Hatchford, September 22.
Dearest Fay,—The enclosed reached me to-day having first been sent to Ebury Street.[64] I think it best to send it to you that you may reflect on what you will do, though it seems to me that with the exception of the "Cimabue" you have no picture you could send to this Exhibition. If you wish to be represented by that work, I conclude you would have to ask permission of the Queen to send it there, and this should be done through "The Honourable Colonel Phipps," or Mr. Harrison, his secretary. This permission would of course be granted at once. When Charles told me in my bed this morning that a letter had come for you from Manchester, I fondly hoped it was to announce sale of one or other of your pictures! I wrote yesterday, and have nothing more to say to-day but that I am better, though still seedy. We have got the equinoctial gales with rain. I fancy we, France and England, are going to recall our missions from Naples, if Bomba don't give in, and send squadrons of ships. But what then? I don't suppose we mean to bombard the town. But he will do just enough to give us a pretence for holding our hand, and matters will then resume their ordinary course, and the K. of the two Sicilies be governed just as it was before. Our position is a very ticklish one in this affair. I long to hear whether you saw Pasta—and anything more than the waddle, the red face and beard. Mind and answer my questions. I should tell you that amongst your papers that came from Manchester they sent P. Albert's letter to Ellesmere, and the long prospectus too, but there is no use in forwarding it to you—this will already cost a fortune, but I think it best to send it. When is it you expect to be here? How long do you stay at home?—Addio, carissimo,
H.G.
London, September 29.
My dearest Fay,—Here I am, sleeping in London on my way to Worsley to-morrow morning, and I have got my Mère Augusta occupying your room; the first female I have ever housed or fed, and it will be a rehearsal for Sister Ad. I have just missed her, as she went to the station as I left it, but I found a letter from her just returned from putting the boy to school; it is a bore that I missed her, as I shall not see her for an age. Edward has been committing all sorts of follies and is again confined to his room, but is better. He ought to come to London and consult a clever man, or he will be very ill, as he was once before. What a fellow you are never to say a word about Pasta to me! Of course Mrs. Siddons had a magnificent eye and brow—who said she had not?—and was a glorious actress, but I should always have preferred Reston. What did Pasta say of her? You are wrong about P. not being powerful—she was tremendous; her voice was one of immense power—almost coarse at times, but prodigious, and her gestes sublime from grace and strength. Dear Fay, I have measured the frame; it is twelve inches wide and fourteen long. Now do find me a pretty cheap croûte. I have seen no one in London but Lady Shelburne, who said there was no news. She disapproves, like me, of the policy with regard to Naples, and I think we shall find by-and-by a great reaction là dessus. By-the-bye, when at Rome go and hear the opera Verdi has been composing for that place on the story of Adrienne, and tell me all about it. He wrote formerly such pretty melodies, and is a clever fellow. I don't know what Adelaide will do about going to Germany, but I hope give it up, as for many reasons it appears to me at this moment to be a foolish scheme.
Good-night, you dear boy. I can't frank this, as it is late, and I don't know how, so you must pay this time. Write soon, and answer my letters.
I don't quite understand what it is you are doing in Italy except amuse yourself. Is there any other ——? How long will it be before I see you?—Addio, caro caro, tanto tanto,
H.
On the death of Lady Ellesmere, his sister, in answer to Leighton's letter of sympathy Mr. Greville writes—
Hatchford, Wednesday.