LATELY PUBLISHED BY
TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS.. — FIFTEENTH EDITION.
MRS. MOWATT'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
Price $1.25.
FIFTEENTH THOUSAND JUST ISSUED.
From the Preface.
Ir one struggling sister in the great human family, while listening to the history
of my life, gains courage to meet and brave severest trials; if she learns to look
upon them as blessings in disguise; if she be strengthened in the performance of'daily duties,' however' hardly paid;' if she be inspired with faith in the power
imparted to a strong will whose ena is good - then I am amply rewarded for my
labor.                                          ANNA CORa MOWATT.
WE have read this book through with more than the interest of a romance.
The fair authoress herself is one of the rarest of heroines. Her eight years upon
the stage furnish a volume of the most entertaining and instructive experience. -
New York Mirror.
ONE of the few books which it is difficult to lay down till every page is read, is the
Autobiography of Mrs. Mowatt. I have actually stolen the time which ought to
have been appropriated to certain special demands, to look through the pages of
this strange volume. To look at any chapter of contents, is sure to send you to
the text; and to start with the text is to rivet your attention in spite of every
extraneous call. Mrs. Mowatt's Autobiography will have a permanent place in
American literature. Edition after edition will come from the press. It will be the
exciting theme of book notices and even of labored reviews. - New Coenanat.




2               POPULAR BOOKS LATELY PUBLISHED
II. -THIRD EDITION.
PASSION-FLOWERS.
BY MRS. HOWE.
One Volume, 16mo., Price 75 Cents.
WITH these words upon its title-page, and with no acknowledgment of authorship, Ticknor Reed & Fields, of Boston, have just issued a volume of poems, which,
if we do not greatly mistake its character, is destined to create an interest in the
literary world second only to that produced by the sudden apparition of Alexander Smith, the Glasgow poet, a few months ago. The book is not only remarkable
in itself, but it indicates a latent power, a reserved force on the part of its author,
which makes the present performance, great as we feel it is, seem but the prelude to
something yet higher and nobler. * * * * A word to the author. Rumor
corroborates the internal evidence afforded by the book itself, that its writer is the
wife of a highly distinguished professional gentleman and philanthropist of Boston -
a lady, whose genius and culture have been so well known to her friends, as to
exempt them from any surprise at their manifestation in her' Passion-Flowers.'National Era.
WE know of no living poet of her sex with whom to compare the author of'Passion-Flowers,' except Mrs. Browning, whom she resembles, however, only in
her generous and high culture, and in the elevation and depth of her sentiments.
Lovers of poetry here will feel a special interest in the history of this gifted minstrel, from the fact that it is confidentially stated that she is the daughter of a late
highly esteemed citizen of New York, although a resident of a neighboring State. -
New York Evening Post.
111. - EIGHTH EDITION.
GRACE GREENWOOD'S
HAPS AND MISHAPS OF A TOUR IN EUROPE.
One Volume-, 12mo., Price $1.25.
WHEN we travel, if she can be found, we will have a companion like Grace Greenwood. * * * * On the whole, though the volume is made up of brief sketches,
and covers over many countries, it is one of the most readable and sensible records
of foreign travel with which we have recently met. We would trust Grace Greenwood's judgment on almost any subject of which she speaks, soonei-than we would
that of a far wiser person, who had become hackneyed and tamed down to the
tradition standards. The flowing and sprightly narrative, the vivid and often
admirable descriptions of natural scenes, and the ever ready, but by no means
undiscriminating enthusiasm, must attract, as they deserve to do, many readers
interested in the' Haps and mishaps' of her journeyings. - Christian Register.
THIS is, altogether, the most readable, sensible, delightful book of rambles abroad
that we have read for a long time. - Saturday Courier.




BY TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS.                     3
IV. - FOURTH EDITION.
SIX MONTHS IN ITALY.
BY GEORGE S. HILLARD.
2 vols. 12mo., $2.50.
No volumes of a similar character have received as much attention
in the literary world for many years, as this admirable work by Mr.
Hillard. Universal commendation followed its appearance from the
press; and it has taken at once high rank among the useful books of
our day.
The Albion closes its review thus:'What a pleasant business it would be, this passing judgment on books, if we had
many such authors to deal with. It was with listless attention that we took up the
two volumes before us, notwithstanding that these Boston publishers have the knack
of courting the eye by all the tricksy niceties of typography. But let no mangainsay
the truth of that homely proverb which peoples oceans with as good fish as ever
came out of it, or rashly asserts that Italy is an exhausted theme! Mr. Hillard has
fairly carried us with him from his first page to his last, and we must honestly avow
that no modern traveller, within the scope of our pen, has looked and listened so
profitably to himself, and has recorded his impressions in a manner so acceptable to
his readers.
V.-THIRD EDITION.
LIGHT ON THE DARK RIVER;
OR,
MEMORIALS OF MRS. HENRIETTA A. L. HAMLIN,
MISSION.RY IN TURKEY.
BY MARGARETTE WOODS LAWRENCE.
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY REV. E. S. STORRS.
Tis admirable Memoir, although but quite recently from the press,
has excited great attention throughout the country. A large edition
was at once exhausted and the demand continues rapidly to increase.
The highest testimonials have been awarded for the fidelity and




4         POPULAR BOOKS PUBLISHED BY TICKNOR & CO.
beauty with which the authoress (a daughter of Dr. Woods of Andover) has accomplished her task.
From Rev. Dr. Storrs.'Though not personally acquainted with Mrs. Hamlin nor her family connections,
and obliged, like other readers, to estimate her character by her words and works
here recorded, yet the consistency and harmony of the Memoir with itself in all its
parts, and its congruity with all that has been said of her, while she lived, and by
those who knew her well, has created a deep and lively interest in my own mind, in
the perusal of these precious memorials, -an interest increasing from the beginning to the end, even in a painful intensity.'
VI.-FOURTEENTH EDITION.
ALEXANDER SMITH'S POEMS.
1 vol. 16mo. 50 cents.
IVotices from the London Press.
SINCE Tennyson, no poet has come before the public with the same promise as the
author of this volume..... There are many lines and sentences in these poems
which must become familiar on the lips of lovers of poetry. - Literary Gazette.
IT is to the earlier works of Keats and Shelley alone that we can look for a counterpart, in richness of fancy and force of expression.....   These extracts
will induce every lover of true poetry, to read the volume for himself; we do not
think that, after such reading, any one will be disposed to doubt that Alexander
Smith promises to be a greater poet than any emergent genius of the last few
years. - Spectator.
THE most striking characteristic of these poems is their abundant imagery —
fresh, vivid, concrete images actually present to the poet's mind, and thrown out
with a distinctiveness and a delicacy only poets can achieve. There is not a page
of this volume on which we cannot find some novel image, some Shaksperian
felicity of expression, or some striking simile. - Westminster Review.




AN
ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.




THERE IS THAT TO BE SEEN IN EVERY STREET AND LANE OF EVERY
CITY, THAT TO BE FELT AND FOUND IN EVERY HUMAN HEART
AND COUNTENANCE, THAT TO BE LOVED IN EVERY ROAD-SIDE
WEED AND MOSS-GROWN WALL, WHICH) IN THE HANDS OF
FAITHFUL MEN, MAY CONVEY EMOTIONS OF GLORY AND SUBLIMITY CONTINUAL AND EXALTED.
JOHN RUSKIN.




AN
ART-STUDENT  IN  MUNICH.
B'Y
ANNA MARY HOOWITT.:
BOSTO N:
TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS.
M DCCC LIV.




THURSTON, TORRY, AND EMERSON, PRINTERS.




TO
MY BELOVED PARENTS,
WHOSE KEEN LOVE OF NATURE,
AND OF ALL
THAT IS PURE AND TRUE IN LiFE,
FIRST IMPLANTED
THE ARTIST'S ASPIRATION WITHIN MY SOUL,
CBe follobifng cages
ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.








PREFACE.
TIIESE pages are gleanings from letters written home
during a sojourn in Munich for the purpose of artistic
study. They record the beautiful and happy experiences
belonging to a peculiarly poetical chapter in the life of
a woman studying Art. Should some readers, however,
cavil at what they may deem a certain couleur-de-rose
medium through which all objects seem  to have been
viewed, the writer would simply reply, that to her it
appears more graceful for a Student of Art to present
herself in public as the chronicler of the deep emotions
of joy and of admiration called forth in her soul by
great works of imagination, than as the chronicler of
what in her eyes may have appeared defects and shortcomings. The sole shadow, therefore, which the writer
has purposely introduced into the chronicle, is the shadow
of intrinsic sternness and mournfulness pervading certain
of the great works referred to.
In the personal narrative running through this volume,
as a thread upon which to string certain pearls of Art,
the writer has pursued a very similar line of action, feel



viii                  PREFACE.
ing that although each passage of life has its peculiar
prose and its peculiar pain, that to dwell, in retrospect,
upon this pain and upon this prose is not only unphilosophic in itself, but ungrateful towards that Spirit of Joy
and of Beauty which is ever brooding over the world.
And here the writer would add a few words as a living
protest against a very common but thoughtless calumny,
namely, that it is man who thwarts every effort of woman
to rise to eminence in the life of Art. With a thrill of
truest happiness, she must here declare, that her experience hitherto, as an Art-Student, has been the most
perfect refutation of such calumny. Invariably and repeatedly, when a hand has been required to put aside.
the sharp stones and thorns which peculiarly beset a
woman upon the path of Art, strong, manly hands have
been stretched forth with noble generosity to remove
them; and manly voices have uttered words of teaching,
of encouragement, and of prophecy of happy achievenient.                                 A. M. H.
London, April 16, 1853.




C O N T E N T S.
CHAP.                                               PAGE
I. Settling Down - A  Religious Procession - The
Hof-Kapelle - A great Painter's Studio and Cartoons......   1
II. The Studio of Wilhelm von Kaulbach.      18
III. Passing Sketches.....  39
IV. The Miracle-Play at Ober-Ammergau.      47
V. Bits of Munich Life.             69
VI. The Student's Lights and Shadows..      83
VII. Justina's Visit - A Group of Art-Sisters.  91
VIII. A Barbaric Temple built in the Imagination — A
Genre Picture in the New Home.. 101
IX. The Studio and House of Schwanthaler the Sculptor.....         111
X. The October' Volks-Fest'..         118
XI. The Bavaria Festival.... 132
XII. The Opening of the Siegesthor..    144
XIII. Something about Munich Decoration, Public and
Domestic.....    148
XIV. Autumnal Rambles.... 15
XV. All Souls Day, and a Royal Christening.    164




X                        CONTENTS.
CIIAP.                                              PAGE
XVI. Consecration of the Basilica... 172
XVII. Winter Twilight and Christmas Eve..    179
XVIII. An Act of Royal Mercy — The Fair of the Three
Kings - A Public Ball...    193
XIX. The Leuchtenberg Gallery —The Painter Genelli 208
XX. The Schiffler Dance, and Carnival..    217
XXI. The Butcher's Leap into the Fountain —End of
Carnival.....    233
XXII. Conversation with a Painter -The Frescoes of the
New Pinakothek, and Sterrio-Chromie.    241
XXIII. A  Picture in Lent -Feet-washing  on  Green
Thursday.. 255
XXIV. The Holy Week - Easter Eve..    264
XXV. Schwanthaler's Castle of Schwaneck. 278
XXVI. The Model Prison of Bavaria, and the Model
Works of Signor S. 289
XXVII. The May-Festival at Starnberg..    299
XXVIII. Funeral of the Duchess of Leuchtenberg —The
Sendling Battle and Old Munich..    316
XXIX. Return to Munich.... 328
XXX. A Mournful Wedding- An Incursion of German
Teachers - The Student..    339
XXXI. The Boisseree Gallery in the Pinakothek.    345
XXXII. Sledging...... 358
XXXIII. A Students' Torch Procession..    372
XXXIV. Street Music- the Antigone... 380
XXXV. Visit to the great Bronze Foundry.   ~       389




CONTENTS.                          xl
CHAP.                                                  I'.s;E
XXXVI. Christmas Day —A Christmas-Tree in a beautiful
Home......     395
XXXVII. Street Pictures' The Franciscan is there!'We reach Nymphenburg...    406
iXXXVIII. A great Fire at Night.... 416
XXXIX. A Visit to the Dead and to the Newly-born.    423
XL. The Casting of the Sieges-Thor, Bavaria. 431
XLI. The Artists' Masked Ball...     436
XLII. Spring Pictures..        442
XLIII. New Cartoons — Return to England..    465








A N
ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
CHAPTER I.
SETTLING DOWN.-A RELIGIOUS PROCESSION. -THE HOFKAPELLE.  A GREAT PAINTER'S STUDIO AND CARTOONS.
Munich, June 1st, 1850. — Here we are in Munich.
These last several days have been such a confusion of
excitement, delight, disappointment, joy, fatigue, and disgust, that I scarcely know where to begin my narrative.
I will, however, begin with prosaic lodging-hunting. Today, all yesterday, and part of Saturday, have we been
hunting for our little home that is to be; and as yet have
not found it. The fact is, Munich is very full, from the
sitting of the Bavarian Parliament, and from the great
number of soldiers and students here; so that it seems
next to impossible to find what we want, —cleanliness,
respectability, and moderate charges combined. I should
think I have been in almost every street in Munich; and
what queer places and people I have seen! I fancy tonight, when I fall asleep, I shall find myself in dreams
standing at the corner of some old street, reading the
written advertisements which are posted up in such places.
1




2            AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
I seem to have no ideas in my brain but'2 Zimmer zu
vermiethen. Ein sehr sch6n moblirtes Zimmer zu vermiethen an einen soliden Herrn, und gleich zu beziehen.'
Think how old-fashioned it is here in Munich even, when
a servant-girl will be sent round with a number of such
advertisements, and a paste-pot, and pastes them up at
the corner of the streets throughout the city: I had the
amusement of seeing one perform  her business.  At
present we remain at the Inn.
You will naturally wish to know what we have done
about the most important thing of all, —our artistic
arrangements: scarcely anything as yet, for all requires
time and consideration. I have not yet been even to
Kaulbach's atelier. I asked advice from B-, and he
recommended that I should become a pupil, for the first
three months at least, of a friend of his, a rising artist
and pupil of De la Roche's. I, of course, was therefore
anxious to see this gentleman and his works; but I am
disappointed, - and, in fact, we for the present remain in
a state of the greatest uncertainty. Admission into the
Academy, as we had hoped, we find is impossible for
women: the higher class of artists receive no pupils.
I saw, yesterday morning, when at the B's, a procession, or rather a number of processions, which were
moving through the street. They were a sort of sequel
to the grand procession of Corpus Christi Day, which we
unfortunately missed seeing by a few hours. The morning was gloriously bright, the sky as cloudless and blue as
an Italian sky; the streets through which the procession
passed were strewn with grass and flowers; whole forests
of birch-trees seemed to have been cut down to decorate
the houses; they were arranged side by side against the
walls, so that the procession seemed to pass through the
vista of a green wood.  Banners, tapestry, garlands,




A RELIGIOUS PROCESSION.              3
floated from the windows of the houses, which were
often converted into shrines with burning tapers, golden
crucifixes, pictures, and flowers. The air was filled with
the sound of hymns and the pealing of bells; altars were
erected at the corners of the streets, at the fountains, and
before the churches.  Through the gay street wound the
long train; priests in their gorgeous robes, scarlet, white,
and gold, under gorgeous canopies; Franciscan monks in
their grave-colored garbs; Sisters of Mercy; various
brotherhoods in quaint picturesque attire, all with gay
floating banners and silver crucifixes. Then came young
girls with wreaths of myrtle on their heads, with lilies
and palm-branches in their hands, or bearing books,
tapers, or rosaries; then troops and troops of little chil.
dren, all in white, and their heads crowned with flowers,
and all raising their pure youthful voices in hymns of
praise! It was very beautiful. My soul seemed calmed
and exalted. And, at a window opposite to where I was,
sate an old, old woman, watching all with the deepest
devotion. I shall not soon forget her face.
Wednesday. - We are at length settled as to domestic
matters. We live not far from the Palace, at a sort of
old curiosity shop, which Dickens would love to describe.
You go up a dark winding staircase, and ring at a little
dark door; the door opens, and you see a large room
full of gilt crucifixes, picture-frames, and huge painted
saints larger than life, and glittering with gold. Beyond
this, at the end of a long, desolate, white-washed passage,
lie our rooms, spacious and cheerful, with many windows
looking out into the public street, and giving a distant
view of the Palace.
June 12th. - Rejoice with us: on Monday we become
pupils of -! Yes, next Monday we are to begin our
studies in that identical little atelier where, seven years




4           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
ago, when almost a child, I saw that group of young
artists resting themselves at noon, and playing on the
guitar, - a group which has haunted me ever since, like a
glimpse into a new world of poetry, or the old world of
Italian art. Yes! that little room, with its glorious cartoons, its figures sketched on the walls, its quaint window
festooned with creepers, - that is to be our especial studio.
There we stood this morning; there we showed --- our
sketches; there I talked to him in the German tongue,
being the mouth-piece for us both, as though he had been
a grand, benevolent angel.
I told him how earnestly we longed really to study;
how we had long loved and revered his works; how we
had come to him for his advice, believing that he would
give us that, if not his instruction, which we heard was
impossible. I know not how it was, but I felt no fear,only a reverence, a faith in him unspeakable. And what
did he do? He looked at us with his clear keen eyes,
and his beautiful smile, and said, -' Come and draw
here; this room is entirely at your disposal.''But,' said
we,'how often, and when?' He said,'Every day,
and as early as you like, and stay as long as there is
day-light.'
We knew not how to thank him; we scarcely believed
our ears: but he must have read our joy, our astonishment, in our countenances.
The amount of our joy may be estimated by considering what was exactly our position the evening before,nay, indeed, at the very time when we entered the studio.
The evening before, we were discouraged and disheartened to an extreme degree; our path in study seemed
beset by obstacles on every hand: in fact, we asked ourselves for what had we come, -how were we better off
here than in England? We talked and talked, and walked




A RELIGIOUS PROCESSION.             5
into that lovely English Garden, along the banks of the
Isar; the trees rose up calmly in their rich summer
foliage; all was silent in the approaching twilight; long
gleams of pale flesh-colored sky gleamed through the
clumps of trees in the distance; acres of rich summer
grass and flowers stretched away from our feet. Behind
us rose a gentle mound surmounted by a white marble
pavilion, more like something on the stage than a reality;
there was the scent of early mown grass, the distant hum
of the city, the towers and spires of which, in the distance,
rose abruptly into the evening sky, as if from a sea of
wood; there was the near rush of the water, the gentle
voice of a bird ever and anon. The peace of Nature sunk
into our hearts: never had nature and life and art seemed
so holy and beautiful to us, I believe. We tallred of a
thousand things; a certain cloud, a certain barrier which
seemed to have existed between our hearts, melted away;
for, after all, our hearts had been strangers to each other
until this night.
On our return home, we still thought and thought what
was to be done; we talked till it was morning, and by that
time we had arranged a grand ideal plan of work, which,
as far as it went, was good. We determined, if we could
find no really first-rate master, to have models at our own
rooms, and work from them most carefully with our anatomnical books and studies beside us; that we would do all
as thoroughly as we could, and help and criticise each
other; that we would work out some designs in this way,
studying the grand works around us, going daily to the
Basilica, to the Glyptothek, to drink in strength, and
inspiration, and knowledge; that we would draw also from
the antique, and would take our dawings to be corrected
by -., as he had already offered. This was the scheme
of the nigh.




6            AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
The first thing, therefore, this morning, was our setting
off boldly to him with our sketches, to ask his advice.
The rest is told.
As we left the studio, I could have fallen upon my
knees, and returned fervent thanks to God, so mysterious
was this fulfilment of my long-cherished poetical dream.
It would have been a relief to one's heart so to have
done; but though one often feels such impulses, one
rarely gives way to them. As we walked through the
streets home, how wondrously proud did we feel! It
seemed to us as though a sort of glory must surround us,
as though every one ought to read instantly upon our
brows -' the happy pupils of a great master!'
June 14th. - We were yesterday morning in the HofKapelle: a long, quiet morning. I had no conception
how sublimely beautiful is this chapel, although it had
greatly impressed me the other Sunday morning when we
were present at High Mass there. The crowd of worshipping people, the strains of music, the incense, all
produced an overpowering effect; but the highest enjoyment was, in the calmness of early morning, in solitude,
in so perfect a silence that one could hear one's heart beat,
to sit there alone steeping one's soul in the spirit of the
place; being fanned, as it were, by the angelic wings,
being caught up into the golden sunlight of those heavens,
forgetting all but the glorious abstractions before and
above one, till Christ seemed to speak as he stretched
forth his benevolent arms, till the Virgin's eyes sent peace
into the depths of one's soul, till the whole quire of angels,
overshadowed with their azure wings, burst into one
anthem of praise and rejoicing! It is not nature, at least
not familiar nature such as we see in our streets and our
homes; it is an abstraction, an exaltation, an ecstasy! It
is prayer, - praise. It is typical; the flowers are typical;




THE HOF-KAPELLE.                  7
the wings of the angels are wings nowhere to be found on
earth, but are angels' wings; the ark, the cross, the
crown, the palm-branch, the lily, all the hieroglyphics of
our faith, speaking to our souls through our hearts, are
there, each chanting its appropriate hymn, subordinate,
yet vitally necessary to the accomplishment of the whole
great song of praise. This chapel is built in the Byzantine
style; the circular arches, the three domed roofs, the
niches, the three altars, are all one glow of gold, of rich
draperies, of angelic forms and faces, of rainbow-tinted
wings, of mystical flowers and symbols. Yet, gorgeous
as are the golden back-grounds and the frescoes, all is
tempered by a certain simplicity of form, a sternness of
composition, a deep spirit of earnestness, and also by
the rich, yet almost sombre tints of the marble columns;
of the marble walls, of the marble pavement, warm greys,
ruddy browns, dark cool greens.  Thus you have the
gravity of earth contrasted with the glow of heaven.
The same marvellous contrast may be traced in the
frescoes themselves. It was not, I am convinced, without
deep meaning that the old masters employed golden backgrounds. As for instance; here is a figure of Saul, the
dark, moody, miserable man; there he sits brooding over
his wretchedness; the light of earthly prosperity as yet
falls upon him; his figure catches the light; but there is
no golden glow of heaven beyond, —all is dusk. But
close beside him sits David; he touches his golden harp,
a crown circles his brow; you feel, as yet, that it is only
a visionary crown, the crown that God will descend upon
him; but he sits in the glory of God already, it streams
upon his figure, upon his harp, and the golden light of
heavenly glory glows beyond him! This is but one of
the poetical and deeply truthful effects produced by these
golden grounds.




8           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
In order more fully to appreciate the grand thought of
Lleo v. Kenze, the architect, and of Heinrich v. Hess, the
painter, I ought to observe that the entire chapel is a
shadowing forth of the doctrine of the Trinity. The first
cupola is dedicated to the Old Testament, with the Creator
as its centre; the second to the New Testament, with
Christ as its Centre; the Quire, to the Acts of the Apostles,
with the Holy Ghost as its centre.
From these awful centres proceeds the divine influence,
governing the world and the church through the Prophets
and all the Saints. Within the altar-niche, about the highaltar, appears the Church-Triumphant; as representative
of the Church, the Virgin Mary is seated upon her throne;
to her right hand and her left are Peter and Paul, Moses
and Elias; and rising above the Queen of Heaven, with
benevolent out-stretched arms, and calm face of immortal
love, is Our Lord, surrounded by a glory of Seraphim
waving their rainbow-tinted wings.
The side altar on one hand shows us the Saints of the
Bavarian Orders, St. George and St. Hubert, in adoration
before Christ, who appears to them in the clouds. St.
George gazes upwards with a noble exaltation in his strong
youthful face, whilst he tramples the prostrate dragon with
his mailed foot. St. Hubert, in his quaint hunter's garb,
is praying quietly beside his marvellous stag.
Above the other side-altar, St. Louis and St. Theresa,
the Patron Saints of the Bavarian Royal Family, kneel in
prayer before the Virgin and Child; St. Theresa's meek,
white face, and emaciated figure, shrouded in nun's weeds,
contrasting in startling sadness with the sweet and calmly
joyful Virgin, who, seated upon her throne, holds the
benignant child.
A peculiar and very beautiful effect is produced in this
chapel by the windows being so arranged that from below




SETTLING DOWN.                  9
they are invisible, the light streaming down from above
the golden and frescoed galleries.
Perhaps Justina will be alarmed by my earnest admiration of this peculiar path of art, and warn me against
superhuman painting. But she need fear no danger. I
admire it with one portion of my being - with the highest,
with my spirit. I regard it as an ecstasy of prayer.
But truly one must know what are the beauties of nature
before dne aspires to represent the sublimities of the
supernatural.
June 17th. — Last night we busily unpacked all our
paint-boxes, looked up, with delighted eagerness, portecrayons, chaiks, everything; chose out such anatomical
drawings, and drawings from the antique, as we thought
most worthy; laid out our twin-copies of Wilson's Vade.
Alecum, —even scraped our chalks, and thus had everything ready for starting as soon as we had taken our coffee
in the morning, and when certain paper which we had
ordered to be stretched on two frames should arrive.
Most explicit orders had I given on Friday morning
about this Carton Papier, and these frames, and had been
assured that at farthest they would be ready by Sunday
evening. I had forgotten our former German experience,
that when you want a thing in a hurry in Germany, you
must order it six months before you need it!
This morning, therefore, having lain awake nearly all
night, lest I should be asleep when it was time to get up,
my first anxious inquiry from  Marie, who, entering my
room with bare feet, and keys jingling at her side, brought
in our coffee at seven o'clock, was after the stretched
paper. Marie looked frightened: the' Herr,' said she,'sent this morning at six o'clock to the carpenter's, and
the frames would not be ready before ten!'  Not before
ten! I said nothing to Clare, thinking that she might as




10          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
well enjoy her coffee in the belief that the frames and the
paper were all ready. After breakfast, Clare said, after
enumerating all the things which we had prepared —'and the strained paper, Anna?'' Will not be here till
ten!' said I, quite savagely, considerably relieved by
having unburdened my mind. To my surprise, a most
lamb-like and patient expression was on Clare's face.'I
never expected,' said she,'that they would be ready;
it is no use going to.-'s with nothing to draw on.'
I, for my part, did not expect them till afternoon, or tomorrow, or next week; and an agony came into my heart
at the thought of appearing careless in -'s eyes, when
he had told us to go early that morning.
But there was no good in making oneself miserable, so,
with a little pang in my heart, I set about doing various
little things, and, firstly, went into the town to buy two
queer, picturesque, big brown jugs, from a little, stupid, old
woman. These jugs were to be very important in our
me'nage, seeing that we are young ladies, who, to their
present discomfort, are perplexed with the absolute necessity of living in airy rooms, and having a plentiful supply
of water, and yet who are forced to breathe German
stenches, and to wash in a supply of water contained in a
decanter! These big brown jugs, therefore, were intended to be companions to two big yellow pans which we
bought yesterday.
I explained most clearly to the little old woman where
we lived: she seemed as dull as an owl: a good, sprightly
little body passing by explained to her where the Residenz
Gasse was; the old woman did not know, although it is
-only a few hundred yards from her shop: she looked:asleep, yet promised to send them at seven o'clock in the
evening. I did various other things in the town, hoping
that when I returned I should find the strained paper all




CARTOONS.                    11
ready. I entered our room: Clare was sitting melancholy
but calm, with Haydon's Anatomical Lectures open before
her: no tidings had arrived about our paper! Noon approached, and we grew quite desperate, and, like a little
lioness, I rushed into the old curiosity shop, and beheld a
long roll of cartoon-paper reared up against a gilded Saint.
I said,' What does this mean? Is this our paper? and
why is it not strained?'' As soon as the Herr gets the
frames it shall be done!' was the very satisfactory reply.
I felt that there was nothing for it but patience, and at
length, at three o'clock, after we had arranged our rooms
and put all our possessions in order, the strained paper,
delightfully suggestive of work, made its appearance; but
by this time it rained, and rain here is worse than in London. It rains in torrents, you are wet through in no time;
and the streets, which are usually deserts of white sand,
are turned into seas of white mud.  Well, never mind!
the paper for which we had waited so long could not go,
but we must. The boy with the ear-rings, Wilhelm, the
youngest son of the Haus-Herr, must carry our things for
us: and off we set, Wilhelm, like a little beast of burden,
trudging behind.
We wound along all sorts of strange places, dived into
narrow lanes, came out beneath crumbling old gateways,
and through a field in which hay-making was going on.
Even this wet afternoon, a peasant girl, in a pink boddice,
with white sleeves, and a black handkerchief tied over her
head, was tossing hay in the rain. As Germans do every
thing contrary to English custom, I suppose the proverb
is' make hay while the rain rains!'
We passed between the wet trees and knocked at the
studio-door. No answer. We lifted the latch and entered: there was no great painter present; there stood
his grand works on their easels; there hung his furred




12          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNTCH.
painting-gown; there lay his cigars:- but he was not
there.
We looked around on this side and on that, and presently a picturesque somebody was aroused from behind a
colossal cartoon. We inquired whether Herr v. -- was
there.' No, he would not be there till the morrow!'
Good! then on the morrow we also would return to
draw; meanwhile we would have a quiet study of two
small cartoons placed upon easels in the centre of the
large studio.
One of these cartoons is the Reconciliation of Wittikind
and Charlemagne. Every one, no doubt, recollects that
Charlemagne waged war against Wittikind: fortunately I
remembered reading of it in Mentzel.
On a rising ground stands Charlemagne, a grand, heroic
figure: with one hand he clasps a rude, huge crucifix,
which is raised upon a broken Druidical idol; this crucifix
is planted on the broken feet of the idol — a fine idea!
with the other hand he grasps the hand of Wiltikind! He
grasps his hand and gazes at him with an inspired countenance; his eyes, from beneath their massive brows, seem
to flash a beneficent lightning upon his reconciled enemy.
Wittikind grasps his hand in turn, but gazes on the earth,
awe-struck as it were. To his right, a step or two behind
him, are his queen, his mother, his little daughter,- an
affecting group. The queen, with a mournful, proud
bearing, with head erect, yet eyes cast down, only half
assents to the reconciliation; a fierce mental struggle is
yet going on within her. The old mother clings to her,
weeping on her shoulder in undisguised agony at her
son's desertion of his religion; the little girl, with her
long, heavy tresses of hair, stands meekly beside her
mother, with tears rolling down from her beautiful, sad




CARTOONS.                     13
eyes.  Strange, wild, stormy, yelling groups surround
them: here in the foreground, in the centre of the picture,
Druids are mourning over their fallen, broken idol; some
bowed over it in despair, others invoking curses from their
gods upon the renegade king, wild, frantic! hurling
denunciations against gods and men. Here is a group of
Wittikind's subjects, serfs, nobles, men, women, and
children, pointing to their slain, to their broken idol, to
their wounds, wild, frantic also!  There are curses,
taunts, jeers; a strange contrast to the calm  corpses
strewn around.
To the right of Charlemagne, beneath the rude crucifix
-a crucifix as rude as the Christianity of that age - are
marshalled the knights of Charlemagne, calm  though
triumphant.  The four Haymon's Kinder, the four heroic
brothers, all seated on one horse, as they are described
in the old legend, are there. One, the shadow of the
other, grave, stern, heroic, awful almost in their beauty
and their sternness.  The foremost slightly leaning over
the neck of their pawing, snorting horse, points to two
Druids who have passed over to the new faith, and who
stand bound side by side, with bowed heads, and brows
yet encircled by fading oak garlands, reading a passage
in one of the gospels, which is held open by a triumphant
bishop.  Beyond this group of knights rises a Druidical
temple, the demolition of which has already commenced.
On its height stands a frantic Druid, hurling his imprecations against the skies. On the other hand rises a
funeral pyre; a Druidical priestess burns herself in her
chariot; she breaks her sacred wand, her hair flies in
wild masses behind her, mingling with the smoke and
flames; around her pyre lies a circle of corpses; far
away stretches a savage mountainous region, on every
height burns a fire of sacrifice, its long column of smoke
ascending to heaven.




14           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
The whole cartoon is a wonderful embodiment of the
spirit of those old times; it seems also to be an embodiment of those words of Christ,' I come not to bring peace,
but a sword.'
The next cartoon tells its story plainly enough. It is
an embodiment of the spirit of the Crusades: not alone
the Crusaders' first glimpse of Jerusalem, which has so
often been painted, but it is the age of the Crusades which
is there. A rough road, on which is cut in rude letters
the word'Golgotha,' leads through an arid, rocky region;
in the distance lies Jerusalem, its flat-roofed houses, its
mosques, its temples, its fortiesses, its ramparts, its towers,
rising into the sky. In the centre of the picture marches
along this arid road a little band of youthful priests, bearing an exquisitely sculptured shrine; their calm, grave,
youthful countenances raised towards the sky. You feel
that they chant a hymn. Behind them, slowly, majestically, rides a king; his eyes directed heavenwards: in
his upraised hands he bears his crown, an offering to
Christ, who, with outspread arms, and surrounded by
the Evangelists, hovers over the earthly procession. On
rushes, behind the king, a host of warriors, bearing the
spoil of the Pagans, jewelled coats of mail, bracelets,
chains, the whole spoil of the East, borne upon their
spears, which bend beneath their weight. It is a rude
tumult.
The shrine and its youthful priests are preceded by old
priests, prelates, cardinals seated on mules, praying, or
conversing in low, grave words. They again are preceded by knights; knights spurring on their horses in
frantic haste to reach the hallowed city; pilgrims of all
ranks, all ages, hurrying on into the distance! You have
a confused vision of prancing, madly careering horses; of
arms brandishing weapons in an ecstasy of enthusiasm;




CARTOONS.                   15
of men, of women flinging themselves on their knees,
bowing their heads to the dust in a frenzy of joy, on
catching from those rocky heights their first glimpse of
the Holy City!
Meanwhile, in the foreground, as the shrine proceeds
on its way, Peter the Hermit, two troubadours, a flagellant, applying the lash to his naked shoulders, and several
other pilgrims of various characters, fling themselves on
their knees, bowing their heads to the earth, or raising
their countenances with joy towards Christ.
And now come two prominent groups, connecting the
group of pilgrims with the distant, careering horsemen.
A very beautiful woman is borne on a litter, supported by
four mild-looking young savages. She, with an upraised
arm, unveils a face of the most,1exquisite beauty, a beauty
still veiled, as it were, with an awe,- an awe inspired by
the presence of Christ! In her lap lies a wreath of
roses; her other hand is clasped by a young Crusader,
who forgets even her presence in the thought of Christ
and Jerusalem; and he waves his sword and shouts
praises to God. The other group is another Crusader
with a beautiful Saracen lady seated behind him on his
horse.
The above will give a faint idea of the subjects of these
cartoons, but not of their powerful drawing, not of their
beauty, their grace, and grandeur and richness of composition.
I wish you could have a glimpse of our two pretty little
sister bed-rooms, opening into the sitting-room with its
four windows, now that all is complete. We have taken
down various prints and paintings belonging to the people
of the house, and put up our own. Our bed-rooms have




16          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
pale green walls, and I have fastened up my Raphael
prints and my studies of color from the National Gallery,
with one of Justina's lovely water-color landscapes, so
that when the door of the sitting-room stands open the
effect is pretty. You catch a glimpse of a writing-table, a
pale green wall beyond, with a print of Raphael's upon it;
an old-fashioned. looking-glass in a gilt frame, hung high,
in German fashion; beneath it Justina's Highland landscape, with its ruddy heathery foreground; on one side the
glass hangs a palette, and somewhat below a little white
porcelain vessel for holy water, a sort of shell with a
praying angel above it. Our sitting-room is also arranged
to the best advantage, and ornamented with sundry of our
own sketches and little works of art. Clare's little bedroom presents pretty much the same appearance when
the door is open, only that instead of my Raphael she has
a clever copy of a Rembrandt, and a Christus Consolator
instead of my Highland landscape. And then, to complete the picture, you must imagine our chairs to have
very dark pink damask cushions, so that we get a little
warm color.
Very tired we were by seven o'clock, when, returning
from the studio, we took our coffee; but very thankful to
have every thing, even to our clothes, in order. Very
tired, I leaned on our smart window-cushion in the
window, and, looking out into the wet street, saw a droll
little object wrapt up in shawls, head and body, emerge
from a narrow little street opposite. The figure carried
two big brown jugs! It was my little old woman! She
looked round and round, half asleep; she looked at every
house but this; she was close upon the house; she turned
her back; she stared fixedly at the house opposite; she
seemed to have made up her mind to look any way but




BROWN JUGS.                  17
the right. We called to her; we beckoned! She could
neither see nor hear! Again she gazed up and down,
and again straight before her, with her back to us, and
then in despair hobbled away down the narrow lane with
our two brown jugs!




CHAPTER II.
THE STUDIO OF WILHELM VON KAULBACH.
THE studio of Kaulbach is situated in the St. Anna
suburb, a suburb resembling rather a quaint country town
than the suburb of a smart little capital. It is altogether
a somewhat out-of-the-way sort of place. It is a region
of stone-masons' yards, mills, and timber-yards. If you
approach from the old part of Munich, you probably pass
beneath some gloomy gateway, and emerging among
gardens and pleasure-grounds, cross some rapidly-running
branch of the Isar, which turns many a noisy mill, and is
the resort of washerwomen, who, leaning over the pleasant water from low plank balconies, wash their linen,
picturesquely and merrily, the whole summer through.
On bright summer mornings, these women, in their gaycolored boddices and petticoats, furnish forth a succession
of beautiful pictures as they wash their linen, which shines
dazzlingly white in the shower of sunshine and amid the
luxuriant grass and large-leaved plants, which droop their
sprays into the stream. Across a wooden bridge you see
passing an old Franciscan friar. He stops and speaks to
that merry group of urchins rushing away from morning
school; and now he says a word to that demure little fair.
haired damsel, who knits as she walks along. The Franciscan comes from that white convent with its many rows




THE STUDIO OF WILHELM VON KAULBACH.    19
of windows, and with its church rising up in the centre,
adorned with a gay figure of the Madonna, standing in a
sky-blue niche, and shaded by tall poplars. Those are
promegranates trained up the walls; and there is another
brown monk at one of the windows. And now you find
yourself in a regular little town; among houses, white,
pale green, pale pink, and salmon-colored, with rows of
jalousies thrown back, and here and there bright-colored
bedding hanging out of the windows to air in the sunshine.
Here the green mill-stream is choked up with pine tree
trunks, which once majestically reared themselves among
the Alps, and have been floated down some tributary of the
Isar, and now lie prostrate giants, ready to be sawn up and
stacked in the royal wood-yard close at hand. This woodyard connects the St. Anna suburb with the beautiful
English Garden.' Is it to a stone-mason's that we are going?' exclaims
some stranger-friend, whom you are conducting to the
studio, as, leaving the main road, you skirt the mill-stream,
and entangling yourself in a maze of stone slabs and
blocks, open the crazy door of an old grey wooden fence.
This old crazy door admits you into a field, where still
blocks of stone, a very chaos of them, are seen in the
distance, lying in wild disorder about a ruinous building,
partially covered with a straggling vine. Close before you
is a long, grey, desolate-looking house: you turn the
corner, you stand in the field - one lovely, odorous mosaic
of'flowers, and deep, rich grass. Here the tall salvia
rears its graceful spike of brilliantly blue flowers; clover,
white and red, scents the air with its honeyed perfume; the
delicate eyebright, daisies, trefoils, harebells, thyme, buglos,
yellow vetch, the white powdery umbels of the wild carrot,
and the large, mild-looking dog-daisies, bloom in a gay,
delicious tangle; crowds of rejoicing butterflies dance and




20           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
flutter unceasingly about the flower mosaic like showers of
falling pear-blossom; myriads of happy little creatures,
beetles, grasshoppers, lady-birds, revel among the flowerstems and blades of grass: all is joyous life; an odor, a
gentle murmur —a very hymn of nature. And there,
seated beneath those elder trees in full bloom, before the
desolate grey house, is a group of merry, brown-eyed
children, playing with a beautiful white rabbit, while a
large, sagacious mastiff sleeps beside them.
And now, opposite to you, across the field, and half
hidden by thickets and a group of poplars, you see the
studio; two grey wings, with an higher centre. All is
bowery and green, overhung with vines and creepers.
Opposite the grey wooden door in the centre of the building, and lying in a thicket, you see capitals and various
fragments of broken columns arranged as seats around
another capital, larger than the rest, which serves as a table.
Close upon the threshold of the studio stands a peacock,
displaying his handsome tail, his gorgeous green and blue
neck glancing in the sun. He and his wife and young
ones are doing all in their power to tempt forth the artist
to feed them with a loving hand, as is his wont. These
peacocks are great favorites, and know it too; you may
see their portraits painted in steriochromie upon the outer
wall of the studio, beneath a window, where they are festooned with living sprays of vine. All is a pleasant, quiet
dream without; green and shady, yet with glittering,
dancing showers of sunshine breaking through the branches
as they are stirred by a light passing breeze.' Very untidy all this!' remarks your Englishman, recalling his trim lawn and shrubbery at home:'a boy is
wanted here to pull up these rank weeds, and a roller to
roll that gravel and grass! Can't think what Kaulbach is
after, to let all run so to ruin'




THE STUDIO OF WILHELM VON KAULBACH.    21
But Kaulbach, and many another artist, rejoices in all
these docks and darnels, in this rank growth, in this unpruned, unfettered nature. He loves his vines, his hops,
his nettles and thistles, and his myriads of wild, lovely
flowers and butterflies. And in winter he rejoices in the
heavy snow as it lies on the branches of the trees, in the
glitter of the hoar-frost, in the pure expanse of the snowy
field; and in autumn in the gorgeous tints of his trees,
when they glow, gold and coral; or again in spring, when
their bare branches, ruddy with awakened life, are wildly
tossed to and fro by bold March winds, and above, the sky
is a deep blue, across which scud fleet, bright clouds.
But we linger too long in the field. Let us lift the oldfashioned latch, and enter. A handsome, large, black
spaniel greets us with a loud barking, but soon recognising
old acquaintance, wags his tail, and curls himself round to
sleep again. The artist is not here, though the peacocks
seem to await him.  We glance round the room, expecting
to see him, as the spirit of the place, emerge from behind
some large cartoon or canvas which had concealed him
from our sight; but all is silent. We are alone with his
creations.
The Englishman, remembering his smooth lawn at home,
has, we have seen, disparaged Kaulbach's wild field, and
probably, also, blinded by the gorgeous and richly mellow
tints of our English school of painting, and fascinated by
the clever execution of our English pictures, may disparage
Kaulbach's works.' Is this,' he may exclaim,'a far-famed work of art? 
as he looks at a copy in oils of the Destruction of Jerusalem, which has struck his eye on entering the studio.' This that much-vaunted painting! compare it only with
a picture of Etty's, or of -     or of —, and see then
what a figure it will make!'




22           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
Many such an exclamation of hasty judgment has probably been heard in Kaulbach's studio, from both English
and French. But the Destruction of Jerusalem, and other
works by the same artist, still maintain their real greatness, not, as the artist himself would be the first frankly
to avow, as pieces of painting, but because they are poems,
and new subjects treated in an original manner.
Unbounded imagination, philosophic thought, and studious research, are, I consider, the peculiar attributes of
Kaulbach's great historical works.'But has not this German imagination become almost a
by-word with us?' asks the caviller.
No: the imagination to which I refer, that dreamy
imagination which invests all nature with a tender poetry,
which gives an individual life to every bud and leaf, - that
imagination, half superstition, which peoples the wild
regions of the country with its spirits of the Brocken, its
Riibezahls, its Libussas, which, in olden times, having
created legend and saga, in later days has raised up an
immortal band of musicians, philosophers, and artists! -
no; this imagination has never become a by-word, and it
is from the possession of this high species of imagination
that Kaulbach's name stands forth with a peculiar pro.
minence even amidst a nation pre-eminently endowed with
this glorious gift. Who, studying his work, does not feel
that this subtle imagination at times rises into the power of
a Seer, which, penetrating the abyss of time, calls up
forms, countenances, and scenes passed away ages ago
from the earth, with such a vividness of truth that your
very soul is thrilled! Dead bones and ashes, buried in
funeral urns, in cairns and barrows, become instinct with
life; the scald, the warrior, the Amazon, clad in their
wolf-skin garments, and wearing their golden ornaments,
wielding their uncouth weapons of destruction, singing




THE STUDIO OF WILHELM VON KAULBACH.    23
their death-songs; suffering, loving, and hating with a
barbarous intensity of passion, astounding to us of modern
days, - all are evoked by this mighty power of the seer.
And ages remoter still, lying far off in the very dawn
of time, are revealed; for does not imagination annihilate time and space?   Loving and understanding all
things, whether sublime or lowly, is it not truly a divine
sympathy with all nature, a sympathy with the flower and
insect as with the mountain and the tempest; a sympathy
entering into the inner life of the dumb animal, as well as
into -the inner life of the hero and the sage?
And if, in studying the works of Kaulbach, you discover
undoubted proofs of this divine gift of intense imagination
and unbounded love, wherefore turn away dissatisfied with
his works, because they are not as great in color as in
imagination?  Why, whilst admiring the vigor and grandeur of a noble oak, destroy your delight by exclaiming,' How perfect that oak would be did it but produce roses!'
May not those attributes of beauty, of which our English
school of painting is so justly proud, be as foreign to the
German nature as for the oak tree to bear roses? But
this is a subject on which much already has, and more
probably will be, written.
So many hasty judgments are passed, by English travellers, upon Kaulbach's works, that I have been led into an
invective myself, desirous that these works should be, at
least, regarded from a point of view nearer akin to that of
the artist himself.
But now for the works:We will commence our survey with the Destruction of
Jerusalem, which, though not the first in the chronological
order of Kaulbach's great series of historical works, now
executing in steriochromie at Berlin, yet is the first of




24          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
his works which strikes us on entering the studio at
Munich.
Above the human turmoil, agony, famine, despair, and
triumph, which fill the lower portion of the picture, throned
upon clouds, and dimly visible through a haze of heavenly
light, sit the four great prophets, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel,
and Daniel, who prophesied in vain to the stubborn and
blinded Jewish nation; again they repeat their awful
warnings, pointing with solemn gestures to their open
books. The seven angels of God's wrath, as described
in the Revelations, descend on swift wings, and with
swords of flame, like a mighty whirlwind. And now,
whilst the avenging angels descend, and the prophecies
are fulfilled, Titus, seated on his white snorting charger,
is seen in the distance riding onward over smouldering
ruins, into the doomed city; grim-visaged lictors surround
him; the IRoman generals, with standards and glittering
spears, crowd on behind him; a multitude of soldiers,
half lost in smoke and gloom, precede him, announcing
their victory with triumphant music. Roman soldiers
have already obtained possession of the holy altar (the
centre of the picture); have planted the Roman eagle
upon it; have sacrificed upon it to their' She-Wolf;
crowding upon it, clinging to it, they celebrate their
triumph by the braying of trumpets, the clang of arms,
and the shouts of war. One soldier stretches forth his
robber-hands towards one of three Jewish virgins, who,
shuddering, cling together; another leans from his horse,
which is laden with spoil from the Temple, and with rude
grasp seizes the arm of a woman, who, clasping her
hands in agony, shrinks from him towards the earth.
Then is fulfilled the abomination of desolation foretold by
Daniel.
And now like a huge wave around the altar, driven on




THE STUDIO OF WILHELM VON KAUILBACH.    25
by the tide of entering Romans, see a crowd of Jews
passing forth beneath their upraised shields. They cast
wild looks of agony and hatred towards the desecrators of
their holy altar, and above them swiftly descends the
whirlwind of angels. Here, round that cauldron, cowers
a fearful group: one old hag sucks blood and devours the
flesh of her own arm; another devours some horror no
less revolting; and a young and handsome woman, frantic
with hunger, slays her infant; with rabid and glazed eyes
she sits gazing at the pale corpse and her blood-stained
knife. And up those broad steps, leading to the Holy of
Holies, fly crowds of men, women, and little children;
here lies a corpse, there sits a mother, wild with alarm,
seeking to screen her children, who cling to her and hide
their heads in her lap. Aloft, beneath the pillars of the
Temple, cold, scornful, and impassive, stands John of
Gisehalla and Simon, the sons of Gioras, the reckless and
wicked Jewish leaders; wildly gesticulating, frantic men
and women gather around them: with clenched hands
raised with impotent imprecations against heaven, they
curse the descending angels of God's wrath and the tri.
umphant Roman hosts. Beyond this infuriated throng,
illumined by the ruddy glare of fire, you dimly see the
sacred ark supported by its cherubim, and the waving
arms of more and more fugitives and supplicants.
Such is, in truth, the background of the picture, from
which stand forth three remarkable and principal groups.
The centre figure of the centre group is the High Priest
in his robes. His dark, haggard countenance, and blood.
shot eyes, are riveted upon the approaching Romans; he
thrusts the keen point of a long dagger through the golden
border of his sparkling breastplate; one foot is planted
upon a corpse which lies on the ground wrapt in a scarlet
mantle, through which you trace the features of a dead




26           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
face, and beneath which you see a crown and long tresses
of dark hair; his other arm presses to him and supports
his dying children; the youth's pallid face yet rests upon
his father's knee, though the slight form, clad in its light
golden armor, slowly sinks down upon the corpse covered
with the scarlet shroud. Meanwhile, the wife of the High
Priest seizes his upraised and suicidal arm, and points
frantically to her own breast, longing, demanding to die
with him and their children. Seated, or prostrate round
the High Priest and his family, you see the Levites mourning and destroying themselves amid the scattered treasures
of the Temple. One young man has fallen upon his
sword; an old man, with a venerable white beard, sits in
a stupor of despair, —his hand listlessly grasps a long
sword, and he leans against golden vases upheaped with
gold, jewels, and long strings of pearls. The left group
consists of the Wandering Jew, driven forth by three demons, whose livid brows are wreathed with knotted
snakes, and the whips in whose hands are snakes like.
wise. Forth rushes he, lacerating his naked breast, a type
of modern Judaism, and undying remorse: thus connecting
the historical part of the Destruction of Jerusalem with the
prophecy of Christ, in which the Destruction of Jerusalem
is made a symbol of the Last Judgment, etc.
Three gracious angels, bearing aloft a golden chalice
encircled with a glory, the mystic sign of Christian faith,
conduct a group of Christians forth from the devoted city.
This is the right hand group. A beautiful and gentle
woman seated upon an ass, presses lovely smiling twins
to her breast; a shadow of foreboding rests on her sweet
face, for in her hand she bears the martyr's palm. Behind
her, on the ass, sits a boy of some seven years old, and
passes through her arm a little hand which holds a branch
heavy with golden fruit: his large brown eyes are full of




THE STUDIO OF WILHELM VON KAULBACH.     27
eagerness, his lips are parted, he beckons to his three
little playmates, who kneel, imploring to be taken along
with the Christians. Two are lovely children -a boy
with curling fair locks, a girl with thick dark plaited
tresses, while between them kneels a little, yellow, naked
boy; all three raise beseeching hands and weeping eyes
towards the departing Christians.  The nearest angel
waves his hand with a look of love ineffable - they shall
depart also! probably also to win the martyr's crown.
See those graceful youths who conduct the ass, on which
rides the mother, and a second ass ridden by the father,
who chants a hymn of praise to God from the book open
in his hand, and by the white-headed grandfather. All
bear palm branches. Yet all sing hymns of love and
praise, and with firm steps and undaunted hearts they
approach their doom —a joy eternal, though purchased
by suffering and death.
Such is Kaulbach's poem of the Destruction of Jeru.
salem; — and now, opening the door of the little inner
studio, let us read one still finer, on THE FALL OF BABEL.'So the Lord scattered the nations from thence upon
the face of the earth, and they left off to build the city.'
The Book of Genesis relates, in figurative language,
how, through the dispersion of races and the confusion of
tongues, history took its origin.  In accordance with
variety of race and variety of speech, variety of opinion
soon showed itself, and confusion arose in men's minds
regarding God and divine things.
"' Eat of this fruit and thou wilt be like God. Heaven
thy dwelling-place, Eternity thy life!" Thus spoke the
tempter, through the woman's voice, to Adam, the type
of undefiled humanity. And these words, echoing through
ages, fell upon the ear of Nimrod, a type of fallen
man, believing himself omnipotent. But the lightning of




28          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
Jehovah's wrath smote the proud tree, scattering its frag.
ments over the earth, until, through divine compassion, the
type of reconciled humanity was born of woman, and once
more the tree of life arose, shooting forth fresh branches,
and filling the world with peace. But now the Tree of
Life was the humbled Tree of the Cross.'
Such is a condensed translation of the introduction to
the artist's manuscript account of his Cartoon of the Fall
of Babel. The whole manuscript reads like a sublime
poem, consisting largely of passages from the Scriptures,
bearing upon his view of the event.
Now let us glance towards the Cartoon.
Nimrod,'the mighty hunter before the Lord,' the
tyrant of men as well as of beasts, is seen seated upon his
throne, approached by a lofty flight of steps; behind him
rises in the gloom the huge tower. The throne is sup.
ported by grotesquely carved figures of dogs; on either
hand arise clouds of perfume, from tall incense-burners;
the throne has been surmounted by idols of the sun and
moon. But Jehovah, and his avenging angels, darting
forth from a cloud, keen forked lightnings have smitten
the baleful forms, which, falling upon the marble steps,
have slain Nimrod's two sons, who lie crushed beneath
them. The curse has fallen in truth upon the tyrant.
He sits there between his mutilated gods, with his dead
sons at his feet, with his wife prostrate before him and
them, beseeching him wildly to acknowledge the power of
the unknown God, with his courtiers, priests, and minstrels
on either hand, taunting, scoffing, conjuring him to re.
nounce his idol-worship, his tyranny: but he neither
hears nor sees- he only feels the curse. In the swollen
muscles of his brawny arms and chest, in his hands
clenched on his knees, in his cruel, proud, lion face,
in his quivering foot, you read a dumb bewilderment!




