Full text of "An art-student in Munich"

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ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

ART-STUDENT

MUNICH

MRS. HOW ITT- WATTS.

IN TWO VOLS.
SECOND EDITION.

VOL. II.

LONDON:
THOS. DE LA RUE & CO.

no, B U N H I L L ROW.
1880

PRINTED BY

THOMAS DE LA RUK AND CO., BUNHILL ROW

LONDON.

CONTENTS OF VOL. II.

CHAP. PAGE

I. — A Picture in Lent — Feet-washing on Green Thursday I

II.— The Holy Week— Easter Eve .

III. — Schwanthaler's Castle of Schwaneck .

IV. — The Model Prison of Bavaria, and the Model Works
of Signor S ......

V. — The May Festival at Starnberg ....

VI. — Funeral of the Duchess of Leuchtenberg — The Send
ling Battle and Old Munich ....

VII. — Return to Munich

VIII. — A Mournful Wedding — An Incursion of German
Teachers — The Student ....

IX. — The Boisseree Gallery in the Pinakothek .

X. — Sledging ........

XI. — A Students' Torch Procession ....

XII. — Street Music — The Antigone ....

XIII. — Visit to the great Bronze Foundry

33
43

83
89
102
116
123
132

XIV. — Christmas-Day — A Christmas-Tree in a beautiful home 138

IV CONTENTS OF VOL. II.

CHAP. PAGE

XV. — Street Pictures — "The Franciscan is there!" — We

reach Nymphenburg ...... 148

XVI.— A great Fire at Night 158

XVII. — A Visit to the Dead and to the Newly-born . . 165

XVIII. — The Casting of the Siegesthor Bavaria . . . 173

XIX.— The" Artists' Masked Ball 178

XX. — Spring Pictures 192

XXI. — Cartoons 206

XXII. — Twenty Years later 212

XXIII. — Munich again— The Master 218

XXIV. — A Supper with the Actors in the Ammergau Passion-

Playofi87i 237

Appendix 245

ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER I.

A PICTURE IN LENT. — FEET-WASHING ON GREEN
THURSDAY.

In the garden of one of the churches here, there is a
Kreuzgang or Via Dolorosa, a number of small shrines or
" Stations " erected to commemorate the various sufferings
of Christ on his way to the Cross. During Lent, prayers
are read and chanted every Friday by the priests before
these shrines to a considerable assembly of devotees.

I visited this Kreuzgang the other Friday, but did not
observe anything very remarkable in the ceremony.

A few priests in robes of sky-blue and white, attended by
a number of choristers, and with a veiled crucifix borne
before them, were slowly progressing from station to station,
praying and singing, whilst a crowd composed of all ranks,
and principally of women, followed them, also singing and
praying.

I observed a number of heads looking down into the
church-garden from the windows of the neighbouring
houses. A knot of maid-servants at one of these win-
dows seemed especially edified by observing the actions and

VOL. II. B

2 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

bearing of one of the officiating priests. I wondered within
myself whether he were the priest of whom I had once
heard a strange and affecting history from Fraulein Sanchen.

He was an extraordinary man, at all events — whether this
sad history attached to him or not. He was singularly
handsome, and knew it well enough. He marched along
with the step of a soldier rather than with the step of a
priest : with his keen eagle's face gazing upon his missal,
the expression of which was full of a certain scorn ; the
crisp locks of his black hair escaping from beneath his
priest's cap fell upon his priest's robes in unusual luxuriance.
He was no meek follower of Christ. The carnal, not the
spiritual sword belonged to that hand, the epaulette to that
shoulder, not purple and fine linen. The lines of the strong
passionate face told of a proud nature hardened into bitter-
ness through a mistaken vocation ; it was a countenance
about which to weave strange imaginary histories.

I have just witnessed the ceremony of the Feet-washing,
which has been announced for this month past as one of the
great sights of the season. My good friend at the Kriegs
ministerium kept his word faithfully, and procured tickets
for us. Accordingly, Myra Amsel and I have seen the whole
ceremony. At nine o'clock Myra was with me, and, early as
it was, Madame Thekla advised us to set forth to the Palace,
as people were always wild about places, and if we came
late, spite of our tickets, we should see nothing. The good
old soul also accompanied us, on the plea that, as she was
big and strong, she could push a way for us through the
crowd, and keep our places by main force. She stood guard
over us — the good creature ! — for two mortal hours, and when
the door at length was opened by a grand lacquey, had the
satisfaction of seeing us step through the very first. But
before this happy moment arrived, we had to wait, as I said,
two hours ; and leaving, therefore, the patient old lady as

THE OLD PALACE. 3

our representative before the little door which led into
the gallery of the Hercules-Hall, whither our tickets
admitted us, and before which door no one had yet
appeared, Myra and I ranged along the white washed
galleries of the old portion of the Palace in which we
were. Cannot you see these vistas of whitewashed wall,
with grim old portraits of powdered ladies and gentlemen,
in hoops, ruffles, gold lace, and ermine, and framed in black
frames, interspersed amid heavy wreaths and arabesques of
stucco ? — dazzlingly white walls, dazzlingly white arched
ceilings, diminishing in long perspective ! Now we came
upon a strange sort of little kitchen in the thick wall, where
a copper kettle, standing on the cold hearth, told of coffee
made for some Royal servant some hours previously ;
now we were before the door of some Kammerjungfer ;
now in a gallery with the whitewash, but without the por-
traits, where opposite to every door stood a large white cup-
board — of cupboards there was a goodly row !

And now below stairs, on passing through a doorway, you
stood upon a low terrace ; above your head a ceiling rich
with ponderous wreaths of fruit and flowers, and other stucco
ornaments which probably, once upon a time, had been gilt ;
faded frescos representing gods, goddesses, and Cupids,
mingling with the other ornaments. From the wall protruded
a grotesque excrescence, a grotto-work summer-house, a
perfect incrustation of pebbles and spars, and with an ugly
Triton on either side the entrance bearing a brown marble
shell before him.

By a few steps you could descend into a quiet little garden,
shaded by the tall palace walls on the other three sides ;
here grass grew rank and brightly green around green
bronze statues, and around the basin of a fountain. Old-
fashioned ladies and gentlemen scattered over the grass in
Watteau-like groups, would have been greatly in character

4 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

with the garden. The ladies with lap-dogs and with fans.
A stately minuet ought properly to have been danced upon
the terrace by a stately lady in a hooped petticoat of white
and rose colour, and by a stately gentleman in blue, adorned
with many knots of ribbon, and who was graced with very
long legs, whilst the musician leaning against the pedestal
of a Triton, played his flute with a soft and languid air.

This old part of the Royal Palace of Munich is quite a
little town. We discovered also a tiny chapel, now quite
forgotten in the glory of Hess's frescos and the beauty of
the new Hofkapelle. To-day this old chapel was open,
hung with black cloth, and illuminated with numberless
waxen tapers, and the altar verdant with shrubs and plants
placed upon the altar steps. There was, however, a remark-
ably mouldy, cold smell in the place ; yet I suppose the
royal procession visited this old chapel as well as the new
one, on its way to the Hercules-Hall. This cortege, with the
king and his brother walking beneath a splendid canopy, and
attended by priests and courtiers, went, I believe, wandering
about a considerable time, to the edification of the populace ;
but of all this, excepting from hearsay, I cannot speak,
having considered it as the wiser thing to return to Madame
Thekla and our door, rather than await the procession.

The Hercules-Hall is rather small, and certainly more
ugly than beautiful, with numbers of old-fashioned chandeliers
hanging from the ceiling ; a gallery at each end, supported
by marble pillars, with a row of tall windows on either side ;
a dark, inlaid floor of some brown wood ; but with no sign
whatever of Hercules to be seen. Suffice it to say, that
having noticed all this at a glance, we observed, in the centre
of the hall, a small altar covered with white linen, and bear-
ing upon it golden candlesticks, a missal bound in crimson
velvet, a veiled crucifix, and a golden ewer standing in a
golden dish. On one side of the altar rose a tall reading-

FEET-WASHING OX GREEN THURSDAY. 5

desk, draped with a sulphur-coloured cloth, upon which lay a
large open book : a row of low, crimson stools stood along
the hall, opposite the altar ; on the other side, across the
windows, ran a white and very long ottoman, raised upon a
high step covered with crimson cloth. Chairs of state were
arranged at either end of the hall beneath the galleries.
The arrival of people below was gradual, although our
gallery and the gallery opposite had been crowded for hours.
We at length had the pleasure of seeing something com-
mence.

The door at the further end opened, and in streamed a
crowd. Then tottered in ancient representatives of the
twelve " Apostles," clothed in long violet robes, bound round
the waist with white bands striped with red, and with violet
caps on their heads : on they tottered, supported on either
side by some poor relative, an old peasant woman, a stalwart
man in a black velvet jacket and bright black boots reaching
to the knee, or by a young, buxom girl in her holiday cos-
tume of bright apron and gay bodice. On they came,
feeble, wrinkled, with white locks falling on their violet
apparel, with palsied hands resting on the strong arms that
supported them — the oldest being a hundred-and-one, the
youngest eighty-seven years old ! My eyes swam with
sudden tears. There was much difficulty in mounting
them upon their long snowy throne ; that crimson step was
a great mountain for their feeble feet and stiff knees to
climb. At length they were all seated, their poor friends
standing behind them. A man in black marshalled them
like little school-children ; he saw that all sat properly,
and then began pulling off a shoe and stocking from the
right foot of each. There, with drooped heads and folded
withered hands, they sat meekly expectant. A group of
twelve little girls, in lilac print frocks and silver swallow-
tailed caps, headed by an old woman in similar lilac and

6 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

silver costume, took its place to the right of the old men in
a little knot ; they were twelve orphans who are clothed
and educated by the Queen, and who receive a present on
this day.

The hall at the further end was by this time filled with
bright uniforms — blue, scarlet, white, and green. In front
were seen King Max and his brothers, also in their uni-
forms ; numbers of ladies and children ; and choristers in
white robes, who flitted, cloud-like, into a small raised seat,
set apart for them in a dark corner behind the uniforms.
A group of priests in gold, violet, blue, and black robes,
with burning tapers and swinging censers, enter ; prostrate
themselves before the King of Bavaria, — perhaps in relation
to the symbolical character his majesty bore at the moment,
— and before the King of Hosts, as typified to them on the
altar ; they chant, murmur, and prostrate themselves again
and again. Incense fills the hall with its warm, odorous breath.
They present open books to the king and princes. Now the
king, ungirding his sword, which is received by an attendant
gentleman, approaches the oldest " apostle ; " he receives
the golden ewer, as it is handed from one brother to
another ; he bends himself over the old foot ; he drops a
few drops of water upon it ; he receives a snowy napkin
from the princes, and lays it daintily over the honoured
foot ; he again bows over the second, and so on, through
the whole twelve ; a priest, with a cloth bound round his
loins, finishing the drying of the feet. A different scene
must that have been in Jerusalem, some eighteen hundred
years ago !

The king, with a gracious smile, hangs round the patient
neck of each old man a blue and white purse, containing
a small sum of money. The priests retire ; the altar and
reading-desk are removed. Six tables, covered with
snowy cloths, upon each two napkins, two small metal

FEET-WASHING ON GREEN THURSDAY. 1

drinking-cups, and two sets of knives, forks, and spoons,
are carried in, and joined into one long table, placed before
the crimson step. In the meantime the man in black has
put on the twelve stockings and the twelve shoes, and, with
much ado, has helped down the twelve "apostles," who
now sit upon the step as a seat. Enter twelve footmen, in
blue and white liveries, each bearing a tray, covered with
a white cloth, upon which smoke six different meats, in
white wooden bowls ; a green soup — remember it is green
Thursday; two baked fish ; two brown somethings ; a
delicious-looking pudding ; bright green spinach, upon
which repose a couple of tempting eggs, and a heap of
stewed prunes. Each footman, with his tray, is followed
by a fellow-footman, carrying a large bottle of golden-hued
wine, and a huge, dark, rich-looking roll on silver waiters.
The twelve footmen, with the trays, suddenly veer round,
and stand in a long line opposite to the table, and each
opposite to an " apostle ; " the twelve trays held before
them, with their seventy-two bowls, all forming a kind of
pattern — soup, fishes, spinach ; soup, fishes, spinach ; pud-
dings, prunes, brown meats ; puddings, prunes, brown
meats, — all down the room. Behind stand the other foot-
men, with their twelve bottles of wine and their twelve
rolls. I can assure you that, seen from the gallery above,
the effect was considerably comic.

A priest, attended by two court-pages, who carry tall,
burning tapers, steps forth in front of the trays and foot-
men, and chants a blessing. The king and his brothers
again approach the " apostles ; " the choristers burst forth
into a glorious chant, till the whole hall is filled with
melody, and the king receives the dishes from his brothers,
and places them before the old men. Again I felt a thrill
rush through me ; it is so graceful — though it be but a
mere form, a mere shadow of the true sentiment of love —

8 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

any gentle act of kindness from the strong to the weak,
from the powerful to the very poor. As the king bowed
himself before the feeble old man of a hundred, it was
impossible not to recognise a poetical idea.

It was long before the seventy-and-two meats were all
placed upon the table, and then it was very long before
the palsied old hands could convey the soup to the old
lips. Some were too feeble, and were fed by the man
in black. It was curious to notice the different ways in
which the old men received the food from the king ; some
slightly bowed their heads ; others sat stolidly ; others
seemed sunk in stupor.

The Court soon retired, and twelve new baskets were
brought by servants, into which the six bowls of untasted
food were placed ; these, together with the napkin, knife,
fork, spoon and mug, bottle of wine and bread, are carried
away by the old men ; or, more properly speaking, are
carried away for them by their attendant relatives. Many
of the "apostles" — I see by a printed paper which was
distributed about, and which contains a list of their names
and ages — come from great distances ; they are chosen
as being the oldest poor men in Bavaria. Only one of
them is an inhabitant of Munich, and he is ninety-three.

We went down into the hall to have a nearer view of the
" apostles ;" but, so very decrepit did the greater number
appear, on a close inspection, — their faces so sad and vacant;
there was such a trembling eagerness after the food in the
baskets, now hidden from their sight ; such a shouting into
their deaf ears ; such a guiding of feeble steps and blinded,
blear eyes, — that I wished we had avoided this painful part
of the spectacle.

Evening of Green Thursday. — Madame Thekla this
afternoon, on her way, as she expressed it, " to pray a

EVENING OF GREEN THURSDAY. 9

little," told me that there would be beautiful music in the
Hof kapelle about four o'clock. And thither I went.

Glorious music pealing through the lov,ely chapel; now
bursts of wild chanting, which hoarsely died away among
the golden arches ; now a voice, as of an angel gently
pleading in soft, silvery tones ; tapers burning before the
altar, on a large dark triangle of wood ; streams of warm
sunshine falling down from the unseen windows, high up
above the golden balconies, and resting, ere they fell to the
marble floor, upon the fair curls of some little kneeling
child, crowning its innocent head with celestial glory ; a
blessed feeling of all the beauty without the walls of the
chapel and of the city, of the resurrection of nature and
hope throughout the world, in the bursting of buds, in the
up-springing of weeds and flowers, and in the carolling of
birds — such are my memories of the " Vesper " in the
Hofkapelle on Green Thursday.

VOL. II.

IO AN ART- STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER II.

THE HOLY WEEK. — EASTER EVE.

I HAVE to-day lived in the churches from morning till
evening. At nine o'clock this lovely, bright morning —
having crossed the picturesque Schrannenplatz, where,
spite of its being Good Friday, the corn-market was held
as usual — I found myself in the old St. Peter's Church.
Although in walking through the streets you saw no sign
of a holiday, the shops being open as usual, and people
going about in their ordinary clothes, yet within the church
you recognised that it was a day of holy significance. It
was crowded to excess. Such a restless crowd was passing
in and out, that I soon had my veil torn from my bonnet,
and felt truly thankful that no greater misfortune befel me.
All that was to be seen for a long time was a crimson
canopy, which rose conspicuous above the crowd of heads,
and was placed below the altar steps. A large painting of
" Christ's Agony in the Garden " appeared instead of the
usual altar-piece.

Soon the most plaintive music pealed through the church
— a long, mournful wail, as of the lamenting disciples.
Involuntarily I found myself filled with a strange sadness.
I had come to the church with no feeling of sympathy
for the ceremony which I was about to witness — a repre-
sentation of Christ borne to the sepulchre. To the
strains of this solemn dirge a long procession wound its
way round the church, descending from the altar, and
passing beneath the canopy. First went the choristers in

BEARING TO THE SEPULCHRE. II

their white robes — tender children and grey-headed men,
blending their voices in this wild chant ; then priests, and
priests, and priests, two and two, in black and white robes.
In their centre, borne upon a bier, and covered with
a white veil, lay an effigy of our Saviour Ever and anon,
instead of the bell calling the crowd to bow before the
Host which was borne aloft, you heard the dead, abrupt
wooden sound of clappers which certain priests carried in
their hands. After the priests came a stream of citizens,
men bearing burning tapers. Then — headed by the most
wan, emaciated priest, who walked with folded hands and
downcast eyes, — came on a long, long train of women,
women of all ages and various degrees of station, from the
small tradesman's wife to the lady in her lace bonnet and
elegant gloves : all were in black ; all carried in one hand
an open book, from which they read, and a rosary ; and in
the other a burning taper.

I could not but admire the progress of refinement, when
I noticed the tapers carried by the women. To prevent the
wax falling upon their black dresses, these tapers burned in
long white sockets, which, unless minutely inspected, ap-
peared to be wax. Every woman bore such a taper. And
thus slowly proceeding round the church, the figure was laid
in a sepulchre erected in a little chapel. To visit these
sepulchres of the various churches is the great business of
Munich on Good Friday.

The arrangement of the sepulchres is pretty much the
same in all the churches, especially in the old ones. The
body reposes generally amongst flowers in a small cave
beneath the altar ; sometimes the recess in the altar un-
comfortably reminded me of an English fire-place left in
an unfinished house before the stove has been set.
Generally, however, artificial rocks surrounded the opening
of the cave. A small lamp was often suspended over the

C 2

12 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

corpse, and a row of tiny lamps burned upon the ground
in front, not unlike foot-lights ; only each burned behind
a small globe filled with coloured liquid — crimson, green,
blue, and yellow — considerably reminding you of the orna-
mental bottles in chemists' windows in England. The
altar itself was transformed into a very mountain of
plants and flowers — arums, roses, crown-imperials, myrtles,
geraniums, and a dozen other plants, all blooming in
pots, which were generally concealed with art or artificially
decorated.

Lights were disposed everywhere on the altar. At the
mountain summit, the golden rays surrounding the host
glittered and sparkled in the light of these many tapers.
Often lower down on the mountain you would see two
angels praying, their robes, very fluttering, of pale pink
and white drapery, their hair very yellow, and their cheeks
very pink ; often ivy and creeping plants were made to
festoon and gracefully shadow the opening of the cave.
The steps, too, approaching the altar and sepulchre, were
a mass of flowers ; sometimes a steep wall of flowers and
greenness rose abruptly up, and permitted you but a narrow
glimpse of the interior of the cave. Tall orange-trees,
laurels and cypresses, in tubs, stood in groups on either hand.
To complete the general idea, you must imagine the rest
of the church darkened, with daylight struggling through
blinded windows, and through the doorways, as the heavy
doors swung ever to and fro to admit the entrance and the
departure of the restless crowd. Imagine, also, a dense
multitude circulating through all these churches, and only
stationary before the sepulchre. Above, the shuffle of
feet and the murmur of prayers or adoration, fitful, plain-
tive strains of music, moaned through the gloom, and the
sonorous voices of the priests chanted their solemn dirge.

Such, with slight variations, was the scene in the Munich

SEPULCHRE IN THE BASILICA. 1 3

churches throughout this Good Friday. In the Basilica,
the sacred tomb was somewhat more tastefully represented.
There a very spacious sepulchre was erected beneath the
organ-loft, between two of those beautiful marble columns
which are so great an ornament to this exquisite church.
This, it must be remembered, was the first celebration of
Good Friday in the new, beautiful Basilica. Towering
shrubs rose against the marble columns, laurels, orange-
trees, and myrtles ; ferns, and moss, and palms shadowed
the entrance of the cavern, drooping naturally from the
artificial rock. There was no altar, no praying angels, only
heaps and heaps of the most lovely fresh flowers ; and far
in the gloom of the cave reposed a figure of Christ. Here
was no attempt to deceive you into the idea of its being a
real corpse by aid of colour. It was a pure statue. How
much more did it affect the imagination, by merely suggest-
ing the poetical idea of death ! This church, unlike all
the others, was flooded with sunshine, which glowed on
the gold and frescos, and warmed the marble floor and
columns.

Above the lofty, verdant cavern swelled the tones of the
organ, mingling with the laments of the choir, fitfully and
mournfully. The circle of Benedictine monks afar off at
the opposite end of the church, seated behind the stripped
altar, repeated the lament, as though heaven mourned and
earth responded. I sat for a long time in the warm sun-
shine before my favourite altar-piece — that beautiful Martyr-
dom of the white, meek St. Stephen — where all was quiet,
and one did not see the sepulchre nor yet the crowd, but
only heard the music, and felt the impression of the church
and the day.

With the Basilica we terminated our afternoon visit of the
churches. One little picturesque bit must not be omitted.
Madame Thekla, knowing all the by-paths in and out of all

14 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

the churches, in leaving one old church led me past the
open door of the sacristy. I of course looked in. It was a
very large and lofty room ; the walls wainscoted half-way up
with very dark wood, rich in panel and carving ; above the
wainscot, on the whitewashed wall, hung a row of old
portraits of cardinals ; a sort of dresser or low press of black
carved wood ran round the wainscot of the room, and upon
this lay priests' robes — violet, gold, sky-blue, and white ; and
here and there were seen groups of tall candlesticks and
censers, or a large brush for the sprinkling of holy water.
Light fell into the solemn room from four lofty windows,
high up in the walls. Here and there was seen a black
and white priest passing in and out ; in the foreground two
little choristers adjusting the sit of their white sleeves and
blue petticoats.

After tea I set forth again. Soon we were at the entrance
of St. Michael's Church. Crowds and crowds streamed into
it. A royal carriage waited before the principal entrance —
royal carriages have been seen driving about from church
to church all the afternoon. In the forenoon there had been
a royal ceremonial of some kind in the Hofkapelle; but, of
course, as it was impossible to be in two places at once, I
did not witness it. Neither did I see King Ludwig, this
Good Friday night, praying among the crowd in St.
Michael's Church as earnestly and as unostentatiously as
the meanest beggar there, — perhaps side by side with one, as
he often does. No ! this year King Ludwig is celebrating
the holiest night of the Holy Week in Rome itself.

A very ocean of human beings filled the vast church ;
dark, undulating waves of life filled the nave ; heads
crowded the galleries and every possible standing-place.
Above the human mass, high up, suspended in the air,
beneath the boldly swelling arches of the richly ornamented
roof, and casting a warm, golden light upon the nearest

THE MISERERE. 1 5

stone wreaths and angels, and glimmering in a warm dark
haze at the farthest end of the church, burned and blazed a
mighty cross of fire. The effect was thrillingly beautiful ;
the gradual softening of the warm light upon arch and
column, till it was lost in the night of the remoter portions
of the church, was the most beautiful effect, in its way,
conceivable — the contrast so strong, the forms so sharp, yet
the whole an imperceptible gradation from the strongest
light to the intensest gloom.

Suddenly music — wilder, sadder than any before heard
that day — burst like a whirlwind through the church, moan-
ing, lamenting, pleading — the waves, the forests, the winds,
heaven, and all nature seemed to mourn, as in the old
Scandinavian mythology over the slain Balder. The
voices vibrated beneath the dim arched roof, floated over
the human ocean, and died away in long sighs. Again they
rose, sadder and sadder, ceased suddenly — and the multi-
tude streamed forth into the streets.

I felt myself strangely affected by the whole scene ;
moved to the inmost soul with a vast pity and grief by that
sad lament — and no wonder, for was it not The Miserere f

Dear old Fraulein Sanchen ! As we walked slowly back
she opened her poor old heart to me, and told me many of
her sorrows. I fancied long ago that I had discovered the
bitterness of her life, and now I see that I was right. I did
all I could to comfort and cheer her, but it was only the
balm of sympathy which I could drop into her wounds, and
I fear those wounds will only smart the more when she has
no one to sympathise with her, no one to whom she can
moan a little. Ah ! it is a selfish world ; and the more
gentle and patient is the heart, the more it is crushed ! I
could only comfort her with the comfort especially belong-
ing to Good Friday.

Crossing the Dultplatz and various streets, we saw

1 6 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

the confectioners' shops brilliant and crowded. Children
were celebrating Good Friday by buying sugar lambs, which
held little crimson and gold banners between their fore-legs,
as they lay innocently reposing upon green sugar banks.
Many, also, were the sugar hares — Easter hares — those
fabulous creatures so dear to German children, which were
also bought, though properly Easter had not yet arrived.
But the hares and their gay crimson eggs had arrived days
and days before. Would that our English children could
see some of these wonderful hares! one grand one,
especially, life-size, which stands upon its hind legs, re-
joicing over a large nest of crimson eggs ; eggs which it of
course is supposed to have laid. There are chocolate hares,
biscuit hares, and hares of common bread. You hear the
words " hares " and " eggs " upon the lips of every child you
meet. " Kreuzers to buy hares " seem strangely to be con-
jured out of your purse. You everywhere behold crimson
egg-shells. In all the booksellers' shops are displayed
books relative to this remarkable animal, for the edification
of the youthful naturalist.

Easter eggs are not alone eaten by the children, but by
people of maturer growth. On Easter Sunday, Fraulein
Sanchen will take a basket of eggs to be blessed by the
priest in one of the near churches. Whole baskets of eggs
are carried on that day to the sacristies, to be consecrated.
A consecrated egg is promised me ; I am anxious about its
flavour. On the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter
Sunday I hear it is the custom to carry small faggots of
wood to be blessed. This consecrated wood is, I am told
useful in various ways. Besides eggs on Easter Sunday,
meat and butter, and various kinds of food, are blessed.

The first church on Easter Eve that Madame Thekla and
I visited was the Ludwig's Church. As we entered beneath
the lofty portal which stood open to receive the throngs of

EASTER EVE. 1 7

devotees and curious, a very firmament of stars glittered
towards us through the darkened church. A curtain of
dead gold brocade fell from the vaulted ceiling, hiding from
view Cornelius's Last Judgment, above the high altar.
From the ceiling to within but a short space of the altar
gleamed a galaxy of tapers, burning in groups of six together,
and so arranged as to form starry crowns.

These starry crowns appeared suspended in the air above
a square enclosure of lovely shrubs and flowers, hedged in
by tall burning tapers. This little garden bloomed upon the
broad platform before the altar. A pale effigy of Christ
reposed upon ah odorous fresh couch among these roses,
tulips, stocks, myrtles, geraniums, arums, ivy.

The mournful dirge which I had heard in the old St.
Peter's Church resounded also here — now dying away, now
taken up by a group of priests who chanted at a side altar
before tapers burning upon a triangle of wood.

The whole scene recalled what one has read of dirges
chanted over the dead Adonis, sleeping his last sleep upon
a couch of rose and myrtle.

We were bound for the St. Michael's Church, which is
situated in old Munich. On our way thither, Fraulein
Sanchen led me up the steps of a crumbling old building.
" You must," said she, " see the chapel of the Herzog Max ;
sentinels watch it night and day ! " This honour, doubtless,
was owing to the chapel being a royal one ; a less tasteful
sepulchre could not well have been imprisoned in a huge
cage of twisted, rusty ironwork, guarded by two solemn
guards with halberts.

"What is this strange old mass of building, Fraulein
Sanchen ? " I asked, as we descended the steps, and I
glanced up at its gloomy windows and discoloured walls.
" I hear everybody call it Herzog Max, as though it were a
man and a duke, instead of an old tumble-down building ! "

1 8 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

"It was the palace of the Electors," returned my good
companion ; "no one lives there now. It used to be the
palace of the Dowager Queens. Old Queen Caroline died
there ; since then no one has lived in the Herzog Max.
Queen Theresa will live when a widow in her little villa
beyond the Siegesthor."

It was a relief to recall that cheerful, sunny little villa,
standing as we did in the twilight within the courts of this
decaying palace. What a mournful dwelling was this for
widowed and dethroned queens ! Its tall square towers,
its gloomy gateways, its long, long rows of dark lifeless
windows, its grey discoloured walls telling of former gold
and fresco, its windows on the ground floors covered in
with heavy iron gratings, its heavy mouldering doors — all
breathed a mournful spirit of a stern hard time, and of
departed splendour. Its walls looked as if fraught with
drear memories ; it is a mansion whose age impresses one
with a sense of evil decay. Those desolate suites of rooms
have assuredly no bright memories of a beautiful, sunny
youth. Gibbering sad ghosts flit through them of a cer-
tainty ; strange faces, terrible and mournful, look forth
through those window-bars — footsteps of the spiritually
forlorn must creak upon those dreary stairs !

The Resurrection was celebrated in all the churches. I,
however, witnessed the ceremonial only in the Ludwigs
Kirche. Towards six o'clock the Ludwigsstrasse was black
with swarms of people hastening from the Church of the
Theatines towards the Ludwigskirche. The church was
already so full when I entered it that it was impossible to
approach the altar. All still remained as it was on Good
Friday : the starry crowns of fire suspended over the figure
of Christ reposing amid the flowers and tapers. Priests first
knelt, praying, before the garden. As far as I could judge, at
the distance where I stood, this, for some time, was all the

EASTER EVE. 1 9

ceremony. Then a canopy was seen to approach the altar ;
there was much chanting and gesticulating. The organ and
the choir burst forth into a joyous anthem. Trumpets from
the near altar took up the rejoicing with their wild harmony,
and a voice sang forth, amid a sudden hush, " Christ is
arisen ! "

Above the crowd, you saw a figure of Christ, clothed in
white and purple garments, and bearing in his hand a
small banner. A procession of choristers and priests, with
the Host borne aloft beneath the canopy, with swinging
censers, to the sound of trumpets, kettledrums, and little
bells, which the choristers rung, passed down the centre
of the church, out beneath the beautiful portico, and
through the white arches of the colonnade, into the garden
behind the church.

Although the canopy and the procession passed forth
into this garden, I preferred remaining in the church ;
approaching nearer the altar, I perceived that the figure
among the flowers was now concealed by a cloth, and that
above it rose the other figure with its banner. A troop of
youths and young girls from the Blind Asylum also drew
near, as if to see. They were all connected together, two
and two, by a long cord, which passed between them, so as
to form a sort of human team. You always behold them
walking along in this manner. It was strangely affecting
to observe their sightless eyeballs and their white uncouth
faces turned towards the figure of Christ, their hands
clasped, and their lips moving.

Another thing was noticeable before the procession re-
turned from the garden ; this was the excessive delight of
the children over the figure ; troops and troops of children
were in the church, and now that there was more open
space, you saw them distinctly. Children of ten and twelve,
children even of seven and eight, held up a fat little brother

20 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

or sister to see the gloriously beautiful figure. There were
lots of Strassenbuben (street lads), and little gentlemen in
their smart cloaks with their pretty hoods, and smart little
ladies, also all eagerness, brought by their attendants.
Several little girls, who had no attendants, amused me
vastly by making the lowest, lowest of courtesies before the
beautiful figure, so very, very low, and with such an air of
respect, as if they said, " Oh, thou beautiful, glorious figure,
in thy purple robe, how I love thee ! how I will courtesy to
thee ! " and then down they went in the very centre of the
marble pavement, with the air of little princesses. Such
a troop of children rushed in before the procession, as, with
its crimson banners fluttering against the cool grey sky, it
entered the glowing church ! You heard the tramp and rush
of little footsteps up the long church before you heard the
music and the bells.

Then the people bowed reverently as the Host was
borne aloft, with music and chanting. Mass was per-
formed, and Easter had arrived !

I passed Easter Sunday in the country.

How tender and beautiful was the whole scene ! Yet the
very intensity of the fresh beauty called forth a mournful-
ness in the soul ! Who does not know this strange mourn-
fulness ! when the luxuriance of the grass and flowers, the
soft air, the perfume of unfolding buds and blossoms, the
gentle hum of insects, the unearthly loveliness of awakening
life, seem to swell the soul with unutterable longings — long-
ing after what ? Perhaps God's voice alone could give the
answer. It is this longing which is so wonderfully embodied
in a cast, after the antique, which stands in Kaulbach's
studio — the head of Castor, the brother who was mortal.
Never have I seen this spiritual yearning and this mourn-
fulness so fully expressed as in that beautiful countenance.

I had walked towards my favourite old church with the

A LOVELY IDYL. 21

pea-green tower. All was silent as a dream. I sat for a
long time amidst the fresh grass. Now the clock tolled the
four quarters, and then the hour — two. Through the
silence the sound vibrated again and again — ever gentler
and gentler — with a strange low music. The air was filled
with the warm perfume of incense lingering around the little
old church, and with the delicious breath of spring, which
told of near beds of violets and primroses. The trees were
flushed with life ; some ruddy, others amber, others already
faintly green. I saw them rise in thick distant masses above
the low, crumbling, whitewashed wall of the churchyard. As
I looked upon the fresh, burnished arum, hemlock, ficary,
daisy-leaves and grass springing up around me, I felt the
peculiar beauty and aptness of Keats's expression when he
speaks of the year " growing lush in juicy stalks."

Now a meek child wandered alone into the church-
yard, with large, pale oxlips wreathed into the plaits
of her hair. Soon people streamed into the church for
vespers. Whilst the bell tolled from the tower a group
of young peasant-girls came with their bright, old-fashioned
costumes, beautifully modelled arms, rosy faces, and clear
eyes. They wandered arm-in-arm around the church,
sprinkling certain graves with holy water from the vessels
hung to the crosses.

The young girls entered the church. Sitting where I
did, the voice of the priest praying came to me, sweetly
and distinctly. It was much more beautiful listening to
the service thus, than being pent within the church among
the people ! I heard the little organ peal forth, and the
singing of the choir. There was one fresh young voice that
sang like a very angel. This voice celebrated the Resurrec-
tion. My eyes overflowed with warm tears, and my soul
responded, though I sat, a heretic and an alien, outside the
walls of the little church.

2 2 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

The peasants streamed again forth ; holy, solemn silence
once more over the scene.

The whole was a lovely idyl, more holy and pure than any
ever written, than any picture ever painted, of peasant-life.
There was such a tenderness and simplicity, mingled with a
certain sadness, that one could only imagine its spirit to be
conveyed from the spot by a peasant musician, who should
suddenly improvise a melody which should become a Volks-
lied.

I shall long remember that Easter Sunday as one of the
loveliest bits of poetry that I have enjoyed in Munich.

Returning towards the city, I heard music in all the
public gardens ; all the world was out among the green,
budding trees. Spring is indeed, come ; the trees are
almost in full leaf; you seem almost to see the grass and
the flowers springing ; birds carol from every bough.
Nature proclaims — Christ, the New Life, is risen! Music
swells in loud strains through the fresh leaves of the
English-Garden, the Spring-Garden, the Garden of Para-
dise. The Prater, and twenty or thirty other gardens,
are crowded with happy, merry people sitting beneath the
trees, drinking coffee and beer, and listening to music.

It is quite extraordinary how much time Munich people
spend in gardens, and quite as extraordinary what quantities
of beer are drunk. Alas, that beer! — it is one of the un-
poetical features of Munich life ; it gives that heavy, sleepy,
stupid look to the lower classes, I fear, also, to the citizen
class, all which is so at variance with the spirituality and
the intellectuality of this Munich art!

TALK BY THE WAY. 23

CHAPTER III.

SCHWANTHALER'S CASTLE OF SCHWANECK.

BEFORE me lie a quantity of wild flowers drooping their
poor weary heads over a quaint terra-cotta vase. Both
the flowers and myself are come from a long delicious
ramble. An hour ago I was nearly as drooping and
weary as the flowers, but a cup of tea has refreshed me
as much as I hope the water in the vase will refresh the
flowers — even now I seem to see their heads visibly prick-
ing themselves up.

I have been to Schwaneck, the Castle of Schwanthaler.

At nine o'clock on the other side of the Sendlinger

Gate, I met, by appointment, Baron von H , merry little

Marie, and Signore L . Having passed the old Munich

Cemetery, with its rows and rows of crosses rising above
the low walls, the new Cemetery enclosed by its imposing
walls of dark red brick, built in a singularly beautiful
manner, and its solemn round arched gateway surmounted
by two simple, earnest statues, we were out upon the plain
within sight of the Alps. It was a lovely morning. The
larks were carolling over our heads ; we all felt gay at
heart, yet still our conversation turned upon horrors,

perhaps from the charm of contrast. Baron von H

told of an " interesting murder ; " how the daughter of a

24 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

French gentleman living in Munich, who was very hand-
some and just married, had been murdered by the soldier-
servant of her husband, because she would not give the
wretch money to redeem his master's uniform, which he had
pawned : how he cut off her head, then quietly took the
money, went and paid various debts which he had con-
tracted in the city, and decamped! The poor old father
and her husband were nearly broken-hearted when they
discovered the horrible deed. Other equally lively his-
tories did we relate, till our conversation resembled a
series of short chapters out of the "Neue Pitaval;" I
narrating, as my share, the history of Kaspar Hauser,
which Signore L and Marie had never heard, em-
bellishing it also with explanations out of a certain
prohibited book which I had read on the subject. In the
midst of a horrible history we found ourselves upon one of
the steep banks of the Isar; below us rose a picturesque,
large whitewashed house, its walls stained with innu-
merable fading frescos.

It was a public-house, and its garden, filled with benches
and tables, was already sprinkled over with groups of
townspeople come forth this lovely summer morning.
Peasants streamed below us along the road which skirted
the river and wound round the inn-garden, bearing in their
hands little brooms of willow catkins, and mistletoe, and
holly. They were bringing them from some church, where
they had been blessed, as it was Palm Sunday, and these
catkins were, as by the children in England, called palms;
but why holly and mistletoe should be bound up with the
palms I cannot tell : at Christmas here these plants have no
significance.

Having sat down on the warm dry grass of the very steep
bank, admired the distant view of Munich, and listened
to the rush of the river and the singing of the larks, we

TALK BY THE WAY. 25

pursued our way. Now we were in a birch-wood ; heath
was in crimson bloom in the open parts of the wood ; soft
elastic moss beneath the trees ; here and there a group of
birches gleaming out like trees of silver. Sprinkled over
a steep, mossy bank shining out among those red fallen
birch-leaves, what can be those myriads of azure stars ! blue
hepaticas ! our dear old English garden hepaticas ! In
myriads they rose from the mossy ground, staring up
through the grey, leafless branches of the birch-trees, with
wide open blue eyes, into a heaven as deeply blue. How
lovely they are, and the whole woods are now brilliant with
them ! I shall love my blue hepaticas as Wordsworth loved
his host of " Golden Daffodils."

The Baron and Signore L were deep in a discussion

about "high pressure," and about "what the Englishman
had said on the subject;" when I held up in triumph my
handful of flowers, I fancy they thought me gone rather out
of my mind.

Though we were in the midst of the wood, and close
upon the steep bank of the river, we came upon a large
house, or rather a group of buildings; one resembled a
quaint chapel. This was another Wirthshaus, with scores
of benches and tables placed beneath the trees, with a
pavilion for dancing, with rows of old-fashioned summer-
houses, or rather booths, along the edge of the river-bank
for the distance of some hundred yards. The ground was

undulating and very sylvan. Baron H said that last

May he witnessed a village fete here, which produced a
capital effect among the trees ; all was dancing, music, beer-
drinking, shooting, that day ; now all was silent as death, or
rather sleep, — a most peaceful sleep. The sun showered down
beams as warm as in an English June. We were soon seated
at a little table placed on the very edge of the steep Isar-
bank, the river murmuring as it rolled lazily over its sandy

VOL. II. D

26 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

bottom, amidst long, gravelly shoals. In front of us was the
Alpine chain rising as though abruptly from the wild pre-
cipitous river-bank opposite, and mingling its jagged peaks
with the silvery mountain-like clouds which crowded the
heavens.

We hungiy pedestrians saw a vision remarkably attractive
upon the table before the bench on which we sat. Ham,
bread, butter, delicious butter, and wine, capital Rhine wine,
for my companions; and for me, of course, eternal coffee!
Thus, most pleasantly refreshing ourselves in sight of the
Alps, the conversation naturally turned upon Italy, seeing
that one of the gentlemen was an Italian, and Baron von

H had spent many years in that land. First Mariotti's

new book was discussed ; Signore L defending Silvio

Pellico warmly for the sake of all he had suffered in his
youth. He spoke altogether earnestly and eloquently
about his unhappy, beautiful land, with a cloud of grief
ever and anon passing across his face.

Pleasant and interesting as it was, sitting on this river's
bank, listening to descriptions of laurel and orange groves,
and of noble suffering patriots, still it was necessaiy to
proceed to Schwaneck. We bade adieu, therefore, to this
hamlet or inn, whichever it be, of Heselohe, and once more
lost ourselves in the birch-wood. But first I might mention,
that being decidedly of an exploring turn, I had dived into
those booth-like summer-houses, and found to my astonish-
ment a number of old English caricatures of the time of
George IV., pasted upon the walls ; several of the summer-
houses were papered with prints, mostly from illustrated
papers. There was also a number of most absurd French
caricatures of the English, as intolerant in their spirit
against us as the English were against the French and the
Italians!

Now to return to the pleasant green wood, I was going

SCHWANTHALER S CASTLE OF SCHWANECK. 27

to say ; but green, except under foot, it certainly was not,
seeing the month was only April. My fancy clothed the
woods with leaves and transformed the month into May or
June. I was recalling the painter's description of the
Artists' festival ; I heard with my mind's ear the music
sounding through the wood, and saw with my mind's eye
the procession with gay banners winding along through
mossy, odorous paths ; when we came suddenly upon
the little castle I was prepared to see the knight on
its walls as on that memorable occasion referred to the
painter.

The castle, to my surprise, is a modern castle. It is a
tiny castle built by the sculptor himself; but he was not
destined to rejoice long in the fulfilment of one of his
youthful dreams. His illness of many years dated almost
from its completion. It is a rude, simple little castle,
consisting of scarcely more than one lofty tower ; the
situation, however, is capitally chosen. It stands upon
a sort of small headland where the Isar winds in a
bold sweep between its precipitous banks ; and hence
its name Schwaneck, or Swan -point, as it may be
translated.

On one side the birch-wood extends as far as the little
moat ; on the other side is the plain, and in front the river,
sunk between its wild, picturesque banks.

Having presented our card of admission, and waited until
a barking, deep-mouthed hound was secured, we found our-
selves within the small court-yard. The first thing that
struck us, let into the castle wall, was the effigy of a knight ;
it looked as if brought from some quaint village church ;
it was rudely painted, or rather stained, with red and blue :
upon his shield and helm he bore a swan ; it is the monu-
ment of the knight Schwanthaler, erected by his cousin and
fellow-sculptor, Xavier Schwanthaler. In another part of

D 2

28 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

the castle wall is inserted a tablet bearing in black-letters
the following verse : —

" So stehe denn hier in Gotteshand
Der Thurm am felsigen Uferrand
Gebauet nicht urn eitle Ehr ;
Zu Trutz nicht oder Waffenwehr ;
Nur friiher Jugend shoner Traum,
Soil steigen empor im trauten Raum,
Der Blick in die Berge, die Luft so klar,
Vom Flusse das Rauschen wunderbar.
Der Freunde, Wort, und Sag und Sang
Erfrische das Herz im Lebensdrang."

Upon a door we saw nailed an astonishingly large tawny
and black owl, its extended wings measuring considerably
more than a yard across : its talons, which were full two
inches long, looked as if made of the sharpest and most
highly-tempered steel. This owl, we were informed by the
woman who showed us over the place, had been caught in
a trap on the tower only fifteen days previously. "And most
truly glad am I," said she, "that the wretch is gone, for
every night this winter did the big thing come moaning round
the tower with its doleful cry." For my part a strange pity
filled my heart for the fate of this magnificent creature, the
life and voice of which must have been so much in harmony
with the solitary tower, with the wild winds of winter, and
the moaning of the deep river below.

The interior of the little castle is as rude and unpretending
as its exterior. With the exception of the figures of two
grim, armoured knights, placed one on either side, above a
little balcony which overhangs the river, there are no traces
here of Schwanthaler as the sculptor ; but every stone speaks
of Schwanthaler as the lover of the quaint and the mediaeval.

schwanthaler's castle of schwaneck. 29

Schwaneck is a development of the sanctum sanctorum
in Schwanthaler's house in Munich, with its grotesque drink-
ing cups and armour. There are only four rooms in this little
castle, and they are small in size, and furnished in the most
primitive manner ; there are no carpets, no easy-chairs, and
but one sofa, which looks as if it were covered with tapestry,
though it is not ; it is in style coarse, heavy, and archaic. A
few rudely-carved chairs, a few massive and rough tables, tall
porcelain stoves of olive-green — bearing upon them the
heraldic swan — armour, and chivalric trophies, and strange-
looking sacred pictures of the very early German school, and
with the rafters of the ceilings painted in vivid contrast of
the brightest colours ;— such are the furniture and adornments
of Schwaneck.

The sleeping-room, or rather cell, of the great sculptor
contains a simple, oaken bedstead, covered with a red and
black quilt. Above the bed a large and perfectly plain gilt
cross is let into the wall ; a couple of rude, wooden chairs,
and a curious looking-glass, suspended over a much odder
table. This table is supported by a pedestal formed of the
crooked stem of some tree, that once probably grew in the
neighbouring wood, its rough bark and moss still remaining
upon it.

The banqueting-hall is at the top of the castle, in order to
command the view. It is the largest, and, by far, the most
important room in the castle. A long, heavy oaken table,
running across the hall, supports a row of goblets, fantastic
enough for an enchanted palace ; the walls of the room are
papered, up to a certain height, with a dull crimson paper
stamped with the same heraldic swan. This paper suggests
the idea of tapestry hangings ; above the paper, and upon
the whitewashed walls are arranged coats of mail, shields,
swords, and escutcheons ; the rafters of the roof are gay
with heraldic colours and shields, producing a fine barbaric

30 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

effect. On one side of the hall — revealed by half-drawn
curtains of crimson and gold-coloured stuffs — there stands
in a recess, a large, old, gilded shrine. The other sides
of the room are rich in windows commanding a variety of
views.

" How beautiful ! " we all exclaimed, on stepping towards
one particular window. Far below us rolled the river, its
murmur pleasantly ascending to us ; right opposite gleamed
forth the snowy Alps, a vast plain, extending from the pre-
cipitous Isar bank to their very feet ; a plain, as I have so
often said, of some fifty or sixty miles. And, far as the eye
could reach towards the right, wound, in bold curves, the
wild banks of the river, rocky and woody ; here crowned
with a castle ; there, in the far distance, a patch of pine-
forest. The effect of the whole scene was heightened for us
by an approaching thunder-storm, which cast dark shadows
over the horizon.

Of course we ascended to the top of the little watch-
tower, which runs up one side of the castle ; but, though
more extensive, I question whether the view, on the whole,
is so striking and effective as seen through the windows of
the banqueting-room, or from the balcony overlooking the
ruins.

Our survey of Schwaneck was soon at an end, but not so
soon our delight. I cannot describe, in words, the peculiar
charm of the place, which consists in its perfect unpretend-
ingness, and rude, savage completeness. You forget that it
is not a genuine bit of the middle ages, in your satisfaction
in it as the tower of the Knight Schwanthaler.

We somewhat varied our walk home, by returning part
of the way through a wood, which is close upon the
margin of the Isar, below the precipitous bank. At one
spot, the wood widened out considerably, and the trees
of splendid growth reared their tall, smooth, grey boles

SCHWANTHALER S CASTLE OF SCHWANECK. 31

and branches solemnly into the air, measuring their height
with the steep bank behind them. How quiet, dreamlike
it was ! the ground carpeted with fallen leaves, among
which again bloomed the lovely hepaticas, with mezereon
in great luxuriance, a kind of fumitory, both snow-white
and dull crimson, a small yellow aconite, and a tiny, lovely
yellow squill. Imagine my joy in finding these flowers !
In such abundance too. I gathered a bouquet worthy of
an English garden. In a little brooklet running through
the wood gleamed out, like sunshine, large, golden king-
cups, amid their rich green leaves. They seemed a vision
from English meadows.

