Naples, April 13th, 1831.
Dear Rebecca,
This must stand in lieu of a birthday letter: may it wear a holiday
aspect for you! It arrives late in the day, but with equally
sincere good wishes. Your birthday itself I passed in a singular
but delightful manner, though I could not write, having neither
pens nor ink; in fact, I was in the very middle of the Pontine
Marshes. May the ensuing year bring you every happiness, and may we
meet somewhere! If you were thinking of me on that day, our
thoughts must have met either on the Brenner or at Inspruck; for I
was constantly thinking of you. Even without looking at the date of
this letter, you will at once perceive by its tone that I am in
Naples. I have not yet been able to compass one serious quiet
reflection, there is everywhere such jovial life here, inviting you
to do nothing, and to think of nothing, and even the example of so
many thousand people has an irresistible influence. I do not indeed
intend that this should continue, but I see plainly that it must go
on for the first few days. I stand for hours on my balcony, gazing
at Vesuvius and the Bay.
But I must now endeavour to resume my old descriptive style, or my
materials will accumulate so much that I shall become confused, and
I fear you may not be able to follow me properly. So much that is
novel crowds on me, that a journal would be requisite to detail to
you my life and my state of excitement. So I begin by acknowledging
that I deeply regretted leaving Rome. My life there was so quiet,
and yet so full of interest, having made many kind and friendly
acquaintances, with whom I had become so domesticated, that the
last days of my stay, with all their discomforts and perpetual
running about, seemed doubly odious. The last evening I went to
Vernet's to thank him for my portrait, which is now finished, and
to take leave of him. We had some music, talked politics, and
played chess, and then I went down the Monte Pincio to my own
house, packed up my things, and the next morning drove off with my
travelling companions. As I gazed out of the cabriolet at the
scenery, I could dream to my heart's desire. When we arrived at our
night quarters, we all went out walking. The two days glided past
more like a pleasure excursion than a journey.
The road from Rome to Naples is indeed the most luxuriant that I
know, and the whole mode of travelling most agreeable. You fly
through the plain; for a very slight gratuity the postilions gallop
their horses like mad, which is very advisable in the Marshes. If
you wish to contemplate the scenery, you have only to abstain from
offering any gratuity, and you are soon driven slowly enough. The
road from Albano, by Ariccia and Genzano, as far as Velletri, runs
between hills, and is shaded by trees of every kind; uphill and
downhill, through avenues of elms, past monasteries and shrines. On
one side is the Campagna, with its heather, and its bright hues;
beyond comes the sea, glittering charmingly in the sunshine, and
above, the clearest sky; for since Sunday morning the weather has
been glorious.
Well! we drove into Velletri, our night quarters, where a great
Church festival was going on. Handsome women with primitive faces
were pacing the alleys in groups, and men were standing together
wrapped in cloaks, in the street. The church was decorated with
garlands of green leaves, and as we drove past it we heard the
sounds of a double bass and some violins; fireworks were prepared
in the square; the sun went down clear and serene, and the Pontine
Marshes, with their thousand colours, and the rocks rearing their
heads one by one against the horizon, indicated the course we were
to pursue on the following day. After supper I resolved to go out
again for a short time, and discovered a kind of illumination; the
streets were swarming with people, and when I at last came to the
spot where the church stood, I saw, on turning the corner, that the
whole street had burning torches on each side, and in the middle
the people were walking up and down, crowding together, and pleased
to see each other so distinctly at night. I cannot tell you what a
pretty sight it was. The concourse was greatest before the church;
I pressed forward into it along with the rest. The little building
was filled with people kneeling, adoring the Host, which was
exposed; no one spoke a word, nor was there any music. This
stillness, the lighted church, and the many kneeling women with
white handkerchiefs on their heads, and white gowns, had a striking
effect. When I left the church a shrewd, handsome Italian boy
explained the whole festival, assuring me that it would have been
far finer had it not been for the recent disturbances, for they had
been the cause of depriving the people of the horseraces, and
barrels of pitch, etc., and on this account it was unlucky that the
Austrians had not come sooner.
The following morning, at six o'clock, we pursued our way through
the Pontine Marshes. It is a species of Bergstrasse. You drive
through a straight avenue of trees along a plain. On one side of
the avenue is a continued chain of hills, on the other the Marshes.
