JVo. 
 
 a Division 
 
 I Range 
 
 I' Shelf 
 
 I 
 
 Received 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNI 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 DANIEL C. GI I.MAX. 
 
VALUABLE BOOKS, 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 JAMES MILLER, 
 
 522 Broadway, New York. 
 
 A TALK WITH MY PUPILS. 
 
 By MRS. CHARLES SEDGWICK. . $1 25 
 
 THE SEVENTH OHIO REGIMENT. 
 
 A Eecord. By Major GEORGE L. WOOD. 1 75 
 
 AN OFFERING OF SYMPATHY TO THE AFFLICTED, 
 
 ESPECIALLY TO BEREAVED PARENTS. 
 
 By FRANCIS PARKMAN, D. D. . 1 25 
 
 CLASSIC QUOTATIONS : A Thought-Book 
 
 of the Wise Spirits of all Nations and all Countries; 
 fit for all men and all hours. 
 Collected, arranged, and revised, by JAMES ELMES. . 1 25 
 
 THE ARTIST'S MARRIED LIFE : Being that 
 
 of ALBERT DURER. Translated from the German of 
 Leopold Schefer, by Mrs. J. R. STODART. . . 1 25 
 
Artist's 
 
THE 
 
 ARTIST'S MARRIED LIFE; 
 
 BEING THAT OF 
 
 ALBERT DURER. 
 
 TRANSLATED FEOM THE GERMAN OF LEOPOLD SCHEFER, 
 
 h 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. J. R. STODART. 
 
 EEVISED EDITION, WITH MEMOIR. 
 
 ''Here, where art was still religion, with a simple reverent heart, 
 Lived and labored Albrecht Dtirer, the Evangelist of Art." 
 
 FELLOW. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 JAMES MILLER, SUCCESSOR TO C. S. FRANCIS & CO., 
 
 522 BROADWAY. 
 
 1867. 
 
oq 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ILBERT DURER not only left 
 
 his impress upon his own time, but 
 even now, after a period of nearly 
 four hundred years, the influence of his genius 
 is seen and felt. 
 
 Having passed a winter in France, and a por- 
 tion of the summer in Belgium and Switzerland, 
 the thought of Albert Diirer kindled within my 
 mind, and I said I must make a pilgrimage to 
 the city of his birth, see the house where he was 
 born, and stand by his last resting-place. The 
 Lake of Constance was crossed, and pausing by 
 the way to admire the grand Cathedral at TJlm, 
 the magnificent works of art at Munich, and to 
 wander through the quiet and quaint streets of 
 Augsburg, (associated with Maximilian and the 
 famous Confession of 1530,) from thence we were 
 A 
 
yi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 soon at Nuremberg, one of the most charming 
 and picturesque cities in the world. 
 
 As Nuremberg was in the middle ages, even 
 such is Nuremberg to-day. Lifted as if above 
 the sweeping tide of time, while other things have 
 changed, that continues the same. The ancient 
 walls and towers, gable roofs and bay windows, 
 cathedrals, shrines, and fountains, are all now 
 what they were in the centuries which have fled. 
 
 The first place to be visited was the house of 
 Albert Durer. It stands near the Castle. In ap- 
 proaching it you pass the noble statue in bronze 
 erected to Diirer's memory in the public square 
 bearing his ~name. The curious mansion is sacred- 
 ly preserved, and is under the special care of an 
 association of artists. It is visited by persons from 
 every city and country in the world, and those 
 who are familiar with Diirer's works must be im- 
 pressed by the resemblance between what here 
 presents itself to the eye, and that which he has 
 introduced into his pictures and engravings. The 
 houses around are like those delineated by his 
 pencil ; and customs and costumes, witnessed at 
 this moment in Nuremberg, are similar to those 
 which were depicted by Albert Diirer more than 
 three centuries ago. 
 
INTRODUCTION. Vll 
 
 He indulged, like others of his day, in strange 
 anachronisms. Looking upon his " Adam and 
 Eve," in the garden of Eden we perceive a very 
 comfortable Nuremberg house, just such as Hans 
 Sachs might have occupied ! So, also, the Virgin 
 and Infant Saviour appear surrounded by persons 
 in the German dress, precisely as if they had been 
 Albert Diirer's neighbors. Hence to-day, as you 
 walk through the streets of Nuremberg, you feel 
 as if you were really looking upon a picture by 
 Albert Diirer. Everything reminds you of him. 
 His name is kept in grateful remembrance by 
 the whole people. Whatever works of his they pos- 
 sess are highly honored. Here you see the portrait 
 of an old Burgomaster, (Holzschuher, a rich patri- 
 cian,) who appears as if he would speak, and there 
 you look upon the noble head of Charlemagne. 
 
 About half a mile from the city gate is the 
 ancient burial-place of St. Johns. It is peculiar 
 in its aspect ; over three thousand gravestones 
 resting flat upon the ground, bearing coats of 
 arms and devices in bronze, presenting a sight 
 not elsewhere to be seen. Here is the grave of 
 Albert Diirer, which after some searching we 
 found, and read, chiselled upon the stone, " EMI- 
 
VU1 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 GRAVIT, Aprilis, MDXXVIII.," proving how true 
 are Longfellow's admirable lines : 
 
 " EMIGRAVIT is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies ; 
 Dead he is not, but departed, for the Artist never dies." 
 
 Long did we linger in this deeply interesting 
 place, musing upon the changes which had trans- 
 pired since Albert Diirer was familiar with these 
 scenes. It was in the year that Diirer was twenty- 
 one that Columbus discovered America ; in that 
 day Luther was engaged in his mighty work ; while 
 Michael Angelo and Raphael were astonishing the 
 world by their achievements in art. As you walk 
 quietly through the streets of Nuremberg, it is 
 difficult to realize what vast revolutions have taken 
 place, and what stupendous discoveries have been 
 made since Albert Diirer was there : it startles 
 you to remember that more than a hundred years 
 had transpired, after the close of his career, before 
 the days of Gustavus Adolphus, and the fearful 
 conflict on that very spot between him and Wal- 
 lenstein. There is an indescribable charm in this 
 quaint old city, all interwoven with memories of 
 the past, and indissolubly associated as it is with 
 the genius of Albert Diirer. 
 
INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 * 
 
 At Antwerp, where the lofty spire of the Cathe- 
 dral, with its exquisite marble tracery, (as if giants 
 and fairies had worked there in harmony,) attracts 
 and holds the eye at every turn, there we remem- 
 bered it was that the artist of Nuremberg was 
 publicly entertained, and escorted through the city 
 by torchlight; so, also, at Bruges, with its grand 
 Bell-Tower, we there recollected with how joyous 
 a welcome he was here received; and at Venice, 
 floating as in a dream along the grand canal, or 
 standing by the Ducal Palace and the glorious 
 Basilica of St. Marks, we knew that it was in 
 this same piazza that Marc Antonio (the friend of 
 Raphael), first saw, and was captivated by, the 
 works of Durer. 
 
 At Rome, too, we were brought again face to 
 face with Albert Durer ; in the Palazzo Corsini, 
 one of the most splendid palaces in Rome, is a 
 beautiful painting from his pencil, and in the 
 Palazzo Sciarra may be seen one of his most 
 elaborate and finished masterpieces. 
 
 There it was in the Eternal City that a dis- 
 tinguished artist voluntarily brought to us the 
 "Life of Albert Durer," (though, as it happened, 
 we were familiar with it before,) saying that he 
 was never weary of reading it, and he never trav- 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 
 
 elled without having with him the book. This 
 unsolicited statement, from an eminent sculptor, 
 was certainly as marked a tribute as could well 
 have been paid. 
 
 That Book in a new Edition is herewith 
 presented to the reader in the belief that he may 
 find within it somewhat worthy of his perusal. 
 
 R. C. W. 
 
 Boston, 2nd Jan. 1861. 
 
Memoir of Albert Diirer. 
 
 (LBERT DURER was born at Nu- 
 f remberg, on the 20th of May, in 
 * the year 1471. His father, a native 
 of Pannonia, was a celebrated goldsmith. In 
 his youth he had studied in the Netherlands, 
 under the famous masters of the school of 
 Bruges, who had imparted to him their style, 
 so full of delicacy and truth. But in the year 
 1455 he relinquished the fertile meadows of 
 Flanders for the fresh valleys of Germany. At 
 the age of twenty-eight he settled at Nurem- 
 berg, and there married a young girl, named 
 Barbara Hellerin, who became the mother of 
 the famous artist. It is probable that Albert 
 Diirer began to assist his father in his trade 
 at a very early age, but he always manifested 
 a preference for engraving. Unaffected and 
 pious, living without ostentation in the bosom 
 of a quiet family, it was long before he became 
 aware of the extent of his powers. The first 
 
Xll MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. 
 
 plate executed by him bears the date of 1497 ; 
 it represents four naked female figures, and 
 far from having been copied, as is asserted by 
 the historian Baldinucci, from a copperplate of 
 Israel van Meckenen, was an original work, 
 which Israel van Meckenen copied. His first 
 picture, a portrait of himself, was executed in 
 the year 1498 ; it is now to be seen at Flor- 
 ence, in the gallery set apart for the reception 
 of autograph portraits. The artist has drawn 
 himself in half length, seated before a window, 
 his hands resting on a maul-stick ; he is dressed 
 in festive attire, a white tunic striped with 
 black, and a mantle thrown gracefully over 
 one shoulder. His beautiful hair is arranged 
 in long rich curls. Although the lines are very 
 decided, and the drawing hard, there is a bold- 
 ness in the execution, and a softness in the 
 touch, which is not to be met with in his later 
 efforts. The noble expression which the mas- 
 ter has given to his countenance was no flat- 
 tery, but with this air of dignity he has blended 
 an ingenuous satisfaction with his personal ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 Albert Diirer was not only handsome, he was 
 also very proud of his beauty, as we learn from 
 
MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. Xlll 
 
 his letters to his intimate friend Willibald 
 Pirkheimer. An innocent pride in the painter, 
 which was only one form of his admiration 
 for all the works of God. It seems, indeed, 
 as if nature had been as bounteous with her 
 outward gifts as she had been prodigal of 
 her intellectual endowments. " She had given 
 him," says Camerarius, " a commanding figure, 
 and a body worthy of being the temple of so 
 exquisite a mind." His features were remark- 
 ably regular, his eye bright, his hair abundant 
 and glossy, and his nose aquiline, while the 
 slender elegance of his neck, his expansive 
 chest, sinewy limbs, and hands of exquisite 
 delicacy, completed his personal attractions. 
 
 Albert Durer was fifteen when he commenced 
 studying under Michael Wohlgemuth, one of 
 the old masters, who, full of modesty and 
 honour, practised his art in an obscure studio, 
 caring little for glory, diligently reading his 
 Bible, studying nature, and labouring as if to 
 fulfil a moral obligation. 
 
 Having completed the term of his appren- 
 ticeship, the young artist left Wohlgemuth, in 
 order that he might see something of the world. 
 He travelled through Germany, and also visited 
 
XIV MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. 
 
 the Netherlands and Italy ; but we glean little 
 of this first tour, which, made at the early age 
 of nineteen, must have had a decided influence 
 on his character. " I set out," says Diirer, 
 "just after Easter, in the year 1490, and re- 
 turned in 1494, after Whitsuntide, when Hanns 
 Frei negotiated with my father to give me his 
 daughter in marriage, and with her a dowry 
 of two hundred florins. Our nuptials were 
 celebrated on the Monday before St. Margaret's 
 Day, 1494." If we are to judge by the portrait 
 of Agnes, painted by her husband, she must 
 have been possessed of extraordinary beauty ; 
 but with this beauty was mingled an expression 
 of irritability, more especially when anything 
 unusual happened to annoy her. Albert Diirer, 
 warned of this failing by the delicacy of his 
 perception, could not help entertaining gloomy 
 forebodings. He thought of the young girl 
 promised him in marriage, as one of those sin- 
 ister prophecies which the Pythoness of old 
 was wont to clothe in brilliant language. But 
 he submitted to what he considered his des- 
 tiny. 
 
 The newly-married couple lived happily to- 
 gether for a short period. Soon, however, 
 
MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. XV 
 
 clouds began to gather. Durer, whose charac- 
 ter was mild and gentle, had not the determi- 
 nation to commence a strife with the charming, 
 though formidable, Agnes Frei. The discon- 
 solate artist sought comfort and advice from a 
 near friend, in whom he ever found a ready 
 sympathiser in his sorrows. Being married 
 himself, Willibald Pirkheimer was the better 
 fitted to be his counsellor, though his domestic 
 life formed a strange contrast to that of Albert 
 Durer. His partner was a model of grace and 
 gentleness ; no discord had ever disturbed their 
 harmony. But he was destined to have his 
 share of the troubles of this world; his wife 
 died, and her loss was a mutual grief to the 
 two friends. The artist, deeply impressed with 
 the memory of Crescentia, painted her stretched 
 on her death-bed, holding in her failing hand a 
 lighted taper and a crucifix, and receiving ex- 
 treme unction from a priest seated at the bed- 
 side, while a kneeling Augustine friar reads 
 the prayers for the dying. This painting was 
 executed with pious care. At the side of the 
 weeping Willibald are seen the nuns of St. 
 Clair, who are come to soothe the last hours 
 of his wife. At the top of the canvas Durer 
 
XVI MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. 
 
 wrote, in letters of gold, words dictated to him 
 by his friend. 
 
 In the mean time Agnes Frei, tormented by 
 avarice, restless, haughty, and violent, allowed 
 no repose to the husband she had tamed, to 
 the melancholy painter of " Melancholy." She 
 urged him to work, even threatened him, and 
 at last locked him in his studio. He wrote 
 sorrowfully to his faithful friend, Willibald 
 Pirkheimer : " I hear that you have taken to 
 yourself a wife ; take care that she prove not 
 also a master." Once he managed to get be- 
 yond the reach of this Xanthippe, by making 
 a second visit to the city of lagoons, the home 
 of Italian art, beautiful Venice. He was in- 
 duced to make this journey, by the pleasant 
 reminiscences of his former sojourn there. This 
 was in the year 1506. The wonderful engrav- 
 ings of Albert Diirer were already beginning 
 to astonish the lovers of the fine arts in Italy; 
 his renown had crossed the Alps and reached 
 the ears of Raffaele. These two great masters 
 having discovered that their admiration was 
 reciprocal, exchanged portraits, Diirer sending 
 with his some of his fine engravings. The 
 famous engraver, Marc Antonio, of Bologna, 
 
MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. XV11 
 
 was at that time in Venice. He observed in 
 these engravings what was wanting in his own. 
 He remarked the admirable guidance of the 
 graver, the exactitude and delicacy of the fig- 
 ures, and the great precision with which the 
 copper was cut. Admiring also the free and 
 bold style of Diirer's wood-engravings, he at- 
 tempted to imitate it. By degrees he was led 
 on by his success to counterfeit thirty-seven 
 pieces of " The Passion," and to make them 
 complete, placed upon them, instead of his own 
 mark, the monogram of Albert Diirer. Vasari 
 relates, that Diirer, warned of this fraud by the 
 receipt of some of the proofs, hastened to Ven- 
 ice, brought an action against Marc Antonio, 
 and obtained an order from the magistrates 
 forbidding the Bolognese engraver to use, for 
 the future, the cypher of Albert Diirer. His 
 house was continually besieged by visitors. 
 Nobles, musicians, and learned men sought 
 him, and so disturbed his German tranquillity, 
 that he was sometimes obliged to conceal him- 
 self, in order to gain a few hours' quiet. With 
 the characteristic penetration of a German, Al- 
 bert Diirer made his observations on the good 
 people by whom he was surrounded, among 
 
XVlll MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. 
 
 whom he detected many of those witty ami- 
 able loungers, of whom such numbers still exist 
 in Italy: "One would take them," says he, 
 "for the most charming men. They are well 
 aware that one is not ignorant of their numer- 
 ous follies, but they only laugh at it." With 
 the solitary exception of Giovanni Bellini, with 
 whom he formed a close friendship, and who 
 overwhelmed him with praises, Diirer had ever 
 cause to complain of the painters. Thrice they 
 had him dragged before the magistrate, to com- 
 pel him to pay the dues of their companies. 
 
 "I have many friends among the Wdlsche^ he writes, "who 
 have warned me neither to eat nor drink with their painters, 
 among whom I have many enemies. They place copies of my 
 works in the churches, and in every building where they can 
 possibly have them ; afterwards they speak disparagingly of them, 
 say that they are not antique, and are worth nothing." 
 
 Perhaps there never lived a man more hap- 
 pily constituted, and gifted in a higher degree 
 with qualities calculated to gain the affections 
 and dissipate all ill-feeling. Diirer was kind 
 and generous to all, and always mild and gen- 
 tle in his bearing. His conversation, which 
 displayed at once his high appreciation of art, 
 and his profound knowledge of the mathemati- 
 
MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. XIX 
 
 cal and positive sciences, particularly geome- 
 try and architecture, was so agreeable and in- 
 teresting, that his hearers dreaded the moment 
 when he should cease to speak. He was never 
 at a loss for words, in which to express him- 
 self, and his manner was so noble and dig- 
 nified, that the highest potentates, Ferdinand, 
 King of Bohemia, and Maximilian, Emperor 
 of Germany, took pleasure in conversing famil- 
 iarly with him. The latter, having formed the 
 highest opinion of his talents, retained him at 
 his court, where he employed his graver and 
 his brush alternately. It is related, that one 
 day, when engaged in painting some large ob- 
 ject, his ladder proving too short, Maximilian 
 requested one of the nobles who surrounded 
 him to hold the ladder, that the artist might 
 mount with safety to the top. But the noble 
 lord considered it beneath his dignity, and re- 
 fused to obey. " You are noble by birth," 
 exclaimed the irritated Emperor, "my painter 
 is ennobled by genius ; " and to show how 
 much easier it was to make a noble than a 
 great painter, Maximilian forthwith commanded 
 that a patent of nobility should be made out 
 for Diirer, giving him for armorial bearings 
 
XX MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. 
 
 three shields on a field of azure, two on the 
 chief, and one on the base. These arms be- 
 came subsequently those of all the societies 
 of painters. 
 
 At the age of forty-nine, Albert Durer again 
 visited the Netherlands. Unfortunately, Agnes 
 Frei, his terrible spouse, followed him there. 
 Antwerp being at that time the most important 
 town in the Low Countries, and the centre of 
 commerce, was the first place they visited. 
 The evening of their arrival, the agent of a 
 rich banking-house that of the Fuggers 
 gave them a splendid supper. The following 
 days Durer was escorted through the city, and 
 the painters invited him to a dinner which was 
 given at their hall, of which the illustrious 
 guest gives the following account : " No ex- 
 pense was spared ; the banquet was served on 
 silver, and all the painters, with their wives, 
 were present. When I entered with mine, 
 they separated on either side, as if I had been 
 one of the nobles of the land. There were 
 present many persons of high station, who 
 greeted me respectfully, manifesting every de- 
 sire to be agreeable and obliging in all things. 
 When we were seated, Master Rathporth of- 
 
MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. XXI 
 
 fered me, in the name of the corporation, four 
 measures of wine, in token of their good will 
 and esteem. I thanked them, expressing my 
 gratitude . . . The entertainment was continued 
 until a late hour of the night, when we were 
 conducted home by torchlight, amid overwhelm- 
 ing protestations of friendship." 
 
 At Ghent and at Bruges Durer received a 
 similar welcome. Proofs of esteem were lav- 
 ished upon him, in the shape of invitations ; 
 delicacies abounded, the wine flowed plenti- 
 fully, and every evening he was reconducted 
 to his abode by torch-light. Margaret of Aus- 
 tria, regent of the Netherlands for Charles V., 
 hearing that Durer was at Brussels, despatched 
 an officer of the court to assure him of the 
 favor of herself and the emperor. In gratitude 
 for this politeness, the Nuremberg engraver pre- 
 sented to Margaret some of his finest plates, 
 " St. Jerome in the Room," engraved on cop- 
 per with wonderful delicacy, a copy of " The 
 Passion," and afterwards he gave her copies of 
 his entire collection of engravings, with the ad- 
 dition of two subjects drawn on parchment 
 with great labor and care, which he valued at 
 thirty florins. But he soon began to feel the 
 
Xxil MEMOIR OP ALBERT DURER. 
 
 effects of intrigue ; the envious prepared snares 
 for him so artfully, that after the favorable re- 
 ception which Margaret had given him, her 
 manner suddenly changed towards him. Durer 
 showed her a portrait which he had painted of 
 the Emperor Charles V., when she assumed so 
 disdainful an air, that the artist was compelled 
 to remove his canvas in silence. On another 
 occasion, in order to ascertain whether this 
 contempt were felt for his talents or his per- 
 son, he begged for the little book of Master 
 Jacob (Jacob Cornelisz), which was embellished 
 with choice miniatures ; but the lady replied 
 sharply that it was promised to her painter, 
 Bernard Van Orley. Then and there ended 
 their connexion, much to the gratification of 
 the crafty and the envious. This celebrated 
 engraver was not worse treated by the Aus- 
 trian princess than by private individuals, for 
 in Brussels he painted six portraits, for none 
 of which the remuneration was forthcoming. 
 His abode at Antwerp provoked the following 
 remark: "I have made here many drawings 
 and portraits, the majority of which have 
 brought me nothing." In consequence of this, 
 although he worked hard and practised the 
 
MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. XX111 
 
 strictest economy, he became involved in pecun- 
 iary difficulties. Hurt by the contrast which 
 he remarked between his splendid reception and 
 the strange proceedings which followed it, he 
 wrote conspicuously in his memorandum-book 
 these words, " In all my transactions, whether 
 in selling or in buying during my sojourn in 
 the Netherlands, in all my intercourse with the 
 high or low classes, I have been wronged, more 
 particularly by the Lady Margaret (of Aus- 
 tria), who has given me nothing in return for 
 all my presents and labours." Regarding the 
 portrait of the Emperor Charles V., which the 
 regent had appeared to despise, Albert Diirer 
 was obliged to part with it for a pocket-hand- 
 kerchief of English manufacture. Happily a 
 citizen of Antwerp, Alexander Imhoff, accom- 
 modated him with a loan of one hundred 
 golden florins, for which he put his hand to a 
 bill stamped with his seal, and payable at Nu- 
 remberg. Just as he was meditating his de- 
 parture, Christian IL, King of Denmark, made 
 his appearance in the city, and, hearing that 
 Diirer was still there, sent for him, loaded him 
 with favours, and desired to have his portrait 
 taken by so great an artist, for which he paid 
 
XXIV MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. 
 
 him liberally. Gratified by the splendid en- 
 gravings presented to him by Albert Diirer, 
 Christian invited him to a banquet, at which 
 the Emperor, the Princess Margaret, and the 
 Queen of Spain were present; but none of 
 these august personages deigned to address a 
 word to the noble and handsome guest. Soon 
 after this, our artist left Belgium, carrying with 
 him bitter reminiscences, which made his na- 
 tive Germany appear more charming than ever. 
 There, at least, he had only to bear his cus- 
 tomary grief, conjugal strife, a grief which was 
 unvarying and inconsolable, and which was re- 
 vived, from time to time, by the passions of 
 Agnes. 
 
 The study of the Flemish paintings, and his 
 own acute observation, had by degrees worked 
 a considerable modification in Albert Diirer's 
 view with regard to the nature and aim of art. 
 The correspondence of his friend Melancthon, 
 as well as the later works of the painter, proves 
 to us that, towards the close of his career, his 
 mind underwent a vast change. Instead of 
 the profusion of detail which characterised his 
 more youthful productions, he now sought to 
 throw into his pictures a simplicity and har- 
 
MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. XXV 
 
 mony of conception, which he found made a 
 much nearer approach to nature, than the labo- 
 rious variety which he crowded into his former 
 pictures. He regretted that he had not discov- 
 ered this earlier in life, for, at his age, it was 
 difficult to alter his style of painting ; but with 
 these noble regrets was mingled the still more 
 noble desire to improve the style and general 
 character of his works. Then it was that he 
 painted the sublime figures of the Apostles, 
 which are to be seen at Munich. 
 
 A fatal hour was approaching for Albert 
 Diirer. He was unable to support the double 
 burden of labour and vexation, inasmuch as Ag- 
 nes Frei became every day more peevish and 
 ill-tempered. Tortured by the foolish fear of 
 poverty, she harassed the patient engraver with 
 her lamentations. She watched him with a 
 commanding look, and held his genius captive 
 to her sordid spirit, demanding what was to 
 become of her should she be left a widow. 
 Those friends who would have solaced and en- 
 tertained him were driven away, and the poor 
 old painter, tired of life, and worn out with 
 struggling, lost his energy, and gave himself 
 up to despair. An eye-witness relates, that 
 
XXVI MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. 
 
 his reason sometimes seemed to wander. Al- 
 bert Diirer died on the 6th of April, 1528. 
 
 At the cemetery of St. John, at Nuremberg, 
 is shown the spot where this great master, 
 after a life full of troubles and anxieties, found 
 a haven of rest. " It is impossible to imagine 
 a more gloomy place," says one of our contem- 
 poraries. Not one of those country graveyards, 
 so full of nature's poetry ; no weeping willows 
 drooping their melancholy branches; no dark 
 towering cypress mounting towards the skies ; 
 no flowers, green turf, or garlands, pious offer- 
 ings from the living to the memory of the 
 dead. The tombs, ranged in long rows, like 
 the beds of the patients in a hospital, are mere- 
 ly flat stones laid over the graves. No railing 
 encloses them, no cross surmounts them; their 
 burying-place might be compared to a camp- 
 bed set up for a night. Meanwhile, the lichen 
 spreads its dusky stains, and the mass of rank 
 verdure announces that oblivion is already be- 
 ginning to swallow up the memory of those 
 beloved beings to whom the epitaph promises 
 eternal tears. 
 
 On Albert Diirer's tomb-stone is the follow- 
 ing simple inscription : 
 
MEMOIR OF ALBERT DURER. XXV11 
 
 Me. Al. Du. 
 QUIDQUID ALBERTI DURERI MORTALE FUIT 
 
 SUB HOC CONDITUR TUMULO 
 
 EMIGRAVIT vm IDUS APRILIS MDXXVIII. 
 
 Willibald Pirkheimer, the faithful friend of 
 the great painter, added, after this short epi- 
 taph, a brief catalogue of his virtues, and men- 
 tioned the universal grief which was felt for 
 his loss. It well became him to engrave this 
 last farewell on Albert Diirer's tomb-stone, for 
 he had strengthened and consoled him all his 
 life. Even fate seemed to respect their old at- 
 tachment, for they are laid side by side in the 
 same grave-yard. 
 
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 THE Novels of SCHEFER are not much known; 
 in this country, nor have any of them,, 
 so far as I know, been translated into English. 
 The following, after the manner of Sir Walter 
 Scott's " Tales of my Landlord," purports to be 
 an old manuscript entrusted by Albert Diirer on 
 his deathbed to his friend Pirkheimer, with in- 
 structions that it should be given to the world 
 when all those to whom its contents might cause 
 pain, were no more. The idea may have been 
 suggested to the author by the words of Diirer 
 himself; for he concludes an account of the death 
 of his father by saying " As I have described at 
 length in another book." Of this book, only one 
 torn leaf was found, marked page 19. It is writ- 
 ten in very old German, and contains a short ac- 
 count of the death of his father and mother ; of a 
 1 
 
2 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 remarkable event which happened in the year 1503, 
 and which he designates as " the greatest miracle 
 I ever saw in all my life," when suddenly the 
 figure of the cross was seen on the persons of many 
 individuals at the same time, especially on children ; 
 that on account of its singularity he had made a 
 drawing of one which appeared on his own maid- 
 servant Susanna, and which so terrified her that 
 she wept and lamented, thinking it would be the 
 cause of her death ; of having seen a comet in the 
 heavens ; and also how he had been enabled to pay 
 all his debts contracted in Venice, besides pur- 
 chasing many articles of furniture, new dresses, 
 and various domestic utensils, with a large sum 
 of money he had received for one of his works ; 
 all quite in accordance with the events narrated in 
 the following pages. 
 
 This fragment, together with a journal of his 
 travels in the Netherlands with his wife and Su- 
 sanna, letters to Pirkheimer and other friends, and 
 various interesting details, is given in a small vol- 
 ume published in 1828 by Dr. Friedrich Campe, 
 a citizen of Niirnberg, entitled " Relics of Albert 
 Diirer." By it I find that the leading facts in 
 the life of the great painter are closely adhered to 
 by the novelist. The history of the little Agnes, 
 
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 3 
 
 however, must be imaginary ; unless indeed Sche- 
 fer is correct in saying, that from her early death, 
 and having been scarcely known among men, the 
 memory of her had passed away. I should also 
 mention that Campe gives some poetic effusions 
 from the pen of Diirer ; but truth obliges me 
 to say, that though a master in the art of paint- 
 ing, he seems to have been but a journeyman in 
 the sister art of poetry. 
 
 In the journal, he tells of the manner in which 
 he and his wife and Susanna were entertained at 
 Antwerp by the painters and their wives ; of the 
 silver service and the extravagantly fine dinner, 
 and how they were conducted home late at night 
 by all the company carrying torches ; also at 
 Bruges how he was entertained with like magnifi- 
 cence, an account of which he concludes by saying 
 that more than sixty persons accompanied him home 
 with many torches. He mentions having been pres- 
 ent at a banquet given by the Emperor Charles 
 V. to the King of Denmark (his brother-in-law), 
 and also at one given by the King to the Emperor 
 and Margaret (Governess of the Netherlands) in 
 return. In reference to the latter, his words are 
 "He invited me, and I ate with them there." 
 Honours were heaped on him wherever he went, 
 
4 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 also costly presents of wine and other articles of 
 luxury. He tells of the storm he encountered on 
 the coast, after having left his wife at Antwerp, 
 and of the numerous pictures he gave away ; to 
 the Bishop of Bamberg, who invited him to his 
 house and paid for him at the inn ; to the King 
 of Denmark, and many others. It seems, indeed, 
 as the novelist says, to have been his delight to 
 give pleasure to every one. But his journey to 
 the Netherlands was nearly fruitless in all but 
 honours. Margaret, especially, considered him 
 richly rewarded by fair words for many works he 
 had executed for her, and others he had present- 
 ed to her besides. 
 
 In this little volume Campe publishes a remark- 
 able letter of Pirkheimer, printed from his own 
 handwriting and addressed to Tscherte, the Emper- 
 or's architect at Vienna, in which he very plainly 
 accuses Agnes of having been the cause of her 
 husband's death. He says " She gnawed into 
 his heart ; " that " she gave him no peace night 
 or day ; " and that in consequence " he wasted 
 away to a skeleton ; " that she urged him to work, 
 for no other reason than that he might make money 
 to leave to her ; and adds that he (Pirkheimer) 
 had often reproved her for her conduct, and proph- 
 
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 5 
 
 esied what would be the end of it : but these 
 friendly warnings gained him nothing but ill will. 
 All this Diirer seems to have borne with the ut- 
 most meekness, quite in conformity with the char- 
 acter drawn of him by Schefer. He was patient 
 under a hard lot a picture of composure through- 
 out all his domestic trials. In his published writ- 
 ings, as given by Campe, there is not a single 
 word of complaint to be found ; but his letters to 
 Pirkheimer from Venice breathe a spirit of sad- 
 ness, especially in anticipation of his return home. 
 In the account of his mother's death, he says that 
 she had suffered many severe sicknesses, great 
 poverty, mockery, contempt, scornful words, fear, 
 and great reverses ; but he never says from whom 
 she had to endure this mockery and contempt ; 
 only there is no mention of Agnes having assisted 
 in rendering the last duties to her husband's 
 mother ; and Diirer himself, after telling that his 
 father had confided her to his care, says "Two 
 years after my father's death, I took my mother 
 home to my own house, for she had nothing more." 
 Thus Schefer seems to be justified in his conclu- 
 sion that Agnes was the cause of all this. That 
 he did much to please her is evident throughout : 
 among other things, while in the Netherlands he 
 
6 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 notes down in his journal different articles he had 
 bought for her, such as fine ivory combs, a cage 
 for a small green parrot that had been presented 
 to her, and what he calls " a thin Flemish stuff 
 for the head." 
 