THE STUDIO OF WILHELM VON KAULBACH.    29
Through his brain ring the words,' How art thou fallen,
Lucifer, son of the morning! How art thou cut down
who didst weaken the nations! Thou hast said in thy
heart I will ascend into heaven; I will exalt my throne
above the stars of God; I will be like the Most High!
Yet thou art brought down to hell, to the sides of the pit.'
The curse has fallen also upon the tower. On all sides
fly the workmen, in wild haste, leaping from the scaffolding, which breaks beneath them, letting themselves drop
from the steep walls of the basement. All is bewilderment, frantic confusion. A woman meeting three men
yoked like beasts to a load of ponderous stone, which they
are dragging up an inclined plane, urged on by a fiendish
taskmaster, shouts to them the astounding doom; but the
sounds of her own voice seem to appal her: her lips look
petrified, her hands are raised towards her mouth in astonishment.
In one corner of the picture you see the architect, with
his plan of the tower, struck down and stoned to death by
two infuriated workmen. Already the tribes have began
to disperse. The minstrels to the left of Nimrod's throne,
holding in their hands lyres of the most primitive fashion,
and admonishing the tyrant by word and gesture to acknowledge the awful God, hasten to join the race of Japhet
already departing towards the west. Their wives, seated
on camels, beckon wildly to their lingering husbands with
beseeching hands. Far, far away, stream multitudes, on
foot, on horses, on camels, away, away, across those hills
out into the world! Here a strong warrior, naked except
for his helmet, formed from the head of some wild horned
beast and his fluttering lion-skin mantle, holding spears in
his hand and with his sword girt around him, rushes madly
away on a snorting horse, swift as the wind; two slim
youths, - one holding his bow, his quiver slung across his




30          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICI.
shoulder, the other swinging a sling, —grasp the long
mane of the horse and fly along with him. Another warrior follows madly behind them: on rushes his steed, but
with averted head he watches the solemn lightning cloud
which bears Jehovah.
Away, away, out into the world, fly the ancestors of the
Persians, the Greeks, the Romans, the Scandinavians, the
Germans, with spears and shields to battle for liberty, for
beauty, for chivalry, for the noble rights of humanity!
In front of Nimrod's throne, the race of Ham, to which
race belong Nimrod himself and the luckless architect,
assemble themselves. A half-idiotic priest, cowering over
his three-headed idol, which he presses to his breast, is
seated upon a shaggy, sullen bison, its horns decorated
with pondrous pendant ornaments, its back covered with
a barbaric matting. Frantic worshippers surround him;
one savage-looking girl, with matted elf-locks and clad in
skins, seizes the robe of the priest and licks it with her
tongue. A hideous old hag, the impersonation of sorcery
and false prophecy, raises her hood with skinny fingers,
and casts a baleful glance of malice upon the slim youth,
with his bow and quiver, who rushes past her. Thus departs
the race of Ham, the idolaters of Africa, the Phcenicians,
the Egyptians. The curse falls immediately upon them:'They who eat the flesh of men and drink abominable
blood to do homage to Thy name! But Thou hast compassion upon all, and bearest with the sins of men. For
Thou lovest all that are, and hatest none that Thou hast
created; Thou sparest all!  For all are Thine, Lord!
Thou lover of life! and Thy Eternal Spirit is in all!'
Meanwhile, behold towards the east the departure of
Shem, in the person of the venerable patriarch Peleg,
mentioned by Moses. He is seated upon a low car drawn
by mild oxen; he stretches forth his arms as if at once




THE STUDIO OF WILHELM VON KAULBACH.    31
blessing and protecting his race, his noble countenance
raised towards heaven with love and gratitude. In horror
of the departing idolaters a youth and maiden spring to
his knees, shrinking in alarm from the savage fanatics.
A grave boy, holding listlessly in his one hand the reins
of the oxen, in the other a crook, stands up in the low
wagon on the other side of the patriarch, and half leans
against him. On the neck of either ox, see, a roundlimbed naked child is seated; they are twin brothers!
One presses a bunch of luscious grapes to his lips, whilst
his other arm rests lovingly upon the shoulder of his little
brother, who leans towards him holding a long spray of
vine in his chubby little hand. Their mother walks beside
the yoked oxen, gazing at them with eyes of love; in one
hand she bears bunches of grapes, the other supports a
flat basket upon her head, in which lies, together with a
distaff, a younger child, who, laughing, stretches forth his
arms towards his little brothers seated on the oxen. Other
women and children follow. They are surrounded by
flocks and herds; you seem to hear a gentle lowing and
bleating. All -is peace, fruitfulness, love. They journey
towards a land of promise.'In my race shall all the
nations of the earth be blessed,' spake the Lord God;'and to you, ye nations of the earth, to you is born, in the
city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. Glory
to God in the highest, and peace on earth and good-will to
men!'
Opposite to the Fall of Babel, in the small studio, hangs
the design for the Battle of the Huns, another of the Berlin frescoes. The subject is taken from the old legend
related by Damascius in his life of Isidorus, which relates
how the hatred was so intense between the Huns and
Romans, that after a great battle fought before the walls of




32          AN ARTvSTUDENT INl MUNICH.
Rome, in the time of Valentinian III., the spirits of the
slain returned into the corpses, and a frenzied conflict was
renewed by the phantoms in the air; a legend fraught
with deep significance, and found in various ages, and
among various nations, symbolizing the bitter hatred which
outlives the mortal conflict!
Rome, in the distance, with its temples, palaces, and
gardens, sleeps silently upon its seven hills. Between the
quiet walls and the foreground of the picture are scattered
groups of slain. Here, in the front, lies a heap of corpses,
Romans and Huns mingled together; soldiers, Amazons,
horses, and wild Hun children. The sleep of death is,
however, loosening its hold upon them. -A gigantic Hun,
wrapt in his skin mantle, his eyes still closed, his bearded
chin sunk upon his breast, draws slowly, as yet drunk with
sleep, his sword forth from its scabbard. Beside him lies a
yet unwakened Amazon, her stern countenance thrown
back in death upon the lap of another woman, who sits
gazing, full of a wild amaze, towards the sky. A third
woman is gradually awaking, though her eyes are still
closed and her head bending towards the earth. Sunk
upon the breast of the sleeping Amazon, like the pretty
bud of some flower closed for the night, lies the round
head of a little Hun child. There sleeps a Roman soldier
grasping his sword, his metal helmet and armor conspicuous amidst the skin garments and savage weapons of
the' Barbarians.' Women, with faces on flame, with
beckoning arms and animated gestures arouse the sleepers.
At the touch of that eager woman, the warrior fallen prostrate from his dead horse will awake!
And here is a group entirely of women! Roman women they seem: some, aroused only to a dim sense of
agony, sit dreamily upon the ground; others, clinging
together as if drawn towards the ghastly conflict waging in




TIE STUDIO OF WILHELM VON KAULBACH.    33
the air by the might of their anguish and mourning, hover
above the earth. A little naked child, heavy with sleep,
clings to the girdle of his mother, as, pressing her hands
with convulsive agony to her brow, she rises from the
ground. Here a young Roman soldier aids the ascent of a
veteran towards the battle.
Up, up, they rise! Romans and wild Barbarians. At
first dreamily with heavy eyelids; then comes perfect
consciousness of a more than mortal hatred. The Romans
rush on with spears and standards, exhibiting with defiant
gestures to their foes a cross borne aloft, from which radiates celestial light. The Roman Emperor is supported
on either side by a slim youth. Old Rome, now leaning
for support upon his young dependencies, leads on his
cohorts. Intensest hatred fills the veteran with a transient youthful vigor; his large breast heaves, his eyes
flash flamne, and with fierce defiance he presses on towards
his adversary, the terrible Attila, who, standing on a broad
shield upheld by floating Huns, brandishes a fearful
weapon, a huge whip, each lash ending in a cruel N1Iorgenstern.  Attila, conspicuous in his loose coat of mail,
his fur-trinmnmed widely flowing robe, and strange high
cap, and wielding his many-lashed scourge with one hand,
beckons forward with the other his countless hosts, who
swarm behind him, bearing along with them shields, bows,
spears, arrows, clubs, and slings only less wild and rude
than are their own eager, savage countenances.
On, on they come, with elf-locks and skin garments
floating on the wind! on, on they come, hurrying through
the air from the far-distant heavens, like flocks of ominous
birds! And now, on all sides, above and beneath the two
terrific leaders, the ghosts close in struggling conflict, and
all is one dense cloud of agony!
Let us now, returning to the large atelier, study the
3




34           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
colossal cartoon in progress, - the Homer, for the Greci.n
cycle of the Berlin frescoes.
Homer, steered in a little boat by the eldest of the
Sagas, by the Sibylla, touches the shore of a small creek,
where he is awaited by assembled Greece,- by her
poets, her philosophers, her warriors, her priests, her Arcadian shepherds and hunters. Homer's figure is turned
away from us, the modern spectators, but we catch a profile glimpse of his glorious inspired countenance as, with
sightless orbs, it is directed towards the listening crowd
upon the shore. He raises one hand commandingly towards heaven; the other hand touches the strings of a
large lyre, which he supports upon his slightly raised
knee and the curved prow of the little bark as he pours
forth his immortal strains in a mighty torrent of song.
The wind waves back the rich masses of hair from his
noble brow, rustles the leaves of his bay-wreath, and
raises the veil of Sibylla, floating it mysteriously above
her melancholy dreamy countenance, which she rests upon
her left hand. Her right listlessly holds an oar, as she
sits low upon the deck of the little boat. An open scroll
lies upon her knees; her eyes do not read its mystic
words, but are sunk in wondrous dreams. Hers are eyes
which have never shed a tear, - stern, sad eyes, though
tearless. What a contrast between the Sibylla, and the
gentle heart-broken Thetis, who to the left of Sibylla's
boat rises from the waves towards heaven, bearing with
devoted love the urn which holds the beloved ashes of her
heroic son! An unutterable tenderness and woe speak
in her lovely, plaintive, tearful, upraised face. The gentlest and tenderest of her attendant Nereides watch her
as she departs, striving to'detain her by their caresses
and looks of love; whilst others of a sterner nature, the
nymphs of storm and shipwreck, are less sympathetic,




THE STUDIO OF WILHELM VON KAULBACH.    35
and busy themselves with their own affairs. Their hair is
wreathed with coral, with reeds and sea-blossoms, and
fastened up with fantastic fish-bones; necklaces of shells
rest on their large, round shoulders; one young creature
defends herself from the attack of a swan which, with its
companion, sails boldly towards her with ruffled plumage.
Another nymph gazes towards a warrior seated on the
shore with an earnest, proud glance, as though a deep,
passionate love had existed once between them. But he,
a type of the joyous, careless, yet heroic Grecian nature,
has already buried his memories of this love amid a hundred others. Love, wine, and song, are the glories of his
existence; but for this moment song has predominant
sway over him. His face is averted from the proud
nymph, his hand rests carelessly upon the shoulder of a
lovely boy who presses to his side, holding upon his knee
an ivy-wreathed beaker; and he listens entranced by
Homer's strains. And now stretches along the shore in
a vast semi-circle the Grecian nation, represented by its
various types of poets, sages, sculptors, painters, warriors,
and shepherds. There are voluptuous youthful countenances whose ambrosial locks are wreathed with odorous
fresh flowers; some listen, sunk in dreams; others, roused
by a generous enthusiasm, stretch forth their arms, and
their eyes gleam with inspiration; there you see, seated
upon the rocky shore, stern, old, bearded men, who rest
garlanded lyres upon their knees, whilst their old brows
are shadowed by laurel, bay, and ivy. Standing beside
that rock, conspicuous amid the garlanded crowd, in
solemn drapery, which hangs in stern folds around his
brow, you recognise a bardic-priest of the mystics, a descendant of Orpheus, who listens with a bitter scorn to
the song of his mighty antagonist; a sickening hatred




36          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
growing within his soul as he finds that the glory of the
mystics is about to pale before the dawn of a new poetic
era.
Here rises in solemn majesty a colossal statue of Achilles. A group of youths pause from their labor of chiselling
it, and feed a falcon, which screams and flaps its large
wings above the arm of the youth who reclines in naked
beauty, like a glorious antique statue, at the feet of the
Achilles. The sculptor-Phidias himself, perhaps stands,
mallet in hand and shading his eyes, as a mysterious
vision of beauty bursts upon him.  The divinities of
Greece descend towards two noble temples which rise
in the background of the picture. The artists busied
upon the scaffoldings which surround one temple recognise also the glorious vision, and hail the approach of the
deities with extended arms, and supplicate them upon
their bended knees. A rainbow spans the sky, connecting the heavenly and the earthly multitudes.
Across this rainbow sweeps the celestial train. Love
leads them on, pointing with arch mien towards the
temple, whither he bends his flight, whilst the lovely
Graces- float in an airy dance beneath him. Apollo
presses on with majestic step and radiant brow, followed
by the Muses; Jupiter and Juno, attended by the gorgeous
peacock, with the eagle in wild flight above them, with
Diana, Mercury, and Minerva, and a throng of lesser
deities crowding behind them, are seen descending and
throned in calm majesty, side by side, upon a cloud of
smoke which curls up in vast volumes from an altar
erected on the farther shore of the little creek. A band
of warriors, unconscious of the full acceptance of their
sacrifice, seeing alone the ascending smoke, not the
spiritual forms descending upon it, encircle the altar in a




THE STUDIO OF WILHELM VON KAULBACH.          37
mad war-dance with clashing swords and flying plumes.
Yet the strains of Homer resound above the clash of
arms, and echo through these warriors' souls; two already
have left the war-dance and have drawn near to the
margin of the bay, where they listen, with the rest of
Greece, in a trance of amazement, to the mighty voice of
poetry, which is here summoning as to a vast assembly
the inhabitants of heaven, earth, and ocean.
And now, whilst our imaginations are still peopled with
these noble creations, let us quietly pass out of the studio,
cross the pleasant grass and flowers of the field, follow
the windings of the mill-stream as it rushes through the
royal wood-yard, and enter the bowery English Garden,
beneath whose fine trees the great artist daily goes to and
fro from his beautiful studio to his no less beautiful home.
Here, amidst the budding trees and upspringing weeds
and flowers, let our hearts thank God, not alone for His
gifts of poetry and art, but also that He gives us ever and
anon a transient realization of what the artist's life may
become when he remains nobly true to himself, in harmony with God, his own soul, and, ennobled through his
art, ennobling humanity!
Since commencing this sketch of Kaulbach's studio, a
sad change has fallen upon the pleasant field in which the
studio stands.  King Max is turning it into a rose-garden.
A rose-garden! This sounds very poetical, but the reality
is not very attractive. At all events, the English visitor
will no longer have to quarrel with docks and darnels.
Straight gravel walks, formal flower-beds, and rows and
rows of hot-houses, will meet his eye. The mosaic of
tangled flowers, the clouds of butterflies, the blossoming




38          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
elder trees, and the little clump of poplars, are now, alas!
memories of the past. Depend upon it, Kaulbach, with
his Hamadryads, will have to seek out some other solitude
where they may once more hear alone the gentle rustle
of the trees, and tread upon grass and wild flowers.




CHAPTER  II1.
PASSING SKETCHES.
AT half past six we breakfast, and then, as early as we
can, set off to our work. It is a pleasant walk along the
quaint old streets, now passing beneath the Falcon Tower,
a heavy round mass of stone, which tells well from different points against the deep blue sky. All is bright and
joyous: peasant women, young and old, in their strange
costumes, some with heavy round caps of black fur, some
with black or gay-colored handkerchiefs, bound tightly
across their brows, others with their little gold or silver
Riegel HIube (Munich caps) sparkling in the sun, others
in Tyrolean hats, all are hurrying along with baskets to
the market. Sentinels are standing on duty at almost
every turn, their bayonets glittering in the sunshine. We
see as we go along numbers of beautiful groups and
effects.
The other morning, walking along our favorite path,
one of the branches of the Isar, at a turn in the road just
where the stream was crossed by a little wooden bridge,
we came upon a peasant woman with a sort of reapinghook in her hand. Behind her was a background of
foliage, a magnificent tangle of vines; she had a sunburnt, handsome, strong face, brawny brown arms, loose
white chemise sleeves, a black handkerchief on her head,
whilst over her breast was crossed an orange handkerchief, on which she sunlight fell dazzlingly in its bril



40           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
liancy. Such coloring I never saw before; and beyond,
above the vines, was deep blue sky, which heightened the
effect wonderfully. It was a study for Etty. She looked
like a wonderful bird, with a strange, brilliant orange
breast.
Having crossed this same little wooden bridge, we come
to a quaint little baker's shop, in which, half filling it and
surrounded with heaps of pretty looking bread, and in an
atmosphere oppressive with aniseed, sits a very fat old
woman, from whom we buy a pennyworth of bread, —
enough and to spare for our drawing, and for ourselves.
And so, crossing another bridge, a stone-mason's yard,
and another busy mill, we reach the gate close to the
house where live the people who look after the studio.
Here we are already recognised by the old dog as belonging to the place. If we are early we ascend the steps and
ask for the keys of the studio, or perhaps a little browneyed girl, with her hair in a net, runs to meet us with
them.
Two minutes more, and we unlock the heavy door and
stand in our art-temple. The high priest as yet is not
there, and vwe have a quiet, earnest studying of his pictures, endeavoring through them to discover how he looks
at nature — endeavoring to see only the beautiful, the
strong and tender. This union of the strong and the
tender seems to me the great characteristic of his mind.
But is not that the great and difficult union which we are
all striving after, whether in life or in art?  Is it not that
glorious union, in its perfection, which we adore in Christ?
Is it not this in our noblest poets - in the In Miemoriam,
for instance, Which so touches and ennobles us?
We drew last week, as a refreshment when weary with
harder work, a lovely branch of white lily, and became so




PASSING SKETCHES.               41
enamored of our work that we determined to make another
study of plants. We resolved to make a drawing of the
most beautiful flowers growing in the beloved wildernessfield in which the studio stands, and to keep them as memories of this beautiful place, and this beautiful passage in
our lives. We began, therefore, the other afternoon; and
to-day, being seized with a foreboding that, as the field
was now again covered with deep grass and flowers, it
would shortly be mown, we determined to draw flowers
from morning till evening.
The change of occupation was in itself a pleasure, and
with our usual insane enthusiasm for every new kind of
work, we declared, and most firmly believed at the time,
that nothing in the shape of work could compare with the
delight of drawing flowers, — the tracing their exquisite,
delicate lines, their infinite variation of form and character,
the living in spirit, like fairies as it were, among their bells
and under their leaves. Then two or three times, in the
course of the day, we had to make little expeditions into
the field for specimens; and as it luckily happened, nobody was at the studio that day, nor even any visitors,
only a group of children in the distance: we had the whole
paradise to ourselves, and could go about without bonnets
as if in our own garden. We sate among the flowers in
the warm grass, among bladder-campion and clover, and
lady's-bedstraw, and hare-bells, and thyme, and eye-bright.
Above, the sky was cloudless, and so intensely blue, that
to talk of Italian skies being bluer would be absurd.
As I was thus sitting, admiring, and pondering, and rejoicing, I chanced to look up, and saw a little boy coming
through the flowers towards me: he was rather a miserablelooking little fellow, and worked, I fancy, at the stonemason's: he was gathering flowers; he saw that I, also, had
gathered some, which lay in my lap: he came up, and




42          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
looking very shy, but with a most good-tempered smile on
his countenance, offered me some clover and eye-bright
with very short stalks. I was much pleased, and of course
thanked him with a smile, asking him whether he did not
greatly admire the field, and other small questions; to all
of which he only replied Ja! and held his head very low,
smiling very much.
I stuck his poor little flowers into my dress, and returned
to my drawing. About half an hour later, when we were
absorbed with our work, Clare, who was sitting on the floor
near the door which opens into the wilderness, and which
said door now stood open so that the sunshine might fall
upon the sprays of grass and campion which she was
sketching, looked up, startled by a sudden shadow falling
across the threshold, and beheld the poor little lad standing
beneath the branches of the vine, with a half-grown reddish
spaniel at his side; and as she glanced at him he held out a
little nosegay of flowers with the same quiet, shy look. It
was a pretty picture. She received them also with smiles,
and we called both him and the dog in: the dog obeyed
most promptly; the boy seemed frightened by our invitation, accepted it reluctantly, and soon slipped off again.
We thought we had seen the last of him: But no! Again
he came, and this time with a dahlia in his band; and
yet again a shadow darkened the threshold, and now he
brought a nosegay of lovely carnations. Why, he must
certainly, after all, be a child out of Fairy-land! Where
could he get those splendid garden-flowers from? But no!
he was only a poor stone-cutter's lad who was wonderfully
attracted by the little studio and all the strange things it contained, and by the two young ladies who had smiled and
talked so kindly. I should think he came to us half a dozen
times in the course of the day, with his little offerings of
flowers, and his silent, shy manner. Seeing him stand and




PASSING SKETCHES.                43
watch us draw, with his grave, bashful eyes, we asked him
whether he would like to draw, or whether perhaps he did
not try to draw as it was.' Ja!' was again his answer
-' Ja!' and a bashful smile. We, however, could gain
but very little information from him beyond his name being
Ignazius.  Poor little Ignazius! I could fancy a pretty
art-story written about him, and how this might have been
the awakening in him of the sense of beauty.
July 21st. —What a deal of time I have wasted in
looking out of the window and watching the blue-coated
postmen, as the clocks strike twelve, filing up the street
from the Post-office, each with a large packet of letters in
his hand. Surely one among all those letters must be
for me!
A blue-coat turns in here! I wait, and wait, and wait,
but no letter!  No doubt it was only a letter he brought
for one of the hundred and one other inhabitants of this
house, - for some student or dressmaker who lives above,
or for the master of the curiosity-shop, or for some of his
journeymen, or for Mr. Bibrgermeister Somebody, who
lives on the floor beneath; for some one, perhaps, at the
Tailor's, or the Jeweller's, or the Bookseller's, or perhaps
for the Under-Secretary Wagner, who has such numbers
of letters and official documents brought to him. At all
events, the letter is not for me!' Paatience! paatience!
paatience!' as our friend L — says. But how gay the
street looks! Such numbers of butterfly-ladies, in gay
muslins and light kid gloves, and with bright-colored parasols; such dandified young officers with their ridiculously
small waists -they lace themselves up as tightly as the
silliest of girls; such clean Biurger.Leute; such picturesque groups of students, their hair so glossy from its
Sunday brushing, their scarlet caps set so jauntily on their
heads, their gay corps-bands displayed over their snowy




44           AN ART-STUDENT IN IIUNICH.
shirt-fronts; such a pleasant sound of voices and trampling
of feet along the sunny pavements.  I'm quite inspired to
put on all my Sunday apparel and look as gay as the best:
I quite long to descend into my unusual character of'young lady,' and go abroad for a pleasant un-exalte
afternoon; drink coffee with a gay party under green
trees to the sound of music, and criticise all the faces and
toilettes that pass before us. I wish Alfred were here today; we would for a few hours be as little in the clouds as
he could wish!
I see some capitaldinners going along the streets. I
trust our capital dinner will soon appear; we are always
ravenous about 12 o'clock. And, d-propos of dinners, we
had anything but a ceremonious dinner the other day.
We usually dine at the 3Meyerischen Garten, where, they
have orders when it is wet to send our dinners to the studio.
Last Friday, therefore, the sky suddenly clouding over
about eleven, after a most brilliant morning, when we had
gone forth sans cloak, sans clogs, sans everything necessary. for a wet day, we awaited the advent of our first studiomeal with the intensest impatience, not unmingled with a,
slight uneasiness as to its not appearing at all! The loudticking clock told quarter after quarter, till at length one
o'clock arrived without the dinner, and the rain still pouring
down in torrents, and we delighting in the consciousness
of the thinnest of boots and muslin dresses, and a wet field
of long grass to pass through before arriving at the region
of Braten and Mehlspeise, were forced to summon all our
philosophy, and cry,' dinner, go hang!' Dinner, indeed!
We working in the studio of a great master, and yet
longing for our dinners!  No, we would forget prosaic
hunger, and satisfy our craving in the afternoon at home.
Just having reached this point of heroism, there is a knock
at the door, and enter a short, broad-built, merry brown




PASSING SKETCHES.               45
woman, with a face not unlike a mulatto's, the resemblance
even increased by her wearing a bright-colored handkerchief on her head. Ah! we know that beloved countenance -- that countenance of our friend the kitchen-maid
at the Meyerisch7en Garten. Beloved kitchen-maid, with
thy bare feet and thy big basket, well dost thou deserve to
be celebrated in verse! Would that for thy sake I were
Tennyson! then should the world long since have reverenced thee with a reverence equal only to that inspired by
the' Waiter at the Cock!'
At once there was a sudden starting up from our easels;
a flinging down of porte-crayons, a rushing up to the big
basket, a delight and rejoicing in English and German
over the contents it exhibited.' Splendid goose!' cries Clare;' Herrichle 1MehIspeise,'
cries Anna. The magnificent kitchen-maid laughs and
shows her white teeth; and we laugh and bustle about,
and sweep off prints and books, boxes and flowers, from
the little round table in the middle of the room. But
plates.! knives! spoons! Oh, thou celestial kitchen-maid,
where are they?  Forgotten, as mere sublunary trash!
What is to be done?  Oh, borrow plates, and knives and
forks, from the HIausmeisterin. Away goes the kitchenmaid, and returns with a plate, a knife, and fork. That
was all very well for the goose:- but when we came to
the pudding!'Eat it out of the dish,' suggests Clare;'this is a pic-nic among the cartoons, instead of among
trees, that's all!' And the pudding was eaten out of the
dish with no lack of merriment: but most of all did our
laughter increase when we came to drink our coffee, which,
by the by, I ought to have said, arrived on a little green
tray, all flooded with rain; the coffee in one little whitelidded jug, the milk in another, the sugar safe and dry in
the basket. But again there were neither coffee-cups nor




46           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
spoons! Beloved kitchen-maid! thy wits of a truth had
gone wool-gathering! But that was quite a minor discomfort - a difficulty which we speedily got rid of, simply
by mixing coffee, milk, and sugar, in a china jar which we
keep at the studio for flowers; and then, having duly
blended the ingredients, the delicious beverage was poured
into the two jugs, and each drank her coffee with as much
gravity as she could muster.
But why, instead of all this nonsense, have I not described last evening, with its beautiful walk down that
lovely Ludwig Strasse; the long pause in the Ludwig
Kirche, which affected us, seen in the twilight, as it never
had affected us before, and our enjoyment of a glorious
sunset, which we witnessed over the plain. The immensity of a plain affects one like the immensity of the ocean.
Yes, I love this plain, as apparently I love everything connected with Munich! Everything, excepting the heat, the
rain, the veal, and - the fleas! The greatest of all plagues!
There was no plague in Egypt to compare to them! They
fairly leap about the paper as I write. I have long since
given up the sofa, convinced that it is stuffed with fleas
instead of wool.




CHAPTER IV.
THE DI1RACLE-PLAY AT OBER-AMMERGAU.
EVERY now and then, during the last two months, certain bright-colored placards, pasted at the corners of the
streets, have greatly excited my curiosity. These placards
announced that on certain days specified conveyances
would depart for the accommodation of persons desirous
of witnessing the performance of the Miracle-Play at
Ober-Ammergau.' A miracle-play!' I exclaimed -' a miracle-play nowa-days!'
Numerous were my inquiries regarding the play and
its performers, and various were the remarks thus called
forth. From my two or three English friends, exclamations of horror; from the good Catholic people of our
house, exclamations of pious delight; from our excellent
friend, Doctor F., alone, the information I required.'This play,' said he,' is performed by the peasants of
Ober-Ammergau and the neighboring villages, in fulfilment of a vow made during a terrible pestilence, in 1633.
When the pestilence was at its height, the poor peasants
vowed to God, that if he would stay the plague, they would
perform, every ten years, in token of their deep gratitude,
and (in their opinion) as a means of religious instruction
to the inhabitants of the district, the whole Passion of our
Saviour, from his entrance into Jerusalem'to his Ascen



48           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
sion.  This miracle-play,' continued our friend,'has
been religiously performed every ten years until the
present time. On the last three occasions, the music and
the whole spectacle have been somewhat altered and
heightened in artistic effect; and it would be difficult to
meet with a more striking picture of a past age and mode
of thought. Let me persuade you,' said he,'to start with
one of these Stell-wagen the very next time the play is
performed, for you will not repent of it. Ober-Ammergau
is situated in our Bavarian highlands.'
That was enough to decide us, especially as Clare's
experience of mountains was confined to those pictured
in our London exhibitions and panoramas, and to a certain
vision of' ethereal mountains,' —' clouds,' as she still
sceptically called them —which I had triumphantly pointed
out to her as'the Alps,' on our way hither from Augsburg.
Not even rain could damp our enthusiasm, although it
had rained for the whole week, pouring down in torrents,
until Munich was as gloomy as London in November.
Our places were duly taken in the Stell-wagen amid the
rain; and amid the rain we rose at half-past three on
Saturday morning, and after a hasty cup of tea, prepared
over our spirit-lamp, and with our carpet-bags in our
hands, issued forth into the wet, silent streets, under a
most leaden, melancholy sky. Yet had not Doctor F.
quoted to us his favorite German proverb, Den Muthigen
gehlirt die Welt (The world belongs to the brave)?
That was to be our maxim. Fine weather, we doubted
not, as well as other fine things, would be ours, for we
had long regarded ourselves as among the brave: still we
were haunted by various descriptions we had heard of
the Ober-Ammergau- Judas hanging himself under a
red umbrella!




THE MIRACLE-PLAY AT OBER-AMMIERGAU.      49
Outside the Sendlinger Gate, which looked particularly
ruinous and dilapidated on that damp, gloomy morning,
we found assembled, under an awning, a considerable
number of Stell-wagen passengers, all provided with umbrellas, all gazing up to the sky, and all declaring, with
a very doleful and hopeless expression of countenance,
that they were certain it would be fine.
Do you ask to what class of people these belonged?
With the exception of one jolly, rather dirty Catholic
priest, and t6o fat little men, whom I decided were a
shoemaker "ind a dyer, all the company in our Stell-wagen
were women; all wearing caps, and the Munich headdress of gold and silver thread, and not bonnets, which
marked them as belonging to the lower and middle citizen
class. Most of the vehicles were filled with travellers
of a similar kind-jolly, beer-drinking Munich folk; not
particularly refined, but very merry and good-humored.
Our especial Stell-wagen soon made its appearance; a
long-bodied, yellow omnibus, with a large leathern hood in
front (the cabriolet), before which sat the driver, dressed
in a light blue jacket, ornamented with black braid, black
velvet breeches, enormous black leathern boots, coming up
above the knees, and a picturesque black felt hat, with a
broad band around it, adorned with a huge silver buckle.
You will recognise many an old acquaintance of ours in
this portrait, and also in the two lean, shambling, indefatigable horses, in their high-pointed collars and rope traces,
which drew us to Ammergau and back, travelling almost
night and day, as though they had been machines, and not
creatures of living bone and muscle.
We were soon seated under the big hood of the cabriolet,
beside a quiet, pious little body, who carried in her hand a
white pocket-handkerchief and two rose-buds, and who
solaced herself by saying her prayers at the church of
4




50           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
every village where she stopped, and by reading in a little
religious book, and then sleeping as we journeyed onward.
The coachman cracked his long-lashed whip, at the
imminent risk of blinding some unlucky tenant of the
vehicle, and in a few minutes we caught once more, between the tall. poplars that skirted the road, a thrilling
glimpse of those cloud-like mountains, their peaks catching, even on that gloomy, grey morning, the glow of sunrise, and shining out like golden foam. On we went
through village after village, being struck with two things;
firstly, their may-poles, adorned to a considerable height
with all manner of devices, - emblems, I believe of different trades, — little houses, flags, animals, Brezels,
little cakes twisted like a true lover's knot, and similar
fancies, all of which produced a singularly droll effect; and
secondly, the gradual change from the ordinary German
style of cottage architecture into that of the Tyrolean and
Swiss. By the time we reached Starnberg, a favorite
resort of the Munich people of all classes during the summer - from royalty, to the sickly, consumptive dressmaker, and of artists especially -we were surrounded by
quaint wooden houses, under the projecting eaves of whose
shingle and stone-covered roofs ran picturesque wooden
balconies, all looking, as my companion observed,' very
like something on the stage.'
As we ascended the broad flight of steps leading to the
handsome inn, we were struck by the beauty of the view:
a blue little lake stretching away as far as the eye could
reach; beyond, a wall of Alps, already stern, stony mountains, and no longer clouds, their rigid peaks cutting
sharply against the sky; with a foreground of Tyrolean
cottages and pleasant bowery orchards.
Attractive as was the view outside the inn, that cold
July morning, the prospect inside was still more attractive.




THE MIRACLE-PLAY AT OBER-AMMERGAU.        51
Apparently, our fellow-travellers had thought so, for they
and the late occupants of the various other Stell-wagen,
and divers vehicles drawn up before the inn, were already
regaling themselves at long tables, with beer and Braten 
that is to say, veal. The quietest, most agreeable, and
certainly the warmest place in the house being the kitchen,
there we determined to stay, attracted somewhat, no doubt,
by the clean hearth, upon which were stewing, and simmering, and boiling, in all indescribable sorts of pots,
pans, and kettles, the favorite Bavarian dish, veal; and
being, moreover, invited to do so by the smiling cook and
her assistants. There we sat, and regaled ourselves on
eggs and coffee, and amused ourselves with watching the
activity of our gaily-attired cook and her attendants, each
of whom displayed a large silver spoon in her brightcolored boddice, and with wondering at all the quaint and
picturesque crockery and kitchen utensils, which were
arranged round that spacious, cheerful, yet monastic-looking apartment: when, behold a discovery! Clare, in the
bustle of departure, and sleepy as she was, had forgotten
her purse! We had agreed the night before setting off to
take each the same sum in our purses, - the one to pay
going, and the other returning. But now, at the very outset, we had only one purse between us! So very blank
and horrified did she look - so unavailingly did she feel,
again and again, in bag, basket, and pocket - that I could
only laugh and cheer her with the idea of strict economy
for the next two days, and with the assurance that if, after
all, our one purse did not turn out a Fortunatus's purse, as
I firmly believed it would, we would throw ourselves on the
mercy of some honest-looking landlord, and leave with
him a ring, or even a gold chain, as a pledge, and that in
any case it would only be an adventure on our journey.
But it was a long time before poor Clare could forget




52           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
what she persistedfin calling' our misfortune,' - not, indeed, until, as the Stell-wagen drove off, we perceived that
the whole place was in a state of extraordinary excitement,
an excitement not owing to the departure of our Stellwagen, or to the advent of others, but to a fire - a fire in
a hamlet through which we had passed some two hours
before, and the news of which had just reached this place.
Leaving Starnberg, we could see the distant column of
black smoke rising above the trees; and the following day,
on our return, we found in the hamlet, instead of a good,
substantial public-house, a blackened heap of ruins. The
wild excitement of Starnberg was inconceivable; nor shall
I ever forget the white face of one man — the village
tailor, apparently —who rushed past us bare-legged, with
his long black hair streaming in the wind. Men and boys
were hurrying along the street, and groups of women and
children stood in the orchards, gazing in the distance.
Ascending a hill from the village, we met the primitive
fire-engine of the district madly descending, and drawn by
a lanky, shaggy, raw-boned horse, just taken from fieldlabor. There was a strange mingling of the comic and
the affecting in this episode of village life.
Slowly but pleasantly we journeyed on through the rest
of that livelong day, drawing nearer and nearer to the
Alpine chain; now catching a grand panoramic view of'the mountains as we emerged from some old pine-wood, a
plain dotted with innumerable villages, hamlets, and woods,
lying between us and them, the tower of one of those
quaint white-washed Bavarian churches, with its small,
half-oriental dome rising in sharp relief against the deep
indigo of the mountains, as seen under that stern sky, and
making them retire in a marvellously artistic manner; and
now diving again into deep woods, ever catching and again
losing glimpses of those grand mountains and their glitter



TIIE MIIRACLE-PLAY AT OBER-AMMERGAU.       53
ing snowy peaks, until we arrived, in a gleam of delicious
sunset, at the quiet little town of Murnau.
They call Murnau a town, but it is a marvellously small
one, and would have been as still as death, but for the
Ammergau visitors. So great was the overflow of strangers at the Gast-Haus, that it was not without difficulty
we were able to secure a chamber to ourselves. The
bustle and confusion, the hubbub and noise in the house,
were inconceivable, and therefore, although we were to
start at half-past one in the morning, and had consequently very little time for rest, the calm evening sunshine out
of doors soon invited us forth. The mountains seemed
fairly to close in the street of the little town, but still a
plain extended from the gentle slope on which Murnau
stands to the foot of the Alpine chain.
As the sun sank in a golden heaven, streaked with lilac
and rose, tinting with rainbow colors the glittering peaks'
of the most elevated and distant snowy ridge, the nearest,
and lower chain was cast into a mysterious violet gloom,
and the intermediate ranges were turned to deep indigo,
almost black by shadow, or copper-color and russet in the
evening glow. What wonderful. gradations of color!
What sharp, bold, stern lines of composition! Where,
after all, was the picture of Turner, or Danby, which could
convey to your spirit the glory of those mountains and that
sky? Even Turner's wonderful tints and magical power
over atmosphere seemed cold and feeble in recollection as
we gazed at this lovely vision painted for us by God's own
hand! Beneath us lay the plain, golden in the evening
light; long shadows cast athwart it from poplars and
cherry-trees; beyond us this mountain vision, like the very
gates of spirit-land; above our heads glowed an azure and
pearly-tinted heaven, flecked with fantastic, gorgeous cloudlets; beneath our feet nodded, in the soft evening breeze,




54           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
flowers as bright as gems, orange, deep blue, crimson, and
lilac; Alpine flowers mingling with old English friends,the lady's mantle, the graceful quaking-grass, the daisy,
the mountain pink, and mountain-cistus.  We sate and
watched the azure shadows creeping up the mountains,
and the light fading away from the snowy peaks, till they
were left cold, and white, and winterly, and till a deep,
stern solemnity sank down upon the whole scene and upon
our hearts.
When all was grey and mysterious, and the silence of
twilight had become yet more perceptible from the ceasing
of the vesper-bell, which had been sounding from a distant
church, we reluctantly turned our faces homewards. Stalwart women and girls, strong as men, were resting themselves at their doors, or fetching water from the fountains,
as we passed up the village street. Where were the men
and boys? I know not: - perhaps in the beer-houses.
It was a strange fragment of a night, that at Murnau!
Throwing ourselves, half dressed, on our beds, we tried to
sleep; but that was impossible; the whole town was astir,
and nearly as noisy as Cheapside, with an incessant rattle
of peasants' carts, StelLwagen, and vehicles of all descriptions, which were jolting over the uneven pavement on their
way to Ammergau, and if, by any chance, you did lose
consciousness, for a moment, you were woke up again by
the watchman chanting his verse, and calling out the
quarters of the hour.
By one o'clock all the travellers were again astir; by
half-past, having scalded their mouths with a cup of boiling coffee, and having in their sleepy haste run against
each other, laden with carpet-bags and umbrellas, on dark
staircases and in dimly lighted passages, all had subsided
into cold and silence within the Stell-wagen.  We again
took our places in the cabriolet: Clare's sleepy head soon




THE MIRACLE-PLAY AT OBER-AMMERGAU.       55
sunk upon my shoulder, whilst I, only too widely awake,
gazed out into the starlight, and felt, rather than saw, that
we were entering the mountain-gorge.
Stell-wagen after Stell-wagen passed us, to be re-passed
by us in their turn; now an Eil-wagen with its four horses
and postilions; now a gentleman's carriage, with its
flaring lamps; now we passed groups of pedestrians; now
wagon after wagon, filled with peasant women, their long
rows of white draperied heads flitting along the dark road
before us like strange moths, and looking in the cold, grey
light of dawn, as phantom-like, almost, as the cold, white,
solemn peaks, draperied with snow, above us. The roar
of a mountain river accompanied us through the night; in
the early dawn we were still travelling along its bank.
The villages through which we passed were half choked
up with heaps of timber; rafts were floating down the
stream, or were moored to its banks; giant pine-trees
were lying prostrate by the river's edge, ready to be
converted into rafts. This lower range of mountains was
clothed with pine-forests up to its very summit.
It was now four o'clock on Sunday morning, and intensely cold; we were well pleased, therefore, at the foot
of the Ettalberg, to alight from our cabriolet, and commence with our fellow-passengers and numerous other pilgrims, the ascent of the mountain on foot. Cold as it was,
the sun was already shining down into the pleasant birch
and pine-woods, through which our road wound, and gilding the mountain peaks; a torrent was dashing and leaping over huge rocks in the gorge below us; the birds were
singing, and all was fresh and joyous. The most remarkable feature of the scene, however, was the people. From
the rustic inn at the foot of the mountain, to the inn at the
top, where is a celebrated pilgrimage church, and all
along the road, thence to Ammergau, as far as the eye




5r6          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
could reach, was one dense stream of people! The crowd
of peasants ascending the mountain was to me an affecting sight; my eyes and my heart involuntarily filled with
tears. Their earnest, grave, yet cheerful countenances,
told me that it was a deep religious object which they had
in view: it was not curiosity and the love of pleasure
which urged them up that steep ascent; it was with faith
and pious hope that they pressed onward. Men, women,
old and middle-aged, youths, maidens, children, family
groups, neighbors and friends, all banded together to witness this outward rendering of the spirit of their creed.
The variety of costume showed that the whole district for
many miles round had sent out its votaries. There were
groups of pure Tyroleans, with their green sugar-loaf hats
adorned with golden cord and tassels, tufts of feathers or
artificial flowers; there were many semi-Tyrolean dresses,
and vast numbers of women wearing the queer, heavy,
Tartar-looking cap of badger-skin, peculiar, I believe, to
the Ober-Ammergau district; there were boddices and
petticoats and head-dresses of every color of the rainbow,
— red, green, and blue, being however predominant;
there was a considerable sprinkling also of the swallowtailed gold and silver Munich cap, and no lack of red
umbrellas. How gay this winding multitude made the
mountain, you can well imagine! Slowly and painfully
behind each group ascended the poor tired horses, dragging
the skeleton-like peasant's cart, Stell-wagei or Ein-spann,
as it might be.
Ever and anon some frightfully deformed or diseased
wretch would solicit alms, which were as freely given by
the poor peasants as they were eagerly demanded by the
miserable beggars. These disgusting fungi of Catholicism
were a strange comment on the scene. My companion
and I, in our Regent Street dresses, and with our Protes



THE MIRACLE-PLAY AT OBER-ADIMERGAU.       57
tant hearts, seemed singularly out of place in a crowd of
simple peasants on their way to a miracle-play; we felt
out of keeping with them and their child-like faith: we
drew inferences, and made comments; they went on in
that earnest simplicity, and with all that primitive piety,
which is one's idea of peasant life as it exists in the poems
of Uhland and the tales of Auerbach.
After having refreshed their souls at the church on the
summit of the mountain, and their bodies at the inn, our
pilgrims mounted their various vehicles and pursued their
way; the road to Ober-Ammergau becoming more animated the nearer we approached it.
The first view of Ober-Ammergau somewhat disappointed us. It lies in a smiling green valley surrounded by
hills rather than mountains, and excepting for the architecture of the cottages, and certain rugged lines of peaks
and cliffs, telling of Alpine origin, might have passed for a
retired Derbyshire dale.
We had brought from our friend Dr. F  -  a letter to
the peasant, Tobias Flunger, who performed the character
of Christ; and this circumstance won for us great respect
amongst our fellow-travellers.  The Stell-wagen drove up
to his house, which is the second in the village, and surrounded by a gay little garden. Tobias Flunger came out
to receive us; and you may imagine our surprise, when,
instead of a peasant, as we had imagined, we beheld a
gentleman to all appearance in a grey sort of undress
coat, and with a scarlet Fez on his head. He was cer.
tainly handsome, and welcomed us with a calm yet warm.hearted courtesy. As he removed his Fez, we saw his
dark, glossy hair parted above the centre of his brow, and
falling in rich waves on his shoulders, and that his melancholy dark eyes, his pale brow, his emaciated features,
his short black beard, all bore the most strange and




58           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
startling resemblance to the heads of the Saviour as represented by the early Italian painters.
There was something to my mind almost fearful in this
resemblance, and Tobias Flunger seemed to act and speak
like one filled with a mysterious awe. If this be an act
of worship in him, this personation of our Lord, what will
be its effect upon him in after-life? There was a something so strange, so unspeakably melancholy in his
emaciated countenance, that I found my imagination soon
busily speculating upon the true reading of its expression.
At the door we were also met by his wife and little
daughter, themselves peasants in appearance, but cheerful
and kind in their welcome, as if we had been old friends.
The whole cottage was in harmony with its inhabitants,
bright, cheerful, and filled with traces of a simple, pious,
beautiful existence. We were taken into a little room,
half chamber, half study; upon the walls were several
well-chosen engravings after Hess and Overbeck. An
old-fashioned cabinet fronted with glass contained several
quaint drinking-glasses and exquisite specimens of carvings
in wood, an art greatly practised in the village. On one
side of the cabinet hung a violin, and above it and another
cabinet were arranged casts of hands and feet. On
noticing these things to the wife, she said that her husband
was a carver in wood by profession, and he had brought
them with him from Munich to assist him in his art.'He is a great carver of crucifixes and Madonnas,' she
continued:' you must see his works.'
He was an artist, then, this Tobias Flunger, with his
grave, sad countenance, his air of superiority; yes, much
was now explained. And, no doubt, his artist feeling had
been brought into operation for the benefit of the miracleplay, in the same manner that the schoolmaster of Ober



THE MIRACLE-PLAY AT OBER-AMMERGAU.        59
Ammergau had taxed his musical skill for the production
of the music.
It was now seven o'clock, and as it yet wanted an hour
till the commencement of the play, our kind artistic host,
with that strange, awe-inspiring countenance of his, insisted upon accompanying us through the village, and
showing us specimens of the wood-carving. There was
plenty of time, he said, for him to prepare for the
play.
The village street was thronged with people and
carriages of all descriptions; all was gay and bustling, as
in preparation for some great festival; the bells rang
joyously from the little church tower; fantastically arrayed
figures, as if stepped forth from some old sacred picture,
were ever and anon seen flitting through the not less
gaily-attired, but more work-a-day looking groups; and as
Tobias Flunger passed on with his sad, dreamy air, a low
whisper followed him, of' There goes Christ!'
At the sound of a small cannon, the motley crowd
hastened towards the theatre, which was a large, unsightly
wooden enclosure, erected on a broad green meadow,
within a stone's throw of the village. A few poplars
growing on either side of the enclosure, no doubt mark,
from  one ten years to another,'the precise spot. The
brightly painted pediment of the proscenium rose above
the rude wooden fence; crowds of people already thronged
the hastily erected flights of steps leading to the different
entrances. A few moments more, and we were seated in
one of the boxes precisely opposite the front of the stage.
A sea of heads was below us in the pit, a sea whose waves
were Tyrolean hats, glittering Riegel Hdube, ponderous
badger skins, and now and then a dash of foam-like white
handkerchiefs. This foam greatly increased with the heat
of the sun; the women throwing over their other head-gear




60           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
snowy handkerchiefs to protect them from his rays. In.the boxes, on either hand, sate the gentlefolks; and very
grand folk some of them were, I am sure. Could we
have only known their names, we should have'found a
considerable sprinkling of Grafen and Gri~finnen, of
Fiirsten and Fiirstinnen, not to speak of common vons
and Gehleimrdthe, and Hofrdthe, and Professoren.
With the first feeble notes from the orchestra, and very
feeble at first they were, a dead silence sank down upon
the assembled multitude; as people say, you might have
heard a pin drop. All was breathless expectation. And
soon, beneath the blue dome of heaven, and with God's
sunlih, t.howering down upon them, a fantastic vision
passed across the stage; their white tunics glanced in the
light, their crimson, violet, and azure mantles swept the
ground, their plumed head-dresses waved in the breeze;
they looked like some strange flight of fabulous birds.
This was the chorus, attired to represent angels. Like the
antique chorus, they sang the argument of the play. With
waving hands and solemn music, their united voices
pealed forth words of blessing -' Peace on earth and
good will toward men;' they sang of God's infinite love
in sending among men His Blessed Son, and their voices
rose towards heaven and echoed among the hills. And
whilst they thus sang, your hearts were strangely touched,
and your eyes wandered away from those singular peasantangels, and their peasant audience, up to the deep, cloudless blue sky above their heads; you heard the rustle of
green trees around you, and caught glimpses of mountains,
and all seemed a strange, fantastical, poetical dream.
But now the chorus retired, and the curtain slowly rose.
There is a tread of feet, a hum of voices; a crowd
approaches, children shout, wave palm branches, and
scatter flowers. In the centre of the multitude on the




THE MIIRACLE-PLAY AT OBER-AMMERGAU.      61
stage, riding upon an ass, sits a majestic figure clothed
in a long violet-colored robe, the heavy folds of a crimson
mantle falling around him. His hands are laid across his
breast; his face is meekly raised towards heaven with an
adoring love. Behind, solemnly follows a group of grave
men with staves in their hands and ample drapery sweep.
ing the ground. You recognise the disciple John in a
handsome, almost feminine youth, clothed in green and
scarlet robes, and with flowing locks; and there is Peter,
with his eager countenance; and that man with the brooding look, and wrapt in a flame-colored mantle -that must
be Judas! The children shout and wave their' palmbranches, and the procession moves on, and that fatal
triumphal entry is made into Jerusalem.
Again appears that tall majestic figure in his violet
robe: his features are lit up with a holy indignation; a
scourge is in his hand; he overturns the tables of the
money-changers, and drives before him a craven avaricious crowd. An excited assembly of aged men, with
long and venerable beards falling on their breasts, their
features inflamed with rage, with gestures of vengeance,
horror, and contempt, plot and decide upon his death!
-Ie, meantime, sits calmly at Bethany among his friends,
and a woman, with beautiful long hair falling around her,
kisses his feet and anoints them with precious ointment
from her alabaster vase. And now he sits at a long table,
his friends on either side; John leans upon his breast;
he breaks tle bread; Judas, seized by his evil thought,
rises from the table, wraps himself closely in his mantle,
bows his head, and passes out. Again the scene changes.
It is a garden. That sad, grave man gazes with disap.
pointed love upon his sleeping friend; he turns away
and prays, bowed in agony. There is a tumult! That
figure wrapped in its flame-colored robe again appears!




62           AN ART-STUDENT IN IMUNICH.
There is an encounter, a flash of swords! and the majestic, melancholy, violet-robed figure, with meekly bowed
head, is borne away! And thus ends the first act of this
saddest of all tragedies.
We had come, expecting to feel our souls revolt at so
material a representation of Christ, as any representation
of him, we naturally imagined, must be in a peasant's
miracle-play. Yet so far, strange to confess, neither horror, disgust, nor contempt was excited in our minds. Such
an earnest solemnity and simplicity breathed throughout
the whole of the performance, that to me at least, anything
like anger, or a perception of the ludicrous, would have
seenled more irreverent on my part than was this simple,
child-like rendering of the sublime Christian tragedy. We
felt at times as though the figures of Cimabue's, Giotto's,
and Perugino's pictures had become animated, and were
movingc before us; there were the same simple arrangement and brilliant color of drapery, - the same earnest,
quiet dignity about the heads, whilst the entire absence of
all theatrical effect wonderfully increased the illusion.
There were scenes and groups so extraordinarily like the
early Italian pictures, that you could have declared they
were the works of Giotto and Perugino, and not living
men and women, had not the figures moved and spoken,
and the breeze stirred their richly-colored drapery, and the
sun cast long, moving shadows behind them on the stage.
These elfects of sunshine and shadow, and of drapery fluttered by the wind, were very striking and beautiful; one
could imagine how the Greeks must have availed themselves of' such striking effects in their theatres open to the
sky.
Between each scene, taken from the life of Christ, was a
tableau  icant chosen from the Old Testament, and typical
of the passage which should succeed it from  the New




THE MIRACLE-PLAY AT OBER-AMMERGAU.       63
Testament. Each tableau was explained by the chorus,
which duly swept across the stage in all their grandeur.
Those pictures from the Old Testament were singularly
inferior to the rest of the spectacle, impressing you most
unpleasantly with a sense of tinsel and trumpery, aind so
stiff and hard in their outlines that I cannot even now
divest my mind of the idea that the figures were carved in
wood, and were not living people. Not a limb moved, not
a fold was stirred; there was nothing of the soft melting
outlines of nature, none of the grace of life  they were
precisely like the tawdry, hideous carved saints that one
sees here in the churches. Spite of repeated assurances
to the contrary, I cannot help still feeling as though these
figures were an offering to the play from the wood-carvers
of the village.
The performance had commenced at eight o'clock, and
now it was one, and a pause therefore ensued;- the first
pause of any kind during those five long hours — for
tableau, and chorus, and acting, had succeeded each
other in the most rapid, unwearied, yet wearying routine!
One felt perfectly giddy and exhausted by such a ceaseless stream of music, color, and motion. Yet the actors,
as if made of iron, appeared untouched by fatigue, and up
to the very end of the second part, which lasted from two
to five, played with the same earnest energy, and the cho.
rus sang with the same powerful voice.
Again the little village was all astir. The bells rung;
the peasants refreshed themselves beneath the trees in
gay groups, or crowded into the one public-house. And
what a bustle there was in that one little inn! In the
lower rooms, a devouring of food and a swallowing of
beer, and a cloud of smoke and a noise of tongues, and a
stench indescribable and inconceivable to any who do not
know what a German village inn is. Up stairs, things




64           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
were scarcely less unattractive, although there sate the
guests of a higher rank. The noise, and crowd, and
close air of that little inn, however, were so appalling to
our English nerves, that we escaped as quickly as we
could to the garden, where, amidst groups of picturesque
peasants, most touchingly courteous in their behavior to
us fo'reigners, we found a comparatively quiet nook at a
table. The scene was peculiar; rows of gaily attired
peasants seated at long tables, laughing and drinking beer
out of quaintly-shaped glasses with little pewter lids;
trees waving above their heads, roses and lilies blooming
around them; a background of Tyrolean roofs, covered
with their large round stones and sharp jagged Alpine
peaks rising closely behind the cottages into the sunny
sky. Peasant girls brought bouquets of the Alpine rose
to offer the strangers. Yes, we were among the Alps,there was no doubt about that, even my dear incredulous
companion was now willing to admit.
But there was no time to linger over picturesque effects
or sentimental meditation, any more than over Braten and
salad.
The cannon again sounded; the people again streamed
towards the theatre.  We were again in our places, and
again commenced that long monotonous exhibition. But
the peasant portion of the audience were as unwearying
as the actors themselves; to them, indeed, the second
part was the most intensely interesting of all, eine herzriihrende, angreifende Geschichte, - whilst to us it became
truly revolting and painful. There was no sparing of
agony, and blood, and horror; it was our Lord's passion
stripped of all its spiritual suffering, - it was the anguish
of the flesh, — it was the material side of Catholicism.
It was a painful, heart-rending, hurrying to and fro amid
brutal soldiery and an enraged mob, of that pale, emaci



MIRACLE-PLAY AT OBER-AMMERGAU.         65
ated, violet-robed figure; then there was his fainting
under the cross; the crowning him  with thorns; the
scourging, the buffeting, the spitting upon him: and the
soldiers laughed, and scoffed, and derided with fierce
brutality, and the people and the high priest jeered and
shouted, and ever he was meek and gentle. Then came
the crucifixion; and as the chorus sang of the great
agony, you heard from behind the curtain the strokes of
the hammer as the huge nails were driven into the cross,
and, as your imagination believed, through his poor pale
hands and feet; and then, as the curtain slowly rose to
the dying tones of the chorus, you beheld him hanging
on the cross between the two crucified thieves.
Both myself and my companion turned away from this
spectacle sick with horror. They divided his garment at
the foot of the cross; they pierced his side, and blood
flowed apparently from the wound and from his martyred
hands and feet. The Virgin and Mary Magdalene, and
the disciples, lamented round the foot of the cross, in
groups and attitudes such as we see in the old pictures.
Then came Joseph of Arimathea; the body was taken
down and laid upon white linen, and quietly, solemnly,
and mournfully, followed by the weeping women, was
borne to the grave. Next came the visit of the women
to the sepulchre; the vision of the angels; the surprise
and joy of the women; and lastly, as the grand fnale,
the Resurrection.
The miracle-play was at an end; and now the peasants
began once more to breathe and to return to common life;
and we most heartily rejoiced that this long, long martyrdom was over, - a martyrdom in two senses, for a more
fatiguing summer's-day's work than the witnessing of this
performance, which, with but one hour's pause, had lasted
from eight in the morning till five in the evening, cannot
5




66           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
be conceived. H-ow the poor peasants managed to endure
the burning rays of a July sun striking upon their heads
for eight long hours, to say nothing of the heat and fatigue
necessarily caused by the close pressure in the pit, I cannot
imagine. In the boxes, where people were screened from
the sun by awnings, many a face had for hours before
began to assume a pale and jaded look, and many an attitude to betray intense fatigue.
But now all fatigue must be forgotten in the bustle of
departure. There was no time allowed for a moment's
refreshment; the theatre was left in ghastly emptiness in
an incredibly short time. Horses were being harnessed
to carts, Stell-wagen, and all imaginable kind of vehicles
drawn up before the inn and crowding the village street.
There was a cracking of whips, a jingling of horses' bells,
a rushing to and fro of travellers; people were once more
in their old seats in carts and carriages; there was a hum
of voices, a waving of hands to departing acquaintances,
mostly of that day's growth; many an anxious, hurried
search after some missing umbrella or bag; and now all
fairly started!
In our moment of hurried departure, however, behold
the sad, pale face of Tobias Flunger bidding us adieu!
He had again assumed his Fez and his grey coat, but the
face was yet more gentle and dreamy, as though the
shadow  of the cross still lay upon it; and your eyes
sought with a kind of morbid horror for the trace of the
stigmata in those thin white hands, as they waved a parting signal. It was a relief to see at his side the pleasant,
bright, kind faces of his wife and little daughter. There
was a wholesome look of happiness and common life about
them.
That we should have spoken with the personation of
Christus; that he should have received us into his house;




MIRACLE-PLAY AT OBER-AMIMEWAU.           67
should, even after the play, have hastened to take leave of
us at our departure, created the greatest interest among our
fellow-travellers, and inspired them with the profoundest respect for us. I was overwhelmed with questions regarding
hit, - questions which probably his most intimate friends
could not have answered satisfactorily. But no wonder that
he should have inspired so profound an interest, for throughout his conception and attempt at the embodiment of the
awful, unapproachable character of Christ, there had
flowed a subdued current of the deepest feeling, a sentiment of true poetry, a piety, an appreciation of the
highest heroism - that heroism which shows itself in selfannihilation for the salvation of suffering humanity. We
had been greatly struck by this, and by the different spirit
evinced in the personation of the Virgin. The young
peasant-girl who acted this character had studied her part
under a well-known Munich actress, but unfortunately had
brought away with her theatrical affectation and a most
miserable air of conceit. This was the sole departure
from that simple, earnest, unaffected dignity and truthfulness which had both astonished and delighted us in this
poor peasants' play. But the play was their offering to
God! what wonder, then, that it should bear the stamp of
truth and fervor? for it came forth, I sincerely believe,
from their very hearts' core. Let us not, therefore, call
it irreverent or irreligious: depend upon it, that murmur
of peasants' voices rose to heaven like the smoke of an
accepted sacrifice.
There was a certain regret in the thought that though
now turning our faces homewards, towards our beloved
little art-city of Munich, we were, nevertheless, travelling
away from those equally beloved mountains which had so
long called us, as it were, with their spirit-voices, and
which now glowed in the sunlight with ever-changing




68          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
rainbow hues. Still, as we caught sight of the two familiar
towers of the Frauen Kirche, we were bound to acknowledge that a city for poor civilized human beings was, after
all, a fitter abode than an Alpine peak. More especially
did we feel this truth when seated at our tea-table on the
evening of the following day, devouring our English papers
and English letters, which we so pleasantly found awaiting us.
What further? We had not a drop of rain during the
whole time, and our one purse did turn out the purse of
Fortunatus. Without sparing, and without borrowing, we
reached Munich with yet twelve Kreutzers left. The forgotten purse, with its full contents of large florin pieces,
lay quietly with our letters and papers to greet us on our
return.




CHAPTER V.
BITS OF MIUNICH LIFE.
August 8th. -This evening, Fraulein Steinhauser came
in to beg us to go down stairs to see something very
beautiful in their room.  We of course went; and, in
their strange curiosity-shop of a room, among painted
saints, and gilt cabinets, and picture-frames, stood a little
table, upon which was placed a very gaily-painted transparency, with queer pink angels fluttering about, and
scrolls, and various extraordinary arabesques encircling a
verse wishing health and happiness to the father: this
being his name-day. Candles burned behind the transparency; pots of ivy and flowers were placed on either
side, making a pleasant greenness; and in front lay'a
drawing in a gilt frame, a very grand chalk head of a boy,
with a falcon on his wrist, and in a very grand frame
indeed! The transparency, the drawing, and the frame,
were all the work of little Wilhelm. And there he stood,
as proud as could be! his black, sharp little eyes sparkling
with delight; and there was his father, a tall and singularly handsome man, to-night with a smile of fatherly pride
on his face, which made him look still more handsome:
and there was Mrs. Steinhausen dressed all in her best,
and all the little brothers and sisters, and the old grandmother with the baby in her arms, and several neighbors
besides.  It certainly was one of the prettiest little household festivals I ever saw.




70           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
Sometimes we send for little Wilhelm to play the' zitter' to us. He is about twelve, has a very brown, red
face, black eyes, and ear-rings in his ears. He plays very
prettily. His fat little hands call forth such sweet low
music from that little instrument - music, like fairy voices,
sounding in solitary green spots among the mountains.
There is a peculiar spirit in the zitter, and it is wonder.
fully adapted for Alpine melodies; for those tender,
simple, peasant airs, through which ever runs such a
plaintive sentiment.
These August nights are so hot and close, that after our
tea, spite of its being twilight, we sometimes feel bound
to take a walk. The other evening, for example, we
betook ourselves along one of the old streets of Munich,
a street very' long and very ill-paved, the house-fronts
handsome with old carving and stucco-work; a street
where in the evening all the inhabitants gossip at their
open windows and doors; a street much infested with
bakers' shops; and where, through quaint old windowpanes, you catch glimpses of queer old witch-like women,
or young girls, like Faust's Margaret, sitting spinning; a
street so full of detail that it would be quite a luxury to
describe it graphically.
Just about the middle of this quaint old street we met a
crowd, heard a hum of voices, saw banners waving, and
crucifixes borne aloft. It was the return of a pilgrimage.
Hot, weary, dusty, foot-sore, on they came. First walked
priests with their dusty banners and crucifixes; white.
robed children followed, carrying faded wreaths and garlands, their poor little heads drooping with fatigue; now a
band of men, a Briiderschaft, dressed in their pilgrim
garb, large blue cloaks with heavy capes, on which the
cockle-shell showed conspicuously; then a group of young




BITS OF MUNICH LIFE.             71
girls, many carrying bulrushes in their hands, instead of
palm branches, and relies from the holy spot to which
they had pilgrimed; next trooped on men - men - men,
their shoes covered with white dust, their heads bare,
their hands folded —old men, middle-aged men, lads;
here and there a picturesque, fanatical-looking head with
lank locks, and hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes, or brood.
ing and morose-looking, with wild, bushy hair and huge
growth of beard; — a strange assembly! but, nevertheless,
the greater number were of the quiet, respectable citizen
class; and one felt how strange it was to see such jollylooking, every-day sort of good shop-keepers joining in a
pilgrimage; they seemed so wholly opposed to everything
like sentiment and enthusiasm. And all the men muttered
prayers, - every now and then their hoarse voices rising
into a monotonous chant of the word' Heilige! Heilige!
Heilige!' And on they came and on! like a stream of
phantoms in a bewildering dream. They rushed past in
the twilight, walking fast with their dusty feet, and muttering their monotonous words, till one felt almost delirious.
And now in the distance the voices of young girls and
little children swelled into a solemn strain, and on came
women, and women, and women-old and young, and
middle-aged, and dusty also, and praying and muttering
also! All, with the exception of one lady in a bonnet, a
singularly gaunt and fanatical-looking woman, who walked
in the middle of the procession; all, with this exception,
appeared to be of the humbler class, - worn, hard-featured,
suffering women: yet on they streamed, till one felt
breathless. It was a striking and, someway, to me an
unusually thrilling sight!
But now we were out on the quiet plain, which stretched
away into an horizon of deep-blue mountain-like cloud, a
pale amber sunset-streak fading away by the most delicate




72          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
gradations into a lovely azure, athwart which stretched a
fantastic mass of dark indigo clouds, the moon trembling
above the sunset light, and here and there a dainty star
twinkling in the azure and amber, whilst behind the dark
mass of the Bavaria tower flashed ever and anon rosetinted summer lightning, turning the mass of blue clouds
into a range of lilac mountains, and the Bavaria building
into an enchanted castle.
We were so charmed with our walk, that we resolved
to go out whenever we could witness these sunsets, and
then to note them down on our return home.
The next evening, therefore, we took our walk through
the Triumphal Arch at the end of the Ludwig Strasse.
The Ludwig Strasse looks inexpressibly beautiful in the
evening: the uniformity of the Byzantine architecture,
broken but not destroyed by the pale and harmonious tints
employed in the various masses of building, delicate reds,
and stone-colors, and greys, with here and there a mass of
pure dazzling white, all brought into the most delicious
harmony by the glow of evening; two white slender
towers of the Ludwig church rising solemnly into the blue
heavens, and surmounted each with a golden cross, which
ever seems to catch the rays of the sun, and to gleam and
sparkle when all else is sombre and dark. Then, in the
evening and twilight, how cool and refreshing, and soothing, is the splash of the two fountains which play in the
open space before the University and the Jesuits' School!
I should love, were I a youth, to study in the University.
That pure, solemn, calm, beautiful building, white as, of
the purest marble, with its long rows of round arched windows: its long band of medallions also, a medallion between each centre window, and inclosing the head of a
legislator, a philosopher, or a poet. And as the western
sky is lit up by the setting sun, its light streams through




BITS OF MUNICH LIFE.              73
painted windows, and the contrast between the cool building, seen in the shadow, and those gemmed, glowing
windows, is magical. There is a monastic calm about the
building, which, to a studious and poetical nature, must be
delicious.
The Jesuits' School is of a pale, warm, stone-color, of
the same style, but by no means so beautiful. The whole
effect of this square is, however, poetical and striking,
and when the Triumphal Arch at the end of it is completed, will be something quite unique. The gateway is
to be surmounted by a figure of Bavaria, drawn by lions,
in a triumphal car: on the front and sides of the gate
are very beautiful basso-relievos and statues of white
marble.
The road beyond the Triumphal Arch is lined by
poplars, and the entrance to Munich by this road is very
impressive. For about half a mile on one side the
road are scattered villas and cafes. The queen has a
lovely little villa there, simple and elegant, and built in
the style of domestic architecture peculiar to Munich,
and which strikes me as being beautiful and appropriate.
One evening we had tickets sent us for a concert; they
came late, and we had but little time for preparation.
We dressed in a desperate hurry, putting off at the same
time our working-dresses and our character of art-students;
and attired as proper young ladies, with our tickets in
our hands and our two keys (the latch-key of the house
and the key of the passage leading to our rooms) in our
pockets, set off across the Residenz Platz and the Odean
Platz.  It was a rehearsal concert of the students of the
Conservatorium, and the large hall was crowded to overflowing already.




