THE GERMAN SCHOOL

“Here, where art was still religion, With a simple, reverent heart, Lived and laboured Albrecht Dürer, The evangelist of art.”

Two supreme masters cast a glory over the German school—Albert Dürer and Holbein. Dürer is a far more typical German than is Holbein. He was very much impressed with the Lutheran teaching, and pure and high ideals moulded his art and moulded his character. Holbein was a complete contrast to him. He was not prone to theories; he was not steeped in speculation; he did not dream as did Dürer of mysteries in heaven and earth; he had no passion, but he was full of joyous fancies. A less powerful personality than Dürer, Holbein was a far superior painter. From the unfathomable mind of Dürer came strong thoughts. He has expressed them in his art, especially in his wood engravings. One is a knight riding out, pressing onwards, looking neither to the right nor to the left, surrounded by the foul fiend and the terrors of death. His cheek does not blanch, his eyes do not wander, he keeps gazing straight before him. Another is Melancholia—a strange woman pondering over the secrets of life and death. These two woodcuts express all Dürer’s soul.

Of Dürer we know something from his own journal. He lets us into his life. We know that his father was a goldsmith, that he was born at Nuremburg (1471), and that his master was Michel Wolgemut, an artist who is unrepresented in the National Gallery. Dürer was the intimate friend of the fiery Luther, the gentle Melancton, the learned Erasmus. Melancton said of him, “The least of his graces was that he was a painter.” Dürer told Melancton towards the end of his days that nature had not unfolded herself to him when young, that he had only learned the charm of simplicity too late, and that he mourned over his early pictures.

Dürer was realistic in form, but he was ideal in thought. We have one portrait by him in our National Gallery—that of his father (1938); it was painted when Dürer was twenty-six years of age in 1497. It is most animated in conception, light and spirited in execution. The old face is seamed with wrinkles; the curly hair, which is scarcely grizzled, falls from under a black cap. He looks forth seriously with patient anxiety on his brow. It is an excellent portrait, painted with love.

Dürer lived in Nuremburg, and in that city of dreams we still see the gabled house in which he toiled. I hope that you will see it yourselves and that you will think of the steadfast and earnest painter at his work. Of Dürer, his friend, the painter Birkheimer, said, that he “united every virtue in his soul, genius, uprightness, purity, energy and prudence, gentleness and piety.”

Germany was miserably poor, and Dürer, to live, had to devote himself to wood-engraving. Venice offered him two hundred ducats a year if he would settle in her midst, but he would not leave his beloved country. His death occurred on the 5th April 1528. He left many treatises behind him, including one on “proportion.”

Lucas Cranach, his contemporary (1472–1553), had much of Dürer’s genius. He was a great friend of Luther, whose rugged face he painted often; and it is said that he brought about the marriage of the stern reformer with the nun Catherina Bora. “Portrait of a Young Lady” (291) is a very good specimen of his portrait painting; the tone of colour is warm and luminous, and the head is altogether pleasantly conceived.

Now let us pass to the artist who is the glory of the school of Augsburg, Hans Holbein the younger (1497–1543), son of a painter of eminence. Surrounded from his childhood by artistic influences, Hans Holbein soon became the king of portrait painters; yet it was not only as a portrait painter that he excelled but in all branches of art. Let us remember the beautiful Madonna at Darmstadt. This gracious and lovely woman with her golden crown is a true Protestant Madonna. She has laid aside her halo and shines forth in her perfect womanhood. Holbein, above all things, represented men and women as they were, painting what was noblest in them, their souls and their intellect. He came over to England bearing a letter of introduction from Erasmus to Sir Thomas More, to whom he brought a portrait of the great theologian which was more like Erasmus than the one done by Albert Dürer. The friendship of the great Chancellor kept Holbein in England, and we may often think of him at More’s house by the river, wandering in the beautiful garden. He painted the portrait of More’s wife, of More’s beloved daughter, Margaret Roper, and of the other children. We know that Holbein sent a drawing of More’s family to Erasmus, for there is a letter still extant thanking him for the gift.

At Hampton Court there are twenty-seven portraits by Holbein, and they resume his whole life. At first we find him the cold, correct draughtsman, then by degrees his manner becomes softer, his colouring more transparent and brilliant. He painted the picture of “The Ambassadors” (1314) in 1533. It was at first thought that Sir Thomas Wyatt, the most accomplished gentleman of the time in England, was the original of the figure wearing the order of St. Michael. But now we know that the portrait is of Jean de Dinteville, who was ambassador from France to England in 1533, and that the other portrait is of George de Selve, his friend, Bishop of Lavaur. Holbein’s insight into character, the force united with delicacy of his colouring, the certainty of his line carved as by a chisel have made this portrait-group one of the wonders of the art-world. You must study it yourselves and get to know the meaning of all its marvellous detail—the varied mathematical implements, the globe, the compasses, the wind instruments, everything expressing the calling and the tastes of the two men.

Henry VIII. had the greatest admiration for Holbein. “I can make a lord of any one,” he used to say, “but I cannot make a Holbein.” It was one of the painter’s duties to take the portraits of the ladies the King proposed to wed. We know with what disastrous results he had painted Anne of Cleves, making, as Henry VIII. said, “A Venus of her who was nothing but a Dutch frau.” The widowed Duchess of Milan, daughter of Christian II. of Denmark, and niece of the Emperor Charles V., was very much admired by the King, and he sent Holbein to paint her portrait. It is here lent by the Duke of Norfolk. Look at her as she stands in her black student’s gown and cap, with her pretty hands, wearing a big cornelian ring, crossed in front of her. How piquant she looks! She is only sixteen years of age and she is a widow already. She gave a sitting of three hours only to Holbein, but refused to give more. We seem to see the big dimple in her cheek as she sends a message to Bluebeard. Some doubt that she ever did send it, but I feel certain that she did; as I look at her animated face, her bright eyes, I seem to hear her say, “Tell his Majesty of England that if I had two heads I would willingly put one at his disposal; having one only I prefer to keep it for myself.”

“The Duchess of Milan” is lent to the National Gallery, and so you had better go and look at the portrait and feel the centuries roll away as you gaze at the speaking countenance.

I cannot tell you more of Holbein. He died of the plague, aged fifty-four, an unparalleled genius. After his death Germany was so distraught with the horrors and miseries of the Thirty Years’ War that she could no longer encourage art, and art died away.