Berlin on the recent occasion of an illustrious marriage.
THE MAGICIAN. 115
less Magician ; and every body screamed and danced,
and danced and screamed, till one sank here, and
another there, perfectly exhausted, and yet again
leaped up and danced more furiously than ever.
Forgotten was prison and execution. They
danced till deep in the night, and in the morning
each one lay groaning in his bed, and Magician,
and arrow, and pile had vanished 1
THE TWO PATHS.
i.
THE paths of life are rudely laid
Beneath the blaze of burning skies ;
Level and cool, in cloistered shade,
The church s pavement lies.
Along the sunless forest glade
Its gnarled roots are coiled like crime ;
Where grows the grass with freshening blade,
Thine eyes may track the serpent s slime ;
But there thy steps are unbetrayed,
The serpent waits a surer time.
ii.
The fires of earth are fiercely blent,
Its suns arise with scorching glow ;
The church s light hath soft descent,
And hues like God s own bow.
The brows of men are darkly bent,
Their lips are wreathed with scorn and guile ;
But pure, and pale, and innocent,
The looks that light the marble aisle
From angel eyes, in love intent,
And lips of everlasting smile.
CD (Drums sill
"New York D.Appleton. * Co. 346 * , i48 Broad-way .
THE TWO PATHS. 117
III.
Lady, the fields of earth are wide,
And tempt an infant s foot to stray :
Oh ! lead thy loved one s steps aside,
Where the white altar lights his way.
Around his path shall glance and glide
A thousand shadows false and wild ;
Oh ! lead him to that surer Guide
Than sire serene, or mother mild,
Whose Childhood quelled the age of pride,
Whose Godhead called the little child.
IV.
So, when thy breast of love untold,
That warmed his sleep of infancy,
Shall only make the marble cold
Beneath his aged knee,
From its steep throne of heavenly gold,
Thy soul shall stoop to see
His grief, that cannot be controlled,
Turning to God from thee
Cleaving with prayer the cloudy fold,
That veils the Sanctuary.
J. K.
Christ Church, Oxford.
THE JESUITS CHURCH.
AN ART TALE.
BY E. T. W. HOFFMANN.
IF, gentle reader, you were ever compelled to stop
three days in a little town, where you did not know
a soul, but were forced to remain a stranger to ev
ery body, and if some deep pain did not destroy the
inclination for social converse, you will be able to
appreciate my annoyance. In words alone does the
spirit of life manifest itself in all around us; but the
inhabitants of your small towns are like a secluded
orchestra, which has worked into its own way of play
ing and singing by hard practice, so that the tone of
the foreigner is discordant to their ears, and at once
puts them to silence. I was walking up and down my
room, in a thorough ill-humor, when it at once struck
me that a friend at home, who had once passed two
years at G , had often spoken of a learned, clever
man, with whom he had been intimate. His name,
I recollected, was Aloysius Walter, professor at the
Jesuits college. I now resolved to set out, and turn
my friend s acquaintance to my own advantage.
THE Jl SUITS CHURCH. 119
They told me at the college that Professor Walter
was lecturing, but would soon have finished, and as
they gave me the choice of calling again or waiting
in the outer rooms, I chose the latter. The cloisters,
colleges, and churches of the Jesuits are every where
built in that Italian style which, based upon the
antique form and manner, prefers splendor and ele
gance to holy solemnity and religious dignity. In
this case the lofty, light, airy halls were adorned
with rich architecture, and the images of saints,
which were here placed against the walls, between
Ionic pillars, were singularly contrasted by the carv
ing over the doorways, which invariably represent
ed a dance of genii, or fruit and the dainties of the
kitchen.
The professor entered I reminded him of my
friend, and claimed his hospitality for the period of
my forced sojourn in the place. I found him just as
my friend had described him ; clear in his discourse,
acquainted with the world, in short, quite in the
style of the higher class priest, who has been scien
tifically educated, and peeping over his breviary into
life, has often sought to know what is going on there.
When I found his room furnished with modern ele
gance, I returned to my former reflections in the
halls, and uttered them to the professor aloud.
"You are right," said he, "we have banished
from our edifices that gloomy solemnity, that strange
majesty of the crushing tyrant, who oppresses our
120 THE TOKEN.
bosoms in Gothic architecture, and causes a certain
unpleasant sensation, and we have very properly
endowed our works with the lively cheerfulness of the
ancients."
