DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62134#0106
98 AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
meadows, where bloom the richest flowers; across broad
lakes mirroring the purest of heavens, and where float
majestic swans, and sweet large waterlilies unfold their
chalices. And now we toil up arid mountains, where the
grass grows hash and yellow, and where here and there a
slender tree quivers its delicate tracery of leaves and
branches against a cloudless sky. But if we toil over
stones and rocks it is only to command glimpses along
vistas of lovely, enchanting, distant country; to overlook
plains and ranges of blue mountain peaks; to see quaint
hamlets, and castles, and towns, and convents, and fortresses
sleeping upon the plains and crowning the mountain
heights; whilst saints, and prophets, and warriors, and
sages, pilgrimage through the meads and valleys, pass-
ing on to their martyrdoms and to their glory. And it is
ever spring,—clear, pure heavens of spring,—May verdure,
May flowers; the very brooklets murmur and dance over
their glittering pebbles and sand with a vernal gladness.
It is the Spring of Art, with its clear, bright tints unfaded,
unmellowed by the storms and heats of summer. In
Titian we have the gorgeous hues of mellow autumn,
the scarlets, oranges, and crimsons deepened into solemn
glory by warm, dusky shadows, cast, as it were, by
umbrageous groves, and contrasting richly against deeply
blue autumnal skies. There is perfected beauty, solemn,
gorgeous, yet with a certain pensiveness, as though the
Hamadryads sat, with bowed heads, and arms folded over
their breasts, amidst the falling leaves. But with these
earlier masters it is still spring and childhood. They have
the unquestioning faith, the unperfected knowledge, the
deep love, joy, and simplicity of children's hearts : thus
vernal odours float through their pure skies, thus their
birds carol vernal songs, their leaves and flowers sprout
and unfold themselves in vernal sunshine.
meadows, where bloom the richest flowers; across broad
lakes mirroring the purest of heavens, and where float
majestic swans, and sweet large waterlilies unfold their
chalices. And now we toil up arid mountains, where the
grass grows hash and yellow, and where here and there a
slender tree quivers its delicate tracery of leaves and
branches against a cloudless sky. But if we toil over
stones and rocks it is only to command glimpses along
vistas of lovely, enchanting, distant country; to overlook
plains and ranges of blue mountain peaks; to see quaint
hamlets, and castles, and towns, and convents, and fortresses
sleeping upon the plains and crowning the mountain
heights; whilst saints, and prophets, and warriors, and
sages, pilgrimage through the meads and valleys, pass-
ing on to their martyrdoms and to their glory. And it is
ever spring,—clear, pure heavens of spring,—May verdure,
May flowers; the very brooklets murmur and dance over
their glittering pebbles and sand with a vernal gladness.
It is the Spring of Art, with its clear, bright tints unfaded,
unmellowed by the storms and heats of summer. In
Titian we have the gorgeous hues of mellow autumn,
the scarlets, oranges, and crimsons deepened into solemn
glory by warm, dusky shadows, cast, as it were, by
umbrageous groves, and contrasting richly against deeply
blue autumnal skies. There is perfected beauty, solemn,
gorgeous, yet with a certain pensiveness, as though the
Hamadryads sat, with bowed heads, and arms folded over
their breasts, amidst the falling leaves. But with these
earlier masters it is still spring and childhood. They have
the unquestioning faith, the unperfected knowledge, the
deep love, joy, and simplicity of children's hearts : thus
vernal odours float through their pure skies, thus their
birds carol vernal songs, their leaves and flowers sprout
and unfold themselves in vernal sunshine.