I have seen Italy at last; seen it as you saw it, and as it ought
to be seen,--lighted to our souls by love, as it is by its own
bright sun and its masterpieces. I pity those who, being moved to
adoration at every step, have no hand to press, no heart in which
to shed the exuberance of emotions which calm themselves when
shared. These two years have been to me a lifetime, in which my
memory has stored rich harvests. Have you made plans, as I do,
to stay forever at Chiavari, to buy a palazzo in Venice, a
summer-house at Sorrento, a villa in Florence? All loving women
dread society; but I, who am cast forever outside of it, ought I not
to bury myself in some beautiful landscape, on flowery slopes,
facing the sea, or in a valley that equals a sea, like that of
Fiesole?
But alas! we are only poor artists, and want of money is bringing
these two bohemians back to Paris. Gennaro does not want me to
feel that I have lost my luxury, and he wishes to put his new
work, a grand opera, into rehearsal at once. You will understand,
of course, my dearest, that I cannot set foot in Paris.
Pages:
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185