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Jacob Burckhardt

It is about two rather little known (or at least little discussed) texts by all-known cultural historian Jacob Burckhardt; about two texts which happen to be amongst my favourites: The one – being a lecture on Homer’s land of the Phaeacians (Das Phäakenland Homers; lecture held on November 14th 1876 at Basel) displays – if you understand JB’s home town’s understated tone – to what degree JB loved the Odyssee, this topic in particular, and the figur of Nausicaa very in particular. I’m wondering if other introductions to the Odyssee do exist that – as to beauty – do amount to the beauty of this lecture. In passing by he mentions Rubens’ »wonderful landscape of rocks and the sea« at Palazzo Pitti, also a rendering of this very subject (and I am deploring that no better reproductions exist in public domain than the one we now just show).

The lecture, although being less suited for our purposes here, interprets the land of the Phaeacians as the »somewhere« where Ulysses has to revive, to recreate, to spread his wings, to become conscious of his own self and his own forces – before re-entering Ithaca.

In re-reading the before mentioned two texts I am becoming now aware that both are – in their particular ways – about this »somewhere«. And if you would think now of Italy immediately – this is not exactly right. Oceans of print have been, of course, spilled about the North’s longing for Italy. But usually it gets a bit forgotten that getting to Italy from the North you might pass through Switzerland and a border region. And the following is about the In-between space, where one does look forward to future joys; or: where one does recreate in coming back and – before actually going back to Ithaca. But where might this »somewhere« be?

As one such place I would mention the Hotel Reichmann at Milan (picture to the left), where almost all the travellers coming from the north gathered and, although being already there, still were preparing for Italy.

And where they recreated – spread their wings –, if again being on their way home. This, however, is not the place Jacob Burckhardt speaks about. And now we come to the other favourite text of mine that stems from his pen. It is a letter to the architect Max Alioth that JB wrote on July 30th 1878, two years after the Phaeacians lecture notably, and after just entering Italy and reviewing again or already – his actual entrance and his now-being in Italy. And I find it striking that in speaking about the very entrance, in speaking about Chiavenna, 60year old JB mentions a moment of having been blissfully happy without exactly explaining why (the following being, ouf, my translation of this remarkable and playful letter):

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To Max Alioth

Gravedona at Lake of Como, Tuesday, July 30th 1878

»I am commencing a letter to you without knowing where I am going to close it, after a big, far-leading morning’s stroll, between all steep, narrow alleys, gardens, little churches erected high above (the town) (»hochhingepfiffenen Kirchlein«) etc. In sum, I walked like inbetween all shifted theatrical decorations.
On Friday in the evening I still did drive to Zurich. On Saturday’s morning to Chur and from here, at eleven o’clock at night (I did drive) over the Splügen; on Sunday at about noon I did arrive at Chiavenna, and off the freezing on the mountain just into the wonderful hot south, where fig trees and high oleander do look over the garden walls. The whole nest is lodged inbetween boulders from hell, high as a house and stemming from a pre-historic crumbling of rocks, inbetween of which and depending on reflection is thriving of plants, whatever there is to grow, since to the Spanish heat adds plenty of flowing water. Adding to that a few simply good vestibules (Vestiboli) with columns facing the courtyard and with a view on all heaps of wine and rocks, since one does only see the sky, if one turns one’s head up high. In the evening, at the church of Loreto (Loretto) and with the view on the whole nest I was blissfully happy.
Yesterday morning, a delightful and desired rain was falling, I drove to the Como lake. NB. on the box with the postillion, who lay down his blanket over my knees, with my expanded umbrella, keeping myself utterly dry. Then by steamer (towards) here, where yet I found the »good« hotel closed, but find myself exquisitely allright in a real Lombardy-albergo. Looking out of my window, if lolling on my bed, I see four mountain-churches, of which the one situated most high is situated vertiginously high. Of meat wares in Italy I have until now eaten nothing but chops, which in the here-tavern have reached the highest degree of excellence. With that I am eating minestra di paste, big beans baked in butter (a delicacy!, tastes like chestnuts) and drinking a hot, but excellent Barbera. In both of the two smeary cafés here I have found a coffee (NB. nero) for 20 Centesimi, which makes me find it mysterious that in a country having such high taxes of import such an excellent coffee can be brewed.
There might be now in Gravedona two remarkable Romanesque churches and other things – but what does it mean held against the majestic villa on rocks situated directly above the lake, which in 1586 cardinal Tolomeo Galli had erected, and this by Pellegrino Tibaldi. – Square, four mighty loggias on the corners, in the center with that giant hall comprising two levels and opening itself by three windows towards a front hall facing the lake. In this front hall, inbetween two columns and to the right and left pilasters of red marble is framed in a view, one actually only would find at Como lake. The favourite side of Tibaldi, however, is the garden side, where the main level of the lake’s side turns to be ground level, because the garden is situated higher above. I know that I have drawn awful forms, and the open central part of the building did result too narrow-chested, and I am drawing Ionian and Tuscan columns like stretched bratwursts, but I do also know that you will be forgiving me.
This building was, in its interior, never finished, and it would be a marvellous task to plaster and to paint out these volte à specchio and other vaults of all sorts! The building as such is perfectly good preserved and healthy. The dukes del Vitto from Naples did inherite it from the cardinal, who – it is most rare – got here, but could not prevent that certi gentiluomini del paese occasionally lodged themselves in at ground level and held orgies of various sorts. Only in 1819 the last of the del Vitto sold this thing to the uncle of the now-owner, the advocate Pero, and now everything is full of cocoon economy; with the known scent, who (my almost dried out ink has been refreshed by good Italian custom with some red wine and I am continuing:) who charmingly reminds me of Naples Anno 46, where I, under the circumspection of the major, who, only a short time ago and with labour, had chased out the last concubine of the late Duca di San Whateverthenamewas, got to know the cocoons as assets of a palace at Portici. Thus respectability has come to Palazzo Pero, too. The mother of the now signore, a great old Donna Lombarda with significant, once certainly superbly beautiful traits, throned in the middle of the giant hall and at a mighty table, framed in by four cocoon harvesting females, and surrounded by other tables with cocoon harvesting females, and when I was drawing in the garden a stately chant was coming from one hall of labourers, wherin those low contralto voices were prevailing, which, at our home, one has to detect with a lantern. – In the evening Signor Pero was at the tavern, i.e. we sat all’italiana in the kitchen and amongst long conversations we drank a very good Vino nostrano, which is, next to the Barbera, not to be dismayed at all, since it does not bash onto your nerves (like the other does). It was the first time in my now yet quite long life that I tippled with the owner of a classic giant building, and the man seemed quite respectable to me…«

