D.
[I have no recollection of the Marchesa Marchigiana, nor of Signor Ferri. The physiognomical estimate of Signor Janer is curious, because that gentleman, a cultivated Tuscan whom we saw continually in these years, was regarded as somewhat prone to backbiting; he was always, however, on good terms with my father and his family, and I should say that he was really amicable with all of us. Margaret, named towards the end of the letter, was my mother’s elder sister.]
50 Charlotte Street [London].
6th September 1836.
My dearest Frances,
... At the moment of my writing a very deluge is coming down—lightning, thunder, buckets of water. I am sorry for poor Gabriel, who is out for a walk with Henry....
That Marchesa Marchigiana left yesterday morning (Sunday), and in the last two days she called on me thrice. On the evening of Saturday she came at eight, and left at midnight. She talked for ten. She expressed great concern for your illness, and exclaimed several times—“Oh, if I had seen her, I would have made her know what a husband she possesses!” To hear her, I am the idol of Italy. She knows by heart a great quantity of my verses, some of which I had as good as forgotten. Suffice it to say that she knows more of them than Curci, and is more enthusiastic than Curci about me and my doings. But the greatest wonder is that she recites long snatches of my Analytic Comment on the Divina Commedia. She told me that, being unable to procure it in print (as it is prohibited in Italy), she copied it all out from one that was lent her in secret. That many other people have done the like. That of my Salterio (the whole of which she truly knows by heart) she is acquainted with a great number of manuscript copies. That in Rome a liberal Monsignore named Muzzarelli has, like herself, copied it out, and learned it off. That, were I to return, in passing through Romagna, youthful admirers would come about me in shoals, and would unharness the horses from my carriage to drag me in triumph. Matter for laughter! Sangiovanni, who was present at all this (which I can but suppose exaggerated), had to wipe his eyes from time to time—the loving friend. In short, dear Frances, without your having observed it nor yet myself, you have as husband the greatest man of Italy, indeed the idol of Italy! Who would ever have fancied it?
The best of it is that another gentleman from Lugo has arrived, Conte Carducci, who brings me a letter from Comendator Borgia (a descendant of that scoundrel Alexander VI.), and both Carducci and Borgia speak to me in the same style.... This shows once again that the physical optics are the reverse of the imaginary; for, as by physics distant objects seem to us small, so by imagination small objects, the further off they are, seem the larger. I should be almost afraid of returning, even if I could, so that I might not verify that saying, Minuit præsentia famam.
The Marchesa gave us a proof of her physiognomic science which made me and Sangiovanni laugh a great deal. She saw here Janer, whom she knew not in the least, and who showed her a thousand civilities. After Janer had left, she, who had treated him distantly, called me aside, and said: “Beware of that man, who has the face of a great intriguer and a very cunning fellow.” Isn’t this queer?...
With her came a very handsome young man from Fermo, named Ferri, nephew of Cardinal Ferri. He, on hearing the nature of your illness, spoke of one of his of the same class, from which he has recovered to the most perfect health. He was reduced, as he described it, to a truly deplorable condition, from which he rallied by continual exercise; and if one sees him now!
“Di due rivali i pregi in sè compone—
Marte alla forza, alla bellezza Adone—”[81]
(old verses of mine). So, my dear Frances, take as much exercise as you can....
Lo and behold, the day is again beautiful, and what a brilliant sun! Truly the climate of London is more changeable than a Frenchwoman. Gabriel is knocking with that double knock of his like the postman. I trust he avoided the rain under some shelter—will go and ask. He has returned all drenched, and Margaret will make him change clothes....
I embrace you, and bless Maria. Repeat to her that her letter gave me great pleasure; and tell her that I expect one in Italian, which will serve not only to show me how you are, when you don’t want to be writing yourself, but also to keep her in the practice of the language of “the beautiful land.” Believe me, full of unalterable affection,
Your Husband,
Gabriele.