" But," said I, " does not that sacred dignity,
that lofty majesty of Gothic architecture which
seems, as it were, striving after Heaven, proceed
from the true spirit of Christianity, which, supersen-
sual itself, is directly opposed to that sensual spirit
of the antique world which remains in the circle of
the earthly ? "
The professor smiled. " The higher kingdom,"
said he, " should be recognised in this world, and this
recognition can be awakened by cheerful symbols,
such as life nay, the spirit which descends from
that kingdom into earthly life presents. Our home
is above, but while we dwell here, our kingdom is of
this world also."
" Ay," thought I, " in every thing that you have
done you have indeed shown that your kingdom
is of this world nay, of this world only ; " but I did
not communicate my thoughts to Professor Aloysius
Walter, who proceeded thus :
" What you say of the magnificence of our build
ings in this place can only refer properly to the
pleasant appearance of the form. Here, where we
cannot afford marble, and great masters in painting
will not work for us, we are in conformity with the
modern fashion obliged to make use of substitutes.
CHURCH. 121
If we get as high as polished plaster we have done
a great deal, and our different kinds of marble are
often nothing more than the work of the painter.
This is the case in our church, which, thanks to the
liberality of our patrons, has been newly decorated."
I expressed a desire to see the church ; the pro
fessor led me down, and when I entered the Corinthian
colonnade, which formed the nave of the church, I
felt the pleasing too pleasing impression of the
graceful proportions. To the left of the principal
altar a lofty scaffolding had been erected, upon which
a man stood, who was painting over the walls in the
antique style.
" Now ! how are you going on, Berthold ? " cried
the professor.
The painter turned round to us, but immediately
proceeded with his work, saying in an indistinct, and
almost inaudible voice : " Great deal of trouble
crooked, confused stuff no rule to make use of
beasts apes human faces miserable fool that I
am!"
These last words he cried aloud in a voice
that nothing but the deepest agony working in the
soul could produce. I felt strangely affected ; these
words, the expression of face, the glance which he had
previously cast at the professor, brought before my
eyes the whole struggling life of an unfortunate artist.
The man could have been scarcely more than forty
years old ; his form, though disfigured by the un-
122 THE TOKEN.
seemly, dirty costume of a painter, had something in
it indescribably noble, and deep grief could only dis
color his face, but could not extinguish the fire that
sparkled in his black eyes. I asked the professor for
particulars respecting this painter. " He is a foreign
artist," was the reply, " who came here just at the
time when the repair of the church had been resolved
upon. He undertook the work we offered him with
pleasure, and indeed his arrival was for us a stroke
of good fortune, since neither here nor for a great
distance round, could we find a painter so admirably
fitted for all that we require. Besides, he is the
most good-natured creature in the world, and we
all love him heartily : for that reason he got on well
in our college. Besides giving him a considerable
salary for his work, we board him, which, by the
way, does not entail a very heavy burden upon us,
for he is abstemious almost to excess, though per
haps it may accord with the weakness of his consti
tution.
" But," said I, " he seemed to-day so peevish
so irritable."
" That," replied the professor, " is owing to a
particular cause. But let us look at some fine pic
tures on the side altars, which by a lucky chance
we obtained some time ago. There is only a single
original a Domenichino among them, the rest
are by unknown masters of the Italian school ; but
if you are free from prejudice, you will be forced to
CHURCH. 123
confess that every one of them might bear the most
celebrated name."
I found it was exactly as the professor had said.
Strangely enough, the only original was one of the
weakest if not the very weakest of the collection,
while the beauty of many of the anonymous pictures
had for me an irresistible charm. The picture on
one of the altars was covered up, and I asked the
cause of this : " This picture," said the professor, " is
the finest that we possess, it is the work of a young
artist of modern times certainly his last, for his
flight is checked. At this time we are obliged, for
certain reasons, to cover it up, but to-morrow, or the
day after, I shall perhaps be in a condition to show
it you."
I wished to make further inquiries, but the pro
fessor hurried swiftly through the passage, and that
was enough to show his unwillingness to answer
more. We went back to the college, and I readily
accepted the invitation of the professor, who wished
me, in the afternoon, to go with him to some public
gardens in the neighborhood. We returned home
late, a storm had risen, and I had scarcely reached
my dwelling than the rain began to pour down.
