Richard P. Stebbins, Ph.D

Home , Lake Albano, Monte Cavo, Pontine Islands, Pyramid of Cestius, South Wind (novel), Villa Mondragone

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Richard P. Stebbins, Ph.D.

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BRUN95(2)FM

ROMAN DIARY (Tagebuch fiber Rom)

FRIEDERIKE BRUN

with Engravings (mit Knpfern)

Second Part

(Volume TwoJ

Zurich

OrelI, FOssli und Compagnie

1801 ii

TABLE OF CONTENTS

The original Table of Contents for Volume II of the German edition is printed on pp. 427- 436 at the end of that volume, but an edited version is placed at the beginning of this translated volume for greater convenience of reference. AJ:, in Volume I, page references to the German edition are given at the end of each chapter entry in the Table of Contents, followed by the corresponding page numbers of the English translation. In the body of the translated text, an English page number appears at the top of each page, while the corresponding German page numbers are shown in square brackets at the appropriate points within the text. I.

Rome, March 28, 1796. Cold, snow, on blossoming trees. Angelica Kaufinann's childhood. Villa Lanti. St. Paul's Church. Casino Corsini, April 3. Feast of the Annunciation, and feast on the Palatine Hill, April 4. Gallery of the Palazzo Doria, April 7. Visit to the M.P. CI. (Museo Pio-Clementino), April 8. Spring of the Villa Pamphili, Aprill3. German, pp. 334; English, pp. 1-9.

II.

Trip to Frascati, Aprill3. Our dwelling; its view and neighborhood. Tusculurn; view from the mountain, April 15. Trip to Grotta Ferrata, April 16. Villa Mondragone; Monte Porcio, view, April 17. Villa Falconieri, April 18. Visit of the Roman mends, April 19. Birthday, April21. Camaldolensian Monastery, April 21. Trip to Lake Albano. Wood of Marino. View. Castel Gandolfo. Its situation and neighborhood. The Grottos of the Nymphs. The Emissary of the Alban Lake. Albano, April 22. Villa Aldovrandini. The monntain heights of Tusculum. Debris and ruins, April 24. Return to Rome, April 27. German, pp. 37-72; English, pp. 10-19.

ill.

May 2: Conversational matter in Rome. Palazzo Colonna. Paintings, statue. May 3: Sacristy of St. Peter's Church. May 4 (1): Corso to [Santa] Croce di Gerusalemme.. May 5-6: Approach of the separation from Rome. Snnset from the Maltese Priory. May 7: Trip to Grotta- Ferrata. Separation! May 8: Departure from Rome for Albano. The lake ofNemi. May 9: Ride to Pallazzuola. Nature. Situation of the Cloister. View. The way to Monte Cavo. Via Consularis. Ruins of the Temple of Jupiter. The beech tree. Villetri. Egyptian antiquities. May 10: Trip through the Pontine Marshes. Terracina. German, pp. 73-96; English, pp. 20-26.

IV.

May II: Trip from Fondi to Naples. Fondi, Mola di Gaeta, sea voyage. The Formian hills. Evening at sea. May 12: Departure. Capua. Nearing Naples. Naples. Dust. Noise. iii Strada di Toledo. The Mole. Chiaio. The sea. Vesuvius. Evening scene on the Bay of Naples. May 13: Morning. The Grotto ofPosillipo. The Vale ofPosillipo. View ofNisida and Pozzuoli. Trip to Portici. May 14: Virgil's Tomb and scenes nearby. May 15: My society in Naples. May 16: Trip via Portici Resina to Torre del Greco. Lava scenes there. Villa Mazzarine in Resina. The Favorite. The seashore below Portici. Trip home. Festival bustle of the Madonna del Largo. May 17: Sea voyage to Punto di Posillipo. Gaiolo. Clear sea. School of Virgil. Nisida. View. May 19: Trip onto the Vomero. Villa Patricio Heavenly situation. View. Gennan, pp. 97-138; English, pp. 27-38.

Naples (continuation). May 20: Thompson. Caroline Filangieri. FuJI moon over the Bay. May 21: Enjoyment of nature in Naples. Amphibious life. My existence in Naples. Friendliness of the people. Cleanliness of the streets. Belvedere. The view downward. Sunset. May 22: Anxieties. Trip to Punto di PosilJjpo. Cave of the Tritons. Wilhelm Tischbein; his Helena; his Goethe; his art cabinet. May 23: Sea voyage on the Bay. The boat full of young fisher fellows. Evening at the palace of Queen Jobanna. May 24: Cabinet of Sir [William] Hamilton. His residence. View from the air-cabinet. May 25: Visit to the brothers Philip and George Hackert. Chamcter of the Hackert paintings. Evening scenes in the Vale ofPosillipo. Mergellina. May 26: Corpus Christi festival. Procession. Populace. Beau monde. Parallels. The King. Facial formations. Strange weather. Kniep; completeness of his works. Ride on the spine ofPosillipo. Disappointment. May 27: Thompson's cabinet. Trip to the Lake of Agnano. Sulfur baths. Dogs' grotto. Pisciarelli. May 28: Trip to Pozzuoli. Temple ofSempis. Bad air; its resuJts. Sea voyage to Misenum. Cave ofTmconaria. Sea voyage. Tavern. People of Pozzuoli. Trip to the Solfatara; view from thence. Descent. Amphitheater. View from the CathedralofPozzuoli. German, pp. 139- 186; English, pp. 39-52.

May 30: Trip from Naples to Vietri and La Cava, and sojourn there. Dust, heat. Lava streams. Antique; old, new. Past Pompeii. ViewofStabio. ValleyofScaffaca. Noondayrest of the travel society. The good woman. The fine eyes. Nocera. Beauty ofthe locality. La Cava. Don Giovene. The way to Vietri; the tavern; embarrassment; help. May 31: Nature of the Valley of La Cava. Customs and education of the inhabitants. June 2: Corpus Christi festival of La Cava. A ride on the Ajutore hill; night testival of St. Ajntore of La Cava. June 39: Quiet stay in La Cava. June 10: Valle Molare. June II: Don Carluzzi. Grotta di Ponega. June 12: Long ride through Grotta di Ponegra, over the hill ofTraonea and down to Vietri. June 13: Sea voyage on the Bay of Salerno, Vietri, Liberatore. Moonlight over La Cava. June 14: Trip to the Abbacy of La Cava. Situation of the choister. German, pp. 187-258; English, pp. 5373. iv

VII.

Continuation of the stay in La Cava. June 15: trip via Vietri and Salerno to Torreone. June 17: Ride on the Liberatore mountain. June 19-20: Friendly visit. Evening scene on the Gulf of Salerno. June 21-23: Culture; industry; popular customs of Cava. June 26: Vineyard of Don Giovene. June 29: Departure from La Cava. Return journey. Arrival in Naples. Festival evening of Sts. Peter and Parn. Modern weight of Gallic swords. German, pp. 259-290; English, pp. 74-82.

Vill.

Naples in the first half of July 1796. Art works in Naples. Studios. The Maimon skeleton. Muse Umnia, Hercules Farnese. Collection of Mr. Rainer, Secretary of the Queen. Theseus and Pluto, busts. Paintings ofDomenichino and Titian. Campanian vassels. View. Porcelain manufactury. Venus, Agrippina, and the captive kings. Statues: Indian Bacchus, Euripides. Marcns Brutus, Homer, etc., busts. San Carlo Theater. The Todi. ~ The museumof Portici. Room of the ceramic vessels. Lectisternium, sacrificial table, watering pot, basin, tripod, etc. Room(s) oflamps, of the libmry, of weights, of busts, of candelabra. Kitchen of Pompeii. Room of foods. Room of Mercury; of the Sleeping Faun. Room of the masks and of Isis. Orestes and Iphigenia, a sketch. Helena. The Nolensian Vase. - Portici. Antique fresco paintings from Herculaneum and Pompeii. Model of the ancient theater of Pompeii. ~ Capo di Monte. Paintings by da Vinci, del Sarto, the Carmcci, Titian, Raphael. Sketch of the Last Judgment of Michael Angelo. Campanian vessels, gems, intaglios, coins, closed. View from Capo di Monte. - Scene of the Chiaio in Naples. Character of the social tone there. Filangieri; the fate of his mends. July 12: Excursion in the city. The Mole. Popular paintings. The fish market. Concert at Lady Hamilton's. German, pp. 291-334; English, pp. 83-97.

IX.

The Hermitage on Vesuvins. Jrny 14, 1796: Flight from Naples. Route viaPortici; situation; the way farther upward; contrast of Vesuvius and Somma. A look backward on the sea, Naples, and the islands. View of the seven new cmters of Atrio del Cavallo. The hermitage. Sunset over Campania Fe lice. The sea, the coasts and islands. July 15: Stormy morning; volcanic valley of Vetrano. Vegetation. View. The hermit, Father Domenico from Genoa. Afternoon: ride to Atrio del Cavallo. Burial place of the hermits. Evening observance. Jrny 16: Morning scene. Ride to the Bocce nuove. View from the edge of the cmter. Return to Naples. German, pp. 335-358; English, pp. 98-104. x.

Extract from the diary of my sojourn on the island of Ischia. July 18, 1796: Departure from Naples. The Castell del Uovo. Scene of the Bay. PosiJIipo. Nisida. Clear sea. Bridge of Caligula. Cape Misenum. View of Capri. Cape Martino. Bay of Gaeta. Vivam. Procyta v [procida]. Ischia. Lava surf The Castello. Borgo d'Ischia. Landing between Castiglione and Lacce. View from my accommodations. July 23: Pictures of Ischia. My life on the island. July 25: Continuation; complete solitude. Ride to Casamiccia; popular festival there. Return via Lacce. July 26: Villa of Prince Aqua-Vita; dryness; morning hours on Ischia. July 27: Sea voyage to Furia d'Ischia. View ofthe eastern part of the island; volcanic ruins. Jrny 28: The fleet. - August 5-6: Unusual drought. Tide on the Epomeo; view downward on the island; evening scene. August 7: Raindrops. August 8: Rain. Tasso. Morning; day; evening. August 10: Continuing the description of the island. August 11: Sea voyage to Borgo d'Ischia; description of the Lago del Re coast. The lava stream. Splendid sea views. Borgo d'Ischia. View from the platform of the Castell. Return home in the twilight. Observations. August 16: Temperament of the Ischians. August 17: Apearances of aerial and linear perspective. August 19: Seclusion. Trip to Furia d'Ischia; the village; the chapel. The ride back; cultivation ofthe land. August 20: Uncertainty. August 21: Thundery atmosphere; unusual light reflections; a little pilgrimage. August 22: Dolce far niente. August 23: Ride to the il Vosco crater. August 25: Denial of a passport to Sorrento, and ill humor. Augnst 26: The Ischians. Augnst 27: Farewell to Ischia. August 28: Departure. Procyta. Cara Rosa mia. Popular festival on Procyta; beauty of the people there; costumes of the women. The Bay of Naples. The dolphins. German, pp.359-426; English, pp. 105-125.

[The "Errata" pages at the end of Volume II of the German edition are omitted from this translation, the necessary corrections having been made in the English text] ROMAN DIARY, II 1 BRUN95] L

[p.3] Rome, March 28, 1796. The fine weather has flown away with the Settimana santa. - Here on the Pincio we are enjoying a kind of spring days that even people in Copenhagen wouJd complain about. Last night it actually snowed, and at eight o'clock this morning snow still lay on the gronnd in the little garden outside my window. Nearby were omnge trees glowing with ftuit and blossoms, flowering peach, pear and lemon trees. Only at sunset did I venture into the warm St. Peter's Church, which for me is now forever consecmted as the temple of holy remembrance. There, the gold of evening played in gracious reflections through the vaults, and even when it had long been dark around me at a lower level, the high cupola still glowed in deep reddish-purple. March 29. [p. 4] It is still bitterly cold! Warmly dressed, one can scarcely thaw ont even in the midday sun. The Campo d' Annibale is snow white, and the high Sabines glitter like glaciers in the snowy and icy air. The shivering Zoega became furious when I jubilantly imagined myself in Switzerland, while the heart of this veteran among the Romanized northerners was congealing. Giuntotardi accnses the numerous Danish colony that now lives here of having brought the Scandinavian spring over the Alps with us. March 30. Still cold, and now storm and rain! I have made this confession to you so that when I am again at home and sitting irritably behind the stove you can ask me, as you puJl my ear, "What was the freezing temperature in March 1796 in Rome?" I warmed myself in body and soul at Angelica's. We spent [p. 5] some hours in familiar chat. She told me of her childhood - and youth - I wish I couJd tell you so naively and sweetly in her own words! "Angelica Kauffmann was born in the Bregenz forest (Bregenzer-Wald). Between

Hohen-Embs and Feldkirch one sees on the left a high pymmidal hill; at its foot lies the village ofDornbirn. Adjoining the village, a path leads upward to the Bregenz forest; on it, one soon arrives at a lonely level area where lies, beneath ftuit trees on fresh Alpine meadows, and in deep solitude, the little village of Schwarzenberg; there Angelica was born, and there her family home still stands. She was named Angelica after a nun (Klosterfrau) ofSalis-Seewis. Who was her mother's friend and her godmother (as our Salis had already told me, with smiling pride). She was and remained the one dear child of her parents. Her father was a painter, and completed pious pictures for the cloisters, and altarpieces for the [p. 6] small churches of Lombardy.

She early left the Alpine valley, whose sweet pictures of peace and innocence remained forever in her heart and mind. From an early age and often, her father took her with him on his occupational travels into upper Lombardy. Her artistic talent first showed itself when the poor little one had so much trouble in learning the angular Gothic letters and numbers in the children's primer -- whereas she assimilated and remembered more readily the essentials of the human countenance, which, in South Germany, adorn the primers of art-loving Nuremberg and are found, the profile moon-face, nose and ears, in multiple copies on household slates. The good parents understood the hint given by Nature; and Angelica early learned to draw under her father's supervision. ROMAN DIARY, II 2 Once her father took her to Milan. -- Her eyes still sparkled as from the reflection of the dawn that was then kindled in her young soul, [p. 7] as she now glimpsed a Holy Family of Raphael and the Last Supper ofLionardo. Trembling, glowing and in tears, she stood before the painting; the confused pictures of her imagination had been given life, and the wishes of her heart a goal!

Often on her many trips over the Alps she returned for weeks and months to her ancestml valley, and gladly would she have ended her life there, had the climate been less severe: "for people live there as innocent as children!" she added, describing to me the customs of the simple mountain folk, and their picturesque costumes, in lovely heartfelt tones! She was sad to learn that a carriage road, instead of the narrow footpath, now leads to Schwarzenberg: "If only innocence and truth do not now also mpidly forsake the land!" she feelingly sighed. April L

On this day, which again brought fine weather, we made a trip to the Villa [p. 8] Lanti, which lies on the northwestern slope of the Montorio. The view from the termce is unencompassably wide and fwl. One has the whole bow of the horizon, and within it Rome! Only, this view lacks charm. The multitudinous objects lie closely packed together, and nothing stands out. It was also not a favomble moment, for the midday sun beat down on the stony masses; what they call the garden of the villa consists of high stone terraces, so lacking even the shadow of a shadow that I became quite ill from the reflection of the sunbeams off the whitish stones. In departing by the villa's gate and immediately driving down, there opens through the vawting a view of St. Peter's between fine groups of trees. -- The Tiber, in this view, remains mysteriously hidden. The old Alban [Mountain] puffed clouds like a volcano, as if he wanted to assert his old character; and heavy mists blew across the sinking Campagna toward the sea. [p.9] In the afternoon, we mends visited together the tomb of [Cecilia] Metella. It was quite definitely cool; but the air was pure, and the views into the hills were capriciously illuminated by broken cloud reflections. Here and there, from Sabina's far-off mountain clefts, the white clouds flowed down like incipient glaciers; a reddish purple soon colored the fine squared stones of the mausoleum, and settled on the everywhere visible grave monuments of the Via Appia, where we thoughtfully wandered. We drove back via St. Paw's in a sinking twilight that spread deep vaporous tints of violet over the distant hills. April 2. How lovely it is to breathe the pure spring morning air on Triniti dei Monti; then to visit the dear neighbor Angelica, who conducted me in fiiendly fashion to her little garden, where she wanders maiden-tenderly [p. 10] among the flowers (and only one who knows Angelica can apply this expression to a woman of fifty-four years)! Villa Borghese. Here, where now all spring gods and graces flit about the little lake and on the wings of the gliding silver swans, or cradle themselves on tender shoots of the weeping willow (which forgets to be what its name implies) and the gold-draped citysus, and swing with the breezes! I sank into a deeply split stone-oak (quercus sessiliflora), and looked with intoxication at all the splendor and beauty, while Lotte tried to coax the tame swans on the picturesque bank.

St. Paul's Church. In the afternoon Zoega and I made a pilgrimage to this noble and ROMAN DIARY, II 3 favorite temple of ours. The sun was declining as we entered, and all of the tall, slender columns shone in the golden light that came through the high windows of the vestibule. From the lonely grass-grown outer court, we looked at the simple facade and forgot, in the [p.ll] high simplicity of the whole, the trivial additions oflater times.

I now entered the church, as though it were the first time (for when it is closed, one is always made to enter from behind, through the choir), and wandered about in the ancient grove of columns in order to seek out for myself the one flawless beauty among them, the Venus de'

Medici among columns, with which our noble Luise lately fell fatally in love. She (the column in question) was not among the twenty-four bewitching nymphs from Hadrian's tomb -- which stand in double rows, thirteen on the right and eleven on the left side of the nave, with the elegant halt:. channeling, the rounded body (presumably because of the lntercolumnium around the round tomb), with the dainty trefoil decoration and the small Attic foot. Noble is the colossal smooth column on the left, by the entrance into the tribnne; but elegance and nobility separated do not make a Venus.

I [p.12] now renounced the honor of finding the goddess myself, and after Zoega had had his fill of laughing at me, he had me ask the young monk who was guiding us, "To the fairest of the fair?" The latter conducted me inside the tribune to the left, where between a great bootic' Minerva and a stiff Juno stands a really very beautiful, most pure and gently grown column of Cippolino. -- Thefairest of the fair! We seated ourselves on the great base of the immense column of Granito rosso, in function presumably an old honomry column (for in Rome there was no Temple of the Giants [Tempio dei Giganti]). There are 130 old columns standing in St Paul's Church; the 44 of the second row of columns in the nave are from the time ofTheodosius and not antique.

The sun had already set, and only the unhealthy evening mists in this locality could have removed us from the building, where I wouJd willingly have awaited the last dusk of this columnar forest! Delightful was the homeward journey in the evening twilight and mild [p.13] air, and the greening Tiber banks lay lightly aligned above the mirroring stream. April 3.

Casino Corsini. In this Olympian hall, our dear (female) friend plays hostess; and you shouJd just see how magnificently it clothes her, when she, the friendliest of Junos, hospitably receives us, and gives to us poor mortals the fullness of the nectar ofOrvieto, which (I know not how) is always linked with the darling of the Muses - probably out of gmtitude for the loveliest of the Fauns' songs! Today's air was very mild and gentle, but the sky was covered with moving seas of clouds, which gradually covered the monntainous horizon that opened widely around us. Here and there, beams of sunlight part the clouds, and there suddenly appears a distant highland, or a shimmering snow ridge, or a reddish cliff summit. Soon it rained over Marino, then over Tivoli and Monticelli; [p.14] but we from our 01ympus quietly surveyed the restless activity of the Jupiter of the lower atmosphere. And a splendid sunset was granted us. - Pure and cloudless, cloaked only in a glowing

'German boo tisch, presumably related to the constellation Bootes,from the Greek word for herdsman or plowman. (Translator's note. ) ROMAN DIARY, II 4 veil of mist, the sun sank for us, and solemnly declined into the tops of the pine trees! At this moment, my Louise gave me her picture, and asked me, "in seeing it, to think often of this hour." That is why, in V******, you saw my eye, misted in sadness, dwell on the loved picture in a sweet dream of remembrance. Beautiful was this sunset - but, as the season advances, the twilights grow higher and more animated; in June, Jwy and August the twilight unfolds all its magic over the Campagna.

April 4. Today is the ABsumption of Mary, and a great festival. The Pope rides on a white, splendidly caparisoned horse, accompanied by nephews and cardinals; the procession goes [p.17] to the Church of (Santa) Maria sopra Minerva, where today 400 young girls are provided for (ausgestattet) and the Pope gets 3000 Scudi for the Mass which he reads. I wowd gladly have gone to the church, to see pretty Roman maidens, but the crowd made it impossible for me. The procession went past us, the Pope and the Cardinals, the former carried in the sedan chair, the latter driven; the horses followed, with only Duke Braschi riding. His face is extremely repwsive; crude pride and harshness are its principal features - the people crowding around accompanied him with heavy silence and angry looks. It is said quite openly that he delivers grain to the French by way of Ostia while the people of the Campagna are starving! I too gave my small circle of Roman friends a little feast on the Palatine, at which however various Olympians were ungmcious to me. First was Jupiter Pluvius! The sky was azure blue, the tables were already set in the shadow of the oaks [p.16] amid the fragments of the marble columns, with a flowery seat prepared for my Louise; and flower petals were strewn on the table, when from a cheerful sky it suddenly began to rain! Now, tables, chairs, glasses, plates, guests and hostess fled into the narrow quarters of the superintendant of the Farnese Gardens. Here we pitted inward joyfulness and confidential chatter against the somber heaven, and the rose of friendship and comradely jesting spread its fragrance.

Say, which of the gods could we have offended in this way? And yet the smiling Dionysos showed his ire -- and treated us, under the guise of Sarmiento, ostensibly the most honorable of hosts, to wine that was stupefYing to us and adulterated with nocturnal herbs. __ The Graces, and Aesculapius in the person of Domeier, watched over your (female) friends! M*******n [Matthisson?] apparently was preserved by the faun's song and by insidious familiarity with the friend from Orvieto [i.e., the wine]; Count M*****r was rescued by his refined artistic sense, which here sensed art where he was seeking Nature. -- Only our [p. 17] two beloved antiquarians were protected by no god and no daemon! The disguised Bacchus did his work, without having accorded them the pleasure of gmtification (for both are very temperate), and there soon began a bacchanal in which the two mends (who certainly had blasphemed a Bacchus torso, degrading it to something like an Antinous), put on the most comic of all scenes for the others who were either half or completely sober. I had my place at table between the two of them. The drunken performance (Riiuychgen) of the noble D**** began with the full-flooding praise of his mends in the distant Fatherland, and his memory did not betray him in the service [i.e., did not lead him to omit acknowledgment] of any friendship. With happy impetuosity its name resounded from his already stammering mouth! H**t [Hirt] returued to the Swabian meadows and his beloved relations. But there now began a dispute between the two enthusiasts which will remain unique since people have disputed under the snn without mutual understanding, simply to hear. Z***a [Zoega] asserted that in Goethe's tale of the green serpent [p. 18] (which he had read the evening before), he had found all the wisdom of the ancient ROMAN DIARY, II 5 Egyptians, and the so long vainly sought-after meaning of all the Alexandrian and Theban obelisks. H**t maintained that the constitution ofthe Swabian imperial cities was the most perfect since Solon and Minos founded states and gave laws. There, he said, the Franks had found the one first-rate model and realized all their ideal dreams! Both supported their contentions with profound argrunents and brilliant proofs. Neither heard a syllable of what the other was saying -- each [however] imagined he was being contradicted, and it was only their mutual tolerance and old friendship that kept them at peace. But we others were dying of laughter, and thus far felt no grudge against Bacchus Sarmiento for having somewhat adwterated the Vino d'Orvieto; but when we went outdoors, the weather having improved, and when our friends became deathly sick on the marble benches and also, when those who had merely [p. 19] tasted the wine got headaches and stomachaches, I decided to tell you all this, so that you cowd warn other foreigners of the tricks of the Roman Bacchus Sarmiento of the Spanish Square.

After sending home our poor sick comrades with their doctor, we remained under the oak trees, whose blackish green was set offby a fine carob tree (Johannisbrodtbaum) with pretty leafage. Two by two we wandered beneath the shady oak aisles of the Gallery, as far as the steep Velia, where the house of Public 01 a once stood above the Lupercalia. During coffee, the friends played around with the children among the fragmentary columns, entablatures, sarcophagi and bas-reliefs, leading to the formation of quite wonderful groups. Then we went to the southern terrace to enjoy the beautifw evening. In the northern gallery of the imperial palaces, Domitian, according to Suetonins, had the marble walls polished to such a point that [p. 20] like mirrors they reflected all attitudes and gestures beside and behind him. -- How anxiously must his slowly ensnared sacrificial victims have trembled, where everything about them became a traitor, and even inanimate Nature had to serve the miserable cowardly tyrant. The evening was charming! Here, where blossoms adorued the ruins even in January, the most luxuriant fwlness of plant life is now poured out. Over and under each other, unfolded and mixed, new life exhales its fragrance, breathes and shines through the immense ruins! Oak, elm, palm, olive, almond, peach, pear and apple trees bloom and interspersedly display their green leafage! The grapevine buds and breathes; the aloe hangs down picturesquely; the tender gold blooms of the broom and citysus families glisten out of dark shadows! We went home sated with joy.

April5. Scirocco. Then one takes refuge in the churches and the darkest palaces in order to breathe. [p. 21 J In the church of [San] Luigi de' Francesi there is a most gracious little Madonna with Child by Correggio; the child in particular is divinely beautiful and childishly tender. April 6.

With the friends, I visited the Gabinum Museum. We found particularly interesting today (I) the bust of the youngest daughter of Marcus Agrippa, later the wife of Tiberi us. A most interesting little face, tender, naIve and yet full of strength and firmness, bordering closely on the capricious. She is M******'s chosen darling. (2) Tiberius as a youthful bust, a well-formed face, but how the demon of cold malice, on the right side, peeps out in the very slightly distorted mouth and in one eye of the youth! (3) Tiberius as a man with the citizens' crown; here all traits are explicit, and no one can any longer mistake the Satan! (4) Fine bust of Marcus Aurelius as a ROMAN DIARY, II 6 youth. (5) Next to it a statue of Commodus, also as a youth [p. 22] and, unfortunately, only too like his father [Marcus Aurelius]; but he is characterized nevertheless by the stiff staring eyes and the slackness of the features. (6) I also immediately recognized Lucilla as Marcus Aurelius' daughter. -- How painfwly instructive it is to follow these family traits. Unhappy Marcus Aurelius! Unhappy in wife and children, and yet father of your peoples!

In the afternoon we visited the cast of the supercolossal Hercules of Canova. He is hurling Lichas into the sea. A bold imagination, insufficiently restmined by mature judgment, seems to me to characterize this work. Professional artists criticize him for a lack of deeper study of the nude anatomy, and of the law of gravity. This last I felt in the anxiety with which I passed the huge overhanging mass of the Hercwes. This subject would have been, since the ancients, a subject suitable only for Michael Angelo.

[p.23] April 7. The Doria Palace and Gallery; today with mend Hetsch. This is one of the most interesting, as well as one of the biggest and most brilliant painting collections of Rome. llike it particularly because the outstanding landscapes of the great artists with which it is embellished always offer such lovely resting places after the exhausting enjoyment of historical painting. Here are Orizontes - Annibale Carraccios - Guaspre [sic: Gaspard] Poussins _ W ouwerrnanns, Rubenses and splendid Claude Lorrains. Even the vestibules are adorned with a luxurious splendor of what in part are very good decomtive paintings. Today I squeeze out (entschOpfe) only drops from the great gallery.

(I) Mary visits Elizabeth; large painting by Garofalo. The Elizabeth is a majestic Sibyl, full oflofty intellect and inner strength. Mary stands modestly before her, with her inexpressihly tender and earnestly formed little head gently bowed. It is the fecnndated [p. 24] Aquileia. Anna behind her is drawn so largely (grandioso), and so masterfully and picturesquely draped, and the old Zacharias a graybeard, that even Raphael could not depict more splendidly. The loveliest color harmony, and the quietly conscientious execution characterize this, like most of the paintings of the sturdy Garofalo. (2) Next to it hangs a heavenly lily of a Madonna in ethereal vesture of Sasso Ferrato. (3) A quietly felt Claude Lorrain with gently overrnisted mountain distance, on which the afternoon light begins to sink. The foreground is cool and cozily inviting.

(4-7) There now follow four splendid landscapes by the great Annibale [CarracciJ, in which he depicts historical episodes with miniature figures in the most charming way. First: A boldly willowed {kiihngesiiulter} wood; moving clouds pour dusk among the shadows, and the trees sway in the wind; beneath are splendid figures, lightly strewn. Second: Assumption of the Madonna. An open wood-meadow lies there; [p. 25] the holy mends and apostles look with astonishment into the empty sarcophagus; in the distance rolls the dark blue sea. It is before sunrise, and early tremors wander over the waves and rustle in the high grove. On the right, the sun rises behind irradiated mountain ridges. Everything is held in expectant stillness; but the Madonna floats high over the dark sea, upward in blue airy spaces in a halo of morning radiance, light and love! Her figure is quite spread out in blessed rapture, fwl of joy and eternal love! Around her press gracious angels, among whom I particularly single out the one on the right in green raiment. Third: Adoration of the Magi, in a fresh landscape under splendid trees. Here the groups are as animated as possible, and among them delicious youths', women's and old men's heads. Fourth: The Birth of Christ This, like the ABsumption of the Madonna, is ROMAN DIARY f II 7 delightful poetry. A spreading twilight field rests in solemn stillness, dimly illuminated by the setting new moon [p. 26] and by the streaming radiance of the angelic band, who, floating in sweet harmonies, herald salvation and peace to men. Far away over the nocturnal region, the heavenly messengers of joy descend to the innocent shepherds. (8) A wonderfuJly beautiful Claude Lorrain. The sun pours a dull silver light through the clouds onto a flooding sea; the left foreground is filled by a royal tree which spreads shadows and coolness all around, while on the right a temple rises in purest sunshine.

(9) A large landscape, which the purest sense of Nature elicited (? entzauberte) from the truth. It is the gentlest harmony in color tones that draws you irresistibly into these distances; by Claude. (10) Some bold and far-flung perspectives with a solemn wood foreground, by Guaspre (Gaspard) Poussin, who for me is unique in this geme.

(II) Splendid landscape by Rubens: two meadow-hills slope downward to form a fresh green valley-bosom, where a herd of fine horned [p. 27] cattle are crossing to a nearby watering place. A pure evening light lingers on the meadow heights, which shimmer gold-green; one sees the heavily corpulent cattle wandering; a very simple and pure sense of Nature speaks from this landscape. (12) A Claude, in his first manner. The distance is less tender and melting, but very definite and drawn with truth to Nature. (13) A fine small Holy Family, I believe by Francesco da Immola.

(14) Some remarkable paintings by Holbein and Durer, on which our patriotic hearts lovingly lingered.

(15) Famous portmit ofJohanna by Lionardo. In it one recognizes without difficulty the original of his Vanity in the Barberini Palace. It is inexpressibly "finished" (for me a litle too much so). Drapery and jewelry are really there, and one takes hold of the purple velvet; the rather flat face is raised by the compelling Venus eye. (16) Splendid portraits by Van Dyke, Titian and Rubens. These were after all undoubtedly the greatest portrait [p. 28] painters of all time, and I would let go all of their historical paintings that I know (I was never in Dusseldorf and Antwerp) for their portraits -- in which there is a life, truth and naturalness without equal; while their "Ideal" almost always sinks down to the most commonplace Nature (in which, however, I except some lovely Madonnas of Van Dyke and some Descents from the Cross by Rubens). As evidence of what I have said was (17) a Sacrifice ofIsaac, by Titian. The body ofIsaac is real veal, and only a little puftY, in addition; Abraham is vulgar, like the first best corporal. The angel, who would not be so bad otherwise, has sprained his left arm. I pass over a large number ofGuidos, Orizontes, Garofalos, etc. And yet we have still not reached the end of the Great Gallery, behind which are situated a large number of richly upholstered cabinets; but I am at the end of my strength, and to my extreme joy mend Hetsch had to admit that he too had had enough! confessing [p. 29] to me also that to him, too, esthetic overloads were no less oppressive than bodily ones. When I exceed my measure, I become (in God's name, as the Bemese say) seasick; but to this point I have never, out of respect for art, ROMAN DIARY, II 8

quite allowed it to develop.

In the afternoon I drove with the beloved (female) friend to the Tiber, near the Tomb of the Nasos. The fresh green of the meadows in the little valleys (Thalgen) on the Annio, the Colle dei Venti (Hill of the Winds), and the Mons sacer (Sacred Mount) shone delightfully in the gold of evening; the blooming pear trees and the tender peaches and the almond treetops cast Elysian shadows. -- Ah! what a paradise this Campagna could be, with better development (Anbau), with its hills rolling a thousand ways! For it is, in the charm even of unimproved fonnation (der unbekleideten Bildung), as in beautiful surroundings of hills and splendid distances, uniquely beautifw and varied [ even] in its raw form.

[p.30] April 8. Today the mends, my Cicerones, my Winckelmann, were in the P.CC [PioClementinoJ Museum. They had been accompanied there by the Apostle Hirt; but I had been there twice alone as a freebooter. In the Animals' Room we became children. (I) The Camel's Head seemed to us to bleat out that dreadful "Che vouoi" in Cazotte's Devil-Love. (2) The Sow with Piglets is unsurpassable; perhaps the Pallanteian Sow [Sow of Pallas] of the Aeneid? (3) By the Ass's Head that is about to bray, I had to cover my ears; for in all eternity I do not accustom myselfto this nerve-racking outcry. (4) A fine gray cow. (5) Frightful truth in the allegory of the god of annihilation, Mithras.

In the Muses' Room, [I noted the] fine expression of the so-called Herms of Alcibiades and ABpasia. Great Gallery. (I) The lovely Hygieia. (2) The Gmcious Maiden, restored as a Danaide. (3) The coldly handsome Paris.. (4) The famous [p. 31] Genius: for me, in his cold, expressionless, flawless beauty, as much too etiolated (niichtern) as the Winckelmann-Borghese one is too well nourished. In the next room, Busts: (I) Titus. With real discomfort we discovered features of Vitellius in this face. (2) Frightfully expressive head of Camcalla. (3) Good, hearty Antoninus Pius! How gladly I linger before you! I never can pass him without a secret caress. (4) Nero Bust, travestied as a laurel-crowned Apollo; but unmistakable. (5) Messalina, said to be very like Madame R**z from B****n [Berlin?], who is completing her studies here. But it is undeniable that this bust is astonishingly like Catharine II. (6) Corbulo, whom one finds everywhere, who bores me, and with whom I am also annoyed that he has the nerve to give himself out to be Marcus Brutus, that is, the so-called Marcus Brutus of the Capitol We now went through the open gallery [p.32] which has the splendid view of the Janiculus. Here Juno sits as wetnurse to a young Domitian, Nero, Commodus, or some other scapegrace (Friichtgens) of that nature. Ah! the Queen of Olympus has come a long way!

Fine cabinet, with the porphyry chairs (the steam chair) and the fine antique mosaic floor.

In another cabinet, (I) Hecate with swung torch: lovely figure, chaste garment, pure outline of the limbs. The head is put on, the arms restored, so the lovely statue was prohably very arbitrarily named. (2) Venus Genitrix; a fwlness of participatory life swells out beneath the beltless garment, in enticing but not noble outlines. Also the eye and also the flat smiling unthinking forehead, and the sensuous mouth -- everything speaks; and this is not Prnxiteles' divine mother oflove!! The damp garment clings to the limbs. -- Oh how much more chaste is ROMAN DIARY, II 9 [p. 33] the unclothed Venus de' Medici! (3) Very well preserved statue of Adonis, fwly formed but not yet sowed (noch unbeseelt). Not that tender glow, not that pensive recollection of sweet experiences of the charming darling of the Chigi Palace. (4) The Paris, opposite him, already has much more awareness, with much less capacity for feeling. Upper Part of the Museum. (l) The two splendid porphyry sarcophagi: that of Constantia, from her gmve monument, decorated with the same vines and grapes, and, probably, that of Constantine in the Upper Rotunda. (2) The Discus Thrower. (3) The tightly belted Charioteer. (4) The Circus Car (Zirkuswagen). (5) A fine youthful Bacchns, whose soft outlines verge on girlishness. (6) A fine old man's statue of the Indian Bacchus (in figure very Ike my late father).

Lower Room. (I) Chloris, the pale, youngest and only surviving daughter of Niobe. A distance runner in Olympia, she appears as [p. 34] victorious palm-bearer. Pure virginal quality of the forms and face.

We now took refuge in the gardem, plucking our laps and bosoms fwl of the late violets and the lovely Cyclamen Europeum, with which the lawn of the Vatican Gardens is covered.

April 13. I spent this day happily and alone in my dear Villa Pamphili. The high flower-grass of the great meadows under the pines is already being mowed. How the breath of the Aura breathed through the fmgrant grass, which soon sank audibly under the sickle; how the aether shone through the pines' umbrellas! The four great Babylonian pastures are after all unique in their complaining beauty; their tender locks float on the lagoon; they seem to breathe. For some hours I lay in the high flower-grass, and let myself be at ease with the flowers and blossoms. Only the elms, mulberries and plane-trees bud first, bristling inflexibly; all other shrubs and trees blossom and turn green. 10

BFlUN95],continued II. TRIP TO FRESCATI (FRASCATI) AND SOJOURN THERE. April 13, 1796. (p. 37] And Frascati? How do you like it? How can one live so long in Rome, without having been in Frascati? Without having seen the birth country of the Catos - the place of exile of the Tarquins, and Cicero's chosen refuge? Patience, dear impatient soul! Today we have broken camp! It will be difficult to separate from our loved mends! So close to the great separation! But were the faithless ones not without me in Pompeia's vaults? Without me in Paestum's temples? I must, as you know, always become angry in order to come to a prompt and sensible resolution - so I awaken the slumbering recollection, and off we go! [p.38] It is a fine day, between spring and summer! As we gradually ascend from the Campagna into the lovely hill country, the airs blow cooler against us; these fruitfw terraces gradually separate themselves from the highlands. Powerfwly the wooded Alban Mountain raises itself ever higher on our right hand! The foothills receive us in the gentle shadows of the olive groves, between which the budding vines are beginning to turn green. Here stand pear, cherry and plum trees, just in their first bloom; we are rising into a rejuvenated spring; many trees which around Flome already cast a shadow are here just showing their swelling buds. While they were occupying my rented cottage just at the end ofFrascati, I bestrode the terrace of the Villa Conti, which is celebrated for its very broad view. On the left lies the silver shining sea, girdling the Roman plain; just before me lies Rome, embedded in its Campagna. Rome. (p. 39] seen in perspective through the telescope of Tivoli's gorge, seems magically raised up: charmingly the tender green carpeting of wheat swells up the hillside beneath the pale yellow- green olive trees; below on the hillside are greening the alder and the hornbeam. Here on the slope of the mountain, oaks, mulberries, sycamores and plane trees are still without leaves. We have found a little nest just such as I wowd wish; quite isolated at the end of the town, near where the Tusculan hill rises steeply. In the middle between the Piccolomini and Taverna villas. The former is so close that its gateway is only forty paces from the door of my corner house. Before my windows is the curved back of the hill with the splendid palaces of the Aldovrandini and Ruffinelli villas, and high above lies the Capuchin monastery. From pine, oak and plane groves, shot through with splendid groups of cypresses, the palaces shine down from high above the vineyards and olive groves. The country road runs near the house, (p. 40] girdling the hillsides. From there, in the glow of evening, I overlooked the channing valley between the hills of Algidus and Tibur; recognize the whitish Solfatara, and follow the course of the Annio. The three Monticelli stand in the dark plum fragrance; and far above Tivoli, the snow of the high mountains sparkles in Sabina. We are snugly comfortable here. All the villas stand empty, and are mine! For the Roman, alienated from Nature, kills these pamdisiacal days, in the city - but to the foreigners (especially the German) everything stands open. April 15. Straight from bed, wandering for pleasure beneath the sunlit laurels of my Villa Piccolomini while reading in the English Memorabilia ofXenophon, I enjoyed the delightful view and breathed the balsam ofthe Ausonian [Italian] airs. 11

Tusculum. We hurried to reach the bare meadow-summit of the old hiIJ before the heat we feared to encounter. [p. 41] The way up is wonderfully beautiful: one rides in part through the Piccolomini, Falconieri, Aldovrandini and Ruffinelli villas, and through the groves of the Capuchin monastery. The whole plant world is green and fragrant, blooms, buds and unfolds itself1 Beneath the darkly gleaming Laurlls Cera~w;, Viburnum and the Daphnian laurel, the Cytisw; Laburnum and Niger, and the tree-high Genista lower their clusters, umbels and golden wreaths. In the light shadow, the tender grass is covered with violets, Sinngriin, pansies, and the honey-scented varieties of the Orchis: the white, bright blue, and violet anemones, gently rocking on their slender stems, shine like the innocent glances of young beauties; and the charming Cyclamen winks, with backward combed locks, from the darkness of the boscage. Soon we climb to the bald summit ofthe Tusculan hill. With us determinedly climbs the old, darkly wooded Alban Mountain; [p. 42] with the bright green of a Swiss Alpine meadow, the Campo d' Annibale lies between the two mountain peaks, both crowned with oak and chestnut woods.