74           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
The performers were all young, and many of them very
young. There was one little violinist, not more than
twelve, certainly, who played splendidly, with beautiful
earnestness and composure, as well as with much feeling.
The applause was immense, and you felt how proud his
mother and his friends must be; but he was like a little
unmoved statue, his white face shaded by its dark brown
hair. It was all a matter of coirse to him.
The friends and relatives of the pupils were a marked
feature of the scene; many of them quite poor people.
And such numbers of little lads! We had a host of them
just before us; and very amusing it was. One little fellow leaned, with all the air of a used-up man of fashion,
against the balustrade of the orchestra, in the face of the
whole assembly, yawning with the greatest disdain of all
present, whilst he crossed his little legs and played with
his little gloved hands.
There is nothing strange in our venturing to concerts
and theatres by ourselves, - -nothing can be easier or
more comfortable.  WTe walk quietly to the Opera in the
pleasant sunshine: the theatre looking beautiful with its
fresco-painted pediment, and all the square alive with a
gay crowd streaming also theatre-wards. We take our
places quietly in the reserved seats; and having thoroughly
enjoyed ourselves at the cost of twenty-pence, walk home
again equally quietly and comfortably. There is no
crushing of carriages and cabs, no shouting of watermen
and cab-drivers. Two or three carriages may be there,
their lamps shining out like huge glow-worms at the bottom
of the flight of steps; but people who have carriages get
quietly into them, and there is no stir or bustle; and those
who have none wend their way home singly or in groups,
and the moon lights up that beautiful little square, with its
palace-front, its theatre, its Pompeian-like post-office, its




BITS OF MUNICH LIFE.             75
quaint side of old shops; or the stars look down out of a
deep blue calm sky, and all is silence and poetry.
On our return yesterday from dinner at the Meyerischen
Garten, I was informed that the lady of the  Ambassador had called and left an invitation for me for that
evening. I was not in a visiting humor, and the idea of
going quite alone to these grand people daunted me. I
have courage enough for most things; I am sure I could
travel to China-very easily all over America-by myself;
but going alone to a ball, or even to a little party, among
strangers, is my idea of desolation; and this evening I
believed there was a grand party at the Ambassador's. I
was in despair: it was a wet day, and I felt ill, and even
if I did screw up my courage to the pitch of heroism, how
was I to get there? how, in all this rain? Where was my
carriage? -where even a cab? A cab! yes, that reminded me that I might go and return in a fiacre.
When, therefore, on returning home, I found that I
could improvise a toilette, and when, after a cup of tea, I
felt really better, and discovered that with a deal of trouble
and bargaining, a driver of a fJiacre would condescend (for
such really was the case) to take me at the late hour of
eight o'clock, (they leave their stand at seven, and go
home for the night,) and then bring me back again at ten,
and all for the enormous sum of two florins, not a Kreutzer
less! after all this, I dressed and set out, having, of course,
been inspected by the whole family of the house from
doors and windows, —father, mother, daughter, little
children, Wilhelm, and two apprentices with white rolledup shirt-sleeves. What amusement the idle people could
find in seeing one of the English Frdiulein walk down
stairs in a simple white dress and without her bonnet, and
get into a lumbering old coach, I cannot conceive.




76          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
After a short wet drive across the Residenz and Odean
Platz, and past the old WTittelbacher Palais, the palace
where now lives the ex-King Ludwig, and which strange,
red Gothic pile is guarded by two enormous stone lions,
seated on either side of the gateway, into the Belgravia of
Munich, we stopped at the house of the Baron von -
a beautiful house. A tall, melancholy-looking footman,
ushered me in, and to my delight there was no party. My
spirits rose at once. I like Frau von -, and I felt that
it would be a charming evening.
Having been received by another tall, melancholy footman at the bottom of the stairs, and conducted through a
number of pretty ante-rooms and boudoirs, I found the
lady of the mansion, and a tall, aristocratic-looking man,
with a very good-tempered German face, a very interesting, elegant young lady, and a lively, pretty little girl,
sitting in a comfortable little drawing-roomrn, -comfortable
though splendid. The walls were hung with pictures and
rich velvet draperies; the sofas and chairs were covered
with crimson velvet; there was gold everywhere; mirrors
and tall vases of Bohemian glass and rich china. All was
very costly, but the prints, and books and pictures, and
the pleasant lamhp-light, and the kind, beaming faces of
the group at the table, made me feel instantly at home
and happy. The lovely young lady, with the calm brow,
like one of Eastlake's women, and those delicate, taper
fingers, loaded with rings, was a relation of the Baroness,
and the gentleman was her brother. They had travelled
in England and Scotland, and were well versed in English literature, of which they were very fond.  We had a
deal of pleasant talk, not only about old England, but
about beautiful and interesting parts of Germany, with
which fortunately I was acquainted; about books and pictures, and Kaulbach, whose genius we all agreed in ranking so high.




BITS OF MUNICH LIFE.              77
Then came in the tea on a rich silver tray, both elegant
and attractive, and the little cakes were so delicate, and the
tea quite strong and fragrant, like English tea. And after
our rude, though most poetical life, the calmness and propriety and elegance of this artistocratic existence had an
unusual charm for me. I loved to look at the glossy hair
of the aristocratic little girl, - at her round arms, - at the
delicate hands of the young lady so imprisoned in her
rings; they were to my fancy a sort of fairy creatures
who must ever live among gold and rich satin, and perfume; and the idea of her walking in dust or mud, or in
wet or darkness, was like the idea of an angel's wing
being splashed with the mud of a London cab-wheel!
No, there was an unusual piquancy in coming from our
free, unconventional life, thus suddenly into a court-circle.
One day lately the streets were gay with people, and
the sun shone down in my very heart. I longed to be
among trees and fields. And was there not to be a
Kirchweih (wakes) in the Au - the church festival of the
beautiful church there? Thither would I go.
Through the gay streets accordingly I went; crowds of
holiday people moving towards the Isar-gate, and over the
bridge, and past the Volk's Theatre.
The Au suburb was all alive with dance-music, sounding from the public-houses and gardens. The little balco.
nies were unusually gay with flowers; all the Madonnas
had clean cambric pocket-handkerchiefs put into their
hands: how comic they looked holding their handkerchiefs
like fine ladies at a ball! And, by the by, in this suburb
there are not a few black virgins, who are here regarded
as peculiarly sacred. Numbers of little stalls were set
out covered with Kirchweil  Nudel, a very good sort of
cold pudding. The open space in which the lovely Au




78          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
church stands was very gay, and under the acacia-trees,
which form an avenue along one side of the square, hundreds of people were congregated.
Two streams of people, principally peasants, were ascending the church-steps: so great indeed was the crowd
that I think I must have stood twenty minutes before I
could gain admittance, and when I did it was along with
peasant women in their Tartar fur caps, and rosary and
prayer-book in hand, and with men in red or broad-striped
waistcoats and long-skirted blue coats. And then how
impressive was the sight! The air was heavy with incense; the graceful, slender, white columns rose up like
the clustered stems of a palm-grove! The sun shone and
glowed through the gloriously painted windows. They
represent the Virgin, Christ, and the Apostles moving
among groves, or quiet, solemn temples and halls, or
calmly rising forth against brilliant or pearly skies. In
one compartment, the Virgin, a child of twelve or thirteen,
is taken by her parents to the high priest. She kneels
before him, and Joseph places the ring upon her finger.
In another, she sits with the Infant Christ in her lap on the
ass, journeying towards Egypt. And in another division
she is seen ascending to heaven. I knew that these windows were very beautiful, but it was only to-day that their
full beauty burst upon me. The exquisite groups stained
upon them, with their correct drawing, and rich draperies,
are inclosed, as it were, in jewelled shrines; the upper
portions of the window being filled with Gothic work of
every brilliant color, like missal pages. Pity only that
too much yellow is used.
But if the windows excited my first attention, the people attracted my attention in the second place. All the
seats were filled with devout peasants, and numbers stood.
As the church, however, was large, there was no unpleas



BITS OF MUNICH LIFE.              79
ant crush. All was silent as death, except when, from the
far end of the church, came the voices of children chanting, or you caught the murmured words of the priest, as
he raised the Host before the high-altar; and then the
crowd responded with one deep, sonorous voice, which
could alone be compared to the hoarse, monotonous, wild
sound of billows, rolling inward to the shore - not when
there is a rough sea, but when all is solemn and calm.
After a time I left the church, and not being inclined
to return home, and finding that all the music from the
public-houses, and all the eating, and'the dancing, were
very inharmonious to my then state of mind, I wandered
on towards the plain, and feasted my eyes on a view of
the Alps, which to-day appeared fairly to have stalked
towards Munich, so near did they seem, — of a tender,
quiet, blue-grey, but their forms gigantic, stern, Alpine!
Another evening, after a day of industrious work, when
we were in a particularly cheerful mood, I suggested to
Clare that as it was so sunny and delicious, we should
drink our coffee in a picturesque old orchard which I had
discovered in one of my exploratory expeditions through
the suburb of St. Anna. It is a pretty walk this, through
the suburb to the coffee-house orchard, which joins the
English Garden. You cross first the corner of a very large
field, acres of which are covered with huge heaps of timber - enormous pines, which have been floated down
from the Alps. The tall trees of the English Garden
form a back-ground to the field; and then, passing
orchards and cottages, and country houses, you arrive at
the coffee-house, a bright white house, with a deal of pale
sea-green paint about it, standing high, approached by a
flight of steps, and having a certain Russian look. The
orchard in which it stands is a grand old orchard, full of
aged apple-trees, under which are some hundreds of seats.




80          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
On the former occasions when I passed it there must have
been many hundreds of people drinking coffee there.
On this evening, however, all was deserted; so much so,
in fact, that there was no coffee to be had. After resting,
therefore, a few minutes under an apple-tree, we proceeded on our way, when, turning into the English Garden,
behold! another coffee-house, a very small one, peeping
out from under the trees. Coffee and Wine-house of the
Kingdom of Heaven,' Zum Himmelreich,' was painted
on an arched sign over the gate. So extraordinary an
appellation could not be disregarded, however contrary to
our English notions.'Let us try how coffee tastes in the Kingdom of Heaven,' said I; and in we went.
The Kingdom of Heaven, however, was also apparently deserted, except by a pair of lovers, a young girl in a
white dress, and a student in a scarlet cap and black
velvet coat, and by a picturesque group of old peasants,
men and women, who sat on a bench before the door, and
drank beer; the student also drank beer —the girl took
nothing. She sate with her back turned towards him, and
evidently was very unhappy. I think they must have had
a quarrel: what a shame to quarrel in the Kingdom of
Heaven! I went into the house, and ordered coffee from
a woman whom I met with a huge coffee-mill in her hand.
She said it should be ready in a minute, - fresh, capital
coffee! 
We seated ourselves at the end of a long verandah
which was covered with vines, at the end opposite to
where the lovers were, and noticed all around us, to
occupy the time till the coffee appeared. Coffee at length
made its appearance —vile coffee and peppery bread;
and leaving the lovers still unreconciled, we bade adieu
to the'Kingdom of Heaven,' and betook ourselves home
in the delicious twilight.




BITS OF MIUNICH LIFE.            81
There is always something very picturesque in a German landscape. To-day I walked to a village which I
had often passed, but never till now penetrated into.
There is a picturesque little church, with a tall roof and
quaint white tower, crowned with an oriental-looking red.
brick dome; a row of poplars, just bordered here and
there with streaks of yellow, waved quietly in front of the
church, and over the low churchyard wall hung the
branches of a lime which was already quite gorgeous in
its autumnal livery, the richest gold and the deepest olive.
I sate down upon the delicious dry grass and among dry
fallen leaves beneath another row  of poplars.  How
pleasant it was! The air was filled with an aromatic
scent of leaves - not a smell of decay but of dried sap;
and all was so calm. There was a certain sadness, but a
peace in everything; there was not a sound, scarcely a
living creature to be seen, only an old peasant woman
leading a goat by a cord as it fed along the grass.
I went onward into the pleasant little village, past small
cottages and farms, and quiet undulating orchards, with
here and there a seat placed under some fine old apple
or plum-tree, passed gardens gay with huge sunflowers,
and stopped to admire a lovely little bit of color at the
entrance of a gentleman's villa. Imagine the doorway
festooned with crimson Virginia creeper, and opposite the
open door a Madonna standing in a niche of the wall!
The Madonna seemed wreathed round with crimson leaves,
and shrubs turning gold and russet, and varied with every
tint of green from olive to apple, were growing on either
side and in front of the door. The effect was very
lovely.
A desire now possessed me to walk on still further to
the second church of this same village, the tall, strangelooking, pea-green spire of which had long attracted my
6




82            AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
curiosity. I had seen it from the road, seen it from the
English Garden. On all sides it was a conspicuous object.
At last I reached it; the roof was very slanting and steep,
and covered with red tiles — such a strange, quiet, little
church!  The churchyard  was crowded with graves
thickly overgrown with flowers; so that what with the
flowers planted on the graves and with the number of
garlands hung upon the crosses, the whole churchyard
resembled a flower-garden. Some of the graves were
very lovely; and either suspended to the cross, which of
course stands at the head of each grave, or sunk into the
little flower-border of the grave itself, was a small cup
containing holy water, often with a little branch or a
flower in it, to sprinkle the grave with. I noticed that
upon some of the graves the peasants had laid the red
berries of the mountain ash, or had stuck them into the
soil in form of crosses and stars. In one corner of the
churchyard was a quaint little shrine, also with a steep
red-tiled roof; and above the low white church-wall rose
the distant woods of the English Garden, so rich in their
autumnal coloring.




CHAPTER VI.
THE STUDENT'S LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.
IT is a pity that P ——, the frame-maker, does not
know what happened to me this morning; it would
give him a higher opinion of himself than ever. We
wanted a couple of'mounts' made for our groups of
flowers from the studio-field, and were advised to get them
made at a shop just opposite to where we live. To this
little shop I carried our drawings this morning, together
with one of P.'s capital mounts, which I had with me, as
a pattern. I had to wait an immense time in the shop.
Mr. Appleshoe-I anglicize his name — was making his
toilet. At length, when my patience was completely exhausted, Appleshoe made his appearance in a tremendous
hurry and bustle, as though the fate of Europe depended
upon his advent in a distant quarter of the globe, and he
had forgotten his appointment till the very last moment.
Unlucky Appleshoe! I saw the moment was inopportune;
nevertheless, as I had waited so long, I was determined I
would order the mounts, — it would but detain him a
moment. I had seen certain individuals in Germany,
and elsewhere also, who are in a mighty bustle about
trifles, and as slow as snails when a matter of importance
requires haste. Appleshoe struck me decidedly as belonging to this class; therefore I had less compunction in
stopping the unlucky man as he was rushing out of the
shop.




84          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICIH.
With a deeply-drawn sigh, and the most piteous ex.
pression of countenance, he laid down the roll of paper
he had in his hand, and condescended graciously to listen
to my order.
I showed him, on the drawing, the shape of the mount
we required -a rather peculiar geometric shape; but one,
had he understood his business, as easy to make as an
oval or circular mount. He looked greatly perplexed.'Perhaps,' said I,'it is not your business to do these
things?''Oh yes, yes!' with a deep bewildered sigh;'it was
his business, but he was going out; perhaps I would call
again, or leave the drawings?''No! I could do neither one nor the other,' was my
reply:' Could he not take the dimensions? that was but a
matter of a couple of moments.''Well! he supposed he must trace the mount.'
Good heavens! only imagine P. tracing a mount.
Would he not fly into a passion if one suggested such
an insult! Well, the mount was traced at length, by
Mr. Appleshoe, in a clumsy, blind-beetle sort of a fashion,
but it was traced; and then I proceeded to explain that
the lines of the mounts must be slightly curved.'Curved? curved?' murmured Mr. Appleshoe, mus.
ingly.'Yes, curved!' exclaimed I, growing quite impatient
and exasperated:' don't you indeed know how to curve a
line? - well, I never heard such an absurd thing in my
life! but if you can't do it, do what you can without the
curve;' and went on to explain about a gold line, and
two pencil lines that he must rule, between which we
should wash in pale tint of color.'No, that indeed I cannot do: I cannot use a pencil —




THE STUDENT'S LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.       85
that belongs to drawing! I am a bookbinder; draw I
cannot; I am a bookbinder!' said he.
I fairly laughed outright; it was too absurd.
Up towards me, at this moment, from a further part of
the shop, came a great stout man, with a big, red face,
and a big, white beard, and a very solemn mien; he had
been listening to my discourse, and probably his national
pride had been wounded by my triumphant exhibition of
P.'s English'mount' as a chef-d'ceuvre.  Up he slowly
came, and slowly looking down at the drawings, whilst
Mr. Appleshoe gazed up at his large countenance with a
feeble appealing expression, pronounced these oracular
words-' No! Mr. Appleshoe cannot use a pencil; he cannot
curve the lines; much easier draw the flowers!''Oh yes,' sang Appleshoe's weak voice as chorus;'much easier draw the flowers; I cannot curve the lines!''Well, then, good morning to you, Mr. Appleshoe!'
exclaimed I; and presently was standing before Clare,
with a face, she declares, perfectly white with contempt,
and a torrent of contemptuous epithets bursting from my
lips.
Munich, as an art-city, is a glorious abode; but for
small common-place matters it is somewhat less attractive.
The apathy and dreaminess of the tradespeople often
fairly astound one.
I only hope their dreaminess is not contagious!  Clare
persists that it is, and that Anna has caught the infection.
Anna certainly, the other day, in a fit of abstraction,
nearly walked into a branch of the Isar: it would have
been very romantic, would it not, to have been drowned in
ithe Isar rolling rapidly?' Anna too, the other day, was
inl a wild state of alarm about her purse, which was missing, but which, after a search of extreme anguish of mind,




86          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
she discovered, most carefully wrapt up by her own hands,
in a paper, and laid beside her on the tea-tray, and where
Clare, with a burst of merriment, informed her she had
seen her place it some half-hour before, whilst, with grave
face she was discoursing upon some transcendentalism.
I know also, very well, that Anna this morning boiled a
tea-spoon, instead of an egg, for her breakfast! Yes, it
is very alarming, this infection of dreaminess and abstraction of mind. For myself, I made an excuse for poor
Anna, knowing how she supports upon her head'the
Worry-pole.' I dare say people do not generally know
what this infection is, although they themselves probably
bear one always about with them, sprouting out of their
brains.
Clare last night made a sketch of Anna's' Worry-pole.'
It is not a' May-pole,' such as we see in the villages about
here, — a tall pole, upon which, on either side, and running down from the tip-top till within a certain distance of
the earth, are suspended little figures and ornaments, the
insignia of the various village trades, and a pole that is
wreathed with flowers upon a May-day, - no, it is not a
merry, joyous, light-hearted May-pole, but a'Worry.
pole!' - It is a pole planted on the head of many an
unlucky mortal, and though invisible to the people about
him or her, he or she wanders through the world with its
tremendous weight always pressing upon them: and upon
this pole, from the bottom upwards, swing insignia. When
I look at Clare's sketch, I don't blame Anna for boiling the
tea-spoon or wrapping up her purse. At the top of the
pole, behold the stern face of a great painter; he has- a
lowering brow, an upraised finger, and the mystic words'Arbeit! Arbeit! Composition! Composition!' proceed
out of his lips: beneath him come casts of arms, legs,
bodies, studies of draperies, the Anatomist's' Vade-Me



THE STUDENT'S LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.         87
cum,' models, compositions; then commence the domestic
worries - a voluminous correspondence, typified by letters
of all forms and sizes, — home-sickness in the form of
certain English faces, — Munich acquaintance who have
not yet found out Clare and Anna's peculiarity of never returning calls, —bills, undarned stockings, dinners, candles,' Spiritus,' a gigantic flea, - and Clare seated, quietly
drawing, in the midst of all, because, forsooth, she cannot
speak or understand the delightful German tongue! And
all hung upon the tall pole which sprouts out of poor little
Anna's skull, whilst she wanders along painfully, with
care-worn face, under her arm a portfolio, in one hand a
big key, in the other a big umbrella. She is wading
through a desert of dust: on one hand the Munich sun is
scorching her with his rays, on the other the Munich rain
is falling in torrents, and before her arise the bad stenches
of Munich in the shape of venomous imps. In the far
distance are seen the shores of'Albion's Isle;' from
which, in long trains, proceed many men, women, and
children, —English acquaintances, who are just commencing to hook themselves on to the'worry-pole!'
Unlucky Anna! who wonders now that she boiled the
tea-spoon?
But if from' Albion's shore' proceeds the stream of
acquaintance, Justina is also proceeding! Beloved Justina!
before whom no'worry-pole' ever could exist for an
hour as a'worry-pole:' her strong, fresh spirit, like a
joyous sea-breeze, always driving away the worries before
it, and converting the pole into a' May-pole'; her genial
hands wreathing it with the freshest, the most aromatic of
flowers!
Yes, indeed, Justina will soon be here: Clare has never
seen her, but they will meet as friends: Justina's name is
one of our watch-words. Now we are constantly arrang



88            AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
ing what is to be done' when Justina is here,' and wondering' how certain things will strike Justina.'
August 30th. - Clare this week has been designing at
home, and I have been alone at the studio. You know
my old penchant for being solitary; but our days together
have been so beautiful, that I began to fancy that, after
all, solitude was not such an attractive thing. Still at
times it is for the soul's health to be entirely alone. These
long, quiet summer days have been filled with a peculiar
charm and blessedness. There was a soothing, beneficial
influence in the deep peacefulness of the room, unbroken
except by the chiming of distant bells, or by the familiar
sounds of the little suburb, breaking at intervals upon the
ear, and only rendering the calmness deeper. There was
the regular practising of a musician on the horn and
violin, and the sound of a woman's voice calling' Julius!
Julius!' We have often wondered, Clare and I, who this
Julius could be. Certainly some idle little lad, everlast.
ingly playing in the street; the son, perhaps, of the
musician, and wanted at home to practise his scales, or to
fetch water, or chop wood! And as afternoon glided on,
and the sunlight glided with it into the studio, flecking the
red wall with quivering lights and shadows, flung from the
bowery vine without, through the warm air and thick
leaves have swelled the strains of music from the band
playing to gay groups of idlers in the Hof Garten,
Meyerischen Garten, or Englischen Garten. How calmly, how poetically unreal, has all our life risen up before
me; and as my hand has mechanically and monotonously
kept drawing, the hours have rolled away so beautifully,
so sweetly, yet alas! so rapidly. And then, too, how
pleasant has it been, after hours of quiet industry, when
the mind has absorbed itself in the contemplation of bones
and muscles, working problems as to their insertion,




THE STUDENT'S LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.        89
origin, and actions; and the universe seemed alone to
consist of communis digitorum, extensor carpi radialis
longior, and such charming individuals and abstractions;
and cobwebs spun themselves over your brain, to fling
open the old grey heavy door, and stand confronting the
freshness and splendor of the outer world. What a flash
of sunshine! what a singing of birds! what a nodding of
flowers! what a rejoicing and carolling of the whole
creation! God forgive me, for having for so many hours,
in the darkness of the inner world, forgotten Thy glorious
external world!
I cannot conceive how many of our English painters
can paint in their dull London studios, where chimneypots and lead-colored streets, and lead-colored glimpses
of sky, are all with which they can externally refresh
their spirits: and where, instead of the song of birds
and the murmur of waters, there is the nerve-exciting and
brain-deadening roar of wheels. However, much depends
upon use and temperament. But the inhabitant of a town
studio would indeed rejoice with an exceeding joy could
he only wander forth as I - happy, privileged mortal! -
did this afternoon into the sunny field, leaving care and
industry behind in the studio, and with the sunshine bathing my unbonneted head, sate down upon a flowery bank
behind the coppice, where I could be seen of no one;
and forgetting the'vade-mecum' I carried in my hand,
sank into the most lovely and happy of summer daydreams.
September 1st. —I heard just now, rising from the
street, a murmur as of many feet and voices. I looked
out, and beheld a procession. Crimson and blue, orange
and green banners were waving beneath me; crucifixes
were wreathed with fresh leaves and flowers:' there were
trains of white-robed children and young girls, some bear



90           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
ing baskets of fruit and flowers, others, small sheaves of
corn and barley. It was the Festival of Autumn. It
was very poetical. There was a train of friars in their
brown frocks, and of priests in their robes of gold and
scarlet and white linen; there were long lines of aged
men and of women. Behind came on a dense murmuring muttering crowd of all ages and of both sexes.
The people in the street, as the procession passed, paused,
raising their hats and caps, and joined in the muttered
prayer. I watched the long procession winding through
the quaint street, till it was hidden from my sight by a
picturesque mass of buildings. The gay banners fluttered
in the breeze, the sun glittered upon the crucifixes, and
the murmur came dreamily from the distance, fraught
with a strange tenderness.




CHAPTER VII.
JUSTINA S VISIT. -A GROUP OF ART-SISTERS.
September 2d. — How delicious was my meeting with
Justina yesterday! At the moment when I was sitting at
a solitary breakfast - for Clare was yet asleep - with my
mind full of Justina, and after having arranged and dusted
everything in our rooms, to be ready for her, I heard the
outer door open. I said to myself,'Justina!' The room
door opened, and she entered.
Of course the first thing we did was to cry for joy, and
then to gaze at each other, to see whether really she were
Justina and I were Anna. It seemed strange, dream-like,
impossible, that we two could be in Munich together.
Before long we set off to Kaulbach's studio -Justina,
Clare, and I; but we could not resist going a little out of
the way to walk down the beautiful Ludwig Strasse into
the Ludwio Kirche. Many things struck her much: the
rich coloring introduced into the architecture, the pervading presence of one great artistic thought throughout the
city. She was more impressed than I expected her to be.
I had always imagined the German school of art would
not find a response in her soul; but she declared that an
entirely new class of beauty, a fresh field of delight and
thought, had been opened to her.
When we entered the Ludwig Kirche, I saw her form




92           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
dilate with emotion. She seemed to grow taller and
grander; a rich flush came over her face; and her eyes
filled with tears.' I do not feel this,' said she,' to be the work of man,
but of nature. The arched roof produces upon me the
same thrill as the sky itself!'
Then we walked through the light and shadow of the
English Garden - and I pointed out to her these particular
spots that had always reminded me of her landscapes;
and across the timber-field and the bridge over the millstream, and along the side of the rushing water, till we
came to the grey, wooden door opening into the studiofield, and so along the narrow path between the thick
grass and flowers, in the pleasant sunshine across the field.
But I was obliged to hold Justina's hand in mine, else
nothing could have persuaded me that this was not one of
my many dreams. We passed through the bushes; we
stood under the vine; we opened the heavy grey door:
we were in the little room. The clock ticked as loudly
as usual; there stood the two sister easels, and a sister
painting-blouse hung on each: the casts, the books, the
green jug with flowers, all looked so familiar, that to set
to work at once and fancy that I had only dreamed of
Justina, seemed the most natural thing. But there she
really stood in the body!
And having now seen what we were beginning, and
having taken into her memory all the features of the
beloved little room, so that she could picture our lives
when she should have again vanished, we went into the
other studio.
Thoroughly did she enter into the spirit of Kaulbach's
works; she is worthy to understand them. She thinks,
with me, that for intellect, and dramatic power and poetry,
he is superior to any living artist.




JUSTINA'S VISIT. - A GROUP OF ART-SISTERS.   93
We three, as it happened, had the studio all to ourselves; and we stood and sat before those grand works,
in the most perfect repose and silence, and drank in the
whole spirit of the place.
Justina looked grandly beautiful, with that golden hair
of hers crowning her as with a halo of glory, and her
whole soul looking through her eyes, and quivering on her
lips as she gazed at the pictures. I longed for Kaulbach
to quietly enter, and see her standing before them like a
creature worthy to be immortalized by him, - an exception to the puny prosaic race of modern days, who are
unworthy to live in art, - who only deserve to pass away
and be forgotten.
But the sublimest intellectual emotion can, after all,
last only for a time, seeing that we all, the most spiritual
even, are possessed of a double nature, - body and soul.
It was now half-past eleven o'clock, and we were grown
very hungry, for our joy at meeting had prevented our eating much breakfast; so we betook ourselves to the Meyerischen Garten, paying the Hausmeisterin a visit by the
way, - so that Justina might have an idea of a German
kitchen with all its picturesque characteristics; might have
a glimpse of her poetical little sitting-room and bed-room,
made so beautiful by Kaulbach's prints and sketches; that
she might see the Hausmeisterin; that I might have the
joy of saying to the good woman,' Here is my beloved
friend out of England, the sister of my heart!'
What a pleasant dinner was ours at the Meyerischen
Garten!  What joy we had in all three going into the
kitchen and ordering three portions! What a delight to
see Justina's amusement at the odd look of everything!
What merriment in our little bower over our dinner when
it arrived! The flock of turkeys came round us as usual;
all the external was the same, but the spirit was very




94            AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
unusual which reigned at our little dinner-table. No more'grinding.' Flexors and extensors were forgotten; such
things as anatomy, or work, or fatigue, or home-sickness,
no longer existed. All was the joyous, blessed present!
Justina entered thoroughly into the spirit of our life,
laughing at the want of salt-spoons and such luxuries:
wiping the forks for our second course, our Mehl-speise,
on the table-cloth, and drinking the coffee with an indescribable relish.
After this dinner, which Justina enjoyed with all the
keener relish, from the contrast it made to the life she was
leading,-a life of the highest respectability, a life of
first-class travelling, of couriers, of the grandest hotels,
of English solemnity, and aristocratic propriety. She
declared again and again that there never was such a
delicious, free, poetical life as ours; and she was perfectly right. I fully believe that she will in a while spend
a month with us; perhaps join us in our Tyrolean trip.
Justina is gone! I am  alone this evening, as Clare is
out with some English friends.
Thank God that she has been here! We all agree that
three such gay delightful days never before were spent by
three such accordant spirits; days which we shall never
forget, and out of which Justina declares that something
great and good must come. She, the very embodiment
of health, soul, and body, without a morbid or mean
emotion ever having sullied her spirit - with freshness as
of the morning, and strength as of a young oak-has
had the most beneficial influence on both of us through
her intense love of nature and art, through the same aims
in life, yet all three so different from each other. Clare,
a thorough creature of genius, born to success whether
she had devoted herself to music, the drama, or painting,
- an artist in the true sense of the word, with a dramatic




JUSTINA'S VISIT. -A GROUP OF ART"SISTERS.  95
power of expression in everything she attempts, and of
a self-absorbed character by nature. I, possessing an
intense devotion and love of art, of a sensitive, poetical
temperament, which at times becomes somewhat morbid,
yet earnest, persevering, with a constant aspiration after
the spiritual, and a firmer, much firmer faith in the Unseen
than either of the others.  Cannot you see how great
must be our usefulness to each other, —our influence
upon each other? We have been all three struck by
this; we have felt our peculiar individualities come out in
strongest contrast.
What schemes of life have not been worked out whilst
we have been together! as though this, our meeting here,
were to be the germ of a beautiful sisterhood in Art, of
which we have all dreamed long, and by which association
we might be enabled to do noble things.
Justina, with her expansive views, and her strong feel.
ings in favor of associated homes, talked now of an Asso.
ciated Home, at some future day, for such'sisters' as
had no home of their own. She had a large scheme of
what she calls the Outer and Inner Sisterhood. The
Inner, to consist of the Art-sisters bound together by their
one object, and which she fears may never number many
in their band; the Outer Sisterhood to consist of women,
all workers and all striving after a pure moral life, but belonging to any profession, any pursuit. All should be
bound to help each other in such ways as were most
accordant with their natures and characters. Among these
would be needle-women — good Elizabeth -'s, whose
real pleasure is needle-work, whose genius lies in shaping
and sewing, and whose sewing never comes undone, —the
good Elizabeth! how unspeakably useful would such as
thou be to the poor Art-sisters, whose stockings must be
mended! Perhaps, too, there would be some one sister




96         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
whose turn was preserving, and pickling, and cooking; she,
too, would be a treasure every day, and very ornamental
and agreeable would be her preparation of cakes and good
things for the evening meetings once or twice a month.
And what beautiful meetings those were to be, as we
pictured them in the different studios! In fact, all has
been present so clearly to my imagination, that I can
hardly believe them mere castles in the air.
Justina entered our rooms on the second day of her
visit, - after coming, of course, through the pestilent pas.
sage,- -and exclaimed -' You poor silly creatures! do you not know that you
are killing yourselves as fast as you can by living in these'
close rooms and breathing this bad air''Yes, we know it,' we replied.'As for Anna,' continued the energetic Justina,' I am
angry with her; she who ought to know better, she who
so thoroughly understands sanitary laws. What would
the'Pater' say if he found you here? he would soon
have you away. You will grow as pale as ghosts if you
stay; and you can't help either of you growing' morbid;
you'll paint morbid pictures if you breathe this air!
Don't think that I have only just perceived it; I felt it
the moment I came near your door, and I've been thinking of it ever since; and I know that it is my duty to
drag you out of this place. If I saw a child with its head
in a gutter or a drain I should drag it out, -and much
more you.''Yes; but Justina,' we began.'If it is the money,' continued Justina, not listening to
what we had to say,'I'll pay your month's rent myself,
and you shall move to-morrow. VWe will set out and hunt
for rooms this very day; it will be capital fun. We'll
move all your things to-morrow; pack them up here, and




JUSTINA'S VISIT.  A GROUP OF ART-SISTERS.  97
unpack them in the new rooms: I have a surfeit of
churches, and pictures, and statues upon me. It will be a
delightful change; I shall not be happy else; I can't think
of your living here, I can't! I shall smell that smell in
Milan -Venice- everywhere. I must see you in new
rooms, and know how you will be in the winter; and I
shall be connected with them in your thoughts if we move
in this prompt, unique sort of way.''But, Justina,' we now  argued,'there are now no
rooms to be had: all Munich moves four times a year;
we can get nothing till the end of the quarter; we have
tried already, but in vain.'
Justina, however, was resolute, and we set off on our
expedition.
Having confided to Justina our desire for the winter to
have rooms near the studio, we commenced our search in
the St. Anna suburb. I think what we saw that day both
astonished and amused Justina. First we went to Mrs.
--'s friend, the miller's wife, which was at the nearest
of the mills; and, after passing through a timber-yard,
and then through a picturesque and really extensive garden, gay with sunflowers, we came to a long, low, whitewashed house, covered with a vine. The miller's wife,
instead of- taking us into her house, pointed from the outside to two windows, which she said belonged to the rooms
she had to let, - two southern windows, cheerful-looking
fro'm being draped with very clean white muslin curtains,
and from being embowered with vine-leaves. Yes; very
pleasant they looked outside; but, - Could we see the
inside?
After a good deal of hesitation and mysterious consultation in a low voice with another woman, and something
being said about her father who was sick, we were told
that we might see the rooms if we would excuse, etc. etc.!
7




98          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
We were accordingly taken up a narrow staircase, and
along a narrow and apparently interminable passage; a
door was opened, and behold a crowd of people busied in
various occupations, - sewing, eating, and heaven knows
what beside; but all in a crowd and bustle, and breathing
an atmosphere that took away our breath; and, seated on
a bed - Oh, heavens! a sight which neither Justina, Clire,
nor I, shall forget for many a day:- we saw it but for an
instant, but it was daguerreotyped for ever. An old man,
nearly dead! They had propped him up, and were giving
him some soup: the poor skeleton legs, bare from the
knees, hung down the bedside, lank and horrible, and discolored; whilst a wretched shirt barely covered his meagre
shrunk chest and arms, and a whisp of a blue handkerchief was tied round his throat. One instant we saw the
vision; then turned away quite sick. Poor, unhappy, neglected old man! And this was one of the rooms which
was to be let! The room in itself was not amiss, if it had
been cleaned and had fresh furniture, and the second
opening out of it was really pretty: but could we ever
get over that horrible vision, or should we like to live with
people who allowed life, much more death, to be so miserable and squalid?
We saw in the garden, as we passed out, a group of
respectable-looking people taking supper at a little table
under some trees.' That is the Baroness and her family,' said the miller's
wife, -' the Baroness, who lives at that house:' and she
pointed to a handsome, quaint, old gabled house, which
also stood in the garden. We ourselves should have en.
joyed the garden very much; and when we got out among
the sunflowers, and smelt the fresh evening scents, and
heard the leaves rustle over our heads, we began to think
whether we might not after all manage with the rooms.




JUSTINA'S VISIT.- A GROUP OF ART-SISTERS.  99
But no! we had seen that which we could not forget, and
we went on to search further.
Next we went to the house of a well-to-do carpenter, -
but there was nothing; then to a very nice clean house, a
Wasser-Anstalt (a Hydropathic Establishment). Such a
pretty place! with a sweet fresh garden. But the people
of the place,- a stately elderly man, like a character in
one of Kotzebue's plays, and his wife, who was dressed as
gaily as a tulip, -would, however, have nothing to do
with us. It was in vain that we mentioned the most respectable of our acquaintance, male and female; they knew
nothing of them. But we were well known to the Baroness von -; naming the most aristocratic of our acquaintance. Were we indeed! It might be so; but they
had no rooms to let, - that is to say, they had none to let
unless we came recommended by the physician of the
establishnment. But, in short, they had not any rooms
which would suit us!
First the man looked at us, and then the woman, and
then they looked at one another; and between them both
the above decision was come to. No; they had no rooms
which would suit us!
Mrs. -     and I laughed heartily as we turned from the
door; and Justina and Clare, neither of them understanding German, thought, good souls! that this most respectable couple had been very polite to us.
I should think we went after this to a dozen other
places; and what places we saw! places to make one
hang oneself, or throw oneself into the mill-stream. Lastly, when standing in the twilight on the bridge, just opposite to the shop of our fat baker-woman, out she came,
waddling towards us, to ask us if we wanted anything;
and on our relating to her our bootless quest, she exclaim.
ed, her whole face lighting up at once, that;le had just




100          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
what would suit us. Of course we went in to see the
rooms, through the hot little shop, through a still hotter
little room,-a very oven, — and then the one room presented itself which she had to offer:'a beautiful room, a
friendly room as ever was!' she declared, good fat soul!
in a coarse rough voice, —' a pretty, friendly little room,
which would just suit the dear little young ladies!'
What a room it was! small almost as a coffin, underground almost, damp and hot at the same time, long and
narrow; we should have died of the Munich fever in it
before a month was out! But it would not have done to
affront the old lady by telling her so; therefore we had a
good excuse in requiring two rooms at least, and away
we went.
Such was our expedition after lodgings. And when we
returned home to our formerly despised abode, Justina
was obliged to confess that it was really splendid, clean,
and wholesome, and a very palace, after what we had
seen.




CHAPTER VIII.
A BARBARIC TEMPLE BUILT IN THE IMAGINATION — A GENRE
PICTURE IN THE NEW HOME.
THE day that Justina left, we all paid the Bavaria a visit.
I do not know how it had happened that we had never
before been close to the Bavaria; but such is the case.
The Bavaria stands upon a meadow outside the town, a
broad green expanse, commanding a view of the distant
Alps. You see a tall wooden tower flanked by two wooden
wings. This tower and the wings inclose the colossal
statue, and the temple which is erecting behind the statue.
We had seen the sun frequently set behind this building,
and the lightning flashing behind the Bavaria among the
evening clouds; and yet, until this sunny morning, we had
never paid her a visit.
As we drew near, above the scaffolding, towering up
into the blue morning sky, we saw a gigantic, beautiful,
round arm, upholding a heavy garland of oak-leaves. We
stood at the foot of the statue - pigmies!
Wooden stairs ran up around her; huge scaffolding rose
into the sunny, dewy air; heavy enormous folds of bronze
drapery rolled to her colossal feet, which appeared formed
to trample feeble human beings into dust. Ladders were
placed against her large limbs; workmen in caps and
aprons were busied about her; they looked human,
insects! And then,- her countenance!  Those stern,




102          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
placid, gloriously beautiful features expressed a soul large,
awful, poetical, and as infinitely removed from all the
pettinesses of humanity as was her form from all conventionality.
There is a power in this revelation which made me stand
aghast! my spirit felt swayed involuntarily before it as
though it had been a thing of life, an existence possessed
of mighty power in the world,- not a mere statue of
bronze: she seemed akin to the Sphynx; an awful being,
a mystery, an embodiment of a spirit as yet but partially
revealed to humanity.
Justina stood transfixed before the colossus.'Of all
the marvels of this marvellous Munich, truly this is the
greatest!' she exclaimed.
Behind the statue, as I observed before, a temple is
being erected. The walls are already raised, and so are
the columns and the frieze. Workmen were busy fluting
the columns. The base alone of many of the columns
was fluted,- the shaft rising with a bold Egyptian kind
of character, and then unfolding into the Doric capital. I
heard some workmen saying to Justina's friends -'This is to be painted in fresco!' My imagination
instantly suggested that these columns, according to Egyptian and Indian taste, were to glow with the most brilliant
and barbaric colors, - scarlet, green, azure, gold! I saw
in fancy the long line of these strange columns supporting
the marble frieze, stretching on either hand of the mighty
Bavaria: the brick wall behind the pillars was knocked
down -the vast green plain stretched away to the sunset!
The heavens were flooded with light and glowed with hues
more brilliant than the tints upon the columns, and the.inking sun cast long shadows upon the green sward from
columns and statue.
Justina and I had the same vision of a barbaric temple,




A BARBARIC TEMPLE BUILT IN THE IMAGINATION 103
-a temple belonging to the spirit of ancient India rather
than to Greece. How grand, we exclaimed, is this union
of apparently opposite styles of architecture! it is alone
the blending of classic grandeur with a sterner, with a
more barbarous age, which could harmonize with a
Bavaria!
Ofrs was, however, but a deception of imagination. A
little further on, and these shafts were fluted the entire
length —their strange character had vanished.'How is
this?' I asked of the workmen:' I thought I heard you
say the columns were to be painted in fresco?''It is the wall behind the columns that is to be in
fresco,' he replied.
I saw instantly what was the intention, and doubtless
the Doric temple will be beautiful, as are all King
Ludwig's creations; still I must regret the destruction of
our ideal barbaric temple, with its vast extent of plain
gleaming out beyond the gorgeously tinted columns!
As yet, my imagination feels it to be infinitely grander
than the correct Doric temple, with its rows of busts of
great men placed within it. What have human beings to
do, however great, in the presence of a Bavaria?
It is a strange ascent up into the Bavaria's head, where
you sit within her face upon bronze sofas; and through a
loop-hole in the rich mass of her hair can gaze out over
the distant city and across the plain towards the dreamy
Alpine chain. It is a strange ascent, and yet a stranger
descent, by that slender iron staircase, which in the gloom
at times seems lost in the rough dark chasm into which
you are descending; you feel held up by an iron network
in the centre of a wild cavern of volcanic rock.
Next month is to be the great Bavaria Festival.
September 22d. —It is a pity Justina cannot see our




104         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
new abode! Even she would be satisfied. We had a
fresh hunt for lodgings, Clare and I: not after romantic
lodgings in mills or at carpenters', — we had had enough
of that with Justina —but in the neighborhood of the
aristocratic Ludwig Strasse, where, now that Michaelmas
is nearly arrived, and everybody flitting, lodgings may be
had.
The instant we entered our present rooms, we exclaimed with one voice,'Here is our home!'  The
rooms have elegant walnut furniture in them, are beautifully clean, and the situation is deliciously quiet: there
is no more dirt, no more slovenliness, and there are no
more bad stenches! You enter the house by a clean,
airy, square passage through the regular heavy Portecochere of a German house, and ascend to the different
etages by a beautifully clean oak staircase. On the first
floor I see a Professor lives; on the second lives a Major;
and on the third live we! But we do not live all alone
in the little dwelling, of course. We have the rooms
fronting the street; and the Frau Rentsbeanmtinn Thekla
Victoria Carolina Werff — Anglice, Mrs. Tax-gatheress
Thekla Victoria, &c. - and her Friulein sister Sanchen,
live at the back.  The dwelling belongs to Madame
Thekla, and her Friiulein sister is the servant. She was
very busy scouring the day we came to look at the rooms,
and she has been scouring every day since, I fancy.
She has one of the most peculiar faces I ever saw -a
droll face -ugly, yet agreeable: she is a character, I
am  certain.  These two old souls have the prettiest,
cleanest, little pink, not white-washed, kitchen that ever
was seen, cramful of quaint pots and pans, and tubs, of
every shape and description of material - copper, brass,
tin, earthenware, delft, china, and wood. They have
also a room opening out of the kitchen. This second




A GENRE PICTURE IN THE NEW HOME.        105
room is bed-room and parlor. It is also cramful of possessions: there are, first of all, the sister-beds, with a
huge crucifix hanging upon the wall between them;
there are heavy chests of drawers, too, and quantities of
Bohemian glass, and a portrait of the departed Mr. Tax.
gatherer Werff, very smiling and wooden, in a striped
buff-waistcoat and blue coat, with one hand in his waistcoat pocket; and the portrait also of the Mr. Tax-gatherer's widow when she was his young wife, some twenty
years ago —a lady with eyes as black as sloes, her hair
dressed in tall loops upon the very top of her head, and
adorned with a brilliant tiara; she is radiant also in a
green satin dress and crimson scarf. The young wife is
represented, of course, slimmer than the widow now
appears. Yet, as the good Madame Thekla sits knitting
beside her window among her birds, perched up there,
almost like a bird herself, upon that high step in the
window, I can perceive a considerable resemblance be.
tween the lady with black eyes and brilliant tiara and the
elderly lady in the dark blue and white striped morning
gown, and with the thin black hair streaked with gray
elaborately plaited low down in the neck.
Birds and clocks, one would say, were Madame Thekla's
passioni - at least birds are: clocks, I am assured, were
the passion of the'blessed Tax-gatherer.'  Here are
larks, buntings, blackbirds, — sparrows even, if I am to
believe my ears and eyes; and the chirping, whistling,
pecking, fluttering, in Madame Thekla's window is some.
thing inconceivable! I wonder she does not go crazy,
sitting there hour after hout as she does.
The first night we slept here I feared that I myself
should have gone crazy, -not from the birds but from
the clocks! In the Werffs' kitchen, and in the Werffs'




106          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
bed-room, there are clocks, all of which may be heard
striking into our rooms; one of them is a cuckoo-clock
with chimes, and in each of our rooms there is a timepiece: in Clare's room, hanging just over her sofa, is a
picture of a gloomy cathedral, — it has a clock which
booms forth the hours and the quarters with chimes, also!
What an astonishment it was to us when the cathedral
first boomed forth the time! Clare sprang up from the
sofa, where she had been resting herself after the fatigue
of flitting, as though she had been shot. Opposite to my
bed stands a French time-piece like a small temple.
Madame Thekla seems maliciously to place her clocks
precisely where they may most unpleasantly remind one
of the flight of time. All through that first night how
those clocks did chime - hours and quarters, quarters and
hours, like mad things! And as the clocks were not
particularly accurate, they chimed one after another till
the whole hour was a mass of chimes - booming, tinkling,
striking high and low, slow and fast, till one grew frantic.
I was certainly only restrained by my good angel from
starting up and dashing the temple to pieces.'Oh, Madame Thekla!' cried I, the next morning,' we
must have these clocks stopped, they drive us mad; they
will kill us!''Don't the gracious young ladies, then, like to know
how the time passes?' remarked the astonished Madame
Thekla:' but I remember, you English don't like clocks:
the English gentleman who once lodged here also disliked
to know how the time passed; he ran into my room, as
you have done, gracious young lady, the first morning he
was here, like a mad gentleman, and asked me why there
was all this " Devil's music," - [Teufels-Musik] - yes,
" Devil's music," he called it! and said if it went on, he
should set off!'




FRAULEIN SANCHEN.              107'And so shall we, Madame Thekla!' cried I, much
amused;' neither can we stand the Devil's music!'
Thank heaven, the' Devil's music' has ended in our
rooms, but in Madame Thekla's it still chimes on; and
this, together with the carolling of the larks, awakes me
every morning betimes.
Yes; we imagine that we shall be very comfortable
with these good WVerffs. We only fear they may be too
fussy; they are so very good to us, so motherly, so overkind! How much they would delight in our being ill!
Their highest delight would be wrapping us up in bed and
making us drink gruel!  I see their delighted, yet
anxious, old faces administering the gruel! Pray heaven
they may be disappointed of this pleasure. We are a
regular God-send to them, I'm sure; for we are their
great occupation. When they have said their prayers, and
cooked their dinner, and gossiped with a neighbor, they
have now the delight of caring for the two English
Frdulein.  Their astonishment at our being here' all
alone, so very, very, very far from our homes' too, as
they persist in our being, is unbounded; and they persist,
also, in our being' so very young;' and this astonishment
is only equalled by their astonishment over our extraordinary, inconceivable industry! and as it happens, since
we have been here, we have been anything but industrious!
Of course, if we are not arranging our goods and chattels,
we are reading or writing, or sketching, or Clare is singing at the piano. Girls, whether English or foreign, do
not usually, I imagine, sit with their hands folded quietly
before them all day long. But over the reading, writing,
sketching, and singing, what extraordinary exclamations
there have been from the good old souls!' Immer so fJeissig! Immer so fleissig!' -' Always
so industrious! always so industrious!' they cry, when




108          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
they enter our rooms, till we grow quite nervously to
dread the advent of the sisters; —and they always enter
together, the one to direct, the other to execute; the one
pretends to dust, the other scours.
In my eyes, Fraulein Sanchen is a much more interest.
ing person than the widow of the Tax-gatherer: she, poor
Fraulein, is always either scouring, fetching water or
wood, or cooking, or waiting upon us, or brushing our
shoes and dresses, or running out on errands; she is never
at rest, except when she prays and sleeps for a few hours
— and that is indeed only for a very few, for she is up
ever so early, as soon as the lark begins his song, in order
to make a cup of coffee for her' Frau Schwester,' as she
always calls her, and then' to make her lady sister's hair,'
as she expresses it, - to dress her sister's hair in its elab.
orate plaits, before she attends to us. In her face I read
a touching history and a touching look of humility — a
look as though her inferiority to her sister in station, in
riches, and in good looks, was always present to her: the
same consciousness I also read in the folding of her large
bony hands, which have grown coarser, and bonier, and
harder, than nature made them, by all this scouring and
cleaning.  Poor old Fraulein! I foresee that thy lank
figure, thy strange hard face, surmounted with thin black
locks, and adorned with brilliant garnet ear-rings, and thy
scraggy yellow neck surrounded with its garnet necklace,
will become beloved objects to me. I feel, in fact, that
I shall place thee in a warm corner of my heart, poor old
Fraulein! Thou art one whose days have been always
passed on the north side of life. I doubt whether ever a
ray of sunshine fell upon thy spirit, thou good, faithful,
and trusty servant!
All the sunshine has fallen upon the southern days of
Madame Thekla! She is magnificent indeed, with her




FLITTING.                  109
portly figure, her wealth in furniture, clocks, birds, gold
watch big as a turnip, lying among lavendered piles of
linen and stockings, and in memory of the departed loving and beloved Tax-gatherer! But it is to the despised,
old servant-sister that my heart turns. Had you seen,
though, how Madame Thekla took the poor English
Friulein under her maternal sway, and conveyed them to
their new home, you could not have failed to like her
either.
She came in gorgeous attire to the Steinhausers', accompanied by a man, a boy, and a truck to convey our
trunks, baskets, cases, easels, and nondescript possessions,
to our new abode. What joy beamed in her round face
as she superintended the securing of boxes upon the truck:
our big washing-pans filled with stray over-shoes, a coffee-pot, and'tea-machine,' especially interested the good
lady. How she scolded the Steinhausers, the man, the
boy, and the truck! how she arranged, bargained, chattered! Clare and I, carrying various household gods far
too precious to be consigned to the mercies of truck, man,
boy, or the good widow, were, though much encumbered
with our precious loads, soon far ahead of the train.
Looking back, the blue bows of the big bonnet and the
crimson scarf were always seen in violent gesticulation
over the pausing truck.
Flittings in Germany are much more amusing than in
England - and in England they are often comic enough.
About the quarter-days in Munich you see the drollest
groups; many things are carried by hand; soldiers are
much employed, also, as porters - and this gives a peculiar character to the scene of a flitting.
The other day I saw a soldier carrying under his arm
a large mirror, with a gay bonnet tied round his neck
and hanging behind his back! You meet servant-girls




110         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
staggering beneath huge'ivy-tods,' the ornaments for
the windows, and the children of the house carrying their
toys and their mother's work-boxes, and their father's
pipes. You know in Germany your neighbor's dresses
by meeting the laundresses bearing them home through
the streets upon tall poles, like gay pennons; and at
quarter-days you become acquainted with your neighbor's
furniture as it progresses along the streets also.
Our moving was, of course, very interesting to our
opposite neighbors. The Appleshoes were all alive to it!
So were the students, and their big white dog, who live on
the other side of the Appleshoes; the young man with the
fiery red beard, and the youth with the flaxen locks; —
they will have lost a great amusement, I fear, now we are
gone; for our goings out and comings in were apparently
very interesting to them. As to the Steinhausers, they
were all on the qui vive!
Clare and I vastly enjoyed the fun.




CHAPTER IX.
THE STUDIO AND HOUSE OF SCHWANTHALER THE SCULPTOR.
Sept. 29th. —We have just returned from  Schwanthaler's studio; which is situated in a street leading out of
the city towards the great Theresa Meadow, where stands
the colossal Bavaria, The street was formerly called the
Lerchen Strasse, but now it is the Schwanthaler Strasse, in
memory of the great sculptor. Ludwig von Schwanthaler
was born in Munich- was educated in Munich- worked
and immortalized his name in Munich - and in Munich
he died. His dwelling-house is in the same street as, and
opposite to, the studio, which is a white and rather low
building, standing back from the street, and forming three
sides of a small court. The fourth side would be formed
by the dwelling-house -a long building of one story —
were it not that the studio and the house are divided by
the street.
The Schwanthaler Strasse, like most of the streets in
the newer quarters of Munich, spite of its gaily painted
houses, with their tints of pale greens, pinks, greys, and
salmon colors, their long rows of bright windows, and
often their clustering vines and creepers, through which
peeps forth here and there the white statue of the Madonna and Child, or a fresco of the Madonna or some saint,
has a strange air of quietness, almost of desertion about it.
No one is seen passing to and fro, — all is silent, as if sunk
in a calm dream.




11]2         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
The little court-yard of Schwanthaler's studio is especially quiet, and the gravel is thickly sprinkled with small
weeds. The folding-doors of the studio open, —and as
we step into the long gallery, before us rise, relieving
themselves against a dull red wall, the colossal figures of
the Hermann-Schlacht or' Battle  of Arminius'- the
frieze for tihe northern pediment of the Walhalla at Ratisbon. Hermann, in his winged helmet, grasps his terrific
sword, pausing for a moment in his slaughter; his strong
feet press the reeds and mosses of the morass, like the
feet of a destroying angel, - his matted locks are blown
back from his relentless brows, and he gazes down on the
fallen and struggling foes around him. On the one hand
are the Roman combatants: on the other, a bard, a female
seer, with loosened hair wreathed with oak-leaves, and
face raised with a wild visionary look about it, and Hermann's old dying father, - Hermann's wife, an Amazonian woman, bending over him. We stand in the very
heart of the old German world, - are transported to those
mighty forests inhabited by a Titantic race and by fabulous
dragons.  We are among beings of an' elder world, large
of limb, and of perfect proportions. They have had
space and time to develop themselves in those primeval
forests. They are not savages; it is not mere physical
strength and beauty that they possess. They are endowed
with a strange intellectual beauty and power that make the
gazer breathless. With the grandeur and simplicity and
power of the antique, the sculptor has united a fresh element - the wild mysterious poetry belonging to the mythology of the North. His gods are not Jupiters and
Apollos, but Thors and Odins. They have a mystery and
a grand undeveloped intellectuality about them which
kindle the soul as does the rude, jagged peak of an alp, or
the sound of thunder, or like the sight of a sea or of a vast
plain.




