ody of angels, of the infinite happiness of heaven ?
An indescribable feeling impelled me to cast myself
down in the dust before her, the Queen of Heaven.
I had lost the power of speech, and could not turn
my eyes from the incomparable figure. Only Mary
and the children were quite finished ; the last touch
had not, apparently, been given to the figure of
Elizabeth, and the praying man was not yet painted
over. Approaching nearer, I perceived in this man
the features of Berthold, and already anticipated in
my mind what the professor presently said : " This
picture is Berthold s last work. We got it several

years ago from N , in upper Silesia, where one

of our colleagues bought it at an auction. Although
unfinished, we had it fitted in here, in the place of the
wretched altar-piece which we had formerly. When
Berthold first came and saw the picture, he uttered
a loud shriek and fell senseless to the ground. Af
terwards he carefully avoided looking at it, and told
me in confidence that it was his last work of this
class. I hoped that I should gradually persuade



135



him to finish it, but every proposal of the sort he re
jected with the utmost abhorrence, and to keep him
in good spirits, and in the full possession of his
powers, I was forced to cover up the picture so long
as he remained in the church. If it met his eye only
by accident, he ran as if impelled by some irresistible
power, cast himself sobbing on the ground, a parox
ysm seized him, and he was for many days quite
unfit for work."

" Poor, unfortunate man ! " exclaimed I, " how
did the hand of the devil take such a deadly hold of
thy life ? "

" Oh ! " cried the professor, "the hand as well as
the arm grew in his own body : he was his own de
mon, his own Lucifer, flashing the infernal torch,
upon his own life. That is plain enough to those
who know his biography."

I entreated the professor at once to tell me all
that he knew about the life of the unfortunate
painter.

" That would be much too prolix, and cost too
much breath," replied the professor. " Do not let us
spoil the cheerful day by such gloomy stuff. We
will take breakfast and then go to the mill, where
an excellent dinner awaits us."

I did not desist from my requests to the profes
sor, and after much talk on both sides, it came out
that, immediately after BerthokVs arrival, a youth
who was studying at the college, devotedly attached



THE TOKEN.

himself to him, and that Berthold, by degrees, com
municated the particulars of his life to this youth,
who had carefully written them down, and had given
the manuscript to the professor.

" He was," said the professor, " much such an
enthusiast as pardon me you are ! But this work
of writing down the strange events in the painter s
life served him as a capital exercise for style."

With much trouble I obtained from the professor
a promise that he would lend me the manuscript
after the close of our pleasure-party. Whether it
proceeded from my own violent curiosity, or whether
it was the professor s fault, I never felt more uneasy
than during this day. The evening at last came,
and the professor put a few sheets of manuscript into
my hand, with the words : " There, my dear enthu
siast, is the student s handywork. It is not badly
written but very odd, &r,d the author, against all
rule, thrusts in discourses of the painter, word for
word, without any notice to the reader. I will make
you a present of the work, of which I have a right to
dispose by virtue of my office, for I know perfectly
well that you are no writer. The author of the " Fan-
tasie-Stticke in Gallot s Harder"* (fancy pieces in
the style of Callot) would have it according to his own
mad fashion, and would have printed it at once. I
have nothing of the sort to expect from you."

* These " Fantasie-Stiicke " are a collection of tales, &c., by Hoff
mann, and purport to be leaves from the journal of a travelling en
thusiast.



THE JESUITS CHUECH. 137

Professor Aloysius Walter did not know that he
really stood before the " travelling enthusiast/ al
though he might have found it out, and thus, gentle
reader, I am enabled to give you the Jesuit-student s
short history of the painter, Berthold. It thoroughly
explains the manner in which he conducted himself
in my presence, and thou, reader, wilt be able to see
how the strange spirit of destiny often plunges us into
destructive error.

" Only let your son make up his mind and go to
Italy. He is already a clever artist, and here at

D there is no lack of opportunity for studying

after excellent originals in every class, but here he
must not stay. The free life of an artist must dawn
upon him in the cheerful land of art, his studies will
there first take a living form, and produce individual
thoughts. Mere copying is now of no further use to
him. The growing plant requires more sun to thrive
and bring forth its blossoms and fruit. Your son has
a really artistical temperament, so you may be per
fectly satisfied about all the rest ! Thus said the
old painter, Stephan Birkner, to Berthold s parents.
The latter scraped together all that their slender
means would allow, to fit out the youth for his long
journey, and thus was Berthold s warmest wish
that of travelling to Italy accomplished.

