Chapter CI: Letter 371: To Mr. Murray

"Ravenna, May 8. 1820.

"From your not having written again, an intention which your letter
of the 7th ultimo indicated, I have to presume that the 'Prophecy
of Dante' has not been found more worthy than its predecessors in
the eyes of your illustrious synod. In that case, you will be in
some perplexity; to end which, I repeat to you, that you are not to
consider yourself as bound or pledged to publish any thing because
it is _mine_, but always to act according to your own views, or
opinions, or those of your friends; and to be sure that you will in
no degree offend me by 'declining the article,' to use a technical
phrase. The _prose_ observations on John Wilson's attack, I do not
intend for publication at this time; and I send a copy of verses to
Mr. Kinnaird (they were written last year on crossing the Po) which
must _not_ be published either. I mention this, because it is
probable he may give you a copy. Pray recollect this, as they are
mere verses of society, and written upon private feelings and
passions. And, moreover, I can't consent to any mutilations or
omissions of _Pulci_: the original has been ever free from such in
Italy, the capital of Christianity, and the translation may be so
in England; though you will think it strange that they should have
allowed such _freedom_ for many centuries to the Morgante, while
the other day they confiscated the whole translation of the fourth
Canto of Childe Harold, and have persecuted Leoni, the
translator--so he writes me, and so I could have told him, had he
consulted me before his publication. This shows how much more
politics interest men in these parts than religion. Half a dozen
invectives against tyranny confiscate Childe Harold in a month; and
eight and twenty cantos of quizzing monks and knights, and church
government, are let loose for centuries. I copy Leoni's account.

"'Non ignorera forse che la mia versione del 4 deg. Canto del Childe
Harold fu confiscata in ogni parte: ed io stesso ho dovuto soffrir
vessazioni altrettanto ridicole quanto illiberaii, ad arte che
alcuni versi fossero esclusi dalla censura. Ma siccome il divieto
non fa d'ordinario che accrescere la curiosita cos! quel carme
sull' Italia e ricercato piu che mai, e penso di farlo ristampare
in Inghil-terra senza nulla escludere. Sciagurata condizione di
questa mia patria! se patria si puo chiamare una terra cosi
avvilita dalla fortuna, dagli uomini, da se medesima.'

"Rose will translate this to you. Has he had his letter? I enclosed
it to you months ago.

"This intended piece of publication I shall dissuade him from, or
he may chance to see the inside of St. Angelo's. The last sentence
of his letter is the common and pathetic sentiment of all his
countrymen.

"Sir Humphry Davy was here last fortnight, and I was in his company
in the house of a very pretty Italian lady of rank, who, by way of
displaying her learning in presence of the great chemist, then
describing his fourteenth ascension to Mount Vesuvius, asked 'if
there was not a similar volcano in _Ireland_?' My only notion of an
Irish volcano consisted of the lake of Killarney, which I naturally
conceived her to mean; but, on second thoughts, I divined that she
alluded to _Ice_land and to Hecla--and so it proved, though she
sustained her volcanic topography for some time with all the
amiable pertinacity of 'the feminie.' She soon after turned to me
and asked me various questions about Sir Humphry's philosophy, and
I explained as well as an oracle his skill in gasen safety lamps,
and ungluing the Pompeian MSS. 'But what do you call him?' said
she. 'A great chemist,' quoth I. 'What can he do?' repeated the
lady. 'Almost any thing,' said I. 'Oh, then, mio caro, do pray beg
him to give me something to dye my eyebrows black. I have tried a
thousand things, and the colours all come off; and besides, they
don't grow; can't he invent something to make them grow?' All this
with the greatest earnestness; and what you will be surprised at,
she is neither ignorant nor a fool, but really well educated and
clever. But they speak like children, when first out of their
convents; and, after all, this is better than an English
blue-stocking.

"I did not tell Sir Humphry of this last piece of philosophy, not
knowing how he might take it. Davy was much taken with Ravenna, and
the PRIMITIVE _Italianism_ of the people, who are unused to
foreigners: but he only stayed a day.

"Send me Scott's novels and some news.

"P.S. I have begun and advanced into the second act of a tragedy
on the subject of the Doge's conspiracy (_i.e._ the story of Marino
Faliero); but my present feeling is so little encouraging on such
matters, that I begin to think I have mined my talent out, and
proceed in no great phantasy of finding a new vein.

"P.S. I sometimes think (if the Italians don't rise) of coming over
to England in the autumn after the coronation, (at which I would
not appear, on account of my family schism,) but as yet I can
decide nothing. The place must be a great deal changed since I left
it, now more than four years ago."

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