 From Campe's estimate of him as a man and 
 an artist, we find that nature and an inquiring 
 mind were his teachers ; untiring patience and 
 boundless industry the genii that accompanied him 
 through life. He opened up his own path on all 
 sides : we have to thank him for the invention of 
 etching ; he wrote the first work on fortification ; 
 one on the proportions of the human body, one on 
 perspective, and many others besides ; he was the 
 first who made rules for the art of writing, and 
 gave a better form to the letters; he was about 
 to begin a work on landscape painting, when death 
 called him away. He was a designer, painter, ar- 
 chitect, sculptor, and engraver on wood as well as 
 metal. He made woodcuts of the life of Christ 
 in thirty-nine pieces. One of his best specimens, 
 in this style is St. Eustacius kneeling before a 
 stag which has a crucifix between its horns. At 
 Prague, besides his picture of Adam and Eve, 
 there is one of Christ bearing the Cross. His 
 own picture which he sent to Raphael, came into 
 
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 7 
 
 possession of Giulio Romano, who placed it among 
 the curiosities in the palace of Mantua. At Ven- 
 ice there is an Ecce Homo ; and in the gallery 
 at Florence, besides his own portrait, are the rep- 
 resentations of St. Philip and St. James, and an 
 Adam and Eve. The people of Niirnberg still 
 carefully preserve in the public hall his portraits 
 of Charlemagne and some of the Emperors of the 
 house of Austria ; also the twelve Apostles, whose 
 drapery is remarkable ; and in the church of St. 
 Sebaldus, in which he was married (a very old 
 building in the pure Gothic style, one part of 
 which, St. Peter's Chapel, situated between the 
 towers, dates as far back as the tenth century), 
 there is a picture by him of the entombment of 
 Christ, said to be excellent. Fuseli says that the 
 colouring of Diirer went beyond his age, and that 
 in easel pictures it as far excelled the oil colour 
 of Raphael in juice and breadth and handling, as 
 Raphael excelled him in every other quality. 
 
 He knew not what it was to envy other artists ; 
 he rejoiced over everything that was good, and 
 praised whatever there was to praise. If an ill 
 executed work was brought to him, he said good- 
 humouredly " Well, the master has done his 
 best." He was well versed in the Scriptures, 
 
8 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 and they furnished materials for his best repre- 
 sentations. He never lent his talent to indecen- 
 cy ; his art was as pure as his morals. His facility 
 was inconceivable. Bellini wished to have from 
 him the pencil with which he drew hair so minute- 
 ly ; Diirer held out to him a handful of every 
 kind, telling him to take any one he liked, for 
 that he could do it with them all. Once in a 
 party of artists, when every one was giving a 
 proof of his skill, Diirer took a piece of chalk and 
 drew quite off-hand a circle on the table, telling 
 them that they might bring compasses and meas- 
 ure it ; which being done, it was found, to the 
 astonishment of all present, that he had hit it to 
 a hair. 
 
 Of his outward appearance, Campe says that 
 he was well made, his chest manly and broad, his 
 hands slight, his brow serene, his nose slightly 
 aquiline, his hair dark-brown, falling in natural 
 curls over his shoulders, his expression kindly and 
 open, and that there was something so pleasant 
 in his talk, that he was listened to with attention 
 and delight. 
 
 He seems to have been warmly attached to the 
 principles of the Reformation. When he was in 
 the Netherlands in 1521, news came that Luther 
 
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 9 
 
 had been seized and carried off to the Castle of 
 Wartburg. Thinking that he had fallen into the 
 hands of his enemies, Diirer was overwhelmed with 
 grief, and gave vent to his feelings in a very 
 pathetic lamentation and prayer, which are given 
 in the journal. 
 
 The house in which Diirer lived and died is of 
 very considerable dimensions, and stands at the 
 corner of the street called at that time Zisselgasse, 
 but now Albrecht Diirer's Strasse, and is nearly 
 opposite to one of the gates leading into the Im- 
 perial Castle. In his day it seems to have stood 
 at the extremity of the city, but is now quite sur- 
 rounded by buildings which have arisen on all sides. 
 Campe says that in 1826 he, as a member of the 
 magistracy, bought for the city from the proprie- 
 tor of the house a balcony where Diirer used to 
 work, for which he paid 1675 florins, and that it 
 is carefully preserved as a relic. He also gives 
 a letter from Louis, the present King of Bavaria, 
 so well known as a liberal encourager of the arts, 
 showing a high appreciation of Diirer as an artist, 
 and proposing that a statue should be erected in 
 honour of him in his native city. To this Campe 
 says that such a letter from such a King is itself 
 the best monument to the memory of the Artist. 
 
10 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 Diirer's ancestors were Hungarians, inhabitants 
 of a small village called Eytas, whence his grand- 
 father Anton Diirer came to Nurnberg, and there 
 learned the trade of a goldsmith, which was held 
 in much higher repute in those days than it is 
 now, and argued a more than ordinary advance- 
 ment in art. His father and himself continued 
 the same trade, which he pursued even after hav- 
 ing become a renowned painter and engraver. 
 His wife, who survived him eleven years, carried 
 on the business after his death ; and when she 
 died, it was taken up by his brother Andreas, the 
 only one of all his numerous family who survived 
 him. His wife's parents died in still greater pov- 
 erty than his own, and also in the midst of severe 
 trials and reverses. 
 
 Diirer's father, in noting down the births of his 
 children, never mentions the day of the month, 
 but just the year and the Saint's day on which 
 the birth took place, which is indeed a common 
 practice among Catholics. 
 
 His son Albert was born on the day of St. Pru- 
 dentius, 1471 (the 6th of April), on which Good 
 Friday fell in that year ; and he died also on the 
 6th of April 1528, and in Passion Week ; accord- 
 ing to Schefer on Maunday Thursday. Diirer 
 
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 11 
 
 died of consumption in the 57th year of his age, 
 Campe says weary of life, his body emaciated, 
 and his fine aspect gone. As far back as 1521, 
 he says in his journal " In the third week 
 after Easter I was attacked by a burning fever, 
 together with -great weakness, loathing, and head- 
 ache; and, as formerly when in Zealand, I was 
 again overcome by a strange sickness of which I 
 never heard lefore from any one, and this sick- 
 ness I have yet" He was then in the Nether- 
 lands, and every page in the journal after this 
 date contains entries of money paid for medical 
 advice. This was seven years before his death ; 
 but the strange sickness here mentioned was most 
 probably the beginning of the fatal disease which 
 brought him gradually down to a premature grave. 
 A joint sepulchre was built for his father-in-law 
 and himself in the churchyard of St. John ; and 
 an epitaph, written by his friend and patron Pirk- 
 heimer, was inscribed on his gravestone. But 
 Sandrart, who came to Niirnberg in 1674, and 
 continued there till his death in 1688, the founder 
 of the Academy of Painting, and who may with 
 truth be called the Winkelmann of his age, was 
 not satisfied with this inscription, and added two 
 others, in one of which he calls Diirer " The 
 
12 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 Prince of Artists." He also caused the grave- 
 stone to be renewed, and placed it as it now 
 stands. 
 
 The Pirkheimers were a family of considerable 
 wealth and importance in Nurnberg, and Durer's 
 friend was in every way the means of his advance- 
 ment in early life. But Diirer himself was for 
 many years in easy circumstances, although he 
 always lived with the utmost frugality. His dis- 
 position was naturally cheerful, and his conversa- 
 tion so agreeable that his society was much sought 
 after, and he was for many years chief magistrate 
 of his native city. Pirkheimer deeply lamented 
 his friend, whom he survived only three years. 
 
 One word as to the translation. The volume of 
 Schefer's Novels containing the following story, fell 
 into my hands about two years ago, and seemed 
 to me to possess very considerable interest ; but 
 I was long deterred from attempting a translation 
 of it, by the great difficulty of the task. I have 
 not, I do not pretend to have, executed it well : 
 of this at least I am certain, that I have not 
 satisfied myself. I fear I may have erred in be- 
 ing too literal ; but I could not avoid this with- 
 out frittering away what appeared to me to be 
 
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 18 
 
 the charm and peculiarity of the style. Knowing 
 all its defects, I have only to plead in arrest of 
 judgment, that it is my first attempt in the way 
 of translation, that the author's style is extremely 
 elliptical, and his meaning in many parts obscure. 
 But I lost myself in my interest in the subject ; 
 and have only now to hope that my readers will 
 go and do likewise. 
 
 Edinburgh, Feb. 1848. 
 
2Uilifmltr $frttf)efmer to tfje ^ffneteentf) <eittur, 
 Greeting : 
 
 ^AUNDAY THURSDAY had passed 
 away into Night : my House was 
 already closed. The Lamp shone 
 from the arched Roof of my Chamber upon the 
 Floor below : I stood with my hot Forehead 
 leaning on the cool Panes of the stained Win- 
 dow, and through the Points of colourless Glass 
 gazed at the dark Clouds as they sailed over the 
 full Moon. My Soul was sorrowful, for my 
 Friend, the dear Master Albert Durer, lay on 
 his Death-bed. I reflected on the course of our 
 past Lives : how dear, how kind, how precious, 
 he had been to me, and I to him and there 
 he lay now! The World looked the same as 
 ever; the Walls shook not, nor changed, for 
 as fixedly as I gazed on them; and yet there 
 was a Man about to pass away, such as 
 Nurnberg would never see again. Alas! and 
 I too remained as motionless. I had not 
 
16 WILIBALD PIRKHEIMER. 
 
 visited my Friend for a Year, nor he me ; 
 and when I saw him at a distance on the 
 street, tottering along, I shunned him, and had 
 already given him up as one numbered with 
 the Dead. But my Anger was Love towards 
 him! Anger on account of the Weakness I 
 thought I discovered in him, and which made 
 him wretched; but this he would never con- 
 fess he only smiled. But when I saw him 
 becoming each time paler; the Hand with 
 which he pressed mine ever more and more 
 wasted ; then did I bewail the Fate of the 
 noble Man, " the Prince of Artists," as he was 
 called. He read in my Eyes what my Heart 
 was bursting to say to him again, for I had 
 already said it a hundred times. He always 
 evaded the subject by some friendly remark ; 
 indeed, so accustomed was he to this, that 
 none but a Friend, such as myself, could tell 
 how much the habit cost him. I could not 
 look upon him thus going down to the Grave 
 in the Prime of Life and the Maturity of his 
 Powers, like a Tree when bringing forth goodly 
 Fruit so I thought it better not to see him 
 again at all. He read the Heart of his Friend, 
 and shunned me also. All this he endured, 
 
TO THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 17 
 
 until at length his Heart had become thor- 
 oughly like unto refined Gold; He had been 
 changed into a mild smiling Image of Pa- 
 tience, and, by virtue of the patient Sufferings 
 of a Lifetime, had this advantage over others, 
 that he awaited Death with a calm and smil- 
 ing Countenance. For this I often considered 
 him wise and happy ; and yet at the same 
 time my Heart was rebellious. Now, however, 
 during those latter Days, since he had been 
 laid on his Deathbed, I had no longer any 
 Peace. Often had I gone to his Door, and 
 lifted the Knocker then let it gently down 
 again, and hastened away, as quickly as an old 
 Man might. But if at any time I resolved 
 not to go to him, then rny Heart was ready 
 to burst, and I could find rest nowhere. As 
 for him, he was satisfied with everything ; 
 nothing could now befal him which was not 
 welcome and good ; and I almost persuaded 
 myself that he was equally satisfied with what- 
 ever I did, or left undone. 
 
 This evening, however, some Foreigners de- 
 voted to the Arts had arrived to see the Father 
 and Master of the German Artists. They pro- 
 posed to serenade him then went I weeping 
 2 
 
18 WILIBALD PIRKHEIMER 
 
 away, and thought of the Friend who this 
 very Night perhaps might depart thither 
 where the Moon was floating among the gold- 
 en Clouds ; that Moon which still shone young 
 and full over our heads, growing grey with 
 Years, and which almost appeared to me at 
 that moment like a Spirit. I was deeply 
 moved when I called to mind the tender feel- 
 ing Words in which some unknown human 
 Heart had found an Utterance : 
 
 Here dies a Mortal What hath Nature lost? 
 Her hundred thousand Children comfort her; 
 The Heaven with her eternal Stars remains 
 Serene as was her wont; and to the Moon 
 Comes no Calamity: she still shines on. 
 But he, the Man who died, he was my Friend! 
 I, wretched, such a Friend find not again. 
 So to the smiling Moon and Sky serene 
 I weep forlorn Alas! without a Friend! 
 
 Suddenly I heard the sound of quick Foot- 
 steps on the Pavement below. I saw a female 
 Figure. She stood still, looked up to the 
 Moon, wrung her Hands, and pressed them 
 to the Temples of her reclining Head. Thus 
 she stood for a long Time : then suddenly 
 recollecting herself, she approached the Door 
 of my House, and knocked. The Door was 
 
TO THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 19 
 
 closed. She then impatiently pulled the bell, 
 
 and the Sound echoed throughout the solitary 
 
 Dwelling. But the Shadow which fell in front 
 
 of me on the Panes of Glass, had betrayed 
 
 to me who it was. She knocked. I remained 
 
 motionless. She called out : Master Wilibald ! 
 
 Pirkheimer ! Senator ! Master Imperial 
 
 Counsellor! I smiled scornfully. The Voice 
 
 was the Voice of the beautiful Agnes, the 
 
 Wife of my dying Friend Albert therefore 
 
 I hearkened not. Then, heated and impatient 
 
 as she was, she knocked in with the palm of 
 
 her Hand one of my most beautiful Panes of 
 
 painted Glass, which I would not have given 
 
 for a hundred Florins. Are you asleep ? she 
 
 then called in to me with her beautiful Voice ; 
 
 are you dreaming ? Your Friend, your Albert, 
 
 is at the point of Death, and entreats you to 
 
 come to him. Ah ! he was a good Man after 
 
 all! These words, he was! pierced me to the 
 
 Heart. They spoke of the Living as already 
 
 among the Dead and, infected by her 
 
 warmth, I struck out another Pane of Glass 
 
 with the Hand that held my bonnet, which 
 
 made Mistress Agnes start back. God will 
 
 judge you! muttered I. But 1 come. 
 
20 WILIBALD PIRKHEIMER 
 
 Quickly, then ! she exclaimed, and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 I heard a Window shut over my Head my 
 unfortunate sick Sister Clara, in former times 
 a Nun, but who had now returned to dwell 
 under my Roof, she too had listened to all this ! 
 Oh Heavens ! the poor dear loving One, how 
 would she feel, now that Albert was dying ! 
 
 I left everything as it was, scarcely waiting 
 to secure the House, and hurried away to the 
 Corner- House at the Zissel- Gate to my Friend 
 Albert. I could scarcely support myself even 
 by clinging to the smooth time-worn Railing 
 of the Stairs ; and was still standing before the 
 Door of the spacious Chamber, which lay tow- 
 ards the right hand, when suddenly I was 
 overpowered by a Flood of bitter Tears : I 
 restrained myself, dried my Eyes and Cheeks, 
 and then entered gently gently approached 
 the Bed. He appeared to slumber. 
 
 At his Feet, in a Niche in the Wall, two 
 wax-lights were burning before a Picture. It 
 was that of the Master's little Daughter in her 
 Coffin, watched over by an Angel holding a 
 Palm Branch, who, only half visible from the 
 left side, bent over the small sweet Face of 
 
TO THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 21 
 
 the Child. But the Face of the Angel was 
 that of the Mother of the child, the beautiful 
 Agnes in the bloom of Youth, with an expres- 
 sion of genuine Sorrow and yet of saintlike 
 Hope faithfully depicted on it. On the Coffin 
 were painted three large Brazen Shields, the 
 centre one of which represented the Counte- 
 nance of the Father, Master Albert himself, 
 with his Eyes closed. The Shield at the Head 
 of the Child bore the Face of Alberts Mother 
 Barbara : and the one at the Feet that of her 
 Husband, the Child's Grandfather. Here, then, 
 had the loving Master thus sadly and beauti- 
 fully conjoined all who were dearest to him on 
 Earth. 
 
 Perhaps he might just now have been con- 
 templating that Picture. 
 
 I gazed on him mournfully. There rested on 
 the red silk Coverlet of the Bed that Hand for- 
 merly so beautiful, so soft, so slight but how 
 powerless now ! There it now rested too surely 
 for ever!- His Brow was as serene, and the 
 expression of his Countenance as pleasing and 
 open as' ever. His slightly aquiline Nose was 
 still, as it had ever been, expressive of that 
 calm Courage which seemed to have been 
 
22 WILIBALD PIRKHEIMER 
 
 given him for the purpose of Endurance alone. 
 His ample Hair hung on each side in Curls on 
 his Shoulders ; but it was no longer dark-brown 
 as it had formerly been ; it was now grey. The 
 Beard alone, which covered the Chin, and de- 
 scended till it touched the middle of the Throat, 
 was yet dark. His benign Eye was gently 
 closed. I sighed. 
 
 He is not asleep, said Susanna, the Master's 
 faithful attendant, now grown old in his Ser- 
 vice, and who had noiselessly approached me, 
 I knew not from whence ; he has been longing 
 much to see you ! 
 
 Art thou come at last? said Albert, smiling 
 but without opening his Eyes. He held out his 
 Hand towards me, but not to me, for I gave 
 him mine, and immediately he opened his Eyes 
 wide. I thought it was Agnes ! sighed he, al- 
 most inaudibly; and behold! it is my Friend, 
 my Wilibald ! She she is afraid to stay with 
 me, as if Death could approach Men visibly! 
 Ah! he comes from the Depths within out 
 of our Life ! Believe me, Wilibald, that is the 
 doing of the Lord. He alone can do*it; such 
 is His Will. So let it be! No one can kill 
 Angels we die, because we are mortal. Also 
 
TO THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 23 
 
 no one can destroy us, neither suddenly nor 
 gradually; he can only shorten Life, nought 
 else, and that is doing little or nothing. 
 
 He ? or She ? Whom dost thou mean, thou 
 ever excellent One ? asked I significantly. 
 
 I no longer mean any one, said he in a tone 
 of resignation. But that thou also shouldst no 
 longer accuse any one that do I owe to her^ 
 and to thee, yea to myself. Man, who stands 
 in need of Grace, does well to be just. This is 
 in his own Power. 
 
 He now gave me a Key from the golden 
 Chain which hung around his Neck. In doing 
 this, it occurred to him to take the Chain off 
 altogether, and lay it aside ; and as it fell link 
 by link from his failing Hand, with a gentle 
 sound on the little Table beside him, I felt 
 nearly frozen, and thought, Thus do worldly 
 Honours depart from us ! 
 
 Long mayst thou wear thine! resumed Al- 
 bert. In Life no one can be blamed for acting 
 reasonably. Here is now the Key. Take from 
 my Chest, not my Book of Travels, not my 
 Journal, these thou knowest already but the 
 History of my Married Life. Read ! preserve 
 it. Leave it in Trust to some widely-spread 
 
24 WILIBALD PIRKHEIMER 
 
 honourable Family. When none of my own 
 are remaining, when these Leaves have become 
 matter of History alone, when they are no long- 
 er the " Goads and Nails " * of the Preacher, 
 then will its genuine Truth yet speak to the 
 Heart; and if it make only one Wife more 
 patient when need is, only one Husband more 
 careful to perform what he vowed to his Wife 
 before God; then have I not suffered in vain, 
 as I in vain suffered. For whatever makes us 
 better is good. And everything can do this, 
 if we so will it, if we understand it aright. 
 
 Good Master will I not call thee, said I 
 with emotion, for this epithet hath a Greater 
 only permitted to the Greatest ! but Faithful, 
 Gentle, Noble Master, Teacher, Man, and 
 Friend ; these will Posterity recognise in thee, 
 as my Tears do now. 
 
 He changed the subject playfully, and said, 
 If thou wilt trust me with a little Billet to thy 
 alas ! too-early-lost Crescenzia then write ! 
 this Night it will be delivered. It is said the 
 Dead have this power ; but they are silent 
 Messengers who indeed bring no answer. For 
 this then thou must pardon me ! He smiled, 
 
 * Ecclesiastes, xii. 11. 
 
TO THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 25 
 
 and pressed the Key between rny Hands with 
 both of his, whilst we gazed into each other's 
 Eyes. 
 
 His words had awakened in me an inex- 
 pressible longing after my excellent Wife. 
 Ah ! she was good hence the danger ; since 
 what is good is divine. Ah ! she was good 
 and gone. I lived! Albert was dying 
 his Agnes left through whom his Life had 
 been shortened, but who could not rob him of 
 it, as he himself solemnly affirmed. 
 
 I found the Manuscript he had mentioned ; 
 I held its few Leaves in my Hand how heavy 
 they felt ! as I lifted them sighing, and with a 
 glance at my Friend. Wearied by the exer- 
 tion of speaking, he had fallen into a Slumber, 
 his Hands folded on the Coverlet. Exhausted 
 also by night-watching, Susanna, with her Head 
 buried in her blue apron, sat in her Master's 
 velvet Arm- Chair, and slept. 
 
 And thus, surrounded only by Sleepers and 
 by Pictures on the Wall, I sat down alone at 
 the large Table with the green Cover, trimmed 
 the Lamp, drew it nearer, unfolded and read. 
 What I then thought, I afterwards noted down, 
 adding small asterisks, and also the initials of 
 
26 WILIBALD PIRKHEIMER, ETC. 
 
 my name, a W. and a P., to each Note. So 
 much for thee, dear Reader, in the Days which 
 to me are no Days ; only absolute Time ; only 
 mysterious Love and Blessedness, and Light 
 and Glory but without thy Sun ! Yet 
 read ! 
 
Married Life of Master A. D. 
 
 For devout Disciples of the Arts, prudent 
 
 Maidens, as well as for the Profit and 
 
 Instruction of all Christendom, 
 
 given to the Light. 
 
 " To be right in a wrong way is wrong. " 
 
 )HOULD the above Initials of the 
 Artist, in after Years, be still known 
 among Men, then will they also 
 know the Name of the Artist, and some 
 may even be led to inquire as to the ac- 
 tual Life of the Man. For the Artist has 
 a double Existence ; one in Imagination and 
 in his Works, the other as a Man in his 
 Home ; and each pervades, completes, and sup- 
 ports the other, and neither is long, without 
 the other, good and available. Should this 
 Life, then, so deeply rooted in the Earth, be- 
 come matter of curiosity- and when his Works 
 have been contemplated, the Life of the Mas- 
 ter should be inquired after no Account 
 
28 MARRIED LIFE OF MASTER A. D. 
 
 founded on any solid Basis could be given ; 
 for those who knew about his earthly Life 
 were of Earth, like himself. But they might 
 perhaps hear of the Sufferings of the good 
 Master; might perhaps accuse him of having 
 been no faultless Husband, and her no praise- 
 worthy Wife. God forbid ! and may these 
 Words interpose like a Sword, or as the Angel 
 with the flaming Sword before this lost Para- 
 dise ! The Fantasies of the Master have passed 
 away with his Soul ; his Works bear evidence 
 of his Feelings, of his Conceptions of Nature, 
 of his Views and Capacities; nay, all these 
 they in a great measure themselves are ; much 
 also of his Life is mingled and inseparably 
 intertwined with these, or runs through them 
 like a Woof; of this, therefore, let nothing 
 be said: Sentence has already be-en passed. 
 But the following was written by his better 
 self, when having fancied himself in Suffering, 
 he thus from the Fancy actually suffered, and 
 in conquering the Fancy, conquered also the 
 Suffering. This then was his Consolation : to 
 discover the Goodness, the integrity of his Wife ; 
 to unveil her deeply-concealed Love, and with 
 delight to acknowledge it! and this gave him 
 
MARRIED LIFE OF MASTER A. D. 29 
 
 not only Courage but Joyfulness ; so that his 
 own Love had again free scope, and what he 
 had thought and felt in the secret Depths of 
 his ever-imaginative Mind, afterwards passed 
 into his Fantasies, unconsciously moved him 
 to create, and to his own surprise became em- 
 bodied in his Works. Thus does the wiser 
 also become the better Artist. His Wisdom, 
 however, is calm Serenity and powerful Love. 
 He who beholds all things clear as in a Glass, 
 and in all the productions of his creative Power 
 sees only a reflection of himself and of his 
 Love he it is who is the good, the happy } 
 yea the highest Artist. We are but Journey- 
 men.* 
 
 Everything well considered, however, it is 
 Treason to the World strictly to conceal the 
 Working of the inner Man. The mighty 
 Events in the outward World, Deeds of Vio- 
 lence, Murders and Outrages, these serve only 
 to startle and to confound Men scarcely com- 
 prehend them ! and fortunate for them that it is 
 so ! They are so rarely for the profit of Indi- 
 viduals ; should they then be perpetuated 
 by means of the Arts through long Ages of the 
 
 * Students of the Arts, Pupils. W. P. 
 
30 
 
 MARRIED LIFE OF MASTER A. D. 
 
 World for many Generations ! Far from it ! 
 better far perpetuate the Human, the Or- 
 dinary, yea the Everyday ! for these after all 
 are not so evident as most people fancy. In 
 this way is brought to light what is in Man, 
 and the Minds of Men are thereby advanced 
 and elevated! and if all that comes to Light 
 be not beautiful, still it is true, and leads to 
 Peace and Happiness. 
 
How Master Albert took unto Him- 
 self a Wife. 
 
 The Countryman he wooes his Land ; 
 The Noble, Rank and high Command; 
 The Workman, Home and Skill of Hand ; 
 The Merchant, he strives Wealth to gain ; 
 The Painter's bound in Beauty's Chain; 
 But all a Wife seek to obtain. 
 
 T Whitsunday of the Year 1490 ? 
 Albert set out on his Travels for 
 the study of the Fine Arts ; at 
 Whitsunday of the Year 1494 he heard again 
 the Stroke of the Nurnberg Clock. 
 
 The Joy of Meeting is well worth the Pain 
 of Separation. The Father had bought his 
 Son a House, had given him his own Susan- 
 no,, a poor adopted Child, as Housekeeper; 
 had provided the Rooms thriftily with House- 
 hold Furniture; Contentment and Happiness, 
 Industry and Art these he brought with him ; 
 and now was he in very deed to become a 
 Painter in the City of the Twelve Hills. 
 His Father took him, dressed in his best, 
 
32 HOW MASTER ALBERT TOOK 
 
 first of all to the House of his Godfather An- 
 ton Koburger, who took great Delight in him ; 
 afterwards to all the Members of that Body, 
 of which his Father was also one. From the 
 House of Master Michael Wohlgemuth, the 
 Painter, Engraver, and Woodcutter, with whom 
 Albert for three Years, beginning in the Year 
 1486, had diligently and painfully studied, be- 
 cause he had had much to endure from his 
 fellow- workmen, they crossed the Street to the 
 House of the lively Harp-player and Singer, 
 Hanns Frei, who was also an Optician. But 
 among the most bewitching Works in the 
 heavenly Workshop of the heathen God He- 
 phastus could no such living Miracle have 
 stood, as was now to be seen in the House 
 of Hanns Frei, in the Person of his Daughter 
 Agnes, a young Niirnberg Maiden of fifteen, 
 who was playing on the Harp. 
 
 Is it possible that Nurnberg contains such 
 a beautiful Maiden ? said he to himself. I 
 thought I had left them all in Italy, beyond 
 Mestre. Have I got back my Senses and my 
 Heart ? as if suddenly borne after me into 
 my Home by a Dove ! have I my Eyes again ? 
 The Voice which I heard before the Door was 
 
UNTO HIMSELF A WIFE. 33 
 
 opened, was it not one of those Angel Voices ? 
 Only this modest Blush on the lily Cheeks 
 was not to be seen there ! nor the timid Eye 
 turned towards the ground, covered by a 
 large Eyelid like a Bell-flower ! and as if bor- 
 dered by long Eye-lashes ! What a Picture ! 
 what a Delight a Wife! a Heaven upon 
 Earth in Nurnberg ! Oh thou dear native 
 Town! 
 
 These Thoughts and Feelings passed as 
 quickly through the Mind of the young Mas- 
 ter, as a golden Cloud flies through the 
 Heavens ; but they left a Shadow behind : for 
 Love is no Cloud, but the Polar Star, amidst 
 the splendour and radiance of the Northern- 
 light* 
 
 He shall paint thee, dear Agnes, said Albert's 
 Father. She raised her Eyes, and looked 
 gloomily at me.f 
 
 Now, Daughter, said Master Frei, do not 
 look quite so angry about the matter there 
 will be time enough for that in Master Albert's 
 Dwelling. 
 
 For Painting? or for looking angry? said 
 
 * This star is also often called the little Bear. W. P. 
 t This " me " betrays the Autobiography. W. P. 
 
 3 
 
34 HOW MASTER ALBERT TOOK 
 
 Agnes to him, quickly changing colour from 
 the most glowing Red to snow-white Paleness. 
 
 She looked meanwhile somewhat smilingly at 
 the young Albert, and at the same time gently 
 shook her head, as if warning him not to be- 
 lieve what her Father had said. For that 
 was quite another matter, and must take 
 place and unfold itself in a very different 
 manner. The Father was blowing the Rose 
 open violently; but genial Warmth and Dew 
 alone could unfold it by degrees, and cause 
 it to open its Heart and give forth its Per- 
 fume, so that it might not fade away before 
 next morning, leaving no Perfume behind. 
 
 All was now made evident to Albert, when 
 his Father said to the Father of Agnes, I 
 have done my part, I have given him a toler- 
 able Establishment; the young Wife will do 
 the rest according to her own wishes and de- 
 sires. For all married Pairs have their own 
 fancies, as to how the Table must stand, and 
 where the Bed, so that the Cradle may not 
 knock against it ; we and our better Halves 
 have also enjoyed this Right in our Day. 
 
 Thou shalt have two hundred Florins for 
 thy Portion, my Daughter, said Father Frei, 
 
UNTO HIMSELF A WIFE. 35 
 
 smiling. And now join hands ! We have 
 betrothed you already in our own Minds ; 
 let it be done now also in reality, in order 
 that we may see you ratify what we from 
 old Friendship and before God have pur- 
 posed. 
 
 Albert could not think of saying No to such 
 a beautiful Creature as Agnes, nor yet could 
 Agnes to him. She should have given him her 
 Hand, but stood still like an immoveable Work 
 of Hephastus, grave Bashfulness depicted in her 
 nobly-formed Countenance. Her Father made 
 a Sign to her ; without moving, she allowed 
 the youth of twenty-three to take her Hand> but 
 she pressed his so suddenly and so vehemently,, 
 that he started, and gazed into the Eyes of the 
 inexplicable Child. She sighed, her youthful 
 Bosom stood upheaved from suppressed breath- 
 ing, Tears streamed from her dark Eyelids ; she 
 disengaged herself and hastened away. 
 
 It is just the Nature of all such, said Master 
 Frei, comforting him. He pressed him to his 
 Bosom, and gave him now his Blessing alone.. 
 She has had hers already by her Obedience 
 to my Will, said he. Master Wohlgemuth has 
 presented you both with Rings. Therefore be 
 
36 HOW MASTER ALBERT TOOK 
 
 of good cheer ! * and go into the Garden, and 
 persuade the little Maiden there to take one of 
 them or lay it down beside her. It is not the 
 Nature of such to leave it lying. From you 
 certainly not! 
 
