Naples, 3 June 1787

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And so then, half-stunned, I drove through the endless life of this incomparable town, probably never to see it again; yet with a feeling of satisfaction that I had left behind nothing to repent or grieve over. I thought of the good Kniep, and vowed even in the distance to do my best for him.

At the outermost police-barriers of the suburb I was disturbed for a moment by a check-keeper, who, looking with frendliness into my face at once sprang off again. The Custom-house officers had not yet finished business with my vetturino when, from the door of the coffee-house, with the biggest chinese cup of black coffee on a waiter, out stepped Kniep. He came slowly up to the carriage door with a hearty earnestness which well became him. I was astonished and touched; such a mark of acknowledgment had not its match. “You have,” he said, “shown me so much goodness and kindness to bless me all the days of my life that I wanted to give you some token of the thanks I owe you.”

Words always failing me in such emergencies, I could only answer laconically that by his labours he had made me his debtor, and that by turning to good account our common treasures he would only bind me ever the closer to him.

We parted in a way persons seldom part whom accident has drawn together for a short time. It would, perhaps, be much the best rule in life for people when they meet to say out bluntly what they want of each other. That done, both sides are satisfied, and anything over and above then looks like the pure spontaneous gift of the heart.

Today

The last barrier on the road to Capua and Rome has not been identified (hypothesis: the customs post towards Capodichino).

Where: Napoli

Works and documents

AI reconstruction

Further reading

• Gesture and Time: Goethe, Kniep and the Memory of Landscape

Sources

J.W. Goethe, Italienische Reise, original German text (public domain).

Translated by A.J.W. Morrison and Charles Nisbet (Goethe’s Travels in Italy, London, George Bell and Sons, 1885; public domain).

L'articolo The barrier, Kniep’s farewell coffee proviene da Unreal Goethe.

Naples, 26 March 1787

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To-morrow this letter will leave this for you. On Thursday, the 29th, I go to Palermo in the corvette, which formerly, in my ignorance of sea matters, I promoted to the rank of a frigate. The doubt whether I should go or remain made me unsettled even in the use of my stay here; now I have made up my mind, things go on better. For my mental state this journey is salutary–indeed necessary. I see Sicily pointing to Africa, and to Asia, and to the wonderful, whither so many rays of the world’s history are directed: even to stand still is no trifle!

I have treated Naples quite in its own style. I have been anything but industrious. And yet I have seen a great deal, and formed a pretty general idea of the land, its inhabitants, and condition. On my return there is much that I shall have to go over again; indeed, only “go over,” for by the 29th of June I must be in Rome again. As I have missed the Holy Week, I must not fail to be present at the festivities of St. Peter’s Day. My Sicilian expedition must not altogether draw me off from my original plans.

The day before yesterday we had a violent storm, with thunder, lightning, and rain. Now it is again clear; a glorious Tramontane is blowing; if it lasts, we shall have a rapid passage.

Yesterday I went with my fellow-traveller to see the vessel, and to take our cabin. A sea voyage is utterly out of the pale of my ideas; this short trip, which will probably be a mere coasting one, will help my imagination, and enlarge my world. The captain is a young lively fellow; the ship trim and clean, built in America, and a good sailer.

Here every spot begins to look green; Sicily, they tell me, I shall find still more so. By the time you get this letter I shall be on my return, leaving Trinacria behind me. Such is man; he is always either anticipating or recalling; I have not yet been there; and yet I now am, in thought, back again with you! However, for the confusion of this letter I am not to blame. Every moment I am interrupted, and yet I would, if possible, fill this sheet to the very corner.

Just now I have had a visit from a Marchese Berio, a young man who appears to be well informed. He was anxious to make the acquaintance of the author of “Werther.” Generally, indeed, the people here evince a great desire for, and delight in, learning and accomplishments. Only they are too happy to go the right way to acquire them. Had I more time, I would willingly devote it to observing the Neapolitans. These four weeks–what are they, compared with the endless variety of life?

Now, fare you well. On these travels I have learnt one thing at least–how to travel well; whether I am learning to live, I know not. The men who pretend to understand that art, are, in nature and manner, too widely different from me, for setting up any claim to such a talent.

Farewell, and love me as sincerely as I from my heart remember you.

