^F.P.BAGLEY,^ 
 
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 in 2014 
 
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THE 
 
 ESTHETIC AND MISCELLANEOUS 
 WORKS 
 
 op 
 
 FREDEEICK VON SCHLEGEL. 
 
LONDON 
 
 PRINTED ET SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. 
 NEW-STEEET SQUABE 
 
THE 
 
 ESTHETIC AND MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 WORKS 
 
 OP 
 
 FREDERICK VON SCHLEGEL: 
 
 COMPRISING 
 
 LETTERS ON CHRISTIAN ART 
 
 AN ESSAY ON GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE 
 
 REMARKS ON THE ROMANCE-POETRY OF THE MIDDLE AGES 
 AND ON SHAKSPERE 
 
 ON THE LIMITS OF THE BEAUTIFUL 
 
 ON THE LANGUAGE AND WISDOM OF THE INDIANS. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 
 BY 
 
 E. J. MILLINGTON. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 
 1860 
 
THE GETTY CENTER 
 LIBRARY 
 
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 The aesthetic works of F. von Schlegel, which form a portion 
 of the present volume, have long been known, by reputa- 
 tion at least, to all true lovers of art, although now for the 
 first time translated into the English language. 
 
 His ideas and opinions on the true scope and intention of 
 Christian art will, perhaps, be new to some readers, and must 
 unquestionably afford matter of high interest to all. Never 
 has the proper sphere of painting been more beautifully de- 
 fined, or its lofty ideality more intelligibly and intellectually 
 developed. 
 
 The treasures of art, concentrated in Paris during the 
 period of Napoleon's triumphant rule, first suggested the 
 idea and supplied the materiel of the beautiful letters,- now 
 presented to the English reader ; still our author's descrip- 
 tions of the paintings of the old masters there assembled, 
 vivid and exquisitely charming as they are in themselves, 
 are but the groundwork of a glorious superstructure ; for, by 
 the aid of those inspired paintings, he unfolds to our minds 
 all the simplicity and purity of Christian art ; its profound 
 yet expressive symbolism and exquisite spiritual loveliness. 
 He thus leads us through all the varied characteristics of the 
 old masters, from the tragic wildness of G-iotto, and the devout 
 inspiration of Fra Angelico, to the wondrous allegories of 
 Mantegna, and the daring and sublime conceptions of the 
 heaven-taught Raphael. 
 
 A 3 
 
vi 
 
 translator's preface. 
 
 M. Rio, in his " Poesie de l'Art Chretienne," especially 
 notices this work of F. von Schlegel, as well as his observa- 
 tions on Mantegna's wonderful style.* 
 
 The characteristics of Leonardo Da Vinci, Correggio, and 
 others of that school, are dwelt upon at some length : 
 Schlegel styles them " musical painters," from the exquisite 
 harmony of combination displayed in their colouring ; he 
 unravels the mysterious signification of many of Correggio's 
 designs, defends those striking contrasts of light and shade, 
 beauty and deformity, which have been censured as inimical 
 to correct taste, and opposed to the received laws of art, and 
 traces them all to a lofty and inspired source, the influence 
 of which is more or less distinctly visible in all the works of 
 the old masters, — inseparable indeed from that better period, 
 when painting had not yet been diverted from its first and 
 holiest office, and was still the handmaid of religion, devoted 
 chiefly to the adornment of the sanctuary, the beautifying of 
 devotion, and to the purposes of instruction in scriptural 
 subjects.f It is to an intention of illustrating the constant 
 opposition or antagonism of the principles of good and evil, 
 that we are to attribute the glaring contrasts in design and 
 
 * See note to Letter I. page 7. 
 
 f " Picturae ecclesiarum sunt quasi libri laicorum," is the observation 
 of a writer of the twelfth century. See Comestor ; Historia Scholastica. 
 Subjects were sometimes arranged in cycles, — among these were, the 
 Joys of the Virgin : 1. Annunciation ; 2. The Visitation; 3. Nativity; 
 
 4. Adoration of the Kings ; 5. Presentation in the Temple ; 6. Christ 
 found by his Mother in the Temple ; 7. The Assumption and Corona- 
 tion of the Virgin. Secondly, the Sorrows of the Virgin : 1. The Pro- 
 phecy of Simeon ; 2. The Flight into Egypt ; 3. Christ disputing with 
 the Doctors in the Temple, — missed by his mother ; 4. Christ betrayed ; 
 
 5. The Crucifixion (the Virgin and St. John only present) ; 6. The de- 
 position from the Cross ; 7. The Ascension (the Virgin left on Earth). 
 And, thirdly, the principal Events of the Passion, as the seven hours 
 of the Passion, viz. : 1. The Last Supper; 2. The Agony in the Garden ; 
 3. Christ before Caiaphas; 4. Christ before Herod; 5. Christ crowned 
 with Thorns ; 6. Pilate washing his Hands ; 7. The Crucifixion (the 
 Centurion and others present). — Note to Eastlake's Literature of the 
 Fine Arts, 
 
translator's preface. 
 
 vii 
 
 colouring of Correggio's church pictures ; those, for instance, 
 of " La Notte," and « St. Jerome," called also " II Giorno." 
 A flood of heavenly light and beauty is poured out upon 
 those characters or themes which symbolize the predominant 
 influence of good ; while gloom, hideousness, and . deformity, 
 seem, on the contrary, to warn us of the presence of what is 
 evil. This antagonism appears to have been a ruling prin- 
 ciple of religious belief from the very earliest times. We 
 trace it in the higher systems of Pagan philosophy, where 
 it can scarcely have been borrowed immediately from the 
 inspired pages ; and this fact is forcibly illustrated by 
 Schlegel, in the Treatises on Indian Philosophy and Eeli- 
 gion, with which the present volume concludes. 
 
 The same principle, under the form of Dualism, gleams 
 forth in Pagan philosophy, and returns like the dim memory 
 of a purer faith ; a fitful ray, emanating from the original 
 fountain of light and truth, and gradually obscured and pol- 
 luted, as men wandered farther from the traditions of their 
 first fathers, till, receiving a new impulse from the divine 
 doctrines of Kevelation, it was admitted and embraced as a 
 high moral truth by the earliest converts to Christianity 
 
 Schlegel touches also on the peculiarities of the Spanish 
 schools of Murillo and Spagnoletti ; — on the appropriate 
 choice of subjects for painting, and the true principles on 
 which a division of the art into separate branches should be 
 founded ; he deprecates the puerile distinctions between 
 landscape, portrait, flower, and still-life painting, and con- 
 tends that each separate style is perfect only in its true posi- 
 tion and office, namely, when contributing to the significance 
 and adornment of that highest order of religious painting, in 
 which a severe grandeur of design and conception is united 
 with the loftiest spiritual symbolism. 
 
 In the fourth and last letter we have observations on 
 painting by various masters of the early German schools, 
 
 A 4 
 
viii 
 
 translator's preface. 
 
 with a critical analysis of the peculiar excellencies and cha- 
 racteristic features of those schools generally. 
 
 In fact, so glowing and yet precise are all the descriptions 
 of pictures contained in these letters, whether of those ex- 
 hibited in the Louvre or elsewhere, that they alone would 
 render the work highly valuable and interesting to the 
 general reader. The pictures referred to have been carefully 
 collated with the catalogues used by Schlegel, and the pre- 
 sent locality of most of those which have been removed from 
 the Louvre is also noted. 
 
 In his concluding remarks, Schlegel offers a few sugges- 
 tions to young artists of the present day ; and his observa- 
 tions will be valuable, not only to those who seek to restore 
 a better and purer taste in art ; but also to amateurs, who 
 desire to form a correct estimation of the paintings of the old 
 3nasters, and to comprehend their deep meaning and intention. 
 
 The " Letters on Gothic Architecture," which follow 
 those on Painting, will perhaps, among the numerous valu- 
 able works now published in that truly interesting branch 
 of art, excite less attention than the preceding ; still they are 
 valuable, on account of the descriptions given in them of 
 several ancient Gothic churches in Germany and the 
 Netherlands ; and also as displaying Schlegel's enthusiastic 
 veneration for an art, which indeed harmonised most entirely 
 with the prevailing bias of his own mind and genius, as well 
 as with his ideas of the spirituality, or rather, perhaps, I 
 should say, the spiritual character and universal symbolism 
 of Christian art, whether in architecture or painting. 
 
 Remarks on Mediaeval Literature seem appropriately to 
 succeed a dissertation on the painting and architecture of the 
 middle ages. And our Author's acknowledged critical and 
 literary taste gives double value to his observations on the 
 best known writers of that period, both in northern and 
 southern Europe. 
 
translator's preface. 
 
 ix 
 
 He dwells with peculiar fondness on the works of Boc- 
 caccio and of Camoens. He claims for the former a degree 
 of poetic merit, which has not usually been conceded to him, 
 and I must acknowledge that, in my opinion at least, these 
 claims are not quite satisfactorily supported. That Boccac- 
 cio's soul was deeply imbued with the poetry of feeling 
 and imagination, no one probably will deny, but still this 
 faculty is traced in his prose works far more vividly than 
 in his poetical compositions. The " Filostrato," of which 
 Schlegel first speaks, I have never read; but, judging from its 
 character, it can afford little scope for that depth of feelings 
 that glowing intensity of imagination and passion, without 
 which poetry is but a name. The " Teseide" may pro- 
 bably be the first example of the " Ottava Binia," but it 
 certainly has little merit beyond the melody of the versifica- 
 tion ; and the shorter sonnets and idylls interspersed in the 
 " Decamerone," and the "Ameto," scarcely afford a sufficient 
 basis on which to rear the lofty superstructure of a poet's 
 fame. Yet the first page of the " Fiammetta," — that exqui- 
 site romance which Boccaccio dedicated to the memory of 
 his first happy love for Maria of Naples, and its too brief 
 duration, — stamps upon every mind the irresistible conviction 
 that the writer was, in the truest sense of the word, a poet. 
 None but a poet could have so transformed his nature, so 
 comprehended and so pourtrayed the passionate earnestness 
 of a woman's love ; the heart-rending loneliness of her de- 
 sertion and despair, the deceptive hopes, the wayward fears> 
 which at length subside into a yet more fearful calm, — that 
 chilling apathy, which breathes less of resignation than de- 
 spair. In this work there is less of that revolting licence 
 with which his gayer tales are stigmatised ; and in spite 
 of its questionable morality, it has more of the refinement 
 and spirituality of true feeling. It may, indeed, be doubted 
 whether Boccaccio was worthy to offer, or the Princess 
 
X 
 
 translator's preface. 
 
 Maria to receive, so noble a tribute of unchanging affection ; 
 still, whatever may be our opinion on this point, the work 
 itself still remains an eternal monument of genius, if not of 
 faithful love. 
 
 The story of " Florio and Biancafiore" is exquisitely 
 related; full of simplicity and tenderness. A precisely 
 similar romance is given in Ellis's " Metrical Komances," 
 under the name of " Florice and Blaunchflour." Ellis, how- 
 ever, makes no allusion to Boccaccio's novel, but supposes 
 the romance to be either of Spanish origin, or more probably 
 translated into Spanish from some French metrical romance, 
 I have in my possession a copy of Boccaccio's novel, printed 
 in 1570, which differs in some trifling points at the conclu- 
 sion of the tale, from the sketch of it given by Schlegel ; 
 the latter, however, assimilates more to Ellis's version. 
 
 Schlegel recapitulates the other works of Boccaccio ; and, 
 after some comments on the genius of Petrarch, Tasso, and 
 various Italian poets, passes in review the Provencal MSS., 
 then in the royal library at Paris, and draws attention to the 
 exquisite musical beauty of the Castilian and Portuguese bal- 
 lads, romances, and love-songs. Of Camoens, he speaks with 
 all the enthusiasm that such a theme might well inspire. 
 The gifted, the noble, the chivalrous, — and, alas ! that we 
 must add — the ill-fated and unhappy ; his personal history 
 might well kindle into enthusiasm a colder heart than 
 Schlegel's : — his hopes, disappointed both in love and 
 glory ; his country's ingratitude, and still more her declin- 
 ing fame, do indeed invest, the " Lusiad," that first, last 
 strain of the Lusitanian muse, with undying glory and 
 interest. 
 
 Schlegel's admiration of our own Shakspeare is no less 
 warmly expressed than that of his brother, A. von Schlegel, 
 in his " Lectures on Dramatic Literature." He insists, per- 
 haps rather pertinaciously, on the authenticity of those old 
 
translator's preface. 
 
 xi 
 
 plays, which our critics have almost universally rejected ; but 
 this is a question on which it is unnecessary here to enter. 
 
 The account of German paintings, exhibited at Home in 
 the year 1819, is interesting, because it appears to illustrate 
 the first development of those better principles by which the 
 modern schools of Germany have for some time past been 
 guided; and probably much of the enthusiastic veneration 
 for early Christian art, since displayed in that country, 
 may owe its rise to the earnest and eloquent appeals con- 
 tained in the preceding Letters on Christian Art. The 
 present school seems certainly, whether with intention or 
 unconsciously, to have followed his counsels, and we will 
 hope that the final result may justify his most ardent 
 aspirations. 
 
 The " Tale of Merlin," which, in Schlegel's collected 
 works, is printed in the same volume with that of " Lother 
 and Mailer," has been so well rendered by Ellis, in the early 
 Metrical Romances *, that it was considered unnecessary 
 to repeat it here. Those familiar with mediaeval romance 
 will observe many little similarities of detail in the story 
 of " Lother and Mailer " with several of the same period ; 
 seeming to prove that the author was familiar with other ro- 
 mantic fictions of the day. The same remark will apply also 
 to some of the tales of Boccaccio. I allude particularly to 
 Mailer's sudden disappearance at the close of the tale, which 
 reminds us of a similar circumstance recorded in the life of 
 Guy of Warwick. The poison prepared for King Orschier 
 by the servant of Otto, — the false accusation to which Zor- 
 merin is subjected in consequence, — her condemnation, and 
 sentence to be burnt alive, — the execution of which is pre- 
 vented only by the sudden appearance of Lother, who proves 
 her innocence by vanquishing the accuser, — strikingly re- 
 semble a passage in " Morte Arthur," where Guenever, thus 
 
 * Published in one of the late volumes of the " Standard Library. ■ 
 
xii 
 
 translator's preface. 
 
 accused and condemned, is rescued only by her gallant 
 lover, Sir Lancelot. In Boccaccio's " Florio and Bianca- 
 fiore," also, the latter, falsely condemned on a similar pre- 
 text, is bound to the stake, and owes her life to the prowess 
 of the youthful Florio. 
 
 A treatise on the language and wisdom of the Indians, with 
 which the volume terminates, will be read with deep interest 
 by all who have given any attention to this branch of study. 
 It is, however, but a mere outline of what Schlegel wished to 
 effect ; for, well convinced of the importance of Oriental tra- 
 ditions, both philosophical and religious, and of their bearing 
 upon revealed truth, he had long desired to make them fami- 
 liar to European readers, but was prevented by the difficulty 
 of procuring correct types for the Indian and Persian cha- 
 racters. There is, indeed, a great want of distinctness in the 
 type employed for the Persian characters in the volume be- 
 fore us ; and it is therefore hoped that any inaccuracy in the 
 Persian words (which in the translation are printed in 
 English type), will be pardoned. 
 
 Nothing can be more elevating than the tendency of 
 Schlegel's opinions on almost all points connected with phi- 
 losophy, literature, or the arts. His remarks on Oriental 
 Philosophy, Pantheism, Dualism, the migration of nations, 
 and other important points, throw great light on historical 
 researches and investigations ; and harmonise completely 
 with the opinions set forth in his " Lectures on the Philo- 
 sophy of life," and on the " Philosophy of History." 
 
 In the literary Life of F. von Schlegel, prefixed to the 
 translation of the latter work, the "Letters on Christian 
 Art," here published, are mentioned in terms of the highest 
 praise, and the subject of each letter sketched with a mas- 
 terly hand. The analogy between the three arts, of sculpture, 
 music, and painting, there referred to, is, however, only 
 slightly noticed in these letters ; but this new and fascinating 
 
translator's preface. 
 
 xiii 
 
 theory will be found more fully developed in the " Philo- 
 sophy of Life." lecture xii. p. 261. ; " On the Symbolical 
 Nature and Constitution of Life with reference to Art 
 and the Moral Relations of Man." 
 
 In the little treatise on the " Limits of the Beautiful," 
 which in the present volume follows the highly interesting 
 descriptions of "Schloss Karlstein," and the "St. Cecilia," (a 
 grand altar-piece painted by Ludwig Schnorr,) Schlegel more 
 fully carries out that principle of the union between nature 
 and art, — the real and the ideal, — which is slightly touched 
 upon in the " Letters on Christian Art." The subject is 
 handled in this treatise with all the warmth and enthusiasm 
 which such a theme would naturally excite in a mind like 
 Schlegel's ; and his arguments are enforced with masterly 
 vigour and energy. Few, indeed, will read it without feeling 
 that a new sense of beauty has dawned upon their hearts, — 
 that their minds have been awakened to higher and more 
 glorious ideas of art ; while many of its costliest treasures, 
 though not unprized before, will henceforth be judged by a 
 new standard, and be invested with new interest, both for 
 the intellect and the imagination. 
 
 Schlegel continues repeatedly to urge that the lofty in- 
 tention of art can only be fully realised when the contrasting 
 elements of soul and sense, the lofty spirituality of feeling 
 and expression, and the more earthly attributes of human 
 love and earthly beauty are kept in equipoise ; in other 
 words, that harmony and a carefully balanced proportion of 
 nature and spirituality from the perfection of art. This is 
 the thesis from which our author takes his departure ; and is 
 the point on which he so strongly insisted in his advice to 
 modern German artists. 
 
 Schlegel clearly defines the limits that should be assigned 
 to each division, and shows that those limits cannot be ex- 
 ceeded, without infringing on the province of other equally 
 
xiv translator's preface. 
 
 important elements of artistic beauty. He points out the 
 numerous errors and false paths, into which even men of 
 genius have been beguiled, by confining themselves to one 
 particular attribute alone, or in becoming mere copyists. To 
 use our Author's own eloquent words, in reference to the 
 destructive influence exerted upon art, by an exclusive 
 imitation of mere material forms, whether in nature or 
 sculptured marble : " As in the moral world there is but one 
 virtue, so in art there is but one true path. Perfection con- 
 sists in the union of the idea and vitality ; every thing that 
 breaks this union, < — every deficiency on the one side or the 
 other — is a fault ; and if further developed, or adopted as a 
 principle, will lead to mannerism. The idea, if suffered to 
 predominate, produces works that are cold and inanimate, or, 
 at least, in some measure, deserve the reproach of hardness. 
 The attempt, on the other hand, merely to copy nature and 
 life, may in cases produce strong effects, as many of the 
 naturalisti have done ; but, with the loss of ideality is ba- 
 nished all deep meaning, and even that internal character, 
 which forms a most essential condition of art."* And, 
 again, in attempting to fathom the mysterious source of 
 genuine Christian beauty, how nobly does he contrast its 
 spiritual and immortal loveliness with the character of earth- 
 liness stamped by pagan superstition upon all its creations, 
 whether the theme chosen for representation be suggestive 
 of unbounded enjoyment, or of deep and hopeless agony ? It 
 is a system of sensualism, as apart from spirituality, that 
 pervades all existing monuments of classic art, and may be 
 traced also in all known systems of mythology, whether 
 emanating from the gloom and terror of the Scandinavian 
 north, or the softer regions of luxurious Asia. The passage 
 alluded to is in the fourth Letter on Christian Art. " In 
 what, then, does this exalted (Christian) beauty consist? It 
 
 * Page 295. 
 
translator's preface. 
 
 XV 
 
 is of the first importance to analyse the good and evil ten- 
 dency of all theories of the art. . . The true object of the art 
 should be, instead of resting in externals, to lead the mind 
 upward into a more exalted region and a spiritual world ; 
 while false and mannered artists, content with the empty glit- 
 ter of a pleasing imitation, soar no higher, nor ever seek 
 to reach that lofty sphere, in which genuine beauty is pour- 
 trayed according to certain defined ideas of natural charac- 
 teristics. The path to which they limit themselves is the most 
 vivid development of all sensible forms, — the fascination of 
 grace, the highest natural bloom of youthful beauty, yet en- 
 dowed rather with sensual attractions than the inspired love- 
 liness of the soul. When heathen artists attempt to take a 
 higher range, they wander into exaggerated forms of Titanic 
 strength and severity, or melt into the solemn mournfulness 
 of tragic beauty ; and this last is the loftiest point of art 
 they can ever reach, and in this they sometimes approach to 
 immortality." * 
 
 Little remains to be said in conclusion. The fame of 
 Schlegel's works is already too widely diffused to need com- 
 ment from the translator's pen. His opinions are quoted by 
 Kügler, Rio, Montalembert, and many others. Montalembert 
 especially notices in eloquent terms the lofty faith and ge- 
 nuine devotional feeling by which his remarks are invariably 
 distinguished ; and although members of a different commu- 
 nion may find it impossible to concur in all his opinions, still 
 his refined taste and elevated views will be echoed by the 
 hearts of all who desire to see art elevated to its highest 
 point of perfection ; and in their reverential love for holy 
 things, would have them as pre-eminent in external grace and 
 beauty as they are rich in the hidden treasures of spirituality 
 and devotion. 
 
 There is too much reason to regret, that in a translation it 
 
 * Pages 145, 146. 
 
xvi 
 
 translator's preface. 
 
 is impossible to do more than render with fidelity the sen- 
 timents and opinions of the Author. To clothe those senti- 
 ments in language as eloquent as his own, — to give to those 
 opinions the stamp of earnestness and truth, which they 
 bear in the original, would demand a mind of kindred genius, 
 rather than the timid hand of an unpractised translator. 
 Her present efforts have no other claims to indulgence than 
 zeal and an anxiety to do justice to a theme so highly in- 
 teresting and attractive ; an earnest reverence for genius, 
 and all the glorious associations connected with its deve- 
 lopment in early Christian art, and an ardent love of beauty, 
 under every form and aspect, whether intellectual or mate- 
 rial. These have supported her in a task which may, never- 
 theless, be considered as presumptuous as it has proved 
 arduous. 
 
 The artistic portion of the work has been submitted to the 
 revisal of Mr. Worn urn, to whose critical judgment and dis- 
 cernment the translator feels highly indebted. 
 
 Nov. 1848. 
 
 E. J. MlLLINGTON. 
 
AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 A taste for the imitative arts is not like that spontaneous 
 poetical susceptibility, which nature herself has implanted in 
 every mind. The traces and indications of poetical feeling 
 may sometimes appear to be almost effaced ; yet it is only 
 because the fine spirit is dulled, and its perceptions blunted 
 by the heavy external pressure of daily cares and the chill- 
 ing, mechanical routine of actual life. Fancy, with her 
 gushing feelings, her sympathies of memory and anticipa- 
 tion, is an intrinsic element of the human soul, ever ready 
 to vibrate at the faintest touch, and start into responsive 
 life : but, to discern the beauty of material forms, fancy and 
 imagination alone will not suffice, they must have a pecu- 
 liar bias and direction, and be blended and inter-penetrated 
 with a high development of those sensual organs to which 
 each of these arts peculiarly addresses itself. Nor does this 
 taste depend upon the organisation alone ; a person may be 
 endowed with visual organs of the most perfect structure, 
 nay, of more than ordinary acuteness, and yet no perception 
 of beauty be associated therewith. The faculty by which 
 the eye becomes endowed with a clear, inborn perception 
 of the beautiful in painting and in material form, or 
 the ear awakened to the spirit of sound and its delicate 
 harmonious magic, lies rather in the mysterious depths of 
 organisation and the special qualities of the soul in its un- 
 
 a 
 
xviii 
 
 AUTHORS PREFACE. 
 
 seen spiritual life, — in a combination and union of the 
 senses and imagination, scarcely explicable even by the 
 gifted individual himself. 
 
 We cannot, therefore, be surprised if learned inquirers, 
 deep thinkers, and even poets of genius, are often deficient 
 in the perception of beauty in the imitative arts, and per- 
 haps, after a life-long occupation amid its themes and subjects, 
 remain either insensible to its powers, or are for ever fol- 
 lowing contrary and opposing impulses. A taste for beauty 
 in painting, no less than in music, must be innate ; but when 
 thus primarily existing in the soul, the feeling awakens and 
 unfolds itself simultaneously with the sight of beauty ; still 
 continual contemplation of the art is required for a perfect 
 comprehension and elucidation of the ideas connected with it. 
 
 Whoever wishes to introduce new opinions or peculiar 
 ideas of Art, must first strive to initiate others into his own 
 process of contemplation, and the full scope of his views ; 
 lest his meaning, obscured by general abstract terms and 
 conventional phraseology, fail to address itself at once with 
 truth and impressiveness to the understanding. 
 
 I date the starting point of my artistic contemplations from 
 the antique collection at Dresden ; and a few introductory 
 words will suffice to explain its influence on my mind. In 
 early youth, when about seventeen years of age, the writings 
 of Plato, the Greek tragic poets, and Winkelman's intel- 
 lectual works, formed the mental world in which I lived ; 
 and often, in my thoughtful and poetical solitude, I at- 
 tempted, though in but a boyish manner, it is true, to call 
 up before my soul the ideal forms and expression of ancient 
 gods and heroes. 
 
 In the year 1789, my mind fraught with joyous aspira- 
 tions, I arrived for the first time in a capital highly de- 
 corated with works of art, and was no less happy than 
 surprised to see before me images of those ancient gods 
 
author's preface. 
 
 and heroes, so long and ardently desired. Among them I 
 wandered or mused for hours, particularly in that incompar- 
 able collection called the " Mengsischen Abgüsse," * which 
 were then placed, with little order or arrangement, in the 
 garden of Brühl ; and where I frequently suffered myself 
 to be locked in, in order to pursue my contemplations un- 
 disturbed. It was not, however, the magnificent beauty 
 of the forms alone, although it satisfied and even surpassed 
 my silently nursed anticipations, but rather the life and 
 action of these Olympian statues, which filled me with 
 astonishment, because, in my lonely dreamings, I had formed 
 no such conceptions, nor even supposed their execution pos- 
 sible. These ineffaceable first impressions formed the firm 
 enduring basis of my classical researches in succeeding 
 years. 
 
 In the Dresden Gallery, at that early period, those paint- 
 ings alone spoke to my heart and senses, which by grandeur 
 of conception, and simple majesty of form, harmonised with 
 the ideas of the antique, which then completely filled and 
 influenced my mind. In a subsequent residence at Dresden, 
 in the year 1798, after I had learned to understand and ap- 
 preciate the romantic poetry of the Middle Ages, and the 
 deep, spiritual love-sense with which it is imbued, I became 
 alive to new and peculiar beauties in the paintings of the 
 great masters. I felt the hidden charms of soul and expres- 
 sion, and that magic of colouring which we learn to compre- 
 hend by the teaching of love alone. The taste for painting, 
 thus newly awakened in me, unfolded itself yet more fully 
 during my last stay at Dresden, in the spring of the year 
 1802, immediately before my visit to Paris, where I had op- 
 
 * Plaster casts of antique statues made under the direction of Raphael 
 Mengs, and now in the royal palace of Dresden, under the Picture 
 Gallery. — Translator. 
 
 a 2 
 
XX 
 
 author's preface. 
 
 portunities of seeing the grand collection in the Louvre, 
 which my frequently repeated visits, during the few suc- 
 ceeding years, enabled me to examine thoroughly and com- 
 pletely. Hence arises my continued recurrence, in the de- 
 scription of paintings at Paris, to the treasures of art at 
 Dresden, which, with the principles of Gothic architecture 
 imbibed at Cologne, mark the centrepoint of my copious 
 studies of the Art ; and both alike induced me to attempt 
 a development of the long-lost, neglected, and now again 
 reviving ideas of Christian Art and beauty, by the still ex- 
 isting examples of its perfection. I had, at a later period, 
 contemplated annexing to this work reminiscences of a tour 
 in Italy in the year 1819 (which, though short, was from 
 circumstances rich in opportunity), and likewise a few lec- 
 tures for artists, &c. upon the Idea of Christian Beauty ; 
 but my limits do not permit it, and they must be reserved 
 for a subsequent volume of this collection*, which a careful 
 revisal, and re-examination of some early principles, has 
 already extended much beyond the limits I had originally 
 prescribed to myself. 
 
 F. v. Schlegel. 
 
 * This remark refers to the original German edition ; the whole series 
 of works here alluded to by the Author are inserted in a collected form 
 in the present volume. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Translator's Preface ----- Page v 
 
 Author's Preface ------ xvii 
 
 I. Description of Paintings in Paris and the Netherlands in 
 the Years 1802 — 1804. 
 
 Letter I. — The Gallery of the Louvre and the Collection of Pictures 
 there exhibited. Observations on some Works of the old Italian 
 School, and the peculiar Genius and allegorical Style of Correggio's 
 Compositions. On the Resemblance between Correggio and Leonardo, 
 and their Style and School. On the various Styles of Portrait 
 Painting adopted by the old Masters, Holbein, Leonardo, Titian, 
 and Raphael. Conclusion, and Description of a few old Dutch 
 Pictures by John Van Eyck, Hemmelink, and Dürer - 1 
 
 Letter II. — Characteristics of Raphael. The difference between 
 the old Schools of Italian Painting and the Modern Style. On the 
 Selection of Christian Subjects for Painting, and the Manner in 
 which the old Masters treated Mythological Subjects. Description 
 of a few remarkable Paintings of the Spanish School, with Observa- 
 tions on the general Principles on which the Distinction between 
 different Branches of the Art of Painting is founded - 42 
 
 Letter III. — The Treasures of the Art exemplified in a recapitula- 
 tion of different Paintings belonging to the old Italian School. 
 The " Caritä " of Andrea del Sarto, and a " Deposition from the 
 Cross," by Bramante ; the " St. Agatha " by Sebastian del Piombo. 
 On Martyrdom as a theme for the Art, and the earliest Subjects of 
 Christian Paintings. On Diirer's Designs, considered as suggestive 
 Ideas for Paintings. The " Madonna della Sedia " and the " Saint 
 Cecilia," of Raphael. Painting by Le Sueur. Remarks on a few 
 antique early French Monuments; on Painting on Glass. The 
 " Antiope " of Titian - 72 
 
xxii 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Letter IV. — The "Victory of Alexander," by Altdorfer. Paint- 
 ings of the old School of the Netherlands at Brussels ; Great Altar- 
 piece by Raphael in the same City. The Gallery at Düsseldorf; 
 " The Grand Martyrdom," by Dürer ; the " St. John," and a 
 u Holy Family," by Raphael. Guido and Rubens considered as 
 the two opposite extremes of Mannerism in Painting. A Duplicate 
 of the " St. Margaret " of Raphael at Cologne ; a few Figures of 
 Saints on a gold ground by Dürer. Old Cologne School of Paint- 
 ing ; a grand Altar-piece of the Three Kings, and the patron 
 Saints of the City of Cologne. A Series of old Pictures of the 
 Passion of Christ in the Lieversberg Collection. Portrait of the 
 Emperor Maximilian. Remarks addressed to the Painters of the 
 present Day - - - - Page 111 
 
 II. Principles of Gothic Architecture. 
 
 Notes of a Journey through the Netherlands, the Rhine Country, 
 Switzerland, and a part of France, in the Years 1804, 1805. 
 
 149 
 
 III. Contributions in aid of the Study of Romantic Poetry and 
 
 Genius. 
 
 1. On the Poetical Works of Giovanni Boccaccio, 1801 - 200 
 
 2. On the Romantic Poetry of the Middle Ages. Notice of a few 
 rare Italian and Spanish Poetical Works. Observations on Ca- 
 moens and Portuguese Poetry in general, with a Review of the 
 Provencal MSS. at Paris ----- 224 
 
 S. On the Poetry of the North - 243 
 
 4. Further Observations on Shakspeare's early Dramatic Works 272 
 
 IV. Modern German Paintings. 
 
 On the German Paintings exhibited at Rome in the Year 1819 - 283 
 
 V. Romantic Fictions of the Middle Ages. 
 
 Preface ------- 309 
 
 " Lother and Mailer/* a Tale of Chivalry, from an unpublished Ger- 
 man Manuscript - - - - - -310 
 
 VI. Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 1. Schloss Karlstein, near Prague, 1808 - 400 
 
 2. The " St. Cecilia," painted by Ludwig Schnorr, 1823 - 407 
 
 VII. On the Limits of the Beautiful - 41S 
 
CONTENTS. XXÜi 
 VIII. On the Language and Philosophy of the Indians. 
 
 Preface ------ Page 425 
 
 Book I. 
 
 i\ vr mtif Tktt\t a v T . a vr»ir a pit 
 
 
 Chap. 1. 
 
 On f ho Inn l an T onrrnorpo oonovQ 1 i \r 
 V/ll XIlvlltKl J-idUg liti^t; ^UIlcI clll 
 
 
 2. 
 
 On the Affinity of the Roots , - 
 
 - 429 
 
 3. 
 
 On the Grammatical Structure 
 
 - 439 
 
 4. 
 
 On the two Principal Branches of Lang 
 
 uages, accord- 
 
 
 ing to their internal Construction 
 
 .. 446 
 
 5. 
 
 On the Origin of Language 
 
 - 453 
 
 6. 
 
 On the Difference existing between the 
 
 most closely 
 
 connected Languages, and a few remarkable inter- 
 
 mediate Dialects - 458 
 
 Book II. On the Indian Philosophy. 
 
 Chap. 1. Preliminary Remarks - 465 
 
 2. On the Doctrines of the Metempsychosis, and on 
 
 Emanation „ » 468 
 
 3. On Astrological Belief, and the wild Worship of Na- 
 
 ture - - 477 
 
 4. The Doctrine of the Two Principles of Dualism - 482 
 
 5. On Pantheism - - - - 489 
 
 Book III. Historical Ideas. 
 
 Chap. 1. On the Origin of Poetry - 496 
 
 2. On the earliest Emigration of Nations - - 500 
 
 3. On Indian Colonisation and Indian Legislature - 504 
 
 4. On the general Importance of the Study of the Oriental 
 
 and Indian Literature, and its true Aim and Object. 
 
 Page 515 
 
 General Index ------ 527 
 
DESCRIPTION OF PAINTINGS 
 
 IN 
 
 PARIS AND THE NETHERLANDS 
 
 IN 
 
 THE YEARS 1802—1804. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 The Gallery of the Louvre, and the Collection of Pictures there exhi- 
 bited. — Observations on some Works of the old Italian School, and 
 the peculiar Genius and allegorical Style of Correggio's Compositions. 
 
 — On the Resemblance between Correggio and Leonardo, and their 
 Style and School. — On the various Styles of Portrait Painting 
 adopted by the old Masters, Holbein, Leonardo, Titian, and Raphael, 
 
 — Preliminary Observations on the general Character of Raphael. — 
 Conclusion, and Description of a few old Dutch Pictures, by John 
 Van Eyck, Hemmelink, and Dürer. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND AT DRESDEN. 
 
 September, 1802. 
 
 Before entering into an examination of the pictures now- 
 exhibited in the Louvre, I shall attempt to give you some 
 idea of the gallery itself, as this will, I think, contribute to 
 render my description of the pictures more intelligible. 
 
 The palace of the Louvre, though an ancient building, 
 can boast but little architectural beauty; certainly not in 
 that part of it adjoining the entrance to the Musee : it is, 
 in fact, a gloomy, irregular edifice, such as in past years 
 must have formed a fitting residence for the powerful and 
 arbitrary sovereigns of those turbulent and uncivilised times. 
 Under this character, the page of history has made its name 
 
 B 
 
2 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER I. 
 
 familiar to us, and it seems thus, from the associations con- 
 nected with it, but little fitted to form a temple for the 
 noblest of the imitative arts. A small side door affords ad- 
 mission to a collection of splendid pictures, which have 
 recently been transplanted hither from their native Italian 
 soil. Ascending one step, you enter a circular, well-lighted 
 saloon, devoted to the works of Italian art alone. On the 
 right, a long, narrow gallery stretches the whole length of 
 one wing, which, extending along the bank of the Seine, 
 connects the Louvre with the Tuileries. Here you encounter, 
 first, the paintings of the French school, followed by the 
 German and Flemish masters, comprising, however, but a 
 very small proportion of the chefs-d'oeuvre of the old German 
 school. Lastly come the Italian paintings. Among them 
 we find the works of Raphael and his followers, together 
 with the school of the Carracci ; nor would there be any 
 reason to complain of the hanging and general arrangement, 
 except that the light is feeble, and badly distributed. This 
 long gallery opens into a smaller one, running in the same 
 direction, containing works not intended for immediate ex- 
 hibition, or which require restoration : as, for example, the 
 "Transfiguration" of Raphael, and the "Madonna di Foligno," 
 also by that master. Here, unarranged, and resting care- 
 lessly one upon another against the wall, we see the master- 
 pieces of Perugino, and of the delightful Giulio Romano, 
 seen by few, and by fewer still admired and appreciated ! 
 We now return to the Grand Salon : the only one, in fact, 
 in which the pictures are seen to advantage, and the light 
 judiciously distributed. On the right is the Long Gallery, 
 and the smaller one running parallel with it ; on the left, an 
 apartment of moderate dimensions, in which are deposited 
 the designs of the old masters, the cartoons of Raphael, 
 Giulio Romano, &c. &c. : it contains also a few paintings in 
 water-colours, and in the centre, on costly mosaic tables of 
 lapis-lazuli and marble, stand a few of the most valuable of 
 the Etruscan vases. 
 
 I have here described the Grand Salon as I saw it in 1802. 
 But amid the continual mutations occurring in this city, not 
 even works of art can claim exemption from the general 
 influence ; consequently the gallery of the Louvre no longer 
 presents the same appearance as when I first visited it. The 
 
Letter l] 
 
 LOUVRE — GRAND SALON. 
 
 3 
 
 Grand Salon, and that appropriated to the designs of the 
 old masters, have been despoiled of their ancient treasures, 
 in order to make room for the productions of modern artists, 
 and they are now occupied by what we should term " An Ex- 
 hibition." A few months must elapse before the pictures 
 we love and reverence, or any others comparable to them in 
 merit, again adorn the walls. The following description 
 relates only to those which were to be seen at the time of 
 my first inspection. I shall, with the assistance of a cata- 
 logue* of that period, go through the whole ; but since then 
 many alterations have been made even in the Long Gallery. 
 A large number of the best and most famous paintings have 
 been removed, in order, it is said, to adorn the palaces of 
 St. Cloud and the Tuileries. I shall name only a few of 
 the most valuable of the Italian school, which are now mis- 
 sing: the "Fortuna" of Guido ; " Rinaldo and Armida ;" 
 " ^Eneas and Anchises," by Domenichino ; the " Marriage of 
 St. Catherine," and the " Antiope" of Correggio : their places 
 have been supplied by a few other valuable pictures formerly 
 in the Grand Salon, and also by some, which, though pre- 
 viously enumerated in the catalogue of the Long Gallery, are 
 not to be found in the present. I mention this circumstance 
 at the commencement, in order to avoid the necessity of 
 recurring to it hereafter : it will, I hope, be sufficient to con- 
 vince every one of the impossibility of giving a full and 
 complete description of all the pictures here. To this we 
 may add, that many have been sent into the departments ; 
 and I am assured by Visconti, that many highly esteemed 
 works of Perugino are exiled thither, not having been con- 
 sidered worthy a place in the national Musee. This will 
 appear incredible, and I heartily wish it were in my power 
 
 * The three catalogues by whose numbers I have been guided in this 
 description of the paintings in the Louvre, are the following: — 1. For 
 the Grand Salon, — " Notice de plusieurs Tableaux recueillis a Venise, 
 Florence, Turin, et Foligno, &c, exposes dans le Grand Salon du 
 Musee, ouvert le 18. Ventose, an 10." 2. For the Long Gallery, — 
 " Notice des Tableaux des Ecoles Francaise et Flammande, dont l'ou- 
 verture a eu lieu le 1 8. Germinal, an 7, et des Tableaux des Ecoles de 
 Lombardie et de Bologne, dont l'exposition a eu lieu le 25. Messidor, an 
 9." 3. For the Salon of Designs, — " Notice des Dessins Originaux, 
 Esquisses Peintes, Cartons, Gouaches, &c, exposes en Messidor de Tan 10." 
 
 B 2 
 
4 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER I. 
 
 to contradict an assertion so injurious to the good taste of 
 the Parisians. 
 
 I know you will be gratified by receiving a description of 
 the most remarkable of the old pictures here exhibited : I 
 also hope that my observations may not be wholly devoid of 
 interest even to others, who do not so completely enter into 
 my feelings on the subject of the art, as yourself and a few 
 other friends. In the first place, a tolerably complete de- 
 scription of all the paintings which at that period were here 
 exhibited, will already be historically valuable to many per- 
 sons, as recalling to the mind, in a more connected form, 
 things of which, amidst the changes and mutations daily 
 occurring in this country, they may retain but a slight re- 
 collection ; and secondly, every new collection of old paint- 
 ings forms a separate body, a novel combination, in examining 
 which the amateur often finds a new light thrown upon cir- 
 cumstances which till then had perhaps been unnoticed or 
 ill understood. 
 
 A decided relation may be traced between all the works 
 of any peculiar branch of the art, and, when examined in 
 connexion, they mutually elucidate each other. But how 
 widely scattered are all the members of this glorious body ! 
 Who can presume to say he has seen even once all that de- 
 serves to be studied and remembered ? And even supposing 
 any individual to have been so fortunate, how, scattered as 
 they are, can it be possible for his mind to retain a distinct 
 and vivid impression of the whole ? Each lover of art, there- 
 fore, feeling the impossibility of embracing more than a 
 portion of the great united body formed by the old masters, 
 would do well to fix upon some peculiar point, and thence to 
 define, as clearly as may be, a circle comprising all that he 
 has seen. I shall not myself attempt to conceal that when in 
 the Musee at Paris, the Dresden Gallery frequently recurred 
 to my mind ; and this remembrance was most useful to me, 
 especially in regard to Correggio, both collections being 
 peculiarly rich in the works of this deep-souled painter — 
 works which become intelligible only when viewed in con- 
 nexion, and which are still as vividly present to my mind as 
 though I had looked on them but yesterday. My acquaint- 
 ance with the Dresden Gallery was also most valuable to me, 
 in regard to Raphael ; for the famous picture of the " Mother 
 
LETTER I»] EARLIER AND MORE RECENT SCHOOLS. O 
 
 of God" (Madonna di San Sisto), by that master, at Dres- 
 den, is alone far superior in merit to any which are to be 
 seen in Paris. 
 
 Before proceeding further, I wish to give a brief explana- 
 tion of my opinions on certain points ; not so much, indeed, 
 for your information, — my opinions generally, and especially 
 on subjects connected with the arts, being already familiar 
 to you, — but for others who may think this volume worthy an 
 attentive perusal. This explanation will serve both to define 
 the limits I shall assign to my observations, and to demon- 
 strate the principles on which they will be founded. 
 
 I have little taste except for the earlier schools of Chris- 
 tian art, and to them my remarks must necessarily be con- 
 fined. Of the French and the more recent Italian school, I 
 shall say nothing ; even in that of the Carracci. I rarely meet 
 with compositions that fully develope and satisfy my ideas of 
 the art, or seem entitled to peculiar notice. I have more 
 than once examined attentively every picture in the Musee, 
 and yet how many, notwithstanding my forced contempla- 
 tion, are now entirely obliterated from my mind ! The 
 latest paintings that have power to touch my heart, and 
 before which I willingly pause to meditate and admire, belong 
 to this early school ; for I must confess that I see nothing 
 irresistibly attractive in the cold, and often studied, grace of 
 Guido, nor am I captivated by the rose- and-lily-tinted carna- 
 tions of Domenichino, unless these charms are made instru- 
 mental in revealing to the mind that deep truth of character 
 and design which belongs to the more profound and fully 
 developed works of these masters. If, after contemplating 
 the modern French or Dutch productions, we return to the 
 study of this school, its compositions appear nobly conceived 
 and executed ; if, on the contrary, we commence with the 
 older Italian or Flemish masters, they lose all value and in- 
 terest by the comparison. 
 
 I can give no opinion of the masters belonging to this com- 
 paratively later school, unless it be first conceded that, even in 
 their time,the genius of painting had lost its early splendour. 
 Titian, Correggio, Giulio Romano, Andrea del Sarto, Palma, 
 and others of their class, are, in my opinion, the latest painters 
 worthy of the name. It is true, nevertheless, that the gifts 
 of genius are not restricted to any one epoch ; nor must we 
 
6 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER I. 
 
 attempt to confine its influence within a circle of geometrical 
 exactness. The history of art, on the contrary, like that of 
 every free existence, has its irregularities ; thus, we some- 
 times find, even among the ancient masters, paintings of 
 but little value, and bearing but feeble indications of their 
 genius, while, on the other hand, the productions of some 
 later, and perhaps unknown artist, startle us occasionally by 
 their near approach to all that is most perfect in conception 
 and execution.* 
 
 Thus we shall find no confused groups, but a few indivi- 
 dual figures, finished with such care and diligence as bespeak 
 a just idea of the beauty and holiness of that most glorious of 
 all hieroglyphic images, the human form ; stern and serious 
 figures, sharply outlined, and which seem starting from the 
 canvas ; no contrast of effect, produced by blending chiaro- 
 scuro and dark shadows (the brilliant reflection of light-illu- 
 mined objects, thrown in to relieve the gloom of night), but 
 pure masses of colour, laid on in distinct proportions — cos- 
 tumes and draperies which appear to belong to the figures, 
 no less from their appropriate arrangement, than from their 
 simplicity. But in the countenance — there, where the light 
 of the painter's genius most gloriously reveals itself — every 
 variety of expression, or, rather, the most complete indivi- 
 duality of features, is to be met with ; yet each wearing a 
 general aspect of childlike tenderness and simplicity, which I 
 have always considered as the original characteristic of the 
 human race. This is the style of the old masters, and though 
 such an avowal may convict me of partiality, I must acknow- 
 ledge that this style alone commands my unqualified admir- 
 ation, unless the departure from it be justified by any im- 
 portant motive, as with Correggio, and other great painters, 
 who were the first to practise that new manner which they 
 bequeathed to their successors. 
 
 These preliminary observations will give interest to my 
 subsequent remarks, as setting before your mind the point of 
 view from which I examined these paintings. I now proceed 
 
 * We have a very pleasing instance of the truth of this assertion in the 
 picture of " St. Justin," by Pordenone, in the collection at Vienna. This 
 intelligent Venetian claims, on the whole, but a subordinate position in 
 the second rank of Italian masters ; yet, in that picture, he attains to a 
 rare perfection in the highest points of artistic feeling and treatment. 
 
LETTER I.] ALLEGORICAL PICTURES — MANTEGNA- 7 
 
 to give a general description of them, beginning with those 
 in the Grand Salon. 
 
 Among the most remarkable there, I number two pictures 
 by Fra Bartolommeo, a master with whose works I had not 
 before been acquainted (Nos. 28 and 29.), "The Evan- 
 gelist, St. Mark," sitting with the great Bible in his hand, 
 and "Christ with the Four Evangelists." An intense 
 spirituality, one might almost say a glowing fire of devotion, 
 pervades both works, and penetrates to the inmost heart. 
 Figures like that of St. Mark few are capable of conceiving, 
 much less of painting. I do not hold this to be the true 
 character of the art ; and the still, sweet beauty of Giovanni 
 Bellini or Perugino, claims a far higher rank, in my estima- 
 tion. • Yet Raphael himself disdained not to draw inspira- 
 tion from the kindling fount of Fra Bartolommeo's genius ; 
 and is it not to this spirituality that many of his most y 
 glorious works owe their soul-stirring influence ? On the 
 other hand, it cannot be denied that the " Christ Teaching" 
 (the size of life), of Bellini, at Berlin, is more holy and severe, 
 and consequently more sublime and godlike, than that of Fra 
 Bartolommeo. In the former we distinctly recognise Him 
 who, though promulgating the holiest doctrines of love, yet 
 came also to bring a sword into the world — Him, whose 
 penetrating eye detects and pursues the enemy of all good, 
 even in the deepest recesses of the human heart ; while the 
 picture of Fra Bartolommeo may as appropriately represent 
 any other prophet. Still execution, figure, features, com- 
 plexion, and hair — all, in the Fra Bartolommeo — have the 
 general characteristics of ardour and inspiration. 
 
 There are no pictures on which I have gazed so long and 
 so intently, as on the two allegorical paintings by Mantegna*, 
 
 * Les deux compositions all£goriques de Mantegna, qu'on voit a la 
 galerie du Louvre, doivent appartenir ä une epoque de sa vie oü son 
 talent avait atteint toute la force et toute la maturite dont il etait sus- 
 ceptible. Dans Tune on voit les neuf Muses, qu'Apollon fait danser au 
 son de sa lyre ; au dessus, Mars et Venus, debout, avec des traits et 
 dans des attitudes qui n'ont rien de commun avec le cynisme de la volupte 
 pa'ienne ; d'un cote, Vulcain dans sa forge ; de l'autre, Mercure avec 
 Pegase, disposes de maniere ä former un contraste qui se rattache sans 
 doute au groupe principal par un lien allegorique assez difficile ä saisir. 
 Quelques-unes des Muses sont d'une beaute ravissante, sans avoir ete 
 copiees sur des statues antiques (la Danse des Muses, par Jules Romain, 
 
 b 4 
 
8 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER I. 
 
 which form part of the original collection (Nos. 39 and 
 40.). 
 
 The first, representing the Muses dancing on a green lawn 
 in the foreground, is a very remarkable composition. On 
 the right of the spectator stands Mercury, holding the Pe- 
 gasus, richly caparisoned. On the left of the dance, Apollo, 
 playing on the lyre, seated on a block of stone, and above 
 him, on the summit of a rock, Yulcan in his workshop, turn- 
 ing a threatening glance towards the highest centre of the 
 picture, where Venus stands with the god Mars, near a 
 couch, both facing the spectator, with Cupid at their side, 
 who appears to direct towards Vulcan the fire of jealousy and 
 rage. On each side of the little hill on which Mars and 
 Venus seem enthroned, two rocks are introduced, forming the 
 sides of the picture, and rich in allegorical figures and refe- 
 rences, difficult to decipher. It seems, however, sufficiently 
 clear, that the cliff which encloses the workshop of Vulcan, 
 is designed to represent the mysteries of nature and the art of 
 painting, while that near which Mercury stands with the 
 Pegasus, separated from the other by the verdant lawn 
 
 est evidemment un emprunt fait a Mantegna), et la figure de Venus, 
 d'un type non moins original ni moins gracieux, severe, et chaste, malgre 
 sa nudite, prouve invinciblement que des imaginations chretiennes pou- 
 vaient concevoir le beau, d'une maniere independante, raeme en traitant 
 des sujets profanes. 
 
 Dans le second tableau, qui reprdsente une sorte de lutte entre le bon 
 et le mauvais principe, le contraste est encore plus frappant que dans 
 le premier, ä cause des Genies infernaux et des Vices, dont les figures 
 hideuses sont mises en opposition avec les figures celestes de la Foi, de 
 l'Esperance, et de la Charite. L'homme qui a le plus vivement senti 
 1'art chretien dans les temps modernes, et qui portait dans ses jugements 
 esthetiques toute la candeur d'une belle äme jointe aux lumieres d'un 
 beau genie, Frederic Schlegel, qui visita le Louvre dans le temps ou, 
 par un brutal abus du droit de conquete, une multitude de chefs-d'oeuvre 
 de toutes les ecoles Italiennes y avaient ete recemment accumules, ne 
 craignaitpas d'avouer, au risque de passer pour un barbare, que ces deux 
 ouvrages allegoriques de Mantegna etaient, dans cette immense collec« 
 tion, ceux devant lesquels il s'arretait le plus souvent et le plus long- 
 temps (vor keinem Gemähide, &c); et le dernier subjugait tellement 
 son imagination, par son sens profond et par son caractere grandiose, que 
 le seul digne eloge qu'il croyait pouvoir en faire £tait de le comparer 
 avec les sublimes allegories de la Divina Commedia du Dante. — De la 
 Poesie chretien^.e, Forme de V Art Peinture, par A. F. Rio, chap. x. 
 p. 450. 
 
LETTER I.] ALLEGORICAL PICTURES — MANTEGNA. 9 
 
 encircling it, may image to the mind the glowing spring of 
 poetry and imagination. 
 
 The colouring is almost glaring, and the figures, as may 
 be anticipated from this master, simple and severe. Venus, 
 and a few of the Muses, are incomparably, divinely beautiful. 
 Giulio Romano, in his painting of the " Muses Dancing," has 
 evidently borrowed from this picture of Mantegna.* A bac- 
 chante-like figure, with flowing hair, bounds forward in the 
 lightest and most graceful attitude ; and several of the more 
 heroic muses, of whom we have only either a back or side 
 view, are of majestic proportions. In the centre stands one, 
 looking towards the spectator — a most glorious face, yet 
 austere and melancholy ; indeed, we feel that a sorrowful ex- 
 pression pervades every countenance in the picture. The 
 allegory is simple, and easily understood, nor by any means 
 so unusual as that in its companion piece. 
 
 In the latter j, holy women, armed or carrying torches, 
 and attended by angels, are represented driving the per- 
 sonified vices before them into a sea, which occupies the 
 foreground of the picture. On the left, we discover the 
 Tree of Life, on the trunk of which is faintly traced the 
 resemblance of a female form. In the clouds, on the right 
 side of the picture, are the heathen virtues, Justice, Courage, 
 Temperance, returning again to earth. The action is con- 
 fined to the shore of the sea before mentioned, amid shady 
 walks surrounding the Tree of Life, and bowers through 
 which we catch glimpses of the background ; the same 
 scene is there repeated and continued, representing the de- 
 formed vices, hunted and pursued by every purer existence. 
 This allegory is by no means obscure. 
 
 The principal personages are undoubtedly intended to re- 
 present, under female forms, the priestesses of the good prin- 
 ciple, Hope, Love, and the uprightness of Christian faith ; 
 that there should be among them many forms of exquisite 
 beauty, is no more than we anticipate from this master ; 
 but the misshapen hideousness and fearful deformity of 
 
 * See note, antö, p. 7. 
 
 t On a scroll attached to a laurel on the right of the picture is a Latin 
 legend, explaining the allegory, translated in the French catalogue for 
 1816. " Deesses, compagnes des vertus celestes, qui reviennent parmi 
 nous, chassez ces monstres degoütans, peres des vices." — Note by Trans. 
 
10 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER I. 
 
 the beings personifying the different vices, is most surprising 
 and remarkable. Many of them bear their names traced on 
 their foreheads, as Ignorance, Ingratitude, Indolence, &c. ; 
 the last named is represented without arms, and so are many 
 other shapeless forms, thrown together, as it were, at ran- 
 dom. The air is filled with evil spirits, winged children with 
 bodies like bats, and other loathsome creatures. I cannot 
 better describe the whole scene than by comparing it to the 
 allegorical descriptions of hell in Dante's Inferno. Here we 
 have palpable evidence of a master whose whole soul was 
 fraught with images of ideal beauty, yet intentionally de- 
 picting ugliness when it became a necessary element of that 
 strife between the principles of good and evil, to exhibit 
 which was the paramount design of the old masters. 
 
 If we compare these works with the famous " Madonna 
 della Vittoria," by the same master, we are wonderfully struck 
 with the beauty, gentleness, and benevolence of the latter. 
 Indeed, so widely different are they in this respect, that they 
 have been supposed to belong to different epochs : the latter 
 may possibly be an intentional imitation of the style of some 
 young and graceful master ; the former certainly more re- 
 semble the beautiful manner of Bellini. 
 
 A few general observations may be made on both these 
 masters. How beautifully, when the allegory permits, does 
 Mantegna multiply the reflection of the eternal harmonies 
 in a thousand allegorical forms of joy and rapture ; and yet, 
 when his subject demands it, imparts an intense expression 
 of sad and bitter feeling, which, by its striking contrast with 
 the former, illustrates the strife between good and evil. The 
 paintings of Fra Bartolommeo are, in the strictest sense of 
 the word, ecclesiastical paintings ; and show clearly how, at 
 a period when the idea of religion was a living principle in 
 every heart, the inspiration of devotion alone sufficed to give 
 success to the efforts of the painter. In later times, when 
 religious sentiments had ceased to have the same influence, the 
 artist was compelled to borrow other charms ; and, no longer 
 impressed with the full power of his subject, found the con- 
 straint of the theme, and the limits within which he was 
 necessarily confined, doubly irksome. The composition fre- 
 quently became, in consequence, either forced or trifling ; 
 at the best, cold, both in design and execution. 
 
LETTER I. j 
 
 TITIAN. 
 
 11 
 
 Some magnificent paintings by Titian are in the Grand 
 Salon. The largest and most beautiful is No. 68. (San Pietro 
 Martire) ; the subject, two holy men, overtaken and mur- 
 dered by robbers. Above them is a single angel, holding in 
 his hand the martyr's crown of palm. This painting owes its 
 peculiar charm to the beauty of the sky and the landscape ; 
 and still more, perhaps, to the vivid impression of reality 
 which it conveys. We seem actually to gaze upon the scene, 
 and were such a landscape indeed before our eyes, we should 
 exclaim, <; How like a painting ! What a picture !" 
 
 Titian so seizes and depicts the human figure in his por- 
 traits, that they seem starting into life, and have a far nobler 
 expression than we usually meet with in the works of 
 modern times. He undoubtedly stands alone in this style, 
 for both Holbein and Leonardo have treated their portraits 
 very differently. I am much inclined to consider this pre- 
 dilection for what strikes the eye with a vivid impression of 
 reality, as the peculiar characteristic of Titian's style. You 
 know how I once attempted to make Correggio's manner more 
 intelligible, by characterising him as a musical painter. How 
 natural is it to suppose that the genius of different arts may 
 sometimes be disposed to unite in one, associating and blend- 
 ing in close affinity ! We wish neither to praise nor blame this 
 too hastily ; enough that it is so, and our endeavour should 
 therefore be to discover and trace this peculiarity, and above 
 all things to employ its aid in understanding the conceptions 
 of the painter, and the expression he actually designed to 
 convey. Whether we consider painters who have what may 
 be termed a musical expression, or others, whose manner 
 partakes more of the character of sculpture, or even of 
 architecture, I see no reason why, if a painter's genius lead 
 him to select one style in preference to others, he may not, 
 without diverging into all the peculiarities of another art, 
 so associate them with his own as to heighten its expression 
 by concentrating the characteristic features of both. 
 
 To Titian, however, these remarks do but partially apply ; 
 his inclination being rather for what most vividly strikes the 
 eye, we may bestow upon him the appellation of a theatrical 
 or dramatic painter. But this intention ought clearly to be 
 understood, and every accessory notion, which might other- 
 wise appear forced or unnaturally exaggerated, attributed to- 
 
12 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER I. 
 
 this desire of bringing the whole scene vividly before the 
 imagination. The remark is certainly applicable to the later 
 manner of this master, and to the large picture before men- 
 tioned. Two paintings of the " Madonna and Child," (Nos. 
 71 and 72.), of the old collection, belong unquestionably to an 
 earlier period, and are, in my opinion, infinitely more pleas- 
 ing. A " Deposition from the Cross," in the Long Gallery 
 (No. 941.), reminds me of the quick-handed Paul Veronese. 
 Both the small paintings are far more serene, child-like, and 
 modest, and not so theatrical as his later style. Reality here 
 appears to have been the painter's chief aim, and though more 
 lofty in conception as well as in treatment, it might, in this 
 respect, be compared with the Flemish pictures of domestic 
 life ; in other points, however, it is widely different. A 
 ci Crowning with Thorns," in the Long Gallery (No. 940.), is 
 painted in the same style, but with more regard to effect. 
 
 I have described these pictures here, being unwilling to 
 break the connexion between them. I shall, however, pass 
 over the portraits mentioned in the catalogue of the Grand 
 Salon, as well as the works of Raphael there exhibited, in 
 order to treat of the whole in common. 
 
 I have remarked that many painters, especially among 
 those belonging to a later epoch of the old schools, decline 
 sensibly in idea and design, although equally, or perhaps 
 even more, successful in the mechanical portion of their art, 
 and the command of materials. Still, the vigour and strength 
 of their conceptions, and the grace and harmony of their 
 style, being sensibly impoverished and diminished, the ori- 
 ginal strength and purity of their genius can be recognised 
 in their early compositions alone. This difference is in none 
 more strikingly apparent than in Titian. 
 
 In the apartment appropriated to paintings intended to be 
 repaired and restored, I found a beautiful work of Titian's, 
 in his earliest manner, and on the same reduced scale as the 
 before-mentioned Madonnas. The subject is a landscape, 
 with figures — naked women and a few men sitting on the 
 ground, playing upon musical instruments. The execution 
 is very fine, but the figures of the women are large — almost 
 clumsy. I was here led to remark a very general peculiarity 
 in this master ; his predilection for glowing carnations, does 
 not tend, like that of Correggio, to render the flesh more 
 
LETTER I.] 
 
 ANDREA DEL SARTO. 
 
 13 
 
 transparent, and to diffuse throughout the whole an expres- 
 sion of voluptuous delight : he rather seeks by the intensity, 
 strength, and incomparable purity of his colouring, to fill and 
 satiate the eye. The aim at transparency, on the contrary, 
 tends invariably to confuse the painter's idea of true colour- 
 ing, and leads him to sully the original pure tint of the flesh 
 by the intermixture of blue, red, or greenish shadows. 
 
 My opinion of Titian, though formed after the study of 
 all these excellent works, would have been far from correct, 
 had I not learned a more just appreciation of his merits 
 from a " Head of Christ," which has long hung in the Grand 
 Salon, though it is not named in the catalogue. The co- 
 louring of this head is so pure, so exquisite, that it alone 
 fully justifies all the eulogiums bestowed upon Titian. 
 
 It is treated as a portrait, and for this reason, perhaps, 
 too strongly marked with the Jewish character. Still, it is 
 almost as severe in outline and expression as the Christ of 
 Bellini, at Dresden ; the penetrating black eyes especially. 
 The head is in profile. The hand upraised to bless and dis- 
 tinguished by the symbol of the Trinity, and the soft halo 
 round the head, remind us of the highest and holiest attri- 
 butes of the God-man, of whom, indeed, this representation 
 is in every respect most worthy. The clear sky in the back- 
 ground, the bold dark blue, and brilliant crimson of the 
 mantle, the black hair and beard, and clear olive complexion, 
 render the whole a masterpiece of symbolic colouring. 
 
 There are many remarkable points in a " Deposition from 
 the Cross," by Andrea del Sarto, and two dramatic pictures, 
 by the same master, from the story of Joseph. 
 
 I call them dramatic pictures, because, as is frequently the 
 case with the old masters, each represents many different 
 periods of the same history, so that the same personages are 
 presented to our view, perhaps four or five times, in various 
 scenes and situations. The subjects are all, however, on a 
 small scale, and the figures in the background, though 
 somewhat lessened in proportions, differ very little from the 
 others. 
 
 A picture by Palma Vecchio (No. 43.), is incomparably 
 more charming, and displays far greater depth of imagination. 
 The subject is a shepherd praying to the infant Christ. It 
 is impossible to describe the vivid impression of truth and 
 
14 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER I. 
 
 reality given by the figure of this shepherd. He is all sup- 
 plication, devotion, and fervour. His dress remarkably poor 
 and simple, but the countenance noble beyond expression. 
 
 A splendid painting by Giulio Romano, " The Circum- 
 cision of the Infant Christ " (No. 25.), attracted my attention, 
 and seems worthy of notice. 
 
 A throng of men, many of them distinguished by personal 
 beauty, and all joyous, or at least calm and happy, are assem- 
 bled in a richly adorned and splendid temple. I doubt 
 whether the severer taste of the early masters would have 
 approved the choice of such an assemblage on such an occa- 
 sion. But the peculiar bias of these Romish painters, I mean 
 the predilection for heathen pomp and splendour which so 
 absolutely governed their lofty imaginations, is in this paint- 
 ing beautifully and effectively exemplified. I trace the same 
 character, though more resplendent in its triumphant fulness 
 of life and joy, in the cartoons for tapestry, exhibited in the 
 Salon of Designs, and a very close resemblance also in the 
 tapestry after Raphael, which we have so often studied 
 together at Dresden. Tapestry, from the same designs, is, 
 as you know, here also, in the Church of St. Roch, which 
 was hung with it on the festival of that saint, but I saw it 
 for so short a time that I cannot venture to give any descrip- 
 tion of it. Tapestries similar to all those we have at Dresden, 
 are to be seen here ; in some parts far better rendered, in 
 some, however, far worse: besides these, there are several 
 here exhibited not now in existence there, all treated in the 
 same manner, but not all equally beautiful. Did not both 
 Raphael and Giulio Romano draw their inspiration from the 
 same source ? or rather, as the master may occasionally have 
 allowed himself intentionally to imitate the manner of his 
 pupil, so the highest praise we can award to the most suc- 
 cessful efforts of Giulio Romano's genius is, that we recognise 
 in them the style and character of his master. 
 
 This appears to agree with the known character of Raphael, 
 who, with surprising versatility, united in his compositions 
 the most opposite styles and manners; while by a beauty of 
 form, a delicious grace and inspiration, peculiar to himself, 
 he endowed them with new and unwonted charms of soul 
 and expression. This remark applies equally to the very 
 earliest epoch in his paintings, at which time they are scarcely 
 to be distinguished from those of his master Perugino, and 
 
LETTER I.] 
 
 CORREGGIO. 
 
 15 
 
 to the later, when he was in some measure influenced by 
 the dangerous example of Michelangelo. A predilection 
 for the abundant life and magnificence of the old heathen 
 times, which Giulio Romano frequently seeks to introduce 
 into the representation of Christian events, is, in this paint- 
 ing, strikingly apparent, both in the group surrounding the 
 infant Christ, and the gorgeous temple in which the scene 
 is laid. I think also that I recognise the same inclination 
 in the " Holy Family " (No. 36.) : indeed, my own leelings 
 and impressions would leave me no doubt as to the painter, 
 even were there not other and historical grounds which have 
 induced critics to assign the picture (as is mentioned in the 
 catalogue) to Raphael or one of his scholars. 
 
 In describing the paintings in the Long Gallery, I shall 
 no longer mention each one singly, as I have hitherto done, 
 but, to avoid wearying and confusing you with a multitude 
 of unconnected descriptions, arrange all under a few general 
 heads ; as, for example, the master, the style, the school, or 
 nation, to which they belong : or by some other general 
 points of resemblance. 
 
 I begin with Correggio, whose paintings it cost me a long 
 and earnest study to comprehend. Even this difficulty may 
 in itself have proved an additional attraction, for I must 
 acknowledge that I have always felt a peculiar preference for 
 his works, and that, under certain restrictions, I am disposed 
 to consider him entitled to a very high rank among the 
 masters of his time. I am aware that many intelligent 
 artists, educated in Rome, are of a different opinion, and 
 blame this master not a little, because his compositions do 
 not harmonise with their ideas of correctness of design and 
 ideal forms. I should attach more importance to their 
 opinion, had I not observed that the critics themselves 
 rarely penetrate the whole deep meaning of the painter ; 
 nay, are frequently quite ignorant of it, having never given 
 themselves time to examine his works in connexion. I must 
 first insist on his being studied and understood : the rest 
 will soon follow. And it ought to be easy, since these designs 
 are most deeply imbued with what constitutes the vital spirit, 
 the predominant idea of the old Italian schools : yet, on the 
 contrary, designs and forms, correct andnoble-in their appro- 
 priate application and connexion, are, by merely superficial 
 observes, made the grounds for censure of this great master, 
 
16 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS j 1802-1804. [LETTER I. 
 
 It must, in the first place, be remembered that it is impos- 
 sible to comprehend Correggio's paintings, except in their 
 mutual I relation and connexion ; many of them reciprocally 
 explaining each other, and some even bearing direct reference 
 to others among his compositions. 
 
 In the Dresden Gallery the finest works of this master are 
 collected, and it consequently becomes comparatively easy to 
 study and comprehend him ; yet the treasures of the Pari- 
 sian Museum afford a rich supplement to those at Dresden, 
 and the examination of them has confirmed me beyond all 
 doubt in the opinions which I had there formed and believed 
 to be correct. 
 
 Correggio has not only, like Leonardo, given to all his 
 countenances the same delicious smile, he frequently even 
 repeats the same entire countenance in different paintings, 
 which cannot fail to be recognised, and even to startle us by 
 the strongest marks of identity. This is the case in the 
 " Martyrdom of St. Placidio and Santa Flavia " (No. 758.). 
 The countenance of the latter is precisely similar to that of 
 the old man in the celebrated " Notte,"* although he is un- 
 doubtedly ugly rather than beautiful. The angel in the 
 "Repose," or the " Flight into Egypt" (No. 754.), closely re- 
 sembles one of those by the side of the Madonna, in the 
 " St. Sebastian" at Dresden. In (No. 756.) the "Marriage of 
 St. Katherine and the Infant Christ," the countenance of that 
 saint, and also that of the Magdalene in the " St. Jerome " 
 (No. 753.), remind us of the Madonna in the " St. George " 
 at Dresden, who smiles so delightfully, and almost gaily ; not 
 to mention many other instances in which, though the re- 
 semblance may not be quite so vivid, we trace such an un- 
 doubted similarity of outline, that they may justly be com- 
 pared to musical variations on one same melody or theme. 
 You will find at Dresden many pictures which fully justify 
 my assertion, though, in a distant country, and after so long 
 an absence, I cannot venture to particularise them. 
 
 As there are poets whose poems are evidently linked one 
 with another, and which, notwithstanding the greatest va- 
 riety of outward form and materials, yet betray an inten- 
 tional relation to each other, so that all appear designed to 
 
 * La Nativite de Notre Seigneur ou 1' Adoration des Bergers. Gal. 
 de Dresde; Catalogue 1782. 
 
LETTER I.] 
 
 CORREGGIO. 
 
 17 
 
 work out the same principles, and might even be considered 
 as forming only one poem ; as they continually present to 
 us, in varied situations, the same few characters, which are 
 all marked by a strong family resemblance, and seem less to 
 unfold the riches of their poetic fancy in the theme, which 
 is often very simple, than in their numerous variations on 
 it ; — so it is with the paintings of Correggio. His figures 
 are to him what melody is to thg musician, who, by the 
 simplest chords, unlocks a world of deep and thrilling melody. 
 Yet, however narrow may be the circle of his images, how- 
 ever uniform the manner of their treatment, they never fail 
 to communicate to the imagination such an overflowing 
 abundance of feeling and thought, as genius alone has the 
 power to awaken. 
 
 The figures and grouping, which other painters often 
 make their chief object, are to Correggio only the means to 
 be employed in conveying the intention of the whole ; they 
 are the leading harmonies of the strain, — the words or 
 syllables of the poem. His paintings are all allegorical, or, 
 if this term seem too vague, too undefined to be applied to 
 his varied compositions, I should rather say that allegory is 
 the vital principle, the characteristic feature of all: and 
 truly one kind of allegory alone pervades the whole, the 
 object of which is to portray the strife and combat between 
 the principles of good and evil. We cannot, therefore, com- 
 pare it with that commonplace allegory which is embodied in 
 the designs and inculcated in the works of modern painters ; 
 that sort of allegory, I mean (if, indeed, it be worthy of the 
 name), which, far from opening to the mind revealings of the 
 eternal and invisible, merely presents to the senses abstract, 
 and at the same time contracted, and precise ideas, under the 
 garb of symbols or hieroglyphics. You will at once per- 
 ceive that it is not to such allegory as this that my observa- 
 tions can apply. 
 
 The most striking instance of allegorical design is to be 
 found in the famous " Notte ;" and by considering the com- 
 position under this light, we are enabled to understand the 
 intention of some peculiarities in it, which must otherwise 
 excite the greatest surprise ; I mean the fact that a painter 
 who loves and luxuriates in objects of beauty and delight, 
 should nevertheless have imagined and portrayed forms so, 
 
 C 
 
18 PAINTINGS IN PARIS," 1802-1804. [LETTER I. 
 
 hideous as those of the old man and the aged shepherd, in 
 the left foreground of that picture ; but he wished to attract 
 all eyes to the blessed child born for the salvation of man- 
 kind, and shining with pure and holy light on the darkness 
 of a ruined world. In order the more forcibly to work out 
 this idea, the single ray of light which illumines the picture, 
 is made to emanate from the body of the Saviour ; nor is it 
 thus introduced without profound thought and meditation, 
 and with a far higher design in view than merely to excite 
 astonishment and admiration of the painter's wonderful skill 
 in the management of lights and chiaroscuro. Considering 
 the subject in this point of view, what could be more finely 
 imagined, than instead of leaving the glory of the divine 
 appearance to be reflected back by the beauty and radiance 
 of a few lovely and joyous forms alone, to call to mind the 
 guilt and darkness of this degraded and ruined earthly world, 
 and its deep need of a redeeming light, by contrasting that 
 glorious beauty with other and earthborn images of pain and 
 suffering ? And we cannot but extol the just judgment which 
 prompted him even to exaggerate these features beyond 
 their ordinary degree. This has evidently been the chief 
 design and object of the painter; but it may well be diffi- 
 cult for those, in whose hearts the idea of religion is so 
 strange a guest, that they have never thought of summoning 
 her to the assistance of their fancy, to unravel and enter 
 into the designs of the old masters. Every idea expressed 
 in the celebrated " Notte" of Correggio, is most harmonious 
 and natural, and can scarcely fail to lead the mind above, 
 where the countenance of Christ shines in glorious beauty 
 over all. The design and intention in the two large altar- 
 pieces at Dresden, the " St. George " and the " St. Sebastian," 
 wander much further from the usual track of Correggio's 
 compositions. In the first, the blessed Virgin wears an 
 expression of loveliness and benevolence which seems almost 
 childlike in its simple truth. All in the glowing heaven speaks 
 of joy, gladness, and brightness ; for this reason the land- 
 scape and the colouring are both so brilliant and transparent, 
 and for the same reason, probably, the picture is encircled 
 by glowing fruits and wreaths of the loveliest flowers. In this 
 painting an artist may discover the true value and appro- 
 priate employment of flower-pieces, which, w r hen torn from 
 their place as harmonious elements in the organisation and 
 
LETTER I.] 
 
 CORREGGIO. 
 
 19 
 
 combination of some grand composition, lose all signification, 
 and appear but an inferior branch of art. The attempt to 
 form a separate work out of materials which are really valua- 
 ble only when, by judicious association, they heighten the 
 effect of a perfect composition, must infallibly rob them both 
 of dignity and signification. The most charming features 
 in the " St. George," are, the body of the child in the fore- 
 ground, the smile of Mary, and the heavenly countenance 
 of St. John. Here, again, we trace a similitude to that 
 chord in music which forms the basis of a melody. It can- 
 not be denied that Correggio, as a painter, abounds with ex- 
 quisite touches, and though even these may, to prejudiced 
 minds, appear to afford grounds for censure rather than 
 commendation, yet I am well convinced that they intrinsically 
 belong to the before-mentioned peculiarities of his style ; I 
 mean, the musical arrangement of his ideas and his predilec- 
 tion for allegory. And further, these brilliant touches, far 
 from being on any occasion introduced by hazard, are, on the 
 contrary, deeply considered, and not merely the offspring of a 
 love of beauty and beautiful forms, but are each the work- 
 ing out of some principle, heightening and making more in- 
 telligible the deep individual feeling of the whole. Joyous, 
 and beaming with benevolent affection, as is this picture of 
 Correggio's, even here, both in the body of St. George and 
 in other parts of the picture, we trace the influence of that 
 idea, which either palpably governs, or at least is dimly 
 shadowed forth in every composition of this great master, — 
 the setting forth in most striking' colours the struggle and 
 conflict between the powers of good and evil. It is true 
 that we are not here, as in the "Notte," startled by 
 the fearful contrast between heavenly light and beauty on 
 the one hand, and the darkest deformity on the other ; every 
 feature of the latter is, on the contrary, softened and almost 
 subdued ; the evil principle seems almost overpowered, and 
 the good triumphantly ascendant. This contrast is much 
 more apparent in the " St. Sebastian," in which the mother 
 of God, as if the glory surrounding her were intended to sug- 
 gest a comparison with her own, is represented in the 
 shining beams of the sun, like a scriptural symbol of the 
 true faith of eternal love : and why should it be questioned 
 that the painter, considering darkness and light as au- 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER I. 
 
 thorized emblems of good and evil, expressed the existence 
 of the former by robing each countenance in light, its ap- 
 propriate scriptural and ecclesiastical symbol.* 
 
 We trace so remarkable an affinity between each of the 
 three large church paintings of Correggio, that to assign 
 them to very distant periods of time, or to separate them 
 from the great body of paintings just noticed, I can hardly 
 think to be correct ; for, notwithstanding the diversity of 
 their subjects, the same peculiar characteristics run through 
 them all, and, like different parts or cantos of the same poem, 
 they are perfect in signification and beauty only when com- 
 bined. In fact, these three pictures, the " Notte," " St. 
 George, " and " St. Sebastian," may each be called the key to 
 some peculiarity in Correggio's second manner. The divine 
 painting at Dresden, which represents St. John the Baptist 
 and the blessed St, Francis, belongs unquestionably to an 
 
 * There is no subject in which the contrast between light and darkness, 
 and the influence of the good and evil principle, can be so expressively 
 brought forward as in that of the " Last Judgment," where the fiend-like 
 rage and despair of the accursed on the one side, and the heavenly ra- 
 diance of the blessed on the other, afford full scope for developing the 
 most powerful elements of this conflict. 
 
 This subject has, therefore, been from the earliest period a favourite 
 with the old masters, and is one of the most frequent primitive repre- 
 sentations of Christian art. 
 
 Long before Michelangelo's gigantic representation of the " Day of 
 Judgment" threw his contemporaries, and the world of art itself, into 
 astonishment, the meditative Angelico, in the modest infancy of the art, 
 had in several of his little pictures attempted to depict the judgment of 
 the Lord in his own pious manner, and within the narrow limits of a few 
 square feet ; and though the figures of the damned give evidence, that to 
 represent these successfully did not lie within the sphere of his genius, yet, 
 in the choirs of the blessed, on the contrary, a most heavenly imagination 
 is discoverable, whether we see them, as most commonly represented, 
 forming groups with the angels, or in their reunion with those loved 
 ones from whom they had on earth been separated. 
 
 The expression of the Redeemer's countenance, also, is incomparably 
 more correct than in the same subject as designed by the later and greater 
 master, Michelangelo, who too often allows himself to be betrayed into a 
 theatrical style and expression. The legend of Cyril and Methodius 
 sufficiently proves the antiquity of this subject in the Christian world. 
 Being engaged in an attempt to convert the King of Bulgaria and other 
 Sclavonian nations of that country, they are said to have employed a 
 painting of the Last Judgment, in order the more clearly to exhibit to 
 these pagan nations the heavenly rewards of the good, and the eternal 
 damnation of the wicked. 
 
LETTER I.] 
 
 CORREGGIO. 
 
 21 
 
 earlier period, and deserves to be mentioned before any of 
 this master's compositions — at least, in his later manner — 
 and more nearly approaches the style of the early masters. 
 Each of the three paintings I have named, indicates some 
 peculiarity of Correggio's manner, and the Musee at Paris 
 affords a rich illustration of this opinion. 
 
 The pictures which first attracted my notice in this collec- 
 tion are two, of small dimensions, and in them the strong 
 contrasts with which Correggio is usually reproached are 
 scarcely perceptible ; the first picture representing simple 
 happiness in its most radiant form, and the second an un- 
 paralleled excess of misery. The subject of the first, is the 
 " Marriage of St. Katherine to the Infant Jesus." Behind the 
 saint stands St. Sebastian, his countenance turned directly 
 towards the spectator, and radiant with joy. Little more can 
 be said of this picture, in which the smiling grace for which 
 Correggio is so remarkable, is exalted and refined into almost 
 unsullied beauty. A group of small figures is just discernible 
 in the background, and, from the subject, it appears designed 
 to represent the martyrdom of St. Sebastian, while a similar 
 group, still more difficult to decipher, is probably intended 
 for that of St. Katherine ; but the background of this picture 
 is so dark, that it is difficult, without the closest inspection, 
 to distinguish either group. This picture, though a half- 
 length only, is one of the most generally admired of all Cor- 
 reggio's compositions ; its bright, cloudless beauty attracting 
 the attention even of those who cannot enter into the deeper 
 intention of this master's designs. In my opinion, however, 
 the second painting is by far the most profoundly imagined. 
 The subject is a "Deposition from the Cross," and it has 
 been much censured, both by artists and the public, who, 
 though guided by feeling and impulse alone, yet frequently 
 form correct opinions. It is alleged that the figures forming 
 the group assembled round our Saviour's body, are, many of 
 them, decidedly ugly, and others, though noble in form, are 
 placed in unquestionably awkward attitudes. But surely 
 this objection is most superficial. How can the agony of 
 intense grief be otherwise or more appropriately expressed ? 
 And is not such grief as the painter here designed to 
 portray far beyond any sorrow we have ever known ? If he 
 strips the mourners of all that beauty with which he might 
 
 c 3 
 
22 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER I. 
 
 so easily have invested them, it is only because, in his wisdom, 
 he sees fit to lavish all on the body of the Redeemer. Many 
 of those whom I have led to study this picture, though at first 
 sight shocked, and almost appalled, have been obliged to con- 
 fess that the body of the Eedeemer is unspeakably lovely — 
 indeed, it could scarcely have been rendered more so ; still it is 
 but a corpse — a corpse both in form and position ; instinct, 
 nevertheless, with beauty and melancholy grace — a living 
 picture of death in -its loveliest form. Is there not far more 
 truth and ideality in a conception such as this, than in the 
 ordinary practice of painters, who, while the body of Christ 
 becomes beneath their hand an object of horror, and even 
 aversion, contrast with it some kneeling Magdalene, graceful 
 and beautiful in her softly flowing tears, yet on whose fea- 
 tures the pang of anguish, the real bitterness of grief,- has 
 left no trace ? Even Andrea del Sarto's design on the same 
 subject appears, by its side, superficial and commonplace. It 
 were scarcely just, however, to follow up this comparison to 
 the disadvantage of so meritorious a painter as Andrea : for 
 the one true idea of the subject has been so completely appro- 
 priated and developed by Correggio, that every other con- 
 ception must be regarded with indifference, if not with dis- 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Two other church pictures, by the same master, here ex- 
 hibited, afford much scope for reflection, especially the 
 "Repose,"* in the "Flight into Egypt." The mother is, 
 with a shell, dipping water from a gushing spring ; the father 
 gathering fruit from a palm tree ; for which the child, or 
 rather boy, extends his hand, though at the same time wait- 
 ing to drink from the shell held by his mother : his hand 
 raised, as in the act of blessing, displays the usual symbol 
 of the Trinity. 
 
 The clouds in this picture have been censured as too heavy 
 and massive ; yet, their being so, is doubtless the intention 
 of the painter. Amid the branches of the tree from which 
 the father is gathering fruit, angels are hovering ; and the 
 clustering leaves and stems, thick and interwoven, blend with 
 the heavy clouds, and thus crowd the upper part of the pic- 
 ture, which appears enclosed as if in a frame. Although it 
 cannot be doubted that the painter had some design in this 
 disposition, the result of my meditations on the subject is not 
 * Madonna dell a Scodella. Now in the gallery of Parma. 
 
LETTER 1.] 
 
 CORREGGIO. 
 
 23 
 
 sufficiently satisfactory to allow me to attempt an explana- 
 tion. The indecision expressed in the countenance of the 
 child, as he hesitates whether to accept first the fruit or the 
 water about to be offered him, and the introduction of the 
 symbol of the Trinity, are so much the more remarkable, 
 because not seen in the original sketch of this composition, 
 which is preserved in the Salon of Designs, and in which I 
 observed several other variations : the child in the first 
 design appears much older, and more formed. 
 
 There are two other small paintings, in water-colours, by 
 the same master (Nos. 64a and 64b.) : one represents the 
 " Triumph of Virtue," the wicked lying bound beneath her 
 feet, while an attendant spirit places a crown upon her head. 
 On the right of these figures (the spectator's left), are seen 
 the heathen virtues, Justice, Courage, and others, with their 
 attributes ; opposite to them is a heavenly figure, leaning on 
 the globe, and pointing to a spot which is illumined by a ray 
 from above, seeming to indicate that there the light of the 
 world, the Holy Child Jesus, was born. Under the globe, 
 and at the feet of Virtue, lies a beast with the head of a dog, 
 or, perhaps, a wolf ; it has fins and scales like a fish, and in 
 parts resembles various other animals. The posture of this 
 beast, and the grouping of the whole, is wonderfully incor- 
 rect and confused, and the drapery, moreover, of the reclin- 
 ing figure, seems so disposed as intentionally to increase the 
 confusion ; a part of the strangely-formed animal below is 
 hidden by, or rather seems absorbed into, the circumference 
 of the globe itself. It would be scarcely possible for me to 
 make my description of this picture more intelligible than 
 the composition itself. None of the many artists and con- 
 noisseurs whom I have led to examine it, have ever succeeded 
 in unravelling its apparent confusion, or deciphering its 
 meaning ; yet I think we may conclude, without any undue 
 deference to this enlightened master, that even this confusion 
 has its design, and is in some way indicative of the struggle 
 between virtue and vice. 
 
 I now return to the church pictures. The most striking 
 feature in the St. Jerome*, is the loveliness of the Magda- 
 
 * "II Giorno." Now in the gallery of Parma. It is called "the 
 Dayj" in opposition to the famous " Notte or the Night; 11 the St. Jerome 
 being as remarkable for its joyous brightness as the " Notte " is for 
 
 c 4 
 
24 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter I. 
 
 Jene. She is represented bending forward to kiss the foot 
 of the holy child, and her lips, her soft round cheek, and 
 flowing hair, in which the child's little hand is half hidden, 
 form a most exquisite picture : nothing, indeed, can be con- 
 ceived more pure and fascinating than the love, tenderness, 
 and devotion which invest this beautiful figure. 
 
 Another painting — the Antiope — contrasts strikingly 
 with the former, and affords an example of the more glowing 
 and earthly character of Correggio's second manner : it is 
 the only composition on a mythological subject here ex- 
 hibited. We remark a striking difference in the treatment 
 of this picture, and in those drawn from Christian subjects ; 
 in the latter, even when designed to exhibit earthly beauty 
 and laughing loveliness, both are frequently veiled and al- 
 most hidden, in order the better to harmonise with the 
 general design of the allegory. It was, however, so com- 
 pletely the character of Correggio's genius to embody the 
 governing principle of whatever subject he selected, that 
 in this mythological composition, his manner is entirely dif- 
 ferent. We have no reason to suppose his researches into 
 ancient lore to have been more profound than those of his 
 contemporaries, and he therefore discovered no higher ob- 
 ject in the voluptuous fables of the ancients than the repre- 
 sentation of natural beauty in all its unveiled luxuriance. 
 Consequently he depicts his Antiope as a lovely woman, 
 lying in smiling slumber, dazzling the eyes of the beholder 
 with the joy-intoxicating spectacle of her growing charms : 
 at her feet is a sleeping Cupid. 
 
 It is very difficult to obtain a good view of this picture, 
 and, after various trials, I am convinced that it requires to 
 be hung so low as to be, at least, on a level with the eye — 
 perhaps even lower. 
 
 We know that Correggio was remarkably happy in design- 
 ing his church pictures in such a manner that their effect is 
 heightened by being looked at from below ; and it is not 
 impossible that the Antiope may have been designed with a 
 contrary intention ; perhaps at the desire of some rich pa- 
 tron, who wished it fitted for a particular place or destina- 
 tion in his house. 
 
 gloom. Kiigler says, p. 345., " The pure light of day is diffused over 
 the picture ; the figures seem surrounded as it were by ethereal light." 
 Kiigler calls it " St. Jerome, or the Day." 
 
LETTER I.] LEONARDO AND CORREGGIO. 
 
 26 
 
 I must at length bid adieu to Correggio, on whom I have 
 dwelt so long and assiduously, not because 1 consider him a 
 model of correctness, but hoping, from his example, to prove 
 both to artists and amateurs that the conceptions and manner 
 of the old masters differ so widely from our own as to render 
 it impossible to form an opinion of their merit by compa- 
 rison with our established notions of ideal and antique 
 beauty. I now proceed to notice another order of painters, 
 whom I may style the heroic artists of their times, not only 
 from the severe and antique character of their genius, but 
 more still from the profundity of their designs, the univer- 
 sality and unearthliness of their expression ; their colouring 
 combining with the whole in musical and celestial harmony, 
 communicates to the gazer's heart a rapturous sensation, yet 
 tempered and subdued into the most soothing tranquillity. 
 Their genius has thus created for them an enduring monu- 
 ment, in which the noblest efforts of creative art and the 
 loftiest ideas are united in surpassing grace and symmetry, 
 while the lavish richness and triumphant luxuriance of the 
 existence they depict, fill the eye and heart with wonder 
 and delight. 
 
 I shall first notice Leonardo da Vinci, whose manner ap- 
 proximates so nearly to that of Correggio, that the considera- 
 tion of their respective compositions is alone sufficient to 
 induce the belief that Correggio probably studied with and 
 after Leonardo. 
 
 Indeed, both are equally severe in their outlines ; the go- 
 verning idea of strife between the good and evil principle is 
 in both equally apparent, and the development of each 
 individual portion of the design as subjectively* true : the 
 
 * In considering the productions of human genius, the Germans 
 always carefully distinguish between the objects or materials on which the 
 mind works, and the manifestation of the individual mind in treating them. 
 The general term " object " for the first, would be intelligible enough in 
 our language ; on the other hand, the word subject, which the Germans 
 restrict to the observer, to the individual, is less appropriate in English 
 without some explanation. In the German sense the subject is the human 
 being, the object all that is without him. When the tone or tendencies 
 of the individual mind very perceptibly modify the nature of the ma- 
 terials with which it has to deal, this is called a subjective mode of con- 
 ception or treatment. When, on the other hand, the character of the 
 individual is comparatively passive, and that of the object chiefly appa- 
 rent, this is called an objective mode. — Note to Kiigler, vol. i. (or Book 
 
 \ p. 41., Translation. 
 
26 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [lETTEU I, 
 
 very smile, indeed, which is so characteristic of Correggio, 
 appears in every countenance of Leonardo, while all are 
 marked by the same strong resemblance, till the effect, in 
 some instances, is almost monotonous ; like a poet who, to 
 each individual in the narrow circle of characters which he 
 describes, imparts some striking similarity of mind or feel- 
 ing. It may be worthy of remark, that the portrait of 
 Leonardo himself (No. 170.), in the Salon of Designs, has the 
 very same features which we recognise in so many of his 
 compositions : the same half- closed eyes and the character- 
 istic smile upon the lips. 
 
 It is a still more remarkable fact, that the same uniformity 
 is observable in the paintings of his scholars, especially the 
 Luini, — and what master ever formed scholars more closely 
 resembling, or more worthy of himself, than these ? Cor- 
 reggio also considered the lovely expression of a pure 
 rejoicing soul — which, like a strain of music, breathes from 
 all Leonardo's portraits — a vital element of the art; an opinion 
 which he may perhaps have imbibed unconsciously, but 
 which eventually became no less the base and principle of 
 his painting than if originating in an individual peculiarity. 
 In no picture is this manner more strikingly evident than in 
 the "Holy Family" of Leonardo. The infant St. John 
 holds a lamb, and the Saviour is stretching forth his hand 
 to take a pair of scales offered by St. Michael, who is re- 
 presented kneeling before him, robed in white garments. 
 The face of the blessed Virgin might, with little or no 
 alteration, be taken for that of a youthful Christ, as that of 
 the " Saviour in the Temple," * by the same master, seems 
 equally fitted for a Madonna. The painter appears to have 
 formed his ideal of the Divinity as combining in one form 
 the closest possible union between serious womanhood and 
 masculine adolescence. 
 
 I say his ideal, for what can be more properly called ideality 
 than the harmonious combination of opposite and distinct 
 elements ? The mere perfection of contour and proportion 
 in a half-length, which even in sculpture afford a negative 
 clue to individual beauty, and which it is scarcely possible to 
 generalise in painting, is not what I would be understood to 
 mean by this expression. Leonardo appears to me to have 
 
 " Christ arguing with the Pharisees," in the National Gallery. 
 
LETTER I.] 
 
 LEONARDO DA V1NCT. 
 
 27 
 
 formed a much grander and far more noble conception of the 
 mother of God, in a little half-length, smaller than life-size 
 (No. 922.), which, from its perfect execution, may well de- 
 serve to hold the first place in our summary. In it we see 
 blended the colouring of Correggio and his softness in the 
 treatment of lights and shadows, with the individual deci- 
 sion and accuracy which characterise the serious Florentine. 
 It contains only two figures, the mother and child ; and 
 though under the size of life, no colossal painting could pos- 
 sibly be more grand in design or more powerful in execu- 
 tion. The head and lofty brow of the Madonna are stamped 
 with God-like majesty; yet, as she bends forward in earnest 
 beauty, gazing fondly on her child, we might compare her 
 to some lofty rock, dispensing its friendly shade in calm con- 
 sciousness of power ; the abundance of her waving tresses 
 flowing down stream-like on all sides, and covering her 
 shoulders, harmonises completely w T ith this idea. The bosom 
 is partially visible above the drapery. The mother's atti- 
 tude, and the position of the child on her knees, is most 
 artistic and picturesque. The painter has, indeed, produced 
 a rare combination of power and loveliness. The back- 
 ground represents the calm surface of the sea, motionless 
 and uniform, with a hill or town in the distance, rising 
 gently above the waves. The infant Christ has in his 
 hand a tiny cross, on which he seems to gaze with affec- 
 tion ; yet is he completely a child, and I even fancy I have 
 noticed in children the same calm, meditative expression. 
 The stem of the cross alone breaks the calm monotony of the 
 background, the most remarkable feature in which, is its 
 complete repose and tranquillity. The idea of the holy child 
 appears to me strikingly correct and true. I have never 
 seen any composition in which it is so completely and beau- 
 tifully embodied. In Raphael's fine picture at Dresden the 
 infant Christ is certainly beautiful, nay divine ; yet might 
 his divinity as well belong to some pagan god, an infant 
 Jupiter for instance, as the blessed Jesus. In the " Madonna 
 della Sedia," also, we have a hero-boy, though as such won- 
 derfully beautiful, it is true, in quiet consciousness of power, 
 yet nestling with childlike fondness near his mother, and 
 playing with his feet. 
 
 This little picture of Leonardo's may convince the painter 
 that quiet majesty of thought and expression, impart colossal 
 
28 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter I. 
 
 grandeur of outline even to paintings of the smallest dimen- 
 sions. 
 
 I know not whether I have succeeded in imparting to you 
 a just idea of the beauties of this composition ; yet were I to 
 attempt a more enlarged description, I should, I fear, be led 
 to clothe my ideas in the garb and language of poetry ; yet I 
 know not whether this would not in many instances be the 
 best and most natural method of describing any peculiarly 
 beautiful painting or other work of art. For surely whatever 
 seizes the imagination and leaves a powerful impression on 
 the mind, may claim kindred with that wonderful organisa- 
 tion which we term poetical ; and whether our thoughts be 
 awakened, and our hearts touched, by the simple represent- 
 ation of outward forms, the melody of verse, or the more 
 thrilling charm of music, is not the moving principle the 
 same ? It is true the outward form alone is comparatively 
 immaterial, the mind readily accommodating itself to ima- 
 ginary circumstances, and the necessary details connected with 
 them, which are presented to the eye ; and when familiarised 
 with the general outline, we seek chiefly to realise the full 
 force of the idea they are intended to convey, a perfect con- 
 ception of the painter's meaning, unencumbered by any ma- 
 terial medium, breaks upon the mind, and the whole picture, 
 as if vivified by our intense contemplation, starts into life 
 under a new and varied aspect. 
 
 A " Holy Family" by Luini (No. 860.), and an " Herodias " 
 by Solari (No. 896.), both the works of pupils of Leonardo, 
 are very excellent ; being not only designed and treated in 
 his manner, but finished with all his peculiar distinctness and 
 precision. The " Herodias " far surpasses that at Dresden, 
 which must be attributed to one of Leonardo's least merito- 
 rious scholars ; but the " Holy Family" far excels it in beauty, 
 and some touches in it would not shame even the master's 
 hand. 
 
 It is thus that the high-souled master, instead of exhaust- 
 ing the power of his genius in isolated works, however dili- 
 gently studied and appropriately handled, perpetuates his 
 memory by the formation of a school, which shall bequeath to 
 posterity the nature and principles of his peculiar style. 
 And while this impenetrable exterior may often conceal a 
 nature sensitive even to wilfulness, a heart alive to the most 
 delicate feelings, so when once it breaks through its outward 
 
LETTER I.] 
 
 LEONARDO DA. VINCI. 
 
 29 
 
 apparent coldness and formality, it affects us the more seri- 
 ously and strongly. From this cause arises, as I apprehend, 
 the beautiful sensibility, the strong inclination to the mourn- 
 ful and pathetic, which characterises the works of the old 
 masters. I even imagine that I recognise this now perhaps 
 forgotten feeling, in Leonardo's preference for one peculiar 
 character of landscape in his backgrounds. He usually 
 selects a sea-piece, with rocks or cliffs ; the former some- 
 times calm, and the shore rounded and uniform, and at 
 others tempestuous and stormy, and the shore rugged and 
 precipitous, but earth and sky always seeming to blend in 
 the distant horizon. A landscape of this description will 
 generally inspire a feeling of soothing melancholy, or at least 
 incline the mind to tranquil silent meditation. In the picture 
 we are now considering, the distant ocean is seen through an 
 opening in the cliffs near the kneeling figure of St. Michael. 
 
 There is a similar background in another picture in the 
 Grand Salon (No. 37.), which represents the Virgin seated on 
 the lap of St. Anna ; with this last, however, I was but little 
 pleased : the same remark applies to two portraits by this 
 master here exhibited. I should observe, that there are here 
 too few paintings, actually from his hand, to permit any ana- 
 lysis of his different manners, or to elucidate the history and 
 progress of his style. 
 
 The Musee Parisienne is so rich in excellent, or to say the 
 least, in very meritorious portraits, that I am naturally led 
 to make some general observations on that particular branch 
 of the art, notwithstanding that the small size of the pictures 
 and the contracted nature of the subject leaves less scope for 
 genius and originality in this than any other style. My 
 observations on the numerous excellent portraits by Leonardo, 
 Raphael, Titian, and Holbein, will be comprehended under 
 one general head, and illustrated by examples from their 
 several compositions of the various manners of treatment 
 which they have respectively practised. That of Titian 
 appears to me the most simply true to nature, though he rises 
 rather above the bare representation, which is all that is ab- 
 solutely required of this style. He aims at exact fidelity to 
 nature, combined with picturesque attitudes and situations ; 
 and this appears to be the main object with portrait-painters 
 of the present day. The difference between them lies in 
 this : — that Titian painted excellently, and attained the point 
 
30 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter £ 
 
 he aimed at, while they strive to reach it in vain. The most 
 beautiful of Titian's portraits here exhibited, is that of a 
 lovely woman, with luxuriant tresses flowing unconfined over 
 her shoulders ; she holds part of her hair in one hand, and is 
 in the act of anointing it. The arm, the golden hair, and in- 
 comparably delicate fairness of the neck and shoulders, make 
 it a specimen of the most exquisite colouring. 
 
 Holbein's portraits are treated on an entirely different 
 principle ; not content with the delineation of loveliness 
 alone, nor striving to produce, in combination with it, a 
 grand and effective composition, he aims simply at repro- 
 ducing nature with the greatest characteristic truth and 
 objective peculiarity. His attitudes are, in consequence, fre- 
 quently stiff and formal; the background, merely a dark green 
 uniform surface, and the costume and other accessories most 
 minutely and laboriously finished. It must be allowed, that 
 if a portrait be intended to mark the period of time at which 
 it was taken, this manner of treatment is most appropriate. 
 Besides, how can a painter, restricted to the imitation of 
 any one individual figure, prove the correctness of his art, 
 except by the most striking, objective truth. This does not, 
 of course, lead to an idealisation of the features, but, on 
 the contrary, to a contraction ; the circle of individual ideas 
 is narrowed and confined, and the picture seems, as is the 
 case with Holbein, completely bounded and shut in by indi- 
 vidual characteristics. Still, what do we most value in a 
 portrait ? Not a lofty and romantic impersonation, but ra- 
 ther such a correctness in delineating the natural features 
 as marks its identity and secures immediate recognition. 
 Passing emotions, then, speaking changes of countenance, 
 attitude, and expression, to which a moment may give birth, 
 and which, emanating from a noble soul, kindle, for that 
 moment at least, the most exquisite beauty of expression, — 
 these being from their very nature evanescent in the highest 
 degree, necessarily produce indistinctness, and will be stu- 
 diously avoided by every painter who strives to give a close 
 imitation of nature. 
 
 In Holbein's portraits, costume, expression, and even the 
 position of the hands are made subservient to this primary 
 object, and the resemblance is thus so much heightened, that 
 it becomes startling, and sometimes almost harsh in its pal- 
 pable identity. Many of Leonardo's portraits are treated 
 
LETTER I.] 
 
 SYMBOLIC PORTRAITS. 
 
 31 
 
 on similar principles, aiming only at correctness in the out- 
 line of the features and minuteness in details : he appears to 
 excel in discerning and embodying characteristic peculiar- 
 ities, as, for example, in the portrait of the Duke of Milan* 
 at Dresden, as also in that of a woman (No. 924.) in this 
 Museum. The style of Raphael, many of whose portraits are 
 here exhibited, generally resembles that of Titian: his repre- 
 sentations are equally vivid and life-like, but with more strength 
 of colouring and more grandeur in the delineation of character. 
 
 Raphael and Leonardo have also left portraits in a com- 
 pletely different manner, bearing no trace either of Titian or 
 Holbein, and which may appropriately be termed "symbolic." 
 
 In these portraits we have what appears to be a striking 
 likeness, with a landscape background of sea, hills, and sky, 
 as in the picture of Monna Lisa, by Leonardo (No. 923.). 
 This addition is decidedly an infringement of the narrow 
 circle within which Holbein and Titian confined themselves, 
 for it is immediately seen that the landscape is designed to 
 heighten and amplify the expression depicted on the counte- 
 nance. Symbols introduced into any branch of art become 
 a medium for facilitating the comprehension of what is not 
 in itself sufficiently clear. It is undoubtedly the highest 
 effort of genius to enable us to read in the human counte- 
 nance the deepest working of the hidden soul within, and 
 of which the outward indications are generally so few and 
 slight. This expression being but dimly seen, and difficult 
 to seize and depict, the artist finds correctness of form and 
 features inadequate, alone, to convey this highest attribute 
 of the human countenance, and summons to his aid the use 
 of symbols, which, combining with the outward elements, 
 invest them with a new and clearer signification. The old 
 masters afford many examples of such a combination of a 
 landscape background, and a characteristic face. I know 
 none more remarkable, in this style, than two portraits by 
 Raphael (Nos. 937. 938.), in the catalogue of the Long Gal- 
 lery. They are likenesses of two young men ; one, leaning 
 on his arm, with an expression of careless confidence, looks 
 forth into the world with joyous, animated eyes, as if secure 
 of making his way clearly through all difficulties, and sur- 
 mounting every obstacle ; the other, silent and contempla- 
 
 * Francois Sforze, Due de Milan.— Cat. to Dresden Gal. 1782. No. 
 245. 
 
32 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER I. 
 
 tive, not as if touched by care or anxiety, but serenely 
 thoughtful, and by some magic of the painter's soul, wrought 
 into a delicious expression of repose, blends in a countenance 
 of lofty beauty, the utmost candour and simplicity. The 
 background is an extensive landscape ; the earth clear, dis- 
 tinct, and radiant ; but the sky above troubled and tem- 
 pestuous. The uniformity of the landscape is unbroken, 
 except by a few little trees, which rise in the foreground ; 
 nothing, on the whole, can be more touching, or better cal- 
 culated to induce meditation and tranquil thought. 
 
 Now I affirm that such a portrait, so decidedly symbolic, 
 is quite distinct from the ordinary genre of portrait-paint- 
 ing. Its lofty expression and meaning seem almost to be- 
 long to the style of historical composition, and though not 
 perhaps in entire conformity with any historical subject, it 
 might easily be supposed to be a study, or fragment of some 
 larger composition. In a word, this symbolic expression and 
 treatment robs portrait painting of its only distinctive cha- 
 racter as a separate branch of the art, namely, the embody- 
 ing of individual features, in scrupulously correct identity. 
 But why insist on making it a distinct branch of art ? Were 
 it not far better, if the majority of dilettanti, caring less to 
 exhibit themselves in their personal character to posterity, 
 trusted more to the discretion of the artist. The painter 
 might then, instead of confining himself to the portraiture 
 of the human countenance in its every-day character and 
 expression, which must in the lapse of a few years lose all 
 interest for the public eye, give it a permanent value as a 
 work of art, indulging at freedom in his own manner and 
 treatment, the result of previous study, meditation, and re- 
 search. An interest thus firmly based would generally be a 
 lasting evidence to posterity, that this particular portrait, at 
 least in one sense, belonged to the sphere of the painter's 
 productions, and was imbued with his peculiar manner ; in 
 fact, it is by carrying out these very principles that fine 
 historical paintings are produced, any of which would seem 
 but of little value if deficient in the individuality of expres- 
 sion which characterises portrait-painting. 
 
 Garofalo's portrait of himself (No. 786.), is completely in 
 this style. I may here observe, that a portrait can scarcely 
 be treated with so much objective truth in form and detail, 
 and yet with a kind of partial interest in the correct render- 
 
LETTER I.] RAPHAEL. TAPESTRY. 33 
 
 ing of the expression, as when the artist is himself also the 
 subject. This picture is by far the finest of any here exhi- 
 bited, and may be cited as the perfection of portrait-paint- 
 ing. Several Holy Families, by the same master, are to be 
 seen here also, but bearing no resemblance to each other. 
 One, in which St. Katherine kneels at the feet of Christ, 
 deserves peculiar notice. The countenance of the Madonna, 
 who is seated looking directly out of the picture, offers a 
 most perfect ideal of serious divinity ; and though so much 
 smaller in dimensions, bears some resemblance to the Mother 
 of God in the great picture by Raphael at Dresden ; but 
 the Madonna of Garofalo is, if I may hazard the assertion, 
 even more severe and holy. I always leave the study of 
 Raphael's portraits, impressed by the versatility of his truly 
 universal genius, each being marked by some distinguishing 
 variety of treatment and colouring. It is this predominant 
 quality which appears to me to be the source and the eluci- 
 dation of all his other peculiarities. 
 
 Certainly the recollection that a most extraordinary art- 
 istic versatility reigned in all the compositions of this master, 
 affords a clue to much that it is otherwise difficult to account 
 for. It was this which led him to imitate, and make his 
 own, every peculiarity in the style of other masters, which, 
 united and combined by his comprehensive genius, he has 
 presented to us under new and striking forms. 
 
 Many artists of great discrimination have remarked the sur- 
 prising resemblance between Raphael's manner in the tapestry 
 designs, and that of Michelangelo : in many of his single 
 figures he appears to lean to Masaccio, while the style of other 
 paintings makes the amateur almost doubtful whether to 
 assign them to him or to Giulio Romano. The similarity of 
 manner between himself and some among his pupils would 
 be most unaccountable, did we not know that in many in- 
 stances he transfused their manner into his own, or, to use 
 a more appropriate expression, lowered his own style to 
 assimilate with theirs. 
 
 There are, however, even in this Museum, many remarkable 
 instances of similarity between Raphael and other painters 
 differing widely from him in their general manner and range 
 of ideas. The great versatility of his genius unites in one 
 composition the most distant epochs and dissimilar styles. 
 
 D 
 
34 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter I. 
 
 These remarks apply very justly to the Madonna diFoligno, 
 (No. 55., Catalogue of the Grand Salon,) in the restoration 
 of which every secret of chemical art has been employed. It 
 is a votive picture. The Madonna and Child, surrounded 
 by a halo of light, occupy the upper part, and the rays 
 emanating from this glory illumine a city lying below. On 
 the right of the spectator we see the offerer of the picture 
 (donatorius), an aged man, kneeling, and joining his up- 
 raised hands in an attitude of devotion. The holy St. Jerome, 
 a fine old man with a white beard, places his hands on the 
 suppliant's head, thus apparently accepting, and at the same 
 time drawing attention to the devotion of the aged worshipper. 
 Opposite to these figures, and on the left of the spectator, 
 stands John the Baptist and the blessed St. Francis, both so 
 precisely resembling the same personages in the oldest paint- 
 ing by Correggio, at Dresden, that any one who has seen 
 both, must be fully persuaded that one of the two masters 
 must, though perhaps unconsciously, have copied the other. 
 Raphael's composition, though not in his latest manner, is 
 yet certainly not one of his earliest works ; that of Correggio, 
 on the contrary, belongs evidently to a very early period. 
 The figures, too, resemble many others by Correggio, in his 
 various compositions. We can scarcely reject the idea of some 
 intercourse, however slight, between the prince of Roman 
 masters and the then little known Lombard artist : it is at 
 least possible that Raphael may have seen the one painting to 
 which we allude ; and if so, he would doubtless appreciate it, 
 since we are aware of the high estimation in which he held 
 the designs of Dürer, which he at one time entertained the 
 idea of working up into perfect compositions. Should the 
 resemblance of which we have been speaking be merely 
 accidental, it is a singular circumstance, and serves at least 
 to prove the universality of Raphael's genius, which, with 
 lordly power, concentrated the widest ramifications and most 
 distant periods of art. His ordinary style ;n church pic- 
 tures, is a combination of Perugino and Fra Bartolommeo, 
 two masters of widely different style. His designs for 
 tapestry, and some among his later compositions, as for ex- 
 ample the Transfiguration, are in the manner of Michel- 
 angelo ; and his portraits resemble those of Titian, whose 
 manner he decidedly imitated, while infusing his own loftier 
 
LETTER I.] 
 
 RAPHAEL. 
 
 35 
 
 soul into the nature and truth of that master. How numer- 
 ous the points of resemblance, a careful and systematic study 
 of many paintings of the old masters would probably elicit ! 
 In the foreground of the very painting under consideration 
 (the Madonna di Foligno), the angel who presents a tablet 
 inscribed with the name of the votive offerer, exactly re- 
 sembles one of those in the incomparable picture at Dresden. 
 
 In the celebrated Transfiguration, which from its gran- 
 deur and beauty, the vigour of the design, and its perfect 
 development in the execution, enchains both artists and 
 amateurs in silent admiration, Faith and Incredulity are 
 most powerfully contrasted. On the left of the spectator 
 stand nine of the apostles, all gazing on the Saviour with 
 varied expressions of affection and unwavering faith ; opposite 
 to them the crowd, conducting thither the epileptic boy, all 
 evidently full of doubts, and some even ready to give utterance 
 to angry reproaches and murmurs against Providence, for per- 
 mitting the innocent to be thus afflicted. In the centre fore- 
 ground of the picture a woman is kneeling ; her countenance, 
 raised to heaven, is full of holy fervour, and she points to 
 the Saviour as if in the act of declaring that there can be 
 no hope for aid except from him alone, who is revealed upon 
 that mountain. The allegory is finely imagined, and vividly 
 represented. The landscape also is beautiful, and the treat- 
 ment of the heads in the lower part of the picture incom- 
 parably expressive; but the glorified Saviour, and those 
 who surround him, are less powerfully conceived, and in 
 every way inferior to the rest of the painting. Connois- 
 seurs of fine taste and judgment have imagined they could 
 trace in the upper part the hand of one of the famous 
 pupils of Raphael, il Fattore for instance ; this is frequently 
 the case in his later works. The treatment of the lower 
 part is quite in the style of Giulio Romano. 
 
 There is less richness and variety in the St. Michael 
 slaying the Dragon (932.), but the mind finds in it far more 
 food for meditation and reflection. The figure and coun- 
 tenance of the archangel are full of divine beauty and ex- 
 pression ; a stream of fire flows from a cavern in the dark 
 rock, in which the dragon is lying. There is also another 
 small picture on the same subject, probably the original 
 sketch of the first, although it differs considerably in the, 
 
 D 2 
 
36 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter I. 
 
 general treatment. The countenance of the angel is almost 
 more beautiful than in the finished composition, and it ap- 
 pears to me a happy idea to have made his ample shield 
 of pure white, with a blood red cross in the centre. Be- 
 sides the dragon, whose head is under the foot of the angel, 
 various wondrous and misshapen animals stand around. 
 We discover in the distance a burning town and a church- 
 yard, in which the devil is torturing and pursuing the spirits 
 of the dead. Judging from this design, which is a most 
 fantastic composition, we should pronounce the first sketches 
 of Raphael to be the most singular and original. 
 
 We must also notice a Madonna of small dimensions 
 (No. 935.), in which the blessed Virgin is represented taking 
 a robe from the sleeping infant, and silently gazing on him : 
 hence this picture is known under the name of the " Silence." 
 I was greatly delighted with it, and should say (if I may 
 venture to hazard such a conjecture) that, like many others 
 in a similar style, it marks the progress from his earliest and 
 childlike pictures to the glowing beauty of his riper years ; 
 of which, indeed, it gives rich indications, and seems to 
 promise that abundance of tender grace and loveliness, 
 which imparts to Raphael's original character such match- 
 less purity and unbounded variety. The colouring is a little 
 faded, yet it is easy to see that the red, white, and blue in 
 the mantle of the Virgin are blended and contrasted in the 
 same manner in which such tints are frequently employed 
 by poets in their descriptive passages— a poetical assemblage 
 and combination of colours to which this master is much 
 addicted. In this painting we recognise also a predilection 
 for pure masses of the most distinct tints, — red, green or 
 white, which blend harmoniously by the intervention of a 
 soft, grey shadow, like sweet strains of music, unbroken 
 by any discordant note or unmelodious chord. This manner 
 seems no less appropriate for producing effects of capricious 
 or high-souled imagination, than that mixture of all colours, 
 however great their apparent dissonance and incompatibi- 
 lity, which is the characteristic of Correggio. 
 
 I fancy I have frequently remarked and admired similar 
 characteristic colouring in Holbein and Dürer. Holbein 
 combines unmixed black, intense crimsons, and the richest 
 yellow brown ; a treatment exactly suited to his vigour of 
 
LETTER I.] 
 
 JOHN VAN EYCK. 
 
 37 
 
 design. The incomparable picture at Dresden, in which thfe 
 design is peculiarly apparent, shows with how much earnest 
 diligence he studied to attain the object we have noticed 
 yet Dürer, in some of his paintings, seems even to have 
 surpassed him, and by highly complicated efforts of art oc- 
 casionally to combine, in a world of contrasting colours, the 
 greatest vigour and expression, though from the nature of 
 things the result of such an attempt must generally prove 
 unsatisfactory. 
 
 I shall notice, in conclusion, some of the finest paintings 
 by German masters : they are, for the most part, portraits ; 
 the " Offering of Isaac" (316.), being nothing more than a 
 sketch, and of very little value. 
 
 John Van Eyck has some splendid paintings here. A 
 " Marriage at Cana," is not only of fresh and vivid colour- 
 ing, but full of beautifully designed figures. I can say 
 nothing more truly commendatory of the latter, than that 
 many of the female heads remind me of the Mother of God*, 
 at Dresden, by Holbein, in whom humility is so finely com- 
 bined with awful majesty. I consider this last more fully 
 expressive of the idea of the Holy Mother, in her sweet 
 benevolence and gentleness, than even the Madonna of 
 Raphael, — divine indeed in glance and form, yet with too 
 much of the ordinary character of divinity, — equally ap- 
 propriate to a Juno or a Diana ; and it is highly probable 
 that one or both of these goddesses of antiquity may have 
 presented themselves to the mind of the painter when he 
 formed the design. 
 
 Though the essentially German Holbein appears to have 
 been an imitator and follower of Van Eyck, still the figures 
 of that master, in his later compositions, are not completely 
 in the style of Flemish painting. It would, perhaps, be most 
 intelligible to consider Van Eyck as the author and founder 
 of the great school of German painting, the history and deve- 
 lopment of which may thus be traced with great clearness and 
 precision through the distinct and widest successive degrees 
 of Van Eyck, Dürer, and Holbein. Yet in the history of our 
 native art, at present so little known, many members may now 
 be wanting, which subsequent research will probably supply. 
 
 * La famille de Jacques Meyer, Bourguemaitre de Basle, ä genoux, 
 devant la Ste. Vierge qui tient Tenfant Jesus. — Cat. 1782, No. 437. 
 
 i) 3 
 
38 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter i. 
 
 There is a small painting here by Van Eyck — the " Lamb 
 of the Apocalypse." It is represented standing on the ark, and 
 the blood streaming from its bosom is received into a shell. 
 Near the ark are angels and seraphim worshipping the Lamb, 
 and, more distant, choirs of holy maidens, martyrs, teachers, 
 apostles, popes, and monks. The Holy Spirit, in the form 
 of a dove, hovers above them, and a ray of light and inspira- 
 tion emanating from the body illumines the kneeling groups 
 below. A spring of living water gushes forth in the foreground, 
 and a rich landscape, diversified with flowers, fruit, moun- 
 tains, and buildings, fills the background. The figures 
 forming each of the groups are most rich and varied, and, 
 above all, perfect in architectural symmetry and technical 
 correctness, presenting us with noble Italian-like forms. 
 
 The mystery and majesty of the Godhead is finely ex- 
 pressed throughout, but the opposition of the evil principle 
 holds in this allegory but a secondary place. 
 
 Three church pictures by this master — God the Father, 
 the Blessed Virgin, and St. John the Baptist* — have a strik- 
 ing affinity with each other, and are much finer compositions 
 than the last-mentioned. These severely divine figures, de- 
 signed with Egyptian force and formality, are wonderfully 
 impressive, and appear as if sent from grey antiquity to 
 demand our reverence and adoration, while their awful ma- 
 jesty leads us to devout meditation on the power and grandeur 
 of an earlier world. As in an organised body, essential 
 members, which stand out prominently, and give to the form 
 itself its decided proportions, are but few in number, yet 
 require, besides a certain proportion of the less prominent 
 accessories, organic substance, and muscular power, to bind 
 together the principal members and completely to clothe the 
 body, — so it is with painting as an art. In tracing out its 
 history at this period, we need name but few painters, be- 
 cause Van Eyck, Dürer, and Holbein are the types of dif- 
 ferent characteristics of German painting, which may be 
 satisfactorily classed in three divisions, each tracing back its 
 origin to one of those three masters. Still we must not over- 
 look those lesser painters, who, in the early times of German 
 as well as of Italian painting, claimed some regard, though 
 
 * These and the above are all parts of the famous altar-piece of 
 St. Bavons, Ghent, by Hubert and John Van Eyck. 
 
LETTER I.] HEMLING. 39 
 
 speedily eclipsed by the great princes and sovereigns of the 
 art, whose names alone are epochs sufficiently indicating its 
 progress. These inferior painters have many of them pro- 
 duced works, few in number it is true, and yet some of 
 which are almost worthy of their chiefs, and though perhaps 
 less effective and striking, distinguished by great and original 
 beauties. These observations were called forth by a picture 
 of the old German master, Hemling (No. 306.) : the blessed 
 St. Christopher, the Infant Christ, and a few other holy per- 
 sons, are here represented in a landscape, which deserves to 
 rank among the finest productions of the German school. 
 Saint Christopher, bearing the Infant Christ on his shoulder, 
 and leaning on a staff, steps across a little stream. Lofty 
 rocks form the sides of the picture ; in the left foreground 
 we see Saint Benedict, and on the right Saint Egidius, who 
 has just fixed an arrow in his cross-bow ; the favourite deer 
 stands near the saint. High up on the rock on the left side a 
 hermit is seen issuing from his cell, carrying a lighted torch. 
 In the side compartment, on the right of St. William, in full 
 armour, the donatorius (or votive offerer) and his son are in- 
 troduced kneeling, and the wife and daughters opposite, in 
 the same posture, presented by another saint.* The landscape 
 in the side compartments is a continuation of that in the 
 centre division. I have rarely seen one more still and green 
 — quite in the German character — natural and tranquil. 
 
 The benevolent and kindly expression in the countenance 
 of St. Christopher, the luxuriant landscape, the symbolic deer, 
 and the simplicity and single-heartedness of the whole, remind 
 us of the best efforts of the old German masters, more espe- 
 cially of Dürer, though this picture has no alloy of caricature, 
 and is throughout more calm and tranquil, though scarcely 
 less expressive than the ordinary manner of that master. 
 
 The countenances are more completely natural than we 
 generally find them in the old Flemish masters. 
 
 In a remote period and country, this most excellent painter, 
 whose fame is far from equalling his merits, sprang to life, 
 imbued with all the genius of the old German masters. The 
 picture we have described may furnish an example of the 
 correct manner of treating subjects taken from the history of 
 the saints in their solitary and picturesque retreats. The 
 
 * Sainte Barbe. — Catalogue, 1802. 
 d 4 
 
40 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. L LETTEI1 L 
 
 deepest devotion and holiness are apparent throughout, 
 blended with all the charms of tranquillity and innocence. 
 
 The first step to that expressive style of painting intro- 
 duced by Van Eyck into the German school, is by far the most 
 comprehensive and easily understood. We cannot, therefore, 
 wonder at its having been speedily adopted by succeeding 
 artists, who, superadding an outward finish and softness, at 
 length reached that degree of highly-finished correctness and 
 accuracy which, in Holbein, seems to have attained the per- 
 fection of that manner. But it is in the medium between 
 these two extremes that we discover the greatest depth of 
 symbolic meaning, the most explicit and profoundly studied 
 designs. The pictures of Albert Dürer afford the happiest 
 examples of this style — his Crucifixion especially. Here the 
 apostle St. John, standing at the foot of the cross, gazes 
 mournfully upon the Saviour ; opposite to him is the Blessed 
 Virgin, supported in the arms of her attendants, her head 
 bowed down with the weight of more than maternal anguish. 
 The expression of her grief is perfectly free from exaggera- 
 tion, and therefore the more irresistibly affecting. Her noble 
 countenance seems suffused with tears ; the lips parted, as if 
 ready to give utterance to the heart-wrung cry of pain and 
 sorrow. 
 
 St. Dionysius and Charlemagne are on the right of the 
 spectator, on the same side of the picture as the apostle St. 
 John. The first, in accordance with his legendary history, 
 holds in his hand his own pale and severed head, the blood 
 gushing from his neck. Charlemagne grasps a naked sword, 
 and looks out of the picture, his eye full of wild determina- 
 tion and severity. Several soldiers of reduced proportions 
 form characteristic groups in the background ; some of the 
 figures are rude and savage in expression, others mischievous, 
 and others again boorish and vicious ; yet all seem to gaze 
 with fierce, demoniac joy on the Redeemer and his martyred 
 servant. Two, who stand apart on a mountain, pointing with 
 exultation at the crucified, appear meet companions for the 
 Evil One. No verdure clothes this side of the picture ; but 
 a large Gothic church, with open doors, seemingly emble- 
 matic of the spiritual edifice which such princes as Charles, 
 and such martyrs as St. Dionysius, established with blood 
 and sword, may also indicate the path of return, even from 
 the vilest degradation and sinfulness, to the holiness of a re- 
 
LETTER I.] 
 
 ALBERT DÜRER. 
 
 41 
 
 newed heart ; probably, also, the limits within which even 
 disgust and rage (which we here see giving utterance to the 
 most fiendlike scoffing against God and God's most holy 
 things), may find lurking places. Every thing most repug- 
 nant to Christianity seems to be here assembled ; but the 
 opposite side of the picture (the spectator's left), has far 
 more calm and tranquillity. We see, near the cross, the 
 weeping mother ; the holy Baptist, and his lamb, one hand 
 extended, pointing to the crucified Redeemer, and with an 
 expression of true grief and sorrow ; also St. Louis, looking 
 towards the group, yet more serious than sorrowful, gazing 
 almost with envy on the grave of the Saviour. A road in the 
 distance leads down to the water, and a few men stand calmly 
 and as if in conversation. The landscape is dotted with 
 rustic cottages, and a traveller leans over the wall at the side 
 of the road, gazing pensively down upon the water and the 
 opposite shore. Small vessels, sailing hither and thither, 
 are mirrored on the glassy surface of the water. The fore- 
 ground on this side is clothed and adorned with plants of 
 varied hues and carefully painted. Various objects are scat- 
 tered at the foot of the cross, — a skull, bones, drops of 
 blood, a stone, the end of a rope, — all thrown together as if 
 by accident. As you approach the side where Charles and 
 St. Dionysius are standing, a few solitary plants only are in- 
 troduced ; but the foreground, further on that side, is per- 
 fectly bare. A dark cloud, black as night, envelopes the 
 cross, and hangs low towards the earth, but all beneath it is 
 clear and bright. The Redeemer himself is gloriously im- 
 agined, though weakness and pain are fully apparent in the 
 prominent muscles and the livid form. His white mantle 
 flutters far in the distance, as if left to be the sport of the 
 rude winds. 
 
 Enough, however, for the present. A few only of the old 
 masters now remain to be noticed ; but their compositions 
 appear to me to have been imperfectly understood ; and the 
 examination of their designs will give me an opportunity of 
 fully developing my ideas on the subject of painting. They 
 must, however, be reserved for a future occasion, and until I 
 can study the actual ivorks of these great masters ; since, 
 without consulting the existing examples, I could not attempt 
 any comment on the general style of their compositions. 
 
42 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER II. 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 Characteristics of Raphael. The Difference between the old Schools of 
 Italian Painting and the modern Style. — On the Selection of Christian 
 Subjects for Painting, and the Manner in which the old Masters 
 treated mythological Subjects. — Description of a few remarkable 
 Paintings of the Spanish School, with Observations on the general 
 Principles on which the Distinction between different Branches of the 
 Art of Painting is founded. 
 
 SECOND PART. 
 
 Beginning of the year 1803. 
 
 The famous Transfiguration, the last and most wonderful 
 work of Raphael, has been most successfully restored, and is 
 now exhibited in the Long Gallery of the Louvre.* 
 
 It is, unfortunately, not in a favourable situation, the 
 gallery being too small to admit of its being viewed from 
 the distance necessary to give it full effect. The light too 
 is bad ; instead of entering from above, as in the Grand 
 Salon, it is admitted, the whole length of the gallery, by 
 side windows, and the effect is too dazzling, while it is 
 scarcely possible to obtain a full broad ray of light. 
 
 Attention has been paid to lessening as much as possi- 
 ble this evil, — unavoidable in the existing building, — and 
 the present position of the Transfiguration is the least un- 
 favourable that could be chosen under the circumstances. 
 Nay, it would, if possible, be compensated for by another 
 very praiseworthy arrangement. The great picture is sur- 
 rounded by a number of smaller pictures by the same 
 master ; on one side, a very valuable Holy Family, of his 
 ripest time, and opposite to it an " Annunciation," the work 
 of his earliest youth, and painted at the time when he imi- 
 tated Perugino. Two church pictures, by the latter master, 
 in his best manner, hang above the " Transfiguration," and 
 below them, portraits. Sketches and small paintings, by 
 Raphael, among which we find those I have before des- 
 cribed, and a few others in addition. The "Madonna di 
 Foligno" is hung near; and opposite, "La Belle Jardiniere," 
 or, the Madonna of the Garden. 
 
 A method of hanging so judicious, induces meditation, 
 * Since restored to the Vatican. 
 
LETTER II.] PERUGINO. — RAPHAEL. 43 
 
 and at the same time facilitates the study of any great 
 master, showing at a glance the progressive development 
 of his genius, from its earliest youthful efforts to the full 
 splendour of its meridian glory. 
 
 Both the church pictures of Perugino are hung too high 
 to be conveniently studied, and their treatment appears so 
 different to his general manner, and to one picture in par- 
 ticular which I had on my former visit seen among the 
 works placed aside to be repaired and restored, that it is 
 difficult to account for a contrast so surprising. Both un- 
 doubtedly belong to a much earlier and inferior epoch of this 
 master's genius. 
 
 The earliest pictures of Raphael surprisingly resemble 
 those of his master Perugino; so much so, that it is some- 
 times difficult to know to which to assign the earlier works 
 of 'the former. A scholar capable of following so closely in 
 the steps of the master, must have been endowed by nature 
 with a strong imitative talent, and great facility in adopting 
 the ideas and designs of others. This facility peculiarly 
 characterises the genius of Raphael, and is almost insepara- 
 ble from that predilection for glowing colours, which in 
 some of Raphael's pictures, those of a later period especially, 
 is almost too apparent. 
 
 A small painting, representing in different compart- 
 ments the " Annunciation," the " Adoration of the Kings," 
 and the " Circumcision," although apparently in his earliest 
 manner, is less like Perugino, and most of the figures are 
 badly drawn. I imagine that even this early picture con- 
 tains indications of his subsequent attachment to ideal cir- 
 cumstances and construction. His colouring is in broad 
 masses of the most decided crimson, white, and green ; and 
 these prevailing hues resemble that one chord in a melody, 
 from whence the ear decides in what key a strain is com- 
 
 P ° S ][now noticed, for the first time, a little sketch, in 
 neutral tint, representing "Faith, Love, and Hope:" each 
 virtue is personified by a female figure, with two children 
 beside her ; those belonging to Hope are lovely and deli- 
 cately formed. Love is finely depicted as a nursing mo- 
 ther, her children contentedly drawing nourishment from 
 the breast ; her countenance wears an expression of benign 
 
44 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter it. 
 
 tranquillity, and it seems an original and beautiful thought 
 to have personified Love thus with her own life and strength, 
 supplying the wants of the necessitous, and soothing the 
 fretful complainings of weakness and dependence. 
 
 The " Transfiguration " has been so long the object of 
 universal wonder and admiration, that to extol its beauty 
 would be indeed superfluous. It is not the perfect finish 
 alone which raises it so high in the estimation of all artists ; 
 other qualities undoubtedly contribute to enhance its fame. 
 This great picture, in the treatment of the colours, the 
 grouping, as well as in the expression, and still more the 
 method and principles on which it is designed, completely 
 accords with the style of the later schools. The Carracci, 
 indeed, adopted the same treatment, or at least aimed at 
 the same point, though unable actually to soar so high. The 
 difference between Raphael and his successors is more ob- 
 vious in design than in actual treatment ; or at least, their 
 colouring approaches more nearly to that of Raphael, than it 
 does to the narrow, severe, and more vigorous manner of older 
 masters. Raphael himself frequently imitated the old style ; 
 and here again we admire the wonderful versatility and 
 variety of his genius. Paintings belonging to the earlier 
 epochs of the Italian schools may have little interest for the 
 mere lover of art, but their value to an experienced painter 
 is infinitely greater. In the time of the Carracci and their 
 successors, Poussin, &c., the prevailing style of painting 
 continued to be imbued, however slightly, with the feelings 
 and manner of the earlier masters ; but from that time for- 
 ward their ideas seem to have been no longer understood or 
 reverenced, and ere long were entirely laid aside and for- 
 gotten. None of Raphael's works, though there may per- 
 haps be many of equal merit in existence, have excited so 
 much enthusiasm as the " Transfiguration," and the reason 
 may possibly be this, — it seems to form the last link between 
 the genuine style of the old masters, and the more artificial 
 taste of modern schools. 
 
 The expression in this picture is much heightened by 
 the powerful contrast between the pious, benevolent ardour 
 of the apostles, and the murmuring, complaining unbelief 
 of those who lead the epileptic boy ; a contrast most power- 
 fully and effectively managed. The landscape is beautiful, 
 
LETTER II.] THE TRANSFIGURATION. 
 
 45 
 
 and the figure of the woman, who, kneeling in the fore- 
 ground, appears to reproach the disciples with their inca- 
 pacity or unwillingness to aid the sufferer, is divinely grand. 
 The heads of the apostles are finely varied, and that of St. 
 John, beautiful; the discontent and angry feelings of the 
 surrounding spectators, and the suffering of the boy himself, 
 are delineated with much truth and force. Yet the finishing 
 is notwithstanding deficient in dignity and high expression. 
 The reproachful looks of the murmurers are rude and wild, 
 and the disciples gaze wonderingly on each other, surprised 
 and grieved at their inability to render assistance ; oppressed 
 by their want of power, and with little grandeur of mien or 
 dignity of deportment. A master of earlier times would 
 not thus have handled his subject : he would probably have 
 given us a far deeper insight into the complicated sources of 
 bitter sorrow and anguish ; but to compensate for this, the 
 influence of the Consoler would have been unalloyed, and 
 his power far more intensely felt. We should not, perhaps, 
 have had our admiration excited by the rich grouping of 
 the apostles, but the severe grandeur of each figure would 
 have filled us with reverence ; the imperative earnestness of 
 the unbelievers, their loud and reproachful murmurs, would 
 have appeared as if awed into silence, or softened into hope; 
 and the conviction of the necessity of suffering, and the 
 insufficiency of all earthly aid, would have given a more 
 dignified and imposing character to the whole. This modern 
 manner, richer indeed in art, but less imaginative and beau- 
 tiful, may be traced also in the group upon the mountain. 
 The figure of the Saviour, hovering in the upper air, ap- 
 pears like a moving flame ; the three apostles, blinded by 
 the radiance, lie on the ground, in attitudes almost too 
 effective to be wholly natural ; and the donatorius, kneel- 
 ing in the corner, has also a wonder-stricken expression of 
 countenance. The subject altogether is treated with a super- 
 ficial, lightly-kindled enthusiasm, not with that simple, 
 earnest power, that profound meditation and deep devotion 
 with which the reverential love of the earlier masters would 
 have approached a subject so truly divine and holy. 
 
 The inventive genius of Raphael is most gloriously 
 displayed in such comprehensive works as the above ; but 
 the loveliness and grace which invest his composition with 
 
46 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter II. 
 
 peculiar fascination are more conspicuous in his simple 
 paintings. The famous Madonna, known as "La Giardi- 
 niera," takes a very high rank among pictures of the latter 
 class. The Madonna is represented sitting with the two 
 children in a landscape of surpassing beauty ; the sky of 
 pure and cloudless azure, and the whole scene representing 
 an earthly paradise of innocence and spirituality. This 
 picture breathes only unsullied loveliness, and almost infan- 
 tine happiness ; the individuality of nature appears through- 
 out, but with an absence of ideality, and no severity of out- 
 line. The charm and purity of the colouring, and the deli- 
 cate bloom of the carnations are beyond all praise ; this 
 picture may well bear comparison with the most elevated 
 and spiritual among those of Titian, at least, in so far as we 
 habitually associate with that master the idea of the most 
 exquisite perfection of colouring. Titian's fine " Head of 
 Christ," noticed in a preceding letter, ought to be placed 
 near the " Giardiniera 99 of Raphael. 
 
 This master has, nevertheless, in his representations 
 of the Holy Virgin, indulged in the greatest diversity of 
 manner and expression. It would be easy to enumerate a 
 whole series of pictures on that subject, varying from the 
 utmost loveliness of expression to the highest irradiation of 
 majesty and awe. We may commence this series with the 
 " Giardiniera," in which the blessed Virgin is represented, 
 like the best beloved of some human heart, clad in mortal 
 loveliness alone ; and it will naturally close with that splen- 
 did composition at Dresden, in which the Mother of God is 
 represented hovering in the clouds ; the clear outline of the 
 features, the serious, yet love-breathing countenance, remind 
 us of the loftiest idealisation of Juno, and the severe sim- 
 plicity of Diana. 
 
 Next to the " Giardiniera," we place the small pic- 
 ture known as the " Silence*," in which the Virgin is seen 
 watching over her sleeping child : the features in this paint- 
 ing also are stamped with individuality, but the crown on 
 the head, and the symbolic colour of the drapery at once 
 indicate the Queen of Heaven: it forms a charming picture. 
 Such lovely pictures as the " Silentium," and the " Giar- 
 diniera," seem to justify the opinion once expressed by 
 * La Vierge au Diademe. 
 
LETTER II.] MICHELANGELO AND RAPHAEL. 47 
 
 Michelangelo, that Raphael was a fine miniature-painter. 
 This observation, however, requires explanation, as it may- 
 otherwise appear prompted by an artistic jealousy, unworthy 
 of so lofty a genius as Michelangelo. He doubtless meant 
 to imply that, notwithstanding the circumscribed dimensions 
 of these lesser pictures, Raphael appears in them to have 
 given full scope to his ardent aspirations after beauty, 
 lavishing on them the richest gifts of fascinating grace and 
 spiritual loveliness ; but when he undertakes a gigantic 
 composition, misled by the example of others, and the mis- 
 chievous tendency of the time, he is far from being equally 
 happy. This observation of Michelangelo's should, there- 
 fore, if authentic, be referred only to the taste prevailing 
 among artists of that time, for large and lofty proportions ; 
 and indeed Raphael's expression might be found almost too 
 fine and elaborate for pictures of colossal magnitude. Michel- 
 angelo's predilection for gigantic forms led him to judge of 
 designs chiefly as appropriate to paintings of such proportions. 
 
 In another " Holy Family," hanging to the right of 
 the " Transfiguration," several angels are introduced, strew- 
 ing flowers over the Holy Mother ; all wear a lively expres- 
 sion of rapture and devout joy, and the expression of 
 the Virgin's countenance is in perfect keeping. It cer- 
 tainly marks the first step of Raphael's progress from his 
 earliest compositions, or rather copies of material grace and 
 beauty to his later ideality of design. This picture has 
 been the subject of much discussion ; it has all the finished 
 grace of Correggio, with a slight tincture of his laboured 
 delicacy. The colouring, if not considerably faded, must from 
 the first have been very feeble. The famous 44 Madonna della 
 Sedia"* claims also an appropriate place in this series. 
 The 44 Madonna di Foligno " ranks next to the Madonna [di 
 San Sisto] at Dresden. In this picture the Holy Virgin is 
 surrounded by the nimbus, and appears indeed a creature of 
 heavenly birth ; but her countenance is deficient in expres- 
 sion, and the child's even more so. The individuality 
 of Raphael's earliest paintings has vanished, but as yet he 
 attains not to the glorious ideality of his famous 44 Madonna." 
 
 The modern estimation of this first of painters and 
 the opinions transmitted to us from earlier days, which are 
 * Pitti Palace. 
 
48 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER II. 
 
 too generally received and repeated without personal inves» 
 tigation or examination, require in many points to be care- 
 fully corrected and defined anew. Mengs considers ths 
 peculiar excellence of Raphael's style to consist in design, 
 and expression ; his shadows and colouring having been not 
 a little censured. Not to mention that so many of his paint- 
 ings may be cited as incomparably beautiful in colouring, 
 (the so often mentioned " Giardiniera" for instance,) this 
 distinction is altogether contradictory ; for are not these 
 qualities reciprocal throughout ? Could Correggio, in com- 
 bination with his method of light and shade, have employed 
 any other carnations ? and is not the colouring of Raphael 
 as positively appropriate to his designs and forms ? Do not 
 lights, character, colouring and design enter, in the compo- 
 sitions of a good master, into the unbroken harmony of the 
 whole ? Instead of idly attempting, by an unsatisfactory 
 classification, to divide things which are essentially insepar- 
 able, and must be judged of in their eternal connection, let 
 us rather strive to penetrate the original design of each 
 master, and to unravel the expression which he himself 
 designed to convey, recollecting that the paintings under 
 consideration were the offspring of a distant epoch, when 
 the prevailing habits of thought, no less than the manner of 
 expressing them, differed widely from our own. Should we 
 succeed in fully comprehending any one design, we shall 
 obtain a clue for estimating the value of the entire compo- 
 sitions, and, judging in how far they carry out the painter's 
 own views and intentions ; and if compelled, before obtain- 
 ing that discriminating power, to study and examine numer- 
 ous other designs by various masters, an additional advantage 
 will thus be gained, enabling us to decide on the relative 
 value of that particular composition as compared with others, 
 and a number of genuine ideas and principles will thus be 
 engrafted on the mind. Principles, in the highest sense of 
 the word ; not merely negative conclusions, teaching no 
 more than men must understand intuitively, — isolated ideas, 
 calculated only to break asunder and destroy that harmonious 
 unity, which can be penetrated and understood only in the 
 combination of every part, — but principles, properly so 
 called, the basis and source of a new life, and the first step, 
 distant though it be, towards an imperishable goal. 
 
LETTER II.] RAPHAEL AND THE EARLY SCHOOL. 49 
 
 Many have pointed out ideal beauty, as the distin- 
 guishing characteristic of Raphael. In refutation of this 
 assertion, it must be remembered that there are compara- 
 tively few among his works in which this tendency is dis- 
 coverable ; perhaps here and there almost too much so, to 
 the neglect of the eternal barrier between painting and the 
 antique forms modelled in sculpture. In other compositions 
 he attempts only the delineation of some expressive allegory, 
 giving to his figures a voluptuous charm, totally devoid of 
 anything like ideality. This opinion of Raphael's merits is 
 consequently ill-founded, and in a great measure incorrect. 
 
 The extraordinary variety and artistic universality recog- 
 nised in his congenial treatment of character, and which 
 appears to be the most essential property of Raphael's 
 genius, is also apparent in his attachment to the earlier 
 schools of painting ; for although so many of his composi- 
 tions belong completely to the epoch in which he lived, we 
 trace, even in them, the genius of the old masters : their 
 spirit and style present themselves occasionally almost pure, 
 and thus, in a certain sense, mark out the transition from 
 the old style to that of the modern schools. It is, therefore, 
 in the highest degree worthy of notice, that the painters of 
 that time, from whom he had almost seceded, chose him 
 pre-eminently as their leader, because all his works and 
 peculiar ideas, if rightly understood, must unavoidably lead 
 them back to the right source ; namely, to that old school 
 which we have no hesitation in pronouncing infinitely pre- 
 ferable to the new. 
 
 The study of the new and rich collection of Raphael's 
 works now exhibited in the Louvre, gives rise, in this place, 
 to two general observations. 
 
 The first touches upon the old and new schools of Italian 
 painting ; the devout, pious deeply significant style of the 
 former, and the florid pomp of the latter. This grand dis- 
 tinction requires to be particularly noticed in the history of 
 the art, and other less remarkable differences should, on the 
 contrary, be disregarded. Such as the many contrasts which 
 may be found between the Venetian and the later Flo- 
 rentine school : in comparison with the old style, however, 
 all these form but one general body, equally opposed to the 
 principles and the execution of earlier masters, 
 
 E 
 
50 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER II. 
 
 The striking and richly effective character of Titian's 
 paintings, as well as his design of placing before us in the 
 most vivid manner the whole abundance and individual 
 variety of actual life, is no more in keeping with the severe 
 simplicity of the old masters, than the joyous splendour and 
 dithyrambic luxuriance of Giulio Romano, whose mind 
 seemed as fully imbued with the pomp and majesty of Romish 
 ecclesiastical antiquity, as that of every Venetian appears to 
 have been with the gloomy drama of opposing principles, 
 and the contrast between good and evil, holiness and guilt. 
 Many painters, little known to posterity, doubtless con- 
 tributed to the establishment of that new school, which, 
 originating with Raphael, Titian, Correggio, Giulio Romano, 
 and Michelangelo, yet bore within it the seeds of prema- 
 ture decay. They indeed reached the highest summit of the 
 art, both in conception and in the employment of every 
 artistic power ; yet their followers and imitators in each 
 separate school, exaggerating every dangerous license, soon 
 diverged into the wide digressions of a false style, the first 
 symptoms of which decline may be recognised in the feeble- 
 ness apparent in the latest works, even of those masters, 
 If Correggio first gave the example of digressing into the 
 province of music, the first introduction of that old and 
 common error, of mingling the attributes of sculpture with 
 those of painting, may be traced to Michelangelo. But 
 not in these giant minds alone, but in all those who have 
 been cited, we trace the wide-spreading, variable, and for 
 that very reason digressive tendency of the new schools, 
 offering a strong contrast to the severe simplicity of Man- 
 tegna, Bellini, Perugino, with whom Masaccio may also be 
 classed, and finally the contemplative Leonardo ; although 
 the last evinces a decided tendency to the new school, as 
 Raphael, amongst those of the modern epoch, adheres most 
 closely to the earlier style. I should be disposed to ques- 
 tion much whether any master of a much later period, how- 
 ever frequently cited among the new Italians, can deserve to 
 hold a very distinguished place in the history of the art. 
 The great era of creative genius ends with Giulio Romano 
 and Correggio ; the scholastic imitations and eclectic paint- 
 ings of the Carracci, and others of their kind, resemble the 
 learned labours and studied Alexandrines of a poet, who, in 
 
LETTER II.] ITALIAN POETS AND PAINTERS. 51 
 
 that sister art, exchanges the beautiful simplicity of true 
 sentiment and expression for servile imitations and florid 
 passages. 
 
 Italian painting may, like its poetry, be classed in two 
 distinct divisions ; the old, and the new. If the simple 
 grandeur of Giotto, the masculine and wondrous concep- 
 tions of Mantegna* remind us of Dante, the beauty of 
 Perugino may no less aptly be compared with Petrarch, while 
 Titian and Correggio seem alike representatives of Ariosto 
 and Tasso. I have not cited these resemblances between 
 the followers of the sister arts, simply as an exercise of 
 ingenuity, but rather to illustrate the one simple yet im- 
 portant principle, that nature in similar spheres observes 
 the same order of productions, and that the same stages of 
 progress are apparent in all. The parallel between Italian 
 poets and painters may be carried still farther, — the pithy 
 sweetness of Dominichino assimilates completely with the 
 poetic manner of Guarini, and the sweet inspiration of Marini 
 finds a correspondent analogy in the capricious Albano. 
 
 The second general observation that occurs, relates to 
 the subjects usually selected by these masters. 
 
 It must be already evident, (and many more proofs 
 may easily be adduced in confirmation of the fact), that 
 Christian subjects, as treated by the old masters, are far 
 from being of their own creation ; since those which they 
 have depicted are all, without exception, treated in one uni- 
 form manner, which, in fact, scarcely admits the possibility 
 of any great variety of expression. 
 
 It is a matter of deep regret, that some baneful influence 
 should have so far removed our modern artists from the 
 range of ideas and of subjects adopted by the old masters, 
 whose footsteps they would do wisely still to follow. How 
 natural and laudable would it be, if modern artists pursued 
 the road which Raphael, Perugino, and Leonardo trod before 
 them ; — if they again imbibed their ideas and conceptions, 
 drank more deeply from the well-spring of their genius, and 
 thus imbued the productions of modern art with the finest 
 properties of the old masters. And how inexhaustible are the 
 riches of that treasury ! How comprehensive each of those 
 circles in artistic beauty and expression ! What a melancholy 
 * Vide Note by A. E. Rio, ante\ pages 7, 8. 
 e 2 
 
52 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter n. 
 
 contrast is now apparent ! How hesitatingly do our painters 
 falter around, and, in the excess of their indecision, cling 
 now to one, now to another, equally inappropriate subject, 
 most of them deciding in favour of the so-called historical 
 pictures, which being unsusceptible of deep natural feeling 
 or spiritual symbolism, leave the loftiest objects of art un- 
 attained, and even unthought of ; or, perhaps, ascending a 
 degree higher, they fix on some subject from ancient mytho- 
 logy, the spirit and inmost being of which are so completely 
 identified with the character of sculpture, that to embody 
 them in painting is impossible. 
 
 It is not my intention to treat fully in this place of a 
 subject so important ; but merely to offer a few hasty re- 
 marks, which may be of use in inciting others to the con- 
 sideration of the subject. 
 
 It is a fact by no means to be overlooked, that each 
 great master of the old school not only found full scope for 
 imagination and originality in the sphere of Christian art, 
 but ; willingly confining himself within its narrow limits, 
 never grew weary of varying, by a series of experimental 
 designs, subjects which might, at first sight, appear to be 
 barren and unfruitful. Of this Raphael's numerous and 
 varied representations of the Madonna afford an example, 
 and the "Crucifixion" in the same manner supplied Dürer 
 with an inexhaustible field for his meditative soul. The 
 " Herodias " appears to have been a favourite subject with 
 the school of Leonardo. The difficulty of this latter subject 
 would alone make it of value in forming pupils in design. 
 One picture on this subject is in the Musee, and another at 
 Dresden ; both evidently of Leonardo's school. I have 
 recently seen a third, in a private collection, probably by 
 Leonardo himself, different in execution, yet inferior to few, 
 if any. 
 
 My second preliminary observation refers to the fatal, yet 
 still prevailing error of modern masters, who, in treating sub- 
 jects taken from antique mythology, conform rather to the 
 principles of sculpture than to those of painting, all lofty 
 ideality being thus completely lost. 
 
 I must observe, in the first place, that the old and new 
 schools of Italian masters differ widely in their treatment of 
 compositions from Greek subjects. 
 
LETTER II.] MYTHOLOGY AND CHRISTIAN SYMBOLISM. 53 
 
 As far as along study of antiquity has enabled me to judge 
 of the spirit of Grecian art, I am decidedly of opinion that 
 Italian masters, even of the modern school, possibly far more 
 from correct impulse and true feeling than from classical 
 study, have so truly embodied the expression of ancient life 
 and faith, that the artists of the present day seem, in com- 
 parison, totally worthless. I have never contemplated the 
 originals of the gigantic designs of Michelangelo, nor can I 
 myself give an opinion on the style of Raphael in such subjects, 
 his cartoon of the School of Athens having been too much in- 
 jured to afford any criterion ; but the vigour, luxuriance, and 
 pomp of Giulio Romano, and the pure, fascinating beauty of 
 the Antiope of Correggio, seem at least drawn from inspiration 
 far nearer the source than any painter of our times has ever 
 ventured to approach. And yet such subjects are handled 
 by these masters in a spirit differing widely from that in 
 which they approach works of Christian symbolism. They 
 treated them as matters of amusement, — lighter occupations 
 in the intervals of their severer studies ; and though not, 
 perhaps, themselves fully conscious of the fact, the style of 
 their works sufficiently proves it to have been so. 
 
 In the new Italian school, on the contrary, we find the 
 prevailing tendency of artistic genius to be an inclination to 
 transport itself at once into the regions of mythology, often 
 successfully symbolising its most mysterious conceptions. 
 Not so the old school ; at least in so far as I have been able 
 to judge. By them the ancient mythology is employed 
 merely as a recognised symbolic power ; from it they borrow 
 allegories and ideas, when less holy solemnity is required 
 than in the highest subjects of Christian faith. The sense 
 in which they are employed is, moreover, very arbitrary, 
 differing widely from the meaning assigned to them in 
 modern times. The oldest romantic, or Provencal poets, gave 
 them the same signification. Their God of Love bears as 
 little resemblance to the Greek Eros, as the Mercury of 
 Mantegna does to the classic Hermes. A picture illustrative 
 of these remarks may be seen in the Salon of Designs. It is 
 a water-colour drawing by Perugino, representing the strife 
 of Virtue and Pleasure. Two delicate trees, the one bright 
 and clear, full of little winged loves, the other gloomy, with 
 a solitary owl sitting amid the branches, indicate the contest 
 
 E 3 
 
54 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER IL 
 
 to be depicted. Female figures, armed with lances tipped 
 with flame, engage in the conflict, some on the side of love, 
 and some against him. The little loves also bear their parts, 
 and one woman has been attacked by them, and thrown 
 joyously on the ground, within the domain of pleasure, 
 which is represented as a wild and savage forest. A second 
 woman is seen struggling with three or four of these little 
 sprites,, one of whom she has already killed. The side of 
 another woman is menaced by the dart of a little Cupid, a 
 second clings to her shoulder, while a third is climbing up 
 her robe. The metamorphosis of Daphne, Europa on the 
 bull, and other histories from Ovid, are seen in the back- 
 ground, and Mercury hovers in the air. The whole com- 
 position is delicate and expressive, with great clearness of 
 outline and richness of colouring. 
 
