I can only tell it when I can almost forget that there
is any one listening. Sit down here by my side. And now, listen while I
tell you something that has not passed my lips for twenty years.

"I was once a very different man from what I now appear to you; not
simply that I was younger and better contented, and had not known what
true misfortune was; but I bore another name, which may possibly have
reached your ears. For although I cannot say that I exactly raised it
to any particular fame, still, as a born Municher, you have probably
heard it mentioned among those who assisted at the art-works of the
early part of old Louis's reign, though; to be sure, only as a young
apprentice. Even in those days I was not possessed by the demon of
ambition, and on the pictures that I painted, as well as on the
frescoes that I helped to execute, you will not find even my monogram.
From the very first, I had too great a respect for true genius to form
an exalted idea of my own humble qualifications for an artist. By the
side of my master, Cornelius, I felt like the sparrow that soared up to
the sun under the eagle's wing, and was permitted to enjoy himself
royally up there so long as he did not forget that he was, after all,
only an insignificant sparrow. However, I was always bent upon letting
well enough alone, and consoled myself with the thought that, even if I
did possess but a mediocre talent for creative art, I could vie with
the greatest masters in the art of living.

"I had a pretty, gentle, sensible wife, two children, who were growing
up finely, as much money as I wanted, and more honor than I deserved.
For in those days all of us here in Munich were like members of one
family, or like soldiers in a _corps elite_--whatever fame was won by
the leaders redounded to the benefit of us privates.

"It was a life which seemed to leave nothing wanting to its happiness,
and I began to take credit to myself for the many blessings Heaven had
poured into my lap. I deluded myself with the idea that although I was
not phenomenal as a man or as an artist, I was, on the other hand,
something no less rare--a perfectly normal citizen of the world, a
truly model specimen of honesty and excellence, especially selected by
fate to be a source of joy and imitation for less favored mortals. My
good wife, too, who did not at first chime in with my lofty tone, was
gradually converted to this state of self-exaltation, until she came to
believe tha