DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62133#0020
4
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
guitar,—a group which has haunted me ever since, like a
glimpse into a new world of poetry, or the old world of
Itahan art. Yes! that httle room, with its glorious car-
toons, 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 liow 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, in-
deed, at the very time when we entered the studio. The even-
ing before, we w*ere discouraged and disheartened to an ex-
treme 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 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 apprcaching twilight; long gleams of pale flesh-
coloured sky gleamed through the clumps of trees in the
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
guitar,—a group which has haunted me ever since, like a
glimpse into a new world of poetry, or the old world of
Itahan art. Yes! that httle room, with its glorious car-
toons, 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 liow 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, in-
deed, at the very time when we entered the studio. The even-
ing before, we w*ere discouraged and disheartened to an ex-
treme 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 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 apprcaching twilight; long gleams of pale flesh-
coloured sky gleamed through the clumps of trees in the