Letters of Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy from Italy and Switzerland

by Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy

Naples, May 28th, 1831.

My dear Sisters,

As my journal is become too stupid and uninteresting to send you, I must at least supply you with an abrégé of my history. You must know, then, that on Friday, the 20th of May, we breakfasted in corpore at Naples, on fruit, etc.; this in corpore includes the travelling party to Ischia, consisting of Ed. Bendemann, T. Hildebrand, Carl Sohn, and Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy. My knapsack was not very heavy, for it contained scarcely anything but Goethe's poems, and three shirts; so we packed ourselves into a hired carriage, and drove through the grotto of Posilippo to Pozzuoli. The road runs along by the sea, and nothing can be more lovely; so it is all the more painful to witness the horrible collection of cripples, blind men, beggars, and galley slaves, in short, the poor wretches of every description who there await you, amid the holiday aspect of nature.

I seated myself quietly on the mole and sketched, while the others plodded and toiled through the Temple of Serapis, the theatres, the hot springs, and extinct volcanoes, which I had already seen to satiety on three different occasions. Then, like youthful patriarchs or nomads, we collected all our goods and chattels, cloaks, knapsacks, books and portfolios on donkeys, and placing ourselves also on them, we made the tour of the Bay of Baiæ, as far as the Lake of Avernus, where you are obliged to buy fish for dinner; we crossed the hill to Cumæ (vide Goethe's 'Wanderer') and descended on Baiæ, where we ate and rested. We then looked at more ruined temples, ancient baths, and other things of the kind, and thus evening had arrived before we crossed the bay.

At half-past nine we arrived at the little town of Ischia, where we found every corner of the only inn fully occupied, so we resolved to go on to Don Tommaso's; a journey of two hours nominally, but which we performed in an hour and a quarter. The evening was deliciously cool, and innumerable glow-worms, who allowed us to catch them, were scattered on the vine-branches, and fig-trees, and shrubs. When we at last arrived, somewhat fatigued, at Don Tommaso's house, about eleven o'clock, we found all the people still up, clean rooms, fresh fruits, and a friendly deacon to wait on us, so we remained comfortably seated opposite a heap of cherries till midnight. The next morning the weather was bad, and the rain incessant, so we could not ascend the Epomeo, and as we seemed little disposed to converse (we did not get on in this respect, Heaven knows why!) the affair would have become rather a bore, if Don Tommaso had not possessed the prettiest poultry-yard and farm in Europe. Right in front of the door stands a large leafy orange-tree covered with ripe fruit, and from under its branches a stair leads to the dwelling. Each of the white stone steps is decorated with a large vase of flowers, these steps leading to a spacious open hall, whence through an archway you look down on the whole farm-yard, with its orange-trees, stairs, thatched roofs, wine casks and pitchers, donkeys and peacocks. That a foreground may not be wanting, an Indian fig-tree stands under the walled arch, so luxuriant that it is fastened to the wall with ropes. The background is formed by vineyards with summer-houses, and the adjacent heights of the Monte Epomeo. Being protected from the rain by the archway, the party seated themselves there under shelter, and sketched the various objects in the farm the best way they could, the whole livelong day. I was on no ceremony, and sketched along with them, and I think I in some degree profited by so doing. At night we had a terrific storm, and as I was lying in bed, I remarked that the thunder growled tremendously on Monte Epomeo, and the echoes continued to vibrate like those on the Lake of Lucerne, but even for a greater length of time.

Next morning, Sunday, the weather was again fine. We went to Foria, and saw the people going to the cathedral in their holiday costumes. The women wore their well-known head-dress of folds of white muslin placed flat on the head; the men were standing in the square before the church, in their bright red caps, gossiping about politics, and we gradually wound our way through these festal villages up the hill. It is a huge rugged volcano, full of fissures, ravines, cavities, and steep precipices. The cavities being used for wine cellars, they are filled with large casks. Every declivity is clothed with vines and fig-trees, or mulberry-trees. Corn grows on the sides of the steep rocks, and yields more than one crop every year. The ravines are covered with ivy, and innumerable bright-coloured flowers and herbs, and wherever there is a vacant space, young chestnut-trees shoot up, furnishing the most delightful shade. The last village, Fontana, lies in the midst of verdure and vegetation. As we climbed higher, the sky became overcast and gloomy, and by the time we reached the most elevated peaks of the rocks, a thick fog had come on. The vapours flitted about, and although the rugged outlines of the rocks, and the telegraph, and the cross, stood forth strangely in the clouds, still we could not see even the smallest portion of the view. Soon afterwards rain commenced, and as it was impossible to remain, and wait as you do on the Righi, we were obliged to take leave of Epomeo without having made his acquaintance. We ran down in the rain, one rushing after the other, and I do believe that we were scarcely an hour in returning.

