[Gogol in Italy] It’s been two days since I’ve been here (in Rome). My arrival in Italy or, better yet, in Rome itself lasted almost three weeks. I traveled by sea and land with delays and stops. Before Rome, he also visited, in addition to many other cities, Genoa and Florence. Despite all this, he arrived just in time for the holiday (Easter). I listened to mass in the Church of St. Peter, who was sent by the pope himself.
N. YA. PROKOPOVICH
[Gogol in Italy] I would revel in Italy more if I were completely healthy; but I feel sickness in the noblest part of the body - in the stomach. He, the beast, hardly cooks at all, and the constipation is so persistent that I just don’t know what to do. Everything was caused by the disgusting Parisian climate, which, despite the fact that it has no winter, is no better than St. Petersburg. My address: Roma, via di Isidoro, casa Giovanni Massuci, 17.
V. A. ZHUKOVSKY
[Gogol in Italy] I am beginning to believe what I previously thought was a fable, that writers in our time can die of hunger. But this is almost not true. If I were a painter, even a bad one, I would be well off. Here in Rome there are about fifteen of our artists who were recently expelled from the academy, some of whom paint worse than me: they all receive three thousand a year. (...) If I had the kind of boarding school that is given to students of the Academy of Arts living in Italy, or even the kind that is given to the sextons who are here at our church, then I would stretch out, especially since it’s cheaper to live in Italy...
A. S. DANILEVSKY
April 1837, from Rome
[Gogol in Italy] I'm sitting without money. I arrived in Rome with only two hundred francs, and if it had not been for the terrible cheapness and the removal of everything that shakes out the wallet, they would have been gone long ago. For the room, that is, the old hall with paintings and statues, I pay thirty francs a month, and that’s the only thing that’s expensive. Nothing else matters. If I drink one glass of chocolate in the morning, I pay a little more than four sous, with bread and everything. The dishes at lunch are very good and fresh, and some cost 4 sous, others 6. I no longer eat ice cream, as it costs 4; and sometimes at 8. But the ice cream is something you’ve never even dreamed of. Not the rubbish we ate at Tortoni's that you liked so much - butter! Now I have become such a miser that if I pass on an extra tale (almost a sou), I feel sorry for the whole day.
It's as warm as summer here; and the sky seems completely silver. The sun is further and larger, and pours its radiance on him more powerfully. What can I tell you about Italy in general? It seems to me as if I were visiting old Little Russian landowners. The same decrepit doors at the houses, with many useless holes, staining dresses with chalk; antique candlesticks and lamps in the form of church ones; the dishes are all special; everything is in the old style. Everywhere hitherto I saw a picture of changes; here everything has stopped in one place and will go no further. When I entered Rome, for the first time I could not give myself a clear understanding: it seemed small; but the further it goes, it seems bigger and bigger to me, the buildings are bigger, the views are more beautiful, the sky is better; and you will be able to look at paintings, ruins and antiques for the rest of your life. You fall in love with Rome very slowly, little by little - and for the rest of your life. In a word, all of Europe is for watching, and Italy is for living.
[Gogol in Italy] I am writing to you from the capital of the King of Sardinia, which is not inferior in splendor to others. Nature is already losing its purely Italian character here. This is a transition from Italy to Switzerland, and tomorrow I will see again the places and mountains that I saw in last year. I’ll live in Baden again for two or three weeks and maybe I’ll take some of the water there...
V. O. BALABINA
[Gogol in Italy] I was almost sad to part with Italy. I felt sorry for leaving Rome for a month. And when, upon entering northern Italy, in place of cypresses and domed Roman pines I saw poplars, I felt somehow heavy. The slender, tall poplars, which I would certainly have admired before, now seemed vulgar to me... Here is my opinion: whoever has been to Italy, say “forgive” to other lands. Whoever was in heaven will not want to come to earth.
