Lake Garda and Malcesine as Seen by J.W. Goethe

Kennst du das Land, wo die Citronen blühn?

Know’st thou the land where lemon-trees do bloom?

(“Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship”, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)

Ours is the land of lemons, and not only.

Lemons, of which Sicily abounds, because, according to the German writer, you have not really seen Italy if you have not seen Sicily.

Lemons as on Lake Garda, with its famous lemon groves that so much struck J.W. Goethe on September 13, 1786, while he was sailing from Torbole to Malcesine.

Lemons, above all, as an idealized representation of Southern Europe, of the much-coveted Italy, where the German writer's father had already been when he was young, inspiring Johann Wolfgang von Goethe to visit it too, also to the rediscovery of Greco-Roman classicism.

The famous opening verse comes from ‘Mignon's song’, which is part of the coming-of-age novel ‘Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship’ (1796), and it is pronounced by the little girl that Wilhelm meets in a group of street dancers. Mignon, of Italian origin, remembers with nostalgia her country, personifying the desire for the South.

And perhaps, however, beyond Rome, Naples and Sicily, there was a South that was not far from the German land, and that Goethe certainly helped to publicize. A ‘Mediterraneo’ at the foot of the Gardesane Pre-Alps, in the shadow of Mount Baldo or the near Dolomites, where one could find all the Sehnsucht (a term that we could render in Italian with "yearning") of the German romantic spirit.

When, at the beginning of August, I arrived with my friend Laura in Malcesine, a picturesque town on Lake Garda – populated by a great number of Germans despite the anomaly of this summer marked by Covid-19 – I thought about Goethe and how the yearning for the corner of Mediterranean land that Lake Garda represented in the XVIII century was now, considering its accessibility, something belonging to a remote past.

Apart from lemons, on Lake Garda there is another plant that evokes the Mediterranean: the olive tree. On the evening of our arrival, we went to the charming town of Arco, not far away, for a concert of ethnic music that was held in the gardens of the castle, which dominates the entire valley of Lake Garda gifting the visitors with a fairy-tale view. To reach the top, we walked among the many olive trees, set with disarming regularity at the edges of the road, as if we were in Liguria. Arco is well protected from the mountains, and the proximity of Lake Garda allows it to maintain a particularly mild climate. The olive trees are native, and this is one of the northernmost areas where these plants grow naturally.

The view from the gardens of the Castle of Arco

The musical performance took place under the austere gaze of the castle tower, surrounded by imposing cypress trees and illuminated with lights in alternating colours that created a magical atmosphere, even more emphasized by a summer storm with a big thunderstorm that brought rain and strong winds shaking the cypress and the olive trees, and making the notes of the didjeridoo fly in the valley below. That evening, musical evocations of distant lands contrasted with emotions worthy of romantic Sturm und Drang.

The next morning, we were promptly on the lakeshore. Our vacation was very short, and our main wish was to spend it in total relaxation. So, for our three days, we sunbathed in a comfortable lido with a view of the charming castle of Malcesine, which lies gracefully on the rock and then descends with its turrets to the water that here is turquoise, crystal clear, lapping beaches of fine white gravel.

And there, my thoughts flew back to Goethe.

In Italienische Reise (‘Journey to Italy’), published in 1826, Goethe tells about his famous trip to Italy. It was September 13, 1786, when a very strong wind rose over Lake Garda and forced him to stop for a short stay in Malcesine. The experience is told by the writer with these words:

“Rowing was of little use against this superior power, and, therefore, we were forced to land in the harbour of Malsesine. This is the first Venetian spot on the eastern side of the lake. When one has to do with water we cannot say, “I will be at this or that particular place to day." I will make my stay here as useful as I can, especially by making a drawing of the castle, which lies close to the water, and is a beautiful object. As I passed along I took a sketch of it.”

But shortly afterward, while Goethe is enjoying the tranquillity of the place and drawing the castle, he is mistaken for a German spy sketching who knows what topographical surveys for military purposes. Only by sheer luck Goethe escapes the arrest, saving himself thanks to his dialectic and an elaborate speech on the 'ruins'. According to the writer, even medieval ruins, such as the Castle of Malcesine, constitute a heritage, and therefore must be considered of value, exactly like the Greek-Roman remains. His presence attracts a small group of onlookers, as well as city representatives. Goethe entertains everyone, and converse in particular with Mr. Gregorio, who has travelled a lot and knows Frankfurt am Main. Gregorio intervenes in favour of the writer, as Goethe reports:

“ ‘Podesta, I am convinced that this is a good, accomplished, and well-educated gentleman, who is travelling about to acquire instruction. Let him depart in a friendly manner, that he may speak well of us to his fellow countrymen, and induce them to visit Malsesine, the beautiful situation of which is well worthy the admiration of foreigners.’ I gave additional force to these friendly words by praising the country, the situation, and the inhabitants, not forgetting to mention the magistrates as wise and prudent personages.”

And so, little by little, the fame of Malcesine and of the whole Lake Garda, ‘magnificent product of nature’, develops.

The ‘Germanic route’ was trodden by all foreign tourists, and through the Brenner Pass it led to Trento, Verona, Bologna, and finally to Rome. But to get to Lake Garda, people had to make a detour, and it was precisely Goethe, thanks to his curiosity for the area, who 'opened the way' and allowed most visitors to enjoy this wonderful part of Italy, which was – as I early mentioned – a concentration of what our country represented: superb landscape, history, art, literature, mild climate, warm colours, olives, lemons and even figs.

The frescoes at the Palazzo dei Capitani

With a short walk from the lido, one late afternoon we arrived in the centre of Malcesine. In this small medieval village, we found a corner of great charm and tranquillity. We admired the frescoes on the vault of the Palazzo dei Capitani, which opens onto a spectacular view of the lake; we dined in a typical tavern; chatted about art and beauty in a photo studio, and explored the small stores that sell Garda olive oil and many typical products of the area. We arrived at the Scaliger Castle unfortunately too late for a visit, but we had already enjoyed its view, from not far away, at all hours of the day. After all, every now and then, it is good to take a break, allowing ourselves to naturally enjoy where we are, thinking about the casual circumstances that have made that place famous.

I admit that these reflections have inevitably brought to the surface the Sehnsucht that I feel – like many Italians abroad – while living far from home and not being able to fully benefit from my country’s beauty, just as it had happened to Mignon:

Know’st thou the land where lemon-trees do bloom,

And oranges like gold in leafy gloom;

A gentle wind from deep blue heaven blows,

The myrtle thick, and high the laurel grows?

Know’st thou it, then?

’Tis there! ’tis there,

O my belov’d one, I with thee would go!

Know’st thou the house, its porch with pillars tall?

The rooms do glitter, glitters bright the hall,

And marble statues stand, and look me on:

What’s this, poor child, to thee they’ve done?

Know’st thou it, then?

’Tis there! ’tis there,

O my protector, I with thee would go!

Know’st thou the mountain bridge that hangs on cloud?

The mules in mist grope o’er the torrent loud,

In caves lie coil’d the dragon’s ancient brood,

The crag leaps down and over it the flood:

Know’st thou it, then?

’Tis there! ’tis there

Our way runs; O my father, wilt thou go?

(Mignon’s Song, in “Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship”, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)

Link to the article in Italian, published in ‘Ciao Magazine’ here