THE STUDIO AND HOUSE OF SCHWANTHALER.   113
This wonderful group of the Hermann-Schlacht stretches
along one side of the gallery. At one end stands casts from
three figures in the Bohemian Walhalla; one of which -
Wenzell — is peculiarly beautiful, and, from  the almost
feminine character of the countenance turned towards
heaven in an inspiration of intense love, and from the rich
medieval costume in which the figure is clothed, might
readily be mistaken for Joan of Arc. The entrance to
the gallery is guarded by two stern old fellows, - Huss and
Ziska, — also from the Walhalla.
It would be too long a business to attempt to particularize one-tenth of the statues which enrich this wonderful
studio. This gallery of which I have spoken, a corresponding gallery on the opposite side of the court-yard,
and a lesser one connecting the two, and where towers
the astounding head of the awful Bavaria, are crowded
with works more or less successful, from the brain of
this great sculptor, who died in his forty-sixth year, and
the last ten years of whose life were an almost incessant
martyrdom.
Schwanthaler's works may be divided into three classes:
-Firstly, those belonging to the old Scandinavian world,
and the age of Saga, of which the Bavaria, the Hermann,
and the Libussa may be taken as the types; secondly, the
mediaeval; and thirdly —alas, that Schwanthaler should
have succumbed to the dire necessity! -portraits. There
are various colossal and illustrious dukes, electors, kings,
and emperors, to whom he has certainly succeeded in
giving an air of stern dignity; and there are various.
monuments to men illustrious in other ways,- as Goethe,
Jean Paul, &c.; but all these statues are very mediocre
in the presence of the Hermnann, the Libussa, or the four
Statues  of the Rivers which adorn a fountain in Vienna.
Schwanthaler revelled in the old legendary world; his
8




114         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
subjects are bards and seers as well as warriors and amazons. The Libussa is as unique as the old Bohemian
legend itself. Once having seen that gloriously beautiful
damsel, with lher indescribable countenance,- in which is
a strange mingling of the amazon, the enchantress, and
the loving woman, - who can forget her? Yet who can
describe her, as she stands there in her power and dignity,
— the massive waves of hair flowing down from her
shoulders, - the rich folds of her somewhat quaint drapery falling in ample abundance round her noble form,one strong yet exquisitely moulded hand resting on her
hip, whilst the other holds an unfolded scroll? Yes, precisely thus must she have stood when consulted by her
future husband, then a poor knight, as to his fate in life;
and when the astounding future, which she will scarcely
acknowledge to herself, much less to him, has been revealed to her. Thus must she have stood, as she said,' Wait till the evening, when, having consulted my books,
I will tell thee!' And again when evening came, and
she said,' Wait till the dawn, when I shall have consulted
my dream!''There is the'Beautiful Melusina' also,-which, however, is inferior to the Libussa; and there are a number
of nymphs and river-gods all belonging to this class, full of
a spirit as grand as that of the antique, but totally different.
Having hastily passed through Schwanthaler's studio,which, with his collection of casts from his principal
works, he has bequeathed to the Munich Academy -let us
enter his house on the other side of the street-that house
where  e led he led his dreamy, solitary, strange, fantastic life.
We first enter a kind of private studio.  Several casts
from his works stand there; a beautiful drawing of the
Hermann-Schlacht hangs above a long writing-table. The,
house appears to consist of but one suite of rooms on the




THE STUDIO AND HOUSE OF SCHWANTHALER.  115
ground-floor. You ascend two or three steps and find
yourself in a simply furnished but elegant sitting-room, —
of course with an uncarpeted floor. Various pictures hang
about the walls, - none, however, of remarkable excellence; a variety of sun-pictures of his friends, and views
of the Bavaria. The walls, if I remember correctly, are
of a self-colored green; and the most striking feature of
the room is a few statuettes placed on brackets. Above
the sofa hang the sculptor's first and last sketches.  The
first sketch, or rather carving, is a rude, little bas-relief,
in a black wooden frame; two quaint bld figures drinking,
and round it hangs a withered wreath of bay. The last
sketch is the figure of a warrior drawn in charcoal.
A lesser room opens from this one; its character, how.
ever, is the same. Nevertheless, a few things struck me
in it. Fronting the door is a shrine of medieval character, although of modern workmanship — one of those
shrines with folding-doors. The figure within it seemed
to be neither a Madonna nor yet a common-place saint,
but an angel with outstretched wings. Just within the
shrine stood two little swans, each with a piece of money
suspended by a blue ribbon from its neck -a play upon
the name Schwan-thaler.  The other thing which caught
my attention was a singular drinking-cup, formed from a
tree-root; its stem, curling and twisting in a strange grotesque manner, swelled out to form the cup, which was
lined with gold. The lid or cover was a mass of small
roots and strange knobs and deformed growths. As you
looked more attentively at it, behold! you saw the figure
of a knight fighting his way through those roots as through
the stems of an enchanted forest: now he rested and
slept, now he was hospitably entertained by a hermit in
his cell. It is a strange, grotesque fancy. Schwanthaler
had carved it at his leisure, and was very fond of it; he




116          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
and his friends used to drink out of it on his birth-and
name-days.
We next entered his bed-chamber, which opened out
of this room, and was also on the ground-floor,- a quiet
holy-looking little room. Some pictures were hung on the
walls, and on the porcelain stove stood a statuette of Thorwaldsen's Christ. The window opens into a garden; and
the branches of a vine are twined across it, so as in summer
to form a lovely green blind of leaves, - which is by no
means uncommon here, and the effect of which is very
pretty and poetical. Here stood the bed on which the
sculptor had died, - where his eyes had closed upon this
world. Strange wild tales are told of his last illness, as he
lay on this bed. Wild visions even then haunted his brain,
which he realized around him. Sometimes he would have
men brought from the studio and arrayed in quaint old armor, and whilst they fought and wrestled before him he
would lie and dream of combats and tournaments. I have
heard, also, that a short time before his death, on the.'name-day' of a relative and right good friend of his, he.
moulded in clay, as he lay on his bed, a figure of his friend,
and had it laid out, I believe, as though it were dead, whilst
two of his workmen from the studio, disguised as good andevil spirits, contended for the body — the evil one, much
to the poor friend's consternation, bearing off the prize I!
Shortly after, in this very chamber, still stranger visionsvisions more awful than even his imagination could conjure
up -burst on him; and he himself had to pass through a.
more mysterious struggle than any combat in romance —
the struggle of death!
The cousin of Schwantl-lhaler, who was with us, brought
out from a cabinet in this chamber two plaster masks: one,
taken when the sculptor was sixteen, showed a refined delicate face, with a sensitive expression about the youthful




THE STUDIO AND HOUSE OF SCHWANTHALER.   117
lips; the other taken after death-the same face, but
how matured by thought, labor, pain —beautiful, emaciated, and stamped with the seal of death - the face of
one who had suffered intensely, but had attained to peace.
I know how he looked in life, too, from a drawing made
of him by Kaulbach. It is a face which from its delicacy
might have been a woman's, except for a long moustache
that conceals the beautiful upper lip, and for the strength
of the strong man's and poet's soul which gazes out of
his eyes. These are very large, and have an astonished
look, as though they were ever seeing visions which were
not of this world.
We now paid a visit to the sanctum sanctorum. We
descended a narrow flight of some five or six steps from
the bed-room into a queer little apartment half under
ground.  The walls were stone; two small windows
lighted it  one of stained glass; the other, quite a little
loop-hole, was covered on the outside by its vine, the
leaves of which in summer would look more green and
tender than ever, from their coming in such sharp contrast with the hard, gloomy stone walls. In this little
cellar there was just room for a small stove, a bench on
which about three people might sit - certainly no more -
and a table. A shelf or two ran along the walls; and on
these stood a vast variety of the quaintest old goblets and
drinking-cups. Old armor and strange old swords hung
upon the walls. Here Schwanthaler, his cousin said,
used to sit for hours; here, too, no doubt, he saw strange
visions; and here, too, he and his beloved friends —
worthy and noble friends! -used to sit, and drink wine
out of the queer old drinking-cup with its knight and
hermit, and out of many another strange old goblet.
Such is the house of the great sculptor, and such some
of the old memories that haunt it.




CIHAPTER  X.
TIlE OCTOBER'VOLKS-FEST.'
NEXT Sunday, October 6th, commences the great People's Festival, and, in celebration of this, the Enthiilling
-the uncovering, the unveiling, or whatever it is called,
of the great Bavaria statue takes place. Thursday, the
3d, was announced as the day of the Bavaria festival;
but, strange to say, it seems next to impossible, although
to-morrow is Thursday, to ascertain what really will take
place. The newspapers and announcements on the walls
have been contradicting one another, day after day, this
week past. Neither can you discover where tickets are
to be obtained for the seats erected on the meadow.
Thursday evening. - Rain! rain! and it has rained all
day. There has been no festival, and people are uncertain whether there will be any to-morrow.
Saturday evening.- It rained, rained, rained all yesterday, and there was no-Jistival. Crowds of strangers
are here to witness the ceremony, and there is nothing
but rain.
The King and Queen of Saxony, the King and Queen
of Greece, the Duchess of Modena, King Ludwig and his
Queen, King Max and his Queen, all returned for the
grand day; and all is put an end to by the rain! The
town is full of peasants, drawn hither several days before
the commencement of their festival, in expectation of




TIlE OCTOBER' VOLKS-FEST.'         119
witnessing the greatest festival of all — the revealing of
that august presence before whom their games and festivities henceforth are to take place.
And it rains to-day more incessantly and violently even
than yesterday! It is precisely like the commencement
of a second deluge; as though the idol-worshipping Bavarians were to be swept away from the face of the earth.
Spite of the rains all kind of rumors are flying about.
But the gloom of evening is come down, and the colossus
is still awaiting her grand inauguration. There is something very fine to my imagination in the idea of that sublime, completed figure, night and day awaiting, amid the
solitude of the plainr and the desolation of the stormy
autumn, the grand day of her honor; she so awfully calm
and unmoved by all the anxiety, royal anxiety, people's
anxiety, surging around her; as calm and unmoved by
earthly care, by earthly glory, as the spirit of her Creator
- as Schwanthaler's spirit now is! One might almost
fancy that nature mourned in these clouds and rain over
the absence of Schwanthaler and his friend Lazarinihis'right-hand,' as he called him - who like him sleeps
the long sleep of death.
Sunday. - Whatever may be done about the Bavaria
festival, the People's festival began, as it has done for
many a long year, spite of weather or anything else, on
this first Sunday in October. At 12 o'clock, therefore,
all Munich was in motion, -citizens and peasants all
armed with umbrellas of various hues, from scarlet to the
color of the most faded and decaying of autumnal leaves,
from olive-green and ultramarine blue to buff and indigo;
while the streets and roads were thronged with peasants'
carts and vehicles of every description.
When we reached the outskirts of the town, we beheld
a large wagon decked out with flags and vegetables!




120         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
The sides a mosaic of cabbages, turnips, beet-roots, carrots -a market-gardener's trium'phal car. Tall, tapering,
crimson beet-roots, formed elegant pinnacles at each corner, while cabbage-leaves, artichokes, and cauliflowers,
were converted into the quaintest ornaments. It was like
something in a pantomime, or more properly a carnival,
show. Every street, every lane leading towards the
meadow, swarmed with people.
The meadow itself formed, as it were, an immense
theatre; temporary seats being erected, and artificial terraces formed for the convenience of the spectators: on one
hand was the elevation for the orchestra, on another covered seats for people of quality; and everywhere standing
places for the immense crowds. At the foot of this natural
amphitheatre runs the race-course, containing within its
circumference various erections for the festival. Precisely
opposite the place appointed for the orchestra and deco.
rated seats, and separated from them by the race-course,
which, amid the many-colored crowd, told like a broad
green ribbon, stood the royal tent on a wooden platform,
a conspicuous object, striped white and blue, — the Bavarian colors, and in form not unlike a monster umbrella.
The raised wooden seats were all tastefully adorned with
festoons and wreaths of spruce-fir, intermixed with draperies of blue and white. Whole woods of spruce-fir
must have been plundered for the occasion; for, not
content with garlands and green walls, rows and rows
of trees, smart, stiff, healthy fir-trees - the genuine Tannen Baume of German poetry and romance, were planted
about the meadow, and shaded every little wine and beer.
shop. From the royal tent to the people's pump, every
erection had its green spruce-fir wreaths and its waving
banners.
We seated ourselves on one of the raised seats nearest




THE OCTOBER'VOLKS-FEST.'          121
the city; consequently farthest from the Bavaria. Behind
us were stalled a number of prize-horses; and behind
other seats, answering to ours, but beyond the royal tent,
were stalled the prize-cattle. We had an excellent view
of the royal tent, and the arrival and reception of the
various royalties. Lines of soldiers in their blue uniform
were drawn up along the race-course on either hand of
the tent; the orchestra was already filled with six military
bands, amongst whom were ninety drummers! A stationary human mass met the eye everywhere, and ever and
anon a gay carriage, with brilliant outriders and servants,
rolled along the race-course; and halting before the pavilion, you saw ladies in delicate-colored bonnets, and gentlemen in rich uniforms alight, ascend the steps, and pass
beneath the awning of white and blue. There was an
undulating movement in the gay crowd as though a wind
had passed over a brilliant flower-bed -a courtly dumb.
show, as seen from our station, of mutual recognition;
one scarlet uniform ever conspicuous as a tall red poppy;
and a lady's emerald-green satin mantle giving contrast to
it like a large green leaf.
Already the tent was filled with a brilliant throng, when
the cannon from the walls of the Ruhmeshalle thundered
forth that King Max was on his way; and as the smoke
rolled off in white volumes, above rose that majestic
hand of the Bavaria, with its oaken wreath! Again and
again the cannon sounded, and King Max, accompanied by
his brother, King Otho, splendidly attired in his Albanian
costume, and attended by a train of cavalry, dashed up to
the tent. The people shouted; two kinds had arrived, but
a third was yet expected - the King of Saxony, who soon,
accompanied by two ladies, in a dark open carriage, with
outriders and servants in green, made his appearance.
All the expected royalists were now there, and the six




12-2         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
military bands, with their ninety drummers, struck up our
National Anthem - their Volks-Hymne, or People's-hymn,
as the Germans call it.
The first event of the festival was the arrival of our
friend, the gay vegetable-wagon, with blue and white flags
flying from its beet-root pinnacles, and preceded by a procession of gardeners' daughters in broad straw hats
trimmed with green ribbons, lilac boddices and full white
sleeves, bearing in their hands offerings of fruits and
flowers for the King and Queen, from the good gardeners
of Bamberg. After the daughters came the gardeners
themselves, one of them bearing with much pomp a silver
cup. Wagon and procession took their stand behind the
royal pavilion.
The horses, mettlesome, high-bred creatures, were now
led forth, one by one, before the royal tent by what we
should in England call farming-men rather than grooms, -
countrified-looking fellows in short jackets of coarse blue
cloth, with their legs cased in long boots of black leather,
and wearing broad-brimmed beaver hats glorying in a
remarkable length of nap. Behind each curveting horse
walked his owner and rearer, the peasant who had gained
the prizes, which he bore in his hand, a gay little flag, a
small book bound in blue, with a long blue roll, containing
his diploma, to which was often attached a little silver
cross, hanging by a red ribbon. There was something
singularly stolid and sullen in the countenances of these
men, which not even their prizes, nor the small sum  of
money which often accompanied them, could remove.
There was a long array of these prize steeds, bumpkin
grooms, and discontented-looking proprietors; the monotony of the whole scene only occasionally broken by an
old woman or two being kicked down,- and by a sudden
shower, which led to the unfurling of some thousands of




INNOCENT MEN OF THE TURF.            123
umbrellas, and which made the whole crowd resemble a
garden with full-blown dome-like flowers of every hue,
above which rose the white and blue monarch flower of
the entire garden.
After the horses came the cattle.  Monster bulls, evilbrowed, with stooping heads and fettered hoofs, duncolored and tawny, creamrn-colored and brown, garlanded
as if for sacrifice, were led along, followed by their
masters with their prizes, banners, and other gifts. Now
came a young bull, less hideous and evil-looking, led by a
stalwart peasant-woman; or a gentle cow and calf, also
with garlanded brows and necks and with tinkling bells,
telling of Alpine pastures, conducted by a Tyrolean girl.
And the cattle-show was over.
Next, with much parade, and the marching about of
blue and white-clad heralds, and the fluttering of prize
banners, and riding about in much agitation of the Festival Committee, the race-horses were brought out before
the King. A different race, truly, was this to Epsom or
Newmarket. And primitive and innocent indeed must
these races seem to the knowing men of the turf, when it
is recollected that the owners of the racers, the grooms
and jockeys, — all the racing cortege, in fact, - are obliged to attend a mass especially celebrated for them at eight
o'clock in the morning; that the racers mostly belonged
to farmers, and that the jockeys were not permitted to ride
unless they brought certificates of good conduct and industry from the schoolmasters of their respective villages.
Betting, in a small way, no doubt there was; and the
excitement was considerable, as the poor little village
lads, with their flying sashes, rushed again and again
round the course; but a more harmless race could hardly
be imagined. It was soon over. Money and banners
were again distributed to the sound of music. The mon



124         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
archs, and their court, returned with the sound of cannon,
in a long train of gay carriages; the people shouted, and
gradually dispersed themselves over the meadow for so.
cial drinking, smoking, love-making, and gossip, beneath
the garlanded and fir-tree shadowed drinking booths and
sheds.
Monday. - This morning, Clare and I started for the
meadow early in the forenoon. The day was cold, grey
and damp; the ground wet, trampled and muddy. Thou.
sands and thousands of dead bodies covered the field -
the bodies of little mice, which abound in most German
land, and which live by myriads in the Theresien Wiese,
darting away ever and anon from before your feet into
their holes. It had been a great slaughter-field for them.
Another feature in the scene was the passing along of
drays heavily laden with Munich beer. As yet, however,
the meadow looked desolate, damp, deserted, and particularly uncomfortable. We began our explorations by visit,
ing a long shed behind the royal tent, where the Bamberg
Triumphal Vegetable Car had taken its stand. Only imagine the disappointment of these poor Bamberg garden.
ers! They were to have been presented to the King; but
he forgot all about them, and drove away without their
grandeur having received its reward. This shed, in the
centre of which glowed a crown made of gay flowers,
contained the agricultural prize vegetables. A beautiful
assemblage of rich foliage, ruddy roots and graceful
sheaves of corn, -a very cornucopia,- the shed of Ceris, Autumnus, and Pomona. There was a tropical char.
acter in those towering spikes of Indian corn, in those
large sprays of fan-like artichoke leaves, in those gigantic
beet-root leaves, in their intense rich green, springing from
juicy crimson stems. The Munich decorative artists might
have studied them with profit. Close to this cornucopia




VALIANT SHOOTERS.               125
was exhibited a mass of golden and white silk, —
immense quantities of it, —the produce of silk-worms
kept by a variety of Bavarian women, at the head of
whom are the two Queens, and a host of Princesses and
Duchesses. There is an endeavor here to introduce the
silk-worm into Bavaria, and in proof of what had already
been done, beautiful specimens of silks and satins were
exhibited, which had been manufactured  from  home.
grown silk. At the back of these sheds, a lottery, of
prizes of six and twelve Kreutzers each (2d. and 3d.),
was to take place for the benefit of the fair; and this spot,
later in the day, was a place of great resort for the country people. The remainder of the erections outside the
race-course, and arranged in a semi-circle, were drinking
and refreshment booths, furnished with benches and
tables, and all, more or less, prettily decorated with festoons of spruce-fir, bound together with the everlasting
drapery of white and blue, with fluttering banners and
spruce-firs, planted, as I have already said, to give shade
and beauty to the space around them. One, quite a superior booth, had a regular garden fenced in with spruce fir.
This we entered, and were supplied with delicious hot,
sausages, and excellent coffee and chocolate. The interior was very pretty with scarlet and white festooned dra,
pery. Guests, as yet, were few, for the morning was
damp and cheerless.
We saw  on the meadow  but one solitary'round.
about,' such as are so common at English places of
popular amusement, and among the Viennese people, and
only one solitary hand-organ was to be heard. There
was, however, a raised circular platform for musicians,
with a heavy banner of red, black, and gold, floating over it.
The whole area, including this settlement of good cheer,
the refreshment booths, was marked out by spruce-firs




126          AN ART-ST'UDENT IN MUNICH.
planted at regular distances; each tree with its gay banner,
and connected with its neighbor by long festoons of green
wreaths; and here you caught sight of many a Teniers
and Ostade group. Beyond this area, and between it and
the Bavaria, a portion of the meadow was laid out in
shooting-grounds, with targets and marks of various descriptions. There was a wooden stag to be shot at, as he
is pulled backwards and forwards, between two clumps of
fir-trees, and a bird fixed upon a high pole, looking very
like a sign of the spread-eagle, holding in its beak and
claws the marks at which the shooter is to aim. On the
ground stand little wooden booths, from which the marksmen were to fire; with plenty of long sheds, where they
might assemble, charge their pieces, and refresh themselves.
While we stood on their ground, the valiant shooters,
with sound of music and much pageantry, advanced across
the plain, their blue and white banners, of course,' fluttering in the breeze,'- one grows quite weary of these banners.! - the blue and white heralds of yesterday, and the
scarlet trumpeters, and the queer, grotesque fellows in
parti-colored slashed jerkins of black and yellow preceding
them. Then came these' Friends of Shooting,' as they
call themselves - each bearing his rifle in his hand, and
wearing a sort of uniform, - green Tyrolean peaked hats,
as elegantly decorated with feathers, flowers, and ribbons,
as a fiashionable bonnet, or sometimes graced with a tuft of
chamois-fur, or a staring owl's or eagle's head. Their
coats were grey and loose, with green cuffs and collars.
But their heads and faces were far more striking than their
costume.  Hard, weather-beaten men were they, with
grizzled beards and snowy eyebrows; or youths, agile and
active as the chamois of their native Alps, with clear, large
eyes, and ruddy, healthy cheeks; others, middle-aged,




VALIANT SHOOTERS.               127
black and red-bearded, men whose lives had been passed
among deep woods and by sedgy lakes, looking for game
-the roe and the boar. There was, as it were, a fresh
mountain air blowing about them, a -sylvan mountain
strength, as they marched along, each shouldering his
piece. Arrived at the shooting ground, they indefatigably
shot and shot, out of their little booths, all the livelong day.
Crowds were soon collected, and the intensest interest pre.
vailed: but we were soon weary.
We wandered off, therefore, along the higher plain, with
long, solemn stretches of pine-wood in the distance, to a
picturesque and singularly interesting little church, at the
feet of whose walls we found that a bloody skirmish with
the Austrians had taken place. There was the mound-like
grave, beneath which slept the eight hundred who had
fallen. A stone chronicled their bravery, and how they
fell, on Christmas Day, 1703. Autumnal shrubs and
flowers shed their brilliant leaves upon the green luxuriant
grass. It was a quiet, holy little grave-yard, full of crosses,
and garlands, and flowers. Upon the Church wall was
painted in fresco a representation of the skirmish in which
an old Tyrolean and his two sons are being struck down
by the Austrians; and above the tumult of the strife is
their apotheosis, - Christ receives the three, who rise with
garlanded brows into the pure light of heaven. As a work
of art it is very feeble, but nevertheless, the feeling is
beautiful and poetical. A group of peasants from the Festival came into the church-yard whilst we were there;
muttered a prayer for the dead, and sprinkled holy water
upon the green mound.  When, on our return, we reached
the meadow, we were again greeted by the unceasing
rifle-shots, and found the booths all alive with feasting,
singing, and drinking. Such was the second day of the
Volks-fest.




128          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
Tuesday. — This afternoon the sun shone gloriously:;
the Alps clearly showing their snowy peaks, as though
scarcely twenty miles distant, and the whole scene was
really gay for the first time. The terrace-mound and
seats, as well as the royal tent, now abandoned to the
public, were crowded with spectators, all eager to witness
the'Olympic Games.' Ever and anon resounded the
shots of those indefatigable shooters, still shooting away
at their wooden butts; they, however, were no longer the
objects of attraction. Tan was scattered over that part
of the race-course opposite to what until to-day had been
called the Royal tent, and this was the arena round which
pressed an impatient crowd, kept back by green-clad
gendarmes seated on prancing horses. Already a very:
mosaic of heads and faces lined the amphitheatre.
There was a cry'They come! they come!' and
across the plain, proceeding from the city, came a throng.
Sounds of music floated on the air, banners fluttered, and
now marched through the crowd, first, scarlet and goldclad-musicians, then a band of youthful heralds, bearing
the blue and white prize banners; then little girls, with
their fair hair falling in ringlets on their shoulders, carrying garlands. Thus marched in six-and-twenty stalwart.
youths, wearing tightly-fitting canary-colored jerkins,
confined round the waist by a black leathern belt; their
arms, their heads, their necks bare; their legs clothed in
tightly-fitting hose, and with sandals on their feet. These
all were bakers' apprentices, great adepts in the art of
wrestling, even from the old times, when certain valiant
Munich bakers won great renown at the Battle of Miihldorf, in 1322, when Ludwig, the Bavarian vanquished his
rival, Philip the Handsome of Austria, and assumed the
imperial crown. It is this Ludwig's triumphal entry into




THEY COME! THEY COME!           129
Munich, after this victory, which forms the subject of the
fresco on the Isar Gate.
Next after the six-and-twenty young bakers came ten
sturdy young wheelwrights, in the midst of whom was
borne a quaint old wheel, garlanded with wreaths of moss.
Each of the ten rolled, as he came along, a gaily-painted
wheel; and with their black velvet caps, their snowy
shirts, gay with blue-and-white braces crossed over breast
and back, and black velvet breeches and white stockings,
they made a very goodly show. The quaint old wheel
which was borne aloft, and around which ran a blackletter legend, is a precious heir-loom of the wheelwrights'
guild. It was made in one day, some centuries ago, by a
young wheelwright, and then, by him, in one day also,
rolled from Augsburg to Munich, a distance of forty-one
English miles.
The musicians took their place above the arena; the
heralds withdrew with their banners to either side. The
bakers arranged  themselves in a half-circle, and the
wheelwrights stood each with a hand on his wheel, and
then, attended by the festival directors, all Iwearing blue
and white rosettes, slowly proceeded along the race-course
to the point whence they were to commence their race.
Anon, with rapid pace, they shot past, man and wheel
vying with each other. The race-course was a mile
round; but it was not very long before you caught sight,
in the distance, of the flying men and wheels coming on
to the goal. On, on they came, three or four near together, the rest scattered at various intervals; one far behind.
On, on they came! The first is here! But what a countenance! - Pale - deadly pale! livid almost!  Oh, it
was a fearful sight! And each panting wretch, as he
neared the goal, had the same ghastly look. The first
idea was that they would faint, or drop down dead. The
9




130          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
trumpets bray forth the victor's triumph; they pause, pant,
lean upon their wheels, and the wrestling commences.
I myself was quite uneasy about these poor wheelwrights, and wanted to see cloaks thrown over them.
But no; there they leant upon their wheels, and remained
so leaning till the end of the day, as if that had been a
part of their duty.
Spite of the horror with which the wrestling inspired
me, I was conscious of a strange fascination in it. There
was a savage grandeur about the whole thing. That band
of tawny men, girt with their black belts, glaring defiance
on each other, then rushing madly together, winding together their arms, bearing each other together to the earth
in a wild frenzy, looked like human tigers. You grew
sick, breathless; yet look you must. And as each champion triumphed, the trumpets announced his victory!
The assembled multitude, breathless, silent thousands,
added a wonderful impressiveness to the scene. And as
you turned your eyes away from the fierce combatants
andthe eager multitude, there, along the horizon, lay that
glorious, calm Alpine chain, raising its jagged peaks into
the pure, tender, pale green sky, along which lay vast
solemn stretches of cloud. It was a striking contrast.
But again the human struggle claimed our attention.
It was now a trial of strength with huge stones. How
fine were many of the attitudes! full of a savage poetry,
which I know not well how to convey in words. It was,
in fact, the sublimity of brute force. Then there were
various war-dances, in which the repetition of the same
action and sentiment by these six-and-twenty savage
figures produced a singular feeling, from its very monotony. They cast javelins at a hideous giant of wood, and
performed various difficult and curious athletic feats, —
such as standing upon each other's arms, and shoulders,




HUMAN TIGERS.                131
and heads, turning themselves into a human pyramid, and
finally ended by a foot-race.  Then to the sound of
music came the distribution of prizes, which consisted of
gay banners and money. Shone upon by the setting sun,
the train, now worn, jaded, and soiled with dirt and blood,
returned towards the city. The multitude dispersed itself
across the plain; some sober souls returning home; the
greater number remaining to feast and guzzle in the
numerous booths. We left hundreds enjoying their seventh heaven —beer, sausages, and cheese.




CHAPTER XI.
THE BAVARIA FESTIVAL.
October 10th. -At length the Bavaria stands revealed
in all her dignity to kings and people!
But before chronicling yesterday's proceedings, I must
first add a few more words regarding the statue and its
history. Of its situation I have already spoken; I have
mentioned how this work of art, stupendous in its Titanic
proportions, and awful in its calm majestic beauty, the
result of ten years' incessant anxiety, stands on a broad
meadow to the west of Munich- a portion of the great
plain that stretches away to the Alps. It rests on the
edge of what at first appears to be an artificial terrace,
but is in fact a large step, where the plain suddenly
descends into that lower plain on which stands the city of
Munich. The figure of this colossal Virgin of the old
German world, with her majestic lion by her side, is fiftyfour feet high, and is placed upon a granite pedestal of
thirty feet in height, so that the beautiful temple of the
Ruhmeshalle, or Hall of Fame, erecting behind, seems
dwarfed into strange human insignificance.
This figure, typifying the spirit of recognition and reward of all excellence and achievement whatsoever, stands
with upraised wreath, as if ready to crown any Bavarian
who may be worthy to enter her temple of fame. It was
a grand idea of King Ludwig's, this of placing the Genius
of Reward on the spot consecrated to the people and




THE BAVARIA FESTIVAL.             133
their annual meeting. It is in this meadow, as we have
seen,- the Theresa Meadow, as it is called, -that the
October Volks-fest is held; and that the king distributes
prizes to the peasants. Henceforward, all successful accomplishment will be crowned in the presence of the impersonated Bavaria, - the more popular achievementsalluded to as well as those of the poet, painter, musician,
and philosopher. Each is to receive in the presence of
his assembled country, from the hands of the monarch, the
acknowledgment of merit. Such, at least, is the intention
of King Ludwig.
The Ruhmeshalle is unfinished, - and will require for
its completion at least two or three years more. It is a
beautiful Doric building, of white marble from the Untersberg, - adorned with emblematical friezes by Schwanthaler. It was designed by Leo von Klenze; and the busts
of all the great men of Bavaria, without regard to difference of religious belief or to origin, are to be arranged
along the walls.
As I have already said, through the interior of this
bronze tower-like figure ascends a winding staircase leading to a chamber in the head. This chamber is large
enough to contain twenty-eight persons. But beyond the
poetry of mere size, — beyond that which arises from
its connecting our thoughts at once with the sublime works
of antiquity, and with history and romance of modern date
from the fact of its being cast out of Turkish cannon sunk
in the battle of Navarino, and brought up by Greek
divers- there is a yet deeper poetry in the work. This
arises from reflecting on the ten years of toil- stupendous
toil - mental and bodily, of its creators, - the difficulties
overcome by patient industry,- the dangers endured with
unflinching courage -and the melancholy truth that the
final accomplishment of the mighty work is unwitnessed




134          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
by the two men whose very lives seemed bound up in
its success,- Schwanthaler the sculptor, and his friend
Lazarini, his'right hand,' as he called him, who modelled
the colossal figure under his direction.
Though Schwanthaler was already attacked by his fatal
malady at the time when he designed the Bavaria at the
king's suggestion, he not only modelled a variety of designs for the Colossus, but also completed a smaller figure
of the Bavaria as we now see her, thirteen feet high.
When the huge wooden tower was built in the Royal
Bronze Foundry, and after what may be called a gigantic
wooden skeleton had been erected by a crowd of carpenters, - after tons and tons of clay had been piled together
over this, so as to form a mass of material on which to
work, - there, day after day, might be seen the unwearied, energetic, though physically suffering sculptor, guiding with watchfulness and love the accomplishment of his
idea, which ever grew beneath the hand of his friend
Lazarini and his troop of workmen.
Stiglmayer, the originator and director of the Bronze
Foundry, died in 1844, just before the casting of the
Bavaria began. His nephew, Ferdinand Miller, full of
youth, energy, patience, and experience, was ready to
succeed him. The castings took place at five different
times, - commencing with the head. This was cast in
1844. In casting the bust of the figure —the largest
portion — the greatest difficulty had to be encountered.
It was necessary to melt for the purpose twenty tons of
bronze, - five tons more than had ever before been melted in the furnace. As this immense mass of metal slowly
began to fuse, it began also to cake, - thus threatening to
destroy not only the casting, but the whole filrnace, with
untold danger to life and limb. Six men had, in spite of
the oppressive heat and the ever-increasing glow of the




THE BAVARIA FESTIVAL.            135
furnace, to take it by turns night and day incessantly to
stir, with long iron bars, the molten mass, lest it should
adhere to the furnace walls, and so bring annihilation on
all. On the evening of the fifth day of anxiety, when
Ferdinand Miller for the first time sought a short repose
in his chair, he was suddenly aroused by his faithful and
anxious fellow-watcher, his wife, with the cry of' Ferdinand, awake! the foundry is on fire!' It was so. The
ever-increasing heat of those five days and four nights
had caused fire to burst forth among the rafters. To have
attempted to extinguish the fire by water, with this molten
mass below, would have caused the immediate destruction
of the place. All that could be done was, by means of
wetted cloths, to keep down the fire. This was tried, and
the melting went on as before. Amid such danger did
the casting of the bust take place about midnight on the
11th of October, 1845.' Success!' was shouted forth;
a load of anxiety of many kinds fell from every breast;
- and all then hastened to the complete extinguishing of
the fire.
Various have been the ceremonies connected with the
casting of the Bavaria. When the head was first raised
out of the pit in which it had been cast, King Ludwig,
and a number of distinguished persons being present, a
festival was held, in which garlands, music, and illuminations played a conspicuous part. On August 7th, 1848,
when the figure was complete, - all the separate portions,
except the head, having already been removed to the
Theresa Meadow on a carriage constructed expressly for
the purpose, -the head was conveyed thither with every
mark of festal rejoicing. On the following day the bell
of the little church of Neuhausen tolled, - and Ferdinand
Miller, the noble and courageous' master,' accompanied
by the workmen of the foundry, went to return thanks for




136          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
the accomplishment of their arduous work. They had
commenced their labor with prayer four years before in
that little church, —and now they offered up thanksgiving, that their task was not only achieved, but achieved
without loss of life or limb to a single member of their
band. But Schwanthaler and Lazarini, - where were
they?
And now, impressed with a sense of the poetry attaching to the statue, accompany us in the cheerful morning
sun-shine, and beneath a cloudless heaven, through the
streets of Munich to the Dult Platz, the square where the
Munich fairs are held; for there the Bavaria procession is
to assemble!
A sound of singing reaches us from various points as
we walk along; all the Sing-vereins are vigorously practising.  We pass the red Gothic palace of King Ludwig.
The clumps of trees in the palace garden, and upon the
Dult Platz, shine out brilliantly with their autumnal tints
beneath the deep azure heaven.
It is scarcely nine o'clock; yet the square is all alive
with an expectant crowd. Every one is dressed in their
best. The rows of white, palely-tinted houses round the
square are gay with clustered heads at every window.
The garden of the English Coffee-house, and the Caf6
itself, is all astir. From beneath the archway of the CarlsThor streams an increasing crowd. Citizens, peasants,
officers, soldiers, artists, —a motley multitude.  Above
the roofs of the near houses rise church steeples into the
sunny air.
But, behold! what strange thing is this approaching!
Higher it seems to tower than the distant church steeples.
It is the Bavaria's spinning-wheel; and that is the distaff!
On it moves, amid the wonder and merriment of the
crowd. Gendarmes ride before to clear the way. The




THE BAVARIA FESTIVAL.             137
spinning-wheel is placed upon a low car drawn by six
horses. The horses and car, as well as the spinning.
wheel, are wreathed with moss and flowers.
Scarcely has your astonishment over the spinning-wheel
subsided, when lo! a merry mass of leaves and flowers
approaches. This is the festal car of the inn-keepers.
Beneath the odorous bower formed of oak and fir-branches,
sits a jovial company. Above their heads sway game of
all descriptions, birds and beasts, suspended from the
centre of the leafy tent. The tables are spread with the
most tempting viands, - delicious pies and pasties, a
boar's head, t'oasted fowls, pheasants and partridges! -
And glasses and tankards are heaped up in artistic array
among leaves and flowers; and the prettiest of Munich's
Kellnerinnen, in their gold and silver swallow-tailed head.
dresses, and with their gay-colored boddices laced up in
front with silver chains, wait upon the jolly guests, and
smile upon the assembled crowd, and joke and laugh.
And garlanded horses, plump and sleek, slowly draw
along the little inn! And now, you look around, and feel
as though witnessing some poetical, yet withal most solemn,
pantomime! Here stands the beautiful little Vorstadt Au
Church! It has been drawn along upon a beautifully
painted car, - or ilhtminated car, one might rather say.
Its sides are covered with graceful Gothic tracery, amid
which, here and there, upon a shield of azure, shines forth
a lovely white lily; and entwining with the tracery round
the car runs a scroll, on which in quaint black-letter you
read the words,-' The grateful Vorstadt Au to the
illustrious founder of her Church, beloved King Ludwig I.'
The horses are richly caparisoned, their trappings bearing
a white'lily embroidered on a deep blue ground.
And now another apparition startles you. A colossal
sword, as if from the Castle of Otranto, is grasped and up



138          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
held by a colossal gauntlet of steel. A wreath of simple
peaceful moss winds round the cross-like hilt and blade.
The car is a mossy bank. An anvil and hammer, with
various other tools belonging to a forge, show among the
fresh green. Swords of every size and form, daggers
and knives, from the bayonet to the minutest, are
symmetrically arranged in a fan-like form, on a mossy
ground, on either side of the car. This is the swordmakers' and cutlers' festal car.
Close follows a monstrous gilt lion, holding in his mouth
a colossal key. He comes from the locksmiths. The
carpenters have sent an idealized carpenter's shop: the
masons a car bearing a garlanded church tower: the
decorators and gilders a luxurious pavilion glittering with
gold. Beneath that golden canopy, and shaded by those
heavy curtains of Tyrian purple, you expect a vision of an
enchanted sleeping beauty awaking at the kiss of the brave,
handsome Fairy Prince, -that Prince so long awaited by
the sleeper. But the curtains shade no Prince or beauty:
it is a marble bust of King Ludwig which gleams forth
from their crimson gloom.
The very butchers have idealized their trade. Their
car is drawn along by four stout oxen —two black, two
tawny-brown; their sturdy foreheads decked with flowers.
A very pyramid of goodly brown tongues, hams, and sausages, tastefully arranged and decorated with gay ribbons
and flowers and foliage, rises in the centre. The entire
car is a bed of flowers and moss, amidst which, at each
corner, nestles a child fantastically arrayed in scarlet and
white, and holding by a cord an innocent white lamb,
which gazes around with large, gentle, dark eyes. The
spokes of the wheels are covered with brilliant flowers. A
troop of gay young butchers follows, attired in white




THE BAVARIA FESTIVAL.              139
jackets and trowsers, with jaunty blue caps on their heads,
and, bearing hatchets upon their shoulders.
Each car is attended by its band of apprentices, masters,
and journeymen, attired in the idealized costume of their
trade. The weavers following their car, brilliant with its
drapery, are attired in an Albert Durer costume.
One of the loveliest cars is that sent from the Porcelain
Works. Here the most graceful vases and ewers, - many
of terra-cotta, - are grouped with exquisite feeling;
flowers garland them in thick and brilliant festoons,
hanging over their round, smooth sides, passing gracefully
through theii handles, linking them all together in one
flowery chain. And bright China-asters make brilliant
necklaces round slender necks of tall ewers, or crown
majestic vases as with a diadem of rainbow-tinted stars.
And amidst all sits a little brown Italian child, of some
seven years old, gazing out at you with large, melancholy,
dark eyes, from beneath his scarlet fez, brilliant as a gorgeous cactus-flower.                       /
And here is the car of the Munich Artists! Beneath a
canopy of delicate foliage and flowers, upborne at the four
corners of the car by plaster lions, stands the statue of
King Ludwig, brought from the studio of Schwanthaler.
The sun casts an especial glory upon the marble brow, as
the majestic figure, in its regal robes, moves slowly through
the multitude. Below the statue of the king, seated at his
feet, are two female figures,-one typical of Sculpture,
and bearing a model of the Bavaria in her hand; the other
of Painting, with her emblematic palette and brushes.
These figures on nearer inspection we find, though themselves of plaster, are draped, with canvas stiffened as
sculptors are in the habit of arranging draperies for study.
The effect is excellent! The attendants of the car, workmen from the Bronze Foundry, form an artistic escort,




140         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
being dressed in short, loose, and very full. blue velvet
paletots, falling over tightly-fitting white hose. Their
heads are crowned with blue velvet caps of mediaeval cut,
and they carry in their hands gay pennons, which display
armorial bearings of scarlet and silver, orange and black,
or crimson and gold.
And then the gardeners! Their cars indeed must not
be forgotten or remain unchronicled.  Whoever, before
this day, was willing to believe that cabbages, turnips,
carrots and beet-roots, might be so arranged as to form a
pyramid lovely as if built of delicately tinted shells? The
florists' and fruiterers' cars are perfect dreams of flowers
and fruits. Regiments of gardeners and gardeneresses
attend them, attired in the conventional stage costume of
gardeners, and bearing in their hands rakes and hoes.
Children and young girls bear fruit and flowers in picturesque baskets upon their shoulders; and in the very
centre of the gardeners' train come on two stout young
fellows, bearing between them, supported on a pole, an
enormous bunch of grapes, as if returning from the'Promised Land.'
But I will not attempt to particularize the wonders
assembled in the Dult Platz. Suffice it to know that
three-and-twenty cars appeared, each followed and preceded by its picturesque attendants; to say nothing of
quaintly attired bands of musicians mounted on horseback; each one connected with the procession wearing
a spray, or garland of oak.
On our way to the Theresien Wiese we encountered
another marvel travelling towards the place of rendezvous: it was the brewers' car, bearing aloft its huge Pokal
or drinking-cup. In size the drinking-cup resembled a
steam-engine chimney: it was of that quaint, beautiful,




THE BAVARIA FESTIVAL,             141
half-gothic, half-rustic character, familiar to us in Neurenther's designs. In Gothic niches, around the rim, stood
quaint emblematic figures, — the graceful hop, with its
clusters of fruit, employed as ornament; little beer-barrels
encircled the stem of the cup, forming a quaint moulding;
and the lid was surmounted by an emblematic figure, gilt:
such a jovial crew, too, as attended this Pokal! Six
sleek, heavy brewers' horses slowly drew along the car,
which was wreathed with sprays of hop. Men in a medikeval costume of black and yellow were mounted on
every second horse, trumpeting vigorously. Men in scarlet waistcoats tightly buckled round their waists, and with
brilliantly white shirt-sleeves, and green velvet caps of the
Glengary form, marched along two or three abreast, bearing their various implements of brewing, garlanded with
hop; two men bore aloft a huge malt-measure filled with
nodding oats and barley. But their countenances were
the most jovial and bacchanalian part of the show; their
eyes were full of merry laughter, their faces glowed again
with glee; -it was a procession to drive a tee-totaller
fairly distracted.
And thus gradually all Munich proceeded, with banners,
music, and a vast rejoicing, towards the Theresa Meadow.
The streets and suburban lanes were swarming with the
multitudes awaiting the wonderful procession. As we
emerged on the plain, we saw that already the earthen
steps and terraces were black with an assembled multitude, whilst streams of pedestrians and streams of carriages
poured across the meadow. All previous points of attraction were now centred in the spot fronting the Bavaria;
where a second royal tent had been erected, —different
entirely from the white and blue umbrella of my former
description, and more like a canopy supported on four
slight pillars. Long ropes, stretching down from the




142         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
wooden screen which concealed the Bavaria, were firmly
fastened into the green turf.
About twelve o'clock, after King Ludwig, accompanied
by his Queen and King Otho, had arrived, and when the
whole plain, from the neighborhood of the Bavaria to
the very city itself, was gay with carriages and an untold
moving multitude on foot, - the fantastic procession, consisting of all the trades' offerings, gradually approached to
the sound of music and amid the shoutings of the people,
passing before the King and presenting their gifts. Having
witnessed the arrival of the first portion of the procession
in front of the royal canopy, we took our station on the
sloping bank a little to the right of the Bavaria, and
nearly opposite the royal party, to gaze upon the wondrous
crowd of human faces turned towards the pavilion, and
towards the quaint forms slowly advancing through the
multitude like grotesque ships steering their course amid a
human ocean —fluttering banners on long staves telling
as sails and masts. Beyond this rolling sea lay a broad
stretch of green plain; then the city, with its towers and
pinnacles rising into the clear blue sky; and, far off, the
solemn mountain chain.
When the whole procession had passed, the horses
were unharnessed and the strange cars were grouped
upon the meadow. A troop of singers ascended the
mound, and passed behind the wooden screen, or rather
screens, which concealed as yet the motive spirit of this
living scene. The important event of the day was at
hand! A hush fell on the expectant multitude, - the
hush of intense expectation. Suddenly swelled forth the
notes of the overture composed expressly for the occasion.
Then came another pause. An arm was raised in signal;
and through the great silence was heard the distant sound
of the saw and hammer at work severing the timbers of




THE BAVARIA FESTIVAL.            143
the condemned screen. The thrill of expectation grew
more intense. A rope was loosened by a small human
figure, far up aloft,-the screen feel with a huge sound
which the roar of the cannon repeated, and the shout
of the multitude prolonged, —and the mighty Bavaria
stood revealed: —awful and beautiful-of a pale, tawny
gold color-the sunlight catching on her sublime brow,
on her rounded shoulder, on her strong large arm,
which pressed to her side a laurel-wreathed sword. It
caught on the sword-hilt, and burned and glittered like a
star, -a beacon far away. Then fell the lower screens;
and bands of singers, with banners displayed, swarmed
on either side the pedestal, and broke forth into one
mighty song of triumph. In presence of that marvellous
colossal Virgin their voices sounded strangely small and
human.
After the song came an oration by the painter Teichlein. FHe looked a mere black dot standing at the foot of
the statue, and his voice sounded like the voice of some
booming insect. Three cheers for King Ludwig suc.
ceeded: and in a few minutes the long gay train of royal
carriages was seen, amid the shouts of the crowd, rapidly
returning towards Munich.




CHAPTER XII.
THE OPENING OF THE SIEGESTHOR.
TIHE great festivities were terminated to-day with the
opening of the Siegesthor, or Triumphal Arch, at the end
of the beautiful Ludwig Strasse. This triumphal arch,
dedicated to tthe Bavarian Army, is built in imitation of the
triumphal arch of Constantine in Rome, and was designed
by the architect, Gartner, in 1844. It is constructed of
stone brought from the neighborhood of Regensburg, and
is embellished with medallions and basso-relievos - principally from designs by Professor Wagner — executed in
white marble from Carrara and the Tyrol. The masonry
is said to surpass in solidity and beauty anything in
Europe.
The subjects of the six medallions represent the various
provinces subject to the Bavarian sway:1. Upper and Lower Bavaria-Agriculture, Cattle,
and Alpine Scenery.
2. The Palatinate- Culture of the Vine and Fishing.
3. Upper Palatinate — Forging of Iron.
4. Upper and Central Franconia —Forging of Iron,
Breeding of Cattle, and Manufactures.
5. Lower Franconia- Cultivation of Corn and of the
Vine, and Navigation.
6. Swabia — Weaving.




THE OPENING OF THE SIEGESTHOR.        145
The basso-relievos are — 1. Combat between Infantry;
2. Combat between Infantry and Cavalry; 3. Combat
between Cavalry; 4. Siege of a Fortress; 5. Attack of a
Fortress with Battering-ram; 6. Passage of a River. Of
course all these medallions and basso-relievos are of a
classical character.
Eight winged Victories, four on either side of the gate,
rise grandly before the pediment.  They are of the
noblest forms and proportions, and are sculptured in Carrara marble. To my mind these Victories are by far the
most beautiful feature of the Triumphal Arch. Often, at
sunset, the red evening light catches on their tall wings
and majestic forms, tinting them on one side with rosecolor, while the shadow side shows a pale, cold azure.
They then seem like genii keeping watch over the city.
Two flying Victories, with wreaths and palms, appear
over the central arch. The four pilasters which support
the pediment are of the Corinthian order. The whole is
to be surmounted by a figure of Bavaria, seated in a
triumphal car drawn by four lions. The statue, car, and
lions, to be cast in bronze, are now in progress at the
foundry.
This Triumphal Arch, as may be imagined, forms a
striking termination to the noble Ludwig Strasse, and a
most impressive entrance to Munich.  Many an evening
this summer have I stopped in admiration of this noble
gateway.  The long, broad Ludwig Strasse, so beautiful
and unique from its harmonious Byzantine architecture,
widens out into a kind of square, where play two abundant
fountains.  On one hand stretches the solemn white mass
of the University —on the other, the pale stone-colored,
severe-looking jesuits' College -behind me rise into the
calm evening sky the white towers of the Ludwig Kirche,
10




146          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
each surmounted by a gilt cross, which, catching the last
rays of the evening sun, glitter like two stars. Scarcely
a footstep is heard in the silent square - the only sounds
being the constant fresh splash of the fountains, and the
distant murmur and rustle of trees as the evening breeze
passes through them. Before me rises the gateway; and
as if gazing down on me, stand the grand, calm Victories,
their dazzling marble whiteness catching tints of rose and
azure, like snowy Alpine peaks — whilst through the
three round arches of the gate I catch a long perspective
of green, solemn poplars, skirting the road across the
wide plain.
The effect of the Siegesthor, however, was not quite so
poetical on the day of its opening, for it was bitterly cold.
About twelve o'clock people began to collect along the
Ludwig Strasse, mounted the towers of the Ludwig
Kirche, and crowded windows and door-steps, - assem.
bling in denser masses about the gate itself. The magistrates of the city were here in their best array to receive
the King and Army when they should make their triumphal entry. Crowds lined the poplar-shaded road; soldiers
were drawn up, - gendarmes pranced about on their
horses; — all, for a full hour, pierced to the bone by a
searching wind which careered across the plain from the
cold Alps, and blew the leaves in myriads from the tall,
noisy, shivering poplars. At length, with sounds of music,
and with much pomp and brilliancy of costume, King
Maximilian and his brother King Otho, followed by other
princes, and escorted by several regiments, approached
the gate. The ladies of the court, and two, if not three
Queens, graced the procession in gay open carriages and
bright summer dresses, which looked very cold and un.
comfortable. Then, there was a halt of some quarter




THE OPENING OF THE SIEGESTHOR.       147
of an hour before the gateway, and a reception of the
municipal authorities, and much ceremony, and a' LebeHoch!' for King Ludwig, who was not present, — and
firing of cannon; and the royalties passed through the
gate, —and the Siegesthor was opened.




CHAPTER  XIII.
SOMETHING ABOUT MUNICH DECORATION, -— PUBLIC AND
DOMESTIC.
October 20th. -E. has been writing to me about these
new'Tile-cottages,' of which you are talking so much
in England. I imagine the effect of these tile-walls might
be something like the marble stuccoing much in vogue
here. The impression when you stand for the first time
in the Glyptothek and Hof-Kapelle, is that the walls are
built of the most splendid marbles. It is only when you
reflect upon the enormous expense of such works that
your reason convinces you that the walls are not marble,
but stucco. The idea of stucco, I grant, is unpleasantall my Ruskin prejudices revolted at the idea of this'hypocrisy,' when we made this discovery; but I have
reasoned with myself after this fashion: Is it not better,
in one sense more beautiful, for a state possessed of but
small pecuaiary resources, to have expended its money
upon the art, the creative spirit, than upon the material.?
And if the idea conveyed to the soul be noble and true,
what matter whether the wall be of precious stones or of
plaster? The regret is, that these materials are so perishable; and this painful thought presses constantly upon
me,-in a couple of hundred years or so, where will be
these creations?  But this art, the creative soul, although
fading away, will doubtless have done its work in the




MUNICH DECORATION.               149
world by kindling the fire of love and of aspiration in
fresh laborers who will carry on the work here begun
with undying energy.
In speaking of the HIof-Kapelle, I have already referred
to the harmonious manner in which the brilliant hues of
the frescoes and the golden back-grounds are toned down
by the dull reds, dull greens, pale stone-colors, chocolate
browns, and tender yellows and greys. In the new Basilica the arrangement of color is in the same exquisite
harmony; but there all is real — in looking around this
beautiful new church, you can rejoice in the consciousness that each column, each slab, is marble-genuine,
truthful marble! —and there is a great delight in this
consciousness.
The Glyptothek, the little sculpture gallery, is in itself
cne of the most ideal and harmonious of the works of
art in Munich. The collection of sculpture, though small,
contains some statues of priceless value and world-wide
fame; but it is especially their beautiful arrangement and
the harmonious whole which impresses you. The walls
are of this beautiful marble stucco, but here not gradated
in color, each room being of some one rich tint. The
sculpture is arranged chronologically.  Thus, entering,
the history of sculpture rises before you as you pass along,
from the Egyptian Sphynx to the works of Thorwaldsen.
The impression produced by this judicious arrangement is
profound.
But it was about stucco walls I was writing, and in the
Glyptothek their effect is very beautiful. The impression
is that they are built of the richest marble or porphyry;
each room is of a separate color, but contrasted or
harmonized so as agreeably to affect the imagination.
You stand in a room of pale-green marble; the adjoining
one, seen through the broad doorway, is tender lilac, and




150          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
the one beyond, dull red; and the glorious, solemn statues
gleam out white and pure against these self-colored yet
richly tinted walls, with a wonderfully beautiful and impressive breadth of effect.
The ceilings of this lovely little gallery are enriched
with frescoes by Cornelius, and by medallions by Schwanthaler. One of these frescoes, the Destruction of Troy,
has greatly impressed us. As yet it is the only work of
Cornelius's in Munich which has come up to my preconceived ideas of Cornelius's genius — there is less of the
overstrained and academic in the figures and attitudes than
in the altar-piece in the Ludwig Kirche, and in the earlier
of these Glyptothek frescoes - more simplicity and beauty; the sternness is grand, very grand. This Destruction
of Troy gives me a feeling of what those compositions
from the Campo Santo at Berlin must be, of which every
one speaks in such admiration.
Beautiful and highly poetical as this Munich School of
Decoration is, one sees here only too frequently the danger
of its becoming commonized and over-done. I am often
on the verge of being utterly weary of ornament-often
am utterly weary. In fact, there are certain so-called
decorations here which I avoid looking at - for instance,
the Arcade of the Hof-garten; and yet one has a lingering
regard for it as the commencement of the Munich revival,
and at certain points seen from among the green foliage
of the garden the effect of the frescoed walls is agreeable;
but I always, with my strong predilection in favor of
German art, feel jealous of strangers dwelling upon the
Arcade as one of the marvels of Munich. The arabesqued
ceiling seen in its long prospective always reminds me
most disagreeably of a vast length of painted oil-cloth!
The detail certainly is graceful when you take the trouble




MUNICH DECORATION.               151
to study it; but the effect is tawdry, -a petty flicker of
lilac, green, and pink
And in the Royal Library the other day, I was annoyed
by the same thing; the ceilings of the staircase and
reading-room are like embossed paper-boxes —very elegant decorations they would have been for plum-boxes, or
even good patterns for a lady's shawl, - but certainly
most inappropriate as decoration for a place of study.
And you see the contagion of this sort of thing in every
ceiling of every house above the very poorest of Munich.
Now and then you see a beautiful design on a ceiling,
but that will be the exception: one grows weary to death
of arabesque, and this rage for over-ornament I should
dread in these tile-houses.
The saloon of the Von --—'s house is a beautiful specimen of domestic decoration: Kaulbach and Neureuther
have united their genius to adorn this room for their
friends. Lovely sprays of vine, and flowers, and flowering shrubs, display themselves upon the white walls of
the room —rising in thick yet symmetrical luxuriance
above the crimson silk divan which runs around it. It is
as though the divan rested against a low garden-wall,
above which was seen the rich foliage of the vineyard, or
the tangle of the shrubbery; and from among the foliage
look forth the sweet faces of the family: here is a pensive girl meditating over a book; there a fair-haired, blueeyed, younger sister, weaving a flowery garland, or a
little round-faced, flaxen-haired lad eagerly catching butterflies in his net: the portraits are by Kaulbach —the
exquisite foliage by Neureuther. Neureuther's festoons
of flowers link together the series of Kaulbauch's frescoes
from the history of Cupid and Psyche which glow upon
the walls - designs similar to those from the same legend




-152         AN ART-STUDENT IN 3MUNICH.
in Duke Max's palace, but smaller in size. The effect
of the whole is very lovely.
The exterior of several private houses here also strikes
me as extremely agreeable, and makes me wish earnestly
I could transform some of our square uncouth masses of
English brick-work into forms and coloring as agreeable
to the eye and imagination.  I have spoken elsewhere of
the general impression of the Ludwig Strasse; it is to
certain detached houses I now refer.  There is a house
close to the Dult Platz especially agreeable, and now in
autumn the crimson tints of the Virginian creeper, and
the varied greens, browns, and oranges of other climbing
plants trained over them, harmonize and contrast most
beautifully with the pale buff tints of the brick of which
they are built, with the white sculptured stone-work of the
round arched windows, and with the brilliantly tinted medallions not unfrequently introduced between windows or
on either side of a portico. On the front of Kaulbach's
house are two medallions, the ground an intensely brilliant
ultra-marine, and each containing, in relief of pale buff, a
beautiful figure of a youth holding by the mane a prancing and snorting horse. Above each youth is a star.
These houses are generally built of brick of two colors
-our common yellow brick, and brick of a deeper brown;
with these two tints the most beautiful effects and patterns
are obtained. The form of the bricks also often varies,
and thus a great deal of beautiful detail is gained: there
is one mass of red-brick building in the Ludwig Strasse,
which, simply from the manner in which the bricks are
laid and the character of the bricks themselves, is very
beautiful. But there are, again, houses here in Munich
where the Byzantine and Moresco taste has gone so very
crazy, that one grows utterly weary of ornament.




