According to the pathetic, and on the face of it accurately truthful,
account of the close of his life in Mr. Forster's admirable and
most graphic life of him, I never knew Landor. For the more than
octogenarian old man whom I knew at Florence was clearly not the
Landor whom England had known and admired for so many and such
honoured years. Of all the painful story of the regrettable
circumstances which caused him to seek his last home in Florence it
would be mere impertinence in me to speak, after the lucid, and at the
same time delicately-touched, account of them which his biographer has
given.
I may say, however, that even after the many years of his absence from
Florence there still lingered a traditional remembrance of him--a sort
of Landor legend--which made all us Anglo-Florentines of those days
very sure, that however blamable his conduct (with reference to the
very partially understood story of the circumstances that caused
him to leave England) may have been in the eyes of lawyers or of
moralists, the motives and feelings that had actuated him must have
been generous and chivalrous. Had we been told that, finding a brick
wall in a place where he thought no wall should be, he had forthwith
proceeded to batter it down with his head, though it was not his wall
but another's, we should have recognised in the report the Landor of
the myths that remained among us concerning him. But that while in any
degree _compos mentis_ he had under whatever provocation acted in a
base, or cowardly, or mean, or underhand manner, was, we considered,
wholly impossible.
There were various legendary stories current in Florence in those
days of his doings in the olden time. Once--so said the tradition--he
knocked a man down in the street, was brought before the _delegato_,
as the police magistrate was called, and promptly fined one piastre,
value about four and sixpence; whereupon he threw a sequin (two
piastres) down upon the table and said that it was unnecessary to give
him any change, inasmuch as he purposed knocking the man down again as
soon as he left the court. We, _poteri_, as regarded the date of the
story, were all convinced that the true verdict in the matter was that
of the old Cornish jury, "Sarved un right."
Landor, as I remember him, was a handsome-looking old man, very much
more so, I think, than he could have been as a young man, to judge
by the portrait prefixed to Mr. Forster's volumes. He was a man
of somewhat leonine aspect as regards the general appearance and
expression of the head and face, which accorded well with the large
and massive build of the figure, and to which a superbly curling white
beard added not only picturesqueness, but a certain nobility.
Landor had been acquainted with the Garrows, and with my first wife
at Torquay; and the acquaintance was quickly renewed during his last
years at Florence. He would frequently come to our house in the Piazza
dell' Independenza, and chat for a while, generally after he had sat
silent for some little time; for he used to appear fatigued by his
walk. Later, when his walks and his visits had come to an end, I used
often to visit him in "the little house under the wall of the
city, directly back of the Carmine, in a bye-street called the Via
Nunziatina, not far from that in which the Casa Guidi stands," which
Mr. Forster thus describes. I continued these visits, always short,
till very near the close; for whether merely from the perfect courtesy
which was a part of his nature, or whether because such interruptions
of the long morning hours were really welcome to him, he never allowed
me to leave him without bidding me come again.
I remember him asking me after my mother at one of the latest of these
visits. I told him that she was fairly well, was not suffering, but
that she was becoming very deaf. "Dead, is she?" he cried, for he had
heard me imperfectly, "I wish I was! I can't sleep," he added, "but I
very soon shall, soundly too, and all the twenty-four hours round."
I used often to find him reading one of the novels of his old friend
G.P.R. James, and he hardly ever failed to remark that he was a
"woonderful" writer; for so he pronounced the word, which was rather a
favourite one with him.
It was a singular thing that Landor always dropped his aspirates. He
was, I think, the only man in his position in life whom I ever heard
do so. That a man who was not only by birth a gentleman, but was by
genius and culture--and such culture!--very much more, should do
this, seemed to me an incomprehensible thing. I do not think he ever
introduced the aspirate where it was not needed, but he habitually
spoke of 'and, 'ead, and 'ouse.