 Albert did as he was bidden. Agnes was 
 reclining in an Arbour, her Head resting on the 
 Bosom of her Sister, who looked at him, and 
 smiled thoughtfully, but at the same time as 
 one who was much offended. Agnes did not 
 rise, but she raised her Eyes to her Bridegroom, 
 and they rested full on him, and she seemed 
 desirous of keeping his Look firmly fixed on her- 
 self. For beside the Sisters sat another beauti- 
 ful Maiden called Clara, who was the Sister of 
 Wilibald Pirkheimer, as Albert learned forth- 
 with. When, however, Agnes saw how he 
 gazed at the Maiden, and as an Artist dwelt 
 with Delight on her fair Countenance and deli- 
 cate Form, she drew in her Ring- Finger. But 
 when Clara took hold of her little Hand, Agnes 
 seemed to have no longer Power to withhold 
 it, and Clara placed the Ring gravely on her 
 Friend's Hand. Then they all three arose and 
 walked away, Agnes in the middle ; meanwhile 
 
 * Wohlyemuth means " Be of good cheer." Translator's Note. 
 
UNTO HIMSELF A WIFE. 37 
 
 Albert looked on the Ground, then glanced after 
 them, then looked down again, and remained so 
 standing with closed Eyes, and full of contend- 
 ing Emotions. 
 
 His Father was the first to rouse the Dreamer. 
 Well, my Son, have I not chosen well for thee ? 
 asked he with a satisfied air. 
 
 Well ! beautifully ! and yet not well ! re- 
 plied he. 
 
 Happy, said his Father, are the Parents who 
 can rely on their Sons and Daughters, and 
 bring them up well, so that a Father's Will 
 should not only be salutary for them, but ap- 
 pear to be so to them. Does not the Father of 
 us all choose Time and Place for us ? Does He 
 not provide all that is to meet our Eye in our 
 own Days ? There is no other Leaf, nor Cloud, 
 nor Wife nor Child, nor Husband, to be seen, 
 than those He has chosen for us. And will He 
 change them forsooth on our account? He 
 creates them according to His own will, and 
 yet He devotes them to our use. What then 
 can have been His Intention ? He has loved us 
 only designs that we should love Him, and 
 that what He has created should be worthy of 
 our Love, just because it is His Gift ! My 
 
38 HOW MASTER ALBERT TOOK 
 
 Son, be sure to let that be your Thought in 
 Everything : think thus of thy Father ; and also 
 of thy young Wife ; and if it be not so, still it 
 might and should be so. My Father pointed 
 out a Maiden to me ; I reverenced his Will, and 
 she became my Wife. As I became reconciled 
 to her name for she was called Barbara 
 then being reconciled, began to love it, because 
 I loved her, because my Father loved her so 
 wilt thou also love the beautiful, singular, 
 modest, prudish Agnes. She will be faithful to 
 thee, for her Mother is an excellent Woman. 
 He who chose for me, however, was only my 
 Master, Hieronymus Haller, my Father in the 
 Arts : thine is thy own Father ! 
 
 She is only fifteen years old! said Albert 
 mildly. 
 
 My Son, said the Father, that is the right Age 
 at which a Man attaches to himself not only the 
 first awakening of the Heart, of the Eyes, and 
 of all the Senses, but even the Dreams of his 
 Wife, and her pure and single Love. And 
 should she afterwards think and feel otherwise 
 behold! she is already bound by rosy Fetters! 
 Little Arms are twined around her Neck, her 
 House demands her Care during the Day, 
 
UNTO HIMSELF A WIFE. 89 
 
 Night calls for Repose. Thus she grows up 
 with her Children, and when she sees in her 
 Boys and Girls the Love they bear to their 
 Father, she cannot fail to learn it from them ! 
 and when they cling around his Knees, and she 
 twines her Arms around his Neck, and both look 
 down on the beloved little Ones whom the one 
 owes to the other alone what must she feel ? 
 And mark well, nothing is strange to her; 
 no Allurement has Novelty to offer, no Novelty 
 anything better or more blessed than what she 
 may enjoy in Peace and Tranquillity, giving 
 Thanks to God! 
 
 I am only three and twenty years old, said 
 Albert again. 
 
 My Son, said he, that is the right age at 
 which a Wife may hope to have her Husband 
 long spared to her. The Husband is a Father ; 
 Years do not fail him in the beginning, as they 
 do alas ! at last ; when such a want leads only to 
 Disappointment and Misery. I married a Wife 
 of fifteen, when I was already older than thou 
 art. Thou knowest I have dedicated eighteen 
 Children to the Lord at the baptismal Font; 
 that is a Harvest for me in Heaven ! I have 
 brought up eighteen human Beings I know not 
 
40 HOW MASTER ALBERT TOOK 
 
 how ; that is a Harvest for me on Earth ! We 
 were young with the Mother Suffering was 
 light, Happiness was Felicity! The Mother 
 took as much pleasure in decking herself as 
 her Girls ; the Father was brisk and nimble, 
 playing about with his little Boys, willing to 
 cover the Ball with network, or to fly the Kite. 
 We were only like an elder Sister and Brother; 
 that thou thyself knowest. And if thy Love to 
 me was so much greater than that of other 
 Children to their Parents, consider that it arose 
 hence, that when thou wert older, I continued 
 to be thy Friend, yea thy Confident; consider 
 that it arose hence, that thou indeed didst be- 
 come older, but I not old ! so it ought to be 
 then is the married State not a sorrowful 
 State ; * then the Father's Head does not ache 
 from the noise of his Children ; he does not 
 strike them at random and without feeling, nor 
 call desiring them to sit still and be quiet 
 Education, nor Fear Obedience ! then Boys 
 do not weep or sneak around a grey-haired old 
 Man, and wander over the Earth when deprived 
 of him without Counsel or Support. Then he 
 
 * The Germans have a Proverb: ^Ehestand ist Wehestand: " 
 ''The married state is a sorrowful state." Translator's Note. 
 
UNTO HIMSELF A WIFE. 41 
 
 rocks the Cradle of his Grandchildren ! Oh 
 the Delight of Man ! and though he should de- 
 part hence, the Trees still bloom around, and 
 blessed is his House ! Therefore Early woo, 
 never rue. 
 
 These fatherly Words overcame the loving 
 Son ; his Father's Will became his Will, and 
 he hoped that it would also become his Hap- 
 piness. For his Agnes was beautiful only he 
 knew not how he had acquired the Treasure, 
 since Angels are no longer to be seen on Earth. 
 It had come to him so suddenly, but so much 
 the more wished for, and his Heart, softened by 
 the contemplation of Beauty in Italy, wound 
 itself around the divine Form of Agnes, who 
 had been sent to him as it were from Heaven, 
 by the Hand of his Father. But the beautiful 
 Maiden, who appeared to be favourable towards 
 him, yet felt injured in womanly Dignity, hurt 
 in the Purity of her Love, because she had been 
 constrained to yield him her Hand, before hav- 
 ing given him an Answer or a Smile, and was 
 angry with him that he had so received such a 
 Gift; and angry with herself that her Heart 
 nevertheless allured her towards the amiable 
 
42 
 
 HOW MASTER ALBERT TOOK A WIFE. 
 
 Youth. Love desires Freedom, and even the 
 appearance of Constraint causes Unhappiness, 
 debases the nobler the Heart is.* 
 
 * Here a good Feeling lay as a good Foundation to a tottering 
 Building. - W. P. 
 
The Honeymoon. 
 
 JONES'S Period of Betrothment last- 
 ed only seven "Weeks, till the Day of 
 the Seven Brothers.* The Decision 
 of the Parents that she was to be Alberts, un- 
 settled the whole calm Course of her Life ; and 
 now there could never more be any bright Be- 
 
 * The 10th of July. These seven brothers and their mother, 
 St. Felicitas, suffered martyrdom in the second century, in the 
 reign of the Emperor Antoninus Pius. She was a noble and pious 
 Christian widow, resident at Rome, and employed herself wholly 
 in prayer, fasting, and works of charity. By her example and 
 that of her whole family, many were induced to renounce the 
 worship of false gods, which so exasperated the heathen priests, 
 that they complained to the Emperor, who being somewhat super- 
 stitious himself, sent an order to Publius the Prefect to take care 
 to satisfy the priests and appease the gods in this matter. The 
 mother and her sons were therefore brought before him, but re- 
 fusing to sacrifice to the gods, the sons were all condemned to 
 different deaths, and their mother was beheaded four months after 
 having witnessed and rejoiced in the martyrdom of her children. 
 St. Felicitas is commemorated in the Roman Martyrology on the 
 23d of November, and her sons on the 10th of July. See Butler's 
 " Lives of the Saints." Translator. 
 
44 THE HONEYMOON. 
 
 ginning, Foundation, or Progress in Love. 
 Right is no Law for Love ; it even offends the 
 most delicate Mind. Therefore he never spoke 
 of his relation to her ; and when she, in the 
 Levity of Youth, seemed to have forgotten all, 
 then she opened her whole Soul to him, and he 
 read deeply-concealed Affection, yea even strug- 
 gling Love, in her Eyes, which only the more 
 suddenly and treacherously broke forth, and 
 drew her nearer and nearer to him, even into 
 his Arms, till Lip clung to Lip ; then she tore 
 herself away from him, and was for whole Days 
 only the more grave and silent. 
 
 On the Wedding-Day he appeared before 
 her, for the first time for many Days, in Bride- 
 groom's Attire, and found her ready dressed in 
 bridal Pomp. Thus everything seemed to be 
 right, now and for ever. From that time all 
 went on in the natural order of things. 
 
 It rained. 
 
 Even that did not put her out of humour, for 
 Rain on the bridal Day promises to the young 
 pair Riches. 
 
 And now the beautiful Agnes stood before 
 the Altar in the Church of St. Sebaldus. One 
 of her Cheeks glowed purple red ; the other, the 
 
THE HONEYMOON. 45 
 
 right, which was turned towards him, was so 
 much the paler. Thus to the audience she ap- 
 peared as if ashamed and bashful. Albert, how- 
 ever, during the singing of the Hymn, looked 
 at the carved work of the Altar, and the old 
 stained Glass in the Windows, and greeted 
 here and there with a slight nod some old 
 Friend of his youth, who saw him again there 
 that Day for the first time, and joyfully greeted 
 him from among the Crowd. Agnes reproved 
 him for this by a slight touch of the Arm, as 
 showing a want of pious Concentration of 
 Thought on the important Step the Spring's 
 Equinox or the Solstice of our Life. 
 
 But how remarkable were the Words which 
 the Godly Man chose as a Text for his ceremo- 
 nial Address ! and yet how deep and beautiful, 
 by means of the Expounding and Application 
 of them to us and our small Hopes ! for they 
 were these : 
 
 " Be not forgetful to entertain Strangers, for 
 thereby some have entertained Angels una- 
 wares." * 
 
 The Bride gazed at her future Husband, 
 whom she ought to entertain like an Angel ; he 
 
 * Some! I have done so. W. P. 
 
46 THE HONEYMOON. 
 
 smiled upon her whom he was to entertain as 
 an Angel; and the looks of both sunk to the 
 ground before each other. 
 
 They received many and distinguished Guests 
 from the City at the House of the Bride, and 
 both accepted of the Congratulations with visi- 
 ble emotion. The Bride sat at table next to 
 the Bridegroom with a stiff demeanour. She 
 would not allow the Myrtle Wreath to be taken 
 off her little stubborn Head, and an old Lady 
 excused her by saying, Everything has its 
 Time ! Thereupon Agnes tore it herself from 
 among her Locks. 
 
 God preserve us ! muttered the horrified old 
 Lady. 
 
 At the end of the last course we heard a 
 Cry, which proceeded from under the table. It 
 turned out that it had been uttered by my best 
 Friend : his Face was bleeding ; he went com- 
 posedly towards the Door. Agnes half laughed, 
 half cried. 
 
 I arose and followed him. He was sitting 
 on the stone Seat under the Arch of the Door- 
 way. 
 
 It is an old Custom which I certainly can- 
 not commend that some one should distribute 
 
THE HONEYMOON. 47 
 
 to every one of the Guests a little bit of the 
 Bride's Garter, said he; but, Albert, you may 
 rely upon this you will suffer much, but you 
 will have a faithful Wife. 
 
 The Bridegroom excused her, not without 
 smiling. 
 
 But the other proceeded: For whatever 
 Woman, and more especially a young one, 
 thinks so peculiarly, and thrusts from her so 
 vigorously with her little bold Foot an honest 
 old Custom, thinking nothing of Gibes and Up- 
 roar, she is in my opinion worthy of particular 
 Honour. I am myself amazed, now I think of 
 it. If a Custom prevails around us as clearly 
 and evidently as Sunshine, then it is still a 
 valid and living one. But things are changed 
 now ! The World judges of the propriety of 
 these, and sometimes takes advantage of them 
 perversely and fettered by the restraint of 
 Custom, which no Woman can openly throw 
 off without exciting Laughter, many make 
 grievous Sacrifices thereto ! The bold Bride 
 is in the right I prophesy you Happiness and 
 Unhappiness. Now Good-night ! 
 
 He then went away, his Face concealed in 
 his Handkerchief, and muttering through his 
 
48 THE HONEYMOON. 
 
 teeth. The Servant hastily seized the unlight- 
 ed Lantern, and carried it before him in a very 
 odd manner.* 
 
 Albert went in perplexed ; some of the Guests 
 crowded past him ; the Company had all broken 
 up, and departed with brief and quiet Greet- 
 ings, or with no Greeting at all. 
 
 Thus the spacious decked-out apartment was 
 now empty. The Bride still sat in her place, 
 and nibbled crumbs of pastry. The Bridegroom 
 placed himself beside her. She was silent, and 
 he spoke not. 
 
 I am heartily sorry ! exclaimed Hanns Frex, 
 the Father-in-law, who was standing by himself 
 in the apartment. I am sure I cannot drink all 
 that ! That delightful Meat and Pastry look at 
 me in vain, and cannot gain over my Heart to 
 any feeling of compassion. But I will not be 
 deprived of the Grandfather's Dance ! Halloo ! 
 strike up, Pipers ! strike up, Fiddlers ! One 
 Man is still a Man. When I am tired, then 
 you shall have your Holiday. 
 
 The Music resounded. The Crowd looked 
 in at the lighted Windows. Father Frei grave- 
 
 * The Servant was mine! and now I must freely confess, it 
 was my Nose which bled! W. P. 
 

 THE HONEYMOON. 49 
 
 ly led up his Wife to the Dance ; she obeyed 
 with difficulty, and the somewhat aged Pair 
 danced to the old Rhyme and the old Tune : 
 
 When the Grandfather the Grandmother led up with glee, 
 Then the Grandfather once more a Bridegroom was he! 
 
 A Bridegroom ! a Bridegroom ! repeated the 
 Crowd at the outside of the Windows, at the 
 same time clapping their Hands. The Grand- 
 father in spe laughed and wept; the Mother be- 
 came giddy, sat down and the Marriage was 
 over. 
 
 Father Albert visited his Son for the first 
 time on the sixth Sunday after the Marriage. 
 He found him alone, sat down, looked at him 
 smilingly, and said : 
 
 Now, my dear Son, how goes it? Well? 
 Thou hast now become quite another Man ; 
 thou art now a Husband. Oh the Honeymoon ! 
 the Honeymoon ! on it depends for ever the 
 Happiness of Wedlock. If a Jacob serve seven 
 Years for a Rachel, and again seven Years, still 
 he only serves, still he only comes to know the 
 Bride, but not the Wife. The Bride shows her- 
 self only as she would like to be seen, and so 
 does the Bridegroom : there is nothing then but 
 4 
 
50 THE HONEYMOON. 
 
 soft talking, smiling, complaisance, feeling and 
 giving Delight a dreamlike condition. Happy 
 are they who thus die! yet it shall not so be, 
 for they must live. But the Husband and Wife 
 have dwelt and been educated in different 
 Houses ; they have acquired different habits and 
 even many peculiarities, which have taken such 
 deep root within them that they cannot be 
 eradicated, and which they will carry about 
 with them through Life. And now the Wife 
 must learn the peculiarities of her Husband, 
 and bear with him ; and he in like manner with 
 those of his Wife. And how is this effected? 
 Nature places them in the School of Love, and 
 in the midst of glowing Feelings and blissful 
 Fascination she gently displays to each the 
 Habits and Merits and Manner of Existence of 
 the other, accustoms him smilingly and imper- 
 ceptibly to the Occupations, and even to taste 
 and praise the favourite Dishes of the other, and 
 to consider that which is foreign to his habits, 
 and even repulsive to him, not only endurable 
 but pleasant, for the sake of the Beloved. Each 
 comes to the knowledge of all this during the 
 blissful Dream of Love, takes it kindly, and 
 blends himself therewith in that rosy time when 
 
THE HONEYMOON. 51 
 
 all is forgiven all, even if he were the Child 
 of a Murderer. And this happy Fascination, 
 this bewitching Captivity, lasts long enough to 
 stamp the Nature of the one upon the other, 
 half unconsciously, but to entire Satisfaction. 
 Thus then they live placidly together and with 
 a perfect Understanding, and love each other 
 for their Faults as well as for their Virtues. Is 
 it not so, my son ? for Marriage is a beautiful 
 Union, in which the Husband and Wife, hav- 
 ing been joined for ever by Heaven, turn to the 
 noblest Ends of Humanity whatever there may 
 be that is peculiar in the Heartland Mind of 
 each, all finely blended together by Love. 
 
 He then looked around him in the House, 
 and went into the different Apartments, found 
 and greeted his Daughter-in-law, and with these 
 fair and wise Words he had, according to his 
 own opinion, defined and settled the whole 
 condition of the young Pair. 
 
 But it was not so ! Now was the Artisfs 
 Married Life begun ; and the question arises, 
 whether even the most loving Maiden can 
 thoroughly understand him. She has a Life- 
 time in which to study him, as he has also 
 to study himself and Life. All other Men are 
 
52 THE HONEYMOON. 
 
 conceivable and penetrable in their Bearing 
 and in their Mind ; the Artist is a Flower 
 which blooms from one Development into an- 
 other as long as he lives. And if he shut up 
 his blooming Heart, then he is dead. And his 
 Works are the Stamina of the Flower evolved 
 into Seed, which the Wind sows over the 
 Earth, and bloweth where it listeth. There- 
 fore to be the Wife of such an one, Patience 
 is needed, and nothing can nurse the Plant 
 but the heavenly Patience of a faithful foster- 
 ing Hand. 
 
 The beautiful Agnes had entered as it were 
 into a new Sphere a magic Sphere for her. 
 There was scarcely anything she understood, 
 or as to which she could take an interest in 
 her Husband, otherwise than as a gentle, care- 
 ful Wife. And yet she wished to do so ; for 
 in her concealed Love for her Husband, noth- 
 ing was indifferent to her which moved his 
 Soul or filled his Heart. And many things, so 
 much that was enigmatical to her, appeared to 
 move his Soul and to fill his Heart ! And she 
 alone thought to fill that Heart ! while he ap- 
 peared to know and silently to worship a still 
 deeper and more holy Power than her and her 
 
THE HONEYMOON. 53 
 
 Love, yea the Godly, the Immortal, the Mys- 
 terious. Then again everything peculiar in his 
 inward bent and manner of thinking appeared 
 so clearly, and yet also so doubtfully and im- 
 penetrably to her Mind, to have its Founda- 
 tion in the World around, and to be closely 
 connected therewith, that it was often well 
 with her and often seething hot. But as a 
 Wife, all she cared about was his Love of 
 that alone she wished to be certain. She 
 concluded, therefore, the Honeymoon in this 
 wise, that one Night she fell sick. The Mas- 
 ter was greatly alarmed. She longed for some 
 Groundsel Tea. But nothing was to be found 
 no Frying-pan, no Chips, no Coals; every- 
 thing seemed to have vanished. Susanna ap- 
 peared. And now sat the good Master, and 
 held the little Pot with Water over the flame 
 of the Lamp to boil, till it became too hot for 
 his Fingers, and then Susanna held it by the 
 Handle till it was too hot for her again, and 
 willingly the Master took it in his turn. Thus 
 they both sat, talking in an undertone, and 
 looking at each other with anxious counte- 
 nances, till it boiled. When, however, Su- 
 sanna was gone, and he carried the bitter 
 
54 THE HONEYMOON. 
 
 Beverage to his dear beautiful Agnes, there she 
 lay laughing under the Coverlet. She flung 
 her Arms round his Neck, and said, I only 
 wished to see whether thou really carest for 
 me! Now drink thine own Groundsel, to cure 
 thy Fright! And he drank, whilst she blew 
 upon his smarting Fingers, kissing meanwhile 
 the Points of them. 
 
 Ah ! the Sceptic ! that was certainly a very 
 mischievous Deed ! unimportant, it is true 
 yea lovely to behold, like a glittering Ring 
 around a young Bough in early Spring. But 
 it will become a Nest full of Caterpillars, and 
 deprive the Tree of its Adornment just at the 
 time when it should bloom most luxuriantly. 
 
The Year of Strife. 
 
 |LL good men have known the 
 blessing of profound Sleep. To 
 that silent holy Kingdom, full of 
 Thoughts and Images, from which they at the 
 first as Children wonderfully endowed entered 
 into Life, they return every Night to refresh 
 themselves : their Consciousness, circumscribed 
 by Day, and which without Sleep would at 
 length become small, narrow and pitiful, sets 
 therein like the Sun, and their Mind returns 
 every Morning renovated, strengthened, and en- 
 larged, coming forth joyfully like a Bridegroom 
 out of his Chamber. Even the Flowers close 
 in the Evening ; they sleep in the Moonlight, 
 midst the Brilliancy of the Stars and the Songs 
 of the Nightingales, as if these sweet Song- 
 stresses were their Nurses, and in the Morning 
 their Heart is more Open, fuller, more fragrant. 
 If an Artist, therefore, be deprived of Sleep, 
 if he must break off his Morning Dreams, 
 
56 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 during which he brings to the light of day 
 and transfers to his waking hours what he has 
 beheld in the World of Spirits, as if it were 
 contraband within Earth's limits, then good- 
 night to Fancy ! farewell to her Works, sprung 
 from the Mind, deeply felt in the Heart, and 
 nourished with the innermost Marrow of Life ! 
 For then are they only Handicraftswork con- 
 ceived in the Day, in the Day executed, and 
 in the Evening forgotten Piecework, like to 
 Nurnberg Gingerbread. And to make even 
 that, the Dough must ferment and ripen for 
 three Years. 
 
 The Master was now for the first time de- 
 prived of this Morning Sleep. Now Agnes did 
 not well know of what value it was to him ; 
 but she could not have grudged him this en- 
 joyment, if she had thought it was as sweet 
 to him as it was to her. She considered it 
 only Laziness in him, but not in herself; for 
 her it was Ease. However, young Wives like 
 to sleep long and Albert might think : Per- 
 haps there ripens another Godly Work of our 
 Heavenly Father in the sweet Slumberer midst 
 her blissful Morning Dreams ! So then he 
 arose early, and thus was his first Blessing 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 57 
 
 gone ! were it not that he acquired another in 
 its stead, in thus gazing on his beautiful be- 
 loved Wife in the innocent arms of Sleep, 
 the rosy Glow of a holy World on her Cheek, 
 as a visible reflection of the same in the earthly 
 Sphere like a new Morning Dawn on an 
 ancient Godlike Statue. 
 
 At this early period, the young Master was 
 called to the house of Wilibald Pirkheimer. 
 Agnes knew what was to be the object of his 
 Visit, so his Lace Collar was not washed, nor 
 yet plaited, or in putting it on Agnes spoilt it 
 again herself. Susanna dared not venture to 
 trim his black Velvet Cloak, or his Shoes with 
 their Roses. The Master was obliged to do 
 it in secret for himself. For Wilibald had 
 kindly threatened to come for him himself. 
 He came and carried him off, to draw a Pic- 
 ture of his Sister Clara. This was what he 
 had to do. 
 
 He found the beautiful Maiden surrounded 
 by lovely little Children paler than at the 
 time when she had placed the Bridal Ring on 
 the Finger of his Agnes in the Garden, her 
 Eye more veiled, her Demeanour still softer 
 and more modest, so that he felt quite strange 
 
58 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 in the flower-adorned, sunny apartment, quite 
 peculiarly embarrassed to find himself alone 
 with her. She sat down ; he drew the out- 
 line of her lovely Countenance ; she did not 
 raise her Eyes he was obliged to ask her 
 to do so. She then looked at him, her whole 
 Soul in the Glance ; then her Lips quivered, 
 she became still paler than before, she breathed 
 softly, her Head sunk involuntarily, till her 
 Chin rested on her Bosom and formed a del- 
 icate double Chin. 
 
 Albert scarcely ventured to look at her; he 
 could not help sighing. The Children had 
 clung around her, and stood in like manner 
 embarrassed ; they remained motionless, and 
 also gently sighed, one after the other, as if 
 they had therewith secretly infected each other. 
 
 There is a Drop on thine Arm, said the little 
 Girl ; pray look, Clara, how comes that to be 
 there ? 
 
 Clara arose. Do not disturb the current of 
 the Master's Thoughts, said she softly, smiling, 
 nor mine either, dear Children ! The Drop 
 fell from thine Eyelids ; thou hast certainly 
 been weeping just now. 
 
 I? asked the Girl. 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 59 
 
 No, thou! said she to the Boy. 
 
 I? asked the Boy. 
 
 Well then, she said, it must have fallen 
 from my own Eyes ; I have been embroider- 
 ing so busily at my Veil for some days. 
 
 Clara now showed him the Veil, at the 
 same time holding in her breath. I am going 
 to put it on thus early, and yet for all that 
 too late ! said she, in a scarcely audible tone 
 of voice, and from a Soul which seemed to 
 have lost itself, or to be dwelling in Thought 
 in far distant Regions and in twice-blessed 
 Times. 
 
 Ah ! thou art going to be a Nun, sighed the 
 Boy. 
 
 No, she is going to be an Angel, said the 
 Girl, correcting him. Oh dear Clara, I will be 
 an Angel too. 
 
 Then I will be a Monk, concluded the lov- 
 ing Boy. 
 
 Clara's glance scarcely wandered so far as to 
 meet my Eyes ; and when Albert understood 
 aright her Words, her Looks, her hasty under- 
 taking, there lay in this fleeting Moment the 
 Satisfaction and the Consolation of her whole 
 self-sacrificing Life. 
 
60 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 On a plate of Chinese Porcelain was some 
 Gingerbread; I know not whether she had 
 heard from her Brother that Albert had been 
 fond of it from his childhood ; Clara offered 
 some to the Children and, as if in jest, she 
 held out the Plate to him, looking meanwhile 
 on the Ground, and whispered only: Perhaps 
 you would like also to taste some of it ? an 
 Artist, you know, continues willingly to be a 
 Child, even though he were 
 
 She paused. At the same moment his Wife 
 sent for him in haste ; Albert must of necessity 
 return Home the matter could suffer no de- 
 lay. 
 
 Clara smiled, thinking Agnes might have a 
 Presentiment that she might feel the gentle 
 Echo of the Words in her own Bosom. 
 
 Go to her, then, Master Albert, said she, tak- 
 ing leave of him ; and if you will not think 
 amiss of me for it, take the Drawing also with 
 you ! My Picture was meant for my Brother 
 Wilibald ; but if he wishes to keep me in re- 
 membrance, he has no need of my Shadow. 
 And if he misses me, he will see myself stand- 
 ing before his Eyes, wherever I may be. And 
 besides, why should I be hung up in this room, 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 61 
 
 and deceive Strangers who never knew me ? 
 I must say Farewell to you also ! farewell ! 
 
 Now make haste, else a second Messenger 
 
 will come then she will come herself. Ah ! 
 She!* 
 
 Albert went away from her like one in a 
 Dream ; but his pure Heart did not even listen 
 to her guileless heart-rending Words. 
 
 At Home, however, there was no one who 
 wanted him. Agnes raised her Head from her 
 work, and smiled, looked at him with confused 
 glances, and only said in her own excuse, I was 
 so anxious ! now there is a Stone taken from 
 my Heart. 
 
 When Pirkheimer's Sister went to the Con- 
 vent of Santa Clara, she left behind her Pres- 
 ents to all the Friends of her Youth, and 
 to Alberts Agnes a valuable Lace Collar of 
 her own Handiwork. 
 
 Agnes locked it up, without even trying it 
 on. Perhaps she did so secretly. 
 
 The importance of the Honeymoon, which 
 had been so much vaunted to him by his Fa- 
 
 * My poor, poor Sister! this alone then was the cause of thy 
 retirement from Life. Indeed I guessed as much. Why did 
 Hanns Frei bargain so hastily with old Albert! W. P* 
 
62 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 ther, had not held good; because he felt that 
 he himself in this Fascination had scarcely 
 seen his Wife as she actually was ; in like 
 manner, she also had not seen him as he was, 
 much less had she understood him; but least 
 of all would she be able soon to get accus- 
 tomed to the peculiarities which he, as every 
 Man does, brought with him into the married 
 State : of that he was sensible. Everything 
 must therefore once more be contemplated af- 
 ter the ordinary manner of the World, once 
 more with subdued Feelings spoken of, con- 
 sidered, and settled, as the opportunity might 
 offer. It was best, however, that everything 
 should come right of itself, and as it might 
 chance; in all things indifferent the Husband 
 must be willing to yield, however new it might 
 be to him, however different from what he him- 
 self thought ; he had also to learn that he must 
 sacrifice the Half of his Existence, must give it 
 up to the Wife, in order thereby to gain the Half 
 of another beloved Existence, and must scarce- 
 ly venture to warn, must only tell, even when 
 anything Evil was to be shunned, or anything 
 Good to be done. A Husband must not be a 
 Teacher or a domestic Chaplain. One word 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 63 
 
 may be sufficiently intelligible, and when there 
 is good intention on the Wife's part, she has 
 long years in which to discipline herself in si- 
 lence thereon often also to suffer. Albert was 
 therefore meekly silent, and studied the holy 
 condition of Marriage with a devout mind, be- 
 cause the Lord had placed him in Paradise. 
 
 Under favour of his Silence, everything in 
 the House was soon directed and regulated ac- 
 cording to Agnes' s will ; and what in itself ap- 
 peared indifferent, through the number and the 
 association of things, was soon no longer so. 
 Yet he let everything alone which was not 
 really bad. For he knew well that he exer- 
 cised a mental Ascendancy which constrained 
 his Wife in her Will, and against which she 
 thought she could maintain an artificial Equi- 
 librium by Opposition alone. She knew not the 
 power of Submission, not even that of Sub- 
 mission to the best of Husbands. And when 
 she saw daily the two-headed Eagle over the 
 park-gate, on the Arms of the Imperial City, 
 then she thought that ip Marriage there should 
 also be two Heads, without considering that 
 no living creature can so exist, and that even 
 when painted or hewn in stone it is a Monster, 
 
64 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 or represents one. It should be said, however, 
 in excuse for her, that she was the Child of an 
 old Father, and had not learned Obedience, 
 even when he asked her to be happy, not to 
 mention anything else. She had only laughed 
 when her Father once asked her quite gravely 
 to laugh, so that he might see his Daughter 
 lively for once were it only in appearance. 
 
 Thus demure was her Mind, and only direct- 
 ed towards a few objects in Life, but to them 
 so much the more firmly and constantly. And 
 these things were not censurable, but, on the 
 contrary, desirable and necessary for every one. 
 Her sense of Honour was great, strong, and 
 pure ; but she wished to carry it about with 
 her through Life, not only firmly maintained 
 but undisputed. 
 
 But 
 
 Alberts Father had, it is true, bought him 
 a House, but he had not paid for it. And 
 therefore the Walls oppressed and confined poor 
 Agnes, so that it was impossible to move her 
 to look out at the Window with him out of 
 a borrowed House. 
 
