From Chambers' Journal. THE PAINTER AND HIS PUPIL.

A FLEMISH STORY.

My father was a trader and distiller at Schiedam, on the Maas. Without being wealthy, we enjoyed the means of procuring every social comfort. We gave and received visits from a few old friends; we went occasionally to the theatre; and my father had his tulip-garden and summer-house at a little distance from Schiedam, on the banks of the canal which connects the town with the

river.

The number of his pupils was limited to six. He kept us continually at work, and scarcely permitted us to exchange a word with each other during the day. Standing there among us so silently, with the light from above shining down upon his pallid face, and, contrasting with the sombre folds of his long black dressing-gown, he looked almost like some stern old picture himself. To tell the truth, we were all afraid of him; not that he was harsh, not that he assumed any overbearing authority; on the contrary, he was stately, silent, and frigidly polite; But my father and mother, whose only and that was far more impressive. None of child I was, cherished one dream of ambition, us resided in his house, for he lived in the in which, fortunately, my own tastes led me deepest seclusion. I had a second floor in a to participate they wanted me to become a neighboring street, and two of my fellowpainter. "Let me but see a picture by Franz students occupied rooms in the same house. Linden in the gallery at Rotterdam," said my We used to meet at night in each other's father, "and I shall die happy." So, at chambers, and make excursions to the exhifourteen years of age, I was removed from bitions and theatres; and sometimes, on a school, and placed in the classes of Messer summer's evening, we would hire a pleasureKesler, an artist living at Delft. Here I made boat, and row for a mile or two down the such progress, that by the time I had reached river. We were merry enough then, and my nineteenth birthday, I was transferred to not quite so silent I promise you, as in the the atelier of Hans van Roos, a descendant of gloomy studio of Hans van Roos. the celebrated family of that name. Van In the mean time, I was ambitious and Roos was not more than thirty-eight or forty, anxious to glean every benefit from my masand had already acquired a considerable repu- ter's instructions. I improved rapidly, and tation as a painter of portraits and sacred my paintings soon excelled those of the other subjects. There was an altar-piece of his in five. My taste did not incline to sacred one of our finest churches; his works had subjects, like that of Van Roos, but rather to occupied the place of honor for the last six the familiar rural style of Berghem and Paul years at the annual exhibition; and for por- Potter. It was my great delight to wander traiture he numbered among his patrons most along the rich pasture-lands, to watch the of the wealthy merchants and burgomasters amber sunset, the herds going home to the of the city. Indeed, there could be no ques- dairy, the lazy wind-mills, and the calm clear tion that my master was rapidly acquiring a waters of the canals, scarcely ruffled by the fortune equal to his popularity. passage of the public treckschuyt.* In depicting scenes of this nature –

"The slow canal, the yellow-blossomed vale,

Still, he was not a cheerful man. It was whispered by the pupils that he had met with a disappointment early in life- that he had The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail ". loved, was accepted, and on the eve of marI was singularly fortunate. My master never riage, was rejected by the lady for a more praised me by word or look; but when my wealthy suitor. The story, however, was founded merely on conjecture, if not originat-visit me, he drew him aside and told him, in father came up one day from Schiedam to ing in pure fable; for no one in Rotterdam knew the history of his youth. He came Franz would be a credit to the profession;" a voice inaudible to the rest, that "Messer from Friesland, in the north of Holland, which so delighted the good distiller, that he when a very young man; he had always straightway took me out with him for the been the same gloomy, pallid, labor-loving day, and, after giving me fifteen gold pieces citizen. He was a rigid Calvinist; he was as a testimony of his satisfaction, took me to sparing of domestic expenditure, and liberal dine with his friend the burgomaster, Von to the poor this every one could tell you, and no one knew more.

* Canal-boat.

Gael. It was an eventful visit for me. On that evening I first learned to love.

Why not, sir? repeated my father very energetically. "What could you wish Few people, I think, would at that time for better? The young lady is handsome, have denied the personal attractions of Ger- good-tempered, educated, rich. Now, Franz, trude von Gael; yet I do not know that it if I thought you had been such a fool as to was so much her features as her soft voice form any other attachment without " and gentle womanly grace that so completely "O, sir, you do me injustice! "I cried. fascinated me. Though so young she per-"Indeed, I know no one-have seen no formed the honors of her father's princely other lady. But do you think that— that table with self-possession and good-breeding. she would have me, sir?" In the evening, she sang some sweet German songs to her own simple accompaniment. We talked of books and of poetry. I found her well read in English, French, and German literature. We spoke of art; and she disdiscovered both judgment and enthusiasm.