 Albert Dürer may be styled the Shakspeare of paint- 
 ing in reference to both Italian schools ; and as both he and 
 Raphael may, by the abundance of their poetic inspiration 
 and the depth and significance of their symbolic designs, 
 become to the artists of the present day, a wide-spreading 
 principle and guiding star of national art, my subsequent 
 observations on him must be more full and particular. 
 Thus much is clear : his deep-souled genius is more in 
 harmony with the style of the old Italians than with the 
 modern schools. 
 
 I shall at present, without further interruption, continue 
 my observations on the works of art here assembled, since 
 the examination of this series seems naturally to suggest 
 the origin and explain the tendency of most of the ideas now 
 existing on the subject of art. 
 
 I had recently an opportunity of examining a private 
 collection of paintings in the possession of Lucien Buonaparte, 
 from which I gained much valuable information. 
 
 Many of the paintings have, till very lately, been the pro- 
 perty of Spain ; a country in which many other treasures, 
 especially among the works of Raphael, Leonardo, and 
 Titian, are still preserved, and little known in comparison 
 with their other compositions in France and Italy. A 
 description of these paintings will therefore be valuable, as 
 an historical record, to those German artists and amateurs 
 who have travelled in Italy only. 
 
LETTER II.] SPANISH SCHOOL ; MURILLO. 
 
 55 
 
 The actual treasures of this collection are comparatively 
 few in number, and will speedily be discussed. 
 
 I could not, while in this private gallery, dismiss the 
 reflection, that though artists may regret to see so fine a 
 collection in the possession of a private individual, and there- 
 fore inaccessible to the great body of artists and the public 
 in general, the amateur is infinitely a gainer. A private 
 collection being to him, in many important particulars, far 
 superior to a public exhibition. The rooms occupied by the 
 latter are frequently unsuitable, — the best paintings hung 
 in a bad light, and in other respects rarely arranged as they 
 ought to be. In the Parisian Museum these inconveniences 
 are peculiarly obvious. The grand salon, notwithstanding 
 its large dimensions, is not sufficiently spacious to receive the 
 pictures without some inconvenience. Lucien Buonaparte's 
 collection, being on the contrary select rather than numerous, 
 full justice is done to every picture, and the spectator is 
 never either confused or disturbed in his contemplation by 
 unartistlike hanging. There are, perhaps, one or two pic- 
 tures which might have a better light, but the hanging is, 
 in general, excellent. This is a circumstance of great im- 
 portance, and after having long suffered inconvenience from 
 the neglect of these particulars, it is doubly felt and appre- 
 ciated. 
 
 This collection is singularly rich in rare works of the 
 Spanish school, and those in the National Museum cannot be 
 compared with them in point of value. The most remarkable 
 are " Inspiration," by Murillo, and a " Saint at Prayer," by 
 the same. The first represents a monk, in a lonely cell, with 
 parted lips, his head resting on his hand, and his whole 
 attitude expressing intense attention, as if completely carried 
 away and entranced by the inward breathings of inspiration, 
 and yet quite self-possessed, and even disposed to question 
 the reality of what he hears. Though forming neither an 
 unquestionably beautiful picture, nor a composition of un- 
 fathomable depth and meaning, this monk is yet represented 
 with a truth and fervour, which seizes and fixes the attention 
 of every beholder, while the execution of the painting ia 
 in a style rarely equalled. There is great sameness in the 
 back -ground : a dull, dark, gold colour, or rather a transparent 
 brilliant brown is the only tint employed ; this forms a halo 
 
 e 4 
 
56 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter n. 
 
 round the head of the inspired one, and being gradually- 
 shaded into a deeper brown, is lost altogether in the back- 
 ground. In the upper corner of the picture various little 
 figures, supposed to indicate the revelations communicated 
 to the prophet, are depicted. This representation rouses us 
 to the existence of a completely new domain in the sphere of 
 art, and no German or Italian painting in any degree resem- 
 bles it. We often remark in Spanish painters an inclination 
 to select this rapturous inspiration as the subject of their 
 compositions : it is as if they sought to approach the mys- 
 terious threshold of heaven and heavenly revelations, and 
 thought the world of spirits alone a theme worthy the highest 
 efforts of genius in their art. The style of painting in these, 
 pictures is completely original It is easy to say, in general 
 terms, that Murillo's style is not that of the old Italians, that 
 he has not the bold outlines of Leonardo, nor the pure colour- 
 ing and glowing life of our best masters. No ; his outlines 
 are soft, and undecided, and his laboured imitation of nature, 
 and care in the mixing of his colours, belong rather to the 
 later Italian school, and its unwearied diligence and correct- 
 ness. When I consider the harmony and softness of Murillo's 
 colouring, I am disposed to compare him with Domenichino, 
 yet this latter master has far more delicacy of manner, and 
 employs brighter tints, sometimes even pure white, in his 
 colouring. Murillo is less brilliant, his designs more 
 severely grand, and more melancholy in feeling and expres- 
 sion ; but his infinite industry in the finish of these indis- 
 tinct outlines, and in blending hues, is equalled only by the 
 later Italians, and among them, perhaps, by Correggio alone : 
 like him too Murillo belongs unquestionably to the class of 
 musical painters. I have once already attempted to account 
 for the indecision of colouring and vagueness of outline in 
 painters of genius and originality, by referring it to an assi- 
 milation with a musical genius and manner of expression ; 
 but where, in these or later painters, it cannot be thus ac- 
 counted for, it seems to originate only in a very faulty 
 tendency to deceptive representations of nature — an error 
 which it scarcely belongs to the peculiar province of a 
 treatise on the art to notice. The musical tendency of 
 Murillo's genius is also evident in his selection of subjects, 
 and the sentimental expression of all his pictures. This, 
 
LETTER II.] 
 
 VELASQUEZ. 
 
 57 
 
 however, is more or less apparent in all paintings of the 
 Spanish school. They are characterised by a serious expres- 
 sion of melancholy grace, belonging to the highest range of 
 art. The prevailing subjects are religious. There is at 
 Dresden a Madonna in this style by Velasquez, and one very 
 similar in the Parisian Museum, the design after Murillo. A 
 beggar boy, by the same master, was also for a short time 
 exhibited here. This boy appears bowed by misery and 
 want. His ragged clothing, and the wretched furniture 
 around, are in melancholy harmony with the countenance 
 and attitude of the boy struggling with hunger and neglect : 
 the whole is bitterly and painfully real. It is certainly a 
 splendid painting, though idealists may turn from it in dis- 
 gust ; but is not this a superficial feeling, as if all depended 
 on the subject, and not rather on the peculiar manner in 
 which it is treated ? A beggar boy is, it is true, always a 
 beggar boy ; yet in how many different ways may he not be 
 represented ! A humourist will seize and depict only the 
 comic points in his outward appearance, giving to the coun- 
 tenance that expression of easy indifference to care which a 
 thoughtless character may retain, even in the lowest depths 
 of misery. A deeply-contemplative painter, a Leonardo or 
 Dürer for instance, will fix his ideas on the confusion and 
 distraction which misery usually imparts to the countenance, 
 and even to the character, and enter so deeply into its influ- 
 ence on the mind, that the perfection of his conception and 
 representation will excite the utmost wonder and astonish- 
 ment. The severe taste of the Spaniard has represented 
 misery in its humiliation, yet accompanied with so much 
 inward composure and earnest seriousness, that this indi- 
 vidual picture speaks to the eye and to the imagination, like 
 a general commentary on the moral degradation and poverty 
 of our mortal existence. The handling of this picture, 
 excellent as it is, cannot be compared with those of " Inspi- 
 ration" and "Prayer," already mentioned. The latter is the 
 size of life, as exquisitely finished as the former, to which it is 
 in every respect so similar, that little need be said of it. It 
 appears, perhaps, more rich in ideal beauty, but that of the 
 Monk displays more true and vigorous genius. The glorious 
 expression which in every day life illumines the countenance 
 only during the brief moment of rapturous enthusiasm, is 
 
58 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter II. 
 
 seized at its highest point, and vividly embodied. Enthusiastic 
 inspiration and complete self-possession, are both at the 
 same moment felt and expressed ; but how transient, how 
 quickly passed that moment ! 
 
 I have here one observation to make, which, though 
 applicable to all paintings of the Spanish school, is especially 
 so to those I have just described. A strongly marked na- 
 tional physiognomy characterises every countenance, diffi- 
 cult to define by any decided features, and yet so striking as 
 to be evident at the first glance. So also the figures of 
 Leonardo and Raphael are eminently Italian, and those of 
 Dürer and his followers no less German in character. This 
 proves at least that painters, if left to the influence of indi- 
 vidual taste and personal predilections, instead of employing 
 in every subject one general ideal type, cannot, even in such 
 characters as these, escape from their own individuality, 
 or avoid introducing that peculiar national physiognomy 
 with which they are familiar. This is at least like the art 
 and manner of the old school ; an art and manner which our 
 modern artists are become far too wise to adopt. But this 
 very reason impels me the more frequently to insist upon 
 the fact which I desire so much to impress upon their minds : 
 that those who will generalise, and who indulge in purely 
 abstract ideas, act in opposition to the whole circle of anti- 
 quity. A very remarkable difference exists, in this respect, 
 between the progress of the old Italian and German schools. 
 In the former, beginning from Ghirlandajo, or even earlier, 
 the figures have a very distinct Italian character : the great 
 masters of a riper period heightened this originally severe 
 nationality into a greater ideality of expression, combined, 
 nevertheless, with a life-like personality, until this too is lost 
 in the eclectic style of modern times, and becomes an abstract 
 generality of features, an empty charm of expression devoid 
 of character or significance. 
 
 In the following short notice, I shall mention the finest 
 productions of the Italian school, contained in the collec- 
 tion of Lucien Buonaparte. 
 
 A " Crucifixion," attributed to Michelangelo ; in colours, 
 but of small dimensions, for which reason I will not ven- 
 ture to make it the foundation of any observations, as this 
 
LETTER II.] TITIAN. — PERUGINO. — ALLORI. 
 
 59 
 
 master can be understood and studied only in his fresco 
 paintings at Rome. 
 
 A " Leda," by Andrea del Sarto ; of small propor- 
 tions, yet not absolutely diminutive, is one of the finest 
 paintings of that master. Leda stands naked in the centre, 
 the swan near her, and the little cygnets breaking through 
 their shells, and creeping out upon the ground. The coun- 
 tenance of Leda displays a singular combination of maternal 
 instinct and unrefined voluptuousness. 
 
 The " Prodigal Son," by Titian, a large picture the 
 size of life. The figures, though rather in the style of Paul 
 Veronese, are by no means the best part of this painting, but 
 the landscape is inexpressibly beautiful. The entire back- 
 ground is occupied by a chain of blue hills of heavenly 
 beauty, and somewhat in the style of Bellini. Is it con- 
 ceivable, that after seeing a landscape such as this, which is 
 not only symbolic, but at the same time a correct imitation 
 of nature, artists can be satisfied with merely making copies 
 of beautiful scenes ? 
 
 A " Spiritual Prince," by Perugino. In the background 
 are four saints in pairs reverentially kneeling. This pic- 
 ture is small, and in the simple unadorned manner of that 
 master ; yet it is valuable as a memento, though but a feeble 
 one, of the fine style of the earlier masters, because the artist 
 does not suffer his figures to appear like wandering phantoms 
 gleaming theatrically through cloud and sunshine, but de- 
 signs them, however small their proportions, with firm, 
 decided outlines, and in perfect symmetry, with great breadth 
 of light and shade, while with silent assiduity he designs 
 the lovely and expressive symbols of universal piety, invest- 
 ing them with all appropriate beauty of colouring like a 
 hieroglyphic scroll. 
 
 A " Venus," by Allori ; larger than life. The goddess 
 lies unrobed in the foreground, defending herself with her 
 right arm against the attacks of a little Cupid, and endea- 
 vouring, unless I am deceived, to get possession of his bow. 
 Her upturned head is, in spite of its strong individuality, 
 full of fascination ; the figure is certainly that of a splendid 
 woman, the colouring warm and powerful, the finishing 
 elaborate, and the execution worthy the daring idea of de- 
 picting the goddess of love in naked beauty, and of more than 
 
60 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER IT. 
 
 human proportions. Thus the great geniuses of former 
 ages imagined their gods, and thus strove to place them in 
 their majestic identity before the eyes of the wondering 
 spectators. This is a most valuable work, and of surpassing 
 excellence : it would be difficult to find any picture of the 
 later Italian school more grandly imagined, and few are so 
 powerfully executed ; while still the delicate charm with 
 which this master adorns pictures of smaller dimensions 
 smiles on us in the richly-finished head and ringlets of the 
 little Cupid. 
 
 Paintings by this master are rarely seen ; the Parisian 
 Museum has not one in its present collection. 
 
 The " Portrait of Francis the First," by Leonardo, is 
 here exhibited ; it is one of the most skilfully finished that 
 we have of this master's. Beyond it, is a half-length of a 
 woman holding a wine-cup ; her countenance seems familiar 
 to us, and has certainly many of those peculiarities which 
 distinguish the school of Leonardo ; it somewhat resembles 
 the u Herodias " in the Parisian Museum. Themost valuable 
 work of Leonardo's in this collection is an allegorical picture 
 representing " Modesty and Vanity," * and seems intended to 
 contrast a spiritual and retiring piety with worldly vanity 
 and pomp. It is a half-length, and contains these two figures 
 only : the Good Principle is here kept rather in the back- 
 ground, its influence being, as the intention of the subject 
 requires, rather negative than actual, and the colouring of 
 the figure is dim and feeble; perhaps only to heighten the 
 effect by contrasting it with the highly-finished personifica- 
 tion of Worldly Vanity, its self-satisfied smile and elaborate 
 costume. This design is extremely significant. Symbolic 
 paintings of this character require to be severely analysed ; 
 we must look through the life-like individuality apparent in 
 the working out of the design, and penetrate its abstract 
 idea, striving to trace the deep, hidden meaning of the phi- 
 losopher's soul through the exterior garb of art. 
 
 This collection, besides a " Sketch for the head of Je- 
 hovah," by Raphael, and a charming " Portrait of the Painter 
 il Fattore," contains two "Madonnas," one of which, purchased 
 in Spain, may compete with the noblest conceptions of that 
 glorious genius. It is the size of life, the landscape open and 
 * This picture is now in the Sciarra Place, Rome. 
 
letter Ii.] Raphael's madonnas. 61 
 
 glowing, and in this respect also, as well as in the brilliant 
 beauty of the colouring, surprisingly and charmingly similar 
 to that known as the Giardiniera. The child is sleeping*, 
 and the mother silently withdraws the veil that covers him, 
 to gaze upon him, while St. John stands praying by her 
 side. The entire composition, and particularly the attitude 
 of the sleeping child, is very like that known by the name 
 of the Silence, which has been already described, and is be- 
 sides familiar from having been frequently the subject of 
 engravings. This picture seems, indeed, a combination of 
 the Giardiniera and the Silence, different portions of it 
 appearing to be borrowed as much from one as the other, 
 so that it is difficult to say which of the two it most resembles. 
 The head and countenance of the little St. John, though 
 intrinsically childlike, happy, and vigorous, are broader, 
 and not altogether so noble as in other Holy Families by 
 Raphael. The same may be said of the infant Christ, and also 
 of another Madonna of Raphael's in this collection, and 
 which resembles the Madonna della Sedia, both in the ex- 
 pression of the countenance, and also in the manner in 
 which the Blessed Mother holds the child : at least as far as 
 we are able to form an opinion from copies and engravings, 
 the original being deposited in the palace of St. Cloud, and 
 therefore not accessible to the public. The Madonna in 
 this collection is called the " Vierge aux Candelabres," f from 
 the ornaments surrounding it. All these compositions com- 
 bine to prove the truth of my former assertion, that Ra- 
 phael's numerous pictures of the Virgin follow each other 
 in regular order and gradation, clearly showing the transi- 
 tion in his mind from one idea of the appropriate treatment 
 of his subject to another. We see him striving to embody 
 the ideal form imaged in his soul by various and almost in- 
 congruous methods; we follow him through every modifica- 
 tion of earthly charms and loveliness, from the Giardiniera 
 and the Madonna della Sedia to the highest degree of godlike 
 sublimity, as displayed in the great picture of the Madonna 
 at Dresden.^ Finally, a marvellously beautiful " Holy Fa- 
 
 * A picture in which the infant Christ is represented asleep is gene- 
 rally called " Silentium." 
 
 f Now in the palace at Lucca. Kugler's Translation, 80. 9. 
 
 J The Raphael-like " Madonnas" at Florence are deeply imbued with 
 
62 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER II. 
 
 niily," by Bellini, a half-length, the size of life ; on a light 
 ground and with brilliant lights introduced. On the right 
 of the spectator is a saint turning alFectionately towards the 
 child; on the left, Joseph, a majestic old man ; the Virgin is 
 in the centre. The child's attention seems occupied partly 
 by the old man, and partly by St. John, who stands, praying, 
 below in the foreground ; his arms are folded upon his 
 breast ; his eyes deep black, and hair black and curling : the 
 whole figure beautifully childlike, and simple, full of truth 
 and nature. The countenance of the saint is graceful and 
 expressive, rather resembling one of those in the train of 
 Mary ascending to the Temple, in Bellini's beautiful pic- 
 ture at Dresden. Not so the Blessed Virgin : her coun- 
 tenance wears an expression of languor, or even sadness, 
 which makes it bewitchingly tender. This intentional con- 
 trast to the brilliant beauty of the surrounding figures is 
 most pleasing ; it seems as though the painter would fain 
 have given Her some charm more exalted than mere beauty, 
 and thus indicate the Divinity, which it is impossible to 
 represent. The child is even more wonderful. Any one 
 whose ideas of art go no further than the correct imitation 
 of what is beautiful and charming, will admire it but little, 
 preferring rather the infant St. John. But the rapt, me- 
 ditative air of the Saviour, the clustering curls that crown 
 his head with peculiar beauty, the clear and well defined 
 outline of the figure, which is, notwithstanding, round and 
 childish in contour, immediately inspire the thought that 
 this child is no ordinary creation, nor is it possible to en- 
 tertain any other idea than that he is divine. What could 
 be a more worthy object of the painter's art, in such a sub- 
 ject, or rather such an ideal conception as this? By the 
 union of apparently incongruous materials indicating, rather 
 than attempting, to picture the indescribable and unseen ; — 
 
 the expression of silent devotion and inward piety. They are of moderate 
 dimensions, and the treatment very simple. One is in the Casa Tempi, 
 the other in the Pitti Palace ; not, however, forming part of the collec- 
 tion, but hung, when I saw it in 1819, in the Grand Duke's chamber. 
 This latter is indeed worthy of the highest praise, and, with the similar 
 pictures of the Madonna, might occupy a middle place in the complete 
 series, as forming a link between the almost too childlike, yet lovely 
 Giardiniera, and the grand pictures in his later manner. 
 
LETTER II.] 
 
 BELLINI. — GUIDO. 
 
 63 
 
 this is the only style of painting to which the term Ideality 
 can with justice be applied ; and therefore this conception 
 of the Saviour, in which nature appears to have united and 
 modified all her contending faculties, is essentially childlike, 
 and for that reason correct, it having been a too common 
 error with other masters to attempt to convey an idea of the 
 in-dwelling power of divinity by a wild and unchildlike 
 seriousness. 
 
 This collection contains several other valuable paintings 
 of the Italian School. One is a most beautiful "Judith," but 
 the painter's name is unknown to me. A " Magdalene," by 
 Guido, not only excelling most of the pictures I have seen 
 by this master, but in warmth and richness of colouring 
 surpassing even the Fortuna (No. 800.) in the Musee. Also 
 a few other portraits and small pictures of the old school, 
 many of which, though at first thrown into the background 
 by the vicinity of such acknowledged masterpieces of genius, 
 deserve separate study and attention, because reiterated exa- 
 mination frequently reveals new, beautiful, and characteristic 
 ideas. 
 
 This hasty notice may, in the meantime, be of service 
 to those who comprehend and enter into the designs of such 
 compositions, enabling them to estimate rightly the value 
 and importance of this noble collection. 
 
 May I here be permitted to pause for a moment, be- 
 fore proceeding to the consideration of other memorials of 
 the art of painting, and select this place as well adapted for 
 the introduction of a few general observations which will 
 form the best preparation for our future researches? An 
 examination of all the really important paintings now col- 
 lected at Paris, such as I hope gradually to complete, and 
 which I shall strive to render as perfect as possible, may 
 become historically valuable to posterity ; and I am induced 
 to attempt the execution of it, believing that it cannot fail 
 to interest every real lover of the art ; but as it is scarcely 
 possible to describe painting, except from some definite point, 
 and in accordance with some peculiar and determined feature 
 of the art, I have endeavoured to fix on some such principle 
 as the basis of every idea and observation here introduced ; 
 and although I presume not to anticipate a general and un- 
 reserved assent to my opinions, I must hope that many even 
 
64 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter II. 
 
 of those who differ from me will perceive with pleasure the 
 advantage of such unity and connection as I have thought 
 to preserve throughout. I feel it, therefore, incumbent on 
 me to afford my readers some insight into my general feeling 
 for the art, and to trace to their source those peculiar ideas 
 and principles, in regard to manner and style, to which pos- 
 sibly their attention may now be directed for the first time : 
 so that every one will easily perceive the particular grounds 
 on which we agree or differ in opinion, as well as the grounds 
 on which that difference rests ; and this criterion will make 
 him the better able to judge how far my observations are 
 likely to guide him, and in what points they militate against 
 his own opinions. 
 
 It must, in the first place, be remembered, that the follow- 
 ing ideas are far from being designed to form any thing like 
 an arbitrary or well-digested theory, but are almost entirely 
 practical, being founded on examples of the finest and most 
 excellent compositions of the German and Italian masters ; 
 indeed I have had no other object in view than to lead back 
 the taste of modern times, and to form it in some degree on 
 the models of these old masters. I would only remind those 
 who are prone to philosophise even in the study of the arts, 
 that there would be no difficulty in collecting all that is 
 known and acknowledged to be actually correct and right 
 in painting, and condensing it into certain general rules and 
 axioms ; but that, at the same time, the true idea of the art 
 might be completely lost sight of, not only as it is traced in. 
 the systems of the great masters before mentioned, but even 
 in those more important principles founded on the essential 
 qualities of the human intellect and organisation, and the 
 observation of nature. Consequently, the very facility of 
 such a system as the above makes it the less desirable to be 
 attempted, as likely to lead to great misapprehensions and to 
 militate against the true interests of the art. The divine repre- 
 sentative art does, indeed, comprehend something more than 
 the mere delineation of human nature, which such an arbi- 
 trary classification of its powers would seem to imply. Con- 
 secrated as it is to the glorification of the Divinity, we must 
 seek those results which we are accustomed to extol so 
 highly, in an original freedom of will and emancipation from 
 all arbitrary restraint, because, knowing and living among 
 
LETTER II.] ON THE IDEA OF THE DIVINITY. 65 
 
 things of ordinary necessity and indispensability alone, it 
 can attain the highest strength of freedom, only as an excep- 
 tion to general rules, and the positive, only by refusing to 
 submit to conventional restrictions. We may perhaps say 
 of many very useful arts, that they necessarily arise as the 
 reason of mankind becomes developed and material objects 
 concur to render them necessary or desirable. But far be it 
 from me thus to sin against the hallowed art of painting : it 
 is not necessary to the existence of mankind. Its pure 
 being has no influence upon the natural system, and if an- 
 nihilated, it would make no change in the laws which govern 
 the world, nor rob its arrangement of either strength or 
 order. Yet were this more than intellectual, this truly 
 heaven-inspired art destroyed, man would lose one of the 
 most powerful means of uniting with the Divinity, of draw- 
 ing himself closer to the Godhead. In this instance, as well 
 as in many others, it would be well if philosophy thought 
 less of investigating and scientifically explaining the idea 
 of divinity ; of defining, and proving, and attempting, as it 
 were, to bring it materially before our eyes, because, by so 
 doing, it completely mistakes its true principle, denies its 
 spirituality, weaving into it the idea of earthly necessity, and 
 drawing it down within the sphere of exact thought and rea- 
 soning, thus affording unlimited satisfaction to those who 
 altogether deny a positive manifestation of the Eternal. 
 
 The idea of the art can be explained only through, and in 
 connexion with, practical representation, and its theoretical 
 principles must be sought and traced in the experience of 
 history. 
 
 The opinions here advanced have been touched upon in 
 a preceding portion of this work, and are now merely brought 
 together in a more distinct form. Still they are for the most 
 part inconclusive, and leave the freest and fullest scope for 
 further elucidation by originality and creative genius, when 
 once the right path of painting shall be found, or rather 
 when men shall once more return to walk in it. 
 
 The first of these immutable principles is, that there 
 is, properly speaking, no 'peculiar branch in the art of 
 painting, except the complete compositions, usually termed 
 historical, but which, instead of being restricted to any such 
 specific name or title, should rather be generally termed 
 
 F 
 
66 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter II. 
 
 symbolic paintings. What is usually said of other branches 
 treated as in themselves distinct and unconnected, is a vain 
 and imaginary delusion. Landscape, for example, forms the 
 background in those pictures of the higher class which I 
 term symbolic, and is in its proper sphere and endowed with 
 its full force of expression when thus introduced alone. In 
 foregrounds, however, it should be very slightly treated, 
 lest too great correctness and minuteness produce the effect 
 of a representation of inanimate nature alone. In this 
 manner the beautiful landscapes of Leonardo, Raphael, 
 Titian, and Bellini are treated. A mere representation of 
 inanimate nature, without reference to any other object, 
 cannot be very interesting ; but becomes, when in its proper 
 sphere and appropriately treated, fraught with beauty and 
 expression : as for example, when broken and scattered, as 
 we see the foregrounds of Dürer's compositions, or when in- 
 troduced with such wonderful effect by Mantegna, or in still 
 higher perfection by Leonardo : it is indeed employed more 
 or less by all the great masters of antiquity. The effect of 
 such accessory works (as they may be called) depends almost 
 entirely on their entering appropriately into the general 
 structure of the design ; and so again their significance is in- 
 creased by the admirable and artistic beauty of their treat- 
 ment. The same observation applies to the so-called flower- 
 pieces, which are significative only when used to crown some 
 picture, with the expression of which they form an harmoni- 
 ous combination, as was first most ably demonstrated by Cor- 
 reggio, Raphael, and Mantegna. Indeed, all these accessories 
 derive their interest from forming component parts of an en- 
 tire composition. Symbolism appears to have been a primary 
 object with all the earlier masters. Without it, landscape and 
 still-life painting becomes a mere exercise of mechanical fa- 
 cility in surmounting difficulties, or even declines into a dis- 
 cordant and worthless medium for the bare copying of visible 
 and sensible charms; or still worse, a most unartistic common- 
 place. Even portrait-painting forms no exception to this rule. 
 It is no less necessary than landscape in every perfect 
 composition, and woe to that historical picture which con- 
 tains no figure or countenance likely to excite the remark 
 that its expression of truth and intelligence produces the 
 effect of a portrait, even though it be not one ! It is cer- 
 tainly no subject of reproach to an artist, if besides those 
 
LETTER II.] ON PORTRAITS GENERALLY. 67 
 
 more important works, in the production of which every 
 effort of his genius is concentrated, he occasionally imagines 
 some isolated and expressive countenance, and fixes his 
 mind upon the contemplation of it. Many great masters 
 have done this, and we find designs of theirs rich in inven- 
 tive genius, yet either left unexecuted or finished on a plan 
 totally different to the original design. All these sketches 
 should, however, be treated merely as fragments ; outlines 
 and ideas for future works ; or studies, intended for the in- 
 dividual benefit of the painter ; not complete or finished 
 works of art. 
 
 The historical interest attaching to portraits, as faith- 
 ful representations of remarkable personages of other times, 
 will always give them a certain value, even though not 
 exalted by artistic treatment and feeling. The same may 
 be said of landscape-drawing, since, if true to nature, it 
 places before our eyes some beloved and familiar spot in all 
 its native beauty ; or perhaps a wondrous scene in some far 
 distant land, a magnificent assemblage of mountains, woods, 
 and water. What eye would not rejoice to wander over a 
 representation of such lovely scenes, — perhaps situated in 
 a part of the world so distant, that there is little probability 
 of their ever being personally visited ; or still more, when 
 the picture recalls familiar scenes, localities endeared by 
 memory and associations ? Thus we value a collection of 
 engravings presenting true portraits of personages famed 
 in history, or representations of people and of customs 
 in distant parts of the world, or of whatever our native 
 country may contain of rare and valuable, harmonising 
 with the before-named characteristics of the art. Still, 
 these accessories can no more be styled essential branches of 
 the art, than works of travel, however interesting, or of 
 biography, though inspired by the utmost taste and feeling, 
 can deserve to be ranked among poetical works ; notwith- 
 standing the acknowledged truth that just delineations of 
 character and glowing descriptions of nature form essential 
 parts of a perfect poem, of which indeed they are necessary 
 elements. However, we cannot be astonished that portrait 
 and landscape painting should be highly esteemed ; for, apart 
 from the personal or historical interest attached to a por- 
 trait, the delineation of the human countenance must always 
 
 F 2 
 
 4 
 
GS PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER TL 
 
 rank among the highest efforts of the art. The view of a 
 rich landscape, whether represented in a picture or seen in 
 the brighter beauty of nature herself, excites in every sus- 
 ceptible mind soothing and agreeable sensations ; yet, as in 
 nature herself, the original expression remains the same, 
 with little change or variety, there must necessarily be a 
 certain degree of monotony in the enjoyment imparted by 
 such representations. Generally, however, the symbolic 
 will very easily overpower and efface the natural expres- 
 sion in isolated landscapes ; and it is for this reason, that 
 having once consented to consider landscape-painting as 
 a separate branch, I prefer the adoption of a simple con- 
 fined style, like that of Ruysdael, in whose paintings a 
 few trifling circumstances of ordinary nature are, by per- 
 fect artistic treatment and the deep sentiment imparted to 
 them, exalted into a splendid work of art, in which nature 
 reveals herself in a flood of gushing beauty to the eyes 
 of every one capable of feeling and appreciating her charms. 
 In fact, such a painting offers a completely artistic repre- 
 sentation ; while, on the contrary, in every other description 
 of landscape, not excepting even that lofty style in which 
 Claude Lorraine unquestionably holds the first rank, the 
 painter enters the lists against nature herself, vieing with 
 her in the delineation of her highest and grandest scenes of 
 beauty. If the result be successful, our astonishment sub- 
 dues every other feeling, absorbing even the pure sentiment 
 of the art ; and still it must be remembered that the ma- 
 jesty of nature will ever remain unattainable, even by the 
 highest artistic efforts. 
 
 Every art should strive to attain perfection in what 
 peculiarly characterises and distinguishes it from others. If 
 sculpture be most fitted to represent the pure simple forms of 
 actual material beauty, — if music, the language of the soul, 
 concentrate in herself the power of arousing every deeper feel- 
 ing, — so the most appropriate sphere of the spiritual art of 
 painting, its fittest aim and object, is the imparting a glorified 
 expression to individual figures, or diffusing a divine and 
 holy sentiment throughout a composition. 
 
 Not only are the productions of the art often divided into 
 the so-called branches and species, thereby destroying its very 
 essence and vitality, but the art itself is further subdivided into 
 certain fixed elements, styled design, expression, colouring, 
 
LETTER II.] 
 
 DESIGN AND INVENTION. 
 
 69 
 
 and I know not what. Thus to sever what is originally and 
 eternally one, is a most destructive error, and the lofty spirit 
 eludes the rude grasp of those who would thus foolishly 
 disturb its perfect unity. Yet this analysis of the art, this 
 reducing it to Its primitive elements, is no new error, that is 
 to say, it has not originated entirely with the moderns. It 
 may be recognised even in the Carracci, and we are indebted 
 to Mengs for having made it most clearly evident. No 
 painter can in truth be called a good master who does not 
 set himself in decided opposition to such a mode of reason- 
 ing ; and that critic knows little of painting who believes that 
 Raphael's colouring or Correggio's designs might have been 
 altered and thereby improved. It is vexatious continually 
 to repeat this alphabet of the first principles of painting. 
 If people must divide and analyse, let them confine their 
 operations to things which may be divided, — and what are 
 these ? The letter and the spirit — words and ideas. Be- 
 tween these there will always exist a chasm, whether we 
 consider the arts, or philosophy, or real life ; how many ex- 
 cellent pictures are to be seen, the design of which we readily 
 allow to be noble and admirable, but the execution, although 
 artistic and uncommon, we yet feel, is far from carrying out 
 the full significance and intention of the conception. Other 
 pictures may be cited, admirable in execution, yet in which 
 the idea (since a picture can scarcely be formed without 
 some ideal design) is yet far less significant than in many 
 other compositions. But it is for perfect execution, or what 
 people usually consider as the whole of the art, to combine 
 every essential element — correct outline, as well as appropri- 
 ate colouring and expression, — so that united they may form 
 an harmonious and indivisible whole. The invention must also 
 be so managed, that what is called order and arrangement may 
 be combined therewith ; in a word, it must be poetry in 
 painting. Not that the subject need be poetical ; yet the 
 painter, if he would be worthy of the name and not merely 
 a servile copyist, must inwardly conceive and arrange the 
 design he seeks to represent. The spirit and the letter too, 
 mechanism and poetry, are all elements of painting, although 
 it is possible for one to exist in far greater perfection than, or 
 even in the absence of, the other. It will be expedient, before 
 proceeding further, to explain a possible misunderstanding in 
 
 p 3 
 
70 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter II. 
 
 regard to the cultivation of poetry, to which these observa- 
 tions may give birth. A painter must be a poet. This is 
 beyond all question : not however a poet in words, but in 
 colouring. Still, poetry must be as completely diffused 
 throughout the whole composition as it is in the works of an 
 actual poet, if they be indeed poetry. The example of the 
 old masters affords us here the best guiding star. It is 
 true, if poetry be supposed to exist in words alone, very few 
 of the antique pictures can be termed poetic, and those few 
 rather frivolously imagined and not of the loftiest grade. 
 But we understand the word in a more extended sense, as 
 exemplifying the poetic idea of things ; and this the old 
 masters imbibed from its purest source. Their poetry took 
 its rise sometimes in religion, as in Angelico, Perugino, and 
 Fra Bartolommeo, and many others ; sometimes in philo- 
 sophy, as in the deeply meditative Leonardo ; or, was drawn 
 equally from both, as in the unfathomable Dürer. The 
 actual poetry of that period, as known in the world, and by 
 painters, was far less poetical, if I may be permitted the ex- 
 pression, than the devotional ideas of the Catholic faith, or 
 the contemplative philosophy of the artist. But since then, 
 philosophy has quitted the region of mathematics and na- 
 tural science, and withdrawn into the realm of pure, abstract 
 ideas and words, whither the painter is not permitted to 
 follow her ; and since then too, religion becoming more con- 
 fined within the province of ethics, the painter, whose art is 
 far more universal and comprehensive than either music or 
 sculpture, has no resource left but to seize and employ every 
 thing beautiful and immortal which he can gather from other 
 arts, and more especially from poetry, in whose glorious in- 
 spiration he finds united both the pure simplicity of devo- 
 tion, and the profound natural philosophy of other days. 
 Now it is beyond all doubt, that this poetical expression may 
 be traced in all ancient pictures, both of the Italian and 
 German schools, and was the moving principle and the ulti- 
 mate aim of all the old masters : my present observations on 
 the principal paintings of the old schools, are confined to 
 the simple object of tracing and pointing out more suc- 
 cessfully this poetical design. And the following remarks 
 may help to explain the practical notions generally exist- 
 ing concerning the poetical ideas of the ancient masters. 
 
LETTER II.] PAINTING AND SCULPTURE. 71 
 
 People say, " the painter should study nature," or, to speak 
 more correctly, the divinity that is in nature. Let it not 
 be imagined that this is a mere speculative subtilty: my 
 meaning must be obvious to all whose minds are not en- 
 tirely unskilled in tracing the connexion between words 
 and ideas ; and the artist especially will feel the distinction 
 to be most just, although it is possible that he may not 
 himself find language, or be able to explain in words his 
 own deeply felt idea so clearly as an unmoved spectator. 
 What then is the divinity in nature ? It is not life and 
 strength alone, but the one incomprehensible union of soul, 
 expression, and individuality ; and this we believe to be the 
 proper aim of painting. Sculpture may perhaps more suc- 
 cessfully embody the ever-springing life, the inexhaustible 
 strength of nature, or give the simplest imitation of ma- 
 terial forms, or the contrast of happiness and death ; but 
 painting will mistake her own peculiar province, if, instead 
 of following the track of the old masters, she diverges from 
 it to pursue the objects more peculiarly appertaining to 
 sculpture, which must result only in vain delusive attempts, 
 or in producing a feeble and sickly shadow of the antique. 
 And this brings me to a third and most important principle, 
 — painting must be painting, and nothing else; — and how- 
 ever trite and commonplace this observation may appear, it 
 is in general far too little regarded. I would therefore en- 
 force it with all the earnestness which its importance de- 
 mands. It is true that I have extolled some paintings as 
 characteristic and significant in which I have nevertheless 
 traced a prevailing tendency to the musical expression. But 
 I employed this term chiefly in reference to the governing 
 idea of the composition, and the grandeur with which that 
 idea is expressed ; besides, it is not always possible to resist 
 the influence of a great and genial error, prevailing so uni- 
 versally among the friends of the art. Neither is it neces - 
 sary to warn artists of the present day against the errors 
 of Correggio, since they are not likely to be in danger from 
 his example until they reach a very high degree of excel- 
 lence as painters, of which at present they give little pro- 
 mise. The prevailing tendency to identify painting with 
 sculpture is an error far more dangerous and exceptionable 
 than musical painting, and leads to a complete misconception 
 
 F 4 
 
72 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter m 
 
 of both. In the French school this error is peculiarly con- 
 spicuous, and the ground of it may also be traced in Mengs. 
 A sound inquiry into and examination of the principles of 
 the antique will fully prove that painting is not sculpture, 
 and that the ideal of the two arts is completely distinct. 
 Should it be objected that to insist upon the prevalence of 
 the poetical idea, is to oppose the assertion that painting 
 must primarily be itself and nothing else, we reply, first — 
 that poetry alone, amongst all other arts, enters intrinsically 
 into the genius of each, and forms a general and universal 
 link between all, however otherwise distinct ; and secondly, 
 that in speaking thus I refer to artistic invention which is 
 poetical only in the subject and mechanism, the creation of 
 which must of course differ greatly from the actual poetry 
 of words. 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 The Treasures of the Art exemplified in a Recapitulation of different 
 Paintings belonging to the old Italian School. — The ** Caritä," of 
 Andrea del Sarto, and " A Deposition from the Cross," by Bramante ; 
 " St. Agatha," by Sebastian del Piombo. — On Martyrdom, as a 
 
 Theme for the Art, and the earliest Subjects of Christian Paintings 
 
 On DUrer's Designs, considered as suggestive Ideas for Paintings. — 
 The " Madonna della Sedia," and the " Saint Cecilia," of Tta\ hael. — 
 Paintings by Le Sueur, — Remarks on a few antique early French 
 Monuments ; on Painting on Glass. — The " Antiope " of Titian. 
 
 The art of painting having gradually abandoned its early 
 office of adorning the sacred edifices of the Christian faith, 
 and placing the mysteries of our holy religion more clearly 
 and beautifully before the eyes of men than could be effected 
 by words alone, became ere long frivolous and unmeaning, 
 till, vacillating between misconceptions of the ideal and a 
 faulty struggle after mere effect, it wandered still farther 
 from the high object to which it had been originally devoted, 
 and eventually degenerated into uninteresting and common- 
 place generalities. Every attempt to separate the theory 
 of the art from its practice will in the same manner lead 
 
LETTER III.] ON THE FRAGMENTARY FORM OF THE ART. 73 
 
 invariably either to empty generalities or fantastic dreams 
 of the imagination. In pursuing, therefore, my present 
 attempt to develope the true and correct principles of the 
 art, I shall, instead of confining myself to a theoretical out- 
 line alone, accompany my observations by such an uninter- 
 rupted description of various old paintings as may amply 
 suffice to illustrate the ideas suggested. This description 
 will form an appropriate introduction to my subsequent 
 remarks, the results of which will thus rise naturally, and 
 arrange themselves according to certain general principles 
 whose innate affinity and connection will be easily perceived 
 by every reflecting mind. 
 
 It is true that no contemplation of works of art can be 
 throughout entirely systematic, more especially at the pre- 
 sent time; still the unconnected character of these obser- 
 vations need not by any means interfere with the general 
 unity of the views set forth in the minds of those who have 
 already imbibed correct ideas of the art ; and it may be in a 
 certain degree advantageous, as serving continually to re- 
 mind us of a fact in the history of art, which ought never 
 to be forgotten. A fragmentary form is indeed the most 
 appropriate for observations on an art which is in itself no 
 more than a fragment, the ruined remains of by-gone times. 
 The great body of Italian paintings is torn in pieces and dis- 
 persed, and rarely, very rarely, indeed, do we see any atten- 
 tion given to the older masters of the Italian school, or to the 
 study of their works, although the original idea and object 
 of the art is far more simply and naturally expressed in their 
 compositions than in those of a later period. The old Ger- 
 man school is in even a more deplorable state, although its 
 preservation is of equal, perhaps even of greater importance 
 than the other, on account of the decided superiority it 
 evinces in principles and technicalities, because also it was 
 more true to the object of religion, and besides remained 
 always pure painting, not infringing the limits which pro- 
 perly divide that art from others. Yet, both German and 
 Italian schools are now almost entirely unknown. The art, 
 as a whole, no longer exists, and a few vanishing traces 
 alone remain which may again furnish ideas for future de- 
 velopment to those who, alive to the spirit of the past, are 
 prepared to imbibe them. As we proceed in our survey of 
 
74 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER HI. 
 
 modern art, this dismemberment appears to us under a new- 
 light. The paintings at present existing are not only dis- 
 persed throughout all lands, and formed into the most hete- 
 rogeneous collections, not one of which is altogether satis- 
 factory and complete, but pictures requiring to be viewed 
 and studied together are, on the contrary, widely distant 
 from each other. Christian art is in itself but a fragment, 
 and probably will never be completed ; and although this is 
 less palpably evident in painting than in the ruined towers 
 and churches of Gothic architecture, many of which have 
 remained unfinished during the last thousand years, and 
 have been suffered in that state to fall into decay and ruin, 
 the observation is equally true of painting, and applicable 
 to the Italian no less than to the German schools. 
 
 In the sphere of Christian art we frequently find paintings 
 even of the earliest style deeply imbued with true ideas of 
 art, and rich in the most beautiful symbolism ; such pictures 
 are often also very finely imagined, and correctly and power- 
 fully executed, even in those mechanical points in which 
 the art was as yet in its infancy. What an abundance of 
 heavenly imaginings are found in the works of Angelico da 
 Fiesole ! how rich a store of pure and lovely ideas ! although 
 he belongs, in regard to technicalities, to the very infancy 
 of the art, and is in this respect far inferior to his contem- 
 poraries of the old German schools. When a higher per- 
 fection was attained in technical execution, painters, feeling 
 confidence in their own powers, aimed at combining the 
 richest luxuriance of outward charms w r ith the loftier in- 
 trinsic beauties of soul and expression, and the original 
 inspiration thus became clouded by secondary views, until 
 it was at length entirely lost. Artists, ambitious to excite 
 astonishment by the display of their extraordinary acquire- 
 ments and consummate skill, made it their great object to 
 charm the senses and communicate voluptuous sensations, 
 or, beguiled into the pursuit of other objects equally fri- 
 volous and vain, selected their subjects from Pagan mytho- 
 logy, and even treated sacred themes in a superficial manner : 
 addressing themselves to the senses alone, they degenerated 
 into an almost heathen style, and that alone would suffice 
 to render Christian compositions tame and spiritless. The 
 Italian school, in its decline, became first studied and un- 
 
LETTER III.] CHANGE CAUSED BY THE REFORMATION. 75 
 
 artistic, and at length descended into a vague ideality, des- 
 titute of all character and expression. The German schools 
 appear to have been less near perfection than the Italian, 
 and their present state is also much more imperfect. The 
 Reformation, by estranging the ideas of art from their 
 accustomed channel of Christian devotion, produced in Ger- 
 many a violent change and division. Hence ensued in the 
 new school of the Netherlands a kind of elementary analysis 
 of the art, the influence of which induced men, when the 
 subverted principles were at length brought into a kind of 
 system, to tear from their proper connexion all the un- 
 imaginative parts of a perfect composition, and treat them 
 as distinct branches, thus producing not only landscape and 
 portrait-painting, but cooking and kitchen pictures, hunting 
 and dog-kennel studies, fruit, flower, and cattle-pieces, archi- 
 tecture and still-life, domestic scenes, and whimsical cari- 
 catures, battle-pieces, and half-comic representations of the 
 lower classes of the people : all treated separately and in the 
 highest degree of technical perfection, till at last this chaotic 
 confusion of chivalric designs, and copies of the rudest every- 
 day subjects, overwhelmed every true idea of art, substi- 
 tuting bare technicalities in their room, 
 v That happy combination of fine conceptions, perfect out- 
 lines, and a delicious abundance of sensible beauty, which 
 characterises the compositions of the old masters at the 
 period of their greatest brilliancy, existed but for a few 
 fleeting moments. The harmonious perfection of every 
 part, which is still prized above all other beauties, appears 
 to be rather a glorious exception than the general rule, and 
 therefore, easy as it is to describe in general terms the pro- 
 gress of the art, it is useless to attempt to preserve a severe 
 regularity in the explanatory details of each step. One single 
 work frequently soars far above all other productions of the 
 same master, or is even greatly in advance of the time and 
 the general style of art at that period. We must keep 
 this observation continually in view during the following 
 description, and I shall not neglect to draw attention to it 
 whenever an opportunity occurs of so doing. 
 
 Many of the paintings of the later schools now in the 
 Grand Salon of the Louvre have been already exhibited, 
 and but few among them deserve especial notice : perhaps 
 
76 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER III. 
 
 one of the most charming of the newly-exhibited pictures 
 is the "Carita" of Andrea del Sarto (No. 8. in the Cat). 
 Charity is here personified as a loving mother surrounded 
 and caressed by her happy children : one at her bosom, one 
 in her lap, playing joyously with flowers and fruit, and 
 a third lying at her feet in quiet slumber. The mother 
 is of lofty stature, slender in form, and noble in de- 
 meanour ; her countenance and clear, bright eyes very 
 beautiful and individual, and the head-dress characteristic 
 and appropriate. The idea embodied in this picture is 
 simple, beautiful, and easily recognised ; its highest charm 
 seems to consist in the expression, the cheerful beauty, and 
 next to that, perhaps, in the colouring. The blue and 
 crimson tints in the mother's robe are so delicate, trans- 
 parent and brilliant, and the carnations in the flesh of the 
 naked boy sleeping between its folds, so beautifully blended 
 and softly subdued, bright, yet not in the least degree 
 glaring, that it seems as if our open glowing eyes drank in 
 at every glance the soft fascination of love. This picture 
 is one of the old collection, and I have never seen any by 
 the same master in a similar manner, nor half so exquisitely 
 charming. It seems as if among all the successors and 
 imitators of Raphael, the excellent Andrea alone had in- 
 herited the versatility and varied genius of his great master. 
 Each of these followers has his own decided manner, from 
 which he rarely deviates, though perhaps, as is the case 
 with Giulio Romano, he merely carries some single pecu- 
 liarity of his master's genius more fully and powerfully, it 
 is true, yet, at the same time, with a greater degree of pre- 
 judice and partiality. But, however different the pictures 
 of Raphael may be in themselves, his predilection for the 
 same oft-repeated subject, and the constantly recurring re- 
 semblance of many individual figures, make those of Andrea 
 del Sarto appear like multiplied variations on the basis of 
 the same all-pervading theme. 
 
 The " Birth of the Saviour/' by Spagnuoletto, is re- 
 markably fine in colouring and expression, deserving of 
 notice also from the individual beauty of other parts : few 
 pictures by this master are free from the defects of the later 
 Italian style and the rude school of the naturalisti. The 
 lively ultra-marine in the drapery of the mother, and the 
 
LETTER III.] ANDREA DA SALERNO AND BORDONE. 77 
 
 brilliant reality of the colouring, together with a freshness 
 and joyous vigour rarely found among modern Italians, 
 rivet our attention to this picture, and perhaps we gaze 
 longest on the figure of the old shepherd, which is almost 
 larger than life, and being placed close to the margin, on 
 the right, seems intended to indicate the foreground. There 
 is a bold grandeur both in the figure and the honest, open 
 countenance, while the rude and tattered skin with which 
 he is girded is painted with a truth and solidity almost like 
 nature : the whole figure is uncommon, stepping forward 
 with an expression of thoughtfulness and integrity. So fine 
 a composition is rarely seen among the Italian paintings of 
 that epoch. Possibly the Spaniard may have engrafted his 
 own serious character on the ordinary Italian manner, and 
 in fact the apparent solidity and general treatment remind 
 us rather of Murillo than of the laborious industry of the 
 Netherlands. 
 
 A " Visitation of the Virgin," by Andrea da Salerno * 
 (No. 5.), is completely in the old style, although not of very 
 early date. "Zacharias" is a portrait of the poet Bernardo 
 Tasso, and the other figures represent various historical 
 characters of Salerno f: it is not of much value generally, 
 and marked on the whole by a sort of similarity with the 
 bad or indifferent pictures of the old German and Flemish 
 schools rather than with the best. We trace a surprising 
 resemblance in the old manner of both these schools, not 
 in their most excellent paintings alone, but also in their 
 worst ; a convincing proof that both Germans and Italians 
 drew their earliest inspiration from the same source. 
 
 There is here an excellent female portrait by Bordone, 
 and also the "Ring of St. Mark" (No. 15.). The latter is 
 a large picture in the Venetian style, rich in figures, and full 
 of life and action : it represents the assembled nobles of 
 Venice, while a poor fisher, humbly approaching, exhibits 
 to them the ring, which he had received from the patron 
 saint of that city, and they proclaim its promised salvation 
 from the overwhelming inundation with which it is me- 
 naced. The simplicity of the arrangement and the beautiful 
 colouring afford a pleasing proof that the later masters of 
 
 * Otherwise called Sabbatini (Andrea). 
 
 f The Virgin is said to be a portrait of the Princess of Salerno of the 
 family of Villa Marina. Cat. 1316. — Trans. 
 
78 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER III. 
 
 the Venetian school long retained the beautiful style of their 
 founders. 
 
 A portrait of Bandinelli, painted by himself, adds another 
 to the circle of charming portraits by Italian masters, now 
 to be seen in Paris. How noble, lofty, and intelligent must 
 the men of those days have been, if we judge of them 
 from their outward appearance alone ! It is true that we 
 cannot expect in Bandinelli the deep, soul-felt calm, the 
 delightful individuality of Leonardo's portrait, nor the lofty, 
 yet love-inspiring hauteur of Garofalo ; he does not possess 
 the wild and savage grandeur of Giulio Romano, nor the 
 noble, manly, and sedate expression of II Fattore ; still his 
 countenance is far from commonplace : it has much vigour 
 and expression, in which, however, pedantry, combined with 
 an indomitable self-love, appears to me to predominate. 
 
 There is one picture, a 66 Deposition from the Cross " 
 by Bramante of Urbino, a celebrated architect of the fif- 
 teenth century, worthy of earnest and reiterated study and 
 investigation, and which seems to excite greater wonder 
 and astonishment the more frequently it is viewed. My 
 attention was first attracted by the capital distribution of 
 parts in this picture. I know not whether a connoisseur 
 would style it artistic, but to me it appears grand and ju- 
 dicious in its uniformity. The picture is simply imagined, 
 presenting but few features, and those of noble proportions 
 and combined in architectural symmetry. The figure of a 
 saint, seated in the foreground on the right, deserves es- 
 pecial notice, being as finely designed in every particular 
 as those in old paintings, and I have rarely seen it surpassed 
 even in them. On the right, stands St. Anthony, carrying 
 the hermit's little bell ; St. Jerome, more in the background; 
 on the left, St. John, Nicodemus, and Joseph of Arimathea, 
 surrounding the mother of God, who is placed in the centre 
 of the picture, and most expressively designed ; the deepest 
 grief is depicted in her countenance, and a chastened tender- 
 ness of feeling, a sorrow exalted and subdued by fortitude 
 and self-command, is apparent even in her manner of clasp- 
 ing the corpse to her bosom. It seems scarcely possible to 
 give a better representation of genuine and sincere grief 
 than is expressed in the countenances of the by-standers, 
 nearly every one of whom exhibits either the instrument or 
 some symbol of his martyrdom. A heartfelt sorrow is 
 
LETTER III.] ANDREA DEL SARTO AND CARAVAGGIO. 79 
 
 stamped on every countenance, yet without monotony or 
 repetition. The idea of sincerity conveyed by each individual 
 figure, and stamped upon the picture generally, doubtless 
 renders its expression so peculiarly tranquil : it is certainly 
 very plain and simple, and far from having any claim to 
 lofty passion, or the more interesting charm of sentiment ; 
 but this simplicity makes it appear to grow in loveliness 
 each time it is revisited. Many paintings have more ab- 
 stract beauty of colouring, and yet in this the peculiar har- 
 mony and propriety of the arrangement seem almost to 
 indicate the sentiment revealed by the general structure 
 of the work. It is scarcely just to institute comparisons 
 between pictures, unless evidently suggested by some simi- 
 larity in design, or in the necessary conditions of the sub- 
 ject : otherwise we might easily point out separate parts in 
 other pictures more beautiful and effective. Still the truth 
 and 'uprightness of character, united as it is with sincerity 
 and firmness, with which the artist has here invested the 
 friends and followers of our Lord, is infinitely more appro- 
 priate than the conception and treatment common in later 
 times, when, in spite of the highly artistic grouping of the 
 whole, we find among the apostles, if separately examined, 
 many forms well fitted to represent Greek philosophers and 
 Roman senators, or even athletse, but which are very far 
 from embodying the idea usually conceived of the apostles 
 of our Lord. 
 
 A "Holy Family," by Andrea del Sarto, half-length 
 (No. 7.), deserves notice for its vigorous execution, the 
 beautiful head of the old man, and charming, smiling gaiety 
 of the boy. Among the followers of Raphael, Andrea alone 
 approximates to his master in that beautiful delineation of 
 children for which Raphael was so superlatively admirable ; 
 yet, even in his compositions, the difference between the 
 master and the scholar is clearly perceptible. A picture 
 resembling this is also to be seen at Düsseldorf, but not 
 equally well painted, and with slight incidental differences. 
 
 Among the paintings of the late Italian school, one, by 
 Michelangelo da Caravaggio, deserves especial attention. 
 It represents a grand master of the knights of Malta*, with 
 a noble boy beside him, and is favourably distinguished 
 among the pictures of the later Italian school by its vigorous, 
 * Adolphe de Vignacourt, created Grand Master in 1601. 
 
80 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter in. 
 
 firm, objective reality, almost, as it were, starting from the 
 canvas ; by the splendid knightly costume, and gold-gleaming 
 coat of mail. It is true that those who have had an oppor- 
 tunity of studying portraits of the old German school may 
 have seen many paintings more beautifully handled in these 
 particulars ; still it forms a fine exception to the ordinary 
 class of Italian portraits of that period. 
 
 The < ' Judith" with the head of Holofernes, by Cris- 
 toforo Allori *, has much merit, both in the expression and 
 outline of the figure, although the languid softness of colour- 
 ing, and an overstrained imitation of nature, give it too 
 decided a resemblance to the modern Italian schools. Our 
 attention is immediately caught by the beauty and splendid 
 attire of the Hebrew heroine, as well as by the expression of 
 simple piety and wonder in the head of the old woman, and 
 the external correctness of the representation. The rich, 
 rosy mouth of the heroine, her dark, gleaming eyes, half 
 veiled in serious thought, the brown tresses shadowing her 
 lofty brow, and delicate yet noble features ; her tall, slender 
 form, its outline gracefully veiled by the heavy drapery ; the 
 perfect freedom in the arrangement of the drapery, and the 
 ease of the whole figure, and of her manner of carrying the 
 severed head and the great sword, of the weight of which 
 she appears but that moment to have become conscious ; her 
 countenance, expressing not thoughtful seriousness alone, 
 but rather an indwelling sadness, a silent, overpowering 
 weariness ; — the combination of all those characteristics finely 
 reveal the melancholy enthusiasm, the pride, faith, courage 
 and resignation which prompted this wondrous woman to 
 believe herself summoned by her God to perform the action 
 recorded of her. It is generally said that the artist has 
 given his own portrait in the head of Holofernes, and his 
 mistress in the Judith. 
 
 The "Martyrdom of St. Agatha "t (No. 60.), a half« 
 length, by Sebastian del Piombo, is completely in the antique 
 taste, not from any artificial imitation of sculpture, but from 
 its sentiment, and the Roman grandeur, freedom, and vigour 
 with which the subject, a glorious circumstance in the 
 annals of Christianity, is seized and depicted. It is one of 
 the most instructive pictures I have seen, both in its general 
 treatment, and the significance of the expression ; a classical 
 * From the Pitti Palace. f Ibid. 
 
LETTER III.] 
 
 SEBASTIAN DEL PIOMBO. 
 
 81 
 
 picture, if any may be allowed to deserve that name : not 
 however, from its carrying out the whole category of requi- 
 sitions which theorisers in art love to insist upon in their 
 books of instruction, but rather because a grand uncompro- 
 mising power, a deeply-contrived clearness of design, the 
 noble intelligence and excellence of classical antiquity, per- 
 vade and give soul to this rare work. Tradition attributes 
 to Michelangelo the design for this painting : it is said that 
 he hoped, by this assistance, to raise a master of the Venetian 
 school, then highly esteemed for colouring, into a rival 
 of Raphael, even in his own peculiar province of oil-painting 
 and devotional subjects. It is for this reason that ordinary 
 critics find nothing worthy of admiration in the picture, 
 except the wonderful foreshortening of the figures : this 
 tradition appears the more worthy of belief from the circum- 
 stance that another picture by Sebastian del Piombo(No. 939.), 
 representing the Virgin and sleeping Infant, surrounded 
 by angels, is not only far inferior in design to this, but so 
 very different in style, that it can scarcely be believed to be 
 by the same master. It should also be observed, that the 
 figures in the St. Agatha are much less exaggerated than 
 in the little oil-painting by the same master, and rather 
 resemble the latest manner of Raphael, at which period he 
 appears to have imitated Michelangelo, both in the style of 
 his easel-pictures, and also in his designs for tapestry. How/ 
 our readers will perhaps ask, can a subject so horrible form 
 a beautiful painting? Indeed, I have seen many spectators 
 turn shuddering away after the first glance, and blame the 
 artist for his selection of such a subject, and yet the very 
 same persons have perhaps stood long in pleased astonish- 
 ment before the " Martyrdom of St. Agnes," by Domenichino 
 (No. 765.), or have gazed on the "Massacre of the Innocents," 
 by Guido (No. 819.), without turning from the confused heaps 
 of dead bodies and infants writhing in mortal agony ; without 
 being horrified by the streaming blood and agonised counten- 
 ances therein depicted. Nothing of this description is visible 
 in the picture of St. Agatha. No blood, no heart-rending 
 agony, no wounds ; for as yet the threatening instruments 
 of torture have not touched the body of the saint ; we do 
 not here see that expression of fiend-like, revolting malice 
 which usually distinguishes paintings of this kind : every- 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER III. 
 
 thing loathsome or disgusting being kept as completely out 
 of sight as is possible in the representation of a martyrdom. 
 It seems therefore probable that the horror it inspires, 
 prompting every one, after the first glance, to shrink and 
 turn away, is produced by the stern, soul-freezing reality of 
 the representation. The artist has chosen for his picture 
 the moment immediately preceding the application of the 
 torture. Already the majestic form of the noble woman is 
 uncovered, the glowing irons approach her bosom, and the 
 horrible idea of anticipated suffering thus engendered cannot 
 be otherwise than painful to excess: still there are com- 
 paratively few who will find its agony insupportable ; those 
 alone who, overpowered by the exhibition of suffering, over- 
 look the lofty god-like character of the design ; who derive 
 no pleasure from the majestic beauty of the figures, or the 
 fine arrangement of the whole. 
 
 The structure of the composition is very simple : the 
 figures are the size of life, but the dimensions of the picture 
 so small, that the grouping is necessarily confined. The 
 saint stands in the centre, completely in the foreground ; she 
 is naked to the waist ; her mantle, lying at her feet, and 
 her under robe wound tightly round the hips and gathered to- 
 gether in a knot in front. She leans against a column, which 
 her extended arms encircle, and to which they appear to be 
 firmly bound, but they are partially concealed by the heads 
 of the executioners who stand on each side of the martyr, 
 and also by a dark green curtain suspended from above. 
 The painful delineation of actual violence is much softened 
 down throughout. The tyrant stands opposite to her on the 
 right ; a table is introduced into the foreground; on that side 
 one of his arms, wonderfully foreshortened, rests upon it. 
 Behind him stands an attendant, whose expressive eyes are 
 cast down, as if in sorrow. On the other side, quite in the 
 foreground, before the executioner on the right, a great 
 knife is lying on a grey pedestal ; he grasps the irons with 
 both hands. On the right of the column which divides the 
 background, we discover a crowd of persons, a fire, and a 
 group of small figures apparently occupied in preparing the 
 instruments of torture. The background opens on the lelt 
 side, and a tranquil landscape with calm waters in the glow- 
 ing distance, is seen below the dark green curtain already 
 
LETTER III.] THE MARTYRDOM OF ST. AGATHA. 83 
 
 mentioned. In front of this landscape, near to the attendant 
 who stands with downcast eyes, two Roman soldiers with 
 bright unclosed helmets are seen — sympathising spectators 
 of the fearful scene. 
 
 The form of the saint is of heroic maidenly beauty, and 
 vigorous proportions. There are no rose and lily tints in 
 the carnations, but the pure, firm form glows with all the 
 colouring of unaltered health. The countenance expresses 
 no superhuman spirituality, but rather the heroism and 
 strength of human virtue ; her dark eyes gleam with all the 
 ardent feeling of an impassioned woman, but have also an 
 expression of fortitude and magnanimity, and the conscious 
 thrill of inborn heroism. The careless fall of her dark tresses 
 leaves the brow and beautiful firm throat completely bare, but 
 while thus silently and unhesitatingly yielding up her body 
 to the martyr's doom, her head is turned towards the tyrant 
 with a majestic action, full of unquailing courage ; we feel 
 that she is speaking, that she gives utterance to that bitter 
 reproach, " You — born of a woman's body, and nourished at 
 her breast, — do you not shame to give a woman's body to the 
 hand of the executioner?" An ashy paleness alone reveals 
 the insuperable terror of mortality at the horrible doom 
 approaching ; for her lofty countenance and gleaming eyes 
 bespeak more indignation and contempt for her miserable 
 tyrant than concern for her own sufferings. In the midst of 
 torture she yet triumphs over him, who stands gazing on her 
 as if he sought to arm his soul, by the very spectacle of the 
 martyrdom, against doubt and irresolution. The singular 
 constraint of his attitude and the almost unnatural manner 
 in which he rests his elbows on the table before him, heighten 
 the expression of internal disquietude in his physiognomy ; 
 he seems to harden himself in his once decided purpose, as 
 if the stubborn cruelty were struggling with and subduing 
 a better impulse. 
 
 His head especially is of noble form, and very vigorous 
 execution. The two executioners who with their burning 
 irons menace the bosom of the Saint, are, in their peculiar 
 style, even more powerful. They are the fitting instruments 
 of such a crime ; vulgar, hideous, and totally devoid of feel- 
 ing ; solicitous merely to perform the task they have in 
 hand, and regarding it as part of their ordinary trade ; still 
 
 G 2 
 
84 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter hi. 
 
 the extraordinary power displayed in the delineation of 
 these countenances, and the reality of the execution, softens 
 without weakening the impression they impart, carrying the 
 spectator's mind so irresistibly to the character and form, 
 that the feeling which must otherwise be unavoidably excited 
 is thrown into the background. 
 
 Perhaps nothing in the whole picture is more worthy 
 of notice, or more grandly conceived, than the two soldiers, 
 armed, but with helmets raised, who stand behind the tyrant 
 and look at the proceeding in perfect sympathy with the 
 sufferer. Their countenances, though calm, express the 
 most heartfelt sorrow ; no wild rage against the tyrant is in 
 their looks, nor does pity prompt them to make vain efforts at 
 resistance which must be utterly useless and impracticable. 
 Mute spectators of what they neither can nor dare attempt to 
 alter, they gaze only on the saint, think of her alone, watch 
 her movements, hang upon her words, and seem by their 
 entire and lofty sympathy like a strain of attendant music to 
 perform the part of the chorus in Greek tragedy, alleviating 
 suffering and the more acute pangs of grief, by the idea of 
 an inevitable law, and a due reliance on the eternal decrees 
 of truth and justice. There is a remarkable resemblance, 
 almost an exact likeness, between the two, as if they were 
 designed to represent only one being, though under a double 
 form ; and this circumstance is yet more strikingly in affinity 
 with the old chorus of those tragedies. They are erect in 
 form, and their attitude stiff and martial ; firm, but neither 
 savage nor violent ; manly and iron -like in frame and tem- 
 perament, so that the perfect sympathy of two such warrior 
 hearts seems even the more soothing. The distant landscape 
 introduced is like a symbolic promise of future happiness to 
 calm the shuddering soul. No angel, no blessed spirit hovers 
 near, offering to the martyr her crown of immortal palm ; 
 but her steadfast soul, firm in the conviction of its inborn 
 strength, hastes to eternal freedom, and to God. In this 
 respect again the picture seems superior to other conceptions 
 of similar subjects. It must however be confessed that it is 
 in the antique style, and in its treatment rather Stoic than 
 purely Christian, but imbued with a lofty moral devotion. 
 
 Whence is it that martyrdom has been so absolutely 
 and uncompromisingly rejected, as rai unfavourable, and in- 
 
LETTER III.] MARTYRDOM A FIT SUBJECT FOR PAINTING. 85 
 
 deed unworthy subject of representation ? The invaluable 
 picture above described affords a triumphant refutation of 
 that opinion, and clearly proves that it is possible from these 
 materials to produce a beautiful and highly valuable picture. 
 Great questions have indeed been raised, concerning the 
 choice of appropriate subjects for the arts in general, and 
 painting more especially, and theories founded on some im- 
 perfectly understood philosophical idea have been blindly 
 adopted and dogmatically enforced. A very different and far 
 more successful result might have been obtained had people 
 rather attempted to discover what was right by the aid of his- 
 torical and traditional records. It appears highly natural that 
 among the earliest subjects of representation should have been 
 that which indeed no effort of imagination can ever success- 
 fully achieve, and yet which more than once has been brought 
 wonderfully near to perfection, — the "Holy Virgin and 
 Child:" the other subjects are perhaps equally ancient, 
 but although frequently treated, have even more rarely at- 
 tained any degree of perfection ; viz., the representation of 
 the thorn-crowned head of the suffering Redeemer — the 
 " Ecce Homo," and the " Crucifixion." The legend of Saint 
 Veronica and the holy handkerchief attests the antiquity of 
 the former symbolic representation, at least as certainly as 
 that of St. Luke proves the portraiture of the Madonna to 
 have been of early origin.* As the Annunciation, the Holy 
 
 * The earliest representations of the sufferings and death of Christ 
 were entirely symbolical, for instead of the actual human figure of the 
 Redeemer, a lamb only, fixed on a cross, served as a symbolical memento 
 of the Crucifixion. The principle which led to the adoption of a sym- 
 bolical lamb instead of the Redeemer in his suffering human form, was 
 probably this: — the earliest Christian communities were formed chiefly 
 of Jews, who penetrated with the belief that Jesus of Nazareth was very 
 God, and remembering the old Mosaic prohibition against making any 
 image or semblance of the Most High, objected to a representation in 
 human form, or at least feared thereby to offend the weak in conscience 
 among Jewish believers. Such prejudices' were at length thrown aside 
 by more advanced Christians, as mere vestiges of Judaism. The transition 
 from the purely symbolic Cross to the complete and real representation 
 of the dying Redeemer, is first shown by the outline of our Saviour's 
 face on the handkerchief of St, Veronica, the most remarkable instance of 
 which may be found in the old German picture in the Boisseree Collection, 
 designed according to the traditional Byzantine type. The head alone, 
 thus separated from all connexion with the body, and left ia miraculous 
 
 c 3 
 
86 PAINTINGS IN PAMS, 1802-1804, [letter III. 
 
 Family, the Adoration of the Magi, the Heavenly Con- 
 versation, all remind us more or less of the simplest and 
 purest expression of divine loveliness ever imagined by the 
 spirit of inborn love : each varied conception of these sub- 
 jects forms only a more adorned development, and conveys 
 to the human heart a more perfect image of this love ; and 
 in the same manner, the highest possible degree of mortal 
 anguish, as embodied in the Crucifixion of our Lord, mirrors 
 itself afresh in each subordinate picture of suffering. But 
 the art and religion, from which it can never be divided 
 without utter ruin and subversion, should not represent the 
 Son of God to the eyes of man as if free from all relation with 
 mortality, in unapproachable bliss and happiness ; but rather 
 also in those more circumscribed relations in which the very 
 divinity breaks through, and appears in his mortal creatures. 
 Painting therefore must, and ought to represent to us the 
 deep pain of those glorious martyrs who, while yet within 
 the circle of mortality, voluntarily retraced their steps to 
 heaven, yielding their bodies sacrifices to the purest and 
 most devoted love. The Madonna, and the Crucifixion, — 
 these, with all their inexhaustible variety of grouping and 
 treatment, form the primitive types, the two eternal poles on 
 which our spiritual life, no less than the pure spirit of paint- 
 ing, continually revolve. Hermits and recluses, of whom in 
 legendary lore we find so many beautiful histories, may offer 
 more cheerful subjects for delineation than the real, genuine 
 conception of a martyrdom. But would not the pursuit of such 
 
 and shadowy outline on the holy handkerchief, occupies exactly the 
 middle place between a simple symhol and an actual picture. Among 
 the earliest paintings of the Madonna, there is certainly one, most fitly 
 termed symbolic, presenting to us the Saviour on his mother's lap, but 
 as an already grown boy, a crown upon his head, and the brows of the 
 Virgin also encircled by the crown of heaven ; for this design does not 
 coincide with the actual condition of Christ in his lowly childhood, but 
 represents two distinct periods, historically divided, but each in itself 
 artistically perfect taken together and blended into one, — the mother of 
 God, as we picture her in the childhood of Christ, full of nature and 
 humility, and Mary the crowned queen of heaven. The other sym- 
 bolic representation of the Virgin, is that known by the name of the 
 Immaculate Conception, in which we see her, with the moon at her feet, 
 crowned with stars, and with the rays of the sun encircling her ; but it 
 belongs in point of history to a later date, and will be noticed hereafter. 
 
LETTER III.] MARTYRDOM A FIT SUBJECT FOR PAINTING. 87 
 
 subjects as are gay and pleasing alone lead to a confirmed 
 mannerism, and the most narrow ideas, — not to mention that 
 such bewitching grace frequently eludes those who strive 
 most earnestly to imagine and represent it ? It is a destruc- 
 tive and erroneous principle in works of art to seek only 
 outward grace and sensible beauty, which may not always be 
 compatible with general truth and fidelity in the treatment 
 of the subject ; but the painter's first and highest aim 
 should be, to render justly that divine signification, without 
 which no picture can properly be called a work of art, and 
 when this is correctly given, the blossom and fruit of divine 
 loveliness frequently starts unsought into existence. The 
 subject of martyrdom is certainly susceptible in the highest 
 degree of this lofty yet profound signification. It will be 
 easy for the artist, if he kuow how to avoid exciting disgust 
 by the details, to introduce such a contrast between purity 
 and loveliness on the part of the suffering saints, and savage 
 repulsive cruelty and malevolence in the persecutors, as 
 throughout all its gradations and modifications will afford 
 but too true a picture of actual life, and unfold, in the doom 
 of those martyrs, the fate which in this world too often 
 awaits the lofty and pure in nature ; and in doing this he 
 can scarcely fail to meet abundant opportunity of recalling 
 to our minds the ineffable essence of love and beauty. 
 There is certainly one distinction to be observed ; which is, 
 that in actual life the martyrdom of the pious, in their con- 
 flict with the wicked, is less palpably evident, being rather 
 diffused throughout the entire course of existence, — but is 
 this detrimental in any degree to the art ? Painting de- 
 mands, above every thing else, sensible intellectual life ; and 
 the concentrating in one powerful focus, what in reality 
 is widely scattered, ought certainly to be the chief and only 
 point in which the art, in its treatment of isolated particu- 
 lars, differs from the laws and circumstances of reality. 
 Martyrdom, rightly treated, may undoubtedly afford most 
 effective subjects for composition. It is certainly far more 
 affecting in this art than in that of poetry, unless in the 
 latter a great number of secondary circumstances be intro- 
 duced, in which the fact of the martyrdom must become the 
 point of interest and the crowning climax. To describe this 
 alone would be to weary one's- self in vain, and prove after all 
 
 G 4 
 
PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER III. 
 
 cold and monotonous ; or at the best, to engage in a painful 
 struggle for such actual truth of description as is scarcely 
 attainable. Miraculous circumstances, which have sometimes 
 been introduced by those who wished to give a complete repre- 
 sentation of the whole legend, appear rather to be the exclu- 
 sive property of the poet : he alone can properly prepare for 
 their introduction, and partially explain facts, which however 
 must always remain enigmatical and mysterious ; but in this 
 very mystery and obscurity imagination and poetry delight 
 to revel, and by its aid frequently attain the highest bril- 
 liancy of expression. Miraculous occurrences however, 
 which are comparatively familiar, such as the Ascension, 
 and the Transfiguration may be noticed, as belonging pre- 
 ferably to the sphere of painting, being less obscure, and 
 therefore less likely to leave the mind cold and unimpressed, 
 How strangely do artists of the present day appear to 
 vacillate in their choice of subjects ! Sometimes having re- 
 course to classical fables, to modern French, or Celti-Ossianic 
 figures and subjects : or possibly to such as have no exist- 
 ence at all, except in the brain of the bewildered artist, lost 
 amid the mazes of false and erroneous theories. Were it 
 not better to return at once to the beaten track of the old 
 Italian and German masters ? We should find in it no lack 
 of materials, and those persons who imagine the circle of 
 designs from Christian subjects w^ould soon be exhausted, 
 are most completely mistaken. Let them but examine at- 
 tentively the series of Albert Diirer's engravings, — how rich 
 a fund of new and profound ideas do these supply ! I do 
 not refer exactly to the apocalyptic wood- cuts, because, 
 however profound the meaning they convey, these would, 
 especially to the youthful artist, prove most dangerous guides. 
 Yet, what originality is there in Diirer's treatment of or- 
 dinary subjects ! His varied designs of the Crucifixion are 
 familiar, and require no further notice here ; so also his con- 
 ceptions of the Virgin. Where, even among the greatest 
 masters, can we find a Madonna superior to that of Dürer 
 at Dresden, known by the name of the " Immaculate Con- 
 ception," in which the Blessed Virgin is represented with 
 the moon beneath her feet, the crown of heaven hovering 
 as it were above her head, and her long hair flowing round 
 her, like a veil, even to the hem of her garment? Where can 
 
LETTER III.] ALBERT DURER's ENGRAVINGS. 89 
 
 you find a picture so truly and vividly representing the Queen 
 of Heaven in all her divine majesty and loveliness, and at the 
 same time so perfect as a work of art, and so entirely conso- 
 nant with the symbolism of ancient Christianity ? How rich, 
 too, how finely imagined is his "Madonna in the Garden," 
 the silent solitude of which, adorned with varied and beauti- 
 ful plants, with here and there some curious animals, seems 
 amplified into an abstract symbol of external nature ! How 
 vigorous, and at the same time incomparably true to nature, 
 are his attempts to portray the Mother of God in her mor- 
 tal condition, surrounded by domestic cares, — the infant 
 Saviour, playing with angels in the workshop of his nominal 
 earthly father ! Where else can such pictures be found — 
 and yet are they not almost necessary accompaniments of 
 our belief? If the image of the star-crowned Madonna, 
 with the planets at her feet, belong intrinsically to the 
 sphere of Christian ideas, her picture as the personification 
 of spiritual love in the very heart and centre of the bloom- 
 ing garden of nature, lies surely very near to the same 
 circle. Such paintings must undoubtedly be of great rarity, 
 for we cannot point out one resembling either of these, in 
 the collections of Dresden or Düsseldorf, Paris or Brussels, 
 rich as those collections are in oil-paintings, and antique 
 treasures. In the Salon of Ancient Paintings at Brussels, 
 there is one very early picture of the Madonna, with the 
 crown on her head and the moon beneath her feet, but it is 
 far from giving all the signification of which so lofty an 
 idea is susceptible. Were there any painters of merit now 
 to be found, who, emancipating themselves from the tram- 
 mels of modern errors and innovations, had entered upon 
 their course in the true spirit of ancient art, what could be 
 a more worthy office for any noble and wealthy patron, than 
 by a suitable and most invaluable gift to encourage the 
 young artist to employ his genius on appropriate subjects, 
 and with this object, to select for him some of the grandest 
 and most beautiful of Dürer's unexecuted designs ? Still, 
 it must be remembered, leaving him at liberty to alter what- 
 ever is unpleasing to modern taste, or appears imperfect in 
 form, or not essential to the general effect. It was probably 
 in this hope, and with this intention, that our great master 
 bequeathed to posterity the unbroken series of his designs : 
 
90 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter III. 
 
 the outpouring of that inexhaustible activity, which yet 
 could not suffice for the systematic development of all his 
 profound ideas. These plates ought, therefore, to be con- 
 sidered as a collection of fragments of artistic thoughts, a 
 store of creative art-ideas, and not merely as studies, nor 
 as copies from paintings, uncoloured, and in every respect 
 most imperfect. Engravings on copper merit the highest 
 approbation and esteem as previous studies or sketches, pre- 
 paratory to the execution of a perfect work ; and Dürer's 
 should undoubtedly be viewed in that light ; hatched hard 
 upon the copper, they will never please the eye at the first 
 glance, yet the outline alone is amply sufficient to realise all 
 that Dürer wished to effect. The engraving of the Sikkingen 
 riding through the wood*, shows sufficiently the perfection 
 of Dürer's finished plates of this description. In this we 
 are scarcely sensible of the absence of colour, but on the 
 contrary return again and again to the study of a good im- 
 pression, as we should do of a good picture ; and although 
 it seems impossible for colourless outlines to attain that 
 inexhaustible individuality of character and expression, 
 which is the privilege and property of the all-pervading 
 elements of colour alone, yet the impossible is here attempted 
 and almost attained ; as many other great masters have been 
 seen to carry their art to the utmost limit of its peculiar 
 province, and even (feeling the path of return secure) ven- 
 ture for a moment daringly to overstep the boundary. It is 
 this which makes the example of the great luminaries of the 
 art so dangerous to feeble imitators, who venture thought- 
 lessly to tread a path in which they must find themselves 
 unprepared. Thus Dürer, and many great Italian masters, 
 innocently contributed to the diffusion of erroneous prin- 
 ciples in the new school, and to that all-destroying separa- 
 tion between design and colouring, which is no less fatal to 
 the theory of the art than to its mechanical execution. 
 Thus the teaching of Socrates, who first distinguished be- 
 tween the beautiful and the necessary, laid the earliest 
 foundation of inconsistency ; thus the erroneous principles 
 supported by Descartes, asserting the absolute distinction of 
 soul and body, and setting an awful gulf between the two, 
 
 * Knight, Death, and the Devil? See Kugler, xxvii. 39. The 
 knight is said to be a portrait of Franz von Sikkingen. — Trans, 
 
LETTER III.] ALBERT DÜRER's ENGRAVINGS. 91 
 
 necessarily gave birth to all the succeeding errors of philo- 
 sophy ; and thus also the prevailing error of dividing painting 
 as an art into the distinct branches of design and colouring, 
 has become the fruitful source of all subsequent errors and 
 aberrations. Dürer especially, like so many of those old 
 philosophers, set a far higher value on truth than on per- 
 sonal fame ; and feeling it impossible to bring to perfection 
 the entire abundance of his ideas, confidingly bequeathed 
 the designs alone to the world at large. During a short 
 period, some, among his contemporaries and followers em- 
 ployed them sometimes even without acknowledgment, till 
 there arose at last a feeble generation, incapable of com- 
 pleting or even of comprehending his ideas : ere long, they 
 ceased to be esteemed, and in process of time were entirely 
 forgotten. When after contemplating this splendid collec- 
 tion of Dürer's, I turn to all the throng of sketches and 
 copper-plate designs among which we now live, he appears 
 to me like the originator of a new and splendid system of 
 thought, burning with the zeal of a first pure inspiration, 
 eager to diffuse his deeply conceived, and probably true and 
 noble views ; and all the heap of frivolous sophists and 
 sweet explainers succeeding him seem like those would-be 
 connoisseurs, whose prattle is now to be heard in all markets 
 both among the amateurs of art, and in every- day life. 
 
 In examining the collection of Dürer's copper-plates 
 in the Cabinet de Dessins at Paris, I was particularly struck 
 by the excellence of the expression, but disappointed that 
 my anxious inquiries after any oil-painting by that great 
 master proved fruitless. It is true that four large pictures 
 of his were brought hither from Nuremberg ; yet I was in- 
 formed on credible authority that, in conformity with a 
 decree for sending various works of art to different towns 
 in the departments, these pictures are already deposited at 
 Rennes, in Brittany, where they will be almost inaccessible 
 to German lovers of the art. 
 
 In the palace of St. Cloud again I saw pictures which 
 I had already seen and admired in the Louvre : the " Mar- 
 riage of St. Catherine and the Infant Christ," the majestic 
 portrait of Julius II., and many others. Also a portrait of 
 Charles VIII., by Leonardo, which deserves to be numbered 
 among his most remarkable works. The background, though 
 
92 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER III. 
 
 clear, is uniform, which is rarely the case with oil portraits, 
 and in this harmonises admirably with the open, intelligent, 
 and not unheroic character of the face ; the truthful reality 
 of the portrait is most tangible and evident, as is usual in 
 this master's pictures ; it is also characterised by unusual 
 distinctness. This head is both more charming and infinitely 
 more expressive than the far-famed head of Francis I., of 
 which I saw at Paris two different copies ; one in the collec- 
 tion of Lucien Buonaparte, and one among those set apart 
 for restoration in the Louvre. Not the hand of Leonardo 
 himself could ennoble that strangely ugly countenance with 
 its little blinking eyes. The most valuable picture to which 
 I could here devote my attention, though but for one short 
 hour, and without being at liberty to repeat my visit, was 
 the famous "Madonna della Sedia"* of Raphael. The en- 
 chanting loveliness of this painting is universally known and 
 acknowledged, and numerous copies and engravings make 
 the subject of it generally familiar. The Madonna in this 
 picture has not the tender loveliness of the " Giardiniera," 
 nor the ideality of the great Madonna at Dresden ; it holds a 
 place between the two extremes, and in this point resembles 
 the highly-esteemed "Holy Family" in the Parisian Museum, 
 the " Madonna di Foligno"f in Lucien Buonaparte's collec- 
 tion, and the "Madonna dell' Impannata"J in the palace of 
 the Luxembourg. In each of these the same invariable plan 
 appears to form the groundwork of the whole ; but the 
 " Madonna della Sedia " is beyond comparison the most suc- 
 cessful, and may serve as an example for each of the others. 
 Raphael appears always equally and peculiarly happy in his 
 delineation of children and the heads of old men ; in some 
 instances, also, his female heads display the highest artistic 
 beauty, both ideal and individual ; yet in these we more fre- 
 quently recognise a noble, earnest struggle to attain some 
 peculiar ideal conception of beauty than the very beauty 
 itself. The artist has attempted to express the Divinity in 
 the Infant Christ by imparting to the figure an almost super- 
 human strength and vigour. Yet it wants that peculiar 
 majesty of look and expression distinguishing the Saviour 
 in the picture at Dresden : in the latter the child looks seri- 
 
 * Pitti Palace. 
 
 f In the Vatican.. 
 
 J Pitti Palace. 
 
LETTER I1I.J RAPHAEL'S MADONNA DELLA SED1A. 93 
 
 ous, grand, and noble, but his attitude, playing with his feet, 
 is, with intention, careless and childlike. The iveaving of 
 the colours in this picture, if I may be permitted to employ 
 that expression, appeared to me very remarkable. I fancied, 
 also, that in the treatment of the colours I was able clearly 
 to trace the varied modifications of this master's manner. 
 In some pictures a decided preference for heavy masses of 
 distinct, vigorous browns, reds, or whites is obvious, resem- 
 bling the grand principles of harmony in which Dante drew 
 the light, illuminated, and dazzling portion of his immortal 
 poem. Some of Raphael's other pictures, as, for example, 
 the " Madonna" in the Lucien collection, and the " Giardi- 
 niera," are of glowing radiance and purity, the carnations 
 wonderfully delicate and lovely. Others again, as the " Saint 
 John " at Düsseldorf (as far as the changes produced in it by 
 time enable us to judge, and if, besides, it be justly attributed 
 to Raphael), the " St. Michael " at Paris, the " Transfigura- 
 tion," and many others, are remarkable from the strong 
 shadows, the chiaroscuro, and blending and contrast of bright 
 and sombre tints, with smaller masses of less vivid hues, 
 among which blue holds a conspicuous place, and appears to 
 indicate the first predominant use of that colour in the later 
 Italian schools. The clear brown tint in the unfinished pic- 
 ture at Brussels would not have been entirely subdued in the 
 finishing ; but in the " Madonna della Sedia " a completely 
 different manner, which I should rather term many-coloured, 
 or variegated, prevails. A predilection for green, red, and 
 other vivid colours is predominant in this picture also, not, 
 however, in broad masses, but, on the contrary, more like 
 the design of a costly carpet, the gayest and brightest hues 
 being interwoven in a highly artistic manner, and forming 
 fine and elegant undulations, delicate circles and flowers, so 
 that each idea teems with the richest luxuriance, and is 
 depicted in genuine pomp and splendour. Whoever, after 
 seeing the " Madonna della Sedia " and the " Giardiniera," 
 can still affirm or believe Raphael to have been an unskilful 
 colourist, must have eyes and senses not of the most suscep- 
 tible order. It must be remembered that the preceding 
 general observations on Raphael are not intended to apply 
 to his fresco paintings at Rome, but to his easel-pictures 
 alone, the best and most valuable of which I have had oppor- 
 
94 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER III. 
 
 tunities of studying. The " Madonna della Sedia " resembles 
 the earliest representations of the Virgin, especially in regard 
 to the simplicity of the subject, representing the mother of 
 God only with the holy child on her left arm, her head gently 
 inclining towards him, with little ornament, and few acces- 
 sary details, except the adoring figure of the youthful 
 St. John ; and it is an interesting fact, that the most lovely 
 of later flowers of art, and of all its highly-adorned and orna- 
 mented compositions, should so closely resemble the formal 
 simplicity and beauty of its earliest commencement. This 
 picture also approaches the pure loveliness of the " Giardi- 
 niera," and, like it, appears to stand on the verge between the 
 two grand epochs of Raphael's artistic history, exemplifying 
 both the fervent love and devotion of his youthful manner, 
 together with the lofty development and rich maturity of his 
 prime, before his later imitations of that dazzling meteor, 
 Michelangelo, led him away from the path of love and 
 devotion. 
 
 The wondrous picture of " St. Cecilia " * also unites the 
 peculiar beauties of each different manner, which in it are 
 woven into a full chord of the most delicious inspiration. 
 The " St. Cecilia " may be compared with the " Madonna della 
 Sedia " in its rich colouring and gorgeous drapery : this, and 
 the extremely careful finishing, are undoubtedly the reasons 
 why the excellent and meritorious old copy of this picture at 
 Dresden falls so far short of the original in expression, even 
 more so than is usually the case with good copies. The chief 
 motive f of the " St. Cecilia " is a ravishing sentiment of 
 
 * In the Gallery of Bologna. 
 
 f The word motive, familiar as it is with technical phraseology of 
 other languages, is not yet generally adopted in our own, and hence some 
 apology may be necessary for employing it as above. It may often be 
 rendered intention, but has a fuller meaning. In its ordinary appellation, 
 and as generally used by the author 1 , it means the principle of action, 
 attitude, and composition in a single figure or group ; thus it has been 
 observed, that in some antique gems which are deficient in execution, the 
 motives are frequently fine. Such qualities, in this case, may have been 
 the result of the artist's feeling, but in servile copies, like those of the 
 Byzantine artists, the motives could only belong to the original inventor, 
 
 Kügler. 
 
LETTER III.] 
 
 RAPHAEL S ST. CECILIA, 
 
 95 
 
 intense, inward devotion, which, incapable of being restrained 
 within the narrow limits of a human heart, breaks forth in 
 song, almost in the same manner as in that great supplicatory 
 picture by Perugino, where we see every thing melting away 
 in a devout inspiration. In Perugino's picture, also, we find 
 an expression of silent devotion, like the long-drawn solemn 
 tones of an old cathedral chaunt ; in Raphael the tendency to 
 music is still more decided, and the whole mysterious depth 
 and wondrous richness of that magic art is successfully un- 
 folded. The figure of St. Paul, with the mighty sword on 
 his left side, reminds us, by its rapt and meditative expres- 
 sion, of the power of those old melodies at whose sound rocks 
 melted, and savage beasts were tamed, and which could pene- 
 trate the human mind, tearing asunder, as it were, soul and 
 spirit ; the harmonious grandeur of the Magdalene opposite 
 to him, whose perfect beauty resembles in some features the 
 Madonna at Dresden, reminds us of the pure unisons re- 
 sounding in the abode of blessed spirits, and to which the 
 magic tones of earthly music breathe a feebler response, yet 
 still undoubtedly reply. The Soul of St. Cecilia, who stands 
 in the midst singing praises, seems as if soaring upwards on 
 a ray of dazzling brightness to meet the glorious harmony 
 descending, as in a flood of light, from heaven. The two 
 other figures *, which occupy the space between the three 
 already named, appear as if combining to form the whole 
 into a full unbroken chorus. The childlike ring of little 
 angels hovering in the clouds above her head seems to be 
 a divine reverberation and echo of the mingling harmony. 
 The transparent foreground, the scattered instruments of 
 music, indicate a vast and wonderfully varied world of 
 harmony and sound, on the basis of which the holy hymn 
 reposes, and from which it ascends like a structure of lofty 
 
 In its more extended signification, the term comprehends invention gene- 
 rally, as distinguished from execution. Another very different and less 
 general sense in which this expression is also used, must not be con- 
 founded with the foregoing, thus a motive is sometimes understood in the 
 sense of a suggestion. It is said, for example, that Poussin found the 
 motives of his landscape compositions at Tivoli. In this case we have a 
 suggestion improved and carried out ; in the copies of the Byzantine 
 artists we have intentions, not their own, blindly transmitted. — From 
 the translation of Kiigler's Handbook of Painting in Italy > b. i. p. 21. 
 * St. John and St. Augustine. 
 
96 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER III. 
 
 artistic beauty. The picture is fraught with a soul-felt ex- 
 pression of music and inspiration, and the execution in the 
 highest degree solid and effective. 
 
 But although the very subject of this wonderfully mag- 
 nificent picture appears to lead to a musical treatment 
 and expression, there reigns in it throughout, not merely the 
 floating charm, the soul-fraught inspiration which charac- 
 terises painters of musical feeling, but also a tendency to 
 develope, in the clearest and fullest majesty, that lofty, poetic 
 imagination which exalts these first among painters and poets 
 in soul, so far above all who are simple painters and no 
 more. It is the enthusiasm which flashes at once through 
 both intellect and imagination, of lofty flight indeed, dwell- 
 ing amid the glancing stars, and crowned with never-dying 
 laurel. It is poetry, as depicted by Raphael himself in the 
 "Camera della Segnatura," — the very breathing of divinity, 
 and yet nearly allied to ail the natural forms around ; to 
 science, or philosophy, with her starry mantle, the variegated 
 robe full of figures of animals, and the rich abundance of 
 living symbols ; as well as to theology, or the knowledge of 
 things divine, and the true proportions of the balance of 
 clearsighted justice. Yet neither the breath of Parnassus 
 alone, nor a heathen muse, nor a poetic fancy sportively 
 touching the painting, formed the source whence Raphael 
 drew the poetry of his pictures. No ! the light of truth was 
 poured into his heart, and all the blessed mysteries of heaven 
 were revealed to his enraptured gaze, that he might thus 
 represent them in glorious forms and hues, for the aggran- 
 disement of the church, and of our most holy faith. This 
 poetic painting, this wondrous flow of feeling, although at 
 the same time in severe systematic arrangement, stands most 
 proudly forth in that crown of all his works, the "Theology,"* 
 embracing the whole of heaven, and giving the first true 
 indications of the high destination of Raphael himself, and of 
 Catholic art in general, which it was his proud mission to 
 complete and to raise, even to the highest degree of perfec- 
 tion. Therefore on him was bestowed the richest abundance 
 of gifts and endowments ; every thing combined in favour of 
 the fortunate artist, who, even in his youth, soon surpassed 
 the most experienced masters. He not only learned to blend 
 * Erroneously culled La disputa del Sacramento. 
 
LETTER III.] RAPHAEL. — RUBENS. — LESUEUR. 97 
 
 the devout genius of the earlier schools of an Angelico or a 
 Perugino with the glow of art and the highest perfection of 
 design, but if ever painter could justly claim to be called not 
 only inspired, but even divinely enlightened, that painter 
 was Raphael. And what, we may well ask, would this gifted 
 mortal have failed to accomplish, who in so short a life per- 
 formed such wondrous works ? to what an unheard-of degree 
 of perfection would he not have raised his art had nature 
 extended his term of life to a grey old age, like so many of 
 the connoisseurs and masters of his time ! Yet as we reflect 
 on the melancholy history of his early death, we find an in- 
 ward consolation, and gratitude mingles with our grief at the 
 mournful tale of his interrupted course. It was because he 
 neglected to keep alive the sacred fire in its vase of crystal, 
 and lest he should in any degree injure or destroy the deli- 
 cate limits of heavenly beauty in the art itself, that the crystal 
 vase was broken, the thread of his life was severed, and the 
 flower of Christian art, which it had been his mission to un- 
 fold, remained as he left it — leafless and imperfect in the 
 hour of its most glorious promise. 
 
 A collection of paintings, the property of the senate of 
 France, is at present open in the palace of the Luxembourg.* 
 Besides many other modern works, one apartment is almost 
 entirely filled with the compositions of Rubens ; chiefly alle- 
 gorical designs of the life of Maria de Medici.f 
 
 These pictures are, perhaps, preferable to many others by 
 the same master in the Louvre — at least as regards the 
 struggle for uncommon ideas — but they are in very bad 
 preservation, and whoever desires to study the history of the 
 art, with all its errors and aberrations, must trust alone to 
 the gallery J at Düsseldorf for obtaining just ideas of this 
 master. A series of small pictures by Le Sueur, representing 
 the life of St. Bruno, gives a favourable idea ofthat artist, and 
 of the manner in which he raised himself above his contem- 
 poraries of the French school. He has none of the perplex- 
 ing ostentation of Le Brun§, nor the pedantic erudition of 
 
 * This gallery is now appropriated to the works of living artists pur- 
 chased by government. 
 
 f .Since removed to the Louvre, Nos. 549. to 569. 
 $ Removed in 1808 to Munich. 
 
 § A proof of the high excellence which a mannered artist may some- 
 
 H 
 
98 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter III. 
 
 Poussin, but on the contrary has a feeling for colour at the 
 least, and in general some degree of soul-felt expression. 
 All his compositions, however, follow the peculiar genius of 
 the French school, which, when it adopts a more tranquil 
 and subdued manner, in opposition to the theatrical and 
 highly exaggerated style usually predominating, becomes 
 feeble in outline and in colouring. We cannot refuse sym- 
 pathy to the love-deserving genius of one, who in the midst 
 of excessive frivolity, in complete ignorance of, and far re- 
 moved from all true principles of the art, gained even a mere 
 superficial exterior, and actually lost himself in his ardent 
 desire to attain a higher object. Yet there is little artistic 
 pleasure to be derived from these pictures, but rather a 
 human sympathy, such as is sometimes aroused by the verse 
 of Racine, between whose works and those of Le Sueur I 
 trace a strong family resemblance. Nothing further can be 
 said of these pictures. 
 
 There are in this collection only two old Italian pictures : 
 A Danäe, by Titian, but hung so high, and in so bad a light, 
 that it is impossible to describe it ; and the " Madonna dell' 
 Impannata"* of Raphael. The most striking feature in the 
 latter is the over- exaggerated old age of Saint Elizabeth : 
 she is probably a portrait, for I find the same face repeated 
 in the Holy Family at Düsseldorf. The Virgin's figure is 
 designed on the same type as the " Madonna di Foligno," 
 and the Mother of God in the Holy Family in the Louvre. 
 There is unquestionably much that is deserving of notice in 
 
 times attain in a single work, if he is endowed by nature with great 
 talents, and induced by any circumstance to abandon his usual manner, may 
 be found in a large family picture by Le Brun, of the Jabach family, well 
 known in the history of art 1 , and which I saw at Cologne in 1818, in the 
 possession of Mr. Van Groote. Probably the French artist in this 
 picture aimed at following the simple narrow style, truth, and reality of 
 the best artists of the Netherlands, or he may have been led into that 
 manner by his subject. Every one must be surprised at the talent with 
 which he accomplishes this, and how in this painting he has made the 
 German reality of manner his own, as if it were but another style equally 
 familiar to him ; so that his former bias to the modern-antique, instead of 
 being disadvantageous, is called into the service, and thus combined with 
 the simple truth of the Flemish manner produces new and peculiar 
 excellence. 
 
 * Pitti Palace. 
 
 1 See Guide des Amateurs, Ecoles Italiennes. Preface. 
 
LETTER III.] COLLECTIONS IN LES PETITS ATJGUSTINS. 99 
 
 this picture, and it holds a remarkable position in the series 
 of Kaphael's Madonnas. Considering the present violent 
 and continued disallocation of works of art, it would, 
 perhaps, afford gratification to amateurs to learn whither 
 they have been removed, and where they are now to be 
 found. In this review of old Italian pictures, I have thought 
 it expedient to give but a short description of those which 
 are of less importance in illustrating my peculiar opinions, 
 or which have been already commented on in other works. 
 
 A great number of old French memorials, fragments 
 torn from ruined churches and monasteries, mutilated and 
 in many instances more than half destroyed, have been care- 
 fully collected, and are now exhibited, in chronological order, 
 in the ancient monastery of Les Petits Augustins. M. Alex- 
 ander Lenoir has compiled a very full and excellent catalogue 
 of this collection, which possesses at least one useful property, 
 showing, in the clearest and most remarkable manner, what 
 the imitative arts, and especially sculpture, ought not to be. 
 It would be difficult to believe, without the direct evidence 
 of the senses, that human fancy could wander so widely 
 astray, as "many of the old French sculptors have done, pre- 
 senting us with exact images of dead bodies, stretched naked 
 upon their biers, or clothed in the modern fashion, and sur- 
 rounded by crowds of kneeling ladies and gentlemen. Many 
 ancient monuments of the early kings of France, which have 
 been torn from their places in the old Gothic churches, 
 deserve a strict examination, as illustrating the history of 
 Christian architecture in the Middle Ages. A very few old 
 paintings in this collection also deserve notice. The most 
 ancient, perhaps, is a Russian Madonna, apparently of the 
 earliest date. It was customary among the Greek Christians 
 for the priests themselves to practise the art of painting, and 
 it does not, therefore, appear extraordinary that the Musco- 
 vite Christians should have learned the same style of treat- 
 ment.* We find, also, in the collection of antiquities in the 
 National Library three small companion pictures, represent- 
 ing God the Father, and a few attendant figures, evidently 
 
 * The uniformity of style observable in Greek church painting is still 
 further accounted for by a MS. recently translated into French, and pub- 
 lished by M» Didron. It is entitled " Iconographie Chretienne," — 
 Translator. 
 
 U 2 
 
100 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER III. 
 
 in the Greek taste, and belonging to the earliest period of 
 Christian art, but in execution undoubtedly Russian. A 
 Madonna, No. 8. sect. i. of the Catalogue of old French pic- 
 tures, is nearly as large as life, and although it has been very 
 much injured, we cannot fail to recognise the foreign national 
 figure and portraiture, especially in the Infant Christ. It is 
 even more remarkable, that in the countenance of the Ma- 
 donna we recognise the same type as was adopted by so many 
 distant nations in the earliest epoch of Christianity. The 
 same perfectly oval countenance and regular features, the 
 small mouth, lofty brow, the head inclining gently to the 
 left shoulder, and the eyes turned fondly on the child. A 
 star is painted on the bosom, and on the drapery encircling 
 the head, probably in allusion to the appellation of " morning 
 star," " ocean star," frequently given to the Virgin in old 
 ecclesiastical hymns. This symbol frequently occurs in old 
 pictures of the Virgin. I have remarked it in several of un- 
 doubted antiquity, which were brought to Paris from the 
 church of San Luigi in Rome, among which are some remark- 
 able antique treasures, although the greater number are but 
 indifferent ; they were placed when I saw them in the Salon 
 at the Louvre for restoration. 
 
 In the same collection (Musee des Monumens Francois), 
 there are also various old paintings on glass, important from 
 their antiquity as well as from their intrinsic value. Among 
 the most beautiful of these is a St. Veronica carrying the holy 
 handkerchief, with which she wiped our Saviour's face at the 
 bearing of the cross, and the " Annunciation " (Nos. 16 and 
 18. Sect. 298.) ; both of early date and style ; and both, par- 
 ticularly the Annunciation, worthy of being compared with the 
 most beautiful and highly finished oil-paintings. The colour- 
 ing is remarkably pleasing, and well managed ; the centre 
 bright and clear, encompassed by grand masses of blue and 
 red, the dazzling brilliance of which throws out the centre 
 part most beautifully. I was, however, even more delighted 
 with the colouring of a large " Ecce Homo," by Dürer. This 
 subject, and others connected with it, has been so frequently 
 treated by Dürer, both in paintings and in wood-cuts, 
 that any description appears superfluous ; the suffering Re- 
 deemer is of perfect, exquisite beauty ; the murderers, war- 
 riors in caricature, replete with wickedness and ferocity, but 
 
LETTER in.] 
 
 PAINTINGS ON GLASS. 
 
 101 
 
 still caricatures of profound and original signification. The 
 conception of the subject, as here treated, is far from being one 
 of the worst among Dürer's many designs of the same event. 
 But the all-surpassing effect produced results chiefly from that 
 burning, intense depth of colouring, which can be obtained 
 only in glass painting. The startling dissonances introduced 
 into the music of our finest masters often indicate an inten- 
 sity of suffering amounting almost to despair; and on the same 
 principle, the strongly contrasted colours employed in glass 
 painting seem to have a most powerful effect, revealing a 
 whole history of anguish, and impressing it with added force 
 upon the eye and heart of the spectator. It must of course 
 be presupposed that the size of the picture and its situation 
 are analogous to that of oil-paintings in general. Where, 
 as in the choir of old Gothic cathedrals, the narrow windows 
 rise to an elevation scarcely attainable by the eye, it would 
 be impossible to execute any work in the style of an oil- 
 painting. Painting on glass must then become merely a 
 tissue of variegated crystals, a transparent mosaic of gems, 
 arranged in distinct masses, vividly contrasting with each 
 other, so that the light of heaven may enter like a dazzling 
 flame, through this varied pomp of earthly hues. In this 
 manner the whole may be worked in broad masses, each 
 separate portion being divided from the others only at inter- 
 vals and by certain determined lights. The finest specimens 
 of glass-painting that I have ever seen are in the beautiful, 
 though still unfinished, church of St. Gudule, at Brussels : 
 there are many also at Cologne, but they do not abound at 
 Paris. The church of Notre Dame, the only building in 
 that city which can be called a really fine architectural work, 
 is meanly situated, and the interior is much defaced by the 
 modern finishing of the columns, which required restoration 
 in consequence of the injuries they sustained during the 
 Reign of Terror. It contains no fine specimens of coloured 
 glass. In the upper window of St. Sulpice, a few better 
 examples are to be found. I was particularly struck with a 
 figure of St. Denis carrying in his hand a chalice, with the 
 host, surmounted by the nimbus. 
 
 Painting on glass is undoubtedly a distinct branch of the 
 art. To make the difference of the motive represented, a 
 ground for the division of painting into distinct and separate 
 
 H 3 
 
102 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER III. 
 
 branches, is acting on a completely false principle and 
 erroneous basis ; since, whatever the material, it is still the 
 same imitative and representative art, and only directly 
 affected by the nature of the material employed. In a per- 
 fect and truly artistic representation, the various subjects 
 are only the means collectively employed for a certain end ; 
 the signs or symbols indicating it. But the aim and object 
 of the whole combination is a lofty and expressive significa- 
 tion, lying concealed, and yet shadowed forth by each token 
 or symbol, and which might justly be called the spiritual 
 motive. * Thus I have already shown that portrait-painting, 
 landscape, caricature, and still-life are grandly and intelligibly 
 employed only in what are styled historical, but which should 
 rather be termed symbolic, compositions, because, being the 
 only really perfect kind of picture, it does not deprive each 
 accessory branch of its peculiar signification, but rather, 
 restoring all to their true position and importance, the mean- 
 ing and intention come into perfect operation ; and thus for 
 the first time they arrive at that position which indeed they 
 ever ought to hold. I have shown that these branches of 
 painting, as they are called, though occasionally separated 
 in the studio of the artist, who may be sometimes compelled 
 to make studies of separate parts, to be reunited in his per- 
 fect compositions, are, singly, nothing more than parts, or 
 members, and even these may easily be subdivided into still 
 more superfluous distinctions; as, for example — battle-pieces, 
 miniatures, genre, &c. &c. Reasons for the division of the 
 representative and imitative art into various branches, rise 
 most naturally from the different capabilities of the materials 
 and bodily substance employed. But the place for which the 
 picture is destined, is a point of the highest importance, and 
 affords a far surer ground for division than the diversity of 
 subj ect. Every good picture should be designed for some par- 
 ticular spot, and most of the old paintings were thus appro- 
 priately conceived. Some for altar-pieces, others to adorn 
 the entrance to the choir, others for the refectory or cells of 
 a monastery. It is easy, in the works of the really good 
 masters, to trace their destination ; thus, for example, a pic- 
 ture intended for the high altar is easily distinguished from 
 those for the little side altars ; not by the size alone, but 
 * See note, ante, p. 94. 
 
LETTER HI.] THE RESTORING ROOM AT THE LOÜVRE. 103 
 
 rather by its subject and general treatment : and again, the 
 grand centre-piece, and the wing-pictures, are distinctly dif- 
 ferent; and finally, the paintings on the inner and outer 
 panels of these wings. There is, indeed, no image, even in 
 nature, which can be universally appropriate, and every 
 work of the imitative art ought also to be confined to some 
 peculiar destination ; otherwise these compositions, even if 
 rising to the lofty freedom of poetry, will be found utterly 
 empty and ineffective. Still a distinction founded on the 
 diversity of materials employed is more solid ; for as the 
 wondrous decorations of Gothic architecture can be executed 
 only in delicate sandstone, while Greek sculpture demands 
 the fine transparent marble, and granite or basalt are most 
 suitable for the gigantic proportions of Egyptian art ; so 
 the different materials used in painting can alone produce 
 different branches, as oil-painting, glass -painting and fresco- 
 painting ; because the artist, while studying to avoid every- 
 thing unfavourable in each of these various materials, and to 
 avail himself of every advantage they may present, is un- 
 avoidably compelled to treat the same subject in a very dif- 
 ferent manner. 
 
 From this little digression we return to our enumeratioo 
 of remarkable pictures, first noticing those which I omitted 
 in the previous letters. I neglected, in my account of Lucien 
 Buonaparte's collection, now removed to Rome, to mention a 
 very remarkable Entombment by Giorgione. Though but a 
 small picture, it has great merit. The dark green foreground, 
 of thickly interwoven herbs and plants, is beautifully true to 
 nature ; the portrait-like character of the heads, the ease 
 and freedom of the attitudes, and the costumes, generally in 
 the Venetian taste of that period, with here and there some 
 fanciful varieties ; — all this reminds us of the schools of the 
 Netherlands, but in their oldest and grandest style : the ex- 
 pression is noble, free, and manly: it is one of the most 
 thoroughly Venetian pictures I have ever seen. 
 
 In the Restoring Room at the Louvre, I found a num- 
 ber of famous and beautiful paintings, but can devote my 
 attention only to a few of the most important ; and, indeed, 
 several of the most charming of these were so hastily re- 
 moved that I had no opportunity of studying them as I 
 wished, particularly a very excellent St. Catherine crowned 
 
 H 4 
 
104 
 
 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER III. 
 
 with lilies, by Leonardo, and a series of heads of the apostles 
 brought from the church of San Luigi, at Rome. The latter 
 are small, on a gold ground, through which the rosy flesh 
 tints appear, and they altogether remind me strongly of the 
 earliest period of Christian painting, and the predominance 
 of the Byzantine style. A reminiscence of that simple child- 
 like period of the art which always brings so much that is 
 charming and instructive to the mind of the thoughtful spec- 
 tator, and at the same time breathes a soothing tranquil- 
 lity of feeling. The three Fates, attributed to Michelangelo, 
 may be cited as examples of a completely opposite style and 
 the degeneracy of modern art ; an excessive vigour of design 
 and conception being expended in producing the represent- 
 ation of ugliness the most fearful and revolting, and without, 
 as it appears, any higher ultimate intention. 
 
 A large painting of Titian's, the " Antiope," will, by 
 those who set his highest excellence in the loveliest carna- 
 tions and the delineation of naked forms, be considered as 
 at least one of the finest pictures by that master to be seen 
 at Paris. The broad, clear, joyous landscape, the figures 
 near, and their occupation ; — dogs, horses, and huntsmen ; 
 and one shepherd, drinking from the stream, introduced, it 
 is said, as symbolic of desire : this is in all respects one of 
 the finest of Titian's paintings, with the single exception, 
 perhaps, of the figure of Jupiter, who, represented under the 
 form of a satyr, seems almost too entirely faunish. Still 
 these details are but casually noticed, so completely is the 
 eye riveted on the slumbering beauty who reposes in the 
 foreground. The slightly shadowing drapery partially re- 
 veals all those charms which it is designed to hide. Nothing 
 can be conceived more delicate, and at the same time more 
 full of life, than the outline of the naked body, the finely- 
 formed and rounded limbs, and the warm tints of the fine, 
 soft skin, surpassed only by the rosy smiling mouth, the half- 
 closed eyes, the treacherous glow upon the cheek, as she 
 seems to lie before us in motionless slumber, or, perhaps, 
 wrapt in some delicious dream. The right arm is placed 
 under the head, which it supports, so that the whole of the 
 side nearest the spectator is fully visible. Those modern 
 artists who desire to imitate the antique, and even attempt 
 to delineate the naked forms of sculpture, may learn a cor- 
 
LETTER III.] ITALIAN PAINTERS AND GREEK SUBJECTS. 105 
 
 rect treatment from that adopted by this great master in 
 representing sensible charms in all their living, glowing 
 fascination ; in doing which, those first among painters, 
 Raphael, and even Titian, are never found to overstep the 
 boundaries of beauty and propriety. Still there must always 
 be a strong line of demarcation between sculpture, whose 
 office it is to depict the simple, and consequently unveiled 
 forms of nature, and in which the naked outline cannot pos- 
 sibly offend a healthy eye, and painting, the vital principle 
 of which art consists in deliciously revealing, yet at the same 
 time wisely shadowing, the gifts of beauty, being endowed 
 with the magic veil of colouring, not only the better to com- 
 plete the illusion by imparting a life-like carnation to the 
 lovely form, but also, through the eye of fancy, to kindle 
 our sympathetic pulses, and exalt the general expression. 
 
 It is remarkable that the great Italian masters, when, as 
 it not unfrequently happens, they selected subjects from 
 Greek mythology, and that general class of ideas, treated 
 them merely as recreations in the intervals of their severer 
 compositions, either in an expressive, easy manner, not rising 
 to any imaginative allegory, or, as in the instance before us, 
 striving only to display the highest perfection of sensual 
 beauty. This is the result of a true and pure instinct, and the 
 painter, in choosing that already almost exhausted sphere of 
 subjects, far less adapted to his art than to that of sculpture, 
 must find the Greek mythology present itself to his imagina- 
 tion under that particular form. There are, it is true, some 
 instances of modern art rising to a spiritual and almost 
 Christian manner in the representation of mythological sub- 
 jects. Giulio Romano, in his fresco paintings at Mantua, 
 has treated the Overthrow of the Titans with a highly poeti- 
 cal feeling. There is surprising power and vigour in his 
 conception of the two contending elements, the overwhelm- 
 ing floods of rising water, and the sinking of the earth, bear- 
 ing down all its ruined temples and broken cliffs. In this, 
 the spectacle of Titanic arrogance overthrown, while some 
 of the giant beings presume proudly to defy the impending 
 ruin, and thus sink sullenly to destruction, or strive to pray, 
 with hands rarely clasped in supplication, leaves an almost 
 Christian impression on the mind. Subjects from classical 
 mythology, susceptible of the treatment here described, form 
 
106 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter III. 
 
 extraordinary exceptions to the usual class, and are no less 
 rare than such noble and artistic representations as the above- 
 mentioned. It were vain to seek in mythological subjects 
 the beautiful, true symbolism, the exceeding love and loveli- 
 ness, the bliss, as well as suffering, which more modern art 
 possesses, and for this simple reason, that such spirituality of 
 sentiment lies not within the scope of their character. Even 
 Raphael's glorious imagining of the beautiful myth of Psyche 
 is rather graceful than profound ; that fiction, too, belongs 
 almost to antique philosophy, rather than mythology, and in 
 its development affords an example of true spiritual beauty, 
 almost unparalleled in Greek fable, the motive of which is 
 seldom more than an overflowing abundance of animal life 
 and delight in the utmost sensual grace and fascination, the 
 perfect development of undisguised bodily vigour. All these 
 allegorical and symbolic pictures, if seriously studied, and 
 conceived with any depth of imagination, will be found to 
 refer, more or less distinctly, to the deepest pain of all earthly 
 existence, or the summit of its highest bliss ; to the perfect 
 delineation of unveiled forms of exquisite beauty, or to the 
 fearful strife and tragic horror of heroic deeds and suffer- 
 ings ; and in the most sublime works of the ancients also we 
 find the union of both elements — life and death, agony and 
 bliss — placed in bold and striking contrast. 
 
 If in these compositions we do not look below the surface, 
 we shall certainly find them easy of comprehension, and de- 
 void of any profound meaning ; but the lofty efforts of ancient 
 art were always directed to the unfolding of the mysteries of 
 nature, and the inexhaustible treasures of animated existence. 
 The mythology, nay, rather the religion of antiquity, was 
 throughout sensual and material, an inspired, intoxicating 
 adoration of natural life, in its inexhaustible luxuriance and 
 energy, confined and restrained only by human laws, yet 
 rarely infringing the limits of an almost inconceivably ma- 
 tured intelligence and propriety. The Italian painters of 
 the olden time ought not to be too severely censured for 
 choosing their classical subjects from Ovid's Metamorphoses, 
 and other similar works, in preference to Homer ; and if, 
 rather than lose the delightful variety afforded by these sub- 
 jects, painters of the present day venture to adopt stories of 
 antique fable, like glowing episodes, among severer and loftier 
 
LETTER in.] ITALIAN PAINTERS AND GREEK SUBJECTS. 107 
 
 studies, it should be remembered that such delicious repre- 
 sentations, emanating from a mind absorbed in the contem- 
 plation of beauty and grace in its most fascinating imaginative 
 perfection, may justly claim to be regarded with peculiar in- 
 dulgence and toleration. 
 
 It frequently becomes a question, whether modern 
 painters are at liberty, considering them especially as the 
 votaries of Christian art, to employ their genius on such 
 representations of sensible beauty, or to interweave them 
 into any of their compositions. The art of painting, although 
 capable of intense spirituality of expression, is, strictly speak- 
 ing, a purely imitative art, and as such devoted to the deline- 
 ation of material forms ; therefore, to censure an artist for 
 depicting the blooming grace of youthful attractions, or to 
 require him to shun their representation on the' canvas, is a 
 bitter and constrained severity, which, tending to compress 
 the art within too narrow limits, would infallibly cramp 
 its energies, and, depriving it of free scope for exertion, injure 
 it in a most important point. The attainment of beauty is 
 the peculiar object of the art, and by its success in this point 
 it ever has been and will be judged. Still as on the one 
 hand it seeks holy and devotional subjects for the adornment 
 of ecclesiastical edifices, and on the other tends to the useful 
 ministering to the varied luxury of our dwellings, or the 
 splendour of public buildings, its peculiar province consists, 
 in both, in the representation of material forms ; the charms 
 and attractions of the human figure, constituting the highest 
 element of sensible beauty, cannot therefore be entirely ex- 
 cluded, although they should at all times be made subservient 
 to the nobler impulses of devotion and spirituality. 
 
 A painter can hardly be considered a master in his art, if he 
 be incapable of drawing the naked figure, or imitating the 
 glowing carnations of the flesh ; but it is essential, that besides 
 making it his first and chief care in compositions of a more seri- 
 ous tendency to keep the sentiment of beauty in subordination 
 to spirituality of expression, the distinction already insisted 
 on between painting and sculpture should be studiously pre- 
 served. He should never fill his canvas with great masses 
 of naked beauty, which only confuse the eye, destroying its 
 simple perception of loveliness ; for the magic grace of a 
 picture consists rather in the representation of womanly, 
 
108 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [letter III. 
 
 child-like, or youthful figures, modestly veiled, and revealing 
 only a few timid, yet blooming charms. Little will often 
 suffice to give the effect he seeks : a delicate cheek, a soft 
 clasping arm, a gentle smile, captivates the soul far more 
 than a more open display of charms, and in this respect the 
 idea and treatment of painting differs widely from sculpture. 
 The " convenances " imposed by the art cannot, of course, 
 be regulated by the laws which hold good in actual life, and 
 an artist ought certainly to represent every thing belonging 
 to, or required by, his subject. What mind, indeed, could be 
 so perverted as to find anything objectionable in the naked 
 body of St. Agatha, as depicted in the Martyrdom by Sebas- 
 tian del Piombo ? And this brings me to the third rule for 
 the treatment of sensual beauty in painting, which, in addi- 
 tion to the appropriate subordination of what is merely pleas- 
 ing to the loftier objects of the art, and the distinction already 
 noticed between painting and sculpture, imperatively demands 
 to be observed. It will give new confirmation also to the 
 opinions already set forth of the ruinous and destructive 
 practice of separating into distinct and independent branches 
 those single elements which, in their harmonious union, con- 
 stitute a perfect composition. If, for example, an artist select 
 one of these charming branches, and confine himself exclu- 
 sively to the practice of it, he may produce a separate and 
 pleasing genre ; but his success will probably be injurious 
 even to his own talent ; certainly fatal to the art, which being 
 thus intentionally dismembered, will ere long sink to the 
 lowest stage of degradation. When, however, these united 
 elements combine in one perfect composition, their sensible 
 charm is happily contrasted with the severe grandeur of the 
 surrounding figures and circumstances, and while themselves 
 elevated and refined in expression by that very association, 
 they diffuse an indescribable tenderness and softness through- 
 out the whole. Raphael may be studied as an example of 
 perfection in this, never suffering his representations of 
 sensible beauty, though equal to, and even surpassing those 
 of Titian, to disturb the harmony of the whole composition. 
 The only naked female figure belonging to the cycle of 
 Christian art is that of Eve ; but here the solemnity of the 
 subject, if adequately rendered by the painter, must prevent 
 all injurious association of ideas. Raphael, in the " Camera 
 
LETTER III.] GREEK AND ITALIAN PAINTERS. 109 
 
 della Segnatura," has depicted the pure consort of the Father 
 of mankind as a charming seducer, lovely and graceful, in all 
 the tenderness of youthful beauty ; but what eye could be of- 
 fended even though the blushing shame of her looks, the cons- 
 cious guilt of her expression, awoke far other thoughts and me- 
 mories ? Even in mythological subjects, the charms of sense 
 are interwoven by Raphael merely as a quite subordinate 
 element : take, for instance, the Psyche, the Galatea, and 
 the exquisite Marriage of Koxana. A principle, however, 
 is involved in the choice of such subjects, which is always 
 liable to be carried to excess. Thus in the fresco paintings 
 of the Carracci, who aspired to tread in his steps, all restraint 
 is completely thrown off, and sensual beauty becomes the 
 centre and object of the entire composition, to the utter sub- 
 version of the spiritual idea of loveliness. 
 
 We cannot be surprised that Parrhasius should have 
 been a voluptuous painter, since that property harmonised 
 completely with the religion and philosophy of paganism ; 
 yet even he never suffers himself to expend his allurements 
 and embellishments on ordinary voluptuousness, but rather 
 seems to entertain a devout feeling of the sacredness of that 
 lofty beauty, whose bosom is the source of all earthly loveli- 
 ness and grace. 
 
 If succeeding painters aimed at a different object, and 
 selected other subjects foreign to the perfection of beauty 
 (for Greek art could never rise to the highly spiritual in 
 character or expression), it was only because they too early 
 wandered from their original truth and purity. After the 
 death of Phidias, who had treated sculpture as its true inten- 
 tion and grandeur required, those who succeeded him wan- 
 dered into innumerable paths of error; the subjects they 
 selected, and the objects at which they aimed, were alike 
 incompatible with real excellence ; and it seems probable 
 that Greek painting expired with Parrhasius, as sculpture 
 did with Phidias. Our ideas of the progress of art are in 
 general too systematic. It may be possible to adhere to 
 system in that later period of already declining art, when the 
 natural, the severe, the charming, and the voluptuous appear 
 to be elegantly and systematically arranged, rising gradually 
 one out of the other ; and it is to these times, already de- 
 signated the later, that the old authors, whose opinions we 
 
110 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER in. 
 
 are prone blindly to follow, most probably referred ; these 
 opinions will consequently be of very little use in illustrating 
 the grand Christian style. There was no gradual transition 
 from the old to the new manner : a vast gulf divides the 
 latter epoch from that which we characterise as truly beau- 
 tiful and noble, and in the same manner the distance between 
 the first timid attempts of the art and the lofty boldness of 
 its maturer epoch was traversed at once, and by a single 
 bound. The same, doubtless, occurred in Greek art, and 
 has done so in all periods, and in all spheres of human oper- 
 ation. The truly excellent, combining in itself every element 
 of purity and truth, starts like a ghost into the astonished 
 world, and even as suddenly the glorious apparition with- 
 draws, leaving only a long line of feeble shadows on its 
 track, like echoes of remembered tones, the dim memorials 
 of departed greatness. 
 
 The progress of modern art has been precisely similar. 
 For upwards of a thousand years from the first establishment 
 of Christianity, the pictures of saints, designed for devotional 
 purposes, repeated precisely the same symbolic forms, thus 
 corresponding with the so-called Etruscan manner prevalent 
 in the earlier stages of classic art. These purely ecclesiastical 
 paintings are still common in the Greek church ; but sud- 
 denly in the industrious West a new impulse stirred, like 
 that indicated by the JEginastic figures in classic art, and 
 with Giotto, in Italy, and the predecessors of Van Eyck, in 
 the German Netherlands, a new sun dawned on the morning 
 of Christian art, to whose rising beams your attention will 
 be directed in the succeeding letter. 
 
LETTER IV.] THE MADONNA IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 111 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 The Victory of Alexander, by Altdorfer. — Paintings of the old School 
 of the Netherlands at Brussels. — Great Altar-piece by Raphael. — 
 The Düsseldorf Gallery ; a grand Martyrdom, by Dürer ; St. John 
 and a Holy Family, by Raphael, Guido, and Rubens, as exemplifying 
 two opposite Extremes of Mannerism in Painting. — A Copy of the 
 St. Margaret, of Raphael, at Cologne. — A few Figures of Saints, on 
 a gold Ground, by Dürer. — Old Cologne School of Painting ; great 
 Altar-piece, representing the Three Kings worshipping the Infant 
 Saviour, and the Patron Saints of Cologne. — A Series of old Pictures 
 on the Passion of Christ, in the Lyversberg Collection. — Portrait of 
 the Emperor Maximilian. — Challenge to modern Artists, 
 
 Summer, 1804. 
 
 Besides the Italian paintings in the Restoring Room at 
 the Louvre, with a description of which my last letter closed, 
 I saw at the same time many of great value belonging to 
 the early German schools. 
 
 The account I propose giving of them will serve as a sort 
 of explanatory introduction to my succeeding observations 
 on many of the finest compositions of that and of the old 
 Flemish schools, which a journey from Paris to Brussels, and 
 thence through the Rhein-land as far as Cologne, gave me an 
 opportunity of seeing. 
 
 I shall open my description of those I saw at Paris, by 
 noticing one little picture, brought from the church of 
 San Luigi, at Rome, a u Madonna in the Garden." The 
 foreground is occupied by a richly ornamented fountain of 
 transparent water, and the neatness and delicacy of the exe- 
 cution remind us so entirely of the old German style, that it 
 seems scarcely possible to assign it to any other school; yet 
 there are no authentic grounds for so doing, and if this very 
 early picture be indeed Italian, it affords a new proof of the 
 great similarity between both schools in their first commence- 
 ment. Further on is a votive picture, brought from Munich, 
 and attributed to Van Eyck ; yet this statement appears to 
 me scarcely credible, and in the absence of all historical 
 evidence to set the point at rest, I must doubt its belonging 
 to that master. The countenances are very different in ex- 
 
112 PAINTINGS IN BRUSSELS, 1802-1804. [LETTER IV. 
 
 pression from any of those I have seen in his pictures, and 
 belong rather to the lower German school. Though of small 
 dimensions, this is one of the most remarkable devotional 
 paintings I have ever seen. The highly-finished execution 
 of the various diminutive animals and wandering figures dis- 
 persed throughout the garden is almost marvellous, and the 
 rich and delicate landscape which fills the background is 
 seen through richly- adorned, open church architecture. One 
 might inspect many collections of pictures without finding 
 one equal or similar to this : a little world as it were, in the 
 smallest, almost microscopic, style of miniature-painting. 
 Still there is nothing about it either trifling or insignificant. 
 No, it is calm and serious throughout ; and these character- 
 istics are so prominent in the figure of the Donatorius kneel- 
 ing on the left, and in that of the Madonna enthroned on the 
 right, above whose head angels suspend a crown of entwined 
 jewels, that we cannot mistake the pious character of the 
 early masters of the old school : the same peculiarities, in- 
 deed, characterise the entire work. The head of the Dona- 
 torius is very profoundly imagined, so much so., that even the 
 finest heads of Holbein appear comparatively frivolous and 
 superficial, and all the smaller figures are no less carefully 
 finished. The countenance of the mother of God is of the 
 severest beauty, in the exact proportions of Van Eyck, but 
 almost more graceful than in many of his pictures. The 
 head of the Saviour fully justifies my remark on the national 
 features apparent in this painting. It strongly resembles 
 another old German picture of less than life-size, which was 
 some time since exhibited in the long gallery of the Louvre, 
 but without any number. The Holy Virgin in this picture, 
 though somewhat differently treated, is undoubtedly by the 
 hand of the same master. She is seen enthroned in the centre 
 of the picture : on her right a holy bishop, and on her left the 
 kneeling Donatorius, presented by St. George in full armour. 
 Except in German pictures, we rarely meet with a counten- 
 ance so expressive, chivalric, and smiling, as that of the 
 Saint George. The head of the Donatorius in solidity and 
 profoundness resembles that in the little picture. The archi- 
 tecture and surrounding objects are even more ancient, and 
 the dress is exquisitely finished, as in all other pictures of 
 this school. Judging from others that I have seen of Van 
 
LETTER IV.] ALTDORFER'S ALEXANDER AND DARIUS. 113 
 
 Eyck's, there seems still less reason for supposing this paint- 
 ing to be his, but I should affirm it to be a very excellent 
 work in the manner of the old German school. 
 
 Were I permitted to select a few from amongst all the 
 pictures I have ever seen, this little painting would un- 
 doubtedly be one of the number, on account of its exquisite 
 finish and delicacy. Yet it is far surpassed by a little com- 
 position of Altdorfer's with figures of one or two inches in 
 height.* I scarcely know whether to call it a landscape, an 
 historical painting, or a battle-piece, — it is indeed all these 
 combined, and much more. I cannot describe the astonish- 
 ment I felt on first beholding this wonderful work. It was 
 as if to one familiar only with the light, graceful verse of the 
 Italians, and aware of no higher order of poetry, the magic 
 world of Shakspeare's genius were suddenly unfolded in all its 
 glorious creations. This simile, however, applies only to the 
 depth and richness of the 'poetry in Altdorfer's painting, not 
 to the romantic spirit which reigns supreme throughout it; 
 so remarkably, indeed, that we might justly style itchivalric. 
 It represents the victory of Alexander the Great over Darius. 
 But there is no servile imitation of the Greek manner ; it 
 rather resembles the stories of old knight-errantry, as related 
 in the romantic poetry of the middle ages. The costume is 
 German and knightly ; both men and horses clad in steel, 
 with surcoats of gold and embroidery. The chamfrein on the 
 heads of the horses, the glittering lances and stirrups, and 
 the rich variety of the armour, form a scene of indescribable 
 beauty and splendour. There is neither blood, nor any object 
 likely to excite disgust and horror, — no severed or dis- 
 torted limbs ; only in the immediate foreground, if examined 
 very closely, we discover under the feet of the charging hosts 
 on either side, in their impetuous onset, many piles of corpses, 
 lying thickly together, like a web, and forming, as it were, 
 the groundwork to this world of war and arms, of glancing 
 steel, and still more glittering fame and chivalry. It is, in 
 truth, a little world comprised within a few square feet of 
 canvas. The innumerable hosts of combatants advancing 
 on all sides appear inexhaustible, and the distant landscape 
 seems also to lose itself in immensity. The wide ocean 
 stretches before us in the distance ; an historical error, if you 
 * Pinacothek, Munich Cabinets, No. 169. 
 I 
 
114 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER IV. 
 
 will, but which is made the v vehicle of a lofty and speaking 
 allegory. We see the sea, with lofty cliffs on either side, 
 and a rugged island lying between them, ships of war and 
 whole fleets of other vessels ; on the left the sinking moon, 
 and the sun rising on the right, form a striking and 
 correct emblem of the event represented. The armies are 
 arranged in rank and column, without any of the strange 
 contrasts and distortions common in battle-pieces ; indeed, 
 with so vast a number of figures, this would have been im- 
 possible. It has the order, perhaps it may be termed for- 
 mality, of the old school. The character and execution of 
 the little figures is wonderful, and would not be unworthy 
 even of Dürer. Let it be remarked, once for all, that the 
 solidity of execution apparent in this picture, notwithstand- 
 ing the injuries it has sustained, is superior to any we meet 
 with even among good masters of the Italian school, and 
 belongs only to the early German. What variety of expres- 
 sion is there, not in the individual knights and warriors alone, 
 but in the whole assembled armies ! Here columns of black 
 archers rush down the mountains, with the impetuosity of a 
 sweeping torrent, while added numbers press on behind 
 them. On the other side, high above, among the rocks, a 
 scattered body of the flying is seen, turning into a narrow 
 defile. Little can be distinguished except their helmets, 
 glittering in the sun ; and yet the whole scene, even in that 
 remote distance, is most expressive. The point of highest 
 interest stands out brilliantly in the centre, as the general 
 focus of the composition, — Alexander and Darius, both 
 glittering in armour of burnished gold. Alexander, mounted 
 on Bucephalus, with lance in rest, and advancing far before 
 his followers in eager pursuit of the flying Darius, whose 
 charioteer has already fallen on his white horses, while 
 Darius looks back upon his conqueror with all the rage and 
 despair of a vanquished king. One may withdraw to so 
 great a distance from this picture, that nothing else can be 
 discerned, and yet this group is still clearly defined, and 
 excites feelings of the deepest sympathy. It is a little Iliad 
 on canvas, and by the mute language of its colouring, might 
 instruct those who abandon the holy path of catholic symbol- 
 ism in quest of new and grand subjects, and aim at producing 
 really romantic compositions, how the stirring spirit of 
 chivalry ought to be expressed. 
 
LETTER IV.] 
 
 ANCIENT GERMAN ART. 
 
 115 
 
 "The Siege of a Town/'* painted by Martin Fezcle, 
 though not actually in a bad style, has little lofty poetic feel- 
 ing. I was particularly struck with a group of knights in the 
 furthest background, represented within the court-yard of 
 the citadel, clad in black armour, their helmets raised and 
 hands mutually clasped, exchanging pledges of fidelity. Thus, 
 the sensibility of the early German masters betrayed a feel- 
 ing soul, when others would perhaps have thought only of 
 contrasts and trifles, or have contented themselves with 
 attending to secondary details, — less essential, but more 
 easily mastered. 
 
 Both these pictures are said to have been brought from 
 Munich. If there be many more such paintings in that town, 
 German artists will do well to travel thither, and learn the 
 art of our national predecessors f , as they now visit Rome or 
 Paris in order to study the treasures of classical antiquity, or 
 of the Italian schools. We can scarcely hope to see a revival 
 of art in Germany until we possess some art-loving prince of 
 German origin and temperament, or until some connoisseurs 
 and investigators of the art arise, who being able to devote 
 their lives to that sole object, seek to unite in one great body $ 
 
 * Pinacothek, Munich Cabinets, No. 155. The artist is styled in the 
 Catalogue Melcher Fesclen. 
 
 f Munich has now united with its original treasures, consisting chiefly 
 of works of the Upper German schools, the delightful Augsburg and 
 Schleissheira Collections, as well as the valuable Düsseldorf Gallery. If, 
 in addition to this, we reflect on what the iEgina?tic Collection, unrivalled 
 in its kind, and the building of the Glyptotheca, designed for the more 
 worthy preservation of ancient sculptures, have done towards the en- 
 couragement of fresco-painting in Germany, we see that a body of early 
 German art of various kinds is there united, which inspires the brightest 
 hopes, and, with the national seats of art, Dresden and Vienna, seems tc 
 promise a new basis for the future elevation of the general style 01 
 German art. 
 
 t This wish has since been fulfilled by the formation of the Boisseree 
 Collection, (also now in the Pinacothek at Munich,) and in a manner far 
 surpassing every expectation that had been formed concerning the then 
 little known superiority of German art. Its value consists not only in 
 the masterpieces of various artists there assembled, but also in the per- 
 fection of the historical arrangement, the correct judgment, and artistic 
 feeling with which these fine works of the old Germans have been selected. 
 It affords a further example of what, even in our day, may be effected by 
 a noble perseverance constantly directed to one object. 
 
 I 2 
 
116 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER IV. 
 
 all the now-existing and widely-scattered compositions of the 
 old German schools. The mingling rays of German art 
 being thus concentrated in one focus, their effect would be 
 inconceivably heightened, and they would prove at least as 
 valuable and surprising as any exhibition of the assembled 
 treasures of Greek or Italian art. The ancient Germans 
 were peculiarly grand and original in their works, though 
 modern ignorance is unacquainted with them ; and a shallow 
 rage for imitation, in bitter self-contempt, seeking the dark- 
 ness, refuses to acknowledge it. But has this copying ever 
 produced anything excellent in any art ? Nothing, — no- 
 thing throughout! except what is either preposterous or 
 completely shallow and useless. The poet who suffers his 
 fancy to stray and luxuriate in distant regions, may perhaps 
 be pardoned^ yet even poetry must return from its quest of 
 foreign treasures, and seek at home for what forms the 
 closest point of union of feeling and of poetry among his own 
 people and in his own times, or his poetry will be ever cold 
 and feeble. The intellect, however, and the imitative art, 
 become choked up, restricted in their length and breadth by 
 such apparent improvement in variety. Certain circum- 
 scribed boundaries are necessary to the vigorous and success- 
 ful development of the peculiar feeling of the art, and of 
 what it ought to effect. Truths, dictated by reason, are 
 universal. Imagination loves to wander in the unknown 
 distance, but reason seeks rather to pierce to the lowest 
 depth, and latent origin of what is near to us and around, 
 and so to reproduce it in painting, that in this new-born and 
 clear representation of the incomprehensible mystery of 
 nature, an impulse from the heart may suddenly break 
 through, uttering as it were unspeakable words ; while 
 imitation can find none more lofty or expressive than have 
 been already heard. Springing from what is near and 
 peculiar to us, the character of the art will infallibly be local 
 and national. We may trace the general proportions of a 
 beautiful figure according to a certain type or idealization, 
 but to preserve a distinct individuality of expression and of 
 countenance is also of the highest importance. As long as 
 the art devoted itself to the service of the church and of 
 religion within the mysterious circle of symbolism, that 
 spiritual beauty and holy signification which is the same in 
 
LETTER IV.] ANCIENT GERMAN ART. 117 
 
 all Christian countries, of course supplied the first and highest 
 distinction to which national characteristics must ever be 
 held subordinate. Still this latter element is not to be blotted 
 out, nor entirely lost ; it must rather interweave itself with 
 each higher attribute, and thus give to the arrangement of 
 the whole that sensible grace and living charm which are 
 so peculiarly its own. It has already been remarked, that 
 in the works of the oldest masters of the Italian school the 
 national features and physiognomy are so marked as often to 
 appear harsh and glaring, while in the later period all these 
 characteristics disappear in a general ideality, becoming by 
 degrees completely frivolous and characterless. The reverse 
 appears, generally speaking, to be the case with the Germans. 
 In their earliest pictures, designed after the Greek style, a 
 holy symbolism and severe dignity of devotional expression 
 predominate, while the actual characteristics of the people in 
 features and costume are first remarked in a much later 
 period ; then it is true, so glaringly brought forward, as often 
 to appear harsh and almost caricatured. This is especially 
 to be observed in Lucas van Leyden and his contemporaries 
 of the Netherlands. The vivacity and varied expression 
 with which Dürer seized and depicted the German national 
 features, contributed to preserve a less variable character in 
 the upper German schools, which in them ever remained 
 predominant, and in time assumed a heavy, dull breadth of 
 expression. It must not, however, be overlooked, that in 
 the schools of the Netherlands, at their best period, all these 
 elements were most happily blended, as in Van Eyck, and 
 Hemling, who united the deep symbolism of devotion and 
 holy beauty with a German abundance of feeling and ex- 
 pression. Nay, Meister Wilhelm, of Cologne, nearly as he 
 assimilates to the Greek style, still in the calm godliness 
 which forms the general characteristic of his pictures, and of 
 his conceptions of the Madonna in particular, and of other 
 glorified saints, clearly indicates a tendency to the rejoicing 
 life of the German manner at that period. We trace this in 
 the countenances, as well as in the surrounding groups of 
 figures, and a certain fantastic richness and delicacy in the 
 many-coloured robes and costume. The study of these lively 
 characteristics and national peculiarities is of especial im- 
 portance at the present time, as forming a necessary element 
 
 i 3 
 
118 PAINTINGS IN PARIS, 1802-1804. [LETTER IV. 
 
 of every vivid representation, and one in which modern art 
 is most deficient, being more in danger of losing itself in the 
 abstract generalisation of an ideal, equally feeble and 
 frivolous, than of falling into errors of an opposite tendency. 
 Until the amalgamating confusion of later times, every nation 
 had its own distinct features, in manners, customs, feeling, 
 and physiognomy, and equally national peculiarities in music, 
 painting, and architecture. How, indeed, could it be other- 
 wise ? Much has been said concerning the universality of 
 beauty, and the art, as unrestricted by the limits of any 
 locality, yet never has a single spot been discovered in which 
 it can successfully throw off the peculiar characteristics of 
 the sphere in which it exists. Certainly the attempts 
 hitherto made on this principle give us little reason to an- 
 ticipate much advantage from the promulgation of this new 
 faith. The Greeks and Egyptians, the Italians and Ger- 
 mans, all became great in art while it was confined within 
 severe and well-defined limits, and in all alike we may date 
 their decline from that high eminence at the period when 
 indiscriminate imitations were first practised. The excellence 
 of painting, in particular, which can present an outline only 
 of material forms, depends greatly on its power of seizing 
 both the purely spiritual and the individual expression of 
 those forms, and it should so employ the magic of colouring, 
 as to embody and retain the exact proportions and appropriate 
 ideality of each object, as existing in different nations and 
 localities. The artist will do well to adopt and act upon the 
 well-grounded principles of Dürer, who, when would-be 
 critics blamed his manner of painting, and strove to turn 
 him from his path, replied, " I will paint nothing antique." 
 In him the many magnificent works of art displayed at 
 Yenice excited no false attempt to imitate the Italian style, 
 for he held it much better to remain true to his own deeply- 
 studied art. He had no higher ambition than to paint as a 
 German, striving to attain the highest perfection in that 
 style, and fully carrying out the vigorous and energetic prin- 
 ciples of the upper German school. He united and blended 
 with them the varied vivacity and rich imaginative faculty 
 of the lower German masters ; a manner which harmonises 
 entirely with the inconceivable treasures of his own creative 
 genius, and, indeed, is almost necessary to their full develop- 
 
LETTER IV.] 
 
 THE OLD GERMAN SCHOOL. 
 
 119 
 
 ment. I shall now attempt to analyse and examine the 
 principles of this peculiarly imaginative style of the old 
 German masters, and the schools of the Netherlands in 
 general, by giving a concise description of the most remark- 
 able antique paintings at Brussels and Cologne. 
 
 The Exhibition opened at Brussels, since the 9th 
 Messidor, year xi, consists partly of pictures sent thither 
 from the Parisian Museum (in compliance with the order 
 before alluded to), and partly of such as belonged originally 
 to that province ; besides some old jointings removed during 
 the Revolution from churches and monasteries, and which 
 are now collected and shown to the greatest advantage in 
 a well-lighted and spacious museum. The six first apart- 
 ments contain many famous paintings of the later schools 
 of Italy and the Netherlands, and, unlike the generality of 
 such collections, many not unworthy of their fame. I select 
 from among them a good picture by Palma Yecchio, a 
 " Deposition from the Cross," of small dimensions ; two 
 " Holy Families," after Leonardo and Raphael, which, al- 
 though copies, certainly give a very intelligible idea of the 
 great originals. A portrait of a woman with a carnation 
 in her hand*, by Garofalo, said to be a picture of his wife: 
 it has been greatly injured, and was not originally finished 
 with so much decided energy, depth of feeling, and expres- 
 sion, as his own portrait painted by himself in the Louvre : 
 the latter is rather under the size of life, but the female por- 
 trait at Brussels is the full life-size. 
 
 I was most delighted, however, with the seventh room, 
 which, with the exception of one large picture by Raphael, 
 is filled with the early masters, namely, with compositions 
 of the school of Van Eyck, Engelbrechsen, Coningsloo, Van 
 Orley, Coxcei, or Coxcis, Schoreel, Hemskirk, and many 
 others less known, and belonging even to an earlier period. 
 This exhibition is most instructive in regard to the history 
 of the art, and gives a far better idea of the treasures and 
 characteristics of the old school of the Netherlands than can 
 be obtained from ordinary collections, which rarely possess 
 many of these rare antiquities. We see here no trace of 
 what is called the Dutch style, as applied to the more modern 
 schools; none of their uniformity in the choice of subjects, 
 
 * Garofalo used the carnation (Garofalo) as his emblem flower, 
 i 4 
 
120 PAINTINGS IN BRUSSELS, 1802-1804. [LETTER IV. 
 
 . their deceptive imitation of nature, and mannerism of colour- 
 ing, but everything is in the highest degree simple and 
 noble. In almost all the earlier pictures of every school 
 we trace fche manner of the first Van Eyck, although they 
 have not, it is true, all his originality ; and notwithstanding 
 the great general similarity, we remark also many decided 
 variations. Some, for instance, are so completely in Dürer's 
 style, that they seem almost like intentional imitations. Nor 
 does it appear in any degree surprising that Dürer should 
 have been so frequently copied, both by the schools of the 
 Netherlands, and of the Lower Rhine. The " Adoration of 
 the Kings," with the " Circumcision," and the " Adoration 
 of the Shepherds," on the side wings, by John Schoreel 
 (No. 99.), struck me at the first glance as completely in 
 Dürer s style. This famous Dutch painter was one of the 
 last to preserve the serious, meditative, and devotional style 
 of Yan Eyck and Hemling, and even in his time explained 
 and developed it : his finished pictures have a soft, bright 
 tenderness of outline and colouring not often seen in pictures 
 of the same size, even by Dürer, whose characters appear to 
 be of harder metal. We possess, however, abundant and 
 incontrovertible evidence, that long before the period of 
 Dürer, many old pictures, completely in his style, are to be 
 found, and figures which we can scarcely avoid assigning 
 to his school ; this observation applies to a wonderfully ex- 
 cellent picture which I saw in one of the private apartments 
 of the Brussels Gallery (No. 155.), representing the " Be- 
 trayal of Christ," and the " Resurrection." In the Cata- 
 logue it is merely described as " a very old picture." It is 
 without a frame, and probably belongs to the earliest period ; 
 but it is so completely in the style of Dürer, that I willingly 
 acknowledge that it may actually belong to his school ; in 
 many respects it is highly excellent, and would scarcely be 
 unworthy even of Dürer himself. 
 
 In order the better to account for these reciprocal re- 
 semblances, we may remark that Dürer himself worked in 
 the spirit and style of the painters of the Netherlands, and 
 that in all his compositions we recognise, more or less dis- 
 tinctly, an attempt to blend the style of the Netherlands with 
 the ordinary character of the German school. . It is easy to 
 trace the point of transition, the first step towards the union 
 of both German schools and it is precisely because Dürer 
 
LETTER IV.] 
 
 THE OLD GERMAN SCHOOL. 
 
 121 
 
 so completely embodied both the rich fancy and artistic skill 
 of Lower Germany, and the peculiar spirit of his own school, 
 that so many paintings are found in the Old Netherlands 
 which, not bearing the stamp of any other known master, 
 are supposed to belong to Dürer and his school, either as 
 followers or predecessors. 
 
 In others of these paintings we see a decided leaning 
 to the Italian style, or, to speak more correctly, an effort 
 to attain it, that style having been brought into notice either 
 by tourists and amateurs, or perhaps only from an influx of 
 designs. Such especially are Nos. 93 and 94., by Engel- 
 brechtsen, and No. 98., by Coningsloo. There is nothing at 
 all deserving commendation in any of these pictures ; and if 
 the union of the two German schools appears to contribute 
 to the perfection of each, the false Italian tendency of a few 
 among the masters of the Low Countries appears like an 
 attempt to combine and unite essentially distinct and incom- 
 patible principles. It is remarkable that these Italianizing 
 painters of the Netherlands were far inferior to the others, 
 and the habit of copying soon obliterated the admirable 
 peculiarities of their early national school. Even the treat- 
 ment of costume betrays a predilection for undefined, half- 
 antique drapery, instead of the delicate art and industry of 
 highly -finished garments ; and the countenances, notwith- 
 standing the feebleness which they mistook for ideality, have 
 occasionally a wonderful affinity with the best painters of 
 the French school. Thus the groundwork of degeneracy 
 was first laid, and a false manner introduced, which ere 
 long diverged into the broad road of universal error. Cer- 
 tainly other painters of the school of the Netherlands, and 
 most probably those who best knew the Italians, remained 
 faithful to the old German style, and the wider range of 
 their cultivation is discernible only in the superior freedom 
 of their treatment. The truth of this remark is sufficiently 
 proved by a votive painting of Bernard Van Orley (No. 96.), 
 a half-length, in three compartments. One is a Pietä, re- 
 presenting the body of the Saviour, mourned over by his 
 friends and the holy women : it resembles the style of Lucas 
 Van Leyden, but is more noble. The family of the Dona- 
 torius are represented beneath, in two compartments ; on 
 the left, the men presented by an apostle, and, on the right, 
 the women headed by St. Margaret : the objective solidity 
 
122 PAINTINGS IN BRUSSELS, 1802-1804. [LETTER IV. 
 
 in the head of the old man, and the soft, tender colouring 
 in the extremely lovely female figures, remind us of Holbein. 
 In the old schools of the Netherlands there are in reality 
 many more varieties and diversities of manner than we are 
 accustomed to imagine. The imitators of Dürer and of the 
 Italian style are sufficiently characteristic, and how different 
 from both is the style of Lucas of Leyden ! The latter is 
 certainly highly original, and therefore merits attention, 
 although I cannot award him unqualified praise, on account 
 of his numerous errors of form and attitude, and his exag- 
 gerated and artificial delicacy. He is by far the most man- 
 nered of all the painters of the Netherlands, almost ap- 
 proaching to the false nature of the later schools (called 
 Naturalisti). He is, however, most remarkable for a certain 
 arbitrary, yet delicate and fantastic waywardness and ca- 
 price ; so that his productions sometimes appear to us like 
 those of a highly intellectual but sickly child, and sometimes 
 like those of a wonderful but premature old age. We must 
 not be surprised if the works of so capricious a master be 
 found to take their character from his moral temperament 
 and the chief events of his life. In so far, however, as the 
 preponderance of the whimsical and fantastic marks the 
 Lower German school, we must trace these peculiar fea- 
 tures, both when they are found in the greatest excess, and 
 when they appear to be but partially developed, and in this 
 respect Lucas of Leyden presents an instructive example, 
 and is himself also an important member of the school of 
 art in the Netherlands. I saw in the Lyversberg Gallery, 
 at Cologne, two finished altar-pieces by Lucas of Leyden, 
 which gave me a much higher opinion of his genius than I 
 had formed from the large " Deposition from the Cross " and 
 the " Herodias" at Paris. One of these pictures represents 
 the Saviour on the Cross, St. Agnes and St. Alexius on the 
 right, and on the left St. Cecilia, and St. John the Baptist : 
 St. Mary Magdalene, in the centre, embraces the foot of the 
 cross ; by her side is St. J erome in the habit of a cardinal, 
 and with the lion. The other painting represents Christ in 
 the Clouds : St. Thomas is placing his finger in the Saviour's 
 wounds, and numerous saints surround him ; on one wing 
 are Hippolytus and St. Afra. The landscape is particularly 
 bright and glowing, the background being formed by a line 
 of clear blue hills, as in the best Venetian paintings. The 
 
LETTER IV.] THE OLD GERMAN SCHOOL. 123 
 
 pictures of Lucas of Leyden have a decided affinity with 
 those of the old Venetian school, as, in a later period of the 
 already-bewildered art, Rubens, by the soft blending of his 
 colours, and his struggle for poetical energy and richness, 
 approached the grand Roman and Florentine style of Michel- 
 angelo, or rather that displayed in the genial compositions 
 of Giulio Romano. 
 
