracy in the representation of the physical facts of the region. Of its 
scientific accuracy, none could be better judges than such men as Agassiz, Guyot, and Desor, 
but it may be allowed that they were hardly unprejudiced Jxidges of the sentiment of these 
pictures, since much less would have served to satisfy these strangers in a sti-ange land 
hungering for home. While the merit of Calame's Alpine studies may be freely acknowl- 
edged: the good drawing and the skilful composition, the artist never seems able to ex- 
press in any adequate degree the grandeur and sublimity of the Alps, nor even their deso- 
lation. The fault we find with his engravings and etchings, as well as with his pictures, is 
that they are too " pretty," and seen in any number they weary us by a monotony with which 
the artist's mannerisms have as much to do as his want of invention. The trees, the rocks, 
the cascades, are ever the same, and when we have seen and studied any dozen of these Alpine 
landscai3es we have seen all. 

Julius Makak^ — pronounced Marscli — a Bohemian, born in Leitomischl, in 1835, reminds 


-s^m ' ^?^^^i%0m§ \^ - \:i, 






US sometimes of Calame in his clioice of subjects, but he has a far less academic way of 
treating them. This will appear in his " Waterfall " as compared with the Swiss master's 
"Alpine Landscape;" the wildness and desolation of the scenery depicted with great force, 
but without exaggeration by Marak, is in striking contrast with the tameness of Calame's 
conception, and the smoothness of his execution. Marak is, however, so essentially different 

"alpine landscape." 


from Calame in the main of his subjects, that no comparison between them can be usefiil. 
The Bohemian artist belongs distinctly to the Romantic side of Art, and chooses his themes 
not as a portrait-painter of nature, but as means for expressing the wild poetry that is char- 
acteristic of his race and which he shares to the full. He loves to depict the gathering of the 
storks in the groves of elms ; the mystic stone with its Runic inscription hiding in the dark 
oak-wood; the moon rising softly through the firs; as we look over the portfolios of his 


etcliings, or the numerous engravings from liis pictures, we recall the wild romantic episodes 
of '■ Cousuelo," that book so enchanting to boyhood, and seem to wander once more in the 
woods of Rudolstadt, and to read again with delightful awe of the blasted oak, and the 
Schreckenstein, and the deep cavern where Zdenko and Albert led their charmed life, while 
the air is dark with memories of Ziska, and Mt. Tabor, and the bloody strifes that hurtled 
round the great vision of The Cup. To others, no doubt, these pictures will yield poetry of 
a different, and perhaps a higher, sort, and to Marak's countrymen it must appeal strongly, 
as expressive of the peculiar character of their own scenery, so dyed as it is through and 
through with stirring and romantic memories. 


T Z ARL BODMER, like Calame and Marak, has popularized his art by his own reproduc- 
•*■ *- tions of his pictures in etchings and lithographs. ^We may note, in passing, the pleasure 
it gives us, to know of the revival of the art of lithography in these later days. Driven for a 
time out of the field by photography and wood-engraving, it is now i-eviving in the hands of 
several excellent artists, with etching, as a means of personal interpretation of their pictures ; 
the thing most desired by all artists, high or low, who, pi'operiy enough, will never be satisfied 
with seeing their work filtered through the brains and hands of other people. Bodmer is a 
Swiss like Calame; he was born in Zurich in 1809, and in 1830 he devoted himself to the study 
of art. In 1833 he accompanied Prince Maximilian von Neuwied in his visit to our country, 
and on his return he published the results of his journey in his " North America in Pictures," 
and followed this work by a number of oil sketches and paintings of the scenery here. He 
is well known as a contributor to the " Magazin Pittoresque," that excellent Journal which in 
the long series of its issues has now arrived at an almost encyclopaedic character, and he has 
also made many designs for " Le Monde lUustree." He also made the illustrations for a 
work by Theophile Gautier, "La Nature chez elle;" Nature at Home, and in conjunction 
with Veyrassat, made etchings for Hamerton's "Chapters on Animals." He has lived for 
many years at Barbizon, but his pictures do not belong to the "school," so-called, that we 
associate with that village. Bodmer, like Calame, is a painter rather for naturalists, or for 
lovers of nature directly reported, than for those who care for her most when poetically trans- 
lated. Hamerton's praise of him is significant: "He is an artist of consummate accomplish- 



ment in his own way, and of immense range. There is hardly a bird or quadruped of West- 
em Europe that he has not drawn, and drawn, too, with a closeness of observation satisfac- 



tory alike to the artist and naturalist. The bird or the beast is always the central subject 
with Karl Bodmer, but he generally surrounds them with a graceful landscape full of intri- 


cate and mysterious suggestions, witli here and there some plant in clearer definition, drawn 
with, perfect fidelity and care." 

This praise of Mr. Hamerton's does not carry us far. All that it amounts to is, that Karl 
Bodmer is to be counted an excellent and learned animal-painter, and that he knows how to 
give his models a tasteful and appropriate setting of landscape. And the very pleasing ex- 
ample that we copy proves Mr. Hamerton right in this particular point, as all may see. This 
group of a stag with does and fawns is certainly painted with great delicacy and sentiment — 
the alertness, the grace, the lightness of foot of these handsome creatures could not be better 
given, though others in plenty have done it as well. But, after all, it is not a picture that 
we have here, but only a realistic study of animals and of landscape, such as Rosa Bonheur, 
Wolf, Meyerheim and Landseer— when he was at his best, and not caricaturing his fellow- 
men under the thin disguise of animals — have produced in plenty. Sach work calls for 
knowledge, accuracy, and if possible, taste, with as much technical skill as may be forthcom- 
ing, but it does not call for imagination, nor fancy, nor for any other of the higher faculties 
that go to make a picture, properly so-called. 

August Fink, a Munich artist whose name has not yet climbed so high as the diction- 
aries, and of whom therefore, we may believe so much, that he is young!— shows in his 
" Winter in the Mountains," as much skill as Bodmer, and as deep a sentiment for nature, but 
he is a landscape-painter and not an animal-painter, though he often introduces animals into 
his compositions as here, and as in his " Mountain -heights with Deer," exhibited at Munich in 
1883. But, in Bodmer's pictures, the animal-life is the main thing, and the pleasure we get 
from it is for the most part independent of the landscape. In the picture by August Fink, 
however, the landscape is the chief thing; the presence of the doe, strayed, apparently, from 
the rest of the herd, adds no doubt to the impressiveness of the scene, and at first may seem 
to heighten the sense of wintry desolation. But by her action we may judge that her mates 
are not far away, and just this little turn of the creature's head reassures us, and leaves us 
free to enjoy the beauty of the snow-painting, the dark fir-forest, the skeletons of last sum- 
mer's shrubbery showing through the drift, and the gleam of the glacier on tlie distant moun- 
tain side. 

AjStdersen-Lundbt, the painter of "A Mill-stream in Winter," hails from Munich, where, 
in 1883, at the Kunstausstellung, we saw two of his pictures — " Fresh-fallen Snow," and 
" On the Way to Market." The example of Lundby's art that we present to our readers is a 



very pleasing one, and shows winter in a more human and comfortable aspect than we saw it 
in August Fink's picture; we have it here intimately associated with domestic life, and sug- 




gesting only cheerful thoughts. The dark mill-stream runs through the middle of the pic- 
ture, not frozen, though black with chill, and hurrying to get within reach of the miller's 
hospitable house, where it can hear the sound of human voices, and see the light gleaming 


from the windows. The trees are thiclvly powdered with snow, and it lies in a soft warm 
blanket of whitest wool over the rock-strewn ground at their feet. On the other side of the 
stream a meadow stretches far and wide; we can trace through its white expanse the course 
of the main Avater that turns away from the mill pond after supplying the race ; a man and a 
woman have just crossed the bridge that spans this stream, and are making for one of the 
houses of the settlement about the mill. The smoke rising straight npward in the still even- 
ing air, speaks of warmth and homely cheer. This pretty picture might be an illustration of 
Emerson's " Snow-storm," a piece of Dutch landscape-painting in words: 

"Announced by all the trumjDets of the sky, 
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields. 
Seems nowhere to alight : the whited air 
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven. 
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. 
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the, housemates sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
In a tumultuous j)rivacy of storm." 

It calls for some skill to make a snow-piece cheerful. It is not so hard, as our own Wal- 
ter L. Palmer and the late William Bliss Baker have shown, to make winter beautiful ; but 
it requires human neighborhood to make it cheerful. Here are two artists, August Schenck 
and Anton Biirger, who succeed pretty fairly in chilling us to the marrow ! 

AtTGirsT Fredekic-Albkecht Schenck was born in 1828 at Gluckstadt, a dull little 
town on the Elbe, and was intended by his parents for trade. At fourteen he went to Eng- 
land and thence to Portugal, where he remained for five years engaged in mercantile life. In 
the intervals of business he amused himself with sketching, and made many studies from the 
life of the landsmen and fisherfolk that attracted the public by a certain melancholy grace. 
He had been, we believe, very successful in his business undertakings — but his heart could 
hardly have been in it — and he soon gave it up, and went to Paris, where he entered the 
studio of Leon Cogniet. He first exhibited at the Salon in 1855, but his picture — a subject 
drawn from the peasant-life of Portugal, '" Fruit Sellers of Aventes," attracted no attention. 
A second venture, "' L'Hiver," was, however, more fortunate, and the critics received it with 
considerable favor. By some misfortune, Schenck soon after lost all the money he had laid 
up while in business, and he found himself obliged to depend on his talents as an artist for a 



living. Happily lie was still young and in good health, and not frightened by the vision of 
hard work ; he therefore took up life with strong hand and a merry heart, and soon won for 
himself a solid position. His earlier attempts had not been successful, and M. Montrosier 
tells us that they had the misfortune to recall the pictures of that once too popular sentimen- 
talist, Leopold Robeii;, whose •' Harvesters," — a true scene from the operatic ballet — was for- 
merly the delight of the shop-windows. What a contrast these delightfully clean, charm- 
ingly costumed, and gracefully moving and smiling peasants would now present if they 



could be shown side-by-side with the peasants of Millet, or even with the peasants of Jules 
Breton! M. Montrosier, by-the-way, is much mystified by the fact that Schenck should have 
exhibited in his first Salon with the Portuguese: "Why an artist born at Gliickstadt in the 
Duchy of Schleswig-Holstein, should exhibit with the Portuguese," he cries, " is impossible 
to discover! " As we have explained, it was in Portugal that Schenck was engaged in b\isi- 
ness, and it was there that he first began to exercise his art, finding his subjects suggested by 
the life about him. But he now abandoned this path, and devoted himself to subjects in 
which animals play a principal part. He installed himself at Ecouen, a little vUlage near 


Paris, known to lis in connection with Edouard Frere (Vol., I. p. 77), and long a favorite 
haunt of American artists. Here Schenck lived, surrounded, says Montrosier, with a veritable 
menagerie of domestic animals, whose sole duty in life was to serve as models for their mas- 
ter. As soon as the Salon was over-, the artist took his staff and knapsack and set off for 
Anvergne, whence he returned in the autumn with his portfolio filled with sketches and stud- 
ies for pictures. While in Auvergne he made a singular choice of head-quarters, taking up 
his abode at Royat, described as a filthily dirty little village, which has twice been nearly 
swept away by inundations of the torrent which flows past it. But it is a place much re- 
sorted to by tourists and artists for the sake of its wild and savage scenery, and for its fine 
view of the Puy-de-D6me. It cannot be said that Schenck's pictures give us much informa- 
tion about Auvergne, although the scenery of the place may have had something to do with 
the generally sombre character of his subjects. His animal-subjects are not always melan- 
choly like the one we copy, for Schenck has a caustic humor of his own, and not seldom raps 
his human mates about the knuckles under the thin disguise of sheep and asses. But he is 
best known by subjects like the present, where the tragedy of the sheep's life, exposed to the 
dangers of snow and cold, is narrated with a pencil that spares none of the agony. Whether 
by temperament or intention, our artist is seldom able to paint an animal-subject in which 
we are shown the animal-nature and its workings free from all suggestions of an underlying 
human relationship. 

Andeeas Achenbacii, born at Cassell in 1815 — died in 1884 — is, like Preller, Hilde- 
brandt, and Calame, a painter of portraits of places, but he comes much nearer to being an 
imaginative artist than the others ; his pictures are interesting in themselves to a degree rarely 
attained by any German landscape-painter, unless it be his own brother Oswald. It is easy 
to recognize this in comparing even the single example we are able to give of his work with 
those of Hildebrandt, Calame, and Preller — although, as we have admitted, our plate hardly 
does Preller justice. Thei'e is a richness, a sense of life, in this subject that are in strong con- 
trast with the emptiness or tameness that we find in the pictures of these other artists. This 
is the Jews' Quarter in Amsterdam, or a corner of it, for the place itself impresses the visitor 
as a much more crowded and po]3ulous neighborhood than is shown in Achenbach's picture. 
This portion of the city has been occupied for several hundred years, almost exclusively by 
Jews, who are said to form a tenth part or thereabout, of the population. They represent a 
great deal of wealth, and own no less than ten synagogues. Since the extension of the city 



toward the east, and tlie establisliment of the famous Zoological Gardens — the richest of the 
sort in Europe — together with the improvement of the docks and wharves in that part of the 
town, the Jews' Quarter no longer has the picturesque and tumbledown irregularity shown 
in our picture. This is owing to the fact that the stream of travel between the Dam, the 
central part of the old city and the main seat of traffic, and the new, fashionable district in 
the east, passes directly through the Jews' Quarter, and the natural tendency has been to 



break ap the old, free-and-easy, careless way of living, so long indulged in by the inhabitants. 