" l When Birkner told me the decision of my
parents, I literally jumped with joy. I wandered

7*



138 THE TOKEN.

about as if in a dream till the time of my departure.
I was not able to make a single stroke with my pen
cil in the gallery. I made the inspector, and all the
artists who had been to Italy, tell me of the land
where art flourishes. The day and hour at length
arrived. The parting from my parents was painful,
as they felt a gloomy presentiment that they should
not see me again. Even my father, generally a firm,
resolute man, had difficulty in containing his feel
ings. " Italy ! you will see Italy ! " cried my brother
artists, and then my wish shone forth with greater
power, from my deep melancholy, and I stepped bold
ly forth, for the path of an artist seemed to begin even
at my parents door/

" Berthold had studied every department of
painting, but he had especially devoted himself to
landscapes, at which he worked with ardent love and
zeal. In Koine he expected to find abundant nur
ture for this branch of art, but it proved otherwise.
The very circle of artists and dilettanti in which he
moved, continually told him that the historical
painter alone stood on the highest point, and that all
the rest were but subordinate. He was advised, if he
wished to become an artist of eminence, to abandon
at once the department he had chosen, and to devote
himself to the higher branch ; and this advice, cou
pled with the novel impression which Baifaelle s
mighty frescoes in the Vatican had made upon him,
determined him to give up landscape painting alto-



THE JESUITS CHURCH. 139

gether. Ho sketched after the Raffaelles, and he
copied small oil paintings by other celebrated mas
ters. All these things were very cleverly done by his
practised hand ; but he plainly felt that the praise
of the artists and dilettanti should only solace him,
and encourage him to further efforts. He himself
saw that his sketches and copies wanted all the fire
of the originals. Raffaelle s and Correggio s heaven
ly thoughts so he thought inspired him to crea
tions of his own, but he wished to hold them fast in
his fancy, they vanished as in a mist, and all that he
sketched was like every obscure, confused thought,
without motion and significance. During his vain en
deavors deep melancholy took possession of his soul,
and he often escaped from his friends, privately to
sketch and paint in the vicinity of Home, groups of
trees single pieces of landscape. But even these
attempts were less successful than formerly ; and,
for the first time in his life, he doubted the truth of
his calling as an artist. His proudest hopes seemed
on the point of vanishing. Ah, my revered friend
and instructor/ wrote Berthold to Birkner, f you gave
me credit for great things ; but here, when a light
should have risen in my soul, I have learned that that
which you termed real artistical genius was nothing
but a sort of talent mere dexterity of hand. Tell my
parents that I shall soon return, and learn some
trade that I may get my living, &c. Birkner wrote
back : * Oh ! would I could be with you, my son, to



140 THE TOKEN.

support you in your depression. It is your very
doubts that prove your calling as an artist. He who
with steady immovable confidence in his powers be
lieves that he will always progress, is a blind fool,
who only deceives himself, for he wants the proper
spur to endeavor, which only consists in the thought
of deficiency. Persevere, and you will soon gain
strength ; and then, no longer fettered by the opinion
or the advice of friends, who are, perhaps,unable to ap
preciate you, you will quietly pursue the path which
your own nature has designed for you. It will then
be left to your own decision whether you become a
painter of landscapes or historical pieces, and you
will cease to think of a hostile separation of the
branches of one trunk/

" It happened that about the time when Berthold
received this letter of consolation from his old friend
and instructor, Philip Hackert s fame became widely
extended in Borne. Some of the paintings which he
had exhibited, and which were distinguished by won
derful grace and clearness, proved the real genius of
the artist, and even the historical painters admitted
that there was much greatness and excellence in this
pure imitation of nature. Berthold breathed again ;
he no more heard his favorite art treated with con
tempt, he saw a man who pursued it honored and
elevated, and, as it were, a spark fell on his soul that
he must travel to Naples and study under Hackert.
In high spirits he wrote to Birkner, and his parents,