Separating the slopes of the Tusculan and Alban mountains is a little valley filled with grain fields, detached houses, and orchards, and the Valle delle Molare, named for the mill stream that flows through it. On the cliff-side hangs like a nest, beneath one peak of the Algidus, Rocca di Papa. Then follows the last height of the Jupiter Latialis, now called Monte Cavo. On the backbone of the declining heights lie Fajalo Albano, the wood-wreathed Castel Gandolfo, and lower down Marino. Beneath us at the foot of the mountain is Grotta Ferrata. A charming path winds down from our height into the valley. But we turn back to the height and reach the bald summit, where hung the municipality of Tuscwum. We still saw deeply vawted [p. 43] walls of great buildings. In the performance area (Szena) of the theater, whose seats one recognizes by the heightened earth wall, they were just plowing for the summer harvest; but the north wind, which we scarcely felt down below, howls around this barren peak, and I flee from this old transalpine friend. In riding down, we lingered on the terraces of the villas that seemed to float upon the mountain. All of them, from different directions, enjoy a splendid view of the hill-enclosed Campagna, and I plan to visit them mther often.

April 16. The morning air on these mountain slopes is as balmy and mild as the evening air is rough and severe. Accordingly, the nightingale sings until toward noon in the tenderly budding shadows of the plane trees and maples, whose complete unfolding is still delayed by the rough night winds. We drove to Grotta Ferrata. The way is inexpressibly delightfw; on the crescentshaped [p. 44] slope between the Tusculan and Alban mountains lies pleasant Frascati, with its cathedral church, its splendid villas, and the sturdy vegetation of its picturesque groves of trees. On the left side, in the direction of Monte Porcio, the proud VilJa Mondragone rises on one tip of the bow; toward the sea, there rises toward us the splendid ViJla Mont' Alto. A small and charming mountain cleft, picturesquely hewn out of the old volcano, nms down hill in front of the villa, and is filled with a luxuriant growth of fine trees; above the swaying treetops the eye bathes itself in the sea and Campagna, then floats far past Rome to the forget-me-not blue distances ofthe Apennines.

In Grotta Ferrata we visited the beloved friend of my youth, my dear Julie R. [Reventlow?]. Ah! Hesperian airs do not alleviate the prolonged sufferings that attacked her 12 amid the very spring of a most blooming life, enveloping the noble sufferer in a thousand transformations, yet without [p. 45] ever being able to suppress this high and tender spirit, or to fetter this Psyche always straining toward higher regions. The view from the balcony of my noble mend's residence, which lies unencumbered on the slope, is very extensive; for it is dominated in the north and west by the sinking Campagna and the sea; in the south and north, the nearby Monte Cavo rules the neighborhood, and one looks upward past vineyards and olive groves directly into the hanging Rocca di Papa.

We made our pleasant way back through the nearby wood - but ab! even in the woods they cut the trees, and neither god nor mortal defends the poor Dryads. Not only are the elm alleys everywhere cut, but they spare neither the olive trees, the holy primeval oaks, nor the mourning cypresses. Were notthis earth situated under this heaven, all these hills would long since have been bare - and will none the less soon be so in view of the ever-increasing shortage of wood. [p. 46] I spent the afternoon alone with my daughter in the nearby Villa Taverna. One looks from the olive hills into the charming in-between valley toward Tivoli, past the enigma of the Villa Hadriani and the silver-flashing Teverone. April 17.

Sunday. I held my morning pmyer with Carl, while the nightingale fluted from the oaken night of the Villa Piccolomini. Oh, sweet solitude! Oh, pure enjoyment of undisturbed self consciousness! - Oh blessed thought of all beloved before God! We visited the Villa Mondragone. All ways here are beautiful! The view from the (in the most literal sense) floating terrace of this eagle's nest is as great as it is bold, and encompasses three-quarters of the circle when one begins on the left with the sea. The heights of the Janicwus, the immortal Seven Hills sink down almost unnoticeable. Lightly flyaway the bright blue northern hill distances [p.47] ofViterbo, Radicofani, etc. Soracte swims like a rocky island in the hazy seas of the Campagna. The high ground of the Sabines shines in pure snow. This is the frame of the circle. The Monticelli are decoratively lined up on the right. Close behind them Tibur, shining white, on the edge of the deep mountain cleft. The outline of the Tiburtine hills is most picturesque, and the views into the far-offSabines are magically opened. The greater part of the Algidus, on whose stage we are standing, is overseen by us, with the fullness of its volcanic fruitfwness in oil and wine, and in the sturdy growth of the noblest trees.

The palace of the villa is tremendously large, as though hewn from the rock in the imposing Stilo rustico - desolate and unpoopled! We visited the echoing vawts and chambers in order to see the celebmted colossal bnsts of Antinous and the younger Fanstina; the former is wholly a portmit; admirably executed, so soft, pure, and the marble so [p. 48] warm; neck, ears and hair are most tenderly finished. The so-called Faustina looks like none of her namesakes; least of all like the attractive portmit bust of the fair sinner whom Wieland so paternally defends. Who would want to see that dainty being, these gently blurred, half childish features, in colossal format! But are these eyes antique? These dreadfw Oedipus hollows? Zoega: "Yes! The pupil was a glass insert" (presumably one of those consummate, diamond-bard [specimeus] that one still sees in Portici, and which we can no longer replicate, despite our vaunted chemistry). "The bronze border of the eye is still there; the pupil bas fallen out." The delightful Monte Porcio had signaled to us. And we rode thither, up and down through blossoming elm-hills. What a channing, pleasure-inviting land! Everything close at 13 hand and attainable without trouble. Everything half built-up, half nature, and beautiful for that very reason; for the outstandingly systematic cultivation may delight the statistician; [p. 49] the poet's wings are lowered before the ever-present plow of the harrow [Pflug der Egge], the spade; the painter [drops] brush and pallet from his band! Beneath the elms and the sinking of the hills, ever new views open on the legendary

Campagna, the mother of thoughts! Now nears us Monte Porcio, crowned with the little white town subject (like half of the Campagna) to Prince Borghese. We are in Monte Porcio - it is a miserable dirty nest, however whited up it looks from a distance; there is scarcely a foot's breadth to be found where one can stand and look around without nausea, beset by a begging, ragged, yellow, debilitated populace! Beautiful is the view into a lengthy, charmingly green valley in which lies the village of Collanna. Below us and nearby is the green hill, Monte Corrillo. All these round green hills crown the edge of the Algidus like a string of pearls.. Particularly attractive to me were the sharply [p. 50] delineated distances of the mountain chain above Subiaco, where the landscape painters do not grow tired of drawing, and where a more noble populace, true to the old Sabine name, lives in cooler valleys; where snow adorns the high rocky crags into July; where emerald-green cliff streams precipitate themselves into chestnut groves; where Horace lived - and to which I shall now not attain! April 18. We spent this day very quietly. I was alone in the high Villa Falconieri; all these gardens are lonely and neglected. The economic part, vineyards, olive plantations, frnit trees, meadow and grain land, is cared for and exploited. But the old display places, the once trimmed hedges of laurel- Tams-cypress, shrub-boxwood - these bushes of Laurus Cerasus, Viburnum, the Cytisus varieties, of roses, jasmine, among others - everything is left to itself and to the proliferating life of the plant-world, [p. 51] beneath this heaven, and inexpressibly beautiful! Only in late autumn [sic], before the Villeggiatura, are the paths cleaned up and cleared so that one can walk. A good spirit brought us here at just this moment, the most delightful among all those with which the smiling Hora blesses this land. On the terrace ofthe Villa Falconieri, in front ofthe architectumlly embellished peristyle of the building, stands a primeval group of the most splendid oaks and plane trees that my eye has ever beheld, in full and untouched beauty. Long did I linger here; above me the heaven was gently veiled, but bright sunshine played over the Campagna and lingered over Rome. The popmace here in Frascati is well educated, cheerful and fuendly, in conjunction with great poverty. The children are pretty and full of mischief, the quite young girls charming, the women soon faded! All beg, but without impatience - I waved a whole crowd away. "But you are all begging!" [p. 52] Sil, replied a woman, shrugging her shoulders; slama tutti poveril April 19. On this day our dear fuends Zoega and Giuntotardi surprised the (female) hermit of Frascati. I played the guide of the Tusculan Mountain, and led the dear guests, through the darling Villa Falconieri, to the panoramic terrace ofMondragone, where Zoega pointed out to me a few resting places in the broadly extended field of the past. (I) Between us and the white Zolfatara lies a little lake called the Lago di Pontano; there are the ruins of the town of Gabii, especially those of the temple of Juno, built in the old Etruscan style; (2) there lies the present day Colonna on the site of the ancient Labicum; (3) Grotta Ferrata was without doubt Cicero's favorite villa in the municipality ofTnsculum. The evening of this day was wonderfmly beautiful, and we saw from my neighboring villa the silver-gleaming sea and the warmly misted, 14

distant hills.

[p.53] April 20. The birthday of my first-born; it was twelve years ago that I became a mother - Oh! that I might become ever more worthy of it - and you, beloved first ftuit of my heart, might you bear fruit even as you blossom! The dear (female) mend appeared in grandmotherly fashion with the birthday cake, and Uncle M*n with a Roman twelve (actually Microscope) obelisk of porphyry, concerning which the joy of mother and son was equally great We took the dear ones beneath the oak and plane tree sanctuary of the Villa Falconieri We heard choruses of nightingales, like complaining voices of primeval times, resounding from within the flowery arbor of the acacias and the Cytisus, which displayed all the splendid coloring of spring beneath the mute solemnity of the cypresses and the umbrella of the high pines. Then I led them the delightfuJ way past Mondragone, Monte Porcio, Villa Taverna and Borghese and so home. Here there awaited us, beneath the laurel and oak shadows of the Piccolomini Garden, a [p. 54] festal meal! Flowering and budding wreaths adorned the seats and perfumed the viands and close above us a nightingale sang continuously from the laurel. We were very happy!

April 21. You wanted TnscuJum, and you shall have it entire! Today we rode up to the Camaldolensian cloister, high above the blooming villas; from there the way leads constantly uphill in narrow, stony, deeply sunken convolutions. The tracks were sunken between earth and tuff walls where we, as one-quarter or one-half minemlogists, believed we were discovering layers of volcanic tuff and puzzolana, and also lava and porous metallic-sounding slag.' [p. 55] Lonely, solemn and romantic is the situation of the cloister. It lies high above one ofthose rapidly sunken or broken-out clefts in the mountain, on its upper edge, shaded by a grove of elms, chestuuts and oaks. The view out and downward through the mvine, over the greening, deep-sunken little valley into the Campagna, was enchanting! Clouds and their shadows played their jugglers' game above, now flying away like insubstantial smoke, now forming airy gray islands. Not far away, in front of us, rose the highest rock comb of the Tusculan mountain. The most lovely blossoms dispensed their fragrance here above, especially violets, thyme and Mayran. On the ruined walls we found for the first time the modest Reseda, growing as a free child of nature, and in great quantities.

Afternoon. These abandoned villas are real labyrinths - only the main pathways are hewn out, but one easily penetrates the tendrils of the wild-growing shrubbery, and [p. 56] then finds old ornarnental installations which have again reverted to nature.. Thns I found today in the Villa Falconieri, high above the house and garden, a lonely lagoon, surrounded by high swaying cypresses. - The tops of the noble trees rose from the mirroring flood as from the lap of oblivion. - Everything was empty and solemnly still; only a few forgotten goldfish played unconcernedly in the water.

2To tell the truth, we then did not doubt at all! But since the German Neptunists since then have again put the Italian and Gallic Vulcanists under water, I find it advisable, today on July 18, 1800, to express doubt also. 15

The Alban Lake.

April 22. We drove in a light, open vehicle which combined with its lightness a respectable age, but with this last united also such extreme fmgility that we, returning safely that evening, promised it for its remaining lifetime (as far as depended on us) the dolce far niente in the carriage house. The morning was fine, also for Italy. On the hedges, the large-flowering, yellowish-red honeysuckle wavered in luxuriant garlands. The little feathered pink breathed sweet odors; we [p. 57] came by way of Grotta Ferrata to Marino! I shall never forget the entry into the wood of Marino, however much that is unforgettable I have seen and felt on this day! It had, the night before, turned green in a mild rain, the loveliest of sylvan glades! Ah! You know, you still feel this first enchanting moment of unfolding which nature confers on the plant world every spring - Ah! And confers but once on us poor humans! Ah! Which never appears to many a son of men and many a daughter of earth - for how many sink into the gmve, unloved, with tightly closed, withered bud of unopened life! But back to the beckoning present! The slender chestnuts and plane trees proudly uphold on their smooth trunks the delicately unfolding, brightly shining leafage, and form themselves above the lower hazelnut trees (though these are the tallest I have ever seen) into high-woven arches. Chestnuts, walnuts, oaks and elms are growing green together, and the darkly shining ivy extends its strong, [p.58] tightly embmcing arms up into the leaf'y crowns of the slender white oaks, hanging down from the outermost branches in long festoons and fluttering threads.

"Oh, Nature, how you reign beneath the southern sky!" By one of these trees we were completely deceived; we saw an oaken trunk, and high above on the branches a completely unfamiliar foliage! The ivy had climbed up on the side of this splendid tree that was turned away from us; had strangled it with its tough, net1ike tendrils, and now was triumphantly prolifemting on all the strongest branches and twigs ofthe tree, cloaking it to the fingertips in its deceptive gannent. The situation of the little Marino is indescribably charming; grouped around a freshly wooded cleft in the hill, it looks down into the green wilderness through which a little wood stream fonnerly murmured. Ah! Why, and by what means, was the fair Naiad ftightened away?

On leaving the Tempe of these groves, one finds oneself on a high ridge [p. 59] where on the right the gaze sinks over the waving gmin- and meadowland deep into the Campagna. Fresh and lively sea breezes blow against us; the sea with its deep blue encompasses the greening earth, and we distinguish the rolling billows of the shore; and yet five miles lie between us and the sea! On the left hand rests the Alban lake, protected by its high banks, a deeply sunken cloud- mirror. The funnel-shaped cliffs rise termce-like, each one wider, and reveal the alternating strata of rock and volcanic earth. Each level bears frnitful soil, planted on the sunny side with wine and ftuit trees. The ground rumbles hollowly beneath the rolling wheels. By the sound and sensation it was like driving over an underground vawt.

Castel Gandolfo. On this airy ridge lies the high mountain palace of the Pope; fair is its situation, and even fairer that of the nearby Villa Chigi. [p. 60] From the Cathedral square in the little village, the view over the lake between its abruptly sunken banks is most striking. I followed a little elm 16 shadowed footway behind the walls of Castel Gandolfo, from where one sees clearly over the lake's depression to Tivoli and Monticelli, while in the background proudly rises the high snow- covered Gennaro, the giant of the Sabines. Above the bank on the other side hangs, between mountain and lake on a narrow sliver of earth, white Pallazzuola, occupying the site of the very ancient Alba Longa; immediately above the wood-covered skull of the venerable Alban is enthroned the mother of Rome; to the right, downward on the mountain peak, appears Fajolo, then Albano charmingly embowered. Between the two stood the dreadfuJ Ferentine grove; on the left, Rocco di Papa hangs down the whitish cliffs, looking from all directions like ajackdaw's nest on a ruin. This view is arranged by nature for a great, capably imitative painting, and I am so [p. 61 J fortunate as to possess a worthy copy from the hand of the excellent painter Schmidt of Bayreuth.

The Nymphs' Grottos.

Too weak for walking in the heat, I entrusted myself to the sure steps of a patient long ear (donkey), who brought me uninjured down the steep and narrow path, on the funnel-shaped hollowed-out bank, between layers of tuff and puzzolana. Here nature reigns freely in the inner, northern bend of the rising cliffs, and pours all the charms of spring from an overflowing horn of blessings! Between blooming acacias; Cytisus, rose and whitethorn bushes, beneath shadowy vaults of the same, swaying above the flowery abyss, I gradually climbed down the ancient crater! Nightingales sang above me, and the great, dazzling white lily-iris bloomed unsullied among crowds of proliferating Cicuta and asphodel, flowers of Orcus which [p. 62] bloom in memory here on the edge of the extinguished mouth of Hell. After a half-hour of continuons descent, we stood on the narrow shore, between the high cliffs and the waves. Soon there open small meadows and fields, a flat built-on foreland (ein f/ach angebildetes Vorland); above it, a cliffside rises steeply, the old bank of the lake; this is underpinned by masonry fonndations, covered in part with bricks, in part with splendid, wellhewn stone blocks which looked to us like marble. Dark shrubbery grows downward from the rock-edge; ivy thickly carpets the white wall-ftagrnents. Here stood the great Villa ofDomitian - here in the lap of the gentlest, most beneficent nature, this monster lived his life of horror, designing death and betrayal for all noble and good people of Rome- the deeply sunken ruler of the world, who now trembled herself beneath the scourge of a cowardly tyrant. Two well-preserved grottos were visible here below. On the rocks above there are probably ruins, as on the Palatine; these [p. 63] however were so-called Nymphea, or baths dedicated to the nymphs of the Alban lake. The first is very similar to the Grotto of Egeria, on the Elmo, with small niches for bathtubs or statues on the sides, and a larger hall below. Here, too, the sweet Adianthum enwreaths the masonry; here, too, the water trickles down from the plumbing installations, now blocked by debris, and colors the stonework with a lovely hyacinth shade; above the nicely rounded opening of the hall, dark ivy falls like a rich carpet. Two mighty plane trees stand at the entrance of the hollow, spreading gentle dusk, and from the soft dark-light one looks upward into pure daylight and downward into the depths of the lake.

The second grotto is larger. Here there are two large niches in the depths; on the sides are smaller ones, perhaps for statues. On the left side is a hollow, apparently for a bath, since the opening to the main water-pipes is still visible. Everywhere [p. 64] still visible are marble stucco and complete net-shaped walls. I would gness that the largest grotto is about 40 feet deep, 20 feet wide and 30 feet high. Between the two grottoes and on both sides, the foundations extend for a long distance at the foot of the cliffs. 17

Emissary ofthe Alban Lake.

This venerable monument from Rome's best period has become a sacred relic through nature's local dominance, and the impression it makes is unique. We followed a little path close by the bank of the lake, often wetted by the gentle waves. Elms and alders shadow it with bright green. We soon found ourselves by a high quadmngular wall- a little harbor, sheltered by fine oaks, marks the outlet of the lake. Forget-me-not (finer, larger and more blue than I had ever seen), periwinkle, cyclame~ red and white clover, and climbing vetch bloom [p.65] in the high grass; lotus and acacia shine with golden clusters out of deep shadow. A little gate is opened, one descends a single step, and is received by high, very old walls built of powerful blocks of tuff and travertine, much like the venemble remains of the Cloaca Maxima at the well of Juturna. In the depths of the longish quadrangle is a broad archway (Halle) through which rushes the outgoing stream; one can follow it with the eye for some distance beneath the broken cliffs! Little candles stuck on a small shelf essayed to light the Acherontian vault, but soon disappeared in deep night, like the light of the antiquarians, on the dark time-stream of the primeval world! Outside, the waves of the lake whispered gently in and out through the opening of the channel; high on the edge ofthe firm wall, an oak tree has taken root and grown to gigantic size. The powerful trunk soon divides into two giant arms, which, [p. 66] full and luxuriantly green, not only cover the entire wall space but curve through the upper air to spread a holy shade all round.

Within is gentle shadow, and the deep blue of the aether penetrates only through quivering leaves. Outside, the nightingale calls from the blooming shrubbery. Ah! This working of nature above the ruins - this mother-faithfulness, enwreathing the sinking outcast with beauty and grace - these dreams of primeval times, pressed round by deeds, in this souJ-cmdling twilight stillness! One shudder after another ran through me - cautiously I returned to the light of day, where Ausonian air and bloorus and gentle sunshine received me like a fugitive from a ghostly chamber. With a full heart I thought of the noble Stollberg, whom I had followed hither, with his book in my hand - and this, after the laurel grotto of Pliny's villa, is the holiest shrine of memory - Ah! visited without you, dear ones - [p.67] and yet, loved clover-leaf, experienced with you!

I rode on a very rough path up the kettle-shaped banks. Here bloomed more abundantly in the shadow, amongst the asphodels and the Circuta, in its unspotted silver-white, the Psyche among flowers, the lovely lily-scented Iris, like spotless innocence just beneath the poisoned breath of vice. I recalled how in the Odyssey, Hermes brings the souls of the suitors (Freyer) to dark asphodel meadows of Hades. Regaining the heights, the pathway brings us most delightfully through the beautiful Barberini Gardens. From the top of the hill, one looks down on the enchantingly lovely slopes where the villas of the Romans lie scattered under dark groups of oaks and cypresses. Monte Savello and the green Bosco Doria lay beneath us. We followed with our eyes the emissary of the Alban lake as it advances through a break in the cliff-hills, throngh the Campagna [p. 68] to its junction with the Tiber, and thence as far as Fiumicino and the sea, where we overlooked the harbors of Nett uno and Anzio. 18

For lunch we remained in Albano, where in lieu of any refreslunent they offered us spoiled fishes. We drank mild Alban [wine], and ate bread. Albano is large, empty, deserted, decorated with neglected palaces and villas. Only the inhospitable (menschenverdrangend) show- places have remained over from Rome's Augustan century. Then they swarmed with slaves, now half-naked troops of beggars howl around them. After Innch (for a Siesta was impossible, despite extreme fatigue, on account of insects) we visited the so-called Tomb ofthe Horatians, a few hundred paces behind Albano on the way to Larricia (Aricia). For my eyes and taste, its form is most disagreeable; it is also enigmatic, so that I could not guess how it might formerly have looked - only that it cannot have been beautifw or dignified. It seemed to have more the stamp [p. 69] of late barbarian times than that of high antiquity, or of such a fine period of art as that ofPompejus (Pompey). But varions people believe it to be a monument dedicated to Pompey the Great by his wife, and to have consisted of five pointed towers (Spitzthiirmen) on a quadrangular base - symbols of his consulates and victories. The so-called Tomb of Ascanius, a picturesquely overgrown heap of ruins between Albano and Castel Gandolfo, is an unsolved mystery in the field of the ancient world.

The return journey in twilight and dusk, like the whole day, was most lovely; I was strangely affected in the quiet hour by the resonance of the ground, hollowed out by the volcanoes; especially in the majestic alley between Albano and Castel Gandolfo, and in the moonlit grove of Marino. When we had reached my dwelling, here too the fwl moon gmdually emerged from the hills, first slowly illuminating the olive summit, encircling it with a silver [p.70] border, then suddenly stepped upon the floating summit and poured a gentle daylight into the deeply darkened valley. I was healthy today, and did not pay for my joy by any bodily suffering! This gave me a thankful sense of well-being, which this heavenly evening heightened to sweetest melancholy.

April 24.

This day I rode through the Villa Aldovrnndini, first to the Belvedere beneath the far seen cypresses, where the prospect is splendid and the view far over Rome and the Campagna extends to the northern Apennines. In the west sparkles the sea; beneath me rest, with all the details of noble buildings and under charming groups of trees, the swelling grain, wine and meadow-hills, bedecked with pines, cypresses, oaks and plane-tree groves, and decoratively laid out in the broad amphitheater. This Alban hill is a uniquely beautiful dwelling-place, [p.71] which I, for the long run, would greatly prefer to Tivoli! for the plant life is finer and stronger here, and one has more space on these airy summits. But I wowd like to build myself a hennitage above the clefts of the Annio. How noble here is the view downward to the bold Villa Mont' Alto, on the green groves of Grotta Ferrata and Marino, the high path at the Alban lake, whose funnel-edge one sees, but not the depths which rest below the line of sight; an episode sunk into the painting. Once again I ventured from this side to the pugnacious Tusculan hilltop, and again was greeted by the cutting northwest wind, which sends up smoke clouds from the hollow summit of Monte Cavo. We found three consecutive platforms at the mountain summit, borne by powerful foundations, all covered with debris among single supporting ruins (unter einzeln auftragenden Triimmern); here and there one can still look down into the suhtermnean vaulted chambers, where we [p. 72] made out much Opus reticulatum. The small amphitheater, which inclines 19 from the high hill toward the deep Campagna, still presents the intact form of its encirclement by suspended walls - Here sat Cato the Censor! Today the last-plowed arena will be sowed before the coming rain.

April 27.

The rain came, with cold and storm, with hail and sleet! My one fireplace smokes, all windows and doors have cracks. The draft is intolemble. - After remaining in bed two days because of the cold, I became really ill - and drove back to Rome; where they all laughed at me. In their valley, they had known nothing of storm, cold and rain - and bad only suspected the mountain storm because Monte Cavo and Frascati, veiled in mist and clouds, had been invisible to them for three days. ROMAN DIARY, II 20

BRUN95L [p.73] III. CONCLUSION OF OUR STAY IN ROME aDd JOURNEY TO MONTE CA VO BY WAY OF VILLETRI(Velletri) AND TERRACINA.

[p.75] May 2.

Up to now an indisposition has kept me in the house, where the charming circle of my Roman friends has allowed me to lack neither for cheering up nor for instructive discourse. This never sinking, exhaustless and not too exhansting thought and conversational matter is one of the strongest attractions of a stay in Rome. I know of course that the original thinker finds this everywhere, but I do believe that many people of both sexes, who, in our flat and uneventfuJ fields (for the unquiet activity of barbarous nations leads only to desolation), [p. 76] shrink from the thought of a conversation demanding some mental exertion, would [yet] find themselves awakened here.

Palazzo Colonna.

There the mends brought me today; but of what help are thoughtful and feeling guides, and the most splendid pictures and statues, when the air is warm water, and the sacred Seven Hills, shrouded in the dismal breath of the Skirokko, are wrapped in mist and mourn in sackcloth and ashes?

I extract for you, as usual, only what specially touched my inner feelings.

(I) Madonna of Raphael, in his second manner; a gracious, virginal and selfconcentrated (in sich geschmiegtes) personality. These young Madonnas of the young Raphael have something of the gentle modesty and quietude of young Momvians (Herrnhuterinnen).

(2) Large picture by Raphael in his first manner, i.e., painted before his eighteenth year. The Madonna with the Child and Johannes (Raphael's darling!), two [p.77] holy women, and four holy men make up this wonderfully beautiful painting, which unites holy innocence of unspotted feeling, quiet inwardness, in short all of the euphony of the heavenly Raphael's youthful works, such as is experienced only by feeling souls. The tints are somewhat weak, but always true; it is as though he had not yet been able to make up his mind to embody fully the tender creatures of his fantasy and bring them into the common world of the senses.

(3) The fairest ofMagdaleus, by Guido.

(4) Diana with the Nymphs; a lovely youthfuJ scene full of ftesh attmction, by Claude ROMAN DIARY, II 21

Lorrain, in his first manner.

(5) A Venus, by Paolo Veronese. The most accomplished that J know on canvas; for it really breathes life and love. It is the Venus of the Famesina - who pursues poor Psyche right into the kingdom of shadows.

(6) A heavenly landscape by Claude. [p. 78] (7) The noblest of all landscapes of the great Poussin. A monntainons distance, boldly shown in an eagle's flight beyond the bounds of normal vision, full of truth, strength, fantasy and simplicity.

(8) A Scourging, by Correggio. Only the Christ is splendidly beautiful. He strides vigorously forth out of the brown of the time-darkened shadows - a divine Sufferer. One is very glad to ignore the rabble surrounding him.

(9) A Holy Family by Andrea del Sarto; an ineJl.-pressibly harmonious picture, as much through the quiet togetherness of the figures as through the lovely color tonality.

(10) The Bean-Eater; a most humorous farce by the great Annibale [Carracci). The plump horse-beans, the shining bacon, the glittering wide-bellied bottle - everything boasts, shines, glitters doubly as reflected from the happy face of the greedy peasant. M** [Matthisson?] acknowledges himself, since glimpsing this picture, as one of the cynical sect. He, the silent [p. 79] Pythagorean! Thus does genius work after centuries, even through painted horse-beans!

(II) Diana Colonna. Marble statue. This divine art work is fully preserved, even to the toes of the left foot. It is the absolute norm ofa Diana. She is wandering; a cool breeze, heightened by her quick, light movement, blows her garment back, presses it against her lap, and reveals the noble outlines of the chaste limbs: "Her gait is haste, her look in the distance." It is the archetype of need-free, pure and proud femininity.

(12) Homer's Apotheosis. This old and celebrated bas-relief contains a noble sequence of bold, touching and esthetically valid ideas.

The Colonna Garden lies on the slope ofthe Quirinal. We stood at last beneath the umbrella of the Roman queen of fir trees, which thoughtfully shelters the gigantic ruins of a vanished monument. Two stone blocks of white marble from the meze of a [p. 80] Temple of the Sun (attributed to Aurelian) lie here. But where are the remaining fragments of this colossal building? Has the earth swallowed it? May 3.

We spent the morning in St. Peter's and viewed the Sacristy, the adjacent buildings, and ROMAN DIARY, II 22 the Campo Santo. In the Sacristy I found some outstandingly beautiful paintings.

(l) A Madonna of the old Florentine Giotti (Giotto) - a grandeur and purity of forms approaching the ideal of the antique characterizes the fignres of this worthy father of the older painting, with whom I hope to become better acquainted on my return to Florence.

(2) An Entombment, by Fattore Penni, which nnites all the color melody, all the tender inward sensibility of this gracious artist, who was not in vain the pupil of Raphael.

[p. 81] (3) A Madonna of my dear, true, pious Pietro Perugino.

In the afternoon we drove to [Santa] Croce di Gierusalemme, where there was a big festival day, and the Corso. Lovely was the view, under green trees and over the brightly flowering meadows, of the jubilant throng and the numerous vehicles; and touching was the contrast of the widely dispersed ruins of aqueducts, baths and city walls. How this sinking past embraced the teeming present! High at both ends, on the summits of the Lateran and the Croce di Gierusalemme, triumphed the elevated Cross!

May 5 and 6.

Now my last hours in Rome belong exclusively to friendship, so near to separation! How painful this separation is becoming -- how every togetherness binds your dear ones closer! We smile at the sweet pain! But we deeply feel the wonnd! rn the evening we still saw together the sun sinking over Rome [p. 82] from the roof of the Maltese Priory - from mist it sank red and heavy into thicker mists. - Poor Rome! A picture of your fate! When will a cheerful life- sun of reason illuminate these happy fields? When will the moral scirocco, which presses upon your spiritual horizon, have blown away, and, with it, all the togs of superstition, priestly tyranny and nepotism have dispersed?

May 7.

On this day we drove together to Grotta Ferrata, to take leave of oUT dear invalid. The sunken valley before Grotta Ferrata seemed to us quite clearly like a sunken cmter from the old Avernian lake converted into ftuitfulland. We found Julien more suffering than ever! A late return - Luise evades me rentsch/up}! mir] in the darkness - Ah! We are separated!

[p.83] May 8.

Early morning. I am returning from the Villa Medici; there, under the laurels, I took leave of the beloved brother - there we felt the blessed melancholy of united sows; the separation of the present together with the bold glance into the future, which can only unite our better selves. 2 ROMAN DIARY, II 3

[Departure from Rome for Albano.1 May 8.

The little cabriolet stands before the door. Our dear, true zoega accompanies me as far as Albano. - Ah! It wouJd have been too hard to sepamte entirely from Rome and the fuends at the same time! Deeply moved and half dreaming at the mend's side, I drove past the picturesque groups of ruins which lie to the left, a few miles from Rome and downward from the Via Appia, and bear the name of Roma vecchia d'Albano. Soon we see the other side [P.84] of the splendid Claudian Aqueduct. On both sides, the gmve-ruins of the Via Appia rise from wine and vegetable gardens, often romantically overshadowed by laurels and pines, and overgrown with ivy. Handsome tomb of Cecilia [Metella]! Receive my greeting for the mends! The so-called tombs of ABcanius and Aeneas already date from Rome's luxurious periods, when marble facings had supplanted the blocks of hewn stone.

Now there opens from the rising hill country a great backward view over the Campagna and Sabina's mountain chain. We spent the day in Albano, where our fuend Fernow joined us. In the afternoon we wandered over Laricia and by the deeply sunken lake ofNemi. I couJd only receive the deeply shadowed, wooded lake in my imagination as a lightly floating apparition. Ah! I was too weak, too reduced by the sepamtioll, and unable to follow this lovely [p. 85] descent through the green labyrinth of overhanging trees, where the deceptive flock of goats grazes in the fragrant thyme, and the blue forget-me-nots vibrate above the wooded spring- where here the dark, shadowy grove appears to sink in the dark, clear water, while over there in the afternoon light the picture of the bank arises from the lake's deep bosom. Opposite ns, the picturesque Nemi hangs down from its white tuff cliff, surrounded by wild shrubbery.

We spent a sociable evening in the empty and deserted inn, where no nourishment was available except artichokes roasted in lamp oil- not even eggs.

May 9.

Albano. Ah! Today Zoega also left us. Fernowalone remained our faithful guide to Alba-Longa, and on the heights of Jupiter Latialis.

The road from Albano to Pallazzuola, around the upper curve of the Alban lake, [p. 86] is of surpassing beauty. The most luxuriant plant life embellishes these primeval shores, sanctified by the most holy legends, these groves of remote antiquity! The seemingly far-off Pallazzuola transformed itself beneath our gaze into the very ancient Alba-Longa; and the Aeneid rose on swans' wings from the deeply sunken floods as from the lap of the past! ROMAN DIARY, II 24

As we rode along the sickle-shaped slope, there opened to us the most delightful views over the funnel-like banks of the lake - afar off in the open distances of the Campagna, or back to Albano and Castel Gandolfo's picturesque situation. - Around us the loveliest flowers bloomed in fwlness and fragrance in the grass and on the bushes, and your flower-loving friend had difficwty in keeping to her she-ass - forgetting past and future, and Alba-Longa and Via triumphalis, and throwing herself down, wreathing head and bosom and crying out,

[p.87] In speedy flight the joy embrace, gently Touch only with the mouth, as the bee Touches the nectar flowers, oh friend, transport us Among the gods!

For Genista, Spartium, Cytisus-blooms hung down in bunches, clusters and wreaths! Vetch and lupines embraced the alders with their tendrils. Adorning and perfuming the high grass were anemones, violets, narcissus, cyclamen, orchids, Sinngrtin, forget-me-nots, speedwell and buttercups, with such a mingling of colors and in a profusion as though this were Florn's own garden.

After an hour and a half we arrived by way of the cool grove at the first cloister, on the girdle of the old Alban lake and prnctically hanging over the waves, so that on1y a narrow path separates it from the wooded but steeply descending bank.

Never have the situation of a dwelling place, and its view, attracted me so much as the one that opens from the windows ofthe refectory.

[p. 88] Held captive by the deep and darksome loneliness of the wooded mountainside- separated from all the world by the deeply sunken flood of the unfathomable lake - one looks away past the open abyss into smiling distances, which, seen thus from the deep shadows of a cloister-like stillness, are more like the picture of an inner fantasy than any reality.

From Pallazzuola one climbs directly into the solemn mountain forests which green1y clothe the showders of the old Alban [Mount] - We wandered, not without a reverent shudder, through the centuries-old chestuut and oak groves! We crossed the so-called Camp ofHannihal; a fine, wood-wreathed mountain meadow, which rests quietly sunk between the mountain's two summits - an Alpine meadow between chestnut woods, and sown with the loveliest narcissi, breathing their sweet perfume through the high loneliness.

From here we bore to the right on a steep pathway paved with squared stones; Roman numerals were here and there cut into the field-stones, [p. 89] often still readable, others half effaced - This was the Via consularis before, and Ovationis after the campaigns. The numbers probably indicated the placement of the legions. - I dismounted respectfully, and experienced the last height! Now we had reached the summit of the mountain, where benches and tables have been made from the stone blocks ofthe ruins of the Temple ofthe Alliance God (des ROMAN DIARY, II 25

Bundesgottes). One still sees the periphery of the temple building, and everywhere hewn stone blocks. Alone, 1 soon turned back to the highest sanctuary. - A handsome and easily climbable beech tree had grown out of the ruins of the temple; here I seated myself, and thus suspended between heaven and earth, between antiquity and the present, I surrendered my whole being to the stream of thoughts that flooded over me.

Here, speech is mute, where great and beautiful nature - the remembrance of the fullness of the eventful streams of time, all of which, so to speak, have poured themselves into this Campagna spread out beneath me [p. 90] as in a consecrnted sea - struggles with prehistoric times for the enjoyment of the present!

And yet how beautiful, how touching is this stillness of the old volcano, which had already been long extinct when young, fire-breathing Rome was first arising!

Here, from the summit of Monte Cavo, one overlooks five very probable crnters ofthe old extinct fire-source, which, in size and scope, far exceeded Vesuvius, but whose influence we can only infer from its scale.

The real summit crater - like the Atrio del Cavallo on Vesuvius - was without doubt the Campo d' Annibale; followed, as second and third, by 100 two volcanic lakes of Albano and Nemi, which, seen from here in their deep depression, are embedded like twin episodes in the rich epic of Nature's poetry. Then, fourth and fifth, came the two small oval valleys ofLaricia, and the freshly green-clad Val Grotta. [p. 91] On the other side, the view into rising Latium, and into the secrets of the Sabine chain, is extremely attractive. Everything here is new for the person leaving the Campagna. Everything wild, freshly green, and shaded by splendid woods.

We had made an early start, and reached Albano again about 2 P.M. After a brief rest, we left Rome [i.e., Roman territory] (actually for the first time) and arrived at Velletri rather late in the evening.

If you consider all that I had accomplished today, from Albano through Pallazzuola, up and down Monte Cavo, in no small heat, you may believe that I was dead tired, and (since in Albano, as in Spain, the inn offers only the four walls and sacks of straw) plentifuJly hungry. But I was still a long way from satisfYing these two imperious needs of nature. In Velletri, the capital of the ancient Volscians, lives the brother of that noble mend of Danes, the Cardinal [p. 92] Borgia. Here is the family home of this race, and the world-famous cabinet of Egyptian antiquities. I wished, tired as I was, while they were preparing dinner, to pay my respects to the Borgia family, and was politely received. - But, oh terror! - the first word was, "I was presumably curious to see the cabinet?" I excused myself by pleading my extreme futigue, my complete ignorance of Egyptian art history, and, finally, my hearty dislike ofthe Egyptian work of art! ROMAN DIARY, II 26

All in vain! I was obliged to spend two deadly long hours in front of the cases with all these treasures, and to examine everything, from the rudest lumps of basalt and granite (which the childish Rhea wouJd certainly never have brought in to Saturn), all the rectilinear Isis idols, all the broad-breasted Sphinxes, and all the absurd dogs' snouts! I sank down several times on a chair, completely incapable of standing on my feet - I asked for a glass of lemonade to refresh myself, [p. 93] since my tongue really clove to the roof of my mouth - in vain! The inhuman, zealous attendance was without eyes and ears, and it was only after ten o'clock that I was released - when, unfed, for I had been overhungry, and sleepless, for I was overtired, I spent the night in a fever of exhaustion, cursing all Egyptian antiquities from the bottom of my heart!

MayJO.

Today, in the most splendid weather, we flew through the Pontine Marshes -- in ten hours. It had rained during the night, and a fresh wind drove all the mists and fogs ahead of us. At Triponte (the Tres Taberna of the Acts of the Apostles), it is especially disagreeabJe, for the water there stands at its highest, and overflows the canals; but a few drops of oil of vitriol in a glass of water that we had brought with us banished the sleepiness besetting both me and the children.

We were soon aroused by the view of the fabled [p. 94] Cap Circello, which, like a rocky island ahead of us on the right, steps from the swampy flatland into the sea. To the left, the steep line of hills, which already at Velletri bordered the horizontal plain - and from where the ruins of Cora can be descried from the inn windows with even the smallest glass - bends down to the marshy meadows; and now there appear before us fantastically formed cliff-tops under reddish sunshine; a fresh and strengthening breeze blows toward us, and half-hanished mists add sweet presentiments to our strengthened feelings! Terracina-the Anxur of the V olscians - appears, surrounded by the murmur of the waves, scented by Hesperian groves, beneath the majestic guard of the steep cliffs!

I hastened into the small boat - Ah! How well we all felt on our home element, which we now glimpsed in southern beauty! Never had waves rocked me so gently! So clear and in such rosy mildness had I never seen the firmament - never the new moon's dewy smile!

[p. 95] Here the Circean Rock, already in early shadow - there the Formian Hills in the peach-mist of Hesperian distances!

There the rosy veil sinks down from the Pontine Islands (!entsinket den Ponzischen lnseln), and the fair nymphs appear in the evening light.

For a long, long time we rocked on the mirroring floods - and on the balcony of the house, I gently dreamed myself from the lovely reality into the arms of sleep. ROMAN DIARY, II 27

BRUN95M [p. 97] IV.

TRIP FROM FOND! TO NAPLES.

Fondi, May 11, 1796.

[p. 99] So Rome, too, lies behind me! I left quiet Rome with heartfelt sorrow. How it had come to be my home! Rome, Albano, Frascati and Tibur, snnunits of the holy monntain, farewell! Dear brother, and you, dear sister, we are now again going each his own way; will they one day bring ns together at the goal?

The pure sea air of Terracina had strengthened me, and it was on a fine morning that we reached Fondi. Here in the channing valley one sees that negligent cultivation of the land which makes of these orange groves, these swaying grape arbors, an [p. 100] Elysium created by gods. This valley floor is flat, and the stiff, hard cliffs of the Apennines sink the mild airs of this homeland deep in her bosom; but these airs are oppressive and unhealthy, and it was only on the height ofthe mountain, between Fondi and Itri, that I could breathe freely.

Here Hesperian ftuitfulness swells beyond any measure hitherto known to me! How this field, there around the so-called Tower of Cicero, beckons in its cool shadows! There where figs, olives and wine ripen above wheat, lupines and glowing Prnto (an ear-shaped clover), and shelter the tender plant life from the mighty arrows of the southern sun.

