To Rebecca Dirichlet, Florence.

Frankfort, March 25th, 1845.

Dear Sister,

I continue faithful to the new custom I have adopted, and answer your welcome letter on the spot; it is just come, and brings spring with it. For the first time to-day we have, out of doors, that kind of atmosphere in which ice and winter cold melt away, and all becomes mild, and warm, and enjoyable. If, however, you have no driving ice in Florence, you ought to envy us, instead of the reverse, for it is a splendid spectacle to see the water bubbling under the bridge here, and springing and rushing along, and flinging about the great blocks and masses of ice, and saying, “Away with you! we have done with you for the present!” it also is celebrating its spring day, and showing that under its icy covering, it has preserved both strength and youth, and runs along twice as rapidly, and leaps twice as high, as in the sober days of other seasons. You should really see it for once! The whole bridge and the whole quay are black with people, all enjoying the fine sight gratis, with the sun shining on them gratis too. It is very pitiable in me, that instead of speaking of the poetry of spring, I only talk of the economy she brings in wood, light, and overshoes, and how much sweeter everything smells, and how many more good things there are to eat, and that the ladies have resumed their bright gay-coloured dresses, and that the steamboats are going down the Rhine, instead of diligences, etc. etc. From the above you will perceive, and Fanny also (for you must send her all my letters to Rome), that, God be praised, there is nothing new with us, which means that we are all well and happy, and thinking of you. I came with S—— last night at one o’clock from a punch party, where I first played Beethoven’s sonata 106, in B flat, and then drank 212 glasses of punch fortissimo; we sang the duett from “Faust” in the Mainz Street, because there was such wonderful moonlight, and to-day I have rather a headache. Pray cut off this part before you send the letter to Rome; a younger sister may be entrusted with such a confidence, but an elder one, and in such a Papal atmosphere,—not for your life!

I have only seen X—— three times this winter; he is, unfortunately, very unsociable; I cannot get on with him even with the best will on my side, and I believe he is going on worse now than for many years past. Any one who at all enters into the religious squabbles of the moment, and does not steadily refuse to listen to them, one and all, will get so deeply involved, as to be ere long severed unawares from both friends and happiness, and instances of this begin to be manifest in Germany in all circles. In my inmost heart I feel uncertain as to which extreme is the most repugnant to me, and yet I cannot clearly decide between them.

In Düsseldorf they announced on the second day of the Musical Festival, Mozart’s “Requiem,” my “Walpurgis Nacht,” and finally Beethoven’s choral symphony. “O tempora! O mores!” If you ask what this letter contains, the answer is, that we are all well, and hope you are the same, and rejoice at the thoughts of our meeting again.—Your (in spring weather) very pleased

Felix.