There Is A Singular Tinge Of The Moorish
About This Architecture Which Gives Me Great Delight.
That Moorish
development always seemed to me strangely exciting and beautiful.
JOURNAL - (CONTINUED.)
Tuesday, August 2. We leave Heidelberg with regret. At the railway
station occurred our first loss of baggage. As W. was making change in
the baggage room, he missed the basket containing our books and
sundries. Unfortunately the particular word for _basket_ had just
then stepped out. "_Wo ist mein - pannier?_" exclaimed he, giving
them the French synonyme. They shook their heads. "_Wo ist
mein - basket?_" he cried, giving them English; they shook their
heads still harder. "_Wo ist mein - - _" "Whew - w!" shrieked
the steam whistle; "Ding a-ling-ling!" went the bell, and, leaving his
question unfinished, W. ran for the cars.
In our car was an elderly couple, speaking French. The man was
evidently a quiet sort of fellow, who, by long Caudling, had
subdued - whole volcanos into dumbness within him. Little did he think
what eruption fate was preparing. II. sat opposite _his hat_,
which he had placed on the empty seat. There was a tower, or
something, coming; H. rose, turned round, and innocently took a seat
on his chapeau. Such a voice as came out of that meekness personified!
In the twinkling of an eye - for there is a peculiar sensation which a
person experiences in sitting upon, or rather into a hat; ages are
condensed into moments, and between the first yielding of the brittle
top and the final crush and jam, as between the top of a steeple and
the bottom, there is room for a life's reflection to flash through the
mind - in the twinkling of an eye H. agonizingly felt that she was
sitting on a hat, that the hat was being jammed, that it was getting
flat and flatter every second, that the meek man was howling in
French; and she was just thinking of her husband and children when she
started to her feet, and the nightmare was over. The meek man, having
howled out his French sentence, sat aghast, stroking his poor hat,
while his wife opposite was in convulsions, and we all agog. The
gentleman then asked H. if she proposed sitting where she was, saying,
very significantly, "If you do, I'll put my hat there;" suiting the
action to the word. We did not recover from this all the way to
Frankfort.
Arrived at Frankfort we drove to the Hotel de Russie. Then, after
visiting all the lions of the place, we rode to see Dannecker's
Ariadne. It is a beautiful female riding on a panther or a tiger. The
light is let in through a rosy curtain, and the flush as of life falls
upon the beautiful form. Two thoughts occurred to me; why, when we
gaze upon this form so perfect, so entirely revealed, does it not
excite any of those emotions, either of shame or of desire, which the
living reality would excite? And again; why does not the immediate
contact of feminine helplessness with the most awful brute ferocity
excite that horror which the sight of the same in real life must
awaken? Why, but because we behold under a spell in the transfigured
world of art where passion ceases, and bestial instincts are felt to
be bowed to the law of mind, and of ideal truth.
LETTER XLI.
DEAR: -
To-day we came to Frankfort, and this afternoon we have been driving
out to see the lions, and in the first place the house where Goethe
was born. Over the door, you remember, was the family coat of arms.
Well, while we were looking I perceived that a little bird had
accommodated the crest of the coat to be his own family residence, and
was flying in and out of a snug nest wherewith he had crowned it.
Little fanciful, feathery amateur! could nothing suit him so well as
Goethe's coat of arms? I could fancy the little thing to be the poet's
soul come back to have a kind of breezy hovering existence in this
real world of ours - to sing, and perch, and soar; for I think you told
me that his principal grace and characteristic was an exquisite
perception and expression of physical beauty. Goethe's house was a
very grand one for the times, was it not? Now a sign in the window
tells us it is used as a manufactory of porcelain.
Then we drove through the Jews' quarters. You remember how queer and
old they look; they have been much modernized since you were there.
_Cocher_ stopped before one house, and said something in German
about Rothschild, which C. said sounded like "Here Rothschild hung his
boots out." We laughed and rode on.
After this we went to the Romer, the hall that you have told me of,
where the emperors were chosen, all painted with their portraits in
compartments; and I looked out on the fountain in front, that used, on
these occasions, to flow with wine. Then I walked around to see all
the emperors, and to wish I knew more about history. Charles V. is the
only one of whom I have any distinct recollection.
Then we went to a kind of museum. _Cocher_ stopped at the door,
and we heard a general sputtering of gutturals between him, W., and
G., he telling them something about Luther. I got it into my head that
the manuscript of Luther's Bible was inside; so I rushed forward. It
was the public library. A colossal statue of Goethe, by an Italian
artist, was the first thing I saw. What a head the man had I a Jupiter
of a head. And what a presence! The statue is really majestic; but was
Goethe so much, really think you? That egotistical spirit shown in his
Diary sets me in doubt. Shakspeare was not self-conscious, and left no
trace of egotism; if he knew himself, he did not care to tell what he
knew.
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