It was with great joy that I finally left Geneva, where, however, I was not bored, especially since I had happy meeting with Danilevsky, and thus we spent the autumn quite pleasantly, until, finally, all the mountains were covered with snow. With all this, the thought of seeing Italy again again made me abandon Switzerland, like a prisoner abandoning a dungeon. This time I chose a different road, by land, through the Alps, the most picturesque I had ever seen... Having met about 20 degrees below zero at the top of Saint-Plond, we began to descend quickly. In less than three hours we descended from those mountains that we had climbed for about a day, and by the end the climate had changed so much that, instead of frost, it was about 12 degrees warm. Finally, having passed the famous big lake[Lago Maggiore], with its beautiful islands, passing several completely Italian cities, I arrived in Milan... I will stay another day in Milan and go to Florence, and from there to Rome. Before I even left for Italy, I already feel better. The blessed air has already breathed on her.
M. P. BALABINA
When I finally saw Rome for the second time, oh, how better it seemed to me than before! (...) You need to know that I came completely alone, that in Rome I did not find any of my acquaintances. But I was so full at that time, and it seemed to me that I was in such crowded company, that I only remembered what I would not forget, and immediately went to visit all my friends. I was at the Colosseum (the ruins of an ancient Roman circus), and it seemed to me that he recognized me, because, as usual, he was majestically sweet and this time especially talkative. I felt that such wonderful feelings. Therefore, he spoke to me. Then I went to Peter (St. Peter's Cathedral) and to all the others, and it seemed to me that they all became much more talkative with me this time. The first time we met, they seemed to be more silent and considered me a forestiere (foreigner).
Russians have always loved Italy. Our admiration for this country is nothing new. Gorky, Lenin, emperors, aristocrats and a whole galaxy of truly great Russian artists visited here.
Attracted bel paese and writers. And one of her most enchanted hostages turned out to be none other than Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol, whose quotes and love for the Apennines I will demonstrate today.
It seems to me that a prelude to this topic is not needed: we all know what Gogol is. And his unbridled passion and longing for Italy are easy to understand from his statements and letters. The soul of this man belonged entirely to this fertile land, in which he had no soul...
1 . Italy is a luxurious country! She is all paradise, all full of joy...
2 . If you knew with what joy I left Switzerland and flew to my darling, my beautiful Italy. She is mine! No one in the world can take it away from me! I was born here. Russia, St. Petersburg, snow, scoundrels, a department, a department, a theater - I dreamed of all this... As if with a purpose, the almighty hand of Providence threw me under the sparkling sky of Italy, so that I would forget about the mountain, about the people, about everything and immerse myself in its luxurious beauty. She replaced everything for me. I'm happy!
3 . You fall in love with Rome very slowly, little by little - and for the rest of your life. In short, all of Europe is for watching, and Italy is for living. This is what all those who stayed to live here say.
4 . What a land Italy is! There is no way you can imagine it. Oh, if you would only look at this blinding sky, all drowning in radiance! Everything is beautiful under this sky; every ruin is a painting; the person has some kind of sparkling coloring; a structure, a tree, a work of nature, a work of art - everything seems to breathe and speak under this sky. When everything changes for you, when you no longer have anything left that would tie you to any corner of the world, come to Italy.
5 . I traveled once between the towns of Giansano and Albano, in the month of July. In the middle of the road, on a hillock, there is a miserable tavern with billiards in main room, where balls are always rattling and conversation is heard in different languages... At that time I was writing the first volume of Dead Souls, and this notebook never left me. I don’t know why, exactly at that moment when I entered this tavern, I wanted to write. I ordered to be given a table, sat down in a corner, took out my briefcase and, amid the thunder of rolling balls, with incredible noise, the running of the servants, in the smoke, in the stuffy atmosphere, I fell into an amazing sleep and wrote an entire chapter without leaving the spot.