CHUKCH. 141

that he had DOW, after a hard struggle, discovered
the right way, and hoped to become a clever artist
in his own style. The honest German, Hackert, re
ceived his German pupil with great kindness, and
the latter soon made great efforts to follow his mas
ter. Berthold attained great facility in giving faith
ful representations of the different kinds of trees and
shrubs, and was not a little successful in those misty
effects, which are to be found in Hackert s pictures.
He thus gained great praise, but it seemed to him as
if something was wanting both in his own and his
master s landscapes ; something to which he could
not give a name, and which was nevertheless plainly
apparent in the pictures by Claude Lorraine, and the
wild landscapes of Salvator Kosa. Soon he felt a
want of confidence in his instructor, and he felt par
ticularly dispirited when Hackert, with unwearied
exertion, painted some dead game which the king
had sent him. Soon, however, he conquered such
presumptuous thoughts as he considered them
and went on with virtuous resignation and true German
industry, following the pattern of his master, so that
in a short time he could nearly equal him. At Hack-
ert s own suggestion he sent a large landscape, which
he had faithfully copied from nature, to an exhibition,
which was chiefly to consist of landscapes and pieces
of still-life in the Hackert style. All the artists and
connoisseurs admired the young man s faithful, neatly
executed works, and praised them aloud. There was



142 THE TOKEN.

only an elderly strangely-attired man, who did not say
a word about Hackert s pictures, but smiled, signifi
cantly, whenever the multitude broke out into extra
vagant praises. Berthold perceived plainly enough
that this stranger, when he stood before his land
scape, shook his head with an air of the deepest pity,
and was then about to retire. Being somewhat ele
vated by the general praise which he had received,
Berthold could not help feeling indignant with the
stranger. He went up to him, and speaking more
sharply than was necessary, said : f You do not seem
satisfied with the picture, sir, although I must say
there are excellent artists and connoisseurs who do
not think it so bad. Pray tell me where the fault
lies, that I may improve the picture according to your
kind suggestion/ The stranger cast a keen glance at
Berthold, and said, very seriously : c Young man, a
great deal might be made out of you. Berthold felt
deeply horrified at the glance and the words of this
man ; he had not courage to say any thing more, or
to follow him, when he slowly stalked out of the sa
loon. Hackert soon came in himself, and Berthold
hastened to tell him of his meeting with this strange
man. Ha ! said Hackert, smiling, f do not take
that to heart. That is a crabbed old man, who
grumbles at every thing, and is pleased at nothing ;
I met him in the ante-room. He was born of Greek
parents, in Malta, and is a rich, queer old fellow, and
no bad painter. All that he does has a fantastic ap-



THE JESUITS CHURCH. 143

pearance, and this proceeds from the absurd notion
he has about art, and from the fact that he has con
structed a system which is utterly worthless. I
know well enough that he has no opinion of me,
which I readily pardon in him, since he cannot throw
any doubt on my honorably acquired fame/ Ber-
thold had felt as if the Maltese had touched a sore
place in his soul, like a beneficent physician, only
for the purpose of probing it and healing it ; but he
soon drove this notion from his mind, and worked on
happily as he had done before.

" The success of this large picture, which was
universally admired, gave him courage to begin a com
panion to it Hackert himself selected one of the most
lovely spots in the gorgeous vicinity of Naples ; and, as
the first picture had represented sunset, this land
scape was to show the effect of sunrise. He had a
number of strange trees, a number of vineyards, and,
above all, a good deal of mist to paint.

" Berthold was sitting on a large flat stone, in
this very spot, completing the sketch of the great
picture after nature. * Bravo well done ! said a
voice near him. He looked up. The Maltese was
viewing his work, and added, with a sarcastic smile,
1 You have only forgotten one thing, my dear young
friend. Only look yonder, at the wall of the distant
vineyard ; the one covered with green tendrils. The
door is half-open, don t you see ? You must repre-



THE TOKEN.

sent that with its proper shading. The half-open
door makes a surprising effect !