About midnight the sky cleared up, and the thun
der only murmured in the distance. Through the
open windows the warm air, laden with scents, en
tered the room, and though I was weary, I could
not resist the temptation to take a walk. I succeeded
124 THE TOKEN.
in waking the surly man-servant, who had been
snoring for about two hours ; and in showing him
that there was no madness in working at midnight.
Soon I found myself in the street. When I passed
the Jesuits church, I was struck by the dazzling
light that beamed through a window. The little side-
door was ajar, so I entered and saw a wax-taper
burning before a niche. When I had come nearer,
I observed that before this niche a packthread net
had been spread, behind which a dark form was run
ning up and down the ladder, and seemed to be
designing something on the niche. It was Berthold,
who was accurately tracing the shadow of the net
with black color. On a tall easel, by the ladder,
stood the drawing of an altar. I was much struck
at the ingenious contrivance. If, gentle reader, you
are in the least acquainted with the noble art of
painting, you will at once know, without further ex
planation, the use of the net, the shadow of which
Berthold was sketching. Berthold was about to
paint a projecting altar on the niche, and that he
might make a large copy of the small drawing with
due correctness, he was obliged to put a net, in the
usual manner, over both the sketch and the surface
on which the sketch was to be completed. In this
instance he had to paint not on a flat surface but on
a semicircular one ; and the correspondence of the
squares which the curved lines of the net formed on
the concave surface, with the straight ones of the
CHURCH. 125
sketch, together with accuracy in the architectural
proportions which were to be brought forward in
perspective, could not be otherwise obtained than
by that simple and ingenious contrivance. I was
cautious enough not to step before the taper, lest I
might betray myself by my shadow, but I stood
near enough to his side to observe the painter
closely. He appeared to me quite another man.
Perhaps it was the effect of the taper, but his face
had a good color, his eyes sparkled with internal
satisfaction, and when he had completed the lines
he placed himself before the screen, with his hands
resting on his sides, and looked at his work, whistling
a merry tune. He now turned round, and tore down
the net. Suddenly he was struck by my figure, and
cried aloud :
" Halloah ! halloah ! is that you, Christian ? "
I went up to him, explained how I had been
attracted into the church, and praising the in
genious contrivance of the net, gave him to under
stand that I was but a connoisseur and practiser of
the noble art of painting. Without making me any
further answer, Berthold said :
" Christian is neither more nor less than a slug
gard. He was to have kept with me faithfully
through the whole night, and now he is certainly
snoring somewhere ! I must get on with my work,
for probably it will be bad to paint here on the
126 THE TOKEN.
screen to-morrow and yet I can do nothing by
myself."
I offered my assistance, upon which he laughed
aloud, laid hold of both my shoulders, and cried :
" That is a capital joke ! What will Christian
say, when he finds to-morrow that he is an ass, and
that I have done without him ? So, come hither,
stranger, help me to build a little."
He lit several tapers, we ran through the church,
pulled together a number of blocks and planks, and
a lofty scaffold was soon raised within the screen.
" Now hand up quickly," cried Berthold, as he
ascended.
I was astonished at the rapidity with which
Berthold made a large copy of the drawing ; he drew
his lines boldly, and always clearly and correctly,
without a single fault. Having been accustomed to
such matters in my early youth, I was of good
service to him, for standing, now above him, now
below him, I fixed the long rulers at the points he
indicated, and held them fast, pointed the charcoal,
and handed it to him, and so on.
" You are a capital assistant," cried Berthold,
quite delighted.
"And you," I retorted, "are one of the best
architectural painters possible. But tell me, have
you applied your bold, ready hand to no sort of
painting but this ? Pardon the question."
" What do you mean ? " said Berthold.
THE JESUITS CHURCH. 127
" Why, I mean," replied I, " that you are fit for
something better than painting church walls with
marble pillars. Architectural painting is, after all,
something subordinate ; the historical painter, the
landscape painter, stands infinitely higher. With
them, mind and fancy, no longer confined to the nar
row limits of geometrical lines, take a higher flight.
