The Romantic Violin, part 2

 

                                        If music be the food of love, play on;
                                        Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
                                                The appetite may sicken, and so die.
                                                That strain again! it had a dying fall:
                                                        O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
                                                        That breathes upon a bank of violets,
                                                                Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
                                                                'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.

William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

Duke Orsino's words say it best. Music has special powers, especially when it comes to romance. All artists, of course, understand this and for ages have used musical instruments to convey the emotions of love and romance even though a painting makes no sound. 

We can certainly see that power depicted in this colorful postcard image of a young man playing his fiddle for a barefoot maiden. They are outside in a forest at night. The girl seems  enthralled by the melody. The boy may have different thoughts.

The card was posted from Wien, Austria on 26 July 1916 to Wohlgeboren ("well-born") Frau Leopoldine Cermack who was staying at the Kaiser's Jubiläums-Spital, the first public hospital in Wien, founded in 1907 on the 60th anniversary of the reign of Kaiser Franz Joseph. It is located near the Vienna Woods and when it opened in 1913 it had 19 "pavilions" with a capacity of 991 beds. It is now known as the Hietzing Clinic. 

The artist was Adolf Liebscher (1857 – 1919) a prolific Czech artist who specialized in paintings of historical events, often related to Bohemia–Czech history and people. By coincidence the postcard was sent just four months before the Kaiser's death on November 21, 1916 at age 86. In 1903 Liebscher painted a portrait of Franz Joseph I, Emperor of Austria, King of Hungary where he  is wearing a different outfit from his usual wardrobe of military uniforms. He posed in the robes of the Distinguished Order of the Golden Fleece, a Catholic order of chivalry founded in 1430 in Brugge by Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy. The Kaiser's lineage was historically connected to the Holy Roman Empire.

Emperor Franz Joseph
in the regalia of the Order of the Golden Fleece, 1903
by Adolf Liebscher (1857–1919)
Source: Wikimedia

* * *

Music can be very soporific, of course, which seems to be what happened to this sleepy young maiden who was listening to her sweetheart's violin. This painting follows a similar rustic setup as the previous artist but adds a touch of drama by placing the couple atop a mountain peak with thunderclouds in the distance.  

The postcard has a title captioned in Russian and French, Chagrin oublié ~ Forgotten Sorrow. Maybe it's because they both lost their shoes. It's going to be a long rocky hike down the mountain. The back of the card has a lengthy message in German but has no postmark or date. My guess is that it dates from around 1910-1918. Perhaps it was sent during the war by a German soldier from the eastern front in formerly Russian territory. 

The artist was Louis Gallait (1810 – 1887), a Belgian painter who established a noted reputation for paintings of historical people that respected the styles and colors of traditional folk costumes. Here is a painting of a country fiddler that Gallait made in 1849, a turbulent year for Europe. It is entitled Art and Liberty. 

Art and Liberty (1849)
by Louis Gallait (1810 – 1887)
Source: Wikipedia

* * *

While both paintings and music can tell stories, paintings are much better at narrating a scene. Here a young man is packing his violin into a trunk. It is already full of books and clothes. Is he about to set off on a journey? Perhaps to university? A young woman looks away as if she is about to cry. Is she his sweetheart? His sister? In the background on the right is another woman, someone's mother perhaps. 

On the back of the card is printed the title of the painting: Als ich Abschied nahm. ~ When I said goodbye, or in French: Le Départ ~ The departure.

 The postcard was sent on 20 August 1918 from Schwelm, a town in the state of North Rhine-Westphalia in western Germany near Wuppertal. 

The artist was Carl Zewy (1855 – 1929), an Austrian portrait and landscape painter. Zewy was born in Vienna and studied at the Vienna Academy and then at the Munich Art Academy as well. He was contemporary with two other Viennese artists that I collect Hermann Torggler, (1878-1939) and Fritz Schönpflug (1873–1951). Torggler also trained in Munich and many of his postcard etchings have a similar sentimentality. 

Zewy depicted musical instruments in several of his paintings that I found on the internet. This one has an older man playing violin and younger woman listening with a guitar. It's title is Die Musikstunde ~ The music lesson. Is it a sad story too? 