6 . I’m sitting without money... For a room, that is, an old hall with paintings and statues, I pay thirty francs a month, and that’s just one thing that’s expensive. Nothing else matters. If I drink one glass of chocolate in the morning, I pay a little more than four sous, with bread and everything. The dishes at lunch are very good and fresh, and some cost 4 sous, others 6. I no longer eat ice cream, as it costs 4; and sometimes at 8. But the ice cream is like you’ve never even dreamed of... Now I’ve become such a miser that if I pass on an extra tale (almost a sou), I feel sorry for the whole day
7 . Come someday, even at sunset, to Rome, to my grave, if I am no longer alive. God, what a land! what a land of wonders! and how fresh it is for the soul!
The Italian peninsula attracted writers of the tsarist era with its favorable climate, and most importantly, artistic and historical heritage, evidence of which they found literally at every step. The obsession with Italy and the curse of Italy, desire and nostalgia. Whether calling to itself or causing a thirst for return, Italy remained a subject of passion that filled the souls and pages of Russian writers. Poets and prose writers, realists and romantics were connected by this red thread, crossing the entire 19th century and partly the beginning of the next century.
Russia, which was considered closed in Italy, began to open up to Europe under Peter the Great, who, by decree of 1696, invited children from wealthy families to receive an education in the West. And soon the Italian peninsula became a desirable destination for both fleeting trips - for example, the trips of Anton Chekhov, who visited the “land of wonders” three times, always stopping in Venice - the “beautiful city”, and long-term visits, for example, the socialist Maxim Gorky or the realist Nikolai Gogol , who said: “All of Europe is for watching, and Italy is for living” and “Whoever has been to Italy, say “forgive” to other lands. Whoever has been in heaven will not want to go to earth." They wanted to come here primarily for the sake of the climate and cultural monuments. Escaping from their unpleasant winters, Russian writers took refuge in Italy under the “face of the blue sky,” recovering their health, some undermined by tuberculosis or others by misfortune. And just like the sun, everything was imbued with history and art. Antiquities “scattered underfoot”, squares “covered with ruins”, art galleries"that you can look at whole year", streets with "schools of painters and sculptors at almost every door" and a multitude of churches like "nowhere else in the world."
Unfortunately, Russia did not evoke the same strong admiration in Italy due to its geographical and political remoteness. The stronghold of the Holy Alliance, the Tsarist Empire was considered a symbol of Reaction, and in Italy there was a conviction that in an environment of political backwardness only cultural poverty could exist. That's why literary work Russian writers of that era did not arouse much interest. Despite the fact that Russian literature was experiencing its most significant historical rise, in literary and cultural magazines the first half of the 19th century centuries there are only irregular mentions of it. Several literary salons became oases of interest in the desert of indifference and ignorance, for example, the Demidov salons in Florence and the salons of Princess Volkonskaya. The works of Dostoevsky and Tolstoy came into circulation only in the second half of the century, and then, in confirmation of the intellectual provincialism of that time, through the mediation of France.
Contrasting the inattention of the Italian intelligentsia to Russian culture and the closeness of writers Tsarist Russia to Italian culture causes surreal short circuits.
For example, it was in Italy that Gogol wrote the first part of “Dead Souls” and it was the works of Dante that inspired him to the idea of including the poem in the trilogy. However, Italy did not notice the appearance of this masterpiece.
Pitti Square: the place where Dostoevsky finished his novel "The Idiot"
When in Florence, you simply need to follow the writer’s walking routes. Here his daughter Lyubov was born and it was here that he completed his most famous novel.
