Letters of Felix Mendelssohn

Florence, October 23rd, 1830.

Here am I in Florence, the air warm and the sky bright; everything is beautiful and glorious, "wo blieb die Erde," as Goethe says. I have now received your letter of the 3rd, by which I see that you are all well, that my anxiety was needless, that you are all going on as usual, and thinking of me; so I feel happy again, and can now see everything, and enjoy everything, and am able to write to you; in short, my mind is at rest on the main point. I made my journey here amid a thousand doubts and fears, quite uncertain whether to go direct to Rome, because I did not expect any letters at Florence. Fortunately, however, I decided on coming here, and now it is of no consequence how the misunderstanding arose, that caused me to wait for letters in Venice, while you had written to Florence; all I can promise is to endeavour in future to be less over-anxious. My driver pointed out a spot between the hills, on which lay a blue mist, and said "Ecco Firenze!" I eagerly looked towards the place, and saw the round dome looming out of the mist before me, and the spacious wide valley in which the city is situated. My love of travel revived when at last Florence appeared. I looked at some willow-trees (as I thought) beside the road, when the driver said, "Buon olio," and then I saw that they were hanging full of olives.

My driver, as a genus, is undoubtedly a most villanous knave, thief, and impostor; he has cheated me and half-starved me, and yet I think him almost amiable from his enthusiastic animal nature. About an hour before we arrived in Florence he said that the beautiful scenery was now about to commence; and true it is that the fair land of Italy does first begin then. There are villas on every height, and decorated old walls, with sloping terraces of roses and aloes, flowers and grapes and olive leaves, the sharp points of cypresses, and the flat tops of pines, all sharply defined against the sky; then handsome square faces, busy life on the roads on every side, and at a distance in the valley, the blue city.

So I drove confidently into Florence in my little open carriage, and though I looked shabby and dusty, like one coming from the Apennines, I cared little for that. I passed recklessly through all the smart equipages from which the most refined English ladies looked at me; while I thought it may one day actually come to pass that you who are now looking down on the roturier, may shake hands with him, the only difference being a little clean linen and so forth. By the time that we came to the battisterio, I no longer felt diffident, but gave orders to drive to the Post, and then I was really happy, for I received three letters,—yours of the 22nd and the 3rd, and my father's also. I was now quite delighted, and as we drove along beside the Arno, to Schneider's celebrated hotel, the world seemed once more a very pleasant world.