 As often also as she went to Church like 
 a good Catholic, she avoided the Streets in 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 65 
 
 which any one dwelt who was in Alberts Debt, 
 that she might not appear needy or dunning. 
 Albert^ with his usual candour, had also im- 
 parted to her Letters he had received from 
 Venice dunning him. They were for Debts 
 contracted in Travelling, and for Instruction ; 
 and he who would allow his Neighbour, with 
 whose circumstances he is intimately acquaint- 
 ed, to starve, will lend to the Stranger ; for 
 when any one travels into far Countries, he 
 provides beforehand the means thereto, and is 
 thought to be only in momentary embarrass- 
 ment, which may befal even the richest. Al- 
 bert, however, endured much Distress in For- 
 eign Lands, and willingly suffered Want from 
 his unconquerable Love for the Arts, which 
 carried him cheerfully through a condition that 
 might perhaps have killed another, without 
 such an opposing power. When such a Let- 
 ter came, Agnes was silent for Days. He, 
 however, had the fruits of his Journey in his 
 Heart and in his Mind no one could rob him 
 of these; and that he was in Debt for them, 
 and yet possessed them, appeared to him quite 
 wonderful; arid he was satisfied when he felt 
 his Power, and saw the means how, and how 
 5 
 
63 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 soon, and with what thanks, he would be able 
 to pay! But if he reckoned up all his pros- 
 pects to Agnes, she only cast down her Eyes, 
 or looked at him with doubting Looks, which 
 made his whole Heart tumultuous within him. 
 He was as certain of the thing as he was of 
 his Life, and yet his own Wife discouraged 
 him by her Doubts ! His Mind revolted ; all 
 his future Works rose up within his Bosom 
 like fiery Spirits ; he felt himself raised by 
 them above the Evils of this Life ; he glowed, 
 his Lips quivered, Tears flowed down his 
 Cheeks and Agnes stole away from him 
 speechless but not convinced and, as he also 
 plainly saw, not to be convinced ; she was quite 
 horror-struck, for she had never before so seen 
 her gentle Husband, so fuh 1 of noble Power ! 
 so full of inward holy Wrath ! 
 * And yet he was soon again pacified, softened, 
 yea, dejected ; for he was not always well able 
 at that time to procure for his Agnes the im- 
 mediate Necessaries of Life, in the manner she, 
 as Mistress of a House, wished ! As for her, she 
 saw the fulfilment of her mostreasonableHopes 
 only so much the longer delayed and he, by 
 the same means, her Satisfaction with herself 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 67 
 
 and with him ; and thus his own Peace hov- 
 ered over him like a scared-away Lark, no 
 longer visible among the Clouds till single 
 Notes of her Song again penetrated down to 
 him, as if the Sun were singing and speaking 
 to him. 
 
 Labour was Life and Delight to the Master ; 
 for any one can make mention of his own In- 
 dustry as he would of a Duty, and of the want 
 of it as a Sin of Omission. But the Artist is 
 no Machine, no Millwheel that turns round 
 and round Day and Night ; his Work is Men- 
 tal, and his Works are Mind, produced by Mind. 
 Thoughts and Images slumber within him like 
 Bees in a Hive ; they fly out and feed and grow 
 upon the Sweets of the eternal Spring with- 
 out : themselves satisfied and strengthened, they 
 bring home Nourishment with them, and feed 
 the young Bees who as yet only flap their 
 Wings, and buzz around ; they cover the Brood, 
 till they impregnate their Queen Fancy; 
 and every new Work is a Swarm, which joy- 
 fully separating from the Mother-stock, departs 
 to the place it has traced out for a Settlement. 
 The Swarm changes its Voice by that of the 
 Queen who keeps them together ; and when 
 
68 THE YEAR OF STRIFE 
 
 its Bees and the Bees of the Mother-stock meet 
 on the Flowers, they no longer recognise each 
 other. Or as in Spring, when it becomes hot, 
 and the Heavens are inflamed, and the Thun- 
 der Storm in the Spring Night, with its red 
 Flashes and great Rain-drops, causes a thou- 
 sand Buds to spring, brings forth Blossoms, 
 opens up Crocuses, Violets, and Hyacinths 
 and they, when the Heavenly Blessings hang 
 over them, stand there in the Morning, as if 
 by their own power they had grown out of 
 the Earth, because they are so beautiful, and 
 every one gives them credit for possessing the 
 wonderful Power of Self-production in like 
 manner, an inward mental Sun opens up as 
 suddenly the Flowers in the Head of the Ar- 
 ist! But they must all wait patiently till 
 their time comes, and he must wait patient- 
 ly and wear them for a long time as Gerrn 
 and Bud : and the Restlessness, the laying on 
 of the Hand, the rubbing of the Brow, and 
 the painful Self-torture, are of no avail! all 
 in vain ! If he tries this, nevertheless, then he 
 is only a Child who tears up a still-closed 
 Snowdrop along with its Stalk, and forces it 
 open with his Mouth ; or peels a Butterfly out 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 69 
 
 of the Chrysalis, and only beholds the Wonder 
 of incipient Life and then destroys! 
 
 Master Albert now often dreamed and de- 
 layed whole Days ; sat down, rose up, spoke 
 to himself, drew with his Stick on the Sand, 
 or began to make an Eye or a Nose with 
 black Chalk; and then Agnes called him a 
 Child, or thought that, dissatisfied with her, 
 he held Converse with his own Soul. Or he 
 walked up and down in the Garden, stood for 
 a quarter of an hour at a time before the trunk 
 of a Tree, and studied its wonderfully-bursting 
 Bark ; looked up to the Heavens, and imprint- 
 ed on his memory the forms of the Clouds ; 
 or he sat before the door, and called thither 
 handsome Children, placed one quite in the 
 Shade of the Roof, another only half, and 
 made a third stand in the full Sunshine, that 
 he might adjust for himself the colours of the 
 dresses in Light and Shade ; or he accosted 
 old Men and Women, who came to him just 
 as if they had been sent by God. Then Ag- 
 nes called to him, and said peevishly : My 
 God ! Why not rather work ! thou knowest 
 well, we need it. 
 
 I do work, said Albert. My Picture is ready. 
 
70 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 God grant it ! sighed she ; as if he were lazy, 
 or incapable. 
 
 Just consider, my Agnes, said he then, smil- 
 ing : does the Carver carve the Forms ; does 
 the Pencil paint ? these are my Spirits and 
 Slaves, who do my Will when I call them. 
 
 But still thou canst sit down. 
 
 I certainly can do so. 
 
 If thy Pencil would only move of itself ! 
 were there such a Pencil then we should 
 have our wants supplied. 
 
 I would burn, I would banish such a Pencil, 
 as if it were an Evil Spirit! I I must do 
 all myself, otherwise I should no longer be 
 myself. That were just the same as if a 
 strange Woman were to love and foster me 
 instead of thee. 
 
 Internal images now appeared to his Mind, 
 as if induced by constant Devotion, and dis- 
 closed to his sight how the Crocus appearing 
 out of the Earth, tears its little delicate white 
 Child's Shirt ; and then the Master glowed like 
 a vessel full of molten Gold, liquified and pure 
 for the casting ; so that he trembled, knew 
 nothing more of the World, and what was 
 revealed to him lie transferred to the Tablet 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 71 
 
 with inspired haste: then came Agnes and 
 called to him two or three times, always louder 
 and louder, about some Trifle. He then sprang 
 up, neither knowing where he had been nor 
 where he now was ; the portals of the Spirit- 
 ual Kingdom closed suddenly, and the only 
 half conjured-up Images sank back into Night, 
 and into Spiritual Death, and perhaps never 
 returned to him ah! never thus again. Then 
 he recognised Agnes , who, angry at his de- 
 meanour, stood before him and scolded him 
 deaf and blind. Then his Blood was like to 
 a Spring Flood ; he seized the Charm-dispelling 
 Disturber violently by the arm and held her 
 thus till he awoke. Then he said, ashamed, 
 Is it thou, my Wife ? I was not here just 
 now not with thee ! Forgive me! To vex 
 even a Child is more inhuman than to see and 
 paint all the Angels, and to hear them and 
 one's self praised, is desirable. Thou also liv- 
 est in a beautiful World and that the Sun 
 and Moon shine upon it, that makes it none 
 the worse ! Where thou art, where I am, with 
 Soul and Feeling, yea with Fancy and her 
 Works, that is to me the true, the holy World ! 
 And now he smiled and asked her mildly : 
 
72 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 What dost thou want with me then, my Child ? 
 But his Eyes flashed. 
 
 She, however, believed that she had looked 
 upon a Demon ! a Conjuror of Spirits ! She 
 examined the red mark on her arm, where he 
 had seized her ; Tears gushed from her Eyes ; 
 she bowed down and lamented : Ah ! I know 
 it, I have it always in my mind thou wilt 
 certainly one day murder me ! Every time I 
 go to bed, I pray that I may not perish in my 
 Sins, when thou again art as thou art now! 
 when I am nothing to thee ! 
 
 She spoke in so soft, so desponding a tone, 
 and yet so resigned to her Fate with him, that 
 he was moved to Tears by her confused words 
 and frightened looks. 
 
 Oh thou, my Heavenly Father ! sighed he 
 then, and stood with clasped hands ; till at 
 length he clasped his terrified Wife, who could 
 not comprehend him, who felt so patient and 
 so completely in his power, that she would not 
 
 even scream or call for help, if he should 
 
 Oh! thou heavenly Father! till at length 
 
 he clasped her in his arms, and felt her glow- 
 ing on his Cheek. 
 
 Then he secretly determined with himself to 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 73 
 
 yield to her willingly in everything; to allow 
 her to rule according to the best of her Knowl- 
 edge and Understanding, and lovingly to en- 
 dure all from her, and to do everything to 
 please her, till at length, instead of him, a very 
 different, a cruel Man should appear, to exe- 
 cute that which she from him 
 
 Oh ! thou Heavenly Father ! 
 
 As soon as he had spoken, Fear was at an 
 end ; for what is said, no longer disquiets a 
 Woman, nor does it even a Poet. 
 
 Agnes now thought that the exhausting ef- 
 forts of the Mind would confuse his Senses 
 that she would have her Suffering with him 
 and must starve in old age perhaps in youth ! 
 or his abstracted manner of Life might draw 
 him away, as it had done from Men, so also 
 from her, from his Wife ! and thought how 
 little she was to him, and of how small value. 
 
 Nunnenbeck the Minstrel and Celtes came to 
 visit Albert. Agnes had certainly imparted her 
 fears to them. There was also a Scholar of 
 Alberts, a relative of Nunnenbeck, who was a 
 loose fellow. Therefore Celtes said, in pres- 
 ence of them all : To discriminate Ideas is to 
 discriminate Life. I grant that he who is born 
 
74 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 an Artist must be a different, more peculiar, 
 more richly endowed person than others. He 
 is the Organ, the Medium through which the 
 creative Mind of Nature is still glowing, who 
 is destined to continue the work she has only 
 just begun, by Images drawn from her secret 
 movements, and who moulds the outward uni- 
 versal Creation into a Human Form. There- 
 fore, his Bosom is a moving Depth, full of 
 Germs and Images, the materials for a more 
 beautiful mental Spring. Himself the Spirit 
 of Nature, he takes a thoughtful interest in all 
 her so beautifully -formed Works : the Death of 
 the Worm moves him as deeply as the Death 
 of the greatest Man ; for it is Death that moves 
 him. All Nature's Manifestations are reflect- 
 ed in the warm and clear Mirror of his Soul. 
 Love, also, which enraptures every creature, 
 breathes and glows on him sacredly ; and un- 
 der the influence of this glowing Fulness, yea 
 in the midst of it, he can scarcely contain his 
 Felicity in thoughts which stream over all 
 things. Ah ! and he struggles to tell of the 
 Godly, and to lament the Sorrowful to pen- 
 etrate all which has been from Eternity, which 
 near and around him rules, and over his Grave 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 75 
 
 will still eternally rule. And this Power of 
 Contemplation, this Impulse proceeding from 
 the Power, makes him an Artist. 
 
 But, interrupted Nunnenbeck, does he then 
 tear himself loose from his Mother Nature 
 when he enters on the career of an Artist ? 
 can he no longer make use of her Laws? Is 
 he no longer moved by the Actual around him ? 
 has he no Joy, no Sorrow, no more any indi- 
 vidual Life in Nature? does he cease to be 
 a Man, if he would become one of the most 
 glorious of his Generation ? Does nothing liv- 
 ing any more allure, disappoint, excite and en- 
 rapture him ? and is his Life only the Dream 
 of his Soul, and its Capacities what he must 
 dream of? 
 
 Alas for him ! said Celtes^ if he could and 
 must do this ! then were he more miserable 
 than one of the most neglected Creatures of 
 his loving Mother ! But he has also Fancy 
 in which to live! 
 
 He dwells in no remote, subterranean, or 
 celestial .kingdom, proceeded Nunnenbeck ; he 
 dwells in the Kernel of Nature. He is not 
 solitary, but like an Enchanter alone, awfully 
 alone with the conjured-up Spirits, and thus in 
 
76 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 the most dignified and fullest Society of all 
 the Living and the Dead. He continues to 
 be a Man, subject to all the laws of waking 
 and sleeping, of hunger and thirst, and to all 
 the conditions of Existence, as strictly as a 
 Day-labourer. He has not nor can he subject 
 himself to these Spirits, for his own Spirit is 
 greater than all. He does not build his mar- 
 vellous Palace on the Wrecks of this spell-like 
 Nature, but he adopts all her Laws, even the 
 smallest and most delicate, in his Ideas and 
 Images ; if he would make himself intelligi- 
 ble and valuable to Men, then he must invent 
 and create according to the most universal 
 Laws, which the smallest may understand and 
 recognise and his Power is not derived from 
 Nature, to be used against Nature, but with 
 her ; and it is his Life and his Glory to follow 
 her as far and as faithfully as it is possible for 
 him to follow her. For the Human Race must 
 not receive through his means a contorted, false, 
 illusive Nature ; but every one if possible must 
 see his own Heart's Kernel, that he may un- 
 derstand the Miracles which were not so clear 
 to his own contemplation. In this way alone, 
 he raises also to the all-powerful Mother, the 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 77 
 
 insipid, unthinking, and passive, whose Senses 
 are all bound down by the Exigencies of Life. 
 Through him they see that Nature is not so 
 common as they are common : through him, 
 in fine, they behold the whole Beauty of the 
 World, the whole Depth which is in the Mind 
 of Man, and which the Initiated bring to light. 
 But when the Artist descends to search out the 
 Treasures of the Deep, still he is like the Miner, 
 who has his House and his Wife above in the 
 Sunshine ! 
 
 Agnes looked at the excellent old Man, and 
 blushed. Therefore he was silent, and Celtes, 
 the subtle Judge of Mankind, turned the con- 
 versation still farther to Alberts advantage. 
 
 Yes, as he loves the World, said he, so the 
 World loves him in return; they cannot do 
 without each other. And even the severest 
 Capuchin is in the right, when he censures 
 the Artist who does not in the strictest manner 
 fulfil the Moral Laws of Nature ; for that was 
 what I meant by my first words. The gift of 
 Fancy, and the gift of Reverence for the Godlike, 
 are two very different qualities in Man ; and it 
 is only by their union that a truly perfect Man 
 is known. What makes him an Artist is, that, 
 
78 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 to outward appearance quite a simple Man, he 
 yet can mount into the region of Fancy as often 
 as he will. But it is only as a pure Being, as 
 an Angel, that he can enter therein. Those 
 who are but seldom inspired the tumultuous, 
 only once or twice excited are un genuine 
 Spirits : they sink as deep as they soared high. 
 Nature gives to the genuine Artist, with his 
 Birth, the true Elevation, the Greatness of 
 Mind necessary for lifelong unvarying Endur- 
 ance day and night; and from her comes every 
 daily breath, every word so that he feels, suf- 
 fers, and rejoices in everything, under every Lot, 
 and in all Circumstances. And thus he sits, 
 apparently like one mute or blind, yea as a 
 Child among Children, and dwells meanwhile 
 although with them, yet wherever he will, 
 in Heaven or in Hell. It is only the constant, 
 unremitting Power which gives the stamp to 
 the genuine Calling; and from that Power he 
 has Occupation, Name, Work, and Happiness. 
 And if he wilfully close the Realm of Fancy, 
 then he becomes subject to the smallest Law 
 of the exterior World, and more so indeed of 
 his Love and of his Conscience, which are the 
 tenderest and purest Laws in the World. 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 79 
 
 Dost thou hear? said Nunneribeck to his 
 young relative, and seized him by the hand. 
 Wherever thou beholdest a dissolute Artist, my 
 Son, even if it were only his Shadow, then 
 think: he is no Artist, has never been one fun- 
 damentally, or will soon be one no longer ; for 
 the Conflict between two Passions drags even 
 the strongest person to Death. Human Nature 
 can endure a Fault, and more so if it contains 
 an elevating ever-vivifying Power. No one dies 
 by the effusions of such a Power: it is the reno- 
 vating Joy of his Life. But he who is a Giant 
 in Fancy, may be a Negro Child in Morals; 
 and the Child drags the Giant into the abyss. 
 For these are certainly opposite but may be 
 found united in the same person. And every 
 one, be he who he may, is and must remain a 
 Man, a Moral Being, and may least of all give 
 himself up to the Devil, that he may reveal God 
 by his Art. 
 
 In addition to all th'ese doubts, Agnes had 
 also others which were tender and womanly. 
 Albert was willing to give her every proof of 
 his Love, till she was convinced. But he did 
 not succeed, owing to a hundred new occur- 
 rences. 
 
80 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 The faithful, modest Susanna ate with them 
 at Table. First of all, that was an Offence. 
 But Albert also spoke with her when he was 
 alone. There was nothing more painful to him, 
 than, in a House where only two or three live- 
 together, to force one's self to be silent out of 
 mere Haughtiness, and to treat the Servants, 
 whether male or female, as Mutes, who are 
 yet Human Beings like ourselves; for nothing 
 makes us more contemptible in the eyes of 
 others, than when they dare not talk to us be- 
 cause we seem to despise them, and do really 
 despise them. Now Agnes suspected, when he 
 broke off a Conversation with Susanna when- 
 ever she entered, that it had been about her: 
 therefore she must be dismissed from the 
 House. He would not agree to it. Then 
 came still more evil times; and at last he was 
 obliged to let her go, because a Wretch seduced 
 the poor young Creature. And secretly to pro- 
 tect her from Want - that was dangerous : 
 therefore he must see the poor Girl with her 
 Child go about begging and he actually saw 
 it but with secret Tears and Sighs. 
 
 At another time there came a Worker in 
 Tapestry from Arras and dwelt with him 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 81 
 
 and also ate and drank. To be sure, that cost 
 Money it cannot be denied. But the Man, 
 who was going to Rome, to collect large sums 
 of Money, and to take new orders, had also a 
 Son with him, a Painter, whom Albert had 
 known before in the Netherlands. This young 
 Man was not likely to awaken confidence in 
 the Minds of upright Women, for he was very 
 flighty and loose in his conduct. Now Agnes 
 judged of all her Husband's foreign acquaint- 
 ances from this man. Albert had had no other 
 intercourse with him but concerning his Art: 
 as a Man, he had allowed him to go his own 
 way. And a Man can only pass through the 
 world pure, when he sucks in nourishment for 
 his own life, like the Flowers from the univer- 
 sal Ether. Thus he may occupy himself with 
 Plants and Animals in as far as they are bene- 
 ficial to him, without becoming a Rose-bush or 
 a Bear. The young Man's Sister was also 
 with them, a blooming young creature, to 
 whom Albert had been kind in her girlish years, 
 and who now, when grown, hung on him the 
 more confidingly. To dispel the doubts of Ag- 
 nes in this matter also, he asked the Maiden 
 6 
 
82 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 one day at table, whether she recollected in 
 what year he had visited her Father. And the 
 mention of the year drew forth from her so 
 much about the happy days of her youth, which 
 a Child alone could remember, that Agnes was 
 convinced in her own mind. But she was 
 angry at her experiment in Arithmetic, and at 
 his Smile. 
 
 In consequence of this Conversation, Agnes 
 now asked Albert to tell her all about his 
 Travels. He dared not hesitate. And so he 
 was obliged to conceal many things from her, 
 and also where he had received much Love 
 and Kindness, which made his grateful Heart 
 very sorrowful. He also felt his Deficiencies 
 in many things, and saw now, for the first 
 time, as he believed, what a much wiser and 
 more profitable Use he might have made of 
 his Travels, of the advantages of the Places, 
 and of the dexterity of the Masters! But it 
 appeared so to him, only because he was now 
 wiser and further advanced in his Art. For 
 Man sees and understands only according to 
 the measure of his own Power and Art. Of 
 this, however, he was certain, that he was now 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 83 
 
 capable of observing and learning more than 
 formerly ; and he oftentimes expressed the wish 
 once again to behold these glorious Lands ; 
 and the longing thereafter, proceeding from the 
 Depths of his Soul, was almost painfully re- 
 flected on his countenance. 
 
 Agnes fancied that he might possess or miss 
 some God, which he had left or lost there. 
 She had everything in Him, and he had Her. 
 
 At another time, he advised a young uncul- 
 tivated Artist against taking a Wife, because 
 he did not think him sufficiently strengthened 
 and confirmed in his Vocation ; and he was 
 driven about by a Disquietude, which had not 
 yet allowed him steadily to seek the golden 
 Portals to the Treasures of the Soul of Life, 
 and of his Art; and he still looked abroad for 
 what lay in himself alone, but undiscovered 
 and unsatisfied. 
 
 From this warning Agnes concluded that 
 Albert was dissatisfied with his own Marriage, 
 and she remained whole days in the house of 
 her Parents. He went for her in the evenings 
 to avoid the risk of her not returning at all ! 
 When Husband and Wife weigh every word 
 before it is uttered, then there is scarcely any 
 
84 THE TEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 more free Intercourse, and the Restraint must 
 be doubled. 
 
 The Usages of Society are certainly conven- 
 ient; they even give Unity, Simplicity, and 
 a certain steady bearing, to a multifariously- 
 assailed Life, and also a seeming Greatness to 
 the Mind. Yet, under certain circumstances, 
 they are also constraining and unwelcome. A 
 proof of this may here be adduced. Agnes 
 would not rise from table, nor allow herself to 
 be disturbed in eating. " When any one, more 
 especially the Mistress, has not Rest at such 
 times, then is her whole Life nothing but vain 
 Toil, and without proper Refreshment. It is 
 then one comes at least once a-day to recol- 
 lection, and every thing at table appears to us 
 pleasant and agreeable to the Eye, as the Food 
 or the Wine to the Palate." 
 
 Not untrue, and well argued. 
 
 When she was in a good humour, when the 
 Roast was at the Fire, and the Table was 
 ready covered with nice Linen, then she was 
 so pleased with everything in the House that 
 she was off like meadow water, and stood gos- 
 siping with some female neighbour. These were 
 her favourite moments. The Master, know- 
 
THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 85 
 
 ing this, waited patiently for her, and lived 
 meanwhile in Flemish Kitchen Scenes. On 
 the contrary, if he remained out a quarter of 
 an hour beyond Dinner-time, she had dined 
 quickly; the table was cleared, and he might 
 look to it, and take what he could get. He 
 considered such a day as a voluntary Fast- 
 day, and was satiated with Contentment. But 
 if he reminded her of the words from the Cere*- 
 monial Address, " Be ye Hospitable," then she 
 said jeeringi y, So ! thou art an Angel ! Where 
 are then thy Wings? and what is thy Heav- 
 enly Name? 
 
 And he answered, whilst she felt his Shoul- 
 ders, I am only called Albert, and am thy 
 dear Husband! 
 
 My dear? how dost thou know that, then, 
 my Angel! said she. Then he went mildly 
 away from her but she sprang hastily after 
 him, and he remained mute in her mute em- 
 brace. 
 
 All these things put together were powerful 
 from their union, and, like a Bundle of Reeds, 
 could scarcely be bent, far less broken. And 
 thus ended the Year of Strife, without any 
 real Treaty of Peace, which in general is never 
 
86 THE YEAR OF STRIFE. 
 
 solemnly concluded nor formally celebrated. 
 So it was to be throughout all the succeeding 
 Years! As old secret Reservations are the 
 cause of new Declarations of War so is it 
 between two Monarchs in Marriage. 
 
A Little Agnes. 
 
 JEAUTY does not supersede all other 
 claims on a Woman ; on the con- 
 trary, it should draw them forth, as 
 the Sun does the Flowers, in order that they 
 may be all so much the more sweetly and 
 charmingly fulfilled. For it is wonderful how 
 much Beauty excites the Imagination; how 
 much it covers, and outshines, and consecrates, 
 so that a beautiful Countenance alone makes a 
 mortal Woman already an Angel, and even a 
 Hair from her Eyelid appears and is no long- 
 er a Hair it is a Miracle, like the beautiful 
 Woman herself. And Agnes was beautiful so 
 beautiful! But Albert looked upon her almost 
 with sadness, almost with pity, because she 
 ah! because she was so beautiful. Beauty is 
 only one gift of Nature ! only a gift to Woman! 
 The Woman herself is the Being who receives 
 it. But as is the Woman, so does she receive, 
 and so does she use the Godly Gift. Yea as 
 
88 A LITTLE AGNES. 
 
 \ 
 
 she is, so becomes, and so appears also at last, 
 her Beauty. 
 
 Yet 
 
 A little Agnes, who now appeared, gave to 
 Alberts Wife the Radiance, yea the Glory of 
 the Mother. Thus the Deity continued to bless 
 her! Agnes was the sacred Instrument in His 
 Hands, and the most mysterious, the most di- 
 vine Powers of old Nature were thus granted 
 to her as it were in Fief. Albert being now 
 filled with Reverence, Rapture, Satisfaction and 
 Thankfulness, all was well, better than ever, 
 and his Love was now nobly founded, and hers 
 justified, if not more. 
 
 For Agnes also felt in her Heart as if newly 
 born, and secretly bound by her Husband's un- 
 wearied care. He watched over Mother and 
 Child. No breath of air should blow upon 
 them ; and when both the dear Ones slumbered, 
 then he hastened away to draw and to paint ; 
 and, to his own amazement, he quickly and 
 beautifully completed a Picture of the Nativity, 
 and one of the Adoration, with the three Holy 
 Kings.* The Picture seemed as if speaking. 
 
 * The wise men of the East who came to Bethlehem were vul- 
 garly called Kinys, but were very probably of a subordinate rank. 
 
A LITTLE AGNES. 89 
 
 And then he blessed the Path he had chosen ! 
 His own Life opened up to him an unknown 
 portion both of the World, and of his Art, and 
 he felt that he was now the Man to produce 
 quite different and truer Works. Nature in her 
 Divinity had never yet presented herself before 
 him so closely and so sacredly! And he felt 
 fresher than in the blooming Month of May 
 after a mild fertilizing Tempest. The Ideas 
 which have once been cleared up to the Artist 
 remain eternally clear in his Mind. He directs 
 himself to these bright points of his inner Life 
 when he wishes to model then he can dream 
 and create ! From this source all is Real ! He 
 has felt what he wishes to represent ; he may 
 change and transpose ; then unfold, and convey 
 his Ideas to other Men ; and his Work will al- 
 ways spring from the Heart and go to the Heart 
 again. Therefore he must have experienced the 
 
 Tertullian calls them Princes, and others concur in supposing 
 them to have been Governors or petty Princes, such having been 
 anciently denominated Kings. Bede, Benedict XIV., and others, 
 declared their number to have been three. An ancient Commen- 
 tary on St. Matthew, preserved among the writings of St. Chrysos- 
 tom, says that they were baptized in Persia by the Apostle St. 
 Thomas, and thereafter became preachers of the Gospel. Trans- 
 lator. 
 
90 A LITTLE AGNES. 
 
 greatest, the simplest, the most beautiful, and 
 the saddest events of Nature and of human 
 Life in general, he must have felt the high- 
 est Joy and the deepest Sorrow and whoever 
 has trod the noble path of Human Life with an 
 observing mind and that is peculiar to the 
 Artist to him are none of these awanting. 
 But it is enough for him, that his Fancy em- 
 braces Nature in its Simplicity ! He need not 
 have been the Murderer of innumerable Chil- 
 dren, in order to represent the Massacre of the 
 Innocents if he only has and loves one living 
 Child, and thinks it may die ! He need not 
 have drained the Cup of Vice to the dregs, that 
 he may paint Lucretia if he only has a Wife, 
 or has ever possessed one, whom he loves, and 
 thinks the proud King's Son may appear be- 
 fore her with the Poniard or with Dishonour. 
 He need not have gone to beg his Bread that 
 he may draw the Prodigal if he has only been 
 a good Son, who loves his Father; the Tat- 
 ters are found then. Thus the Artist hits every- 
 thing, whatever it may be, faithfully and truly, 
 if he has always been a genuine Man, attentive 
 to the plainest, simplest conditions of Nature. 
 Only in this sense, then, these words are no 
 
A LITTLE AGNES. 91 
 
 Blasphemy : The Artist must have experienced 
 what he wishes to create. Thus indeed he has 
 experienced everything; and though simple and 
 natural himself, he can yet easily represent the 
 Unnatural. The Artist's first Power, then, is his 
 own pure Heart ; the second, his Fancy ; the 
 third, the faculty of conceiving everything that 
 comes from his Heart, as from a true inexhaus- 
 tible Source, to be afterwards woven by Fancy. 
 
 Albert brought the Pictures to Agnes. The 
 sight of them rejoiced her; but she looked at 
 the Child and said : These are still nothing but 
 Pictures after all! Who has bespoken them? 
 and what wilt thou receive for them? 
 
 They are already paid through you and my 
 own joy! said he, somewhat mortified. It is 
 true, they were only Pictures and because he 
 himself now possessed more than Pictures, he 
 saw also, that the Mother possessed more, and 
 that she had spoken quite naturally and jtfstly. 
 So he willingly learned this also, that a living 
 Work of God is of more value than all the 
 Works of Men, and that these only exist and 
 can exist because those are. For it is folly 
 to think that Man has produced anything of 
 himself! The Great Master in Heaven gives 
 
92 A LITTLE AGNES. 
 
 the Conception for the fair work, the Power of 
 accomplishing it, Joy to Men in beholding it, as 
 well as the living work from his own Hand 
 the highest and godliest of all. 
 
 Therefore Albert prized the little creature as a 
 rich Blessing from his Heavenly Father. Be ye 
 hospitable, said he to himself, for thereby some 
 have entertained Angels. And by these words 
 he was transported back in thought to the day 
 when he stood in the Church, and the Maiden 
 Agnes stood beside him, and now in fancy he 
 put the little Agnes into her arms, and the Bride 
 stood as a Mother! All that had afterwards 
 taken place seemed to him then as a thing of 
 the Past; and the Softness with which his heart 
 overflowed was reflected backwards, and warmed 
 the long days, in which in strange lands he had 
 languished in vain for such Happiness also 
 those in which he had been so cool to the 
 Mother of his little Daughter. From this time 
 forth he determined always to look upon her as 
 the Mother, even if the Child 
 
 He did not finish the Thought, but silently 
 supplicated Heaven to spare its Life. 
 
 The Mother, however, was dissatisfied with 
 what she called his excessive Solicitude, and 
 
A LITTLE AGNES. 93 
 
 repulsed him. And thus there remained to him 
 only the choice, either of offending her, or of 
 bringing perhaps Distress upon himself by her 
 want of Consideration and youthful Rashness. 
 And he chose the perhaps ! and prayed that 
 it might not, nay, that it might surely not come 
 to pass. For he could not and did not wish 
 to think of any one of the three without the 
 others. 
 
 A Nurse was needed, and the faithful ser- 
 vices of the poor Susanna were remembered, 
 who, in Spite of her Expulsion, yet carried no 
 Tales out of the House, and she was accord- 
 ingly brought back again. 
 
 Susanna, however, had a Mark upon her arm, 
 a little Blood-red Cross, which some time before 
 had fallen as if from Heaven all of a sudden on 
 many people, and which Albert, on account of 
 its singularity, had even copied. Susanna had 
 formerly often stretched out her bare arm at 
 table after dinner, and Agnes had seen, admired, 
 and touched the Mark, and traced it on her 
 Cheek with her finger; and now it turned out 
 that the little Agnes had a small Purple Cross 
 on her right Cheek. 
 
 On this account Agnes did not care so much 
 
94 A LITTLE AGNES. 
 
 for her Daughter, and would willingly have sent 
 back the dear Child to its Heavenly Father 
 and begged Him for another, but if possible to 
 select one for herself out of the innumerable 
 Host in the Storehouse of Mortals. 
 
