Felix.
Rome, November 8th, 1830.
I must now write to you of my first week in Rome; how I have arranged my time, how I look forward to the winter, and what impression the glorious objects by which I am surrounded have made on me; but this is no easy task. I feel as if I were entirely changed since I came here. Formerly when I wished to check my haste and impatience to press forward, and to continue my journey more rapidly, I attributed this eagerness merely to the force of habit, but I am now fully persuaded that it arose entirely from my anxiety to reach this goal. Now that I have at last attained it my mood is so tranquil and joyous, and yet so earnest, that I shall not attempt to describe it to you. What it is that thus works on me I cannot exactly define; for the awe-inspiring Coliseum, and the brilliant Vatican, and the genial air of spring, all contribute to make me feel thus, and so do the kindly people, my comfortable apartments, and everything else. At all events I am different from what I was. I am better in health and happier than I have been for a long time, and take delight in my work, and feel such an inclination for it, that I expect to accomplish much more than I anticipated; indeed, I have already done a good deal. If it pleases Providence to grant me a continuation of this happy mood, I look forward to the most delightful and productive winter.
Picture to yourself a small house, with two windows in front, in the Piazza di Spagna, No. 5 which all day long enjoys the warm sun, and an apartment on the first floor, where there is a good Viennese grand piano: on the table are some portraits of Palestrina, Allegri, etc., along with the scores of their works, and a Latin psalm-book, from which I am to compose the Non Nobis;—such is my present abode. The Capitol was too far away, besides I had a great dread of the cold air, which here I have no cause to guard against; for when I look out of my window in the morning across the square, I see every object sharply defined in the sunshine against the blue sky. My landlord was formerly a captain in the French army, and his daughter has the most splendid contralto voice I ever heard. Above me lives a Prussian captain, with whom I talk politics—in short, the situation is excellent.
When I come into the room early in the morning, and see the sun shining so brightly on the breakfast-table (you see I am marred as a poet), I feel so cheerful and comfortable, for it is now far on in the autumn, and who in our country at this season looks for warmth, or a bright sky, or grapes and flowers? After breakfast I begin my work, and play, and sing, and compose till near noon. Then Rome in all her vast dimensions lies before me like an interesting problem to enjoy; but I go deliberately to work, daily selecting some different object appertaining to history. One day I visit the ruins of the ancient city; another I go to the Borghese gallery, or to the Capitol, or St. Peter's, or the Vatican. Each day is thus made memorable, and as I take my time, each object becomes firmly and indelibly impressed on me. When I am occupied in the forenoon I am willing to leave off, and should like to continue my writing, but I say to myself that I must see the Vatican, and when I am actually there, I equally dislike leaving it; thus each of my occupations causes me the most genuine pleasure, and one enjoyment follows another.
Just as Venice, with her past, reminded me of a vast monument: her crumbling modern palaces, and the perpetual remembrance of former splendour, causing sad and discordant sensations; so does the past of Rome suggest the impersonation of history; her monuments elevate the soul, inspiring solemn yet serene feelings, and it is a thought fraught with exultation that man is capable of producing creations, which, after the lapse of a thousand years, still renovate and animate others. When I have fairly imprinted an object like this on my mind, and each day a fresh one, twilight has usually arrived and the day is over.
I then visit my friends and acquaintances, when we mutually communicate what each has done, which means enjoyed here, and are reciprocally pleased. I have been most evenings at Bendemann's and Hübner's, where German artists usually assemble, and I sometimes go to Schadow's. The Abbate Santini is a valuable acquaintance for me, as he has a very complete library of ancient Italian music, and he kindly gives or lends me anything I like, for no one can be more obliging. At night he makes either Ahlborn or me accompany him home, as an Abbate being seen alone at night in the streets would bring him into evil repute. That such youngsters as Ahlborn and I should act as duennas to a priest of sixty is diverting enough.
The Duchess of—— gave me a list of old music which she was anxious to procure copies of if possible. Santini's collection contains all this, and I am much obliged to him for having furnished me with copies, for I am now looking through them all, and becoming acquainted with them. I beg you will send me for him, as a token of my gratitude, the six cantatas of Sebastian Bach, published by Marx at Simrock's, or some of his pieces for the organ. I should however prefer the cantatas: he already has the "Magnificat" and the Motets, and others. He has translated the "Singet dem Herrn ein neues Lied," and intends it to be executed at Naples, for which he deserves a reward. I am writing to Zelter all particulars about the Papal singers, whom I have heard three times—in the Quirinal, in the Monte Cavallo, and once in San Carlo.
I look forward with delight to seeing Bunsen, we shall have much to discuss together, and I have likewise an idea that he has got some work for me; if I can conscientiously undertake it, I will do so gladly, and render it all the justice in my power. Among my home pleasures I include that of reading for the first time Goethe's Journey to Italy; and I must avow that it is a source of great satisfaction to me to find that he arrived in Rome the very same day that I did; that he also went first to the Quirinal, and heard a Requiem there; that he was seized with the same fit of impatience in Florence and Bologna; and felt the same tranquil, or as he calls it, solid spirit here: indeed, everything that he describes, I exactly experience myself, so I am pleased.
He speaks in detail of a large picture of Titian's in the Vatican, and declares that its meaning is not to be devised; only a number of figures standing beautifully grouped together. I fancy, however, that I have discovered a very deep sense in it, and I believe that whoever finds the most beauties in Titian, is sure to be most in the right, for he was a glorious man. Though he has not had the opportunity of displaying and diffusing his genius here, as Raphael has done in the Vatican, still I can never forget his three pictures in Venice, and to these I may add the one in the Vatican, which I saw for the first time this morning. If any one could come into the world with full consciousness, every object around would smile on him with the same vivid life and animation, that these pictures do on us. "The School of Athens," and the "Disputa," and the "Peter," stand before us precisely as they were created; and then the entrance through splendid open arches, whence you can see the Piazza of St. Peter's, and Rome, and the blue Alban hills; and above our heads figures from the Old Testament, and a thousand bright little angels, and arabesques of fruit, and garlands of flowers; and then on to the gallery!
You may well be proud, dear Hensel, for your copy of the "Transfiguration" is superb! The pleasing emotion which seizes me, when I see for the first time some immortal work, and the pervading idea and chief impression it inspires, I did not experience on this occasion from the original, but from your copy. The first effect of this picture to-day, was precisely the same that yours had previously made on me; and it was not till after considerable research and contemplation that I succeeded in finding out anything new to me. On the other hand, the Madonna di Foligno dawned on me in the whole splendour of her loveliness. I have passed a happy morning in the midst of all these glorious works; as yet I have not visited the statues, but have reserved my first impression of them for another day.
November 9th, morning.