DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62134#0030
22
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
sweetly and distinctly. It was much more beautiful listen-
ing to the service thus than being within the church among
the people ! I heard the little organ peal forth; and the
singing of the quire. There was one fresh young voice
that sang like a very angel. This voice celebrated the
Resurrection. My eyes overflowed with warm tears; and
my soul responded^ though I sat; a heretic and an alien;
outside the walls of the little chmch.
Then all the peasants streamed forth; and the holy,
solemn hush closed once more over the scene.
The whole was a lovely idyl; more holy and pure than
any ever written; than any picture ever painted; of peasant-
life. There was such a tenderness and simplicity; mingled
with a certain sadness; that one could only imagine its
spirit to be conveyed away from the spot by a peasant mu-
sician; who should suddenly improvise a melody which
should become a Volks Lied.
I shall long remember that Easter Sunday as one
of the loveliest bits of poetry that I have enjoyed in
Munich.
Returning towards the city; I heard music in all the
public gardens; all the world was out among the green;
budding trees. Spring is; indeed; come; the trees are
almost in full leaf; you seem almost to see the grass and
the flowers springing; birds carol from every bough.
Music swells in loud strains through the fresh leaves of
the English Garden; the Spring Garden; the Garden of
Paradise. The Prater; and twenty or thirty other
gardens; are crowded with happy; merry people sitting be-
neath the trees; drinking coffee and beer; and listening to
music.
It is quite extraordinary what time Munich people spend
in this way; and quite as extraordinary what quantities of
beer are drunk. Alas; that beer !—it is one of the un-
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
sweetly and distinctly. It was much more beautiful listen-
ing to the service thus than being within the church among
the people ! I heard the little organ peal forth; and the
singing of the quire. There was one fresh young voice
that sang like a very angel. This voice celebrated the
Resurrection. My eyes overflowed with warm tears; and
my soul responded^ though I sat; a heretic and an alien;
outside the walls of the little chmch.
Then all the peasants streamed forth; and the holy,
solemn hush closed once more over the scene.
The whole was a lovely idyl; more holy and pure than
any ever written; than any picture ever painted; of peasant-
life. There was such a tenderness and simplicity; mingled
with a certain sadness; that one could only imagine its
spirit to be conveyed away from the spot by a peasant mu-
sician; who should suddenly improvise a melody which
should become a Volks Lied.
I shall long remember that Easter Sunday as one
of the loveliest bits of poetry that I have enjoyed in
Munich.
Returning towards the city; I heard music in all the
public gardens; all the world was out among the green;
budding trees. Spring is; indeed; come; the trees are
almost in full leaf; you seem almost to see the grass and
the flowers springing; birds carol from every bough.
Music swells in loud strains through the fresh leaves of
the English Garden; the Spring Garden; the Garden of
Paradise. The Prater; and twenty or thirty other
gardens; are crowded with happy; merry people sitting be-
neath the trees; drinking coffee and beer; and listening to
music.
It is quite extraordinary what time Munich people spend
in this way; and quite as extraordinary what quantities of
beer are drunk. Alas; that beer !—it is one of the un-