To find such a tumble-down state of things as is here represented, one must noAV go a long 

way out of the city, and it is a chance if he come anywhere upon so picturesque a spot. For, 

to tell truth, there is very little of the picturesque left in Holland, and though Amsterdam, 

, thanks to the way in which her streets are laid out, and to her canals and bridges, and gabled 

houses, is a handsome city, she has none of the charm that comes from decay and ruin. 
Vol. II.— 19 * * 



What is going on all OA-er Europe ; in ■^^enice, in Rome, in Najiles, in Florence, in Paris, 
in London, is going on in Holland as Avell. These mnnicipalities are bound to make them- 
selves comfortable, clean, airy, and healthy, if possible, and they are going about the Avork 
with small consideration for the mutterings or shrieks of sentimentalists. Wo sensible person 
can really blame them for this, hoAvever sincerely and feelingly he may regret the loss of so 
much that is consecrated by memory and tradition. So, fareAA^ell to this old, rotten, tumble- 
doAvn JeAA's' Quarter, as to its sister Ghetto in Rome, and yet thanks to Achenbach for pre- 
serving for us the look of it in the days before the octopus of respectability " claAv'd it in her 
clutch," and squeezed all individuality out of it ! Here, on one side are tAvo of those tall 
gabled houses with their fronts all AvindoAvs and door- way, that are, no doubt, the direct 
ancestors of those in this JSTeAv Amsterdam of ours ; the outsides reduced, it is true, to " a pale 
unanimity " not found in the Dutch originals, Avhere no tAvo are alike, but the internal ar- 
rangement almost identical, so that an Amsterdam burglar Avould need no lessons in making 
his way about a ISTbav York house in the dark. As Avith us, the material is brick, with stone 
dressings to the doors and AvindoAvs ; but the bricks are seldom red ; of tener a dark gray, 
either painted or self-colored, and the stone a creamy white, kept to its natural color in 
houses in the better quarter by frequent painting. These fronts are often slightly enriched 
by carving shown in shieldsof-arms, or pilasters, or string-courses, with ornamental iron- 
work over the doorways, stanchions for the lanterns once in use, and for other details, all of 
which give a certain moderately ornamental look to the streets, as one may fancy who sup- 
poses the two houses in Achenbach's picture repeated along a whole block. Here they show 
somewhat isolated, although we can see that the building is carried on more closely at the 
right, and between them Ave see the gables of other houses of the same sort. But, at the left, 
and in the middle distance, the houses are smaller, and less pretending, and in front all dAvin- 
dles down to some rude shanties or cook-shops, the resort for Avarmth, shelter, and food, of 
the men and Avomen living and working on the shores of the canal. There is almost as much 
water as land suggested here, for the sails of the shi]3s and barges make as much figure in 
the composition as the houses themselves. But this, as every traA^eller knows, forms one of 
the charms of Holland. It affects one strangely, at first, to walk over great stretches of 
meadow on a causeway, with slender do-nothing trees on either hand, as here in Tina Blau's 
" Road near Amsterdam," or as in the famous picture by Hobbema in the National Gallery 
in London, Avhich this faintly recalls, and to see suddenly appearing above the rushes at one's 



side, the sail of a boat coming straight toward you ; then to see it dip, and after a minute, 
come up again on tlie other side of the causeway. And all this in silence, perhaps no sound 
of a human voice, for in these wide plains, intersected by hundreds of canals, the vision ex- 
tends so far that no signs of warning are needed as in Venice — that Southern Amsterdam — 
and even in the city itself, where the great canals bordered by the several Grachts or avenues, 

"road near AMSTERDAM." 


are busy all day with shipping, we were struck by the absence of noise and shouting. One 
hears more of this in the down-town steets of New York in an afternoon, than he will in a 
summer of Holland. Achenbacli may have been less inspired in this picture by the reality as 
seen by himself, than by reminiscences of Ruysdael and Hobbema, but he has given the true 
expression to his subject; we know this heavy sky, with its low-lying clouds broken here and 
there with patches of blue; the screaming gulls, the sails of the lumbering coasters bagging 


■with tlie -ndnd that rushes before the rain from the Zuyder Zee ; the wisps of trees — they 
must needs be web-footed to keep their hold in this amphibious shore! — tossed and tumbled 
by the gusts that bear to the ground the smoke from the pot-house shanty by the water-side, 
or carry it off like a streamer from the chimney of the toAver-like house. But, if the weather 
be diiU, what do the people care? They are well used to it and know far too much to go in- 
doors when it rains! The fish-women seated by the roadside, ready for custom, do not mind 
the weather. One of them has her baby on her knee ; so combining business with pleasure ! 
And the women down by the shore, washing clothes in the canal, what is a little rain more or 
less, to them? One of them has stoi^ped her scrubbing to chat with a neighbor who has 
seated herself on the top of the wharf -steps with her child in her arms — doubtless one of 
those apple-cheeked, tow-headed blue-eyes that we once saw tumble into the canal in Haar- 
lem and fished out with a boat-hook by its irate father, Avho spanked it well for its awkward- 
ness, wasting small sympathy on its simulated blubber! On the shore is another woman 
bearing down the wind like a heavy lugger, with her two children as outriggers. In tl;ie 
house-porch an old woman sits and spins, while her man sits, spinning street- yarns, on the 
rail of the stoop — for every Dutch house has its " stoop," the ancestor of ours! By a well in 
the middle of the street with a young tree planted beside it an old man is talking with an- 
other, who has harnessed his horse to a sledge on which he is going to carry off some of the 
Tboxes and barrels that are in the small boat just landing. The master of this boat, as he 
3)ulls-up alongside the barge that came in an hour ago, exchanges notes upon the weather 
with the captain, who lounges on the deck smoking his pipe at his ease. His vsdfe meanwhile 
is talking weather, too, — for what else is there in Holland to talk about! — with an old wife 
squatting on the shore. Off to the left again, there is more out-of-door life to be studied. A 
l)oat loaded Avitli fishing-gear is stranded on an unlucky bit of flats, waiting for the tide to 
ietch her off — the fisherman's wife sitting in the prow, and whiling away the time by listen- 
ing to the talk on shore and occasionally injecting an observation of her own. Meanwhile 
two women with a boat-load of fish are just come up alongside, and are bargaining with the 
men for their afternoon's catch. And, last of all this idling, busy world, we discover two 
men seated quite comfortably in the lee of the bank, Avith the smoke from their cabin-chim- 
ney beating down upon them, and philosophically giving the chimney as good as it sends — 
puffing away at their j^ipes and discussing with the good wife, Avhat shall be for supper. 

We have gone at length into this analysis of Andreas Achenbach's picture because this 


dramatic character, if we may so dignify it, is the most strilving character of the artists' work, 
and marks an important difference between him and the generality of his countrymen. Not 
only is he fond of depicting Nature in her more animated moods, but he shows great clever- 
ness in peopling his scene with groups and single figures that harmonize with the landscape. 
Among the moderns. Turner is the only conspicuous example we can remember of a similar 
skill in invention ; but, though Turner can give the impression of a crowd very well, yet he 
has not Achenbach's skill in interesting us in the individuals that make up his crowds; 
though he occasionally puts character into single figures. 

We are speaking now, of "landscapes with figures," as the conventional phrase goes; not 
of subjects like these of Ludwig Dill, or Jaroslav Cermack, or Otto von Thoren, or Adolf 
Schreyer — these, with the pictures of E. Meissner, Anton Biirger, Otto Gebler and H. Ziigel 
are "Figures with landscape," or with surroundings that are secondary to the figures — 
whether of men or animals — -or meant merely as backgrounds, though always, of course, re- 
lated to the main subject, and in harmony with it. Dill's " Venetian Fishing-boat," is, as we 
should say, rather a disorderly composition ; if composition it can be called, though it makes, 
rather, the impression of a bit cut out of actual fact, without any attemjpt on the artist's part 
to bring it into conformity with rules. And it looks even more disorderly and uncomforta- 
ble, from the impossibility of rendering in black-and-white the color which, in every picture 
of Venetian life, plays, or should play, by far the most important part. The richly dyed sails 
of red or yellow, with their painted emblems, crosses, crowns, stars, hearts and arrows — the 
fancies of their simiale-hearted owners; the boats themselves, mottled with stains of the sea, 
and marks of daily wear-and-tear, and shining in the sun as the water drains from their 
drenching sides; then the deep-toned or gay color of the men's dresses, their hats of knitted 
wool or felt, and their flannel shirts: red, yellow, blue; the original hue still glowing through 
streaks and stains of salt siDray, and driving mist, and basking sun, as dusky-rich as the walls 
of the old palaces themselves ! Mr. Dill's picture has vivacity enough, and with sixch a tub as 
this to manage, we may guess the amount of talk that is found necessary to get her on her 
way to the lagoon, whither a number of other boats of the same sort have preceded her. 
What with all this lumbering out-rig of tubs, lobster-traps, nets and buoys, baskets and jugs, 
and the clumsy-seeming sails to boot, it would strike fishermen hereabout as something of a 
task to handle such a craft, and we can imagine the jeering or sarcastic comments that would 
be bestowed upon the whole performance if it were shown on the wharves of Gloucester, or at 




the fish-stalls in our markets. When we come to speak of the English " Pre-Raphaelites," 
we shall find something in their ideas as to " composition," that will remind us of this picture 



by a German, and that will siiggest a relationship which very possibly does not exist. There 
is, no doubt, in certain art-circles in Germany and in France, a reaction against the code of 
formal rules that have so long been imposed upon artists, and accepted by them with almost 


the submission due to natural laws, but in England, as will be seen, this reaction supported 
its claims to respect by adducing the example of the artists who came before Raphael, and 
who were not hampered by the rules that in the later work of that artist would seem to have 
controlled Ms practice. With the younger German and French artists, the reaction has ap- 
parently never been at the pains to make any excuses for itself, nor to call any names to its 
aid, nor has there been either in Germany or France, unless it were the movement of the 
French Impressionists, anything that looked like a concerted propaganda of artistic heresies. 

At the same time it is by no means impossible that the younger men of the continent 
may have been influenced by the English Pre-Raphaelites, to look more closely into the laws 
that were imposed upon them by the academics ; and that, finding there was some reason in 
the arguments adduced in support of the new movement, they may have attempted to apply 
them to their own case. In all sxich revolutions in taste and practice, it is, however, very 
difficult, if it be not altogether impossible, to settle the claims of precedence, or to follow in 
a chart the blowing of the winds of influence. In this picture by Dill, every law of composi- 
tion laid do^vn by the academics is violated or defied: there is no harmony of lines, no grace 
of proportion, no balance of parts — yet all this negation which, fifty years ago— supposing 
any one to have been capable of it, at that time, would have found not an ally to support it, 
awakens, nowadays, no remonstrance, nor lifts a single eye-brow in surprise. One reason for 
this attitude of the public toward works so contrary to old usage is found in the works them- 
selves, which, when they are painted, like this of Dill's, with vigor and conviction, give pleas- 
ure to everybody who likes to see a bit of human life faithfully reported ; a pleasure quite 
independent of the nature of the subject. And another reason may lie in the harmony be- 
tween the indifference to established laws and conventions shown by the artists we have in 
mind, and the general, and certainly growing, indifference to social laws and conventions 
once in vogue. But this subject vnll come up for consideration at a later stage of our work. 

Even in still-life subjects, the new spirit may be and in fact is, as active, at times, as in the 
larger and so-called more important fields. Philippe Rousseau, VoUon, Manet, Diaz, Met- 
tltng, reveal the romantic movement as vividly in their fruits and flowers, nay, in their fish 
and garden-vegetables, as do Delacroix in his lion-hunts, or Barye in his ravening wild-beasts, 
or Rousseau in his landscapes, where his comer of this fair earth of ours is seen under every 
aspect, sunlit or stormy, of the moving year. But in Gei-many, little of this imaginative 
spirit has been shown in the treatment of still-life subjects; a formal portraiture, a scientific 


rendering of natural facts is all tliat any artist in Germany lias, so far as Tve know, attempted. 
No one of them who has gained any note has gone further in this direction than Preyer, the 
author of the small fruit-piece which we reproduce, by permission, from the dra^ving belong- 
ing to Messrs. Knoedler & Co. 

JoHA'N'N WiLHELM Preyer, uow the oldest, as he is the best known of the German 
still-life painters, was born in 1803, at Rheidt, and made his stxidies in art at the Academy 
in Diisseldorf, with which he remained connected from 1822 to 1837. In 1835 he made a visit 
to Holland, where he studied the masters who had excelled in the painting of still-life, the 
branch of art to which he had been drawn, and in 1837, leaving Diisseldorf for a while, he 
went to Munich, where he stayed for three years, and thence for three years to Italy. In 
1843 he visited Bozen and made there many studies of southern fruits ; in 1848 he went to 
Berlin, and after a brief stay in that city returned to Diisseldorf, where he has since that time 
continued to live. He has a son, Paul, and a daughter Emelie, who are both skilful still-life 
painters. Visitors to the gallery of paintings by the artists of the Dusseldorf school — the 
Diisseldorf GaUery which, thirty-odd years ago, made one of the chief attractions of our city, 
mnst still remember the interesting picture — the landscape painted by Lessing, the figures by 
Friedrich Boser — in which all the leading artists of the Dusseldorf school were represented 
taking their luncheon in the woods. In this picture one of the most striking figures was that 
of Preyer, conspicuously placed in the foreground, a distinction not so much awarded to his 
■ talent — unquestioned, indeed, but exercised in a field somewhat outside of that appropriated 
to high art — as made necessary by the extreme smallness of his figure, which was so dwarfish 
in fact that, had he not been put in the very foreground of the picture, he could not have 
been shown at all. His picture always excited the good nature of visitors, since the little 
man, with his tight, well-i)roportioned figure, his long hair, and his smiling, strongly-marked 
countenance, seemed fuUy alive to the humor of the situation, though preserving a proper, 
self-respecting dignity. Preyer's fruit-pieces at one time enjoyed a wide popularity, and 
although they are now somewhat less cared for, and indeed are seldom offered for sale by the 
dealers, whose shops are a convenient test of contemporary valuation, we must believe that 
the exquisite care and faithfulness with which they are painted will always have its value, 
even though, for a time, work of a larger, freer execution may cause it to be neglected. The 
drawing we publish — it is made with the lead-pencil, slightly tinted here and there with color 
— shows the careful draughtsman but gives no sufRcisnt notion of his painting. Something 



of his skill in this j)articular may be gathered from a very beautiful reproduction of one of his 
best jpictures, published by the Messrs. Knoedler & Co., remarkable as a specimen of the art 
of chromo-lithography, just then brought to perfection, and since vulgarized into unmerited 
obloquy. This published plate is, however, a silent critic on the art that can so faithfully be 
reproduced by a process so largely mechanical ; and indeed beyond the taste which Preyer 






' ,^ 




undoubtedly possesses, there is nothing in his picture which is beyond the reach of patient 
assiduity. He has studied the exquisite works of von Huysum, Rachel Ruysch, Kalf, and 
other painters of flowers and still-life, until he has caught much of their finished manner and 
something of their spirit, but his failure to take an equal place with these masters in the 
appreciation of the public arises from the difference between the modern artists and the older 



men in pictorial power; the power to make a picture with the given materials. At his best, 
Preyer is but plain prose where the others are poetry. By this, we mean, that Preyer arrang- 
ing his still-life objects on his tables; his fruit freshly gathered and lying loosely as it 
was brought in from the garden, or placed in bowls or dishes, his glasses filled with cham- 
pagne, the beaded bubbles rising and gathering round the edge of the surface of the wine ; 
or, an ojDened walnut, with some raisins — ^these tilings the artist vieTving, proceeds to paint 
them with strict scientific accuracy, thinking, or so it would seem, far more of the truthful 
representation of his subject than of its pictorial effect. The von, Kalfs, Hondekoe- 
ters, and the rest of the still-life masters, on the other hand, accomplished both wonders : 
they painted with an accuracy to delight the naturalist, and they made pictures that com- 
pletely satisfy the artist. 

