please you. The original is in the gallery at Paris. I read a
description of it, and have had it copied by the Italian." She showed
me the painting, and waited my opinion. It was a picture of a man of
middle age, in the old German costume. The expression was dreamy and
resigned, and so characteristic that no one could doubt this man once
lived. The whole tone of the picture in the foreground was dark and
brownish; but in the background was a landscape, and on the horizon the
first gleams of daybreak appeared. I could discover nothing special in
the picture, and yet it produced a feeling of such satisfaction that
one might have tarried to look at it for hours at a time. "There is
nothing like a genuine human face," said I; "Raphael himself could not
have imagined a face like this."

"No," said she. "But now I will tell you why I wished to have the
picture. I read that no one knew the artist, nor whom the picture
represents. But it is very clearly a philosopher of the Middle Ages.
Just such a picture I wanted for my gallery, for you are aware that no
one knows the author of the 'German Theology,' and moreover, that we
have no picture of him. I wished to try whether the picture of an
Unknown by an Unknown would answer for our German theologian, and if
you have no objections we will hang it here between the 'Albigenses'
and the 'Diet of Worms,' and call it the 'German Theologian.'"

"Good," said I; "but it is somewhat too vigorous and manly for the
Frankforter."

"That may be," replied she. "But for a suffering and dying life like
mine, much consolation and strength may be derived from his book. I
thank him much, for it disclosed to me for the first time the true
secret of Christian doctrine in all its simplicity. I felt that I was