MODERN PAINTING IN AUSTRIA and a life as sunny as that of the East. His work was of supreme force in point of light and shade, done in the warm brown tones of the « little masters  » of the Netherlands and their Parisian imitators. And at the same tirne the landscapist, Emil J. Schindler (1842— 1892), was striking the clear, lyrical notes of the Masters of Fontainebleau. These two artists were free, true spirits, born a little before their time. Of genuine forerunners of modern painting there was certainly no lack. Of recent years they have been reverently disinterred, and their works, displayed at special exhibitions, have aroused general astonishment. Thus appeared several times the great genre and landscape painter, Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller (1793-1865), who was deposed from his position as Professor at the Academy because he painted in the open air, in full sunlight,—at that time con-sidered far too advanced—and by means of pamphlets strongly urged the reform of the Academy root and branch. Another leader in the revoit— alas ! a sadly embarrassed one—was Anton Romako (1832-1889), the memory of whom was revived quite recently by an exhibition. It was the rehabilitation of one scorned in his own time, one who in the struggle for freedom strove to break his bonds. He was the author of the bizarre but thoroughly nerve-inspiring picture, Admirai Tegethof in the Sea-fight at Lissa. Of the same type, a man of headstrong artistic obstinacy, yet flot devoid ot discretion, keeping himself well under control, was the landscapist Theodore von Mit-mann (1840-1895), the real precursor of the  » Secession. » He, too, wasted his time in the Künstlerhaus, and then enjoyed a posthumous fame in the  » Secession. » The auction sale of his property was a great event in Vienna. His favourite motto was  » truth. » He strove to be absolutely true to nature, and hated every-thing in the way of studio-made compromise. Indeed, he painted his frost-covered winter scenes seated in the snow, like an Esquimo, thereby catching the cold from which he died. Yet another nature essentially the same, but of a more delicate fibre, was Rudolf von Alt (1812-1905), I9o5), who only a year ago died, a Methuselah of ninety-four. Like the Spire of St. Stephen’s, which he painted so often in all lights, he, too, is one of Vienna’s signmarks. In his case we have to consider a whole dynasty, for his father Jacob (1789-1872) was an excellent painter of city views, and his brother Franz (born in 1821) is so still. The  » Veduta, » or view, was in the family blood. But Rudolf was also highly interesting as a figure painter, and the crowds of figures in his views of Vienna form a rich source of infor-mation, covering about eighty years of Viennese life. His abandon-A 11