CHAPTER X1V.
AUTUMNAL RAMBLES.
October 27. - To-day we commenced our winter campaign of work at the studio. The whole day has been
one of pleasantness and beauty from beginning to end.
The first beautiful thing was our walk through the English
Garden to the studio. A considerable quantity of snow
had fallen during the night, and lay thick and pure upon
the branches of furs and pines, and upon the boughs of
various trees which have not yet shed their autumnal
leaves; so that heavy masses of snow lay upon the scarlet and gold, and olive-green branches, in strangest contrast. It was a singular and poetic blending of autumn
and winter, full of lovely suggestions for decorative art.
Upon the wall, which on one side shuts in the garden,
grow tufts of grass, which formed, this morning, the most
fairy-like crests of beauty; each bent and blade covered
with rime, which glittered in the sunshine. Lovely, brilliant sprays dipped into the clear green waves of the
mill-stream which rushes along behind the studio-field.
The field was white with snow; we had our first winter's
glimpse of the studio. And when we entered through the
heavy grey door into our little sanctum, the air was warm
with a pleasant warmth from the stove, and behold.! in
one corner stood a beautiful palm-tree in a green tub. It
was the emblem of peace to us. It is a favorite tree of




154          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
K.'s; he has painted sprays from it in the hands of the
Christians leaving Jerusalem. It had been placed in our
little studio for warmth: we welcomed it with much love.
People usually call the neighborhood of Munich stupid,
flat, and utterly devoid of natural beauty; they speak of
the singular contrast between the beauty of the city and
the barrenness and want of interest in the neighborhood.
Strange to say, I shall bring away with me memories of
the beauties of nature, which, in looking back to my
sojourn, I almost think will outshine the memory of the
beauties of art. I recall a dozen sun-set skies, that, for
gorgeousness and glory, put to shame all the gold and
rainbow hues of the churches. This vast plain, with its
dreamy horizon of Alps, the desolate banks of the Isar,
the lovely English Garden, and all the many pleasant,
quiet strolls to quaint old villages, - what delicious memories shall I not carry away with me of them!
Besides this, the ground, in summer, is one mosaic of
lovely flowers; and the sky is a never-ceasing delight, -
so blue and clear. I often wonder whether it is owing to
the atmosphere being clearer here than in England, and
also to the greater beauty and freshness of coloring of
the public buildings, that not a single day passes over
without its presenting you with some architectural picture.
Every evening, as I cross the Ludwig Strasse, I look
down it to see some new effect upon the Siegesthor. Last
night the ground was sparkling with snow, the horizon the
palest tint of peach-color, deepening into a warm rose,
and against the sky stood forth the Siegesthor as if carved
in ivory. Sometimes it glows as if carved in ruddy gold.
I had no conception, till I came here, of the wonderful
beauty of color in architecture, and how nature seems to
pronounce her blessing upon it, by heightening the beauty




AUTUMNAL RAMBLES.                155
of man's work, through her showers of sunshine and her
clouds of shadow, and her glow of reflected lights. Oh,
if man would only strive with instead of against nature,
what a world this would be!- and will be in time. Still
more so is this the case with the soul, - of which all these
outward things are but types.
How lovely are our walks, to and fro, through the
English Garden!  The ground is covered with pure,
crisp snow; the trees often sparkling with hoar-frost, till
all is like a forest of enchantment; and the sun sparkles
and glitters upon their branches as though they were
covered with diamonds. Or, perhaps, there is no hoar.
frost, only the trunks and branches are powdered with
snow, and the delicate, wondrous tracery of branches relieves itself against the purest, deepest, most glowing
azure sky, like a warm summer's sky — so blue and
cloudless. I have no words to describe the delight which
these walks are to me: the air is pure, keen, and bracing;
the ground hard and crisp, and morning and evening I
find some lovely, fresh picture painted for me by that
most wonderful of all artists — Nature. Now it is a sky
all creamy and pale amber, with early morning light, the
more distant groups of trees lost in delicate haze; mist
hanging about mysteriously among the glades and hollows
of the garden, dropping from branches and veiling grotesque giant stems, and yet sunshine is struggling through
the haze, casting long blue shadows over the snow. Now,
the effect is different; ruddy sunset-light falls across the
snow, turning it to rose-color, and burns upon boles and
branches with a glory almost unearthly. The trees stand
as of molten copper, with an azure sky behind them, and
the green ice of the mill-stream, powdered with snow,
looks yet more vivid in color.
Last night, as I returned, a large, calm moon was




156         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
rising out of a rose-tinted horizon, above a lawny opening
in the garden. The ground was a sheet of snow, with
lovely groups of trees rising here and there into the quiet,
warm sky. I stopped for a moment to drink in its beauty.
It was close to Prince Carl's palace, where two unlucky
sentinels are always standing, often pacing to and fro
this cold weather, with faces of intense misery. I always
think that the placing of sentinels is a great piece of
humbug; it is not an active, useful watchfulness, like that
of the police - it is merely a pompous piece of man's
tyranny. I felt sorry for these unlucky sentinels —one
of whom passed me at this moment, pacing up and down
with a blue and scarlet face. I longed to say to him,'Look how beautiful that moon is, and how lovely the
garden looks! But that would have been a very moonstruck action. If these poor men, however, had only
eyes to see these things, they would not need so much
pity.
I have spoken of our rambles in the neighborhood.
One such I will describe; it was in the autumn.
As we were at work in the studio, we all at once
bethought ourselves of the beautiful sunshine out of doors,
and away we went for a walk, the sun shining brilliantly,
and the fresh free wind roaring through the trees.
Crossing first the great Royal Wood-yard, we came to
the banks of the Isar, which are very beautiful. The Isar
is a broad stream, which, when swollen with rain, rushes
on white and muddy; at other times it flows on smoothly
among long stretches of gravelly, shoal-like portions of a
shingly beach: the banks are at times very high, rising
cliff-like above the river. Our side of the bank, however,
was not particularly elevated, but beautified by avenues
planted along it. Imagine a sort of terrace, skirted on
either hand by lofty trees, sometimes poplars, sometimes




AUTUMNAL RAMBLES.                157
elms, while sloping down to the shingly river's margin are
copses of willow and undergrowth, and on the other side
of the avenue, pleasant meadows, lying calmly between
you and the skirts of the English Garden. Swiftly-flowing
branches of the Isar rush merrily through the meadows,
and turn mills, and give life and activity to this otherwise
solitary and quiet scene.
The trees had almost lost their leaves; but the broad
sunshine brought out all the lovely details of their stems
and branches; and made us think that these avenues were
now more beautiful than in summer. Long quivering
shadows fell across the path, the wind rushed joyously
through their branches, and the sunlight fell sparkling
upon some figure approaching up the narrow avenue:
now a peasant-girl, wheeling before her an old-fashioned
barrow, piled up with branches or dead leaves, her white
sleeves and red boddice telling as a bright focus of dolor
in the grey landscape; or perhaps it was some grave old
professor in a long dark-blue cloak, which gave him a
still more solemn air.
On, and still on, we walked, until the avenue became
wilder, the meadows more solitary, and the thickets between us and the river a thicker tangle of underwood and
creepers. Clematis hung in rich festoons from the trees
of the avenue, and here and there was a barberry bush,
with its yellow leaves yet unshed; or the slender branches
of the wild cherry, covered with brilliant scarlet leaves.
All at once the most lovely landscape lay before us. The
grey avenue lessened and lessened in a beautiful perspective, till the light at the farther end shone out like an azure
star. This avenue was on the left hand of the picture;
the rest of the composition was a broad stretch of river,
blue as the bluest heaven, with long, white, desolate shoals,
in tongues and promontories running into it; in the middle




158         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
distance a group of rafts, and men busily at work on the
shoals, giving life and a most picturesque animation to the
scene: the further river-bank curved round in a bold
sweep, overhung with a dense mass of grey trees, on
which the sun shone till they looked quite hoary in the
blaze of light; and a still more distant sweep of riverbank crowned with a white-washed church, the red-tiled
roof and tower of which told brightly against a warm
grey sky, united the two portions of the picture, the river
and the avenue, by the most harmonious line of composition
imaginable. And, as if to complete the picturesque effect,
behold a long, long flight of birds stretching across the sky!
We stood in perfect admiration and astonishment at the
artistic power of nature.
Arrived at the end of the avenue, we found that the
river-bed widened out, and assumed almost a sea-shore
character with its shingly shoals. On one hand was a wild
sort of mainland with low brushwood, and numbers of
young birch-trees rising up here and there, their delicate
leaves yellow as gold, and trembling like the leaves of
aspens. On a mound above the river-bank we noticed
a queer little straw-hut, and' beyond it a long array of
what at first appeared black coffins, mounted on cars.
What could they possibly be? we questioned from ourselves. And there, in that desolate solitude, stood a
soldier as sentinel. Could they be cannon? No. We
walked up to them, and then came to the conclusion that
they were boats intended to form a bridge of boats.
We now crossed this moorland, at times up to the
knees in long grass, of a coarse jungle-like character, and
very soon found ourselves close to a busy manufactory of
some kind. A wooden bridge, closed by heavy gates, led
over a rushing branch of the Isar: long, low ranges of
worshops, black and noisy, and busy-looking as if in Eng.




AUTUMNAL RAMBLES.               159
land, were there, and tall chimneys vomiting black smoke;
and there was a roar and a rattle very much out of character with the quiet moor and this primitive Germany.
Smutty artisans were passing rapidly to and fro. We
looked into a black, busy workshop, where blazed numbers
of furnaces; there was a roar of bellows, a clank of hammers, a blaze of myriads of sparks struck from glowing
masses of iron, and a crowd of black, hard-working mechanics worthy of England.  Everything was black;
there were heaps of iron everywhere, and the steam
rushed and tumbled and boiled with an unwonted energy. This was the steam-engine manufactory.
In the court-yard behind the row of workshops, stood
the house of the overlooker, with its luxuriant vine overhanging its white-washed walls, and its green shutters, as
quiet and primitive as any German heart would desire.
What a busy little world this seemed in the midst of that
moorland solitude!
When, on our return, we reached the edge of the English Garden, the sight of a picturesque coffee-house, with
its wooden galleries running round the exterior in Tyrolean
fashion, over which, as it had been such a bright sunny
day, quantities of bedding were hung to air, tempted us to
indulge in a cup of coffee after our ramble. All looked
beautiful but deserted, in the orchard, where a lanky girl,
in a very short green petticoat and purple stockings, was
sweeping away the heaps of fallen leaves from tables and
benches. What a time we had to wait for coffee! We
should have grown quite angry had it not been for the
glorious sky which glowed before us, and reflected itself
in the rushing stream at the bottom of the orchard. Behind us rose the dark trees of the English Garden, and
before us, separated by a rapid stream, and approached by
a wooden bridge, lay the quiet expanse of green meadows;




160          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
whilst all around us lay the brilliant masses of fallen autumn
leaves. We thought that this was probably the last time
we should take coffee in the open air, as we had so often
done throughout the lovely summer, and we were patient.
At length the coffee came; but it was quite dark before
we reached home.
Another day, taking our sketching materials, we went to
Schwalbing, a village with two churches, just near the
city; and to the first of these we directed our steps. Unlike most continental churches, it appeared to be closed, as
were the gates of the church-yard. After peering about
for a long time, I discovered a door leading into the churchyard. A ruinous old white building, an old spital, with the
rudest of faded frescoes upon its front, was united to the
church by a covered gallery, supported upon arches. This
gallery, with its tiled roof, had quite an Italian character;
just the kind of architectural bit which Overbeck introduces
into his pictures — a capital thing, good in color and peculiar in composition, yet most simple. We regretted that
it was not summer, that we might have made a careful
study of it in oils.
Through these arches we passed to see another capital
bit, though of another character- a covered way leading
up to the porch, supported on low, grey marble pillars,
very quaint! It was fit for a back-ground in some illustrations of one of Uhland's ballads. We were enchanted
with our church-yard; there was no need to go farther;
but first we would see the inside of the little church.
A fat, merry-looking woman, with a handkerchief, in
Munich fashion, tied tightly across her forehead, and hanging down her back in long ends, had seen us, as she looked
out of a house on one side of the court-yard; and she
now came out with a key, and asked if we wished to go
into the church. This was just what we desired, we




AUTUMNAL RAMBLES.                161
replied; and in we went, through the low door-way. It
was, like most village churches, very white from whitewash, and very tawdry with gilding and dPessed-up Virgins
and hideous saints, but very clean.
I inquired why the church was locked up?  Was there
no mass there on Sundays?- and could not people go in
on week-days to pray whenever they liked?
There was no mass, she said, on Sundays, but on all
saints' days; and when people wanted to pray, she was
always ready to open the door for them. But had not
the Holy Virgin had one of her best pocket-handkerchiefs
stolen? and had not a golden heart been carried away
from  the altar?  Ah! there were very bad people in
Munich, and it was necessary to lock up the church.
She seemed an honest, good simple soul herself; for
when I offered her some Kreutzers for her trouble, she
would not take them, saying that she was only too proud
and too happy to enter the church and show it to strangers.
From her we borrowed chairs, and were soon comfortably
sketching our Overbeck gallery. At twelve o'clock the
woman and a little lad crossed the court-yard to ring the
bell, and soon after that, our usual dinner hour arriving,
we felt very hungry, and were directed by the guardianess
of the place to the village inn close by. A queer, dirty
place it was; but we were far too hungry to be particular.
We sate waiting for our two portions of goose-everybody
seems to live on goose at this season, it appears quite to
have taken the place of veal — in a long dirty billiardroom. All was desolate and silent, saving that now and
then a dirty, slovenly girl, or hulking ostler, came in for
beer, which was brought to them from an inner room.  To
amuse myself I read the newspaper, which was just then
full of rumors of war.
At length we had our dinner, and then went to the good
11




162         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
woman's in whose charge we had left our sketching materials. What a desolate place was her house! It was
one of those places which astonished by their total want
of everything which one is accustomed to consider a
necessary of life: yet it would have done anybody's
heart good to have seen the cheerful soul in her miserable
room. She was so merry, and her face bespoke such
habitual contentment! I think I never saw such a pair
of happy, bright blue eves in any human countenance.
To my astonishment 1 found the room filled with children — small children, a regular swarm — between the
ages of six months and twelve years. WVas it a school, or
how was it? I asked.'Oh! they are all my own,' she replied.
I looked around to see if she were not the little old
woman who lived in the shoe, and who did not know
what to do with her many children. But the house was
not a shoe, as far as I could make out; and most certainly she seemed to know what to do with hers. Children appeared to be the only furniture to the place. I
could see, besides them, only a wooden cradle, a couple
of stools, a little old chest of drawers, and a long row of
pegs, on which hung a whole array of tattered cloaks, and
coats, and caps.
All afternoon the troop of blue-eyed, light-haired children was playing about the old church, now hiding among
the old arches, now rushing out with flying locks into the
bright sunshine. We heard their voices sounding merrily
among the graves, and echoing back from the crumbling
old' walls; the place was like a pleasant poem. Throughout the afternoon, too, various peasants came to pray in
the church, and the mother was constantly going backwards and forwards with her huge key in her hand; and
she had ever a kind cheerful word to say to us as she




AUTUMNAL RAMBLES.              163
passed. But we could not persuade her to take anything
from us when we left.
As we returned home, the setting sun was flooding the
whole plain with orange light, and turning the avenue of
poplars into an avenue of dark-red gold, relieved against
an indigo sky.
0-NL 




C-IAPTER XV.
ALL SOULS DAY, AND A ROYAL CHRISTENING.
Miunich, Nov. 1.- This is All Souls Day. The principal Cemetery is illuminated and decorated with flowers,
garlands, and various devices,- and all Munich goes'out
to see it. We had heard of this grand day for weeks,
and therefore were rather curious about it. We set off at
two o'clock, and on our way through the Tirken Strasse
met King Ludwig walking alone. Spite of all the old
king's failings, my heart warms to him as the generous
and noble patron of Art; and as such I made him a low
reverence as he passed, and received in return a gracious
smile and bow. A little farther on, driving across the
Maximilian Platz, we met the other king and his brother
King Otho. They were in a gay carriage with outriders
in blue, and their two queens were with them. They had
been to the Cemetery.
The Cemetery lies outside the Sendlinger Thor, —the
old and new Gottes-Acker lying close together. Tribes
of people were streaming in the direction of the cemeteries, and all wore a holiday look. The whole day had
been a holiday; mass had been performed in the churches,
and the shops were closed. On the open space before the
ruinous old Sendlinger gate were a number of stalls,
on which were displayed wreaths of moss and ivy, and
crosses covered with moss and ivy, and initial letters also
formed of the same materials. As we approached the




THE ILLUMINATED CEMETERY.           165
burial-ground these stalls increased in number, — on which
also crucifixes were offered for sale, -and the crowd of
people became quite dense; almost every peasant and
burgher of the lower class carrying a rosary. There was
a regular crush to get into the burial-ground. A row of
frightful and diseased beggars - the halt, the blind, and
the lame - men, women, and children - stood before the
little church, craving alms.
A little further on, we had space to observe that every
grave in this densely filled church-yard was decked out in
festal array. What a singular impression is produced by
seeing these gay-looking graves and the gay crowd of
living people, and then to picture the equally dense crowd
of the calm dead lying beneath these flowers and these
busy feet! To me there was a frightful contrast between
this life and this death.
There was no expression of sorrow or of reverence in the
faces of the living- mere curiosity. Numbers of blue
glass lamps were suspended from the crosses and monuments. There were wreaths, garlands, and festoons of
moss, ivy, and everlasting; some of tawdry pink and blue
artificial flowers, which were frightful. But on the whole
the decorations were very tasteful,- some of them lovely.
For instance, a grey marble basin for holy water, placed at
the foot of a grave, would be wreathed round with myrtle
and rose-buds- real, not artificial; while the grave would
be covered with greenhouse plants in full bloom, -or the
soil perhaps raked smoothly till it resembled fine black
sand, so that on this black ground a mosaic of scarlet
mountain-ash berries, the white waxen berries of the
snowberry, and leaves and flowers in the form of crosses,
initials, and various devices, would be worked; and the
tall, elegantly-formed stone or iron cross at its head would
be festooned with moss and ivy wreaths. On some of the




166          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
graves a kind of moveable garden was placed, —a large
wooden tray covered with mould, into which were stuck
-leaves and flowers in patterns.  Cress, or some little seedling of that kind, had also frequently been sown and
sprung up in patterns, in letters, or in words, variegated
also with colored sands — blue, red, and white. It can
scarcely be imagined how very ingenious these little gardens were; curious though, rather than pretty, - somewhat like very neat children's gardens. Every grave had
its lamps or candles, and each its attendant -an old man
or woman, who sate beside the cross muttering prayers
with the rosary in hand. These attendants all seemed to
be old. I noticed one or two very old people, -one man
with a white beard, who trembled all over with age and
cold.
The Old Cemetery is of considerable extent, and is
quite filled with graves. A sort of cloister runs round it,
beneath which were also monuments; and, of course,
therefore, more flowers, and garlands, and lamps, and at.
tendants. We now passed with the crowd into the New
Cemetery. It also is inclosed by a cloister; — not, however, like the other, whitewashed, but built of rich warm
brick, a yellow brown, with red bricks introduced so as to
produce a fine effect.  This beautiful cloister, with its
numberless round arches, is very striking — quite grand,
indeed, in its simplicity. As yet there are but few graves
in the inclosure. On one side, as the cloister is entered,
is the monument of Girtner, the architect of the Sieges.
thor, — and a little further on is that of Professor von
Walter.  On the other side of the entrance, close by the
door-way, is a grey marble monument, with a bust in
white marble placed on it, — an ugly, ungraceful monument.  A  tall American cedar was planted on either
side, —a number of garlands of myrtle and bay lay at its




THE ILLUMINATED CEMETERY.          167
feet. It was Schwanthaler's monument!' Had we only
known that he slept there, I would have taken the loveliest
garland I could have found in Munich, as a little tribute of
respect to his genius.  I was pleased to see the interest
and respect evinced by the crowd collected round this
monument.'Yes, Schwanthaler! the great Schwanthaler!' I heard people say.  I cannot conceive why King
Ludwig, who erected this monument, could permit anything so common-place- nay, unsightly -to be connected with Schwanthaler's name and memory.
On our way home we noticed a crowd of people in the
Maximilian Platz, — a crowd of eager people, who, with
breathless interest, were watching a man mounted on a
heavy ladder, or rather flight of wooden steps.  He was
lighting a lamp: for to-night Munich was to be illuminated,- the lamp illumination having been deferred from
the opening of the Siegesthor till to-night.  At the foot
of the lamp-post stood a grave, pompous man, in a buffcolored quilted coat, trimmed with black bear's skin,
holding in one hand a long pole, at the end of which
burned a feeble flame inclosed in perforated tin, and in
his other a little box containing a red mixture, which he
stirred up from time to time with a piece of stick,-his
demeanor being that of a person engaged on solemn and
important duties.  When, suddenly, three little flames
darted up from the gas-burner, there was a perfect scream
of delight from the gazing crowd below.  Gas was to
burn that night in the streets of Munich.  There was indeed a jubilation! I smile as I contrast in my mind that
huge flight of steps, and those two pompous, solemn
officers, with a brisk London lalnplighter. In Munich the
phrase ought to be as slow, not as brisk as a lamplighter.
When the lamp was lighted, the heavy ladder and the
heavy men moved off,- he of the buff coat and bearskin




168          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
growling' Platz! platz!' to the wonderingscrowd. At
the corner of the Amalien Strasse we met other lamplighters, two of whom carried the ladder, and a third tho
light. It was, indeed, an important and formidable business this gas-lamp illumination. Looking out of my window as I write, I behold a feeble brilliancy in the streets,
- and all the world out enjoying it.
Nov. 16.- Fraulein Sanchen came down to the studio
yesterday, to inform us of a grand christening which was
going to take place. It was the christening of'Her
Royal Highness Theresa Charlotta Marianna Augusta,
daughter of his Royal Highness Prince Leutpold of
Bavaria,' as the long programme which the good old
creature brought in her hand expressed it. The ceremony,
said Fraulein Sinchen, was to take place in the beautiful
throne-room, with its white marble walls and columns, and
rows of gigantic gilded statues. We thought, could we
only obtain admittance, how imposing the ceremony would
be in this hall. The christening would be performed at
two o'clock; therefore by one we returned home, and
found Madame Thekla and her friend and neighbor the' Frau Majorin' ready to accompany us.
This' Frau Majorin' - there are three' Frau Majorins' in this one house!- is a fat little woman, as broad
as she is long: she is a widow, and has a son, who, like
her late husband, is a soldier.  WVe have the felicity of
seeing his uniform brushed just opposite our door each
morning. The Frau Majorin is possessed of a remarkably
high-pitched voice, in which she gossips for hours each
day with good Madame Thekla. I hear the murmur and
buzz of their voices through the door at this very moment;
they are voices to drive one distracted!
Well, the two gossips were ready to accompany us;
and off, therefore, we immediately set.  We found tribes




A ROYAL CHRISTENING.             169
of people entering the palace, at one of the side entrances
in the old portion of the palace. We followed the stream
up long flights of steps and through long galleries, some
hung with ugly old portraits, others ornamented with
armorial bearings and various heraldic devices emblazoned on the walls, which were white-washed, and, as well as
the arched ceiling, covered with stucco ornaments of the
Louis Quatorze age. People had arranged themselves
along the walls, to watch the procession pass to the throneroom. But we, hoping to gain admittance to the christening itself, hurried on until we ignominiously were turned
back by a gendarme stationed to prevent the admission of
the vulgar herd - who were without tickets.
Tall men, in a costume not unlike that of our' Beefeaters,' except that their livery was blue, and holding long
pikes in their hands, took up their station in a long row
up either side of the gallery; and behind them crushed
eager spectators, looking anxiously -especially the short
ones - from behind the great blue and black-striped backs
and slashed sleeves, and caught snatches of the procession
in considerable discomfort.
First came a number of strange-looking fellows, in
splendid uniforms and court dresses. It was a curious
assemblage of heads: old, withered faces, seared with
worldliness till they were scarcely human — features
pinched and distorted with diplomacy; they were men
bowed with age, and covered with decorations,-but it
was age without dignity and reverence.
Then came the Grand Master of the Ceremonies, with
his rod; and now a stout lady, in full court-dress, her
train borne by attendants. Upon a cushion this lady bore
Her most Serene Highness the newly-born Princess Theresa Charlotta Marianna Augusta, who was covered with a
pink gauze veil. The little princess certainly deserved at




170          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
this moment her title of'serene,' for she was so quiet
that you never would have guessed there was an infant
princess concealed by the veil, and lying upon the
cushion.
It was a relief to know that this infant was a girl, and
thus never could harden into quite such frightful worldliness as that of the old courtiers who had preceded her.
Next followed two pretty little boys, her brothers; they
were about six and seven years old, and dressed in purple
velvet tunics; they carried burning tapers: they were
lovely enough to have been little angels, instead of prin(es.
And now everybody bent as low as they could, — for
the King and Queen passed by; the King wearing a uniform, and looking very gracious and spruce. He led the
Queen by the hand. The Queen, I found, was rather
short than tall, as I had imagined from seeing her at the
theatre; she looked very handsome with her large proud
eyes, and in her dress of white satin, with her long crimson velvet train borne by pages. And then there was the
King of Greece, in his Albanian costume of white and
gold, and he led by the hand one of his sisters, the Grand
Duchess of something; and they were followed by Prince
Leutpold, the father of the little serene infant, leading along
another great lady. In fact, excepting the old King and
Queen, all the royal family were present. There was
the Duchess of Leuchtenberg, the widow of Eugene
Beauharnais, who was to stand deputy godmother to the
little princess, and represent the two real godmothers, the
Empress Dowager of Austria and the Ex-Queen Theresa
of Bavaria. And then there was the Archbishop in his
lilac robes and skull-cap, and his attendant priests bearing
tapers and crucifixes; and there was a long train of the
diplomatic corps with their ladies, and the burgomaster




A ROYAL CHRISTENING.             171
and corporation of the city; and, bringing up the rear, a
great number of officers.
And now, when all had passed, there was nothing for
us to do but to imagine the scene in the beautiful throneroom, where, opposite the crimson velvet canopy, beneath
which the King and Queen would be seated, an altar had
been erected. Yes, being endowed with a tolerably vivid
imagination, the whole scene was speedily conjured up, -
the rows of court ladies on either side the throne,-the
altar, with its gold and fine linen; burning tapers, and
officiating priests, — the groups of gentlemen in uniform,
and the Te Deum sung by choristers stationed above in
a gallery, - and the whole gorgeous array visible through
a perspective of marble columns and gigantic golden statues, the ancestors of the little princess now being received
into the Christian Church!




CHAPTER XVI.
CONSECRATION OF THE BASILICA.
Nov. 24. -The first stone of the Basilica of St. Bonifazius was laid by King Ludwig in 1835, in celebration of
his Silberner Hochzeit- or the twenty-fifth anniversary
of his marriage. It has taken fifteen years to complete
and enrich it with sculptures, arabesques, frescoes, and
carving in wood. Last week the rich gold and silver
vessels, the gold and silver crucifixes, the altar-cloths and
splendid robes for the priests, the embroidered banners
and canopies, the velvet cushions, the gorgeous carpets,
thrones, and seats required by the pomp of Catholic
worship, were exhibited for three days in the church to
the public, who streamed thither in crowds. To-day was
the consecration.
This church may be considered unique; being a revival
of the Basilicas of the fifth and sixth centuries- a Roman
hall of justice converted into a Christian temple. It is
built entirely of beautiful dark-red brick. Adjoining it is
the monastery of the Benedictine Monks, built also of
brick, and with the same round-arched windows as the
church -of which, indeed, it seems a portion. A portico,
supported by eight noble limestone columns, runs along
the front of the Basilica; and three lofty doors, rich with
emblematical carvings in wood and stone, lead into the
church. The interior is divided into five naves by sixtyfour columns of grey marble, with exquisitely sculptured




CONSECRATION OF THE BASILICA.         173
white marble capitals and bases. Entering by the middle
door, the lofty centre nave stretches away before the
spectator —an avenue of noble columns supporting upon
rounded arches an expanse of wall glowing with arabesques and frescoes, and perforated by a long row of
small round-topped windows, high up, and near the roof;
which, after the manner of the old basilicas, exposes its
beams and rafters to view, but gilt and ornamented, and
glittering with stars on a deep azure ground. This centre
nave terminates in a lofty semi-circular niche, wherein,
approached by a flight of twelve steps, rises the high
altar.
On the wall above the high altar, on a gold ground, and
divided from each other by the typical palm-tree, stand
the first teachers of Christianity in Bavaria: St. Bonifazius, St. Benedict, St. Willibald, St. Corbinian, St. Rupert,
St. Gimmeran, St. Cilian, and St. Magnus. Above them
floats Christ, as the head and symbol of the Church triumphant, surrounded by a glory of Cherubim and Seraphim,
and with the Virgin and St. John the Baptist praying at
his feet. Beneath the high altar and its flight of steps
extends the crypt. Two side altars terminate the outer
naves, as the high altar the principal nave. Above the
side altar to the right are the Virgin and Child receiving
the homage of the patron saint of the Bavarian royal
family; above the one on the left is the Martyrdom of
St. Stephen - the most beautiful of all the frescoes in the
Basilica-the most beautiful, I am inclined to say, of all
the frescoes in Munich. St. Stephen, with his meek, pale
face, and with clasped hands, falls to the earth beneath
the cruel stones of his assailants like a broken white lily.
These altar-pieces are, together with the other frescoes
in the Basilica, painted by Hess, and his assistants. The
history of St. Boniface, to whom the church is dedicated,




174          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
is told in a series of frescoes which extends along either
side of the centre nave, above the noble columns of which
I have spoken. These represent twelve principal inci.
dents from his life; commencing with his reception as a
child among the Benedictine monks, and his departure
from England to Germany upon his perilous mission —
and ending with his martyrdom  in Friesland, and his
burial in the Abbey of Fulda. The lesser events are
told in smaller designs alternating with the large frescoes,
and are painted in grey on a blue ground, so managed as
to suggest sky.  Many of these smaller designs are peculiarly beautiful; they are in octagonal compartments, and
are surrounded by graceful arabesques of crimson, green,
gold, and lilac, on a deep chocolate ground. Below the
frescoes illustrative of the life of St. Boniface, is a series
of medallion heads of the Popes; and above the frescoes,
alternating with the round-arched windows, and painted
on a gold ground, are groups of saints and martyrs who
lived and suffered for the propagation of Christianity in
Germany. The effect of this centre nave is that of a
gorgeous and solemn missal.
The walls of the church are a mosaic of rich marbles:
— dark greens - dull, ruddy browns and reds - and delicate greys and lilacs. Opposite the side altars, and to the
right and left as you enter the church by the side doors,
are two little chapels —the chapel for baptism and the
chapel for burial. A peculiar simplicity, solemnity, and
dignity characterize the whole edifice.
The ceremony of consecration was to commence, we
understood, at half-past seven o'clock in the morning.
Long streaks of golden and pale pink light from the newlyrisen sun stretched athwart a sombre grey sky, as we set
out towards the church, and wonderfully enhanced the
beauty of the Pinakothek and Glyptothek, which we passed




CONSECRATION OF THE BASILICA.        175
on our way to the Basilica: the Basilica and the monastery
attached to it being only separated by a wall from the
beautiful white marble temple which faces the Glyptothek,
and which is erected for the triennial exhibition of paintings
here. The streets'were as yet almost vacant, although
the bells of the Basilica now for the first time summoned
the good citizens. As we turned, however, into the street
in which the church stands, we were greeted by sounds
of life. The burgher-guard, preceded by their band,
marched along, and all the houses were festooned with
moss garlands, gay flags, carpets, and pictures hung out
from the windows and balconies. Tall cedar-trees in tubs
were placed within the portico of the Basilica, one on
either side of the lofty carved doors. Few people, however, had as yet congregated.
The citizen-guard stationed itself before the church
with much parade; and soon the crowd grew. A school
of little girls, in white dresses, and each bearing her small
nosegay in her hand, and a school of little boys, drew up
on the steps of the portico. And now the Archbishop, in
his purple robes, descended from his carriage, —was received by the priests, -was presented with the heavy
golden key of the church,- and, beneath a crimson
canopy which was borne above him, blessed, anointed,
and sprinkled with holy water the portal of the church,
previous to entering it. People then crowded into the
court-yard in which stand the church and the monastery,
as well as the monks' garden with its long pleached alleys
and flower-beds. And now, with crucifixes borne aloft,
and fluttering crimson banners, —with white and black
robed priests and choristers chanting in loud voices from
large missals which they bore before them, - with a train.
of emaciated young Jesuit scholars, - with the twelve
Benedictine Brothers, in their long black gowns,- with




176          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
a procession of magistrates and citizens, - with the little
boys' and girls' schools, and all the scholars of the Latin
s.chool, arrayed in purple dress-coats with velvet collars,
like a set of stunted little men, —came the Archbishop
in his gorgeous white and golden robes, with his mitre on
his head. He walked beneath a canopy of gold and
crimson, his vestments borne by attendant priests; and
with upraised hand, on which glittered his large amethyst
ring, and with muttering lips he blessed the church.
Three times the procession encircles the church; now
the Archbishop sprinkles the walls with holy water from
a silver vessel with a bunch of holy herbs; now he
sprinkles the multitude; the choristers sing; the five bells
of the Basilica, each bearing the name of a saint, and exquisitely cast, peal from the belfry;- and the outer walls
are consecrated.
But, for the unlucky public collected outside the church,
there now commenced a most tedious time. For two mortal hours did they wait until the church doors should be
thrown open; the only incident to beguile the cold and
weariness being the arrival of a carriage full of dignitaries
of the Church in their violet robes, violet caps, white fur
and fine linen, — and the constant, sudden, and annoying
charges of the stupid burgher-guard upon the patient
crowd.
At length the huge doors were swung back, and in
poured the multitude, met by a fragrant breath of incense.
The high altar glowed and glittered with its bevy of
priests. At the foot of the twelve steps leading to it were
placed crimson seats on either hand, on which was a
small assemblage of gaily attired gentlemen,- a group of
bright uniforms to the right, and the more soberly arrayed
magistracy to the left.  The railing which inclosed the
high altar, the flight of steps, and the seats, were deco.




CONSECRATION OF THE BASILICA.          177
rated with moss and lovely greenhouse plants in full
bloom. Tall laurels, myrtles, and orange-trees, in huge
tubs, were arranged in rows on either side of the steps,
and interspersed with lovely aloes and graceful palm-like
plants, which drooped their tender fresh sprays with exquisite carelessness over the balustrades.
Then commenced a bewildering succession of ceremonies. The Archbishop sprinkled the holy water; anointed
the walls, the candlesticks, the crucifixes, the gold and
silver vessels; chanted, and prostrated himself before the
altar; rows of priests, young and old, with burning tapers,
ascended and descended the steps; the Archbishop was
robed and disrobed; sat upon a raised seat to the right of
the altar, his head resplendent in his mitre, his amethyst
ring sparkling on his gloved hand, his feet resting on a
splendidly embroidered violet carpet; the four Bishops,
with long white and gold embroidered mantles covering
their violet robes, kneeling around him, or seated upon
low amber-colored seats at his feet; priests knelt before
him with their large open missals, out of which he chanted; the choristers responded; now he blesses the great
golden crucifix, now the golden candlesticks of the high
altar, and the altar itself. The candlesticks are borne back
to their place; young priests put tall tapers into them one
by one; they are lighted, and the whole altar is consecrated and arrayed.  Gorgeous crimson carpets are
unrolled and cover the steps; the little girls in white scatter their nosegays; the bells peal out; the organ resounds
through the vast church with its thrilling tones; the Te
Deum is sung; priests and people adore; and the glorious
sunshine pours in through the many windows, glitters on
the golden walls, and lights up the marble columns, but
sparkles with the greatest splendor on the bright fresh
leaves of the laurel, orange and myrtle-trees. Their
12




178         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
leaves burn with such a magical brilliancy and freshness,
that in comparison the gorgeous hues of the walls fade
into an earthly dimness.
While the sunlight thus floods the centre aisle, leaving
the rest of-the church with its forest of columns, in a
mysterious mistiness and gloom, high mass is performed.
As it terminates, the distant sound of booming cannon is
heard, mingling with the pealing organ and the ringing of
the bells. The Archbishop is unrobed by his attendant
priests, whilst the altar is covered with fine white linen
napkins. He descends the steps, and passes out of the
consecrated Basilica, blessing the people; — and the ceremonies are at an end.




CHAPTER XVII.
WINTER TWILIGHT AND CHIRISTMAS EVE.
December 14. — I am just returned from the station,
where I have bade my dear fellow pilgrim, Clare, God.
speed upon her journey. Yes, she is returning to England. It is a very sudden resolve on her part, and we
have been full of regret on account of this return; but it
must be. God speed the dear pilgrim!
Now commences for me a truly solitary sojourn; but
solitude has always had more charms than terrors for me.
There will not, however, I fear, be much solitude at present, as I perceive an incursion of condoling Werffs!
These long winter nights have an additional gloom flung
over them by the horrors of a strange rumor which is
afloat among the Munich gossips. This rumor says that
at night, in lonely places, there appears a fearful man,
who suddenly draws forth a horrible weapon - a poisoned
knife, or knives! concealed in a ring, with which he cuts
and cruelly wounds innocent and unsuspicious individuals.
Report farther states, that the man has already wounded
several unhappy women, one of whom report declares to
be dying! It is farther stated, that the man has vowed to
destroy ninety persons! - ninety girls or women!
Some ten days ago one heard of a fresh victim daily.
People one spoke with declared that they had seen the




180          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
crowd which surrounded the victim, as she lay bleeding
upon the ground; or had known the cousin, or mother, or
sister, or brother of the victim, or of a person who knew
the cousin, mother, etc., as it might be. You can scarce.
ly imagine the panic people have been in about the' facecutter,' or' man with the iron clasp,' as he is called.
They say -mind, I do not vouch for the truth of the
story - that a man guilty of the same crime was beheaded last year in Augsburg; others say seven years ago.
Report says, also, that this terrible man has only vowed
vengeance against women, -and young girls especially;
and the handsomer the better, he having been'jilted'
by a beautiful young girl, and that his revenge can alone
satisfy itself with the destruction of pretty faces!  Is -it
not a history worthy of the' Neue Pitival'-  if it were
true?
Clare witnessed something at the studio a few days before her departure, which had also a dash of the interestingly terrific in it. Unluckily for me I was absent that
afternoon from the studio, and lost the spectacle. Clare
heard a tremendous noise in the studio-field- the shouts
and screams of a man, the howls of a dog. Out rushed
one gentleman, from the studio, out rushed another, and
out rushed Clare, of course, after them, to see what these
terrible cries could mean, and all this excitement. And
there in the field, through the snow, fled a man pursued by
an enormous dog: the dog sprang upon the man, tore him,
shook him by the hair of his head, and dragged him along
the ground; the man howling! the dog howling! Then
they were up again, careering round and round the: field,
man and dog, like wild beasts. Clare was so much horrified that she began to cry quite hysterically. And what
was her indignation to see the two gentlemen, instead of
rushing to the man's assistance, quietly standing before the




THE MAN WITH THE IRON CLASP.         181
studio door, looking on and smiling!  When they saw
Clare's tears and indignation, they smiled still more!' It
is only the training of a watch-dog,' said they.'Dogs are
always trained in this way here: dogs are trained so in
England, are they not?' Clare now more carefully inspected the man who had so greatly excited her compassion, and perceived that he had his head and face bound
up in such a manner as to prevent the dog wounding him,
- and he wore also a padded jacket; but at the first moment the bandages about his face had suggested to her the
idea of terrible wounds.
Yesterday, passing through the field, I also encountered
the dog-trainer, cased in his wadded jerkin and wadded
helmet; he was talking with the children, and reminded
me of an Esquimaux, — the terrible romance failing, as
there was no dog present.
Hearing such accounts of'face cutters,' and of fierce
dogs, you might naturally imagine that Munich was a
terrible place, and that one was environed by dangers dire;
— but were you to see the cozy room in which I am
writing, and the cheerful look of the streets as I pass to
and fro from the studio morning and afternoon, you would
not be much alarmed.
As I observed before, these suggestions of horror only
belong to the' long winter evenings, and are as much a sign
of the season as the number of winter garments you meet
in the streets. I wish you could have seen the long, grotesque crimson boots Clare and I met the other day! -
this class of boots, though usually of untanned leather, is
very much affected by the students; - or could you only
have met the tall, shadowy figure of a student, arrayed in
a long grey cloak, with a pointed hood standing up on his
head, in a wizard or' Mother Red-cap' style! It was a
misty afternoon, just about dusk, when we came upon him




182         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
at the abrupt turning of a street: he was a shadow, a
creature of the mist -certainly not a man! And he had
all the more a fantastic unreal air about him, as he loomed
upon us close to the red Gothic palace of King Ludwig,
the Wittlesbacher Palais, which, with its red walls and
gleaming lights, glowed through the mist like a burning
castle of enchantment. It certainly had a singular appearance this palace in the mist; the whole building seemed
on fire, and in a dull glow.
These hooded cloaks are the rage here among the young
men and lads. Youths and boys generally affect them of
drab or grey, lined with crimson, blue, or scarlet. Men
usually wear them  of darker colors, but with the hoods
equally gaily lined. Gentlemen wear, besides these hooded cloaks, cloaks with large capes, which they fling gracefully over one shoulder, draping themselves picturesquely.
If a man does, in Munich, possess a great-coat, he invariably wears it cloakwise, letting the sleeves dangle uselessly
at the sides, or float foolishly behind him.'The ladies' winter dress has nothing very particular
about it. Of course, among the unbonneted class, with the
damp, cold weather, you see a great increase of white,
bound-up heads telling of tooth-ache. I must not forget
either to notice the garments of boards and planks worn
by all the fountains, and by the statue of the youth at the
entrance of the English Garden, who all summer and
autumn invites you pleasantly, with outstretched hand, to
wander among the trees.
One little thing peculiar to the winter here I greatly
admire — the long rolls of fresh green moss laid inside
the windows, to keep out draughts. In many houses the
moss garlands are decorated with artificial flowers; but
this spoils them entirely. Sometimes you see ivy leaves
stuck into the moss, and that is very pretty. Peasants




THE IVY-TREE.                183
are constantly bringing these moss-wreaths into the
city.
Speaking of these moss decorations reminds me of the
way in which the Germans train ivy, which is one of the
loveliest things of a small kind to be seen in Germany.
We in England rarely attach an idea of decoration to
ivy beyond its adornment of old houses and ruins, and of
our garden-walls. Yet in England ivy flourishes uncared
for with much more luxuriance than it does in Germany.
But the German, perhaps, appreciating its beauty - because with him it is a rarer blessing-trains it lovingly
around his dwelling, around the internal as well as the
external walls. From the palace to the cottage, in Germany, there is scarcely a room to be found which does not
possess its ivy-tree. As you walk through the streets, and
cast your eyes upon the houses, there is hardly a window
to be seen which is not twined into a. very bower by the
graceful and gracious festoons of ivy. Among the picturesque leaves often gleams forth a small statue of the Madonna, or of Christ. Ivy trails around the window-bars;
ivy makes a pleasant green background to bouquets of
flowers blooming in vases or in flower-pots.
A very pleasant little paper, I have often thought, might
be written, descriptive of the windows in a German street;
and the mode in which the cherished ivy was trained
would play a conspicuous part in it. You may read much
of the character of the inmates of the dwelling by the ivy:
sometimes its leaves are dusty, and its growth is ungraceful,
and its sprays untastefully trained: sometimes it grows in
a gaudy flower-pot, or swings from the centre of the window in a hideously-shaped Blumen-lamp - flower-lamp, as
it is called- a kind of swinging vessel for plants very
much in vogue here; but, as a rule, the ivy is gracefullynay, most poetically trained; its Blumen-Lamp, if it be




184          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
planted in one, is often of a graceful, rustic character,perhaps of red terra-cotta, with delicately moulded foliage
of yellowish white clay meandering over it.
But it is not alone in windows that you see ivy trained.
Ivy often forms a green and fresh screen across a room,
being planted in boxes, and its sprays trained over rustic
frame-work. Ivy often casts its pleasant shadows over a
piano, so that the musician may sit before his instrument
as within a little-bower —ivy may be seen adorning the
shrine which hangs upon the wall, or dropping its sprays
above the lady's work-table.
The staircase in the house of a great painter here is a
complete little bit of fairyland, - thanks to his love of ivy,
which festoons the balustrade of the polished oak stairs,
and shows forth its kindly leaves among the rarer beauties
of palms and myrtles which rise grove-like upon the landings! I know an apothecary's shop, which is rather like a
bit of a wild wood, from its growth of ivy, than a shop of
physic. I was told the other day of a studio here equally
sylvan; and I know an old cobbler who could not mend
his shoes without seeing his ivy-bush daily before him as
he works.
CHRISTMAS.
December 15.- Last evening I heard the bell tolling
from the ruindus tower of a desolate church in the old part
of the city; and as I saw numbers of people entering the
church, I of course followed. I went in at a side door,
and found myself close to the high altar. A train of
priests in their crimson and gold-embroidered robes, and
little choristers in their white garments, and a number of
men in black, each bearing a lighted taper in his hand,
were just passing down the aisle. The church is very




CHRISTMAS.                  185
large and very gloomy, and it was almost twilight: crowds
of people stood and knelt in the gloom, telling as dark
Rembrandt masses of shadow. The one grand point of
light was a side altar - one blaze of crimson satin drapery
and burning tapeis, which ascended in long rows out of
massive silver candlesticks. The men in black extinguished their tapers; the priests knelt before the altar; the
people bowed themselves. It was more like a Rembrandt
effect than anything I ever saw in nature before: those
singular groups of the crowd, lost in the gloom and vastness of the church; that brilliant focus of light, with lesser
masses of light, here and there diffusing itself through the
picture; light catching upon the shaft of a tall candlestick
in the foreground, and upon an upturned white face. It
was a wonderful scene altogether, and the responses of the
multitude most solemn in the gloom.
On going out, I looked into a side chapel, where I perceived a crowd. There, decked out with fir-trees, was a
curious erection of small cottages in the Tyrolean style;
and before these cottages stood a group of large dolls
dressed up in remarkably gay draperies.  This group
represented the arrival of Mary and Joseph at Bethlehem;
Mary and Joseph in the dresses of pilgrims, with huge
pilgrim hats on, and tall staves in their hands; the ass,
with panniers containing Joseph's axe and carpenter's tools,
following them; a man and woman in modern costume,
with very mournful countenances, receive them, standing
upon a very green carpet, representing turf, while cattle
are grazing round them.
I understand that a series of these scenes (which are
common at the same time of the year in all Catholic
countries) will be thus exhibited to admiring crowds, until
Christmas; there will be, no doubt, the Adoration of the
Magi, the Announcement to the Shepherds, etc. The




186         AN ART-STUDENT IN MRNICH.
crowd seemed very much edified; and a priest stood with
a money-box in his hand ready to receive alms.
On the Sunday before Christmas Eve was held what is
called, in the Munich dialect, the' Christ-Kindle-Dult,'
that is, the Little Christ-child Fair. The fair commenced
at noon on Sunday; and, sinner that I am, I went and
bought my little Christmas presents on that day,- which
presents, be it remarked, have given such hearty satisfaction, that it was quite a delight; and when I saw poor dear
old Fraulein Sanchen crying and kissing my hand with
surprise and joy, I longed to have been made of money
that I might have given a present to everybody.
How pretty the fair looked, that bright frosty Sunday
noon! but still prettier on the Monday evening, when all
was lighted up. Madame Thekla, with her face tied up
in a large white handkerchief, in German fashion, to pre.
vent toothache, accompanied me. She looked rather a
funny figure, and I know certain people who would not
have walked down Regent Street with her; but neither
she nor I cared for the huge white head-gear: indeed, I
thought it rather piquant than otherwise.
First, we walked through the principal street, to peep
into the shop-windows, which were all adorned with their
most.tempting merchandise. Such gaudy vases, ewers,
pokals (drinking-glasses), of variously tinted and gilded
Bohemian glass, in one shop; such exquisite ball-dresses
and artificial flowers in another; such tempting jewelry!
But the confectioners, with all manner of devices for
Christmas Trees, were perhaps the most brilliant- quite
enchanted grottoes; and in each shop the counter, or a
table in the middle of the floor, was festooned and decorated tastefully with the choicest articles. It would have




CHRISTMAS.                  187
been difficult, even in London or Paris, to find anything
more beautiful.  At this time the streets were deserted in
comparison with what they were about four o'clock. Then
there was a stir! as busy and well-dressed a throng as any
West-end thoroughfare would exhibit on any bright afternoon in May. Ladies and children, all in their best, and
all so happy and cheerful, and alert; such rolls and
parcels as peeped out from muffs, and from beneath
heavy warm cloaks! Every one, high and low, was
purchasing presents; and the gentlemen were no whit
behind the rest. You saw tall, aristocratic gentlemen,
with their wives, busy discussing various purchases; you
saw knots of students buying; you saw good fathers in
toy-shops; you saw them in booksellers' shops buying
Andersen's'Marchen,' and other favorite books; you
saw even little children making their purchases. There
were dandified young fellows inspecting the most ele.
gant trinkets, evidently for ladies' wear; and I speculated
as to those for whom they purchased. You saw a regular
succession of gay Christmas Trees carried through the
streets by maid-servants and men-servants — by poor,
care-worn, yet, at all events for that one day, happylooking mothers.
Oh! it was a sight to warm you that cold day, all this
happy crowd —more  than the warmest Russian furs
could have done. But all this, as I said, I saw in the
afternoon, and not when good Madame Thekla, with
her white head-dress, and I were on our evening perambulation. Then the chief point of interest was the fair;
the effect was very pretty indeed. My good companion,
however, assured me, as people always do when you
admire anything, that the fair was not nearly as beautiful this time as it was ten years ago, when she last saw
it. Let it have been as much more splendid as it might




188          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
then, it was, however, quite enough to please me now.
Was there not still a pretty effect in the long vista of
illuminated booths, with the strip of dark azure nightsky overhead, which, contrasting with the glare of the
lamps, looked perfectly oriental -at least as I imagine
an eastern sky at night? And were not those booths
themselves very pretty, all lined with pale pink and blue
tissue-paper, and the stalls heaped up with confectionary,
drapery, or crucifixes, and really lovely statuettes of
madonnas and saints, as it might be, and presided over
by elegant young women in their gayest attire, or
bearded men wrapped up in furs?
At all events, the students of the good University of
Munich, and various young painters, recognisable by a
yet longer growth of hair and beard than the ordinary
student, and by a certain semi-Raphaelesque cut of cap
and cloak, seemed to think the fair — in two senses —
attractive; for they were there in crowds, considerably
increasing the picturesque character of the scene, as you
may imagine. And then, what groves of Christmas
Trees there were, all fluttering with gay ribbons! and
what heaps and heaps of gilded walnuts! and what
heaps of gay dolls, with large tinsel wings to represent
the Christ-child! what hideous little idols! But all was
bright, and glittering, and cheery; and the keen frosty
night-air added quite a zest to the whole thing. Such
was the Christmas Fair.
Of the Christmas Eve itself I have not much to tell, at
least as regards any Christmas Tree; for, as I had another
object in view than seeing trees which are so familiar to
us all, I resisted every invitation, well knowing that what
I gave would be duly presented by the respective Christchild though I were not there, as well as that every gift
designed for me would reach me in time; and according



MIDNIGHT MASS.                189
ly, after my tea, while all the world was rejoicing itself, I
lay, me down, and in imagination passed through all the
happy homes of this blessed Eve. I saw the tree that the
peasant had driven off with, in his ladder-wagon, with its
long shambling horse, set up in his little cottage in a
quaint old-world village, and decorated by some peasantwoman in a badger-skin cap and embroidered silk boddice. I knew exactly how the tree would look in the
palace itself, and how thousands of other beautiful trees
must look in their different homes - in the home of the
noble - in the home of the small citizen - in the home
of the painter. I was there in imagination, and seemed
to hear the delighted, astonished shouts of thousands of
little children, and to see the beaming looks of love from
parents, and brothers and sisters, and friends throughout
this great Germany! And you may be sure I did not
forget dear old England, with its jolly Christmas doings,
- its holly, and turkey, and roast-beef, and mince-pies
and plum-puddings. I lived over many a past Christmas
Eve - both beautiful and sad -many strange old ghosts
came of past times, but thley were more beautiful than
sad.  I was anything but lonely; I was surrounded, steep.
ed, as it were, in love. And thus I sank into a delicious
slumber to be woke by Fraulein Sanchen, as it seemed to
be the next moment.
But it was half-past ten at night, and I must rouse my.
self, for had I not resisted all the joy of the Christmas Eve
for this- that I might be present at the midnight mass in
the Hof-Kapelle?  Fraulein Sanchen was inexorable; I
must rise, for we must set off at eleven, if we meant to
secure good places in the chapel.
I never should have had strength to rouse myself out of
that delicious sleep, had I not kept saying to myself'You'll repent to-morrow morning — you'll repent to



190        AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
morrow morning, if you don't hear that organ —don't see
that exquisite chapel all lighted up!'
So I rose; dressed myself in great haste; drank a cup
of coffee in great haste, and found myself as fresh as
though it were morning, instead of approaching midnight.
And when we stepped out into the cold frosty night, how
beautiful it was! The crisp snow beneath our feet, and
above our heads such a dark-blue frosty sky, with its
myriads of glorious stars. The air was filled with the
sound of bells: such holy music! And as we passed
along, the trees, covered with hoar-frost, shone out like
strange phantoms. There were numbers of people hurrying along the streets to various churches.
Our way lay through the courts and galleries of the
palace, till we came to the Hof-.Kapelle.  Lights shone
from the palace windows; the whole place seemed astir;
the warm breath of incense met us as we approached the
chapel. Priests were already chanting and prostrating
themselves before the altar, and the organ was fitfully
pealing through the chapel. The altar was one blaze of
tapers: tapers fixed in all the candelabras around the walls,
like tall fire-lilies, cast long glittering reflections upon the
marble walls and pavement. And how grand did the
prophets, saints, and martyrs appear by this brilliant,
artificial light, gazing down upon you from their golden
grounds!
Soon the two kings, Max and Otho, and their queens, and
all the court, appeared in the golden and frescoed galleries
on either side the high altar; and the archbishop, in his
mitre and brocaded robes, attended by a train of priests,
young and old; and a train also of young court pages, lads
of from twelve to fifteen, some score of them, dressed in
court suits of blue and silver, all entered by a side door
near the altar, and bowing first before the altar, and then




MIDNIGHT MASS.                191
bowed before the king, and passed on. A second train of
court pages also entered in the same dress, but apparently
some three or four years older, and each carrying a tall
waxen taper. These stood before the steps of the altar, with
their burning lights, and they were, Friulein Sinchen assured me, every one high nobility; and their fresh young
faces seemed to have a vast charm for my poor old wrinkled
and time-worn companion. Poor old Fraulein Sanchen!
If her face appeared in that brilliant light, and contrasted
with the beauty of the saints and martyrs painted on wall
and ceiling, yet more old, and odd, and withered, I felt in
my heart a still deeper respect and compassion for herfor her who, in the sight of God, from her touching
unselfishness, her unwearying goodness in the most prosaic
of lives, must have been one of the most acceptable worshippers present. I had a real joy in being with her; it
was much more beautiful, in fact, than sitting up in one of
the golden galleries among kings and queens.
The service lasted about an hour, and was impressive.
But the sudden change from the warmth, the light, the
music, the color, and the intoxicating incense within the
chapel, to the silence, the snow, the frosty sky, with a
brilliant rising moon without, was much more impressive.
What with the excitement of the midnight mass, the
heat, the cold, and the beauty, I was so wide awake when
I once more found myself in my own little room, that I
did not attempt to go to bed till it was about time to get
up, in an ordinary way. And then came a packet of
English letters —greetings from my beloved ones: and
they have been the joy of the day!
In the afternoon I went into several of the old churches
of Munich, to see what was going on. High mass was
performing everywhere, and there were in some of the
churches extraordinary figures of the infant Jesus, decked




192         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
out in golden swaddling-clothes, exhibited among burning tapers and artificial flowers, and lying in long glass
cases.
In the Jesuits' Church there has been a grand exhibition
this week, of the Nativity, in the style which I have
already described, with wooden angels in sublime attitudes, and wooden cattle surrounding the wooden Holy
Family. These'Krippen,' as they are called, are exhib.
ited in various churches, and have attracted immense
crowds.




CHAPTER  XVIII.
AN ACT OF ROYAL MERCY. — THE FAIR OF THE THREE
KINGS. -A PUBLIC BALL.
January 10. — Friulein Stinchen went out through the
deep snow this afternoon, and the terrible stormy weather,
- good old creature! - to post me a letter. She has just
been in to tell me of a little thing she saw which had much
interested her. Returning through the palace-square, she
perceived that there was a considerable number of soldiers
drawn up before the palace; it was a regiment just returned
from Holstein, and was drawn up for the King to inspect
it. The King had come out of the palace, and whilst he
was surveying the soldiers, a peasant, leading a little girl
by the hand, pushed his way through the crowd till he stood
close to the King. The peasant kissed the King's hand,
and presented the child - she was blind!' Would his Majesty,' besought the peasant,' take cornpassion upon the little girl and have her admitted into the
Blind Asylum? There was so much difficulty: the King,
his father, had promised that she should be admitted; would
his Majesty take compassion upon her, and see that this
was done?'
The King smiled, and laying his hand upon the child's
fiead, gave his royal word that she should be admitted into
13




194          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
the asylum. The poor peasant was in a rapture of joy;and so was Fraulein Sainchen as she described the scene
to me.
January 12th. -I wonder when there is not a fair in
Munich. This, however, was Drei KiCnigs Dult, or the
Fair of the Three Kings. By way of amusement, I
thought I would go to it; but as I could not very well go
alone, I invited Madame Thekla to accompany me, with
which she was very well pleased, as I promised to treat
her to the shows. As far as buying and selling, and the
crowds of peasants, and towns-people, and students, and
soldiers, go, it was like any other fair. At a little distance
from the long array of booths stood the shows- and
thither we bent our steps.
The first thing we came upon was a small ladder-wagon,
covered with an arched awning; and bound to one side of
the wagon were tall poles, from which floated a series of
ghastly pictures - hideous raw-head-and-bloody-bone pictures! There were murders, executions, beheadings in
German fashion; the criminal extended on a horrid sort
of rack, and his head being chopped off by a grim executioner with a sword, whilst a priest stood by in his long
robes; there were houses on fire; drownings; miraculous
escapes; there were tall, smirking Hussars, and weeping
ladies in white - all heroes and heroines in these bloody
histories!
The subjects, the hideous drawing, the hard outlines, the
goggle-eyes, the blood, the knives, the fire, made you feel
sick. A considerable crowd was collected, and listened
breathlessly to the sounds of an organ, to which two
Tyroleans sang appalling tragedies. They sang in such
clear, sweet, mountain tones, that you were strangely
fascinated. Mournfully sang they, in a monotonous chant,
of blood, and crime, and terror, till you felt your blood




POPULAR EXCITEMENT.               195
creep; and, by a frightful fascination, your eyes gloated
on the disgusting pictures.
What a terrible immoral influence must these exhibitions
have upon such an uneducated crowd as surrounded these
syrens! Why should not a paternal government, which
guards its people from immoral books and disgusting
newspapers, not guard them equally from such a disgusting sight and sound as this Tyrolean exhibition? These
Tyroleans sold printed histories of the fearful crimes and
calamities which were depicted on their banners. These
histories are very exciting and romantic reading, as you
may believe when I give some of their titles' -- The
History of the Great and Terrible Monster who cruelly
murdered his Beloved, his Child, his Father, his Mother,
his two Sisters, and his Brother, on the 8th of July, 1850;'' Heroic Self-sacrifice of a Bohemian Hussar Officer, and
the Punishment of his Murderers;''A true and dreadful
History which occurred on the 14th of March, 1850, in
Shopka, near Melnick, in Bohemia;''The Might of
Mutual Love; a highly remarkable event, which occurred
at Thoulon, in the year 1849;'' The Cursed Mill, a Warn.
ing from Real Life;'' The Temptation; the Deed; the
Consequences!'
If you care to know anything of the style of these remarkable productions, I will give you a specimen. One
begins thus:' In Ross-dorf, in Hanover, lived the criminal
Peter Natzer. He was by trade a glazier, his father hav.
ing followed the same calling. Peter was five-and-twenty
years old, and was, from his earliest youth, addicted to
every species of crime. He had a sweetheart, named
Lucie Braunn, a poor girl,' &c. &c.
Again:' Silent sat the miller, Leverm, in his garden;
thoughtfully gazed he into the distant valley. He was
scarcely thirty years of age, but heavy cares had bowed




196           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
him, and robbed him of his fresh, youthful bloom. Beside him sate his wife, who cast many an anxious but
affectionate glance on her husband. How tender and
lovely was this young wife! The inhabitants of the
neighborhood called her "the Rose of the Valley;"' thus
begins a most awful tragedy. And, not contented with
these dismal histories in prose, they are also done into
verse. Here is a specimen of these dismal ditties, being
the rhymster's version of the heroically self-sacrificed
Bohemian officer:At Melnick in Bohemia
There was a deed of horror done,
B,3 wicked hands, as you shall hear,
All in the pleasant noonday sun.
Eleven men of bad intent
Unto the mill of Melnick went,
And there five people did they kill,
All in cold blood their lives did spill!
II.
The miller he came home at eve,
And soon beheld the dreadful sight:
And he resolved to go at once
And seek the murderers out that night.
Unto his friend his grief he told,
And he, a captain stout and bold,
Called for his horse, and with good speed
Set out to do this righteous deed.
III.
But first I must to you make known
That their own dog did them betray,
Which had been tied up in the mill,
And now was tracked upon its way.




