Wednesday, August 19:
Luther (in the Wartburg) after fearful turmoils, at open window, rapidly transformed, softened, gaining in vigour, as result of a mild current of air, sight of greenery, song of a bird, — and another time, by a good swig of Einbeck beer, sings again ‘Ein’ feste Burg’. —
This — the enigmatic effect of a woman’s eyes with the peace of ignorance in them, a cooling gentleness, the certainty of narrow mindedness: this, suddenly confronting the unbridled imagination of his contentiously-craving man’s heart, has a shaming, confusing, subduing effect. What? The man in whom the whole world is fermenting, who a thousand times disregards this woman with all his reason? Is it not humiliating? A devil’s frolic? And yet is it not more than that current of air, that birdsong, and especially too, that pot of Einbeck beer? Is it not first related to you, and what you must then first say to yourself, if, again, it does not speak out for itself? ‘Brother, forget and be mindful!’ And the hand that gives you drink, the lip that blesses it? — But Catharina’s blonde plait descending to your bed pillow, won’t it do the same to your work table too? — Yes! It would seem worth a try. —