DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62133#0258
242
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
himself a soldier; his wooden sword is slung around his
shoulders. Close to him sits a king, hearing his wooden
sceptre, a medal hanging round his neck, his poor, sad
imbecile head crowned with a paper and tinsel diadem.
There, on the other hand of the soldier, with dreamy spec-
tacled face, an old man demonstrating to himself, with up-
raised hands, books laid upon his knees, and diagrams
drawn upon the ground before him, a problem from
Euclid. This man is a shoemaker : singularly bearing out
the truth that the cobbler-craft so frequently has an inexpli-
cable kinship with the speculative intellect. One man has
bowed his head upon his knees in the utter, hopeless aban-
donment of despair; a letter hangs from one of his hands.
A woman with anxious face hushes, as if to sleep, a piece of
wood, which she has wrapped up in handkerchiefs, believing
it an infant, and rocksit tenderly upon her knees. Promi-
nent in this mass of anguish stands forth a large man; his
open, frilled shirt displays a brawny breast, to which he
presses a wooden cross with one hand, pointing towards
himself -with the other. His bold face, his partially bald
head, from either side of which flies his shaggy hair, are
impressed with a revolting, sneering scorn; laughter and
misery, and blasphemy, contend in that dreadful counte-
nance. Close beside him stands a youth, who clasps his
rosary piously and yet fanatically to his breast; his beauti-
ful, dreamy, sensitive countenance pleads mommfully whilst
he mutters prayers. Are not these the types of the two
fanaticisms—of the sceptical and the religious ? A young
girl, whose rich hair falls in heavy masses from her comb,
and whose sweet young face, as it is caught in profile,
speaks of a souks sickness, clasps her poor hands and prays
also.
The background of this group is in savage desolate
harmony with it: you see a portion of the madhouse wall,
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
himself a soldier; his wooden sword is slung around his
shoulders. Close to him sits a king, hearing his wooden
sceptre, a medal hanging round his neck, his poor, sad
imbecile head crowned with a paper and tinsel diadem.
There, on the other hand of the soldier, with dreamy spec-
tacled face, an old man demonstrating to himself, with up-
raised hands, books laid upon his knees, and diagrams
drawn upon the ground before him, a problem from
Euclid. This man is a shoemaker : singularly bearing out
the truth that the cobbler-craft so frequently has an inexpli-
cable kinship with the speculative intellect. One man has
bowed his head upon his knees in the utter, hopeless aban-
donment of despair; a letter hangs from one of his hands.
A woman with anxious face hushes, as if to sleep, a piece of
wood, which she has wrapped up in handkerchiefs, believing
it an infant, and rocksit tenderly upon her knees. Promi-
nent in this mass of anguish stands forth a large man; his
open, frilled shirt displays a brawny breast, to which he
presses a wooden cross with one hand, pointing towards
himself -with the other. His bold face, his partially bald
head, from either side of which flies his shaggy hair, are
impressed with a revolting, sneering scorn; laughter and
misery, and blasphemy, contend in that dreadful counte-
nance. Close beside him stands a youth, who clasps his
rosary piously and yet fanatically to his breast; his beauti-
ful, dreamy, sensitive countenance pleads mommfully whilst
he mutters prayers. Are not these the types of the two
fanaticisms—of the sceptical and the religious ? A young
girl, whose rich hair falls in heavy masses from her comb,
and whose sweet young face, as it is caught in profile,
speaks of a souks sickness, clasps her poor hands and prays
also.
The background of this group is in savage desolate
harmony with it: you see a portion of the madhouse wall,