We reached Mola ill Gaeta in severe heat. The inn is good, and the proximity of the sea refreshes me with an invigorating air bath.

Here there is much swarming of ships' folk, and the Neapolitan petulance (petulanz) is already apparent in gesture, speech and tone, in contrast to the Roman seriousness.

[p. 101] We were entertained with excellent fish, sea-crabs, etc., and after the siesta were happy to take our places in a little boat. How heautiful is this Bay of Cajeta! We rowed past the foundations of the Formian hills, to the right of Moia, in a delightfw crescent; in the clear water we cowd descry complete walls, pillars, arches of the Roman villas. Ah! Here where Cicero and Pliny wandered, we floated lightly on the floods!

This amphitheater-like sequence of the Formian hills, borne upward from antique terrace walls to airy gardens, extends from Castiglione down to the crescent of the beautiful shore line, encircling the banks as far as the projecting hill of the fortress Gaeta (the ancient Cajeta). We landed at the ruins of the so-called Villa of Cicero. Sections of old walls, like the piers of a bridge, placed at regular intervals and overgrown with seaweed, raised themselves half out of the water and formed a protective barrier in front of the shoreline. [p. 102] I climbed up the gentle slope, and here for the first time saw the fruitfwness of the mountainous and lakeshore ROMAN DIARY, II 28 terrain around Locaruo actually exceeded. Truly, I wandered now in Hesperian groves! Above me, lemons, omnges, lemon-peel trees (Cedratbiiume) shaded me, and reached down to me from darkly gleaming foliage a luxuriant plenitude of golden apples with the scent of everblooming spring.

Ah! this reality of what the soul had only seen in rose-colored dream-pictures, can one take hold of it? I surrendered myself, more floating in the fragrance than walking, to childish delight! Slender fig trees, mwberries and elms, enwreathed in vine tendrils, maintain themselves gently in the air. Pear trees shower the snow of their northern, perishable blossoms. Pear, cherry and apricot trees are full of young ftuits, and the tender pomegmnate shows its radiant flower in half-opened buds. Beneath these pamdisiacal shadows I wander over gently swelling clover. Cool sea breezes murmur [p. 103] gently in the treetops, a shower of blossoms trickles down upon the purple carpet of the Prato, and the golden apples fall heavily into the thick grass.

But these fruits cowd not be enjoyed by us; perhaps the spring Agrumi (oranges, lemons, pomegranates [p.meranzen), candied lemon-peel [Cedrate]), children of the southern winter, are less good. The oranges were spongy, the lemons tart without acidity. Also, the wine pressed from these vineyards under the name of Ktikuber wine was undrinkably sour.

But how these sea airs strengthen me! A sea voyage, like the ancients, along the Greek coasts wowd surely be the healthiest cure for me!

We rowed back in the sweetest twilight, and I lingered for a long time on the balcony of the honse, which is separated from the sea only by a narrow pathway. Gentle waves rolled sociably against the shore. Moon and stars sank into the sea, and again came forward with broken radiance. [p. 104] Farther off, the lights of Cajeta twinkled from the round hills.

Mola di Gaeta, May 12.

How cheerfwly and early I awoke on these sun and sea shores. We were soon under way; but the heat with ns! I lingered for a short time, favored by a train of clouds, at the rnins of Minturnii. Most recognizable are the pillars of an aqueduct and the arches (Hallen) of an amphitheater, made green by a blooming grove of little pomegranate trees.

We crossed the quiet, deep-flowing Liris (Garigliano), and soon entered a lovely grove where, beneath tender green oaks, breathed a lovely boscage of young myrtle. Lower down bloomed the beautifw Cistus with the sage leaves and the white rose blossom; next to it, a little brother with yellow flowers, everything shining with spring beauty! In the gardens, the grapevine swings selectively this way and that, nniting with its tender shoots the olive tree of [p. 105] wisdom and the fig tree of enjoyment! A high, sweet picture of symbolic nature! Plutarch and Marius were not forgotten by Karl and me. But we did not approach the seacoast, where the great refugee hid in the swampy reeds. 2 ROMAN DIARY, II 9

Capua.' All wings of thought were lamed by the heat, which is dreadful to the extent that we leave the sea. The town, situated in a sterile plain, lazily encircled by the Volturnus, struck me as anything but seductive. The tavern was of the kind described by Cervantes, and offered no trustworthy resting place. But we were soon refreshed by an abundance of the sweetest oranges, freshly picked and scented, and a most lovely and strengthening red wine (the present-day Falernian, which grows two miles from the new Capua, near the ruins of the old queen of Campania) testified to the mild climate of the blessed land.

In the rnther gentle midday illumination, we rejoiced over the lightly aligned (p. 106] mountain distances encircling the Campanian plain. Earlier in the morning we had caught sight of Vesuvius, cloaked in veiling mists like an apparition, and then lost it completely. The vaporous area {Dunstkreis} of Naples begins already aronndAversa (the AteUa of the ancients, where Augustus was brought up) with thronging conveyances, dusty fields, anxions cultivation, which excludes every trace of nature, and now transforms the Campagna Felice into the Terra di Lavoro. The high coastal mountains of the bay are hidden behind endless boulevards of high elms, interspersed with gmpevine garlands covered with white dust like old theatrical decorations. Lying about like dice are little quadranguJar houses (these little country houses in the Neapolitan region always reminded me of children's houses of cards) with flat roofs or, as it often seemed to us, without any roofs at all.

The anthill swarming increases with every minute, the choking dust with every second! I noticed fewer handsome and noble features than with the Roman popwace, but more cheerfwness; (p. 107] we are in Naples without knowing it! This city is endless! We are buried in the house-valley of the Corso, flooded all round by streams of people and vehicles, and breathing and seeing becomes more difficult for me at every moment; for the fine lava-plasterdust penetrates and benumbs all the senses. Suddenly: MoloJ Harbor! Bay! Vesuvius! Brilliancy and beauty! I regain my senses at the seaside - leaving these floods of humanity behind the Castel del Uovo - in the most excellent public-house of the Chiaio, called alle Crocelli.

The first evening hour on the balcony facing the Neapolitan Bay is unforgettable to me! There lies the resting lion [Vesuvius], recognizable only from his ashen head and wide-open maw, from which no steamy sign of life emerges. That jagged sea monster, which stretches its gigantic body out of greenish waves, is Capri. On the right, Posillipo's daintily curving coast extends itself around the bay and shimmers, a bright green spring garden, ftom its gently sloping back [p. 108] down into the sea. In friendly rolling and surging, the sea draws itself onto the shining coasts!

1 feel as though night could never come, on these sunny shores - yet the sun does soon sink behind Posillipo, and a long-lasting, lovely dusk floats between sea and sky, slowly

3The text from here on consists mainly of very long paragraphs, which are broken up for the reader's convenience. (Translator's note.) ROMAN DIARY, II 30 cloaking Capri and the far-off foothills of the Minerva in rosy fragrance. A swarm of fishing boats glides out from the tuff shores ofPosillipo, and the lava foundations of the Ca.~tel del Uovo before my window. As the dusk deepens, there shines out from each vessel a brightly flaming torch of resinous wood; gliding slowly along, they draw a long pillar of fire behind them on the trembling flood.

I stood lost in contemplation of this magic spectacle; then suddenly there sounded a

familiar voice ~ Plotz stands next to me, the Danish painter! PlOtz, whom I last saw in Bonnet's room on Genthod on the Lake of Geneva. Robbed (beraubt) by Frankish pirntes, [p. t 09] he was stranded here, where good people received him in fuendly wise, and he is now traveling to Poland. Bonnet's Temple of Wisdom had become his home; and since that worthy old man has gone to the better Fatherland, the poor fellow has been orphaned.

Naples, May 13.

I awoke cheerful and early, and feasted my heart on the dazzling splendor of the sea and its lively movement ~ The monstrous tumwt of the city was still bound in sleep. Land people, who were bringing ftu.it, milk, vegetables into the city on their trusty long-ears [donkeys]; returning fishermen, ordering their early catch; and a few city folk who felt the beauty of the morning were in movement. Charlotte and I drove early to the Grotto ofPosillipo, which my imagination had formed quite differently. It seemed to me only the gigantic gateway from

Pozzuoli to Naples; no restthere! The constant passage of donkeys, oxen, [p. 110] pigs ~ dust, animals' and drivers' cries, deafened me ~ and only the length of the passage exceeded my expectations!

From the dark dust of the grotto one steps into the sunny dust of a litle swarming suburb. But soon there opens up the decoration of a fairyland. The little valley, confined by the bent back ofPosillipo (beneath which we passed in the grotto), and separated from Naples' shimmering world, is tastefully armyed; everything is bright and orderly, the rows of elms are prettily entwined and interwoven with vines; beneath them the ground is carefully cultivated with gmin, meadow herhs and vegetables. Cleanly ways lead from the military highway to the pretty country dwellings which nearer Posillipo lie in its shadow.

But it was in vain that I sought a shady spot! This over-industrious cultivation does not allow the elms to throw dense shadows, nor does it permit any grassy patch to turn green; for that, the land is too costly. [p.llt] Everything my eye beholds is wnmg by sweaty toil from the ever- generous earth. It is a garden of toil, and no pamdisiacal pleasure grove.- No little plant grows without permission, and neither I nor dear St. Pierre could be really comfortable here.

One drives quickly, on the broad highway, between Posillipo on the left and the Camaldolensian Hill on the right, to the end of the valley, i.e., to the Bay ofPozzuoli, which begins here at the tip ofPosillipo. In the small bay lies the little island ofNisida; rising abruptly from the waves are the whitish-yellow tuff cliffs, and the whole island is cwtivated like a garden. The summit is crowned by a Gothic tower; on the right, the shoreline bends pleasantly toward Pozzuoli, ROMAN DIARY, II 31 which is hidden by the projecting hilL The high Cape Misenum closes the view. On the left opens the Bay of Naples; but the morning light was too dazzling on these shores, where no fresh grove invites the eye to enjoy its green coolness.

(p. Il2] In the afternoon we drove to Portici; it is about one German mile (six [Italian] miglie) from our house, and (except for the flat land near the Saint Madalena bridge), a continuous city; from Naples into the dirty suburbs, from the suburbs into town-like villages, then among Portici's palaces. However, the torment of the dust is alleviated by the sea view and air, which, in rounding the bay, one always has on the right.

We hurried into the palace garden - our visit was directed to VesuviU\', and we mounted the upper part of the new garden layout, which follows his [Vesuvius'] margin. Awesomely he lies stretched out above the towns, villages, and hamlets like a monstrons deposit of nature; so completely dead he looks to me - and yet when I think of the history of his brothers Posilipo, Solfatara, Agnani, Astruni, and the primeval Albano, Monte C~vo - with what convulsions does he still threaten these fields, before a dead sea (p. Il3] fills his maw, and with cloudy t100ds extinguishes the old hell! A scarcely visible white mist rises from the gaping throat as from hot water. We saw from afar the cabin of the hermit, the seven new red craters from [17]74, and the brownish-red stream oflava which at that time threatenedPortici and poured itself out on Torre del Greco; and around us, myrtle bushes were blooming!

The evening was very cool at the seaside; we drove back amid the swanning populace. The facial formations are less distinctive here than in Rome; but the physiognomies are happier and opener. The hubbub of the people, the howling of the hordes of beggars, is as indescribable as it is intolerable; for the organs are rough, the speech incomprehensible, and most unlike the sounding organ of the Romans and their round, full pronunciation.

May 14.

Virgil's Grave. The promenade in the Villa Reale is of blinding heauty by reason of its [p. 114] view of sea, city, and shores; but the lack of shade, and the dust, are a torment even here. The famous work of art, the well-known Toro Farnese, has been set up here in the middle of the promenade; but the brightness of this shining sky, and the streaming reflected glory of the sea, always blinded my eyes, and 1 never found sufficient repose to contemplate this wonder of art at leisure.

I lingered for a while at the seashore, near the ascent to Posilippo. Here dwell the fisher folk of Naples. The nets were spread out to dry on the balustrade of the embankment, and the men were busied about the boats; they are strong and sturdy; the women were ugly, as a Nordic mind imagines the oldest of the Fates - and walked and sat around, spinning on a long endless thread oflife, in unpleasant postures and movements. Naked children joyfully entered the fray, and the mendly, nurturing sea rolled in over moss-covered lava stones. ROMAN DIARY, II 32

[p. 115] My donkey [Esel] appeared, and I rode up Posilip', which at first was still thickly covered with houses, until I came to a high-placed vineyard; here it was lovely and solitary! Narrow and cosy paths led uphill and down beneath fig and mwberry trees, overhung by a network of tender vine-shoots; then between tuff cliffs, where hidden, glowing vinegar roses shone forth, secretly embraced by snow-white bindweeds.

At a little cleft stands the ancient wall-like ruin known as Virgil's Grave [Virgils Grab]. Pleasantly and fancifully shadowed is this little spot, where the tender poet perhaps lingered frequently in his lifetime, although the site certainly does not hold his ashes. Above on the wall, onto which I clambered not without difficwty, the view through the rock cleft, as through a telescope, is very fine. One looks quietly out on the bay teeming with people, on the coast also teeming with people, and lands on VesUI'ius, which seems to be exhaling clouds of smoke. We sought in vain for laurel on the walls! Nor cowd any trace of newly blossoming shoots [p. 116] be found among the growth of blackberries and wild grapes.

May 15.

I was sick and had to remain at home; the liveliness of the air gives me a slight fever, which is due to a more rapid tension of the nerves and will disappear when I become more accustomed to this air. The day passed very quickly in the company of good-natured and intelligent people. Whoever was so fortunate in Naples as to know Tischbein, the son of Nature, and the favorite of Art - Heigelin, the noble trusty fuend of the fuends; whoever knows how to value the brilliant English doctor and minernlogist, Thompson, and the talented and true- hearted Plotz, will readily understand that in such society - with the gaze fixed on the magical scene of the Bay, with milder sunshine, gracious twilight and rising moon - a long summer's day, even in fever, passes rapidly.

[p.117] May 16.

I was better, and we drove in the coolness through the monstrous city, across the Madalena bridge of the Sebetho to Sorgo de' Daci, then throngh Portici to Torre del Greco; all one gigantic city, starting at the southwestern horn of Posilippo, past Resinn to Torre del Annunziata to the outermost toe of Vesuvius; two-thirds of a circle, and a stmight line of at least 12 Italian miles, a seaside city that can be taken in at a single glance.

Here, in Torre del Greco, we viewed the great devastation of 1794, when from the summit of the mountain 200 feet collapsed into the farther funnel, after the mountainside, to the great good fortune of all Campania, had opened itself in seven new fire-breathing crnters, beneath which a tremendous stream oflava poured out and, suddenly turning on Torre del Greco, in part covered this city of 20,000 inhabitants, [p. 118] or turned it to ruins.

I always call these lava streams cooled-down glaciers. We noticed the great thickness of ROMAN DIARY, II 33 this most recent outpouring. Burnt-out slag had risen to the top like foam and, clashing with other pieces, made a sound like breaking glass. Light pumice-stones lie on the surface. Sulfur- flowers, and the beautifw colors of its exhalations, crystallize (? aNSchiessen) everywhere. The church is quite covered with lava; of the tower, only two stories emerge above it. At other places, the ground has suffered upheaval through the powerful thrust of the slowly flowing, glowing mass. Wann vapors emerge from the fissures in the lava crust, often suddenly before our very eyes. Iron, copper, schorl, mica lie glazed within.

Dr. Thompson showed Karl a curiosity in a mineral cabinet. The workshop of a mechanic in Torre del Greco had been covered with lava. Digging into it afterward, they found the iron tools, locks, etc. [p. 119] had been turned back into Eisenmine by the heat, retaining only their outward form. The houses are variously buried up to the third, fourth, fifth or sixth stories; others have burst their walls through the shaking and the power of the heat. Some houses stood unscathed, miracwously preserved, like an island surrounded by the glowing stream; like a cloister, in which the despairing nuns had been seen lamenting at the windows and on the roof. No one could help, for they had been isolated. But the house stood firm, and after a few hours the lava had cooled sufficiently so that by walking on the crust over the lavastream, they could save themselves, their relics and, it is said, even their wardrobe.

Nearby lies a little green garden, innocently smiling like a holy island in the midst of the black, glowing hell. And now, to complete this unique picture, which bas no analogy outside itself - in the midst of the monstrous ruin, in still steaming [p. 120] lava, stone blocks for new buildings are being hewn in great numbers out of the same lava, and the people are building themselves up again out of their flaming gmve, like the phoenix! Irresistible cbann of private (free) property, how powerful you are! The builders are exempt from all payments.

It was wonderful to look from the lava down into the sea, and up to the craters from which it had rolled - encompassing beginning, action and end with a single glance.

They told me that only two people had lost their lives, since the lava flowed slowly. The good nuns who had been in such great danger had presumably relied 100 much on their tutelary saints. These lava vawts teemed with children, most of whom impressed us with their remarkable fish faces. A great many fishermen also live here. But they were very good-natured and fuendly. A fairly well-grown lad of 13 or 14 , who was acting as guide to the lava gallery, was [p. 121] dubbed by us "the dolphin," and laughed heartily over this designation.

We drove back to Resina, to which I was drawn by the fine situation of a villa. It was the Villa Mazarini, which lies at the seaside above gently rising vineyards. On the left projects the outermost lava arm that ever threatened from the direction of Portici, raven black, in the midst of the Elysian green of the meadows, and shadowed by the elm, fig, and olive trees and grapevines. It is impossible to describe how moved I was moved by this contrast! A few hundred paces from the sea, which always seems to be the goal of the glowing, tumbling stream, the powerful current was compelled to lose its impetus and helplessly expire in the midst of the ROMAN DIARY, II 34 tender plant life!! "Thus far and no farther! Here the glowing waves must stop!"

On a rustically shaded and unpretentious patio, I quietly enjoyed the enchanting view. To my right lay Naples, like a wreath around a shining platter, tastefully encircling its mirroring bay; [p. 122] above it rise the bosky heights of St. Martino and Vomero, which afterward seem to attach themselves to Posillipo to form a green hill-world, perhaps the only one of this nature. To one side fragrantly rose the perspective Cape Misenum, and lightly drawn beyond it lies Procyta. In the distance rises Ischia with the giant Epomeo, which extends its long foot far into the flood. Before us, shimmering from the depths, rises rose-tinted Capri between the foothills of MisenuJ1I and Minerva (now Massa), so that on both sides one sees between them into the open sea.

Lovely is the abrupt foothill of Massa, sown with the little white houses of the vineyards. In the clefts, or on the projection of the always roughly hilly shores of the Bay, lie the little towns of Vico. Sorrento and Castell a Mare, behind which the wooded masses of the hills rise commandingly. Oh magic land! Embrnced by the mobile fullness ofthe sea and the bluish mists of the aether! [p. 123] From no other vantage point have I since seen the Bay so beautiful; every part of the magnificent whole interwoven in an inexpressibly lovely wreath of charm and ever-

blooming beauty. - Such moments are given to ns! They must not be sought ~ one never finds them! A fuendly Horn flying past drops the pearls in the open bosom which so easilyach! expires unenjoyed.

We visited in Resina the King's garden, called the Favorite. A citrus grove covers the gentle slope down to the sea. What they here call a new garden layout is a actually a curtailed cross between the old French and Dutch garden styles. A scirocco air arose about noontime; beneath the damp wing of this infamous wind, all plants and shruhs smelled doubly sweet, and the fragrance ofthe ornnge trees became almost too strong for me. In genernli feel well in the scirocco, because it relaxes my nerves and moderntes all pains.

[p. 124] The inn in Portici is one of the most misernble in all parts ofItaly where I have traveled up to now! Without my hunger having been assuaged, I sought for rest after the meal; but beds and sofas were in such a condition that I ~ws robbed of the coumge to trust myself to them. Finally Pohrt fixed me with straw chairs a so-called Polish bed on which, isolated from bedbugs, I indulged in the quiet oflying still until the early afternoon wind of these happy coasts called me to the sea.

But it is difficwt to find one's way to a fresh, clean seashore out of the labyrinth of buildings and walls; the overabundant population squeezes itself right into the waves. We finally arrived at a lonely spot beneath the King's park! Here I established myself in the black lava sand, while Karl and Charlotte ventured far out on the rocky shore. The silver-green waves rolled snow onto the black beach, and impelled surf into the cliff-remnants of broken lava masses. Above me [p. 125] rose overshadowing dark gmy and brown lava cliffs in bizarre shapes. This beach sand is as heavy as lead; it consists simply of ground-up and rounded-off lava remnants, and it threw back metallic reflections to the sun. Grnvel (to judge by its ROMAN DIARY, II 35

appearance) from rounded volcanic products covered the shore. Ochre, verdigris, sulfur yenow, black and rust-colored products of the earth lay all about! In what close collaboration are united here the two original agencies of creation, water and fire!

Most striking is the view upward from the shore into the details of Vesuvius, into the fruitfuJ terrains and stepwise terraces above Portici, Resina and Torre del Greco. Everywhere, between the folds of the green garment, the ancient black lava-streams glide downward like shadows. The deathly figure of its ashen head, the new hen-mouths on its slopes, appear in rnpid contrast to the shimmering green of the chestuut and oak woods which adorn Somma's torn summit.

[p. 126] We drove home in the twilight. How gently the sinking liglrt melted into the most touching tints above the southeastern coast of the Bay! This is the second day of Whitsuntide, and a great festival of the Madonna del Largo, a place of pilgrimage not far from Naples, toward Nola. The crowds were streaming back. On the plain between Portici and Naples (calledPianfuor del Ponte Madalena) was the greatest confusion of men and vehicles that I have ever seen. The conveyances are endlessly various and in part very handsome; the pretty little Neapolitan horses run like lightuing, and nothing exceeds the cleverness of a Neapolitan coachman, except the adroituess of the people in extricating themselves from the crowd. In northern Germany, under similar circumstances, hundreds would be driven to their death and the ground littered with carriage parts. For there, not only clumsiness but also quarrelsomeness and rudeness playa role. Here, the light spirit of joy unites everything. One hears [p. 127) continual fuendly shouts of Aguari! Aguari! [sic: Auguri, AUf.,'Uri?}, and as by a miracle the conveyances intercross, roll, fly in clouds of dust between and through the antlike multitude, without my having heard even one anxious cry of fear and danger. On the contrary, the pedestrians happily shouted their encouraging Bravo! Allegro! to the coachmen who drove the fastest.

The women here seem to me to be small, on the average and in all classes, the men strong. I see agreeable feminine physiognomies among the popuJace. They are prettier than the proud Roman ladies, but far less beautiful. Oranges, lemonade, ice water and watermelons are popuJar refreshments here which are enjoyed by even the poorest.

May 17.

Sea trip to Posillipo. We were in the boat at 6 o'clock. Heaven and earth shone with beauty, and the waves of the Bay bore us aloft. We noticed the hollows and abruptly detached white walls of [p. 128] Posillipo; of these [materials?] Naples is built, and the formation of the coast at Posillipo is man's work. Nowhere is this sun-bathed mountain of tuff so green as to conceal the yellow-white ground beneath the liglrt green of the vineyards and the cultivated garden land. Rare pines and oaks rise along its ridge; even more rnre is the stone oak {Sessiliflora} and the picturesque cypress; nor do I see any laurel. The dilapidated palace of Queen Johanna stands where the vast city loses itself in Posillipo; squeezed into a cliffbay, an empty ghost's castle encompassed by the sounding waves! ROMAN DIARY, II 36

Beautiful was the view backward over Naples, built beneath and on top of cliffs. High enthroned on the rocky brow sits Castell dell 'Elmo; deep down in the sea lies Castell dell' [!two, hewn from the rocks - that fiightfuJ state prison where numberless victims of the trembling tymnny now languish, far from the air and sun. Of five peacefuJ scholars to whom I was referred by my brother, [p. 129] three are confined in the state prisons; among them the noble Don Mario Pagano, the friend ofFilangieri. Ach! For two years now he has heen held in the waveresounding depths of the dreadful Castell dell' Uovo! His fiiends still do not know his offense.

Away with these shocking thoughts! We are gliding aronnd the more boldly swelling cliffs ofPosillipo, where green-haired nymphs slip in and out of secret vaulted sea-grottoes, and breaking waves nearby hiss against outflung rocks. Deep hollows open up, in which the galleys are kept. Here lies friend Heigelin's Casino, near shadowing oaks on vertical cliffs! We ronnd the promontory called Punto di Posillipo, and are alone with Nature in the peaceful, clear, cliff- encircled sea basin. Through a boldly vaulted sea-hall we gaze into the remote sea-green; then up to the horizontal tuff strnta of Posillipo, slowly grooved by dancing waves.

Here on the sharp cliff-slope, there hangs over the flood an old [p. 130] Roman construction called la Scuola di Virgilio (for the now once chosen protective saint ofPosillipo). A hermit has made himself at home in these ruins of the luxurious home of Asinius Pollio, and his beggar's sack hangs like a pivot on a swaying cane [wie eine Angel an schwankender Gertej. From deep down in the crystalline sea, old pieces of masonry are visible; red bricks still lodge in comers of the rock, and even pieces of marble stucco can still be seen here and there.

Most astonishing is the view from this rocky nest through to Cap Misenum, the lightly poured Procita and the high Epomeo. How clear are these waters; light as air they play about the rocky foundations. You clearly see the horizontally projecting strata of the rocks, the seaweed beds at the sea bottom, and the way the little curling waves flow past like overflowing locks.

Abruptly above us hangs the Punto di Posillipo. A fallen mass ofrocks lies before it; we rowed around it, and came quickly, as in a change of[p. 131] scenery, into more open waters; but still in a quiet bay, where lies the lonely Nisida, the pretty island, abruptly rnised from the floods, on which we soon landed. CheerfuJly we climbed up the well-arranged, garden-like slope, mother and children picking flowers; here were also the most beautifuJ butterfly flowers, in all colors and forms as at home - this lovely sylph-race of the flower-world! They bloomed as shrubs in the orange-perfumed Sparthium, and on the bushes of Cytisus, and crept as multicolored vetch on the surrounding hedges and plants.

From the space in front of the house, situated at the middle height of the island, the outlook is already splendid. Pozzuoli lay firmly fixed on its cliff shore; nearer to us, on rounded heights, the treetops of the Astruni valley; the edges of the lake of Agnano, and the white cmter cliffs of Solfatara. High rises Monte Barbaro, with the wood-encircled Camaldolen.\'ian Cloister on its forehead. Then there opens, between the [p. 132] Bagnoli chain of hills and the gently sloping, fresh green land side of Posillipo, the charming embellishment of the little valley Fuor di ROMAN DIARY, II 37

Grotta, as far as the hollow of Posillipo, which marks the return from Tempe's peaceful vale into a resounding, pretentious doll-world. We landed here, where our carriage awaited us, and were back in Naples for lunch (zum Mittagessen).

May 19.

I had a strong desire to be above the city for once. But this is a real journey. The ride through dusty, endless Naples, on the diagonally laid, quadrangnlar lava pavement, is more taxing than the regular beauty of this celebrated pavement would lead one to expect; the reason is probably the dumtion of the monotonons movement by which, at regular intervals, as on small heels, one is gently but continuously jolted. We finally arrived behind Naples, on the back of the Vomero, past the St. Martino fortress and the Belvedere, and IIp. 133] slipped into a lonely, obscure and unknown vineyard.

Ach, here was coolness and fresh green! Whoever thinks that in Italy the green is less tender, its first freshness less lasting than in the North, is mightily deceived. The grain is already standing in heavy ears, and the seed is still green Enoch hat es Saatgriln). The cherries are already ripening, and the leaves are still shining in their first freshness. Similarly the apricots and the fruit- laden fig trees, whose fruitful green is so refreshing to the eye. I remained here a long time, the sky covered but the air pure. How the blooming vineyard exhaled spirit and life! The purple Prato shone beneath the Armidian grapevines. I burrowed deeply in the grass, under tree and vine and herbs, and tried for once to forget the blinding splendor of Part hen ope and his [sic] coasts, sunk in blessed dreams.

Then came my hired servant - "Near here is the most beautifuJ view of the hill, indeed of all Naples!" "I don't wish to see anything today, dear Louis!!" "No foreigner passes it (p. 134] by!" - "I'm not a foreigner, I am quite at home here in the grass!" "Ach! Your Excellency (as is known, this is the customary form of address in Naples, and is even put into verse; for when I became impatient over poor harnessing, delays, etc., the postilions always cried out to me: "cellenza! Si vuo/ Patienza! ") "Ach! Your Excellency shouJd only have seen how beautiful her Royal Highness, the gracious Princess ofDessau, found the view from the Villa Patrizio She didn't want to leave at all!" Then I stood up on my two legs. Dear Luise! In your footsteps I am as much at home as in the green grass! "Now, dear Louis, take me to where the Princess of Dessau found it beautiful!"

This villa lies dignified and isolated above the end ofthe Vomero, where it is separated from Posillipo by a deep cleft, so that on three sides, from the balconies of the windows and the vestibule of the house, one has an outward, downward and perspective view such as (p. 135] only Naples can afford in looking down upon this sea, these Hesperian coasts, and these islands! The city lay below me to the left, disposed in a wreath of beauty, and the gaze floats thence over the Capuan plain to the far-off mountains of the Abbruzzo. Beyond the mirrorlike sea basin at Somma and Vesuvius' feet the towns are laid out along the seashore like Polyphemus' herds. Then follows the eastern mountain chain, where everything rises more boldly, shadows more ROMAN DIARY, II 38 darkly and, to an eye familiar with nature, seems the calcareous counterpart of the volcanic chain; it stretches as far as Cap Minerva, the outermost horn of the Neapolitan crescent. Seated there in the green rocky valleys, as in a loved mother's lap, are the little towns of Vi co, Sorrento, etc. In the midst of the undulating sea, Capri holds fast the lowering gaze.

And this is only from the left side, as far as the midpoint. Now one wanders into a Paradise! Here the view, and with it the whole soul sinks into those quiet depths of a [p. 136] lovely shadow world! Gone is Naples and all its pomp! Here lives loneliness in the shadow of rustic peace; here where, under chestnut-wooded heights of the Agnano valley, this Tempe-like landscape sinks, and rises and sinks, and swells again, uphill and down, the green plenitude of fruitfwness! This valley, so close to the noisiest of cities, is a fairy tale.

The third act of this dramatic overview opens upon the great hill-chains of the Phlegmean landscape. There lies Misenum's high peninsula with its narrow earth-dam; beyond it sparkles the sea between Procita and Ischia. The fmgrant forelands, aligned as with an ethereal brushthese islands, this flowing sea, ach! this Greek heaven and this Greek earth, enthusiastically loved by the Romans and Greeks, sung by the sweetest voices of ancient times - this my eye trWy sees, my heart feels, my mind assimilates!

I spent the rest of the day at home, in [p. 137] retrospective enjoyment. -It was somewhat disturbed - no letters from the North! Only from Rome - the Franks [French] are approaching What will become of us? Holy Father! send powerful anathemas (Bannftrahlen) against them! Golden, thick rays! ROMAN DIARY, II 39 BRUN95N [p. 139] V. NAPLES. Continnation.

[p.141] May 20, 1796.

I was on the sea early in the morning, in order to breath freely and without motion; for the quiet inhalation of these morning airs is the balsam of life, but every movement attacks me to the point of exhaustion. We spent a short hour with the most interesting English Dr. Thompson, who very graciously showed the ignorant visitors parts of his minernl cabinet, distinguished by the heauty and completeness of its specimens.

In the afternoon I chatted away some hours with the intelligent and lively Caroline, the widow of the great Filangieri4 In the evening, mend Tischbein and Georg Hackert were with me. This evening scene on the Bay is each time a new festival. The full moon rose in the twilight from [p.142] the vapors of Vesuvius above the blushing coast, and the most enchanting moonlight night soon descended into the Bay. Slowly the ever-growing silver column trembled its way from Castel a Mare over to us, and the rocky masses ofPosillipo advanced in magical illumination. The monstrous tumult of Naples is as though fettered, and only the splashing sound of the gently rowed fishing boats breaks the stillness; the beckoning torchlight reflection on the sea's smooth surface behind the boats reaches all the way to us. Why does not the great torch of the Mountain shine forth? Without this Phlegraean (phli.igri.iisch) light, I feel that I am only half on the Bay of Naples.

May 21. I luxuriated so much in the enjoyment of art in Rome that I feel here a real hunger for the enjoyment of nature, and willingly yielded to this mom! instinct. At six o'clock I was again on the sea. While Karl takes his swimming lesson, I row [p. 143] around nearby, or scmmble on the shore. I have found a couple of very good, mendly sailors who wait for me outside my window every morning at five with the little boat. One of them is Karl's swimming teacher; the other, my Cicerone, whom I heartily like, because he no longer tells me more than I ask, and thus shows true concern for me and my Charlotte.

We disembarked today by the empty and wave-encircled castle of Queen Johanna. It is built in a noble style; few of the palaces of Chiaio possess such grandiose architecture; it is completely uninhabited, and is falling entirely to pieces. When angry waves run high, and the storm howls through the empty rooms, I would like to visit it; at such times one cannot land, but

'Gaetano Fi1angieri (1752-1788), Italian jurist (Translator) . ROMAN DIARY, II 40

travels in boats through the lower vaults. I wandered long on the tuff cliffs hard hy the sea, and saw the soft stones breaking off above me in Posillipo; they are rolled down the steep incline and brought by water [p. 144] to the city.

Here, too, are great linen-bleacheries. The linen is spread out on the gmy-black lava sand of the seashore, and wetted down with sea water. The cliff banks, formed oflava reaching into the sea in horizontal strnta, are covered with a soft, bright mossy cushion; green, red, yellow, white and brown intermingle; but unlike my friend Stollberg, I did not find this mass frngrant, but rather exuding a strong sea odor. I greatly enjoy folJowing in the footsteps of the noble Stollberg on these shores, and, like him, find myself in the lap of nature. We visited the little Casino of the famous Sir [William] Hamilton, near the castle; it lies beneath a little rock-cleft of Posillipo, on a flat projecting rock formation. A jittle garden grows beside it, bordered by an oleander hedge; in the middle is a shady arbor of roses and jasmine, and a pretty little Cupid listens in the lovely dusk.

[p. 145] A1> is fitting for the great observer of Vesuvius, one has here the finest, most complete and most majestic view of the mountain; I wowd like to experience an eruption here at the side of the mendly sage.

The hot hours of the day are spent in comfortable rest, with writing, reading and especially with doing nothing; and I am becoming quite the Itahlm fally - even to being awake at night and sleeping long. But ah! I can still not find any little nest in the country - and what I call country is far, far from Naples' dusty atmosphere! My heart longs for La Cava's romantic grounds, and Vietri's cool shores! A1> long as I swim on the sea, or, like a mussel in the shell, live in my lovely cool rooms, I am splendidly content; but movement on land is always a lifeand-death fatigne, and I should have to become a nymph, like Parthenope, in order to last.

We drove up to the Queen's pleasure palace on the [p.1461 slope of the Vomero; three- quarters of an hour through lava dust. Each time the tumwt in the Piazza Reale seems to me like a mob scene; yet it is a splendid panomma, with the view of the sea and Vesuvius! The Toledo Street is always crammed full, like the Corso during the Carnival in Rome. I admired the discretion of the coachmen as much as the adroituess of the pedestrians. Everything is in teeming movement, yet nobody loses his head. How people in the northern cities knock against each other, and curse and grumble and resort to blows! Here, in Rome, Paris, and Marseille, everybody finds room and counsel through universal good nature. [n Hamburg, Fmnkfurt, Brunswick, what a din of discord!

Naples is very clean in most streets, as it seems especially to anyone coming from Rome; for there (thanks to the harvesting [einiimdtendenJ Papal Chamber) no agriculture adorns the empty Campagna, and so all refuse quietly piles up in the streets. Here [p. 147) these valuable residues are carefully sought out, and the children even gather up the traces of the rnpidly passing horses - in their hats. ROMAN DIARY, II 41

The view from the Belvedere at sunset was vast and charming at the same time; not as comprehensive as that of the Villa Patricio But everytlllng one sees is so harmoniously ordered; the city half hidden to the left of the green St. Martino, which we climbed and drove around. Castel del Uovo lies picturesquely extended into the sea; above the Bay, purple-clad Portici wreaths the shore; the ashy head of the mountain glows red in the evening.

In delighted self-abandon, eye and sense plunge into the luxuriant green of the gently swelling Posil!ipo - down into these magic gardens, where single pines and oaks rise from the soft green of elms and grapevines, and the attractive country houses are scattered on little heights and declivities, or look from the mountain backbone into the sea. This [p. 148] pleasing, crescent-shaped hill, the favorite resort of Virgil and Sannazaro, slopes on the landward side in quiet valleys, as in Thessalian groves of former times; but its seacoast is cut out, as by a playful hand, in lightly delineated bays. The sun sinks behind the tall oaks of Monte Barbaro; slowly the moon floats upward from eastern vapors, a fiery disk; sea and shore swim in the floating air. Roses and lily leaves float downward from the evening clouds upon the somnolent Parthenope.

May 22.

Our arch-enemies, the French, are giving us a Jot of trouble!! Everything is being armed! Heard all around are the drumbeats and pipes of marching regiments. Drills are held from early morning until nightfall on the square by Villa Reale; and the carriages rumble to the shore at the command of sweating officers. At alJ street corners stand [p. 149] monks of all types and colors - preaching courage and fidelity, and stout-hearted defense of the religion and the king. On Piazza fuor dell Ponte Maddalena one sees troops of volnnteers reporting for duty. The people hate the French from long ago; wowd they also hate the New Franks on closer acquaintance? How the words Equality and Liberty would resound in the ears, and soon in the hearts of this popwace - what movements the proximity of the Gaws in the unhappy, exhausted provinces of the kingdom would elicit - all this is easier to foresee than to calculate in its fermenting mass; and the person who does not wait here for the explosion of the darkly rumbling volcano is myself!

We made a sea journey with dear [Signora] Filangieri and her hopeful sons to Punto di Posillipo, and visited the dreadful hollow there which is called la (Trotta dei Tritoni. One rows in between [p. 150] the wave-covered foundations of the villas ofLuculJus and Pollio, to the right between the Najolo cliffs. The cool grotto is majestic and broadly vawted. Brownish masses of tuff hang down threateningly ftom above; the deep water plays with sulfur-blue on walls spattered with metallic colors. To the left opens an arcade of natural construction with a magical view ofNisida. A1> the waves rise and sink in the vaulting, there sounds an echo from the clefts of the far-stretching depths as from the shell horns of playing Tritons; hence comes perhaps the name of this grotto. In dusky depths a rock deft yawns toward Misenum. Our boatmen told us that the Monicelli (the Germans' Little Monk.~) resided in this grotto by night, and that no fishenuan who seeks the dangerous grotto in a storm c~mes out alive. ROMAN DIARY, II 42

We rowed around the Lazareth [quarantine?] rocks and Nisida; the former is hung like a Gothic tower [p.1Sl] with jackdaws' and swallows' nests, with antique remnants of Roman villas. I was deeply moved on seeing in Nisida the refuge chosen by Brutus and Cato against the popwar rising ofthe degenerate Romans after Caesar's death.

Our dear Tischbein spent the noon hour with us, and we, taking it hack with interest, spent the afternoon with him. From the fullness of beautiful things in which we reveled, on which we gorged ourselves, I mention only (I) the life-sized picture in which the fine physiognomist [Tischbein] has luckily caught the eagle Goethe in a mre moment of repose. (2) Helen, Paris and Hector, a large historical painting, still unfinished. The Helen is already complete in spirit, lacking only the last tonch. Never has a painted fignre so highly delighted me, contented me with such sweet rest. She is the most beautiful on earth, and looks about her unpretentiously as a goddess. Yes! Tischbein is a child of nature, nurtured at the bosom of antiquity !

The [p. 152] other figures are splendid academic [studies], but still of marble; I do except, however, an indescribably charming young maiden who kneels before Helena with her work. These two figures are the painted definition of the Grazia sublime and piacevole of my Winckelmann. (3) We saw the first volume of Tischbein's work on Homer: i.e., his happy idea of presenting in copper engravings everything which antiquity has preserved for us from Homer's epics in statues and busts, on vases, intaglios, gems and has-reliefs; to pictorialize Homer for us, and thus, in a happy cyclical pattern, return him, who became the father of art through song, into the world of sense throngh art.

May 23.

In great heat we were early on the sea, where strengthening coolness surrounded me. We set our course for Portici, and indulged our gaze on the most delightful setting that ever surrounded a harbor. How the amphitheatric [ p. 153] heights round themselves above the town! How remarkably rises the mixture of cliffs and buildings, in which the former often overhang the latter, and the latter often CroWD the former! How splendid is this teeming seashore, extending from Posillipo' s tip into the Maddalena meadow, where the Campo felice gently opens, and the Abruzzian Apennine lightly raises itself in the blue haze. The Molo on its lava foot steps into the sea, the fine Chiaio girdles the city! Above the towering palaces, the fresh green of the vines, elms and mwberries wreaths the hills, which then majestically incline their high heads in the blue air.

A boat full of young fisher-fellows followed us. - Like frogs from a green bank, the mischievous boys leaped from the boats into the sea - and now the whole troop, like Tritons and dolphins, flitted around our boat, dived down, disappeared, leaped about, romped and scuffled in short, pursued their existence as uninhibitedly in the green (p. 154) waves as in a green meadow - to the great delight of the children, who threw them bread and oranges, but finally dribbled wine into their open throats; all of which they snapped up in the most comical, fish ROMAN DIARY, II 43

like manner, and took beneath the waves - then, suddenly popping up again, asked for new provender. Not until we had satisfied them with a handful of small coins did they leave us - and I surrendered undisturbed to the double enjoyment of reading in my Ariosto on the dancing waves, and raising my eyes to look about me. In the heat of noon we returned to our cool dwelling.

