"Now he says that he encouraged my return to Ravenna, to see 'in quanti piedi di acqua siamo,' and he has found enough to drown him in. In short,
"'Ce ne fut pas le tout; sa femme se plaignit—
Procès—La parenté se joint en excuse et dit
Que du Docteur venoit tout le mauvais ménage;
Que cet homme étoit fou, que sa femme étoit sage.
On fit casser le mariage.'
It is but to let the women alone, in the way of conflict, for they are sure to win against the field. She returns to her father's house, and I can only see her under great restrictions—such is the custom of the country. The relations behave very well:—I offered any settlement, but they refused to accept it, and swear she shan't live with G. (as he has tried to prove her faithless), but that he shall maintain her; and, in fact, a judgment to this effect came yesterday. I am, of course, in an awkward situation enough.
"I have heard no more of the carabiniers who protested against my liveries. They are not popular, those same soldiers, and, in a small row, the other night, one was slain, another wounded, and divers put to flight, by some of the Romagnuole youth, who are dexterous, and somewhat liberal of the knife. The perpetrators are not discovered, but I hope and believe that none of my ragamuffins were in it, though they are somewhat savage, and secretly armed, like most of the inhabitants. It is their way, and saves sometimes a good deal of litigation.
"There is a revolution at Naples. If so, it will probably leave a card at Ravenna in its way to Lombardy.
"Your publishers seem to have used you like mine. M. has shuffled, and almost insinuated that my last productions are dull. Dull, sir!—damme, dull! I believe he is right. He begs for the completion of my tragedy on Marino Faliero, none of which is yet gone to England. The fifth act is nearly completed, but it is dreadfully long—40 sheets of long paper of 4 pages each—about 150 when printed; but 'so full of pastime and prodigality' that I think it will do.
"Pray send and publish your Pome upon me; and don't be afraid of praising me too highly. I shall pocket my blushes.
"'Not actionable!'—Chantre d'enfer![78]—by * * that's 'a speech,' and I won't put up with it. A pretty title to give a man for doubting if there be any such place!
"So my Gail is gone—and Miss Mahony won't take Money. I am very glad of it—I like to be generous free of expense. But beg her not to translate me.
"Oh, pray tell Galignani that I shall send him a screed of doctrine if he don't be more punctual. Somebody regularly detains two, and sometimes four, of his Messengers by the way. Do, pray, entreat him to be more precise. News are worth money in this remote kingdom of the Ostrogoths.