" i You are joking, sir/ exclaimed Berthold, l and
without reason. Such accidental circumstances are
by no means so contemptible as you imagine, and
for that very reason my master loves to employ them.
Only recollect the suspended white cloth in the land
scape of one of the Dutch painters, that could not
be omitted without marring the general effect.
You, however, seem to be no friend to landscape
painting in general ; and, as I have given myself up
to it with heart and soul, I beg of you to let me go
on working in quiet/

" ( You are much mistaken, young man/ said
the Maltese. I tell you again that a good deal
might be made of you, for your works visibly prove
an unwearied endeavor to attain the highest ; but
that, unfortunately, you will never attain, since the
path that you have taken does not lead to it. Only
mark what I tell you. Perhaps I may succeed in
kindling that flame in your soul, which you, senseless
as you are, are endeavoring to smother, and in
making it flash up brightly, so as to enlighten you.
Then you will be able to recognise the real spirit
that animates you. Do you think I am so foolish as
to place the landscape lower in rank than the his
torical painting, a^d that I do not recognise the
common goal after which the painters of both classes
should strive ? The apprehension of nature in the



CHURCH. 145

deepest import of that higher sense, which kindles
all beings to a higher life, that is the sacred end of
all art. Can the mere dim copying of nature lead to
this ? How poor, how stiff and forced, is the ap
pearance of a manuscript copied from another in
some foreign language, which the copyist does not
understand, and is, therefore, unable to give the
strokes, which he laboriously imitates, their proper
significance. Thus your master s landscapes are
correct copies of an original author in a language
which is strange to him. The initiated artist hears
the voice of nature, which from trees, hedges, flow
ers, mountains, and waters, speaks to him, and of
unfathomable mysteries in wondrous sounds, .which
form themselves in his bosom to a pious feeling of
foreboding : then, as a divine spirit, the talent itself
of transferring this dim feeling to his works, descends
upon him. Have not you yourself, young man, felt
strangely affected when looking at the landscapes of
the old masters ? Assuredly you did not think
whether the leaves of the lime-trees, the pines, the
plane-trees, might be truer to nature, whether the
background might be more misty, or the water might
be clearer ; but the spirit that breathes from the
whole raised you into a higher region, the reflection
of which you seemed to behold. Therefore, study
nature in the mechanical part, sedulously and care
fully, that you may attain the practice of represen
tation ; but do not take the practice for the art it-



146 THE TOKEN.

self. If you have penetrated into the deep import
of nature, her pictures will arise within you in bright
magnificence/ The Maltese was silent ; but when
Berthold, deeply moved by what he had heard, stood
with downcast eyes, and incapable of uttering a word,
the Maltese left him, saying, " I had no intention of
interrupting you in jour calling, but I know that a
higher spirit is slumbering in you. I called upon
it, with strong words, that it might awake, and
move its wings with freshness and vigor. Fare
well/

" Berthold felt as if the Maltese had only clothed
in words that which had already been fermenting in
his soul. The inner voice broke forth. No ! All
this striving, this constant endeavor, is but the uncer
tain, deceptive groping of the blind. Away with all
that has hitherto dazzled me/ He was not in a
condition to accomplish a single other stroke. He
left his master, and wandered about full of wild un
easiness, loudly imploring that the high knowledge
of which the Maltese had spoken might be revealed
to him.

" c Only in sweet dreams was I happy yes, truly
blessed ! Then every thing that the Maltese had
spoken became true. I lay in the green hedge,
while magical exhalations played around me, and the
voice of nature sounded audibly and melodiously
through the dark forest. " Listen, listen, oh ! thou
initiated one. Hear the original tones of creation,



THE JESUITS CHUKCH. 147

which fashion themselves to beings accessible to thy
mind." And when I heard the chords sound plainer
and plainer, I felt as though a new sense was awa
kened in me, and apprehended with wonderful per
spicuity, that which had appeared unfathomable. As
if in strange hieroglyphics I drew in the air the se
crets that had been revealed to me with characters
of fire ; and this hieroglyphic writing was a strange
landscape, upon which trees, hedges, flowers, and
waters moved, as it seemed, in loud delightful
sounds/

" But it was only in dreams that poor Berthold
felt real happiness, for his strength was broken, and
his mind was more disturbed than it had been in
Kome, when he wished to be an historical painter.
If he strolled through the dark wood, an unpleasant
sensation of awe came over him ; if he went out and
looked into the distant mountains, he felt as though
icy cold claws grasped his heart his breath was
stopped and he felt as if he perished from internal
anguish. All nature, which used to smile kindly
upon him, became a threatening monster, and her
voice, which used to greet him sweetly in the mur
muring of the evening breeze, in the bubbling of the
brook, in the rustling of the leaves, now told him of
nothing but perdition. At last, however, the more
these lively dreams consoled him, the calmer he be
came ; nevertheless, he avoided being alone in the
open air, and hence he associated himself with a



148 THE TOKEN.

couple of cheerful German painters, and took with
them many a trip to the loveliest spots of Naples.

