DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62133#0244
228 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
however, aroused hy Madame Thekla’s voice,—she was
talking of birds ; I think it was a propos of the old man’s
canary. She was talking of the time when her “ seliger
Mann” was alive, and when she lived near Salzburg. I
always like to hear her talk of that time, for “ the blessed
husband” must have been a good husband indeed,—a kind
old fellow, 'who, nearly twice her age, treated her not only
as a beloved wife, but as a spoilt child. He was a well-to-
do man, and their life near Salzburg is her garden of
Eden. And as she talked of the pigeons they had there, of
the old thrush that used to hang beneath the vine, and of
their tame lark, her memories seemed to mingle with my
own beautiful memories of Salzburg. I wove such pleasant
fancies of dewy, sunshiny mornings in a quiet, old-fashioned
garden, where there was a fluttering of white-winged pigeons
settling down to drink out of a stone basin in the grass, of
the thrush singing beneath the vine odorous with blossoms,
of the old tame lark hanging in an apricot tree, and, above
all, the glorious, craggy sides and snowy summits of the
Salzburg Alps rising in glorious majesty and grandeur,
that I felt quite sorry to be called away from these imagi-
nary pictures to the reality, amusing as it was,, which was
going on in the Market Place.
Looking out of the window on the crowd that began to
collect around the fountain, I noticed the tall roofs and
handsome fronts of the houses opposite, and the crowd of
pigeons—scores and scores of pigeons—assembled just oppo-
site the fountain on the edge of the steep roof which rose
like a red hill-side behind them. They seemed solemnly
met to witness the great festivities about to be celebrated,
and sat in silent expectation brooding in the sunshine.
Then I wondered what attraction the icy water could have
for the children who leaned over the fountain’s side, dab-
bling in the water as though it had been Midsummer. The
crowd increased and increased, and seven new white buckets
however, aroused hy Madame Thekla’s voice,—she was
talking of birds ; I think it was a propos of the old man’s
canary. She was talking of the time when her “ seliger
Mann” was alive, and when she lived near Salzburg. I
always like to hear her talk of that time, for “ the blessed
husband” must have been a good husband indeed,—a kind
old fellow, 'who, nearly twice her age, treated her not only
as a beloved wife, but as a spoilt child. He was a well-to-
do man, and their life near Salzburg is her garden of
Eden. And as she talked of the pigeons they had there, of
the old thrush that used to hang beneath the vine, and of
their tame lark, her memories seemed to mingle with my
own beautiful memories of Salzburg. I wove such pleasant
fancies of dewy, sunshiny mornings in a quiet, old-fashioned
garden, where there was a fluttering of white-winged pigeons
settling down to drink out of a stone basin in the grass, of
the thrush singing beneath the vine odorous with blossoms,
of the old tame lark hanging in an apricot tree, and, above
all, the glorious, craggy sides and snowy summits of the
Salzburg Alps rising in glorious majesty and grandeur,
that I felt quite sorry to be called away from these imagi-
nary pictures to the reality, amusing as it was,, which was
going on in the Market Place.
Looking out of the window on the crowd that began to
collect around the fountain, I noticed the tall roofs and
handsome fronts of the houses opposite, and the crowd of
pigeons—scores and scores of pigeons—assembled just oppo-
site the fountain on the edge of the steep roof which rose
like a red hill-side behind them. They seemed solemnly
met to witness the great festivities about to be celebrated,
and sat in silent expectation brooding in the sunshine.
Then I wondered what attraction the icy water could have
for the children who leaned over the fountain’s side, dab-
bling in the water as though it had been Midsummer. The
crowd increased and increased, and seven new white buckets