 The already-noticed Hemling stands alone in the circle 
 of well-known masters. He has all the pathos and German 
 feeling of Dürer, but without his caricature and other pecu- 
 liarities. In spiritual beauty and devotional feeling, as well 
 as in clearness of meaning, he excels all painters of that 
 school, and can be compared only to Van Eyck ; his execu- 
 tion is tender and highly finished, yet his objective pro- 
 foundness cannot be surpassed even by Holbein, or any of 
 the Upper German masters, while none of the Lower Ger- 
 man school possess equal richness and poetic fancy. 
 
 Quintin Metsys, a few good pictures of whose are at 
 Paris, is, to a certain extent, original in his manner ; a con- 
 fined manner, it is true, and a red brown tone of colouring 
 is at least perceptible, if it does not predominate in all his 
 pictures. Thus, throughout all the compositions of some 
 masters, we trace either their own characteristics, or the 
 history of their love, repeated under every variety of ex- 
 pression : still the careful finish of Metsys's pictures, and 
 their expression of piety and sincerity, will always inspire 
 pleasure and deserve esteem. Among poets, some of narrow 
 and confined views write of sentiment alone, and from the 
 influence of personal feeling, while others, of universal 
 genius, portray various characters and individual tempe- 
 raments ; and thus, in the art of painting, each master can- 
 not be a Dürer, a Holbein, or an Eyck ; but even those of 
 inferior genius, if their feeling be sincere and their execu- 
 tion careful, are beautiful and necessary members of the 
 art, and all will be seen blooming and prospering together 
 in the Paradise of God, the mighty and the feeble, in peace- 
 ful union. 
 
 When we examine for the first time a collection of 
 old German pictures, like that at Brussels, or others, rich 
 in works of art, but not arranged in historical order, it is 
 like voyaging on some wild and unknown sea, without chart 
 or compass. We feel the want of some fixed point amid 
 
124 PAINTINGS IN BRUSSELS. 1802-1804. [LETTER IV 
 
 all the rich treasures before us ; some guide to aid us in 
 tracing the gradual progress and structure of the whole, 
 and the numerous ramifications through which it reached 
 its existing stage of development. The inferences to be 
 drawn from our preceding contemplations may perhaps 
 serve as a guiding idea for this purpose, and at the same 
 time form an introduction to my subsequent remarks. Yan 
 Eyck * was the grand scientific founder, the master and ori- 
 ginator, of the old Flemish school, and yet, from his pro- 
 found science and the objective solidity of his execution, 
 he alone possesses a remarkable affinity with the schools of 
 Upper Germany, his style comprehending, indeed, every- 
 thing that is grand and noble. We must go back to Wil- 
 helm of Cologne for the first beautiful beginning, the rosy 
 dawn of art in Germany. Hemling has been already no- 
 ticed as having reached the highest perfection in that school, 
 and Schoreel, who adhered longest and most faithfully to 
 the beautiful laws of Catholic symbolism and devotional 
 painting. In a state of universal degeneracy and aberra- 
 tion, Lucas of Leyden became remarkable from his singular 
 and capricious waywardness, the first germ of which may 
 indeed be found implanted in the elementary character of 
 the school of the Netherlands. The rich luxuriance and 
 fanciful delicacy of the Lower German school appears to 
 resemble, as far as the difference in the art and the material 
 permits, the second flowery and ornamented period of Gothic 
 architecture. A similar strain of glowing fancy reigns in 
 both, and it was in the German Netherlands, where romantic 
 architecture attained its highest perfection, that the chief 
 schools of painting also flourished. If Dürer be considered 
 as the point of union and an intermediate step between the 
 schools of Lower Germany and the Netherlands, Holbein, 
 on the other hand, at least in his finest compositions, displays 
 the Upper German style in greater purity. In both schools 
 there is an inexhaustible fund of isolated and remarkable 
 ideas of art, which cannot be comprehended under any par- 
 ticular head in tracing its gradual development. 
 
 After this short digression, we return to consider 
 the collection of pictures at Brussels, none of which appeared 
 to me finer than two very old paintings by an unknown 
 master (Nos. 153 and 154.), in an apartment not yet open 
 * Hubert, John Van Eyck's eider brother and instructor. 
 
LETTER IV.] THE OLD GERMAN SCHOOL. 125 
 
 to the public. They are both of small dimensions, but the 
 figures are larger than is customary in old Italian pictures 
 of that class, and the same observation applies to many of 
 the old German and Flemish paintings to which I shall 
 have to direct your attention. The subjects are the " Fla- 
 gellation," and the "Ascension." Judging from the style 
 alone, we must, in default of historical data, pronounce these 
 pictures to be of much earlier date than Yan Eyck ; still it 
 is easy to be misled by first impressions in regard to the 
 period of works of art. We are always disposed, by our 
 preconceived ideas, to imagine that what is rude in art must 
 necessarily be of early date ; but that this conclusion is not 
 always just is proved by the architecture of the middle ages, 
 which, after attaining, in the thirteenth century, the rich 
 perfection of the decorated style, became, in succeeding 
 years, incomparably more coarse and defective. Thus, in 
 the latter part of the fifteenth century, we find among the 
 successors of Yan Eyck many pictures which, from their 
 homely manner and treatment, we should assign to a much 
 earlier date, had we not historical evidence to the contrary : 
 in fact the development of the arts can never be subjected 
 to rules of such mathematical strictness and accuracy as to 
 admit of no deviation. In both the above-named pictures, 
 the beauty of the heads, their energy of expression, the 
 splendid colouring and delicately-finished execution of the 
 drapery, are all strikingly excellent, and must claim unqua- 
 lified praise even from modern taste, scarcely being surpassed 
 even by the best pictures in the school of Yan Eyck. They 
 are all simply designed, on a gold ground ; in the " Ascen- 
 sion," the feet only of our Saviour are visible, seen through 
 an opening in the heavens, the body unseen. This position 
 is customary in the oldest representations of that subject. 
 The Madonna is particularly beautiful, and many of the 
 heads of the apostles are also excellent : the whole treatment 
 is similar to the oldest of the Italian pictures brought from 
 San Luigi, decidedly in the Byzantine style, though the old 
 German school is distinctly recognisable. The singular 
 pomp and rich tints of the costume afford indications of the 
 manner afterwards carried to perfection in the school of 
 Dürer ; but these pictures are altogether more simple, and 
 less crowded with marvellous and fantastic ideas. The 
 expression of malevolence in the figure of the tyrant in the 
 
126 PAINTINGS IN BRUSSELS, 1802-1804. [LETTER IV. 
 
 " Flagellation'' reminds us of Dürer, but there is less of ca- 
 ricature in this. Dürer, in his later time, was undoubtedly 
 much indebted to the better masters of the Netherlands; 
 nor can it be doubted that he both learned and borrowed 
 much from the earlier paintings of that school. Both the 
 pictures just described are correct examples of the old style 
 of the German school in the countries of the Netherlands 
 and the Lower Rhine : by old style I shall in future under- 
 stand particularly those which are earlier than Yan Eyck. 
 
 A large altar-piece by Raphael, the size of life, is the 
 most important of those in the Museum of Antiquities at 
 Brussels : it was sent thither from Paris on account of the 
 repairs it required, and was besides but little valued by 
 the French, being in Raphael's first manner. It is what 
 is generally called a holy conversation.* The Madonna is 
 seated on a simple throne, surrounded by four saints, with 
 angels below, singing from a page of music. Connoisseurs 
 assign to this picture a very important place in the series of 
 distinct works by this most exalted genius. It belongs to 
 the period when Raphael had not yet, lured by Michel- 
 angelo and the antique taste, proved false to himself ; yet it 
 has all the warmth of feeling, the vigour and richness of 
 treatment, in which his earlier pictures are deficient. In 
 but few of his pictures do we see Raphael so completely 
 himself, so expressive, so pure and free from all foreign 
 intermixture. The heavenly boys are the perfection of 
 childish beauty, in the representation of which Raphael still 
 remains unequalled. Joseph also, rudely clad in a pilgrim's 
 habit, and leaning on his staff, is a majestic figure, with a 
 fine head and long-flowing beard, looking on the Infant 
 Christ with an expression of unfeigned affection. The 
 St. Bruno also is one of the most expressive Italian coun- 
 tenances ever drawn by Raphael. The Madonna belongs 
 to the intermediate style of Raphael. But the majestic 
 unity of the whole picture most claims our admiration ; and 
 among the numerous representations of the same subject, 
 this is perhaps the only one in which the appropriate senti- 
 ment is preserved, the theme being in general completely 
 lost in the working out. The surrounding saints are not 
 idle, useless figures, arbitrarily introduced, and only for the 
 
 * The following description partly applies to the Madonna mentioned 
 in Kugler's Handbook of Painting, Italy, p. 249. — Trans. 
 
LETTER IV.] THE OLD GERMAN SCHOOL. 127 
 
 sake of artistic contrasts of attitude and expression. The 
 various parts belong essentially to each other, and every 
 figure introduced seems necessary to the perfection of the 
 whole ; all are expressive, natural, and so linked together by 
 the earnest sincerity of their demeanour, as to appear ac- 
 tually absorbed in a devout conversation, which lofty mean- 
 ing is powerfully heightened by the attitude of St. Bruno, 
 turning towards the spectator. It is a truly grand compo- 
 sition ; everything homely and simple, yet with the most 
 correct expression. It recalls to our minds the old Correggio* 
 at Dresden, representing the Madonna enthroned, with 
 St. Catherine, St. Francis, St. Anthony, and John the 
 Baptist, which is indeed the only picture that can be men- 
 tioned as in any degree resembling this of Raphael's, un- 
 questionably one of the most meritorious of his works. 
 
 The valuable Düsseldorf Gallery, containing famous 
 works by masters of the modern era, particularly of those 
 belonging to the school of the Netherlands, has been so 
 amply described elsewhere, that my observations may be 
 confined to a few among them only, whigh will best illustrate 
 my previous observations on the old masters. 
 
 One picture, by Dürer, of complicated subject, and very 
 small dimensions, appears to be only a sketch, if, indeed, 
 it be not a mere copy. The subject is the " Martyrdom 
 of the early Christians in Persia," and contains many 
 figures ; but the composition is not so well arranged, expres- 
 sive, nor profoundly imagined as we might expect, nor is 
 the execution in any respect so thoughtfully finished as is 
 usual with that great master. f 
 
 I found among the better paintings of the old Italian 
 masters a beautiful " Adoration of the Shepherds," by the 
 Venetian Pordenone, very much resembling that by Palma 
 Vecchio, at Paris, already described. The paintings by 
 Andrea del Sarto, here exhibited, do not belong to his finest 
 works. I have many doubts as to the authenticity of an 
 " Ecce Homo," attributed to Correggio ; the Redeemer's form 
 is excessively disfigured and blood-stained, the painting 
 careful, but flat and cold. A very small " Holy Family," 
 
 * No. 125. G. i. Catalogue 1782. 
 
 f The original of this most rich, but from the theme horrifying, com- 
 position is in the Vienna collection, and executed in a most masterly 
 style. 
 
128 PAINTINGS IN DÜSSELDORF, 1802-1804. [LETTER IV. 
 
 by Michelangelo, has all the characteristics of the most 
 esteemed paintings of that master. The design cannot be 
 attributed to any other hand ; and we remark an exagger- 
 ated and unnatural grandeur in feature and attitude. The 
 " St. John," attributed to Raphael, is universally famous and 
 admired : hence we shall probably not err in assigning it to 
 that period of his life in which he had already diverged into 
 the track of error, and the imitation of the antique. This 
 St. John is, in fact, so much like an Apollo, that with very 
 slight alteration it might pass for one. Notwithstanding the 
 clever foreshortening, it is a very cold picture, and the figures 
 and general treatment, if, indeed, belonging to Raphael, are 
 more widely removed than in any of his other compositions, 
 from the original tone and bias of his beautiful and devout 
 spirit. Perhaps it most resembles the " St. Michael" at 
 Paris, but how far more grandly conceived is the latter 
 composition, — how much less cold and constrained, — perfect 
 as is its artistic treatment ! The colouring of the " St. John" 
 is extremely different ; some of the shadows are certainly 
 heavy, but the original chiaroscuro, the contrasted and blended 
 tints, are perhaps more striking than in any of Raphael's 
 paintings. There are no other paintings of the same kind 
 here ; and before deciding to which of Raphael's manners 
 this picture, or rather the treatment of it, belongs, it would 
 be requisite to point out in what manner it connects itself 
 with the numerous other paintings of Raphael's now existing 
 in Italy, and which, with a few trifling differences, repeat 
 the same subject. 
 
 A " Holy Family,"* by Raphael, is incomparably more 
 pleasing and valuable: it is in his, so called, "first manner," 
 a term too frequently employed as an indirect censure of 
 some of his finest and most successful works. The bright- 
 ness and serenity of this picture, the vivid harmony of co- 
 louring, especially in the greens, crimsons, and other brighter 
 tints, deserve great praise, as also the simplicity and gran- 
 deur of the arrangement, which is pyramidal ; the powerful 
 figure of Joseph, leaning on his staff, seeming to indicate at 
 the same time the extreme background of the picture, and 
 the highest point of the pyramid. We might observe oi: 
 this picture, as well as of that at Brussels, that it is com- 
 
 * Now in the Munich Gallery. See Kugler's Handbook, Italy, 
 lxiv. IS. 
 
LETTER IV.] THE HALL OF RUBENS. — GUIDO. 129 
 
 pletely what it ought to be. Innumerable " Holy Families," 
 by the most various masters, may be esteemed for a variety 
 of individual beauties, and in some points may perhaps be 
 richer than the simple work now under consideration ; but 
 in this picture the one true idea, the exactly correct expres- 
 sion is given, without a shade of exaggeration or affectation, 
 — the simple " mot" that solves the enigma, and no more. 
 
 The ' 4 Susanna"* of Domenichino is, perhaps, the finest 
 of the remaining pictures. 
 
 The Hall of Rubens will claim the attention of every one ; 
 that master can be thoroughly studied only here. His wild 
 fancy and extraordinary genius, which even in its errors be- 
 trays a highly poetical temperament, the magic variety of 
 his colouring, so remarkable a property in the old schools of 
 the Netherlands, would make a separate treatise requisite 
 fully to analyse his merits, and to award him the praise or 
 censure he deserves ; but this would be by no means com- 
 patible with my present intentions. He does not appear to 
 me in his most prepossessing character in such grand and 
 splendid compositions as the u Judgment," nor in his general 
 treatment of pictures of Christian saints, but rather in such 
 themes as afford full scope to the play of his rich and poe- 
 tical fancy ; and at the same time, by restraining it within 
 certain limits, prevent its straying into vague uncertainties, 
 and by concentrating its powers, invest them with a richer 
 bloom. Such are the famous " Battle of the Amazons," here, 
 and the magnificent " Tiger and Faun " family, in the Dres- 
 den Gallery. 
 
 The "Assumption of the Virgin" f by Guido, is, per- 
 haps, the best picture of the later Italian schools in this 
 collection ; still, though more grandly imagined than this 
 master's compositions in general, it is by no means so finely 
 executed as the " Fortuna," at Paris, or the exquisite 
 " Madonna," in the collection of Lucien Buonaparte. In this 
 we see united the two extremes of erring genius and mis- 
 taken ideas of art — the mannerism of Rubens and Guido, 
 with a cold empty ideality. I shall, perhaps, excite asto- 
 nishment, by numbering ideality among the false principles 
 of declining art ; but this term, although in its original accep- 
 
 * Pinacothek, No, 526. f Pinacothek, Munich, No. 531. 
 
 K 
 
130 PAINTINGS IN COLOGNE. [LETTER IV. 
 
 tation expressing a true and genuine feeling, may also, taken 
 in a contrary sense, signify something false throughout : igno- 
 rantly supposing it to reside in outward forms alone, and mak- 
 ing these the first and highest objects, whereas the significant 
 intention of the whole, and the participation therein of each 
 individual figure, is the only true object to be sought. Thus 
 the ideal in painting, as well as in other arts and intellectual 
 creations, is sometimes supposed to consist, not in a studi- 
 ously contrived and genial combination of various contrasting 
 elements, — not in an intentional deviation from the true 
 proportions of nature, — in order thereby to indicate the 
 high attributes of divinity, which was perhaps the intention 
 of Winkelmann and others, who first spoke of the ideal, but 
 rather in such an unmeaning, middle path as, avoiding all 
 extremes, is concerned only to avoid delineating anything 
 mean or low. In all the mechanical arts, that of painting 
 not excepted, we find two distinct methods of avoiding ex- 
 tremes, which may be distinguished as the full and the 
 empty medium ; the full is that in which all the contrasting 
 elements concentrate their power, and which invariably be- 
 comes the source of a new vitality, so that of this we may 
 with truth assert not truth alone, but beauty also lies in the 
 medium. The other middle path is barren, unfruitful, and 
 negative throughout, and it is this which people now term 
 ideal, and which has no affinity whatever with that lofty 
 symbolism, which seeks to stamp the impression of divinity 
 on every lineament of a work of art. Guido, when he rose 
 above simple grace, sought thus to attain the false ideal 
 alone ; and this is the sole object of the French school. 
 Rubens and Rembrandt might claim a higher rank than the 
 French masters or the feeble Italians of the later schools, 
 because there is at least some vigour in their errors ; and 
 though the spirit of affectation reigns throughout, their na- 
 tural talents are undeniable, and even their misemployment 
 of colours is marked by a certain degree of originality. The 
 modern French school unites both erroneous principles, the 
 barren false ideal, obtained by copying from the antique, 
 and the most glaring theatrical execution. Certainly the 
 striking and eye- startling effect produced by the new-fashioned 
 style is far from artistic, but in the highest degree theatrical, 
 and so exaggerated that it almost supersedes nature herself, 
 and becomes only a copy of the most complicated drama. 
 
letter iv.] Raphael's saint Margaret. 131 
 
 Such compositions, however, produce at least a decided effect, 
 and have, therefore, more character than those of the modern 
 German school, which, carried away by the pursuit of a false 
 ideality, represent that ideality only by varied deformity and 
 a total absence of any kind of expression. 
 
 At Cologne I was particularly struck with a picture 
 of St. Margaret, by Raphael, in the possession of the painter 
 Hoffmann. This picture was formerly in the Jabach col- 
 lection, which is not unknown in the annals of art, and 
 whence the picture in the Royal Collection at Paris was also 
 taken. The latter*, however, has been so much injured, 
 that it will require to be almost entirely repainted, to re- 
 store it. In this state it may now be found in the 
 Restoring Room at the Louvre, with one or two other 
 pictures, already noticed, but its too apparent injuries give it 
 but a melancholy expression ; and although the sublimity of 
 the conception is indeed indestructible, it is painful to feel how 
 irreparable are the injuries it has sustained. Is this picture 
 an original, or a very old copy, made under the direction of 
 Raphael himself? The Parisian picture is now so greatly 
 injured, that it would be impossible to give a satisfactory 
 answer to this question, without some particular historical 
 evidence ; and consequently the picture at present under 
 consideration must be received as the only existing example 
 of this incomparably beautiful painting. In Italy there are, 
 probably, repetitions of the same subject, but the beautiful 
 u St. Margaret," at Vienna, is very differently treated. I 
 leave to those practical artists who, by a long residence in 
 Italy, by continual study of Raphael's works, and by fre- 
 quently comparing them with each other, are qualified to 
 judge, to decide by which of his scholars this picture was 
 painted, and whether the head be not by the hand of the 
 master himself. The theme and intention of this picture 
 resemble the " Saint Michael :" the conception is equally 
 lofty and grand, but the triumph of the blessed saint over 
 all the hideous monsters surrounding her is much more easy 
 and graceful. We do not here see the victorious arm of the 
 conquering hero and prince of spirits, but the unconscious 
 
 * This picture was so much damaged in the attempt at restoration, 
 that it is no longer exhibited. It was originally painted on panel for 
 Francis I., and an attempt was made to transfer it to canvas. — Trans. 
 
 k 2 
 
132 
 
 PAINTINGS IN COLOGNE. [LETTER IV. 
 
 triumph of guileless love and glorious beauty at whose feet 
 the wicked expire, unslain. The divinity revealed in the 
 attitude of the saint, as, holding the palm branch in her 
 hand, she treads on the wing of the monster, without even 
 glancing at the creature thus annihilated by her foot, is 
 rendered in the engraving with great vigour. The serene 
 countenance of this heroine of the Christian faith is lofty, 
 yet full of individual grace and beauty ; the divinity speaks 
 in her bright blue eyes, and the heavenly smile upon her 
 lips. 
 
 I remarked in the same collection a few figures of 
 saints, by Dürer, on a gold ground, and once forming the 
 wings of an altar-piece, full of character and profound 
 feeling. We see in old pictures a decided preference for a 
 gold ground, which was retained in the south of Germany 
 much longer than in Italy. It seems almost probable that 
 Dürer designed this picture during his journey into the 
 Netherlands, and perhaps for some church there. It is 
 a striking deviation from his usual style, and undoubt- 
 edly owed its origin to some peculiar inducement, for a 
 landscape background certainly gave more room for re- 
 vealing the universal treasures of his capricious imagination. 
 
 Many other important pictures claim our notice, the 
 offspring of our own native art and country. The ancient 
 city of Cologne, which at one time contained more than one 
 hundred churches, the greater number deserving to be cited 
 as specimens of the fine symbolic designs and exquisite 
 work of Gothic architecture, would alone suffice to unfold 
 the entire history of that art from its earliest period down 
 to the wondrous perfection exhibited in the cathedral now 
 erecting. The city of Cologne, notwithstanding the injuries 
 and violent changes which war and its attendant evils have 
 brought upon her, and in which her churches and mon- 
 asteries severely suffered, is even at this period no less rich 
 in old pictures, than valuable to the student of Gothic 
 architecture. 
 
 I here allude to a collection of old German paintings, 
 belonging to a rich, comprehensive, and well-defined school, 
 superior, perhaps, to any in southern Germany, — a school 
 which unquestionably proves the internal unity and connec- 
 tion of the earlier style of Germany and the Netherlands. 
 There we find pictures worthy of being ranked with the best 
 
LETTER IV.] THE OLD GERMAN MASTERS. 133 
 
 of Holbein's ; others in Dürer's manner, or of the school of 
 Van Eyck ; and others, again, far older than either of these 
 masters : these last partly unite in themselves the distinc- 
 tive peculiarities of each of the great founders and architects 
 of the German school ; and notwithstanding their individual 
 deviations and peculiarities, bear an unquestionable affinity 
 to one or other of those styles. It would be difficult even to 
 enumerate the various styles into which the earliest pictures 
 of a yet unfixed state of art may be divided and classed, ac- 
 cording to the many masters already named. 
 
 A taste for the early style appears, indeed, to have sub- 
 sisted here much longer than elsewhere ; and Germany is 
 even now distinguished by real talent and science, and a 
 general fondness for the art, manifesting itself in an universal 
 predilection for making private collections of paintings of that 
 period more especially. Many of these pictures, even of later 
 date, are painted on wood, with a golden ground ; sometimes 
 canvas is glued upon the panel, and on this again another sur- 
 face is laid, w T hich gives more durability to the colouring. The 
 tints are wonderfully brilliant ; the blue employed through- 
 out is ultramarine, and the other colours are no less costly. 
 Most of these pictures are still in the same condition in 
 which they were left at the period of the general destruction 
 of churches and monasteries, where, after having been first 
 thrown aside, they were subsequently sought for and rescued* 
 Still many are widely scattered, and exhibited singly in va- 
 rious private collections ; many of the latter are placed here 
 in distinct compartments, the greater number of them judi- 
 ciously arranged, and each with one uniform and decided 
 object, so that they seem naturally to take an appropriate 
 place in illustrating the history of the art. The collection of 
 the learned Canon Wallraff *, when properly arranged, will, 
 
 * This collection has since become the property of government, and is 
 now devoted to the public advantage. The great altar-piece, representing 
 the Madonna and the patron Saints of Cologne, has found a worthy home 
 in the great cathedral, whose magnificent stained-glass window shines in 
 renovated brilliancy ; a similar restoration has taken place in many other 
 churches. Many new collections have been formed by the taste and in- 
 dustry of private individuals, containing a variety of antique gems of 
 beauty of the Cologne and other Lower German schools; as, for in- 
 stance, that of the intellectual Herr Fochem. 
 
 During a short visit which I made to Cologne in the spring of 1818, I 
 
 k 3 
 
134 
 
 PAINTINGS IN COLOGNE. [LETTER IV. 
 
 perhaps, be the most valuable for that object, for having 
 directed his researches chiefly to one subject, he has suc- 
 ceeded in forming a complete series of paintings of the 
 school of Cologne, tracing it from its earliest origin, through 
 Van Eyck, Dürer, and Hans van Achen, down to that later 
 period, when Rubens and Vandyck became the models of 
 German taste. It would be impossible to give a satisfactory 
 historical analysis of this almost unknown branch of German 
 art, without a full and complete investigation of the antique 
 treasures here assembled. I shall, however, select for pre- 
 sent consideration three pieces only, of different kinds, in 
 the hope of giving at least a few preliminary ideas of the 
 subject. 
 
 The crowning work of the Cologne school is a large 
 picture, in three compartments, very rich in figures of the 
 size of life, painted on a gold ground. It was formerly in 
 the chapel of the Town Hall. The centre picture in the 
 inside represents the Adoration of the Kings ; on the right 
 wing St. Gereon, the patron saint of the city, with his com- 
 panions in arms ; on the left St. Ursula, with her host of 
 virgins, and attended by her lover, Saint Etherius : the 
 bishops Kunibert and Severinus are in the background. It 
 was evidently the artist's design to depict the assembled 
 guardians of the city. This picture is unique in its kind, 
 and, like the yet unfinished cathedral, stands alone among 
 other ancient works, more from the simple dignity of the 
 execution, than from any peculiar grandeur in design. Many 
 connoisseurs have proposed assigning this picture to Dürer, 
 merely because the extraordinary excellence of the work 
 immediately suggests the name of this the most famous 
 master of the little known German school. The bizarre 
 attitude, costume, and figure of some among the attendants of 
 
 derived much pleasure and instruction from a very rich private collection 
 of paintings on glass, carried down in chronological order from the first 
 beginning to the final decay of the art. 
 
 The Boisseree Collection, [now in the Pinacothek, at Munich], which 
 at Heidelberg excited the interest and astonishment of innumerable 
 foreigners, is now an ornament of the capital of Wirtemberg, where it 
 is better arranged, and in more spacious apartments ; it places before 
 our eyes, in the most instructive manner, the grand original principles 
 of the schools of painting in the Netherlands generally, and is also 
 enriched by many valuable compositions belonging to the school of 
 Cologne, as well as by the great master of the altar-piece in the cathedral. 
 
LETTER IV.] THE ADORATION OF THE KINGS. 135 
 
 the Magi may slightly resemble that master, yet these pecu- 
 liarities belong to all the masters of that school. The fresh, 
 soft, vivid carnations in the heads remind us of Holbein, but 
 again truth of colouring and depth of tone are characteristic 
 of the time, and the prevailing style ; though, certainly, to 
 attain such lofty perfection must ever be the heritage of the 
 superior few alone. The dark-green foreground, like a rich 
 carpet of thickly interwoven plants, and strewed with soli- 
 tary flowers and field fruits, almost rivals the style of [John] 
 VanEyck. The calm, solemn expression of the heads is also 
 in his manner. This picture well illustrates the remark pre- 
 viously made concerning the union in one composition of the 
 most remarkable characteristics of each of the three great 
 German masters, which, when thus united, never encroach 
 upon each other, like those various manners of the Italian 
 school, which, according to the recipe of Mengs, we must 
 believe it necessary and possible to combine in any truly 
 classical production. The wonderful industry displayed in 
 the execution, and the dazzling splendour of colouring, are 
 more admirable than is usual, even in the finest pictures of 
 the old German school. It appears, indeed, a rare combina- 
 tion of whatever any age has produced of costly or grand. 
 
 The rich details are finished with minute, and even, loving 
 care, and the whole conception appears to emanate from the 
 inward breathings of love divine. We find in it indeed a 
 beauty all its own, in which the works of the before-named 
 masters are deficient. The delicate bloom of spiritual love- 
 liness had been revealed to the soul of the happy and sensi- 
 tive painter. To him it was given to gaze into the depth of 
 her mysterious eyes, and all his pictures are fraught with 
 inspiration by her breath. As Fra Angelico among the 
 early Italians, and Raphael among the moderns, stand un- 
 rivalled in the delineation of loveliness, so is this master un- 
 equalled among German painters. With the heavenly ima- 
 gination of the one, he combines the lofty beauty of the 
 other, but he takes a higher grade in technical art than 
 Angelico, and may rather be compared with Perugino. The 
 Mother of God, enthroned in the centre panel, robed in a long 
 flowing mantle of dark blue lined with ermine, will remind all 
 who behold her of the Virgin at Dresden, [Madonna di San 
 Sisto], by the majestic grandeur of her countenance, which is 
 
 K 4 
 
136 
 
 PAINTINGS IN COLOGNE. [LETTER IV. 
 
 rather larger than life, and its superhuman ideal beauty. Yet 
 the modest inclination of her head towards the child, and the 
 mild light of her soft eyes, is more in harmony with the ancient 
 type.* The hands, also, which in very old pictures are fre- 
 quently feeble, in this equal those of the finest painters, but the 
 legs and feet have something Etruscan in their formal posi- 
 tion and pointed shoes, which indicates their antique origin. 
 The general arrangement would be admired, even by artists 
 of the present day. This picture may be compared, in regard 
 to the richness of the expressive, almost colossal, and yet 
 highly-finished heads, with that fine production of Raphael's 
 already noticed. The figures, especially those of the side 
 groups, where the foreground is clear, stand out majestically. 
 The principal figures are those of the two martyrs. St. Gereon, 
 in full armour, but without a helmet, and the beautiful 
 St. Ursula, with an arrow in her hand, standing near her 
 lover, who gazes on her with inexpressible tenderness. How 
 beautiful and full of deep feeling is the manner in which these 
 figures indicate, or rather symbolise their martyrdom,, by 
 their tranquil attitudes, and pale, calm countenances, soften- 
 ing by these melancholy accessories the joyous grandeur of 
 the subject in the centre, into an indwelling emotion of 
 tenderness and love. It would, indeed, be impossible to 
 name all the beauties of this picture, or even adequately to 
 describe the outline of its arrangement, and the rich origin- 
 ality of its ideas. The entire art is exemplified in a painting 
 like this, and nothing more perfect formed by human hands 
 can be conceived. 
 
 May I be pardoned for attempting to convey an im- 
 perfect idea of the impression produced upon me by this 
 altar-piece of the city of Cologne, in its three-fold division, 
 by a similar number of poetical imitations ? 
 
 i. 
 
 A dazzling ray of golden light is gleaming 
 
 Where sits the Virgin on heaven's lofty throne, 
 Her brows encircled by the jewell'd crown 
 
 Her mantle's azure folds wide round her streaming. 
 
 * Dans l'origine on la representait seule, assez ordinairement debout, la 
 main sur la poitrine et les yeux leves vers le ciel; ce ne fut guere que vers 
 le commencement du cinquieme siecle (apres le conseil d'Ephese tenu en 
 431) qu'on la peignit assise sur un trone avec l'enfant Jesus sur ses bras 
 ou sur ses genoux. — Forme de VArt, note to page 14. A. F. Rio. 
 
LETTER IV.] THE ADOKATION OP THE KINGS. 
 
 137 
 
 And tender flowerets from the turf are springing 
 Where to the Virgin, and her blessed Son, 
 The Magian kings from Asia's distant zone 
 
 Worship and offerings joyously are bringing. 
 
 With pious zeal rich eastern gifts outpouring, 
 
 The costly gold, and myrrh's delicious breath, 
 
 The Holy Child in solemn pomp adoring. 
 
 And with mankind in harmony appearing 
 
 Angels rejoice in heaven, and holy faith 
 
 Shines forth anew, and hope the ever-cheering. 
 
 H. 
 
 Who, on the Word, in dauntless faith relying, 
 A warrior armed as from the field returns ? 
 The Cross upon his azure banner burns ! 
 
 Joyous in soul, and rich in love undying ! 
 
 St. Gereon, his hero-host inspiring, 
 
 Hastes from the gloomy portals of the tomb, 
 To that blest clime where joys immortal bloom, 
 ' Guerdon of lofty faith, and zeal untiring. 
 
 Serene in mind, mighty in love and faith, 
 The blessed trust that dies not nor decays, 
 , Such were the hero-hearts of other days. 
 The martyr's palm they bore with soul unshaken, 
 Brethren in love, the bond was sealed by death, 
 And now at Mary's feet to bliss they waken ! 
 
 in. 
 
 Jn gorgeous robes, her virgin train around her, 
 
 St. Ursula from earthly thrall set free, 
 
 Approaches, the brief pang of agony 
 And death's sharp pain, with deathless bliss have crowned her. 
 
 Humble, yet confident, — on God relying, 
 
 She treads his ©ourts ; her lover at her side 
 
 Follows with pious zeal his glorious bride, 
 The bright-haired boy ! with her a martyr dying. 
 
 With anxious care his glance on her he turneth, 
 
 On her, with whom the martyr's pain was sweet, 
 
 And in his heart a glorious impulse burnetii. 
 
 While love's dear smile o'er all that fair world glowing, 
 
 Seems with bright mingling hues their step to greet, 
 
 Bliss, that no parting tears may dim, bestowing. 
 
 And the name of this gifted master has for long cen- 
 turies remained unknown ! It is so even now ! Thus it has 
 ever been with the works of German art. Can we even 
 name the man who projected the cathedral, — that wonder 
 
138 
 
 PAINTINGS IN COLOGNE. [LETTER IV. 
 
 work of all ages ? Their labours were prompted less by the 
 desire of personal fame, than by a pure love of art, and on 
 posterity is the guilt of forgetfulness and ingratitude. A 
 friend of mine has been so fortunate as to obtain a few 
 small pictures, evidently the work of the same master. Many 
 of the heads appear even to have been the first ideas, subse- 
 quently transferred from these early studies to the large 
 painting, though certainly not without considerable altera- 
 tion, being both more richly developed and more highly 
 finished. The ideas of the large painting lie enclosed in 
 these slight sketches, like unfolded flowers, each shrined in its 
 delicate bud. The same loving grace pervades all the smaller 
 pictures, which have the highest interest for any one who 
 has seen the large one, to which they decidedly belong. It 
 becomes evident, on comparing these little pictures and the 
 twelve apostles by the same master with the large altar-piece, 
 that they belong to an earlier epoch. Doubtless, a picture 
 designed to minister to the glory of the city of Cologne and 
 its assembled patron saints, would be undertaken at a time 
 when the master had attained the highest development of his 
 genius, and in its execution he would not fail to summon to 
 his aid all his powers, both mental and mechanical. The 
 important bearing of these remarks will be seen as we pursue 
 our investigation of the origin of this picture, and may afford 
 some clue to guide us upon the track of its author. The 
 most certain "point oVappuz" is to be found in the period at 
 which this painting was completed, early in the fifteenth 
 century, probably about 1410. Guiding ourselves by this 
 certain fact, and the peculiar resemblance between this and 
 other works by the same master, we are led, clearly, and 
 almost without the possibility of error, to Meister Wilhelm, 
 of Cologne, who is mentioned in the Limberg Chronicle 
 towards the end of the fourteenth century, as a most famous 
 master then existing, and of the city of Cologne. N The most 
 celebrated master would undoubtedly be selected to execute a 
 work so majestic, and in a city so renowned as Cologne, and 
 so prosperous in every elegant art. A most preponderating 
 probability appears, then, to exist, that Meister Wilhelm of 
 Cologne was the gifted author of this majestic and wonder- 
 ful picture.* None but the decisive historical evidence of 
 
 * Frequently assigned to Meister Stephan, a scholar of Wilhelm. 
 
LETTER IV.] CELEBRITY OF THE COLOGNE SCHOOL. 139 
 
 contemporary writers could, in my opinion, be more conclu- 
 sive ; there is, however, but little prospect of our obtaining 
 this, as the corporation book of the Cologne painters, to 
 which we should naturally refer, has long been lost. All 
 those excellent masters, who created so vast an abundance of 
 varied compositions, were undoubtedly individual members of 
 the body, or guild of painters, incorporated in every German 
 town, and with whom glass-stainers and embroiderers are 
 also united, on account of the general use of beautiful and 
 artistic designs for tapestry and carpets, as well as on glass. 
 Simple matters of fact such as these afford some idea of what 
 Cologne formerly was, though her present condition seems 
 hopelessly distant, even from the memory of her former 
 greatness. 
 
 However, should any doubt remain as to the existence at 
 Cologne of so eminent a school of painting, we may cite in 
 confirmation a sufficient, and truly contemporary evidence 
 found in the antiquities of Suabia. It is given by one of 
 the finest early poets of Germany, yet in the oblivion to 
 which all German fame is consigned in the present age of 
 ingratitude, few will recognise him under that character 
 alone. Wolfram von Eschenbach, in the Parzival, (pub- 
 lished about 1200), verse 4705. of the Wyllerschen edition, in 
 speaking of the enchanting beauty of a certain knight, says : 
 
 " From Cologne nor Maestricht 
 Not a limner could excel him."* 
 
 This poem belongs to the early part of the thirteenth cen- 
 tury, and the manuscript itself is not, in the opinion of Bod- 
 mer, much more modern. The verse quoted, consequently, 
 proves that the Cologne school was famous almost two -cen- 
 turies before the time of Van Eyck, or it would not have been 
 named in preference to others, certainly not by a poet, who, 
 born and brought up in southern Germany, had lived at a 
 tolerably wide distance from the towns mentioned. Both 
 pictures belong to a period of perfection and beauty in style. 
 A series of eight compositions in the Ly /ersberg gallery, of 
 small dimensions, but in which the figures are from twelve to 
 
 * As quoted by Passavant : 
 
 " Von Chölne noch von Maestricht 
 Dechein Sciltere entwürfen basz." 
 
140 
 
 PAINTINGS IN COLOGNE. [LETTER IV. 
 
 eighteen inches high, belong, as well as those already noticed 
 at Brussels, with which they have a strong family resemblance, 
 to a far worse school, or ruder epoch, which, however, is not 
 of necessity earlier. They have been ascribed to Israel van 
 Meckenen, and probably belong to the latter part of the fif- 
 teenth century. Though not without merit, they certainly 
 hold a far lower grade as works of art than the productions 
 of Van Eyck or Hemling. They represent the " Passion of 
 the Redeemer," and the subjects of each picture in the series 
 are: — 
 
 1. "The Last Supper." 
 
 2. " The Taking of Christ upon the Mount of Olives." 
 
 3. "The Mocking", with the Flagellation in the back- 
 ground. 
 
 4. " The Judgment before Pontius Pilate." 
 
 5. " The Bearing of the Cross." 
 
 6. " The Crucifixion." 
 
 7. " The Deposition from the Cross." 
 
 8. " The Resurrection." 
 
 These pictures have a gold ground, and yet in many of 
 them a landscape is introduced. The freshest, brightest 
 greens predominate in the general colouring. Notwithstand- 
 ing what has been said of them above in reference to other 
 and finer pictures, these are among the most beautiful and 
 admired antiquities of lower German art. Their excellence 
 consists in the pomp of colouring, the elegant arrangement of 
 the drapery, and the fascinating effect produced by a most 
 perfect and industrious finishing, yet the same excellence is 
 found in many of the old German pictures. The depth and 
 energy of expression in the heads is truly imcomparable, and 
 the pictures of the " Mocking" and the " Crowning with 
 Thorns," resemble many of Dürer's conceptions of the same 
 subject, in the brutish ferocity and malignity of the expres- 
 sion. The nobler features are, however, no less remarkable, 
 and the heads of the twelve apostles, in the " Last Supper," 
 deserve especial notice and admiration. The St. John re- 
 clines at the table, leaning on the breast, and under the arm, 
 of the Saviour. This difficult foreshortening is very incor- 
 rectly drawn, which may be taken as a certain proof of the 
 antiquity of the picture, as the drawing of the heads, and the 
 attitudes generally, show the artist a clever, and in general. 
 
LETTER IV.] CHOICE WORKS OF MECKENEN. 141 
 
 correct designer : the hands are models of excellence in form 
 and execution. The fine expression and beauty of the heads 
 entitle this master to rank among the best in the old schools 
 of Germany. I have seen nothing among the generally 
 known German paintings more sweetly lovely or tranquilly 
 graceful than the countenances of the Madonna and the 
 St. John in the " Deposition from the Cross." St. John, who 
 supports the Madonna, turns his fine head, encircled by long 
 flowing hair, towards the spectator, with an almost enthu- 
 siastic expression of sorrow. The holy corpse is already 
 taken down, and is represented as in the arms of those who 
 bear it to the litter. The female figures are pale and sorrow- 
 ful, and little varied ; the mother, who is clothed in a dark 
 blue robe, has her eyes fixed on the corpse, and her arms 
 extended towards it in tender solicitude, as if almost for- 
 getting herself and her own bereavement, she desired only to 
 guard that beloved and insensible body, unconscious that it 
 no longer lived or felt. She is very youthful and life-breath- 
 ing, and so deliciously soft in her virgin beauty, that we are 
 ready to accompany with our own the pure tears streaming 
 from her deep blue eyes : never has sorrow been depicted 
 with more pathetic grace than in this picture. " The Re- 
 surrection," severe in simple joyfulness, is, next to the " Last 
 Supper," the most exquisite, in point of grace, as the "Crown- 
 ing with Thorns," is in expression. Here the radiant coun- 
 tenance of the risen Lord, scarcely resembles even the 
 joyfully inspired, yet still mortal Christ of the " Last Supper/' 
 though in each of the other paintings the highly expressive 
 features are exactly similar, excepting the difference naturally 
 arising in the "Crucifixion" and the "Deposition," from 
 the nobly-managed distinction between death and the dying. 
 
 A portrait in the collection of Herr Wallraff, of the Em- 
 peror Maximilian, the size of life, appeared to me well 
 deserving study, both instructive and heart-ennobling.* 
 
 The emperor is seated at an open window, the corner of 
 which forms the extreme point of the right foreground, 
 before a table, the colouring of which is neutral, or merely 
 tinted in ; he is in full imperial costume, the sceptre in 
 his right hand, while the left grasps the hilt of his large 
 
 * A duplicate of this portrait is in the Vienna Gallery, but that at 
 Cologne is finer in execution. 
 
142 
 
 PAINTINGS IN COLOGNE. [LETTER IV. 
 
 sword. Over his majestic golden armour is thrown a dark 
 green mantle, adorned with a broad border of pearls ; on 
 his head a splendid crown, studded with precious stones : 
 the order of the golden fleece, suspended from a gold and 
 jewelled chain, rests upon his gorgeous breastplate. The 
 face is almost in profile, and the countenance bears the stamp 
 of wisdom and dignity, combined with the softest benevolence 
 and gentleness. It is thrown out in strong relief by the 
 crimson hangings of the wall in the background, which 
 occupies more than half the picture ; the long light hair is 
 combed down on each side of the face, in a manner peculiarly 
 stiff and formal, probably in his usual style of wearing it, but 
 the painter has successfully employed it as a kind of inter- 
 mediate background to the outline of the face. The careful 
 industry displayed in finishing the minor details is surprising, 
 even when compared with the universal neatness of the Ger- 
 man school. The face, however, is but slightly coloured — 
 scarcely more than tinted, and tender in treatment ; the exe- 
 cution throughout is finished with most anxious care : even 
 Holbein has no carnations more warm and life-like. The 
 open window affords a glimpse of a landscape, forming the most 
 distant background on the right, its broad bright green border 
 beautifully cut out from the crimson arras. It represents 
 the open sea, and a chain of steep, impassable mountains, 
 upon the highest points of which, and in caves, and hollow 
 passes, the bounding chamois are seen pursued by the 
 hunters of the Alps, in allusion, probably, to the well-known 
 adventure of the chivalric emperor, who, when hunting the 
 chamois, was on one occasion rescued from imminent danger 
 by a faithful and attached follower. This picture belongs to 
 the highest, or historical style of portraits, from the landscape 
 background, and significant accessories introduced, and the 
 noble expression throughout, of which Leonardo and Raphael 
 have left us a few examples, well characterised by the name 
 of symbolic portraits. I could not, however, mention any 
 portrait of theirs fully equal to this, which may appropri- 
 ately be termed an "heroic portrait," as the "Defeat of 
 Darius," by Altdorfer, was designated a chivalric picture, for 
 the sentiment of knightly honour and royal dignity are as 
 classically blended as in a poem of romance and chivalry. 
 To me it seems a striking emblem of the majesty of the old 
 
LETTER IV.] REMARKS ON THE GERMAN SCHOOL. 143 
 
 German empire, before foreign wars and home dissensions 
 had destroyed its power, placing before us the last moment of 
 its declining greatness, like the pomp and majesty of a de- 
 clining sun. 
 
 The pictures here described will suffice to give a 
 preliminary idea of the valuable works of old German mas- 
 ters, to be found at Cologne. And now, in conclusion, one 
 question arises, standing in close connexion with the chief 
 object of all our observations and reflections. Is it probable 
 that in this present time we shall see either the rise or the 
 permanent establishment of a grand original school of paint- 
 ing ? Outward appearances would lead us to reply in the 
 negative ; but can we assert its utter impossibility ? It is 
 true, certainly, there are no modern artists capable of com- 
 peting with the great masters of antiquity, and the points 
 in which our attempts are most deficient appear also tolerably 
 clear : partly, a neglect of technical proprieties in the co- 
 louring, and, still more, the absence of deep and genuine 
 feeling. Modern artists even of the most judicious and 
 well-directed talents are often found deficient in productive 
 activity ; in that certainty and facility of execution which 
 was so peculiar a feature in the old schools. When we con- 
 sider the infinite number of great compositions which Ra- 
 phael produced, although snatched away in the bloom of 
 age and the zenith of his fame, or the iron industry of the 
 genuine Dürer, displayed in his innumerable creations of 
 every kind, executed on the most various materials, although 
 to him also a long term of years was denied, we shrink from 
 comparing our own puny period with the vast proportions 
 of that majestic epoch. Yet this is easily accounted for. 
 The habit of universal painting, and the intellectual vanity 
 which was a prevailing bias in the genius and art of our 
 forefathers, naturally led to the breaking up of its spiritual 
 strength, since these properties were most incompatible with 
 the progressive development and final perfection of any one 
 distinct branch. To this source we may refer the separation 
 now existing, in a greater or less degree, between all the 
 intellectual and imitative productions of our time ; but in 
 regard to the art of painting, the following observations 
 deserve to be noted as of primary importance. Deep feeling 
 is the only true source of lofty art, and as in our time every- 
 
144 PAINTINGS IN COLOGNE. [LETTER IV. 
 
 thing is opposed to this feeling, struggling, as it were, either 
 ♦to destroy, repress, overwhelm, or lead it astray into the 
 by-paths of error, the first portion of an artist's life is con- 
 sumed in a preliminary struggle, ere the mind can enfran- 
 chise its powers from all the unspeakable difficulties imposed 
 by the spirit of the time ; a struggle unavoidably necessary, 
 in order to unseal the spring of correct artistic feeling, and 
 free it from the encumbering rubbish of the destroying outer 
 world around. 
 
 A highly intellectual nature, spurning the trammels and 
 conventionalities of the day, and rising in daring opposition 
 to the ruling spirit, must ever concentrate its powers within 
 itself, and can rarely attain great vivacity in the creative 
 faculty of imagination. Thus we may account for the slow 
 appreciation of ancient art in our day ; but pressing onward 
 with unshaken ardour in spite of all obstacles, it will at 
 length attain a brighter future, and bloom out with new and 
 glorious life in the realms of beauty and inspiration. There 
 appears to be an unfathomable mystery in the fact that some 
 periods, by their own will alone, and apparently without any 
 outward stimulus, become so rich in art, so happy in their 
 artistic productions, while others seem to expend their energy 
 in vain, meeting with no corresponding nor even adequate 
 success in their intellectual productions. It is impossible 
 fully to unravel the mystery, and we must depend only on 
 facts well known and understood, which will prove amply 
 sufficient to guide us to the source of all lofty works of art, 
 and the proper means and materials to be employed ; this 
 will lead to the working out of scientific principles, and the 
 conservation of everything beautiful in Christian art, 
 although without the especial gifts of nature, the summit of 
 artistic excellence will ever remain unapproachable. 
 
 The one true fountain of beauty and the art is feeling. 
 It is feeling which reveals to us true ideas and correct inten- 
 tions, and gives that indefinable charm, never to be conveyed 
 in words, but which the hand of the painter, guided by the 
 poet's soul alone, can diffuse throughout all his works. From 
 religious feeling, love, and devotion, arose the silent in- 
 born inspiration of the old masters : few, indeed, now seek 
 their hallowed inspiration or tread the paths by which alone 
 they could attain it, or emulate that earnest endeavour to 
 
LETTER IV.] REMARKS ON THE GERMAN SCHOOL. 145 
 
 work out the principle of serious and noble philosophy which 
 is discoverable in the works of Dürer and Leonardo. Vain 
 will be every effort to recall the genius of the art, until we 
 summon to our aid, if not religion, at least the idea of it, by 
 means of a system of Christian philosophy founded on reli- 
 gion. Still, if young artists deem this road too distant or 
 too difficult of attainment, let them at least study deeply the 
 principles of poetry, in which the same spirit ever breathes 
 and moves. Not so much the poetry of the Greeks, now 
 familiar only to strangers and the learned, or read through 
 the medium of translations from which every poetical asso- 
 ciation is banished by the wooden clapper-clang of the dac- 
 tyls, but rather the romantic genre — Shakspeare, and the 
 best Italian and Spanish dramatists, those also of the old 
 German poems which are most accessible, and next such 
 modern productions as are dictated by the spirit of romance. 
 These should be the constant companions of the youthful 
 artist, and will lead him back to the fairy-land of old ro- 
 mantic days, chasing from his eyes the prosaic mist engen- 
 dered by imitation of the pagan antique, and the unsound 
 babble of conventional art. Still every effort will be fruitless, 
 unless the painter be endowed with earnest religious feeling, 
 genuine devotion, and immortal faith. Fancy sporting with 
 the symbols of Catholicism, uninspired by that love which 
 is stronger than death, will never attain exalted Christian 
 beauty. 
 
 In what, then, does this exalted beauty consist? It is 
 of the first importance to analyse the good and evil tendency 
 of all theories of the art. Whoever has not himself disco- 
 vered the fountain of life can never successfully guide others 
 to the source, or unfold to them the glorious revelations of 
 the painter's art ; he will rather wander perplexed amid the 
 dreamy visions of mere external representations, and the 
 creation of his imagination, being totally void of expression 
 and character, will become in fact a mere nonentity. The 
 true object of the art should be, instead of resting in ex- 
 ternals, to lead the mind upwards into a more exalted region 
 and a spiritual world. While false-mannered artists, content 
 with the empty glitter of a pleasing imitation, soar no 
 higher, nor ever seek to reach that lofty sphere, in which 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 PAINTINGS IN COLOGNE. 
 
 [LETTER IV. 
 
 genuine beauty is portrayed according to certain defined 
 ideas of natural characteristics. It finds on its path the 
 most vivid development of all sensible forms ; the fascina- 
 tion of grace, the highest natural bloom of youthful beauty, 
 yet endowed rather with sensual fascination than the in- 
 spired loveliness of the soul. When heathen artists at- 
 tempt to take a higher range, they wander into exagger- 
 ated forms of Titanic strength and severity, or melt into 
 the solemn mournfulness of tragic beauty, and this last is 
 the loftiest point of art that they can ever reach, and in 
 which they do sometimes approach nearly to immortality. 
 Here, however, their lofty flight is terminated : the path of 
 spiritual beauty is barred on the one hand by a Titan- 
 like exaggeration, striving to take heaven and the divinity 
 by violence, yet failing in the power to accomplish its en- 
 deavour ; on the other by an eternal grief, for ever plunged 
 in mortal agony, in the hopeless bondage of its own un- 
 alterable doom. The light of hope dawned not on heathen 
 intelligence ; impassioned grief and tragic beauty bounded 
 their purest aspirations. Yet this blessed light of hope, 
 borne on the wings of trusting faith and sinless love, though 
 on earth it breaks forth only in dim anticipations of a 
 glorious hereafter, — this glorious hope, radiant with immor- 
 tality, invests every picture of the Christian era with a 
 bright harmony of expression, and fixes our attention by 
 its clear comprehension of heavenly things, and an elevated 
 spiritual beauty which we j ustly term Christian. 
 
 Many paths, old as well as new, must be tried and 
 broken up before that certain road is laid open, in which re- 
 novated art may securely tread, and attaining the long- 
 sought goal, bloom forth in high religious beauty. Here 
 and there, perhaps, extremes may seem to produce the same 
 effect, and it would not be astonishing if in the present uni- 
 versal tendency to imitation, some genius, conscious of its 
 powers, should break forth into a longing desire for absolute 
 originality. If such a genius were penetrated with a true 
 idea of his art, justly esteeming that symbolic expression 
 and revelation of divine mysteries which is its sole appro- 
 priate object, and regarding all besides merely as the means, 
 the working members, or characters which, duly combined, 
 produce a correct expression, his compositions would probably 
 
LETTER IV.] REMARKS ON THE GERMAN SCHOOL. 147 
 
 be the foundation of quite a new style * : genuine hieroglyphic 
 symbols, the simple offspring of nature and natural feelings, 
 but drawn from individual conceptions, and arbitrarily thrown 
 together rather than in accordance with the ancient methods 
 of an earlier world. Every such picture might well deserve 
 to be called a hieroglyphic, or divine symbol ; and the question 
 now to be considered is, whether a painter ought to trust 
 thus implicitly to his own genius for the creation of his 
 allegories, or confine himself to the adoption of those old sym- 
 bols, which have been handed down to us, hallowed by tradi- 
 tion, and will always, if rightly understood, prove sufficiently 
 expressive and effective. The first method is unquestionably 
 the most dangerous, and its results would appear to be acci- 
 dental if, of many who tried the same path, a few only 
 reached the same point of excellence. Success would be 
 uncertain, as has so long been the case with the sister art 
 of Poetry. There seems to be more safety in clinging to 
 the old masters, especially to those of the very earliest date, 
 assiduously emulating their unalterable truth and beauty, 
 till it becomes a second nature to eye and soul. Next to the 
 finest of the old Italians, for example, the style of the Ger- 
 man masters well deserves our study, mindful that to that 
 nation we also belong, and that the serious earnestness of 
 its character, we, beyond all others, are bound to preserve. 
 Thus we might hope to see combined the symbolically, spi- 
 ritually beautiful, with the sure method of producing antique 
 grace, whence, as from the very being of the art, even 
 though all knowledge of it were lost, true poetry and science 
 
 * Whoever has had an opportunity of consulting the allegorical de- 
 signs of the deceased Runge, sketches as they are, will easily see the 
 force of this observation, and understand how strange a path any single 
 artist, though of peculiar genius and lofty aspirations, may be led to 
 choose. While at the same time this example, drawn from the erroneous 
 bias of so happy a talent, shows the natural result of painting from 
 simple hieroglyphics, unguided by unhallowed and historical traditions, 
 which alone afford the painter that secure maternal guide, from whose 
 directing influence he can never swerve without danger and irretrievable 
 injury. — [Overbeck, the celebrated German painter, now residing in 
 Rome, appears to be almost an embodiment of all Schlegel's suggestions 
 and anticipations ; a consummation in the bringing about of which these 
 letters probably have had no inconsiderable share.] 
 
 l 2 
 
148 
 
 PAINTINGS IN COLOGNE. 
 
 [LETTER IV. 
 
 must proceed. The old German style is not only more 
 accurate, and skilful in mechanism than the Italian in 
 general, but it also adhered longer and more faithfully to 
 that wonderful and profoundly true Catholic-Christian sym- 
 bolism, whence they drew far more precious treasures than 
 were granted to those who suffered their imagination to 
 wander into the merely Jewish subjects of the old Testa- 
 ment, or digressed still farther into the province of ancient 
 Greek mythology. 
 
 The Italian schools, indeed, though far superior to 
 those of Upper Germany, can scarcely, even in ideal grace, 
 claim precedence of those of Lower German art, if we judge 
 of its excellence from the period of its maturity, when 
 Wilhelm of Cologne, John Van Eyck, and Hemling* flou- 
 rished, and not from later and more degenerate times. We 
 should remember, especially, that an artist ought not to seek, 
 nor expect to attain, the perfect antique by adopting the 
 Egyptian style in the almost image-like position of the feet, 
 the scanty draperies, and long narrow half-shut eyes, any 
 more than by copying bad designs and actual errors or de- 
 fects. These, in truth, are but the indications of a false 
 taste, and have no more affinity with the real Christian 
 antique than the little esteemed imitative manner of the old 
 Germans. The beauty of early Christian art consists not so 
 much in the external parts as in the tranquil, pious spirit 
 universally pervading ; and the cultivation of this spirit will 
 give inspiration to the painter, guiding his steps to the pure 
 neglected source of Christian beauty, till at length a new 
 dawn shall break the darkness of the horizon, and shine 
 forth in the clearest meridian splendour throughout the com- 
 positions of reviving art. 
 
 * This name is now more commonly written Memling. 
 
principles! of 6otW $rrfriterture* 
 
 NOTES OF A JOUKNEY 
 
 THROUGH 
 
 THE NETHERLANDS, THE RHINE COUNTRY, SWITZERLAND, 
 AND A PART OF FRANCE, 
 
 In the Years 1804, 1805. 
 
 Paris. 
 
 The spectacle of social life, however varied and interesting 
 it may appear for a time, sooner or later becomes fatiguing, 
 and we sigh to gaze once more upon the face of nature ; but it 
 is impossible anywhere to feel more completely shut out from 
 the tranquil enjoyment of her beauties than in Paris. The 
 first few hot days of spring effectually banish all verdant 
 freshness from the gardens and promenades ; and every 
 spot, even before the approach of summer, is wrapt in 
 clouds of all-enveloping dust. If you think to escape from 
 the city in any direction, it follows you pertinaciously for 
 hours : noise, dust, and tumult fill the public roads, and the 
 numerous villas and maisons de campagne on every side 
 give the country the appearance of one vast suburb. Per- 
 haps, after a drive of many hours, you may at length reach 
 some quiet wood or friendly hill, where you may enjoy a 
 little refreshing brightness ; but even there you find none of 
 those sublimer beauties for which the heart, long pent within 
 city walls, most fondly sighs. 
 
 Paris is situated in a broad open valley, stretching be- 
 tween hills and intersected by a river ; the country is occa- 
 sionally cheerful and agreeable, but never rich, and some- 
 times not even pleasing. 
 
 L 3 
 
150 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 Even the works of art with which Paris abounds fail 
 after a time to compensate for this total absence of natural 
 charms ; and another circumstance makes us more sensibly 
 alive to the deficiency: the numerous pictures and statues here 
 collected are not, as in most other capitals, surrounded and 
 heightened in their effect by the important accessory of fine 
 architecture. To me, the sight of a splendid edifice or a 
 lovely country is an ever-springing source of pleasure : I 
 feel its grandeur more, and love its beauty better, the more 
 frequently I behold it ; and in the same manner the continual 
 contemplation of a fine building unconsciously elevates a 
 susceptible mind, and maintains it in a fit frame for appre- 
 ciating the beauty of other works of art, whilst a taste for 
 architecture seems indeed to form the basis of every other 
 artistic taste. 
 
 The most famous buildings in Paris are all modern, both 
 in date and style, and have no decided character, except a 
 superficial imitation of antiquity, confined, feeble, and, by 
 many ingenious adaptations made to suit every variety of taste. 
 The admired fagade of the Louvre may be excellent in its 
 kind, but what can be more out of place than twenty or 
 thirty Grecian or Italian columns in a strange land and 
 climate, amidst innumerable edifices completely at variance 
 with the Greek taste, and where the manners and habits of 
 the people are no less entirely different ? The incongruity 
 is here more than usually glaring, since this fagade is at- 
 tached to an edifice which is neither Greek nor Gothic, 
 neither old nor new, nothing, in short, except in the highest 
 degree irregular and formless. The church of Notre Dame 
 presents a single and beautiful exception ; it is in the Gothic 
 style, large, and highly decorated. Yet even our admiration 
 of this fine building is much disturbed, from its standing in 
 a mean out-of-the-way part of Paris, where it cannot be 
 seen to advantage. There is a good approach to the western 
 front, but every other part must be laboriously examined, 
 the details sought out with difficulty, and connected with 
 infinite care and diligence, some portions of the building 
 being concealed and others built against. The two towers, 
 as is the case in so many old Gothic cathedrals, are only 
 half erected ; popular dissensions, the increase of commerce 
 directing capital and industry into new channels, and 
 
1804-5.] CATHEDRAL OF NOTRE DAME. 151 
 
 finally, the Reformation, which introduced quite a new order 
 of things, having interrupted the progress of the work. 
 
 In Paris, too, this interruption may be attributed to an 
 early change in the spirit of the times. The size of Notre 
 Dame is by no means proportionate to the extent of the 
 city. During the first revolution the front was injured in 
 various ways, the exterior being despoiled of its decorations 
 and the statues torn down and destroyed. Worse than all 
 this is the injury which the interior has sustained, by abso- 
 lute mutilation ; the clustered pillars supporting the roof 
 have been filled in, rounded, and modernised as much as 
 possible, so as to give them the appearance of solid circular 
 columns. The effect thus produced is completely incon- 
 sistent with the plan of the exterior, and such an attempt to 
 unite Greek solidity and bulk with the very incompatible 
 features of Gothic architecture, seems peculiarly devoid of 
 taste. An intolerable spirit of persecution in the arts was 
 often seen united with that inclination to imitate the false 
 antique, which seemed epidemic in the eighteenth century, 
 and it is to be feared still (1804) has sufficient influence to 
 permit the destruction or defacing of many fine memorials of 
 mediaeval art. Notwithstanding these injuries, Notre Dame is 
 still the finest building in Paris, a venerable ancestral struc- 
 ture, standing alone in the midst of the modern world. 
 
 Entertaining these opinions, and influenced by the feel' 
 ing and desires already alluded to, I quitted Paris for a short 
 time early in the spring of 1804. 
 
 St. Denis. 
 
 The country round Paris on this side is peculiarly 
 dreary, yet there is something in its gloomy, barren aspect 
 not entirely without a charm ; and the deep silent melan- 
 choly it inspires becomes stronger and more profound in 
 approaching this ancient and now ruined cathedral. Every 
 part that could be destroyed without too much labour and 
 difficulty has been thrown down ; the naked walls alone are 
 left standing, with the massy pillars and the arches that 
 rest upon them. As the doors were opened, a host of jack- 
 daws and rooks, the sole inhabitants of the desecrated sanc- 
 tuary, took flight, and when the dust they raised in their 
 departure had subsided, we saw the uptorn graves of the 
 
 # L 4 
 
152 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 sovereigns of France, each of which the old verger care- 
 fully pointed out, as well as the place where the silver altar 
 of Dagobert once stood ; the vacant niches reminded us of 
 the old statues of Clovis, Chilperic, and Dagobert in the 
 Petits Augustins*, which (or at least as much as could be 
 saved of them), had been removed thither from St. Denis. 
 
 The spectacle of these ruins transported us far from 
 the present day, back to those old times when France was 
 governed and possessed by Germans. Family dissensions, 
 and the unnatural union between France and Italy, which 
 subsisted during the first French dynasties, at length ter- 
 minated the German dominion ; and French history begins 
 properly with Hugh Capet, at a period which at first sight 
 appears to have been most prosperous. 
 
 Such it may indeed be considered by those who judge 
 only from the outward show and glitter of history ; to me, 
 however, the most happy period appears to have been that 
 which is least noticed in our pragmatic dissertations, and 
 perhaps for that very reason is most worthy of our atten- 
 tion. Certainly, France never enjoyed so long a period of 
 tranquillity, both at home and abroad, as during the first 
 century after Hugh Capet. If it be remembered that the 
 origin of romance dates from that century, as well as the 
 dawn of French poetry in Provengal song, how glowing a 
 picture is presented of the early days of France, blended 
 also with many traits of German simplicity and truth ! and, 
 
 * " Numero 9 e . Statues sepulcrales, representant Clovis I. et la 
 reine Clotilde. 
 
 " Ces deux statues formant cariatides, et sculptees dans le sixieme siecle, 
 ornaient le portail d'une ancienne £glise de Corbeil. Elles sont d'au- 
 tant plus remarquables qu'elles font voir les costumes d'homme et de 
 femme en usage ä la cour de Clovis. La figure du roi, posee debour, 
 les cheveux flottans sur les epaules, et barbue, est vetue de la tunique 
 longue, et d'un manteau parfaitement semblable aux vetemens qui Ton 
 remarque dans les statues des rois de la premiere, de la seconde, et de la 
 troisieme race, egalement conservees dans ce musee. * * * * 
 Si je considere ensuite le style du dessin et le gout qui regne dans cette 
 sculpture, j'y reconnais les formes, le travail, et les convenances du temps. 
 Ces statues sont longues, minces, roides et serrees, servant de colonne ou 
 le support comme toutes les statues des premiers siecles; telles enfin 
 qu'on en voyait avant la revolution aux portails de l'abbaye de Saint 
 Denis, des 6glises cath£drales de Chartres, &c." — Lenoir, Introd. 
 
 [Most of the statues from St. Denis appear from the catalogue to be 
 couchee. — Trans. ] 
 
1804-5.] 
 
 CATHEDRAL OF ST. DENIS. 
 
 153 
 
 without laying exclusive claim to every thing noble in action 
 and sentiment, it may not appear surprising if a great pro- 
 portion should prove itself to be of German origin. St. 
 Louis, and, at a still later period, the Maid of Orleans, may 
 be noticed as touching apparitions, linking their own colder 
 era with the enthusiasm of the olden time. 
 
 The effigies of the old French kings, which, after having 
 been rescued from the destruction of the cathedral, were 
 transferred to the Petits Augustins, are, like other similar 
 statues of the middle ages, carved in sandstone, of colossal 
 size and completely clothed ; they seem better executed than 
 many later works of the chisel, for the moderns deviate as 
 widely from correct principles in the art of sculpture, as in 
 every other imitative art. It is however impossible to form 
 a correct opinion of them except in their appropriate places 
 in the church : they seem, apart from the sacred edifice, too 
 solitary and unconnected. Statues in Gothic churches 
 ought to be considered merely as decorative work, or carving, 
 and should be judged of in that connexion. The bas- 
 reliefs of the ancients had in the same manner their own 
 distinct laws, by no means analogous to those of drawing or 
 sculpture. All component parts ought to minister to the 
 combined effect of the complete structure ; and as in Gothic 
 churches every thing seems straight and slender, rising up- 
 wards to the loftiest point, so it is fitting that the decorative 
 statues should harmonise with that general character. This 
 reason may also account for their universally erect position, 
 and even for that meagre, disproportionate length of limb 
 which is so remarkable in the statues of the kings, although 
 in other respects they are ornamental and perfectly well 
 finished. If we imagine a marble figure of antique round- 
 ness and strength, in connexion with a slender up-soaring 
 Gothic column, we shall immediately feel the incongruity ; 
 and although a statue carved in sandstone, cannot of course 
 possess the natural roundness and animation of marble, nor 
 the same delicacy of outline, yet the magic of the work- 
 manship displayed in the close clinging drapery, and the 
 genuine simple piety of the countenances, may elevate it far 
 above the character of a mere ornament. 
 
 The principles of architecture form the basis of sculpture 
 and all other plastic arts; from thence they appeared in 
 early times to derive strength and stability, as from their 
 
154 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 native soil. This is peculiarly the case in Egyptian archi- 
 tecture, and it is only by difficult and slow degrees that 
 sculpture can ever be separated from this original root ; 
 yet among the Greeks it early broke loose, and developed 
 itself alone ; for with them, architecture, degenerating into a 
 symmetry which had no higher aim than to please the eye, 
 soon departed from its early symbolic grandeur and severity, 
 and Greek sculpture in consequence rose to a lofty and pe- 
 culiar degree of excellence. That of the middle ages, on 
 the contrary, could never be freely divided from Christian 
 architecture, nor unfold itself alone : two reasons occur 
 which serve to account for this circumstance, — in the first 
 place, decorative fancy is so vital an element in Gothic 
 architecture, that the imagination found full scope in that 
 alone, and it seemed the less necessary to fill the eye with 
 other works; and secondly, colouring was so essential a 
 feature in the delineation of those symbolic themes, which 
 were held in the highest veneration, that ecclesiastical re- 
 presentations designed to stimulate devotion could only be 
 adequately expressed by painting ; and in the new style, 
 originating with Christianity, that art had necessarily a 
 preponderating influence. 
 
 The old church at Rheims, the city in which the French 
 kings were formerly crowned, was also once richly adorned 
 with images of saints ; they were placed, as on the front of 
 Notre Dame, close together in regular order, covering a 
 blank window. Throughout all France, however, in the 
 Netherlands, and even in many places on the Rhine, these 
 and similar images have been torn down and destroyed ; and 
 perhaps the arts have in no respects suffered greater injury 
 from the French Revolution than in this particular. The 
 church at Rheims appears to be of earlier date than that at 
 Paris ; the decorations are more diversified, but rudely exe- 
 cuted ; the towers, although they appear to have been car- 
 ried a little higher than those of Notre Dame, are in the 
 same unfinished state. 
 
 Cambray. 
 
 The route from Paris to the Netherlands is monotonous, 
 uncultivated, and little attractive ; indeed, with the excep- 
 tion of the old provinces of Burgundy and Normandy, the 
 
1804-5.] 
 
 FINE SPECIMEN AT CAMBRAY. 
 
 155 
 
 interior of France is not particularly favoured by nature. 
 We easily understand why her people have always aimed at 
 foreign conquest ; and, indeed, during the last century and a 
 half, she has succeeded in annexing the most beautiful and 
 cultivated portions of Europe to her territories. It seems, 
 in fact, doubtful whether the soil in the old provinces, which 
 would require the utmost diligence and labour for its pro- 
 per cultivation, could produce sufficient to maintain a popu- 
 lation, who have never deserved to be numbered among the 
 most hard-working and industrious of mankind. The rapid 
 increase of population, during the early part of French his- 
 tory, constrained that people to seek foreign possessions, like 
 those innumerable hordes which migrate continually from 
 the barren plains of central Asia, in search of more fertile 
 regions. 
 
 In approaching Cambray, my eyes were long fixed upon a 
 marvellous object, which I was able to follow along the 
 windings of the road, for the space of half an hour. It was 
 the spire of a Gothic tower, of such delicate tracery and 
 openwork, as to appear transparent ; it stands upon a hill, 
 and is the sole remaining relic of the cathedral, which was 
 purchased during the reign of terror as a national property, 
 and paid for in assignats ; the marble of the monuments 
 and pavement must alone have more than repaid the cost of 
 purchase. 
 
 Wonderful style of architecture ! springing from the 
 highest story of the tower, it seems to pierce the clouds like 
 a transparent obelisk, or pyramid of open tracery ! more 
 pointed and slender than the one, it is less so than the other, 
 and formed of slender shafts, clustering together, with va- 
 rious flowers and crockets, it terminates at length in a 
 slender spire and finial. 
 
 The design of most Gothic towers is similar, although 
 very few of them have ever been finished. 
 
 I have a decided predilection for the Gothic style of archi- 
 tecture; and when I am so fortunate as to discover any 
 monument, however ruined or defaced, I examine every 
 portion of it with unwearied zeal and attention, for it ap- 
 pears to me that from a neglect of such study the deep 
 meaning and peculiar motive of Gothic architecture is sel- 
 dom fully arrived at. 
 
156 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 It unites an extreme delicacy and inconceivable skill in 
 mechanical execution, with the grand, the boundless, and 
 infinite.) concentrated in the idea of an entire Gothic fabric ; a 
 rare and truly beautiful combination of contrasting elements, 
 conceived by the power of human intellect, and aiming at 
 faultless perfection in the minutest details, as well as in the 
 lofty grandeur and comprehensiveness of the general design. 
 
 No art ought ever to be permitted to encroach upon its 
 sister arts. The ancient classic monuments at Athens, Pses- 
 tum, and Girgenti would undoubtedly, if seen in their 
 native clime, excite feelings of veneration, in the same man- 
 ner as the feeble designs and gigantic works of Egyptian, 
 Persian, or Indian antiquity inspire wonder and astonish- 
 ment. But what with us is usually styled Grecian art is 
 merely a copy, a soulless imitation of the period when Greek 
 art was in its decline, and an agreeable but most unmeaning 
 symmetry had replaced that grandeur of soul and expression 
 which had too long been lost. 
 
 The Gothic may possibly be styled in the next work on 
 architecture the German style, from its having been common 
 among all the nations of ancient Germany, and the grandest, 
 heretofore called Gothic, edifices in Italy, France, and even 
 in Spain, being also the work of German architects. This 
 old Teutonic architecture certainly requires some effort of the 
 mind to penetrate its unfathomable obscurity. It flourished 
 most in the Netherlands, and appears to have attained there 
 its highest perfection, scarcely a town in Brabant being 
 without one or more remarkable monuments of that art. 
 
 However, the general title of " Gothic Architecture," if 
 that great national name be taken in its widest sense, for the 
 old Christian and romantic style of the middle ages, from 
 Theodoric down to the present time, is decidedly the most 
 appropriate, and must ever be retained. I may remark also 
 that the apparently arbitrary epithet of Romantic, applied to 
 Mediaeval poetry, so completely expresses the prevalence of 
 fancy in that art, that it seems impossible to exchange it for 
 any other term equally significant and appropriate. 
 
 The Burgundians, Vandals, and some portion of the peo- 
 ple of the Netherlands, having been originally Gothic tribes, 
 that people may be considered founders of the Christian 
 kingdoms of France, southern Germany, Italy, and Spain ; 
 
1804-5.] THE OLD SAXON AND DECORATED NORMAN. 157 
 
 whence, extending to the Scandinavian north, they took 
 root in, and exercised dominion over, the whole of the south 
 of Russia, and the countries of Poland and Hungary. The 
 term Gothic is, therefore, historically appropriate to that col- 
 lective body of all nations who derive their origin from the 
 same root as the Dutch and Germans. The Goths brought 
 into Europe that overwhelming influx of German people 
 and German ideas with which the history and social cus- 
 toms of the west, as well as the taste and style of its poetry, 
 have ever since remained strongly imbued. 
 
 The objections urged by some few critics to the use of the 
 term Gothic, arise from an imperfect comprehension of its 
 grand and universal signification. It may be possible to 
 discover and explain the influence exercised by German 
 genius on the works of other countries, but we cannot pos- 
 sibly call a style of architecture, which flourished throughout 
 all the lands once possessed by the Goths, from the most ex- 
 treme east to the farthest west of Christendom, the German, 
 as this exclusive epithet would only apply to that German 
 father-land which has been separated from the other states 
 since the time of King Conrad, and would confine the term to 
 boundaries much too limited ; or, on the other hand, to call 
 this peculiar style of architecture the Teutonic, would lead 
 us too far back into antiquity, yet obscure as regards the art. 
 
 The terms " Old Saxon," and " Decorated Norman," 
 seem very appropriately employed in England, as they indi- 
 cate two grand epochs of the international history of that 
 country, but they are not equally well suited to the rest of 
 Europe. Old Saxon may, indeed, be applicable to Germany, 
 in which country the rise of this peculiar style may be re- 
 ferred to the time of the old Saxon emperors ; and also be- 
 cause Cologne, in which the most magnificent works of this 
 as well as of a later period are to be found, was one of the 
 most important towns of old Saxony. Still the epithet is 
 too confined to apply to the whole Christian west compre- 
 hended under the Roman dynasty, and the greater part of 
 which became German through the Gothic conquests. 
 
 No particular examples are needed in support of the as- 
 sertion, that the first rude elements of Christian architec- 
 ture were of Greek or Roman origin. Still that redundant 
 and vigorous fancy, which constituted the peculiar charm 
 
158 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE . [1804-5. 
 
 of Christian ecclesiastical architecture, is unquestionably 
 Gothic. 
 
 The rise of this principle, founded on a peculiar senti- 
 ment of nature pervading both architecture and all other 
 imitative arts, is first found among the Goths, and from 
 them it spread gradually on all sides, its progress and do- 
 minion being sufficiently attested by the architectural re- 
 mains at Ravenna and elsewhere. Of the two epochs of 
 Gothic art, one may properly be called early Christian, on 
 account of the religious ideas therein developed ; and the 
 second, termed by the English Decorated Norman, I 
 should rather style Romantic, because every element of 
 vigorous architectural fancy then first received its full 
 development. 
 
 Brussels. 
 
 There is a great and striking difference between the aspect 
 of the Netherlands and that of the interior of France. The 
 former is certainly flat, but the general fertility, the fresh, 
 glistening verdure of the well-watered pastures and meadow 
 land, everywhere charmingly crowned and intersected by 
 hedges and groves of trees, give the landscape the air of one 
 vast garden. This fertility, however, is not the spontaneous 
 growth of nature, but rather the fruit of that human in- 
 dustry of which it bears the stamp, and which, when thus 
 skilfully applied, almost rises into a science ; the country, 
 and even the soil, seem metamorphosed and transformed by 
 this sedulous cultivation into a beautiful work of arj. Swit- 
 zerland affords a similar and almost more charming example 
 of human industry triumphing over the disadvantages of an 
 unfavourable, if not barren soil. The character of the Ger- 
 man race seems peculiarly disposed to this practical industry, 
 the cause of which may probably be discovered in the cir- 
 cumstances of their ealiest history. 
 
 Let it not be supposed that this attention to the minutise 
 of art, this delicate and ingenious skill, is practised entirely 
 without reference to higher objects. The rich countries of 
 the south are not exclusively favourable to the development 
 of the arts. Nature, in them, yields her stores, as it were, 
 unasked, and men become indolent and uninventive : but, 
 
1804-5.] SPECIMENS AT BRUSSELS. 159 
 
 in the colder north, where even the necessities of life must 
 be obtained with toil and labour, everything is the result 
 of scientific industry, for life itself then becomes artificial, 
 and must trust to skill and invention for its preservation 
 and support. Northern Europe, poor in soil, has ever been 
 the favourite home of science and the arts ; luxuriant Asia 
 was, indeed, the mother-land of song, but she must yield the 
 palm of art to her younger daughter. On a similar prin- 
 ciple, perhaps, Egypt, which in some respects at least was 
 little favoured by nature, owed her superiority to industry 
 and science, and attained a far higher degree of perfection in 
 the imitative arts than either Persia or Asia. 
 
 In northern Europe the predilection for art — imitating, 
 adorning everything with universal and unbounded influ- 
 ences — seems almost, like another nature, the indigenous 
 growth of the soil. Almost every branch of industry and 
 science flourished in the Netherlands, because, as a free 
 country, standing in a happy union with the German em- 
 pire, it had its own peculiar existence and national character. 
 The difference of language in Germany and the Netherlands 
 certainly, in some measure, estranged them. Yet we con- 
 tinually recognise in the latter traces of its affinity with 
 Germany. The countenances, in the country more espe- 
 cially, are not like those we generally picture to ourselves, 
 the idea of which we imbibe from the Flemish figures por- 
 trayed by later and often very mannered artists ; they are, 
 on the contrary, firm, strongly marked, and angular, but 
 benevolent and candid in expression, the hair generally 
 black. 
 
 In towns, where the original race has mixed more with 
 foreigners, we certainly find the architype of those burly 
 Flemish figures — for the intermixture of race is rarely fa- 
 vourable to beauty. 
 
 In the great market-place at Brussels stands the town- 
 house, a beautiful Gothic building : the slender tower is 
 decorated at the summit with a gilded figure of the Arch- 
 angel St. Michael and the Dragon. The Kinlenberg-house 
 is also standing, with the very balcony from which Alva 
 witnessed the execution of Egmont, 
 
 The cathedral church of St. Gudule claims especial notice. 
 It is built, like Gothic churches in general, in the most con- 
 
160 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 spicuous part of the city. The three-fold western entrance 
 is flanked by two lofty towers ; the choir and high altar face 
 the east. The towers are not so much remarkable from their 
 decorations as, from their structure, appearing to be joined 
 together as it were, and to spring up from a line of slender 
 pinnacles rising in steps one above the other. The side 
 buttresses also, of this body of the building, are terminated 
 by ornamented, crocketed-pinnacles, shooting upwards. Both 
 of the western towers are unfinished, and the interior was so 
 completely destroyed during the war, that it cannot be restored 
 without entire rebuilding. A large painted glass window on 
 the western side represents the Last Judgment, in a style 
 rarely equalled even in Gothic churches ; the pulpit is of 
 carved wood, executed with wonderful skill. The lower 
 part represents the Fall of Man, and above is the blessed 
 Virgin, with the Infant Christ in her arms, and wearing a 
 crown of stars. The body of this wonderful creation repre- 
 sents the tree, the bending form of Adam helps to support 
 the pulpit. Critics may not, perhaps, approve of everything 
 introduced into the execution, but the admirable skill of the 
 carving is truly marvellous. Works of the utmost delicacy, ex- 
 ecuted either in wood or bronze, are appropriately introduced 
 into the decoration of Gothic churches. Marble is incongruous 
 and breaks the harmony of the whole, whether it be em- 
 ployed for monuments, statues, or the pilasters supporting 
 altars or tombs. The use of marble, in many old Italian 
 churches, as the ordinary building material, occasioned a 
 very peculiar modification of the Gothic style, which may be 
 termed the Italian Gothic, and of which the cathedral church 
 at Siena affords the purest example ; that at Florence is, on 
 the other hand, too much like the Gothic, and Milan cathedral 
 is also decidedly in imitation of the German style. The most 
 striking characteristic of these old marble churches, is a 
 manifest struggle to attain and display the rich exuberance 
 of fancy which so remarkably distinguishes Gothic architec- 
 ture, it being impossible to carry skill and delicacy of work- 
 manship to the same degree of perfection in marble as in the 
 soft sandstone of the north. These churches are also remark- 
 able from the intermixture of variegated marbles disposed in 
 mosaic, and a general inclination to the employment of 
 mosaic in decorations ; for the splendid borderings, the fine 
 
1804-5.] SYMBOLISM AN OBJECT WITH ARTISTS. 161 
 
 tesselated pavement and lofty vaulting of the arch, as in the 
 church of St. Mark at Venice, the dome of Siena cathedral, 
 and other Italian churches. 
 
 Allegorical representations of the " Last Judgment," the 
 " Fall of Man," and the " Victory of Faith," were often 
 placed in the most conspicuous parts of the church : — at 
 the entrance, in the nave or pulpit *, and when thus placed 
 are not to be considered merely as ornaments. Symbolism f 
 was the grand motive and object of the early artists, and it 
 was undoubtedly their intention to make the visible structure 
 of the material church, in all its various parts and proportions, 
 symbolic of the spiritual church of Christ as it exists upon 
 earth, sometimes militant and sometimes triumphant. But 
 what language can adequately describe the magic effect of 
 such paintings on glass as that in St. Gudule above mentioned, 
 when viewed in a favourable light, neither too feeble, nor too 
 dazzlingly bright ! It seems like a heavenly tissue of gems 
 and crystals, like the bright varying surface of a sea of fiery 
 flowers, where all the mysteries of light and colour float before 
 our eyes in vivid combinations of ever-varying radiance. 
 
 This majestic work of art has been displaced in order to 
 make w r ay for the necessary repairs and alterations, and it 
 will probably wander into England, whither the principal 
 glass paintings of St. Denis have already been removed. 
 
 Louvain. 
 
 The days are past in which Louvain alone employed 4000, 
 Mechlin 3000, and Ghent 40,000 looms, while other trades 
 and manufactures flourished in equal proportion. Trade and 
 industry had then, as now in England, their seat in Germany, 
 and more particularly in the Netherlands. Machiavelii 
 gives a surprising and almost incredible description of the 
 magnificent and prosperous condition of Holland under 
 Maximilian. Brabant is also a richly favoured land, and the 
 
 * Or on the Rood-screen, dividing the chancel from the body of the 
 church. — See Durandus, Introductory Essay, p. 103. 
 
 f Allegory employs fictitious things and personages to shadow out the 
 truth : Symbolism uses real personages and real actions [and real things] 
 as symbols of the truth. British Critic, No. LXV. p. 121. A type is 
 a symbol intended from the first ; a figure is a symbol not discovered till 
 after the thing figurative has had a being. — Dur. bit. Est&W p. 25. 
 
 M 
 
162 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 traces of former prosperity, and the numerous monuments of 
 ancient art, make it highly interesting to a reflecting traveller. 
 
 The town of Louvain possesses in its majestic Town-house 
 a valuable monument of Gothic architecture. The effect of 
 this building struck me as peculiarly fine, when seen in the 
 first grey light of morning : I have often thought that the 
 outline of any large building rises from the sombre back- 
 ground with more clear and imposing majesty on a clear night, 
 or in the evening twilight. This edifice is particularly dis- 
 tinguished by the extreme delicacy of the lavish decorations, 
 and their beautiful simplicity and symmetry. It is erroneous 
 to imagine that these latter properties are incompatible with 
 the rich diversity of Gothic architecture. It is true that in 
 some buildings the symmetry is destroyed by intentional 
 irregularities, as in Strasburg cathedral for example, but 
 that is quite an exception to the general practice. In other 
 Gothic buildings a severe regularity and uniformity is ob- 
 served, and the strictest harmony of design may be traced 
 throughout the copious and luxuriant decorations. From its 
 beauty of proportion and exquisite symmetry, the Town- 
 house of Louvain holds as high a place among buildings of 
 small or moderate dimensions, as the cathedral of Cologne 
 among the largest Gothic edifices. Instances of intentional 
 neglect of symmetrical proportion are rare exceptions ; for 
 Gothic architecture is no less governed by laws of symmetry 
 than that of the Greeks, although its redundant ornament 
 and varied decorations cannot be restricted within the narrow 
 limits of classic uniformity. The figures on the facade of the 
 town-house of Louvain, at least one hundred in number, have 
 all been thrown down, and this fine work of art is now ex- 
 tremely injured and defaced ; the number of vacant niches 
 sufficiently attests its former splendour. 
 
 Liege. 
 
 The country round Liege is rich, and the city itself finely 
 situated, but frightfully built; and even the inhabitants, 
 their language, manners, and features, convey an unfavour- 
 able impression. We fancy ourselves already on a foreign 
 soil, and seem to be again in France, yet the Walloon French 
 is extremely different from the original language of that 
 
1804-5.] 
 
 THE CATHEDRAL AT LIEGE. 
 
 163 
 
 country. This is attributed to the great colonies of Spaniards 
 and Italians planted here by Charles V. The manner in 
 which the characteristics of the French, German, and Flemish 
 here intermingle, might afford material for a learned disqui- 
 sition on ancient population and emigration. The famous 
 Godfrey of Boulogne, leader of the first crusades, was a native 
 of this boundary land of France and Germany, and we are 
 told that he spoke both languages with facility, and was 
 therefore the better fitted to maintain harmony between the 
 discordant feelings of the French and German nobles. The 
 cathedral at Liege has been very much injured, particularly 
 since the lead of the roof was removed by robbers. Its 
 destruction, however, occasioned but little loss to art, if the 
 engraving I saw of it, and the opinion of several connoisseurs 
 of good taste and judgment, may be relied upon. Bad or in- 
 different works are to be found in every age and period of 
 Gothic, as well as of Grecian art ; but it is to be desired that 
 even bad monuments of antiquity should be preserved, rather 
 than for all to be left to the discretion of individuals, who 
 may possibly have interested motives for depreciating their 
 value. 
 
 One of the most striking peculiarities of the Walloon race 
 is an extraordinary and almost extravagant passion for 
 music, which leads them to form unions and clubs, for the 
 cultivation of that science : their music meetings and trials 
 of skill are regarded as festivals by the rest of the people, 
 who flock to them and decide on the relative merits of the 
 performances with all the enthusiasm of the ancient Greeks. 
 Traces of this musical taste of the Liegois are to be found 
 early in the middle ages. 
 
 Diderot was a native of Liege ; though the French lan- 
 guage is spoken here, it cannot be considered as a part of 
 France. A slightly different impulse, an accidental turn of 
 fate, might have led this city, which as a border town had 
 liberty of choice, to adopt the German language, and become 
 a German dependency ; its genius and character appear more 
 in harmony with that of the German people, and certainly 
 it could scarcely have seemed so misplaced then as it now 
 appears to be in France. 
 
 M 2 
 
164 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 Aix-la-Chapelle. 
 
 Hills, meadows, and glassy streams, the natural features 
 of Germany, invest the neighbourhood of Aix-la-Chapelle 
 with softness and beauty ; the breeze of the forest murmurs 
 deliciously, by inviting to repose and meditation. The hill 
 near Aix, on which the hot and cold springs are found, 
 is peculiarly charming : little tranquil lakes are seen on its 
 summit, among which it is delightful to wander on a sultry 
 summer's day. The ruins of Frankenberg lie a little further 
 on, surrounded by springs of water ; this castle, which dates 
 from the period of Charlemagne, is now in ruins ; swans 
 float on the calm waters, and we saw a child sitting near a 
 fountain, reading one of those books of fairy tales, in which 
 the last lingering remnant of our early poetry still survives. 
 
 Aix-la-Chapelle was once the favourite residence of the 
 great Charlemagne, whose deeply planned schemes and poli- 
 tical arrangements have scarcely yet ceased to operate. It 
 seems surprising that he should have selected for his favourite 
 castles and places of abode spots on the Rhine only, as at 
 Aix-la-Chapelle, Nimeguen, and Ingelheim. Yet we learn 
 from history, that the language of the court, during the early 
 French dynasties, was German ; the princes loved Germany, 
 and were themselves of German extraction, and it is from 
 considering Charlemagne only as a monarch of France, who 
 liiade extensive conquests beyond the limits of that empire, 
 that his having placed his capital so completely on the fron- 
 tier now appears so surprising. The war with Saxony may 
 have induced him to establish himself in that vicinity, but 
 he was probably influenced in his selection by many simple 
 motives as well as by political reasons. It certainly should 
 be remembered that Charlemagne's ancestors first governed 
 Austrasia, and probably considered it as the peculiar inhe- 
 ritance of their house and kingdom. Neustria, Aquitaine, 
 and the interior of France were a comparatively recent 
 acquisition. 
 
 In the cathedral at Aix lie the remains of Charlemagne, 
 yet, as is usual, little or nothing is now standing of the work 
 of his clever architect Gerhard ; the choir belongs to a later 
 period, and contains little either to censure or admire. The 
 numerous arched windows are long, narrow, and but little 
 ornamented ; crowded together, and only separated by massive 
 
1804-5.] CATHEDRAL OP AIX-L A- CH APELLE. 165 
 
 buttresses, they betray the period when Gothic architecture 
 was already in its decline. The nave, or octagon, stands on the 
 spot where Charlemagne had erected the chapel after which 
 the city was named, and contains his tomb. * The front of 
 the gallery, running round the octagon, is adorned with por- 
 phyry columns, originally thirty-two in number, brought 
 from the old church of St. Gereon at Cologne, to which they 
 had been presented by the Empress Helena, mother of Con- 
 stantine the Great. It was usua], both in Italy and Greece, 
 to employ fragments of heathen temples in the decoration of 
 Christian churches. These columns are now (1804) in 
 Paris f : one which remained at Cologne was destroyed 
 during the war. 
 
 Christian architecture, of the earliest period, is derived, 
 at least in its isolated elements, from the later style of classic 
 art. After the time of Constantine the influence of Chris- 
 tianity brought new ideas into action, and gave a new intention 
 to architecture, the influence of which extended throughout 
 the entire mediaeval epoch, so that the eastern style of that age 
 cannot be classed with Greek antiquity, but belongs rather 
 to the new order of things : this separation was undoubtedly 
 occasioned by religion, and for the same reason the Latin 
 Christian rhymes of that period must no longer be classed 
 with ancient literature. Yet long after the first compara- 
 tively insignificant commencement, many new and peculiar 
 features appeared in Gothic architecture. To refer all the 
 wonders of old Teutonic art to that primal origin alone 
 would be scarcely less unreasonable than to consider the 
 Leonine verses of Latin poets the source of the highest 
 chefs-d'oeuvre of modern poetry of Dante and Calderon, 
 though in these verses we certainly trace the first appear- 
 ance of rhymed terminations. 
 
 The natives of Aix are lively and animated, quite of the 
 old French race. The German here spoken is peculiarly 
 feeble, and uttered in a monotonous cadence, which is far 
 from agreeable to strangers ; the same may be said of Co- 
 logne ; it seems rather like a commencement of the Lower 
 German dialect, but is more properly a combination of high 
 
 * The octagon is built after the church of the Holy Sepulchre at 
 Jerusalem, with the tomb of Charlemagne in the centre, 
 t They were returned at the peace. — Trans. 
 
 m 8 
 
166 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 and low German, characterised chiefly by roughness and a 
 want of refinement. When these dialects are more inti- 
 mately blended and united, as in the centre of Germany, 
 they form the true German now spoken. This dialect, 
 therefore, unformed as it is, may not prove entirely unworthy 
 the attention of philologists. The Cologne dialect is clearly 
 to be traced in one of the oldest German poems now exist- 
 ing — the " Eulogium of St. Anno." Many Latin words are 
 found in it, although so mutilated and abbreviated, as 
 scarcely to be recognised. The intercourse carried on with 
 Holland, and the constant influx of strangers, in so populous 
 a trading town, would naturally lead to many innovations in 
 the language. The groundwork was probably Walloon, for 
 the natives of Upper Germany are unquestionably of that 
 stock ; but the language of Cologne, the features, aspect and 
 character of the people, are certainly old Saxon, and this is 
 still more strikingly the case at Bonn. At Coblentz, on the 
 contrary, the light, lively, French temperament is every- 
 where apparent : the line of demarcation between the French 
 and old Saxon ought probably to be fixed at some point 
 between these two cities. 
 
 Neusz. 
 
 The little church in this town is of early Gothic archi- 
 tecture ; the chief entrance of one door only, with a single 
 heavy square tower, which is however richly and beautifully 
 decorated. The spire has been taken down, having been 
 seriously injured by the effects of the weather, and the tower 
 in consequence has rather the character of a heavy castle- 
 tower than of the tall grown church-spire shooting up from 
 amid open tracery and pinnacles, according to the mode of 
 construction invariably adopted in the most delicately- 
 finished Gothic edifices. 
 
 Low, heavy towers, such as are occasionally seen in old 
 churches, deserve to be regarded with some attention in an 
 investigation of the origin of Gothic architecture : they are 
 sometimes even crowned with battlements, like old German 
 fortresses, and I am persuaded that this is no arbitrary re- 
 semblance, or casual similarity, but an intentional imitation 
 of those ancient venerable piles. It is customary to derive 
 
1804-5.] ON THE ORIGIN OF THE GOTHIC STYLE. 167 
 
 Gothic towers from those of mosques, though in fact there 
 is in general but little similarity between them, and the 
 hypothesis of the Arabic origin of the Gothic style has 
 already been proved to be completely fallacious. Indeed, 
 none of the old Spanish and Sicilian buildings of which we 
 have any description, and which are known from history to 
 have been the work of Moorish architects, are by any means 
 in accordance with the principles of church architecture, 
 nor have they anything in common with Gothic edifices, 
 except the extreme richness of their decorative ornaments. 
 The minarets of the mosques are necessarily on the eastern 
 side, because from them the Mahomedans were summoned 
 to public prayer. The church towers of western architecture 
 are designed for the bells, which from thence ring forth 
 with majestic solemn sound, bidding all Christian worship- 
 pers to prepare to join in the services of their church ; and 
 how greatly do the towers of Christian Gothic art, developed 
 and carried up to the highest and sharpest point, surpass in 
 grandeur the low Moorish minarets ! Even were the points 
 of resemblance more striking, they would scarcely suffice 
 to prove that both Arabic and Gothic art rose from the same 
 origin. The Arabs are still in the habit of adopting what- 
 ever they think suitable in Syrian or Egyptian, as well as 
 in Greek or Roman buildings, only making everything in 
 their mosques accord with their own customs and the exi- 
 gencies of their religious worship : this does not conduce to 
 very high perfection in art. Fancy was the predominating 
 element in mediaeval poetry and architecture, both in the 
 eastern and western portions of Europe, and this may ac- 
 count for a certain uniformity between them both, though 
 neither can be properly said to have borrowed from the 
 other. Many great and essential differences are apparent 
 between Christian and eastern art, as well as between our 
 high romantic poetry and Arabic fables, or Persian songs of 
 chivalry. 
 
 Neusz stood formerly on the edge of the Rhine ; it is now 
 at least a quarter of an hour's distance from its bank. This 
 beautiful river has in many instances thus altered its course ; 
 changes which, notwithstanding their importance, are less 
 carefully chronicled than the follies of men, who have long 
 since passed away and left no other trace of their existence. 
 
168 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-0. 
 
 Could we stand but for a moment on the old borders of the 
 Rhine, recalling that early period when the first German 
 settlement was made upon its banks, and along the shore of 
 the Danube also, under what a different aspect would the 
 manners and customs, the old institutions and legislature of 
 our German ancestors appear to us, free from the perverted 
 and frequently false criticisms which often contribute to ob- 
 scure the already mutilated and imperfect records of history. 
 
 Düsseldorf. 
 
 The gallery of paintings* in this town contains many pic- 
 tures of great value, but the Hall of Rubens f seems to demand 
 our especial notice ; nor can we elsewhere form a correct 
 opinion of this master's genius. Those who wish to judge him 
 impartially should not trust entirely to his most famous paint- 
 ings, which, if considered as examples of severe grandeur 
 in art, are not entitled to unqualified praise ; the measure 
 of their fame was decreed to them at a period when, even 
 in Italy, true artistic taste was rarely found, and the same 
 mannerism and prejudice there prevailed by which Rubens 
 was himself seduced from the right path. Still talents so 
 remarkable, and such extraordinary vigour of intellect must, 
 even when erroneously directed, leave traces of the master 
 mind sufficiently decisive to distinguish the natural impulses 
 of genius from the injurious influences exercised by the spirit 
 of the time, or other extraneous disadvantages. 
 
 Rubens appears to unite in his compositions the various 
 defects of the Italian schools, both of his own time and the 
 period immediately preceding, the unnatural exaggeration 
 and mannerism of Michelangelo's school, the negligent fri- 
 volity of the hasty naturalisti, the struggle of mere colourists 
 to produce dramatic effect, nay, even the arbitrary and un- 
 fortunate allegories of the eclectics : still his extraordinary 
 genius prevails, and the vigour and richness of his creations 
 far outweigh the various faults imbibed from contemporary 
 painters. The imitation of foreign masters is so dangerous 
 an error, that even genius is cramped and injured by its 
 
 * Now removed to Munich. — Trans, 
 
 f See Treatise on " Paintings in Paris and the Netherlands/ ante^ 
 page 129. 
 
1804-5.] 
 
 DÜSSELDORF. — RUßENS. 
 
 169 
 
 adoption. How far higher might Rubens have soared if, 
 instead of copying the already corrupt and degenerate taste 
 of the Italians, he had chosen to form himself on the model 
 of his native Netherlands, on Van Eyck, for example, so rich 
 in art, yet true to nature, with others equal to him in genius ! 
 How would their correct and beautiful style have been 
 heightened and embellished by his brilliant colouring, and 
 by that redundant fancy which, bewildered in the false 
 paths he had selected, soon became utterly lost ! The worst 
 feature in the system of copying foreign art is, that the 
 period selected for imitation usually proves to be that in 
 which the art is already on its decline, and has degenerated 
 from its high standard of excellence, even in the country 
 chosen as a pattern. These modern artists expend much 
 anxious labour in copying the productions of a degenerate 
 time, to which they give the name of 66 classical," but which 
 the ancient Greeks would have rejected and despised. To 
 attempt to engraft the genius of foreign nations upon our own 
 is indeed a most dangerous experiment. National art and 
 taste are infallibly destroyed, and foreign excellence rarely, 
 if ever, attained. The justness of these remarks as applied 
 to the imitative system in painting must be evident, and 
 the inconsistency to which it leads, subversive of all national 
 characteristics, is no less sensibly felt in architecture. 
 Every nation, country, and climate should have architecture 
 suited to its peculiar requirements. How is it possible to 
 wander agreeably in open antique colonnades, under our 
 northern sky, or to walk abroad, clad in airy classical robes ? 
 The form of our buildings rests, like our social customs and 
 ordinary habiliments, on natural causes, the variations of 
 temperature, and other similar influences, and the destructive 
 consequences of disregarding these must be apparent to any 
 one at all versed in the history of the arts and social life, or 
 who has ever studied their reciprocal influence with atten- 
 tion. 
 
 In some of Rubens's paintings his better nature is seen 
 almost without any tinge of mannerism ; as, for instance, in 
 his own portrait with that of his first wife sitting in an ar- 
 bour* ; in his profound yet animated portrait of a Franciscan 
 
 * No. 261. IV. Saal Pinacothek, Munich. 
 
170 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 monk*, the superior of the order ; in a Madonna surrounded 
 by angels and wreaths of flowers, and in some few pictures 
 besides. The Madonna was not perhaps originally so much 
 mannered as it now appears ; the cinnabar, which is so freely 
 used, must have been much less glaring before the other tints 
 had lost their brightness. 
 
 Cologne. 
 
 Foreigners are rarely pleased with this old town ; nor is it 
 possible that a great city fallen to decay should ever convey 
 a pleasing impression. Yet it certainly contains many beau- 
 tiful and spacious squares, or such as might with trifling 
 alteration be made ornamental ; the finest and most important 
 buildings are good, well situated, and severe in design. 
 Flying tourists frequently blame the construction of the 
 towns through which they pass, without duly considering 
 the exigencies of the locality. The streets of Cologne, those 
 especially which run down to the river, are narrow, but it is 
 because trade and commerce have occasioned the crowding 
 of that particular part, and besides the violence of the Rhine 
 winds, in spring and autumn, would make very broad streets 
 inconvenient and unsuitable. 
 
 The city is splendidly situated ; rising in the form of an 
 amphitheatre, from the banks of the Rhine, it makes a cres- 
 cent contained within the extent of one short hour's walk. 
 Gardens are interspersed within the walls of the town, and 
 the beautiful promenades on the inner and outer walls, and 
 the various eminences on which the city is built, partially 
 compensate for the deficiency of country walks in the vi- 
 cinity, and an uninteresting landscape varied only by the 
 distant Sieben- Gebirge. Yet, whether Cologne be regarded 
 with favour or disapprobation by the votaries of modern 
 fashion, to all lovers of art and of antiquities it is one of 
 the most interesting and instructive towns in Germany. 
 
 The ancient monuments in this city belong to many 
 different epochs. In one part we see a Roman tower, and 
 the remains of a Roman wall, built of regularly hewn 
 stones of different forms, and of varied colour, apparently 
 
 * No. 281. S. Munich. 
 
1804-5.] GOTHIC MONUMENTS IN COLOGNE. 171 
 
 designed for ornament. These antique relics probably once 
 formed part of a small temple ; they are firmly cemented 
 together in the manner usually practised by that, in every 
 thing, extraordinary people. There stood the capitol, the 
 scene of so many different events under the Caesars, and 
 the Naumachium from whence, up to the mountains of the 
 Eiselgebirge, ruined aqueducts extend in every direction. 
 The foundations of the piers where Constantine's stone 
 bridge once stood, still remain, and may be seen when the 
 river falls unusually low. Here also is the old abbey-church 
 of St. Mary (Margreten, Ste. Marie des Degres), the choir 
 of which belongs to the time of Charlemagne, and contains 
 an effigy of Plectrudis, wife of Pepin d'Heristal, the grand- 
 father of Charlemagne, of very early date. Here also is the 
 unfinished and massive tower of St. George, commenced by 
 St. Anno in the eleventh century, with no very peaceable 
 intentions ; it then stood close to the city gate, but is now 
 quite within the walls. Many other remarkable monuments, 
 belonging to nearly every epoch of the middle ages, might 
 be mentioned. 
 
 Cologne, under the Romans, was in fact the capital of 
 their important Germania Secunda, and of equal consequence 
 in the subsequent kingdom of Austrasia. In the time of 
 Otho the Great, it became a powerful spiritual principality, 
 one of the wealthiest of the Hanse Towns, and the seat of 
 a famous university, to which, in the middle ages, men 
 of genius resorted from all parts of the world. Snorro 
 Storleson, who collected the northern Sagas of the Edda, 
 came hither from his distant island, and became afterwards 
 principal of the then flourishing free states of Scandinavia. 
 Hither also came St. Thomas Aquinas from Naples, when 
 at the age of twenty he quitted his noble family and connex- 
 ions, determined to devote himself to a spiritual life. Every 
 part of this old city is rich in interesting associations, though 
 the effects of the Reformation, and subsequent changes and 
 the general decline of Germany, have robbed it of much 
 of its original grandeur. It has now, like most other towns 
 on the left bank of the Rhine, become the prey of the French. 
 The number of monuments of Gothic architecture here 
 existing is almost unparalleled. We find noble edifices, 
 illustrating not only the grand progressive steps of the art, 
 
172 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 but also marking each important variety or modification 
 from the first period when it resembled the Greek Christian 
 style, to the latest, when it began to lose itself in the pompous, 
 overloaded manner of the Spanish Jesuits. Besides the 
 churches, there are many private houses of the same date, 
 in good preservation, and very similar in style to the old 
 Gothic, and many of those usually called Templar houses, 
 from the prevailing, but not always correct, idea of their 
 having been the residences of the Knights Templars. A 
 skilful investigator might here gain abundant information 
 concerning the inferior portion of Gothic art ; its profound 
 scientific knowledge, and wonderful mechanical skill.* 
 Should it be possible to complete a new history of Gothic 
 architecture before the barbarism and covetousness which 
 now prevail have completely desecrated all its ancient me- 
 morials, this town alone contains materials almost sufficient 
 for the purpose. The antiquities of other cities are chiefly 
 isolated remains, and their proper connexion can scarcely 
 be traced or understood. 
 
 The cathedral stands pre-eminent amongst all these monu- 
 ments, and were it completed, Gothic art might boast of 
 having produced a giant work, worthy of rivalling the proud- 
 est edifices of ancient or modern Koine. A third part only 
 of the body of the church, and half of one tower, are yet 
 completed, without the central lantern or the transepts, 
 which, when erected, will give the form of a perfect cross. 
 Yet, even thus unfinished, it far exceeds in grandeur of con- 
 ception and beauty of style the most glorious works to be seen 
 elsewhere. Conrad Hochstetten, whose daring mind raised 
 more than one rival to cope with the dreaded Frederic the 
 Second, conceived this mighty design. The ground plan of 
 the unknown architect, finished even to the very minutiae of 
 decorations, is still in existence.*]* The building was begun in 
 the year 1248, and the choir finished and consecrated in 1322. 
 
 * The erudite Canon WallrafF has done our age great service, by 
 directing public attention to the noble remains in many old towns on the 
 Rhine, and to the mediaeval antiquities of Cologne. In my first exa- 
 mination of these treasures I was myself extremely indebted to his 
 friendly escort and learned conversation. 
 
 f Since that time Boisseree's grand work has appeared, worthy in in- 
 dustry and skill of the noble cathedral which it describes, and published 
 
1804-5.] 
 
 THE CATHEDRAL AT COLOGNE, 
 
 173 
 
 The grandeur of this surprising and colossal fragment 
 excites universal wonder and admiration ; and one glance at 
 the immense height of the choir fills every beholder with 
 astonishment. But what is most striking to those who have 
 had an opportunity of observing with attention many other 
 monuments of Gothic architecture, is the beauty of its deco- 
 rations, the symmetry of its proportions, and the air of light- 
 ness these give to the massy fabric. Every one who has any 
 feeling will be conscious of this impression, but it is impos- 
 sible to define or explain more particularly in what this feel- 
 ing consists. Actual measurements, and comparison with 
 other buildings of the same style, can alone furnish a clue to 
 the mystery of those proportions, the effect of which is so 
 striking to every person of refined taste. It is certain that 
 the finest Gothic churches, compared with this, frequently 
 appear either rude and clumsy, or deficient in expression, and 
 overloaded with trifling decorations. The Town-house at 
 Louvain, however, although of infinitely smaller dimensions, 
 may still bear comparison with it in the noble unity and 
 harmony of its various parts. 
 
 The general design of the cathedral, like most other 
 Gothic and old German churches, is according to the pri- 
 mitive style of early Christian architecture, but decorated 
 and developed with the highest artistic skill. The Latin 
 cross terminates in the choir, towards the east, in a semi- 
 circular apse. Two lofty towers surmount the triple western 
 doors, and the transepts will furnish two side-entrances, to- 
 wards the other points of the compass. A cupola will be 
 raised above the lofty tomb of the three kings, which is to 
 stand in the centre, but is not yet commenced. The tower 
 is a splendid structure, formed of innumerable slender pil- 
 lars, arched windows, and crocketed pinnacles, ever rising 
 higher, as if actually springing one from the other ; it is to 
 be five stories in height, the loftiest stage surmounted by a 
 slender obelisk of open tracery, transparent tendrils, and 
 crockets, rising at length into a finial. Two stages only 
 are as yet completed. A tower like this, proudly springing 
 heavenwards, in the midst of such profusion of carving, 
 
 with the design of throwing full light upon the subject and on Gothic 
 architecture in general, the first dawn of which is alone noticed in these 
 outlines. 
 
174 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 sculpture, and decoration, seems almost like some incom- 
 parable production of the vegetable kingdom ; while the nu- 
 merous, wide- spreading, flying buttresses, with their arches, 
 decorations, crockets, finials, and pinnacles, resemble a forest. 
 The Gothic pillars in the interior have not unaptly been 
 compared to a lofty avenue of trees ; each, instead of appear- 
 ing like one single pillar, seems rather an interweaving of 
 numerous smaller shafts, a slight and inconspicuous projecting 
 moulding alone indicating the pedestal. The high aspiring 
 shaft and simple capital, formed of vine-leaves, or an imita- 
 tion of some other natural foliage, unfold into a pointed and 
 segmental arch. These columns have been also compared to 
 natural basaltic pillars ; and the lofty vaulted arch might 
 almost be likened to the jet of a mighty fountain, supposing 
 the stream of descending water to be of equal volume with 
 that which is thrown up. And if the exterior, with its 
 countless towers and pinnacles, appears at a distance not 
 unlike a forest, the whole prodigious structure, on a nearer 
 approach, looks like some magnificent natural crystallisa- 
 tion. It is, in a word, the wonder-work of art ; and, from 
 the inconceivable abundance of its decorations, seems to vie 
 with the inexhaustible variety of nature herself. This is 
 just the impression it leaves upon the mind ; and inscru- 
 tably rich as are the interwoven forms of organised nature, 
 an architectural structure like that under consideration 
 seems scarcely less vast and inconceivable. Ever tending 
 heavenwards, as it soars higher and higher decorative forms, 
 ever more and more delicately finished, seem to spring in 
 succession from the lower and less ornamental portions. Yet 
 all are, almost universally, borrowed from vegetable nature : 
 the forms of plants bearing no distinct reference to any neces- 
 sary object, the idea of their peculiar design and utility is not 
 directly awakened in the mind. Animal forms, on the con- 
 trary, immediately suggest the object and office for which they 
 were framed. Besides, setting aside this circumstance, they 
 are far less beautiful than leaves or flowers, and hence the 
 actual growth of the plant, that loveliest ornament of nature, 
 with the queenlike rose crowning the whole, has been adopted 
 as the type of nearly every ornament framed by human art. 
 
 This noble work, considered in an architectural point of 
 view, affords an example of all the beauties of the second 
 
1804-O.1 THE CATHEDRAL AT COLOGNE. 175 
 
 floriated Gothic style. The same figures of the triangle and 
 the square, the circle and the quatrefoil, form the ground- 
 work of all those decorations, which, as in the early Christian, 
 are introduced with a more profound attention to the scien- 
 tific structure of the building. But these no longer appear 
 in naked simplicity and geometrical exactness ; they are ail 
 veiled with clustering foliage and the luxuriance of vege- 
 table life : as in the enamelled carpet of spring, we cannot, 
 amid its verdant productions, clearly discern the precise 
 geometrical symmetry of each isolated form, but see all 
 bloom and unfold their beauty together, in one general glow 
 of life and immortality ! The very existence of Gothic ar- 
 chitecture seems bound up with the luxuriance of its forms 
 and floriation. Hence the unvaried repetition of the same 
 decorations, their plant-like similarity, and the deeply ex- 
 pressive, yet tranquil mystery, the joyous loveliness and 
 animation, which fill every beholder with reverence and ad- 
 miration. The symbolism of Gothic architecture is, indeed, 
 of the highest order ; that of painting appears feeble in com- 
 parison with it, and its allusions to divinity embarrassed and 
 uncertain. Architecture, on the contrary, by its imitation of 
 the beauties of nature, brings the idea of the Divinity palpably 
 before our minds, even without any direct allusion to the 
 mysteries of Christianity. Christian faith and hope had, 
 however, no trifling influence on the development of eccle- 
 siastical architecture. 
 
 A work so gigantic as the Cologne cathedral must surpass 
 all power of description. I pass on, therefore, to the consi- 
 deration of the other old churches in Cologne, as best illus- 
 trating the origin and progress of the Gothic style. 
 
 I have already remarked that there are two distinct epochs 
 in ecclesiastical architecture : the earlier, termed Byzantine, 
 from its resemblance to the Greek style ; and the later, pe- 
 culiarly German, and incomparably more skilful in execu- 
 tion, which was spoken of in the description of the cathedral. 
 Many strongly marked varieties are found in each branch ; 
 as, for instance, the tower of St. Stephen's at Vienna, and 
 the cathedral at Strasburg, both belonging to the later pe- 
 riod, and both, more especially the latter, having many va- 
 rieties. The Byzantine is unquestionably the earliest in 
 date; but both styles at length melt completely into each 
 
176 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 other ; no new style ever becomes predominant at once, 
 in some instances it is followed up to a certain point only, 
 though in others it may be already adopted entire. A con- 
 sideration of the expense may also have led to the continued 
 employment of the older manner, in works not designed for 
 chefs-d'oeuvre. 
 
 Gothic architecture is the style of building best adapted to 
 a northern climate and a colder zone, and its origin and pro- 
 gress coincides with the development of the appropriate 
 symbolism of the Christian church ; nor was the material 
 employed without its influence ; the inferior beauty of sand- 
 stone, as compared with marble, occasioned an ambitious 
 struggle for decoration, which led to a higher degree of ex- 
 cellence in tracery and ornaments than would have been 
 attainable in any harder material. These simple reasons 
 sufficiently elucidate all the peculiarities of Gothic architec- 
 ture. I shall attempt to trace and illustrate their influence, 
 by describing a few old churches in the early Byzantine 
 style. 
 
 The most remarkable and beautiful of this class at Co- 
 logne are the churches of St. Gereon, and the Twelve Apo- 
 stles (St. Aposteln). Both are in rather elevated situations, 
 and their effect very fine. I shall here take an opportunity 
 of mentioning, that from the walk inside the walls, and the 
 crane on the cathedral tower, all the most beautiful churches 
 may be seen at different points of view and to great advan- 
 tage. The finest view of the city is from the opposite bank 
 of the river, from which it appears in the form of a crescent, 
 adorned with many beautiful churches and crowned by an 
 ancient massive citadel. The cathedral is a conspicuous 
 object, and its situation, on a lofty eminence, commanding 
 an extensive prospect, very grand.* It is to be lamented 
 that this fine position is almost neutralised by the crowds of 
 inferior buildings that surround it. About forty years since 
 the altar-screen was broken down and destroyed, in order 
 to make way for an Italian altar-piece, beautiful indeed in 
 
 * Since that period the back of the choir, facing the Rhine towards 
 the east, has been freed from all the extraneous buildings which encum- 
 bered it ; and, whether viewed from a distance or in the immediate vicinity, 
 the cathedral now presents a glorious object, and can, for the first time, be 
 contemplated in the perfection of its beauty. 
 
1804-5.1 
 
 CHURCHES IN COLOGNE. 
 
 177 
 
 itself, but quite out of character in a Gothic cathedral. The 
 ancient screen was in perfect harmony with the exterior, and 
 was formed, with most delicate skill, of innumerable small 
 crocketed and clustering pinnacles, — a compendium, as it 
 were, of the general exterior features, and presenting to the 
 spectator a miniature representation of all those beauties 
 which the extent of the building makes it impossible to 
 embrace at one glance. 
 
 In old churches the principal entrance is frequently marked 
 by one single square tower, and the choir has two little 
 turrets, between which the extreme termination projects in 
 a half circle. St. Kunibert and St. Severin, both churches 
 of noble and massive form, are designed on this plan. The 
 tower of St. Martin, of the tenth century, is still more re- 
 markable, as the mighty centre tower was adorned and sur- 
 rounded by lesser towers at the four corners, of which two 
 only are left standing*. The church of the Twelve Apostles 
 (St. Aposteln) is far more artistic : it belongs to the eleventh 
 and twelfth centuries, and its entrance is also marked by a 
 single massive heavy tower. The choir is terminated by 
 three semicircular apses, above which rise three gables ; two 
 towers ornament the centre apse at the extremity, and above 
 the gables and apses rises a double hexagonal cupola.* 
 A structure, compounded as it were of numerous others, most 
 skilfully grouped, and presenting not one single temple, but a 
 stately and majestic fabric, formed of several temples, rising 
 one above the other. In this union and combination of numer- 
 ous buildings we recognise the original idea of early Christian 
 architecture. Constantine first desired to have his Basilica 
 built in the form of a cross. The high altar next became indi- 
 cated by cupolas, rising one above the other, as in the church 
 of St. Sophia at Constantinople, and St. Mark at Venice, built 
 in imitation of the former. The choir, being the appointed 
 place for those whose office required them to take an active 
 part in the service of God and the duties of the sanctuary, 
 
 * A transverse, triapsal church, with a large western tower ; two 
 smaller towers at the east, and an octagonal pyramid at the eastern cross- 
 ing. It has also a western transept. The apses are vaulted with semi- 
 domes. The vaulting of the old central aisle is sexpartite on the double 
 compartments, ana cylindrical on the single ones. — See Architectural 
 Notes on German Churches, p. 39. Plate, fig. 10. 
 
 N 
 
178 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. ["1804-0. 
 
 was early separated from the grand area destined to receive 
 the congregation, and constructed on the noblest scale : it 
 forms, as it were, a lesser church, contained within the limits 
 of the principal structure. The necessity of a passage 
 round the choir led to the erection of side aisles adjoin- 
 ing the nave, which was so completely distinguished from 
 them by its greater elevation, that these aisles often appear 
 like separate buildings attached to the centre pile. Every 
 thing, in fact, contributes to produce that copious variety of 
 design and decoration, which is a distinctive characteristic 
 of Gothic ecclesiastical architecture. The peculiar forma- 
 tion of the pillars may be cited as an example. Even in 
 old Byzantine churches we generally find not merely simple 
 circular columns, but many pillars, clustered or banded to- 
 gether : this may probably have arisen from the necessity of 
 combining the side-aisles with the nave and the choir, the 
 pillars of the latter aiding in the support of the former also ; 
 or it may have had its source in a predilection for variety 
 and multiform combinations. These rude beginnings in 
 time expanded into peculiar beauty, in those slender shafts 
 and clustering columns which have given birth to so many 
 significant comparisons. The pillars in the cathedral of 
 Cologne clearly illustrate the manner in which the idea of 
 this mode of construction arose and developed itself. The 
 centre-shaft is thick and circular, and four others of equal size 
 surround it, yet without projecting beyond a given circle ; the 
 space between each of the four outer columns is filled up by 
 another smaller shaft which stands out beyond the others : 
 there are two lesser shafts in each space of the columns at the 
 principal entrance, and three in the pillars supporting the 
 lantern ; so that each pillar, besides its solid centre, has four 
 of equal size surrounding it, and four, eight, or twelve, of the 
 smaller, the number varying according to the situation and 
 importance of the pillar. When many such systems of clus- 
 tering columns are assembled together, as at the interior 
 angles of the tower, a surprising idea of vastness is pro- 
 duced by their multiplied variety. Hence also arose the 
 peculiar character of the Gothic arch: the high-pitched 
 northern roof gave to the arch its pointed form, in accord- 
 ance with the harmony which (unless any important reason 
 command a deviation,) it is essentially necessary to preserve 
 
1804-5.] 
 
 CHURCHES IN COLOGNE. 
 
 179 
 
 between the interior and exterior. In carrying up these 
 clustering shafts, they naturally unfolded into numerous ribs 
 and branches, which, crossing and intersecting each other in 
 every direction, became a groined and pointed roof, the 
 vaulting of which gave peculiar grandeur of expression to 
 the lofty aisle, and stamped it with a variety and beauty 
 found only in Gothic architecture. The form of the arch 
 derived from the high-pitched roof of the northern manner 
 of building, extends also to the doorways, in which the 
 numerous banded pillars, expanding above, form arches, re- 
 tiring one within the other, narrowing and deepening towards 
 the interior,. and exuberantly ornamented. The oldest Gothic 
 windows are mostly trefoiled : here again, if seek the slen- 
 der, long-drawn pointed arch, in this as in every other part, as 
 far as is practicable, we find a repetition of the same general 
 principle, and in all its variations the one fundamental figure 
 is apparent. In the close juxtaposition of two such arches, 
 and the introduction of the trefoil already mentioned, at the 
 point of union, we discover an anticipation of the subsequent 
 foliated tracery ; the rose and trefoil in various combinations 
 may be recognised as the basis of all the highly artistic folia- 
 tion with which the cathedral at Cologne is adorned. 
 
 Still more beautiful perhaps, in the old Byzantine style, 
 than the churches above mentioned, is the church of St. 
 Gereon, belonging probably to the eleventh century. A 
 cupola-like elevation, in the form of a decagon, marks the 
 vestibule. An ascent of several steps leads to the choir, 
 which is considerably elevated, and the exterior is graced 
 by two towers : the simple symmetrical proportions give in- 
 terest and beauty to the exterior of the building, and the 
 interior is also finely ornamented. Gurgoyles, heads of 
 animals forming the mouths of water-pipes, or ornamenting 
 the angles of the tower, are here seen, but confined almost en- 
 tirely, as is usual in early Gothic work, to those unimportant 
 portions of the edifice. Foliated tracery is rarely seen in 
 the early Christian period, nor those crockets and crocketed 
 pinnacles, which afterwards became so numerous that they 
 seem at the first glance to be the most striking feature. The 
 interior columns are rarely foliated or adorned with carved 
 work or spiral ornaments ; the projecting capitals are merely 
 gilded. The upper part of the cupola, the windows, and 
 
 N 2 
 
180 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-0. 
 
 transepts, are occasionally adorned with slender basaltic 
 pillars, in groups of two or four. The capitals are some- 
 times plain, sometimes foliated, interspersed with birds, 
 dragons, and other figures. In Gothic buildings of the de- 
 corated epoch these pillars are never seen. Much careful 
 comparison and accurate measurements would be necessary 
 to make these examples fully intelligible, but for the present 
 a few more observations must suffice. 
 
 I now proceed to trace the distinctive characteristics of 
 the two styles of Gothic architecture, selecting, as an ex- 
 ample of the early Christian era*, the church of St. Gereon, 
 which is a perfect specimen of that style. The ground-plan 
 embraces triangle and quadrangle, cross and circle, a star- 
 like hexagon, and many more complicated polygonal figures ; 
 nor are these confined to the groundwork of the edifice ; 
 they are rather brought conspicuously forward, in what may 
 be termed geometrical symmetry, and the simple yet sin- 
 gular character of these combined figures gives an expres- 
 sion of solemn mystery to the entire structure well suited 
 to a church, which, as an holy building, is intended to sym- 
 bolise in miniature the eternal structure of the spiritual 
 church in the heavens. This geometrical beauty is also 
 apparent in the second period of Decorated Gothic art ; 
 but of all these various figures, the cross alone is there 
 retained and made strikingly manifest; yet even this is 
 entwined with rich foliation, and appears as it were sur- 
 rounded by wreaths of blooming roses. Arches and win- 
 dows of lancellated form are separated by pillars and 
 slender shafts, arranged in long files of entwining stems 
 and branches, with finely traced decorations, generally foli- 
 ated or flower-like in form. That deep reverential love of 
 nature which was a predominating element in the minds of 
 our German ancestors, seems to have been the parent of 
 this gloriously devised architecture. Whether in the old 
 Christian church style (the Romanesque), so great a degree 
 of perfection could have been attained as was reached by 
 the highly ornamented and romantic in the cathedral at 
 Cologne, I must not venture to decide ; yet I confess that I 
 much doubt it, for the style itself presents a far wider field, 
 and would not therefore be so easily carried to the same 
 
 * The Romanesque. 
 
1804-5.] 
 
 PAINTINGS ON GLASS. 
 
 181 
 
 perfection. The church of St. Gereon is as surprising an 
 example of perfection in the Romanesque, as the cathedral 
 at Cologne of the Gothic, the church of St. Mark at Venice 
 of the Byzantine, and the cathedral at Siena of the Italian 
 Gothic style. 
 
 In my previous description of ancient paintings at Cologne, 
 I noticed a few very remarkable pictures of the lower Ger- 
 man school, which I met with in a private collection. 
 
 The churches here have been generally despoiled of their 
 paintings, but, stimulated by the information of a learned 
 connoisseur, I provided myself with torches and carefully 
 examined the crypt of St. Mary, where, in the vaulting, 
 traces of painting, as old as the time of Charlemagne, are 
 to be found. They are indeed traces, and no more; the 
 crypt was walled up a few years ago, and the fragments of 
 half-effaced outlines now remaining have little significance, 
 nor is it possible to form any opinion as to their merits : 
 whether it be possible to save these remains from being 
 utterly effaced, I know not. Glass paintings may be seen in 
 many of the churches described, which have rarely been 
 surpassed or even equalled in beauty : perhaps the finest is 
 that already noticed, on a window over the side entrance of 
 the cathedral, both from the grandeur of its design and exe- 
 cution, and also because it belongs to the best and most 
 flourishing period of glass painting, the latter half of the 
 fifteenth century. A window in the church of St. Kuni- 
 bert is also of very high antiquity, belonging to the middle 
 of the fifteenth century, and admirable from the depth oe 
 tone and splendour of the colouring. Some windows have 
 been destroyed, and replaced by others of later date, the 
 outlines of which are clearer and better defined, although 
 decidedly inferior in colouring. In early paintings on glass 
 the colouring of the faces is uniformly brown ; the mixing 
 of tints necessary for producing a natural carnation being 
 little understood. Intermediate shading is seldom seen ; 
 but the arabesques surrounding the figures, and which re- 
 present trefoils, roses, peacocks' eyes, and other ornaments, 
 are almost more beautifully coloured than those of a. later 
 style. 
 
 K 3 
 
182 
 
 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 Voyage up the Rhine. 
 The most beautiful scenery on the Rhine begins a little 
 above Bonn. Richly enamelled meadow land extends like a 
 deep valley between hills and mountains, stretching down to 
 the influx of the Moselle at Coblentz, and from thence to 
 St. Goar and Bingen, gradually narrowing as it advances, 
 the rocks become more steep and the prospect wilder and 
 more sublime. The Rhine is here most charming, enlivened 
 on its course by the populous shores, overhanging rocks, and 
 ruined castles, it appears more like a painting, the inten- 
 tional creation of some artist's genius, than a merely acci- 
 dental combination of nature. The first of the many ruins 
 situated on the Rhine, which we passed in ascending from 
 the flat country upwards, is Godesberg, beautiful, not so 
 much from its majestic situation as from the rich prospect it 
 commands. The Drachenfels next appearing, seem to kindle 
 in the mind glowing anticipations of all the strange wild 
 fastnesses which crown the rocky shores of our mighty river. 
 Such ruins as these are often viewed with a sort of senti- 
 mental tranquillity, as it were, forming a romantic back- 
 ground, indispensably necessary to the development of the 
 favourite feelings of the day ; or, it may be, only as robber 
 castles, which, in times of peace and order, were of course 
 demolished, and which must ever remain in ruins. Many, 
 unquestionably, were such ; perhaps, most of those the ruins 
 of which we now contemplate ; but it is not just always to 
 associate the idea of its latest degradation with the image of 
 the thing itself, and thus in a moment blunt every feeling of 
 sympathy for the noble memorials of departed ages. A 
 candid investigation of historical records will probably show 
 that many of these castles existed for centuries before those 
 perpetual wars between the nobles and rich burghers of 
 which we now read so much, centuries before the feudal 
 law, public peace, &c, were even thought of ; nay, that 
 the German race have ever shown so remarkable a predilec- 
 tion for dwelling upon rocks or lofty mountains, that it may 
 almost be regarded as a national characteristic. A severe 
 and noble taste ! Even now, one glance at the height above 
 seems to place us in another world. It is inspiriting and 
 refreshing to quit the dull monotony of the plain and inhale 
 life and vigour from the clear atmosphere there encircling us. 
 
1804-5.] RUINS ON THE BANKS OF THE RHINE. 183 
 
 If we, who but occasionally and with fatigue reach the sum- 
 mit, feel at once that its breath inspires us with new life and 
 courage, how invigorating must it be to dwell always there, 
 with the earth in her richest attire lying outspread beneath ; 
 the changes of nature, at all periods of the day and in ail 
 seasons of the year, seem invested with new interest ; the 
 passing clouds, the blossoming of early spring, the moonlit 
 summer night, nay, even the autumnal storm and the snowy 
 fields of winter, all have their charms. Those places only, 
 to me, seem beautiful which men call rude and wild ; for those 
 alone are grand, and grandeur and sublimity are essential 
 elements of perfect beauty, for by them our souls are elevated 
 and purified. The joyous aspect of a highly cultivated cham- 
 paign country cannot fail, after long imprisonment in towns, 
 to arouse agreeable thoughts, for the blooming charms of 
 nature have a more than ordinarily powerful and soothing 
 influence on the heart when rarely seen ; but the sweet sen- 
 sation of repose that they communicate has no power to 
 awaken dreams of the mighty past. A rock, on the contrary, 
 stands amid the spirit-treasures of wild nature, like a speak- 
 ing memorial of elemental wars, telling of the fierce combat 
 which once wrenched it from the dissevered earth around, 
 and the eternal impression it leaves is ever unenfeebled and 
 unsubdued. As the rustling of the forest, the murmur of 
 the fountain, plunge us always into a soothing melancholy ; 
 as the wild cry of solitary birds calls up a mingled feeling of 
 unrest, a yearning for freedom and solitude ; so nature herself 
 seems eternally present in her ancient mountains, those monu- 
 ments which recall to us the grandest features of history, 
 and awaken such profound and majestic ideas, as the luxu- 
 riance of a level landscape could never inspire. How greatly 
 is this impression heightened, when amid the ruins of na- 
 ture we also recognise the hand of man ! Lofty fortresses 
 erected on savage rocks ; the monuments of human heroism 
 associating itself on every cliff with the hero-times of nature. 
 The fount of poetic inspiration seems unsealed before us, 
 and the old ancestral river sweeps onwards, in a full stream 
 of poetry and romance. 
 
 From thy proud source unnumbered streams are flowing, 
 Fraught with rich gifts to rouse the poet's soul; 
 
 N 4 
 
184 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5, 
 
 Thy giant rocks point upwards to the goal 
 He too must seek, — the heaven in radiance glowing. 
 
 My chosen Rhine ! Thy torrent onward sweepeth, 
 
 Where on its narrowing course dark mountains frown, 
 And gloomy towers from each stern height look down, 
 
 While awful terror o'er the gazer creepeth ! 
 
 The vessels on thy green transparent wave 
 
 Still hurry far from thee, our German Rhine. 
 They pass — they part — ne'er to return again. 
 
 Pledge the full cup of strength and joy, ye brave, 
 The liquid crystal of our golden wine, 
 And with glad voices swell the heroic strain ! 
 
 The numberless Roman castles, towns, and walls every- 
 where seen on the banks of the Rhine, supply ample food for 
 meditation and reflexion. This river was once the boundary 
 of the Roman dominion. What a remarkable resemblance 
 may often be traced between the most distant periods ! In 
 what an unfathomable abyss of degradation would the whole 
 human race have been plunged, if that Roman boundary had 
 still subsisted ; if the noblest people of the earth had not 
 broken through their chains, abolished slavery, and established 
 in its stead a government founded on truth and freedom, 
 more true to early institutions and the principles of honour 
 and justice, than any other legislature of ancient or modern 
 times ! It is true no boundary so arbitrarily imposed could 
 be permanent ; but we must not attempt to judge of Roman 
 policy by our own ideas and circumstances alone. It appears 
 in the present day a most impolitic scheme to choose a river 
 as a natural boundary between adverse nations, since with us 
 it is rather a medium of commerce and friendly intercourse. 
 A difference of language appears to be the only natural 
 barrier between men, and lofty mountains, or dense and ex- 
 tensive forests, can alone effectually sever countries. In the 
 time of the Romans, however, the natives of southern Ger- 
 many were so ignorant of navigation or the use of engines 
 of war, that the river formed a quite sufficient protection for 
 the conquerors. 
 
 At Rudesheim, opposite Bingen, a most interesting Roman 
 ruin is to be seen, just on the bank of the river. The defile 
 between the rocks is frightfully narrow, and the old German 
 
1804-5.] KUINS ON THE BANKS OF THE RHINE. 185 
 
 tower in the centre of the stream gives a peculiar character 
 to the view. 
 
 The ruined castles which so majestically crown the Rhine, 
 besides the mere wonder and admiration which they excite, 
 give much scope for meditation and reflection ; for one great 
 element, afterwards more fully unfolded in Gothic ecclesias- 
 tical architecture, may be discovered in the preference of 
 the early Germans for steep and rocky dwelling-places. 
 Tacitus, in his history of Hermann and Narbodd, mentions 
 the castles erected by the Germans in their impenetrable 
 forests, and they were indeed common, long before the esta- 
 blishment of fortified towns, which probably were first sur- 
 rounded with walls in imitation of castles ; nay, even before 
 those great assemblages of country houses and cottages, which 
 we name villages, were general. These castles were the 
 residence of princes and warriors, and stood amid the humbler 
 dwellings scattered around for protection against the enemy 
 in time of war, or for safe custody during the armed and 
 uncertain peace. The ancient Germans had no temples for 
 the worship of their gods ; they kindled fires upon the lofty 
 mountains, and brought their offerings to the lonely shore, or 
 the deep recesses of the forest, and the shade of their sacred 
 oaks. They heaped funeral mounds, or barrows, above the 
 bones of their departed heroes, or diverting some river from 
 its course, sunk them in the deep bed of the stream, and then 
 suffered the waters to return to their accustomed channel. 
 The architecture of the ancient Germans, instead of being 
 devoted to temples and monuments, as with other nations, 
 was therefore confined solely to the erection of castles, which, 
 when built upon rocks or mountains, both answered the pur- 
 poses of security and likewise commanded an extensive view 
 around. Many other warlike people thus erected citadels 
 upon rocky eminences ; but the practice has never been so 
 universal among any people as in Germany, where towers 
 and walls seem perched like eyries on bare and rugged 
 peaks, from which they appear suspended in an incre- 
 dible manner, in places rarely scaled by human foot. The 
 choice of such situations must have been prompted by an 
 intense love of nature, an irresistible desire to revel amid 
 scenes of earthly majesty and beauty. The ruins of the great 
 castle of Theodoric, at Terracina, hang from the very pin- 
 
186 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 nacle of the rock, and command an uninterrupted view of the 
 sea. Heavy as the architecture of these castles may have been, 
 rude as in most instances they still remain, thousands were 
 undoubtedly built and crumbled to decay before any one 
 attained the art and splendid beauty of the proud regal 
 fortress of Barbarossa, yet both the style and situation of 
 those old castles had unquestionably great influence on the 
 development of Gothic architecture. In tracing this resem- 
 blance, we must not confine ourselves to single examples 
 only, because although we do occasionally see churches with 
 battlemented towers, or other castle-like peculiarities of 
 general structure, such examples usually belong to a rude 
 and unpolished era. The spirit and design of these moun- 
 tain fastnesses tended powerfully to encourage and excite 
 the daring architectural fancy which prevailed in Gothic 
 churches, from the age of Theodoric down to the present. 
 It became necessary, in building one of these lofty fortresses, 
 to take into consideration the probable requirements both of 
 peace and war ; from the singular nature of the ground, the 
 local circumstances and situation also became points of vast 
 importance. Great irregularity was the natural result, and 
 this soon engendered a pleasure in daring and original schemes, 
 and. gave the first impulse to that wonder-working fancy 
 which still marks the creations of Gothic art. Indeed, this 
 fanciful irregularity, combined with the geometrical figures 
 of the early Christian edifices, solve the whole enigma of 
 Gothic designs. 
 
 The root and living source of all these beauties, is that 
 love of nature which still distinguishes the German character. 
 Her treasures were by them invested with a twofold sym- 
 bolism, especially manifest in early painters of the German 
 school, by whom nature was depicted either as a paradise or 
 a wilderness. The garden and variegated carpet of spring 
 symbolising in its deeper meaning the nuptial robe of flowers 
 adorning the spiritual bride — the church ; the wilderness, 
 by the half-torn veil of eternal sorrow, carrying out the same 
 similitude, and shadowing forth her desolate widowhood. 
 Taken in this symbolic sense, the garden is represented as 
 an elevated, joyous, and brilliant scene ; the desert is actual 
 barren nature, whose dreary aspect ever fills us with the 
 deepest melancholy, and yet wears a mingled charm that 
 
1804-5.] 
 
 STRASBURG MINSTER. 
 
 187 
 
 allures and fascinates the soul ; the child of heaven stands 
 alone in the wild solitude, or wanders around in restless 
 sorrow, ever seeking to regain his father's heart, and mourn- 
 ing his separation and abandonment. This is the twofold 
 impression communicated by nature herself, and by beautiful 
 landscapes or paintings. Each rock-building, therefore, stands 
 in the desert of nature, and her expression harmonises com- 
 pletely with each wondrous style of building, whether it be a 
 strongly fortified castle, or an encampment, walled only by a 
 protecting bulwark of waggons. In a more elevated style, 
 the imitation of nature is not confined to her prison-house of 
 mourning, but it either depicts her in celestial bloom, as the 
 heavenly city of our God, or by symmetrical forms and poly- 
 gonal figures, emblems of creative perfection, shadows forth 
 the spiritual church according to the original plan of perfect 
 ecclesiastical architecture. 
 
 Strasburg. 
 
 The minster in this city is truly deserving of its fame, and is 
 unquestionably one of the most glorious monuments of Gothic 
 art now in existence. It was begun in the year 1015, but 
 not completed till 1275. The tower, commenced in 1277, by 
 Erwin von Steinbach, was continued after his death by his 
 children, Selina and John, until the year 1339. John Huly, 
 an architect of Cologne, completed the erection in 1449. Its 
 situation is not very conspicuous, but open on all sides, and 
 not defaced by small extraneous buildings, as is too often the 
 case. Here, too, the revolution has left destructive traces of 
 its violence ; all the images which adorned the tower having 
 been thrown down during that period. The architecture is 
 extremely rich, belonging to the second period, the same 
 style in which the cathedral at Cologne and St. Stephen's 
 Tower are built. At the first glance it appears to resemble 
 those buildings, but a closer investigation discloses many 
 points of difference. The fioriations are chiefly employed as 
 arabesques. Even the string-courses and cornices of Cologne 
 cathedral are floriated ; in the Strasburg minster the orna- 
 ments are merely spiral. There is a great difference in the 
 general effect, as well as in the individual parts, many of 
 which seem as if they belonged rather to the mechanism of a 
 
188 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 watch, or some skilful fabric in iron work, than to a stone 
 edifice. Strasburg minster, and Westminster Abbey in 
 London, appear to me, in the exterior at least, to surpass the 
 old Italian architecture, which was, in fact, but half Gothic. 
 The great cathedral at Milan, which was built partly under 
 the superintendence of Henry Gamodius, or Gamünd, is 
 scarcely more foliated ; even the towers are not terminated 
 by a spire of open tracery, with a finial or crockets, but by a 
 plain roof, adorned with statues. The whole plan is Gothic — 
 two towers at the western entrance, a tower-like cupola above 
 the choir, and a number of ornamental pinnacles around ; yet 
 it is much less rich in execution, and in the florid abundance 
 of ornament quite curtailed. Many traces of Gothic design 
 also appear in the Santa Maria del Fiore, at Florence, which 
 appears also to have been planned by a German architect, 
 called by the Italians, Arnolfo di Lapo, or Cambie, but the 
 cupola is by Brunelleschi, and is pure Italian.* Bramante 
 had, apparently, some reminiscence of this church in his mind 
 when he planned St. Peters at Rome, that wonder of Italian 
 architecture, — that architecture which, through various 
 changes and modifications, many more of which might un- 
 doubtedly be traced, was gradually unfolded out of the original 
 pure Gothic. 
 
 Besides the two grand divisions of Gothic architecture, we 
 discover, in the circle of its inexhaustible treasures, many 
 evident deteriorations, and occasionally isolated examples of 
 change, which mark the transition from one style to another, 
 and the different epochs of each. The Moorish monuments 
 in Spain and Portugal have all one distinct character ; the 
 buildings of the Templars, whether in the east or the west, are 
 in another different style ; the old Italian marble churches 
 differ widely from the castle-like church, found principally in 
 those provinces of Germany where the art never attained its 
 highest bloom of decorative perfection. To give a compre- 
 
 * Arnolfo died in 1300, and the work was stopped until Giotto was 
 requested to continue it in 1330 ; it was afterwards carried on by Taddeo 
 Gaddi, Andrea Orcagna and Lorenzo Filippi, but the wondrous cupola 
 designed by Arnolfo, was not reared until the time of Brunelleschi, 
 whose zeal and genius triumphed over both the difficulties of the work 
 itself, and the indifference and obstinacy of the building committee. 
 See Murray's Hand-book of Northern Italy, page 494, &c. 
 
1804-5.] 
 
 STRASBURG. BASLE. 
 
 189 
 
 hensive analysis of these several varieties, would require a 
 complete history of Gothic architecture, which, if the true 
 principle were kept strictly in view throughout, would not 
 now be a task of much difficulty, the way having been so com- 
 pletely laid open by various important preparatory labours 
 and antiquarian research. 
 
 Among the old churches at Strasburg, that of St. Thomas 
 completely resembles a fortress in design. 
 
 One of the most remarkable paintings in the collection at 
 Strasburg, is the picture of a saint, by Perugino. It is merely 
 a half-length, without any symbolic attributes ; the back- 
 ground clear and bright. The bended head and subdued 
 glance heighten the expression of loveliness and repose, for 
 which this master is so remarkable. This single figure 
 could scarcely have formed a picture by itself, and it was, 
 probably, the wing of some destroyed altar-piece, or triptic. 
 How many works of art have thus been dissevered in modern 
 times, and are now, by strange and melancholy vicissitudes, 
 scattered abroad, wandering from country to country ! 
 
 The town of Strasburg can boast a Schiller, Scherz, and 
 many other ornaments of their time ; a proof that French 
 domination has not destroyed the spring of German taste and 
 intellect. 
 
 Basle. 
 
 Alsace, also, is a beautiful country. It is true there are few 
 localities resembling those between Bonn and Bingen, but the 
 scenery js agreeable, and the country fertile, sloping gently 
 down from the mountains to the banks of the Rhine. The 
 colour of the river is at Basle a most lovely emerald green, 
 and particularly pleasing. 
 
 The public collection of paintings by Holbein, in the 
 town of Basle, give a deeper insight into the character of 
 that master than his portraits, which, although very ex- 
 cellent, are always in the same manner. His historical 
 paintings are much more varied. A " Last Supper," of 
 his early time, is like Dürer, so also are many of the 
 sketches. Another " Last Supper" resembles Titian, and 
 is rather like the "Pilgrims of Emmaus." Eight small 
 pictures, representing the " Passion of our Lord," are very 
 
190 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-0 
 
 pleasing, from the vivid contrast produced by a brilliant 
 illumination and deep, heavy masses of shadow. The body 
 of the Redeemer, extended, pale, and suffering, reminds me 
 rather of Correggio's treatment of such subjects. In short, 
 great variety is apparent in these historical compositions, and 
 a close approximation to that Italian manner, which Dürer, 
 on the other hand, was always so studious to avoid. 
 
 There is no picture in this collection at all comparable 
 with the magnificent composition at Dresden, in which the 
 burgomaster of Basle and his family are represented in devout 
 prayer before the Virgin, and the Mother of God herself in 
 wondrous humility and beauty, as queen of heaven. This 
 appears to me the crown and flower of all Holbein's works. 
 Besides the pictures already mentioned, there are two female 
 portraits, of small size, drawn after the life, but with symbolic 
 attributes, which, by the laboured blending of the carnations, 
 and the artificial, undecided expression of the features, remind 
 me of the portraits of Leonardo, rather than those of Holbein. 
 A few pictures of the same kind enrich the Mechel collection 
 at Basle. Little now remains of the famous " Dance of 
 Death," once painted on the walls of the Dominican cloisters 
 in that town. 
 
 The situation of the cathedral at Basle is majestic, and com- 
 mands an extensive prospect, but the architecture is extremely 
 clumsy, and far less decorated than in the churches already 
 noticed. 
 
 Berne. 
 
 Entering Switzerland from this side, where the mountains 
 piled one upon the other, tower gradually higher and 
 higher, its singular agriculture, Chalets, and the snowy peaks 
 shining brightly in the sun-light, leave on the mind a sen- 
 sation of pleasure and calm repose, which almost uncon- 
 sciously excites a wish for such a home. This country wins 
 our affection at the first glance, and we seem fully to com- 
 prehend the home-sickness of its exiled children. 
 
 Berne is certainly a fine city, and there are few towns 
 to which I could give that appellation, in the sense which I 
 attach to it. Many may be well situated, and full of noble 
 buildings, yet perhaps side by side with miserable hovels, 
 
1804-5.] c GENEVA. 191 
 
 and often built in every possible style of architecture, as 
 if to exemplify the various errors into which that art has 
 been betrayed. Berne, on the contrary, is well and uni- 
 formly built ; the heavy stone arcades, the size of the town, 
 and strength of the walls, the masses of rock around, the 
 general style of the architecture, and the ancient cathedral, 
 accord completely both with its situation and general cha- 
 racter. The town appears like a mighty castle surrounded 
 in the distance by lofty mountains, the impregnable bul- 
 warks of nature. 
 
 Lake of Geneva. 
 
 The character of the country is here completely altered, 
 and the climate southern. How beautiful is the dark, restless, 
 everchanging lake, covered with vessels, which, in the dis- 
 tance, look with their spreading sails like birds, hovering in 
 flocks upon the surface of the water; beyond are the mountains 
 of Savoy, the snow-capped Mont Blanc, and blooming valley 
 of Chamouni, forming an exquisite picture. We almost 
 imagine ourselves in Italy, and are at least sensible of the 
 vicinity of that lovely land. To me, especially, the warm greet- 
 ings of friendship gave this favoured spot additional charms. 
 
 The situation of Geneva is very fine, though the town 
 itself is sadly deficient in beauty. A certain taste is often 
 apparent in the plan and construction of towns, which, 
 though belonging neither to the German nor Italian style, is 
 characteristic, and when skilfully employed may embellish 
 the most unfavourable circumstances **ud situations. To 
 some nations, however, the taste is denied ; and hence we 
 occasionally see the most splendid gifts of nature defaced 
 and ruined by the mean and wretched works of human 
 hands. No words can adequately describe the beauty of the 
 Rhone at Geneva ; its dark blue waters are so transparent 
 that, as it pursues its impetuous course, the smallest pebble 
 may be discerned at any depth. How different in colour 
 and character from the calm majestic Rhine, and yet how 
 beautiful in its kind ! Further on, its waters are disturbed 
 by the influx of other streams, and the impression of beauty 
 is completely destroyed when it reaches the town, by the 
 unsightly hovels which disgrace its banks. 
 
192 
 
 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-0. 
 
 Lyons. 
 
 Hills and valleys glided rapidly away, while Mont Blanc 
 still reared its lofty snow- crowned head, and I pondered on 
 the time when this majestic country belonged, together with 
 the Burgundian dominions, to Germany ; and when the 
 ancient emperors, the Conrads and Fredericks, held their 
 assemblies of the states in Burgundian cities. 
 
 The observations made on Geneva apply equally to Lyons : 
 the town is as ugly as many of the worst parts of Paris ; the 
 streets, if possible, more narrow and dirty, and the architec- 
 ture French. The climate appears more southerly than that 
 of Geneva, which may perhaps arise from the difference of 
 elevation. The trees were in full leaf, although it w r as the 
 beginning of November, their foliage having but recently 
 been renewed. 
 
 In the collection of paintings, I was much pleased with a 
 " St. John the Evangelist," and a " Bishop," by Perugino ; 
 saintly figures, but merely isolated fragments torn from some 
 grand composition : a small Flemish painting also, the Cru- 
 cifixion, treated in the manner of Dürer, but badly drawn, 
 and somewhat rustic in character. How useless to art, in 
 their present situation, are paintings such as these of 
 Perugino. Paintings which, placed in their proper order 
 and connexion, would be most instructive, seen thus alone 
 amongst a few modern works of but little value, and in a 
 town rarely visited by foreign artists, are comparatively 
 useless. 
 
 The cathedral at Lyons appears to be one of the most 
 rude and heavy I have ever seen. 
 
 Paris. 
 
 The route from Lyons to Paris, through Auxerre and the 
 JBourbonnais, is very uninteresting, flat, yet with a con- 
 tinuous chain of little hills, that weary the traveller without 
 breaking the monotony of the landscape. Probably the vast 
 difference of climate in Germany and France is occasioned 
 less by the more southern latitude of the former, than by 
 the difference of elevation. France is almost entirely level, 
 although there is a chain of lofty mountains in the south. 
 