I spent the evening hour and the twilight after sunset at the palace of Queen Johanna. The sea murmured powerfwly, with hollow waves and no wind, in independent movement; and I was frequently driven up the beach by advancing waves from the suddenly wet rocks. The horizon line of the sea between the tip [p. 155] ofPosillipo and Capri, and again between Capri and the foothills of Massa, seems to round itself off as though drawn by the warm evening light, and the green nymphs seem to raise their heads with joy.

May 24.

On this day we visited with Tischbein the cabinet of Etrurian, Campanian, or actually ancient Greek vases assembled six years ago by Sir [William] Hamilton. It is one of the foremost in the world - and acknowledges only the King's colJection, at Capo di Monte, as its rival. The sow of this extraordinary man now hangs with the same passion on these fine and mysterious imaginative pictures from the ancient world, as it did formerly on the eruptions of Vesuvius, which, however, he never loses sight of But this quiet, scholarly enjoyment of fine forms and thoughtful pictures of the past is so touchingly and harmoniously adjusted to the evening life [p. 156] of the noble old gentleman, that I would be able to see him, not without reverence and heartfelt emotion, among the gmve monuments of former times.

For all the vases, pots, plates, urns and vessels, without exception, were found in gmves, and those which are found in the localities of Locri and Nola are considered the most beautiful. Tischbein asked us not to believe anything of all that he and other laymen and savants have said, believed, pointed out and hypothesized concerning the purpose, use and meaning of these variously formed vessels. After this honorable invitation to skepticism, he began his instruction - and for this very reason found a most believing student. He drew my attention to the beauty, density and lightness of the clay; the blackest is the best. The purity and loveliness of the forms develops the taste even while satisfYing it. How gracefw and pmctical at the same time are the handles and [p. 157] fingerholds! One can cook in these vessels, even burn them out, without damaging the form and colors of the drawings 011 them, the material is so purified. The rightuess and lightuess ofthese fignres, which seem to have floated out from the ethereal stream of fantasy, are declared by Tischbein to be unsurpassable, and nnattainable by the copyist (even the most practiced master band).

We saw the handsome Hamilton Hotel [residence]. In the upper story (the house lies on the Chiaio) there is a corner room which seems almost to float in these Hesperian airs. In it one becomes a bird, and sails away with outstretched wings of thought between sky, sea and land. Today I saw the picture before the original; Lady Hamilton, painted by the most famous artists ROMAN DIARY, II 44

as Mimin [actress?]. It is a splendid Bacchante; complete in all forms, and similar to the famous Bacchanale of the handsome sarcophagus which [p. 158] stands in the Courtyard of the Belvedere, immediately on the left of the entrance.

May 25.

Today we visited Philipp Hackert and his brother Georg. This man has built his art on mathematical ruJes, and arranged according to conclusions. It is not the omnipotence of genius, nor the enchantment of an ever new and active imagination, which seizes upon me before his paintings; but a quiet pleasure, akin to the joys of remembrance, lingers gently with him. Industry, unequaled experience, and taste distingnish him. I thought it as impossible that Hackert should paint or draw an impure atmospheric tone, a faJse perspective, a misplaced tree, or a chimerical outline, as that Herschel should make a mistake about the heavens or Schwz play an unresolved dissonance. He knows all Italy, Calabria and Sicily as I know my garden; everywhere he sought and found [p. 159] nature, and the easily embmceable heauty. We particularly admired three landscapes; a portmit of the region of Pie di Monte on a fine evening, and two morning compositions; not dream pictures piled on top of one another (as is so often the case with the more recent landscape painters), but recollections from the fwlness of an imagination, sated with natural scenes, which lingers always in the domain ofheautifw reality, and never becomes fantastic.

As the sun was setting I made a solitary excursion through the Grotto (which for me becomes increasingly a transition from life to a higher being, Purgatory) into the Mergellina valley; that is the name ofthe horizontal ground which one enters from the Posillipo Grotto. I lost myself among high-blooming com stalks, beneath an airy elm and vine heaven. The dusk of evening colored the valley, while reddish lights still lingered over the Camaldolensian Cloister. I felt as though I were already in Elysium, so still [p. 160] and secluded is this charming valley, encompassed by the defending Posillipo, and separated from the dark hollow by the shimmering Neapolitan world.

May 26.

Corpus Christi festival. It was not for the empty pomp of the procession, but to see the populace in a confluence of all classes, that I drove to the square before the Jesu Church, which opens upon one ofthe main thoroughfures through which the procession passed. I noticed first that the assembled orphan children were here more reasonably dressed and looked healthier than in Rome. In the elegant ladies who occupied and adorned the windows and halconies of a palace in front of me, I noticed less beauty and stature in the facial features and the outlines of the figure, but more charm and complaisance in gestures and dress than with the proud Roman ladies, who want only to conquer.

I was told that the class of the [p. 161] Lazzaroni often includes rich fellows who are not idle daytime thieves and vagrants without fixed residence, but porters, day laborers and fruit ROMAN DIARY, II 45

peddlers, and even sailors; these consider themselves, as snpporters of the King, to be members of the celebrated sect of the Homeless - royalist samell/oftes, and, in these days of apprehension, one of the pillars of Naples' hopes against the approaching French.

The King [Ferdinand I] appeared on foot behind the Most Holy [things]. He is a tall, good-looking man, his face looks good-natured; he looked very sad, and really bent. Good man! Why was the burden of this crown laid on your honest - but weak - head? Why was it not your fate to hunt and fish as a harmless landowner (Umdjlmker)'l Most repellent to me, on the whole, were the faces of the assembled Neapolitan grandees. Thick, yellow-bloated, distorted feverpictures! Hardly a face did I find among the motley, bedecked and decorated crowd on which I [p.162] could linger with appreciation. - This observation applied with redoubled force to the clergy, in whose broad features the ruling characteristic was a heavy brutality; how much sensitivity, in contrast, is revealed by the Roman prelates' heads!

We are having remarkable weather. Dull, thick, heavy air; but without Skirokko. Sea, islands, and shoreline swim in haze, and one can scarcely guess at the distinguishing outlines. Without wind, the sea is nevertheless in constant inward movement, and beneath the inert pinions of heavy, lifeless air, the waves break foaming on the shore, and the sea moves hollowly. The sun cannot penetrate the hazy atmosphere; but it is not clouds that conceal it. Vesuvins lets dull thunder rumble, and the newer craters steamed to some extent yesterday; can it be that a physical outbreak oflong-impeded forces is closer to us than the moral one? Perhaps we are vacillating between the two - both wiJl occur in accordance with equally necessary laws of nature.

[p. 163] I paid a visit to Kniep, our dear countryman (in the broad sense of this homely term, with which people so gladly greet one another abroad); for, in reality, this well-known landscape artist (Landsehaftszeiehner) is a Hanoverian! But a landscape artist indeed! Never have I seen sketches like his. Each of them is an academic masterpiece. Air and perspective, trees, relationships of the architectonic parts, everything is complete, finished with the most graceful elegance. His own compositions are full of delicacy; neo-Greek idylls, interwoven with charming lively scenes. He is a confidant of nature. What a tender life in the lovely plant world of his foregrounds, and what a characteristic truth in his foothills and mountains, where one always immediately distinguishes the types of rock, and the chalk and tuff cliffs retain their own Habitus as faithfully as the chestuut tree, the oak, the swamp and hill plants. The material from which this truly great artist [p. 164] evokes his most ingenious landscapes is the sepia, which he handles with all possible strength and skill.

I saw at his place portraits of the most enchanting views of La Cava, Vietri, Salerno; and my longing for this Tempe, Campania, grew afresh!

Afternoon. I have long wanted tu ride on the backbone ofPosillipo as far as its sea- bathed tip. According to all topography, this way must offer the most enchanting views. My hired servant advised against the project, as tiring and not very rewarding; but being familiar ROMAN DIARY, II 46

with Neapolitan indolence, I stuck to my design. But I had taken account only of nature, and not of the art-locality ofPosillipo!

We rode below Virgil's grave, climbing ever higher between the tuff walls, from which wild shrubbery at first nodded down to us, and on which single pines and deciduous trees grew upward. We had a splendid view backward from the cleft onto the bay ofChiaio, the tip [p.165] of Pizzo- Falconi's house-mountains, and down to CasteU del Uovo. Here the gap in the cliffs shoves itself together, and the curve of the Bay resembles a deeply sunken fresh-water lake; the Belvedere shines forth in the wreath of the vine-clad hills, appearing, in the lovely deception of distance, as greenly shadowed as it is actually stony and harsh.

But as the back of the hill was reached, all joy was for long at an end! The unfortunate white walls of the vineyards shut us in closely; one knows that there are the most enchanting downward views on both sides, and langllishes in dust and heat. Oh, curse of the excessive population! - How these endless walls martyred me already in Marseille! Only through the occasionally opened gates, or through the breach in a fallen wall, did one see, as in a Paradise Lost, down to the valley floor ofjUor di Grotta.

Finally, after a tiresome two hours' ride, we reached the edge of the peninsula, above the Punto di Posillipo, just as the sun was [p. 166] setting, and I wanted to seize the victor's wreath, to rest on the slope overlooking land and sea, and the reddish islands. Ah! Then my servant whispered to me: "It is not safe here; robbers and murderers live in the caves beneath the Punta, and a few years ago an English lady was murdered at this place." At the same time he pointed out to me a couple of brown fellows, in ragged clothing and armed with flints and pistols, creeping around in the hollows.

Never in my life have I been so disappointed! I wanted to remain; for I do not believe that any living being with whom I can talk, and who looks at me, wiU harm me, and I have no fear of thieves or murderers. But the fear of poor Louis seemed so great that I took pity on him! So we climbed down the precipice ofPosillipo (since to ride was impossible). A path has been tom through cliff walls and cracks in ancient law and tuffbanks, [p.167] and its precipitous irregularities are picturesquely overgrown.; this I climbed down, for none of my companions went as fast or as safely as I and my two light deer; - an uncertain guide is the most tiresome of beings -- and so we descended little by little into the soft green of jUor di Grotta, where my carriage awaited me. It was night; we drove tllrough the Grotto with torches, and with this fantastic illumination it brought home to me for the first time its strange and dreadful effect.

May 27.

Today I spent some hours with Karl in the mineral cabinet of the young English doctor Thompson, who graciously accommodated himself to my simplicity. Most interesting to me are the crystals and crystallizations, and the crystalline condensations of mineral salts. The internal secret of an opened flint enchants me; [p. 168] these small worlds, secretly and brilliantly ROMAN DIARY, II 47 formed in the lap of night, have for me a deep attraction, especially in the c.ontrast with the multifarious sulfur- and alum- (? Allmm-) flowers which we see forming themselves before our eyes in these Phlegraean [volcanic] localities. A very rare cabinet-piece particularly attracted my notice. It was a dark gray mass oflava, fine-grained as clay, around which white quartz had crystallized in octagons so that the whole thing looked like a wasp's nest. The side of the piece measured about a square foot. This unusual piece had, if I am not mistaken, been found in Scotland.

In the afternoon, in somewhat cooler air, we made a long-contemplated visit to the lake of Agnano. The road, under freshly greened hills in the fresh valley, is most attractive; the lake, delightfully flanked on the northwest by vineyards, is slrITounded in the southeast by young, bright green chestnut groves, and bordered by the rugged mountain which separates this lake valley from the black-wooded crater valley of Astrumi.

[p. 169] A fine alley of slender poplars squeezed itselfbetween the lake and a gently rising meadow where there were fragrant haystacks. But the water of the lake is muddy, and millions of toads and frogs crowd the banks in such numbers that one finds no fixed point which doesn't soon hop or creep! I breathed with difficulty in the heavy air, the reason for which we found in the visible drying out of the volcanic lake and the evil exhalations of the muddy shores.

We visited the sulfur baths and the Dogs' grotto - but we contented ourselves with the torch experiment, and saw only the trembling anxiety of the tortured animal, whom our guide much desired to take with us. I was anxious to leave these Avernian airs, in which my poor soul immediately sinks its laden wings, in order to visit the remarkable sources of the local sulfur baths known as Ie Pisciarelli; one drives to the left and gradually uphill through the poplar alley. Most [p. 170] delightful is the deep loneliness of these volcanic grounds, where nature rests, fresh and flowery, on her own ruins. We wandered in the pleasant, perfumed thickets of Cytisus, myrtle and mastic. Before us rose, in dazzlingly contrasted color effects, the white tuff head of Monte Secco with its ochre and vitriol decoration above luxtrriant, succulent green.

But suddenly everything was transformed! Torn hillsides surrounded us, the rough path makes its way through white, ruined cliffs, the loose tuff-stone is tinctured with red, violet and yellow and often reduced to plaster. The hollow earth resounds beneath our footsteps, and exudes damp sulfurous vapors. We climbed farther in the bed of a wild dried-out brook; steaming cracks yawned on all sides, and as one nears the main source, the sweat pours out heavily. In front of this main cavity stood a deep pool of bubbling, bluish water; within, one heard it fermenting and boiling. [p. 171] This sulfurous air, unmixed with the emanations of stagnant water (and unlike the lake of Agnano) is very beneficial to me. On the way back we noticed, on the right where one climbs up from the lake, ancient masonry, probably rllns of baths, of which the bath-loving Romans undoubtedly installed a good many in a neighborhood so rich in hot springs.

May 28. ROMAN DIARY, II 48

Trip to Pozzuoli; gorgeous in the cool morning hour, through the Tempe-like valley fiLor di Grotta. The Bagnole seashore remained on the left with Posillipo. The perspective view of the sea through the poplar alley was very fine. Nisida comes into view, and soon joins Gajola and the Lazaretto cliffs on the left. But we drive to the right beneath the Puzzolan cliffs, hard by the sea, which foams against the impeding lava rocks. The sole but huge law stream which formed this coast, and which [p. 172] exceeds the age of all our history, is ascribed by Hamilton to the old Solfatara volcano.

We soon looked from the higher road onto Baiae's gently bowed coast, where the Monte Nuovo rises between Pozzuoli and Baiae. We visited the temple of Seraph is in Pozzuoli. To judge by its appearance, it was most probably destroyed by an earthquake. The tine columns lie there as though knocked over. They seemed to me to have been [ made] of ZippolliflO, fine- grained red granite, Porto santo breeeia, and marble. We inspected the temple with a plan we had brought with us. Very remarkable, it seemed to us, were the traces of sea-dates (Meerdatteln) high up on the three standing Corinthian columns. We carefully removed some of these univalves, but they broke between our fingers; beneath the debris, sea sand was heaped up. How close together, everywhere in this wonderland, are the formative and destructive elements, the omnivorous and regenerative ones! My friends had allowed me [p. 173] to travel to Pozzuoli because the Mal- Aria is supposed to begin only in June - But truly it was already there!

It is true that the most lovely vegetation grew about us in these ruins, and that pomegranates (Granaten) bloomed, vines crept, roses and jasmine smelled sweetly around us. But the air was slack, like lukewarm water, and everything crawled with young toads. We returned to the inn. Here I was attacked by a somnolence such as I had never experienced, as it were with arms of iron; I was nauseated; but it was sleepiness that predominated. It was only by bathing my face with vinegar and water, drinking a little wine, and putting torth the utmost exertion of all my faculties that I warded off the dangerous sleep until a boat was there and I threw myself into the invigorating bath of sea air; there I again breathed consciousness and life.

And herewith are brought to an end for this summer our projects for Baiae, Averno, Mare morte, the whole Virgilian underworld, the Curnaean Sibyls and Poseidon's temple at [p. 174] Paestum. They could offer me half the world, and I would not breathe again the loathsomeness of these airs, and the heavy deathlike sleep. No! This toads' air is poison tor an Alpine chamois.

We drove to Misenwn, surrounded by so many interesting objects from the old world, beneath the lovely outlines of ever youthful nature. We left behind us the old Molo ofPozzuoli (the so-called Bridge of Caligula), and saw the Gaurus mountain, the father of the Falernian wine, rising steeply; while the Monte Nuovo, the son ofthe wonder-night, sprung in dark hours from the womb of the old bearer, rises close by over the sea. From on high the fortress ofBauli looks downward - deep down on the sea beach lie the ruins of voluptuous Baiae, whose corrupt moral climate was formerly as dangerous to good customs as the quality of the air now is to health. ROMAN DIARY, II 49

Very charming and delightful [p. 175] is the architectural style of the little so-called Temple of Venus (a baptistery belonging to the great baths), like the Minerva Mediea on the Esqlriline and the Tempio delia Tosse in the Gardens of Sallust at Tivoli. The rllns ofBauli glided past us with the horrifying thought of Nero and Agrippina, which rose in frightfulness from the waves and trickled down from the shore! - Fly hence, you figures of dread, into the sea of death!

We drew near to Cap Misenwu; it is a peninsula, and apparently is connected to the mainland only by a narrow neck ofJand consisting of a chain ofJittle hills bordering the harbor ofBaiae on the south; these hil1s are called Colle delia villa di Pompeio. Through a sea-grotto we row beneath these tuff stone cliffs, slowly, on the clear darkness of the waves, forward through the Grotta degli spiriti (Spirits' grotto); behind us, Baiae's bay disappears; before us opens a new [p. 176] sea-basin, and Cap Misenwu, which we, deceived by an optical illusion, thought we had left behind us, again lies qlrietly before us at the end of a jagged row of battered cliffs. These cliffs have been heaped up like the Baths of Caracalla at Rome, and dreadfully pelted with the rllns of the ancient Misenwu. Misenwu, too, was visibly damaged by the earthquake, which tore open the cliff foundation of its blrildings and split its roofs.

We landed at the base of the high foothilJ, where it hangs upon the cliff hills on the landward side; we wandered through groves of fig trees over the back of the narrow hilJ-dam through which it is linked to the mainland. There was a splendid view over the Mare morte (the former harbor ofM. Agrippa) and on the foothill of Prozita, named for the island opposite to it, behind which Ischia rises proudly upon its giaut Epomeo. The grotto ofTracconaria, the objective [p.177] of this landing, was visited. For me there is nothing striking about it; it is not picturesquely vaulted, and offers no charming or noble views. It seemed obvious to me that it was not formed by natural agency but dug out according to plan; and water is still kept there. Here, too, the dead sea exuded a dull Mal-Aria, and not only I but also Pohrt and my servant experienced drowsiness and nausea.

I fled to the sea! - It seems that since the last eruption and the [partial] collapse of Vesuvius, the air has become worse; for these localities are, according to general testimony, to be visited with anxiety only after four weeks and in growing heat; but even a week ago, Karl and Pohrt returned deathly pale from a pilgrimage around the lake of Agnano, through the Astruni valley, etc., and complained of nausea, vomiting and a little fever. In Portici (where otherwise the air is generally considered healthy at all seasons), [p. 178] a man recently fell dead on the opening of his wine cellar, after having climbed down with no anxiety, on encountering a single breath ofhelJish vapors. They say also that some days ago when the King was hunting in the park of Portici, two hunting dogs fell dead at his feet. It may be that the cave-in of the top of the mountain has resulted in the blocking of some of the usual Soupiraux [ventilation openings] of the mephitic vapors, which now seek an outlet here and there and in this way alter the air quality at different points.

I willingly admit that I always wander with a certain secret shudder over these ever ROMAN DIARY, II 50

blooming and ever- burning hells, and will never feel at home in this land, where one cannot cling confidently to the mother's lap of earth, and may not breathe without anxiety the strengthening fragrance of the earth and the refteshing fragrance of the tenderest plants, but must often hasten away with shy steps, as qlrickly as though stepping over a newly covered grave.

So, receive me once again, you friendly [p. 179J sea-borne Amphitrite! - We drove right into the fullness of the waves, and around Cap Misenum as far as its highest tip of land. Here we rested on the cliff-surrounded foundation; brown, picturesquely opened hollows everywhere penetrate the tuffstone cliffs, and the clear water flows playfuJly in and out. At the outermost point, however, where the tower stands, and the cliff summit above us looks out over the boundless sea, the breaking waves bore us aloft and let us down with such happy, youthful strength that my living soul rejoiced! - Oh, thou happy life of the sea, ye ever-young floods, with what joy my spirit rests upon your silver tops and cradles itself in lovely crowding thoughts from one wave to the next!

We lay still for a good while in this manner, without rowing, in the midst ofthe festive ballet of the sea nymphs, who mischievously played around the cliff figures. Now we looked back on Posillipo, Nisida and the fold of V esuvius; now at the foothills of the Minerva, [p. 180] swelling powerfully in the floods, and at cloudy Capri; then ahead to Epomeo, the hero among island mountains! Then we rowed back, ftom one bay (Seebusen) to another; first through that ofMisenum; then, like sea birds, we passed Baiae's lovely coast.

I noticed the correspondence, or rather the consonance, of all these peninsulas. Their naked brows stand turned from the south to the west, and in front of each lie visibly torn-off rock fragments. So stand Punto di Posillipo, Pozzuoli, Colle di Pompeio, Cap Misenum, Cap Martino, turned to the same side, and the lovely sea-surfaces are charmingly enclosed between them. The new Bauli lies above the sea bay, on a heightened bank among grape arbors and elms, sheltered by two cliff-arms. We rowed as close as possible to the Bridge ofCaligula. Twelve tremendous columns supported airy arcades, traces of which are seen everywhere, and here and there fragments of the vaulting. So powerfully large are these indestructible piJIars of ancient times, [p. 181] that on one of them a very pretty, respectable honse stands isolated, looking fearlessly from the column of old times into the floods.

I did not hold out for the hours of the siesta in the inn of Pozzuoli. Everything disgusted me. Air, food, and the rascally fellows in and around the hostelry! It was as if all the gallows- physiognomies of the earth had been assembled here! As in Huon's and Amanda's fiery pit, there crowded before the windows of the house, "black-yellow, ragged, half naked rabble"; even the children, who otherwise are always and everywhere my heart's joy and refreshment, here bear even in tender youth the marks of base passion in their prematurely deformed features.

These children of the coastal dwellers, moreover, are complete amphibians; and one would think they were born under water, except that the figures of the mothers quickly banish any thought of nymph-like qualities. Assembling on a black rock on the lava seashore, ROMAN DIARY, II 51

[p. 182] the boys leaped far into the sea, head first - disappeared, and dove after the deep- glittering silver pieces that had been thrown in, while the little gudgeons (for it's as fishes that these children always seem to me most tolerable) swarmed around on the flat shore, in the shining floods. Among all the boys, I didn't see a single well-formed body which might have promised a youthfully noble aspect. Brown, thin, stocky and skinny of arm, the little ones were as neglect and bad nutrition had formed them; the growing ones short and with forcibly stunted, low-class figures. It was very funny when the little brown-yellow tykes, like smoked herring, scrambled onto the shore and then, tumbling around in the black law sand, glittered with the bright metallic particles, covered with sand and running around on the beach.

At 4 P.M. we were already seated in the cabriolet, and driving up the serpentine road to Pozzuoli's hill, up to the Solfatara. Now I stood on the white sulfur and [p. 183] alum floor of the oval natural arena, the meeting ground not of enfeebled little men and wild beasts - no! rather the ancient battleground of enraged and hostile forces, which, fused together in the bosom of the earth, could resolve their great conflict only through the labor pains of their fearful bearer and the destruction of the living fields that bloomed around her!

Round about us, the amphitheatric crater walls raised their white corpses' brows; but in the middle of the sulfur and alum ground grew cistus, spartium and mastic bushes in sweetest innocence, fragrantly over the mouth of Hell; and young chestuut trees grew joyfully upward. I always had the strange feeling that these tender children of the plant world were only transitory apparitions; like those artificial flowers which the chemist can summon out of teeming acids for an hour's life. Anxiously I watched to see whether they would not terminate their brief existence by returning their tender heads into the foaming birth-stuff

[p. 184] Hollowly the ground rang under each firm step; a five- to tenfold echo followed the thrown stone, rumbling out of the thinly crusted, Stygian deep; a glowing sulfurous breath (though never a burning sulfur smell, disseminating sulfuric acid) rose out of all the cracks and crannies; almost visibly, the shining sulfiJr-flowers at the openings crystallized before our eyes. We now approached the main hearth of the old volcano, where a deep cauldron, as in Macbeth's magic kettle, boils, hisses and bubbles. One hears and feels the working in the interior ofthe rocks, before which the boiling pool deepens. Billish sulfur-flames flicker above the kettle. I'd like to be for once in the Solfatara on a real dark night, when all these fire-eyes which are dazzled by the bright daylight would be shining; I am sure that the fire-tongues then protrude from every crack, and that little flames flicker over the arena in a magical dance, like salamanders, in airy choirs. [p. 185] I breathed so easily again in the pure volcanic air, and I feel so at my ease in the fiery air, as though I were myself a salamandress.

The descent from the monntain is a real delight. We first visited the ancient amphitheater of old Pozzuoli. It was very large and, by my estimate, only one-fourth smaller than the Coliseum. The arena is now a pleasant wine garden, sheltered like a secret valley by the gigantic walls, and the blue atmosphere, like a shimmering carpet, sinks down in friendly wise into the powerful round. ROMAN DIARY, II 52

The view descending the mountain changes with every step, from beauty to splendor! But on the little cliff projection behind the cathedral church of PozzuoJi, all beauty, splendor and majesty are merged as in a single point. There I floated, qlrivering with joy, above the floods, between sky and sea, the coasts and islands - thither, thither! Until the [p. 186] pinion of the soaring Psyche sank, and, ab! the fettered one again felt herself hard bound to the barren rock of the present. ROMAN DIARY, II 53

BRUN95N, continued VL

TRIP FROM NAPLES TO VIETRI AND SOJOURN IN THE LA CAVA VALLEY.

May 30,1796.

[p. 189] On the way through Portici, Resina and Torre del Greco, the traveler has little enjoyment, since he is continually shut in by walls and shrouded in dust. With amazement we looked once more at the lava of Torre del Greco. The view ofthe Carnaldolensian Cloister is remarkable; it lies on the small green hill, on the slope ofVesmus, like an island surrounded by lava streams, and looks cheerfully into the distance, down upon the sea and the coasts and islands. Nearby rests the charming little bay between the seams of the mountain and the steep harbor of Castellammare, near where Stabio lies. We drove right across the old lava field of 1763. It is monstrously large, deep, wide and high, and [p. 190] flowed right down into the sea. To witness a lava stream entering the sea, with the river of flames" I would give three months of my life! On this black lava desert the green tufts were already blooming splendidly, with golden blossoms of the hope of newly bursting life. Dreadful, ITom this side, is the view of the ashen head, stiffening like that of the Medusa! Here the mountain poured the greater part of its glowing streams from deserts down into deserts.

Torre dell' Annunziata is a considerable little town, and lies on the extensive tongue of land so that one looks diagonally over to Castellammare and its high-bordered and deeply jagged cliff-mountain. In the bay lies a little islet with the fortress. The whole locality is remarkable, and any description becomes understandable only with the aid of a map. The fruitfulness of this volcanic hill land is very great, and stands in enduring tense contrast with the Hell above.

We now caught sight, in vineyards to the left beneath a chain of hills, of the grave of Pompeii; but I drove peacefully [p. 191] past, intending to see the tomb of antiquity with diligence, and the wonders ofPaestum and Baiae in safety, in the cooler autumn season, where I still planned to remain among Parthenope's magic fields. Fate, however, had decided matters otherwise! We had a view of the theater and the barracks from the highway above. But the severe heat robbed us of any thought of lingering between these sun-irradiated, ashen walls.

Beyond Pompeii, where one leaves the extended foot ofVesmus and the bordering sea, Campania's smiling plain opens more freely, fresher and more invitingly! And after one has endured sixteen miles of heat between dust and walls, one begins to breathe more freely. Never has a rural scene enchanted me more than the lovely little valley ofScaffaca, with the village of the same name. Ripening rye and wheat swayed [in the breeze]. The lovely hemp plant covered the fields in a jlricy green; the beauteous Prato with purple of Sidon; lupine, beans, maize, swelled [p. 192] and waved luxuriantly in happy confusion. On the other side, between high, untrimmed elms, the green grape-heaven was spread out, and our delightful road was shaded on ROMAN DIARY, II 54

both sides by the most beautiful Lombardy poplars, between whose trembling leafage the grape vines extended their flexible arms and bound the straight trunks in neighborly fashion; a sweet picture of friendly sociability!

Sideways, stolen glances open toward blue-enshrouded mountains. The slopes of these coastal ranges, which we see on the right, are covered stepwise with grapes, grain and meadowland; villages lie or hang upon them, and the parish belfries peep out of the green. The higher clefts and steeper cliff-faces are covered with dark oak and shimmering, cool night chestnut woods, reaching sky high; only the naked peaks thrust sharp outlines into the blue aether. Behind Scaffaca, a fast-running brook, the first flowing water since Naples' Sebetho, refreshes the peaceful lowlands. Ever more delightfully [p. 193] unfold these Campanian paradises; ever more nobly rises the surrounding wreath of hills; ever more varied are the glimpses into the expiring mountain chains of the Abruzzi in the north, Puglie in the east, and, before us in the southern distance, Salerno's clouded hills.

Our drivers announced to us the midday halt for the entire group -- but rest, only for its four- legged section. In the miserable dram-shop, in the middle of a field, where it pleased them to halt, the one room was occupied by the silkworms; anyone who knows the exhalations of this populace during their caterpillar life, and even in their sylphlike state, will understand that we left the accommodation entirely to them.

My traveling companions established themselves between the horse-stall (which, incidentally, here in the country, actually and figuratively, is usually a pigsty) and the pond, on a few benches in the front part where there were still clear traces of a slaughterhouse. I escaped [p. 194] the whole business [by settling) in the thin shadows of some elm trees near the ditch at the roadside, where I patiently ate eggs, oranges, bread and cheese, and drank some of friend Heigelin's Madeira. As a spice, the dust of passing vehicles was not lacking. A troop of halfnaked beggar children soon joined me, and I shared with them.

A peasant woman came up and invited me to climb over the fence into her meadow, which was cool. - But she found my spot too hard on the ground, the good woman, and soon came her little daughter with a chair and rug, which she carefully leaned against an elm tree, spread out the rug, and so invited me to a siesta, which did not amount to much, since the anxious soul did not leave me but kept her eye on me continuously. Her daughter, a girl of thirteen years, carried the whole heaven of Campania in her wonderfully beautiful eyes, through whose deeply shadowed lashes streamed a fire gently damped by mildness of heart! Such an eye, in this shadowy setting, is as common here as it is rare in the North. [p. 195] She was spinning on the distaff in the manner of southern countries. Charlotte took a lesson in this pleasant work from the delightful creature, whom I would gladly have given her as a permanent playmate.

We were obliged to travel farther before the cooling, which here awaits the sea breeze from the Bay, because we actnally have no permanent quarters, and being equipped only with a ROMAN DIARY, II 55

few recommendations from Naples, I am hoping that if the hostelry at Vietri is too bad we can be accommodated in La Cava.

The valley floor narrows in the neighborhood ofNucera. High and variously shaped hills surround us ever more closely; in the foreground, the pyramidal form predominates with extreme regularity, and I thought I saw the Pyramid of Cestius, in hugely enlarged form, in one of these apparent rubbish heaps; black woods clothed it up to the dark slrffimit, which is inhabited by a hermit. These hills seem to me to be of a calcareous nature, and in the [p. 196) heights the abrupt declivities incline to the vertical.

In the little town of Camerelle, I was struck by the teeming population, in the romantic situations of these peacefully encircled depths. Noticeable in the nearby hills is the lack of water; but this dryness is characteristic ofItaly's limestone mountains. Our highway accommodates itself magnificently to the twists and turns of the hills, and the most delightful lookout points change at every moment; the huge mountain chain on both sides stands firm and commanding. But these wonderful pyramidal hills appear like movable stage props, and move now here, now there with every turn in the road; life breathes everywhere. The hillsides are splendidly green, and the more tender green of the grain fields, the vineyards and meadows protrudes from the valleys and extends upward into the shadow of the dark mountain peaks. Little towns, villages, cloisters rest on the free platforms among the hills, hang on the slopes, and display themselves near the summits. Often, too, [p. 197) the noble bllilding of a fine cloister looks over the precipice and down into deep abysses. And now we turn into the magical valley of la Cava, which is merely driven through by travelers heading for Paestum. Here immediately on the left lies a nice little town called Preato; its little white houses are charmingly aligned like a ribbon on the mountain's green foot.

How magically this splendid double row of mountains is disposed for viewing; how secretly the valley floor rests in the peace of the depths! There ahead of us lies the chief town of the valley, Cava Nuova, hidden in gardens; and there, far off and high above, the famous old abbacy of Cava, founded by the first king of the Lombards. In heights and depths, a population of24,OOO people affectionately spreads over the whole lovely little land. Four pyramidal mountains identifY the heavenly quarters, though in a rather diagonal layout. These high guideposts of the air thrust heavenward either bare rock-summits, like [p. 198] the Liberatore in the south, or the deep night of primeval woods. On each eagle's eyrie stands a fur-seeing cloister, or lives a hermit. Menacingly, the long western side of the valley (which extends from north to south) is flanked by two powerfully spreading mountain chains. Apparently their summits are linked by a Daehriieken (in Savoy one would say Col [pass, saddle]), and their feet appear rooted on a single base. The first is rough St. Angelo, heaped up in towering, vertical masses; the second is the wild and deeply split Finestra. Swiss forms beneath Hesperia's heaven!

In the little town of Cava, through which the road passes, we stopped a moment to see Don Giovene, to whom we had been recommended, and found ourselves in a family of good ROMAN DIARY, II 56 looking and well-to-do people who were taking their midday rest in the little orange-scented garden. They give me little hope of finding an accommodation in Vietri; but encouragement to come back here if unsuccessful; [p. 199] but I am foJlowing the sea like a shorebird, and on Friend Domeyer's orders may choose yon, charming Cava! as my nest only in case of extreme necessity.

We then drove farther; the two miles from la Cava to Vietri disclosed more charm, beauty and splendor than days' journeys in the prosaic nature of the lowlands. The picturesquely laid-out road proceeds on the belt of gently raised chalk hills, deeply cleft on our side. The eagle's mount in the southeast (called il Sante Liberatore [sie]) fonns the boundary between la Cava and Vietri; we drive beneath overhanging rock masses in a green cleft valley, shaded by a changing profusion of all kinds of trees. Down on the right, immediately adjoining la Cava, is a second Cava, where fine houses stand around a body of water with a mill, and which is called Valle deJIe Moline. To the left is a wild little valley called Ponte Sordo. The fonner opens a perspective view of the sea between overgrown cliffsides; the latter loses itself in emerging hillsides. And now we have [p. 200] passed beneath the hill, and the town of Vietri lies on the edge of the high seashore; bold is the view to the south onto the broad sea; shuddering the view downward into a narrow shadow harbor, opposite which a rough and wild mountain coast is darkened by towering cliffs - only Vietri adorns the other side, placed on a green height among orange and olive groves.

Now there was no possibility of remaining at the inn - its uncleanliness offended every sense! The host's demands for this dwelling, for every detail, exceeded all belief; the vermin drove me from one corner to another - I fled back to Cava! Oh woe! Here the inn was a complete Hogarthian caricature of the one in Vietri. Exhausted by the heat of the day, dispirited, desperate, I wanted to drive straight back to Naples - but first to greet the friendly Don Giovene. The latter did not want to let me travel, by any means. "He knew a good accommodation, only a bit lonely, [p. 201] up above the town on the hill; Filangieri lived there two years." With every word my heart beat higher with joy and reviving hope. "The owner is a friend in Naples; but he [Don Giovene] has the key; he will provide beds and what is necessary until I have rented it and come to an agreement with the owner; now I must refresh and restore myself while he makes the necessary arrangements." I was deeply touched by the goodness and the simplicity with which it was exercised, and thankfully accepted everything. At twilight the dear man personally conducted us to our dwelling. Never was r more delighfully surprised! A splendid house, reached from the town by a formal elm and grape garden, lies at the foot of Finestra at a gentle altitude, looking far across the whole valley, like an island in the waves of fertility! And this was the so modestly announced "emergency accommodation."

"Let us only not be thrown out again by the owner," [p. 202] I cried; "that is my only fear!" "Gh Signora! E galant-huomo il amieo mio!" the good old man replied, All tiredness had vanished - I breathed insatiably the cool atmosphere of this herbally spiced valley air in all the open vestibules of the airy house, and luxuriated in the fullness of this most beautiful valley in the world. The twilight lingered long in the reflection of the clouds - and when, around ROMAN DIARY, II 57 midnight, they brought the evening meal and the beds, I felt that I needed no more nourishment except this air, and no rest except that of my mind.

May3!.

I spent the morning qlrietly, tired from yesterday's heat and all the adventures we had been through, in enjoying the delightful views from all four sides of my free dwelling. What a green covers these fields! How tender and fresh! Everything is fully unfolded, and every leaf stands up with [p. 203] its own charm. Freely the vine-tendrils sway over one another in all directions beneath the tall elms; and as I drove here yesterday from Cava, it all seemed to me a fairy vision, invoked by an invisible protectress for my refreshment after the tedious day. But there still lies the magic scene; and the dew-besprinkled green tendrils sway in the morning breeze, and I still see Albano's urchins mischievously swinging and chasing one another on rainbow wings among the vaulted branches. Tall grain stalks wave around our house between green fences, from which rise handsome oaks, elms, hazels, and single pines in delightful groups. Up and down sweeps the view into the life of the wiley, and the loneliness of the mountain clefts in the heights; and the mild blue heaven rests so gently above everything; and the morning clouds play in the gray fissures of the Finestra, one of which, dividing its summit, is a real military highway ofthe clouds.

[p. 204] Toward evening we drove in the coolness by way ofVietri to Salerno. Vietri lies on the rocky foot of the Liberatore, which separates the coast from the Cava valley and extends right into the sea. No contrast can be more striking than that between this and the other side of this typical calcareous mountain. Cava lies in tlle deep lap of cool rusticity (Landberge). Here flourish all the deciduous trees that I have seen in our islands, in Germany and Switzerland; from the willow and beech, all the trees and bushes up to the chestnut. But the southern trees, which received me already in Como, at the foot of the Transalpine Alps, and in Languedoc and Provence - the olive, the laurel, the pine, and the noble gold-frllits, seldom appear in la Cava; only perhaps single specimens by the houses in gardens. A cool, pure, rather sharp air blows through the valley; everything is jlricy, green and fully arrayed. (voll bekleidet).

We turn with the angle of the mountain, on the free southern side. Vietri lies on [p.205] barren rocks beneath olive trees, which veil its gray strata with pale yellowish green; and oranges and lemons send their fragrance from the abrupt shore down into the sea. One drives through Vietri and remains on the excellent highway, which runs like a girdle over the spurs of the Liberatore, plunging deep into the sea on the right and climbing high in the air on the left. The fullness of the sea here opens into the splendid Poseidonian bay (im prachtvollen poseidonisehen Meerbusen), which, free of islands, bathes the white-shimmering coast; Salerno lies delightfully blrilt down to the sea, overtopped by the high cliff-mountain from which the rock-hewn fortress looks down menacingly. Above the town runs a little green wiley in the lap of the mountain; here rice cultivation predominates, and the marshy fields send unhealthy airs down on the city. ROMAN DIARY, II 58

Beyond Salerno one looks into the distant lowlands of the Principate of Citra, along the plain ofEboli and the irregular coast to beyond Paestum; behind which the hills, which have retreated landward, again approach the sea, [p. 206] projecting high headlands and mountain brows into the floods. The splendid Poseidonian sea is here pressed into such a sickle shape that these high cliff shores appear penetrated by clouds, seemingly cut off and throning it high above the clouds like elevated cliff islands. There in the southeast, everything shone with the brightness of the sun, still lingering on far-off white mountain peaks of the Apennines; and sea and land, valley and mountain, lay there cheerful and smiling like youth's beckoning future. We turned for the homeward drive. (We had lingered midway bewteen Vietri ansd Salerno, where the beauty of the whole had delightfully stopped and held us.) There lay Vietri, faithfully in early shadow, and above the deep little harbor the high and awe-inspiring coast, which, reaching far into the sea, rests beneath wild jagged peaks; the outer side of this chain approaches thrOugll secret valleys and meets the coastal hills where Amalfi lies, and then, with the forehill of Massa, the Bay of Naples enters that charmed circle.

[p. 207] In ten hours' time one can travel from Vietri to Naples by water; this would be my preference for the return journey. We now rolled comfortably in the light Neapolitan vehicle, drawn by the nimble little horses, back to our domestic la Cava. And I blessed anew the fate that had shaken me from its wing just there in the peaceful valley! For, to give expression to my heart's meaning, I care as little for splendid views as I do for splendid residences. To live in the peace of the valley is my wish, but close to the free heights; there the heart is so gently lulled to sleep, and Psyche sinks her wings a little - then, out to the heights! One lives best on the slope.

June 1.

