It was enormous. More enormous than ever.
I leave tomorrow. Tonight I climbed the Kapuzinerberg for the last time. I wanted to say farewell from above, to see the whole city once more before departing, and the Kapuzinerberg has become in these days the only place in Salzburg I feel is mine. The fortress has its mountain, the prince-archbishops had theirs. This one belongs to the one who watches.
Up there, a remnant of light remained on the horizon, a strip between the clouds narrowing like a door closing slowly. The city below was lit and from here it could be seen entire for the last time: the river, the bridges, the domes, the fortress. For the first time I did not try to read it. I did not look for the metaphor or the irony or the historical lesson. I simply looked.
On the way down, the fortress appeared between the branches of the bare trees and I stopped. It was enormous. More enormous than ever. More solid, more present, more real than at any other moment of these days. It was not the ghost of the first morning nor the cage of the third nor the document of the second. It was simply what it is: a mass of stone that has stood up there longer than anyone can remember and that will remain when no one recalls that there existed a principality, or a decree, or a traveller who came looking for what no longer exists.
I do not know whether that is consoling or terrible. Probably both.
It was enormous. More enormous than ever.
I went down to the river. The city was reflected in the Salzach with the same clarity as on the first day, except that now both Salzburgs were familiar to me. I knew its domes, its towers, its alleyways. I knew what lay behind each facade and beneath each vault. And yet I had the feeling of having understood nothing essential.
I write this knowing it will not surprise you. You know me. You know that I always leave places with more questions than I brought. But believe me when I say that this time the questions are better ones.
Both Salzburgs were familiar to me
I stand watching as the sky darkens and the city's lights are left alone against the night. In a few hours I shall be in a carriage on the road to Vienna and Salzburg will be a memory. But memories, like this city, have the habit of dissolving and recomposing themselves at will.
I shall write from Vienna if I find anything worth telling. Though I doubt it. After Salzburg, everything is going to seem too solid.