 It seems probable that the entire extent of the northern 
 
1804-5.] NEW WORK ON GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. 193 
 
 countries of Europe rose at a comparatively recent period 
 from the level of the sea, or possibly may at some period 
 subsequent to its formation have been overwhelmed by the 
 waters, as may be conjectured from the vast tracts of sand 
 existing, more especially in the interior of France. A 
 slightly different impulse in the last great revolution of the 
 waters might have completely changed the face of Europe : 
 Spain would probably have been an island, like England ; 
 the greater part of France under water, and the aspect of 
 Germany also greatly changed. This part of France is, 
 however, decidedly hilly. The mountains of Treves and 
 the Rhine, the Yosges, Mount Jura, the Alps, the Bohemian, 
 Silesian, and Saxon mountains, with the old Hartz further 
 north, seem to enclose it like the protecting walls of a vast 
 enceinte. In traversing the wide extent of country between 
 Paris and Lyons, I remarked the diminutive stature of the 
 people, probably the general badge of their Celtic lineage, 
 and unsubdued even by the intermixture of the noble Ger- 
 man race. Since ugliness seems to be the characteristic of 
 this district, — that flat, inexpressive ugliness too w T hich is 
 most repulsive, — the region should be passed through as 
 quickly as possible, or it will leave but an unfavourable im- 
 pression of the human countenance. 
 
 On returning to Paris, after an absence of any length of 
 time, the aspect of affairs generally seems to have under- 
 gone some change of more or less importance. When we 
 quitted the capital, the oaths of the Federation were being 
 administered, Moreau was in prison, the barriers were closed, 
 and though every thing appeared tranquil, a general feeling 
 of anxiety prevailed. Now, preparations for the coronation 
 occupied every mind, the Pope was expected, and arrange- 
 ments were on foot for a splendid festival, which probably 
 appeared more brilliant in the columns of the Gazette than 
 it was in reality. 
 
 On revisiting the Library, I found there, among many 
 learned novelties and scientific treatises, one on Gothic 
 architecture, by an Englishman. How strangely must the 
 brains of some individuals be organised ! This writer 
 imagines himself to have made an entirely novel discovery, 
 in tracing the foliated tree-like form of Gothic architecture, 
 the lofty avenue-like aisles, leafy vaulting, and the universal 
 
 o 
 
194 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECT URE. [1804-5. 
 
 similitude of every part to the vegetable productions of 
 nature. Yet, instead of recognizing in this the love of na- 
 tural beauties, which was undoubtedly the source whence ima- 
 gination and fancy rose to perfection in the decorated period 
 of Gothic art, he explains every thing materially, from the 
 imitation of I know not what existing objects ; the rude 
 efforts of savage industry, rustic cottages of interwoven 
 osiers, basket-work of various kinds, and similar arbitrary 
 suppositions. Some theorists have found the origin of 
 Greek architecture and its highly artistic colonnades in 
 the imitations of posts and logs of wood, fixed at sufficient 
 depth in the earth and united by beams laid across ; rude 
 contrivances, suggested by the necessities of savage life: 
 and because classic art has been thus reduced to a theory, it 
 is imagined that a similar plan, if adopted, will throw light 
 on the surprising originality of the Gothic. Even could it 
 be historically proved in any single instance that such an 
 idea of imitation influenced any artist in making designs for 
 some particular building, still this would scarcely prove that 
 the original lofty meaning of the Gothic style came from 
 the same source. Such instances of imitation appear rather 
 to be deviations from the general principle, rind we may rank 
 as such a few specimens of mediaeval church architecture in 
 England, which really seem to belong to that class. The 
 universal origin of Gothic art is so widely at variance with 
 this idea, that no such theory can possibly be made appli- 
 cable to it. In its earliest period, namely, that of the oldest 
 Christian style, no traces exist of wicker-work or bough- 
 twined huts, and yet the later Romantic was formed en- 
 tirely on the architecture of that period. Even when the 
 flat roof of the ancient Basilica was abandoned, its lofty 
 domes and cupolas were still retained, or the pointed north- 
 ern roof flattened into an arch ; it was thus that the grand 
 transition was accomplished. The numerous clustering 
 columns, and the attempt to raise the centre vaulting of the 
 choir, high above the side aisles and arches adjoining, led 
 first to the piercing of the roof, and then to the high pointed 
 arch and windows; doorway and tower soon adopted the 
 same aspiring form, thus making each distinct part enter 
 into perfect harmony and symmetry, till the new Gothic style 
 developed itself in full symbolic perfection. Its first elements 
 
1804-5.] 
 
 ITS OBJECT TWOFOLD. 
 
 195 
 
 belong undoubtedly to the early Christian, coupled with a 
 boundless fancy, not shown in the floriation and modification 
 of the side pillars alone, but diffused throughout the build- 
 ing, and giving the highest elevation possible to the chief 
 cupola, and the lofty vaulting of the choir. This twofold 
 object — lofty elevation and variety of ornament — forms the 
 leading feature in the late Gothic, which is merely a high 
 progressive development of that of the early epoch ; for the 
 whole luxuriance of foliated decorations springs from varied 
 combinations of one simple type, the four-leaved rose or 
 flower-like trefoil. It is certainly impossible to trace the 
 origin of these forms back to the bough-twined shepherds' 
 huts, but they were probably chosen at a very early period, 
 and perhaps even without reference to the symbolic regu- 
 larity of their form ; it is, therefore, unnecessary to sup- 
 pose any peculiar meaning was arbitrarily assigned them.* 
 
 I was much gratified by an examination of the new apart- 
 ments which had been opened in the Louvre during my ab- 
 sence. Many of the paintings f I had already seen in the 
 
 * " The leading and predominant lines of Grecian and Roman architec- 
 ture are all horizontal, and this principle continues to have considerable 
 sway in the Romanesque style. One result of the operation of this 
 principle is, that the arch lines in this style are looked upon as having an 
 analogy with the horizontal members. ***** When the pointed 
 arch is adopted the arch line refers to the supporting pillar, not to the 
 entablature ; and considering it a continuation of the pillar, we give it that 
 cylindrical form which implies such an origin. ***** The 
 pillars being thus conducted beyond the capital, we lose all perception of 
 a limitation of them in the direction of their length ; they may be pro- 
 duced in extent and diminished in thickness, as much as we choose. 
 The capitals must be no longer so square as to stop them by a marked 
 rectangular interruption : the common tendency of shafts to prolong 
 themselves indefinitely upwards, makes it natural to place them in con- 
 tact, to form them into clusters, to combine them into groups, and to take 
 up again in the arch mouldings the members of this group. And after 
 this has been done, the formation of those flexible and upward tending 
 lines into the tracery of the roof, and all the varied forms of the richest 
 Gothic work proceeds by a gradation which it is agreeable to trace, but 
 unnecessary to detail." — WhewelVs Architectural Notes on German 
 Churches, p. 31. 
 
 f See the 3rd Letter, and the commencement of the 4th Letter, on 
 Christian Art. The following numbers refer to the " Supplement ä la 
 Notice des Tableaux." Musee Napoleon. An. xiii. 
 
 o 2 
 
196 PRINCIPLES OP GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 restoring apartment, and as they have been already de- 
 scribed, I shall here notice only a few among them. 
 
 There are not many new paintings by Raphael, except a 
 very vigorous portrait of Cardinal Bibiena (No. 1187.), and 
 an "Assumption of the Virgin "(No. 1180.), both however 
 finished by his pupils II Fattore* and Giulio Romano. The 
 latter composition is remarkable from the decided difference 
 of treatment in the upper portion by II Fattore, and the lower 
 attributed to Giulio Romano. 
 
 The " Triumph of Titus and Vespasian," by Giulio Ro- 
 mano (No. 1121.), of small dimensions, has little depth of 
 feeling or severe intellectual correctness of design, but is 
 painted with the almost Roman vigour and richness which 
 characterise that master : his warlike and Roman bias are 
 no less apparent in the " Adoration of the Shepherds " 
 (No. 1112.). St. Longinus in full armour is introduced in 
 a striking manner in the foreground, but the picture is not 
 in other respects very remarkable. A " Holy Family," by 
 Titian (No. 1126.), a half-length, with St. Stephen holding 
 the palm-branch, is quite in that master's earlier style, full 
 of simple loveliness and beauty; the colouring is clear, as if 
 only tinted, with no studied theatrical expression, but vi- 
 gorous, tranquil, and full of feeling. No. 1148. is a " Holy 
 Family," with 66 St. Anthony the Hermit," by Palma Vecchio. 
 This master is here quite himself, simple, lovely, and grace- 
 ful ; a charming proof that a few painters, the Venetians 
 especially, still remained true to their earlier simplicity and 
 truth, even after the reign of mannerism and affectation had 
 commenced. A " Holy Family," with " St. Sebastian," by 
 Giorgione (No. 1115.); light, simple, and powerful, but 
 without the deep truth and science usually seen in that mas- 
 ter's compositions. There are besides several beautiful fe- 
 male portraits by Titian, and others of the Venetian school. 
 The female portraits of that school are in general preferable, 
 though perhaps equal in point of objective truth, to those of 
 Holbein, from the freshness of the carnations, the splendour 
 of the garments, and the animated expression of the coun- 
 tenances. In portraits of men, however, Holbein is more 
 
 * Jean Francois Penni, surnomme H Fattore, parcequ'il faisait les 
 affaires domestiques cle Raphael d'Urbino. — Abrege de la Vie des Peintres, 
 Dresden, lim 
 
1804-5.] PAINTINGS IN THE LOUVRE. 19? 
 
 than equal to them, on account of his greater individuality 
 and solidity of execution. A portrait of Francis the First, 
 by Titian, in which we scarcely feel the power of the mas- 
 ter's hand, so completely is every other feeling absorbed in 
 the repulsiveness of the countenance depicted. Neither the 
 art of a Titian nor a Leonardo could make its ugliness en- 
 durable, or give expression to the fat, stupid, malicious, and 
 treacherous countenance, with its little blinking eyes : labour 
 and skill must here be alike useless. 
 
 The most valuable of these old pictures is a " St. John 
 the Baptist," by Leonardo da Vinci ; a half-length ; the pre- 
 dominant tints brown, and the background dark brown. 
 There is a noble ideality in the contour of the head, and 
 the proud abundance of hair encircling the face, but a pure 
 smile plays around the mouth, and imparts to the counte- 
 nance that grace and loveliness for which all Leonardo's 
 pictures are remarkable, and which afterwards became the 
 rule and guide of the school of Correggio. What wonderful 
 execution ! and how magnificently painted ! The evanescent 
 breath of the expression seems to have been caught as it 
 floated past, transferred at once to the canvas, and there 
 worked out with just sufficient solidity to give it reality. 
 When contemplating such pictures as those of Leonardo, we 
 doubt the authenticity of many which bear his name, and 
 what till now we had thought the highest model of objective 
 excellence in painting, sinks into comparative inferiority. 
 Yet how closely does the highest perfection border upon 
 degeneracy ! Although the works of Leonardo appear to 
 be models of excellence, they contain the germ of that exag- 
 gerated foreshortening, distortion, and other mannerisms 
 which reigned in the school of Michelangelo, on the one 
 hand, and the charlatanism of the chiaroscuro, and the af- 
 fected grace of the Lombards on the other. Painters have 
 been misled, not only by a false idea of nature and truth, by 
 imitating the antique, and copying forms and subjects not 
 applicable to painting, but have even imbibed errors from 
 the various theories of painting itself. I do not allude to 
 those modern ideas, miscalled aesthetic, which, being destitute 
 of both foundation and connexion, can have very little in- 
 fluence either for good or evil, but rather to old theories of 
 art, of some of which Leonardo may be considered the parent. 
 
 o 8 
 
198 PRINCIPLES OF GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. [1804-5. 
 
 The earliest of these theories related only to the mysteries 
 of lineal perspective ; the next embraced chiaroscuro or the 
 perpective of colouring, and foreshortening or the perspective 
 of figures ; but the evils ensuing are to be attributed less to 
 errors which may have crept into the working out of such 
 theories than to the undue elevation of subordinate parts 
 and mere accessories, and the neglect and disregard of high 
 essential principles, and that divine signification which 
 alone makes beauty truly beautiful, and gives ideality to the 
 ideal. When beauty and ideality are spoken of without due 
 reference to that symbolic meaning, the opinions maintained 
 are but frivolous, scarcely more than empty repetitions of 
 philosophical abstractions which, by genuine aesthetic writers, 
 are little known or regarded. I shall notice, in conclusion, 
 a picture by Perugino (No. 1167.), representing the mother 
 of God in a glory of angels ; St. Michael, St. John, St. Ca- 
 therine, and St. Lucy stand below, praying with devout 
 earnestness. The design is simple; but fervent devotion 
 and heavenly love are represented with a radiant effulgence, 
 to attain which should be the painter's highest object. 
 
 We thus found ourselves again in the modern capital of 
 the world, as it is called, where social life whirls on in one 
 unceasing round of pleasures and gaiety, beneath clouds of 
 all-enveloping dust, till that element at length yields to the 
 approach of winter, abandoning the well-known streets and 
 thoroughfares to the no less agreeable dominion of heavy 
 and unceasing rains. 
 
 How completely is this modern world shut out from all 
 sense of the beautiful ! The glorious works of art and beauty 
 now assembled in Paris are enclosed in a few salons which 
 offer a solitary retreat from the bustle of the day, where the 
 silent mind, seeking to foster and cherish its finer sensibilities, 
 may muse alone and undisturbed. In actual life they have 
 now no longer place ; luxury is the all-absorbing deity that 
 governs the hasty revolutions of the fleeting day, amid an 
 universal irregularity of existence, buildings, garments, 
 and the ornamental refinements of life, interrupted only by 
 the fantastic caprice of ever- varying fashion. Will it then 
 be ever thus? will not art at length usurp the place of 
 fashion, and thus ennoble and influence our social life, as it 
 once did among the Greeks, and, at a modern period, during 
 
1804-5.] AN IMPROVED ARCHITECTURE ESSENTIAL. 199 
 
 the reign of Catholicism in the middle ages? One single 
 step alone seems to divide our now wondering astonishment 
 at artistic creations from the true conception of beauty, as 
 it has been handed down to us from ancient times ; but that 
 step is of vital importance, inasmuch as it must free us from 
 the absorbing and overpowering influence of actual life. 
 The painter may, indeed, seclude himself like a hermit or 
 a philosopher in his cell, independent of all around him, and 
 undisturbed by the concerns of the passing moment, may 
 embody in lofty compositions his peculiar genius and cha- 
 racter ; but before any general reformation can be effected, 
 it must be remembered that architecture is the basis and 
 groundwork of all other imitative arts, and that no revival 
 of art can take place until a grand improvement is seen in 
 architectural designs, or till a more artistic style is adopted 
 in our dwelling houses and public buildings. The general 
 absence of all correct style, at this period, leaves us no 
 ground to rest upon. The romantic style of the middle ages 
 may indeed be adopted in a few country houses, as in Eng- 
 land, where these miniature copies are seen in abundance ; 
 the materials exist, but the idea alone is wanting. We may 
 yet erect churches in the glorious style of old Christian 
 architecture, as rich in decoration, and perhaps even more 
 beautifully executed than those of other days; but the 
 spirit of the times leads rather to the desecration and neglect 
 of all the ancient houses of God than to incurring the ex- 
 pense and labour of building and endowing others. 
 
 The remembrance of the glorious times of old, and the 
 hope of a richer future, are all the present can give to art ; 
 but dwelling with these thoughts, apart from external in- 
 fluences, the knowledge of the beautiful may yet be guarded 
 in some faithful hearts, and though no living chords may 
 now respond to their's, time must at length give a new im- 
 pulse to the soul, and sublimity and beauty once more be- 
 come attainable. 
 
 O 4 
 
TREATISE 
 
 ON THE 
 
 STUDY OF ROMANTIC POETRY. 
 
 $art i. 
 
 ON THE 
 
 POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. 
 
 1801. 
 
 In attentively perusing the Decameron, we not only admire 
 the great versatility of the author's genius, combined as it is 
 with an expert and decided hand in the management of details, 
 but discover, besides a certain fixed design in plan and ar- 
 rangement, a distinctly conceived and general ideality, framed 
 and executed with judgment and intelligence. Where such 
 clear intelligence is combined with an instinctive power over 
 the mechanism of a work (this latter quality is frequently 
 but incorrectly termed genius), the glorious apparition called 
 art, which we venerate and welcome as a stranger visitant 
 descending from loftier regions, springs at once into ex- 
 istence. Art is a created as well as a creative power, and 
 under either aspect constitutes perfect organism. The artist, 
 whose imagination dictates, or whose hand creates, has a 
 personal history and characteristics of his own, which, as 
 embodied in his works, it is the true province of the science 
 called criticism to discover and define ; a science, however, 
 which is as yet in its infancy. 
 
 The origin of the thing created may justly be regarded as 
 of paramount importance, and will indeed form the highest 
 point of interest to all whose minds are sufficiently enlarged 
 
PART ij POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. 201 
 
 to grasp the idea in its integrity, and comprehend that most 
 glorious beauty which is ever one with truth. 
 
 Trifling as my present undertaking may appear to those 
 who conceive that grandeur exists only in broad regular 
 masses, there is, I am persuaded, nothing either insignificant 
 or unimportant in thus pourtraying the characteristic pecu- 
 liarities of an original genius, tracing the circumstances of 
 his life, repeated, as it were, in the creations of his fancy, 
 and impeding or promoting the development of his intel- 
 lectual views. I shall make no attempt to conceal the points 
 in which the genius of Boccaccio has failed in the accomplish- 
 ment of its object, since even those failures are of value, as the 
 necessary steps of approximation to what alone is true and 
 perfect, and indicate the loftier eminence, which but for some 
 imperfections of manner or arrangement he might have at- 
 tained ; in fact, a poet's genius is often as fully displayed and 
 confirmed by his unsuccessful efforts, as in the most tri- 
 umphant of his works. 
 
 In those works of Boccaccio which are generally and almost 
 exclusively read, I trace a lofty poetic feeling, an artistic 
 skill in design, grouping, and the characters and personages 
 introduced, and am thus the more easily induced to study 
 such compositions as are comparatively little known, believ- 
 ing that they also will bear witness to the touch of genius. 
 
 With the single exception of the Teseide, I have, I be- 
 lieve, procured every work mentioned by Marini, the com- 
 mentator of the Decameron, although many of these are 
 among the rarest treasures of literature.* There may very 
 possibly be others still extant in Italian libraries, but this 
 I have had no opportunity of ascertaining, neither have 
 I been able to compare many different editions, nor to consult 
 such literary and historical collections as might have given 
 me information regarding them. My observations must, 
 therefore, be confined entirely to the peculiar character of 
 each work, as this is, in my estimation, the most important 
 point to be considered. 
 
 The works of Boccaccio being numerous, and many, as I 
 have before stated, sufficiently rare, a succinct account of 
 those with which I am acquainted can scarcely fail to afford 
 
 * I am indebted to the obliging consideration of the Dresden librarian 
 for my acquaintance with two of the rarest, the Urbano and the Amorosa 
 Visione. 
 
202 POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. [PART I. 
 
 gratification to all true lovers of poetry ; and as either from 
 motives of curiosity, or for my own pleasure, I have read all 
 through, once at least, and many of the best more frequently, 
 I may thus make the time expended on their perusal as far 
 as is possible of general use. 
 
 My own opinion of the genius and artistic feeling of 
 Boccaccio will not perhaps be considered an unwelcome ad- 
 dition. Some of my readers may be induced to give a more 
 favourable reception to those works of our poet which in 
 general are least known and valued, if reminded that among 
 the neglected works of Cervantes a Numantia is known to 
 exist, and that many of the youthful compositions of Shaks- 
 peare have been, not merely neglected, but absolutely re- 
 jected. The simple reason is, that they are too far above 
 the comprehension of ordinary minds to be appreciated by 
 them, and when such persons presume to judge a poet, of 
 whom they are unworthy even to speak, their criticism is 
 unavoidably both captious and superficial, since, far from 
 penetrating the full depth of his intention, they cannot even 
 form the slightest conception of his meaning. Should the 
 correctness of this analogy be disputed, it must at least be 
 acknowledged that one work of any prolific author may, 
 from certain favourable circumstances, obtain so great a pre- 
 ference above others that the latter, in the course of a few 
 centuries, sink into total oblivion ; still this popularity does 
 not necessarily infer superior merit in the favoured work, 
 and the authority of false critics, who arm themselves to 
 censure and condemn, without historical science, or even a 
 feeling for truth and beauty, is still less conclusive. 
 
 Any erroneous opinion once embraced by men of this 
 stamp is repeated almost in the same words, and transmitted 
 from generation to generation, perhaps for a thousand years. 
 As, for example, the commonplace assertion that " a good 
 orator can never be a poet." The prose writings of Boccaccio 
 are most highly esteemed in Italy, and it is, therefore, sup- 
 posed that this profound aphorism may with justice be applied 
 to him. 
 
 I could not have acquiesced in the justice of this opinion 
 even when I had read only the Decameron, for an author 
 who is capable of writing lyric poetry with so much ease and 
 grace as Boccaccio has done in the framework of that splen- 
 did work, must be endowed with a decided talent for poetry. 
 
PART I.] POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. 203 
 
 The truth or incorrectness of such an assertion will be best 
 ascertained by further investigation. 
 
 Before going through the whole series of poems, it will, for 
 many reasons, be advisable to give a slight abstract of the 
 poet's life and history. 
 
 Boccaccio flourished at the period of the revival of Italian 
 literature ; when poetry had reached the zenith of its bloom, 
 and the poems and tales of French and Provencal writers, 
 either in the original language, or by means of translations 
 and imitations, formed the favourite literature of the higher 
 classes throughout all Europe. He was born in the year 
 1313, eight years before the death of Dante, and nine years 
 later than Petrarch ; his own death happened in 1374, in the 
 same year as that of Petrarch. 
 
 He lived for his art alone, and even in early youth broke 
 through the bonds in which his friends would have confined 
 him, and spurned the citizen-like happiness a commercial 
 life might have procured. His worldly position was conse- 
 quently uncertain, and his circumstances generally poor ; still 
 he was employed by the Florentines on several important 
 embassies, but appears to have been less highly favoured 
 by the princes and nobles of his time than his illustrious 
 contemporary Petrarch. As a lover, he offers a complete 
 contrast to the sentimental tenderness of the great sonnet 
 writer, and yet it may be most truly said of him that he 
 lived for love alone. Remarkably handsome and well formed, 
 he frequently recurs to this circumstance as if with pleasure, 
 yet not so much from effeminate vanity as in the recollection 
 of a youth agreeably spent. In his temperament a powerful 
 tendency to voluptuousness was combined with a just and 
 true estimation of the worth, character, and natural dispo- 
 sition of the object beloved. Notwithstanding his variable 
 susceptibility, he failed not to exalt one object pre-eminently 
 above all others ; to her he gave the name of Fiammetta, 
 and her character, the daring ardour of which is well ex- 
 pressed by that name, seems fully to have corresponded with 
 his own, and with the boldness which first gained him favour 
 in her eyes. Her true name was Maria ; she was the natural 
 daughter of King Robert of Naples, herself married to a man 
 of rank, and the sister and friend of Joanna of Naples, whose 
 unhappy fate she shared. 
 
204 POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. [PART t 
 
 It was in Naples that Boccaccio first met Maria, and the 
 influence of that luxurious region, heightened by the first 
 impulses of youthful passion, had a powerful influence in 
 developing the poetry of his delicate and sensitive tempera- 
 ment. Many of his earlier poems were written at the request 
 of Maria ; all have for their theme that beloved one, to whom 
 in manhood, when long years had passed since the brief season 
 of their happiness, he devoted a noble monument of love and 
 poetic talent. 
 
 In considering the earlier works of Boccaccio, I shall first 
 mention the Teseide and the Filostrato, and it should be 
 remembered that all his compositions,, even when no par- 
 ticular date is attached to them, bear sufficient internal 
 evidence of their proper chronological order, in contem- 
 porary allusions, or historical circumstances ; should the 
 style of the work also be taken into consideration in fixing 
 the period of its production, the difference between his earlier 
 experiments and later works is so striking that each may 
 without hesitation be assigned to its proper epoch. 
 
 The Filostrato, a romantic epic poem in stanzas (ottava 
 rlma\ relates the modest history of the loves of the good 
 Troilus and the virtuous Cressida, with the friendly in- 
 tervention of the noble Pandarus, from whose character, as 
 drawn by Shakspeare, every friend who lends his aid in 
 promoting the happiness of lovers is called Pandarus, the 
 name of the good Trojan having thus passed into a proverb. 
 Shakspeare's treatment of this subject in his well-known 
 drama * is generally considered somewhat different from that 
 
 * " Troilus and Cressida is the only play of Shakspeare which he 
 allowed to be printed without being previously represented. It seems 
 as if he here for once wished, without caring for theatrical effect, to sa- 
 tisfy the nicety of his peculiar wit, and the inclination to a certain guile, 
 if I may say so, in the characterization. The whole is one continued 
 irony of that crown of heroic tales, the tale of Troy. The contemptible 
 nature of the origin of the Trojan war, the laziness and discord with 
 which it was carried on, so that the siege was made to last ten years, are 
 only placed in a clearer light by the noble descriptions, the sage and in- 
 genious maxims with which the work overflows, and the high ideas which 
 the heroes entertain of themselves and each other. Agamemnon's stately 
 behaviour, Menelaus' irritation, Nestor's experience, Ulysses' cunning, 
 are all productive of no effect ; when they have at last arranged a single 
 combat between the coarse braggart Ajax-and Hector, the latter will not 
 
PART I.] POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. 205 
 
 of Boccaccio, yet the character of the tale is very nearly the 
 same, in the first part especially. Both are remarkable for 
 a subdued vein of irony, well sustained throughout, and 
 accompanied by a certain delicate and refined humour. It 
 is a tale, and yet nothing seems to happen ; numerous ar- 
 rangements and preparations are made, yet there is neither 
 movement nor action ; long conversations are held, full of 
 heroic sentiments, finely expressed, yet all apparently lead 
 to nothing. Still the very folly is amusing, and the ironical 
 humour, the contrast between the grandeur of the language, 
 inflated even to pomposity, and the roguishness concealed 
 under it, has a peculiar charm. This refined grotesque is 
 most conspicuous in Boccaccio, from the peculiar descriptive- 
 ness of the Italian language ; but the wild and tragic catas- 
 trophe, so suddenly introduced at the termination, which in 
 Boccaccio appears tame and unmeaning, is treated far more 
 effectively by Shakspeare. 
 
 The language and versification are easy and unstudied ; 
 clear, flowing, and very agreeable, though not highly artistic 
 in construction. One need not be an Italian to discover that 
 the stanzas of Tasso and those of Ariosto, even when most 
 careless and unstudied, are far more artistic. Yet I doubt 
 whether the exceeding grace of the one, or the classic ele- 
 gance of the other, could ever have produced this character- 
 istic style of versification. May there not be instances in 
 which the poet, with the highest image of perfection in his 
 mind, and within his grasp, yet voluntarily returns to the 
 
 fight in good earnest, as Ajax is his cousin. Achilles is treated worst : 
 after having long stretched himself out in arrogant idleness, and passed his 
 time in the company of Thersites the buffoon, he falls upon Hector at a 
 moment when he is defenceless, and kills him by means of his Myrmidons. 
 In all this let no man conceive that any indignity was intended to the 
 venerable Homer. Shakspeare had not the Iliad before him, but the 
 chivalrous romances of the Trojan war, derived from Dares Phrygius. 
 * * * * In a word, in this heroic comedy, where, from traditional 
 fame and the pomp of poetry, everything seems to lay claim to admiration, 
 Shakspeare did not wish that any room should be left, except, perhaps, in 
 the character of Hector, for esteem and sympathy ; but in this double 
 meaning of the picture he has afforded us the most choice entertain- 
 ment." — A, von SchlegeVs Dramatic Literature, p. 419. [Although A. 
 von Schlegel does not trace the origin of this play back to the Filostrato 
 of Boccaccio, his opinion of it seems singularly in harmony with that of 
 our author. — Trans.] 
 
206 POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. [PAUT I. 
 
 lively carelessness of his first experiments, concealing the 
 main spirit of the work under the exterior garb of Parody ? 
 Whoever has read this delightful little poem, at a favourable 
 moment, will certainly not desire to see any alteration in it. 
 The versification, too, independently of its appropriateness 
 to the subject, claims the merit of having rendered peculiar 
 service to the art ; for it may be confidently asserted that 
 Bojardo, whose stanzas are almost equal in beauty to those 
 of Ariosto, and certainly cannot have been copied from 
 Pulci, was greatly indebted to his study of Boccaccio ; the 
 latter should therefore be considered the earliest master of 
 that form of verse, although he may not, perhaps, be abso- 
 lutely entitled to the honour of inventing it. These observa- 
 tions refer to the Italian stanza alone ; in Provengal poetry 
 it was adopted much earlier, and even in Italy, although the 
 superior popularity of this work has given it the preference 
 above others, it is not possible, by any fixed date of day or 
 year, to decide which is chronologically the first. 
 
 It becomes then impossible to deny our author the gift of 
 poetic genius, and to pronounce his attempts utterly value- 
 less would immediately compel us to deny the merit of 
 many other Italian poets, and assert that Petrarch alone ever 
 succeeded in bringing rhyme and metre to perfection. Al- 
 though some of the poems of Cervantes are constructed with 
 considerable artistic skill, still they are but few in number, 
 and forming our judgment in proportion to the rank assigned 
 to Boccaccio, the admired versification of Ariosto at least, if 
 not of Tasso also, will scarcely be allowed the name of poetry, 
 and shrink into the mere triumph of mechanical skill. It 
 must, however, be admitted that the construction of the 
 stanza is far from perfect, and this makes it more difficult to 
 estimate the precise importance of the service Boccaccio has 
 rendered to poetry ; still, even the formation of the stanza, 
 however imperfect, cannot be passed over as of slight import- 
 ance. 
 
 If it be thus possible, by refined and intellectual fancy, 
 combined with gaiety and social mirth, to transplant into the 
 sphere of heroic antiquity the ideas and manners of modern 
 times, clothing them in the garb of rhyme and connecting with 
 them the name of some far-famed classic hero, — a fiction, in 
 which the principal events of the history itself are invented, ] 
 
PART I.] POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. 207 
 
 and though in antique, conventional costume, are yet mo- 
 dern in spirit and sense, must offer by far the most favourable 
 subject for such an attempt. The entire poem forms a 
 parody, and in the details gives great scope to the imagina- 
 tion, whilst the florid abundance of ornament preserves the 
 poet from falling entirely into travestie. These considera- 
 tions lead us to expect in the Teseide an unusual degree of 
 excellence ; it is a romantic poem in ottava rima, giving the 
 history of certain love passages between two Theban war- 
 riors of the time of Theseus, Palemon and Arcite, and 
 Emilia, the sister of that king. Of this I have seen only 
 one copy, a bad prose version, edited by Granucci, in the 
 latter part of the sixteenth century. It is scarcely possible, 
 in such a version, to discover the character of the fable. It 
 becomes a little more intelligible under the treatment of 
 Chaucer, who has succeeded in catching the silent, but ex- 
 pressive irony of the original, particularly at the conclusion. 
 In that part where Emilia, having duly mourned the death 
 of one knight, immediately consents to a union with the 
 other. This tale is characterised by a great and almost in- 
 credible degree of simplicity and ingenuousness. Many 
 stories of a similar kind have been transmitted to us from 
 the good old times, but we rarely meet with any so com- 
 pletely rustic as this. The events and their progress are the 
 same in Chaucer as in Granucci, but the latter briefly men- 
 tions several characters, some allegorical, and others mere 
 creatures of fancy, who, in Chaucer, are altogether omitted, — 
 a proof of the rich development of Boccaccio's powers. Gran- 
 ucci also mentions, among the parts which in his ignorance he 
 believed it expedient to retrench, many poetical fictions and 
 Theban histories, borrowed from Statius. This circumstance 
 indicates a marked difference between the Teseide and the 
 Filostrato, which we should otherwise have expected to find 
 very similar. It must have been highly esteemed long after 
 the death of its author, since it was translated into Greek, as 
 well as the history of Florio and Biancafiore and the Pastor 
 Fido of Guarini. Boccaccio himself refers to it in his 
 Decameron, where, in one of the interludes, it is said that 
 Dioneo and Fiammetta sang the history of Palemon and 
 Arcite. 
 
 The " Filopono," which is a prose romance of some length, 
 
208 POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. [PART I. 
 
 treating of various favourite histories of the middle ages, 
 may appropriately take the next place : it has been trans- 
 lated into Spanish and German. In reading the Ameto, of 
 which I shall presently speak, we are strongly inclined to 
 regard it as the earliest prose romance of our poet ; its ex- 
 aggerated constrained manner seems to stamp it so strongly 
 with the character of a first attempt ; it is, however, clearly 
 seen, by comparing the allegorical episode in Filopono with 
 the personal allusions of the Ameto, that the latter belongs 
 to a subsequent period. The Filopono resembles the Ameto, 
 not in style alone, but also in the interlocution and the gene- 
 ral treatment of the dialogue, which appears to be imitated 
 with great vigour and energy from that of the Latin classic 
 authors. There is, certainly, a striking contrast between the 
 childish simplicity of this romantic fable and the studied 
 manner of Filopono ; we recognise, also, a propensity for 
 combining things which in themselves are naturally dis- 
 cordant ; as, for example, in the opening of the work, where 
 Catholic ideas and opinions are clothed in the symbolism 
 and language of classic mythology; Juno personifies St. 
 Mary, Pluto Satan, &c. &c. : in the conclusion of the ro- 
 mance, written some years later, when Florio is described as 
 embracing Christianity, he is made to abjure all heathen 
 divinities, and more particularly the gods of Greece. This 
 romance, however, has more the character of a first trial or 
 experiment, than an entire and finished work. It may be 
 described, in few words, as an attempt to elevate a simple 
 romance into an heroic poem ; a very worthy object, and a 
 field in which the poet has few fellow labourers, except in 
 one single instance, the " Persiles " of Cervantes, which is 
 far more grandly conceived and more happily executed. 
 This is my opinion of the " Filopono," yet it cannot be de- 
 nied that the original fiction is much defaced if not entirely 
 ruined. 
 
 The story of " Florio and Biancafiore," on which that tale 
 was originally founded, is still extant in a German work, 
 imitated from the French of Robert of Orleans* by an 
 
 * These poems stand first in two volumes of the Myllerischen collec- 
 tion, and they are learnedly criticised in Eschinburg's Memorials of old 
 German Poetry. Another poetical version of this romantic tale has since 
 appeared. 
 
PART I.] 
 
 HIS FLORIO AND BIANCAFIORE. 
 
 209 
 
 author who is styled in another poem, " Herr Fleche, the 
 good Conrad." The story is as follows : two beautiful 
 children, both born on the same day, are brought up to- 
 gether and instructed in poetry and all elegant accomplish- 
 ments ; their childish affection ripens unconsciously into 
 love, and they cling to each other with all the fervent guile- 
 less sincerity of youth. The old king, displeased at their 
 mutual attachment, sends his son to Mantua, and this mea- 
 sure proving ineffectual, afterwards sells Biancafiore to a 
 stranger, who carries her to the court of the Sultan of 
 Babylon ; here, as would naturally be expected, her rare 
 beauty leads to her confinement in a strong fortress, guarded 
 by a cruel warder. Florio, returning home too late, is told 
 that she is dead, and on being shown the splendid tomb 
 erected by the old king to give colour to his deception, aban- 
 dons himself to the most passionate grief. His mother at 
 length reveals the truth to him, and he suddenly departs in 
 quest of his beloved.* He soon happily succeeds in finding 
 Biancafiore, and lives with her in concealed love and happi- 
 ness, till being one day discovered with Biancafiore asleep 
 in his arms, both are seized, cruelly bound, and led to exe- 
 cution. The sultan, touched by the spectacle of their resist- 
 less love and generous self-devotion, grants them life, and 
 not only pardons Florio, but makes him his friend, and com- 
 mands a splendid wedding banquet to be prepared. Mes- 
 sengers unexpectedly arrive during the feast, who bring 
 Florio intelligence of his father's death, and urge him to 
 return immediately, and ascend the throne of the deceased 
 king. In conclusion Florio becomes a Christian, and lives 
 
 * In Boccaccio's version, Florio takes the name of Filopono, in refer- 
 ence to the hardships he so willingly undergoes, and which indeed he 
 welcomes as most accordant with the burden of sorrow imposed upon 
 his heart. The part in which this circumstance is mentioned can hardly 
 be considered spurious, and it appears therefore to clear up the dispute 
 concerning the name of the book, which has been corrupted into " Filo- 
 colo," 1 and then into " Filocalo," as if derived from the Greek word Ka\os. 
 The fact that the synonyme of the Greek name Filopono already exists 
 in Caleone militates strongly against the adoption of Filocolo. Fiam- 
 metta's lover is named Caleone in our author's earlier poems ; in the 
 later, Pamphilo. 
 
 1 Called by Sismondi Filocopo. - A 
 P 
 
210 POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. [PART I. 
 
 long and happily with Biancafiore, who in her thirty-first 
 year gives birth to a daughter named Bertha, the same who 
 subsequently became the wife of Pepin, and mother of Charle- 
 magne, the most illustrious sovereign that ever reigned ; 
 and finally,, being a hundred years of age, both die on the 
 same day, and are laid in one grave. There are many 
 striking features in the minor details, as, for instance, 
 Florio's being conveyed into the seraglio concealed in a 
 basket of roses, and his taking advantage of the cruel 
 warder's taste for chess-playing to soften his rugged temper 
 and win him to gentleness and indulgence. The tale forms, 
 on the whole, a very lovely and tranquil romance, of great 
 simplicity and beauty, with few incidents and but little dra- 
 matic action, and requiring to be narrated without any mere- 
 tricious ornaments or allurements. How remarkable is the 
 contrast between this simple fiction and the classical style 
 adopted by Boccaccio, the numerous inferior personages and 
 events introduced, the prolixity which naturally ensues, and 
 finally the crowd of allegorical episodes ! 
 
 One of the most prolix of these episodes is nevertheless very 
 curious and interesting, as it appears to contain the germ of 
 the Decameron. It describes a society of persons who 
 amuse themselves, in the old romantic manner, with discuss- 
 ing subtle questions or topics relating to love, — " Questions 
 d'amour," as they are called : both question and answer 
 being usually given in the form of some slight but appro- 
 priate tale. In this romance also, as may well be supposed, 
 we recognise Fiammetta. Boccaccio's descriptions of feminine 
 persons and attire arc always superlatively excellent ; here 
 
 * " Filocopo, certo tal norae assai meglio ch' alcun altro mi si confa, 
 et la ragion perche, la vi dico. Filocopo e da dui greci nomi eöposto, da 
 philos, et da copos, philos in greco täto uine a dire in nostra lingua 
 quäto amatore, et copos in greco similmente täto in nostra lingua 
 resulta quäto fatica, onde cogiunto insieme, si po dire, amator di fatica, 
 
 et in cui piü che in me fatiche d' amore siano al presente nö so 
 
 Piacque a tutti 1* auiso di Florio, et lo nuovo norae, e cosi dissero da 
 quell' bora innäzi chiamarlo infino a tanto che la loro fatica terminata 
 fosse con gratioso adepimeto del loro disio." (From // Filocopo, libro 
 quarto, published at Venice, 1575.) — Trans. 
 
 " Florio aggiunge a Napoli, dove raccolto dalla Fiammetta e da 
 Galeone, nome finto del Boccaccio, e da loro notabilmente intratenuto." 
 (Filocopo, libro quinto, p. 186.) — Trans. 
 
PART I.J 
 
 HIS AMETO. 
 
 211 
 
 he especially extols lier dark brilliant eyes, and describes 
 the impression they produced upon his heart. 
 
 An author is not always the most competent judge of the 
 value of his own compositions, and it frequently happens 
 that a work may be most decidedly unsuccessful, without his 
 being in any degree aware of the failure. He alone can 
 appreciate the grandeur of his aim, the earnest struggle of 
 his genius, and thus is frequently led to attach peculiar 
 value to a favourite production, and judging it from his own 
 standard, to estimate it far too highly. It seems, therefore, 
 quite possible that Boccaccio himself may have valued the 
 Filopono very highly, preferring it even to the Decameron : 
 he certainly bestowed infinitely more labour upon it than on 
 the latter. 
 
 The subjects introduced as episodes into the Filopono form 
 the sole contents of the Ameto, which is an allegorical 
 romance throughout. It is founded on the circumstance of 
 a rude shepherd hind being elevated and ennobled by the 
 creative power of love, and is related in the usual style of 
 such pastoral tales. The manner of this transformation, 
 however, is no further developed ; the chief portion of the 
 interest being sustained by seven women, whose persons and 
 attire are elaborately described. Each of these women gives 
 in turn an account of her family and descent, her fate in 
 life, and especially the history of her first and earliest love, 
 concluding with a hymn in terza rima, addressed to some 
 goddess of antiquity. Ameto himself is merely a silent 
 spectator. The incidents in the tale are few and unconnected, 
 and the book opens and concludes with a few general obser- 
 vations on the passion of love. Still there is an individual 
 truth in the histories related, which stamps each character 
 with reality, and would alone, without any previous informa- 
 tion, convince the reader that the poet intended to describe 
 his own personal friends. All, however, finally fade into 
 allegory, and are made to personify the four earthly and 
 three heavenly virtues. The histories are clothed in the 
 garb of mythology, and Catholic ideas are presented under 
 this old mythical language, as in the opening of Filopono. 
 The family and descent of each lady is dwelt upon as of 
 great importance, and wherever it is possible, a history of 
 her native country or city is superadded. Both in style and 
 
 p 2 
 
212 POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. [ PART I. 
 
 language it strongly resembles the most valuable histories of 
 the ancients. The characteristic features, above noticed, will 
 convey some idea of the unusual construction of this romance. 
 The form of the verse is irregular, and the periods confused ; 
 it wants the graceful vivacity of his sonnets and canzonets, 
 and although treating entirely of classical subjects in antique 
 language and imagery, is very deficient in vigour and inter- 
 est, and appears in general tame and insipid. The prose, 
 on the contrary, is admirable, and in some parts incomparably 
 beautiful. Many of the tales would bear comparison in point 
 of style with the best in the Decameron. The character of 
 Dioneo is, perhaps, the most striking among those of the 
 lovers here portrayed, and the peculiar decision and par - 
 tiality with which it is drawn, will stamp it indelibly on the 
 mind of every reader. In describing the persons and appro- 
 priate allegorical attire of the women, Boccaccio has almost 
 surpassed himself. It would be difficult in any other romantic 
 poet, Cervantes alone excepted? to find descriptions of attire 
 at all comparable to these, from the rich painter-like skill 
 with which they are imagined. 
 
 It will be easily supposed that Fiammetta is not absent 
 from this company of noble and lovely dames : she personi- 
 fies Hope, and is described as clad in green robes, with a 
 bow and arrow in her hand ; her head-dress is of gold and 
 pearls, surmounted by a garland of red and white roses. She 
 -relates the daring boldness through which her lover won her 
 favour. Though far beneath her in birth and station, they 
 had frequently met and conversed, but never alone, nor had 
 he ever had an opportunity of declaring his passion, until 
 once, during the absence of her husband, he found means to 
 conceal himself in her apartment, armed only with a dagger 
 and his own dauntless spirit ; then discovering himself to 
 her, he revealed his love, the history of its origin and growth, 
 declaring that should she refuse to listen to him he was 
 firmly resolved to die by his own hand, and in her presence. 
 Their conversation, Fiammetta's astonishment and secret 
 emotion ; his earnest, irresistible pleadings, — all are depicted 
 with such vivid truth and glowing eloquence, that we feel no 
 surprise when the ardour of his impassioned affection at 
 length triumphs over every obstacle. Boccaccio has intro- 
 duced this same adventure, with some slight alterations, into 
 
PART I.] 
 
 HIS DECAMERON. 
 
 213 
 
 another of his tales, and frequently recurs to it with evident 
 pleasure and delight. 
 
 A date in the story of Emilia proves the Ameto to have 
 been written later than the year 1340 ; it must therefore be 
 numbered among the latest youthful efforts of our poet. 
 Leah seems from her position to be the chief personage 
 among the seven : she personifies Faith, and is already known 
 by Dante having made her the symbol of Contemplation. * 
 
 The symbolism of Dante exercised as powerful an influence 
 on Boccaccio as on Petrarch, drawing both poets completely 
 out of their own proper sphere. To the unhappy operation 
 of this reverence for a superior but dissimilar genius, we owe 
 the " Amorosa Visione " a poem in terza rima, containing 
 merely a simple allegory of happiness and love, into which 
 nearly all the erotic poetry of the ancients is interwoven ; 
 but this treatment does not produce the effect of novelty, and 
 rather justifies the unfavourable opinion usually entertained 
 of Boccaccio's poetical talent. If the Trionfl of Petrarch be 
 considered as an unsuccessful imitation, what can be said of 
 the Visione, ranking as it does so far below the Trionfl ? it is, 
 indeed, the only work of Boccaccio's which it cost me great 
 determination and self-command to read to the end. Most of 
 the allegorical personages mentioned in the Ameto, and with 
 whom we are already acquainted, are repeated here. One 
 surprisingly ingenious contrivance deserves notice : the 
 initial letters of each tezzetto, throughout the poem, form a 
 kind of preface, consisting of two sonnets to Fiammetta, and 
 one canzonet, addressed to the reader. 
 
 The Decameron ranks first among the productions of 
 Boccaccio's manhood, both from its internal character, and the 
 period at which it was written ; the first part appeared in 
 1355, at which time Boccaccio was forty years of age. The 
 plot is an imitation of the Urbano : in the latter romance 
 numerous unfortunate fatalities occur, ending in a satisfac- 
 tory adjustment and general happiness. The treatment 
 resembles that of the grand serious novels in the Decame- 
 ron, except that the Urbano is somewhat more developed, 
 and ought therefore to gain rather than lose by the compari- 
 
 * Venturi, in his notes on Dante, canto second, explains Rachel to be 
 the symbol of contemplative, and Leah of active life ; the prototypes of 
 Mary and Martha in the New Testament. — Trans. 
 
 p 3 
 
214 POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. [PART I. 
 
 son. We might question whether our author intended to com- 
 mence with one single experiment before treating the great 
 mass of his novels, or designed and carried out at once his 
 general outline to develope it more fully afterwards. The 
 former supposition appears the most probable, as in the latter 
 case the difference in details would have been more striking, 
 and the design itself more remarkable in scope. I should 
 rather cite the Ninfale Fiesolano as an instance of one single 
 story worked up into an independent tale of poetic form, em- 
 bracing the favourite cycle of mythological ideas and costume, 
 and I am confirmed in this opinion, by the fact that the story of 
 Africo and Menzola may clearly be recognised as forming the 
 groundwork of the Ninfale. It is a long and pleasing poem, 
 vigorous and animated ; the only example to be found of a 
 versified novel, or a romantic epic poem in such small com- 
 pass. Boccaccio here confirms by his example what Cervantes 
 and Shakspeare have already proved ; that a single original 
 subject may be rendered sufficiently interesting, and that it 
 is not necessary to combine a whole Flora of tales into a 
 romantic banquet or symposium ; yet, in the Decameron 
 this is so beautifully done, that it seems to stand above the 
 restraint of all ordinary rules, an enduring example for suc- 
 ceeding authors. The language of this poem has more free- 
 dom and elevation than usual, yet the stanza retains all its 
 original grace and vivacity. We might even compare it to 
 the poetical style of Poliziano, in those famous stanzas of his 
 from which Ariosto learned so much for his own versification : 
 the free flight and antique vigour of the style are unrivalled 
 in later Italian poetry. 
 
 The " Labyrinth of Love, or the Scourge," appeared, as 
 we judge from a certain indication in the body of the work, 
 nearly at the sanre time as the " Decameron." The plot is 
 well contrived, and the style excellent ; yet the peculiar 
 favour with which this work has been regarded may be partly 
 attributed to the circumstance that it is, as announced by 
 the title, a sufficiently decided satire on the female sex. It 
 is mentioned under this title as a most famous book, and in- 
 troduced, among other old poems, in the Spanish Cancionero. 
 The author, speaking in the poem in his own person, re- 
 lates, that having been unfortunate in love, and even scorn- 
 fully rejected by the object of his passion, he had formed 
 
PAKT I.] 
 
 THE F1AMMETTA. 
 
 215 
 
 the design of destroying himself : his internal conflict, and 
 long meditations and reflections are fully described, till at 
 length he becomes so far tranquillised, that he resolves 
 again to enter the society of his fellows and taste the plea- 
 sures of social existence. Still further soothed by this de- 
 termination, he once more sleeps calmly, and sees a vision, 
 from which, as may easily be imagined, the poem takes its 
 title, " The Labyrinth of Love." In his vision, he meets 
 with an aged man, no mythical figure, but, on the con- 
 trary, the deceased husband of the scornful lady. The old 
 man has no ideal notions of woman-worth, and gives the 
 lover so ample and detailed an account of all the imperfec- 
 tions, physical and mental, with which the lady of his love 
 is burdened, that his passion is effectually subdued, and him- 
 self restored to reason. General invectives against the sex 
 appear to be necessary accompaniments of the subject ; yet 
 personal revenge, of which Boccaccio, under such circum- 
 stances was undoubtedly very susceptible, had probably the 
 greatest share in its origin. 
 
 Boccaccio's "Life of Dante" is extremely valuable, not 
 only as a memoir of that great poet, but from the manly 
 eloquence of the style ; it must not, however, be judged 
 simply as biography, since it was rather a discourse ad- 
 dressed to the Florentines, an apology or defence of their 
 exiled poet. That it accomplished its object is best proved 
 by the fact, that Boccaccio was afterwards retained by the 
 republic to give lectures on the works of Dante. 
 
 Boccaccio's general opinion of Dante is somewhat remark- 
 able. He holds his poetry to be the material veil, the 
 earthly garb enveloping things invisible and divine, and 
 therefore considers it a kind of Theology, more intelligible 
 and pleasing than the science to which that name is usually 
 given. Yet Boccaccio certainly does not understand the 
 term Allegory in the same lofty sense which his acquaint- 
 ance with the ancients, and with Dante himself, would lead 
 us to expect ; but rather indicates by this title the empty 
 symbolic discourses of mere teachers of morality. Still the 
 old idea of poetry, as conceived by Boccaccio, is indeed a 
 deeply rooted and productive principle, and has far more 
 reality than the hollow notions imbibed from foreigners, and 
 which, insipid and soulless as they are, self-styled critical 
 
 p 4 
 
216 POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. [PART I. 
 
 philosophers have elevated into a science, and stamped with 
 the title of ^Esthetics. I mean those very barren ideas 
 which lead to representations in which no idea of nature is 
 existing, and conceptions of beauty in which the idea of 
 divinity or spirituality has no part. 
 
 We meet with similar opinions on the subject of poetry 
 in Boccaccio's later works on Ancient Mythology, which 
 however do not lie within our sphere at present ; neither 
 can we notice those on the History of Philology, and the 
 reproduction of ancient literature. I cannot refrain from 
 mentioning, that in drawing up these later works, he appears 
 to have been greatly influenced by the waitings and ex- 
 ample of Petrarch, whom he regarded with unbounded 
 reverence. There is also in all his learned works a remark- 
 able tendency to promote the revival of ancient mythology, 
 and give new life and vigour to the promulgation of its sym- 
 bolism. The same design forms the groundwork of his 
 poetry, as may be seen in many instances, when old fables 
 and the attributes of the heathen gods are unsuccessfully 
 applied, and still more in the idea which he, in common 
 with many other poets of the old school, boldly conceived, of 
 framing from the allegorical materials of their own time a 
 new and peculiar sort of mythology. A fertile idea, in the 
 attempt to execute which many great masters of modern 
 poetry were wrecked. 
 
 I have still to speak of the " Fiammetta," that wonderful 
 tribute of affection which Boccaccio, when in the zenith of 
 his intellectual powers and poetic gifts, dedicated as an un- 
 dying memorial to the glory of his youth's beloved. It is a 
 novel in several books, or rather discourses, in which Fiam- 
 metta speaks in her own person, depicts her brief happiness 
 in glowing colours, and the sudden separation by which it 
 was too early blighted. This, however, is but the com- 
 mencement of the book, the chief part of which relates to 
 her grief at that separation ; her longing passionate re- 
 gret, which is fondly dwelt upon, with all the wayward follies 
 into which her suffering betrayed her. The distracting 
 jealousy, in the midst of which hope nevertheless dawned 
 upon her heart, rising higher and higher, till just as she 
 seemed to reach the summit, it proved but a delusion and 
 deceit : then as time passed on and she received no tidings of 
 
PART I.] 
 
 ELEGANCE OF HIS STYLE. 
 
 217 
 
 her beloved, the sorrow which oppressed her became daily 
 more intense and deeply rooted, till at length resigning herself 
 to hopeless despair, she lived on in the silent anguish of eternal 
 grief. There are few incidents in this novel, few person- 
 ages or characters are introduced ; everything is largely 
 imagined and taken in a general and universal sense. It is 
 love, and only love. The entire work is inter-penetrated 
 with longing love, mournful complainings, and concealed but 
 passionate and fervent affection. Even the charm which 
 might be derived from an imitation of the feminine style in 
 writing is disdained as unworthy the grandeur of this elegy, 
 which might be laid as an offering on the altar of love, with 
 the sonnets of Petrarch, and the finest poems of antiquity. 
 
 As I dare not anticipate that every one who believes him- 
 self capable of deciding on the lofty beauty of a fine and deli- 
 cate subject, simply worked out, will coincide with me in my 
 opinion of the merit of any work so entirely subjective, I will 
 merely speak of it in reference to the style, which stamps it, in 
 the opinion of every intelligent reader, as one of the finest 
 productions of our author. One uniform tone is preserved 
 throughout ; the charm of variety in language, manner, and 
 colouring, is disdained. Cervantes, from the flexibility of 
 his prose writings, and the rich use he makes of light and 
 shade, every change of which seems but to wait his bidding 
 to give expression and grandeur to his style, and prove at 
 the same time the elevation to which he could raise it at 
 pleasure, is a far more fascinating writer than Boccaccio, even 
 in the " Decameron." Yet I must assert, without prejudice 
 %r partiality, that although Cervantes is decidedly the 
 greatest, perhaps with the exception of Boccaccio the only, 
 prose writer of the Romantic era, we find nothing in his 
 works at all comparable to the " Fiammetta," in the lofty 
 beauty and internal perfection and development of the style. 
 It may be affirmed, without exaggeration, that the most 
 graceful and exquisite passages of the " Decameron " appear 
 but as distant echoes and aspirations when compared with the 
 expressive excellence of that work. If the most exalted 
 characteristics of modern poetry were not so often forgotten 
 and denied, it would not be necessary to enter into a critical 
 disquisition on this noble example of the simplest yet 
 highest development of the poetic art. 
 
218 POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. [PART I. 
 
 Boccaccio attained this excellence in the formation of his 
 style one year only after producing the " Ameto." Still, 
 nothing disproves the possibility of the " Fiammetta" having 
 been written earlier than the " Decameron," and there are 
 no external indications to guide us in forming a conclusive 
 opinion. Whether it be placed prior to or after the " De- 
 cameron," in point of time, there can be no question that 
 his genius as a poet, and the perfection of which his style 
 was susceptible, must be estimated from this work, which is 
 in every particular so strikingly elegant and refined. 
 
 To attempt to describe the "Decameron" would be super- 
 fluous, and my preceding observations on other works of 
 Boccaccio will make the framework or setting of that ro- 
 mance incomparably more intelligible to those whose ac- 
 quaintance with his productions is confined to this work only ; 
 for his favourite method of interweaving a garland of lovely 
 tales, with a well-grounded and almost geometrically arranged 
 picture of his familiar circle, may be traced in various gra- 
 dations throughout all his earlier works. The characteristics 
 of the "Novelle" must be sought in each separate tale, for each 
 has its own specific distinct character and peculiar stamp ; 
 and as many among them have been imitated or remodelled 
 by masters of importance, their imitations must be compared 
 with the treatment of Boccaccio himself, and this if possible 
 at the source which we very often can neither find nor have 
 means of possessing. Every poetical version, or other artistic 
 alteration of a tale, leads to endless diversity of narration, 
 yet some original features must be left, from which the foreign 
 treatment is easily discerned, whether it be in harmony 
 with the groundwork or not. It would be very advan- 
 tageous to our theory to trace one single novel through the 
 whole course of various remodellings and alterations which 
 it may have undergone ; but I must not here venture on so 
 discursive an attempt, it being my intention to confine myself 
 to the study of one single master. It may not, however, be 
 irrelevant to the subject to point out in few words such 
 general characteristics of that branch of literature as may 
 lead to the establishing a correct idea of its requirements. 
 The method I shall pursue for the attainment of my 
 object will perhaps be thought somewhat singular. In the 
 first place, I shall consider the productions of that poet, who 
 
PARTI.] GENERAL REMARKS ON ITALIAN POETRY. 219 
 
 may justly claim the distinction of having been the first 
 inventor of the novel and the founder of that style, and seek, 
 by examining his works, to find a clue to the individual 
 peculiarities of the entire family. 
 
 We cannot hope to trace a poet's general character with 
 any degree of correctness, until w^e have discovered his true 
 place in that circle of art of which he forms but an isolated 
 member. His compositions must be carefully compared 
 with such others as appear to be the basis of any cycle of 
 art ; and an individual who understands the general spirit 
 which ought to animate a novel, and is not deficient in 
 , earnest and serious study, will have no reason to com- 
 plain of want of success in his experiment, nor will he 
 find it a difficult task to trace the outward representation 
 back to its origin, and discover its source and internal orga- 
 nisation. I allude to this merely as indicating the sort of 
 mental acquiescence which I must bespeak for the following 
 remarks. 
 
 It is undoubtedly true that Dante, the seer and inspired 
 priest of nature, the enlightened poet of Catholic faith and 
 knowledge, rose far above the usual limits of Italian genius, 
 and stands, as it were, removed from all comparison with 
 other poets of his nation. Therefore, in contemplating the 
 poetry of that country under one general aspect, and allowing 
 what I have here merely assumed to be known and acknow- 
 ledged, because the proof of its correctness would require 
 to be too deeply investigated, and carry me too far from my 
 present purpose, in tracing the general development of 
 Italian poetry, so great a poet as Dante ought not to be in- 
 cluded in our retrospect. 
 
 G-uarini also is more free from nationality than most 
 other poets of his country. The object he seeks to attain is 
 far different from theirs ; ideal beauty is his only aim, 
 and this he seeks, not in the highest artistic perfection, nor 
 in the incomparable depth and ease of his delineations, but 
 rather in antique inspiration, and the full burst of harmony. 
 To this source we may trace his classical grace and elegance, 
 and the harmonious power of his language and arrangement. 
 In whatever estimation his subjects may be held, he certainly 
 stands alone in regard to style, and has neither prototype 
 nor imitator among the Italian poets. The beautifully classic 
 
220 POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. [PART I. 
 
 language of Tasso is of a different character, and distinctly 
 belongs to the elements of romantic love and grace. Even 
 his imitations of classic idylls are in the same tone, and 
 though his beautiful style is unalloyed by any intermixture 
 of national peculiarities, the element of antique beauty is 
 less predominant in him than in Guarini. 
 
 It is not thus with Ariosto, Petrarch, and Boccaccio : they 
 all bear alike the strongest marks of the national charac- 
 teristic, stamped in features never to be mistaken ; their 
 manner and versification have been adopted, indeed, as 
 national, and are distinctly seen in all the old poetry of that 
 country. Italian literature seems filled up by a countless, 
 host of imitators, some among whom have a certain degree 
 of merit, although inferior to their prototypes, in whom we 
 find the germ of Ariosto, and sometimes even of Petrarch. 
 Yet the same fact is apparent both in the predecessors and 
 followers of any particular master, namely, that they differ 
 only in the degree of artistic feeling and cultivation. 
 
 I consider Dante, Italian as he is, and betrays himself 
 to be by his mannerisms in style and expression, to be 
 removed quite out of the sphere of their ordinary national 
 poetry by his vast comprehensive genius and poetical in- 
 vention. Guarini is also, as it were, an episode in Italian 
 national poetry, the peculiar characteristics of which are 
 best defined by a reference to the style of Boccaccio, Petrarch, 
 and Ariosto. The language of Tasso appears to me almost 
 perfect, pure from any national peculiarities, and not con- 
 fined within the conventional limits of romantic beauty. 
 He does not, however, attain the same height of excellence 
 in the extent and importance of details. 
 
 The sonnets of Petrarch, if examined with the eye of 
 taste, strike us most vividly from the super-excellent and 
 wondrous objective art employed in the treatment of themes 
 so entirely and remarkably subjective. The beauty and 
 harmony of both arrangement and material appear to de- 
 pend on the objective and subjective tendency being com- 
 bined in due proportions : together with that exquisite skill 
 in mechanism and imagery which each Italian poet so 
 earnestly strove to attain. In Petrarch, both are harmo- 
 niously blended. Ariosto leans rather to the side of objective 
 clearness. Boccaccio's works, on the contrary, are remark- 
 
PART I.] GENERAL REMARKS ON ITALIAN POETRY. 221 
 
 able for their strong subjective tendency. If this peculiarity 
 is not to be regarded as a fault, but rather as in accordance 
 with direct principles of art, requiring an author either to 
 describe his own personal feelings with the greatest possible 
 truth and intensity, or else to transfuse them, as it were, 
 into his imaginative works, revealing them, through the 
 medium of mysterious yet intelligible images, the Fiammetta 
 must be allowed to possess all these properties in the greatest 
 brilliancy and perfection ; and if our idea of the character 
 of the novel be formed in reference to this tendency of the 
 painter's genius, we shall gain a fixed central point from 
 whence to form a judgment of all his works, which will then 
 be considered, not as arbitrary experiments, vacillating and 
 wavering between both elements, or striving ineffectually 
 to unite them, but as preparatory works, approximating 
 more or less to the true ideal of the novel, as embodied in 
 the Fiammetta. 
 
 A romance must indeed be entirely personal, subjective in 
 design and intention, conveying indirectly, and almost sym- 
 bolically, the deepest individual feelings and peculiarities of 
 the author. I could easily multiply examples in support of 
 this assertion, and would ask, in the first place, why among 
 the novels of Cervantes, when all are so exquisite, do some 
 appear so much more beautiful than others ? By what magic 
 are our hearts sometimes touched, and our souls exalted to 
 the perception of a wondrous and unanticipated beauty, 
 except by the strong individuality and personal feeling which 
 pierces, almost unconsciously as it were, through the language 
 of fiction, and the veil of poetic feeling ; or because the 
 singular ideas therein expressed are employed to convey such 
 opinions of his own, as from their personality and profound- 
 ness could scarcely have been imparted under any other form. 
 Why does the Romeo of Shakspeare stand so far above all the 
 other dramas of that poet, except that in the first delighted 
 gush of youthful passion and enthusiasm he deemed that work 
 a fitting shrine for the outpouring of his emotion, with which 
 the entire poem thus became filled and interpenetrated. No 
 particular dissertation can be necessary to prove that such 
 indirect revelations of personal feeling are in many instances 
 far more affecting and appropriate than its undisguised ex- 
 pression in simple lyric effusions, and the slight mystery en- 
 
222 POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. [PART L 
 
 veloping the sentiment invests it with a higher charm. The 
 novel is in the same manner peculiarly fitted for similar 
 mysterious allusions to the subjective feeling and personality 
 of love, because, though objective in style and formation, 
 dwelling circumstantially on descriptions of character and 
 costume, it nevertheless gives a general view of the manners 
 and sentiments of that refined society, to which it owes its 
 origin, and which has ever been its peculiar home. Thus, 
 too, it rose into existence in the age of chivalry, when religion 
 and refinement of manners constituted the essential elements 
 of society in the noblest portion of Europe. These peculiar 
 features belong to the character of the romance itself. It is 
 an anecdote, a history as yet unknown, and related, as one 
 might in society relate a tale, the interests of which centers 
 entirely in itself, without any reference either to time, 
 national feeling, or the progress of humanity, and the degree 
 of civilisation. It is a history, which, strictly speaking, be- 
 longs not to history, and which, even in its birth, brings with 
 it into the world a foundation for irony. The interest of the 
 narration rests entirely on its form and treatment, which 
 ought to be generally recognised as pleasing or remarkable, 
 and the skill and art of the narrator should soar proportion- 
 ately higher, because the charm of the narration depends on 
 his style and treatment. The interest may be kept up, 
 and the listener amused by any agreeable trifle, an anecdote, 
 or even less than an anecdote, and every other thought being 
 completely excluded by the rich inventive faculty of the 
 author, his readers not only yield themselves willingly to the 
 pleasing deceit, but enter with genuine interest into the 
 details of the most trifling events. Many of the tales in the 
 Decameron belong to this class, those especially in the later 
 Florentine portion, which are little more than fanciful inven- 
 tions. The Licenciado Vidriera, of Cervantes, is by far the 
 most beautiful and intellectual tale of this description. But, 
 as in good society, people are usually disposed to listen with 
 pleasure to any trifling anecdote, if the manner of the narra- 
 tor be refined, polished, and agreeable, so the germ and 
 origin, both of the novel and of these lesser productions, is 
 the same. Still, charming as the peculiar humour of the 
 author may be, a constant repetition of the same theme 
 would soon produce weariness instead of pleasure. There- 
 
PART I.] GENERAL REMARKS ON ITALIAN POETRY. 223 
 
 fore, when the first bloom of invention is exhausted, a judi- 
 cious author frequently selects some already familiar point 
 in history, and so transforms it by his manner of relating, 
 that it becomes invested with all the grace of novelty : a 
 number of appropriate themes will immediately present 
 themselves to his mind, all of an objective character, and 
 more or less interesting ; but in selecting one from their 
 number, he must be guided by his own subjective or per- 
 sonal inclination, which will undoubtedly lead him to prefer 
 those which refer with a greater or less perfect expression 
 to his peculiar feelings and circumstances. How, indeed, 
 would it be possible to listen with attentive interest to any 
 narrator, supposing his histories to be devoid of internal 
 connexion, either with history or mythology, unless he 
 inspire us with some dawning interest in himself personally? 
 We too frequently see this natural property of the novel en- 
 tirely overlooked and disregarded, while an attempt to give 
 the highest finish possible to the work entirely destroys that 
 essential element of art, Which I should style symbolism, 
 since through its medium the subjective or personal feeling 
 of the author reveals itself in its fullest power and intensity. 
 By whatever name this property may be designated, it will 
 always be distinctly and decidedly recognised as the highest 
 point of excellence in romance or novel writing. 
 
 At this point the question naturally arises, a3 to which of 
 Boccaccio's novels contains the fullest measure of personal 
 and individual feeling. I should undoubtedly mention the 
 history of Africo and Menzola ; the Ninfale Fiesolano ; the 
 influence of love softening and bringing to perfection the 
 rude masculine vigour of youth — a glowing ardent voluptu- 
 ousness, and undisguised sense of enjoyment — happiness too 
 quickly interrupted by sudden separation — the anguish of 
 parting — the passionate sorrow of the lovers, and their im- 
 petuous and impatient wish for death. These are everywhere 
 the characteristic ideal features of Boccaccio's love. 
 
 Many other novels in the Decameron will however be- 
 come more expressive and intelligible, if associated with 
 our recollections of the Fiammetta, or even Corbaccio. 
 
 The poetry of the new era was, at its commencement, ne- 
 cessarily wild and untrained, that original and natural 
 fount, that exhibition of the divine agency whence it derives 
 
224 POETICAL WORKS OF GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO. [PART II, 
 
 its immediate idea of nature and inspiration, being either 
 effectually sealed, or at best but scantily effused ; so differ- 
 ences of rank and station produced a variety of literature 
 suited to all classes. Romances, heroic tales of war, the 
 legend, so often poetically treated ; lives of saints for devo- 
 tional reading, and novels in the new poetical style, composed 
 expressly for the refined society of the highest circles. 
 
 A novel, if neither political nor social, is an original tale ; 
 and if it is occasionally otherwise such instances must be 
 regarded as permitted, perhaps necessary, but still at the 
 same time isolated exceptions ; consequently, for prose-histo- 
 ries, the style of Boccaccio appears the most natural and con- 
 genial that could be adopted. These remarks are by no means 
 intended to censure the dramatising of any novel that 
 seems to offer materials for that purpose ; but it may secure to 
 him who has been the subject of this critique his well- 
 merited fame as inventor and originator of that branch of 
 literature. 
 
 NOTICE OF A FEW RARE ITALIAN AND SPANISH 
 WORKS. — OBSERVATIONS ON CAMOENS, AND POR- 
 TUGUESE POETRY IN GENERAL, WITH A REVIEW 
 OF THE PROVENCAL MSS. AT PARIS. 
 
 An attachment to foreigners, and a desire to visit distant 
 countries, seems like an innate and almost instinctive impulse 
 implanted in the German character : the beauty of the South, 
 especially, has for the German an irresistible fascination; 
 proud in the consciousness of his own serious feeling and 
 northern vigour, his heart nevertheless yearns for every 
 haunt of beauty in those lovely lands as for its ancient home. 
 
 This passion is co-existent with the history of the Teutonic 
 race ; prompted by this feeling, hosts of German warriors 
 overran the southern provinces of the old Roman empire : 
 this impulse in the Middle Ages fettered Germany to Italy, 
 and finally, in the time of the Crusades, prompted their 
 attempt to subjugate the East. 
 
 So many changes have since occurred in the political life 
 
PART II.] POETRY OF THE PORTUGUESE. 225 
 
 of the German nation, which now seems tempered into a 
 sort of tranquil equilibrium, that this discursive inclination 
 is by necessity confined in the present day within the pro- 
 vince of science and the arts, — a realm in which no limits 
 arrest the progress of the human mind, or check its natural 
 thirst for conquest and dominion. 
 
 Their inquiring spirit consequently expends itself in a 
 restless yet laudable activity, ever seeking with unwearied 
 diligence to bring to light new sources of truth and beauty, 
 to discover the neglected treasures of other nations, and 
 reproduce them, in new vigour and animation, as incor- 
 porated elements of their native literature. If Germans per- 
 severe in the course they have hitherto adopted, all the 
 literary treasures of other lands will ere long be associated 
 with their own. 
 
 This feeling and spirit leads us to attach much value to 
 the labours of a few excellent poets, whose chief occupation 
 it has long been to transplant into their own soil the flowers 
 of Italian and Spanish poetry, the blooming freshness and 
 beautiful imagery of that highly-finished versification appear- 
 ing peculiarly fitted to brighten and adorn the stern northern 
 genius of our old German poetry. Still these efforts will 
 never lead to a successful issue without a fundamental 
 knowledge of that lovely branch of southern verse pre-emi- 
 nently styled Romantic. Our best poets and most learned 
 men are, it is true, well acquainted with both Italian and 
 Spanish poetry, yet many blanks remain to be filled up, and 
 many deficiencies to be supplied. I shall first notice a few 
 of the most remarkable treasures contained in the Bibliotheque 
 Royale at Paris, which will naturally lead to a closer investi- 
 gation of the character and subject of the materials there 
 existing, and enable us to form a more correct estimate of 
 their relative value and importance. 
 
 .Portuguese poetry being in general but little known, I 
 propose to dwell with particular attention upon its history, 
 and carefully to examine all such specimens as I have here 
 been able to meet with. The source and origin of Romantic 
 poetry, which may be traced back to the later Latin, will not, 
 of course, be neglected in these researches ; and in order at 
 least to open the way for further study of Romantic and Pro- 
 vencal poetry, I shall subjoin a few observations on such ma- 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 ON ROMANTIC POETRY. 
 
 [part n. 
 
 terials contained in this library as will be likely to afford 
 assistance in the prosecution of such an undertaking. 
 
 I must notice, in the first place, one extremely rare poem 
 of Boccaccio — " The Teseide " — and thus supply the blank 
 which, being then unable to obtain access to the original, I 
 was compelled to leave unfilled in the preceding account of 
 Boccaccio and his works. Misled by Granucci's version, 
 Chaucer's adaptation, and, above all, by Boccaccio himself, 
 and his treatment of the Filostrato, I then attempted, from 
 conjecture, to form an ideal scheme of the work, which I 
 now find to require some slight emendations. It seems 
 natural enough to class the Teseide and Filostrato together, 
 both being narrative poems in ottava rima, both romantic 
 love-tales, the incidents of both laid in an early period, and 
 both productions of the poet's youth. Yet they are widely 
 distinct in character ; we do not recognise in the Teseide the 
 graceful lightness and sportive irony with which the love 
 passages of Troilus and Cressida are related. The Teseide 
 is serious throughout, occasionally dry and tedious, and its 
 most beautiful passages belong rather to the tragic style. In 
 fact, the value of this work consists in its rarity, and its fame 
 is consequently rather disproportionate to its actual poetic 
 merit. It certainly is not one of Boccaccio's happiest efforts, 
 and scarcely repays the trouble of labouring through it. 
 
 The romances of Boccaccio are unquestionably the most 
 valuable of his works ; yet our admiration ought not to be 
 confined to the " Decameron," but should extend also to the 
 " Filipono," and the still more surprising " Ameto," both of 
 which appear to be expressive experiments in art, preparing 
 the way for grander compositions in the loftiest historical 
 style. The design of the " Fiammetta," although so short a 
 work, is more remarkable than either, and its style the most 
 perfect. 
 
 An acquaintance with these different schemes or experi- 
 ments is not merely useful and appropriate, but even indis- 
 pensably necessary ; for if the spirit of old romance, in all 
 its rich abundance, becomes more widely diffused among us, 
 imaginative histories,, reproduced in all their multiplied 
 variety and peculiar forms, may yet bring back, in its earlier 
 beauty, the spring-time of romance and love. 
 
 The history of every art is an integral subject, and no branch 
 of it ought to be treated singly ; it is not, therefore, sufficient 
 
PART II.] POETRY OF THE ITALIANS. 227 
 
 merely to relate the personal history of any artist of active 
 and comprehensive genius, nor to trace the progress of his 
 most perfect creations through preceding experiments, and 
 thus discover its due connexion with all those earlier efforts : 
 the influence it exercised on his later works, and its relation 
 with after-times, must also be considered ; for the intrinsic 
 character of any composition, and the rank it holds in the 
 entire series, stand in the closest possible connexion. The 
 position occupied by Boccaccio among later Italian poets is 
 directly opposed to that of Petrarch. 
 
 The later poetry of the Italians might, like their painting 
 (and, perhaps, even with more justice), be divided into the 
 Florentine and Lombard schools. The latter comprehends 
 Ariosto, Tasso, Guarini, and other poets, or friends of poetry, 
 assembled in the court of that famous Duke of Ferrara, whose 
 noble patronage of art has been immortalised by Goethe in 
 his " Torquato Tasso." In the Florentine school I number 
 Poliziano, Pulci, Lorenzo de' Medici, and others resembling 
 them in style and character. The poetry of this school was 
 infinitely more lofty in its tendency than that of the Lom- 
 bards, yet it never fulfilled the grandeur of its intention, and, 
 consequently, has never enjoyed an equal degree of fame. 
 The difference of style forms the most remarkable distinction 
 between those schools. The former chose for their model 
 Petrarch's ideal beauty of language, while the severe, bold 
 manner of the Florentines has more affinity with Boccaccio, 
 whose style harmonises fully with the serious and even harsh 
 character of his nation. The language of Petrarch, on the 
 contrary, is framed almost entirely after foreign examples. 
 
 A collection of the poetic works of Michelangelo excited 
 great interest in my mind from the grand genius of the man 
 himself ; yet the poems do not fulfil the anticipations of lofty, 
 bold originality to which that name gives birth. Few among 
 them bear the stamp of peculiar genius, and some scarcely 
 rise above mediocrity. 
 
 This collection is edited by a nephew and namesake of 
 that great artist. It contains but few canzonets, the poems 
 being chiefly sonnets and madrigals ; the latter differ slightly 
 from those of Guarini, and of most other Cinquecentisti ; 
 the language is frequently more bold and original, but less 
 polished. 
 
 q 2 
 
228 ON ROMANTIC FOE TRY. [PART IL 
 
 The first productions of Spanish, or (to speak more pro-* 
 perly in reference to earlier times) of Castilian poetry, are 
 very simple. Ballads seem to present the distinctive national 
 feature of poetic art, and their tender accent and musical 
 cadence is accompanied by a witty play upon words, quite 
 peculiar to that people, and which could scarcely be equalled 
 in any other language. Tales of chivalry and knight-errantry 
 form the next distinctive feature of Spanish literature. The 
 " Amadis " is, perhaps, the most worthy of attention, not on 
 account of the superior beauty of the style alone, but as hav- 
 ing given rise — at least I may say so of Spain — to numerous 
 chivalric compositions of a similar kind. This style of ro- 
 mantic fiction, however, originated with the French Trou- 
 veres, though, like many other materials emanating from the 
 same source, it owed its first regular construction to the 
 Italians, Germans, or Spanish. The musical and lyric spirit 
 of old Castilian poetry adapted itself with peculiar facility to 
 the character of the metrical romance, and traces of these 
 early ballads are recognised in many later works, in many 
 romances, and in the Don Quixote. I may mention here 
 that Cervantes had projected a serious chivalric romance, 
 which he never completed. 
 
 Simple, indeed, were the first elements of Spanish poetry ; 
 ballads, and tales of chivalry, both, too, of the least compli- 
 cated form. How great a contrast to the studied and com- 
 prehensive character of the poetry of Italy, which even from 
 its birth aspired at universal dominion ; all the learning of the 
 time, poetry and music, history and philosophy, being as it 
 were bound up with it in perpetual union. 
 
 At a subsequent period, however, the Italians retreated 
 within the circle of a severe nationality, and were either 
 content to adopt what earlier poets had borrowed from the 
 Provengal, or they themselves ventured on the hazardous ex- 
 periment of imitating classical antiquity. 
 
 It was not thus with Castilian poetry ; extending on every 
 side, it incorporated with itself foreign forms and stranger 
 charms, combining the most various romantic elements, 
 until its glowing and fanciful creations at length expanded, 
 like flowers of perfect brilliancy, clad in every varied hue. 
 
 The early Castilians unquestionably borrowed certain pecu- 
 liar forms of versification and construction from the Proven9al 
 and Valencian poets; still their influence was but of trifling 
 
TART II.] 
 
 CERVANTES AND CALDERON. 
 
 22y 
 
 extent, and soon altogether ceased to operate. It is not easy 
 to decide exactly how much Castilian poets may have copied 
 from the Portuguese, except in that branch of prose dramas 
 or dramatic romances of which the " Celestina," so highly 
 esteemed even by Cervantes, affords the finest example ; and 
 although the Italian measure employed by Boscan and Gar- 
 cilasso undoubtedly had a permanent influence on the Spanish 
 style, appearing, indeed, to constitute an essential element of 
 the best works of Cervantes and Calderon, still its opera- 
 tion must be considered subordinate in comparison with that 
 of the old romances, the introduction of which soon gave a 
 distinctive tone and character to Spanish poetry. 
 
 The assonance*, which a nation so musical and of such 
 delicate taste naturally adopted from the Arabic, added to 
 the fact that Spanish romances, and especially those written 
 during the later period of the Moorish dominion in Granada, 
 evince a decided partiality for the Abencerrages (Bencerajo), 
 leads to the conclusion that these romances first originated 
 about the period of the secession of that great Arabic family, 
 who. abandoning their own nation and monarch, became 
 faithful adherents of the Spanish cause. The spirit of ro- 
 mantic chivalry, and the introduction of the assonance, 
 undoubtedly give to Spanish poetry its oriental colouring ; 
 for as few traces of it are to be found in the earlier Castilian 
 as in any other modern language. 
 
 Apart from the influence of historical casualties, romances 
 and ballads, songs for music and descriptive poems form the 
 chief elements of Spanish poetry, and from them its es- 
 sential features are entirely derived. Romances and ballads 
 are the principal elements ; in themselves the most simple, 
 natural style of poetry existing, yet wrought by the Spaniards 
 into such feeling, expression, and tenderness, as could never 
 have been successfully imparted to them except by the most 
 " spiritual " and imaginative language in the world. In 
 German poetry the genius of romance undoubtedly claims 
 the ascendency ; for it seems more easy to engraft on that 
 
 * In that species of versification which the Spaniards have called 
 assonant, and which they have apparently borrowed from the Arabians, 
 the same rhyme, or rather the same terminating vowel, is repeated in 
 every other line for several pages, whilst the first lines of each couplet 
 are not rhymed. — Sismondi, vol. i. p. 61. 
 
 Q 3 
 
230 
 
 ON ROMANTIC POETRY. 
 
 [PART II. 
 
 language the glowing brightness of eastern imagery than to 
 copy that incomparably delicate and musical playfulness 
 which distinguishes Castilian poetry. 
 
 The opinion here asserted is not, however, new to German 
 admirers of Spanish literature ; and I refer to it merely as a 
 sort of introduction to, or rather in vindication of, a few lite- 
 rary remarks on the " Romancero general." An inquiry into 
 the history of chivalric romance will, from every consideration, 
 be interesting to all lovers of Spanish poetry; and a cri- 
 tical analysis of the materials existing, by means of which 
 the investigation may be pursued, can scarcely be of less 
 importance. 
 
 These materials are, unhappily, most insufficient : the 
 collections of u Old Romances" are none of them judiciously 
 arranged ; and in regard to the quarto before mentioned, and 
 which is considered the most complete work of the kind, I 
 must particularly observe, that this praise seems to have been 
 awarded in respect of its size alone ; for although sufficiently 
 voluminous, it is almost filled with very inferior romances, 
 belonging to a later period. Besides, the " Guerras civiles 
 de Granada," the little u Romancero,"* in 12mo. 155o, is 
 far more useful, and contains a better selection of the older 
 romances. Indeed, it corresponds so entirely with the allu- 
 sions made by Cervantes to their general style, that we could 
 almost imagine that he referred to this very collection. 
 
 In one respect, however, the " Romancero" struck me as 
 remarkable. It is here and there interspersed with idyllic 
 romances, which remind us of the far-famed works of Cer- 
 vantes, not only from the name Galatea, and others after- 
 wards repeated in his romances, but still more from their 
 sentimental tone, and antithetical form and expression. In 
 the incidents of these tales, however, there is nothing more 
 than a casual similarity. May not these be a few of those 
 innumerable romances [romances infinitos] which Cervantes, 
 in the " Journey to Parnassus," alludes to among his early 
 experiments ? And may not even the " Galatea " be merely 
 a second re-modelling of a tale already once told ? 
 
 * This work forms the basis of a new edition of Spanish romances by 
 Jacob Grimm, under the title of 44 Silva de Romances Viejos," published 
 by Mager and Company, at Vienna, in 1815. The publication is now 
 in the hands of Ignaz Klang, at Vienna. 
 
PART II.] 
 
 FEREIRA. 
 
 231 
 
 The great rarity of Portuguese books presents an almost 
 insuperable obstacle to the study of their poetry ; yet it 
 seems entitled to the most partial consideration, from the 
 beauty and perfect construction of the language, which is 
 based upon the ruins of the later Latin, and by various trans- 
 formations and modifications, intrinsically connected with 
 the Provencal or Komance dialect. Yet many libraries in 
 which the collection of Spanish books is rich, and almost 
 complete, are nearly destitute of Portuguese books, perhaps 
 possessing only a single copy of Camoens. My acquaintance 
 with Portuguese literature is consequently very limited. 
 
 Besides a few insignificant poets of the last century, gene- 
 rally tainted with the false French taste, and some historical 
 works or chronicles, in which the Portuguese literature is 
 very rich, I met with but one poet of the earlier time* — 
 Fereira, esteemed on account of his correctness of diction, 
 and as the contemporary of Camoens. Judging from his 
 numerous letters to illustrious men, and their purport, we 
 should be tempted to suspect that mediocrity had here been 
 preferred to genius ; even as in the sister country, the osten- 
 tatious Lope outshone the deep-souled Cervantes ; and in 
 England many individuals held the stiff good sense of Ben 
 Jonson in higher estimation than the overflowing nature and 
 imaginative wealth of Shakspeare. 
 
 Fereira admired and imitated Horace : his tragedy, u Inez 
 de Castro," is cold, and unworthy the melancholy grandeur 
 of the theme. He is not altogether deficient in poetical ideas, 
 such as may occasionally illumine the best Italian and Spanish 
 poets of the Cinquecento style ; who, although taking refuge 
 in a kind of classical construction, and in imitations of an- 
 cient, and especially Latin verse, have yet more glimpses of 
 poetry than those who trod the same false path in later and 
 less favoured times. Still, beauty of diction or romantic 
 feeling would here be sought for in vain. The structure 
 and phraseology of the Portuguese language so closely resem- 
 bles the Spanish, that frequently the particles and termina- 
 tions can alone enable us to determine to which nation any 
 particular root belongs, — the signification of the substan- 
 tives being probably the same in both. In fact, most Por- 
 tuguese words are common also to the Spanish, and very few 
 
 * Sismondi, ii. 466. 
 (i 4 
 
232 ON ROMANTIC POETRY. [PART II. 
 
 among them have any essential difference of meaning. 
 Words derived from the Arabic are almost invariably the 
 same in both languages. 
 
 The construction, however, of the Spanish and Portuguese 
 presents fundamental differences so striking, as to place the two 
 languages almost in direct opposition to each other. The nasal 
 tone of the Portuguese is more in affinity with the southern 
 French, from which, nevertheless, it widely differs ; the Por- 
 tuguese being, without exception, the softest and sweetest of 
 all Romance dialects. The soft sch, with its various modifica- 
 tions, is continually heard, and the vowels o and e invariably 
 become u and I, in pronunciation. This feature is so dis- 
 tinct and universal, that sch, u, and I, form, as it were, the 
 fundamental chord of that language, like the hard ch, a, and 
 o, which, in the Spanish, are most powerfully emphatic. 
 
 The soft accent of the Portuguese language might be com- 
 pared with that of the Ionian dialect of the Hellenistic Greeks ; 
 the haughty Spanish with the Doric ; and the artistically 
 framed Italian with the Attic. The reservations dependent 
 on different local circumstances, by which this comparison, 
 though just in itself, must be restricted within proper limits, 
 will easily suggest themselves. Still similar causes rarely fail 
 to produce similar effects. Whenever any dialect, founded on 
 human organisation, has been permitted to develope itself 
 without restraint, we clearly trace in it the operation of cli- 
 mate and situation. In every mountain dialect we remark a 
 predilection for the strongly aspirated ch ; on the sea-coast 
 the softened sch, and the nasal tone are heard ; while, on 
 the contrary, a broad tone and sharp accent indicate a level 
 country and agricultural population. 
 
 In regard to its poetical spirit and application, Spanish 
 poets have characterised the Portuguese language as pre- 
 eminently that of love and soft emotion. In its power of 
 expressing tender feeling, from the faintest breathing of love 
 to the most impassioned burst of longing anguish and de- 
 spair, it surpasses every other language. It is also singularly 
 rich in appropriate words, the very tone of which, indepen- 
 dently of their beautiful signification and delicate allusion, 
 seems to melt at once into the soul. Even the soft Italian ap- 
 pears rough in comparison with the Portuguese, and the 
 Spanish stern and northern. It is, indeed, the flower of all 
 Provencal and Romantic dialects, by far the most simple, yet 
 
PART II.] PORTUGUESE AND SPANISH. 233 
 
 inferior to none in highly artistic construction. It has none 
 of that play upon words, in which the Spaniards so frequently 
 indulge, neither does it observe the distinction between de- 
 scriptive and lyric poetry, to which they so studiously adhere. 
 The Portuguese have adopted a few of the most beautiful 
 and simple of the Spanish ballads ; but their language and 
 tone lead exclusively to a soft and childlike sweetness, far 
 removed from the studied antithesis, allusions, and allitera- 
 tions of the Spanish. Consequently, they have always se- 
 lected the shorter, ballad-form, in lines of six syllables ; 
 many specimens of which, found in Camoens, are inexpres- 
 sibly graceful and natural. 
 
 We do not discover among the Portuguese any tendency 
 to the classical learning of modern Italy: their prose is 
 simple, rich, and laconic, yet without the slightest constraint ; 
 indeed, in every style, ease and grace appear to be with that 
 nation natural qualities. 
 
 In consequence of the deficiency of books and data, before 
 alluded to, it is difficult to trace the origin of Portuguese 
 poetry back to any fixed period. It is, however, certain that 
 fundamental differences exist between that language and 
 poetry, and the Spanish. The Romance language had little 
 influence on the construction of the latter ; and Spanish 
 ballads are framed on very different principles. Some idyllic 
 poets, contemporary with Camoens, appear to have imitated 
 the earlier Italian and Spanish writers. Dramatic romances, 
 in the style of Selvaggia, Eufrosena, and Celestina, are too 
 irregular to be employed as guides in investigating the his- 
 tory of Spanish poetry. The national chronicles, on the 
 contrary, of which the Portuguese possess a complete series, 
 extending even to the earliest period of their national exist- 
 ence, belong quite as much to the sphere of poetry as to 
 that of history. Poetic feeling, and a desire of fame, seem 
 to have been bound up with every impulse of their national 
 life ; and in the works of the grand heroic poets of Portugal 
 their close and intimate union is especially remarkable. 
 Dramatic mysteries or autos were always favourite themes 
 with the Portuguese, almost countenancing the supposition 
 that the Spanish mysteries, so highly intellectual in treat- 
 ment, and differing so widely from the analogous productions 
 of the early English and German, were rather borrowed 
 from the Portuguese than remodelled from the original 
 
234 
 
 ON ROMANTIC POETRY. 
 
 [PART II. 
 
 plan of the English. This opinion is confirmed by the con- 
 current testimony of history, which seems to prove that the 
 Catholic adaptation of these mysteries, in an earlier and 
 better period, would have given them, as poetical and intel- 
 lectual amusements, a far more glowing character of festal 
 joy. 
 
 I shall not attempt to decide this point. Camoens appears 
 to have carried the poetic art in the Portuguese language to 
 the highest perfection. His poems have all the beautiful 
 features already alluded to as distinctive characteristics of 
 Portuguese diction, — grace, deep feeling, the childlike ten- 
 derness and sweet earnestness of emotion, with the saddest 
 and most desolating melancholy, — simply expressed, yet 
 with such purity and pathos, that whether in the form of 
 canzonets, idylls, or light fanciful songs, their beauty of 
 diction could scarcely be more perfect or their glowing 
 bloom more vivid. 
 
 Camoens' chief work is the Lusiad ; an heroic poem : and 
 if dauntless courage, and a warrior's soul, be essential to the 
 perfect treatment of a composition of that character, the 
 work of Camoens must indeed be well deserving of the 
 name. The discovery of India, the grand event of modern 
 times, could only be thus celebrated by one who had himself 
 passed a portion of his life, sixteen years in fact, in those 
 regions. Everything is created from the freshness and vigour 
 of personal recollections and experience, presenting a ground- 
 work of inexhaustible fertility. All the incidents are novel 
 and animated, richly and daringly depicted, yet with a vivid 
 perspicuity and decision seldom found except in Homeric 
 verse. 
 
 A warrior only could thus have written, — one who felt the 
 fame and life of his nation to be his own : it is, indeed, a 
 text-book for youthful heroes, and is dedicated to the most 
 beloved and unhappy of all sovereigns ; not with empty flat- 
 tering words, but, like the parental counsels of a hero-sage 
 full of enthusiastic inspirations, based upon firm and solid 
 principles. The genius of the poet is no less noble and ma- 
 jestic than his theme. 
 
 The very history of the work seems to elevate it into 
 tragedy ; the brief period of sovereignty therein celebrated 
 being so closely connected with, in fact, succeeded by, the 
 total destruction of his valiant nation. Intoxicated by the 
 
part n.] 
 
 CAMOENS. 
 
 235 
 
 conquest of India, and the success of their own daring valour, 
 they deceived themselves with the belief that the most pros- 
 perous destiny, if not already theirs, lay at least within their 
 grasp, and at the proudest moment of that brief but glorious 
 period, one great national song broke forth, like the dying 
 notes of the fabled swan, a dirge for the departing hero-na- 
 tion. A few years only had elapsed after the completion of 
 the poem, when the Portuguese sovereignty declined, its 
 strength became exhausted, and even its separate existence 
 terminated ; a grief which the aged poet could not long sur- 
 vive. Portugal has never since attained the same lofty emi- 
 nence, and the remembrance of her departed glory is enshrined 
 in this great work, created by the divine genius of her na- 
 tional poet for the immortalisation of her fame. 
 
 The grandeur of the design unquestionably entitles this 
 poem to rank among the noblest works of genius that Italy, 
 Spain, or even the more northern countries of Europe, can 
 boast : the exquisite bloom and grace of the diction are un- 
 paralleled among modern writers. 
 
 In this work, too, an object is successfully attained, which 
 many nations and distinguished poets have aspired to reach 
 in vain. It is the only national epic poem that has been 
 produced in modern times, even if the last period of ancient 
 literature be included. Yirgil's attempt to weave from Tro- 
 jan fable a national poem for his own native Rome, is indeed 
 praiseworthy ; yet the interest excited by this beautiful effort 
 is not so much unqualified admiration as sympathy for a 
 failure, which the many difficulties that presented them- 
 selves rendered almost unavoidable. To this lofty design 
 Virgil is indebted for a place among poets of genius which 
 the merit of his work alone could not have procured him. 
 Tasso, though his fine and delicate feeling ever wins our 
 love, was not equal to the grand theme he had chosen : he is 
 far too subjective in character, too much occupied with him- 
 self, to cope with a grand event like that of the Crusades ; 
 seizing it in its whole historical and universal extent, and 
 losing himself and all personal consciousness therein. The 
 episodes introduced in the " Gierusalemme," and which pre- 
 sent to us his own beautiful love-thoughts, are the only parts 
 of real enduring value ; the rest is more or less unsatisfac- 
 tory, often tame, and evidently not springing from an original 
 
236 
 
 ON ROMANTIC POETRY. 
 
 [PART If. 
 
 impulse. If the heroic, and mythical styles of poetry were 
 not always considered as entirely distinct in character, but 
 rather, as would perhaps be best, as members of one common 
 root, requiring to be treated in a congenial manner, the 
 poem of Camoens might be cited, as, next to Homer, the 
 only work really deserving the title of an Epic Poem. 
 
 It is needless to remind any one who considers the immea- 
 surable gulf between these two poets, from difference of time 
 and other circumstances, that the comparison can hold good 
 only in generalities ; yet the work of Camoens completely 
 carries out an idea the development of which has been long 
 and fruitlessly attempted, and often indeed erroneously con- 
 ceived, and placed in a completely false light. 
 
 The same simple beauty, which throughout marks the 
 design of the composition, may be traced likewise in the dic- 
 tion and descriptive passages. The intermixture of mytho- 
 logical and Christian themes, has been censured, perhaps 
 unjustly; for why should an utter forgetfulness of these 
 fables, an absolute silence concerning them, be insisted on 
 as necessary throughout any Christian poem ? In what 
 period of Christianity have they ever been consigned to 
 utter oblivion ; and when, it may be asked, is such oblivion 
 likely to enshroud them? Camoens employed the Greek 
 mythology as a beautiful hieroglyphic language, clothing his 
 expressive allegories ; and thus it has been frequently adapted 
 and employed by many other poets and painters of the roman- 
 tic period, though absolute innovations are occasionally intro- 
 duced. Yet Camoens is very sparing in his employment of 
 mythology : if he suffer Athene to protect and favour his 
 beloved Portuguese, because she sees in them some resem- 
 blance to her own ancient Romans ; if Bacchus, foreseeing 
 that their heroic deeds would eclipse his own, and put a 
 period to his dominion in India, becomes their enemy ; if 
 giants rise up to oppose them in the wildest seas of their 
 voyage to the blessed and favoured land; and Thetis at 
 length, guiding his heroes to the happy island, invites the 
 noble Gama to ascend her nuptial bed, celebrating his glo- 
 rious conquest of the sea, and the sovereignty he thus estab- 
 lished ; it must be confessed that no other romantic poet ever 
 imparted so much freshness and originality to these ancient 
 fables, or rendered them equally agreeable and intelligible. 
 
PART II.] BIBLIOTHEQUE ROYALE. 237 
 
 In the commencement indeed, our poet appears to tread 
 too closely in the steps of Virgil, but he soon leaves that guide, 
 and the bold navigator, launching forth upon the boundless 
 seas, swiftly loses sight of his native shores. His allegories, 
 too, differ from those of Virgil as widely as his invention, 
 which is throughout intellectual, rare and wondrous, yet 
 most clearly intelligible, particularly towards the conclusion 
 of the Lusiad. This, however, is still more the case in the 
 unfinished poem on the Creation of Man, published in the 
 general collection of his works, but which has sometimes been 
 denied to be his. 
 
 CHAPTER ON THE BIBLIOTHEQUE ROYALE. 
 
 The national library at Paris contains but scanty mate- 
 rials for the study of Provencal literature, and with the ex- 
 ception of one Italian Provencal lexicon, " La Crusca Proven- 
 zale," there is not even a dictionary. A grammar is mentioned 
 in the catalogue, but it has not for many years been seen. Still 
 the Provencal is so nearly allied to the French, Italian, and 
 even to the Spanish, that a little toil and study will generally 
 enable any one acquainted with those languages to compre- 
 hend the Provencal also ; and when this proves insufficient, 
 recourse must be had, as most available, to the present Pro- 
 vencal and Languedocian dialects, of both of which vocabu- 
 laries have been compiled. 
 
 A few Provencal compositions are inserted in Crescembini ; 
 some passages from the above-mentioned Crusca, some ex- 
 tracts from Tassoni's writings against Petrarch, and a few 
 French works on the peculiar history of the provinces. But 
 all are unsatisfactory fragments and short extracts.* 
 
 The library is rich in Provencal MSS., and probably few are 
 now (1804) to be found elsewhere. Whether many still re- 
 main in Italy, since the pillage of the French, who removed 
 the most famous collections, particularly that of Petrarch, 
 which undoubtedly contained many of great value, is doubt- 
 ful. I have been assured by a friend *, who, besides being a 
 
 * It was the same M. Raynouard, who, after the time to which I 
 refer, published the Tragedy of the Templars, and also a grand work on 
 the Romance Language and Proven9al Poets. 
 
238 
 
 PROVENCAL LITERATURE. 
 
 [PART II. 
 
 Provencal by birth, has long devoted his time and attention 
 to the subject, and to whom I am indebted for much valuable 
 information, that in the South of France none are at present 
 to be found. 
 
 It will be well, in this stage of the inquiry, to give a com- 
 plete synopsis of the MSS. here deposited, which may convey 
 a correct idea of the remains of Provengal literature at pre- 
 sent existing, and form a suitable preface to my observations 
 on the study of that language and its poetry. 
 
 The Bibliotheque de 1' Arsenal is very rich in this depart- 
 ment of literature, as it contains the legacy of Monsieur de 
 la Curne de St. Pelaye, which, however, appears to extend 
 chiefly to the remains of Northern French poetry. 
 
 My present observations will be confined to the grand 
 Bibliotheque du Koi. I must first remind my readers that 
 as the catalogue of modern literature is in manuscript, written 
 of course at various times, and in different handwritings, many 
 works have probably escaped my notice ; besides, it will 
 scarcely be supposed possible that a catalogue of this descrip- 
 tion can be free from errors in the figures ; and, accordingly, 
 examining it carefully, though without success, in the hope 
 of finding some other collection of old German poetry, be- 
 sides the Manessischen collection, I met with the title "Ryth- 
 mi Germanici Antiqui;" but on turning eagerly to the 
 number referred to, I found only a Croatian Postil. 
 
 The result of my examination of the Bibliotheque Royale 
 is subjoined. 
 
 I found there not a single romantic epic poem in the Pro- 
 vencal language, but an immense number in the old Northern 
 French. 
 
 Besides the " Cancioneros," or collections of lyric poems, 
 there are also a few sacred pieces, and some religious and 
 moral works in prose. A Provengal Psalm Book, a Vision 
 of Virtue and Vice, a Narrative Poem, in rhyme, on the 
 Passion of Christ, and a Breviary of Love, all Provengal ; 
 one Catalonian MS., written in a clear powerful hand, 
 containing Lives of the Saints, down to Pepin and Bertha, 
 the Life of St. Honorius, in prose. 
 
 Some of these MSS. are so badly written, that unless 
 perfectly conversant with the Romance language, it is 
 scarcely possible to decipher them. There are some collec- 
 
PART II.] 
 
 CANCIONEROS. 
 
 239 
 
 tions of songs carefully transcribed, and in some parts beau- 
 tifully illuminated. Of these there are three copies, all 
 Provencal, and the study of them is greatly facilitated by 
 this circumstance. One is much more copious than the 
 others, yet in many instances the same poems are repeated 
 in each of the three, and by collating the different manu- 
 scripts, the correct reading may generally be ascertained. 
 The poems are classed according to their style, — chansons, 
 canzonets, or serventes; but the poets' names in these various 
 branches, each of which has its own appropriate metre, are 
 arranged chronologically. The largest collection contains 
 selections from one hundred different poets, and another from 
 sixty-eight only. 
 
 A Catalonian " Cancionero " is also in existence here. 
 From the title in the catalogue, " Charles de Vianne," it might 
 be taken for an epic poem ; but this misconception arises 
 only from an occasional poem, which is inserted at the com- 
 mencement. The " Cancionero " is a rich collection of Cata- 
 lonian songs, and, besides those of Ansias March, the only 
 edition I could find of his, so often mentioned and deservedly 
 esteemed by Boscan and other Spaniards, contains numerous 
 compositions, the versification of which is almost invariably 
 on the same plan. We find stanzas of lines of twelve 
 syllables, divided by a feminine, and of eleven syllables with 
 a masculine Cassura, and which usually have a dactyl in each 
 half of the verse, after the accented syllable, and the same 
 rhyme carried on through strophes of eight or ten lines. A 
 style of versification which the Spaniards termed " versos 
 de arte mayor," or " coplas d'arte mayor." * This style was * 
 much more common at an earlier period, and I have seen 
 Portuguese verses, in this metre, dated 150 years before 
 Juan de Mena. Still, as this measure exclusively appears 
 to have been employed by the Catalonian poets, it is at least 
 probable that both Castilians and Portuguese borrowed it 
 from the Catalans, rather than the reverse. 
 
 The language of this " Cancionero," and that of the Pro- 
 
 * " Coplas d'arte Mayor." Sismondi, vol. ii. p. 121, 122., Bonn's 
 Stand. Lib. " The lines are Alexandrines, sometimes consisting of four 
 dactyls, sometimes of four amphibrachs. The verses consist of couplets 
 of four lines each, and the lines of each couplet conclude with the same 
 rhyme." — Trans. 
 
240 PROVENCAL MANUSCRIPTS [PART II. 
 
 vencal Manuscript is strikingly different, yet closely resem- 
 ling that termed Valeneian in the Spanish " Canc^onero." 
 The versification of a few specimens in that dialect, pre- 
 served here, is also similar. 
 
 It appears, then, that the oldest Romantic languages had 
 two dialects at least for poetry, the Provencal and Cata- 
 lonian. The Catalonian poetry appears considerably earlier 
 than the Provencal. 
 
 The preceding notice of Provencal MSS. is given with- 
 out alteration, because, imperfect as it is, it yet contains 
 a few observations which, in default of any great original 
 work on that subject, may be worthy of attention. This is 
 more especially the case as illustrating the position of Pro- 
 vencal literature at that time, and the progress of our re- 
 searches, which have since gained increased interest from 
 the new light thrown upon philology and the general sphere 
 of Romantic ideas by the works of A. von Schlegel, as well 
 as of Raynouard, who was then occupied with that subject, 
 and answered my inquiries concerning it with so much, 
 kindness and sympathy. The grand, copious work, published 
 by the latter, forms the first complete edition of the poetry 
 of the Troubadours, a most invaluable collection of the 
 earliest treasures of the Romance language, its history, and 
 old memorials. Sufficient information on the Provencal 
 Manuscripts may be found in the work alluded to ; " Choix 
 des Poesies Originales des Troubadours," vol. i. p. 440. seq., 
 and vol. ii. p. 154 — 162. efr. p. 289. seq. 
 
 Besides the lyric poems, which have at all times attracted 
 the attention of real lovers of poetry, some remarkable 
 specimens of epic poems have been brought to light among 
 the other treasures of the Romance language discovered by 
 his studious care. Still, although the allegorical and didactic 
 passages in these poems and fragments are not (considered 
 as poetry) particularly pleasing, the form is so much the 
 more important in reference to the earliest period of our 
 German poetry, from its appearing to be an echo or copy 
 of the metrical ideal of the German heroic epic poem. 
 They are written in the old long heroic verse, which is 
 sometimes contracted and abbreviated, and commonly met 
 
PART II. J IN THE BIBLIOTHEQUE ROYALE. 241 
 
 with in that form in the didactic songs of priests and sages : 
 in the oldest fragments it consists of ten or twelve syllables, 
 with the masculine rhymes*; in the latter, of twelve or 
 fourteen, and sometimes even more syllables, with an 
 accentuated caesura in the middle of the line. Such verses 
 are constructed with three, four, or six lines, ending in 
 the same rhyme, which is generally masculine. In the oldest 
 of these poetic fragments, the " Captivity of Boethius." the 
 same rhyme is reiterated through twelve lines or more, and 
 one unrhymed line is also introduced, after the manner of 
 the Spanish assonance, and we may here trace the first use 
 of it in the Eomance language. 
 
 The versification in general strongly resembles that of the 
 earliest Spanish ballads, the old epic poem of the M Cid," for 
 instance, and another by Sanchez, which may be found in 
 the " Poesias Castellanos," a collection of the earliest relics 
 of Spanish poetry and poetic diction. The affinity of the 
 above-mentioned Valencian, the old Portuguese, and early 
 Castilian poems is undoubtedly proved by their universal 
 employment of the strophe termed "Coplas d'arte mayor," f 
 a regular Iambic metre like that of the correct and polished 
 Alexandrines of a later period, an advance towards which 
 may be traced even in the structure of the 6 6 Niebelungen 
 Lied," must not be looked for generally in Romantic poetry, 
 and is in fact but rarely met with. If the portion given in 
 this collection, may afford a criterion for judging of the re- 
 mainder it would appear that in old Castilian poetry, as well 
 as in the Spanish Romances emanating at a later period from 
 the same source, the Trochaic was universally preferred. 
 
 Every fragment of Romantic poetry here preserved, re- 
 futes the theory maintained by those superficial philologists 
 who have feebly attempted to prove, that the free, irregular, 
 generous, heroic Alexandrine, as it exists in our "Niebelun- 
 gen Lied," is formed on the ruins of the hexameter. The 
 abbreviated metre met with in the very earliest specimens of 
 their poetry at once destroys such a theory. The structure 
 of the strophe more especially, and the continued reiteration 
 of the same masculine rhyme, give a totally distinct cha- 
 
 * Those accented on the last syllable. — Sismondi, vol. i. p. 101. 
 t Vide note, ante, p. 239. 
 
 R 
 
242 
 
 ROMANCE LANGUAGE. 
 
 [PART II. 
 
 racter to this metre ; in the " Niebelungen Lied," for in- 
 stance, the strophe is not only rhymed according to a certain 
 fixed rule, but an uniform progress is observed, the same 
 rhymes constantly recurring, and giving a sameness of tone 
 and accent to the entire song. 
 
 It is impossible to trace this romantic metre and rhyme to 
 the Arabians, although in some Arabic* poems, the same 
 rhyme is carried on at certain intervals throughout ; but 
 nothing Arabic or in the slightest degree Oriental even, can 
 be discovered in any fragments of old Romantic poetry. 
 The structure of the language, the colouring and diction, are 
 altogether different. The Romance language is formed by 
 the intermixture of Latin and Teutonic : words of the 
 former language being incorporated with the German, 
 and remodelled according to its peculiar pronunciation 
 and phraseology. A. W. von Schlegel and Raynouard cite 
 many remarkable instances of the influence exercised by 
 that language., and the Gothic dialect especially, on the new 
 form of speech. The epic verse of the Romance language 
 is found in all countries once ruled by the Goths, and among 
 all states and people founded by that nation, and, although 
 varied in many ways, with but trifling differences in really 
 essential points. All old German poems, and epic ballads 
 also, in which the versification is preserved, belong to the 
 class of Gothic heroic traditions, and consequently the sup- 
 position that the Romance versification is an imitation of the 
 Gothic heroic strophe, seems both natural and well founded. 
 If we consider the general construction of the Gothic lan- 
 guage, as developed by Ulphilasj, and thence conjecture the 
 form it might, and probably did assume, in rhythm and 
 poetry, we are at once convinced that the short Saxon verse 
 in which the songs of the Northern Edda are written, and 
 the hurried enigmatic alliteration introduced into the Runic 
 mysteries, could have no affinity with the majestic language 
 of the Goths, nor with the full-toned, copious, many-sylla- 
 bled, and comprehensive Teutonic dialect. As the original 
 
 * Ghazeles. 
 
 f The Roman history tells us that under the reign of the Emperor 
 Valens, Ulphilas, bishop of those Goths who were settled in Moesia and 
 Thrace, translated the Bible into the Gothic language : he added several 
 new letters to the Runic alphabet. (Mallefs Northern Antiquities.) — 
 Trans 
 
PART III.] ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. 243 
 
 stem of the German language became divided into two great 
 branches or limbs, the Gothic and the Saxon, in all proba- 
 bility there were originally among people of the German race 
 two distinct kinds of heroic or magic-teaching songs : the 
 grand Gothic versification on the one hand, (traces of which 
 are found in the "Niebelun gen Lied," and the earliest Roman- 
 tic fragments,) and on the other hand, the short Saxon, the 
 prevailing early German, or at least, Frankish form, of which 
 we possess in the peculiar Teutonic monument " Ottfried," 
 and which, though far from equalling the heroic grandeur 
 and epic beauty of the other Gothic style, yet fills and de- 
 lights the ear with its magical harmony. 
 
 Part 3BBE. 
 
 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. 
 
 1812. 
 
 The light, graceful productions of poetry may not inaptly 
 be compared with those varied blossoms which each returning 
 spring brings in her train, or even to the butterfly, and other 
 brilliant tribes of ephemera which float joyously around the 
 flowers, and terminate their sparkling existence in the last 
 rays of the declining summer sun. 
 
 Fragile productions of a happy moment, children of spring- 
 time and of love, a too severe criticism would be here mis- 
 placed, nor should they be harshly judged by the acute and 
 discriminating critic, whose st andard of excellence is probably 
 placed too high to be applicable to their transient existence. 
 What avails it to repine that spring-time and summer are 
 exposed to many variations of temperature, or to complain 
 with impatient bitterness of the annoying insects which 
 frequently disturb our enjoyment of a brilliant summer's day? 
 Even in our spring the note of the nightingale is heard, 
 and the joyous song of the lark rings out unchecked! Content 
 that the voice of melody is not for ever silent in these later 
 times, let us accept the offerings of our German spring as they 
 
 a 2 
 
244 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART in. 
 
 unfold before us, without incessantly pining for a happier 
 climate and a southern sky. The lovely blossoms of the 
 May open unbidden in our woods, and why, in the midst of a 
 rich and highly-cultivated garden, should we mar our own 
 enjoyment by constantly repeating that Persia, not Germany, 
 is the home of the roses, and that fruits and flowers nurtured 
 under an Ionian heaven, or in Italian fields, are not alike the 
 offspring of our less genial clime and soil ? 
 
 Youth is the spring-time of life, and the simple pleasures 
 of nature, then held so dear, are by some hearts ever faith- 
 fully cherished. Yet amid the different tastes and genius of 
 mankind, the bustle of cities, and ever-varying aspect of 
 social life, is by some men even more dearly prized. It is 
 true that this restless activity affords more scope for intel- 
 lectual exertion, and the varied arts of civilisation and re- 
 finement, than the artless unconscious play of impulse and 
 feeling. Every thought is engaged in the animated contest, 
 every heart throbs with a desire to win and to enjoy, while 
 all press ardently forward, eager to surpass or to outshine 
 their fellows. The second branch of poetry now existing, 
 which in subservience to the spirit of the day, seeks to win 
 the applause of society, may not inaptly be compared with the 
 crowd and bustle of our annual fair. Whether it assemble 
 the multitudes personally before its stage, or be designed 
 merely to soothe the languid hours of solitary enjoyment, we 
 everywhere find a continual interchange of life and action; 
 every one is seeking to purchase or to sell. Childhood seizes 
 the first sweet dainty that attracts the eye, youth pants for 
 brilliant attire and the glitter of superficial cultivation of 
 mind ; impelled by curiosity, men throng the booths or the 
 stage, while the sellers more especially, intent rather on 
 gaining money or applause than the pursuit of pleasure, are 
 anxious only to cheat the multitude, to discover the weak points 
 of the virtuous, and to wrest them to their own advantage. 
 Both buyer and seller are often mutually deceived, for the 
 approbation of the many has no greater intrinsic value than 
 that false glitter of intellect, that luscious emptiness of heart, 
 for which it is given in exchange. 
 
 Still this general intercourse of mind is pleasing in itself, 
 and not without a remarkable influence on art. It is almost 
 possible to calculate the success of any drama or romance, 
 and the impression it is likely to produce upon the notions 
 
PART III.] ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. 245 
 
 of the public mind. Artistic theories and symptoms, divided 
 and contrasted according to different opinions and deeply- 
 rooted prejudices, are constructed upon it, and even subjects 
 the most purely intellectual give birth to obstinate disputes, 
 maintained with all the virulence of party spirit. Activity is 
 no doubt an inherent property of the human temperament, 
 and it would be an idle folly unconditionally to condemn it. 
 We might, indeed, (to recur again to the image of the annual 
 fair as applied to modern poetry), wish that a little more 
 order and unanimity reigned among the candidates. But 
 whether the influence of criticism alone be sufficient for the 
 attainment of this object, or whether we need not some higher 
 moral power to step forth in the midst and call us back to 
 order and unity, can scarcely be a subject for deliberation. 
 How frequently has it happened, when some vigorous and 
 determined critic has succeeded in stemming the tide of 
 fashionable influence, he yet fails to disperse popular errors, 
 or dissipate even glaring delusions, while others, believing 
 that he also may be deceived, willingly resign themselves to 
 error, glad to escape the troublesome severity of truth, or 
 the annoyance of rooting up any long-cherished prejudices. 
 
 I turn then the more readily from a field in which there 
 exists at present but little hope of any happy or triumphant 
 result, to seek a less popular and less frequented path. Be- 
 sides the poetry of youth and impulse, and that second 
 branch which, formed by fashion, is forced into unnatural 
 existence in the highest sphere of social life, there exists still 
 another branch, far older than either. Poetry, indeed, in its 
 earliest, original form, is not strictly confined within the 
 actual limits of that art, but, as a record of the noble words 
 and actions of ancient heroes, appears rather to belong to 
 history, the primitive history, of nature and mankind. Con- 
 trasted with that poetry which flows from the false channels 
 of conventional art and social habits, the last mentioned may 
 be likened to the clear, pure water gushing from a mountain 
 spring, but compared with the exterior charm, the richness, 
 and glittering flower-like hues of that poetry which springs 
 from the impulses of youthful life and love, it seems rather 
 to resemble the rude majesty of a primitive rock, whose as- 
 pect fills the lonely wanderer with astonishment, placing him, 
 as it were, amid the giant features of the olden time. 
 
 R 3 
 
246 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART HI. 
 
 In this branch of poetry criticism, which indeed should 
 never be separated from history, is quite in its place, and may 
 prove of decided utility. Not by reducing the grand works 
 of nature to an arbitrary standard, often far too perishable 
 and lightly chosen, but by making them intelligible to the 
 public in general, analysing and explaining the difficulties 
 they present, and showing the light in which they ought to 
 be regarded. Such an investigation of these old memorials 
 may be compared with the labours of a miner who explores 
 the profoundest recesses of nature, and from her depths brings 
 countless treasures forth to minister to the enjoyment of 
 mankind. There, wrapt in silence and darkness, slumber 
 the buried powers of those metallic treasures, which when 
 once brought to the surface, have strength to move the 
 world, — gold and iron, the main springs of active life, which 
 either clothe our meadows in all the blessings of fertility, or 
 dye both fields and streams with blood. Deep in the bosom 
 of the earth lie hidden the health-restoring elixir, and the 
 sudden and deadly poison. There too are substances of little 
 apparent value, which touched by the skilful hand of art, 
 flash out in the most brilliant colours, and a thousand other 
 mysterious treasures, all overwhelmed and entombed beneath 
 the ruins of a sunken giant world. 
 
 It is in a similar frame of mind that we should approach 
 and contemplate the vestiges of heroic tradition ; and I might, 
 perhaps advantageously, attempt here to impart to my 
 readers certain of my meditations on this subject, at least in 
 as far as relates to the poetry of our fatherland, but I shall 
 confine myself rather to the task of rescuing from oblivion the 
 solid, pure metal, of our earlier poetry, and bringing it once 
 more into life and notice. There are enough already who 
 make it their occupation to bring our early poetry into circu- 
 lation in selections, or small portions, remodelled according 
 to certain accepted ideas, or on a merely arbitrary plan. 
 Since the time of Leibnitz and Echard, the knowledge of the 
 German language has been very widely diffused, as well as 
 the taste for old German poetry, due to the exertions of 
 Klopstock and Bodmer, who are continually affording us 
 specimens of those early compositions. During the last ten 
 or twelve years especially, a stronger national feeling has 
 stirred within us, and the love thus kindled for the early 
 poets of our fatherland has become warmer and more 
 
PART ni.] THE EDDA AND THE MYTHOLOGY OF ODIN. 247 
 
 universal. Still much indeed is wanting ere we can attain a 
 perfect knowledge of German literature, which its great 
 extent alone, independent of the insufficiency of materials, 
 would render a task of no little difficulty. Its extent will 
 be/ but little lessened, even if the earliest Saxon memorials 
 be excluded, and only those poems admitted which were 
 written in the upper German dialect subsequently to Ottfried: 
 the boundary line between ancient and modern German 
 literature being fixed in the middle of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury, after the peace of Westphalia, comprising a period of 
 nearly 800 years (from 870 to 1650). During that long 
 period, German poetry underwent many changes, and even 
 positive transformations ; it survived more than one ebb and 
 flow of prosperity, and indeed many realms in the wide 
 domain of its earlier operation are now unknown and for- 
 gotten. Even in poetry, to which the genius of our nation 
 and the taste of our investigators has ever been peculiarly 
 directed, much remains to be sought out in a still more re- 
 mote antiquity, and drawn from a far deeper source, before 
 the spirit of German poetry, as it once reigned among our 
 ancestors, can be awakened and rekindled amongst ourselves. 
 
 In the Edda, as well as in the mythological traditions of 
 the North, we discover an intense reverence and awe of 
 nature, penetrating every feature of the German character 
 and manner of life, giving birth not only to high impulses of 
 freedom, and lofty ideas of honour and nobility, but to the 
 refining influence and gentler tenderness of love. Great as 
 were the changes produced by the introduction of Christianity 
 and its ameliorating influences, the same predominant feeling 
 remained unaltered, and may be traced in every memorial of 
 those early times : the same fundamental chord is heard in 
 all the poems and romances of the middle ages, it resounded 
 through the entire period of chivalry and knight-errantry, 
 and still, as the great artery of northern life, it throbs in 
 the heart of every people of German extraction. 
 
 The mythology of Odin was common to the Southern 
 Germans and Saxons, as well as to all other Scandinavian 
 people. Both those nations, though long divided and sepa- 
 rated, bear the stamp of original affinity. It cannot, there- 
 fore, be inconsistent with natural appearances or the records 
 of history, to trace the stream of German poetry back to its 
 
 R 4 
 
248 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART HI. 
 
 northern source, the Edda. In regard to the Celts, indeed, 
 the circumstances are very different, and their traditions and 
 memorials are all alike strange to us, and foreign to our feel- 
 ings. But if the learned investigator of history find ample 
 reason for distinguishing the Celtic and Gaelic tribes, as 
 completely different in manners and habits from the German 
 nation, still it cannot be denied that all the free people of 
 northern Europe had many qualities and feelings in com- 
 mon, and that their character and ideas harmonised in many 
 particular points, even before the introduction of Christianity 
 cemented a still closer union between them. 
 
 The welcome reception which the poems of Ossian found 
 in most of the northern countries of Europe, and the peculiar 
 favour with which they have long been received in Germany, 
 is a powerful testimony in corroboration of this assertion. 
 How often have the bright glowing descriptions of Homer, 
 and other ancient poets, been compared with the sentimental 
 melancholy of the Scottish poet ; a type as it were of the 
 peculiar genius and feeling, inherited by modern Europeans 
 from their earlier progenitors. 
 
 Incorrect as this comparison appears in many particulars, 
 and little as we participate in the unqualified enthusiasm 
 expressed by some admirers of Ossian, still the influence 
 exercised by these poems on the public taste is certainly very 
 remarkable. The spurious work produced by Macpherson, 
 under the title of the poems of Ossian, has so long engaged 
 the attention of the literary world, and its poetical value and 
 authenticity have been so much contested, that it can scarcely 
 be superfluous to offer a few observations on the genuine 
 edition of Ossian, which has recently been promised to us ; 
 and it will be the first object of these remarks to find some 
 historical basis or foundation, on which the entire fabric may 
 rest. Legends and traditions belong but partially to the 
 spirit of poetry, and in an equal measure at least to the field 
 of history. Neither of these elements should be considered se- 
 parately, and in order fully to enjoy its old heroic poems it is 
 even necessary to trace the incidents related in them to their 
 proper period of time, and thus transport ourselves into the 
 world to which they belong, and approach the source from 
 whence they sprung. 
 
 After the failure of the last despairing effort, made by a 
 
part in. J 
 
 macpherson's ossian. 
 
 249 
 
 descendant of the Stuarts in the year 1 746, to reconquer the 
 throne of England, once the heritage of his ancestors ; the 
 government of that country considered it expedient, as a 
 means of checking such attempts in future, to abolish many 
 old Scottish customs, and thus bind that people, who till then 
 had been a distinct race in costume, manners, and ideas, in still 
 closer union with England, and incorporate their country, now 
 in a certain measure a re-conquered province, with the prin- 
 cipal part of the Island in which was vested the sovereignty 
 of the entire kingdom. Yet there exists, even now, a most re- 
 markable distinction between the manners and ideas of both 
 people, extending in a peculiar degree to works of fancy and 
 imagination. The patriotism of the Scotch being, after that 
 catastrophe, forcibly repressed, concentrated itself, as is fre- 
 quently the case, in a more fervent love and veneration of 
 old national traditions, and the memorials of their ancient 
 fame. This disposition prompted the sedulous preservation 
 of the songs of the Gaelic bards, and possibly also contributed 
 to the enthusiastic love and veneration with which they were 
 received in their mother country. All Europe, too, soon im- 
 bibed the spirit of enthusiasm, and joyfully hailed the new 
 apparition of the North which harmonised so wonderfully 
 with the general feeling and poetical aspirations of the time. 
 
 But when the first tumult of astonishment had subsided, 
 and the cooler influences of reason and judgment resumed 
 their sway, doubts arose, in England more especially, as to 
 the authenticity of these poems. The most cursory investi- 
 gation of the old Scottish ballads in the primitive Gaelic 
 tongue, made it evident that Macpherson had acted most un- 
 fairly in his version of those early poems, treating them in 
 an arbitrary and even negligent manner. At length a com- 
 plete edition in three volumes, of the poems of Ossian, in the 
 original language, appeared in London, in the year 1807 ; and 
 besides the translations and free imitations of the belaboured 
 and often falsified Ossian of Macpherson, with which many 
 distinguished literati and excellent German poets — Herder, 
 Denis, Goethe, and Stölberg, have since supplied us — we 
 now also possess an edition of these poems conscientiously 
 transcribed from the Gaelic original. (The Poems of Ossian 
 from the Gaelic, in the original metre, by Ch. W. Ahiwarts, 
 Leipsic ; pub. by Göschen, 1811, 3 vols. 8vo.) By means 
 
250 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART III. 
 
 of this work, we are now for the first time qualified to decide 
 on the authenticity and true merit of the entire composition. 
 
 Many doubts have, it is true, been raised in England as to 
 the authenticity of our Gaelic Ossian. Still there may be 
 some tinge of prejudice in the unqualified depreciation and 
 contempt with which the English have regarded the existing 
 contest concerning Ossian, and their want of sympathy in 
 the favourite themes of Scottish national poetry, may not be 
 without some influence on their judgment. I must agree 
 with the German translator on one important point at least : 
 if it can be proved, by historical testimony, that many of 
 Ossian's songs were originally sung by the Highland bards, 
 and have been preserved during a long period among the 
 Highland clans, such strong internal evidence fully contro- 
 verts the supposition that Macpherson and his Scottish 
 accomplices fabricated and invented the whole ; an opinion 
 which the scepticism and party spirit of many learned 
 Englishmen have maintained with almost unreasonable per- 
 tinacity. 
 
 It must be acknowledged that our possession of the Gaelic 
 Ossian makes it now, for the first time, possible to arrive at 
 some conclusion as to the period when the Ossianic poems 
 were first produced and to which some among them being 
 admitted to be ancient and genuine, must unquestionably be 
 attributed. All conjectures based upon the translation of 
 Macpherson must be discarded as without foundation, since 
 Macpherson, anxious from mistaken patriotism to give greater 
 antiquity to these poems, and carry them back even to the 
 period of the Romans, has allowed himself in many instances 
 to falsify the text. A remarkable proof of this is adduced 
 by our German translator.* An opponent of Fionnghal, 
 probably a chief or petty prince of the Hebrides or the 
 Carun, mentioned in the poem Carthoun, is called the 
 " Schildburg Fürst." The translator mentions an equally 
 mighty chief, styled by Ossian " King of the Shield ; " but 
 Macpherson transforms the epithet into that of " King of the 
 World," and thence assigns it to the universal sovereign or 
 Ccesar of Rome. If the reader be prepared to believe that 
 these titles and personages exist in Ossian's poems, it becomes 
 easy to change Caracul, a prince of Carun, into the Roman 
 * Ahlwart, Part iii. p. 9. 47. 
 
part m.] 
 
 GAELIC OSSIAN. 
 
 251 
 
 Caracalla, and to frame in connexion with this many similar 
 misinterpretations and misapplications. Our translator re- 
 jects these hypotheses as completely untenable, and all which 
 carry back the period of Ossian to the time of the Romans. 
 Whether they are intentional perversions of the text by 
 Macpherson, or whether, blinded by partiality, and misled 
 by an insufficient knowledge of the Gaelic language, he read 
 the passages falsely and applied them erroneously in working 
 out his favourite theory, is immaterial, the historical results 
 being the same in either case. 
 
 This fundamental error, however, by placing the Ossianic 
 poems in the period of the Roman domination, fixes the 
 point of action throughout at a much too early date, and 
 thus exhibits the whole in a completely erroneous light. But 
 having once dispersed that delusion, it is easy, by an unpre- 
 judiced study of the poems themselves, to fix the sphere and 
 period to which they actually belong. 
 
 The most important action recorded in the Ossianic poems, 
 indeed the only one bearing a decidedly historical stamp, is 
 that of Fingal ; one of the greatest exploits performed by 
 the old Scottish warriors, in defending Erin, or Ireland, 
 against the incursions of the mighty Swaran, king of 
 Lochlin. This subject lies, indeed, quite within the sphere of 
 historical probability. Lochlin is described as a mighty 
 kingdom, which may account for the circumstance of a suc- 
 cessful resistance to its power being celebrated as a lofty and 
 heroic deed. To decide from historical evidence, on the 
 situation and extent of this kingdom of Lochlin is conse- 
 quently a point of considerable importance. Lochlin, say 
 the commentators, must be either Jutland or Norway ; our 
 translator leaves the locality undecided. Many voyages 
 between Ireland and Scotland are of course described, toge- 
 ther with the adventures of the sea-kings and heroes of Jut- 
 land and Denmark upon those coasts, and the islands inter- 
 vening. 
 
 All the local indications in the poem seem, however, to 
 correspond with Norway rather than J utland. Lochlin itself 
 is described as a woody, mountainous country, covered with 
 continual snow, more rugged, wild, and barren than even 
 the north-western shore of Scotland. But the circumstance 
 that the Orkney and Shetland Isles are said in the poem to 
 
252 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART HI. 
 
 be tributary to the king of Lochlin, is even more decisive. 
 It leads directly to the certain epoch of Harold Harfagre's 
 reign. This powerful sovereign, first formed Norway into a 
 kingdom, and after having brought it completely into subjec- 
 tion, extended his conquests so widely on every side that the 
 dominion thus founded in the distant north, though little 
 known or regarded by the rest of Europe, might almost have 
 rivalled that of France formed by Charlemagne, his prede- 
 cessors and successors. Iceland, the distant Iceland or Thüle, 
 so often sung by bards and historians, the chief seat of 
 northern poetic art, was peopled, or at least repopulated by 
 the Normans fleeing before the establishment of monarchy 
 in France, who probably in some of their more distant expe- 
 ditions even reached the continent of America, and certainly 
 occupied the islands lying between Jutland and the western 
 coast of Norway, and occasionally made inroads into that 
 country. The mighty sovereign of Lochlin, consequently, 
 abandoned his own dominions in order to pursue the marau- 
 ders into the adjacent islands, discover their lurking places, 
 and make himself master of the islands themselves. Difficul- 
 ties must necessarily arise in fixing, with historical precision, 
 the year in which the chief incidents in the poem of Fingal 
 occurred, and reconnecting the usually trifling deviations 
 between songs, which have for centuries been preserved and 
 transmitted by oral tradition, and Bardic records, and the 
 attested though often obscure facts of history. Still it may 
 at least be considered certain that the kingdom of Lochlin 
 was a part of Norway, and that the poems of Ossian belong 
 to the Norman period. This latter fact is unquestionable, 
 even supposing that an adequate investigation of this some- 
 what complicated subject should lead us to fix Fingal's ex- 
 ploits in the time of the Normans, but somewhat earlier than 
 Harold Harfagre, and to understand by Lochlin the coast of 
 Denmark or Jutland, an explanation which does not appear 
 to me probable ; but in neither case could there be any great 
 difference in the period. 
 
 Early Scottish history has been divided by the latest and 
 most learned investigator of the antiquities of that country 
 (Chalmer's Caledonia, 4 vols. 4to. 1807,) into four distinct 
 periods. The first is the Roman, extending from 80 to 446. 
 Of this we need not speak, as Ossian's writings are certainly 
 
PART HI.] PERIOD OF THE OSSIANIC POEMS. 253 
 
 not so ancient. Then that of the Picts, 446-843. The 
 Picts, as Chalmers, in opposition to Macpherson and his 
 partisans, maintains and proves, were not of Teutonic, but of 
 Welsh-British origin, and allied to the Celtic inhabitants of 
 Wales, and the tribes settled in Bretagne, in France. The 
 third period is that of the Scotch. This people appear to have 
 emanated originally from Ireland, a colony from that island 
 having settled in Argyleshire, the country of Fingal and 
 Ossian. The Ossianic poems, and the principal events re- 
 lated of Fingal in particular, belong, as our translator in- 
 forms us, to the period in which Scotland and Ireland, (in 
 Gaelic, Alba and Eirinn,) " were inhabited by a people of 
 similar descent, language, and customs:" not, therefore, to 
 the later period of the Picts, but rather to the Scottish 
 period, which, according to Chalmers, extends from 843 to 
 1097. This is succeeded by the Scottish Saxon, when the 
 first Saxon colonies settled in that country ; and Saxon 
 customs, legislation, and language gradually gained the 
 ascendant. 
 
 The exploits and songs of Fingal and Ossian being once 
 assigned to the period of the Normans, much that had before 
 appeared obscure is elucidated, and difficulties which hither- 
 to seemed insuperable vanish in a moment. The first we 
 notice of these is the total silence observed with regard to 
 the southern portion of the island of Great Britain. The 
 Saxons, then reigning in England, were indeed so fully oc- 
 cupied in defending their own dominions against the incur- 
 sions of the Danes, that they had little time to devote to an 
 invasion of Scotland. Both nations, too., were united by 
 similarity of religious belief. The Anglo-Saxons were 
 Christians, and that faith had long since been diffused in 
 Scotland, although its progress was very gradual, and it 
 was long before its dominion and authority was universally 
 acknowledged. 
 
 Many dwellers on the rocky fastnesses of the distant 
 Highlands, and many chiefs of the old tribes, were either 
 ignorant of, or refused to accept the doctrines of Christi- 
 anity. The worship of the Druids, however, had long been 
 totally extinct ; and this circumstance may account for the 
 absence of any reference in these poems to their tenets or 
 institutions, as well as for the peculiar Ossianic mythology, 
 
254 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. f PART IH. 
 
 or rather its total deficiency in that respect, — a deficiency, 
 which contributes to fix the apparent origin of the poems at 
 a period, which vacillating in an undecided medium, was 
 partially free from crude and barbarous superstitions, yet 
 not influenced by any pure spiritual faith. Ossian seems 
 like a melancholy echo from the voice of a ruined nation, 
 the last vanishing shadow of man's departing faith in an- 
 cient mythology. Besides the spirits of departed heroes 
 hovering around their mountains, shrouded in mist and 
 cloud, Ossian knows no immortal or divine being : he names 
 none, except the Loduinn, who, however, was worshipped, 
 not in Scotland or Ireland, not in Alba or Eirinn, but in 
 the distant realm of Lochlin, and ought probably to be 
 identified with Odin, so long the supreme divinity of Scan- 
 dinavia. It is as if the unhappy race, whose last expiring 
 groans were heard in Ossian, had no longer any divinities 
 of their own, and therefore turned with longing hearts to 
 the majestic heroes and demigods of the happier Scandina- 
 vian north. 
 
 It is not improbable that the worship of Odin had been 
 introduced by the Normans into the Orkney and Shetland 
 isles ; and from the frequent mention made of him in the 
 poems of Ossian, we are almost tempted to believe that the 
 gods of Scandinavia were regarded with especial reverence 
 and affection, at least by that race of heroes of whom Fingal 
 was the chief. Their expeditions and voyages had conti- 
 nually brought them into contact with the Scandinavian 
 kings, and they had learned to know each other, not in 
 hostile combat alone, but at the banquet of friendship and 
 hospitality ; they were, in fact, linked in bonds of affection, 
 their alliance being still more closely cemented by a mar- 
 riage with Trenmor, the ancestor of their race. 
 
 a King of Lochlin, said Fingal, 
 Thy blood flows in the veins of thy foe. 
 Our fathers met in battle, 
 Because they loved the strife of spears. 
 But often did they feast in the hall, 
 And send round the joy of the shell. " 
 
 Fingal, book vi. 
 
 From this half warlike, half friendly intercourse with the 
 Scandinavian heroes, the lords of Lochlin, Ossian probably 
 
PART in.] PERIOD OF THE OSSIANIC POEMS. 255 
 
 derived his knowledge of Odin. It must, in the first place, 
 be admitted that the frequent references to Scandinavia, 
 found not in legends and ballads alone, but apparent also in 
 the daring actions and poetic genius of the Norman race, 
 had probably some indirect influence in rousing the spirit of 
 Gaelic song and kindling the fancy of the Scottish bards ; 
 although the inventive and poetic faculty of Gaelic and 
 Scandinavian, and, above all, of Celtic and German min- 
 strelsy, differ most distinctly. 
 
 The new impulse which the genius of the Normans re- 
 ceived after the time of Harold Harfagre, like that which 
 stirred in France and Germany in the period of Charle- 
 magne, operated very generally in the development of tradi- 
 tion and poetry. In the North, more especially in Iceland, 
 the traditions of Odin, and the songs of the Edda, were 
 kindled into new life by the Normans who fled thither, and 
 when Christianity reached the distant shores of Thüle, were 
 perhaps even more widely circulated and collected. 
 
 Still the Norman race, who planted themselves on the 
 further shores of France, seem, in embracing Christianity, 
 to have discarded both the faith and the language of their 
 ancestors. Yet the bold, romantic spirit which they brought 
 with them from the North, continued during many centuries 
 to be the peculiar characteristic of their race. They pro- 
 bably were the first who recorded the deeds of Charlemagne 
 and the brave Roland, in the form of an epic poem. In the 
 time of Yfilliam the Conqueror they carried the ballad of 
 Roland with them into England, and had a great and essen- 
 tial share in producing the poetry of the Crusades. 
 
 The exploits of Fingal, and the songs of Ossian, if we 
 assign to the former the earliest period in which they could 
 possibly have occurred, and suppose the songs to have been 
 almost contemporary with the actions recorded, cannot have 
 been earlier than the conclusion of the ninth or the opening 
 of the tenth century. It accidentally happens that their 
 appearance was simultaneous with that of many other grand 
 poetical works. The development of the Edda in its present 
 form took place about this time in Iceland, while the 
 knightly deeds of Charlemagne and Roland became the 
 theme of Norman song. The eastern poet, Ferdousi, about 
 the same time collected in his immortal work the history of 
 
256 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH* f PART III. 
 
 Persia, and the traditions of her ancient kings and warriors. 
 Not much later, too, the Spanish Cid performed those ex- 
 ploits, which were almost immediately celebrated in heroic 
 tales, and made the subject of charming songs and ballads ; 
 while in Germany the song of the Niebelungen appeared, re- 
 lating the legend of Attila and of his last marriage, — the 
 misfortunes inflicted upon Germany by the Frankish and 
 Gothic heroes, — no records of which as yet existed either in 
 the Upper German or the Saxon language. 
 
 All these works appeared in the very heart of that long 
 period of time usually designated the " night of the middle 
 ages," a term, perhaps, well fitted to express the isolated ex- 
 istence of nations and individuals, and the interruption of 
 that universal, active intercourse prevailing in the later 
 period of Roman dominion. So also in respect to the gifts 
 of imagination, which were no longer so widely and gene- 
 rally diffused, and because the business and occupation of 
 the day was not then prosecuted with so much skill and 
 dexterity as in modern times, that remarkable period in 
 the civilization of mankind may indeed be termed a night ; 
 but how starlight, — how radiant was that night ! Now, on 
 the contrary, we are wrapt in the gloom and confusion of a 
 lingering twilight. The stars which shone upon that night 
 are dim, many of them sunk even below the horizon, yet no 
 day has risen upon us ! More than once, indeed, men have 
 bid us hail the dawn of a new sun, bringing universal 
 knowledge, happiness, and prosperity ; but the results have 
 by no means justified the rash anticipation ; and if some 
 promise still seem to herald the approach of day, it is but 
 the chill breath of the morning air, which ever precedes the 
 breaking light. 
 
 My observations on these Ossianic poems have been 
 founded on the principle of conceding to them the highest 
 possible antiquity, which is at all consistent with historical 
 truth, and at the same time acquiescing at once in their rela- 
 tive authenticity. Certainly, unless the contrary be proved 
 by extraneous circumstances, no internal evidence militates 
 against the supposition that such a hero-race as that of Fingai 
 existed on the north-west coast of Scotland in the ninth and 
 tenth centuries ; that it actually produced an Ossian, who, as 
 bard and hero, celebrated his own exploits and those of his 
 
PART III. J 
 
 THE POEMS OF OS STAN. 
 
 257 
 
 race. If his constant recurrence to the melancholy remem- 
 brance of departed ancestors, and the earlier period of their 
 glory, become by frequent repetition monotonous and weary- 
 ing, still the continual interweaving of the person of the bard 
 into the history narrated, affords a happy poetical and uni- 
 versal point of union, and greatly contributes to enhance 
 that fascinating interest with which the poems have inspired 
 so many readers and hearers. The circumstance is, indeed, 
 so peculiarly propitious, that many succeeding bards have 
 adopted the form once suggested, and written and sung as if 
 in Ossian's person. The discoveries made by other investi- 
 gators, in regard to the origin and transmission of old songs 
 in general, make it appear probable, if not certain, that these 
 poems were originally distinct songs and romances ; the com- 
 plicated construction, and the confused interpolation of 
 various episodes, apparently the work of a later hand, may 
 thus be satisfactorily accounted for. 
 
 The Ossianic poems may, from their general historical tenor, 
 be arranged in one consecutive series, forming a record of 
 the history, adventures, and exploits of the race of Fingal ; 
 they may be further divided into three classes, according to 
 their intrinsic importance and their relation to the leading 
 subject. The first class comprises songs commemorating the 
 deliverance of Ireland by FingaL, from the assaults of the 
 Normans ; these, in fact, are the pith and essence of the 
 work. I place in the second the earlier Norwegian adven- 
 tures and voyages, which tend to introduce the principal 
 event ; and next, Fingal's avenging the murder of the 
 youthful king of Eirin, related in the poem " Temora." 
 
 Although there is little internal historical evidence to dis- 
 turb the probability of this general scheme, still it is quite 
 possible that many of the various songs, and the events re- 
 corded in them, whether of an earlier or later date, were 
 merely intended as adjuncts of the principal theme. Poetical 
 fictions relating to the parent are often younger than those 
 of which the child is the subject ; for when the legendary 
 history of any great hero and his exploits is once known 
 and popular, succeeding bards and poets, treading easily 
 in the path already opened for them, soon assemble round 
 him sons, ancestors, a whole race of relatives and pro- 
 geny, while the original history is continually made the 
 
 s 
 
258 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART IH. 
 
 groundwork of new fictions and poems. A similar exclu- 
 sive and imitative impulse displayed itself in the period of 
 artistic poetry, re-copying and re-embodying every style and 
 arrangement ; and in older legendary times it worked in- 
 cessantly upon the same material, prolonging and varying 
 the theme once chosen long after its original spirit had fled 
 and its early vigour had become exhausted. The last class of 
 poems may comprise all the unconnected adventures, and 
 numerous episodes introduced, with the tragic tales of love 
 and murder ; these latter bear a strong resemblance to the 
 later Scottish ballads, so many of which have appeared since 
 the Percy edition, and in which the catastrophe is usually 
 tragic. In these, however, a more truthful colouring pre- 
 vails, and in some among them the gloomy national taste is 
 much ameliorated by the influence of Christianity and 
 chivalric sentiments. I turn now to the Edda, to which I 
 have several times alluded in the course of my observations 
 on Ossian, and which at this time engages the lively atten- 
 tion of Danish poets and critics, while in Germany also 
 Gräter, Hagen, and Grimm have furnished us with various 
 elucidatory labours, and give the promise of completing them 
 by still more ample supplementary observations. 
 
 In fact, if any monument of the primitive northern world 
 deserves a place among the earlier remains of the south, 
 the Icelandic Edda must, next to the German " Niebelungen 
 Lied," be deemed most worthy of that distinction. The 
 spiritual veneration for nature, to which the sensual Greek 
 was an entire stranger, gushes forth in the mysterious language 
 and prophetic traditions of the Northern Edda with a full 
 tide of enthusiasm and inspiration, sufficient to endure for 
 centuries, and to supply a whole race of future bards and 
 poets with a precious and animating elixir. The same deep 
 reverence for nature, though invested with the splendid 
 colouring of Eastern diction and imagination, is also found 
 in the Persian Zendavesta, presenting a striking contrast to 
 the Greek mythology, which, amid the surpassing beauty of 
 its exterior forms, was material in its inmost principle ; far 
 different from the pure and less corrupt spirit of that severe 
 paganism which inspired our German forefathers. The 
 vivid delineations and rich glowing abundance and anima- 
 tion of the Homeric pictures of the world are not more 
 
FAßT HI.] GREEK, GERMAN, AND PERSIAN MYTHOLOGY. 259 
 
 decidedly superior to the misty scenes and shadowy forms of 
 Ossian, than the northern Edda is in its sublimity to the works 
 of Hesiod. No other mythology, poetry, or art, can rival the 
 Greek in highly intellectual development, and the external 
 sensual beauty of form and style ; but in its inborn con- 
 ceptions of nature, in the ideas on which its structure is 
 based, the Greek mythology must yield the palm to the Per- 
 sian Zendavesta, and the Edda of our own ancestors. The 
 inexhaustible fertility and creative power of nature, repre- 
 sented by significant material symbols, was the fundamental 
 idea of Greek theogony, while in the perpetual interchange 
 of hatred and love, in the attraction and repulsion of Eros 
 and Eris, we trace the unvarying law of that natural dynamic 
 force, which, continually revolving upon itself, tends back- 
 wards to the nothingness of its primseval source. The later 
 atomic philosophy, from which the materialism of the moderns 
 borrowed its molecules, was latent in the old chaos of the 
 Greek cosmogony. Single philosophers occasionally arose, 
 who, rejecting and casting aside the old system of Greek my- 
 thology, strove to exalt the simple original essence of nature 
 concealed beneath the lifeless mass and rude veil of outer 
 forms, and venerating that essence as water, fire, and vivify- 
 ing air. Yet they were ignorant of that principle of light 
 which is the purest of all merely natural elements, recognising 
 nature as nature only, and not attributing to air, water, or 
 fire those higher spiritual qualities with which they were 
 endowed in the Northern cosmogony. The veneration for 
 the elements, which was an essential principle in the Persian 
 and German Theology, forms the purest and most spiritual 
 part of the old belief in nature, and must not be confounded 
 with the rude materialism prevailing among the Greeks, 
 who suppose the world to have arisen from chaos, or to 
 have been framed of self-combining atoms, treating nature 
 in her boundless creative power merely as an animal of in- 
 exhaustible productive energy. Notwithstanding the per- 
 fection of sensual art among the Greeks, the spirituality of 
 nature was entirely strange to them ; but it was commonly 
 received and understood by the Persians and Germans who, 
 in spite of the difference of climate and situation, are yet 
 congenial in language, character, and manners. 
 
 The spirit of the Edda is undoubtedly tragic ; for a con- 
 
 s 2 
 
260 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART HI. 
 
 stant veneration and contemplation of nature, if unaccom- 
 panied by a knowledge of the Supreme Divinity, invariably 
 produces in healthy and vigorous minds a tragic and melan- 
 choly impression of life ; thus the inmost feeling of the 
 poets of antiquity, in spite of the glowing brightness of 
 their representations, has ever been tragic if not gloomy. 
 The light of hope and joy, in works of poetry or fiction, can 
 emanate only from the rays of that sun of righteousness, 
 truth, and love, which had never revealed itself to the genius 
 of the ancients. 
 
 The mythology of the North is also tragic ; yet its melan- 
 choly is of a very different character from the gloom of the 
 misty and almost idealess Ossian. Balder*, the most noble 
 of the sons of Odin, falls a victim to inevitable death. Odin, 
 the progenitor of heroes, the creator of light and of all 
 things divine, is subdued in his last battle against the invad- 
 ing powers of darkness ; the ancient seers have warned him 
 of his doom, and in order that he may have more warriors 
 around him on that fatal day of combat, the result of which 
 he foresees though unable to avert, he sends Death to sum- 
 mon the noblest mortal heroes and assemble them in the 
 Halls of Valhalla. Yet the tragic influence of this northern 
 mythology, though deep and intense, is calmer and more 
 gentle in its operation ; everything that love can inspire, of 
 tender and beautiful, every glorious image that nature and 
 the spring can supply, is interwoven with the tragedy, tem- 
 pering its mournfulness, while at the same time the true, 1 
 valiant spirit of old heroic times gives life and animation 
 to the narrative. 
 
 Still, in spite of all that Suhni, Sandtwig, Thorkelin, and 
 Nyerup have done towards elucidating Northern antiquities, 
 the Edda remains a theme for study rather than a source of 
 immediate enjoyment. It requires to be interpreted by a poet, 
 who combines clear and profound intellect with great powers 
 of imagination, — who is capable of unravelling the mys- 
 terious traditions and songs of the Edda, and transfusing 
 them into poems which may speak intelligibly both to the 
 outward senses, and to the deeper feelings of the soul. 
 
 Fame reports that Denmark possesses even now such a 
 poet and scald, inspired by the very spirit of Odin; and 
 
 * See Mallet's Northern Antiquities, Böhnes Standard Library, p. 117. 
 
PART HI.] 
 
 DANISH AUTHORS. 
 
 261 
 
 certainly during the latter half of the eighteenth century, 
 when the gifts of poetry had departed from all the other 
 nations of Europe, no people except the Germans, produced 
 any equally distinguished poet, or cultivated the art with so 
 much success as the Danes. 
 
 We have in fact been wrong in so long neglecting and 
 undervaluing the modern poetry of the North, for each na- 
 tive poet in that region stands in many respects far nearer 
 the source than ourselves, and his productions, even if con- 
 sidered only as guides or waymarks to the understanding of 
 the Edda, will prove as such valuable, and entitled to our 
 warmest gratitude. 
 
 Grundtwig, a highly intellectual Danish author, whose 
 work, " Nordens Mytologi eller Udsigt over Eddalaeren, 
 1808," forms an instructive introduction to the study of 
 Danish poetry, gives the following brief summary of such 
 modern works as are connected with the themes of Northern 
 Mythology. 
 
 " Ewald composed his ' Balder,' and in that poem a dark 
 resemblance of the majesty of the North breathed forth ; 
 but the poet himself, standing on the outer circle of the 
 world he seeks to represent, is the more easily comprehended 
 by those who, like him, stand without. 
 
 "The manly Pram felt that Thor would appear very 
 differently in the sphere of nature, and in that in which 
 he himself lived and sang. He saw the power of the North 
 unfold itself in Stärkodder, and often have I lamented that 
 he turned away from — 
 
 " ' The muse who once inspired the Runic seer 
 With artless songs of free heroic fame, — 
 Of fights wherein proud chiefs of glorious name 
 The rock -like giants fell'd ; ' — 
 
 but he, glancing around and discovering the feebleness and 
 degeneracy of the times, broke out into an exclamation of 
 sorrow, only too well founded : — 
 
 " * No heart desires to hear thy glorions tone ! 
 Who heeds, tho' now thy thunders roll around? 
 They fear, and flee, but Thee they honour not ! ' 
 
 " In his poetical despair he turned to the pursuit of clear- 
 ness and perspicuity alone, and although his natural genius 
 
 s 3 
 
262 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART IH. 
 
 forbade liim long to submit to that cold rude school, he yet 
 closed his eyes, refusing to look upon the majestic form, 
 which, considering the height on which he stood, must other- 
 wise have been compelled to disclose itself to him. 
 
 " What can be said of the remaining poets, — of those be- 
 longing to that period which people have not blushed to call 
 the golden time of Danish poetry? probably because the 
 purest gold would have been lost upon their dull sight and 
 erring judgment. A period when all who could write a 
 verse, with rhyme or without it, or even a tolerable song or 
 ballad, enrolled himself, as worthy, in his own estimation, to 
 rank among the poets and scalds. What could the North 
 anticipate from such poets ? It had, indeed, good cause to 
 fear them, for some few wished to tread in the steps of Ewald 
 and Pram ; and bewildering themselves in their efforts to 
 attain that object, burdened their poetry with crowds of 
 mythic words, and the names of ancient divinities. Every 
 reader who has sense to appreciate true grandeur and beauty, 
 will turn with disgust from such mythological sport ; and 
 while the praiseworthy sowers stand horrified and almost 
 dumb with astonishment, because the empty husks do not 
 spring up amid the rubbish and bring forth fruit a hun- 
 dred-fold, the unhappy idea that Northern Mythology is but 
 an empty unmeaning verbosity, takes deeper root in the 
 minds of all who see it continually represented under that 
 form without contradiction or censure. 
 
 " Baggesen had too much of the poet's soul to become 
 one of those who from the diction and phraseology of the 
 Edda constructed stilts, in the fallacious hope of being 
 thought sublime. Yet, with grief I acknowledge it, the 
 injuries he inflicted on the divinities of the North were 
 almost greater than they had endured from either of the 
 others: for he had it in his power to injure them, and 
 employed that power; — treating them with arbitrary hand, 
 as if they had been his own peculiar property, lie set the 
 fool's-cap on their heads, and held them up to derision and 
 mockery. 
 