Even very near the close, when he seemed past caring for anything, the
old volcanic fire still lived beneath its ashes, and any word which
touched even gently any of his favourite and habitual modes of thought
was sure to bring forth a reply uttered with a vivacity of manner
quite startling from a man who the moment before had seemed scarcely
alive to what you were saying to him. To what extent this old volcanic
fire still burned may be estimated from a story which was then current
in Florence. The circumstances were related to me in a manner that
seemed to me to render it impossible to doubt the truth of them. But
I did not _see_ the incident in question, and therefore cannot assert
that it took place. The attendance provided for him by the kindly care
of Mr. Browning, as narrated by Mr. Forster, was most assiduous and
exact, as I had many opportunities of observing. But one day when he
had finished his dinner, thinking that the servant did not come to
remove the things so promptly as she ought to have done, he took
the four corners of the table-cloth (so goes the story), and thus
enveloping everything that was on the table, threw the whole out of
the window.
I received many notes from Landor, for the most part on trifling
occasions, and possessing little interest. They were interesting,
however, to the race of autograph collectors, and they have all been
coaxed out of me at different times, save one. I have, however, in my
possession several letters from him to my father-in-law, Mr. Garrow,
many passages in which are so characteristic that I am sure my readers
will thank me for giving them, as I am about to do. The one letter
of his that remains to me is, as the reader will see, not altogether
without value as a trait of character. The young lady spoken of in
it is the same from whose papers in the _Atlantic Monthly_, entitled
"Last Days of Walter Savage Landor," Mr. Forster has gleaned, as he
says, one or two additional glimpses of him in his last Florence home.
The letter is without date, and runs as follows:--
* * * * *
"MY DEAR SIR,--Let me confess to you that I am not very willing that
it should be believed desirous" [he evidently meant to write either
'that I should be believed desirous,' or 'that it should be believed
that I am desirous'] "of scattering my image indiscriminately over the
land. On this sentiment I forbade Mr. Forster to prefix an engraving
of me over my collected works. If Miss Field wishes _one_ more
photograph, Mr. Alinari may send it to her, and I enclose the money to
pay for it. With every good wish for your glory and prosperity,
"I remain, my dear sir,
"Very truly yours,
"W.S. LANDOR."
* * * * *
The writing is that of a sadly shaking hand. The lady's request would
unquestionably have been more sure of a favourable response had she
preferred it in person, instead of doing so through me. But I suspect
from the phrase "one more," and the underlining of the word one, that
she had already received from him more than one photograph, and was
ashamed to make yet another application. But she had led, or allowed,
me to imagine that she was then asking for the first time. The care to
send the money for the price of the photograph was a characteristic
touch. Miss Field was, I well remember, a great favourite with Landor.
I remember her telling me that he wished to give her a very large sort
of scrap book, in which, among a quantity of things of no value, there
were, as I knew, some really valuable drawings; and asking me whether
she should accept it, her own feeling leaning to the opinion that she
ought not to do so, in which view I strongly concurred. If I remember
right the book had been sent to her residence, and had to be sent back
again, not without danger of seriously angering him.
Here are the letters I have spoken of, written by Landor to Mr.
Garrow. They are all undated save by the day of the month, but the
post-marks show them to have been all written in 1836-8. The first
is a very long letter, almost the whole of which is about a quarrel
between husband and wife, both friends of the writer, which it would
serve no good purpose to publish. The following passage from it,
however, must not be lost:--
* * * * *
"What egregious blockheads must those animals have been who discover a
resemblance to my style in Latin or other quotations. I have no need
of crutches. I can walk forward without anybody's arm; and if I wanted
one, I should not take an old one in preference. Not only do I think
that quotations are deformities and impediments, but I am apt to
believe that my own opinion, at least in those matters of which I
venture to treat, is quite as good as any other man's, living or dead.
If their style is better than my own, it would be bad policy to insert
it; if worse, I should be like a tailor who would recommend his
abilities by engrafting an old sleeve on a new coat.... Southey
tells me that he has known his lady more than twenty years, that the
disproportion of their ages is rational, and that having only one
daughter left, his necessary absences would be irksome to her.