Die Musikstunde
by Karl Zewy (18
Source: MutualArt

* * *

One of the endearing qualities of music is how it is shared when musicians play together. In this picture a young couple are not yet making music, having either just finished or getting ready to play. The woman is seated at a piano and the man stands with a violin. A window casts a dreamy light on the scene. 

This card was entitled Souvenirs. It was sent from Nurnberg, Germany over military freepost on 23 March 1918.  The artist's name was W. V. Bioney, but I've been unable to find any information about him or her except other examples of this same postcard. It is likely a commercial artist working for a publisher to produce postcards that would appeal to lonely soldiers stationed far from home.

* * *

My last postcard shows a man seated with his back to the viewer as he plays a violin in front of a large portrait of a woman. A young girl sits on the floor next to him. A title is printed in English along the bottom edge: "ABSENT BUT NOT FORGOTTEN". It's clearly a sad picture about sorrow, memory, and bereavement. The way the man holds his bow as if in the middle of a musical phrase adds movement to the picture. 

This post was sent on 14 July 1913 from Wien to a man also residing in the city. The lower half is written in a spiky German cursive style, but the upper half is in a kind of weird quick script that looks a bit like shorthand. Perhaps a secret code or possibly a second writer who is has sloppy handwriting. A doctor perhaps? 

The artist of this painting was Clarence Frederick Underwood (1871 – 1929) one of America's leading commercial illustrators of the early 20th century. Born in Jamestown, New York, his family settled in Meadville, Pennsylvania. He received his formal art training in New York City, London, and Paris. On his return to New York, Underwood found work producing art for American publishing firms and marketing companies. His illustrations appeared in many books and magazines such as Harpers, McClure’s, The Saturday Evening Post, LIFE, and The Ladies’ World, as well as countless billboard advertisements. During the war, Underwood contributed many posters for recruiting, war bonds, and other public service advertisements. He is also credited with creating the first Palmolive Girl to sell soap and in 1926 the first female likeness featured in cigarette ads. Underwood also is reported to have coined the advertising phrase. "I'd walk a mile for a Camel (cigarette)." Clarence F. Underwood deserves to be better remembered but so far he does not have a Wikipedia entry. 

However the Crawford County Historical Society in Meadville, Pennsylvania does have an online exhibit which includes a section about the picture on my 1913 Austrian postcard. His painting's original title is "Serenading Grace" and it refers to Underwood's first wife, Grace Gilbert Curtis. They met in Paris and married on 9 May 1897. After returning to New York where Clarence established his studio, Grace gave birth to their daughter Valerie Gladys on December 22, 1898. But tragically a month later on January 27, 1899 Grace died. She was just 25 years old. This painting is Underwood's self-portrait, playing his violin in honor of his love for her. There is a poignancy in how he positioned his daughter with her back to the mother she would never know.

Underwood married his second wife, Katherine Ann Spotswood in 1905, and together they had two children. But on 11 June 1929 Clarence F. Underwood died suddenly in his studio at the age of 58. And to add further sadness to this story, Katherine died less than a year later on April 12, 1930 at age 47. 

I'll finish with another example of Underwood's musical illustrations, but this time with a piano and vocalist instead of a violin. One look at the two performers' expressions and we know that someone is either out of tune or behind, or both. 

The Solo
by Clarence F. Underwood (1871 – 1929)
Source: Invaluable.com

My interest in collecting artwork like these postcards is because I'm fascinated with how paintings of musicians and their musical instruments once had meaning and symbolism far beyond what  similar modern images convey in today's world. These pictures represent an artist's imagination and skill in portraying how music affects a person's emotions. I believe a violin was most often used because it had an easily recognized shape and familiar musical sound. It let people who bought these postcards instantly understand the suggestions of beautiful music, romance, nostalgia, and sadness too. Yet in our century we see far too many images selling junk that our sentiments are dulled and any true appreciation of beauty is very hard to find. 

For more musical art
check out
The Romantic Violin

This is my contribution to Sepia Saturday

where everyone is at the beach
keeping a sharp lookout for sharks.