Still, let us be thankful for the accuracy that is the Germans' strong point, not Preyer's 
alone, but that of the German artists in general. 


r)AUL FRIEDRICH MEYERHEIM, the painter of our "Lion and Lioness" has earned 
^ his reputation as an animal-painter by strict fidelity of portraiture, as we see it in this 
picture; he seldom indulges in satire or story-telling, such as Landseer and our own Beard 
are so fond of, and so clever in, although the apes have occasionally tempted him to experi- 
ments in that direction. Meyerheim was born in Berlin in 1842, and 
was at first the pupil of his father, Eduard Meyerheim, but later 
studied in the Academy. His studies ended, he travelled in Ger- 
many, the Tyrol, Switzerland, Belgium, and Holland, and lived for a 
year and a half in Paris, where he paid particular attention to color 
in his painting. He sketched in oils as well as in water-color, and 
% finding himself strongly drawn in that direction, ajDi^lied himself 
PAUL F. MEYERHEIM. for some time exclusively to the study of wild-animals, for which 

the Zoological Garden in Berlin offered him abundant means. He varied these studies by some 
attempts at genre painting, in which he was very successful, and by decorative painting, his 
chief performances in this field being " the History of the Locomotive-engine," which he painted 
in a series of seven pictures in the Villa Borsig in the Moabit^a suburb of Berlin. He has also 



painted portraits, but, with some few exceptions, has not achieved any great success in this 
direction, although his portrait of his father, now in the Museum at Dantzig, is spoken of as a 
masterpiece. It is, liowever, as an animal-painter that Meyerheim will be best known, and some 
of his pictures have not been surpassed for strength of characterization and simple naturalness 
by anything that has been done in England or France, where the Landseers, Rivieres, Baryes, 



and Bonheurs have set up a standard difficult of attainment. Among the best of his pictures 
are "The Sheepshearing," "The Serpent-tamer in the Menagerie," "The Wounded Lion," and 
" The Apes holding Court," with the "Apes' Academy "—the last two, examples of his satiric 
humor, which are by no means wanting in cleverness, but where he finds himself rivalling men 
fully able to contest the palm with him. We confess to caring very little for such subjects, even 
when handled by men as skilful as our own Beard, who certainly has never been surpassed 


in the genuineness of liis liumor by any artist at any time. We tliink we do best jiistice to 
Meyerlieim by presenting our readers with this " Lion and Lioness in Captivity," even though 
it may be admitted that photography could easily have produced a result so nearly similar as 
hardly to be distinguished from this, which is an actual study from life. " Hardly to be dis- 
tinguished," we say, because there is always in faithful study from nature something that is 
different from what photography, or mechanism of any sort, would have produced. Neither 
the photograph nor the artist is always to be trusted, but when each is at his best they do not 
present the same side of their subject, but two sides, essentially different the one from the 
other. If nature, working with her sun and a sensitive plate, can often see what is hid from 
the eye of man, that same eye of man can as often see what is hidden from nature, and it 
will be observed that photography as a rule works by the discovery of defects, while the art- 
ist, if he be a good one, aims to record his sitter as a whole, but with a leaning toward the 
bringing out of excellences too often hidden from the supei'ficial view. 

Anton Burgee, the painter of " The Discovered Stag," is a native of Frankfort-on-the- 
Main, where he was born in 1825. He had his first instruction in art in the Stadel Institute in 
his native town, and later he passed a year or two each in Munich and Diisseldorf. He after- 
ward settled down in Cronberg in the lovely region of the Taunus Mountains, where he still 
resides — his numerous pictures recording the scenery of the region and the manners of its 
peasant population — views of villages, farm-yard scenes, tavern-incidents, hunting adventures, 
whatever the life of the region has to offer in the way of simple every-day subjects, of which 
our picture is a good example. The scene has a certain affinity with the picture already de- 
scribed by Schenck, but has a more matter-of-fact foundation. This deer dying from the hun- 
ter's shot is not attended by a ghastly ministry of crows waiting for his death, but his agony 
is perhaps none the less affecting; and certainly the stolid peasant who stands over him 
calmly smoking his pipe is as devoid of pity as any crow! There is winter here, as in 
Schenck's picture, and the dreariness of it is weU expressed; the hunter whose shot has 
brought the animal down, is led to the place by his guide ; at least that is the way we inter- 
pret the picture, though we should have looked for signs of a gun somewhere. The peasant's 
dog, too, seems a very disinterested spectator of a scene that generally excites some canine 
eagerness, but this animal has learned stolidity and indifference from his master. 

Adolf Soheeyer is another painter who, like Barye, Delacroix, and Schenck — if we 
may name this artist in the same breath with two such lords in the kingdom of art — likes to 



paint tlie stormy side of life. He was born in 1828 at Prankfort-on-the-Main, and as a child 
showed great delight in drawing horses. As he grew older he frequented the riding-school, 



where he followed and studied the exercises of his favorite animals, and at the Stadel Insti- 
tute he continued to study in theory and from models what the riding-school had taught 


liim practically. After leaving school, he went to Munich, and later, to Diisseldorf, where 
he accomplished himself in the technics of his art. In 1848 he was invited by the Prince 
of Thum-and-Taxis to travel with him, and visited Hungary, Wallachia, and Southern Rus- 
sia. Here he studied the life of the Slavs, and their beasts of burden, and here he painted his 
first battle-piece after the light at Temesvar — a picture that had a great success, and made 
his name known. In 1856 he accompanied the same j^rincely patron to Syria and Egypt, and 
later travelled with him in Algeria. The sketches and studies which were the result of these 
travels created a very lively impression when they were shown in Paris, and Schreyer soon 
found himself on the high-ioad to success. He produced in rapid succession those pictures 
of wild life in Eastern Europe in which horses play so conspicuous a part, and which are so 
associated with his name by their subjects that a " Schreyer " without a horse, or horses, 
would indeed be the play of Hamlet with Hamlet omitted. Yet it is seldom that the artist 
repeats himself. His invention, founded on the industrious sketching kept up while travel- 
ling, that had filled his portfolios to overflowing with studies, seems never to fail him, and 
though we know a " Schreyer " as far as we can see it, yet it is long before we become so in- 
different to the artist's subjects as to pass them by without study, because we are held by 
their overflowing energy of life. In our tamer civilization these scenes transported from the 
half -barbarous lands of the Slavs have an air of exaggeration, almost of melodrama, but those 
who know the people and their manners assure us that all this storm and stress, this plunging 
and rearing of wild or half -tamed horses — hoofs pawing the air, manes and tails streaming to 
the wind ; these swarthy men in queer outlandish garb, guiding with easy savage grace their 
reckless charge — all these things, we are assured, are the every-day sights and scenes of these 
countries so far removed from the route of the ordinary traveller. The best known of his 
pictures — several of them made popular by excellent engravings — are "Cossack Horses;" 
"Winter Landscape" — horses huddled together in the snow; — "Wallachian Post-horses;" 
"Detachment of Cavalry on the March;" "Arabs Returning from the Fight;" "Terror," 
horses madly flying; "The Wounded Horse," and the subject we engrave, "Chased by 
Wolves," where certainly the scene needs no title to explain it. In 1870, Schreyer joined the 
artist-colony that has associated itself with the village of Cronberg in the beautiful Taunus 
country near Franltfort-on-the-Main, where we have already met with Anton Bvirger — a quiet 
resting-place, and a singular contrast to the wild life that makes the staple of Schreyer's 



























Otto voisr Thoren is another painter wlio brings to us the report of what he lias seen in 
the eastern parts of Europe, but he deals for the most part with quieter, domestic scenes: "'A 
Herd of Hungarian Oxen," " Cows in the Meadow," " The Hungarian Steppes at Sunset, with 
Gfroups of Cattle," and tlie " Grrain-thrashing," wMdi we publish — an excellent example of his 
art. The horses, guided by the man who stands in the middle, jog round and round in a 
circle, beating out the grain from the ear as it is continually fed and spread by the other men. 
The dress of the men is singular to our eyes, used to a more curt and summary garb for labor, 



whether at home or in the field. At first, on seeing these long coats we think there must be 
something priestly or religious about their wearers; perhaps these are a sort of lay-brothers 
from some neighboring monastery, working in the field as monks used to do, and as they still 
are found doing all over Europe. But, then, we reflect, that the dress of monks, priests, and 
popes is itself only a survival of the dress of the people in Greek and Roman days— out- 
grown with time and generally abandoned, it has crystallized as we see it in the vestments of 
the Roman church. This long coat, or gown, worn over his under garments by this man and 
his companions in the field, is the cMton of the Greeks, the tunica of the Romans, the dal- 
matic of the modem Romish priest, called by this last name because it was formerly made. 


and is still, perhaps, made in some places in Dalmatia, of the wool grown in that country. 
And thus we see the old still surviving in the new, and perceive that the world of man is but 
a palimpsest where the most ancient writing can still be read through the records of age suc- 
ceeding age. But, von Thoren's bright and sunny leaf from the life of this Danubian popu- 
lation has anything but an archaeological expression. How naturally the horses plod along, 
each in his own character; one inclined to play a hit with the geese the woman is guiding, 
and wlio are gleaning a few of the scattered grains as they fly from under the horses' feet. 
The white horse seems to be thinking back to the time when he had something to do better 
worth-while than treading-out corn ; his neighbor puts down his head to catch a mouthful of 
straw, while the two next him make a few confidential remarks to one another on the situa- 
tion. The last horse in the line starts with a jump as the man behind him touches his flanks 
with an armful of corn he is about to throw down; at the extreme right a man with a fork 

spreads out the grain in readiness for the horses. 

Otto von Thoren was born in 1828 at Vienna, served in the Austrian army, took part m 

the campaign in Hungary in 1848-49, and not until 1857 began the study of art in Paris and 
Brussels. His pictures deal for the most part with subjects, like the one we publish, where 
men and domestic animals are brought together in a natural everyday harmony, reflecting a 
patriarchal simiDlicity of life, very pleasant to contemplate. 

Jaroslav Cermak, the painter of the " Herzegovinian Girl," here reproduced, was born 
at Prague, but the dictionaries give us no particulars of his early life. In the useful book of 
Mrs. Clement, "Artists of the Nineteenth Century," there are a few data as to his pictures. 
He died in 1878. He was a pupil of Gallait and of Robert Fleury, but he found his subjects 
neither in Belgium nor Paris, nor yet in his native Bohemia, but pushed further east and 
painted episodes in the life of Herzegovina and Montenegro. At the Salon of 1877 he ex- 
hibited " Herzegovinians Returning to their Ravaged Village," and in 1873, "An Episode of 
the War in Montenegro." Our picture is his most pleasing performance, and deserves its 
wide popularity. AVhether it be intended to be accepted literally or not, we do not know, 
but it certainly looks like a piece of pure romance; an incident in a novel by George Sand or 
by Prosper Merimee. This lovely dark -eyed girl standing by the horse, as beautiful as her- 
self, caressing his silken mane with her hand as she looks dreamily out over the fields, can 
hardly, one would think, be a type of the people of her country. Rather, we see in her the 
embodiment of her country's past, when the land was subject to the rule of the Byzantine; by 



her dress, her attitude, her expression, she seems a vision of the antique muse brooding in 
soft melancholy over the decay of glorious empire. Her dress recalls what we said a little 
before on the permanence of old types, when describing Otto von Thoren's picture. Here we 
have, surviving, down to our own day, all the elements of the Greek and Roman dress— the 

"a herzegovinian girl." 


chiton, with its double girdle, and the himation or mantle, while the jewelled circlets pen- 
dent from the necklace, the girdle made of gold or silver jilates, the earrings, and the head- 
dress fringed with glittering ornaments, recall the days of Byzantine decadence. The horses 
— one a cream-white stallion with flowing undipped tail and long profuse silken mane shad- 
ing his eyes, and with some of its strands confined in braids, the darker a more common- 
VoL. II.— 20 * * 


place animal — are drinking from a ruined fountain-basin, once belonging to a Byzantine 
palace, its base half hid in burdock and nettle. This picture has always seemed to us a 
remarkable oue; among a cloud of works to which by its title it seems to belong — ethno- 
graphic notes inspired for the most part by mere curiosity and idleness of travel — this has all 
the qualities of a genuine poetic impression; we feel that it is real, but it is real in a world of 
its own, a world of dreams. 

Friedeich Johann Voltz, the painter of the " Cattle by the Brook," was born at Nord- 
lingen in 1817. He studied with his father, and from him learned etching, and made such 
progress in the art that when he was seventeen a series of twelve etched plates after pictures 
by some of the old masters procured him admission to the Academy in Munich. Here, 
during the winter, he made cojDies of the older masters in painting, and also practised his 
liand in pictures of his own composing, while in the summer he made sketching excursions in 
the Bavarian Highlands. Later, he visited Italy and the Netherlands, but returned to 
Munich, where he studied with Piloty for a while; but starting off again he visited Paris, 
Berlin, and Vienna, with this good result, that he grew more in touch with the art of his own 
time, and Aveaned from his too strict devotion to that of the older men. The picture that we 
reproduce is a type of his work in general ; he is one of the large company of cattle-painters 
of our day, but his pictures are distinguished from the mass by a certain idyllic character, a 
liarmony between the landscape and the living beings that jDeople the scene, such as we find 
in the pictures of Troyon and Veyrassat; though Voltz is not equal to either of these as a 
painter. Like so many of the Germans, like by far the most of them, we must admit, he 
.shows to best advantage in black and white. The little picture so prettily reproduced by 
Rhodes, from an engraving, shows the artist in one of his happiest veins. The cattle are re- 
freshing themselves in the clear water of the brook at noon-tide ; some drinking, some stand- 
ing in the stream, some lying down on the meadowy bank, while on the higher ground at the 
right, the keeper of the herd is seen with an eye to his charge, while his wife sits on the 
ground at his feet, with their dinner in a basket. Further on, some of the field-hands are 
leaving their work for their noon-day rest ; a woman with a big bundle on her head walks off 
with her child by her side, and against the horizon we see a crixcifix, protected by its pent- 
house hood, with two wayfarers doing it reverence as they pass. Over all is a sky of delicate 
"beauty, with clouds of white and gray, that blends the whole scene in sunny harmony. In 
liis figures, and in the animation they give to the scene, we are reminded, as we are in many 



of Voltz's pictures, of the later Dutch and Flemish landscape-painters, and of the later 
Italians as well; but, in the more careful observation of the appearances of nature, particu- 
larly in his skies, we acknowledge an individual note; conventionality and abstraction are 
sacrificed to the more modern spirit that strives to reconcile art with science. 

