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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
25
Now,
whether
it
is
age
creeping
upon
me,
or
whether
it
is
that
the
country
is
very
still
and
sound
carries,
or
whether
my
ears
have
grown
sensitive,
I
know
not;
but
the
moment
I
open
him
there
rushes
out
such
a
clatter
of
denunciation,
and
vehemence,
and
wrath,
that
I
am
completely
deafened;
and
as
I
easily
get
bewildered,
and
love
peace,
and
my
chief
aim
is
to
follow
the
apostle's
advice
and
study
to
be
quiet,
he
has
been
degraded
from
his
high
position
round
the
pillar
and
has
gone
into
retirement
against
the
wall,
where
the
accident
of
alphabet
causes
him
to
rest
in
the
soothing
society
of
one
Carina,
a
harmless
gentleman,
whose
book
on
the
Bagni
di
Lucca
is
on
his
left,
and
a
Frenchman
of
the
name
of
Charlemagne,
whose
soporific
comedy
written
at
the
beginning
of
the
century
and
called
Le
Testament
de
l'Oncle,
ou
Les
Lunettes
Cassees,
is
next
to
him
on
his
right.
Two
works
of
his
still
remain,
however,
among
the
elect,
though
differing
in
glory--his
Frederick
the
Great,
fascinating
for
obvious
reasons
to
the
patriotic
German
mind,
and
his
Life
of
Sterling,
a
quiet
book
on
the
whole,
a
record
of
an
uneventful
life,
in
which
the
natural
positions
of
subject
and
biographer
are
reversed,
the
man
of
genius
writing
the
life
of
the
unimportant
friend,
and
the
fact
that
the
friend
was
exceedingly
lovable
in
no
way
lessening
one's
discomfort
in
the
face
of
such
an
anomaly.
Carlyle
stands
on
an
eminence
altogether
removed
from
Sterling,
who
stands,
indeed,
on
no
eminence
at
all,
unless
it
be
an
eminence,
that
(happily)
crowded
bit
of
ground,
where
the
bright
and
courageous
and
lovable
stand
together.
We
Germans
have
all
heard
of
Carlyle,
and
many
of
us
have
read
him
with
due
amazement,
our
admiration
often
interrupted
by
groans
at
the
difficulties
his
style
places
in
the
candid
foreigner's
path;
but
without
Carlyle
which
of
us
would
ever
have
heard
of
Sterling?
And
even
in
this
comparatively
placid
book
mines
of
the
accustomed
vehemence
are
sprung
on
the
shrinking
reader.
To
the
prosaic
German,
nourished
on
a
literature
free
from
thunderings
and
any
marked
acuteness
of
enthusiasm,
Carlyle
is
an
altogether
astonishing
phenomenon.
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