Chapter X: Letter 281: To Mr. Murray

"Venice, June 4. 1817.

"I have received the proofs of the 'Lament of Tasso,' which makes
me hope that you have also received the reformed third Act of
Manfred, from Rome, which I sent soon after my arrival there. My
date will apprise you of my return home within these few days. For
me, I have received _none_ of your packets, except, after long
delay, the 'Tales of my Landlord,' which I before acknowledged. I
do not at all understand the _why nots_, but so it is; no Manuel,
no letters, no tooth-powder, no _extract_ from Moore's Italy
concerning Marino Faliero, no NOTHING--as a man hallooed out at one
of Burdett's elections, after a long ululatus of 'No Bastille! No
governor-ities! No--'God knows who or what;--but his _ne plus
ultra_ was, 'No nothing!'--and my receipts of your packages amount
to about his meaning. I want the extract from _Moore's_ Italy very
much, and the tooth-powder, and the magnesia; I don't care so much
about the poetry, or the letters, or Mr. Maturin's by-Jasus
tragedy. Most of the things sent by the post have come--I mean
proofs and letters; therefore send me Marino Faliero by the post,
in a letter.

"I was delighted with Rome, and was on horseback all round it many
hours daily, besides in it the rest of my time, bothering over its
marvels. I excursed and skirred the country round to Alba, Tivoli,
Frescati, Licenza, &c. &c.; besides, I visited twice the Fall of
Terni, which beats every thing. On my way back, close to the temple
by its banks, I got some famous trout out of the river
Clitumnus--the prettiest little stream in all poesy, near the first
post from Foligno and Spoletto.--I did not stay at Florence, being
anxious to get home to Venice, and having already seen the
galleries and other sights. I left my commendatory letters the
evening before I went, so I saw nobody.

"To-day, Pindemonte, the celebrated poet of Verona, called on me;
he is a little thin man, with acute and pleasing features; his
address good and gentle; his appearance altogether very
philosophical; his age about sixty, or more. He is one of their
best going. I gave him _Forsyth_, as he speaks, or reads rather, a
little English, and will find there a favourable account of
himself. He enquired after his old Cruscan friends, Parsons,
Greathead, Mrs. Piozzi, and Merry, all of whom he had known in his
youth. I gave him as bad an account of them as I could, answering,
as the false 'Solomon Lob' does to 'Totterton' in the farce, 'all
gone dead,' and damned by a satire more than twenty years ago; that
the name of their extinguisher was Gifford; that they were but a
sad set of scribes after all, and no great things in any other way.
He seemed, as was natural, very much pleased with this account of
his old acquaintances, and went away greatly gratified with that
and Mr. Forsyth's sententious paragraph of applause in his own
(Pindemonte's) favour. After having been a little libertine in his
youth, he is grown devout, and takes prayers, and talks to himself,
to keep off the devil; but for all that, he is a very nice little
old gentleman.

"I forgot to tell you that at Bologna (which is celebrated for
producing popes, painters, and sausages) I saw an anatomical
gallery, where there is a deal of waxwork, in which * *.

"I am sorry to hear of your row with Hunt; but suppose him to be
exasperated by the Quarterly and your refusal to _deal_; and when
one is angry and edites a paper, I should think the temptation too
strong for literary nature, which is not always human. I can't
conceive in what, and for what, he abuses you: what have you done?
you are not an author, nor a politician, nor a public character; I
know no scrape you have tumbled into. I am the more sorry for this
because I introduced you to Hunt, and because I believe him to be a
good man; but till I know the particulars, I can give no opinion.

"Let me know about Lalla Rookh, which must be out by this time.

"I restore the proofs, but the _punctuation_ should be corrected. I
feel too lazy to have at it myself; so beg and pray Mr. Gifford for
me.--Address to Venice. In a few days I go to my _villeggiatura_,
in a cassino near the Brenta, a few miles only on the main land. I
have determined on another year, and _many years_ of residence if I
can compass them. Marianna is with me, hardly recovered of the
fever, which has been attacking all Italy last winter. I am afraid
she is a little hectic; but I hope the best.

"Ever, &c.

"P.S. Torwaltzen has done a bust of me at Rome for Mr. Hobhouse,
which is reckoned very good. He is their best after Canova, and by
some preferred to him.

"I have had a letter from Mr. Hodgson. He is very happy, has got a
living, but not a child: if he had stuck to a curacy, babes would
have come of course, because he could not have maintained them.

"Remember me to all friends, &c. &c.

"An Austrian officer, the other day, being in love with a Venetian,
was ordered, with his regiment, into Hungary. Distracted between
love and duty, he purchased a deadly drug, which dividing with his
mistress, both swallowed. The ensuing pains were terrific, but the
pills were purgative, and not poisonous, by the contrivance of the
unsentimental apothecary; so that so much suicide was all thrown
away. You may conceive the previous confusion and the final
laughter; but the intention was good on all sides."

* * * * *