The good old times when people doubted everything
except their intelligence to recognize the true from the false, have
gone. At present there is nothing but labyrinths upon labyrinths.
I had better not think of anything but the journey before me. And
Kromitzki sold his wife's ancestral home and thus inflicted on her a
cruel blow! I had to write it down black on white once more, otherwise
I could not believe it.
10 April.
I went towards evening to say good-by to Mrs. Davis, and dropped in
for a regular concert. Laura seems really very fond of music. Miss
Hilst was playing on the harmonium. I always like to see her, but
especially when she sits down to the harmonium, and playing the
prelude, keeps her eyes on the keys. There is so much earnestness and
intentness in her face, combined with calmness. She reminds me of
Saint Cecilia, the most sympathetic of all saints, with whom I should
have fallen in love had she lived in our times. A pity Clara is so
tall; but one forgets it when she is playing. From time to time she
lifts her eyes, as if recalling to memory a note heard somewhere in
the spheres, or seeking inspiration, and she herself looks like
one inspired. She rightly bears the name of Clara, for it would be
difficult to find a more transparent soul. I said I liked to see her;
as to her music, it is still the same; I do not understand it,
or rather I follow her meaning with the greatest difficulty.
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