Coming forth upon the uninteresting road, Signore L

chanced to say something regarding a pedestrian tour which
he had once made in Elba, whereupon I said, " Tell us all
you can about Elba, — what you saw, and what you did ;
describe all. There is a great charm in verbal description
of strange lands and new scenes ; people thus describ-
ing often give vivid and graphic touches which books
never give." He described, graphically, his visit to
Napoleon's country-house, with its lovely gardens, with its
saloon adorned with Egyptian views, painted in fresco upon
the walls, and with a refreshing fountain playing in the
centre of the black-and-white marble floor. He described
such old, old fig-trees and vines, such orange groves and
hedges of aloes, such solitary convents, such a primitive
peasantry, such hot noontides, such views of Corsica, such
stretches of sea and sky ; he called up so vividly before our
imaginations the little island of Monte Christo, and the rock
out in the sea visited by Napoleon daily, and where, standing
solitarily, he gazed towards France, that I felt at once trans-
ported into Elba, and forgot we were wending our way to-
wards Munich ! Suddenly, however, Signore L inter-
rupted his narrative by exclaiming, "Ah, no! not even in my

32 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

own beautiful Italian have I ever been able to express what
I feel most strongly — no, I cannot describe this wild, won-
drous sea as it breaks over the rocks ! " And with this
exclamation his beautiful descriptions ceased, for, looking

round us, we perceived that Baron von H had long

before escaped out of Elba, and was posting away far ahead,
and that a black thunder-cloud was rapidly coming up

behind us. Baron von H and Marie had hastened on

to order coffee at a way-side Wirthshaus, which we reached
only just in time to escape the storm.

Whilst the rain descended, we amused ourselves with
watching a group of regular German Handwerksburschen
playing at nine-pins under a shed. Every now and then a
long-haired student, clad in his velvet coat, with a great
length of pipe in his hand, came to the door to inspect the
state of the weather, the game of nine-pins, or the visitors.
I had not beheld such a genuine set of students since we
left Heidelberg. Here in Munich the students seem lost
among the other inhabitants.

Fortunately the storm soon cleared off, and at length I
reached home, but very tired and very muddy from the wet
roads. Before parting, we all agreed, that having enjoyed
our April excursion so much, we would certainly, when May
arrived, celebrate her advent by another excursion, — perhaps
go to Starnberg for a day, and make a trip with the little
steamer upon the lake — the new little steamer which every-
body talked about, and which would be launched in May.

THE MODEL PRISON OF BAVARIA. 33

CHAPTER IV.

THE MODEL PRISON OF BAVARIA, AND THE MODEL WORKS
OF SIGNORE S .

April 28th. — I have just returned from a visit to the
Zuchthaus in the Au, the Model Prison of Bavaria. As
yet I feel my curiosity anything but satisfied. I must obtain
some official Reports regarding this wonderful prison, in
order that I may more fully understand the working of the
system.

The prison is a large building, situated in the Au Suburb,
not far from the lovely Au Church. It has, outwardly, no
appearance of being a prison ; has windows of various
picturesque forms, gazing in great abundance out of its
yellow and whitewashed walls. It is a cheerful-looking
place, in fact, and if it stood among trees would look very
like a chateau. On entering the vaulted and white-
washed hall, with long vistas of whitewashed passages
leading from it, with a soldier standing at the door, and here
and there other soldiers appearing in the distance, some-
thing of a prison-feeling sank upon me.

We were politely received in his little bureau by the
Director of the Prison. He is an extraordinary man, from all
accounts, and famed throughout Europe for his management
of this prison, and for various works which he has written
on prison discipline. We were conducted through the

34 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

establishment by a grave, intelligent man, the Hausmeister.
All the people we met in the passages, whether prisoners or
not, had an intense gravity impressed on their counte-
nances.

The first room we entered was filled with men employed
in spinning. This is the employment given to the prisoners
on their entrance. When their capability for learning has
been ascertained during this spinning-period, it is decided
to what trade they shall be henceforth devoted. A long
row of men of all ages, attired in coarse grey jackets and
trousers, some with chains round their waists, which were
attached to their ankles, were seated in the middle of the
room, busily spinning from tall distaffs. Along the bare
walls were rows of wholesome-looking beds, with coarse
but white sheets neatly turned over their quilts ; rows
of tin cans hung in one corner of the room against
boards nailed to the walls. A large crucifix was placed con-
spicuously upon another wall ; the windows were large and
cheerful ; the room was cheerful. But that row of distorted,
uncouth, malformed, and but partially-developed heads ;
those white, sallow countenances ; those eyes glancing
furtively towards you, or sunk in a stupor upon the unceasing
slender threads drawn from the distaffs by manly fingers ;
those heavy chains, and the perfect silence, save of the
wheel and the little treadle, were not cheerful. It was the
first time I had ever been in a prison, or looked upon any
great criminals ; at least, knowing them to be such. The
first sensation, therefore, was very strange : here were men
guilty of enormous crimes, men who had murdered in
diabolical ways, at liberty as it seemed. There was no un-
locking and locking of doors ; you saw there men moving
about as though they were ordinary workmen. The unusual
occupation of spinning for men did strike you, it is true ; the
ill-formed faces struck you, and the chains, when you caught

THE MODEL PRISON OF BAVARIA. 35

sight of them ; but you had to remind yourself that on each
of these souls lay the weight of some fearful crime.

One man passed out of the room wearing his grey jacket,
and with the chain round his waist. " He," said our con-
ductor, as we walked down the gallery, " is one of the men
who murdered a priest two years ago ; he is confined here
for life."

" But how," asked I, " can you trust that man to go
about unattended ? — how is it that these doors are all un-
locked and unbarred ? — what is to prevent their escaping ?
The walls are not high in the courtyard — all seems open ;
excepting for a few soldiers there appears no obstacle to
their escape. Do none make their escape ? "

" Now and then," replied he, " but very rarely. This is
a prison ; and, of course, where is the man who would not
escape if he could ? But they are always overtaken ; we
have bloodhounds trained for the purpose. Such cases are
very rare."

We saw room after room filled with prisoners : now they
were making shoes ; now they were tailoring ; now weaving
table-linen ; now cloth : — now we went into a dye-house ;
now into a carpenter's shop. All were silently, busily at
work ; all had the same grave look ; all, with but two, or
at the most three exceptions, had countenances of the most
coarse description. There were youths, and old men, and
middle-aged men, all working apparently at perfect free-
dom, often with wide-open doors, often in the open court-
yard.

It was a startling thing to see murderers wielding ham-
mers, and sawing with saws, and cutting with sharp-edged
tools, when you remembered that they were murderers, and
how some tyrant passion had once aroused the fiend within
them, though now again he seemed laid to rest by years of
quiet toil.

36 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

Our guide informed us, that very rarely did any dis-
obedience or burst of passion show itself among the
prisoners after the first few months, or the first year of their
imprisonment. The constant employment from early morn-
ing to evening ; the silence imposed most strictly during
their hours of toil ; the routine, the gradual dying out of all
external interests and anxieties, appeared to sink them into
a passive calm, until industry became their only charac-
teristic. Each prisoner had his daily task of work assigned
him, which must be completed. For extra work he re-
ceives payment, — half of which he may immediately con-
sume, the other half being reserved for him, by govern-
ment, until the expiration of his sentence. This is equally
the case with such as are condemned to life-long imprison-
ment, there being always the possibility of a reprieve
existing for them. On Sundays, they are allowed to read
books out of the prison library, and to play at dominoes, and
enjoy various kinds of simple recreation. There is a school
for the younger criminals, and a hospital for the sick, of
course. The only punishment for disobedience to prison
rules is a longer or shorter period of solitary confinement
in a small room, which was shown to us, containing a hard
wooden bed, very like a low table, on which the prisoner
can both lie and sit, a stove, and a closely-grated window,
which is darkened while the prisoner is in his cell : he has
his allowance of food shortened, and is left there to his own
reflections.

We saw a prisoner in his chains putting the loaves of
prison bread into a large oven to bake ; prisoners in white
caps and aprons were preparing the prison supper in the
large clean kitchen : one group was sitting and silently
picking the leaves of vegetables to flavour the soup, which
was boiling in large caldrons, and was stirred by other
prisoners with huge ladles ; all moved gravely about,

THE MODEL PRISON OF BAVARIA. 37

apparently without being overlooked. In each room, how-
ever, was a kind of prisoner-monitor, whose office was to
report upon the conduct of his companions. This
species of mutual watchfulness, kept up by the prisoners
themselves, seemed, according to the report of our infor-
mant, to answer remarkably well.

In some rooms you beheld prisoners turning huge wheels
which worked the cloth-weaving machines below, whilst
the machines themselves were fed and tended by other
prisoners. The whole place was a great manufactory and
series of workshops, where, from five in the morning in
summer, six in the winter till seven at night, no sound was
heard but that of the machinery ! After work-hours they
were permitted to talk.

I regret not having asked at the time whether there is any
visible sign of moral amendment in these poor unhappy
wretches, — whether friendships spring up among those
condemned to spend their whole lives together in this
prison — whether traits of kindness were shown among
them — what was the average result of this mode of punish-
ment — and various other questions, which now suggest
themselves to me.

I was curious to know whether the prisoners were quick
in acquiring a knowledge of the different trades carried on
in the prison ; as a rule, our guide said, very much so.
There were criminals, it is true, who did not seem to have
the power of learning anything ; but these were the excep-
tions. Generally it was surprising in how short a time
a trade was learned, whilst with an ordinary apprentice
it is a matter of years. Here it was the one object ; it
became the only interest, and was unceasingly worked at
day after day.

The prisoner who has been longest in this prison has
been there thirty years ; many are in for life ; many for

38 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

twenty years. There are between five and six hundred at
present in the prison. The number of female prisoners is
very small in comparison with the men. We found the
women busy washing in their wards, — a long row of very
tidy-looking women, in the whitest of borderless caps, with
white handkerchiefs pinned over their grey dresses. Their
countenances, as a whole, were much more cheerful than
those of the men : we actually saw smiles !

Here and there, however, was a heavy, uncouth coun-
tenance. At one particular washing-tub stood four women.
Our conductor spoke to one of them, this being a sign to us
to notice them. Two looked up, and fairly beamed with
smiles ; one, a tall and very handsome young girl, continued
to wash away with downcast eyes. I felt a sort of delicacy
in gazing at her, she appeared so conscious and modest.
A fourth, a fat ill-looking old woman, also never looked at
the visitors. The two who smiled had remarkably agreeable
faces ; one, with good features, and a very mild expression ;
the other, a small woman, and though with bloom on her
cheeks, a certain sad anxiety about her eyes and mouth.
Of which of these four women were we to hear a fearful
history related ? The only one who looked evil was
the fat old woman.

As soon as we were in the court, our conductor said,
" Now, what do you say about those women ? "

"Three out of the four," we remarked, "are the only
agreeable faces we have seen in the prison ; and, judging
from this momentary glance at their countenances, we
should say could not be guilty of much crime ; perhaps the
fat old woman may be so ; that tall young girl, however, is
not only handsome, but gentle-looking."

" That tall young girl," replied our guide, " was the one
who, a year or two ago, murdered her fellow-servant, and
cutting up the body, buried it in the garden ; the little

MODEL WORKS OF SIGNORE S . 39

woman next to her, some two years since, murdered her
husband ; and the handsome, kind, motherly-looking woman
who stood next, destroyed her child of seven years old-
The fat old woman is in only for a slight offence. So much
for judgment by physiognomy ! "

I cannot express the painful impression produced on me
by the remembrance of this group. As I returned home,
all the faces I met in the streets seemed to me, as it were,
masks. I saw faces in expression a thousand times more
evil than the countenances of those three unhappy women.
How was it ? Was it alone that some unusually painful
and frightful circumstances had aroused passions in them
which only slept in the breasts of hundreds of other human
beings who wander about free and honourably in the
world ; 'or was expression, after all, a deception ? In these
three women, at the moment we saw them, at all events, the
expression was really good and amiable. I cannot give an
idea of the strange sort of distrust which seized me. I
looked at the ladies who accompanied me, and said to
myself — your countenances are not nearly so good in
expression and feature as theirs. I have been looking at my
own face, and it seems to me that it, too, might just as well
conceal some frightful remembrance of crime.

I was glad when a friend proposed that we should go
and see a model of Milan Cathedral, made by an old
Italian here. I was thankful for anything to banish the
remembrance of the three women, and of those round,
beautiful hands and arms of the young girl, which had once
been stained with blood.

We entered a very handsome house, and soon were in

the room of Signore S . The room was small, but

bright and cheerful ! Flowers were in the bright
window, the glass cabinets were filled with all imaginable
nick-nacks of glass, china, and various small models ;

40 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

bronze and gilded candelabra filled with tapers stood about
upon consoles ; pictures hung on the cheerful self-coloured
green walls. In one corner stood a pretty bed, covered
with a pea-green silk quilt, and with a snowy pillow trimmed
with lace. The room was, if not " parlour, and kitchen,
and all," parlour and bed-room : but one gets quite used to
such arrangements abroad.

There was the Signore himself, all smiles, and speaking
in his beautiful Italian, and so honoured by the ladies'
visit. There was the most ingenious model of the far-
famed Milan Cathedral, standing on its raised stand
of satin-wood on a table in the centre of the room. It
was a beautiful model, of cream-coloured card-board, and
with the tracery of the windows, the bas-relievos, the
capitals of the columns, the Gothic work of the pinnacles,
the many thousand statues, all moulded in bread ! You saw
the painted glass in the windows, and as the trembling
hand of the clever old Signore removed various portions of
the model, you looked into the interior, and beheld
altars, pictures, gilding, tesselated pavements. Tiny people
were walking about in the church ; everything was there,
even to a statue of San Carlo Borromeo himself, concealed
behind the high altar. And see ! the delighted Signor
pulls out a drawer in the satin-wood base ; and there is
the crypt, the Chapel of San Carlo, the tesselated pavement,
the winding staircases descending into the chapels, the
altars — everything.

Well, it was wonderful ! " Yes, it was vastly admired,"
said the little Signore ; architects had come to see it from far
and wide ; and all pronounced it admirable ! "

And now we began to look at other models which stood
in the glass cases ; many were wondrous buildings of his
own creation, and if they proved that he had no accurate
architectural knowledge, as he himself declared, they

MODEL WORKS OF SIGNORE S . 41

proved, at all events, that he had a great deal of fancy,
and was decidedly an undeveloped architect.

" Now you must admire my china and curiosities," he
said : " they are all my own making — all of paper ! "

And so they were. The gold tea-spoons, the blue and
gold cream jug, full of cream, the plate covered with the
heap of biscuits, the dish of oranges ; those elegant vases,
that pipe and hammer, lying in singular juxtaposition with
those elegancies and dainties, all were of paper ; but so
capitally made, that you felt deceived even after you
had taken them into your hand and felt how light they
were. " And I hope you admire my pair of new boots ! "
said he, laughing : " they are of paper ; and my blue and
white vases up there, they are of paper also ! and my can-
delabra, they are of paper ! "

Yes ; those massive bronze, and black, and gold can-
delabra were of paper, and the tapers also of paper — even
those that were half-burnt ! I began to have suspicions
about everything ; I expected the little Signore to say next,
" Well, I hope you admire me, for I am of paper ! "

Among the various models was a small one of a grave, with
its garlanded cross. " That," said the old gentleman, " is the
model of my wife's grave : she died two years ago ; she was a
Milanese ; she died in that very corner where the bed stands.
I've had my bed placed on the spot where she died ; that is
her miniature hanging above the bed beside the crucifix."

I observed that above the bed also hung a print of Paul
finding the corpse of Virginia upon the sea-shore. No
doubt there was a sentiment of true poetry in the old man's
heart when he hung up that picture. I was glad to recall
his hearty laughter but a few minutes before, and to think
how sometimes, by his ingenious amusement, his beloved
hobby, he could banish the sad and tender regrets which,
no doubt, haunted his little room.

VOL. II. E

42 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

I have heard, since our visit, that the old Signore is an
entirely self-educated man ; that he realized a comfortable
little competence before he reached the age of thirty, and
that later in life, finding the time hang heavily on his hands,
he began to make these paper models, which, in their way,
are works of genius as well as ingenuity.

THE MAY FESTIVAL AT STARNBERG. 43

CHAPTER V.

THE MAY FESTIVAL AT STARNBERG.

May 12th. — The May Festival at Starnberg has been this
year especially attractive to the inhabitants of Munich, from
the circumstance of a small steamer having been launched
upon the Starnberg Lake the day of the Festival, and
making then its first trip. Fully to appreciate the excite-
ment of this event, you must bear in mind that steamboats,
in Bavaria proper, are by no means as common as upon the
Rhine, the Danube, and the Elbe.

Instead of the Festival being held upon May-day, as was
originally intended, it was deferred until Sunday the nth,
people fervently hoping that the day would be fine. A
gloriously beautiful day it proved, — a day of golden sun-
shine, from early dawn till the soft evening, when the waxing
moon rose into the clear warm sky, and the night seemed
even more lovely than the day.

I had heard astounding accounts of the crowds who
would throng to Starnberg, rendering it next to impossible
to find a conveyance either thither or back again, and next to
impossible, if ever you did arrive at Starnberg, to procure
food. For were not King Max and the young Queen, and
their court, to be there to sail in the steamer; to witness
illuminations and then hold a court ball ; and were not the
artists going to hold their annual festival? and were not all
the gentle-folks, and all the common-folks, of Munich to be
at Starnberg upon this eventful day ? And were not all the

E 2

44 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

peasants in the neighbourhood sure to be there, to wonder
at the steamboat, — and would not there be music on all
hands, and a regatta, and a citizens' ball as well as a court-
ball ? And had not people, for weeks before, hired all the
fiacres and carriages that were to be hired in Munich, —
and had not all the places in omnibuses been taken days
beforehand ? Such, at least, were the tidings I heard as
soon as I began thinking seriously myself of going to the
Festival.

I applied, therefore, to my indefatigable friend, Baron
H , claiming his promise, given in April, of accompany-
ing Marie and myself to Starnberg.

The morning of the Fete saw us departing in a stell-
wagen from a certain little inn called the Stackhusgarten.

Pleasant was the morning, pleasant the road, through its
poplar avenues and across the plain, and through the long,
monotonous, dreamy pine-woods, which, in fact, are the

Royal Park, — and where, said Baron H , you may come

upon a herd of fierce wild boars ; and pleasant was the
view of the Alpine chain, which appeared ever slowly to
approach us, though of course it was we who slowly ap-
proached it : and pleasant were my reminiscences of Clare's
and my expedition to Ober-Ammergau, of which Starnberg
had been the first stage : and pleasant was the lively dis-
course of Baron H — — , and the smiling rejoinders of the
pretty Marie. But pleasantest of all was our glimpse of the
Starnberg Lake, gleaming out in the morning sunshine as
we descended a gentle hill towards it !

There below us lay the lake, encircled with softly sloping
banks, clothed in the tender May verdure of young beech-
woods and of luxuriant grass. The white buildings of little
Starnberg, its church, its handsome hotel of semi-Tyrolean
architecture, its town-hall, greatly resembling a convent, and
commandingly-situated upon a low hill, its pleasant villas

THE MAY FESTIVAL AT STARNBERG. 45

embosomed in woods and gardens, and its sprinkling of
grey Tyrolese cottages, shone out invitingly, illumined by
the clear beams of the brilliant morning. Round the
verdant shores of the lake, at remote distances, gleamed
forth other villas and hamlets and church towers. The
background of our picture was the Alpine chain, its snowy
peaks piercing the clouds, and its feet, apparently bathed
by the waters of the lake, which stretched away as far as
the eye could reach in one direction, a broad, calm, gleaming
mirror. The illusion is perfect, although many miles lie
between Starnberg Lake and the first range of the moun-
tains, — there is the shadowy line of distant shore, and then
abruptly rises the mountain chain.

All houses in Starnberg were decorated with flags, and
wreaths, and draperies. Close by the shore of the lake lay
the little steamer, which had been launched already, and a
crowd of wondering people swarmed around it, some in
boats, others on the new pier, others on the shore. Stell-
wagen, private carriages and vehicles, many of a singular
description, had we seen upon the road, and numbers we
now noticed arriving in the small town, or drawn up before
the hotel : however, they were not in the swarms which I
had been led to expect. But then it was quite early, — not
yet half-past nine.

We walked down to the lake to inspect the new
steamer. Men were busily decorating it with garlands —
some of the garlands lay upon the shore, half-hidden
in the deep rich grass and flowers. We had looked
at the steamer — at the crowd, which was composed
entirely of peasants, gay in their holiday best — at the new
pier, and at the spruce little steam-packet office just erected

upon the shore — and then perceived Signore L pacing

up and down the meadow. He looked very handsome and
summer-like in his broad-brimmed, low-crowned, straw hat

46 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

and grey linen coat. I rather surmise that Marie expected
this vision at Starnberg of our old acquaintance, although
she expressed such pretty surprise.

Soon we were all four being rowed in a boat across
the lake to the hamlet of Lione. We considered that our
best plan was to enjoy the lake until we could ascertain
precisely what the programme of the festival would present
us with. There was the spectacle of the embarkation of
royalty, we knew, promised as one enjoyment, but we did not
feel inclined to await this pleasure a couple of hours. Be-
fore reaching Lione we began most seriously to anticipate
breakfast, luncheon, dinner, or whatever you may choose to
designate a meal at such an hour and under such circum-
stances. By eleven o'clock we had grown so unromantically
hungry that, without waiting to breakfast at Lione, as had
been our intention, we besought our boatman to put us on
shore at the very first place where food might be procured.
We disembarked at a hamlet bearing a less romantic
name than Lione, but where our boatman assured us an
equally good meal might be made.

The gentlemen went into the kitchen to investigate the
state of the larder, and Marie and I strolled up into the
pleasant garden, or rather wilderness, which surrounds the
little inn. Steep, gravelly, winding paths, led among deep
grass and flowers up the hill-side, and were shaded by beech-
trees just clothed in the exquisite tender verdure of their
young leaves. At every lovely spot commanding a view
of the sunny lake, a bench had been placed. A table
generally stood before the bench.

Marie and I determined to select the most beautiful view
and the shadiest and pleasantest spot in the whole garden
as our breakfast-parlour. Behold the most beautiful and
convenient had already been selected by a group of students,
who were drinking beer and smoking in the loveliest of

A HANDFUL OF FLOWERS. 47

lovely rustic arbours, with a glorious view of the lake and
mountains lying below them! It really was too bad being
defrauded of the most beautiful spot in the garden by
young fellows who were smoking and beer-drinking ; but as
they formed a picturesque group with their scarlet caps and
white shirt-sleeves, for they had flung off their coats the day
being hot, I gradually forgave them. The second best seat in
the garden we discovered was as much infested with ants as
the other had been " infested with youth " — to use the expres-
sion of an Englishman of our acquaintance ; therefore we
were forced to content ourselves with the third best breakfast-
parlour. Marie seated herself under the shadowy beech-
trees, whilst I, to beguile my impatience for breakfast, began
gathering a nosegay. First I plucked cowslips and grasses ;
but, behold ! there were flowers here to be gathered, to my
English eyes, far more precious than cowslips ; there were
tufts of the small Alpine gentian, with its peacock blue so
gorgeous in the sunlight ; there was the trolius with its ball
of gold ; there were oxlips and a little plant creeping over
the dry turf with a cistus leaf and pea-shaped orange and
cream-coloured blossom—an entirely new flower to me — and
another plant yet more beautiful, and equally un-English,
its blossom resembling a blue verbenum, but its leaves soft
and of tender green and oval-shaped, growing close to the
earth. It had a faint, delicate perfume, like that of our
green-house primula. I noticed during the course of the day
this lovely lilac flower growing in the greatest profusion in
the rich grass around the lake. Marie, I fancy, thought me
scarcely less childish in my joy over my odorous bouquet

of wild flowers than her good old uncle and Signor L had

done when I discovered the host of blue hepaticas in the
beech-woods near Schwanthaler's castle. Marie, it seemed,
did not trouble her memory with the names of flowers, which
was an unlucky thing for me.

48 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

It was well for us all that our spirits were unusually gay
this morning, else they might have been somewhat depressed
by the uncomfortable dejeuner d la fourchette which was in
due course spread for us beneath the tender beech-leaves.
It consisted of indifferent coffee, sour wine, boiled beef
like India-rubber, flabby veal, and miserable potato-salad.
Nobody, however, was put at all out of humour by the
unsatisfactory viands, and the little inn appeared to be par-
ticularly attractive to hungry souls — or rather bodies. The
garden became quite animated ; first one group after another
arrived and dispersed themselves about, and waiters and
waitresses ran madly hither and thither.

A much pleasanter object than the breakfast was the ex-
panse of water which lay beneath and before us ; boats
with their blue and white pennons were seen traversing it in
every direction, and the white sails of a small yacht belong-
ing to an Englishman resident at Munich were discerned
across the lake like the wings of some large bird. Real
white wings of birds, the wings of gulls, dipped ever and
anon into the sunny waters, and then soared joyously into
the sunny sky. But, cannon booming across the lake, we
hastened down to the shore, intending to await the approach
of the little steamer. Upon nearer inspection we found
that she still lay a moveless black mass in the distance ; and
King Max not bearing as punctual a character as our Queen
Victoria, we pursued our little voyage.

The programme of the Fete, which we had procured at
the inn, informed us that there would be " Music at
Possenhofen ; " to Possenhofen consequently we would go,
calling at Lione by the way. Possenhofen is on the oppo-
site side of the lake to Lione.

But our boatman had disappeared ! No great loss,
however, for he was a surly fellow. Whilst the gentlemen
were hunting about for another boat, one came towards the

A BOAT-WOMAN. 49

landing-place filled with students and rowed by a woman !
" That's a curious sight to English eyes ! " thought I to
myself. As the boat put to shore for the students to land we
perceived that this boat-woman was very handsome. " Let
us sail with her!" we all exclaimed: and soon we were
seated in her little boat on our way towards Lione.

Signore L wanted to row ; but the girl laughed saucily

at him, and seizing the heavy oars with stalwart arms and
vigorous strokes, she pulled away.

" You know how to row ! " she exclaimed, in her broad
dialect : and her lovely grey eyes laughed merrily beneath
her black headgear, and her rosy lips showed the whitest
set of teeth. How handsome she was! Large of frame,
with round, well-developed arms and hands, which were
seen to advantage as she plied the oars ; the arms and
hands were burnt a ruddy brown by the sun, but in form
they were perfect. Beneath the black handkerchief which
she had arranged hood-wise over her head, and which threw
her face half into shadow, and the orange and crimson-
striped handkerchief which was crossed over her bosom and
tucked into her black bodice, you saw a round snowy throat.
Her countenance was of a graceful oval contour, the features
delicately chiselled and full of strength, animation, and
character, peculiarly charming. How pleasantly she laughed
and nodded to her old father when he passed us rowing
another boat! he wore a brilliant scarlet waistcoat, which
contrasted vividly against his white shirt-sleeves and the
blue sky beyond him. She formed a very beautiful picture,
our boat-woman, seated there towards the prow of the boat,
with the sunshine showering down upon her, and bringing
out in marvellous brilliancy her figure picturesquely attired
in its peasant costume of blue woollen petticoat, bright blue
stockings, and heavy shoes, black bodice, pink sleeves
tucked up above the elbow, and showing a piece of scarlet

50 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

lining, orange handkerchief and black head-dress. Be-
hind her the azure and silver Alps rose into an azure and
silver heaven, her vigorously-plied oars dipping meanwhile
with a pleasant monotony into the clear sunny green waters.
Thus our little bark, propelled by our beautiful boat-woman,
glided past the greenest of beech-woods and the grassiest of
meadows starred with myriads of delicate, brilliant flowers :
sounds of distant music floated sweetly to us upon the gentle
breeze, whilst ever and anon some gay festal party, with a
white and blue pennon at the little boat's prow, and a
wreath of flowers drooping gracefully from it into the water,
would pass us, or was seen in the distance slowly progressing
along the lake like some large water-beetle.

We paused at Lione only long enough to imagine how
pleasantly a whole summer's day might be spent among its
woods and meadows, or even a whole summer, your abode
being in a quaint little Tyrolese cottage. At Possenhofen, —
where is a small chateau belonging to some Duchess, with
pleasant gardens coming down to the water's edge, — we
found a group of peasants crowding the pier, of course on
the look-out for the steamer. Stepping on shore I beheld a
lovely bit of Munich-artist life. Upon a tiny promontory
which jutted into the lake, amid deep lush grass and
lovely flowers, reclined two young painters. Painters at
the first glance I knew them to be, from an unmistakable air
about them. One wore a blouse of dark green, the other a
blouse of dark brown. They leaned upon their elbows in
the cool herbage, the warm sunshine falling upon them, and
the soft breeze blowing through their long hair; their felt
hats and a large botanical case lay beside them on the
ground. Behind them were the twisted and gnarled trees
of an old orchard bursting into the tender beauty of pear
' and apple-blossom, and through the checkered shadows of
the orchard wandered a gaily-attired old peasant woman in

MAY AND NATURE. 5 1

her fur cap, leading by the hand a child dressed as
gaily as the old dame herself, only that instead of a fur
cap the child wore a little kerchief tied over her round head.
On one side of the young painters rose a screen of tall dry
reeds, through the grey stems of which gleamed the spark-
ling lake, a lovely mirror reflecting the blue of heaven ; and
above the reeds towered the distant mountains, of a fainter
and more ethereal azure, with snowy peaks scarcely to be
distinguished in the glare of noontide from the silver of
floating clouds.

On we rambled, past old orchards, and through grassy
meadows as brimful of flowers as the meadows through
which Angelico da Fiesole's rejoicing angels lead the blessed
spirits of redeemed mortals. People were seen eveiywhere,
streaming along in happy groups, looking almost as full of
joy as though indeed these were the fields of heaven, in-
stead of earth, along which they passed. Truly, this day at
least we were all redeemed from earth's cares and sadness,
and were led along by God's angels — Spring, and Beauty,
and Peace — through the fields of Paradise. Would to
Heaven that we English as a nation yielded ourselves up
more universally with simple worshipping hearts to the
guidance of these angels !

All ranks, all ages — old and young, rich and poor, parents,
children, friends, acquaintance, lovers, citizens, painters,
poets, philosophers — all streamed along, celebrating by their
rejoicing hearts God's glorious gifts of May and Nature.

On our way up into the woods we passed a chapel,
standing close to the road. It was so small a chapel that it
appeared scarcely more than a wayside shrine. It had a
tiny belfry, was whitewashed, and there was painting of pale
sea-green about the belfry's lattice-work windows. A large
pear-tree grew close to the chapel, and this pleasant May
Sunday the pear-tree was like a tree of odorous snow,

52 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

so covered was it with blossom. Bees hummed about the
pear-tree, the sun showered down its warm beams upon tree,
chapel, and murmuring bees, and from the open door came a
low monotonous chant. I looked in through the open door ;
the chapel was full of peasants, about twelve women on
one side kneeling, about twelve men kneeling on the other
side : the men chanted in their deep bass, the women took
up the chant with their shriller voices ; and when they
paused you heard the bees hum, and over all, within and
without, was the breath of May and the blessing of God.

Higher up in the woods, too, how pleasant it was !
People arrived ever faster and faster. There were parties
in carriages, with servants and grandeur ; there were parties
on foot — the gentlemen with wreaths of ivy or stag's-horn
moss twisted round their straw or felt hats, with gentians,
cowslips, and those lovely primula flowers stuck into their
button-holes — the ladies and children grasping great bouquets
in their hands. Here were whole families, and little knots of
friends ; there were parties of University students, of Academy
students, of lads from the Gymnasium. Now I recognized
one well-known Munich painter and his family, now another ;
and friends greeted friends, and fresh tables and seats were
brought out from the near rustic inn, and groups sat upon
benches on the grass, talking, laughing, eating, drinking, and
being right merry. Some, like ourselves, having greeted
their acquaintance, and seen what was going on, returned to
the lake.

We found our boat and its handsome mistress awaiting
us, and soon were landing upon a certain little island which
had temptingly invited us all the morning, its trees and
bushes seeming to rise out of the very water. But "distance"
in this instance had " lent enchantment to the view." The
island was in a very chaotic state. King Max had also thought
the island attractive, and preparations were being made

LEBE HOCH STARNBERG ! 53

for the building of a small royal villa, and for the laying-out
of gardens. The only thing we discovered worthy of remark
was a cowardly bull-dog, who, with much violent manifesta-
tion of anger and loud barkings, opposed our landing, but
who, perceiving our bold determination and undaunted
firmness, put his tail with a craven air between his legs,
and fairly ran away ! Never, certainly, was such a bully
of a bull-dog seen before !

We returned to Possenhofen just in time to witness the
reception of the steamer there, as she gaily passed with flying
streamers, garlands, and royalty on board. Very brilliant
indeed she looked, with a bevy of elegantly-dressed ladies
walking about the deck beneath an awning, and with the young
King and Queen, and Prince Adalbert, graciously replying
to the shouts and wavings of caps, hats, and handkerchiefs
from the shore. The King's voice was heard to say something
about " Lebe Hoch Starnberg / " and on the little steamer
passed. And now we in our boat, steered by our beautiful
pilotess, followed in the wake of royalty towards Starnberg
and — dinner.

It would be a weariful history where I to describe all
our first futile attempts to procure refreshment at the great
inn with the semi-Tyrolean architecture. Suffice it to say,
that finding we might wait there till Doomsday apparently —
though capital dinners were being devoured on all hands —
in despair and hunger we decamped to a smaller inn.
Truly now I began to be satisfied as to the crowds which
would flock to the Starnberg Festival ; and more than satis-
fied ! In this little inn, fearing lest if we sat in the garden
far away from the kitchen we might be forgotten, we took up
our station in a room which was decorated for the evening's
ball. There we waited and waited, devoured with hunger
and impatience, amid clouds of tobacco-smoke and bushels
of beer-tankards, and emptied coffee-cups, enduring martyr-

54 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

dom for the sake of procuring dinner — sometime. People
would accuse me of exaggeration were I to say how long we
waited ; therefore I will content myself with saying " ages."
The only pleasant sight upon which my eyes rested this
weariful time, was a group of Academy students, who entered
the smoky room, carrying long ivy-trails in their hands, and
with ivy wreathed picturesquely round their broad-brimmed
hats and Raphaelesque caps. What a group of happy life
and nature-enjoying youths they looked ! — their young,
earnest faces burnt and ruddied by the hot sun, and their
keen painter-eyes sparkling with joy which worship of
nature, such as the painter alone knows, had sent welling
up from their hearts.

As I sat looking at this group, my soul sang a hymn of
thanksgiving for the glory which Art may and does so
frequently cast over life. In holiest colours the whole joy of
the painter's life, and especially of the Art- Student's life, rose
up before me, — that life of aspiration yet of humility, the
more blessed through this humility ! that life of eager en-
deavour, of hope, and of onward progress — that life where the
duty is to yield up the soul to the love, worship, and under-
standing of the beauty created by the Divine Artist ; and,
when clothed in the neophyte's robe of purity, the glories of
the holy temple of nature are gradually unfolded before the
astounded, worshipping eyes ! It often seems to me that
the life of one of these young German painters might be a
life as nearly approaching perfect beauty and bliss as any
human life is permitted to be ; at all events there are many
elements of beauty in it. These painters live much less
fettered by conventionality than the same class with us ;
they live in a country where the symbolism of art everywhere
surrounds them ; where the sordid cares of life usually press
less heavily upon them, and where a spirit of peculiarly
noble aspiration and grandeur in art floats through the land.

TANTALUS. 55

As a woman, therefore, only seeing this art-life in the
Germans from a peculiar point of view, and by not mingling
in it except at certain beautiful, poetical moments, I may
draw a picture in my imagination only of its brightest,
noblest phase ; but that phases of intense loveliness do
adorn it, is as true as that divine poetry fills the world.

I return to a commoner, though at the moment a very
engrossing interest. Dish after dish did we see borne past
us to other guests, who, doubtless, were also famishing ; but
our dishes never arrived, though they were each time
promised " immediately." One old gentleman especially ex-
cited my envy, as I saw a capital roast fowl carried up to
him.

" Don't envy him, Fraulein ! " observed an acquaintance
of Baron H., who had joined us whilst we had been wait-
ing in this detestable apartment ; " don't envy him, poor
soul ! he has been waiting ever since two o'clock for that
fowl, and it is now five. I have waited for coffee ever since
three. Be thankful if your dinner arrive before the ball
commences ! " And verily I believe we might have waited
until the ball-supper itself, had not this benevolent acquaint-
ance volunteered to rush into the kitchen and lay violent
hands upon the first dish he encountered. Soon after his
return, — enter, amid looks of triumph on the part of our
" friend-in-need," fowl, coffee, and salad. I do not, how-
ever, believe it was through physical force that we had
obtained our dinner, but through the influence with the Kell-
nerins of his remarkably handsome face.

During all this waiting we had lost the Regatta : but the
sequel of the Regatta we did not lose. Musicians ascended
into the orchestra, which at first we supposed was the fore-
runner of the ball. This was simply that as the name of
each successful candidate in the boat-race received his
prize, the musicians might trumpet forth his triumph. A

56 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

man with a white cockade on his coat read aloud the names
of the successful boatmen, and from a crowd of weather-
beaten men standing at the opposite end of the room, one by-
one, with bashful mien and delighted faces, they approached
and received the prizes and decorations. Of course much
of the company from the garden crowded into the room to
witness this spectacle.

Thankful indeed was I when Marie and I, leaving the
gentlemen to enjoy their cigars, emerged from the room,
stifling with its mingled fumes of tobacco and dinner,
into the fresh evening air. Without all was animation :
people were arriving for the ball ; people were laughing,
chatting and drinking — of course that eternal beer and
coffee.

Evening was sinking calmly over the lovely landscape, and

Baron H and his two friends joining us, we strolled

down towards the lake. All looked so exquisitely beautiful
in the sunset light, that again we said, " Suppose we take a
boat ? " The mountain peaks glowed with tints of rose and
lilac, the pearly sky was flecked with crimson and brilliant
orange. On one hand rose the moon, whilst on the other
the sun sank behind the sloping shore, which was now
turned to a dull olive green in the approaching twilight.
Moon and sunset-clouds were reflected in the peaceful
waters ; now one star came forth in the translucent
heavens, now another, just above the darkening moun-
tains, and seeming to rest upon a jagged peak. Silence
sank dreamily over all things. The delicious hush alone
was broken by the gentle plash of the oars, and the
singing of my companions. They sang several of Men-
delssohn's Volkslieder.

A fire suddenly bursting forth on the shore, its ruddy
flame reflected in the lake's mirror, reminded us of the
illumination, and we hastened our return. Doubtless from

A RURAL BALL-ROOM. 57

the lake itself would have been the most effective spot from
which to have viewed the bonfires and fireworks, but we
thought of damp, of fogs, and of consumptions, and pru-
dently returned to terra firma, where, as we set foot, we were
greeted by a loud chorus of frogs, which far outcroaked the
sounds of merriment proceeding from the little town. Lights
shone forth from the hotel windows, telling of the meny
doings within. Crowds filled the streets, crowds filled the
garden of the inn where we had dined. The pavilion in the
garden, which contained the ball-room, was like a huge
lantern. We looked in. The ball had not commenced, but
the supper had. Ladies, not in ball-room costume, but with-
out their bonnets, and some wearing flowers in their hair,
and gentlemen who doubtless had smartened themselves
up a little after the fatigues and dust of the day, were
seated at long tables, in a kind of gallery, in front of the
ball-room. I had been curious to know the class of
people who remained for the dancing, and to see what a
rural ball of this description was like. And now, although
the dancing had not commenced, I was quite satisfied,
and could picture the waltzes, polkas, and cotillons
danced in the still empty ball-room, of which we caught
a glimpse through the open door, all gay with its blue
scarlet, and white festoons of drapery, supported by gilt
anchors.

Report of cannon told that the fireworks were about to
commence, and people hastened out into the meadows to-
wards the lake. Uprose a rocket, like a long fiery serpent,
and fell into a shower of lilac stars over the water. Another
and another rose ! Then suddenly the monastic-looking
Town-hall, standing upon its hill, gleamed out magically
through the soft gloom of the May night, illumined with a
warm rose colour, now with a pale yellow green, as though
it were built of tinted light. And the little church across

vol. n. F

58 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

the lake, crowning the hill above Lione, gleamed forth a
pale spectral sea-green, as if replying to the Starnberg
signal. Villas, churches, and villages exchanged their
spectral greetings across the lake, whose placid mirror ever
reflected them. From the shores shot up in rapid succession
long, red tongues of flame, like wild sacrificial fires burning
upon pagan altars ; the flames rising steadily on the un-
ruffled waters, whilst smoke curled in white volumes rud-
dily illumined by the fires. Above all, shone the quiet broad
moon, smiling down through the May night, and reflecting
her calm face in a rivulet which murmured through the
meadows. The moonlight gleamed like frosted silver upon
the ripple of the streamlet, and upon the long grass which
in places grew in the stream, and was carried along by it,
just covered with the waters. All else was a transparent,
murmuring gloom ; whilst with the most marvellous delicacy
sharp black shadows were cast across the frosted silver from
the sprays of foliage and long grasses growing upon the
bank. This little bit of Nature's illumination was the most
magical and beautiful of all the illuminations of this lovely
May Festival.

In the midst of these illuminations, divine and human, the
steamer, hung with lamps and garlands, was once more to
sail forth upon the lake. This we did not stay to witness,
for now we mounted into our omnibus, very happy but very
weary, and jolted back to Munich ; the moon shining down
among the old pine-trees in the Royal Park, and showing us,
not only the trees and the long procession of royal carriages,
with six horses each, and postillions and fiery lamps rushing
past us, but groups also of deer feeding quietly by the road-
side. At one spot I beheld a milk-white doe — the ghost of a
doe it might have been — and as she heard the noise of
wheels she fled like a spirit into the dark glades of the wood.
About two in the morning we found ourselves returning to

THE MAY FESTIVAL AT STARNBERG. 59

our homes through the deserted moonlit streets of Munich,
the houses in the Dultplatz looking as if built out of a
gigantic box of Dutch toys, with their closed, sleeping
windows, and their stiff rows of clipped acacia-trees rising
up before them.

60 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER VI.

FUNERAL OF THE DUCHESS OF LEUCHTENBERG. — THE
SENDLING BATTLE AND OLD MUNICH.

May 18th. — The aged Duchess, who looked so magnifi-
cent at the Landwehr Ball in her satin and jewels, with
her hat sparkling with diamonds and her cheeks brilliant
with rouge, and whom this spring I have constantly seen
driving out of her handsome palace in her handsome coach,
is dead ! She died after a very short illness. Every one is
repeating beautiful things about her. She was King Lud-
wig's sister, and widow of Eugene Beauharnais, and was
related to a number of crowned heads and grandees ; and
was the possessor of the celebrated Leuchtenberg collection
of paintings.

To-day the corpse, as it lay in state, has been visited
by all Munich — by all the bourgeoisie at least. I observed
a crowd before the gates of the Leuchtenberg Palace,
and paused to see what was going on. Presently the
huge gates opened, the crowd made a rush, and half of
the people were received within the gateway. I found
myself in the foremost rank of the remaining half of the
crowd, and closely pressed up against the re-closed gates.
There we waited a full hour, and the crowd was a detestable
crowd. Neither awe nor reverence for the spectacle they
were about to witness was felt by these people. I stood
squeezed up against the bronze gates, fearfully expecting to
be precipitated head-foremost by the crowd behind, whenever

LYING IN STATE. 6 1

the gates should open ; or to be crushed, whilst waiting',
against the embossed ornaments upon the gates. Luckily,
however, no such accident occurred.

If the populace had behaved in an irreverent manner
outside the house of death, within they behaved even worse ;
rushing up-stairs, laughing, and making a terrible hubbub.
I was well pleased that gendarmes, and solemn servants, at
the head of the staircase, stood ready to rebuke them.
Passing through one or two rooms where furniture stood
about in desolate disorder, the crowd crushed into a small
room hung with black cloth and escutcheons, and lighted
brilliantly with numerous waxen tapers. In the centre of the
room, upon a high couch draped with black, decorated with
blooming flowers, and surrounded with tapers burning in tall
golden candlesticks, reclined the corpse ; it was arrayed in
black velvet. The pale brow was crowned with a tiara, from
which fell, half-concealing the figure, a long veil of white
lace. There was rouge no longer upon the white cheeks.
You were more than ever struck with the commanding
profile, and peculiarly arched eye-brows. There was some-
thing very solemn and affecting in the face.

Round the room knelt her court-ladies, shrouded in long
black veils, and several gentlemen in brilliant uniforms. On
one side of the room rose a small altar, where, at certain
hours, mass was celebrated. To-morrow is to be the funeral.

The Duchess is said to have been singularly beautiful in
her youth. It was related to me by Fraulein Sanchen, that
when in Italy the peasants fell down and prayed before her,
believing her to be the "Madonna." This seems to be a
popular legend here.

May igth. — At four o'clock this afternoon the grand
funeral took place. I went to a house in the Theatiner-
strasse to witness the procession. Already at two o'clock,

62 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

whilst I was at the studio, I heard the tolling of the Church
bells. Funeral bells toll here in a much less mournful
manner than the English Passing-bell. As I crossed the
Odeon Platz, at one corner of which the Leuchtenberg
Palace is situated, I noticed a number of soldiers in their
blue and white uniforms drawn up before the palace. Close
to the doors of the Church of the Theatines stood a knot of
priests, with a tall crimson banner leaning against the wall.
Soldiers were drawn up on either side of the Theatiner-
strasse.

The house from which I viewed the spectacle is opposite
to the abode of the Russian Ambassador. The Theatiner-
strasse is one of the old streets, and full of picturesque
detail, which considerably enhanced the effect of the pro-
cession as it approached. Of course the street was thronged
with people standing in thick rows behind the soldiers who
lined the causeways. Of course, too, all the windows were
crowded. Opposite to us at a window in the principal etage
of the Ambassador's house ladies in black were seated.
At a window close by was to be seen the picturesque head
of a priest of the Greek Church.

A long train of servants belonging to the royal houses
and to the nobility headed the funeral procession. They
bore burning torches. Their liveries were of all descrip-
tions and colours. One man was especially remarkable
from wearing a gorgeous Hungarian costume of scarlet and
light blue trimmed with silver lace ; he wore a high cap
which had much scarlet about it, and a tall stiff feather.
He was an unusually tall man, and this cap made him look
gigantic. These were the servants of King Max and of
the other royal and ducal households. The dead Duchess's
servants all wore crape upon their arms and in streamers
from their cocked hats. The smoke rising from their torches
hung in the air above the procession like a funereal veil.

FUNERAL OF THE DUCHESS OF LEUCHTENBERG. 63

Next came the different Brotherhoods attached to the
churches, who always give great picturesqueness to the
processions here : the old men bare-headed, and mono-
tonously chanting as they followed the banners and crucifixes,
which were borne by men and boys wearing white linen.
The colours of their crucifix-canopy and banners, scarlet,
blue, amber, violet, green, and russet, made the street most
brilliant in colouring. All was gay to the eye, but mournful
to the ear from the monotonous murmur of the old men's
voices. Next followed, in equal number, trains of priests in
black and white, many of them singing, and some preceded
by a crucifix. There was the small band of Franciscan
Friars, wearing linen robes above their brown frocks, the
picturesque cowls hanging over the white linen. There were
the priests of the Hofkapelle, with broad violet ribbons
suspending a small golden cross around the neck. And
there were priests in violet and scarlet preceding the Arch-
bishop, who advanced slowly along, a mass of gold em-
broidery, — his golden robes supported on either hand by
golden-robed priests : he bore a rich silver crozier in his
hand, and upon his head a rich white mitre.

And now came on the hearse, surrounded by the court-
pages in blue and white. The coffin lay upon a throne
covered with a black velvet pall, emblazoned with the
Leuchtenberg arms. A black canopy shaded the coffin ;
decorations and diamond stars glittered at the foot of the
coffin. Lions veiled with crape appeared at the foot of the
throne, as if guarding the royal dead.

The funeral-car was driven by the deceased Duchess's
old coachman, and drawn by six of her beautiful horses
caparisoned in trappings of black and gold.

The hearse was followed by the Royal Princes and the
principal Bavarian nobility, all walking ; by the members of
the various royal households here, by ambassadors from

64 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

foreign courts, by the chief officers of the Bavarian army, by
the Professors of the University wearing their rich-coloured
robes, and by the Magistracy. The Militia terminated the
procession. Trumpets brayed forth, and the dull sound of
muffled drums was heard as the train passed along : the
soldiers presenting arms as the hearse rolled by. And thus
the body of the widow of Eugene Beauharnais was conveyed
to the church of St. Michael, to repose beside the ashes of
her husband.

Rain began to fall, much to the discomfort of the pro-
cession. It returned straggling and drenched through the
wet streets ; the military bands breaking forth into joyous
music.

Mr. von. D told me last evening the history belonging

to the huge grave in the Sendling Church-yard, which,
together with the battle-piece painted in fresco upon the
walls of the little church, and the small monument erected
upon the mound by a certain Philip v. Zwackh " in memory
of the slain," has long interested my imagination by its
mournful poetry.

It was in the year 1705, the year after the great battle of
Blenheim, when Europe was devouring her very heart in
contests about the "Spanish Succession," that the Bavarian
peasantry rose en masse. They were smarting under the
bitter vengeance of the Austrian government, who visited the
sins of the princes upon the people ; they were ground to
the very dust by imposts and cruelty, and had already in
public assembly addressed the diet of Regensburg, declaring
that " necessity forced them to arms."

Two students, Plinganser and Mendl, placed themselves at
the head of the peasant insurgents, and were everywhere
victorious. Various of the nobility joined them ; but this in
the end only led to the betrayal of the peasants. On they

THE SENDLING BATTLE. 65

marched victoriously towards Munich, whither the Imperial
General Kreichbaum had been despatched with reinforce-
ments.