Whatever he does, is done wisely and virtuously. As for Rogers,
almost an octogenarian, be it on his own head! A dry nettle tied to
a rose-bud, just enough life in it to sting, and that's all Lady
Blessington would be delighted at any fresh contribution from Miss
Garrow. Let it be sent to her at Gore House. I go there to-morrow for
ten days, then into Warwickshire, then to Southampton. But I have not
given up all hope of another jaunt to Torquay. Best compliments to the
ladies.
"Yours ever,
"W.S.L."
* * * * *
The following is dated the 15th of November, 1837--just half a century
ago!
* * * * *
"35, ST. JAMES'S SQUARE, BATH.
"I should be very ungrateful if I did not often think of you. But
among my negligences, I must regret that I did not carry away with me
the address of our friend Bezzi." [A Piedmontese refugee who was a
very intimate friend of Garrow's. I knew him in long subsequent years,
when political changes had made it possible for him to return to
Italy. He was a very clever and singularly brilliant man, whose name,
I think, became known to the English public in connection with the
discovery of the celebrated portrait of Dante on a long whitewashed
wall of the Bargello, in Florence. There was some little jealousy
about the discovery between him and Kirkup. The truth was that
Kirkup's large and curious antiquarian knowledge led him to feel sure
that the picture must be there, under the whitewash; while Bezzi's
influence with the authorities succeeded in getting the wall cleared
of its covering.] "I am anxious to hear how he endures his absence
from Torquay, and I will write to him the moment I hear of him. Tell
Miss Garrow that the muses like the rustle of dry leaves almost as
well as the whispers of green ones. If she doubts it, entreat her
on my part to ask the question of them. Nothing in Bath is vastly
interesting to me now. Two or three persons have come up and spoken to
me whom I have not seen for a quarter of a century. Of these faces I
recollect but one, and it was the ugliest! By the same token--but here
the figure of aposiopesis is advantageous to me--old Madam Burridge,
of my lodgings, has sent me three large forks and one small, which I
left behind. She forgot to send another of each. What is worse, I left
behind me a three-faced seal, which I think I once showed you. It was
enclosed in a black rough case. This being of the time of Henry the
Eighth, and containing the arms of my family connections, I value far
above a few forks, or a few dozens. It cannot be worth sixpence to
whoever has it. One of the engravings was a greyhound with an arrow
through him, a crest of my grandmother's, whose maiden name was Noble.
If you pass by, pray ask about it--not that I am ever disappointed at
the worst result of an inquiry. I am afraid the ladies of your house
will think me imprudent; and what must be their opinion, if you let it
transpire that I have furthermore invested a part of my scrip in the
beaver trade. Offer my best regards to them all, and believe me,
"My dear sir,
"Yours very sincerely,
"W.S.L."
* * * * *
The following is dated only January 2nd, but the post-mark shows it to
have been written from Bath on that day, 1838.
* * * * *
"MY DEAR SIR,--Yesterday there were lying across my fender three
or four sheets of paper, quite in readiness to dry themselves, and
receive my commands. One of these, I do assure you, was destined for
Torquay, but the interruption of visitors would allow me time only to
cover half a one with my scrawl. Early last week I wrote a long letter
to Bezzi, but wanted the courage to send it. I wish him to remain in
England as much almost as you yourself can do. But if after promising
his lady" [it is noteworthy that such a master of English as Landor,
should use, now for the second time in these letters, this ugly
phrase] "to let her try the air of Italy, he should withdraw, she
might render his life less comfortable by reproaches not altogether
unmerited. When she gets there she will miss her friends; she will
hear nothing but a language which is unknown to her, and will find
that no change of climate can remove her ailments. I offered my house
to Bezzi some time ago, with its two gardens and a hundred acres of
land, all for a hundred a year. But I am confident my son will never
remain in England, and after the expiration of the year will return
to Tuscany. Bezzi cannot find another house, even without garden, for
that money. James paid for a worse twelve louis a month, although he
took it for eight months. So the houses in Tuscany are very far from
inviting to an economist, although vastly less expensive than at
Torquay, the rival of Naples in this respect as in beauty.... I have
found my seal in a waistcoat pocket. I do not think the old woman
stole the forks, but she knew they were stolen.... Kenyon has
something of Falstaff about him, both in the physical and the moral.