Even the only fantastic part of your painting, that
perspective, which deceives the senses, depends upon
accurate calculation, and the result therefore is the
product not of genius, but of mathematical specu
lation/ While I was speaking thus, the painter
laid aside his pencil, aiid rested his head on his
hand.
" Friend, stranger," he began, in a solemn, indis
tinct voice, "thou speakest profanely, when thou
endeavorest to arrange the different branches of art
according to rank, like the vassals of some proud
king. And still more profane is it, when thou only
esteemest those presumptuous fools who, being deaf
to the clang of the fetters that enslave them, and
being without feeling for the pressure of the earthy,
wish to think themselves free yea, even to be gods
and to rule light and life after their own fashion.
Dost thou know the fable of Prometheus, who
wished to be a creator, and stole fire from heaven
to animate his lifeless figures ? He succeeded ; the
forms stalked living along, and from their eyes
beamed forth that heavenly fire that burned within
128 THE TOKEN.
them ; but the impious being, who had dared to
attempt the divine, was condemned to fearful, end
less torment, without redemption. The heart which
had felt the divine, in which the desire after the
unearthly had awakened, was torn by the vulture,
to which revenge had given birth, and which now
fed upon the vitals of the presumptuous one. He
who has attempted the heavenly, feels earthly pain
for ever."
The painter stood absorbed in his own reflec
tions.
" Berthold," I exclaimed, " what has all this to
do with your art ? I do not think that any one
can deem it presumption to present the human form,
either by painting or sculpture."
" Um, ha," laughed Berthold, in wild derision ;
" child s play is no presumption. It is all child s
play with those folks, who comfortably dip their
pencils into color-pots, and daub a canvas with the
veritable desire of producing human beings ; but it
always turns out as if some drudge of nature had
undertaken to make men, as it stands in that tra
gedy, and had failed. Such as those are no presump
tuous sinners, but poor innocent fools. But if one
strives to attain the highest, not the mere sensual,
like Titian no, the highest in divine nature, the
Promethean spark in man that is a precipice a
narrow edge on which we stand the abyss is open !
The bold sailor soars above him, and a devilish deceit
CHURCH. 129
lets him perceive that below, which he wished to see
above the stars." The painter uttered a deep sigh,
passed his hand over his forehead, and then looked
upwards. " But why do I talk all this mad stuff
to you, comrade, and leave off painting ? Look
here, mate, this is what I call well and honestly
drawn. How noble is the rule ! All the lines com
bine to a determined end a determined, clearly
conceived effect. Only that which is done by mea
sure is purely human ; what is beyond, is of evil.
Can we not conceive that the Deity has expressly
created us, to manage for his own good purpose
that which is exhibited according to measured, ap
preciable rules ; in a word, the purely commeasur-
able, just as we, in our turn build saw-mills and
spinning-machines, as the mechanical superintend
ents of our wants ? Professor Walter lately main
tained, that certain beasts were merely created to
be eaten by others, and that this, in the end, con
duced to our own utility. Thus, for example, cats,
he said, had an innate propensity to devour mice,
that they might not nibble the sugar placed ready
for our breakfast. And the professor was right in
the end ; animals, and we ourselves, are but well-
ordered machines, made to work up and knead cer
tain materials for the table of the unknown king.
Come, come, mate, hand me up the pots. I pre
pared all the tones yesterday by daylight, that this
candlelight might not deceive us, and they all stand
130 THE TOKEN.
numbered in yonder corner. Hand me up No. 1,
young friend. Gray with gray ! What would dry,
weary life be, if the Lord of Heaven had not pat so
many motley playthings into our hands. He who
demeans himself well does not, like the curious boy,
try to break the box from which the music comes
when he turns the handle. It is just natural, they
say, that it sounds inside, for I turn the handle.
Because I have drawn this intellective correctly ac
cording to the point of view, I know that it will
have the effect of actual sculpture on the spectator.