The Auvorstadt was already in full insurrection. The
giant mountaineer, the Smith Baltes or Sibaldus of Kochel,
with his two sons, led on the excited people with the cry of
" Save the children ! " a rumour being afloat that the young
Bavarian princes were to be carried out of the land. One of
the city gates was forced, Sibaldus with his " Morgenstem "
slaying an Austrian sentinel ; and a bloody and fierce con-
flict ensued.

The peasants, relying upon aid from the nobles within the
city who had joined their side, fought long and bravely, but
no succour reached their little band ; fighting on foot, and
between the fire of the Austrians from the city and of
General Kreichbaum in their rear, they fled towards the
village of Sendling, where, rallying round the little church,
these peasants fought like lions ; old Sibaldus and his
sons falling among the slain. It is said that five hundred
perished. The wounded were carried back to Munich,
and exposed in the streets during the rigour of the
Christmas night. The battle was fought upon Christmas
Day.

Misery fell, of course, with only ten-fold bitterness upon
the peasantry ; beheadings, drawings and quarterings, muti-
lations, grievous fines and imprisonments, being the sole
wages received by the survivors of the conflict.

Historians tell us that "the ringleaders were beheaded ; "
but the popular voice relates a termination to Plinganser's
history which rings in one's heart like a lovely ballad by
Uhland.

Long years after this battle fought upon the Christmas
Day around the church, the Bavarian Elector was hunting in
a wood at some distance from Munich : he encountered an

66 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

old beggar on his path, — an old man clothed in rags, — and
having lost an arm and leg.

" Who are you, my poor man ? " demanded the Elector ;
" and where did you lose your arm and leg ? "

" I am Plinganser ! " proudly replied the old beggar ;
"and I lost my arm and leg fighting for Bavaria against
Austria ! "

Down from his horse alighted the Elector, took the beggar
by his one remaining hand, mounted him upon his horse, and
bare-headed walked beside him ; and thus, with music
triumphantly sounding before them, he conducted the brave
old man back to Munich. Through the city-gate he led him
where the conflict had raged so fiercely, and on towards the
old Palace, where the Electress and her ladies were sum-
moned forth to receive the ancient hero. The bells rang out
from all the churches ; the cannon boomed ; the beggar was
led into the Palace ; the Elector himself took off his rags,
clothed him in fine linen, washed his feet, combed his hair,
and seated him at his right hand.

And not alone, says the voice of the people, was this the
honour of a day, but as long as the hero lived he dwelt in
the palace as a beloved and cherished brother of the Elector.

Mr. von D says, that some years ago a Munich poet

wrote a drama upon this incident, and that his play had an
astounding success. It was acted fifteen nights running, the
audience coming to the theatre in Tyrolean costume, and
bursting forth into long shouts of applause at each expressibn
of liberty, and contempt of Austria. So great was the
excitement, that the Austrian Government remonstrated, and
after fifteen nights' success the play was not only withdrawn
from the stage, but all copies of it destroyed.

To withdraw the memory of the Sendlinger Battle from
the hearts of the people would be no such easy task ; it is
their Thermopylae. Not alone do peasants from the moun-

THE ELECTRESS AND HER IRON CHEST. 67

tains visit the grave of Sibaldus and his followers, repeat
prayers before it, sprinkle it with holy water, and then with
awe-struck looks regard the fresco ; but Philip von Zwackh
instituted a mass for the souls of the slain, and each autumn
a pilgrimage visits it from the Au Suburb, "to pray for the
souls so suddenly departed from among them." And the
Guild of Carpenters make a pilgrimage each summer to the
far-famed " Maria Eich," there to pray for these patriot souls.

I was told another little incident, which, although of
an entirely different character, has also a touch of ballad
romance in it. It related to a certain old Electress, who,
all her life long, had been selling her soul for gold, and
strange rumours of whom yet cling around the Maxburg
and the old Residenz. Returning from Austria in a heavy
coach, attended by her gentlewomen, and bringing back
money in an iron chest, — her revenue as an Austrian
princess, which she had been to fetch, — the coach was upset,
and she crushed to death beneath the iron-chest containing
her treasure !

I have been seeking in vain for some work on Munich
which shall quench my thirst after the old histories and
legends haunting the older portions of the city. A little
book, the " Miinchener Hundert und Eins" (A Hundred
and One Things about Munich) is, as yet, the nearest ap-
proach to what I require : but, being bare of detail, it does
little more than strengthen my craving after these old
memories.

Still I have discovered that an effigy of a "Wurm," a
dragon-like serpent to be seen upon the corner house of
the Weinstrasse, as you enter the Schrannenplatz, is
placed there in memory of a certain Wurm which dwelt
in old times, near Munich, — perhaps upon the shores of
the Wurmsee? This Wurm, flying over Munich, is said
to have caused, by its venomous breath, the earliest of

68 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

the great plagues which have at various epochs ravaged
the city. The author of the " Hundert und JEins" avers
that the legend told to his childish ears was, that upon the
Schrannenplatz this terrible Wttrm alighted, and was shot
dead by one of the cannon planted there !

I have also discovered that one of the tall red towers of
the Frauenkirche, which, with their dome-like termina-
tion, give a character so peculiar to distant Munich, is
haunted ; and that from the other a love-lorn damsel flung
herself at the end of the last century ! I read also of
terrible persecutions of the Jews, of old customs, of
which the Metzgersprung and the Schafflertanz are rem-
nants ; of gateways and towers, similar to the Falken-
Turm — one of which was the Torture-Tower — having been
destroyed within the memory of man. I read of traces
which still may be discovered by earnest seekers of the
Munich of the Emperor Ludwig the Bavarian ; of Munich
of the Middle Ages I read ; of Munich in the desolation
of the Thirty Years' War, when Gustavus Adolphus
pronounced her "the golden saddle upon the lean
horse;" and of Munich in the age of Prince Eugene.
But diving down into the oldest portions of the town,
where frescos, bleached by the sun, winds, and rains of
centuries, are fading on the walls — where heavy-browed
archways reveal mouldering stairs leading up into the tall,
many-storied houses — where the walls, and tall roofs, and
desolate towers, are black with age — and where, beneath
low arches, rush dismal, rapid streams ; of all these I find
no detailed chronicle. And when, as the other day, visiting
the Mint, I found myself standing within the old court-yard,
encircled with a double gallery of noble rounded arches,
and asking its history and purport, was told "here were
held the Ducal tournaments in old times," — then do I feel
the spirit of an antiquarian awake within me, and an

KING LUDWIG AND ART. 69

unappeasable longing after old memories and traditions
seizes my imagination.

As I have already observed, Old and New Munich are
fraught with an entirely separate poetry, and present
totally different aspects. The character of the people in
the streets is different — the gaily-attired peasants throng
the quaint old streets, market-places, and covered pas-
sages ; their primitive wagons, and the heavy brewers'
drays rumble and jolt along the uneven pavements ;
whilst, in the newer city, elegantly-attired ladies and
gentlemen aristocratically saunter about, or roll along in
their carriages, and every now and then a royal carriage
dashes past.

But different in aspect as are these two portions of
Munich at the first view, upon nearer investigation one
proves to be but a modern development of the other, as
King Ludwig is only a fuller development of the artistic
germ which is implanted in his race.

This new Munich, proceeding from the brain of the
artist-souled king, who, as it has justly been observed,
"could abandon his crown, but could not abandon his
art," with its Glyptothek, its Old and New Pinakothek,
its Kunstausstellung, its Siegesthor, its Feldherren-
halle, its Basilica, its Hofkapelle, its Au-Church, its
Rhumeshalle, and Bavaria, with its two splendid new
wings to the old Palace, with its noble Ludwigsstrasse,
containing the Royal Library, Blind Institution, Damen-
stift, University, Jesuits' College, and Ludwig's Church ;
this new Munich, I repeat, enriched with innumerable
great works in fresco — historic, poetic, religious — of
Cornelius, Kaulbach, Schnorr, and Hess, with its statues
of Schwanthaler, Thorwaldsen, and Rauch, with each im-
portant event in the Bavarian annals chronicled in paint-
ing, sculpture, or architecture, is indeed a wonderful little

7° AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

city, and unique in these modern days. When we re-
flect that King Ludwig has called around him such men
as Von Klenze, Gartner, and Ziebland as architects ;
Cornelius, Schnorr, Kaulbach, and Hess as painters, to
create and adorn this city, giving them glorious scope in
which to develop their various genius, and has in every
possible way fostered and encouraged art in all its branches,
— has founded the Glass and Porcelain painting establish-
ments, and the Bronze Foundry, and has led to the revival
and perfection of fresco and encaustic painting, and to the
discovery of Stereochromie, — one is inclined to regard him
as the sole art-monarch of his race.

Looking, however, back into the history of the old city,
— first we have the Emperor, Ludwig the Bavarian, as the
beautifier of Munich,— the Emperor whose triumphal
entrance into Munich after the battle of Miihldorf, King
Ludwig, with reverence, has had chronicled in fresco
upon the Isar Gate, by which he is said to have entered
the city,— the gate itself being built, by King Ludwig's
command, in exact imitation of the one dating from the
Emperor's time.

Then we have Duke Sigismund, the builder in the
fifteenth century of the Frauenkirche, and the difmser,
through this and other works, of a strong artistic spirit
and activity among the people ; Albert V., a century later,
assembling around him men of learning as his counsellors
of state, and summoning painters, sculptors, architects,
and musicians, to his court, for the adornment of his
capital and the delectation of his private life. Among
those foreign . artists came Orlando di Lasso, whose statue
King Ludwig has had erected, together with that of Gluck,
born in Rhenish Bavaria, in front of the Odeon, and who,
in Albert's time, filled the Churches of Munich with sweet
music. And there is the Elector Maximilian, spite of the

OLD AND NEW MUNICH. 7 1

horrors of the Thirty Years' War, building the old
Residenz, one of the architectural marvels of his century.
All working earnestly in the direction of art, — blinded
at times, it is true, by the grossness of the age in which
they lived, but working earnestly according to their
lights !

It is a pleasant thought, this artistic link between the
Old and New Cities of Munich, — between King Ludwig
and his predecessors.

Here occurs a break in the diary of a few months
occasioned by a visit to England.

72 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER VII.

RETURN TO MUNICH.

November, i8ji. — I am again here. Of our journey I
will not speak, until we reached Heidelberg. It was about
one o'clock in the day. The sun shone brightly, and cast
lovely passing shadows across the beautiful chain of hills, as
we rushed across the plain by railway from Manheim. And
now we were rattling from the station in an omnibus, between
the rows of trees skirting the Botanic Garden. How beauti-
ful did all look beneath the autumn sun, and gay with
autumn tints ! " Isabel, look ! " exclaimed I to my present
companion, who was now in Germany for the first time ; "do
you see that blue roof of a summer-house up in the vine-
yard ? There, below it, is our old house with the bright
green roof! Isabel, this is the old Manheim Gate! is
not this street old-fashioned, and is not the whole town
old-fashioned? Do you see that odd cart and those lean
horses, with their bells and pointed collars ? And do you
see those young men ? those are students !"

And now we are at the Badischen Hof, where we
only stop to see our rooms, and then hurry out to look
about us. It was the time of the October Fair ; and
in the Paradeplatz was the Dutch woman in her pic-
turesque costume, and with her pretty doll-like face, baking
and selling "Waffeln." All was just as of old, and we
walked through it, for Isabel to have a peep at a German

THE SAGA-SPIRIT OF NATURE. 73

Fair, and then on to the Castle. I leave you to imagine
the beauty of the scene from the Castle terrace, where we
watched the sunset : the town and plain, and winding
river, and distant Hardt mountains half-veiled by violet
haze ; the castle rising from amid the gorgeous autumn
tints of coral and gold which sobered the red tone of its
walls into a warm grey, and telling dark against the sun-
set sky, which was crimson and amber and lemon colour
graduating into pale azure, and flecked with sombre clouds
of dusky grey and dove-colour. I never saw the castle
look more magnificent ; all was solemn and gorgeous, and
full of a mournful poetry.

As we returned through the town, Isabel had a peep
through a window into a student's Kneip, where we saw
them all jollily drinking and playing at cards, with
statuettes of Goethe and Schiller, and other poets, arranged
round the room. It was a capital bit of German student-
life !

We were advised the next morning not to go up the
Neckar in the little steamer ; but I was obstinate, and we
went. It was a dull morning, and the silence, the gloom,
the mournfulness of the day, harmonized wonderfully with
the sceneiy. Those round, swelling hills, crowned with
their forests, now gorgeous with autumn colouring, — that
swollen river up which we slowly progressed, — the absence
of all human and animal life on the banks, — had a solemn
influence upon the mind. I could have believed that our
spirits had flown back into long past ages, and that this was
the day on which Siegfried was stabbed whilst hunting
amid these hills ; that his sad, beautiful corpse yet lay
beneath some of the old oaks with crimson and yellow
leaves falling upon it, or was being borne mournfully by his
friends home through these solitudes upon its bier of
branches, and that the trees, and the sky, and the rivers — all

VOL. II. G

74 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

nature mourned over the hero. Never was a day a greater
contrast than this to my last sail up the Neckar : then all
nature was full of fresh life ; the trees clothed in their
earliest leaves, the most luxuriant flowers and foliage
dipping their beautiful sprays and festoons into the clear
green waters, birds singing, the sun showering down his
beneficent beams upon the forest and the hills and little
towns and hamlets, and upon the pleasant groups of
peasants busy upon the river banks : but then my own soul
was sick with an unspeakable anguish. This time all nature
seemed to mourn, all human life to have vanished from the
shores ; and yet within me I had an assurance of happiness,
such a delicious peace, that the very mournfulness was a
sort of solemn repose to me.

Isabel was much delighted. Yet the day was a long
and fatiguing one ; when it grew dark we retired to our
little cabin, but though we had it all to ourselves we were
anything but comfortable. We were heartily glad, after
fourteen hours on the Neckar, to find ourselves in a tolerable
inn at Heilbronn.

Poor Isabel was really ill when we arrived. Who does
not know how the change of scene, and the diet, and
the excitement of everything, and the smells and the dirt,
and the hurry of travelling, always affect one on first going
abroad? She has not even yet recovered her taste, and
says she feels all taste, all body, till she hates herself. She
wishes she had no sense of smell or taste. The quiet
of our rooms, a dinner which an English acquaintance
cooked yesterday kindly for us, some wholesome bread
from our old baker here, and a cup of real English tea,
have done her good. For myself I was very hungry all the
way, and ate and drank to Isabel's astonishment.

From Heilbronn we started at six in the morning by
railway for Siissen, where we arrived by nine o'clock. I

THE HOCHEBENE. 75

saw the Stell-wagen waiting for passengers to Nordlingen,
and of course supposed it to be the same by which I had
so rapidly travelled in the spring from Nordlingen to
Siissen. Our luggage was immediately piled on the top,
and in we mounted.

" Isabel, dear, put that shawl round your feet ; let us
arrange ourselves comfortably," said I.

" It is not of much consequence, as we shall get out again
in a few minutes," returned Isabel.

" In a few hours you mean," said I.

"Hours/" exclaimed Isabel, who had felt unwell all
the morning.

" Yes, for six hours, poor Isabel," said I, full of com-
passion ; and added, addressing a fellow-passenger, " Not
more than six ? "

" Twelve at least," was the reply.

Imagine our looks of horror. Yes, and so it was. The
omnibus, now that the Great Exhibition was over, had re-
turned to its old slow ways. It crawled up hill and down ;
no longer were horses waiting ready harnessed at the differ-
ent post-stations, and the omnibus rushing on without more
than a minute's pause. We alighted several times in the
course of the day, and remained at wayside inns, miserably
devoured with impatience, whilst the driver bemused him-
self with beer and the passengers consumed sauerkraut and
sausage. Up, up we slowly ascended bleak, wild, desolate
hill-sides by interminable winding roads ; the woods ceased ;
higher and higher we ascended, till we reached a desolate,
wild plain which stretches on, and on, and on. It is the
Hochebene, the elevated plain on which stands Munich ; but
we were yet many a mile from Munich. Here and there
was a melancholy village, or solitary, dilapidated castle or
tower ! Now you passed through a birch-wood, where were
charcoal-burners' huts, and where from the black pyramid of

G 2

7 6 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

charcoal rose curling through the leafless trees a slender
column of blue smoke into the mournful, leaden sky. Now
you came to a shepherd tending his flock upon a damp,
spongy common, where the horizon-line was only broken by
a solitary, tall cross ; now we rattled into a village, — snow
half-melted lay on the roofs, the street was ankle-deep in
slush, the bell tolled mournfully through the damp air. It
was All Souls' Day ; the peasant-women, dressed in their
quaint head-dress of long black ribbons, and with their black
and striped petticoats ; the men in their long blue coats and
cocked hats were hastening through mud and damp with
garlands to decorate the graves of their friends, and pray
for their souls in the church.

We alighted at a wretched inn. Isabel was half choked
by the bad air of the one common sitting-room, which was
the only place we could enter. There was a huge iron
stove making every corner of the room warm ; peasants
were drinking and smoking near it ; two travellers of a
somewhat higher grade were sitting at a table covered with
a white cloth, devouring soup, and there were plates laid
for us. It was very dirty, and very close, and very poverty-
stricken ; but very picturesque. Light fell through a
checked blind of a dull pink into the nook behind the
screen. A shrine, containing a Madonna and dead Christ,
hung in the corner upon the whitewashed wall. Children
with plaited hair and short petticoats were playing on the
uneven boarded floor. The landlord, a man resembling
a tadpole in figure, with large head and spindle legs, all
the more spindling because cased in black velvet breeches
and black worsted stockings, joked and served beer to the
jolly, loud-talking peasants.

Once more we paused for half-an-hour at a village just
before dusk. There, happily, having the coupe" at last given
up to us, we wrapped ourselves in our cloaks, looking like a

WEARY TRAVELLERS. 77

couple of hooded friars curled up into either corner. What
a journey that was ! On, on, on ! Rattle, rattle ! rumble,
rumble ! We nodded, — we slept, — we started up, cramped
and cold !

" Isabel, how are you ? "

" So weary ! Anna, how are you ? "

" So weary ! "

We nod and sleep again ! Rattle, rumble, rattle ! The
driver, in his blue blouse and with his cracking whip, duskily
grows into a frightful phantom. All seems a nightmare !
On, on ! A desolate horizon of dull heath dimly seen by a
baleful moonlight, — patches of snow grinning here and there
with fearful, cold distinctness.

" // is a dream ! " exclaimed Isabel, in a weak voice.
" I feel sa strange, quite hysterical, and as if I could scream
a loud scream ! "

" Don't do that ! " exclaimed I, and laughed heartily ;
but to my astonishment my laughter ended in a violent
burst of tears : not that I was in the least unhappy or low-
spirited, but from sheer fatigue and weakness. At this
Isabel was all right in a moment, and so was I, for I was
quite alarmed by my own tears.

"We must soon be at Nordlingen ! " we exclaimed. And
soon we were. And when we were seated at a very large,
well-spread table, near to a large warm stove, with two com-
fortable, soft, white beds looming out of the distance, our
desolate journey seemed truly a mere dream.

We slept deliciously ; as the train for Munich did not
start till half-past ten we had plenty of time to rest. We
had a fire lighted in our stove before we rose, and were so
luxurious even as to order the chambermaid to bring us our
breakfasts ready made to us ; and thus we lay and rested.
Suddenly we heard from the neighbouring church tower a
most melancholy blast of wind-instruments : the most soul-

78 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

touching strain, — the very essence of lament and sadness.
We started up !

" Isabel, listen ! " I exclaimed ; " how beautiful, how
touchingly mournful ! what can it be ? "

Isabel listened with her eyes swimming with tears.

" What is it ? " I asked from the maid.

" It is the dirge for the dead ; some one must just have
died ; and then they always blow from the tower."

I cannot tell you how beautiful this seemed to us, coming
suddenly in this manner, like a lament breathing down from
heaven upon the old decaying town.

" Do you wonder, dear Isabel," exclaimed I, " at my love
of Germany, when such little poems are ever coming across
us? Does one not forget all the bad smells, and all the
coarseness of common things, in the existence of a living
poetry such as this?"

We were soon at Munich ; we seemed to be travelling
into the polar regions : snow, snow, snow ! One vast ex-
panse of snow, only broken here and there by dark fir-
woods. At Augsburg we stopped and had a good dinner, so
as to be prepared for an empty larder at the Werffs'.

At about a quarter to four o'clock we reached Munich,
I felt only as if I had been a little excursion, and were
returning to a home. I did not feel at all excited, only very
happy.

"Look, Isabel, out there! Do not you see the giant
arm of the Bavaria, rising with its wreath above that
building?"

But we were at the station before she could notice it.

"Never mind! never mind, dear Isabel! We are at
Munich !"

"What a beautiful station!" exclaimed Isabel, as she
looked up to its rich ceiling of mosaic work of inlaid
woods.

RETURN TO MUNICH. 79

" Yes, it is a fit entrance to an Art-City. Look there !
Don't you see an old Franciscan friar, with his hood drawn
over his head ? Is he not picturesque ? But now, jump
into this fiacre and let us drive home ! "

" No. 57, Neue Amalienstrasse ! " said I to the driver.
Bang went the door, and away we rolled through the slush
of melting snow, and with snow driving around us, along
back streets to the Neue Amalienstrasse. Out I sprang,
ran up stairs, pulled the well-known bell ! The door
opened ; — there was Madame Thekla !

" Ach mein Fraulein ! Ach Herr Je ! Herr Je ! mein
Fraulein ! and she stretches out her arms like a big bird
flapping its wings. " You never wrote the little letter to
tell us when you were coming, and we have been so un-
easy ; — but two letters are come for you ! And we have not
lit the fires!"

"Never mind that, dear Madame Thekla; come down to
my cousin ; tell me what I must pay the man, and just see to
our luggage!" Down the stairs I ran again, and then up
again, rushing against dear old Fraulein Sanchen, whom I
kissed with a most hearty kiss.

" And now let me have a fire and coffee, and give me my
letters ! "

The day after our arrival, taking a droschke, one of the
new public conveyances which are just introduced at
Munich, — and elegant, convenient little carriages they are,
with their well-dressed and polite drivers, — away we drove,
so that Isabel might have an idea of the good city of
Munich. It was a beautiful afternoon, cold and clear, the
air sharp, but the sun shining gloriously, and gleaming over
the snow which lay upon the roofs of the houses. We drove
through the old part of Munich, up the Residenzgasse,
which was all astir with the corn-market, and where the old
women were as busy as ever in their little booths among

80 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

their quaint earthenware, and through the old gateway of
the Rathhaus, and along the street called the Thai, which
leads down to the Isar Gate, and is always crowded with
long shambling wagons heaped up with casks and huge
beer-barrels going to-and-fro from various great breweries
which infest that neighbourhood. Isabel felt inclined to be
one continued note of exclamation, — so many strange, old-
fashioned, foreign sights did we see.

Now we rattled through the Isar Gate, and Isabel turned
round to observe the effect of the fresco-procession of the
Emperor Ludwig of Bavaria ; now I pointed out to her the
great Government Pawnbroking Establishment, where,
during Carnival time, such extraordinary properties accu-
mulate,— beds, spoons, cradles, clothes, — all for the sake
of Carnival jollity ; now we passed the barracks of the
Cuirassiers, who wear the white cloaks which I so much
admire; now we crossed the long Isar Bridge, and glanced
up and down the river winding in the sunshine between
its shoaly banks; we passed the Volks-Theater, and were
in the midst of the Au Suburb. Isabel looked every-
where around her, and was vastly amused at the queer
shops, the grotesque shrines, the fir-trees stuck up before
public-house doors, and the skeleton-like carts and lean
horses, and the men in big cloaks, which everywhere met
her eye. And now, driving across the open space where
stands the Au Church, we alighted at one of its
portals.

Isabel felt the whole spirit of those lovely, clustered stone
columns which rise up in long rows like a grove of lofty
palm-trees; their branches parting and petrified into a noble
Gothic roof. Surveying this beauty, we spoke of the
fate of Ohlmuller, who died when scarcely forty years of
age, before he saw this, his one great work, brought to
completion ; and how he had offered up to it health and life

RETURN TO MUNICH. 8 1

itself, ascending the spire with incessant zeal, — he who had
been a martyr from his boyhood to asthma. May not
this have been a type of the man's spirit, this undaunted
aspiration which willingly would yield up life itself to
ascend towards heaven ? She looked round with delight
upon the rich windows, through which the sunlight falling
reflected rainbow tints upon the cold, grey, severe columns ;
this radiance of heaven glorifying earth, and turning its
duskiness and hardness into gorgeousness and light! To
Isabel it seemed as if the children, and youths, and old, old
women, who were praying in the church, must certainly have
come there as part of the picture prepared for our enjoy-
ment, so quaint and picturesque were they.

As we stood in the church we saw two women advancing
from a door close to the high altar. One was a lady hand-
somely dressed in a white satin bonnet and large Cashmere
shawl ; she was followed by a nurse, bearing before her a
little baby lying on a cushion and covered with a long white
lace veil. It was evidently a christening. They passed on
to a side altar, where, amid flowers and golden candlesticks,
and gold and azure tracery, stood a figure of the Madonna
and child. The infant, on its cushion, was placed upon
the altar before the Virgin ; the lady and the servant knelt
together and prayed. It was a touching sight.

Leaving the church we went to the Au-Theater. It was
half-past three, and the performance was just beginning. It
was a strange sensation that of stepping out of the fresh
keen air and sunshine into the darkness and noise and hot
atmosphere of the little theatre. We had the most aristocratic
places, in a box where I have seen the royal princes before now;
and for these we paid eightpence each. To see so good an
audience at so early a performance would, in England, have
been singular; such numbers of men, too, who with us
would have been busy at their work till at the earliest six

82 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

or seven o'clock. The piece was " The Musketeers of the
Quarter-master's Lady," or " Wart a bisle." It was very
droll and very capitally acted; and though, of course, Isabel
understood scarcely a word, she was greatly amused.

We drove home in the moonlight at six o'clock, and on
reaching home found that Isabel's piano had arrived, so that
there was another pleasure for us ; and whilst I prepared tea
she tried her new instrument.

A MOURNFUL WEDDING. 83

CHAPTER VIII.

A MOURNFUL WEDDING. — AN INCURSION OF GERMAN
TEACHERS. — THE STUDENT.

The other evening, having called on Frau Amsel, whilst
I sat talking with her a young lady came in almost
out of breath, saying, " Put on your bonnet, my dear,
gracious lady, and let us go to the Basilica ; there is a
wedding ! "

" I will go with you," said I, " for I have never yet seen a
Catholic wedding."

We saw numbers of people crowding into the Basilica.
It was growing dusk in the large church. A throng of
spectators surrounded the space railed off round the high
altar. Upon the marble steps leading up to the altar, and
on either side, stood ladies and gentlemen belonging to the
wedding party. The altar was decorated, as well as the
flight of steps, with orange-trees, and palms, and flowering
shrubs : but few candles burned upon the altar, and the lamp
suspended from the roof, containing the ever-burning flame,
seemed only to make the gathering twilight more perceptible.
The white-robed priests, the bride and bridesmaids in their
white muslin dresses, the tall black figures of the bride-
groom and his friends looming out from the top of that long
flight of marble steps ; the monotonous voice of the priest
droning forth his marriage homily ; the damp raw air of a
November evening striking to the hearts of all ; the mighty
figures of prophets, and angels, and martyrs upon the

84 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

golden walls of the church, were shrouding themselves in
duskiness and gloom ; the feeble light of the tapers from
the altar, illuminating nothing in the whole cold and solemn
building save and except a huge golden crucifix, and farther
off a lesser cross which gleamed out harshly and severely,
and startlingly, as though the type of anguish, and suffering,
and sacrifice, were to be the sole ideal of life and marriage.
All formed one of the most mournful scenes I ever wit-
nessed, and quite haunts me even now when I recall it.

The priest prayed and joined their hands, and placed the
rings upon their fingers ; and one heard the money clink
through the cold darkness, as the bridegroom, according to
Roman Catholic custom, endowed his bride with his gold
and silver, and his worldly goods. And whilst the priest
still prayed, a tramp of feet, a sort of hushed roar, was
heard through the church ; and across the broad marble
pavement came a train of black and white garmented
priests, bearing funereal wreaths and banners : — they were
returning from a funeral !

The bridal train descended from the altar, and as they
moved onwards towards the sacristy, preceded by priests,
we caught a glimpse of the bridegroom and bride, who, by
this cold light, looked as rigid and cheerless as the whole
scene: two elderly ladies who followed were, I noticed,
dressed in black, as though it were a funeral! As they
went on through the church, they passed the mourners of
the other ceremony, who were praying in their weeds, and
burning small tapers ; yet further on, and still more in
the gloom, and only revealed by a white cloth thrown over
his face, as he sat in his confessional, they passed a priest
shriving some poor penitent.

Was this not a cheerless wedding ?

November nth. — We have had an incursion of German
teachers, in reply to Isabel's advertisement in the " Nenesten

INCURSION OF GERMAN TEACHERS. 85

Nachrichten." The time mentioned in the advertisement
was nine o'clock on Monday morning. But on Monday
morning, long before nine, the incursion began. We had
just sat down to our breakfast-table, and were about to
enjoy our first cup of tea, when Madame Thekla popped her
head in at the sitting-room door, saying, in her usual mys-
terious and hoarse whisper, " that if we pleased, a lady was
there, asking if we wanted a German teacher ! "

Isabel and I, sitting grandly upon our sofa, side by side,
with the untasted breakfast before us, see a young and pre-
possessing girl enter very modestly,— we push the table
aside, offer her a seat, and commence the necessary in-
quiries. We think she will do, and take her address ; still
we will not decide until we see who else offers.

" Let us only make haste and finish our breakfast ! " cry
we; but ring! ring! ring! we hear at the door.

" Isabel, we are in for it now! " exclaim I ; and before the
words are spoken, Madame Thekla's head once more mys-
teriously appears in the doorway, and behind her looms
forth a gaunt figure, wrapt in a long black cloak. The
figure enters. The usual inquiries are made ; we ask at
what hours she could give the lessons, and she informs us
"•It muss be afternoon, — I much to do in the keetchin
morning, — I much to do, — I get marry in few weeks." She
would not do.

Ring ! ring ! ring ! Great talk in the passage : the door
opens for the keetchm lady, and a vision of bonnets looms
once more in the distance in the shape of a queerish old
mother and a pretty but coquettish daughter. Ring ! ring !
ring! We are aware of German teachers seated in Ma-
dame Thekla's kitchen, in Madame Thekla's little parlour,
in Madame Thekla's passage, — of teachers standing upon
the stairs !

We grow quite bewildered by pretty faces and plain faces,

86 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

round faces and thin faces, red faces and sallow faces ; by
faces in pink bonnets and black bonnets, in blue bonnets
and grey ; by faces with curls and with bands, with hair a la
Chinoise • by teachers who speak good English and small
English, and no English at all ; by high terms and low
terms ; by certificates from Educational Establishments, and
laudator)' letters from learned professors ; by accounts of

lessons given to the , and the , and the ;

by conceit and affectation, and by touching poverty, and
meekness and gentleness. And now a slight pause came in
the succession of applicants. We agreed that really we must
put an end to the incursion. Among those we had already
seen we must have found the right one. Madame Thekla
must tell those who were yet arriving that the English lady
had met with a teacher.

Then, turning a deaf ear to all future ringings at the door,
and to all chatterings of Madame Thekla, we drew a long
breath after our exertions, and once more prepared our
unlucky breakfast, by boiling fresh water over our spirit-
lamp, and making a second edition of tea.

There was something affecting, in no slight degree, to us
in this rush to obtain a few gulden a month. One could
have grown quite sentimental over it, had not many of the
ladies, old and young, given themselves considerably absurd
airs, informing us of what excellent and high-born families
they were, and how their real reason for answering the
advertisement was, to practise their English. Perhaps it
might be so !

Our feeling inclined still towards the young girl who had
first applied, — her sweet manner, her shabby dress and in-
telligent face, spoke loudly in her behalf. But the mother
of another candidate contended with the sweet girl in our
good will. Both Isabel's heart and mine had instantly
warmed towards this lady; her face was such an anxious,

THE STUDENT. 87

kind face, and her voice had such a sad echo of sorrow in
[l f — it seemed to breathe sighs. Although we had conversed
in German, and Isabel did not understand a word of what
had been said between us, she had understood the tones
and looks, and instantly agreed to suspend the decision
until we had seen this lady's daughter. She was to call at
half-past twelve.

At twelve I went out, leaving Isabel to see the young
lady. On the stairs I met an ascending teacher, and, at
the front door, two more entering. I imagined every young
lady I encountered in our street must still be a teacher.

November 14th. — There is now deep snow, but as I wanted
to secure a model for Monday, and also to purchase tracing-
paper, I went out immediately after breakfast, at an hour
when most people are scarcely out of their beds in England,
and quite enjoyed the walk,— all looked so exquisitely pure
and calm. The cold here is much less difficult to bear
than the cold of England, because of the dryness of the
atmosphere. I went out, as I said, to buy tracing-paper,
having come to the end of the supply I took with me, and
I found it extremely dear. How strange it is that tracing-
paper, which is so much used in Munich, should be so
expensive !

You cannot think how picturesque the streets looked
in the snow ; snow covered the ground, pure as in the
country: snow lay heavily upon the house-tops, and upon the
different statues in the public squares, and drifted on carts
and the roofs of carriages. People were wrapped up in the
warmest of cloaks and coats, many with hoods picturesquely
drawn over their heads ; lads were busy with their little
wooden sledges ; most quaint objects, many of them, in
their hooded cloaks, looking like little grey, brown, and
black goblins. I greatly enjoyed my snowy walk; and it

88 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

rejoiced my heart, in all the cold and winterly weather, to
see the signs of busy industry which met me in the streets ;
I mean the signs of busy learning and study, which were
quite in harmony with my frame of mind. First, there were
lots of little boys and girls rushing out of a public school
with their slates, and knapsacks, and bags ; then there was
the train of students returning from some lecture in the
University, — handsome vigorous youths and young men,
with their portfolios under their arms, and their faces full
of intelligence and animation ; — then, as I passed the Con-
servatorium, the Musical Academy, a loud sound of chorus-
singing burst upon my ear, and from a door came forth a
troop of boys, several of them very young and small, carrying
their violin cases ; they had been learning.

What a beautiful thing, what a beautiful state is that of
the student, after all ! the very aspiration, endurance, patient
labour, and uncertainty of this phase of human life, engen-
dering faith, and hope, and love, and humility, throw a
peculiar halo of beauty around it. I have often felt this,
but never more strongly than to-day. It seemed to me that
the acquiring, the accomplishing, was, as far as the soul
itself was concerned, really more than the acquisition,—
than that which is accomplished.

THE BOISSEREE GALLERY IN THE PINAKOTHEK. 89

CHAPTER IX.

THE BOISSEREE GALLERY IN THE PINAKOTHEK.

ACCOMPANY me this bright, frosty, winter's morning to
the beautiful Munich Picture Gallery — the Pinakothek. The
trees, and shrubs, and grass in the gardens, and lining the
roads, as we approach the Gallery, are glittering with hoar-
frost, and look as if molten in frosted silver. We have
scarcely emerged from the streets of the newer portion of
Munich. There rises the yet unfinished building of the
New Pinakothek, destined to contain pictures of modern
schools. Two frescos of the Kaulbach series of designs
illustrative of modern German art, already arrest your eye
upon its external walls. The grey wooden booths clinging
as it were to the upper portion of the building, swallow-nest-
wise, conceal the artists at work upon the other frescos of
the series. Divided from the New Pinakothek by a broad
public road, and standing in a garden enclosed by slight,
low, iron railing, we see the Old Pinakothek. It is built of
pale yellow brick, and in the style of a Roman palace, after
the design of Leo von Klenze. The long centre picture
gallery is lighted by sky-lights of violet-coloured glass,
which give a very peculiar character to the whole building.
The statues, from designs of Schwanthaler, of five-and-
twenty artists — Van Eyck, Memling, Diirer, Holbein, Schon,
Rubens, Van Dyck, Velasquez, Murillo, Claude Lorraine,
Poussin, Francia, Angelico da Fiesole, Masaccio, Leonardo
da Vinci, Perugino Ghirlandajo, Michael Angelo, Raphael,

VOL. II. H

90 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

Titian, Bellini, Andrea del Sarto, Correggio, and Domeni-
chino, keep watch and ward, — an immortal band, standing
around the treasury of their works, and ennobling with a
poetic thought the broad parapet of the Pinakothek.

We ascend a low flight of steps guarded by lions couchant ;
the tall portal opens as by magic, and we stand in the
presence of a giant — a mild giant clad in the blue livery of
the Bavarian court : a broad crimson and white band crosses
the gigantic breast, huge top-boots adorn the gigantic legs,
a peaceful smile beams over a placid giant face, — the cele-
brated giant porter of the Pinakothek nods us a morning
greeting, and we hasten up a flight of broad, grey, marble
steps, beneath a tinted roof, and catching on our way
through a spacious window an expanse of this cloudless
Munich heaven, against which rise in sharp relief the white
artists' statues in long perspective line.

We enter a room hung with full-length portraits of
Bavarian kings and electors in their royal robes : they are
King Ludwig and his ancestors, who have gathered together
the treasures preserved in the Pinakothek. King Ludwig
comes of an art-loving race. In this room loiter the attend-
ants and servants of the Pinakothek; and here you can
buy a catalogue if you like ; but we have already one with
us — a very well-worn copy — an old friend : so we pass on
into the next room, the first hall of the gallery, and con-
taining the works of Albert Diirer,' of his master Michael
Wohlgemuth, and of Albert Diirer's disciples and imitators.

But not even here will we pause long this morning ; you
must come with me into this gallery of cabinets, which runs
parallel with the central gallery of halls, and which said
cabinets principally contain the famous pictures of the
Boissere'e Gallery.

This Boisser^e Gallery is interesting from many points of
view. When Napoleon had rifled Italy and Germany of

THE BOISSEREE BROTHERS. 9 1

their most precious works of art, and assembled them in the
Museum at Paris in a grand exhibition in the year 1803,
there might have been seen three young Germans, day after
day, week after week, month after month, studying these art-
treasures, and studying especially certain curious old pic-
tures by an early German master. These youths were
Sulpiz and Melchior Boissere'e, together with their friend
Johann Bertram, — all three from the good old city of
Cologne. These quaint pictures in the Paris gallery re-
minded the three friends of certain pictures of a similar
character seen by them in their childhood hanging dim
and forgotten in dusky side chapels and cloisters in their
native city. These memories inflamed their imaginations,
whilst their taste and understanding were being daily de-
veloped through the study of the noble works of art
assembled in Paris, and by intercourse with Frederick
Schlegel, then resident at Paris, and who delivered private
lectures on philosophy and belles-lettres to the three
youths. A deep interest thus awoke within them for this
early and almost forgotten school of painting — an interest
which deepened gradually into an absorbing passion, and
became the one object of their lives.

Returning to Cologne after a nine months' sojourn in
Paris, accompanied by Frederick Schlegel, they com-
menced an earnest quest after the old paintings which
lingered in their memories like dreams.

Great changes had of course taken place in Cologne upon
the suppression of the monasteries under Napoleon's rule.
The revolution occasioned among pictures was not the
least of the revolutions. Strange tidings reached the three
youths and Schlegel, of paintings used to patch dove-cotes
with ; of paintings turned into table-tops and into screens ;
of paintings sold at auctions as make-weights, with " lots "
of old iron and other rubbish ; and of paintings burnt for

H 2

92 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

fuel. But upon nearer inspection these proved to be gene-
rally pictures of but little value, and of a much more modern
date. The real old pictures were mostly still hanging in the
dusky cloisters, or were concealed in garrets and vaults. A
legend of their great intrinsic value lived yet in the popular
mind, keeping them sacred, although the very existence of
such works was forgotten by the virtuosi of the last century.

Several pictures of value also had been purchased by two
art-lovers at Cologne, the Canon Walraff and the Merchant
Lieversberg. The glory however, of preserving and res-
cuing the greater number and the most valuable of the
treasures was reserved for the Boisserees. We are told
that one day meeting a hand-barrow in the streets of
Cologne, amongst a heap of lumber the brothers discovered
one of the gems of which they were in search ; this they
purchased, and it became the nucleus of the gallery now
bearing the brothers' name.

Wolfram of Eschenbach, one of the latest of the Minne-
siinger, sang, in the thirteenth century, in his romance of
"Parzival," of the glory of certain wonderful painters of
Cologne. Old chroniclers told of certain great masters,
Master Stephen and Master Wilhelm of Cologne : what now
remained of their works — who knew more of them except a
legendary renown ? Yet even the works of these old masters
were brought to light through faith, and love, and zeal.
Strange old pictures they are, with their gold grounds,
revealing the fact that German as well as Italian art springs
from Byzantine origin, and that Germany has had her
Cimabues and Giottos.

Picture after picture thus came forth from its dusty nook
— Madonnas, saints, martyrs, burning in rainbow tints upon
their golden grounds. Years passed on in zealous labour, in
journeys made into the Netherlands in quest of pictures, in
research of all kinds : gradually the Gallery grew and grew.

GLANCE AT THE EARLY FLEMISH SCHOOL. 93

Goethe, Tieck, and Schlegel entering into the Boissere'es'
enthusiasm, a universal interest was excited throughout
Germany for this early art, whose history was yearly
emerging from its obscurity — link after link revealing itself
in the almost forgotten chain. How bright and clear
are these links ! First, these old semi-Byzantine masters or
Cologne, with their disciples, the precursors by two centuries
of Albert Diirer and his school ; then the Cologne school
transplanted into the Netherlands, the school of the Van
Eycks, Hubert, John, and their sister Margaret; — these
noble, fine Van Eycks, with their beautiful domestic attach-
ment, their wonderful industry, their strong originality. John
Van Eyck, the perfecter, if not the originator, of oil-painting ;
Margaret, the pupil and zealous assistant of her brothers
— that steadfast woman " who," says an old chronicler, " de-
clined many offers of marriage with noble gentlemen for
love and devotion to her art." Are they not a noble trio ?
Then we have Hans Memling, the " Memlino" of the Italians,
— whose master he was in landscape painting; influencing
strongly Perugino and Raphael. Memling is a beautiful
character in this art-history, with his exquisite tender-
ness and refinement, and his singularly romantic life— a
mingling of the painter and the soldier. Now he is painting
his St. Johns and Madonnas ; now he is fighting for the
Duke Charles of Burgundy ; now he is lying sick and
wounded in the Hospital of St. John at Bruges; now he is
painting for the good monks who have tended him in his
sickness the exquisite works which are yet preserved in
the hospital at Bruges as its greatest treasure.

Then we have Roger of Bruges, Hugo van der Goes, and
others ; Israel van Meckenem ; Jan de Mehlem ; Quentin
Matseys, of whom everybody has heard ; Lucas van Leyden,
that extraordinary man, a painter at twelve years of age,
the admired friend and rival of Albert Diirer, and who died,

94 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

it is said, of poison, administered to him by a less generous
rival whom he had entertained upon his artistic and almost
princely progress through the Netherlands ; and so we come
to Mabuse and Van Orley, and the Italianizers, and to the
death of early Christian art in the Netherlands. Yes, it is a
beautiful chapter in the history of art, this early German
and Flemish school, especially connecting it also with Albert
Diirer and his school.

To me one of the pleasantest passages in this chapter
is the thought of the intense joy which must have trans-
ported the Boissenfe brothers as one after another of these
gems of art were drawn forth into the light, and old names
and legends assumed the dignity of history, and this noble
gallery was finally brought to its resting-place in the
beautiful Pinakothek, purchased by King Ludwig as one
of the greatest treasures of his kingdom, and preserved here
as a noble monument to all — to the old painters themselves
— to the zealous brothers Boissere"e — and to the Art-King
Ludwig.

But why do we linger at the threshold of these cabinets ?
Let us enter and bathe our spirit in the poetry of these old
pictures ; let us listen to their teachings as though sweet
antique legends were read to us in some quaint tongue from
an old missal! What a glitter of golden grounds blazes
upon our vision in those pictures of Master Stephen and
Master Wilhelm. Solemn, gorgeously-robed saints are
there leaning upon their attributes of martyrdom,
their swords, their crosses, their wheels ; they are old
men all of them, yet in a green old age, and stand erect
and statue-like, within golden niches of richest Gothic
tracery.

Then, as we advance farther along the gallery of cabinets,
descending nearer and nearer to our modern world, what a
flutter meets us of rainbow-tinted wings, whose plumes are

THE BOISSEREE GALLERY IN THE PINAKOTHEK. 95

stolen from peacocks, doves, and parrots! Now we en-
counter fabulous scaly, green, scarlet, and azure dragons ;
but gallant youthful knights and angels, clad in armour
dazzling and golden, are at hand with glittering spears and
swords to slay the monsters. Ambrosial locks fly in the
wind, a vigorous arm brandishes the keen spear, a mailed
foot is planted upon the grisly worm! — he is writhing in
his death agony ! How one is bewildered by the stiff
embroidered robes of priests, warriors, and ladies, — robes
gorgeous with every burning tint, and sparkling with every
gem — jewel-encrusted are mitres, crosiers, copes and stoles,
ladies' stomachers, and warriors' breast-plates. What wealth
in golden and crystal goblets, in dagger-hilts and golden
crucifixes! In what silent, old wainscoted rooms do we
not repose ourselves — what shaded courts or crowded quaint
city streets do we not gaze into, through round-arched
windows, sitting upon scarlet-cushioned window-seats, and
breathing the perfumed breath of some tall white lily rising
out of a crystal or golden vase! Do we not hear the
soft lisping of saints breathing their prayers as they bend
over missals lying open upon carved ebony reading-desks !
and do we not even hear the silvery tones from St. Cecilia's
golden organ, as she touches its keys with her taper fingers,
and tiny angels hover around, wafting her garlanded brow
with their small wings and fluttering azure and rose-coloured
draperies !

Above all, do not our spirits take flight through the
most lovely of landscapes ! through scenes such as one alone
sees in dreams, or in these old pictures, across the most
verdant meadows, where bloom the richest flowers ; across
broad lakes mirroring the purest of heavens, and where
float majestic swans, and sweet large water-lilies unfold their
chalices. Now we toil up arid mountains, where the
grass grows hask and yellow, and where here and there a

96 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

slender tree quivers its delicate tracery of leaves and
branches against a cloudless sky. But if we toil over stones
and rocks it is only to command glimpses along vistas
of lovely, enchanting, distant country ; to overlook plains
and ranges of blue mountain-peaks ; to see old-world ham-
lets, and castles, and towns, and convents, and fortresses
sleeping upon the plains and crowning the mountain
heights ; whilst saints, and prophets, and warriors, and
sages, wander on pilgrimage through the meads and
valleys, passing forth to their martyrdoms and to their
glory. And it is ever spring, — clear, pure heavens of
spring, — May verdure, May flowers; the very brooklets
murmur and dance over their glittering pebbles and sand
with a vernal gladness. It is the Spring of Art, with
its clear, bright tints unfaded, unmellowed by the storms
and heats of summer. In Titian we have the gorgeous hues
of mellow autumn, the scarlets, oranges, and crimsons
deepened into solemn glory by warm, dusky shadows, cast,
as it were, by umbrageous groves, and contrasting richly
against deeply blue autumnal skies. There is perfected
beauty, solemn, gorgeous, yet with a certain pensiveness, as
though the Hamadryads sat, with bowed heads, and arms
folded over their breasts, amidst the falling leaves. But with
these earlier masters it is still spring and childhood. They
have the unquestioning faith, the unperfected knowledge, the
deep love, joy, and simplicity of children's hearts : thus
vernal odours float through their pure skies, thus their birds
carol vernal songs, their leaves and flowers sprout and un-
fold themselves in vernal sunshine.

There are three little pictures by Memling before which we
must especially pause. They are well known by engravings,
but without having seen the brilliancy of the colour, and the
delicacy and purity of the manipulation, only a faint idea can
be formed of the peculiar charm of these pictures. In the

memling's adoration of the magi. 97

engravings the quaintness of the drawing alone tells in
grotesque harshness, and all harmony is lost.

