How you must have wondered over my long absence! My love for you commands me not to withhold the reason from you: As I travelled from Weimar on my way to you, or so I thought, I was suddenly struck by a strange view off to the left, perhaps a mile after Niedertrebra. There, sitting enthroned upon the crest of the charming slopes of the Ilm valley, a crystalline caterpillar appeared to rest between sky and earth. Or was it not a glassy platypus, I cannot be sure for I have never yet met such a creature. To my surprise, or shall I say delight, it appeared to be a domed building spanning over a series of pools tiered into the hillside, caught in a continual play of light and colour. Transparent materials gave way to filigree wood and merged into one another in the gleaming reflections of the watery element beneath. My interest awakened, I wondered as if a presentiment if this was the place from which my dear nephew, the Privy Councillor Goethe had spoken of as his "secret watering place"? Could I have stumbled upon the place over which he had spoken so glowingly and yet so secretively the other evening? We had implored of him to tell us, "Where is this place of leisure, tell us pray do?" But instead he made only vague indications and imbibed more ale. This, my dear Hendrike, is what went through my mind as I dared to approach nearer, only to discover that the reflections in the water were accompanied by sounds that dissolved away into the inspiring waves of the building.

     Involuntarily, my nephew's much cited sentence sprang to mind: "architecture is as if frozen music". Here, it seemed, the building revealed a tantalising complement: "music is fluid architecture!" With quickening pace I approached the wonderful spectacle with a view, I confess, to making of it my own surroundings. As if not enough, in the steaming outdoor pools nymphs and mermaids could be seen lying half-submerged, lively yet sublimely contented as if partaking in a circular meditative dance. I was welcomed into the dazzling blue waters politely, though not I might add without being asked to hurry, for the evening's Liquid-Sound concert was about to begin. My dear Hendrike, you cannot imagine to what heights of delight this experience rose to. Händel knows nothing of water music, I tell you! The concert listeners sat not on benches nor in padded armchairs, no, one floated on one's back in the warm water, held up by the buoyancy of salty water alone. And instead of an opera glass, one or two of my companions had donned swimming goggles. And despite the festiveness of the occasion I had dispensed with evening dress, and where velvet and silk were to be seen, then on some of the most delightful bikinis to be seen this side of Rio. On a gallery above the basin, an orchestra had begun to play. The scantily clad musicians were able to produce the most unique sounds from their cymbals, rattles, synthesizers and didgeridoos.

     Observing my fellow concert visitors and bathers - let us not differentiate between the two - I lay back and lo, the exact same angelic tones sounded in my ears. And just imagine, my ears were, like all of those around me, beneath the water's surface the whole time. Liquid sounds swirled around my skin, my hair, my hearing and my emotions producing sensations that, if put to words would seem as foolish as an attempt to render Beethoven's Ninth with a spoon and bottle. No, my dear, in this equally expressive watery surround the poet's voice is silenced, at least my own is. In contemplation, I asked myself why my most wordy of nephews has never once given mention to this most fabulous location right on his doorstep in his many writings. Had Bad Sulza so affected his heart, that it silenced his speech? Or perhaps his silence disguises a worry that common men might come and disturb his Elysium? Lying back in the musical waters pondering, I was sure of at least one thing: As Goethe spoke to us of a "secret watering place", this was no product of Köstritzer intoxicating fluids. Again and again, I can hear his voice intoning what he more to himself than to us repeated, the solution I suggest to our mystery:

There, where in seas day in, day out,
Orpheus, Neptune and Sirens sing,
where their goblets underwater ring,
There doth be my real Gartenhaus!

     Entranced by such memories, I well nigh forgot that I too, and now with eyes closed, lay swaying in such musical waters from which dear Goethe had spoken. The concert drew to a close, my fellow listeners awoke from their dreams and, to my surprise, slapped upon the water's surface in a quite comical applause of sorts. I was of a mind to discover more of the climes of which dear Johann Wolfgang had so clearly remained silent. I do hope that you will forgive my later arrival at your door, and invite you by way of explanation to bathe with me in this temple forthwith. I hope you can avail yourself of appropriate bathing attire?

     I spared the subsequent Allegro by the underwater orchestra and made my way into a neighbouring place. It was almost dark, and only once my eyes had grown accustomed could I see the deep blue glittering grotto dome around me. The bathers appeared even more at one with themselves here than before, veritably promenading through the inner landscape of their dreams. Enswathed in warm water, colour, light and melodies they drifted comfortably, as if dreamsunk swans. Here too, one can hear underwater. My ears caught words afloat in the water, the tale of the mermaid if I am not mistaken. How different the next room! Coloured lights echoed across the room denoting more active happenings. Young ladies and gentlemen swayed and swirled in pairs through the water in a kind of octopal minuet of a kind I have yet to see on Thuringia's dance floors …"