taste and the morals were French, and were consequently supposed to be refined and civilised. "At the same time," however," there was a ferment in the minds of men, a vague craving for something new, a disposition to hail with delight everything which might at first sight wear the appearance of originality."* Winckelmann drew attention towards Rome, and Lessing, beyond dispute the first critic of his age, produced his " Dramaturgie" and his "Laöcoon." The influence of these works on German minds and morals, on German literature and arts, cannot be over-estimated. Before their light vanished the ugly and demoralising phantom of bad taste. While denouncing the evil, they pointed to the source of pure and true taste-to the classics, to the antique statues, to the Raphaels and Michael Angelos. Raphael Mengs, whom some have styled the German Raphael, and Asmus Carstens, by birth a Dane, the worthiest disciple that Raphael and Michael Angelo have ever had, became the leaders of a new school, and made Rome a worthier object of the student's attention. It was a time of war and want when those intellectual struggles began. The great were without courage, nay, even without the means of encouraging the fine arts. Still the artists struggled on. Nobler minds had become electrified by Lessing's writings, and German literature was no more a mere name. With this new and welcome apparition painting and the other fine arts went hand in hand. Though the pictures of that period still bore the French influence stamped upon them, they became the fertilising soil from which sprung higher and nobler works. At this time flourished our two German painters, Eberhard Wächter and Gottlieb Schick. To both belongs a foremost place in the history of modern art; both were painters in the highest sense of the word. They have not founded "schools," but their influence and their works drew attention to nobler subjects, and caused nobler efforts. Carstens was dead, but he could not have bequeathed his ideas to minds better fitted to receive them than those of Wächter and Schick. Both were pupils of the celebrated David, and both afterwards went to Rome. One died within our own remembrance, old, broken down, and forgotten; the other in all the vigour of life-at the age of Raphael— half a century ago. More shining names have almost obliterated those of the two great reformers of painting. French, English, Italian, and German critics have spoken highly of their works, but time has partly swept away their memory from amongst us. We, therefore, have to thank Professor Haakh for the short account of the lives of his two worthy countrymen which he has given us, as well as for editing their letters. We will give an outline of their lives, with some extracts from their letters, and will begin with Schick, who died young, a circumstance which, though of a painful nature, adds another charm to the life of a painter. Gottlieb Schick was born in 1779, and, like Wächter, a native of Würtemberg. He had a great taste for drawing, and his aim was to become a great painter. Perhaps, like Gainsborough, he covered his copy-books and those of his schoolfellows with sketches in great variety, * Macaulay. and perhaps, when those youthful pictures were discovered, his alarmed father, like that of the sweetest English painter, exclaimed involuntarily, "The boy will be hanged!" but added upon reflection, "The boy will be a genius." He did become a genius. Those who have seen his "David playing before Saul," or his "Apollo amongst the Shepherds," or his "Noah's Sacrifice after leaving the Ark" (all at Stuttgart), cannot forget them. If Death had not taken him so early from amongst us, he would, without dispute, have become one of the first, if not the first, of the reformers, not only of the German school of painting, but of art in general. When young, Schick was the pupil of Hetsch and of the famous Dannecker. Few pupils have shown such a gratitude for their masters as he displayed for the great sculptor. They became friends for life, and some of the young painter's most touching as well as most lively letters are addressed to Dannecker. As the French school of painting at that period still held the sway over all painters, our young artist, too, went to Paris, to complete his studies under David. But the great prototype of theatrical mannerism, who himself was a pupil of Boucher, and the young man who had other notions and ideas full of simplicity, of true and original beauty, of natural loveliness and natural observances, did not understand each other. Schick improved little, for he had higher aspirations. Rome was his goal, and to Rome he went. There his genius broke forth, and he improved more in three months than he had done in three years at Paris. The mere sight of Rome had something inspiring for the young man. When he first caught sight of St. Peter's, of the Capitol, of the cypresses of the Eternal City, he says: "Joy almost took away my breath as we approached Rome. I shouted like a child on Christmas-day." And in a letter to Dannecker he says: "I am greatly pleased that I can write to you from Rome. It is ten days since I arrived here; but it seems but a day. I am bewildered and as if dreaming. Before I went to Rome, I could not understand how Raphael could have painted so many beautiful faces; now, being in Rome, I wonder why others, who trod the same soil, did not paint faces equally beautiful. All faces here, even those of the beggars (who form the greatest part of the population), have a vast deal of expression, and contrast strongly with the round and meaningless faces of our German countrymen. Amongst the women you see sometimes a Juno, a Minerva, or a Venus. All are beautiful, all!"