These pictures are the Adoration of the Magi, and its
two wings, upon one of which is painted St. John ; upon
the other St. Christopher. The Adoration, as usual, is re-
presented as taking place in a singular abode — a mingling
of ruined palace, cottage, and stable. A meek Virgin,
draped in dark blue, with heavy white drapery falling
around her pale face, holds upon her lap a grave little naked
Infant Jesus, who stretches forth his tiny arms towards the
adoring kings. Behind the Virgin, resting her folded hands
upon the back of the Virgin's seat, and standing with modest
downcast eyes, is a little waiting-maid. Beyond this group,
and seen between slender porphyry columns, is a stable
which has a round-arched window, supported also upon
marble columns. An ass and mule are seen eating in
the stable, out of a manger. One's eye wanders now
through the porphyry columns into a further and much
gloomier apartment, where a bright fire burns. This dark
room is divided by a low lath-and-plaster partition from the
stable ; upon this partition is perched a pair of doves.
It is extraordinary the detail of every kind crowded into
these old pictures. Through the round-arched window
of the stable, and through the open doorway of the ruinous
abode, we catch glimpses of round hills, green with the rich
deep grass of later spring. Upon the summit of the nearest
hill rises a beech-tree, spreading its verdant crown against
the deepest, clearest azure sky. A quaint town, of Lom-
bardic architecture, shines out between the hills. Down
the grassy slopes descends a train of gorgeously-attired
horsemen and men on foot : these are the attendants of
Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar, the three kings, now
entering the ruin to adore the meek, heavenly Infant.
Caspar, the eldest of the three, has a wrinkled brow and a

98 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

benign aspect. He kneels before the Child, his aged hands
folded together in quiet prayer. He wears a long scarlet,
jewel-clasped, and fur-trimmed tunic, bound round the waist.
At his knee lies his violet, velvet, gold-embroidered cap of
mediaeval fashion. Melchior has sunk upon one knee on
entering beneath the roof, and presents to mild old Joseph a
rich crystal goblet. Another crystal and golden goblet
stands upon a little table near to the Virgin, the offering of
Caspar. Melchior has a noble, manly countenance and
bearing : both his face and figure are seen in profile, as he
kneels there in his gold-embroidered crimson velvet tunic,
which, parting at the side and confined round the waist by
a gem-encrusted band, displays sleeve and hose of deep
blue velvet, and a gorgeously-wrought dagger hanging at
his side. Crisp, wavy brown hair parted upon his forehead,
flowing backward on to the shoulders, and a pointed beard
give a peculiar character to the whole head. The tradition
is, that in Melchior, Memling has portrayed his patron and
military general, Charles of Burgundy. He is a gallant
gentleman of the fifteenth century; among such must
Memling himself have fought and feasted. Balthasar is of
a still more youthful figure, and is entering from the
meadow, bearing in his hand a third rich goblet. His
costume is of violet velvet, and has a decidedly oriental
character about it.

Grass and flowers spring up among the ruinous masonry
of a low wall, which divides us the spectators from this
brilliant pageant. There is a rose-bush, every leaf and
bud lovingly painted with the most delicate care ; the dew
and perfume seem yet to hang about them. There is St.
John's-wort, too, with its pale golden blossoms : there are
dandelions with their globes of fairy-down ; there is a tuft
of delicate-leaved maiden-hair ; and a dusky orange snail
crawls slowly along the broken, low wall, leaving his silver)-,

MEMLING'S ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST. 99

slimy track behind him. How lovely in these pictures are
the natural objects connecting us with the ideal of the
Middle Ages! These simple weeds and flowers, and the
tiny creatures dwelling among them, though human beings
have long ago cast off their gorgeous array, yet burn in
azure and scarlet dyes, and glitter in burnished coats of
mail!

To the right of the Adoration, in its little wing, stands
St. John the Baptist. Over his robe of camel's hair he wears
a mantle of deep violet. He glances towards us with large,
soft brown eyes, pointing with his meagre fingers towards
a gentle lamb, which lies upon a scarlet-bound volume,
supported on his left hand. It is in a meadow of rich grass
and flowers where St. John is standing ; a tall white lily has
sprung up at his feet ; before him gurgles a shallow brooklet,
murmuring over pebbles and shells, which gleam brightly
through the transparent water as they lie scattered over the
golden sands. A brilliant kingfisher meditates amid the
lush weeds which overhang the streamlet's banks. Joyous
little lizards play and dart to and fro across a sandy, rugged
pathway, leading up towards a beetling, top-heavy rock,
which rises abruptly from the meadow. A similar crag rises
again farther off in the meadow, approached by a pleasant
pathway, winding up through a young oak-grove. Between
these two rocky heights your eye wanders into an enchant-
ing distance. There is a quiet lake lying amid smiling
meadows ; a city rising upon the farther shore, and far,
far away, gleam the blue peaks of a mountain-chain.
Across the calm lake sails a little boat ; and through the
pure heavens wing their way a rejoicing flock of birds.

In the other compartment of the little shrine we see
St. Christopher approaching as through the transparent,
sparkling waves, which are just murmuring into tranquility
after the recent tempest. The uprising sun gilds with warm

IOO AN ART- STUDENT IN MUNICH.

beams the precipitous, rocky banks — of the Rhine ! — Yes ;
for the Rhine, with its castle-crowned and vineyard-clad
banks, has been transported into Palestine by the admiring
Memling ! The sunbeams bathe hills, rocks, vineyards,
castles, and churches ; the sunbeams tint with rose and
violet the long streaks of retreating storm-clouds ; and on
through the emerald waves comes patient old, obedient
Christopher, bearing upon his stooping shoulders the little
Christ-child, who blesses the whole world with three up-
raised fingers of his tiny hand. On comes the patient old
man, with his dark azure tunic tucked up above his knees,
and with a crimson mantle fluttering round him and the tall
staff upon which he leans. Words can convey no image
of the magic splendour of the tints, glowing, gorgeous, and
liquid as the tints of a painted window, or of precious gems;
nor yet of each minutest detail wrought out with most
loving, delicate care.

How different in beauty to these child-like German
pictures is an exquisite little Entombment of Christ, in
one of the cabinets, of the early Italian school; yet it is,
to a degree, kindred in spirit! It is one of several small
pictures by Angelico which the Pinakothek contains, and
has always strangely affected me. In Memling and Van
Eyck our sympathies with the natural world are especially
called forth ; here Angelico touches with a spirit's hand our
highest spiritual being. It is a very small picture, painted
in tempera, and looks like a pale and faded water-colour
drawing. The colours are tender rose, tender blue, and
grey, with golden tints for the hair, and gold for stars, and
delicate tracery upon the draperies. The feeling produced
upon my mind by this exquisite creation is as of an ecstatic
vision seen by saint or martyr.

The figures are of course arranged with perfect symmetry.

ANGELICO'S ENTOMBMENT OF CHRIST. IOI

The lifeless form of Christ, supported behind by Joseph of
Arimathea, rises in the centre, pale and stark; the won-
drously noble head bowed on the breast, the eyelids with
the shadow of death upon them, — the whole tender, mourn-
ful, beyond the power of words to express. The rich golden
hair falls in gentle waves from the pallid brow around the
visionary countenance. The lower portion of the figure is
draped in very soft, semi-transparent, white drapery, which
hangs in perfectly symmetrical folds ; the arms are stretched
forth, as if upon the cross, but the hands drooping. The
right hand is kissed by the Virgin Mary, the left by
St. John. They both approach the figure of our Lord
timidly, lovingly, half-kneeling ; their figures and heads are
seen in profile ; the attitudes are almost similar, and each is
garmented in pale rose-coloured and pale blue drapery.
How adoring, how tenderly, purely beautiful, are their
countenances, filled with an unearthly grace — such grace as
alone is seen in Raphael's early pictures, and in the works
of Angelico. A golden star gleams upon the shoulder of
the Virgin. Behind the figures rises the grey, formal
sepulchre cut in the rock. Above are seen the tops of dark
cypresses. Dark grass, filled with tufts of formal grey and
pale blue flowers, covers the ground ; all is unreal, mysterious,
symbolic, as if traced by the hand of a seraph rather than
by the hand of man !

102 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER X.

SLEDGING.

November 22nd. — The great feature of this week has been
sledging. Last Sunday was the first day that sledges made
their appearance. For several days the snow had kept
falling and falling, and the sky had continued of a sullen
white filled with unfallen snow.

We felt certain that sledges must soon make their appear-
ance, and talked about the poetry and romance of sledging.
We recalled the sledgings in Miss Bremer's novels, and
Frithiof, and old King Ring, and Hamilton and Hildegard's
sledging adventure in that clever book the " Initials," and
determined that when we drove in a sledge it also should
be towards Nymphenburg, in memory of Hildegard and
Hamilton's misfortunes.

On Sunday afternoon we heard from the street a
merry sound of bells — "A sledge, Isabel? a sledge !" cried
Anna. In a moment Isabel had rushed to the window,
exclaiming in an excited tone, as she looked out, " Oh, how
pretty ! how pretty ! Come, Anna ! do look at its scarlet
trappings, at its fur-lining, at the funny people wrapped up
in'it!" Isabel was ready to clap her hands like a
delighted child.

On Monday morning, as I entered the English Garden,
and was admiring the heavy masses of snow which hung
in fantastic forms upon the dark branches of a group of fir-
trees, and was enjoying the purity, and silence, and beauty

SLEDGING. 103

of the whole scene, a sharp, clear sound of bells rang
through the frosty air; skimming along the white
smooth road which wound among the trees, came on a
bright green and gilded sledge, drawn by a brisk black
horse, brilliant with scarlet trappings and musical with little
bells. It was a peasant's sledge; and wrapt up in his cloak,
and with a fur-cap drawn down over his brows, and with fur
gloves upon his hands, within it sat a burly peasant. So
pretty was the whole thing, so gay and fantastic, that a
thrill ran through my nerves, and I was as perfect a child in
my joy over the pea-green sledge as Isabel had been the
day before.

In the course of Monday, sledges were to be seen every-
where. Sledges were seen standing before doors, without
horses, as though people were bringing them forth from
their summer retreats, and were inspecting their state and
condition, whilst others were being pulled along to black-
smiths and coach-builders to be repaired.

Gentlemen's carriages have begun to travel upon sledges
instead of upon wheels — ditto droschkes, ditto fiacres —
ditto peasants' carts — ditto laundresses' carts — ditto brewers'
carts. Little lads, of course, go to school and return upon
sledges instead of upon their own legs. Water-tubs and
buckets, and milk-jars, or rather the wooden pails, hooped
with brass, in which people here carry their milk about —
all travel on sledges. Things and vehicles moving upon
wheels or legs, one begins to consider very much out of
fashion ! Together with the droschkes and fiacres now
put upon sledges, you see upon the stands, sledges proper
— two and one-horse sledges — green, blue, and yellow,
grand, elegant, and shabby; and these sledges you see
driving about in all directions, with their heavily-cloaked
and be-furred drivers generally standing up behind, d-la
Hansom-cad, and cracking their long-lashed whips till the

104 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

streets resound again. You see a couple of students in one
sledge; — a whole family, father, mother, and a crowd of
children in a family-sledge — you see a lady and gentleman
alone — you see, perhaps, as I did last night, two fat
citizenesses, one driving, with a couple of round-faced rosy
children peeping out from under the apron of the sledge,
and seemingly quite close under the horse's heels. You see
a couple of Munich "gents" — for there are such animals
here— with big-buttoned coats, jaunty hats, and cigars in
their mouths, driving a lean shambling horse at a furious
rate, whilst they themselves seem ready to be spilt from
their slight sledge any moment ; and you see numbers of
well-to-do big-boned peasants, rapidly skimming along in
their sledges, which all bear a striking resemblance to each
other, being green, often of painted wicker-work, and
quaintly adorned with gilt tracery-work, which looks as
though it were of iron gilt.

In order to see as much winter-life as possible, I have
varied my walk to the studio these last several mornings, by
going down through the Hof-Garten, where, by-the-by, three
days running, at the same hour and upon the same spot, I
have encountered, buttoned up to the chin in his warm
furred coat, his Majesty King Max, taking his morning
walk, and then I have wended my way down an old street
which leads to the St. Anna Vorstadt. And upon these
walks I have not only seen all these varieties of the genus
sledge, but also soldiers emptying out of long heavy carts
loads of snow into the branches of the Isar, which flow
through the town, and met processions of laundresses
which have vastly amused me. In the early morning they
were entering the city with clothes-baskets and bundles,
piled up ever so high upon wooden sledges, which they both
drew along and pushed. The sledges were not few in
number, and the procession was rendered yet more fantastic

STREET WOOD-CUTTERS. I05

from gay-coloured dresses and white petticoats, borne aloft
like pennons upon long poles ! All bright and fresh in the
clear winter's morning, their comely faces glowing with
exercise and the sharp air, their gowns and gay handker-
chiefs as clean and bright as their faces, these laundress-
maids and matrons looked wondrously attractive. Just
picture to yourselves this train winding along through the
old street, white and crisp with its snow, and tell me
whether, together with a pea-green sledge rushing along
here and there, and every now and then a group of peasants,
men and women, cutting up wood before the houses, the scene
was not peculiar and pleasantly foreign ? These groups of
cutters of wood are very amusing. The man — for the group
usually consists of one man and two women — the man in a
chocolate-coloured or pale pink cotton jacket, black velvet
breeches, and black top-boots, chopping away upon a heavy
block which he has placed upon the causeway ; the women
in pink or blue cotton bodices, with large wadded gigot
sleeves, and scarlet or green, or scarlet and green mixed,
woollen petticoats, and with black or white kerchiefs tied
over their heads, one sawing pieces of wood in a skeleton-
like sawing machine, the other carrying away, in a wooden
basket on her back, the cut and sawn pieces of wood
through the heavy arched door, or rather gateway, of the
house.

But to return to sledging and to our sledging. On
Tuesday afternoon the sun shone out gloriously, casting
long gleams on the studio floor through the high windows.
My eyes glanced up and encountered, smiling through leaf-
less branches flecked with snow, such a lapis-lazuli heaven
that I forthwith put away my drawing, and some twenty
minutes later stood in our little sitting-room, startling Isabel
with my exclamation of " On with your cloak ! quick !
quick ! we will go in a sledge to Nymphenburg !— Hurrah

VOL. 11. I

106 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

for Hamilton and Hildegard, we will honour their memories
by the self-same drive on the self-same day ! " Isabel was
much pleased with the scheme. Fraulein Sanchen was
despatched to bring us the handsomest sledge she could
find on the stand, with two handsome horses. We made a
hasty dinner, whilst the good old soul bustled off, wrapt
ourselves up in all our warm things, and were ready by the
time that a musical and significant jingling of bells was heard
beneath our windows. The sledge — I grieve to record it —
was a bright yellow ! I am sorry for this, seeing that a
bright yellow vehicle of any description is an eyesore to me.
However, we will regard it as a golden sledge.

Our horses were very wild — at least in appearance, — our
driver a perfect monster, in his dark blue cloak, edged with
brown fur at the sleeves and round the deep cape. Our
trappings were scarlet, the lining of our sledge dark blue.
We, ourselves, you may picture in thick veils and furs, and
black-hooded cloaks. Away we started ; the long whip
cracked again and again in artistic flourishes, its echoes
resounding through the quiet streets, and, together with the
horses' bells, making a tremendous riot.

Isabel was quite alarmed because everybody in the street
stopped to look after us.

" Of course they do, Isabel, of course ! — don't we stop
and look after every sledge as it dashes past ? — it is only
proper respect to the early sledges of the season." And on
we dashed.

The sun shone upon the long lines of delicately-tinted
houses, pale pinks, stone colours, greens, and salmons ; the
tall roofs were dazzling with snow ; the sledges and groups
of people we passed in the streets looked brilliant patches of
colour, contrasting against the whiteness of the road, and
shone upon by the bright sun. We drove out towards the
vast plain ; the sun was beginning to sink slowly into an

SLEDGING. 107

abyss of molten gold, which revealed itself behind a
gigantic range of mountain-like clouds of lilac and amber ;
the tall obelisk burnt in the rays of the setting sun till it
appeared a mighty tongue of fire leaping up into the azure
heavens; the sunbeams lay upon the broad doors of the
beautiful pure Glyptothek, gleaming like flame ; the statues,
the columns and pediment, both of the Glyptothek and of
the Corinthian Temple facing it, were tinted with the warm
light, and rose from the expanse of snow beyond, in sharp
outline, and of the most exquisite creamy hue. And before
us lay the plain, — dreamy, dazzlingly white, with long
shadows falling across it of delicate azure, with trees and
villages in the middle distance of ethereal greys, and so
tender, so unreal in their colouring, yet, at the same time,
so distinct in their contour, that one was transported with
delight.

We passed beneath one of those long beams suspended
across the roads, painted with winding stripes of the
Bavarian colours, which are seen here in lieu of turnpike
gates — entered a road lined with trees on either hand —
ascended a slight hill — breweries and wayside beer- and
coffee-houses and small villas skirting the road, and having
again reached the level ground, were in the Nymphenburg
Altee, as it is called.

But behold ! a mist, dense, blue, and cold, approached
us ! We could not see a hundred — nay, not fifty — not
twenty yards before us ! Yet, behind us, lay Munich in the
clear sunshine. Mist rose rapidly and stealthily from the
snowy plain. To the right hand and to the left mist blocked
up the avenue. How strange ! There was nothing for it
but immediate return, — there was no Nymphenburg that
day ! The pedestrians, horses, drivers, and riders of various
degrees who approached us, or passed us on their way
towards the city, presented a singular appearance : beards,

I 2

Io8 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

hair of man and beast, and the fur of their cloaks and trap-
pings, were covered with a white rime, — they appeared
suddenly to have gone grey.

As rapidly as possible we returned to Munich, where all
was still so pleasant in the evening sunshine, that we con-
tinued our drive. We drove past the Basilica, across the
Dultplatz, and through the most frequented streets till we
entered the Ludwigsstrasse, which, in winter, is the great
afternoon parade of Munich. People, as usual, were pro-
menading up and down the noble street, and sledges and
carriages were rapidly driving to and fro. All looked most
bright and gay. As we glided along, we both decided that
the Ludwigsstrasse was wearing an extremely handsome face
that day. Now we skimmed past Duke Max's palace, past
the Royal Library, where the colossal statues of Aristotle,
Hippocrates, Homer, and Thucydides, throned aloft, looked
more than usually solemn and venerable from the snow-
hoods and draperies fallen upon them ; past the Ludwig's
Church, the white slender towers of which cut boldly
against the pure rosy evening sky; past the Damenstift, the
University, the Jesuits' College, the now silent fountains, and
emerging beneath the Triumphal Arch, found ourselves- in
the long poplar avenue leading to Schwabing.

We had just time to drive as far as Schwabing for Isabel
to have a dim and dreary glimpse of the Church, where is
the picturesque Overbeck gallery, and of the house where
dwells the little old woman with the throng of children, and
of the yet more distant church with the pea-green spire :
but all was now cold, snow, ice, and icicles, — so away we
sped home again to our comfortable tea-table, our driver
cracking his whip yet louder and longer, and in one of his
evolutions nearly carrying off poor Isabel's nose. This was
the more bitterly unkind as I discovered that this day
happened to be her birthday !

SLEDGING. 109

November 26th. — To-day we had another holiday, thanks
to the attraction of sledging. Isabel was overjoyed when
once more Anna suddenly returned from the studio proposing
a fresh attempt to reach Nymphenburg. Fraulein Sanchen
was again despatched for a sledge,— the very handsomest
she could hire, — and for Anna's new bonnet from the
milliner's ; for Anna, at length, was going to relieve her con-
science by making a call, only too long due, at Madame
de 's.

Sledge and bonnet arrived in due time, and well had
Fraulein Sanchen executed her commission : she clapped
her poor old bony hands with satisfaction and joy, the good
old Fraulein ! as she ran into our sitting-room all crimson-
nosed from the frosty air, and bidding us to look out of the
window at the magnificent sledge which she had brought.
It was a magnificent sledge which we had greatly admired
on the Odeonsplatz, — large and white, lined with scarlet
cloth, and covered in with a leopard skin, — two tall golden
ornaments in the front, crowned each with a golden bunch of
grapes, — but the supreme grandeur of the whole were plumes
of white and blue feathers, which nodded upon the horses'
heads ! The driver and his horses were in keeping with the
sledge — was it not magnificent indeed? A fit equipage to
convey ladies to an ambassador's house !

But ah ! the Russian lady, the Frau Oberstin, who lives at
the end of our street, and who unluckily for the hard-working
English girls, has taken a great fancy to them, — she and her
six little boys ! — also had thought the sledge magnificent !
The elder two of the six little fellows, going to their afternoon
school, had met Fraulein Sanchen as she returned in the
sledge, and had, after setting up a shout of recognition and
admiration, besought leave to mount "into the glorious sledge
just for a tiny drive," — but the burly be-furred driver had
cracked his long whip unfeelingly, and sped past the "little

IIO AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

grey goblins," as hand-in-hand they stood upon the pave-
ment, with the hoods of their grey cloaks drawn over their
heads, gazing after the departing glory with big round brown
eyes. But as the handsome sledge dashed round the corner
of the Amalienstrasse, the portly figure of the gay Frau Ober-
stin had appeared among the ivy-wreaths of her window,
the casement had flown open, the good-humoured face of the
lady, and the golden locks and rosy cheeks of a third child
had leaned out into the sunshine, and a clear little voice had
rung through the frosty air, reaching Fraulein Sanchen's pur-
posely deaf ears, with the cry of "We come, we come ! "

And assuredly they did come ! Anna, listening to the old
Fraulein's description of the Frau Oberstin's sudden appari-
tion at the ivy-wreathed casement, gave a violent jerk of
vexation to the strings of her new bonnet, when in burst the
smiling uninvited guest, brilliant in an elegant toilette, with
the golden-haired Adalbert springing around her, and his
blue and white plumes bobbing about like mad things.

" Here we are, my dear young ladies, you see ; come to
drive out with you in the splendid sledge,— you know you
couldn't possibly drive out by yourselves — it does not look
well! and it's just what I've been wanting all day. I was
terribly moped ; and Adalbert, my Wurmchen, didn't you
want a drive in the beautiful sledge? Oh ! we'll have
such a charming drive, won't we, dear young ladies ! " ex-
claimed the good Oberstin, with the most delightful self-
complacency.

A cloud passed over our brows ; but the Frau Oberstin
wore such an elegant blonde veil, and little Adalbert was so
blinded by his curls and his feathers, that probably neither
of them could see the dark looks of their proposed com-
panions.

" We are going to make a call upon Madame de ,"

observed Anna, in a cold voice.

UNINVITED GUESTS. Ill

" Oh, never mind that, Fraulein Ovitt; never mind that!
We'll sit in the sledge whilst you call."

" I fear you will scarcely find room in the sledge, Frau
Oberstin," observed Isabel.

" Not Room / " ejaculated the portly dame. " Not Room/
my dear Fraulein ; it's the largest sledge in all Munich !
there would be room and to spare for all my six boys !
And, by the by, I daresay we may meet Ludwig and Max
returning from school when we return from our drive, or the
nurses somewhere with Luitpold, Otto, and the baby; and
you wouldn't mind — now would you ?— though you always do
pretend to say you are not lovers of children, — to take
some of the dear Wiirmchen for a drive. It is such a
beautiful day, and such a large sledge ! "

It was certainly not agreeable to have your sledge forcibly
taken possession of by uninvited companions. But out in the
sunshine, when the handsome lady, seating herself in the
best seat, with every possible grace arranged Adalbert
between Isabel and Anna, demanding from them "whether,
now, they really did not think it was a very splendid thought
her going with them ? " they were forced to relax in their
vexation, and smile.

Madame de was not at home ; so, leaving cards,

away we dashed past the little house with its golden balcony,
formerly inhabited by Lola Montes, but not in the direction
of Nymphenburg ! The Frau Oberstin had already decided
that our drive must be to the Aumeister in the English
Garden, — had given, in her loud tone of command, directions
to the driver,— and away to the English Garden we were now
speeding.

Away we dashed through the streets, everybody turning
round to admire the splendid sledge, across the Odeonsplatz,
where stand the statues of Gluck and Orlando di Lasso,
which to-day in the sunshine looked extremely well, as you

112 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

caught the gleam of their tawny bronze against a background
of dazzling snow and a heaven of summer blue ; and through
the archway of the arcade we dash into the Hofgarten. All
looks especially gay this winter's afternoon : people walking
under the arcade ; people walking about over the crisp
trodden snow beneath the formal rows of leafless trees which
fill the square. On one hand stretches the garden-front of
the palace, its pediment crowned by the allegorical figures of
the different provinces of Bavaria, and its facade gay with
decorations in a style to my taste too much resembling
French plum-box ornament ; but which, nevertheless, looked
bright and cheerful in the wintry weather. Before us lies a
long, white, many-windowed building, with steep and dormer-
windowed roofs — a barracks. Behind us, and to our left
hand, the arcade, the frescos and dull scarlet walls and
groups of statuary of which shine out, from beneath long
rows of rounded arches, pleasantly enough, as you catch
transient glimpses of them between the leafless trees. This
Hofgarten fresco decoration one might give as about the
worst specimen of Munich art ; but truly to-day the effect
was good. Among the promenaders in the Hofgarten, — it
is of course a great resort of nurses and children, — we found
one of the Frau Oberstin's nurses, the one who wears the
pretty Munich costume. The baby was asleep on a pink
cushion laid upon a little wooden sledge, and sleeping he
was drawn over the beaten snow. Fat little Luitpold was
toddling beside the picturesque nursemaid.

The Frau Oberstin instantly catching sight of the group,
had Luitpold transferred with lightning rapidity from the
snowy ground to the warmth of the grand sledge. There
would have been no use in remonstrance from us, could we
have hardened ourselves into sufficient ungraciousness. And
when the little fellow shouted with glee, and hid his little
hands under the leopard-skin, seeking with much merriment

SLEDGING. 113

to catch hold of his brother's hands, and their blue and
white plumes danced together as gaily as the plumes upon
the horses' heads, we gradually called forth our latent
amiability.

"Surely," observed the complacent Frau Oberstin, "to-day
we shall meet the Royal sledges ; they are a fine sight ! And
we look so handsome, with these dear children, that really I
should not object to it !"

But we did not meet the Royal sledges.

We met, however, troops and troops of people streaming
out of the English Garden, as though it had been summer.
And summer it might have been, judging from the sunshine,
and deep, clear, joyous sky above us. Of a truth the day
was a delightful blending of the beauty of summer sky and
winter landscape.

Now we swept past some grand old beech-tree, whose
mossy bole and venerable twisted roots, still strewn with
ruddy leaves, rose green and sylvan from amidst the expanse
of spotless snow ; now past a clump of shrubs whose crimson
twigs and stems were a flush of warmth ; now we greeted
with delight, fantastic bowers of clematis which festooned
the forest-trees, and bore upon their myriad entwined and
slender fingers wreaths and masses of snow, beautiful and
soft as clustering blossoms.

We might have been travelling through an enchanted
forest, such lovely gems hung from the branches. Here rich
bunches of the scarlet dog-wood berries mingled with black
berries of the privet — coral and jet ; a golden leaf fluttering
here and there ; and ever and anon a slender pendant icicle
catching the sunbeams, flashed out from an over-hanging
branch like a diamond dagger.

We met many sledges so bright in colour, that if one has
compared the berries and icicles to gems, one is tempted to
call these sledges flowers which have come out in winter to

114 A N ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

adorn the pleasant garden. That large flaunting sledge,
yellow "picked out" with red, must be a Tulip; that com-
fortable, compact little "turn-out" certainly is a Ranunculus;
here we have a deep blue Larkspur, and there, in the modest,
quaint peasant's sledge of green and gold, we have the
pleasant, common, golden Buttercup, half buried in its rich
green leaves ! And we, too, with our scarlet cushions and
our azure plumes, we must be a bouquet of lovely Lobelias !
No, it would have been more correct to liken sledges to
brilliant birds, or to gorgeous, swift, and cheerily singing
insects, for all have their sharp clear chime and jingle of
bells, as they sweep along ! Our bells were silver, — a grada-
tion of bells, and therefore, of sound. The bells were hung
within a steel bow which was arched above either horse's
neck ! Pleasant and gay was their ringing in the enchanted
forest !

We have passed the round temple-like pavilion standing
upon its high mound, and which always in summer, when
seen amid leafy trees and across an expanse of flowers,
reminds me of the Temple of Hymen as depicted in valen-
tines, and towards which a very yellow-haired and rosy-
cheeked Cupid is conducting a blue-coated swain and a
bashful maiden in white frock and pink sash. We have
passed various pretty rustic bridges spanning branches of the
Isar which dash and foam over mossy stones, — we have
passed the lake, now one sheet of snow-covered ice, over
which a crowd of skaters is careering, — we have passed
various disconsolate looking and deserted summer-houses
and coffee and beer resorts, where now snow lies in thick
piles upon tables and benches ; and now we are in a part of
the Garden which is quite new to us. Here and there among
the trees we notice little wigwams made of grass and reeds :
have we reached, then, the abode of woodland elves? Ah!
there are the elves, crimson and green, with brilliant spark-

THE AUMEISTER. 115

ling eyes peeping at us from out the underwood, and flitting
across our path.

The little boys are enchanted — we are in the Pheasantry !
Now we have arrived at the Aumeister !

" What is the Aumeister ? " asked we, full of curiosity.

" Only a little Wirthshaus ! " returned the Frau Oberstin.

" Very good coffee at the Aumeister, gracious ladies ! "
observed our big, jolly driver, turning round with a face red
and circular as the sun which was setting behind the wooded
horizon ; " and very good beer, too ! "

But neither attraction persuaded us to alight from the
splendid sledge, and our driver turned his horses' heads
towards Munich with a very dissatisfied countenance when
commanded so to do by the Frau Oberstin's strong voice.

1 16 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER XI.

A STUDENTS' TORCH PROCESSION.

December is/. — Frau v. Amsel brought us word to-day that
there would be this evening a torch procession of the students,
in honour of one of the favourite professors of the University.
It had been extremely foggy all day, and it was feared this
might interfere with the effect of the spectacle. The mist,
however, seemed to be driven away by the torches as they
came up the broad Ludwigsstrasse like dancing fiery tongues,
hundreds and hundreds of them, in two long lines, up either
side of the magnificent street, casting their ruddy glow upon
the parapets, statues, Byzantine mouldings, and arches of
the noble buildings. Every object was illumined with a
burning glow.

We had taken our station upon the broad flight of steps
of the Damenstift, which faces the Ludwig's Church, and
thus commanded a good view up and down the street. The
students assembled in front of the University, which is at
the lower end of the Ludwigsstrasse, nearly filling with their
numbers the wide space between the University and the
Jesuits' College. There the torches were lighted, and then,
each student bearing his torch, the procession — preceded and
followed by a band of musicians, playing marches alternately
— advanced along the street.

Imagine these two approaching streams of torches, borne
in the hands of youths and young men quaintly attired in
hooded cloaks, or in black velvet coats, and each student

a students' torch procession. 117

wearing a small tricolour skull-cap of the colours of his
corps, and with his corps-band crossing his breast. As the
torches burned down, the youths, to refresh the flame, struck
them on the ground, leaving, as they marched along, streaks
and sparks of fire behind them. Here and there at certain
distances up the centre of the broad street, between the lines
of torch bearers, strode the signors of the different corps,
one by one, in full costume of black velvet coat, with a broad
tricolour scarf crossing the breast, with white leather breeches
and huge black shining boots which reached above the knee,
with spurs and jingling sword-sheaths ringing upon the frosty
earth, and bearing in their hands gleaming naked swords.

Up the centre also slowly progressed, here and there, an
open carriage, in which sat students wearing their tricolour
corps-caps, but otherwise dressed as if for a ball, in black
coats, white waistcoats, white cravats, and white kid gloves.
These were the students deputed to wait upon the favourite
professor.

The ruddy torch-light flared upon the groups of spectators
crowding the causeways ; upon the spectators leaning from
windows ; upon the broad portals and white facade of the
Ludwig's Church, bathing in warm light the rounded arches,
the sculptured saints and capitals, whilst the two slender
towers faded away gradually and mysteriously into the upper
darkness and coldness of night. The torches, with their
columns of ruddy smoke swayed to and fro, here leaping up
and casting their crimson glow upon some fair-haired and
delicately-featured youth, or upon the gigantic, stalwart
corps-signor who strode beside him, and whose brawny pro-
portions, closely-cropped red hair and burly beard, and
gleaming broad-sword, showed forth wildly in the unearthly
light like those of some old German knight of the Middle
Ages. Further down the street the torches flitted and danced
like hundreds of fire-flies.

Il8 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

Leaving the Ludvvigsstrasse and crossing two or three
squares, we found the fiery tongues flitting through a grim
old gateway, which leads into the older portion of the city.
They cast their red illumination upon many a heavy balcony,
upon many a quaint old gabled house, upon many a dingy
frowning portal, upon many an antiquated shop. Their red
light flared also upon a house with a long row of high win-
dows running along the ground-floor, and which were
defended with iron stanchions, quite prison-like. It was a
great school of boys ; and all these windows were crowded
with animated boyish faces— rosy, pale, plump, meagre,
handsome, plain — illumined with eagerness as well as by the
torch-light. You saw how the little fellows burnt with desire
for the time when they, no longer prisoners, should, as free,
jovial, and admired " Mztsensohne" march gallantly through
the streets with music, torches, and loud shouts of "Victoria,
Bavaria ! " At length the procession paused ; the musicians
arranged themselves on either side of a somewhat humble-
looking house. The corps-signors grouped themselves in the
centre of the street opposite.

Was this small, almost mean-looking dwelling then the
home of the beloved and learned professor, in whose honour
the whole university had come forth in such gallant array ?
Or must not the professor rather live in one of the two lofty
antiquated, and imposing mansions which rose to the right
and left of the modest abode ? Yes, the professor probably
would come forth and address his pupils from that heavy
balcony of fantastic iron-work which adorned the larger of
the two imposing mansions. But no ! there is no festive
look about the great houses. About the little house there is
an expectant air. Lights shine through the four windows of
the middle story. In one window burns a taper; another
window is open.

Soon the students who have arrived in carriages descend

A STUDENTS TORCH PROCESSION. 119

and enter the house ; they may be seen in the lit-up room
conversing with a grey-headed gentleman. The two bands
of musicians greet the great professor with music. One of
the students calls forth a congratulation from the street ; the
grey-headed gentleman leans out from the open window,
and in a low voice whose tones scarcely reach us where we
stand, addresses a few words to the crowd below. The sig-
nors clash their swords together ; there is a loud but briet
hurrah ! the music bursts forth once more ; again the pro-
fessor bows from his window, and a lady gazes down upon
the crowd from the window where burns the taper. A
glimpse is caught of the student-deputies drinking wine
within the professor's lighted rooms ; and the train of torches
once more moves along.

The procession again wound through the picturesque
streets, passed beneath another grim old gateway, and
emerged upon a large square. Here the torch-bearers,
forming into a vast ring, the quaintly-attired corps-signors,
with their brandished swords, stood in the centre, with the
musicians on either hand. The voices of the many hundred
students burst forth, like the murmur of the ocean, into the
solemn Guadeamus Igitur. Then, clashing their swords,
the signors shouted a loud "vivat ! " for their University and
Academic freedom, and at once hundreds of burning torches
were flung whirling and flaming through the air ; then fall-
ing, formed two pyres, where they burnt down gradually
and smouldered ; first, however, sending up vast masses of
red flame and columns of dusky crimson smoke, which cast
a fantastic lurid glare upon the rapidly-departing clouds.

December 2nd. — Isabel is bending down over her slate,
writing various profound questions out of Ollendorff's Gram-
mar, about " Have you my ass's hay ? No, I have not your
ass's hay ; but I have the hay of my neighbour's ass." She

120 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

is everlastingly puzzling her brains with such questions, till I
wonder that she does not go quite crazy, and frequently
startles me with the interrogation, " Has the baker's dog
got the fine golden collar ? No, the dog of my brother's
tailor has the fine golden collar."

Apropos of dogs and dog-collars, to-day I asked what had
become of my old friend Carlo, that beautiful dog which, in
the statuette of Kaulbach, lies at his feet looking up lovingly
into his face ; and I learned what I had feared would happen,
that the poor old handsome beast, with his blind eye, was
dahin — had disappeared from the surface of the earth !
" Ah ! he was done for at the last dog-examination ! " was
the reply.

" Dog-examination ? " asked I, forgetting for the moment
how the dogs here are looked after and examined by the
police, as though they were human beings.

" Yes ; he was condemned by the police to die at the last
examination, and he exists no more."

I told Isabel when I returned home of poor old Carlo's fate.
After dinner, when, in a very lazy mood, we were lying
each upon our sofa, and had commissioned Fraulein San-
chen to prepare our coffee, we began questioning her about
these public " dog-days," whilst she stood superintending the
boiling of the milk over the spirit-lamp. She told us that each
quarter of the town is summoned to present its dogs upon a
certain day, twice a year, to the police ; and that then, the
state of health of each dog being ascertained, every dog in
good health receives a little ticket, which is hung round his
neck. Fraulein Sanchen was surprised that we had never
noticed these little metal labels. Any dog found without his
label is liable to be killed by the police. All dogs pronounced
dangerous, ill, or very old, are destroyed, and buried at a
certain spot near Sendling, which is the grave-yard of all the
dogs and horses of Munich.

PUBLIC EXECUTIONS. 121

" Fraulein Sanchen," said I, much interested about this
horrible spot, " is it there that the public execution of
criminals takes place ? "

" No, gracious Fraulein ! people are beheaded on the
Theresienwiese."

" Have you ever, Fraulein Sanchen, seen a beheading ? "
I inquired with a shudder, knowing that most Munich
women of her class hasten to witness executions as an ordi-
nary excitement.

" Certainly," she replied. She had witnessed the execu-
tion of two criminals often spoken of in Munich — the
soldier-servant, who murdered the young wife of his master
and her maid ; and the man who had killed an old priest
two or three years previously.

The accomplice of this man I had seen in the Au Prison,
where he is confined for life. It is seldom that the law of
capital punishment is carried into execution in Bavaria. I
understand that King Ludwig had a peculiar horror of
signing a death-warrant ; and this accounts for so many
murderers being confined in the Au Prison. There are
rumours of a law being now in contemplation by which the
execution of criminals in Bavaria shall be closed from the
eye of the public — shall alone be witnessed by certain de-
puted officials. When one meets with instances of women,
usually tender-hearted, such as Fraulein Sanchen, hastening
to witness one public execution after another with gusto, one
desires that the law were already passed. From Fraulein
Sanchen I derived the following ghastly picture :—

Early in the forenoon the condemned criminal is conducted
from the prison to the Stadt-Gericht (Court of Justice), in
the old portion of the city. The unhappy man is bareheaded ;
his hair and beard are cut quite close ; he is clothed in a
grey or black blouse of woollen stuff; upon both breast and
back is hung a placard, setting forth the particulars of his
VOL. II. K

122 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

crime ; he is seated in a peasant's wagon ; two priests attend
him if he be Catholic, two Lutheran ministers if he be Luthe-
ran. Gendarmes follow the wagon ; a dense crowd presses
around. The procession halts before the windows of the
Court House. The solemn judge appears ; he reads the con-
demnation of the criminal ; he breaks a staff. " The staff is
broken — the words are spoken ! " he exclaims. There is a
death-like silence. The criminal looks up towards his
judge. The bells of all the churches begin to toll; the pro-
cession moves onwards ; the multitude grows and grows.

What a mighty ocean of spectators are awaiting the pro-
cession upon the Theresienwiese, in the midst of this soft
May rain! There rises a tall scaffold. Upon the scaffold is
a chair ; behind the chair stands a man in black ; beside
the chair is a bier ; beside the bier stand gendarmes. The
criminal, in his grey frock, with his staring labelled breast
and back, ascends the scaffold. The man in black comes
forward, beseeching pardon from the miserable criminal
for the deed he is about to perform. The criminal's eyes are
bound with a handkerchief; he is led towards the chair ; he
is placed in it. The man in black with his long sword strikes
a terrible blow from behind, through bone and muscle and
arteries ! Two — three blows, perhaps, he strikes : such
things have been. Forth spouts the crimson life-blood
like a hideous fountain, — there is a rush of people with
handkerchiefs to be steeped in the warm gore, as charms
against sickness and misfortune, — and the spectacle is over.

STREET MUSIC. I 23

CHAPTER XII.

STREET MUSIC. — THE ANTIGONE.

December nth. — Yesterday morning, Isabel heard for
the first time mass performed in the Hofkapelle : those
grand chants pealing through the gilded and frescoed
galleries affected her imagination as much as I had ex-
pected. After we came forth from the chapel we did as the
rest of Munich did, went to hear the military band play
at 12 o'clock, beneath the Feldherrnhalle, — or Portico of
the Marshals, as it is called, — a beautiful portico which ter-
minates the Ludwigsstrasse, at the end opposite to the
Siegesthor. This portico is very beautiful, built by Gartner,
upon the plan of Orcagna's Loggia de' Lanzi at Florence.
Three noble round arches, rich with sculptured devices, rise
upon slender columns from a flight of broad steps. Two
bronze statues, designed by Schwanthaler, are placed within
the portico : they are of Tilly and Prince Wrede.

Beneath the Loggia the military band of the Hauptwach
plays every day at 12 o'clock, and as they play remarkably
well, and choose good music, this Portico of the Marshals is
a great resort of the Munich people, especially on Sundays.

As we disliked the gossiping crowd in the street, we
posted ourselves at a window of a public gallery in the
palace, which overlooks the scene. Imagine now a
military band ravishing our ears with strains from
" Norma " or the " Zauber Flote," and imagine the street

K 2

124 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

— square, almost one must call it — the Ludwigsstrasse

having widened out here into the Odeonsplatz — crowded

with motley groups. As to-day happened to be very cold,

with snow lying upon the ground, the crowd principally

consisted of gentlemen. This fact, however, did not prevent

the scene being gay in colour, and picturesque as regards

costume. At these twelve-o'clock concerts the students

of the University always muster in great numbers. Their

scarlet and green, and white and crimson caps, and caps

also of three colours combined, look very gay. Many

of them also wear Bernouses, lined with blue or crimson

like a woman's cloak ; those who wear neither Bemouse

nor mantle will have a bright-coloured scarf twisted round

their throats, deep-blue, or green, or parti-coloured. Their

bright youthful faces increase greatly the effect of their

fantastic array, and as their long beautiful hair floats back

from their brows in the wind, a look of " Excelsior " is given

to many a face. But all the students' countenances are

not beautiful, nor filled with an eager aspiring — there are

numbers of ordinary and of " devil-may-care " faces.

There, too, assemble " Philistines " as well as students —
to use student phraseology. Here are Munich Exquisites
in light kid-gloves and spruce hats, and with gold-headed
canes daintily held in their well-gloved hands, and more
picturesque specimens of " Philisterium " in felt-hats of
every shape and hue, and with brigand-looking cloaks ;
here are lean and burly and bloated citizen-folk — here are
officers and privates from every Bavarian regiment, and
here is also a sprinkling of Tyroleans. That is a very
picturesque group now crossing the square. Three men
and one woman, all handsome, with clear eyes and bright
complexions ; the men have short curling beards, and wear
tall hats of black felt, adorned with heavy gold tassels ;
they have broad green bands crossing their scarlet waist-

STREET MUSIC. J 25

coats, dark green coats, and black velvet breeches. The
woman looks most demure and modest, following the men,
and never raising her eyes from the ground : she is very gay
in her costume also. She has a tall black felt-hat with a
gold tassel, a black bodice, and gorgeous pink sleeves and
petticoat.

As it was such a cold day, many ladies had taken refuge,
like ourselves, in the gallery of the Palace, and the row of
gallery windows being lined with female faces, caused
many looks and smiles to be directed up toward; the
windows from the crowd below. These eyes and these
smiles no doubt caused many other smiles and some
blushes to pass over the faces at the windows. We noticed
a very pretty blush pass over a pretty face encircled by a
pink bonnet standing just before us.

The musical quarter of an hour was over ! The music
suddenly ceased : the soldiers descended the steps of the
portico, and first having deafened us with their frightful
drumming, marched past the Church of the Theatines,
which faces this side of the Palace, and which, with its
domes and heavy renaissance architecture, formed our
background to the motley crowd. The soldiers turning
the corner of the Odeon struck into a lively march, — as
usual disturbing the sermon of good Mr. Smith, preaching,
in a room of the Odeon, to his congregation which con-
stitutes the English Church at Munich.

I must confess we had felt rather wicked as we encoun-
tered on our way to the Hofkapelle all the English
folk wending their way thither ; — English embassy in its
carriages, all bright, yet solemn — English of lower degree
on foot, all recognisable from solemnity, respectability, and
by what the Frenchman called " mutton-chop whiskers. :>

The crowd dispersing from the twelve o'clock music,
usually betakes itself on Sundays to the Kunstverein

126 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

— Art-Union Exhibition, which is open all the year
through in rooms over the Hofgarten Arcade. Each
week the pictures are changed, or at all events if all are
not changed some of them are ; and Sunday is the first
day of each new weekly exhibition. There critics and
artists, students and connoisseurs, and non-connoisseurs,
criticise, admire and gossip. To-day nothing particular
struck us there. We saw a few clever genre pictures, a
lovely Tyrolean landscape or two, some clever sketches
made by an artist upon an Italian tour ; but nothing
especially worth chronicling.

December 18th. — We were present the other evening at
the second performance of "Antigone," which has been
revived here to do honour to the King's Name-day. We
were lucky in obtaining excellent seats just close to one of
the Royal boxes, where Isabel, who has not yet become as
much accustomed to the sight of royalty as I have, had the
pleasure of watching King Ludwig's elbow just beside us
as he propped his head upon his hand and leant for-
ward. King Max and his Queen, and Prince Adalbert,
occupied a box in the centre of the theatre, commanding a
full view of the stage. In fact, so many princes and
princesses, and grand people, were present, that it might
have been the gala night itself. These old Greek plays
are much the fashion in Germany since the King of Prussia
revived them at Berlin.

The stage was arranged as much as possible after the
antique model. There was a lower stage upon which the
Chorus appeared and disappeared, and grouped themselves
round an altar which rose in the centre, and was hung
with wreaths and votive chaplets, and an upper stage,
approached by a flight of steps, where the play itself was
performed. A screen rose between the two stages, and,

THE ANTIGONE. 1 27

when we entered the theatre, hid the higher and farther
stage from sight. When the screen sank, we saw the front
of a Theban palace, which remained throughout the tragedy ;
for there was no changing of scenery, and only one single
pause in the performance, when for a few moments this
screen again rose.

Until the orchestra breathed forth Mendelssohn's fore-
boding strains, and whilst the musicians were tuning their
instruments, and the sole female performer was silently
passing her fingers over the strings of her harp, we beguiled
our impatience by reading the argument of the tragedy as
it stood in the programme.

According to historians, the epoch of the tragedy is
about 1230 before the Christian era. It has been prophesied
to Laios, King of Thebes, that his future son shall be his
destroyer. Thus when his wife Jokaste bears him a son,
CEdipos, Laios has him exposed upon a rock to perish.
The child, however, is saved, and grows up into a youth.
CEdipos, accidentally meeting his unknown father, slays
him, and having solved the enigma of the Sphynx, is raised
by the Theban people to the throne of his slain father, and
then marries Jokaste, his own mother. Four children are
born to them, Eteokles and Polyneikes sons, Antigone and
Ismene daughters. The soothsayer Teiresias, revealing
these fearful relationships to CEdipos, CEdipos puts out his
eyes, and wandering forth in his misery, dies. Jokaste
hangs herself ; Eteokles and Polyneikes contend about the
government of Thebes. Civil war ensues — the brothers
slay each other, and the whole land is overwhelmed with a
great distress ; Kreon, brother to the dead Jokaste, seizes
upon the sceptre. At this point the drama of Sophocles
commences. Kreon has issued a command that no one
shall inter the corpse of Polyneikes, the betrayer of his
country : this, according to antique feelings, being the

128 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

greatest insult that could be offered to the dead. But
Antigone, driven by a sister's love, buries the body, and
is condemned herself to death by Kreon.

The wailing, portentous strains of the overture have now
died away, and the screen sinks. A noble white-robed
female figure is seen leaning against the columns of the
Palace. The figure raises her white face, when another
female form glides forth. This second woman is of a slighter,
gentler mould ; she is not arrayed in spectral white, but in a
rich orange tunic and sweeping azure mantle. They are
Antigone and Ismene. Antigone, in low earnest tones,
hoarse with emotion, beseeches her sister to disregard the
commands of Kreon, and to aid her in burying the beloved
dead. Ismene is full of fear — refuses, and leaves her sister.
Antigone, with a stern white face and proud bearing, raises
a golden ewer upon her head, and slowly descending the
steps from the upper stage, passes off. A troop of old men,
wrapt in their ample mantles of sombre hues, with heads
and locks hoary with age, and steadying their steps with
tall staves, appears on the lower stage to the right and left
of the altar. They are the chorus of aged Thebans. They
sing in lamenting accents of discord, war, misery, and of
the hapless corpse lying unburied. They wave their aged
arms, and their plaintive voices rush howling and whistling
like a sorrowing wind through a dreary wintry forest.

Slowly the portals of the Palace swing back upon their
hinges, and, attended by four white-robed youths, Kreon
appears, majestic. A heavy mantle of rich Tyrian purple
sweeps around him ; his glossy black curls are compressed
beneath a simple circlet of gold ; his nervous white arm
gleams like polished ivory as he grasps a tall golden wand.
He sternly commands the chorus to watch over his behest
regarding the body of Polyneikes. His accents are few and
stern.

THE ANTIGONE. I2Q.

A messenger arrives in haste. He ascends the flight of
steps ; he pauses, leans on his spear, and speaks — the body
has been interred !

Kreon, mad with rage, issues his command that the
offender guilty of this great crime be sought after and
punished with fiercest vengeance.

The old men raise their warning voices in loud appealing
chorus.

