DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62134#0192
181
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
costumes—costumes, it would seem, of every era and every
country beneath the sun !
Here comes a solemn Arab Sheik and his wife; their
swarthy faces, their golden bracelets and anklets upon their
dark limbs, their ample woollen mantles of creamy white,
or striped with sober violet and brown, all breathing of the
desert ! Here tumbles through the crowd, whirling his
club of jingling bells, a dwarf of the middle ages, clad in
scarlet. Here mince along, in their high-heeled shoes, a
courtier and lady from the Court of Louis XIV. Here
comes a jolly English tar in his red shirt, with his low-
crowned hat, and a pipe in his mouth. This must surely
be Albrecht Diirer himself! Look at his mild, calm face
beneath that beetling black velvet cap ! look at his short
fur-trimmed cloak of chocolate colour and at his leathern
pouch, slung at his side and mounted with rich steel orna-
ments. Here are Americans, Armenians, Turks, Por-
tuguese, Italian peasants, Venetian senators, knights and
ladies of the German legends; here are pilgrims, knights,
troubadours, savages, and devils. EE ere are whimsical
beings with huge silver rands horns, with golden rands
horns, with huge, flapping, pointed ears, with beaks and
false noses ! There is the chorus of singers, with beaked
noses and queer, big spectacles, looking like a flight of
extraordinary birds :—and only listen to their low chirp I
chirp ! they are birds surely, and not men ! There are
caps with peacock feathers towering yards high above the
crowd; here comes a whole peacock’s tail 1 Here a
gigantic butterfly nodding at the end of a long wire, which
no doubt is fastened to some strange cap, could we only see
it in the crowd ! Here is Mrs. Bloomer herself, and there
the favourite sultana ! Here are two gigantic ladies in
gigantic yellow silk hats, with gigantic bouquets and fans
in their hands, and black masks over their faces. There is
AN ART-STUDENT IN MUNICH.
costumes—costumes, it would seem, of every era and every
country beneath the sun !
Here comes a solemn Arab Sheik and his wife; their
swarthy faces, their golden bracelets and anklets upon their
dark limbs, their ample woollen mantles of creamy white,
or striped with sober violet and brown, all breathing of the
desert ! Here tumbles through the crowd, whirling his
club of jingling bells, a dwarf of the middle ages, clad in
scarlet. Here mince along, in their high-heeled shoes, a
courtier and lady from the Court of Louis XIV. Here
comes a jolly English tar in his red shirt, with his low-
crowned hat, and a pipe in his mouth. This must surely
be Albrecht Diirer himself! Look at his mild, calm face
beneath that beetling black velvet cap ! look at his short
fur-trimmed cloak of chocolate colour and at his leathern
pouch, slung at his side and mounted with rich steel orna-
ments. Here are Americans, Armenians, Turks, Por-
tuguese, Italian peasants, Venetian senators, knights and
ladies of the German legends; here are pilgrims, knights,
troubadours, savages, and devils. EE ere are whimsical
beings with huge silver rands horns, with golden rands
horns, with huge, flapping, pointed ears, with beaks and
false noses ! There is the chorus of singers, with beaked
noses and queer, big spectacles, looking like a flight of
extraordinary birds :—and only listen to their low chirp I
chirp ! they are birds surely, and not men ! There are
caps with peacock feathers towering yards high above the
crowd; here comes a whole peacock’s tail 1 Here a
gigantic butterfly nodding at the end of a long wire, which
no doubt is fastened to some strange cap, could we only see
it in the crowd ! Here is Mrs. Bloomer herself, and there
the favourite sultana ! Here are two gigantic ladies in
gigantic yellow silk hats, with gigantic bouquets and fans
in their hands, and black masks over their faces. There is