April 6th.
Can you tell me why all objects reflected by art give us only pleasure, whereas all realities have at least one defective side? We see the torments of Laocoon in marble with undisturbed delight,[51] while the actual scene would excite simply horror. A Dutch fish-market, represented with perfect fidelity by a humorous painter, charms us, and our pleasure increases as we follow out the details; in the real market, we should pass along rapidly with averted eyes and nose. The joys and sorrows of the hero of a poem or work of imagination affect us in like manner with deep pleasure, while we feel only pain at actual sufferings, and actual joys ever appear incomplete and imperfect. Even happiness, supposing it to be attained, always brings with it the bitter thought, How long will it last? Well, therefore does Schiller say, “Ernst ist das Leben, heiter ist die Kunst.” (Serious, or stern, is life, cheerful is art.) Art alone,—the creation of fancy,—procures unmingled pleasure; and therefore let us, dear Julia, never cease to rejoice that an active creative fancy is stirring within us, and sometimes procures us enjoyments which reality cannot bestow. Shall I then prepare for myself such an innocent festival, and fly across the sea to you? we have been but too long asunder.
How beautiful does everything appear to me! It is spring;—the violets send forth enchanting fragrance after the heavy shower; swallows are twittering in the air, and pretty little water-wagtails are running merrily round the lake. And now the sun breaks from behind the last lingering dark cloud, in all his majesty, and draws strange characters on the distant mountains. The old limetrees around us gleam like emeralds; gay butterflys try their light wings, and frolic, as if drunk with joy, over the grassy carpet. Bees hum busily around the thousand fresh flowers, and green beetles glitter in the sunlight. But now a splendid bow arises out of the west, spans the blue sky above the castle, and sinks on the black pine-forest. Now is the cheerful white-covered table set, and decked with polished utensils. The juicy fruits of the hot-house, hyacinthine Xeres in crystal cups, and champagne covered with thick mist, from the ice, await the guests:—and see who advances slowly and gravely among the shrubs, with that dignified air?
Ah, it is you, dear Julia, I exclaim enraptured—fly towards you, and
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Thus does fancy paint. What however in reality unhinges me is, that it is a long time since I had a letter from you, and I really want one to restore my nerves. But I must dress for a couple of ‘Russian steam balls’ as they ought to be called.
April 7th.
As the Lord Mayor has invited me to his great dinner, I rode into the city this morning to call on him: this is rather a perilous enterprise, with a fidgetty horse. Once I got so entangled in the crowd, that I was absolutely forced to turn my horse on the ‘trottoir.’ This the people regarded as an invasion of their rights; and not observing that necessity drove me thither, began to abuse me, and some to strike my horse: a huge gigantic carter held up his fist and challenged me to box with him: as however I felt no inclination to make this practical application of the lessons I have taken in the ‘noble art of self-defence,’ I pressed forward to a small gap which happily offered itself, and made my escape.
I dined with Count Munster, a noble representative of Germany, who has endeavoured as far as possible to preserve German simplicity in his household. Everybody knows his distinguished qualities as a statesman: he is not less remarkable for his agreeable manners and talents in social and domestic life.
Since his residence in England, he has designed and painted the decorations for his castle in the Harz, with great taste and skill; and his wife’s paintings on glass are very beautiful: in a few years all the windows of the castle chapel will be adorned with her own works. The German housewife however is no mere modern bel-esprit, or artist, but, like one of the knightly dames who are the subjects of her pencil, she takes care to have excellent beer brewed in her own house:—she gave me some, which I drank with all the gratitude of a guest in the hall of Valhalla.