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Notes and links:

Palazzo Pero, now Palazzo Gallio, as seen from the landside:

Cocoon harvesting/scent: most likely JB does refer here to the ghastly odours, which are to be associated with the production of raw silk; I do consider this passage as an most interesting example as to Burckhardtian irony, since he does use the term »scent«; but whoever consults the literature on silk production knows, that it is about high temperature and organic materials and, in worst case, about rotten organic materials, since the cocoons, whose threads have to be wound up, do swim in almost boiling waters, also meant to kill the silkworms inside the cocoons; it is rather impossible, given the context, that JB does refer to the fact that living silkworms, who have to be raised, are seemingly averse to bad odours (again according to the literature)

Various wines: upcoming (still learning)

Theatrical decorations: with other Olympians of art history JB shared a more or less secret passion for the theatre; probably not as big as Giovanni Morelli’s though, who still cherished the dream to become a playwright, when he was 40 years old; but maybe comparable to that of Aby Warburg, who, according to Ernst Gombrich’s biography, quoting from Warburg’s diary, considered himself a »latent playwright« in feeling an affinity with George Bernard Shaw (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Bernard_Shaw) in 1909

Great old lady: see also http://www.seybold.ch/Dietrich/Spotlight5CircleOfMorelliOrTheThreeLivesOfDonnaLauraMinghetti

Translations of various architectural terms: have to be checked

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Chiavenna:

Church of Loreto (picture: schoella): http://www.panoramio.com/photo/3974514

And a view onto the nest from Belvedere (picture: schoella): http://www.panoramio.com/photo/3975980

What JB means by »hochhingepfiffenen« is not exactly clear to me; it might refer to little churches situated high above the town, and erected at such high above places with the nonchalence of a single siffle

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And finally note in what way JB prepared for his re-entering of Ithaca, in what way he spread his wings: He felt like speaking in rhymes, sitting in a café »am Korso« of Milan on August 30th of 1878, and evokes – in an almost expressionistic way – his »sweat of fears« instigated by his home town’s narrow rows of houses »imploding just above him«. This letter »closes« in a certain way the above quoted one.

The next letter, at least in the edition that I am using here, stems from Basel. It’s dated December 9th of 1878.

Rows of houses at Basel, close to where the university was situated at JB’s times (pictures: Manfred Witzig): http://blog.witzig-net.de/gallery/basel-martinsgasse

And the place where Jacob Burckhardt lived and worked (but if you did read this far, you might share a feeling with me that this conventional expression does not make all too much sense): http://query.staatsarchiv.bs.ch/query/detail.aspx?ID=482907

And this last image does not speak more than a thousand words, but – as I believe – exactly five; in a gentle-sarcastic Burckhardtian way it is saying «back to work you go«:

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