DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62134#0110
102
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
and far, far away, gleam the blue peaks of a mountain-
chain. Across the calm lake sails a little boat; and
through the pure heavens wing their way a rejoicing flight
of birds.
In the other compartment of the little shrine we see
St. Christopher approaching us through the transparent,
sparkling waves, which are just murmuring into tran-
quillity after the recent tempest. The uprising sun gilds
with warm beams the precipitous, rocky banks—of the
Rhine !—Yes; for the Rhine, with its castle-crowned and
vineyard-clad banks, has been transported into Palestine
by the admiring Memling! The sunbeams bathe hills,
rocks, vineyards, castles, and churches; the sunbeams tint
with rose and violet the long streaks of retreating storm-
clouds ; and on through the emerald waves comes patient old,
obedient Christopher, bearing upon his stooping shoulders
the little Christ-child, who blesses the whole world with three
upraised fingers of his tiny hand. On comes the patient
old man, with his dark azure tunic tucked up above his
knees, and with a crimson mantle fluttering round him
and the tall staff upon which he leans. But words can
convey no image of the magic splendour of the tints,
glowing, gorgeous, and liquid as the tints of a painted
window, or of precious gems; nor yet of each minutest
detail wrought out with most loving, delicate care.
How different in beauty to these child-like German
pictures is an exquisite little Entombment of Christ, in
one of the cabinets, of the early Italian school; yet it is,
to a degree, kindred in spirit! It is one of several small
pictures of Angelico which the Pinakothek contains,
and has always strangely affected me. In Memling and Van
Eyck our sympathies with the natural world are especially
called forth; here Angelico touches with a spirit’s hand
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
and far, far away, gleam the blue peaks of a mountain-
chain. Across the calm lake sails a little boat; and
through the pure heavens wing their way a rejoicing flight
of birds.
In the other compartment of the little shrine we see
St. Christopher approaching us through the transparent,
sparkling waves, which are just murmuring into tran-
quillity after the recent tempest. The uprising sun gilds
with warm beams the precipitous, rocky banks—of the
Rhine !—Yes; for the Rhine, with its castle-crowned and
vineyard-clad banks, has been transported into Palestine
by the admiring Memling! The sunbeams bathe hills,
rocks, vineyards, castles, and churches; the sunbeams tint
with rose and violet the long streaks of retreating storm-
clouds ; and on through the emerald waves comes patient old,
obedient Christopher, bearing upon his stooping shoulders
the little Christ-child, who blesses the whole world with three
upraised fingers of his tiny hand. On comes the patient
old man, with his dark azure tunic tucked up above his
knees, and with a crimson mantle fluttering round him
and the tall staff upon which he leans. But words can
convey no image of the magic splendour of the tints,
glowing, gorgeous, and liquid as the tints of a painted
window, or of precious gems; nor yet of each minutest
detail wrought out with most loving, delicate care.
How different in beauty to these child-like German
pictures is an exquisite little Entombment of Christ, in
one of the cabinets, of the early Italian school; yet it is,
to a degree, kindred in spirit! It is one of several small
pictures of Angelico which the Pinakothek contains,
and has always strangely affected me. In Memling and Van
Eyck our sympathies with the natural world are especially
called forth; here Angelico touches with a spirit’s hand