Antigone, her face rigid, white, and stern, is dragged for-
ward by a soldier. She is accused ; she declares her deed,
and her readiness to suffer for it. Kreon, transported with
his rage, implicates Ismene. Antigone proclaims her sister's
innocence of all participation in the deed, refusing to listen
to Ismene's prayers, who beseeches permission to share her
sister's death of ignominy. Then, in a fit of human weakness,
Antigone bewails her miserable doom, and the awful des-
tiny of her whole race: her "Woe ! oh, woe !" echoes moan-
fully around. She is led off by guards. Two youths follow
her, bearing water in a golden ewer, and bread in a basket ;
she is condemned to be thrown into a cavern, there to perish
with hunger. Passing the altar, she flings herself before it,
clasping it with her arms, pressing her pallid brow upon its
steps. The guards cover her with a black veil. She shudders
beneath it, rises, and with bowed head slowly passes away.

In solemn dirges the chorus laments her fate, and the fate
of her race.

But now up the steps flies a youth towards the palace.
He is clad in a rich white tunic, bordered with a deep hem
of gold ; he wears golden sandals upon his feet, a golden-
sheathed sword swings from his girdle. He pleads with
the stern King by eloquent words and gestures ; the
King remains unmoved. The youth, concealing his face in
his mantle retires. He is Hsemon — the betrothed of
Antigone, the son of King Kreon.

130 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

A very aged man, with a child guiding his faltering steps,
ascends towards the King : it is the soothsayer Teiresias,
who comes with tidings of evil from the gods. The gods
must be appeased, says the venerable seer — the body must
be interred ; Antigone must be released. Kreon relents.

The chorus rejoice, crowning themselves with garlands,
and hymning praises to Bakchos, the tutelary god of
Thebes.

Again a messenger ! He demands the Queen Eurydike.
The Queen, attended by her ladies, comes forth from her
palace. It is to learn that Haemon, her beloved and
beautiful son, has burst into the cavern in search of
Antigone, has found her dead, slain by her own hand, and
has then destroyed himself!

The miserable Queen is borne forth by her attendants.

Slowly, slowly, and most mournfully, now approaches
a strange group, and creeps silently up the flight
of steps. Kreon, divested of his golden diadem, his face
haggard and woe-stricken, aided by mourning attendants,
is bearing home his dead son. He has wound the stark
corpse in his royal mantle ; the long rich hair of the dead
sweeps the earth and marble stairs as the head droops over
the miserable father's arms. Gently they lay down the
youth wrapt in his father's mantle. Kreon bows over the
corpse. He is no longer the haughty monarch — rather
appears some miserable spectre bending there in his white
garments ; all the pomp of royalty has fallen from him ; all
that remains is the agonised human being. His face is white
as the face of the dead ; he presses his son's head to his
breast in convulsive agony, covering it with kisses and
tears. The attendant youths avert their faces.

The Palace-gates slowly once more swing widely open.
There, in her royal robes, dies Eurydike — dies by her own
hand. Kreon staggers towards her like one in a bewildered

THE ANTIGONE. 131

dream. The gates again close — the aged men raise their
voices — the drama is at an end.

Such is the plot of Antigone. Meagre in detail, awful
through its rude simplicity, it creates a breathlessness such
as is felt in presence of the Elgin marbles.

To complete the artistic effect of the whole, the draperies
were of richest colours, of harmonious arrangements, and,
made of a soft, fine woollen material, and fell in serene
folds of classic beauty. The draperies had been arranged
by Kaulbach.

132 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER XIII.

VISIT TO THE GREAT BRONZE FOUNDRY.

December igth. — We have been to the great Bronze
Foundry to-day. This foundry is situated on the out-
skirts of the city, in the road leading to the Palace of
Nymphenburg. I took with me a card of introduction
from Dr. F . I had a desire to see, and have some con-
versation with, Ferdinand Miller, the inspector, the artist
through whose patience and energy all those great and
difficult works have been accomplished.

Approaching the workshops standing in their desolate
enclosure, you see before you, near one of the entrances, a
huge bronze lion, fellow to the one sent to the Great
Exhibition. A black-handed artizan coming forth from one

of the workshops, I presented to him Dr. F 's card, and

he turning back with us we entered one of the two buildings
in the enclosure.

The first room into which we were led contains two other
of the four Lions destined for the car of the Bavaria upon
the Triumphant Arch in the Ludwigsstrasse. These grim
gigantic beasts, gazing down with their large bronze coun-
tenances, appeared the tutelary gods of the place ; the hum
and metallic vibration which filled the air, the hymning
of their worshippers. Workmen were busy filing and
polishing their colossal forms, smoothing their vast sides,

VISIT TO THE GREAT BRONZE FOUNDRY. 1 33

and rasping their golden manes. Workmen were filing and
polishing portions also of other statues. Here was a
diademed colossal head of Charlemagne; there a bust of
Goethe; there a mail-clad arm — a fragment of rich drapery;
there a golden lyre and wreath. Leaning against the wall
stood two circular shields, gleaming like gold, — the shields
of Victories in the Bavarian Walhalla. What a rasping
and filing ! what a murmur and metallic vibration ! Keen-
eyed, dexterous-fingered men and youths bending over their
masses of golden metal,— light falling from lofty windows
upon their picturesque heads and forms in broad gushes, —
presented a scene striking and peculiar. One was instantly
reminded of the earlier designs in Retzsch's Illustration to
the Song of the Bell : there were the same groups, the same
heads, the same attitudes, and added to these, colour, light,
shade, and motion.

The workman who attended us was an excellent guide. I
told him that we had seen the Colossal Lion in London, and
inquired after it. He said it was now at Cologne on its way
home, and that it must remain there until Spring, when the
Rhine steamers recommenced running.

I told him how, a few years ago, I had seen the Bavaria
in progress here, when the mighty clay mould stood beneath
its wooden tower, and how fortunate I considered myself to
have witnessed last year its great day of triumph. When
I said how deeply I respected and admired the exertions
of the " Herrn-Inspector," and spoke of the interest which
my companion and I took in all these mighty works
the man's face lighted up with a smile of pride and
intelligence.

Now we stood in a lofty room whose high bare walls
were intersected by long windows, and in the centre of
which rose a huge brick furnace, and before the furnace
was a deep pit. This was one of the smelting and casting

134 A N ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

rooms ; but neither smelting nor casting was just then going
forward. The workmen were busy preparing for a casting
of a large portion of the Bavaria intended for the
Triumphal Arch, and which will take place in about a
month. The preparation of the various moulds, and their
numerous portions, is a long and difficult process. Here, in
this room, lay open, side by side, separate pieces of the various
moulds for the head and arms of Bavaria and for the Lions,
— the great work now in progress. Here was the mould of
her head and face, which have just been cast ; there, in the
pit, lay what our guide called the " Kern," or kernel of her
head, — the mass of clay which is introduced into the centre
of the mould, so as to render the casting hollow. A heap of
unsuccessful castings lay in one corner of the room ; masses
of dark metal in which some traces ot beautiful form were
yet conspicuous, — an heroic helmet, or a nobly-formed and
sandaled foot.

The most interesting casting-room is contained in the
second and larger building, before the door of which stands
the huge Lion. It is in this atelier that the great Bavaria
was cast.

This room contains two furnaces, and is consequently very
lofty and of great extent ; so large and lofty, in fact, that the
plaster casts of various colossal statues standing about
appear only of an ordinary size. There is the plaster cast
of the statue of Gustavus Adolphus, — the statue that was
wrecked some few weeks since off Heligoland on its way to
Sweden. We learned, however, that on this very day
Ferdinand Miller had received tidings of its rescue from
the waves. The brave old hero had been fished up
again after infinite trouble, having lost, however, in the
salt water, all the golden glory of his bronze. He
appeared, as perhaps befitted one who had just paid
Neptune a visit in his submarine haunts, a hero clothed

VISIT TO THE GREAT BRONZE FOUNDRY. 1 35

in garments of green, the salt water having oxydized
the metal.

In company with Gustavus Adolphus stands Herder the
poet ; also the musical composer Orlando di Lasso, leaning
on his lute, the Poet of Melody (Tondichter), as he is
designated in the inscription on the pedestal of the statue.
A gigantic cast of the beckoning hand of the Bavaria hangs
against the wall ; it is covered with a red dust, which, telling
warmly in the shadows, relieves it strongly from the cold,
grey wall behind. Heaps of red earth, plaster, and clay
bestrewed the floor, mingling, to the eye of the uninitiated,
in chaotic disorder with gaping moulds and fragments of
models and portions of finished castings which lie and
stand around.

Again, we beheld Retzsch-like groups. A young man was
bending over the clay model of a door preparing for the Au
Church, and which represented Ohlmuller the architect, and
other artists connected with the decoration of this lovely
church, presenting their designs to King Ludwig. The
skilful hands of the young man delicately moulded and
smoothed the wreath of oak leaves and acorns which en-
circled the design ; whilst bearded and grave-visaged men
anointed and joined the moulds for the forthcoming statue
of the Bavaria.

We looked around, thinking of the many spectacles of
interest which these grey and begrimed walls had witnessed.
Schwanthaler and Stiglmaier, the departed, had been here ;
here, no doubt, beneath that bust of himself garlanded with
dead leaves had stood King Ludwig and his artists to
witness the triumphant casting of the Bavaria's head ; here,
too, occurred that mighty anxiety of mind, when, through
the sultry summer days and nights, Ferdinand Miller, and
his no less anxious wife and toiling workmen, watched the
smelting metal for the casting of the Bavaria's chest and

136 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

shoulders, — the largest portion of the Colossus ; and where,
in the midst of their breathless watching, fire burst forth,
and only through the bravery and coolness of mind of
Ferdinand Miller were the casting and the smelting-house
saved ! How many hours of patient labour, of wearing
anxiety, of bodily fatigue, of accomplished resolve, and of
glorious triumph, have occurred between these high, grey,
dreary-looking walls !

Such scenes were floating before my imagination, when I
perceived a man, of a broad strong make and a resolute
countenance, approaching us from among a group of talkers.
He was scarcely better dressed than an ordinaiy workman ;
yet there was the stamp of education upon him, and the de-
termined look of energy and command which distinguished
him from the others.

That genial, resolute face, begirt with its bushy light
brown beard, I remembered to have seen at the May
Festival at Starnberg.

" Have I not the happiness and honour of addressing the
Herrn Inspector, Ferdinand Miller?" said I, — with doubt-
less an expression of that earnest enthusiasm and respect on
my countenance which I felt in my heart.

" Yes ; I am Ferdinand Miller," said he, raising his cap
and glancing at Dr. F.'s card of introduction, which he held
in his hand ; and forthwith we found ourselves talking of the
Bavaria Festival, — of Schwanthaler and his fate, — of the
memories beautiful, sad, yet poetical, connected with this
great Foundry.

I told him of the deep interest with which I had read of
the anxious nights and days of watching over the smelting
for the great Bavaria's casting, and of the fire. He pointed
up towards the blackened rafters above the furnace, before
which we happened to be standing, saying —

" There it burned and smouldered whilst we watched

VISIT TO THE GREAT BRONZE FACTORY. 1 37

below ; yes, it was a time never to be forgotten — a fearful
experience ! "

Of this and many other things we talked ; all ended by
our receiving an invitation to be present at the casting of
that portion of the lesser Bavaria, for which, as I have
already said, preparation is now making, and which no one
can witness except invited by the great master himself !

VOL. 11.

13^ AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER XIV.

CHRISTMAS-DAY— A CHRISTMAS-TREE IN A BEAUTIFUL

HOME.

Christmas Day, iSji.—A strange fear seemed to have
possessed me this beautiful Christmas-day, when rumours
of revolution are abroad— a fearful despondency lest the
power of evil were about for a time to attain awful ascend-
ancy. Had not again and again in the world's history,
the good, the pure, the noble, the refined, fallen beneath
the hoofs of the brutal, the cruel, the strong?— did it not
seem as though nations must endure martyrdom as well as
each individual human soul ? Was not even now a deeper,
sadder tragedy preparing slowly, stealthily for Europe-
sadder perhaps than aught else the world had witnessed ?

What had Christmas availed in the world? what real
earnest hold had Christ's blessed words upon the world?
The masses were brutal and superstitious; the few were
faithless. What blood had been shed in vain ! what anguish
been endured in vain ! and again and again must be shed in
vain, before the mighty victory be achieved !

Such was the sad under-current of my thoughts as I
walked along through the snowy streets, with many another
questioning, which the reading lately of old catholic legends
had suggested. But of Christ's own pure, blessed words
there were no questionings.

THE FRANCISCANS' CHAPEL. 1 39

Thus pondering in a vague despondency, a peal of
trumpets vibrated through the frosty air, sending a quick
gush of joy through my heart ; and, scarcely knowing how
I came there, I found myself standing in the small chapel
of the Franciscan Monastery. It is very small and
octagonal, with light falling from windows close to the
ceiling. It is in the tasteless, pseudo-renaissance style — all
scroll-work, gilding, and flutter. Round the walls, in each
of the eight compartments where were no shrines and
altars, are arranged large oil-paintings illustrating the life
of St. Francis. All the ornaments are detestable, judged
by one's standard of purity, beauty, and simplicity; still
this morning the effect was poetical : the chapel appeared
a gorgeous grotto — an incrustation of gold and bright-
coloured objects : the very priests kneeling there robed in
stiff crimson velvet and gold brocade, rich and stately as
the priests in Van Eyck's marvellous little picture in the
Dudley Gallery, seemed a portion of the barbaric ornament.

The cold early morning light fell in slant rays through
the oval windows upon the clouds of incense floating
upwards, and through which glittered the golden stars that
spangled the azure roof. Incense filled the whole chapel,
meeting one on entrance as if with a bodily presence ; and
music from a concealed choir flooded the chapel, — such
delicious sweet music as of angels' voices ; now in soft,
solemn chorus ; now bursting forth into wild hallelujahs ;
now hushed into deep, mournful murmurs, as if ever a sense
of sadness and foreboding mingled with ecstatic joy, — yes,
even when hymning praises to God and celebrating the birth
of a Saviour.

I felt my spirit bow in worship with the crowd of poor
people who filled the chapel. Ah ! how beautiful, how holy,
was faith ! though I might be as ignorant, as superstitious,
as the most ignorant peasant there, what mattered it ?

L 2

14° AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

Better love a phantom than nothing; to be without love
was to be without faith or joy.

The spirit of God had spoken in that music as it spoke of
old to Saul when David touched the golden strings of his
harp ; all the demons of doubt had fled, and I could alone
believe in the strength of goodness !

On my way back I met two priests coming through the
snow from the Monastery, bearing the host to some sick
person. They were clothed in white robes embroidered with
gold; the one in front carried a light burning in a large
lamp shaped like a lantern ; the other reverently bowed his
head above the sacred wafer and the wine which he bore
upon a linen napkin, the whole covered with a crown of
massive silver like a royal diadem. A lady in her silks
and satins, and a little ragged urchin, as the priests came
on, paused, knelt in the snow, and crossed themselves ! I
paused also, longing almost for the faith which taught them
to believe that the body of Christ had really passed before
them, making sacred the very air through which it moved.

The snow fell in thick flakes, in most excellent Christmas
fashion, upon the fur-collar and warm blue over-coat of our
droschke driver, as he drove us through the snowy streets
and snowy English garden to the house of our kind friend

the Frau Hofrathin von . We were invited upon this

evening of St. Stephen's Day, the second Christmas holiday,
to witness the re-lighting of the Frau Hofrathin's splendid
Christmas-tree.

The Frau von and her bevy of sweet-looking

daughters — a group worthy of Miss Bremer's " Home " —
welcomed us in the heartiest manner in the fresco-painted
saloon, in the centre of which rose the tall fir-tree loaded

A CHRISTMAS-TREE IN A BEAUTIFUL HOME. 141

with its fruit of sweetmeats, nuts, tapers, and strings of
glittering beads of glass. The tapers were not yet lighted,
and we were told not to pay much attention to the tree, in
order that we might be all the more struck by its perfect
beauty when it should be lit up.

As we might not as yet admire the tree, we admired
various lovely trinkets and books which the mother and
daughters had given each other, and also a grand set of
toys representing Wallenstein's Camp, which had been pre-
sented to little Hugo, the youngest of the family, — "the
idol," as the mother called him — a rosy, blue-eyed, long
flaxen-haired little fellow of three years old. Hugo, together
with a brother some year or two older, also flaxen-haired
and blue-eyed, formed a very pretty picture in the beautiful
saloon, dressed in their black velvet tunics. Now they were
clapping their hands and peeping round the lovely mys-
terious tree ; now they were clinging to their mother.

Whilst we were admiring the presents the door flew open,
and the eldest son of the house entered, followed by nine
youths with swarthy faces, black eyes, and scarlet fezes.
They were the nine noble Egyptian youths sent over by
the Pasha of Egypt to study at Munich. There was Salem
Salem Awad, son of a great philosopher and poet ; Prince
Murad Ibrahim, son of Pasha Amurad; Prince Hassan
Hassan, son of an Admiral and Pasha; Prince Jussuph
Katschador, son of a Bey; and five other equally noble
Egyptians, with names equally worthy of figuring in the
"Arabian Nights:" and the nine noble Egyptians, as if
they were a corps of ballet-dancers, moved gracefully to-
wards the lady of the house, who rose, together with her fair
daughters, to receive them ; and smiling, they pressed their
right hands upon their hearts, their lips, and brows, —
saluting the ladies with the oriental salaam.

We two foreigners were introduced to the Egyptians ; and

142 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

again nine pair of dark eyes glittered, and nine scarlet fezes
bowed, nine right hands pressing breast, lips, and brows.

Again the door opened, and more company arrived, — it

was the Baron and Baroness D , the care-takers of the

Egyptian youths during their sojourn in Munich, and their
children.

Hildegard, the eldest daughter — the "artist daughter,"
as she is called in the family — now summoned us to coffee
in an adjoining room; — I must tell you, that Hildegard,
this evening being somewhat an invalid, and fearing the
cold, had wrapt a soft pink gauze scarf round her sweet pale
face: she resembled a delicate blush-rose. Coffee was
handed round to us by the moustachioed servant, whilst one
of the five daughters presented to each of the company
delicious cakes, which were heaped up in a perfect moun-
tain upon a silver salver. It was a very pretty sight, these
nine noble Egyptian youths standing in line along the
room, each with his scarlet fez upon his head, and with
his coffee-cup in his hand, and those sweet young girls
with their fair hair and dark blue eyes, in their blue dresses
and green dresses, and Hildegard with her soft pink halo
around her, flitting to and fro : surely the noble Egyptians
must have believed they were houris.

During this coffee-drinking, behind the folding-doors
which divided the two saloons, the Christmas-tree was

being lighted by Heinrich von , all the small children

in the company forgot their coffee in a state of delightful
excitement. At length the doors were flung open — every-
body set down their coffee-cups and moved to the door-way :
there burnt the magical tree as if descended from fairy-
land. A tall tree it was, pyramidal in its form, and had
been cut down among the Tyrolean mountains ; its lowest
branches rested upon the polished white floor of the saloon ;
its tapering topmost branch touched the arabesqued ceiling ;

A CHRISTMAS-TREE IN A BEAUTIFUL HOME. 143

its every twig and bough loaded with fruits, and cakes, and
gilded bon-bons, its hundreds of bright tapers, like flowers
of fire, glittering and gleaming, and casting a brilliant
illumination upon the frescos by Kaulbach, and the luxu-
riant festoons of flowers and leafage by Neureuther, which
decorate the walls, upon the divan of scarlet silk which runs
along one side of the saloon, upon the nine Egyptians, upon
the stately fair-haired mother and her five fair daughters,
upon the little boys in their black velvet tunics, and upon
the other groups of guests. There was a universal excla-
mation of delight.

The smiling blush-rose, Hildegard, presented to each
guest a little present from the tree: one received a gaily-
gilt case of bon-bons tied with red ribbon ; another a
queer little fishing-basket filled with chocolate-fish; and
so on.

People had subsided into conversation, when a gentleman,
short in stature, but with an extraordinary fine head and
strongly-marked features, entered the room. Heinrich von

, who was talking with Isabel and myself, suddenly

started up, and with much empressement conducted him to
his mother.

" Do you know who that is ? " asked he, returning to us.

" No," we replied.

" It is," pursued our friend, " the great traveller Fallme-
rayer, the man alone second to Humboldt ; he possesses
almost every decoration from almost every court in Eu-
rope, but to-night he only wears one decoration — did not
you notice it suspended round his neck by a scarlet
band? That decoration was bestowed upon him by the
Grand Sultan: three decorations of this order alone exist:
the decoration is a golden full-moon surrounded by a
circle of diamond stars. The Egyptians have been burn-
ing with desire to see the great man for these months

144 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

past, and to-night my father has arranged their meeting
with him."

The company seemed now pretty nearly to have all

assembled. The Frau von suddenly stood before

Isabel and myself, holding by the hand a very amiable-
looking gentleman, — " The Father ! " said she : and we were
kindly welcomed by the master of the house.

" Wilhelm ! " exclaimed the eldest son of the house, to a
young musician who had just arrived among the other
guests, "thou art an artist; seat thyself at the piano, and
let us have our mother's dance round the tree ! — and you,
Hildegard, Emilia, Rose, Hugo, Angelo, come, all of you
join hands ; let us dance our mother's dance round the
tree — she must have her Christmas circle ! " And the five
sisters and the three brothers — from the womanly, calm
Hildegard and the heavenly-eyed Emilia, down to the fair-
haired children, Angelo and Hugo — formed a wide circle,
joining hands, and slowly to the sound of music moved
round the tree. The father and mother stood side by side
in front of their guests, looking on.

" But ah ! there is one wanting in the circle, — my beautiful
Ludmilla ! " half whispered the mother, with a low sigh, and
tears swam in the clear eyes of the sisters. A portrait of
the beloved and departed one hung in the adjoining saloon.
It was the portrait of a golden-haired young creature with
clear eyes and with an unusually spiritual grace about her.
Last Christmas she had been among them. The sisters
talked much to us about her in the evening ; they said she
had been from her childhood the most richly endowed of
them all; with the tenderest love they pointed out to us
her portrait when a child, painted upon the wall by Neureu-
ther, and looking forth pensively from amid the rich festoons
of foliage which surround her.

With Isabel, Emilia talked much about this beautful

NINE NOBLE EGYPTIANS. 1 45

Ludmilla; she also told her many interesting and curious
things regarding her own sojourn in Milan, where she had
gone to study music under a celebrated composer; she told
her how she had, when Christmas came round, decorated a
Christmas-tree for a number of Italian children, who had
never before seen such a wonder. The tree was laurel, and
not pine; — but whether the tree be laurel of Italy or pine of
Germany, when glittering with fruit of sugar and flowers of
fire, little children, she said, will always clap their hands
and shout with glee! Much that was very strange about
the outbreak of the revolution in Milan, which Emilia had
witnessed, she also told.

I, meantime, was talking with certain of the noble Egyp-
tians. " I have heard in England much about the Egyptians
studying in London," said I to one of the youths ; " are they
friends of yours ? "

" Oh, our beloved brothers ! our beloved comrades ! Do
you know them ? How is it with them ? tell us how it is
with our beloved comrades ! " exclaimed the excited lad.
" The lady — the English young lady, knows our beloved
brothers in London ! " cried he eagerly to the other
Egyptians ; and soon a knot of scarlet fezes had assembled
round me.

" I myself do not personally know your brothers in Lon-
don," said I, with regret, as I saw their excited dark eyes
beaming upon me; "but they often visit at the house of a
friend of mine ; my cousin, too, the young lady in the lilac
dress, sitting there in the corner of the divan, has seen and
spoken with your brothers at this friend's house, the tutor of
your brothers is also a friend of my friend — thus I can learn
for you how it is with your brothers, and convey any message.
Shall I do so ? "

" Yes ; our affectionate brotherly greetings. We want to
know if it is well with them. And oh ! is it well with our

146 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

other brothers in Manchester — with our three brothers in
that dark, smoky Manchester, where there is no blue sky,
and no sun as in Egypt : we are very anxious about our
brothers in Manchester! They write now and then, but
not much : we cannot make out whether it is well with them
— whether they are content with their guardians. It is well
with our dear brothers in Paris— very well ; they have horses
to ride, and much money. But is it well with our brothers
in Manchester, where there is no sky — only smoke! "

I promised that I would learn all I could for them ; and
this promise diffused around me universal satisfaction. The
remainder of the evening, until supper was announced,
glided away in pleasant talk : mine was principally with
Hildegard. We began with Art, of course, and then wan-
dered away to the Alps ; in spirit we ascended these Alps,
so dear to both of us, gathering on our way the loveliest
bouquets of Alpine flowers — golden, lilac, peacock-azure,
and crimson : we ascended from the rich pasture- valleys up
through solemn pine forests, till we gathered, at the risk of
losing our lives, the wonderful Edelweiss (noble-white),
which alone blooms amidst eternal snow. God has lovingly
clothed its stalks and its petals in a garment of white wool :
it is a little flower of flannel !

The Blush-rose gave me a bouquet of this Edelweiss,
which I wore all the evening.

Isabel and I have been invited by this kind family to visit
them in their beautiful mountain-home. What a paradise
will our visit be ! and what rainbows of real, not imaginary,
flowers will we gather !

The elegant supper was served in a dining-room on the
ground-floor. The room was hung with oil-paintings of
the lakes and mountains around their mountain-home. All
was bright and sparkling with delicate china, snowy damask,
and glittering silver. Different, however, in many ways

A GROUP WORTHY OF ETTV. 1 47

from what a supper-table in England at Christmas-time,
in a family of equal consideration, would have been : it
was much less sumptuous and costly, and there was no
decoration of one's well-beloved old holly. The hospi-
tality, the grace, and the refinement, might have vied with
the most hospitable, the most refined of English homes.
How talkative and merry was everybody! How gay those
nine scarlet fezes made the supper-table look, seated alter-
nately with the blonde-haired, blue-eyed sisters! The
swarthy oriental countenances, contrasting with these delicate
complexions and golden hair of the north, would have
rejoiced old Etty's heart, and made him, had he seen them,
paint more crowds than ever of swarthy heroes and golden-
haired, blue-eyed nymphs.

The little sons of the house, Angelo and Hugo, were enter-
taining their guests at a supper-table in an adjoining room.
The " Mother " rose once or twice from the head of the
table during supper, and glided into the children's apart-
ment, from which, as the laughter and hum of voices in the
grown-up banqueting-room sunk ever and anon, we heard
children's shrill gay laughter and a chorus of merry little
voices. Once, as the "Mother" passed the Blush-rose on
her return to the Supper-table, the Blush-rose pressed the
"Mother's" hand, laid it against her cheek, and mother and
daughter exchanged a momentary glance into each other's
eyes of the tenderest love.

People seemed as though they never could leave the
enchanted circle ; — and who willingly would have left it ?
At last, however, adieus were made; there was a hum of
voices — a wrapping-up in hooded cloaks and shawls — and
away we were driving once more through the snowy streets.

148 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER XV.

STREET PICTURES. — " THE FRANCISCAN IS THERE ! " — WE
REACH NYMPHENBURG.

January 10th, 1852. — To-day, going and returning from
the studio, I saw several beautiful pictures in the streets. I
often see such ; and could — so brilliant are they in colouring
— fill a sketch-book with them, calling them prismatic colours
from the streets.

Here is a picture a la Mulready; a group of peasants is
setting out in a sledge homewards from a little inn. The inn
is quaint and heavy, standing at the corner of a street. The
warm obscurity of a heavy archway, through the gloom of
which loom forth tubs and barrels, forms a picturesque and
quiet background to my brilliant group. The road is of a
tawny brown, from up-trampled, though still crisp snow, with
pure snow only seen here and there, close up about the door-
posts, and flecking the walls. But there is no expanse of
snow to form a broad light in my picture. The tone of the
whole picture is warm and rich. The sledge is a queer old
sledge ; its body is of basket-work, a deeper shade of tawny
brown than the snow on the road ; the horse brown — ap-
proaching to a purplish-black ; he is very lean and shaggy,
and harnessed with rope ; an old, stained, yellow-green cloth
is flung over his back. A very old woman with much ado is
settling herself in the sledge. She is leaning forward, so that
her face is quite in shadow. Her head is bundled up in a
brilliant crimson handkerchief, her body is bundled up in a

STREET PICTURES. 149

cloak of the richest ultramarine. On this side of the sledge,
standing with her back turned towards me, her face looking
up at the old woman, is a peasant girl. Her head is covered
with a dark olive-green handkerchief, bordered with orange ;
the ends are tied behind her head, and fall upon her
shoulders, which are clothed in a rich, full, violet-coloured
jacket. Her petticoat is dull crimson, striped with black.
On the other side of the horse, and arranging the harness,
stands a peasant-man, whip in hand ; he wears a dark fur
cap, black velvet jacket, and high black boots. The brilliant
colour and harmonious richness of the whole group was in-
conceivable.

I saw another picture when I was turning into the studio.
The morning sky was bright and clear — a shower of sunshine
glittering upon the crisp white snow and upon the frosted
trees. A young and beautiful peasant-girl, attired in a pink
jacket above an indigo-coloured petticoat, and with a brown
handkerchief bound tightly across her brow, in the curious
fashion worn by the women in Munich, and which leaves the
shape of the head gracefully seen, was seated in a pensive
attitude upon a huge, heavy, primitive wooden sledge. A
lesser sledge, but equally rude, was attached to it ; and both
were drawn along by a couple of mild, cream-coloured oxen.
Rough pieces of timber were heaped up behind the girl, upon
the larger sledge. She sat leaning her oval face upon her
beautifully rounded hand; she appeared to see nothing
around her ; her gaze was introverted ; the oxen were un-
guided by hand or voice, and slowly, with bowed heads,
proceeded on their way. My eyes followed them along the
snowy road, slowly winding between the glittering trees,
until they disappeared behind a quaint group of houses : but
as long as they were in sight the girl never raised her head.

Returning home late in the afternoon I encountered a
group worthy of some modern Van Eyck. There is a great

15° AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

school-house close to the Franciscan monastery which I have
already referred to. As I passed the school to-day a crowd
of little maidens came trooping forth ; rosy-cheeked, bright-
eyed little maidens, bundled up in warm cloaks and funny
little fur-trimmed hoods. A cheery-looking Franciscan was
passing at the same moment as myself. I had walked side
by side with him for a minute or two, and had remarked to
myself what a pleasant countenance his was. The children
seemed to know the pleasant face well enough, for the instant
they caught sight of the friar, one and all ran skipping
towards him, and a dozen little fat hands, one after another,
were thrust into his hand, and a dozen chubby faces, as of a
dozen cherubs in an old religious picture, were raised towards
his kind, beaming countenance. I smiled as I passed,
looking the good man full in the face ; and he, smiling half
at me and half at the little ones, exclaimed in a clear voice :
— "Nay, nay, my children ! Surely this is enough ! "

It was a group such as might have been painted for St.
Nicholas with his children.

I have been two afternoons this week sketching a quaint
bit of a room in one of the houses near the studio. When I
went to-day to complete my sketch, I saw a curious little
feature of Catholic life. The first day when I had entered,
the old mistress of the little abode exclaimed: — "Ah, I
thought the gracious Fraulein was the Franciscan ! "

This was because I had knocked at the door before
entering, I found. Her neighbours never knocked ; but the
Franciscan did, it seems. Whilst I sat sketching, I heard the
word "Franciscan," "Franciscan." again and again on the
lips of the old woman and her gossips, who were everlastingly
dropping in, either to talk with her, or to stare at me!
"Franciscan" was about the sole word I understood of their
jargon ; for speaking among themselves, their German became

"THE FRANCISCAN IS THERE!" 151

something very different to that in which they addressed
"the gracious young lady." Yes, there were several other
words which fell upon my ear — "cold," "wood," and "clearing
up." " Abraumen" seemed the great word of all. "Jo, jo,
abraumen; Den Hof kehren" those were the great subjects
of conversation with a silly-looking, pale-faced little woman,
who had big round eyes, big round gold rings in her ears,
and a white cloth tied over her head. It was also the
staple of discourse with the burly, fat, gruff-voiced woman
who possessed a dirty face, and had a crimson kerchief tied
over her head ; as well as with the pink-cheeked, soft blue-
eyed old woman, who looked like a gentlewoman, she was so
clean and sprightly. But "Franciscan" was the word most
of all current in their discourse.

This morning entering the court-yard of the house, I
encountered the pink-cheeked old lady; and smiling, but
somewhat in a mysterious voice, she said to me: — "Oh,
Fraulein, please to wait a moment ; the gracious Franciscan
is there ! "

I smelt even upon the threshold of the house a delightful
odour of incense. I longed to go in and see what the
mysterious Franciscan, with his delicious incense, could be
about. However, that never would have done — it would
have been far too impertinent. I waited, therefore, outside
the house until he should take his departure. Every now
and then I caught a glimpse of a priest's head and white
robe between the large green, arum-leaves, which half filled
the window of the little sitting-room. Soon I saw a
Franciscan, with a white robe over his brown frock, coming
down the steps of the house. A boy was with him, carrying
a censer. The lad had put a great coat over his white
robes, as the day was very cold. The Franciscan read out
of a book. They both paused beneath the old wooden gate-
way; the boy swinging his censer; the Franciscan turning

152 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

over the leaves of the book, and muttering ; and then away
they went.

The little room, when I entered, was sweet with incense.
The old man was putting on his great cloak, and taking up
his wood-saw, preparatory to going out to his work ; the old
dame — and a wooden-faced, heavy-featured old dame she
was — was scraping large radishes, which lay on the table.
There was no look of ceremony about the place. I began
my sketching.

"May I ask why the Franciscan has been here?" I
asked, after a little pause, during which the old woman had
scraped and I had drawn.

" It is the custom for the Franciscans to go about during
the Festival of the Three Kings, to burn incense and pray
in the houses. They pray in every house ; and write upon
the door the date of the year and the Three Kings' names
— Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar."

I find, upon inquiry, that the custom is confined to the
suburbs of Munich, not prevailing in the city.

There were signs yesterday of the departure of the snow,
after these many weeks of frost.

Isabel pleaded so hard for us to have one more afternoon's
sledging together, that I could neither resist her entreaties
nor the invitation given by the blue sky ! Therefore we
set out to choose the sledge ourselves this time, determined
that no one should be tempted to force their company upon
us by the sight of our sledge.

We arrived at the stand of sledges upon the Odeonsplatz
in time to witness two sets of people just mounting into the
only two sledges remaining upon the stand.

"How provoking!" cried Isabel, with considerable vexa-
tion : "how very disagreeable ! "

"Never mind, Isabel," returned I, with a natural per-

TO NYMPHENEURG. 1 53

versity, feeling sweet-tempered and patient just because my
companion was a little ruffled in her temper — " we can take
a droschke ! "

" A droschke indeed ! A droschke ! who cares for a
droschke ! No, it's a sledge we want. We must — we will
go in a sledge ! "

" But where is the sledge?"

"Here it is! here it is!" cried Isabel; and up dashed our
grand white and scarlet sledge, with the blue and white
plumes and the burly driver.

In a moment I have darted across the Platz, in fear lest
any one else should snap up the wondrously beautiful
equipage. But behold, the burly driver is seen rolling over
in the snow! Away dash the horses, and bolt up into
Tambosi's coffee-house — or at least seem to do so! Up
jumps the burly driver again, his broad back white with
snow ; and away after the sledge rush droschke drivers and
gentlemen. There is a shouting — a bustle ; gentlemen rush
to the windows of Tambosi's ; the horses are caught ; a
crowd collects.

Isabel watches all from the other side of the square; and
she sees me walk into the crowd, look at the sledge, say a
few words to the burly man, who has by this time shaken
the snow off him, and mended his grand white reins, which
have been broken in the adventure, and then mount into the
sledge.

Isabel is immediately at the side of the sledge, and pre-
pares to get in. " Help the lady in, help the lady in ! " cries
a gentleman among the crowd ; but no one seconding him,
he helps the lady in himself. People stare open-mouthed.
" Sophienstrasse ! " cry we ; and away we dash full speed.
Our breath is gone, so swiftly fly the horses.

" Only think if we should be upset ! " we both exclaim.

" Of course we shall be upset. Hildegard and Hamilton

VOL. II. M

154 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

were upset ; and we are only imitating their drive to
Nymphenburg ! "

I will not pretend to say that we were not both of us a
little frightened, although we laughed.

" How beautiful that sledge is ! " I exclaim, as a lovely
sledge dashes past us, filled with officers, the handsome
horses' heads crowned with plumes of scarlet feathers.

"That is young Baron S.'s private sledge," observes
Isabel, astonishing me with her knowledge of Munich
people.

And now we paused in the Sophienstrasse, where the
Amsels live.

Meta and Lina, however, could not accompany us. "They
were in great trouble," said their maid. " The young
Baroness Heideck was suddenly dead ; so very suddenly !
She was to have gone with her young ladies that very night
to the ball ; and now Fraulein Lina and Fraulein Meta were
gone to order flower-wreaths for the Fraulein Baroness's
coffin ! "

As we came out on the plain, and whilst I was pondering
upon this sad death, I heard Isabel talking about " Blue—
oh, so blue in the distance ! "

" Blue — blue ? What do you mean, Isabel ? "

" Oh, it is so blue there — the clouds are so blue ! "

And looking in the direction in which Isabel pointed, I
exclaimed :

"The Alps, the Alps, the delicious Alps, Isabel! Why
this is the first time you have seen them, I declare ! "

Isabel's face flushed crimson — tears rushed to her eyes.
" Oh, Anna ! my first view of the Alps/"

And there they rose — blue, blue, blue — dazzlingly blue ;
the jagged peaks cutting against a pale streak of orange
sky ; their fissures seamed with snow, the rugged , sides
fretted with patches of snow and ice ; and a vast snowy

TO NYMPHENBURG. 1 55

plain reaching from them to us. You have seen masses of
cobalt in its mineral state : imagine, then, a jagged mass of
this mineral, streaked with silvery ore, and then you can
imagine how blue the Alps looked. And as far as the eye
could reach, these wondrous blue mountains skirted the vast
dreary plain.

Never had I seen them look more poetical, more sublime,
than yesterday, when, after two months' veil of haze, they
burst upon Isabel's astonished sight. With our eyes riveted
upon the glorious mountain vision, we sped along for some
time in silence. At length we began to notice a peculiar
jolting motion in the sledge.

" Have you any particular business, ladies, in Nymphen-
burg ? " demanded our driver, slowly turning round, and
staring at us fixedly with his little brown eyes out of his big
round, red face.

" No particular business," returned I.

" Because," remarked he, still very slowly, and fixedly
staring, " because the roads are bad, and "

" You don't want to go to Nymphenburg," I returned ; or
rather completed his sentence.

Isabel and I laughed.

" So again, a third time, we shall be frustrated in our
attempt to reach Nymphenburg ; but this time we will go.
Drive on."

" Good ! " mumbled the man. Away we jolted.

We jolted through villages, where there were gaunt farm-
houses covered with very queer frescos, and where quaint
pumps and dovecots adorned ghastly farm-yards ; and where
churches with very quaint towers, crowned with little red
domes, rose amid gaunt crosses. At length we entered a
noble avenue of limes.

The leafless branches, interlaced lovingly, forming over-
head an exquisite, rich tracery, and the stems and twigs

M 2

156 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

looked richly brown and ruddy amidst the snowy land-
scape. There is a similar avenue also skirting a frozen
canal, which canal, in fact, divides the two avenues. At the
end of each avenue is seen a view of the Nymphenburg
Castle in dim perspective. Huge blocks of ice, of the most
delicate tender blue and green, lay in chaotic confusion upon
the canal banks. The ice made a lovely foreground. And
across the expanse of snow the blue Alps shone ever to-
wards us, the streak of orange still resting behind them,
and a dark stretch of gloomy pine-forest extending across
the middle distance. A peasant-woman in fur cap and pink
bodice and scarlet petticoat came towards us across the
snow. What a beautiful, peculiar little picture it formed.

Along the avenue we jolt, till we find ourselves entering a
semicircle of the most singular aspect. It is a semicircle of
huge Dutch toy-houses — white houses with rows and rows of
ugly straight windows, with tall red roofs, and dormer win-
dows and clock-towers. The centre house is higher than the
rest ; a double flight of steps leads up to it ; the windows are
more ornamental. Soldiers parade before the entrance. This
is the palace itself ; and what can all the other houses be ?
What a semicircular, unaccountable village of palaces, or of
palace out-buildings it is. Out-buildings they certainly must
be, for manure-heaps grace certain doors. I must not forget
to tell you that in the front of this semicircle were frozen
ponds, ending, of course, in the canal.

Our driver asked us whether we wished to see the interior
of the castle ; but we assured him that on such a cold day
we preferred the warm furs of his sledge to the cold splen-
dour of the palace ; which, however, might attract us, per-
haps, when summer should come. Until then we would now
bid adieu, therefore, to Nymphenburg, with its wonderful
gardens — of which we caught a shivering glance — : where
rows of naked statues, and vases and urns filled with snow,

WE REACH NYMPHENBURG. I 57

make us feel yet colder than before. Then, listening to our
driver's narrations of fountains, and grottoes, and baths,
and of how he had one summer, every evening at eight
o'clock, driven out an Englishman to Nymphenburg to see
the sunset-light reflect itself in the magnificent fountain, we,
— or rather the horses, made the best of their way back to-
wards Munich.

We were very cold, and somewhat disappointed in the ex-
ternal charms of Nymphenburg. But we had been there, and
that was something. Some day, when the leaves are come,
and birds are singing in the linden avenue, I may have
pleasanter things to chronicle about this royal chateau.

158 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER XVI.

A GREAT FIRE AT NIGHT.

Last evening, sitting quietly writing letters, we heard a
most singular drumming in the street — not the usual nine
o'clock change of guard, but the quick discordant beating of
a drum. Up to the windows we started, and, opening them,
looked out into the glorious moonlight, which sparkled and
gleamed upon the snowy street Other casements flew open ;
people were seen rushing out of the houses. There was a
sound of tolling of bells — the sound of trumpet-calls. A
ruddy glow suffused the dark-blue heaven. "It is fire! fire!"
resounded through the street.

I called to Fraulein Sanchen. I hurried on my cloak, and
leaving Isabel leaning out of the window, prepared to set
out, accompanied by the ever- willing old soul, to see the con-
flagration. It was impossible at so late an hour to find a
droschke, however desirous of expedition we might be.
Away, therefore, we hasted along the slippery streets, I
leaving the poor old Fraulein panting behind me. On we
posted, the silent streets bathed in the clear moonlight,
which glittered upon rows of resplendent icicles depending
from the eaves of the tall roofs ; lights flitted from window
to window ; doors banged heavily to-and-fro ; dark-cloaked
figures were seen, like ourselves, hurrying along. Now we
overtook a group of students leaving a Wirthshaus in quest
of the fire ; now a heavy cart rumbled, and jolted, and

A GREAT FIRE AT NIGHT. 1 59

rattled away past us, turning out of some gloomy, heavy-
arched court-yard, on its way to the scene of action ; now
marched on a body of soldiers ; whilst a gendarme galloped
at full speed through the echoing street.

As we entered the great thoroughfares of the city, the
crowd increased. All the world was in the streets, or looking
out of their windows. Soldiers, summoned by the trumpet-
calls, went tramping on in dark, compact masses ; officers
were wildly hurrying to-and-fro ; and high up into the in-
tensely blue sky rose the ruddy illumined towers of the
Franenkij'che, from the belfry windows of which swung
cressets like brightly-burning stars. From the St. Peter's
Church, and from the other old churches of the city, swung
other cressets, the dread signal of fire ; and from their
belfries, bells were wildly tolled and horns blown.

Fire-light glowed upon spires and turrets, and upon the
steep snowy roofs of the quaint houses, tinting them with a
rosy blush, as if they were Alpine peaks at sunrise ; down
upon all smiled the broad calm moon, casting long fantastic
shadows across the snowy streets.

The fire was at a brewery, in one of the oldest parts of
Munich, in a little lane leading out of the Sendlingerstrasse.
I saw no fire-engines hurrying madly along, as would have
been the case in London. I saw, however, heavy, clumsy
drays conveying water in large tuns, jolting and jingling
along, the lean horses urged on by shouting men, who
clustered round the tuns. The engines were already on the
spot, and these tuns were on their way to supply them with
water.

Now we are close to the scene of excitement. Soldiers
with glittering swords and bayonets are posted eveiywhere.
The fire is in the rear of the brewery ; the malt-house is
burning ; the flames have just burst through the roof. We
have found a capital standing-place within the wide court-

l6o AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

yard of a conventual-looking building, and one which com-
mands a view of the burning premises. Here we stand in
safety from the crowd in an open space, with a snow-covered
garden stretching out before us, a snow and ice covered
fountain in its centre, around which grow fruit-trees, their
leafless branches now rising black and gaunt against the
burning crimson of the sky. Right opposite to us is the
house in flames — keen tongues of fire flickering and panting
through the windows, through the chimneys, through the
roof ; clouds of sparks hurrying across the night sky like a
dust of stars ; volumes of red smoke ever and anon obscuring
everything. Amid the shouts of men, the neighing of horses,
and the rush of the flames, you hear the shower of pattering
tiles, as they rain down from the roof; the flames hiss, and
dance, and curl like mad fiery snakes ; the air grows warm,
and the snow melts from the burning roofs, running off in
streams. Why are no engines at play on this side of the
burning pile ? Why do the flames here conquer all before
them unopposed?

There is a shout of " The engines ! the engines ! " and
soldiers drive away the crowd out of the court-yard, us
among the number. In thunder the fire-engines, followed
by heavy drays with their tuns of water. People willing to
aid in pumping are allowed to re-enter the court.

I had met Lina and Meta Amsel, with their man-servant,
in the crowd, and joining their party, sent home poor old
Fraulein Sanchen to inform Isabel that I should probably
not return till the morning, as we were intending to see every-
thing that was to be seen, and it appeared probable that the
fire would yet last for hours. The poor old Fraulein was
most thankful to be dismissed, as the grief over her cloak,
which the crowd had despoiled of its cape, had for the last
hour quite overpowered all her interest in the fire.

The Amsels and I had fled into the corner of a narrow

A GREAT FIRE AT NIGHT. l6l

flight of steps which overlooked the court-yard ; and here we
stood watching the fate of the burning house for nearly an
hour. Every now and then came a rush of people with more
water ; now we were startled by the sudden raining down
from above our heads of a host of fire-buckets, which had
doubtless hung for years idly upon the ceiling of the court-
yard gateway.

I greatly desired to see people handing along the bucket-
fuls of water in a mighty line, as I had read of. I had both
heard and read how the police might press any one into this
service — men, women, and children — the very noblest in the
land, if necessary. Willingly would I myself have worked
in the chain, so strong grew my anxiety about the fire.
Soldiers ever and anon shouted, " Out ! out with you !
Those who won't work must out ! " But still we were not
pressed into the service ; neither did we see anywhere the
chain of water-carriers.

And the flames and heat increased and increased. The
long rows of windows in the conventual building glimmered
as if of molten copper. There was a cry that it also was on
fire. An excited officer, spurring his horse madly through
the gateway, shouted, "It is a Government building! It
must — it must be saved ! " To which the crowd answered
with a laugh. A gentleman talking with the Amsels, hearing
this cry of fresh alarm, suddenly exclaimed, " Heavens !
Desshardt lives here. I must be off and help him to remove
his things : " and away he rushed. And more soldiers, and
more water — more water, and more soldiers — arrived. We
were driven forth from our shelter upon the steps within
the gateway, and the heavy gates of the court were closed
upon us.

We were now out in a street, but not in the street where
stood the burning brewery. Nevertheless, what a confusion
was there ! People were flying with their children and goods

1 62 AN ART -STUDENT IN MUNICH.

hastily collected together, in awful alarm, and snatched from
the fury of the devouring tyrant. A stream of bewildered
folk hurried along through the middle of the street ; they
heeded nothing as they blindly pressed forward between the
rows of stationary spectators. Here came a man in his
dressing-gown, his cap drawn over his face, a hunting-pouch
crammed with the most heterogeneous articles slung round
his shoulders, and in either hand a terrified little girl. Here
a husband bore along in his arms his sick wife, her fainting
form wrapped round with a large cloak. Now a young girl
ran along, wringing her hands and crying aloud. Beds and
bedding, tables, chairs, wardrobes, pictures, baskets of books,
clothes, papers, umbrellas, are borne past. Here comes a
cart of cheese ; here come again beds and bedding, ad in-
finitum. Here comes a little lad carrying with care a canary,
which flutters wildly in its pretty cage ; here come two
students with their music-books, a violin, a mass of manu-
script, learned-looking books and swords, laid upon a little
sledge. Here comes an easel, here a huge canvas, here a
baby in its cradle, here an old blind woman led by a little
child ; here again comes bedding, bedding, bedding ! Now
huge splendid mirrors, now kitchen utensils, and now a
wagon loaded with sofas, chairs, boxes, heaped up madly.
All is confusion — bewilderment. There are heaps of furniture
piled up in the streets ; there are carts and there are drays
with huge tuns, rolling, thundering along ; there are shouts —
murmurs. " The whole quarter will be burnt down ! " cries
a man in a hollow voice. The heavens flush and glow-
sparks fly around in thick showers. We try to approach yet
nearer to the burning houses, but again are driven back by
the soldiers. Again we enter the court-yard which I have
already mentioned. The Staatsgebaude (Government build-
ing) is untouched, but the roof of the brewery has fallen in
with a tremendous crash ; the gables stand up like golden

A GREAT FIRE AT NIGHT. 1 63

gables ; the white roofs of some lower buildings gleam ghastly
white, with an orange glare behind them. Men are seen
standing on walls and parapets, pouring torrents of water
from the snake-like pipes of the fire-engines ; but those
slender streams of water seem impotent compared with the
raging fire ; those pipes look no more than so many leeches
crawling over the roofs. Nevertheless the flames are abating.
The great danger, thank God, is passed ! Gradually the fire
ceases to rage, to destroy.