* The Duke of Würtemberg (afterwards King Frederick) had allowed him a small stipend in order to enable him to complete his studies in Rome. Schick was grateful, for he painted his first picture for his royal protector. It was "David before Saul," now in the Stuttgart Gallery. The subject was well chosen, and the composition altogether his own. working hard, for his ambition was high. He was "To rise in painting above the ordinary level, and to acquire a lasting name-this is what requires much, infinitely much! Art is so high, so deep, and so broad a thing, that no end of it is to be seen; and it wants more than a man's short life to become perfect in it. * Rome, October 22, 1802. The ways to it are dark and crooked; and 'the disciple finds a path only with the torch of the genius!"* While engaged with this noble picture, he renewed his acquaintance with Wilhelm von Humboldt (the celebrated brother of the still more celebrated Alexander) and his amiable and gifted wife, as he afterwards became intimately acquainted with A. W. Schlegel, the brothers Tieck, the witty and amiable Prince (afterwards Grand-Duke) George of Mecklenburg-Strelitz-the "Papa Pantalon" of the sarcastic Berliners-nay, even with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who wrote a critique on his paintings. The connexion with the Humboldts, whom he had already known when in Paris, and whose house in Rome now was the centre of all that was great or distinguished in art or sciences, led to his painting several portraits of the family, and hence to other portraits. But he never liked this department of art, though his portraits, which show the liveliest conception and truthfulness, rivalled those of Angelica Kaufmann. His "David" was finished after he had been twelve months at Rome, and in the following year, 1804, he began his "Noah offering Burnt-sacrifice after leaving the Ark." This picture at once established his fame. He exhibited it in the Pantheon, and all Rome went to see it. Italian and French critics were unanimous in their just praise. "My picture," he writes to Dannecker, "is now exhibited in the Pantheon, and has obtained the greatest praise from the French, the Italian, and the English; only the Germans have formed two parties, one for, the other against, the picture. Those who are favourable show me the greatest respect, ask my advice, &c.; but the others try everywhere to avoid me. Both go too far in their opinions for I am persuaded that it is neither so good as some, nor so bad as others wish to make it. The first artists-French, Italian, and German-have overloaded me with praise, and unanimously say that the picture is one of the best of modern times. If I had a cheerful mind, I might be pleased and contented with myself. But this is wanting. If formerly I had thought that one day I should become one of the first artists, honoured and esteemed, I should have been proud and vain beforehand. But now, having all this, what am I? Am I happy? A daylabourer is happier than I am!" A. W. Schlegel wrote about the "Noah" to Goethe in the highest terms. The picture was sent to Stuttgart, but did not meet with such a reception as the painter and his friends had expected. Schick received a poor remuneration-that was all. No encouragement-no deserved praise. The picture had been a full year in travelling from Rome to Stuttgart (the war then raging was the cause of many delays at this period). A year of anxieties, of expectations, of fear, of sorrow! Our political, literary, professional, and other similar labours, can only be represented by their actual results, while their various processes are quite incapable of being set before us in description. Who can paint, for who can discern, the secret cares, the silent studies, the vigils, and the toils, the sweat and agony of life? These, and they are the larger part of the existence of most of us, lie altogether out of the novelist's domain, while their products can be only specified by the biographer or the historian. It was at that time that Schick became acquainted with his future *Letter to his friends at home. wife, daughter of the English landscape painter and picture dealer, G. A. Wallis, in whose house he for a time had taken up his lodgings, and where he became acquainted, too, with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, then living for some months as an invalid under Wallis's roof. The whole tale of that love we find in his letters. He was poor, his expectations at home were next to nothing, but his love overcame all obstacles. "I, like all poor and feeble mortals," he writes to his sister" I am in want of love; but if I did not obtain this love in the highest degree, I would rather give it up for ever. I know that I should give to my wife my whole life, my whole mind, my happiness; that I should not hide from her the inmost feelings of my soul: but I should require as much from my wife. This high degree of love and affection, nevertheless, does not dwell