Florence, Piazza Pitti, Civico 22. Behind the brief solemnity of the memorial plaque lies one of the richest “Italian periods” of the Russian writer. In this house, the fruit of love between Fyodor Dostoevsky and his wife Anna was born - a daughter, whom they named Lyubov for a reason. In the same house, the author of “Crime and Punishment” completed a work that “had long tormented him, since the idea of depicting absolutely kind person", such a modern Jesus, who made the novel "The Idiot" one of the most famous novels Russian literature. So, 1868, the era of the capital Florence. Pitti Palace is the residence of the king of a united Italy. And Dostoevsky, who fled to Europe from Moscow creditors, finds a home precisely on famous square, on which the Royal Palace rises. “The changes again had a beneficial effect on my husband, and we began to visit churches, museums and palaces together,” his wife writes in her memoirs of a year spent in Florence.
It was a happy period, the rhythm of which was set by daily walks to the Boboli Gardens and the strict deadlines of the Russian Messenger magazine, which published chapters from the novel. With Dostoevsky's return to St. Petersburg, Italy does not disappear from his life. In the articles published by Dostoevsky in the magazine "Citizen", there is a sense of nostalgia for Italy, which he no longer saw: that "two-thousand-year-old" country where the Italians "carried within themselves the universal... real idea of unifying the whole world." An idea that is absent in the “creature of Count Cavour,” which is just “a united minor kingdom that has lost all worldly encroachment,” having “not a spiritual, but a machine basis.”
Journey to Rome: “the birthplace of the soul” by Nikolai Gogol
The writer lived in the Italian capital between 1837 and 1841, here he was inspired and wrote “The Overcoat” and the first part of “Dead Souls.”
Every world inevitably reveals disappointing nuances that our imaginations have missed, but this was not the case with Nikolai Gogol's Italy. He was in love with her even before he saw her, dedicating to her such lines from his first written work and the only essay in verse:
"Italy is a luxurious country!
The soul groans and yearns for her. She is all paradise, all full of joy,
And in it luxurious love springs... That garden where in the cloud of dreams
Raphael and Torquat still live! Will I see you, full of expectations?"
And when he finally saw her, he was not disappointed. On the contrary: he spoke of Italy as the “homeland of his soul,” the place where she lived even before him. Distressed by the insignificant success of the production of the comedy "The Inspector General" in St. Petersburg, Gogol, having visited Germany, Switzerland and France, moved to Italy in 1837. One of the reasons was poor health writer. In Rome, he said, “a person is a mile closer to God” and the air is such that “there comes a frantic desire to turn into one nose, ... whose nostrils would be as big as buckets”, in order to feel like “at least seven hundred angels are flying in." Until 1841, Gogol lived at 17 Santo Isidoro Street, visiting Russians and Italian writers, for example Gioachino Beli.
He loved Italy, admired its historical and artistic wealth - “everything that you read about in books, you see here before you” - its nature and its people, “who are gifted to such an extent with an aesthetic sense.” Here the writer, born in Ukraine, was happy, and Italy became a source of inspiration for him: here he wrote the first part of Dead Souls, Portrait and Overcoat, the pinnacle of his irreverent comedy. And here he began to develop the idea of purifying the soul, which then influenced a considerable part of Russian literature.
Italy is a country of love and lovers, a country of dreams. Not a single person on the Planet doubts that this is so, even if he has never been to Italy. Writers and artists, including many Russians, contributed greatly to the creation of such an image. It is believed that Russians can be divided into two categories: those who deify France, and those who are crazy about Italy. I think there are still more fans of Italy today. I have collected a small collection of quotes from Russians about Italy, which I accompany with photographs from Emilia-Romagna in April.
This rarely happens in Italy bad weather, it’s like a song here - every weather is a blessing! Even if it rains, the sun will definitely shine the next day!
The Russian Empress Maria Alexandrovna, wife of Tsar Alexander II, spent the winter of 1874–1875 in, planting a palm alley there. After this, spending winters in Italy became a tradition among the Russian nobility and elite. Residents of San Remo to this day are very proud of their alley and the fact that it was in their city that the Russian Empress Tsarina spent the winter.
Of the Russian writers, it seems that N.V. Gogol loved Italy most of all.
“Italy is a luxurious country! She is all paradise, all full of joy...” Nikolai Gogol.