 The Child was as like her Father as if he 
 had become little again, and a Girl; and he re- 
 marked to Agnes in thoughtless sport, how much 
 trouble she had with him, how much she loved 
 and kissed and caressed him, and took pleasure 
 in toying with him. 
 
 Therefore the Child got no more Kisses from 
 her in his presence, and at last Susanna had it 
 always in her lap. 
 
 The little Girl however was sickly, and gave 
 small promise of Life or of being reared, and 
 therefore the Love of the Mother shrunk back, 
 perhaps from insupportable Sadness ; for she 
 had once with difficulty suppressed her Tears, 
 when she looked at her pale little One ; and as 
 if she were already lost, she tried to compose 
 and comfort herself that she might first appear 
 indifferent, and then in the end become really 
 so. And the ever sickly, ever sad-tempered 
 Child, who was but seldom satisfied with any- 
 thing, deserved in this way the dissatisfaction 
 
A LITTLE AGNES. 95 
 
 of the Mother. Albert thus accounted for the 
 change in her Feelings. 
 
 The Child was two years old. She was to 
 have had a little golden Hood and a pretty 
 white Frock for her Birth-day but the day 
 came, and Agnes had not got them finished. 
 He took her, unadorned as she was, to his 
 Bosom. Thus the little Girl went quite over to 
 the Father. She stood near him when he 
 painted or carved ; he played with her, and 
 neglected Art as often as willingly, that he 
 might learn something from Life instead. She 
 held him fast in her little arms till she fell 
 asleep ; and even then he remained yet a while 
 by her, that he might enjoy the few, the blessed 
 hours, in which the Father still possessed a 
 Child ! How thoughtful, and yet how thought- 
 less, he looked on, when she washed out his 
 pencil in pure water, or brought colours to him ! 
 How tenderly he listened, and yet liked not to 
 listen, when the Child said for her Evening 
 Prayer the little Verse : 
 
 Ah! dear God, I pray thee, 
 A pious Child make me! 
 Bather than I should stray, 
 Take me from Earth away; 
 
96 A LITTLE AGNES. 
 
 Take me to Thy Heaven of Light, 
 Make me like the Angels bright! 
 
 Or when she began the Lord's Prayer: Our 
 Father which art in Heaven ! 
 
 The Child now attached herself to him 
 alone. And whom has a Child but Father 
 and Mother? They are all to it; they can 
 destroy or preserve it. Without them it is 
 deprived of Counsel, helpless ; and even the 
 morsel of Bread or the Apple, which God has 
 given to the Parents, it receives from their 
 hands. How high and powerful does a Father 
 appear to a Child ! Only because it knows 
 and loves him, it learns to love and know the 
 Heavenly Father. The Child becomes all that 
 he wishes and what must he be, whom that 
 does not move ? who would not bend, even to 
 the Lips of the little sighing Image ? 
 
 Under the influence of such feelings, Albert 
 certainly spoiled the little Agnes, who stood 
 so much in need of his care. But he had the 
 Heart, and the confiding tender Nature of an 
 Artist ; and he resolved that these should 
 overflow towards his little Daughter, for the 
 short time she had to live. As he highly re- 
 spected every Human Being, and from true 
 
A LITTLE AGNES. 97 
 
 Reverence took off his Bonnet to all, and held 
 it in his hand, so was a Child also to him an 
 Angel, and his Child his good Angel, whom 
 he had to entertain, and felt so blessed to be 
 permitted to do so. And so he must paint 
 for her God the Father, the Angels, and the 
 beautiful meek Apostle John. He gave her 
 Milk, or Honey, to nourish the Flowers, or a 
 drop of Wine to prolong the Lives of those 
 that were fading away ; or he gave her the 
 finest Flowers even, that she might press them 
 into the hand of the Infant Christ and when 
 they fell, she wept that it would not take them. 
 Her Mother called all that Folly, or a wasting 
 of the gifts of God. Then when Winter had 
 arrived, and the Birds came thronging to the 
 windows, hungry and covered with Snow, he 
 persuaded the Child, who was now nearly 
 three years old, that they came to greet her 
 from old Father Winter with an Icicle instead 
 of a Beard, and remained now to see her; 
 and that they were glad when she was neat 
 and prettily dressed. Then the Father could 
 work! for she sat at the window for hours, 
 nicely dressed in her Mother's golden Hood, 
 in order that the Sparrows might rejoice over 
 7 
 
98 A LITTLE AGNES. 
 
 her. Or when he described to her the distress 
 of the poor Birds, and how cold they were, 
 then she sewed a little warm Coat for the 
 Snow-king [the Wren], which indeed was nev- 
 er finished, for the silk thread had no knot, 
 and always came through. When she found 
 in the street one day a frozen Yellowhammer 
 with a bright golden crest, she wept, thinking 
 that the Snow-king had been frozen and 
 that she was the cause of his Death, because 
 she had not made his Winter Clothing. But 
 her father showed her another that was flying 
 joyfully and then she laughed loud with de- 
 light, and was not angry that he had so ter- 
 rified her ! Whatever he gave, he said of it : 
 God sent it to her ; God blows away the 
 Clouds ; God paints early in the morning the 
 Flowers on the panes of glass. And do we 
 grown Children understand better or more de- 
 voutly ? In short, an Artist, who does not 
 marry, and has not Children, or has not had 
 thtem, has never been in the World, never 
 yet in the beauteous tender World which he 
 must experience even if it should cost him 
 Thousands of Tears. 
 
 For all that and it was when compared 
 
A LITTLE AGNES. 99 
 
 with such infinite Happiness only a sweet 
 Punishment the Mother always called the 
 little girl to him Thy Child! When in his 
 absence she had wished to help him on with 
 his Paintings, and spoiled here and there a 
 drapery in the Picture by an ill-conducted pen- 
 cil, the Mother said when he came back : Thy 
 Child did it; if Drawings were quite disfig- 
 ured with black chalk, so that they could not 
 be recognised, or Papers cut to pieces, which 
 the Mother herself considered to be only Pa- 
 per, then it was : Thy Child did it ! For her 
 Mother never restrained her, and the Father 
 could do nothing else than mildly reprove 
 what the Daughter had meant so well. Then 
 Agnes smiled and left them. 
 
 But the Feelings of Children are inconceiv- 
 ably delicate and just. Little Agnes soon saw 
 how unhappy her Father was in his Home, 
 how little he was valued. Albert had per- 
 ceived and learnt, first of all, from her own 
 Mouth, how much it grieved the loving little 
 One to see him so ill-used. He saw it also in 
 her soft blue Eyes. But he saw it meekly 
 and silently. 
 
 When Albert visited a Friend one day, 
 
100 A LITTLE AGNES. 
 
 against the inclinations of Agnes, who feared 
 that he might perhaps complain of her, and 
 thereby make public what appeared to her 
 quite allowable in private and came home 
 late, that she might not be awake, and yet 
 found her keeping watch with the Child, who 
 had waited for her Father that she might go 
 to bed with him then the Mother scolded him 
 and called him a Waster of Time and Money 
 a Man addicted to worldly Pleasures, while 
 she toiled away for ever in secret at Home, and 
 had never had a single happy Hour with him. 
 
 Thereupon he sat down, and closed his 
 Eyes; but Tears may have secretly gushed 
 forth from under his Eyelids. Then the Child 
 sighed, pressed him, and kissed but said at the 
 same time to her Mother in childish Anger : 
 Thou wilt one day bring down my Father to 
 the Grave ! then thou wilt repent it. Every- 
 body says so. 
 
 The Mother wished to tear her from his 
 arms. But he hindered her, wishing to punish 
 his Child himself. These were the first blows 
 he had ever given her. The Child stood trem- 
 bling and motionless. Do not beat her on my 
 account ! certainly not on my account ! ex- 
 
A LITTLE AGNES. 101 
 
 claimed Agnes, thus indirectly irritating him 
 still more. The Father, however, struck. But 
 in the midst of the Sadness and at the same 
 time of the Anger which his Sufferings caused 
 him, he observed at length for the first time that 
 his little Daughter had turned round between 
 his knees, and that he had struck her with a 
 rough hand on the stomach ! He was horror- 
 struck ; he staggered away, threw himself upon 
 his .Bed and wept wept quite inconsolably. 
 But the Child came after him, stood for a long 
 time in silence, then seized his hand, and be- 
 sought him thus : My Father, do not be angry ! 
 I shall so soon be well again. My Mother 
 says thou hast done right. Come, let me pray 
 and go to bed. I have only waited for thee. 
 Now the little Sand-man comes to close my 
 Eyes. Come, take me to thee; I will cer- 
 tainly for the future remain silent, as thou 
 dost! Hearest thou? art thou asleep? dear 
 Father! 
 
 This danger then appeared to be overpast. 
 
 Almost luckily, might the guilty Father's 
 Heart say, the little Agnes had some time 
 afterwards a dangerous Fall ; luckily ! in 
 order that he might not further imagine that 
 
102 A LITTLE AGNES. 
 
 he was the cause of the Child's Death. She 
 continued sick from that day, became worse, 
 and no Physician could devise aught ; even 
 Wilibald, who had studied seven years at Pa- 
 dua and Bologna, only pressed the hand of the 
 Father. That was intelligible enough. 
 
 All the feelings of the Mother were again 
 roused. The little Agnes's Birthday happened 
 on the Holy Christmas Eve. Firmly resolved 
 to have the little golden Hood and the white 
 Frock, Albert, unknown to the Mother, had 
 got them made in the City, and paid for. The 
 Birthday Present shone in the twilight in the 
 midst of the Christmas-tree, which had not yet 
 been lighted up. The Mother saw it. She 
 stood confounded as well as deeply mortified; 
 and a Remorse seized her, which broke out 
 almost into a rage against Albert. He wished 
 to leave the room ; but at the door his Knees 
 failed him. Agnes hastened after him, seized 
 him, supported him in her arms, scolded him 
 and wept with him, while he sobbed and 
 struggled in vain for composure. She made 
 him lie down. Then she lighted up the Christ- 
 mas-tree, and the Father saw, but only as in 
 a Dream, everything prepared. When all was 
 
A LITTLE AGNES. 103 
 
 ready she said to him : Bring thy Child, and 
 he did so. But the joy of the Child was ex- 
 tinguished; she lifted up the little golden Hood 
 and the white Frock but scarcely smiled, 
 and hid herself on her Father. The Angel 
 at the top of the Christmas-tree took fire ; it 
 blazed up. And the Child admired in her 
 little hand the Ashes of the Angel and the 
 remnant of Tinsel from the wings. 
 
 During the Night the Child suddenly sat up- 
 right. Her Father talked with her for a long 
 time. Then she appeared to fall into a slum- 
 ber, but called again to him and said in a 
 low voice : Dear Father ! Father, do not be 
 angry ! 
 
 Wherefore should I be angry, my Child ? 
 
 Ah ! thou wilt certainly be very angry ? 
 
 Tell me, I pray thee, what it is! 
 
 But promise me first! 
 
 Here, thou hast my Hand. Why, then, am 
 I not to be angry ? 
 
 Ah ! Father, because I am dying ! But weep 
 not! weep not too much! My Mother says 
 thou needest thine Eyes. I would willingly 
 ah ! how willingly remain with thee, but 
 I am dying! 
 
104 A LITTLE AGNES. 
 
 Dear Child, thou must not die ! The Suf- 
 fering would be mine alone ! 
 
 Then weep not thus ! Thou hast already 
 made me so sorry ! ah ! so sorry ! Now I 
 can no longer bear it. Therefore weep not ! 
 Knowest thou that when thou used to sit 
 and paint and look so devout, then the beau- 
 tiful Disciple whom thou didst paint for me, 
 stood always at thy side ; I saw him plainly ! 
 
 Now I promise thee, I will not weep ! said 
 Albert, thou good little soul ! Go hence and 
 bespeak a Habitation for me in our Father's 
 House ; for thee and for me ! 
 
 Albert now tried to smile, and to appear 
 composed again. Then Agnes exclaimed : Be- 
 hold ! there stands the Apostle again ! He 
 beckons me ! shall I go away from thee ? 
 Oh Father ! 
 
 With strange curiosity Albert looked shud- 
 dering around. Of course there was nothing 
 to be seen. But whilst he looked with tear- 
 ful Eyes into the dusky room, only for the 
 purpose of averting his looks the lovely 
 Child had slumbered away. 
 
 The Father laid aU the Child's little Play- 
 things into the Coffin with her that he 
 
A LITTLE AGNES. 105 
 
 and her Mother might never more be reminded 
 of her by them the little Gods, the Angels, 
 the little Lamb, the little Coat for the Snow- 
 king, and the little golden Pots and Plates. 
 Over the whole, Moss and Rose-leaves. There- 
 on was she now bedded. Thus she lay, her 
 Countenance white and pure, for the mark, 
 the purple Cross, had disappeared with the 
 Blood from her Cheeks. And now for the 
 first time she had on the white Frock, and- 
 the golden Hood encircled her little Head, but 
 not so close as to prevent a Lock of her Hair 
 escaping from beneath. 
 
 Her Father then sat down in front of her, 
 and painted his Child in her Coffin. But the 
 sight overpowered him ; he could not bear it 
 for wretchedness. The Evening Twilight was 
 come ; he laid himself on his Couch, and felt 
 the Pangs and dreamed the Thoughts expressed 
 in the Distich which Wilibald sent to him : 
 
 Harsh Death ! why hast thou from me ta'en the lovely Child ? I 
 
 had 
 In it an Angel thou a little Coffin with its Dust ! 
 
 # * # # 
 
 See there the Playthings idle stand; on them alluringly 
 The early Sun shines down, and I as one transfixed stand by. 
 
106 A LITTLE AGNES. 
 
 Whether it lived? or whether died? the Child now knows it 
 
 not! 
 I know it well, and with the Child into the Grave am sinking. 
 
 * * # # 
 
 Weep and lament! and yet into the Earth they bear thy Child; 
 Weep and lament! and yet to thee it ne'er returns again. 
 
 * * # # 
 
 A thousand Mother's have been thus bereft! shall that me com- 
 fort? 
 Ah! now I only mourn the more! I also mourn for them. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 A Father's Heart is broken. Death! thou hast had thy Tri- 
 umph. 
 
 Henceforth in Heaven I put my trust; but in the Earth no 
 more. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 If Sorrow to the Child thou thoughtst to bring, oh Death ! thou 
 
 art deceived; 
 For Yesterday it living laughed; To-day, tho' dead, it smiles. 
 
 * # * # 
 
 This is Consolation! and for the Child thy bitt'rest Pain 
 Is at an end. Thine own is Love! so bear it now, as once 
 It did enrapture thee ! and if thou know'st the Life of Love, 
 Then wilt thou henceforth love the Dead, and live for her that 
 sleeps. 
 
 * # # * 
 
 Agnes now entered timidly, with a light in 
 her hand ; she gazed around her, advanced, 
 and looked if Albert was asleep. Having con- 
 cluded that he was so, she went in front of 
 the Child, beheld with a pallid Countenance 
 the pure Cheek, and bending down, the poor 
 
A LITTLE AGNES. 107 
 
 soul continued weeping for a long time over 
 the Child, trying at the same time to encir- 
 cle her with her arms. She held the light to 
 the little golden Hood, took it off, cut off 
 some of the beautiful soft Hair, concealed 
 it in her Bosom, placed the little Hood again 
 on the Head over which she had just been 
 weeping, sprinkled the little Angel with Holy 
 water, knelt at her feet and prayed then 
 stole away silently as she had come, and 
 disappeared like a Spirit. 
 
 What must have been his Thoughts! 
 
How Albert bids Farewell to his 
 
 Wife. 
 
 L B E R T ' S greatest, yea, almost 
 his only Joy in Life was now 
 gone, and, as he well knew, irre- 
 coverably gone. Agnes might well imagine 
 what must now have been his feelings. She 
 had already, in times past, prophesied evil 
 days, if his Child should die. But it was 
 not so : he was silent ; the Mother was si- 
 lent ; the Child was never more named be- 
 tween them ; the Remembrance of her died 
 away by degrees from among Men, of whom 
 she had scarcely seen any. His Marriage 
 remained Childless; and thus every one, es- 
 pecially in after years, believed that a Child 
 had never blessed him ; and those who piqued 
 themselves on their knowledge of Mankind 
 accounted for Agnes's deep Dejection solely 
 and confidently from the circumstance of her 
 being Childless. And a Motherless Child is 
 
HOW ALBERT BIDS FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 109 
 
 only half as unblest as a Childless Wife, who, 
 shut out from her natural sphere, and scarce- 
 ly to be amused by Vanities, sees her fairest 
 Hopes cut off. She pines away and bends 
 towards the ground like a half-cut Vine-branch, 
 and never stands joyfully erect, nor looks 
 cheerfully, loaded by her own Abundance, 
 on the ripening Grapes of the neighbour- 
 stocks. And this Sorrow is the more sting- 
 ing because the subject is always both kindly 
 and painfully evaded by others ; it must there- 
 fore be suppressed and endured in silence, 
 and yet can never be forgotten. And thus 
 this supposed Sorrow passed current as an 
 excuse for Agnes, and Albert confirmed 
 the convenient belief from Love to her, and 
 Respect for himself at least he did so by 
 Silence on the subject of his little Daughter. 
 
 Some Lines which he found in his coat on 
 returning home from the Churchyard, contrib- 
 uted the most to his further satisfaction. They 
 thus addressed him : 
 
 A Way I know, by which them on thyself 
 Revenge canst take for all the Ills that others 
 To thee do. Angry must thou be! Grievous 
 To thee is this Life? Offers it only, 
 
110 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 Misery, and Sickness, and dire Poverty, 
 
 And num'rous Hardships? Then thou must murmur! 
 
 Or fleeting is this World, and full of Death ? 
 
 Then thou must grieve ! Thyself thou punish' st thus, 
 
 For others' Faults. But if thou'rt truly Wise, 
 
 With Patience thou' It endure whatever 
 
 Is and must be; and in thy pious Soul 
 
 Thyself thou wilt rejoice that pious Soul 
 
 Which all surmounts, and thee of nought doth rob. 
 
 And if the Fate of those by thee beloved 
 
 Doth cause thee Grief, then think: they suffer nought, 
 
 As thou, if truly Pious. Weep'st thou still? 
 
 Then think: that Love thy fancied Sorrow is! 
 
 And be thou blest, as Love makes all who feel it! 
 
 And now Albert drew a Picture of himself 
 in his seven-and-twentieth year, prompted by 
 the following motive.* He saw, namely, how 
 much his Countenance and his whole Form 
 had changed in a few years, and he wished 
 to keep to preserve the Remembrance of 
 himself, at least in a Picture in case he 
 should soon look paler and more wretched. 
 He disclaimed the idea of making any one 
 happy by it, or that he could make himself 
 so by means of a warmly-reflected Image of 
 Happiness. To an upright man, indeed, Hap- 
 
 * Master Albert sent this Picture of himself to Florence to An- 
 drea del Sarto. It founded his Fame in Italy. 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. Ill 
 
 piness is not necessary. God knows well 
 upon whom he can lay the Evil which is as 
 it were unavoidable in His World, so that it 
 weighs little or nothing on those who must 
 bear it on the Patient and the Pure in 
 Heart. Therefore Albert thanked God even 
 for this, which he reflected on gladly, that of 
 all the Houses in the World, his was the best 
 into which his Agnes could have come, where 
 she was as happy as it was possible for her 
 to be, untroubled and uninjured. 
 
 He now threw himself entirely into the arms 
 of his Art: not as to a Refuge, but that he 
 might be independent and free from the World, 
 as he had always formerly wished, and yet 
 hoped not so to be. This, however, when 
 attained, was quite indifferent to him ! He 
 now began his " Little Passion," his favour- 
 ite Work, in whose Features he as it were 
 deposited all his Feelings, or depicted these 
 under their quiet Sunshine, their full Glow 
 and Power. 
 
 But the Death of his Father drew him again, 
 Heart and Thoughts, into the rough World. 
 The God-fearing Man had Spent all the hard- 
 earned Gainings of his Hand, in bringing up 
 
112 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 his Children under such wholesome training 
 and discipline as would render them accepta- 
 ble to God and Man. He was patient, meek, 
 peaceable towards every Man; and in the 
 midst of perpetual honest Struggles, diverse 
 Afflictions, Attacks, and Reverses, he had 
 never been able to enjoy much Society or 
 worldly Comfort. His Son Albert had no wish 
 for what his Father had never been able to 
 attain, and thus retired and peaceable like 
 him, he yet excelled him in Contentment. 
 
 Alberts Mother Barbara was now old and 
 poor. It was needful, not that her Son should 
 repay her, for that was impossible but that 
 he should show his Love to her by fostering 
 her and providing for her comfort in her old 
 Age, as she had fostered him and provided for 
 his comfort in his Youth. His Father had been 
 made happy by her had been so indeed chief- 
 ly through her. She had always only modestly 
 asked for what she wished; and what he dis- 
 creetly signified to be his Wish, that she had 
 always done. But for two whole years Agnes 
 prevented her Husband from taking his Mother 
 home to his house. Albert was indignant at 
 this ; and Agnes, in her turn as if his Mother 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 113 
 
 understood Housekeeping better, and were now 
 to guide her was angry at his Displeasure. 
 He held, however, inwardly and unalterably 
 firm to what was right. He had also taken 
 his Brother Johannes into his house, to instruct 
 him in his Art, but was obliged, to make up 
 for this, to send away Andreas* whom he as- 
 sisted secretly, that he might travel and im- 
 prove himself in his Art. 
 
 When Albert now went out, his Friends 
 pressed his hand more warmly. They praised 
 his Paintings, his Woodcuts, his Relievos, and 
 his other pieces of Sculpture, beyond all 
 bounds. For an honest Master certainly knows 
 first and best which of his Works is good, and 
 how accomplished. And no one knows so well 
 as he, what he has intended to produce. There- 
 fore he knows also what he has performed, and 
 what he has left behind, God knows where. 
 He marked well also the Motive of their Praise 
 and he bore it. The whole City knew also ! 
 
 * This brother Andreas was his sole heir, inheriting house, 
 business, and all his works of art. Of these, however, he took so 
 little care, that the plates were abstracted in great numbers; and 
 it was at this time that so many bad impressions were taken from 
 the original plates. Andreas was married, but died also without 
 children. Translator. 
 
 8 
 
114 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 but Agnes imagined not that they knew, until 
 one day a Marforio Verse, in the form of a 
 short Conversation, was sent to her, she knew 
 not how. It was entitled : 
 
 "THE MASTER IN THE HOUSE." 
 
 Wife. Under the Table to retire you dare. 
 
 Husband. Here safer am I, sure, than anywhere ! 
 
 Wife. Come forth directly. 
 
 Husband. That will I not do ! 
 
 Wife. Shall I bend down, and so take hold of you? 
 How very bold now all at once you are ! 
 
 Husband. My dear, one grows at length an Iron Bar : 
 
 Here, 'neath the Table, will I show you, Spouse, 
 That I alone am Master in the House ' 
 
 These exaggerated words struck home. It 
 is all over between us, said she, softly and al- 
 most weeping. Her words moved him even to 
 tears, and he could not throw off the impres- 
 sion they made on his mind. She, however, 
 soon got out of humour again, and the more 
 regardlessly so, since her Conduct in Life was 
 now so well known that she could no longer 
 conceal it even from herself by a Veil of Mys- 
 tery. Thus Evil as well as Good is augment- 
 ed by Publicity. 
 
 An unamiable Wife does infinite harm, when 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 115 
 
 by her conduct she makes all other Women 
 distasteful to her husband. For the Wife is 
 the Husband's Glass, through which he con- 
 templates the World ; she is the Tuning-ham- 
 mer of his Soul. But she does him still greater 
 harm when she makes others dear to him ; that 
 is to say, when we learn to feel and observe 
 as it were to the Glory of God, that He has 
 made a fair and excellent Work when he 
 created Eve out of a rib of her Husband, and 
 now freely repeats the Work, as countlessly as 
 the Sand of the Sea. For Alberts Love was 
 now to sustain a hard trial. 
 
 Pirkheimer's Spouse, Crescenzia, had been 
 taken away from him. Alas ! poor Man ! 
 for he had become poor, rich as he was. He 
 desired to have a Picture of her thus : himself 
 weeping at the foot of her Bed, and kneeling 
 as he then knelt ; Crescenzia receiving extreme 
 Unction, and holding the Wax- Taper and the 
 Crucifix. At the bed was to be standing also, 
 his Sister, the Nun of Santa Clara. 
 
 Her Picture the Child had also been al- 
 lowed to spoil. It thus cost a walk to the 
 Convent. 
 
 Clara was sitting in the Parlour. She was 
 
116 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 unveiled, patiently awaiting him, and greeted 
 him softly with a smile, and a delicate Blush 
 
 for Virgin Modesty why she was there was 
 only perceptible because she looked so very 
 pale. When she saw, however, how Years had 
 gnawed on him and a Woman sees at a 
 glance, as the Gardener sees by the Fruit how 
 the tree is flourishing, the Fruit of his past 
 Life, yea the Soul of 'Man in his Countenance 
 
 then her features assumed the sadness which 
 he needed for the Scene ! A difficult Picture ! 
 But his Soul held the Colours. He thought 
 not : If this sweet form, this gentle Clara were 
 thy Agnes ! Ah no ! he scarcely thought, If 
 thy Agnes were like her! For his Father's 
 will was sacred to him, and sacred her he 
 loved ; for it was because he loved, that he now 
 suffered ! and because she would not love him 
 that she suffered ! 
 
 He finished the Tablet, which was destined 
 for the Church of St. Sebaldus, in his own 
 house, and wrote thereon the Latin Inscription 
 in gilt letters. Agnes stood and looked at it, 
 and made out the beginning : Mulieri Incom- 
 parabili then asked what all the rest of the 
 words meant ? Albert wished to be silent ; but, 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 117 
 
 after having composed himself, he said to her, 
 They are " To the incomparable Woman and 
 Wife, my Clara Crescenzia, I, Wilibald Pirk- 
 heimer, her Husband, whom she never dis- 
 turbed * but by her Death, erect this Monu- 
 ment." 
 
 Agnes was angry, as if he had said these 
 words to her from his own Heart ! and Clara, 
 the pale Nun, who in the Picture was looking 
 away from Crescenzia for sorrow, now seemed 
 to look at her! But no Tear fell from her 
 Eye. Albert alone wept. 
 
 He prepared himself now for his Journey. 
 And as he parted from his Mother, she gave 
 him her hand, held it for a time, and only 
 gently said : Rely meanwhile on thy Wife ! I 
 dare not allow it to be remarked how much I 
 love thee, else she will become my Enemy. 
 Whoever does not consider her in the right, 
 becomes suspicious to her. And yet she is 
 excellent, as excellent as her Sister, who is firm 
 in Honour; and both are certainly God-fearing 
 Women ! But yet it is evident, and I must 
 myself confess it, Fidelity is only one Virtue in 
 a Woman, and perhaps, for as sacred and es- 
 
 * Turbavit grieved. W. P. 
 
118 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 sential as it is yet not the best. For the 
 peace of her Husband she must possess many 
 others besides. It were certainly better, as 
 
 Pirkheimer said * Yet believe me, she 
 
 reserves her Love for thee alone, perhaps till 
 she or till thou 
 
 She broke off. 
 
 Albert remained more than a year in Venice. 
 And here, placed again in the living wrestling 
 World, full of young Minds who were opening 
 up new Paths, he perceived how salutary it is 
 for an Artist to tear himself away from his 
 circumscribed path in the midst of his days, 
 that he may once more have a free view of his 
 fellow-creatures in the world around him. He 
 becomes young again. His Life has two 
 Springs. He receives new impressions, and by 
 means of already cultivated Art, executes what 
 he has newly conceived with Mind and Vigour. 
 He thus once more, as it were, branches out, 
 and new Tendrils shoot forth and only on 
 
 * What he said, will be found in the Life of Albert Diirer by 
 Roth, published at Leipzig by Dyk, in 1791, page 21. But I do not 
 wish to say anything injurious! 7, The Editor. 
 
 This, or at least the substance of it, has been given in the Pref- 
 ace. Translator. 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 119 
 
 young yearly Shoots do Grapes grow ! Should 
 he neglect this, then he becomes by degrees 
 stiff, and as it were petrified, even in those 
 which are considered his best Compositions. 
 
 Alberts Works had reached even to that 
 City ; and it appeared strange to the Italians 
 that everything good and beautiful was no 
 longer to come from Rome and Byzantium, and 
 wander towards the cold North, without re- 
 muneration in the way of Money ; nay, that 
 Time had now begun to reverse the order of 
 things, and that Light and Power, and Reason 
 and Art, should now come towards the South 
 from the Barbarians to the sinking Nations! 
 And what he had devised amidst Sufferings 
 and Sorrow, lying on his couch in Silence and 
 in Darkness, and afterwards accomplished in 
 his lonely little Chamber, as if for no one but 
 himself, now shone in the Sunshine of the 
 Distance, and gave Delight to Men. Thus he 
 looked upon his own Works with Thankful- 
 ness, and stood before them with folded hands. 
 The old Masters looked at him sullenly; those 
 of his own age blushed ; the younger were full 
 of bashful Ardour. That was a sufficient re- 
 ward for him for all besides! It imparted to 
 
120 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 him the satisfaction which the Artist, almost 
 burying himself, labours Day and Night to at- 
 tain. For the Mind of Man is wonderfully and 
 almost laughably formed ; and it is also mod- 
 estly limited in its Desires. For all his lifelong 
 Difficulties and Vexations, he desires only Rec- 
 ognition, not so much as Praise. Even the 
 Hound runs itself to death after the Hare, if 
 his Master only says to him, thou art a brave 
 Apollo. The Soldier who is accounted brave 
 goes like a Demi-god into the tumult of the 
 Fight, and perishes therein, as if a Man could 
 and should be nothing else than a Slaughterer 
 of his Fellow-men. The Wife who toils dur- 
 ing her whole Life with House and Field and 
 Children, goes fresh under the yoke again on 
 Monday if she has sat for an Hour well dressed 
 on Sunday afternoon, and traces nothing more 
 of the World than God's Sunshine and her own 
 weary Hands, if her Husband only says to her, 
 Truly thou art a diligent Wife, and dost thy 
 duty. So is it also with the Artist. These 
 words, " Thou hast painted a good Picture," 
 satisfies his Heart for he has honestly done 
 that which the Lord has given him ability to 
 do. And therefore is the small satisfaction not 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 121 
 
 contemptible ; for the Work which the Lord 
 has dealt out to the Human Race is performed 
 everywhere with fidelity, but in truth through 
 Recognition alone and without Reward, for 
 it yields only dear Consciousness. And that 
 is enough for such a noble creature as Man. 
 He labours in his Father's Vineyard, and is 
 his Child. 
 
 But other Honours also awaited him in Italy. 
 The Master Bellini wished to have the very 
 Pencil from him with which he painted Hair 
 so very minutely, and yet many Hairs at a 
 time. Marcantanio Raimondi made Counter- 
 feits of his Plates. Andrea Mantegna wished 
 to see him, and wrote to him with a trembling 
 hand, while sick unto death. He went to 
 Padua, and found the incomparable Master 
 dead. The longing had kept him in Life till 
 within a few minutes before : his Eyes were 
 not yet closed. In Bologna they were content 
 to die, now that they had seen him Face to 
 Face ; so enraptured were they with his 
 Works. The almost youthful Raphael Sanzio 
 took Alberts simple Landscapes as Back- 
 grounds and Corners for his Pictures. But 
 false reports were also spread among the peo- 
 
122 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 pie, in which Lies had all the influence and 
 effect of Truth. Buonarotti was said to have 
 torn Alberts Drawings, and burnt his Paintings. 
 No Painter does that. But it was to him a 
 signal proof, as well of the Incapacity of the 
 World to judge, going on as it does eternally 
 echoing what gifted Spirits have suggested ; 
 and that is a sad thing for the genuine Masters 
 and for the value of their Art! and it was 
 
 partly to him a proof of this, that all things 
 
 % 
 
 become living Legends, Diligence and Skill, as 
 
 well as Life and Action and that it may be 
 considered a valuable piece of good fortune 
 when an Artist pleases the People, for he has 
 after his own manner responded to the con- 
 temporaneous tendency and manner of think- 
 ing, and exhibited to Mankind what they were 
 anticipating and striving after. When these 
 claims are extinguished with the revolving Gen- 
 erations, then he becomes nothing but a mere 
 Legend. 
 
