I have entered Italy at last, and I intend this letter to be the commencement of a regular series of reports, which I purpose transmitting to you, of all that appears to me particularly worthy of notice. Though I only now for the first time write to you, I must beg you to impute the blame to the state of constant excitement in which I lived, both in Munich and in Vienna. It was needless for me to describe to you the parties in Munich, which I attended every evening, and where I played the piano more unremittingly than I ever did in my life before; one _soirée_ succeeding another so closely, that I really had not a moment to collect my thoughts. Moreover, it would not have particularly interested you, for after all, "good society which does not offer materials for the smallest epigram," is equally vapid in a letter. I hope that you have not taken amiss my long silence, and that I may expect a few lines from you, even if they contain nothing save that you are well and cheerful.
[5] Mendelssohn's instructor in the theory of music.
The aspect of the world at this moment is very bleak and stormy, and much that was once thought durable and unchangeable, has been swept away in the course of a couple of days. It is then doubly welcome to hear well-known voices, to convince us that there are certain things which cannot be annihilated or demolished, but remain firm and steadfast. You must know that I am at this moment very uneasy at not having received any news from home for some weeks past. I found no letters from my family, either at Trieste or here, so a few lines from you, written in your old fashion, would both cheer and gratify me, especially as it would prove that you think of me with the same kindness that you have always done from my childhood to the present time.
My family have no doubt told you of the exhilarating impression made on me by the first sight of the plains of Italy. I hurry from one enjoyment to another hour by hour, and constantly see something novel and fresh; but immediately on my arrival I discovered some masterpieces of art, which I study with deep attention, and contemplate daily for a couple of hours at least. These are three pictures by Titian. The "Presentation of Mary as a Child in the Temple;" the "Assumption of the Virgin;" and the "Entombment of Christ." There is also a portrait by Giorgione, representing a girl with a cithern in her hand, plunged in thought, and looking forth from the picture in serious meditation (she is apparently about to begin a song, and you feel as if you must do the same): besides many others.