But he is a friendly man, of rare judgment in literary works, and of
talents that only fall a little short of genius.
"God preserve you from your Belial Bishop!" [Philpotts]. "What an
incumbent! I would not see the rascal once a month to be as great a
man as Mr. Shedden, or as sublime a genius as Mr. Wise," [word under
the seal] "would drown me in bile or poison me with blue pills. A
society has been formed here, of which the members have come to the
resolution of making inquiries at every house about the religion of
the inmates, what places of worship they attend, &c., &c. Is not
it hard upon a man, who has changed a couple of sovereigns into
half-crowns for Christmas boxes, to be forced to spend ten shillings
for a horsewhip, when he no longer has a horse? Our weather here is
quite as mild and beautiful as it can possibly be at Torquay. Miss
Garrow, I trust, has listened to the challenges of the birds, and sung
a new song. As Bezzi is secretary and librarian, I must apply to him
for it, unless she will condescend to trust me with a copy. I will now
give you a specimen of my iron seal, brass setting and pewter mending.
"Yours ever,
"W.S.L."
* * * * *
The mention of Bishop Philpotts (though not by name) in the foregoing
letter, reminds me of a story which used to be told of him, and which
is too good to be lost, even though thus parenthetically told. When at
Torquay he used to frequent a small church, in which the service was
at that time performed by a very young curate of the extra gentle
butter-won't-melt-in-his-mouth kind, who had much objection to
the phrase in the Communion service, "eateth and drinketh his
own damnation," and ventured somewhat tremblingly to substitute
"condemnation" for the word which offended him. Whereupon the orthodox
Bishop reared his head, as he knelt with the rest of the congregation
and roared aloud "_Damnation!_" Whether the curate had to be carried
out fainting, I don't remember.
The next letter of Landor's that I have is dated 13th April, St.
James's Square, Bath. The postmark shows that it was written in 1838.
* * * * *
"MY DEAR SIR,--I have had Kenyon here these last four days. He tells
me that he saw Bezzi in London, and that we may entertain some hopes
that he will be induced to remain in England. All he wants is some
employment; and surely his powerful friends among the Whigs could
easily procure him it. But the Whigs of all scoundrelly factions, are,
and have ever been, the most scoundrelly, the most ungenerous, the
most ungrateful. What have they done for Fonblanque, who could have
kicked them overboard on his toe-nail? Their abilities put together
are less than a millionth of his; and his have been constantly and
most zealously exerted in their favour. My first conversation with
Kenyon was about the publication of his poems, which are just come
out. They are in part extremely clever; particularly one on happiness
and another on the shrine of the Virgin. He was obliged to print them
at his own expense; and his cousin, Miss Barrett, who also has written
a few poems of no small merit, could not find a publisher. These,
however, bear no proportion to Miss Garrow's.[1] Yet I doubt whether
publishers and the folks they consult would find out that.
[Footnote 1: To those who never knew Landor, and the habitual
limitless exaggeration of his manner of speaking, it may be necessary
to observe that he did not really hold any opinion so monstrous as
might be supposed from the passage in the text. And a letter given
by Mr. Forster expresses earnestly and vigorously enough his high
admiration for Miss Barrett's poetry. It must be remembered also, that
at the time this was written, Mr. Landor could only have seen some of
the earliest of Miss Barrett's writings.]
