ad the
privilege of first seeing the painter when in the Cenci Palace, as far
back as the year 1848. My journal describes a man impressive in
presence, tall and attenuated in body, worn by ill-health and suffering,
the face emaciated and tied round by a piece of black silk. The mind had
eaten into the flesh; the features were sorrow-laden. The voice sank
into whispers, the words were plaintive and sparse; noiselessly the
artist glided among easels bearing pictorial forms austere as his own
person, meekly he offered explanations of works which embodied his very
soul, timidly sought retreat and passed as a shadow by--the emblem of an
art given in answer to prayer and pertaining to two worlds.

The painter, as drawn or described by himself and others, presents an
interesting psychological study: no historic portrait reveals closer
correspondence between the inner and the outer man. Cornelius delineated
his friend at the age of twenty-three: the type is ascetic and aesthetic
after the pre-Raphaelite pattern affected by the Nazarites. Fuhrich, one
of the fraternity, describes his first impressions: on entering the
studio he beheld a tall, spare figure, noble in head, the hair flowing
over smooth temples to the shoulders, the forehead reflective, the calm
eye "soul-full," the whole aspect that of "inner living." It is added,
"at once I felt a soul fulfilment." Yet another artist-disciple, Edwin
Speckter,[16] also leaves a graphic record penned in 1831 as follows: "A
melancholy and heart-moving impression has Overbeck made upon me: I
beheld a tall, spare man, with thin, light hair, shadowed by a black
cap, whose eyes looked forth sadly, as with an expression of unutterable
suffering. His mouth contracted at each word into a forced yet sweet
smile. He looked just as a timid prisoner, who dreads in every corner to
see a spy. Yet in all his speech and ways appeared wondrous humility,
modesty, and kindly geniality, which, however, did not attract, but in
a strange manner repelled. I hardly dared to open my mouth, and only
spoke softly and by way of inquiry. Freely to impart my mind as with
others was impossible. My breast felt oppressed, and truly I scarcely
knew what to say when he unceasingly begged pardon that he should dare
to show his works: he called them 'insignificant,' 'nothing,' esteemed
himself fortunate that people should choose to give commissions to so
unworthy an individual, only he pitied the patrons that they had n