Under the escort of two officers, acquaintance of the
Amsels, we were passed along through sentinels and the
crowd till we approached within a few yards of the burning
brewery ; but even here, on account of the narrowness of the
lane in which the brewery stood, the view was not complete.
A mass of engines filled the little street. We were now in
the midst of the long pipes which extended in all directions,
like enormous serpents, across the street, and ran up steep
walls and over precipitous roofs, where men, telling as black
shadows against the fiery glow, plied their whole strength
in deluging the flames. There were no women here except
ourselves. There were soldiers and busy workers, whilst
the corporation, with silk scarfs tied across their breasts,
superintended the operations. All worked earnestly,
eagerly ; the flames sank and sank ; the neighbouring
church-spire, which had risen above the conflagration illu-
mined with orange and scarlet light, seeming at times,
surrounded with flames, and with its burning cresset, like a
martyr crowned with a celestial star, and rising towards
heaven from a bed of fire, now paled into an ordinary
church-steeple, shone upon by an ordinary moon. Moon-
light again triumphed ; all grew gradually calmer.

Crowds, however, yet lingered around the glowing ruins ;
flames yet fitfully leaped and flickered ; smoke yet arose in
heavy volumes. Soldiers yet stood guard in the plashy

164 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

discoloured snow, amid a wild disorder of carts, engines,
heaps of furniture, charred beams, and trailing pipes, which
intersected the streets and walls. But all danger was past.

At three o'clock in the morning we wended our way,
with exhausted frames, to Mrs. Amsel's, wondering where
all the unlucky fugitives of the night had found shelter.

The next day nothing was^ talked of but the fire. Seven-
and-twenty years ago, it is said, this brewery was burnt
down, the brewer having in both cases made himself
unpopular, by raising the price of beer. People blessed
their stars that half Munich was not consumed, — that the
fire did not break out in the dead of night, — that the weather
was calm, — and that there was a thick covering of snow. It
is said, also, that Prince Luitpold aided in extinguishing
the fire.

A VISIT TO THE DEAD-HOUSE. 165

CHAPTER XVII.

A VISIT TO THE DEAD AND TO THE NEWLY-BORN.

January 12th. — This afternoon there was a regular thaw ;
nevertheless I set out from the studio to the Cemetery,
which is precisely at the other end of Munich. It was all
sunshine overhead and all sludge underfoot. It was a
deplorable day for so long a walk ; but my reason for
choosing to visit the Cemetery to-day was because the
corpse of the young lady, the friend of the Amsel's, who
died so suddenly, was lying at the Dead-House. As I
had heard a sad history regarding her death, and had long
determined to pay a visit to the Dead-House, I went this
afternoon spite of the mud.

Walking up the long pathway of the burial-ground, between
the hundreds of crosses and monuments crowding thickly
upon each other, with the bells tolling solemnly meanwhile
from the Cemetery-chapel, I felt how, now entering the city
of the dead, the joyous activity of the old part of Munich
through which I had just passed stood forth in strange and
striking contrast. Yet people thronged the broad path-
way ; crowds were hastening along, — men, women, and
children, rich and poor. Whither were they bending their
steps this miserable dirty day ? Now a funeral train en-
countered the throng, and the people stepped aside upon
the spongy graves as it passed, bowing before the up-raised
crucifix.

J 66 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

When I neared the cloistered wall which separated the
old from the new burial-ground, I perceived a still denser
crowd. What could be the attraction ? At once it flashed
upon me that the attraction was the Dead-House,— the living
were come to visit the dead !

And such was the case. Large windows, or rather doors,
open out of the Dead-House into the cloisters. Here
people congregate and gaze in at the corpses. I know
not whether upon every day of the year the populace
of the good city of Munich flocks to this awful spectacle.
At all events, to-day there was a great crowd ; I do
not believe that any corpse of extraordinary interest was
exposed. I observed a considerable number of students
among the crowd : as I pushed my way beneath the cloisters
I found what had attracted them.

Jostled up against by men, women, and children, lay
two corpses in their open coffins supported upon biers.
I suppose they had been brought out for burial. How-
ever, there they were. One was the corpse of a student.
He lay in his coffin dressed in his best clothes ; his black
dress-coat, black trowsers, patent-leather boots ; a white
cravat tied round his throat, white kid gloves upon his
hands ; he seemed dressed for a ball. Oh ! his face-
that statue-like expression upon the marble brow, the
sunken white cheeks, the heavy eyelids darkened by the
touch of death, the thick golden moustache curling over
the livid lips ! His tricolour corps-band crossed his breast.
His hands were folded together, holding upon his heart a
large bouquet of fragrant flowers, together with a small
cross of black wood. Whilst I looked at him, a peasant-
woman dipped a brush into a vase of holy-water standing
near the coffin, and sprinkled the poor dead face with it.

The other corpse was of an old lady. No one seemed
to pay much attention to her. She had no flowers, not

A VISIT TO THE DEAD-HOUSE. 1 67

even a wreath of artificial ones. She lay stiff and stark
in a black silk dress ; a prim lace cap was fastened around
her rigid, aged face ; her feet poked out of the coffin in a
pair of stuff shoes tied on with broad sandals. There was
something unusually affecting to me in these poor, aged
feet attired in the old-fashioned shoes ; they evidently
were the shoes she had saved up as her holiday shoes, her
shoes for feasts and festivals, — and now they were going
down with her to the grave to the feast of worms. No
one but myself cast more than a glance at the poor old
lady, — all eyes turned towards the handsome student ; she
was but a withered last year's kex ; he was a vigorous
young tree fallen in a sudden storm.

The crowd jostled and pushed and talked and made itself
very comfortable, greatly enjoying the spectacle.

" Eh ! eh ! that's a fine corpse ! " remarked a jolly red-
faced woman, wearing a golden swallow-tailed cap upon
the very back of her curly black head. " But he does not
look so handsome — does he, Lina ? as when — "

The " when " was lost in a whisper into Lina's ear, and
the jolly woman and smart girl passed on.

" Ach ! and this is what we shall all come to sooner or
later," moralized a ragged, shrivelled old man, with a blue
nose and very wheezy voice.

" Only nineteen years of age ! poor thing ! poor thing !
and she a Brant (betrothen girl), too !" sighed a gentle,
motherly-looking woman, who might have been a baker's
or miller's wife, gazing in through the window.

" Poor Marie ! " spoke another voice : " to think of her
lying there in the very ball-clothes in which she was to have
danced with her bridegroom at last Thursday's ball ! " And
the speakers thrust their faces up to the window where
many other faces were thrust.

On either side of the window hung a kind of " table of

1 68 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

contents " of the corpses lying behind the glass. The " table
of contents " was framed, and decorated with emblems of
mortality. The eager spectators consulted its columns
with deep enjoyment, muttering to each other names, ages,
and causes of death.

When a space at the window offered itself, I also looked
through it. I breathed, or fancied I breathed, as I neared
the window, the clammy, soul-and-body sickening odour
of death, — that fearful odour which once breathed can never
more be forgotten. Looking within, I beheld a solemn
room where various corpses were arranged upon biers, and
where many empty biers were awaiting corpses.

In the centre of the room lay the statue-like figure of a
young girl — the " Marie " of the speakers, and the Amsels'
friend, I imagine. Her face had the pale yellow tint ot
ivory upon it ; her brow was wreathed with myrtle — she
was now the bride of death. She lay as if in a trance ; her
hands were crossed upon her breast ; a delicate gauze veil
flowed over her down to her feet. A grove of greenhouse
flowers bloomed around her pillow, which was trimmed with
exquisite lace ; flowers bloomed in her hands ; flowers
bloomed at her feet, and tall waxen tapers rising out of
bronze candelabra burnt and twinkled amid the leaves and
blossoms.

There was a second dead woman's face, which was affect-
ing and beautiful. The head lay slightly turned aside ; the
lips were crimson ; the cheeks, scarcely sunken, were
flushed in patches with a bright crimson tint, which looked
rather of life than death. Her hair was jet black, and
parted with the nicest care over a broad, low, white brow.
She also was covered with flowers : tender sprigs of passion-
flower and fern drooped over her. Close beside her in its
little coffin lay an infant. And beyond these there were
other rigid faces, old and young and middle-aged, glaring

A VISIT TO THE DEAD-HOUSE. 1 69

with a ghastly white from distant biers, all with stern
profiles set towards the ceiling ; all with the wondrous
print of death impressed upon them.

And without, the crowd murmured and crushed upon
each other, and went and came in active enjoyment.
Some very few might have real sorrow within their
breasts ; some very few might be touched by this vision of
solemnity ; but to the mass it was simply vulgar ex-
citement and pastime. I felt a sense of relief in the
thought that, dying in England, no such curious gossiping
crowd would gaze upon my corpse, or upon the faces of
the dead dear to me. My very soul revolted and sickened
at such desecration of the solemnity and the silence
of death. If we have dead-houses in our new English
cemeteries, surely admission to them will be alone granted
to the friends of the deceased ! The remembrance of this
crowd of the living troubles my imagination far more than
the remembrance of the calm, holy corpses. I cannot endure

the thought that when the hour of death arrives for or

, crowds of gossiping idlers will gather before the dead-
house to gaze with unsympathising eyes upon the deserted
temples of these great 'spirits ! Such crowds assembled
around the body of Schwanthaler, when it also was laid here.

I passed out of the burial-ground, by the lofty portal
which is crowned with its solemn statues, and walked along
the banks of the Isar, looking up into the clear sky and
listening to the rush of waters just released from the chains
of ice which have bound the river for weeks. The waters
rejoiced with glad voices, as if hymning their triumph in
renewed life, and the sky had the word Immortality
written upon it ; but it was long before I could dismiss
the painful impression which my visit to the Dead-House
had left upon me.

January 15th. — About a week ago a baby was born in this

VOL. II. N

170 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

house: and to-day was the christening. Isabel was curious
to witness the ceremony, and mentioning her curiosity to
Madame Thekla, Madame Thekla mentioned it to the
nurse, the nurse mentioned it to the lady, — the mother of
the child — and she, through Madame Thekla, sent us an
invitation. This lady is the Frau Majorin von Schwerdt.
The family we know very well by sight, but our acquaintance
went, until to-day, no further than bowing politely to each
other when we met on the stairs. Thus you see that our
invitation to be present upon the occasion of the christening
was somewhat peculiar.

This afternoon at three o'clock, festally attired, and
attended by Madame Thekla, we descended to the etage
below us, which is inhabited by the Frau Majorin. The
man-servant, all in his best, opened the door to us — the
women-servants standing about in the passage, were all in
their best, and the drawing-room was filled with an assembly
of relatives, also all in their best. Major v. Schwerdt in his
blue uniform, with crosses and orders glittering upon his
breast, received us as we entered the saloon. All the gentle-
men were in uniform, and one old officer, with snow-white
hair and moustache, was resplendent with decorations.
The ladies in their elegant light silk dresses, and rich
lace, formed a semi-circle; and within the semi-circle
was a table covered with white linen, upon which a
crucifix and burning tapers were placed. Before this altar
stood two old priests in white robes.

Now a lady presents to the elder priest the little infant
lying within its pretty curious chrysalis of pink satin
and lace. The priest blesses the infant, laying it in
its chrysalis upon the altar before him, and reads the Latin
service out of his missal; the godmother repeats the re-
sponses for the little babe, the little Emma Maria Theresa
— the priest breathes upon the infant's brow in token of

A VISIT TO THE NEWLY-BORN. 171

spiritual life being breathed upon her, and lays his hands
also upon her, claiming her as God's own ; and marks her
with the cross in sign of her having taken upon herself the
cross of Christ to bear until the end of all things. The
priest lays salt within her little lips that she may love the
taste of wisdom, and that God may preserve her from cor-
ruption and the foulness of sin. The priest denounces
the devil ; the priest anoints the little breast and
shoulders with oil : on the breast, in order that she shall be
strengthened to combat against the devil, the world, and the
flesh ; upon the shoulders, that they may bear with ease the
yoke of Christ; the priest changes his violet stole for one
of white and gold, laying it over the little infant in sign of
her state of sinfulness being exchanged for a state of purity.
The priest pours water three times over the uncovered
head of the meekly submitting babe, to typify the three
days during which Christ rested in the grave, arising from
death upon the third, as this infant shall arise from a
spiritual death into a spiritual life. The priest anoints
her with the holy chrism, anoints her as a Christian, as a
partaker of Christ's royalty, as a sacred being ; and a
lighted taper is held close to her little hand to show that
she has come forth from the darkness into the light, and
how, with love in her heart burning like this taper, she
shall go forth to meet her heavenly bridegroom, and that
" her light shall shine before men ; " and thus in the name
of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, is she baptised
and received into God's fold.

The old priest delivered, after these ceremonies, a short
address to the assembly upon the significance of the rite;
then bowed to the father, Major v. Schwerdt : a hum of
conversation was heard, and the little brothers of the newly-
christened Emma Maria Theresa ran about the room in
unrestrained glee.

N 2

172 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

We returned our thanks to the Frau Majorin's mother
for the pleasure we had received through witnessing the
ceremony, and begged she would present our compliments
to her daughter. The Frau Majorin, she informed us, was
in the adjoining room, and would we not enter and speak to
her ourselves ?

Of course we did so, and found that the sick lady had
watched the ceremony through the open doorway. As we
stood beside the invalid's bed, the priests entered, together
with the Major, and the nurse carrying the infant in its pink
chrysalis. The pink chrysalis was laid upon the mother's
lap. The old priest made the sign of the cross, and so did
the Frau Majorin.

The inferior priest held a burning taper which shed a pale
golden glory over the white peaceful countenance of the
mother, over her quiet white brow, which looked doubly
white from contrast with the black hair which lay in heavy
waves beneath the lace border of her cap ; the golden glory
fell upon the snowy lace-trimmed pillows which propped her
head and shoulders, upon the snowy sheets and snowy bed-
quilt ; all was pure, spotless, and calm. The superior priest
prayed in a quiet voice for the mother and child, and then
blessed them. Tears filled the mother's eyes, swelling
gradually and rolling over her cheeks whilst he prayed;
and she folded her delicate white hands in prayer, the
thick golden rings of her betrothal and marriage gleaming
in the rays of the taper. The Major, in his decorated
uniform, leant over his wife's pillow, and the little infant
had fallen asleep within its rose-coloured chrysalis.

We returned to our abode in the upper itage, feeling a
new interest in our neighbours.

THE CASTING OF THE SIEGESTHOR BAVARIA. 1 73

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CASTING OF THE SIEGESTHOR BAVARIA.

January 22nd. — At eleven o'clock this day, the casting of
the principal portions of the Siegesthor Bavaria took
place.

We set off in good time, and as we proceeded along the
Nymphenburg Road towards the foundry, several other
droschkes were speeding on likewise, and troops of gentle-
men were walking beneath the trees which line the road.
All were bound like ourselves for the foundry; all turned
down the Erzgiesserei, from one of the lofty chimneys of
which thick black volumes of smoke were vomited.

Carriages drew up before the gate ; people alighted ;
people entered the court-yard, many of them stopping, as
we also did, before passing through the open door of the
building, to notice a fire-engine standing in front of the huge
grim bronze lion, its long snake-like pipe stretching up
to the huge roof of the casting-house, where it lay in watch-
fulness near to the lofty, vomiting chimney.

All within was stir and expectation. I have already
described the interior of this casting-house ; the pit sunk
in the ground; the rudely-raftered roof; the windows
placed high in the walls ; the huge furnace, open at top
and rising like a low-windowed tower at one end of the
vast desolate hall, which is supported by many square brick-
work piers.

A rude stage was erected opposite the furnace, on which

174 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

was congregated a number of people, principally ladies.
But before we take our stand there, we will inspect the
furnace somewhat more closely. Wild orange-coloured
flames roared through its narrow, niche-like windows, leap-
ing and rejoicing in savage glee ; from its top hurried thick
volumes of lurid smoke, and columns of dazzling dancing
sparks sprang up into the mysterious gloom which hung
above the furnace. Sunk into the pit in front of the fur-
nace lay the earthen mould, built into it in fact, with a
narrow channel left around it, into which the molten metal
was to flow. Three long chains of ponderous links de-
scended from the dusk void, the orange and scarlet glare
flashing and resting upon them; two-thirds up, the three
chains appeared lost in a murky vagueness, dark as Erebus ;
low down, on either side the furnace, was a small door,
which the workmen opened ever and anon to feed the
raging flames within with fresh metal, or else to stir them
up with long poles. I thought, as these doors opened, of
the children cast into the fiery furnace, and how their
figures might have gleamed forth through such openings,
flitting past in awful safety amidst the whirl of flame, accom-
panied by the fourth august white-robed form. I thought
of the horrible death of Robert in Retzsch's designs to
Schiller's " Fridolin," and again recalled the foundry scenes
in the same artist's illustrations of the " Song of the Bell."
There was the very group he has given us at the furnace-
mouth, its impressiveness heightened tenfold by colour and
by Rembrandtesque light and shadow.

Up rises the furnace-door; forth rush curling waves of
fire, with fiery surf scattered around ! blinding, glaring
orange light broadly falling upon the dusky workmen, who,
shading their averted faces with their gloved hands and
slouching hat-brims, excite and tease the devouring element
with their long poles. Ferdinand Miller is ever near

THE CASTING OF THE SIEGESTHOR BAVARIA. 1 75

to the gaping jaws of the furnace, directing and superin-
tending; his face glowing in the intense heat, his brow
beaded with sweat. The rough walls of the furnace rise
duskily in the lurid haze ; crimson and orange light glares
from the windows in strange gradation up the walls,
until lost in cold darkness, where, through dimly discerned
rafters and scaffolding, gleam two long narrow streaks of
day-light. The fire-glow glares and burns like ruddy gold
upon the quaint forms and eager faces of the groups of
workmen, who toil with their long poles before the furnace-
mouth; and long grotesque shadows are cast flickering
behind them upon the ground and walls. The fire-glow
glares upon the knot of earnest spectators surrounding the
furnace and the pit, and assembled upon the stage, or lean-
ing against walls and brick columns ; it illumes them with
a magic brilliancy, which is rendered at certain points yet
more wonderful, from cool blue day-light striking upon
their brows, whilst the cheeks are flushed with the reflected
light of the flames. And above the crowd of living figures
rise colossal forms of armed warriors, and peaceful poets,
and sceptered monarchs ; these glowing crimson ; those
standing calm and pale in the cold light of day.

A glowing heat meanwhile fans our faces ; and we hear
the rush, rush, of flame, the cries of the workmen, the
commands of Ferdinand Miller, and an answering far-off
voice dropping down out of the mysterious darkness
above us.

Much had to be done ere the imprisoned molten metal
could be released. Now burning cinders are placed around
the mould within the channel, to heat it in preparation for
the scalding metallic stream; now workmen, with delicate
care, remove the plugs which have stopped up certain air-
holes upon the surface of the mould, and brush away the
dust ; now the cinders are removed, and the holes in the

176 AN ART- STUDENT IN MUNICH.

channel for the entrance of the metal into the mould are
opened, and after much passing to and fro of workmen in
their slouched hats, and with their leathern aprons fastened
behind with brass chains and clasps, and who carry, high
above the heads of the crowd, long bars of iron red-hot at
their tips, or gigantic ladles glowing of a vivid vermilion ;
now, after an hour of expectation, Ferdinand Miller
proclaims in a loud voice that the casting is about to
commence.

" May I beg of you all here," he exclaims, " to remain
perfectly quiet, whatever may happen. All necessary pre-
parations for safety are made. Should any danger occur I
will inform you; but keep quiet, I pray you. We must
avoid a sudden current of air."

Workmen approach bearing a tremendous bar, with
which to burst open the tiny aperture in the blank wall of
the furnace, above the pit, and through which the metal is
to flow. Ferdinand Miller stands as yet upon the mould ;
his men surround him upon the borders of the pit. With
a burning flambeau held before him, he once more examines
the air and metal holes. The bar is suspended to the three
chains. Ferdinand Miller leaps from the mould; the men
stand ready beside their bar; there is a momentary solemn
pause, in which the constant rush, rush, of the flames im-
prisoned within their citadel falls monotonously on the ear;
the besiegers of the citadel pause solemnly beside their
battering-ram ; they pause in prayer. Heads are un-
covered; heads are bowed; and there, within the for-
bidden circle of the workmen, near to his friend Ferdinand
Miller, stands Wilhelm von Kaulbach, his head bare and
bowed to his breast — his fine, calm profile illumined by the
fiery glow.

A moment's pause, and the battering-ram strikes ! Forth
from the aperture streams liquid, golden, quivering metal ;

THE CASTING OF THE SIEGESTHOR BAVARIA. 1 77

down, down, down it streams, filling the channel around
the mould ; lurid smoke darts from the air-holes, and forth
leap, springing into the air, golden, burning, quivering
jets of molten metal ; golden, burning, quivering stars
shower around, falling amid the workmen, and even to the
feet of Ferdinand Miller and of Kaulbach. I feel the people
around and behind me fall back in a haste of momentary
terror.

" The casting is accomplished ! " shouts Ferdinand
Miller.

Caps and hats are waved in the air; a thrilling hurrah
bursts forth, and is swelled by a sudden blast of trumpets
sounding forth from the upper darkness.

" A vivat for King Ludwig ! " he again exclaims.
Another hurrah and burst of music.

" And yet another ! " cries a workman, flinging up his
cap into the air; and there is a third deafening acclaim.

The golden molten metal hardens within its channel ;
workmen try it with iron bars, and then cover up the
glowing mass with sheets of iron.

People crowd with congratulations around Ferdinand
Miller; more daylight streams into the building; the fur-
nace is illumined with a hazy violet light; the sound of
the rushing of the flame is lost amid the rejoicing of
human tongues.

Thus passed over in happy accomplishment the casting of
the largest portion of the Siegesthor Bavaria.

178 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE ARTISTS' MASKED BALL.

On Saturday, in all the grandeur of our fools' caps, we

proceeded, under the escort of Dr. F- , to the Artists'

Festival. We seem to have winter back again in full force,
for the streets are once more deep in snow, and the frost is
bitterly keen. And now on this cold evening, when all
looked colder from the twilight gloom falling upon the streets,
the warm glow of lights which gleamed from the long rows
of windows in the Odeon welcomed us with a delicious hos-
pitality.

It might have truly been a London line of carriages that
extended from the Odeon afar up the street, so long and
closely packed was it. As we eagerly looked out of our
frosted carriage windows, the scene was exciting. It was
absurd to think of taking up our position in this train ; we
therefore drove back again and round to the opposite end of
the Odeon, where, consenting to walk a little distance
through the snow, we were enabled to enter. The staircases
were hung with rich tapestries ; and orange-trees and myrtles
were arranged upon the steps in two thick rows, and up
between them streamed a crowd of maskers.

What a magic vision bursts upon us when we enter the
ball-room itself ! In the centre rises a pavilion, stolen
certainly out of Fairyland ! Graceful and slender Byzantine
arches of white and gold, and with delicate vermilion tracery

THE ARTISTS' MASKED BALL. 179

upon them, cluster together, supporting tall figures symbolical
of former Artist-Festivals, and crowning the whole, a graceful,
youthful figure of Joy holding his cup. Ivy and vine cluster
around, and festoon the slender arches ; tall, golden tripods
rise, heaped up with flowers ; wreaths of fresh greenery, and
golden tambourines and pipes and flutes, hang around the
base of the pavilion in joyous symmetry; beneath the
pavilion, nestling amid a grove of odorous shrubs and flowers,
four magical swans, with white and golden plumage, arch
their necks and pour from their open bills ruddy streams of
wine ! The fairy vision towers to the very ceiling of the
lofty Odeon Hall, where from a wreath of roses red and
white, spring forth long silken streamers of white and pink,
extending like a vast umbel over the whole hall, each streamer
attached at its farther end to a smaller chaplet of roses hung
upon each capital of the grey marble columns which support
the galleries of the hall.

These grey marble columns are also gay with decorations
— hangings of crimson with a simple diaper pattern of gold
clothe them up one-third of their height, and from pillar to
pillar swings a wreath of foliage and roses ; thus colour and
flowers encircle the whole hall. Beneath the orchestra-
gallery rises a low carpeted platform, which is approached
by two flights of steps, where stand, as guards, two masked
figures in mediaeval costume. In the very front of the plat-
form rises a grand towering group of trophies — the trophies
of painting and music.

The heavy white emblazoned banners of the two societies
of Munich painters fall in brotherly harmony with the smaller
banners of two musical societies who have lent their aid for
the festivities of the grand night. Beneath the banner-folds
hang clusters of palettes, brushes, strings of bladders of
colour, architects' rules, compasses — a glorious array of
artistic tools. Ivy sprays, and wreaths of pine and moss,

l8o AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

bind all together, uniting them with the musician's trophy,
a cluster of musical instruments, trumpets, violins, flutes,
clarionets, and drums ! Beyond the platform is a partition
of dark green drapery, with garlands hung symmetrically
upon it.

We stood completely bewildered with the magic of the
scene, which was increased a thousand-fold by the marvellous
crowd collecting.

Every lady and gentleman had been requested by the
Artists' programme to assume a fool's cap for the evening, in
case they did not come in masks or fancy costumes. Thus
every head presented a brilliant bit of colour. The gentle-
men received their caps with their tickets, and these caps
were simple enough in form, but of two most vividly-con-
trasting colours — green and scarlet, yellow and pink, blue
and orange.

The ladies' fools' caps were much more extraordinary ;
varying from a quaint, tiny jester's cap of mediaeval cut,
covered with gold or silver bells, embroidery, flowers and
feathers, to an ordinary evening head-dress rendered Car-
nivalesque by bells fastened to the ends of the ribbon
trimmings ; there were pointed witches' hats ; tiaras ;
shepherdesses' hats ; jelly-bag caps ; there were caps trimmed
with lace, with gold, with silver, with ostrich feathers, with
peacock feathers, with cocks' feathers ; there were caps of
scarlet, of blue, of amber, of pink ; there were parti-coloured
caps, and tricoloured caps ; and caps of velvet, of lace, of
gold, of silk, of gauze, — of every hue, texture, and fashion,
in short ; all, more or less, developments of the jester's cap
of the middle ages. There were hundreds and hundreds of
these caps surmounting faces of every age and every ex-
pression ; there were hundreds and hundreds of costumes —
costumes, it would seem, of every era and every country
beneath the sun !

A MOTLEY MAZE. l8l

Here comes a solemn Arab Sheik and his wife ; their
swarthy faces,-their golden bracelets and anklets upon their
dark limbs, their ample woollen mantles of creamy white,
or striped with sober violet and brown, all breathing of the
desert. Here tumbles through the crowd, whirling his club
of jingling bells, a dwarf of the middle ages, clad in scarlet.
Here mince along, in their high-heeled shoes, a courtier and
lady from the Court of Louis XIV. Here comes a jolly
English tar in his blue shirt, with his low-crowned hat, and a
pipe in his mouth. This must surely be Albrecht Diirer him-
self! Look at his mild, calm face beneath that beetling black
velvet cap ! look at his short fur-trimmed cloak of chocolate
colour and at his leathern pouch, slung at his side, and
mounted with rich steel ornaments. Here are Americans,
Armenians, Turks, Portuguese, Italian peasants, Venetian
senators, knights and ladies of the German legends ; here are
pilgrims, knights, troubadours, savages, and devils. Here
are whimsical beings with huge, silver ram's horns, with
golden ram's horns, with huge flapping, pointed ears, with
beaks and false noses ! There is the chorus of singers, with
beaked noses and queer, big spectacles, looking like a flight
of extraordinary birds : — and only listen to their low chirp !
chirp ! they are birds surely, and not men ! There are caps
with peacock feathers towering yards high above the crowd ;
here comes a whole peacock's tail ! Here a gigantic butterfly
nodding at the end of a long wire, which no doubt is fastened
to some strange cap, could we only see it in the crowd !
Here is Mrs. Bloomer herself, and there the favourite
sultana! Here are two gigantic ladies in gigantic yellow
silk hats, with gigantic bouquets and fans in their hands, and
black masks over their faces. There is a terrible old man
who is always winking his eyes and wrinkling his brow, who
has a mane of powdered hair, a monstrous shirt-frill, and a
false nose ! Here is a band of courtiers with the heads of

1 82 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

gigantic cocks and hens ! look how they open their long
beaks, and snap right and left as they move along.

Wilder and wilder, madder and madder grows the scene ;
louder and louder wax the laughter, the squeaking, the crow-
ing, the flapping, the whispering, the piping; louder and
louder, madder and madder !

A hush falls suddenly upon the multitude, gentlemen
in golden fools' caps make a pathway through the crowd ;
and towards a seat prepared for them at the right of the
platform proceed the two Kings, the two Queens, and their
Court. They wear no fools' caps: the Kings carry their
black hats in their hands; the young Queen has splendid
diamonds in her hair and on her bosom; the old Queen
wears a very quiet head-dress; the Court ladies, wreaths
of ivy and natural flowers. How quiet and simple they all
look!

The Court take their seats ; the musicians sing a joyous
welcome; there is a Vivat for Bavaria; for King Ludwig,
the Artists' King; for German Art! The musical director,
a singularly handsome man, in a singularly handsome dress
of black velvet, all covered with scarlet rosettes, gives a
signal to the orchestra, and suddenly down drops the dra-
pery beyond the platform, and forth leap, spring, tumble —
screaming, yelling, and whirling their arms and their clubs —
a mad troop of fools, scarlet, yellow, white, in their quaint,
whimsical, mediaeval dresses, with long ears and pointed
sleeves, and ribbons, and scalloped jerkins flying in the
wind! They fling bon-bons among the crowd, they fling
humourous mottoes, they jingle their bells, they rattle
their wooden clappers ! They leap, tumble, spring from the
platform down among the multitude ! How mad, how mad
they are ! And look ! look ! On comes a wonderful crowd
across the platform, a crowd of South American Indians !
Look at their dusky forms clad in jaguar skins ! Look at

NIBELUNGEN HEROES. 1 83

that noble figure clad in gold tissue, and crowned with a tiara
of orange and scarlet feathers! They are representations
of the various Mexican tribes; their black locks are con-
fined within glittering silver diadems ; their noses and ears
are pierced with feathers, golden rings, and porcupine quills ;
strange plates of brass hang upon the breast of one ; another
carries his barbaric weapons. Here, too, come Spanish
Mexicans ; here negroes with their hoes ; here the planter
in his broad straw hat and loose white trousers and white
coat ! Ah, that planter is Rugendas, the painter of strange
Mexican scenes and people, — Rugendas, the painter and
tropical traveller ! These Mexican costumes are those
which he brought with him as artistic spoil. A wonder-
fully-arranged Indian procession it is.

On, on, come yet other strange forms : a band of
hunters and warriors of the far-off Nibelungen time. It
took one's very breath away with surprise, as warrior after
warrior marched forth in his wondrous helmet, upon which
rose the lovely, expanded wings of hawk, and owl, and
heron ; the helm wreathed with ivy-sprays, frequently, also
covered entirely with fresh green moss, till it appeared a por-
tion of the old primeval forest. Sometimes, between the wings,
rose the head of a hare, a fox, or other sylvan creature;
sometimes, instead of wings, the helmet was crowned with
branching antlers ; sometimes the head was covered with a
hood which fell in simple folds around the face, or tightly
wrapped itself about the throat, but ever these old
Germans wreathed their brows with ivy or pine twigs.
Their whole garb was of a sylvan character; their short
jerkins, bound around the loins with jewelled girdles, from
which depended daggers and hunting pouches, were green
as the summer woods, or russet and orange as the woods
of autumn; orange or grey, or russet were their hoods;
their tight hose were white, or grey, or scarlet ; their boots,

184 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

of untanned leather or scarlet. On their backs were slung
huge horns, spoils of the Auerochs, from which to quaff
mighty draughts of mead. In their hands some bore long
hunting spears; others primeval musical instruments,
violins of marvellous slimness, with a small allowance
of strings, and which made strange, sweet, small music;
tiny flutes and wondrously constructed drums, all murmuring
and muttering of long-departed ages.

The processions descend and mingle with the crowd.
Suddenly the band of fools, — who, I believe, by the way,
were all young painters, — dash, whirling their clubs, and
leaping, and shouting, through the multitude, who part
before them, and thus a narrow circle round the room is
formed, and dancing commences. Marvellous were the
couples who flew around the circle, and marvellous
the antics of these merry mad fools, who had constituted
themselves masters of the ceremonies. Men of the nine-
teenth century are they no longer, but the merriest of
Merry Andrews who have ever dwelt in Emperors' palaces
or Barons' halls. Mad, jocose, impertinent are they; yet
chivalrous withal. Behold a group of them leaping upon
each other's shoulders, and climbing up towards the en-
chanted pavilion to catch, in a tall goblet, the ruddy wine
falling from the bills of the magic swans. Behold, a fool
having caught his heel in a lady's train, flings down his club,
flings down himself also before the lady's feet, and with
an arch imploring gaze, and mock distress, beseeches
her pardon! Look at that scarlet fellow nursing his
legs as he sits upon that flight of steps, swinging his
body backwards and forwards, whilst he carols a merry
song.

Dancing formed not the whole amusement of this festive
evening.

Once more there is a bustle upon the platform. A large

THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE. 1 85

golden wheel, fixed upon a frame, is brought forth. This is
the Wheel of Fortune.

Each lady, on entering the hall, has received an elegant
card, printed in gold, upon which, together with a grotesque
group of Carnival figures, is a list of the dances for the
evening, and a certain number written in one corner of the
card. This is her number in the lottery. The wheel
is turned. To the sound of trumpets the number of the
prize is called forth. Away dashes the troop of fools in mad
career through the ball-room, and the supper-rooms, in
search of the lucky lady. After a merry search she is dis-
covered, and led in triumph to the platform, where, seated,
she receives her prize with much ceremony ; a graceful vase,
or book perhaps, or basket filled with flowers. A document
of complimentary, humourous, and appropriate verses,
adorned with sketches, she also receives upon a cushion;
the verses, I should observe, being first read aloud to the
cdhipany. Many a picturesque group is thus formed on
the platform. Let us take the first group as an example.
The band of fools have led up a bright-faced maiden with
large, laughing blue eyes, golden hair, and a complexion
"red as the red, red rose," — so covered is she with blushes.
Her dress is of blue velvet, cut square at the bosom, in the
old German style, and bordered with a stiff band of rich
golden brocade incrusted with jewels ; a jewelled girdle, from
which depends a curious pocket, is clasped round her waist ;
her arms and bosom are covered with sleeves and a deep
tucker of white lawn ; and a blue and gold embroidered
tiara surmounts her blonde locks. She is a veritable Burg-
fraulein. It is a Provencal troubadour, who, kneeling before
her, presents a fragrant mass of flowers ; his face is a gallant,
poetical face ; his hair curls in thick clusters around his
compact head. His dress is of pink and white silk, pink and
white alternating; a little hood, pink one half, white the
VOL. II. O

1 86 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

other, hangs upon his shoulders; roses, pink and white,
adorn him ; there are roses on his breast, roses upon his
sleeves, roses upon his hose and upon his shoes; roses
encircle his jerkin ; his very face looks a rose ! He seems
the very embodiment of romance, of the Romaunt of the
Rose ; perhaps he may be. But whether he be so or not,
he is, at all events, a well-known historical painter, and an
officer to boot.

Many were the picturesque groups, and that not alone
during the drawing of the lottery, which this evening pro-
duced. I look down from the platform upon which I am
now standing — not, however, by any means because I am
the lucky drawer of a prize — and half hidden by the
Painters' Trophy, his figure shewing beneath the cluster of
musical instruments, sits crouching a Bedouin in his long,
spectral bernouse ; he props his dark face upon a dark arm,
and looks up into the face — not of another Bedouin — that
would have been too real for so fantastic, delirious a night !
— but into the face of a Nibelungen hero — of Siegfried
himself, perhaps : the winged, ivy-encircled helmet, the
orange fur-trimmed doublet, the hunting-spear glittering in
his hand, the huge, grey, silver-mounted hunting-horn slung
upon his back, the short hunting-boots upon his feet, how
strangely they contrast with that dark Arab in his spectral
bernouse !

Everything is so genuine, so exquisitely beautiful and
appropriate in the costumes, so thoroughly artistic, that the
groups seem groups — not of maskers — but of beings sum-
moned by an enchanter's spell from far-off regions and
long-departed ages. One's imagination bewilders itself in
a perplexing romance, so striking, fantastic, whimsical, are
the contrasts on every side !

The Cotillon is now being danced. From our position
upon the platform, the spectacle is extraordinary. In the

A FAIRY PAVILION. 187

centre rises that fairy pavilion with its flowers, its swans, its
heroic statues, its undulating radiation of silken streamers,
through which, looking upwards your eye rests upon the
bright frescoed hues of the ceiling. The grey marble
columns of the hall, draped partly with crimson, are our
horizon. A mass of quaint, gorgeously-attired human beings
fills the hall; they rise in brilliant tiers beneath the columns ;
they rise, a low human pyramid, upon the steps of the
pavilion ; they fill as with waves of scarlet, orange, violet,
green, and crimson, the whole body of the vast hall. An
open, but narrow, space surrounds the pavilion : here whirl
the dancers in mad career. They are dancing beneath tall
hoops of blue and white, which are held above their heads
by the scarlet, and orange, and parti-coloured fools, standing
opposite each other, at certain distances within the circle.
The chandeliers, with their hundreds of starry lights, gleam
and fling down their bright radiance over the gorgeous,
glittering scene. The music wildly peals and pants; and
ever and anon some merry laugh, some mad shout, rises
above its harmony, and the voice of the whole assembly, —
that murmuring, strange, united voice of the crowd !

Is not the whole scene like the dream of a fevered
brain ! — a scene likely enough to return, if ever one should
wander into the mysterious land of delirium.

The Cotillon is over. Hark ! a march bursts from the
orchestra ! Yes ; and behold how through the crowd winds
a procession of hunters : they bear garlanded torches in
their hands, together with their spears and bows. The
musicians, with their primitive musical instruments, lead
the way, piping and playing on their simple pipes and
upon their tiny violins. What an old-world feeling they
carry with them! Forth they march. And now be-
hold a hideous monster, with a head looking each way,
makes his appearance. A hurried chase of him com-

O 2

J 88 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

mences : his heads are chopped off and borne in triumph
round the circle, to the sounds once more of merry, small
music.

Again there is dancing ; again the musical societies burs
forth into song : the merriment seems ever on the increase
the fools are still careering round the circle in unwearied
antic mood. Now they encounter the celebrated Neureuther,
whom one has long since recognised as the designer of the
Fairy-pavilion ; they hoist him on their shoulders ; they bear
him round the hall with loud acclaim. Now there is a hue-
and-cry after some other well-known name. The great artist

has disappeared. " Where is ? " shout the fools ; " we

have lost ?"

"He has fled into the gallery! Don't you see him
high up aloft?" shouts a voice, and the hall rings with
laughter.

Thus the night wore on in full embodiment of the
painters' motto emblazoned on their decorations and upon
their cards :

Tages Arbeit ; Abends Gaste !
Saure Wochen ! Frohe Feste !

Never, surely, was there a more joyous festival, or one
more graceful, and fantastic, and poetic, than this Kiinstler
Ball of 1852. Long lives and merry ones to the joyous
artists! let us cry: and long, long life and a glorious im-
mortality to the joyous, genial German art ! A right hearty
— Lebe Hoch fiir die Stadt Miinchen,fiir Miinchener Kunst
and Kiinstler/

At half-past four o'clock, as we alighted at our house,
through the dark blue sky of this February morning the
holy sound of bells fell upon our ears; — they rang for
matins.

FLOWER MAIDENS. 1 89

Isabel has sent me a description of the Artists' Festival of
February, 1853, an extract from which I here give.

" The device for the Artists' Ball this year was the same
as last — fools and fools' caps, — all looked very much the
same; but, as a little variety, instead of Mr. Rugendas's
procession of savages, there was a band of fifty young girls,
each one assuming in her costume the character of a flower.
This procession was led by the king of the fools up the steps
of the platform on which was placed his throne ; and here
they all stood round him after he had taken his seat. The
room was crowded, much more even than last year, and the
jolly, noisy, mad-cap fools were seated upon ornamental
scaffolding placed half-way up the lower pillars of the hall.
From these eminences they by turns addressed witty
speeches in verse to their king ; and after a variety of funny
things had been said, one fool at last asked the king which
of the lady-flowers then present was the rarest, the fairest,
and altogether the most worthy of honour ? The king at first
seems much puzzled what answer to make : he gazes round
on the fifty blooming maidens standing by ;— there was Miss

K in a zone and wreath of moss-roses ; Laura F

wore a gold trellis-work, over which ran pink roses ; another
artist's daughter, a tall, noble-looking girl, wore a water-
lily, which sat like a star upon her forehead ; another the
blue fleur-de-lis, the delicate long leaves of which hung
gracefully from the back of her hair over her white shoul-
ders; there was a brilliant head-dress of vivid moun-
tain-ash berries ; little, or rather large, turrets of ivy,
the trails of which fell over round and lovely arms, and
encircled tiny waists; there were two heads powdered
as white as any snow-wreath, overtopped by a mass of
nodding snow-drops : besides these there were magnolias,
violets, and many others, formed according to the character
of the flowers into very tasteful, though somewhat large

19° AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

head-dresses, and otherwise decorating the attire of the
wearer.

"Considering the native wit of the 'fool,' the king ap-
peared somewhat foolish, in the ordinary sense of the word,
and most horribly perplexed did he contrive to look, being
all the time mocked and jeered at unmercifully by his wicked
subjects : they uttered unearthly shrieks, and, as further signs
of impatience, flapped their wooden clappers with a perfectly
stunning din.

"At length the king arose, saying that he believed he
could now guess their riddle : Was not the Edelweiss the
fairest and rarest flower that grew? And instantly, as if
impelled by a magical impulse, at one bound, making their
thousand bells dance and ring, the fools sprang to their
feet upon their stages, and sang, —

' Wie im Alpen Rosen Kranz

Edelweiss vom Felsenthrone,
Also in des Festes Glanz

Strahlet als der Frauen Krone,
Leuchtet als die Herrscherin,

Bayerns holde Konigin !

' As 'mid Alpine flowers and snow,
Rock-throned Edelweiss is beaming,

So amid the festal show,

As the crown of noble women,

As the monarch, is she seen
Our Bavaria's gentle queen ! '

"The pretty little queen, seated beneath her crimson
velvet canopies, appeared quite affected, and almost ready
to weep. King Ludwig, who sat beside her, clapped his
hands, and smiled, and bowed, and seemed most highly
delighted. The young Queen wore in her tiara of diamonds
a sprinkling of Edelweiss, which at a distance produced the

THE ARTISTS' MASKED BALL. 191

effect of pearls. This secret of the royal toilet had evidently
been betrayed beforehand to the fools. The lines are said
to be the composition of the Painter Teichlein ; the music
was by Baron Perfall — the handsome Musical Director of
last year's Artists' Ball."

192 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER XX.

SPRING PICTURES.

This last week has been Passion-week ; and as usual all
Munich was rushing from church to church : but this year I
did not rush with them — I only went to two churches with
Isabel, when she had no other companion.

This year, someway, all looked faded and weariful to me.
The only thing that I beheld which I did not see last spring
was a group of peasants in the Basilica, kissing the wounds
of a fearful crucifix, which was laid upon the altar steps.
A dreadful spectacle !

This morning I went with Isabel to hear high mass per-
formed in the Hofkapelle, as the music is very fine there
on Easter Sunday. The robes of the priest, all gold, rose-
colour and green, were beautiful ; and the troop of elegant
court pages in their blue and silver, bearing their burning
tapers, and gracefully bending their handsome little silk-
stockinged legs, was pretty; but that was all. I feel as
though I had had enough of pageantry for some time to
come.

April. — There is no denying now that Spring is at hand ;
yet as I am still far from ready to bid adieu to Munich, I
am inclined to close my eyes to her signals, which each day
greet me on my walks through the English Garden. Dog's-
mercury and the lovely glossy arum leaves are ra^idlv

SPRING PICTURES. 1 93

revealing their vernal beauty. I see pale oxlips nodding
here and there upon mossy banks, and bunches of them lie
withering upon the pathways, gathered farther on in the
Garden by children's hands, and then dropped. At times,
as the sense of rapidly-approaching Spring forces itself
upon my unwilling eyes, most ungratefully do I long that
the beautiful unfolding leaves would, for a short, short time,
pause in their unfoldings — would curl themselves up again
in their gummy buds and their delicate silky spathes ; for all
will have burst in fullness of beauty, and will be over, before
one's heart has recognised and rejoiced in it, and another
tender, beautiful Spring will have vanished away, like a swift
dream, out of one's life.

But it is not alone by leaves and blossoms tnat
Spring announces her advent in the English Garden ; she
announces it in many ways, and in none more lovely than
by her gulls. Do not say I am gulling you when I talk of
gulls in the English Garden. The other morning, as I
neared the little bridge crossing the rushing branch of the
Isar, opposite to Prinz Carl's Palace, not many hundred
yards from the town, and below the very palace windows, I
beheld a number of large white-winged birds, careering
wildly through the air, just over the little bridge. The garden
resounded with their shrill cries. There must have been
about a hundred of these birds, at the very least. Now
they flapped their broad white wings, till they gleamed and
glanced dazzlingly in the sunlight ; now they poised their
quivering grey bodies in the deep blue sky, or balanced
themselves upon the sparkling green waves of the rushing
water ; and then again darted up, up, up, away high into the
sky — whirling among the distant leafless trees, like a cloud
of white butterflies — their wild cries echoing joyously, ver-
nally, through the lawns and groves of the wild, park-like
Garden. It was a lovely, joyous bit of poetry.

194 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

I understand that these birds come at a certain time each
Spring, for a few days, to particular spots in the English
Garden, and then again disappear entirely. They come in
search of a peculiar kind of food. They fly many miles from
a lake among the mountains, each night returning to roost in
their Alpine home.

The other evening, upon this same bridge, I had another
pleasant peep into the lives of small woodland creatures. A
brisk squirrel suddenly dropped down from a tree before me,
glanced at me with his roguish black eyes, set up his tawny,
bushy tail, paused for a moment, as if gazing at and medi-
tating upon the slavery endured by the poor sentinel, pacing
with glittering bayonet before the ducal palace, then sprang
nimbly up again upon the tree, disappearing in the network
of branches.

The gardeneresses also announce that Spring is at hand.
Coming suddenly upon a group of these the other day in the
English Garden, I was considerably staggered for the first
moment with regard to their sex. All wore hats — broad-
brimmed and narrow-brimmed — slouch hats, Tyrolean hats,
straw hats, and felt hats and beaver hats— green, grey, black,
and brown. All wore handkerchiefs tied beneath their hats —
red, orange, blue-and-white striped, spotted, and checked. All
wore very short, thick petticoats, and very clumsy shoes —
some even big boots — and many wore coats — great-coats or
jackets — drab, brown, and black. All had rakes in their
hands, and were raking away heaps and heaps of dead leaves
as fast as they could rake. Their faces were the faces of old
men, not of women.

Never, certainly, did I encounter a more astounding com-
pany of odd-fellows.

Smiling to myself, I passed this group of gardeneresses,
and crossing the rustic bridge which spans a second branch
of the I sar flowing through the garden, I beheld approaching

VOYAGING WITH A RAFT. 1 95

the bridge over which I leaned, a small raft, formed of a few
huge pine-tree stems, come rushing along with the current.
The water dashed over the little raft, and between the
mighty stems, drenching the great leathern boots of the
men who guided the raft. And what a calling of cheery
voices there was ! — what a brushing past of overhanging
trees and shrubs ! — what a clever management of the long,
rude helm !

A fresh raft was now seen to shoot forth from behind a
bend in the river's bank ; and there was more shouting
and more clever steering ; and then, gliding beneath the
bridge upon which I stood, the two rafts danced merrily
along towards a second and still more picturesque rustic
bridge farther down the stream, above which soared a
whirling crowd of my favourite gulls. Again came a third
raft — and another— and another !

Doubtless these huge pine-trees, felled among the Alpine
solitudes, were now departing, after their winter's sojourn in
the Royal Munich Wood- Yard, on their long voyage to
Vienna, or it might be even farther ; perhaps they would
float onward and onward, the rafts joining together as the
stream ever widened, till they approached Turkey.