" One of them, whom we will call Florentin, was
at this moment more intent upon the enjoyment of
life, than upon the serious study of his art, as his
portfolio sufficiently testified. Groups of dancing
peasant-girls, processions, rural festivals all this
class of subjects he could transfer to paper with a
sure, ready hand, whenever he chanced to meet with
them. Every drawing, even though it were a mere
sketch, had life and motion. At the same time his
mind was by no means closed to the higher in art ;
on the contrary, he penetrated more than any mod
ern painter into the strange import of the paintings
by all masters. In his sketch-book he had copied in
outline the frescoes of an old convent-church in
Kome, before the walls were pulled down. They
represented the martyrdom of St. Catharine, and one
could not see any thing more beautiful, more happily
conceived than those outlines, which made a very
peculiar impression upon Berthold. He saw flashes
through the gloomy desert that surrounded him, and
the result was, that he became capable of appreciating
the cheerful mind of Florentin, and that, as the latter
when representing the charms, especially brought
forward the human principle, he also took this prin
ciple as the ground on which he must stand, not to
float away into boundless space. While Florentin
was hastily sketching some group that he met,



THE JESUITS CHURCH. 149

Berthold took the opportunity of looking into his
book, and tried to imitate the lovely figure of Cath
arine, in which he was tolerably successful, although,
as at Koine, he failed in giving his figures the ani
mation of the original. He complained of this to
Florentin, whom he looked upon as far superior in
true artistical genius, and at the same time told him
all that the Maltese had spoken about art. l The
Maltese is right, dear brother Berthold/ said Floren
tin, and I rank the genuine landscape quite as high
as the deeply significant sacred histories as depicted
by the old masters. Nay, I maintain that one
ought first to strengthen oneself by the representation
of that organic nature which is nearest to us, that
we may be able to find light for her darker regions.
I advise you, Berthold, to practise yourself in sketch
ing figures, and in arranging your thoughts in them.
Perhaps by this means you will gain additional light/
Berthold acted according to the suggestion of his
friend, and it seemed to him, as if the dark clouds
which spread over his life were passing away.

" I endeavored to represent that, which seemed
no more than a mere obscure feeling in my inner
most soul, by hieroglyphic characters, as I had done
in my dream ; but the hieroglyphics became human
figures, which moved about a focus of light in strange
combinations. This focus was to be the noblest
form that ever was evoked by a painter s fancy, but
I vainly endeavored, when this form appeared to me



150 THE TOKEN.

in a dream, surrounded by the rays of heaven, to
catch the features. Every attempt to represent it
proved an utter failure, and I seemed to fade away
in a state of the most ardent desire/ Florentin per
ceived the situation of his friend, who was excited to
a morbid degree, and gave him all the consolation in
his power. Often did he tell him that this was the
very time when illumination would break upon him ;
but Berthold merely slunk about like a dreamer, and
all his attempts were but the feeble efforts of a puny
child.

" In the vicinity of Naples was a duke s villa,
from which there was the finest view of Vesuvius and
the sea, and which, on this account, was hospitably
kept open for foreign artists, especially landscape
painters. Berthold had often worked here, but still
oftener in a grotto in the park had he given himself
up to his fantastic dreams. One day he was sitting
in this grotto tortured by the sense of longing, that
tore his bosom, and was shedding briny tears, hoping
that the star would shine upon his obscure path,
when a rustling was heard in the hedges, and the
form of an exquisitely beautiful woman was before
him.

" The sunbeams fell upon her angelic counte
nance : she cast upon me an indescribable glance.
It was Saint Catharine. No, more than she, it was
my ideal. Mad with transport I threw myself on