As we took our leave at night the burgomaster shook me warmly by the hand, and told me to come often. I fancied that Gertrude's blue eyes brightened when he said it, and I felt the color rush quickly to my brow as I bowed and thanked him.

"Try her, Franz," said my father goodhumoredly, as he resumed my arm. "If I am not very much mistaken, the burgomeister would be as pleased as myself; and as for the fraulein women are easily won."

We had by this time reached the door of the inn where my father was to sleep for the night. As he left me, his last words were: Try her, Franz-try her."

From this time I became a frequent visitor at the house of the Burgomaster von Gael. It was a large old-fashioned mansion, built of red brick, and situated upon the famous line of houses known as the Boompjes. In front lay the broad shining river, crowded

"Franz," said my father, when we were once more in the street, "how old are you?" "Just twenty-two, sir," I replied, rather with merchant-vessels, from whose masts surprised at the question.

"You will not be dependent on your brush, my boy," continued my father, as he leaned on my arm and looked back at the lofty mansion we had just left. "I have been neither wasteful nor unsuccessful, and it will be my pride to leave you a respectable income at my death.”

I inclined my head in silence, and wondered what would come next.

fluttered the flags of all the trading nations of the world. Tall trees, thick with foliage, lined the quays, and cast a pleasant shade, through which the sunlight flickered brightly upon the spacious drawing-rooms of Gertrude's home.

Here, night after night, when the studies of the day were past, I used to sit with her beside the open window, and watch the busy passing crowd beneath, the rippling river,

Burgomeister von Gael is one of my and the rising moon that tipped the masts oldest friends," said my father.

and city spires with silver. Here, listening

"I have often heard you speak of him, to the accents of a distant ballad-singer, or

sir," I replied.

"And he is rich."

"So I should suppose."

to the far murmur of voices from the shipping, we read together from the pages of our favorite poets, and counted the first pale stars

"Gertrude will have a fine fortune," said that trembled into light.

my father, as if thinking aloud.

It was a happy time. But there came at

I bowed again, but this time rather ner- last a time still happier, when, one still

"It must be in the third room," I said

that our marriage should not take place till it was nowhere to be seen, so I passed on to I had attained my twenty-fifth year. It was the next; here my search was equally una long time to wait; but I should by that successful. time, perhaps, have made a name in my profession. I intended soon to send a picture to myself, "where all the best works are to the annual exhibition and who could placed! Well, if it be hung ever so high, tell what I might not do in three years to or in ever so dark a corner, it is, at all show Gertrude how dearly I loved her! events, an honor to have one's picture in the third room! "

But, though I spoke so bravely, it was with a sinking heart I ventured in. I could not really hope for a good place among the magnates of the art; while in either of the other rooms, there had been a possibility that my picture might receive a tolerable situation.

And so our happy youth rolled on, and the quaint old dial in Messer von Gael's tulip-garden told the passage of our golden hours. In the mean time, I worked sedulously at my picture; I labored upon it all the winter; and, when spring-time came, I sent it in, with no small anxiety as to its probable position upon the walls of the gallery. It was a view in one of the streets of The house had formerly been the mansion Rotterdam. There were the high old houses, of a merchant, of enormous wealth, who had with their gables and carven doorways, and left it, with his valuable collection of paintthe red sunset glittering on the bright, ings, for the purpose of affording encouragewinking panes of the upper windows-the ment to Flemish art. The third room had canal, flowing down the centre of the street, been his reception-chamber, and the space crossed by its white drawbridge, with a barge over the magnificently carved chimney was just passing underneath the green trees, assigned, as the place of honor, to the best spreading a long evening shadow across the painting. The painter of this picture always yellow paving of the roadway, and the spire received a costly prize, for which he was of the Church of St. Lawrence rising high likewise indebted to the munificence of the beyond, against the clear, warm sky. When founder. To this spot my eyes were natit was quite finished, and about to be sent urally turned as I entered the door. Was I away, even Hans van Roos nodded a cold dreaming? I stood still-I turned hot and encouragement, and said that it deserved a cold by turns -I ran forward. It was no good position. He had himself prepared a delusion! There was my picture, my own painting this year, on a more ambitious picture, in its little modest frame, installed scale, and a larger canvas than usual. It in the chief place of all the gallery! And was a sacred subject, and represented the there, too, was the official card, stuck in the Conversion of St. Paul. His pupils admired it warmly, and none more than myself. We all pronounced it to be his master-piece, and the artist was evidently of our opinion.