The galant-huomo, the owner of this house, arrived from Naples; and it turned out to be the same man, and the same house, in which my good [Signora] Filangieri had not wanted me to live because of her anger over the shamelessness of the stipulations! These the man of honor now increased by one-third; for he had me tight (vest), and my delight over this dwelling unfortunately spoke so loudly from my eyes that while I was very carefully speaking to him, he actually increased his demands by another quarter. - That is, he had demanded of [Signora] Filangieri 36 ducats a month. From me he immediately demanded 50, and during the conversation, encouraged by some charmed glances on my part, raised it to 65 ducats. - Then I took courage! - That I would have to pay for my good fortune in having landed here was nothing! - I called my coachman, with the order to harness up - offered 40 ducats - or offered compensation for the two days' possession, and threatened immediate departure - and we were in the right! I have always done it this way in Italy. It is only through brevity and determination that one comes to a conclusion. For this, I got the existing furniture, beds, kitchenware, etc. What was lacking was rented from Vietri, so that for 60 ducats a month, I [p. 209] admittedly lived far better than I needed to; for the house is large, and nobly built, and with stalls and carriage space at my disposaL Ah! Here lived Pilangieri for two ofthe happiest years of his short and famous life, in domestic peace. I am writing here on the spot where he worked for the ROMAN DIARY, II 59

good of coming generations! Here my good brother was happy, at the side of the so tenderly loved and lovable noble friend! Here around the cordial fireside assembled in autumnal hours the nobler spirits from Naples, for friendly conversations closed by a rustic meal; here beneath this hospitable roof, the fire of southern spirits was united with the cordiality of German ways. Tom is the fair wreath, since the shining star set too soon for his fatherland! - Filangieri's friends now wander dispersed, or languish in state prisons! - and the Genius of the land mourns its most loved son.

I have very happy morning hours here. While Karl and Charlotte (p. 210] take their early lessons, I wander or drive out alone into the universal green of the beloved valley. There are few carriageable roads, apart from the main highway, and they run only a short distance sideways to the foot of the mountains, where nunlerous steep patllS begin, mostly following dried watercourses. Today I drove crosswise through valley and town and up to the church ofSt. Nicolo, which lies on an open height above its northeru end; here there is a magnificent view, but the sun was already too strong. The town is very lively, and the inhabitants look healthy and prosperous. The provisions are good, and cheaper than in any city in Germany. This valley with the surrounding hills' and the famous old abbey is a bishopric numbering 24,000 souls. The town has 12,000 inhabitants, and lies half in the valley and half on the green slope of one of the above- mentioned conical hills, called the St. Ajutore. The [p. 211 J other half of the inhabitants are pleasantly scattered like herds in the small white huts in vineyards and fields, in heights and depths.

Remarkable is the formation of the double rows of hills that surround this peaceful bottom, whose greatest width is some I 1/4 miles, while its length is 5 to 6 miles. Within the side-hills, which in part rise from adjoining and entirely fertile heights and in part seem to grow out of the valley, I was always struck afresh by four pyramids which stand almost in the four quarters of the heavens and which constantly attract the eye by the easy symmetry of their form and placement and the variability of their covering.

In the southeast stands, as boundary between Caw and Vietri, the high pointed limestone cliff of St. Liberatore, dividing heaven and climate with its eagle's head; a hermitage lies on the whitish cliff-crown.

In the east, directly opposite my dwelling, rises above the little town the [p. 212] the rocky pyramid dedicated to St. Ajutore; in the rocks above is an old fortification and cbapel.

In the northeastern depth of the valley, a little outside of its proper boundaries, stands the sharply defined and darkly wooded pyramid ofSt. Martino.

In the southwest, near the end of the long valley, there rises abruptly, and also wood- covered, la Croce Santa, likewise in conical form. In the south, the vaJley is tightly closed by the

'Formerly the land of the old Pisentines. ROMAN DIARY, II 60

Liberatore. - But far sunken to the north stands in the depths outside the valley a black pyramidal mountain, a place of pilgrimage called Castello di Mater-Domino. The Castello bears airy arches (Hallen) of the rllned fortress picturesquely in the air. In the west toward the south, the sturdy mountains of St. Angelo and Finestra shelter the valley. An earthquake tore the naked rocky body of the former, splitting it into a dreadful gorge, which, gradually narrowing to a crevice, separates one-third of the height of the mouutain, which I estimate at over three thousand feet.

[p. 213] In the milder light of afternoon we all drove up to the terrace ofthe church ofSt. Nicolo. Indescribably beautiful is the view into the northern distances toward Naples, where, in gentle wavelike lines and veiled by evening mists, seven mountain chains of Campania and Abruzzo piled themselves up, woven, flooded and permeated by harmollions color toneswhich concealed nothing, but baptized everything with gracious charm! We descended into the valley, beneath the grapevines and elms, and wandered to the left in narrow paths between high shocks of grain. The pleasant building style of Italy beautifies each field! How prettily lie the white Casali's6 of the country dwellers, the little white masserie7 tinted with the purple of the setting sun, which soon disappears behind the jagged rocks of the Finestra, and soon shines out again with ever deeper light from the gilded green of the thick chestnut woods.

June 2.

Early today I made a trip above the western side of the valley, where my delightful dwelling lies on the green seam of the Finestra. The higher one climbs among the vineyards., the more pleasantly the mountain country unfolds itself Closer to the town, every masseria is anxiously surrounded by walls; here one steps freely over little ditches, from one garden into the next, and everything breathes qlriet and the security of innocence. The little cabins lie picturesquely in the shadow of large fig trees, on which the vines, with their tendrils, form cool arbors over the frontal spaces. Large chestuut and oak trees grow out of the hedges which separate the little properties in all directions, and distribute everywhere attractive patches of dense greenery. The cultivation of the land is unsurpassably painstaking. Never did I see rye (here called Grano germano), barley and wheat stand so high, the already heavy ears so full, and so entirely free of weeds; the grain is already ripening, and over it still gleams [p. 215] the tenderest spring green, in the light garlands of the vines, and in the leafage of the tall elms, mulberries, poplars and the tops of the ash-trees. Beans," lupines and Prato are in their second blooming; the Turkish grain (Tiirkenkorl~), melons, pickles, (.'U<.:'Ueelli and other cucurbitaceous plants, and young kidney beans (Brechbohnen) stand hands-high for the summer harvest and nourishment, and friendly Horen dance an uninterrupted round-dance!

6Country cottages.

7Grape-arbor shacks.

8Those called horse-beans in Germany. ROMAN DIARY, II 61

The customs of these valley-dwellers appear to be as gentle as their fuces; the women age early due to too hard work. Among the young girls I saw Greek profiles. The countryman here is not a landowner, but only a tenant farmer, since the owners of the land live in the cities, many of them in Naples. A poor old woman whom we visited in her hut told me that she had to pay 7 per cent rental fee. As the value of the land increases through careful cultivation, the landlord raises [p. 216] the rent, but the poor countryman remains ever impoverished despite his industry. Happily the land is covenanted for 10-20 or even 30 years, but the time grows ever shorter. I came finally, always on my donkey {aufmeinem Eselein steigend}, to the foot ofMt. St. Angelo, which stretches its stiff rock prongs out of a thick mantle of woods. From Mt. Finestra angry torrents flow down after heavy rain; their deep, now dry beds are all filled with limestone debris. The water thundering down from that dreadful cleft in the Finestra has more than once laid waste the blooming mountain land, and once mined the house in which I am living, and done great damage in the town.

Today was the Corpus Christi festival of this valley, and in the evening a solemn procession with the Host makes a pilgrimage to the chapel of the Patron Saint on Mount Ajutore. This mountain stands isolated above the town, and exhibits the construction of its calcareous cliffs; but it is also built up to a respectable altitude. We drove [p. 217] somewhat upward through the town; then the unfortunately still weak patient mounted the donkey, and the still cheerful society proceeded on foot. The narrow way leads around the cone-shaped hill, and we were soon riding on the side that is turned away from the valley, on rocky, uphill zigzag paths; protected from the burning heat by the mountain's own shadow, and shaded by the charming wild shrubbery, in which I first descried the marma-ashtree. The view downward into the (to us) new side valleys, where green is shadowed in green, and little hamlets with pretty churches preen themselves on the heights, surrounded by smiling grace in tbe lap ofmra1 peace, was heart- rejoicing. More and more, the green, much subdivided mountains open themselves; in distant clefts lie still more little vintners' huts, or peasant shanties; everything is mild and cheerful, and rests securely under the protection of the higher mountains, which in the east separate the fruitful valley of la Cava from the Prinzipata ultra. Wine, grain and meadowland succeed one another on the mountainsides; [p. 218] then the shadow offtesh groves crowns the summit. The lovely mixture of colors in shades of green; the dark masses of the shadows of higher mountains thrown into the clefts were most picturesque. Well-being and vigorous life in this fortunate region seems to extend into the most hidden mountain crannies.

Halfway up the mountain, we caught sight of the sea ftom its ftee slope, through that perspective valley cleft of Valle Molare, which opens upon Vietri between the two fantastically formed mountains of Liberatore and Filliesco, allowing the eye to glide freely in the undulant blue. Around us the happy people of la Cava, and those of the neighboring land and sea towns, fluttered up and down from all sides, emerging from between rocks and out of groves; in bright holiday attire, adorned with red, blue and yellow silk.. The dresses, often of scarlet and decorated with blue ribbons, the hair (unfortunately) powdered and tied with blue ribbons, or ROMAN DIARY, II 62 hung in a nee [p. 219] according to Italian custom. We saw very handsome girls; not only did fresh country blood color cheeks and lips - although this too glows channingly beneath the brownish touch of the warm heaven, outshining our dull northern coloring - it was a higher beauty, in the formation of the solid parts. Two women especially struck me: a young girl, beautiful, gentle, with a ptrre profile, similar to the daughters of Niobe, and a young woman, a splendid fiery bacchante. The men are relatively less strong and handsome.

We came now to the brow of the mountain, and suddenly saw our own dear great valley opened anew beneath us; we sought and found our peaceful dwelling at the foot of Finestra, now standing across from us; and then looked back into northern distances, in order to catch a glimpse of the summit of Vesuvius tuwering above the heaped-up mountain chains - but in vain! A carpet of clouds had rolled down in front of him; Voi vedete oggi if principio del mondo, ma non [p.220] if Vesuvio," a cheerful countryman said to me. Here, in the mild mountain air, aromatic herbs bloom between the bare rock summits: lavender, thyme, Meiran, balm-mint (Melisse), the varieties of mint, bushes of white roses, and mastix balsamized the air. Many plants which looked as if I knew them only from our hothouses were also visible, but still without blossoms.

We were now, after an hour's ride, at the summit of the mountain, where a little Castello crowns the pyramid, and a large scaffolding has been erected for the evening fireworks. They give this mountain an altitude of 1200 feet above the wiley; according to my eye-measure, which seldom deceives me, it would appear to be more rather than less.

The scene up here was very cheerful and lively. The men climb around in the high scaffolding, putting things in order while little children also play in it. Between the flowery crags lie the youth of both sexes, established in happy groups. Flowery wreaths, ice cream, cake, and other [p. 221] refreshments are offered for sale, and the children greeted with cheers the faithful gingerbread, which had followed them from the Sound to the Apennines. On the rough slope of the mountain the youths stood in rows and fired salvos from their carbines into the valley, to be answered by diverse mountain echos.

From the other side we looked into the boundless sea. Deep down to the left, Salerno rested with its high-throned mountain formation, behind which rise high calcareous mountains, shining white and reddish, and penetrated by bright douds; far off embraces itself the coast of Paestum, and Poseidon's harbor rests mirroring within. How gentle is the far-off blue of the sea, and how refreshing the green of the nearby valley!

At sunset we were down below again, accompanied by the flashes and reports of the carabineers. These were soon answered from the valley by little cannon, an activity in which the nephew of my landlord, who occupies a side wing of the house, particularly distinguished himself.

9Called Resilla. ROMAN DIARY, II 63

[p. 222] It was now, only with the dusk, that the real festival began; and never had I seen the like, in which nature and art joined friendly hands to produce a really magical result. I quite consoled myself for not having seen in Rome the fiery pinwheel rising from Hadrian's tomb and the illumination of St. Peter's dome. Those things my imagination can show me; but this night scene was so strangely venturesome, magical and charming at once, that I shall never lose the feeling of it.

Night Festival ofSt. Ajutore of La Cava.

From the free height of our house we now oversaw, by sinking twilight and from our windows and balconies, the whole wIley and all the surrounding hills. As soon as it grew dark, the whole town of Cava was suddenly illuminated; whereupon the whole solemn Mount Ajutore suddenly shone with a thousand pleasure- fires; and now, as night sank into the valley, [p. 223] friendly lights appeared in the most remote clefts and on the steepest heights. The hamlets on the mountainsides, the cloisters on the peaks, displayed their airily shimmering architecture from out of the remote darkness. High as though from heaven, the fires of the hermits shone from the dark forest-pyramid hills into the valley. This shimmering, shining brightuess was gently broken by the vine-garlands, which, melting into greenish gold, changed the whole scene to a fairy garden. The valley resounded with the exultation ofthe people and the constantly recurring, joyful volleys. From the five eagles' peaks rose single rockets, like bold thoughts oflonely spirits, into the dark blue night aether. Yes, even on the wild Berghorn, above the dreadful fissure ofFinestra, a lonely joy-light glimmered at an altitude on,ooo feet, and not far above it twinkled the evening star.

And now there wound, half visible and half concealed, with song and shout, in the candlelight, a long [p. 224] procession up the rough mountainside, ever more thickly sparked, lightened and blitzed all round with rockets, firecrackers and fire-fountains. Suddenly, all the mountain fires, the joyful shots fell silent; a solemn stillness reigned in the valley and on the hills. Then, on the highest peak of the mountain, four immense fire-wheels suddenly began to turn, silent but with lightning speed. Out of the whirling fire-wheels, as though borne by unseen spirits, appeared an altar surmounted by the high Cross. Gentle and bluish like the trembling starlight was the shining of the high altar, streaming downward from the noctnrnal heaven as from the sanctuary of nature. As the Cross appeared high in the air, the people threw themselves to the ground on knees and faces. Gentle, lovely music rang down from the mountain above, and reverence and euphony streamed into the hearts of the spectators, inflaming the enraptured prayerful ones. So bright was the gently radiant light of the altar that windows and columns threw shadows into the rooms, [p. 225] as does the half moon. We scarcely breathed in our sweet wonderment! Five to six minutes the vision lasted, and then suddenly disappeared back into the night, whereupon a general salvo of all guns and canons concluded the festival.

June 3. ROMAN DIARY, II 64

My birthday. It was a dark, rainy day, and the air was so harsh that I felt just as in Zealand and at home! Also, I lived entirely in the bosom of my own family, who also lovingly celebrate this day. My heart, with melancholy longing, dwelt on the thought of my true mother, my faithful siblings, my beloved little children; and when the two of them who are here crowned me with myrtle, the lovely gifts of the Hesperian heaven, and loaded me with golden apples, the tear of separation fell on the fragrant wreath.

June 4.

The fine weather has returned, and everything shines as though never before seen. We drove [p. 226] via Vietri to Salerno. One can never take this road too often. Every hour of the day adorns the details ofthis noble stage with new charm! We went on foot along the magnificent highway - I on the massive breastwork that separates the road from the rocky depths of the seashore, over which it lightly floats; for only there is the view outward, upward and downward complete, unlimited and grand! This road is a magnificent work; for it is in part hewn out of the chalk strata of the Liberatore. To the left the cliff-masses rise powerfully, and on the right are the depths over which I wander, where the sea now breaks at the foot of unyielding cliffs, and now the green flood invades the frightening depths of little rocky bays. I could not grow tired of my lonesome way. To wander securely on the verge of abysses gives an exalted feeling, physically as well as morally. A pleasant world of flowers, each kind distributed as in small communities, adorned the barren rocks above and beneath the way with the liveliest [p. 227] mingling of colors. The golden Spartium, the large Valeriana rubra, showed themselves in full bloom and in shining bushes. Antirrhinum majus, Reseda alba stood next to immense umbels of the wild fennel and cherbil. Shrubs of Cytis1/s and Col1/thea shimmered, close now to the waves, now to the heavens. In high clefts I saw blooming myrtle; for the tender myrtle loves the rocky ground and the sea air.

Salerno is densely populated, and on the whole well built; but the masses look pale and aufgedunsen, and the streets are very narrow while the honses are very tall, something I observed in all the towns of southern Europe begirming with Toulouse and Montpelier, the cause of which therefore is perhaps not alone the age of these cities, but also their shadow-producing bllilding style.

The promenade in the harbor of Salerno, beneath the high elms, is very handsome - but even more handsome is the quite open seashore behind the town, beneath those picturesque groups [p.228] (1 think) by Riistern, trnder which I lingered today for the first time, and so often during my stay here, with shuddering delight.

This bank is so flatly pressed into place that at high tide the rivers flowing from the country are dammed by the sea waves and pressed back to form those swampy plains which make the whole region from Salerno to Paestum so unhealthy. At this time the bank was dry, and I saw from the vaulted fullness of the Bay the long foaming breakers as it were rolling down! The sky was full of hurrying clouds. On the right I looked up out of my depths on the ROMAN DIARY, II 65

powerful, heaped -up and squeezed-together mountain range of Salerno, Vietri and la Cava, whose piled-up profile rose into the clouds, and then in rough gradations plunges into the sea with the rock corner that separates the Salernitan and Neapolitan bays. This foreland which is visible from here is called Capo d'Orso. In the Alps I have seen infinitely higher, but never more [p. 229] boldly delineated mountains. These giants stare into heaven. Wildly fissured and sawtooth-edged are the tom peaks. Sudden cloud storms sweJled the sea; the noisy waves, almost overtaking us, drove us higher up the beach. Far off in the southeast, beneath a cheerful heaven, gleamed Paestum' s white coast; above Vietri, the rain streamed from a dark cliff bosom into sinister clefts; behind these clouds falls, from a sun's halo, prismatic light on the mountaintops of la Cava. Magic of the present and remembrance of this coast., made classical through history and the poets and artists of more recent times, surrounded me. In our dear valley we found the early dusk already sunken from tlle western hills, while in tlle northern distances the whole spectrum of an Italian evening lingered delightfully.

June 5-7.

These three days we had rough and rainy weather. But la C.ava is interesting [p. 230] even on less beautiful days. Cloud armies /Tom Finestra traveled across the valley, and hung upon the mountain strata. It seems to me that all of these mountain chains are built up vertically, and all parts break in pyramidal fashion, ifI may speak so of the principles of the mountainsides. Below in the valley the ground seems clay-like; all of the detritus in the stream beds is limestone. I am living in the fairy world of Ariosto, whose luxuriant imagination so often loses itself in the most vivid play of colors - but whose spirit never betrayed the higher beauty, as his heart never betrayed love. Sweet, bitter tears flowed today for Cetbin and Isabella!

Nature 10 feee E poi ruppe la Stampal

Nature made him And then broke the mold!

So one cries out delightedly with Isabella, enviable even in pain!

In the early hours I still found moments for small, lonely wanderings. To the left, behind the town of Cava is a deep-lying and [p. 231] delightfully wild little valley, named Ponte Sordo for a bridge over a meager brook; the vegetation here is everywhere fresh, but not luxuriant and rich as on the Alban Mountain. Handsome German oaks provide splendid shady places. The chestnut woods remain ever young, because they are cut down every eighteen years; the size of these youthful grove-members, and the number of tendrils emerging from a single trunk, bear wituess to the excellence of the ground and the inward vitality of the plant world in these not too warm, cool airs. On the slopes ofFinestra and St. Angelo I saw the huts of poverty in such enchanting locations, scattered beneath fig trees and thrusting muscatel vines, that my heart was touched and pressed itself to the lap of the gentle mother, who, after all, bestows on these good ROMAN DIARY, II 66 people that which no pressure can deprive them of These hut-dwelJers received me with idyllic simplicity and goodness. Unfortunately the most painful weariness can still be seen on me during every little walk, and the pallor of exhaustion on [p. 232] my cheeks was always noticed by these good people. Man and child, or little mother, busily placed a chair for me, and fresh figs or chestnuts appeared on the green leaf The little gift of appreciation was seldom accepted. I again suffer more here from a dry cough and chest pains. The beneficent Laudanum, taken after the warm bath, is then my only help. It does not prolong my sleep at all, and gives rest only through alleviation: and the next day I am ready for all activity. I say this earnestly, in order to combat a little with my feeble testimony the still prevalent prejudices against this pain- and anxiety- combating balsam. Rheumatic patients and those suffering from nervous tension will always find themselves relieved through the wise use of opium. This is the case with me. Ah! How often have I blessed the opimn, when every nerve became a pricking thorn; when from anxiety (Beklemmung) I could scarcely [p. 233] breathe, and then c.onvulsive (krampfigter) coughing threatened to tear open my breast!

June 8.

Today in a gentle afternoon light I visited the northern end ofla C

Before us from the other side of the valley of Mount St. Angelo, chestnut woods rise [p.234] grimly over the vertically pointed, pyramidal foothills; fleeing clouds pour streaming shadows on the lower slopes, and sunlight plays in the otherwise dark woods and mountain folds. This beautiful locality belongs to the hamlet of St. Lucie; no wheeled vehicle goes farther. We sought the cool of evening at the seaside below Vietri. On a projecting shore- cliff there stands a Casino, from whose garden and vestibule I enjoyed a sweet evening hour. On the right one looks down into the early darkening cliff-bosom ofVietri, along the dark cliff row from which the white bamlet ofRaiti hangs down picturesquely over the waves. The whole seacoast as far as Capo d'Orso is rongh, wild, jagged inward and outward, and the waves break loudly against the brown rocky shore; but the rough peaks stretch wild horns up into the clouds. Higher and sideways, I caught glimpses, through the perspective on the toot of Liberatore, ofthe small hamlet Vieni a Casa, lying so secretly embedded in the green - then downward, where [p. 235] Vietri's houses look into the deep green valley-cleft of Molin are, which extends outward from la Cava, with the brooklet that pours into the sea. These pleasant nature-labyrinths discover for me one secret little place after another; never have I seen such variously subdivided hills, and people everywhere nested in them like swallows. The open sea was pearl blue, and cheerful as the face of a friend. Beneath us the mariners drew huge nets onto the land with the ROMAN DIARY, II 67

evening catch. A group of forty to fifty curious idlers stood about; and my curiosity was also aroused. Slowly about eight to ten men drew the black net out of the floods - it was almost empty, and the expectations of all of us were disappointed!!

But ever more delightfully smiled the evening, ever sweeter smelled the oranges of the garden around me. High above the plain ofPaestum, the high ridges of the chalk mountains of Basilicata gleamed silver. A remote exposed mountainous territory, toward the borders of Calabria, rises ever higher in the twilight of cheerful distances. [p. 236] Darkening nearby are the green shore-flats behind Salerno, wrapped in early mists.

June 9.

I spent the entire morning strolling by myself; as soon as one leaves the town, little footpaths rise everywhere in cool shadows; since all the hedges are alive, it is green everywhere, and little groves of nut-trees and oaks are lightly dispersed Beneath these fair Avellino-nut [trees?], which always sit in groups of six or seven and therefore promise a sweet harvest, I read my Ariosto. What a masterpiece of soul's knowledge is Orlando's madness! First the long silence, then the complaints, then the blazing anger! I suddenly saw my peaceful grove uprooted before the rage of the powerful!

Here all the deciduous trees of Europe grow peacefully green together! Close to me creep and bloom shrubs of white roses, hazelnuts, Coluthea, hawthorn, lilacs and honeysuckle; maple, elms, oaks, Rilstern, willows, beeches, [p. 237] birches, chestnuts, aspens, poplars, and (mingling with the northern frllit trees) rare oranges, stone pines, laurels and cypresses offer the most lovely confusion from all parts of the earth. Very beautiful are the walnut trees, and the slender white oaks with the small and finely edged leaves. The leafage still shines in vernal beauty and plays in all nuances, mingled together by gentle breezes. The whole little countryside is a garden of Paradise.

We closed this day in the harbor of Salerno. Magnificently rises the town as one glides away from the bank.; close above it lies a cloister, serious in its nest of gray rocks and surrounded by olive trees. High above rises a crag in the rocky setting of the Castello. - The fruitful land extends agreeably around the town, up to the hills and down into the waves. To the left in front of the town, fine herds of cattle held their evening rest under those fine trees close by the sea, and the little fortress ofTorreone [p. 238] stands picturesquely on the round hill. From the bay we glimpse both horns of the large crescent moon; on the Naples side, the dark rocky point is called Capo d'Orso; in the south, the sun-swathed foreland is Cap Licoso. Splendidly rises between Salerno and Vietri, looming over the latter place, the boldly formed Liberatore. Its head stretches into the clouds, its feet are bathed by the sea; it is girdled by the people-bearing military highway. The color tints ofHesperian airs surrounded us with visible euphony; misty clarity hovers over the farthest shores, the new moon swims, sparkling with dew, in the aether. ROMAN DIARY, II 68

June 10.

To the right ofthe high bridge-dam which connects la Cava with Vietri (between which two towns a deep fissure would otherwise have been torn before the foundation of the Liberatore) there lies the deep little cliff valley called Val delle Moline, because two brooks there drive a number of mills; in the south this valley runs with [p. 239] the lmited brooks into the harbor ofVietri. We climbed down, and then saw above us the high chaussee, borne on arcades, which is a great work ofhurnankind; beneath the arcades there stream out ofthe green valleys two brooks which join in a right angle around the deep pivot of the Liberatore. I descended into the echoing depth, beneath the arcades, after one of the two little brooks; it slips down from Ponte Sordo clear and stiJl, overhung by slender whitewood (Weissholz), with scarcely noticeable current, a Lethe never breathed upon by the air. When one has gone through the arcades, one finds oneself in a busy little underworld. Here around the second brook, which rushes with fuller current from high wooded mountain clefts, a whole little town has settled, and the machinery of the water miJIs sounds dully through the depths. We foJlowed the brook uphiJl, on its wild bank on the right side of the wiley; on these lonely paths unveil themselves a thousand beauties of the kind that nature hides in her [p. 240] lap, and which one seeks in vain on the paved military roads of convenience. Here one had to ride fearlessly along the tom shore, often dismounting and proceeding on foot along the narrow slippery path; more often still to break a path between wild vine-tendrils.

Everywhere along these rocks, brooks gush forth and grottos have dug themselves out. One of the grottos was wide open; large stalactites hung like truncated columns from the high vaulting; water dripped heavily from every hanging rock tip, and fell resoundingly to the ground. Wild fig trees grew from the chalk breccia, where the cliff was not lined with tuft; wild vegetation hung down over the stalactites, and the sun glided in sideways through the magically iJluminated ehiaroscuro; with the turning brook at our feet, light and coolness trickled down into the valley. We rode ever higher after the steadily sinking brook, and soon we saw the narrow mouth of a deeper hollow; a full stream [p. 241] glided forward between luxuriant shadow plants; we crept in with difficulty; I never saw such a magic cave as this one - little niches of beautifully browned tuff had here been hollowed out on all sides with lovely natural fantasy; the tender veil of the sweet Adianthum hung down over it, and water sources rippled, pearled, dripped out of every niche, as out of the urns of invisible nymphs. A mossy bank leaned to the right against the cliff; there one looks out of the uncarmy darkness past treetops, and sees the heavenly blue without touching the earth. Nor did the lovely spot lack dedication; on a dry little spot right in the middle between two niches, as on a sacred hearth of the nymphs, a pair of birds had nested in the soft moss. Modestly they flew toward us, and five eggs lay in the nest. How doubly dear to me was this grotto! It became a temple of love, and lacked only a Gesnerlike shepherd pair as priests of this sacred domain. Will ever two happy and blameless lovers meet here? [p.242] High genius of nature and love, bring two pure souls together here one day; let them here feel for the first time the full harmony of being, without which the great harmony of all things remains ever hidden from us! ROMAN DIARY, II 69

We scrambled uphill on ever steeper rock shelves and on narrow paths. The valley sinks down and becomes a dark cleft, over which dark wood sides of the hills climb upward; I ride between blooming myrtle-Lentiseus and mastic shrubs; in the grass is the scent of spicy herbs. Karl fluttered about like a butterfly in this strange plant world, and Lotte clambered like a shegoat in search of enticing flowers. We now ride in a zigzag pattern, and suddenly the whole region appears to us like a tender miniature of our unforgettable Centowlli.1O The similarity was so striking that three witness agreed, Pohrt, Karl and 1.

We had now reached a resting place. A projection of the rocks forms a sharp [p.243] angle, around which the valley suddenly veers to the right into deep, wild woods where finally, high above wood, brook and rock, the abbey of La Cava lies unseen. In lovely meadows one sees over yonder the village [of] Campanile; sidewise above us, in garden and wood, [is] the pretty hamlet of Santa Maria del A vocata [sie]. In the background of the wiley depths, lonely little huts lie by a waterfall, above which rise wildly jagged, but aJways opulently verdant, mountain tips. High in the air rules the gray Finestra; deep below lies Valle Moline; fur off in the traversed hills the little town, at the foot of high-gleaming Liberatore.- Over purple-glowing foothills rises the wide quiet sea, Poseidon's coasts, and the reddish tinted mountain chain. Ah! the day sank, we had to leave. A secret uphill way [sieJ led us back to La Cava.

June II.

A few days agio I was driving in an open carriage on the great military road. An elderly cleric [p. 244] who met us suddenly stood still and cried out in joyful astonishment: Eeeo la sorella del Signore F ederigo! Often enough already I have been recognized in Italy by the similarity to my brother Miinter. We stood still; the friendly old man was the Gran Vicario ofla Cava, Don Carluzzi; a friend of Filangieri' s, with whom he often saw my good Fritz; a dear, true- hearted old man with a real Vicar (if Wakifield physiognomy. This man now accompanied me today on an honorable long-ear [mule or donkey] into that little Centovallinesque valley whose secrets I yesterday left with such reluctance. We rode back on the secret way as far as the parting place; but instead of following our yesterday's path in Valle Molina, we turned to the right and up to Maria del Avocata. From the village one immediately finds oneself on a rock corniche above the depths of a romantically broken valley cleft, which, as in Centolvalli, is brushed into inward and outward pointing angles, around whose bases a rapid and mshing (p. 245] mountain brook hastens along a zigzag charmel, through the thick green of woods and shrubbery, into the open Valle Molina. One rides for three-quarters of an hour to the end of the little valley, where it ends in a rocky gorge through which a fine waterfull plunges out ofthe mountain. All these chalk cliffs had been permeated by stalactite water; the large masses, striped black and white in horizontal bands and crowned with the variegated green of the shrubbery, offer from a distance their extremely pictnresque parts as one nears the end of the valley, passing on hanging and lonely paths above the darkness of the wooded clefts.

lOA valley in the Italian-Swiss circumscription of Locarno. ROMAN DIARY, II 70

Above and below the waterfall is a finely opened stalactite cave, supported by a stalactite pillar, and adorned with loges at the sides; on the hanging tips of the stalactites hung a delicate net of light green, and decorated with the violet blooms of Antirrhinum hedera folia, trembling with the breath of gentle air and the constantly pearJing water drops; around the grotto were green [p. 246] myrtle bushes and slender young manna-ashtrees. Next to the waterfall was bllilt a little mill with a hut, in one of the most charming places I have ever seen. The hut was secluded but open, and only a few snow-white doves confidently passed in and out; seeming to us like the gentle geniuses of the lovely hermitage.

From the harmonious ehiaroscuro of the grotto, one looks back through the long green cleft of the wooded mountainsides onto the frllitful seam of the eastern chain ofla Cava, where the sun gleamed brightly and the white houses, cloisters and chapels lie scattered among grape plantations, cornfields and meadows. What nature! How tender and secret its beauty; and how few travelers know la Cava's paradise! Hackert and Kniep have often studied here, and at Kniep's I saw pictures which made me immediately feel at home here. This romantic spot is called la Grotta di Ponega. Beside the waterfall, a rough footpath leads into the rocks [p. 247] and up to the famous abbey of St TrinitA; but on the right a wilder way, on the inner side of the valley cleft, leads into the mountains and, over mountain and through wood and cliffs, down to the sea near Vietri.

June 12.

I have got into such a fever of discovery that in my eagerness to follow this interesting path I hardly sleep, and in daytime can hardly await the cool afternoon hours. - My dear old Vicario thought it was a rather temerarious undertaking for a delicatissima Donna; but as soon as he had admitted its possibility, I was as good as under way. I went alone with Karl and my servants: Ion donkeyback [zu EselJ, as long as it was possible, the others on foot We followed yesterday's fine way through valley and grotto, and then directly to the right and up the steep, chestnut-covered mountain of Traonea; immediately are opened changing views into the deep little valley, on [p. 248] the variegated chalk cliffs, arched into grottos and overgrown with green vegetation like the substructures ofthe Palatine. As the way turns, one looks sideways into the high green valleys which hang beneath Finestra' s jagged peaks. Suddenly appears, in isolated and sheltered position, the TrinitA Cloister, only to disappear again immediately. We now climb steeply through the thick chestnut wood for three-quarters of an hour, and find ourselves, after getting past the lonely village ofTrannea, on the flat top of the mountain.

What a scene here opened around me! On the left, my whole lovely la Cava spread out and overseen; in the depths and on the heights, in bottoms, gorges and clefts, the teeming population so lightly scattered! Far below me lay Molina's little fairy valley, and in front of me on the green slope of Liberatore were the little white houses of Vien Ii Casa, positioned like a reposing flock of lambs; over yonder hangs the Planwn inclino.tum which is formed from this side by the summit of the Liberatore; to the right against the [p. 249] Liberatore lies Vietri above a low-lying, deep blue sea basin. Behind Vietri (for Salerno is hidden in the in-reaching ROMAN DIARY, II 71

mountain chain) the frllitful plain ofEboli gleams in the sunlight, and the boundary hills of Basilicata take their rise. Deeply sunk down is the sea in the rocky basin, deep the summit of the hill of la Cava, of the Ajutore. Suddenly this handsome detail map disappears; the summit of the mountain we are climbing advances, and we are again in the dark wood.

Once again a distant view! But Cava, Molina, Vietri have vanished as though at the gesture of a magic wand, and the broad bright blue sea has opened in unembraceable fullness; no longer deeply sunken, but rolling high on Poseidon's coasts, where lonely lie the white ruins of Paestum, and at a greater distance Cap Licosa breaks the floods. Here on the mountain's high back, I was enchanted by the crowd of noble plants which I had seen, if at all, only in our hothouses. In addition to the Genista, the Spartium, and the wrieties of the Citysus, there smelled, greened and bloomed, in luxuriant fullness, roses, myrtles'l of all kinds: mastix, Lentiseus, whole species of thyme, Meiran, Menthee, lavender and amber, and decorated in lovely confusion the lonely height, which, like a sacrificial altar smoking with incense, rises between sea and land into pure air.

Thus far our way had been only difficult; but now, with my little lamp of vitality almost burned out for today, it began to grow really dangerous. It was a matter of riding down the almost vertical declivity (Giihe) of the mountain by way ofRaiti to Vietri, on a narrow zigzag path full of rolling stones; for as to walking, I was so overtired that I would rather suffer anything else than that. But soon the frightening beauty of nature overcame all fear. Deeply the mountain under the swaying Ip. 251] path seemed as it were to leap into the cliff.shore bays, whose rocky profiles are aligued on the right as far as Capo d.Orso. As our path bent, we threatened to fall now onto the roofs ofRaiti, now into the black depths. Far off lingered all the magic of evening illumination on the coasts of the Bay, and in the deeply visible mountain chains of the provinces. Ships with purple sails glided on the high sea. Finally we got down to Vietri, where, after a ride of eight miles of rough mountain paths, the very welcome wagon awaited me.

June 13.

I spent the morning, still heartily tired, with the children. Movement in the morning air exhausts me and makes me unfit for any work for the entire day. In the afternoon we drove to Salerno, took a boat in the harbor, and rowed back to Vietri. The sea was mirror-bright, the sun had already sunk behind the high mountains, [p. 252] whose wild gray outlines were drawn in the gold and purple aether. Never have I seen a more majestic line than that which the Liberatore, boldly rising out of the sea, draws in the air as far as his eagle's head. The mild sea air breathed gently around us, and the rosy shimmer of evening melded with the crystal green in the bosom of the sea. Gentle sunlight still shines far off on the high mountainous strata of the southeastern provinces; with silver they are brought forward, and the sunken rock masses are

"Next to the myrtles, the tender little flowers of the AdoniB Btood in great numberB. ROMAN DIARY, II 72 sprinkled with gentle lilac, and everything opens to cheerful views of the distance. Never did I see the deep floods of shadows [so] agitated by the wind, and they play brown in black tints on the wild surrounding cliffs. Swaying carpets of ivy hang down over the dark sea grottos. The frightfully torn basin of the rough FiUiesca borders the sea-bay on the left; but friendly on the right lies the little town [p.253] ofVietri, and its orange-gardens send their scent below. High in the wild undergrowth of the Liberatore wandered a Dominican monk, creating a picturesque effect in the white habit of his order.

We found the harbor ofVietri teeming with sailors' boats; it was the festival of the fish- saint Antonio; great swordfish were cut up, roasted on the spot, and gobbled down with all kinds of beverages. To all of us the brevity of the Hesperian summer evenings was very noticeable this evening, since on returning to la Cava we found the moonlight as predominant in June as it is with us in August at this hour. How enchanted I was with the moonlight over Cava's valley - how the silver-showered mountaintops towered in the still visible blue ofthe sky - and night resided only in the blackest depths.

June 14.

Today my good Vicario came at noon to accompany me to the famous Benedictine Abbey of la Cava, St. Trinita. The [p. 254] way goes past Maria del Avocata, then immediately up and to the right into the deep darkness of the mountain woods, which here consist almost exclusively of the finest chestnut trees. A fresh aroma sinks down from the high vaults; in the treetops, more level sun's rays play between green mountain peaks. To the left there sink beneath us the bottom land of Val Molina and the valley deft of Ponega; but far off on the Liberatore shines a blue sea-basin sunk among sunny hills. The fine wood absorbs us in deeper, sacred shadows, and close in front of us open the wonderfully defied rock teeth, behind which the sun shoots upward a halo of rays; dose beneath the vertically rising hill crowns we caught sight of a little white town, called Cava Vecchia or Corpus Cava, and this is the real old Cava founded by the first king of the Lombards, which lies here romantically in complete isolation between wood and cliff and meadow.

Never have I seen such fantastically formed [p. 255] mountains as this Ario del Grano that here rises before us! Its widely spread summits are sunk in a crescent of alternating serrated prongs; but the mildest green of the oak and chestnut woods moves up and down with the high peaks, fills the deep recesses, and clothes the most abrupt precipices of this Colossetrm, Next to it stands in sharpest contrast the bare Finestra, through whose frightful cleft the sun even now throws its last glance as through a window. It is probably from this optical manifestation that the mountain received its name. We briefly lost ourselves again in the wooded night, until a sudden view diverted mind and thoughts from the early night of the western foothills - over valleys, hills and plains to the noble limestone mountain of Capaccio, the giant of the Salerno Province. The gray hills of Cava are picturesquely arrayed in rising lines, and the whole perspective view lay in the most advantageous illtrmination. ROMAN DIARY, II 73

Again we ride [p. 256] through the wood and closer to the mountain chain, and suddenly descry in front of us, in the corner of the mountain cleft, as at the end of the world, between cliffs and over abysses, the lonely cloister. Its walls lean upon the mighty overhanging cliff; so near are the cliffs, that here it was already twilight at seven [o'clock], as in tlle valley [it would be at] half-past eight. Never has the situation of a human dwelling more deeply affected my mind.

Sacred shadows of the rocks and woods here solemnly sink down. Directly beside the cloister, the forest brook rushes down from the height and over sinking cliffs; slender poplars rise up from the depths, and wild shrubbery flanks the narrow path which runs downhill to the Grotta ill Ponega. This solemn loneliness, broken only by the sound of the rushing stream, stands in the most affecting contrast to the view which opens from the cloister terrace; where one looks through the long wooded ravine, out of deep separateness, onto a far-off underworld in whose [p. 257] changeable play of colors the shining daytime figures still confront the imagination, while the qlrietened heart cloaks itself in the deep peace of solitude.

The hard or merely dull, but certainly discontented faces of the monks who came to us on the terrace would almost have awakened me from my dreams. But my heart soon named to me worthier inhabitants of this sanctuary than these, ab! themselves deceived deceivers.

To you, oh sacred friendship, playmate of cheerful wisdom, and to yon, holy and true love, who voluntarily seekest after solitude, to you my spirit dedicated cliff and grove, spring and altar!

This monastery was formerly celebrated for the outstanding scholars whom it accommodated. It is now still celebrated for its age and for the rare manuscripts of its library. I was shown the law book ofthe Lombards, and Bibles ofthe eighth century; the good Vicario did not fail to tell me [p. 258] how the manuscript worm, Friedrich MOnter, had settled here for a week and almost eaten up the parchments.

Most remarkable is the interior of the church. Its background is the rough rock; between this and the vaulting of the cupola, a space has been broken out tltrough which the sacred Dove sinks down in a halo. ROMAN DIARY, II 74

BRUN95N, continued [p.259] vn. CONTINUATION OF THE STAY IN LA CA VA. [p.261] June 15, 1796.

[p. 261] In the evening we made a delightful tour via Vietri and Salerno to that picturesque cliff-hill called Torreone or Torre guernale, which stands so lonely at the seaside a mile and a half behind Salerno. It was easy to climb, even for me; and although it is rocky throughout, the most joyful vegetation of noble plants surrounded us with their fragrance and blossoms. The lovely caper plant hung down in full flowery splendor from fissures in the rock; and the fine-leaved myrtle, whose graceful shoots, adorned with the tender blossoms and white pearl buds, offered themselves so delightfully as a wreath of love and joy, is surrounded (umblilht) by the purple Adorns flower. How attractive is everywhere this symbolic speech of nature! [p. 2621 How touching on these lovely coasts, over which Hella's genius once presided, and lovely deception threw its delightful garment around the truth! Now the present time has fallen silent, and only eternally youthful nature proclaims the sagas of primeval times from her wide-open book, or gently moves our heart through softer tones!