Naples, 28 March 1787

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These few days have been entirely passed in packing and leave-taking; with making all necessary arrangements, and paying bills; looking for missing articles, and with preparations of all kinds. I set the time down as lost.

The Prince of Walbeck has, just at my departure, unsettled me again. For he has been talking of nothing less than that I should arrange, on my return, to go with him to Greece and Dalmatia. When one enters once into the world, and gives way to it, it is necessary to be very cautious, lest one should be carried away, not to say driven mad by it. I am utterly incapable of adding another syllable.

Naples, 29 March 1787

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For some days the weather has been very unsettled; to-day, (the appointed time for our sailing), it is again as fine as possible. A favourable north wind, a bright sunny sky, beneath which one wishes oneself in the wide world! Now I bid an affectionate farewell to all my friends in Weimar and Gotha. Your love accompanies me; for wherever I am I feel my need of you. Last night I dreamt I was again among old familiar faces. It seems as if I could not unload my boat of pheasants’ feathers any where but among you. May it be well loaded.

At sea, 29 March 1787

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A fresh and favourable breeze from the north-east is not blowing this time, as it did at the last sailing of the packet. But, unfortunately, a direct head-wind comes from the opposite quarter, the south-west–and so we are experiencing to our cost how much the traveller by sea depends upon the caprice of the wind and weather. Out of all patience, we whiled away the morning either on the shore or in the coffee-house; at last, at noon we went on board, and the weather being extremely fine, we enjoyed the most glorious of views. The corvette lay at anchor near to the Mole. With an unclouded sun the atmosphere was hazy, giving to the rocky walls of Sorrento, which were in the shade, a tint of most beautiful blue. Naples, with its living multitudes, lay in the full sunshine, and glittered brilliantly with countless tints. It was not until sunset that the vessel began slowly to move from her moorings; then the wind which was contrary drove us over to Posilippo, and its promontory. All night long the ship went quietly on its way. She is a swift sailer, and was built in America, and is well fitted with cabins and berths. The passengers cheerful, but not boisterous. Opera-singers and dancers, consigned to Palermo.

Naples, 14 May 1787

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When on the fourth day of our voyage, I awoke early in the morning, I found myself quite fresh and well, just as I had been at the same period of the passage from Naples; so that on a longer voyage I may hope to get off free, after paying to the sea a three days’ tribute of sickness.

From the deck I saw with no little delight the island of Capri, at a tolerable distance on our lee, and perceived that the vessel was holding such a course as afforded a hope of our being able ere long to enter the gulf, which, indeed, we very soon afterwards accomplished. And now, after passing a hard night, we had the satisfaction of seeing the same objects as had charmed us so greatly the evening before, in a reversed light. We soon left this dangerous insular rock far behind us. While yesterday we had admired the right hand coast from a distance, now we had straight before us the castle and the city, with Posilippo on the left, together with the tongues of land which run out into the sea towards Procida and Ischia. Everyone was on deck; foremost among them was a Greek priest, enthusiastic in the praises of his own dear East; but who, when the Neapolitans on board, who were rapturously greeting their glorious country, asked him what he thought of Naples, as compared with Constantinople? very pathetically replied, “Anche questa è una città!” (This, too, is a city.)

We reached the harbour just at the right time, when it was thronged with people. Scarcely were our trunks and the rest of our baggage unshipped and put on shore ere they were seized by two lusty porters, who, scarcely giving us time to say that we were going to put up at Moriconi’s, ran off with the load as if with a prize, so that we had difficulty in keeping them in view as they darted through the crowded streets and bustling piazzas. Kniep kept his portfolio under his arm, and we consoled ourselves with thinking that the drawings at least were safe, should these porters, less honest than the poor Neapolitan devils, strip us of all that even the very breakers had spared.

Today

The Molo Grande with its lighthouse, in front of Castel Nuovo: today the area of the Molo Beverello and the Stazione Marittima.

Where: Molo Beverello, Via Acton, 80133 Napoli

Works and documents

AI reconstruction

Sources

J.W. Goethe, Italienische Reise, original German text (public domain).

Translated by A.J.W. Morrison (Goethe’s Travels in Italy, London, Bell; public domain).

L'articolo The Molo, departure and return proviene da Unreal Goethe.

