Hesperus; or, Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days: A Biography. Vol. I.Jean Paul
General
Hesperus; or, Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days: A Biography. Vol. I.
Jean Paul
Fiction
Sebastian quitted his wooden inn, his skeleton of a Frankfort Red
House, more intoxicated with happiness than he could have gone from a
fully-built one. In certain men a dark melancholy diffuses itself,--a
shadow of the soul all the greater when the shadows around them are the
smallest: I mean about one o'clock of a summer afternoon. When in the
afternoon the lawns lie more intensely perfumed, and the woods with
drooping leaves stand, more softly sighing and sleeping beneath the
brooding sun, and the birds sit on the trees as dumb figurants or
supernumeraries,--then in the Eden that lay sweltering under the cloud
of blossoms an oppressive yearning seized upon his heart,--then was he
wafted by his fancies under the eternally blue sky of the East, and
under the wine-palms of Hindustan,--then did he rest himself in those
still lands, where, without stinging necessities or scorching passions,
he sank dissolved into the dreamy tranquillity of the Brahmin, and
where the soul in its elevation holds itself steady and no longer
trembles with the trembling earth, like the fixed stars whose gleam
trembles not, seen on mountains,--then was he too happy for a German
colonist, too poetic for a European, too luxurious for a neighbor of
the North Pole.... Every summer morning he feared that in the summer
afternoon he should fantasy too effeminately.
Fasting, wine, heaven, and earth had to-day so lavishly filled the
chambers of his heart with the sleep-potion of rapture, that they must
needs, when anything more was poured in, overflow through the eyes.
These now gushed forth; and behind his dimmed eyes, in the overshadowed
inner chamber, lined with the green of nature, and darkened, as it
were, with curtains of evening redness, a colored night came on,
wherein all the little shapes of his childhood rose cloudily before
him,--the earliest playthings of life were laid out,--his first May
months played like little angels on an evening cloud, and they could
not in their wing-clothes fly round the great cloud, and the sun did
not scorch them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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