 Our dear Master stood much in need of this 
 renewed vigour of Heart and Mind, when he 
 returned home to his Wife. He gave her an 
 account of his Expenses. 
 
 While he stood on sure ground, and excited 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 123 
 
 also by the cheerfulness of the Italians, he had, 
 to please her, learned to dance. But so irk- 
 some did he find it, that he had only taken 
 two Lessons : this cost one Ducat. 
 
 It was indeed impossible for him to transport 
 himself suddenly into the midst of disturbing 
 and intoxicating worldly things, from the faith- 
 ful, devoted, often pious Thoughts which, in- 
 duced by his Art, continually occupied his 
 Mind : and from the longing retired Feelings 
 which his high Conceptions always produced 
 in him ; and although it did not hurt, but rather 
 on the contrary furthered him, to see and to 
 hear all the Merriment of the People, yet he 
 could not think of carrying it so far as to make 
 a moving Doll of his own Body. For that his 
 feet always failed him. 
 
 The Painters had sued him three times, 
 because, without belonging to t any of their 
 Schools, he had painted in Venice. That cost 
 four Florins. 
 
 The ride to Bologna, to improve himself in 
 the mysterious Art of Perspectiva, cost money 
 and this Art could not be exhibited to Agnes. 
 
 He had intended to bring her a piece of 
 oriental woollen Cloth ; but the house in which 
 
124 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 he was took fire ; the oriental Cloth was burnt. 
 It cost, notwithstanding, eight Ducats. 
 
 He had lent eight Ducats to a poor Painter, 
 who was going to Rome for the purpose of se- 
 cretly disinterring again the old Pictures which 
 Raphael had left choked up in the Baths.* 
 But the man died at Rome in his debt. 
 
 A year before the period of this Journey, 
 Raphael had sent his Picture to Albert, painted 
 elaborately .by himself ; and now Albert sent 
 his in water colours, also elaborately painted, 
 to Raphael, whose Picture of the Entombment 
 of Christ had become the foundation of his fair 
 Fame.f 
 
 * At the time that Raphaello was charged by Pope Leo X. 
 with the decoration of the Loggie of the Vatican, the interior of 
 the Baths of Titus had just been discovered. The paintings were 
 in all their original freshness and splendour, of a brilliancy of 
 which the external air and various accidents have since deprived 
 them ; thus owing their entire preservation to the very cause which 
 had created their oblivion. According to one tradition, Raphaello 
 copied, and afterwards destroyed, some portions of the arabesque 
 ornaments, in order to claim the invention of them ; but this alle- 
 gation has been fully contradicted, as he has merely adopted 
 their spirit and taste, but without borrowing from them a single 
 idea of any importance. See the " Life and Works of Raphaello," 
 by Quatremere de Quincy. Translator. 
 
 f This picture is now the chief ornament of the Borghese gal- 
 lery at Rome. Translator. 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 125 
 
 Now, because Albert had brought nothing 
 Home, and had only mere Projects to offer, 
 Agnes sold the Raphael painted by Raphael, 
 for a paltry Sum of Money. That was bitterer 
 to him than if Raphael had sold him. For 
 we have an understanding from afar with him 
 whose Picture we possess : the Soul sees no 
 Giant in a misty Form ready to overthrow us 
 with invisible Weapons. No, he looks at us 
 as lovingly, as quietly, and as attentively as 
 we look at him ; he is a Man, and thus we 
 also feel humanly. But Albert had sent his 
 Picture with this desire also, that he might be 
 judged of by a Master in his own department 
 that he might let him see himself. For the 
 Masters are the true Lights, who can best elu- 
 cidate and judge of Compositions in their own 
 Art. Thus only can a Work be understood 
 and known then it is, indeed, that the Mas- 
 ter understands his own Work ! To be judged 
 of by the World in general, neither improves 
 nor refreshes him. 
 
 But all these Evils were atoned for, by a 
 great Sum of Money, nearly Eleven hundred 
 Rhenish Florins, that Albert received from the 
 Emperor, Rodolph //., for a Picture of the 
 
126 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 Martyrdom of St. Bartholomew, which he had 
 painted in Venice, and which, well packed in 
 bales, two strong Men on foot had carried on 
 Poles from Venice to Prague. 
 
 Then there was Joy in the House ! Mistress 
 Agnes prepared some strong foaming Choco- 
 late, which new Beverage she had heard much 
 vaunted, and with long suppressed desire to 
 partake of it. During the sipping of the same, 
 she now in her usual way spoke of everything 
 which she would procure, as pleasantly as the 
 Drink fell pleasantly on her Tongue. The 
 things she now saw so sweetly in her Mind's 
 Eye, she afterwards provided herself with ; 
 good household Furniture, pretty Dresses, 
 Trunks, Drawers, Pewter Vessels, all the 
 requisites for Needlework. Now there was 
 Abundance going on cutting, sewing, trim- 
 ming and putting in order ! At last Master 
 Albert laid down the Receipt before her, show- 
 ing that he had paid the whole of his Debts 
 in Venice. She tore the paper for Joy. When 
 the bright Sun shone into the Room and the 
 polished Tin glistened, then Agnes sat down 
 pleasantly and played again on the Harp. 
 She smiled quite benignantly Night and Morn- 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 127 
 
 ing from beneath the new Bedclothes. She 
 even allowed herself to be drawn by her Hus- 
 band in a Picture which represented Adam and 
 Eve, and the beautiful Agnes was the beautiful 
 Eve. Albert had for a long time wished to 
 draw the innocent Pair, but had never ventured, 
 for want of an Eve. Now he succeeded in the 
 Picture, and a Stone was removed from his 
 Heart. He also struck a Medal of her. In it 
 she is represented with her innocent lovely 
 Countenance looking upwards. She was de- 
 lighted with the Design, and the Master was 
 pleased that she was pleased. Yet she wil- 
 lingly took Twelve hundred Rhenish Florins 
 for the picture of Adam and Eve, and it was 
 hung up in the splendid Hall in the Fortress.* 
 The House was paid ; and then Agnes looked 
 out at the Window with him one Sunday as 
 the people were coming from Church. Her 
 Locks hung beautifully down her soft Cheeks, 
 and the Master looked through between them 
 and watched with delight her roguish Eye. 
 
 * This picture is still to be seen in the palace of Prague. The 
 fortress or imperial castle of Nurnberg is a building of great antiq- 
 uity, where the Emperors resided during the middle ages. The 
 King of Bavaria now uses it when in the city. Translator. 
 
128 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 She was quite beautiful, and he came to the 
 conclusion that he would marry her again, if 
 she had not already been his Wife. 
 
 All at once there was a hollow Sound of 
 heavy Footsteps ! They were carrying a little 
 Girl in an open Coffin, adorned with garlands 
 of Flowers, out at the Gate. The Parents 
 came weeping behind. Agnes changed colour. 
 Albert went from the Window. 
 
 Alas ! that the Remembrance of the old 
 Days should spoil the new ! that Grief is born 
 with the Death of those dear to us ! He who 
 has known a deep and bitter Grief, need no 
 longer strive after Happiness, but only after 
 Peace, after inward Composure and Forget- 
 fulness ; else he heaps up to himself Sorrow 
 on Sorrow ; and even if he should attain to 
 what seems the Crown of Happiness, yet the 
 Jewel is wanting thereto, the ornamental Stone 
 in the Cross! Therefore lifelong Meekness 
 must be the Portion of him whose Heart is 
 broken ! also reverential Resignation to Him 
 who has ordained it for him. In Piety alone 
 is constant satisfaction to be found. And it 
 is God who has given him this also, and with 
 it all things. 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 129 
 
 Physicians call a recurrence of the same 
 Malady to one scarcely recovered a Relapse; 
 which is always more dangerous, and for a 
 longer time prostrating, than the Sickness 
 which attacks healthy Persons ; for the patient 
 is now more irritable. Albert was moved 
 and he began to pity Agnes also. Yet even 
 old Wounds that have been torn open, close 
 again ! But even now, in her more prosperous 
 condition, Agnes was not happy, because her 
 Parents were still in indigence ! Her own 
 better Lot oppressed her! He sympathized 
 with her Sorrow, for she could not be happy ; 
 and neither could he, for Happiness seemed out 
 of his reach. He felt the prevailing power of 
 Family Ties, which bind more closely than 
 frivolous persons imagine, for in this way Na- 
 ture enlarges the circle of Domestic Life and 
 gives a more cordial view of Man's earthly con- 
 dition. A Man marries not only his Mother- 
 in-law, but also all the Relations of his Wife. 
 What is for their advantage or disadvantage 
 affects him also. He is not rich and happy 
 till they are all above want. The World there- 
 fore considers it a Disgrace to him who does 
 not feel himself still more bound to her Family 
 9 
 
130 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 than he is to his Wife, even if she were a 
 Paragon, a Jewel among them. So much the 
 more desirable is it, therefore, to stand well 
 with all her Relations, be they who they may, 
 because otherwise the connection once entered 
 into brings still greater Evils with it. 
 
 Agnes always thought that Albert looked 
 down upon her Family, all of them Artisans, 
 with the exception of her Father, the Optician, 
 who came into the City to the Festivals, and 
 played on the Harp and sung ; also loved a good 
 glass of Wine ; also could not refuse the last 
 the intoxicating one, after which he came and 
 loaded his Daughter with Reproaches, uttered 
 with a smiting mien, till he moved himself to 
 Tears by his own Admonitions! Or he sang 
 very comically, in the voice of the Husband and 
 Wife alternately, the Song of " The Master in 
 the House." Nay, it was said that he himself 
 had made the Song to show his Displeasure. 
 This irritated his Daughter, as might be sup- 
 posed. Albert smiled at the old man, for there 
 is Truth in Wine. He could only venture now 
 to love and praise the poor man with great lim- 
 itation ; but in truth he esteemed all her Rela- 
 tions. For him there was neither Condition 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 131 
 
 nor Rank nor Riches in the World. All its 
 thousand Trifles, its thronging and striving 
 and outbidding, troubled him not. He strove 
 only after one thing, and lived in a World of his 
 own. Every one was valued by him at what 
 he was ; yea he even rated him at that which he 
 wished to be ; for as an Artist he desired him- 
 self to be honoured, as one who knows better 
 than all others what is the true genuine worth 
 of everything he has meditated, and which he 
 wishes or is able to call into Existence. Only 
 he now learned that it is not right to do good 
 too secretly, so that even our right Hand, our 
 Wife, knows it not. Therein he was wrong! 
 For in this way many who are in Need know 
 not where to find Help. 
 
 To all the old Burdens was now added this. 
 And as Bodies apparently increase in Weight 
 the deeper they sink, so much the more heavily 
 presses a Burden which has been borne Days, 
 Months, Years. And that any one bears it 
 willingly, lessens only the Complaints on ac- 
 count of it. He wished to work, she wished 
 Money ; and luckily both Desires were gratified. 
 And it is quite reasonable that many should 
 strive after one thing, but with different views ; 
 
132 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 only no one should evil interpret those of the 
 other, or force his own upon him. It was thus 
 that Albert learnt to represent all the Passions, 
 the more strikingly they were painted, yea burnt 
 into the peaceful Mirror of his Soul. A knowl- 
 edge of good and evil Passions furthers the 
 Artist : Love, Joy, Pleasure, Patience, Compas- 
 sion, Devotion, Astonishment, Horror, Wrath, 
 Sadness, Envy, Hatred all these he succeeded 
 in depicting, because he was Master of them ; 
 and with thankful and upright heart he con- 
 sidered himself fortunate as a Painter, and 
 therefore also as a Man. 
 
 Meanwhile the Passions of those whom we 
 love are infectious! And Albert painted and 
 carved and moulded many things according to 
 her Views and to give her Pleasure. His 
 House was a daily School of Discipline : not to 
 be avaricious, or sulky, or quarrelsome ; or yet 
 dictatorial, unreasonable, and supercilious when 
 everything succeeded to a wish. For all the 
 Faults of a Man usually proceed from one and 
 the same source. It could scarcely be said that 
 Fame now gave him Pleasure, he lived by it 
 as it were in a sustained elevated condition, 
 which exercised an advantageous influence on 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 133 
 
 his Works; for the World gains for the most 
 part by the Praise bestowed by itself on the 
 Artist and when Students of the Arts and 
 Masters made a Pilgrimage from Italy to 
 Frankfort to see his Ascension of St. Mary,* 
 he only uttered a gloomy Indeed ? thereto. For 
 he almost feared to send a Painting to a new 
 place; first on account of the Praise and 
 then on account of the Pity. For he who did 
 not admire him as a Painter, and yet could not 
 well contend against his Worth, concealed his 
 Envy by compassionating him as a Man and 
 then he could call him an unfortunate Painter. 
 A confidential Friend recounted to him that 
 Buonarotti had determined to make Art his 
 Wife; and it was also said of Raphael, that 
 he wished rather to belong to Woman in gen- 
 eral, than that one Woman should belong to 
 /him. 
 
 This grieved Albert much, not only for the 
 sake of the Men themselves, but chiefly for 
 Agnes's sake. He laboured much ; and by de- 
 grees, in the course of years, many Ducats came 
 
 * This magnificent picture, which was afterwards bought by the 
 Elector Maximilian of Bavaria for 10,000 florins, perished when the 
 Castle of Munich was burnt in 1674. Translator. 
 
134 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 in, which Agnes brightened up and preserved. 
 They were all indeed to be for her. At first she 
 only meant to save as much of the Gold as 
 would keep her above want during the few years 
 she might outlive him, being younger than he ; 
 then, there must be sufficient to enable her to 
 live as well as she had been accustomed to do ; 
 but at last, the Interest of the Money must be 
 sufficient for that purpose. So true is it that the 
 Children of Men, all of them, and everywhere, 
 are born with an equally strong desire for world- 
 ly Prosperity. They wish to have and to enjoy 
 everything ; but all of them cannot do so. And 
 the season of Youth is just the time for becom- 
 ing inured, under the parental roof, to the Con- 
 dition which must be entered on and endured in 
 after life, and in which success may probably be 
 obtained; and the Father's House is the step 
 from which this Life begins. Man's future Life, 
 therefore, so viewed, is just the Limitation of all 
 the Desires of the human Mind to the Measure 
 of Right, and to the Standard of what is con- 
 sistent with the well-being of others. It is also 
 at the same time the School of Patience and of 
 Wisdom ; it teaches every one to be content 
 with that which Life can afford him ; and in 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 135 
 
 what has been vouchsafed him, to discover every 
 human Happiness, to carry his own into it, or 
 place it therein. He who does not learn from 
 Life, but continues during its whole course to 
 put forth the usual Claims, uncurbed by a thou- 
 sand Mortifications, undiminished, yea louder 
 and more angrily he must be dissatisfied, the 
 more vehement his Longings, the greater the 
 Claims that Youth and Beauty, Skill and good 
 Fortune in general, appear to give him. He 
 does not prize the Blessings which he possesses ; 
 nay, he rejects them and enjoys them not, till he 
 becomes wise that is to say, till they vanish 
 away from him. 
 
 Alberts Mother Barbara now also died. She 
 was a Daughter of Kunigunde, the Daughter of 
 Oelling-er von Weissenburg, and therefore of 
 gentle Birth. Agnes had imagined that she 
 must be proud and look down upon her with 
 contempt. This supposition wounded her pure 
 natural Feelings, and her notions of the Dignity 
 of Human Nature. She therefore wished to 
 combat it; and thus his Mother had to endure 
 scornful Words, Derision, and even Fear. But 
 the pious Woman suffered nothing therefrom, 
 because she forgave everything to the Wife of 
 
136 HOW ALBERT BIBS 
 
 her Son, and departed, absolved by Papal Power 
 from Pain and Guilt. God be gracious to her ! 
 
 She had lived nine years in her Son's house, 
 and he missed her sadly ; for he had only to look 
 into her eyes, only to hear an encouraging Word 
 from her " My Son!" and he was refreshed 
 and meek as before. Her Eyes were now closed 
 what could he have done? A Man is no 
 Judge between his Mother and his Wife ; and 
 where Love does not reconcile, all other at- 
 tempts only increase the Evil. 
 
 There was now indeed greater Stillness in the 
 House than ever. For all that had passed, 
 Agnes began to be suspicious even of the Praise 
 which her Husband bestowed on her, thinking it 
 was only in Mockery. How ready she was to 
 apply to herself what was passing around her, 
 may be judged of by this instance, that one day, 
 when he wrote a large Seven on the black table, 
 as the product of a mental Calculation, and 
 then went away, she thought it alluded to her 
 as the evil-renowned Seven.* If he smiled, 
 then she wept ; if he pitied the poor, shy, fright- 
 ened Child, then she laughed. And thus he 
 
 * In Germany it is vulgarly said of a shrewish or mischievous 
 woman, that she is a Bad Seven. Translator. 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 137 
 
 passed with the same grave undisturbed mien 
 through the hundred-coloured Days. She called 
 that Indifference, Coldness ! But he would not 
 have suffered if he could at last have become 
 indifferent to his Wife. The Faults of those we 
 love cause us double Anguish : they ah ! they 
 should be more pure and faultless than we! 
 And she never confessed a Fault, and he con- 
 cealed them from himself, and still hoped for 
 peaceful Days of Harvest. 
 
 Alberts tender-hearted Scholar now played 
 him a sorry Trick. He felt for his Master more 
 than if he had been his Father, and thinking 
 that Alberts Death would make a good and 
 lasting Impression on Agnes^ he had strapped on 
 his Bundle, and taken leave of them, but had 
 returned in the dark and gone into Albert's 
 painting room. He then put the pale Wax 
 Mask, which had been faithfully copied from 
 Alberts Bust, on a clothed Figure which was to 
 represent Albert^ and put on it also his old 
 Painter's Coat bedaubed with Colours. 
 
 He so placed it as to lead to the supposition 
 that it had fallen from the Ladder, and poured 
 dark-red colours, like Blood, over it. He then 
 knocked suddenly and alarmingly at Agnes's 
 
138 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 door, who ran into the Room horror-struck with 
 a Light in her hand, and stood astonished and 
 petrified before her dead Albert, knelt down by 
 him, and wiped the Blood from his Forehead. 
 Albert, who had just come home, then entered; 
 she looked round, and thought it was his Ghost 
 that she saw stalking towards her. He spoke, 
 and she recognised him, but thrust him from 
 her blood-red with Anger. She then wished to 
 make her escape, but the Light having been ex- 
 tinguished by the draught from her dress, she 
 could not find the Door. At length, both hav- 
 ing composed themselves, they embraced in the 
 Dark, and wept bitterly. 
 
 Dost thou know what has happened, my 
 Agnes? asked Albert at last. Thou art alive! 
 said she. No, replied he ; Raphael is dead ! 
 Leonardo da Vinci is dead! These tidings 
 reached me to-day at the same moment! 
 
 She let go her hold of him. The Might of 
 Heaven, the Nothingness of the Earth, which 
 lay in these Words " Raphael is dead ! " fell 
 like a Thunderbolt. The Night was amicably 
 spent. Agnes besought him to travel into the 
 Netherlands, and to accept the Emperor's Invi- 
 tation, that he might have Recreation. Then 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 139 
 
 he would certainly no longer need to paint. 
 She was as much struck as was the whole of 
 Europe. Her Husband had been for her as it 
 were twice restored to Life this Day. And it 
 is quite amazing, and borders on the fabulous, 
 how much a great Man gains by the Death of a 
 great Man. He rises in value three-fold, like the 
 Sibylline Books. Because he has outlived the 
 other, so he appears also to outbid him ; Hope 
 yet shines on his Path, and the words uttered 
 in his Praise are laid by his Friends on the 
 Scale of the Living, which they often blow up 
 by empty breath and idle praise; whilst the 
 Dead, numbered with the Dead, with that pri- 
 meval, silent, inactive Company, are dispatched 
 with the words: De mortuis nil nisi bonum 
 (Say nothing but good of the Dead.) More- 
 over, if he has become old, if he has outlived 
 the Masters of his time, then he becomes by the 
 Grace of God a Support to the Arts and to 
 those who understand Art. For Age is even in 
 this respect a wonderful Gift of Grace. Yea, 
 the most wretched Writer of Comedies in the 
 time of Aristophanes, has only to appear boldly 
 among us now, and he would be an Oracle of 
 the Age ; if he were only to sit and say nothing 
 
140 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 but the Words: That is fine! that is bad! yet 
 from Reverence for his long fabulous silver 
 Beard, and because of the Miracle of his Exist- 
 ence, he would be chosen as a Judge, and his 
 Wisdom praised. Albert was almost ashamed 
 to live, now that Raphael was dead. Yet he 
 lived in his Works. 
 
 Now Agnes was not willing to let him go 
 alone, because it seemed probable to her 
 that he might not return again. But he felt 
 bound to her by Gratitude ; for there was never 
 an Evening or a Morning in which he forgot 
 that it was through her he had been so happy 
 as to possess a Child through her alone that 
 he had possessed this beloved Child. He had 
 only to think of the little Agnes, and it was 
 enough for his Heart, enough to make him 
 honour his Wife, and feel drawn towards her. 
 
 Otherwise he might perhaps long ago 
 
 but there was no such otherwise. 
 
 Agnes and Susanna now set out with him. 
 The Honours he received in the Towns 
 through which they passed were valued by 
 him, only because they gave him Value in 
 Agnes's eyes or rather Toleration. That 
 was certainly not the right Feeling. But was 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 141 
 
 it doing any harm to the World, as we under- 
 stand it ? Or should we not turn its Bless- 
 ings to the best account for ourselves? There- 
 fore he gave away Pictures, such as that of St. 
 Anna and St. Mary^ with the Infant Christ, to 
 the Bishop of Bamberg, because he had in- 
 vited him to be his Guest, and had paid for 
 him at the Inn. At Antwerp the Painters in- 
 vited him to their Rooms with his Wife and 
 Susanna. They had a complete service of 
 Plate, other costly Ornaments, and an extrava- 
 gantly fine Dinner. Their Wives were also 
 there. When he was conducted to Table, there 
 was a Crowd of People on both sides, as if 
 he had been a Lord ; and among them were 
 several Persons of Eminence, who showed their 
 Respect for him by profound Reverences. Late 
 in the night they all accompanied him and 
 his Wife home with Torches. Agnes could 
 not sufficiently express her Amazement, and 
 became quite perplexed and meditative. 
 
 Albert received a sad but salutary warning, 
 when, having left his Wife in Antwerp, and 
 taken shipping on the coast, with the inten- 
 tion of disembarking again at Armyud, he 
 was prevented by a Tempest, which broke the 
 
142 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 cable and drove him out into the midst of the 
 frightful Billows of the Sea. During the Dan- 
 ger he became conscious that his Agnes might, 
 must, and would one Day live without him ! 
 This Feeling slumbered in his Heart from 
 that Day, and like a living Being, opened 
 sometimes an Eye and looked at him, or 
 moved within him. 
 
 He now went from Antwerp to Mechlin. 
 Margaret, the Sister of Charles V.* wished to 
 see his Agnes. She said she would rather 
 die than allow herself to be rated and scruti- 
 nized, Body and Soul, by the haughty, crafty 
 Dame, without daring to utter a word in re- 
 turn. But it was no use of kicking and strug- 
 gling. She adorned herself in the midst of 
 Tears. 
 
 Margaret however received the still beauti- 
 ful Agnes, who had put on her most amia- 
 ble Countenance, very kindly. She desired 
 her to sit down, and brought to her herself 
 Wine and the finest Pastry. You are our 
 
 # This is a mistake of the author. Charles V. had no sister of 
 that name. Margaret, daughter of the Emperor Maximilian, and 
 aunt of Charles, at that time Governess of the Netherlands, must 
 be the person meant. Diirer himself makes the same mistake in 
 his journal. Translator. 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 143 
 
 dear Mistress Agnes, said she to her, for you 
 know how to value an Artist, so as to benefit 
 him and the World. An Artist's Marriage is, 
 it is true, only that of a Man, and the Wife 
 is the Husband's Help and Comfort, whatever 
 be his calling or station. And every Husband 
 stands in need of Encouragement, of Cheer- 
 fulness, of Peace in his Home, to enable him 
 to bear what Life brings with it, and still to 
 preserve the power of working for the benefit 
 of Mankind. Cheerfulness gives the highest 
 Power to do, and to endure, my beautiful 
 Angel. But if he find a gloomy Counte- 
 nance at Home, where formerly his smiling 
 Wife sat ; if he hear nothing, or a Murmur, 
 from whence formerly sweet Words penetrated 
 his Heart ; if he feel better and happier else- 
 where than in his own Home, then Good-night 
 to Peace, Good-night to Marriage. When 
 Husbands remain out of their own Houses 
 as often as possible during the Day, and 
 as long as possible during the Evening, seek- 
 ing for Happiness elsewhere, then that is a 
 sign that Marriage is good for nothing to the 
 Man, or to the Wife, or to both together. 
 For had one of them been only properly mild 
 
144 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 and reasonable, patient and firm ; and the other 
 only yielding and willing to receive Instruc- 
 tion ; then both might have found Happiness 
 and held it fast. Friendship, even with the 
 Friends of our Youth, must be very much lim- 
 ited in Marriage for the Wife is the Hus- 
 band's best Friend. And to every one his own. 
 Only the disappointed have recourse to their 
 old Friends again. But your Albert^ dear, 
 beautiful Agnes, remains kindly at Home, as 
 I hear, and throws no false colour on you, but 
 the true one on himself. 
 
 Agnes burned to speak, and if her Husband 
 during many long Years had learned to read 
 every one of her Features, she would then 
 have said: Is this Mockery? How! are the 
 Great then like Pulpit Orators, to whom no 
 one can utter one word in reply, but may only 
 think and smile? But hereafter! only have 
 Patience ! Certainly one can injure another 
 by flattering words, so that he can say noth- 
 ing in reply but he who is fair and just, so 
 regulates his talk, that he injures the Feelings 
 of none. Thou cunning One! 
 
 Margaret then took Agnes' s Hand, pulled off 
 her Glove, looked at the little delicate white 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 145 
 
 Hand, stroked it, and held her own near it, as 
 if she were measuring the Fingers. She then 
 chose from a little Jewel-Box one of the most 
 beautiful of many Rings, put it on Agnes's 
 Finger, and said graciously : Take this from 
 me as a token of the Gratitude of all your 
 Husband's Friends. For I honour and love 
 him much with such a Love as can make 
 no Woman jealous, not even you, beautiful 
 Agnes. I love his Mind and what he brings 
 forth from it ; you love himself, you alone 
 possess him, his Heart, his Feelings, and his 
 earthly Existence. But it is proper, and yet 
 not rightly understood among Men, that the 
 World should in an especial manner honour 
 the Wife of the Artist ! For she is the Honour 
 of his House. If she is not happy, then his 
 Happiness is Unhappiness. She is united 
 to him as the Elm is to the Vine ; he is the 
 sweet, the productive part to the World ; but 
 she holds and supports him, so that he brings 
 forth Grapes ; and without her he sinks to 
 the Ground. 
 
 She turned away for a Moment. At the 
 sight of her moist Eyes, Albert's fell to the 
 Ground. Agnes held the Glass very pictu- 
 10 
 
146 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 resquely to her purple Lips, and appeared to 
 be sipping some of the sparkling Wine. 
 
 Drink not so, good Agnes, continued Marga- 
 ret. Drink to the Health of your own Master : 
 Long Life and happy Days ! 
 
 And Agnes whispered, looking at her and 
 not at him : Long Life and happy Days ! 
 
 That is as it ought to be, said the Princess. 
 Now your Health must also be drunk by him 
 and by me ! for as the Artist cannot work, if 
 only a Cloud nay, even the Shadow of a 
 Cloud darken his Soul, not to speak of a 
 Sorrow which tears his Heart, and if it is 
 only by the great, free, superior power of a pure 
 Nature that he can work, but withal becomes 
 therethrough fully abstracted and released from 
 worldly things, and at last with mild Ardour 
 reverences the Saints still more than he feels 
 an ardent desire to represent them, then I 
 drink to your Health ! We have to thank you 
 for the great number of the Master's Works ! 
 You fan away Care from him ; he is free from 
 human Wants through you. For what little 
 the Artist has need of on Earth, and yet must 
 continue to demand from it, that you bestow 
 upon him lovingly, so that he hardly knows 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 147 
 
 whence it has come to him; were it not that 
 he recognises your quiet beneficent Angel's 
 Hand in the Gift, by the calm Peace which 
 reigns around him ! Thus he traces nothing 
 of the rough World but your love, which 
 like a mild spring Sunshine makes his Heart 
 large and his Soul great. Therefore it is your 
 good Fortune to share the enthusiastic Joy 
 which carries him as it were a Step farther on 
 the Path of Life as if Heavenly Spirits had 
 ministered to his Soul when he beholds an- 
 other Work completed by his own Hand. But 
 there is a God who rewards not Pain only : no, 
 dear Agnes, He rewards also pure, loving Joy ! 
 and for everything that you do and are to 
 your Husband, God will reward you. Believe 
 that of a Surety. 
 
 What frightful things she says ! Were it 
 indeed so ! muttered Agnes, staring before her. 
 Then recovering herself, she turned to Margaret, 
 and said : Gracious Lady ! I understand you ; 
 but you do not understand me ; and yet you 
 are a Woman. So be it! I can endure this 
 no longer. But mark well ! human Judgment 
 is defective : He alone can judge who knows 
 all Hearts; but He judges not, because He 
 knows them, and because He formed them. 
 
148 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 You know, said Margaret, turning to Albert, 
 that the Emperor said, when a Nobleman was 
 not willing to hold the Ladder to you at his 
 command, because he thought his Nobility 
 would thereby be sullied that you were, on 
 account of the excellency of your Art, great- 
 er than a Nobleman, because he could make 
 any Peasant a Nobleman, but could not make 
 a Nobleman an Artist; here then the Em- 
 peror presents to you also the golden Chain, 
 the Badge and Ornament of a Knight.* You 
 are this day invited to his Table ; you are also 
 appointed his Court Painter. Therefore, if you 
 feel as you speak, dear Agnes, you will rejoice 
 in the Honours of your Husband ! Your Name 
 will live with his, when we, whose Appanage 
 in Life has been high Rank, shall appear only 
 as Names on the withered genealogical Tree, 
 only as faded Ink. Now go in peace. 
 
 Agnes hastened away, her Face much flushed. 
 Margaret made a sign to Albert to come back 
 
 * It was Maximilian who bestowed letters of nobility, and 
 also a handsome pension, on Diirer; but he continued after- 
 wards to experience the liberality of the illustrious Charles V. 
 and his brother Ferdinand, King of Hungary. The golden chain 
 is of course the same that is mentioned by the author as having 
 been laid aside by Diirer on his deathbed. Translator. 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 149 
 
 again. She stood a little while mute and con- 
 templative ; she then said to him : I am sorry 
 for the poor Child nevertheless she is but a 
 Woman ; and I cannot conceal from you, that 
 / should not like to have such a perfect Hus- 
 band, who lives in Heaven, and only descends 
 sometimes graciously to dwell with us on 
 Earth; and who, removed beyond the reach 
 of Woman's Judgment, is himself just so much 
 the more praised and honoured. We Women 
 prefer a human being like ourselves. 
 
 Albert made an obeisance. Then Margaret 
 observed the Ring in the bottom of the Wine- 
 glass, which Agnes had just set down. Take 
 it, she said ; I give it now a second time, 
 and in a very different sense, to your Wife 
 as a Woman. 
 
