_Lake of Como, Aug_. 22, 1847.--Rome was much poisoned to me. But,
after a time, its genius triumphed, and I became absorbed in its
proper life. Again I suffered from parting, and have since resolved to
return, and pass at least a part of the winter there. People may write
and prate as they please of Rome, they cannot convey thus a portion of
its spirit. The whole heart must be yielded up to it. It is something
really transcendent, both spirit and body. Those last glorious nights,
in which I wandered about amid the old walls and columns, or sat by
the fountains in the Piazza del Popolo, or by the river, were worth an
age of pain,--only one hates pain in Italy.
Tuscany I did not like as well. It is a great place to study the
history of character and art. Indeed, there I did really begin to
study, as well as gaze and feel. But I did not like it. Florence is
more in its spirit like Boston, than like an Italian city. I knew
a good many Italians, but they were busy and intellectual, not like
those I had known before. But Florence is full of really good, great
pictures. There first I saw some of the great masters. Andrea del
Sarto, in particular, one sees only there, and he is worth much. His
wife, whom he always paints, and for whom he was so infatuated, has
some bad qualities, and in what is good a certain wild nature or
_diablerie_.
Bologna is truly an Italian city, one in which I should like to live;
full of hidden things, and its wonders of art are very grand. The
Caracci and their friends had vast force; not much depth, but enough
force to occupy one a good while,--and Domenichino, when good at all,
is very great.
Venice was a dream of enchantment; _there_ was no disappointment.
Art and life are one. There is one glow of joy, one deep shade of
passionate melancholy; Giorgione, as a man, I care more for now than
any of the artists, though he had no ideas.
In the first week, floating about in a gondola, I seemed to find
myself again.
I was not always alone in Venice, but have come through the fertile
plains of Lombardy, seen the lakes Garda and Maggiore, and a part of
Switzerland, alone, except for occasional episodes of companionship,
sometimes romantic enough.
In Milan I stayed a while, and knew some radicals, young, and
interested in ideas. Here, on the lake, I have fallen into contact
with some of the higher society,--duchesses, marquises, and the like.
My friend here is Madame Arconati, Marchioness Visconti. I have
formed connection with a fair and brilliant Polish lady, born Princess
Radzivill. It is rather pleasant to come a little on the traces of
these famous histories; also, both these ladies take pleasure in
telling me of spheres so unlike mine, and do it well.
The life here on the lake is precisely what we once imagined as being
so pleasant. These people have charming villas and gardens on the
lake, adorned with fine works of art. They go to see one another in
boats. You can be all the time in a boat, if you like; if you want
more excitement, or wild flowers, you climb the mountains. I have been
here for some time, and shall stay a week longer. I have found soft
repose here. Now, I am to return to Rome, seeing many things by the
way.