The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 10: Prince Otto Von Bismarck, Count Helmuth Von Moltke, Ferdinand Lassalle
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The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 10: Prince Otto Von Bismarck, Count Helmuth Von Moltke, Ferdinand Lassalle
German literature -- 19th century -- Translations into English; German literature -- 20th century -- Translations into English
lover, but also an enthusiast, for nature. Now I shall soothe my
excited blood with a cup of tea, after Hildebrand has actually put in
an appearance, and shall then go to bed and dream of you, my love.
Last night I had only four hours of sleep, and the court here is
terribly matutinal; the young gentleman himself rises as early as five
o 'clock, so that I should be a bad courtier if I were to sleep much
longer. Therefore I bid you good-night from afar, with a side-glance
at a gigantic teapot and an enticing plate of cold jellied cuts,
tongue, as I see, among the rest. Where did I get that song that
occurs to me continually today--"_Over the blue mountain, over the
white sea-foam, come, thou beloved one, come to thy lonely home_"? I
don't know who must have sung that to me, some time in _auld lang
syne_. May God's angels keep you today as hitherto.
Your most faithful v.B.
The 24th.
After having slept very well, although on a wedge-shaped pillow, I bid
you good-morning, my heart. The whole panorama before me is bathed in
such a bright, burning sun that I cannot look out at all without being
blinded. Until I begin my calls I am sitting here breakfasting and
smoking all alone in a very spacious apartment--four rooms, all
thickly vaulted, two something like our dining-room in size, thick
walls as at Schönhausen, gigantic nut-wood closets, blue silk
furnishings, a profusion of large spots on the floor, an ell in size,
which a more excited fancy than mine might take for blood, but which I
decidedly declare to be ink; an unconscionably awkward scribe must
have lodged here, or another Luther repeatedly hurled big inkstands
at his opponents. * * * Exceedingly strange figures, brown, with broad
hats and wide trousers, are floating about on long wooden rafts in the
Danube below. I regret I am not an artist; I should like to let you
see these wild faces, mustached, long-haired with excited black eyes,
and the ragged, picturesque drapery which hangs about them, as they
appeared to me all day yesterday. * * * Farewell, my heart. God bless
you and our present and future children.
Your most faithful v.B.
Evening.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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