adopted home of Sebastien Erard. But no sooner had we arrived
than I was on another train heading south. France really is a beautiful
country, and our route took us past golden pastures, and vineyards, and even
fields of lavender (famous for their perfumes—which I promise to bring
you when I return). As for the French people, I have less positive words, as
none of the Frenchmen I happened to meet had ever heard of Erard or the
mécanisme à étrier,
Erard’s great
innovation. They only stared at my inquiries as if I were mad.
In
Marseilles we boarded another ship, owned by the same line, and soon we were
steaming across the Mediterranean. How I wish you could see the beauty of these
waters! They are a blue like none that I have ever seen before. The closest
color I can think of is the early nighttime sky, or perhaps sapphires. The
camera is a wonderful invention indeed, but how I wish we could take
photographs in true color so you could see for yourself what I mean. You must
go to the National Gallery and look for Turner’s
Fighting
Temeraire,
it is the closest to this that I can imagine. It is very warm,
and I have already forgotten the cold English winters. I spent much of the
first day on deck and ended up with quite a sunburn. I must remember to wear my
hat.
After the first day, we passed through the Strait of Bonifacio,
which runs between the islands of Sardinia and Corsica. From the ship we could
see the Italian coastline. It looks very still and peaceful, and it was. It is
hard to imagine the tumultuous history that was born deep in those hills, that
this is the country that gave birth to Verdi, Vivaldi, Rossini, and, most of
all, Cristofori.
How to describe my days to you? Apart from simply
sitting on the deck and staring at the sea, I have spent many hours reading
reports sent by Anthony Carroll. It is strange to think that this man, who has
occupied my thoughts for weeks now, does not yet even know my name. Regardless,
he does have extraordinary tastes. I opened one of the packages of sheet music
that I was given to deliver to him, and found it to contain Liszt’s Piano
Concerto no. 1, Schumann’s Toccata in C Major, and others. There are some
sheets whose music I don’t recognize, and when I try humming them out I
can’t decipher any melody. I will have to ask him about these when I
reach his camp.
Tomorrow we stop in Alexandria. The coast is very close
now, and in the distance I can see minarets. This morning we passed a small
fishing boat, and a local fisherman stood and watched us steam by, a net
hanging loosely from his hands, so close that I could see the dried salt which
dusted his skin. And less than a week ago I was still in London! Alas, we will
stay only a short time in port and I will have no time to visit the Pyramids.
There is so much more I want to tell you … the moon is almost
full now, and at night I often go on deck to stare at it. I have heard that the
Orientals believe that there is a rabbit in the moon, but I still cannot see
this, only a man, winking, mouth wide open in surprise and wonder. And now I
think I understand why he looks so, for if all is wondrous from the deck of a
ship, imagine what it must be like from the moon. Two nights ago I
couldn’t sleep for all the heat and excitement, and I went on deck. I was
looking out at the ocean when slowly, not a hundred yards from the ship, the
water began to shimmer. At first I thought it was the reflection of the stars,
but it appeared to take form, glowing like thousands of tiny fires, like the
streets of London at night. By its brightening, I expected to see a bizarre sea
animal, but it stayed amorphous, floating on the water. It stretched for nearly
a mile, and then, after we had passed it and I turned back to look for it in
the sea, it was gone. Then last night, the beast of light came again, and I
learned from a traveling naturalist who had come to the deck to look at the sky
that the light was not the light of one monster,
than I was on another train heading south. France really is a beautiful
country, and our route took us past golden pastures, and vineyards, and even
fields of lavender (famous for their perfumes—which I promise to bring
you when I return). As for the French people, I have less positive words, as
none of the Frenchmen I happened to meet had ever heard of Erard or the
mécanisme à étrier,
Erard’s great
innovation. They only stared at my inquiries as if I were mad.
In
Marseilles we boarded another ship, owned by the same line, and soon we were
steaming across the Mediterranean. How I wish you could see the beauty of these
waters! They are a blue like none that I have ever seen before. The closest
color I can think of is the early nighttime sky, or perhaps sapphires. The
camera is a wonderful invention indeed, but how I wish we could take
photographs in true color so you could see for yourself what I mean. You must
go to the National Gallery and look for Turner’s
Fighting
Temeraire,
it is the closest to this that I can imagine. It is very warm,
and I have already forgotten the cold English winters. I spent much of the
first day on deck and ended up with quite a sunburn. I must remember to wear my
hat.
After the first day, we passed through the Strait of Bonifacio,
which runs between the islands of Sardinia and Corsica. From the ship we could
see the Italian coastline. It looks very still and peaceful, and it was. It is
hard to imagine the tumultuous history that was born deep in those hills, that
this is the country that gave birth to Verdi, Vivaldi, Rossini, and, most of
all, Cristofori.
How to describe my days to you? Apart from simply
sitting on the deck and staring at the sea, I have spent many hours reading
reports sent by Anthony Carroll. It is strange to think that this man, who has
occupied my thoughts for weeks now, does not yet even know my name. Regardless,
he does have extraordinary tastes. I opened one of the packages of sheet music
that I was given to deliver to him, and found it to contain Liszt’s Piano
Concerto no. 1, Schumann’s Toccata in C Major, and others. There are some
sheets whose music I don’t recognize, and when I try humming them out I
can’t decipher any melody. I will have to ask him about these when I
reach his camp.
Tomorrow we stop in Alexandria. The coast is very close
now, and in the distance I can see minarets. This morning we passed a small
fishing boat, and a local fisherman stood and watched us steam by, a net
hanging loosely from his hands, so close that I could see the dried salt which
dusted his skin. And less than a week ago I was still in London! Alas, we will
stay only a short time in port and I will have no time to visit the Pyramids.
There is so much more I want to tell you … the moon is almost
full now, and at night I often go on deck to stare at it. I have heard that the
Orientals believe that there is a rabbit in the moon, but I still cannot see
this, only a man, winking, mouth wide open in surprise and wonder. And now I
think I understand why he looks so, for if all is wondrous from the deck of a
ship, imagine what it must be like from the moon. Two nights ago I
couldn’t sleep for all the heat and excitement, and I went on deck. I was
looking out at the ocean when slowly, not a hundred yards from the ship, the
water began to shimmer. At first I thought it was the reflection of the stars,
but it appeared to take form, glowing like thousands of tiny fires, like the
streets of London at night. By its brightening, I expected to see a bizarre sea
animal, but it stayed amorphous, floating on the water. It stretched for nearly
a mile, and then, after we had passed it and I turned back to look for it in
the sea, it was gone. Then last night, the beast of light came again, and I
learned from a traveling naturalist who had come to the deck to look at the sky
that the light was not the light of one monster,
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