"Southey was about to write to me when his brothers death, by which
six children come under his care, interrupted him. I wish I possessed
one or two of Miss Garrow's beautiful poems, that I might ask his
opinion and advice about them. His opinion I know would be the same as
mine; but his advice is what I want. Surely it cannot be requisite and
advantageous to withhold them from the world so long as you imagine.
In one single year both enough of materials and of variety for a
volume might be collected and prepared. Would Miss Garrow let me offer
one to the _Book of Beauty_? I shall be with Lady Blessington the
last day of the present month. One of the best poems of our days" [on
death], "appeared in the last _Book of Beauty_. But in general its
poetry is very indifferent. With best regards to the ladies,
"I am ever, my dear sir,
"Yours most sincerely,
"W.S.L."
* * * * *
The following, dated merely "Gore House, Sunday morning," was written,
or at least posted, on the 14th May, 1838.
* * * * *
"MY DEAR SIR,--It is impossible you should not often have thought me
negligent and ungrateful. Over and over again have I redd [_sic_],
the incomparably fine poetry you sent me; and intended that Lady
Blessington should partake in the high enjoyment it afforded me. I had
promised her to be at Gore House toward the end of April, but I had
not the courage to face all my friends. However, here I came on Friday
evening; and before I went to bed I redd to her ladyship what I
promised her. She was enchanted. I then requested her to toss aside
some stuff of mine, and to make way for it in the next _Book of
Beauty_. The gods, as Homer says, granted half my prayer, and it
happened to be (what was not always the case formerly) the better
half. She will insert both. It is only by some such means as that that
the best poetry in our days comes with mincing step into popularity.
Mine being booted and spurred, both ladies and gentlemen get out of
the way of it, and look down at it with a touch of horror.
"Now for news, and about your neighbours. Captain Ackland is going to
marry a niece of Massy Dawson. Mischievous things are said about poor
Lady M----, all false, you may be sure. Admiral Aylmer after all his
services under Nelson, &c., &c., is unable to procure a commission in
the marines for his nephew, Frederick Paynter. Lord A. will not ask. I
am a suitor to all the old women I know, and shall fail too, for it is
not the thing they want me to ask of them.
"I see two new Deputy Lord-Lieutenants have been appointed for
the County of Monmouth. My estate there is larger than the Lord
Lieutenant's; yet even this mark of respect has not been paid me. It
might be, safely. I shall consider myself sold to the devil, and for
more than my value, when I accept any distinction, or anything else
from any man living. The Whigs are growing unpopular, I hear. I hope
never to meet any of them. Last night, however, I talked a little with
Grantley Berkeley, and told him a bit of my mind. You see, I have not
much more room in my paper, else I should be obliged to tell you that
the bells are ringing, and that I have only just time to put on my
gloves for church.
"Adieu, and believe me with kindly regards to the ladies,
"Yours,
"W.S.L."
* * * * *
The last in this series of letters which has reached my hands is
altogether undated, but appears by the post-mark to have been written
from Bath, 19th July, 1838.
* * * * *
"MY DEAR SIR,--There is one sentence in your letter which shocked
me not a little. You say 'The Whigs have not offered you a Deputy
Lieutenantcy; so cheap a distinction could not have hurt them. But
then you are too proud to ask,' &c. Do you really suppose that I would
have accepted it even if it had been offered? No, by God! I would not
accept any distinction even if it were offered by honest men. I will
have nothing but what I can take. It is, however, both an injustice
and an affront to confer this dignity on low people, who do not
possess a fourth of my property, and whose family is as ignoble as
Lord Melbourne's own, and not to have offered the same to me. In the
eleventh page of the _Letters_ I published after the quelling of
Bonaparte are these words: 'I was the first to abjure the party of
the Whigs, and shall be the last to abjure the principles. When the
leaders had broken all their promises to the nation, had shown their
utter incapacity to manage its affairs, and their inclination to
crouch before the enemy, I permitted my heart after some struggles to
subside and repose in the cool of this reflection--Let them escape.