A small, round fortification tower crowns the hill; I went iuside, and sat down in one of the embrasures (Schiessseharten), where with real heart's delight I plunged with mind and thoughts into the full sea, which lay directly and endlessly before me and ever-increasingly discloses itself to the gaze. To the left the cheerful hill country, covered with vineyards, olive groves and grain fields, glides right down into the waves; through it picturesquely winds the military highway. How luxuriantly sways the golden field of Ceres beneath Minerva's lightly shadowing and dark-colored groves!

To the right, the cliffs of the rocky coast bend in rough splendor as far as Capo d'Orso, sunk in deep shadow from the adjacent heights (vom hohen Gebilrg); above [p. 263] Salerno, heavy mists sink down from out the high green valley; on the seacoast, too, lower vapors creep about the shallow shore-streams, and the air itself is damp and heavy on these heights. But what vegetation springs from this fertile land, unhealthy though it is from lack of population and of the accompanying painstaking cultivation! Rye and barley are ripe, and the harvest is already beginning. Apricots and pears display themselves on the trees, and I still eat cherries and strawberries every day. Our May- and heart-cherry (May- und Herzkirsche) is excellent here; but the commonest variety (the so-called Spanish cherry) is white and, hardly reddened, yellowish in color. The fine, lengthy, perermial wood and mountain strawberry is the only one here, and has the strongest aroma.

This cliff itself seemed to our (admittedly inexpert) gaze like a compendium of geology. Its northwestern land side, turned toward la Cava, was bllilt up of vertical strata of a hard, grainy limestone [p. 264] like that which appears most often in the northern Apermines. On the ROMAN DIARY, II 75

seaward side, to the southeast, we found horizontal strata of a gray-black, fine-grained lava mixed with schor!. Up on the hill lay loose stones of what the Italians call Kalkbreecia; next to them we found pieces of black and white granitello, which last variety seems to me to be gneiss.

June ]6.

Today the great heat kept me in the honse all day with my Livy and Ariosto. Around sunset we drove over the valley to St. Lucie [Santa Lucia]. From the slope of the hill we saw the sun, far off in the open northwestern perspective, slowly sink down to Vesuvius, whose majestic outline was drawn with a tender lilac in the gold-and-orange field of the evening. To our right, naked rounded mountain crania stare across the dreadful mountain slopes; opposite us [p. 265] St.Angelo's thick mountain woods cast a black shadow. On the wood pyramid of the Castello Mater Domino rise up, from sunken northerly distances, the airy vaults of the decaying fortress, looked through by the gold of evening.

And now the sun sinks in Somma's ageless divided gulf, as in an open grave of primeval times, slowly and solemnly down! That we should stand this very evening, at this hour, on the single point from which this most impressive optical manifestation is visible, belongs to the mild gifts of the friendly genius who so often leads me, and to whom I so willingly surrender myself: All of us were lost in silent gazing, until the harmonious c.olor tones of this Campanian distance, in which mountains and heavens flowed together, raised us gently from the bonds of wonder. Soon rose the moon behind the eastern mountains.

o beloved, ever unforgettable Cava! Thou gracious favorite child of the heavenly stars, how you are adorned by every hour of the day, every hour of the night, [p. 266] with uniquely individual charm! How enchanting is the moonlight over la Cava's heights and depths! No one of us could find their bed this night. We wandered around on the great verandas of the house, and looked on Cava's heights, and into Cava's depths. Black stood the pyramids of the wood, silver sparkled the visible green of the mountain districts; a gray silvery mist floated over the ravines; the tips of the rocks shone bluish, and their outlines were sharply raised in the dark aether. The purity of this air makes a moonlit night into what is only a gentler day. Late, half drunken with rapture and half with sleep, we went to our rest.

June 17.

I spent the lovely, cheerful summer morning in a little nearby chestnut wood. Herder's Terpsichore was my dear companion, as she has been throughout my whole journey; for I have ever found in her, in joy and sorrow, either a solemn hint of Nemesis, or a gentle word of comfort and wisdom.

[p. 267] After the meal came my good old Vicario, to accompany me on a long intended pilgrimage to the eagles' summit of the Liberatore. The female part of the travel group followed the sturdy gllide on donkey-back [zu Esel]; Pohrt and Karl went, as always, on foot. The way ROMAN DIARY, II 76 leads through the town, and then from the road to Vietri runs left down to Ponte Sordo, and so around the base of the mountain between villages, gardens, and shaded paths gradually up to the slope, where lies a lonely valley beneath the high-throned summit. Splendid stone oaks with their dark-gleaming foliage stood here, united with German oaks in lovely groupings, and on the ground luxuriated on tender green turf the remains of an abandoned vineyard. From here begins the difficult mountain path to the rough, rocky heights of Liberatore, which look out toward Salerno. We rode through wild mountain woods of balsam firs, wild olive trees and fragraut shrubbery; here and there opened stolen glances into the deep-sunken sea and [p. 268] the strata of the mountain, which seemed to rise with us and open iuto new distances. Suddenly we stand on a rocky corner, as though placed in the air! Beneath us the abyss, above us the overhanging, then vertically serrated, rocky crown of the mountain, extending roughly and inhospitably into the air. A small rock path leads down sideways between the cliffs, where, beneath the natural rampart of the high cliff wall, is seen the door of the mountain hermitage, which hangs here like a swallow's nest beneath the cornice of an antique temple. The hermits were not at home; the door was locked, and our wish to shelter ourselves for a few minutes from the sharply cutting northwest wind (called Libeceio) was frustrated

From here, further advance appeared impossible, and would truly have been so had not storm and rain furrowed the smooth overhanging cliffs; in these often barely visible marks of time trod our donkeys [unsere EselJ, and bore us so, swaying over the abyss, in narrow [p.269] zigzag turns close to the highest peak. The view from here is unique! Deep below us lay Vietri at the foot of the mountain, seemingly drawn up from the waves, and so near that one would have thought it possible to jump down had not the miniature dimensions of the houses betrayed the distance. Black rests the harbor of Vietri, where the giant head of Filliescothe overhangs the shore cliffs as far as Capo d'Orso. Around us the most beautiful plants exuded their perfumes from every fissure, and we found, among others, splendid bouquets of the fine red Gentiana eentaurea; between the myrtle and rosemary shrubs, the Spartium; and bushes of the red and white Cystus, which blooms so much like the rose.

But soon the sea alone drew us. Behind the last height of the mountain, the sun had sunk for us, and its gigantic shadow was projected far out on the open sea. To the left [p. 270] Salerno lay deep down on the strand, and deep under us the high-preening Saracen Castello. The views were opened far into the mountain chains of the Principata ultra; the fruitful garden of the plain ofEboli lay delightfully before us in its amphitheater of high mountains, and washed by the sea! Par off we caught sight ofPaestum in a smaller plain beneath hills; farther still, the fine foothills ofLicosa. The storm increased with every moment as the breaking waves foamed on the rocky shore! At the horizon, the indigo blue of the sea united with the pure blue of heaven. We lingered long in the rocky desert beneath us, over us, around us - rocks!

Finally I climbed all the way up with Pohrt, the others fearing the storm. Now I stood breathing deeply at the high Cross, which I embraced, as once before on the Rigikulm, in order not to be blown away by the storm. Who can leave the last near height unattained, in whom a courageous heart beats, even though in a weak breast! Now the view backward to the northwest ROMAN DIARY, II 77

also stood open. Close [p. 271] beneath me lay Cava's green valleys and rolling heights, spread out like a deep Alpine lake. Seen from the summit of greatuess - as everything appears there in its true form - the little, how small! How sunken, those jaunty mountain peaks of St. Martino, Mater Dei, Mat Castello [sie] and PietA di Croce; how powerful Finestra, Filliesco, and, above the plain ofEboli, the giant Cappaccio! And in front of everything, how unattainable the surging fullness of the sacred sea!

I seized here a long stretch of the limestone chain of the Apennines in a single glance; forward from the Abruzzi, extending deep into the southern provinces of the kingdom. All of the summits of this chain of mountains are turned ITom northwest toward the southeast; all of them overhanging and hollowed out, rather like craters whose wall on our side had been broken out. So they stand, far out from the interior of Basilicata untiJ far into the north, where Vesuvius in its sharp angle closes the noble perspective, and his unique volcanic shape [p. 272] suddenly breaks the monotony of nature's consistent plan.

June 18.

The rough Libeccio bad made me ill, and on this day I had to remain in bed.

June 19 and 20.

I spent these two days very pleasantly in the company of my mends, the gallant, trusty Swabian, Heigelin - who, as Danish consul, honors our name in the whole Kingdom - and the excellent painter, Professor Hetsch of Stuttgart. They came, surprising me, from Naples. Already in Rome I had spent many happy and instructive hours with Hetsch and his gentle, noble spouse - and here I now played gllide to the great gallery of nature, conducting the artist and the mends into those secret valleys ofla Cava. The artist's joy in the grotto of Ponega, the vale of Molina, on the magic coast between Vietri [p. 273] and Salerno, was indescribable. Before his understanding and practiced gaze, everything formed itself into paintings, and no charm among these touching details was lost on him; nor did we ever see the sun set more beautifully than today, nor the mountain coasts more magically illuminated. - And now the moon wandered upward from the mists of the horizon!

On the evening of the 20'", we gave ourselves the festival of awaiting the fu]l moon shimmering on the mirrorlike surface of the roadstead of Salerno. It seemed to tease our impatience - finally, it slowly wandered upward, like an immense disk of dull-glowing bronze, between two dark blue mountain peaks, directly over Paestum. "Ah! whoever from beneath the Doric columns of Poseidon's temple might see you wandering upward," I sighed. "But, be still my heart!" It shone across the plain, still trebly enlarged; wandered slowly upward from the mists ofPaestum, and poured its still reddish torchlight over the resting land Finally, it set its beam- pillars in the [p. 274] waves - it was as though it were washing its brilliance from the fogs of earth in Amphitrite's lap; for now it floated ever lighter in the pure aether, and we glided gently with the silver column to the seashore, where evening red and moonlight still mingled in ROMAN DIARY, II 78 the lovely half-light on the mountain heights.

We drove home, the moon remained behind the mountains; but in the pleasure groves of the mountainsides was a new festival of nature! Millions offireworms (Lampyrus L.) floated around, irradiating the nocturnal grove with the beauteous flame oflove! Neither Armida's nor Alcina's magic gardens were more magically illuminated! Up and down hill, heights and hollows were filled with shimmering, and between the grapevines' arches fluttered the mobile stars a thousandfold in the bllrish ghostly light, brightening the green light of the groves; and height and depth, cliff and cleft, glowed with Cupid's torch and were permeated by the active spirit of life.

June 21-23.

[p. 275] I spent these days qlrietly in my house, since I was suffering considerably from pains in my side and from debility. I took little walks in the nearby vineyard, and visited the huts of the good, friendly occupants. They are now harvesting the rye (den Roeken). The fields by each Massarie [Italian masseria, farm?] are small, and the grain is reaped manually with the sickle. Around the grain stalks there grows almost everywhere a wild, fine and yellow-blooming clover (Trifolium melilQtus italica); this is carefully separated from each handful of ears, and laid in heaps to one side; for grass is costly here, since the intensive cultivation of the land makes it so rare. Between the already tall cornstalks (? Mais-Kolben) stand young kidney beans. Between the more open rows of the Grano indico grow also narrow beds of gourds, cucumbers, melons. Rye, barley and wheat are now ripening almost together. Then follow maize, Grano indico, and the so- called autwnn or Sicilian wheat; after that, rape (Rimen) of several [p.276] kinds are planted for the late autumn harvest.

Beneath the elms and the arches of the vineyards, which overshadow the common meadow that lies between my house and the town, the cocoons of the silkworms were also spun in these days. The cocoons, with the worms inside, are thrown into boiling water, causing the death of the unfortunate and uselessly transformed chrysalises; but the tender threads are loosened easily and disentangled. The beginning of the labyrinthine threads (30 to 40 cocoon threads at a time) are taken in the hand, whereby they run onto a great wheel like a reel. Delightful was the sight of the great, rapidly revolving wheels covered with gold, straw, orange, and chamois-shining silk, beneath the green leary heaven. Also, among the spinning Parcae who here unwound the death-thread of the poor veiled Psyches, there were a few qlrite pretty girls.

In general, the Cavans are a very industrious little people. In every hut I found a [p. 277] cotton-wheel and a loom; the mother usually spinning, and the eldest daughter weaving. They make white, twilled cotton stuffs which are very strong and cheap, and can be used for light bedspreads, underclothing and children's clothing. I also saw very good hemp-linen, which was grown and woven here and came very close to the excellent Russian product. The silk made here is said to be of only mediocre quality. ROMAN DIARY, II 79

It is dreadful how people in Italy, except in the capitals, still treat the poor children. They are first long and tightly swaddled, and, as they emerge from the swaddling clothes, tied up (geschnurt) and (notwithstanding the very early growth of hair in Italy) powdered! This is universally true among even the somewhat comfortable people in small towns. But never will I forget a nice little child, a girl of three to four years from our house, who visited me in a red taffeta skirt overlaid with white linen, with a tightly laced black velvet corset, golden [p. 278] belt and steel buckle, and fully powdered and pomaded hair. I first had to laugh at this Callotlike caricature; but when I looked more closely at the poor tormented little worm, whose round childish body protruded like a bubble from under the stays, and her anJ\.ious movements - I was closer to weeping.

I won over the little thing and her attendant. She was taken out of the harness, an outgrown little dress of Charlotte's was put on her, and a light silken ribbon tied around, but the pretty hair loosened; and so I sent her back to her mother. But, Oh heavens! She thought she beheld a monster, as she saw the now really pretty child, and hurried as much as possible to put it back in armor. How fortunate I consider the children of the poor vintners, who mostly run around in a mere shirt, and are handsome, cheerful and healthy!

Good and careful as is the cultivation ofthe land in this valley, the country people have no idea of how to make use of the dearly won grain, and especially [p. 279] the straw, which, in view of the sparsity of hay and grass, should be very valuable to them. In front of every cabin is an open place covered with a plaster or chalk mixture. Here the grain was brought directly from the field, and, soft and moist as it still remained, was threshed on the following day. Now it was impossible for me to look upon this threshing without laughing at the incomprehensible simplicity and clumsiness of these good people; the grain was quite carelessly and indifferently laid out on the ground in great quantities; four persons, men and boys, held each a slender hazel rod, through which a hole had been bored; a second, even thinner rod was tied to the first at its thin end through a small leather thong - the feeble implement scarcely slid over the hard straw - the thong kept breaking, so that the number of threshers was seldom complete, while one of them was always engaged in tying ~ the straw was indifferently thrown aside; I examined it, and found, as can be believed, [p. 280] that few ears were threshed clean. The being who came off best in this process was the fine big plow-ox of the house (the little rye-field was probably the property of this poor sharecropper family), who is probably in no land so richly rewarded for the labor of plowing; for the straw was thrown to him up to his chin, and he luxuriated in grain at the same time.

The next day, in the same hut, they offered me bread from the rye that two days earlier had still stood in the field. In many houses they have, in the old way (as in these), no hand-mills. The supply of winter wheat was used up, and this was eaten fresh. I need not say that it was unenjoyable, in that the flour from the still soft grains could not be assimilated in the baking process. It was very evident to me here how custom is everything to the countryman who moves always within the limits of the familiar. How gladly would I have left the good people a flail as a souvenir! ROMAN DIARY, II 80

I met in these days [p. 281] some country people from this region whose women had a very pretty and picturesque costume. Scarlet skirts, black velvet bodice trimmed with gold braid and a red ribbon in the unpowdered hair.

June 24.

I shall never forget this qlriet month in la Caw! Nor you, loved valley, which every Hora lovingly adorns with new grace in the changing dance! When the early dusk floats over the western mountain woods, the high summits shine in competition with one another as the sinking sun wanders behind them; long shadows of the mountains extend over the gently sinking depths, down into the green lap of the valley -linger in the leafY vaults and sway above the golden crops until their fantastic shadow pictures rise on the eastern mountainsides. Now in the valley the sun has already set; but still there lingers an Elysian [p. 282] gleam in the gently illuminated green, while the little towns of Preata, St. Lucia, and all the cloisters and little white houses scattered in the eastern hills still lie in warm rosy light. Every afternoon the Monte Castello stands six times in the shadow of the western mountains, and six times the sun again shines on it through each mountain gorge behind which it passes before it sets. Often I drive behind the setting sun on the road to Nucera, or, to meet the rising moon, toward Vietri and Salerno. There, as soon as the pyramid of St. Martino is passed, mild sunlight still shines, and the open fields smile in the glow of evening; here, early darkness sinks down from the nearby rising cliffs.

June 25.

I live here separated from all the world, as on an Island of the Blessed - but I have not yet drunk of Lethe's waters, and am troubled about news from the homeland and all friends beyond the mountains. The [p. 283] wars of Lombardy and Romagna, like greedy birds of prey, make off with all my carrier pigeons; I suffer a lot with pains in the side and deafuess, and my mind thrives altogether better in Cava than does my body - and yet this valley is and remains the anchorage of my soul in Italy; it so completely agrees with all the tones of my being - I have wholly felt myself here, in gentle pain and soul-raising presentiment (Ahndung).

On this evening I discovered a new walk with Charlotte. Directly behind Vietri, a scarcely noticeable path, rising above the highway and the sea, leads gradually high up to the cliffs. Olive and carob trees shadow you; myrtles, mastic and lentiscus green you; and lovely flowers of many kinds, which I have frequently named, perfume yon.

Eventually one comes to a lonely church embedded in a green rocky setting, in front of which stand three lovely lindens (which one seldom sees here) in cheerful growth, spreading their pleasant odor all around. The view is [p. 284] very fine, and today was particularly majestic; for beneath us the sea swelled ultramarine and mild, raised by a fresh Tramontana; little boats danced upon it, and distant ships cut the waves on the horizon. The sun was already behind Finestra; but golden rays still fell between its jagged points on the green hills above ROMAN DIARY, II 81

Salerno, and the battlements of the gray fortress glowed in the purple; beneath, Salerno itselflay in shadow. But the far-bending shore ofEboli, the plain as far as Paestwn and Cape Licosa, which certainly make 80 to 90 degrees of the circle, lay with the high shimmering chalk hills in the mild light of the evening SUll. A more deeply vaulted, more sharply horned gulf I never did see! The air today was so clear that I plainly made out with the naked eye the houses on Cape Licosa, which however were at least five German miles distant in a straight line over the sea.

June 26.

[p. 285] Today we spent the afternoon in the vineyard of the gallaut Don Giovene, who gave a little domestic rete for me. This fine man is one of the most respected burghers of the town of Cava, and the distinguished appearance ofthe handsome and friendly graybeard seems fully to warrant the respect of his fellow citizens. If I say now that this dear old man resembled our great Bemstorf in figure, manners, color, as an elder brother resembles a younger one, you will feel with wbat love I too lingered on the dear face - ah! I did not suspect that I saw Bemstorf today for the last time, and only in a picture - that on my return to the homeland, the tears for the only sister must be mingled with tears for the unique one who for so long was Dania's tutelary spirit!

The vineyard hangs on the slope of a mountain gully, right between the St. Angelo and Finestra; and the way up leads through the now dry stream bed. Sideways [p. 2861 the sun shone delightfully through the mountain folds and over the shimmering tops of the chestnut woods, which decorate the vertical slopes with pyramidal forms to a considerable altitude. The little vineyard with the little house hangs like a bird's nest over the valley. The air was heavenly mild, and the view downward over the swelling green of the finest deciduous trees intn the wiley of fruitfulness and rest was full of quiet charm.

We found here a little collation, and were served varions wines which are self-made from this pleasant spot. The best was from last autumn; a red wine, similar in color and taste to our usual table wine (Medoc), for which we pay 22 to 24 Danish Sch[illings]. Here this costs 3 Grano (not qlrite 3 Schillings). If this wine were kept, it would be in no way inferior tu the Bordeaux wine. But the wine husbandry is carried on rather casually, and what is produced in the valley is also fully consumed there. There [p, 287] was a great blessing of children here.The children in this country are handsome; and fine features around nose and eyes are frequent; and fine arms are also not rare here - and if they are not so white as those of the Nordic beauties, on the other hand the outline [form] of the arm, from shoulder to fingertip, is often complete, which I almost never found in the north.

June 27.

I was ill today. My doctor and friend, Domeyer, has to my joy arrived in Naples, and is pressing for my return to Naples and for the crossing to Ischia. ROMAN DIARY, II 82

June 28.

Siisse Liebe! holde Liebe! Sweet love! Gracious love! Komm in dieses ThaI! Come into this valley! Menschen, weIche dich verkennen, People who misunderstand you, Call you Dich mit falschem Namen nennen by an untrue name - Flieh sie, holde, siisse Liebe! Komm Flee from them, sweet gracious love! in dieses ThaI! Come into this wiley!

These words sounded continuously around my soul from the first day in la Cava; but only today [p. 288] did I write them down in parting. Farewell in your sweet evening light, beloved valley! Your ripening seeds, your tender grape arbors, and you, fair walnut tree, who took me when slightly tired so often into its shade, farewell ! You, too, my little roguish Rafaello, who always regarded me so childishly with the blue eyes of my Gustchen [Augusta], and so confidently nibbled sweet figs from my basket; and you, black-eyed maiden, who so often, when I passed your cabin, so sweetly bashful handed me purple-red carnations as red as your lips - farewell, and grow green and bloom! Farewell, Cava" and may your industrious country people soon cease to be merely tenants of the painfully worked land, and become fTee owners!

June 29.

I left dear la Cava at four o'clock in the morning. The return trip to Naples was very pleasant; cool breezes played in the shady leafage of the Campanian fields, beneath grape arbors which, laden with the swelling frllit, already let down Panikwn and hemp in lower garlands above the stubble of the rye, the dark, golden, long-bearded wheat (I believe it is spelt, which is also cultivated in southern Germany and Switzerland) and the shining green of the com.

To the left stood the abruptly rising, dark blue coastal mountains; to the right, the distant chain of the Abruzzi lightly recedes! Before us rises (as a shadowy figure looming out of magical mists appears enlarged) the volcanic giant with its three heads., Vesuvius, Somma and Ottajano. On the horizon appears the tall Gorgon-head of Capri, like a mountain of the mainland. But soon, near Pompeii's vaults, the sea opens and Sorrento's coasts become visible. And now rise from the misty distance Ischia, the goal of my pilgrimage, Prozida (procida), and twilight Misenum and Baiae's coasts.

We plunge by night into the turmoil of Naples. Streams [p.290] of coaches (anyone who has not been in Naples will not understand this hyperbolic expression) rolled about us - the gleams of torchlight blinded us - the crowding and clamor of the people deafened us. In one word, it was the eve of the Peter and Paul festival- and a festival of peace for Rome, which has freed itself from the sword of the new Gauls with [the aid of] 4 million Scudi, 60 statues and 60 of the best paintings. ROMAN DIARY, II 83

BRUN95N, continued vm. NAPLES (in the first half of July 1796)

[p. 293]. So you will not allow me to leave Naples before I have told you about the treasures of the studios (Studien), the Porcelain Factory, Capo di Monte, and Portici? Haven't I told you, then, what a dolee far niente has taken possession of me in this Hesperian summer climate? How I can scarcely see, much less talk, still less write? The way all of us together, mother and children, practice the mimicry of the UL""'Zaroni and now talk only with fingers and eyes?

Do you want me to assemble for you these half-iTagmentary tones, these linguistic signs and symbols from my hasty notes on Naples' art works? But just do not expect that a tolerable whole will emerge from these neglected and ill-turned fragments!

The Studios.

[p. 294] In this large and still unfinished bllilding, which at one time was intended to group the Library, the art treasures ofPortici, Capo di Monte, and the Porcelain Factory in a single whole, we visited today, under the guidance of our Tischbein (the presiding genius of the place), the art works of the Palazzo Farnese. Everything here is still in a state of chaotic confusion; 12 the art objects lie, stand, lean around in nooks and corners, vestibules and portals, buried in dust and dirt, and immersed in the most revolting emanations of Neapolitan uncleanliness. -- This by way of excuse, if an art dilettante with overrefined olfactory sensibilities (since in my encounters with the begging world I haven't yet accomplished the nullification of this sense) conducts you very superficially through the Studios.

1.) Here is the immense Skeleton of Maim on. It comes from Sicily, where the bones of this antediluvian earth-dweller [p. 295] were formerly said to be giants' bones. The skeleton is alleged to be quite complete; but the powerful fragments lie disordered and half hidden in chalk and masonry dust.

2.) A nice marble group of two figures lovingly regarding each other; perhaps Orestes and Electra?

3.) A Venus Victrix.

4.) Colossal statue of Okeanos. A gloomy quiet after the storm rests on forehead and

12Portion of the Farnese collection had been moved from s Rome to to forestall seizure by the French. (Translator's Naples note. ) ROMAN DIARY, II 84 eyebrows.

5.) Colossal statue. The Muse Urania - recognized by me in heart, mind and feeling as a sister of the divine Tragic Muse of the M.P.C!. [Musco Pio-Clementino]. It is a piece of the same size. - The high goddess lay on the ground in an access corridor, completely isolated by the filth surrounding her - so that it was only by boldly springing onto her breast that I was able to look at her more closely. There, as I looked beneath the wreath into the blissfully gazing eyes and solemnly mild countenance, I cried out: "You are Urania! First- [p. 296] born of the heavenly sisters! Let me ever rest so upon your bosom, pure goddess!" Tischbein, who, as you know, greatly spoils (verzieht) me, could not see enough of me on the bosom of his loved Muse, and said to me that he, too, considers her to be the sister of the great Melpomene.

6.) Hercules Famese, savior of men from physical evil through strength. This high work of antiquity is most advantageously displayed, in a handsome room where it receives the light from above. Nothing can be compared to this hero - and this expression of powerful patience, of rest after the entire deed, and of the most truly confidence-inspiring good nature in the face, awakes in me a melancholy, most grateful feeling - so that I always have difficulty in tearing myself away even from a mere bust of this splendid being.

7.) Very well- executed colossal bust ofVespasian.

8.) A lovely reclining maiden.

[p. 297] Tischbein, with his tireless good nature, also conducted me to the residence of Mr. Rainer, the secretary of the Queen, where I mention the following items from a handsome collection of art works.

I.) A handsome bust of Theseus, very similar in style, expression and physiognomy to the statues of this hero in the Casino Ludovici [sic: Ludovisi?], and in the Capitoline.

2.) Splendidly fine bust of Pluto. There is a deep, inward glow in the dark face of the shadow king and kidnapper ofProserpina.

3.) A Holy Family ofDomenichino; one of the most attractive paintings ofthis famous artist that I have yet seen.

4.) Holy Family ofTiziano (Titian). This painting is to me the dearest of all that I have seen from this great painter. - The heads have expression, and the Christ child is of most gracious beauty.

5.) A small collection ofremarkable Campanian vases and urns. Who can [p.298] stand without deep thought before these meaningful montrments of the highest antiquity - before these witnesses of an artistic formation in comparison with which ours is still crude infancy? For what ROMAN DIARY, II 85 artist of the new world is able, with flying brush on glowing clay, to draw these outlines, whose accuracy, beauty and elegance, in the imitation alone, are the despair of our artists!

In one container there were still bones and ashes! In another, pearJs, oak leaves and acorns of a gilded paste - the mortuary wreath and the corpse! One container was broken, and jewelry and ashes were perhaps separated. Both had been found recently, and, ifI am not mistaken, in the neighborhood of Nola.

Mr. Reiner's [sicJ rooms were in the fifth story. In Naples they aim at the upper stories in order to be above the bad smells, and to enjoy the heavenly views; often, too, to convert the flat roof of the house into an airy garden. Here, the [p. 299] view over the Molo and the Bay, with the green-clad seam of Vesuvius, was particularly fine. One looks past Vesuvius toward Nola and Avella, and on the field where Marcellus beat Hannibal. The pJow still often brings to light lead from the arrows of the Numidians. There opens in perspective view the long mountain valley of the Abruzzo, where Fabius followed after Hannibal and, through wise delay, debilitated the good fortune of the mighty one. To the Jeft rises a hill close before the city, where once stood the French camp - Perhaps the time is less near [sie J, in which the New Franks will seek to revive the old hatred of their nation, which glows deep in the heart of the Neapolitan peopleAh! Perhaps the most recent past will again become present!

The Porcelain Factory.

Still under the guidance of my excellent friend Tischbein, whose benevolence is as untiring as his artistic sense, in its union with nature, is [p. 300) inexhaustible. Here there are still a quantity of the treasures of the Palazzo Farnese, heaved up and badly dispJayed; but only until the studios have been completed:

I.) The two caryatids, known as the Phrygians, with their variegated garment of violet color (Pavonazzetta).

2.) The famous Parthenopean Venus, whose delicate figure embraces so much elegance - and shows in its execution the highest degree of the morbidezza (softness) ofWinckeJmann's Ai/o bello - Let us very quietly pass this charming beauty, who, as Wieland says,

Found always lovers, But only in old Greece a temple.

3.) Seated Agrippina, the mother of Nero. This is a most characteristic statue. In the expression of the head, the placement and attitude of the body, there is an trnresistingyet despairing intimation of a darkly threatening, inescapable fate - and one wouJd wish to be able to think less badly of her, because she was so unfortunate.

[p. 301] 4.) Marble group, called Hercules and Omphale. ROMAN DIARY, II 86

5.) The Captive Kings. How expressive! I shall never look upon these monuments of the Roman world tyranny without angry sorrow!

6.) Indian Bacchus, also called Plato. What sunshine on this brow, and what mildness in the cheeks.

7.) Bust of Euripides. Fine and sharp physiognomy. Hair and beard are splendidly executed.

8.) Marcus Brutus. The first and only one which my sense of physiognomy acknowledges as authentic. It is a very sensitive facial formation, full of nobility in expression! Deep sorrow and a quiet fire of high enthusiasm speak fiom every feature - and ah! the resemblance to Julius Caesar is unmistakable! Deeply sunk in contemplation, I forgot myself before this most unhappy of Romans, feeling his inward struggles in his bleeding heart. They led me carefully [p. 302] away from this favorite. I begged and prayed for a cast of this for me uniquely interesting head. - Then they whispered to me: "It is at present imprudent for foreigners in Naples to linger over the fucial expression of Marcus Brntus! No one would dare in these times to take a cast of the bust."

9.) Homer. A bust. This too is by far the most soulful of all representations of the father of poetry and the arts! There is a tenderness, inwardness and goodness in this nobly formed yet unidealized head which draws one irresistibly. - How thoughtful is the quietly furrowed brow! How gently closed the eye ofthe blind man. One divines, beneath the light eyelid, the soul- drunken gaze of the exalted bard. The lip speaks - how sweetly! How light and fancifully the silver locks are ruffled, and the beard like a bunch of grapes! And you are being mangled by the philologists! You, noble portrait! they want to tear away from us. I promise you, trusted Ancient, [p. 303] that I, like all Greece, will believe in you, as one and indivisible! You [Greece], whose unity is holier to me than all one-and-indivisible republics of our sunbeamsplitting and atom-dividing century [Du, dessen Einheit mir heiliger ist, als aile ein- und untheilbaren Republiken umers Sonnemtrahl spaltenden und Atom zertheilenden Jahrhunderts], which dissolves Aurora's tears in water and smothers the most glowing feelings of the human breast in the fog of cold doubts!

10.) Frightfully expressive bust ofCaraca1la

1 L) Pretty head, called Sappho. But this one does not spring from the Leucadian rock, and Raphael has her better in Parnassus.

12.) Some altars, with very fine bas-reliefs.

I spent the evening of this day in the large, more splendid than beautiful San Carlo Theater. They were giving the Opera seria, Cleopatra, ofCimarosa, and the celebrated Todi appeared in the title role. The interior decoration of the house is rich and variegated, but not ROMAN DIARY, II 87 tasteful. The music seemed to me mediocre; [p, 304] more glitter than truth, more noise than sense, more trills and runs than deeply penetrating strength and simplicity of tones and expression. T odi is aging; but her art is admirable, as is the flexibility, purity and gentleness of her voice; she is also a good actress, which one seldom sees with the great female singers.

.Portici Museum.

It is a strange feeling, pleasurable and gruesome at the same time, when one now stands in the midst of the life of the Greeks and Romans - with the covering veil removed from over the grave of the past, while above us the still open throat of Vesuvius once more threatens the holy relics snatched from their grave of ashes and law!

True, the vaults of the Museum are horizontal, and most solidly built with a view to the possibility of earthquakes. But who can protect them against lava streams? And against the fiery floods of the ashen rain that buried Stabio and Pompeii [p. 305] and covered with forgetfulness their many centuries' existence? If only at least the Studios in Naples had been completed! The last eruption of the lion was frightful; now he is digesting his own head, which he swallowed, and his awakening will perhaps be as dreadful as his present slumber is deep.

On the stairway, the far-off Armed Panas stepped splendidly forth to meet me in the old Grecian style. What a purely ideal head, and what a pose!

First Room of the Saerifieial Vessels.

I.) This little Leetisternium [furniture for a feast offered the gods], about the right size for a sacrificial meal for Psyche and Arnor, of fine bronze inlaid with silver, I would like to set up in a lonely rotunda and place the fair children of the Capitol on it

2.) This Sacrificial Table of white marble (from the Temple ofIsis) I would set in front of it.

3.) This pretty vessel (the Watering-Can) my three maidens would fill with milk; the [p. 306] lightly rounded basin with roses, wreathed frllits - and thus we would celebrate the most lovely representation of the purest union of the human race! All of these dedicatory kettles, sacrificial vessels and utensils combine the greatest efficiency of design with the greatest lightness and elegance. One learns here to understand Homer's descriptions, and to understand the high value set by the ancients on their tripods, vessels, etc. Form, function, material, all is equally noble, tasteful, and complete. What they called bronze is a composition which we do not know; it is often inlaid in the most lovely way with mother- of-.pearl and silver.

4.) The handsome, great brass tripod involuntarily drew a respectful glance. Was it intended for oracular pronouncements? It was impossible for me to think of this noble form as that of a mere kettle-holder - but I set it rather above the depths pregnant with the future. - But ROMAN DIARY, II 88 where is Pythia?

Room of the Lamps.

[p.307] Here I admired, in the pregnant loveliness of the forms and their variations, the richest in fancy of all nations. In some lamps the wick was still visible.

Library-Room.

I.) The denuded (verkahlten) papyrus rolls were found in a buried country house at Pompeii. The columns are read from left to right, and tlrffied while reading from one roller to the other. The title hangs from the innermost center of the roll.

2.) In another cupboard in this room were numerous glass receptacles, of very light glass, but impure and badly formed; which led me to believe that the glass has already experienced the first degree of softening by reason of the heat, since deficiencies in form are not otherwise to be expected here.

3.) Colored glass paste articles of the highest perfection; their brilliantized pieces (die briWantirten Stiieke) [p. 308] are waterproof, and cut ordinary glass like diamond.

4.) The surgical instruments, which are almost perfectly preserved. Here Friend Domeyer (who has particularly studied this cabinet) read us a Collegium [i.e., gave us a lecture].

Room ofWeighls.

I.) The Stamp of the Capitol- which, like the Magistracy Stamp with us, was imprinted with the weights and measures. But was the stamp of the world-rulers imprinted on the representations of the Greek heroes, which served as weights? The scale seemed to us incomplete, the tongue was lacking. Although we have the tongue, oh weighing Wisdom, are you closer to us than to them?

Room of Busts.

I.) A child's head; beautiful like the one in the Palazzo Giustiniani.

2.) Young Commodus of great beauty; but the coming gladiator is already visible in the bull muscle [p. 309] over the forehead..

3.) Archytas of Tarentum, so called; a divinely beautiful bronze bust! I believed immediately in the qlriet, mild face of the wise one! With ambrosian locks, fair as an Indian Bacchus, a splendid old man. - I must admit to you in this connection, that Wieland's Arehytas had as much to do with my reverence in contemplating the splendid bust as did Plutarch's (in the ROMAN DIARY, II 89 life ofDion).

4.) Six unknown busts of fine work.

5.) A Scipio; certainly not the Afucanus, but much family resemblance.

6.) Fine head, called Ptolemy.

7.) Berenice, a wonderfully beautiful head; not ideal but most noble, and also in the artistically ordered fullness of the beautiful hair. This bust must be genlline! Pompeii was buried under Titus' government. What can be more natural than that people should have possessed the charming and lovely foreigner, the beloved of the venerated Emperor, in multiple casts?

8.) Handsome young Hercules.

9.) Alexander; handsome, but [p. 310] to me doubtful.

10.) Sublime head, known as Plato.

Room of Candelabra.

Here again is the colorful fullness of changing, richly imagined forms. We saw three different machines for boiling water, as cleverly conceived as they were eJegantly executed. Also there was a real tea machine, of the pretty vase fOTIn as they come to us, bronzed, from England. Indeed, how the English have studied these forms, combined their efficiency with elegance, and disseminated this pleasant taste in Europe!

Kitehen of Pompeii.

The hearth is set up according to the model of antique hearths. All bronze, iron and earthenware vessels are neatly placed on shelves and walls. The shapeJy water kettle is placed on the handsome tripod; beneath it lie coals. We [p. 311] kitchen-wise women recognized in the equipment of the old world: I.) Apple-slicing form (Aepftlseheiben-Form). 2.) Casseroles of different sizes, with much more conveniently placed handles than ours, on which one always blackens and bums one's fingers. 3.) Torte and cake-forms, one channeled in spirals, the other a melon form. 4.) Beaftteampiesse (? spits), just like ours. 5.) Earthen dishes, plates, pots, crocks, like ours; but everything (as it seemed to me from a distance - for a wire screen separated us from this feminine sanctuary) of finer material and pleasant and well-designed form. 6.) Funnels. 7.) Rost (? gridiron). 8.) Large, bronze meat-boiling kettle. 9.) A clean kitchen table of baked clay. You know that I used to be a capable cook. Here the old joy of cooking reawakened in the presence of these pretty kitchen utensils; the nobly formed tripod particularly attracted me, and I hated the intervening screen! ROMAN DIARY, II 90

Pantry.

[p. 312] Here stand in cupboards the numerous foodstuffs, recognizable in form, but all carbonized or hardened to stone. We clearly recognized eggs, pine-kernels, figs, lentils, pears, raisius, almonds, nuts, beans, groats, dates, a [loaf of) bread, a little torte, and a rubbery mass which is actually congealed wine and is said to be insoluble. Also dyes and a filet net.

In this room there is also a cupboard with all kinds of gold and silver trinkets, badly worked and without taste, but astonishingly well preserved; among other silver articles a chased vase with the Apotheosis of Homer.

Room ofMereury.

I.) Splendid statue of this god in bronze. 2.) The three wrestlers in lifelike attitudes.

Room of the Faun.

[p.313] I greatly prefer this young sleeping faun to the Barberini peasant. This one is pretty, sleeps so naively, and is altogether full of charm. 2.) Among the arms and armor, I was struck by a splendid bronze helmet; around about, the murder of Priam's family was represented in bas-relief, in excellent work - Ajax, Cassandra and the Altar of Pallas. This helmet was never worn; it was of immense weight. Almost all of the floor area of this room is covered with antique mosaic. In it is found the friendly - Salve! (? Salute!)

Room olMasks.

I.) This mask is of the greatest beauty, and gives an idea of how the masks (which were needed in performance in a larger room and beneath the open sky) could compensate for the mobility of the face by [reliance upon] the established norm and ideal expression. 2.) Here is also the stiek (der Stoek) from the [p. 314] barracks of Pompeii. which shows us how, in the absence of a generally acknowledged human morality, the finest esthetic formation is compatible with the crudest ferocity. 3.) The impression of the breast of a woman, in hardened ashes.

Room o.(Jsis.

l.) Remarkable is the statue ofIsis from her temple in Pompeii itself. 2.) Handsome ancient Greek vase with the Bacchanale. 3.) Some statues with nicely placed drapery. 4.) An Aesculapius and Hygiea in terra eotta.

Then follow some rooms with vases, bas-reliefs, small bronze Penates (some of them very nice); mosaics, in part very bad; among other things, a life-size skeleton of black and white stones, dreadful to look upon! Wbere can that have dwelt among Greeks? ROMAN DIARY, II 91

We spent the afternoon of this day at our Tischbein's. Here I notice today:

[p.315] I.) His Orestes and Iphigenia, after Goethe's immortal masterpiece. The posture ofIphigenia is modeled after Lady Hamilton [wife of the British Ambassador, Sir William Hamilton]. Orestes bears the most striking resemblance to Goethe himself As soon as I recognized this, Tischbein gave me the magnificent sketch as a reward (as he said, the good man!) for my physiognomical tact! This magnificent sketch is a representation of the most inwardly assimilated imaginative picture. The expression of deeply aroused loving concern in the face of Iphigenia, struggling with the joyful pain of the recognition of her brother in the sacrifice, and of the qlrietly frozen anxiety, not alone in the fixed regard, but in the whole body of the splendid Orestes, are of gripping truthfulness. The frightful beauty of the Eumenides, who flutter around his head, with floating garments and ideally ruffled serpentine locks, like halfvisible nightmares, bear witness to an imagination nurtured by the purest spirit of high Antiqlrity.

2.) I dwell with ever renewed delight [p, 316] on the divine Helena of my friend! Before her, I feel myself rapt in sweet repose. ~ Truly! The palm of completion, a beauty free of illusive color effects, seems to me, among all living painters, to belong to my dear Tischbein!