Next day we went to Capri. This place has something Eastern in its aspect, with the glowing heat reflected from its rocky white walls, its palm-trees, and the rounded domes of the churches that look like mosques. The sirocco was burning, and rendered me quite unfit to enjoy anything; for really climbing up five hundred and thirty-seven steps to Anacapri in this frightful heat, and then coming down again, is toil only fit for a horse. True, the sea is wondrously lovely, looking down on it from the summit of the bleak rock, and through the singular fissures of the jagged peaks, so strangely formed.

But above all, I must tell you of the blue grotto, for it is not known to every one, as you can only enter it either in very calm weather, or by swimming. The rocks there project precipitously into the sea, and are probably as steep under the water as above it. A huge cavity has been hollowed out by nature, but in such a manner, that round the whole circumference of the grotto, the rocks rest on the sea in all their breadth, or rather are sunk precipitously into it, and ascend thence to the vault of the cavern. The sea fills the whole space of the grotto, the entrance to which lies under the water, only a very small portion of the opening projecting above the water, and through this narrow space you can only pass in a small boat, in which you must lie flat. When you are once in, the whole extent of the huge cave and its vault is revealed, and you can row about in it with perfect ease, as if under a dome. The light of the sun also pierces through the opening into the grotto underneath the sea, but broken and dimmed by the green sea water, and thence it is that such magical visions arise. The whole of the rocks are sky-blue and green in the twilight, resembling the hue of moonshine, yet every nook, and every depth, is distinctly visible. The water is thoroughly lighted up and brilliantly illuminated by the light of the sun, so that the dark skiff glides over a bright shining surface. The colour is the most dazzling blue I ever saw, without shadow or cloud, like a pane of opal glass; and as the sun shines down, you can plainly discern all that is going on under the water, while the whole depths of the sea with its living creatures are disclosed. You can see the coral insects and polypuses clinging to the rocks, and far below, fishes of different species meeting and swimming past each other. The rocks become deeper in colour as they go lower into the water, and are quite black at the end of the grotto, where they are closely crowded together, and still further under them, you can see crabs, fishes, and reptiles in the clear waters. Every stroke too of the oars echoes strangely under the vault, and as you row round the wall, new objects come to light. I do wish you could see it, for the effect is singularly magical. On turning towards the opening by which you entered, the daylight seen through it seems bright orange, and by moving even a few paces you are entirely isolated under the rock in the sea, with its own peculiar sunlight: it is as if you were actually living under the water for a time.

We then proceeded to Procida, where the women adopt the Greek dress, but do not look at all prettier from doing so. Curious faces were peeping from every window. A couple of Jesuits, in black gowns and with gloomy countenances, were seated in a gay arbour of vines, evidently enjoying themselves, and made a good picture. Then we crossed the sea to Pozzuoli, and through the grotto of Posilippo again home.

I cannot write to Paul about his change of residence, and his entrance into the great, wide world of London, because he mentions casually, that he will probably leave for London in the course of three weeks, so my letter could not possibly reach him in Berlin; a week hence I shall take my chance, and address to my brother in London. That smoky place is fated to be now and ever my favourite residence; my heart glows when I even think of it, and I paint to myself my return there, passing through Paris, and finding Paul independent, alone, and another man, in the dear old haunts; when he will present me to his new friends, and I will present him to my old ones, and we shall live and dwell together: so even at this moment I am all impatience soon to go there. I see by some newspapers my friends have sent me, that my name is not forgotten, and so I hope when I return to London, to be able to work steadily, which I was previously unable to do, being forced to go to Italy. If they make any difficulty in Munich about my opera, or if I cannot get a libretto that I like, I intend in that case to compose an opera for London. I know that I could receive a commission to do so, as soon as I chose. I am also bringing some new pieces with me for the Philharmonic, and so I shall have made good use of my time.