“What a land Italy is! There is no way you can imagine it. Oh, if you would only look at this blinding sky, all drowning in radiance! Everything is beautiful under this sky; every ruin is a painting; the person has some kind of sparkling coloring; a structure, a tree, a work of nature, a work of art - everything seems to breathe and speak under this sky. When everything changes for you, when you no longer have anything left that would tie you to any corner of the world, come to Italy.” Nikolay Gogol.
“If you knew with what joy I left Switzerland and flew to my darling, to my beautiful Italy. She is mine! No one in the world will take it away from me!” Nikolay Gogol.
In Rome Gogol wrote most his epic work, dedicated to Russia. This is what is usually called " Dead Souls" In blooming Italy, the writer wrote better about the funny and sad realities of Russia... The official version of the reason for being in Italy then was the need to improve his health. In the park of Villa Borghese, where the writer loved to walk, his monument by Zurab Tsereteli was unveiled. During the 5 years of his life in Italy, Gogol also wrote the stories “The Overcoat” and “Portrait”.
In Italy, F.M. Dostoevsky finished writing the novel “The Idiot”. Interesting fact, the writer’s biography reports that he moved to Florence out of poverty. In Italy, the writer stopped getting carried away gambling and began visiting museums and churches.
A.P. Chekhov: “...he is a fool who does not go to Venice. Ten times cheaper than Crimea, but Crimea before Venice is a cuttlefish and a whale.” This phrase was also uttered through the lips of Chekhov: “Whoever has not been to Italy has not yet lived...”. “Oh, what a wonderful country this Italy is! Amazing country! There is not a corner here, not an inch of earth, that would not seem highly instructive,” and this phrase too. A.P. Chekhov came to Italy three times and traveled different corners countries, even climbed Vesuvius.
In Rome, I.S. Turgenev was well written. His best works“Asya”, “First Love” and “ Noble Nest"were created while living in the capital of Italy. Italy was loved by Vyazemsky and Zhukovsky, Batyushkov and Yazykov, Turgenev and Nekrasov, Bunin and Bryusov, Merezhkovsky and Blok.
Ivan Bunin lived in Italy for years with his wife, visited many places, but most of all he loved the island of Capri. It remains a mystery to posterity why his works, written in Italy, are so gloomy...
“Russian longing for Italy is a creative longing, longing for a free excess of strength, for sunny joy, for intrinsic beauty. And Italy must become an eternal element of the Russian soul. With Italy we heal the wounds of our soul, tormented by the Russian sick conscience, the eternal Russian responsibility for the fate of the world, for everyone and for everything. Not only from the despondency of Russian life, but also from its greatness, from Gogol, Dostoevsky and Tolstoy, from everything difficult and painful, we strive to Italy to breathe free creative air. The exceptional ethics of the Russian soul seeks its complement in the exceptional ethics of the Italian soul. Italy has a mysterious and magical power revive the soul, remove the burden from a joyless life. Such is the eternal, undying, indestructible Italy.” Nikolay Berdyaev.
“In Italy everything is definite, bright, every piece of land, every town has its own physiognomy, every passion has its own goal, every hour has its own lighting, the shadow is cut off from the light like a knife; I found a cloud - it was so dark that it became dreary; and the sun shines - it pours gold over all objects, and the soul becomes joyful.” A.I. Herzen.
Vyacheslav Ivanov, Russian poet Silver Age in 1924 he left for Italy forever and converted to Catholicism.
All famous Russian artists, without exception, visited Italy. Italy was called the birthplace of all artists. IN Russian Academy arts, it was customary to send the best students for an internship in Rome and Florence, but many returned after studying. There were official “colonies” of Russian artists in Italy.