3.) I also saw today the Nolensian vase, copied on oil-soaked paper, of Don Niccolo Vizenzio, showing the murder of Priam's family. It is perhaps the highest and boldest effort, in drawing and expression, that art ever dared to attempt! Greatness, beauty, and soul-shattering truth are here united in highest completion as by a miracle.

Portici. Antique Paintings from Herculaneum and Pompeii.

Although guided by Tischbein, who holds these antique fresco paintings in high honor, I could not find enchantment here, as do so many people who are more fortunate than L ~ Seen as brushwork, nearly all offend [p. 317] my eyes. As from the unseen breath of higher spirits, some of these smears of bad painters in mediocre provincial towns have been breathed upon by noble ideas, and placed within bold outlines, which testifY more to the general dissemination of artistic capability, and the established convention in heroic figures, than to the quality of the artist who produced them. In the arabesques and other decorations, one enjoys the lovely interweaving of Greek myths and festivals, which are depicted in unfading colors. The best of these paintings are:

I.) The young Achilles and Cheiron.

2.) Dido.

3.) Theseus with the liberated young Athenians. This group is full of life and touching. ROMAN DIARY, II 92

4.) The lovely Woman at her Toilet.

5.) The famous [female] Dancers, the original idea of which was certainly most charming, whereas this appears to be only a bad copy, like that of the famous group of Plato and Aristotle from the School [p. 318] of Athens, or the three female heads from the Plundering of the Temple, which have been copied by all students.

6.) Among the ornaments, the Cicadas in a Cart drawn by a Parrot are lovely, as are the Quail and Water-wagtails (Baehstelzen). Notable is the model of the Theater of Pompeii, which first gave me a clear idea of the theaters of the ancients. I was particularly struck by the smallness of the stage.

Capo di Monte. Paintings.

From the immense collection which is conserved in this high mountain castle, I mention to you and me the following, not as decidedly the best, but as those I found most noticeable or eloquent to the mind and heart.

I.) Little Holy Family, assertedly by Lionardo da Vinci, a nice painting, but tu me doubtful.

2.) Holy Family, by Andrea del Sarto; a most harmonious painting.

3.) Four Sleeping Children, by [p. 319] Annibale Carraccio. The children of this great painter are ordinarily young heroes.

4.) Madre di Pieta, by the same.

5.) Mary, standing, with the children; a small and graceful picture, assertedly by Raphael. I knew it from the chamber of my friend Julie Reventlau [Reventlow?], who owns a splendid copy, probably by Francesco Penni.

6.) Some splendid portraits by Tiziano (Titian) and his pupils.

7.) A portrait by Lionardo.

8.) Divine Figure with the Small Urn, unmistakably by the great Lionardo. She has the heavenly eyes ofthe Christus Aldovrandini.

9.) Resurrection of Christ, a painting, full of the effects and the charm of the most blooming color, by Augustin Carraccio.

10.) Tizian's Danae. I acknowledge, in spite of my insensitivity to the paintings of the ROMAN DIARY, II 93 first of colorists, that this painting is the triumph of brush magic: '"The most beautiful woman woven from rose-glow and lily-snow." Everything about her is truth, and [p. 320] these melting half-shadows are most charming. None of the demands of the five senses remains unappeased; only this glowing yet spiritless face leaves the inward sense unsatisfied; and this is not Agathon's charming Danae. The painting is well preserved in all respects, and has not even yellowed; the farther back one moves in the depth of the great room, tbe more freely the figure emerges from the canvas, and becomes astonishingly alive.

II.) Sketch of the Last Judgment, by Michael Angelo. The great painting in the Sistine Chapel had always frightened me with its variegated confusion of strange positions and figures, and through the mystical darkness in which this dreadful representation is scarcely visible. I was glad to see this Shakespearian burlesque tragedy so near at hand and clearly. It is a powerful work of genius, like Milton's Devil and Klopstock's Hell.

12.) Holy Family of Raphael, and to my feeling one of the most beautiful works of the Virgil [p. 321] among painters. As virgin mother, as most gracious archetype of all artless innocence, I greatly prefer this Madonna to the Florentine lovely woman - this is an angel! The Christ child is here more tender than is usual with Raphael; the John is full of glowing strength; the former, a milk-lamb; the latter, a young stag! How grandmotherly the trusted Anna looks! What a harmony in these shades of color - what a paradisal simplicity gushes forth around these quiet figures! - He is yours, entirely yours, divine Raphael! The sketch of this noble picture, from Raphael's hand, is also preserved here!

Campanian Vessels.

This selective collection contains, according to my taste, the most finished forms among all I have yet seen.

I.) The largest of all the urns which have yet come to light, with the Battle of the Heroes against the Amazons.

[p.322] 2.) The nice little Vase, with the beautiful Muse.

3.) A very elongated Urn, in a form as unusual as it is unpleasant, is probably very, very old, from the childhood of art.

4.) Since all these art treasures were exhibited behind rather coarsely woven screens, and the very well-informed director of the museum was absent with the key, we could see only superficially - to me it seemed that in urns, vases, jngs, bowls, etc. the finest selection was here united with the most noble forms.

5.) Especially fine was a vessel which we would call a Terrine. ROMAN DIARY, II 94 6.) The gems, intaglios and coins were just as hermetically closed of[ Although I acknowledge my ignorance, I would have been glad to see the Sicilian, Greek and Asiatic coins, in which this collection is supposed to be very rich, under expert guidance. - But luck was very much against us; for our faithful Tischbein had also been unable to accompany us today!

[p. 323] The view from the windows of the high Capo di Monte (it lies so steeply that to get there one needs to harness four horses to a light chaise), over the old Campania to the shimmering chalk mountains of Abruzzo, is noble. From there the eye glides along the seam of the green Somma and over the plain of Nola. Beneath us lies the immense Naples, above which, in gentle lines and clad in soft green, the V omero, Martino and Posillipo make a friendly appearance. The heights of Calmaldoli and Astrumi look across to us with wooded crowns. The sea rolls silver-blue on the gently misted coasts. The air is so pure today that I can distingllish with the naked eye the houses on Capri, and at the same time it is warm and mild. The sunset was enchanting; the young sickle-moon swam in the reddish-blue aether like a silver boat!

Also, I am having a lot of trouble in maintaining a good mood - I am trying in vain, [p. 324] and all my friends here are trying in vain, to get me a passport for Ischia, the goal of my long wanderings! Since our court [i.e., government] does not belong to the League, they are tricking the Danes! For Baron K* and his wife, both lame in the knees, are also vainly seeking to come over. To close the healing springs to the sick is a quite new form of barbarism, which one might scarcely seek on the Barbary, and certainly not on the Hesperian coast.

June 9 and 10.

On both of these days I was half sick, and wholly lazy at home. Domeyer is beginning to hope for my cure through these nuances of the Hesperianfar niente, but only through Ischia's hot springs, which are still closed to me. But even just to breathe this air in my lovely rooms with open balconies is medicine in itselfl Even now at the height of summer it is not too hot here on the Bay. Even at the midday hours, when the [p. 325] heaven scarcely shines silvery blue, the sea, raised by the lively south wind, undulates ultramarine blue, sown with millions of glimmering sparks, and one feels oneself breathed about by a life-wanning coolness which penetrates every fiber with comfortable well-being. In the afternoon begins the weaving of the pleasure boats and business traffic in the Bay; as the evening declines, the stream of coaches, continuous from Piazza Reale and Molo to and from Chiaio and Villa Reale (the Corso drive of the Neapolitans) presses past my window until after midnight, and only my deafuess assures my own sleep. But it is amusing to observe the teeming of sea and land in a single glance.

Far off shines the beginning of evening on Capri's towering crags, and sinks, lingering with gentle affection, in Anna-Capri's (Anacapri's) high cliff valley. On both sides of the island of the Bay, the view glides here to the right by the already gently shadowed tip of Posillipo, and there to the left past the reddened Cape Minerva into [p. 326] the broad sea! There, opposite me, rises the open throat of Vesuvius, filled only with the borrowed glow of twilight. Castell a Mare's (Castellammare' s) rocky prongs are veiled with purplish air, and the tender reddish ROMAN DIARY, II 95

distance opened toward la Cava! Sweet tints of color sink down from the sky and rise again, doubled, from the sea's mild bosom. - Gently the stars appear, in the stilJ mildly glowing aether - and, each time, you are lovingly greeted by me, oh Evening Star, and you, oh Crescent moon, redolent of memory!

How often I have already painted for you the evening scene of the Bay! Forgive me but, although I often name the same objects for you, nature has always shown them to me new and various! Yet delightful as physical existence in Naples is and will always remain, so long as eternal laws govern air, earth and sea - so sad is the life of society. Fear and suspicion rule all spirits - conversation, as soon as it is watched by more than four eyes, is anxious and [p. 327] tense - no one any longer trusts the other, and everyone distrusts even the walls, which, especially in the inns, often have ears!

It was not like this ten years ago, when my brother lived here in happy simplicity with Filangieri and the fair circle of noble youth whom the gentle philanthropist had drawn about him, and from among whom a cheerful sunrise of active, enlightened humanity was dawning for Hesperia [Italy; the West]! Many of the noble beings who, perhaps, in leaving Filangieri's presence also had laid aside his caution, now languish in the state prisons; others have already falJen victims to the trembling despotism!

"Soon we shall have to look for good society only in the state's prisons," a friend said to me. Filangieri's death, whose sad result was the separation [dispersal] of the union of the wise and good, was the greatest accident that could have befallen Naples - if it is otherwise true that the influence of a man of genius, who was a virtuous and wise man, is as unlimited as it is beneficent [p. 328] Many a double decade will the world sink before heaven and earth again unfold this flower of Paradise. 13

July 12.

Today, in somewhat cooler weather, I drove around in the town to see churches and paintings. The streets and buildings of Naples are tiring in their uniformity, and remote from the nobler architectural style of Florence and Rome. One street, one house is like another; there are no central points as there are here, and one feels at home only when one breathes the sea air and sees the highest peaks of the coastal mountains, or the open Vesuvius.

The costume of the women of the middle class here consists of a black skirt, a corset, and

13Note of the summer of 1800: Now, as I copy this, to judge by all of the public prints as well as my limited personal information, all of these noble people have perished, died in prison, been executed or brutally murdered by mobs stirred up against them. Pasquale Baffi, that noble man glowing with virtue and patriotism, has also been executed! ROMAN DIARY, II 96

[p. 329] a black silk Cappe, which is made fast on the inside with a Coulisse, fastened below around the waist, and is then thrown upward around the head like a veil. When one sees the women from behind, it is extraordinarily ugly, as when one throws one's skirt over oneself in an unexpected rain. From in front, the Neapolitan women's eyes find favor under any disguise; the roguish ones are piquant - the melancholy ones even more seductive. The rmming about of the busy, in part half-starving advocati, who slip past the coach on both sides in numberless crowds, amused me at first - until I looked more closely at the in part frightful caricature- faces of these national vampires, who pitilessly suck [the blood of] the people. It is welJ known that in this country, even [p. 330] in winning a law suit one can only lose. But the iIritable spirit of the people nevertheless leads it again and again into the spider web of the local judicial system.

Church of San Domenico Maggiore. 1.) They show here a Holy Family ofFra Bartolomei [5ic I 2.) A first spoiled, then restored Titian..

Theatine Church; Sopra Castore e Polluce. Like heroes of antiquity before pygmies of the present, two fine Corinthian columns stilJ stand erect before the petty pilasters of the facade of the church. The torsos ofthe heroes to whom the heathen temple was dedicated have been horizontally embedded in the pedestals of the two church saints on either side of the entrance, in order to show quite concretely their victory over the heathen divinities, but also the triumph of barbarism over art.

The Cathedral Church has neither the splendor of the Milanese or even the Florentine ones. [p.331.] It is Gothic, without being either large or noble.

I was soon tired of driving around in the interior of the city, with its noise and dust, and returned to my airy dwelling.

In the afternoon we visited the Molo, and for once mixed directly into this variegated, shouting, gesticulating crowd. When the Neapolitan once rouses himself, every movement becomes passionate - except those he undertakes for others, and at others' expense. The character and dress of the Neapolitan maritime population is pleasing and cheerful; it contrasts agreeably with the indolence in expression and the movements of the Lozzaroni, to which group the porters also belong to a certain extent, in that they are not equally occupied [i.e., equally unoccpied]. The Lazzaroni [sic] presumably makes up his mind, when need has him by the throat, to do a job; but then, when the immediate need is met, immediately sinks back into the dolce far niente.

The panorama from the tip of the Molo, [p.332] on the right into the bustle of Naples, across the Bay, and to the left over Ponte Maddalena into the country, and right, past Capri into the maritime distance, is as celebrated as it deserves to be. There is a general complaint about the dwindling of shipping because of the damaging war.

On our return it amused me to observe the tumult in the fish market on the arrival of the ROMAN DIARY, II 97 fishing boats with their evening catch. All of the fish are sold here immediately, and fresh from the waves, and one never has the unpleasant smelJ and view of spoiled fish, as in Rome and Copenhagen. With the evening vespers, the sale is ended and the market clean; and it goes just as fast in the morning. Presumably this is required by police regulations, aided by the taste for good fish on the part of the cloister -dwelJers.

I spent the evening at a concert given by the English Ambassador, Sir [William] Hamilton, to Prince Augustus of England. (p. 333] The tone in this hospitable house is as good as it possibly can be considering the present mood in Naples. Milady sang, and was accompanied by the Prince in a duetto. Her voice is full and beautiful; her gestures are suited to each song, and she can tastefully differentiate the complaisant lover from the performing actress. I saw her only for a moment as such, since she instantly transformed herself into the attitude of my Tischbein's Iphigenia.

Without knowing me personally, she had asked the Queen for a passport to Ischia for the far-traveled invalid. - This good-natured obligingness speaks from her entire being. She is a very beautiful woman, and as though stolen from the Bacchanale in the relief of the sarcophagus in the courtyard of the Belvedere. But she begins to be stout, and to lose her flowing outlines.

It is indescribable to what a cross-wind these Neapolitans expose themselves, even as they so anxiously warn the foreigners against the evening air. This (p. 334] evening all windows were open from the sea side inward, and all the doors throngh the rows of rooms; the lights of the musicians wavered this way and that, some even went out - and only we Northerners felt the draft, which on this warm evening seemed to the Neapolitans to be merely refreshing. Heat and draft together drove me away early, contrary to my own wishes. How beautiful are these evenings at the seashore, where one breathes a cooling that awakens life and slumber - but how little they are suited to numerous assemblies! ROMAN DIARY, II 98 BRUN95R IX. THE HERMITAGE ON VESUVIUS.

July 14, 17%. [p. 337] I fled from the noisiest of all cities, and from the distress one feels about the frightful tyranny which denies passports to foreigners, even for the nearby coasts of the Bay, and closes to far-traveled invalids the healing springs of the fair Inarime.13

For a long time my wishes had been attracted by the white hut of the hermit which shone down from the slope of Vesuvius. It was there, in purer air, that I now proceeded in company with my two children.

We left Naples at three in the afternoon; the air was mild; and as soon as we escaped (p. 338] the dust of the lava pavements and climbed upward above the grave of Herculaneum, cooling west winds breathed around us.

Portici, with its gardens, villas and palaces, hangs down along the lava walls of V esuvius, whose black folds extend everywhere in the form of high shore-cliffs beneath the city and into the sea.

The last road which one takes to the left leads steeply upward, and one exchanges the buildings for deep ruts in the old lava flows, through which one rides upward between grapevines and mulberry and carob-bean trees. The trees, bushes and shrubs are low; but their air is fragrant and their fruits are savory.

Dreadfully beautiful is the contrast continuously presented to us by Vesuvius and Somma. The latter is a disappearing monument of devastating force; the former, a frightening presence of the lion who is only sleeping!

Around us stretched downward the lava fields of 1767 and 79. The former already decorated with [p. 339] fragrant Genista shimmering in green and gold; the latter spread around in black wasteland.

Looking back as the climb continues, the sea behind us seems to surge downward from the horizon into vaporous sunshine; the islands rest in its glittering lap, and it draws close in friendship to the smiling coasts. Beneath us lies Naples on its lovely rounded bay, and the deep murmur of its teeming populace reaches us even here. The handsome heights which embrace the city in a sheltering crescent, San Martino, Vomero and Posillipo, disappear in the soft green

13Inarime Pithecusae are the ancient names of the island of Ischia. ROMAN DIARY, II 99

of the high elms, vines and fruit trees.

At every moment the view, before us and to the right, of the new craters which have broken through the sides of Vesuvius becomes more interesting.

These seven new Hell's ventilators are known to have opened up in the last eruption of 1794, when Torre del Greco was inundated by lava floods, and 200 feet of Vesuvius' sugar-loaf sank in its enlarged mouth. (p. 340] From a distance these openings appear rust-red, but one also distinguishes the bright yellow sulfur deposits around their edges.

We are still surrounded by small birch and elm groves, among which are entwined those precious mountain vines which yield the invigorating Lacrimae Christi wine. Now there rises before us, like a coastal rock formation, a high lava cliff, between whose white ashen walls, cemented to puzzolana like the strata ofPosillipo, we ride farther upward. Like a high tongue of land raised from the old lava floods, there stretches toward us the extended hill upon whose narrow crest the hermit's dwelling lies in a green glade under tall trees. On the right, Vesuvius raises its whitish, broken-off ashen cone, while its wide-open maw yawns toward heaven; on the left rise Somma's craggy, gray-black crater walls, clothed on the outside with the fresh green of fine chestnut and oak woods. Between the two peaks, and directly in front of us, [p. 341] the open crater valley, Atrio del Cavallo, sinks down from the hackground like a hell that has descended from the clouds. I was struck by the similarity between this lava valley and a glacier valley of the Alps; here solidified fire, there solidified water.

The sun was already beginning to set as I reached the small level part of the hill and entered the dusk of the splendid linden trees that here strove joyfully upward in the lighter air. Golden evening lights looked through the waving foliage upon the hermitage's white walls. I immediately felt such a sense of well-being in this familiar shade that I could not think of leaving this blessed place the next morning, but ordered our guides and hinnies for the day after, except for one man with his beast who remained for our service.

I took a quick look inside the little hut, where the green of lindens and the gold of evening splendidly patterned the white walls, ordered our supper [p. 342] at the hermit's, and hurried back to the high loneliness. As though floating between heaven, earth, sea and fire, this little place offers a viewpoint which will not easily find its equal, whether in regard to its remarkable situation or to the plenitude of great, numerous and thought-provoking objects that lie spread out before me in every direction, from the mountain swnmits to the sea's bosom, like an illimitable gallery of nature, an inexhaustible source of science, and a field of history that loses itself far off in the mists of sunset

As the sun nears the crest of the hills over Fondi's quiet, magic valley, the most distant viewpoints, like a new creation, move forward in circular fashion from the rising mists of the horizon. There in the outermost distance appears Monte Circello, like a legendary figure in the sea-mist. The mountain of Gaeta rounds itself upward from the sea's deep-sunken bosom. ROMAN DIARY, II 100 The Ponzian Islands bloom, like blue (p. 343] flowers, out of the gray sea mist. The boldly outlined summit ofEpomeo dominates the whole island ofIschia, which merely forms its slope. Lying in front of this island, but with intervening stripes ofreddish sea-floods always visible, are the flatter Procida, then Misenum's high foothill, then the lonely coast of Baiae, and the quiet, mirroring Bay. Veiled in peach-colored mists rises the hill ofPozzuoli; and the Punto di Posillipo, where the Bay of Naples begins, here separates the old world of shadows from the busy present But behind rise Monte Gauro and the Camaldolensian cloister, with their woods, dark blue; beneath them rest the high, far-gazing sulfur edges of the Solfatara, of the Val d' Astruni, of the lake of Agnano, the whole ancient world of fire! - The dazzling beauty of Naples, Portici, Resina lies far beneath me. In the middle ofthe Bay, Capri, that jagged sea monster, rears up defiantly, its whitish chalk cliffs gleaming like silver. On the left [p. 344], the opposite side of the panorama begins with the old Cape Minerva (today the Campanello di Massa). The whole lovely coast is a part of the eastern reflection. Massa's little white houses hang in rosy light on the abrupt, rocky coast; bathed in purple are the jagged cliffs above Castellammare and Sorrento's magical terrain. The shining tender green of the hillsides rises against the gold of evening; fragrantly the clefts are shadowed by the higher hill-woods of oak and chestnut Everything is bathed in the warm light of a heaven prodigal of blessings, and is encompassed by the sea's resounding waves!

"How delightfully are sea and land here interwoven!" I cried out with my friend in my enchantment

The sun has set, but the moon is rising, and throws its pale silvery light beneath the still blooming roses of evening, and into the wide sea.

Gray-white and dreadful to behold, Vesuvius towers above. Beside me, (p.345] deeply sunken, the old Campagna fe/ice rests in green waves of frnitfulness beneath the heaven of high elms and vines; far off lies Capua, and, on the lightly rising heights of the Apennine, Caserta.

A reddish-violet mist overhangs this greening depth. For a long time, the twilight's orange- and gold-striped girdle hangs over Fondi's mountain strata; but the eternal stars tremblingly project their pure primeval light down into the stilllness of the night

July 15. How totally the scene is changed! A powerful storm is howling through the clefts, and whirling clouds of ashes from the cone of the mountain, which then travel, gradually sinking, far over land and sea, as far as the cliffs of Capri; and, as they are driven by the wind from north to south, they lower a curtain over the entire eastern shore of the Bay. Seen from Naples, these clouds of ashes, whipped up by disturbances in the upper atmosphere, resemble the mountain's exhalations [p. 346] of smoke, and have often deceived my eruption-greedy Karl in this respect. But not for many centuries has Vesuvius been as deeply asleep as now. ROMAN DIARY, II 101 I went along the slope of the hill above the little green valley of Vetrano, sunk between me and Somma's walls like the deep bed of a dried-up mountain torrent. Like a Stygian flood, the great lava stream of 1788 is still visible, and the chapel which stemmed its flood lies there overturned.

As through a magic telescope directed out from the dark present, one looks from the valley's cleft into the luxuriant green of Campania, where Capua lies in the gently sunken lap of the valley, and Caserta far off on the blue mountain seam.

I wander on nothing but hardened ashes, from which every gust of wind stirs up the light surface around me. Out of these barren ashes grow nut, chestnut, apple, pear, medlar, and carob trees, and young vines grow around in a friendly manner. But the intolerable ash-dust drives me back into the little [p. 347] hut Charlotte had awakened, and Karl was already back from a mineralogical excursion among the lava streams, heavily laden with the booty he had gathered I talked a lot with the elder hermit, Pater Domenico from Genoa, a much traveled, experienced man of the world, who, after thirty years of knocking about, fled from a world in which he found no contentment, and is now willingly leaving Vesuvius, where he also failed to find the repose which we vainly seek outside of ourselves.

At noon the storm abated, and after lunch we first rode along the back of the high tongue of land, which, built up little by little from lava streams and ash deposits, now stands proudly like an elevated peninsula between the later lava floods, and is more secure from the flowing fire than is the coast far below.

We first took the usual route of the Vesuvius pilgrims as far as the Cross, i.e., to the point where one leaves the mules [die MaulthiereJ and climbs the actual ash cone, which [p. 348] here rises abruptly from all sides. Karl showed me the ronte he had already twice followed, up to the edge ofthe funnel, which since the last cave-in has been so sharply cut off that one finds no place to rest above but must ride along the very edge, one leg directed outward toward Naples, the other into the interior hollow of the mountain. Women in recent times have allowed themselves to be carried up from here; but the very thought of seeing the men sinking knee-deep in ashes at every step, and panting under my additional weight, robbed me of any desire to climb higher.

We turned now to the left, and rode for an hour continuously through lava fields, first over the Vetrano valley, through that deep and powerful stream of 1788, which leaped down nom the high Atrio del Cavallo like a fiery cascade. In front of us rose the black, abrupt crater walls of Somma, whose long and fresh green edge one sees from Naples; but we rode between high (p. 349] overshadowing lava remnants, on rough slag, up to Atrio del Cavallo. The floor of this valley was apparently the bottom of the old crater of Somma, now raised by the fallen remains of the burned-out volcano and the lava floods of Vesuvius.

I spent a long time nosing about in this valley of desolation, observing with wondering ROMAN DIARY, II 102 curiosity the variety of the types of lava, their colors and forms. I also found remarkable the crunching sound of the slag beneath our feet; many patches give out a clear metallic tone, others sound like shards of broken glass. Finally we found ourselves directly beneath the bare, eroded and broken-out crater walls of the old Somma, just where the life of the vegetation begins, amid the burned-out slag, with sparsely distributed broom and everlasting bushes. It would be impossible for me to describe the intimidating dimensious of this dark valley of fiery death, which was itself for thousands of years the deeply hidden fire-hearth of the old Vesuvius, (p. 350] and is now the broad basin into which the new Vesuvius emptied many of its most frightful outpourings.

As there, above the quiet peaceful valleys of Helvetia, between the granite walls of the Alps, high glacier pyramids seem to sink down from the air above, so here the black brushed tips of the Acherontian floods, now hardened into cliffs, appear to be descending stepwise from the blue heavens.

We are surrounded, farther than we can see, by jagged heaped-up black and gray lava remnants; everything about us is silent, and only the past speaks! But as we leave this dark labyrinth and look about us /Tom the free hillside, we are embraced by all the loving beauty of the Hesperian heaven, and all the magic of a suuset over Parthenope's coasts.

I visited the resting place of the hermits who have died here. Where the lonely crosses stand, to the left of the little chapel, under young trees, I saw the sun sinking, (p. 351] and the fair pale pattern of immortality, the moon, rising behind the eastern mountains. What heavenly peace this evening instilled into my breast! Deep beneath me fell away all the inquietudes of life, into those heavy mists of the underworld, and my uushackled bosom was raised by noble thoughts of immortality, the future, and the indivisibility of moral beings, whose perceptive consciousness was raised, even here in its narrowly enclosing shell, to the high life of the spirit

A veil of twilight gradually spread itself above the others; between the islands and coasts, white, rose-colored mists moved here and there, lingering on their outlines, until finally only the rough foothills ofMisenum and the high summit ofEpomeo stood out above the prevailing obscurity.

July 16. How sweetly one sleeps in this isolated retreat, where yesterday evening [p. 352] I was slowly rocked to sleep by the shimmering moonlight, and was awakened early today by the peeping light of morning! How largely and brightly the scene had opened, when I again trod beneath the lindens! The sun was just rising over the high mountains, wakening the islands and coasts from their light morning slumber, and relieving them of their light veils of mist as a tender mother gently and gradnally wakes the children glowing in healthy slumber! The mirroring depths of the Bay were ruffled by the breath of sunrise, and soon arose in brilliance the awakened nymphs of the sea. How the plain of Campania shimmered beneath me, all its ROMAN DIARY, II 103 vineyards strewn with rainbows and jewels! How clear was the air, and how mild! This last is always true of the Italian morning air; but I have seldom, this year, found it clear and free of mist How much more cheerful were the morning airs on the Lake of Geneva!

But now I must leave this gracious loneliness, in which I have come to be so much at home!

[p. 353] We rode down the hill, then to the left into the labyrinth of the hundred-armed lava streams, over and through as far as the Bocca nuove [sic].

Touching is the modestly budding young life of the vegetation in the old lava masses. It grows in noticeably different relationships to the time that has passed, depending on the differences in the material that has been fused together and the extent of its disintegration, or vitrifaction, by the volcanic heat Between the lava deposits,ditches, rivers and walls, grapevines or fruit trees have been planted on every patch of earth which either clings to the lava or has formed itself in the cracks; and the bright green of the vines and treetops casts light shadows on the gray and black lava.

We refreshed ourselves, in the dreadful heat, on the cooling fruit of a mulberry tree. All wine that is brewed here is called Lacrima; that I never drank it unadulterated in Naples was something I noticed during [p. 354] the days when I drank from the hermit's cellar.

We now came over the stretch of lava which in 1794 had turned threateningly toward Portici and Resina, but then suddenly halted on the slope above and between the two towns. Around us, all of the fissures in the lava which had cracked in cooling were emitting hot vapors.

We climbed up to the edges of the three middle-sized craters, and looked far down into their deep funnels. The ground glowed beneath our feet; sulfurous vapors were rising everywhere, and almost visibly forming before our eyes the beautiful crystallizations, on slag and hardened ashes, which are known as sulfur flowers. This sulfur steam (which has so little in common with the smell of iguited sulfur, that I would rather call it sulfur scent) is to me most agreeable. I inhale it easily, and it revives me here right away after the exhausting ride; furthermore, it is probably sulfuric acid [SchwefrlsaureJ that is exhaled by these sulfur flowers; for I (p. 355] noticed, when I broke off these shining blossoms from the edge of the now extinguished abyss, and held the warm piece to my lips, that it had a very pure sourish taste. The air in the Solfatara and in the clefts of the Pisciarelli had a similar effect on me; whereas at the lake of Aguano, in Pozzuoli, and in the ruins ofMisenurn, I was seized by an anxious drowsiness and was unable to breathe freely.

I went three-quarters of the way around the edge of these closely adjoining craters, which have merged into a single crater above and have little separating walls only below. Above us, on Vesuvius' rising ashy head, we still see two smaller fiery openings, and higher up the broken wall of the hill from which the lava flowed. Beneath us, the two small craters were now fallen ROMAN DIARY, II 104 in and filled with debris, out of which, however, fountains of flame spurted into the air near Resina. All these openings hang horizontally one above the other, down the slope of Vesuvius. We overlooked (p. 356] the course of the lava, which, at first divided into three separate arms, menacing first Portici, then Resina, suddenly reunited itself above the unfortunate Torre del Greco, finding its way over the town, the church, and the shore to throw itself into the sea.

From the edge of this still glowing hell-hearth we looked out upon Campania's ever- smiling green expanses, and down into the cool and vigorous life of the blue sea; then across to that circle of primeval volcanos, to Posillipo, Agnani, SoJfatara, Astruni, Camaldoli, Pozzuoli, Monte Gauro, Ischia, and the far-offPonzian Islands.

It is very understandable that nearly all the mineralogists hereabouts become geological volcanists; just as the more illustrious and consistent buildup of the Alps forms Neptunists. For seldom does man raise himself above the physical probability which surrounds him with a thousand speaking voices; and it requires a great mind, in the midst of the fiery nature where Vulcan conquers Neptune in the lap of the floods, (p. 357] to listen to the quieter testimony of lonely ice-covered Alpine peaks.

Toward midday we were back in Naples, where to my great joy J found the so long desired and painfully awaited passport which opens to me the objective of my journey, the springs ofIschia. It was notto the rightness andjustice of my affair, but only to the persuasive speech of friendship ITom the mouth of the noble Caroline Trendel (widow of the great Filangieri) that I owe this good fortune. The Queen could not withstand such heartfelt prayers, and I am sailing over to the old fire-island the day after tomorrow. ROMAN DIARY, II 105 BRUN95R,continued x.

EXCERPT FROM THE DIARY OF MY STAY ON THE ISLAND OF ISCHIA.

July 18,1796. [p.361] At 6:30 AM. we were all seated, accompanied by our servants, in our vessel. I was rarticularly cheerful and confident in the future, under the protection and guidance of Hippocrates Domeycr, J4 the fine doctor and true friend, who is going with me in order to investigate the springs of the island and adapt their use to my condition. We pushed off from Chiaio, said goodby to OUT fine inn aile Crocelli, and glided around the Castell del Uovo into the Bay.

It was a compJetely calm morning; a thick sea fog enveJoped alJ objects, {p. 362) and covered the shore, so that we did not see the heights of Castell del Uovo in sailing past its lava foundation.

Little by little, the whole shimmering world around the Neapolitan Bay was newly born forward out of these mists, and beautiful Parthenope rose as from the waves, shining upward in a splendid crescent around the mirroring sea-basin.

These morning mists are not unusual here, and were commonplace all through this not very beautiful spring and summer.

As we glided past Posillipo, Domeyer instructed me concerning its presumed origin, or self-creation, from the depth of the sea through its own eruptious. Domeyer believes, however, that he has found, on the southernmost tip, unmistakable traces of an old crater, whose southern, broken-out wall is the island ofNisida; while the fallen-down tuff and puzzolan cliffs between Punto di Posillipo and the island are surviving witnesses to the disruption of the shoreline.

(p. 363] Indescribably magical was the morning scene in the quiet floods of the Mare Chiare, under the tip ofPosillipo and the cliff ruius ofGaiolo. Hereon bare tuff walls stand remnants of the house of Asinius Pollio (popularly called la Scllola di Virgilio), and, from the mirroring depth of the crystalline sea, this fully built wall of the Romans everywhere looks out

It was always in hasty passage that I looked into those now so sunken depths of the sea- surface beyond Pozzuoli and Baiae, toward the lonely heights ofthe Gaurus (now Monte Barbaro) and the son of the new world, Monte Nuovo. Emerging from the thinning mist, on shores devoid of people, rose the ruius ofBaiae and Bauli; and the splendid pillars of the Bridge

14personal physician of Prince Augustus of England. ROMAN DIARY, II 106

of Caligula stand unshaken, played about by the waves.

We landed at Cap Misenum, and I climbed the heights of the foothill, where everywhere in the sea-cliffs were remnants of the complete [p. 364] Opus reticulati. Like sea birds, these Romans have built their nests everywhere in these Hesperian coasts!

Glistening forward out of the fogs, Capri raises the bold outlines of its gigantic body. This huge chalk hill stands here alone, a slowly formed son of Amphitrite, among all the volcanic islands and coasts which the flame-spewing Titan poured forward from his deep fire hearths! For with Capri, which lies nearer the chalk cliffs ofthe Massa foothills, begin the mountain chains of the Apennines.

Now we enter the delightful strait between Cap Martino and the island of Procida, passing at the same time from the Bay of Naples into that of Gaeta. This long island dumped down in front of Ischia is carefully built up like a garden. Friendly is the seaward gaze of the nice little town on the shore, while the governor's ",ilite castle looks down from the high tuffcliff. Imposingly rises [p. 365] the darker green Pithecusa behind Procida, while the high Epomeo raises itself into clear air, girdled with clouds. Procida's other side, toward lschia, is rough and abrupt Before each of these foothills of the coasts and islands lies a mass of rocks or a cliff-ruin against which break the foaming waves.

Between the two large islands lies the little island ofVivara, probably a bit of debris which fell out when Procida was torn from Ischia. A smaller example of a similar revolution is that cliff of Gaiolo, between Posillipo and Nisida.

We are now at the eastern tip ofIschia. A mass of rocks lies picturesquely in front of the island, and bears the Castell on its high skull. A lava dam connects the fortress with the little town of Borgo d'Tstria, whose well-built houses stand on a flat shore bordered by friendly green heights.

We leave this pleasant glimpse behind (p. 3661 us, steering along the volcanic shore of the island and looking out curiously to see whether our home will be located in cool shade or on sun-drenched heights.

There the lava stream flowed into the sea, the last emission from the glowing lap of Epomeo!

Brown tuff scallops, yellow puzzolan walls, and, on Portici's shores, rolled-down lava cliffs surround the coasts of the island like fencing.

We finally land on the flat shore between Castiglione and Lacce. Donkeys [Esell for my followers, and a sedan chair for me, stand ready. The heat is frightful; but my fast-moving bearers run uphill with me between white rock walls, on white paths, between white arbor walls ROMAN DIARY, II 107 (zwischen weissen Rebbergmauern) and white houses! Then I am in my house! It lies quite isolated, 011 a sun-drenched vineyard. The situation is precious! In front of me the sea; behind me rises, in a far-flung, deeply sunken crescent, the jagged Epomeo; the sun flames on its jagged white [p. 367] tuff surface, but it is green with vines to a great height, and strewn with houses.

Afternoon. Only after the sun's glow had become milder, and a milder illumination had adorned nearby objects with gentle chann and made the more distant ones visible, only then did we fully comprehend the beautiful view about which I shall have occasion to rejoice without disturbance from all my windows and the flat roof of my house for five or six weeks.

The number of objects is so great that I am afraid of losing myself in it, and undertake an imaginary subdivision. My faithful compass, which never leaves me, is brought out, and as the infallible needle determines, each object is assigned to its place, in order that I may know not only what I see but where I see.

So: From my vine-clad hill that rises freely from a green shore-valley on the southern slope of Epomeo, I looked without hindrance to the east., north and west.

East. No larger and more magically [p. 368] lofty painting can be imagined, or could be attained by any art, than is here opened by the Gallery of Nature, and which, poured out where the happy gaze sweeps over the nearby land areas and between the foothills of Procida and St Martino, splendidly and charmingly interwoven between sea and land, forms an aerial, aqueous and linear perspective such as my eye has never before seen. Above the fruitful, cheerful green islands of Procida and Vivara stands the picturesque C-ap Misenum, flashing white, rising up at the end of the long peninsula; and over this narrow hill-dam I am looking into the small and attractive Bay ofBaiae, bordering on Pozzuouli's mountain. Farther back and gently swelling rises the bent Posillipo, shone upon, rather than covered, with bright green, and its outennost tip bathed by the sea. The high mountain of St Martino, castle-crowned, recedes tar into the backgound, and in front of it reposes the mountain of the Camaldoleusiaus, which forms with the Gaurus of the ancients a broadly [p. 369] delineated and gradually descending ridge, whose long seam extends from the East via the North and into the sea, and formerly bore Cumae on its green side. This whole majestically rising line is consistent with Vesuvius, and the summits, sunk inward in crescent shape, are unmistakably of volcanic form. Beneath this splendid chain of mountains lie the valleys and lakes of Solfatara, Astrumi, Agnani, Averno and Mare morte; the shining sulfurous edges of the first-named are everywhere clearly visible.

Passing by Posillipo, the gaze glides on shining blue waves to where Vesuvius in the tender veil of silence stands always alone, as though isolated in majestic size; and, once again, forming a foreground or rather a middle-ground to this astonishing view, there appear, flanking the volcano's sinking sides, bright blue distances of the Apennines, as though drawn on the air with an ethereal brush. As though lightly fleeing from one another, the airy mountain chains extend themselves, Ip. 3701 to the right into the Neapolitan, and to the left, beyond the ROMAN DIARY, II 108

Campagna felice, into the Roman Abruzzo.

The shimmering white houses and palaces ofPortici, Resina, Torre del Greco and [Torre] dell' Annunziata lie untroubled at the foot of the resting lion, cradled by the song of the waves, as by Sirens' songs, into fearless slumber. Far to the right, in the easternmost East, the toothlike cliffs rise boldly over Castell a Mare. All this just in the east!

North Here in the northeast, the bay of Gaeta begius with Cap Martino, and my lovely dwelling island lies at the tip of the border between the two gulfs, as Capri lies between those of Naples and Salerno.

In the far depths I see the houses in Cajetan's foothills; behind the freely rounded Bay, picturesque perspectives open in the mountain spurs ofFondi, Terracina, and perhaps as far as Veletri. In the northwest rises, like a dream picture from primeval times, the high Cape Circello, lonely rising from the sea's bosom.

[p. 371 J West. Beside me to the west, a pleasant valley makes its way, where the little town ofLacce lies in wine and fruit gardens on the nicely rounded little harbor. Bordering it, high cliff banks swell up on the other side, scalloped as by a playful hand; over their heads I look into open sea-distances, where on the misty horizon the Ponzian Islands lie lightly scattered. Three of them look upward like single sea-cliffu; two are more flatly extended islands; and now, between two of these high cliff islands, as between Pillars of Hercules, the sun sinks into the sea!

With what delight I see it sink in a holy maritime flood, and with what delight I saw the moon rising over the sunken craters of the very ancient Epomeo, words cannot tell; only the feeling of the innermost being tells it to you, oh thou Giver of all great and complete gifts! with quiet tears.

(p.372] July 23. Four days have passed me like hours, in gracious nature-surrounded solitude! Why are you not beside me, on the flat roof of my house, or in my dear arbor, on the western slope of my hill, where I sit with Charlotte under carob-bean, pomegranate, and fig trees, between which vines loaded with swelling bunches of grapes are creeping, and pass these delightful afternoous with Tasso, or one of the beloved friends' trefoil" in hand - at first often looking up from the book, [I] follow every gradation of the light in the fairest distances, then lay down the books and take up my knitting, until this too sinks from my hands, and I quite lose myself in sweet contemplation. See! How drenched in rose tints the white tuff-puzzolana and chalk-breccia cliffs of Mis en urn, St Martino and Procida are smiling! (p.373] Higher up, the far-off sulfurand alum- walls of the Solfatara, the Monte Secco, and the other old craters. Purple lingers in the chestnut and oak groves on Monte Gauro, and over the place of the old Cumae, the daughter of

15The writings of Matthisson, Bonstetten and Salis. ROMAN DIARY, II 109 Pithecusae, the grandchild of Chalcis.

The sea-waves play in animated, heaving motion between the coasts and islands round about; in far-off mists, Vesuvius rises into pearl-blue air; like purple-striped flocks, the cities lie around his foot; clad in dark violet stands Castell a Mare's wildly jagged rock-horn.

Below me rest Ischia's small subordinate valleys, where here and there a single pine, a taller cherry tree, or a laurel bush, shone through by the evening sun, detaches itself more darkly against the prevailing bright green, and light shadows wander over the heights and through the clefts.