Naples, 19 March 1787

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Within these last few days I have formed a new connexion. Tischbein for three or four weeks has faithfully lent me all the assistance in his power, and diligently explained to me the works both of nature and art. Yesterday, however, after being at the Museum of Portici, we had some conversation together, and we came to the conclusion that, considering his own artistic objects, he could not perform, with credit to himself, the works which, in the hope of some future appointment in Naples, he has undertaken for the Court and for several persons in the city, nor do justice to my views, wishes, and fancies. With sincere good wishes for my success, he has therefore recommended to me for my constant companion a young man whom, since I arrived here, I have often seen, not without feeling some inclination and liking for him. His name is Kniep, who, after a long stay at Rome, has come to Naples as the true field and element of the landscape-painter. Even in Rome I had heard him highly spoken of as a clever draughtsman–only his industry was not much commended. I have tolerably studied his character, and think the ground of this censure arises rather from a want of a decision, which certainly may be overcome, if we are long together. A favourable beginning confirms me in this hope; and if he continues to go on thus, we shall continue good companions for some time.

Naples, 25 March 1787

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Although I saw that Kniep was delighted to go with me to the festival of the Annunciation, still I could not fail to observe that there was a something he was sorry to part from. His candour could not let him long conceal from me the fact, that he had formed here a close and faithful attachment. It was a pretty tale to listen to, the story of their first meeting, and the description of the fair one’s behaviour up to this time told in her favour; Kniep, moreover, insisted on my going and seeing for myself how pretty she really was. Accordingly, an opportunity was contrived, and so as to afford me the enjoyment of one of the most agreeable views over Naples. He took me to the flat roof of a house, which commanded a survey of the lower town, near the Mole, the bay, and the shore of Sorrento; all that lay beyond on the left, became fore-shortened in the strangest way possible, and which, except from this particular spot, was never witnessed. Naples is, every where, beautiful and glorious.

While we were admiring the country around, suddenly, (although expected), a very beautiful face presented itself above the roof–for the entrance to these flat roofs is generally an oblong opening in the roof, which can be covered, when not used, by a trap-door. While, then, the little angel appeared in full figure above the opening, it occurred to me that ancient painters usually represent the Annunciation by making the angel ascend by a similar trap-door. But the angel on this occasion was really of a very fine form, of a very pretty face, and a good natural carriage. It was a real joy to me, under the free heaven, and in presence of the finest prospect in the world, to see my new friend so happy. After her departure, he confessed to me that he had hitherto voluntarily endured poverty, as by that means he had enjoyed her love; and at the same time, had learned to appreciate her contented disposition: and now his better prospects, and improved condition, were chiefly prized, because they procured him the means of making her days more comfortable.

Naples, March 25, 1787.

After this pleasant little incident I walked on the shore, calm and happy. There a good insight into botanical matters opened on me. Tell Herder that I am very near finding the primal vegetable type; only I fear that no one will be able to trace in it the rest of the vegetable kingdom. My famous theory of the Cotyledons is so refined, that perhaps it is impossible to go further with it.

Today

The flat roof overlooking the Molo, the gulf and the Sorrento coast cannot be identified (hypothesis: between Pizzofalcone and the harbour).

Where: Napoli

Works and documents

AI reconstruction

Further reading

• Gesture and Time: Goethe, Kniep and the Memory of Landscape

Sources

J.W. Goethe, Italienische Reise, original German text (public domain).

Translated by A.J.W. Morrison (Goethe’s Travels in Italy, London, Bell; public domain).

L'articolo Kniep’s rooftop terrace proviene da Unreal Goethe.

Naples, 23 March 1787

Listen

The terms of my engagement with Kniep are now settled, and it has commenced in a right practical way. We went together to Pæstum, where, and also on our journey thither and back, he showed the greatest industry with his pencil. He has taken some of the most glorious outlines possible. He seems to relish this moving but busy sort of life, which has called for a talent which he was scarcely conscious of. This comes of being resolute: but it is exactly here that his accurate and nice skill shows itself. He never stops to surround the paper on which he is about to draw with the usual rectangular lines; however, he seems to take as much pleasure in cutting points to his pencil, which is of the best English lead, as in drawing itself. Thus his outlines are just what one would wish them to be.

