"Ravenna, May 24. 1820.
"I wrote to you a few days ago. There is also a letter of January
last for you at Murray's, which will explain to you why I am here.
Murray ought to have forwarded it long ago. I enclose you an
epistle from a countrywoman of yours at Paris, which has moved my
entrails. You will have the goodness, perhaps, to enquire into the
truth of her story, and I will help her as far as I can,--though
not in the useless way she proposes. Her letter is evidently
unstudied, and so natural, that the orthography is also in a state
of nature.
"Here is a poor creature, ill and solitary, who thinks, as a last
resource, of translating you or me into French! Was there ever such
a notion? It seems to me the consummation of despair. Pray enquire,
and let me know, and, if you could draw a bill on me _here_ for a
few hundred francs, at your banker's, I will duly honour it,--that
is, if she is not an impostor.[73] If not, let me know, that I may
get something remitted by my banker Longhi, of Bologna, for I have
no correspondence myself, at Paris: but tell her she must not
translate;--if she does, it will be the height of ingratitude.
"I had a letter (not of the same kind, but in French and flattery)
from a Madame Sophie Gail, of Paris, whom I take to be the spouse
of a Gallo-Greek of that name. Who is she? and what is she? and how
came she to take an interest in my _poeshie_ or its author? If you
know her, tell her, with my compliments, that, as I only _read_
French, I have not answered her letter; but would have done so in
Italian, if I had not thought it would look like an affectation. I
have just been scolding my monkey for tearing the seal of her
letter, and spoiling a mock book, in which I put rose leaves. I had
a civet-cat the other day, too; but it ran away, after scratching
my monkey's cheek, and I am in search of it still. It was the
fiercest beast I ever saw, and like * * in the face and manner.
"I have a world of things to say; but, as they are not come to a
_dénouement_, I don't care to begin their history till it is wound
up. After you went, I had a fever, but got well again without bark.
Sir Humphry Davy was here the other day, and liked Ravenna very
much. He will tell you any thing you may wish to know about the
place and your humble servitor.
"Your apprehensions (arising from Scott's) were unfounded. There
are _no damages_ in this country, but there will probably be a
separation between them, as her family, which is a principal one,
by its connections, are very much against _him_, for the whole of
his conduct;--and he is old and obstinate, and she is young and a
woman, determined to sacrifice every thing to her affections. I
have given her the best advice, viz. to stay with him,--pointing
out the state of a separated woman, (for the priests won't let
lovers live openly together, unless the husband sanctions it,) and
making the most exquisite moral reflections,--but to no purpose.
She says, 'I will stay with him, if he will let you remain with me.
It is hard that I should be the only woman in Romagna who is not to
have her Amico; but, if not, I will not live with him; and as for
the consequences, love, &c. &c. &c.'--you know how females reason
on such occasions.
"He says he has let it go on till he can do so no longer. But he
wants her to stay, and dismiss me; for he doesn't like to pay back
her dowry and to make an alimony. Her relations are rather for the
separation, as they detest him,--indeed, so does every body. The
populace and the women are, as usual, all for those who are in the
wrong, viz. the lady and her lover. I should have retreated, but
honour, and an erysipelas which has attacked her, prevent me,--to
say nothing of love, for I love her most entirely, though not
enough to persuade her to sacrifice every thing to a frenzy. 'I see
how it will end; she will be the sixteenth Mrs. Shuffleton.'
"My paper is finished, and so must this letter.
"Yours ever, B.
"P.S. I regret that you have not completed the Italian Fudges.
Pray, how come you to be still in Paris? Murray has four or five
things of mine in hand--the new Don Juan, which his back-shop synod
don't admire;--a translation of the first Canto of Pulci's Morgante
Maggiore, excellent;--short ditto from Dante, not so much approved;
the Prophecy of Dante, very grand and worthy, &c. &c. &c.;--a
furious prose answer to Blackwood's Observations on Don Juan, with
a savage Defence of Pope--likely to make a row. The opinions above
I quote from Murray and his Utican senate;--you will form your own,
when you see the things.
"You will have no great chance of seeing me, for I begin to think
I must finish in Italy. But, if you come my way, you shall have a
tureen of macaroni. Pray tell me about yourself, and your intents.
"My trustees are going to lend Earl Blessington sixty thousand
pounds (at six per cent.) on a Dublin mortgage. Only think of my
becoming an Irish absentee!"
[Footnote 73: According to his desire, I waited upon this young lady,
having provided myself with a rouleau of fifteen or twenty Napoleons to
present to her from his Lordship; but, with a very creditable spirit, my
young countrywoman declined the gift, saying that Lord Byron had
mistaken the object of her application to him, which was to request
that, by allowing her to have the sheets of some of his works before
publication, he would enable her to prepare early translations for the
French booksellers, and thus afford her the means of acquiring something
towards a livelihood.]
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