fools. At nightfall I betook myself to the Villa Medici. A new moon has just shone upon us, and below the slender crescent I could with the naked eye discern almost the whole of the dark disc through the perspective. Over the earth hangs that haze of the day which the paintings of Claude have rendered so well known. In Nature, however, the phenomenon is perhaps nowhere so beautiful as it is here. Flowers are now springing out of the earth, and the trees putting forth blossoms which hitherto I have been unacquainted with. The almonds are in blossom, and between the dark green oaks they make an appearance as beautiful as it is new to me. The sky is like a bright blue taffeta in the sunshine: what will it be in Naples? Almost everything here is already green. My botanical whims gain food and strength from all around; and I am on the way to discover new and beautiful connections by means of which Nature—that vast prodigy which yet is nowhere visible—evolves the most manifold varieties out of the most simple.
Vesuvius is throwing out both ashes and stones: in the evening its summit appears to glow. May travailling Nature only favour us with a stream of lava! I can scarcely endure to wait till it shall be really my lot to witness such grand phenomena.
Rome, Feb. 21, 1787.
The folly is now at an end. The countless lights of yesterday evening were, however, a strange spectacle. One must have seen the Carnival in Rome to get entirely rid of the wish to see it again. Nothing can be written of it: as a subject of conversation it may be amusing enough. The most unpleasant feeling about it is, that real internal joy is wanting. There is a lack of money, which prevents their enjoying what morsel of pleasure they might otherwise still feel in it.