 " Thus stood the gods of our fathers ; their crowns cast 
 down, the sceptres broken in their hands, till Oehlenschläger 
 the Scald ventured to seek them where they stood in their 
 desolation, yet illumined by a radiance which no shadows 
 
PART III.] IMITATORS OF THE EDDA. 263 
 
 could wholly obscure, no veil shroud from the eyes of the 
 poet. Often, indeed, did he believe that he had found them, 
 when he grasped only their shadowy forms ; often has he 
 adorned them with stranger robes of southern gold and 
 purple splendour, woven by his own skilful hand, because 
 he too hastily overlooked their peculiar characteristic fea- 
 tures. Still, what hitherto he has not understood, the future 
 will reveal to him, for he has power to comprehend ; and 
 even should it not be so, he will enjoy the eternal fame of 
 having first inspired the North with veneration for its gods, 
 and bestowed upon them such symbolic attire as was meet 
 for their glorious fame." 
 
 To these names I would subjoin that of the critical writer 
 Grundtwig, whose poem of "Freys und Gerda's Liebe" 
 proved him to be, in the noblest sense of the word, a poet. 
 
 A German Scaldsong also deserves to be associated with 
 those Danish imitators and versifiers of the Edda, the " Hero 
 of the North" (Held des Nordens), by Friedrich Yon 
 Fouque. In this poem, inspired and fully penetrated by the 
 spirit of Odin, the poetical art of the North stands revealed, 
 in all its glorious beauty, to our enraptured gaze. The feel- 
 ing in which this work is conceived will be best expressed 
 by the following lines, extracted from the author's preli- 
 minary address : — 
 
 " Oh had ye but your noble fathers sought, 
 Asking their guiding aid and their's alone, 
 Long since, instead of morning's early dawn 
 The day's warm sunshine would have sparkled round you. 
 Ye would not ! To the stranger's soul ye clung, 
 And for yourselves ye wrought a stunted form 
 Of foreign mould." 
 
 This poem presents, in three divisions, a dramatic version 
 of the entire legend of Sigurd, from the Scandinavian text ; 
 besides the Volsunga Saga, and other Icelandic Sagas already 
 known, it contains also a few passages, never before published, 
 from the old Saemunda Edda, as, for example, the Sigurdar 
 Quida, The historical purpose of this Saga is the same 
 as that of the Niebelungen Lied, varying only in a few 
 single particulars. The first part relates to Sigurd's heroic 
 exploits and adventures, his two-fold love, misfortunes and 
 death. The second contains an account of the avenging of 
 
 s 4 
 
264 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART III. 
 
 his murder, and the defeat of the warriors in Attila's burg. 
 The third, entitled Aslauga, relates the fate of his daugh- 
 ter, who, for many years, lives unknown in the disguise of 
 a shepherdess, but afterwards becomes the wife of King 
 Regner Lodbrok, so celebrated in Danish songs. The dra- 
 matic structure adopted by the German poet was not, per- 
 haps, essentially necessary. A narrative epic poem might 
 have been equally suitable ; yet, in reproducing the poetical 
 labours of the early Sagas, the dramatic form has at least 
 this advantage, that many points which perhaps could not be 
 quite clearly defined and explained are thus set more percep- 
 tibly and in a more varied aspect before the eyes of the reader. 
 I believe we shall do the German poet most honour by not 
 dividing him from his work ; but, adopting the spirit of his 
 own introductory observation, 4 ( the legend claims your at- 
 tention, I but humbly follow it afar ; whoever would wish 
 it to be disguised, let him not accompany us." The theatre 
 of artistic vanity, and that style of poetry which ministers 
 to the fashionable taste of the day, must be abandoned, ere 
 the theme of heroic tradition can be worthily treated ; for it 
 is the great prerogative of a legend that, instead of being a 
 grand artistic composition, the creation of an individual 
 mind, its operation extends through many varying periods 
 of time, and many generations of men and poets, like the 
 spirit of undying nature, not owning any single earthly 
 master, nor formed to bend beneath his arbitrary will. The 
 German poet, in this hallowed grove of early poetry, has 
 gathered for himself a crown of undying verdure, twined 
 of the oak leaves of his fatherland ; without, therefore, dwell- 
 ing longer on his own great poetical merits, as on a separate 
 feature, let us rather turn to the study of the poem itself. 
 In comparing the German Niebelungen with this Northern 
 poem, the softer spirit of Christian chivalry which floats 
 gently around the former, softening particular details and 
 circumstances, gives it the superiority ; still, in the Northern 
 Niebelungen we are sensible of a more profound feeling, of 
 that prophetic foreboding supposed to reside in the works 
 and in the operations of nature. Immediately from that 
 fountain a stream of melancholy, desire, and love gushes forth, 
 flowing on unceasingly towards us, and calling up long 
 buried remembrances. We see enthroned in flames the 
 
PART III.] 
 
 THE NIEBELUNGEN LIED. 
 
 265 
 
 heroic maiden, Sigurd's first beloved.* When guilt has en- 
 tered, and peace and happiness are for ever banished by 
 revenge and cruelty, still the desert waste of the now com- 
 pleted tragedy is lighted by some gleams of promise. As- 
 lauga, the child of the most noble affection, appears like 
 the beneficent light of returning hope, and after many 
 surprising adventures, becomes the wife of Regner Lodbrok 
 and queen of the Danish warriors.f Brynhilda is the most 
 prominent character in the Northern poem, and far more 
 nobly portrayed than in the German ; in this last-mentioned, 
 on the contrary, the character of Attila is less fearfully cruel, 
 and, perhaps even, is drawn in too favourable a light to be 
 strictly consistent with historical veracity. The noble- 
 minded, benevolent Rüdiger is the perfect impersonation 
 of a Christian hero, and could not have been conceived 
 or embodied by a heathen imagination. Each version of the 
 legend is thus seen to have its own peculiar features and local 
 colouring. 
 
 But how, it may be asked, can the Northern warrior 
 Sigurd have become actor in a history originating among 
 Frankish and Burgundian heroes, on the shores of the Rhine, 
 and the scene of which is laid in Attila's kingdom on the 
 banks of the Danube ? This difficulty may be solved by the 
 following consideration. The legend of the Niebelungen and 
 of Attila, first sung in old Gothic songs, then transcribed into 
 the Latin, or imitated in the Saxon, may indeed have been 
 originally confined within one circle, although in the course of 
 time much extraneous matter became interwoven with the 
 original text. The Danish hero who reigned in Southern 
 Jutland was not so very distant from Saxony nor from the 
 northern German territory. Siegfried too, who granted 
 his favour and protection to Witikind, the leader of the 
 
 * See Brynhilda. Herbert's Works, vol. i. p. 149. 
 
 f All this history of Aslauga is completely at variance with Herbert 
 and others. " Regner's wife by a second marriage was certainly named 
 Aslauga, and she has here been erroneously identified with the illegitimate 
 child of Brynhilda, by Sigurd, who lived in the time of Attila, or in 
 truth was Attila himself: but this is a gross error and anachronism." 
 Attila reigned from 433 to 453, and Regner Lodbrok is said to have been 
 killed in 7 94. — Note to the Dying Song of Regner Lodbrok, Herbert's 
 Works, vo]. i. p. 294. : also Mallet's Northern Antiquities, Bohn, S. L. 
 p. 384. — Trans. 
 
266 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART HI. 
 
 Saxons in their wars against Charlemagne, might easily 
 awaken a remembrance of the ancient Siegfried, and con- 
 tribute to diffuse the traditionary glory of that name, and 
 of the Jutland hero among both Saxons and Germans. 
 
 In the last Austrian version of the Niebelungen Lied, their 
 native and favourite hero Rüdiger is introduced, and a si- 
 milar early, though scarcely so remarkable, anachronism, 
 may, in the Northern German version of the poem, have 
 prompted the adoption of the Jutland warrior Sigurd. Still 
 the anachronism is clearly proved, for although much that 
 is merely fiction enters into the account of Sigurd in the 
 Northern legend, his historical position is ascertained by 
 the marriage of his daughter Aslauga with the Danish king 
 Regner Lodbrok, 730 — 794. Even in authentic history, 
 some circumstances are related of Sigurd, the immediate 
 predecessor of Regner Lodbrok, which decidedly appertain 
 to the other Sigurd, the fabulous dragon -killer, Fafnisbane, 
 and are borrowed from the German legend. We are, there- 
 fore, justified in supposing the same to have occurred in 
 other points, and it certainly could not have been easy, 
 throughout both history and legend, to distinguish clearly 
 between the two Rüdigers, and decide the particular points 
 in which one may have borrowed from the other. Anachro- 
 nisms of this sort are frequently found in the heroic poems 
 of the ancients, and arise from the influence of national par- 
 tiality ; poetical and patriotic impulse have at least equal 
 weight. Thus, in the instance of -ZEneas and Dido, *the 
 Trojan hero is, according to history and. chronology, some 
 hundred years older than Dido ; yet the poet unites them 
 in the bonds of love. Similar examples might, no doubt, 
 be cited in Homer, were we as capable of making historical 
 comments on his poems as we often imagine ourselves to be 
 of censuring and criticising them. 
 
 The Northern legend, happily as it has been modernised 
 by a bard whose mind was deeply imbued with its spirit, 
 and who adhered closely to the text, is still, although so 
 vividly represented, a tradition only, a memorial of earlier 
 times, the echo of a former world. The most essential ele- 
 ment in the poem is the fresh spirit of nature breathing 
 throughout, a peculiarly Northern impulse, which is deeply 
 implanted in our hearts, and is even more strikingly seen 
 
PAKT in.] 
 
 SH AK SPE ARE. 
 
 267 
 
 in Shakspeare, who, by its influence, enters completely into 
 our daily world, and becomes again living and present with 
 us. Shakspeare is, therefore, most justly acknowledged 
 to be the favourite poet not only of the English, but of all 
 nations of Teutonic origin : excepting only when a foreign 
 and unnatural influence intervenes, and people have already 
 become false to their original character and better feeling. 
 What more can be said of this noble poet ? He is a man 
 among his compeers, so many of whom, interpreting too 
 literally that prerogative of eternal youth so willingly con- 
 ceded to him, grasp at it and abusing it, fail. We may, 
 indeed, apply to him the words of his own Hamlet : — 
 
 " He was a man, take him for all in all 
 We shall not look upon his like again." 
 
 Clear and intelligible even to the understanding of a child, 
 wondrous and fascinating to the youthful imagination, he is 
 still the friend and fellow traveller of the full grown man, 
 the confidant of his thoughts and most serious feelings ; when 
 the prime of life is past, the poet is still his faithful com- 
 panion ; many other associates, to whom he clung in youth, 
 appear empty and frivolous, and while he marvels to what 
 they owed their former fascinating charm, our glorious Shak- 
 speare retains all his value to the last, unshaken by the few 
 solitary blemishes, defects of taste, as they are called, which 
 are sometimes pointed out, but which are in general merely 
 the offspring of our own misapprehension. 
 
 A parallel example exists in another sphere of intellectual 
 exertion, widely removed from that of poetry. Although 
 many, who profess to discern the golden era of the Latin 
 language in the eloquent periods of Cicero alone, censure 
 the silvery style of Tacitus, and trace in it the evidence of 
 a declining and already degenerate taste, his works are still 
 preferred to all others, and form the eternal handbook of the 
 contemplative statesman, or the serious inquirer into the 
 history of the world. The scope of this comparison may 
 appear almost too extensive to be correct ; still there is one 
 point in which the genius of both may be exactly compared. 
 Never, since the time of Tacitus, has the character of a 
 tyrant been drawn with so much truth and energy as that 
 of Henry VIII. by Shakspeare, and yet, at the same time, 
 
268 ON TUE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PAKT in. 
 
 with so little exaggeration, with such truth in the external 
 expression and colouring, that his king-like daughter Queen 
 Elizabeth could endure to witness the representation.* Henry, 
 notwithstanding the vehemence and cruelty of his disposi- 
 tion, was yet a slave to forms. He played the tyrant in his 
 own family and within the circle of his court ; but his man- 
 dates came from the depth of his cabinet, and his measures 
 were often circuitous and indirect. He thus became reserved 
 from his position, even if he had not been so by nature. An 
 equally arbitrary and ambitious character has been portrayed 
 by Shakspeare in Richard III. Yet the temperament of 
 the latter is widely different from that of Henry VIII., war- 
 like and almost heroic, despising and spurning all restraints 
 of form. The vigorous delineation of this character has 
 been sometimes censured as unnatural and exaggerated ; but 
 those only judge thus who are ignorant of the depths of the 
 human heart, or perhaps think it not expedient that those 
 depths should be laid bare. Whoever has studied human 
 life in its grandest proportions, and meditated on the records 
 of history, will acknowledge the picture to be but too true 
 to nature and probability. In the grand representation of 
 human life which Shakspeare places before us, we see the 
 whole world in movement and action. The ghosts of the 
 past seem, as it were, wandering in the background, while 
 their expressive forms and images point to the distant future 
 and seem even to link themselves therewith. 
 
 Having thus directed your attention to this peculiar pro- 
 perty of Shakspeare's genius, I would further remark that 
 
 * " Henry VIII. has somewhat of a prosaic appearance; for Shaks- 
 peare, artist-like, adapted himself always to the quality of his materials. 
 If others of his works, both in elevation of fancy and in energy of pathos 
 and character, tower far above this, we have here, on the other hand, 
 occasion to admire his nice powers of discrimination, and his perfect 
 knowledge of courts and the world. What tact was requisite to represent 
 before the eyes of the queen subjects of such a delicate nature, and in 
 which she was personally so nearly concerned, without doing violence to 
 the truth ! He has unmasked the tyrannical king, and to the intelligent 
 observer exhibited him such as he was actually ; haughty and obstinate, 
 voluptuous and unfeeling, extravagant in conferring favours, and revenge- 
 ful under the pretext of justice ; and yet the picture is so dexterously 
 handled that a daughter might take it for favourable." (A. W. von SchlegeVs 
 Dramatic Literature, Bohns Standard Library, p. 459.) — Trans. 
 
PAKT III.] 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 269 
 
 he possesses, beyond all other poets, a profound and compre- 
 hensive knowledge of the human mind and heart ; a power 
 which even his adversaries have never ventured to question. 
 
 On this too is founded a far loftier fame and more per- 
 manent reputation, than his talent as a dramatic poet could 
 alone have procured him ; a fame dwelling in a loftier re- 
 gion than that of the ordinary stage, and completely inde- 
 pendent of the laws of theatrical taste. 
 
 Had Shakspeare not been endowed with higher merit than 
 that of being the first and most excellent poet of the British 
 stage it would be more difficult to bring the dispute concern- 
 ing his merit to a distinct and triumphant conclusion. For 
 every nation of peculiar temperament, possessing in the 
 drama a general point of union for its intellectual strength, 
 adapted to the requirements of the national taste, is led to 
 cherish an undue partiality for its own stage and dramatic 
 poets, disregarding and despising the peculiarities of others. 
 Let us, merely for the sake of argument, imagine a French- 
 man and a German disputing concerning the respective fea- 
 tures and merit of Göthe and Schiller, or Corneille and 
 Racine. It will be seen at once that the contest is likely to 
 prove interminable, as it is almost impossible to arrive at 
 any satisfactory conclusion, that is to say, for either party to 
 be convinced, or for both to understand each other. The 
 numerous theoretical works and treatises written on the 
 dramatic art give new nourishment to a contest founded on 
 prejudices so difficult to eradicate. It might be almost more 
 easy for a dispute concerning different points of faith and 
 doctrine to be satisfactorily decided than an argument on 
 theatrical points, since neither party can be won to yield one 
 hairbreadth of their opinions or prejudices. The Frenchman 
 carries his partiality for his own dramatic poets so far as 
 even to compare them with Sophocles and Euripides, a 
 parallel which may be more easily supported in France, 
 where few people have any knowledge of Greek antiquity, 
 than it could be in other countries, in which, as in England 
 and Germany, classical learning is considered an essential 
 branch in the cultivation of the mind, and absolutely indis- 
 pensable to a good education, especially among the higher 
 classes. "We must not, however, deceive ourselves by the 
 supposition that Spaniards or Englishmen, though less ob- 
 
270 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART III. 
 
 trusive and violent in their opinions, cling less firmly to 
 Calderon, or to Shakspeare. How can it be otherwise, when 
 these gifted dramatic poets correspond so entirely with their 
 national taste and requirements ? 
 
 I have been led to express so decided a partiality for 
 Shakspeare from the fact that he was indeed very different 
 to, and infinitely grander than, a mere dramatic poet. I do 
 not, however, believe that it would be possible to adapt 
 Shakspeare's method, and allow him to give laws to our own 
 stage and drama, because I believe that every stage must be 
 subject to peculiar laws and forms suitable to the period of 
 time and character of the nation. Whether the laws of our 
 stage have ever yet been completely formed I must leave 
 undecided. Shakspeare's plans could not be made available 
 with us without great modifications and alterations, and 
 Schiller himself appears to have been at length convinced 
 of this even in his treatment of details, although he com- 
 menced by adopting that form as far at least as he had 
 seized its intention. 
 
 The lofty genius and profound schemes and arrangement 
 of the English dramatist confer a far higher degree of value 
 on his dramas than any mere form could bestow. Yet if the 
 peculiar plan which he adopted be examined we shall discover 
 that it was framed and fitted by his genius to convey all he 
 desired ; and this is but another striking instance of the 
 comprehensive and piercing intellect which makes him so far 
 surpass all other poets in the perception of the human cha- 
 racter : this discriminating power did not abandon him either 
 in the intention or execution of his work. There are many 
 instances of this kind in the "Early English Theatre,"*' 
 in which Ludwig Tieck has made a most welcome offering to 
 the lovers of Shakspeare. Pericles, which has been histori- 
 cally proved to belong to Shakspeare, and concerning the 
 authenticity of which not even the most incredulous now 
 attempt to raise a question, is certainly one of his earlier 
 compositions, and might indeed be called a poetical wood-cut : 
 we ought not then to ask too much from it, but be content to 
 find that as a poem, it possesses in due proportion the very 
 features which in the time of Dürer distinguished a wood- 
 cut. Such were the trifling beginnings from which Shak- 
 * Altenglischcn Theater. Berlin, 1811. 
 
PAKT m.] 
 
 SHAKSPEAKE. 
 
 271 
 
 speare's matured genius arose. How many degrees must he 
 have ascended before he reached the zenith of his powers, 
 and that energy and vigour of expression which characterise 
 his later works! The "Pinner of Wakefield/'* not writ- 
 ten by Shakspeare, but belonging to his time, is a popular 
 comedy, and remarkable from the joyous animation and 
 genuine humour which prevails throughout. The dramatic 
 rivals and predecessors of Shakspeare were rather over- 
 educated pedants than rude and uncultured men of genius, 
 and their style presents a clumsy imitation of Seneca, or of 
 the French. Shakspeare confined himself entirely to the 
 popular drama, which still survived the wreck of so many 
 abortive efforts, a branch which, although in itself little 
 esteemed, has contributed greatly to the development of the 
 dramatic art ; it exercised great influence over the polished 
 nations of antiquity, and even the slight vestiges remaining 
 are valuable as lively memorials of national manners and 
 customs. 
 
 The old King John is, perhaps, the most remarkable play 
 in this collection. Whoever can entertain a doubt as to the 
 authenticity of this old work should read the scene between 
 Hubert and the little Arthur, when the former is employed 
 to put out the prince's eyes, or that in which Arthur springs 
 from his prison-wall and dies. Yet even this scene, when 
 compared with the later work, strikingly illustrates the care 
 and consideration which this master bestowed on the complete 
 development of his original scheme. The scene in the old 
 play is indeed true, simple, mournful, and calm, but more 
 commonplace and rhetorical, compared with the peculiar fea- 
 tures of childish character, the sad spectacle of suffering in- 
 nocence, which, from its very naivete and simplicity, touch 
 the soul so deeply. This remark applies more particularly 
 to that scene in which Hubert is employed to put out Prince 
 Arthur's eyes, and where the latter, by his pathetic entreaties, 
 at length wins him to abandon his cruel purpose. The 
 
 * " Pinner of Wakefield. See A. W. von Schlegel's Dramatic Literature, 
 page 458. He there mentions the Pinner of Wakefield, and Grim, the 
 Collier of Croydon, as belonging to a period before Shakspeare, and both 
 " handled with hearty joviality ; " the same play appears in Malone as the 
 " Piner of Wakefield ;" and in Dodsley's Collection, as <( George a 
 Greene, the Pindar of Wakefield." — See also p. 276. infra. 
 
272 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART IV. 
 
 treatment in the older work of that scene in which Arthur 
 dies might almost be preferred. 
 
 This poet, who so often brings to light the deepest secrets 
 of the human heart, and who has such power to move and 
 thrill the soul, as no poet ever, before or since, has possessed, 
 comprehended by the aid of his own clear intellect and pene- 
 trating judgment the whole variety and mystery of human 
 existence. Since the time of Homer no pictures have been 
 produced so life-like and universal as those which Shakspeare 
 places before our eyes, comprehensively grand, yet faithful 
 to nature, even in minutest details and personal character- 
 istics. He is the dramatic Homer of the North, of our North, 
 the later, civilised, and polished North, no longer ruling by 
 the power of nature alone, but in the added strength of intel- 
 lectual energy, a highly-developed world variously framed 
 and moulded. 
 
 Thus have I attempted to trace the poetic art of our fore- 
 fathers back to its original root and source. What fruit that 
 same old root might have produced if planted beneath a 
 southern heaven, or what it may yet bear without doing too 
 much violence to its original nature, will require separate 
 investigation, and must be reserved for some future occasion. 
 
 Part W. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF SHAKSPEAEE'S DEAMATIC 
 WORKS. 
 
 In the preceding treatise on the poetry of the North, I noticed 
 a few of Shakspeare's earlier dramas, translated by Tieck, 
 and published in his " Altenglischen Theater." Although 
 these dramas have frequently been rejected as worthless, and 
 are indeed generally excluded from the editions of Shak- 
 speare's plays, I shall nevertheless annex a few observations 
 on their peculiar style and character. 
 
 Most of them have been historically proved to belong to 
 Shakspeare, nor will their authenticity be now called in 
 question by the most profound critics, yet they certainly be- 
 
PART IV.] 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 273 
 
 long to a much earlier period, than his other more generally- 
 accepted works. In regard to a few of the other pieces, the 
 internal evidence of their authenticity is sufficiently decisive 
 to be almost taken for a certainty. This is particularly the 
 case with the old King John. No one who has really 
 studied Shakspeare will deny the work in question to be his ; 
 yet, in comparison with the later play, it affords a remarkable 
 proof of the studious solicitude with which that great master 
 of his art worked out and completed the ideas embodied in 
 his earliest outlines. 
 
 The Monologue spoken by little Arthur before he springs 
 from his prison walls, and its continuation after he has taken 
 the fatal leap, and lies with broken limbs and mangled body 
 at the foot of the tower, is in the old work to the following 
 purport. 
 
 * Enter young Arthur on the walls. 
 
 Now help good hap, to further my intent 
 Crosse not my path with any more extremes : 
 I venter life to gaine my libertie ; 
 And if T die, world's troubles have an end. 
 Feare gives disswade the strength of my resolve ; 
 My holde will faile, and then, alas, 1 fall ; 
 And if I fall, no question death is next. 
 Better desist, and live in prison still ; 
 Prison, said I? nay, rather death than so. 
 Comfort and courage come again to me, 
 I'll venter sure ; 'tis but a leape for life. 
 
 (He leaps down, and, bruising his bones, after he wakes from his 
 trance speakes thus) : — 
 
 Hoe ! who is nigh ? some bodie take me up: — 
 
 Where is my mother ? let me speak with her. 
 
 Who hurts me thus? speak, hoe ! where are you gone ? 
 
 Ay me, poore Arthur, I am here alone ! 
 
 Why called I mother ? how did I forget ? 
 
 * Extracted from " The First and Second Part of The troublesome 
 Raigne of King John, containing the Entrance of Lewis, the French 
 king's sonne ; with the poysoning of King John by a Monke ; with the 
 discoverie of King Richard Cordelion's Base Sonne (vulgarly named the 
 Bastard Falconbridge) ; also the death of King John, at Swinstead 
 Abbey. As they were acted by the Queen's Maiestie's Players. Written 
 by W. Shakspeare. Imprinted in London by Valentine Simmes, for 
 John Helme, 1611.". — Trans. 
 
 T 
 
274 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART IV. 
 
 My falle — my falle — hath killed my mother's sonne ! 
 
 How will she weep at tidings of my deathe. 
 
 My deathe indeed ; O God ! my bones are burst ! 
 
 Sweet Jesu, save my soul ! forgive my rash attempt ! 
 
 Comfort my mother, shield her from despair 
 
 When she shall hear my tragicke overthrowe ! 
 
 My heart controls the office of my tongue, 
 
 My vital powers forsake my bruised trunke ; 
 
 I die, I die ! heaven take my fleeting soule, 
 
 And, lady mother, all good hap to thee ! 
 
 The passage just quoted cannot fail to remove every re- 
 maining doubt that may exist in regard to the authenticity of 
 the old play : for what other poet could have dictated it ? * 
 In the later drama the two following lines are substituted for 
 the original monologue : — 
 
 " Alas ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones ! 
 God take my soul, and England has my bones ! " 
 
 This circumstance gives the old work greatly the advantage 
 in reading at least, if not also in poetical value. I imagine 
 that beautiful speech must have been thus curtailed and 
 sacrificed, because too long to be recited on the stage, in so 
 painful a position. How rich must that genius have been 
 which could sacrifice so much beauty, and yet possess an 
 inexhaustible store from which to replace it! It is also 
 
 * Steevens decidedly rejects this play, although he had once supposed 
 it to be genuine. The following observations by him are copied from 
 the introductory preface to " King John," in his last edition of Shak- 
 speare's works : — " There is extant another play of King John, pub- 
 lished in 1611. Shakspeare has preserved the greatest part of the conduct 
 of it, as well as the number of the lines. What most inclines me to think 
 it the work of some contemporary author, is the number of quotations 
 from Horace, and other scraps of learning scattered over it. There is, 
 likewise, a quantity of rhyming Latin and ballad metre, in a scene where 
 the * Bastard' is represented as plundering a monastery ; and some strokes 
 of humour, which seem from their particular turn to have been evidently 
 produced by another hand than that of Shakspeare. Of this play there 
 is said to have been an edition in 1591, [printed] for Samson Clarke, but 
 I have never seen it; and the copy in 1611, which is the oldest I could 
 find, was printed * for John Helme,' whose name appears before no other 
 of the plays of Shakspeare. I admitted this play, some years ago, as 
 Shakspeare's own, among the twenty which I published from the old 
 editions, but a more careful perusal of it, and a further conviction of our 
 poet's custom of borrowing plots, sentiments, &c, dispose me to recede 
 from that opinion."— . Steevens. — Trans, 
 
PAET IV.] 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 275 
 
 worthy of notice, that in the prison scene between Hubert 
 and Arthur, the noble boy, in his attempts to soften the rugged 
 heart of his stern tormentor, speaks most of God, and of the 
 fearful retribution prepared by eternal justice for all who 
 commit such deeds of cruelty and guilt. In the later drama 
 these motives, which grand and poetical as they are still seem 
 perhaps a little commonplace, are no longer dwelt upon, but 
 the exquisite pathos of the little prince's childish prayers 
 and entreaties wakes every latent emotion of sympathy and 
 compassion in the heart. 
 
 I cannot, however, entirely agree with the translator, in 
 considering the old King John so decidedly superior to the 
 second version. Besides the passages already cited there are 
 many others which establish the authenticity of the work 
 beyond all doubt or question ; yet, in the details, there is un- 
 deniably great roughness and want of polish ; particularly in 
 that scene in which the bastard indulges in so much coarse 
 invective and contemptuous satire of the monks and nuns. 
 The whole of the later piece is written in a more profound 
 and universal spirit ; while the motive of the first appears to 
 be a certain narrow patriotism, and that characteristic abhor- 
 rence of the papal power which distinguished the early 
 English. The sense of the piece appears to be condensed 
 into the concluding verse* : — 
 
 " If England's peers and peasants remain united, 
 Neither France, Spain, nor Pope can do us injury." 
 
 Or, as in the modern play, — 
 
 " Nought can make us rue, 
 If England to herself will be but true.'''' 
 
 The period immediately succeeding the destruction of the 
 Spanish Armada, is that assigned by the German editor and 
 translator to the first appearance of this drama. The pa- 
 triotism and strong national feeling recognised in it, are 
 indeed quite in accordance with the spirit of that time. This 
 littleness of feeling is not found in the second play ; and 
 besides the vicissitudes to which royalty is exposed, displayed 
 in that fearful tragedy, the poet's grand object appears to 
 
 * The last page of the old play of King John before quoted is want- 
 ing in the copy in the library of the British Museum Trans. 
 
 t 2 
 
276 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. L PART Iy - 
 
 have been to exhibit the degree in which justice and mercy 
 are usually seen to operate in political deliberations and deci- 
 sions. It is a bitter satire on the confused instincts of the 
 populace and ordinary politicians; founded on the deepest 
 knowledge of mankind and of the human heart, and particu- 
 larly directed against that unregulated hatred of the papal 
 power, the mere assertion of which was sufficient to ensure 
 to any politician the reputation of surpassing intelligence 
 and discernment. The later King John remarkably illus- 
 trates the progress of the poet's mind, not in his peculiar art 
 alone, but also in his knowledge of the world and of human 
 nature. 
 
 The Pinner of Wakefield* is one of the remaining Dramas 
 
 * George a Greene, the Pindar of Wakefield, was first printed in 1599, 
 and is to be found in Dodsley's collection of old plays. The plot of this 
 play (which is not divided into acts) is founded on an ancient ballad, and 
 the scene lies at Wakefield in Yorkshire. This George a Greene was a man 
 of great and ancient renown ; there is a peculiar history of his life written 
 by one N. W., 8vo. 1706, and he is mentioned by Hudibras, part ii. 
 cant 2. line 305. 
 
 ( Theatrical Records. ) 
 This play is, in Dodsley's Catalogue, 1756, ascribed by Anthony Wood 
 to John Hey wood, who died 1564. — See note by Dodsley subjoined. 
 
 DODSLEY'S PREFACE TO THE PINNER OF WAKEFIELD. 
 
 " I can give no account of the author of this piece. The story seems 
 to have its foundation in history, or at least in the particular traditions 
 of the town of Wakefield. And by the style it does not appear to have 
 been wrote much before the time it was printed, which was 1599. It is 
 said in the title-page to have been acted by the Earl of Sussex's servants, 
 and is ascribed by Philips and Winstanley to John Heywood, the author 
 of the interludes ; but I believe any reader of judgment will easily per- 
 ceive they must be mistaken." 
 
 Pinner, or Pindar, probably means a sort of constable, or bailiff. — See 
 Supplement to Jamieson's Etymological Dictionary. To pind, pynd, 
 v. n. to distrain. " Ancut, a horse of Johne Charteris pyndit be the said 
 John Maxwell sernandis of his command, the said John Maxwell grantis 
 that the said horse was ridden after he was pyndit." 
 
 Poinder of cattle ; keeper of the pound ; Huloet. — Todd's Johnson. 
 
 Mr. Malone, in his account of the rise and progress of the English 
 stage, gives copies of some old registers of plays performed between 1591 
 and 1597, in which in the year 1593, on the 8th of January, « the Piner 
 of Wakefield " is stated to have been acted " by the Earle of Sussex his 
 men." — Malone's Prolegomena to Plays and Poems of William Shak- 
 speare, ed. 1821, vol. iii. p. 300. — . Trans. 
 
PABT IV.] 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 277 
 
 translated in the " Altenglischen Theater." I have already 
 noticed this piece in the treatise on Northern Poetic Art, as 
 not generally attributed to Shakspeare, from the absence of 
 any historical evidence of its origin and composition. Still 
 it is by no means unworthy of the master's hand ; not merely 
 from the jovial humour and vigorous delineation of character 
 which distinguish it, but also from the clear, strong intellect 
 perceptible throughout. On first reading it, many years 
 since, I unhesitatingly pronounced it to be the work of 
 Shakspeare, from this latter quality alone. This powerful 
 internal evidence is also corroborated by the circumstance 
 that it would be almost impossible to point out by name any 
 author of that period capable of producing so skilful a drama. 
 As more decisive proofs are wanting, I must, however, leave 
 the question at present undecided. 
 
 The same remarks may with justice be applied to the 
 " Merry Devil of Edmonton," published in the second part 
 of the "Altenglischen Theater," which has recently appeared, 
 but from internal probability, Scarcely seems worthy of being 
 attributed to Shakspeare, Yet I know not why it should 
 seem incredible that among his numerous early productions 
 and experiments, one or two should be found to border on 
 the ordinary and commonplace. In the old "King Lear," 
 for example, he descends to the verge of mediocrity, prompted 
 probably by a desire to approximate more closely to the type 
 of his beloved stage-plays, and renounce that lofty grandeur 
 which raised him so far above the ordinary standard of the 
 boards. I quite agree in opinion with the translator, who 
 undoubtingly ascribes this w ork to Shakspeare ; from certain 
 peculiar habits and forms of expression there recognised, as 
 well as other quaint terms of speech, which he never entirely 
 laid aside ; the most important among these doubtful pieces, 
 which, though proved to be genuine, certainly belong to the 
 earliest period of his youth, is the old drama of " Locrine,"* 
 the authenticity of which is vouched by historical and in- 
 ternal probability. I fully concur with the Translator in 
 his judgment of this majestic tragedy, and the poetical 
 value to be assigned to it. He esteems it one of the earliest 
 
 * " Locrine," printed in 1595. It appears amongst the plays as- 
 cribed to Shakspeare, in Malone's edition (1821), vol. ii. p. 682. — 
 Trans. 
 
278 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART IV. 
 
 of Shakspeare's works, written before he had visited Lon- 
 don, or the theatre, under the influence of a strong patriotic 
 feeling excited by the domestic dissensions which distracted 
 England during the later years of the life of Mary Stuart, 
 dividing that country into parties, and giving rise to fears of 
 foreign invasion. Notwithstanding the many great beauties 
 of this drama, it is decidedly unsuited to the stage. The 
 poet's predilection for gigantic grandeur, and everything 
 rare and wondrous, is here peculiarly apparent. Many of 
 the speeches remind us of that of the rude Pyrrhus in 
 " Hamlet," which is unquestionably borrowed from some 
 earlier play ; and it contains the plot, in embryo as it were, 
 of the chief part of the later work of Shakspeare. 
 
 Thus Tieck reasons, incidentally, in his Preface to " Lo- 
 crine," and I object only that he does not express himself 
 with sufficient warmth or decision in regard to the poetical 
 merit of this lofty tragic poem. Were I to attempt to illus- 
 trate in few words the progress of Shakspeare's genius, I 
 should enumerate, Locrine, Eomeo, the series of Historical 
 tlays, and " King Lear," as marking the principal grada- 
 tions of his splendid career. " Locrine " must certainly not 
 be omitted in this series, and although being merely a sketch 
 it is deficient in point of execution, in intrinsic grandeur of 
 the conception it is inferior to none. One innate and never 
 forsaken impulse of Shakspeare's genius is peculiarly ob- 
 servable in " Locrine ; " that faculty of seizing and repre- 
 senting the problem of life in its grandest proportions, and 
 bringing the strife and opposing elements of the world's 
 career in all their actual vigour upon the tragic boards. 
 Still the stern inflexible grandeur of the youthful poet's 
 bold and lofty genius, in its first upsoaring, seems rather 
 disposed to crush the then feeble stage beneath his powerful 
 foot, than to call up for its embellishment any fleeting yet 
 brilliant apparition. This very circumstance makes the play 
 of " Locrine " one of the most important of the earlier pro- 
 ductions of Shakspeare. It shows clearly at what an immea- 
 surable distance the poet stood apart from the arena for 
 which he wrote, and the world which he depicted, It shows 
 to what an abyss of degradation his giant mind must have 
 abased itself, to what a falsification of his own principles, 
 and denial of his powers he must have descended, ere 
 
PAKT IV.] 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 279 
 
 he suffered himself to cling exclusively to the stage, far 
 superior, as, then existing in England, it may have been to 
 the modern theatre. 
 
 This contrast becomes very apparent if we compare with 
 the tragic grandeur of " Locrine," (not the old " King Lear," 
 the authenticity of which is not universally admitted, but) 
 " Pericles," and the old " King John," both of which be- 
 long unquestionably to our poet. And yet, even in these, 
 the compulsive effort is so far apparent, that we feel the 
 poet's representation was not inspired by any impulse from 
 within, but rather by an effort to depict in the most harsh 
 and glaring colours that external world which was to him 
 so strange, and to point out the surprising errors therein 
 existing in their true light, as they were discerned by his 
 powerful and discriminating intellect. Yet the true in- 
 tention, in which the poet threw off his pictures of the 
 world and of human life, is more distinctly understood by 
 considering the wide difference between them and his lyric 
 and idyllic poems. The former, severely drawn, as if by the 
 power of the intellect alone, unenfeebled by softness or 
 tenderness of feeling ; the latter presenting a clue to the 
 inmost sentiments of the poet, which are in them revealed 
 almost without any intermixture of external influence. These 
 poems and sonnets are indeed well worthy of serious con- 
 templation. Considering the almost universal tendency of 
 his own efforts, it appears singular that Shakspeare should 
 have thought this free style, in which he followed Spenser, 
 worthy of such high consideration, although so completely 
 unsuited for theatrical representation. He appears to con- 
 sider it the loftiest, and indeed the only style of poetry w T eli 
 deserving that name, and treats the dramatic branch in 
 which he was himself so great a master, with almost unjust 
 depreciation and contempt. Although Shakspeare in his 
 dramas frequently adopted the early popular comedy, as well 
 as old national songs and ballads, and notwithstanding the 
 decided preference he evinced in early youth for Italian 
 novels and romances, and every branch of Southern litera- 
 ture, he never appears to treat any themes with so much 
 seriousness and enthusiasm as those selected from the 
 heroic chronicles of his nation. The series of historical 
 plays founded on the events recorded in those chronicles, 
 
 T 4 
 
280 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART IV. 
 
 seem to form almost an epic poem, and as the poet him- 
 self felt and acknowledged, far surpass the narrow limits of 
 the stage. 
 
 This and other considerations lead me to place Shak- 
 speare, although unquestionably the first dramatic poet of 
 his nation, and, as such surpassed by none, on a far loftier 
 eminence, and, independently of the perfection of his dra- 
 matic art, to recognise in him a far higher order of poetry, 
 the source of which is purely and essentially northern and 
 German. 
 
 In the present time especially, when the love of poetry in 
 our country is so shattered and broken up by petty prefer- 
 ences and partialities, this poet may be made the instrument 
 of uniting our divided parties. Those who have seized merely 
 the outward form and garb of antiquity, instead of its rich 
 abundance of fancy and imagery, — those, in short, whose 
 errors tend more or less to antique stiffness and formality, 
 unless all idea of pleasure derived from the rhythmical flow 
 of words, and the love of poetry itself, be actually crushed 
 and trodden out in their hearts, will attach themselves 
 to Shakspeare, for his genius is most in harmony with the 
 antique preferences of modern poets. The spirit which, next 
 to the antique, seems most predominant among the writers of 
 our day, is that which holds ignorance and neglect of study for 
 the most decisive proofs of genius. The believers in this 
 doctrine are ever bent on imitating, or rather counterfeiting 
 the very qualities in which they are most deficient, and 
 which they have least power to attain, and are perpetually 
 mistaking childishness for simplicity, confounding the popu- 
 lar with the vulgar, and instead of the golden lyre of Apollo 
 or the heroic harp of northern bards, each, familiar only 
 with the bagpipe of St. Monday, makes its unpoetical drone 
 resound through all his works. 
 
 Shakspeare, the grand, deep-souled master of all true 
 poetical beauty, may, by the weight and irresistible power 
 of his genius, minister most effectually to the setting aside of 
 these insignificant trifles, produced by the fashionable tem- 
 perament of the day. 
 
 Yet there are those amongst us who embrace a better and 
 nobler aim, rejecting the vulgar no less unconditionally than 
 the mere antique. Nor do they err in holding romance to 
 
PAKT IV.] 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 281 
 
 be the vital element of poetry, and the most appropriate 
 sphere for the development of modern German art. Still, 
 though it is an incontrovertible principle that poetry, if 
 true to itself, will ever be a creation of fancy and imagin- 
 ation, the same features, too frequently and exclusively 
 repeated, will produce feeble and degenerate works, unless 
 combined with that tragic and heroic grandeur, that deep 
 solemnity engendered by constant meditation on life and the 
 human destiny, which in Shakspeare ever speak so vividly 
 and intelligibly. Shakspeare's writings are romance through- 
 out. He avoids with evident aversion that affectation of 
 classical learning, to which so many poets of his time were 
 addicted; and also rejects that merely modern poetry, which 
 is the slave of fashion and of circumstances, and usually be- 
 comes insipid when it should be sweet, — turns pathos into 
 fretfulness, and in the vain pursuit of nature and simplicity, 
 degenerates into unmeaning commonplace. Shakspeare, the 
 prince of poets, was romantic in the selection and treatment 
 of his subjects ; and notwithstanding the degeneracy of which 
 we complain, examples of a similar kind are found in abun- 
 dance among the stage-writing poets of his day ; but it is 
 chiefly by his superexcellent vigour and bold freedom that 
 his writings are distinguished from the need-and-help dramas 
 (Noth-und-hülfs Dramen)* of our own stage. Shakspeare 
 was truly romantic, but in the right spirit ; his fancy was 
 not merely glowing and sportive, but profoundly grand and, 
 in the truest signification of the term, romantic. 
 
 The attempt to adapt foreign forms to any national stage 
 will usually prove quite fruitless, for the theatre of any 
 country must be subjected to its own appropriate laws 
 and government ; and these we are more likely to find, 
 adapted in just proportion to the true object and require- 
 ments of our German stage, in the lyric poems of Shakspeare 
 than in his historical dramas. Singular as such an assertion 
 
 * " Noth-und-hülfs Dramen." This term is scarcely susceptible of 
 translation : it applies, probably, to dramas of a very inferior though po- 
 pular character, in which, as in some commonplace novels, the personages 
 appear to be thrown into situations of forced distress and necessity, 
 merely that they may be assisted and saved by a combination of other 
 circumstances equally forced and unnatural, and palpably contrived for 
 the occasion. — Trans. 
 
282 ON THE POETRY OF THE NORTH. [PART IV. 
 
 may appear, Calderon assimilates more closely to our stage 
 in mature experience and the lofty ideal of dramatic art than 
 the English poet. Apart, however, from that peculiar con- 
 sideration, and the false imitative experiments arising from 
 it, I should, in accordance with the principles before laid 
 down, pronounce Shakspeare to be the true and only founda- 
 tion on which any better feeling for the art in Germany is 
 likely to be raised. A high sense and feeling for poetry is 
 most likely to be universally developed by a deep study and 
 full comprehension of that poet's genius, and thus all the 
 various parties, and the devious courses pursued in our 
 literature would gradually disappear, and ere long be en- 
 tirely lost. It would scarcely now be possible to counsel a 
 revival of the earlier French taste, the so called poetic art 
 of a Boileau, Batteur, or Godschied, yet in the general 
 anarchy prevailing in regard to taste and beauty, it is not 
 altogether surprising that some voices plead even for a re- 
 turn to that neglected path. Not, however, to such a retro- 
 grade movement does our mission tend ; rather, enriched by 
 retrospection and the garnered wisdom and experience of 
 the past, let us look steadily forward, ever advancing on 
 our way. 
 
üotiertt (German $amtfng& 
 
 ON 
 
 THE GERMAN PAINTINGS EXHIBITED AT ROME 
 
 IN THE YEAR 1819. 
 
 The exhibition of modern German paintings in the palace 
 Caffarelli, at Rome, which was fitted up and arranged for 
 that purpose, by permission of the consul of the Prussian 
 embassy, formed one of the most remarkable features con- 
 nected with the presence of the imperial court in that city, 
 once the capital of the world, and so long the focus of the 
 arts and the point of union for all amateurs. 
 
 The public journals gave a full account of the visit with 
 which his Imperial Highness honoured the exhibition, but 
 as yet no detailed examination of its merits, as an assemblage 
 of works of art, has appeared ; at least no work, fully de- 
 serving such a title, or in any degree accomplishing that 
 design. Yet the German exhibition seems well entitled to 
 careful investigation, both as a remarkable feature of the 
 times, and in reference to the present condition of the arts ; 
 besides which, it possesses great intrinsic value, from the 
 richness and variety of the compositions exhibited, far ex- 
 ceeding all that have been produced by any other modern 
 and rising school for a long period of time. It is most gra- 
 tifying and delightful to witness the universal and well- 
 directed aspirations of so much varied talent, as it must 
 be clear to us all, that excellence, instead of springing 
 up spontaneously like the grass of the field, cannot be 
 
284 MODERN GERMAN PAINTINGS. [1819. 
 
 attained without much careful study and cultivation. If, 
 among the numerous indifferent, or even bad pictures, 
 which usually preponderate in an exhibition like the present, 
 we find many good, and a few of distinguished merit, we 
 may reasonably anticipate, from the united efforts of so much 
 natural and varied talent, a successful and happy reaction in 
 the art generally. 
 
 The exhibition was, on the whole, favourably received by 
 the public, both in regard to individual performances and 
 the rising talent here, for the first time, displayed in a higher 
 order of conceptions, embracing a wider circle of ideas. 
 Great and well-deserved praise was bestowed on the two 
 Schadows, Philip Veit, Wach, and others ; for the public, 
 when left to form an unbiassed judgment, usually decide both 
 judiciously and kindly. Opinions were divided on some 
 other points, and many dissentient voices were even raised 
 to depreciate the exhibition. It was considered to be the 
 general defect of the modern German school, and urged 
 against it as a subject of reproach, that it digressed into the 
 old German manner ; and consequently, although great 
 commendations were awarded to individual merit, which the 
 greater and better part of the public failed not to discern 
 and acknowledge, it was generally asserted that the artists 
 of that school were entering upon an irregular and false 
 path. 
 
 I design in this treatise to inquire into the cause and 
 origin of this general censure, and to ascertain in how far 
 it may be applicable either to the entire school, or to parti- 
 cular individuals and their productions ; but as numerous 
 points require to be noticed, before forming a judgment in 
 either case, I shall first remind my readers of such consider- 
 ations as appear to me of most essential importance. 
 
 Before, however, I inquire into the correct or incorrect 
 application of this very vague censure, I must attempt to 
 anatyse the idea and define it correctly, so that, having suc- 
 ceeded in attaching a precise meaning to the term, we may 
 the better understand in what sense it is usually received and 
 employed. 
 
 If the phrase were intended to convey the idea of incorrect 
 design, common or exaggerated expression, cold, unnatural 
 colouring, or any other positive fault in painting, it would 
 
1819.] 
 
 THE EARLY GERMAN STYLE. 
 
 285 
 
 be easy to determine whether such an objection were well- 
 founded or not : easy at least to all who, with a naturally 
 correct eye, have a cultivated taste, and some knowledge 
 of the real excellencies of the art. If, on the contrary, 
 the reproach of mannerism only be intended, our judgment 
 becomes confused, as this latter term cannot so easily be 
 defined, and wanting requisite precision and distinctness, is 
 susceptible of the most various acceptations and interpreta- 
 tions. But if, as applied in judgment or censure to works of 
 art, the term Early German refers only to a certain style 
 once historically existing ; the misconceptions which easily 
 attach themselves to so conventional a form of speech become 
 interminable, and the judgment must be proportionately be- 
 wildered and perplexed. It is, therefore, necessary strictly 
 to examine the principles on which this term is founded, 
 that the confusion of our ideas may be cleared up, and the 
 opinion expressed by it distinctly understood. 
 
 Neither painting, nor any other high science or art, can 
 break loose entirely from the chain of tradition, nor, denying 
 or rejecting every principle of past times, enter at once on a 
 new and untrodden path. Each artist should rather prefer 
 to link his genius with an earlier period, whether he aim at 
 opening for himself a new path, the pursuit of which may 
 lead to unexampled excellence, or whether it be his desire to 
 raise the bewildered taste of the degenerate art to its original 
 grandeur and sublimity ; no such object has ever been accom- 
 plished without the study, and, perhaps, even the adaptation 
 of an earlier style. It frequently happens that when the ordi- 
 nary manner of painting seems quite exhausted, and all minds 
 are weary of the same monotonous path, a new and sudden 
 impulse throws the art into a foreign channel, or prompts its 
 return to such old themes and treatment as appear novel, even 
 from their antiquity. This was the case in the time of the 
 Emperor Hadrian, who wished to revive the ancient Egyptian 
 style in architecture.* A religious object, however, may 
 
 * Adrian endeavoured to reanimate paganism, and to make it once 
 more the basis of the empire and of public life : for this purpose he had 
 recourse to the more profound and austere theology of Egypt., and that 
 new Egyptian style, which characterises the later monuments of Roman 
 art, was connected with the emperor's predilection for the old religion of 
 Egypt. — A, W.vonSchlegeVs Philosophy of History, Standard Library, p. 292. 
 
286 
 
 MODERN GERMAN PAINTINGS. 
 
 [1819. 
 
 have prompted this attempt rather than the requirements of 
 the art. Since this fact can merely be noticed here as an 
 example, I shall leave the closer investigation of the subject 
 for a more appropriate occasion, together with the question 
 whether at such a period the true interest of the art is most 
 essentially promoted by a sudden spring onwards, or by a 
 bold and daring return to its own original form. It is 
 enough to observe, that every period in its last manifestation 
 of power has produced much worthy of study, and of at least 
 comparative excellence ; as in that brief revival, to which I 
 have already alluded, when heathen art blazed forth anew 
 before its final and irretrievable extinction. Eeturning to 
 the art of painting in our modern Christian time, it has long 
 since been decided, by those who are most conversant with 
 its productions, and indeed universally acknowledged, that it 
 reached the summit of perfection about the end of the fif- 
 teenth, or during the first part of the sixteenth, century, with 
 the great masters of that period, Raphael, Leonardo, Michel- 
 angelo, Titian, and Correggio, and although subsequently the 
 School of the Carracci, Guido, Domenichino, and a few of the 
 better Florentines, enjoyed well-merited fame, the art never 
 again reached the height it had attained under the first great 
 masters. This, at least, is no longer disputed ; and when, 
 as each school successively expired, and the time of its 
 dominion passed away, the necessity of a grand revival forced 
 itself upon the genius of the eighteenth century, and prompted 
 an effort, which was based upon a right principle, although 
 the application of it was altogether erroneous, Mengs, who 
 among us undertook the work of restoration, believed that to 
 form a perfect composition it was necessary to combine Titian's 
 life-like carnations, the magical chiaroscuro of Correggio, 
 with the beautiful forms and rich conceptions of Raphael; that 
 the result of such a combination would be perfect in itself, 
 and the carrying out of the theory give new life to declining 
 art. Yet a new life can spring only from the depths of a 
 new love, and it is vain to imagine that lofty art, like a 
 draught of medicine, may be procured by the mingling of 
 various different ingredients. Hence the compositions of 
 Mengs appear cold and insipid, and although in many points 
 superior to his time, his great and praiseworthy exertions 
 never led to the formation of any school peculiarly his own. 
 
1819.] 
 
 THE FRENCH SCHOOL. 
 
 287 
 
 Others afterwards modified his recipe for the restoration of 
 art, or even went to the extreme of believing that a single 
 artist ought to unite, with his imitation of Raphael, both the 
 antique school and nature, or, rather, drawing from models ; 
 and in this respect, a similar observation will apply to the 
 present struggle of modern art. Copying from the pagan 
 antique leads invariably to a neglect of the immutable dis- 
 tinction between the sister-arts of painting and sculpture ; and 
 the theory just noticed would easily produce such errors, 
 although this was not precisely the case with Mengs, who 
 generally confined himself within the true limits of painting. 
 The influence of Winkelmann, whose enthusiasm for the 
 antique created in that respect a new epoch, gave rise to 
 many erroneous applications, leading the artist yet more 
 widely astray from the true object of his art. 
 
 The aberrations of the French school w r ere most remark- 
 able, and its errors, though undoubtedly derived from the 
 same source, took a completely different direction. The 
 monuments of the antique, although partially known by a 
 few individual painters who had studied in Rome, stood not 
 here in their native power and majesty before the eyes and 
 senses of the people : yet so much the more did they turn 
 in rising astonishment to marvel at that republican antiquity 
 which history taught them to know and venerate. The 
 tragic heroes of Greece and Rome, produced in theatrical 
 exaggeration upon the stage, became the reigning idols of 
 the day, and consequently art itself rushed into the arms of 
 republican antiquity, showing an especial preference for 
 tragic and exaggerated dramatic effect. In truth a mighty 
 leap to attempt, more wondrous than that Egyptian influence 
 on sculpture in the time of Hadrian, and at least further re- 
 moved from everything by which, in our time, art as art, and 
 men as men, are measured ! It would indeed require that all 
 modern Europe should return to the heathenism of former 
 days, a return which the French, at the time of the first 
 Revolution, certainly both hoped and attempted to effect. 
 Such are still the characteristics of the French school ; a 
 vigorous and remarkable, yet false tendency, the peculiar- 
 ities of which are especially seen in the productions of 
 David, the greatest master of that school. The same prin- 
 ciples have till now reigned throughout Europe, which is 
 
288 MODERN GERMAN PAINTINGS. [1819. 
 
 the less surprising as they in many respects successfully 
 develope the genius of our time, so far removed from that 
 meditative calm which alone gives birth to true ideas of 
 beauty. The French manner has obtained great influence 
 in Italy, and the excellent paintings of Camuccini, those at 
 least which are drawn from history or mythology, belong 
 decidedly to their mode of conception and treatment, though 
 a noble feeling for art often breaks through the mannered 
 surface of the French schools. Some more recent works 
 of this famous painter, church pictures especially, are more 
 simple and more consonant with the severe grandeur of 
 truth. 
 
 The French pictures exhibited this year at Rome afford 
 an opportunity of estimating the practical operation of their 
 principles, exclusively inculcated, on the younger genera- 
 tion. One in particular, the most remarkable, represents 
 " Un Jeune G-rec renverse," as it is styled in the catalogue, 
 and chiefly excites a feeling of pity for the poor model, who 
 in that deadly position, head downwards, must have evi- 
 dently given his whole energies of soul and body to perform- 
 ing the part of the naked hero. The penetration of the 
 artist is particularly exhibited in the position of the sword, 
 which is placed diagonally across the body, so as to super- 
 sede the fig-leaf, usually employed. Such an excess of 
 mannerism would scarcely be conceivable in any school 
 except the French. 
 
 It is not, however, impossible to name a few happy ex- 
 ceptions and better impulses, though, where false taste so 
 universally prevails, they must necessarily be but isolated 
 examples, until the barriers of slavery are broken, and the 
 erroneous ideas existing thrown aside. In France, where 
 each unnatural extreme soon produces its reverse, another 
 manner has already arisen, half-antique, half revolution- 
 born, tragi-theatrical style, employed in delineating histo- 
 rical themes of lesser importance, and more attractive tender- 
 ness than the loftier class. These pictures are called " du 
 genre," and the productions of Granet at Rome in this style 
 are highly and deservedly esteemed. 
 
 Portrait-painting also, which is considered a distinct pro- 
 fession, is, in its narrow circle, less exposed to the erroneous 
 influences of popular taste, and often produces artists of 
 
1819.] ENGLISH ENGRAVERS. 289 
 
 most happy talent, who carry that branch of art to its highest 
 perfection; and even if guided by instinct alone, without 
 reference to higher impulses, produce such life-like resem- 
 blances and brilliant effects as throw the age into astonish- 
 ment, and rival even Lawrence, the famous, noble portrait- 
 painter of Great Britain. But these dazzling meteors too 
 soon depart from among us, and have little perceptible in- 
 fluence on the general progress of the art. 
 
 Besides the French school, there is one other influence 
 almost universally prevailing, that of the English copper- 
 plate engravings. We can scarcely feel surprised at the 
 daily increasing taste for these works, since their style is 
 so completely in unison with the spirit of the age, springing 
 from its sentimental style of feeling and the quick fervent 
 impulses of the heart. It will not, therefore, be necessary 
 to offer any further observations on the character of these 
 engravings, because the impulse which produced them is 
 felt at once to be the ruling element of taste, not in England 
 only, nor yet merely in engravings, but discoverable in sculp- 
 ture, churches, pictures, monuments, — in everything, in short, 
 where the theme is susceptible of sentimental expression and 
 treatment. 
 
 The preceding observations give a true picture of the taste 
 hitherto predominating in the art, or, might I not almost 
 say, have even now too much influence ? Under these cir- 
 cumstances, between the domination of the French school 
 on the one hand, and of the English engravings on the other ; 
 between barren theories, founded on the doctrines of Mengs, 
 or the opinions of Winkelmann, so ill understood, and which, 
 well intended, but solitary, individual efforts have vainly 
 striven to break through, a completely new impulse has 
 stirred in Germany, and during the last ten years its pro- 
 gress and development have become more and more con- 
 spicuous. This impulse, if lovingly fostered and wrought 
 into a susceptible feeling for all that is most lofty and ap- 
 propriate in art ; if its deficiencies are supplied by regular 
 cultivation upon certain fixed principles ; if the tendency to 
 error and exaggeration be restrained within due bounds by 
 active and critical judgment ; if what is as yet incomplete be 
 finished with grandeur proportionate to the loftiness of the 
 conception, we may yet see the lovely path of beauty laid 
 
 u 
 
290 
 
 MODERN GERMAN PAINTINGS. 
 
 [1819. 
 
 open, and these rising efforts become the nucleus of a new 
 and flourishing school. German artists long since decidedly 
 rejected the predominant French manner, and manifested 
 an ardent appreciation of the noble painters of early times. 
 A large proportion chose the inimitable Raphael for their 
 model, while some few selected Leonardo for their guide, 
 or were attracted by the severe grandeur of Michelangelo. 
 Who does not recall to mind Biiri, " formed," to use the 
 words of Goethe, " by* deep study," and Professor Hartmann, 
 at Dresden, so much distinguished for excellence, both as 
 master and scholar ? The distinction between sculpture, or 
 the antique, and painting, is also more clearly defined, and 
 becomes more universally regarded. The first, however, 
 who justly claims the highest place in our retrospect of the 
 regeneration of art, — he who commenced the struggle, — lives 
 no more. Schiek of Stuttgart, striving throughout his whole 
 life with oppression and depreciation, died ere his lofty talent, 
 known and acknowledged too late, brought him the meed 
 of fame to which he was so justly entitled. First formed 
 in David's school, he ever retained the manner and vigorous 
 design he had imbibed from that master, certainly the 
 first in his peculiar style ; and although rising unsupported 
 in the new career his genius marked out for itself, he dis- 
 covered, after long years of apprenticeship, that as guides to 
 perfection, other and higher models were needed, models 
 which, among his contemporaries and the school in which 
 he had been formed, might be sought in vain : those he de- 
 sired to study existed only in the earlier masters, whose 
 works, by no vicissitudes of time destroyed or superseded, 
 still excite the wonder and command the admiration of all 
 beholders. The portraits of the children of Yon Humboldt, 
 which excited so much attention at Rome, will bear com- 
 parison even with those of Leonardo or Titian, and could 
 not be deemed unworthy a pupil either of Raphael or Leo- 
 nardo. His talent is yet more strikingly apparent in the 
 " Apollo and the Shepherds," a large picture now in the 
 royal palace at Stuttgart, and which formerly adorned the 
 chamber of the deceased queen. The rich working of this 
 composition, crowded with figures most beautifully arranged, 
 the clear brilliancy, and soft grace of the colouring, and the 
 
1819.] WORKS OF CORNELIUS AND OVERBECK. 291 
 
 freshness and vigour of the whole, make it worthy the best 
 periods of the older masters. 
 
 Cornelius and Overbeck are universally acknowledged to 
 stand first among the living German painters of this era. 
 Both are gifted with rich creative fancy : the former displays 
 an intense feeling for beauty in figure and expression, with 
 much grace of attitude and arrangements ; the latter has an 
 inexhaustible inventive faculty, and great vigour of expres- 
 sion. Overbeck is well-known in Germany by many most 
 expressive works, especially the great cartoon at Frank- 
 fort, representing "Joseph sold to the Merchants." His 
 vocation in art is already sufficiently apparent, and were 
 it not so, the grand cartoon of "Jerusalem Delivered," in 
 the present Exhibition, would at once decide it. What 
 Cornelius may be capable of accomplishing in a higher 
 and grander scale than he has hitherto attempted, the 
 fresco paintings in the Glyptotheka built at Munich by the 
 Crown Prince of Bavaria, and the execution of which is 
 entrusted to Cornelius, will afford him ample opportunity of 
 proving. Our anticipations, if formed from his first cartoon, 
 which is finished in a most masterly manner, will be highly 
 raised : it represents the entire mythic cycle of Night, with 
 her numerous allegorical retinue, treated in the ingenious 
 and comprehensive style of the ancients, equally rich and 
 expressive. The dramatic energy of some of this artist's 
 earlier productions appears to verge upon mannerism, but in 
 this last excellent work we remark with pleasure a noble 
 simplicity and greater fidelity to nature. Both painters have 
 been happily imitated by many younger artists of very 
 various talents and different habits of thought, all uniting in 
 earnest emulative efforts to restore the art to its original 
 elevation. 
 
 The general struggle of the German artists in Eome daily 
 excites more and more attention, and its progress is watched 
 with cordial sympathy by the illustrious men of many other 
 countries. I have to mention with unfeigned pleasure, as 
 chief among those who honour and value German genius, 
 Canova, the pride of Italy, the sculptor of our time whose 
 genius is reverenced and acknowledged by all Europe. When 
 on his tour through Germany, he visited the unique Boisseree 
 Collection, though himself working in quite a different 
 
 u 2 
 
292 MODERN GERMAN PAINTINGS. [1819. 
 
 sphere, he knew how to appreciate it, and at this moment 
 not only watches with interest the efforts of our young 
 German artists in general, but also affords to individual 
 talent the kindest sympathy and protection. Many young 
 Germans, Philip Veit, Eggers, and others owe to his recom- 
 mendation their admission to the fresco works in the Vatican. 
 The taste for fresco painting, which is so warmly cultivated 
 among the German artists in Rome, forms a grand step in 
 the advance of art, and the fame of having first encouraged 
 it belongs to the Prussian consul-general Bartholdy. In 
 these compositions a certain grandeur of conception, com- 
 bined with freedom and certainty of execution, are indis- 
 pensable, and they consequently offer a noble field for rising 
 talents. 
 
 From the preceding observations it will not be difficult to 
 form a correct judgment of the present state of German art, 
 as displayed in the last exhibition at Rome, and to estimate 
 it according to its real merits. 
 
 I will say but a few words more in reference to its general 
 principles. Imitation, in the literal meaning of the term, is 
 forbidden to an artist, more especially in the technicalities of 
 his art. He must learn the first elementary principles on 
 which it is based — design, correct, elaborate, powerful and 
 confident design; and happy should the young aspirant es- 
 teem himself if he succeed in finding an able master, capa- 
 ble of displaying to him the whole structure of the human 
 frame, internal and external, by the study of anatomy and 
 drawing from models, leaving him to acquire a more perfect 
 knowledge of its most vigorous and powerful development 
 by the study of the antique. The science of perspective 
 belongs also to the recognised principles of art, and must be 
 acquired from instruction; but colouring — the magic truth 
 and beauty of colouring — no master can impart, unless the 
 scholar be endowed by nature with a gifted eye and sense. 
 Yet much preparatory technical knowledge, co-operating 
 with natural endowments, and thus contributing to produce 
 perfection, can and must be acquired. Natural talents thus 
 cultivated, will start with all the elementary parts necessary 
 for the elevation of the art, and the student should himself 
 select some ideal model of excellence, loftier than even his 
 master could offer him. He should remember that he has in 
 
1819.] THE MODERNS MUST IMITATE THE ANCIENTS. 293 
 
 view two very different objects, both of which must be kept 
 studiously distinct ; the master's instruction, for whatever is 
 necessary to be learned ; the type or model for what cannot 
 be taught but must nevertheless be acquired. It will be 
 clearly seen from the preceding observations that no indivi- 
 dual painter can safely break loose from the organised system 
 of art, nor freeing himself from laws already imposed and 
 still existing, attempt to create from his own unassisted 
 genius, or as it is said " from Nature." What is the usual 
 result of thus spurning all tradition or cultivation ? The 
 artificial mannered treatment of these would-be-original 
 creators and nature-artists, and the rank assigned to their 
 productions sufficiently prove the fallacy of their theory. 
 Whence, then, should the youthful artist draw ideas of 
 grandeur in form and arrangement, and still more the general 
 conception and treatment of his subject ? How infuse into his 
 conception a congenial yet lofty spirit, except from the noble 
 creations of earlier masters, and the study of that brief but 
 glorious period, in which the art of painting had avowedly 
 reached its highest point of perfection ? Should we send 
 him back to copy from the French school, or bid him adopt 
 the style of the English engravings? If he think rightly 
 himself, he will never be led away by examples so erroneous, 
 but fix his idea immutably on Raphael and his contempora- 
 ries, and other great masters of the latter half of the 
 fifteenth, and the commencement of the sixteenth century, 
 carrying their creations in his heart as the eternal guides of 
 his efforts. It is certain that besides those grand masters 
 whose fame and genius are incontrovertible, none deserve 
 to be more highly esteemed than their immediate predeces- 
 sors and ancient masters, with whom they are in fact far 
 more closely connected than with their own scholars or 
 later imitators. Shall we profess to honour Raphael, and 
 prize him lightly from whom Raphael first learnt the essen- 
 tials of the art ? There are not only many single figures, 
 but groups and entire compositions, by Perugino, Fiesole, 
 and even Giotto, which may be viewed with pleasure and 
 astonishment, though we turn to them from the contempla- 
 tion of Raphael himself, at the same time that they are truly 
 in his manner, if we consider that manner the type of all 
 that is spiritually beautiful and harmonious. How seldom 
 
 u 3 
 
291 MODERN GERMAN PAINTINGS. [1819. 
 
 do we meet with such conceptions among the mere effect 
 painters of the later Italian schools ! For no sooner had the 
 summit been gained than the first steps of decline were 
 evident in spirit and execution. Still any student who 
 attempts to take as models of design, perspective, the struc- 
 ture of the human frame, or whatever belongs to the scientific 
 elements of painting, those first stars of dawning light in 
 western art, and servilely imitates or rather counterfeits 
 their finished productions, must be abandoned to the conse- 
 quences of his own folly. That artist who neither possesses 
 natural talent, nor has received technical instruction, will 
 hardly indeed derive much benefit from any example that 
 may be set before him ; and it signifies little whether he 
 attempt to combine his own manner with that of the fifteenth 
 century, or confine himself to the 19th alone. But in a 
 serious criticism on the subject of art, our illustrations must 
 be drawn only from those whose natural talent has been 
 sedulously cultivated. This is the case generally with the 
 artists whose works are here exhibited. The others it were 
 best to pass over in silence. 
 
 If we are to estimate the present condition of the art and 
 its progress by the productions of these better masters alone, 
 our previous remarks will have led us to the point whence 
 we may safely draw the following inference. First, that if a 
 model be well and judiciously chosen, the true path should 
 lie not back upon itself, but progressively onwards to a new 
 perfection of art, reproduced from the bosom of antiquity, 
 yet nevertheless fresh, living, and blooming ; a new art meet 
 for the new time. 
 
 Secondly, that the efforts of modern German artists are by 
 no means directed into a wrong channel, nor based upon erro- 
 neous principles, but are rather steadily advancing in the 
 right path, though many imperfections and defects naturally 
 cling to the first dawn of talent ; and some individuals, osten- 
 sibly belonging to that school, and desiring to be numbered 
 among its members, actually deviate, in many instances, 
 from its principles. It is the misfortune of all first efforts, 
 however well-intentioned, that many aspirants join them un- 
 invited, and striving to supply, by exaggeration, their own 
 conscious deficiency of talent and energy, turn everything 
 alike to mannerism, and even afford just opportunity of cen- 
 
1819.] GERMAN MANNERISM CONSIDERED. 295 
 
 sure to the opponents of real excellence ; a censure in which 
 all are indiscriminately involved, the most excellent and re- 
 markable compositions being classed in the same category 
 with those which are at best indifferent, if not utter failures. 
 
 It cannot now be difficult to reduce to its proper value the 
 charge of u German mannerism" brought against modern Ger- 
 man masters : I adopt the term in order to be the more easily 
 understood. If an artist be incapable of uniting the spirit 
 of his types, and their mode of treatment, with his own per- 
 sonal talent, but on the contrary confines himself to copying 
 trivial accidents or positive defects — counterfeiting instead 
 of imitating — he is decidedly in error, and such a practice, 
 like the rude imitation of nature, will lead, though by a totally 
 different route, to the same abyss of degeneracy. It is ever 
 thus with imitation in the arts, resembling, if I may be allowed 
 the comparison, the operation of sin in the moral being ; both 
 lead in innumerable false directions, and as there is in the 
 moral world but one virtue, so in the arts there is but one 
 true path. Perfection consists in the union of the idea and 
 the vitality ; everything that breaks this union, every defi- 
 ciency on the one side or the other is a fault, and, if further 
 developed or adopted as a principle, will lead to mannerism. 
 The idea, if suffered to predominate, produces works that 
 are cold and inanimate, or, at least in some measure, deserve 
 the reproach of hardness. The attempt, on the other hand, 
 merely to copy life and nature, may in cases produce strong 
 effects, as many of the Naturalisti have done, but, with the 
 loss of ideality is banished all deep meaning, and even that 
 internal character which forms a most essential condition of 
 the art. 
 
 To return to our German exhibition : the reproach of 
 antique mannerism is fitly applied to the above-mentioned 
 class alone, and certainly the exaggeration of some few 
 among them seems entirely to merit it. This class of 
 painters may be found everywhere, and their faults are not 
 to be referred to the models they follow; for whether copy- 
 ing Leonardo and Dürer, Guido and Guercino, Mengs and 
 Füger, or who you will, they seize and imitate their worst 
 points ; become either insipid and stiff, or exaggerated and 
 overdrawn, and in every case alike mannered and unnatural. 
 In an exhibition we invariably find many indifferent per- 
 
 u 4 
 
296 MODERN GERMAN PAINTINGS. [1819. 
 
 formances, and even utter failures mixed up with more ex- 
 cellent and admirable works, but our judgment should be 
 formed from the best alone, and if there be no deficiency of 
 these, it augurs well for the progress and advancement of 
 the art. The works of sixty-three artists are here collected, 
 of whom by far the greater number are but entering on their 
 career. It has been already said that the rising talent dis- 
 played by a few of these, received commendation, and the 
 public, little heeding party disputes, or the too commonly 
 repeated reproach of antique imitation, dispensed full justice 
 to each individual of merit ; nay, awarded them the most 
 distinguished approbation. The two Schadows, Philip Veit, 
 Wach, and others, were not only favourably noticed by the 
 public in general, but received from the most enlightened 
 and illustrious spectators of this exhibition, such distinct and 
 unqualified praise, as must have equalled every desire them- 
 selves or their friends could have formed ; on this point, 
 therefore, little more is left for me than gratefully to acknow- 
 ledge the sound judgment of the public to which little or 
 nothing of emendation can be added on my part. Neither is 
 there any reason to apprehend that these and other noble 
 painters will rest satisfied with the approbation awarded to 
 the promising works they have hitherto produced, and thus 
 be led to neglect or forget the incomparably better and 
 higher efforts which we are justly entitled to expect from 
 them. But should there be any whose individual merit 
 received less admiration and distinction than was its due, let 
 the artist attribute this omission merely to accidental cir- 
 cumstances. Who could fail to admire the rich originality 
 of Eberhard's remarkable sketches ? Yet such designs re- 
 quire to be contemplated at leisure in the cabinet, and catch 
 the eye less on the walls of an exhibition-room than large 
 and highly finished oil-paintings ; it is, besides, often difficult 
 to find a convenient position for smaller pieces. The grandest 
 and most admired works of some other painters were not 
 exhibited; the " Adoration of the Shepherds," by Johannes 
 Weit, which has attracted much admiration from the deep 
 fervent piety of the expression, and the truth and vivifying 
 warmth of the execution, and the beautiful cartoon before- 
 mentioned, by Cornelius, were absent. Two single heads by 
 Eggers, less beautifully finished than those of the Madonna 
 
1819.] 
 
 POPULAR ERRORS IN ART. 
 
 297 
 
 and the Angel St. Michael, but of noble form and graceful 
 colouring, worthy the best times of Italian art, were little 
 noticed among so many larger and grander compositions. 
 
 The reproach of antiquity, if supposed to imply man- 
 nerism, and therefore error, cannot be applied to the German 
 artists in Rome ; yet we must observe that this mannerism 
 is not necessarily an accompaniment of the antique, and 
 when thoroughly investigated the fault will be found to have 
 no connexion with it, but rather to arise in a totally different 
 quarter : for example, in a Holy Family, by Wilhelm Schadow, 
 the head of the mother is full of soul and expression, beauti- 
 ful, and most exquisitely finished ; but the St. Joseph in the 
 same picture is too diminutive, in fact, a complete failure. 
 Still there is nothing peculiarly old German in the figure, 
 nor could any of Raphael's heads be pointed out as the 
 prototype of the majestic head of the Madonna. 
 
 When once a general opinion has been brought into a sort 
 of convenient formula, it is repeated and echoed by persons 
 who have no clear idea of its meaning, and frequently adopt 
 it in circumstances with which it has not the slightest con- 
 nexion ; thus it is with the phrase " old German manner," 
 in art, which is continually applied to compositions that lie 
 a hundred miles at least out of its province. Were it my 
 intention to enter into particulars, I could give numerous 
 instances of a most extraordinary confusion of ideas on this 
 particular point. The case is precisely the same as it has 
 been in literature for many years past. Any new poetical 
 work is supposed to have been sufficiently criticised, and is 
 dismissed without further question when once branded with 
 the fearful reproach of Romantic, whether it be from the pen 
 of Schiller, Tieck, Fouque, or even in a totally different 
 genre. Others, again, class every thing in philosophy or 
 science which excites their displeasure, or surpasses their 
 comprehension, under the general head of mystical, a term 
 which is merely employed to indicate something objectionable, 
 but the meaning of which they as little understand or could 
 explain as the subject or opinion to which they applied it. 
 Such set phrases are in fact mere delusive forms of speech, 
 misleading the judgment. 
 
 The introduction, even in modern paintings, of a certain 
 well-dissembled antiquity, must, in a few particular themes, 
 
298 MODERN GERMAN PAINTINGS. [1819. 
 
 be defended as appropriate, and can never be thought liable 
 to unqualified censure ; it is only when faulty and mannered 
 that it deserves to be condemned. Still I cannot explain 
 how this reproach originated, nor in what respect it is appli- 
 cable to the new German school, now appearing. Any one 
 who has been in the habit of seeing compositions of the old 
 masters will easily discover in most of the modern German 
 paintings that the artist has contemplated some individual 
 master of the old Italians with peculiar and affectionate 
 reverence, even if he have not expressly chosen any for his 
 model; sometimes, but more rarely, we find instances of 
 affinity with the old German school, and Dürer in particular. 
 Probably the costume of that period, adopted by a few young 
 German artists, may have furnished grounds for this most 
 unreasonable censure, and contributed to its general diffusion : 
 the idea of the dress thus entirely superseding that of the 
 painting. 
 
 If the phrase Old German is taken as synonymous with 
 stiff, or hard, I must be allowed to protest against so arbi- 
 trary a synonism. The idea is probably drawn more from 
 books and early prejudice than from personal investigation. 
 I, for my part, have seen many old German pictures in the 
 Boisseree Collection and elsewhere, beautiful and full of life, 
 yet without the slightest sacrifice of grace or expression. It 
 would be easy, on the other hand, to point out a number of 
 pictures by the later mannerists, or the old French school, 
 which are throughout cold and insipid, hard and soulless, or, 
 to take an example nearer home, we may name many of our 
 own pictures, originating in the false or Pagan antique, which, 
 although framed strictly according to rule, usually come into 
 the world lifeless from their birth. 
 
 Why should we Germans so much undervalue our own old 
 national art, treating it with a contempt which is as unmerited 
 as it ought to be painful to ourselves ? Kaphael knew how to 
 appreciate the genius of Diirer, and long before Diirer's time 
 there existed many other noble painters, who in some of their 
 compositions surpassed even him in grace and sweetness. The 
 Italians value old German art, and even the French have 
 thought it worthy of their attention ; while Germany alone 
 denies that her early masters, in the cycle of excellence in 
 painting, rank next to those of Italy. If, indeed, the art 
 
1819.] CHRISTIAN SUBJECTS ADAPTED FOR PAINTING. 299 
 
 among us failed to reach the same point of perfection as with 
 the Italians, the causes which checked its progress may easily 
 be discovered ; long ere it had reached the summit its career 
 was interrupted by religious dissensions, and the Burgher 
 wars of the 16th contury at length completely put a stop to 
 it. Still it would be difficult to name any among the pre- 
 decessors of Raphael who contributed so largely to the ad- 
 vancement of the art in all its branches as [Hubert and John] 
 Van Eyck. 
 
 This retrospect is not entirely foreign to my subject ; but 
 we will now return to the present state of German art, and 
 inquire into the new direction it has lately taken in its de- 
 velopment at Rome. One point, however, remains to be 
 cleared up before the object of this treatise can be accom- 
 plished, and it is, indeed, a point of the highest importance, 
 as until our ideas on that particular are distinctly defined it 
 will be impossible to form an unbiassed and impartial judg- 
 ment. It chiefly relates to the choice of subjects ; for many 
 young artists, who confine themselves from choice to study- 
 ing the most excellent masters of the present time, have, in 
 accordance with the general plan of those painters, and of 
 the older schools also, selected Christian subjects in particu- 
 lar for their paintings. The public in general do not approve 
 of these religious themes, but, on the contrary, decidedly 
 reject them; and this determined opposition on their part 
 has greatly contributed to prolong the contest so powerfully 
 maintained against the true destination and office of the art. 
 
 I am not aware that it has ever been asserted that Christian 
 themes should be made the exclusive subjects of representa- 
 tion. It is true that the old masters of a loftier time pre- 
 ferred those subjects, and devoted their grandest and most 
 important works to the honour of religion ; naturally so, 
 indeed, because in their time the fervent aspirations of art 
 were linked with, and the offspring of, religion, their prin- 
 cipal office being to adorn the sanctuary, and beautify de- 
 votion. The old painters, nevertheless, frequently chose 
 mythological subjects in fresco for the adornment of secu- 
 lar palaces : we see this first in Raphael, and after him in 
 Giulio Romano, the latter displaying peculiar originality of 
 mind ; later still, we have the Carracci, and their successors. 
 Grand poetical subjects, drawn from ancient mythology, or 
 
300 
 
 MODERN GERMAN PAINTINGS. 
 
 [1819. 
 
 heroic poetry, are peculiarly adapted for fresco ; but, on 
 the contrary, those of a deeper character, in which symbolic 
 mysteries require to be animated by consummate skill in the 
 finishing, belong rather to the sphere of oil-painting. It 
 was, therefore, a happy idea of the Germans — Overbeck, 
 Philip Veit, and Julius Schnorr — to make their fresco 
 paintings in the Villa Giustiniani from the imaginative 
 Italian poets, Dante, Ariosto, and Tasso, thus forming a 
 series of cyclic representations. I can easily believe, also, 
 that the old Trojan, Homeric, or other heroic historians, 
 might be executed with much more effect in the grand style 
 of fresco paintings than they have hitherto been in easel 
 pictures ; nor will I deny that many other themes, widely 
 removed from the sphere of Christian art, are yet most ex- 
 quisitely attractive. Who can coldly contemplate a Danäe 
 or Antiope of Titian, or an Io of Correggio ? Yet I could 
 almost wish such subjects had been treated exclusively by 
 painters of their genius and delicate taste ; handled, as we so 
 frequently see them, by inferior minds, they become un- 
 endurable. I would also remind young artists that they 
 must follow a much severer path before they can hope to 
 attain the lofty degree of excellence, which will enable them 
 to diffuse the exquisite expression of true living beauty and 
 grace, without evidently deriving it from the bare charm of 
 the senses ; easy though it may be to please many through 
 that medium alone, for the public are often only too sus- 
 ceptible of pleasure from such voluptuous subjects, if treated 
 with moderate delicacy. 
 
 The spirit and treatment, however, are here of primary 
 importance. There must be no exclusiveness in the subject, 
 even though a preference is natural. To banish all Christian 
 subjects from the domain of art would be most arbitrary and 
 useless, since the taste for them will ever continue to subsist, 
 being founded not only on the example of each great proto- 
 type of past ages, but also on the necessities of our own. 
 During the last thirty years, it is true, there have been many 
 more churches destroyed than either built or decorated with 
 pictures ; yet the return of peace and order has already given 
 birth to other thoughts, and not in our country only, but in 
 many others, a number of expressive compositions designed 
 for the adornment of churches have appeared and we feel 
 
1819.] OTHER SUBJECTS ALSO WELL ADAPTED. 301 
 
 justified in prognosticating a rich succession of them. In- 
 deed, Christianity is by no means in so feeble a condition as 
 revolutionists and would-be heathens imagine and declare ; 
 our own Germany affords one example in proof of this 
 assertion, in which I pre-eminently rejoice, namely, that 
 Protestants also seem anxious to beautify their churches 
 with devotional paintings ; thus opening a new career for the 
 votaries of German art, in the field which has ever been its 
 peculiar choice. Besides the churches, too, there are many 
 private families, who in some apartment of their dwell- 
 ing, devoted almost exclusively to that purpose, place a 
 " Holy Virgin and Child," an " Annunciation," or some 
 other well-executed devotional painting, which is thus con- 
 tinually before their eyes. Still the taste of individuals is so 
 various, that many men would doubtless have equal pleasure 
 in looking at the representation of a sucking calf. Indeed, if 
 the execution be as excellent as we imagine it to have been 
 in the celebrated cow of Myro, which Goethe has so finely 
 described in the fourth number of his Treatise on Art, even 
 that subject might be received into the circle of artistic 
 representations. I must nevertheless distinctly assert that 
 such subjects, however meritorious in their kind, should 
 never be permitted to intrude among higher and holier 
 themes. Should it be asserted that painting among the 
 Greeks attained greater perfection than in the time of 
 Raphael and others, and that the young artist ought to 
 launch freely and without constraint into the ample field of 
 Greek mythology, selecting for example some of the least 
 familiar subjects of Philostratus, the assertion would meet 
 with but little attention ; for we have at present sufficient 
 experience on this point to know that Greek painters never 
 attained a very high grade of perfection in comparison with 
 the old masters of the Christian time, or the sculptors of 
 their own, and such a suggestion, if made in earnest, would 
 scarcely deserve a serious reply. We have already seen the 
 tendency of pagan antique imitation in the stony pictures, 
 and dead creations it has produced, and it would therefore 
 be impossible to listen to so extravagant a proposal, unless 
 supported by signs and wonders of a description differing 
 very much from those hitherto brought to light. 
 
 The question of the selection of subjects, Christian subjects 
 
302 MODERN GERMAN PAINTINGS. [1819. 
 
 more especially, is closely connected with that of the early 
 German manner, both as to the degree in which it may be 
 in itself absolutely objectionable, or, when kept within due 
 limits, and confined to a certain class of subjects, appropriate 
 and admissible. All Christian themes, being symbolic, require 
 to be symbolically treated, and that severe and serious style 
 which seems to bear the stamp of antiquity, is therefore 
 peculiarly appropriate. If Christian themes are not treated 
 symbolically throughout, but in a simple, worldly, and 
 merely human style, and if I may be permitted the expres- 
 sion, solely with a view to dramatic effect, they must indu- 
 bitably present subjects quite unsuited to artistic composi- 
 tions, in fact, hardly endurable, and fully justify the censure 
 and aversion of the opposite party, This point, however, 
 must be left for the present undiscussed, as affording abund- 
 ant material for a separate investigation. 
 
 But I cannot thus lightly pass over the hypothesis, that 
 ancient Greek paintings (of which we may judge from the 
 Greek pictures in the collection at Portici) were as perfect 
 in their way as those of Raphael and his contemporaries. 
 The reverse is universally acknowledged in regard to paint- 
 ing ; although in sculpture, the Greeks reached an eminence 
 which we can scarcely hope to equal, much less surpass. The 
 sculptor therefore should cling closely to the ancients, making 
 them his guides, and merely as it were carrying out more 
 fully the development of their principles. The highest proof 
 of skill in this art is the production of antique designs ; and 
 that power, when exerted so successfully as by Michelangelo, 
 in the famous Faun, and Thorwaldsen, in his Eginetic figures, 
 not only excites extreme astonishment but also deserves the 
 highest praise. The next aim of the sculptor's genius appears 
 to be to represent a classical figure in such a manner that it 
 might even be taken for an antique, like Thorwaldsen's 
 Mercury, which appears as if girded with a sword, only the 
 more imperatively to announce to hundreds of modern statues 
 their impending and inevitable doom. If, then, sculpture 
 has among us reached this first and comprehensive degree 
 of perfection, we surely ought not to doubt whether it be 
 capable of handling different and peculiar subjects in an 
 equally excellent style, recommencing and carrying to per- 
 fection the unfinished efforts of the Middle Ages and the 
 
1819.] 
 
 ON LANDSCAPE-PAINTING. 
 
 303 
 
 first experiments of Christian sculpture. " The Christ," de- 
 signed by our gifted Dannecker, claims unqualified admi- 
 ration and sympathy, and must be regarded with anxious 
 interest as the first attempt of that nature which our times 
 have witnessed. 
 
 The German exhibition was abundantly supplied with 
 excellent works of sculpture ; and much might be said of the 
 great genius of Rudolf Schadow, of Schaller's meritorious 
 works, and the bas-reliefs of Eberhard, all of which deserve 
 to be attentively studied. The circumstance of Thorwaldsen's 
 " Graces" being unfinished, and therefore of course absent 
 from the exhibition, gave occasion to many witticisms. I 
 shall only observe, that had they been there people would 
 no doubt have pronounced them hard and stiff, or perhaps, 
 even decidedly old German, for that great artist has un- 
 doubtedly treated his subject in the severe manner of the 
 early Greeks, and with very little of that soft, unctuous flow 
 of outline, which alone finds favour among the moderns. 
 
 I shall not at present dwell further on the subject of 
 sculpture, as I wish to confine my observations to painting, 
 and particularly to the old historical and symbolic subjects. 
 The judgment of the world has, in that department especi- 
 ally, been far too much biassed by opposition and party 
 spirit, but I trust the principles here set forth will bring 
 those conflicting opinions into harmony, or at least conduce 
 to a just appreciation of the points in which they differ. 
 Neither will it be consistent with my present views, to enter 
 upon the subject of landscape-painting, apart from the other 
 branches of the art. I should find it necessary for that pur- 
 pose to study a number of unfathomable, and, I might add, 
 little known theories, in the hope of discovering by their 
 assistance some connecting link between the prevailing taste 
 and my own ideas, different as is the direction of each ; and 
 determining whether the preference ought to be awarded to 
 a faithful and vigorous delineation of any simple natural 
 theme, imbued throughout with deep signification and ex- 
 pression, or to the attempt to seize one moment of some 
 brilliant natural phenomenon, and portraying it with vivid 
 and even deceptive truth ; or again, whether both should be 
 combined, as for example, the distinct styles of Ruysdael and 
 Claude Lorrain. 
 
304 
 
 MODERN GERMAN PAINTINGS. 
 
 [1319. 
 
 For the present it will suffice to remark, that the works of 
 Koch, Catel, Rebell, Rohden, and others in the German ex- 
 hibition, exemplify not only the extreme points of each con- 
 trasting style, but also every stage of the transition from 
 one mode of treatment to the other. The works of Koch, in 
 his best time, are the most remarkable in the entire cycle of 
 modern German art, from the deep feeling concentrated in 
 them, and the luxuriant richness of nature which they re- 
 present. 
 
 I have no inducement to dwell more fully on the works of 
 a few older German masters, as their compositions belong 
 properly to an earlier period : my intention, as I have said, 
 being rather to examine such modern productions as have 
 attracted peculiar censure or commendation from the public. 
 
 I wish, however, before concluding, to offer the few fol- 
 lowing remarks, with respect to the opinion so often re- 
 peated, that Raphael, and other Christian painters of his time, 
 attained a degree of excellence which has never since been 
 equalled or surpassed. We should still most joyfully wel- 
 come and encourage every indication that seemed to promise 
 new and exalted eminence. Perhaps we ought not to be too 
 hasty in indulging this hope ; and, until it is fully realised, 
 it will undoubtedly be more safe to follow some glorious ex- 
 ample, and treading in his steps, seek to open to ourselves a 
 new path, suited to our own time, and in pursuing which 
 we shall advance still further towards the goal we have in 
 view : thus only, indeed, dare we hope to see renewed the 
 spring-time and summer of art. We must not give credence 
 to those who affirm that its glory is for ever passed away, — 
 that it is vain to hope in our time for a revival or any 
 new development of power, because, like old Nature, its 
 energy and vitality are alike exhausted ; and not only all 
 appreciation of the past, but all hope of future, reaction or a 
 new life, is for ever extinguished. I could not pass over in 
 silence so dangerous an opinion, at this moment especially, 
 when it is so directly proved to be false and injurious ; even, 
 now a new impulse has been communicated to the regenerate 
 art, and it needs only to be received with sympathy and 
 
 favour, to expand into far brighter promise and reality. 
 
 ***** 
 
1819.] REVIVAL OF ART. 305 
 
 A most triumphant advance has been made in Christian 
 art, and its foundation has been wonderfully strengthened 
 and confirmed by the two grand publications of Sulpice 
 Boisseree. One, a splendid and detailed account of the most 
 majestic monuments of mediaeval ecclesiastical architecture ; 
 the other, a collection of engravings from old German paint- 
 ings, the lithography of which, in some instances, as for 
 example, in the St. Christopher, of Memling, is brought to 
 a degree of perfection that could scarcely have been antici- 
 pated. 
 
 A fundamental knowledge of old German art, and a true 
 feeling for Christian beauty, will not fail to develop them- 
 selves simultaneously. Those ideas of religious beauty which 
 earlier, when the divine feeling itself existed, vivified and 
 inspired the whole period, had at an after period slumbered 
 on unnoted and undeveloped, till in later times they were 
 forgotten, disfigured, or perverted by hostile misrepresen- 
 tations, and the strange errors induced by foreign influence. 
 Now they again break forth in more than pristine beauty, 
 and the correct principles of our rising school will continually 
 acquire more and more influence, till at length they become 
 fixed triumphantly on a new and immutable basis. The deep 
 and pious Christian feeling thus re-awakened among us will 
 increase in power and intensity, while the sterile imitations 
 of the Pagan antique sink back into empty nothingness, 
 together with the false theories on which they rest. Indeed, 
 independently of this peculiar influence, the diffusion of a 
 deeper knowledge of the individuality and real grandeur 
 existing even in old heathen art, had left the favourite 
 themes of modern copyists without power or influence. It is 
 a peculiar characteristic of the new style in general, that it is 
 ever emulative and aspiring, ever absorbed in the pursuit of 
 those lofty ideas of art which are frequently crowned with 
 glorious fruition by the working of such ardent aspirations 
 alone, an example of which is seen in the success that attended 
 the pursuit of science and philosophy among the ancients. 
 Hence, too, errors of manner and treatment are found border- 
 ing closely on the delicate line of the highest spiritual beauty, 
 so closely, indeed, as often to destroy its effect, at least in 
 the opinion of the world. Yet all mannerism, and the style 
 of the miniaturists included, whether practised on a greater 
 
 x 
 
306 MODERN GERMAN PAINTINGS. [1819. 
 
 or less extensive scale, are beginning gradually to sink in the 
 estimation of the public, except when supported by the false 
 magic of momentary caprice ; and worthy opportunities and 
 glorious themes still remain for lofty talent to luxuriate in^ 
 while pursuing the silent path of deeply rooted, serious, de- 
 votional beauty, which seems at last to be regaining its due 
 ascendancy. Keligious feeling is, indeed, far more willingly 
 admitted to pre-eminence in painting than in either poetry or 
 philosophy, both of which are still distracted by the spirit of 
 opposition and subversion. 
 
 A true knowledge and appreciation of devotional feeling 
 in painting and its practical principles are already esta- 
 blished among us on a sufficiently secure basis ; that happy 
 talent which is the gift of nature alone, united with the tech- 
 nical skill and facility that must be acquired by study, we 
 assume to be already provided. What more, then, is needed, 
 it may be asked, to enable the painter to reach the perfec- 
 tion to which he aspires ? I reply that it is most essential, in 
 the first place, that the beautiful truths of the Christian faith 
 and religion should not be received into the mind as merely 
 lifeless forms, in passive acquiescence to the teaching of 
 others : they must be embraced with an earnest convic- 
 tion of their truth and reality, and bound up with each 
 individual feeling of the painter's soul. Still even the in- 
 fluence of devotion is not alone sufficient; for however 
 entirely religion may be felt to compensate for all that is 
 wanting to our earthly happiness, much more is required 
 to form a painter. I know not how better to designate 
 that other element, without which mere technical skill, and 
 even correct ideas, will be unavailing, than by styling it 
 the inborn light of inspiration. It is something quite dis- 
 tinct from fertility of invention, or magic of colouring, 
 rare and valuable as is the latter feature in painting. It 
 is no less distinct from skill in the lofty technicalities of 
 design and the natural feeling for beauty inherent in some 
 susceptible minds. The poet and the musician especially 
 should also be inspired, but their inspiration is more the 
 offspring of human emotion, the painter's must he an emana- 
 tion of celestial light ; his very soul must, so to speak, become 
 itself illumined, a glowing centre of holy radiance, in whose 
 bright beams every material object should be reflected, and 
 
1819.] 
 
 CHRISTIAN ART. 
 
 307 
 
 even his inmost conceptions and daily thoughts be inter- 
 penetrated by its brightness, and remodelled by its influence. 
 This in-dwelling light of the soul should be recognised in 
 every creation of his pencil, expressive as a spoken word ; 
 and in this lies the peculiar vitality of Christian beauty, and 
 the cause of the remarkable difference between classical and 
 Christian art. The classic is based upon a lofty idea of the 
 living human frame, linked in a certain degree with a sen- 
 timent of exquisite intellectual loveliness, yet not treated as 
 if these principles were of equal importance, but rather 
 giving to the intellectual spirit an inferior and secondary 
 influence : man, according to the early Christian type, still 
 appears in nature, according to the antique idea, like the 
 commanding god ruling over her spirit-forms with king-like 
 power ; yet physical beauty is here employed but as a ma- 
 terial veil, from beneath which the hidden divinity of the 
 soul shines forth, illuminating all mortal life with the higher 
 spirituality of love. Even in the choice of subjects for paint- 
 ing, this ray of inborn inspiration, this divine enthusiasm, 
 must guide and govern the painter's decision. A more than 
 earthly aspect subduing the soul ; a state of heavenly illu- 
 mination and exaltation ; an upspringing from the dark night 
 of mortality, like the morning dawn breaking through heavy 
 clouds ; a spell of love and fascination in the midst of suffer- 
 ing nature, or a flash of intense beauty, created from the very 
 anguish of the soul's despair; — such are the peculiar and 
 not merely pleasing themes which afford subjects to the Chris- 
 tian painter, and such is the spirit in which they ought to be 
 rendered. There are also, it is true, old historical and even 
 mythological subjects which are not only susceptible of the 
 deeper meaning that the soul demands, but even naturally sug- 
 gest and give birth to it. Such themes* certainly need not 
 be excluded from the circle of Christian art. It does not by 
 any means require an arbitrary restriction to certain exterior 
 forms and given subjects, nor does its beauty depend ex- 
 clusively on the observance of particular rules, but rather 
 springs from the all-pervading influence of a pure and holy 
 devotion. All mere representations of the outward frame, 
 taken without reference to the spirit, are but dead forms, 
 
 * See page 105. Giulio Romano, and Remarks on Italian Painters 
 and Greek Subjects. 
 
 x 2 
 
308 MODERN GERMAN PAINTINGS. [1819. 
 
 mute and inexpressive. The spirit never remains attached 
 in motionless union to a lifeless frame, and the soul-inspiring 
 principle of intellectual development, like the restless pulse- 
 throb of natural life, aspires unceasingly, without weariness 
 or lassitude, to the eternal goal it has in view ; we need 
 not therefore fear lest modern Christian art should ever 
 again recur to the vain repetition and imitation of the Pagan 
 antique, but may rather anticipate that, pressing steadily 
 forwards, it will establish and carry to perfection the new 
 and peculiar school which has arisen from the progressive de- 
 velopment of Christian intellect, and the spiritual disposition 
 now prevailing in the world. 
 
 A profound knowledge of early art and genuine feeling 
 for holy beauty will powerfully conduce to this most earnestly 
 desired result, and would seem to promise certain indications 
 of success. In the productions of our Christian ancestors, 
 whatever may be the theme selected, the innate principles 
 of their holy faith and piety are strikingly apparent, and, 
 in order rightly to understand and appreciate them, the 
 eye of the beholder should be illumined with that same 
 spiritual light from whence they drew their birth. This 
 sympathy of feeling will quicken our perception of holy 
 things, for the soul alone can comprehend the truly beautiful ; 
 the eye of sense may gaze on the material veil of external 
 grace, but it penetrates not to that severe and lofty meaning 
 which reveals itself to the intelligence alone. That radiant 
 light of the soul, in which, as in the magic mirror of creative 
 fancy, the beautiful is vividly pourtrayed and recognised, is 
 true, unfeigned, and spiritual devotion, ever therefore essen- 
 tially linked with Christianity, inseparably one with the 
 mysterious revelation of our holy faith, and the all-subduing 
 power and perfect knowledge of divine and immortal love. 
 
CHIVALRY OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Chivalry, enchantments, and love, were the favourite themes 
 of the beautiful old romances which have been handed down 
 to us from the olden time ; and it is to this spirit that the 
 greatest German poets of the Suabian and a somewhat later 
 period, as well as the Italians, owe their noble songs and 
 romances of chivalry. 
 
 The most imaginative and interesting of these knightly 
 tales are unquestionably those which relate to King Arthur 
 and the Knights of the Round Table ; and of these the 
 most singular and remarkable is perhaps that of the Magi- 
 cian Merlin. 
 
 The German version of this romance was taken from the 
 best French sources that the Bibliotheque at Paris afforded, 
 in the years 1803 and 1804 * 
 
 The story of Lother and Mailer is a narrative by Mar- 
 garet, Countess of Piedmont and Duchess of Lothringia ; 
 and was written in the Italian language, in the year of our 
 Lord 1405. It was thence translated into German, by Frau 
 Elizabeth, Countess of Nassau- Saarbrück, a daughter of 
 the above-mentioned Countess Margaretha and the Duke 
 Friedrich of Lothringia. The above translation was made 
 about the year 1437, and the story here given has been 
 adapted from that German manuscript. We gather from 
 the introductory sentences that the translator was aware of 
 a Latin version of even earlier date. 
 
 * So many versions of this tale are already before the English public, 
 that the publisher of this work has deemed it unnecessary to attempt a 
 translation of Schlegel's: it has been ably rendered by George Ellis 
 in particular, and will be found in his " Early English Metrical Ro- 
 mances ; " this tale has therefore been omitted in this volume. 
 
 x 3 
 
310 LOTHER AND MALLER. [CH. L 
 
 I am indebted for my knowledge of this MS., which is 
 but little later than the original, to my very estimable friend 
 Canon Walraff of Cologne ; and I made and completed this 
 German version in that city in the years 1804 and 1805. 
 
 Besides the merit of the fiction and the peculiar style of 
 the narrative, it presents a picture of knightly friendship 
 which seems to have first prompted the original translator 
 to endeavour to rescue it from oblivion ; and the present 
 version has been undertaken by me from a similar feeling, 
 and with a regard to the same object. 
 
 Many knightly encounters and adventures introduced 
 towards the conclusion of the tale have been omitted, as 
 partaking too much of the ordinary character of chivalric 
 romances ; and some circumstances in the catastrophe, which, 
 though not in themselves absolutely objectionable, might 
 seem repugnant to the refinement of modern times? have 
 been considerably modified or kept out of view. 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER: 
 
 {From an unpublished German Manuscript) 
 
 THE FIRST CHAPTER. 
 
 I am about to relate a fair history of great beauty, and 
 full of pleasant adventures, which in all verity happened 
 in the manner here set down. 
 
 The book was originally rendered from the Latin into 
 Italian, and thence translated into the German language ; it 
 i describes the fidelity and affection of two faithful friends, 
 such as has never been surpassed. 
 
 These friends were both of princely birth : the one was 
 a son of King Charles of France, and named Lother ; the 
 other, a son of the valiant King Galyens, was called Mailer, 
 
CH. I.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 311 
 
 and his mother, Kosamond, was the most beautiful woman 
 of that time. 
 
 Lother, renowned in every virtue, was gay and ardent, 
 and made himself so agreeable to all womankind, that the 
 whole sex was in love with him. This caused much dis- 
 pleasure among many of the knights, and they went to 
 Ludwig, King Charles' other son, to complain of his brother's 
 conduct. 
 
 " Sir," said they, " your brother Lother is continually 
 pursuing our wives and daughters, and we know not how to 
 hinder him. He will continue this course in spite of us, 
 unless for seven years he be banished the country. In that 
 space perhaps his outrages will be forgotten, and he arrived 
 at sufficient wisdom to understand good from evil. But if 
 he remains here, of this you may be certain, he will excite in 
 the nobles such anger and disgust, that yours and your 
 father's safety will be in jeopardy. Therefore, sir, we beg 
 of you to lay this matter before the king." 
 
 u I will willingly undertake to do so," said Ludwig ; and 
 he forthwith went to his father, King Charles, and explained 
 the matter to him. 
 
 King Charles immediately sent for his son Lother ; and 
 when the latter had arrived, accompanied by his comrade 
 Mailer, " My dear son," began King Charles, " my nobles, 
 knights, and faithful followers, are very indignant and highly 
 exasperated against you for practices which I have so often 
 forbidden ; my advice you have not thought fit to follow, 
 and it has been not a little trouble to me. Now therefore 
 must I speak a judgment upon you ; by the Almighty God 
 and his dear mother the holy Virgin, by all God's saints in 
 Heaven and the good St. Denis to boot, by my father's and 
 my mother's soul, by the crown which I bear on my head 
 and by my beard which I hold in my hand, if I find you, 
 within seven years, come within the boundaries of my king- 
 dom, I will throw you into a deep dungeon, wherein for 
 those seven years neither sun nor moon shall you see 
 shining." 
 
 As Lother heard his father thus speak, the blood ran cold 
 in his veins. " Dear lord and father," said he, "whoever 
 advises you to this is certainly not my friend ; I would 
 therefore beg of you earnestly not to be thus harsh unto 
 
 x 4 
 
312 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. I. 
 
 me, for I hope I have not so deserved : I pray you, for 
 God's sake, to be better advised." 
 
 " It may, nay, cannot be otherwise ordered," said Charles. 
 " Take gold and silver as much as you may require ; also 
 such of my best knights as may please you, and go into 
 another land and gain honour. Fight against the heathen ; 
 and if you find yourself in any dire straight, let me know 
 that I may come to your assistance. In truth, my dear son, 
 you must absent yourself for seven long years, for so I have 
 been faithfully counselled ; if you fail to do what I com- 
 mand, never more with me shall you have peace. Try 
 every path by which glory may be attained, as did Geryn 
 of Mangel, who won that same land with his arms and my 
 assistance. Lay yourself out as well, and I will also help 
 you. Be good and true, and I will ever hold you for my 
 son ; but fail in virtue, and I will as constantly deny you." 
 
 " Father," said Lother, " I will do as you command me ; 
 I will take with me Mailer, my comrade, and several other 
 knights, whose company I would gladly have. God be my 
 witness, I am not inclined, my dear father, to return again 
 until I have won glory and a kingdom." And the king said, 
 " Therewith am I greatly rejoiced." 
 
 "Well, dear comrades!" cried Lother to his knights, as 
 he went out from his father, " let us away ; my father has 
 banished me for seven years from this country, and my 
 heart tells me I shall never inherit this kingdom." " Dear 
 lord," said Mailer, " do not be disheartened ; those who 
 have counselled this to the emperor your father will soon 
 have their reward for it; it was intended for your injury, 
 but I hope it will be rather for your glory and service ; it is 
 not right that a young man should spend his days at home, 
 but seek in foreign lands to lay the foundation of that 
 fortune and honour which at home he may not easily attain. 
 I, for my part, will go with you, and faithfully serve you." 
 With these words Mailer embraced him and comforted him. 
 Lother was consoled, and said, smiling, " I hope God will 
 help me ; let us put our trust in him, and he will make the 
 journey easy to us." 
 
 With this Lother called his companions, that they might 
 make ready and put on their good armour, Mailer, like the 
 rest of the knights, prepared himself magnificently ; and 
 
CH. II.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 313 
 
 they all placed themselves before the palace, well armed, and 
 in knightly array. Lother mounted his horse, and took 
 leave of the assembled knights and nobles of the court. 
 These all wept as they saw Lother depart, except those who 
 had so counselled, and they laughed and rejoiced. 
 
 THE SECOND CHAPTER. 
 
 Lother and his companions, after they had obtained 
 abundance of gold and silver from the emperor Charles, de- 
 parted from Paris and rode into Lombardy, to a town called 
 Pavia, where Lother found his uncle, his mother's brother. 
 He betook himself, with his comrades, to an inn in the 
 town ; and after they had laid aside their armour, they went 
 in a body to the castle, where they found King Dansier, 
 Lother's uncle, in the garden under the shade of an olive- 
 tree, where he sat, playing at chess with one of his knights. 
 
 " May God protect my uncle," said Lother, as he appeared 
 before him ; upon which King Dansier rose up and received 
 him very kindly. " How is your father, whom I love very 
 dearly?" asked he of Lother. "He is well," answered 
 Lother ; " but I have been falsely slandered to him, insomuch 
 that he has banished me for seven years from his kingdom." 
 
 " Let not this frighten you," said King Dansier ; " I am 
 rich enough, and will certainly not let you be in any trouble. 
 An honest man abandons not his friends in the time of 
 need." 
 
 " Sir uncle," said Lother, " I pray you be silent on the 
 subject of my remaining with you, for that I am still too 
 young ; a young man should ride abroad and seek knightly 
 adventures, and neither heed summer nor winter, that the 
 noble deeds achieved in his youth may well rejoice him in 
 his old age. Therefore, dear sir uncle, my desire is to ride 
 against the infidel, and seek knightly adventures." " Well 
 spoken," said King Dansier. While they were conversing 
 together, there came to them Otto, the son of King Dansier, 
 a youth of fine figure, pretty face, and red hair. When he 
 had heard what had happened to Lother, and that he was 
 banished, he swore to him that he never would leave him ; 
 but in this he lied, as you will see in the sequel. 
 
 When Lother had been about fourteen days at his uncle's 
 
314 LOTHER AND MALLER. [dl. II. 
 
 court, lie said to Otto, " Cousin, I go now against the in- 
 fidel ; if you will join me, willingly will I share with you 
 whatever I may gain." " Yes, cousin," said Otto ; "I am 
 willing to accompany you, and will also take my followers, 
 if you will swear to me, this whole year long to bear my 
 name, and let me likewise bear yours ; you and your whole 
 suite must swear at the altar, that you, during the whole 
 year through, will be treated by them as I should be ; and I 
 on my part pass for you." " That I will willingly do," said 
 Lother ; and he and all his companions swore the oath to 
 him at the altar. Thereupon Lother and Otto took leave of 
 the king : the latter strictly enjoined his son to hold Lother 
 in honour, and to do every thing that was agreeable to him. 
 Then they departed. 
 
 In the country of the Romans they came into a wood in 
 front of a castle, where they had an intent to pass the night. 
 But in this castle there lay concealed robbers, to the number 
 of at least two hundred. It is a common saying, and it is also 
 true, that as we have great difficulty in protecting ourselves 
 against secret thieves, so we may also never suffer more than 
 from those we most trust. So it happened to Lother ; he 
 trusted his cousin Otto entirely, but the latter played him 
 false. As they sat at table in the castle, where they had 
 been at first favourably received by the robber chieftain, and 
 were little on their guard, the robbers sprang out of their 
 lurking places and fell upon them. As soon as Otto was 
 aware of this, he left his cousin Lother and the rest in their 
 extremity, and ran away. 
 
 Lother and his men fought bravely with the robbers, and 
 with such manhood that the latter were quickly overpowered 
 and fled. When Otto became aware that Lother and his 
 companions were pursuing them, he scrambled down from 
 the tree in which he had taken refuge, drew his sword, and 
 ran after the robbers with the rest. " Cousin," said he, to 
 Lother, " we may well thank God that we have conquered 
 the robbers." " Verily," cried Mailer, " you have marvel- 
 lously helped thereto ; see where they all lie, those whom you 
 have slain." Now they remained the night in the castle and 
 reposed. On the morrow they betook themselves once more 
 to the road, and passing Rome, went towards Constan- 
 tinople ; they were thence obliged to cross the sea. 
 
CH. III.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 315 
 
 When they were all embarked, Lother said, " Now let us 
 be joyful ; our first adventure with the murderers has ended 
 happily, and God will help us yet further. But I beg of 
 you all to stand by each other, and do not forsake your 
 comrades should any adventure again happen to us." This 
 they all swore to with willing hearts. 
 
 As soon as they landed, they were again in the same 
 manner assaulted by robbers, who with great cries rushed 
 upon them. Otto immediately turned his horse about, and 
 rode into a wood near the shore. Here he hid himself, while 
 Lother and his knights fought with the marauders. Mailer 
 having observed his retreat, rode after and found him sitting 
 behind a hedge. " Thou false traitor," cried Mailer ; " may 
 God curse thee that thou leavest thy cousin Lother alone in 
 such extremity ! " He took a cudgel, and so belaboured 
 Otto, that he, fleeing from Mailer, fell into the water ; 
 Mailer pulled him out by one leg, and drove him before him 
 into the battle. He told Lother how he had found Otto 
 sitting under a hedge. f< By my troth," said Lother, " I was 
 a fool to bring him with me, and still more so to exchange 
 my name with his." They fought manfully, yet they would 
 not have come off so well this time as on the first occasion, 
 had not the prefect of the country, a very brave knight, 
 hastened to their assistance. The robbers were beaten, and 
 their feet and hands cut off. Then the prefect, when he had 
 heard that they were come to serve King Orschier, and to 
 assist him in his war against the infidels, led them to the 
 king, to whom he related how they had fallen in with the 
 robbers, how they had borne themselves in the fight, and 
 how they were come to help him against the infidels ; and 
 King Orschier received these soldiers joyfully, and was the 
 more especially glad when informed that the son of the king 
 of France was also with them. 
 
 THE THIRD CHAPTER. 
 
 King Orschier, taking Otto by the hand, " Dear lord," said 
 he, " what is your name, and whence did you come hither ? " 
 " Sir," said Otto, " I am named Lother, and I am the son of 
 King Charles of France." " It rejoices me greatly," replied 
 Orschier, " that you are come hither, to stand by me in my 
 
316 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. III. 
 
 need. You shall live at my court ; I will treat you well, 
 and will give you my daughter Zormerin in marriage ; so 
 charming is she in person that never have you beheld a more 
 beautiful woman." " Sir," answered Otto, " I should, indeed, 
 be a fool if I did not accept your offer ; I thank you for it 
 heartily." At this moment Zormerin advanced down the 
 steps towards them, led by two high ladies of the court. 
 "Approach, my dear daughter," said the king; "here is 
 Lother, son of the King of France ; receive him kindly, and 
 thank him that he is come hither to assist me : I have pro- 
 mised thee to him ; you will, if God please, be happy with 
 him." " He and his companions are welcome," said Zorme- 
 rin ; " but I also see there a handsome knight standing in 
 the background ; he is of nobler figure than any among them, 
 und I would fain know who he may be ? " " He is called 
 Otto," said the king ; " he came with Lother from France." 
 
 Zormerin was very beautiful and intelligent, and it would 
 have been difficult to find any woman equal to her ; and 
 thought Otto in his heart, " if the time were only come when 
 I might clasp her in my arms and make her my own, Lother 
 and his comrades should hang on the gallows. All he knows 
 is how to fight; but I prefer remaining with the women. 
 What avails it to a man to be killed in battle ? he is soon 
 forgotten. For my part, I like a good long life, delicate food, 
 and good wine, for that is the physic for the body. Mary, 
 mother of God, how beautiful is Zormerin! Lother has 
 been his own betrayer, for now will I marry her under his 
 name." 
 
 Then they sat themselves down to table, King Orschier 
 and his daughter, and, opposite to her, Otto. Mailer be- 
 came thereat almost wild with rage, and said to Lother, 
 " Sir, what a fool have you been not to think sooner of this ! " 
 Lother bade him be silent and be of good cheer, though he 
 himself felt sorely grieved in heart, and cursed the hour in 
 which he had exchanged names with Otto. King Orschier 
 intimated to Otto that his comrades should be sent to the 
 inn in the town, but he himself was requested to remain in 
 the castle, in order that he might be present in person when- 
 ever the infidels made their assault. As soon as the king 
 had thus finished his say, he added thereto, — " So will I 
 bestow upon you my daughter, and when I am gone you 
 
CH. III. J LOTHER AND MALLER. 317 
 
 shall be king over this land." And Otto thanked him much 
 for such great gifts. 
 
 Then Lother and Mailer, with thirty horses, went into the 
 town to a host called Salomon. 
 
 But Otto and his men remained at the court, and would 
 gladly have seen Lother and Mailer on the gallows, so much 
 did they fear them. Zormerin showed Otto all the honour 
 which she believed due to the son of the king of France. 
 "When Otto had the beautiful form of Zormerin continually 
 before his eyes, and lived peaceably at the court, he forgot 
 Lother and his comrade Mailer at the inn, and troubled 
 himself as little about them as if they had been heathens. 
 
 Lother at last spent all the money that he had brought 
 with him, and, according to his need, sold by degrees all his 
 horses, except his own excellent steed; he had received it 
 from his father, and his comrades would never consent to his 
 selling it. 
 
 The host was a kind and honourable man, and gave him 
 to eat on credit, and lent him besides twenty marks, because 
 he had well observed how nobly Lother carried himself. 
 But the twenty marks helped not much, and Lother had 
 very soon spent them, for he bought therewith clothing for 
 his knights, besides the things thereto pertaining. 
 
 " Sir," said at length the knights, " it is truly folly in you 
 not to declare to the King Orschier how ill that rascal Otto 
 behaves to you, and how the whole matter stands ; but if 
 you will not thus break your oath, we will in a body go to 
 the king and lay it before him. Your father, King Charles, 
 once held Ogier of Denmark in prison, and swore he would 
 kill him ; and whoever interfered to pray for him the king 
 hated and threatened to take his life ; whereupon the whole 
 of the knights determined that they would go in a body be- 
 fore the king, and plead for King Ogier ; so will we also do 
 for thee." "You, gentlemen?" replied Lother ; "by the Virgin 
 who bore God under her heart, whosoever of you shall do 
 this, shall die by my hand. He is no worthy man, and no 
 truth is in him, who does not keep his oath firm. Shall a man 
 for the sake of poverty burden his own soul ? I know well 
 what we swore to Otto at the holy altar! if he do evil, 
 shall we also do evil ? Rather would I carry stones upon 
 my back than be false to my oath, and not hold to it firm 
 
318 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. III. 
 
 and unpolluted ! Let us continue to live uprightly in the 
 sight of God, and he will surely save us." The knights, 
 when they heard Lother speak so nobly, went out and wept. 
 
 Afterwards, as they sat at table, they numbered about 
 twenty-four ; but the food prepared was hardly sufficient for 
 ten. The host, like a worthy man, shared what he had with 
 them, gave them, indeed, twenty pitchers of wine, and a 
 supply of food. This host showed himself to be a righteous, 
 pious man. 
 
 When Otto heard that Lother was gone into an inn, and 
 what great poverty he endured, he rejoiced with all his heart, 
 and went himself to King Orschier to request of him to send 
 somebody into the inn, in order to purchase from Lother his 
 good horse, because he fancied that in his necessity Lother 
 would willingly part with it for gold. Thereupon King 
 Orschier sent to the inn one of his knights, who found 
 Lother engaged in play with his host, in the hope of forget- 
 ting his evil vexations. When the knight had made known 
 his mission concerning the horse, Lother said to his comrades, 
 " You see, gentlemen, I must now, indeed, sell my horse, in 
 order thereby to pay our host." As the host heard this he 
 started up, and said, " So help me God, you never shall, on 
 my account, sell your horse, even should I thereby lose all I 
 have ! Go now again to your lord," added he, as he turned 
 to the messenger, " tell him his guest may take it ill, but the 
 horse you never shall take with you, rather would I with a 
 stick break both his legs." At these words of the host the mes- 
 senger laughed in his mind, because they very well pleased 
 him ; thereupon he took leave of the host, and of Lother and 
 his comrades, and went again into the castle, and related all 
 that he had heard to the king and Otto, and the latter was 
 exceedingly vexed. 
 
 " Hast thou well observed, dear Mailer," asked Lother, 
 " what Otto has against me in his mind ? God curse him 
 for ever ! " " Amen ! " said Maller, " Mary, mother of God, 
 when will the heathens come, that people then might see 
 what manner of man this false traitor is ! If he once came 
 into battle, in an hour would he lose his name again, because 
 never will he have the courage to fight." 
 
CH. IV«.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 319 
 
 THE FOURTH CHAPTER. 
 
 L other, as he lay one day in bed, looked at hia shirt, be- 
 cause it was very dirty. " Shirt," said he, " it is very long 
 since you wero washed, and that vexes me exceedingly. Mai- 
 ler, dear comrade, take my shirt, and give it to some woman 
 that she may wash it ; I will stay in bed till it is dry." 
 
 « Very willingly, dear sir," said Mailer. He took it, and 
 went out very early in the morning. " I will seek no 
 woman," said he, " but will myself wash thee, thou shirt, 
 because it becomes not a base woman to wash thee, and a 
 noble one would not do it ! " Then he went out of the house 
 and through the town to a castle, where was a very beautiful 
 garden, in which were many magnificent trees. It so hap- 
 pened that the porter had not well closed the garden gate, 
 and it stood partly open : Mailer entered, and came to a 
 fountain in the midst of the garden : the water ran clear and 
 pure out of golden lions' heads into a great basin of white 
 marble — a more beautiful fountain was never seen: from it 
 there went a flight of marble steps towards a walk adorned 
 with marble columns, overlooking which was Zormerin's 
 chamber, for the garden lay exactly behind the castle. When 
 Mailer saw the fountain he threw the shirt into it, and 
 washed it and rubbed it with his hands very industriously. 
 
 At the same time came Zormerin with her maiden, named 
 Scheidechin, down the steps into the garden ; and when they 
 spied the knight at the fountain, they slipped behind a 
 hedge close by, in order to observe him, how he so diligently 
 washed and rubbed the shirt. Meanwhile Mailer, as if 
 talking to the fountain, spoke thus in a loud voice : " Ah ! 
 sweet spring, couldst thou but speak, well might'st thou boast 
 that thou to-day with thy pure stream hast washed the shirt 
 of the bravest knight who lives on the earth, or who ever 
 bore arms. Cursed be the hour when he changed his name 
 with the false, traitorous, red-haired Otto ; it is piteous that 
 a man so nobly born should be compelled to suffer such 
 poverty!" When Zormerin heard these words, she slipped 
 back softly again with her maiden up the steps into her 
 chamber, and commanded Scheidechin to go down imme- 
 
320 LOTHER AND MALLER. [CH. IV. 
 
 diately, and bring to her the knight whose words they had 
 both heard below. 
 
 Zormerin's maiden went down instantly to Mailer, who 
 still remained at the fountain, and gave him the message 
 from her mistress. Mailer followed her with alacrity into 
 the chamber of the princess, which he found so beautiful, 
 and ornamented with such splendour, that he marvelled 
 thereat greatly. Zormerin sat on a high seat richly be- 
 decked with gold and precious stones. As Mailer looked at 
 her, a chill came over him, for he remembered the words 
 that he had spoken with himself at the spring. He kneeled 
 low before her and said, " May God, who for our redemp- 
 tion willingly suffered, take the princess Zormerin and all 
 who are dear to her into his care ! I pray you send my 
 lord something to eat ; he has been fasting in his bed since 
 yester morning." "What is your lord's name?" asked 
 Zormerin ; " he whose shirt you have been washing?" Mai- 
 ler was so frightened that he could not bring out a word. 
 " Do not be alarmed," continued Zormerin ; " whoever 
 travels in strange lands, in order to seek adventures or to 
 gain glory, cannot expect, at all hours and at all times, to 
 have everything he requires or that he would wish to 
 have." " Maiden," said Maller, " I must avow that were 
 my master Otto at his home in Lombardy, he would be rich, 
 and well cared for." " How is it that you will still call 
 him Otto ? I thought he had changed his name, for thus I 
 heard you declare : the fountain, you said, had lent its ser- 
 vices to the bravest knight in Christendom, named Lother, 
 son of king Charles of France; cursed, said you, be the 
 hour when he changed his name : my maiden will bear testi- 
 mony that these were the w r ords you uttered." " Yes, in- 
 deed," said Scheidechin ; " I can bear witness that such were 
 your words ; and as I saw you wring the shirt so with your 
 hands, I bethought me, I would willingly have fetched you 
 a washing-stick." 
 
 " Lady," said Maller, " I must admit that what you say is 
 true ; I have with these hands washed the shirt of the bravest 
 and most virtuous of knights, but could I win a kingdom 
 thereby, to no living man would I tell his name, seeing that 
 I have sworn a knightly oath not to do so." As Zormerin 
 heard this, she thought within herself that it would have 
 
CH. IV.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 321 
 
 been better to have known nothing of this matter than not 
 to sift the whole affair to the bottom. Such is commonly 
 the nature of women ; and if one but begins to relate any- 
 thing to them, their whole mind is in labour, and they have 
 neither rest nor peace until they have come to the end of it. 
 
 Zormerin continued to urge Mailer ; but as he only per- 
 sisted the more that he must not reveal the matter to any 
 one, " Hear me," she said ; " stay here awhile, and I will 
 go with my maiden Scheidechin into another room, then 
 speak your lord's name aloud to the earth : this may well 
 be consistent with your oath. If I should then chance to 
 overhear it, I will never reveal it until the time is come." 
 
 " Worthy lady," said Maller, " I will do whatever pleases 
 you ; and if in so doing I am guilty of any act contrary to 
 my oath, I will pray to God hourly that he will pardon me 
 for your sake." Then Zormerin and Scheidechin went out 
 into another room. 
 
 " Earth," said Mailer, " listen to me ; to thee will I com- 
 plain of the great rogue Otto of Lombardy, who with cun- 
 ning words persuaded my master to exchange names with 
 him, and now bears the name of my master, the son of King 
 Charles of France. Therefore it is that King Orschier 
 now does such great honour to Otto in my master's name ; 
 while he, my master, must live in shame under the name 
 of Otto, and with his comrades suffer poverty such as so 
 great a prince never before endured." 
 
 Before he could proceed further, Zormerin sprang into 
 the room, and said, " Dear comrade, your master shall no 
 longer be in want ; and in truth this treachery has long 
 been suspected by me. Often in the church have I seen 
 your master with tears flowing over his cheeks, so that I 
 mourned for him. My heart, too, revealed it to me. and 
 felt much more for him than for the traitor Otto ; and even 
 though my father has promised me to the latter for a wife, 
 never, never shall he have me; for he who would marry 
 me must first deserve me. What is your name, comrade ?" 
 " I am called Mailer, lady." " Dear Mailer," continued the 
 princess, " in a happy hour you came to wash your lord's 
 shirt at the fountain ; I will send your lord wherewithal to 
 cheer him, so that the poverty which he and his comrades 
 
 Y 
 
322 LOTHER AND MALLER. [ch. IV. 
 
 have endured may be forgotten, and he and they hence- 
 forth well enjoy themselves." 
 
 Then she fetched linen and clothes from her father, and 
 gave them to Mailer, that he might present them to his 
 master in her name, and also a costly belt. Mailer thanked 
 her, and took his leave, and went again the same way by 
 which he came, to his master at the inn. 
 
 " Whence comest thou hither so hastily ?" said the 
 knight; as Mailer threw what he carried on his shoulders 
 on the bed. "Have you stolen these costly clothes from 
 some rich rogue? 5 ' asked Lother. "Now take them back 
 again whence you took them ; never shall such things cover 
 my body." 
 
 " People should rather admire my cleverness, inasmuch 
 as I have been dexterous enough to rob a man. If I had 
 indeed taken from a poor man, I should deserve the gal- 
 lows ; but, sir, to take the rich mans property is a sin I will 
 willingly bear, and never burden you with it. Is it not 
 better to steal from a rich man than to let a poor one die of 
 hunger ?" Thus spoke Mailer in jest, mocking his master; 
 but when he saw that Lother was really in anger about the 
 stolen property, he began seriously to tell him the truth ; how 
 the king's daughter had watched him at the fountain ; how 
 she, through her maid, had called him to her, and every 
 thing as has been before related. When Lother had heard 
 to the end thereof, he heartily rejoiced. " I am truly glad," 
 said he, " that thou hast not broken thine oath ; because, 
 indeed, my good Mailer, hadst thou done so, never again 
 should I have felt pure and innocent." 
 
 " Now, dear sir," quoth Mailer, " if it please you, I will 
 prepare you a bath before you put on the clean clothes." 
 
 " That I should like very much," said Lother : " only I 
 fear the hostess will not permit it, seeing that I already owe 
 her so much." 
 
 Mailer made no reply, but went straight to the hostess. 
 He inquired of her whether she would prepare a bath for 
 his master: she was very friendly, and said, "Willingly 
 will I do so." 
 
 While she was still talking with him, there came a knight 
 to the door, leading a horse heavily laden with gold and 
 silver. " This treasure," said the knight, " is sent by the 
 
CH. V.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 323 
 
 princess Zormerin, the king's daughter, to the guest, who is 
 here in your inn ; she has heard in what poverty he is 
 plunged, and this she cannot suffer to continue." 
 
 Mailer took the money and carried it into the chamber to 
 his master. " See, dear sir, this comes from the beautiful 
 Zormerin." " God protect her ! " cried Lother ; 66 now will 
 I again eat and drink joyously, and now also can I pay my 
 host. After the bath, I will mount my horse and ride a 
 little ; it is more than four weeks since last I was on my 
 horse, for in truth I had no inclination thereto, as long as I 
 was in debt to my host." 
 
 Lother payed the host with joyful heart, and thanked him 
 that he had behaved so kindly to him ; then he called his 
 company together, and gave them all money for horses, 
 arms, and fine clothes ; and he bathed himself, put on fine 
 clothes, and was rejoiced in his very heart. 
 
 THE FIFTH CHAPTER. 
 
 Zormerin went to her father, and said to him, " Dear lord 
 and father, since you have so many strange soldiers now in 
 the town, let us for once have a tournament ; this I entreat 
 of you, and I promise to him who deserves the reward a 
 beautiful horse. In this way you will be able to prove 
 and discover the merit of each among them ; and as it is 
 known that King Pynart will soon come against the town, 
 it is right that you should inform yourself on which of 
 your servants you can best rely." 
 
 " Dear daughter," answered the king, " I have long wished 
 to do this, but Lother of France has each time prevented 
 me." 
 
 "If Lother were true and brave," said Zormerin, "and 
 were of noble blood as he reports himself, he would surely 
 not oppose it ; but much rather would all his aspirations and 
 thoughts turn often to the tourney and the fight. I swear, 
 by God who created me, were he even king over kings, I 
 would never more be his. Never will I wed with a coward. 
 He who becomes my husband must rule this country after 
 you ; and a cowardly, pusillanimous king would very ill pro- 
 tect it against the neighbouring infidels ! " 
 
 Gladly the king heard this from his daughter, and imme- 
 y 2 
 
324 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. VI. 
 
 diately commanded Iiis heralds to proclaim in the town that he 
 would have a tilt at the quintain at the palace ; namely, 
 that six planks should be set up on an equal number of 
 posts ; and whoever struck the plank should have a horse 
 for his reward of the value of a hundred marks. The sol- 
 diers were much rejoiced at this news, but Otto was fright- 
 ened in his heart, and cursed a thousand times those who 
 had suggested it. 
 
 Lother prepared himself magnificently, and so did his 
 companions ; — the Thursday, thought he, on which day the 
 game was fixed, was very long coming, so impatient was he 
 to tilt and to tourney. The other knights and nobles armed 
 themselves gallantly thereto, for many a one amongst them 
 thought himself the most valiant, and expected to gain the 
 prize. 
 
 Zormerin said often to herself, May God permit that 
 Lother win the guerdon ! then would I bestow it on him 
 with all my heart. She often talked of him with her faith- 
 ful Scheidechin, — " Could he but win the prize," said she, 
 " he would then rise very high in my father's esteem, and 
 the falsehood would soon show itself." 
 
 " Surely, you speak true," said Scheidechin. " I could 
 never persuade myself that Otto was really the man he gave 
 himself out to be : his whole behaviour was unworthy of 
 him ; besides, he is a red-head, and they are commonly false 
 and perfidious." 
 
 THE SIXTH CHAPTER. 
 
 When the Thursday arrived, the king went to the window 
 of his palace ; and by him stood lords, counts, and knights, 
 to the number of two hundred. Zormerin stood on the 
 other side, and near her thirty of her maidens. She was 
 -very magnificently clad ; on her mantle sparkled the most 
 noble precious stones, and it was clasped in front by a car- 
 buncle and a beautiful ruby. Upon this carbuncle a Jew, 
 named Pharaoh, had worked for seven years long ; he gave 
 it to the sybil, by whom it was presented to the temple which 
 was raised in Christ's honour. When the Emperor Vespasian 
 destroyed Jerusalem, Pilate sent it to him, that he might 
 induce him thereby to spare his life. The emperor gave it 
 
CH. VI.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER« 
 
 325 
 
 to St. Clemens, the pope, who bestowed it upon Antonius,, 
 father of St. Helena ; the latter carried it to Constantinople, 
 and offered it at St. Sophia ; thence it was placed among 
 .he treasures. This mantle King Orschier took out of the 
 treasury, and adorned his daughter therewith ; none more 
 beautiful could be seen in any country, nor any maiden more 
 peerless than Zormerin ; for she was of such exceeding beauty, 
 that no man could ever look directly at her without becoming 
 so enamoured of her charms that he felt within himself he 
 could never love another. 
 
 Otto approached Zormerin as she, with her maiden Schei- 
 dechin, sat in a window to see the tilting. " Dear lady," 
 said he, " I will bide here with you to see the tournament, 
 so that I may be able to judge to whom the prize ought to 
 be awarded." " What can you be thinking of?" asked Zor- 
 merin ; " do you expect to win a beautiful wife by eating, 
 drinking, and sleeping, and with lazy indolent effeminacy ? 
 If it should so happen, that I became your wife, my 
 knightly followers and the whole world might well marvel 
 what sort of unblessed man I had married, one who does not 
 understand how to wield his sword. For my sake do it ; 
 ride out ; you may already have come into low estimation." 
 
 Otto felt the reproach, and, half ashamed of himself, was 
 obliged to go down from Zormerin to the tilting, and to 
 mount his horse. 
 
 The whole world came to the tourney, enlivened on the way 
 by the sound of trumpets, fifes, and trombones ; and with the 
 throng came also Lother, with a number of his companions 
 and knights ; he had also his fifers, trumpeters, and trombone- 
 players, besides many heralds and esquires, who were mar- 
 shalled in troops near and behind him as if he had been a 
 great king. " Who," asked Orschier," is that stately knight 
 who comes with so considerable a train?" "It is Otto of 
 Lombardy, who was so very poor," said the servants ; "he 
 must surely have stolen tho wealth, for how else could he 
 have come by it?" Otto wondered not a little where his 
 cousin Lother could have obtained the money for such an 
 equipage, and could not conceal his astonishment. Mailer 
 rode up to him, and said, " According to your ideas, doubtless 
 we should now be in great poverty ; but such thoughts you 
 must now dismiss, whether it be pleasing or painful to you. 
 
 Y s 
 
326 
 
 LOTHEß AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. VI. 
 
 Whosoever aims at wickedness, may he ever win just such a 
 reward." Otto pretended he heard not what Mailer said to 
 him, and rode on in front. 
 
 Zormerin looked at no one as she did at Lother : he alone 
 pleased her above all others. Lother also often looked up 
 at Zormerin, and when he remarked that her eyes were 
 fixed on him, he made his horse bound so gallantly, and he 
 leapt the barriers with such courage and such a noble de- 
 portment, that every one was rejoiced to look at him. 
 
 Now began the tilting. If the plank was not struck with 
 exactitude by the lance, the heavy beam swung round upon 
 the helmet and knocked the knight off his horse. This hap- 
 pened to many who thought themselves very excellent. Otto 
 placed his lance in rest, and ran so furiously, for he rode a 
 good horse, that he neither saw nor heard. But as he came 
 near the beam, against which he was to tilt, he became so 
 frightened, that he failed to touch the plank ; the spear 
 turned round in his hand. Close to the plank was a slough, 
 full of manure and filth ; as he now had not struck the bar 
 of wood, but was himself struck by the swing-beam, his 
 horse could no longer be held in, but carried him with him 
 into the ditch, in which Otto lay like a log, bemired and 
 weltering. Mailer began to laugh loudly. " Hush, Mailer," 
 said Lother ; " if any other but you did that, I would never 
 forgive him," Lother was so true of heart, that it always 
 hurt him when anything ill happened to Otto, although the 
 latter behaved so wickedly to him. But Zormerin would not, 
 for a waggon full of beaten gold, that Otto had succeeded. 
 
 Now Lother tilted at the plank with his lance with such 
 force that the arm above, to which the plank hung, broke in 
 two, and the latter fell ; in the same manner he threw down 
 the other five planks. " Mary, mother of God," cried the 
 knights, " who has ever before seen so strong a knight ? " 
 " Sire," said the herald, to King Orschier, " give this knight 
 as much wealth, and as many horses as you will, you can 
 never give him as much as he deserves." Zormerin, full of 
 joy, said to Scheidechin, " The red-head has lost me ! Go, 
 hasten to Maller ; tell him, in my name, his lord may on this 
 day keep open house in his hostelry, I will thereto send 
 him money enough ; nevertheless, whatever I may send, he 
 is deserving of much more." 
 
CH. VII.] LOTHER AND MALLER. 327 
 
 Scheidechin performed her errand to Mailer, who there- 
 upon thanked her very courteously, and immediately rode to 
 his lord in the lists, and bore to him the pleasure of the 
 king's daughter. Lother called to him ten heralds and 
 through them caused all nobles, as well knights as squires, 
 noblemen, burghers and their wives, whatever their age or 
 condition, to be invited that evening to the hostelry, and 
 with him and his comrades to make merry, with eating and 
 drinking and other enjoyments. 
 
 Then spake one to the other, " Who indeed can have given 
 this miserable fellow so much money and property? It 
 cannot have come to him justly ; but a little while ago, he 
 was willing to sell his horse for very poverty, and now he is 
 going to keep open house. It is great arrogance truly. To- 
 morrow early, by breakfast hour, he will have scampered off." 
 
 Thus tattled the people ; but Lother was joyful, and 
 thanked God with his whole heart, that it had turned out so 
 fortunately for him on this day. Zormerin's favour was more 
 dear than all the gold she sent him, and his only anxiety 
 was this, how he should well entertain his guests ; therefore 
 he said to Mailer, "Dear comrade, trust not alone to the 
 host, see yourself that we have enough of every thing." 
 " Never heed," said Mailer ; " nothing that is to be had in 
 the town shall be wanting to us this evening." Thereupon 
 he rode away to the hostelry, and called to him the host. 
 " Sir host," cried he, " set your wits to work, for my lord will 
 keep open house here this evening, and he has by ten heralds 
 caused to be invited knights, lords, gentles, burghers, and 
 burghers' wives, old and young, great and small, and every 
 one who likes to eat with us ; there must therefore be no 
 want of any thing." 
 
 " That shall be done, dear sir," said the host ; " bring 
 whom you will, I will provide well for all your guests." 
 Thereupon he went and prepared a most magnificent feast. 
 When the tilting was over, every one rode away to his house 
 in order to lay aside his armour, and then to repair to Lother 
 at the inn. 
 
 THE SEVENTH CHAPTER. 
 
 King Orschier sent the prize to Lother, and commanded 
 that he should be invited to the table at his court ; but Lother 
 
 Y 4 
 
328 
 
 LOTHEK AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. VII. 
 
 in reply begged that he would not think it ill in him if 
 he did not come ; it was not at present in his power, as 
 he intended to hold a court himself. Then the king won- 
 dered greatly thereat. 
 
 Lother betook himself to his inn, where the guests were 
 already arrived in such numbers that they could not lind 
 room in the house ; some of them were, therefore, obliged to 
 establish themselves in the garden, and some sat in the street 
 in front of the inn. 
 
 There was venison and game, and no lack of dishes with 
 eatables of every kind. There stood thirty great butts of 
 wine, both white and red, from which each man might drink 
 as much as he pleased ; and on that same day full two hun- 
 dred men were so gorged with wine they could not speak 
 their own language. 
 
 Then said one man to the rest, " In truth he will be obliged 
 to decamp to-morrow morning ; the host is, indeed, a fool to 
 give him credit for so much." Lother heard this, and said, 
 " Make yourselves easy, my friends, and care not for the 
 reckoning, — our good host willingly gives me credit." " I 
 have as much uneasiness about my reckoning," said the host, 
 " as if I had the money already in my hand." Then said 
 they, 6i Ah ! our host is as drunk as any one among the 
 guests ; to-morrow he will sing another song." 
 
 The guests remained together in revelry and jollity until 
 midnight, when each departed from the inn. Zormerin 
 had not forgotten her promise, and even before day-break a 
 horse laden with gold and silver was brought to the inn. 
 " Dear host, now pay yourself as much as you've expended ; 
 the remaining money take into your safe keeping ; as soon 
 as it is spent tell me, that I may send you another supply." 
 
 In the morning early Lother dressed himself gaily, and 
 with his companions went to church; when Zormerin saw 
 him, her heart beat violently; she entreated of her father 
 that the knight, who the day before had tilted so admirably 
 and carried off the prize, might be invited again to the table ; 
 and she pointed Lother out to the king as being the same 
 brave knight. Upon which the king went to him and invited 
 him to his table ; but Lother would not accept it, and said in 
 reply, " Sir king, I will not sit at table with you until I have 
 done you good service against the infidels." Then Zormerin 
 
ch. vni.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 329 
 
 gave him her hand, which he took, and she bade him good 
 morrow, on which he went back rejoicing to his inn. 
 
 THE EIGHTH CHAPTER. 
 
 Fourteen days after came King Hispinart from Acre, with 
 an army of two hundred thousand men, and with him be- 
 sides fourteen kings. When these infidels entered into the 
 country, all the inhabitants fled to King Orschier, and cried 
 for aid against the pagan invaders. The king was alarmed 
 when he heard that the enemy were so near, and commanded 
 Otto to be called to him. " Lother," said he, " order your 
 soldiers to arm themselves: we must march against these 
 heathens ; to you I commit my banner, and trust it wholly 
 to your care." 
 
 Otto was frightened in his heart, but dissembled, and said 
 with smiling lips, " Sir, I will do my best." He left the 
 presence of the king, and gave orders by sound of trumpets 
 that every one should arm himself in his best. Lother and 
 his comrades prepared themselves immediately with the 
 greatest speed, and put their horses and furniture in the 
 best condition. 
 
 Then Otto called his armour-bearer, to whom he said, 
 " Go to my cousin, and say I am grieved from my heart 
 that I have angered him. I have followed evil counsel, 
 but I am now ready to beg him for mercy's sake only once 
 more to help me in my need. King Orschier has given me 
 his standard to bear in this great war ; but this it will 
 never profit me to do ; my cousin can undertake it better 
 than I, for he is a brave and valiant knight ; it is more suited 
 to him than to me. If he will only charge himself with this 
 banner instead of me, I will willingly resign to him the 
 maiden Zormerin, who has been betrothed to me by the 
 king. I would much rather give up a woman than be obliged 
 to head this great combat." 
 
 " Sir," answered the esquire, " this message will I willingly 
 deliver ; it would be well if Lother did undertake the thing, 
 for as far as I know of you, if you enter the fight, you will 
 certainly let the standard fall, which would be a great shame 
 and ignominy to the Christians." " That's true," said Otto. 
 Thereupon the soldier went from him straight to Lother, 
 
330 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 |_CH. VIII. 
 
 and delivered the message with much gravity. He took 
 Lother aside, and said to him, " Your cousin Otto sends me 
 to you ; he begs your pardon for having offended you ; he 
 has therein followed evil counsel, and it now grieves him. 
 He desires very much that you should be reconciled to him, 
 and if you will forgive him he will amend his conduct towards 
 you ; and in order to do you honour, he will begin by giving 
 up to you the banner which the king has intrusted to his 
 guardianship, and he will yield to you the beautiful Zor- 
 merin, whom the king has betrothed to him, and all the 
 honours you may desire besides. Consider this proposal 
 well, dear sir, I entreat you as a friend." " Tell my cousin," 
 said Lother, " I bear no ill-will to any man, especially not 
 against him ; I hold him for a prudent man, and he is also of 
 noble birth. If King Orschier has intrusted his banner to 
 him, it is doubtless in good keeping, especially against the 
 pagans, and if he has bestowed upon him a wife I have no 
 desire to take her away from him : God give him with both 
 much happiness and joy ; I wish it him with all my heart, 
 and he would be very wrong not to do his best for the sake 
 of such great good fortune. Say to my cousin also, in my 
 name, that since the king has confided his banner to him, he 
 must see to it well that he does not let it fall ; for if he does, 
 I will strike his head off, or should I not be near at that mo- 
 ment, I will send my comrade Mailer to do it. This answer 
 bear to my cousin from me." 
 
 The esquire was much troubled that he could obtain no 
 better answer; but Otto was most pitifully terrified when 
 he received this message. " Ah ! miserable wretch that I 
 am!" he cried out ; "I see well my hour is come: I must 
 fight, though against my will, and, worse still, must be the 
 foremost and lead on others when I would rather by far be 
 the hindermost." 
 
 The king mounted his horse, took the banner in his hand, 
 and presented it to Otto ; the latter received it, and rode 
 onwards with about thirty thousand Christians. Lother rode 
 next to him; he bore on his helmet a silken sleeve, em- 
 broidered with gold and with golden spangles, which Zor- 
 merin had given him. She had ascended a tower from which 
 she could see the fight ; she knew Lother well by the sleeve, 
 and as for Otto, she prayed to God with her whole heart that 
 he might never return again. 
 
CH. VIII.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 331 
 
 When the pagans saw the army of the Christians ad- 
 vancing towards them they drew up in battle-array, and a 
 terrible onslaught began ; they fought furiously against the 
 Christians, and slew all that came before them. When Otto 
 saw that the infidels fought with such exceeding cruelty, he 
 dropped the banner from terror, and shouted to his men, 
 " Dear comrades, I shall stay no longer here ; I will ride 
 home into Lombardy, for I feel great anxiety lest these hea- 
 thens should slay me. I could not possibly remain here, 
 even though King Orschier gave me another kingdom besides 
 his own." " God confound you," cried his comrades in re- 
 turn. (i You disgrace all Lombardy, and if we desert a bad 
 master may God forgive us, for you will have to ride off 
 alone." King Pynart now advanced nigh to the flank, whence 
 Otto was fleeing ; and as he saw the king thus approaching 
 him, he cried out with a loud voice and uplifted hands, " Do 
 not kill me, gentlemen, I will willingly deny God and believe 
 in Mahomet." 
 
 Then he was taken prisoner and led into a tent, and King 
 Pynart began the combat afresh. The Christians were con- 
 founded at the fall of their standard. * 4 Alas, alas!" cried 
 King Orschier ; " cursed be the hour when I received this 
 Lother at my court, and so trusted him ; this day has he acted 
 towards me like a false traitor." The infidels, on the con- 
 trary, were highly elated, for when a banner is lost on one 
 side the opposite party are proportionably delighted. 
 
 King Orschier fought valiantly notwithstanding ; but as he 
 pressed rather too forward in the fight, there came the pagan 
 king Helding, and struck him from his horse ; immediately 
 thereon the infidels surrounded him, and led him away cap- 
 tive. 
 
 When the Christians saw their king taken prisoner they 
 thought themselves indeed in an evil plight, and no wonder ; 
 an army may well be dismayed that has lost both its standard 
 and its king. 
 
 Lother fought boldly, and forced his way deep into the 
 ranks of the heathen army; Mailer and his comrades also' 
 failed him not. At length Lother espied the standard as it 
 lay on the ground. " Mailer, dear comrade," cried he., " now 
 fight briskly round me, that I may stoop and pick up the 
 standard." Then they both struck out so furiously that 
 
332 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. VIII. 
 
 they soon cleared a circle round them ; then Lother stooped, 
 seized the banner, and let it wave in the wind ; but it had 
 been greatly soiled and torn under the horses' feet. He 
 handed it over to Mailer, and said, " Here display it high in 
 the air;" which Mailer did, and then the Christian host 
 exulted, and began the fight again with fresh courage. 
 " Mary, mother of God, protect my beloved," cried Zor- 
 merin ; " he is the bravest knight that ever sat on a horse." 
 
 Lother fought, until he came to King Pynart's standard. 
 There he saw how four of the pagans were leading captive 
 King Orschier, who was bitterly bewailing his fate. Lother 
 immediately hastened thither, killed the four infidels, seized 
 one of their horses, and gave it to King Orschier. " Dear 
 sir," cried he to him, "mount quickly, and see that you 
 fight bravely." " Friend," replied Orschier, " you have this 
 day saved me from death ; to thee will I give my daughter 
 Zormerin, and with her also my kingdom ; Lother of France 
 has betrayed me very traitorously, and he shall never have 
 my daughter.'' Hereupon he rode again into the fight, and 
 Mailer brought to him the standard. " Mary, mother of 
 God," quoth he, " who may this man be, who has again 
 upraised the banner?" " Sir," said the attendants, "the 
 same man that set you free from captivity saved the standard 
 also, and hotly has he worked for it." " By my truth," said 
 the king, " I will well repay him ; I will bestow upon him 
 my daughter, and, after my death, my kingdom. Is it not a 
 grief, my friends, that he whom I so much trusted should 
 thus have treated me? But for this good knight, we should 
 all ere this have been slaughtered by the heathen foe." 
 
 Zormerin continued to follow Lother with her eyes ; for 
 she knew him by the sleeve upon his helmet. There she 
 saw how ten thousand pagans had surrounded him and 
 killed his horse ; she witnessed his fall, and that he never 
 rose again. She saw that no one came to his assistance, but 
 that he was taken captive after much resistance. 
 
 When Zormerin witnessed this, she seized a knife, and 
 would have stabbed herself to the heart ; but Scheidechin 
 hurried to her side and said, 46 Dear lady, bethink yourself, 
 and pray God to preserve your senses." " Scheidechin," 
 cried Zormerin, " I have seen the Prince of France struck 
 down by infidels, and nobody went to his assistance. If the 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 333 
 
 heathens have slain him, I will live no longer." Herewith 
 she would have sprung over the battlements, had not a 
 knight seized her and held her. " Dear young lady," said 
 he, "be consoled; keep yourself well and tranquil, your 
 father is not slain," 
 
 THE NINTH CHAPTER. 
 
 Maller sought his lord over the whole battle-field. When 
 he could hear no tidings of him, he rode to King Orschier. 
 " Sir king," said he, " where is my lord and master ?" " By 
 my truth," said Orschier, " I know nothing of him." " Thou 
 false king, thus rewardest thou him who saved thee from the 
 hand of the infidels ? Thou hast lost the best knight that 
 is to be found in the whole country round ; for know that 
 he is Lother of France. I can no longer be silent, and I 
 think the year is nearly over. Otto of Lombardy has de- 
 ceived both thee and him, for with his smooth words did he 
 persuade my master to change names with him." 
 
 " Now, truly, gentlemen," cried Orschier, " let us imme- 
 diately seek Lother ; everything I possess I would give rather 
 than lose him." Then they all rode out together to seek 
 Lother, but could not find him ; at which the king and all the 
 knightly host were much troubled, for all his comrades loved 
 him, especially Mailer, who was almost distracted with the 
 excess of his grief. 
 
 As night arrived, King Orschier returned again to Con- 
 stantinople, and Zormerin came out to meet him. " O father," 
 said she to him, "you may well grieve yourself that you 
 have left behind him who saved you from the infidels ; you 
 know not who he is." " I know all, my daughter," cried 
 Orschier ; " Otto the red-haired has disgracefully cheated me 
 and you, and has, in addition thereto, wilfully brought shame 
 upon his cousin ; but God will protect Lother, and may he 
 prevent Otto from ever coming back here again." Zormerin 
 wept loudly as she heard her father thus speak. After this 
 they went to table ; but neither Zormerin nor Mailer could 
 eat for great sorrow. Now when the table had been removed, 
 and each person had repaired to his chamber, Zormerin 
 went to her own apartment, and commanded Mailer to be 
 
334 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. IX. 
 
 called to her. They both sat together the whole night, and 
 wept and lamented for their lord. "Alas! alas!" cried 
 Zormerin, " without my beloved I can no longer live ! " 
 " Maiden," said Mailer, " hear me ; I will depart to-morrow 
 early and devote my life to seeking for my lord. I know well 
 how to imitate the ways of these pagans, and I will so behave 
 amongst them that they shall take me for one of themselves, 
 and thus shall I hear whether my lord be alive or dead." On 
 the morrow, as day began to break, he took leave of Zormerin, 
 went to his inn, and called together his comrades. " Friends, 
 put on your armour," said he ; "I shall myself ride amongst 
 the pagans, and never will I return till I have some news 
 of my master. You know my horn well," said he further 
 to them ; " I will lead you into the wood ; there shall you 
 wait for me : when you hear me blow, then come swiftly to 
 help me." " That will we do joyfully," cried his comrades, 
 and they prepared and armed themselves with great haste. 
 
 Mailer rubbed his face with herbs which he well knew, 
 so as completely to change his complexion ; after which he 
 rode out of the town with his companions. When they came 
 to a wood, Mailer desired them to await him there. " I 
 shall myself ride on into the pagan camp," said he, " there 
 to discover whether my lord is living or dead ; and if he yet 
 live, know, all of you, I will set him free, even should I, in 
 so doing, lose my own life." 
 
