More than twenty years ago, when the king of Bavaria was Prince Royal, and could only anticipate at some distant period the execution of his design, he projected a building, of which, at least, the name and purpose must be known to all who have ever stepped on German ground. This is the Valhalla, a temple raised to the national glory, and intended to contain the busts or statues of all the illustrious characters of Germany, whether distinguished in literature, arts, or arms, from their ancient hero and patriot Herman, or Arminius, down to Goethe, and those who will succeed him. The idea was assuredly noble, and worthy of a sovereign. The execution—never lost sight of—has been but lately commenced. The Valhalla has been founded on a lofty cliff, which rises above the Danube, not far from Ratisbon.[ 14] It will form a conspicuous object to all who pass up and down the Danube, and the situation, nearly in the centre of Germany, is at least well chosen. But I could hardly express (or repress) my surprise, when I was shown the design for this building. The first glance recalled the Theseum at Athens; and then follows the very natural question, why should a Greek model have been chosen for an edifice, the object, and purpose, and name of which are so completely, essentially, exclusively gothic? What, in Heaven's name, has the Theseum to do on the banks of the Danube? It is true that the purity of forms in the Greek architecture, the effect of the continuous lines and the massy Doric columns, must be grand and beautiful to the eye, place the object where you will; and in the situation designed for it, particularly imposing; but surely it is not appropriate;—the name, and the form, and the purpose, are all at variance—throwing our most cherished associations into strange confusion. Nor could the explanations and eloquent reasoning with which my objections were met, succeed in convincing me of the propriety of the design, while I acknowledged its magnificence. The sculptor Mayer showed me a group of figures for one of the pediments of this Greek Valhalla, admirably appropriate to the purpose of the building—but not to the building itself. It represents Herman introduced by Hermoda (or Mercury) into the Valhalla, and received by Odin and Freya. Iduna advances to meet the hero, presenting the apples of immortality, and one of the Vahlküre pours out the mead, to refresh the soul of the Einheriar.[ 15] To the right of this group are several figures representing the chief epochs in the history of Germany.
This design wants unity; and it is a manifest incongruity to allude to the introduction of Christianity, where the mythological Valhalla forms the chief point of interest; notwithstanding, it gave me exceeding pleasure, as furnishing an unanswerable proof of the possible application of sculpture on a grand scale, to the forms of romantic or gothic poetry: all the figures, the accompaniments, attributes, are strictly Teutonic; the effect of the whole is grand and interesting; but what would it be on a Greek temple? would it not appear misplaced and discordant?
I am informed, that of the two pediments of the Valhalla, one will be given to Rauch of Berlin, and the other to Schwanthaler.
The sculptor Bandel, with his quick eye, his ample brow, his animated, benevolent face, and his rapid movements, looks like what he is—a genius.
In his atelier I saw some things, just like what I see in all the ateliers of young sculptors—cold imitations, feeble versions of mythological subjects—but I saw some other things so fresh and beautiful in feeling, as to impress me with a high idea of his poetical and creative power. I longed to bring to England one or two casts of his charming Cupid Penseroso, of which the original marble is at Hanover. There is also a very exquisite bas-relief of Adam and Eve sleeping: the good angel watching on one side, and the evil angel on the other. This lovely group is the commencement of a series of bas-reliefs, designed, I believe, for a frieze, and not yet completed, representing the four ages of the world: the age of innocence; the heroic age, or age of physical power; the age of poetry, and the age of philosophy. This new version of the old idea interested me, and it is developed and treated with much grace and originality. Bandel told us that he is just going, with his beautiful wife and two or three little children, to settle at Carrara for a few years. The marble quarries there are now colonised by young sculptors of every nation.
The king of Bavaria has a gallery of beauties, (the portraits of some of the most beautiful women of Germany and Italy,) which he shuts up from the public eye, like any grand Turk—and neither bribery nor interest can procure admission. A lovely woman, to whom I was speaking of it yesterday, and who has been admitted in effigy into this harem, seemed to consider the compliment rather equivocal. "Depend upon it, my dear," said she, "that fifty years hence we shall be all confounded together, as the king's very intimate friends; and, to tell you the truth, I am not ambitious of the honour, more particularly as there are some of my illustrious companions in charms who are enough to throw discredit on the whole set!"
I saw in Stieler's atelier two portraits for this collection: one, a woman of rank—a dark beauty; the other, a servant girl here, with a head like one of Raffaelle's angels, almost divine; she is painted in the little filagree silver cap, the embroidered boddice, and silk handkerchief crossed over the bosom, the costume of the women of Munich, to which the king is extremely partial. I am assured that this young girl, who is not more than seventeen, is as remarkable for her piety, simplicity, and spotless reputation, as for her singular beauty. I have seen her, and the picture merely does her justice. Several other women of the bourgeoisie have been pointed out to me as included in the king's collection. One of these, the daughter, I believe, of an herb-woman, is certainly one of the most exquisite creatures I ever beheld. On the whole, I should say, that the lower orders of the people of Munich are the handsomest race I have seen in Germany.
Stieler is the court and fashionable portrait painter here—the Sir Thomas Lawrence of Munich—that is, in the estimation of the Germans. He is an accomplished man, with amiable manners, and a talent for rising in the world; or, as I heard some one call it, the organ of getting-oniveness. For the elaborate finish of his portraits, for expertness and delicacy of hand, for resemblance and exquisite drawing, I suppose he has few equals; but he has also, in perfection, what I consider the faulty peculiarities of the German school. Stieler's artificial roses are too natural: his caps, and embroidered scarfs, and jewelled bracelets, are more real than the things themselves—or seem so; for certainly I never gave to the real objects the attention and the admiration they challenge in his pictures. The famous bunch of grapes, which tempted the birds to peck, could be nothing compared to the felt of Prince Charles's hat in Stieler's portrait: it actually invites the hat-brush. Strange perversion of power in the artist! stranger perversion of taste in those who admire it!—Ma pazienza!