In another place, he says of a man who was much praised:
“He was one of the macadamized Perfections of society. His greatest fault was his complete levelness and equality; you longed for a hill to climb;—for a stone, even if it lay in your way. Love can attach itself only to something prominent, were it even a thing that others might hate. One can hardly feel what is extreme for mediocrity.”
‘C’est vraiment une consolation!’
Further: “Our senses may be enthralled by beauty; but absence effaces the impression, and reason may vanquish it.”
“Our vanity may make us passionately adore rank and distinction, but the empire of vanity is founded on sand.”
“Who can love Genius, and not perceive that the feelings it excites are a part of our own being and of our immortality?”
July 18th.
Would you believe, dearest Julia, that although annoyed in various ways, and almost ill, I have found these days of solitude, in which I have been occupied only with you, my books, and my thoughts, much more satisfactorily,—how shall I express it?—much more fully employed, than that comfortless existence which is called society and the world. Play forms an ingredient, for that is a mere killing of time without any result, but has at least the advantage, that we are not conscious of the time we are wasting during its lapse, as we are in most so-called amusements. How few men can rightly enter into such a state of mind! and how fortunate may I esteem myself that you can! You are only too indulgent towards me, and that makes me place less confidence in your judgments.
Now for a secret:—When I send you any extracts from books, you are never to swear whose they are; for, thanks to my boasted organ of composition (you see I am still busied with Mr. Deville,) exact transcribing is almost an impossibility with me. A borrowed material always becomes something different, if not something better, under my hands. But as I am so excitable and mobile, I must often appear inconsistent, and my letters must contain many contradictions. Nevertheless, I hope a genuinely humane spirit always appears in them, and, here and there, a knightly one; for every man must pay his tribute to the circumstances with which birth and existence have surrounded him.
Ah, if we did but live together in the old knightly days! Many a time has the enchanting picture of the castle of our fathers,—such as they inhabited it, in the wild Spessart, frowning from rocks surrounded by old oaks and firs,—stood like a dim recollection before my fancy. Along the hollow way in the valley, I see the lord of the castle with his horsemen riding to meet the morning sun, (for as a true knight he is an early riser.) You, good Julia, lean forward from the balcony, and wave your handkerchief till not a steel breastplate glitters in the sunbeam, and nothing living is in sight, save a timid roe that darts out of the thicket, or a high-antlered stag that looks proudly down from some crested crag on the country beneath.