"To Be Sure," Said I. So He Ushered
Us Into A Large, Elegantly-Furnished Apartment, Looking Out
Immediately Upon It.
There it sat, upon its green throne, a regal,
beautiful, poetic thing, fair and sad.
We had singing and prayers, and a sermon from C. We did not go to the
_table d'hote_, for we abominate its long-drawn, endless
formalities. But one part of the arrangements we enjoyed without
going: I mean the music. To me all music is sacred. Is it not so? All
real music, in its passionate earnest, its blendings, its wild,
heart-searching tones, is the language of aspiration. So it may not be
meant, yet, when we know God, so we translate it.
In the evening we took tea with Professor M., in a sociable way, much
like the _salon_ of Paris. Mrs. M. sat at a table, and poured out
tea, which a servant passed about on a waiter. Gradually quite a
circle of people dropped in - among them Professor Mittemeyer, who, I
was told, is the profoundest lawyer in Germany; also there was
Heinrich von Gagen, who was head of the convention of the empire in
1848, and prime minister. He is tall, has a strongly-marked face, very
dark hair and eyebrows. There was also a very young man, with quite
light hair, named Fisher, who, they told me, was one of the greatest
philosophers of the time; but government had taken away his license to
lecture, on account of his pantheistic principles.
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