Baron H , I recollect, once described to me an excur-
sion which some student he knew had made to Vienna on a
raft. In description, at all events, it sounded very delightful.
The floating so dreamily along the solemn Danube— the
peculiar life among the raftsmen— the pausing for the night
with the raft at old-world villages upon the banks — villages
far away from the beaten path of ordinary travellers — the
glimpses of a quaint, fresh peasant life opening out before
you in the talk of the raftsmen and of the villagers
— all this, I well remember, most pleasantly affected my
imagination. I remember also that a sort of little sigh
for a moment heaved itself up in my heart as he described

196 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

it : " Oh, if I were but a man, then would I voyage with
a raft ! "

But, thank God ! such silly sighs as this do not often heave
themselves up in my heart ; for the longer I live, the less
grows my sympathy with women who are always wishing
themselves men. I cannot but believe that all in life that is
truly noble, truly good, truly desirable, God bestows upon us
women in as unsparing measure as upon men. He only de-
sires us, in His great benevolence, to stretch forth our hands
and to gather for ourselves the rich joys of intellect, of nature,
of study, of action, of love, and of usefulness, which He has
poured forth around us. Let us only cast aside the false,
silly veils of prejudice and fashion, which ignorance has
bound about our eyes ; let us lay bare our souls to God's
sunshine of truth and love ; let us exercise the intelligence
which He has bestowed on us upon worthy and noble objects,
and this intelligence may become keen as that of men ; and
the paltry high heels and whalebone supports of mere draw-
ing-room conventionality and young ladyhood withering up,
we shall stand in humility before God, but proudly and re-
joicingly at the side of man — different always, but not less
noble, less richly endowed !

All this we may do, without losing one jot or one tittle
of our womanly spirit, but rather attain solely to these good,
these blessed gifts, through a prayerful and earnest develop-
ment of those germs of peculiar purity, of tenderest delicacy
and refinement, with which our Heavenly Father has so
especially endowed the woman.

Let beauty and grace, spiritual and external, be the gar-
ments of our souls. Let love be the very essence of our being
— love of God, of man, and of the meanest created thing ;
love that is strong to endure, strong to renounce, strong to
achieve ! Alone through the strength of love, the noblest,
the most refined of all strength — our blessed Lord Himself

THE WORLD OPEN TO WOMEN. 197

having lived and died teaching it to us — have great and good
women hitherto wrought their noble deeds in the world ; and
alone through the strength of an all-embracing love will the
noble women who have yet to arise, work noble works or
enact noble deeds.

Let us emulate, if you will, the strength of determination
which we admire in men, their earnestness and fixedness of
purpose, their unwearying energy, their largeness of vision ;
but let us never sigh after their lower so-called privileges,
which when they are sifted with a thoughtful mind, are found
to be the mere husks and chaff of the rich grain belonging
to humanity, and not alone to men.

The assumption of masculine airs or of masculine attire,
or of the absence of tenderness and womanhood in a mis-
taken struggle after strength, can never sit more gracefully
upon us than do the men's old hats, and great-coats, and
boots, upon the poor old gardeneresses of the English
Garden. Let such of us who have devoted ourselves to the
study of an art — the interpreter to mankind at large of God's
beauty — especially remember this, that the highest ideal in
life as well as in art has ever been the blending of the
beautiful and the tender with the strong and the intellectual.

But I have wandered away in thought from the Royal
Wood-Yard, which I was just about to enter after leaving the
English Garden and rustic bridge, and where, this pleasant
Spring-tide, I am constantly observing things striking and
peculiar to my English eyes.

I confess to an unaccountable affection for this wood-
yard. It is not beautiful, nor particularly quaint, but some-
way it has seized hold of my fancy, and it is just one of
those spots which, in after years, when my head reposes
on its English pillow, will often rise up dreamily before me,
and in fancy I shall again and again be walking along the
raised pathway beside the rushing green mill-stream, with

198 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

softly turfed banks sloping down, and then the acres of wood-
yard stretching away on one hand, whilst the water rushes
on the other. I shall see the heaps and heaps of carefully-
stacked wood piled up for royal consumption ; I shall hear
the distant sawing and chopping of workmen ; I shall see
their little grey huts and houses sprinkled here and there.

Perhaps it is mid-winter, frost and snow lying on the
ground. In through the huge grey gates rattles and jolts a
long grey wagon, drawn by four beautiful horses, upon one
of which is mounted a man in the royal livery. It is a royal
wagon come to fetch the royal wood for burning in the royal
stoves ; and another long wagon, drawn by equally handsome
horses soon follows it. Men begin instantly piling the wagons
with wood, and a wagon already laden making its appearance
from the more distant part of the enclosure, rattles with its
four mettlesome horses and blue-liveried postillion bravely
away through the great gates. A splendid piece of timber
tumbles off from the royal load as the wagon sways through
them, but the royal servant and royal horses never deign to
stop for a piece of lost wood, and rattle still bravely up the
road.

A poor shrivelled little old woman, with a kerchief of
orange and blue tied over her shaking head, and shading
the grotesque features of a thorough " Marchenfrau,"
comes tottering along over the frosty ground, and perceives
the mighty prize. She darts upon it with sudden agility, she
casts furtive glances around, she wraps it up in her crimson
stuff apron, and quietly pursues her way. Poor old Marchen-
frau ! I will not tell of your little theft to the watchers in
the wood-yard ; I know as well as you do, although your
blear eyes can no longer read the words, that nailed up upon
these very gates are official denunciations against all thieves,
purloiners, and smokers of pipes or cigars within the pre-
cincts of the Royal Enclosure ; nevertheless, pursue fearlessly

THE ROYAL WOOD-YARD. 1 99

your way home to your wretched dwelling, miserable little
old woman, for you are no great sinner after all. Muttering
confused words about " cold " and " the dearness of wood,"
you had come tottering across the rich wood-yard, and never
had reached your hands towards the tempting stacks of
the King's wood ; when at the very threshold, out in the
road, lay a fine piece of timber, surely it must have been
flung down for you by the loving hands of the Angel of
Mercy !

Now in fancy I see quite a different scene going on in the
wood-yard. The snow and ice have vanished from the earth,
there is a vernal freshness in the air, a softness, an awakening
life. Water is pouring in from all the sluices of the mill-
stream, the green mill-stream itself is dashing and tumbling
about like a mad thing. All the wood-yard is transformed
into a small lake, intersected by the raised pathways which
cross it here and there ; and tumbling over each other, and
hurrying, and pushing and scrambling, and pitching, come
hosts and thousands of small pieces of timber, carried along
by the rushing waters. The little lake is covered with a navy
of many thousand pieces of wood.

Men are running to and fro with poles, pushing along
stranding pieces of timber, or inspecting the flow of water,
the dykes, and dams, and locks. It is a very animated
scene, and the children of the St. Anna suburb know
this, and all the day groups of children may be seen
watching and shouting with merriment as the waters con-
tinue to flow along, bearing upon their small green waves
these miniature navies.

But gradually the waters fall and fall, dry land appears,
and the thousands of stranded pieces of wood are carefully
piled up into the innumerable large stacks which adorn
for the greater portion of the year this Royal Wood-
Yard.

200 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

Or again, I see a singular operation going on. The waters
have vanished from the mill-stream ; its course over moss-
grown piles is laid bare. Instead of clear rushing waters,
through which, looking down in autumn, you had watched
with delight the brilliant leaves fallen from the overhanging
trees, lying there like gorgeous gems of scarlet, and gold,
and amethyst, imbedded in richest green velvet, you only
now see slimy, ugly brown tresses of water-moss and
weeds. Men are busily at work in the water-course ; the
old moss-grown piles gradually disappear, and fresh ones
are being driven in. And what an extraordinary process
this is of driving in the piles ! In early morning, late in
the afternoon, and all day long you hear the monotonous
and peculiar cry of the workmen, as they, standing together
in a ring, each holding a cord in his hand attached to a rough
machine within the circle, tall poles acting as a fulcrum, they
raise by their united power a tremendous weight, letting it
fall again upon the head of the pile ; then by repeated blows
driving it in. There is the short monotonous cry of the men,
then the dull heavy fall of the huge weight upon the pile,
then again a pause, once more the monotonous cry, the dull
blow, and the pause — and this with a strange uniformity all
the long day through, continuing even often for weeks at a
time.

It is as monotonous to watch the driving in of these piles
as it is to listen to it. The men move as if portions of some
marvellously-quaint machine, not as if they were men ; their
pink and chocolate and dark-blue cotton jackets and blouses,
with here and there a scarlet cap or green Tyrolese hat, in
the distance forming a motley mosaic.

The pleasantest scene of all in the wood-yard is when
the bell for noontide prayer sounds from the near Franciscan
chapel. The tolling of the bell comes fitfully across the trees
upon the balmy April breeze, the turf is studded with golden

SPRING PICTURES. 201

ficaries, and dandelions and trefoil, and silver daisies ; round-
faced children from the neighbouring suburb have strayed
into the wood-yard, — they are making little nosegays and
garlands with the flowers ; they are a group to delight the
heart of Ludwig Richter, the Dresden artist. Away above
the stretch of the grey acres of stacked wood rises a line of
noble trees, the frontier trees of the English Garden, and
above them sweep the azure spring heavens, with streaks of
cirrus-cloud enhancing their loveliness. In the foreground,
before a carpenter's shed built of grey weather-beaten planks,
and its open doors revealing heaps of shavings and a car-
penter's bench, stands a group of workmen, youths and old
men, and men of middle age ; their dress is quaint, and
with dashes of rich colour about it ; here a scarlet cap, there
a deep maroon or indigo jacket. They are standing close
together.

As the first toll of the monastery bell swells on the breeze,
each head bows itself upon the breast : the silver locks of
the old artisan, the crisp dark curls of the youth, the scanty
grizzled hair of the man in middle life — are uncovered to the
sun. A dull murmur of prayer breaks from their lips, and
they cross themselves devoutly upon brow and breast.

The children have flung their flowers upon the grass, and
pray also.

Easter Sunday. — This afternoon the Werffs apparently
have been rendered somewhat choleric by eating meat after
their long fast. Although it was meat blessed by the priest,
and, therefore, holy meat, they have had a grand quarrel !

Poor old souls ! I cannot avoid smiling when I recall the
scene, — or rather the sounds. For two whole hours we had
heard talk ! talk ! talk ! and that too in the loudest of voices.
I supposed at first that this was merely some Easter visit
they were receiving, and thereby explained why Fraulein

VOL. II. P

202 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

Sanchen had never made her appearance for the removal of
our table-cloth after our dinner.

I opened the door, — so very extraordinary waxed the
sounds ; and I then heard the voice of Madame Thekla at
its highest pitch proceeding from her little sitting-room,
interspersed every now and then with a short scornful
laugh. At the same time, out of the kitchen, Fraulein
Sanchen poured forth another torrent of words with ditto
laugh, — scouring away meanwhile vehemently; yes, scour-
ing away although it was Easter Sunday afternoon. Scouring
is her joy and consolation, I verily believe.

Perceiving how matters stood, I broke in with a loud
ringing of our hand-bell.

Having arranged her features into becoming calmness,
the poor old Fraulein made her appearance.

" Have you had company, Fraulein Sanchen ? " I asked :
"what a tremendous talking there has been in your
kitchen ! "

" No ! no ! she's angry ! " replied the old creature, re-
moving the table-cloth, and uttering the words with such a
comically black thunder-cloud look — with such an irre-
sistible nod and then a wink — that had she only been a
comic actress she would have made her fortune.

u Jaf Ja! SiE ist bose.'" And this was all she would
vouchsafe about the grand quarrel. When she comes in she
nods, and when she goes out she winks, and between the
two wears the thunder-cloud upon her brow. To-day she
had put on, for the first time since Lent, her favourite string
of blue glass beads round the thinnest and most yellow of
poor old necks. Pity is it that Dickens never saw her, for
then of a truth, she would have been immortalised, with her
oddity, her faithfulness, her good-nature, and her cross-
ness.

This winter the exclamations each evening of " Immer

FOOD FOR REPENTANCE. 203

so fleissig ! Immer so fleissig / " have by no means lessened :
and my nervous dread of them has only increased in a
tenfold degree. Our rule has become to put aside any occu-
pation we may be engaged upon just before the expected
advent of the good Fraulein, which is always about nine
o'clock ; after which she and her sister lock themselves into
their rooms for the night, good early souls ! The best plan
to escape the nerve-torturing " Immer so fleissig ! Immer so
fleissig / " is to lie upon the sofa with your head buried
in the pillow, as if asleep. Alas, dear old Fraulein, how
often have we been forced to practise this innocent deceit !
and as thy dear old feet have trod with hushed and stealthy
steps across and across our room, arranging any thing
that might be out of its place, and with anxious silence
thou hast set down upon a distant table our wondrous
" tea-machine," — our portable kitchen, in fact — by means
of which we often prepare a cup of chocolate or boil an
egg for our suppers ; yes, as we have listened, smiling with
shaded faces, to thy stealthy footsteps, how have our hearts
smote us for even so small a piece of hypocrisy towards
one whose heart was full of such sterling goodness as is
thine !

If, however, beguiled by interest in our occupation, we
have forgotten the flight of time and the arrival of the
" tea-machine," then woe betide us! I have heard Isabel
stop short in some sweet Volks-Lied, which she was
singing for my especial delectation, and rush into some
ear-piercing exercise, or rattle over the keys of the piano,
in order to render it impossible for our innocent tor-
mentor to gain a word from her. Still would she remain
conscious of eyes fixed upon her with a gaze of admiring
astonishment, — of a face held most pertinaciously upon
one side, — of a pair of poor old bony hands crossed
patiently over the pit of the Fraulein's stomach; and

P 2

204 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

the words " limner so fleissig ! Imvier so fleissig ! " would
pierce to Isabel's nerves, spite of shriekings or thunder of
piano-keys.

As for Anna ! her resource in such extremities is intense
abstraction : if she is writing lettters how intolerably fast
does her pen scratch over the paper — often words of utter
nonsense ! Her head is never raised, yet her eyes see, as if
by clairvoyance, that droll old visage ogling her across the
room, and she hears, above the scratch of the pen, the
" Immer so fleissig / Immer so fleissig ! dropping from her
lips. Thus will the two continue, — the one to scribble in
frantic haste with unraised head, the other gazing at her
from a distance with eyes of humble wonder mingled with
rising ill-humour — until the old Fraulein flounces off in a
huff, remaining black as a thunder-cloud for the next four-
and-twenty hours ; or Anna is fairly vanquished, and raising
her face smiles ! and is repaid by a ten-minutes' martyrdom
of exclamations over her " Fleiss" and over her extraordi-
nary correspondence, and of enquiries after every " Herr"
" Frau," and " Fraulein " member of her " much-respected
and highly well-born family" — unlucky Anna! Or if
Anna is drawing, then is the martyrdom somewhat varied.

" Ah, when," says the loquacious soul, " will people learn
in their youth to spare their precious, dear little eyes ?
Ah ! " she knew well — that she did — what it was to over-
work the eyes ! — yes, yes ' she knew well enough the temp-
tation of the Fine Arts ! Had she not worked bell-ropes,
and smoking-caps, and pocket-books, on the finest, finest
canvas ? Did not she know what it was to do fine work ?
Had not she embroidered flowers, and scrolls, and land-
scapes, in silk, wool, and cotton ? That she had ! Had she
not when in the convent embroidered and fine-sewn,
together with the other young ladies, a whole set of baby-
clothes for the daughter of the Electress ! That she had,

THE FINEST OF FINE ARTS. 205

indeed ! And had she not got up by peep of day to em-
broider ! And had she not sat up late at night and em-
broidered ! That she had ! And had not she knitted two
dozen pair of finest-patterned stockings for her lady sister !
That she had, and she would show us them, too ! — (this for
about the twelfth time) and the bell-rope, also, in the next
room, was her work. There was no bell, certainly ; but the
bell-rope of such fine work was hers ! That it was. Yes,
yes, we might think that our eyes would not fail — but she
knew better, that she did — and she knew what the Fine Arts
were ! And her hands, too ! we might think they never could
have held a delicate needle ; but, yes, indeed, they had :
but old age — old age, and scouring, and washing, and
cooking, they spoilt any hands ! Ah, if the dear Fraulein
would but take warning, and not ruin their dear little eyes
over the Fine Arts ! "

Alas ! dear old Fraulein, after many such a gossip as this,
repeated for the twentieth time, often have I thought how
that neither thou nor Anna had yet attained to the practice
of the truest and most difficult of all the Fine Arts ever
taught or studied, — the Art of Living with Others : and
often have I wondered, as I have felt a struggle between
compassion, love, and irritation contend within my spirit,
whether this Art ever is attained in this world to perfection.
Truly alone in the New Testament do we find the
teachings of this Fine Art ; as, I believe, also may be
found teachings for all other Fine Arts. Yes, even for the
Fine Arts, so called, par excellence. But I cannot now
branch out into this theory of mine, which at times has
risen up before me with an especial loveliness.

2o6 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER XXI.

CARTOONS.

April. — In Kaulbach's studio, this week, there is a
drawing which has especially struck me by its beauty.
It is a design in charcoal, finished with exquisite care,
— one only of the vast number of designs which this
great man is ever creating, with inexhaustible fancy and
imagination.

It represents Mercury announcing to Calypso the com-
mand of Jove that Ulysses shall depart. Calypso is seated
beneath a rural alcove, in a languid dream. The luxu-
riant foliage of a southern clime clambers up the stem of a
palm tree growing beside the alcove, and wreathing all
with beauty. The hot noontide sun flings clear broad
shadows from the tangle of leaves and blossoms across the
front of the bower, where sits the lovely enchantress. The
upper portion of her figure is thrown into shadow by the
luxuriant foliage, her beautifully rounded figure revealing
itself through her softly clinging drapery ; her hand is
listlessly resting on her lap, and holds the shuttle of the
loom which stands beside her. Her beautiful face is raised
with dreamy listlessness towards young Mercury, who,
standing out in the broad sunlight, his winged feet just
alighted upon earth, points with extended arm and caduceus
towards the mournful Ulysses, who, with bowed head, is
seated far out in the glare of sunlight, beyond the rustic
alcove, upon the margin of the sea.

Gentle little waves roll in towards the mournful Ulysses ;

CALYPSO AND ULYSSES. 2 07

but he heeds them not. An extended flight of migratory
birds — the key-note of his thoughts — stretches itself across
the sky, winging its way over the ocean, as he sits mourn-
fully, with bowed head, in the sunshine.

At the feet of Calypso, in a chafing-dish, burn fragrant
woods and gums, the soft smoke curling up among the
rich foliage of the bowery alcove, and across the goddess's
antique lyre, which leans against the palm-tree stem. Doves
flutter and coo among the palm branches. All is as soft,
tender, and full of an enchanted languor, as the poetry of
Keats, yet strong withal as old Chapman's Homer.

The small cartoons and studies for colour for the com-
pletion of the New-Pinakothek frescos have been made
this early spring by Kaulbach.

The principal one of these designs represents the Artists'
Festival in Munich in 1845 ; the other designs are simply
single whole-length portraits of the great German painters
whose works will be contained within the New-Pinakothek
— Cornelius, Schnorr, etc. — with decoration of garlands
upborne by lovely children,— graceful, of course, but in no
way especially remarkable.

The Artists' Festival of 1845 is a link in the series of
frescos illustrative of the history of modern German Art
to which I have already referred.

It introduces us into the very heart of the whimsica'
and picturesque jollity of German artist-life. The groups
are as if suddenly transferred from the Artists' Masquerade
to the canvas. In the centre of the composition rises
Schwanthaler's statue of King Ludwig arrayed in his royal
robes. A bevy of fair maidens crowned with flowers
surrounds the statue, binding garlands with which to
adorn it : one, seated upon an upturned rustic basket,
leaning slightly back from the group, hangs a wreath

208 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

of roses upon an emblazoned shield presented to her by
a page.

Upon a slightly raised platform beyond this group stands,
in semi-circle, a marvellously comic array of singers,— a
dash of Kaulbach's Hogarthian satire. The gravity and
quaint distortion of the countenances and attitudes are
irresistibly droll. That huge stout man with the ear-rings,
and with the bearing and countenance of a Friar Tuck,
sending forth with deep complacency the most sonorous
of bass notes from his broad ponderous chest, and whose
tidily smoothed hair is adorned with a garland of vine-
leaves, is a wondrous contrast to the meagre, excited,
yet withal most earnest countenances of several of the
other singers, and to the calm dignity of the musical
director.

Above the singers hang festooned insignia of the fes-
tival, bound together with gay streamers and garlands,
and slung from golden and richly-wrought columns ; and
on either hand of them presses on a group of Munich
painters, wearing their gorgeous and whimsical array.
Here is a gathering of slashed sleeves, glittering chival-
rous armour, ermine-lined mantles, and embroidered
doublets. There behold the grave and noble costume of
Albert Diirer ; a workman from the Bronze Foundry in
his leathern apron ; and again slashed sleeves, garlanded
brows, and caps of mediaeval cut.

Meanwhile, to the right of the bevy of fair damsels who
are calmly binding their fresh garlands, and below the
platform, an extraordinary war is being waged. Sir Fresco
and Sir Oil — mad urchins upon hobby-horses — are
tilting at each other ; their lances are mahl-sticks, their
shields are palettes. Sir Fresco is unhorsing unlucky
Sir Oil, whose mahl-stick is broken, and whose visor is
being pierced by his antagonist's lance. The little Monk

VANISHING DAY-DREAMS. 200,

of Munich {Miinchen, the crest of the city taken from its
name) is laughingly bending forward, about to crown the
victor.

The counterpart to this merry episode is a group of mad
fools.

When the delicious May had returned, and the whole
land was once more redolent of spring, — when in early
mornings the English Garden was filled with a very concert
of eloquent blackbirds and thrushes, and in the balmy even-
ings with soft strains of wind instruments floating through
the freshly opened leaves and blossoms, Isabel and Anna
said to each other, Now we will take a delicious holiday
after the long days of winter industry ; now we will set
forth for a whole week of happiness to the neighbourhood
of Starnberg. Anna all day shall sketch quaint and
lovely bits of nature, and architecture, and weeds, and
picturesque peasants, to her heart's content. Isabel shall
study her German among fresh leaves and flowers and
beneath a cloudless azure sky, and gather up old melodies
and songs to sing in her English home, with her sweet clear
voice. Yes ! such a holiday shall be enjoyed by them
as never before has been enjoyed by any two female
students !

Later on, too, in the warm summer, they will pay
that long talked-of, long dreamed-of, visit to the kind

Von s, in their beautiful, poetical home among the

mountains ; and there Isabel, beside lore of German and
mountain melodies, shall gather up much knowledge in
the stately kitchen from the sweet artist-sister, — the
" Blush Rose," — as celebrated in the family circle for the
mystic preparation of certain celestial viands as for her Art,
— viands so lovely to the eye that all artist-souls mourn over
their demolition.

2IO AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

Anna said, "Thank God, at last my soul will steep itself
in the deep joy of those Alpine peaks, — of those clear,
deep, green Alpine waters, of those rare and gorgeous Alpine
flowers ! " Anna already felt her spirit " seated upon an
Alp as on a throne."

But, although May was come, the Great Painter was
still in Munich, and at his studio, and would not yet, for
•several weeks, depart on his usual summer journey ! and
so long as he, the Priest of the Art-Temple, remained, the
" Art-Student " would remain also, a faithful recipient of
the food of knowledge which his gracious words scattered
around him. Thus Anna always said; "When the Great
Painter is gone, — then will we take our holiday, then will we

go and see — — — and and 's studios ; then will

we go really to Nymphenburg, walk in the stately gardens,
and see the far-famed fountains play; then will we visit
the decaying palace of Schleissheim, and discover in its
gallery Wilkie's " Opening of the Will;" then of a truth
will we have a long day's enjoyment at the much-vaunted
Menterschwaig ; then will we witness the arrival of a pil-
grimage up among the woods at the chapel of Maria-Eich ;
then will we inspect a great Brewery ; then will we fairly
exhaust the "lions " of Munich.

But all must remain unseen, unenjoyed, till after the
departure of the Great Painter; to desert the studio until
then could not be thought of.

But letters arrived for Anna, which suddenly put to flight
all these day-dreams.

Various of her beloved ones from the dear old home in
England were setting forth upon a long voyage — they were
setting forth to Australia for a season. When Anna read
these letters the words swam before her eyes ; she was like
one in an astounding dream. She rejoiced that her beloved
ones should visit this marvellous Australia, should ex-

DEPARTURES. 211

perience the poetry of a great voyage and of a new land ;
but the Alps, the glories of German art, the beauty of her
own and of Isabel's calm life, seemed to fade before her.
An immense yearning after the beloved departing ones filled
her soul, and nothing but setting forth immediately for Eng-
land could calm her.

Then came a strange time of adieus, and of packing-up
clothes, books, and drawings in all haste. Then came the
last hour in the beloved old studio. — the last hour in the
dismantled sitting-room of the dear Munich home, with
Isabel declaring that when Anna was gone, and had carried
off her drawings and prints from the walls, all would look
so changed that she could not endure to remain in the
same house, although it was with the good old Werffs. At
last came the final moment at the railway, when Anna,
seated in the corner of a carriage, waved her hand to dear
Isabel, as she stood beside Fraulein Sanchen, who was
crying into her big white pocket-handkerchief, and to various
friends come to bid a last adieu.

Then the steam-whistle shrieked through the air, and
away dashed the train. Yet, as hour after hour removed the
Art-Student from the beautiful Art-city of Munich, only the
more noble did the Art there and the artist-life rise up
before her, as if transfigured in her soul.

212 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER XXII.

TWENTY YEARS LATER.

i8j2. — Twenty years have vanished like a dream since
the steam-whistle shrieking through the air, the train bore
Anna — the Art-Student — away from her beloved Munich.

Many and varied the pictures, the combinations of people,
things and places which have been presented to her since
then, as the mysterious Kaleidoscope of Life has moved
before her vision. Still the scenes of Munich have ever
retained for her a freshness, a magical charm, surrounded
as they were by the bright halo of youth. Twenty years
have rolled away, and again comes a glimpse of the dear
Art-city — though it be but a passing glimpse !

Those beloved ones to whom Anna's letters were ad-
dressed from Munich, and out of which these volumes
grew, spend now their summers in "the land Tyrol."
Their summer home is within a certain ancient baronial
manor-house amongst its green hills.

Anna's own home is in London. For years her husband
and she have planned together to visit Munich. Alfred
and Anna would visit all the familiar, beloved places-
familiar to the one alone through his sympathy and ima-
gination ; to the other, through memory. They speculated
as to whether they should make a pilgrimage to Ammergau
to witness together the "Passion-Play," in 1871 — since
Anna's visit in the simple, old days become so world-
famous. But, no! that they will not do, lest the recollec-

THE HOCHEBENE. 213

tion of the primitive Miracle-Play should become blurred.
To Ammergau they will not repair; but assuredly some
happy summer's day they will visit Munich ! Walk together
through the familiar streets — sit in the churches — visit the
studio of the " Master " — once more, perhaps, converse with
him — study his works and the works of other painters new
and old, completed within the last twenty years — familiarise
themselves with all the new features of the old places ! —
" Yarrow " must be " re-visited."

The Kaleidoscope of Life, turning ever in the hand of
Fate, brings once more its Munich combinations ; but its
revolution has not yet brought the images to the eyes of
the two. It is in a letter to her husband that Anna writes
of Munich re-visited.

After all these years I was again approaching the Art-
city ! At early dawn, suddenly waking up in the train, I
found that we were whisking across a dense forest of silver
fir-trees. Their white stems gleamed, amidst clouds of white
fleecy mist, like columns of silver. What a land of soli-
tude we were speeding through ! I greeted with " effusion "
the well-remembered features of the " Hochebene " — the
high, desolate plateau upon which Munich stands. As the
fog gradually cleared, we found ourselves still for hours
passing through forests of fir, alternating with moorland or
sparsely-cultivated land. Few were the villages, hamlets,
and farms. The wayside crosses rising gauntly against a
wide expanse of sky, the churches with their slender spires,
the naked-looking, wooden houses — all were familiar objects,
rising from the desolation of the vast moorland, interspersed
here and there with patches of forest, or clumps of trees —
all fir-trees. Years and years ago Munich artists, in their
illustrations for the People's Almanacks and other popular
publications, through a few clever rough-lines had " inter-
preted " for us the gaunt originality of form in all these

214 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

objects. I had forgotten how very grim was the character
of the landscape. Yet, as seen at early dawn, with
the black forests, the dun-coloured moorlands, and the
amber-saffron of the morning heavens, not without a
pathetic sentiment peculiarly its own that smote one's
heart; the slender black line of a naked cross or spire
rising into the clear sky, or the gable-end of a little shrine
telling black against the sunrise, were the key-note to the
plaintive melody. My Munich " art-spectacles," so to speak,
fitted themselves again to my eyes as I looked forth from
the window of the rushing train. This desolation, this
gauntness, unfolded its inner life and mystery.

It was four o'clock of a bright summer morning when
my dear father and I drank our matutinal cups of coffee
beneath a wooden " shanty " in the midst of a fir-wood.
Then on again we sped for hours across bog-land and
forest. Ever again the same plaintive monotony of villages,
hamlets, shrines, crosses, desolate plain, fir-wood.

At length we reach well-defined landmarks. Here as-
suredly are the woods of the Park of Nymphenburg!
Here the highway, lined by its rows of fruit-trees, leading
like a huge artery of life to the city! Along its well-re-
membered dust and its well-remembered snow, how often
had my happy, weary feet tramped in olden days ! There
is truly Munich herself rising up from the vast plain in the
shape of the twin, round-capped red towers of the Frauen-
kirche! We have reached the terminus! But how much
larger has grown the station! I am in a new world! I
feel lost — bewildered! My Munich has passed through
a strange transformation! It is a town in itself, this
Munich terminus. I have to call to remembrance that
during these years Munich, like all the rest of the world,
has been "suffering a sad sea (or land) change." King
Ludwig himself, since last I stood here, has passed from

LAND OF THE MINNESANGER. 215

the scene — he who seemed as much a part and portion of
the city as the old twin towers of the cathedral! King
Max, too, whom we used to call " the young King," is gone
also ; and his son, " the young King," " reigneth in his stead."
We would so willingly have stayed a day at least in
Munich — the dear Father and I — and looked about us ; but,
alas ! our delay in Cologne through the loss of our luggage
rendered that impossible. We were bound that very day
— nay, within the next few hours — to enter the gate of
Paradise beyond the Art-city — to pass through that gorge
in the Alpine chain towards which, during my sojourn
in Munich, I had looked so longingly. Yes, at last, I was
to enter that lovely Tyrolese world, with its legend and
history of saint and warrior, of minnesanger and hero —
that land of a primitive, high-souled, warm-hearted peasant
people, living amidst their wonders of valley, crag, and
gleaming glacier ; of forest and water-fall ; of glowing skies
and tender, yet richly-tinted, flowers — that world of poetry
of which again and again the great painter in the bygone
days had spoken with a flashing eye and kindling enthu-
siasm. In the old manor-house amidst the mountains,
within its yellow and pink fresco-covered walls, were not
the dear mother and sister already anxiously awaiting us?
No ; we must not pause in the Art-city, with all its
attractions, longer than to change our train and prepare
ourselves for our further journey.

You may believe, however, that amid this changing of
trains, this hunting after luggage — this hunting, too, after
food — that my eyes were ever searching for old memories
and new surprises !

Glimpses we caught of seemingly-endless series of new
decorations in the old portions of the Munich Railway
Terminus, now grown, as we experienced, considerably too
small for the accommodation of the host of travellers

2l6 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

cooped up — like so many famished and over-heated wild
beasts — in its waiting-rooms. Glimpses we caught above
our heads of beautiful faces of gods, and demi-gods, and
heroes; of winged symbolic creatures and grotesque mon-
sters; of beautiful, shining inlaid pavements beneath our
feet ; a glimpse, too, of cruel satire upon our condition of
famished travellers, in a semi-grotesque and entirely-modern
interpretation of Eve's presentation of the apple to Adam !
None but the hand and brain of a Kaulbach could have
created this mythic rendering of a very real fact !

The train whirled us away in an utterly-bewildered and
semi-famished condition — away in the bright morning's
sunshine through the air, which already seemed to us to
have a mountain fragrance and crisftness in it — away, by the
most circuitous of curving lines, all along the outskirts of
the Art-city, towards the dreamlike mountains which we saw
lying along the horizon in the cloudless sky, heaped-up like
purple clouds.

Munich was — and was not — Munich to me ! I felt like
one in a trance. Surely I was not awake, and in the waking
world! Close to the line I behold a thick, green grove!
No such grove was there in my Munich ! Above it rose,
and was seen distinctly against the clear pale-blue morning
sky, a mighty bronze hand, which grasped a bronze wreath
of oak-leaves! It was assuredly the hand of the Bavaria!
Another moment, and we beheld the two white wings of
the Temple of Fame gleaming out against the dark back-
ground of trees — the trees which had arisen within the
twenty years— trees which I wot not of. In front stood, as
of old, the colossal Bavaria. From the train, however, she
appeared no longer of colossal proportions. Yet there before
her stretched the Theresienwiese, where were held the
people's festivals. Beyond lay Munich out in the sunny
plain beneath the cloudless blue expanse of heaven, bathed

ENTER THE GATES OF PARADISE. 217

in sunshine. Munich looked a fairy-land city — so bright,
with its pink and pale green and white houses ; the houses
seemed little more than toy-houses, so small and stainless.
Towers, and domes, and steeples, and pinnacles there rose
into the sunny air. The Palace I recognised — the dome of
the Church of the Theatines — the red twin towers of the
Frauenkirche — the white twin steeples of the Ludwigskirche
— the green-and-gold-tiled roof of the Aukirche, glittering in
the sunshine like the scaly back of a mythic dragon ; but
there was a church with three spires which I did not know,
and a commanding building, like a palace, of pale pink,
which I also did not know! The rose-coloured palace,
someone observed in the train, " is the college for the edu-
cation of youths preparing for the Civil Service! It is at
the end of the Maximilianstrasse." — It was — and it was
NOT — Munich. "Am I dreaming?" I asked myself, "or is
it really that I am awake ! " All became more and more
unreal — all as "a vision of the morning, which passeth
away, and is as it were not." Each moment the purple
mountain barrier seemed to approach us ; the plain became
ever wilder with forest, moorland, and sedgy water; the
mountains, more stern, more jagged ; the cottages budded
forth by degrees into full Tyrolese richness of shingled
roof, balcony, and staircase ; vines flung their graceful fes-
toons over balcony and roof; nearer and nearer we
approached this portal of the land of romance!— this
blessed time, to enter and pass onward!

VOL. II.

2l8 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

CHAPTER XXIII.

MUNICH AGAIN.— THE MASTER.

1873. — The turning of Life's Kaleidoscope brings, how-
ever, at last the reality of Munich to the eyes of both Anna
and her husband. One moonlight night they find them-
selves leaning in the windows of the Hotel de Baviere, in the
Promendeplatz, gazing out into the public garden. " Is it
really Munich ? " they exclaim. " Is this garden, with its
statues showing darkly here and there against the moonlit
sky, something more than a dream-garden ? How pleasant
is the sound of the plashing waters of the fountain amidst
the trees ! How pleasant the scent of leaves and flowers
in the night air ! Is that the arm of the hero of Belgrade,
the Elector Max-Emanuel, brandishing his sword in the
moonlight? Is it possible that we two are actually at last
together in Munich?"

The bright sunshine next morning, however, still showed
us actualities of the Art-City. The old spots were visited
first by us, — then the new. Nothing surprised Anna more
than to observe everywhere in the city the foliage of trees,
the beauty of turf, the loveliness of brilliant flowers and
foliage plants. All public squares in the old days had, with
the exception, of course, of the Hofgarten and English
Garden, — which were gardens proper, — been dry and barren.
Now, however, " the wilderness had blossomed like the
rose." Remarking upon this change, we learnt that

A GREEK IDEAL. 2IO,

King Ludwig I., the artist-king, with his passionate admira-
tion of Athens and das Hebe Griechenland, caused the open
spaces surrounding the public buildings which he erected to
remain dry and bare. This was in order that his creations
might the more thoroughly remind him of Athens and her
beautiful ruins, standing in their desolate barrenness. A
spray of foliage, a patch of grass — these would destroy the
Greek illusion. King Ludwig dead, flowery gardens,
blossoming trees, festooning creepers, came to life speedily.
They may not be Greek in character, but they are refresh-
ing and lovely.

The Propylasum, a Greek triumphal arch, erected in the
Briennerstrasse, was to Anna a quite new feature of Munich,
and rose in the centre of this un-Athenian luxuriance of
vegetation. This arch was erected to signalize the struggles
of the modern Greeks for freedom, and the events of King
Otho's reign over them. By a curious coincidence, it was
uncovered at the very epoch of the King's return to his
home after his unsuccessful Greek experiment.

The Bavarian National Museum, in the now beautiful
Maximiliansstrasse, had many attractions for Alfred and
Anna. Many hours would they willingly have devoted to
minute study of its invaluable treasure ; but there yet
remained for the travellers a combined pleasure and duty.
They had not yet sought out the studio of " the Master."

We ascertained that the Master was in Munich. The
porter at our hotel had once been in his service. From him
Alfred ascertained that now, as formerly, the Master might
on Sunday mornings by his friends be found at his studio.
Long, long ago, had vanished the studio of the- St. Anna
suburb, with its vine-festooned doorways, and the encircling
wilderness-field, gay with its thousand flowers. The present

Q 2

2 20 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

one was within the building of the Academy of Fine Arts,
of which Kaulbach is the Director, in the very middle of the
old portion of the city.

Our way to the Academy led us through the ancient
market-place, the Schrannen or Marienplatz, in the centre
of which rises the column called the Martensaiile, erected
in memory of a victory gained by one of the Electors of
Bavaria, in conjunction with the Imperial forces, over
the luckless son-in-law of our James I., — the Elector
Palatine.

The market-square, always a favourite haunt of Anna —
had of late years taken upon itself honours and decorations
quite new to her eyes. The most strikingly-new feature was
the Rathshatis, or Town Hall, erected in a Gothic style. In
its front rose a new bronze fountain, designed and modelled,
as the guide-book told us, by C. Kroll, and cast by Ferdi-
nand Miller. It is called the Fischbrunnen, and commemo-
rates by numerous figures, symbolic and otherwise, the far-
famed Metzgersprung, or butchers' leap, — that bathing of
the stalwart butcher-lads in the ice-cold waters during a
visitation of the plague. Was it, perchance, a mediaeval
hydropathic cure, which acted as a baptism of the whole
city into new hope and life ? Glancing at the rich decora-
tions of the Fischbrunnen, at its statues of the fantastically-
attired butcher-apprentices — of the musicians, dumbly play-
ing upon their old-world musical instruments — and at the
crouching figures below, representative of Plague and
Cholera — we passed on towards the Academy.

Might not a whisper have come to us that that crouching
Cholera was a prophecy in stone, as well as a memorial ?
Already was the rumour abroad that cholera — the hateful,
active reality, not a stone effigy — was even now lying in
wait stealthily in the bye-ways of Munich, ready to pounce
unawares upon her inhabitants !

FORESHADOWINGS. 221

Anna, that morning, as she looked towards the twin-
towers of the Cathedral — reddened by sunrise to the ruddiest
hue — had failed to see, circling round them in the clear air,
her old friends the jackdaws, those ancient denizens of the
Frauenkirche. The jackdaws, she ascertained, had, months
previously, quitted Munich. Their keen bird-instinct had
early scented the miasma. As usually happened before the
breaking out in the Art-City of any deadly epidemic, all the
birds had taken a sudden departure.

Statue and birds had uttered their warning, both for the
city and for us. Our dull eyes, however, failed to read
auguries of coming woe. Well is it, indeed, for poor human
hearts, that eye and ear are dulled, and fail to catch the
prophetic messages that art and nature proffer.

Shall I confess, that as we walked along the old market-
place, and along the other well-remembered ways — passing
through them all as in a strange half-dream — Anna grew
nervous. She even proposed that they should not go to the
Academy. Only that Alfred laughed at her outright, and,
like the Ancient Mariner, "held her by his glittering eye,"
she would have escaped down some side street. She was shy.
No recollection came to her — as might have done — of the
kind message from the Master, which had, ever and anon,
reached her at intervals through the past twenty years. She
declared that he would have clean forgotten all about her — •
and why should they by their visit worry the great man ?
They were already close to the Academy this time ; the
Hausmeister had seen them ; they were told, " You must
knock at the second door, it will be locked ; the Herr Pro-
fessor is within ; he has a model with him ; but you must
knock."

" He has a model with him ! " cries Anna. "You see we
cannot, therefore, possibly disturb him !"

" The glittering eye " held her. They are before the

222 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

second door. Anna knocks with a very gentle hand. I con-
fess that Anna's heart might at that moment have been
heard knocking louder than her knuckles. No reply : all
silent. " Oh, do let us beat a retreat ! " pleads Anna.
Alfred only beats irreverently with his umbrella-knob upon
the door. Men have no veneration. Now inside is heard
a bustle — a movement — a tread of feet approaching the
door. The door opens. Framed in the open doorway,
stands the Master revealed. A black silk cap on his head —
a port-crayon held in his right hand. There is the well-
remembered countenance — the well -remembered figure.
Not so thin as of old is he, but much greyer. His keen,
bright artist-eyes — the clear seeing of which no weight of
years can dim — look forth enquiringly.

Suddenly there is a flash of remembrance, a pleasurable
recognition, in the Master's face ; there is a hand-shaking —
sudden exclamations on both sides. Alfred and Anna are
both of them drawn into the studio by outstretched friendly
hands. Anna's nervousness has vanished like a cloud of
the night-season. The old days and the new day have
merged into a delightful continuity.

The mutual exclamations of surprise at this sudden meet-
ing, the hand-shakings, and the many enquiries, having at
last somewhat subsided, only to be renewed at intervals in
lesser degree every now and again during the visit — the model
is for the time, spite of all remonstrance on our part, dismissed.
We look around us in the studio. Here, as elsewhere, for Anna
the new is inextricably blended with the old. In the centre of
the room, amidst various other easels on which stood pictures,
was a cartoon in progress, before which the Master had been
evidently at work when disturbed by his visitors. As yet, in
the upper portion, only one figure was completed. It was
the figure of St. Michael descending from heaven, his hands
grasping his terrible avenging sword. With extreme

THE GERMAN ST. MICHAEL. 223

enjoyment of his satire, this, the Master told us, repre-
sented the German St. Michael descending to destroy his
enemies — Imperialism, Jesuitism, Infidelity, and the Papacy.
"German Michael {der deutsche Michael), the 'Jacques bon
homme' of France, the 'John Bull' of England— used to be
regarded in past days," he observed, " as a quite stupid
fellow, but we now could behold his transfiguration into
the Archangel." Into this work Kaulbach was pouring the
spirit of fervent patriotism, now at fever-heat, through his
deep sympathies called forth by the recent great German
war and victory, wherein Bavaria had taken so distinguished
a part. His spirit of satire was finding free scope in the lower
portion of the composition, the figures of which were, how-
ever, scarcely as yet more than indicated.

Other works, more fully completed, engaged next our
attention. Of these the most remarkable — or, at all events,
those which appealed the most strongly to our imagination —
were small cartoons, the subjects taken from the Book of
Genesis. In these he has sought to depict episodes from
the Deluge.

The treatment of this familiar but difficult theme greatly
struck us. Several of these compositions were full of the
fire, vigour, and archaic type of character most purely
Kaulbachian, especially the combats between the wild ante-
diluvian men with the antediluvian monsters — beasts, reptiles,
and man flung into furious antagonism by the ever-rising
and lashing waves of the overwhelming flood.

In perhaps the most striking of these compositions, we be-
hold the waters risen to the topmost peaks of the mountains,
which stand forth now only as rugged and half-submerged
islands. They are crowded with masses of distracted men
and women, mingled with wildly- writhing animal and reptile
life, in their convulsive death-throes. The living and the
dead are hurled together by the tossing waves of the mighty

2 24 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

waters. Amidst the seething waves of the rapidly-increasing
flood, a lion roars in his last agony, direfully clutching, with
claws dug deep into hard rock, or into soft, yielding human
flesh, — he heeds not which. An ox, mad with terror, struggles
fiercely, with up-raised head, against the blinding waters,
entangled amidst the fern-like branches of a submerged
palm-tree. Men catch blindly in the waters at his sides,
and, clinging to him, seek to save themselves. Serpents
twist and twine around the bodies of men alive and dead.
Women cry for pity in vain to the avenging God, holding
aloft, with outstretched weary arms, their infant children, or
wave their beseeching hands towards the departing ark of
salvation. Whirling flights of baffled birds battle with the
descending clouds, and torrents of rain and wild gusts of
wind, which tear their wings and plumage. Shadowy and
dark against the stormy horizon, sails ever onwards across
the face of the angry deep, the huge and roughly-builded
ark, unheeding the clamour of man, beast, and reptile,
which ascends from the peaks of the perishing world.

Upon one huge rock, mid-way in the picture, has sought
to save itself, a crowd of the mammoth, the mastodons, and
the saureans of the antediluvian world— serpent-necked,
be -scaled, and be -winged creatures, of uncouth and
ponderous forms. They struggle, in mad rage, against each
others' intertwined trunks and serpentine necks.

Amidst all these islands of human and brute despair,
passes onward the solemn, mystical ark of Noah, ensphered
by the protection of the Almighty, piloted by the mighty
Angel of the Lord, with wildly-outspread sail-like pinions,
in floating white robes, and in his strong right hand a wand-
like oar, with which he guides the mystic ship of the chosen
of God. His back is turned upon the perishing world of
sin. His eyes are set steadfastly upon the light of the New
Dispensation.

"a son of anak." 225

Remembering that whilst we had been thus enjoying
and studying the master's works, his model had been
waiting in retirement, we hastened to make our adieux,
not without apology for the interruption we had thus
occasioned. But we were most kindly assured that our
unexpected advent had been " like a beam of sunshine ! " —
and we must promise to drink coffee that afternoon with his
wife at three o'clock, when we should see his children and
grandchildren. " My children you remember — as children,"
said he, smiling, " my grandchildren will be new to you ! "

To occupy the remainder of our morning till three, we
betook ourselves to the Pinakothek.

That " son of Anak," the porter who used to open the
lofty door of the Pinakothek for you, no longer was there.
Alfred, in the secret of his heart, I have a fancy, treated Anna's
references to the giant porter of the Pinakothek as some-
thing apocryphal. Her description of the huge placid
countenance of the mildest of mild giants ; of his fist, big
as the head of an ordinary man, dotted over with large
freckles, like tawny moons ; of his broad crimson-and-
white band crossed over his monstrous chest, four times
broader than the bands of the other porters in the " King's
houses ; " of his knees, like the knees of elephants, cased in
their white chamois leather ; of his Brobdignagian top-
boots : all these memories dating from Anna's pre-historic
memoirs of Munich, Alfred inclined to regard possibly as
Marchen of Anna's childhood.

But " Wisdom justifieth her children," the least even of
them, and so does Truth.

The modern porter of the Pinakothek, though in size a
manikin compared with him of old renown, grew radiant
when he caught dropped from Anna's lips the words " giant
porter." The porter's smart wife, standing near, drew

2 26 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

nearer at the words which called up so extraordinary an
image of the past. The porter, porter's wife, and Anna, so to
speak, hymned in chorus the glories and high renown of the
never-to-be-equalled and the never-to-be-forgotten mild
Munich Goliath.

Three o'clock found us punctually at the gates of the well-
remembered house of the great painter, near to the English
Garden. Within the last twenty years how embowered has
the house become amidst its trees and creepers ! Neverthe-
less, you still beheld the medallions of the mortal and im-
mortal brothers, upon their blue backgrounds, shining out
amidst the festoons of Virginia creeper upon the walls.

An elderly, staid servant was on the look-out for the
strangers, and with smiles of welcome in her eyes, led
them through the hall — grove-like, with its palm-trees and
ivy — to a kind of loggia at the back of the house, looking
into the bowery garden.

Not unlike a patriarch in one of his own compositions,
here sat the painter, surrounded by his family — children
and grandchildren. The mother, a foremost figure in the
bright, happy group, — she as dignified in her advancing life
as beautiful in her youth, — her crown of white hair speaking
of the flight of years, which her clear, kindly, youthful
eyes seemed, however, to deny — eyes out of which flashed
both the energy, and even at times the enthusiasm, of youth.
As this amiable family rose, as with one accord, to welcome
us, sunshine seemed to stream into my heart of hearts.
Hermann, the son, who had remained in my recollection as
the handsome boy, with the proud, shy manner to strangers,
and with his mother's large brown eyes, I now renewed
acquaintance with, not only as one of the most distinguished
painters of the modern school at Munich — as the painter of

THE HOUSE-BEAUTIFUL. 227

that remarkably touching picture, now known everywhere
by photographs, " The Death of Mozart," and of that
exquisite picture of painter-life in a monastery, called " Stille
Andacht," but also as a husband and a father. Pleasant,
indeed, was it to make the acquaintance of his young wife,
and to revive my recollection of such of the sisters as
were present at that happy family party. It may be
imagined how our conversation turned upon old times, old
friends, old things, old ideas, as we sat in the pleasant
loggia. Smoking, of course, went on meanwhile amongst
the mankind. New things, times, and new ideas were also
touched upon. We found that enthusiasm waxed high and
ever higher for the new regiine. Frau von Kaulbach's beau-
tiful eyes flashed fire, as she exclaimed, speaking of the war,
of the great political changes which had taken place in
Germany, "All these things have made my husband and
myself young again. All old things must give way to the
new. Let all old things go ! " — a sentiment to which, how-
ever ftassionne one may be for progress and the future, I
myself, the older I grow, can give but a very qualified assent.
In this " House-beautiful," it was lovely to observe how
strong and full of hope were the shoots put forth from the
tree of life : the tree had seen good days, and hoped to
enjoy the yet even better days in store.

