Sorrow; above them are those who are beginning to look upward, and the
sorrow in their faces is subsiding into anxious inquiry; still above
them are those who, having caught a gleam of the sources of
consolation, express in their faces a solemn calmness; and still
higher, rising in the air, figures with clasped hands, and absorbed,
upward gaze, to whose eye the mystery has been unveiled, the enigma
solved, and sorrow glorified. One among these, higher than the rest,
with a face of rapt adoration, seems entering the very gate of heaven.
He also showed us an unfinished picture of the Temptation of Christ.
Upon a clear aerial mountain top, Satan, a thunder-scarred, unearthly
figure, kneeling, points earnestly to the distant view of the kingdoms
of this world. There is a furtive and peculiar expression of eager
anxiety betrayed in his face, as if the bitterness of his own blasted
eternity could find a momentary consolation in this success. It is the
expression of a general, who has staked all his fortune on one die. Of
the figure of Jesus I could not judge, in its unfinished state.
Whether the artist will solve the problem of uniting energy with
sweetness, the Godhead with the manhood, remains to be seen.
The paintings of Jesus are generally unsatisfactory; but Schoefier has
approached nearer towards expressing my idea than any artist I have
yet seen.
The knowing ones are much divided about Schoeffer. Some say he is no
painter. Nothing seems to me so utterly without rule or compass as
this world of art Divided into little cliques, each with his
shibboleth, artists excommunicate each other as heartily as
theologians, and a neophyte who should attempt to make up a judgment
by their help would be obliged to shift opinions with every circle.
I therefore look with my own eyes, for if not the best that might be,
they are the best that God has given me.
Schoeffer is certainly a poet of a high order. His ideas are beautiful
and religious, and his power of expression quite equal to that of many
old masters, who had nothing very particular to express.
I should think his chief danger lay in falling into mannerism, and too
often repeating the same idea. He has a theory of coloring which is in
danger of running out into coldness and poverty of effect. His idea
seems to be, that in the representation of spiritual subjects the
artist should avoid the sensualism of color, and give only the most
chaste and severe tone. Hence he makes much use of white, pale blue,
and cloudy grays, avoiding the gorgeousness of the old masters. But it
seems probable that in the celestial regions there is more, rather
than less, of brilliant coloring than on earth. What can be more
brilliant than the rainbow, yet what more perfectly free from earthly
grossness? Nevertheless, in looking at the pictures of Schoeffer there
is such a serene and spiritual charm spread over them, that one is
little inclined to wish them other than they are. No artist that I
have ever seen, not even Raphael, has more power of glorifying the
human face by an exalted and unearthly expression. His head of Joan of
Arc, at Versailles, is a remarkable example. It is a commentary on
that scripture - "And they beheld his face, as it were the face of an
angel."
Schoeffer is fully possessed with the idea of which I have spoken, of
raising Protestant art above the wearisome imitations of Romanism. The
object is noble and important. I feel that he must succeed.
His best award is in the judgments of the unsophisticated heart. A
painter who does not burn incense to his palette and worship his
brushes, who reverences ideas above mechanism, will have all manner of
evil spoken against him by artists, but the human heart will always
accept him.
LETTER XLIV.
BERLIN, August 10.
MY DEAR: -
Here we are in Berlin - a beautiful city. These places that kings
build, have of course, more general uniformity and consistency of
style than those that grow up by chance. The prevalence of the Greek
style of architecture, the regularity and breadth of the streets, the
fine trees, especially in the Unter den Linden, on which are our
rooms, struck me more than any thing I have seen since Paris. Why
Paris charms me so much more than other cities of similar
recommendations, I cannot say, any more than a man can tell why he is
fascinated by a lady love no fairer to his reason than a thousand
others. Perhaps it is the reflected charm of the people I knew there,
that makes it seem so sunny.
This afternoon we took a guide, and went first through the royal
palace. The new chapel, which is being built by the present prince, is
circular in form, with a dome one hundred and thirty feet high. The
space between the doors is occupied by three circular recesses, with
figures of prophets and apostles in fresco. Over one door is the
Nativity, - over the other, the Resurrection, - also in fresco. On the
walls around were pictures somewhat miscellaneous, I thought; for
example, John Huss, St. Cecilia, Melanchthon, Luther, several women,
saints, apostles, and evangelists. These paintings are all by the
first German artists. The floor is a splendid mosaic, and the top of
the dome is richly adorned with frescoes.
Still, though beautiful, the chapel seemed to me deficient in unity of
effect. One admires the details too much to appreciate it as a whole.
We passed through the palace rooms. Its paintings are far inferior to
those of Windsor. The finest royal paintings have gone to adorn the
walls of the Museum.
