DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62133#0047
THE STUDIO OF WILHELM VON KAULBACH.
31
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 armour con-
spicuous 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 pros-
trate 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 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. In-
tensest hatred fills the veteran with a transient youthful
vigour; his large breast heaves, his eyes flash flame, 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 Morgenstern. Attila,
conspicuous in his loose coat of mail, his fur-trimmed
widely flowing robe, and strange high cap, and wielding his
many-lashed scourge with one hand, beckons forward with
31
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 armour con-
spicuous 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 pros-
trate 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 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. In-
tensest hatred fills the veteran with a transient youthful
vigour; his large breast heaves, his eyes flash flame, 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 Morgenstern. Attila,
conspicuous in his loose coat of mail, his fur-trimmed
widely flowing robe, and strange high cap, and wielding his
many-lashed scourge with one hand, beckons forward with