A MUNICH MECHI.                  197'
The eleven murderers thus were found
With all their booty on the ground:
The valiant captain entered'in
And charged them with their heinous sin.
IV.
But ah! what could a single man
Against eleven murderers do?
They all fell on him as he stood,
A brave young man, and killed him too!
Just then his troop broke down the wall
And killed the cruel murderers all;
Except such few of them as fled,
Whose blood was by the headsman shed!
Of course we did not read these things in the fair. It
was enouglh for us, there, to listen to the mournful chant
of the mountaineers, till our blood was frozen in our veins.
I took home with me some of these horrible printed histories, as many another simple soul did; and now, after
I have read them, and been filled with horror and disgust
by them, I have put them away from me as unholy things,
But think of the effect they will have in many a lonely
village, this winter — in many a desolate farm-house or
cottage — on the wide plain, or among the mountains!
These papers are productive seeds of murder and crime;
of that one may be certain.
The next wonder that stopped us in the fair was a little
fat man, who was shouting away at the top of his voice,
whilst he briskly sharpened a knife on a long, rough board,
which was smeared over with a black ointment.  He was
a vendor of magical strop-salve! something in the fashion
of Mechi.' Ladies and gentlemen,' shouted he,' witness
my wonderful invention! The dullest knife - stick-knife,




198          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICI.
bread-knife, clasp-knife, fruit-knife, table-knife, carving
knife, shaving-knife, (Rasirmesser), pen-knife, pruningknife, though dull as this knife - though dull as this knife!'
and here he began hacking away upon the edge of a big
knife with a strong piece of broken pitcher.' Yes, though
dull, dull, dull as this knife! —when subjected to my
wonderful salve,' and here he smeared it with his black
ointment,'will cut a hair, or the most delicate shaving of
paper- as it now does!' and with that he severed papershavings as if they had been nothing. If it was really the
same knife, his was a wonderful invention, and beat Mechi
hollow.
Next, I had my fortune told at three different places,
for six Kreutzers, or two-pence each; and as I was promised pretty much the same fortune by all, I suppose I
ought to believe in the truth of it. They foretold me lots
of trouble in the way of love-crosses, false friends, and
unkind relations, and such small trifles; but were equally
liberal of rich lovers, and plenty of them, plenty of money,
and a good husband to crown all, and good children to be
the props of my old age: so I think I had, after all, a good
sixpenny-worth.
Next we came upon a little caravan, on the steps of
which vociferated a most picturesque Tyrolean, in broadbrimmed, sugar-loafed hat, adorned with chamois hair and
eagles' feathers, in broad-ribbed stockings, and with a
broad, gaily-emlbroidered band round his waist, which
half covered his chest. He assured the crowd below that
there was not in the whole of Bavaria anything half as
interesting, half as extraordinary, half as astounding, as
the singularly gifted, singularly beautiful, singularly intellectual being within; a being from another quarter of the
globe - a being adapted to an entirely different mode of
existence to ours - a being who could see in the dark - a




MADAME THEKLA'S MISADVENTURE.        199
being who lived upon raw meat! — a wonderful Albino
who could speak the German tongue!
Of course we must see the Albino: so in we went, and
some way or other I felt an unusual shock. There he sat,
in a black velvet dress spangled with silver, the light coming in from the top of the caravan, and his transparent
complexion, his burning, fiery eyes, like carbuncles, his
long waves of white, silky hair, and his long, curling, snowwhite, silky beard, gave him the appearance of some
enchanted dwarf- some cobold or gnome out of a subterranean palace. He ought truly to have been seated upon
an ivory or crystal throne, and with a golden gem-incrusted
drinking horn in his hand, and not cramped up in a miserable caravan.
But I had not much time to lose myself in dreams
about enchanted dwarfs or gnomes, for there was something else burning in the caravan besides the Albino's
eyes - and that was Madame Thekla's grand silk cloak!
She had come out with me in all her grandeur; and now,
while we stood enchanted before the Albino, her fine silk
cloak was singeing at a little iron stove that stood behind
the door. Poor Madame Thekla! Out we rushed, and
she revenged herself by vociferating to the crowd outside,
as the Tyrolean had done just before, and by exhibiting
her unlucky cloak in a sort of savage despair.
An hour afterwards, we again passed the caravan, and
the Tyrolean in the ribbed stockings was once more holding forth on the steps, when, at sight of us, he interrupted
his oration, and politely invited us to re-enter and complete, free of cost, our inspection of the Albino. But
Madame Thekla, pointing with stern dignity to her cloak,
declined, and marched on.
After this we went to the Wafeln-booths, where we ate
hot-baked Waff'eln, a kind of gofre cake; and then, re



200          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
sisting a wonderful elephant show, we hastened to the
monkey theatre, the poor elephant's rival exhibition —
the' Grand Monkey Theatre from Paris,' in which fortytwo apes and poodles, the property of M. Le Cerf, would
exhibit the most wonderful and artistic feats.
We had to wait some time till the four o'clock performance was over, which unfortunately had begun before we
arrived; and whilst Madame Thekla and I stood impatiently waiting in the cold, up there came a merry-faced
lad of about ten, and began, in great glee, to describe to
us the glorious things that were performed by those' dear
little monkeys and dogs.' He was quite eloquent in his
delight; and'Oh!' said he,' if I had but another Sechser
(two-penny piece), wouldn't I see it again!'' There is
another Sechser, then!' said I, and put one into his fat
little hand. What an astonished, bright face looked up
into mine; and he seized my hand in both his, and shook
it almost off; and away he run up the steps for his
ticket, flying down again to us, and keeping as close to
us as possible, talking all the time, and fairly dancing for
joy.'You've quite bewitched that little fellow,' said Madame Thekla; and I seetued to have bewitched all the little
lads in the fair, for, by a strangely mysterious power, they
were drawn towards us in crowds, from all hands -little
fellows in blouses, little fellows in little green and brown
surtouts, little fellows in old-fashioned jackets and trowsers- and all crept bashfully towards us.  Oh, the won.
derful magic of a two-penny piece! Heaven only knows
how the news of this munificent gift of a Sechser had so
swiftly spread through the fair!  One little lad actually
had the bravery to say to me that'children were admitted
at half-price!' And was I not a cold-hearted wretch to
reply,'Oh, indeed!' just as though it were a matter of




A MONKEY-TABLE-D'HOTE.           201
perfect indifference to me, though, in truth, it was not;
but I felt rather appalled at the sight of such a crowd of
little eager heads, well knowing that my purse was not
full to overflowing, even with two-penny pieces!
At length we were seated in the little theatre; and, after
a fearful charivari from the ochestra, the curtain drew up,
and we beheld, seated at a long table, a company of monkeys! It was a table d'hdte. A dandified young fellow
- perhaps Monsieur Le Cerf himself — in the most elegant of cravats, the most elegant white wristbands, the
most elegant ring, and the most elegant moustache, per.
formed the part of host; the waiter and waitress were
monkeys. The waiter - a most drunken, good-for-nothing
waiter he seemed —a fat, big ape — drank behind the
backs of the guests the very wine he was serving them
with; he seemed so very tipsy that he could hardly walk;
he staggered backwards and forwards, and leaned against
the wall for support, as he emptied the bottle he was bring.
ing for the company. But the little waitress! She was a
little darling; the tiniest of little monkeys, and she came
skipping on the stage in a broad-brimmed straw hat, and a
bright-colored little dress, with the daintiest of white muslin aprons on; she looked just like a little fairy. Everybody was enchanted with her. Even Monsieur Le Cerf
himself caressed her, and gave her not only, every now
and then, a nut, but a kiss. She behaved beautifully.
But as to the guests! They quarrelled, and even fought
- Monsieur Le Cerf said it was about paying the bill.
I can't pretend to tell you half the clever things the
monkeys did in the way of swinging, dancing, firing off
muskets, riding on a pony, etc. Wonderful things, too,
were performed by the dogs —splendid spaniels and
setters. One large black-and-tan creature walked on his
fore-legs, in the style of what children call'playing at a




202          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
wheel-barrow,' only he himself, poor wretch, had to
wheel the barrow. He walked demurely round and round
the stage, carrying his two unlucky hind legs up in the
air; then he walked on three legs, and then, the most
difficult task of all for a dog, as we were assured, upon
two legs on the same side.  Another beautiful white
spaniel came walking in most grandly on her hind legs, as
Madame de Pompadour, in a long-trained dress which was
borne by a tiny monkey in livery, bearing a little lantern
in his hand.
The finale was the besieging of a fortress; and to see
some twenty milk-white spaniels rushing up and down the
stairs of a burning fortress, illumined by brilliant rosecolored, green, and blue lights, was very curious indeed.
If I could have forgotten the terrible training- through
which these poor creatures must have gone, I should have
enjoyed it much more. But I did not wonder, after seeing
all their feats, that our little friend had been so enchanted.
He sat behind us in the half-price seats, but for all that we
continued to exchange many smiling glances during the
performance. I only wished I could have seen a whole
row of little fellows all equally delighted and surprised by
their good fortune.
A PUBLIC BALL.
I went last night to one of the grand public balls; but
not to dance, only into the gallery, to look on and enjoy
the spectacle without the fatigue, or the pleasure. This
ball was in the Odeon, one of the principal public buildings here, and where the Conservatorium is. The room
where the ball was held was the same that I described to
you once before, when a concert was given by the pupils
of the Conservatorium. Myra Amsel and I mounted some




A PUBLIC BALL.                203
dozen steep flights of stairs, and at length emerged into
the gallery. We left a throng of carriages setting down
ball-attired ladies and gentlemen at the principal entrance,
and a throng of spectators admiring them.
Quite out of breath, from our long ascent, we found
ourselves in the gallery which runs round the large hall, at
an immense height from the floor. The gallery was
crowded with people, all eagerly leaning, in a double row,
over the railing; so that, from the ball-room below, the
ceiling must have seenied adorned with a cornice of
living faces. The gallery-crowd appeared to consist of
friends of the ball-room company, who were anxiously
watching or waiting the advent of their friends below;
and of good citizens, and other people, who, not being
themselves of the haute volee, had come to criticise and
copy their betters - in rank.
It was with considerable difficulty that Myra and I found
standing-room where we could see; yet it was only halfpast six. When we did, we looked down upon numberless chandeliers, which, with their circles of starry lamps,
illumined a very gay-looking company indeed. At the
further end of the hall was a low platform, approached by
a flight of steps covered with carpeting; and here stood
a very fine grove of fir-trees, orange-trees, and greenhouse shrubs, behind which were concealed the musicians.
The whole platform was in fact an elegant saloon; where
stood couches, chairs, and tables, the crimson and richlycolored coverings of which looked excessively pretty
among the green trees and shrubs. Tapers burned in
tall, branching candlesticks upon the tables, and groups of
young ladies, in clouds of white muslin, or in pink gauze,
looking like rose-buds among all the green leaves, stood
or moved about; whilst gentlemen in gay uniforms, or in
the less brilliant civil costume, as it is called - black coat,




204          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
white waistcoat, and hat in hand — crowded round them.
There was no lack of more sober coloring in the dresses
of the chaperones, in their velvets, silks, and satins. And
all these gay people were scattered, not only over the
aristocratic platform, but over the whole hall, a group of
gentlemen clustering together in the very centre of the
beautiful inlaid floor, like a swarm of bees.
Many of the grandees of Munich were either already
present, or were expected. King Max himself was looked
for: Prince Adelbert had already arrived, and only to
be distinguished from the company by wearing a brown
instead of a black coat; such being his privilege as a
prince of the blood.
And now, from the concealed orchestra, sounded the
first note of the polonaise, and the gentlemen hastened
towards their partners, and all solemnly paraded, in stately
procession, through the ball-room; and now burst forth a
waltz, and away flew the dancers. It really was very
tantalizing to hear that beautiful music, and to see those
dancers; and to be up in that hot and close gallery, in a
merino dress and overshoes! There was a painful contrast! For the first few moments I declared to Myra,
that, spite of all my philosophy, which had made me
decline an invitation to this very ball, I now wished I had
been there, and that I must and would go to the next, if
it were only for the sake of old times! But soon after
came a Franpaise, or, as we call it, a quadrille; and then
another waltz, and then a polka, and then a Franpaise
again; and, by that time, I began to feel that if to look on
at a ball was at first tantalizing, it became, after a while,
very wearisome -' the greatest bore under the sun!' as
I remember to have heard certain unhappy victims, who
did not dance, declare — but which assertion I, at the
time, did not appreciate.




A LITTLE LOVE-MAKING.             205
But soon a pleasant excitement arrived for us. Myra's
mother, and her sister Ida, entered the ball-room. They
came. aristocratically late. How handsome they looked!
Frau Amsel in black, with scarlet flowers in her hair;
and Ida looking a very Hlebe, in simple white muslin, with
a scarlet sash and scarlet bows on her sleeves, and nothing
whatever in her hair. She was the simplest, and, to my
taste, the most elegantly-dressed girl in the room. Her
beautiful head, with its rich, dark hair, looked quite conspicuous, from the entire absence of all artificial ornament.
Standing there in the gallery, in my winter dress and overshoes, I felt really proud of them. They created quite a
sensation as they entered; and as Ida stood beside an
orange-tree on the platform, with all her simple beauty,
in her white dress and scarlet ribbons, and with her beaming, happy face, I did not wonder at the hosts of gentlemen that made their way to her.
Myra and I, and their servant Elise, who by this time
had joined us, grew  quite excited.'There,' said Myra,'is Count R. I know Ida will dance with him. And there
is young S.: I think she has promised him a dance! And
there is that little lieutenant; and there is the student from
Nuremberg; but she won't dance with him —of that I
am sure'
And so we watched until the dumb-show of Ida's arrival had subsided somewhat, when, leaving Mrs. Amsel quietly seated upon one of the couches among the
orange-trees, we beheld Ida waltz away with a tall officer
in blue uniform.
Again I began to grow desperately weary, and looked
round with longing eyes for dear old Friulein S/nchen's
old-fashioned face. It seemed to me that she never would
come! Fortunately a little love-making in the foreground
of our gallery made me forget my fatigue for the time.




206          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
There sat just before us a very pretty girl, very young and
childish looking. I caught a glimpse of a sweet, childlike brow, and long, drooping eyelashes, as she sat in the
front row, with her married sister. Presently one of the
gentlemen from the ball-room below made his appearance.
I fancy he was a student; I did not admire his look at all.
He was evidently desperately in love with the pretty girl;
he forgot all about the ball, and talked most earnestly to
her behind the married sister's back; she smiled and said
very little, but listened, and seemed also to forget the ball.
Soon, another gentleman arrived from the ball-room
below; and then jealousy was added to love. The first
lover turned black as a thunder-cloud, and I thought looked
more unpleasant than ever; he did not go away, but stood
scowling like a jealous lover in a picture of Stephanoff's;
and the girl listened with the same smile and the same
innocent brow to the second lover, the married sister all
the time looking down into the ball-room.
This amused me for a while, and then another group
also amused me. A dowager, in her velvet and grandeur,
attended by a queer little old officer, a regular German
Major O'Dowd -with spectacles on, and a plumed hat in
his hand - brought up a beautiful young lady to speak to
some dear friend in the gallery; and lots of other grandees
from below found their way into our upper regions, till we
also seemed all astir and gorgeous. But, O! joyful sight!
amid all the grand arrivals, there was Fraulein Sanchen,
with my shawl on her arm.
But the poor dear old soul was in no hurry to go, now
she was once there, and I could not find in my heart to
deprive her of a glimpse of the gay world, which was
such a novelty to her. Besides, she was very anxious to
point out to me two grand gentlemen in whom she takes
great interest, a young Herr Baron and the son of a certain




AMUSING GROUPS.                 207
Frau Geheimriathinn, who is a great lady. But I was too
tired even to care about her favorites, though I have heard
so much of them for the last several weeks, without
having yet had the pleasure of seeing them. These two
young fellows went to one of the court balls the other
night: the next morning I had, however, the pleasure of
seeing the mother of one of them hanging out clothes in
the garden. This is truly German!




CHAPTER XIX.
THE LEUCHTENBERG GALLERY. -THE PAINTER GENELLI.
I WENT this morning to the Leuchtenberg Gallery of
Pictures, which, it is said, will be removed to Russia, after
the death of the old Duchess, the widow of Eugene Beauharnais. The Duke, her son (since deceased) resides in
Russia, having married the daughter of the Emperor of
Nicholas.  These pictures were collected by Eugene
Beauharnais; and there are various memories of him, of
Josephine, and Napoleon, meeting you at every turn.
A picture which, on entering the room, almost immediately strikes you, is a very beautiful portrait of the Empress Josephine, by Gerard; a portrait which satisfies you
with its calm gracefulness: she is dressed in the French
classic style, as one always sees Josephine represented,
but it is here anything but offensive; her. small, dark
ringlets cluster becomingly round her noble, oval coun.
tenance; and the bare arms, unencumbered with heavy
sleeves, are seen in their perfect beauty. She languidly
rests one arm upon the amber-velvet cushions of a low
divan on which she sits. A bouquet of beautiful flowers,
gum-cistus, roses, and pansies, lies beside her. She wears
a white gauze dress without a single ornament, and seems
to have just entered from a garden, the flowers and trees
of which peep in at you through the open window above
the cushions of the divan. She sits as in a reverie, with




THE LEUCHTENBERG GALLERY.             209
a quiet, sombre gloom softening the rich colors of the
room about her —just as if a gloomy fate cast its sobering influence over her own brilliant life. Opposite to this
interesting portrait is Gerard's well-known picture of Blind
Belisarius bearing the dead body of his youthful conductor
in his arms. One has grown so weary of engravings
from this picture that I felt quite startled by the beauty
and nobility of the original painting, as though I had now
felt the painter's idea for the first time. The blind old
man grasping his staff, and slowly, majestically moving
along in the gathering twilight; the pallid face of the
corpse catching the last rays of evening, while the dis.
tant mountains and lake are glowing in dim, dusky purple
and crimson,- all strike one with a fresh poetry.
This first room is filled with pictures of the modern
French and German schools.  I was pleasantly surprised
to see the names of three women in the catalogue. One
is that of Elizabeth Sirani: her picture is a Madonna and
Child, and St. John; and as she lived at the commencement of the seventeenth century, her picture takes its
place in the second room of the gallery devoted to the
older masters. The other two paintings are in the first
room: one bears the name of the Baroness Freiburg, and
is also a Madonna and Child; the third, which is by far
the best picture of the three, though all are very good, is
by Marguerite Gerard, born in 1761. It is in fact a Madonna and Child, but of modern treatment. A beautiful
young mother is holding high up in her arms and pressing
to her rosy lips a fat little child, which struggles in a
pretty pettishness against his mother's caresses. There
are various other figures in the picture, —the father in
the dim obscurity, the worst part of the picture; a nursemaid busy about preparing the child's breakfast; and a
curly-headed boy playing with a couple of kittens seated
14




210           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
upon the child's cradle. All the accessories of the picture, as well as the flesh and draperies of the principal
group, are exquisitely drawn and painted, and finished
with a care worthy of a Flemish painting. It is a lovely
work of art.
The two pictures, however, before which I paused longest in the first room were a Winter Landscape by Henrich
Burkel, and a Tyrolean Village Scene by Peter Hess.
Imagine a picturesque village church and church-yard,
with its crosses and graves rising up in the centre of the
picture; the church-yard is somewhat raised above the road
which winds around it to the left. The church is built of
warm, ruddy stone, mottled with many a weather-stain; the
quaint old building, with its varied lines of roofs and low
spire and dormer windows, rises sharply against the clear,
pale, opal sky of a bright winter's morning. A crucifix
also standing upon the brow of the hilly grave-yard to the
left of the church, relieves itself clearly against the light.
To the left of the church, and more in the foreground, is
a group of trees, their delicate brown and ruddy branches
flaked and feathered with snow and rime. Behind these
trees is an old-fashioned house partly concealed by them:
this is the house of the priest, who is seen advancing from
its gate in his violet and white robes, preceded by a boy
in white and scarlet. Peasants pause bare-headed in the
snowy road as they pass; other peasants are going upwards to the church through the crisp snow. These figures are the key-note to the whole picture; their clear
violets, reds, and olive-greens, in delicate gradations of
opal tints, spreading themselves throughout the picture,
giving warmth to that snow, and frost, and gush of winter
sunshine. You follow these people in imagination into
the frosty church; you hear the bell tolling through the
frosty air; the voices of the choir burst forth clear and




THE LEUCHTENBERG GALLERY.          211
piercing; and the frozen breath rises from many an old
devout peasant's lips, and from the lips of the old priest
himself, --' Like pious incense from a censer old.'
Now transport yourself to the village of Partenkirchen
among the mountains of Upper Bavaria. It is sunrise, but
we see neither sun nor heaven; tall peaks and jagged
crags close in our picture; but amid these peaks floats
mist, and slant sunbeams dart up upon crags and upon
the slender spire of a church which measures itself against
the mountain's sides, and rises above the clustering stonescattered roofs of a Tyrolean village. We stand in the
village street; before us is a fountain, where the girls
and women are busily washing their clothes at the stone
troughs which branch away from it. An old woman
standing with her back to us leaning down over the water,
clad in a black petticoat, rose.colored, gold-embroidered
boddice, and ruddy-brown fur cap -just such an old dame
as one frequently meets in these Munich streets -is the
focus of color and light in the picture; the sunlight
glows upon her, and catches here and there upon others
of the group; but most of the street is yet in gloom, for
the deep slanting roofs and heavy eaves of the cottages
cast broad and dim shadows. Yet the morning sunshine
is piercing and resplendent, and falls in bright showers
upon many a roof and upon many a mass of luxuriant
vegetation, upon the upper branches of many a tree; the
village is seemingly a very Garden of Eden — such leafy
trees and festoons of creepers adorn it. And forth from
the dim twilight of shadow come lowing kine; the cowherd in his scarlet jerkin winds his horn; the bells of the
cattle tinkle cheerily; the women and girls laugh and
gossip shrilly; there is a busy stir of life in this Alpine




212          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
village, amid the early sunshine of those departing mists
of night! I fairly forgot all around me, as I stood before
this sweet simple idyll, and was transported into the
heaven of summer amid the mountains.
The second room which we now enter is the principal
portion of the Leuchtenberg Gallery; but this is of no
great extent, for this collection of pictures, though choice,
is but small. Along the centre of the room are arranged
several groups of sculpture, among which are Canova's
Graces and Magdalene. The other groups are, I think,
French; with classic vases, and several antique remains;
together with a beautiful carved ivory goblet or two, and
some reliques of Napoleon and Eugene Beauharnais,
which are placed on marble slabs around the room.
The walls are covered with pictures of the masters of
the Italian, Spanish and Flemish schools, arranged in separate compartments: but I am not intending to give a
catalogue raisonne, though there are several worldfamous pictures here, — Murilloes, Titians, Leonardo da
Vincis, etc.
Let us now examine a certain portrait which, as you
enter, your eyes instantly rests upon with a strange feel.
ing of curiosity. It is the portrait of a woman, life-size,
and taken down to the knees: she sits with her figure
fronting you, her head turned aside, so as to present the
profile: she is clad in a black dress, with a closely-plaited
tucker of thick muslin over her bosom, and confined at the
throat with a gold button: she wears a slender gold chain
round her neck, and a slender gold ring with a small dark
stone upon the taper finger of one of her beautiful hands,
which holds a book open upon her knees. There is a
severe, strange look both about the dress and the position;
there is a solemn, ashy look about the whole picture.
As you see it across the room, it falls upon your heart




A STRANGE PORTRAIT.              213
like a spectre. It seems like the portrait of one whose
soul sits in sackcloth and ashes. Look at the face.  How
strange! the same stiffness, the same rigidity, the same
ashiness. The features are almost as the features of a
skeleton; so thin, so sharp. The soft hair is drawn away
from the brow and temples, and concealed beneath a
white stiff cap formed not unlike a nautilus-shell, and
which fits upon the back of her head; over it and over her
brow falls a transparent white veil of the most delicate
gauze. Her large, mild, dark eye looks out beneath an
arched eyebrow sharp and clear, but scarcely more than a
line; her nose is somewhat large and aquiline, but slender
and almost transparent; her lips small, and, though not
narrow, fleshless,-it seems as though some strange mental
anguish had worn them away, till only a sentiment of grief
was left upon them - as though they could never smile
more; they have never quivered, those lips, with fretfulness
or nervous weakness, but have closed themselves with a
high resolve, and meek patient endurance. The cheeks
are hollow, the eyes are hollow, the complexion pale and
transparent with ashy shadows. It is no physical suffering, but a martyrdom of the spirit, which has worn these
hollows, spread this pallor; for the hands and form are
those of a woman in sound health.  No, it is some
unusually mournful destiny which has inscribed such
strange words upon mouth and brow, and has refined a
noble, pure, spiritual woman into something scarcely of
earth. So particularly strong is this refined spirituality in
the strange face, that glancing from it to a Raphael's
Madonna hanging near, the gentle Madonna even looks
coarse and vulgar.
And who is this singular woman? She is Petrarch's
Laura! Not the Laura as the poet saw her first kneeling
in her twentieth year in the Church of St. Clara —the




214          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
young wife in the heyday of her beauty, - but the Laura
after years of trial and suffering of many kinds; the Laura
whose eyes followed him with such a tender gaze of
anguish and foreboding, when he last saw her upon earth,
that he burst into tears, reading in this strange look, which
eternally remained written in his soul, her speedy death
and their final separation! The Laura whom the Emperor
Charles IV., at a splendid ball given in his honor, summoned to him, amidst all the youth and beauty of Avignon,
and kissed upon eyes and brow, for the fame of Petrarch's
love! whilst a prince exclaimed,'Is this, then, the
wondrously beautiful Laura who bewitched Petrarch!'
But it must have been a beauty of the soul if she resembled this picture, which, to a spirit like Petrarch's,
was a thousand times more potent than all the ordinary
splendor of physical beauty. It is a refinement, a purity,
and noble meekness, which haunt and trouble one even at
the sight of her pictured features.
It must, however, be confessed that this portrait is ideal;
the costume itself is of the sixteenth rather than of the
fourteenth century; probably it is copied, however, from
some older portrait. Laura died in 1347, and this picture,
according to the catalogue, is painted by Angelo Bronzino,
who lived between 1501 and 1576. Nevertheless, it is a
strange picture, which haunts and troubles the imagination.
THE PAINTER GENELLI.
The name of Genelli is not much known in England:
it was quite new to me when I came here. Clare and I,
soon after our arrival, saw some of his designs, which
greatly pleased us. Clare admired them extremely.
To-day, therefore, having been kindly invited to do so
by Mr. Genelli, I went to see his drawings. He lives out.




THE PAINTER GENELLI.              215
side the old walls of the city, close to the dilapidated
Sendlinger Gate. Above the gloomy city wall, dark with
age, rise picturesque roofs and steel) gables, dotted over
with little windows, and tile;l with, here and there, a quaint
church spire or tower. A narrow line of orchard skirts
the wall: then comes a narrow moat, and then a row of
houses: in one of these lives Genelli.
The wife of Genelli received me, —a handsome woman, with rich plaits of dark hair; then came the daughter,
who is a young actress, — very pretty she is, short and
round, with large, bright, beautiful blue eyes, and rich
golden hair. After sitting a little while, and talking,
Genelli himself came in. Going then into his little studio,
he brought out a series of very clever drawings, — very
clever indeed, and full of a wild fancy.
This one series represented the life of a wicked man, -
the life of a libertine.
Several of the designs struck me much. One, where
the hero of the series is seated with his wife in a boat upon
a lake, - it is a broad expanse of water, with swans swimming near the boat: a peasant girl, standing on a wild
rocky shore, warns, with wild gestures, the wife of her
husband's wickedness, and the wife rises in a storm of
indignant anger. Then there is another, equally full of
passion, where he is brought before an Archbishop,- one
of the military archbishops of the Middle Ages, —to
answer for his crimes: the peasants have risen against
him, have set his castle on fire; he is taken prisoner, and
now stands, stubborn, before his judge, two soldiers endeavoring td force him on his knees. In the next design you
find him in the cell of a prison: he has slain his Confessor,
who lies dead, and stripped of his robe, upon the floor;
the murderer has clothed himself in the monk's gown, and
now hastily fastens his sandals: a burning torch reveals




216          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
his haste, the corpse, and the prison door. Again you see
him, asleep in a wood: he dreams a fearful dream, -lies
tossed in agony; behind him you see the figures of his
dream: himself, in the monk's gown, flying in haste from
the infuriated Archbishop, who rides on a fiery steed.
Two huntresses watch him with astonishment, whilst he
tosses in his agonized sleep. Next he meets with a witch
in this wood, and has his evil' fate foretold. He has
numerous adventures, ending at last by his being stabbed
by his jealous wife.
The nature of these designs may be imagined: they
are very German. The impression left on my mind,
however, was painful. There were so few touches of
beauty and love or nobility. Of course one should not
expect this in the hero himself, but one seems to require
such touches in the other characters, and as I recollect
this is the case with other designs by Genelli which I have
seen. All are impressed with the same character.
One set is called' The Life of a Witch,' - and most
wild and fearful it is.




CHAPTER XX.
THE SCHAFFLER DANCE AND CARNIVAL.
Jan. 26th. — I have just returned from  seeing the
Schiffer Tanz.  Everybody has been saying of late-'So the Schiffler Tanz takes place this year.'  The Munich papers have for several weeks past been announcing,
that'about the middle of the month the Schiffler would
perform their interesting dance, - this being the seventh
year since its last exhibition; and that having danced before the royal palace, they would take in course the various palaces and residences of the chief nobility, and so'
continue their dancing until Carnival time.'
According to printed authority to which I have referred,
the origin of this dance is as follows. In the year 1517, a
fearful plague desolated Munich. So great was the consternation which it occasioned, that people dreaded to
leave their houses. All doors and windows were closed,
and every man avoided his neighbor. In the midst of this
universal terror and silence, all at once a troop of men,
coopers by trade, came in from the country with music
and fresh green garlands, and went from house to house,
calling to the people with sounds of merriment to open
their doors and windows. The effect of this unexpected
summons was wonderful. The people came forth, and, as
if in frantic joy, danced through the streets. The plague.
spell was broken by the delirium of gaiety which, as if in




21N         &A. At.li-3.UJ.NT IN MUNICH.
defiance of past misery, seized on every heart. There is
something strangely wild in the idea of this fearful scourge
being banished by an excess of merriment scarcely less
fearful,- the reaction of lacerated human souls!
Every seventh year, therefore, in commemoration of
this event, is the Schiiffer Tanz performed —and this,
fortunately for me, happens to be the year.
On Monday the Coopers danced before the Palace —
the royal family witnessing their performance from the
windows; and this morning they have danced before the
ATar Office - where I have seen them. An acquaintance
of mine having a friend in the War Office, we were
promised seats at a window; and accordingly, at the
appointed hour, made our way thither- and soon found
ourselves seated comfortably and gazing down on the
crowd below us. But where were my antique costumes?
— where was all the wild poetry of the dance, as I had
imagined it? I had expected too much. This is what I
saw: --
A ring of spectators, in the centre of which moved in
a variety of figures in character not unlike our country
dance, our Sir Roger de Coverley, or the various tours of
the German cotillon, a score or so of young men dressed
in close-fitting jackets of scarlet trimmed with silver lace,
(but the jackets had a sadly modern air,) black velvet
breeches, white stockings, shoes, little short yellow leathern
aprons adorned with broad crimson satin ribbon fringed
with gold, and on their heads modern-shaped light green
caps, in which were stuck little nodding white and blue
feathers. The dress was very disappointing: not to be
compared in antique cut and association with the quaint,
parti-colored costume in which I once saw a troop of'English Plough-Bullocks' attired.
The dance itself, however, was very pretty; especially




THE SCHAFFLER DANCE AND CARNIVAL.   219
from the different effects produced by garlands of fresh,
green box which the dancers bore in their hands. The
lively music, the bright contrast of the scarlet jackets with
the fresh green of the wreaths, and the piquancy of the
dance, were altogether something very pleasing to witness.
The musicians were clad in the same costume; and on
the ground before them stood a graceful little pyramid of
some light-colored wood, on which were painted stripes
of bright blue. On this stood an elegant little barrel,
with a basket containing glasses, out of which wine and
beer, the contents of the pyramid and the barrel, were
drunk in honor of the noble Minister of War —who, of
course, was witnessing the performance.
On the ground also lay hoops twisted with white and
blue ribbons, which were ever and anon snatched up and
used in the figures of the dance. Also there were- that
I should so long have omitted to mentiop them! — two
lively harlequins, whose business seemed rather to interrupt than to assist in the dance. Various were the antics
which they played on the crowd of spectators, perhaps
in traditional memory of the feats of the Schitler of old.
One seized on a rosy-faced girl who was quietly looking
on, and twirled her away into the centre of the dance -
much to the merriment of the crowd, and her own real,
or apparent annoyance, for she tried in vain to hide her
face in her shawl. The dance lasted perhaps threequarters of an hour; and then, to the sound of music, the
dancers marched in procession gallantly up the street.
This Schldjler Tanz may be almost considered as the
commencement of the Carnival. We already hear on
all sides of balls and masquerades; and see people in
milliners', printsellers', and' booksellers' shops consulting
prints of costume and fancy dresses. Masks, hideous,
grotesque —the masks of animals, of demons, and the




220          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
black romantic half-mask - are exhibited in numberless
windows in the town.
MILITIA BALL AND MASKED ACADEMY.
I saw in the little daily paper,' The Latest News,' an
announcement of a grand ball to be given in the Odeon,
with a lottery, for the benefit of the old Landwehr, or
militia. It was announced, also, that their majesties had
graciously condescended to attend, and that the whole
court would be there. I therefore felt a vast curiosity to
go and see all that was to be seen, and especially did I
want to have a good view of the young queen, of whom
K. was telling the other day the most beautiful things; —
how that she was the sweetest, gentlest, most amiable
young creature; quite a peasant girl in simplicity; the
purest, noblest being that was ever seated on a throne; a
lovely innocent flower, in the midst of the temptations
and intrigues of a court; — how that being too good for a
queen, she was fitted only to be an angel, and that to see
her with her children was the most beautiful thing in the
world. After all this, was it wonderful that I longed to
be in the same room with this pure, lovely, queenly
flower, and to see her dancing, with all the joyousness of
a peasant girl, among her adrhiring people?
No sooner was my determination taken than I set off to
Mrs. Amsel's, to ask them if we could not go all together,
not into the gallery as before, when I had watched Ida in
all her glory, but into the ball-room, with the rest of the
company. They agreed immediately; no time was to be
lost, for the ball was that night, and the first thing that
was to be done, after securing tickets, was to find out
some officer who would attend us, for without a uniform
no party of ladies could be admitted. No black coats




QUEEN MARIE.                 221
were on this occasion admissible; nothing at all but uniforms; either an officer of the army, or one of the militia,
must introduce us. However democratic any of us might
be, we did not particularly covet the escort of one of the
militia - one's confectioner, one's draper, or one's butcher;
there was no fear, however, of our being reduced to this
extremity, for Mrs. Amsel and her daughters were acquainted with hosts of officers; and Ida and Myra ran
over a whole list of names, any of whom would only be
too happy to accompany us.
I was quite easy, therefore, and left this important part
of the business in their hands. I called, on my way to
the studio, at a gardener's, and ordered from the gardener's consumptive daughter an ivy wreath for my hair.
I described what I wanted. Oh, yes, she knew very well;
she was sure she could please me, for she had often
made such for the young Queen. I saw an enchanting
little rose-tree, which, with its one lovely rose and its
buds, seemed fitted to be an emblem of the lovely
Queen herself; I bought it, therefore, out of ideal love
for her, and it now stands in my window, making my
room fresh and beautiful. I ordered my wreath and my
rose-tree to be sent home by four o'clock, and went to
my work.
Imagine me about that hour returned; my ball-dress of
white, with white shoes and gloves, all laid out ready,
looking suggestive of the evening's pleasure; my dinner
just over, and I, lying on my sofa for half an hour's rest,
when in came the Amsels, to say we could not go; they
had got no tickets, they had got no one to go with us.
All their officer-acquaintance were already engaged;
people were rushing wildly about the town after tickets;
people were already crowding into the gallery; it would
be the most amusing ball of the season, but go we could




222          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
not! Was it not a pity - was it not disappointing, and it
would be so brilliant, so well worth seeing!'Oh, but we must go!' said I, feeling quite desperate,'we can't be disappointed; why the town is half full of
uniforms! What a disgrace it is if we cannot make a
uniform of use for once in a way! But I have an idea!'
exclaimed I,' a strange one, it is true; but never mind!
My opposite neighbor, the Count.- is an acquaintance
of yours, though he is not of mine; he goes to every ball
that is given; no doubt he is going to-night; cannot you
make use of him? No doubt he would be charmed to
accompany you - nay, I am sure he would!'
We looked at each other and laughed heartily. -It was
rather a strange idea; but, nevertheless, he was an acquaintance of theirs from whom they could ask such a
favor, and they said they would do so. We sent across
the street to inquire; but he was out. He was an erratic
mortal, of whose movements nobody could give any
account; he might be back in a quarter of an hour, he
might not return till midnight. A message was left with
the good woman of the house for him, and the Amsels
would return in an hour, when our fate must be decided,
for if he did not return before then, go we could not.
Scarcely were they gone, when I saw the Herr Graf
return, unlock the outer door, and enter with a great
clatter of spur and sword, as usual. Three minutes
after, the good woman of the house was in my room.
The Herr Graf had not intended to go, but now he
would go with the greatest pleasure —with the greatest
pleasure in the world! He desired her to tell the gracious lady, Frau Amsel, that he would be immediately
ready.'Yes, Friulein Ida!' said he,'she is an old
partner of mine; she dances beautifully —very beau



THE HERR GRAF OVER THE WAY.          223
tifully!  I know her very well;.I shall be most happy
to go!'
All in a hurry the Amsels came back, learned the
news, rushed away to dress, and at half-past six were to
call for me and my opposite neighbor, the Herr Graf,
in their carriage. I dressed very comfortably, with the
gardener's poor consumptive daughter acting as my maid,
for which I was very thankful, as poor dear old Fridulein
Sanchen my usual tire-woman's eyes being none of the
best, she makes a regular botheration of the tiny hooks
and eyes, a series of impotent attempts which generally
end in my doing the business myself, to my great discomfort. But my little maid was charming, and the
wreath so entirely to my mind, that when my toilet was
completed I thought the effect very fascinating.
All this time my opposite neighbor was making his
toilet; and, as I was taking a cup of chocolate, a message came that he was ready, and very impatient to be
off, as he feared the gracious lady, the Frau Amsel,
would not find a place to sit down in the crowded hall.
At that moment the carriage stopped, and in two seconds
more the Herr Graf was handing me down stairs, while
poor old Friulein Sinchen lighted us with two candles.
The Herr Graf is very young and good-looking; and
it was immediately so evident that he was desperately
smitten by Ida's beauty, that I was half sorry for what
I had done. But never mind, thought I to myself, it is
something to keep the poor lad's mind from stagnation,
and Ida will have no objection to have another worshipper
added to her train.  These young officers are never
allowed by government to marry, unless they and their
bride have a certain sum of money between them —I
don't know exactly what it is-and therefore the greater
number of them neither marry nor even think of it.




224          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
They spend their'young days,' as my friend Swould have said, in a series of flirtations and hopeless
passions, more or less serious; therefore I will console
myself if my unlucky neighbor has had his heart wounded, for it may as well be by Ida's beautiful face and saucy
tongue as by any one else's.
At last we were at the entrance of the Odeon; and as
we were getting out of the carriage, there was a cry of' The King! the King!' But this, I believe, was only a ruse
of the crowd collected on such occasions, for their own private amusement; however, it turned all eyes on our arri.
val. I felt almost a shock when, on glancing up the broad
staircase, I saw it lined on either side by a row of uni.
forms; it seemed like facing an army itself. The Odeon
Hall was filled with a dense crowd, every man in regimentals. The room  was beautifully decorated.  First
and foremost there was that cornice of human faces
gazing down from the lofty gallery; secondly, a raised
platform for the Court, all carpeted, and decorated with
greenhouse plants, with a fountain playing before the
seat intended for the Queen, the water for which said
fountain, I understood, was being constantly pumped up
by an unlucky man beneath the ball-room floor. This
idea made the fountain, to me, rather a fatigue than a
refreshment. Upon the platform, which was guarded by
grim stone lions, and behind rows of crimson velvet and
gilt chairs arranged for the Court, rose a tent of crimson
and gold, beneath which were displayed a number of
warlike trophies, flags, cannon, arms of all kinds, in
picturesque array, and above them, glowed in fire, a
gigantic M, the initial letter of the King's name. Armor,
helmets, and breast-plates of various ages, and guns,
swords, and pistols, arranged in groups, and forming
columns, and stars, and wheels, as we see them in the




THE MILITIA BALL.              225
Armory at the Tower, flanked the tent, on either hand;
tall fir-trees shadowing them, palms and tender flowers -
Peace and Love, as it were - drooping over, and twining
about these implements of torture and horror, in strange
contrast. Quick, keen tongues of flame leapt up, ever
and anon, from brazen lamps, types of destroying fire,
as the weapons were of bloodshed. But both fire and
sword produced a wild and poetical impression, thus
used in ball-room decoration.
Thirdly, the two long sides of the rooms were rendered
gay and attractive by green bowers, regular arbors of firtree boughs, intertwined with wreaths of artificial flowers,
beneath which were throned, in each, an elegant lady and
gentleman, disposing of shares in the lottery; whilst at the
end of the room the prizes were displayed upon long stalls,
bearing a strong resemblance to a scene in our Oxford
Street Pantheon. There were numbers of capital things
to be won; besides work-tables and easy-chairs, and dressing-cases, and thousands of elegant and inelegant knickknacks which one would be thankful not to win; there
was, at least if report was to be believed, a statuette,
in marble, of the'Bavaria,' by Schwanthaler himself,
and sent by Queen Theresa. That would have been a
prize!
I dare say, however, if it was there, that, by some singular freak of Fortune, it would find its way back again to
Court. Such things will happen! I saw lots of capital
things carried up the steps of the royal platform- gay
parasols and lace handkerchiefs.  As for us! — poor
wretched mortals — we got nothing out of numberless
chances, not one of us. But a young officer who joined
our party, and who, I dare say, never swallowed half-adozen cups of tea in his life, won a tea-caddy! He did not
seem at all to know what it was. I know fortune meant
15




226          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
that caddy for me — it is a pity she is so blind! A teacaddy is one of my idols; I would have one made of gold
if I could! I deserved to have had that tea-caddy! - that
young fellow ought to have had a beer-tankard, or a tobacco pouch! NWell, Fortune certainly had her eyes well
bandaged on that occasion.
The drawing of prizes continued all evening, even.
during the dancing. But no dancing, of course, commenced until the Court arrived.
All at once we saw some half-dozen little men in blue
uniforms, with white ribbons in their button-holes, rushing
through the crowd, which parted before them, like the Red
Sea before the children of Israel, and on came the courtly
train, two and two,- a brilliant procession of uniforms,
and satins, and brocades, and diamonds. Poor King Max
was ill with influenza, which is attacking everybody here,
and therefore was not present. But the young Queen was
there, attended, if I mistake not, by King Otho; but, as he
wore his uniform, instead of his handsome Albanian dress,
I did not immediately recognise him. The human wall,
on either side, bowed enthusiastically, as their Royalties
and their Serene Highnesses passed on, the Queen, especially, acknowledging their loyalty by her most gracious
smiles. She wore a brilliant tiara of diamonds, and a rich
pink satin dress, and had chains of diamonds round her
neck, and her arms were loaded with bracelets. She
looked rather different to my simple, peasant-like ideal;
but her face was lovely and kind, and in that expression of
kindness lay an infinite charm. What a study of faces
was here! I read in many of them strange histories of
court life and intrigue; but with that we have, now,
nothing to do.
There were numbers of court ladies, young and old, all
very grand, and princes and dukes in abundance; they




THE MILITIA BALL.              227
proceeded to the platform, and took their seats, chatting
among themselves, and seeming very merry. Soon they
again descended, to walk the stately polonaise round the
ball-room; the grand ladies returning, however, to their
crimson chairs of state, whilst many of the gentlemen
might be seen moving amongst the crowd. And soon,
when a waltz began, behold Prince Adelbert dancing with
a citizen's daughter, and various other of the grandees
dancing away with equally plebeian partners. That was
all very right - was it not?  If they were the guests of
the citizens, as on this occasion they were, it was right to
associate with citizens. I saw the King of Greece talking
to all sorts of people as merrily as could be. There was,
however, very little space for dancing -just a circle for
the waltzers, and that was all.
We ourselves were neither aristocratic enough, nor yet
plebeian enough, to dance; therefore, we stood in a good
place and looked on, and a most amusing scene we
beheld.
At the first glance, from the uniforms being pretty
much alike, you scarcely distinguished the prince from
his butcher or his baker; but in a very short time your
eye told you that there was in the room, as in the world at
large, a most subtle, almost imperceptible gradation of
rank, both conventional and moral!  With the women it
was the same; from the diamond crown of the Queen, to
the silver head-gear of the citizen-maiden of the lower
class. It was to me a singular, almost affecting study.
But sentiment soon gave way to the intensest amusement,
as one queer couple after another passed before us!
There was a little -fellow, in militia uniform, fairly
waltzed round'a huge whale of a wife,' in a heavy
black cotton dress, gorgeous with brilliant flowers, while
her head bore the silver, swallow-tailed Munich cap; here




228          AR ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
a sentimental maiden, in tawny muslin, clung to the arm
of some gigantic crane in regimentals. The most extraordinary costumes presented themselves. All the cotton
and stuff dresses danced, while the muslins and satins
looked on. And why not? All the middle-aged, elderly,
nay, old people danced, so at least it seemed to me,
whilst the young looked on. And why not? I again
asked myself- it was only my taste, not my reason, that
objected. There was the feeble Appleshoe in brilliant
red and blue, with spectacles on nose, and thin, buffcolored hair, dancing away with his bony but good-natured
wife, in black silk. I rather admired them. I recognised, in various of the military figures, acquaintances of
mine. There, from that soldier I bought my winter
dress, from that ferocious little fellow a packet of charcoal
that very morning, and there was the modeller of a beautiful statuette, from whom I shall make a purchase one of
these days.
I told you that we stood looking on from a good place
which happened to be close to one of the grim  lions
guarding the steps of the platform. As Prince Adelbert
returned to the aristocracy, he passed us, and having
danced with Ida at several balls this winter, and being a
sort of acquaintance of Mrs. Amsel's, he stopped to speak
to them. He seemed very good-tempered, and as he
chatted about the ball, and various other things, he
glanced several times towards me with a smile, as if to
say -' And who is this young lady?' Whereupon Mrs.
Amsel introduced me to his Royal Highness, and his
Royal Highness was very polite indeed, and we two had
a little chat. I tell this in order that —    may honor
me because 1 have exchanged words with a prince of the
blood.
Once more, in the course of the evening, the Court




THE MASKED ACADEMY.             229
ladies descended from their elevation and danced a
quadrille - the Queen is excessively fond of dancing, they
say —after which, about ten o'clock, the whole Court
again paraded the room, and then took their departure, and
soon after we followed their example. Before we left,
however, I saw rather a characteristic bit of Munich life,
the militia and their partners regaling themselves with
beer and ham in a room adjoining the ball-room; such a
chaos of plumed helmets, tankards, and plates of ham as
there was!  And the ceiling of the room adjoining was
painted with grand allegorical frescoes of Apollo and the
Muses!
But I have not yet done. I must tell you of the
MASKED ACADEMY.'Fraulein Amsel has been to ask you to go with her to
the Maskirte Academie at the Odeon to-night!' exclaimed
Madame Thekla, when I came home about half-past five
last Thursday evening;' she said you must be there at
latest by six, as it will be so terribly crowded, and she
wishes you to call on her.'
All this was impossible; it was then more than half-past
five, and I had not yet dined, to say nothing of dressing!' Would Madame Thekla go with me into the gallery?' I
asked.'Yes, with pleasure, as soon as she had had her beer,'
the tea of most Munich women of her class.
When she had drunk her beer, and I had dined, dressed,
and had a cup of coffee, away we started, The gallery
was crowded to excess, although it was only just six; and if
people had not been very polite to me, as a foreigner and
a young lady, I should have had no place at all. However, squeezed up against a pillar and a poor little hump



230         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
backed lad, to whom of course I was very polite all the
evening, for he had inconvenienced himself for me -I
saw capitally.
The scene of operation was again the large hall of the
Odeon. At one end was erected a stage, for the performance of a pantomime, which I soon perceived was to be
the amusement of the evening. Before the proscenium
were seats and music desks, then came rows and rows
of chairs for the audience, filling about half the room.
In the other portion of the hall were arranged cardtables.
There were very few people in the room when we first
took our place in the gallery, so that for the hour preceding
the performance of the pantomime, my amusement was
watching the arrivals. People were to be masked; at least,
such were the directions on the cards of admission: therefore I was considerably disappointed to see the ladies, with
very few exceptions, without masks or masquerade dresses,
only in full evening costume, perhaps, however, somewhat
more brilliant in color than usual. Many children were
in fancy dresses, looking excessively pretty; one little girl
of about twelve, especially, who paraded about in extreme
grandeur as a minute Morisco lady. The gentlemen, however, were all either in fancy dresses or dominoes, and
the effect of these dominoed gentlemen was, to my eyes,
remarkably comic. They swept along in scarlet, blue,
orange, green and crimson dominoes, trimmed with deep
white lace frills and capes, yet wearing their every-day
black hats, on which were stuck their masks, and with
common-place black trowsers and patent-leather boots
peeping out beneath.
The court in attendance on the three kings and the two
queens arrived. King Ludwig's tall, spare figure, decked
out in a white and scarlet domino, looked very like that of




THE MASKED ACADEMY.             231
a Catholic priest. The King of Greece wore blue, the
young King of Bavaria crimson. The young Queen was
dressed in a very simple mode - a crimson velvet dress,
over which she wore ermine, and with a tiara of diamonds
on her head. The old Queen wore black velvet, and
looked so very quiet, that I never knew she was a queen
till the evening was almost over. The royalties scattered
themselves through the room, sitting, standing, talking,
laughing, like ordinary mortals; the white and scarlet
Catholic priest bowing and nodding his head about everywhere in that lively manner which instantly announced
him as King Ludwig.
Every now and then small troops of regular masks
entered, men evidently, most of them, dressed as women.
In they came, with that queer, uncertain gait, mysterious
air, and peering gaze, which masks always have. There
were two mysterious, veiled, Moorish beauties; two nuns;
two pink sentimental sisters; and three big-boned white
ones, dressed in white bed-gowns and mob-caps. These
three Amazonian dames stalked about together, distributing little papers among the crowd, which said little
papers usually created much laughter and astonishment.
Now a sister mysteriously drew aside a guest, and whispered something in his or her car. Kings, queens, and
courtiers, all had their turn.
Such was the fun going on before and during the
pauses in the pantomime. The pantomime itself was
nothing particular. Harlequin, Columbine, Pantaloon, and
some half-dozen other oddly attired mortals, performed a
variety of antics and practical jokes, which called forth
roars of laughter from  the motley audience. To me,
however, they seemed poor and dull. The most amusing
thing, I thought, was a dancing donkey, the legs of which
you instantly recognised as youthful human legs. Pan



232         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
taloon, extremely enamored of this donkey, rushes off for
hay to feed it with; but the donkey, with donkey politeness, refuses the hay each time it is offered, wheeling
round, presenting his tail and his heels instead of his
mouth, till poor old Pantaloon is in the last stage of astonishment and despair. The only pretty thing was a dance
of children, dressed as Swiss peasants.
People, I suppose, considered this Masked Academy
very amusing; and you will ask,' But why Masked Academy?' So have I asked from numbers of people, and the
answer I get is,'Oh, it is the Masked Academy!' as
though everybody knew what that meant. You, therefore,
must make the best of this answer, as I have done, and
be content.
There are quantities of Balls just now, one of which I
must mention; it was at the beautiful house of an artist
a house exquisitely furnished in the old German style, all
the decorations exquisite, and all the company artists. It
was what is called here a' picnic,' which means a party,
the expense of which is divided by the company; different friends joining and providing different portions of
the entertainment.  This is a custom very general here,
and a very rational one, I think - but very un-English.
These picnics circulate. I have heard of the officers'
picnic, the students' pic-nic, and so on.
The Carnival is now approaching its end; everybody is
being merry whilst they may. In a few days comes Lent.




CHAPTER XXI.
THE BUTCHERS' LEAP IN THE FOUNTAIN, -END OF
CARNIVAL.
THIS strange ceremonial, like the Schtfler Tanz which
I lately described, is said to have its origin in the time of
the plague. While the coopers danced with garlands and
music through the streets, the butchers sprang into the
fountain in the market-place, to show their fellow-citizens
that its water was no longer to be dreaded as poisoned.
Perhaps they were the Sanitary Commissioners of those
days; and by bathing themselves in the water and dash.
ing it about on the crowd, would teach the true means of
putting pestilence to flight.
Though the Coopers' Dance takes place only once in
seven years, the Butchers' Leap occurs annually, and
always on Fasching Montag, - the Monday before Shrove
Tuesday. I believe the ceremony is of great importance
to the trade of the butchers; as certain privileges granted
to them are annually renewed at this time, and in connection with the Leap.  These two ceremonies —of the
Coopers' Dance and the Butchers' Leap - are now almost
the last remains of the picturesque and quaint customs of
old Munich.
The butchers commence their proceedings by attending
high mass in St. Peter's Church, - close to the Schrannen
Platz, or market-place, in which the fountain is situated.
It is a desolate-looking church, this St. Peter's, as seen




234          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
from without, -old, decaying, and ugly: within tawdry,
and, though not desolate and decaying, ugly.  From
staringly-white walls frown down on the spectator torturepictures, alternating with huge gilt images of sentimental
saints in clumsy drapery. The altars are masses of
golden clouds and golden cherubs.
Music, as from the orchestra of a theatre rather than
from the choir of a church, greeted Madame Thekla and
myself as we entered. The butchers were just passing
out. We caught glimpses of scarlet coats; and saw two
huge silver flagons, covered with a very panoply of gold
and silver medals, borne aloft by pompous officials clothed
in scarlet. Having watched the procession - some halfdozen tiny butchers' sons, urchins of five and six years
old, with rosy, round faces, and chubby hands, mounted
on stalwart horses, and dressed in little scarlet coats, topboots, and jaunty green velvet hats — seven butchers'
apprentices, the Leapers of the day, also dressed in
scarlet, and mounted on horseback - the musicians - the
ample train of master-butchers and journeymen, in long
dark cloaks and with huge nosegays in their hats - and
the scarlet officials bearing the decorated flagons, - having
watched, I say, all these good folk wend their way in long
procession up the narrow street leading from the church,
and seen them cross the market-place in the direction of
the Palace, where they are awaited by the King,- let us
look around, and notice the features of the market-place:
for it is, in fact, a quaint old bit of the city, and well worth
a glimpse.
If I love the Ludwig Strasse as the most beautiful portion of new Munich, I almost equally love the Schrannen
Platz as about the quaintest part of old Munich. It is long
and narrow as a market-place, but wide as a street.  The




THE SCHRANNEN PLATZ.              235
houses are old; many of them very handsome, and rich
with ornamental stucco-work, -
All garlanded with carven imageries
Of fruit and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass.'
The roofs are steep, red-tiled, and perforated with rows of
little penthouse windows. The fronts of the houses are of
all imaginable pale tints, — stone colors, pinks, greens,
greys, and tawnies.  Three of the four corners of the
market-place are adorned with tall pepper-box towers,
with domed roofs and innumerable narrow windows. At
one end is the fountain; and in the centre a heavy, but
quaint shrine, - a column supporting a gilt figure of the
Madonna. The eye wanders down various picturesque
streets which open into the market-place; and on one
hand, above steep roofs, gaze down the two striking redbrick towers of the Frauen Kirche - the cathedral of
Munich: those two red towers which are seen in all views
of this city, and which belong as much to Munich as the
dome of St. Paul's does to the City of London, —those
towers which in the haze of sunset are frequently transformed into violet-tinted columns, or about which, in
autumn and winter, mists cling with a strange dreariness
as if they were desolate mountain peaks!
But the quaintest feature of all in the Schrannen Platz
is a sort of arcade which runs around it. Here, beneath
the low and massive arches, are crowded thick upon each
other a host of small shops. What strange, dark cells
they are, —yet how picturesque!  Here is a dealer in
crucifixes; next to him a woollen-draper, displaying bright
striped woollen goods for the peasants; then a general
dealer, with heaps and bundles, and tubs, and chests, containing everything most heterogeneous; and next to him a




236          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
dealer in pipes. There are bustle and gloom always
beneath these heavy low arches; but they present a glorious
bit of picturesque life. There are queer wooden booths,
too, along one portion of the Schrannen Platz, where it
rather narrows, losing its character of market-place, and
descending to that of an ordinary street. But the booths
do not degenerate in their picturesque character. The
earthenware booths, of which there are several, are truly
delicious. Such rows and piles of dark green, orange,
ruddy chocolatesbrown, sea-green, pale-yellow, and deep
blue and grey vessels of all forms and sizes -all quaint,
all odd - jugs, flagons, pipkins, queer pots with huge lids,
queer tripods, for which I know no name - things which
always seem to me to come out of a witch's kitchen, but
by means of which I suspect that my own dinner is cooked
every day. All these heaps of crockery lie about the
doors, and load the windows of the wooden booths, and
line shelves and shelves within the gloom of the little shops
themselves. When I first came here, these old crockery
shops were a more frequent study to me than anything else
in the old town.
We ascended a steep, narrow staircase leading out of
this arcade into one of the houses above it, from which we
were to witness the leaping into the fountain.
It was a clean, old-fashioned, dreary sort of a house,
with its crucifixes surrounded with artificial flowers hanging upon the white-washed walls of the staircase, and with
heavy dark oaken doors with quaint hinges and clumsy
locks. One of these doors opened, and we were kindly
welcomed by an old man, a carpenter, who had promised
us the use of his window to see the sight.
The room was meagrely furnished, but the white-washed
walls were adorned with several very tolerable prints after
Raphael, - all of them religious subjects of course; there




HANSCHEN AND HIS ORGAN.            237
was a neat bed in one corner, a huge black earthenware
stove in another, a crucifix, several pipes, and a cage containing a canary-bird hanging near the windows, which
looked gay with their rolls of fresh green moss laid along
the sills. At one of three windows the old carpenter
was at work; he soon moved all his tools away, and
brought out a singular piece of wood, which at first considerably puzzled me.' May I ask,' said I,' what you are making there?'An organ, gnddiges Frdulein, for my little grandson
there!' pointing to a shy little lad with large blue eyes
and very white hair.'You are a musician, then?' said I, looking with still
greater interest at the old man, with his thin, intelligent
face.'No, not so much of that; but that little chap is very
fond of music, and I'm  making this for him. I work at
it all my leisure moments. I've the pipes all ready; it
will turn out well, I think, and we are both very anxious
about it, arn't we, Hanschen? Ah, he's a slow lad, that
is, at his books, though! -a very slow  lad! I've to
comfort him often, gnddiges Frdulein, - he's so slow;
he's not like his brother, who died last year - that was a
quick lad! But I tell Hanschen he'll learn easier by and
by —and he's a good lad, Frdulein, and very fond of
music'' And Hainschen,' said I,' you are not slow at music;
of that I'm certain: are you!'
If any one could have seen the bright flush of the little
fellow's face, and his large kindling eyes, they would have
felt as delightful a thrill as I now do in recalling his face,
and the pleased kindly countenance of the, old grandfather.
Madame Thekla and the old man had a long gossip.




238          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
Hinschen whispered and tittered with a group of little lads
come to see the' Leap'- a group of'youth,' as the old
grandfather called them.
Madame Thekla soon fell into discourse with the old
man. We probably might have an hour or more to wait
until the commencement of the spectacle.
Sometimes I amused myself with watching the people
outside; sometimes I fell into pleasant day-dreams, lulled
by the droning voices of the two old gossips, and I felt
astonished every now and then by their inquiring from me
if I were not tired, were not impatient? Not at all! I
could have sat there for hours. I found my attention,
however, aroused by Madame Thekla's voice, - she was
talking of birds; I think it was a propos of the old man's
canary. She was talking of the time when her'seliger
Mann' was alive, and when she lived near Salzburg. I
always liked to hear her talk of that time, for the' blessed
husband' must have been a good husband indeed, —a
kind old fellow, who, nearly twice her age, treated her not
only as a beloved wife, but as a spoilt child. H-e was a
well-to-do man, and their life near Salzburg is her Garden
of Eden. And as she talked of the pigeons they had
there, of the old thrush thatbused to hang beneath the vine,
and of their tame lark, her memories seemed to mingle
with my own beautiful memories of Salzburg. I wove
such pleasant fancies of dewy, sunshiny mornings in a
quiet, old-fashioned garden, where there was a fluttering
of white-winged pigeons settling down to drink out of a
stone basin in the grass, of the thrush singing beneath the
vine odorous with blossoms, of the old tame lark hanging
in an apricot-tree, and, above all, the glorious, craggy
sides and snowy summits of the Salzburg Alps rising in
glorious majesty and grandeur, that I felt quite sorry to be
called away from these imaginary pictures to the reality,




THE BUTCHERS' LEAP IN THE FOUNTAIN.    239
amusing as it was, which was going on in the marketplace.
Looking out of the window on the crowd that began to
collect around the fountain, I noticed the tall roofs and
handsome fronts of the houses opposite, and the crowd of
pigeons - scores and scores of pigeons - assembled just
opposite the fountain on the edge of the steep roof which
rose like a red hill-side behind them. They seemed
solemnly met to witness the great festivities about to be
celebrated, and sat in silent expectationn brooding in the
sunshine. Then I wondered what attraction the icy water
could have for the children who leaned over the fountain's
side, dabbling in the water as though it had been Midsum.
mer. The crowd increased and increased, and seven new
white buckets were brought and placed on a broad plank,
which extended across one side Of the fountain basin.
A shout from the crowd announced the arrival of the
butchers. First of all came the tender butcher-infants, in
scarlet coats, top-boots, and green velvet hats, borne in
the arms of their fathers through the crowd in order that
they might witness the fun. Then followed the scarlet
officials; and then came seven of the queerest beasts man
ever set eyes on. WVhat were they, if human? Were
they seven Esquimaux chiefs, or seven African mumbojumbos? They were the heroes of the day - the seven
butcher-apprentices, clothed in fur caps and garments, -
covered from shoulder to heel with hundreds of dangling
calves' tails -red, white, black, dun!
You may imagine the shouts that greeted them, — the
peals of laughter. Up they sprang on the broad plank,
-leaping, dancing, making their tails fly round like trundled mops. The crowd roared with laughter.
A stately scarlet-clad official, a butcher (Altgesell),
stands beside them on the plank. Ten times they drink




240         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
the health of the royal family, and prosperity to the
butchers' craft. The Altgesell then striking many blows
on the shoulder of the nearest apprentice, frees him and
all the remaining six from their indentures. They are
henceforth full-grown butchers. Then they plunge into
the very centre of the fountain with a tremendous splash.
The crowd shouts; the startled pigeons wheel in wild
alarm above the heads and laughter of the crowd; the
seven Tritons dash torrents of water on the multitude, who
fly shrieking and laughing before the deluge; — the seven
buckets are plied with unwearied arms; lads are enticed
within aim by showers of nuts flung by the'Leapers,'
and then are drenched to the skin. It is a bewilderment
of water, flying calves' tails, pelting nuts, and shrieking
urchins!
The'Leapers' then ascend out of their bath, - shake
themselves like shaggy dogs, -have white cloths pinned
round their necks as though they were going to be shaved,
-and have very grand medals hung round their necks
suspended by gaudy ribbons.
The procession retires across the market-place to its' Herberge,' and the crowd disperses,- but disperses only
to reassemble in various public-houses for the merriment
of the afternoon and night. That night and the next day
are'the maddest, merriest of all the year.' Music is
everywhere - dancing everywhere. It is the end of the
Carnival.  Ash-Wednesday comes, - and then, all is
gloom.




