Letters of Felix Mendelssohn

Naples, April 13th, 1831.

Dear Rebecca,

This must stand in lieu of a birthday letter: may it wear a holiday aspect for you! It arrives late in the day, but with equally sincere good wishes. Your birthday itself I passed in a singular but delightful manner, though I could not write, having neither pens nor ink; in fact, I was in the very middle of the Pontine Marshes. May the ensuing year bring you every happiness, and may we meet somewhere! If you were thinking of me on that day, our thoughts must have met either on the Brenner or at Inspruck; for I was constantly thinking of you. Even without looking at the date of this letter, you will at once perceive by its tone that I am in Naples. I have not yet been able to compass one serious quiet reflection, there is everywhere such jovial life here, inviting you to do nothing, and to think of nothing, and even the example of so many thousand people has an irresistible influence. I do not indeed intend that this should continue, but I see plainly that it must go on for the first few days. I stand for hours on my balcony, gazing at Vesuvius and the Bay.

But I must now endeavour to resume my old descriptive style, or my materials will accumulate so much that I shall become confused, and I fear you may not be able to follow me properly. So much that is novel crowds on me, that a journal would be requisite to detail to you my life and my state of excitement. So I begin by acknowledging that I deeply regretted leaving Rome. My life there was so quiet, and yet so full of interest, having made many kind and friendly acquaintances, with whom I had become so domesticated, that the last days of my stay, with all their discomforts and perpetual running about, seemed doubly odious. The last evening I went to Vernet's to thank him for my portrait, which is now finished, and to take leave of him. We had some music, talked politics, and played chess, and then I went down the Monte Pincio to my own house, packed up my things, and the next morning drove off with my travelling companions. As I gazed out of the cabriolet at the scenery, I could dream to my heart's desire. When we arrived at our night quarters, we all went out walking. The two days glided past more like a pleasure excursion than a journey.

The road from Rome to Naples is indeed the most luxuriant that I know, and the whole mode of travelling most agreeable. You fly through the plain; for a very slight gratuity the postilions gallop their horses like mad, which is very advisable in the Marshes. If you wish to contemplate the scenery, you have only to abstain from offering any gratuity, and you are soon driven slowly enough. The road from Albano, by Ariccia and Genzano, as far as Velletri, runs between hills, and is shaded by trees of every kind; uphill and downhill, through avenues of elms, past monasteries and shrines. On one side is the Campagna, with its heather, and its bright hues; beyond comes the sea, glittering charmingly in the sunshine, and above, the clearest sky; for since Sunday morning the weather has been glorious.

Well! we drove into Velletri, our night quarters, where a great Church festival was going on. Handsome women with primitive faces were pacing the alleys in groups, and men were standing together wrapped in cloaks, in the street. The church was decorated with garlands of green leaves, and as we drove past it we heard the sounds of a double bass and some violins; fireworks were prepared in the square; the sun went down clear and serene, and the Pontine Marshes, with their thousand colours, and the rocks rearing their heads one by one against the horizon, indicated the course we were to pursue on the following day. After supper I resolved to go out again for a short time, and discovered a kind of illumination; the streets were swarming with people, and when I at last came to the spot where the church stood, I saw, on turning the corner, that the whole street had burning torches on each side, and in the middle the people were walking up and down, crowding together, and pleased to see each other so distinctly at night. I cannot tell you what a pretty sight it was. The concourse was greatest before the church; I pressed forward into it along with the rest. The little building was filled with people kneeling, adoring the Host, which was exposed; no one spoke a word, nor was there any music. This stillness, the lighted church, and the many kneeling women with white handkerchiefs on their heads, and white gowns, had a striking effect. When I left the church a shrewd, handsome Italian boy explained the whole festival, assuring me that it would have been far finer had it not been for the recent disturbances, for they had been the cause of depriving the people of the horseraces, and barrels of pitch, etc., and on this account it was unlucky that the Austrians had not come sooner.