It was arranged by our kind friends, that on the morrow
we must come and dine with them — we must assuredly defer
for one day at least our departure from Munich — we must
return and complete our talk.

As we rose to take our leave, the painters, father and
sons, accompanied us into their garden. They would let us
out through their garden-door into the English Garden,
where Alfred and I proposed ending our happy day by a
twilight stroll.

" You must," said the Master, " carry away some flowers

2 28 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

from our garden. There — see ! " said he, stopping and
gathering a handful of beautiful pale yellow and deep
crimson roses, " I will gather for you my last roses ! "

Thus, standing amongst the rose-bushes, we again spoke
of the old days. My husband, much touched, thanked him
for all his goodness to the little foreign pupil in the long
passed away time. We had often said to each other how
sweet such a moment, if it ever came, would be.

" Ah ! those were good days ! " said the Master. " But —
but — in those days I was ambitious. I was sick with
ambition. I have now gained all that I strove after, and I
have found it — nothing J "

There, standing in the autumnal garden, amidst the last
flowers of the year, amidst the fading leaves, in the last
rays of the setting sun, such a pensive soliloquy was indeed
deeply symbolic and impressive. Truly the Master had
given his pupil his "last roses" — words of a sweet wisdom —
the last gathered in the garden of his life.

That was a beautiful and graceful festival which the
amiable, hospitable family had prepared in the " House-
beautiful " for their English visitors. Anna felt prouder to
be taken in to dinner by the world-famous Painter than if
he had been a crowned head. His was a crowned head
wearing unconsciously the immaterial crown of completion.
The family party of the previous day was assembled — with
the addition of one or two congenial intimate friends. We
dined in a charming saal of the Alt-Deutsch character,
which I cannot more accurately describe than by saying
that it was a Van-Eyck room. You descended into it by
two steps. It was withal so lofty that the room impressed
you with the idea of being higher than it was long — pro-
portions in a room which ever give a peculiar sensation.

A VAN-EYCK ROOM. 229

The floor was of dark, polished wood. A high dado also
of dark polished wainscot ran round the walls. Above
this dado hung portraits of the family, painted at various
times by the hand of the father. Opposite to the place
where I sat at table, was the portrait of the father,
executed in oil by himself in early manhood. A broad-
brimmed hat in Rembrandt fashion shading the grave, clear
blue eyes, and the sharply-cut handsome features of the
singularly-earnest countenance. To the right was a portrait
of his wife, also in her first youthful beauty. You would
have supposed her to be a young Roman lady, so dark
her hair and eyes, the whole character of the head
being rather Italian than German, with that mingled air
of dignity and melancholy which you regard as peculiarly
southern. These portraits of the parents probably were
executed not long after their marriage, at a time, when, as I
have heard it averred by an old inhabitant of Munich, the
young Painter and his wife were so remarkably handsome
a pair that, when seen together in the streets, strangers,
struck by their appearance, have paused in surprise to
gaze after them, and to enquire who they were. Similar
portraits, all interesting, filled up the remaining spaces
above the dado.

All imaginable kinds of cups, tazzas, mugs with and
without lids — goblets, beakers, jugs, flagons, of metal, of
earthenware, delf, glass, ivory, and crystal, together with
dishes, platters, and salvers of gold, silver, and baser
metals — things ancient and modern — all curious and beau-
tiful — things to delight the eye and to tempt the artistic-
heart — some of them, we understood, valued gifts to the
Master from his painter son-in-law, the Director of the
Academy of Arts at Nuremberg — were arranged either upon
or before the wainscoted dado — and gave an Hotel- Cluny
character to the whole.

230 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

Although still daylight — four o'clock — a pair of gold can-
dlesticks with four or five branches each, standing with
lighted candles in them, diffused a golden shimmer and
festal glow over the fruit and flowers tastefully arranged
upon the snowy table-cloth, — a glow and glimmer which
became ever more bright as the daylight — somewhat ob-
scured by the emblazonments in the window — gradually
paled and faded into twilight.

It was a veritable "convito"— a banquet of delicate food
for the body— with ideal food for the intellect and heart — a
repast suitable and in accord with a " House-beautiful."
Alas ! that not infrequently such a " convito " becomes
a "Last Supper" — that the "communion" taking place
there amidst friends, have by some of them to be remem-
bered for the rest of life, simply as a sign and symbol of
the better banquets to be partaken of together by-and-bye,
under higher conditions and in loftier places, where the
Greatest of all Great Masters shall be the Master of the
Feast, and the Uniter of all parted friends.

A little music and more conversation in the drawing-
room — then came the adieux — the travellers must start that
evening for Paris.

The Master conducted Anna to the carriage awaiting
them at the gate. There Anna and her husband took leave
of him.

" You will come again and draw in the Studio ! " he
cried, waving his hand to Anna, as she seated herself. She
in return cried " Yes ! yes ! — who knows ! and live over
again all the pleasant old days !"

As Anna looked towards the grand old Painter standing
there so cheery and strong — with the night sky over his
head, with the bright, white melancholy light of the full
moon falling upon his countenance, bringing out into clear-
ness its well-remembered features; so like, and yet so

THE MIGHTY MOWER. 23 1

unlike, the face she had known in the old days — a some-
thing in the depths of her being seemed as if it uttered the
words — "For the last time !" The mist of tears started to
her eyes, and veiled the face from her sight.

Under the date of April 8th, 1874, Anna, in London, thus
wrote in her diary : —

" Waking at dawn this morning, in the transition between
sleeping and waking, I felt myself standing within an in-
tensely brilliant sunlight. Through this brightness was cast
upon the earth where I stood a mighty shadow. In black-
ness it was as deep as the sunshine itself was bright. It
was a shadow thrown by some object moving between the
sun and myself. The shadow assumed a definite shape —
that of a vast scythe which a colossal shadow-arm moved
hither and thither as in the act of mowing. This shadow,
passing across the earth, fell over me ; and, as it fell, cut
me to the heart — nay to the very heart's core. Shuddering,
I recognised that this was the scythe of the mighty mower —
Time and Death, combined. A profound sadness — a
very night of the spirit descended upon me."

That morning, as usual, the newspaper lay upon the
breakfast-table, and, as usual, my husband took up the
paper, running his eye down the columns of telegraphic
news. He startled me by a sudden exclamation. "A tele-
gram from Munich ! Kaulbach has been seized with
cholera !"

The scythe of the great Mower had approached us in
reality, then ! Oh, what grief — what sudden anguish of
heart must there be in the "House-beautiful!" — what a
tearing asunder of that tenderly-loving family ! That after-
noon, walking in the streets, everywhere did my eye with

232 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

dread rest upon the announcement, in large letters, of the
contents of the newspapers. At corners of streets, at shop-
doors again and again did I read mechanically the words,
" Death from cholera of the painter, William Kaulbach, of
Munich ! " My sad thoughts, on the wings of sympathy,
fled to the Art-city — to the mourning group of loving hearts
in the " House-beautiful !"

He, the last victim of the cholera, had been its greatest.
The epidemic had appeared to be extinct — it had revived to
snatch its last, great prize !

Of the circumstances connected with the death of Kaul-
bach, his son thus beautifully wrote : —

" A week before the dissolution of my father, we, at his
express desire — but much against our own will — started
for Bozen, in Tyrol. A few days later my sisters followed,
with a promise from my father, that he should join us in a
few days. Unfortunately he was deterred from accom-
panying us by a slight pain from which he was suffering
in one foot. You may imagine our distress of mind when,
instead of welcoming him we received a telegram from
my mother bidding us at once to return to Munich.
The contrast between the gloriously-blossoming landscape
around us and our own anguish of mind was terrible. At once
we started. But arrived in Innsbruck, already the dreadful
news reached us of his sudden death. Thus, we never
again beheld in life, him whom we so unspeakably loved
and revered!

"It is an immense blessing that he had no foreknowledge
of his approaching end. Nay, he had even laughed at the
idea, that he who had no fear at all of the cholera, should
have been seized by it. God be praised! he was also spared
any painful expectation of our return! He fell asleep with-
out pain, with a smile upon his lips, at eight o'clock in the
evening. On the following morning at five o'clock, we all

A DIRGE. 233

arrived at home, and found our excellent mother — spite of
the terrible end — calm as alone could have been expected
from a nature strong and remarkable as her own.

" From far and near came letters, laurel-wreaths — expres-
sions of sympathy- — in such quantities and so deep, as only
so great a loss could call forth. You are right, Gnddige
Fran, in saying that when such spirits take their departure,
heaven becomes ever more beautiful. But for us, who not
alone loved and revered the artist, but the man, the world
will long remain desolate and sad. The garden at home
now is full of fragrance and blossoms — at least people say
so — we notice little of it, and the most delightful song of
the blackbird only sounds to us like a dirge."

1875. — I have seen Frau v. Kaulbach, wrote Anna, a
year later. She was from home when I called. I awaited
her return in the winter sitting-room of the " House-beau-
tiful ! " The room you may remember as the background to
one of those charming sketches made by Hermann von
Kaulbach of his father in the retirement of his home — of
the one where the Master sits reading Shakespeare or
Homer by lamplight near the stove, reclining in his easy
chair, his cap on his head, a cigar between his lips. There
was the lighted lamp as in the sketch — there upon the little
table lay the folded-together knitting of the mother, and the
tall glass filled with her favourite eau-sucrce. But where
was the father? All looked as of old — failing the central
figure.

Many thoughts peopled the silent room. The faithful
servant anxious for the return of her mistress and for the
comfort of the guest, looked in every now and then,
with assurances that " die Gnddige" could not possibly be
long. At length " die Gnddige " and I met. Almost her first

VOL. II. R

234 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

words were to say, how devoted, how loving a sustainment
her children one and all were to her. She said that the
remainder of her life was devoted to the memory of
him who was gone — "dead, I ought scarcely to say," she
added with a proud smile, " for now that he is dead he
seems to me first truly to live ! " She was going to build
a Kaulbach Museum in the garden, wherein to preserve his
almost countless designs, drawings, and sketches, together
with such cartoons as had not been purchased for public
galleries. She should build in connexion with this a studio
for her son. She was collecting material to write the life
of her husband. This was a great delight to her, she
said. Thus she should live over again the long years of
their wonderfully happy, wonderfully united lives. She
showed me a series of photographs being published, con-
taining specimens of his works, early and of later date.
It was called the " Nachlass von Wilhelm v. Kaulbach."
The most characteristic and curious of the photographs in
this first number was a portrait of the painter at the age of
one-and-twenty. Combined in this likeness was the youth-
ful countenance of Raphael in the berretta with the Alt-
Deutsch mediaevalism and flowing woman-like long hair of
Albrecht Diirer's portrait. The most marked characteristic
of this likeness, however, was the keen earnestness — even
to sternness — of those piercing, clear young eyes, and of the
curved closely-compressed beautiful lips, dreadful in their
gravity. I remarked upon this extraordinary gravity. " Yes,"
was the reply, " Yet he looked so in his youth. It is im-
possible," added she, "to convey an adequate idea of the
'Ernst' which existed in his character. Gravity was the cha-
racteristic of all the youthful German painters of that day."
A young knight-errant, about to set forth into an en-
chanted land, there, for the salvation of his soul, to do
battle unto death against giant-monsters of evil, man, beast,

A SACRED CHAMBER. 235

and demon, would have looked forth with such eyes of ter-
rible gravity. Kaulbach's countenance was that of a knight,
whilst the countenances of other of his contemporaries were
those of young saints or monks. Another photograph,
from a pencil-drawing, of the painter's father and mother,
seated in a family group with their two young daughters, was
full of character, and of special interest to all who were
acquainted with the early life of the Master, — with its
romantic and tragic episodes.

Amongst other photographs which I saw was one taken
from the cartoon of the St. Michael, which we had found
the Master last year at work upon. This cartoon he had
given to his wife, because of her entire sympathy with him
in the struggle of Germany against France, and in the great
victories ; and because she had read aloud in the evenings
to him the newspapers and war-literature. Kaulbach had
taken special delight in this St. Michael.

It proved to be his last work. It was completed about
Christmas. Afterwards he commenced nothing fresh. " I
have begun nothing new as yet," he would to say his wife,
day after day on his return from the studio. " I have only
been looking at St. Michael. I am not ready for fresh
work." He would sit for hours silent before this completed
cartoon sunk in contemplation.

Our conversation ended, the Master's widow took forth a
key from a richly-carved cabinet, opened with it a door in a
corner of the room ; took the lamp from the table, and bade
me follow her. We entered a small chamber.

From ceiling to floor the walls were hung with garlands
of bay. Long streamers of white satin ribbon depended from
some of these wreaths, with golden words written upon
them. Other objects hung upon the walls. The Master's
palettes, his cap, his warm fur-lined painting-gown. Here
lay a beautiful cast from the antique, which he had greatly

R 2

236 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

admired, and which was ever to be seen near him in the
studio.

The garlands had been presented to the Master exactly
one month previous to his decease. Then with great
honour was celebrated the completion of the five-and-twen-
tieth year of his Directorship of the Munich Academy of
Fine Arts. Such a day of honour falls not to the lot of
many painters. From all parts of Germany had arrived
congratulations and wreaths. A torch-procession, and
the various musical societies of Munich had in the evening
brought him congratulations in the most festal manner.
The city of his home had done her best to honour the
Master, and he was deeply moved.

We stood beside the bed upon which he had drawn
his last breath. It was covered with a silken quilt. It
was strewn thickly over with dried rose-leaves. A wreath
of bay lay upon the pillow.

Who could look around on these relics of the departed
Master, collected in the treasure-house of her rich widow-
hood by the warm heart which so deeply-loved and revered
him — and remain unmoved !

" He passed away," she said, " without pain. His heart
simply ceased to beat, and he slept. It was so rapid, so
gentle, so beneficent. His clothes were packed ready for
the journey. His sickness came. Let me telegraph for the
children ? I said. ' No,' he replied, and laughed. ' Wait —
it will be something worth the telling, to say that I have
fought with the giant Cholera — and won !' Those were his
last words. He fell asleep with a smile on his lips."

The spirit of the Knight of the keen, terribly-earnest eyes,
had fought with the twin-giants-Human — Life and Death —
and had "won" — Immortality!

237

CHAPTER XXIV.

A SUPPER WITH THE ACTORS IN THE AMMERGAU
PASSION-PLAY OF 1 87 1.

Extract from a letter from Margaret Howitt to her
Brother-in-Law.

" Anna will be interested in hearing our tidings of her
old friends of the Ammergau Miracle-Play. On our recent

visit to Munich, P and I met our acquaintance Mrs.

G , who has been spending the summer at Ober-

Ammergau. This lady could with difficulty suppress her
emotion when speaking about the actors of the Passion-
Play, this peculiar people set apart for what they regard
as a great and holy work.

" She went alone to Ammergau, weak in health, and
depressed in mind, shrinking from witnessing the per-
formance of the play. She determined, however, to live
through the painful experience, before her two daughters and
their cousin Walter joined her. The people of Ammergau

received Mrs. G as angels might receive a soul into the

Spiritland. Tobias Flunger (Anna's friend, the Christus of

1850) received Mrs. G into his house. The earnestness

and unaffected simplicity of the people, the deep religious
sentiment of the representation, came as balm to her soul.
She no longer felt any scruple regarding the advisability of
her young daughters and nephew joining her. They, there-
fore, came ; and soon tidings arrived that her sister, and
brother-in-law, and little niece from America, would arrive
also. For this large party there was no longer accommo-

238 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

dation in the house of Tobias Flunger (Pontius Pilate) :
they therefore removed into the house of the Christus.
His name is Joseph Mayer. He is poor, but a very hand-
some young man.

" Throughout the summer the G 's dwelt amongst the

' Apostles,' and their wives and children. It almost ap-
peared to Mrs. G as though she had been living amongst

the Early Christians. Mrs. G was an artist — she and her

daughters made sketches of the homes of the 'Apostles,'
and their interiors. She drew the favourite spots of the
villagers, and willingly received their humble criticism.
The tall American lady in black, with her clear complexion,
bright eyes, and silver hair, who sat drawing, in pen-and-
ink, day-by-day, became one of the sights of Ammer-
gau, and was pointed out regularly by the driver of the
Stellwagen. Thus day by day they grew better ac-
quainted with these people, who, in enacting this Passion-
Play, believe that they are doing God service. These
performances are portions of their lives, into which they are
gradually educated. The children act parts amongst them-
selves, and sing their hymns during the intermediate years,
and thus are trained in due course for the grand perform-
ances. Probably the priest learns through the confessional
the peculiar characteristics of each parishioner, and lends a
guiding hand in the selection of the parts ; and thus,
to their minds, each being chosen as from Heaven, man,
woman, and child accept the character assigned, not for
vainglory, but in order to enter into it, and to reproduce
together one great and sacred spectacle.

" It was very affecting, when one old man, knowing that,
from his advanced age, he never again could hope to take
part in another play, requested to be allowed to perform
the character of Barabbas. This was permitted, and the
old fellow became supremely happy. Fortunately, amongst

BAR ABBAS AND JUDAS. 239

these simple people no stigma attaches to the actors of
the deeds of darkness. You may picture to yourself poor

old " Barabbas " entering the G s' sitting-room, carrying

with him a mass of bright, fresh, blooming, Alpine roses,
which he had brought with him from the mountains.
' Judas,' in his private character, was also a man of a
beautiful nature, although an American gentleman refused
to take his likeness amongst a selection of portraits made for
him of the actors, observing that no man could perform the
part so well who did not in himself understand the sin of
greed! Poor Judas, hearing this judgment passed upon
him, was deeply grieved, and shed tears even. An English
clergyman, however, chose the picture of Judas, saying that
he never had seen so consummate an actor. In truth, he
was anything but a man of an avaricious nature, seeing that,

Mrs. G having engaged in his house a room for one

night, which was, however, not used, he was wounded

by the money being paid by Mrs. G for the hire of it,

and immediately returned it to her, expressing himself
grieved by her even having thought of paying for that
which she had never required.

"' St. John' was Walter's great friend. He is a youth of
nineteen, and is the 'Christus' expectant of 1880— if Pas-
sion- Plays should exist nine years hence.

" When the Prince and Princess of Wales attended one of
the representations, on leaving Ammergau the Prince spoke
in German to the Christus, expressing the great interest
which they had taken in the representation, and presented
him with a very valuable ring.

" The young King of Bavaria, who does not like public
ceremonials, sent the people word at the end of the season
that if they were going to have one more representation, he
should like to be present. Of course, to do him honour, one
more was given. This would be upon the Monday following

240 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

the last of the representations, which always took place on
Sundays, the Passion-Play being regarded by the actors
as a religious performance — something in itself sacred. As
usual, a number of visitors had been unable on the Sunday
performance to obtain seats. These were admitted on this ex-
traordinary occasion ; also the villagers, and anyone besides
who chose to be present. The old men in Ammergau, too
old to take a part in the performance, but who, like all their
fellow-villagers, felt zealous to participate in some manner —
it mattered not how humble — in the great drama, wore a
blue-and-white band, as a sign of their official function of
preservers of peace and order — a function, however, merely
nominal, as order was always kept by the spectators them-
selves.

" Upon this occasion Mrs. G was present for the

second time, having shrunk from a repetition of her visit
until then, fearing to destroy the first profound impression
made upon her mind. The second time only, however,
deepened the impression made by the first. It appeared
to her that her humble, eveiy-day friends diffused around
them rays of religion. The ' Christus ' on the Sundays of
the performance took nothing to eat except a basin of soup
early in the morning before the performance, and a cup of
coffee between the acts.

" The young King, deeply moved, sent for all the actors to
his castle in the neighbourhood — the women as well as the
men were sent for. This was regarded as a high mark of
honour. The King, before they left, presented them with
flowers and sweetmeats from the repast with which he had
regaled them, begging them to take these home. He in-
quired from them particulars regarding their visitors and
their mode of conducting themselves. He expressed an
earnest desire that nothing should entice them away from
their village and their simple habits.

HOLY ACTORS. 24 1

" In the parish distribution of the money made by the per-
formance the ' Christus ' has received as his share — and
with it he is quite content — 150 florins [11 florins to £1].
The 'Christus' of 1820 received only 4 florins. An Eng-
lishman has offered him 10,000 florins to go to England to
repeat the same character, but he refused the offer with in-
dignation.

" A few days subsequent to the visit of the King to Am-
mergau, the infant child of Joseph Mayer (the ' Christus ')
died. He felt the affliction deeply, especially as he was
unstrung by the long season of intense mental excitement.

" Now for our own experiences. We were invited to a
' repast of sausages and beer with friends from Ammergau '

in the apartment of Mrs. G . It was the birthday of

her little niece, Alice. We (P and myself) found

ourselves, about five o'clock in the afternoon, in the society
of a set of serious-looking men and women. The men were
attired in grey and brown semi-Tyrolese coats. The tall,
handsome, melancholy-looking young man was of course
the ' Christus.' That old, grey-headed man might have
been the veritable ' Peter' from Galilee ; but who were the
others ? One was ' Joseph of Arimathea.' They seemed
so entirely to have identified themselves with the charac-
ters, that I found myself instinctively wondering, as it were,
that he had not a better coat on his back. They were, how-
ever, be it understood, all well dressed for peasants. But it
seemed to me, some way, that he must be the real rich man
out of Judaea.

"'St. John' did not appear. His father could not allow
him to come to the city. He had, consequently, wept.
Especially was he grieved not to see his friend Walter.

" The little old man with a face like a pumpkin and a short
space between nose and upper lip, into which he had squeezed
a bushy little grey moustache, was musikus (musician) —

242 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

second bass on the violin, and one of the early composers of
the music of the Passion-Play. The young student in snuff-
coloured coat was the brother of ' Mary Magdalene,' who
was sitting on the sofa between two of the female singers.
The brother was a sculptor, a native of Ammergau, now
under Professor Knabel, of the Mayerische Anstalt, the
great manufactory of figures of the Virgin and of church-
furniture here in Munich.

" Mrs. G was charmed to see these villagers. All was

delightfully harmonious. They (the actors) were much
interested in hearing Anna's account in ' The Art-Student '
of the Passion-Play of 1850, the greater portion of which I
did my best to translate to them, as we had the volumes
with us. The remarks, as I went along, amused and inte-
rested me much. They volunteered that they were much
obliged to my sister for writing the account ; ' For,' said
they, 'it must have helped to send the crowds there this
summer.' And from them I send to Anna a ' Griiss eitch
Gott P (' God greet you / 'J

" We then asked them for their autographs. Whilst they
were writing them supper was announced. And now, be-
fore entering the supper-room, I must tell you that P

and I, without comparing notes together, had felt ourselves
greatly moved. The earnest, self-possessed poor people, who
seemed so willing to talk on any subject which we chose,
had each an atmosphere around him or her of underlying
devotion. They were like those who had undergone great
experiences. The ' Christus ' was amongst us — but not of
us. His profile becomes at times like an animated head
from the pencil of Leonardo da Vinci. The photograph of
him fails to do him justice. Little Alice flitted like a sun-
beam about the room, from guest to guest, in her white
muslin. Once she dropped her doll. I saw the ' Christus '
stoop and pick it up and give it to the child, with such an

"kein appetit." 243

air of gentleness, such a desire to please the innocent little
creature, that I pictured to myself how the veritable Christ
might, perchance, have stooped to pick up a toy in some
home in Capernaum, with a tenderness and grace ineffable,
to give pleasure to some little one.

" When we took our seats at the table we involuntarily
recalled the Lord's Supper. I was glad when the ' Christus '
was moved from the centre seat to the right-hand place at
the head of the table. The resemblance to the pictures of
that holy subject had been too striking. The other Ammer-
gau people made way for 'the Christus,' and at all times
treated him with the greatest respect.

" I sat beside old Musikus, taking him in, rather than
being taken in by him. Walter would have been in the
seventh heaven had only his beloved friend ' St. John '
been present. Walter acted as waiter upon the company.

Mrs. G and her daughters also served their guests.

Little Alice sat at table beside 'Joseph of Arimathea,'
and with the ' Christus ' perpetually watching her. He
must have been thinking of his own little one, gone lately to

heaven. Mrs. D , Mrs. G 's sister, played on the

piano.

" I begged my old friend Musikus to eat. He pointed,
however, to the great round sausage slices and boiled rice
on his plate, then towards the music, then laid his hand on
his heart, shook his head, and, with emphasis, exclaimed,
' Kein appetit /' ('No appetite!') Sometimes, indeed, the
music was altogether too much for him. He would rise and
trot off to the piano. I bore him no grudge for thus leaving
me. I imitated him. My arm being too short to clink my
glass with that of the good young Joseph Mayer, I rose
to do so. One could not but recognise that he had sought
earnestly to li/e up towards his ideal of the lofty character
he personated.

244 A N ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.

" My old musical friend confided to me that he had never
supped before at so noble a table. Indeed, they all ex-
pressed surprise at what we should regard as quite ordinary
furniture and requirements. It was a princely life — they
considered, evidently — that their friends were leading here
in Munich.

" Mrs. G ceased her duties at table, and made a

little speech to her guests — a beautiful little speech. The
' Christus ' evidently was much moved by it. He rose and
returned thanks, saying 'that she and her daughters and
the good aunt would none of them be forgotten. God bless
that good lady! And they all hoped that the same life
together might be repeated in ten years time.'

" After supper the G s and Mrs. D sang American

national songs, and the Ober-Ammergau guests sang the
' Edelweiss] after which all took their leave.

" ' Christus ' feels that he has gone through too much this
year. He says that now he shall return to Ammergau, and
to his wood-carving, which is the best thing after all."

APPENDIX

A GERMAN ESTIMATE OF THE MASTER.

The following critical and biographical analysis of the
Works and Life of Kaulbach, by a distinguished critic,
appears to me to present so fair an example of the
estimation in which Kaulbach is held by his countrymen
— and in my opinion is so valuable — that with it I venture
to conclude this little book.

A. M. H. W.

" It will assuredly not be saying too much if we regard
Kaulbach amongst the greatest artists of modern times — nay,
indeed, of all times. Not every century brings forth men great
as he. Since the golden days of Michael Angelo and of Raphael,
the history of Art tells us of many remarkable men of great talent,
but of few who unite in themselves the varied qualities of the great
masters. In connection with Cornelius, and beside him, Kaulbach
makes an epoch in German art which is quite peculiar, which bears
an unquestioned German national character, and is distinguished
entirely from all of the same description which has been or is being
produced by other nationalities. And as Germany during more
than two centuries has adorned herself with the fame of Diirer and
Holbein, so probably again many years may pass over before
other names can be ranked side by side with these two great
masters of the nineteenth century. This period to which Cornelius
and Kaulbach have given their character, and will have for all time
given their name, had completely developed itself, and, indeed, had
come to its termination; and thus it may be said, perhaps, that

246 APPENDIX.

Kaulbach, as regards his own fame and the fame of his works,
has not died too soon, although we lament the loss of him as a
man, by a fearful death, whilst still vigorous and full of the fire of
creation.

Kaulbach was a genius, and, in every sense of the word, an
intellectual artist. The latter reason sufficiently explains why,
together with the most overwhelming admiration, he has received
tolerably severe criticism, especially in these later times, when art-
criticism has become even more realistic, and somewhat cliquish.
Kaulbach was an idealist in art, and, together with the excellences
of the idealistic quality, possessed also its imperfections. For
realists, the greater portion of his works are not enjoyable — for
observers without imagination and knowledge, many of them are
incomprehensible. But for those who delight in intellectual
thought, in wit, and beautiful forms, the greater portion of
Kaulbach's pictures will remain full of delight.

"Alone with himself can the Master be compared. When not
entirely favourable judgment has been passed upon his great
historic pictures — as, for instance, upon his • Age of Grecian
Culture,' 'The Age of the Crusades,' or his latest great historic
work, ' Nero,' — involuntarily and almost unwittingly, comparison
is drawn between them and his 'Battle of the Huns,' — with his
' Tower of Babel,' — which it is true exhibit higher flight of the
imagination, and greater perfection of form.

" If fault be found with some of his female delineations after
Goethe, they are again, as it were, compared with his ' Lotte ' or
' Frederike,' from the same cycle. If we have not been entirely
in sympathy with his works of a caricature nature — of which class
especially many proceeded from his hand in the later years of his
life — one recalls the never-equalled nor ever -to -be -excelled
' Reinecke Fuchs ! '

" What painter but Kaulbach could have filled with so much
meaning a subject such as the 'Age of the Reformation,' the sole
fault of the ' Age of the Reformation ' being, as its critics affirm,
its too-intellectual rendering?

" What modern painter has created a picture of purer and more
perfect form than his 'Battle of Salamis?' How much wit and
humour in his Frieze of Children in the Treppenhaus of the Berlin
Museum, which parodies in a gay spirit the whole of the World's
History. What terrible power of delineating human character in
his Mad-House ! What merry sarcasm in his Reinecke ! What a
sweet sensuousness in some of his smaller compositions of the later

APPENDIX. 247

days ! — as, for instance, those from the poem of Walter von der
Vogelweide ; what grace in his ' Lotte ! '

" There is scarcely anything unimportant to be found among his
larger works ; and even if some of his later works, as, for instance,
his ' Peter von Arbues,' delighted no one, and to many persons
were even distasteful; nevertheless, the extraordinary indignation
which they excited in the clerico-political party, proves that the
Master had succeeded in the intention of his work.

" Kaulbach's intellect and talent were extraordinary and many-
sided, — his power of production extremely great. He designed
with great ease, and has created an immense number of works.

" To characterize the art of Cornelius and Kaulbach — for both
these Masters will be mentioned in connection with each other — ■
is to characterize the whole of German Art of the first half of this
century.*

" Wilhelm Kaulbach was born in 1805, in Arolsen, which small
place in Westphalia counts amongst its children, Christian Rauch,
one of the greatest sculptors of modern times. Kaulbach's father
was a watchmaker, goldsmith, and engraver, a sort of semi-artist with
whom life was not specially prosperous, either there or in Iserlohn
and Muhlheim on the Ruhr, where his family afterwards lived.
The counsel and also the example of the splendid art-career of
Rauch, are said to have decided the destiny of young Kaulbach,
who at the age of seventeen went to Dusseldorf, and became a
pupil at the Academy, which at that time was under the direction
of Cornelius. The extraordinary talent of the young man soon
made itself remarked, though his early works now strike us as
being extremely dry and stiff. A first work of Kaulbach, ' The
Gathering of Manna by the Children of Israel in the Desert,' is,
or was very lately, still preserved in Dusseldorf. In 1826 he went
with Cornelius to Munich, and was engaged in the first instance
on fresco painting in the Arcades of the Hofgarten, where the four
symbolic figures of the four Bavarian rivers are from his hand.

"After these followed a painted ceiling in the Odeon, 'Apollo
among the Muses'; then wall-pictures in the palace of Prince
Max, from the myth of Cupid and Psyche ; and still later, the
subjects in the Kbnigsban (the new Palace), from the poems of

* Excepting, however, its religious side. — A. M. H. W

248 APPENDIX.

Wieland and Goethe. During this time — about 1830 — he pro-
duced the strikingly-characteristic drawing of the ' Narrenhaus '
(Mad-House), which made a great sensation, and which was en-
graved. In the year 1837, he completed his ' Hunnenschlacht,'
from a fantastic legend in one of the Mediaeval Chronicles. This
wonderful composition, carried out in grisaille, more as a cartoon
than a painting, was the foundation of his fame.

" After a sojourn in Italy, professedly for the study of colour and
the technique of painting, he completed his ' Destruction of Jeru-
salem,' which King Ludwig had commissioned for his new Pinako-
thek in Munich. It was the first large picture painted by Kaulbach
in oil, and excited in the Art-world of Munich great interest ; and
naturally so, considering what was at that time the ordinary degree
of technical skill attained to by the German School. It was also the
first picture in which the Master's peculiar treatment, both as re-
gards intellectual purpose and the formal arrangement of his
composition, was fully developed — treatment to which he ever
remained faithful in the composition of all his great historical
works.

" About this same epoch Kaulbach drew the illustrations to
' Reinecke Fuchs,' which, engraved and published by Cotta, spread
their author's fame far and wide. Somewhat later appeared the
designs for the fresco-decoration on the exterior of the New Pina-
kothek : designs which called forth much adverse criticism.

" In fact it was no fortunate idea symbolically to represent King
Ludwig's activity in the creations of Art, together with the latest
development of the German School of Arts, at the same time in-
troducing into the series of frescos touches of satire. These
frescos, already faded and weather-beaten, have been regarded as
amongst the weakest of the Master's works.

King Ludwig gradually ceasing to give commissions for works of
Art — wearied probably by the immense number of them which he
had called forth through his fostering genius — the King of Prussia,
Frederick-William, appears in rivalry with the Bavarian King as a
patron of artists ; and summons Kaulbach to Berlin for the deco-
ration of the ' Treppenhaus,'' in the New Museum. More fortunate
than his master, Cornelius, who, at an earlier period, had been
called to Berlin, Kaulbach has been enabled to complete there his
mighty undertaking, one of the very greatest which has been com-
pleted by a painter of modern times.

"Six vast wall-pictures present before you in symbolic manner
the greatest epochs of the history of the world. ' The Dispersion

APPENDIX. 249

of Races at the Fall of Babel,' 'Greece in her prime,' — that is the
world of Homer, the gods and heroes united, — ' The Destruction
of Jerusalem,' 'The Battle of the Huns,' — the repetition of the
cartoon already referred to — 'The Crusades,' and last of all, after a
long delay, 'The Age of the Reformation." Add to which, the
introduction here and there of figures, and of a frieze running
round above the whole circle of pictures, which refers in a humorous,
symbolic manner to the great events of the history of the world.

"The great picture of the Reformation, that is to say of the
history of that period wherein the Reformation came to its head,
may be considered in Kaulbach's own peculiar direction, his most
important work : as the friezes of the children may be regarded as
one of his most genial works.

"In the painting of these compositions Kaulbach himself, only
occasionally resident at Berlin, took no great part. The Master's
scholars, Eicher and Muhr, were engaged upon the carrying out
of the works, and they were executed in at that time an entirely
new medium, the ' Wasserglas? or ' Stereochromie.'

"Become in the place of Cornelius, Director of the Munich
Academy, Kaulbach produced, towards the close of the middle of
the century, his great picture of the 'Battle of Salamis,' for the
historical picture-gallery — ' Maximilianum ' — a composition which
enchanted by its affluence of beauty all who beheld it. Then fol-
lowed, amongst a number of smaller works, the cartoons of
'Caesar's Death,' 'Peter von Arbues,' — which was called forth by
the canonization of this destroyer of heretics — 'Nero,' and the per-
secution of the Christians. Together with these works arose a vast
number of quite small compositions, as, for instance, the circle of
Goethe's heroines, many illustrations of the poets, portraits, both
drawings and in oil, and endless sketches and designs. His last
composition, in preparation for a great picture, was a small cartoon
of the Deluge.

"For some years it had been an amusement to the Master to
make small caricature sketches referring to the current events of the
day, in which, especially, the Jesuit party was satirically touched
upon, and these sketches were very widely spread abroad by the aid
of photography. These did not add to his fame ; they called forth
against him a perfect howl of contending parties — the inventor of
' Reinecke Fuchs ' having at least the laugh on his side.

" It could not fail that an artist who wielded so sharp a pencil,
and who seldom checked an equally satirical tongue, had opponents
and enemies, and that with all his great successes there existed as

VOL. II. S

250 APPENDIX.

many persons full of envy of him, as those who were full of admi-
ration of him. Criticism, which in the earlier times praised him
beyond all measure, in the later times found much to censure in his
works. Some of the fault-finding was not altogether without
reason, setting aside the stupid cry of the bigot-party — his oppo-
nents — in which, unhappily, some of his cleverest artist-brothers
joined. He was blamed for a certain emptiness and generalization
of individual form. This charge is justified by some of his later
works ; nevertheless, although the whole arrangement of the com-
position may appear to follow a certain arranged plan : they contain
so many original ideas and beauties, that but few modern painters
would be found able to introduce them into their pictures.

"Not all that Kaulbach has produced deserves to live for ever,
nor will it do so ; but his master-pieces will always remain a pride
to German Art, and his name will always be accounted amongst
the highest names of the land.

" Hermann Becker."

THE END.

THOS. DE LA RUE AND CO., PRINTERS, BUNHILL ROW, LONDON.

ART STUDENT IN MUNICH.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

"Mary Howitt's daughter passed a twelvemonth in Munich as a student of
painting ; and these volumes give an account of her daily life and what she saw.
Compiled, or more properly extracted, from family letters, the narrative has
the freshness of conversation with some of its minuteness, and presents a very
charming reflex of thought and feeling as well as a picture of Bavarian life, and
of what is to be seen in the great Art-City of Germany, * * * The_ book is
remarkable in itself, and full of promises for the future. So interesting and
informing a work from such apparently slender materials is a vara avis. _ An
Art Student in Munich reminds one of Washington Irving's descriptive
narrative. The lady-painter is indeed less quaint and elaborate; she is also
looser in the texture of her production ; but she is more natural and real. * * *
The letters run upon an infinite variety of topics. Bits of scenery in Munich
and its vicinity, with figures and small adventures — national and art festivals —
public dances, concerts, and other assemblies ; the daily life of the people, and
many singular characters such as might, generally speaking, be found in London
or anywhere, but all thoroughly German, and consequently fresh. * * * *
Then again there are peasant festivals — relics of the middle ages, public parties,
as it were, at which royalty assisted, galleries of art and artists ; and last, but by
no means least in interest, either in reality or description, a regular Miracle-
Play of the Middle Ages." — Spectator.

"Since 'Bubbles from the Brunnens of Nassau' we have had no local hand-
book so airy, and buoyant, so effervescent, and diaphonous, as this young
lady's Munich experiences. No vulgar German viand made up of questionable
ingredients is here ; but a vol au vent of choice and delicate materials.
Wonder, delight, girlish enthusiasm, deep and varied emotion, sudden transition
from the picturesque and pathetic to the playful and familiar scenes of artistic
blended with those of domestic Bavarian life, keep the reader in a perpetual
participation of the fair student's own genuine enjoyments." — Globe.

"A lively, glowing and individual picture of foreign scenery and manners
studied from one particular point, such as we have not reviewed for many a
day. No book, perhaps, has been published fuller of written pictures than this
since the 'Letters from the Baltic.'" — Athenteum.

"A curious account is given of a miracle play — a description of dramatic
performance which still exists in Bavaria, and which is customarily performed by
the peasants in the village districts. This play, which consisted of a solemn
pantomime founded on various parts of the New Testament, seems to have
greatly impressed the observer, who speaks of the earnest solemnity of the per-
formance, and the effect produced by the childlike rendering of the sublime
Christian tragedy by the Bavarian peasantry.

"Several of the chapters— such as, Bits of Munich life, Autumnal Rambles,
All Souls' Day, The Consecration of the Basilica— are good traceries of
scenery and ceremonial ; while others, relating to Student Life, The Schafflers'
Dance and Carnival, Student Lights and Shadows, &c, are lively and animating,
while the general descriptions form agreeable holiday reading for those who,
having a taste for art, find pleasure in visits to foreign studios and vistas of
foreign life." — The Nation.

S 2

REVIEWS.

"This highly interesting work contains many word-pictures, graphic and
brilliant, made by Miss Howitt, during a late sojourn in the King of Bavaria's
beautiful little Art-City, for the purposes of study.

"All is fresh, and pervaded throughout by a spirit of intense earnestness.
With a true artist's eye for all that is grand or beautiful in scenery, art, or life,
nothing escapes her observation ; and she also possesses the rare faculty of
presenting it in good terse racy English. One might almost believe, to borrow
Thackeray's simile, ' pens were fitch-brushes, and words bladders of paint ! '

"The great Kaulbach, under whom she studied, 'with his unbounded imagi-
nation, philosophic thought, and studious research,' is brought prominently
forward, and we rejoice to see him thus worthily introduced to our countrymen.

" There is so much variety, and all so good, that we feel it difficult to select
passages. We have glorious descriptions of nature in every other page ;
incidents of travel ;#foreign manners and customs ; quaint traits of character ;
the street architecture of Munich ; sledging excursions ; visits to cathedrals,
picture galleries, and artists' studios ; the casting in bronze of the Bavaria, &c.

"As the work of a lady, for its spirit of noble earnestness, combined with all
that is womanly, we would recommend it as inculcating how much can be
accomplished in any walk by a single true-hearted individual. — American
Paper.

PRICE 5s.

AURORA:

A VOLUME OF VERSE.
By A. A. and A. M. H. WATTS.

" 'ETrepajTTjtfeis avro? 6 Kvpto? vno Tivos,

7roT€ yj^ec avrov 7? /3a.riAeia, tiTrev **Orau eo"rat
Ta Svo, tv, /cat to e£aj cu? to eo"u), Kai to apaej/
fiera tts 07)Aet'as, ovtc Uptrev ovre 8rj\v."

Clement of Rome.

London : C. Kegan Paul & Co., i, Paternoster Square.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

"Since the prophetic books of Blake broke upon a generation lulled by the
sleepy trivialities of Hayley, no poetic utterances have offered the reader a riddle
more sphinx-like than is supplied by 'Aurora.' That there is matter worth
getting at behind we have convinced ourselves, but the most ardent student can
never be sure that he has fully mastered the subject, or wrung from the verses
the whole of their meaning. Throughout all the poems runs one apparent
purpose ; a protest against the assumption that our knowledge and hopes are
limited by the perceptions of the senses.

"The theme is illustrated with considerable power. Much of the imagery
employed is equally bold and striking ; and the music of some of the lines is
admirably fitted to the sense." — Athenczum.

"In this collection of pieces we find a mystical and exceedingly suggestive
discussion of the great problems of life and death, which will always form the
most attractive subjects for poets who aspire to a realization of something more
than the outward and visible aspects of men and their surroundings. It is a
great pleasure in a volume of this kind to find that while we are occasionally
carried to heights where it is difficult to realize our position, we are spared from
ever being suddenly dropped into commonplace.

"The whole book is a revelation of refined fancy, never disappointing after the
key note of the volume has been mastered." — Manchester Guardian.

"That unseen but visible presence which guides the brain and the hand of
the poet serves to distinguish his productions from those of the mere versifier.
Two writers affix their initials to the various poems comprised in this very able
volume.

******

"In the poem entitled 'Illumination' we find the key note to many ideas
which are puzzling and perplexing. E. Cartier supplies the epigraph, '11 y a une
peinture mystique par ce qu'il y a une vie et une science mystique. L'Art ne
revele que ce que l'esprit voit et l'esprit ne voit que ce qui est.' * * * There
is much food for reflection in 'Lost and Found.' They amply justify our
encomiums on verses intellectual, energetic, and moving, along with true choral

REVIEWS.

force, full of profound thought, and instinct with the spirit of harmony. A
more tender vein of thought is opened us in the ' Magic Glass,' a poem which,
conceived in the spirit of the poetry of the seventeenth century, embodies
much of its simplicity of style and fidelity to nature. A sense of the bounties
and beauties of Nature is generally a distinguishing feature of the volume,
as in the dulcet lines ' Psychometry.'

" We willingly accord to its authors a lofty purpose and intellectual attainments
which have found profitable development in the culture of song." — Morning
Post.

"The writers of this volume of verse have many strange and beautiful fancies
touching the natural and supernatural, and many of them they embody in forms
of idealized grace.

"We confess that in some of the cardinal doctrines of Christianity they see a
meaning which was not seen, or if seen was not acknowledged, by the inspired
writers. " — Standard.

"We must honestly confess to having been puzzled by 'Aurora.' It is a very
taking volume of verse, because it is so sweet and musical ; but what does it
mean ? The difficulty is this : Is it a subtle exposition of Catholicism, or is it an
equally subtle attempt to undermine that faith by a skilful use, in another sense,
of the hope and the language which one associates with it ? We rather incline
to the latter hypothesis. In any case the verse is admirable ; and one poem the
' Holy Heart ' is almost beyond praise. As to ' Le Sang Real ' we decline to
speak ; it is either beautiful exceedingly, or of no worth ; — as it was meant." —
Graphic.

" 'Aurora: a Volume of Verse,' is the joint work of two authors, A. M. and
A. A. A. A. has the more powerful mind undoubtedly, and yet he is the lesser
poet. His choice of metres is bad, and his versification defective. The two
writers dwell much on the spirit of good and evil, its union and perpetual
struggle — on the material and spiritual — on life and death. These themes
naturally lend themselves to a little mysticism, of which both authors have
availed themselves largely. A. M. delights in allegories and dreams, through
which often runs a vein worked out with skill and fancy. A. A. finds a more
congenial form in conundrums. We use the word advisedly, and yet with some
hesitation, for there is often real dignity in his conceptions and purpose, and
we cannot help feeling a little irritated with ourselves for so constantly
exclaiming involuntarily, ' we give it up ! " ' Aurora ' is not by any means a
commonplace book ; and its authors write with sufficient power to claim a
respectful hearing." — Exa?niner.

"With this unpretending title we are introduced to one of the most remarkable
volumes of poetry we have met with for some time. It is the work apparently
of two authors, who sign their names respectively, 'A. A.' and 'A. M.' There
is one spirit common to these two contributors. Both are fond of dwelling on
the hidden meaning of things — the mystic influences and forces that underlie
common-life — the strange fantastic visions of dream-land — the higher life that
is dawning now, and is awaiting fuller development in the future. The opening
and closing poems are both entitled 'Aurora,' and are both by 'A. A.' — and the
bright prophetic spirit which finds glowing and rapturous expression in these two
poems is to some extent the key-note of the volume.

"The poems by 'A. M.' are less philosophic, but more pictorial, and with
richer warmth of feeling. The first of them ' The Repose of the Fair Maid
Patience,' although it has evidently a symbolic meaning beneath the surface,
is throughout full of the most lovely and rapturous word-painting of beautiful
and familiar objects in nature, and the same absorption in nature is seen in other
poems of this writer.

******

"Our readers will rightly infer, from our descriptions of these poems, that
most of them 'will not disclose their wealth of meaning, but they are poems which

REVIEWS.

one can linger over with a certain sense of exhilaration — as one sees definite
ideal shapes slowly loom into distinctness as we patiently watch them." — Non-
conformist.

"There is through the whole book a weighty style of evasiveness and latent
meaning which distinguished some of the works of the Poet Laureate. It is well
worth reading."— City Observer.

"This is a book that has a decided gusto of its own. One cannot read the
poems without having the taste of them in the mouth for a little while after.
They are unmistakably quaint with an admixture of the dreamy. Ihe writer
has borrowed from medieval art not a little of its quaint phantasy, and has
interwoven this into the texture of a mind that has naturally a decided power in
rendering whatever is intricate and evanescent in association. Many of the
titles indicate this— 'The Repose of the Fair Maid Patience,' 'Limbo,' 'The
Generations of Death,' 'Eastward in Eden,' 'The Woman curious after Death,'
'The City of the Rose.' But we must free the author from any charge of
affectation. A certain stupidity prevails nowadays in finding obscure what is not
essentially so. Everything that is remote and complex in suggestion takes more
or less effort to apprehend,

'An inner kernel of sweet joy, that needeth a husk's defence.'

"We should, however, have liked something more of a clue to several of the
allegories, which are provoking because the characters are distinct, while we do
not know what is symbolized under each. Some of the pieces are, however,
quite explicit ; and some, like the dainty one ' Moccolo,' give a sufficient hint of
their meaning for the special effect to be produced. The poems generally show
great powers of condensation. If they are by different authors, — a husband
and wife, perhaps, — they exhibit wonderful unanimity of spirit and style." —
Scotsman.

"The subjects of most of these pieces are characteristically young. They are
without force, reality, or power of grasp. As to what they mean, not one in ten
of them as far as we can discover has any meaning. The writer should not, we
think, have printed his immature sketches." — Literary Churchman.

" There is a modesty in this volume of poems which attracts our attention. It
has no notes, no preface, no dedication, and no name on the title page. Initials
indeed there are attached to each poem, and a Greek motto from Clemens
Romanus seems to point at a joint production by man and wife. A degree of
reserve and mystery characterises the productions of both, and it is evident that
they belong to a school, — if indeed they do not form one. They seem to be of
one mind with Sir Thomas Browne, who says : ' The severe school shall never
laugh me out of the philosophy of Hermes, that this visible world is a picture of
the invisible, wherein, as in a portrait, things are not truly, but in equivocal
shapes, and as they counterfeit some real substances in that invisible fabric!'
The volume is highly suggestive, and leaves conclusions to be drawn without
overt and unseemly efforts to fasten them on the reader's mind. This partial
reticence is very graceful, and perfectly accords with the subject ; — not the
Hellenic Goddess opening with her rosy fingers the gates of the East ; but that
better and brighter Dawn which the authors of these poems believe is even
now ushering in an age more wonderful and excellent than any that have gone

before.

******

"We feel it impossible in a brief review to do justice to this pregnant volume.
— Westminster Gazette.

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