CHAPTER XXII.
CONVERSATION WITH A PAINTER. -THE FRESCOES OF THE
NEW PINAKOTHEK AND STERRIO-CHROMIE.
March 12th. — In conversation to-day with a Munich
painter, I chanced to observe what a great charm, for me,
the character of Munich had, - not alone its churches, its
pictures, its galleries, its beautiful and quaint houses, but
its whole poetical dreamy character: I loved the mild oxen
yoked in the heavy wagons, the peasants, the villages, the
Isar, the desolate plain, and the glorious chain of Alps,
with a peculiar and an indefinable love.'But,' observed he,' there is one feature in Munich life
from which you, unfortunately, as a woman, have beenecut
off, —the jovial, poetical, quaint life of the artists among
themselves. This is a great pity, for you would have so
much enjoyed it, - the life of the artists, I mean, in their
Kneips, with their festivals and odd usages.' And then he
went on to tell me how gay the artists here usually are
during Carnival time, and described one of their masked
balls, where all is deliciously artistic, and poetic.'This
year and last, however, people,' said he,' have been too
much dispirited by all these political troubles to have heart
for such merriment. But the meetings at their Kneips!
those were delightful, poetical, artistic! Then too, in May,
there is the May Festival, when all the painters go forth,
with their wives and children, to Starnberg, where they
spend a day full of beauty and merriment upon the lake,
16




242          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
and among the woods, and make huge bonfires by the
water-side, leaping over them in memory of old pagan
times.'' Have you ever been to Schwanthaler's Castle?' asked
the painter.' No,' I replied;' where is it?''It is about two Stund from Munich, a strange romantic
little castle, a great resort of the Munich artists. On one
occasion they had all gone forth,' pursued the painter,' with music and with banners flying, a grand, jovial company, and when with sounds of music they approached the
little castle, behold! a knight, clad in armor, suddenly
appeared upon the battlements, and in a hoarse, sepulchral
voice, demanded-' Who are these men that, with music and jollity, have
aroused me from my sleep of centuries?'
And then one of the intruders replied in a grand speech
to the old knight, and there was a deal of parleying.
How thoroughly German is all this! Imagine highly
intellectual, and earnest spirited men, even were they
painters and poets, in England giving themselves up to
such a frolic. It would be felt as childish and undignified.
But here it is in keeping.'And,' continued the painter,'there is also another
beautiful feature of our Munich artist-life which you have
never yet properly enjoyed, -this is the Schnee-Gebirg,
- those sublime mountains where we behold that poetry
which we strive to work out in our pictures here in the
city. The Schnee-Gebirg (the Alpine chain) is a portion
of Munich art - it is our heaven. Such beauty as there is
among these mountains! such grandeur! such gorgeous
coloring! such flowers! such wild legends! such a primitive race of people! such remains of old times, -of the
Romans, of the old Germans, of the Druids. Yes, indeed,




CONVERSATION WITH A PAINTER.         243
the Tyrol is a district! Talk of Switzerland! it is
modern in its feeling, it is common-place in comparison!
Think only of the Untersberg, with old Barbarossa asleep
in his enchantment beneath it, with his beard grown
through the stone table upon which he leans! Think of
the whole region around Salzburg; it is brimful of legends
and beauty!'
Had you only heard the painter's words of enthusiasm,
and seen his countenance flush with earnest love of these
mountains, you would have felt, as I at the moment felt,
ready to start that instant for the mountains.
Yes, at the bottom of my soul I have a pang of' Heimweh' whenever I look towards the Alpine chain.  The
ew glimpses I have had of its beauty are always haunting
my imagination
I wish E-  would paint, some day, a little picture,
called' In the Tyrol.' It should be a picture of flowers.
It should represent a small portion of grey-rock, covered
with mosses and lichens of every tint; and flowers should
droop over the rock and spring out of its crevices; flowers
like the brightest gems, crimson mountain-pinks, deep
azure gentians and flowers like stars of gold, and delicate,
feathery grasses, and luxuriant leaves of ladies'-mantle
sparkling with dew-drops; and beyond, as background,
should be a pearly evening sky, streaked with rose and
orange, and Alpine peaks of deepest violet, dreamy and
sublime in the glow of sunset. If E-, with his ex.
quisite love of flowers and weeds, should not be inspired to
paint such a picture, I myself feel so, and must attempt it
some day, setting off to the mountains and bathing my
spirit in their beauty and joy.
Kaulbach is at work this spring upon his designs for the
New Pinakothek, a series of frescoes illustrative of the




244          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
history of modern German art: the building of the New
Pinakothek being destined for the repository of works as
exclusively of modern schools, as the old Pinakothek is of
the old.
Seven designs for the south fagade of the New Pinako.
thek are now complete, and the frescoes are in progress.
The centre composition represents King Ludwig as descending from his throne, and receiving with a gracious
welcome various artists and lovers of art, who approach
him with chef-d'ceuvres both ancient and modern. Classic, Egyptian, mediaeval, all are welcome to enrich the
galleries and palaces of his art-city.
It would seem no easy task to adapt our modern costume to the poetical necessities of colossal figures. Look.
ing at these designs, however, one is inclined to await a
happy result. Kaulbach has preserved the individual
characteristics both of the men and of the age which he
has portrayed, and yet there is no want of dignity.
One could have wished that the genius of so great a
man as Kaulbach should have had some more congenial
subject intrusted to it, for a series of great public works,
in the city of his home, than the illustration of an almost
personal theme; for Kaulbach's true path lies among the
highest regions of the ideal.
Yet, even working upon this task, his genius has burst
forth in many a beautiful and poetic touch, contrasting
wonderfully with the vein of genial humor and keen
satire running through the whole series; as characteristic
of the man as in his spirit of tenderness, grace, and
beauty.
The first in order of this series —though not the first
completed — is the design upon which the painter is now
at work. It is an allegorical representation of the triumph
of knowledge and modern taste over the formalities and




THE IMPRISONED GRACES.            245
stagnation of what the Germans designate the'ZopfZeit,' or Pigtail-age. Kaulbach's peculiar spirit of humor and satire, to which I have just referred, and, of
which his designs to' Reineke Fuchs' are a striking example, a spirit akin to the satire of our own Hogarth, singularly and most forcibly in this design contrasts with
another element of his nature, an element as strikingly
akin to Flaxman as the other is to Hogarth, - the most
lovely appreciation of the antique - the most exquisite
grace and simplicity in his lines of composition.
A hideous three-headed monster keeps watch and ward
over a small stone cell, adorned with architectural mon,sters in periwigs and lace cravats. Within the cell, and
clinging together on the ground, sit the imprisoned Graces.
A lamp burns beside them. One holds, listlessly, an unbound wreath of flowers; another hides her face in the
lap of the third. The third Grace raises her head as
though a sudden hope had rushed to her heart and flushed
her cheek! Sounds of rescue have reached her ear. A
mighty combat is being waged without. Upborne by a
low light cloud, on comes Minerva, with upraised spear
and shield, to attack the Cerberus. Close upon her follows Winckelmann, who flings, with unerring aim, his
ink-stand at the monster, whilst Thorwaldsen aims vigorous blows with his mighty mallet, and Karsten — the
friend of our Flaxman - brandishes his sword!  Up
through a marsh out of the distance comes on the architect Schenkel, with a large portfolio beneath his arm.
Hideous frogs are ready to meet him, with hateful croakings, on the mainland, but he cares not for them: on he
comes, with calm, brave face to aid in the rescue!
The monster's death-hour is arrived; the three scaly
necks writhe beneath the three elegant lace cravats; the
three hideous human countenances turn livid, and are




246          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
(distorted by death-pangs, beneath the three powdered
periwigs.
And lo! on the other side of the little cell up rushes
Pegasus, carrying upon his back between his swift wings
Cornelius, wielding a tremendous two-edged sword; Overbeck, withW his devout countenance, bearing with love and
awe a fluttering banner, upon which glows the Madonna
and Child; and Veit, vigorous in his genius and youth!
Veit, like a right generous soul, lends his hand to a
nameless brother painter, so that he also may mount Pegasus. Alas, poor fellow! it is time a friendly hand should
raise him, for already he is growing bald, and from his
pocket peeps forth a pistol, and his one foot still rests
upon a tortoise. A moment more and he will be seated
upon the back of Pegasus, the fourth of the' laimonsKinder' of Modern Art, ready to lend his arm to the
strife.
On rushes Pegasus, and beneath his hoofs sleeps in
self-contented rest, - his arm encircling a lay-figure, his
ideal of grace —a withered old fellow  dressed in full
periwig costume, a decoration in his button-hole, a smile
of the utmost self-gratulation on his lean visage.
The seventh study of color for these frescoes of the
south facade is also just completed.
It represents the group of sculptors who have embellished Munich. In the centre sits the Munich sculptor par
excellence, Schwanthaler. He is seated on a low seat,
as though designing; sketches of various statues lie at his
feet. A tall exquisite Gothic Pokal (goblet) rises from
the ground beside him, and near to him also stands a
quaint and hideous bust as of some demon dwarf: it is
clothed in strange old crumbling armor, and to those who
know the sculptor and his love of such things, and his
whole life, it is full of suggestive meaning.




THE FRESCOES OF THE NEW PINAKOTHEK.   247
To the right of Schwanthaler sits, modelling a bust,
Professor Halbig, celebrated for his great skill in various
branches of his art, for his modelling of classic, romantic,
and religious subjects, as well as of portraits and of animals. Behind Halbig stands Rauch of Berlin, busied upon
the statue of Max-Joseph, which is erected on the Rese
denz Platz opposite the beautiful Opera-house. Near to
Rauch you see Rietschiel of Dresden and the veteran
Schadow. To the left of Schwanthaler stand the sculptors Widnmann and Brugger, and grand old Thorwaldsen,
with his thoughtful and serene brow shaded by its cloud of
snowy locks: he wraps himself majestically in his cloak,
and looks out, as with prophetic gaze, towards the great
future of German art.
Beyond these figures, and various statues familiar to
the inhabitant of Munich, rises the pediment of the Regensburg Walhalla. Workmen, their muscles strained,
their chests heaving, place upon it the heroic figure of the
HEermann with his winged helm and firmly clenched sword.
And now above the pediment, and relieved against the
cloudless deep-blue Munich sky, is a lovely group! It is
the poetry of the Munich people's life. Sweet round-faced
girls and women and children gaze down upon all these
wonders of art, and upon this busy throng Of artists and
workmen. Theirs is the enjoyment, the astonishment!
This woman in her sparkling silver head-dress and pretty
gay boddice, and silver necklace of many chains, points
out the wonders to those two doubly astonished urchins
who lean over the pediment. And here sits a bright,
smiling' Kellnerin,' pouring out the intoxicating' Bock'
into the tall, ell-long glass! How pretty she is, and how
gracefully she pours! And see! here is another bright
creature bearing a plate heaped up with round loaves and
those odd-looking roots,- those huge radishes, said to




248          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
taste so good with Munich beer! And beyond, up come
peasant women! You know them by the kerchief tightly
bound across their brows. How amazed that woman is!
and well she may be, at that long array of golden statues
of the Electors, which you just see looming out of the
distance, and at the commanding Kurfurst Maximilian I.,
who, seated on his bronze horse, grandly waves his bronze
arm against the blue sky.
This little bit of the people's life is an exquisite touch,
and repeated in various phases throughout the whole series
of designs, -it is the artist's link between the actual and
the ideal; and though these touches are true to life it is a
beautiful truth. The costume to its minutest detail is the
actual every-day national costume, but through the artist's
mind it has lost all that in the vulgarity of life it has gained
of harsh and repulsive, — it is mellowed and purified as
by a glowing and beautifying sun. If it is thus with.the costume, how much more is it so in the faces and
forms!
The other designs are treated in a similar manner.
There is the entrance of a troop of young German painters
and sculptors into Rome. Their studying also the great
works of the old masters and the antique, and being summoned in the midst of their studies by a Bavarian herald.
Among these students are Cornelius, Schnorr, Hess, and
Schwanthaler. In the distance prophetically beckons the
Bavaria with her oak-wreath.
Next in order, and the centre fresco which I have al.
ready described, is the King's reception of the artists and
their works, and of the various artistic treasures with which
he has stored his capital. Next follow a design of the
painters busily employed on their different works, and
another of the architects; and lastly come the sculptors,
of which I have given you a more elaborate description.




STERRIO-CHROMIE.              249
Each design is rich to overflowing with suggestive thought
and beautiful fancy.
Since writing the above, the scaffoldings have been removed from before two of the completed frescoes of the
New Pinakothek, and all Munich has streamed to look at
them. For my own part I greatly prefer the small cartoons and sketches of color to the finished frescoes: the
coloring of the modern costume in the frescoes tells to my
eye gaudy and forced. Again I must repeat, would that A
different class of composition had been chosen for the
exercise of Kaulbach's peculiarly exalted genius.
I hear on all sides regret expressed that these frescoes,
which are exposed without the least defence against the
weather upon the external walls of the building, have been
executed in the old mode of fresco, and not according to
the new method of sterrio-chromie, in which Kaulbach's
Berlin frescoes are being painted.
Sterrio-chromie is the discovery of the celebrated chemist
the Oberbergrath von Fuchs of Munich, and is considered
by German painters one of the greatest discoveries of the
age. Among its advantages over ordinary fresco and encaustic painting, are its greater durability, and the power
which the painter has of retouching and glazing. The
colors are mixed with water, and the whole picture permanently fixed by profuse sprinklings of water in which is
mixed a certain proportion of Jfluoric acid.
I understand that sterrio-chromie is in fact a preserver
of the wall upon which the picture is painted, by the
chemical action of the solution sprinkled over the picture
whilst it is in progress, and when completed the ground
on which it is painted, and the colors of the picture,
become one hard flinty mass, the colors themselves being
converted into the hardest stone; whilst in ordinary fresco




250          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
it is a mere skin of flint which preserves the painting.
So hard, I am told, is a picture in sterrio-chromie that
neither fire nor damp can affect it. During the last
twelve years numerous experiments have been tried with
this process, and it is said to have stood all tests admirably.
That Kaulbach has perfect reliance upon sterrio-chromie is proved by his employing it as the medium by
which he perpetuates his great series of historical works
at Berlin.
I have already referred to the Hogarthian element in
Kaulbach's genius; and to one design of his in particular,
belonging to the Hogarthian class, I must refer more in
detail. This is his design entitled' The Mad-House,' universally known throughout Germany, and a design which
is interesting from the history of its origin as well as
from its intrinsic genius. Kaulbach's childhood and early
youth were a season cf bitterest poverty; his is the old
and affecting story of glorious genius putting forth its
tender roots and germinating in an arid and rocky soil.'The Mad-House' takes its origin from the time when
Kaulbach was a lad of fifteen studying at the Dusseldorff
Academy. The physician of an asylum frequently visiting the house where Kaulbach lodged, proposed to him
that he and a fellow-student should decorate the church of
the Asylum with frescoes from sacred subjects. They
were to be paid in food.  The youthful decorators completed their work; and then"the physician, with a secret
and benevolent intention in his heart, the purport of which
only in later years revealed itself to the painter, proposed
to show them over the Asylum.  He led the two youths
through the desolate wards of that house of woe, relating
as he went along the mournful histories of the miserable




KAULBACHTS' MAD-HOUSE.'         251
inhabitants. He wished to recompense the boys for their
labor, not alone by food for the body, but by food for
deep thought and reflection; he wished to read them a
deep and impressive life's lesson, and he related therefore these miserable histories to them in an extraordinarily vivid and poetic manner. The impression made by
his words upon one of his listeners was profound. Those
mournful histories and forms haunted young Kaulbach's
imagination like ghosts for ten years; then, in order fairly
to lay the phantoms, he made his design of the' MadHouse.'
The design represents the patients as grouped together,
men and women, in the desolate yard of the Mad-House:
here is an awful commentary upon human life — upon
the sane as well as the insane. Ambition, avarice, fanaticism, cruelty, love, over-excitement of sense and of
intellect, each presents its wretched victim! With the
exception of three out of the fifteen mad people which the
design contains, all are absorbed in their own reflections
or occupations, heedless of those around them: these three
are two young women, who contend with each other about
a man, and an old crone who watches the contest. The
man, a wretched, sordid being, with a thin, mean face,
wrinkled-up eye, and mouth drawn down, with an indescribable look of cruel hardness and meanness combined,
— with a lottery ticket pinned upon his battered hat, with
ear-rings in his ears, and his hands doggedly thrust within
his apron, looks out unconcernedly, heedless of the
women, whose arms are locked around his bull-neck;
his eyes are filled with avaricious madness. The ribald
shriek rings in one's ears of the woman who, with a tigerlook in her coarse face, and with her hair closely shaven,
seeks with maniac violence to push back her rival, who
with closely-locked hands clings round the man. Ah!




!552         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
those are arms which should have clung around a kind
and noble being,- that sweet feminine face should have
gleamed with the sunshine of domestic joy; in that beautiful, sad countenance, veiled now with the mist of madness, and in the close, close clasp of those hands, one
reads the history of a miserable, cruel marriage; it is a
face that makes the heart sick to dwell upon. The old
crone, wearing her quaint peasant costume, whilst her
bony fingers knit busily, looks round upon this group;
her old eyes also have the mist of madness in them, and
from her toothless jaws proceed, you feel, coarse, horrible
mumblings.
All the other maniacs are self-absorbed. Here in the
centre sits, with ungartered stockings falling from his legs,
and resting his fierce face upon his fists, one who believes
himself a soldier; his wooden sword is slung around his
shoulders. Close to him sits a king, bearing his wooden
sceptre, a medal hanging round his neck, his poor, sad
imbecile head crowned with a paper and tinsel diadem.
There, on the other hand of the soldier, with dreamy
spectacled face, an old man demonstrating to himself,
with upraised hands, books laid upon his knees, and diagrams drawn upon the ground before him, a problem
from Euclid. This man is a shoemaker: singularly bear
ing out the truth that the cobbler-craft so frequently has
an inexplicable kinship with the speculative intellect.
One man has bowed his head upon his knees in the utter,
hopeless abandonment of despair; a letter hangs from
one of his hands. A woman with anxious face hushes,
as if to sleep, a piece of wood, which she has wrapped up
in handkerchiefs, believing it an infant, and rocks it tenderly upon her knees. Prominent in this mass of anguish
stands forth a large man; his open, frilled shirt displays a
brawny breast, to which he presses a wooden cross with




KAULBACH' S'MAD-HOUSE.'           253
one hand, pointing towards himself with the other. His
bold face, his partially bald head, from either side of
which flies his shaggy hair, are impressed with a revolting,
sneering scorn; laughter and misery, and blasphemy,
contend in that dreadful countenance. Close beside him
stands a youth, who clasps his rosary piously and yet
fanatically to his breast; his beautiful, dreamy, sensitive
countenance pleads mournfully whilst he mutters prayers.
Are not these the types of the two fanaticisms - of the
sceptical and the religious?  A young girl, whose rich
hair falls in heavy masses from her comb, and whose
sweet young face, as it is caught in profile, speaks of a
soul's sickness, clasps her poor hands and prays also.
The background of this group is in savage desolate
harmony with it: you see a portion of the madhouse wall,
a small barred window looking out of it, and a piece of
door, the heavy hinges of which and the very bell-handle
have a harsh, prison-like air. A piece of blank wall
stretches along from this corner of the madhouse: it is
crested with a few dreary tufts of weeds, and above the
wall you can catch a dreary sweep of low hills, with a
dreary tuft or two of bushes and a dreary stretch of sky
above. The yard itself is full of weeds and stones, dreary
yet more, if possible, than is the glimpse of the external
world.
Two figures, which as yet I have not referred to, add
strongly to the strange spirit of the scene. One is an
old mad-woman pacing rapidly up and down —up and
down -beside this wall; she paces like a caged beast
before the bars of its den: the carriage of her stooping
head, the swing of her gown, the position of her slovenly
feet, tell of her restless pacings to and fro, and the lower
portion of her stern old face, as it is partially revealed by
her hood-like drapery, excites the imagination extraordi



254         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
narily. I can scarcely account to myself for the impression always produced upon me by this especial figure,
which is by far the most insignificant, as regards size, in the
design. It is a vague horror, - to me she is the maddest
of all the maniacs, and the most terrible in her madness.
The other figure is - the jailer, I was about to say -
the keeper, though jailer would truly be the fitter term for
such a man as this appears to be; short and very stout,
and hard and cruel. Would that in charity his cruelty
might be pronounced madness! There he stands, with
feet doggedly planted before the door of the prison-house;
his arms are folded behind him, and in his hands he holds
a great bunch of keys, the very number suggesting the
many cells which he has to lock; his hard, coarse, cruel
face is turned towards the group, the eyes half concealed
by a furred night-cap, which is drawn down over them,
and with a pipe in his mouth he glares broodingly over
his victims: and out of the pocket of his great-coat protrudes a stout whip with a keen, heavy thong.
The use of this thong is shown by a rude drawing upon
the madhouse wall, where this human fiend, in coarse but
striking caricature, is depicted flogging a victim, who with
goggle-eyes and circular head, and circular body, such as
we see in children's drawings, flings up in agony two arms
like toasting-forks.




CHIAPTER  XXIII.
A PICTURE IN LENT. - FEET-WASHING ON GREEN
THURSDAY.
IN the garden of one of the churches here, there is a
Kreulz-Gang 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 Kreuz- Gang 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 neighboring
houses. A knot of maid-servants at one of these windows
seemed especially edified by observing the actions and
bearing of one of the officiating priests.  I wondered
within myself whether he was the priest of whom I had
once heard a strange and affecting history from Frfiulein
Sanchen.
lie was an extraordinary man, at all events - whether
this sad history attached to him or not. He was singu



256          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
larly handsome, and knew it well enough.  He marched
along with the step of a soldier rather than with the step
of a priest: and with his keen eagle's face gazing upon
his missal, and the expression 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 luxuri.
ance. 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 a hitter scorn 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 Mlinisterium 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 off
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 our representative
before the little door which led into the gallery of the
Hercules Hall, whither our tickets admitted us, and before




THE OLD PALACE.               257
which door no one but ourselves had yet presented themselves, 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 white-washed 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 quaint copper kettle, standing on the now cold
hearth, told of coffee made for some Royal servant some
hours before; now we were before the door of some.Kammer-Jungfer; now in a gallery with the white-wash,
but without the portraits, where opposite to every door
stood a large white cupboard - a goodly row of them.
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 frescoes representing gods, goddesses,
and Cupids, mingling with the other ornaments. From the
wall protruded, like a hideous and 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, and where 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 with the garden - the ladies with lap17




25S          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 color, and by a stately
gentleman in blue, adorned with many knots of ribbon,
and who was graced with very long legs, whilst the musician played his flute leaning against the pedestal of a
Triton, 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 frescoes and the beauty of
the new Hof-Kapelle. 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 remarkably mouldy, cold smell in the place; but 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 it.
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 bearing upon it golden candlesticks, a
missal bound in crimson velvet, a veiled crucifix, and a




FEET-WASHING ON GREEN THURSDAY.        259
golden ewer standing in a golden dish. On one side of
the altar rose a tall reading-desk, draped with a sulphurcolored 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, and chairs of state were arranged
at either end of the hall below 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 commence.
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 costume of bright
apron and gay boddice. 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 a deal of trouble in mounting them
upon their long snowy throne; that crimson step was a
great mountain for their feeble feet and stiff knees to
climb.  But at last 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 black shoe
and stocking from the right foot of each. There, with




260          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 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
uniforms; number 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 bevy of priests in gold, violet, blue, and black
robes, with burning tapers and swinging censers, enter;
prostrate themselves before the King of Bavaria, 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 Princess. And- 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 Princess,
and lays it daintily over the honored 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!
And now the King, with a gracious smile, hangs round
the patient neck of each old man a blue and white purse,




FEET-WASHING ON GREEN THURSDAY.          261
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 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; puddings, prunes, brown
meats; puddings, prunes, brown meats, — all down the
room. Behind stand the other footmen, 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 footmen, 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




262          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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
- 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, - though
I knew it to be but a mere ceremony, -it was impossible
not to recognise a poetical idea.
It took a long time before the seventy-and-two meats
were all placed upon the table, and then it took a very
long time 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 poor old fellows 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 poor old fellows - 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. One
only is out 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




EVENING OF GREEN THURSDAY.          263
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
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 lovely 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
Hof-Kapelle on Green Thursday.




CHAPTER XXIV.
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 old Schrannen Platz, 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 saw that it was a day of holy significance.
It was crowded to excess; and with such a restless crowd
passing in and out, that I soon had my veil torn from my
bonnet, and felt truly thankful that no greater misfortune
befell 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' had
taken the place 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,
and I had come to the church with a feeling of utter disgust towards the ceremony which I was about to witness
-a representation of Christ borne to the sepulchre. To
the strains of this solemn dirge a long procession wound




BEARING TO THE SEPULCHRE.           265
its way round the church, descending from the altar,
and passing beneath the canopy. First wenrt the choristers
in 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, and borne upon a bier, and covered with a white veil, 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, stunted-looking priest, who
walked with folded hands laid on one side, and downcast
eyes, an embodiment, it seemed to me, of the most fearful
vice of priestcraft - came on a long, long train of women,
women of all ares 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, appeared 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 is generally laid among flowers in a small cave
beneath the altar; sometimes the recess in the altar




266          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
uncomfortably reminded me of an English fire-place in an
unfinished house before the stove has been set. But generally artificial rocks surrounded the opening of the cave;
a small lamp was often suspended over the 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 colored liquid — crimson, green, blue, and
yellow - considerably reminding you of the ornamental
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 artfully concealed or artificially decorated.
Lights were disposed everywhere on the altar; at the
mountain's 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 sep.
ulchre, 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, in tubs, laurels, and cedars, 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; and above, the shuffle of feet and the mur



SEPULCHRE IN THE BASILICA.         267
mur of prayers or adoration, fitful, plaintive strains of
music moaning through the gloom, and the sonorous
voices of the priests chanting their solemn dirge.
Such, with slight variations, was the scene in the Munich
churches throughout this Good Friday. In the Basilica
the sepulchre was somewhat more tasteful. 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; but
this time, without any attempt to deceive you into the idea
of its being a real corpse by aid of color. It was a pure
statue; and how much more did it affect the imagination,
by merely suggesting the poetical idea of death! This
church, unlike all the others, was flooded with sunshine,
which glowed on the gold and frescoes, 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; and 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
sunshine before my favorite altar-piece, that beautiful
Martyrdom of the white, meek St. Stephen, where all was
quiet, and one did not see the sepulchre, or the crowd, but
only heard the music, and felt the impression of the
church and the day.




268          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
With the Basilica we terminated our afternoon visit of
the churches. One little picturesque bit must not be
omited. Madame Thekla, knowing all the by-paths in
and out of the churches, led me, in leaving one old
church, past the open door of the sacristy, and I of course
looked in. It was a very large and lofty room; the walls
wainscotted half-way up with very dark wood, rich in
panel and carving; above the wainscot, on the white.
washed 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, and 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 Hof-Kapelle; 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, and perhaps side by side with one, as he often does;
because King Ludwig is celebrating, this year, the holiest
night of the Holy Week in Rome itself.
A very ocean of human beings filled the vast church;




THE MISERERE.                269
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 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;
moaning, 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. And
the voices vibrated beneath the dim, arched roof, floated
over the human ocean, and died away in, long sighs.
Again they arose, sadder and sadder; ceased suddenly, -
and the multitude 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?
Dear old Fraulein Sinchen! As we walked slowly back,
she opened her poor old heart to me, and told me many of
her sorrows. I fancied long agothat I had discovered the
bitterness of her life, and 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




270          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
fear those wounds will only smart the more when she has
no one to sympathize with her, no one to whom she can
moan a little. Ah! it is a selfish world; and the mo'e
gentle and patient is the heart, the more it is crushed! I
could only comfort her with the comfort especially belonging to Good Friday!
Crossing the Dult Platz and various streets, we saw all
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, which stands life-size, of colored
sugar, upon its hind legs, rejoicing over a large nest of
crimson 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;' kreutzers
to buy hares' seem strangely to be conjured out of your
purse; you see everywhere crimson egg-shells, and in all
the book-sellers' 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




EASTER EVE.                 271
about its flavor. On the Saturday between Good Friday
and Easter Sunday I hear that it is the custom to carry
small fagots of wood to be blessed; and 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 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. And 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 inclosure 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 among these roses, tulips, stocks,
myrtles, geraniums, arums, ivy, upon an odorous fresh
couch.
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 strangely 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 Friulein
Sanchen led me up the steps of a crumbling old building.




272          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.'You must,' said she,'see the chapel of the Herzhog
Max: sentinels watch it night and day!' This honor
doubtless was owing to the chapel being a royal one; but
a less tasteful sepulchre could not well have been imprisoned in a huge cage of twisted, rusty iron-work, guarded
by two solemn guards with halberts.'What is this strange old mass of building, Friulein
SAnchen?' I asked, as we descended the steps, and I
glanced up at its gloomy windows and discolored walls:'I hear everybody call it Herzhog Max, as though it
were a man and a duke, instead of an old tumble-down
building!''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 Herzhog Max:
Queen Theresa will have 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 gate-ways, its long, long rows of dark lifeless
windows, its grey discolored 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 splendor. Its walls looked as if fraught with
evil memories; it is a mansion whose age impresses one
with a sense of evil decay: those desolate suites of rooms
have no bright memories of a beautiful sunny youth.
Gibbering sad ghosts flit through them of a certainty:
strange faces, terrible and mournful, looking forth through
those window-bars, — spiritual footsteps creaking upon the
dreary stairs!




EASTER EVE.                  273
The Resurrection was celebrated in all the churches.
I, however, witnessed the ceremonial only in the Ludwigs Kirche. Toward six o'clock the Ludwig Strasse
was black with swarms of people hastening from the
Theatine Kirche towards the Ludwigs Kirche. 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 ceremony. Then a canopy
was seen to approach the altar; there was much chanting
and gesticulating. The organ and the quire 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!'
And, above the crowd, you saw a figure of Christ,
clothed in white and purple garments, and bearing in
his hand a small banner. Then a procession of choristers and priests, with the Host borne aloft beneath the
canopy, with swinging censers, and to the sound of
trumpets, kettle-drums, and little bells, which the choristers rung, passed down the centre of the church, and
out beneath the beautiful portico, and through the white
arches of the colonnade, into the little garden behind the
church.
Although the canopy and the procession passed out
into this little garden, I preferred remaining in the
church; and approaching nearer the altar, saw 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 con18




274          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
nected together, two and two, by a long cord, which
passed between them, so as to form a sort of human team.
You always see them walking along in this manner. It
was strangely affecting to observe their sightless eye.
balls and their white uncouth faces turn towards the
figure of Christ, their hands clasped, and their lips
moving.
Another thing was noticeable before the procession
returned 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 or sister to see the
gloriously beautiful figure. There were lots of Strassen
Buben (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. And 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.
And then the people bowed reverently as the Host'was borne aloft, and with music and chanting a short
mass was performed, and Easter had arrived!




EASTER SUNDAY.               275
I passed Easter Sunday out in the country.
How tender and beautiful was the whole scene! Yet
the very intensity of the fresh beauty called forth a
mournfulness in the soul!  Who does not know  this
strange mournfulness! 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 an unutterable longing - a longing 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 stu.
dio —the head of Castor, the brother who was mortal.
Never had I seen this longing and this mournfulness
so fully expressed as in that beautiful countenance. I
had walked towards my favorite old church with the
pea-green tower. All was silent as a dream.  I sat
down amid the fresh grass for a long time. And now
the clock tolled the four quarters, and then the hourtwo; and 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, white-washed wall of the
church-yard. As I looked upon the fresh burnished
arum, hemlock, ficary, and 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.'
And now a little meek child wandered alone into the




276         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
church-yard, with large, pale oxlips wreathed into the plaits
of her hair. Soon people streamed into the church for
afternoon mass. And whilst the bell tolled from the tower
a group of young peasant-girls came with their bright, oldfashioned costumes, and round arms, and rosy faces, and
clear eyes, and wandered arm in arm round the church,
sprinkling certain graves with holy water from the vessels
hung to the crosses.
Soon the young girls entered the church; and 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 within the church
among the people! I heard the little organ peal forth,
and the singing of the quire. There was one fresh young
voice that sang like a very angel. This voice celebrated
the Resurrection. 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.
Then all the peasants streamed forth; and the holy,
solemn hush closed 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 peasantlife. There was such a tenderness and simplicity, mingled with a certain sadness, that one could only imagine
its spirit to be conveyed away 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




MUNICH BEER.                  277
the flowers springing; birds carol from every bough.
Music swells in loud strains through the fresh leaves of
the English Garden, the Spring Garden, the Garden of
Paradise. 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 what time Munich people spend
in this way, 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, and I fear, also,
to the citizen class, which is so at variance with tho
spirituality and the intellectuality of all this Munich art!




CHAPTER XXV.
SCHWANTHALER'S CASTLE OF SCHWANECK.
BEFORE me lie a quantity of wild flowers drooping their
poor weary heads over a quaint little terra-cotta vase.
Both the flowers and I are just 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 little vase will refresh the
flowers —even now I seem to see their. heads visibly
pricking themselves up.
I have been to Schwaneck, the Castle of Schwanthaler.
At nine o'clock, I met, by appointment, Baron von H.,
merry little Marie, and Signor L., on the other side of the
Sendlinger Gate; and having passed the old Munich
Cemetery, with its rows and rows of crosses rising above
the low walls, and the new Cemetery inclosed 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 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 French
gentleman living in Munich, who was very handsome and




TALK BY THE WAY.             279
just married, was 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 contracted in the city,
and decamped! And how the poor old father and her
husband were nearly broken-hearted when they discovered
the tragedy. And various equally lively histories did we
relate, till'our conversation resembled a series of short
chapters out of the Neue Pitaval; I relating, as my share,
the history of Casper Hauser, which Signor L. and Marie
had never heard, embellishing it with explanations out of
a certain prohibited book which I once had read on the
subject; and then, being in the midst of a horrible history
of a woman near Magdeburg, who has just been imprisoned for having kept a little child of her own three years
upon bread and water, in a cask in a cellar, till the poor
little creature was crippled body and mind, —we found
ourselves upon one of the steep banks of the Isar; below
us a picturesque large white-washed house, its walls
stained with innumerable fading frescoes.
It was a large public-house, and its garden, filled with
benches and tables, was already sprinkled over with groups
of towns-people come out this lovely summer morning.
Peasants streamed along the road below us, 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




280          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
steep bank, and admired the distant view of Munich, and
listened to the rush of the river and the singing of the
larks, we pursued our way. And now we were in a birchwood; 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;
and 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, leafeless 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 brillianlt with them! I shall love my
blue hepaticas, as Wordsworth loved his host of' Golden
Daffodils.'
The Baron and Signor L. were deep in a discussion
about'h1igh pressure,' and about'what the Englishman
had said on the subject;' and when I held up in triumph
my handful of flowers, I fancy they thought me rather gone
out of my mind.
And now, 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 very
like 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 sum.
mer-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




SCHWANTHALER'S CASTLE OF SCHWANECK.   281
showered down beams as warm as in an English June. We
were soon seated at a little table on the very edge of the
steep Isar bank, the river murmuring as it rolled lazily
over its sandy bottom, amid long, gravelly shoals. In front
of us was the Alpine chain, rising as though abruptly from
the wild precipitous river-bank opposite, and mingling its
jagged peaks with the silvery mountain-like clouds which
crowded the heavens.
We hungry 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! And thus most pleasantly refreshing ourselves in sight of the Alps, the conversation naturally
turned upon Italy, seeing that one of the gentleman was
an Italian, and Baron von H. had spent many years there.
First Mariotti's new book was discussed; Signor L. defending Silvio Pellico warmly for the sake of all he had
suffered in his youth. He spoke altogether so earnestly
and eloquently about his unhappy, beautiful land, with a
cloud of real grief ever and anon passing across his face,
that I set him down as a good, worthy fellow -different
to some disgusting, dandified Italians I saw the other day,
who made me almost wish that an Austrian bullet would
put an end to their useless lives!               i
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 necessary 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




282          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
my astonishment 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! No one can imagine how out
of place these absurd and vulgar caricatures seemed in
the midst of this sylvan solitude! I hope some prints of
the World's Fair in Hyde Park will soon get pasted up
there as an antidote to this antiquated poison.
But now to return to the pleasant green wood, I was
going to say; but green, except under foot, it certainly
was not, seeing the month was only April. But my fancy
clothed the woods with leaves and made the month May
or June, for I was recalling the painter's description of
the Artists' festival, and 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; and when we came suddenly upon the little castle itself, I was prepared to see
the knight himself on its walls, as on that memorable
occasion.
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, for his many years' illness dated almost
from its completion. It is a rude, simple little castle,
scarcely more than one lofty tower; but the situation 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.




SCHWANTHALER'S CASTLE OF SCHWANECK.   283
On one side the birch-wood extends even to 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 ourselves within the small court-yard. The first
thing that struck us was an effigy of a knight, let into the
castle wall; it looked as if brought out of 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 monument of the knight Schwanthaler,
erected by his cousin and fellow-sculptor, Xavier Schwanthaler. In another part of the castle wall is inserted a
tablet bearing in black-letters the following verse:-'So stehe denn bier in Gotteshand
Der Thurm am felsigen Uferrand
Gebauet nicht um eitle Ehr;
Zu Trutz nicht oder Waffenwehr;
Nur friiher Jugend sh6ner Traum,
Soll 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 ago.' 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




284          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
strange pity filled my heart for the fate of this magnificent
creature, the life and voice of which must have been so in
harmony with the solitary tower, 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, armored knights, placed one on either side,
above a little balcony which overhangs, the river, there are
no traces here of Schwanthaler as the sculptor; buf every
stone speaks of Schwanthaler as the lover of the quaint
and the mediaeval. Schwaneck is a development of the
little sanctum sanctorum in Schwanthaler's house in Munich, with its grotesque drinking cups and armor. There
are but 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 though covered with tapestry, though it is
not; it is coarse, heavy, and primitive. A few rudely
carved chairs, a few massive and rough tables, tall porcelain stoves of olive-green, bearing upon them the heraldic
swan, armor, 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 colors; — 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 an odd looking-glass, suspended above a much
odder table. This table is supported by a pedestal formed
of the crooked stem of some tree, which probably grew in
the neighboring wood, its rough bark and moss still remaining upon it.




SCHWANTIIALER'S CASTLE OF SCHWANECK.   285
The banqueting-hall is at the top of the castle, so as 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 white-washed walls are arranged
coats of mail, shields, swords, and escutcheons; the rafters
of the roof are gay with heraldic colors and shields, producing a fine barbaric effect. On one side of the hall,
revealed by half-drawn curtains of crimson and goldcolored stuffs, standing in a recess, you see a large, old,
gilded shrine. The other sides of the room are rich in
windows commanding a variety of views.
cHow 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
precipitous 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 watchtower, 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.




286          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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
unpretendingness, 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, close upon the margin of
the Isar, below the precipitous bank; and a still more
beautiful path we found it.  At one spot, the wood
widened out considerably, and th'e trees of splendid growth
reared their tall, smooth, grey boles 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, but lovely yellow squill.
Imagine my joy in finding these flowers! and in such
abundance too.  I gathered a bouquet worthy of an
English garden; and in a little brooklet running through
the wood gleamed out, like sunshine, large, golden
king-cups, amid their rich green leaves. They seemed a
voice from English meadows.
Coming out upon the uninteresting road, Signor L.
chanced to say something about a pedestrian tour which
he had once made in Elba, whereupon I said,'Do tell us
all you can about Elba, - what you saw and what you
did; describe all, for there is a great charm in verbal description of strange lands and new scenes; people thus
describing often give one vivid and graphic touches which
one never gets in books.' He described, graphically, his




GERMAN HIANDWERKS-BURSCHEN.          287
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 my imagination the little island of Monte
Christo, and the rock out in the sea which Napoleon
visited daily, standing solitarily upon it, gazing towards
France, as he is so commonly represented in pictures,
that I felt at once transported into Elba, and forgot we
were wending our way towards Munich! All at once,
however, Signor L. interrupted his narrative by exclaim.
ing,' Ah, no! not even in my own beautiful Italian have
I ever been able to express what I feel most stronglyno, I cannot describe this wild, wondrous 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 of us, 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
wayside Wirthshaus, which we reached just in time to
escape the storm.
Whilst the rain descended, we amused ourselves with
watching a group of regular German Handwerks-burschen
playing at nine-pins under a shed. Every now and then a
long-haired and velvet-coated student, 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 seen such a genuine set of Burschen since we left




288          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
Heidelberg. Here, in Munich, the students seem lost
amonlg 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 excur.
sion- perhaps go to Starnberg for a day, and make a
trip with the little steamer upon the lake - the new little
steamer which everybody talked about, and which would
be launched in May.




CHAPTER XXVI.
THE MODEL PRISON OF BAVARIA, AND THE MODEL WORKS
OF SIGNOR S-.
April 28th. — I have just returned from a visit to the
Zucht-Haus 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, that I may understand the working of the system,
and facts connected with it, more thoroughly than I could
from conversation with the gentleman who went through
the wards with us, intelligent and most obliging though
he was.
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 white-washed walls. It is a cheerfullooking place, in fact, and if it stood among trees would
look very like a chdteau. But on entering the vaulted and
white-washed hall, with long vistas of white-washed passages leading from it, with a soldier standing at the door,
and here and there other soldiers in the distance, something
of a prison-feeling sank upon me.
Having been politely received in his little bureau by the
Director of the Prison, - an extraordiaary man, from all
accounts, and famed throughout Europe for his manage.
19




290          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICI.
ment of this prison, and for various works which he has
written on prison discipline, - we were conducted through
the establishment by a grave, intelligent little man, the
Haus-Meister. All the people we met in the passages,
whether prisoners or not, had an intense gravity impressed
on their countenances.
The first room we entered was filled with men employed
in spinning. This is the first employment given to the
prisoners on their entrance, and when their capability for
learning has been ascertained during the spinning-period,
it is decided to what trade they shall be henceforth de.
voted. A long row of men of all ages, in coarse, grey
jackets and trowsers, some with chains round their waists,
which were attached to their ankles, sat down the middle
of the room, busily spinning from their tall distaffs. Along
the bare walls were rows of wholesome-looking beds, with
coarse but whitt sheets neatly turned over their quilts;
rows of tin cans were seen to hang in one corner of the
room against boards nailed to the walls. A large crucifix
was placed conspicuously 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 treddle, 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 unlocking and locking of doors;
you saw there men moving about as though they were




THE MODEL PRISON OF BAVARIA.         291
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 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 in his grey jacket, and with the
chain round his waist.'He,' said the gentleman with
us, 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 unlocked
and unbarred? -what is to prevent their escaping?  The
walls are not high in the court-yard - 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 blood-hounds 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 dyehouse; 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, but all worked apparently at
perfect freedom, often with wide-open doors, often in the
open court-yard.
It was a startling thing to see murderers wielding hammers, and sawing with saws, and cutting with sharp-edged
tools, when you remembered they were murderers, and




292          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.,
how some tyrant passion had once aroused the fiend within
them, though now again he seemed laid to rest by years
of quiet toil.
Our guide informed us, that very rarely did any disobedience or passion show itself among the prisoners after
the first few months, or the first year of their imprisonment. The constant employment from early morning to
evening; the silence imposed most strictly during their
hours of toil; the routine, the gradual dying out of all'
external interests and anxieties, seemed to sink them into
a passive calm, until industry became their only charac.
teristic. Each prisoner has his daily task of work given
to him, which must be completed. For extra work he receives payment, - half of which he may immediately consume, 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 imprisonment, 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 simple recreations. 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




THE MODEL PRISON OF BAVARIA.         293
picking the leaves of vegetables to flavor the soup, which
was boiling in large caldrons, and was stirred by other
prisoners with huge ladles; all moved gravely about, ap.
parently without being overlooked. In each room, however, was a kind of prisoner monitor, whose office was to
report up6n the conduct of his companions; and this
species of mutual watchfulness, kept up by the prisoners themselves, seemed, according to the report of our
informant, to answer remarkably well.
In some rooms you saw 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 punishment - 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; and, 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 exceptions, and that generally it was surprising in how short
a time a trade was learned, which, with an ordinary apprentice, is a matter of years. Here it was the one object; it became the only interest, and was unceasingly
worked at day after day.




294         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
The prisoner who has been longest in this prison has
been there thirty years; many are in for life; many for
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 countenance. 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 staring at her, her looks were
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, anxious expression 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 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.




MODEL WORKS OF SIGNOR S -.           295'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
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 honorably 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 faces 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 quite 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 little room of Signor S —-. The room was very




296          AN ART-STUDENT. IN MUNICH.
small, but bright and cheerful! Flowers were in the bright
little window, the glass cabinets were filled with all imaginable knicknacks of glass, china, and various small
models; bronze and gilded candelabra filled with tapers
stood about upon consoles; pictures hung on the cheerful
self-colored 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 little room was, if not' parlor, and kitchen, and all,' parlor and bed-room: but
one gets quite used to such arrangements abroad.
And there was the little Signor himself, all smiles, and
speaking in his beautiful Italian, and so honored by the
ladies' visit. And 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-colored 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 hands of the clever old Signor removed various
portions of the model, you looked into the interior, and
beheld altars, pictures, gilding, tesselated pavements.
Little, 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 descend.
ing into the chapels, the altars - everything!
Well, it was wonderful!' Yes, it was vastly admired,
said the little Signor;' architects had come to see it from
far and wide; and all pronounced it wonderful!'
And, now we began to look at bther models which stood




MODEL'WORKS OF SIGNOR S.         297
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
proved, at all events, that he had a great deal of fancy,
and was decidedly an undeveloped architect.'And 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 elegances and dainties, all were of paper; but
so capitally made, that you felt quite 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 candelabra, they are of paper!'
Yes; those massive bronze, and black, and gold candelabra 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 Signor 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 also. I was




298          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
glad to recall his hearty laughter but a few minutes before, and to think how, by his ingenious amusement, his
beloved hobby, he could banish the sad, though beautiful,
ghost which, no doubt, haunted his little room.
I have heard, since our visit, that the old Signor 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 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.




CHAPTER  XXVII.
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 little Starnberg Lake the day
of the Festival, and making then its first trip. To fully
appreciate the excitement of this event, you must bear
in mind that steam-boats, 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 11th, people fervently hoping that the day would
be fine. And a gloriously beautiful day it proved, —a
day of golden sunshine, 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 there 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




300          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 peasants in the
neighborhood 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 courtball? 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 accompanying Marie and myself to Starnberg.
The morning of the Fete saw us departing in a stellwagen from  a certain little inn called the Stackhus
Garten.
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 ap.
peared ever slowly to approach us, though of course it
was we who slowly approached it: and pleasant were
my reminiscences of Clare's and my expedition to OberAmmergau, of which Starnberg had been the first stage:
and pleasant was the lively discourse of Baron H., and
the smiling rejoinders of the pretty Marie. But pleas.
antest 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




THE MAY-FESTIVAL AT STARNBERG.        301
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 embosomed in woods and
gardens, and its sprinkling of grey Tyrolese cottages,
shone out invitingly, illumined by the clear beams of
the brilliant morning. And round the verdant shores of
the lake, at remote distances, gleamed forth other villas
and hamlets and church towers; and 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 mountains,-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 little town, or
drawn up before the hotel: some way, 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
as our first pleasure. Men were busy decorating it with
garlands - some of the garlands still lay upon the shore,
half hidden in the deep rich grass and flowers. We had




302         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 Signor
L. pacing up and down the meadow. He looked very
handsome and summer-like in his broad-brimmed, lowcrowned, straw hat 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 little 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 pleasure, but we
did not feel inclined to await this pleasure a couple of
hours. Before 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 circumstances. 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 boatmen to put us on shore at the very first place
where food might be procured; and we disembarked at a
hamlet bearing a less romantic name than Lione, but
where our boatmen 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




A HANDFUL OF FLOWERS.             303
view of the sunny lake, a bench had been placed. And 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-parlor; and 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 lovely rustic arbors, 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 beerdrinking; 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 expression of an
old Englishman; therefore we were forced to content ourselves with the third best breakfast-parlor. Marie seated
herself under the shadowy beech-trees, whilst I, to beguile
my impatience for breakfasts 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-colored blossom - an entirely new flower to me -
and another plant yet more beautiful, and equally unEnglish, 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, such
as our greenhouse primulas have. I noticed during the




304          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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.
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 a' 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, seemed put at all out of
humor by the unsatisfactory viands, and the little inn
seemed to be particularly 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 waiteresses ran madly hither and
thither.
A much pleasanter Qbject than the breakfast was the
expanse 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
belonging to an Englishman resident at Munich were dis,
cerned across the lake like the wings of some large bird.
And 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. But upon nearer
inspection we found that she still lay a moveless black




A BOAT-WOMAN.                305
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;' and to Possenhofen consequently we would go,
calling at Lione by the way. Possenhofen is on the opposite 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 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.
Signor 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 head-gear, and her rosy lips showed the whitest
set of little 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 boddice, you saw a
round snowy throat. Her countenance was of a graceful
20




306          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 had a brilliant
scarlet waistcoat on, 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 quaintly attired in its peasant
costume of blue woollen petticoat, bright blue stockings,
and heavy shoes, black boddice, pink sleeves tucked up
above the elbow, and showing a piece of scarlet lining,
orange handkerchief and black head-dress; and behind
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 boatwoman, glided past the greenest of beech-woods and the
grassiest of meadows, starred with myriads of delicate,
brilliant flowers: sounds of distant music swelled voluptuously upon the gentle breeze, whilt 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,




MAY AND NATURE.               307
of course on the lookout for the steamer. _Stepping on
shore I saw a lovely bit of Munich artist-life. Upon a
tiny promontory which jutted out 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 her fir cap, leading by the
hand a child dressed as quaintly and gaily as the old dame
herself, only that instead of a fur cap the child wore a
little ker6hief 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 sparkling
lake, a lovely mirror reflecting the blue of heaven; and
above th9 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
everywhere streaming along in happy groups, looking
almost as full of joy as though indeed these were the
fields of heaven instead 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




308          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
God's angels, - Spring, and Beauty, and Peace, through
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 aTes, —old and young, rich and poor,
parents, children, friends, acquaintance, lovers, citizens,
parents, 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 small chapel
standing close to the road.  It was so small a chapel that
it appeared scarcely more than a way-side shrine. It had
a tiny belfry, was white-washed, and there was painting of
pale sea-green about the belfry lattice-work windows. A
large pear-tree grew close to the little chapel, and this
pleasant May Sunday the pear-tree was like a tree of
ordorous snow, 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 little 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
stags'-horn moss twisted round their straw or felt hats,
with gentians, cowslips, and those lovely primula flowers




LEBE HOCII STARNBERG!            309
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 recognised one wellknown 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.
WVe 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
having also thought the island attractive, and preparations
being made 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 manifestation of anger and loud barkings,
opposed our landing, but who, perceiving our bold determination and undaunted firmness, put his tail with 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 steamers, 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 Adelbert, graciously replying to the shouts and wavings of




310         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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.
But it would be a weariful history were I to describe all
our first futile attempts to procure refreshment at the
great inn with the semi-Tyrolean architecture. Suffice it
t6 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. And truly now I began to be satisfied as to
the crowds which would flock to the Starnberg Festival;
and more than satisfied! 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 martyrdom for the sake of procuring dinner-some time. 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 intense 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




TANTALUS.                   311
of thanksgiving for the glory which Art may and does
so frequently cast over life.  In holiest colors 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 endeavor, of hope, and of
onward progress - that life where the duty is to yield up
the soul to the love, worship, and understanding 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. As a woman, and therefore only
seeing this art-life in the Germans from a peculiar point
of view, and by not mingling in it except at certain, beau.
tiful, poetical moments, I may draw a picture in my
imagination only of its brightest, noblest phase; but that
phases of intensest loveliness do adorn it, is as true as
that divinest poetry fills the world.
But to 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 gen



312          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
tleman especially excited my envy, as I saw a capital
roast fowl carried up to him.'Don't envy him, Friulein!' observed an acquaintance
of Baron H.'s, who had joined us whilst we had been
waiting 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 arrives before
the ball commences!' And verily I believe we might
have waited until the ball supper itself, had not this benevolent acquaintance 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, however, believe it had been through physical
force that we had obtained our dinner, but through the
influence with the Kellnerins 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 forerunner of the ball, but 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 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 see 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




A RURAL BALL-ROOM.              313
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
mountains, 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 Mendelssohn's Volks Lieder.
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
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 prudently returned to terra firma, where, as we set
foot, we were greeted by a loud chorus of frogs, which
far outeroaked the sounds of merriment proceeding from
the little town. Lights shone forth from the hotel windows,
telling of the merry 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 com



314         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
menced, but the supper had; ladies, not in ball-room
costume, but without 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, which would be 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
towards the lake. Uprose a rocket like a long fiery ser.
pent, 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 color, now with a pale yellow
green, as though it were built of tinted light. And the
little church across the lake, crowning the hill above
Lione, gleamed forth a pale spectral sea-green, as if re.
plying to the Starnberg signal. And 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 unruffled waters, whilst
smoke curled in white volumes ruddily illumined by the
fires. Above all shone the quiet broad moon, smiling
down through the May night, and reflecting her calm face




THE MAY-FESTIVAL AT STARNBERG.        315
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. But 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 postilions and fiery-lamps rushing past us, but groups also
of deer feeding quietly by the road-side. At one spot I
saw 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 our
homes through the deserted moonlit streets of Munich, the
houses in the Dult Platz 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.




CHAPTER XXVIII.
FUNERAL OF THE DUCHESS OF LEUCHTENBERG.- THIE,
SENDLING BATTLE AND OLD MUNICH.
lMay 18th. - That poor old Duchess, who looked so
magnificent at the Landwelhr Ball in hber 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 relating beautiful things about her. She
was King Ludwig'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 poor old 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 stopped 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. There did not seem a particle of awe or
reverence for the spectacle they were about to witness.
I stood squeezed up against the bronze gates, fearfully




LYING IN STATE.               317
expecting to be precipitated head foremost by the crowd
behind, whenever the gates should open, or to be
crushed, whilst waiting, against the embossed ornaments
upon the gates.  Luckily, however, no such accident
occurred.
But if the crowd 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 something 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 periods of the day, mass was celebrated. Tomorrow is to be the funeral.
The Duchess is said to have been singularly beautiful in
her youth. It was related to me by Fraulein S/inchen,
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.




318          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
Miay 19th. - At four o'clock this afternoon the grand
funeral took place.  I went to a house in the Theatine
Strasse to witness the procession. Already at two o'clock,
whilst I was at the studio, I heard the tolling of the
Church bells. But funeral bells toll here in a much less
mournful way 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 Theatine Church stood
a knot of priests, with a tall crimson banner leaning
against the wall. Soldiers were drawn up on either side
of the Theatine Strasse.
The house from which I viewed the spectacle is opposite
to the abode of the Russian Ambassador. The Theatine
Strasse is one of the old streets, and full of picturesque
detail, which considerably enhanced the effect of the
procession 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 was a knot
of ladies in black. There at a window close by was the
picturesque head of a priest of the Greek Church to be
seen.
A long train of servants belonging to the nobility headed
the funeral procession. They bore burning torches with
them; their liveries were of all descriptions and colors.
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 a
deal of 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 FUNERAL OF THE DUCHESS OF LEUCHTENBERG. 319
the other royal and ducal households. The dead Duchess's servants, all wearing crape upon their arms and
streaming, from their cocked hats. I The smoke rising
from their torches hung in the air above the procession
like a funereal veil.
Next came the different Brotherhoods attached to the
churches, and who always give great picturesqueness to
the processions here: the old men bare-headed, and monotonously chanting as they followed the banners and
crucifixes, which were borne by men and boys wearing
white linen and the colors of their banner and crucifix
canopy. Scarlet, blue, amber, violet, green, and russet,
made the street most brilliant in coloring. 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 Hof-Kapelle, with broad violet ribbons suspending a
small golden cross around the neck. And there were
priests in violet and scarlet preceding the Archbishop, who
advanced slowly along, a mass of gold embroidery, - his
golden robes supported on either hand by golden-robed
priests: he bore a rich silver crosier in his hand, and upon
his head a rich white mitre.
And now came on the hearse, surrounded by the courtpages, 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.




320          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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
foreign courts, by the chief officers of the Bavarian army,
by the Professors of the University wearing their rich
colored 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 frescoed battle-piece 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




THE SENDLING BATTLE.             321
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 marched victoriously towards Munich,
whither the Imperial General Kreichbaum had been dispatched with reinforcements.
The Vorstadt-Au 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 rumor 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'Morgen.
stern' slaying an Austrian sentinel; and a bloody and
fierce conflict ensued.
The peasants, relying upon aid from the nobles within
the city who had joined their side, fought long and bravely,
but no succor 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 rigor of the Christmas
night. The battle was fought upon Christmas Day.
Misery fell, of course, with only tenfold bitterness upon
the peasantry; beheadings, drawings and quarterings,
mutilations, 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
21 




322         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
history which rings in one's heart like a lovely ballad of
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 old beggar on his path, -an old man clothed in rags,
and having lost an arm and leg.
WVho 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 citygate he led him where the conflict had raged so fiercely,
and on towards the old Palace, where the Electress and
her ladies were summoned forth to receive the old man.
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 honor 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




THE ELECTRESS AND HER IRON CHEST.       323
expression 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 Sedlinger Battle from
the hearts of the people would be no such easy task; it is
their Thermopylue. Not alone do peasants from the mountains 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 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 lifelong, had been selling her soul for gold,
and strange rumors of whom yet cling around the Maxburg
and the old Residenz. Returning from Austria in a heavy
coach, attended by her gentlewoman, 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
approach to what I require: but, being bare of detail, it




324         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 Wein-Strasse, as you enter the Schrannen-Platz, is
placed there in memory of a certain Wurm which dwelt,
in old times, near Munich — perhaps upon the shores of
the  Wurm-See.  This Wurm, flying over Munich, is
said to have caused, by its venomous breath, the earliest
of the great plagues which have at various epochs ravaged
the city. The author of the' Hundert und Eins' avers
that the legend told to his childish ears was, that upon the
Schrannen Platz this terrible Wurm 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 Frauen Kirche, which, with their dome-like termination, 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 Metzger Sprung and the Schitfler Tanz are
remnants; of gateways and Towers, similar to the Falken Thurm'one of which was the Torture-Towerhaving been destroyed within the memory of man. I
read of the -Emperor Ludwig the Bavarian's Munich,
traces of which may still be discovered by earnest
seekers; 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 frescoes, bleached by the sun, winds, and
rains of centuries, are fading on the walls - where heavy
browed archways reveal mouldering stairs leading up into




KING LUDWIG AND ART.              325
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 unappeasable longing after old
memories and traditions seize 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 thronging the quaint old streets, market-places, and covered
passages; and their primitive wagons, and the heavy
brewers' drays rumbling and jolting along the uneven
pavements; whilst, in the newer city, elegantly attired
ladies and gentlemen aristocratically saunter about, or roll
along in their carriages, with every now and then a royal
carriage dashing past.
But different in aspect as are these two portions of
Munich at the first view, upon nearer investigation one
proves but to be 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,
c could abandon his crown, but could not abandon his art,'
with its Glyptothek, its Old and New Pinakothek, its
Kunst Ausstellung, its Sieges-Thor, its Feldherren Halle,
its Basilica, its Hof-Kapelle, its Au-Church, its Rhumes
Halle, and Bavaria with its two splendid new wings to the




326          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
bld Palace, with its noble Ludwig Strasse, 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 important event in the
Bavarian annals chronicled in painting, sculpture, or architecture, is indeed a wonderful little city, and unique in these
modern days. And when we reflect 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 develope their various genius,
and has in every possible way fostered and encouraged art
in all its branches, - has founded the Glass and Porcelain
painting establishments, and the Bronze Foundry, and has
led to the revival and perfection of fresco and encaustic
painting, and to the discovery of Sterrio-chromie, - 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 Mihldorf,
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 Frauen Kirche, and the diffuser,
through this and other works, of a strong artistic spirit
and activity among the people; Albert V., a century later,
assembled around him men of learning as his counsellors




KING LUDWIG AND ART.             327
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
these 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
horrors of the Thirty Years' War, building the old
Resedenz, one of the architectural marvels of his century.
And 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.