Now we have come to the following arrangement:–From this day forward, we are to live and travel together; while he is to have nothing to trouble himself about but drawing, as he has done for the last few days.

All the sketches are to be mine; but in order to a further profit, after our return, from our connexion, he is to finish for a certain sum a number of them, which I am to select; and then, remuneration for the others is to be settled according to the dexterity he evinces in them, and the importance of the views taken, and other considerations. This arrangement has made me quite happy, and now at last I can give you an account of our journey.

The country grew flatter and more desolate; the scarcity of the buildings bespoke a sparing cultivation. At last, when we were doubting whether we were passing through rocks or ruins, some great oblong masses enabled us to distinguish the remains of temples and other monuments of a once splendid city. Kniep, who had already sketched on the way the two picturesque limestone hills, suddenly stopped to find a spot from which to seize and exhibit the peculiarity of this most unpicturesque region.

A countryman, whom I took for my guide, led me the meanwhile through the buildings. The first sight of them excited nothing but astonishment. I found myself in a perfectly strange world; for, as centuries pass from the severe to the pleasing, they form man’s taste at the same time–indeed, create him after the same law. But now our eyes, and through them our whole inner being, has been used to, and decidedly prepossessed in favor of, a lighter style of architecture; so that these crowded masses of stumpy conical pillars appear heavy, not to say frightful. But I soon recollected myself, called to mind the history of art, thought of the times when the spirit of the age was in unison with this style of architecture, and realised the severe style of sculpture; and in less than an hour found myself reconciled to it,–nay, I went so far as to thank my genius for permitting me to see with my own eyes such well-preserved remains, since drawings give us no true idea of them; for, in architectural sketches, they seem more elegant, and in perspective views even more stumpy than they actually are. It is only by going round them, and passing through them, that you can impart to them their real character; you evoke for them, not to say infuse into them, the very feeling which the architect had in contemplation. And thus I spent the whole day, Kneip the while working away most diligently in taking very accurate sketches. How delighted was I to be exempt from that care, and yet to acquire such unfailing tokens for the aid of memory! Unfortunately, there was no accommodation for spending the night here. We returned to Sorrento, and started early next morning for Naples. Vesuvius, seen from the back, is a rich country; poplars, with their colossal pyramids, on the road-side, in the foreground; these, too, formed an agreeable feature, which we halted a moment to take.

Naples, 17 May 1787

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In a paper herewith inclosed I make some remarks on the way to Salerno and on Pæstum itself; it is the last, and I might almost add, the most splendid idea I bring north with me in a mature state. In my opinion the middle temple is to be preferred to everything still standing in Sicily.

Today

The Archaeological Park of Paestum and Velia; the «middle temple» that Goethe prefers to everything he will see in Sicily is the Temple of Neptune.

Where: Parco Archeologico di Paestum e Velia, Via Magna Grecia 919, 84047 Capaccio Paestum (SA)

Works and documents

AI reconstruction

Videos

Further reading

• Gesture and Time: Goethe, Kniep and the Memory of Landscape

Sources

J.W. Goethe, Italienische Reise, original German text (public domain).

Translated by A.J.W. Morrison (Goethe’s Travels in Italy, London, Bell; public domain).

Translated by A.J.W. Morrison and Charles Nisbet (Goethe’s Travels in Italy, London, George Bell and Sons, 1885; public domain).

L'articolo The Doric temples of Paestum proviene da Unreal Goethe.

Naples, 23 March 1787

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A similar sketch was taken in the evening from the window, of a singularly lovely and rich country, which passes all my powers of description. Who would not have been disposed to study at such a spot, in those bright times, when a high school of art was flourishing? Very early in the morning we set off by an untrodden path, coming occasionally on marshy spots towards two beautifully shaped hills. We crossed brooks and pools, where the wild bulls, like hippopotamuses, were wallowing, and looking upon us with their wild red eyes.

We now reached an eminence. The most extensive area in the world opened before us. Naples, in all its splendour: its mile-long line of houses on the flat shore of the bay, the promontories, tongues of land and walls of rock; then the islands, and, behind all, the sea,–the whole was a ravishing sight.

A most hideous singing, or rather exulting cry and howl of joy, from the boy behind, frightened and disturbed us. Somewhat angrily, I called out to him; he had never had any harsh words from us,–he had been a very good boy.

