DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.62134#0199
THE PAINTERS’ OVATION.
191
in their hands, together with their spears and bows. The
musicians, with their primitive musical instruments, lead
the way, piping and playing on their simple pipes and upon
their tiny violins. What an old-world feeling they carry
with them ! Forth they march. And now behold a
hideous monster, with a head looking each way, makes his
appearance. A hurried chase of him commences : bis
heads are chopped off and borne in triumph round the circle,
to the sounds once more of merry, small music.
Again there is dancing ; again the musical societies burst
forth into song : the merriment seems ever on the in-
crease ; the fools are for ever careering round the circle in
unwearied antic mood. Now they encounter the celebrated
Neureuther, whom one has long since recognised as the
author of the Fairy-pavilion ; they hoist him on their
shoulders ; they bear him round the hall with loud acclaim.
Now there is a hue and cry after some other well-known
name. The great artist has disappeared. “ Where
is — — shout the fools; “we have lost - !”
“ He has fled into the gallery ! Don’t you see him
high up aloft ?” shouts a voice, and the hall rings with
laughter.
And thus the night wore on in full embodiment of the
painters’ motto emblazoned on their decorations and upon
then’ cards :
Tages Arbeit; Abends Gaste !
Saure Wochen ! Frohe Feste !
Never, surely, was there a more joyous festival, or one
more gracefid, and fantastic, and poetic, than this Kiinstler
Bal of 1852. Long lives and merry ones to the joyous
artists ! let us cry : and long, long life and a glorious im-
mortality to the joyous, genial German art ! A right
hearty—Lebe Hoch fur die Stadt Mnlnchen,fur Miinchener
Kunst und Kiinstler /
191
in their hands, together with their spears and bows. The
musicians, with their primitive musical instruments, lead
the way, piping and playing on their simple pipes and upon
their tiny violins. What an old-world feeling they carry
with them ! Forth they march. And now behold a
hideous monster, with a head looking each way, makes his
appearance. A hurried chase of him commences : bis
heads are chopped off and borne in triumph round the circle,
to the sounds once more of merry, small music.
Again there is dancing ; again the musical societies burst
forth into song : the merriment seems ever on the in-
crease ; the fools are for ever careering round the circle in
unwearied antic mood. Now they encounter the celebrated
Neureuther, whom one has long since recognised as the
author of the Fairy-pavilion ; they hoist him on their
shoulders ; they bear him round the hall with loud acclaim.
Now there is a hue and cry after some other well-known
name. The great artist has disappeared. “ Where
is — — shout the fools; “we have lost - !”
“ He has fled into the gallery ! Don’t you see him
high up aloft ?” shouts a voice, and the hall rings with
laughter.
And thus the night wore on in full embodiment of the
painters’ motto emblazoned on their decorations and upon
then’ cards :
Tages Arbeit; Abends Gaste !
Saure Wochen ! Frohe Feste !
Never, surely, was there a more joyous festival, or one
more gracefid, and fantastic, and poetic, than this Kiinstler
Bal of 1852. Long lives and merry ones to the joyous
artists ! let us cry : and long, long life and a glorious im-
mortality to the joyous, genial German art ! A right
hearty—Lebe Hoch fur die Stadt Mnlnchen,fur Miinchener
Kunst und Kiinstler /