Ernst Adolf Meissnee, born in 1837 at Dresden, now settled at Munich, after visiting 
Switzerland and Italy, is still another painter of animals, but like Ziigel and others, confines 
himself more immediately to them as the subject of his pictures, and makes the landscape of 



less importance. Here, for instance, in his " Frightened Sheep," the landscape is insignifi- 
cant; the whole interest, such as there is, lies in the truth with which the actions of the sheep 
are rendered. A small white dog, taking the air with his master or mistress, for his owner 
must be guessed-at, being outside our frame, has started ofl' to have a little fun with the 
sheep, and has succeeded in getting the flock into a high state of hysterics. They were mak- 
ing for the farmhouse yard, but they are brought to a pause — partly by the difficulty of 
scaling the fence bars; one of the lambs has squeezed himself through them, and is ofi', but 
one of the sheep is coming to grief in his vaulting ambition, while a third is thinking too long- 
about it to have his thinking come to anything. Then, again, some of the sheep have caught 



sight of their enemy, and are beginning to bhish at his insignificance ; it is a chance if the old 
ram does not give him a taste of his horns and send him to Jericho. Bnt the most potent 
inflnence that is Avorlving to calm the flock, is the appearance of their master, who, on hearing 
the linbbub, has come ont of his cottage, and is calling them to order with his well-known 
voice. Meissner has had good fortune at home; his pictures are hung in the Academy of 



Vienna, in the Museum at Dresden, in the palace of the King of Saxony, and he has been a 
favorite here as well, many of his best pictures belonging to Americans. 

For a time, too, we heard a good deal of Ziigel in this country ; his pictures of sheep, 
mostly small canvases, were seen in the dealers' shops, and eagerly bought; their simplicity 
and naturalness made them many friends. But, of late we have not seen them so frequently. 
Heineich Johann ZtJGEL was born in 1850 at Murrhard, in Wurtemberg, but after moving 
about a little in Germany— a year and a half in Stuttgart, then for a like stay in Vienna, he 




finally came to settle down in Munich, where he still lives and paints. His " Sheep-washing," 
"Ox-team," "Cattle Flying before a Storm," and in the National Gallery of Berlin his 
" Sheep in an Alder Grove " — are among his best known pictures. The one we copy, " Open 
the Door for Us ! " belongs to a family of small genre pictures, such as he is best known by in 
this country. The sheep are impatient to be let out of the fold, and the little girl is opening 



the door for them. The lamb, Avho was so very eager a minute ago, has forgotten all about it 
for another minute, but probably as soon as the door is fairly opened he will push himself 
through without the least thought of respect for his elders. His starting action is very 
prettily given. 

No doubt our readers mil find Gebler's " One of the Seven Sleepers," a more entertaining 
subject than any of these later pictures. Feiedrioh Otto Geblek, bom at Dresden in 1838, 
went early to Munich, where he studied under PUoty. He paints animal-pictures almost ex- 



clusively, but his humor is not always so genuine as we find it here, where it grows out of a 
natural, e very-day situation. The morning light is streaming through the cracks and cran- 
nies of this old barn where the sheep are folded, and they are anxious to get out for a taste of 
fresh ail- and the grass of the pasture. But Peter, the farm-hand, is locked up tighter in 
slumber than they are in the barns, and no ray of the morning sun has peeped as yet through 
the chinks in his eye-lids. A swallow has lighted on his hat — perched for the night on the 


top of his sheep-hook, and cheeps and twitters to the other swallows that circle round the 
bam or cling to the wall, but Peter does not hear the sound. One leg is thrown over the dog, 
his bed-fellow and guardian, but though the dog is wide awake and has his faithful eye on 
the sheep, he does not stir for fear of waking his master. In the heat of the summer night 
the boy has tossed the clothes about and kicked off the feather bed, but the cool morning air 
that blows over his bare legs has no poAver to disturb him, while, if he hears the bleating of 
the sheep, he probably hears it in a dream of noonday in the pasture, with his flock about 


him calling one another from side to side of the held. Perhaps the artist meant to indicate 
by the pictures pinned to the wall and the sketches of the ram, the dog and Peter himself, 
sheep-hook in hand, that this is an artist in the bud lying in bed when work is to be done, 
and dreaming when he should be awake. But the moral, if it were meant, is not obtruded, 
and we are at liberty to enjoy the quiet humor of the scene without feeling obliged to inter- 
pret it otherwise than as an idyl of youth and health dreaming of rustic love and beauty, not 
under the roof of the spreading beech, but in the warm air of the hay-scented barn, in sweet 
momentary forgetfulness of the work-a-day world that is calling him to share its toil. 


THE revival of art in Holland in our own day, after a long period of indifference and 
decline, did not seem so surprising as the similar revival did in England, or even, we 
may say, that which took jplace in the first quarter of the century in France. Each 
of these countries, England and France, had had good painters, a few excellent ones ; but no 
country north of the Alps could boast of such a glorious family of artists — all born of her 
own body and nourished at her own breast — as Holland. The wonder was, not that we should 
see art revived in Holland, but, rather, that in a country which had produced a Rembrandt, 
a Terburg, a Franz Hals, a Van der Meer, a Van Goyen — but the list would be too long were 
we to attempt to name all the illustrious ones — that a country which had produced such men 
as these, should ever have produced lesser men. It is, however, a common experience; all 
things in nature have their ebb and flow ; and we have Hamlet's word for it that 

" Nothing is at a like goodness still. 
But Nature growing to a plurisy 
Dies of her own too-much.'' 

In the history of art in Holland, there are three periods very clearly marked. They are 
described in that excellent hand-book on the Dutch School of Painting, written in French by 
M. Henry Havard, and translated into English by Mr. G. Powell, published by Messrs. Gas- 


sell & Co., to wliicli the reader may be referred for an intelligent, appreciative summary of tlie 
subject, illustrated witb cuts that serve a very good purpose as notes. And here it may be 
said that although we may never hope to have in this country such and so many splendid 
examples of the great Dutchmen as are to be found in Holland itself, in England, Avliich 
rivals Holland in the treasixres it possesses, or tii France and Germany, yet we shall in time, 
no doubt, be able to show a considerable number of fine specimens ; and, indeed, even to-day 
there are enough good Dutch jjictures scattered about, in public and private collections, to 
enable a student to get at the rudiments of the matter. We have at least five first-rate por- 
traits by Rembrandt; we may get more, in years to come, but we shall get none finer than 
the " Gilder " and the two Van Beresteyn portraits, owaed by Mr. Havemeyer and now on 
temporary loan at the Metropolitan Museum ; the " Portrait of a Man," owned by Mr. Ells- 
worth, of Chicago, and the portraits of Dr. Tulp and his wife, in the gallery of Messrs. Cot- 
tier & Co., in New York. And these are not all the examples of Rembrandt that might be 
cited: there are others of less interest, but of equal authenticity, and Avell able to hold their 
own in connection with these. We have, besides, examples of Terburg, Maes, Pieter de 
Hoogh, Van Goyen, and others, so that, if it were wished, an exhibition of the old Dutch mas- 
ters could be made that would be of great interest not merely to artists, but to the general 
public — for there is always a public for really fine painting. 

It will only be necessaiy here, in order to prepare the way for the consideration of the 
works of the Dutch artists of our own day, to make a brief reference to the successive j)hases 
through which the art of Holland has passed since its beginnings. The actual beginnings 
are indeed lost to us : not only have the works of the various artists in every branch disap- 
peared, leaving no visible trace of their existence, but only the barest record of them exists 
in tradition, with here and there an allusion in an old bouk, or a meagre fact painfully im- 
earthed from some musty document spared by the greed of Time. As it was not until the 
first quarter of the seventeenth century, that the United Provinces were finally sejparated 
from the southern jproviuces of the Netherlands, there can be no reasonable doubt that, in 
earlier times, the art of the two divisions was as nearly identical in character as the condi- 
tions of society and climate would allow. In aU. these northern countries, the first civilizing 
ideas came not from Italy and the Romans, but from Byzantium and the Greeks, and it is to 
the Arians and their more fundamentally democratic ideas in religion and in church govern- 
ment, that we owe the seeds of opposition to aristocracy and feudalism, which, thank Heaven, 


were sowed so broadly and planted so deep that tliey never have been and never can be up- 
rooted. Fortunately for the race and for the welfare of nations, these ideas were sown in 
Germany, in northern France, including the Netherlands, and in the British Islands before 
the Roman missionaries came, and the bloody persecutions of these zealots, who struck hands 
with pagan kings and slaughtered, burned, and pillaged their heretical brethren in the sweet 
name of Christ, only served, as persecution always does, to keep the ideas it sought to up- 
root alive. But while the ideas remained, the things in which they had found material ex- 
pression were largely swept away, and in the fierce, savage conflicts of the Dutch and Span- 
ish of the seventeenth century, nearly all traces of the earlier art disappeared with the 
destruction of the abbeys, monasteries, and churches, and with the dismantling of the town- 
halls and palaces. This destruction was so thoroughly accomplished that it is only by the 
sparse and scattered remains still existing in Flanders and in Germany that we are able to 
discover what must have been the character of this first phase of art in Holland. 

In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries we find the names of many artists born in Hol- 
land who are yet by their art allied on the one side to Flanders and on the other to Italy. 
Flanders drew them to her cities by the promise of gain and employment at the splendid 
courts of the sovereigns and nobility of that flourishing country, while Italy attracted them 
by the fame of her great painters and sculptors, borne by the reports of travellers and spread 
through all the northern lands. It may be permitted to coni]iare the state of the arts in Hol- 
land at that time with what we find in our country at the present day— a condition of things 
which has, however, existed here from the Beginning. Owing at once to the scanty means of 
education for artists here in America, the lack of schools, and, what is of far more import- 
ance, the lack of public galleries where examples of the great artists can be familiarly seen, 
our young men flock to Europe, year after year, for study and inspiration. And, on the 
other hand, owing to the fact that few of our rich men care for American pictures, much pre- 
ferring to spend tlieir money for the works of foreigners, our young painters go abroad and 
settle in London, Paris, or Munich, where many of them find customers in plenty for their 
work and earn a good living, besides making for themselves a solid position in society, such 
as they could never have obtained at home. 

This was what happened in the case of many of the early Dutch artists; some of rhem 
became so identified with Flanders and Italy that their real place of birth is forgotten or ig- 
nored, and indeed they were only Dutch in name. Nor did any of them paint in a style that 


was derived exclusively, or even in part, from influences peculiar to Holland; all of them 
were inspired by artists not of their own land; and if they returned to Holland after their 
wanderings in other countries, led back by the growing wealth and prosperity of her mer- 
chant-cities, they endeavored to establish there the standards that they had found in favor 
in the older cities of Europe. 

But with the establishment on a secure foundation of the independence of the United 
Provinces, a new era at once set in, and we soon find artists arising, one after the other, de- . 
veloping individual styles, forming schools, and creating pupils, until by the end of the cen- 
tury, Holland had made such a mark in the history of art as can never be effaced and that 
gives her a place side by side with Italy. And this was accomplished by artists who neither 
needed to leave Holland for subjects nor for patrons; they were content to paint, and the 
rich or well-to-do people of Holland were glad to buy, pictures of their own landscape, scenes 
from the lives of their own peasants and bourgeois citizens, and portraits of themselves, their 
wives, their children and their magistrates. Painters were bred in obedience to the law of 
supply and demand, but the question why the demand for painters was met by the supply 
of painters of such unexampled, splendid quality, is one that has never yet been answered, 
though many attempts have been made to answer it, and to which no adequate answer will in 
all probability ever be found. 

The light that lightened the world of art streaming from Holland in the seventeenth cen- 
tury faded at last ; the sun set, and with it the splendor of the bountiful but too brief day. 
Nor was it until our own immediate time that Holland was again heard from as a producer of 
artists, but the men who are once more bringing the name of their country to the front, and 
who are influencing so strongly the younger artists of France, England, and America, are not 
descended in direct line from the painters of the great period in their own country, although 
the spirit in which they work is akin to theirs. There can be no reasonable doubt that the 
painters we are about to consider were inspired in their work by the example of the French 
Romantics, but the outcome of that inspiration is something essentially their own ; and it is 
proved such by the fact that it has itself, as we have hinted above, exerted a strong influence 
on the younger artists of other countries. And nowhere has that influence been so marked 
in its effect as here in our own country. 

The paintings and water -colors of Israels, Mauve, Artz, the brothers Maris (William, Mat- 
thew and James), Stacquet, Mesdag, and others, are now well known in this country. They are 


to be found in many private collections and with all the principal dealers, where they bring 
high prices. But it is only a short time ago that these names, one and all, were practically 
nnkno^vn in America ; for though a few examples of their work may have made their way to 
this country, and found homes in some of our private collections, the general public knew 
absolutely nothing of them, and in fact is only just beginning to know something. The 
copies of their pictures given to our readers in connection with this notice will be among the 
first that have been published in this popular way. Nor has it been possible to procure as 
many examples as we should have been glad to have. Comj)aratively few of the pictures of 
this group of artists have been published by photography or engraving, and the pictures 
themselves are not always to be obtained. But even with the materials at our command, 
we shall hope to do something to make an interesting corner of the world of art better 
known, here at home, and if we can do no more than to excite cariosity, that will have been 
worth doing. 

