The daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1848-1851, 1849-09-10
from saTtains Magazine.l
THE WOODEN PICTURE OF GEO. sURLN.
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/ GERMAN LEGERD-BF G. B. bUAKHAhDfs
Several hundred years ago there lived in Ger
many very gifted and pious artist, called George
| Surlin. He was especially successful in the pro-
duction of sacred pictures and images of saints to
| which branch of his art he had devoted himself
| With so much love and enthusiasm, that he could
| scarcely get enough to do 10 it. Yet he never
wanted work or orders, for his fame had spread far
and near, and there were few large churches IN
the country which did not possess sacred picture
| by Master George Surlin.
One day, as be was seated at work in his studio,
there came to him some monks, emissares Of the
| monastery of Blaubeuren, in Switzerland, and
| asked him whether he would paint large and
beautiful picture for the altar Of their cloister
! chapel! 1t was not, however, 70 be painted upon
canvass, nor upon wood, but upon the wall back
of the altar, and George Surlin, if he would IN
dertake the order, must therefore prepare himself
for the long journey TO BlaubeuTen. He concluded
TO 60, not so much on account Of the great reward
which the abbot of said closter had promised him,
but because the artist rejoiced that the reverend
| father so valued the limDer's noble art. and had
sent for him from afar. He resolved to devote all
| his powers and energies to that picture.
| The abbot received the artist with open arms,
conducted him to a high, airy, and beautiful cham
ber the windows of which overlooked a most ex-
quiste landscape, and only left his guest to allow
him time to sleep and rest in order TO enable him
| to commence his great work soon as possible.
| When the early morning sun cast in its coming
| purple hue upon the glaciers, Master SuFlin was
dlfedQy seated Dy MS WlnOOW, drawing inspiration
from the glorious works of nature, for his forth
| coming great work of art As the painting adj
vanced, and more and more approached compile
ton upon the white walls of the altar, the artist
himself became enamored of his handwork, and
at last confessed in his own mind that it was a
ter-work Of rare beauty.
The monks and the abbot himself who was a
great connOiSseur, reiOced no little at the thought
that George Surn's best picture should adorn their
chapel, and thus make it object of envy as well
| AS admir- fIOn n the uaiUhborrg olniaforu
They never tired of watching the master at his
; work, and of loading him with praise, presents,
and marks Of appreciation.
, At last the painting finished, and sol emn
service was held to inaugurate the noble work Of
: art. The painter then kneeled at the foot of the
altar, and thanked and praised God, who had al
lowed him to complete his great work And tine
collected people stared and wondered at the glory
2 of the picture, and praised the master-hand that
2 created it
8 After the mass, the abbot addressed the artist,
and said" Master, you have given us a most rare
work of your beautiful art, and you yourself con-
= ceive il as your masterpiece. Has this labor ex-
hausted your inner resources of design, or do you
think that you might yet produce even greater or
still more beautiful painting! Give me an honest
s answer TO my question, Master SuFlin."
3 The painter, who thought of nothing except thai
I the abbot would give him new order, and who
like true artist, on the completion Of a great
! work, felt himself imbued with fresh courage and
energy for renewed labor, replied unhesitaIingy
that he might venture 10 make such promise, as
t art was an nexhaustble fountain, ever generating
new supplies to her earnest and industrious disci-
pies Moreover" continued the artist, " nv
? gratitude to the Lord, whose mighty arm has as
sisted me IN the work have just finished, urges
me on 10 attempt greater and still more perfect
l work to his praise, honor and glory"
s The abbot listened TO these words in great dis
:, pleasure for it was his intention 10 give tn
J. master another order, but be desired that Sufl
e should never gain commence so mastery work
ID in order that his clOisteF might have the honor
4 possessing the best picture by the great maste
" Now, however, he heard, to his modification an
anger, that master Surlin was capable of paintin
he not only an equally good, but even much sup'
-a ror picture, and his foolish vanity revolted III
eS thought. He resored TO fiend.like e1pedient,
g which TO remain in possession Of George Surlin
m | last and best painting
rs On the following night, whilst the painter wa
IN fast asleep the two monks, who had conducted hiI
n to Switzerland, cTept to his couch, tied his arm
I'd with cords, and with sharp knife cut out bot
his eyes, draining his sight, that precious font
light and color, for ever. To kill him, much tn
0, wretched man begged for death as favor, the
had not the courage They only circulated repor
70 that the great painter had died upon his homewar
g. Journey, and kept the poor man carefully hidden
te a remote cell.
+ And now the poor master WIS ever robbed {
glorious light, and to the sublime pictures, whic
st still lived in his soul, he could no longer give lii
r and color. Lost in mental misery, he scarcel
y undergo; it grieved his soul much more to
henceforth buried in night, and never again to
able to distinguish lights from colors. One of tn
J. monks who was in the daily habit of bringing hin
re a jug of wine and the necessary food, took pit
i'd upon the poor man.
at " Can do any service for you % he asked once
ic ! when he found the painter, with his arms sprea
" open, seated by the auced windows of his cell,
al if longing to rush forth upon the beauteOus lane
At scape which he could no longer behold
n (Tuide M Onpe more q the altar uDDO which
u have painted my last picture" begged the unforu
e. | nate man, and the piOus brother could not Fefu
H. him that request At midnight, when the abb
in and the other monks were asleep, he guided him
d. the chapel led him to the foot of the altar,
n there left him alone, promising to return early
lie the morning conduct the painter back to his ce
lie But the good monk awOke too late on the follo
CHI ing morning, and could not venture TO guide t
se blind man from the church, as the other mon
il would have perceived il. He had barely sufficie
time to hide Surlin in a deep wooden confession
il | chair, which had stood unused for a long iii
of behind the altar There the artist had to rems
by during the whole day, and listen to the TeligiC
he services of the monks. Secretly, his friend ma
EN- aged at noon to give him some food, and promis
W. him to return at night and conduct him back to
ur- CELL This he did, but the blind painter had mark
to the way which led to the church, and as the NOR
be- had gradually omitted to lock his cell, since ii
is believed that the poor blind man could not lea
o. his little room without aid,l he stole every event
men to the church, prayed in front of the altar and tt
ids, passed great part of his time in the wooden CO
ese fessiona iDhere he worked silently and mysterious
-ess Upon his couch he had found the knife viii
red the monks had used to blind him, and in the
du- tenseness of his pains and misery, the unhap
ing man was upon the point Of making tnaI weaP
res the instrument of suicide. But an invisible ha
lrly restrained him from committing thls gisat -
which would have made him truly deserving OF
the misery he had endured Heaven had ne'
by given him the rare ability Of cOnceiving his goriI
Drk pictures, to allow him to commit deadly sin,
-, cause the power of representing his tances on Ct
Ia vass was lost to him for ever.
rise He was frightened at his own cowardly int
The tons, and determined now to make the instrum
hey of death the instrument of his future consolati
no AS he could no longer represent his designs IN
IL Ors he began to cut them in wood, and his se
80 of feeling became substitute for the sense Of sig
lcs' With the sharp knife he had Obtained and after
cor immense deal of labor, he thus cut the whole
this tory of his misfortune Hpon the wooden side OF
the confessional He spent many years upon this
n, bor. and forgot his misery in the employment.
CHS one discovered his nightly walks, nor his work
ltTy the church, and gradually the monks felt SO sec
! 81, cd fba m