Selected letters of Mendelssohn/Letter 6
TO REBECCA DIRICHLET IN BERLIN.
Dear Rebecca,—This is by way of a birthday letter. May it be a pleasant one; it comes late, but it means well, and as for the festival itself, I kept it this year in a very curious way, though a delightful one. Writing was out of the question. I had neither table nor ink; in fact, I was stuck fast in the Pontine Marshes. May there be a happy year before you, and may it bring about our meeting; if you thought of me on the day, our thoughts must have met somewhere on the Brenner, or perhaps in Innsbruck, for all mine travelled towards you. If you have not noticed the date of this, you will see from its tone that I am at Naples. I can’t get back to a reasonable state of mind just yet; things round one are too seductive, and compel one to do nothing and think of nothing—the example set by the whole population is irresistible; and though I intend to alter all that, it must be so during these first days. So I stand on my balcony for hours, and stare at Vesuvius and the bay.
But I shall have to fall back on my old strain of description, or with all this crowding in on me, I shall get confused, and you won’t be able to follow me A mass of new experiences is again storming my mind, but I have only to send you my diary for you to understand. And so I must begin with the confession that leaving Rome went very hard. Life there was so quiet and yet so full. I had made so many delightful acquaintances, and had grown so used to it, that the last days, with their disquietude and running up and down, were doubly unwelcome.
The last evening I went to see Vernet, to say good-bye and thank him for the portrait which was quite finished. Then we had some music, chattered about politics and played chess. Late in the evening I went down the Monte Pincio to my house, threw my things together, and next morning started off with my companions.
I sat in the post-chaise looking out at the country, and could dream my full. When we had taken up our quarters in the evening we all strolled about. The two days were more like a ramble than a journey. The country from Rome to Naples is the richest I know, and the fashion in which one travels very pleasant. One flies over the level plains; for a little drink money the postilions will go at a furious gallop, which is quite what is wanted on the marshes, and if one wants to see the country, it is only necessary to refuse the drink money, and the pace falls off at once. From Albano through Ariccia, and Gengano to Velletri the road goes all the way between hills that are deeply shaded with all sorts of trees, up-hill and down-hill, through long avenues of elms, past monasteries and roadside images of the virgin. On the one hand, there is still the Campagna with its wild brilliant vegetation, beyond lies the sea glistening in the sun, and above the brightest of skies, for since Sunday the weather has been glorious. So we came into Velletri, our first sleeping-place; there we found it was a great feast-day of the Church. Charming women with pretty, piquant faces were going in groups up and down the alleys, men with mantles on their shoulders stood grouped about the streets, the churches were hung with garlands of fresh leaves, and as we went by one of them we heard a serpent and several fiddles being played inside. A piece of fireworks had been prepared on the piazza. Then there was a clear, quiet sunset, and over the Pontine Marshes, now glowing with many tints, we could see our route of to-morrow stretching to the lonely points of rock that stand up on the horizon. After supper it occurred to me to go out again, and I discovered a sort of illumination; the streets were all alive, and when at last coming near the church I turned the corner, all of a sudden I saw the whole street lighted up on both sides with flaming torches, and a stream of people going along the middle of it closely packed together and quite delighted to see each other so clearly at night-time. I cannot describe how pleasant it was. The press was at its height in front of the church. I made my way inside, and found the little building full of people kneeling, all adoring the host exposed on the altar; no one said a word, and there was no music; the silence, the church flaming with light, the crowds of white-hooded women on their knees, all made an admirable picture. When I got outside, an Italian boy, who was wonderfully pretty and clever as well, explained everything to me, and added that the festival would have been much finer if the disturbances had not broken out; they had stopped the horse races and the bonfires, and so it was a misfortune that the Austrians had not arrived sooner. The next morning at six, we continued our journey across the Pontine Marshes. It is a sort of mountain road, which goes through an avenue lying straight as a thread on the level; on one side there runs a chain of hills, on the other the marshes spread away without limit. They are covered with innumerable flowers, and a sweet odour pervades them; after a time, however, it is depressing, and I could feel the heaviness of the air in spite of the happy weather. Along the high road goes a canal which Pius VI. had made for the drainage, and a herd of buffaloes lay wallowing in this, with only their heads out of the water, and enjoyed themselves immensely. The absolute straightness of the road has a curious effect; at the first halting-place one sees the mountains closing the vista of the lines of trees on either side, and just the same at the second and third places, only taller as they get nearer. Terracina, which lies immediately at the end of this road, one does not see till one comes straight on it. Then the road turns suddenly leftwards on a rocky shoulder, and discloses a view of the whole sea lying before you; on the hills sloping down from the walls are citron groves and palm trees, and all sorts of growths of the South. The towers rise above the branches, below is the harbour standing out into the water. The sea is always the most beautiful thing in the world to me; perhaps I love it even better than the sky. In all Naples it is the sea that gives me most pleasure; everything seems delightful if I can only see the broad expanse of waters before me. At Terracina is the real beginning of the South. It is another country, and every plant, every bit of bush makes one aware of it. Two great masses of mountain specially pleased me, not a tree or a shadow was to be seen on them, but they were covered with little blossoms like gold dust, so that they looked all yellow and the smell was almost overpowering. There is great lack of tall trees and grass. Fondi and Itri are perched up like robbers’ nests on the rocks, to which the houses seem to cling desperately; great mediæval towers stand between them; on the height were numbers of sentinels and pickets, but we got through without adventure. That evening we stopped at Mola di Gaeta, where there is the famous balcony, from which one looks over the garden of citron and orange to the purple sea, with Vesuvius and its islands in the far distance. That was the eleventh of April; all day I had been keeping the festival privately, and in the evening I was able to confide to the company that it was your birthday, and your health was drunk with acclamation, indeed an old English gentleman who was there joined in and wished me “a happy return to my sister.” I emptied my glass and thought of you. Do not be changed when we meet again.