 " Dear Mailer," cried they all with one voice, " we will 
 await your signal here ; and doubt not that when it comes 
 we will labour hard to win a guerdon from you ; each man of 
 us shall be worth two." u Comrades," said Maller, u I thank 
 you heartily." Therewith he rode to the camp, and committed 
 himself with confidence to God and the Virgin Mary, his 
 mother. He was turning over in his mind how he should 
 contrive to gain intelligence of Lother, when a troop of 
 the infidel army, returning from foraging, came towards 
 him. He had so well coloured his face and hands, and knew 
 so well the language and manners of these pagans, and 
 imitated them so naturally, that they all took him for one 
 of themselves. So he rode along with them into the camp. 
 He inquired for King Pynart's tent ; and when it was pointed 
 out to him, he sprang off his horse and went straight into 
 the tent to the king. "May Mahomet," said he7 44 who 
 
CH. IX.J 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 335 
 
 created all things, be pleased to protect my cousin King 
 Pynart, and may it please him to curse King Orschier and 
 all Christians. Cousin, I am King Glorians, thy brother's 
 son ; my father has sent me with twenty thousand men-at- 
 arms to aid thee ; but King Orschier's men fell upon me in 
 the wood, and they have slain all my company. With great 
 difficulty have I escaped from them ; and if you will not 
 avenge me, I will destroy myself." Thereupon he beat his 
 face, tore his hair, and showed such deep grief, that the 
 infidels were full of compassion for him. " Dear nephew," 
 said King Pynart, " calm yourself ; tell me, how does my 
 brother ? You are certainly my own nephew ; for I well 
 remember that my brother has a handsome son of about your 
 age." " Cousin, my father your brother is very well ; he 
 desires, through me, most honourably to greet you, and I 
 pray you earnestly to dub me a knight, for on this I have 
 set my whole heart. Even therefore has my father sent me 
 to you, that you may make a knight of me. Oh dear cousin, 
 avenge me of that wicked rascal Mailer, who has caused me so 
 much disgrace, and who now only waits his opportunity to 
 bring shame upon you also." " Dear nephew, I shall not 
 leave Constantinople until I have conquered the city, and 
 then we will burn all the Christians ; but this Mailer shall 
 be hanged in the air." " Ah ! cousin, I can never forget the 
 shame I have suffered." " Thou shalt soon be satisfied ; I 
 have near eighty Christians in my power ; on these shalt 
 thou revenge thyself well." 
 
 Mailer, falling on one knee, cried out, " Noble king, give 
 me these Christians immediately, that I may revenge my- 
 self upon them." " Very willingly, my dear nephew, thou 
 shalt have them, and mayest do with them what thou 
 pleasest. You may flay them and roast them for aught I care ; 
 but first I will dub you a knight." Then King Pynart made 
 Mailer a knight after the heathen mode. Mailer rose, seized 
 his lance, and, after he had swung it round his head four or 
 five times, threw it so far, that it could not be seen by the 
 eye. " In truth," said the pagans, " this is a brave comrade ; 
 when Pynart dies, we will choose him for our king." 
 " My nephew," said the king, " so help me Mahomet, if I 
 take Constantinople I will make thee king over this whole 
 country, and I will take Zormerin to be my wife. I have 
 
336 
 
 MOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. IX. 
 
 already proposed concerning her to King Orschier ; but the 
 old sweet-tooth denies her to me ; therefore will I take her 
 myself. King Orschier shall hang like a thief in the air, 
 and thou shalt have the prisoners." 
 
 Then King Pynart sent word that the prisoners should be 
 brought before him, and they were almost immediately 
 brought thither. Lother was among them. When Mailer 
 perceived him, he was more joyous in spirit than if he had 
 gained a kingdom ; he pulled out his sword, and struck off 
 the head of one of the captive Lombards ; so did he with a 
 second, and so also with a third. Otto was there likewise. 
 When he saw how Mailer amused himself with the Lombards, 
 he cried out loudly, " King Pynart, I will willingly deny 
 God and believe in Mahomet ! " 
 
 Then Mailer seized him, and would have slain him like 
 the rest ; but King Helding cried out that he should let him 
 live. " lie is willing to believe in Mahomet," said he ; 
 " therefore you must not kill him. Besides, he is my pri- 
 soner ; he yielded himself to me." 
 
 " By Mahomet," cried Mailer, " so much the rather he 
 should die ; a bad Christian will never be a good Mahomedan." 
 " No," said King Helding, " let us first try him ; he must 
 trample the Cross under foot, in order to insult Christ, 
 then we will circumcise him." "Nephew," said Pynart, 
 " do not offend King Helding ; he came to my assistance with 
 at least one hundred thousand men." " Dear uncle," said 
 Mailer, " I am very much vexed that I must allow this rogue 
 to escape ; cursed be the mother who bare him." But the 
 pagans agreed unanimously that Otto should be permitted 
 to live, because he wished to become a believer in Mahomet. 
 
 Mailer next went up to Lother and dragged him by one 
 arm so forcibly that he fell upon the ground, and then he 
 gave him a few hard blows on the back. Lother sprang to 
 his feet, and in his indignation struck Mailer so hard a blow 
 in the mouth, that he knocked out two of his teeth, and the 
 blood flowed from his mouth and nose. Then fell Mailer at 
 the knees of King Pynart, and said, " Noble king, let me 
 hang up this rogue, who has treated me so ill !" " Do with 
 him what you please," said Pynart. " I will have gallows 
 erected," said Mailer, " opposite Constantinople ; there shall 
 the Christians see whom I will hang thereon. Seize him im- 
 
CH. IX.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 337 
 
 mediately, and lead him out." Then was Lother seized 
 without pity, and bound, and a rope thrown around his 
 neck ; and he prayed to God with his whole heart to have 
 mercy on his soul. 
 
 The gallows was erected on the hill, opposite Constanti- 
 nople, although King Helding disapproved of it. " When the 
 Christians," said he, " see it, for they have cut away all the 
 trees in this direction, that they may be able to observe every- 
 thing that takes place, they may easily fall upon us, and 
 occasion us great affright." But Mailer insisted that the 
 Christians should be able to see how Lother was hanged. 
 
 When the horsemen in the wood saw the gallows erected, 
 they prayed earnestly to God that no evil might happen to 
 Lother or Mailer, and that he would prosper Mailer in his 
 undertaking. They immediately mounted their horses, as 
 they thought that now something must happen ; and, to be 
 in readiness in case Mailer should blow his horn. Thus they 
 stood all ready and eager for the fight. 
 
 Mailer led Lother round to the gallows, and many of the 
 infidels accompanied them. Lother sighed deeply, and said, 
 " Oh, Zormerin ! oh, Mailer, thou true comrade ! I shall 
 never see you more ; to God Almighty I confide you both ! * 
 Then Mailer cried in his heart to God, that he would come 
 to their aid, for he saw himself single-handed and sur- 
 rounded by enemies, and knew not how to set about the re- 
 lease of his lord. As they came under the gallows, Lother 
 prayed to God with all his heart that he would be merciful 
 to his soul, and said, " Heavenly Father, if thou but knewest 
 how hard it goes with me, thou would'st indeed pity me ! 
 Farewell, Zormerin, beloved maiden ! and thee, also, my true 
 comrade, never shall I see thee more while here I live ! Oh, 
 Mailer, did'st thou but know whom the people intend here 
 to hang, I know surely thou would' st come to my assistance, 
 but I have lost thee ; and thee also, beautiful Zormerin ; 
 the gallows will soon be ready, and never shall I more be- 
 hold thee!" 
 
 " Listen, thou rogue," said Mailer ; " if thou wilt deny 
 thy faith, and believe in Mahomet, then shalt thou live." 
 
 " Never," said Lother ; " lead me to the gallows, and 
 give me only so long to live that I may have time to say my 
 prayers." " Unhappy man," began Mailer again, " wilt 
 
 z 
 
338 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLEB. 
 
 [CH. IX. 
 
 thou not deny thy faith ?" — " Never!" Lother wept bit- 
 terly as he was led away. Mailer when he saw him was 
 grieved in his soul. " Set him free," said he to those who 
 held him ; " let him stand free while he prays." Then 
 fell Lother on his knees ; and when Mailer again called to 
 him to deny his faith, he broke out thus, in a loud voice : — 
 " Eternal God and Father, whosoever denies thee, — who- 
 soever in thee does not believe, is no true man ; thou hast 
 created heaven and earth ; thou wast borne by thy mother, a 
 pure virgin, thou God and man, and thou hast sucked the 
 milk of her breast O, Mary, mother of God, thou sawest 
 thy son led to the hill of Calvary, where he suffered for our 
 salvation, and as he died upon the cross the sun was dark- 
 ened and the earth trembled ; then Lord didst thou arise on 
 the third day, and ascend into heaven, and thou didst send to 
 thy disciples thy Holy Spirit ; after that, thou called'st thy 
 mother, and crowned her with eternal life. Eternal God, as I 
 truly believe this, so be thou to-day merciful unto me, and take 
 my soul into thy holy keeping." With this Lother arose, and 
 made the sign of the blessed cross. While he was yet praying, 
 Mailer had blown his horn, and saw his comrades ride out of 
 the wood well armed ; then hastened he to Lother, and as the 
 latter rose from his knees, unbound his eyes, and said, hur- 
 riedly, " Know me, my lord, — I am Mailer, your comrade ; 
 here, take this ring, it is Zormerin who sends it ; she grieves 
 very much for you." Immediately that he had said this, he 
 struck off the head of one of the infidels, snatched away his 
 sword, and gave it to Lother. " Here, here, take the sword," 
 said he, u and defend yourself." Then both struck down 
 bravely all who were around them. The infidels, when they 
 saw themselves thus betrayed by Mailer, ran together to de- 
 fend themselves ; in the meantime came also the comrades 
 out of the wood to the place, and led with them two good 
 steeds ; Lother and Mailer mounted quickly, and, while they 
 sometimes fled, and sometimes turned and drove back the 
 pagans, they hastened towards Constantinople; the infidels 
 followed close after them. King Orschier stood on the wall, 
 and saw the terrible chase in the field ; and, said he, " I hope 
 it is Mailer, who brings back Lother ; bestir yourselves, 
 comrades, that we may go out to help them." 
 
 Then he blew his horn, and all armed themselves, and 
 
CH. IX.J 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 339 
 
 sallied with him out of the city ; and now began a mighty 
 contest. When Orschier recognised Lother he rejoiced, 
 rode up to him, and asked how he had got free from prison. 
 u That will I tell thee another time," said Lother, " now it 
 is only a fitting time to fight." 
 
 Therewith he hastened to the field, stripped off a dead 
 man's harness, armed himself therewith, and also with a 
 helmet and accoutrements, and rushed boldly at the infidels, 
 who defended themselves stoutly. 
 
 In the mean time rode one away to the moat, and called to 
 the princess, who watched from the tower, that Lother was 
 alive and at liberty. Then she thanked God with hot tears, 
 and prayed to the Virgin still to protect her beloved. The 
 combat was fierce : King Helding ran tilt against Mailer, but 
 was by him overthrown ; Mailer's horse fell also, but they 
 both rose again, and Helding fled. " This day will I exter- 
 minate the Christians!" cried King Pynart. " If you had 
 Lother and Mailer," answered the attendants, " you might 
 easily overpower them ; but both fight so bravely that no 
 man can stand against them." King Pynart met Mailer, — 
 for he well knew him by his shield- " Villain ! " cried he ; 
 u false traitor, would that thou wert hanged ; how darest 
 thou, scoundrel, call me cousin ? " " Dear sir cousin," replied 
 Maller, " I never deny my relationship." Then King Pynart 
 couched his spear and ran against him, and would have 
 thrown him from his horse, but Mailer struck him so hard 
 with his spear, that he pierced him through the body, so 
 that he fell with great anguish to the earth. King Helding 
 came then to King Pynart's assistance, else would Mailer 
 soon have killed him outright. " Cousin," said Maller, " I will 
 always pray to God for him who struck you off your horse." 
 " Ah me !" said King Pynart, " what sort of villanous re- 
 lationship have I found ! " Then he was led back to his 
 tent, where he no longer found Otto, who had meanwhile 
 escaped and fled back to Lombardy. 
 
 When Otto reached home, he found the king his father 
 dead. The people received him as their rightful lord, and 
 he was crowned king. He did afterwards to his cousin 
 Lother much and grievous injury, as we shall hear in the 
 sequel. Little thought he of the great honour which had 
 been done him in Lother's name, and still less that Lother 
 
 z 2 
 
340 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. X, 
 
 had shown him no malice, although he had brought such 
 great evil upon him. Notwithstanding he hated Lother, and 
 wished him no good ; he swore also an oath to God, that if he 
 could do Lother or Mailer an injury he would not neglect 
 the opportunity ; and he kept his oath, as you will hereafter 
 hear. 
 
 When it was now late, King Orschier with his people 
 returned again into the city of Constantinople. As Zormerin 
 saw the army coming, she went to meet her father before the 
 palace ; and when she perceived Lother she was so agitated 
 with love that she could not speak a word. " Lother," said 
 the king, " I give you my daughter, who stands here, in 
 marriage." " Sire, I thank you very heartily," answered 
 Lother ; " and since you have given her to me, permit me to 
 embrace her." Then went he straightway up to her, em- 
 braced her, and kissed her with great tenderness ; and as he 
 folded her in his arms, he said, " Beloved, thank my comrade 
 Mailer, who has freed me from the infidels. He has for my 
 sake done what no man ever yet did for another." " Be- 
 loved lord," said Zormerin, " had you died, no greater grief 
 could have happened to me." 
 
 Then they went altogether into the saloon ; every one 
 took off his armour, and they all sat down to table. Ors- 
 chier let Lother sit by Zormerin, and his comrade Mailer 
 next to him. When they had eaten, Mailer began to re- 
 count how he had persuaded King Pynart that he was his 
 cousin, and all that had happened to him in his expedition, 
 word for word. Thereat King Orschier began to laugh, and 
 all the people also laughed very much. 
 
 THE TENTH CHAPTER. 
 
 The siege of Constantinople had lasted already nearly two 
 years, during which there had been numerous assaults and 
 many battles, in which many men, both knights and esquires, 
 lost their lives. Lother and Mailer behaved themselves so 
 bravely, so valiantly, and so truly, that they gained great 
 renown, and every one held them dear. They often sallied 
 out secretly and alone, attended only by their knights and 
 retainers, into the enemies' camp, and did the infidels great 
 damage. These infidels had more hurt through Lother and 
 
CH. XI.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 341 
 
 Maller than from all the other soldiers taken together. 
 Therefore did the pagans never forgive themselves that both 
 had escaped out of their hands, when they had already had 
 them in captivity; they swore by Mahomet that neither 
 Lother nor Mailer should be allowed to live over the night 
 if they could only catch them once more. 
 
 But Zormerin was very anxious because Lother so often 
 rode out. She entreated him very affectionately that he 
 would not adventure himself so much against the heathens. 
 44 They will kill you certainly," said she, " for they hate you 
 and Mailer more than all the others." " God will protect 
 me, dear Zormerin," said Lother ; 44 1 am here to seek ad- 
 ventures, and I must therefore not neglect them ; shall I not 
 revenge myself on these false infidels ?" 44 I wish," answered 
 Zormerin, 44 that you would cease for my sake, for love of 
 me." 44 Dear woman, for your sake will I cease from all 
 evil actions, but must continue to perform every deed that is 
 honourable." 
 
 THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER. 
 
 After three months, as King Pynart was again recovered 
 from his wounds, came his daughter Synoglar, and 
 brought fifteen thousand armed men in her suite. Synoglar 
 was the most beautiful pagan of her time. Pynart was full 
 of joy when he saw her ; he ran to her, embraced her, and 
 kissed her, and thanked her many times for coming to his 
 assistance. 44 Dear daughter," said he, 44 long since should I 
 have taken Constantinople, were it not for a young knight 
 therein called Lother, son of the king of France. A hand- 
 somer young man is no where to be found ; if he would deny 
 his God and believe in Mahomet, I would give him to thee 
 for a husband. He is the most proper and, furthermore, 
 the bravest man that ever sat on a horse ; he has twelve 
 times overthrown me. If I had him in my power I would 
 never leave him till he had consented, and would so urge him 
 that he could not refuse to believe in Mahomet, and then 
 should you be his wife." By this discourse Synoglar became 
 deeply enamoured of Lother. She thought in her heart never 
 again shall I be happy till I have seen Lother of France. 
 King Helding was standing thereby, and heard the words 
 
 z 3 
 
342 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XI. 
 
 of King Pynart. He had loved the princess for a long 
 time, and Pynart had formerly promised her to him ; therefore 
 he stepped forward and said, " Noble king, I have brought 
 you one hundred thousand men ; they are at my cost in your 
 service, and I will not forsake you until we have taken the 
 city. This I do for your daughter's sake, whom you have pro- 
 mised to me ; but if I knew that you now willed not to give her 
 to me, then would I to-morrow in the morning decamp with 
 my men and ride back to my own country." " By Mahomet," 
 answered Pynart, " dear Heiding, I had quite forgotten that. 
 Weil, if you can give Lother and Mailer into my hands you 
 shall have my daughter." This King Helding promised to. 
 do j but it would have been better for him if he had not. 
 
 " I have thought of something," said Synoglar, " through 
 which one of the two might certainly come into your hands 
 before the sun goes down." " Oh tell me how," said Helding, 
 " for I shall have no rest till I have performed it." " Then 
 arm yourself," said Synoglar ; " mount your horse, take your 
 lance, and let me, adorned and richly dressed as becomes a 
 king's daughter, ride on another horse by your side. Thus 
 we will go to the moat by the wall. If Lother now is the 
 hero my father says, and he sees me with you talking in a 
 friendly manner, he will certainly come out, because hand- 
 some maidens most people are eager to gaze upon, and that 
 man whose heart has no love for beautiful women is never a 
 hero in the fight. By Mahomet, I know for certain, when 
 Lother sees me so magnificently adorned and so beautiful, he 
 will readily come out, and it shall cost him his life. If you 
 will then attack him I will help you with my dagger, and 
 strike him in the back until we have overpowered him." 
 " If you will aid me," said King Helding, " I promise to ac- 
 company you even to the death : I go now to arm myself, «n 
 go you also and prepare." 
 
 When he was armed, and Synoglar magnificently arrayed, 
 they rode out of the camp to a hill, an arrow's flight from the 
 city; and as they looked round this hill, and could see no one 
 in the valley, they rode quite close to the city walls. ''Now 
 look," said Helding to Synoglar, " that you forget not the 
 dagger when I come into the struggle with Lother ; he will 
 ride up to us as soon as he discovers you ; of that I am cer- 
 tain, for there was never a braver knight, nor a more gallant 
 
CH. XI.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 343 
 
 youth. Your father took him captive, but Mailer, his com- 
 rade, set him free with exceeding craft. Had he not thus 
 escaped, your father would, nevertheless, not have killed him, 
 but would have kept him at his court, on account of his 
 beauty and courage." As Synoglar heard the knight speak 
 thus of his enemy, she felt the latter becoming more and 
 more dear to her heart. " Ah," thought she in her mind, 
 " that the young man would but come out, and assuredly he 
 will, since he is s& bold a hero. "When he has overthrown 
 Helding I will follow him, deny Mahomet, and accept the 
 Christian faith. How could I obtain a better man or a hap- 
 pier fate than with this hero ? Helding thinks I shall help 
 him, but cursed may I be if ever I raise a hand against the 
 handsome young knight ! " " Of what are you thinking, beau- 
 tiful maiden ?" asked Helding. " Let us now," said Synoglar, 
 " ride nearer the walls ; there cry with a loud voice that you 
 have here your betrothed, and that were Lother of France a 
 gallant knight he would come out to win her away from 
 you." " Do not forget your knife," said Helding. " Don't 
 trouble your mind about that," answered Synoglar. 
 
 Then cried Helding with a loud voice, " Where art thou, 
 King Charles's son ? Come out and win from me my beau- 
 tiful beloved ! " Those who were on the walls went to tell 
 this to Lother ; and when he mounted the walls, he saw the 
 pagan king with the beautiful maiden. " Lother of France," 
 said Helding, " come out and break a lance with me, if thou 
 hast the courage, for the sake of this beautiful maiden." 
 " Who is this fair damsel," asked Lother, " so magnificently 
 arrayed ? " " She is King Pynart's daughter ; her father has 
 betrothed her to me, but I must not take her for my wife, so 
 have I promised her father, until I have fought with you, 
 body to body, if, indeed, you are bold enough to adventure 
 yourself against me." " Wait for me there," answered Lother ; 
 " I will arm myself." " Make haste then/' cried Helding. 
 
 Lother went in haste to the palace ; here he found King 
 Orschier and Mailer. He hurriedly laid the case before them 
 how the pagan was come to break a lance with him, and how 
 he had accepted the challenge. " I am sorry for that/' cried 
 Orschier, alarmed. " Sir," said Mailer, " Let me go out and 
 fight with him, it is not fitting that you should." " That I 
 will never permit/' said Lother; "bring hither my armour 
 
 z 4 
 
344 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XI. 
 
 and help me to put it on." Zormerin, who heard the order, 
 came hastily thither, and wept bitterly. She entreated Lother 
 with affectionate words that he would not ride out ; but Lo- 
 ther suffered himself not to be detained even by her, but 
 took leave of her, and sallied out in front of the city. 
 
 When Helding saw him coming he said, " Synoglar, now 
 look at him, he who ought indeed to be an object of hatred 
 to you ; this is that Lother of France, who twelve times has 
 conquered your father in battle, and has slain many of his 
 followers ; I pray you, maiden, be pleased not to forget the 
 dagger if I come into distress with him." King Orschier, 
 Mailer, and many other knights stood on the walls to witness 
 the fight ; Zormerin also went up and wept bitterly. 
 
 " Here am I," said Lother, when he came near Helding, 
 " and I am ready to run a course with you : if you conquer, 
 you shall take me as a prisoner, but if I overthrow you, 
 this fair damsel returns to the city with me. I fight with the 
 better mettle, since it concerns a beautiful woman." "I 
 heed not your high words," said Helding, " for words, be 
 they ever so grand, gain no victories." Lother grasped his 
 spear, and so did also King Helding, and anon they ran 
 briskly one against the other. Helding's lance broke, and 
 he was so sore pressed by Lother that he was forced from 
 off his horse. Synoglar ran up to him, and said, " Why dost 
 thou let thyself, thou false man, be so soon conquered? 
 Cursed be thou by Mahomet — surely thou shalt never win 
 my person." At these words she pulled out her dagger, and 
 would have pierced him with it, but Lother prevented her, 
 and said to Helding, " Mount, sir, for I may not fight with 
 you on foot." Helding again mounted his horse, rode to 
 Lother, and struck at him. Lother covered himself with his 
 shield in such wise that Helding thrust a full hand's breadth 
 away from the shield. Lother struck at him in return, and 
 wounded him in the shoulder, so that the blood flowed. 
 Thereat was Synoglar happy in her heart. " Dear sir," 
 cried she to Lother, " have no mercy with the sweet-tooth ; 
 if you slay him, I will, for the love of your hero-boldness, 
 ride with you, abjure Mahomet, and honour the God Christ, 
 together with his mother who bore him." 
 
 This Lother heard and rejoiced at ; he and Helding struck 
 heavily at each other, and both maintained a hard struggle. 
 
CH. XII.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 345 
 
 At last Helding smote so hard Lother's horse, that it fell 
 down dead. Lother sprang up again, wounded Helding in 
 the left side, and said, " Come down now from your horse, 
 or I will slay you." " I will dismount," said Helding, " if you 
 will not molest me until I am down." Lother stood still 
 and said, " You may get clown in security ; I will do nothing 
 to you till then." " Then am I safe from thee," said Helding ; 
 " for I do not choose to dismount until I am in my tent. 
 Mahomet be with you ! I leave you my beloved, the Lady 
 Synoglar, who has treated me very ill, and I will get my hurts 
 bound up, for I am very much wounded." 
 
 With that he turned hig horse and rode fast away. Syno- 
 glar remained alone with Lother. " Thou hast a coward's 
 heart, thou false pagan," shouted Lother after him; "I 
 should not have believed it of you." 
 
 Lother took Synoglar kindly in his arms, and said to her : 
 " Beautiful maiden, do you desire baptism with all your 
 heart?" "Yes, indeed," answered she, t€ with my whole 
 heart." Lother mounted her white palfrey, and seated her 
 behind him ; and while they rode into the city, they conversed 
 amicably together. " Dear sir," said she, " I heard so much 
 said of your valour and beauty, that I could not overcome 
 my desire to see you. My father had promised me to 
 Helding as a wedded wife, if he would conquer you and 
 Mailer, and put you both into his hands. Then made I the 
 cunning device that Helding should ride out and take me 
 with him ; but I only desired to see you." Lother answered 
 her with a smile : " For this much I thank you, fair Syno- 
 glar, that you could devise such a deep scheme. Helding ought 
 to have fought more boldly ; he must be heartily ashamed 
 of himself to have suffered so lovely a young lady to be so 
 easily conquered from him." 
 
 THE TWELFTH CHAPTER. 
 
 King Orschier, Mailer, and all the knights went out to 
 meet them, and received Lother very honourably ; but Zor- 
 merin remained behind. She grieved herself, because he 
 brought in another young lady, and she fancied he would 
 now love that one more than her. She went mournfully to 
 her chamber, and commanded Scheidechin to come to her. 
 
346 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XII. 
 
 " Ob, my dear Scheidechin," said she, weeping, * wherefore 
 should I ever have seen Lother ; wherefore have I felt such 
 love for him, and given him my whole heart ? I have done 
 him many kindnesses; but now does he desert me to be 
 pleased with a pagan. She is beautiful, and a king's 
 daughter as well as I am, and men are ever more pleased 
 with the new love than with the old I Oh, dear Scheidechin, 
 thus have I now, on this very day, lost him whom I love so 
 tenderly ! " " Dear lady," answered Scheidechin, " of this 
 I do not suspect Lother; he is, without doubt, the truest 
 man under the sun : besides he is much too wise and sen- 
 sible, and knows very well that through you he attains such 
 great honour and advantage, that I am certain he will never 
 do anything which can cause you trouble or sorrow. If he 
 has won the beautiful maiden with his sword, he is, for that, 
 deserving of the more praise and greater honour. I know 
 of a truth that he will baptize her and then give her to one 
 of his comrades. Should it, however, so chance that he were 
 a month or two with her, that might be permitted him, be- 
 cause he is yet unmarried ; she would come to shame, and 
 you nevertheless would remain his wife." 
 
 " No," cried out Zormerin, " I will never bear it silently ; 
 I will complain to Mailer in my extremity." Scheidechin 
 went and called Mailer to her lady, and he came to her imme- 
 diately. " öh Maller I" said Zormerin, " the woman who sets 
 her mind upon any man, acts foolishly. Lother deserts me 
 for the sake of a pagan, — that you may readily see ; never 
 before has he returned from the fight without coming imme- 
 diately into my chamber ; but this time he comes not ; he has 
 forgotten me, although I have shown him such great kind- 
 ness. Cursed be the hour when I helped him out of poverty, 
 and cursed the fountain and my ears also, because they heard 
 your words ! " " Dear maiden, complain not so bitterly of 
 my master ; he is in truth the truest man in all Christendom. 
 He has won with his sword an infidel maiden ; there is also 
 nothing to reproach him with, because he remains with her 
 till she has received baptism ; be assured, that as soon as 
 she is baptized he will give her to one of his comrades. If 
 you permit, I will speak thereof to Lother, because it would 
 not be well that you should harbour any suspicion against 
 him. I know of a truth you will find no unfaithfulness in 
 
CH. XII.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 347 
 
 my lord." Maller took leave of her, and she remained in 
 her chamber. 
 
 Zormerin's heart was consumed with love. And any hu- 
 man heart thus inflamed will never want cause for anxiety. 
 She sent Scheidechin to Lother, and commanded him to "be 
 summoned ; he came instantly, thinking no ill. " Lother," 
 said she, "are you not contented with me, that you have 
 also taken King Pynart's daughter, and love her more than 
 me?" " I never desired King Pynart's daughter," answered 
 Lother, " and never can I love another woman as I love you, 
 and no other have I ever so loved." He took her then in 
 his arms and kissed her tenderly, and sat down near her on 
 her couch. Then came King Orschier, with six knights of 
 her retinue, into the chamber : she had so concerted with him 
 before she sent to call Lother. As now the king saw them 
 both lying near together, then spake he : • Truly, Sir Lother, 
 you are much in haste ! Will you, after doing your pleasure 
 with my daughter, ride back to France and leave her in 
 disgrace and me in affliction? By God, who created me, 
 if you don't now marry my daughter, I will lay you there 
 where you never again shall come to daylight." Lother 
 sprang up and said, " Noble king, what I have done to your 
 daughter may well be permitted me, because you have be- 
 trothed her to me and promised that after the war I shall 
 lead her to the altar. Therefore if it please you that this 
 take place now, I can wish myself no greater good fortune, 
 and I am ready immediately with all my heart." * That 
 rejoices me," said the king ; " we will no longer defer the 
 ceremony, and to-morrow early you shall be wedded to each 
 other in the church." Lother was full of joy at this ; he 
 would rather that it should happen thus soon than that he 
 should wait even another day, for Zormerin could not sigh 
 for him more ardently than he longed for her. 
 
 The next morning the bishop espoused Lother to Zormerin 
 in the church, and blessed them, and thereat both rejoiced 
 with all their hearts, for they loved each other very dearly. 
 At the same time Mailer also was espoused to Scheidechin. 
 "When they had come out of the church, they went to table ; 
 every one was joyous, and the town burghers felt especially 
 delighted that they were to have a lord so brave. After the 
 feast, began a great tilting and running at the ring ; costly 
 
348 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [ch. xin. 
 
 nonours were bestowed on knights and nobles ; in all points 
 each did his best, and exerted himself to merit the reward. 
 Lother and Mailer ran at the ring and tourneyed all the day, 
 and overthrew many proud knights : none durst hold the 
 barrier agairist them or joust with them. " Mary, mother 
 of God," said King Orschier, "what two stout heroes are 
 these ! they alone make the barrier too narrow for all the 
 others ; my daughter, indeed, is well protected, and she and 
 Lother are, moreover, a lovely pair ; a more beautiful wedded 
 couple one could not easily find." His servants, knights and 
 nobles, very willingly agreed with King Orschier in this. 
 All were full of mirth and hilarity, except Synoglar ; she 
 was very sad, because she had fixed all her hopes on Lother's 
 taking her for a wife. Lother went to her, and consoled 
 her as he best could. " Dear maiden," said he, " do not 
 grieve ; you shall be well taken care of. Remain with my 
 wife until I can find you a rich husband." " I thank you," 
 answered Synoglar ; " but hope is gone, and now must I learn 
 patience." 
 
 THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER. 
 
 When the wedding festivities were with great mirth and 
 joy brought to an end, the Christians again armed themselves, 
 fell with fresh courage upon the heathen host, and fought that 
 day so valiantly, that the enemy were entirely routed, and 
 King Pynart and Helding lost their lives. Those who could 
 save themselves fled and vacated the country. The rich tents, 
 with much noble furniture, money, and property, became 
 the spoil of the Christians. On that day were one hundred 
 thousand pagans slain; nevertheless much Christian blood 
 must also have been shed, for the heathen fought bravely 
 
 Lother remained in Constantinople until the seven years 
 were over during which his father had banished him ; when 
 these were expired, he told Zormerin that he wished to re- 
 turn to France, that he might stand before his father. 
 
 Zormerin was very glad of this : Lother went to King 
 Orschier, and begged permission to depart with his daughter 
 into France, because his years of banishment were ex- 
 pired. Assuredly I will permit it," said Orschier ; 66 only 
 you must promise me to return again to Constantinople, 
 
CH. XIII.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 349 
 
 when you have seen your father; thereto I entreat you 
 affectionately, for, after my death, you shall reign over my 
 dominions and be emperor of Constantinople." " Dear sir," 
 said Lother, " I will, before one year is past, be with you 
 again." Then they made all ready for the journey ; Lother 
 and the beautiful Zormerin, her beloved maiden Scheidechin, 
 with Mailer his faithful comrade, besides all their retainers, 
 took leave of King Orschier, who gave his daughter his bless- 
 ing. He saw her not again until she had endured great 
 suffering. 
 
 They set forth together, attended on their way by about 
 one hundred men-at-arms. When they came to Rome, the 
 pope showed them much honour, and they remained there 
 for four days. Then Otto heard, through a spy, that Lother, 
 with his wife, as also Mailer and the rest, were on their way to 
 Paris, and would take the route through Pavia. Upon which 
 Otto devised the greatest treachery that ever was heard of : 
 he assembled twenty thousand armed men, and made t-hem 
 take possession of all the roads by which Lother and his 
 company would travel. 
 
 " Sir," said Mailer, " let us rather not pass through Pavia, 
 or at least let us be in proper array and well armed, because 
 Otto, the knave, who is become king of Pavia, is not very 
 well to be trusted." Lother said he was right ; and they all 
 put on their armour. But they were watched by a spy, who 
 had been sent by Otto, that he might have certain intelli- 
 gence of Lother and his suite. This spy rode in haste back 
 to Otto, and brought him tidings how Lother and Mailer, 
 with their wives, were on the road thither, and only a very few 
 people with them, " but," said he, " they have all armed them- 
 selves. Thus much I saw from behind a hedge where I had 
 concealed myself; therefore be on your guard, sir king." " By 
 my troth," said Otto, " their armour shall help them little, 
 because I will send so many men against them, — indeed, ten 
 to one shall go. Now will I avenge myself upon them: 
 Lother and Mailer shall hang on the gallows, and Zormerin 
 will I take for a wife." With that he rode attended by all 
 his knights into the wood, through which Lother must travel 
 on the road thither ; and this came to pass very soon. When 
 they appeared, Otto, with five thousand men with spears in 
 rest, ran full tilt against Lother ; and now may God take him 
 
850 LOTHER AND MALLER. [cH. XIII. 
 
 under his protection, both him and his faithful Zormerin, 
 for great sufferings await them both ! 
 
 They rushed upon him with tremendous shouts. " Lother 
 of France," cried they, " thou shalt not pass through alive— 
 here must thou die!" and therewith they fell as furiously 
 upon them as wolves upon a flock of sheep. Zormerin, who 
 saw all this, sprang down instantly from her carriage, and 
 ran quite alone into the wood and hid herself. The Lorn* 
 bards surrounded the carriage, and searched about for her k 
 but they found her not. Then they took Scheidechin cap- 
 tive, and all the women. Lother fought bravely with the 
 Lombards, and bore himself like a hero ; but his horse was 
 slain under him, so that he fell with him to the ground ; then 
 they surrounded him, and after he had received many wounds 
 they took him prisoner by force. 
 
 Mailer killed at least twenty of the Lombards ; but he was 
 himself grievously wounded ; full thirty wounds had he, each 
 of which was deadly ; his horse also fell under him, and he 
 swooned away and lay like a corpse among the dead. 
 Lother was bound like a robber, and led with eyes blind- 
 folded into Pavia. His heart was sore troubled, for he found 
 himself in the power of his most base and deceitful kinsman, 
 and he sighed deeply when he thought of Zormerin and 
 Mailer, and commended them to God's protection. 
 
 Otto betook himself to his palace, assembled his council 
 and distinguished knights, and asked their advice as to what 
 he should do with Lother, and how he could best avenge him- 
 self ? He was doubtful whether to hang him, or what sort 
 of death he should make him suffer. Then stood up one of 
 the Lombards before Otto, and said, " Noble sir, I think in my 
 mind it would be very ill done if you so grievously destroyed 
 your own flesh and blood. Besides, Lother is the noblest and 
 bravest of warriors that ever was born in your family. If 
 you have had any grievance through him, still he has not on 
 that account deserved death. If you kill him, and King 
 Charles hear of it, neither you nor your family will ever 
 have peace with him, and you must continually live in 
 dread. Therefore, sir, shut him up in a tower ; there you 
 may treat him as harshly as you please. If you ever repent 
 this advice, then never follow my counsel again ; but if there 
 
ch. xiy.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 351 
 
 be any one in your court whom my counsel displeases, let him 
 say so boldly, and I will fight with him." 
 
 The Lombard who spoke was of high family. He himself 
 had formerly served Lother' s father, the Emperor Charles, 
 and had been with him at Marseilles, where he helped him 
 to take prisoner the Count Ganelon ; on this account Otto 
 was obliged to respect his words and follow the advice. 
 Lother was, therefore, thrust into prison. 
 
 Otto sent for the captive women, and when Zormerin was 
 not found he was greatly vexed. " Where is your lady," 
 said he to Scheidechin ? " Sir," answered she, " fourteen 
 Lombards led her away; thus much I saw — I wist not 
 whence they came nor who they were ; but I fear greatly 
 they will bring my lady to shame and dishonour." Otto 
 was inwardly troubled at this information, and commanded 
 the women to be taken to a separate apartment, where a 
 sufficiency to eat and drink was placed before them. To 
 Lother also was sent a leech, to cure his wounds. 
 
 Otto sent round messengers, as far as Lombardy extends, 
 to seek Zormerin, but she was not to be found. Then was 
 Otto very enraged, because his plan had so failed ; for what 
 he had principally desired was to get Zormerin into his power. 
 Lother was now, by the aid of the leech, recovered from his 
 wounds, after he had suffered much anguish. But he grieved 
 and lamented inwardly for Zormerin, because he knew not 
 otherwise but that she had fallen into Otto's hands. 
 
 He mourned more for Zormerin than for himself. 
 
 THE FOURTEENTH CHAPTER. 
 
 We leave Lother awhile and turn to Mailer, his comrade. 
 He revived again from his swoon, and as he raised his head a 
 little and looked about, nothing found he but the dead above 
 and around him. He crept with much pain from under the 
 dead bodies, and into the wood. Here he sat down, and as his 
 wounds bled profusely, he pulled off his jerkin, and tore his 
 shirt into bandages, with which he bound up his wounds as far 
 as it would go. Then he looked about and discovered a horse, 
 which had run away from the fight. With great pain and 
 difficulty he reached the horse, mounted it, and rode slowly 
 through the wood. 
 
352 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XIV. 
 
 He had not ridden long when he perceived a beautiful 
 woman, who ran away swiftly when she saw him coming. 
 He followed, but she ran away all the quicker. " Ah ! flee 
 not, lovely maiden," said Mailer, as loud as he could shout. 
 " Wait for me : I swear by my knightly oath I wish to do 
 you no harm." Zormerin was the fugitive, and when she re- 
 cognised Mailer's voice she stood still, and waited for him. 
 " Ah, Mailer," she said, " dost thou bring me tidings of my 
 lord Lother ?" 66 Yes, dear lady; my lord is taken prisoner 
 to Pavia ; but I hope Otto is not daring enough to take away 
 his life : so help me God, when my wounds are healed, the 
 traitor Otto shall pay for it with his kingdom — to that will 
 I bring him. But to have found you, worthy lady, is better 
 to me than to have taken any kingdom. We will go to 
 France, and implore King Charles's aid for his son, against 
 the false traitorous Otto. Yet I suffer now such great pain, 
 that I fear more and more I shall die and go no further." 
 " Dear comrade, be comforted : I will fervently pray to God 
 for you, that he will help you and also my dear husband, 
 and that he will revenge us on the false knave Otto, who 
 has caused us so much harm. I have always heard say, 
 whoever does evil escapes not his punishment ; therefore, 
 dear Mailer, hope for God's assistance." Zormerin was de- 
 lighted that she had the protection of Mailer ; but he was 
 very ill from his wounds, and suffered a great deal of pain, 
 especially from a great spear wound which he had in the 
 body, and which gave him bitter anguish. 
 
 Thus rode they slowly on, and arrived at length at St. 
 Bernard. Here they went into an inn, in which they were 
 obliged to remain for nearly four months. During fourteen 
 days Zormerin thought each hour that Mailer must die. At 
 length he became better, and after four months he, with Zor- 
 merin, again departed. All that they had, they had expended, 
 and now went away poor and barefoot. Zormerin endea- 
 voured to console him with soothing words, how they now 
 would travel into France, and how she set her hope on the 
 Emperor Charles. Mailer comforted her in return, and they 
 planned how they would set Lother free from captivity, and 
 avenge themselves on the infamous Otto. Thus they con- 
 soled and encouraged one another ; but they little expected 
 that they should find no help from his kinsmen. 
 
CH. XV.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLEG. 
 
 353 
 
 THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER. 
 
 When Charles the emperor felt that he was about to die, he 
 sent throughout the extent of his kingdom for all his nobles, 
 and the whole body of his knights, and payed what he owed 
 them ; then went he into the church of St. Kilian, where he 
 confessed, and commanded a noble mass to be sung. As history 
 informs us, the priest found on the altar a letter, wherein 
 was written a sin which the Emperor Charles had committed 
 but had neglected to confess. The priest showed the letter 
 to the emperor, who acknowledged and confessed immedi- 
 ately that same sin, and thanked God with all his heart for 
 this grace. 
 
 The Emperor Charles shortly died, and his son Ludwig 
 was chosen and crowned as emperor, after he had taken for 
 a wife Blanchefleure, the daughter of the Count de Nar- 
 bonne. King Ludwig had not been long at Paris when 
 Zormerin and Mailer arrived there. Mailer went immedi- 
 ately to the court before King Ludwig, who was surrounded 
 by the grandees and nobles of the kingdom ; among them 
 was the brother of his wife, to whom he had given great 
 wealth, so that he had become very powerful. Mailer had 
 on a tattered coat, and his whole appearance was very 
 wretched ; therefore would none of his former acquaintance 
 recognise him, but treated him with contempt. " Accursed 
 be the w T icked kingdom," said Mailer to himself, " since a 
 rich rogue will here have greater honour done him than is 
 bestowed on the righteous man who is poor. Eternal God^ 
 why is every thing thus changed on earth ?" 
 
 Mailer fell at the feet of the king, who had not even so 
 much as noticed him, because he saw him in such a wretched 
 condition. " Sire," began Mailer, " methinks you wish not 
 to recognise me, although you formerly knew me very well, 
 and I have still many kinsmen at your court ; but now I 
 am poor, nobody knows me. I am called Mailer, King 
 Galyen's son, and was brought up at your court, with your 
 brother. I went away w r hen his father banished him." 
 " Dear Mailer," answered the king ; " yes, indeed, I know 
 you now. If you will stay with me at the court, and enter 
 my service, you shall be treated as my other servants." 
 " Sire," answered Mailer, " it would be a wonderful thing 
 
 A A 
 
354 LOTHER AND MALLER. [CH. XV. 
 
 for me to serve thee, seeing that I also am a king's son !" 
 And at the same time, in his heart thought he, what sort of 
 relation is this, that he asks me not at once after his brother, 
 of whom I have spoken to him ; not once does he even seek 
 to know whether he still lives, or whether he is dead. Had 
 I such a brother forsooth, I would banish him where he 
 should not come back again for a thousand years. There- 
 upon he said, " Noble king, why have you such an unfeeling 
 mind towards your nearest of kin? Truly, methinks, you 
 have but small love for your own brother, who is now in 
 misfortune and misery, and through your traitorous cousin 
 languishing in fetters, while you live in peace and security 
 king and emperor!" Then he related to King Ludwig all 
 that had happened to Lother since his banishment ; and 
 after he had particularly reported every thing, prayed him 
 for assistance, and that he would help Lother out of cap- 
 tivity, and revenge him on the faithless Otto. 
 
 King Ludwig would willingly have delivered his brother 
 and sent men to his assistance, but there lived at his court all 
 the false traitors who had so long been Lother's enemies ; 
 these took King Ludwig aside : " Sire," said they, " let 
 your brother alone ; he never did any good. Your highest 
 knights he has all affronted on account of women, for which 
 reason your father, as you may remember, banished him for 
 seven years from the land ; if you receive him again now 
 at your court, you will never have peace or quiet with these 
 nobles. Think also that you will then have to share with 
 him the paternal inheritance ; if he comes again he will 
 certainly be either king or emperor." " By my faith," said 
 the king, " you speak the truth. Otto also has, doubtless, 
 imprisoned him on account of his evil ways. Mailer/' con- 
 tinued he, turning to him, " my friends advise me to bring 
 no war into the land on my brother's account. Lother will 
 always live after bis own mind, he would never submit even 
 to my father ; he has probably in like manner inj ured my 
 cousin Otto, and so it is just that he should punish him 
 therefore. Although he has imprisoned him, he yet gives 
 him enough food to eat. For myself, I will never put on ar- 
 mour in order to help him out of captivity, where he lives so 
 well ; in this I will follow my counsellors." " Those who give 
 you such advice are thorough traitors," retorted Mailer, 
 
CH. XVI.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 355 
 
 indignantly. " It is grievous that you will not come to the 
 help of your own natural brother. Otto has, like a foul 
 traitor as he is, imprisoned him unjustly !" Herewith Mailer 
 turned about, and went out. King Ludwig called after 
 him, to ask whether he would not breakfast with him? 
 "Nevermore!" cried Maller; " I will rather go fasting to 
 bed, than eat with traitors." This Mailer spoke very boldly. 
 He had not yielded at all to King Ludwig's pleasure, for he 
 was as great a king's son as Ludwig. 
 
 He went back then into the inn to Zormerin. "Lady," 
 cried he, full of indignation, " in Ludwig I have found the 
 most faithless man that ever lived. He leaves his brother in 
 his need, and follows the advice of false traitors. May God 
 curse him therefore ! Oh God, I fear much that Lother will 
 never again be set at liberty." Zormerin wept. " Oh, un- 
 happy that I am ! " said she ; " did ever any woman endure 
 what I must suffer ? Cursed be the hour in which I was born ! " 
 « Worthy woman," began Mailer, " let us again return to 
 Constantinople to your father. I will beg him to remember 
 the great fidelity Lother showed towards him ; that he may 
 come to his assistance, who never deserted him in his need 
 against the pagans. I shall then see whether truth is still 
 to be found on the earth." 
 
 THE SIXTEENTH CHAPTER. 
 
 They left Paris and travelled many days. Of their journey 
 I shall say only that they came again into Lombardy. Then 
 did they both take good counsel together, how they should 
 best disguise themselves, in order to travel unknown through 
 the country. Zormerin sold her fine furs which she wore, 
 and bought herself a lute therewith, for she could play very 
 well on that instrument. Mailer, who knew well how to find 
 the proper herbs, stained himself and also Zormerin, both 
 face and hands ; no one in this disguise could know them. 
 " Mailer, dear comrade," said Zormerin, when she saw how 
 changed they both were, " let us go to Pavia, and there learn 
 whether Lother is dead or alive. I beg you earnestly to do 
 it, for no one will know us in this guise." "If you then 
 will undertake the delicate task," said Maller, " I willingly 
 
 A A 2 
 
356 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [dl. XVI. 
 
 agree to your proposal. You can, with your lute-playing, 
 gain as much as we may require, not to die of hunger ; and 
 King Otto shall find me in clothes besides. I will say I am 
 your husband ; you shall be called Maria, and I will name 
 myself Dietrich." " So let it be," said Zormerin ; " and now 
 only be quick ; let us haste with as little delay as possible to 
 Pavia, that we may hear of Lother." 
 
 In the mean time, while these two were thus wandering, 
 Lother lay in a deep dungeon; but enough to eat and to drink 
 was given to him by Otto's command. They were come now 
 to the holy Whitsuntide, and it so happened that a new gar- 
 ment was brought to King Otto ; and, as he put it on, he 
 found it was a hand's-breadth too long. Now as he was 
 much abusing the tailor who had made it, one of the cham- 
 berlains said, " Sire, you have for a long time kept Lother 
 of France in captivity, and he has never been newly clad. 
 Yet is he of high birth ancl your near kindred ; therefore it 
 would be very proper for you to send him the garment, as it 
 is too long for you ; it will just fit him, for he is much taller 
 than you are." " Be it so," said Otto ; " go take it to him." 
 
 The chamberlain went with the garment to Lother, whom 
 he found lying very unhappy in the dungeon. The servant 
 greeted him, and spoke to him with kindness. " My lord, 
 King Otto sends you this robe, that you may wear it." 
 Lother stood up, put it on, and it fitted him excellently. 
 Then added the chamberlain a thoughtless word, which he 
 afterwards regretted. He said, namely, " My lord, the robe 
 fits you as completely as if it had been made for you ; for 
 my master the king it was a somewhat too long." " What 
 mean you by that ?" cried Lother ; " am I so little esteemed 
 in the world, that Otto dares to send me what does not fit 
 him ? Oh ! must I endure this ? Ah me ! If then I am thus 
 degraded, I will never more desire either to eat or drink." 
 Therewith he doffed the garment again, cut and tore it to 
 pieces, and trampled it under foot. " Go now," said he to the 
 chamberlain, " tell the dungeon warden I will neither eat nor 
 drink any more ; I will live no longer ; let no one bring me 
 food." The chamberlain was very grieved so to have spoken ; 
 he went sadly to King Otto, and told him the circumstance 
 and all that Lother had said. Then Otto began to feel a little 
 pity, and was sorry that the chamberlain had said so much. 
 
CH. XVI.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 357 
 
 On the same day Zormerin and Mailer arrived at Pavia. 
 They went instantly to the palace, and inquired of the porter 
 whether they could be permitted to play and sing before the 
 king, and if so, desired he would lead them into the banquet 
 hall. The porter wished to jest with Zormerin, and would 
 have kissed her on the neck ; but she turned away and gave 
 him such a hearty blow, that two of his teeth fell out. Then 
 the porter thought to play them false, and would not let them 
 enter. This a knight witnessed, and took them under his 
 protection, and led them both directly into the banquet-hall, 
 where the king, with the whole court, many knights and also 
 many beautiful women, sat at table. Otto little thought that 
 Zormerin and Mailer were so near to him. Had he recog- 
 nised them under their disguise, he would without mercy 
 have slain Mailer ; for he hated him more especially. Zor- 
 merin and Mailer moved on to the side where they saw the 
 other minstrels, and sat down by them. Mailer immediately 
 filled a drinking cup with wine, and drank it off at a 
 draught. " God help thee," said the piper ; " we see plainly 
 you are one of us." When the repast was half over, the 
 players stood up ; one piped, another played on an organ, and 
 so that each in turn performed his part. At length Zormerin 
 took her lute, and played thereon so sweetly and so well, 
 that Otto kept his eyes continually fixed upon her. The lute- 
 playing delighted him so much, that he made all the other 
 players to cease, and listened only to her ; he said moreover 
 to his servants, " Let the lute-player be richly rewarded ; 
 for she has so pleased me, that I would not have her say of 
 me that I am stingy or poor. These people wander about 
 everywhere more than others ; and when they arrive at other 
 places, I would that she speak well of my court." 
 
 " Noble sir," said one of the knights, " it might be well 
 to reward these musicians, so that they may publish your 
 praises in other parts ; but think of your cousin Lother, 
 who is at this very moment a captive in your dungeon. He 
 is your nearest of kin ; and if he had his right, he would be 
 emperor of Rome. I have heard that your chamberlain dis- 
 tressed him very much to-day on account of a robe ; in jus- 
 tice, noble sir, you should not suffer him to perish so pi- 
 teously. My advice is, that you send him good meat and 
 drink ; let them bid him be of good cheer, for that his affairs 
 
358 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XVI. 
 
 will yet mend, and that you wish to be reconciled with 
 him. It were also well that you sent the lute-player into 
 the tower to him; perhaps she might please him, and he 
 would take courage again ; I am confident he would thank 
 you for it." " Let it be so," said the king, and called his ser- 
 vants. " Take food and wine," said he ; <; carry it to my 
 cousin in the dungeon." 
 
 He also commanded Zormerin to take her lute and go 
 with the servants to a prisoner in the tower, before whom 
 she was to play for his amusement. " I will give you 
 for your service a good reward," said he. " Sire, what you 
 command me I will do very willingly," said Zormerin ; and 
 therein she indeed spoke the truth ; for no gift ever so great 
 could make her so glad as that she should again see her be- 
 loved. Her heart beat hard through great joy and expecta- 
 tion ; so did also that of the faithful Mailer, who only feared 
 lest her great gladness should be observed. 
 
 She went then with the servant, who carried the food ; 
 and when they came to the tower, they found Lother very 
 ill and lying on the bed. " Take this food away again," said 
 he ; " I will neither eat nor drink. Has King Otto sent 
 these musicians to make mock of me ? He knows very well 
 that from such as these I can derive no pleasure." Zormerin 
 said then to the serving man and the warder : " Dear 
 friends, go you out, and lock us in here with the gentleman ; 
 I will play so sweetly that he shall, notwithstanding his words, 
 be delighted ; and I will say to him such soothing words, 
 that he shall be willing to share with me his last farthing." 
 At these words the serving man and the keeper laughed 
 heartily, and they thought Zormerin a Corinna. Lother was 
 astonished when he heard her so speak ; yet could he neither 
 recognise her nor Mailer. Zormerin began to play, the 
 serving-man and the keeper went out, and left both alone 
 with the captive. When Zormerin was certain that they 
 were far enough off, and all the bolts and locks were fas- 
 tened, then she fell on the neck of Lother, and wept, and 
 kissed him a thousand times. 
 
 " Lother ! knowest thou not thine own true Zormerin ? 
 Here also is Mailer, thy comrade : in order to see thee, we 
 have thus disguised ourselves." Lother began to shed scalding 
 tears when he recognised her, and pressed both to his heart, 
 
CH. XVI.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 359 
 
 and embraced and kissed her again and again, times innumer- 
 able. " Kiss me, dear lord," said Mailer ; "for I love you more 
 than all your friends besides. Your father is dead, and 
 your brother Ludwig is crowned king ; the latter follows 
 the counsels of your treacherous enemies, so that you must 
 expect no consolation from him. It grieves him not at all that 
 you lie here in prison. Your wife and I went to Paris ; but 
 as I received such sorry comfort from your brother, I brought 
 her hither, that we might learn how it fared with you ; and 
 whether you were alive or dead. Then I willed to lead- her 
 to Constantinople to King Orschier. Let us speak to him, 
 to besiege Pavia and destroy Otto ; King Orschier must aid 
 us, if he remembers how you assisted him against the pa- 
 gans. And now, dear sir, do you know anything of Schei- 
 dechin my wife? Is she dead or alive?" " Dear comrade, 
 she is not dead ; she was taken prisoner with the others, and 
 led into the town; there she is indeed still. Zormerin, 
 beloved wife, we have had but little joy in our marriage ; 
 may God help us out of our trouble ! 99 And now both wept 
 aloud and moaned bitterly. Mailer attempted to comfort 
 them. " You are wrong," said he : " that you have so much 
 evil fortune is God's will ; so too can he soon turn your 
 sorrow into joy. I wish only, for my part, that I had Schei- 
 dechin my beloved wife with me ; I would make myself 
 very happy with her. You ought to forget your griefs now 
 that you are together. I will go for a while into the little 
 room, and leave you alone ; for I do not belong to you nor 
 to your secret counsels." " Comrade," said Lother, " blessed 
 be she who bore thee; those words God himself bade thee 
 speak ! " 
 
 Thus did they tarry together long, until at length they 
 heard the jailer coming, who unbolted the doors. The time 
 was come when, with sorrowful hearts, Lother and Zormerin 
 must part. Lother kissed Mailer on his mouth. " Fare thee 
 well, true friend ; work with your best strength, that I may 
 come out of captivity." " Be assured, sir, my heart will never 
 be glad until you are out of this vile durance, and I will labour 
 for it as much as possible, — I swear it by all the saints." Now 
 again entered the jailer, who bid them withdraw. Zormerin 
 could with difficulty restrain her tears or help betraying her- 
 self; it caused her heart deep grief that she must now depart 
 
 A A 4 
 
360 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XVII. 
 
 and leave Lother behind. King Otto had Maller newly clad, 
 and gave Zormerin a golden girdle, richly set with pearls, kept 
 them three days at his court, and treated them hospitably. 
 After this space they took leave of King Otto, and once more 
 departed from the town of Pavia. When they were come 
 into the fields, they thanked God that they had not been 
 recognised and had seen their beioved lord, and they con- 
 fided themselves and him still to the protection of the Al- 
 mighty. 
 
 THE SEVENTEENTH CHAPTER. 
 
 They came now to Constantinople, and went immediately 
 into the palace, before King Orschier. When Zormerin saw 
 her father, she could not for tears speak a single word. 
 Orschier looked at her, and for a long time could not recog- 
 nise her ; at last he knew her. " Dear daughter, whence 
 comest thou? It was with difficulty I knew you again! 
 Who ever saw a queen in such circumstances ? Cursed be 
 the hour that I gave you to Lother ! " 
 
 Then, said Mailer, " Speak no more thus, sir : you gave 
 her to the noblest knight that lives on earth ; and besides 
 that, he is better born than ever were any of your race ! I 
 pray you to remember the great fidelity which he showed 
 you ; you know well that if he, after God, had not acted 
 as he did, the pagans would have quite ruined you. Could 
 you forget his fidelity, you would indeed do him a great 
 injustice." And now he began and related to King Orschier 
 all that had happened to him, and how Lother now, through 
 the treachery of Otto, lay in prison in a dungeon at Pavia ; 
 also how King Ludwig in France followed evil counsels, and 
 would not help his brother. " Think, noble king," said he, 
 " how the heathens had taken you, and how my lord Lother 
 freed you again. Have pity also on my lord, and comfort 
 and assist him." " Then," answered King Orschier, " I hear 
 from you that his natural brother keeps away from him ? 
 Why should I then stand by him ? Why should I bring my 
 country into so heavy a war? I should be the jest of the 
 world, if I did not conquer, which is very possible. God be 
 my witness I will not run the risk ; better care shall be taken 
 of my daughter ; she shall never see this man again, and I 
 
CH. XVII.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 361 
 
 will find a richer prince for her than Lother." " King," cried 
 Mailer, 66 never more will I be your friend ! When I can do 
 you an injury, I will not neglect the occasion, but do you all 
 the mischief I can. I swear eternal hatred to you, and declare 
 war against you ! " With that he rose and went straight- 
 way out. 
 
 Then went he to Zormerin, who sat mourning in her 
 chamber, shedding many a thousand tears : she also had 
 entreated her father for Lother ; but all was vain. " What 
 shall we do now, dear Mailer?" cried she, weeping. " I shall 
 go now to my father," said he, " in order to pray him to 
 help Lother. This is the last that I can do." u Do so, dear 
 Maller, I will give you a good horse and a valise full of gold." 
 " God will requite you, noble lady," he replied. " Now I beg 
 you, be constant and true." " You shall find no failing in 
 me," said Zormerin ; " yet I wish I might live no longer ; 
 for I fear greatly Lother will never again be free." Mailer 
 wept when he heard her speak so sadly, and took leave of her. 
 She had commanded that the best horse in the stable should 
 be given him, and he immediately rode away from the city. 
 
 Mailer was grieved from his heart. " Never," said he, as he 
 came out into the country, " no, never will I rest till I have 
 set you free, my dearest lord." He determined now to go to 
 his parents, whom he had not seen for so many years. He had, 
 when a child, been found by Ogier of Denmark in the water, 
 as the latter was going out with hawks to hunt for ducks ; 
 whence he received the name of Mailer, which signifies in 
 the Italian language the same as mallard, or " enterich," in 
 German. Ogier of Denmark resigned the child to King 
 Charles of France ; the latter having heard that King 
 Galyen had lost his child, thought that this might be the 
 same, and therefore sent him back unto King Galyen, who 
 brought up the child till the age when he could serve, and 
 sent him then again to King Charles ; at his court he remained 
 until he was twenty-three years old, when he accompanied 
 Lother to Constantinople, and during the whole period he 
 had never once seen his parents. 
 
 Mailer had to pass in his journey through an imperial 
 city. He was very well armed, but had no armorial bearings 
 on his shield ; so when he arrived in the city, he rode imme- 
 diately to a painter s house and had his coat of arms painted 
 
362 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XVII. 
 
 thereon ; viz. three heads of maidens, gold on an azure 
 ground, above the heads a leopard, and in the centre of the 
 shield a demi-lion. When it was finished, Mailer paid for it 
 liberally, and rode on again as far as Champagne. Here he 
 came to a large town with a beautiful castle, but he wist not 
 to whom it belonged. While he was thinking to himself, 
 there approached him a messenger carrying letters ; he spake 
 to him courteously, and inquired the name of the town and 
 of its lord. " Sir," answered the messenger, " this town is 
 called Neustadt, and belongs to King Galyen the invin- 
 cible." At this answer Mailer was much rejoiced, and in- 
 quired further of the messenger. " Whither goest thou, 
 dear friend?" " Not far from hence, noble sir, to the castle 
 there ; I must bring ten master-workmen, that to-morrow in 
 Neustadt they may make preparations for the great tourney 
 which is to be held there." " For what occasion is this 
 tourney to be held?" " Sir, King Ansys' daughter, from 
 Spain, will be married to Otger, the son of King G-alyen. 
 Whoever gains the prize in this game shall have a beautiful 
 horse, with a saddle and housings embroidered with pearls ; 
 a more magnificent guerdon was never seen. Here shall 
 we see assembled all the flower of chivalry ; on heralds and 
 musicians also will great gifts be bestowed. A man may well 
 tilt gladly for the sake of a beautiful woman ; and the maiden, 
 King Ansys' daughter, of Spain, is so beautiful, that one could 
 not easily find her equal in the world." 
 
 Mailer left the messenger and rode on again towards the 
 city ; he determined not to declare himself to his parents till 
 he had tourneyed with ten of the bravest knights. Then he 
 commended himself to God, to his blessed mother, and to 
 St. Julian ; this last is a saint, to whom people are accustomed 
 to pray when they desire to find good quarters. As he rode 
 into the town he saw numerous nobles, knights, squires, and 
 many beautiful women. There was heard on all sides the 
 sound of pipes, trumpets, and many-stringed instruments. 
 " Eternal God ! " said Maller, " I have by this time learned 
 how miserable is the life of the poor man ; how many are suf- 
 fering in wretchedness who have no property, while the rich 
 are so pompously embellishing life. God, how vain is all 
 this ! Were it not for Lother my lord, and my beloved wife 
 Scheidechin, whom I wish so much to deliver from captivity, 
 
CH. XVII.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 363 
 
 I would abandon worldly honours and all pleasure and joy, 
 — and would go alone into the forest, — there might I serve 
 God, for there only shall I be certain of imperishable joys." 
 
 He rode on again into the city, and sought in many places 
 for an inn, but every one jeered at him, and bade him go 
 further ; and he laughed in his heart, because he knew well 
 that had he made himself known he would every where 
 have found a lodging. At last he was received in a rich 
 merchant's house. Here he saw that already every one 
 who lodged in the house had placed his helmet before the 
 window ; he begged also of his host to take care that his 
 helmet in like manner should be hung outside the window, 
 so that people might see he wished to tourney, and he pro- 
 mised him ten guilders for doing so. 
 
 The host was greedy for the money, and commanded the 
 servant at once to hang the helmet out of window. Mailer 
 gave the servant a guilder, for which he thanked him, and, 
 with a jesting air, added, " I will take good care of it, if 
 you will promise to dub me a knight, should you to-morrow 
 gain the prize, for I have a long time desired to be made 
 a knight." Mailer answered, laughing, " More than thou 
 desirest shalt thou have from me/' The servant took the 
 helmet and hung it jestingly higher than the others, so that 
 it was conspicuous to the eye. And thus jested the servant 
 with him in all ways and at every thing that Mailer desired of 
 him ; for he held him for a poor knight who was seeking ad- 
 ventures, in order to gain somewhat. But Mailer laughed 
 with the servant, and so well knew how to win him, that he as 
 well as the host, soon for love of him did all that he required. 
 
 Mailer went out into the city to walk about, and came be- 
 fore the palace ; hither came Otger, his brother, and with him 
 walked his father, King Ansys, and the Bastard von Ciine- 
 ber, King Ansys' son. As Mailer saw all these princes 
 coming, he asked the servants who they were ; and when he 
 heard his father named, the tears came into his eyes. The 
 princes made Otger observe Mailer, because he so perfectly 
 r sembled him. King Galyen, his father, approached him ; 
 Mailer bowed reverentially. " Tell me, dear comrade," said 
 the king, " whence comest thou hither ? " " Sir," answered 
 Mailer, " that shall you know to-morrow when the tourney 
 begins. I am a poor companion ; I seek adventures, and 
 
364 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XVIII. 
 
 am come hither to obtain a prize ; but if I obtain it, so shall 
 God curse them that would contest it with me." King 
 Galyen laughed and turned again to the princes. " What a 
 fool of a young man is this," said he ; " to what I ask him 
 he answers not directly, and says all kinds of absurd things 
 instead." 
 
 Then Mailer met his mother, and his blood ran swiftly 
 through his veins ; he wist not whether he should speak to 
 her and make himself known or not ; then he remembered his 
 vow, that he would not make himself known till he had 
 tilted against the bravest and most famous knights. 
 
 The nobles and ladies began a gay dance ; then Mailer 
 chose the most lovely woman out of the circle, and danced 
 with her so beautifully, and like a little bird sprang so 
 lightly with her, that all the women felt a liking for him ; 
 and even the knights said, " What a fine young man is this ! 
 every thing he does becomes him well." 
 
 THE EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER. 
 
 The next morning early Mailer put on his fine armour, 
 which he had obtained from Zormerin, and rode to the 
 square before the palace, where the tourney was to be held ; 
 the servant of the inn, named Gamier, attended him as his 
 squire. First Mailer saw the marriage of his brother and 
 King Ansys' daughter ; as soon as this was over, they began 
 the tourney. The princes kept the arena, in order to tilt 
 with every one who might enter. The women went to a 
 handsome gallery which had been prepared for the occasion. 
 There were full three hundred in number, and Rosamunde, 
 Mailer's mother, sat in the centre, by King Ansys' daughter, 
 and the women on both sides around her. Exquisite beauty, 
 loveliness, and grace were there to be seen in plenty, but 
 plenty also of pride and arrogance. Many handsome knights 
 had their lady loves there ; and many women there were, 
 who wished in their hearts that their husbands might not 
 return alive from the tourney. 
 
 Mailer rode up to those who were distributing the spears, 
 and demanded one also. But as they saw him attended only 
 by a single servant, they said, " Who are you ? Whence do 
 you come Of what country? Was your coat of arms 
 
CH. XVIII.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 365 
 
 exposed to view ?" " It was exposed to view," answered 
 Mailer ; " my servant will bear witness to it." But they 
 would not believe him until two heralds, who accidentally 
 stood by, swore thereto, and that they had seen the coat of 
 arms the day before exposed for show. Now, at length, 
 Mailer obtained a spear. He bore exactly his father's 
 arms, to the half-lion. This last he had had added thereto. 
 As he now rode into the lists, every one wondered ; even the 
 great King Galyen was astonished to see a stranger bear 
 these arms. The king spoke to him kindly, and said, " I 
 am surprised at the device you bear, comrade ; you have 
 exactly my arms, with the exception of the demi-lion. Tell 
 me, therefore, whence hast thou them?" " Sir, I had the 
 arms painted at my own pleasure, not therewith to offend 
 you, but rather to honour and exalt you ; therefore I pray 
 you, may I be permitted to tilt therewith ?" 
 
 "What!" cried one of the knights; "thou arrogant 
 sweet-tooth ! how darest thou to take upon thyself to bear 
 the king's arms ? " " Make not so many words," answered 
 Mailer, " and be not so very indignant, I beg of you ; bring 
 me one of your best comrades, and I will prove my right to 
 these arms upon him !" King Galyen could not help laughing 
 at Mailer's bold speech. " Comrade," said he, " you shall have 
 permission to bear these arms under the condition that thou 
 tiltest against a knight that I will send thee, and if then 
 thou dost not do honour to them, I will treat you in such 
 wise that the coat of arms shall be reversed until the up- 
 permost shall become the lowest." " So be it, sire," an- 
 swered Mailer, " yet I have first one request, if you will 
 graciously permit me to ask it." " You have permission ; 
 what is your request ?" " It is proclaimed that knights must 
 break four lances before they can receive the reward ; I beg 
 for myself to be allowed to break eight." The king, after he 
 had agreed, rode away, and had himself armed. He put on 
 an armour not known, entered the lists as a foreign knight, 
 and demanded to tilt against Mailer, who was also, on his side 
 immediately ready. They rode against each other. Mailer 
 struck his father exactly in the vizor of his helmet, so that 
 the helmet fell off his head, and his lance was broken, The 
 king could not save himself from falling. More than a hundred 
 knights ran to him to raise him up again. Mailer could not 
 
366 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XVIII. 
 
 confess before the people that it was his own father whom he 
 had unhorsed ; but he had already knelt down,, and im- 
 plored of the king forgiveness and grace. They carried the 
 king away into the palace, where he was disarmed and pre- 
 sented with a goblet of wine ; he drank it off, then mounted 
 his horse again, and said to the Bastard von Ciineber, 
 "I beg you to break with this adventurer a couple of 
 spears. If thou throw him down, I will richly reward you." 
 The king had fixed upon the bastard, because he was big, 
 strong, and brave. He also rode against Mailer, and was, 
 like the king, unhorsed by him. He cried so loud with pain 
 at his fall, that those who heard him thought he was dying. 
 King Ansys had his son brought away from the arena, and 
 all the princes lamented for him. Then King Galyen called 
 a worthy knight, who, already in fourteen battles had car- 
 ried the standard of the king. " Count Richard, dear 
 nephew," said Galyen, " I pray you break a lance with this 
 adventurer." " Sir," answered the count, " methinks the 
 stars to-day are not propitious for those who fight against 
 the adventurer : I shall wait till to-morrow." Geon, King 
 Ansys' eldest son, made a signal to Mailer with his hand ; 
 the latter was quite prepared and anxious, for he would 
 rather have died than not win the guerdon on that day, be- 
 cause he hoped throu'gh this to be so much the more gladly 
 acknowledged as their kinsman by his parents and friends, 
 and consequently so much the better able to carry assistance 
 to Lother. For his friend he bore constantly in his mind, and 
 not for a moment, in all he did, could he forget him. Mailer 
 also struck down Geon, so that he remained hanging with 
 one foot in the stirrup, and he was dragged by the horse all 
 round the inclosure. Then rose such a tumult and cry among 
 the people at this sight, that the earth shook. After this rode 
 up to him Otger his brother, and begged to break a lance 
 with him. " That shall I never do," answered Maller. " I 
 would not for all the world run against you ; myself I hold 
 very lightly, and heed not at all what may befall me, but for 
 your sake it would grieve me very much ; your father, and 
 your mother, and your bride might well curse me if I threw 
 you ; therefore run I not against you." " By my truth," said 
 Otger, " you are a virtuous knight ; if you will remain here 
 with my father and me, we will treat you well." " I thank 
 
CH. XVIII.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 367 
 
 you very much," answered Mailer ; " that may perhaps be 
 done ; when I find a good master, I serve him well." Then 
 Otger rode away again. 
 
 Mailer broke the eight spears in a knightly manner, and 
 with splendid tourneying, although at the fourth he had 
 already earned the prize, and the heralds had begun to cry 
 out his praises and his triumphs with many noble words. 
 Yet he was not thereby to be diverted from his purpose, till 
 he had broken his eight spears altogether, and. unhorsed 
 eight knights. King Galyen commanded his pipers and 
 musicians to attend Mailer to his inn, and the heralds also 
 preceded him with fine singing ; then Mailer had a fine re- 
 past prepared of poultry, fish and venison, and wine in 
 plenty, and regaled all who chose to come. 
 
 While he was preparing every thing for his guests, 
 King Galyen came and brought the prize with him to 
 the inn. It was a superb horse, on which was a golden 
 saddle ; the stirrups were of silken web, with pearls and 
 precious stones, beautifully adorned. Two queens led it ; 
 the one was the beautiful Rosamunde, Mailer's mother ; and 
 the other King Ansys' daughter. King Ansys himself, 
 King Galyen, and his son Otger, and many other princes, 
 came with and followed the horse, as well as many beautiful 
 women and brave knights. On the horse sat a noble youth, 
 who was clad in a silken robe, and adorned with costly 
 jewels; on his head he wore a golden crown magnificently 
 ornamented with precious stones ; and the two queens who 
 led the horse wore also golden crowns, splendidly jewelled, 
 and were clothed in rich robes. In such fine order, and with so 
 noble a company, they went through the city to Mailer's inn. 
 When Mailer saw them approaching his heart was glad, and 
 he thanked God in silence. 
 
 King Galyen said, " Sir, receive this reward ; you have well 
 earned it by your knightly virtue." " That I have merited the 
 reward," said Maller, " I thank God, in the first place, who 
 gave me strength thereto, and next the beautiful woman who 
 lives ever in my mind." Then he took a drinking-cup, and 
 gave his father to drink, then his mother, then his grand- 
 father, also called Galyen, and then lastly to his brother 
 Otger. King Ansys took it ill that Mailer had given these 
 four to drink before him ; he thought himself insulted, turned 
 
368 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XVIII. 
 
 about, and was going away. " Noble king," cried Maller, 
 "be not offended that I have given the cup to these four 
 to drink first ; for the first to whom I gave it is he who 
 begat me ; the second, she who bore me ; then gave I to my 
 grandfather, from whom my father and I are descended, 
 and after him to my brother." With these words he fell on 
 his father's neck, hugged and kissed him ; then he embraced 
 also his mother, and cried, " You see your son Mailer, 
 whom King Charles of France brought up !" Then the 
 joy was indeed great ; Mailer was made welcome by all, 
 and very much caressed by his kindred and friends. The 
 servant Garnier pressed through the crowd, fell at Mailer's 
 feet, and begged for forgiveness, for that he had carried on 
 his jests with him, and ridiculed him. " Thou servedst me 
 well," quoth Mailer, " and therefore I shall reward thee." 
 He dubbed him knight, and gave him besides land and great 
 wealth. To the host he gave the horse, besides the treasures 
 which he had received as the prize, and begged of him that 
 he would pray to God, to give him aid in his design. 
 
 This the host promised ; and thereupon Mailer invited him 
 and his wife to table, and they betook themselves together 
 to the palace, where the table and excellent viands stood pre- 
 pared. But before they sat down to the repast, Mailer laid be- 
 fore King Galyen his request, and prayed for aid for Lother, 
 and for his wife, Scheidechin ; he also related all that had hap- 
 pened to them, and the treachery of the false Otto. " I will not 
 go to table ; I will never give myself diversion nor rest, nor 
 sleep, until I have found aid for my lord Lother, and for my 
 wife." " Dear son," cried Mailer's grandsire, " I will not for- 
 sake thee !" " Nor I," said King Galyen ; " I will help thee 
 with fifteen thousand armed men." " I also, dear brother," 
 said Otger, " will help thee with my best ability." " And I 
 no less," said King Ansys ; " I will not leave Lother, my 
 kinsman, in the lurch, in his necessity." Then was Mailer's 
 heart very rejoiced; he thanked all, and embraced them. 
 Then he fell on his knee before his father, and prayed 
 his forgiveness that he had thrown him down ; his father 
 forgave him willingly and blessed his knightly strength. 
 Kosamunde could not leave off caressing him, pressing him 
 to her heart and kissing him ; she was full of joy to have so 
 valiant a son, and all sat gaily and full of glee down to 
 
CH. XIX.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 369 
 
 table, where they ate and drank, and toasted one another, 
 till Otger with his bride retired to bed. 
 
 The next day the princes wrote letters, and sent them 
 without delay into all their lands, that every one capable of 
 bearing arms should get ready, and should then assemble 
 with them. Mailer remained in the city, and urged them on 
 that they might the sooner be in order, and all be the more 
 quickly ready for the expedition. 
 
 THE NINETEENTH CHAPTER. 
 
 In the meantime Otto had heard that Zormerin lived again 
 in Constantinople with her father ; he sent, therefore, a very 
 great embassy to King Orschier, and informed him that Lo- 
 ther of France was dead, and if he would give his daughter 
 Zormerin to him in marriage, then he, Otto, would become 
 his ally, and help him with all his forces against the pagans, 
 and if Zormerin gave him a son he should inherit the entire 
 kingdom of Lombardy. 
 
 King Orschier was well content with this proposal, received 
 the ambassadors graciously, and invited Otto immediately 
 to his court. The latter came without loss of time with a 
 splendid suite, and with such wealth that every one won- 
 dered at it. 
 
 Zormerin was quite in despair when she was informed of 
 what had happened ; she tore her hair and struck with her 
 hands her beautiful face and white bosom. " Ah me ! un- 
 happy woman," cried she, " will God never help me out of 
 this need ? Oh Mary, mother of God, thou pure virgin, save 
 me, that I may not be compelled to give myself to that false 
 traitor, and my soul to damnation." Thus she prayed, weeping 
 very bitterly. Synoglar, who had remained along with her 
 women, loved her very dearly, and tried to console her with 
 affectionate and gentle words, but she could not. Zormerin 
 remained inconsolable, and when King Orschier sent for her, 
 and said to heir, that she must appear before King Otto, she 
 sent back word to him that she was very ill, and could not ap- 
 pear; and betook herself to her bed because she felt so miser- 
 able; with the determination, however, in her heart, that if she 
 should be compelled to the marriage with Otto that she would 
 kill him, even should her own life be the forfeit. Thereupon 
 
 B B 
 
370 
 
 LOTHEK AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XIX. 
 
 she called to her Synoglar, and said, " Synoglar, I would fain 
 confide to jou an idea which I have, and in the execution of 
 which you must help me, if you will promise to be true and 
 silent." 
 
 " Speak, dear maiden," answered Synoglar ; " so help me 
 God and his mother, as I will truly help you ! would to God 
 you had found some means whereby we might set free your 
 husband out of prison, for never will I believe the knave 
 Otto that Lother is dead." 44 That is the very point," con- 
 tinued Zormerin, "in which you must help me. Go and 
 call Otto to me here ; tell himthat I am indeed ill, but not 
 so much that I will not willingly speak with him, because I 
 love him secretly, and my passion for him entirely consumes 
 me. Strive to convince him so of my love, that he may 
 firmly believe it and come to me with perfect confidence ; I 
 will then by stratagem endeavour to take off his signet-ring, 
 with which to seal a letter that I will write in his name to 
 his castellain in Pavia ; therein will I say he must immedi- 
 ately set Lother and the other prisoners free. You, Syno- 
 glar, must be the messenger, and carry to Pavia the letter to 
 the castellain ; get Lother first out into the open field, then 
 tell him the truth of all, and discover yourself to him." 
 6 Oh, dear lady," cried Synoglar, " what an excellent plan 
 you have devised ! I will immediately depart and put it in 
 operation." She hastened to Otto and delivered her message 
 in the most skilful way possible. " Your unhappy flight and 
 imprisonment," said she flatteringly to him, " and Lother's 
 victory, was the cause that Zormerin obeyed her father, and 
 was obliged to marry Lother ; but she loved him not, and 
 never loved any but you, Sir Otto." Otto allowed himself 
 to be cajoled by these words, and believed them, because he 
 imagined himself to be a man very pleasing to the women ; 
 he therefore followed the cunning Synoglar into Zormerin's 
 chamber. Here happened to him this evil omen, he stumbled 
 on the threshold, and fell at full length into the room, so 
 hard upon his stomach that the ground shook thereat. He 
 got up again full of shame ; Synoglar could hardly restrain 
 her loud laughter, but Zormerin wished in secret that he 
 had broken his neck. 
 
 However, she did violence to herself, and called him to 
 her with a friendly voice, and begged him caressingly to sit 
 down near her on her bed. He was quite blinded by his 
 
CH. XIX.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 371 
 
 loving ardour, and seated himself near her ; and while she 
 talked to him of her love for him, and very kindly and lov- 
 ingly caressed him, he wot not for great joy fulness what 
 had come to him ; then she took hold of a silken purse which 
 hung at his girdle. " Sir," began she, " what have you in 
 this purse ? If they are beautiful little rings, I should like 
 very much to have one of them, and I would wear it on my 
 hand for love of you." " Take out, lovely Zormerin, what 
 you please," said the fascinated Otto. Then searched she a 
 long time in the purse, and pulled out a little ring, which 
 she put on her finger ; but at the same time she stole from 
 him the signet-ring without his remarking it, because his 
 loving glances were unceasingly fixed upon her, and he took 
 no heed of what she did. 
 
 Zormerin was so joyous when she had the signet-ring 
 that she good-humouredly and gaily jested with him, which 
 completely drove him out of his senses. ? Then he begged 
 her very much that she would take him for her husband, at 
 which she complained to him that she felt herself too ill, but 
 as soon as she recovered she would become his wife. Then 
 went Otto from Zormerin to King Orschier, who had com- 
 manded him to be summoned to table. 
 
 Zormerin remained alone with Synoglar, and now they 
 immediately prepared the letter. She wrote just as would 
 the king in giving a command to his castellain, subscribed 
 Otto's signature, and impressed his seal below. Then she 
 confided the letter to Synoglar, who, during the writing, had 
 dressed herself like a messenger, and got ready her horse, so 
 that without delay she set out with it on her way to Pavia. 
 
 Zormerin threw the signet-ring on the ground before the 
 door of the chamber. After the repast Otto again went to 
 her, and there found it lying before the door ; he picked it 
 up, and thinking he must have let it fall, and that Zormerin, 
 after looking through his purse, had not fastened it again 
 properly, troubled himself no further about it, but entering in 
 to the fair Zormerin, talked with her of his love. She spoke 
 with him kindly, but her heart was with Loth er. 
 
 Synoglar came without mishap to Pavia, and presented 
 herself immediately to the castellain, kneeled before him, 
 greeted him in the name of his master Otto, and gave him the 
 letter. When the castellain had read it through, and recog- 
 
 B B 2 
 
372 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XIX. 
 
 nised his master's signet impression, he was very glad at the 
 message, because he loved Lother well, and he knew also 
 that he lay unjustly in captivity. He went then with glad- 
 some gestures to Lother in the dungeon. " Sir, give me a 
 rich recompense," said he ; "I bring you good tidings — ■ 
 you are free ! King Otto has written to me that I shall set 
 you and the other prisoners at liberty, and lead you to Con- 
 stantinople, where he will be reconciled with you. How 
 glad I am that my lord, King Otto, sees his injustice. I was 
 always sorry for you, Sir Lother, and I thank God that he 
 has now gone thus far with you." Lother could not at first 
 believe his words, and thought, consequently, that the cas- 
 tellain was joking with him ; yet when he heard that he spoke 
 so seriously, and conversed so kindly with him, he thanked- 
 him cordially for his good friendship, and went with him out 
 of the dungeon, in which he had spent so many melancholy 
 years. As the people of Pavia wondered to see Lother going 
 free, the castellain caused the letter he had received from 
 Otto to be read about, and he showed it to every one who 
 liked to read it ; and they all rejoiced, and went to Lother 
 and wished him happiness. Synoglar had access to the 
 palace where Lother was, and went in and out repeatedly, 
 and spoke with him, but he could not recognise her, she was 
 in such strange apparel, and had so stained her face and 
 hands with herbs. 
 
 The castellain sent now also for Scheidechin and the 
 other captive women, who were in another town, and had 
 them brought to Pavia. Scheidechin had been formerly ac- 
 counted one of the loveliest maidens on earth, but now 
 her beauty was gone and quite faded, for in her captivity 
 she had suffered cold and hunger, and felt a lack of all 
 things that preserve the beauty of women. Lother em- 
 braced her and kissed her, with many tears, because he saw 
 her so much faded. " Ah, sir," said she, " I have lost my 
 husband, your true comrade ; I saw him fall as I still 
 sat in the carriage, — God and his dear mother know it ; 
 never can I again be glad, for he was the truest man that 
 one could well find." " Be of good cheer, young woman ! 
 Your husband lives still; my comrade Mailer, and my wifeZor- 
 merin, were with me, not long ago, disguised as musicians!" 
 Now Scheidechin, for the first time, was glad of her liberty. 
 The castellain ordered water to be brought, — they washed 
 
CH. XIX.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 373 
 
 themselves and sat down together to table. That day, they 
 remained at Pavia, but the next morning, very early, they 
 all went out on the road to Constantinople. The women 
 were seated in a coach, the castellain and Lother rode, at- 
 tended by twenty armed Lombards, and Synoglar, mounted 
 on a good horse, led the expedition. 
 
 Four days had they already journeyed, and she had not 
 found an opportunity of making herself known to Lother, or 
 saying a word to him. Now, however, it happened one day, 
 when they had arrived at a beautiful cool spring, that 
 Lother dismounted and went to the fountain to drink. The 
 Lombards had all passed on without stopping ; this Synoglar 
 perceived. " Sir Lother, I too will drink!" cried she, and 
 she turned her horse and rode to the spring, where Lother 
 had alighted. She likewise dismounted from her horse, but 
 instead of drinking, approached him, and said hurriedly : — 
 " Look at me, Sir Lother, — I am Synoglar. The Lady Zor- 
 merin obtained by stratagem from the traitor Otto his signet- 
 ring, wrote the letter to the castellain, and I, dressed as a 
 messenger, brought it, and thus were you released from the 
 dungeon. King Orschier wishes to give his daughter to the 
 traitor Otto, because he thinks you are dead. But now be- 
 think you how you may set yourself and the rest of your 
 company free ; I must steal away, and, by another route, 
 ride to Constantinople, to my gracious Lady Zormerin." 
 Lother had recognised her whilst she was speaking, and said, 
 " Greet my wife kindly for me, — I will see her ere long, cost 
 what it will." Then Synoglar mounted her horse again, turned 
 about, and rode away by another route. Thereat the castel- 
 lain gave no heed, and thought she was in the rear of the 
 company, or had tarried somewhere. 
 
 Lother rode up to the carriage to Scheidechin, and related 
 to her privily the whole matter. Then, added he, " Dear 
 Scheidechin, you must now see how you can free yourself, 
 for I can no further aid you." 
 
 That night they halted in a village to rest. As they 
 found nothing there to eat or drink, they were obliged very 
 soon to go to bed. Scheidechin, when she saw the Lom- 
 bards were fast asleep, got up, waked the other women, re- 
 lated to all briefly what had happened, and how they must 
 from that time shift for themselves ; wherefore they all cut 
 
 B b 3 
 
374 LOTHER AND MALLER. [ch. XIX. 
 
 their clothes short, like boys, that they might the more 
 easily rim ; crept softly out of the house, and fled with the 
 utmost speed into the neighbouring forest. Lother, on his 
 part, cut his sheet into strips, tied it to the window and let 
 himself down by it. He ran to the next village, there put 
 himself in bed, as if he were very ill, and sent for the priest. 
 In the meantime the castellain awoke, and as he saw that it 
 was day, he rose and went to rouse Lother and the rest. 
 When he found that Lother was nowhere to be seen he be- 
 came frightened ; at last he caught sight of the shreds of the 
 sheet at the window, and now perceived that Lother had 
 escaped ; he knew not what to think of this, and ran about 
 quite like a man distraught. But when it came to light that 
 the women also had fled, he knew that some treachery must 
 have been in play, and foresaw, to his terror, that he would 
 have to expiate it with his life. He made his party take 
 ten different routes, and seek everywhere whether they could 
 not find some of the prisoners again, and fixed with them upon 
 a town where they should all re-assemble. This search was 
 entirely fruitless. Lother kept himself like a sick man in 
 bed, and let no one come near him but the priest, until such 
 time as he might safely think the Lombards had left the place. 
 
 The castellain, sore troubled, at length arrived with his 
 company at Constantinople, and knelt before Otto, who 
 was sitting by Zormerin. " Castellain, God greet you/' said 
 Otto, " what business brings you to me here in this strange 
 land ? " " Sire, I bear you evil tidings ; I would have 
 brought Lother here to you, as you commanded in your 
 letter, but he is fled." At this account Otto was stupified 
 with amazement. " What ! " cried he, " what sayest thou, 
 castellain ? I have never had an idea of writing to you to 
 set Lother at liberty. Thou false villain, if thou hast let 
 him escape, thou shalt die without mercy." He called his 
 council together, and disclosed to them this act of treach- 
 ery, " What shall I do, then," cried he, " in order to find 
 out who has played me this trick ? " Then said one of the 
 council, " Sir,, it cannot fail certainly to have happened 
 through women, — the wisest and strongest men have been 
 betrayed by them ; when women have set their minds on 
 doing anything, it boots not how men may contrive and 
 provide." " Yes, yes/' said the castellain, in his extremity, 
 
CH. XX.] LOTHER AND MALLER. 375 
 
 "sir, your councillor speaks the truth!" But these words 
 helped not the poor castellain ; Otto, in his rage, had both 
 him and his men hanged on the gallows. 
 
 THE TWENTIETH CHAPTER. 
 
 Then went Otto to King Orschier, and made complaint 
 against Zormerin that she had stolen his signet, and written 
 a false letter to his castellain in Pavia, that he should set 
 Lother free. u Sir king," said he, " on account of this 
 treachery I demand judgment and justice upon your daugh- 
 ter." " If she has done thee evil," said King Orschier, " I 
 will have her burnt/' Therewith he sent a knight to her to 
 bid her to his presence ; she was sitting and listening to 
 Synoglar's relation of every thing which had happened to 
 Lother, and how things had gone with her, when she re- 
 ceived the message from her father. She went to him imme- 
 diately ; and when King Orschier saw her he cried with an 
 angry voice, " Daughter, King Otto complains to me that you 
 have stolen his signet-ring, and that you have by means of 
 it made a false letter, and sent it to his castellain at Pavia, 
 that he should let Lother out of prison." " Father, were I a 
 man I would answer, life against life to any one who accused 
 me of it ; but I am a woman, and cannot now defend myself." 
 " You cannot deny," said Otto, " that I found my signet-ring 
 lying before your door ; the blood in my veins ran cold when 
 I saw it there, but your fine speeches and friendly behaviour 
 caused me to forget it again immediately." " Sir," exclaimed 
 Zormerin, " if I was friendly to you in words and actions, it 
 arose from love, as you well know ; for I then believed my 
 husband, Sir Lother, was dead, as you declared him to be. 
 But now that he still lives, everything between us is 
 changed, and God preserve me from ever taking any other 
 man ! I am also guiltless of that of which you accuse me." 
 Then advanced one of Otto's followers, called Hern a ; he was 
 the same who had carried the robe to Lother in the dungeon 
 and had pained him by his thoughtless discourse. " Noble 
 lady," said Herna, " you have betrayed my lord ; seek your- 
 self now a knight to combat for you ; for I will maintain the 
 cause of my master King Otto ; so may your father then 
 judge you according to your deserts." " So be it ! This 
 
 B B 4 
 
376 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XX. 
 
 combat must be fought/' said Orschier ; " therefore, daughter, 
 go and seek for yourself one who will do battle for you." 
 
 Zormerin went out and sent for thirty of her retainers in 
 each of whom she had confidence that he would go to the 
 death for her service ; but she found not one who would 
 fight for her in this combat, for Herna was known in all 
 the country for a great champion. 
 
 Then Zormerin fell on her knees and prayed to God that 
 he would not forsake her, as all that she had done was only 
 that she might remain true to her wedded lord and help him. 
 God heard Zormerin's prayer, and Lother was already very 
 near to Constantinople. In the last inn, where he passed the 
 night before entering the city, he bought a false beard of a 
 beggar who used to wear it, and tell people he was come 
 from the Holy Sepulchre, and who thereupon gave him alms. 
 This beard Lother bought, as well as a perfect pilgrim's 
 dress, and went thus clad to Constantinople. Here he went 
 to his ancient host, Salomon, but did not make himself known 
 to him ; he wished not to be recognised by any man, for he 
 trusted in none. Salomon and his wife received him as a 
 common pilgrim, and entertained him very hospitably. 
 
 Let us leave Lother here in the inn, and return to Zor- 
 merin, who had as yet found no champion. In the mean 
 while Herna said one day to Otto, " Sir, it will be a long time 
 before Zormerin can find herself a champion ; you will never 
 revenge yourself on her ; for, while her father King Orschier 
 lives, he will be readily mollified by her prayers. But if 
 you will let me have my will, I will soon free you from King 
 Orschier, and then shall you be lord of Constantinople and 
 of Zormerin." " If you can do this," said Otto, " you shall 
 be well rewarded." Then Herna prepared a poison so subtle 
 that it would kill a man as soon as he had swallowed it. 
 King Orschier, however, wore a golden ring in which was set a 
 costly gem ; this gem had lain under the Holy Cross when our 
 blessed Saviour suffered death thereon, and, when Longinus 
 pierced his side with the spear, there flowed over the stone 
 some of the divine blood ; thence it derived the property of 
 marking the presence of any deadly poison, when brought 
 within thirty steps of it, by springing immediately out of the 
 ring. No one knew this property of the stone, excepting 
 King Orschier. 
 
CH. XX.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 377 
 
 As he now sat at table and called for his great golden 
 goblet, Herna threw the poison into it so adroitly, that no one 
 remarked it. But the instant the goblet was set down before 
 the king, the gem sprang out of the ring at least thirty paces 
 distant into the hall. King Orschier immediately started 
 up from table full of horror. " How have I deserved/' cried 
 he, " that people should poison me ? I know no one whom 
 I have injured.'' " Sir/' said Otto, "the poison was evi- 
 dently not placed here solely on your account. I shall there- 
 fore return home to my own country, before I too am poi- 
 soned." Then the wine was given to a dog, which, after lap- 
 ping it, died immediately, so that all were convinced that it 
 was poison. "Alas, alas ! woe is me !" cried Orschier, lament- 
 ing, "who can it be, that thus seeks my death?" "Sir," 
 said Herna, " it can be no one but your daughter ; she can 
 find no champion ; she thinks, therefore, to put you out of 
 the way, in order to reign alone in the kingdom, and thus to 
 be absolved from the combat. Your daughter Zormerin I 
 therefore accuse of this, and whoever gainsays me must fight 
 with me!" "It may be so," said King Orschier ; "bring 
 my daughter hither/' Then went full ten knights and 
 rudely seized Zormerin. " Dear gentlemen," said she, " what 
 would you with me?" One of them said : "Lady, you are 
 to be burnt, on account of the poison you prepared for your 
 father. Denial is of no avail, as it was discovered by the 
 ring." "Jesus forbid!" said Zormerin, "what language do 
 you hold ? Eternal God ! I commit myself to thy care, for 
 there are those who act treacherously towards me." 
 
 She was led away like a criminal. When she appeared 
 before her father she fell low on her knees before him. 
 " Father," said she, " permit me to defend myself, for never 
 came such wickedness into my mind." " Base criminal," 
 cried Orschier, " thou canst not deny the fact, — thou hast 
 sought to poison me!" "No! never! by the death that I 
 must and shall suffer." " Woman," cried Otto, " you shall be 
 burnt : you have well deserved it from us, for you prepared 
 your poison for me, and you also set free my mortal enemy ; 
 whoever denies this let him advance and try your cause 
 against my champion." Herna at these words threw down 
 his gauntlet, but no one was found to accept the challenge. 
 Then King Orschier called his marshal, and said, " Marshal, 
 
378 LOTHER AND MALLER. [CH. XX. 
 
 I command thee do execution upon her, and spare her not, 
 from this moment she shall no longer be my daughter ; I re- 
 nounce her, and will neither eat nor drink until she has 
 received her just punishment/ ' Zormerin wept bitterly, and 
 was led away, and before the palace a stake was erected on 
 a pile of wood, on which she was to be burnt. 
 
 When the burghers in the town heard this, pity for Zor- 
 merin was universal. Men, women, and children, and all 
 who were in the city, mourned and wept for her. Salomon, 
 the host, and his wife bewailed her very sorrowfully. Then 
 Lother inquired the reason of the great lamentation. "Alas 
 for us I" said the hostess, " shall we not weep indeed? The 
 king's only child, the lovely Zormerin, is to-day to be burnt." 
 Lother was so horrified that the blood ran cold to his heart. 
 Without taking leave of the host, and without thinking of 
 himself, he ran from the inn to the palace. Before the palace 
 was so great a throng of people that Lother could scarce push 
 through ; they were just leading Zormerin past ; she had no 
 other apparel but a coarse under-garment, as the marshal 
 had commanded. He stood high upon a platform that every 
 one might see him, and after he had begged the people to be 
 silent, he began : " Ye people, we must condemn our lady to 
 suffer death, when I have first asked three times whether any 
 one will fight for her against Herna. If one is found who will 
 stand forth as her champion and be victorious in the combat, 
 then she is free, and he who loses the fight must be hanged ; 
 but if there is no one to be found who will do battle for her 
 against Herna, or if he who fights for her is vanquished, then 
 must she, in judgment and justice, be burnt." Then the 
 marshal demanded the first time if there was any one who 
 would answer for her. Zormerin fell on her knees and wept 
 burning tears ; she looked round at her knights : " You, dear 
 gentlemen, save me from this undeserved punishment of 
 death; I am falsely accused; I am unjustly condemned!" 
 Thus cried she constantly ; but the knights were all silent. 
 Then demanded the marshal the second time, and now Lother 
 had only just succeeded in pressing through the crowd ; he 
 came forth with his long beard and pilgrim's staff. " Hear 
 me, all men," cried he aloud : " permit me to fight for the 
 lady, for I believe her to be traitorously treated. I come 
 from the Holy Sepulchre, and have nothing but what I bear 
 
CH. XX.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 379 
 
 on my body ; but if you will arm me, I will do battle against 
 that knave who stands there ; if he conquers me you shall hang 
 me up on the gallows ; but I trust in God, who defends the 
 innocent, because I know the lady is guiltless of the crime of 
 which she is accused." While he thus spake there arose a 
 murmur among the people : one said to another, " I hope the 
 pilgrim is sent from God to save our young lady." Zormerin 
 said to herself, " Alas ! alas ! shall this pilgrim fight for me, 
 and he is much less than Herna ? Oh God, take me under thy 
 protection ! " She called to her the pilgrim. " Dear brother, 
 fight bravely for me; I swear to thee they do me injustice; 
 I am guiltless of the treachery laid to my charge." " Lady, 
 I fight for you with a willing heart, only take care that I 
 have arms and a good horse." " That you shall not want," 
 said Zormerin, "but first let me kiss the staff which has 
 touched the Holy Sepulchre." 
 
 Lother gave her the staff, but in such a manner that she 
 could not fail to see the ring on his hand, which she well 
 knew, because she herself had formerly placed it on his finger. 
 When she perceived the ring her inmost heart revived ; she 
 looked then at the pilgrim, but could not recognise him on 
 account of the long beard ; then she glanced at his hands, 
 which were white and soft ; by those hands, and by his 
 brown eyes, she at last satisfied her mind that it was Lother. 
 Then said she to the marshal, " I am content with this 
 champion, and I hope God the Lord has sent him to me. If 
 he is conquered and hanged you shall instantly burn me, for 
 I will not even ask to live." Then Herna was obliged again 
 to throw down his gauntlet, which the pilgrim took up. "Art 
 thou noble ? " asked Herna. " No one boasts of himself," 
 answered the pilgrim ; " my sword shall give an answer." 
 
 When the king was informed of what had passed with the 
 pilgrim, he only treated it with derision. Herna went away 
 to arm himself, as the pilgrim insisted that the combat should 
 begin forthwith. The marshal took Lother to his own house, 
 where he gave him good armour ; this the pilgrim knew so 
 well how to put on, and understood every thing so thoroughly, 
 that the marshal wondered greatly. Then Lother mounted a 
 horse, slung his shield over his shoulder, and seized the lance ; 
 then fixing himself firmly in the saddle, he rode hither and 
 thither, looked closely to all the trappings of the horse, and 
 
380 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XX» 
 
 proved him in every way. " My God," thought the marshal, 
 " who ever saw a pilgrim like this ! " " Dear sir marshal," said 
 Lother, as he took leave of him, " now pray to God for me." 
 With this he rode into the square, where he found Herna al- 
 ready waiting for him, and that was no more than proper, for 
 as Herna had thrown the glove so ought he also to be the first 
 in the lists. Lother rode up to Zormerin, and held out to 
 her his hand, which she pressed to her lips with ardent 
 affection. " God will protect thee," thought she in her heart : 
 "in respect of the poison injustice was done me, and there- 
 fore I have faith that thou wilt gain the victory ; but the 
 letter I did indeed write, only I hope that was no such heavy 
 sin." King Orschier from his window saw that the pilgrim 
 sat well on his horse, which caused him great gladness. " If 
 injustice is done to my daughter, God will help her," thought 
 he in his silent heart. The holy relics were brought, on 
 which Lother and Herna took the oath ; then they mounted 
 once more, and withdrew to a distance from each other ; anon 
 they rode together again, and charged both furiously, so that 
 their two horses fell dead under them. Quickly they sprang 
 upon their feet, drew their swords, and struck so mightily 
 at each other that the people thought the pilgrim must have 
 fallen at the first blow, for Herna was a much larger and 
 stronger man. 
 
 Lother bore himself right valiantly, and gave Herna 
 such a blow that the blood flowed down through his armour. 
 "'Knave," cried he, "take care of yourself; such blows I 
 learned to deal at the Holy Sepulchre." Herna was furious 
 at these words, and pressed hard upon Lother. " Holy God," 
 prayed Zormerin fervently, " protect the man I love ; if he 
 is conquered and must die, I wish not to live a day longer ! " 
 Herna dealt such a blow at Lother that it shattered a fourth 
 part of his shield. If the blow had not thus fallen on the 
 shield it must have cut Lother in two. Lother on his side 
 was not wanting, he struck so heavily on Herna's head, 
 that his blade shivered against the helmet ; then did he curse 
 him who had made the sword. 
 
 The people made a loud outcry ; " Alas," said they, " our 
 lady must be burnt ! " King Orschier was grievously trou- 
 bled. " Ah, daughter," sighed he, " must I then curse the hour 
 in which you were born ?" Zormerin fell on her knees and 
 
CH. XX.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 381 
 
 began to pray most piously and fervently, and when she had 
 finished her prayer in great anguish and in deep sorrow of 
 heart, her senses left her, and she fell on the ground in a 
 swoon. 
 
 Both still fought bravely. Herna struck at Lother, and 
 the latter either warded off the blows or covered himself 
 with his shield. At last Herna gave such a powerful blow 
 that his sword stuck in Lother' s shield, so that he could not 
 draw it out again ; when Lother saw this he seized the sword 
 by the point with both hands, Herna pulling on his side by 
 the handle, and Lother on his by the point. At last, when 
 Herna was pulling with all his might, Lother let go so sud- 
 denly, that Herna fell backwards on the ground. Now Lother 
 sprang upon him, and stuck a knife in his body, which came 
 through to his back, but his heart was not pierced, so that 
 he did not die immediately ; but he let his sword fall, and 
 this Lother seized and threw over the barrier. He then ran 
 again to Herna and pulled off his helmet ; from this Herna 
 revived again, and sprang upon his feet ; and now they 
 wrestled with each other, but neither could throw down the 
 other ; at last Lother gave Herna a blow as the latter was 
 looking round for his sword, and recovered again his knife, 
 with which he cut off Herna's ear and a portion of his cheek. 
 " Thou canst not now escape the gallows," cried he, " for 
 whosoever sees thee with one ear will soon know thee to be 
 a thief." " Pilgrim, thou hast treated me very ill," said 
 Herna ; " if thou wilt now freely let thyself be conquered 
 by me I will give you gold and silver in plenty, and besides 
 that many costly gifts." "False villain!" cried Lother, 
 " what a shameful deed dost thou propose to me ! but know, 
 thou knave, that thou hast no pilgrim before thee, but Lother 
 of France, to whom thou broughtest a garment in the 
 dungeon." This terrified Herna so that his heart sunk 
 within him. " Noble sir," began he, " I yield to you ; but 
 before you slay me let me go to King Orschier, that I may 
 confess my treachery, for it was I who prepared the poison 
 for him." Lother sat himself down, for he was weary, and 
 wished to listen to Herna's discourse ; then Herna sat him- 
 self opposite, as if he wished to talk more conveniently 
 with him ; but he seized his knife before Lother was aware, 
 and threw it at him ; the knife, however, pierced only the 
 breast-plate, and happily did not wound Lother, for had it 
 
382 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XX. 
 
 gone deeper the wound must have been mortal. Then 
 Lother sprang up furious and indignant, grasped his knife, 
 and struck so fiercely at Herna with it that it clove his 
 head from the crown to the teeth ; then Herna fell dead, to 
 the great joy of the beautiful Zormerin and her father. All 
 the people, full of joy, shouted, " God the merciful sent us 
 the pilgrim ! Blessed be the hour when he first came hither ! " 
 Lother went straightway to Zormerin, took off his helmet, 
 and kissed her on the lips with his long beard, at which all 
 the people laughed heartily. 
 
 Then Zormerin led him by the hand to her father, and 
 said, — " You see now, my lord and father, how, by the 
 Lombard, violence and injustice have been done me ; I have 
 neither thought to do evil against my father, nor will I ever 
 think it." King Orschier replied, — "I see it now very 
 plainly, dear daughter ; go, take with you the pilgrim, en- 
 tertain him well, give him also rich gifts, and when he goes 
 away I will allow him an honourable attendance as far as he 
 pleases. Lother thanked the king courteously ; then Zor- 
 merin and Synoglar led him into a private chamber ; here 
 he washed himself, so that his natural colour again appeared, 
 and made himself as neat as he could, then went he to Zor- 
 merin in her chamber; she joyfully embraced him, and 
 pressed upon his mouth a hundred thousand kisses. Of their 
 great joy at being together I will forbear to speak, as every 
 one can well imagine it. Zormerin bound up his wounds, of 
 which he had many, and took good care of him. " Dear 
 wife," said Lother, 6 i can you not inform me at all where my 
 trusty comrade Mailer is sojourning?" " No., I have no 
 tidings of him," answered Zormerin ; 66 nothing have I heard 
 since he. here in the hall, declared war against the king 
 my father ; at that time this faithful man had in mind 
 to go to his father, and there to pray for help for you ; and 
 further, neither to take rest nor repose until he had set you 
 free from your captivity." "Ah!" cried Lother, "how can 
 I ever recompense him for his fidelity?" 
 
 Fourteen days had they already been together, when there 
 arrived at last at Constantinople Scheidechin, Mailer's wife, 
 and straightway she came to Zormerin, who was heartily re- 
 joiced to see her again ; Zormerin forthwith sent to fetch her 
 other women, who were tarrying at an inn in the town, and 
 gave permission that they might all come to her. Now that 
 
CH. XXI.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 383 
 
 Scheidechin knew that Mailer, her husband, was still living, 
 and she herself was well tended and nourished by Zormerin, 
 as well with food and drink as with baths and magnificent 
 clothes, she bloomed out again and became as beautiful as 
 before. 
 
 Here we will leave Zormerin and Lother for a little space, 
 and once more take a view of Malier, his faithful comrade. 
 
 THE ONE-AND-TWENT1ETH CHAPTER. 
 
 Maller and his friends had assembled a mighty army, and 
 therewith had invaded Lombardy and ravaged the whole 
 land ; neither churches nor cloisters were spared. When they 
 came to Pavia, a herald was despatched into the town to 
 the burghers, with a command that they should bring out 
 Lother, and also that Otto, their king, should be bound on a 
 horse, hand and foot, and delivered into their hands. For 
 Mailer insisted so strongly that he must hang Otto, that none 
 of his friends could reason him out of it. The citizens an- 
 swered the herald : — " Lother of France has been carried 
 hence to Constantinople, and there he has been reconciled with 
 our King Otto." No sooner had Mailer received this answer 
 from the herald than he became frantic with impatience. He 
 swore to God, King Orschier and Otto should die the bitterest 
 of deaths, if they set not his lord free, for he could not be- 
 lieve in the reconciliation. Therefore permitted he the 
 city to be taken by storm ; and, as history tells us, he left 
 no living soul in Pavia. Men and women, greybeards and 
 children, all were put to the sword, because he hated all 
 Lombards as false traitorous people. After he had gar- 
 risoned the city with twenty thousand of his armed men, he 
 departed with the remainder of the army to Constantinople. 
 So soon as he entered the country of King Orschier, he rav- 
 aged and burnt every part and slew all who opposed him. 
 
 Then ran certain inhabitants to Constantinople, and fell 
 at the king's feet, saying, " Sire, guard your city, for Mailer 
 is approaching with one hundred thousand men, and will 
 besiege you ; he is not more than two miles distant, and 
 wherever he has passed he has burnt and ravaged every- 
 thing, and slain every body." King Orschier was greatly 
 frightened, and said to Otto, " I beg of you, be reconciled 
 
384 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CIL XXI. 
 
 with my daughter, and assist me against Mailer. You may- 
 be certain Lother is with him, and will not fail to creep into 
 the palace to Zormerin ; then we will imprison him, and you 
 can do with him what you please, and afterwards marry my 
 daughter." " Give me your word/' said Otto, " that you will 
 do this, and I will remain here and fight against Mailer." 
 King Orschier had Zormerin summoned to him, and he told 
 her she should be reconciled with Otto and be his wife, be- 
 cause he was going with him to assist him against Mailer. 
 
 Zormerin said, " Gracious lord and father, since it pleases 
 you I will be reconciled with him, although he has acted 
 very ill towards me, and I have been forced to suffer much 
 shame on his account ; but his wife will I never be. You 
 also will not desire it, now you have heard that my lord 
 Lother is living." Then she reconciled herself amicably 
 with Otto, and immediately thereafter hastened away and 
 went again into her own chamber to Lother ; she told him 
 how that Mailer, with a mighty army, was not far from the 
 city, and that he was going to besiege it. Then up sprang 
 Lother, and cried, " I will ride out to him, the true-hearted, 
 who comes to aid me." " Dear lord," began she again, " I 
 entreat you not to destroy my father ; he follows evil coun- 
 sel, but I know for certain he will regret it." " Dear wife, 
 be calm ; no harm shall betide your father, but Otto, the 
 traitor, I will kill, though he is my cousin, for he has com- 
 mitted a great wickedness towards me." When it was 
 night Lother armed himself and put on magnificent armour, 
 and Zormerin gave him a good horse. Then went she forth 
 with him and had the gates opened, for the warden dared 
 not refuse the king's daughter. So Lother rode out, and 
 thanked God with his whole heart when he found himself in 
 the open plain. Zormerin returned weeping to her chamber. 
 
 As the day broke, Lother met many people who were hurry- 
 ing towards the city. " From whom do you flee, dear people ? " 
 asked Lother. " We may well flee," answered they, (C and you 
 will find it necessary likewise ; for there is a great army be- 
 yond, which ravages the whole country, burns and destroys 
 churches and monasteries ; and all who are met with are 
 put to death." Lother was glad when he heard that his 
 comrade Mailer was so near him, and rode on. Then saw 
 he a knight of goodly mien, who had dismounted from his 
 
GH. XXI.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 385 
 
 horse, and by him was a beautiful young maiden, who com- 
 plained and lamented loudly and very grievously ; for he 
 struggled with her, and sought to bend her to his wishes. 
 " Oh, kill me," cried she, weeping ; " take thy sword, strike 
 off my head ; for I would rather die than yield myself to 
 thee." " Dear maiden," quoth the knight, " first you shall 
 submit yourself to my will, and it will be time enough then to 
 strike off your head." Then cried the maiden with a loud 
 voice, " Oh, Mary, mother of God, come to my aid ! help me- 
 to preserve my honour and my life !" Lother, who, behind 
 a bush, had heard all, now issued forth and cried, " False 
 knight, mount thy horse ; thou must fight with me, for I 
 hereby proclaim myself this maiden's knight." The knight 
 no sooner heard these words than he sprang on his horse and 
 couched his lance. It was Dietrich of Carthago, a bastard 
 son of King Ansys ; he had carried off this lady by violence, 
 on account of her beauty, and had killed her father, the king 
 of Spain ; through the consequences of this outrage the whole 
 kingdom of Spain was long time desolated. 
 
 They now fought, and struck so furiously at each other, 
 that both were wounded. This a knight's serving -man, who 
 had ridden thither, saw, and he turned his horse and rode off 
 to Mailer, who was not far behind. " Sir," cried the rider, 
 " come and aid the bastard of Carthago, he is combating 
 with a stranger knight, who is pressing him very sore." 
 Then Mailer blew his horn and spurred his horse into a 
 swift gallop ; after him hastened near ten thousand men. 
 When Mailer came near the spot where the two knights were 
 fighting, he hurried towards them, intending to help Dietrich; 
 but Lother, who knew him by his blazonry, hastily pulled off 
 his helmet, and Mailer recognised him also. Both leapt 
 from their horses, embraced and kissed each other for very 
 joy, and they even wept with gladness that they were again 
 near each other. In the mean time the other leaders of the 
 army were arrived also ; King Galyen, Otger, Mailer's bro- 
 ther, and King Ansys ; they all bade Lother welcome, and 
 were rejoiced to see him. Now came near to them also Die- 
 trich of Carthago, who reconciled himself with Lother, and 
 all were full of joy. Mailer related to his friend all that had 
 happened to him since they saw each other last; so also 
 
 o c 
 
386 LOTHER AND MALLER. [dl. XXI. 
 
 did Lother ; and both determined to besiege Constantinople, 
 and never to rest till they had hanged Otto on the gallows. 
 
 Now they marched on, and besieged the town of Constan- 
 tinople ; King Orschier determined at the same time to fall 
 upon them with a great army before they had reposed 
 after their march. Of this his knights were very glad ; and 
 they led nearly sixteen thousand men against the enemy. 
 Mailer also arrayed his army ; and Lother and King Ansys, 
 King Galyen, Otger, and Dietrich of Carthago led each a 
 host. King Orschier and his Greeks fought bravely against 
 the enemy; but the latter also were not backward in the 
 combat. Otger, Mailer's brother, met in fight Salomon the 
 host, pulled off his helmet, and would have killed him ; but 
 Mailer saw it and said, " My brother, spare him ; he is my 
 good friend." ci Yield ye to me," cried he to him. Then 
 Salomon the host gave up his sword, and he was led into 
 Mailer's tent. It was a great fight, in which every one staked 
 his life. Mailer pressed on until he perceived King Orschier. 
 " Thou most foolish king," cried he, " now thine hour is 
 come ; thou hast already lived too long." With these words 
 he thrust at him with his* spear, and threw him out of the 
 saddle ; so that he fell underneath the horse. Mailer seized 
 him and pulled off his helmet. Now Otto had sworn to the 
 king by all the saints that he would not forsake him ; but 
 when he saw him lying there on the ground, he would not 
 have taken all King Solomon's treasures to oppose Mailer. 
 The latter then drew his sword, and was going to strike off 
 Orschier's head, when Lother hastened thither and seized 
 his arm. " Dear Mailer, do not kill the king ; give him up 
 to me." Mailer did it unwillingly, yet he respected Lother's 
 word, and let go the king. " Noble sire," said Lother, " you 
 see now what Otto's kingdom helps you ; you have betrayed 
 yourself." Then he sent him into his tent, and commanded 
 that he should be guarded. 
 
 Otto looked this side and that side, and would willingly 
 have been far away ; but he could not quit the field for the 
 people. Mailer advanced still further in the fight, till at last 
 he caught sight of Otto, and was opening himself a way in 
 order to reach him. This Otto became aware off, and begged 
 a Lombard knight to change armours with him. a I will well 
 reward you for it, dear knight," said he ; " for I would not 
 
CH. XXI.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 387 
 
 wait for Maller for all the wealth in the world." The knight 
 was the boldest and most valiant of the Lombards ; he in- 
 stantly changed armour with Otto, and the latter then hurried 
 out of the fight into the city. Mailer had now reached the 
 Lombard knight, and gave him so fierce a blow, that he fell dead 
 from his horse. Now Mailer fancied it was Otto, and dragged 
 him into his tent, in order to give him over to Lother. The 
 people also fancied Otto was slain, and made a retreat. 
 Mailer, when he was arrived in his tent, pulled off the dead 
 man's helmet ; but when he saw that it was not Otto, he was 
 sore vexed. " A moie cowardly wretch," said Lother, u than 
 that red-head lives not on earth." 
 
 Now Lother summoned King Orschier and said, " Noble 
 king, I will do you no injury ; I know well that my cousin 
 Otto counselled you to act thus foolishly. You are a man of 
 sense; reflect that I, by the priest before the altar, was 
 given to your daughter as her wedded husband. You know 
 that no marriage can be severed, unless death dissolve it, and 
 I swore fidelity to her at the altar by the God who suffered 
 death for us. Whatever therefore may happen, and whatever 
 you may do to me, I will never act ill towards you, and will 
 always hold you in honour as my father-in-law." King 
 Orschier, when he heard Lother so speak, fell down before 
 him, embraced his knees, and wished to beg his forgiveness ; 
 but Lother would not suffer it ; he was too generous and 
 virtuous. 66 If it please you," said Orschier, " I will now 
 ride into Constantinople, and to-morrow I will have the gate 
 opened for you, and give up Otto into your hands." "Do so, 
 in God's name, sir king," said Lother. " Ah ! that shall he 
 not," interposed Mailer ; " I will not let him depart until he 
 has sworn on my hand what he promises to you ; for one 
 who has so often lied as he has may not lightly be trusted." 
 
 Then Orschier vowed with a loud voice, and before all pre- 
 sent, by the honour of his knightly word, that he would open 
 the gates of Constantinople, and give Otto up to them. So 
 Mailer suffered him to depart, and Lother attended him ; 
 and while they both rode together, Lother related to him, how 
 he was the pilgrim who had slain Herna and saved his 
 daughter. Then King Orschier wept when he heard that 
 tale, and blessed Lother for his truth and his heroism. 
 
 As soon as King Orschier was come to Constantinople 
 
 c c 2 
 
388 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XXI. 
 
 into his palace, he sent a troop of men-at-arms to seek 
 Otto, and to take him prisoner. They found the red-haired 
 hidden in a chamber, where he lay and slept. He was 
 bound, and led before the king* u What means this, then ? " 
 asked he. " Yesterday, miserable knave, thou didst forsake 
 me," said the king, "when thou sawest me in most dire 
 necessity ; and now by the God who made us, I will deliver 
 thee up to thy cousin Lother, and to Mailer his comrade." 
 Now Otto was horribly frightened, and shrieked and cried, 
 but it availed him not ; he was bound fast, hand and foot, to 
 a pillar. 
 
 Then the king had the gates opened wide and let Lother 
 and his army enter. Zormerin ran to meet Lother, and 
 Scheidechin her husband, Mailer : they embraced each other 
 with love and great delight. " Mailer," began Scheidechin, " I 
 already began to believe you would marry another maiden." 
 " Dear wife/' answered Mailer, " and if I had married a hun- 
 dred, thou would'st have been, as you still are, the lady and 
 mistress. But rest tranquil, I have well taken care of myself, 
 and always remained true to you/' They now advanced 
 with great joy, and with the sound of pipes and cymbals, 
 and music of every kind towards the palace, so that it was a 
 wonder to hear them. " Dear husband," said Zormerin, " I 
 wish now to be avenged on that wicked knave Otto : but I 
 well know that you will never do that yourself, therefore 
 I beg you summon your friend Mailer ; for I swear to God I 
 will neither eat nor drink till Otto is no longer among the 
 living." Lother called his comrade Mailer and said, "I 
 pray thee, strike off Otto's head, for I will at no price lay my 
 hands on him." " Sir," answered Maller, " I only want, firsts 
 permission from you ; for the rest, let me care." Therewith 
 Mailer unbound the prisoner from the pillar, and led him by 
 one arm down the stairs. Otto looked as if he were already 
 dead. He was taken out to the gallows and hanged. 
 
 They lived now all in great joy together. Lother and 
 Zormerin, Mailer and Scheidechin, were the happiest mar- 
 ried couples one could see ; the maiden Synoglar also mar- 
 ried Dietrich the Bastard of Carthago. Soon thereafter 
 King Galyen and his son Otger, King Ansys and the rest 
 of the nobles, took leave of the court of Constantinople, and 
 each returned to his own country. 
 
CH. XXII.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 389 
 
 THE TWO-AND- TWENTIETH CHAPTER. 
 
 The citizens of Constantinople, and aii Greece, chose Lother of 
 France for their king ; for King Orschier was now an old man 
 and might no longer reign. When that Lother was crowned 
 king and emperor of Greece, and there was in consequence 
 thereof great feasting and banqueting, there came a mes- 
 senger, an ambassador, before him, who kneeled down and 
 said, " God, to whom all things are known, may he take the 
 emperor and all his host, to-day and all future days, under 
 his protection !" " God save you, worthy messenger," said the 
 emperor ; " say on : what bringest thou to us ?" " Sire, I am 
 sent to you by the pious Bonifacius, our spiritual father. He 
 implores you, through me, that you will come to his assist- 
 ance. Fourteen heathen kings have besieged Rome ; among 
 them are the soldan of Babylon and the king of Morocco, 
 who with all his people are so black that they look like 
 hellish devils. They have thirty thousand armed men, and 
 the black devils especially arc so numerous that they possess 
 the entire plain, and ravage the whole Roman land. Where- 
 fore our spiritual father begs you not to forsake him in his 
 extremity, as all Christendom is concerned in this matter." 
 
 " Honoured ambassador, has not the holy father sent also 
 to my brother Ludwig, king of France, and summoned him 
 to his assistance ?" " Sire, I believe he has also sent to him, 
 but I know not whether he will come ; for people say, 
 generally, that he lets himself be guided by evil counsellors, 
 and does according to their advice." Then Lother dismissed 
 the ambassador with this answer, "that he would in a short 
 time with his whole force hasten to the assistance of the 
 holy father." Mailer entreated that he also might go with 
 him, for he desired greatly to fight once more against the 
 infidels. " I quit you not again, sire, till death itself shall 
 part us." "For that may God be praised and thanked/ 
 said Lother ; " blessed is the hour in which you became my 
 comrade." Lother then wrote letters to all his princes and 
 counts, as far as his dominion extended, and summoned them 
 and all their armed men ; and in a short time they had all 
 assembled at Constantinople. Then Lother took leave of 
 his wife : she wept bitterly when he departed, and never 
 
 c c 3 
 
390 
 
 LOTHER AND MAXLER, 
 
 [ch. xxn. 
 
 more was she to behold him. Maller also bade farewell to his 
 faithful Scheidechin : the parting was most bitter and very 
 sorrowful to the two couples, for they loved each other to 
 their very hearts. 
 
 Lother and his army embarked, and sailed with a favour- 
 able wind to Italy; there they landed, and moved on towards 
 Home. Previous to this, Lother had said to Maller, " I will 
 complain to the pope of my brother Ludwig, that he shares 
 not his kingdom with me, and that he refused to help me 
 out of my captivity at Pavia. If the pope assists me not to ob- 
 tain my rights, I will do myself justice with an armed hand." 
 
 When they arrived before Rome, they found the infidels 
 just then engaged in a severe contest with the Christians. 
 " If I hear aright," said Lother, " I recognise the cry of 
 Montjoye, the French war-cry : quick, dear Mailer, let us 
 thither, for I cannot permit the French to win the day 
 alone." They rushed onwards now, in dense masses, and 
 attacking the heathens in the rear, thereby threw the enemy 
 into very great confusion. History relates, that had it not 
 been for Lother and Mailer, the French would that day have 
 been all put to the sword. Lother saw a troop of infidels who 
 were fighting very obstinately, and heard also the French 
 war-cry of Montjoye. Then he hastened forwards to where 
 the crowd was thickest, and there he saw his brother Ludwig 
 surrounded by infidels, fighting on foot ; his horse had been 
 killed, and himself sore wounded. Lother knew him imme- 
 diately by his arms. When he saw him in such distress, he 
 forgot his displeasure against him, and struck around him at 
 the heathens with such strength and courage, that there was 
 soon a clear space around Ludwig, for the infidels fled before 
 Lother like devils from holy -water. And in truth he was as 
 noble as he was a valiant knight ; he struck him who carried 
 the heathen banner, and severed his arm from his shoulder, 
 so that the arm with the banner together fell to the ground ; 
 he then seized the horse of this same heathen, and led it to 
 the king. Ludwig mounted, and looked hard at Lother ; he 
 observed that he had the Greek and French arms quartered 
 on his shield. The Greek arms were a griffin, half of gold 
 and half of silver ; and furthermore there was a stool, — this 
 stool denoted justice. " Dear friend," began Ludwig, " what 
 is your name ? I ought in justice to ask it, because you have 
 
CH. XXII.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 391 
 
 saved me from death ; besides which, I see the lilies of 
 France upon your shield, as well as the Greek griffin, which 
 much excites my wonder." " I will not reveal to you my 
 name," said Lother ; " a griffin I bear because I am emperor 
 of the Greeks ; and I have the lilies also, because I am a 
 son of King Charles of France." Then Ludwig was greatly 
 amazed. " Oh ! dear brother," cried he, " I implore your 
 mercy, for I have acted adversely towards you, I acknow- 
 ledge ; and I will make atonement according to your will 
 and pleasure. You have shown me much love, for which 1 
 thank you ; but I have not deserved it at your hands." At 
 this appeal, Lother's heart was moved. " Brother," said he, 
 " I forgive whatever you have done against me, although 
 you have made a very unfair division of the paternal in- 
 heritance ; you have obtained not only France, but besides 
 that, the empire of Rome. Let us now agree to lay our cause 
 before the pope at Rome, and he will impartially arbitrate 
 between us, and make a just partition." "It shall be as you 
 desire," said King Ludwig. 
 
 Now again they rode into the fight, and smote bravely all 
 the infidels who came near them. Mailer also, that same 
 day, did many noble deeds, and slew many heathen men of 
 might. The pope stood on the walls, and prayed incessantly 
 to God to protect the Christians and give them the victory. 
 "When night came on, the chiefs assembled and took counsel 
 together, what they should do ; then Mailer gave them this 
 advice, that they should make a truce with the heathens, in 
 order that they might bury their dead, who were already 
 become so putrid that a pestilence might perchance arise in 
 the land. The whole council approved this advice ; and 
 sent forthwith a herald to the pagan camp, to demand a 
 truce of fourteen days, which the infidels agreed to. Then 
 the Christian army returned to Rome, where they were 
 received by the pope with the greatest honours ; he went 
 himself to meet them, and gave them his holy benediction. 
 Then said he to King Ludwig, " Welcome in God's name, 
 my son ; in this strait I required you very much." Then 
 he advanced and spoke to Lother. "Welcome in God's 
 name, my dear son ; I have already heard of thy great deeds. 
 You are the sword and buckler of all Christendom and of 
 justice. You are very like your father; and although he 
 
 C c 4 
 
392 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XXI11. 
 
 banished you for seven years long, that is now passed, and it 
 should no longer be to your injury ; you and your brother must 
 share your paternal inheritance." " Holy father," said King 
 Ludwig, " we have both agreed to refer the case to your arbi- 
 tration : if I have been guilty towards my brother, I will make 
 amends to him and pray his forgiveness for every injury." 
 
 "Well said, dear son," answered the pope. Now they 
 all went together into the papal palace, and sat down to 
 table, where they were excellently served. 
 
 When the truce was ended, the Christians again marched 
 out against the heathens. Of that day and the horrible 
 slaughter, when many thousand Christians, and a far greater 
 number of the pagans, lost their lives, it would be too much 
 to speak. 
 
 Before the Christians marched out of Rome to the battle- 
 field, they heard mass with the greatest devotion ; this the 
 pope himself performed. The people had presented also rich 
 offerings. The pope gave them his benediction, and excited 
 their devotion with the sight of the holy relics. The vie- • 
 tory was theirs ; and those infidels who saved not themselves 
 by flight were all slain. Now they all again entered Rome, 
 where the pope received them with still increased honour 
 and rejoicing. The Christian dead were all buried in con- 
 secrated ground ; but the bodies of the infidels were exposed 
 to the birds and beasts of prey, 
 
 " God will comfort all Christian souls, 
 But the devil will roast the heathen.*' 
 
 THE THREE-AND-TWENTIETH CHAPTER. 
 
 Fourteen days had Lother and the others been together 
 at Rome, when a messenger arrived bringing a letter to the 
 Emperor. Lother gave the letter to his secretary, that he 
 might read it ; but as the latter, having opened it, began 
 to read, he wept very bitterly. " What is the matter se- 
 cretary ? wherefore do you weep ?" " Sire," said the secre- 
 tary, 6 ' King Orschier informs you that your wife, the Lady 
 Zormerin, is dead; she died in giving birth to a child, 
 which they also fear greatly will not live." Then Lother, 
 from horror, fell in a swoon on the ground, and remained 
 
OH. XXIII.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 393 
 
 thus so long that people thought he too was dead. When 
 he at length came to himself, he tore his hair, and was over- 
 whelmed with grief for the loss of his beautiful consort. 
 King Ludwig hurried thither, and sought to console him ; 
 but Lother heeded not the words that any one spoke to him. 
 a Alas! my beautiful, faithful Zormerin !" cried he conti- 
 nually ; " ah ! my beloved wife, never can I forget thee and 
 the great love that thou didst bare to me ! Ah, death ! where- 
 fore hast thou separated us ? wherefore hast thou taken from 
 the world the most beautiful and the most gracious, the 
 most pious and virtuous woman that ever entered it ? Ah, 
 death ! me ! ! me should'st thou have taken much rather 
 than her!" "You should resign yourself to God," said 
 King Ludwig ; for, as God wills, so must it come to pass." 
 " Ah, brother !" continued Lother, "I was born to misfor- 
 tune : now have I lost her whom alone I loved. Oh, earth ! 
 open and swallow me up in thine abyss ! " And again he tore 
 his hair and wrung his hands. No man had ever so hard a 
 heart, but had he seen that agony and heard Lother's lament, 
 he would have pitied him. Two days and two nights he la- 
 mented, so that no one dared to offer consolation to him; 
 but on the third day he became more calm. No grief is so 
 great but one must at last forget it ; this we can show daily 
 in the world, both in men and even in tender-hearted women. 
 
 The pope sent word to the two brothers, Lother and 
 Ludwig, and the other princes, that they should all assemble 
 together in his presence. " Dear princes," the pope began to 
 say in the assembly, "you are both sons of the emperor 
 Charles of France. The French have elected Ludwig as 
 their lord and king ; but Lother has not, of all his paternal 
 inheritance, a spur's worth ; yet is he the emperor Charles's 
 legitimate son, and no bastard, nor do we hold him so to be. 
 Now, dear lords and friends, what think you of the following ? 
 I beseech you give me your opinion. It seems to me a just 
 apportionment that Ludwig should remain king in France, and 
 Lother be emperor of Rome." " Holy father," began King 
 Ludwig, " your counsel appears to me to be good, and I will 
 follow it." Thus the pope thought to unite the two brothers ; 
 but through this union in the sequel more than twice a hun- 
 dred thousand men were slain. There were many wicked and 
 malicious men among the counsellors of King Ludwig, who 
 
394 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [ch. xxni. 
 
 still remained of Lotlier's old enemies; these were much 
 alarmed that Ludwig should have proved so submissive to 
 the pope, and that he had so freely given up the empire to 
 Lother, and hence arose great misfortunes, and the most 
 bloody war that ever was waged. 
 
 Lother was elevated on the papal throne, and the imperial 
 crown placed on his head, and in the one hand the sword, and 
 in the other the imperial globe. Great honour had arrived 
 to Lother, for thus he was crowned Koman emperor with 
 much festivity and great pomp ; but he was not pleased 
 therewith, and when every other man's heart was gay his 
 was not so, on account of his wife, who was never absent 
 from his mind night or day, and whom he deeply mourned 
 in his heart. 
 
 Shortly afterwards King Ludwig took leave of the pope 
 on his return to France. He also went to Mailer to bid him 
 farewell, for Mailer then lay ill in bed from his wounds. He 
 had received in the last battle no less than thirty wounds, 
 which were mortally dangerous. At last came King Ludwig 
 to his brother the emperor, to take leave of him. He em- 
 braced and kissed him very affectionately, and said, " Dear 
 brother, you have asked my advice, and I pray of you now 
 earnestly to follow it ; take no other wife." " My brother," 
 answered Lother, " that would I not do for many a ton of 
 gold — and had you asked my opinion before you married 
 your wife, neither should I probably have advised you 
 thereto." To this King Ludwig replied not, but he took 
 leave and rode away back again to France. 
 
 Now spoke those false traitors, Lother's enemies, to Lud- 
 wig. " Oh sire, how unwisely have you acted in thus sepa- 
 rating the empire from the French crown. You have 
 deprived it of its greatest glory, and you cannot henceforth 
 ever hope to enjoy the friendship and confidence of your 
 brother, and your inheritance will suffer from it for centuries. 
 The empire will now elevate itself far above the French 
 crown, and the latter will never more be able to shake itself 
 free. Never did a king bargain so injuriously; children 
 who are yet unborn will curse your soul for it." 
 
 Such language these traitors held so often towards the 
 king, and he was compelled to listen to so much from the same 
 quarter, that he at last began in his heart to hate his brother. 
 
CH. XXIV. J 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 39o 
 
 As they were now counselling him to betray Lother, and make 
 war upon him, thus spoke Ludwig : " You are my confiden- 
 tial counsellors and trusty friends, but speak no more on this 
 subject; I will listen to it no longer: advise me no further 
 concerning it; for I will never consent thereto." The traitors 
 were ill-content with this decision : they would willingly have 
 done Lother any injury ; for they could not forget that he 
 had formerly been found with their wives and daughters. 
 
 To the king they spoke no more at that time ; but they 
 determined among themselves to get on their side the king's 
 wife Blanchefleur, and thus bring the king, her husband, to 
 yield his consent. When a woman has a husband who loves 
 her from his heart, she leads him whereto she will ; and the 
 wiser the man is, the greater folly she can persuade him to. 
 
 THE FOUR-AND-TWENTIETH CHAPTER. 
 
 After Ludwig had journeyed from Rome, there came 
 a message to Lother that his son was living, fresh and 
 healthy ; he had from his birth the mark of two red crosses ; 
 and furthermore his right arm, which should wield the 
 sword, was quite red like blood, but the other arm was 
 white. This message made Lother glad; and he said to 
 Mailer, " Dear comrade, I must journey to Constantinople 
 to see my son. In the mean time have yourself well cared 
 for by the physician, that you may recover." " Dear sir," 
 said Maller, " I beg you to bring my wife Scheidechin hither 
 to me." 44 That shall be done," said Lother : with that he 
 rode forth, embarked on board a ship, and arrived without 
 adventure at Constantinople. 
 
 When King Orschier and Lother saw each other, they 
 both began weeping bitterly ; and the grief of both for the 
 beautiful Zormerin was again renewed. The nurse brought 
 Lother his infant son : then his tears flowed abundantly over 
 the child. " Marphone, thou dear son," said he, " the most 
 beautiful, the best, and truest woman on this earth died for 
 your sake." " By my truth," cried King Orschier, " he shall 
 keep the name, for Marphone signifies in our language, 6 Alas 
 that thou wert born V " Lother tarried twenty months at Con- 
 stantinople, after which he took leave of his father-in-law, 
 intending to travel again to Rome. At his departure King 
 
396 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XXIV. 
 
 Orschier promised him that he would keep Marphone under 
 his care at Constantinople, and give him the Greek empire ; 
 but advised that Lother should again take a wife, in order to 
 have an heir to the Roman empire. " I am willing to obey 
 jour wishes," answered Lother, " but never shall I love wife 
 as I have loved the faithful Zormerin." Marphone remained 
 in Constantinople, and became handsome and tall ; but Lother 
 departed with Scheidechin, Mailer's wife, to Rome. Here they 
 found Mailer completely recovered ; and the joy he had in 
 seeing Scheidechin again was very great. 
 
 Lother now lived for four years in Rome, and during that 
 time marched an expedition against the infidels, to whom he 
 occasioned great injury. But he could not yet find resolu- 
 tion to take a wife, for Zormerin lived ever in his heart. 
 
 In the mean while the traitors had not on their part been 
 idle ; they had persuaded Blanchefleur, the queen of France, 
 that she ought to talk over her husband ; and, at last, after 
 many repulses, he gave her his consent to the war. Lother 
 likewise assembled a mighty host, and many nobles and 
 princes came to aid him ; Marphone, also, Lother's son, who in 
 the mean time had become a great and powerful knight, and 
 after King Orschier's death, emperor of Greece, arrived to his 
 father's assistance with a mighty army. Mailer and his men 
 also failed him not. Then commenced the bloodiest war, in 
 which Christians fought against Christians, of which one has 
 ever heard. For many years this war lasted, and therein 
 many lands were ravaged, churches and monasteries burned, 
 and more than six hundred thousand men lost their lives, till 
 their blood dyed crimson all the rivers and streams in the 
 land. At last Lother, in the benevolence of his heart, be- 
 came reconciled to Ludwig, but not till after his traitor 
 counsellors were all either dead or imprisoned. 
 
 Then Marphone took leave of his father, and returned 
 with his army to Constantinople. Mailer received tidings 
 that his beloved wife Scheidechin was dead ; then grieved 
 he deeply for her and wept outright, nor could he ever be 
 gay again from that moment ; and thence also he knew how 
 unhappy his lord and comrade Lother must be to his life's end. 
 It occurred to him in his mind that he might as well see his 
 father and mother once more ; so he bade farewell to the 
 Emperor Lother, and rode to Montsysson. But he had first 
 
CH. XXIV.] 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 397 
 
 been obliged to promise Lother to return again to Rome, 
 and not to be long absent. At Montsysson he found his 
 father and mother, as well as his brother, King Ansys, and 
 his sons, and the wild Bastard Dietrich of Carthago. They 
 all rejoiced greatly to see Mailer again, but he could no 
 longer enjoy happiness. When he had barely spent four 
 weeks with them, he declared his intention of returning 
 forthwith to Rome, to the Emperor Lother. He therefore 
 took leave of all his friends, kissed his mother with tearful 
 eyes, and rode away. When he came near to the city, his 
 heart became so oppressed with grief, and he was so troubled 
 on account of all the Christian blood he had shed, that he 
 was obliged to dismount from his horse and sit down. Here 
 he imagined a voice from heaven called to him, and said 
 that he should become a hermit, lead an ascetic life, and 
 expiate his sins in prayer and solitude. Then he let his 
 horse loose, went far into the forest, where no man's foot 
 ever came, and here he lived as a hermit, slept on the bare 
 ground, bore the armour on his naked body, without once 
 taking it off by night or day, eat wild roots, which he 
 grubbed up himself, drank water, and mortified his body 
 continually. 
 
 The Emperor Lother was at Rome, and marvelled much 
 that Mailer, his comrade, returned not; and as so long a 
 time had already elapsed, Lother himself set forth with a few 
 followers, and went towards Montsysson to seek him. But 
 no one there had any knowledge of what had become of him ; 
 they had all imagined he must be in Rome, and their fear 
 was great, when they learnt from Lother that he had never 
 arrived there. Lother and the others sought for him 
 throughout the whole country, but nowhere could he be 
 found. Then Rosamunde, Mailer's mother, laid herself down 
 and died for great grief of her son. Lother returned again 
 to Rome. Three years passed away, and no one had yet 
 heard any tidings of Mailer. Then Lother fell ill, and nearly 
 died also of grief ; he mourned and wept incessantly ; and 
 as often as any one spoke of Mailer, or mentioned his name, 
 he began anew to weep. At length he became so ill, that he 
 was obliged to keep to his bed ; he was also very weak in his 
 mind; and the physician admonished him that he must 
 cease to encourage this great grief. 
 
398 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLER. 
 
 [CH. XXIV. 
 
 Lother, therefore, commanded throughout his whole king- 
 dom that no one should speak of Mailer, nor even mention 
 his name, and that whoever transgressed this order should 
 die. Thus was Mailer soon forgotten, and his name never 
 more thought of. After three years, it was exactly the time 
 when people exhibited St. Veronica in Rome ; this saint was 
 shown once in every hundred years. Now Mailer thought 
 that he also would go thither to see St. Veronica. He 
 journeyed then to Rome ; his beard was long, and his counte- 
 nance pale and without colour or animation, for during three 
 years he had taken no animal food, and had scarcely sustained 
 the life within him. He arrived clad like a pilgrim, so that 
 none of his friends could have recognised him, and he went 
 immediately to the church of St. Peter, where he watched 
 Lother, his comrade, enter and depart every day before him. 
 One Sunday Mailer sought the palace where Lother resided, 
 and when the latter saw him he trembled all over, for it 
 brought to his mind that Mailer had once told him he would 
 yet some day be a pilgrim. " Ah, Mailer," sighed the em- 
 peror to himself, " if I but knew where to find thee, from one 
 end of the world to the other would I go to seek for you." 
 Mailer, not having heard of the emperor's prohibition that his 
 name should never be uttered in his presence, approached 
 him, and begged an " alms for God's sake, and also for the 
 sake of your faithful comrade Mailer, whom you loved so 
 dearly." At the sound of this name the emperor lost all con- 
 trol of himself, his heart became hardened, and he clutched 
 his knife, which he cast at the pilgrim, so that it entered 
 deep into his body. " Alas ! Lother, I am Mailer your com- 
 rade, whom thou hast killed. Come here to me ; kiss me, that 
 I may show my forgiveness of the deed." 
 
 Then Lother sprang down, took the pilgrim in his arms, 
 and scrutinised him from head to foot ; having at last re- 
 cognised his comrade, he fell down beside him in a swoon. 
 When he again came to himself and remembered his misery, 
 he cried aloud for great grief, cursed himself and the hour 
 in which he was born, and would have put an end to his 
 own life, had not Mailer collected all his remaining strength 
 and prevented him. " Sire," said he, " multiply not your 
 sins, but think of God ; shriek not out so loud that I am 
 Mailer, whom you have killed ; for should my father and 
 
CH. XXIV. J 
 
 LOTHER AND MALLEE. 
 
 399 
 
 brother hear of it, they would wish to avenge on you my 
 death, which God forbid ! God and his dear mother forgive 
 you, as I forgive you with my whole heart." When he had 
 said this, he gave to Lother one last smile of affection, and 
 fell back dead in his arms. His soul had been so full of faith- 
 ful love, and he had been called to so expiatory a life, that 
 certainly heavenly bliss is now his portion. His body was 
 buried by the knights in holy ground. After that, Lother 
 fell into such a severe sickness, that people thought he could 
 no longer live. At length he was so far recovered that he 
 could again go out ; but he never more spoke word to any 
 man, and was plunged into the deepest grief, whence no one 
 could arouse him. 
 
 On a certain day he had ridden out alone, and would take 
 none of his attendants with him. They waited in vain for 
 his return ; he never came again to Rome. As his son Mar- 
 phone was passing through the Calabrian forest, he found 
 him as a hermit, in a cell, in the midst of the forest, and 
 there he soon afterwards died in his son's arms. 
 
 Thus endeth the book of Lother and Mailer, the two 
 faithful friends. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 SCHLOSS KARLSTEIN, NEAR PRAGUE. 
 
 1808. 
 
 Schloss Karlstein, or, as it is called in English, " Castle 
 Karlstein," is situated in a lovely spot, at the distance of a 
 few hours' journey only from the ancient capital of Bohemia. 
 Its heavy towers rise from the deep bosom of woods and 
 forests, and the mountain on which it stands is girt round 
 by other verdant hills and wooded heights. The castle was 
 erected by Charles, the fourth emperor of that name, — a sove- 
 reign, who, while acting towards the empire generally in the 
 spirit of a step-father, was to his Bohemians a loving 
 parent, a gracious and beneficent sovereign, and whose me- 
 mory yet lives in the traditions of Bohemia, associated with 
 spirit-stirring recollections of a golden era, — a happy, yet 
 at the same time glorious period of their national existence. 
 
 The castle, though still entire, has undergone little alter- 
 ation from repairs or renovations, and therefore transports 
 us the more completely, in its present half-ruined condition, 
 to those by-gone days when it was first erected, unrolling be- 
 fore us a rich stream of historical recollections, — memories of 
 its founder Charles, — of the period of the Hussites, — and the 
 many secret deeds of fearful justice or cruel revenge, which 
 have been enacted within its walls ; while at the same time 
 it speaks to us of the piety of that departed time, the beau- 
 tiful regulations of its ecclesiastical government, and the 
 glorious dawn of art, then breaking in those northern lands. 
 
 Schloss Karlstein, besides its numerous other remarkable 
 
1808.] 
 
 SCHLOSS KARLSTEiN. 
 
 401 
 
 antiquities, contains treasures which will prove of incompar- 
 able value in illustrating the earliest history of painting. The 
 venerable specimens of that art here existing link themselves 
 on the one hand with the old German school, and on the other 
 with the earliest symbolism of the Greek Christian style. 
 
 One of the two masters, chiefly employed in decorating 
 the chapel, was of German extraction — Wurmser of Stras- 
 bourg ; the other, Theodoric of Prague, had completely 
 adopted the style prevalent in the first epoch of painting, 
 and which we are accustomed to designate the Byzantine or 
 modern Greek. 
 
 The paintings of Wurmser, on the walls of the chapel of 
 St. Mary, are greatly injured and defaced. Those of Theo- 
 doric of Prague, in the church of the Holy Gross, in the 
 great tower of the castle, are generally in excellent preserv- 
 ation ; and in the vaulted ceilings of the windows I re- 
 marked a few by Wurmser, much less damaged than those in 
 the chapel of St. Mary, — a picture of the " Annunciation," 
 for instance, and one of the " Adoration of the Three 
 Kings." Another painting, representing the Apocalyptic 
 Lamb with seven horns, with the seven Electors kneeling 
 round in pious adoration, is also ascribed to that artist. 
 
 The pictures of saints, by Theodoric of Prague, appear 
 unquestionably the most fascinating to the eye, and they are 
 besides of higher importance in the history of the arc. They 
 number about one hundred and twenty, all repeating the By- 
 zantine type *, and are half-lengths rather larger than life. I 
 was particularly struck with the latter circumstance, as most 
 early pictures after that type which I have seen, either at 
 Cologne, Paris, or in the Netherlands, have been rather at 
 under the natural size of life. 
 
 Theodoric's pictures are painted in general on a flowered 
 
 * In the representations of Byzantine art, the particular knowledge of 
 nature, — that is, of the human form, — is entirely wanting ; this is apparent 
 in the drawing of the naked figure, and in the folds of the drapery, which 
 succeed each other in stiff lines, sharp and powerful, following no law of 
 form. The heads do not want character ; but the expression is not 
 merely defective — they have in common something of a spectral rigidity, 
 indicating, in its type-like sameness, a dull servile constraint. The figures 
 are long and meagre ; the execution generally distinguished by extreme 
 finish, though not by any particular harmony of colour. The grounds 
 
 are entirely gilt Kugler's Handbook, pages 22, 23. 
 
 D D 
 
402 
 
 SCHLOSS KARLSTEIN". 
 
 [1808. 
 
 gold ground ; the draperies sometimes of one colour only, 
 in general either blue or red, and sometimes strewed with 
 stars and golden flowers. The effect produced by the inte- 
 rior of the chapel, in other days when all the tints were fresh, 
 must, from the external brilliancy of the colours employed, 
 have been magnificent and almost dazzling. The panelled 
 walls and the vaulted roof gleam on every side with gilding 
 and gorgeous colouring, and are decorated, below the paint- 
 ings, with gold, precious stones, and symbolical emblems and 
 ornaments, among which the square German cross is con- 
 stantly introduced.* Many of the heads in Theodoric s paint- 
 ings are of great beauty : all highly expressive, and soft and 
 delicate in colouring, as is well known to be generally the 
 case with these earliest paintings : the features noble, and 
 profoundly imagined, and the finishing touched with so happy 
 and skilful a hand, that modern artists might well envy its 
 success. 
 
 The artists of the Byzantine school often attain a peculiar 
 excellence in these points, even when deficient in many 
 others ; as for instance, when any figures are introduced in 
 artistic and difficult attitudes, their attempts at designing 
 them are usually unsuccessful, and the figures are ill-pro- 
 portioned and badly drawn. In Theodoric's pictures of 
 saints, which are generally half-lengths only, and in simple 
 attitudes, the skilful draughtsman will detect fewer faults of 
 this nature ; and, compared with other pictures of the same 
 date, they deserve, in my opinion, to rank among the best of 
 that style. I particularly noticed a head of St. Ludmilla, 
 which was remarkably beautiful ; she is represented with a 
 handkerchief round her throat, and her hands folded in 
 prayer. St. Sigmund (Sigismund) may be cited as an ex- 
 
 * The church of the Holy Cross in the great tower of the castle de- 
 serves especial notice. The lower part of the walls is inlaid with rough 
 amethysts, chrysolites, onyxes, and other precious stones. The upper 
 part is covered with panelling, divided into a number of square compart- 
 ments, which contain half- figures of holy persons, 130 in number, painted 
 by Theodoric of Prague. On the walls are several scenes from Scrip- 
 ture, ascribed to Wurmser and Kunze. The paintings in the lower 
 church of the Assumption of the Virgin are also attributed to these 
 artists. They represent the Emperor Charles IV. giving the cross to 
 his son ; Wenceslaus bestowing a ring on Sigismund, and again kneeling 
 absorbed in his devotions. — Kugler's Handbook, pages 38, 39. 
 
1808.] 
 
 SCHLOSS KARL STEIN. 
 
 403 
 
 ample of a finely treated head of an old man, and St. Vitus 
 of that of a young one ; besides these, we may mention St. 
 John the Evangelist ; and below the apostle, J acob ; the 
 latter, however, has been greatly injured. Above, near 
 the peep window, we see St. Hieronymus, and also a holy 
 hermit, bearing a pilgrim's staff. Many of the figures repre- 
 sented carry books in their hands. St. Elizabeth, St. Barbara, 
 and, indeed, all of these saints, struck me as peculiarly 
 beautiful. The picture of St. Thomas, in the university of 
 Prague, may give the lover of art a partial notion at least of 
 these paintings ; but it is impossible to form a correct idea 
 of their effect, without having seen a number of them toge- 
 ther ; and although, in so large a collection, the similarity of 
 the treatment has something formal and monotonous, still 
 the individual heads are almost invariably good, and lofty in 
 conception and execution. 
 
 Above the altar is an " Ecce Homo," painted, if I am not 
 mistaken, by Thomas of Mutina*, but greatly mutilated, and 
 wanting the head. The decoration of the whole interior of 
 the church, the numerous pictures of saints, all of uniform 
 proportions, and all similarly treated, with which the walls are 
 covered, seem to correspond in some measure with the ritual 
 of the Greek Church. Its ceremonial observances, differing as 
 they do from those of the Koman Catholic Church, probably 
 exerted great influence on the application of painting to pur- 
 poses of ornament. The mass being, in the Greek Church, 
 celebrated in the privacy of the sanctuary, it became neces- 
 sary that the screen, which concealed the ceremony, and from 
 the centre door of which the priest appears at a certain mo- 
 ment, bearing the sacred elements [heiligthume], should be 
 completely adorned and filled up with pictures ; the eyes of 
 the devout worshippers being constantly directed thither 
 during the performance of the service. The screen conceal- 
 ing the Holy of Holies is, for this reason, made to resemble 
 richly worked hangings of tapestry, and is covered with 
 most beautiful symbols, such as might well attract the atten- 
 tion of the pious, and excite in their minds devout and holy 
 thoughts. A single large fresco painting would have been 
 much less appropriate, and not so well adapted for the pur- 
 
 * A Modenese, 1357. 
 
 D D 2 
 
404 
 
 SCHLOSS KARLSTEIN. 
 
 [1808. 
 
 pose of long and unbroken contemplation. The entire space 
 is therefore filled with numerous small figures, all of which 
 are invariably uniform. 
 