CHAPTER XXIX.
RETURN TO MUNICH.
November, 1851.-1I 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 beautiful 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 vineyard? 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 Badenischen 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 Parade Platz was the Dutch woman in her picturesque costume, and with her pretty doll-like face,
baking and selling'Waffeln.' All was just as of old,




THE S4GA-SPIRIT OF NATURE.        329
and we walked through it, for Isabel to have a peep
at a German 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 Haardt 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 the castle into a warm grey,
and telling dark against the sunset sky, which was
crimson and amber and lemon color gradating into pale
azure, and flecked with sombre clouds of dusky grey
and dove-color. I never saw the castle look more magnificent; and 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 students' 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 studentlife!
7We 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 scenery. Those round, swelling hills, crowned
with their forests, now gorgeous with autumn coloring,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 borne mourn



330          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
fully by his friends home through these solitudes upon its
bier of branches, and that the trees, and the sky, and the
rivers - all 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 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. But 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.
But 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. But the
quiet of our rooms, a dinner which an English acquaintance cooked yesterday, 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.




THE HOCHEBENE.               331
From Heilbronn we started at six in the morning by
railway for Siissen, where we arrived by nine o'clock. I
saw a Stell-wagen waiting for passengers to NMrdlingen,
and of course supposed it to be the same by which I had
so rapidly travelled in the spring from Nbrdlingen 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
morning.'Yes, for six hours, poor Isabel,' said I, full of compassion; and added, addressing a fellow-passenger,' Not
more than six?'
I 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
returned to its old slow ways.  It crawled up hill and
down; no longer were horses waiting ready harnessed at
the different 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 guzzled beer and the passengers devoured sour-kraut
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




332         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
solitary, dilapidated castle or tower! Now you passed
through a birch-wood, where were charcoal' burners' huts,
and where from the black pyramid of 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
sludge, the bell tolled mournfully through the damp air.
It was All Saints' 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, quaint
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 hideous Madonna and
dead Christ, hung in the corner upon the white-washed
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.




WEARY TRAVELLERS.               333
Once more we stopped 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 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 baneful moonlight- patches of snow
grinning here and there with fearful, cold distinctness.'It is a dream!' exclaimed Isabel, in a weak voice..'I feel so 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 lowspirited, 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 N6rdlingen!' 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 comfortable, soft, white beds looming. out of the
distance, our desolate journey seemed truly a mere dream.
We slept deliciously; and 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 got up, and
were so luxurious even as to order the chambermaid to.




334          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
bring us our breakfasts ready made to us; and thus we
lay and rested. Suddenly we heard from the neighboring
church-tower a most melancholy blast of wind-instruments:
the most soul-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 little, 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; but we seemed to be travelling into the polar regions: snow, snow, snow! One
vast expanse 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 on a little excursion, and were
returning to a home. I did not feel at all excited, only
very happy.' Look, Isabel, out there! Don't 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!'




RETURN TO MUNICH.               335'What a beautiful Stat'on!' exclaimed Isabel, as she
looked up to its rich ceiling of mosaic work of inlaid
woods.'Yes, it is a fit entrance to an Art-City. But 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 -.  Strasse!' 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 -.  Strasse. Out I sprang, ran
up stairs, pulled the well-known bell! The door opened;
there was Madame Thekla!'Ach mein Friulein! Ach Herr Je! Herr Je! mein
Frliulein!' 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
uneasy; — 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!' And down I ran again, and then up
again, rushing against dear old Fr/ulein Sinchen, 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
upon the snow which lay upon the roofs of the houses.




336         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
We drove through the old part of Munich, up the Residenz
Gasse, which was all astir with the corn-market, and
where the old women were as busy as ever in their little
booths among their quaint earthenware, and through the
old gateway of the Rath-Haus, and along the street called
the Thal, 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 neighborhood. 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 accumulate, -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 shoally banks; and we passed the Volks- Theater, and were in the midst of the Au suburb. Isabel
looked everywhere around her, and was vastly amused at
the queer little shops, the grotesque shrines, the fir-trees
stuck up before little public-house doors, and the skeletonlike 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 all this beauty, we spoke




THE AU THEATRE.               337
of the fate of Ohlmiller, who died when scarcely forty
years of age, before he saw this one great work of his
brought to completion; and how he had offered up to it
health and life itself, ascending the spire with incessant
zeal, —he who had been a martyr from his boyhood to
asthma. But 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 edification, 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 handsomely 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 little infant, on its cushion, was placed upon the
altar before the Virgin; the lady and the servant knelt
together and prayed. It was a beautiful little scene.
Leaving the church we went to the Au Theatre. 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
22




338          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 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 hardly a word, she was greatly amused.
We drove home in the mgonlight 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.




CHAPTER XXX.
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
there!'' I will go with you,' said 1,' 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 everburning 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 bridegroom 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




340          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
angels, and martyrs upon the 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 idea of life and marriage.
All formed one of the most mournful scenes I ever witnessed, 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 funeral wreaths and banners: -they were returning from a funeral!
The bridal train descended from the altar, and as they
moved onward 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!
And 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; and yet farther
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 not this a cheerless wedding?




INCURSION OF GERMAN TEACHERS.        341
Novemberllth.-We have had an incursion of German teachers, in reply to Isabel's advertisement in the' Neuesten 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 little 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 mysterious 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 sofas, side by
side, with the untasted breakfast before us, see a young
and prepossessing girl enter very modestly, —we push
the table aside, offer her a seat, and commence the necessary inquiries. We think she will do, and take her
address; still we will not decide until we see who else
offers.                                 1''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!' exclaimed I; and before
the words are spoken, Madame Thekla's head once more
mysteriously 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 keetchin 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 Mad.




342         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
ame Thekla's kitchen, in Madame Thekla's little parlor,
in Madame Thekla's passage, - of teachers standing upon
the stairs!
We grow quite bewildered by nice faces and ugly faces,
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
d 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 laudatory letters from learned professors; by
accounts of lessons given to the, and the ---
and the; by conceit and affectation, and with
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, giving themselves considerably absurd airs, informing us of what excellent and highborn families they were, and how their real reasons for
answering the advertisement was, to practise their English.
Perhaps it might be so 
Our feeling inclined still towards the young girl




THE STUDENT.                 343
who had first applied, - her sweet manner, her shabby
dress and intelligent 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, kind face, and her voice had such a sad echo of
sorrow in it, - 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 under.
stood 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 break.
fast, 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, be.
cause 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 coun.
try: snow lay heavily upon the house-tops, and upon the
different statues in the public squares, and drifted on carts




344         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
and the roofs of carriages. People were wrapped up in
the warmest of cloaks and coats, many with hoods picturesquely drawn over their heads; little lads were busy
with their little wooden sledges; most quaint objects,
many of them, in their hooded cloaks, looking like little
grey, and brown, and black goblins. I greatly enjoyed
my snowy walk; and it 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 Conservatorium,
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 labor, and uncertainty of this phase of human
life, engendering 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 is concerned, really more than the acquisition, - than that which is accomplished.




CHAPTER XXXI.
THE BOISSERLE 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 frescoes of Kaulbach's 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 frescoes of the series. Divided from the
New Pinakothek by a broad public road, and standing in a
garden inclosed 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-colored glass, which give a very
peculiar character to the whole building. The statues of
five-and-twenty artists, from designs by Schwanthaler,
Van Eyck, Memling, Dairer, Holbein, Sch6n, Rubens,
Van Dyck, Velasquez, Murillo, Claude Lorraine, Poussin,
Francia, Angelico da Fiesole, Masaccio, Leonardo da




346          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
Vinci, Perugino Ghirlandajo, Michael Angelo, Raphael,
Titian, Bellini, Andrea del Sarto, Correggio, and Domenichino, 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 celebrated 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 attendants 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 dn into the next room, the first hall of the gallery,
and containing the works of Albert Diirer, of his master
Michael Wohlgemuth, and of Albert Direr'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
Boisseree Gallery.




THE BOISSERJE BROTHERS.            347
This Boisseree Gallery is interesting from many points
of view. When Napoleon had rifled Italy and Germany
of 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
quaint old pictures by an early German master. These
youths were Sulpiz and Melchior Boisseree, together with
their friend Johann Bertram, - all three from the good
old city of Cologne. These quaint pictures in the Paris
gallery reminded the three friends of certain pictures of a
similar character which they remembered to have seen
handing in their childhood dim and forgotten in dusky side
chapels and cloisters in their native city. These memories inflamed their imaginations, whilst their taste and
understandings were being daily developed by 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, and accompanied by Frederick Schlegel, they commenced 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; and 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




348          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
dove-cotes with; of paintings turned into table-tops, and
into screens; of paintings sold at auctions as makeweights, with' lots' of old irof and other rubbish; and
of paintings burnt for fuel. But upon nearer inspection
these proved to be generally 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. But the glory of preserving and
rescuing 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 ofCologne among a heap of lumber, the brothers discovered
one of the gems they were in search of; 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 Minnesinger, sang, in the 13th century, in his romance of' Parcival,' of the glory of certain wonderful painters of
Cologne. Old chroniclers told of certain wonderful painters, 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 Ger.
many has had her Cimabues and Giottos.
Picture after picture thus came forth from its dusky




GLANCE AT THE EARLY FLEMISH SCHOOL.    349
nook — Madonnas, saints, martyrs, burning in rainbow
tints upon their golden grounds; years passed on in zealous labor, in journeys made into the Netherlands in quest
of pictures, in research of all kinds: gradually the Gallery grew and grew. Goethe, Tieck, and Schlegel entering into the Boiserees' 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.
And how bright and clear are these links! First, these
old semi-Byzantine masters of 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 attachment, 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,' declined
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 Perugino and Raphael also.  I-e is a beautiful vision
in this art-history is Memling, with his exquisite tenderness 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.




350           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
Then we have Roger of Bruges, Hugo van der Goes,
and others; Israel van Meckenem; Jahn de Mehlem;
Quintin 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, 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, is this early German and Flemish school,
especially connecting it also with Albert DUrer and his
school.
And to me one of the pleasantest passages in this chapter is the thought of the intense joy which must have
transported the Boisseree brothers, as one after another
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 this 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 Boisser~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 out of 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




THE BOISSER1E GALLERY IN THE PINAKOTHEK. 351
are old men all of them, Sret 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 stolen from peacocks, doves, and parrots!
Now we encounter fabulous scaly, green, scarlet, and
azure dragons; but gallant youthful knights and angels,
clad in armor 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
dragon! - he is writhing in his death agony I And 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, wainscotted rooms do we not repose ourselves —
what shady courts or crowded quaint city streets do we not
gaze into through round-arched windows, sitting in upon
scarlet-cushioned window-seats. and breathing the perfumed breath of some tall white lily rising out of a crystal
or golden vase! And 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-colored
draperies.
And above all, do not our spirits take flight through the




352          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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. And now we toil up arid mountains,
where the grass grows hask and yellow, and where here
and there a 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
quaint hamlets, 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, pilgrimage through the meads and valleys, passing
on 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 gat, 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 odors float through their pure skies, thus their birds




MIEMLING S ADORATION OF THE MAGI.      353
carol vernal songs, their leaves and flowers sprout and
unfold themselves in vernal sunshine.
There are three little pictures of Memling, before which
we must especially' pause. They are well known by
engravings, but without having seen the brilliancy of the
color, and the delicacy and purity of the manipulation, but
a faint idea can be formed of the peculiar charm of these
pictures. In the 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
represented as taking place in a singular abode - a ming.
ling 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.
And one's eye wanders now through the porphyry
columns into a farther and much gloomier apartment,
where a bright fire burns. This dark room is divided by a
low lath-and-plaster partition from the stable; and upon this
partition is perched a pair of doves. It is extraordinary
the detail of every kind crowded into these old pictures.
And through the round arched window of the stable, and
through the open door-way 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
23




354          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
beach-tree, spreading its verdant crown against the deepest, clearest, azure sky. A quaint town, of Lombardic 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 Gaspar,
Melchior, and Balthasar, three kings, now entering the
ruin to adore the meek and heavenly Infant.  Gaspar,
the eldest of the three, has a wrinkled brow and a benign
aspect. He kneels before the Child, his aged hands folded
together in quiet prayer. He wears a long scarlet, jewelclasped, and fur-trimmed tunic, bound round the waist.
At his knee lies his violet velvet gold-embroidered cap of
mediaeval cut. Melchior has sunk upon one knee on enter.
ing 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
Gaspar. 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 a sleeve and hose
of deep blue velvet, and a gorgeously-wrought dagger
hanging at his side. Crisp, wavy brown hair parts upon
his forehead, flowing backward on to the shoulders, and a
pointed beard gives 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; and 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




MEMLING'S ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST.       355
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
silvery, slimy track behind him. How lovely in these
pictures are such little bits of nature, connecting us with
the ideal of the middle ages through these simple weeds
and flowers, and the tiny creatures dwelling among them,
which, 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 browrn eyes, pointing with his meagre fingers
towards a gentle little lamb, which lies upon a scarletbound volume, supported on his left hand. It is in a
meadow of rich grass gand flowers where St. John is stand.
ing; 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 sand. 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.




356           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
ing distance. There is a quiet lake lying amid smiling
meadows; a quaint 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 flight of birds.
In the other compartment of the little shrine we see
St. Christopher approaching us through the transparent,
sparkling waves, which are just murmuring into tranquillity after the recent tempest. The uprising sun gilds
with warm 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 upraised 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. But
words can convey no image of the magic splendor 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 of Angelico which the Pinakothek contains,
and has always strangely affected me. In Memling and
Van Eyck our sympathies with the natural world are es



ANGELICO'S ENTOMIBMENT OF CHRIST.        357
pecially 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-color drawing. The colors 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. The lifeless form of Christ, supported behind by
Joseph of Arimathea, rises in the centre, pale and stark;
the wondrously noble head bowed on the breast, the
eyelids with the shadow of death upon them - the whole
tender, mournful, 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 rosecolored and pale blue drapery.  And 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 Angelico's. A golden
star gleams upon the shoulder of the Virgin.  Behind the
figures rises the grey, formal sepulchre cut in the rock,
above which 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!




CHAPTER XXXII.
SLEDGING.
November 22d. —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 with unfallen snow.
We felt certain that sledges must soon make their
appearance, 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 had our drive
in a sledge it also should be towards Nymphenburg, in
memory of Hildegard and Hamilton's misfortunes.
And 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 voice, 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!' And 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




SLEDGING.                 359
of fir-trees, and was enjoying the purity, and silence, and
beauty of the whole scene, a sharp, clear sound of bells
rang through the frosty air; and skimming along the
white smooth road which wound among the trees, came
on a bright green and golden 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 little 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 droschkies, ditto fiacresditto 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
droschkies 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 stand



360          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
ing up behind, d-la-Hansomn-cab, and cracking their long
lashed whips till the 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 Ilof-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




STREET-WQOD CUTTERS.             361
both drew along and pushed. The sledges were not few
in number, and the procession was rendered yet more
fantastic from gay-colored dresses and white petticoats,
borne aloft like pennons upon long poles! All bright and
freshl in the clear winter's morning, their comely faces
glowing with exercise and the sharp air, their gowns and
gay handkerchiefs as clean and bright as their faces, these
laundress-maids and matrons looked wondrously attractive.
Just picture to yourself this train winding along.through
the old street, white and crisjp 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 quaint 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 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 boddices,
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, and casting long gleams on the studio floor through the high
windows, my eyes glanced up and encountered, smiling
through leafless branches flecked with snow, such a lapislazuli heaven that I forthwith put away my drawing, and
some twenty minutes later stood in our little sitting-room,




362          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
startling Isabel with my exclamation of' On with your
cloak! quick! quick! we will go in a sledge to Nymphenburg! - Hurrah for Hamilton and Hildegard, we will
honor their memories by the self-same drive, on the selfsame day!' Isabel was much pleased with the scheme.
Fraulein Sanchen was dispatched to bring us the handsomest sledge she could find on the stand, with two hand.
some 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 musical and significant jingling of bells was heard beneath our windows.
Our 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 colors, greens, and salmons; the
tall roofs were dazzling with snow; the sledges and
groups of people we passed in the streets looked brilliant




SLEDGING.                   363
patches of colors, 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 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 sun-beams lay
upon the broad doors of the 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 coloring, yet, at the same time, so distinct in their
contour, that one was transported with delight.
We passed beneath one of those long beams sus.
pended across the roads, painted with winding stripes
of the Bavarian colors, 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 Allee, 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




364         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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, hair of man and beast,
and the fur of their cloaks and trappings, 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
continued our drive. We drove past the Basilica, across
the Dult Platz, and through the most frequented streets
till we entered the Ludwig Strasse, which, in winter, is
the great afternoon parade of Munich. People, as usual,
were promenading 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 Ludwig Strasse 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 Damen Stift, 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




SLEDGING.                 365
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. And this was the more unkind,
as I discovered that this day happened to be her birthday!
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 dispatched 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 conscience 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 Odeon Platz, - 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 hardworking English girls, has taken a great fancy to them,




366        AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 Friiulein 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 grey goblins,' as
hand-in-hand they stood upon the pavement, 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
Strasse, the portly figure of the gay Frau Oberstin had
appeared among the ivy-wreaths of her window, the case.
ment had flown open, and the good-humored 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 Friiulein
S/inchen's purposely deaf ears, with the cry of' We
come, we come!'
And assuredly they did come! Anna, listening to the
old Friulein's description of the Frau Oberstin's sudden
apparition 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 Adelbert 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 Adelbert, my Wiirmchen,
didn't you want a drive in the beautiful sledge?  Oh!




UNINVITED GUESTS.              367
we'll have such a charming drive, won't we, dear young
ladies!' exclaimed the good Oberstin, with the most delightful self-assurance.
A cloud passed over our brows; but the Frau Oberstin
wore such an elegant blonde veil, and little Adelbert was
so blinded by his curls and his feathers, that probably
neither of them could see the dark looks of their proposed
companions.' We are going to make a call upon Madame de  —.,'
observed Anna, in a cold voice.' 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 dare say 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
Adelbert 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,




36S          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 Au-Meister
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 speedi-g.
Away we dashed through the streets, every body turn.
ing round to admire the splendid sledge, across the Odeon
Platz, where stand the statues of Gluck and Orlando di
Lasso, which to-day in the sunshine looked extremely
well, as you caught the gleam of their tawny bronze
against a back-ground of dazzling snow and a heaven of
summer blue; and through the archway of the Arcade we
dash into the Hof-Garten. 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 fagade gay with decorations
in a style to my taste too much resembling French plumbbox ornament; but which, nevertheless, looked bright aad
cheerful in the wintry weather. Before us lies a long,
white, many-windowed building, with steep and dormerwindowed roofs - a barracks. Behind us, and to our left
hand, the arcade, the frescoes and dull scarlet walls, and
groups of statuary which shine out, from beneath long
rows of rounded arches, pleasantly enough, as you catch
transient glimpses of them between the leafless trees.
This Hof-Garten 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




SLEDGING.                 369
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 nurse-maid.
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 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,' today we shall meet the Royal sledges; they are a fine
sight! And wte look so handsome, with these dear children, that really I should not object to it!'
-But we did not meet the Royal sledges.
iWe 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 boles 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
24




370          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 sun-beams, flashed out from
an over-hanging branch like a diamond dagger.
We met many sledges so bright in color, 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 adorn the pleasant garden. That large
flaunting sledge, yellow' picked' out' with red, must be
a tulip; that comfortable, 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.leasant, 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 gradation 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 tHymen as depicted in
valentines, and towards which a very yellow-haired and




THE AU-MEISTER.                371
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 summerhouses 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 sparkling 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 Au-Meister!' hat is the Au-Meister?' asked we, full of curiosity.'Only a little Wirthshaus!' returned the Frau Oberstin.'Very good coffee at the Au-Meister! 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.




CHAPTER XXXIII.
A STUDENTS' TORCH PROCESSION.
December 1st. - Frau v. Amsel brought us word today that there would be this evening a torch-procession of
the students in honor of one of the favorite 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 Ludwig Strasse
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 Damens Stift, 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 Ludwig Strasse, 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




A STUDENTS' TORCH PROCESSION.          373
attired in hooded cloaks, or in black velvet coats, and each
student wearing a small tricolor skull-cap of the colors
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 tricolor 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 tricolor
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 favorite
Professor.
The ruddy torch-light flAred upon the groups of spectators crowding the causeways; upon the sepctators 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
srender 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 proportions, closely-cropped red hair
and burly beard, and gleaming broad-sword, showed forth
wildly in the unearthly light like those of some old German




374         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
knight of the middle ages. Further down the street the
torches flitted and danced like hundreds of fire-flies.
Leaving the Ludwig Strasse 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 tjheir 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 windows 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'Musen-sihne,' 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 honor
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 humble 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




A STUDENTS' TORCH PROCESSION.       375
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
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 signors clash their swords together; there is
a loud but brief hurrah! the music bursts forth once
more; again the professor 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 studentdeputies 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 Guadeanius 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 falling, 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 crowds.




376         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
December 2d. - Isabel is bending down over her slate,
writing various profound questions out of Ollendorf's
Grammar about' Have you my ass's hay? No, I have
not your ass's hay; but I have the hay of my neighbor's
ass.' She is everlastingly puzzling her brain 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; and after dinner, when in a very lazy mood we
were lying each upon our sofa, and had commissioned
Friulein Siinchen 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




PUBLIC EXECUTIONS.             377
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.'Friulein Sinchen,' 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
Theresien Wiese.''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
ordinary excitement.'Certainly,' she replied: she had witnessed the executions 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 ago.
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 rumors 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 deputed officials. And when one
meets with instances of women, usually tender-hearted,
such as Fraulein Sinchen, hastening  to witness one
public execution after another with gusto, one desires




378          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
that the law were already passed. From  Friulein Sinchen I derived the following ghastly picture.
Early in the forenoon the condemned criminal is con.
ducted 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 crime; he is seated
in a peasant's wagon; two priests attend him, —Catholie, if he be Catholic, - Lutheran, if he be Lutheran.
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 condemnation 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 procession moves onwards;
the multitude grows and grows.
What a mighty ocean of spectators are awaiting the
procession upon the Theresien Wiese 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; and beside the bier
stand gendarmes.  The criminal, in his grey fiock, and
with his staring labelled breast and back, ascends the
scaffold. The man in black comes forward, beseeching pardon from the miserable man 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 muscles




PUBLIC EXECUTIONS.              379
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!




CHAPTER XXXIV.
STREET-AIUSIC. - THE ANTIGONE.
December tlth. — Yesterday morning, Isabel heard for
the first time mass performed in the Hof-Kapelle: those
grand chants pealing through the golden and frescoed
galleries affected her imagination as much as I had expected. After we came out of the chapel we did as the
rest of Munich did, went to hear the military band play at
12 o'clock, beneath the Feldherrn-Halle, as it is called,
- a beautiful portico which terminates the Ludwig Strasse,
at the end opposite to the Sieges-Thor. This portico is
very beautiful, built by Gartner, upon the plan of Orcagna's Logia dei 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 WVrede.
Beneath the Logia the military band of the HauptWach plays every day at 12 o'clock, and as they play
remarkably well, and choose good music, it 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 F1lte,' and imagine the street -square,
almost one must call it — the Ludwig Strasse having




STREET MUSIC.               381
widened out here into the Odeon Platz- 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 very gay in color, and picturesque in
cut of garb. 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 colors combined, tell out very gaily.
Many of them also wear Bernouses, lined with blue or
crimson like a woman's cloak; those who wear neither
Bernouse nor mantle will have a bright-colored scarf
twisted round their throats, deep-blue, or green, or particolored. 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, an onward
look of' Excelsior' is given to many a face. But all the
students' countenances are not beautiful, or 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 Exqui.
sites 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 felthats
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




382          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
waistcoats, 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 felthat, with a gold tassel, a black boddice, 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 towards the
windows from the crowd below. And 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.
But 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 Theatine Church,
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, his good sermon to the good
respectable congregation which constitutes the English
Church at Munich.
I must confess we had felt rather wicked as we encountered on our way to the H-of-Kapelle all the good English
folks wending their way thither;  English embassy in its
carriages, all bright, and respectable, and solemn - English of lower degree on foot, all recognisable from solem.
nity, respectability, and by what the Frenchman called'mutton-chop whiskers.'




THE ANTIGONE.                383
The crowd dispersing from the twelve o'clock music,
usually betakes itself on Sundays to the Kunst-Verein -
Art-Union Exhibition, which is open all the year through
in rooms over the Hof-Garten 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 honor 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 forward. King Max and his Queen, and Prince Adlebert,
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,




384          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
approached by a flight of steps, where the play itself was
performed. A screen rose between the two stages, and
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 foreboding 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 Christ. It has been prophesied to
Lagos, King of Thebes, that his future son shall be his
destroyer. Thus when his wife Jocasta bears him a son,
OCdipus, Lagos has him exposed upon a rock to perish.
The child, however, is saved, and grows up into a youth.
(Edipus, accidentally meeting his unknown father, slays
him, and having solved the enigma of the Sphynx, is
raised by the Theban people to the throne bf his slain
father, and then marries Jocasta, his own mother. Four
children are born to them, Eteocles and Polynices, sons -
Antigone and Ismene, daughters. The soothsayer, Teire.
sias, revealing these fearful relationships to CEdipus,
CEdipus puts out his eyes, and wandering forth in his
misery, dies. Jocasta hangs herself; Eteocles and Polynices contend about the government of Thebes. Civil
war ensues -the brothers slay each other, and the whole
land is overwhelmed with a great distress; Creon, brother
to the dead Jocasta, seizes upon the sceptre. At this
point the drama of Sophocles commences. Creon has




THE ANTIGONE.                 385
issued a command that no one shall inter the corpse of
Polynices, the betrayer of his country: this, according to
antique feelings, being the 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 Creon.
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 Creon, 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 drear, wintry forest.
Slowly the portals of the Palace swing back upon their
hinges, and, attended by four white-robed youths, Creon
appears, majestic. A heavy mantle of rich Tyrian purple sweeps around him; his glossy black curls are com-.
pressed beneath a simple circlet of gold; his nervous,
2.q




386          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 Polynices.  His
accents are few and stern.
A messenger arrives in haste. HI-e ascends the flight of
steps; he pauses, leans on his spear, and speaks — the
body has been interred!
Creon, 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
forward by a soldier. She is accused; she declares her
deed, and her readiness to suffer for it. Creon, 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, as she 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 destiny of her whole race: hef'Woe! oh, woe!' moans around. She is led off by
guards. Two youths follow her, bearing water in a golden
ewer, and bread in a basket; for 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




THE ANTIGONE.                387
sheathed sword swings from his girdle. He pleads with
the stern King by eloquent words and gestures: but the
King remains unmoved. The youth, concealing his face
in his mantle, retires. He is Harmon, —the betrothed of
Antigone, the son of King Creon.
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. Creon
relents.
The chorus rejoice, crowning themselves with garlands,
and hymning praises to Bacchus, the tutelary god of
Thebes.
Again a messenger! He demands Queen Eurydice..The Queen, attended by her ladies, comes forth from her
palace. It is to learn that Huemon, her beloved and
beautiful son, has burst into the cavern in search of
Antigone, has found her dead 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 and slowly up the flight
of steps. Creon, divested of his golden diadem, his face
haggard and woe-stricken, aided by mournful 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 nmantle. Creon bows over the
corpse. He is no longer the haughty monarch, but rather
seems some miserable spectre bending there in his white
garments; all the pomp of royalty has fallen from him;
all that remains is the agonized human being. His face




388          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 Eurydice - dies by her own
hand. Creon staggers towards her like one in a bewildered 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 colors, of most harmonious arrangements, and, made of soft fine woollen, fell in folds of
serene and purest beauty. The draperies had been arranged by Kaulbach.




CHAPTER XXXV.
VISIT TO THE GREAT BRONZE FOUNDRY.
December 19th. —We have been to the great Bronze
Foundry to-day. This Foundry is situated on the outskirts of the city, in the road leading to the Palace of
Nymphenburg.  I took with me a card of introduction
from Dr. F.; for I had a desire to see, and have some
conversation with, Ferdinand Miller the inspector, and the
man through whose patience and energy all those great
and difficult works have been accomplished.
Approaching the workshops standing in their desolate
inclosure, 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 artisan 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 inclosure.
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 Ludwig Strasse.
These grim gigantic beasts, gazing down with their large
bronze countenances, seemed the tutelary gods of the
place, and the hum and metallic vibration which filled the
air, the hymning of their worshippers. WVorkrnen were
busy filing and polishing their colossal forms, smoothing
their vast sides, and rasping their golden manes. Work



390          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
men were filing and polishing portions also of other
statues. Here was a diademed colossal head of Charle'
magne; 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 Bohemian Valhalla. What a rasping and filing! what a
murmur and metallic vibration!  Keen-eyed, dexterousfingered 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 Retzch's Illustration to
the Song of the Bell: ihere were the same groups, the
same heads, the same attitudes, and added to these, color,
light, shade, and motion.
The man 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 be.
neath its wooden tower, and how fortunate I considered
myself to have witnessed last year its great day of triumph; and when I said how deeply I respected and admired the exertions of the' Herrn-Inspector,' and spoke of
the interest which both I and my companion 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 cast



VISIT TO THE GREAT BRONZE FOUNDRY.    391
ing 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 which is 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, portions of the
various moulds for the head and arms of the 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 of beautiful form were yet conspicuous, - an
heroic helmet, or a nobly formed and sandalled foot.
But 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, and that 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 had come up, as perhaps befitted one who
had just paid Neptune a visit in his submarine haunts, a




392          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
hero clothed in garments of green, the salt water having
oxydized the metal.
In company with Gustavus Adolphus stands Herder the
poet; and the musical composer Orlando di Lasso, leaning on his lute, the Poet of Melody, (Ton Dichter,) 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.
Here were, again, Retzch-like groups. A young man
was bending over the clay-model of a door preparing for
the Au Church, and which represented Ohlmiiller 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 encircled 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 begrimmed walls had witnessed. Schwanthaler, and Stiglmayer, 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




VISIT TO THE GREAT BRONZE FOUNDRY.    393
the Bavaria's chest and 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 labor, of wearing anxiety, of bodily
fatigue, of accomplished resolve, and of glorious triumph,
have passed away between these high, grey, dreary-looking walls!
Such scenes were passing before my imagination, when
I saw 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 ordinary
workman; but there was the stamp of education upon
him, and the determined 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 MayFestival at Starnberg.' Have I not the happiness and honor of addressing the
Herrn Inspector, Ferdinand Miller?' said I,- with doubtless 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



394          AN ART-STUDENT IN MIUNICH.'There it burned and smouldered whilst we' watched
below; yes, it was a time never to be forgotten- a fearful experience!'
Of this and many other things we talked; and 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!




CHAPTER XXXVI..CHRISTMAS-DAY — A CHRISTMAS-TREE IN A BEAUTIFUL
HOME.
Christmas-Day, 1851. - Someway a strange fear seemed to have possessed me this beautiful Christmas-day,
when such rumors of revolution are abroad- a fearful
despondency lest the power of evil were about for a time
to attain awful ascendancy. 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 has suggested. But of Christ's own pure, blessed
words there were no questionings.




396          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 vile renaissance style - all scrollwork, gliding, and flutter. Round the walls, in each of
the eight compartments where were no shrines or altars,
are aYranged large oil-paintings illustrating the life of St.
Francis. All the ornaments are vile, judged by one's
standard of purity, beauty, and simplicity; still this morning the effect was poetical: the chapel seemed a gorgeous
grotto -an incrustation of gold and bright-colored 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 which floated
upwards, and through which glittered the golden stars
which 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 that ignorant 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




A CHRISTMAS-TREE IN A BEAUTIFUL HOME.   397
mattered it? 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




:198        AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 att6ntion 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
given 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. Little 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 little quaint black
velvet tunics. Now they were clapping their hands and
peeping round the lovely mysterious 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 ytuths with swarthy faces, black eyes, and scarlet
fezes. They were the nine noble Egyptian youths sent
over by the Pacha of Egypt to study at Munich. There
was Salem Salem Awad, son of a great philosopher and
poet; Prince Murad Ibrahim, son of Pascha Amurad;
Prince Hassan Hassan, son of an Admiral and Pascha;
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 towards 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.




A CHRISTMAS-TREE IN A BEAUTIFUL HOME.   399
We two foreigners were introduced to the Egyptians;
and again nine pair of dark eyes glittered, and nine scar.
let 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 iound her
sweet pale face: she resembled a delicate blush-rose.
Coffee was handed round to us by the mustachioed servant, whilst one of the five daughters presented to each of
the company most delicious cakes, which were heaped up
in a perfect mountain upon a rich 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
houries.
During this coffee-drinking, behind the folding-doors
which divided the two saloons, the Christmas-tree was
being lighted by Heinrich von, and all the small
children in the company forgot their coffee in a state of
delightful excitement. At length the doors were flung
open - everybody set down their coffee-cups and moved
to the door-way: there burnt the magical tree as if de.
scended from fairy land. A tall tree it was, pyramidal in




400         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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; 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
frescoes by Kaulbach, and the luxuriant 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 exclamation of delight.
And the smiling blush-rose, Hildegard, presented to
each guest a graceful little present from the trees one
received a gaily-gilt case of bon-bons tied with red rib.
bon; another a queer little fishing-basket filled with
chocolate fish; and so on.
People had subsided into conversation, when a gen.
tleman, 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 Fallmerayer, the man alone second to Humboldt; he is
Knight of the Bath, and possesses almost every decoration from almost every court in Europe, but to-night he
only wears one decoration- did not you notice it




A CHRISTMAS-TREE IN A BEAUTIFUL HOME.   401
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 burning with
desire to see the great man for these months 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 be.
fore Isabel and myself, holding by the hand a very
amiable-looking gentleman,-' The Father!' said she:
and we were most 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 Christrnas 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
26




402          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
in the evening; they said she had been from her childhood the most richly-endowed of them  all; and with
the tenderest love they pointed out to us her portrait
when a child, painted upon the wall by Neureuther,
and looking forth pensively from amid the rich festoons
of foliage which surround her.
With Isabel, Emilia talked much about this beautiful
Ludmnilla; 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, deco.
rated 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
Egyptians.'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? HIow 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 London,' 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 yourng lady in the




NINE NOBLE EGYPTIANS.            403
lilac dress, sitting there in the corner of the divan, has
seen and sp)oken 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 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
wandered away to the Alps; and 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
Edel-.weiss, (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 Edel-weiss,
which I wore all the evening.




404          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 and abundant 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 from what a supper-table in
England at Christmas-time, in a family of equal considera.
tion, would have been: it was much less sumptuous and
costly, and there was no decoration of one's well-beloved
old holly; but the hospitality, the grace, and the refine.
ment, 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 alternately with the blond-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
entertaining 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
apartment, 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




A GROUP WORTHY OF ETTY.          405
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.




CHAPTER XXXVII.
STREET PICTURES. -' THE FRANCISCAN IS THERE!'-WE
REACH NYMPHENBURG.
January 1Oth, 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 coloring — fill a sketch-book with them, calling
them prismatic colors from the streets.
Here is a picture d 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- approaching 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




STREET PICTURES.              407
that her face is quite in shadow. Her head is bundled up
in a brilliant crimson handkerchief, her body is bundled
up in a cloak of the richest ultra-marine. 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-colored 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 color and harmonious
richness of the whole group was inconceivable.
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-colored 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 gracefuilly
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-colored 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 unguided
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:




408         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 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; rosycheeked, bright-eyed little maidens, bundled up in warm
cloaks and funny little fur-trimmed hoods. A cheerylooking 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 thrustinto
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 Fr ulein was the Franciscan!'
This was because I had knocked at the door before
entering, I found. Her neighbors never knocked; but




'THE FRANCISCAN IS THERE!'        409
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 them.
selves, their German became 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.''Abrdumen'
seemed the great word of all.'Jo, jo, abriumen; 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 e'ars, and a white
cloth tied over her head. It was also the staple of discourse with the burly, fat, gruff-voiced woman who pos.
sessed 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,
Fraiulein, please to wait a moment; the gracious Franciscan is there!'
I smelt even upon the threshold of the house a delicious
odor 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




410         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 gateway; the boy swinging his
censer; the Franciscan turning 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 - Gaspar, Melchior, and Baltharyer.'
I finld, 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 invitations given by the blue sky!
Therefore we set out to choose the sledge ourselves this




TO NYMPHENBURG.               411
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 Odeon
Platz 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 vexation:'how very disagreeable!''Never mind, Isabel,' returned I, with a natural perversity, 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 droschkedrivers and gentlem'en. 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.




Q412         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
Isabel is immediately at the side of the sledge, and
prepares 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 openmouthed.'Sophien Strasse!' cry we; and away we
dash at 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
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 Sophien Strasse, where the
Amsels live.
Meta and Lina, however, could not accompany us.
CThey 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 Friulein Lina and
FrAiulein Meta were gone to order flower-wreaths for the
Fraiulein 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, -




WE REACH NYMPHENBURG.             413'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, their rugged
sides fretted with patches of snow and ice; and a vast
snowy 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 Nym.
phenburg?' 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.




414         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
We jolted through villages, where there were gaunt
farm-houses covered with very queer frescoes, and where
quaint pumps and dove-cotes adorned ghastly farm-yards;
and where churches with very quaint towers, crowned
with little red domes, rose amid gaunt crosses; and at
length we entered a noble avenue of limes.
The leafless branches interlaced lovingly, forming overhead an exquisite, rich tracery; and the stems and twigs
looked richly brown and ruddy amidst the snowy landscape. 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 towards us- the streak of orange still
resting behind them, and a dark stretch of gloomy pineforest extending across the middle distance. A peasant.
woman in a fur cap and pink boddice 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 semi-circle 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 windows 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 semi-circular, unaccountable village of palaces, or of palace out-buildings
it is. Out-buildings they certainly must be, for manureheaps grace certain doors. I must not forget to tell you




WE REACH NYMPHENBURG.            415
that in front of this semi-circle were frozen ponds, end.
ing 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 splendor of the palace; which, however,
might attract us, perhaps, when summer should come.
Until then we would now bid adieu, therefore, to Nymphenbhirg, with its wonderful gardens —of which we
caught a shivering glance - where rows of naked statues,
and vases and urns filled with snow, made us feel yet
colder than before. And 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
towards Munich.
We were very cold, and somewhat disappointed in the
external 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.




CHAPTER XXXVIII.
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 Friiulein S/inchen. 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 conflagration. 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 Friulein 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




A GREAT FIRE AT NIGHT.            417
quest of the fire; now a heavy cart rumbled and jolted
and 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 intensely blue sky rose the ruddy illumined towers.
of the Frauen Kirchle, 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; and
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 Sendlinger
Strasse. 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 everywhere.
The fire is in the rear of the brewery; the malt-house is
27




418          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
burning; the flames have just burst through the roof. We
have found a capital standing-place within the wide courtyard of a conventual-looking building, and one which
commands 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 fruittrees, 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 manservant, in the crowd, and joining their party, sent home
poor old Friulein Sinchen to inform Isabel that I should
probably not return till the morning, as we were intending
to see everything 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




A GREAT FIRE AT NIGHT.             419
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
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 bly the sudden
raining down, from above our heads, of a host of firebuckets, which had doubtless hung for years idly upon the
ceiling of the court-yard gateway.
I greatly desired to see people handing along the bucketfuls 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, 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 of 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




420          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 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 wrapt 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 infinitum. 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 manuscript,
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




A GREAT FIRE AT NIGHT.            421
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 Staats
Gebdude (Government building) is untouched, but the
roof of the brewery has fallen in with a tremendous crash;
the gables stand up like golden 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 past. 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 neighboring church-spire, which had risen above the
conflagration illumined with orange and scarlet light,
seeming at times, surrounded with flames, and with its




422          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
burning cresset, like a martyr crowned with a celestial
star, and rising towards heaven fromn a bed of fire, now
paled into an ordinary church-steeple, shone upon by an
ordinary moon. Moonlight 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
discolored 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 MIrs. 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.




CHAPTER XXXIX.
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 over head 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 Amsels, who
died so suddenly, was lying at the Dead-House: and 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 pathway; 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 encountered the throng, and the people
stepped aside upon the spongy graves as it passed, bowing
before the upraised crucifix.




42r4        AN ART-STUDENT IN MIUNICH.
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; and
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 inftheir open coffins supported upon biers. I
suppose they had been brought out for burial. However,
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: but 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 tricolor 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 peasantwoman 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.           425
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, old face; her feet poked out of the coffin in a
pair of stuffed 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 into 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!' rem'arked a jolly redfaced 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 Braut (betrothed 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




426          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
odor of death, — that fearful odor which once breathed
can never more be forgotten. Looking within, I saw 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 of 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
affecting 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



A VISIT TO THE DEAD-HOUSE.         X 427
aged, glaring 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 excitement and pastime. I felt a real 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 unsympathizing
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 deadhouse had left upon me.




428         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
January 15th. - About a week ago a baby was born
in this house; and to-day was the christening. Isabel was
curious to see the ceremony, and mentioning her curiosity
to Madame Thekla, Madame Thekla mentioned it to the
nurse, the nurse mentioned it to the lady, and the lady,
through Madame Thekla, sent us an invitation. This lady
is the Frau Majorin von Schwerdt. She, her husband,
and children, we know very well by sight, but our acquaintance went, until to-day, no farther 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 gentlemen 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 falls and caps, stood in a semicircle; and within the semi-circle was a table covered
with white linen, and 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 little chrysalis of pink satin
and lace. And the priest blesses the infant, laying it in
its chrysalis upon the altar before him, and reads the
Latin service out of his missal; and the godmother re



A VISIT TO THE NEWLY-BORN.             429
peats the responses for the little babe, the little Emma
Maria Theresa - and the priest breathes upon the infant's
brow in token of 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. And the priest lays salt within her
little lips that she may love the taste of wisdom, and that
God may preserve her from corruption and the foulness of
sin. And the priest denounces the devil; and 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;
and the priest changes his blue 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. And
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. And the priest anoints her
with the holy chrysm, 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 hier 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 baptized and received into God's fold.
The old priest delivered, after these ceremonies, a short
address to the little assembly upon the significance of the
rite; then bowed to the father Major v. Scherwdt: a hum




430         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
of conversation was heard, and the little brothers of the
newly christened Emma Maria Theresa ran about the
room in unrestrained glee.
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 door-way.
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, and 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-colored chrysalis.
We returned to our little abode in the upper etage,
feeling a new interest in our'neighbors.




CHAPTER XL.
THE CASTING OF THE SEIGES-THOR, BAVARIA.
January 22d. -At eleven o'clock this day, the casting
of the principal portions of the Seiges. Thor, 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 gentlemen were walking beneath the trees which
line the road. All were bound like ourselves for the
foundry; all turned down the Erz-giesserei, 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, and its long snake-like
pipe stretching up to the huge roof of the castinghouse, where it lay in watchfulness 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




432         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
the vast desolate hall, which is supported by many
square brick-work piers.
A rude stage was erected opposite the furnace, in
which were congregated a number of people, principally ladies.  But before we take our stand there,
we will inspect the furnace somewhat more closely.
Wild orange-colored flames roared through its narrow
niche-like windows, leaping 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 furnace lay the earthen
mould, built into it in fact, with a narrow channel left
round it, into which the molten metal was to flow.
Three long chains of ponderous links descended from
the dusk void, the orange and scarlet glare flashing and
resting upon them; two-thirds up the three chains seemed
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,
accompanied by the fourth august white-robed form. I
thought of the horrible death of Robert in Retzsch's
designs for' 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 color and by Rembrandtesque light and shadow.
Up rises the furnace-door; forth rush curling waves of
fire, with fiery surf scattered around; blinding, glaring,




THE CASTING OF THE SIEGES-THOR, BAVARIA. 433
orange light broadly falling upon the dusky workmen,
who, shading their averted faces with their gloved hands
and slouching hat-brims, excite and teaze the devouring
element with their long poles. And Ferdinand Miller is
ever near to the gaping jaws of the firnace, directing and
superintending; his face glowing in the intense heat, his
brow beaded with sweat. The rough walls of the furnace
rise duskly in the lurid haze; crimson and orange light
glares from the windows in wondrous gradation up the
walls, until lost in cold darkness, where, through dimly
discerned rafters and scaffolding, gleam two long narrow
streaks of daylight. 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 leaning against walls and brick columns; it
illumes them with a magic brilliancy, which is rendered
at certain points yet more wonderful, from cool blue daylight 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 sceptred 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
28




434          AN.ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 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
preparations for safety are made; should any danger
occur I will inform you; but keep quiet, I pray you all.
By all means 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 imprisoned 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 uncovered; heads are bowed; and
there, within the forbidden circle of the workmen, near to




THE CASTING OF THE SIEGES-THOR, BAVARIA. 435
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; 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. An.
other 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
furnace is illumined with a wondrous, hazy violet light;
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 Sieges-Thor, Bavaria.




CHAPTER XLI.
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 street, the warm glow of lights which gleamed
from the long rows of windows in the Odeon welcomed
us with a delicious hospitality.
It might have truly been a London train of carriages
that extended from the Odeon afar up the street, so long
and closely packed was it. And 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 entrance 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.
But 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 Byzan



THE ARTISTS' MASKED BALL.           437
tine arches of white and gold, and with delicate vermilion
tracery 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 graceful
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 decora.
tions - 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
color 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 mediteval costume. In the very
front of the platform 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




438        1 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
of bladders of color, architects' rules, compasses - a glorious array of artistic tools. Ivy sprays, and wreaths of
pine and moss, 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 color. The
gentlemen received their caps with their tickets, and these
caps were simple enough in form, but of two most vividlycofitrasting colors — 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 medieval cut,
covered with gold and silver bells, embroidery, flowers and
feathers, to an ordinary evening head-dress rendered
Carnivalesque 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 cock's feathers; there
were caps of scarlet, of blue, of amber, of pink; there
were parti-colored caps, and tri-colored 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 expression; there were hundreds and




FOOLS' CAPS.                439
hundreds of costumes -costumes, it would seem, of every
era and every country beneath the sun!
Here comes a solemn Arab Sheik ard 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 red shirt, with his lowcrowned hat, and a pipe in his mouth. This must surely
be Albrecht Durer himself! Look at his mild, calm face
beneath that beetling black velvet cap! look at his short
fur-trimmed cloak of chocolate color 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 legions; here are pilgrims, knights,
troubabours, 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 favorite 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




440         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 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
crowing, the flapping, the whispering, the piping; louder
and louder, madder and madder!
But 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 exquisite
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; the 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
drapery 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 scallopped jerkins
flying in the wind! They fling bon-bons among the
crowd, they fling humorous mottoes, they jingle their
bells, they rattle their wooden clappers! They leap, tumrn
ble, spring from the platform down among the multitude!




NIEBELUNGEN HEROES.              441
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 that noble figure clad in
gold tissue, and crowned with a tiara of orange and scarlet
feathers! They are representatives of the various Mexican tribes; their black locks are confined 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 trowsers 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. And a wonderfully
arranged Indian procession it is.
But on, on, come yet other strange forms: a band of
hunters and warriors of the far-off Niebelungen time. It
took one's very breath away with surprise, as warrior after
warrior marched along 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
looked a portion 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 around 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 round the loins with jewelled




442         AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
girdles, from which depended dqggers 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 of untanned leather or scarlet. On their backs
were slung huge horns, spoils of the Auer-Ochs, from
which to quaff mighty draughts of mead. In their hands
some bore long hunting spears, others quaint primeval
musical instruments, violins of marvellous slimness, with
a most small allowance of strings, and which made
strange, sweet, small music, tiny flutes and wondrously
constructed drums, all murmuring and muttering of longdeparted 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. And marvellous were
the whirling 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 nineteenth 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 enchanted 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! And look at that scarlet
fellow nursing his legs as he sits upon that flight of steps,




ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE.             443
and swinging his body backwards and forwards, whilst he
carols a merry song.
But dancing was not the whole amusement of this
festive evening
Once more there is a bustle upon the platform. A
large 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 number is her number in the lottery. The
wheel is turned. To the sounds 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 supperrooms, in search of the fortunate lady. After a merry
search she is discovered, 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,
humorous, and appropriate verses, adorned with sketches,
she also receives upon a cushion; the verses, I should
observe, being first read aloud to the company. Many a
picturesque group was 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, to which
depends a quaint 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




444          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
tiara surmounts her blonde locks. She is a veritable
Burg Frdulein. It is a Provenfal 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 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 is or not, he is, at all events, a wellknown 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
produced. 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 Niebelungen
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, silvermounted 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



THE PAINTERS' OVATION,            445
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 very extraordinary. In
the 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-colored 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 harmonious
voices, and the voice of the whole assembly, - that murmuring, strange, united voice of the crowd!
Was not the whole scen0 like the dream of a fevered
brain! —a scene likely enough to return, if ever one
should wander into the mysterious land of delirium.
But 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




446          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 behold a hideous monster, with a head looking each
way, makes his appearance. A hurried chase of him
commences: 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
burst forth into song: the merriment seems ever on the
increase; the fools are for ever careering round the circle
in unwearied antic mood. Now they encounter the celebrated Neureuther, whom one has long since recognised
as the author 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.
And 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 Bal of 1852. Long lives and merry ones to the
joyous artists! let us cry: and long, long life and a glorious immortality to the joyous, genial German art! A




THE ARTISTS' MASKED BALL.           447
right hearty — Lebe Hoch fiir die Stadt Miinchen, fiir
Miinchener Kunst und 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.
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 fool's 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 honor? 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 shoulders; there was a




448          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
brilliant head-dress of vivid mountain-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 head-dresses, and otherwise decorating the attire of the wearer.' Considering the native wit of a " fool," the king appeared
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 es Frauen Krone,
Leuchtet als die Herrscherin,
Bayerns holde Kiji igin!'' 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 ARTISTS' MASKED BALL.           449'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 effect of pearls. This secret of the royal
toilette 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 vear's Artists' Ball.'
29




CHAPTER XLII.
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 saw which I did not see last
spring was a group of peasants in the Basilica, kissing the
wounds of a frightful crucifix, which was laid upon the
altar steps. Never was anything more disgusting.
This morning I went with Isabel to hear high mass performed in the Hof-Kapelle, as the music is very fine
there on Easter Sunday. The robes of the priest, all
gold, rose-color 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 Romish
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,




SPRING PICTURES.              451
which each day greet me on my walks through the
English Garden. Dog's-mercury and the lovely glossy
arum leaves are rapidly 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 fulness of beauty, and will be over, before
one's heart has recognised and rejoiced in it, and another
tender, beautiful spring will be vanished away, like a
swift dream, out of one's life.
But it is not alone through leaves and blossoms that
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 saw a number of large, white-winged birds, careering.about wildly in 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 little bodies in the
deep blue sky, or balanced themselves upon the sparkling
green waves of' the rushing water; then again darted up,
up, up away high into the sky —whirling among the




452          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
distant leafless trees, like a cloud of white butterflies —
their wild cries echoing joyously, vernally, through the
lawns and groves of the wild, park-like Garden. It was a
lovely, joyous bit of poetry.
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 meditating upon the slavery
endured by the poor sentinel, paciing 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 Tyro.
lean hats, straw hats, and felt hats and beaver hats —
green, grey, black aild 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.




RAFTING.                    453
Never, certainly, did I encounter a more astounding
company of odd-fellows.
Smiling to myself, I passed this group of gardeneresses,
and crossing the rustic bridge, which spans a second
branch of the Isar flowing through the Garden, I beheld
approaching 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, swilkering between the mighty stems, and 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!
And a fresh raft was seen to shoot forth from behind a
bend in the little river's bank; and there was more shout.
ing, 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, and above which
soared a whirling crowd of my favorite gulls. And 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 I-., I recollect, once described to me an excur.
sion which some students 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




454          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 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 desires us, in His great benevolence, to
stretch forth our hands and to gather for ourselves the rich
joys of intellect, of natuire, 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 Eie has be.
stowed 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 drawing-room conventionality and young ladyhood withering
up, we shall stand in humility before God, but proudly
and rejoicingly at the side of man! Different always, but
not less noble, less richly endowed!
And 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 development of those germs of peculiar purity,




THE WORLD OPEN TO WOMAN.            455
of tenderest delicacy and refinement, with which' our
Heavenly Father has so specially endowed the woman.
Let beauty and grace, spiritual and external, be the
garments 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 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 mistaken struggle after strength, can never sit more gracefully upon us than 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 as 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 far from the
Royal Wood-yard, which I was just about to enter after




456          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 sort of affection for this
wood-yard; it is not beautiful or particularly quaint, but
someway 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 millstream- with 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 midwinter, 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 inclosure,
rattles with its four mettlesome horses and blue-liveried
postilion 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 ROYAL WOOD-YARD.              457
the grotesque features of a thorough'l3drchen-Frau,'
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 Mdrchen 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 precincts of the Royal Inclosure;
nevertheless, pursue fearlessly 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; and 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!
But now in fancy, I see quite a different scene going on
in tile 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.
Mlen are running to and fro with poles, pushing along




458           AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 St. Anna suburb know this, and
all the day through, groups of children may be seen
watching and shouting with merriment as the waters
continue 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 Woodyard.
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 over-hanging 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
mosses and weeds. Men are busily at work in the watercourse; 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 dlull blow,




NOONTIDE PRAYER.                459
and the pause- and this with a strange uniformity all the
long day through, continuing even often Por 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, in the distance, forming a motley
mosaic.
But 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 ficaries and dandelions and trefoil
and silver daisies - round-faced children from the neigh.
boring 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 fron.
tier 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 car.
penter's shed built of grey weather-beaten 4planks, and its
open doors revealing heaps of shavings and a carpenter'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 color 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




460          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
life -are uncovered to the sun. A dull murmur of prayer
breaks from their lips, and they cross themselves devoutly
upon breast and brow.
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 thus also explained
why Friulein Sinchen had never made her appearance
for the removal of our dinner cloth.
I opened the door, -so very extraordinary waxed the
sounds; and I then heard the voice of Madame Thekla at
its highest pitch proceeding froin her little sitting.-room,
interspersed every now and then with a short scornfiul
laugh. At the same time, out of tie kitchen, Fr/ulein
Sinchen poured forth another torrent of words with ditto
laugh, - scouring away meanwhile vehemently; yes,
scouring 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.
Ihaving arranged her features into becoming calmness,
the poor old Fraulein made her appearance.' Have you had company, Friulein Sinchen?' I asked:' what a tremendous talking there has been in your
kitchen!'




IMMER SO FLEISSIG.              461'No! noi! SHE'S angry!' replied the old creature, removing the table-cloth, and uttering the words with such
a comically black thunder-cloud look - with such an irresistible nod and then a wink - that had she only been a
comic actress she would ha;e made her fortune.' Ja! Ja! SIE ist b'se!' 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 favorite
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 immortalized, with her oddity, her faithfulness, her good-nature,
and her crossness.
This winter the exclamations each evening of' Immer
sofleissig! Immer sofjeissig!' 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
occupation we may be engaged upon just before the
expected advent of the good Friulein, 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 ]Jeissig!' 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 anything 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,




462          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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!
But if, however beguiled by interest in our occupation,
we have forgotten the flight of time and the arrival of the'tea-machine,' tlen woe betide us! Often have I more
than once heard Isabel stop short in some sweet VolksLied, 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 tormentor 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 old Frdulein's
stomach; and the words' Inmmer so fleissig! Immer 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 letters, 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! Imnrmer
so fleissig!' dropping from her lips. And 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 illhumor-until the old Frkulein flounces off in a huff,
remaining black as a thunder-cloud for the next fourand-twenty hours; or Anna is fairly vanquished, and
raising her face smiles! and is repaid by a ten-minutes'




FINE ARTS.                 463
martyrdom of exclamations over her'Fleiss,' and over
her extraordinary correspondence, and of inquiries after
every'Herr,''Frau,' and' Friulein' 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 temptation of the Fine Arts!  Had
she not worked bell-ropes, and smoking-caps, and pocketbooks, on the finest, finest canvas? Did not she know
what it was to do fine work?  Had not she embroidered
flowers, and scrolls, and landscapes, 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, indeed! And
had she not got up by peep of day to embroider? and
had she not sat up late at night and embroidered? 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 Friulein would but take
warning, and not ruin their dear little eyes over the
Fine Arts!'




464          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
Alas! dear old Friulein, 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.'But 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.




CIIAPTER XLII1.
CARTOONS.
April. -In Kaulbach's studio, this week, there is a
drawing which has especially struck me with its beauty.
It- is a design in charcoal, but 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 command 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 lla
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 sun-light, 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 sun-light,
beyond the rustic alcove, upon the margin of the sea.
30




466          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
Gentle little waves roll in towards the mournful Ulysses;
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
mournfully, 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
Keats's poetry, yet strong withal as old Chapman's Homer.
The small cartoons and studies for color for the completion of the New Pinakothek frescoes 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
frescoes illustrative of the history of modern German Art,
to which I have already referred.
It introduces us into the very heart of the whimsical
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




GERMAN ARTIST-LIFE.             467
surrounds the statue, binding garlands of flowers with
which to adorn it: one, seated upon an upturned rustic
basket, leaning slightly back from the group, hangs a
wreath 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 vineleaves, 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 festival, 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 chivalrous
armor, ermine-lined mantles and embroidered doublets.
There behold the grave and noble costume of Albert
Durer; a workman from the Bronze Foundry in his
leathern apron; and again slashed sleeves, garlanded
brows, and caps of medieval 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,




468          AN ART-STUDE1i T IN MUNICH.
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
of Munich (Munchen, 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
evenings with soft strains of wind instruments floating
through the freshly opened leaves and blossoms, Isabel and
Anna said to each other, Now will we take a delicious
holiday after the long days of winter industry; now will
we set forth for a whole week of happiness to the neighborhood of Starnberg. Anna all day should sketch quaint
and lovely bits of nature, and architecture, and weeds,
and picturesque peasants, to her heart's content. Isabel
should 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 should be enjoyed
by them as never before had been enjoyed by any two
female students!
And later, too, on in the warm summer, they would 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, should gather up much knowledge in
the stately kitchen from the sweet artist-sister,- the




VANISHING DAY-DREAMS.             469'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.
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 muchvaunted Menterschwaig; then will we witness the arrival
of a pilgrimage 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




470          AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
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 with
a great joy that her beloved ones should visit this marvellous Australia, should experience 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 England could satisfy
her or 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 little 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.
And at last came the final moment at the railway, when
Anna, seated in the corner of a carriage, waived 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.
And 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 little 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.
THE END.




























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