For a while he did not move; then he patted me lightly on the shoulder, and pushing between us both his right arm, with the fore-finger stretched out, exclaimed, “Signor, perdonate! questa è la mia patria!”–which, being interpreted, runs, “Forgive me, Sir, for that is my native land!” And so I was ravished a second time. Something like a tear stood in the eyes of the phlegmatic child of the north.

Today

The lodging in Salerno is not named; the city of the Schola Medica Salernitana looks out over the gulf.

Where: Salerno

Works and documents

AI reconstruction

Further reading

• Gesture and Time: Goethe, Kniep and the Memory of Landscape

Sources

J.W. Goethe, Italienische Reise, original German text (public domain).

Translated by A.J.W. Morrison (Goethe’s Travels in Italy, London, Bell; public domain).

L'articolo The window on the Gulf of Salerno proviene da Unreal Goethe.

Naples, 23 March 1787

Listen

Sitting in a light two-wheeled carriage, and driving in turn, with a rough good-natured boy behind, we rolled through the glorious country, which Kniep greeted with a true artistic eye. We now reached the mountain stream, which, running along a smooth artificial channel, skirts most delightful rocks and woods. At last, in the district of Alla Cava, Kniep could not contain himself, but set to work to fix on paper a splendid mountain, which right before us stood out boldly against the blue sky, and with a clever and characteristic touch drew the outlines of the summit, with the sides also, down to its very base. We both made merry with it, as the earnest of our contract.

Today

The valley of Cava de’ Tirreni on the royal road from Naples to Salerno, today the SS18; the mountain drawn cannot be identified with certainty.

Where: Cava de’ Tirreni (SA)

Works and documents

AI reconstruction

Further reading

• Gesture and Time: Goethe, Kniep and the Memory of Landscape

Sources

J.W. Goethe, Italienische Reise, original German text (public domain).

Translated by A.J.W. Morrison (Goethe’s Travels in Italy, London, Bell; public domain).

L'articolo The gorge of Cava and Kniep’s first drawing proviene da Unreal Goethe.

Naples, 3 March 1787

Listen

The sea, with its vessels, and their destinations, presents wholly new matters for reflection. The frigate for Palermo started yesterday, with a strong, direct, north wind. This time it certainly will not be more than six-and-thirty hours on the passage. With what longing did I not watch the full sails as the vessel passed between Capri and Cape Minerva, until at last it disappeared. Who could see one’s beloved thus sailing away and survive? The sirocco (south wind) is now blowing; if the wind becomes stronger, the breakers over the Mole will be glorious.

At sea, 30 March 1787

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By day-break we found ourselves between Ischia and Capri—perhaps not more than a mile from the latter. The sun rose from behind the mountains of Capri and Cape Minerva. Kniep diligently sketched the outlines of the coasts and the islands, and took several beautiful views. The slowness of the passage was favourable to his labours. We were making our way but slowly under a light side-wind. We lost sight of Vesuvius about four, just as we came in view of Cape Minerva and Ischia. These, too, disappeared about evening. The sun set in the sea, attended with clouds, and a long streak of light, reaching for miles, all of a brilliant purple. This phenomenon was also sketched by Kniep. At last we lost sight altogether of the land, and the watery horizon surrounded us, the night being clear, with lovely moonlight.

These beautiful sights, however, I could only enjoy for a few moments, for I was soon attacked with sea-sickness. I betook myself to my cabin, chose an horizontal position, and abstaining from all meat or drink, except white bread and red wine, soon found myself pretty comfortable again. Shut out from the external world, I let the internal have full sway; and, as a tedious voyage was to be anticipated, I immediately set myself a heavy task in order to while away the time profitably. Of all my papers I had only brought with me the first two acts of “Tasso,” written in poetic prose. These two acts, as regards their plan and evolution, were nearly similar to the present ones, but, written full ten years ago, had a somewhat soft and misty tone, which soon disappeared, while, in accordance with my later notions, I made form more predominant, and introduced more of rhythm.