It is now fifteen years since Mr. Daniel Cottier, coming to New York from London to 
establish here a branch of his business, brought over with him a collection of pictures, princi- 
pally by Dutch artists, men whose names, as we have said, were at that time practically un- 
known to our public at large, and known to very, very few, if they were known to any, of 
our amateurs or picture-buyers. His collection was not confined to the Dutchmen, but con- 
tained examples of the so-called Barbizon school of which we have already given an account 
in our first volume. The Millets, Corots, Rousseaus, Diaz, and the rest of the circle, allies by 
the spirit of their aims rather than by actual companionship, were represented here ade- 
quately for the first time. It is of importance to allude to this event because it was really 
one of first-rate importance in the history of our art-development. Up to this time, through 
the influence of the enterprising dealers catering for a public whom they had taught what to 
admire, the pictures of the Diisseldorf, Munich, and Paris artists — the Eomantics rigidly ex- 
cluded — had been the only ones offered for our inspection. Corot was almost unknown ; the 
knowledge of MUlet, first made known to us by the late Wm. M. Hunt, was confined almost 
entirely to Boston, where it was looked upon as the fad of an exclusive circle; of Rousseau 
we knew nothing, of Daubigny little, and of Diaz, still less. As for the great Romantics — 
Delacroix, Gericault, Decamps, Courbet — we had yet to learn something more of them than 
their names. It is not meant that these artists were entirely unrepresented in this country, 
but only that the general public had as yet not been offered the means of knowing what 


these names stood for. As for the Dutch artists of Avhom we are now to speak, it may be 
said that they were entirely unknown to all of us, artists, amateurs and laymen alike, until 
Mr. Cottier showed them to us. They took an immediate hold upon our younger artists, 
those who were in the formative stage, and, explain it how we may, it is certainly true that 
the influence of the contemporary Dutch school of landscape-painters is more potent to-day 
in the American studios, especiallj^ in those of the water-colorists, than that of the French. 
The last exhibition of the Water-Color Society, the twenty -third, might almost have made 
a Dutchman rub his eyes and half believe himself at home. 

Of the Dutch figure-painters belonging to the circle we are now considering, one of the 
best known is Josef Israels. He was born at Groningen in 1824, and studied his art at 
Amsterdam under Pieneman, a painter of historical subjects on a small scale, and he was 
also, for a time, in the studio of Cornells Kruseman. Later, after he had mastered the rudi- 
ments, he went to Paris, where first Picot gave him advice and then Henri Scheflfer, a younger 
brother of Ary Scheffer (see Vol. I., p. 14). He returned/to Holland, and at first set up his 
easel at Amsterdam, where his studies were begun, but after living there for some years, he 
removed to the Hague, where he has since continued to reside — the Hague being the centre 
of the new movement in painting in Holland. Israels, Ave are told, was already well known in 
Belgium and Holland when he appealed to a wider public at the Exposition Universelle at 
Paris, in 1855, exhibiting his picture " William the Silent Rejecting the Decree of the King 
of Spain," the first and, we believe, the only essaj^ made by him in the domain of historical 
painting. This picture, the natural outcome of his studies under the conventional teaching 
of men like Pieneman and Kruseman, Henri Scheffer and Picot, was not very successful, and, 
fortunately for himself and us, Israels was not long in finding themes more suited to his 
talent. He began to paint at Katwyk-aan-zee, a smaU. watering-place about two hours by 
boat from Leyden, a favorite resort of the inhabitants of that city in the summer-time. 
From this place he sent to the Paris Salon of 1857 his " Children of the Sea " and " Evening 
on the Shore," which at once attracted attention to his name. In 1861 he sent five pictures to 
the Salon, and in 1863 three more, while in 1862 he had appeared at the International Exhi- 
bition at Brompton (London) with four pictures, among them " The Shipwrecked,*" a work 
that called forth the highest commendation. " His ' Shipwrecked,' " said Francis Turner Pal- 
grave, " is a very impressive work, imagined with great solemnity and a total absence of sen- 
timentalism or over-point. The poetry of the scene lies in the long, dark line of figures 


against the sky; in the homely tenderness with which the sailors are bearing their cortiTade; 
and the unaffected truth of the lesser details. It is genuine art which could venture thus on 
the gradual indifference to the catastrophe displayed by the followers of the sad procession, 
and represents the desolate wreck, not surrounded by stormy waves, but gently rocked on 
the unpitying and unconscious sea, in the last undulations of the tempest." And Tom Tay- 
lor, in his hand-book to the Exhibition, thus speaks of the same picture, and of the artist's 
work in general : " The most impressive picture in the Dutch collection, and one of the most 
impressive in the whole Exhibition, is J. Israels' ' Shipwrecked.' Through the twilight of a 
stormy day, which tells its tale in the ragged gray and watery blue of the heavy sky and the 
dirty surf that still breaks heavily along the shore, a sorrowful procession winds up from the 
beach over the low sand hills where the bent grass waves in the cold wind. It is headed by a 
stupefied mother leading an orphan in either hand. Behind are two fishermen, bearing ten- 
derly and reverently the body of the drowned hnsband and father. The one who supports 
the head gazes in the face with wistful sadness. Other fishermen and their wives follow. In 
the offing is the boat, aground in the broken water. This sad story is painted as if with a 
brush steejped in gloom. It is toned throughout to the same mournful key: in the low 
leaden sky; the sullen plunge of the cruel sea; the cold wind that whistles through the bent, 
no less than in the stupor of desolation and bereavement on the woman's face and the silent, 
neighborly sorro-w of the rough fishermen. In fact, this picture is an excellent illustration 
of imagination, taking Coleridge's definition of it, as ' the faculty that draws all things to 
one.' As if to show his power of sounding the key-note of calm and sunshine, as well as that 
of storm and sorrow, the same painter, in his ' Cradle,' has painted the edge of a summer sea, 
with the innocent little wavelets lipping the sand under the serenest of skies, and in the shal- 
low water, a pretty Scheveningen girl with a younger sister washing the family cradle." 

Although his j)ictures exhibited at Brompton had made him pleasantly known in Eng- 
land, it would appear from the biographical notices of Israels that he did not personally visit 
that country until 1875, thirteen years later, when he crossed the Channel and exhibited at 
Burlington House "Waiting for the Herring-Boats" and "Returning from the Fields." 
Since that time, secure of reputation and employment, he has remained in Holland, working 
with extraordinary industry both in oils and water-color, happy in seeing his own triumphs 
repeated in those of his son Isaac, who works, however, in a different field. 

The pictures of Israels that we reproduce, " The Sewing-School at Katwyk," "A Village 



Interior," aud '• Folding Slieep by Moonlight," belong to the more cheerful side of the artist's 
talent, and, it may be thought, show him in a less characteristic view than his reputation 
would lead us to expect. But besides that the melancholy sentiment of too many of his j)ic- 
tures is become a little Avearisome, it is but fair that we shoiild show the other side, since, in 
truth, he is as successful in one as in the other. " The Sewing-School " is a sunny, peaceful 
scene, belonging to the same family with the pictures by Walther Firle and Glaus Meyer 
that we have already described. There are the same docile, well-trained children, the same 
homely but comfortable surroundings, the same steady, good-natured, motherly old woman 



presiding over her flock: these things we can all enjoy, and artists take pleasure in the sim- 
ple, direct painting and the well-rendered atmospheric effect of the whole. The " Village In- 
terior " belongs to a class of subjects where Israels shows the influence of Rembrandt, the 
light softly diffused through the low-studded room, and bringing here one point and there 
another out of the gloom. It must be said that Israels is not alone among his countrymen 
in his liking for these low-toned effects : the followers and contemporaries of Rembrandt set 
a fashion that has been widely followed, and P. von der Velden, H. Valkenburg, G. Henker, 
Artz, Kever and many another have all produced very successful work in which this effect is 
the main thing sought. Israels, however, excels them all in his management of light, and in 
the power to lift the scene both above the level of mere execution and that of a commonplace 


rendering of the incidents of daily life. If lie does, not seldom, give a melanclioly or senti- 
mental turn to his subject, we really have nothing to do but to accept it or — reject it, if we 
will, and if we prefer cheerful subjects, seek them otit where they may be found. But surely 
the gentle melancholy of Israel's subjects can harm no one, since it is not forced ; it is nature 
to the artist, and it grows naturally out of one side of the life he saw about him. How that 
life may differently affect different people, had once a striking proof. In the summer of 
1883, we had been one day at Amsterdam at the Exposition Universelle, and had seen there 
the picture by Israels called " The Struggle for Life," representing a fisherman with his trou- 
sers rolled up to the knees, Avading in the water near the shore and pushing his scoop-net 
before Mm for bait. It was perhax)s the title that helped give a melancholy twist to the ex- 
pression of the picture, but there was no doubt something in the picture itself that made us 
think the man's lot a hard one, Just as Millet's peasants, no matter what simi)le, every-day 
thing they may be doing, make a somewhat saddening impression upon the mind of the spec- 
tator. But the next day, being at Zaandam, the strip of shore that the people of Haarlem 
affect as a watering-place, we were taking a stretch along the delightful sands — what a place 
Holland is for the man who loves walking! — we came upon Israels' man — or another — inly- 
ing the same task along the shore. The sun shone brightly, the air was clear and sweet, and 
the waves broke softly on the sands while we stopped for a moment to watch our fisherman 
at his work. All was there Just as Israels had painted it: the rough clothes, the sunburned 
face, the hard features, the toilsome occupation — but how different the expression of the 
man ! He was neither depressed nor gay ; he Avas bent upon his work, but it seemed work 
that pleased him ; and for all that I could see, he was as much at one with the landscape as 
we felt ourself to be on that sunny morning. Seeing us stop in our walk to pick uj) some of 
the shells with which the shore was plentifully strewn— small shells, for the most part, but 
very prettily colored— he came out of the water, laid down his net, and going to his coat that 
he had left high up on the shore, he pulled a handsome shell out of the pocket, and offered it 
to us to look at, and, no doubt, to buy, if we would. And we were glad, as it happened to 
be a handsome specimen, to add it to our own find, and to have the chance the bargain gave 
to chat a bit with this " struggle-for-lifer," as the French slang of to-day has it. It was inevi- 
table that the contrast should force itself upon us between the actual man as we had seen 
him and the man as he stood in Israels' picture. All is, that there are as many sides to 
everything in human life as there are human beings who regard it; and nothing really is ; 



but all is, as it seems to him who looks at it. The little sketch " Foldiug Sheep by Moon- 
light " reminds us of Millet, whose pictures, no doubt, had much to do with turning the talent 
of Israels from the barren painting of subjects dead and gone, to the illustration of the lives 
and labors of the peasant-folk and fisher -folk of his native country. But the quality of his 
sentiment is very different from that of Millet. It is far less robust and uncompromising, 
and where the Frenchman inspires us with active sympathy for poverty cheerfully borne, 



and uncomplaining labor, making us courageously ashamed to rebel against our own lot, the 
pictures of Israels that deal with such subjects are rather apt to waste our sympathy in an- 
swering tears and sighs. Mr. William Ernest Henley, in his notes on some of the pictures of 
Israels (in the " Catalogue of the French and Dutch Pictures in the Loan Collection at Edin- 
burgh in 1886"), describes a picture called "For These and All Thy Mercies:" an old woman 
and her son seated at a table, with a dish of potatoes between them — a cheerful subject 
enough, one would think, but which, he says, must be wTongly named, because both mother 


and son are crushed with grief ! It is curions to reflect, how fond the Northern people are of 
such subjects: the Germans, the Dutch, the English! You may go through the French 
Salon and perhaps not find one such subject painted by a Frenchman. The pictures will 
abound with bloody, cruel, ferocious subjects — suited to the cannibal market — but not pity- 
ful, tearful, melting, maudlin themes. The nearest the French have come to this was in the 
hysterical years that followed the Franco-Prussian War, but that was an exception that 
proved the rule, and they have pretty well laughed themselves out of that mood. The Eng- 
lish, however, are never tired of weeping and condoling, and there can be no doubt that one 
reason for Israels' success in England has been the profusion with which he has ministered to 
this national love of pathetic subjects. A very clever painter, recently dead, Mr. Frank HoU, 
ran Israels very hard in this direction. His " The Lord gave, and the Lord taketh away " — 
a bereaved husband and his children, English gentlefolk, standing aboiit the table with no 
longer a mother and wife to preside — had a great popularity in England, and even here, 
when shown in 1876 at our Centennial, was always the centre of a crowd. In France it would 
hardly have attracted a second notice. 

Our little sketch " Folding Sheep " is, however, cheerful enough. The composition is 
agreeable, the long line of the sheep, repeated in the hurdles, and in the trees that fringe the 
horizon, with the level clouds — all these horizontal lines are contrasted with the upright lines 
of the building, and the erect figure of the little girl, half bravely, half timidly holding back 
the door for the sheep to enter. 

Anton Mauve was born at Zaandam in 1838, and died only a year ago, when, as it 

seemed, he was in the fuhiess of his powers, and just as he had conquered a wide place for 

himself in countries far removed from his native Holland. To-day in America his name is 

almost as well known as that of Theodore Rousseau or of Troyon, to whom, indeed, he has 

often been compared, though vdth no more reason than goes to such comparisons in general. 

Mauve was a pupil of a little-known painter, Pieter Frederik van Os, of Haarlem, born in 

1808 and still living, we believe. A picture of his was in the Exhibition at Amsterdam in 

1883, " Horses before the Inn-door." Zaandam is to Haarlem what Scheveningen is to the 

Hague, or Katwyk to Leyden: these Dutch towns, delightful in themselves, are made still 

more pleasant to live in by these seaside resorts, easily accessible by rail-cars, omnibuses, 

tram-ways or on foot; fishing-villages, all of them, but thronged the summer through by 

town people who come to sit or walk upon the beach, to listen to the music of the casino 
Vol. II.— 21 * * 


band, or to dine at the restaurants, and return to town as easily as tliey came. Zaandam — 
known among other things as the place where Peter the Great lived when he undertook to 
learn ship-building, his rude cabin still shown there, saved from tumbling to ruin by the 
late Queen of Holland, a Russian princess by birth — ^Zaandam is in itself, perhaps, hardly a 
place where one would look for an artist to be born ; but once born, he could not have a pret- 
tier place to be bred in, and as soon as the time came for him to try his hand at learning, 
Haarlem would be found close by with its riches of picturesqueness and its treasure-hoase of 
pictures by Franz Hals, while, since no place in Holland is much more than a lialf day from 
any other place in the little kingdom, the artist would find all that he would need for inspi- 
ration in the Hague and in Amsterdam. To most of us, accustomed to the vast distances of 
America and to the inconveniences of travel, the smallness of Holland, and the delightful 
ease (to say nothing of the cheapness) with which one can move about, gives the visitor a 
most amusing surjDrise. " Well, Mr. Landlord," we said, after a week at the Hague, " we are 
thinking of going to Leyden. How do we get there, and how long will it take ? " " There is 
no need, sir, to think much about it : you can take the cars at almost any time and be in Ley- 
den in fifteen minutes." And as almost every town in Holland has something in it — art, or 
architecture, or picturesqueness — worth seeing, this projjinquity and accessibility make the 
country a rich mine to the traveller and to the artist. Mauve Avould not, of course, stay at 
y^aandam ; the Hague with its rich picture-gallery — which we are glad to know is not to be 
swallowed up in the new Ryks museum at Amsterdam — would draw him even more strongly 
than Haarlem, for, besides the pictures there, he would find himself in the company of artists: 
Mesdag and his accomplished wife, Israels, James and William Maris, Artz, ISTeuhnys, Blom- 
Tners (not at the Hague, but close by, at Scheveningen) and Bosboom — the whole galaxy of 
Dutch stars, twinkling or shining in that verdant heaven of the Hague. In this galaxy. 
Mauve is no doubt one of the chief stars. There is no reason in comparing him Avith Troyon. 
Beyond the fact that he often paints cow^s, there is nothing he has in connnon with the 
French master; he neither treats his subject in the same pictorial spirit, nor does his tech- 
nique at all resemble his. He often works in water-color, and by far the greater number of 
his works seen in this country are in that medium. The picture that we give of Mauve, 
" Bringing in the Boat " is a fine example of his early work ; more carefully, solidly painted 
than much of his later performance, and with a warmer, more golden tone than we are accus- 
tomed to see from his hand. He is not often found painting pure landscape ; he likes simple 



iLuman incident, or else he makes his landscape a setting for his cows or horses ; though the 
cow is the animal he likes best next to man. Almost all the landscapes we have seen from 
the hand of Mauve are inland — as inland as one can be in Holland, where the sound or -the 
smeU of the sea is never entirely absent ; but the i^icture we give is an exception to this re- 
mark, and we remember another, where horses are harnessed to carts that men are filling with 
sand from the seashore. But those we know best are scenes of wood-cutting, the logs piled 
up on either side, ready for carting; or of hedging and ditching; or of fields covered with 
snow and the shepherd painfully driving his huddled flock homeward along the sloppy road; 






or girls pasturing their cows, walking by the side of their charge — pastorals of the simplest 
motive, and dependent wholly for their interest upon the artist's treatment. That treatment 
is as pure and simple as the subjects themselves : his range of color is small, yet he is skilful 
to avoid monotony, and his pictures, seen in numbers together, have the charm of variety. At 
the time of his death his pictures had begun to be much sought for, and we were fortunate in 
the fact that, thanks to Mr. Cottier's initiative, so many of them, and such fine ones, were 
already in this country. 