amongst men; it only lives in my fancy, and thus it may, perhaps, be better that I remain alone with my pretensions and go alone through the world. I should not be so difficult to please in any other object as in this." And in another letter: "After her it will be impossible for me to love another woman. Her memory I will for ever fill my mind; and time will rather increase than diminish my love. I have done wrong to raise my eyes from a dead picture to a living one! My art should have been my all and everything-should have contained my whole happiness; such should be my destination in this world-nothing else. If I should be happy enough to return to this my proper sphere, I shall be blind to all other worldly business, and shall live like a monk, for nothing but art. I have always been inclined to sadness and to melancholy, and this quiet and pious city has increased the inclination. I have seen enough of the world, and shall try to be content within myself. Into that high world of art and science I desire to enter now; and hope to become worthy of a higher existence through the elevation of all my mental powers." And in another letter to his friends at home he thus describes the object of his love: "It was more her amiable character than her beauty that made me fall in love with her. A description of this character would take up too much time, but I must tell thing of it, for it is so very singular. She rises at daybreak, feeds her pigeons, chickens, dogs, cats, and tortoises, and, having done that, she prepares breakfast for her father. When all this is done, the other members of the family make their appearance. She herself does not partake of the breakfast, but has some figs, or a pomegranate, or a bunch of grapes. At dinner, where she presides, she eats so little that I do not understand how she can exist. All that is considered a dainty she does not eatonly soup and vegetables: and her supper is almost next to nothing, and consists of fruit. She is neither fond of balls nor of public promenades; she never goes to concerts or theatres. She sits waiting, all alone, for her father till long after midnight, until he comes home from the conversazioni or from the theatres. She goes down to meet him with a light, and at any hour of the night her sleep may be disturbed by him. She sometimes has to light a candle for him that he may write or read, for he sleeps badly; nay, even in winter she has to get up during the night, on his account, to light a candle and fire for him, or even to prepare an extemporary meal. In spite of all this, her father prefers his * Rome, July 14, 1804. you some † Letter to Dannecker. Rome, August 4, 1804. younger son to her, because he flatters him, a thing which is quite contrary to her nature. She even has to be the servant of this younger brother, but she never complains. She always is in a good humour; her looks are calm and contented, and her bright and friendly eyes are always serene. She is what she seems to be, and she seems to be what she really is."* Such was the young woman our artist loved-loved with his whole mind and his whole heart. A woman in the highest sense of the word. Who does not bend All patience, all endurance, all kindness, all love. in reverence before such a woman? A spirit, yet a woman too. Her household motions light and free, A countenance in which did meet They were married on the last day of 1806. As both were Protestants, they went to Leghorn to be united for ever at the English chapel there. Then they settled in Rome, but Schick thought of returning to Stuttgart. Such were his dearest dreams. He expected a small pension from the King of Würtemberg. He was all hope and happiness, and we find the following lines in a letter to his friends at home, written a short time before his marriage: "In my present high spirits I have painted a sketch, of which I can be justly proud. The subject of it is Apollo amongst the shepherds, and I intend making a large painting of it. . . . There is only one thing yet to make me the happiest of mankind, namely, good news about my pension for this would take away all sorrows repecting my future livelihood. Portrait-painting, it is true, saves me from want; but to paint portraits-when I remember the two lastt-has filled me with such disgust, that it is with terror that I think of being soon compelled to paint another." But these pleasant dreams were not realised. As we have said, his picture of "Noah" was not received with such enthusiasm at Stuttgart as it deserved. Schick received a small sum of money-that was all. No hint of a future reward—no encouragement. Such was the reception of a picture which at once made him rank first among the artists of his time. We have but one excuse for this. It was a time of war and of sorrow. Germany was suffering under the iron rule of Bonaparte. Princes and kings were created, and princes and kings were banished; to-day a king, to-morrow a fugitive. In more peaceable times Schick might have gone to Berlin, where he would have met with a more favourable and congenial reception than in his own country. The two Humboldts, or Queen Louisa's brother, Prince George of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, would have aided him. But now things had changed throughout Germany. * Rome, October 12, 1804. †The portraits of two remarkably plain persons. |