At sea, 14 May 1787

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And thus mid-day passed without our being able, as we wished, to get into the Bay of Naples. On the contrary, we were continually driven more and more to the west, and our vessel, nearing the island of Capri, kept getting further from Cape Minerva. Every one was annoyed and impatient; we two, however, who could contemplate the world with a painter’s eye, had enough to content us, when the setting sun presented for our enjoyment the most beautiful prospect that we had yet witnessed during our whole tour. Cape Minerva, with the mountains which abut on it, lay before our eyes in the brilliant colouring of sunset, while the rocks which stretched southwards from the headland, had already assumed a bluish tint. The whole coast, stretching from the Cape to Sorrento, was gloriously lit up. Vesuvius was visible; an immense cloud of smoke stood above it like a tower, and sent out a long streak southwards—the result, probably, of a violent eruption. On the left lay Capri, rising perpendicularly in the air; and by the help of the transparent blue halo, we were able distinctly to trace the forms of its rocky walls. Beneath a perfectly clear and cloudless sky glittered the calm, scarcely rippling sea, which at last, when the wind died away, lay before us exactly like a clear pool. We were enraptured with the sight. Kniep regretted that all the colours of art were inadequate to convey an idea of this harmony, and that not even the finest of English pencils would enable the most practised hand to give the delicacy of the outline. I, for my part, convinced that to possess even a far poorer memorial of the scene than this clever artist could produce, would greatly contribute to my future enjoyment, exhorted him to strain both his hand and eye for the last time. He allowed himself to be persuaded, and produced a most accurate drawing (which he afterwards coloured); and so bequeathed to me a proof, that to truly artistic powers of delineation, the impossible becomes the possible. With equally attentive eyes we watched the transition from evening to night. Capri now lay quite black before us, and, to our astonishment, the smoke of Vesuvius turned into flame, as, indeed, did the whole streak, which, the longer we observed it, became brighter and brighter; at last we saw a considerable region of the atmosphere, forming, as it were, the back ground of our natural picture, lit up—and, indeed, lightening.

We were so entirely occupied with these welcome scenes, that we did not notice the great danger we were in. However, the commotion among the passengers did not allow us to continue long in ignorance of it. Those who were better acquainted with maritime affairs than ourselves were bitterly reproaching the captain and his steersman. By their bungling, they said, they had not only missed the mouth of the strait, but they were very nigh losing the lives of all the passengers intrusted to them, cargo and all. We inquired into the grounds of these apprehensions, especially as we could not conceive how, during a perfect calm, there could be any cause for alarm. But it was this very calm that rendered these people so inconsolable. “We are,” they said, “in the current which runs round the island, and which, by a slow but irresistible ground-swell, will draw us against the rugged rocks, where there is neither the slightest footing, nor the least cove to save ourselves by.

