A very slight study of silhouettes shows how characteristic is the pose of many of the old black profile portraits. In the shadow of George III., do we not see the embodiment of Lord Rosebery’s inimitable description, “the German Princelet of his day,” and in Pitt’s silhouette, with its “damned long, obstinate upper lip,” as his royal master so vigorously described it, there is the very ego of the man who was premier at twenty-five.
Goëthe’s letters to his mother are full of allusions to the novel portraiture which had been brought to his notice by Lavater, the Zürich divine, whose essay on Physiognomy, written for the promotion of the knowledge and love of mankind, is still read in Germany. The edition of 1794 is before us, and shows hundreds of silhouette drawings, for he wrote of the importance of reading character from people’s faces, and used the silhouette for this purpose. Thus the shadow portrait, once the amusement of amateurs, now began to have scientific significance.
Goëthe testifies that Lavater wished all the world to co-operate with him, and he arrived at Goëthe’s house on June 23rd, 1774, not only to take portraits of the young genius, but also of his parents. A year later Goëthe implores Lavater in a letter, “I beg you will destroy the family picture of us; it is frightful. You do credit neither to yourself nor us. Get my father’s cut out and use him as a vignette, for he is good. You can do what you like with my head too, but my mother must not stand there like that!”
An amusing sequel to this is that when, in the third volume of the “Physiognomy,” the councillor’s portrait appeared, but not that of Goëthe’s mother, she was much annoyed, and said that Lavater evidently did not think her face worthy to appear. The matter rankled, for in 1807 she had her head examined by Dr. Gall, “to find out if the great qualities of her son had, by any chance, been passed on to her.”
This much discussed silhouette of Goëthe’s mother is illustrated in “Goëthe’s Mother,” by Dr. Karl Heinemann, and fuller accounts of the poet’s attitude towards the silhouettists of his day, and the instructive and exciting deductions from their work, will be found further on in our volume.
In a letter from Fräulein von Göchhausen to Frau Rath—we use the translation of Mr. A. S. Gibb—the delight in the novel portraiture is shown, and incidentally the vivacity of the writer:—
“Weimar, the 27th December, 1781.
“I am sure, dearest mother, that you in your life have had many and varied joys; but whether you know any such joy as you have given me on Christmas Day, at least I wish it you! Your silhouette, so like! of such an excellent, dear, beloved woman! in such a costly, pretty, and stylish setting; and your letter—O your dear letter!—could I only say how indescribably admirable the letter is! Enough, dearest mother: from all my exclamations there is, alas, nothing further to be learned than that I am half out of my wits with excessive joy. The first day Goëthe had much to bear from me, for I almost ate him up. By monstrous good luck there was on that joyous day a grand dinner at the Duchess’s, and nearly half the town was assembled. I could, therefore, produce at once my splendid present (which will not so soon come off my so-called swan-like neck); and there was a questioning and a glancing at the beautiful novelty, and I was thoroughly wild, and people thought I must have had a gift of clear quicksilver.[1]
“Dearest woman, how shall I thank you! how ever deserve so much goodness—so without all desert and worthiness on my part! In return, I can, alas! do nothing, except to go on in my old jog-trot—love, honour, and obey you my life long. Amen!
“L. Göchhausen.”