scribe, and paint as he may,—to be here is more than all. The shore, the creeks, and the bay, Vesuvius, the city, the suburbs, the castles, the atmosphere! In the evening, too, we went into the Grotto of Posilippo, while the setting sun was shining into it from the other side. I can pardon all who lose their senses in Naples; and I remember with emotion my father, who retained to the last an indelible impression of those objects which to-day I have cast eyes upon for the first time. Just as it is said, that people who have once seen a ghost are never afterward seen to smile, so in the opposite sense it may be said of him, that he never could become perfectly miserable so long as he remembered Naples. According to my fashion, I am quite still and calm; and when anything happens too absurd, only open my eyes widely,—very widely.
To-day we visited Philip Hackert, the famous landscape painter, who enjoys the special confidence and peculiar favour of the king and queen. A wing of the palace Franca Villa has been assigned to him. Having furnished it with true artistic taste, he feels great satisfaction in inhabiting it. He is a very precise and prudent man, who, with untiring industry, manages, nevertheless, to enjoy life.
After that we took a sail, and saw all kinds of fish and wonderful shapes drawn out of the waves. The day was glorious, the tramontane (north winds) tolerable.
Even in Rome my self-willed, hermit-like humour was forced to assume a more social aspect than I altogether liked. No doubt it appears a strange mode of proceeding, to go into the world in order to be alone: accordingly, I could not resist Prince von Waldeck, who most kindly invited me, and by his
