DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62133#0166
150
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
quiet, warm sky. I stopped for a moment to drink in its
beauty. It was close to Prince Carbs palace, where two un-
lucky 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 neighbourhood.
One such I will describe; it was in the autumn.
As we were at work in the studio, we all at once be-
thought 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
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
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
quiet, warm sky. I stopped for a moment to drink in its
beauty. It was close to Prince Carbs palace, where two un-
lucky 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 neighbourhood.
One such I will describe; it was in the autumn.
As we were at work in the studio, we all at once be-
thought 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
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