Author famous painting“The Appearance of Christ to the People” Alexander Ivanov lived in Italy for 30 years, and it was in Italy that this picture was painted. Orest Kiprensky spent many years and died in Italy, having married an Italian. Karl Bryullov practically lived in two countries and died in Italy. The painting “The Last Day of Pompeii” was painted in Italy.
“Why do I say about Italy that this is really the only place that could be called heaven on earth? Yes, because living in Italy, I understand: this is how the world order should be.” Joseph Brodsky.
Joseph Brodsky is buried in Venice, the city he adored. His ashes were transported a year after his death from America, where he died. In the same cemetery are the graves of Stravinsky and Sergei Diaghilev.
Maybe it would be easier to list famous people art originally from Russia, who have never been to Italy... Among them, the first should be called A.S. Pushkin, who, in principle, never went abroad Russian Empire didn't go out. But in his work, Italy comes through in a bright, expressive way. beautiful distant countries.
Joseph Brodsky: “That's it! Lord, almost everything! With the exception of poor Alexander Sergeevich, who was not given an exit visa. And almost everyone who wanted could go to the West, live or die. Baratynsky died in Italy.”
On June 6, 2000, a monument to A.S. was unveiled in Rome on the occasion of the 2001 anniversary of his birth. Pushkin. The veil from the monument was pulled off by V.V. Putin, who had just assumed the presidency and was on his first visit to Italy.
On the monument there is an inscription: “Aleksandr Sergeevic Puškin, Mosca 1799 – San Pietroburgo 1837” and a translation into Italian of the poet’s poems about Italy:
Who knows the land where the sky shines
Inexplicable blue,
Where the sea is a warm wave
There is a quiet splashing around the ruins;
Where are the eternal laurel and cypress
In freedom they grew proudly;
Where the majestic Torquato sang;
Where now in the darkness of the night
Adriatic wave
Its octaves are repeated;
Where Raphael painted;
Where is Canova's chisel these days?
Obedient marble revived,
And Byron, the stern martyr,
Suffered, loved and cursed?
V. A. ZHUKOVSKY
If you only knew with what joy I left Switzerland and flew to my darling, my beautiful Italy! She is mine! No one in the world can take it away from me. I was born here. Russia, St. Petersburg, snow, scoundrels, department, department, theater - I dreamed of all this. I woke up again in my homeland and only regretted that the poetic part of this dream - you, and three or four memories that left eternal joy in my soul - did not turn into reality. (...) As if with a purpose, the almighty hand of providence threw me under the sparkling sky of Italy so that I would forget about the mountain, about the people, about everything and soak in its luxurious beauties. She replaced everything for me. I'm cheerful. My soul is bright...
A. S. DANILEVSKY
Never have I felt so immersed in such calm bliss. Oh Rome, Rome! Oh Italy! Whose hand will tear me out of here? What a sky! What days! Summer is not summer, spring is not spring, but it is better than both spring and summer, which exist in other parts of the world. What kind of air! I drink - I don’t get drunk, I look - I don’t get enough of it. There is heaven and paradise in the soul. Now I have few acquaintances in Rome, or, better yet, almost no one. But I have never been so cheerful, so satisfied with life.
My apartment is all in the sun: Strada Felice, N 126, ultimo piano (top floor).
A. S. DANILEVSKY
You ask me where I go in the summer. Nowhere, nowhere, except Rome. My wandering staff no longer exists. Do you remember that my stick was carried away by the waves of Lake Geneva. I'm sitting at home now; There are no painful desires that drag me into the distance, except to travel to Naples and Frascati or Albani... I am finally completely beginning to understand the science of saving. The past month was the height of triumph for me: I managed to raise the costs of the entire continuation to 160 rubles with our money, including in this number rent and teacher’s salary ( Italian language), bon gout, cafe, grec and even books bought at auction. Wonderful days! There are no better ones in heaven.
N. YA. PROKOPOVICH
I'm looking forward to summer. It was a wonderful winter here. I have never heated the room, and there is no stove. Sun, and days without clouds; but spring brought both cold and rain.
