Bancroft said, and he blushed deeply, and replied, "What fame!"
After he went away, I read "Bettina von Arnim." She is not to be
judged; she is to be received and believed. She is genius, life, love,
inspiration. If anybody undertakes to criticise her before me, I
intend to vanish, if it is from a precipice into the sea. Tuesday, my
Demon called upon me to draw some of the Auxiliary Verbs. . . .
July 5. Yesterday was the great day, and this wretched town made no
appropriations for celebrating it--not even for the ringing of bells.
So the people in wrath hung flags at half-mast, and declared they
would toll the bells. Then it was granted that there should be joyful
ringing at noon and sunset. They pealed forth jubilantly, and I heard
the clash of cymbals in the afternoon. Every soul in America should
thrill on the anniversary of the most illustrious event in all
history; and as some souls sleep, these should be stirred with bells,
trumpets, and eloquence.
To-day the Demon demanded the completion of St. George and Una; and,
alternating with my music, I drew all the morning. A horse has leaped
out of my mind. I wonder what those learned in horses would say to
him. George says he is superb. My idea was to have St. George's whole
figure express the profoundest repose, command, and self-involvedness,
while the horse should be in most vivid action and motion, the glory
of his nostrils terrible, "as much disdaining to the curb to yield."
The foam of power, and the stillness of power.
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