Made more attentive by these declarations, we contemplated our fate with horror. For, although the deepening night did not allow us to distinguish the approach of danger, still we observed that the ship, as it rolled and pitched, was gradually nearing the rocks, which grew darker and darker upon the eye, while a light evening glow was still playing on the water. Not the slightest movement was to be discerned in the air. Handkerchiefs and light ribbons were constantly being held up, but not the slightest indication of the much desired breath of wind was discernible. The tumult became every moment louder and wilder. The women with their children were on the deck praying, not indeed on their knees, for there was scarcely room for them to move, but lying close pressed one upon another. Every now and then, too, they would rate and scold the captain more harshly and more bitterly than the men, who were calmer, thinking over every chance of helping and saving the vessel. They reproached him with everything which, during the passage up to this point, had been borne with silence—the bad accommodation, the high passage money, the scanty bill of fare, his own manners—which, if not absolutely surly, were certainly forbidding enough. He would not give an account of his proceedings to any one; indeed, ever since the evening before he had maintained a most obstinate silence as to his plans, and what he was doing with his vessel. He and the steersman were called mere money-making adventurers, who having no knowledge at all of navigation, had managed to buy a packet with a mere view to profit, and now, by their incapacity and bungling, were on the point of losing all that had been intrusted to their care. The captain, however, maintained his usual silence under all these reproaches, and appeared to be giving all his thoughts to the chances of saving his ship. As for myself, since I had always felt a greater horror of anarchy than of death itself, I found it quite impossible to hold my tongue any longer. I went up to the noisy railers, and, addressed them with almost as much composure of mind as the rogues of Malsesine. I represented to them that, by their shrieking and bawling, they must confound both the ears and the brains of those on whom all at this moment depended for our safety, so that they could neither think nor communicate with one another. All that you have to do, I said, is to calm yourselves, and then to offer up a fervent prayer to the Mother of God, asking her to intercede with her blessed Son to do for you what He did for His Apostles when on the lake Tiberias. The waves broke over the boat while the Lord slept, but Who when, helpless and inconsolable, they awoke Him, commanded the winds to be still; and Who, if it is only His heavenly will, can even now command the winds to rise. These few words had the best effect possible. One of the men with whom I had previously had some conversation on moral and religious subjects, exclaimed, “Ah, il Balarmé! Benedetto il Balarmé!” and they actually began, as they were already prostrate on their knees, to go over their rosaries with more than usual fervour. They were able to do this with the greater calmness, as the sailors were now trying an expedient the object of which was, at any rate, apparent to every eye. The boat (which would not, however, hold more than six or eight men) was let down and fastened by a long rope to the ship, which, by dint of hard rowing, they hoped to be able to tow after them. And, indeed, it was thought that they did move it within the current, and hopes began to be entertained of soon seeing the vessel towed entirely out of it. But whether their efforts increased the counteraction of the current, or whatever it was, the boat with its crew at the end of the hawser was suddenly drawn in a kind of a bow towards the vessel, forming with the long rope a kind of bow—or just like the lash of a whip when the driver makes a blow with it. This plan, therefore, was soon given up. Prayer now began to alternate with weeping—for our state began to appear alarming indeed, when from the deck we could clearly distinguish the voices of the goatherds, (whose fires on the rocks we had long seen), crying to one another, “There is a vessel stranding below.” They also said something else, but the sounds were unintelligible to me; those, however, who understood their patois, interpreted them as exclamations of joy, to think of the rich booty they would reap in the morning. Thus the doubt which we had entertained whether the ship was actually nearing the rocks, and in any immediate danger, was unfortunately too soon dispelled, and we saw the sailors preparing boat-poles and fenders, in order, should it come to the worst, to be ready to hold the vessel off the rocks—so long at least as their poles did not break, in which case all would be inevitably lost. The ship now rolled more violently than ever, and the breakers seemed to increase upon us. And my sickness returning upon me in the midst of it all, made me resolve to return to the cabin. Half stupefied, I threw myself down on my mattress, still with a somewhat pleasant feeling, which seemed to me to come over from the Sea of Tiberias, for the picture in Merian’s Pictorial Bible kept floating before my mind’s eye. And so it is: our moral impressions invariably prove strongest in those moments when we are most driven back upon ourselves. How long I lay in this sort of half stupor I know not, for I was awakened by a great noise overhead; I could distinctly make out that it was caused by great ropes being dragged along the deck, and this gave me a hope that they were going to make use of the sails. A little while after this Kniep hurried down into the cabin to tell me that we were out of danger, for a gentle breeze had sprung up; that all hands had just been at work in hoisting the sails, and that he himself had not hesitated to lend a hand. We were visibly getting clear off the rocks; and although not entirely out of the current, there was now a good hope of our being able to make way against it. All was now still again overhead, and soon several more of the passengers came below to announce the happy turn of affairs, and to lie down.

Today

The Bocche di Capri between the island and Punta Campanella (Massa Lubrense), today a protected marine area; the spot of the near-shipwreck cannot be identified.

Where: Area Marina Protetta Punta Campanella, Massa Lubrense (NA)

AI reconstruction

Further reading

• Gesture and Time: Goethe, Kniep and the Memory of Landscape

Sources

J.W. Goethe, Italienische Reise, original German text (public domain).

Translated by A.J.W. Morrison (Goethe’s Travels in Italy, London, Bell; public domain).

L'articolo Capri and Punta Campanella from the sea proviene da Unreal Goethe.

Naples, 26 February 1787

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“Alla Locanda del Sgr. Moriconi al Largo del Castello.”