A. S. DANILEVSKY
I am writing a letter to you, sitting in a grotto in the villa of Princess Zinaida Volkonka, and at that moment a beautiful torrential, summer, luxurious rain fell, bringing life and joy to the roses and all the colorful vegetation around me. A refreshing cold penetrated my limbs, tired from the morning’s somewhat stuffy walk. The white hat has been on my head for a long time, but I haven’t put on the blouse yet. Last Sunday she wanted to show off a little on my broad and at the same time frail shoulders, on the occasion of a proposed trip to Tivoli; but this trip did not take place. Tomorrow, if the weather is good, then the blouse is in use; for the pittoria (painters) are all leaving and the donkeys are already cheerfully waving at me from afar.
In Rome, the time of the beginning of May is delightful. In the summer, when it gets very hot, I’m thinking of leaving for a month, especially since everyone leaves almost at that time. Book Zinaida Volkonskaya, for whom I always had friendship and respect and who delighted my time in Rome, left, and now I have few acquaintances in the city with whom my soul loved to talk. But the nature here replaces everything.
[According to N.V. BERG]
I traveled once between the towns of Giansano and Albano, in the month of July. In the middle of the road, on a hillock, there is a miserable inn, with a billiards table in the main room, where balls are always rattling and conversations in different languages can be heard. Everyone passing by certainly stops here, especially when it’s hot. I stopped too. At that time I was writing the first volume of " Dead Souls“, and this notebook never left me. I don’t know why, exactly at that moment when I entered this tavern, I wanted to write. I ordered to be given a table, sat down in a corner, took out my briefcase and, amid the thunder of rolling balls, with incredible noise, the running of the servants, in the smoke, in the stuffy atmosphere, I fell into an amazing sleep and wrote an entire chapter without leaving my place. I consider these lines to be some of the most inspiring. I have rarely written with such animation.
The climate of Naples made no difference to me. I expected that the heat here would be unbearable for me, but it turned out the opposite: I barely hear them, I don’t even sweat or get tired; however, maybe because I don’t make too much movement... The other day I made a short trip by sea, on a large boat, to some islands, and by the way visited the famous blue grotto on the island of Capri... I like life in Rome I like it better than in Naples, despite the fact that it is much noisier here.
A. S. DANILEVSKY
Winter in Rome is lovely. I felt so good! Now I feel worse: summer is bad, stuffy and cold. Naples is not what I thought it would be. No, Rome is better. It's stuffy, dusty, unclean here. Rome seems like Paris versus Naples, seems like a dandy. The Italians here are unrecognizable; you need to resort to a stick - worse than here in Rus'... I live in Castella Mare, two hours from Naples. Here I started to drink water, but left the water. There is a terrible abundance of waters here: one island, Iskio, is completely steamed with mineral springs. The rocks are lovely. I spend my time somehow: I would spend it perfectly if it were not for my health.
I'm still not in Rome, and I won't be for a long time - at least for a whole month. Living in Rome now is still hot, and I also want to see many more cities and lands I have never seen.
A. S. DANILEVSKY
from Rome
Somehow I still haven’t woken up in Rome. It’s as if there is some kind of chaff in my eyes that prevents me from seeing it in the wonderful splendor in which it appeared to me when I drove into it for the second time. Perhaps because I still have not adjusted myself to Roman life. (...) Here I met some acquaintances who had not yet allowed me to enter my old rut, in which I was plodding slowly, or better yet, somehow. I would like to throw myself into the arts with the ardor of a beginner and run to actively examine all the wonders of Rome again, but there is some devil in my stomach that prevents me from seeing everything in the form I would like to see, and reminds me of dinner, then of breakfast, in a word - all sinful impulses, despite the holiness of the places, the wonderful sun, the wonderful days... Yes, what struck me most was Peter [Peter's Council]. It grew terribly, the dome became unusually huge.
