Chapter 7 7. The fifth letter

dear sir, I received your letter of August 29th in Florence, and now—two months—I am writing to tell you. Excuse me for my delay,--I don't like writing letters on the road, because I need to write letters in addition to the necessary pen and paper: some solitude, solitude, and a not too unfamiliar moment. When we arrived in Rome six weeks ago, it was still an empty, hot, epidemic Rome, and this environment, combined with many practical difficulties of arrangement, contributed to the uneasiness around us, which had no end, and made us taste everything. The pain of wandering in a foreign land.And more: Rome (if we didn't already know it) was suffocating and sad in the first few days of our arrival, because of the dead, melancholy museum air it radiated; Stores of bygone ages (from which a poor present was nourished); by virtue of these nameless objects, maintained by scholars and linguists, and imitated by the constant Italian tourist, for all transfigured or ruined objects They are nothing more than accidental remnants of another life in another time, which is no longer ours and should not be ours.

After weeks of daily worry and precaution, although still somewhat chaotic, we finally returned to our own world, and we said: There is no more beauty here than elsewhere, and these objects of admiration for generations are all Repaired by vulgar hands, without meaning, without content, without spirit, without value;—but there is much beauty here too, for there is beauty everywhere.The ever-living waters flowed into the great city from the ancient ditches, and they danced on the white stone plates in the many squares, and scattered into the wide cisterns. Brilliant, gently blowing the breeze.And there are many famous gardens, unforgettable avenues and stone steps--the stone steps designed by Misia Angelo, which are built according to the posture of flowing water: a wide downward flow Layer upon layer creates layer upon layer, like a back wave followed by a front wave.Because of this impression, we condense our spirits, return to ourselves from those arrogant, talkative "majority" (how garrulous that is!), and slowly learn to recognize the "minority", and in the few things Stretches the eternity we love and the loneliness we share lightly.

At present I still live in the city on the Capitol Hill, not far from the equestrian statue of Marc Aurel, the most beautiful surviving in Roman art; but in a few weeks I will move into a quiet and simple place. The place is an old watchtower, which disappears deep into a large garden, enough to escape the hustle and bustle of the city.I'm going to live there all winter, enjoying the great silence from which I look forward to the gift of good and abundant time...   I shall then be at home often, writing you longer letters, and talking about your letters.What I must tell you today (which is already wrong, I did not tell you sooner) is that the book mentioned in your letter (which must contain your work) has not been sent.Was it returned to you from Wolbswald (because the package cannot be transferred to foreign countries)?A return is best, I'd like to be confirmed.Hope not lost - this is not an exception in Italian postage - pity.

I'd love to receive this book (as I would receive everything you've written); and your latest poems (if you send them to me), which I'll always do my best to read and reread with all my heart. Read it and experience it. with many wishes and blessings Your Rene Maria Rilke 1903, 10, 29; Rome ①Michelangels (Michelangels, 1475-1564), Italian Renaissance sculptor, painter and poet. ②Kapitoe (Kapitoe), one of the seven hills of Rome. ③Marc Aurel (Marc Aurel, 118-180), Roman emperor, author of "Suiganlu" passed down to later generations.