You have not told me too much of the wonders of Seville, Madame, and, nevertheless, you could hardly have told me beforehand of that which I have found the most charming—the letter from Mademoiselle Caroline. Thanks to her charming lines, I found myself in the best possible frame of mind for the enjoyment of all imaginable chefs d'oeuvre, and I could not have been more disposed to admiration and wonderment! During the ten days which I have just spent in Seville I have not allowed a single day to pass without going to pay my very humble court to the cathedral, that epic of granite, that architectural Symphony whose eternal harmonies vibrate in infinity!—
One cannot use any set phrases about such a monument. The best thing to do would be to kneel there with the faith of the charcoal-burner (if one could do so), or to soar in thought the length of these arches and vaulted roofs, for which it seems that there is even now "no longer time"!—As for me, not feeling myself enough of the charcoal-burner or of the eagle, I am constrained to stand with my nose in the air and mouth open. Nevertheless my prayer sometimes climbs up like useless ivy, lovingly embracing those knotted shafts which defy all the storms of the genius of Christianity.
Whatever you may think of my enthusiasm for your cathedral, it is a fact that I have been entirely absorbed by it during the ten days I have spent in Seville; so much so, that it was only on the evening before my departure that I could prevail on myself to visit the Alcazar.
In truth, if one might wish for the re-introduction of the bastinado, it would be to apply it exclusively to those malicious wretches who have dared to besmear so many ravishing flights of fancy, so many fairy-like vagaries, with lime and plaster.
What adorable enchantment and what hideous devastation!
The heart expands—and then contracts at every step. Little do I care for the gardens (which, by the way, slightly resemble the ornamental gardens of a priest); little do I care even for the baths of Maria Padilla, which, in fact, have slightly the effect of an alkaline; but what outlines, what harmonious profusion in these lines, what incredible voluptuousness in all this ornamentation! Would that I could send them you in this envelope, such as I have felt and devoured them with my eyes!
Here are, indeed, many marks of admiration, and you will certainly smile at me, will you not, Madame? But what can I do? And how, after that, can I speak to you of myself and my paltry individuality?
390. To Madame (?)
[Autograph sketch of a letter, without address, date, and conclusion, in the Liszt-Museum at Weimar.]
[Probably beginning of 1845]