DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62133#0034
18
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
pomegranates 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-coloured, with rows of
jalousies throwm back, and here and there bright-coloured
bedding hanging out of the wrindows 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 sawm up and
stacked in the royal wood-yard close at hand. This wood-
yard 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 honied 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 flutter
unceasingly above the flower mosaic like showers of falling
pear-blossom; myriads of happy little creatures, beetles,
grasshoppers, ladybirds, revel among the flower-stems and
blades of grass : all is joyous life; an odour, a gentle
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
pomegranates 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-coloured, with rows of
jalousies throwm back, and here and there bright-coloured
bedding hanging out of the wrindows 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 sawm up and
stacked in the royal wood-yard close at hand. This wood-
yard 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 honied 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 flutter
unceasingly above the flower mosaic like showers of falling
pear-blossom; myriads of happy little creatures, beetles,
grasshoppers, ladybirds, revel among the flower-stems and
blades of grass : all is joyous life; an odour, a gentle