They are, however, covered with innumerable flowers, which smell
very sweet; but in the long-run this becomes very stupefying, and I
distinctly felt the oppression of the atmosphere, in spite of the
fine weather. A canal runs along beside the _chaussee_, constructed
by the orders of Pius VI. to form a conduit for the marshes, where
we saw a number of buffaloes wallowing, their heads emerging out of
the water, and apparently enjoying themselves. The straight, level
road has a singular appearance. You see the chain of hills at the
end of the avenue when you come to the first station, and again at
the second and third, the only difference being that as you advance
so many miles nearer, the hills loom gradually larger. Terracina,
which is situated exactly at the end of this avenue, is invisible
till you come quite close to it. On making a sudden turn to the
left, round the corner of a rock, the whole expanse of the sea lies
before you. Citron-gardens, and palms, and a variety of plants of
Southern growth, clothe the declivity in front of the town; towers
appearing above the thickets, and the harbour projecting into the
sea. To me, the finest object in nature is, and always will be,
the ocean. I love it almost more than the sky. Nothing in Naples
made a more enchanting impression on my mind than the sea, and I
always feel happy when I see before me the spacious surface of
waters.
The South, properly speaking, begins at Terracina. This is another
land, and every plant and every bush reminds you of it. Above all,
the two mighty ridges of hills delighted me, between which the road
runs; they were totally devoid of bushes or trees, but clothed
entirely with masses of golden wall-flowers, so that they had a
bright yellow hue, and the fragrance was almost too strong. There
is a great want of grass and large trees. The old robbers' nests of
Fondi and Itri looked very piratical and gloomy. The houses are
built against the walls of the rocks, and there are likewise some
large towers of the date of the Middle Ages. Many sentinels and
posts were stationed on the tops of the hills; but we made out our
journey without any adventure. We remained all night in Mola di
Gaeta; there we saw the renowned balcony whence you look over
orange and citron groves to the blue sea, with Vesuvius and the
islands in the far distance. This was on the 11th of April. As I
had been celebrating your birthday all day long in my own thoughts,
I could not in the evening resist informing my companions that it
was your birthday; so your health was drunk again and again. An old
Englishman, who was of the party, wished me a "happy return to my
sister." I emptied the glass to your health, and thought of you.
Remain unchanged till we meet again.
With such thoughts in my head, I went in the evening to the
citron-garden, close to the sea-shore, and listened to the waves
rolling in from afar, and breaking on the shore, and sometimes
gently rippling and splashing. It was indeed a heavenly night.
Among a thousand other thoughts, Grillparzer's poem recurred to my
memory, which it is almost impossible to set to music; for which
reason, I suppose, Fanny has composed a charming melody on it; but
I do not jest when I say that I sang the song over repeatedly to
myself, for I was standing on the very spot he describes. The sea
had subsided, and was now calm, and at rest; this was the first
song. The second followed next day, for the sea was like a meadow
or pure ether as you gazed at it, and pretty women nodded their
heads, and so did olives and cypresses; but they were all equally
brown, so I remained in a poetic mood.
What is it that shines through the leaves, and glitters like gold?
Only cartridges and sabres; for the King had been reviewing some
troops in Sant' Agata, and soldiers defiled on both sides of the
path, who had the more merit in my eyes because they resembled the
Prussians, and for a long time past I have seen only Papal
soldiers. Some carried dark-lanterns on their muskets, as they had
been marching all night. The whole effect was bold and gay. We now
came to a short rocky pass, from which you descend into the valley
of Campana, the most enchanting spot I have ever seen; it is like
a boundless garden, covered entirely with plants and vegetation as
far as the eye can reach. On one side are the blue outlines of the
sea, on the other an undulating range of hills above which snowy
peaks project; and at a great distance Vesuvius and the islands,
bathed in blue vapours, start up on the level surface; large
avenues of trees intersect the vast space, and a verdant growth
forces its way from under every stone. Everywhere you see grotesque
aloes and cactuses, and the fragrance and vegetation are quite
unparalleled.
The pleasure we enjoy in England through men, we here enjoy through
nature; and as there is no corner there, however small, of which
some one has not taken possession in order to cultivate and adorn
it, so here there is no spot which Nature has not appropriated,
bringing forth on it flowers and herbs, and all that is beautiful.
The Campana valley is fruitfulness itself. On the whole of the vast
immeasurable surface bounded in the far distance by blue hills and
a blue sea, nothing but green meets the eye. At last you come to
Capua. I cannot blame Hannibal for remaining too long there. From
Capua to Naples the road runs uninterruptedly between trees, with
hanging vines, till at the end of the avenue, Vesuvius, and the
sea, with Capri, and a mass of houses, lie before you. I am living
here in St. Lucia as if in heaven; for in the first place I see
before me Vesuvius, and the hills as far as Castellamare, and the
bay, and in the second place, I am living up three stories high.
Unfortunately that traitor Vesuvius does not smoke at all, and
looks precisely like any other fine mountain; but at night the
people float in lighted boats on the Bay, to catch sword-fish. This
has a pretty enough effect. Farewell!