Under this address, no less cheerful than high-sounding, letters from all the four quarters of heaven will henceforth find us. Round the castle, which lies by the sea, there stretches a large open space, which, although surrounded on all sides with houses, is not called a square or piazza, but a largo, or expanse. Perhaps the name is derived from ancient times, when it was still an open and unenclosed country. Here, in a corner house on one side of the Largo, we have taken up our lodgings in a corner room, which commands a free and lively view of the ever moving surface. An iron balcony runs before several windows, and even round the corner. One would never leave it, if the sharp wind were not extremely cutting.

The room is cheerfully decorated, especially the ceiling, whose arabasques of a hundred compartments bear witness to the proximity of Pompeii and Herculaneum. Now, all this is very well and very fine; but there is no fire-place, no chimney, and yet February exercises even here its rights. I expressed a wish for something to warm me. They brought in a tripod of sufficient height from the ground for one conveniently to hold one’s hands over it; on it was placed a shallow brazier, full of extremely fine charcoal red-hot, but covered smoothly over with ashes. We now found it an advantage to be able to manage this process of domestic economy; we had learned that at Rome. With the ring of a key, from time to time, one cautiously draws away the ashes of the surface, so that a few of the embers may be exposed to the free air. Were you impatiently to stir up the glowing coals, you would no doubt experience for a few moments great warmth, but you would in a short time exhaust the fuel, and then you must pay a certain sum to have the brasier filled again.

I did not feel quite well, and could have wished for more of ease and comfort. A reed matting was all there was to protect one’s feet from the stone floor; skins are not usual. I determined to put on a sailor’s cloak which we had brought with us in fun, and it did me good service, especially when I tied it round my body with the rope of my box. I must have looked very comical, something between a sailor and a capuchin. When Tischbein came back from visiting some of his friends, and found me in this dress, he could not refrain from laughing.

Naples, 31 May 1787

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I had set my mind so resolutely on the Roman Corpus Christi Day, and in particular on the tapestry worked from the designs of Raphael which appears on that occasion, that I did not allow those splendid appearances of Nature, though they have not their parallel elsewhere in this world, to divert me from my purpose, but obstinately prosecuted my preparations for departure. A pass was ordered and a vetturino had given me the earnest money, the arrangement in this country for assuring the traveller of his journey, being the reverse of that in our country. Kniep was busy in furnishing his new quarters, which, both in respect of accommodation and situation, were much better than the former.

At an earlier date, when this change was in process, my friend had sometimes suggested to me that it was not agreeable and to a certain extent not becoming to take possession of a house without bringing something with one; a bedstead itself served to infuse some respect into your landlord. To-day, then, as we were going through the endless lumber-heaps of the Castle precincts, I saw a couple of iron frames painted the colour of bronze, which I at once bargained for and handed over to my friend as the basis of a quiet and solid sleeping place. One of the porters you find everywhere to hand brought it with the necessary boards to Kniep’s new premises, which so highly delighted him that he at once meditated removing from me into his new lodging, intent on quickly procuring himself rods, paper and other necessaries. A part of the outlines drawn in the two Sicilies I gave him according to agreement.

Naples, 2 June 1787

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Instead of going home I directed my steps towards the Molo to see the great spectacle from another foreground; but whether from fatigue after such a day’s rich experience, or from a feeling that it would not do to mar the impression of this last splendid picture, I retreated again towards Moriconi, where I found Kniep, who was minded to pay me a visit from the lodging he had just entered. Over a bottle of wine we talked of our future relations, and I could promise him that, as soon as I was able to show any of his works in Germany, he should certainly be recommended to the excellent Duke Ernst of Gotha, whence he would receive orders. And so, with heart-felt mutual joy, we parted from each other with sure outlook on future reciprocal activity.

Today

The Largo del Castello is today’s Piazza Municipio, in front of Castel Nuovo. The block of the inn was demolished during the Risanamento; the spot is now at the entrance of the Galleria Umberto I.

Where: Piazza Municipio, 80133 Napoli

Works and documents

AI reconstruction

Videos

Further reading

• Goethe Arrives in Naples

Sources

J.W. Goethe, Italienische Reise, original German text (public domain).

Translated by A.J.W. Morrison (Goethe’s Travels in Italy, London, Bell; public domain).

Translated by A.J.W. Morrison and Charles Nisbet (Goethe’s Travels in Italy, London, George Bell and Sons, 1885; public domain).

L'articolo The Locanda Moriconi proviene da Unreal Goethe.