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.