Bernardus Johannes BLOAtMERS was born at the Hague in 1845, and was educated 

there at the Academy. Like all this company of artists, his life has been uneventful; he has 


continued to live and to Avork where he was born, and, indeed, when we are in Holland we 
cannot imagine to ourselves any reason why one who has had the good luck to be born there, 
should ever wish to leave it. England, France, Italy and Holland, it would seem, have in 
them a supplj^ sufficient of all that makes life worth living. Blommers, as will be seen by 
our picture, " The Departure of the Fishing-boat," has something in common with Israels, but 
in general he rather points to the inflaence of the older Diitch masters, to whom Israels owes 
his style of painting, while in his choice of subject he may have been affected by the example 
of Millet. As a painter, Blommers is certainly more accomplished than Israels, who is often 
felt to be deficient in technical qualities ; this shows more plainly when he is brought to close 
quarters with the precision and surety of hand of the Frenchmen. Blommers, on the other 
hand, is, without being more Academic than Israels, less wilful and more certain of himself. 
At the same time his |)ictures are less interesting than those of Israels, similar as are the sub- 
jects of the two men, for Blommers rarely, if ever, escapes from the hard facts, or seems 
moved by any desire to do more than paint. This is, of^course, the first duty of an artist, but 
the world at large is always more interested in an artist who can both paint and play the 
13oet at the same time. 

David Adolphe Constant Artz was born at the Hague in 1837, and after studying at 
the Academy at Amsterdam, went to Paris, where he studied for eight years under various 
artists, and then returned to the Hague, where he lives and works at present. We are told 
that he considers himself a pupil of Israels, although he has never been under that artist's 
direction, nor worked in his studio. But it is like enough he may have taken Israels as a 
model, and looked for his subjects in the same general direction. He has far less feeling and 
sentiment than Israels, and he is more bent on telling a story. Where Israels is content with 
merely recording a situation, simplifying it to the last point — a secret learned of the old 
Dutchmen — and setting it in as near an approach to the magically lighted gloom of those 
same older men as he can compass, Artz is thinking of how best to make himself understood 
by the ordinary spectator, how best to please those who are content to find in a picture a 
simple story clearly told. The picture we copy, " The Visit to Grandfather," is a companion 
to his " Visit to Grandmother," exhibited at Amsterdam in 1883, and is little more than a 
variant on that composition. 

Johannes Bosboom, born at the Hague in 1817, learned his art of Jacobus Van Brie, a 
Pntch artist who had studied with his brother, Matthias Van Brie, who, in his turn, had been 





















I- °= 





















taught in Paris in the school of Vien. Bosboom was also, for a time, in the studio of Girodet, 
and thus his art should by rights have some flavor of its French descent, but in fact nothing 
of the sort is to be detected in it. His early work may very likely have shown something 
more akin to the ostentatious science of Granet, or the cold correctness of Peter Neefs, but he 

"the visit to grandfather." 



long since left such things behind him if ever he were guilty of them, and submitted himself 
to the influences that had helped form his great predecessors Rembrandt and Pieter de 
Hoogh. His pictures deal with architecture only, and only with interiors, in the painting of 
which he has no equal at the present day. Nor, within the limits he has chosen, has any 
artist ever approached him in the management of light. His pictures stand alone, and though 
it is impossible, since Rembrandt has once lived, that any one should dispute his sovereignty 



on his own ground, yet it is mncli that an artist should be able to stand by Rembrandt's side 
and look in his face, and not be shamed. And this it may fairly be said that Bosboom can 
do. His magic brush, when he wills it, and he and life are perfectly in tune — for he is not 
always equal to himself — can transfuse the dusky gloom of these old Dutch churches with 
soft splendor, filling the air with motes of floating gold, touching with magic fingers the 
soaring arches of the groined roof, stealing from pier to pier, or brushing silently as with 
angel wings the broad fields of whitened wall, that only such a hand as his could redeem 
from vulgarity. It is no common power that can so deal with such material, for nowhere in 
Europe are the churches so hopelessly bare, dismantled and forbidding as they are in Hol- 
land, and only a man ^^ith a poet's eye and mind could restore them to us, as Bosboom does, 
recalling the day when religion went hand in hand with art. Tlie picture that we give shows 
only so much of this artist as can be translated into black and white. He is not a colorist, 
but his tone is masterly, and his power to get the effect of color out of these rich browns and 
golden bufi's and blacks is extraordinary: etching alone can come near to a translation of 
Bosboom at his best. 

Hendrik Wilhelm Mesdag was born at Groningen in 1831, where Israels, as we have 
seen, was born seven years earlier. However soon Mesdag may have felt drawn to art, he did 
not, Mr. Henley tells us, begin to paint iintil he was thirty-five. He studied at Brussels 
under Willem Roelop ; and also under Alma Tadema, and he made such good progress that 
four years after he had begun to paint, he received a medal at the Salon, where he exhibited 
as a pupil of Alma Tadema, showing two pictures, " The Breakers of the North Sea," and "A 
Winter's Day at Scheveningen." Eight years after, at the Exposition Universelle at Paris, he 
received a third-class medal, and after a gold medal at the Hague in 1880, he attained to 
first honors at the Salon of 1887 with his " Setting Sun." Although these are real distinc- 
tions and well earned, it is nevertheless true that Mesdag's place among the Dutch artists is 
not with the first: he owes something to his social position — his means are independent and 
he lives very handsomely at the Hague — and also something to his own strong character and 
helpful disposition: he is a leader in the art-circle at the Hague, and exerts a healthful influ- 
ence on the younger men about him. His art deals almost exclusively with the sea and the 
life of the people who live by it: the sailors and fisherfolk whose ways he has ample oppor- 
tunity to study in the pleasantly accessible sea-side villages of the Dutch coast, especially that 
of Scheveningen, which is only a half hour's ride from the Hague by tram-way, or a delight- 



ful walk if one prefers it. The two pictures by Mesdag which we copy give a sufficient idea 
of his style: direct and manly, avoiding tricks, and if without the romantic charm of Corot 

tr--''^ - — *^f * -^•-" • — 



or Diaz, or even so much of sentiment as is to be found in James Maris or Anton Mauve, yet 
satisfies the liking we all have for truthful rendering of the every-day aspects of nature. 


" On the Ebb " is a quiet scene of sea-sliore life, in which figures play a more important 
part than is usual iu Mesdag's pictures. The tide is going out, and the folks mast \Yait for 
its coming back before they can resume their work. So they sit on the shore and while 
away the time in simple fashion — the elders in chat, and the younger ones in quiet play ; an 
idling time, which is iu strong contrast to what we shall see Avhen the ocean, retixrning from 
its " dinner -hour," shall set to work again, and whistle-up all hands to work with it. The 
other illustration is a reproduction from a sketch by Zilcken after a painting by Mesdag, 
and is taken from the catalogue already referred to of the Loan Exhibition of French and 
Dutch pictures exhibited at Edinburgh in 1886. Mr. Zilcken's rendering is very clever, and 
conveys as much of Mesdag's picture as can be given iu black and white, but the medium is 
hardly fair either to the artist or to the scene, since the whole interest of Mesdag's painting 
lies in the truthfulness Avith which he renders the color as well as the movement of the water 
and' the beaut j' of the sky, and these can only be dimly suggested in such a drawing as this. 
The earth and the sky, the water and the sky : these are the grand, the simj^le, but the ever- 
varying elements the Dutch landscape-painter has to deal with. There are no mountains nor 
hills, no trees to speak of, no picturesque buildings — although, as we have seen in the case 
of Bosboom, an artist determined on the quest can wrest picturesqueness even out of the lean 
and bloodless interiors of the Dutch churches, just as Hobbema or Tina Blau (see ante, p. 291) 
can make charming an avenue of trees as featureless as bean-poles. In the richly varied use 
the Dutch painters have made of the slender material nature has provided for them — for slen- 
der it ai^pears to English, German and American eyes — the same power is shown, the power 
to make much out of seeming little, that is shown in all things Dutch. It used to be the 
sport of waggish spirits or of spleeny satirists, to ridicule Dutch economy, and to taunt them 
with the stinginess of nature. But tliere is no nation that might not be shamed by the com- 
parison of its use of its opportunities, Avith the use the Dutch have made of theirs, and, in fact, 
the satire of Andrew Marvell, so often quoted for its Avit, is tlie highest compliment to the in 
genuity, the energy and the perseverance of the Dutch in building-up an empire — for such it 
once was, and such it may be again — out of the most unpromising— one might, in fact, say 
the most hopeless —materials. And as they have made themselves a sea-coast — strong to resist 
the most threatening inroads of the ocean — first Avith stones, laboriously brought from far- 
away, since one may skirt all Holland round, and not pick up a pebble big enough to throw 
at a sand-piper; as they have laced their country Avith a net-\vork of canals to piece-out Na- 



ture's parsimony in denying them rivers ; as they have turned thousands of acres of mwass 
and quicksand into fertile and wholesome meadow-land ; so with little enough, as might have 
been thought, to go upon, they have put themselves at the head of the world in many of the 

"dutch fishing-boats." 


arts and sciences, and in painting have disputed tlie palm with Italy herself. Nay, in Italy, 
where the fame of her scenery might reasonably have led us to expect it, there has been no 
great landscape-painting, at any time, nor any really good painter of marines. Even in Venice, 
where far richer material may be found than in Holland, no native artist has risen to paint 


her beauties; she owes the report to strangers: to the French, Ziem; the Spanish, Kico; 
and the Americans, Whistler, Blum and Bunce. But Holland has, from far-away times 
doAvn to the present, found interpreters of her charms in plenty among her own children, and 
it will be remarked that while Holland offers few attractions for living, compared with Paris 
or London, her artists, as a rule, prefer to live and work at home. It must be noticed, too, 
that since the rise of the artists with whom this chapter is mainly concerned, Holland has 
come into fashion, and Dutch landscape, Dutch fisherfolk and sailors, Dutch interiors, are 
met with in exhibitions the world over, painted by English, French, German and American 
artists, many of whom make Holland a regular camping-ground nowadays, year after year. 

Before leaving Mesdag, it seems but right to say a word about Madame Mesdag, who is 
an excellent artist, and in the opinion of some good judges, a better painter than her hus- 
band. When, a few years ago, in company with Mr. William M. Chase, we called upon Mes- 
dag at his hoixse in the Hague, in response to an invitation received a day or two before at 
the Exhibition of the AVater-Color Society, where we haji been introduced to him, we were 
unfortunate in not finding him at home, but we were well received by Madame Mesdag, who 
showed us the studio and the house itself, rich in modern Dutch pictures and in French 
pictures of the Romantic school. There Avere several pictures in the studio by the lady her- 
self, one on the easel still unfinished, which gave a high idea of her talent in dealing with 
subjects similar to those painted by her husband. Madame Mesdag is distinguished also for 
her skill in painting flowers. 

We have now to speak of a remarkable family of artists who, in the persons of two of its 
members at least, stand at the head of the modern school of Dutch painters. These are the 
brothers Maris : Jacobus or James, Wilhelm, and Matthys, or Matthew. They were the sons 
of a printer who had also some skill as a painter, and allowed his sons to have their own 
way; so they all took to painting, or, at least, have all become painters. Yet one who knows 
them well, tells the writer that none of the three brothers wanted to be a painter ; they would 
rather be carpenters or tailors! "They have not," he says, "the least desire for fame, but 
work to get bread for their children." This may be true on one side, but it is impossible it 
should be what the French call " the true truth." As to one of them, Matthew, who in the 
j udgment of many, is the most interesting and purely poetical, not only of his family but of 
all the Dutch group, he has, unless we mistake, no wife nor family to get bread for. How- 
ever, all that is essential in the statement is no doubt consistent with a general observation, 


that the Dutch painters — those of the so-called " Hague " circle — do really take life and 'their 
art very easily, and might, like many distinguished artists before them, have been successful 
in any trade or profession they had chosen to take up. 