 In the Komish Church, however, in which the mysteries 
 are not celebrated in secret, nor the high altar screened from 
 the eyes of the congregation, it becomes of necessity the 
 grand centre-point of attraction and reverence, and all the 
 resources of art and architecture, as well as painting, are 
 exhausted in its exaltation and adornment. Painting, of 
 course, became an adjunct of high importance, and the lofty 
 compositions designed for altar-pieces undoubtedly opened a 
 wide field for the display of genius, and gave a new impulse 
 and most ennobling tendency to Western art. Still it was 
 long ere that art attained the high degree of vigour, bold- 
 ness, and all-subduing grandeur, which subsequently charac- 
 terised it ; slowly and gradually it ventured to overstep the 
 narrow bounds within which it had originally been confined, 
 and to discard that prescribed formula of early Christian 
 painting, which, though fraught with expression, spirituality, 
 and beauty, was nevertheless monotonous and circumscribed. 
 The venerable remains of early art still existing in the church 
 at Schloss Karlstein, and for which we are indebted to the 
 genius of the Bohemian Theodoric, belong to a period which 
 preceded one of these remarkable starting points of mo- 
 dern art. Having merely passed through that place on my 
 road from Prague, I was unable to devote more than one 
 day to an examination of its antique treasures ; but the 
 little I can presume to say of them from recollection will 
 perhaps arouse the attention of others, who may have bet- 
 ter opportunities of examining them and appreciating their 
 value. 
 
 The important place which ought to be assigned to that 
 early period, in all investigations of the history of the art, 
 has of late years been acknowledged, not in Germany only, 
 but also in Italy ; and the beautiful germ, the first budding 
 promise from which all the glorious fruition of modern art 
 subsequently developed itself, begins now to be better known 
 and more justly esteemed. It is to be wished that Bohemian 
 patriots and amateurs would concur in making Karlstein, 
 which with such treasures surely well merits it, the theme 
 of a grand artistic national work, on the plan of that recently 
 
1308.1 
 
 SCHLOS^S KAHLSTE lN. 
 
 405 
 
 published on the Campo Santo at Pisa.* In this latter 
 work the earliest struggles of unassisted genius are laid be- 
 fore us in the efforts of Buffalmaccof : we are tempted to 
 compare the strange and daring creations of OrgagnaJ with 
 the sublime conceptions of Dante ; and in the compositions 
 of Benozzo Gozzoli§ we recognise such an overflowing 
 abundance of noble forms and grand conceptions, that we 
 feel the editor of the work to be fully justified in styling 
 him the Raphael of the early masters. 
 
 Would that the many complaints raised in Italy, of the ne- 
 glect and disregard to which these old paintings are exposed, 
 were not equally applicable to ourselves ! The destroying 
 hand of time, unassisted by such neglect, inflicts too niany 
 irreparable injuries on the productions of the arts. Would 
 that its ravages were not too often aggravated either by 
 intentionai wantonness and folly on our part, by the all- 
 pervading domination of ignorance and stupidity, or a 
 thoughtless contempt for the glories of antiquity ! One of 
 the fresco paintings on the wails of the Campo Santo, at 
 Pisa, a masterpiece of Giotto, has been partially destroyed 
 in order to make way for a monument to the Signori Alga- 
 rotti. Two other paintings by Gozzoli have in like manner 
 been sacrificed, and are now completely defaced by busts 
 and modern inscriptions. Every age appears to have a bar- 
 barism of its own, and the modern era is distinguished in 
 every country alike by a contempt for its own national an- 
 tiquities. Though wandering with eager curiosity into the 
 remotest ages of the world, the period more closely preceding 
 our own is held in utter scorn and unwisely calumniated by 
 a false epithet, fabricated by its despisers, who, while they 
 
 * The cemetery of Pisa, an enceinte of about 400 feet in length and 
 118 in width, is said to have been filled with earth brought from the Holv 
 Land in the thirteenth century ; it was enclosed by high walls, and sur- 
 rounded on the inside by an arcade, adorned with large paintings. 
 
 f Buonamico Buffalmacco. His existence appears to be doubtful, 
 as his Life by Vasari is a mere collection of whimsical stories. 
 
 t Andrea, son of the Florentine sculptor Cione, died in 1S89. The 
 subjects of his pictures are the Triumph of Death, the Last Judgment, 
 and the representation of Hell. — See Kuglers Handbook, page 70. 
 
 § Of the Tuscan school, and a scholar of Fiesole ; between the years 
 1469 and 1485, he embellished the north wall with pictures drawn from 
 the history of the Old Testament. 
 
406 SCHLOSS KARLSTEIN. [1808. 
 
 talk of " the darkness of the middle ages," suffer the most 
 glorious monuments of national art and history to fall ne- 
 glected to decay and ruin. 
 
 I am far from desiring to compare Theodoric of Prague 
 with either Giotto or Gozzoli ; still his paintings are by no 
 means unworthy of regard, both as curious specimens of 
 antiquity and as belonging to a very important period in 
 the advance of art. Should they ever become generally 
 known, the opinion of connoisseurs will, I have no doubt, 
 fully agree with mine on this point. 
 
 Schloss Karlstein, however, is not remarkable merely 
 from the works of art already described ; it is in itself a 
 mighty national monument, a precious relic of mediaeval his- 
 tory. If, therefore, my suggestion be destined ever to meet 
 its accomplishment ; if an artistic work, adequate in its plan 
 to the importance of the theme, should ever be devoted to 
 the description of Karlstein, it ought to comprise not only 
 architectural drawings of the castle itself, but landscape 
 views of the adjoining country and of the site of the building. 
 As regards the paintings, even the frescos, though half effaced 
 by the effect of explosion and the other evils attendant on such 
 a calamity, it may still be possible to revive and restore a few 
 at least among them, so that a skilful draughtsman might 
 copy the outlines, if no more, and thus give a general idea 
 of their character. It may, indeed, be sufficient to copy a 
 few pictures only from among those of Theodoric, as a 
 judicious selection might convey a very correct impression 
 of the others ; still this should only be permitted, if the 
 limits of the work prove so narrow as to preclude the pos- 
 sibility of any other arrangement. Every lover of the art, 
 who is unable in person to visit the spot and contemplate 
 its wonders, will rejoice to see the whole placed vividly be- 
 fore him, and, since all, undoubtedly, well deserve to be pre- 
 served, it is surely better, in such a case, to be even too 
 lavish than too niggardly in the information supplied 
 
407 
 
 THE ST. CECILIA OF LUDWIG SCHNORR. 
 
 1823. 
 
 This picture, which is intended for an altar-piece in a 
 church, is eight feet nine inches in height, and five feet in 
 width. It contains only two figures — those of the saint and 
 her attendant angel, both hovering in the clouds. The 
 height of the former figure is six feet, and that of the angel 
 is of corresponding size. It is a composition of much merit, 
 grandly conceived, and equal in point of execution to the 
 most successful efforts of this master's genius. 
 
 A genuine critic, in giving an opinion on this picture, 
 would probably either rest satisfied with generalities, or, on 
 the other hand enter scrupulously into the minutest details. 
 He would perhaps extol the correctness of the drawing, the 
 noble contours, the animated expression ; or discover that 
 this arm was too plump, that hand too thin ; here a light 
 too glaring, and there a delicate shadow most successfully 
 introduced ; and thus go through a certain routine of con- 
 ventional forms of expression, which would leave the hearer 
 in total ignorance both of the theme itself, and the manner 
 of its treatment. 
 
 But a vital, comprehensive, and truly artistic criticism 
 passes over all minor details, seeking only to grasp the 
 painter's idea in all its strength and fulness, and thus to 
 understand the peculiar intention of the composition ; for if 
 this be once clearly apprehended, it then becomes easy to 
 judge in how far it is successfully carried out, or, on the 
 other hand, in what points it is inadequately rendered : 
 isolated defects or peculiar features will then be more judi- 
 ciously criticised, and when considered in connexion with 
 the general theme and design, their meaning and intention 
 will be more clearly understood. 
 
 I would however observe, that in the conception of the 
 painting before us, there are two points in its design and 
 execution, which demand especial notice. The first — is the 
 
 D D 4 
 
408 THE ST. CECILIA OF LUDWIG SCHNORR. [1823. 
 
 fact of an angel being represented as in attendance on the 
 saint, a circumstance in strict accordance with legendary his- 
 tory, to which indeed the artist closely adheres throughout ; 
 the second, the expression of St. Cecilia's countenance, not 
 merely radiant with bliss and adoration, but fraught with 
 gentle sympathy, as if looking down with pitying tenderness, 
 from the glorious light with which she is herself encircled., 
 upon this lower earth, the abode of the suffering and the 
 dying. 
 
 The angel, bearing a lily, hovers near the saint, and fixes 
 on her a glance of ineffable love and purity ; he is still her 
 constant attendant in the sphere of heaven, as, once upon 
 earth, where, according to the legend, he took so prominent 
 a part in the trials and temptations of her mortal existence. 
 "Cecilia," (thus says the legend*, which bears every stamp 
 of historical accuracy,) "a Roman lady of high birth, had 
 from her childhood been instructed in the principles of the 
 Christian faith, and had early devoted herself, as a virgin, to 
 the service of God. Having afterwards been espoused, contrary 
 to her own desire, to a young Roman named Valerianus, she 
 on the evening of her marriage addressed him in the following 
 words : < Valerianus ! I am under the protection of an angel 
 the guardian of my purity ; beware, therefore, lest by any 
 rash daring on your part, you excite the indignation of that 
 heavenly spirit.' The young man, alarmed at her words, 
 presumed not to approach her ; he even declared himself 
 willing to embrace the faith of Christ if he could be per- 
 mitted to behold the angel. And when Cecilia made known 
 to him that, until he had actually received baptism, his wish 
 could not be granted ; in his vehement desire to obtain a 
 sight of the heavenly visitant, he professed himself ready and 
 anxious to be enrolled at once among the followers of Christ. 
 He went, therefore, by the maiden's advice, to Pope Urban, 
 who, on account of the persecution then raging, dwelt in 
 the catacombs, and was by him baptized. His brother Ti- 
 burtius afterwards followed his example, and both were per- 
 mitted to behold the angel. The glorious crown of martyr- 
 
 * Breviar Roman, die xxii. November. St. Urban succeeded Pope 
 Calixtus in the year 223, and reigned seven years ; he had also the honour 
 of martyrdom. — See Lives of the Saints, vol. i. p. 901. 
 
1823.] THE ST. CECILIA OF LUDWIG SCHNORR. 409 
 
 dorn became their portion, even before the death of the holy 
 Roman maid to whom they owed their conversion ; and legal 
 inquiry having been made concerning the property of the 
 two brothers, which she had inherited, it was found to have 
 been already divided amongst the poor." 
 
 The martyrdom of Saint Cecilia took place about the 
 year 230. Her festival has been observed in Rome from the 
 earliest period ; and, as early as the fourth century, a church 
 was built and dedicated to her memory.* The high rever- 
 ence with which she was regarded is evident from the fact, 
 that her name is enrolled among those of the seven holy 
 women and virgins named in the Canon of the Mass. We 
 are besides informed, that so ardent was her love of God, 
 and so deeply did she reverence his Word, that she con- 
 stantly carried in her bosom the book of the Gospel, and 
 was continually occupied in singing psalms of praise and 
 thanksgiving; hence probably arose the tradition of her 
 having been the inventor of the organ : that instrument 
 being considered as peculiarly adapted to church music, and 
 to celebrating the glory of God. History, however, assigns 
 to its invention a much later date than the heroic age of the 
 catacombs, and of the earliest Christian martyrs. 
 
 Our artist, therefore, true throughout to historical records, 
 instead of making the organ a conspicuous feature in his 
 composition, has merely introduced it in the left foreground, 
 as a symbol or indication of the peculiar characteristic of 
 the saint. St. Cecilia, in strict accordance with truth, is 
 habited in the Roman costume, and, as a princess, crowned 
 with a diadem. The palm branch in her hand, symbolic of 
 victory and peace, is dripping with bright clear drops of 
 blood, emblematic, as it were, of the dew-drops of a celes- 
 tial dawn. 
 
 The costume and other minor details ought to be regarded, 
 in a picture of this class, as expressive attributes, which can be 
 understood only in their connexion with the leading idea of 
 the composition. The chief peculiarity of this work, however, 
 rests, as has been already remarked, in the expression of 
 love and sympathy imparted to the countenance of the saint, 
 
 * See the " Life of Jesus and the Saints," vol. ii. p. 812. Vienna, 
 1822. 
 
4 JO THE ST. CECILIA OF LUDWIG SCHNORR. [1823. 
 
 and shining forth from her clear blue eyes with a glow of 
 deep feeling, exalted intelligence, and gentle love. If, as 
 the church* teaches, we are permitted to implore the inter- 
 cession of the saints, between ourselves and our Creator, 
 and this intercession requires, on their part, as in truth it 
 must, constant and unwearied exertion, it becomes impos- 
 sible to imagine that those blessed beings exist in a state of 
 perpetual inaction, absorbed in the contemplation of their 
 own changeless bliss. We shall rather conceive them to be 
 interpenetrated with holy love and heavenly sympathy, taking 
 part with the most lively interest in all that they are per- 
 mitted to know of the events of our earthly life, in every 
 thing which may tend to exalt the glory of God and diffuse 
 the gifts of divine grace among mankind. It is this affec- 
 tionate sympathy with the human heart in its struggle for 
 the attainment of holiness, which forms the motive or ruling 
 feature of the present representation of St. Cecilia ; and by 
 bearing this fact constantly in mind, we shall be the better 
 able to understand the artist's treatment of accessory details, 
 and to explain them according to the spiritual symbolism of 
 the Scriptures, and the allegorical mode of teaching adopted 
 by our church. 
 
 The saint is clad in a green robe, falling round her in 
 ample folds, and confined at the waist by a golden girdle ; 
 her right arm is encircled by two golden armlets. The robe 
 is emblematical of the sphere, its colour of the earth. The 
 girdle is an emblem of activity, — gold, of the most refined 
 and exalted purity. The golden girdle therefore indicates 
 that the saint desires to see the hearts of those who commend 
 themselves to her intercession elevated to a state of the 
 utmost purity and perfection, and as, in this anxious labour 
 of love, her thoughts are constantly engaged by our low 
 earthly sphere, her feet are seen below the drapery of her 
 robe, and the narrow black fillet, by which the Roman 
 sandals are attached to them, symbolises the darkness of that 
 world of sorrow towards which they are supposed to be sink- 
 ing. Her light brown hair is represented flowing in rich 
 tresses, like delicate streamlets far over her shoulders, to 
 indicate the living abundance of her spiritual strength and 
 
 * It must be remembered that F. von Schlegel belonged at this time 
 to the Roman Catholic communion. — Trans. 
 
1823.] THE ST. CECILIA OF LUDWIG SCHNORR. 411 
 
 loving sympathy. The right arm is the emblem of labour 
 and exertion, the left of longing and desire. For this reason 
 her left hand is seen resting on her bosom, the pure shrine 
 of holy love, and in which the glorious name of the Eternal 
 is indelibly impressed. Attributes such as these, soaring so 
 far above the ordinary course of nature, like that mysterious 
 name which sparkles in delicate radiance upon the bosom of 
 the saint, immediately invest any picture with all the cha- 
 racteristics of a symbolic representation. Similar allegories, 
 though treated upon contrary principles, may also be traced 
 in the compositions of pagan art. The two golden armlets 
 that encircle the right arm of the saint, one on the wrist, the 
 other confining the drapery on the upper part of the arm, 
 bear, in accordance with the explanation given above, a two- 
 fold signification, indicating purity of heart and holiness of 
 life. The stainless perfection of her own nature, and the 
 victory it wrought for her, are typified by the golden diadem 
 and the green myrtle crown on which it rests. Her brow is 
 crowned with light, and indeed the entire figure is repre- 
 sented floating in a halo of glory, the quenchless flame of 
 holy love ; but beyond that bright circle we see another line 
 of light, — not the pure colourless beam of heaven, but a 
 broken fitful ray, emanating, as it were, from that earthly 
 abode of sorrow to which she is bound by the powerful im- 
 pulses of pity and affection — the changeful glory of the rain- 
 bow*, emblematic of reconciliation and pardoning love, of the 
 mingled bliss and suffering of humanity. The entire centre 
 of the picture is for the same reason surrounded by a similar 
 but wider and more extended circle of rainbow light, de- 
 scending even below the feet of the hovering figure. And as 
 the seven eternal harmonic tones which form the fundamental 
 harmony of music, in life as well as in science, are symbolised 
 
 * The Biblical symbol of the rainbow, as emblematic of those seven 
 original spirits of God, in which the majesty of creative power unfolded 
 itself, has, if I remember right, been three times adopted by Raphael : 
 in the " Disputa," the " Madonna di Foligno," and the " Vision of 
 Ezekiel " — a small picture, in which Jehovah is represented enthroned 
 upon a rainbow, and surrounded by the cherubim. In has been em- 
 ployed by many of the great German painters ; by Van Eyck in " The 
 Last Judgment," Memling in the " Vision of St. John," and also in a 
 picture at Bruges,— -not to notice other examples. 
 
412 THE ST, CECILIA OF LUDWIG SCHNORR. [1823. 
 
 by the hues of that many -tinted bow, formed of the broken 
 rays of original light, or rather of tears, drops shed by cre- 
 ated nature in the ocean of infinity, and broken and divided 
 in the play of the sunbeam ; so the artist has represented the 
 symbolic organ in the foreground of the picture, glimmer- 
 ing through the reflection of the rainbow. Thus striving, 
 by the adoption of every artistic intimation in his power, to 
 clothe the impalpable idea with reality, and, in working out 
 his conception, to carry the tangible representation to the 
 extremest verge of idealism. 
 
 If, while gazing on this composition, the spectator be in- 
 duced to dismiss from his mind the ordinary picture of St. 
 Cecilia seated at the harpsichord, which people are accustomed 
 to anticipate, and perhaps desire to see in a picture bearing 
 that name, and will allow himself to be interpenetrated with 
 that idea of love, pity, and sympathy, on which the present 
 conception is founded, — if he consider the saint herself, not 
 merely as the patron of scientific harmony, but as holding 
 under her especial guardianship the music of feeling, and 
 the thrilling harmonies of human emotion, he will acknow- 
 ledge that the artist's idea is most successfully carried out, 
 both in the lofty ideality of the figure of the saint and in the 
 general artistic treatment. The colouring and carnations are 
 also worthy of all praise ; and this painting is in those points 
 superior to many other works of the same master : the entire 
 picture is a burst of indivisible and lofty inspiration. 
 
 Having thus attempted to show the true principle on 
 which artistic criticism should be founded, I leave to others 
 of more acknowledged judgment and skill the task of inves- 
 tigating particular points of technical interest. The picture 
 will find a fitting place above the altar of the church, for 
 which it is destined ; and there is little reason to fear that its 
 beauty will there be either lost or disregarded. 
 
ON 
 
 THE LIMITS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 1794.* 
 
 The intellect neither arbitrarily unites distinct elements, nor 
 does it attempt, without just reason, the dismemberment of 
 an entire system. The limits of all definition and argument 
 are irrevocably determined by two opposing principles, — the 
 eternal impulse of the struggling soul from within, and the 
 unchangeable decrees of nature from without. Inclination 
 
 * It is the intention of this little treatise to analyse the idea of Beauty 
 as divided from the being of Art. After lamenting in the first place 
 that the beautiful should be everywhere defective, incomplete, and partial, 
 presented to us in disjointed fragments, both in artistic representations 
 and in reality, I next attempt to exhibit the elements of beauty as they 
 exist, not in the art only but also in nature and in love, and to prove that 
 the proper combination of these three elements — the richness of nature, 
 the purity of love, and the symmetry of art — will infallibly produce true, 
 genuine, and majestic beauty. The idea of beauty, thus understood, 
 cannot be regarded as distinct, either from truth, or from the abundance 
 of living realities ; it must not be severed from love, in the highest 
 acceptation of that term, nor from the sentiment of goodness ; and it is 
 the object of the following pages to seize and present this idea of the 
 beautiful in its highest richness and perfection. The terms Abundance 
 (Fülle), and Unity (Einheit), will, however, be employed in a far higher 
 sense than has been usually assigned them in German philosophy, where 
 they are regarded simply as elements of thought, of conception, or of 
 our own limited existence. By Abundance (Fülle), I must here be 
 understood to mean, the exhaustless fund of life which is constantly 
 developing itself in nature, in matchless but ever-growing beauty ; 
 while by Unity (Einheit), I would express not a mere external harmony, 
 but the indivisible eternal harmony of the soul, or of love. 
 
 Thus too, the terms Regularity and Symmetry will not be confined 
 merely to works of art, but refer rather to that all-disposing mind, 
 which, whether recognised or disregarded, is the animating principle, the 
 guide, the director of every scheme of civilisation. 
 
414 ON THE LIMITS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. [1794. 
 
 vacillates doubtfully between the voice of freedom and the 
 decrees of fate ; the intellect exhausts itself in the study of 
 individualities, till at length all idea of perfection in unity is 
 as completely lost as if the beautiful in nature and the just 
 equipoise of human life were banished from the world. 
 
 To solve the enigma of Destiny, and Freedom of Will, — 
 to unite those adverse ideas in harmonious combination, — 
 correctly to define, and faithfully to observe, the delicate 
 limits which separate the two, — would be to unravel the 
 most complicated thread in the tangled web of human life. 
 Is chance, then, more wise than science ? Can it be that 
 this intricate problem is to be left to work its own solution ? 
 
 When the scheme of civilisation is grounded not on prin- 
 ciple or science, but on the working of instinct, each separate 
 element of the human character unfolds itself in distinct 
 relative proportions. The organic development of antiquity 
 is peculiarly characterised by independence and decision. 
 Every individual point moves on in perpetual rotation. In 
 ancient history the grand outlines of fate and freedom of 
 will lie outspread before us. The varied relations still 
 existing between nature and mankind arose originally out 
 of the different gradations of ancient civilisation, and at its 
 highest point they blend in more or less harmonious union, 
 and attain a certain natural bloom and perfection. 
 
 When the perfect consistency of the ancients is contrasted 
 with our own dismemberment, their broad masses with our 
 interminable mixtures, their simple decision with our paltry 
 embarrassment and confusion, we are indeed impressed with 
 the conviction that they were men of the loftiest stamp. 
 Still we ought not to regard them as the especial favourites 
 of heaven, nor need we envy their unreasoning and in- 
 stinctive happiness. The very deficiencies which perplex us 
 are, in truth, messengers of hope ; for they are natural con- 
 sequences of the supreme dominion now exerted by the 
 intellectual powers, and of the unfettered influence of the 
 understanding — faculties, which, however tardy they may be 
 in the attainment of excellence, are nevertheless endowed 
 with a boundless capacity for improvement. Since the at- 
 tempt to fix the mind of man on one immutable basis, and 
 impel him onwards in one unchangeable direction, has been 
 abandoned, it has ceased to be a matter of doubt whether 
 
1794.] ON THE LIMITS OF THE BEAUTIFUL* 415 
 
 the history of the human race, like an unbroken circle, re- 
 volves constantly upon itself, or whether, progressively ad- 
 vancing into the infinite, it strives with unremitting ardour 
 to attain the best and noblest objects. The majesty of anti- 
 quity is felt to be indissolubly linked with images of decline 
 and ruin, for both arise from the same source, — the dominion 
 of instinct, and the spontaneous development of nature. 
 When the work of civilisation is under the immediate direc- 
 tion of reason, the more rapid progress of nature frequently 
 outstrips her guide, and leads the latter either to mistake the 
 means to be employed, or perhaps to confound the means 
 with the end. Instinct, on the contrary, beginning and end- 
 ing in nature, can only, in that single moment in which it 
 attains the centre-point, unite nature with mankind. Grecian 
 art itself, which rose to absolute perfection, ended also with 
 itself, and it presents a remarkable instance of the perish- 
 able nature of merely instinctive greatness. The confusion 
 and want of unity prevailing in the ideas of the moderns, 
 have undoubtedly a powerful influence on their works of 
 art and genius. One art strays into the province of another, 
 one peculiar branch becomes intermingled with the family 
 of another. Representation is confounded with perception — 
 imagination with contemplation ; while symbolism and 
 reality, time and space, all change their relative position. 
 The artist sacrifices unity in his struggle for actual nature ; 
 the connoisseur prizes nature only in proportion as she ap- 
 proximates to art ; the visionary, absorbed in his own 
 dreams, seeks but to trace their reflection in the world 
 around him, and discover throughout creation only the all-per- 
 vading influence of love ; while the loveless sensualist deems 
 mankind and external nature created only to be the minis- 
 ters of his enjoyment. One lives only for the beautiful, 
 unheeding of the good and true; another recognises the 
 beautiful in its utility alone ; and such, from the absence of 
 unity, and the want of a just equipoise, not content to have 
 already plunged into error and confusion every element of 
 society, still seem bent on employing their utmost efforts to 
 dismember and subvert it. The man who luxuriates only 
 in soft strains of music, will find his power of percep- 
 tion at last melt away into shadowy indistinctness; the 
 
416 ON THE LIMITS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. [1794. 
 
 mind that dwells only on marble will in time find its 
 softer properties harden into stone ; whoever makes poetry 
 the sole object of life, loses vigour, boldness, and decision, 
 till to him existence itself becomes a dream. Even the 
 union of poetry with reality leaves a vast chasm to be filled 
 up; a void which can only be supplied by the power of 
 intellect, and the exertion of those reasoning faculties which, 
 being subject to more precise and definite laws than the 
 poetic art, give to reality a more regular and decided form 
 than it could obtain from the unassisted influence of nature. 
 When men are left to the sole guidance of artificial laws, 
 they become reduced to mere empty shadows and soulless 
 forms ; while the undivided sway of nature leaves them sa- 
 vage and loveless. How melancholy a thing it is to see a 
 collection of the most interesting works of art heaped to- 
 gether merely as an assemblage of costly treasures ! the void 
 then stretches before us comfortless, hopeless, and unfathom- 
 able. Man is beggared, — art and life are rent asunder! 
 Yet this skeleton once had life, beauty, animation ! there 
 was a time — yea, there were nations in which the heavenly 
 fire of art, like the soft glow of life reflected in their inspired 
 strains, once gleamed through each glorious attribute of 
 pure humanity ! Nor are the slaves of utility, those victims 
 of asceticism, who by compulsory force succeed at length in 
 annihilating the elasticity of instinct and the senses, less 
 completely at variance with nature than the votaries of ima- 
 gination or of a partial and too prejudiced view of the art. 
 The passive automaton thus framed moves, at least me- 
 chanically, in thought and action like a man; but in his 
 pleasures, the inclinations of the animal are too clearly dis- 
 cernible. His ruined nature blushes at the very name of 
 beauty. The faintest allusion to art, nature, or love begets 
 in him a sensation of dread and uneasiness, like the grave 
 mention of a spectre. 
 
 The soul needs a certain amount of intellectual enjoyment 
 to give it strength adequate for the daily struggle in which 
 it is involved. The energies of the mind are as completely 
 shattered and destroyed by constant restraint, as they are 
 relaxed and enfeebled by perpetual enjoyments. To make 
 pleasure. the sole object of life is to defeat our own intention ; 
 
1794.] ON THE LIMITS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 417 
 
 for man exists but in accordance with the decrees of nature, 
 and her laws stand in constant opposition to his own desires. 
 Life is a stern struggle between conflicting powers. Every 
 inordinate indulgence involves a corresponding amount of 
 suffering. Those who yield their souls captive to the brief 
 intoxication of love, if no higher and holier feeling mingle 
 with and consecrate their dream of bliss, will shrink trembling 
 from the pangs that attend their waking. Others, on the 
 contrary, who devote themselves to glorious deeds, and seek 
 enjoyment only in the intervals of more serious exertion, 
 will have their best reward in the pure, unchanging happi- 
 ness purchased by such self-denial. Pleasure, indeed, has a 
 higher zest when spontaneous and self-created ; and it rises 
 in value in proportion to its affinity with that perfection of 
 beauty in which moral excellence is allied to external charms. 
 It must be a free spontaneous burst of feeling : not the result 
 of certain means applied for the attainment of any particular 
 object ; for pleasure thus pursued becomes occupation rather 
 than enjoyment. We call it desecration and pollution to 
 employ holy things in ordinary uses. But is not the beau- 
 tiful also holy ? Man can by representation inform the un- 
 derstanding ; by beauty he can improve the manners ; works 
 of art may supply material for contemplation ; but the mind 
 will gain little or nothing thereby. As all energy demands 
 for its development a free unrestrained power of action, so 
 the sense of beauty and its creative faculty are kindled in 
 the soul only by the free enjoyment and habitual contempla- 
 tion of its creations. This inward perception of the soul for 
 the beautiful is far different to the superficial artistic taste 
 which refuses to acknowledge a susceptibility to comprehend 
 represented and ideal forms as a creative and generative 
 faculty for art. For beauty reigns supreme, not only in 
 imitative works, but also in nature, in mankind, and in love. 
 It is easy to decide on the proper limits to be prescribed for 
 the soul's indulgence in spiritual enjoyment — to mark 
 where it may commence and where it ought to terminate ; 
 but it is in truth a delicate task to avoid transgressing those 
 boundaries. The same may be said of the limits of each 
 separate element of beauty : of these there are three, which 
 may be well regarded as the three original springs of spiritual 
 
418 
 
 ON THE LIMITS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. [1794. 
 
 enjoyment — nature, mankind, and art, — which latter in its 
 mingled representations blends and unites them all. 
 
 The most prominent characteristic of nature is an ever- 
 flowing and exhaustless vital energy ; that of art is spiritual 
 unity, harmony, and symmetry. To attempt to deny the 
 latter assertion, and define art as nothing more than a recol- 
 lection or reproduction of the highest beauties of nature, 
 strikes at the very root of its free and independent existence. 
 Had not art a power distinct from that of nature, were it 
 not governed by its own peculiar laws, we should be com- 
 pelled to regard it as a feeble device of the ancients, a subtle 
 contrivance by which to protract in faint reflection the de- 
 clining vigour of their own natural life. Those who were 
 not all-absorbed in the consciousness of youth and vigour 
 would hasten eagerly in pursuit of truth, and leave the grey- 
 headed to seek warmth from the mummy of life, and the 
 feeble-minded to revel in unsubstantial shadows. There are 
 mistaken men who traduce nature, and falsely give her the 
 epithet of artistic; forgetting that while art is bounded on every 
 side, nature, on the contrary, is everywhere vast, illimitable, 
 and inexhaustible. Not only is she, as a body, of immeasur- 
 able extent, but every component element has in itself a two- 
 fold principle of fecundity. The universal variety of created 
 forms is no less infinite than the ever-increasing productive- 
 ness of natural life ; and every point of space, countless in 
 number and unbounded in duration, is filled with life. 
 Yet art, not content to borrow all its variety from nature, 
 would even rend her ^sunder and separate the inward vi- 
 tality from the outward form. The drama and the stage 
 alone actually unite art and nature ; yet even here one isolated 
 feature is forcibly severed from her overflowing abundance ; 
 and although nature is necessarily presented to our view 
 under two aspects which in other arts are usually divided, — as, 
 for instance, a certain fixed and regular form combined with 
 the varying features of actual life, — still this union is highly 
 defective, and we feel the elements of which it is composed 
 to be incongruous and imperfect. The representative portion 
 of this plastic music is peculiarly incomplete. The ancients, 
 by their ideal masks, sacrificed the life and illusion of beauty 
 and truth : the moderns, on the contrary, sacrifice all beauty 
 and truth, both of life and of the illusion. Let us compare 
 
1794.] ON THE LIMITS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 419 
 
 with this a glance at the friendly rainbow with which the 
 infinite, as it were, spans the heavens,— -or a glimpse of spring, 
 where the full variety of life penetrates through all our 
 senses into our inmost being, — or, lastly, the spectacle of a 
 fearful and yet glorious conflict, wherein the abundance of 
 man's imprisoned strength foams up and overflows in resistless 
 destruction. Under these several aspects the human mind 
 seems to embrace and comprehend the entire wealth of exist- 
 ence and of eternity, which, in close connexion with the im- 
 mensity of space, streams forth from the plenteous horn of 
 undying nature. " The world itself is ever young " — thus 
 sings the poet of nature — " but its transitory scenes pass 
 swiftly by. Men come, men go, eager as in a race ; each 
 stretches forth his hand to seize the torch of life." * Fly — 
 she seems in seductive accents to exclaim to mankind, — fly 
 thy paltry legislations, thy miserable art, and reverently own 
 thine allegiance to the generous and all-bounteous mother, 
 whose full breast is the source of all genuine life. There is 
 in the human breast a fearful unsatisfied desire to soar into 
 infinity, — a feverish longing to break through the narrow 
 bondage of individuality, — and man is often so utterly sub- 
 dued by this wild longing, that his very thirst for freedom 
 makes him a prey to the overwhelming force of nature. 
 In savage disdain he spurns the restraint of laws, and 
 with loveless soul pollutes the glorious excellence of his 
 being. Never were there any people more distinguished by 
 their keen enjoyment of natural pleasures, or their excess in 
 every intellectual and mental indulgence, than the Romans ; 
 never were any people more mighty in strength, more law- 
 less, intemperate, and cruel than that nation — from the time 
 when Brutus first stained his noble name with the guilt of 
 assassination, to the period of Nero's darker crimes. Their 
 capacity for enjoyment and means of supplying it were so 
 boundless, that the profusion and luxury of a Roman life 
 surpass the limits of our imagination. Even the enormity 
 of their crimes excites a feeling of wonder, and indignation 
 is almost absorbed in astonishment at the indomitable will, 
 the unfettered independence, which could dare their perpetra- 
 tion. The history and results of such moral excesses are, 
 however, inscribed in characters of flame on every page of 
 
 * Lucretius, ii. 75. 
 e e 2 
 
420 
 
 ON THE LIMITS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 [1794. 
 
 their annals, and seem handed down as warnings for all 
 coming generations. All that the earth could furnish was 
 insufficient to appease their insatiable desires, till even Roman 
 vigour proved unable to withstand the constant influence of 
 revelry and tumult, and, enervated and debased, they sank 
 at length into total extinction. 
 
 Love is the spiritual bliss of the unfettered soul, and man 
 is its primary object; for as no interchange of feeling can 
 take place in one heart alone, so love cannot exist without 
 return. It is, indeed, no vain delusion to encircle the cre- 
 ation with love, and thus to make it one with nature. Human 
 instinct desires an overflow of goodness, wisdom, and abund- 
 ance, while reason is ever conscious of a blank, a void, ex- 
 tending beyond the limits of knowledge. It is by that over- 
 flowing goodness that the chasm is to be filled up ; the image 
 of a loftier Being is thus presented to the mind, and we feel 
 attracted towards the Deity, as the highest symbol of un- 
 changing and imperishable beauty.* Still, even in spiritual 
 love, an excess of indulgence is injurious and enervating; 
 faith or belief is the highest luxury of the soul ; and the attain- 
 ment of belief is a meet guerdon for the toil of investigation 
 and inquiry ; if enjoyed without previous labour and research, 
 
 * It is in that light alone, as the highest symbol of eternal beauty, 
 that the inspired genius of the ancients could aspire to comprehend the 
 being of the Divinity ; and the predominating aspect under which it is 
 presented to us in antiquity, is in accordance with their ideas of that 
 supreme beauty, which they regarded as His proper essence. Here we 
 see clearly the difference between ideal inspiration, the spontaneous 
 effort of reason, and that knowledge of the Divine Being, and of His 
 relation to mankind, which we owe to the more glorious light of Revela- 
 tion. The adoration, kindled merely by the contemplation of ineffable 
 beauty, is rather an artistic feeling of delight and wonder than pure 
 genuine love. The perfection of the Divine Being may, indeed, if held 
 as symbolic of the loftiest beauty, afford a criterion whereby to estimate 
 the value of every inferior object of affection, yet without inspiring us 
 with the hope or assurance of meeting any reciprocal love from the Deity. 
 Indeed, the love of God, extended to his creatures, must, considered in 
 this light, appear to be a vain delusion of the imagination. Reason, 
 though it may fill the empty space of idle thought with the reflection of 
 its own individuality, is dead to the living impulses of undying love, and 
 no less so to the glorious idea of love divine embracing all humanity. 
 That idea of quenchless immortality, the light of Revelation alone could 
 impart, or give the human soul power to acknowledge. 
 
1794.] ON THE LIMITS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 421 
 
 it may almost be said, like every other ill-regulated indul- 
 gence, to bring its own punishment. To seek in every thing 
 around us the reflection of our own peculiar temperament, 
 the image of our own vain intellect and reason, is a paltry 
 error, the vice of vulgar minds, which, though endowed with 
 a certain flow of language, imagination, and ideas, have little 
 acute susceptibility or creative depth of soul. Such natures 
 will also, in othe rordinary relations of life, confound the at- 
 tributes of art with those of love ; yet that idea is desecration 
 to the free spirit-feeling of the soul, which, as it admits not 
 of being feigned, so its name cannot be justly applied to any 
 premeditated art. Another form of spiritual lover, in the 
 mistaken hope of some incalculable advantage, annihilates 
 his individuality with unquestioning resignation ; forget- 
 ting, poor man ! that, with substantiality, he tears the 
 very principle of love out of his bosom. Love is the in- 
 terchanged bliss of noble natures, and possesses in itself a 
 quenchless spring of perfect and unbounded happiness. All 
 mere earthly enjoyments are poor and unsatisfactory : the 
 highest and purest too quickly vanish and depart, leaving the 
 thorn of regret and longing more deeply implanted in the 
 breast! We are mocked for a moment with the delusive 
 semblance of life, but the form we clasp soon stiffens into a 
 corpse ; in vain we stretch forth our longing arms into the 
 immensity of nature, — she is ever mute, incomprehensible, 
 unsympathising, and unconsoling. The highest bliss of the 
 human soul is love, — the noblest love is the attachment to 
 our fatherland. I speak not now of that powerful instinct 
 which burned in the breasts of Roman heroes and patriots. 
 Regulus, who, with eyes cast down, tore himself from his 
 kindred, quitted Rome, and hurried, a noble fugitive, to the 
 country of his enemies ; — Decius, who, devoting himself to 
 the infernal gods, invoked their vengeance upon his head, 
 and rushed into the arms of death, seem to us rather demi- 
 gods than men. But, compared with the heavenly, joyous 
 simplicity of Bulis and Sperthias*, with the glowing cheer- 
 fulness of Leonidas, they are but barbarians ; they fulfil the 
 law, but it is without love. Patriotism was not the incite- 
 ment of those who died at Thermopylae, — they fell for the 
 laws, or to fulfil their vows. To die thus was the summit of 
 
 * Herodot. Erat., cap. 132 — 137, 
 e e 3 
 
422 ON THE LIMITS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. [1794 
 
 their ambition. In that pure system of government which 
 aims at reaching perfection by binding all its free members 
 in one general union, there is a communion of love, a mutual 
 interchange of bliss for all. It was the loss of this which 
 the unhappy Lacedemonian, who had forfeited his honour, 
 and was condemned by the laws of his country to perpetual 
 ignominy, could not survive. This divided the Dorians from 
 the Romans, by a thousand glorious degrees ; this gave to 
 the life of Brasidas so bright a glow of equanimity and peace. 
 The Romans, on the contrary, emulated the lofty independ- 
 ence of the Attic character, and in outward strength and 
 self-command they far surpassed both Dorians and Athenians : 
 the mighty struggle with themselves was carried on with 
 fierce, relentless energy, and their inmost souls were raised 
 to an unnatural and even bombastic degree of elevation ; 
 they seem the very athletae of virtue. The inhabitants 
 of Crete and Thebes luxuriated in the refined sentiments of 
 patriotism and human friendship, and the indulgence of these 
 fascinating emotions appeared to be the sole object of the 
 state ; till at length the people became so deeply degraded, 
 that they devoted themselves to those external charms, 
 which are in truth but the veil of the beautiful, and thus 
 transgressed their duty towards nature. Sensitiveness of soul 
 is, it must be confessed, the most glorious, yet dangerous 
 gift of heaven. Imagine a character, in which the suscepti- 
 bility* of the mind is very trifling, but the sensitiveness of 
 soul so boundless that the slightest emotion thrills through 
 every nerve of the spiritual being ; united, besides, with a 
 determination of the will so powerful, that it divides with the 
 soul the entire guidance of the moral feelings. The life of 
 any creature thus constituted would be a current of perpe- 
 tual agitation, constantly fluctuating, like the storm-tost 
 wave, between earth and heaven, — now rising as if to scale 
 the eternal stars, then sinking into the most fearful abysses 
 of the ocean. To such beings the urn of destiny assigns the 
 loftiest or the most degrading fate ; close as is their inward 
 union, they are, nevertheless, entirely divided, and even in 
 their overflow of harmony, shattered and broken into count- 
 less fragments. Such may have been the temperament of 
 
 * Reizbarkeit, Sensitiveness ; Empfänglichkeit, Susceptibility. These 
 terms are applied by Schlegel, the former to the soul, the latter to the 
 mind. 
 
1794.] ON THE LIMITS OF THE BEAUTIFUL* 423 
 
 Sappho ; and this consideration would afford a clew to the 
 numerous contradictory ideas entertained of that glorious 
 genius, so essentially and intrinsically Greek. We also may 
 say " Still burns the passion that inspired the JEolian muse, 
 — still breathes the love her lyre's low chords betray." One 
 of her songs, and some fragments of her verse, deserve to be 
 numbered among the choicest treasures, flung by the ship- 
 wreck of a former world upon the stream of time, and borne 
 down upon its bosom to the shores of the present. Their 
 lofty tenderness seems, as it were, the offspring of a deep 
 and cureless melancholy. Countless songs of a similar cha- 
 racter have since won fame and applause, but all seem feeble 
 and common-place compared with hers, and, like troubled 
 earthly fires, grow pale in the stainless rays of the immortal 
 sun. 
 
 Love is in itself poor and needy ; all its wealth and ful- 
 ness are derived from the rich gifts of nature. Nature, on 
 the contrary, is in herself only the prolific source of animal 
 life ; all harmonies in her or pertaining to her — all her in- 
 ternal unity- — she owes to love. Both these infinite faculties 
 meet, and form a new and perfect system in the glorious 
 sphere of art ; combining, as in the crown and summit of 
 existence, the fiat of destiny and the freedom of the human 
 will ; not piercing and rending asunder the hidden emotions 
 of the soul, but tenderly soothing and appeasing every painful 
 struggle. From nature the intellect derives richness, com- 
 prehensiveness, and living energy ; love gives it an in- 
 ward depth and harmonious unity, meet for the soul of 
 that rich life, while art frames harmonious regulations, and 
 points out the laws of the beautiful. The intellectual sense, 
 and the soul's inner life, are combined in lofty perfection by 
 the union of these three faculties. Singly they will pro- 
 duce only susceptibility *, sensitiveness f, or strength of judg- 
 ment. The deep inspiration of love, and the lavish luxu- 
 riance of nature, mutually blended, and subjected to the 
 immutable laws of art, are presented to us in the tragedies 
 of Sophocles. Here the problem of human existence is 
 solved, and the mind of man reposes in tranquil equanimity. 
 
 In fact, strictly to observe these delicate limits, and to pre- 
 serve these contending faculties, in perfect equipoise, would 
 
 * Empfäuglichkeit. t Reizbarkeit. 
 
 e e 4 
 
424 ON THE LIMITS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. [1794. 
 
 be to attain that just proportion which (according to the 
 saying of the oracle*) is the summit of the art of life. But 
 this can be attained only by completeness or perfection, and 
 perfection is one of those holy things which man may never 
 reach below. It is true that some struggle, even now, to ob- 
 tain the glorious palm of victory ; but we see too frequently 
 that the most inflexible will, the most determined energy^ the 
 most subtle art, serve but to produce distortions more pain- 
 ful and convulsive. How, indeed, can an entire and perfect 
 fabric be produced from so many varieties ? Let him who is 
 absorbed in the struggle for divine perfection pause not, but 
 wage continual warfare with all obstacles that cross his path- 
 By such means a return to original perfection is never im 
 possible, even though unity is still unestablished in the hu- 
 man breast ; and though a miserable and deluded world may 
 have struggled on through centuries of darkness and of guilt. 
 Then, when the abundance of knowledge and of love, like 
 some new-found power, shall start suddenly and incompre- 
 hensibly into existence, and the first thrill of delight be passed, 
 man will doubt to whom he should pay his debt of gratitude. 
 He would not dare to appropriate to himself what his most 
 passionate exertions have failed to effect, but of which the 
 outward motives appear perhaps so clear ; he cannot attri- 
 bute to any extraneous influence that of which he is so inti- 
 mately conscious as his own peculiar possession. He has 
 gained a new portion of his unknown self : he thanks the 
 unknown god ! The new-found harmony is not gained by 
 his deserts, but is his own act. 
 
 * The Delphic oracle — " MrjSei/ &yav " — " ne quid nimis ; " — . " not 
 too much of anything." 
 
ON 
 
 THE INDIAN LANGUAGE, LITERATURE, AND 
 PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The anticipations of antiquaries in regard to Indian litera- 
 ture and monuments have become very highly raised, parti- 
 cularly since the prolific researches of Wilkins and Sir W. 
 Jones disclosed so many important facts concerning the 
 hitherto obscure history of the primitive world ; while the 
 appearance of the Sacontala gives all lovers of poetry just 
 reason to hope that many similar and equally beautiful spe- 
 cimens of Asiatic genius, like that, the offspring of loveliness 
 and love, will ere long be presented to us. 
 
 I venture, then, to look with confidence for the sympathy 
 of the public in the subject of my present work, the fruit of 
 studies which, since the year 1803, have been devoted to the 
 Sanscrit language, and Indian literature and antiquity. For 
 whatever information I possess, I am indebted to the friend- 
 ship of Mr. Alexander Hamilton, a member of the British. 
 Society of Calcutta, and at present professor of the Persian 
 and Indian dialects in London, who favoured me with personal 
 instruction during the spring of 1803-1804. What further 
 assistance I required in the prosecution of my labours, I 
 obtained through the kindness of M. de Langles, keeper of 
 the Oriental MSS. of the Imperial Library, and whose 
 numerous and valuable works have made his name familiar 
 to the public. This gentleman gave me free access to all 
 the treasures of the public library, besides placing his own 
 at my disposal, which is equally valuable, on account of the 
 richness of its contents, and the good taste and systematic 
 order of its arrangement. 
 
 Besides the personal instructions referred to, I was greatly 
 
426 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [PREFACE. 
 
 assisted in acquiring the Indian language by a MS. in the 
 Imperial Library, at Paris, (No. 183. of the printed Cata- 
 logue,) written by a Missionary, whose name is not men- 
 tioned. It contains, first, a short Grammar of the Sanscrit 
 language, after the Mugdhabödha * of Vopadeva ; secondly, 
 the Amaracoshaf, a practical vocabulary by Amarasinha, 
 with a Latin interpretation ; and, thirdly, a vocabulary of the 
 Roots Kovikolpodruma, that is, the Poet-treasure-tree. All 
 are very legibly written, the Indian in the Bengalese cha- 
 racter, — and in some few instances, where the original 
 cannot be rendered by any Latin words, the French and 
 Portuguese languages have been employed. Judging from 
 the vocabulary of roots, a copy of which Mr. Alexander 
 Hamilton had the goodness to revise for me and point out 
 the errors, there are very few mistakes or oversights, 
 although in the first edition of so comprehensive a work it 
 is scarcely possible to avoid them entirely. 
 
 It had been my intention to publish an Indian " Chresto- 
 mathie," in the original character and in Latin, which should 
 contain, besides the elementary principles of the language, a 
 selection of extracts from the most important Indian works, 
 with a Latin translation, notes, and a glossary. Every thing 
 was prepared for this publication ; and besides the grammar 
 and the two vocabularies, I had also copied in the original 
 character and prepared for insertion, a more than sufficient 
 number of such pieces. Besides the various extracts in the 
 appendix, selected from the Bhägavatgita, Pämayana, and 
 Menu's Book of Laws, I also possess a copy of the first Act 
 of the Sacontala of Calidas, transcribed in a very delicate 
 Bengalese character, with notes, in which the Pracrit of the 
 text is translated into Sanscrit, and a portion of the Hito- 
 padesa, or amicable instruction J, a work which is of high im- 
 portance to the beginner. The Paris edition, however, is 
 not very correct, and often varies considerably from that 
 employed by Wilkins for his translation. The edition printed 
 
 * Mugdhabodha, or the " Beauty of Knowledge," written by Goswami, 
 named Vopadeva, and comprehending in 200 short pages all that the 
 learner of the language can have occasion to know. — Sir William Jones's 
 Works, vol. i. 
 f Coshas or dictionaries. 
 
 \ Lately translated by the Sanscrit professor at Haylebury College, 
 Hertford. — Trans, 
 
PREFACE.] ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. 
 
 427 
 
 at Calcutta I have not seen. I endeavoured, by carefully 
 copying the finest MSS. both in the Devanägari * and Ben- 
 galese character, to attain such perfection as would enable 
 me to furnish in writing very good models for the use of the 
 type-cutter. But I found, notwithstanding, that the pre- 
 paration of the types would require far more efficient assist- 
 ance than it was in my power to procure. The sacrifice of 
 personal predilections for the sake of any particular scientific 
 object brings its reward with it ; but it is vexatious to be 
 compelled to pause midway in attaining the desired goal, from 
 the want of extraneous assistance. 
 
 I must, therefore, be content in my present experiments to 
 restrict myself to the furnishing of an additional proof of the 
 fertility of Indian literature, and the rich hidden treasures 
 which will reward our diligent study of it ; to kindle in 
 Germany a love for, or at the least a prepossession in favour 
 of that study ; and to lay a firm foundation, on which our 
 structure may at some future period be raised with greater 
 security and certainty. 
 
 The study of Indian literature requires to be embraced by 
 such students and patrons as in the fifteenth and sixteenth 
 centuries suddenly kindled in Italy and Germany an ardent 
 appreciation of the beauty of classical learning, and in so 
 short a time invested it with such prevailing importance, 
 that the form of all wisdom and science, and almost of the 
 world itself, was changed and renovated by the influence of 
 that re-awakened knowledge. I venture to predict that the 
 Indian study, if embraced with equal energy, will prove no 
 less grand and universal in its operation, and have no less 
 influence on the sphere of European intelligence. And where- 
 fore should it be otherwise ? The period of the Medici, so 
 illustrious in science and the arts, was warlike, restless, 
 and even destructive to the country of Italy ; yet the efforts 
 of a few individuals accomplished so much because their zeal 
 was genuine, and in the immeasurable grandeur of the 
 public institutions, and the noble ambition of certain sove- 
 
 * The polished and elegant Hindu character for writing ; the Indian 
 characters are called Nägari, from Nagarä a city, with the word Deva 
 sometimes prefixed, because they are believed to have been taught by the 
 Divinity himself, who prescribed the artificial order of them in a voice 
 from heaven. — Sir William Jones's Works, vol. i. 
 
428 
 
 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CH. I. 
 
 reigns, met with that support and encouragement which are 
 requisite for the success of such a study in its earliest com- 
 mencement. 
 
 I shall here enumerate those German writers who have 
 devoted their talents to the cultivation of Indian literature. 
 
 The first with whom I am acquainted is Heinrich Noth, 
 who in the year 1664 studied the Sanscrit, in order that "he 
 might be capable of disputing with the Brahmins." The 
 Jesuit Hanxleden, who visited India in the year 1699, and 
 for more than thirty years (his death happened in 1793) 
 laboured in the Malabar mission, gained great renown in 
 that department ; he produced many works in prose and 
 verse in the old Indian (the Gronthon), and the common 
 language (the Malabar), besides compiling dictionaries and 
 grammars. The vestiges of many valuable works of his are 
 still to be found in Rome. Paulinus St. Bartholomew, 
 well known by many learned writings on Indian antiquity, 
 frequently refers to the works and manuscript remains of 
 Hanxleden. 
 
 Captain Wilford, in the English service, but a German by 
 birth, is well known by his treatises, published in the collec- 
 tion of the British Society of Calcutta. 
 
 I may also remark that my elder brother, Charles Augus- 
 tus von Schlegel, who died at Madras on the 9th of Sep- 
 tember, 1789, having in the latter years of his life made 
 many journeys into the country, and had much intercourse 
 with the natives, had commenced a study of the country, the 
 literature and genius of the Indian people, which was pre- 
 maturely terminated by his early death. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 Chap. I. — On the Indian Language generally. 
 
 The old Indian language, Sanscrit, that is, the formed or 
 perfect, and Gronthon, the dialect employed in writing and 
 literature, has the greatest affinity with the Greek and 
 
B. I. CIL I.] ITS AFFINITY WITH OTHER LANGUAGES. 429 
 
 Latin, as well as the Persian and German languages. This 
 resemblance or affinity does not exist only in the numerous 
 roots, which it has in common with both those nations, but 
 extends also to the grammar and internal structure ; nor 
 is such resemblance a casual circumstance easily accounted 
 for by the intermixture of the languages ; it is an essential 
 element clearly indicating community of origin. It is fur- 
 ther proved by comparison, that the Indian is the most 
 ancient, and the source from whence others of later origin are 
 derived. 
 
 The affinity of the Indian language with the Armenian, the 
 Sclavonian, and the Celtic, is, on the contrary, very unimpor- 
 tant, in comparison with the striking uniformity of other lan- 
 guages supposed to be derived from that stock. Still that con- 
 nexion, trifling as it is, must not be completely overlooked, 
 since in classifying these languages we discover many points 
 of resemblance in the construction of some of the gramma- 
 tical forms which cannot be numbered among the casualties 
 to which every language is exposed, but rather appertain to 
 its internal structure and organisation. 
 
 Indian roots may be found in the Coptic, and in many 
 dialects belonging to the Hebrew language ; still these may 
 have been merely the result of intermixture, and do not 
 prove any original connexion. The grammars of that lan- 
 guage and of the Basque are fundamentally different from 
 the Indian. 
 
 There is no relationship between the Indian branch and 
 the great undefined variety of the northern and southern 
 Asiatic and the American languages. The grammatical con- 
 struction of those dialects differs essentially from the Indian ; 
 and although a similarity of construction is apparent in some 
 particular points, the roots are throughout so entirely dif- 
 ferent, that it seems impossible to refer both to the same 
 source. 
 
 The great importance of the comparative study of lan- 
 guage, in elucidating the historical origin and progress of 
 nations, and their early migration and wanderings, will af- 
 ford a rich subject for investigation in the sequel. It must 
 be our care, in this first book, to establish the truth of the 
 opinions just asserted, by the simple but lucid results of 
 scrupulous investigation. 
 
430 
 
 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CH. II. 
 
 Chap. II. — On the Affinity of the Eoots. 
 
 A few examples will be sufficient to prove distinctly that 
 the general resemblance of languages cannot always be 
 founded upon etymological rules, many of which were in- 
 vented before the true source had been discovered ; but 
 should rather be sought in such simple matters of fact as 
 will become apparent upon the most cursory investigation. 
 
 No change or transposition of the letters in the ortho- 
 graphy can be allowed, but an entire similarity in the pri- 
 mitive words will alone be admitted as the test of their 
 origin. Certainly, if we are to be guided by reference to 
 history alone, " giorno" (day) ought necessarily to be derived 
 from " dies" (Latin) ; and since the f, in Latin, so frequently 
 becomes h, in Spanish, while p, in the Latin, is changed 
 into f, in the German, and c not unfrequently becomes h, 
 we may venture, by means of this analogy, to trace other 
 circumstances, not perhaps so strikingly apparent, still, as 
 has been already observed, the general or particular analogy 
 ought to be confirmed by historical facts. Nothing must be 
 invented according to pre-conceived theoretical principles ; 
 but the uniformity of the whole should be so great and 
 striking that all minor differences may easily be overlooked. 
 
 I shall next mention a few Indian words which are iden- 
 tical with the German. Shrityoti, er schreitet [he strides], 
 vindoti, er findet [he finds], schliszyoti, er umschlieszet 
 [he embraces], onto, das ende [the end], monuschyo, der 
 mensch [the man], shoosa, shoostri, die Schwester [the sister], 
 rotho, das rad [the wheel], bhruvo, die brauen der äugen 
 [the brown of the eye], torsho, der durst [thirst], tandovon, 
 der tanz [the dance], ondani, die enten [the ducks], noko, 
 der nagel [the nail], sthiro, stier [immoveable], oshonon, 
 das essen [eating], &c. &c. 
 
 Other roots correspond rather with the form of the word 
 as seen in the congenial dialect: yuyon, in English, you ; 
 shoopno, der schlaf, Icelandic, sveffn [sleep] ; lökote [he 
 stands], in the old German, lugen; upo, ««{/"[up], agrees with 
 the lower German ; so also, vetsi, vetti, du iveiszt, er weisz 
 [thou knowest, he knows], allied also with the Latin videt, 
 though in a somewhat different signification. The lower 
 German is generally of importance in regard to the etymo- 
 
B. I. Cn. II.] ON THE AFFINITY OF THE ROOTS. 431 
 
 logy, the old form being often exactly retained. Roksho and 
 rakshoso may be the ancient recke [giant]. 
 
 I have here mentioned only a few peculiar German roots, 
 in order by those examples to meet any objections that may 
 be raised ; not such roots as the Latin language has, in com- 
 mon with other derived branches ; as nasa, die nase, the 
 nose ; mishroti, er mischt, he mixes ; namo, der nähme, the 
 name ; or particularly with the Persian, as tvari, die thur 
 [the door], P. dur ; bondhon, das band, [the band], P. bund ; 
 ghormo [warm], P. gurm ; gauh, die huh [the cow], P. 
 gao. I omit the epithets of vater, father ; mutter, mother ; 
 bruder, brother ; and tochter, daughter ; in the Indian pita, 
 mat a, bhrata, duhita, of which I remark only that they all 
 take an r in the accusative, and a few other cases, pitoron, 
 the father, &c. &c. Other remarkable facts connected with 
 these common words will be noticed hereafter. 
 
 I shall select from the Greek language such examples 
 only as are either simple fundamental roots or parts, or will 
 serve to demonstrate the resemblance between the two 
 languages. Osmi, osi, osti [I am, thou art, he is], fully 
 agrees with the Greek esmi, essi, esti, if in the first in- 
 stance we take Gr. eimi and eis for the older form. The o 
 is not emphatic ; it is the short vowel, and, unless it be an 
 initial letter, is never even written. In the grammatical 
 system it is expressed by a short a; but in the existing lan- 
 guage indicated by a short o, and in some few words pro- 
 nounced as e short. One single example may suffice to pro- 
 duce the resemblance. Dodami, dodasi, dodati [I go, thou 
 goest, he goes] exactly resembling Gr. didömi, &c. The 
 long a rather resembles that in the Latin das, dat. Ma is an 
 Indian negation, answering to the Greek me. The short 
 vowel o is prefixed to words in the same signification as the 
 Gr. a, privativum. Dur is prefixed in the same intention as 
 the Greek dus ; in the Persian dush, as dushmun [the evil- 
 minded, the fiend], in the Indian durmonoh. 
 
 The Indian language resembles the Greek, Latin, and 
 German, not only in its power of varying the original 
 meaning of the verbs by particles prefixed ; but in the par- 
 ticles employed with that intention, nearly all of which 
 may be found again in the languages referred to. The 
 following words are common both to the Greek and the 
 Indian : son, sufficiently resembling the Greek sum ; poti is 
 
432 
 
 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. 
 
 [B. I. CH. II. 
 
 poti, the old Gr. for pros ; onu signifies after, as Gr. ana. 
 Pro is found with the same meaning both in Latin and 
 Greek ; — ä has the signification of the Latin ad, and the 
 German an : the negative particle no agrees with the Latin 
 and German ; upo is the German auf [up], in the lower 
 German dialect ; ut, the German aus [out], in the same. 
 
 All those who have employed themselves in the study of 
 languages must be aware of the numerous coincidences to be 
 traced even in the most simple and fundamental parts of 
 speech. I therefore pass over without hesitation many 
 words in which the affinity is marked by a similarity in the 
 primitive roots alone, without any other circumstance worthy 
 of notice ; as osthi, Gr. osteon [bone] ; prothomo, Gr. prötös 
 the first] ; etoron, Gr. heteron [another, a second] ; udokon 
 water], Gr. hudör ; druh and drumoh [the tree], Gr. drus ; 
 labho [the taking, receiving], lobhote [he takes], synonymous 
 with Gr. labö, lamb and ; piyote [he drinks], Gr. piei ; sev- 
 yote [he honours, and is honoured], Gr. sebein, &c. ; masoh 
 [the month], Gr. meis; chonro [the moon], called also chon- 
 dromah, where the last syllable is indeed the root, derived 
 from masoh, and also from the Persian mäh ; as also the 
 German mond [moon], in lower German, malm. 
 
 From the Latin language, in which the number of Indian 
 roots is perhaps greater than in either of the others, I shall 
 cite but a few examples, those only in which the resemblance is 
 most singular. Vohoti, L. vehit; vomoti, L. vomit; vor tute, IL. 
 vertitur ; svonoh, JL,sonus; nidhih, L. nidus; sorpoh, Ij. ser- 
 pens; navy on, L. navis; danon, L. donum; dinon, L. dies [the 
 day] ; vidhova, L. vidua ; podon, L. pes, pedis ; asyon, L. os 
 [face]; yauvonoh, l<.juvenis; modhyoh, L. medius; yugon,Jj. 
 jugum, from yunkte,i. jungit, and jungitur, a widely extended 
 root, which in its derived signification holds an important 
 place in the philosophical terminology of the Indians. Further, 
 I shall mention rosoh [the juice], L. ros ; viroh, L. vir [the 
 hero] ; dontah, L. denies, Persian dundan [the teeth] ; soroh, 
 L. series ; keshoh [the hair], found again in Ccesa-ries, whence 
 Ccesar, as well as crinitus, may be more correctly derived, 
 than from the ordinary root ; ognih [the fire], L. ignis ; 
 potih [the possessor, or something possessing, and therefore 
 mighty], seems to be as much employed in the formation of 
 compound words as the Latin potens. I pass over many 
 words, the derivation of which may be traced by the sound 
 
B. I. CH. II.] ON THE AFFINITY OF THE ROOTS. 433 
 
 alone ; as shushvoti, L. sugit ; mormoroh, L. murmur ; tumu- 
 loh, L. tumultus ; as well as numerous others, the affinity of 
 which would not probably appear doubtful if carefully in- 
 vestigated, but which are not so immediately striking as 
 the preceding. 
 
 Indian words, found also in the Persian language, are, in 
 conformity with the peculiar character of that language, 
 most arbitrarily abbreviated, and very rarely retained without 
 mutilation, as röjo [brilliancy, shining], into P. roshün. 
 The termination is frequently retrenched, and dissyllables 
 become throughout monosyllables ; as in apoh [water], P. ab ; 
 ospoh [the horse], P. asp ; bhishmoh, or bhimoh [terror], P. 
 beem; shiroh [the head],' P. sir; shakhoh [a branch], P 
 shäkh ; kamoh [desire], P. kam. Frequently even impor- 
 tant syllables are curtailed, as, T.pä [the foot], from podo> or 
 pado ; P. pur [full], from purnon ; P. tun [the body], from 
 tonüh, or tonuh ; P. deh [ten], from doshoh ; P. seeah 
 [black], from shyamoh. The monosyllable P. pah [pure], 
 comes from the trisyllable pavokoh [the purifier], also an 
 epithet of fire. We should hardly recognise mitroh [the 
 friend], also an epithet of the sun, in P. mur 9 unless the 
 Mythras of the ancients, and the general analogy in many 
 other similar cases, came to our assistance. If we compare 
 other examples, it may yet further lead us to the conclusion, 
 that from P. dum [the breath], comes the Indian atmoh [the 
 spirit], &c, which is still preserved in Gr. atme and German 
 athem [breath]. It will greatly facilitate our inquiries into 
 Persian derivation if we consider the new and frequently ab- 
 breviated form which the ancient Sanscrit takes in the Pracrit 
 and Hindostanee dialect. 
 
 The Persian language itself presents a striking example of 
 the result of so strong a propensity to abbreviations, extend- 
 ing even to the roots and primitive syllables. It approaches 
 the onomatopoetic*, and usually leads the genius of the lan- 
 guage back to that point. Among all the languages which 
 stand in an equal degree of affinity to the Indian, none clings 
 so fondly to the derivation by sound, or has so many words 
 sportively playing as it were with sound, as the Persian. 
 
 * Onomatopoetic, from the Greek word onomatopoieiö, to invent 
 words, more especially words imitative of the sense. Donnegan's Lexicon, 
 Words imitative of the sense by the sound, as " crash," " crack," " hist,'* 
 "hush," the booming of cannon, &c. — Trans. 
 
 F F 
 
434 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CH. II. 
 
 The Indian words in the Latin, Greek, and German lan- 
 guages suffer far less change than the Persian. Yet here 
 also a close comparison frequently proves the Indian form to 
 
 is easily derived from 
 , from schleshmo ; and 
 
 be the oldest. The German Roth [red 
 Möktoh, or rohitoh ; G. schleim [slime_ 
 
 G. viel [much], from vohulon ; since in words, as well as in 
 money, the stamp of the coinage may become obliterated 
 by constant use and circulation, although it cannot easily be 
 altered. 
 
 The distinct forms of the derived languages often appear 
 to meet in the Indian words, as in their common root. From 
 putroh (to which the Celtic potr is most clearly allied), L. 
 puer may as easily be derived as P. pisür ; schweisz [sweat], 
 in the lower German dialect, may as easily be derived from 
 svedoh as the Latin sudor ; in noroh, the Persian nur, and 
 the Greek an~~r, appear to meet ; in trasoh [trembling and 
 fear], the Greek treö, the Latin tremo, and the Persian 
 turseedan ; samudron [the sea], unites the German meer 
 sea], and the Greek hudör [water]. The German Knie 
 [knee], would scarcely seem to be derived from janu, unless 
 the Gr. gonu and L. genu marked the transition. 
 
 Still more importance may perhaps be attached to the 
 circumstance, that some few words, which cannot be traced 
 back to any root in the modern language, are easily derived 
 from the Indian, and their compound form explained by 
 reference to that language. Prandium, for example, may 
 unquestionably be derived from the Indian prahnoh [the 
 forenoon], which is compounded of the particle pro and ohoh 
 [the day], in the fifth and sixth case ohnoh ; monile in the 
 same manner is derived from moni [diamond] ; sponte, in the 
 ablative, agrees in signification with svante, but svanton is 
 compounded of the particle svo and oton, " Quod finem suum 
 in se habet? 
 
 The remarkable agreement frequently seen, even in a 
 certain declension, is very striking. Ayonton, for example, 
 and L. euntem, from yati [he goes], also eti [it]; or as it 
 appears in the compound words, as tvarsthito [the doorkeeper], 
 ontortvari [the inner door]. 
 
 It seems well worthy of notice, that many names of heathen 
 divinities, both Latin and Greek, which cannot be referred to 
 any root in their own language, may be traced back to an 
 Indian origin ; and although too much importance has been 
 
B. Im CH. II.] ON THE AFFINITY OF THE HOOTS. 435 
 
 attached to such general similarities, their existence is at 
 least worth mentioning. This point, however, seems to 
 belong to a different sphere of inquiry, and must be dis- 
 missed with cursory notice, as my observations are now con- 
 fined to such striking points as are too palpably evident to 
 require much research or comparison. It is a singular fact, 
 that the name of the city of Rome even is of Indian extrac- 
 tion. The Greek Börne, it is true, presents itself ; but it is 
 an almost isolated example, and little doubt can be entertained 
 as to the language to which the word originally belonged, 
 when we reflect how widely the root romo, romoti, whence 
 come roti, ramo, &c. &c, is diffused in the Indian language. 
 These words all imply joy in the abstract, and especially 
 the rejoicing of a conqueror or hero, and in the old poem 
 "Rama," are frequently repeated in beautiful accordance 
 with, and allusion to, the name of the hero celebrated. 
 
 The same Indian word frequently assimilates in one inver- 
 sion with one of the connected languages, and in another 
 inversion with a different language. Chindonti, for example, 
 is almost exactly the same as L. scindunt ; but the infinitive 
 chettun is more like the German scheiden ; tonu resembles 
 L. tenuis rather than G. dünn [thin, or rather transparent]; the 
 verb tonöti (the meaning of which comprises both tonu and 
 dümi), agrees better with the German dehnte [to extend], 
 than with the Latin extendit. Separated members of both 
 derived languages are found united in the Indian, as in their 
 general root ; ut, used for aus [out], in the lower German 
 dialect has been already mentioned ; thence come the regu- 
 larly formed comparative uttoron, the German äuszern 
 [outer], the regular superlative uttomon, the Latin ultimum, 
 but in signification resembling sum mum [extreme]. All 
 the Latin, Persian, and German of the family of mors, mor- 
 talis, mürd, moordün, morden, mord, [murder], find their 
 general regular root in the Indian mri, whence come mrit- 
 yuh, morttyah, moronon, &c. The same observation applies 
 to another family of words, stehen and stand [to stand], 
 widely extended throughout each of those four languages, 
 the Latin, Greek, Persian, and German ; tisthoti, er steht 
 [he stands], agrees most completely with the Greek ; sthanon 
 the place], with the Persian sit an; sthiro [immoveable] the 
 German stier ; has already been mentioned ; janami, L. gigno, 
 
 F F 2 
 
436 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CH. II, 
 
 Gr. gennaö, is also a very fertile root. They are, however, 
 too numerous to be all mentioned. 
 
 I shall select a few of the most remarkable words signi- 
 fying mind, thought, science, as affording particularly clear 
 evidence of their common Indian descent. Monoh monoson, 
 in the Latin mens, the verb monyote [he thinks] is found 
 in the German meinet Motih is the Greek metis. An- 
 other form, closely connected with this and with the Ger- 
 man muth [spirit, courage], is found in amödoh [pleasure], 
 anmuth; the a in the Indian amödo (which probably is also 
 allied with the Persian omed [hope]) is used merely as a 
 prefix ; from the same root we shall then have unmadoh ; 
 un being the regular form adopted for the sake of euphony, 
 instead of ut; unmadoh [desperate, furious], literally the 
 same as exmens, may have been contracted into the En- 
 glish mad. Atmoh, which signifies ipse and spiritus, has 
 already been noticed in the Greek and German, atme 
 and athem [breath]. So likewise the root vedo, whence 
 comes vetti, the German wissen [to know]. The Latin 
 video is somewhat different in signification, but more closely 
 resembling the Indian in form. The prolific root ina, signi- 
 fying knowledge, science, and understanding, gives us the 
 Persian shuneedun, shunoodun, shinakhtun. The root 
 dhi signifies deep thought and reflection, whence comes 
 dhiyote, in the German dichtet [to compose], which in its 
 original signification expresses to meditate, or also to write 
 poetry; dhyayo, dhyayoti, &c, are allied with the German 
 dachte [he thinks]. The Latin Vox may have been derived 
 from vocho, or from vakyon; both forms are in use. The root 
 re signifies speech or language, rede in German. Ganon 
 becomes in Latin cantus, from the root gi, giyote [he sings] ; 
 in the Persian hhondan [to sing and read]. 
 
 The Indian pronouns generally coincide with the Latin. 
 Certainly tvon [thou] is common to all the derived lan- 
 guages ; vhon [I] is, on the contrary, traced only in the 
 Celtic on ; the dative moya [to me] is nearest to the Greek 
 moi; the me, which is used instead of man [me], and also 
 in the fourth and sixth cases, is common to both Greek and 
 Latin ; but the root svo (whence L. suus, -a, -urn [his] are 
 derived, and is often prefixed as a particle in order to express 
 self-reliance, or self-confidence, has in its declension cases 
 which are precisely similar to the Latin, as svon, L. suum, 
 
B. I. CH. II.] ON THE AFFINITY OF THE ROOTS. 437 
 
 svan, L. suam, &c. &c. The pronoun eschoh, eschah, etot is, 
 indeed, the common root of is, ea, id and iste, ista, istud, as 
 in the derived cases of the two first families it generally takes 
 a t; to the same root belongs iti, which sometimes corresponds 
 with id, sometimes with ita. Koh (in construction generally 
 kos) ha, hon corresponds with L. qui, quce, quod, even in a few 
 of the cases derived from them, as han, L. quam, the interroga- 
 tive kirn and L. quid: the Persian keh is of the same family. 
 The already-mentioned yüyon, on the contrary, corresponds 
 with the German, in the English form you; the pronoun 
 soh belongs to the Hebrew, Arabic, and also to the early 
 German ; the accusative ton is exactly the Greek ton, 
 German den; the genitive tosyo the German dessen; the 
 plural te the German die; tot, in which the short vowel 
 may be an a as well as an o, corresponds with the German 
 das, lower German dat. As oyom, in most of the cases, 
 takes an i, which is often regularly changed into y, the Per- 
 sian een, with which jener agrees, may be derived from 
 it. Many others might also be cited, but to do so would 
 lead us too deep into etymological inquiries. 
 
 The numerals also have the same affinity. Eins, fünf, 
 hundert, and tausend, — 1, 5, 100, 1000, — eko, poncho, 
 shoto, sohosro, — agree with the Persian ek, punj, sud, 
 hüzar. With the exception of the first, chotur, [four], in 
 the Sclavonian chetyr, they are sufficiently similar to 
 our own language, even to the numeral adjectives derived 
 from them ; tvitiyoh, tritiyoh, correspond most distinctly with 
 the German der zweite [the second], and der dritte [the 
 third] ; soptomoh [seven], (the aspirated h at the end is fre- 
 quently changed in the construction into s, and might thus 
 form soptomos), soptoma, soptomon, most completely coincide 
 with the Latin Septimus, septima, septimum; so also dua- 
 dosho, L. duodecim. 
 
 I have hitherto alluded only to single instances in which 
 the agreement of the separate words is immediately appa- 
 rent. Should we pursue our investigations further to the 
 relationship of the roots themselves, we shall find that, al- 
 though requiring to be more strictly analysed, the connexion 
 is nevertheless sufficiently certain; as, for example, moho 
 and maho may be traced in L. magnus, G. mächtig [mighty], 
 P. meh ; and volo, valo, which signifies strength, are seen in 
 
 F F 3 
 
438 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE [ß. I. CH. II. 
 
 L. valid us ; tomo [dark] in G. dämmern; löliitoh [red and 
 burning] agrees with the German lohe [fire^ ardour]; 
 chestote [he seeks, desires] with qucesitus and P. khwa- 
 heedün. Many others may be derived from the different 
 declensions of a single root, as from goccho, goto, gomo, 
 gamino ; G. gehen, E. going ; G. kommen ; L. caminus ; 
 but these investigations would swell our Treatise into a com- 
 parative vocabulary, and render it necessary to investigate a 
 great portion of each of the languages named. 
 
 I have, for the same reason, omitted to notice many similar 
 examples in which, although the meaning is slightly altered, 
 the word itself remains unchanged, as vijon [the seed], L. 
 vis ; guno [attribute, character, in a different kind and man- 
 ner], P. goon [the colour]. How can it be doubted that 
 G. morden [murder], and P. murdan are the same word, 
 although the first has an active and the second a passive 
 signification ? P. deo is unquestionably devo, in the Latin 
 divus and deus ; although P. deo is always used in reference 
 to evil, and devo is applied only to good spirits. In mod- 
 huroh, in construction modhuros, modhura, modhuron, we 
 cannot fail to recognize L. maturus-a-um, although the In- 
 dian word signifies sweet ; the substantive modhu [honey] is 
 the German meth [mead]. So lökoh [the world, space], L. 
 locus ; vesthitoh [clothed], L. vestitus; mordjharo [the cat], 
 the German mar der [martin]. Names of animals often refer 
 to very distant branches, as L. vulpis and G. wolf [wolf] ; we 
 should scarcely think of associating P. mürgh [the bird] with 
 mrigo, wild animals generally, and especially the deer, ex- 
 cept that the Indian root also indicates the chace or a swift 
 flight and pursuit. Topo and tapo are, in Indian writings, 
 so generally employed in the sense of penitence, that their 
 original signification, heat, is almost forgotten, although it 
 is preserved in the Indian root, and even in the derived form 
 tapoyittun, L. calefacere, in the Greek thalpein. Yery 
 different words and meanings are often associated in this 
 manner, and may be most easily traced, if we know the 
 intermediate links, and consider the connected languages in 
 their regular combination. Thus the Persian boo [fra- 
 grancy], especially the breath of flowers, must, judging from 
 P. bostan [the garden], have been derived from the Indian 
 pushpo [flower], with which the German busch also claims 
 
B. I. CH. III.] ON THE GRAMMATICAL STRUCTURE. 439 
 
 affinity ; not to particularise many otlier instances which 
 might suggest the general mode and progress of such trans- 
 formations, and the laws by which similar changes in the 
 signification of words are usually effected. 
 
 Chap. III. — On the Grammatical Structure. 
 
 Although the proofs adduced in the preceding chapter of 
 the affinity between the languages are striking, and in many 
 instances may be considered well founded, still a question 
 may arise as to whether they necessarily establish the pro- 
 position that the Indian is the most ancient, and, conse- 
 quently, the common root of all ? Might not that language 
 also have arisen out of the intermixture of the others, and 
 thus have become stamped with the same marks of simi- 
 larity ? 
 
 Not to dwell upon many facts already adduced which 
 seem clearly to contradict such a supposition, I shall cite 
 one further proof in evidence which completely decides the 
 question, and establishes the presumed antiquity of the Indian 
 language, on a basis of the most unquestionable certainty. 
 The theory which would trace the Greek roots existing in 
 the Indian language to the influence of the Seleucidas in 
 Bactria is scarcely more happy than that hypothesis which 
 would attribute the formation of the Egyptian pyramids to 
 some natural process of crystallisation. 
 
 There is, however, one single point, the investigation of 
 which ought to decide every doubt, and elucidate every 
 difficulty ; the structure or comparative grammar of the 
 language furnishes as certain a key to their general analogy, 
 as the study of comparative anatomy has done to the loftiest 
 branch of natural science. 
 
 The Persian language must first be separated from the 
 general circle, since the intercourse which so long subsisted 
 between that people and the Arabians led to the adoption 
 among the former of the personal suffixa, and their grammar 
 has in consequence far less affinity with the Indian than that 
 of the Germans even, to say nothing of the Latin and Greek. 
 Still, if all these various points of resemblance are considered 
 
 f r 4 
 
440 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CII. in. 
 
 together, they will not be without a certain degree of im- 
 portance. 
 
 There is little or nothing to be said of the declensions : 
 the comparative P. tur must here be considered analogous to 
 the Greek and Indian taro, and the diminutive is formed 
 through k, as in the German and Indian. Manovokoh, for 
 example, from manovoh [the man] ; P. duktürück, G. das 
 Töchterchen [the little daughter]. The conjugation of the 
 verbs is far more important. The sign of the first person is 
 m, which is lost in the Latin, but in Indian and Greek dis- 
 tinctly pronounced mi ; i only remains of the si in the second 
 person in the Indian and Greek languages ; the sign of the 
 third person is t or d, plural nd, as in Latin and German ; 
 in the Greek the ancient form is fully preserved, ti and nti. 
 The Persian participle present and active in ndeh resembles 
 the German in nd, formerly nde ; the participle preterite and 
 passive in deh, with a vowel preceding it, agrees with the 
 Latin in tus, a, urn, and with the old German form in the 
 Teutonic ; the same may be remarked of the Indian verbali- 
 bus, as kritoh. 
 
 I must not omit to mention that the Persian terminations 
 kar, war, dar, which, in composition with adjectives, signify 
 either one who does, or performs, any thing in a certain 
 manner, or any object possessed, or constructed on a fixed 
 model, correspond with the Indian karo and koro, voro and 
 dhoro, in the same manner as the Persian termination man 
 does with the Indian particle mano. The negative Persian 
 particles neh, ny, and ma, are the Indian no, ni, and ma ; the 
 Persian particle be, which is prefixed in a privative signifi- 
 cation, is the same as the Indian vi ; besides these, P. andur, 
 and ander von [within], like the Indian ontor and ontoron, 
 and the Persian pronoun keh, already mentioned, in the 
 Indian koh. 
 
 The Persian auxiliary verb äst, Indian osti, [is] ; P. bood 
 [been], from bhovoti [he is], in the Pracrit bhödi, in the 
 preterite of the Sanscrit obhut; P. kürdan, G. thun, [to do], 
 Indian korttun, are common in the Persian as well as in 
 the modern Indian dialect ; a few inflections of the Indian 
 root kri, as kriyan, kryote, connect themselves rather with 
 the Latin creare. 
 
 It is greatly to be desired that some individual, supplied 
 
B. I. CH. III.] ON THE GRAMMATICAL STRUCTURE. 441 
 
 with all the necessary means for pursuing such investigations, 
 would commence an inquiry into the first origin of the Per- 
 sian language, discover what changes it may have undergone, 
 and whether its affinity with the Greek and Indian was at 
 any time greater than it is at present. The information 
 thus obtained would be far more conclusive and satisfactory 
 than any collection, however numerous, of according roots. 
 It is, indeed, much to be regretted that the study of this 
 beautiful language is not more popular in Germany ; there 
 is scarcely any, not even excepting the Greek, which is more 
 rich in all the requirements of poetry*; besides which, the 
 affinity between the Persian and German is so great, that we 
 may not unreasonably hope to discover many facts and cir- 
 cumstances that may throw new light on the obscurer por- 
 tions of the German history. The study of the Persian 
 language should, however, be combined with that of the 
 Sclavonian. A comparison between them, and examination 
 into their chief points of resemblance or dissimilarity, will 
 probably throw light on many unexplained circumstances 
 recorded by ancient writers concerning the wars of the Per- 
 sians and Scythians. 
 
 Besides those points in which the German grammar re- 
 sembles the Persian, there are others marked by a more 
 peculiar affinity with the Greek and Indian. N is the sign 
 of the accusative both in the German and Indian, and s of the 
 genitive. The termination tvon in the Indian forms a substan- 
 tive expressive of creative power, answering to the German 
 termination thum. The conjugation of the verbs is formed 
 in part by the alteration of the vowel, as in most other lan- 
 guages which adopt the old grammatical construction. The 
 formation of the imperfect, in one baanch of the German 
 verbs by the alteration of the vowel, is quite in agreement 
 with other languages ; in another branch, the imperfect is 
 formed by the introduction of a t; this, like the b in the 
 Latin imperfect, is, indeed, a distinctive peculiarity. The 
 principle, however is the same, viz. that the variations of 
 
 * The Parisian library is not only very rich in Persian MSS., but 
 possesses, in Monsieur Chezy, a man of great learning, who combines a 
 perfect knowledge of the language generally, with a peculiarly fine and 
 discriminating sense of the individual beauties and difficulties of the 
 poetical structure and diction. 
 
442 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CH. IIL 
 
 meaning in reference to time and other circumstances are 
 not produced by particles annexed to distinct words, but by 
 modifications of the root. 
 
 If we examine the grammar of the old dialects, considering 
 the Gothic and Anglo-Saxon as examples of the German; 
 and the Icelandic of the Sclavonian branch of our language, — 
 we shall not only find a perfect with an augmentative, as in 
 the Greek and Indian, but a dual, and also an exact defini- 
 tion of gender, and relation of participle, and declension, 
 which are now lost ; as well as many inflections, which are 
 already somewhat modified, and less easy of recognition. 
 The third persons singular and plural of the verb, for ex- 
 ample, are in complete and perfect agreement. In short, 
 the study of these old monuments of the German language 
 will undeniably establish the fact, that their grammatical 
 structure was originally the same as that of the Latin and 
 Greek. 
 
 Many vestiges of the old form of speech are still to be 
 found in the Teutonic languages, more perhaps in the proper 
 German, than in either the English or Scandinavian ; but 
 although the general principles of modern grammar, conjuga- 
 tion by auxiliary verbs, and declension by prepositions, ap- 
 pear to govern all, this circumstance must not be suffered to 
 lead us into error, the same modification having been under- 
 gone by every romantic language formed upon the basis of 
 the Latin, and also by the Hindostanee dialect now spoken, 
 which adheres as closely to the Sanscrit as the Italian does 
 to the Latin. It is unnecessary to seek an explanation of 
 this universal similarity in any extraneous influence. The 
 artistic construction of the language becomes obliterated and 
 worn off by common daily use, especially during a long 
 period of rudeness and barbarity; and is at length com- 
 pletely lost sight of, either disappearing by slow degrees, or 
 in some instances effaced, as it were, in a moment ; a gram- 
 mar, constructed by the aid of auxiliaries and prepositions, 
 being in fact the shortest and most convenient, presenting 
 an easy abridgment adapted for general use. It might 
 almost be assumed as a general rule, that every language 
 becomes the more easy of acquirement, in proportion as the 
 structure is simplified and contracted into an abbreviated 
 form. 
 
B. I. CH. m.] ON THE GRAMMATICAL STRUCTURE. 443 
 
 The Indian grammar harmonizes so completely with the 
 Greek and Latin, that it appears to be scarcely less closely 
 connected with those languages than they themselves are 
 with each other. The similarity of principle is a most de- 
 cisive point; every degree of modification or comparison 
 being expressed, not by the addition of separate words, 
 whether particles or auxiliaries, but by inflexions, throughout 
 which the peculiar form of the root is distinctly preserved. 
 The future is formed, as in the Greek, by s ; korömi [I do], 
 horishyami [I will do] ; the imperfect by a short vowel pre- 
 fixed, and the termination on; bhovami [I am], obhovon 
 [I was]. The striking resemblance between the Indian de- 
 clensions of the gender of adjectives and the Latin, that of 
 the comparative, and the personal terminations of the verbs 
 with the Greek, and the perfect tense marked by the affix 
 augmentative, has been already noticed. It agrees with the 
 Greek also in the formation of the first person of that 
 tense, which is not terminated by mi or on, as in the other 
 tenses, nor by t or ti, in the third person ; but both per- 
 sons terminate with a vowel. Chokaro [I have, and he 
 has done] ; vobhuvo [I have been, and he has been]. So 
 decided an agreement in the most delicate peculiarities of 
 structure must strike all who have studied the general form- 
 ation of language as something more than a merely remark- 
 able coincidence. The termination of the third person of 
 the imperative is otu, in the plural ontu ; the termination of 
 the first participle in the masculine gender, on. It would, 
 however, be superfluous to multiply examples, so many 
 having been already found, whose striking similarity must 
 enable us to form a decisive conclusion. 
 
 The Latin infinitive, with its termination in re, presents 
 a remarkable deviation; this of course is a special pecu- 
 liarity of the Latin, which thus deviates from other lan- 
 guages of the same family, in the formation of one of the 
 most important parts of speech. Yet even here we discover 
 a certain bond of similarity and point of union in the 
 Indian infinitive ending in tun, which is as often and even 
 more frequently employed in the signification of the supine, 
 which it also resembles in form, than in the appropriate 
 sense of the infinitive. 
 
 The declension of the fifth case, in at, corresponds with 
 
444 ON TELE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CH. III. 
 
 the Latin ablative in ate ; the seventh case of the plural in 
 eshu, ishu, &c, with the Greek essi, and oisi ; the fourth and 
 fifth cases in bhyoh, which in construction often becomes 
 bhyos, with the long vowel preceding, resemble the Latin 
 dative and ablative in bus. The singular of the Indian 
 dative in ayo, may be compared with the old Latin in at ; 
 the termination of the dual, in an with the Greek, ö. 
 The Indian declension agrees with the language above 
 named in many peculiarities, and separate modifications of 
 the fundamental rules ; the neuter gender, for example, is 
 universally the same, in the accusative as in the nominative ; 
 in the dual, many cases which in other numbers are distinct, 
 have one and the same form. 
 
 I shall not here repeat what has been previously said of 
 these points of agreement, and I must also pass over much 
 which might be of importance in reference to others. Not- 
 withstanding the harmony of grand essential points, there 
 is, of course, considerable variety in the details, and many 
 casual differences. The chief distinction, however, consists 
 in this. The Indian grammar, though subject to the same 
 laws of construction as the Greek and Latin, is, 1 notwith- 
 standing, more truly simple and artistic than either. The 
 Greek and Latin languages are declined ; that is, the varied 
 proportion and value of the substantive is shown by inflec- 
 tion of the root, not by annexing or prefixing certain par- 
 ticles, as is generally the case with modern languages ; still 
 they are not sufficiently perfect in themselves to dispense 
 with the employment of prepositions. In the Indian de- 
 clensions prepositions are never required ; and the differences 
 indicated by cum, ex, in, which are so frequently used with 
 the Latin ablative, are expressed in the Indian language 
 by an appropriate case. I will not presume to assert that the 
 Indian grammar has no irregular verbs; but certainly their 
 irregularities in number and proportion are as nothing 
 compared with those of the Greek and Latin. The conju- 
 gation of verbs is in itself far more regular. The impera- 
 tive has a first person, and is thus in conformity with the 
 series of regular and perfect languages ; the second person 
 of the imperative is less abbreviated and mutilated than is 
 invariably found to be the case in the Persian, and very 
 frequently in other languages. The manner in which a 
 
B. I. CH. m.] ON THE GRAMMATICAL STRUCTURE. 445 
 
 simple verb becomes a frequentative or desiderative, or is 
 formed into one signifying to cause an action, or to operate 
 by the means of another, is generally uniform, and equally 
 applicable to all primitive roots. The great number of 
 words derived from the infinitive of the verb form a perfect 
 series ; nearly all the Indian adjectives are derived from 
 verbs (verbalid). Of all existing languages there is none 
 so perfect in itself, or in which the internal connexion of 
 the roots may be so clearly traced as in the Indian. 
 
 It would, perhaps, be too much to assert without reserva- 
 tion that the Greek and Latin languages hold the same 
 position in regard to the Indian as the Italian does to the 
 Latin, although it is undeniably true that a certain irregu- 
 larity of form, and the use of prepositions in those languages, 
 already presage the transition to modern grammatical con- 
 struction ; and the regular simplicity of the Indian language 
 in parallel cases is an incontrovertible evidence of greater 
 antiquity. The following observation is also of importance. 
 There is at least an appearance of probability that in the 
 Greek, the annexed syllables, now blended inseparably with 
 the primitive word, were originally distinct particles and 
 auxiliaries ; but this hypothesis cannot be carried out with- 
 out the assistance of an etymological skill and subtlety which 
 must be unhesitatingly rejected in every scientific investiga- 
 tion or historical contemplation of the origin of language ; 
 even then, indeed, the theory could hardly be maintained. 
 Not the slightest appearance of any such amalgamation can 
 be traced in the Indian language ; it must be allowed that 
 its structure is highly organised, formed by inflection, or the 
 change and transposition of its primary radical sounds, car- 
 ried through every ramification of meaning and expression, 
 and not by the merely mechanical process of annexing words 
 or particles to the same lifeless and unproductive root. The 
 Indian grammar offers the best example of perfect simplicity, 
 combined with the richest artistic construction. It is neces- 
 sary, however, to pre-suppose one property of the mind, in 
 order to explain, in a significant and intelligible manner, the 
 origin of that language; a peculiarly fine feeling of the 
 separate value and appropriate meaning, if I may thus speak, 
 of the radical words or syllables ; a perception of the whole 
 activity and influence of which we can hardly be fully 
 
446 
 
 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. fß. I. CH. IV. 
 
 sensible, the ear being now dulled and confused by a multi- 
 plicity of various impressions, and the original stamp of each 
 word being obliterated by long use. Still it cannot be 
 doubted that it once acted powerfully on the minds of men, as 
 without its influence no language could have been framed, 
 or at least none like the Indian. 
 
 This fine perception of the value of sounds and syllables 
 would produce a system of writing almost simultaneously 
 with the spoken language ; not mere hieroglyphic paintings, 
 images copied from the external forms of nature, but a system 
 in which the intrinsic character of the letters, with the sound 
 of which the ear was already familiar, might be indicated or 
 presented to the mind by certain arbitrary signs or visible 
 outlines. 
 
 Chap. IV. — On the Division op Languages into Two 
 principal Branches, founded on its internal Struc- 
 ture. 
 
 The peculiar principle predominating in the Indian language, 
 and all others derived from it, will be most intelligibly illus- 
 trated by contrast and comparison. In very few languages 
 is the grammar constructed with such astonishing simplicity 
 as the Indian and Greek, the characteristics of which I 
 attempted to elucidate in the preceding chapter. The fea- 
 tures of most other languages are very different, and the 
 laws by which they are governed of a completely opposite 
 nature. 
 
 Modifications of meaning, or different degrees of significa- 
 tion, may be produced either by inflection or internal vari- 
 ations of the primitive word, or by annexing to it certain 
 peculiar particles, which in themselves indicate the past, the 
 future, or any other circumstance. On these two simple 
 methods we found our distinction between the two principal 
 branches of language. Every additional difference or vari- 
 ation appears, on closer inspection, to be nothing more than 
 an inferior modification or secondary consequence of the two 
 grand divisions. Every variety of the primitive roots exist- 
 ing in the illimitable and apparently inexhaustible province 
 
B. I. CH. IV.] ON THE DIVISION OF LANGUAGES. 447 
 
 of language is fully comprehended within those two broad 
 contrasted features. 
 
 The Chinese presents a remarkable instance of a language 
 almost without inflection, every necessary modification being 
 expressed by separate monosyllabic words, each having an 
 independent signification. The extraordinary monosyllabic 
 form, and perfect simplicity of its construction, make the 
 consideration of it important as facilitating the comprehen- 
 sion of other languages. The same may be said of the gram- 
 mar of the Malay language. The singular and difficult 
 dialects of America* illustrate the most important pecu- 
 liarities of this entire branch. Notwithstanding the inex- 
 haustible variety of the primitive roots of those languages, in 
 which very frequently no sound of similarity can be heard, 
 even among tribes who dwell in close juxtaposition, all, as 
 far as they have hitherto been examined, appear to follow 
 the same laws of construction, every modification of time or 
 degree being expressed by the addition of words or particles 
 which frequently become incorporated with the primitive 
 word, and yet have in themselves a peculiar signification, 
 which they communicate to the root to which they are an- 
 nexed. The grammar of the American languages employs 
 the affix, and, like all of that branch, is very rich in pronomal 
 references used as suffixes, and in relative verbs and conju- 
 gations thence arising. The Basque language numbers no 
 less than twenty-one of these pronouns, commonly inserted 
 either before or after the auxiliary verb.j Whether in a 
 language of this kind the particles be generally annexed to 
 the verb, as is the case with the Basque, and with most of 
 the American dialects, or prefixed as in the Coptic, or whe- 
 ther both methods be employed indifferently, as in the Peru- 
 
 * I gladly embrace this opportunity of thanking that distinguished 
 author A. von Humboldt, for his kindness in procuring for me various 
 vocabularies and dictionaries, on which the preceding and following 
 observations are founded ; besides two tolerably complete vocabularies 
 and grammars of the American dialect, and the Oquichua dialect, pre- 
 vailing in Peru and Quito, he also favoured me with several shorter 
 hand-books of the Othomi, Cora, Huasteca, Mosca, Mixteca, and Totonaca 
 dialects. 
 
 f According to Larramendi. We may perhaps anticipate from the 
 elder Von Humboldt, a copious, and more especially, a distinct and intel- 
 ligent analysis of that remarkable language. 
 
448 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CH. IV. 
 
 vian, Mexican, and other American languages, is of little 
 material importance; the general principle is the same in 
 all, the grammar of the language being formed, not by in- 
 flection, but by the addition of particles. An appearance of 
 inflection is sometimes produced by the incorporation of the 
 annexed particles with the primitive word. In the Arabic 
 language, and those related to it, the first and most important 
 modifications, as, for example, the persons of the verbs, are 
 formed by the introduction of single particles, each bearing 
 its own appropriate signification, and in these the suffix not 
 being easily distinguished from the original root, we may 
 conclude a similar incorporation to have taken place in other 
 instances, although the foreign particles inserted may be no 
 longer traceable. We are at least justified in assigning the 
 language to that peculiar branch, notwithstanding the higher 
 character already apparent in certain isolated points, and 
 deducible either from its own richer and more artistic de- 
 velopment, or from an intermixture of foreign dialects. 
 
 The gradual progress of languages, in which this gram- 
 matical construction is adopted, may probably be traced as 
 follows. In the Chinese, all particles indicating modification 
 of time, person, &c, are monosyllables, perfect in themselves, 
 and independent of the root. The language of this other- 
 wise refined and civilized people stands consequently in the 
 lowest grade ; it seems possible that the highly artistic 
 system of writing so early introduced may have contributed 
 to the imperfection of the language, seizing it, as it were, 
 in its infancy, and fixing its characteristics at too early a 
 stage of their development. The grammar of the Basque, 
 Coptic, and many American languages is formed entirely 
 by prefixes, and affixes, which in general are easily distin- 
 guished from the root, and have their own independent sig- 
 nification. The particles thus inserted soon began to coalesce 
 with the word itself, as may be particularly seen in the 
 Arabic and the dialects connected with it, which, from the 
 chief features in their grammatical construction, appear to 
 belong to that branch, although many other peculiarities 
 cannot so surely be traced to the same source, and some 
 single points even manifest an affinity with the system of 
 inflection^ Some traces of the employment of suffixes may 
 be discovered in the Celtic language, although the modern 
 
B.I. CH. IV.] ON THE DIVISION OF LANGUAGES. 449 
 
 system of conjugating by the aid of auxiliary verbs, and 
 declining with prepositions, generally predominates. 
 
 There is little beauty in the American dialects, the great 
 number of which has been lamented, as well as the diversity 
 existing between them ; the dialects of Brazil and Paraguay 
 differing no less widely than those of Old and New Mexico, 
 and even in the North they are uniform, monotonous, and 
 the similarity of their character clearly indicates a similarity 
 of principle. The source of this singular diversity of dialects 
 may be found even in the principles of their grammatical 
 construction. In the Indian and Greek languages each root 
 is actually that which bears the signification, and thus seems 
 like a living and productive germ, every modification of 
 circumstance or degree being produced by internal changes ; 
 freer scope is thus given to its development, and its rich 
 productiveness is in truth almost illimitable. Still, all words 
 thus proceeding from the roots bear the stamp of affinity, 
 all being connected in their simultaneous growth and deve- 
 lopment by community of origin. From this construction a 
 language derives richness and fertility on the one hand, and 
 on the other strength and durability. It may well be said, 
 that highly organised even in its origin, it soon becomes 
 woven into a fine artistic tissue, which may be unravelled 
 even after the lapse of centuries, and afford a clue by which 
 to trace the connexion of languages dependent on it, and 
 although scattered throughout every part of the world, to 
 follow them back to their simple primitive source. Those 
 languages, on the contrary, in which the declensions are 
 formed by supplementary particles, instead of inflections of 
 the root, have no such bond of union : their roots present us 
 with no living productive germ, but seem like an agglomera 
 tion of atoms, easily dispersed and scattered by every casual 
 breath. They have no internal connexion beyond the purely 
 mechanical adaptation of particles and affixes. These lan- 
 guages, in their earliest origin, are deficient in that living 
 germ essential to a copious development ; their derivations 
 are poor and scanty, and an accumulation of affixes, instead 
 of producing a more highly artistic construction, yields only 
 an unwieldy superabundance of words, inimical to true 
 simple beauty and perspicuity. Its apparent richness is in 
 truth utter poverty, and languages belonging to that branch, 
 
 G G 
 
450 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. 1. CH. IV. 
 
 whether rude or carefully constructed, are invariably heavy, 
 perplexed, and often singularly subjective and defective in 
 character. 
 
 The study of the American dialects is also of importance, 
 as proving the utter impossibility of deriving every lan- 
 guage in its primitive roots and construction from one com- 
 mon stem. We must, however, admit that every language 
 formed by inflexion rises from one original source ; but the 
 incalculable diversity of languages belonging to the other 
 branch makes it impossible to trace them back to any point 
 of union even at their source, as is sufficiently proved by 
 examining many languages of Asia and Europe, not to men- 
 tion the countless dialects of the American continent. Even 
 the thinly populated Northern Asia contains four quite dis- 
 tinct families of language ; the Tartar, Finnish, Mogul, and 
 Mantcheou branch; there are, besides these, many less 
 widely diffused, to which a student of philology would find 
 it difficult to assign any fixed and appropriate place. We 
 must enumerate also the tangutische, or Thibet dialect, the 
 Singhalese, Japanese, and what little, after separating its 
 intermixtures of Indian and Arabic, will yet remain of the 
 Malay language peculiar to the dialects of the islands be- 
 tween India and America, and may again be traced back to 
 two fundamentally distinct families of language in Malacca, 
 and the negro-like Papua. Symes enumerates six distinct 
 dialects in the eastern peninsula of India, many of which 
 differ even in the numerals, those important characteristic 
 parts of the language. The Burmese is divided into four 
 dialects, the most important of which is that of Ava ; it 
 assimilates with the Chinese in its monosyllabic form. The 
 dialects of Koloun, between Bengal, Aracan, and Burmah, 
 and a few dialects of Pegu, belong to the same stock : the 
 original language of Pegu is, according to Symes, very dif- 
 ferent, as well as that in the country of Meckley, south of 
 Assam, and that of Assam itself, from which the Singhalese 
 dialect is derived. Notwithstanding these trifling points of 
 affinity, the diversities of dialect are very considerable in 
 proportion to the scanty population. If we consider the 
 large number of completely isolated languages, vestiges of 
 which are to be found in the west of central Asia, the region 
 of the Caucasus ; and in Europe, besides the Coptic, the 
 
B.I. CH.IV.] ON THE DIVISION OF LANGUAGES. 451 
 
 Basque, and that portion of the Wallachian which is not 
 derived from the Latin and the Arnautic, it will be clearly- 
 seen, that any attempt to trace these languages to a common 
 stock must prove futile and untenable. Another grand 
 distinction exists between the two chief branches of lan- 
 guage : many among those formed by affixes are completely 
 distinct in themselves ; but in those formed by inflection 
 the internal affinity of the roots becomes more striking, the 
 higher we ascend in tracing the history of their formation. 
 
 It must not, however, be supposed that I desire to exalt 
 one chief branch of language exclusively, to the neglect or 
 disparagement of the other. The sphere of language is too 
 comprehensive, rich, and grand, and has been too highly 
 developed and investigated for one sweeping decision to 
 accomplish any such object. Who can deny the lofty power 
 and energy of the Arabic and Hebraic languages ? They, 
 indeed, stand on the loftiest point of their peculiar branch, 
 in respect of construction and development, although their 
 adherence to it is not so exclusive as to prevent their assi- 
 milating in some few instances with the other family. Still 
 the most erudite investigators of language have been of 
 opinion that such points of resemblance may have been arbi- 
 trarily grafted on the rude original stem at a subsequent 
 period. 
 
 It must undoubtedly be admitted, after adequate investi- 
 gation and comparison, that languages in which the gram- 
 mar is one of inflexion are usually preferable, as evincing 
 higher art in their construction ; but without adducing simi- 
 lar instances from the Greek and Roman, our own noble 
 language, debased and ruined as it is, affords abundant proof 
 of the degradation in which even the most beautiful lan- 
 guage may be involved by the negligence of bad writers and 
 the admission of numerous dialects. 
 
 The progress of mere grammatical development in the 
 two chief divisions is entirely reversed. Languages formed 
 by affixes were at their commencement rude and completely 
 unformed, but grew more artistic as the subjoined particles 
 became incorporated by degrees with the primitive words : 
 in those formed by inflexion, on the contrary, the first 
 beauty and symmetry of their construction was gradually 
 defaced by an attempt to simplify and elucidate it, as may 
 
 G g 2 
 
452 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CH. IV. 
 
 be seen by comparing various dialects of the German, Ro- 
 mantic, and Indian languages, with the original type from 
 which they were framed. 
 
 The dialects of America usually belong to an inferior 
 class : this is evident by their deficiency in many indispen- 
 sable letters, as of b, d, f, g, r, s, j, v, as consonants in the 
 Mexican ; b, d, e, f, k, and x, in the Oquichua language, in 
 which the o, also, is scarcely to be found ; of f, i, k, l, r, s, 
 in the Othomides ; d, f, g, I, L, f, in the Coxa ; of b, d, f, r, 
 in the Totonaca ; b, p, f, r, in the Mixteca ; and of f, r, s, 
 k, in the Huasteca language. A few of the hard consonants 
 may, indeed, be supplied by the soft, or there may appear 
 to be a deficiency, as in the Spanish language, when none 
 actually exists ; but how can the want of such indispens- 
 able consonants as R, l, f, or the entire family, b, p, f, be 
 supplied ? We also observe a peculiar preference for cer- 
 tain compound consonants, as tl, in the Mexican. The 
 unwieldly bulk produced by the accumulation of affixes, 
 heaped one after another upon the radical word, rather esta- 
 blishes than controverts my theory ; so great a multitude of 
 particles being required, especially in the conjugation of the 
 verbs, to express the changes of person, or to contrast the 
 mere commencement of an action with a permanent habit, 
 occupation, reciprocity, or continued repetition of the same 
 action. How many peculiarities of grammatical construction 
 are common in all the American dialects, notwithstanding 
 the differences of the roots ? Many among them have no 
 gender, case, or number, and no infinitive mood ; the latter 
 being supplied in Mexican and Peruvian by the future, with 
 the verb " I will ;" or, perhaps, the verb "to be" is deficient, 
 or the adjective (as is the case in the Oquichua dialect) is the 
 same as the genitive case ; so that Runap, from Runa, the 
 man, signifies both of the man and manly. 
 
 Many of these languages are, notwithstanding, powerful 
 and expressive, and no less artistic and well constructed. 
 This is particularly the case with the Oquichua or Peru- 
 vian ; probably, as we are informed by old traditions, the 
 Incas were induced, by the peculiar excellence and compre- 
 hensiveness of this language, to enforce its general use. In 
 the Peruvian vocabulary, I find occasionally a few Indian 
 roots, as veypul [great], in Indian, vipulo ; acini [to laugh J, 
 
B. I. CH. V.] ON THE ORIGIN OF LANGUAGE. 453 
 
 Indian, hosono, &c. ; the most remarkable is inti [the sun], 
 in Indian, indra. If there be any grounds for the tradition, 
 that the Incas used a peculiar language, spoken and under- 
 stood by themselves alone, and now entirely lost, these stray 
 roots may have wandered from that language into the po- 
 pular dialect ; as it is clearly proved, by referring to the 
 earliest historical records of China, that the founders of the 
 Peruvian kingdom and language must have migrated from 
 the east of China and the Indian isles.* 
 
 Chap. V. — On the Origin of Language. 
 
 Hypotheses concerning the first origin of language would 
 either have been discarded altogether, or have assumed an 
 entirely different form, had they been founded on historical 
 investigation, instead of being wrested into forced compli- 
 ance with arbitrary theories. It is a most erroneous propo- 
 sition to assert, that the origin of language and intelligence 
 was everywhere similar. So many varieties, on the contrary, 
 exist in that respect, that it would be easy to cite one lan- 
 guage at least in corroboration of almost every theory that 
 has ever been framed. If we take, for example, the voca- 
 bulary of the Mantcheou language, we shall be astonished at 
 the completely disproportionate number of onomatopoetic f 
 or sense-imitative words which it contains, forming by far the 
 greater portion of the language. In fact, had this dialect been 
 more important and universal, we should have been com- 
 pelled to adopt the opinion that that principle predominated 
 in all languages. This example will also serve to illustrate 
 the form naturally assumed by every language founded on 
 similar principles, and the idea of referring to the same 
 origin languages of an entirely different aspect must be im- 
 
 * It is very remarkable that the Peruvian Incas, who boasted of the 
 same descent as the Hindoo Rama, (viz., from Suryä, or the Sun), styled 
 their great festival Ramasitoa ; whence we may suppose that South 
 America was peopled by the same race who imported into the farthest 
 parts of Asia the rites and fabulous history of Rama. — Discourse on the 
 Hindoos — Sir W. Jones's Works, vol. i. p. 30. 
 
 f See note, ante, p. 433. 
 
 G g 3 
 
454 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CH. V. 
 
 mediately discarded. Let us consider the. entire family of 
 each language which now claims our attention. The num- 
 ber of these onomatopoetic words in the German is very 
 inconsiderable, in comparison with the instance before 
 noticed; still they are very important, and, perhaps, not 
 much less so than in the Persian, which may be defined as 
 an intermixture of the Tartar, Sclavonic, and some other 
 dialects ; in the Greek and Latin languages their number is 
 still further diminished, and in the Indian they so completely 
 disappear, that we cannot admit the possibility of commu- 
 nity of origin. 
 
 Where, then, shall we seek the source of all those allied 
 languages which are formed by inflection? How did the 
 Indian originate ? or, since that language, although admitted 
 to be of far higher antiquity than others, is itself but a de- 
 rived form, how did the common source and origin of that 
 entire family first come into existence ? A satisfactory an- 
 swer may be given to a portion at least of this important 
 question, that the earliest language was not the mere instinc- 
 tive cry of physical nature, nor was it from an indiscriminate 
 imitation of natural tones, nor from fancy indulging in a 
 sportive experimental combination of sounds that it arose, 
 gradually engrafting on its first rude commencement a more 
 rational expression and reasonable form. The structure of 
 language, on the contrary, is but one proof added in con- 
 firmation of so many others, that the primitive condition of 
 mankind was not one of mere animal instinct, which by slow 
 degrees, and with many a weary effort, at length attained 
 some slight glimmering of reason and intelligence ; it rather 
 confirms the opposite belief, proving that, if not in every 
 country, at least in that which is now the subject of our in- 
 vestigations, the most profound study and the clearest intel- 
 ligence were early called into operation ; for without much 
 labour and reflection it would have been impossible to frame 
 a language like the Indian, which, even in its simplest form, 
 exemplifies the loftiest ideas of the pure world of thought, 
 and displays the entire ground plan of the consciousness, not 
 in figurative symbols, but in direct and immediate clearness 
 and precision. 
 
 By what means the human mind at so early a period 
 attained that wondrous gift of clear intelligence ; whether it 
 
B. I. CH. V.] ON THE ORIGIN OF LANGUAGE. 455 
 
 was gradually developed or suddenly appeared in all its lofty 
 perfection, or whether it can be accounted for by reference 
 to the natural powers of the human intellect alone, presents 
 a subject for investigation which, as touched upon in the 
 following book, may at least stimulate to further inquiry ; 
 since I shall there lay before you the systems of religion 
 and philosophy to which historical investigation assigns the 
 highest antiquity, and examine whether any unequivocal 
 traces of a first and earlier dialect are therein to be recog- 
 nised. It would, however, be useless to attempt any analysis 
 of the language, except in accordance with its natural prin- 
 ciples and progress, as no traces of foreign admixture are to 
 be found in it. It is not by any means my intention to dis- 
 pute the spontaneous origin of language generally, but merely 
 the theory that all were originally similar, and equally rude 
 and irregular in their first construction — an opinion which 
 the facts already cited abundantly disprove. 
 
 The manner in which mankind attained such lofty per- 
 fection of reason and intelligence is a question of a different 
 kind ; but the same spirit, the same deep feeling and intelli- 
 gence undoubtedly communicated itself to their language, 
 and it would be difficult to find any so skilfully and exqui- 
 sitely framed as that of which we have been speaking. It 
 combines the clear perception of the natural signification of 
 things, — a delicate discrimination of the original sense and 
 power of all those sounds which may be made the medium 
 of communicating our ideas, — a fine imitative faculty for 
 assorting and combining letters and significant syllables, 
 those mysterious elements of language, — and a power to in- 
 vent, discover, determine, and, by the use of varied declen- 
 sions, transform the language into a living organisation, ever 
 advancing, and developing itself by its own internal strength 
 and energy. Such was the origin of language ; simply beau- 
 tiful in form and construction, yet capable of almost un- 
 bounded development; the union between the primitive 
 roots, on which it is based, and the grammatical construction 
 are most closely cemented, and both spring from the same 
 original source — a deep feeling, and a clear discriminating in- 
 telligence. The oldest system of writing developed itself at 
 the same time, and in the same manner, as the spoken lan- 
 guage ; not wearing at first the symbolic form, which it sub- 
 
 G q 4 
 
456 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CH. V. 
 
 sequently assumed in compliance with the necessities of a 
 less civilised people, but composed of certain signs, which, 
 in accordance with the nature of the simplest elements of 
 language, actually conveyed the sentiments of the race of 
 men then existing. 
 
 To attempt to analyse the construction of languages which 
 bear the traces of a rude ' and scanty original, by separating 
 from them all they owe to foreign idioms, and the adaptation 
 of other and more beautiful systems, would lead me too far 
 from my present subject. Whether placed in a state of hap- 
 piness and simplicity, endowed with the light of reason and in- 
 telligence, and in the fulness of a clear perception, man easily 
 dispensed with a more artistic development of his powers, — 
 or whether in his original condition he was but a few degrees 
 removed from the irrational and brute creation, this at least 
 is certain, that the distinctive character of speech must be 
 greatly dependant on the physical condition of mankind. In 
 many languages, indeed, instead of that highly organised and 
 artistic construction which is produced by significant syllables 
 and prolific roots, we discover merely varied imitations, and 
 almost sportive combinations of sound — the cry, as it were, 
 of instinctive feeling and impulse, to which the exclamatory, 
 the interjectional, and distinctive terminations and additions 
 in time became annexed, and invested by constant use with 
 a certain conventional and arbitrary signification. 
 
 All the preceding proofs appear clearly to establish the fact 
 that the Sanscrit or Indian language is of higher antiquity 
 than the Greek or Latin, not to mention the German and 
 Persian. We might, perhaps, decide more satisfactorily in 
 what relation it stands, as the earliest derived language, to 
 the general source ; if it were in our power to consult the 
 Veda in its genuine form, together with the vocabularies 
 which were early required on account of the great difference 
 between the language of the Veda and the Sanscrit. The 
 Saga of Räma, who is described as a conqueror of the wild 
 tribes of the South, might seem to favour the opinion that 
 the Indian language, even at a very early period, suffered 
 considerable foreign intermixture from the various tribes 
 incorporated with the body of the nation. The northern 
 part of the country is peculiarly the seat of the Indian lan- 
 guage and philosophy. In Ceylon we still trace the influence 
 
B. I. CH. V.] ON THE ORIGIN OF LANGUAGE. 457 
 
 of the foreign tribes of Singhalese, which in former times 
 was probably of more extensive operation. Still the regular, 
 simple structure of the Indian language proves that the in- 
 fluence of foreign intermixture was never so overpowering 
 or heterogeneous as in other languages of the same family. 
 
 Changes of manners and habits were more slowly intro- 
 duced among that Indian race than in other nations of the 
 world ; and it seems historicallyprobable that their language 
 also observed a similar tardy progression ; it was too intrin- 
 sically bound up with their temperament and philosophy to 
 admit of such arbitrary innovations and extensive revolutions 
 as are often allowed through negligence or indifference to 
 creep into other languages. This assertion will be more 
 strongly confirmed by investigating the structure of the lan- 
 guage itself. It is true that the Indian is almost entirely a 
 philosophical or rather a religious language, and perhaps 
 none, not even excepting the Greek, is so philosophically 
 clear and sharply defined: it has no variable or arbitrary 
 combination of abstractions, but is formed on a permanent 
 system, in which the deep symbolic signification of words 
 and expressions reciprocally explain, elucidate, and support 
 each other. This lofty spirituality is at the same time ex- 
 tremely simple, not originally conveyed through the medium 
 of representations of merely sensual expressions, but pri- 
 marily based upon the peculiar and appropriate signification 
 of the fundamental elements as originally established. The 
 distinct genus of many, which, though quite clear in mean- 
 ing, yet admits only of a purely metaphysical interpretation, 
 allows of our determining the high antiquity either histori- 
 cally from the employment of the terminology, or etymologi- 
 cally from the compounded words. It is a most unfounded 
 idea that in the earliest epoch of each language a bold and 
 irregular fancy alone predominated ; it may have been the 
 case with many, but certainly not in all, nor in the Indian 
 especially, in which a profound philosophical signification 
 and perspicuity of expression are even more striking than 
 poetical inspiration or imagery, although it is quite sus- 
 ceptible of the former ; and in the figurative and imaginative 
 poem of Calidas the latter property also is most abundantly 
 developed. 
 
 Poetry, however, belongs to a later epoch in the formation 
 
458 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CH. VI. 
 
 of the Indian language, which as we proceed in tracing its 
 source back to the earliest antiquity, becomes even more 
 simple and prosaic, although far from being dry or abstract- 
 edly lifeless. Thus Menu s metrical collection of laws *, which 
 bears the stamp of far higher antiquity than the Puranas, is 
 remarkably different in its construction ; perhaps scarcely so 
 much as might be imagined from the comparison instituted 
 by Sir William Jones between the style of Cicero, and the 
 fragment of the Twelve Tables. Still, considering the slow 
 progress and trifling nature of the alterations to which the 
 Indian language has been subjected, the distinction is quite 
 sufficient to justify the supposition of at least many interven- 
 ing centuries. 
 
 Chap. VI. — On the Difference existing between the 
 
 MOST CLOSELY CONNECTED LANGUAGES, AND ON A FEW 
 REMARKABLE INTERMEDIATE DlALECTS. 
 
 In considering the alterations sustained by the Indian 
 language, and in a still greater measure by those derived 
 from it, another question immediately arises. The affinity of 
 those languages has been too clearly ascertained to admit the 
 supposition of its being merely the result of accident ; but it 
 must, on the other hand, be received as a proof that all are 
 derived from the same common source ; and the question im- 
 mediately forces itself upon the mind, — were these languages 
 originally one ? To what cause, then, may we attribute the 
 differences existing between them ? We must not judge of 
 these varieties from the first impressions communicated by 
 sound or form, but rather by their inner and essential 
 character, which can be appreciated only by researches pene- 
 trating far beneath the mere external veil. What remark- 
 able differences the Greek and Latin languages appear to 
 
 * The " Body of Law " called Smriti consists of eighteen books, each 
 divided under three general heads, — the duties of religion, the adminis- 
 tration of justice, and the punishment or expiation of crimes : they were 
 delivered for the instruction of the human species by Menü and other 
 sacred personages. — Sir W, Jones's Works, vol. i. — Trans. 
 
B. I. CH. VI.] DIFFERENCES IN LANGUAGES. 459 
 
 present when either is examined for the first time by a 
 student whose attention had till then been confined to one 
 only ! He imagines himself to be entering a world in which 
 every thing is new and strange. After a longer acquaintance, 
 however, his opinion becomes considerably modified, and he 
 sees that the general harmony of construction of both lan- 
 guages invests them rather with the character of very re- 
 motely connected dialects than of distinct branches. 
 
 If the affinity of other languages be estimated in the same 
 ratio, much greater varieties will be found to exist in the 
 various dialects of this family than can be accounted for by 
 their different local features, or attributed to a diversity of 
 impulse in the development of the mind during any certain 
 period of time. Another point must here be brought for- 
 ward fully sufficient to explain the source of those varieties, 
 and our argument will be supported partly by accurate 
 grammatical analysis, partly by reference to historical re- 
 cords. 
 
 Each of these derived languages, as well as the character 
 of the people or tribe, is remarkable from the varied and 
 frequently incongruous intermixture of foreign influences, 
 which necessarily led to a more complete estrangement be- 
 tween the allied language and people themselves. I do not 
 allude merely to such intermixture as that of the Arabic in 
 the Persian, or the French in the English language ; the 
 intrusive words in these instances, although completely in- 
 corporated into the body of the language, retain sufficient 
 marks of their original form to be immediately recognised as 
 foreign words : these examples strikingly illustrate the fact 
 that every language of grand principles, that is to say, 
 highly organised and skilfully framed, possesses in itself an 
 original element of stability and individuality, which can 
 scarcely be overpowered by the most violent and forcible 
 extraneous intermixture. How completely Teutonic are the 
 characteristics of the English language, and how striking 
 the difference which still subsists in the Persian and Arabian ! 
 My observations refer also to such intermixtures as are of 
 still greater antiquity, and thus are more completely blended 
 with the primitive construction of the language, having 
 been introduced at a period when from its greater flexibility, 
 appropriative power, and productiveness, they were more 
 
460 
 
 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CH. VI. 
 
 easily incorporated, and cannot be traced without careful 
 analysis. 
 
 Such analogies and intermixtures are often important 
 in reference to history, while that branch of science reci- 
 procally affords a clue by which to trace language to its 
 source. In the Greek, for instance, we find a far greater 
 number of Arabic roots than would at first appear credible ; 
 the structure and character of the two languages being so 
 entirely different, that this point of agreement between them 
 is easily overlooked. Yet is it nothing more than the con- 
 tinual intercourse of • the Greeks and Phoenicians might 
 justify us in anticipating. An acquaintance with the history 
 of the earliest settlers in Italy leads us to expect in the 
 latter a greater intermixture of Celtic and Cantabrian roots. 
 The close connexion of the German language with the Per- 
 sian distinctly indicates the point at which that branch 
 separated from their parent stem, and the numerous radical 
 words, common both in the Teutonic and the Turkish lan- 
 guages, may afford indications of the migratory path which 
 the former people pursued, and which is proved by other 
 and historical evidence to have followed the direction of the 
 river Gihon, along the north shore of the Caspian Sea, bear- 
 ing constantly towards the north west. 
 
 Scarcely any language can be named, however remote in 
 situation and character, in which some German roots are not 
 to be found ; as dasjahr [the year], or jare, in the Zend and 
 Mantcheou dialects ; legen [to lie], Span, poner, laygan, in 
 the Tagala dialect of the Philippine Islands ; rangio [evil 
 seeking], in the Japanese, ranzig ; also a few in the Peruvian 
 dialect. This may easily be accounted for from the migra- 
 tions of the Teutonic race, and their sojourn in the districts 
 of northern and western Asia ; a region which has since 
 been the rendezvous of those tribes, and the scene of their 
 most frequent wanderings. 
 
 I shall, in this book, confine my investigations to the 
 language, and to whatever may be deduced from that alone, 
 reserving for my third book any historical facts or hypo- 
 theses tending to elucidate the wonderful agreement between 
 so many distant languages and people, divided by long tracts 
 of sea and land, or to illustrate the earliest migrations of the 
 human race. Much may, however, be found in the pro- 
 
B. I. CH. VI.] DIFFERENCES IN LANGUAGES. 461 
 
 vince of language alone, contributing either to fill up that 
 wide space or to contract its limits, or perhaps to mark the 
 point of separation and transition. I am not now alluding 
 to the few isolated remains of the German language, which 
 may be found in the Crimea, the Caucasus, and the neigh- 
 bourhood of the Caspian Sea, nor to the many more insigni- 
 ficant, yet still very remarkable vestiges, of other languages 
 now lost ; but to the principal branches of those still ex- 
 isting and flourishing, which, by their mixed construction 
 and the situation of the people among whom they are in use, 
 seem to fill up the space intervening between the Indian and 
 Persian on the one hand, and the German, Latin, and Greek 
 on the other. 
 
 The Armenian dialect is, unquestionably, entitled to hold 
 the first rank, on account of the numerous Greek and Latin, 
 Persian and German roots contained in it, which appertain, 
 in fact, to the first and most essential parts of the language : 
 as, for example, the numerals, pronouns, particles, and some 
 of the most important verbs. To mention a few of the most 
 remarkable: kan, the Latin conjunction quam; mi [one], 
 related to the Greek mia ; hing, L. quinque, [five] ; durch, 
 L. circa [around] ; ham, the Greek hama, used as a prefix, 
 in the same manner as Gr. sum, and L. con ; the negative 
 particle mi, Greek me ; an and ab are prefixed in the same 
 sense as Gr. a, and ab, a in the Latin, and un in the Ger- 
 man ; aminajim, the Latin omnis. Also a few verbs : lu- 
 sauorim, G. ich leuchte [I light], L. luceo ; luzzim, G. ich 
 löse [I redeem], Gr. luö ; uranam [I deny], Gr. arneomai ; 
 zairanam, G. ich zürne [I am angry] ; arnum, G. ich nehme 
 [I take], Gr. arnumi; tenim [I sit], Gr. theinai; adim [I 
 hate], L. odium ; udim [I eat], L. edo ; garodim [I have 
 trouble], L. careo ; Inum [I fill up], L plenus ; dam [I give], 
 L. do ; im, in English i" am ; pirim [I bear], L. fero, and P. 
 burun ; porim [I dig], G. bohre ; kam, G. ich komme [I 
 come], G. ich kam ; and many other Persian roots. Their 
 identity is frequently unquestionable, except that the pro- 
 nunciation is rather harsh, perhaps more so than can be 
 accounted for, as the general peculiarity of all mountain 
 dialects, and rather affording an indication of superior anti- 
 quity. Their agreement in structure is even more remark- 
 able ; as, for example, luanam, L. lavo ; luanas, L. lavas ; 
 
462 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [ß. I. CH. VI. 
 
 luanan, L, lavant; the future is formed by ziz, szis, sze, the 
 same general sound as in the Indian and Greek. A few 
 participles in al agree, on the contrary, with the Sclavonic 
 language, as well as the third person of the singular number, 
 luanay, L. lavat. The conjugation is generally formed by 
 inflection, and partly also by auxiliary verbs. 
 
 The Armenian is unquestionably a remarkable intermediate 
 link, and may afford a clue to many facts in the origin and 
 history of the Asiatic and European languages. I have no 
 means of ascertaining whether the same observation applies 
 to the Georgian language ; we are also in want of the most 
 efficient aid for drawing any certain conclusion with regard 
 to the Zend and Pahlavi * dialects, no complete grammar of 
 either having ever been compiled. The declensions in Zend 
 closely resemble the Georgian ; the Pahlavi employs the Per- 
 sian oblique case in ra, many Persian terminations of sub- 
 stantives and adjectives in man, &c. ; the infinitive in atari 
 may also be compared with the Persian in adun. But 
 these few particulars, all that have as yet been discovered, 
 are meagre and unsatisfactory. We find nothing in Arabic, 
 or Hebrew, agreeing with the Indian grammar, except the 
 feminine termination in a and i, and the Hebrew pronoun 
 [Jini an > Indian soh, Teutonic sa, whence comes the 
 
 German so. The common roots of these languages retain 
 many traces illustrating the progress of intermixture between 
 people and language in ancient times. It would be of im- 
 portance to decide accurately how far the number of roots 
 belonging to the other chief branch in the Hebrew language 
 exceeds those in the Arabic ; the affinity was probably even 
 stronger in the Phoenician. 
 
 The next place to the Armenian, as possessing a still 
 evident, although almost more remote, affinity, is undoubtedly 
 occupied by the great and widely diffused family of Scla- 
 vonian dialects. They agree with the allied languages in 
 many inflections of their grammar, and in a few instances, 
 even in the signs of the cases used in declension, as in the 
 first and second person of the present tense, both in the 
 singular and plural. Insufficient as are the materials col- 
 lected for this branch of study, I have nevertheless been 
 
 * One of the sacred languages of Persia. 
 
B. I. CH. VI. j DIFFERENCES IN LANGUAGES. 
 
 463 
 
 enabled to trace a few Indian roots in the Sclavonian lan- 
 guage, and such indeed as are not to be found in either of 
 the other allied languages ; but without a comparative gram- 
 mar and vocabulary it is impossible to ascertain the relative- 
 proportion of the various Sclavonian dialects, or to decide 
 which of them deserves to be esteemed the oldest and purest, 
 and may with justice be adopted as a sure basis for the in- 
 vestigation of the later dialects. It is impossible to trace the 
 relationship and connexion between any separate branches 
 of language, without first forming a similar systematic ar- 
 rangement. 
 
 I cannot venture to decide whether the Celtic language 
 stands in equally close connexion with the noble original 
 stock as the Sclavonian. The community of certain roots 
 indicates only an intermixture by which this language incor- 
 porated with itself other signs and symbols. Nor can the 
 similarity of the numerals be considered decisive; in the 
 Coptic language, Greek and other peculiar numerals, parti- 
 cularly the old Egyptian, are in use. The Bretagne dialect* 
 is declined by prepositions ; but the declensions of the pure 
 Erse are very different, being formed, singularly enough, by 
 varying the initial letters of the words, a change which is 
 regulated according to certain particles prefixed, which in- 
 dicate the inflection of person ; for example, mac [the son], 
 wihic (pronounced wie) [of the son], pen [the head] ; i ben 
 [his head], i phen [your head], y 'm mhen [my head]. A 
 peculiarity somewhat resembling the manner in which the 
 personal particles in the Coptic language become incor- 
 porated with the particles prefixed and the word itself; 
 Pos [the lord], paos [my lord], pekas [thy lord], pefos 
 [this lord], pesos [your lord], penos [our lord], naos [my 
 
 * According to Le Brigant, Pinkerton, Shaw's, Smith's, Vallancey's, 
 and other works, which I have not been able to consult. I am also 
 in want of adequate materials for investigating several other languages ; 
 and, besides the chief works already mentioned on the N. Asian lan- 
 guages, I have also been unable to obtain the latest and most com- 
 plete dissertations on the Coptic and Armenian dialects. I hope, 
 therefore, that the incompleteness of my researches will be treated with 
 indulgence by learned men, as they best know the difficulty of procuring 
 works on these subjects, many good libraries being entirely deficient in 
 that particular province : on the other hand, a few particulars not 
 hitherto known may probably be found even here. 
 
464 ON THE INDIAN LANGUAGE. [b. I. CH. VL 
 
 lords], nekos [thy lords], &c. In the Bretagne dialect of the 
 Celtic, an auxiliary is employed in conjugation, although in 
 many instances it is completely lost by its blending with the 
 suffixum as comp [we go], ejomp [we went], efsomp [we 
 will go], from omp [we]. This analogy leads us to that 
 other chief branch of language to which the Basque belongs, 
 which however has nothing in common with the Celtic be- 
 yond what may easily be accounted for by the intermixture 
 of dialects. The mixed character of the Celtic language is 
 proved by the singular circumstance, that the Bretagne dia- 
 lect employs no less than four distinct words for the pro- 
 noun /: anon, Coptic anok ; on, Indian ohon, in and me. 
 It is hardly necessary to furnish further examples in refuta- 
 tion of the erroneous opinions entertained by those who 
 assert the language and people of the Celts and Germans 
 to be at least closely connected, if not actually one, and cite 
 the traces of intermixture in the Bretagne dialect in con- 
 firmation of their theory. 
 
 It is easy to discover trifling points of agreement even in 
 such languages as are most widely removed from the Indian, 
 Greek, and German ; as, for example, the termination of ad- 
 jectives in ezco in the Basque, which rather resembles the 
 German isch and the Greek ikos, — but is rarely observable 
 in the Spanish. Emigration, colonisation, war, and commerce 
 so completely amalgamated the old nations of Europe, that 
 traces of marked identity are rarely to be discovered. 
 
 To lay before the reader even a summary of every thing 
 that has been collected and prepared in this province would 
 only weary and perplex him. I shall be content if I have 
 proved satisfactorily, in general terms, the fixed principles 
 on which a comparative grammar and genuine historical 
 foundation, — an authentic history, in short, of the origin of 
 language, — instead of the theories hitherto invented, may be 
 constructed. What has here been said will suffice to prove 
 the importance of Indian study, in regard to the language 
 at least : in the following books we shall contemplate it in 
 reference to the history of Oriental genius. 
 
 I close with a retrospect of the works of Sir William Jones, 
 who, by establishing the affinity between the Indian language 
 and the Latin, Greek, German and Persian, first threw a 
 light on this obscure study, and consequently on the earliest 
 
B. II. CH. I.] 
 
 ON INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 465 
 
 popular history, which before his time was every where dark 
 and confused. Yet he has extended the affinity to some 
 other instances infinitely less important, tracing back the 
 exhaustless abundance of language to three chief families — 
 the Indian, Arabic, and Tartar ; and, finally, after having 
 himself so finely exhibited the total difference of the Arabic 
 and Indian languages, seeking, from a love of unity, to 
 derive all from one common source : I have, therefore, been 
 unable to adhere closely in every particular to this excellent 
 and learned man, since his arguments, being directed to sup- 
 port an opposite theory, would unquestionably militate 
 against my own opinions. 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 Chap. I. — On the Indian Philosophy. 
 
 It is an opinion very generally entertained, that the original 
 condition of man was one of almost unreasoning stupidity, 
 from which, impelled by necessity or other external incite- 
 ments, he gradually attained, by successive efforts, to certain 
 degrees of intelligence. Independently of the consideration 
 that this idea is completely at variance with all known sys- 
 tems of philosophy, it must be acknowledged, that so far 
 from being supported by the testimony of ancient historical 
 records, it is, on the contrary, contradicted, and proved to 
 have been adopted on arbitrary and insufficient grounds. 
 Without mentioning the Mosaic records, which I shall re- 
 serve for examination in the third book of this treatise, the 
 numerous ancient monuments existing in Asia, and the 
 general progress of events, afford sufficient and incontro- 
 vertible evidence that, in the earliest steps of his mortal 
 career, man was not left without God in the world. In 
 India especially, many surprising discoveries have been made, 
 which remarkably illustrate the progress of human intelli- 
 gence in those ancient times ; and the little we already know 
 of Oriental literature has elucidated so many difficult points, 
 that we may confidently anticipate that still more satisfactory 
 results will attend the further prosecution of our researches. 
 
 h h 
 
466 
 
 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. [ß. II. CH. I. 
 
 Having in the first book considered the Indian language 
 in the relation it bears to the most important languages of 
 Asia and Europe, Indian Mythology, the parent of so many 
 other systems, appears to offer an appropriate subject for consi- 
 deration in the second. We must, however, be on our guard 
 m gainst an error, into which the British Society in Calcutta 
 has too often been betrayed, and not lay too much stress upon 
 isolated and often deceptive appearance, while attempting to 
 prove that an internal uniformity of structure exists both in 
 the language and mythology, and that the similarity of the 
 ground tissue in each, notwithstanding slight subordinate 
 s i Iterations, sufficiently indicates congeniality of origin. It is 
 true that there is no dearth of such surprising coincidences as 
 cannot be merely casual ; but, before being received as such, 
 they require to be more strictly investigated than even the 
 language, the peculiarities of mythology being more variable 
 and uncertain, and their delicate and evanescent spirit more 
 Ufficult to seize and retain. Mythology presents the most 
 complicated structure ever devised by human intellect ; in- 
 exhaustibly rich, but at the same time most variable in its 
 ignification ; and that being a point of the highest moment, 
 requires to be scrupulously examined ; the slightest varia- 
 tion of meaning is of importance, and should be considered in 
 its simple individuality, apart from any consideration of 
 time or place. Greek and Roman mythology, for instance, 
 we are accustomed to treat as one and the same, unless for- 
 bidden by distinct historical records; and yet, any one 
 whose researches have been carried back to the earliest origin 
 f those people, will be sufficiently alive to the difference 
 xisting between them to feel that Venus and Aphrodite, 
 Mars (Mavors) and Ares, &c. cannot justly be regarded as 
 one and the same divinity. How widely do the Hellenic 
 ities differ among themselves ! how great is the difference 
 between Corinth and Athens, or between Doriern in Sparta 
 md Sicily ; the symbolic representation of certain peculiar 
 eatures in the history, and even the name of the divinity, 
 may be common to many distant nations, and long pre- 
 served among them ; but it is the signification, the idea con- 
 veyed by these symbols, which is the really essential point, 
 and this everywhere assumes a different aspect. A great 
 number of facts must be adduced, and many different sources 
 
B. II» CH. I.] INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. 467 
 
 explored, before it will be possible to adopt, with any degree 
 of success, the only method which can in this instance be 
 available ; that is, to enter into a full analysis of the system, 
 displaying all its peculiar features in their just proportions, 
 whether of internal development or external admixture, 
 noticing even each trace of gradual change or variation: 
 the scarcity of our materials makes it impossible at present 
 to accomplish this in the Indian Philosophy. 
 
 I must henceforth abandon the system pursued in my first 
 book, and instead of a comparative analysis of the mytho- 
 logy, which it is as yet too early to attempt, fix a few cer- 
 tain principles, which may serve as a groundwork for future 
 researches ; a brief inquiry, in short, into the character of 
 Oriental genius, its distinctive peculiarities,, and the most 
 important stages of its progress. Much information in 
 regard to details is still required ; but we already possess 
 enough to gain a tolerably just idea of its general structure : 
 the mind should, however, if possible, be transported into 
 the sphere of antiquity, and primitive ideas, and the facts 
 themselves, simply stated, will soon lead to perfect clearness 
 and precision. 
 
 The separate portions of this description must not be 
 regarded as a system of philosophy, but rather as illustrating 
 distinct epochs of the Oriental mind ; for these several 
 theories are not all precisely similar, and many were sys- 
 tematically developed at a much later period than others, and 
 their origin is to be sought in a principle that lies deeper 
 than mere philosophy. I have treated these new systems or 
 modes of thought separately, because all are actually dis- 
 tinct, divided both by their characteristic features, and by 
 historical evidences. We shall remark in each separate 
 division the gradual transition from one to another, or the 
 particular points in which the later appear to grow out of 
 earlier theories, or are most strikingly contrasted with them. 
 I shall, in each epoch, confine my attention to such peculiar 
 points of Indian mythology or philosophy as belong to it, 
 merely alluding to that of other Asiatic nations, when by 
 so doing the whole can be rendered more perfect and in- 
 telligible. 
 
 H H 2 
 
468 
 
 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 [B. IL CH. n. 
 
 Chap. IL — On the Doctrines of the Metempsychosis, 
 and on Emanation. 
 
 Among all the numerous systems of philosophy which recog- 
 nise Asia as their parent-land, none are so positively of Indian 
 origin as the doctrines of the Metempsychosis and of Emana- 
 tion ; nor can any, with the exception of the Mosaic dispen- 
 sation, lay claim to such great antiquity. The most essen- 
 tial doctrines of these systems are contained in the first book 
 of the laws of Menü, which no critic of sound judgment will 
 assert to be of slight antiquity : they are, at the least, more 
 ancient than any existing records of European literature. 
 The laws of Menü have been, for thousands of years, the 
 basis and groundwork of the Indian constitution and legis- 
 lature (of Indian life, in fact), and their influence is no 
 less sensibly exerted in regard to philosophy and learning, 
 in which they are clearly seen to be the ruling spirit. In- 
 formation even more precise than that afforded by the laws 
 of Menu, may be drawn from the first part of the Vedas, 
 containing that system of philosophy termed the Mimansä, 
 which was founded by Jaimini, the author of the Samaveda, 
 and is, perhaps, the earliest Indian system now in existence. 
 
 It will be easily seen that the doctrine of Emanation, taken 
 in its earliest original meaning, is closely and immediately 
 connected with that of Transmigration ; but the inquirer 
 must first dismiss from his mind every idea of emanation 
 borrowed from the Indian, and afterwards promulgated by 
 Chaldee and Greek philosophers, who, instead of propound- 
 ing any system of original purity and simplicity, rather 
 amalgamated into one body all the various innovations and 
 admixtures which had either sprung from or been engrafted 
 upon the original doctrine, and applied to the whole the 
 -indefinite title of Oriental philosophy. We must be especially 
 on our guard also against the too frequent error of confound- 
 ing the doctrine of Emanation with Pantheism. The bold 
 and fanciful character of that Oriental system is easily mis- 
 taken for a pantheistic tendency by those who are familiar 
 only with the dialectic structure of modern European phi- 
 losophy ; and, viewed in that light, it of course appears con- 
 nected in many points with later times. Still there is so 
 
B. II. CH. II.] METEMPSYCHOSIS AND EMANATION. 469 
 
 much actually at variance between them, that it would be 
 impossible to deny or cancel the individuality of the ancient 
 Indian doctrine. The re-incorporation of individuals into 
 the unity of the Godhead is only possible, not of absolute 
 necessity, and those who are incorrigibly evil will continue 
 separate and divided throughout eternity ; or, if we may 
 employ a theological mode of expression, which, although 
 apparently modern, completely embodies the ancient idea, 
 " the eternal strife of hell " is by no means irreconciieable 
 with the doctrine of Emanation, but, on the contrary, forms 
 an essential element of that system. The difference between 
 Emanation and Pantheism, in regard to the powers of good 
 and evil, is very marked and important. Pantheism teaches 
 that every thing is intrinsically good and pure ; all originally 
 one with divinity, and that every appearance of wrong or 
 guilt exists but in idea, or depends on the conventional idea 
 entertained of it. Hence its dangerous influence on the 
 moral life and character; for by whatever subtlety of lan- 
 guage the meaning may be disguised, and however men may 
 cling to a belief in the all-regulating power of conscience, 
 yet, if this destructive principle be admitted as a ruling 
 fact, the conduct of individuals will be considered as of 
 slight importance, and the eternal distinction between right 
 and wrong, good and evil, set aside, and finally rejected. 
 Far different, however, is the doctrine of Emanation : in that 
 system the condition of all created existences is rather 
 counted unhappy, and the world itself ruined and guilty in 
 its very essence ; all is in a state of mournful degradation, 
 sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss which divides it 
 from the perfect bliss and purity of its divine Creator. 
 
 It would be useless to enter into a dialectic argument con- 
 cerning the philosophical incorrectness of this system, for it 
 rests not on any logical basis ; nor can it be supported by 
 demonstration, but, like other merely poetical systems of 
 cosmogony, rather wears the character of an arbitrary in- 
 vention. Still a systematic connexion may be traced 
 throughout, and to that it is probably indebted for its stabi- 
 lity during so many thousand years, but still more to primaeval 
 tradition and the divine origin ascribed to it. The labour 
 of investigating and comprehending this doctrine will indeed 
 be amply repaid, even if we regard it merely as the earliest 
 
 H H 3 
 
470 
 
 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 [b. n. CH. K. 
 
 authentic monument of the human intellect, and reflect cr, 
 the inconceivable influence it exercised on its subsequent 
 history and development. Still, before we can understand 
 the superstructure, we must gain some insight into the feel- 
 ing on which that system of philosophy is based. When 
 Menu had sung of the creation of all natural elements, of 
 all creatures endowed with life, animals, herbs, and plants, 
 all of which were imagined to be the abode of various im- 
 prisoned souls, he concluded with this general reflection — 
 
 * By many-formed darkness encircled, the reward of their deeds, 
 " All are at length endowed with conscious existence, with suscepti- 
 bility of joy and pain." 
 
 Thus in bondage and darkness, yet fraught with feeling, 
 conscious of their own guilt, and the doom awaiting them, 
 they wander on in the path which their Creator has ap- 
 pointed them from the beginning, still drawing nearer and 
 nearer to their inevitable goal : — 
 
 " Towards this goal they now wander, proceeding from God, descend- 
 ing low to the plants, 
 
 " In this fearful world of existence, which sinks ever deeper in ruin 
 and destruction." 
 
 In these words the predominant feeling, the ruling spirit 
 of the entire system, is revealed. If all that has been sung 
 by poets of antiquity concerning the misery of created 
 existence be assembled into one image and under one com- 
 prehensive form ; if we collect each melancholy gleam and 
 fearful conception of the world around, which, born of that 
 gloomy idea of irrevocable destiny, pervades the poetical 
 legends and histories of their gods, and breaks forth in deep- 
 souled tragedies, changing the play of poetical imagery and 
 diction into an enduring and eternal sadness, we shall gain 
 the most perfect conception of the peculiar characteristics of 
 this ancient Indian doctrine. 
 
 We trace to the same source the doctrine of the four 
 epochs, which represents each successive division of time as 
 more wretched and degraded than the former, till the fourth 
 and now existing period of utter ruin and misery arrives. 
 The progress of decline in the four conditions of mankind is 
 in the same manner illustrative of this constant degradation, 
 ever sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss of earthly im- 
 
B. II. CH. II.] METEMPSYCHOSIS AND EMANATION. 471 
 
 perfection. Hence also arises the doctrine of the three worlds, 
 troilokyon; of the three primary powers, troigunyon; of 
 which the first is actually brilliant, sotwo ; the second de- 
 ceptively bright, rojo ; and the third and last utterly dark 
 and obscure, tomo. This theory of constant degradation, 
 both in spiritual and physical perfection, pervades the entire 
 system of Emanation. 
 
 Menü supposes the divine spirit to be an immediate 
 emanation of the self-existent (selbst), eternal divinity ; from 
 the spirit proceeds the consciousness ; thus the spirit is the 
 secondary creative power (the agent in creation) ; and 
 Menu, (almost the same with Monoh) cheated all individual 
 beings, after Brahma himself had produced the general pri- 
 mary powers of nature and spirit. In the succeeding ex- 
 planation Bhrigu * supposes the elements to spring origin- 
 ally from the divine essence, and also successively from each 
 other, according to the different ideas entertained of their 
 respective delicacy and perfection. A belief in the law of 
 constant ruin and deterioration, and an eternal sorrow, occa- 
 sioned by the consciousness of guilt and death, constitute the 
 vital elements of this doctrine. The degrees or primary 
 powers of emanation are different in different representa- 
 tions, the imagination of the poet not being always arbitra- 
 rily confined within these narrow limits. 
 
 It is Brahma, who among the divinities of Indian mytho- 
 logy belongs especially to this system and sphere of ideas. 
 He is described in Menu's book of laws as the Eternal Spirit, 
 the Supreme One, the Sovereign and Lord of Creation ; he 
 is the eternal and incomprehensible, the self-existing God, 
 the peculiar He, or God himself. In later works the same 
 appellations are given to Siva and Vishnu by the particular 
 adherents of those divinities. In Menu's book Brahma 
 holds the first rank ; the narrower acceptation, in which 
 this divinity is held, merely as the element of the earth, is of 
 later date. 
 
 Notwithstanding the rude errors and arbitrary fictions 
 with which this philosophy is everywhere overlaid, a fearful 
 and horrible superstition having crept into the entire system, 
 profaning and polluting every thing it touched, still it cannot 
 be denied that the early Indians possessed a knowledge of 
 
 * Promulgator of the first code of sacred ordinances. 
 h h 4 
 
4'2 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. [ß. II. CH. II. 
 
 the true God : all their writings are replete with sentiments 
 and expressions, noble, clear, and severely grand, as deeply 
 conceived and reverentially expressed as in any human lan- 
 guage in which men have spoken of their God. Yet it may 
 well be asked, how is it possible to account for the existence 
 of such lofty wisdom in combination with errors so great and 
 numerous ? 
 
 Our astonishment is, perhaps, still more excited, by dis- 
 covering that a belief in the immortality of the soul is bound 
 up with the idea of divinity in this most ancient system of 
 superstition, than at the noble purity and simplicity of their 
 conception of God. Immortality was not with them a mere 
 probability, deduced gradually, the result of long study and 
 reflection; not some vague imagining of an undefined and 
 shadowy world, but a conviction so certain and decided, 
 that the idea of a future life became the ruling motive and 
 impulse of all actions in this ; the grand aim and object of 
 all laws and arrangements, carried out even in the most 
 trifling details. 
 
 It would be utterly impossible to explain this fact, I will 
 not say satisfactorily, but even in an intelligible manner, by 
 any theory professing to trace the gradual development of 
 the human intellect from a state of irrational stupidity, little 
 superior to that of the brute creation, up to the highest de- 
 velopment of soul and intelligence. This is not the place in 
 which to lay bare the operation of those deeply hidden 
 causes, by which a belief in the immortality of the soul is 
 inseparably linked with the knowledge of the true God. I 
 merely suggest the question, whether it can be correct to 
 seek our proofs of the existence of a God in the usual man- 
 ner, by syllogisms, probabilities based upon natural appear- 
 ances, or the evidence of internal necessity; for the foot- 
 steps of the Deity cannot be recognised in external nature, or 
 the inner consciousness, unless He be already known and 
 acknowledged ; and this consideration, by destroying the 
 simplicity of the original idea, deprives it of all value. I do 
 not here allude to those who assert that the idea of divinity 
 is capable of being deduced from consciousness or internal 
 evidence and the laws of reason ; for another power should 
 be evoked in their place, the very idea of which has long 
 been lost. In a word, the Indian doctrine of Emanation, if 
 treated as the offspring of natural reason, is totally inexpli- 
 
B. II. CH. II.] METEMPSYCHOSIS AND EMANATION. 473 
 
 cable ; but, considered as a perverted conception of revealed 
 truth, becomes at once intelligible. We have, then, ample 
 reason to conclude, from historical evidence alone, as well as 
 upon far higher grounds, that the same glorious Being by 
 whom man was so majestically formed and highly gifted,,, 
 vouchsafed to the newly created one glance into the mys- 
 terious depth of his own existence ; thus for ever raising 
 him above the bondage of his mortal condition, placing him 
 in communion with the invisible world, and enriching him 
 with the lofty, yet dangerous boon — the faculty of eternal 
 happiness or misery. 
 
 We cannot suppose that original revelation to have been 
 communicated by the immediate teaching of the Father, in 
 symbolic and expressive language, although even that idea 
 were far from utterly empty and futile ; still it was probably 
 rather an impulse of the inner feeling ; and where the living 
 principle of truth exists, appropriate words and symbols im- 
 mediately suggest themselves, and these will be full and ex- 
 pressive in proportion to the grandeur of the feeling which 
 inspires them. But again : how could truths so divinely im- 
 parted become involved in the mists of error? I would ex- 
 plain it in this manner. Man, if without the gifts of revela- 
 tion, would occupy a place with other animals in the general 
 plan of creation ; perhaps holding the first and highest rank, 
 perhaps, on the contrary, the most intrinsically wild and 
 savage of them all. Without the free operation and compre- 
 hension of divine truth, he would soon become debased into 
 a merely blind and senseless instrument. This primitive 
 error, which sprang from an abuse of the divine gifts, and 
 an eclipsing and misinterpretation of holy wisdom, is clearly 
 to be traced in all the Indian records ; and in proportion as 
 our knowledge of this, the most highly cultivated nation of 
 antiquity, becomes more perfect and complete, the influence 
 of error and distorted views will be more clearly and palpably 
 evident. The Indian mythology and philosophy is the first 
 system which was substituted for the pure light of truth : 
 notwithstanding some lingering traces of a holier origin, wild 
 inventions and savage errors everywhere predominate, and an 
 impression of anguish and sorrow, naturally resulting from 
 the first rejection of, and estrangement from, revealed truth. 
 
 It will readily be acknowledged that the unfathomable 
 
474 
 
 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. [ß. II. CH. II. 
 
 abyss which was supposed to intervene between the idea of 
 infinite perfection in the creative essence and the visible im- 
 perfection of the world around, could hardly be more easily 
 and naturally filled up than by the doctrine of Emanation : it 
 is, indeed, not merely the root and basis of all primitive su- 
 perstition, but an ever-welling spring of poetry and imagina- 
 tion. According to that doctrine, every thing is an emanation 
 of divinity, each distinct existence being, as it were, but a 
 more obscure and limited reflection of the supreme head ; 
 consequently the world, thus inspired and vivified, becomes 
 an assemblage of Divine Beings, or Gods, — Hylozoismus, not 
 merely Polytheism, but, if one may so speak "all-götterie," — 
 an universality of Gods or Pantheism, for the Indian divini- 
 ties are indeed of countless numbers. Every mythology 
 rising from the same fertile source is remarkable from the 
 richness of its original inventions, and is thus sufficiently 
 distinguished from all less perfect systems, or, to speak more 
 properly, from those which lie yet more widely distant from 
 the stream of old legendary tradition. Still no mythological 
 system has as yet been discovered which can be entirely 
 separated from all dependence on nobler ideas, and more cul- 
 tivated nations; on those, in short, whose creations were drawn 
 more immediately from the true and living spring of poetry 
 and fancy. Even the Greek philosophy, different as it is in 
 genius and character, partakes, in common with the Indian, 
 of this overflowing abundance of indwelling living treasures. 
 
