The theme itself can indeed hardly be called a development but rather the counterpart of the other. It is the answer of the spiritual side of man to the earthly promptings of his nature. Think not on this life nor on this death—but on the other life. In obedience to this point of view the skull has been placed in a more prominent position. It is no longer trampled on in the ecstasy of earthly enjoyment but recognized rather, and triumphed over, by this upward-gazing Vita, upward pointing. Death, it is meant, should be used, and welcomed almost, as the gate of heavenly life. The many deaths that had darkened the doors of his own house had, it is probable, sobered and saddened Peter Vischer’s great son, and perhaps his own failing health or some premonition of an early death, was by this time leading him to reflect in a chastened yet hopeful spirit on the motto that he loved, and to interpret it afresh in this allegorical wise: “Vitam non Mortem Recogita.” It was the motto inscribed upon his grave in St. Rochus Church when he died but three years later, and was laid to rest by his aged father.
CHAPTER VIII
THE TOMB OF ELECTOR FREDERICK THE WISE, AND THE RATHAUS RAILING
BUT the work of Peter Vischer the younger was not yet done. It remained, indeed, for him to perform some of his greatest achievements. Certain documents quoted by Baader[[9]] show that it was he who, in the beginning of the year 1527, completed the monument to the Elector Frederick the Wise at Wittenberg, of which Lübke writes that it is “a classic work and through it the German art of that period is worthy to take rank with the Italian.” The life-size figure of the great Elector stands in strong relief upon a bronze plate within a frame of Corinthian pillars, outside which, on either side, the sixteen coats of arms of the ancestors of the Prince’s house are recorded, whilst his own arms form the central point of the arch above his head. Above the latter coat-of-arms two sturdy angels, forming a central headpiece, hold a laurel wreath, and therewith the Elector’s favourite text inscribed in Latin: “The word of the Lord endureth for ever.” The base on which the feet rest is richly decorated with forms of sea monsters and sporting children in the craftsman’s most joyous and luxuriant manner. Frederick himself is draped boldly in the broad sweep of the Electoral cloak, and in a cape of rich ermine. Of ermine, too, is the Elector’s hat, which rests upon a noble brow. But even beneath those heavy robes the vigour and spring of the man’s energetic form make themselves felt, nor can the gloved hands disguise the strength of his grasp upon the Sword of the Realm, which he holds aslant his shoulder. And the face is full of life and fire, quick with the keen gaze of a leader of men, and eloquently expressive of determination and strenuous endeavour. This is, without doubt, a noble portrait of princely faith and manly strength. “One can imagine,” says Lübke, “no more beautiful picture of strength, nobility and immovable Christian trust in God.” What then must have been the feelings of the craftsman when the Guild of Coppersmiths refused to recognize it as a “Masterpiece,” as they had already refused to accept his tomb-plate of Elector Albrecht von Mainz!
[9]. “Beiträge zur Kunstgeschichte Nürnbergs.”
STEIN PHOTO.] [SCHLOSSKIRCHE, WITTENBERG
23. ELECTOR FREDERICK THE WISE
Assuredly it was not the Meistersingers of Nuremberg alone who failed to appreciate a real masterpiece when they saw one. For it is on record that this noble effigy was rejected by the Incorporated Guild of Masters of Rotschmiedhandwerk, when it was submitted to them by Peter Vischer the younger as the piece of work by which, for the second time, he claimed the rank of master among them. We do not know on what pettifogging grounds, whether of inaccuracy of detail or of personal spite, admission was refused him. (Ill. [23].)
But it is clear that a considerable scandal was created by their refusal. For it is further on record that the Council, moved perhaps by the influence of his father and his friends, took the step of interfering on behalf of the artist’s reputation. An appeal had been made from the decision of the Guild, and the “Members of the Council,” we learn from Baader, “to whom it was shown gave it their approval, and on May 22 (1527?) they commanded the Masters of the Guild of Coppersmiths to accept this monument as a masterpiece, and to recognize the author of it as a Master.” This, they explained out of deference to the feelings of the Masters, was to be an exceptional case, and was not to be held to the prejudice of the Guild and its rules. The sworn Masters, however, protested against such a proceeding, and they did not obey the order of the Council. The matter rested there for some time, but a few years after the death of the artist, in the interests, perhaps, of his posthumous renown, the Council repeated their command (May 22, 1532), and added a rider to the effect that Peter Vischer was qualified as a Master by the monument he had made even if he had not always executed his masterpieces in strict accordance with the prescribed rules. As to the artist himself, he was apparently disgusted by this second failure, and he gave up trying to become a Master in this Guild on the merits of his work. For we read that “Peter Vischer’s son of the same name was received as Master of the Guild of Thimble-Makers in the year 1527. This Guild and that of the Coppersmiths were at that period still united, though later they separated.”
But whether the monument won the young Peter Vischer the Mastership or not, it is undoubtedly a masterpiece of German Renaissance. It is by document and signature his as it is his in design and execution. There are, indeed, still a few traces of the earlier influences of his house visible. The background, for instance, is decorated in the Gothic style, and the fantastic figures in the two corners formed by the arch remind us of those on the tomb-plate of the Duchess Helene von Mecklenburg, for whose father. Elector Philip of the Palatinate, his father had worked in Heidelberg thirty-three years before. But in spite of the beauty of the rich details of the elaborate architecture, arms and pilasters, that form the setting of this work, it is the central commanding figure of the whole which rightly rivets our attention. In this strong and thoughtful man of action and man of mind, who is a Christian and a fighter, a warrior, but none the less a theologian, whose watchword recorded on the monument was (in spite of all the Popes and princes of Europe), “The word of the Lord endureth for ever,” Peter Vischer has proclaimed, so it has been suggested, the ideal Kaiser for whom Germany was looking in vain, the perfect Emperor of the Reformation movement. The power of portraiture which his practice as a maker of medallions had developed, has enabled him to lend to the bronze a wonderful force of expression, so that he may even challenge a comparison with Dürer, who, thirty years previously, had portrayed the protector of Luther.