 Agnes was not to be seen. She lay at Home 
 sick, and the Apothecary received fourteen Sti- 
 vers, and the Monk who visited her, eight Sti- 
 vers. She then packed up, and that signified to 
 Albert that they were to set out on their home- 
 ward Journey to the dear familiar Nwrnberg. 
 
 She there buried herself in Loneliness and 
 Fancies, which went on multiplying within her. 
 The words of Margaret operated very power- 
 
150 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 fully afterwards: and Agnes also murmured, 
 because the Princess had considered him richly 
 and well paid by these Words for many Works 
 which he had executed for her, or presented to 
 her. He had also presented to the King of 
 Denmark^ who was in Brussels, some of the 
 best of his Engravings out of respect. For 
 it was a delight to him to give pleasure to the 
 World by his Works, and he lived to please 
 every one. Only he should not give Presents 
 to great people, thought Agnes. But in this 
 he certainly did not agree. The Rich must 
 pay for the Poor! thought she. And so he 
 was often obliged to bargain with a poor Pur- 
 chaser of his Works for a few Florins more 
 instead of remitting the whole ! But Hanns 
 Frei) his Father-in-law, had now lain for two 
 years sick ; his Wife died, and a Sepulchre was 
 built for them and Albert together ; and after 
 the lapse of nearly two years, his Father-in-law 
 died also. Agnes's Grief was thus doubly 
 deep; for her Father had departed this Life 
 in the midst of Reverses of Fortune almost 
 beyond endurance, and her Life and her Striv- 
 ings now began to appear to her as a vain 
 thing. She had a House, and everything in it 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 151 
 
 that was needful a State-room, fine Clothes, 
 a prospect for the future that could not fail her, 
 Honour as much as she could wish, but 
 all too late, all not so much in unison as her 
 young brain had settled it ; for this, in her 
 opinion, was what every human being should 
 strive after as the chief business of Life ! Pos- 
 session is dead, Striving is alive ; and therefore 
 Striving and Longing must be sufficient. To 
 attain, is to pour Oil on the Sea of our Wishes : 
 to attain too late, is pouring Gall instead of Oil. 
 In these latter days Melancthon had come 
 to Number ff : he was as it were Luther's Sec- 
 retary of State, and brought everything into 
 a world-enduring valid Form, uniting the new 
 Grafts to the well-cropped Trees with an Ar- 
 tist's Hand, so that the sap of the old Trunk 
 might produce new and noble Fruit. Albert 
 adhered to the Old Light which had arisen 
 again in the New Time. He was accustomed 
 to think as an Artist, to go back to the Source 
 of Things, and from their formation, to the 
 Mind which formed them ; accustomed, when 
 possible, to imprint his Thoughts more beau- 
 tifully and truly. These he then applied to the 
 operations of the Mind of Man, and soon all 
 
152 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 was Light and Purity within. Now these 
 men had excluded marriage from the Sacra- 
 ments Albert praised the new Creed in gen- 
 eral ; and thus it appeared to Agnes that he 
 adhered to it in order that divorce might be 
 open to him. She shuddered at the sight of 
 Melancthon wherever she met him, and the dif- 
 ference of their Faith at last estranged Agnes 
 and Albert. She now believed that they would 
 inhabit different Heavens, that they had been 
 made by two different Gods, and as her Mind 
 was withdrawn from him, so was also her Life 
 and Marriage is preeminently a Union of 
 Lives! Oftentimes she lamented that he would 
 be lost in Time and in Eternity, at which he 
 smiled.* But when he wished to adduce 
 Proofs to her, then she said : Get thee behind 
 me, Satan ! 
 
 These Words stung him so deeply, after all 
 
 * The honest evangelical Painter (for such alone are the genuine, 
 the enduring, whose Works never become Chimeras of the Brain) 
 certainly acknowledged the sincerity of his Wife, who would 
 willingly have known him happy here and hereafter; and he 
 respected the uneasiness she had endured for Years, and which 
 he had endeavoured to dissipate by loving Persuasion and by 
 Reason; but Reason finds difficult access to those who are at 
 enmity, and almost more difficult still to those who love ! W. P. 
 
'FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 153 
 
 the Grief he had endured, and all the kind 
 intentions of his Heart, that he resolved actu- 
 ally to go away from her, only not like him 
 to whom she had compared him, but magnan- 
 imously, yea prodigally. Love likes to boast 
 great things, likes to play the Queen, to ap- 
 pear rich, all- sacrificing, divinely-joyful and 
 yet weeps quite humanly. And this justly. 
 Love is sufficient to itself: what it gives, it 
 receives again a thousand-fold as if from God; 
 what it must do without, it enjoys a thou- 
 sand-fold, by having a dreamy, soulful, sym- 
 pathetic perception of the Enjoyment of the 
 beloved object. Rare Power! Miracle of Nature 
 so natural to him who bears it in his Heart ! 
 The World is worth nothing to him who has 
 this Power; but he who has it not, cannot 
 attain it if he would give the whole World 
 for it not for his own Existence ; or rather 
 he does not believe that he could purchase it 
 therewith, because he dare not venture to throw 
 his Existence away for such unwonted Gain. 
 Yet let it be understood : Albert left everything 
 to his beloved Agnes; he counted the Gold 
 there were six thousand Florins ; he looked 
 over the Engravings, the Pictures he left 
 
154 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 them to her. But he left to her also, a more 
 precious than all namely herself; and, in 
 her, his Existence, his Mind, his Love, which 
 he regarded as nothing, just because she re- 
 garded them as nothing. 
 
 This Feeling made him so desponding, that 
 he now also deemed as nothing that to which 
 he had devoted his Life, and executed with 
 so much love his Art and his Works. Nay 
 he even wished to go back to Hungary, to the 
 little Village of Eytas from whence his Grand- 
 father, Anton Durer, had wandered to Number g 
 as a poor Goldsmith; there he would no 
 more be heard of again fostering the Vine, 
 planting Trees, cutting Branches, gleaning 
 Grapes, as his Fathers, very worthy people, 
 had done also without a Name to leave be- 
 hind. But his habit of Industry did not 
 permit him this even in his waking Dreams. 
 Peace was all he now desired Peace Peace 
 for his last best Works, which he had carried 
 about with him through Life ! These must yet 
 be completed ! They would yet bring many 
 gold Pieces to Agnes ! For it never entered 
 his thoughts to divorce her; she would be 
 happy when he was not with her that he 
 
FAKEWELL TO HIS WIFE. 155 
 
 both wished and thought. For even if the 
 new Doctrine had permitted it, still he was so 
 accustomed to his old Faith that he perceived 
 it was only they who adopted the new as Chil- 
 dren, who would one day put it into Practice 
 in the affairs of Life; not this Generation. 
 The only scriptural Ground for Divorce was 
 also awanting to him; for into the Subtleties 
 contained in the question as to the multifari- 
 ous ways in which Marriage may be broken, 
 his Heart did not enter, although they had 
 often exercised his Thoughts. 
 
 And so he parted for a time from his Agnes. 
 
 It was a Saturday ; the day on which he 
 always heretofore gave thanks to God for the 
 often wondrously accomplished week. If he 
 was not moved to this by the Current of the 
 World, then, at his Evening Prayer, he was 
 certain to be so. This reverential feeling on 
 the Saturday arose perhaps secretly from the 
 knowledge that it was the true ancient Sunday. 
 Therefore he chose this day for his Departure ; 
 for he certainly meant to do a good Deed. He 
 was ready dressed, and had nothing in his 
 pocket but a few Stivers for his Journey. 
 Agnes yet slept. He approached her Bed. He 
 
156 HOW ALBERT BIDS 
 
 admired the Wife, who might have made him 
 so happy. Ah! and she herself appeared to 
 be so miserable with him, and through him, 
 that he wept for the first time almost aloud. 
 He kissed her bare Arm which was lying on 
 the Coverlet. She half opened her Eyes. 
 
 I am going ! whispered he. 
 
 God be with you ! said she as if in a Dream. 
 
 I will come again ! said he. 
 
 But say that, I pray thee, to one of thy 
 Friends also ! said she. 
 
 I will ! said he. 
 
 So then he took his departure.* It was early 
 Spring. The Morning Sun smiled on him as 
 he left the House. He smiled in return, when 
 he looked at the double Eagle over the Gate. 
 But when he had gone through the Streets in 
 the still Morning, and had got out as far as 
 Master Belaid? s the Wheel-maker, who dwelt 
 near the Sonnenbade, and who prepared his 
 wooden Blocks for him ; and when the Geese 
 on the young grass hissed at him, and he saw 
 the little bright yeUow Goslings feeding in the 
 Morning Dew, then he leant on the hedge of 
 
 * Just sixty Years after this, W. Shakespeare left his Wife and 
 Children. /, the Editor. 
 
FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 157 
 
 the little Garden ; and when by degrees he 
 roused himself from his Reverie, he heard from 
 within the house Master Sebald recounting to 
 his Wife and Children and Comrades at break- 
 fast a new Jest, which Master Hanns Sachs* 
 had circulated among the people for the first 
 time the night before. The Wife and Children 
 laughed ! that was a Dagger to his Heart. Ah ! 
 there was Joy in this House, as well as in that 
 of Master Sachs! He took Courage, how- 
 ever, entered and bespoke new Blocks from 
 Master Sebald to be ready when he should re- 
 turn from Flanders. And the Husband stood 
 reverentially before him, his Cap in his Hand; 
 the Wife kept her bare Arms folded in her 
 Apron, out of respect for him ; and the Chil- 
 dren, as if almost afraid of him, stood clinging 
 to her. He smiled for he knew better ! The 
 Geese hissed at him again as he went forth, 
 but he smiled for he knew better ! 
 
 As the young Branches of the Vine with 
 their green Tendrils often attain no object 
 around which to entwine themselves, and so 
 bend back ; thus many of Alberts feelings had 
 not reached Agnes : as however in Autumn 
 
 # A shoemaker and poet in Nurriberg. Translator. 
 
158 HOW ALBERT BIDS FAREWELL TO HIS WIFE. 
 
 the Vine-dresser breaks off also the firmly fixed 
 and now dried up Tendrils of the Branch, so 
 he intended to tear himself loose. His separa- 
 tion had already lasted so long! But it was 
 only after many Years and with Pain, that 
 his Thoughts and Feelings could be severed 
 from her. For that which appears visibly in 
 the World as a Work, or as a Deed, must all 
 long, long before have existed and been 
 ripening; and what in like manner the World 
 sees of Undertakings are all Fruits which 
 have fallen from the Tree of Life : for the 
 rest, the World perceives nothing but Leaves, 
 and hears the rustling thereof! Things bloom 
 concealed covered over, like the Fig, with its 
 own leaf. Thus the Past comes to maturity 
 only in the Present, and in the Present is 
 sown the Seed of the Future. We often 
 lose our Health for Years on account of a 
 thousand little Errors; we die in consequence 
 of living. Sickness is an exertion of Nature 
 to heal us, to restore to its natural Proportion 
 all that has been endured or done amiss, and 
 to aUow us to expiate it by Suffering, in or- 
 der that we may become wise for the Years 
 that yet remain to us. 
 
Peace in Life. 
 
 purposed extending his 
 Wanderings so far as to secure 
 himself, and his poor self-torturing 
 Agnes, against a sudden Return, the desire 
 for -which seized him every evening. He 
 had in truth no longer been able to en- 
 dure the sight of her self-torture ; for what 
 manly Mind, not burdened by the weight of 
 a Crime against Heaven, would allow itself 
 seriously to be bowed down by a Woman ! 
 Women, indeed, never wish so to bow down 
 a Man ; only they do not always understand 
 how to limit their desires, or on the other 
 hand to forget them. Alas ! and Life de- 
 mands so much from us, so much Endurance 
 and Sacrifice ! The worst of Life is, that we 
 all live on this Earth for the first time. Every- 
 thing is new; no one gets accustomed to the 
 perpetual Surprises at best only accustomed 
 to be surprised. Even the old, the daily-re- 
 
160 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 curring, finds us every day new and changed 
 in Age, in Mind, in Likes and Dislikes, so 
 that it often operates more strangely, more 
 peculiarly than the new, to whose impressions 
 we yet hesitate to resign ourselves. And 
 thus to know how to live requires perpetual 
 Genius for Life is the highest of all Arts. 
 Only no one believes this, because he fancies 
 he knows how to live, as every one fancies 
 he knows how to love, when he looks deep 
 into the Eye of a beautiful Maiden. Alas! 
 Love also is an Art but it consists not in 
 Raptures and Enthusiasm ; it is not to wan- 
 der in the Moonlight, to listen to the Song of 
 the Nightingale, to kneel before the Beloved, 
 to languish and pine for her Kiss ! No ; this 
 is the Art of Love : to preserve its Fire, its 
 godly Treasure ; to carry about its Riches 
 through Life as if in pure Gold ; to spend it 
 for him alone to whom the Heart is devoted ; 
 to be always ready to sympathize, to smile, 
 to weep, to assist, to counsel, to alleviate; 
 in short, to live with the Beloved as he lives, 
 and thus, by virtue of an indwelling Heavenly 
 Power, to preserve invariably a Heavenward 
 direction. And this Art is the highest, the 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 161 
 
 tenderest Love. He who possesses it knows 
 what Love is. The greater part of Men can 
 sacrifice Hours and Days and Wealth ; but 
 to bear and to suffer patiently for Years, never 
 to consider one's own Life and Wellbeing, to 
 pine away gradually, to suffer Death in the 
 Heart, and yet to hasten to the Arms of the 
 Beloved as soon as they are again opened to 
 us, and then to be happy, yea blest, as if 
 nothing had been amiss, as if no time had 
 elapsed between that moment and the first 
 embrace, all this Love can do. It now ap- 
 peared to Albert that he and Agnes had only 
 been fettered by some inconceivable Power. 
 This conviction gave him Courage. He ar- 
 rived at it now for the first time alas ! al- 
 most too late for this Life, and therefore he 
 wished there had been a Life for Man be- 
 fore this, in order that he might again live 
 peacefully, wisely, and happily ; since every- 
 thing in the World and in the human Heart 
 springs from Love and no Man has thus 
 any cause truly to grieve. For a noble Heart 
 cares for nothing else than to be worthy of 
 the Love of those whom he loves and also 
 worthy in general; and no one can tell him 
 11 
 
162 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 this so well as his own Heart, judging even 
 from a thousand Actions. Thus Albert saw 
 that even he ought now to be satisfied ! and 
 concluding, by his own Feelings, how his Ag- 
 nes also must feel in her Heart, he attained to 
 the Knowledge, that everything is ordered by 
 Love, and that we must improve the divinely- 
 granted Time, by bestowing it one on another. 
 This Albert now intended honestly to do tow- 
 ards Agnes ! * 
 
 It was during his Wanderings that he felt 
 these Convictions in all their force. 
 
 He went to visit Lucas of Leyden. Even 
 the Name of the Town attracted him thither.f 
 During his first sojourn in Holland, he had 
 formed an intimate Friendship with Lucas, and 
 now, separated from his Wife, he both needed 
 and recognised a Friend. And he found one 
 in him. Oh ! ever kind World ! thou hast 
 Riches ready prepared for him who rejoices, as 
 well as for him who mourns ! How unhappy 
 
 * Thou upright Soul! how much thou hast reflected, and how 
 much Cause hast thou had for Reflection! And thou wert now 
 repenting instead of her ! And Repentance even that which is 
 felt for others leads to Acknowledgment. Thy Kernel remained 
 sweet. W. P. 
 
 f Leiden Suffering. Translator. 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 163 
 
 % 
 
 soever any one may be, Nature is always true 
 to him ! 
 
 He had thought it would be with him as 
 with a shipwrecked Mariner, who, after hav- 
 ing been long tossed about on the cold Waves 
 till he is benumbed, finds himself at last 
 washed ashore on the flowery Bank of a lonely 
 Island. But he now felt as if he had been 
 washed by the Waves from the Shore out into 
 the cold Sea ! Nothing was awanting ; ev- 
 erything was arranged for him in a comfort- 
 able and friendly manner. Clean Linen lay 
 every Morning spread out on his chair; his 
 Clothes were brushed and free from every 
 Speck of Dust ; he rose, and went to sleep,, 
 whenever he liked ; he looked at the People 
 out of the Window ; he went wherever he 
 pleased. Oppressive Freedom ! To everything 
 he was indifferent, all within him was so still 
 and so monotonous! What was there here 
 for him to Love ? To whom had he here 
 every hour something to forgive ? Who was 
 there here to make him sorry ? He felt the 
 sweet Power of Custom even in what is most 
 bitter ! He felt that Words are nothing, how- 
 ever mild and reverential they may sound, 
 
164 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 if the Soul of Love does not glow and breathe 
 upon us through them. And in Agnes' s Words 
 which he now missed in his solitary condi- 
 tion there was the Soul of a faithful Love, 
 which was never weary in busying itself with 
 him, in being angry at herself and at him, 
 during the whole course of an irritable Exist- 
 ence ! Ah ! it was impossible for an indiffer- 
 ent Heart so to do for it has neither the Will 
 nor the Power to injure! And he loved her 
 therefore he could not be injured by her! 
 And thus the feeling of his Love to her was 
 quite enough for him, and Life without her 
 difficult, much more difficult to bear ! Ah ! we 
 love perhaps a lively Child, and think it im- 
 possible that our Love for it can increase ! But 
 it becomes sick and we then know, for the 
 first time, how much more intensely and also 
 painfully we can love it! Then do new and 
 more delicate Tendrils unfold themselves as 
 it were in our Hearts, with which we encom- 
 pass it as Ivy does a half- fallen Statue. And 
 if Agnes' ] s Love for him was of the most ex- 
 traordinary kind, still she loved him for all 
 that ! That was the chief point. Her Love 
 was like the warm Sunbeam, shining in the 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 165 
 
 Window of a Dome through a fiery-red Ruby 
 Glass, which, corroded by damp, reflects with 
 its own also the varied hues of the Rainbow. 
 And Caprice is never without a Cause, and 
 may riot that Cause be Disease ? And does 
 not Disease call for Pity ? Alas ! this, then, 
 was what he could no longer endure ? And 
 was that just? It is the greatest, the most 
 injurious Wrong, not to believe in Nature. 
 
 Here, far away from her, he had intended 
 to work at so many things, and so busily! 
 But his Thoughts were far away with her 
 banished to her ! Yet when he was with her, 
 when she was wandering around him, then 
 they could rove in the distance, could dwell 
 where Thoughts and Images appear as in a 
 Heavenly Dome full of Music and Incense, 
 from which the Artist steals them as it were 
 for the Earth. Here, dwelling in Leyden, his 
 Sadness increased ; he felt he could not be so 
 happy anywhere as near his Wife ; yea, that 
 it was only when he was with her that he was 
 truly happy. There are Conditions in which 
 the Endurable, the Imperfect, is the best possi- 
 ble for us ; and the Human Race is continual- 
 ly subjected to such a Condition. Do we de- 
 
166 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 sire a better or happier Fate ? God forbid ! 
 Everything that is ours is the best for us ; for 
 we choose perhaps our own Lot ; but what we 
 have chosen keeps us enclosed as in Walls of 
 Steel all our lives and for as much better 
 as the Untried appears to us, still we can 
 never attain to it, nor yet appropriate it, be- 
 cause we ourselves are already become Prop- 
 erty. Let us therefore endure ! let us be faith- 
 ful! 
 
 He was now in a condition to perceive 
 wherein he also had erred ! And Man never 
 attains Tranquillity, as long as he believes that 
 he is right in all his Thoughts and Actions 
 towards all the World ! But as soon as he 
 begins to doubt, as soon as he once admits 
 the pre-supposition that he may have gone 
 astray that he must take himself to task 
 then come Reconciliation with the World, 
 Contentment and Peace, and with recognition 
 of the Truth, and acknowledgment of his own 
 Error, come also at last by degrees Satisfac- 
 tion and Happiness to his Heart, which always 
 speaks Truth to the Upright. 
 
 Lucas celebrated Alberts Birth-day, the day 
 of St. PrudentiuS) which his Agnes had so 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 167 
 
 often taunted him with when he spoke pru- 
 dently.* Masters assembled from all quarters, 
 but from tender consideration for him they had 
 left their Wives at home. Bitter ! 
 
 It is always most agreeable for us Men, 
 said Master Peter Gutschaaf, the Illuminist, 
 when we are quite among ourselves, and also 
 for the Women when they are quite among 
 themselves ! We are certainly of two differ- 
 ent Natures, and in this way each has undis- 
 turbed and pleasant intercourse with those of 
 his own Nature. These words furnished Mate- 
 rials for a Conversation at Table on Women, 
 which was conducted, however, with cautious 
 consideration. 
 
 Lucas had ordered two Bottles of lachrymce 
 Christi in honour of Albert. These he did 
 not disdain to taste, and he had his own 
 wonderful Thoughts thereby. For these Tears 
 cleared away the clouds from his Eyes! they 
 placed him in Spirit in times long bypast. 
 He thought on the happy days that were 
 
 # The 6th of April. St. Prudentius was by birth a Spaniard, 
 and fled from the swords of the infidels into France, where in 
 840 or 845 he was chosen Bishop of Troyes. He was one of the 
 most learned prelates of the Galilean Church. His writings are 
 extant in the "Bibliotheca Patrum." Translator. 
 
168 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 gone, and behold! there sat his Wife, weep- 
 ing in Nurnberg", weeping on his account, 
 weeping for him ! Then he flew swift as an 
 Eagle back to his own Days, to. the Present, 
 and there he was in Leyden, sitting at Table 
 opposite Master Peter Gutschaaf^ whose rosy 
 Daughter sat beside him, always hanging ten- 
 derly on the Eye of her Father. He saw in 
 her his little Daughter Agnes now grown up, 
 and he sighed, and the Daughter, the good 
 little Lamb, looked at him and sighed also. 
 For he knew well how much Peter Gutschaaf 
 had had to endure at Home from his Wife, 
 and yet Gutschaaf was so very cheerful! 
 that was his Daughter's doing. She was like 
 the Oil between the Door and the Hinge, the 
 mild L between harsh-sounding Consonants ! 
 She did not intend to marry, because she 
 thought it her duty first of all to show her 
 Love and Gratitude towards her Father, be- 
 fore she loved any one else ; and her Father 
 assented to this. Albert pictured to himself his 
 Agnes just as tall and as beautiful, and that 
 she would have been as kind, and that her 
 Father would have been as fond of her. Ah ! 
 and then he called Death the bitterest 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 169 
 
 Grief, and his Tears ran into the Glass 
 among the Tears of Christ and he could 
 not drink. 
 
 Drink, I pray thee, dear Master ! said sly 
 Master Dietrich, the Glass Painter ; drink ! 
 The Wine which the Man drinks, restrains 
 the Wife ; and the Wine which the Wife 
 drinks, dishonours the Man. Just listen for 
 a moment to what is going on across the 
 street ! There dwells a Straw Widow, so 
 called because her Husband has forsaken her ; 
 and who, in other respects, of a Christian and 
 harmless disposition, wilfully draws upon her- 
 self many suspicions, in order to retaliate on 
 him ; and is just now celebrating a jovial 
 Banquet. I venture to say, that when he 
 comes home she will make herself out to be 
 in the right ! 
 
 Oh ! said Bernard of Orley, the Princess 
 Margaret's Painter, Women may be in the 
 Wrong so prettily and sweetly, that one is 
 doubly fond of them in spite of it and they 
 may be in the Right in such a bitter manner, 
 that one curses even the sacred Truth and 
 them at the same time. 
 
 Dear Children, interrupted Master Erasmus 
 
170 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 Desiderius of Rotterdam, one of the Guests, 
 who was on his journey to Basle, I must read 
 you a Lecture after a fashion of my own, 
 and shew you how foolish you are. Men think 
 all their troubles come from Women, because 
 it is through them without doubt that they 
 attack them ! We must remember that there 
 are a thousand disagreeables in Life ; and if 
 we have Wives, then of course all sorts of 
 Cares must be encountered in Marriage ; and 
 every one must receive a tinge from it, as 
 white Wine becomes red in a red cask. We 
 are apt not to observe this sufficiently. A 
 Wife cannot do us any harm, and as certainly 
 as they are dear Creatures so true is it that 
 they will do us none. Yet there must be 
 Cares ! And then, declaiming as if he had 
 been still a Lecturer* in Oxford, he supported 
 his position by the following Verses : 
 
 Care dost thou despise? It is the secret 
 Confidential Link 'tween us and Nature ; 
 Confirmed by it the holy Union is. 
 
 * The renowned Erasmus of Rotterdam spent some time both 
 at Oxford and Cambridge, in which latter University he gave lec- 
 tures on Greek literature, and held the Margaret professorship of 
 Divinity, procured for him by Bishop Fisher. He was the friend 
 of the illustrious More. Translator. 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 171 
 
 The Husband Care endureth for his Wife, 
 
 She in her turn for him: th' anxious Mother 
 
 For her Child the Child for her again. 
 
 Each mortal Man hath care. The poor, that he 
 
 His frugal morsel may obtain: the Rich, 
 
 To keep the Wealth he has. For Nature 
 
 Hath the Heavenly Father endless Care; 
 
 For Rich and Poor, and Nature's Cares besides. 
 
 Care is Love to the Earth ! He who without it lives, 
 
 Ah! knows he aught of Life? knows and feels he thee, 
 
 Thou ever sacred, ever bounteous Nature? 
 
 Master Dietrich did not wish to make any 
 subtle distinction between Care and Sorrow, 
 and all relating thereto, but Master Deside- 
 rius, whose Symbol was " nemini cedo" (I 
 yield to no one), refuted him by saying : 
 There is Care in loving, Care in being be- 
 loved, in living and in acting; there is noth- 
 ing but Care among reasonable beings ; and 
 because God has intended it so to be, I sup- 
 pose there must be unreasonable beings I 
 know not where or from whence, but some- 
 where in the World, at Brussels or at Leyden, 
 wherever they may now be sitting ! With 
 reasonable people nothing leads to Sorrow 
 and Unhappiness ; for the opposing Power of 
 a courageous Mind scarcely allows Care to 
 spring from the knowledge and experience of 
 
172 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 the World. Look now at our dear cheerful 
 Peter Gutschaaf! He does credit, yea even 
 honour to his Name ! * He has only Care, 
 and not even that ; for what he has at any 
 time to experience of Life, to which the Wife 
 belongs above all things, comes to him through 
 the dear voice of his Daughter, and penetrates 
 to his Heart warmly and refreshingly ! This 
 is as it ought to be, and so may it always 
 continue, dear Peter Gutschaaf; you are a 
 true Man ! 
 
 He held out his Hand across the Table to 
 Master Gutschaaf) and his Daughter also laid 
 her little Hand therein, which seemed to have 
 an agreeable effect on the suffering, self-deny- 
 ing, unmarried old Man, for he held her Hand 
 a long time, and seemed lost in Thought. 
 
 But he could not resist playing the Wag 
 once again. 
 
 For Master Gutschaaf^ moved by the touch- 
 ing scene, poured out the whole of his sad 
 Heart in these Words : Yes, I cannot help 
 saying that he alone can be happy who has a 
 Wife and Children ! Others cannot so much 
 
 * Gutschaaf good or patient sheep. Translator. 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 173 
 
 as be unhappy not at least in a real, hu- 
 man, heart-rending manner ! 
 
 I certainly know nothing about such Un- 
 happiness, said Master Desiderius. As for me, 
 I commend all Wives ! 
 
 And Bernard of Orley whispered audibly 
 in the ear of Master Dietrich : Because his 
 Mother was none ! 
 
 To this Desiderius rejoined : My Father 
 never married, and you know from the Scrip- 
 tures that in Heaven they neither marry nor 
 are given in Marriage. Now I put it to you 
 all, my dear Sirs and Masters, who ought to 
 know best, whether it is not just on this ac- 
 count that it is called Heaven ? 
 
 You know how to make for yourself a 
 Heaven upon Earth ! said Dietrich. 
 
 And you in like manner a Hell ! rejoined 
 Desiderius. 
 
 Master Gutschaaf laughed till the Tears ran 
 down his old pale cheeks. 
 
 Dost thou not think, my little Susan, said 
 he, that it would have been a very bad affair 
 for thee if I had not married ? 
 
 Very bad ! said she, assenting, and smiled 
 abstractedly. , 
 
174 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 And still worse for me ! said Gutschaaf. 
 
 Still worse ! said the dear Child. 
 
 But now all is well ! said he. 
 
 Oh ! so well ! replied she softly. 
 
 And the old Man wept for Joy. 
 
 Long life to you, Master Gutschaaf! to 
 you, and all your Relations, near and distant. 
 
 The whole Family of Gutschaaf, long may 
 they live ! exclaimed Desiderius. 
 
 Long may they live ! exclaimed all. 
 
 Albert had poured out a Glass of lachrymce 
 Christi for every one to drink this Toast. 
 But his Neighbour Master Desiderius strangely 
 but smilingly refused these Tears, saying at 
 the same time : I have no Wife, good Mas- 
 ter Albert. Rhine-wine is to me the only 
 Wine! 
 
 The edge was taken from the severe Words 
 of Desiderius, so that they cut not the Heart of 
 Albert, by the conduct of the good little Lamb, 
 who drank to her Father's health along with the 
 others and whispered across the table to Al- 
 bert : I drink to my Mother also ! He then with 
 Tears in his Eyes drank to the health of the 
 Mother of his Daughter. 
 
 The company then broke up, and the good 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 175 
 
 Masters departed, according as each was pressed 
 by domestic disquietude, at nine, ten, or eleven 
 o'clock. Peter Gutschaaf remained the longest. 
 Such an Honour had never before been conferred 
 on him, who was a mere Illuminist. His little 
 Daughter wrapped him in his fur Great-coat, 
 observed a Wine-stain on his Lace-collar, patted 
 him on the Cheek, kissed him and said very 
 softly: Do not allow the Stain to spoil your 
 Pleasure ! To-morrow morning, before my 
 Mother is up, it will be all washed out and 
 plaited up again. Thereupon she lighted the 
 Lantern, took leave, pressed Alberts Hand, who 
 with irresistible Sadness drew the dear Child 
 towards him, took her in his arms, pressed her 
 to his Heart, and kissed her on the Forehead. 
 Her Father thanked him for the great Honour. 
 Albert went sorrowfully to his Chamber. He 
 threw himself on his Bed without undressing; 
 the Lamp burned dimly, while he lay looking 
 before him, his Fancy floating in half-waking 
 Dreams. A Gust of the damp dewy Wind 
 then struck upon the Window ; he felt much 
 oppressed ; and although he had not seen the 
 Door open, yet there stood his Wife before him 
 in the middle of the Room ! 
 
176 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 Agnes! art thou here? exclaimed he, filled 
 with astonishment. He gazed at her. She was 
 so young, so fresh ; only pale, quite different 
 from Mortals! The boundaries of human Ex- 
 istence disappeared before him he thought 
 the form was that of his Daughter, whom the 
 Earth so long before had snatched away from 
 him, now so perfect and so gloriously grown 
 up in the Gardens of Paradise ! And why 
 should it not be so ? But how was she then 
 here? Yet she was there ! That was the most 
 blessed moment of his Life ! his Heart over- 
 flowed with Rapture! He listened, expecting 
 she would speak to him would supplicate 
 him to return to her Mother! For it was for 
 this she appeared to be come ! But ah ! it 
 was not his Daughter, for she would have 
 smiled on him; and this Agnes looked angrily 
 at him ! gloomily and reproachfully ! And yet 
 big Tears stood in her Eyes. She seemed to 
 wish to approach him, she spread out her arms 
 longingly towards him, but when he hastened 
 to meet her, she pushed him away from her and 
 fled. He wished to detain her, and caught her 
 long flowing Hair in his hand ; he held her fast ; 
 she bent back her Head yieldingly, as if to save 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 177 
 
 herself from Pain. It then occurred to him that 
 he might be dreaming; at the same time she 
 uttered a loud Cry ; he let go his hold, and his 
 Wife had disappeared ; the room was in dark- 
 ness; there was scarcely Starlight to be seen 
 without, and the damp Wind swept past the 
 Windows. 
 