Everything is animated, and the red of evening with its milder light greets every secret depth, each (p. 374] hidden ground of the much-furrowed hillsides, on which little white houses are everywhere scattered up and down. Now glows (entgluht) the high sugar-loaf ofSt Nikolo (St Niko is the popular name for the highest peak of Epomeo), and one sees the hermitage hewn out from the rocks. This highest summit of Epomeo, a dazzling white weathered-down tuff rock, stands as though irradiated by the last sunbeam! Long shado"is sink do"m on the roughly raised mountainsides, and now the sun floats, like a fireball, in reddish-yellow mists on the sea! Now it touches the top of the waves, which seem to round themselves off beneath it; then it slowly and majestically sinks between the cliff islands ofPalmarola and Ventotiene into the lap of bluish Amphitrite, and in that moment appears the farthest Roman shore, only to disappear again immediately amid rising mists.

[p. 375] July 25. I am living in complete solitude, physically and morally isolated! Since no one gets passports, there are no cure guests here except the poor people of the hospital. The cure itselt: which is very trying, and the topography of the island, where one can only go up and down on sun-glowing paths between heated walls, is not very conducive to promenading, and would make it pleasant only around and after sunset; but then I have to avoid the air. However, between the siesta and sunset I do take little pleasure rides, for over the island of Ischia there goes no wheel (as Haller says of the Alps)! In this way I visited the little town ofCasamiccia, which hangs on the toothill, overlooked by Epomeo and almost over my vineyard. It was the great teast of St Magdalena, the patron saint of the town, and the exuberant public was assembled on the square in front of the church and within it. Inside they were reading mass, finnigating, and praying on the rose-wreath; outside they were dancing to the tambourine (p. 376], shouting with joy, and devouring fruits, ices, gingerbread and gaiety.

I invited a young girl to dance; but no one wanted to take the liberty, and I saw afterward that they were right A couple of young seamen began a dance, and a girl beat on the tambourine; but gestures and postures were so improper, so shameless, that l, full of inward disgust, and trembling for the innocent looks of my children, withdrew from the narrow circJe of spectators, and told my servant to pay the bilL ROMAN DIARY, II 110 The people are yellow-brown, the tacial tormations are very fine and sharp, the noses delicately bowed, and the space between the flashing eyes normally very narrow. The people are small on the whole, the men have very black curly haiL The women's costume is not disagreeable, and looks well on the pretty ones. Fine white skirts of cotton material, colorful silk jackets and aprons with gold braid, the hair plaited, [p. 377] and with a negligently hanging silk kerchief, held up as with resin (? wie mit einer Resina aufgenommen). A veil of transparent weave, almost ala Frascarana, is laid on the head, around the neck a silk scarf, and the jacket laced up with gold over a very colorful and stiff bib or flap (f .a:tz). The people, men and women, go daily in very clean white linen, the men withjust shirt and short trousers. The male costume is the usual seamen's attire.

I rode back by way of Lacce; it lies peacefully on the rounded bay, beneath the volcanic heights which stand in the west, so that the lovely valley enjoys an early shade. Hot baths also flow from these hills, and from the hollows there rise hot vapors which are used for sweat baths, the strongest of which is called la Stufa del Diavolo (the Devil's Oven).

The view from these green heights down into the sea, and over the island's delightful coasts, is very fine. Here still bloomed (though [p. 378] nearly finished) myrtles, oleander and Caprifolium; aloe and caper plants hung down on the cliffs.

The baths of the Monte miserecordio [sic], or the hospital, which I take, powerfully affect the perspiration and cause extreme sensitivity, even against this mild aiL The morning air is very damp, and fogs often circulate around the mountain slopes until about eight o'clock; but it (the air) is also extremely soft, and I enjoy it every morning from five to nine o'clock, when the heat drives me from beneath my vine-trellis and into the house. But at sunset there is a fresh breeze which is refreshing to healthy people but very damaging to the cure guests.

One day passes like another on this my sun mountain.

These wells, which have boiled in the hidden, deep hearths of old volcanos, have an extremely powerful effect, and although by the thermometer the water is not as hot as the springs of Carlsbad, it may nevertheless [p. 378] require more time to cool, which is perhaps attributable to the greater density of this mineral-laden fluid. Chemical and physical analyses of these springs are as yet unknown; but they work none the less admirably; for the fifteen minutes that I spend in the bath each evening before going to bed often oblige me to change my linen eight or nine times in the following twenty-four hours, which is extremely tiresome. But under these mildly open heavens, the good effects of the baths are not, as happened to me in Carlsbad, neutralized on the spot by rough drafty winds. Though I am attacked, it is without pain, and the pulse rises with the freer, unimpeded circulation of the blood. I also use the local steam bath for my ears, and really feel at times as though, as with Sappho in Elysium (see Wieland's TodtenGesprache [Dialogues of the Dead]), the scales fell not from my eyes but from my ears.

In the afternoon [of July 26] I rode down to Lacce, then [p.380[ up on the western ROMAN DIARY, II 111 heights above the little town to the villa of the Neapolitan Prince Aqua-Vita, which lies pleasantly and with a wide view on the slope of two tuff-stone hills. Nothing can be compared with the loveliness of this Hesperian afternoon air! Even in the midday hours, when air, sea, shore, heights and depths all glow, the heat is of course intense, but the atmosphere never bore me down with that leaden weight which constricted my breast in the hot days of our northern summer Cooling sea breezes blow as early as 4 P.M., and I can then ride without special complaint; but healthy people (my children do it every day) can take respectable walks from this hour on.

From here we looked over the northeastern mountain terrain, broken up into steep hills and subdivided by little valleys, and at the finely delineated coast, through the white forelands as far as Vesuvius; to the left, next to the round black sea-rock, Punto di Thonaro, [p. 381], [we looked] through a picturesque valley cleft into the sea toward the north.

Above us to the south rises, near at hand, the grotesque brown rock formation called il Arbu5to (the Shmb), like an old monstrous tree skeleton. With high and widely separated, cloven and riven flanks, Epomeo drab'S its spiky prongs through the whole island, which actually is nothing but its own slope. Beneath me, in the pretty vine-clad valley, shaded by fig trees, lies the little town, whose white houses begin to turn pink in the sun. All of the garden soil of this villa is shipped over here from the Campagna felice, and here on the barren cliffs it bears splendid fruit, among which I tasted wonderful peaches. Completely ripe and juicy peaches are rare here; for the peach, which is a Persian product, wants to be cultivated even under Hesperian skies; but the cultivation of fruit trees is greatly neglected.

For three months not a drop of rain has faIlen on the island ofIschia, and just consider the dryness of this volcanic earth! But [p.382] balsam trickles down every night, and the sea fogs here seem to be favorable to the vegetation; for the trees and vines, even at the shore, are still very fresh, while grass and herbs are dried up and withered. The snakes bothered me at first; they are always slithering across the path betore my teet, and stretch their long necks out to the stone edgings. But the inhabitants iusist that the island nurtures no poisonous creature, and that snakes and scorpions here lose their poison within a few days. This much is certain, that some of my housemates found a scorpion in their bed in the morning, after having passed the night with impunity with this suspicious bedmate. Since in general I am seldom afraid and don't like to be, I am now again sitting without anxiety on my accustomed spot on the stone barrier from 4:30 AM. reading in Tasso, Anacharsis and Marcus Aurelius; a vine-trellis four to five hundred paces long is my promenade. These morning hours are sacred to me, eternally unforgettable - dedicated to self-knowledge, to unification with myselft

[p. 383] Long streaks of mist extend upward from the valley to the mountain peaks and refresh the high mountain vegetation, which is still tenderly green as it is with us in May. Above, the mists transform themselves into clouds and sail majestically away through the blue sea of the aiL Fishing boats return from the high seas to the little harbors of the island with rich booty, and beneath me the call to early mass rises from the chapel of St Antonio. ROMAN DIARY, II 112

July 27. Pallazzo Casamiccia. I have just learned that our house bears this name, because it lies below the village of the same name and is distinguished from the smaller houses of the island by being tall, white, and visible from a distance.

In the afternoon we rowed from the Marina (the little landing-place below our hill, and near the brick works) past the little harbor of Lacce, in the middle of which there lies a cliff in the shape of a mushroom to which the sailors tie their boats. Then we rounded [p. 384] the high western foothill of Pun to Thonaro, which takes its name from the anchor bracket (! Anker- klammer) of the great tunafish net that lies in front of it Such a net by itself costs 5,000 ducats; there are three of them on the island, and this important fishery is le.ased. As one comes out of the little quiet harbor, rounds this sheltering toothill and enters the open sea, the whole of nature is transformed. The green valleys, the vine-hills, the little groves hanging on the mountainside, the villages, churches, and single houses have all disappeared; the whole island appears to be a volcanic ruin, 16 and is a volcanic ruin. Hills tom from Epomeo by earthquakes lie with their menacing foreheads hurled far out into the sea; tremendous black-gray blocks oflava are heaped up high; everything is split asunder, uprooted, thrown hither and yon! Tuff, lava, puzzolan, yellow, brown, gray and blackish, lie entangled, [p. 385] rolled over and over. What dreadful annals! What frightful lava flows have layered this rocky shore? What a teIrible shaking hurled the mountain slope down from the summit ofEpomeo, so that the naked spine now stares dreadfully into the air? Such traces are shown neither by Vesuvius nor Solfatara. It was then, perhaps, that the old inhabitants of Pithecusae fled like frightened doves to the foot of Gaurus and founded Cumae, the queen of the sea, who gave her name to the whole bay.

Presently we came to a spot where the dark lava remnants of the shore were covered with a white coating of ashes, which, though unquestionably long since hardened into puzzolana, still seemed soft and sprinkled on top. The sea played now in friendly wise in the dark hollows of the shore, and now rolled foaming breakers up against offshore cliffs. Now foothills of a milder green and little vineyards loosed themselves from the naked heights; but everything is still (p. 386] of an unquiet and torn formation. We now suddenly caught sight of the pretty little town of Furia d'Ischia on a long, narrow (one cannot say isthmus), but rather built out into the sea on a lava and puzzolan dam. A pleasant sight after the great emptiness! Yet this southwestern side of the island is not nearly so pleasant, green and inviting to look at as our southeastern one. It was getting late, and we tumed around this time without landing on Fnria.

The people of the island have something of a childlike modesty in their nature. Their speech is quite awful, since they distort every word; but mimicry and gesticulation are full of expression. Those who cultivate closer relations with the foreigners know the value of money as well as do the Romans and Neapolitans.

16See Wieland's Oberon. ROMAN DIARY, II 113

July 28. Fresh air and pure distances! Opposite us, at the foot of the cloud-surrounded Massicus, shone the white coast, from which [p.387] the quiet Liris flows beneath Mintumae's ruins into the sea.. The water was forget-me-not blue, and sparkled with the trembling glow of the sun. Fifty or sixty Neapolitan galiots [small coasting vessels] came from the western horizon of the sea, like swans descending from the aether, ever closer, divided themselves directly off Ischia, and the one half glided into the Bay of Gaeta while the other passed OUT sun-island, between Procida and St Martino, and proceeded through the delightful sea- and land-panorama into the Bay of Naples.

August 5-6.

Skirokko! Sweat bath! Steam bath! Sun glow! Drought! Only we become water!

It is now almost fOUT months that no drop of rain has fallen on this fiery island; even the dew becomes less each day. Even the vineyards are beginning to lose their color and shape; the grapes cannot swell, and, not swelling, do not ripen. Near Lacce (p. 388] some fig trees have withered. No blade of grass is to be seen, and the thirsty puzzolan and tuff soil is nothing but ashes and dust The cisterns (and there is no other drinking water here) are beginning to run dry. No bird sings, no spring ripples, no flower exhales fragrance, and even the hoarse song of the cicada falls silent, for her exclusive nutriment, the dew of heaven, begins to fail. The sky itself is full of red mists, out of which the morning sun rises without radiance, and, in the evening, sinks back through the fiery haze into the sea, heavy and glowing red like a mass of molten ore. Only the hot springs of the island bubble torth, steaming, from the fire within the earth.

Splendor rather than charm, greatness in the outlines, without the refreshment of proximity! Much for the observing, inquiring mind, little fOT the longing heart do you offer, sun cooked island! .. 0 Helvetia! You blessed land of my soul, where, in the bosom of the noblest greatness, dwell beauty, charm and repose - I think of your cool (p. 389] shadow'S, your leaping waterfalls, and your snowy peaks, where ever-cooling breezes are prepared.

Afternoon ride to the loothills ofEpomeo.

Fine is the free view over the island. From here I see directly over and beyond Lacce.and into the great dilapidated crater which lies sunken in the western wreath of hills, and is very fruitful and freshly green. One sees traces of a lava which formerly poured out here and flowed through the wild St Lorenzo valley and into the sea, where it formed that wild shore between Furia and Lacce.

In the evening the new moon appeared in brighter airs. Splendid stood our northern Bear in the north-northwest, Cassiopeia in the northeast, and Andromeda in the south. All ofthem seemed to me to stand higher in the zenith, and nearer to the pole, than with us in the same ROMAN DIARY, II 114 month and at the same hour. Lightning zigzags far over Gaeta, illuminating the depths of the Bay.

[p.390) AIJb'USt 7. Rain, though only in drops, but still some refreshment for the earth. plants, people, trees and animals. Abbot Brislack, this modest scholar and famous mineralogist, was with me today. He visits Ischia every year in order to make use ofthe still unknown treasures of the old volcano. Pyrogeology and geogony (F euergeologie und Geogonie) is becoming ever more predominant here.

Spallanzani, Hamilton, Soulavie, Brislack, Thompson, are all volcanists, and the old and honorable Neptune sees his creative trident torn from his hands by these impious persons and laid on the anvil of his lame brother [Hephaestus'1]!

August 8. It had rained again in the night, and the early hours were heavenly beautiful. Brought closer to me by the ether-pure air ('1), I espied the white shore of the island ofVentotiene, played upon in friendly fashion by the young light and the blue waves. How rare are these clear morning airs in Italy!

(p. 391] I read today with inexpressible delight the splendid canto in Tasso's Gierusalemma {5ic] liberata with the description of the drought and the rain.

The whole day was beautiful, and closed with the gentlest evening followed by the most beautiful night What splendor of the starry heaven, spread out over the sea! The immeasurable sank down in friendly wise, and the infinite ascended, more intangible in its broken brilliance, out of the mirroring lap of the sea!

The gigantic silhouette ofEpomeo rises enlarged amid the night shadows, and its shoulders seem to shelter the aether-bow of the Milky Way; Mars rises fiery red above the tuff- scallops. Oh, holy eternal lights ofheaven! May my eye never behold you without shining tears of joy, nor my spirit without heaven-aspiring presentiment! Before the radiance of your primal light, every complaint falls silent, and the broad road of infinity opens before me. The harmonies which these stars radiate strengthen my heart'

(p. 392] August 10. My SOil does what my limited strength unfortunately does not permit, and which the cure, to which every calef action is damaging, wholly prohibits. He rides away, up and down, before sunrise, to the highest peaks and into the deepest clefts ofEpomeo, armed with chisel and ROMAN DIARY, II 115 hammer, and would like to carry off the whole mountain. The good Brislack, who takes an interest in the eager little mineralogist, has shown him the richest prospecting grounds. Since then he always returns heavily laden with spoils.

Often there suddenly arise, at places where one did not expect it, hot steams and glowing vapors issuing from cracks in the earth or clefts in the stones, and everyihing testifies to the size of the internal furnace that apparently underlies the entire island

Pohrt, Domeyer and Karl in the very first days were on the top ofEpomeo, from where, in addition to the broader view, they espied also the northern side of the island [p. 393], which to me will probably always remain terra incognita. It is wild, much less inhabited than ours, and beautiful in the contrast of the dark green of the little lonely woods and the rocky coast, which is only animated here and there by isolated fishing huts. With us on the southern side, no underbrnsh can become a wood, for the damned brick works, which I never see smoking without iIritation, eat up all the wood. Every ten years, the lovely little chestnut groves are cut off at the root, and what they call a wood here is like the alder-shrubs with us, in the swamps or in the hedges. I was always bitterly disappointed when, attracted by the fresh green, I looked for shade under these miserable trees, which are condemned to eternal mutilation.

August I L This afternoon, in bright weather and with a cheerfully rising sea, we made a voyage to Borgo d'Ischia, the capital of the beautiful Inarime. Our [p.394] house lies directly beneath the highest sugarloaf summit ofEpomeo, and in the middle of the northern side of the island; but the hamlet of Furia lies on its western tip, and Borgo on the eastern, aod on both sides it is a voyage of five miles.

High tuff-puzzolan and lava-breccia cliff.~ soon hide from us the interior of the island; then little green valleys sink dowu between the torn and violently upraised volcanic heights. The pleasantly green, wholly volcanically formed hill above the little vi]]age of Castiglione has most visibly preserved its conical form, and seems to have been the nestling among Epomeo's children.

It was from the foot of this young mountain that the devastating lava stream of 1300 broke out From it, mineral springs still flow, and vapors rise. Now, ye]]ow ashen walls of hardened puzzolana project abruptly from the sea. The whole mass of the island, here on the east side, has been thrown up and down in conical hills.

(p. 395] High stands the elder-father Epomeo, whose boldly drawn backbone dominates the entire island in a noble line from east to west. His eastern side, which descends in steep and thinly greening hill-walls and slopes, is called Monte Campagniano; but a deep perpendicular fissure has been torn between this and the main mountain, and it is this pre-mountain which has been most picturesquely thrown up, as by an artist's hand. ROMAN DIARY, II 116 We visited the Lago del Ri':, into which we entered from the sea through a very narrow channel hewn out of the lava cliffs.

From the dark banks nearby we picked myrtles and blooming Genista. This little lake apparently lies in the circle of broken-in volcanic walls, and a deep peace reigns here above the extinguished hell! Magical was the view through the narrow canal and across the water to the shores of Cumae; and picturesquely rose a pathway out of the deep valley and up to Casamicciola. The lake abounds [p.396) in fish, and His Sicilian Majesty comes here every year for fishing. The air in this sea valley was oppressive, as at the lake of Ah'tlano, and I huIried back to the sea in order to be able to breathe freely, since I do not possess the very enviable quality of being a living aerometer and combining a thermo- baro-and hygrometer in myself

We now bent our course around the island's eastern crags and points. What can be compared with these splendid marine perspectives, where, as through an optical spell, here, between the little island ofVivara and the cliff-corner ofIschia, the far-off reddish misted giant of Castell a Mare, as though newly born, proudly raises itself above azure sea,.distances, and Vesuvius then enters the picture, high up in a veil of mist, its throat open to heaven! The walls of Somma, its dark woods, and the green plateau of the hermit were raised up from the desert of the mountain into the clear air.

We now rowed to the outlet of that dreadful lava stream which, from a crater-like [p. 397) depression called Chiaiano, flowed a full mile and a half into the sea. Now slowly rose, between the cliff-fort of the Campagniola mountain and the crag of the fortress of Ischia, the island of Capri, emerging slowly from the lap of the sea- first the higher island valley, called Anna-Capri 1 sic), then the high rock comb, the chalk cliffs splendidly shimmering with white and peach-blossom tints that gently harmonized with the green of the vines and trees.

The eastern end of our island makes a most delightful painting; the fruitful mountain terrain is drawn up and down in gentle wavy lines, and the pretty white country houses ofBorgo lie half hidden in the fresh green, out of which protrnde single pines and cypresses.

The wine of our island is very noble, strong and fiery; the best costs here on the spot 1 'Iz Carolin (about 13 Danish shillings); the bad,S Grani (about 4 Danish shillings) per bottle. One of the leading Neapolitan trading firms bought up the greater part oflast year's vintage, and, as (p. 398] I was assured here on the island, earmarked it for Hamburg.

The island as a whole has a circumference of 18 miles, and 24,000 inhabitants.

Now the boundary pillar of the Neapolitan and Salernitan bays, the mighty foothill of Minerva, appeared on the magic chart, and we landed on the flat beach in front ofBorgo. This nice little town seems to draw its white houses, among which are very respectable buildings, directly out of the cliff-shadowed sea. We walked over the long bridge, built on a lava dam, that connects the town with the Castello, based high up on the picturesque lava and tuff cliffs. Then ROMAN DIARY, II 117 I rode,through very convenient winding ways hewn out of the cliffs, up to the platform of the fortress. Here there opened a view as comprehensive as it was great, as beautiful as noble.

The broad sea in the south, where Capri holds the wandering gaze; then the eastern coast [p. 399] of the bay, with Massa, Vico, Sorrento, Castell Ii Mare; Sorrento, where Tasso was born; Vico, where Filangieri died, too soon for his unhappy fatherland: then the great line which, from the grave of Pompeii to where Vesuvius raises its purple ashen head in the already reddish air, and from there again glides downward, gently and majestically, into the soft lap of the Campagna fe/ice; grouped around its foot, like a decorative frame, the palaces, houses, towns, villages and hamlets. Beneath me Vivara, Procida, farther off Cap Martino, Misenum - all these wonderfully ragged forelands and islands.

Far above the plain of Capua, the Apennines tlee away in perspective. Freely placed upon the greening heights, the cloister of St. Martino and the fortress of St. Elmo; shining far off, the white edges of the Solfatara and Monte Secco, beneath which I looked into Pozzuoli's and Baiae's quiet shadow harbors of ancient times; then the dark Gaurus (p.400] and the deserted Cumaean shore. We hastened downward; and as we got into the boat, the sun had already set on this eastern shore, and Borgo lay in the green retlection of the higher hills, behind which a fiery glow flamed upward.

Our vigorous oarsmen rapidly bore us around the tip of the island; there the fireball still floated above the western hills, and fresh sunset breezes stirred the billows. Roseate smiled the coasts of the Neapolitan bay, and Vesuvius glowed as though his dead ash-head were taking fire from the sun's last glance. The coast ofPozzuoli, Baiae and Cumae was bathed in brown tints, as though with the concealing veil of forgetfulness, while there above the animated Gulf, the bright light of the present still streamed! We glided close to the fantastically formed tuff cliffs, which, dyed brown, white and yellow, form hollows and extend their sawtooth edges; breaking waves foamed in and out, mixing snow with aquamarine.

[p. 401] The sun sank, and Luna strewed quivering silver stars in the heaving rose-bed of the evening!

In the cliff bays lay lurking fishing boats; baskets were laid down, nets wound up. On a brown tuff rock, beneath an inconspicuous vaulting, stood seven young women, designing, after we had gone past, to slip into the cooling sea bath. Lovely was the group of white figures on the brown rock, in the twilight, amid the foaming waves! The shadows ofEpomeo grew ever darker under the rising moon, and this evening scene from the midland sea is unforgettable for me. 1 was sunk in deep thoughts; for the gray times of old were drawn across my gaze beneath the veil of growing dusk.

This now empty Cumaean shoreline, which a gentle and well-conducted people inhabited - at a time when Rome, still unknown, was rising in little Latium to superior power and future world mastery -- and, disclosing all the charm [p. 402] of Greek art and intellect, soon stood on ROMAN DIARY, II 118 that level of esthetic cultiva tion which, without the higher light of heavenly wisdom, could never rise to genuine moral worth, rose up as though from the fabled dream of its SybiL It \vas followed by the deserted coasts of Bauli, Baiae and Pozzuoli, where luxurious Rome, now already sunken from its height, eternalized all its vices. Far off lay that Bay of Naples, crowded on all sides, around which throngs a monstrous population, to a life without sense or strength, without morality or cultivation! Ah, will it ever awake to what Rome and Cumae were? And yet, how far were Rome and Cumae below the attainable summit of human perfection - how far Athens, Sparta, Corinth, Thebes and Syracuse! When will the bright daylight of true humanity illuminate us? Belief in virtue, caution and immortality, when will you become the law oflife and the all-animating feeling of the soul?

[p. 403] Dark did it grow in my own soul! I saw an unattainably high goal, and mankind still in its cradle; but the view toward heaven, in the fullness of unending space, unending creation and forward movement, strengthened my sinking spirits. - Yes, He who raised that slowly fonned granite giant of the Alps from the depths of the sea, and, through these long extinct volcanoes, fertilized the dead earth from within, set for us, too, a high but, for the duration of our being, a not unattainable goal! We are still in the youth of the human race, whose peoples as they pass do not, like a tiresome world of dolls, eternally revolve in uniform guisc upon the same axis! - You, too, will again raise your brow, sunken Italia! You again will bloom, Hesperian coasts! You will awaken, poor, weak, unself-confident race!

August 16.

I continue to live in peaceful quiet, and hear the political storms raging only fiom afar! [p. 404] The people of this island are very obliging, friendly, and also flattering; it is the kindness of weakness, not that free, open gaze and hearty greeting of the Swiss. The human type is noticeably small and thin, because it is badly nourished. Begging is general; yet they are not shameless, and the expressive gesture of hunger speaks louder than their voice. In the postures of the women, in la Cava and Campania as well as here, in their way of carrying jars and baskets on their heads, I still discern traces of the grace which, in happier days, presumably informed all the movements of this cheerful people. On the whole, the poor people here are cleanly; their linen and bedclothes are, also among the poor, very white. Noticeable here too is the brief blooming of the women. They imagine all of us to be younger than we are, and this is understandable, since here women of thirty-five look like those of fifty with us. Thus one often sees a decrepit little mother with a young child whose (p. 405] mother she is, but one would take her for the grandmother.

A bashful dejection and a lack of self-confidence seem to me to characterize the inhabitants ofthis island, even more than those of the mainland. I would gladly take a trip into the Abrnzzo, where, they say, a less oppressed and nobler people live in the hills; for the feeling of melancholy does not leave me here, any more than in Tivoli, Frascati, and la Cava, at the sight of a sunken nation. That this joyless despondency of the people grows from year to year, and ROMAN DIARY, II 119 that together with the inborn joyfulness of the inhabitants of this happy region, their natural gifts, like unfed flan1es, are also gradually flickering out - of this all my acquaintances and friends, in Rome and Naples, Germans as well as natives, were without exception witnesses.

August 17. It was a delightful morning, and I looked through clear airs into the deeply disclosed bay (in den liefenthullten Meerhusen) [p.406] ofCajeta. The towns of Mola and Castiglione lay clear before me at a distance of forty miles, and high on the rounded foothill sat the fortress of Gaeta; behind glowed the dark orange groves of the Formian Hills, braced against higher hills.

Afternoon. Storm winds are rising; long streaks of cloud approach from the western horizon, and the sea churns under the wind's wings. Sharp sunbeams penetrate the blue-gray cloud cover, to land on the eastern coasts and mountaintops. Suddenly, in dazzling brilliance, the white mountain peaks appear, or the shadow of a dark grove is magically illuminated; a vineclad hill, a sunkissed white foothill rises from the blue flood.

Vesuvius' throat, Baiae's gulf, the walls of the leukogeian (lleulwgeischen) craters - Everything changes from mist into brightness, and then suddenly disappears back into the darkness, this field of primeval times.

August 19. I am beginning to grow very sad; for (p. 407] everything is growing dumb to me! No tone of friendship and love reaches me here, and on the other side of the Alps everything has sunken for me. For six weeks I have heard nothing from all my people, nothing from the friends in Switzerland and Germany; the mails are all very uncertain, and those letters which successfully pass the armies are opened in the post offices in Rome and Naples, and then often thrown away.

To distract ourselves, we made a sea voyage to Furia d'Ischia. There was no storm, but the sea was very unruly due to the preceding tempests. Our doughty seamen swung boldly past the clitl:Coasts of the island, through foaming, spray-hurling, hissing waves. Whirlpools and foam circulated about the projecting lava reefs, wild and frightfully beautiful. Cheerfully the Hesperian heaven smiled down upon the dark volcanic coasts.

We landed with much difficulty near Furia, which is built out into the sea on a long protruding tongue of puzzolana, in an unusual situation, with no harbor or secure approach, and with waves crashing on all sides.

(p. 408] We looked around in the small, well-built little town, where a market was in progress, inspected the small, beautiful chapel of St. Johannes, and then rode back in the loveliest twilight These coasts, the hills rising above them, the mountainsides that follow them ROMAN DIARY, II 120

- everything is unquiet, torn, and tells of powerful convulsions; nowhere is there beauty of form, everywhere venturesome figures in the wildly scalloped cliffs. The land is everywhere as well cultivated as the uneven and barren earth permits.

There are all sorts of fruit trees here, even cheIries; but O\ving to the unfavorable soil, they do not produce any pleasant vegetation but remain small and poor in foliage. Orange trees stand singly in the neighborhood of the houses and in the gardens; fig and pomegranate trees are most frequently seen. The former are the handsomest trees on the island; the latter remain small but bear abundantly.

August 20.

I am sick with longing! Still no word (p. 409] from afar, from mother, children, siblings and friends; and 1 do not know whether Brnn awaits me in Italy, Germany or Switzerland. All news from Lombardy is untrustworthy; none of it comes unfalsified among the people, and what could be disseminated through private letters is suppressed. I can't hold out long in this way; for without love and friendship, even Hesperia becomes a desert to me!

August 21. The thunderstorms which now come up after the midday heat give me, from my high vantage point, a view of manifestations as remarkable as they are beautiful, brought to pass by the changing ofthe clouds over the wide sea, the effervescence beneath the rapid storm, the flashing lights under the dark cloud cover. Thus I went out today onto the flat roof of my house from my rooms where 1 had had the usual siesta, so refreshing in this climate.

(p.410] It was between four and five in the afternoon; iustead of the fresh sea air which otherwise rustles delightfully about me, a leaden heaviness hung over sea and land, coasts and islands. In the west, a night of thunderstorms was brewing, black as I had never seen it, and the sea heaved darkly, as though moved in its entire mass from within outward, without storm or waves. The whole land to the north and west lay buried in thick haze, and the sea horizon was merged in the clouds. In the east, without sunshine but sharply illuminated by a magical white band around the heaven, the whole wonderful perspective lay bright and clear, and islands, waters, forelands, coasts and mountains rose from the sea in solemn stepwise progression. Behind Vesuvius and the Campanian plains, the Apennines rose into elevated heaven-climbing distances of the Neapolitan Abruzzi, where an alien sun illuminated the far-off peaks. Seven times changing, I counted land, island and sea.

[p. 411] Yesterday I made a little pilgrimage with my people to the house which the noble Stollberg family inhabited during their stay on the island of Ischia. We rode down to the sea near the brick works. The little house is idyllically situated beneath an overgrown rock, near the warm baths of the Misericordia, the hospital where 200-300 patients each year find care, and often healing, through humanitarian arrangements and the beneficent springs. Already at some ROJVlAN DIARY, II 121 distance the children from the surrounding houses, catching sight of my blond Karl, cried: e ritomato il Conte Lmesto! thinking of the golden-haired Ernst Stoll berg. The occupants of the house received us in happy and friendly wise, and asked particularly and with heartfelt interest after each member of the noble family which had become so dear to them; showed me the place where each one had lived and slept, and kindheartedly refreshed us with water and lemon juice. We then visited the nearby church, where the little Sibylla, this [p. 412] tender and quickly fading plant, ripens to a fair bloom in the lap of the earth. Among all the people I have seen in Ischia, I liked these hosts of Count Stoll berg the best

August 22. Today I looked from my roof onto the roofs of near and distant houses; young girls were dancing, while a playmate sang or struck the tambourine. This is only the second time since I have been here that I have had this pleasant sight; I begin to experience all the charm of the Italian dolce far niente! With a glass of ice-cold water and a slice of red watermelons (the simplest, thirst-quenching refreshment, which even the poorest enjoys in the markets and all the streets of Naples ), breathing these mild airs, I often surprise myself in a half-hour of doing nothing and thinking little. And were not the sting oflonging for [p. 413] those who are far away over sea and mountain and land so alive in my breast, I would begin to understand the good fortune of the Lazzaroni, which friend Domeyer always tirelessly commended to me as the best means of healing.

The fine white figs of this island cannot ripen in the drought, and I must order all fruit from Naples, together with all other provisions except bread, wine and fish. These fish of the Hesperian coasts are so manifold and so strangely formed, and have such characteristic heads, that I always have them brought to me to look at. Most varieties resemble animal flesh in taste and consistency, and are more nutritious, but also in part less digestible, than the fish of our seas. Very healthy and nice are the eggs of the sea-hedgehog (Meerigel), whose flattened globe like an orange is sliced horizontally, so that the eggs, like longitudinal lines, lie as it were stripped down (heruntergestreifi) and have an extremely fine aromatic [p. 414] taste. They are eaten before the soup, as anchovies often are with us.

August 23. Today we took a ride to the il Vosco crater at the eastern end of our island valley. The way leads steeply upward among vineyards and over lava slag between stone fences. This little crater is completely preserved, and its cup form is very prettily rounded down to the depths, where it narrows like a furmel and closes. I estimate its circumference at two miles on the upper edge. Here the greenery of myrtle, Lentiskus, and mastix surrounded us, decorated the empty depths to a considerable distance, and filled the air with invigorating fragrance; in between bloomed the lovely Spartium, and the varieties of Cilhysus, with their tender twigs, intertwined both edge and depths to form a delightful pleasure bush. A little path led down into the crater, but our guides warned us against the snakes, which slither out at sunset; (p. 4151 also, the sun ROMAN DIARY, II 122 was already low; for the western edge of the crater threw a shaIp shadow over the eastern part, making an indescribably fine effect as it merged with the depths while the full sunlight still played on the heights. As we tumed to ride home, we were surprised by the loveliest view downward on our green island valley, its hills, villages and hamlets, across the island to Furia, and beyond until in the hazy sea-distance the island ofVentotiene receives our gaze.

August 25. No letters, and no passport to Sorrento's cool shore, for whose refreshing shade I longed; where I must again collect my strength, and refresh myself with its cooling grapes and golden apples, after the exhausting glow-baths of the fiery island! Vain are all the prayers of the dear [Mrs.] Filangieri! The Queen has given permission for the passport; but the stern Prince Castell (p. 416] Cycallo is unwilling, tor the sake of the hyperborean pilgrim, to breach the great Chinese Wall with which cautious policy has encircled the Hesperian islands and coasts. - So, back to noisy, dusty Naples, which [however] I shall soon flee, in order to find rest in the shadow of the Tusculan hills until I receive word of the possibility of a return to Switzerland.

August 26. The people of this island are really more childish than I have ever seen grownups to be; but, I repeat, childish without being childlike! This is a result of the heavy pressure of the Spanish rule under which they still languish. Superstition, customs, education, everything conspires to keep them in a perpetual minority status. It is true that the people here, the occupants of these huts adorned with fiuit and ~vine, are for the most part independent proprietors; but the percentages exacted on the export of wine, the import of corn to the grainless island, are huge, (p. 417] oppressive. Ten percent is the levy on wine in the custom houses of Naples, and this from such rough ground! Concerning grain I could not get an exact figure; the one they gave me was so monstrous that I do not venture to write it down, and it seemed to me unbelievable.

These people seem to me like intimidated children, early oppressed by tyrannical discipline, and whose wits and understanding have degenerated into petty, anxious trickery.

Begging here is more general than I have found it anywhere else, even in Italy. I have encountered well-dressed people from my own neighborhood, who spoke to me, i.e., began the conversation with some flattery about my figure, or the good things they claimed to have heard about me. The end was ordinarily begging, either for money outright, or for some sweets, or for some provisions which are scarce with them but which they knew to be on hand in my kitchen.

The dialect is extremely unpleasant, and the (p. 418] voices are anything but agreeable, but on the contrary rather sharp; in addition, they distort all words: Crapi instead of Capri, Porcita instead of Procida, Cancro instead of Carlo. In addition, they often end every word in a phrase with 0: 0 che voi sieto bello mio! Is what the women have always said to me. ROMAN DIARY, II 123

The beggar women seemed to cousider this form of address as no less inmllible than the light, fine flattery of the beggar with the Cross of St Louis on the Pont Neuf in Paris.

Karl's personality, and his activity with hammer and chisel on the cliffs, were quite wonderful to them, and at first they held up the eager stone-seeker with questions: Whither? Why the stones? Until he finally, cheekily enough, answered, Per far colluzione! (For breakfast). Now the women always call after him: Ah, Signor, Monsu, Don Cancro rumpe-prete, va far collazione! (Ah, his Lordship, Monsieur, Herr" Carl Stonebreaker is gning to breakfast.)

[p. 419] These good people are very concerned about the spiritual welfare of my children, and Karl's donkey-drivers are continuously wanting to convert him. Mifa pieta, di vedervi andar nel inferno! II Diavolo vi cacciard Puff! Puff! Puffnel Zolfo la Giu [5ic}! (It grieves me, to see you going to Hell this way! The devil will hunt you Puill Puill Puill down into the sulfur.) This warning was always accompanied by very vehement gesticulation, and the sulfur threat was often supported at a smoking cleft in the mountainside with a concrete reality of the nearby Hell in the sulfurous coating of the yellow and vermilion tuff rocks.

The daughter-in-law of myoId housekeeper bore her first child in her twelfth year; apart from this, she is a very good-looking and strong woman. But her numerous children are all small, and her twelve-year -old daughter was not so large as mine is in her ninth year. In general, my children are wondered at as little giants.

The day after tomorrow we return to Naples. (p. 420] I have lived with sadness and indignant regret among a people which, in its present wormlike life, has not split even the crudest shell of existence!

The so very early maIriages of the women are certainly a contributory cause of the degeneration of the whole human type. How can the tendril which itself is still weak bear a ripe fruit? And now morally? No youth, no bloom of innocence' From childhood harnessed immediately to the hard yoke oflife! Oh, how I thank God that I was born in the north!

August 27. I wish to dedicate this day wholly to the contemplation of this great Nature! With this thought I stepped out early onto the flat roof of my vestibule to the east

The sun was just rising behind Vesuvius, climbing slowly into the vaporous pearl-blue, and soon set down his radiant feet in the curling waves of the Neapolitan Bay.

(p. 421] Sea and heaven unite here in smiling sweetness,

17This threefold appellation of foreigners is usual on Ischia. In Naples, only the women are called Signo.ra Donna. ROMAN DIARY, II 124

And the shimmering land rests in a trusting union!

I remained quiet all day, and in the evening, with the loveliest of sunsets, took leave of the beloved spot beneath the pomegranate trees and beside the grape arbor.

August 28.

It was on a cheerful Sunday morning that we left our house, pushed off from the flat shore, and called a friendly farewell to old Epomeo as he stretched his giant limbs from out of the clouds.

How beautiful is this sea of southern coasts, with its blue-green, teeming billows! Pure as the crystals of the Alp-nymphs are its long waves, and cheerfully do they recast the naked volcanic cliff-shores of these islands and coasts, which always frighten me a little with their hard gaze; on whose abrupt foreheads no cool grove casts its shadow, but (p. 422] the bunch of grapes on the low vine, near the dry earth, is ever cooked by the sun's rays. So the Monte Procida, opposite the island ofIschia, whose warm and heavy wine the English especially prize, and, as I was told, always buy up in advance.

As we glided beneath the vertical tuff walls of Procida, our seaman Notale [sic: Natale] cried: Rosa! cara Rosa mia! and showed us the dwelling of his love, high on the cliff. He frequently repeated the tender morning greeting with his rough voice, prayed her to open the window, and to show her face. In vain! Rosa was deaf, and only the rock-clefts threw back his voice. Finally he concluded from her silence that she was not at home, but had gone down to the great festival that is dedicated in Procida today to the protective saint ofthe little town. We decided therefore to land on Procida in order to see the people of the island assembled, and where Natale [S-lc] also hoped to catch sight of his lovely Rosa.

[p. 4231 The population on this small island is very dense. The small, unclean mountainside town was literally like an anthill. The people are much better-looking and stronger than the Ischians. The costume of the women is very distinctive; a melding of the Greek and Turkish costumes, and most picturesque. High belted skirts, with gold and silver buckles, fastened beneath the bosom. A caftan, often trimmed with fur, of rich silk material, a silk kerchief negligently laid over the hair, much jewelry around the neck and in the ears.

The nobler costume forms more beautiful figures; I saw here better-looking outlines of throat, neck, shoulders and hips, than I have seen since Rome, in the quarter ofthe handsome women of Trastevere, and nowhere else. The brisk young sea-folk on the men's side are also distinguished by agility, lively color and fine curly hair, and looked well in the colorful seamen's costume.

[p. 4241 Everything was happy and contented, and the cheerful Procitesi are well known as particularly adroit and courageous seamen. ROMAN DIARY, II 125 We needed to make use of the sea breeze, if we wanted to reach Naples at noon and avoid the risk of having to wait until next morning for its return. So we soon left Procida, and sailed happily along on blue waves between shining coasts.

As we doubled Posillipo, and the Bay of Naples received us in all its splendor, our eyes were drawn from the shimmering distance to the waters near at hand A swarm of dolphins was fluttering about our ship; shining in the sea's flood and the glow of noonday, they were happily moving up,down,and around us, and, attracted by the whistling of the sailors, accompanied our felucca for a considerable time. I particularly enjoyed two of the biggest of them, who long accompanied us at close hand like a team of horses. They recalled to me (p. 425] the charming idea of the ancients, which I had seen in antique intaglios, where Psyche travels on the sea in a shell-car drawn by dolphins. A picture of evening rest after the storm of life!

I, too, bore a troubled Psyche in my bosom, and was without news of my people; oppressed by the ever-threatening war rumors, alone in a foreign land, still undecided what I should undertake.

I willingly accepted the friendly picture of the dolphins as a good omen; and behold! before I reached my house, two letters from Lombardy were brought me, with definite and reassuring news how I could pass securely through the conquered lands and get to Switzerland!

This was one of the long and most eagerly awaited messages; and in this moment, when I had to decide whether I wanted to pass the winter on this or tile other side of the Alps, the most important

[p. 426] So now I only greet you once again, fair shore ofParthenope, in order soon to call to you a long farewell.

THE END