I wanted to write my book and adjusted my life accordingly. In such times we must arrange our lives the way women do who are expecting and know that they no longer live for themselves alone. The middle of summer is an opportune time. The street outside my windows is lifeless and full of dazzling golden sunshine. Dogs lie on the hot stones, stretch all four limbs out and sleep. Children sit on their doorsteps, hugging their bare legs, and are just as still and sleepy from the heat as the dogs.
The few passers-by squeeze past through the thin shadows cast by the overhanging roofs. I draw the yellow drapes in front of my window, this creates a pleasant golden twilight. Here and there, through a thin crack, a sharp, shining ray of sunshine cuts through this twilight, and in this single ray, several flies buzz around each other tirelessly in circles. I love hearing them. The ill-natured stories they are always telling each other calm me. I had said at the club that I was off on travels.
Josef had orders not to receive any visitors. In any case, most people had left town, who was likely to come and visit! I had had a discussion with Frau Meirike regarding my bill of fare. For the moment, she was to avoid those heavy, spicy soups that she knew so well how to make, and that I loved to eat. More bouillon, a lot of poultry, asparagus, some fish from time to time. I had obtained a lively Mosel for the occasion.
My tailor delivered a suit of blue summer flannel, made for a loose fit. I was careful with the flowers in my rooms, none were permitted in my study. However, in the adjacent room stood a bowl full of centifolia roses, those wholesome, red globes that give out the strong, fresh fragrance of roses, not the perverse mixture of tea or vanilla or cedarwood fragrances. The best time for working is in the morning. In the afternoon, I needed something to read with my cigar in place of the large, heavy Henry Clay, I now smoked a small, light Bock , and I had selected Livy for the purpose. He was unlikely to bother me overly and expounded in such calming tones.
And everything that happens seems so perfectly suited to his purpose, like the small wooden pieces of a puzzle that manage to fit together to create a picture of the grandeur of the Roman Empire. All rather refreshing. When I wake up, I will then be able to work on again until the evening. Whenever it gets lively down in the street, when the children start to become loud, a buzzing of high, shrill voices resembling a flock of drunken birds, and when bright lights from the adjacent room intrude into my study, when the white plaster head of Marietta Strozzi turns a pale red — then I go for a walk — a constitutional.
The air in the streets is as oppressive and dusty as in a stuffy room.
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The suburbs are unbearable, what with the red and grey striped bed-covers that are airing in the open windows, along with their hot, steaming owners. I sit down somewhere in one of the small beer gardens. My book continues to speak inside me, and looking over my beer, I observe the people and the colourful placards on the trees and the cyclists, strange, distant images that have nothing to do with me. When the street lanterns are lit, pallid and glassy in the twilight, I set off for home, and the whole night lies ready for me to work in if I so choose.
I can open the window by my desk. The lights in the windows go out.
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Over there, a taller building looms over the low roofs. Over there, on the fourth floor, a woman is undressing in front of an open window. The square formed by the window frame is filled with the yellow light of her lamp, and I see a white figure standing in front of a mirror and lifting up her long, jet-black hair to tie it up. Then this light goes out, too, and I am left alone with my book. For my manuscript, I have purchased some rather elegant-looking paper, a yellow tint, matt, with a heraldic lily as a watermark.
On the cover, in violet ink, I have written the title: The Golden Chain — and underneath, that verse from the Iliad of which Plato so mysteriously speaks:. Come try, O Gods, so that you may understand! A golden chain anchored in the heavens Even should all Gods and Goddesses hang from it You shall never drag me from the heavens to the ground! Small neglected duties can become rather tiresome. We want to neglect them, we want to simply forget them, but they hook themselves firmly into us, announce themselves with small, fleeting stabs of pain.
They are as bothersome as the summer flies that we constantly shoo off and which constantly return to land on our faces. It is not because of a sense of duty — more a nagging sense of imperfection in our mind. I went out after dinner to buy a golden fountain pen. The street was like a dusty, overheated corridor. A classic Woman in White, The.
Three original volumes, this edition printed them all in one. A nice read! Pinocchio - Adventures of a Marionette. Illustrated by Charles Copeland. Boston: Ginn and Company. Translation by John Martin Crawford. NY: John B.
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Crawford, Mary Caroline. Page and Company. Botolph's Town. Mary Caroline Crawford. Illustrated with various etchings and photographs. Highly informative and enjoyable reading A follow-up to his first biography, Narrative of the Life of David Crockett. A good, first-person account of the struggles of the new nation Narrative of the Life of David Crockett. David Crockett. This book was closely followed by a second memoir, Col. Crockett's Exploits and Adventures in Texas , describing his life up to the siege of the Alamo, and an additional chapter by the editor describing the end of Crockett and others at the hands of Santa Ana.
Nomads of the North. James Oliver Curwood. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull. Villians, heros and life in the camps of the North. Very similar to "Call of the Wild" Romance of Old Japan. New York: The Knickerbocker Press. Heavily illustrated with drawings, prints and original photographs Illustrated by Harold Cue.
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Nice watercolor touches on some of the illustrations done by a previous owner of the book Indian Life in Town and Country. Herbert Compton. Written by a British writer, there is of course the western European bias present in early 20th century writings of colonial life.
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That being said, it is a fascinating view of India of the turn of the last century Illustrated by Paul Woodroffe. New York: E.
It is a nice introduction to the history of early Rome, from the founding of the City to the death of Julius Caesar and the rise of Augustus. On the Origin of Species. Charles Darwin. Read your Darwin and open your mind to what the scientific world has to offer. Read on!! Voyage of the Beagle. Pritchet, Illustrator. London: John Murray. Canon Danks. A Bird Calendar for Northern India. Douglas Dewar. London: W.http://leondumoulin.nl/language/humor/negotiations-a-graphic-training.php
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A glob-trotting birder's must-have book from the turn of the last century. A nice read A Christmas Carol. Charles Dickens. Had t add it to the Kellscraft Studio collection. Please enjoy! Postumous Papers of the Pickwick Papers, The. Andrew Lang.