 He now perceived how deeply his Wife lived 
 in his Soul. It did him good to conclude from 
 this Vision that his Agnes perhaps felt an in- 
 ward longing for him ! He hesitated now daily 
 between staying and going. He waited how- 
 ever the answer to a Letter he had written to 
 Pirkheimer^ in which he had recounted the 
 above occurrence. 
 
 The Answer arrived. Pirkheimer wrote that 
 Agnes expected him of herself on St. John's 
 Day;* only she was very angry that he had 
 held her so fast, and showed him some loose 
 Hair, which she had probably torn out herself 
 that Night in her anguish.f Moreover Clara 
 
 * The 24th of June, the day of the Nativity of St. John the Bap- 
 tist. It is also called Midsummer Day. Translator. 
 
 t I do not recollect whether I had not previously recounted to her 
 something of what Albert had written about the way in which he 
 had held her in his Dream. I was very angry when I reproached 
 12 
 
178 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 had returned Home, the Convent having been 
 shut up ; Agnes had renewed her youthful 
 Friendship with her, and seemed relieved by 
 speaking to her of Albert. As a Motto to the 
 Letter, were these words of St. Chrysostom : " It 
 is easier to rule a Nation, than a Soul." 
 
 Having now come to the resolution of return- 
 ing Home and living out the Life appointed 
 him by God, Albert was a new Man. He also 
 thought, especially now, that he had committed 
 no Injustice by his Separation. The little word 
 " and " was his Comfort : He who separates 
 from his Wife, and marries another, he alone 
 does wrong. There is no one who leaves House, 
 or Parents, or Brothers, or Wife, or Children, for 
 the Kingdom of Heaven's sake, who does not 
 receive fourfold again in this Life, and in the 
 World to come Life everlasting. But the King- 
 dom of God and his Righteousness, said he in 
 parting from her, is peace and joy. And Peace 
 he wished to leave with her, without thinking of 
 Joy for himself. But that was now impossible. 
 He scarcely stopped to refresh himself on. the 
 long Journey home to Agnes, for he could not 
 
 her with her conduct, and had in consequence an attack of my old 
 enemy the Gout. W. P. 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 179 
 
 overcome his Heart's Sickness, like one who 
 forgets, plays, or sleeps away his childish Ill- 
 nesses. 
 
 It was, then, on the Evening of St. John's 
 Day that Albert arrived at the fruitful Fields 
 near N'drnberg. The setting Sun shone upon 
 the Citadel and Towers of the City so warmly, 
 so familiarly ! Ah ! there is only one beautiful 
 Sun for every one, and it is that which rises 
 and sets on his native City ! In other lands it 
 is only a cold Mock-sun, a wandering Star, the 
 delusive Vision of the Home-Sun, which follows 
 us like a Ghost. 
 
 Albert intended to wait for the Twilight. His 
 Thoughts swarmed forth, like Bees out of a 
 Hive, when borne home from a strange Pastu- 
 rage ; they hovered around Flowers, blooming 
 Linden- Trees, and golden Clouds, and his Soul 
 began to muse, as in the first bright season of 
 Youth. He ascended a Hill close by, fqom 
 which he had a View of the Road. The Lin- 
 dens towered aloft ; the well-known Stone-bench 
 was concealed by the waving Corn, in which the 
 note of the Quail was heard. He now ad- 
 vanced. His Heart beat ; he saw two Females 
 sitting, one leaning to the right and the other to 
 
180 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 the left. He approached softly they slept! 
 The one in the golden Hood and the blue Dress 
 was his Agnes ! The other, in the simple 
 white Dress and Veil, on which shone the rosy 
 lustre of the setting Sun was Clara ! 
 
 Both had come out to meet him. Agnes 
 wished perhaps, by the presence of the other, 
 to moderate Alberts Tears, or her own Words, 
 and to show him at the same time that she 
 was reconciled, that she was tolerant, that she 
 would endure and love, what he did not hate ! 
 
 He stood, and gazed upon them both in 
 silence. What a Sight ! what Thoughts ! 
 
 They did not awake, nor did he wish to wake 
 them. He sat down at last between them, 
 looked and mused, and, wearied as he was, he 
 also fell into a Slumber. 
 
 When he awoke, he perceived that his Head 
 was resting gently on Clards Shoulder for 
 the golden Hood to the left was gone. Agnes 
 had waked first ; she had seen him then in that 
 position, in which he had found himself, resting 
 
 on her Friend, not on her she had thought 
 
 Ah ! she was gone ! The saffron haze of 
 Evening was now broad and faint on the Hori- 
 zon ; therefore she must have been long gone. 
 Poor Soul ! said he aloud ! 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 181 
 
 Clara awoke. Poor Soul? asked she, rising; 
 was it not Alberts voice that spoke thus ? He 
 took her Hand. She missed Agnes, then held 
 her Hand before her Eyes, and again leaning 
 back, said for the second time with a low voice : 
 Poor Soul! And yet this also is a holy Even- 
 ing, for here is an Angel ! thought he, looking 
 up thankfully towards Heaven. Albert's House 
 was closed. They now went silently wandering 
 side by side towards the City. Clara did not 
 raise her Eyes. He accompanied her home to 
 Pirkheimer's House ; the door was opened, and 
 she entered in silence. For the poor Soul could 
 not say Good-night to him now; the words 
 died upon her lips. But the old sad Smile was 
 again seen upon his Countenance. 
 
 He then returned to his own House, and 
 looked for a time at some Children, who were 
 catching Glow-worms. The door then opened. 
 Susanna, who did not observe him sitting on the 
 seat, went past to draw water. He then stole 
 away to his own room, and went quietly to bed 
 with an Evening Hymn on his lips. 
 
 Art thou still asleep ? said Agnes to him in 
 the Morning on entering. She sat down near 
 him on the bed, and held his hand, Indifference 
 
182 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 on her Features, but he felt that in reality 
 her Agitation was extreme. Breakfast is ready, 
 she then said to him, with a faint smile. She 
 contemplated her pale, emaciated Husband 
 then was heard the sound of the Death-worm 
 picking in the wood of the bed; she became 
 deadly pale, put her hand on her Heart, and 
 scarcely breathed the Worm went on picking. 
 She then gravely arose, and went from him with 
 an averted Countenance. 
 
 He now sat by her, as if nothing had hap- 
 pened. Everything was as of old, Mind and 
 Heart, Joy and Sorrow. Only she had become 
 more silent, as if speaking had formerly annoyed 
 him. It certainly was a distinguishing feature 
 in her Character, that she said everything that 
 others, more considerate, think, but do not ex- 
 press : for Woman is Woman. 
 
 But he saw, notwithstanding that she 
 wished to improve, and that was a satisfac- 
 tion to him. She had taken Susanna's Daugh- 
 ter, who was now grown up into the House, 
 and they all again ate at the same Table. She 
 now begged his Friends to come often, very 
 often to see him ! In doing so, she cast her 
 Eyes on the ground, and kept turning round 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 183 
 
 the golden Wedding Ring. She exchanged 
 with him the Bed that had the Messenger of 
 Death in it, and now slept therein herself. All 
 this was much! But Habit was more! She 
 still took everything her Husband said to her 
 as a Command, and though within her rebel- 
 lious Heart there was a powerful struggle, still 
 for all that, it was quietly done after the lapse 
 of some days. It is true that Agnes had rated 
 herself very highly ; but who can blame a fallible 
 being for this ? For he is to be despised who, 
 as a human Creature, does not consider himself 
 as worthy of Estimation as any one in the 
 World. Her Beauty had heightened still more 
 this estimate of herself and yet Agnes had 
 not rated her own value highly enough ! and 
 the injured Dignity of Love had never allowed 
 her clearly to perceive how much Happiness 
 she might have imparted. She passed her Life 
 under a continual sense of Injury, while the 
 recognition of her Husband's Worth and Love 
 might perhaps have extorted from her first 
 Obedience, and then Reverence. 
 
 But her Thoughts were penetrated by one 
 who had penetrated and turned those of many 
 others besides, and animated them to newness 
 
184 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 of Life by the clearness and vigour of his In- 
 tellect. This was Melancthon. He came to 
 Ntirnberg in the following May, to preside at 
 the opening of the Gymnasium of St. Egidius. 
 The Silver Marriage of Agnes's Sister took 
 place also about the same time.* They all 
 assembled at Church to receive the Blessing 
 for the Golden Marriage. Melancthon stood 
 before the Altar, Agnes and Albert next to the 
 Pair. Pirkheimer had perhaps thought that 
 the Wives, listening in silence, would receive 
 a word of Warning from another, from a 
 Stranger who spoke without design ; that a 
 Hint is often sufficient to change their whole 
 manner of Life, leading them thereby to look 
 within, and in the Word spoken to see them- 
 selves, clear as in a Glass. And all this with- 
 out any exposure to the World. He might 
 therefore perhaps, as the Friend of both Hus- 
 bands, have given a hint to the Orator who 
 had consented to preside, to scatter Seed which, 
 besides growing up now, would certainly bring 
 
 * Allusion is here made to a custom which prevails in Germany 
 of having a grand celebration when a couple have been married 
 twenty-five years, and this is called " The Silver Marriage.'* 
 Another takes place when they have been fifty years married, and 
 it is called " The Golden Marriage.' 1 Translator. 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 185 
 
 forth good Fruits in this City for Centuries. 
 For Melancthon, without looking at Agnes, said 
 to the assembly of Men and Wives and young 
 Women, among other things, the following: 
 There is certainly nothing more unnatural than 
 a disobedient Wife. Slaves cannot obey, for 
 they are not free ; neither do Children under- 
 stand how to obey, for Obedience is the Key- 
 stone of all Cultivation and Freedom, and the 
 fruit of Love and Reason at the same time. 
 
 Where Obedience is awanting, Freedom fails 
 also, from being an oppression to itself ; Love, 
 too, fails, or Reason, if not both. But every 
 one must be subject to the Law which is given 
 him. The Husband and Wife may certainly 
 hold converse together as to equal Virtue and 
 Honour, regarding their rank as Citizens and 
 human Beings, and of equal Protection of their 
 particular Rights, but not of equal rights! 
 because the Duties and Obligations of the 
 Husband, his position with regard to the World 
 and his native Land, are incomparably higher. 
 Only those who are equal in reality have equal 
 Rights before God and Man. Even equal 
 Science and Art and Cultivation do not give 
 a right to Disobedience on the part of the 
 
186 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 Wife; much less Beauty, a white Skin, or 
 bright Gold. For the Man and the House 
 and the Wife herself cannot subsist, if she 
 does not, from Love and sacred Respect to the 
 ancient and divine Duty of her Sex, cheerfully 
 make the Will of her Husband her own. And 
 let us consider ! As the Man, in his earlier 
 Years, was often subject to many restraints, 
 so was the Wife in like manner, before she 
 entered his House. She must learn what is 
 taught her; she cannot choose for herself her 
 Station, her Fortune, her Occupations, nor even 
 her Husband for the delicacy of the feminine 
 nature will in no age admit of this. She enters 
 a Town with him, she enters the House in 
 which he dwells, she undertakes to superintend 
 the circle of domestic affairs, into which he has 
 led her, and in which she must lead. She 
 becomes thereby truly his Wife. She must 
 take little Strangers to her Heart, foster them, 
 and also love them without having been able 
 to choose them. And nothing of all this seems 
 strange to her, for it is done in Obedience to 
 sacred Nature, and thus blest by God. It 
 seems quite unnatural to her to consider when 
 and where she should be obedient to her Hus- 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 187 
 
 band. He only silently desires it from the 
 same Law of Nature ; and if this universal 
 Mother has as it were commanded Obedience 
 on the part of the Wife by her Love towards 
 her Husband, she has also lightened it, yea, 
 made it sweet and animating; for the loving 
 Wife scarcely knows that she obeys ; she does 
 all for her Husband, before he even asks. It is 
 only the cold, insipid, capricious, ungrateful, 
 who feel the Fetters, because they are without 
 Affection. A continually-increasing Disobe- 
 dience is but the decrease of the power of 
 Love, and the decline of Amiability, and Firm- 
 ness of Character and this also on the part 
 of the Husband. A Woman then loses her 
 respect for a Man, because she sees in him no 
 unselfish Protector ; for it is not the outward 
 form of a Man which calls for Love and 
 Respect but the Nobility of the Soul, which 
 alone can live, and inspire Confidence, as being 
 in its nature lasting. He, however, who loves 
 his Wife, allows her to rule and reign in her 
 own department, because she is a Woman and 
 his Wife, and when prudent and wise, under- 
 stands all these things better than he. What 
 concerns himself, however, as the acting and 
 
188 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 reasoning Spirit of the House, that he has a 
 Right to claim, if it be not done from free 
 Will; that is to say, from Reason. For he is 
 Lord of the House, and the Father of the 
 Children, the support of his Wife, her stay in 
 Life, yea even after his Death ; as the San 
 that has just gone down sheds its influence 
 on the Rainbow, which with its lovely and 
 varied Colours, hovers yet a while in Clouds 
 over the teeming Earth ; till becoming ever 
 dimmer and fainter, it at last by degrees ex- 
 pires from beneath, but still beautiful and dis- 
 cernible even to the last faint trace of its Arch ! 
 But by Disobedience his little Kingdom is dis- 
 solved ; yea Cities and States secretly decline, 
 where the Man is not the Head of the House. 
 For from Disobedience arises Opposition, and 
 from Opposition Strife; and where Strife is, 
 there Law and Happiness go to wreck. But 
 where the Wife is properly trained and accus- 
 tomed to Obedience, then the Man rules mildly, 
 only asking and counselling, being satisfied 
 with the Knowledge of his Power. By ruling, 
 however, he himself learns to be subject, and 
 submits to it willingly ; for he who does not 
 find Obedience where he should command it, 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 189 
 
 relaxes again in his turn his obligations towards 
 mankind in general. Therefore herein also is 
 the Wife the Guardian-spirit of her Husband, 
 when the love with which her Heart is imbued 
 impels her to Subjection, because indeed it 
 would be a shame for her to command, to rule ! 
 And even Obedience is scarcely so useful, as 
 Disobedience is injurious, by the Self-will and 
 Confidence in her own Wisdom which it dis- 
 plays. Obedience argues no want of Wisdom 
 or title to Respect. No : this primitive Bond, 
 which is the Glory and Security of Woman, 
 can in no Age be dissolved, founded as it is 
 on the Softness of her Nature, and calculated 
 to produce the purest Happiness. Foolish 
 Fear! through Obedience to sink down to the 
 condition of a Servant ! It was by Obedience 
 that Mary became the Blessed among Women. 
 May Happiness and Prosperity, then, be the lot 
 of the Obedient! of her who places implicit 
 trust in the Will of another, whom she loves, 
 whom she thereby makes happy, who meets her 
 half-way, who knows not how to thank her 
 sufficiently for all the Love and Kindness she 
 is always so liberally bestowing on him! How 
 insensible must be the Heart of that Woman 
 who is not satisfied with such a Reward ! 
 
190 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 Albert's Silver Marriage, which had taken 
 place seven Years before, had not been cele- 
 brated; no one came to wish him joy of it! 
 The Day was spent in sorrowful Thoughts. 
 He now observed, that when Melancthon pro- 
 nounced anew the Benediction on the Couple, 
 Agnes, who during the address had been dis- 
 solved in Tears, secretly clung to the dress of 
 her Sister, that she might receive the Blessing 
 along with her. As on the Day of her Mar- 
 riage, one of her Cheeks was pale, the other 
 in a glow. That she, however, should consider 
 the Blessing of this Man efficacious, was to 
 Albert a Sign that she had returned to the old 
 simple Faith, perhaps for his sake, knowing 
 that he was attached to it. That moved him 
 to his Heart's Core, and he also touched the 
 Clothing of the old Bridegroom ! 
 
 Returned Home again, Agnes wept, and that 
 openly ! 
 
 Alberts Strength was gone, he felt that it 
 was so. And alas ! the Fear of his Death now 
 scared away Agnes from him again! When 
 he began gently to speak of it, and to tell her 
 which of his Pictures he considered the best; 
 for which after he was gone she should 
 expect the highest Price; how she might be 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 191 
 
 able to arrange this or that in the best manner 
 possible for herself alone then she was dumb 
 and motionless as a Marble Statue, and he 
 spent many sorrowful Days, till the Gloom 
 that overspread her Existence passed away, 
 and thereby Peace was restored to him again. 
 Formerly he had to endure Grief on account 
 of her Temper and Conduct, till he could bear 
 it no longer, and at last sunk under it by de- 
 grees : now she saw him borne down through 
 her, and had to bear his sorrow on her account, 
 and her own fresh Sorrow for him ! This only 
 doubled his Pain, and could not now be re- 
 deemed. She silently did everything to please 
 him, to comfort him, to cheer him for the Mo- 
 ments yet to come but to recompense him 
 for what? for many long Years of Sorrow! 
 She now wished suddenly to make up to him 
 for all, to impart Joy to him but for what? 
 For his Death. He was now therefore obliged 
 to avoid being cheerful, and the poor Soul, 
 alas ! ceased in consequence in the end, either 
 to try to enliven him, or to be cheerful her- 
 self or even to appear so. And thus they 
 both sunk into Silence and patient Endurance. 
 They only smiled upon each other. This was 
 
192 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 certainly the extreme of Wretchedness, which 
 no one on Earth seemed to be able to relieve 
 or remove and yet it was at length removed, 
 and his long oppressed Heart found Peace 
 in Life. 
 
 For, softened by the quiet kindliness of feel- 
 ing which had lately possessed her, Agnes now 
 disclosed her real Feelings, but only gradu- 
 ally, at intervals of Days and in broken Sen- 
 tences. 
 
 She had been playing one day in the garden 
 with her little Brother Johannes; he had put 
 a small polished stone into his mouth ; finding 
 afterwards a Bird's Nest, and holding in his 
 breath for joy, he had choked on the Stone ; 
 his Face became red, he sunk down, and kick- 
 ing with his Feet, stared at her with glazed 
 eyes; she hid herself, from childish fear; their 
 Father, on coming home, had inquired for Ag- 
 nes before inquiring for Johannes ; he went 
 to search for her, and found him ! When they 
 were carrying away poor little Johannes to bury 
 him, Agnes, looking longingly after him from 
 a window in the upper floor, had fallen over 
 and struck her Head on the Pavement, and 
 she let Albert feel the hollow, which was even 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 193 
 
 perceptible to the Eye, from a slight depression 
 of the Hair. Now it had been the fond Wish 
 and Dream of the poor Girl, to build an Altar 
 to the little Johannes , whose Life perhaps 
 might have been saved had it not been for 
 her Flight at which a Priest paid by her- 
 self should say Mass every Morning for him 
 and for her.* 
 
 She now also began gently to complain that 
 she did not hear well when the Wind blew 
 from Ftirth.^ 
 
 It then came to light by degrees that the 
 Wind had certainly, during many fine Sea- 
 sons, very often blown from Ftirth.$ 
 
 The conversation once turned upon Dreams, 
 and it was remarked that any one could find 
 out the most secret Thoughts of the Heart of 
 another when he speaks in his Sleep, by seiz- 
 
 * It appears then that Agnes's Frugality arose from Repent- 
 ance, from Piety ! And she concealed it too, because it was a 
 Catholic Piety, not wishing to confess it to Albert, who was Evan- 
 gelical, that she might at least appear Reasonable to him, and 
 not vex him by old Absurdities. W. P. 
 
 f Furth is a village near Niirnberg, and this complaint of not 
 hearing well when the wind blew from it, must be some local 
 superstition. Translator. 
 
 \ This Excuse may be admitted. W. P. 
 13 
 
194 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 ing and holding him by the great Toe of the 
 left Foot ; then he reveals all. Agnes had 
 once during the Honeymoon, when she heard 
 Albert speaking in his Sleep, seized and held 
 him by the great Toe of the left Foot, had 
 listened and heard him say : " The Serpent 
 with the human Countenance pleases me not! 
 Potiphar's Wife is nothing more than beau- 
 tiful! a great fault! An alluring Sin allures 
 to Sin Flight would here again be the most 
 
 desirable ! " 
 
 These Words she foolishly applied to her- 
 self,* when they were probably only a succes- 
 sion of Images which he beheld in his Dreams. 
 Vain as she was of her Beauty, she had pre- 
 ferred allowing a thousand mental Faults to 
 be attributed to her, rather than one bodily. 
 Her Frugality, as it was now explained the 
 spurring on to work the brightening up of 
 
 * Thus the Superstitions of others may be destructive to us! 
 It will never be well here, that is, on this side of the Mountains, 
 till Superstition is also banished from the other side, that is, from 
 among the Ultramontanes. There will be no Peace till then; for 
 the Foolish are continually breaking and destroying Peace. To 
 be Wise alone is of no avail. Therefore he who has Reason on 
 his side must not be silent; he must not remain inactive. It is 
 from Heaven he has received his right to work. W. P. 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 195 
 
 the Gold, what else were they but the Pen- 
 ance of a pious Nature, seeking Atonement 
 for a supposed Crime? 
 
 The Cheerfulness Albert had maintained dur- 
 ing the whole of his past Life was gone, was 
 now entirely lost but his Life by no means 
 so! His mental Faculties, his Fancies, his 
 Desires, had richly indemnified him, and he 
 was enabled to impart to others the feelings 
 of Pleasure which had been denied to himself 
 Ah ! and also the Powers which he still 
 possessed, without having known or dreamt of 
 them! He now became conscious of a new 
 Faculty in Man, that of being able to re- 
 nK>del the Past, according to his present Pow- 
 ers and Perceptions ! a Faculty which almost 
 of itself would demonstrate that Man is of Di- 
 vine Origin. With the Torch of his present 
 Knowledge, he went far back into the Hall of 
 other Days. Images in an innumerable suc- 
 cession of Chambers were there to be seen. 
 And as he began to wander with his Torch, 
 the old Forms which were resting there rose 
 up once again, and they looked at him differ- 
 ently, arid he looked at them differently; they 
 whispered to him, and he whispered to them, 
 
196 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 what he now knew that he knew not formerly ; 
 their Countenances were peaceful, and his Soul 
 came to an Understanding with theirs; and 
 from the Cultivated of every Age he parted 
 reconciled and with a Smile; and he roused 
 those of the following Age, and conciliated 
 them also. But he himself was also to be seen 
 there ! a poor, melancholy, embarrassed Man, 
 who sat and painted in all the Chambers and 
 looked pitifully at him! To this Self, during 
 all these long days so desolate and lonely, he 
 also reconciled himself ; and his Forms all 
 smiled now, arose, and wished to follow him 
 through all the Chambers of the Hall of other 
 days, even up into the last Chamber even 
 out into the great Hall of the Sun to Agnes, 
 where she now lived and breathed, a changed, 
 improved, and estimable being, and where he 
 alone was permitted to wander he, the living, 
 the blest ! But they only looked after him and 
 said : We now willingly remain here in the 
 Hall t>f the Past ; thou hast revived us, and 
 poured fresh "Water on us, like faded Flowers ! 
 Thou hast breathed a bright Soul into thine 
 own dead Works! We thank thee that thou 
 didst come down and dwell with us. Mayst 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 197 
 
 thou be happy, till thou comest thyself, or till 
 thou dost Arrive at the End of thine own 
 Course ! 
 
 He thus filled up again the spoiled Wine of 
 his Life with fresh sweet Must, and it fer- 
 mented and cast out the Dregs, and was pal- 
 atable, although not so sweet as the Must! 
 
 To see his Agnes thus excused, was a Cor- 
 dial to his Heart, and imparted Power to his 
 Mind yet once more to flame forth. 
 
 But with already broken Heart, he could 
 only now direct her attention to the preserva- 
 tion of his Works. He completed those that 
 were only half finished, destroyed such as were 
 no longer practicable, overlooked everything 
 and rejoiced in his Life. Even the saddest 
 Year has sunny Blinks, and Seed thrives in 
 good Ground even in a bad Year ; and the 
 Year is twice beautiful, when the Trees blos- 
 som, and when they exhibit red and yellow 
 Fruits, in the interval everything is uniformly 
 green and green ! There lay now on the large 
 Table the Fruits of his Labours; his Work: 
 Instruction; for the use of all Lovers of the 
 Arts; four Books on the Proportions of the 
 13* 
 
198 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 human Body ; the Great Passion ; the Revela- 
 tion of St. John ; the Life of Mary ; 104 Sheets 
 of Engravings ; 367 Sheets of Woodcuts ; the 
 whole of the Pictures in his own list were to 
 the number of 1254 Pieces. The Scholars also 
 whom he had trained arrived to see him ; one 
 of them, indeed, was the Pope's Painter and 
 Architect at Rome. He inspected the Medals 
 which were struck in honour of him ; fifty dif- 
 ferent Likenesses were scarcely sufficient to 
 supply the demands which came from all quar- 
 ters. He was most struck with a Medal of 
 him, on which were his arms: An open Gate 
 with two Wings ; on the crest a grown Man 
 without Arms. Thus the Past may often prove 
 an indication of the Future! The open Gate 
 was the Gate to Heaven. The grown Man 
 without Arms was he, the Dead. What was 
 there in his Life that he could now change ? 
 what improve ? It was God alone who could 
 change the Peace he had found in Life, to 
 Peace in Death. So farewell, my Albert! 
 The Italians called thee Alberto Duro ! but 
 that thou wert not, either in Art or in Life. 
 Thus Albert peacefully awaited Death, as he 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 199 
 
 had peacefully lived. Almighty God be gra- 
 cious to him, 
 
 and grant him a happy End! 
 
 There sat I, poor Wilibald, leaning on my 
 Hands and weeping. The foreign Artists who 
 had wished to serenade him, began to do so 
 now, and in the Stillness of the Night, the soft 
 Tones of the Flutes and Flageolets penetrated 
 from the street till they reached my Ear and 
 that of the dying Man. In the room under 
 me, while I was reading, Agnes had sung all 
 sorts of Songs in her Anguish, at last even a 
 drinking Song ! I could not smile at this. Al- 
 bert had had the enjoyment of one cheerful 
 Heart, and that was his own. He would not 
 otherwise have known what a Treasure God 
 has implanted in the Bosom of Man. His Wife 
 had diligently digged for it, and brought the 
 bright and shining Treasure to the Day. And 
 how much he had accomplished! I therefore 
 now perceived that nothing can repress the 
 energy of a true Artist, and that nothing is 
 a Misfortune to him. He might perhaps 
 
200 PEACE IN LIFE 
 
 feel better and easier in one way than another 
 but whatever is in an Artist's Soul is drawn 
 forth by the World, whether it be in Rain or 
 in Sunshine. And what he succeeded in was 
 no Trifle for that was his Life. If he expe- 
 rienced Suffering, it was because he loved, and 
 that was better than being happy without lov- 
 ing, if indeed any one can be happy without 
 loving! Love always makes one's own Heart 
 happy : let every one rest assured of this. And 
 he who is a genuine Artist is full of Love. A 
 Woman always and everywhere marries the 
 Man alone, and not his Trade ; therefore let 
 every one boldly marry the Woman he loves, 
 and let no Woman fear to marry an Artist, 
 for she may be as happy with him as with 
 another, even were she in all respects an Ag- 
 nes. A woman without Fault or Failing is 
 an Angel, and will always be so in every sit- 
 uation ; yea, and what is more will appear 
 so! But had Albert described himself as an 
 unhappy Man in his married Life ? Certainly 
 not. What had I perceived or discovered on 
 reading it, but just the longing after pure Hap- 
 piness ? And the description of his Agnes had 
 represented to me very vividly such a Wife as 
 
PEACE IN LIFE, 201 
 
 an Artist stands in need of, and better than I 
 could have pictured to myself in the form of a 
 peacefully-happy Wife. And thus my Albert 
 had had the best possible experience of a Wife. 
 For as he himself as a Painter once said on 
 the subject of Delineation, so it is; that in a 
 Picture, Light first arises from Shade that 
 Light indeed becomes only properly visible by 
 means of Shade, and when we perceive that 
 the bright Sun of Heaven shines through them. 
 The great Lord of All could not have impart- 
 ed to him a more vivid Conception of what 
 the Wife of an Artist ought to be, than by 
 giving him one, by giving him his own, one, 
 who would have made an Artist miserable, had 
 he not, as every one can and may, taken refuge 
 in his Art, and in his own high and noble 
 Thoughts and Feelings, as my Albert did. 
 Thus was he nevertheless happy! For in every 
 one who is unhappy, there lies concealed a Ca- 
 pacity for Happiness, yea an inexhaustible Fe- 
 licity of Soul, if he knows how to call it forth ; 
 and if he cannot do so, then he deserves to 
 suffer. Also Contrast was not awanting to 
 Albert, but he touched on it slightly and cau- 
 tiously; for there soared Crescenzia, and there 
 
202 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 hovered Clara also over him like an Angel, 
 who wished to come down to him, but dared 
 not. In the Deprivation of Happiness, lies 
 thousand-fold Happiness. Albert thus learned 
 what a Wife might be and oh ! that they 
 themselves understood what they might be to 
 a Husband! and he lived it all in Thoughts 
 and Wishes, and revelled in the longed-for 
 Enjoyment. Oh! the sweet Charm of Life! the 
 ever Joy-inspiring race of Women ! And thus 
 I now looked upon him as happy! happier 
 than one who is led by his Wife all his Life, 
 foolishly occupied with her Dress, her Vanities, 
 her Pleasures, and her worldly ways of think- 
 ing. Agnes led him into the Depths of the 
 Heart, led him daily back to the Artist's only 
 true and immoveably-clear Source. Even a 
 hard Life is better for him than an easy one. 
 By these Thoughts, thus excited, I was pre- 
 pared to see our dear Mistress Anges enter, 
 whose Sufferings only in reality began with 
 the Death of Albert. She now appeared at 
 the Door. I went towards her, and took her 
 Hand, which trembled. She followed me like 
 a Spectre. She looked at the Master. She 
 looked at the Child. The Flutes sounded on, 
 
PEACE IN LIFE. 203 
 
 so sweetly ! so softly ! Ah ! it is at the hour 
 of Death that Music is truly for the first time 
 Music; in Life it is only a Sound, awakening 
 Remembrance of the Past, or Foreboding of 
 the Future. Now it was truly the Call of the 
 Angels from Heaven. 
 
 A Messenger now suddenly and roughly en- 
 tered the silent holy Chamber. He besought 
 me to come Home. Clara my poor, gentle 
 sister Clara was just dead; perhaps from 
 Anguish and Fear that Albert was dying ! 
 for she had heard Agnes begging me to go to 
 him. The shivering of the Glass, which Agnes 
 knocked in, had drawn her to the Window over 
 my Head. As I went out, she whispered down 
 to me tenderly : Do not be angry with him, my 
 Brother ! God be with you ! 
 
 Alas ! these then had been her last Words ! 
 I wept bitterly. Why should I now go Home ? 
 The Dead wait full of Patience. 
 
 Albert had evidently heard the announce- 
 ment that had just been made to me. He 
 opened his Eyes. Agnes scarcely ventured to 
 approach him : she showed as much forbear- 
 ance as to allow him to die in Peace, instead 
 of grieving him once more by the remembrance 
 
204 PEACE IN LIFE. 
 
 of all his Sufferings, which the sight of her 
 would have called forth. She knelt at his 
 Bed, concealing her Head. He, however, lifted 
 his Hand, laid it on her Head, and said with 
 a faltering Voice : Follow thou me ! Thou 
 wert good I have entertained an Angel. 
 
 No ! I have ! sobbed Agnes, and I knew it 
 not, I believed it not! 
 
 There thou wilt see into my Heart ! said he ; 
 how I always told thee ; I was not gentle, not 
 good enough for I suffered, for I was full of 
 Love 
 
 He expired with the word " Love " upon his 
 Lips. The Flutes sounded on, and it seemed 
 as if their Tones accompanied his Soul to 
 Heaven. In the Churchyard of St. John rests 
 all that was mortal of him. 
 
 Strew Flowers over him, oh Wanderer! 
 
 THE 
 
 CAMBRIDGE: PRIX 
 
U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES" 
 
 C003331045