corner, with the words, "PRIZE PAINTING,' printed in shining gold letters in the middle! I ran down the staircase and bought a catalogue, that my eyes might be gladdened by The day of exhibition came at last. I had the confirmation of this joy; and there, sure scarcely slept the previous night; and the enough, was printed at the commencement: early morning found me, with a number of" ANNUAL PRIZE PAINTING - View in Rotterother students, waiting impatiently before dam, No. 127-FRANZ LINDEN." I could the yet unopened door. When I arrived, it have wept for delight. I was never tired of wanted an hour to the time; but half the looking at my picture: I walked from one day seemed to elapse before we heard the side to the other-I retreated I advanced heavy bolts give way inside, and then forced closer to it - I looked at it in every possible our way struggling through the narrow bar-light, and forgot all but my happiness. riers. I had flown up the staircase, and "A very charming little painting, sir," found myself in the first room, amid the said a voice at my elbow. bright walls of paintings and gilt frames. I It was an elderly gentleman, with gold had forgotten to purchase a catalogue at the spectacles, and an umbrella. I colored up, entrance, and I had not patience to go back and said, falteringly: "Do you think so? for it; so I strode round and round the "I do, sir," said the old gentleman. "I apartment, looking eagerly for my picture: am an amateur-I am very fond of pictures.

I presume that you are, also, an admirer of their friendly hands, I forgot all that had

I did not see Van Roos for some months | building, built in that Italian style which after this disclosure; at last I met him ac- imitates the antique, and prefers grace and cidentally one morning in front of the stadt- magnificence to the dignified sanctity of the house, and, to my surprise, for the second time in his life, he held out his hand.

There was so odd a difference in the way in which he uttered the beginning and end of this sentence so much hurry and passion in the first half, such deliberate politeness in the last, that I started and looked him full in the face he was as smiling and impenetrable as a marble statue.

"I, too, have been fortunate," he said, after a moment's pause. "Have you seen the new church lately built near the east end of the Haring-vliet? "

Gothic order. A row of elegant Corinthian columns supported the roof at each side of the nave; gilding and decorative cornices were lavished in every direction; the gorgeous altar-piece already occupied its appointed station; and a little to the left of the railed space where the communion-table was to be placed, a lofty scaffolding was erected, that seemed, from where I stood, almost to come in contact with the roof, and above which I observed the yet unfinished sketch of a masterly fresco. Three or four more, already completed, were stationed at regular intervals, and some others were merely outlined in charcoal upon their intended site.

66 Will you not come up with me?" asked the painter when I had expressed my admiration sufficiently; or are you afraid of turning giddy?

I felt somewhat disinclined to impose this trial on my nerves, but still more disinclined to confess it; so I followed him up from flight to flight of the frail structure without once daring to look down.

As I

At last we reached the summit. had supposed, there was not even room I replied that I had observed it in passing, enough for the artist to assume a sitting but had not been inside.

"I have been entrusted," he said, "with the superintendence of the interior decorations. My 'Conversion of St. Paul' is purchased for the altar-piece, and I am now engaged in painting a series of frescoes upon the ceiling. Will you come' in one day and give me your opinion upon them!"

posture, and he had to paint while lying on his back. I had no fancy to extend myself on this lofty couch; so I only lifted my head above the level of his flooring, looked at the fresco, and descended immediately to the flight below, where I waited till he rejoined me.

"How dangerous it must be,” said I I professed myself much flattered and ap-shuddering, to let yourself down from that pointed to visit him in the church on the abominable perch!" following morning. He was waiting for me "I used to think so at first," he replied; at the door when I arrived, with the heavy" but I am now quite accustomed to it. keys in his hand. We passed in, and he Fancy," said he, approaching close to the turned the key in the lock. edge of the scaffolding-"fancy falling from this into the church below!"

66

"I always secure myself against intruders," he said smiling. People will come into the church if I leave the doors unfastened; and I do not choose to carry on my art, like a sign-painter, in the presence of every blockhead who chooses to stand and stare at me."

It was surprising in what a disagreeable manner this man showed his teeth when he smiled.

The church was decidedly a handsome down there."