The eldest of the three brothers is Jacobus, or, as he is always called out of Holland, 
James. He was born at the Hague in 1837, and after a short time spent in the Academy 
there, went to Antwerp, where he studied at the Academy under De Keyser and Von Lerius. 
From Antwerp he went to Paris and entered the studio of Edouard Hebert, one of the pupils 
of Thomas Couture. In Paris, he first became acquainted with the art of Corot, Rousseau 
and Daubigny, with the rest of that circle of innovators, from whom he and the artists of the 
Hague group were to learn so much and receive so powerful an influence, while at the same 
time keeping their own individuality untouched, and in their turn influencing their own gen- 
eration. Besides working under Hebert, James Maris studied at the Beaux- Arts for four 
years from 1865 to 1869. He first exhibited at the Salon of 1866, where he appears as 
Jacques Maris and as a pupil of M. Hebert. His picture was "A Little Italian Girl,"' proba- 
bly nothing more than a study from the professional model. In the catalogue of 1867 we do 
not find his name. In that of 1868 he appears, still as Hebert's pupil, with a " Potato Gather- 
ing," and a " Borders of the Rhine, HoUande." The former of these two subjects would seem to 
point to the influence of Jean-Frangois Millet upon our artist, and the same may be said of the 
subjects of the pictures sent to the Salon of 1869, "A Woman Knitting," and "A Sick Child." 

But " after this," says Mr. Henley, " with occasional lapses into figure-painting, he seems 
to have devoted himself to landscape," and the following years show a succession of pictures 
with subjects dravm from the scenery of his native Holland. The public was to be congratu- 
lated on the change: it was plainly one dictated by the individuality of the artist; he had 
come, there could be no doubt of it, to his own. His figure-subjects had no particular reason 
for being; they were not, like those of Millet, the embodiments of his own experience or the 
expressions of his own sympathies; and though the mere painting may have been good 
enough to please people who care more for the execution of a picture than for the contents, 
those who looked for something more in subjects where men and women are the actors, than 
if only rocks and trees were the theme, could not be satisfied vnth these lifeless figures. 
But it was natural enough to begin with figure-painting, since not only do such subjects in- 
terest the general public more than landscape, but they call, of course, for a far higher order 
of talent, and an artist's pride is more gratified with victories gained in that field. Yet 



James Maris did wisely to follow his real inclination and the bent of his talent, as his suc- 
cess as a landscape-painter proves. Even while Corot and Rousseau were alive, he stood hi^h 





in the ranks of those who deal directly with what is called nature, and now that they are 
gone, there is no one to dispute his right to be named among the first of their successors. 

"the tow-path (HOLLAND).' 




He has not the poetry of Corot; the spark of the divine flame that made him of Ville d'Avray 
a light and a joy to his generation is not in James Maris, but tlien it is to be remembered 
how rare it is to find that spark in more than one artist, or poet, or actor, in a generation. It 
was in Turner, it was in Shelley, it was in Rachel, and it was in Corot; to expect to find it so 
soon again in another artist, would be rash. But if the gods have not made James Maris 
poetical, they have made him honest, and he is loyal to the nature that he loves, the vision of 
nature as she reveals herself in his native Holland. In the picture we copy, and which Mr. 
I. T. Williams, to whom we are already indebted for the examples of Michel and Ribot, pub- 
lished in our first volume, has most obligingly loaned us, all the best qualities of the artist 
are shown, some of them obsciired, as must always be the case in the attempt to render color- 
values in black and white. Mr. Williams owns another picture by James Maris, " Plough- 
ing," which only its size prevents our reproducing here. It is less a pure landscape than the 
present one, since the horses and the laborers take up a large part of the composition, but, 
after all, they do but emphasize the large and tranqiiil landscape, and, as it were, put a soul 
into it. In the picture we present, it is rather the sky than the earth that is in the artist's 
mind in selecting or creating his subject, and the sky is James Maris' just domain. " No 
artist," says Mr. Henley, " excels him in the painting of clouds." He is compared to Consta- 
ble, but while it is likely enough that the English painter may have inspired him, and in his 
visits to London he had freqent opportunity to study his pictnres, yet it was in Holland, the 
land of clouds, that he found a more living and a truer inspiration than could have been 
gained from any painter. 

William Maris, the youngest of the three brothers, was born at the Hague in 1844. 
He studied with his father and, as we are told, had no other instructor. He has remained at 
home, and still continues to paint in the city where he was born. He is called " Maris the 
Silvery," from the delicate, sun-lit sweetness of his pictures, with their twinkling trees, their 
level pastures, their slow streams creeping lazily between the rushes : their cattle asleep, or 
standing knee-deep in the cool water, or indolently pulling at the branches of the willows 
that shelter them from the heat. He loves to paint cattle, as does Anton Mauve, and the two 
pictures that we present give as good a report of him as we have been able to find. For the 
larger one we are indebted to Mr. James S. Inglis, of the firm of Cottier & Co. The smaller 
one is from an etching by William Hole, made for the catalogue of French and Dutch pic- 
tures already referred to. 



The tMrd of these brothers, Matthew Mabis, is to many persons the most interesting of 
them all, and certainly his talent lies altogether apart from theirs, in a region consecrated to 
poetry and dream. He is two years younger than his brother James, having been bom at the 
Hague in 1839. Like James, he went first to Antwerp and studied there at the Academy, and 
thence to Paris, where he followed his brother's course under Edouard Hebert and at the 
Beaux-Arts. Like James, too, he went to London, but here the likeness in their story 
ceases ; for while the elder brother returned to Holland and threw in his fortunes with his 
fellow-artists at home, Matthew has continued to live in London, and will in all likelihood 

"cows IN MEADOW." 


never leave that city. As for his field of work, it would be impossible to define it : he has 
painted landscapes, genre, still-life, portraits and decoration, but it may be said that all he 
paints is informed by the sj)irit of romance, sometimes intimate and human in its sympathies, 
but oftener beckoning us to a land of magic and mystery, where we wander gladly and with- 
out the wish to know more than that we are glad. ]\Ir. Henley finds in INLitthew Maris a 
painter to match Heine in his j^oetry, but he seems to us to suggest rather Coleridge in his 
" Christabel " or " Genevieve," and William Blake in his " Songs of Innocence and Experi- 
ence." But though he may recall the evanescent tremulous charm of such poetry as this, he 
recalls no other painter. In his best work he stands alone, and this as a painter, for it is on 



painting that he seems to us intent, and it is the beauty of his painting, the loveliness of his 
coloring, the richness of his tones, that make the charm of his pictures, and breed meaning 
or suggestion to the spectator's mind often with little more help from the artist than we find 

"he is coming." 


in the forms of clouds or in the coals on our hearth. This is not the case with all his pic- 
tures, but it is with all those that essentially express him, and it is partly so with the picture 
" He is Coming," which we copy from Zilcken's lovely etching originally published in Mr 



Henley's catalogue. This pretty maiden, turning from lier spinning-wheel in happy expecta- 
tion as she hears her lover's step, certainly belongs to the land of fairy-tales, and not to this 
dull, work-a-day world. But in Matthew Maris' picture the beauty of the painting, the 
richness of the blended tones, are so in accord with the sentiment of the figure that we think 
of it only as a whole, and gladly accept it as such. 

From these painters of poetry the passage to triflers like Kaemmerer or dealers in popular 
genre like Van Haanen and Henriette Ronner is somewhat of a descent. 

Fri:derik Hendeik Kaemmeeee was born at the Hague, so far as we can discover, and, 
like the I'est, after a few home-lessons went to Paris to complete his studies in an ampler 
field and with richer opportunities. He entered the atelier of Gerome, and in time returned 
to the Hague, where, we believe, he has since continued to live. He is one of the fortunate or 
unfortunate men, as we choose to look at it, who has painted one picture that has become so 
widely popular, and so well known, that it has set the standard by which everything he may 
paint hereafter is sure to be judged; and the chances are one in a hundred that any new 
picture will be allowed the equal of the first one. Kaemmerer's first picture was the " Wed- 
ding under the Directory," and this for a time kept the anecdote-loving half of the town in a 
fever of delight over what they had got, and in a glow of expectation for blessings that might 
be to come. And when the second came, in what may be called an entirely natural sequence, 
"A Baptism under the Directory," following the marriage in due time, it must be allowed 
that the public satisfaction was only so mnch cooled as might have been expected. If we had 
not been given anything entirely new, we had at least been favored with a little more of the 
delightful old! The place was the same, the people were the same, and the slight addition to 
the number was merely calculated to whet curiosity. The two pictures were well calculated 
to give pleasure to the general public: the spice of ancedote, the flavor of history, the sur- 
prise of the costumes— not so familiar to us then as now— the skill with which the story, such 
as it was, was told, the dexterity of the execution— all these, made up a delightful tid-bit for 
the lover of persiflage and gossip in painting, and secured an audience for anything that the 
artist might have to offer next. But that first success— counting the two pictures as one- 
has never been repeated. The other example we give, " The Dispute," has many excellent 
qualities— it has clear story-telling, force in execution, and displays more than common skill 
in drawing, but there is nothing beneath the surface and nothing in what appears, we will 
not say to fascinate, but even to give pleasure. There is no such appeal to the domesticities, 





to the merely liuman syinj)athies, as we find in the " Wedding '' and the " Baptism," while 
there was much to repel the lover of " pleasing " xjictnres in this bloody quarrel in a public 

Vol. II.— 22 




garden over a question des dames. Since then, Kaemmerer has been often in the public eye 
with pictures which recall that trick of the makers of mantel-i^iece ornaments who design 
groups that can either be sold in their entirety, or can be taken apart and the single figure 
sold separately. Many of the single figures that are found in the dealers' shops with Kaem- 



merer's name seem to be the materials of which his first successful groups were composed, or 
at all events to be merely the same personages in different attitudes. His present success, 
such as it is, is really one of reminiscent gratitude, so to speak: people who liked his "Wed- 
ding " and his " Bajitism " are glad to have, if they can, something to remind them of what 
they once enjoyed so much. 

Cecil Von Haanen, so far as we can learn, though he came of a Dutch family, was 



born in Vienna. The picture we give of his " The Cobblers' Shop " is one of many clever 
sketches he has made of every-day life in Venice— recording sights and scenes that have 
only the cleverness of the artist who records them to thank for the lease of life thus given 
them. Venice has lilled a hundred sketch-books with incidents of no more value than this, 
but taken in sum they crowd the mind with a busy, cheerful picture— a picture signed by so 
many names as almost to confound the memory, and mingle the honors due to Passini, Von 
Blaas, Blum, Von Haanen and the rest in one delightful anticipation, or one equally happy 
backward look upon life in the fairy city by the sea. 

Madame Henriette Ronner, born Knip, is a native of Amsterdam, and studied her art 
with her father. She has proved herself a good painter, finding her subjects in the same 
world of animals where so many artists of our day delight to live, and give delight to a 
wide and ever-growing circle. Cats and dogs are Madame Ronner's pets, and she likes to 
paint them, either as here in " The Sewing-School," simulating, or at least suggesting, their 
human relations, or engaged in some employment that associates them with " their betters." 
Madame Ronner, as an artist, is well known here, where many of her pictures have been 



IF the art pi'odaced in the two divisions of the great Northern peninsula has any individ- 
ual interest, it arises almost entirely from the fact that the artists as a rule find their 
subjects in the domestic life, tlie history, and the scenery of their own country; for, so 
far as technical qualities are concerned, they have in almost every case acquired their skill in 
foreign schools — chiefly in those of Prance and Germany. The painters of Norway have for 
the most ]part studied in Germany or at liome, and some of the principal ones, such as Hans 
Gude, Adolphe Tidemand, and Ludwig Mxmthe, are often counted among the Germans. The 
Swedish artists, on the other hand, while in many cases they have gone to Diisseldorf after 
finishing their preparatory studies at the Academy at Stockholm, have afterward made their 
way to Paris, and put themselves definitely under French instruction. This was the case 


with Alfred Walilberg, Hugo Sulmson, and Auguste Hagborg, to name only a few examples. 
Others, not a few, have remained constant to their native country and are content to owe all 
they have and are to her. Out of eighty-one works by Swedish artists in the Exposition 
Universelle of 1889, thirty-three were by artists who had studied in Paris under French mas- 
ters. Out of seventy Norwegian artists who exhibited, onlj^ seven — according to the official 
catalogue — had studied out of Norway. But it is natural that this should be the case. Both 
Norway and Sweden are comparatively j)Oor countries, and they have few advantages to offer 
those Avlio are moved by ambition and by a desire to win the great prizes of the world. The 
wonder must always be, first of all, that in these bleak and inhospitable climates, removed 
from the great centres of European civilization, and outside the stream of travel, the seeds of 
art and literature should ever be found to sprout at all ; much less should we wonder that 
hopes should arise of a larger growth and a freer blossoming, Avith richer fruitage, if once the 
young ]3lants could be transferred to a better soil and a more congenial climate. At all 
events, such has been the case thus far ; nor does there s,eem any likelihood that things will 
be different in our immediate time. Artists, if they would improve in their art, if they 
Avould even bring their talent to the light, need companionship with other artists; and they 
need, besides, something more than the mere access to museums, however well provided with 
pictures. They must either live in a world wliere art is so abundantly produced as to have 
become a necessity of daily life, or if that cannot be, then they iinust, if it were only once in 
a while, be brought into contact with some manifestations of art that shall stir them deeply 
and excite their enthusiasm. This last is what happi^ened to the artists of Scandinavia — 
in which category we may place Denmark along with Sweden and Norway — at the time of 
the French Exposition in 1878. 

