The nerves of beauty are so
exquisitely tuned and strung that they must thrill at every touch.
One sees this, in French life, to the very foundation of society. A
poor family will give, cheerfully, a part of their bread money to buy
a flower. The idea of artistic symmetry pervades every thing, from the
arrangement of the simplest room to the composition of a picture. At
the chateau of Madame V. the whiteheaded butler begged madame to
apologize for the central flower basket on the table. He "had not had
time to study the composition."
The English and Americans, seeing the French so serious and intent on
matters of beauty, fancy it to be mere affectation. To be serious on a
barrel of flour, or a bushel of potatoes, we can well understand; but
to be equally earnest in the adorning of a room or the "composition"
of a bouquet seems ridiculous. But did not He who made the appetite
for food make also that for beauty? and while the former will perish
with the body, is not the latter immortal? With all New England's
earnestness and practical efficiency, there is a long withering of the
soul's more ethereal part,--a crushing out of the beautiful,--which is
horrible.
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