 It seems scarcely necessary to observe that the deification 
 of great and holy men is by no means irreconcileable with 
 the opinion that all were but various emanations from the 
 same primal source ; on the contrary, it rather harmonises 
 with that doctrine ; since the greater the affinity between the 
 divided being and its pure and glorious original, the more 
 appropriately will it claim a greater measure of reverence 
 and regard. 
 
 The ten holy Avatars*, who hold so conspicuous a place 
 in Indian philosophy, are numbered among the followers, or 
 rather successors, of Brahma, the seven great Rishis, priests 
 
 * Avatars or incarnations of the Deity. These ten avataräs are by 
 some arranged according to the thousands of divine years in each of the 
 four ages, or in an arithmetical proportion from four to one ; Buddha 
 was the latest incarnation. — Sir W. Jones's Works, vol. i. — Trans. 
 
B. II. CH. II. J METEMPSYCHOSIS AND EMANATION. 475 
 
 and sages of a primitive world, Casyapä, and all the races 
 descending through him from Diti and Aditi*, night and 
 day, down to the two families of the children of the sun and 
 of the offspring of the moon. 
 
 We are here discussing merely the possibility that the 
 Indian Avatars were simply deified men, without wishing to 
 dispute the opinion previously expressed of their symbolic 
 signification. The testimony of history often coincides with 
 the idea of emanation, and the genealogy of avatars and heroes 
 with the cosmogony of nature. The seven Menüs, for ex- 
 ample, represent many periods of infinite duration, subordi- 
 nate world-creators and world-disposers ; the periods marked 
 by the development and apparition of the highest avatars. 
 But should we, therefore, deny every historical inference 
 that may be drawn from that saga? 
 
 To pursue this investigation further at the present moment 
 would lead us too much into details, and it may, perhaps, at 
 some future day, be more amply illustrated by far richer 
 sources that may then be opened to us. The present dis- 
 quisition on the most important epoch of Oriental genius 
 must be restricted to the principal features of Indian my- 
 thology, the intention of which is so clearly and promi- 
 nently marked that, even with the little information we yet 
 possess, it is impossible to mistake its intrinsic, signification. 
 
 The doctrine of Emanation is seen in the most beautiful 
 and favourable light when considered as a system of reunion 
 with the divine essence. The divine origin of man is con- 
 tinually inculcated to stimulate his efforts to return, to ani- 
 mate him in the struggle, and incite him to consider a reunion 
 and re-incorporation with divinity as the one primary object 
 of every action and exertion. To this we may attribute the 
 holy tendency of so many Indian laws, customs, and manners, 
 and the severe and serious simplicity of their entire life. 
 Still the spirit of those institutions may have early vanished, 
 leaving only dead forms and penitential exercises too quickly 
 assailed and undermined by the growth of error and super- 
 stition. 
 
 From these ideas of various kinds of living and conscious 
 beings, concealed under such a vast diversity of forms, and 
 of their perpetual approach towards or departure from the 
 common source, arose the belief in the Metempsychosis or 
 
 * Casyapä, the ancient god of the heavens, with Aditi his consort. 
 
476 
 
 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 [B. II. CH. III. 
 
 transmigration of souls. With the same principle was closely- 
 connected the doctrine of a former life, or the pre-existence 
 of the soul, and ideas or lofty thoughts and dim remembrances 
 of an earlier period, illumined by the immediate aspect of 
 divinity, and which were ever kindled and reawakened in 
 the soul by the presence of the beautiful.* Calidasä, in the 
 " Sacontala" (a national drama), frequently alludes to this 
 doctrine as to one generally known and admitted. The 
 Metempsychosis, wherever it is not viewed in a merely phy- 
 sical light, but as closely connected with a belief in the moral 
 ruin and abasement of all created beings, is unquestionably 
 of Indian origin, springing from the belief in emanation, and 
 inculcating the necessity of repentance and purification as 
 the terms of reunion with the Supreme Being. Thus the 
 doctrine of the Metempsychosis, with all its Oriental accom- 
 paniments embodied in the teaching of Pythagoras, proves 
 his philosophy to have been no Hellenistic invention, although 
 it was soon developed and adorned with all the riches of 
 Hellenistic genius and ingenuity. We must, then, also be 
 prepared completely to reject the oldest and proportionately 
 best accounts of the Pythagorean philosophy. 
 
 The same doctrine w"as common among the Celtic Druids, 
 though by what channel it was conveyed thither is less 
 certainly known : it is probable that the Etruscans and other 
 people of Italy had adopted it before the time of Pythagoras, 
 and we find very ancient traces of its existence even in the 
 extreme north of Europe. If borrowed by Pythagoras from 
 any distant country, he may well have derived it either from 
 Egypt or Western Asia. The Egyptian treatment of the 
 dead body, which they strove to eternise as much as possible, 
 proves the marked difference existing in their ideas of im- 
 mortality, although the general features and construction of 
 the Egyptian mythology and religion assimilate closely to 
 the Indian. Osiris, a suffering and dying god, the leading 
 idea of Egyptian mythology, is best explained by a reference 
 to the Indian belief in the misery of the natural world, and 
 the deep degradation in which its original light and purity 
 had become involved. 
 
 * " Dreams of a former, happier day, 
 
 When heaven was still the spirit's home, 
 And her wings had not yet fallen away ! " 
 
 Mooke's Epicurean, Trans» 
 
B. II. CH. III.] ASTROLOGY AND THE "WORSHIP OF NATURE. 477 
 
 Chap. III. — On Astrology, and the wild Worship of 
 Nature. 
 
 The pure morality inculcated by the doctrine of Emanation, 
 its positive richness and abundant development of animal life, 
 give it the superiority over Pantheism, properly so called, 
 which, from its irregular abstract and false conceptions of 
 the infinite God, has long since been consigned to neglect 
 and oblivion : still even emanation in its purest form cannot 
 be wholly freed from the imputation of fatalism. The belief 
 in predestination has already been noticed. It is most intel- 
 ligibly indicated in the cosmogony of Menü, in a quotation 
 which we extract from the tenth volume (the second of the 
 poetry). The doctrine of the constant alternation of repose 
 and activity, sleep and waking, of the Supreme Being, belongs 
 to the same volume : — 
 
 " As he had created all things, which beyond the power of imagination 
 to conceive, constantly developed themselves, 
 He sank back again into himself, time with time now alternating : 
 While God is waking, the world rises into motion and activity, 
 But if with calm mind he sleeps, then all decays and perishes." 
 
 He then describes more fully the manner in which all the 
 earthly being is interwoven with the primitive power and 
 energy : — 
 
 " As long as he sweetly sleeps, so of all his life he loses the strength." 
 And further : 
 
 " Thus alternating waking and sleep, every thing which moves or is at 
 rest 
 
 He brings forth constantly into life, or exterminates it, himself 
 unchangeable." 
 
 " Numerous world-developments there are, creation, and extermin- 
 ation ; 
 
 Sportively he produces either, the highest Creator for ever and 
 ever." 
 
 The idea of the absence of any specific design in the cre- 
 ation of the world, and of a merely capricious activity on the 
 part of the Creator, is intimately connected with that of a 
 ceaseless alternation and revolution. In later systems this 
 
478 
 
 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. [ß. II. CH. III. 
 
 becomes a continual contraction and expansion of the ruling 
 principle of strength, the pulsation of the soul of the world. 
 
 Fatalism unfolded among the ancients into a highly artistic 
 and comprehensive system. Astrology too, with all its ac- 
 companiments of prediction, auguries, lucky and unlucky 
 days, forms a most remarkable feature of ancient mythology, 
 and even exerts an incalculable influence on modern times. 
 The star-worship of the Egyptians, with which was combined 
 an apparently rude adoration of nature, arose not so much 
 from a wondering poetical veneration for the beautiful, but 
 rather from the influence of astrology and divination. There 
 exist in the human heart and brain so many impulses and 
 principles likely to lead from the veneration of the divinity 
 into a worship of rude natural strength, — the adoration of 
 the Creator so easily sinks and degenerates into that of the 
 thing created, that it would be superfluous to insist further 
 on a point so well known and universally acknowledged ; let 
 it then suffice to observe, that in ancient Asia also, not mere 
 indications, but absolute proofs, are everywhere to be found 
 of a completely material train of thought. This materialism 
 might, in contradistinction to that prevailing in Europe, be 
 called the Oriental ; and it is certainly, as far as it has hitherto 
 been investigated, of a peculiar and very original character. 
 In tracing the historical gradations and progress of Oriental 
 philosophy, this doctrine appears immediately to succeed 
 those of Emanation, Return, and Metempsychosis. The 
 astrological belief might, perhaps, supply a clue for tracing 
 the progress of degeneracy from the religious idea once en- 
 tertained to one so entirely material ; but this is not neces- 
 sary ; for in the cosmogony of Menü, the most ancient work 
 yet known on Indian philosophy, many indications of ma- 
 terialism are to be found. The symbol of the world-egg * 
 indeed, which is known also among the Egyptians, may be 
 considered as a mere image of childlike antiquity ; but the 
 Matra, the seed particle of the world, must have had some 
 reference to philosophy, whether the idea of separate atoms 
 existed at this period also as well as subsequently ; whether 
 
 * Brahma is said to have been born in a golden egg, blazing like a 
 thousand suns : after dwelling there for ages, meditating on himself, he 
 divided the egg into two equal parts, and formed heaven and earth.— 
 Trans, 
 
b. n. ch. in.] astrology and the worship of nature. 479 
 
 those Greek philosophers were in the right who maintained 
 that the atomic system was of Oriental origin, cannot be de- 
 cided until we have a more perfect acquaintance with the 
 sects of Paschandisten, Shoktisten, and the Atheistic systems, 
 as Charval, &c, the principles of which may at least be 
 clearly gathered from the refutations of their opponents, 
 although their own writings are now almost entirely lost. 
 The little we know of the philosophy of the Phoenicians is 
 involved in too much uncertainty to afford any grounds for 
 a decisive conclusion ; the probability is, that its doctrines 
 were solely and entirely of this kind. 
 
 The wild adoration of mere physical strength holds a far 
 too important place in the various different elements out of 
 which the religion of the Hindoos gradually developed itself. 
 It is presented under two characters ; sometimes as an inex- 
 haustible creative power, and sometimes as an all-annihilat- 
 ing principle of destruction, and is thus embodied in the 
 worship of Siva*, and of the terrific Durga.f Images of 
 death and pleasure, intermingling in horrible combination 
 Bacchantic licentiousness and bloody human sacrifices. The 
 idea of eternity, -interwoven with the general plan of this phi- 
 losophy, and ever pointing backwards to a holier origin, in- 
 vested the nature-worship and materialism of the Orientals 
 with a peculiarly fearful character, far different from the mere 
 sensuality which reigned in the religion of many wild and 
 uncivilised nations ; for the most frightful errors are too 
 frequently produced by the perversion and demoralisation of 
 the loftiest and noblest principles. 
 
 The worship of nature has extended so widely that our 
 observations must be confined to a few of its most important 
 peculiarities. All those gods whose wrath could be ap- 
 peased, or their favour propitiated by human sacrifices, be- 
 tray their affinity with the Indian Siva and Kali. To 
 this class belong also the Baal and Moloch of the Syrians and 
 Phoenicians : few people have ever been so completely under 
 the dominion of materialism and the wild worship of nature 
 as the Phoenicians. The Gallic Esus, too, was of the same 
 family : in his worship the Gauls poured forth such streams 
 
 * Siva, Seeva ; the same with Brahma. 
 
 f Durga, the wife of Brahma ; the same with Seraswatti. 
 
480 
 
 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. [b. II. CH. HI. 
 
 of blood as were unparalleled in ancient times, and of which 
 the modern era affords no example, except in the idol wor- 
 ship of the Mexicans. The adoration of the Lingam, and 
 the all-creating Yoni, holds a more important place in the 
 star and animal worship of the ancient Egyptians than is 
 generally supposed. The use of the Phallus in festivals 
 and symbols is said by Herodotus to have been borrowed 
 from the Egyptians. The emblematic monuments erected 
 by the victorious Sesostris, at every stage of his progress, 
 may be far more naturally explained as general symbols of 
 this superstition than according to the moral signification 
 assigned them by Herodotus, who considers them to have 
 typified the masculine courage or womanly cowardice of the 
 conquered nations. The Phoenician Astarte, the Phrygian 
 Cybele, the Ephesian Artemisia, and even the German 
 Hertha, perhaps differ only in unessential points from the 
 Indian Bhavani.* The fundamental idea of all-creating 
 infinite physical vigour is evidently the characteristic of each 
 divinity. The worship of the goddess Mylitta, called by 
 the Armenians Anaitis, and by the ancient Arabs Alilath, 
 appears to have been most predominant in Babylon, and the 
 states dependent on the Babylonian empire^ It is not im- 
 probable that the term Yavanern is employed in old Indian 
 MSS. to designate all those western nations who adhered to 
 that worship, indicating not any distinct race or people, but a 
 religious sect. Certainly the Yavanern mentioned in Menu's 
 Book of Laws, with the Pahlavi, and other uncivilised races 
 of the warrior stem, could not have been the Greeks who ac- 
 companied Alexander, because they are afterwards compre- 
 hended under the general denomination of people of the West. 
 
 A similar veneration of the physical strength and vigour 
 of nature, although more refined and softened among the 
 polished Greeks and Romans, and not carried out in so full 
 and connected a form, was nevertheless the vital spirit of 
 classic mythology, as must be acknowledged by all whose 
 researches have not been purely antiquarian. A severe 
 sense of propriety checked and restrained among the Romans 
 the licentiousness of this wild nature-worship ; either because 
 with them the idea still retained more of its original purity 
 and excellence, or from the influence exercised by the ad- 
 * Bhavani or Parvati, the wife of Siva. 
 
B. II, CH. in.] ASTROLOGY AND THE WORSHIP OF NATURE. 481 
 
 mir able legislators of their earlier times. The structure of 
 the Greek mythology, however, probably on account of the 
 greater versatility and lightness of their character, was loose 
 and free ; and the ancient superstitions were lost ere long, or 
 wrapt in a glowing veil of mythological fictions ; while many 
 separate ideas and doctrines were probably borrowed from a 
 far better and purer system, of which we shall subsequently 
 have occasion to speak. 
 
 Oriental Materialism possesses, in common with the doc- 
 trine of Emanation, an inexhaustible fund of fancy and 
 imagination ; nay, the wild enthusiasm, which there replaces 
 the earlier impression of weariness and pain, is the one 
 remarkable source of every gigantic invention in history or 
 mythology. Even the deification of heroes was founded on 
 the principle of nature-worship ; the creative or destructive 
 power of nature being so peculiarly evidenced in warriors 
 and heroes, that they readily become personifications of those 
 attributes. The six-armed war-god Carticeyä or Scondoh, 
 is represented in Indian fable as the son and constant at- 
 tendant of Siva. Perhaps not heroes only, but even great 
 inventors and discoverers, were also deified. The human 
 intellect must have been flattered in no slight degree by the 
 first steps towards unveiling the mysteries of nature, since 
 those early discoveries appear marvellous even to the calm 
 investigator of history. With the worship of the stars and 
 other works of creation which formed the theme of these 
 discoveries, it seemed natural to combine the adoration of 
 that wisdom and science which had led to the discoveries ; 
 this will account for the widely diffused idea of Hermes or 
 Thauts, and possibly of the earliest Indian Buddha also. 
 Ganeschah*, another inventive god, was the constant com- 
 panion of Siva. I must remark, in conclusion, that the 
 great antiquity of this portion of Indian philosophy and 
 tradition, is incontestably proved by the monuments existing 
 at Ellora, and in the island of Elephanta ; the symbolism of 
 the Indians, Egyptians, and even of the Greeks, can have 
 arisen only from that source. Human sacrifices are com- 
 manded in the Veda to be offered to the goddess Kali ; but 
 before positively asserting this, it would perhaps be desir- 
 able to consult the text, with the assistance of a mature 
 
 * Ganesa, son of Siva, god of wisdom. 
 I I 
 
482 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. [ß. H. CH. IV. 
 
 critical work, by which the antiquity of the whole might be 
 satisfactorily proved, and later additions distinguished and 
 separated from the original work. 
 
 Chap. IV. — The Doctrine of the Two Principles. 
 
 The subject we are now approaching is one of the most 
 beautiful in the whole sphere of ancient Heathenism — the 
 worship of light, and the sun. The doctrine of Dualism, the 
 Oriental philosophy of two contending principles, and the 
 eternal strife between good and evil, are all members or ad- 
 juncts of this religion. Wherever any traces of it are re- 
 cognised, it appears to have maintained a vigorous contest 
 against the material disposition of mind already noticed, even 
 as though it were a reappearance of that divine light of truth, 
 which was too early lost and forgotten. The spirit of this 
 philosophy is completely ideal : it is true that the idea of 
 self-acting oneness (ichheit) is common to all Indian systems ; 
 and the derivation of all light and vigour from the spiritual 
 essence of the one Supreme Being is found to be of more uni- 
 versal acceptation the higher we advance in tracing the his- 
 tory of Oriental philosophy: in this sense, therefore, the epithet 
 Ideal may justly be applied to almost every Eastern system. 
 The peculiar affinity of Oriental and European Idealism con- 
 sists principally in the opinion that activity, life, and free- 
 dom can alone be recognised as actually effective in their 
 operation ; dead repose and motionless inactivity being con- 
 demned as utterly void and ineffective. It is true that great 
 philosophical difficulties may be raised against this system, 
 considered as such ; if, for example, the principle of evil be 
 described, as in eternal opposition to all holiness and virtue, 
 we must recognise the existence of a separate power, dis- 
 tinct from, if not co-equal with, the Supreme Divinity, and 
 consequently maintaining the position he occupies in the 
 world by his own independent strength, and thus destroying 
 all idea of unity. But if, as is usually the case, it be as- 
 serted that the opposing principle is finally overpowered and 
 subdued, Ahriman being transformed, and once more united 
 
B. II. CH. IV.] THE DOCTRINE OF THE TWO PRINCIPLES. 483 
 
 with and reconciled to Ormuz, the principle of disunion is 
 virtually abandoned ; everything melts pantheistically into 
 one single essence, and the eternal distinction between good 
 and evil is completely set aside. Yet, notwithstanding these 
 defects, the intellectual religion of the Persians deserves to 
 rank next to the Christian faith and doctrine, as propounded 
 in the Old Testament and developed and completed in the 
 New : its severe truth and high moral tendency give it a 
 decided superiority to all other Oriental systems. 
 
 The distinction between good and evil must unavoidably 
 be neutralised by the doctrines of Pantheism. However it 
 may seek in words to refute that imputation, a belief in 
 emanation crushes all freedom of mind and spirit, by the 
 infinite weight of conscious guilt, and the conviction that all 
 created beings have been wretched from their eternal origin, 
 down to the present time. The doctrine of the Two Princi- 
 ples, and of the strife between good and evil, forms a medium 
 between those two extremes, and is in itself a mighty im- 
 pulse, prompting to a similar struggle, an unquenchable 
 source of pure morality and virtue. Whatever may have been 
 the hidden origin of this doctrine and these systems, they 
 must, undoubtedly, be referred to a period of very remote 
 antiquity ; for Zerdusht merely reproduced the doctrines, 
 and can scarcely, indeed, have been the first even to revive 
 them ; their origin must unquestionably claim our venera- 
 tion, even if it be not esteemed divine, for the free life of 
 pure moral strength cannot be embodied in theory, unless it 
 be first in active operation. This doctrine is, indeed, no 
 subtle speculation of inventive fancy ; and the strife between 
 the principles of good and evil will be an empty and un- 
 meaning phrase to all except those who, animated by a pure 
 enthusiasm for virtue and holiness, have striven, with the 
 whole energy and power of their nature, against the pre- 
 vailing power and encroachments of the spirit of evil. 
 Although from the simplicity of its structure and component 
 parts, this philosophy may be reduced to a system, it does 
 indeed deserve a far loftier name, — it is life and action. 
 "Whoever, by his own free operation, has gained a conscious- 
 ness of his moral existence, may thence be enabled to com- 
 prehend the life of nature. 
 
 This religion does not make the wild vigour or destruc- 
 ii 2 
 
484 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. [ß. II. CH. IV. 
 
 tive power of nature the objects of its adoration ; not enjoy- 
 ment nor death, but the purest and most beneficent elements, 
 fire and light, therefore life, and indwelling spirit generally. 
 The seven Amshaspands or genii of the elements, and pri- 
 mary powers of existence, stand, like so many kings of nature, 
 around the throne of their sovereign ruler. Heaven is thronged 
 by the sacred Feruers, the divine prototypes and ideas of all 
 created things. Mythras, the star of day, and friend of man, 
 stands as the mediator between him and the divinity ; all 
 bloody sacrifices are abolished, and the sacred union and en- 
 joyment of the pure Horn and Miezd, consecrated by the 
 priest at the altar, signifies an internal communion with 
 God, through the noblest strength and luxuriant produce of 
 his blooming productions. 
 
 The adoration of the elements, however, is not the only 
 characteristic feature of this religion ; heroes and warriors, 
 also, became objects of worship ; yet they were no longer 
 adored merely as destroyers and conquerors, nor reverenced 
 on account of their physical strength and vigour, but as 
 heavenly conquerors of the giants, triumphant over the 
 powers of darkness and the spirits of hell. The combat be- 
 tween Iran and Turan is but an earthly counterpart of the 
 eternal struggle between the powers of good and evil, perpetu- 
 ally carried on in heaven. Feridun and Kustan, whose names 
 have been so often celebrated in heroic song, subdue and 
 fetter the savage strength of Zohak and Afrasiab ; but 
 Dschemschid appears, resplendent above them all, the ideal 
 of a perfect king, shining forth in the gloom of an obscure 
 antiquity. A realm of perfect happiness, where light at 
 length reigns triumphant in joy and blessedness, becomes a 
 necessary appendage of this system of philosophy, no less 
 than the perfection of the original condition of the world, 
 when Meshia and Meshianes wandered in the garden of in- 
 nocence : a condition which the religion of Zerdusht seeks 
 only to restore. 
 
 All the loveliest fables of Indian mythology owe their 
 birth to this philosophy. We may trace back to this source 
 the all-preserving, beneficent, and sagacious Vishnoo, with 
 his followers and attendants. His feminine image and con- 
 sort has, however, no resemblance to the wild spouse of Siva, 
 the fearful Kali. She is the lily of heaven (Pedmah), the 
 
B. IL CH. IV.] THE DOCTRINE OF THE TWO PRINCIPLES. 485 
 
 blessed and ever blessing goddess Lacshmi, or Sri, the lovely 
 daughter of the benignant sea-god Yaruna. Cama, the 
 god of love, is always found near to her, and the sun-god 
 Indrä, the friend of man, surrounded by all blessed and 
 beneficent spirits, genii, and celestial nymphs. Vishnoo 
 frequently appeared upon earth, under the various forms of a 
 king, a sage, a wonder-working warrior and hero, but al- 
 ways with the intention of checking the progress of crime, 
 exterminating giants and unfriendly powers, and animating 
 all good genii to support and protect their leader, the high- 
 souled Indrä. 
 
 This noble idea has been greatly defaced by arbitrary 
 fables and inventions ; feigning that God, like another Pro- 
 teus, assumed not only the human form, and appeared in the 
 character of a philosopher or hero, but also took that of a 
 turtle, a boar, a man-lion, and a fish. Still, the mere concep- 
 tion of so grand an idea as the incarnation of a God, is an 
 abiding proof of the profound reflective character of the 
 Indian mind, and of the high degree of intelligence with 
 which that people was endowed. The same pure and beau- 
 tiful idea of affording salvation to the pure in heart, and 
 annihilating all evil and destructive powers, may be seen 
 under every variety of form. We occasionally find in other 
 systems of mythology, if based on high moral principles, such 
 descriptions of heroes as almost answer to our ideas of god- 
 like virtue ; heroes, who, obedient to sublime laws, and in 
 the performance of glorious duties, laboured only to subvert 
 the wicked, and raise and protect the good. But in no Her- 
 cules or hero of the poet's song is the idea of deified 
 humanity so vividly embodied as in that of the Indian 
 Rama, the generous conqueror, whose voluntary exile and 
 loneliness, and sometimes fortunate, sometimes unhappy 
 affection for Sita, has been so sweetly and deliciously sung. 
 
 This doctrine mounts to a still higher grade of perfection, 
 if we consider the lofty morality in life and doctrine of the 
 Indian hermits and munis, particularly as they are described 
 in the Puranas. The austere self-denial of those old peni- 
 tents and rishis, who by voluntary and self-inflicted torture 
 thought to extort as it were a higher degree of virtue, hap- 
 piness, and supernatural power, are thrown rather into the 
 background, and we are struck occasionally by the sweetest 
 
 1 1 8 
 
486 
 
 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 [ß. II. CH. IV. 
 
 resignation and trust in God, a sentiment fraught with 
 humility and pure heavenly love. 
 
 The worship of Yishnoo holds so important a place in the 
 philosophy of the Vedas, that it becomes a question of sur- 
 passing interest, whether the doctrines and opinions there 
 promulgated concerning him are precisely the same as those 
 contained in the Puranas. This certainly is not the case in 
 the book of Menü, but the question need not now be debated, 
 as we already possess sufficient data to enable us to arrange 
 in their proper order the various stages and strata of its 
 general progress and development, but without attempting to 
 determine the exact chronology of each, or to form them into 
 a regular history. 
 
 This system is not purely poetical, although many and 
 indeed the most beautiful among the Persian and Indian 
 fables were founded on the doctrine of the two principles 
 and the worship of the free spirit of nature. The full mean- 
 ing and intention of many fictions of the Greek and Latin 
 mythology also, as well as the Northern, is first seen when 
 they are considered as forming part of that cycle of ideas. 
 Still, notwithstanding their inherent poetic spirit, they will 
 generally be found susceptible of a philosophical construc- 
 tion and interpretation. Even in the symbolism of the 
 Persians we discover a certain regular proportion in the 
 symbolic figures, a form symmetrically constructed, and the 
 first germ of which is in Dualism, in the antagonism or 
 alternate manifestation of the primary powers. It seems 
 highly probable that a philosophical system of similar intent 
 and spirit was also common among the Indians. Whether 
 the principles of Dualism were contained in the Nyayä phi- 
 losophy*, next to the Mimansa the oldest now extant, or 
 whether the two systems of Madhwo and Eamanujo, into 
 which the adherents of Yishnoo divided themselves, and 
 which are noticed and contrasted in the writings of the 
 
 * The word Nyayä in the MS. copy of the Amaracosha, is explained 
 by certamen, combat, unless the name of that philosophy should be 
 differently derived through niyole, he ordains (constituit), whence niti, the 
 doctrine of morality. According to the first explanation, Nyaya, may 
 also be supposed to mean dialectic ; but our ideas of Indian philosophy 
 are as yet so undecided, that Nyaya is sometimes explained as referring 
 to a branch of philosophic logic, and at others as a decided system, and 
 belonging to a distinct sect. 
 
B. n. CH. IV.] THE DOCTRINE OF THE TWO PRINCIPLES. 487 
 
 Vedas, arose from the same source, may be seen by future 
 researches, which may also decide the question as to whe- 
 ther Zerdusht adopted Indian doctrines exclusively, or the 
 reverse. Since so much unquestionably proceeded from 
 India, may not a little at least have flowed back thither ? 
 It should be constantly remembered that this is by no means 
 impossible, and we ought therefore to be on our guard 
 against mistaking circumstances, which are merely of fre- 
 quent occurrence, for an universal law to the neglect of 
 individual dissimilarities. 
 
 Some foreign admixtures may be discovered in almost 
 every branch of Indian writings, but the Puranas are un- 
 questionably the first in which the religion and fictions of 
 Vishnoo predominate, partly, indeed, in the same philoso- 
 phical sense which they bear in later systems. We also 
 meet in the Puranas with personages and histories borrowed 
 from the Holy Scriptures ; not merely those which, like the 
 history of Noah, were familiar to all nations and people, but 
 others also which appear peculiar to the sacred writings; 
 the history of Job, for example : still we must not too has- 
 tily conclude that they were borrowed immediately from the 
 records of the Old Testament by Indian poets and sages, for 
 it is probable that the Hebrews and Persians, and again the 
 Persians and Indians, may have had more ideas in common 
 than is usually supposed. 
 
 Although the system we have been describing appears 
 in a most favourable light, in comparison with other ancient 
 superstitions, still even here, as in every case in which the 
 high manifestation of divine light was not preserved in un- 
 sullied purity in the soul, errors and superstitions early 
 became annexed to the truth, and the false bias given in 
 those ancient times was followed up with so much eagerness 
 and unanimity, that the most beautiful and sublime ideas 
 often gave rise to customs and ceremonies which cannot 
 be -contemplated without abhorrence. A feeling of the in- 
 effable beauty, purity, and holiness of the primal elements, 
 though in itself both poetically beautiful and at the same 
 time a profound and unquestionable truth, gave birth to an 
 anxious and fearful horror of polluting and corrupting that 
 sacred spring of life, the etherial essence of nature, by con- 
 tact with human corpses. To inter a dead body in the earth, 
 
 II 4 
 
488 
 
 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 [B. IL CH. IV. 
 
 or even to consume it in the still holier element of fire, was 
 therefore condemned by the Persian religion as almost the 
 greatest crime of which any human being could be guilty, 
 and hence arose the fearful practice, common among the 
 ancient Magi, of giving the bodies of their dead to be torn 
 to pieces by wild beasts ; a custom which is still in force in 
 Thibet, notwithstanding the change of religion : it has even 
 extended into the northern corner of Asia, as far as Kams- 
 chatka, in the same manner in which customs and ceremonies 
 often subsist, even when the government or legislation under 
 which they were first appointed is no longer in being. This 
 belief, however, is not generally insisted upon as a philo- 
 sophical principle, or at least not as a severe and exclusive 
 system ; and it is therefore probable that many old astro- 
 logical errors and superstitions may similarly have crept into 
 the pure worship of nature and the elements, or may soon 
 have found a path of return thither. 
 
 That divine light of which the present treatise more 
 peculiarly treats, was constantly described as a principle 
 and essence of gradual development ; the morning dawn 
 heralding a better time, but preceded by a far different 
 period of darkness and obscurity : we are thus led back to 
 the material idea of original gloom and chaos, and of Night, 
 the mother of all created things. 
 
 I recall these facts merely in refutation of the belief that 
 a mythology which, like the Greek, sprang from Chaos, or 
 Night, as the mother of all things, must consequently be pure 
 materialism, and be incompatible with the clear and glowing 
 ideas which distinguished the Oriental systems, and whose 
 influence is so widely different throughout the realms of 
 fancy and imagination. 
 
 Yet the religion of light, originally so pure and beautiful, 
 has been much corrupted in other respects. This system of 
 philosophy has had more influence than any other, except the 
 astrological superstition, on the establishment and formation 
 of secret societies and mysteries. A loftier degree of illu- 
 mination ought indeed to bring with it an increase of hu- 
 mility and love ; but the slightest estrangement from the 
 pure source of truth, even in the most highly gifted, leads 
 to pride rather than to more gentle and gracious sen- 
 timents ; and those who believed themselves endowed with 
 
B. II. CH. V.] 
 
 PANTHEISM. 
 
 489 
 
 clearer revelations of hidden wisdom, separating in disdainful 
 and mysterious selfishness from their fellow-men, presumed 
 in their seclusion to assume the place of that Providence 
 which governs all, considering other men but as blind tools 
 for the working out of their peculiar aim and object, and 
 holding themselves justified in thus employing them. 
 
 This was probably the case in the earliest antiquity, as 
 well as in our own time, and perhaps far more frequently 
 than is usually imagined. 
 
 Chap. V. — Pantheism. 
 
 Among the various Oriental systems of philosophy, which, 
 on account of their great historic weight and widely extended 
 influence, claim our consideration, one only, Pantheism, now 
 remains to be noticed. The spirit of this system may be 
 recognised in the religion of the Buddhists, which at the 
 commencement of the Christian era, 1000 years after its first 
 origin, was common to the natives of Thibet, China, Ceylon, 
 and the whole eastern peninsula of India, besides the people 
 of Tartary and the North. The doctrine of the nothingness 
 of all matter, to which the belief in its unity or oneness so 
 naturally leads, has at least been attributed to Fo, the Chinese 
 philosopher, as his peculiar, most essential, and esoteric doc- 
 trine, founded on the clearest and most distinct science ; but 
 a doctrine which supposes every object in creation to be thus 
 nullified and absorbed into an abstract and negative concep- 
 tion of the Eternal, is too thoroughly visionary and untenable 
 to subsist for more than a very brief period. 
 
 It must not be forgotten that the Pantheistic philosophy 
 is considered the latest of the Oriental systems ; the historical 
 evidence on which this is asserted will be cited below ; and 
 I shall merely remark in this place, that the profound and 
 vital idea originally entertained of the Eternal and his al- 
 mighty power, must have been greatly vitiated and enfeebled 
 before it could descend to lose itself in the false and visionary 
 notion of the oneness or unity of all things, so distant too 
 
490 
 
 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 [ß. II. CH. V. 
 
 from the doctrine of their nullity. All other Oriental doc- 
 trines, however disguised by error and fiction, are founded 
 in, and dependent on, divine and marvellous revelations; 
 but Pantheism is the offspring of unassisted reason, and 
 therefore marks the transition from the Oriental to the 
 European philosophy. It is no less flattering to the self- 
 conceit of man than to his indolence. When once men have 
 arrived at the conclusion that all is unity, an opinion at once 
 so comprehensive and all-annihilating, further research or 
 investigation is deemed superfluous ; every thing that is 
 divine, drawn from other sources, or believed in by other 
 men, appears, to their superficial reasoning, to be merely the 
 delusive folly of superstition, and even life itself, with its 
 mutations, is, in their eyes, but a fallacious and unsubstantial 
 semblance of reality. 
 
 If any energy of mind or depth of feeling still survive, and 
 the doctrine he carried out in its fullest scope and intensity, 
 it certainly assumes a very different, and at the same time a 
 most fearful, character. In India more especially, it has 
 frequently prompted a system of voluntary and self-inflicted 
 torture, which to the calm contemplator seems almost in- 
 credible: like the spirit-crushing martyrdom of the Yogis 
 and Sonnyasis, who aimed at a total annihilation of self as the 
 highest perfection. In colder and feebler natures, however, 
 the doctrine of Pantheism engendered a belief that guilt itself 
 was but an empty delusion, and the conviction that all, being 
 one, must be equally perfect, brought with it a false and glit- 
 tering semblance of internal peace. 
 
 In China, however, where Pantheism prevailed long before 
 the time when the religion of Buddha was introduced, this 
 latter may perhaps have borrowed a little from the former. 
 In other countries, generally, Buddhism assumes a very 
 mingled form, and we find in it many doctrines drawn from 
 the worship of Siva especially. In Tartar Buddhism we 
 discover a more than usually hideous and distorted image of 
 the fearful and destructive power of divinity. Turner found 
 in Thibet festivals of Kali, the restoration of Carticeya and 
 Ganesa, and the entire suite of Siva. 
 
 The Chinese Number-philosophy, as set forth in the old 
 Y-king*, the Book of Unity, comprises another and very 
 * I-king, sometimes called the Book of Changes. 
 
B. H. CH. V.] 
 
 PANTHEISM. 
 
 491 
 
 pure system of Pantheism. This is one of the most re- 
 markable records existing of Oriental philosophy. Although 
 Fo-hi, who is named as its author, is a merely fictitious 
 character, still the circumstance that the true meaning of 
 the work had long been a subject of dispute even in the 
 time of Kon-fu-tse* (in the year 550 b.c.), who was the 
 last of its classical expounders, proves it at once to have 
 been of great antiquity. It is not written in the ordinary 
 character, but in peculiarly simple forms and symbols, and 
 is therefore the less likely to have been changed or falsified. 
 The great Supreme Being, of whom this hieroglyphic book 
 treats, is also called Tao, or divine reason, through which 
 all things are created ; or Tai-ki, the great supreme point, 
 through whom all things are produced, and in whom all dis- 
 tinction and separation terminates.*!* This great one is 
 divided into two primary equations, or beings of contrasting 
 powers and attributes, from whose various connexions and 
 combinations every thing comes into existence according to 
 a certain fixed mechanism and blind necessity, the laws of 
 which are imposed by Tao. The Yn and Yang — the per- 
 fect, masculine and active ; and the imperfect, feminine and 
 passive ; are symbolised, the first by entire and unbroken, 
 the second by a broken line ; these again produce four other 
 combinations, signs, or symbols, as they are called ; the 
 greater and lesser Yang, and the greater and lesser Yn, re- 
 spectively expressed by two broken or unbroken lines placed 
 parallel, and the two lesser by a broken line placed above or 
 below the unbroken. The eight koua, or symbols, in the 
 threefold combination of the Yang and Yn, are the eight 
 elementary powers."): Moral ideas might once have been 
 conveyed by the six-fold combination and reduplication of 
 
 * Confucius. 
 
 f The great first principle has engendered or produced two equations 
 and differences, or primary rules of existence, but these two primary 
 rules or oppositions, namely, Yn and Yang, or repose and motion, — the 
 affirmative and negative, as we might otherwise call them, — have produced 
 four signs or symbols, and these four symbols have produced the eight 
 koua, or further combinations. See Philosophy of History, p. 130. 
 
 \ 1. Kien, or ether. 2. Kni, or pure water. 3. Li, or pure fire. 
 4. Tchin, or thunder. 5. Tiun, the wind. 6. Kan, common water. 
 7. Keu, a mountain, and 8. Kuen, the earth. — SchlegeVs Philosophy of 
 History, p. 131. 
 
492 
 
 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 [b. H. CH. V. 
 
 that triple form. But all are soon lost in a mere play of 
 numbers, — or, to speak philosophically, all that apparent 
 individuality is merely a difference in degree and combina- 
 tion. In the Number-philosophy of Kon-fu-tse, the five, as 
 the perfect middle number, ranks highest, and not the four 
 or the six, as in other systems of Number-philosophy ; and 
 the five first even numbers, up to ten^ belong, according to 
 him, to the heavenly, the five uneven, on the contrary, to 
 the earthly powers. 
 
 If Pantheism is not a mere theory and sentiment, as would 
 appear from the description of the Indian Yogis and Sonny- 
 asis, contained in the Bhagavatgita, but is considered in the 
 light of a scientific system, it will prove to be nothing more 
 than a combination-play of the positive and negative, framed 
 according to the mere mechanism of reason, which is far 
 better expressed by a number-symbolism of the kind above 
 described, than it could be in words. Finding a place as it does 
 in the earliest form of Pantheism, it appears probable that it 
 originated in the later alterations and debasement of Dualism. 
 When the doctrine of the Two Principles ceased to be a re- 
 ligious belief, and was degraded into a merely philosophical 
 system, the idea of the two primal powers being united and 
 absorbed into one higher being could hardly fail to be 
 admitted. 
 
 The original signification of the Yang is, according to De 
 Guignes, light and movement ; of the Yn, darkness and 
 repose. Many Chinese doctrines and traditions, before the 
 time of Kon-fu-tse, bear an undeniable resemblance to the 
 Persian ideas, similar to that which we have already noticed 
 between the Chinese and Scriptural records. Those coun- 
 tries had, indeed, more intercourse than would appear at the 
 first glance. The principal seat of the old religion of China 
 was in the north-west province of Shen-see, and the Persian 
 faith ruled in Bactria. The philosopher Laokiun had jour- 
 neyed far into the west. 
 
 Is it not possible, then, that a similar connexion may have 
 subsisted between the Indian Sanchyä, or Number-philoso- 
 phy of Kopilo, and the Chinese ? The philosophy of Fo 
 did, undoubtedly, at a later period, travel from India into 
 China, and may not the same have happened with other 
 systems? In the commentary on Menu's book of laws, 
 
b. n. CH. V.J 
 
 PANTHEISM. 
 
 493 
 
 Mahat and Avyakto, the mighty, the incomprehensible and 
 indivisible, are cited as the two principles of the philosophy 
 of Kopilo. But perhaps this apparent Dualism had a similar 
 meaning in the Y-king. The Bhagavatgita removes every 
 doubt as to the Pantheistic tendency of the Sanchya philo- 
 sophy, and we must therefore conclude that the author either 
 completely misunderstood it, or violently wrested the mean- 
 ing to support his own system. In the Bhagavatgita, and all 
 other works ascribed to Yyasa, we remark the prevalence of 
 the Vedanta philosophy, of which he was the founder, and 
 this system is consequently better known to us than any 
 other Indian theory. 
 
 It is clearly seen, even from the translation, to be pure 
 Pantheism ; and the philosophical precision of the original 
 record would probably make some passages even more for- 
 cible. Certainly, however, it was, as its name, Yedanta, 
 indicates, merely a remodelling of that ancient Indian system 
 hallowed by the tradition of the Vedas. 
 
 The ancient Saga, as well as the ancient construction, are 
 preserved throughout ; but, wherever it is possible, the new 
 meaning is interpolated, and all referred to that one great 
 supreme being — the highest Brahma ; also Ghuinyon, the 
 object of knowledge, is here expressively defined as the me- 
 dium between being andjiot being, — Sot and Osot (chap. 13.). 
 Yet there are numerous passages directed against the Veda 
 itself ; and the unqualified praise bestowed upon the Sanchyic 
 philosophy, in preference to every other, seems to indicate 
 an actual agreement with that system. 
 
 It has, nevertheless, been maintained by some few writers, 
 that these three systems are three branches of philosophy, 
 the Sanchya being physics, the Mimansä ethics, and the 
 Nyayä dialectics ; while others, on the contrary, consider 
 them to be so many systems of philosophy ; among which, 
 the Nyayä would deserve peculiar attention, as one of the 
 most ancient, and, with the exception of the Mimansä, the 
 only one mentioned in the book of Menü, and numbered 
 with it among the Upangas.* The moral spirit of the 
 Mimansä, and the speculative creativeness of the Sanchyä, 
 agree with the rank which we have assigned them in our 
 
 * There are four Upangas, called Puranä, Vyaya, Mimansä, and 
 Dhermasästra. — Sir Wm. Jones. 
 
494 
 
 INDIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 [b. II. CII. V. 
 
 sj^stematic arrangement of Indian philosophy. A further 
 acquaintance with Indian works may render a more distinct 
 division possible ; it is enough for the present that Menu's 
 book of laws enables us to judge with tolerable accuracy of 
 those very ancient Indian doctrines, which form the basis of 
 their legislature, — the essential characteristics of the Ve- . 
 dantä philosophy (which, as the latest, closes the entire series 
 of Indian literature,) are plainly set forth in the Bhagavat- 
 gita. 
 
 Indian literature may, for the greater facility of investi- 
 gation, be provisionally divided into four epochs. The first 
 will comprise the Yedas, and other writings closely con- 
 nected with them, as Menu's book of laws : the Vedas, 
 though perhaps corrupted by single interpolations, cannot 
 have been entirely remodelled ; and the fact that, in so short 
 a space of time, vocabularies were already required for the 
 correct understanding of the text, argues much in favour of 
 its genuineness. The intention ascribed to the Rigveda and 
 Tajurveda, compiled in prose, was different, being that of a 
 magical and liturgical cosmogony ; while the Sämaved, in 
 verse, is moral, but probably with many mythical and histo- 
 rical circumstances interwoven, as is the case with the Mano- 
 vondhormoshastron. 
 
 Another grand epoch is formed by the works ascribed to 
 Vyasä, the eighteen Puranas, the Mahäbharata, and the Ve- 
 danta philosophy. Although the books attributed to him 
 are so numerous that they cannot possibly have been the pro- 
 duction of one single individual, still it is probable that a 
 similarity of doctrine and opinion prevails in all, with but 
 little dissimilarity in the general style, from which, however, 
 that of Menu's Book of Laws differs in a remarkable degree. 
 
 As the Vedas appear to give the earliest intelligible in- 
 dications of the gradual and mysterious operation of a false 
 tendency, the writings which intervene between it and the 
 Puranas will probably prove equally instructive and im- 
 portant. Nearly all the philosophical writings of earlier 
 date than the Yedanta may be classed with them, some being 
 simply in accordance with it, as the Sanchyä, and others 
 again disputing and opposing the doctrines inculcated in it ; 
 besides these, the Ramäyana, and probably also many other 
 poems, which are afterwards more fully worked up in the 
 
B. II. CH. V.] 
 
 PANTHEISM. 
 
 495 
 
 Puranas. The great antiquity of the Mahabharata and Rä- 
 mäyana, in the internal structure at least, if not in outward 
 form, is incontestably proved by the monuments existing at 
 Ellora and elsewhere. 
 
 This, then, I should term the second epoch. The Puranas 
 and other works of Vyasa, form the third ; finally the fourth 
 and latest epoch is formed by Calidas and other poets, who 
 clothed the old sagas and legends which till then had been 
 considered the exclusive property of the priesthood, in more 
 popular forms as dramas or poems, and thus fitted them for 
 universal admiration and appreciation. 
 
 But the most important periods of Indian, and indeed of 
 Oriental philosophy and religion generally, are the following : 
 first, the diffusion of the pure doctrine of Emanation, which 
 at length degenerated into astrological superstition and fa- 
 natic materialism ; and the doctrine of the Two Principles, 
 which subsequently was transformed from Dualism into Pan- 
 theism. 
 
 Oriental philosophy and its influence on the human mind 
 has never been more deeply debased than in its alliance with 
 Pantheism, which is as destructive to morality as even Ma- 
 terialism, while its influence on fancy and imagination is 
 equally fatal. It is quite probable that in India, where, 
 notwithstanding a great apparent uniformity, there existed 
 such a diversity of intellectual and spiritual development, 
 many single instances of ordinary scepticism or even of an 
 empiric tendency may be found. But whether these indi- 
 cations were ever developed into a regular system, or ar- 
 ranged in a more scientific form, has not yet been decided. 
 
 I have merely attempted at present to direct your attention 
 to the most important of these systems — those which form 
 epochs and illustrate the general progress of Oriental litera- 
 ture and philosophy. I have intentionally omitted many 
 which might nevertheless have illustrated the contrast and 
 affinity between the different systems, the gradual transition 
 from one to another, or the entire development and formation 
 of each separate scheme and its different modifications, as 
 the great diversity of these contemplations would probably 
 have interfered too much with our consideration of the pecu- 
 liar theme of this treatise. 
 
496 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 [b. m. ch. i. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 Chap. I. — On the Origin of Poetry. 
 
 The ancient forms of speech, which I have attempted in 
 the first book to trace from the root to their loftiest and 
 widest ramifications, constitute a record, far more valuable 
 and instructive than all those monuments of stone, the half 
 ruined, giant grandeur of which, at Persepolis, Ellora, or in 
 Egyptian Thebes, are still contemplated, after the lapse of 
 ages, with wonder and reverence. The question of religion, 
 however, — the one idea ever predominant in all ages of the 
 world, — cannot with any propriety be omitted in the history 
 of mankind, either of ancient or modern times. I have there- 
 fore laid before you in the preceding book an analysis of the 
 successive development of the Oriental mind, in its four 
 most remarkable systems, or rather according to the four 
 most important periods of Oriental genius. The present 
 book will be devoted to the consideration of certain historical 
 results, which appear to be the natural consequence of the 
 immutable principles of faith already noticed ; and which, 
 though merely hinted at, at present, may at a future period 
 be enlarged upon in some more elaborate work on the History 
 of Antiquity. 
 
 Instead of bewildering myself and my readers with 
 isolated comparisons between the Indian and different other 
 systems of mythology, I shall rather attempt to give a 
 general outline of the earliest Oriental modes of thought, 
 according to the evidence supplied by authentic records. 
 The darkness and confusion of that period can only be 
 satisfactorily elucidated by a thoroughly comprehensive 
 review of the entire scheme of mythology ; and such a re- 
 view, if properly combined at the same time with an in- 
 quiry into the historical genealogy of the language, will 
 
B. III. CH. I.] ON THE ORIGIN OF POETRY. 
 
 497 
 
 afford a clue to assist our progress through that ancient 
 labyrinth, and to point out to us the way of return to holi- 
 ness and light. The inexhaustible and peculiar development 
 remarkable in these ancient systems must also be passed 
 over ; but although it is quite impossible to trace back to 
 any one definite source the entire abundance of imitative 
 fancy displayed in them, it cannot be denied that many 
 general resemblances exist even in the most varied and dis 
 cursive systems, and nothing in all that arbitrary play of 
 poetic diction is completely without intention ; much will be 
 found which leads back to one and the same general signifi- 
 cation, not only in what is usually termed allegoric, but still 
 more in the spirit, the tenor, and the general impulse mani- 
 fest throughout the whole series. The one general idea 
 which lies at the root of every system of polytheism will 
 partially explain the origin of mythology, or at least indi- 
 cate the point from whence it first arose, and the manner in 
 which in its further development it followed the progress of 
 the human mind. 
 
 The first germ of polytheism is contained in the doctrine 
 of Emanation, — that is to say, of the eternal and progressive 
 development of the Divinity, and of universal spiritual 
 animation. The belief in astrology, and the sensual adora- 
 tion of nature, called forth the abounding riches of ancient 
 mythological fables, which were subsequently softened, beau- 
 tified, and enriched by the doctrine of the two principles — 
 the religion of light, and the pious and divinely inspired 
 hero-worship ; but as soon as pantheistic ideas were intro- 
 duced, at whatever period that may have been, mythology, 
 ere long, became regarded merely in the light of allegory, or 
 as an esoteric veil of poetic fancy and diction. The Greek 
 mythology is perhaps the richest in symmetrical develop- 
 ment, but the Indian is far more comprehensive in its mys- 
 tical ideality; which, indeed, appears to have been transfused, 
 from thence into every other system. It would be difficult 
 to point out any idea or doctrine, common in either of the 
 different intellectual systems, which was not also known 
 among the Indians ; nor any fable holding a distinguished 
 place in merely poetical mythologies, the counterpart of 
 which does not exist also in the Indian* 
 
 In the preceding book we have shown the rank which 
 
 K K 
 
498 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 [B. III. CH. I. 
 
 ought to be assigned in the series to Egyptian and Syriac 
 mythology ; European traditions, and the poems of the Celtic, 
 Roman, Greek, German, and Sclavonian mythologies may 
 be viewed in the same light, and though still involved in 
 considerable obscurity, their genius and general progress 
 will thus be rendered intelligible. We have arranged the 
 different systems of the above-named mythologies in such 
 order as will correspond with the regular succession of the 
 different doctrines introduced. As most decided traces of 
 the ancient system of metempsychosis are found in the 
 Celtic religion, we might expect that the Latin mythology 
 would contain more vestiges of it than that of the Greeks. 
 Dualism, or the strife between the two principles of good 
 and evil, was a predominant feature in Sclavonian mytho- 
 logy*; that doctrine, together with the worship of the ele- 
 ments, which we have been accustomed to combine with the 
 former, was not unknown in Germany. The Greek appears 
 to stand in the exact medium between both. It is less con- 
 fined to any strict philosophical intention than any other, 
 and is, on the contrary, more entirely poetical. 
 
 An unexpected light is thrown by the Indian system upon 
 the source and peculiar character of Greek poetry. It has, 
 
 * The Sclavonians of the Baltic acknowledged two principles, one of 
 good, the other of evil ; they called the former Biel Bog (Bog in Scla- 
 vonian signifies God) or the White God, from whom all that was good 
 proceeded ; and the second Cherni Bog, or Black God, who was the 
 cause of all evil ; this latter was represented in the form of a Hon. The 
 most celebrated idol, whose temple was at Arcina, was Sviatovid, that is 
 "holy sight:" he had two chests and four heads. There were other 
 divinities, such as Porenut, with four faces (probably the god of 
 seasons, from the word pora, season,) and a fifth face on his breast ; 
 Porevit, with five hands ; Bughevit, supposed god of war, with seven 
 faces, seven swords at his side, and an eighth in his hand, &c. The Scla- 
 vonian deities usually have more than one head ; many have in some part 
 of their body a human face, signifying the good principle, or a lion's 
 head, denoting the evil principle. Many have also the figure of a beetle 
 on them, which might denote an Egyptian origin. 
 
 The Eastern Sclavonians worshipped Perun, or the god of thunder ; 
 Volos, the god of the flocks ; Koleda, the god of festivals ; Kupala, the 
 god of the fruits of the earth. Dittman, a German writer, pretends that 
 the Pagan Sclavonians did not believe in the immortality of the soul ; 
 but that statement is sufficiently refuted by several customs and cere- 
 monies which they observed for the repose of the dead. — Extracted from 
 the Penny Cyclopaedia. 
 
B. III. CH. I.J ON THE OKIGIN OF POETRY. 499 
 
 indeed, a two-fold origin ; the one is natural, that feeling 
 which, alike in uncultivated or highly civilised nations, has 
 every where breathed itself forth in song ; the other, the 
 mystical element of ancient poetry, which cannot be so 
 simply explained : we may not say of this last-mentioned as 
 of that which is the natural offspring of feeling, that it 
 exists every where, the growth of a spontaneous impulse, 
 common in the new world as well as in the old ; it is a 
 poetry, the spring of which lies deeply interwoven with the 
 ancient tissue of fancy and religion. 
 
 The copiousness of the earliest poetry, and its wild and 
 gigantic creations, arose from a superstitious worship of the 
 divinely productive power in nature, and the idea of in- 
 finity attached to it ; and when the beautiful light of a 
 softer, holier inspiration beamed upon those rude fables, 
 their very wildness gave them the stamp of poetry and 
 imagination. This is precisely the character of Greek 
 poetry, and of that especially in which, as is most generally 
 the case, the richness and vigour of ancient superstitions are 
 still in vital operation, and the belief in the gods has not yet 
 evaporated into the mere imagery of poetic diction. 
 
 Let us not, like ordinary letter-learned critics, study the 
 form alone without the spirit, but rather contemplate the 
 inner life of that mythology, and we shall find that all their 
 poems are of one description, mythic or heroic. If we re- 
 ject all immaterial differences of outward form, we shall see 
 that in Homer as well as in iEschylus, in Pindar as in 
 Sophocles, the blending of that originally wild and gigantic 
 power with softer and sweeter impulses, gives a peculiar 
 fascination to their writings ; though all may vary much in 
 proportion to their different degree of deviation from, or 
 approximation to, the primary idea, or in individual traits of 
 loveliness or harshness. 
 
 This, and this alone, is true poetry ; all to which that 
 name has been given in later times, when art had annexed 
 so much to the original germ, becomes so only when it 
 breathes a kindred spirit with those old heathen fictions, or 
 because it springs from them. If it were not too bold to 
 hazard a conjecture from the few fragments now in our 
 possession, I should imagine that Indian poetry, in this its 
 peculiar essence, was not so very different to the ancient 
 
 K K 2 
 
500 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 [B. III. CH. n. 
 
 Greek, except that the former, if I may so speak, is designed 
 on far grander proportions, the original ground work of the 
 fables being generally more strange and wild, but softened 
 down in later times into a spiritual loveliness, which is in 
 form even more morally and intellectually beautiful than the 
 grace of Pindar and Sophocles. 
 
 The first source and origin of the imitative arts also, 
 among the Indians, Egyptians, and ancient Greeks, is iden- 
 tical in character with that of their heroic poetry. The 
 same combination of gigantic boldness and softness, which 
 constitutes the very essence of classic poetry, gave its pecu- 
 liar expression to the plastic beauty of Grecian art ; at least, 
 as long as the minds of their sculptors were still imbued 
 with their first lofty impulses, before old traditions became 
 extinct, and the genius of the art was entirely lost. 
 
 Chap. II. — Of the earliest Emigration of Nations. 
 
 Poetry was intrinsically bound up with the religion of 
 antiquity, and so completely one with it, that many ideas 
 which, at the first glance, appear to us strange and inexpli- 
 cable, arose naturally from the manner of thought then 
 prevailing, and undoubtedly exerted a potent influence on 
 the earliest adventures and migrations of nations or tribes ; 
 although, as has frequently been the case in later periods, 
 the force of necessity, and the allurement of interest, stimu- 
 lated and co-operated with those ideas. 
 
 Wherever fields and towns, the primitive arts of war and 
 peace had been called into existence, trade and commerce 
 began to flourish in equal proportion with building and 
 agriculture ; and the same influences which in modern history 
 appear to reign supreme, were not without some weight, 
 even in the first ages of antiquity. Before, however, we 
 enter into an inquiry concerning the influence exercised by 
 religion on the establishment of the first Indian colonies, it 
 will be necessary to make a few preliminary observations on 
 the proper light in which to contemplate these earliest emi- 
 grations, and their general origin and variety. 
 
B. III. CH. II.] OF THE EARLIEST EMIGRATION. 501 
 
 If the entire diversity of these people and nations is to 
 be made the theme of our investigation, it will be expedient 
 first to set aside the arbitrary supposition of their common 
 origin, and of their separation having been occasioned by 
 subsequent causes ; and to divide the various races of people 
 according to their greater or less antiquity, even as the 
 skilled geologist, attentively observing the position of the 
 various strata of the earth, in mountains or on the level 
 surface of the plain, calculates the period of formation of 
 each. Here also language presents the first characteristic 
 to be observed ; but it should be studied rather in its intel- 
 lectual structure than from the roots merely, which may be 
 called the natural parts, and in which the points of resem- 
 blance usually discovered are frequently over-strained and 
 far-fetched. The point next in importance to that of lan- 
 guage, is the use of metals, as well copper and iron in war 
 or agriculture, as the employment of gold and silver for arbi- 
 trary, universal signs of the outward value of things ; to 
 these points may be added the domestication of useful 
 animals, and especially of those which are indispensable in 
 the two arts before mentioned. Still the fact, that none of 
 the beasts of burden which had so long been generally in 
 use throughout the old world were known in America at its 
 first discovery, cannot be taken as a decisive proof that the 
 American race is totally distinct from the Asiatic ; the nu- 
 merous American dialects and their general dissimilarity, 
 and the many singular customs which are nevertheless com- 
 mon to all those tribes, together with their universal ignor- 
 ance of the use of metals, might lead to the same conclusion. 
 Nevertheless the eastern islands, which are clearly proved, 
 by speech and other indications, to be of Asiatic descent, 
 are equally destitute of the larger animals ; and as the 
 strangers who founded the kingdoms of Peru and Mexico, 
 and who came originally from Asia or Europe, (as is histori- 
 cally proved by Chinese records, and partly by the authentic 
 sagas of the Mexicans,) either did not bring those animals 
 with them, or knew not how to preserve them when brought, 
 we may reasonably conclude the same to have occurred with 
 the primitive settlers in America. In eastern Asia, much 
 may be found that coincides generally with America. The 
 extensive employment of metals and beasts of burden in the 
 
 K K 3 
 
502 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 [b. in. CH. II . 
 
 interior of Africa, is far from sufficient to prove that those 
 nations are of Asiatic origin ; no evidence exists in corro- 
 boration of this opinion, and there is no ground for disputing 
 the numerous facts which militate against its adoption. 
 
 The physical varieties remarked in different races of man- 
 kind are not, as far as has hitherto been ascertained, of 
 material importance. The greatest and most remarkable 
 discrepancy is apparent in the natives of America, who, 
 towards the south of that country, have so much of the 
 negro character ; but in the north, the white skin and other 
 peculiarities of Europeans, as well as the inhabitants of the 
 west part of central Asia, partake, in the same degree as 
 those people, of the characteristics of the Asiatics. This 
 would also presuppose a greater physical flexibility and sup- 
 pleness in the Asiatic race, tending perhaps no less to the 
 deterioration than to the ennobling of the original stock, since 
 the language, historical records, and many other circum- 
 stances, sufficiently prove the Asiatic descent of the white 
 European family, as well as of the black inhabitants of 
 southern India and the Indian Islands. 
 
 Thus the distribution of races of men, like the internal 
 formation of mountains to the geologist, supplies a portion 
 of our lost historical records, laying before us, as it were, a 
 ground-plan of history, which affords in some parts the most 
 irresistible and conclusive proofs, and in others, is as equally 
 unintelligible ; for although it may assist us in tracing the 
 general connexion, it cannot undertake to embrace the whole 
 exuberance of individual detail. 
 
 Another point, no less important to the historical investi- 
 gator, is the intermixture of people which so frequently 
 took place in the Persian empire, especially along the Gihon 
 and Euphrates, towards the Caucasus and Asia Minor, and 
 in the central western division of that anciently inhabited 
 portion of the globe. If to set these facts distinctly before 
 the reader lay within the sphere of our present inquiry, I 
 should now endeavour to illustrate the manner in which a 
 new people may be formed through the effects of continual 
 migration alone ; that is to say, in what way sudden 
 changes of climate and of the ordinary habits of life would 
 naturally lead to a great revolution in language and manners, 
 so that a very trifling intermixture with branches of another 
 
B. III. CH. II.] OF THE EARLIEST EMIGRATION. 503 
 
 stock would suffice to produce an entirely new nation, 
 stamped with a complete individuality of character ; which, 
 when the moment of separation and fermentation had sub- 
 sided, would afterwards continue unaltered through thou- 
 sands of succeeding years. It might then be possible to de- 
 cide with what degree of justice central Asia has been 
 usually represented in history as the general parent, the inex- 
 haustible spring of all people thence emigrating ; and how 
 far, and in what measure, it is actually clear that the two- 
 fold stream of emigration, the course of which was more 
 usually and naturally directed towards the north-west, in 
 this instance led from the east and south together ; and how 
 this district, in which the intermixture of nations was most 
 various and fruitful, became actually, from the earliest anti- 
 quity, the scene of their origin and development. 
 
 While the emigration of nations is regarded merely as 
 an advancing impulse, which may be accounted for by 
 physical causes alone, it will be impossible to gain any clear 
 ideas of ancient history : we should, at the same time, con- 
 sider the manner in which a greater branch is sometimes 
 seen to divide itself into several lesser parts, while those 
 again are continually separated and subdivided into greater 
 individual varieties ; or, on the other hand, the constant 
 intermixture whence, in process of time, an entirely new 
 race may probably arise, different and strikingly degenerate 
 in language and character. Clear views and opinions, de- 
 duced from a thorough investigation of facts, can alone 
 throw light upon the chaos of facts and traditions, and well 
 or ill grounded theories, which form what is usually termed 
 ancient history. 
 
 We must not expect to recognise in antiquity the counter- 
 part of every nation now existing in Asia, and still less 
 should we think to find in our modern geographical works 
 traces of all which have existed in early times. Many na- 
 tions which arose in the manner above described were in 
 the same manner swallowed up and completely overwhelmed 
 by others ; even as in the Basque language and in that of 
 the Arnauts* and Wallachians, we still discover faint and 
 
 * Arnauts, the name given to the inhabitants of Albania. The Alba- 
 nians rank, under the name of Arnauts, among the flower of the Ottoman 
 
 k k 4 
 
504 HISTORICAL IDEAS. [ß. III. CH. III. 
 
 feeble tokens of a nation preceding them, and probably 
 greater and more extensive than theirs. Many other people, 
 probably of even later origin, became amalgamated with 
 each other, at a comparatively recent period. 
 
 Chap. III. — On Indian Colonisation and Legislature. 
 
 This question has been hitherto left undisturbed, and I 
 merely allude to it, as it appears indispensable to the con- 
 nexion of the subject, and belongs properly to the third 
 and present part of our inquiry. I must particularly call 
 attention to the connexion that existed between the oldest 
 and most civilised nations of antiquity, a theme well de- 
 serving the patient study of every investigator of ancient 
 history. Religion and mythology are most significant fea- 
 tures in this connexion, which may also be further evidenced 
 by language and architecture : the latter, as it is seen in the 
 old Egyptian, Persian, and Indian monuments, presents 
 some very general features, and bears corroborative testi- 
 mony to the unity of all Asiatic inventions. This latter 
 point it is the peculiar aim of history either to confirm or 
 disprove. If the uncivilised countries of America and 
 Southern Africa had remained in their original necessitous 
 and barbarous condition, without receiving any new impulse 
 
 army. The Illyrians were probably the original stock from which the 
 Albanians sprung, but this hypothesis cannot receive confirmation from 
 comparing it with the old Illyrian tongue, because we know nothing 
 about the latter ; still the Albanian language, whatever may be its basis, 
 has received accessions from the Greeks, Romans, Goths, Sclavonians, 
 Franks, and Italians : some writers have supposed them to be descendants 
 of the Albani of Asia, and who may, it is conjectured, have retired before 
 the advance of the Sclavonian nations, that for some time followed the 
 track marked out by the Huns when they broke into Europe. Mr. 
 Hobhouse, who adopts the above hypothesis, supposes the basis of their 
 language to be the Sclavonian. Ponqueville asserts the existence of a 
 belief among the Albanians themselves, that they are descended from the 
 French (? Franks) ; and Miletius, a geographer of the last century, says 
 they are descended from Celts, who crossed over from lapygia, now the 
 Terra di Otranto, in the kingdom of Naples. — Extracted from article 
 Albania, in "Penny Cyclopaedia. 
 
B. III. CH. III.] INDIAN COLONISATION AND LEGISLATURE. 505 
 
 from Europe or Asia, implanting in them the germs of 
 higher intellectual activity, cultivation and movements, 
 scarcely any history could have existed of those countries. 
 
 If we attribute the earliest emigration of the Asiatic people 
 to some impulse higher than the mere spur of necessity; if the 
 unity and similarity of a deeply studied legislation and sys- 
 tem of thought be discovered among them, we ought also 
 to remember the gigantic grandeur and durability of Egyp- 
 tian and Indian architecture in contradistinction to the fra- 
 gile littleness of modern buildings. This consideration will 
 enable us, by analogy, the better to grasp the idea (which 
 to modern habits of thought certainly appear singularly 
 vast) that all these famous nations sprang from one stock, 
 and that their colonies were all one people either directly 
 or indirectly of Indian origin. The colonies planted by 
 Greece and Rome appear to be of but little importance com- 
 pared with the ancient grandeur of those migrations, and 
 yet what important revolutions were effected even by those 
 trifling changes ! 
 
 It is true that the connexion between them is not always 
 immediately perceived. Through how many now forgotten 
 intermediate gradations must the doctrine of the Metempsy- 
 chosis have passed in its course from India to the Druids of 
 ancient Gaul! In Peru, too, we find an ancient kingdom, 
 in which the adoration of the Sun -god is established, and a 
 royal branch of the children of the Sun, with many other 
 vestiges of Oriental ideas*; and were it not for the informa- 
 tion afforded us by Chinese historical records, we might 
 build conjecture upon conjecture as to the manner in which 
 these peculiar doctrines became prevalent in a country so 
 remote. 
 
 The mighty population of the nations thence derived, the 
 Teutons and Persians more especially, might give birth to 
 some difficulties. The number of the Sclavonian people taken 
 collectively (according to geographical statements, which in- 
 deed generally have other points in view than the distinc- 
 tion of races), and including all those dispersed throughout 
 Turkey and Germany, amounts to at least 50,000,000. The 
 Teutonic race may also be computed at about 40,000,000, 
 without reckoning those inhabitants of England, not speak - 
 
 * See note a?ite, p. 337. 
 
506 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. [ß. III. CH. HI. 
 
 ing the Celtic, and the English in North America. It seems, 
 therefore, unnecessary to add, that in this as in many other 
 instances authentically recorded in history, the prepon- 
 derating mass of a great wandering horde entirely over- 
 whelmed the original stock, and that, besides the gradual 
 increase of population which may have been promoted by 
 the dispersion and extension of the people, many lesser fa- 
 milies or tribes were, in their very commencement, incor- 
 porated with the ruling power. 
 
 Let us consider only the progress of the Latin tongue, 
 which was at first confined to the centre of Italy, the north 
 being inhabited by Celts, and the south by Greeks. How 
 wonderfully has it extended from that little spot of ground 
 through the whole universe ! still reigning, by its daughters, 
 the Romance languages, in almost every portion of the 
 world. Italian is the commercial language of the East, and 
 Portuguese of the coasts of India and Africa ; Spanish is 
 spoken by the greater part of the New World, and to these 
 we might add the social influence of the French language, 
 and the constant adoption of the dead Latin tongue in learn- 
 ing, science, and, in many countries, even in conversation 
 and religious worship, — just as the Sanscrit, or at least certain 
 forms of that dialect, are used in the liturgy of Si am and 
 Thibet, not to mention the numerous Latin roots existing 
 in the English, German, and Wallachian languages. The 
 influence and language of a people not originally numerous 
 have been thus widely extended in the space of two thou- 
 sand years, although the population of their peculiar domi- 
 nions, even when the empire was most extensive, can rarely 
 have exceeded that of India alone. It must not be forgotten 
 that India has always been one of the most populous coun- 
 tries in the world, and is so even at present, notwithstanding 
 the numerous destructive revolutions of the last century and 
 the prevalence of universal misery and oppression. How 
 natural, then, is the inference that the overflowing popula- 
 tion may have rendered emigration a measure of absolute 
 necessity at the period of its ancient prosperity ? 
 
 The influence of the Arabians, extended more widely and 
 far more rapidly than even that of the Romans, their lan- 
 guage having been diffused by conquests, trade, and coloni- 
 sation through the greatest part of Asia, and even into the 
 
B. m. CH. HI.] INDIAN COLONISATION AND LEGISLATURE. 507 
 
 interior of Africa : it has extended also to the Indian isles 
 adjoining, and our historical records are insufficient to ex- 
 plain in what manner Arabian influence can have reached 
 such distant localities. Although the Indians were not uni- 
 versal conquerors, still is it not possible that some similar 
 influence existed even among them in much earlier times ? 
 We have undoubtedly sufficient reason to entertain the sup- 
 position, and could easily show, in general terms at least, 
 how it may originally have occurred. 
 
 We have already, in the first book, pointed out a few 
 single languages and people which stand in trifling though 
 direct affinity with the parent-land, like intermediate links 
 connecting the widely estranged ramification of the Romans, 
 Greeks, and numerous Teutonic tribes. The western pe- 
 ninsula of India, lying on the borders of Persia and Turkind, 
 has, from the earliest period, been the seat of the highest 
 Indian civilisation, and also its most potent dynasty. 
 
 The colonies were not always founded by emigration: 
 a very trifling number of people sufficed to form a colony, 
 not perhaps consisting merely of conquerors and warriors, 
 but comprising the most intelligent men of their time, priests 
 or philosophers : the former would always find an induce- 
 ment to quit their native country and settle among wilder 
 tribes, in the hope of civilising and converting them. The 
 zeal for proselytism is often as strong in the disciples of 
 error as of truth, and in the former, indeed, it may more 
 easily be combined with selfish ambition and worldly views. 
 Priestly and religious colonies such as I am now describing 
 are known to have been common among the Egyptians, 
 while in Persian emigration, on the contrary, warriors and 
 nobles generally took the lead. The partially Indian cha- 
 racter of the Coptic languages tends to confirm this suppo- 
 sition : whether it be asserted that the priestly founders of 
 those colonies settled there immediately on quitting their 
 native country, which is by no means improbable, or that 
 a more ancient and civilised Ethiopia lay to the south of 
 Egypt, from whence Egyptian civilisation was first drawn. 
 
 It has been already shown that other motives and causes, 
 besides the mere impulse of an overflowing population, may 
 have contributed to produce emigration. One only need 
 here be noticed. How inconceivable must have been the 
 
508 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 [B. III. CH. III. 
 
 ruin and desolation produced in the human conscience by 
 its first decided departure from God, by the guilt of the first 
 crime, the commencement of strife and murder ! Terror 
 and confusion were the immediate results, and the still calm 
 of feeling, of soothing reflection and intimate communion 
 with Divinity, gave place to wild and shuddering imagina- 
 tions, falsehood, horror, and restless despair. How much of 
 all this must have been endured ere the divinely favoured 
 being could resolve to seek a nourishment full of horror 
 from the lifeless body of a slaughtered animal ! The abomi- 
 nation in which animal nourishment is held by the Brahmins 
 bears the stamp of such high antiquity, that it seems almost 
 like the only remaining heritage of our earliest condition. 
 Was it not the same inward antipathy which prompted man's 
 fallen race to seek in the entrails of their bleeding sacrificial 
 victims dark tokens of coming danger and distress, and to 
 draw from the depths of the earth those metals in which 
 (almost at the very same period when he first saw and con- 
 ceived in the natural elements an immediate emanation from 
 the Deity), he quickly recognised the stars and arbiters of 
 his earthly destiny, making them the means of procuring a 
 peaceful subsistence, and at the same time instruments of 
 new crimes, wars, and destruction. May not the unrest of 
 the flying murderer, the first bloodstained criminal, have 
 been communicated even to the farthest extremity of the 
 earth? Still I will not attempt to make these facts the 
 groundwork of my argument, since our belief in them, 
 though equally sure, rests not on the actual basis of history, 
 which is, indeed, of far less ancient date. History could not 
 be written until that awe-struck horror of imagination which 
 has left traces of its influence in all the oldest monuments of 
 the human mind had become soothed and softened down 
 into calm reflection, remembrance, and regret. 
 
 We possess one monument of the earliest Indian history, 
 older and more authentic than any set forth in words or 
 recorded in written characters — the Indian mode of govern- 
 ment. No legislation so severe in all its enactments, in 
 regard to the lower orders, could have been framed, except 
 in a period of strife and dissension, when the numberless 
 sources of tumult and division to which changes and fluctua- 
 tions had given birth, required to be crushed and subdued 
 
B. III. CH. III.] INDIAN COLONISATION AND LEGISLATURE. 509 
 
 by the strong hand of legislative power and authority. The 
 intermingling of tribes who, in fleeing from their mother- 
 land, became blended with the wilder races of mankind, may 
 account for the affinity between the Sclavonian dialect and 
 some of the nobler forms of speech. Still those who fled 
 may not necessarily have been the guilty or oppressed alone; 
 many others, doubtless, who had continued separate and un- 
 polluted amidst the ruin and destruction which must have 
 preceded such a system of legislature, fled to distant climes, 
 where they might rear their unpolluted dwelling, and live 
 and die in the exercise of their pure faith and religion. 
 
 But it is not the first origin of Indian legislature alone 
 that is so clearly impressed with tokens of war and tumult; 
 it bore even within itself germs of ceaseless dissension and 
 internal warfare. The history of India since the time of 
 Alexander the Great certainly presents little more than a 
 series of foreign conquests and internal revolutions, which 
 however would seem rather to intimate a constant inter- 
 change of rulers and dynasties than any actual alteration in 
 the laws and constitution. Buddhism alone forms an ex- 
 ception, which indeed was pursued and overwhelmed, less 
 on account of its doctrines than of its legislation, which 
 broke the unity of the state, and strove to remove its here- 
 ditary distinctions; and yet the doctrines of Buddha were 
 promulgated in the great countries adjacent in one single 
 mission rather than by any regular course of emigration. 
 In earlier times, before the constitution was firmly esta- 
 blished and had become almost a part of Indian life and 
 nature, this new doctrine must have occasioned great changes 
 and confusion ; but when once the indomitable power of the 
 hereditary priesthood was fixed on a sure basis, greater 
 scope was left for feuds and dissensions among the warriors 
 over whom the legislature exerted but little influence. In- 
 deed, one of the oldest Indian poems in the Mahabharatä 
 relates chiefly to the great civil wars between two kindred 
 heroes, ancestors of the godlike race of kings and warriors ; 
 but before the Cshatriyas, who were originally of the same 
 family, were severed from the hereditary priesthood, and 
 the rank of each caste became so decidedly marked as it has 
 ever since remained, many severe struggles and convulsions 
 must have taken place. It was not without reason that 
 
510 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 [B. III. CH. in. 
 
 Pocosrama was declared to have exterminated wicked kings, 
 chastised their savage nobles, and restrained the power of 
 all within narrower limits. 
 
 It is not unfrequently observed, among other character- 
 istics of Indian tribes, that some one race occasionally dege- 
 nerated into barbarism, — became Mlecchas, as they were 
 termed, — or appear to have gone over and united them- 
 selves with some other people generally held to be barbarous 
 and uncivilised. In Menu's book of Laws*, a whole series of 
 degenerate and uncivilised families of the Cshatriya race 
 are enumerated, among which we recognise the names of 
 many famous nations : the Sakas, the Chinas, and the Pah- 
 lavas, the latter probably the ancient Pahlvani or Medes, and 
 the Pahlavi may be a debased remnant of their language. 
 The Paphlagonians appear, from their name, to have belonged 
 to the same race. Besides these, we have the Yavanern ; 
 unless, as has been asserted f, they are only one of the sects 
 mentioned in the Puranas as practising a sensual idolatry of 
 nature, and propagating their faith by wars and conquests. 
 This supposition is by no means disproved by the circum- 
 stance of their being enumerated among the degenerate 
 Cshatriyas, as both are perfectibly compatible. 
 
 We have not sufficient data to enable us to decide clearly 
 what portion of the religious wars of the Indians should 
 be assigned to the primitive period of their history. It is 
 not improbable, however, that, as was the case in regard 
 to the doctrine of Buddhism, introduced at a later epoch, 
 even the earliest attempts at innovation may have been too 
 intimately connected with the legislature and constitution 
 to be defeated without a war. The great diversity of sects 
 and systems formerly prevailing in India must have afforded 
 abundant ground for dissension and disunion ; the system at 
 present existing, which seems to have aimed only at bring- 
 ing them into an endurable union, retains traces of them 
 all. The reciprocal religious hatred of the Persians and 
 Egyptians will alone suffice to disprove the often-repeated 
 
 * x. 43—45. 
 
 f According to extracts quoted by Wilford, who in his own theories 
 and conjectures is often very feeble, but when he merely quotes or 
 translates, overpowering in strength from his great knowledge of the 
 language. 
 
B. in. CEL. IU.J INDIAN COLONISATION AND LEGISLATURE. 511 
 
 assertion, that the polytheism of antiquity was tolerant in 
 its nature. The low estimation in which polytheistic su- 
 perstition was held by the professors of a more intellectual 
 religion like the Persian, often led to an attempt at prosely- 
 tism by violence, as was the case with Cambyses ; and in the 
 same manner the believers in popular mythology often 
 indulged in the most bitter, persecuting hatred of all who 
 believed themselves more highly enlightened, as with the 
 Syrian Greeks and the Jews. Both these contending ele- 
 ments existed in India; the struggle between them has 
 given birth to many great religious wars, from that period 
 down to the present time : although they now coexist in com- 
 parative harmony, many points which were entirely incom- 
 patible having been worn down or enfeebled, while others 
 have been excluded. 
 
 If it be admitted that, by the Yavanern of the Indian 
 writings, many nations of the West, devoted to the sensual 
 idolatry of nature are to be understood, we shall find that 
 the course by which the Asiatic race, carrying with them 
 Oriental ideas and customs, extended into Greece and cen- 
 tral and southern Italy, lay along the Euphrates and Tigris, 
 through Phoenicia and Asia Minor. Supposing also, what 
 has never been clearly proved, that Babylon and the sur- 
 rounding countries were, in the earliest times, possessed by 
 a people speaking the Syrian language, it is nevertheless 
 certain that as soon as any great kingdom was founded, an 
 influx of various nations took place, precisely as has been 
 seen to -happen in later times. Phrygia, a tributary state 
 dependent on Babylon, presents another intermediate link ; 
 for certainly no historian of the present day will agree with 
 the ancients (who referred all races of disputed or doubtful 
 origin to the autochthones *), when they trace the numerous 
 Hellenists of Asia Minor to an European origin. In after- 
 times many unquestionably returned by that route into India, 
 and so probably in grand emigrations of armies, single heroes, 
 or peaceful settlers, numbers retraced the same familiar path 
 by which they had first quitted their native land. Besides, 
 as these great emigrations were almost always gradual in their 
 progress, some intercourse and acquaintance with those they 
 
 * Autochthones, peculiar races of men, supposed to have been formed 
 from the slime of the earth. 
 
512 HISTORICAL IDEAS. [ß. III. CH. III. 
 
 had left was constantly kept up, till the remoteness of their 
 settlements, and still more the lapse of time, gradually 
 estranged and at length entirely divided them ; so that, on 
 afterwards meeting, both were frequently astonished at the 
 undeniable evidence existing of their common descent. 
 
 How many royal and heroic races in Hellas and Italy 
 proceeded first from Asia Minor ! The Babylonian empire, 
 if that name be assigned to the grand, old kingdom which, 
 extending along the Euphrates and Tigris long before the 
 time of the Persians carried its dominion into the very heart 
 of Asia Minor, naturally became, from its situation, a mari- 
 time power*, and even the Hellenists were, from the earliest 
 period, a naval people. The position of the different people 
 in Italy proves that the Italian race of the interior, who 
 were of the same descent, arrived there first by sea ; for if 
 they had taken their route across the Alps in Carniola 
 through Venice, some signs of their progress would certainly 
 be yet remaining in the northern part of Italy. Closer in- 
 vestigation may perhaps reveal more traces of the old Indian 
 constitution in the legislature of the Romans, than would at 
 first be thought possible. The patricians, on whom the 
 duties of augurs exclusively devolved, were originally nothing 
 more than a line of hereditary priests, and as they alone 
 made war, and exercised other rights of the warrior race, 
 they formed also the only real nobility (the equites); at 
 length, however, the sole government of this absolute war- 
 like sacerdotal aristocracy excited the animosity of the 
 people, and a struggle began of which the ancient history of 
 that nation gives so animated an account. The singular 
 republic which Alexander of Macedon imagined himself to 
 have discovered in the Indies must be understood in a very 
 different sense from the Hellenic, Phoenician or Italian free 
 states. The Greeks had no idea of a permanent system of 
 legislation such as had been established among the Indians 
 from the most remote antiquity ; nor could they imagine a 
 free and legislative monarchy : they probably mistook the 
 incorporated but self-existent members of the great legis- 
 lative body for separate republics. Notwithstanding the 
 
 * In Heeren's " Ideen über den Handel der alten Welt," &c, all that 
 is known of the shipbuilding of the Babylonians and other ancient 
 people will be found. 
 
B. III. CH. III,] INDIAN COLONISATION AND LEGISLATURE. 513 
 
 obscurity and confusion of the earliest Indian histories, it 
 is clear that even then some great monarchies existed which, 
 although permanent, were extremely limited by the here- 
 ditary rights asserted by the nobility and priesthood. In small 
 nations and colonies of Indian descent the republican con- 
 stitution appeared at a subsequent period ; but the monar- 
 chical form was that first adopted, particularly in countries 
 where, as in Persia, the warriors and nobles had the chief 
 share in the disposition and arrangement of affairs. It is 
 worthy of remark that both the historical records of Asia 
 and the poetical legends of the south-east of Europe, border- 
 ing upon Asia, commence with descriptions of a royal city 
 of inconceivable magnificence, which being subsequently 
 ruined through the effects of arrogance and luxury, became 
 the primary cause of the dispersion of mankind, and gave 
 rise to numerous migrations and the establishment of many 
 lesser states. If the legend of the Trojan war have an his- 
 torical meaning, as from the stamp of antiquity impressed 
 upon it we are led to believe, we shall certainly be justified 
 in removing it from the narrow sphere of Hellenic tradition, 
 and carrying it back to the grand circle of Asiatic legendary 
 history. Names of places, towns, or mountains holding a 
 conspicuous place in tradition have so frequently been 
 changed in the course of time, and moved more towards 
 the West, with the nearer advance of the legend and the 
 people themselves, that it cannot now be necessary to cite 
 any peculiar example in proof of it. 
 
 It should be remembered that these remarks tend no fur- 
 ther than to exhibit incidentally the great promise afforded 
 by Indian study, in clearing up historical questions of 
 doubtful import. Many separate details in the earliest his- 
 tory of the people of Asia will, when more abundant mate- 
 rials have been discovered, be distinctly traced in perfect 
 outline, and the general tenour of the whole be clearly com- 
 prehended. We require, especially, a critical work drawn 
 from the peculiar Indian records yet existing of the primitive 
 history of the world, which will probably be found to contain 
 much valuable information on other points also, and a correct 
 translation of the Scandapurana, which, as an historical re- 
 cord, should be held in higher estimation than any other 
 book of the Puranas. The little we already have will in the 
 
 L L 
 
514 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 {_B. HI. CH. in. 
 
 mean time suffice to explain many difficult points, and very 
 frequently just those which appear most intricate and puz- 
 zling. Though, for example, many doubts cannot now be en- 
 tertained as to whether any race of men ever quitted the fertile 
 and luxuriant regions of Asia to migrate into the extremest 
 Scandinavian North : the theory of their having been driven 
 onwards by succeeding hordes can hardly be adopted by any 
 historian, particularly when the numerous population of the 
 Teutonic race is considered. The traditions of Indian my- 
 thology, however, throw a light upon the northern impulse. 
 One of those legends describes the wonderful mountain of 
 Meru* (or the North Pole), in which Kuvera, the god of 
 wealth, is enthroned. Whether this idea may have arisen 
 from a false traditionary interpretation, or dark views and 
 superstitious ideas of natural truth, a high veneration for the 
 North certainly prevailed in that country, not as a secondary 
 circumstance in the Indian system, but a favourite idea con- 
 stantly recurring, and indelibly impressed upon its poetical 
 creations. Nor would this be the first or only instance in 
 which poetical legends and old songs, intertwined with the 
 doctrines of superstition and religious observances, have had 
 more influence on the character and enterprises of heroes 
 than those who study history in its political aspect alone 
 could easily believe. 
 
 Admitting, then, that these tribes were driven northwards, 
 not from the mere impulse of necessity, but by an almost 
 supernatural idea of the majesty and glory of those regions, 
 and everywhere diffused throughout the Indian sagas, the 
 path of the Teutonic race may clearly be traced from Turkind 
 along the Gihon to the north shore of the Caspian Sea and 
 the Caucasus ; but it is doubtful whether they afterwards 
 directed their route towards the mountains, and there settled, 
 or followed the course of the mighty streams, like those 
 ancient Asiatic nations, who everywhere sought to make 
 settlements on the banks of majestic rivers; as, for example, 
 on the Ganges, the Nile, and the Euphrates. This, however, 
 is not the place in which to discuss the question, although it 
 is one of high importance in reference to the history of our 
 own native land. 
 
 * For a gorgeous description of this mountain see Southey's Kehama. 
 ~ Trans. 
 
B. IK. CH. IV.] STUDY OF ORIENTAL LITERATURE. 
 
 515 
 
 Chap. IV. — On the general Importance of the Study 
 of the Oriental and Indian Literature, and its true 
 Aim and Object. 
 
 The copious richness of Indian literature, and the great and 
 valuable assistance that may be afforded by Eastern study in 
 philosophy, ancient history, and philology having been now 
 fully proved, nothing remains except to determine the rela- 
 tive value of Oriental literature generally, as contrasted 
 with European, and to mark the influence which the former 
 has already had, or may hereafter exert, upon the latter. It 
 has, indeed, been the chief object of the present treatise to 
 display the advantages of Oriental study in this respect par- 
 ticularly. 
 
 The Holy Scriptures present the only bond remaining by 
 which European habits and thoughts are linked with those 
 of the East ; and, consequently, the present occasion appears 
 most appropriate for examining into the connexion between 
 Indian antiquity and the Mosaic records and revelation gene- 
 rally, — a subject which I intentionally avoided in my ex- 
 amination " of the historical evidence, fearing to plunge the 
 reader into an ocean of disputed interpretations and un- 
 founded hypotheses. Theories concerning the race of the 
 Noachidse, and the true situation of Paradise, do indeed revolve 
 in rapid succession and countless numbers, and to sift so many 
 varied opinions would demand a critical and circumstantial 
 inquiry, which I willingly leave to be prosecuted by others. 
 
 One fact, however, the most important, if not the only one 
 absolutely essential as a point of religious belief, is recorded 
 in the Mosaic history with so much distinctness that even 
 subsequent interpretations have failed in obscuring it: it 
 tells us that man was created in the image of God, but that 
 by his own sin he voluntarily debased that divine image, and 
 fell from the pure light of happiness in which he had at first 
 rejoiced. The Mosaic history does not give an ample and 
 detailed account of every event afterwards occurring ; for it 
 must be remembered that it was not intended for the gratifi- 
 cation of curiosity alone, nor as a source of historical in- 
 formation, but rather for a beacon light to indicate the path 
 from which mankind had wandered, and while the night of 
 
 L L 2 
 
516 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 [ß. III. CH. IV. 
 
 sin and superstition wrapt the world around, to guide the 
 chosen few into the divinely appointed way of light and sal- 
 vation. Thus the Indian records reveal the first growth of 
 error and superstition, which, when the simplicity of divine 
 faith and knowledge had once been abandoned, became con- 
 tinually more false and exaggerated, yet ever retained, even 
 in its darkest gloom, some feeble gleams of celestial and 
 glorious light. 
 
 The contrast of truth with error ever places the former in 
 a more majestic and transcendent light, and the history of 
 ancient philosophy, that is, of the Oriental system in general, 
 will therefore furnish a most instructive comment on the 
 Holy Scriptures. It does not appear surprising, to any one 
 who is conversant with the religion of the earliest Asiatic 
 nations, that the doctrines of the Trinity and the immortality 
 of the soul should have been but slightly touched upon in 
 the Old Testament, instead of being distinctly explained, or 
 insisted upon, as forming the groundwork of the teaching of 
 Moses. It can hardly, indeed, be considered probable that 
 Moses, who had been instructed in all the wisdom of the 
 Egyptians, could have been ignorant of a doctrine so com- 
 monly received among all the civilised nations of Asia ; but 
 we see that, as with the Indians, so in many other nations, 
 the grossest errors and superstitions had become almost in- 
 separably annexed to the lofty truth of the immortality of the 
 soul ; and thus the conduct of the Divine Lawgiver of the 
 Hebrew people appears neither unaccountable nor difficult 
 to be explained. 
 
 The divinely appointed prophet of the Hebrews has fre- 
 quently been reproached with intolerance in so severely re- 
 jecting other families or people, and keeping the Hebrew 
 nation and doctrines so completely separate from every other 
 nation in the world. But the injustice of such unworthy 
 reproaches would long since have been seen, had it been 
 possible for men of the present day to realise in idea the 
 condition of the East at that period. Let them remember, 
 that although the wisest and most civilised nations of an- 
 tiquity inherited some few lingering gleams of sacred light, 
 yet all were distorted and confused, and frequently, among 
 both Persians and Indians, the noblest and purest truths had 
 become polluted springs of fatal error and grovelling super- 
 
B. III. CH. IV.] STUDl OF ORIENTAL LITERATURE. 517 
 
 stition. The necessity of a severe uncompromising isolation 
 of the Hebrews is therefore seen at a glance ; and how en- 
 tirely must the zeal of that man, rejecting all minor consider- 
 ations, have been absorbed in the sole object of so guarding 
 the costly jewel of divine truth committed to his trust, as not 
 only to save it from destruction, but to keep it ever pure and 
 unpolluted. It may be true that Jehovah was considered by 
 many individual Israelites only in the light of a national God ; 
 but we nowhere discover any indications of his having been 
 thus esteemed by the prophets or other inspired teachers. The 
 doctrine of the close and special union with God, into which 
 men are permitted by faith to enter, and into which they are 
 actually received in the Christian church, — the grand doc- 
 trine of Christianity, — will be strangely misunderstood, if 
 confounded with those errors on which the reproach of in- 
 tolerance, alleged against the Jews of the Old Testament, has 
 been founded. 
 
 Many passages in the philosophy, and, indeed, of the 
 religious observances of Fo, bear a striking but false affinity 
 with Christianity ; single doctrines also are often wonderfully 
 in accordance, but defaced and distorted ; every thing is out 
 of proportion, and made to bear a different signification ; the 
 resemblance, in fact, that apes bear to men. The affinity of 
 the Oriental system (as has been shown by the review of that 
 philosophy given in the second book of this treatise) is far 
 more true and lofty, particularly in the Persian religion, in 
 which the adoration of light, and the doctrine of the con- 
 tending principles of good and evil, have a remarkable affinity 
 with the teaching of the Old, as well as of the New Cove- 
 nant. The too exclusive adoption of these vestiges of higher 
 truths, taking their resemblance, whether spurious or genuine, 
 for perfect similarity, gave rise to various errors in the early 
 Christian church, as, for example, to the heresy of Manes and 
 others. None of the erroneous principles of the Persian my- 
 thology are found in the Holy Scriptures ; what they teach is 
 not based on a philosophical system, but on Holy Revelation, 
 and when seized and comprehended by the light of inward illu- 
 mination, will lead to the knowledge of pure and eternal truth. 
 
 Still the comparison between these systems, whether the 
 apparent connexion between them be real or imaginary, 
 may afford historical and external evidence that one idea go- 
 
 L L 3 
 
518 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 [B. III. CH. IV. 
 
 verns and pervades the Old Testament as well as the New, 
 differing only in this, that in one it is merely indicated or 
 prefigured, in the other it shines forth in full lustre : the 
 Christian interpretation of the Old Testament must conse- 
 quently be the true one ; and a more perfect knowledge of 
 the history of Oriental genius will give it fuller confirma- 
 tion, even from extraneous circumstances. This is important, 
 considered merely in a critical point of view, and would be 
 so, even supposing the Scriptures to be of no higher autho- 
 rity than any other system of Oriental formation, though 
 even in that case, they must be regarded as the most pro- 
 found and severely grand of all. How, indeed, can any 
 work be understood or explained, except by reference to the 
 system on which it is based ? And where can that system 
 be best grappled with, except where it is most clearly deve- 
 loped and vividly expressed ? This must be allowed to be 
 the case with the New Testament, and will be admitted by 
 every unprejudiced critic, who compares it with the incom- 
 plete signification of the Old Testament, or the partly erro- 
 neous system of Persian belief. The sense of the Old 
 Testament can never be unfolded by merely exigetical criti- 
 cism, even though superior in learning and erudition to all 
 those doctors of the Talmud on whom the light of the Gos- 
 pel, brightening and dispersing the heavy darkness, had not 
 yet dawned. The vestiges of divine truth are every where 
 discovered, in the most ancient Oriental systems in particu- 
 lar, though, perhaps, but in isolated fragments ; but the just 
 connexion of the whole, freed from intermingling errors and 
 superstitions, can only be traced by the aid of Christianity, 
 which affords a, clue to all such principles of truth and wis- 
 dom, as are too lofty in their truth to have been elicited by 
 the efforts of the reason or the imagination. 
 
 I proceed to notice, in a few words, the general influence 
 of Oriental philosophy (an important, and certainly by no 
 means the most inferior branch of which is of Indian origin,) 
 on the European mind. Great as that influence has been, it 
 
 * An excellent example of this ancient style of exposition, is given in 
 the History of the Religion of Jesus, by Count Stolberg, — a work dis- 
 tinguished by that calm energy, unvarying earnestness, and beautiful 
 clearness, which is seen only when lofty science and knowledge are made 
 the ruling spring and principle of life. 
 
B. HI. CH. IV.] STUDY OF ORIENTAL LITERATURE. 519 
 
 is doubtful whether any simple Oriental system ever reached 
 Europe in a pure, unmixed form : whatever was borrowed 
 from thence, either by the Greeks or more modern nations, 
 appears to have spontaneously incorporated itself with the 
 existing doctrines, and thus to have become in various ways 
 changed and altered. 
 
 Before attempting to show the influence exerted by 
 Oriental ideas on European philosophy, we must attempt to 
 give an introductory sketch of its progress and peculiar cha- 
 racter. European philosophy, at its first upsoaring in all the 
 as yet unenfeebled vigour of the human mind, was purely 
 ideal. I do not understand by this expression merely the 
 doctrine of the unity of all created existences, nor the 
 nothingness of external appearances; but that philosophy 
 which originates in the idea of self-operating strength and 
 vital activity, — the philosophy of the stoics of Aristotle, 
 and of many ancient Greeks. If, though the knowledge of 
 Revelation had been too early lost, the idea of infinity still 
 existed, what could be more natural than that men should 
 be disposed to refer everything to their own strength and 
 wisdom ? All those lofty ideas, engendered by a spiritual 
 religion, and which had from infancy been familiar to their 
 minds, they held to be of their own creation, and peculiarly 
 their own property ; for few and feeble were the traces of 
 divinity therein recognised, and their connexion was too 
 easily overlooked and lost. It is true that no system of phi- 
 sophy ever framed by any people was actually self-created, 
 or existed completely distinct from the fountains and 
 streams of universal tradition. Had human wisdom, indeed, 
 been endowed with such wonderful unassisted power, it 
 would have been more successful in avoiding the numerous 
 and unspeakable errors which attended its development 
 in every period, from that time down to the present. But, 
 on the contrary, errors accumulated so rapidly, that phi- 
 losophy soon degenerated into mere scepticism, and the 
 vigour of the human understanding, becoming at length 
 enfeebled by continued doubt and unbelief, philosophy next 
 declined into an empiric theory; the idea of a Supreme 
 Divinity, if admitted in words, was denied in principle, till 
 it became almost annihilated ; and man, under the specious 
 plea of confining himself within the sphere of utility and 
 
520 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 [b. III. CH. IV, 
 
 and rationalism, cast aside, as an erring and romantic im- 
 pulse, that lofty spirit, intellect and sentiment, which alone 
 distinguished him from the brute creation. Some few re- 
 flecting minds were occasionally roused by the misery of 
 this lost condition of the soul ; and finding it impossible to 
 persevere therein, sought a path of return to the older and 
 better philosophy ; and according to the earnestness of their 
 search, were they sure of corresponding success. 
 
 Such has been the simple progress of European philosophy 
 from the earliest Greek sages up to the present time. 
 
 This revolution of a philosophy which certainly had not 
 lost the idea of infinity and self- creative power, to scepti- 
 cism and finally to empiricism, has been more than once 
 repeated, and each recurrence differed from the preceding, 
 inasmuch as men were acquainted with and employed it, to 
 link the new in some measure with the old, either by con- 
 trast or remodelling. 
 
 The continual adoption of various portions of Oriental 
 philosophy, as a foreign and stimulating material, has pro- 
 duced even more irregularity and vacillation in the progress 
 of the European mind in modern times. Without the con- 
 stant recurrence of this animating principle, European 
 genius would never have soared so high, nor would its de- 
 cline have been so sudden. Even the loftiest philosophy of 
 the Europeans, the idealism of reason, as it is set forth by 
 Greek philosophers, appears, in comparison with the abund- 
 ant light and vigour of Oriental idealism, like a feeble Pro- 
 methean spark in the full flood and heavenly glory of the 
 noon-day sun, faltering and feeble, and ever ready to be ex- 
 tinguished : still the more trifling the dimensions, the greater 
 was the artistic skill employed in pourtraying its form and 
 arrangement. 
 
 It is true, indeed, that Oriental wisdom among the Greeks, 
 as well as the moderns, frequently flowed from a turbid 
 spring. How greatly, even in the time of the modern Pla- 
 tonists and Gnostics, the whole circle of European knowledge 
 had already arrived at the lowest state of degeneracy and 
 mingling of systems, is too well known to require further 
 elucidation. In what is usually termed Oriental philosophy, 
 the old system of emanation is always more or less mixed 
 up with Dualism and Pantheism, the ancient philosophy of 
 
ß. HI. CH. IV.] STUDY OF ORIENTAL LITERATURE- 521 
 
 numbers, and the doctrine of the two principles already 
 mentioned. 
 
 This has not happened in later times only, it was pro- 
 bably the case in the era of Pythagoras, if we may rely on 
 what are usually considered the most ancient and authentic 
 records of his philosophy. It is difficult to decide whether 
 the Number philosophy of Pythagoras was of his own in- 
 vention, or of Eastern origin ; but certainly neither that 
 doctrine nor the opposition of the twofold primary powers 
 and existences belong to the system whence he drew the 
 doctrine of the Metempsychosis. Still we have seen that in 
 Asia, even at an earlier period, the more recent doctrines 
 annexed themselves to the old, either by transformation or 
 intermixture ; but if each separate system could be distinctly 
 arranged in its proper order, the task of analysing and tracing 
 out their various compound forms and modifications would 
 be comparatively easy. 
 
 A general knowledge of philosophy is indispensable for 
 the investigation of Oriental literature, and particularly for 
 the Indian branch of it. This general knowledge must be 
 understood to mean something more than a merely dialectic 
 skill, enabling us to construct, according to an almost fixed 
 and precise revolving system, whatever appears new to 
 us, and to which ancient philosophers were strangers ; but 
 rather an intimate acquaintance with the spirit of those 
 grand old systems which had such mighty influence on the 
 outward destiny of mankind. It is certain, however, that no 
 one will be able to seize this spirit who has not fathomed the 
 depths of those speculative ideas by his own personal investi- 
 gation. 
 
 The important place occupied by philosophy in Indian 
 literature will be clearly understood if we recall to mind the 
 general review of the system, and the four most important 
 epochs, given in the second book. In the first epoch, that of 
 the Yedas and all the ancient works which are most closely 
 connected with them ; and in the third epoch, that of the 
 Puranas and the Vyasä ; philosophy is so inseparably inter- 
 woven with each that it were vain to attempt to comprehend 
 them without her aid. Poetry, in the second period, the me- 
 dium point, as it were, between both, may appear to have a 
 more distinct existence, separate from philosophy, but still far 
 
522 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 [B. III. CH. IV. 
 
 less so than has always been the case among the Greeks and 
 other Europeans ; while in the fourth epoch, in the time of 
 Cälidäs, and the other poets under Vikramaditya, when Indian 
 poetry bloomed in still more decided independence, it was 
 based upon certain ancient philosophical ideas, from which it 
 cannot with any propriety be divided. 
 
 Indian study and research in general should be pursued 
 with the grander views and opinions of those able men of 
 the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, who first revived the 
 study of Greek and Eastern literature ; for it must not be 
 imagined that a bare knowledge of the language is sufficient 
 to entitle its possessor to the reputation of a learned man ; 
 and, indeed, there were few among the classical scholars of 
 that period who did not unite with their knowledge of lan- 
 guage an earnest study of philosophy, and the whole abund- 
 ance of historical science. 
 
 Every distinct branch of science being thus united into 
 one indivisible body, would operate with so much greater 
 energy, and the majesty of antiquity, thus seized and em- 
 bodied, might, even in our time, become a fertile source of 
 new productions. In fact, nothing that exists can actually 
 be called new ; all must be kindled and inspired by ancient 
 memories, instructed by departed genius, and formed aad 
 developed by antique power and energy. While, on the 
 other hand, all those subtle reasoners, who live only in the 
 present, and own no influence save that of the spirit of the 
 day, have almost, without exception, embraced the ruinous 
 and destructive opinion that all should be created anew, and 
 produced, as it were, from nothing. All knowledge of ancient 
 philosophy is, therefore, fallen into contempt, and the taste 
 for it almost annihilated; philology is degraded into an 
 empty fruitless study of letters and words, and, notwith- 
 standing some slight progress in particular points, is, on the 
 whole, completely impaired, and has no vital strength or 
 spirit remaining in it. 
 
 Great injury has been done to this science by the prevail- 
 ing prejudice, which keeps the study of Indian mythology 
 entirely distinct from the Greek ; the idea of such a separa- 
 tion being expedient, is an arbitrary assumption, without any 
 foundation in truth. The dwellers in Asia and the people 
 of Europe ought to be treated in popular works as members 
 of one vast family, and their history will never be separated 
 
£. 111. CH. IV.] STUDY OF ORIENTAL LITERATURE. 523 
 
 by any student, anxious fully to comprehend the "bearing of 
 the whole ; but the idea of Oriental genius and literature 
 generally entertained in the present day is founded on that 
 of a few Asiatic writers only, the Persians and Arabians in 
 particular, and a few books of the Old Testament, in as far as 
 we may be permitted to view the latter as poetry ; but there 
 are many other Asiatic nations to whom this ordinary opinion 
 is by no means applicable. The chief peculiarities of Orien- 
 tal literature are supposed to consist in a bold and lavish 
 pomp of imagery, and in the tendency to allegory usually 
 combined with those qualities. The influence of a southern 
 climate may be a co-operating cause, but it certainly is not 
 the chief source of that richness of fancy, since in many 
 other nations, equally poetical in their character, and lying 
 in the same latitude, it is far less predominant than in the 
 Indian. Their highly intellectual religion should rather be 
 cited as the operating cause. Wherever such a religion 
 prevails — ■ whether it be profoundly philosophical, an imme- 
 diate emanation from the divine spirit of love, or rude and 
 wild, like the haughty enthusiam kindled by the doctrines of 
 Mahomet, — everywhere, while poetry and the poetical tem- 
 perament exists, fancy, debarred from the wide field of 
 mythology, will find scope for its richness and luxuriance in 
 bold poetical imagery. For this reason the so-called Oriental 
 character is as strikingly seen in many poets of the Middle 
 Ages, not in Spain alone, but in Italy and Germany, as in 
 the Romantic poems of the Persians and Arabians. We 
 need not attribute this singular circumstance to the influence 
 of the Crusades, as the same result would naturally follow 
 from the same causes in Europe as in Asia. But how does 
 this pomp of colouring and imagery harmonise with the dry 
 prosaic style of the Chinese, or the beautiful simplicity of 
 Indian writings ? It is true that there is no lack of flowery 
 imagery and ornament in the Socuntalä of Cälidäs*, yet it is 
 free from any tinge of exaggeration. The more ancient 
 
 * Calidäsä was one of the most admired of Indian poets. A tradition, 
 very generally believed in India, makes him one of the nine gems or dis- 
 tinguished poets who lived at the court of king Vicramäditya. If by 
 this name the same sovereign is to be understood from whose reign 
 (b. c. .56) the years of the Samvat aera are counted, Calidäsä must have 
 flourished about the middle of the century preceding the commencement 
 of our sera. Another king of the name Vicramäditya, ascended the 
 
524 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 [B. III. CH. IV. 
 
 Indian poems are even less imaginative than the most simple 
 and severe of the Greek writings ; the soul-felt intensity of 
 emotion, vivifying and inspiring all ; — the bright clearness 
 and decision of the conception, has no affinity with the wild- 
 fire, the restless gleaming of a glowing and capricious fancy. 
 Another feature, which has been declared to be characteristic 
 of Oriental writings, is traced chiefly in the progress of the 
 ideas, in the arrangement and construction of the theme, 
 which, from its greater obscurity, often differs widely from 
 that of the Greeks. This, however, can hardly be consi- 
 dered applicable to Indian works, but rather to those of the 
 other nations already named. It coincides in some measure 
 indeed, with their descriptive luxuriance of fancy, and their 
 
 throne a. r>. 191, and a third in a. d. 441 ; and several considerations, 
 especially the highly polished style in which the works attributed to 
 Calidäsä are written, favour the assumption that the poet lived under 
 Vicramäditya II. At all events, this author must be distinguished from 
 a poet of the same name, who lived in the twelfth century at the court of 
 Räja Bhoja, the sovereign of Dhärä. However imperfect our inform- 
 ation about Calidäsä may be, we possess in his works abundant evidence 
 of the power of his genius. We do not hesitate to pronounce him the 
 most universal, the least constrained by national peculiarities, not merely 
 of all Indian, but of all Asiatic poets with whose works we are ac- 
 quainted, and to this elevated tone of mind, which, while seeming to 
 breathe the purely human air of Greece, yet retains all the quickness 
 and glow of feeling, all the vividness and description of imagery of the 
 Hindoos, must, in our opinion, be mainly attributed the undivided ad- 
 miration with which the translation of his drama, Sacontalä, by Sir Wil- 
 liam Jones, (the first work that made known the name of Calidäsä to 
 Europeans) has been every where received. This translation appeared 
 for the first time at Calcutta in 1789, but was soon reprinted in England, 
 and was from the English, at an early period, re-translated into several 
 other languages of Europe. We may particularly notice the German 
 translation by George Foster, who appended to it a glossary explanatory 
 of the allusions to Indian mythology, natural history, &c. The popu- 
 larity which the play has acquired on the Continent, is attested by the 
 fact that several attempts have been made to adapt it to the stage. In 
 1830, the Sanscrit text of Sacontalä was published at Paris, from a 
 manuscript belonging to the Bibliotheque du Roi, with an original 
 French translation by the late professor A. Chery. The Megha Düta, or 
 " Cloud-messenger," a lyrical poem of only 1 1 6 stanzas, by the same 
 poet, contains the complaints of a demi god banished to earth, who 
 entreats a passing cloud to convey an affectionate message to his wife. It 
 was edited, with a translation into English verse, with notes by H. H. 
 Wilson, Calcutta, 1813, 4to. There are four other poems by Calidäsä 
 extant, one of which is unfinished. — Extracted and abridged from Knight's 
 Fenny Cyclopaedia, 
 
B. III. CH. IV.] STUDY OF ORIENTAL LITERATURE. 525 
 
 inclination to allegory : when these tendencies predominate 
 in details, the same daring symbolism frequently pervades the 
 entire composition, giving to the arrangement a certain de- 
 gree of obscurity. This want of clearness may also be in 
 part attributed to the fundamental differences in grammar, 
 noticed in the first book. It is my opinion, therefore, that 
 all works on philosophy (unless some higher influence order 
 it otherwise) should trace the language from its first natural 
 origin down to the point at which it first became enfeebled, 
 and thence sunk deeper and deeper in the abyss of degrada- 
 tion. The construction of languages, which form their 
 grammar by suffixa and afiixa, is so different in details, that 
 the chain of thought easily becomes perplexed and difficult 
 to follow. Those which, instead of being declined by inflec- 
 tions of the primitive root, preserve their original form, and 
 supply the place of those annexed syllables by the use of 
 distinct auxiliary verbs and prepositions, are more conve- 
 nient for general use, and easy and perspicuous in composi- 
 tion ; but too soon become negligent and formless. Such 
 languages as the Greek and Indian, on the contrary, in 
 which every modification of the original meaning is produced 
 by inflection of the roots, are naturally simple and beautiful, 
 both in minor grammatical details and in the general compo- 
 sition and arrangements. 
 
 In this latter particular the term Oriental, in the sense 
 which it is usually supposed to convey, will be found appli- 
 cable to very few nations. The exceptions are, indeed, 
 sufficiently numerous. Thus the obscurity of iEschylus, 
 especially in the Choruses, appears highly Oriental, although 
 clothed in an Hellenic form ; but that obscurity springs 
 rather from an impassioned tumultuous excitement, and 
 the hurrying events of the tragedy, than from a general 
 actual want of capacity for clearness in isolated features. 
 To the lyric boldness of the similes and allusions of Pin- 
 dar, the incoherence of his transitions gives his poetry a 
 tinge of Orientalism ; and the heroic grandeur of the 
 conception, the mingling wildness and tenderness of the 
 theme, assimilate greatly to all that we have yet seen of 
 Indian poetry. The deep-thinking philosophers of Europe 
 have almost always shown a decided preference for ancient 
 Oriental literature. Many great poets among the Greeks 
 are distinguished by the same peculiar feeling ; and Dante, 
 
526 
 
 HISTORICAL IDEAS. 
 
 [b. in. ch. iv 
 
 among the moderns, approximates, though in a manner less 
 universally recognised, to Oriental grandeur of style and 
 diction. 
 
 As in popular history, the Europeans and Asiatics form only 
 one great family, and Asia and Europe one indivisible body, 
 we ought to contemplate the literature of all civilised people 
 as the progressive development of one entire system, or as a 
 single perfect structure. All prejudiced and narrow ideas 
 will thus unconsciously disappear, many points will first 
 become intelligible in their general connexion, and every 
 feature thus viewed will appear in a new light. 
 
 It is most natural that the deep-souled genius of the 
 Middle Ages, the influence of which still pervades both our 
 legislature and daily life, and which in history, poetry, and 
 general habits, stands most closely connected with our own, 
 should claim from us peculiar regard and investigation : and 
 the study of the classics forms not only the best ground- 
 work, but is, indeed, an almost necessary school and prepar- 
 ation for all other learning. The science of criticism has 
 never been so completely and perfectly developed in any 
 other literature ; and, in short, Grecian art, philosophy, and 
 poetry, if not regarded merely in their outward form, as 
 better learned critics, connoisseurs, and aesthetic philosophers 
 are too prone to consider them, are not only of high intrin- 
 sic value, but form an indispensable connecting link between 
 European imagination and Oriental tradition, even as the 
 literature of the Romans marks the transition from the 
 Greek to that of the Middle Ages. The hitherto unknown 
 themes of early antiquity can be disclosed to us only by ex- 
 ploring the rich mine of Indian literature, and laying bare 
 its treasures of poetical beauty and philosophical research. 
 
 The too partial, almost wilful devotion to classical learn- 
 ing, which prevailed during the last century, drew men's 
 minds too widely astray — too far from the sole source of 
 lofty truth ; but the study of Oriental literature, to us so 
 completely novel in structure and ideas, will, as we pene- 
 trate more deeply into it, bring back a new idea of the 
 Divinity, and restore that vigour to the intellect, that truth 
 and intensity of feeling to the soul, which invests all art, 
 science, and literature with new and glorious life. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Aom, consort of Casyapä, 475. 
 
 ^Esthetics, term ill understood, 197. 216. 
 Derived from otJ<r8ccvofAcu t " to perceive 
 by the senses," and is applicable to a 
 feeling for art generally, iii., Trans. 
 Preface. 
 
 Affinity of languages generally, 428. Of 
 the roots of the Indian, Persian, Greek, 
 and Latin, 430. 
 
 Africans, their origin, 502. 
 
 Ahriraan, principle of good, 482. 
 
 Aix-la-Chapelle, cathedral, tomb of Char- 
 lemagne, 164. 
 
 Allegri, Antonio. See Correggio. 
 
 Allegory, as treated by Dante, 215. 
 
 Allegorical paintings, by Mantegna, 7. 
 Style of Correggio, 17, 18, 19. 
 
 Allori, Alessandro (of the eclectic school 
 of the 16th and 17th centuries), Venus 
 by, 59. 
 
 Allori, Cristoforo, Judith, 80. 
 
 Altdorfer, (school of Albert Dürer, 16th 
 century,) Victory of Alexander the 
 Great, 113, 114. 
 
 Amaracosha, Indian dictionary, compiled 
 by Amarasinha, 426. 
 
 America, colonised from Asia, 506. Great 
 variety of dialects, 501. Physical va- 
 rieties of race, 502. Languages of, 447, 
 448, 449. 
 
 Amerighi. See Caravaggio. 
 
 Amshaspands, seven. Genii of the ele- 
 ments, 48+. 
 
 Anaetis, Al-.lath, or Mylitta, 480. 
 
 Angelico, Fra da Fiesole, (14th and 15th 
 century,) Day of Judgment, 20. Paint- 
 ings to be studied, 293. 
 
 Apollo and the Shepherds, Schick, 290. 
 
 Architecture, the ba-e of all other arts, 154. 
 Egyptian and Indian, 504, 505. Chiistian 
 ecclesiastical, 163. Not copied from the 
 Moors, 167. Its gradual development, 
 177, 178. Work on Gothic architec- 
 ture, 193, 194. Boisseree's work, 305. 
 Gothic, H9 — 200. 
 
 Ariosto, his nationality, 220. 
 
 Arnauts, ancient people of Albania, 503. 
 
 Artemisia, Ephesian goddess, 480. 
 
 Art, of painting, not to be analysed and 
 subdivided into branches, 69. Its true 
 poetical tendency, 69, 70. It* present 
 state, 29+, 295. Revival in Germany, 
 £89, &c Not for ever extinct, 304. 
 Reached its summit with Raphael, &c, 
 304. Poetic origin among the Indians, 
 Egyptians, and Greeks, 500. 
 
 Art, "unites the riches of nature and the 
 
 i spirituality of love, or the soul, 413. 
 I Dramatic, 418. 
 
 : Artistic feeling extinct in social life, 198. 
 j Aslauga, Der Held des Nordens, 264. 
 
 Astarte, Phenician goddess, 480. 
 j Astrology, Oriental doctrine, 477. 
 j Attila, Der Held des Nordens, 264. 
 
 Augustins, Les Petits, antique collection, 
 99. 
 
 Avatars, ten Indian, 474. 
 
 Baal, Syrian god, 479. 
 Baggesen, German poet, 262. 
 Balder, son of Odin, 260. Poem by Ew- 
 ald, 261. 
 
 Bandinelli, (Florentine, 16th century,) 
 portrait of himself, 78. 
 
 Bartolomeo, Fra, Saint Mark, 7- Head 
 of Christ, 7. 
 
 Basle, collection of Holbein's pictures-, 
 189. Dance of Death, 190. 
 
 Beautiful, Treatise on the Limits of, 415. 
 
 Bellini (Venetian school, 15th century,) 
 Christ Teaching, 7. Holy Family, 62. 
 
 Berne, description of 190. 
 
 Bhagavatgita, Indian work, 426. 492. 
 
 Bhrign, Indian lawgiver, 471. 
 
 Bib'iotheque Royale, 225.237. 
 
 Bibliothfcque de 1' Arsenal. 233. 
 
 Boccaccio, poetical works, 200., &c. Not 
 usually appreciated, 201, 202. 206. Per- 
 sonal history, 203. Teseide, 204. 207- 
 226. Filostrato,ib. Filopono, 207, 208, 
 209. A meto, 208.211. Amorosa Visione, 
 
 213. Decameron, 213. 217. Ninfale 
 Fiesolano, 214. Laberinto d'Amore, 
 
 214. Fiammetta, 216, 217. Observa- 
 tions on his style, 218, 219. 
 
 I Bodmer, 246. 
 
 ! Bordone (Venetian school, 16th century,) 
 
 Ring of St. Mark. 77. 
 Brahma, the eternal spirit, worshipped 
 
 by the Hindus, 471. 478. 
 Bramante, Deposition from the Cross, 78. 
 Bretagne dialect, 463. 
 Brun le, French painter, portraits of the 
 
 Jabach family, 98. 
 Brussels, exhibition of paintings, 119, &c. 
 
 Very old pictures there, i25. General 
 
 aspect of the vicinity, 158. Town House, 
 
 159. St. Gudule, U9. 
 Brynhilda and Sigurd, 265. 
 Buddhism, its spirit and tendency, 489. 
 Buffalmacco, fresco oainting, 405. 
 Buonarotti. See Michelangelo* 
 Biiri, modern German artist, extolled by 
 
 Goethe, 290. 
 
528 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Calderon, Spanish dramatist, 229. 282. 
 Calidasä, Indian poet, 426. 523. 
 Camä, or Camädeva, Indian God of Love, 
 485. 
 
 Cambrav, spire of the ruined cathedral, 
 154, 155. 
 
 Camoens, Portuguese poet, 234. The 
 
 Lusiad, 235, 236. 
 Camuccini, paintings by, 288. 
 Cancioneros, collection of Spanish songs, 
 
 238, 239. 
 
 Canova, his encouragement of the modern 
 
 German school at Rome, 291. 
 Captivity of Boethius 241. 
 Caravaggio, (one of the Naturalisti, 17th 
 
 century,) portrait, 79. 
 Carracci, brothers, last vestiges of the 
 
 true Christian style lost even in their 
 
 time, 5. Their eclectic style, 50. 
 Carticevä, Indian god ol war, 481. 
 Carun, 250. 
 
 Castilian poetry, 241. Romances, 228. 
 
 Castle, Carlstein, near Prague, 400. 
 
 Casyapä, Indian god of the Heavens, 475. 
 
 Catalogues of Paintings in the Louvre, 3. 
 
 Catel, modern German painter, 304. 
 
 Cecilia, Saint, picture by Ludwig Schnorr, 
 407 to 412. 
 
 Celestina, a Castilian romance, 229. 
 
 Cervantes, his romances, 228. 230. 
 
 Charlemagne, his life and exploits," 255. 
 Tomb of, 164. 
 
 Charles IV., emperor of Germany, 400. 402. 
 
 Chinese, number philosophy, 490. Re- 
 cords of the colonisation of Peru, 501. 
 505. Language, 447. 
 
 Chivalry of the Middle Ages, preface, 309. 
 Lother and Mailer, a tale of, 310. 
 
 Christomathie, of the Indian language, 
 426. 
 
 Church pictures, Correggio, 24. 
 
 Cid, the, Castilian romance, 241. 
 
 Cologne, paintings in, 130. Grand altar 
 piece, 134. Ancient buildings, 170. 
 Cathedral, 172. St. Gereon, St. Apos- 
 teln, 176. 180, 181. St. Kunibert, St. 
 Severin, 177. 181. 
 
 Colouring, Titian. Correggio, 12, 13. 
 Raphael, 36. 46. Holbein, Dürer, 36, 37. 
 
 Coningsloo, modern Flemish painter, 
 (17th century,) 119. 121. 
 
 Coplas, d'arte Mayor, Spanish versifica- 
 tion, 239. 
 
 Corregg o, (16th century,) Antiope, 3. 24. 
 Paintings in Dresden Gallery, 4. 14. 16. 
 Musical style of painting. 11. 50. Pe- 
 culiarities of colouring, 15. Similarity 
 of his countenances, 16. Martyrdom of 
 St. Placidio, 16. La Notte, (11 Riposo,) 
 16, 17 22. St. Sebastian, St. Jerome, 
 19, 20, 21. St. George, 19. Marriage of 
 St. Katherine, 21. Deposition from 
 the Cross, 21, 22. Triumph of Vir- 
 tue, 23. Resemblance to Leonardo, 25. 
 To Raphael, 34. In painting holds 
 the same rank as Tasso in poetry, 
 51. " Ecce Homo," attributed to, 127. 
 
 Cornelius, fresco paintings, (modern Ger- 
 man,) 291. Famous cartoon, 296. 
 
 Cosha, India Dictionary, 426. 
 
 Coxcei, one of the masters of the Nether- 
 lands (16th century), 119. 
 
 Cybele, Phrygian goddess, 480. 
 
 Cyril and Methodius, legend, 20. 
 
 Dannecker, sculptor, statue of Christ, 
 
 303. 
 
 Dante, allegorical descriptions of Hell, 10 
 Peculiar sublimity of style, 219, 220. 
 Influence on Boccaccio, 213. 215. 
 
 Deification of heroes, common in the ear- 
 liest ages, 474. 480. 
 
 Denis, St, cathedral, 151, 152. 
 
 Devauagari, Indian writing characters, 
 427. 
 
 Devotional feeling, necessary for the 
 painter, 306. 
 
 Dialects, Indian, Sanscrit, Pracrit, Gron- 
 thon, 428. Great variety of American, 
 505. General varieties, 458. 
 
 Diti, Indian deity, 475. 
 
 Dorisley's Collection of Old Plays, 276. 
 
 Domenichino, Zampieri, a Bolognese, 
 (17th century,) Rinaldo and Armida, 
 3. iEneas and Anchises, 3. Martyr- 
 dom of St. Agnes, 81. Susanna, 129. 
 
 Druids, their tenets, 253. 
 
 Dschemschid, Persian king, 484. 
 
 Dualism, doctrine of the two principles, 
 482. 486. Of the Sclavonian religion, 
 498. Latent principle in many others,498. 
 
 Dürer, Albert, (German master, 16th 
 century,) 54. Crucifixion, 40, 41. 
 Shakspeare of painting, 54. Designs 
 for Christian subjects, 88, 89. Woodcuts 
 and engravings, 88, 89, 90, 91. Imma- 
 culate Conception, 88. Paintings on 
 Glass, 100, 101. Old picture in his style, 
 120. Martyrdom of early Christians in 
 Persia, 127- Pictures of saints, 132. 
 
 Durga, wife of Siva, 479. 
 
 Düsseldorf Gallery, 127. 168- 
 
 Early German manner in painting, 284, 285. 
 Eberhard, modern German artist, 303. 
 
 Sketches, 296. 
 Ecclesiastical paintings, Fra Bartolom- 
 
 meo, 10. 
 Echard, 246. 
 
 Eclectic style of the Caracci, &c, 50. 
 
 Edda, versification of, 242. 258. Mytho- 
 logy of, 247. Common to all Scandi- 
 navian people, 247. Similar in diction 
 to the Zendavesta, 258. Contrasted 
 with Greek mythology, 259. Of Sae- 
 munda, 263. 
 
 Eggers, modern German painter, 292. 
 Two Heads by, 296. 
 
 Emanation, Oriental doctrine of, 468, 469. 
 476. 
 
 Emigration of nations, 500. Not depen- 
 dent on physical causes alone, 503. 514. 
 Course pursued by the Asiatics, 511. 
 Northern tendency of, 514. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 529 
 
 Engelbrechtsen, (Dutch master, 16th cen- 
 tury,) 119. 121. 
 
 Engravings, English, spirit of, 289. From 
 early German paintings, published bv S. 
 Boisseree, 305. Albert Diirer's, 88,-91. 
 
 Esus, a Gallic divinity, 479. 
 
 Eyck, Van, brothers, (painters of the 
 old Flemish school, 15th century). 
 School founded by Hubert. 37. 119. 124, 
 125. Picture attributed to, 111. Greatly 
 contributed to the progress of the art, 
 299. John Van, Marriage of Cana, 37. 
 Lamb of the Apocalypse, 38. Three 
 Church pictures, 38. Peculiarly ex~ 
 pressive style, 39. 
 
 Fatalism of Indian philosophy, '478. 
 Fereira, Portuguese dramatist, Inez de 
 
 Castro, 231 . 
 Ferdousi, Persian poet, 255. 
 Feruers, Divine prototypes of created 
 
 things, 484. 
 Fezele, Martin, Siege of a town, painting 
 
 by, 115. 
 
 Fiesole. See Fra Angelico, 20. 293. 
 
 Filopono, meaning of the name, 209. 
 
 Fingal, Ossian's, 250, 251. 253. Inter- 
 course with Scandinavia, 254. First 
 poem in the Ossianic series, 257. 
 
 Fouque, Held des Nordens, poem, 263. 
 
 France, early history of, 152 — 154 
 
 French, style of painting, 288. Le Brun, 
 97, 98. 
 
 Fresco painting encouraged in Germany, 
 292. Of Cornelius, 291. Overbeck, 291. 
 Veit, Julius Schnorr, 300. Of Giotto, Or- 
 gagna, Gozzoli, and Buffaimacco, 405. 
 
 Fürst, Schildburg, king of the Shield, 250. 
 
 Ganesa, Indian god of wisdom, 481. 490. 
 Garofalo, or Garofolo, (school of Raphael, 
 
 15th century,) portrait of himself, 32. 
 
 Holy Families, 33. Portrait of his wife, 
 
 119. 
 
 Geneva, description of, 191. 
 
 Genre du, paintings, 288. 
 
 Ghirlandajo, (Florentine, 15th century,) 
 nationality of his figures, 58. 
 
 Giorgione, (Venetian school, 16th cen- 
 tury,) Entombment by, 103. Holy 
 Family, 196. 
 
 Giotto, (Florentine, 15th century,) in 
 painting, compared with Dante in 
 poetry, 51. Well merits study, 293. 
 Fresco paintings at Pisa, 406. 
 
 Giustiniani, Villa, fresco paintings, 300. 
 
 Glass, paintings on, by Dürer, 100. in 
 St. Gudule, Brussels, 101. 161. in St. 
 Sulpice, Paris, 101. in St. Kunibert, Co- 
 logne, 181. 
 
 Glyptotheka, fresco paintings by Corne- 
 lius, 291. 
 
 Gothic architecture, 149. 155, 156. Sta- 
 tues, 152, 153. Propriety of the term, 
 156, 157, 158. 
 
 Grammar of the Oriental languages, 439. 
 
 Granet, painting " du genre," 288. 
 
 Greek church, ceremonies of, 403. 
 
 j Gronthon, Indian dialect, 428. 
 
 Grundtwig, mythology of the North, 
 261. " Freys und Gerda's Liebe," 263. 
 Guarini, classic grace of his poetry, 219, 
 
 Hadrian, revival of art in his time, 285. 
 Hamilton, Indian literature, 425. 
 Hanxleden, Indian literature, 428. 
 Harold Harfagre, king of Norway, 252. 
 Held des Nordens, poem by Fouque, 263. 
 Hellenists, of Asiatic descent, 512. 
 Hemling. See also Mending, 39. 117. 124. 
 Hertha, German divinity, 480. 
 Holbein, 16th century, portraits, 29, 30. 
 
 In the Upper German style, 124. 
 Homer, compared with Shakspeare, 272. 
 
 Iconographie, Chretienne, Didron, 99. 
 Idea of beauty analysed, 413. 
 Ideal grace of the early German schools, 
 147. 
 
 Ideality, how liable to abuse, 295. Of 
 Correggio's conceptions, 26. Of Bel- 
 lini's, 62. 
 
 Idealism, affinity between Oriental and 
 
 European 482. 
 Imitation, its deteriorating influence on 
 
 the arts, 292, 293. Losing its influence, 
 
 305. 
 
 Immortality of the soul, believed by the 
 Indians,, 472. 475. 
 
 Incarnations of Vishnu, 484. 
 
 Indian language, origin and peculiar fea- 
 tures, 425. 428. 435. 445. 465. — Roots in 
 the Coptic and Hebrew, 429. Doctrines 
 and religion, 46S. Colonisation, 500—508. 
 Legislature, 508—514. Religious wars, 
 509. Traditions, 514. Records, 473. 
 487. 513. Literature, 494. 515. 
 
 Indrä, Indian supreme god, 4S5. 
 
 Intermixture of nations, 502. 
 
 Jones, Sir William, works on Indian lite- 
 rature, 425. On the language, 458. 464. 
 
 Kali, Indian goddess, 479.481. Worshipped 
 in Thibet, 490 
 
 Karlstein, Schloss, 400. 
 
 King Arthur, and the Knights of the 
 Round Table, Romances of, 309. 
 
 King John, old play, once attributed to 
 Shakspeare, 271. 273. 274. Authenti- 
 city questionable, 275. 
 
 King Lear, old play, 277. 279. 
 
 Klopstock, his revival of the taste for old 
 German poetry, 246. 
 
 Koch, (modern German painter,) Land- 
 scape, 304. 
 
 Kon-fu-tse, Chinese philosopher, 491. 
 
 Koyikolpodruma, Indian vocabulary, 426. 
 
 Kuvera, Indian god of riches, 514. 
 
 Lacshmi, goddess of abundance (India), 
 485. 
 
 Landscapes, of Leonardo, Mantegna, 
 Dürer, Titian, Raphael, 66. Painting, 
 as a branch of art, 66, 67, 68. Paint- 
 ings, modern, 303. 
 
 M M 
 
530 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Language, Castiiian and Portuguese, 228 
 to 234. Provencal, or Romance, 242. 
 Indian, its affinity with Greek and La- 
 tin, Persian and German, 428 — 465. 
 None with Asia'ic or American, 429. 
 Indian, Persian, Greek, Latin, com- 
 pared, 430. Persian, 433. Universality 
 of the Latin, which exists in Italian, 
 Spanish, English, German, and Walla- 
 chian, 503. Many vestiges of Indian in 
 the Teutonic, 442. Division into two 
 principal branches, 446. Differences of 
 construction, 439. 451. Origin of, 453. 
 
 Leibnitz, 246. 
 
 Leyden, Lucas Van, school of Holland, 
 fifteenth century. Characteristics of his 
 style, 122, 123. Various paintings by, 
 
 122, 123. 
 
 Liege, description of, 162, 163. 
 
 Light, religion of, Persia, 488. Ex- 
 isting in Peru, 505. 
 
 Limits of the beautiful, a treatise, 413. 
 
 Lochlin, county of, supposed to be Nor- 
 way, 251, 252. 
 
 Locrine, old play, 277. 
 
 Lother and Mailer, a tale of chivalry, 310. 
 
 Louvain, town- house of, 162. 173. 
 
 Louvre, Paintings in the, 1—195. 
 
 Lucien Buonaparte, private gallery of, 
 54 to 63. 
 
 Luigi, San, pictures brought from, 100. 
 104. 111. 
 
 Luini, brothers, pupils of Leonardo, (16th 
 
 century,) 26. Holy Family, 28. 
 Luxembourg, gallery of pictures, 97. 
 Lyons, description of, 192. 
 
 Mailer, Lother and, 310. 
 
 Mannerism, early German so called, 284. 
 295. Of the French school, 288. Arises 
 from imitation, 287. 
 
 Mantegna,( school of Padua, 15th century,) 
 allegorical paintings, 7, 8, 9. 10. Land- 
 scape introduced, (56. His conceptions 
 compared with those of Dante, 51. 
 
 Marble, unsuited for Gothic ecclesiastical 
 architecture, 160. 
 
 Mark, St., cathedral of, at Venice, 161, 181. 
 
 Martyrdom, a tit theme for paintings, 85, 
 86, 87. Of St Agatha, by Seb del 
 Piombo, 80. Of the early Christians 
 in Persia. Dürer, 127. 
 
 Masters, style of early Italian, 5. 
 
 Materialism, oriental, 478. 481. 
 
 Meckenen, Israel Von, (school of Cologne, 
 15th century,) pictures of the Passion, 
 140. 
 
 Memling, (school of Van Eyck, 15th cen- 
 tury,) beautiful and peculiar stvle, 119. 
 
 123, 124. 411. St. Christopher, 39. 
 
 Mengs, 48. Theory of painting, 287. 
 
 Menu's Books of Laws, 426. 456. 476. Doc- 
 trines, 470. 475. 
 
 Meru, mount, the North Pole, 514. 
 Merry Devil of Edmonton, old play, 277. 
 Metsys, or Messys, Quintin, oije of the 
 
 maters of the Netherlands, 15th cen. 
 
 tury, 123, 
 
 Metempsychosis, not of Hellenistic origin, 
 476. Its peculiar character, 468, 469. 
 Found in Gaul as well as India, 505. 
 
 Michelangelo Buonarotti, 16th century, 
 poetry by, 227. His opinion of Raphael, 
 47. Imitated by Raphael, 34. His pre- 
 ference for the Pagan antique, 50. 
 Picture of the Crucifixion, 58. The 
 Last Judgment, 20. The Three Fates, 
 104. Faun, 302. 
 
 Mimansä, philosophy, 486. 493. 
 
 Mlecchas, atheistic Indian tribes, 510. 
 
 Modern German paintings and school, 
 283. 
 
 Moloch, Syrian deity, 479. 
 
 Mosaic records referred to, 515, 516. 
 
 Mugdhabodha, Indian grammar, 426. 
 
 Murillo, Spanish master, his peculiar 
 style, 55. Inspiration, Prayer, two pic- 
 tures by, 56. Beggar boy, 57. 
 
 Musical style of colouring, 11. Adopted 
 by Raphael in the " feilence," 36. By 
 Murillo, 56. 
 
 Musee des Monumens Francais, 99. 
 
 Mutina, Thomas of, 403. 
 
 Myro, (Greek painter..) Cow, 301. 
 
 Mythras, the star of day, worshipped by 
 the Persians, 484. 
 
 Mythology of Ossian, 253. Of the Edda, 
 259. Indian, 466. 471— 475. Greek, 476— 
 
 497. Egyptian, 476. Oriental, 497, 
 
 498. Northern, 260. 262. 
 
 National characteristics of different mas- 
 ters introduced into their ideal com- 
 positions, 116, 117, 118. 
 
 Naturalisti, school of painting in Italy, 
 295. 
 
 Neusz, description of, 166. 
 
 Niebelungen Lied, compared with similar 
 
 traditions still in existence, 241. 256. 
 
 264, 265, 266. 
 Night of the middle ages, falselv so called, 
 
 256. 
 
 Norman genius, extended its influence 
 
 even to Thüle, 255. 
 Noith, venerated by the Indians, 514. 
 Norwegian adventurers, second series of 
 
 the Ossianic poems, 257. 
 Noth Heinrich, Indian researches of, 428. 
 Nyaya philosophy, 486. 493. 
 Nyerup, commentator on the Edda, 260. 
 
 Odin, Scandinavian divinity, 247. 254. 
 
 Oehlenschlä^er, German scald, 262. 
 
 Onomatopoetic words, 433. 453,454. 
 
 Orgagna, fresco painting, 405. 
 
 Origin of races and nations, 505. 514. Of 
 the Hellenists in Asia Minor, 511. 
 
 Orlev, Bernard Van (a master of theschool 
 of "the Netherlands, 16th century), 119. 
 Pietä by, 121. 
 
 Ormuz, the evil principle, 483. 
 
 Osiris, Egyptian god, 476. 
 
 Ossian, Macpherson's, 248. The Gaelic, 
 249. Antiquity of the poems, 256. Pe- 
 culiar mythology, 253. Poems may be 
 arranged in a certain series, 257. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 531 
 
 Ottfried, versification of, 243. 
 
 Overbeck, "Joseph sold to the Mer- 
 chants," 291, embodies the principles 
 insisted on in page 147. Vide note. 
 
 Pahlavi, a dialect of the Indians, 462. 480. 
 510. 
 
 Painting, on its subdivision into branches, 
 102, 103. 
 
 Palma Vecchio, (Venetian school, 16th 
 century.) Shepherd praving to the 
 Infant Christ 13. Holy Family, 196. 
 
 Pantheism, its evil tendency, 483. Its pe- 
 culiar doctrines, 468. 474. 489. 491. 
 
 Paris. Notre Dame. 150, 151. Modern 
 buildings, 150. Return to, 193. 
 
 Parrhasius, Greek painter, 109. 
 
 Patriotism of the Romans and Greeks, 421. 
 
 Pedmah, or Lacshmi, goddess of abun- 
 dance, 484. 
 
 Pericles, play by Shakspeare, 270. 
 
 Persian religion, and religious wars, 510. 
 Spirituality understood by, 259. 
 
 Peru, how colonized, 505. 
 
 Perugino, (Umbrian school, 15th cen- 
 tury), Paintings by, in the departments, 
 3. Church pictures, 43. At first closely 
 followed by his pupil Raphael, 34. 
 43. Compared, as pairs ter, with Pe- 
 trarch as poet, 51. Virtue and Plea- 
 sure, 53. A Spiritual Prince, 59. Pic- 
 ture by, at Strasburg, 189. Ditto 
 at Lyons, 192. The Blessed Vir- 
 gin, and four Saints, 193. His beautiful 
 style, 293. 
 
 Petrarch, nationality of his poetry, 220. 
 
 Philosophy, 465. Materialism of the In- 
 dian, 478. Oriental and European, 489. 
 The resemblance between classic and 
 oriental, 466. Of Pythagoras, 476. 
 
 Pinner, or Pindar of Wakefield, old 
 play, 271. 276. 
 
 Piombo, Sebastian del, (Venetian school, 
 16th century,) " Martyrdom of St. 
 Agatha," 80. "Virgin and Child," 81. 
 
 Pippi. See Giulio Romano. 
 
 Pisa, fresco paintings at, 405. 
 
 Poetry. Of painting, 69,70, 71. Ought to be 
 studied by artists, T 45, 146. Italian, 227. 
 Spanish or Castilian, 228. Portuguese, 
 225. 231 to 237. Romantic or Provencal, 
 225. 237. 238. 240. Of the North, 243. . 
 Impulses of modern, 244. Origin of In- 
 dian, 496. Oriental and Greek, 499. Its 
 influence on earlv emigrations, 514. 
 
 Polytheism, 474. 497. 
 
 Population, numerous, of the Teutonic 
 race, 505. Of nations of Asiatic de- 
 scent, 501—504. Of India, 506. 
 
 Portraits by Titian, Holbein, Leonardo, 
 11. In the Louvre, 29. 196. Of Leonardo 
 by himself, 26. Different styles of 
 Leonardo, Raphael, Titian, Holbein, 
 compared, i9 to 32. Painting as 
 a separate branch of the art, 65, 66. 
 Modern style of, 288, 289. Of the chil- 
 dren of Von Humboldt, Schick, 290. 
 Of saints, by Theodoric of Prague, 401. 
 
 Prague, Schloss Karlstein, near, 400. 
 Theodoric of, 401. Paintings by, 401 to 
 406. 
 
 Principles, sound, of Christian art, 144, 
 145, 146. 
 
 Provencal language and poetry, 225. 237, 
 
 238.242 MSS. in the Bibliotheque de 
 
 1' Arsenal, 238. 
 Puranäs, Indian philosophical records, 
 
 485, 486. Affinity with the Mosaic, 487. 
 
 Traditions contained in them, 513, 514. 
 Pythagorean philosophy, 476. 521. 
 
 Ramä, Hindu god, 485. 
 Ramayana 494. 456. 
 
 Raphael, (16th century,) Madonna di Fo- 
 ligno, 2. 34. 47. Madonna di Gan Sisto, 5. 
 27.33. Madonna della Sedia, 27 . 47. 92. 
 Vierge aux Candelabres, 61. Madonna 
 dell' Impannata, 92. 98. Giardiniera, 
 46. 93. Two Portraits, 31. Versatility 
 of his genius, 33. 44. Raphael, Michel- 
 angelo, and Giulio Romano compared, 
 33, 34. Transfiguration, 35. 42. 44. 45. 
 93. St. Michael slaying the Dragon, 35, 
 36. 93. The Silence, 36. 46. Annunci- 
 ation, Adoration, and Circumcision, 43. 
 Faith, Love, and Hope, 43. Erroneous 
 opinions of his genius, 47 . 48. 49. His 
 preference for the earlier schools, 49. 
 Sketch for the Head of Jehovah, 60. 
 Two Madonnas, 60. St. John, 93. 128. 
 Fresco paintings, 93. 299. St. Cecilia, 
 9i. His inspired genius, 97. Holy 
 Conversation, altar-piece, 126. Holy 
 Family, 128. St. Margaret, (duplicate,) 
 131. Assumption, 196. Portrait of 
 Cardinal Bibiena, 196. Portrait of II 
 Fattore, 60. Admired the works of 
 Dürer, 298. 
 
 Rebell, modern German painter, 304. 
 
 Reformation, changes produced by, in art, 
 75. 151. 
 
 Regner, Lcdbrok, Scandinavian hero, 264. 
 266. 
 
 Reni, Guido, (Eclectic school, 17th cen- 
 tury,) Fortuna, 3. 129. Magdalene, 63 
 Massacre of the Innocents, 81. As- 
 sumption, 129. Madonna, 129. His 
 mannerism, 5. 
 
 Return to the Deity, Indian doctrine 
 springing from that of Emanation, 469. 
 
 Revelation, doctrines of, 473. 
 
 Rheims, description of, 154. 
 
 Rhine, its scenery, 182. Roman ruins, 
 184, 185. 
 
 Ribera. See Lo Spagnuoletto. 
 
 Rigveda, 494. 
 
 Rishes, Indian sages, 474. 485. 
 Rohden, landscape painter, (modern Ger- 
 man,) 304. 
 
 Romance language, structure of, 242. Or 
 
 novel, its peculiar characteristics, 218, 
 
 221, 222. 
 Roman cero, Castilian, 230. 
 Romantic poetry of the middle ages, 224. 
 
 used unjustly as a term of reproach, 297. 
 
 Architecture, 156. 
 
 M m 2 
 
532 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Romann, Giulio, (follower of Raphael, 
 16th century,) Circumcision, 14. De- 
 signs for tapestry, 14. Peculiar manner, 
 50. Revolt of the Titans, 105. Tri- 
 umph of Titus, 196. Adoration of the 
 Shepherds, 196. Fresco paintings, 299. 
 
 Rome, exhibition of modern German 
 paintings at, 283. Luxury of the peo- 
 ple, 419. Their patriotism, 42J. 
 
 Ruhens, Peter Paul, (school of Brabant, 
 17th century,) allegorical pictures of 
 the life of Mary de Medicis, 97. Hall 
 of Rubens, 129. Battle of the Amazons, 
 129. Tiger and Faun family, 129. Pic- 
 tures at Düsseldorf, 169, 170. 
 
 Rudiger, Niebelungen Lied, 265, 266. 
 
 Bussian Madonna, 99, 100. 
 
 Ruysdael, (landscape painter, 17th cen- 
 tury,) 303. 
 
 Sacontala, Indian drama, by Calidäsä, 
 
 425. 426. 476. 523. 
 Saemunda, Edda, 263. 
 Saga, Volsunga, 263. Vedanta, 493. 
 Salerno, Andrea da, (follower of Raphael, 
 
 16th century,) Visitation of the Virgin,77. 
 Sanchyä, Indian philosophical system, 
 
 492. Its Pantheistic tendency, 493. 
 Sandtwig, Commentary on the Edda, 260. 
 Santa Maria del Fiore, description of, 188. 
 Sappho, her temperament and genius, 423. 
 Scandaputrana, 513. 
 Scandinavian mythology, 254. 
 Schadow, Rudolf and Wilhelm, 284. 296, 
 
 297. 303. 
 
 Sohloss, Kavlstein, near Prague, 400. 
 
 Schools of Painting, French and Italian, 
 5. Earlier and later schools, 49 — 52. 
 Venetian and Florentine, 49. Spanish, 
 55. 58. Early German and Italian, 73. 
 121, 122, 123, 124. Of Cologne, 134. 139. 
 
 Schools of later Italian poetry, the Flo- 
 rentine and Lombard, 227. 
 
 Schoreel, (Master of the Netherlands, 16th 
 century,) Adoration of the Shepherds. 
 Triptic, 120. 
 
 Schiek, the first who gave a new impulse 
 to painting in Germany, 290. Portrait 
 of the children of Von Humboldt, 290. 
 
 Schildburg, Fürst, Ossian, 250. 
 
 Schnorr, Ludwig, 407 to 412. Julius, 300. 
 
 Sclavonian dialect, 4(i2. 
 
 Scottish ballads. 249. Early period of their 
 history, 252. 
 
 Sculpture, principles totally distinct from 
 painting, 71. Michelangelo, Faun, 302. 
 Thorwaldsen s Mercury, 302. Dan- 
 necker's figure of Christ, 303. 
 
 Shakspeare, why the poet of all Teutonic 
 nations, 266, 267. His exhaustless charm, 
 267- His portraits of Henry VIII. and 
 Richard III., 268. Difficulties in de- 
 ciding on his merits, 269. Pericles, 270. 
 His rivals and predecessors, 271. King 
 John, old and new play, remarks on, 271, 
 273 to 276. The Homer of the north, 
 272. King Lear, Locrine, 277, 278. Why 
 the only true foundation for a better 
 
 feeling for dramatic art in Germany, 
 
 280, 281, 282. 
 
 Siena, Cathedral of, 160. 181. 
 
 Sigurd, a Danish hero, 263. 265, 266. 
 
 Siva, Indian divinity, acknowledged by the 
 Buddhists, 479. 481. 484. 490. 
 
 Sita, Indian deity, 485. 
 
 Solari, (school of Naples, 15th century,) 
 Herodias, 28. 
 
 Sonnyasis, Indian penitents, 490. 492. 
 
 Sophocles, his tragedies, 423. 
 
 Spagnuoletto, Lo Giuseppe Ribera, (one of 
 the Naturalisti, 17th century,) Birth of 
 the Saviour, 76. 
 
 Starkodder, Northern poet, £61. 
 
 Statues of the early French kings in St. 
 Denis, 152, 153. 
 
 Stephan, Meister, (School of Cologne,) 
 Triptic, 138. 
 
 Strasburg Minster, 187. St. Thomas, 189. 
 
 Subjects for painting selected by the early 
 Italian and German masters, 51. Chris- 
 tian, treated symbolically, 51. From 
 ancient mythology as treated by more 
 recent schools, 52, 53. 105. By the old, 
 53. 105. On the choice of, 106. 107. 108, 
 109. Christian, appropriate for paint- 
 ing 301. 337. 
 
 Sueur, le, paintings from the Life of St. 
 Bruno, 97. 
 
 Symbolic portraits, 31, 32. Style of Cor- 
 reggio's paintings, 17. Compositions of 
 Albert Dürer and Raphael, 54. Paint- 
 ings, 66. 
 
 Symbolism, Christian, 52. Of ancient my. 
 thology, 53. 105. Essential in painting, 
 66. Of the first representations of our 
 Saviour, 85. 86. Of the early Germans, 
 148. Of ecclesiastical architecture, 161. 
 
 Temora, third poem in the Ossianic 
 series, 257. 
 
 Theory, of the art of painting, insepara- 
 ble from practice, 65. 
 
 Thorwalden, sculpture, 302, 303. 
 
 Tieck, Altenglischen Theater, 270. 272. 
 
 Tiziano, Vecellio (Venetian School, 16th 
 century,) San Pietro Martire, 11. Por- 
 traits by, 11. £9. Dramatic style of 
 painting, 11. His Madonnas, 12. De- 
 position from the Cross, 12. Crowning 
 with Thorns, 12. Head of Christ, 13. 
 His style and colouring, 50. The Ariosto 
 of painting, 51. Prodigal Son, 59. 
 Danäe, 98. Antiope, 104, 105. Holy 
 Family, 196. Portrait of Francis I., 197. 
 
 Trenmor, an ancestor of Fingal, 254. 
 
 Troubadours, choix des poesies originales 
 des, 240. 
 
 Upangas, Indian philosophical works, 493. 
 
 Vedas, books of Indian philosophy, 456. 
 486. 
 
 Veit, Philip, modern German painter, 
 
 284. 292, 296. 
 Velasquez, Madonna, 57. 
 Veronica, St., legend of, 85. 
 
INDEX, 
 
 533 
 
 Vinci, Leonardo da, (16th century/* com- 
 pared in style with Correggio, 16 25. 
 Hoy Family, 26. Christ in the fem- 
 ple, 26. Madonna, Virgin and ^t Anna, 
 26 27- 28. Introduced landscape back- 
 grounds, 29. Portrait of Monna Lisa, 
 31. Inclination for the new schools, 50. 
 Portrait of Francis I., 60. 92. Modesty 
 and Vanity, 60. Portrait of Charles 
 VIII., 91. St. John the Baptist, 197. 
 Cerni of decline visible in his works, 197. 
 St. Catherine, crowned with lilies, 103. 
 
 Vishnu, his incarnations, 471. 484, 485. 
 
 Vopadeva, 426. 
 
 Wach, painter, (modern German school,) 
 
 284. 296. 
 Wal lach ians, 451. 503. 
 W allraff*, collection of early German 
 
 paintings, 133. Portrait of the Emperor 
 
 Maximilian in his collection, 141. 
 Weit, painter, (modern German school,) 
 
 Adoration of the Shepherds, 296. 
 
 Wilford's Researches in Indian Litera- 
 ture. 428. 
 
 Wilhelm Meister, of Cologne, 138. 148. 
 
 Wilkins, Indian works, 425. 
 
 Winkelmann's Theorv of Art, 289, 
 
 Worlds, Three, of Indian philosophy, 471. 
 
 Worsh:p, of nature and the ' lements, 477. 
 480. 484. Common among the Scandi- 
 navians, &c, 247. 253. The Orientals, 
 496. Among the Persians more pure 
 and spiritual, 486. 
 
 Wurmser, painting of, 401. 
 
 Yajurveda, 494. 
 
 Yavanern, or Yavanas, mentioned in In- 
 dian traditions, 480. 510. 511. 
 Y-king, Chinese sacred book, -190. 
 Yn and Yang, Chinese symbols, 491, 492. 
 Yogis, Indian hermits, 490. 492. 
 
 Zendavesta, compared with the Edda, 259. 
 Zerdushta, 487. 483. 
 
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