Denmark in art, as perliaps in other things, is, to some extent, an extension merely of 
Holland, and ui? to the date of the Exposition her painters had satisfied themselves and their 
countrymen by working on the lines laid down by the old Dutch masters, looking at life and 
nature through spectacles that had become dull with convention and routine. But 1878 set 
the artists of the North in motion. They had sent their j)ictures to Paris, and they must 
needs follow them thither, and see how they looked in company with those of the rest of the 
world ! Certainly, the comparison was not reassuring ! They found themselves in the pres- 
ence of an art, larger, more instinct with life, turning strongly to the light, and eager to wrest 
from nature her most intimate secrets — hundreds, no doubt, failing in the attempt, where 



one had a little success. But it was neither the failure nor the success that interested these 
new-comers. It was the consciousness that they had to do with an art that was alive, and in- 
stinct with ideas native to the time; not an art of the past, galvanized into the semblance of 

Among those Danish artists who were inspired by the movement that was going on in 
the French studios, the most important name is that of P. S. Kroyer — "the most brilliant, the 
most fertile, the best known of Parisians," says M. Hamel. Oi^en-air subjects and interiors, 
landscapes in full sunlight, mysterious twilights, artificial lights — he attacks everything with 
a rapid certainty of hand which plays with difficulties. He is an astonishing improviser ; he 
has a genius for drawing; the pencil is never out of his hands; he notes down a likeness, a 
posture, an attitude — almost always a striking one. In two strokes he can create a physiog- 
nomy. Among Kroyer's best open-air subjects are " The Beach at Skagen " and " Night- 
Fishing," and he has lately added to the distinction earned by his " Soiree at Carlsberg," where 
the guests of the evening were really talking, listening, looking on, by his portrait-grouj) of 
" The French Art-Commission in Denmark." The purpose of this work was to commemorate 
the participation of the French artists in the International Exhibition of the Fine Arts held 
at Copenhagen in 1888 to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of the coming to the throne 
of Christian IX. and of certain reforms instituted by him. The picture was the result of a 
commission given to Kroyer by a wealthy brewer of Denmark, Mr. Jacobson, who has a 
great admiration for the French. Mr. Jacobson conceived the idea of an international exhi- 
bition, and he not only invited the leading French artists to take part in it, but himself built 
a wing to the exposition-building to accommodate their work. Desiring to perpetuate the 
memory of the event by a painting, he gave this commission to his countryman, M. Kroyer, 
who painted the group of portraits which was exhibited at the Paris Exposition in 1889. 
The principal French artists, Falguiere, Puvis de Chavannes, Roll, Bonnat, and others, are rep- 
resented seated or standing round a long table, talking, discussing, consulting; and the artist 
has succeeded in making an interesting picture out of what at the best can never be a very 
grateful one to an artist. In such a theme too much is imposed on the painter; too little is 
left to his own free will. This mention of M. Kroyer and his picture Avill serve to emphasize 
the fact of French influence in the art of Denmark, and yet that influence has not been strong 
enough to destroy all national feeling nor to make of the Danish painters a race of copyists 
and imitators. The laiidscape of Denmark still kee^js its charm for her amateurs of painting, 


as for her people at large; and the manners of their countrymen, the incidents of their 
national history, and the creations of their novelists and playwrights tind artists, and good 
ones, not a few, to record them. M. Viggo Johansen paints scenes from domestic life, but 
while they are strongly marked by native characteristics, they remind us of Munich rather 
than of Paris, and indeed we believe Johansen, who hails from Copenhagen, has not 
studied in France. M. Julius Paulsen, although known as a landscape-painter and counted 
among the best of the new time, has also distinguished himself as a painter of genre subjects 
where a vein of sentiment or mystic religious feeling lends a peculiar charm to what in other 
hands might prove mere commonj)lace. His " Mary with the Child," a peasant mother sitting 
in a rude, unfurnished garret by a bed, with her sleeping child upon her la^j, is full of tender- 
ness expressed with the utmost simplicity. 

The Academy at Copenhagen was founded by Frederick V., in 17.'56. The Academy at 
Stockholm was founded earlier, in 1735. The influences of French art in our time have been 
as potent in Sweden as in Denmark : as we have seen, nearly half of the artists exhibiting in 
Paris in 1889 had their training there. The first national impulse was given to art in Sweden 
by the painter Sandberg and the sculptor Fogelberg. Sandberg iDainted scenes from the his- 
tory of the country and from home-life, while Fogelberg drew his subjects from ttie mythol- 
ogy of the Eddas. The impulse once given, was followed by other artists, and in spite of the 
fact that so many of her j)ainters have been taught in Paris, there remains enough of national 
spirit and home-bred influence to found a school with some claim to distinctive character. 
Among the artists whose works attracted attention at the Paris Exposition were Richard 
Bergli, the most learned, the most sincere, and the most dexterous of fantasists ; Osterlind, 
the refined narrator of the " Baptism in Brittany," the charming humorist of " The Tooth- 
ache;" Zorn, a water-color "oirtuoso ; Liljefors, who loves Japan; Kreuger, Pauli, Anna 
Hirsch, Eva Bonnier, Ekstrom, Nordstrom, and Larsson, whose triptique, "The Renaissance; 
The XVIII. Century; Modern Art," decorative panels designed for the gallery of M. Fiirsten- 
berg at Gothembourg, might serve for an emblem of this art of Sweden : supple, laughing, 
and full of character, amirsing itself with sketches, with rapid notes of tender harmonies it 
meets in nature, while waiting for the time when it shall be ripe for more serious things. 

Little is known among us of Swedish art, or of Scandinaviar art in general; and even 
engravings and photographs of Swedish pictures are difficult to find here. The few pictures 
that come to us from these Northern countries, are for the most part painted by artists living 



in France and wlio have liad tlieir training there, and tlie dealers import them with others 
from the French market. One o\ two pictures by Hugo Sahnson, an artist born in Stock- 
holm and a pupil in Paris of P. C. Comte, have been bought in this country; one of them, 
"A Woman Peeling Potatoes," lately owned by Mr. George I. Seney, made a favorable im- 


pression on our public. Auguste Hagborg, born in Gothembourg, Sweden, lives in Paris, 
where, to judge by his style, he certainly had his training. He deals almost exclusively in 
his pictures with seaside-folk, and his way of dealing with them recalls sometimes the work 
of Haquette and again that of Feyen-Perrin. It is not always so sturdy and downright as 
the former, nor is it often so mistakenly refined as that of the painter of "Les Cancalaises." 
Yet while he apparently draws his subjects from nature, he seems to avoid showing them to 


us just as they are: like the street Arabs and boot-blacks of our own J. G. Brown, his fisher- 
folk are too neat and too fiee from the scars and stains of their hard work-a-day world. The 
example of Hagborg that Ave copj- is as good an illustration of his manner as could be shown. 
It is taken from a picture painted in 1888 for Mr. Reichard, who has obligingly lent it to us 
to copy. The subject is nothing: only a fisherman's daughter who has come to sit by the 
shore while her little brother sails his toy boat in the shallow water. We may fancy, if we 
like, that the girl's abstracted look is due to some absent lover sailing on the seas, but it is 
only a bovine exjDression of sentiment at the best, and we cannot feel much interest in it. 
The picture, if found pleasing at all, nuist content us as any sunny glance at youth and inno- 
cent lives contents us, too busy and too preoccupied with the teasing questions of daily life 
to look any cleeper into the matter, except to be glad in the knowledge that youth and inno 
cence still manage to keej) a footing in the world. 

Baron Thure von Cederstboji is the nephew of Baron Gustav Olaf von Cederstrora. 
The two are nearly of an age: Gustav born in 1845 at Stockholm and Thure in 1843 at the set- 
tlement of Gut Aryd, in th9 dreary province of Smaland. Both went in youth into the army, 
and after a brief service left it for the study of art. Gustav studied at first in Stockholm and 
then in Diisseldorf, but after a severe illness which obliged him to return to Sweden, he went 
to Paris and continued his training under Meissonier and Bonnat. Then, after a brief visit to 
Italy he returned to Paris, where he has since continued to live. Thure, on the other hand, 
made his studies wholly in Germany, at Diisseldorf and Weimar, and in Munich, where he 
still lives. He is best known by pictures such as the one we engrave — dealing mostly with 
monks in the fashion of Griitzner and Vibert, though with none of the bitter, half-concealed 
mockerj^ of the latter. He depicts, like Griitzner, the joUj^, good-natured side of the monastic 
life; his monks are forever pulling refractory corks, tasting good wine, i^rei^aring dinner, or, 
as here, amusing themselves in the sitting-room after dinner with listening to the clumsy 
singing and strumming of one of their number. In blissful unconsciousness of criticism, or 
indifferent to it, he gives himself up to the luxury of the C in alt., while the amiably satirical 
old prior, with a face like Voltaire, takes snuff in good-natured sufferance, his doubtful 
smile reflected in the full-moon face of the young monk behind his chair. On the other side 
of the stone pillar suj)porting the groined roof, against which our singer leans his back, an 
elderly monk, disturbed in his reading the newspaper by the vocal gymnastics of his brother, 
turns with ill-suppressed impati nee to listen, and on the other side of the room two monks 



make sly comments on the performance: one of fliem whispers in the ear of his companion, 
a fat and toothless old brother, who shakes with delight over his equally fat brother's vaulting 



ambition. Just as Hagborg illustrates the influence of French art on some of the Swedish 
painters, so Thure Cederstrom's picture shows the almost complete absorption of othgrs in 


CTerman ideas and methods. This j)icture was painted in Munich, and there is nothing in it 
to indicate that its aiithor is not a native of the city wliere he lives and works. 

The same thing may be said of Karl Gustav Hellqvist, except that he is to be credited 
with a preference in general for Swedish subjects, though his mode of paintiag shows no 

"the transport of the body of gustavus adolphus from the harbor of wolgast, 

JULY 15, 1632." 


peculiarities to mark his nationality. He began his studies with a decorative-painter and 
later entered the Academy at Stockholm, finally making his way to Munich, where he lives 
and works. His earliest picture, an unimportant episode in the religious discords of Sweden 
and Norway, is owned by our Metropolitan Museum of Art and gives a good idea of his 
style when he was under the influence of Baron Henri Leys — not as a pupil but as an ad- 
mirer. It represents the disgraceful entrance of Bishop Sonnanvader and the Provost Knut 



into Stockliolm in September, 1526. The two unfortunate men, seated on miserable hacks 
with their faces turned to the horses' tails, are entering the city accompanied by a jeering and 
insulting crowd. As it was impossible to extract any moral from such an unseemly spec- 



tacle, it may be thought hardly worth painting. Nor can much more be said of our picture, 
"The Transport of the Body of Gustavus Adolphus from the Harbor of Wolgast to Stock- 
holm." It is an academically painted subject, but while perhaps it drives in the trite lesson 
of the uncertainty of human greatness, it never seems quite the fair thing to do by a brave 



man, to choose the hour of fnih;re nnd defeat as a theme to commemorate. In the small bit 
from peasant-life which we copy, Hellqvist shows more natural, and seems more within the 
true bounds of his talent. These children have been to the wood to cut a tree for Christmas; 
they are enjoying the merry sledge-ride home, little brother manfully pushing, and his sister, 
well niulBed up, with an eye to the tree that rests on the sledge before her. The air is full of 



snow, the trees are loaded with the gathered flakes, and in the wayside shrine that shelters 
the rude image of the Crucified, there hangs a star, jilaced there by pious hands to recall the 
night of His birth. But it cannot be said that there is anything in the |)i<^ture from which 
to guess the artist's nationality. A hundred German artists, with brush, and pencil, and 
graver, have treated similar subjects in a language no way different, and with I'esults neither 
better nor worse. 

Alfred Leonard Waiilberg, born at Stockholm m 1834, is a landscape-painter of a 



much highei' order. He acquired the rudiments of his art in Diisseldorf, but it was froai 
Corot and Daubigny, with whom he studied later in Paris, that lie learned to look at the 
landscape from within, and to interpret rather than merely to copy it. His pictures of 
Northern scenery are not translated into the dialect of Munich, nor into the more refined 
speech of Paris. He belongs to his native Sweden, not only by the choice of his subjects; 
he reflects in his style the inner characteristics of the scenery he i^aints, as well as its 
forms. He shows us pictures of Sweden, painted in Sweden, by a Swede. By the courtesy 
of Messrs. Knoedler & Co., we ai'e enabled to give a pleasing example of Wahlberg's art in 
our copy of a recently painted picture of Swedish coast-scenery. 

Of other Swedish painters we know little, probably too little, in this country: of Hockert, 
once a great favorite, with his pictures of peasant-life in Dalecarlia, or his scenes in Lap- 
land; of Nordenberg, a pupil of the Norwegian Tidemand, nor of Wallander, Pernberg, and 
Saloman — but in truth these latter artists have had their brief day, and all they could do for 
us would be to serve as mile-stones to mark the distance the art of their native country has 
travelled in the twenty years since they were actors in the scene. 

For a long time, almost the only names of Norwegian artists 
that reached us here in America were those of Tidemand, Gude, 
and Dahl. They belong to the time when Norway and Denmark 
were politically united, but as we have already said, only their 
subjects distinguish them from the German painters who were their 
contemporaries, and among whom they had the chief part of their 
training. Adolpii Tidemand was born at Mandel in 1814, and 
studied first at Copenhagen, and afterward at Diisseldorf, where he continued to live and to 
teach. His subjects were drawn from humble life in Norway, and their treatment was in 
no way different from what we were accustomed to in the works of the Diisseldorf school. 
The same remark applies to Gude, born in Christiania in 1825, and distinguished as a painter 
of Norwegian scenery. He, like Tidemand, studied first at Copenhagen and later a^ 
Diisseldorf, where after some time spent in the Academy he entered the studio of Schirmer, 
and while there painted his first picture that attracted notice. He then returned to Norway 
and remained there several years, giving himself up to a close study of the scenery. He after- 
ward, on the death of Schirmer, his early master, took that artist's place as professor in the 
art-school at Carlsruhe. His pictures of the coast of Norway, its precipitous cliffs, deep 



fiords, and wide-spreading bays, are so well known that we have preferred to give an exam- 
ple of his style in dealing with a softer subject, and have selected an etching of his own to 
copy, a " View of the Bodensee, or Lake of Constance." In 1880 Gude went to Berlin, where 
he established in the Academy a studio for teaching landscape-painting. It Avill be seen that 
not only by his training, but by his life-long residence in Germany, Gude must be reckoned a 

"the lake of CONSTANCE." 


German painter, but it is true that he has confined himself almost exchisively to painting 
the scenery of his native country, and that on all occasions when he takes part in public ex- 
hibitions, he appears as a Norwegian. 

LuDWiG MuNTHE, born in Aaroen, in Norway, in 1843, studied in Biisseldorf, but under 
no particular master. In his wandering- year he visited the Netherlands, France, Scandinavia, 
and Italy, and came back laden with stxidies which have since stood him in good stead. His 
pictures have often been brought to tiiis country, and have not only been much liked by 



amateurs, but have had a marked influence on one or two of our American artists. His win- 
ter-scenes are perhaps those most commonly met with, but he is fond of choosing the hour of 



sunset, when he can ligliten up the icy fields and frozen pools with the warmth of a ruddy 
Qrb whose comfortable rays are seen through a network of bare boughs. The characteristic 


landscape u-Jiicli we copy is from a painting obligingly loaned us by Messrs. Kuoedler & Co. 
Anotlier interesting Norwegian painter is Adelsten Nokmanx, born at Bodo. His subjects 
are all taken from Norwegian scenery, and his three pictures in the Paris Exposition of 1889 
were much admired. Last in our brief list is Frithjof Smith-Hald, born at Christiansand, 



but living in Paris, where he probably had his training. He, too, finds all his subjects at 
home, and the one we have selected gives an idea of his style as satisfactory as can be ob- 
tained from the material at our command. 

.-. ^■^,<^m^' 




Xn'y^. Jafe" 




P5t.»5?— '^S^P'^'-Ti^f^ 

TDT? DDT3bfiTl 


* .#,•• 

".N*»#:-.^; ^ 

■■■:■V■i:p'■^^^v^i ■'. 

• --vj