DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62133#0097
THE STUDENT’S LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.
81
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 clief-d’ auvre. Up he slowly came,
and slowly looking down at the drawings, whilst Mr. Ap-
pleshoe 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
hues !”
“ 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 “the
Isar rolling rapidly ?” Anna too, the other day, was in a
wild state of alarm about her purse, which was missing,
but which, after a search of extreme anguish of mind, 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
VOL. I. G
81
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 clief-d’ auvre. Up he slowly came,
and slowly looking down at the drawings, whilst Mr. Ap-
pleshoe 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
hues !”
“ 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 “the
Isar rolling rapidly ?” Anna too, the other day, was in a
wild state of alarm about her purse, which was missing,
but which, after a search of extreme anguish of mind, 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
VOL. I. G