"You reel at every
step," I wrote immediately after my arrival, "that France has never had a
Thorwaldsen, and that Denmark possesses an indescribable treasure in
him. We are and remain, in three or four directions, the first nation in
Europe. This is pure and simple truth."
To my youthful ignorance it was the truth, but it hardly remained such
after the first month.
Being anxious to see as much as possible and not let anything of
interest escape me, I went late to bed, and yet got up early, and tried
to regulate my time, as one does a blanket that is too short.
I was immensely interested in the art treasures from all over the world
collected in the Louvre. Every single morning, after eating my modest
breakfast at a _cremerie_ near the chateau, I paid my vows in the
_Salon carre_ and then absorbed myself in the other halls. The
gallery of the Louvre was the one to which I owe my initiation. Before,
I had seen hardly any Italian art in the original, and no French at all.
In Copenhagen I had been able to worship all the Dutch masters. Leonardo
and the Venetians spoke to me here for the first time. French painting
and sculpture, Puget and Houdon, Clouet and Delacroix, and the French
art that was modern then, I learnt for the first time to love and
appreciate at the Luxembourg.
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