Now, boy, reach me No. 2, now I paint in colors
that are toned down according to rule, and it ap
pears receding five yards. All that I know well
enough oh, we are amazingly clever ! How is it
that objects diminish in the distance? This one
stupid question of a Chinese could put to confusion
Professor Eytelwein himself; but he could help
himself out of the music-box, and say he had often
turned the handle, and always experienced the same
result. Violet, No. 2, youngster ! Another rule,
and a thick washed-out brush ! Ah, what is all
our striving and struggling after the higher, but the
helpless, unconscious act of an infant who hurts the
nurse that feeds him. Violet, No. 2 ! Quick,
young man ! The ideal is an evil, lying dream,
produced by fermented blood. Take away the pot,
young man, I am coming down. The devil lures us
with puppets, to which he glues angels wings/
CHURCH. 13 L
I am unable to repeat literally, what Berthold
said, while he went on painting rapidly, and treated
me only as his fag. He went on in the tone in
which he had begun, scoffing at the limited nature
of every human effort. Ah, I was inspecting the
depth of a mind that had received its death-wound,
and that only uttered its complaints in bitter irony.
Morning dawned, and the glimmer of the taper grew
pale before the entrance of sunlight. Berthold
painted on zealously, but he became more and more
silent, and only single sounds ultimately, only
sighs escaped his burdened breast. He had plan
ned the entire altar with all its gradation of color,
and even now the picture stood out quite promi
nently.
" Admirable ! admirable ! " I cried out with de
light.
" Do you think," said Berthold, faintly, " that I
shall make something of it ? I at least took great
pains to make my drawing correct, but now I can
do no more."
" No, no, not a stroke more, dear Berthold," I
exclaimed, " it is almost incredible how you have
made so much progress in such a work within a few
hours. But you exert yourself too much, and are
quite lavish of your power/
" And yet," said Berthold, " these are my hap
piest hours. Perhaps I talked too much, but it is
132 THE TOKEN.
only in words that the pain which consumes my
vitals finds a vent/
" You seem to feel very unhappy, my poor
friend/ said I, " some frightful event has had an
evil influence on your life."
The painter slowly took his materials into the
chapel, extinguished the lights, and coming up to
me, seized my hand, and said, in a faltering voice,
"Could you be cheerful, nay, could you have one
quiet moment, if you were conscious of a fearful, ir
reparable crime ? "
I stood perfectly amazed. The bright sunbeams
fell on the painter s pallid, agitated countenance, and
he almost looked like a spectre as he staggered
through the little door into the interior of the col
lege.
I could scarcely wait for the hour on the follow
ing day, when Professor Walter had appointed to
see me. I told him the whole affair of the previous
night, which had excited me not a little ; I described
in the most lively colors the strange conduct of the
painter, and did not suppress a word that he had
uttered not even those which related to himself.
But the more I hoped for the professor s sympathy,
the more indifferent he appeared ; nay, he smiled
upon me in a most unpleasant manner when I con
tinued to talk of Berthold, and pressed him to tell
me all he knew about this unfortunate man.
" He is a strange creature that painter," said the
CHURCH. 133
professor, "mild, good-tempered, sober, industrious,
as I told you before, but weak in his intellect. If
he had been otherwise he would never have descended,
even though he did commit a crime, from a great
historical painter, to a poor dauber of walls/ 7
This expression, " dauber of walls," annoyed me
as much as the professor s general indifference. I
tried to convince him that Berthold was even now a
most estimable artist, and deserving of the highest,
the most active sympathy.
" Well," said the professor at last, " since you
take so much interest in Berthold you shall hear all
that I know of him, and that is not a little. By
way of introduction we will go into the church at
once. As Berthold has worked hard throughout the
night he will rest during the forenoon. If we found
him in the church my design would fail."
We went to the church, the professor had the
cloth removed from the covered picture, and a work
of the most magical splendor, such as I had never
seen, was revealed to me. The composition was in
the style of Raffaelle, simple, and of heavenly sub
limity. Mary and Elizabeth were sitting on the
grass in a beautiful garden : the children Jesus and
John, were before them, playing with flowers, and in
the background towards the side, a male figure was
praying. Mary s lovely, heavenly face, the dignity
and elevation of her entire figure, filled me with as
tonishment and the deepest admiration. She was
134 THE TOKEN.
beautiful, more beautiful than an earthly woman,
and her glance indicated the higher power of the
mother of God, like that of Kaffaelle s Mary in the
Dresden Gallery. Ah ! was not the deepest thirst
for eternity awakened perforce in the human heart,
by those wondrous eyes round which a deep shadow
was floating ? Did not those soft, half-opened lips
speak in consolatory language, as in the sweet mel