One of the most interesting monuments in Munich, is the tomb of Eugene Beauharnais, in the church of St. Michael. It is by Thorwaldson, and one of his most celebrated works. It is finely placed, and all the parts are admirable: but I think it wants completeness and entireness of effect, and does not tell its story well. Upon a lofty pedestal, there is first, in the centre, the colossal figure of the duke stepping forward; one hand is pressed upon his heart, and the other presents the civic crown--(but to whom?)--his military accoutrements lie at his feet. The drapery is admirably managed, and the attitude simple and full of dignity. On his left is the beautiful and well-known group of the two genii, Love and Life, looking disconsolate. On the right, the seated muse of History is inscribing the virtues and exploits of the hero; and as, of all the satellites of Napoleon, Eugene has left behind the fairest name, I looked at her, and her occupation, with complacency. The statue is, moreover, exceedingly beautiful and expressive--so are the genii; and the figure of Eugene is magnificent; and yet the combination of the whole is not effective. Another fault is, the colour of the marble, which has a grey tinge, and ought at least to have been relieved by constructing the pedestal and accompaniments of black marble; whereas they are of a reddish hue.
The widow of Eugene, the eldest sister of the king of Bavaria, raised this monument to her husband, at an expense of eighty thousand florins. As the whole design is classical, and otherwise in the purest taste and grandest style of art, I exclaimed with horror at the sight of a vile heraldic crown, which is lying at the feet of the muse of History. I was sure that Thorwaldson would never voluntarily have committed such a solecism. I was informed that the princess-widow insisted on the introduction of this piece of barbarity as emblematical of the vice-royalty of Italy; any royalty being apparently better than none.
I remember that when travelling in the Netherlands, at a time when the people were celebrating the _Fête-Dieu_, I saw a village carpenter busily employed in erecting a _réposoir_ for the Madonna, of painted boards and draperies and wreaths of flowers. In the mean time, as if to deprecate criticism, he had chalked in large letters over his work, "_La critique est aisée, mais l'art est difficile_." I could not help smiling at this application of one of those undeniable truisms which no one thinks it necessary to remember. When I recall the pleasure I derived from this noble work of Thorwaldson, all the genius, all the skill, all the patience, all the time, expended on its production, I think the foregoing trifling criticisms appear very ungrateful and impertinent; and yet, as a friend of mine insisted, when I was once upon a time pleading for mercy on certain defects and deficiencies in some other walk of art, "Toleration is the nurse of mediocrity." Artists themselves, as I often observe,--even the vainest of them--prefer discriminating admiration to wholesale praise. In the Frauen Kirche, there is another most admirable monument, a _chef d'oeuvre_, in the Gothic style. It is the tomb of the Emperor Louis of Bavaria, who died excommunicated in 1347; a stupendous work, cast in bronze. At the four corners are four colossal knights kneeling, in complete armour, each bearing a lance and ensign, and guarding the recumbent effigy of the emperor, which lies beneath a magnificent Gothic canopy. At the two sides are standing colossal figures, and I suppose about eight or ten other figures on a smaller scale, all of admirable design and workmanship.[13] It should seem, that in the sixteenth century the art of casting in bronze was not only brought to the highest perfection in Germany, but found employment on a very grand scale.