It is only the French nation that ever dragged such feebleness to the
scaffold,' Again, page 35--'Honest men, I confess, have generally in
the present times an aversion to the Whig faction, not because it
is suitable either to honesty or understanding to prefer the narrow
principles of the opposite party, but because in every country lax
morals wish to be and are identified with public feeling, and because
in our own a few of the very best have been found in an association
with the very worst.' Whenever the Tories have deviated from their
tenets, they have enlarged their views and exceeded their promises.
The Whigs have always taken an inverse course. Whenever they have come
into power, they have previously been obliged to slight those matters,
and to temporise with those duties, which they had not the courage
either to follow or to renounce.
"And now, my dear sir, to pleasanter matters. I have nothing in the
press, and never shall have. I gave Forster all my works, written or
to be written. Neither I nor my family shall have anything to do with
booksellers. They say a new edition of my _Imaginary Conversations_ is
called for. I have sent Forster a dozen or two of fresh ones, but I
hope he will not hazard them before my death, and will get a hundred
pounds or near it for the whole.
"If ever I attended a public dinner, I should like to have been
present at that which the people gave to you. Never let them be quiet
until the Church has gone to the devil, its lawful owner, and till
something a little like Christianity takes its place. If parsons are
to be Lords, it is but right and reasonable that the Queen should be
Pope. Indeed, I have no objection to this, but I have to the other.
What a singularity it is that those who profess a belief in Christ do
not obey Him, while those who profess it in Mahomet or Moses or Boodh
are obedient to their precepts, if not in certain points of morality,
in all things else. Carlyle is a vigorous thinker, but a vile writer,
worse than Bulwer. I breakfasted in company with him at Milman's.
Macaulay was there, a clever clown, and Moore too, whom I had not seen
till then. Between those two Scotchmen he appeared like a glow-worm
between two thistles. There were several other folks, literary and
half literary, Lord Northampton, &c., &c. I forgot Rogers. Milman has
written the two best volumes of poetry we have seen lately; but when
Miss Garrow publishes hers I am certain there will be a total eclipse
of them. My friend Hare's brother, who married a sister of the
impudent coxcomb, Edward Stanley, has bought a house at Torquay, and
Hare tells me that unless he goes to Sicily be shall be there in
winter. If so, we may meet; but Bath is my dear delight in all
seasons. I have been sitting for my picture, and have given it to Mrs.
Paynter. It is admirably executed by Fisher.
"Yours ever,
"W.S.L."
* * * * *
These letters are all written upon the old-fashioned square sheet of
letter paper, some gilt-edged, entirely written over, even to the
turned-down ends, and heavily sealed.
Mr. Forster says no word about the Deputy-Lieutenantcy, and Landor's
anger and disgust in connection with it. He must necessarily have
known all about it, but probably in the exuberance of his material did
not think it worth mentioning. But it evidently left almost as painful
an impression on Landor's mind as the famous refusal of the Duke of
Beaufort to appoint him a justice of the peace.
During the later portion of my life at Florence, and subsequently at
Rome, Mr. G.P. Marsh and his very charming wife were among our
most valued friends for many years. Marsh was an exception to the
prevailing American rule, which for the most part changes their
diplomatists with the change of President. He had been United States
minister at Constantinople and at Turin before he came to Florence
with the Italian monarchy. At Rome he was "the Dean" of the diplomatic
body, and on many occasions various representative duties fell upon
him as such which were especially unwelcome to him. The determination
of the Great Powers to send ambassadors to the Court of the Quirinal
instead of ministers plenipotentiary, as previously, came as a great
boon to Mr. Marsh. For as the United States send no ambassadors, his
position as longest in office of all the diplomatic body no longer
placed him at the head of it.
Mr. Marsh was a man of very large and varied culture. A thorough
classical scholar and excellent modern linguist, philology was perhaps
his most favourite pursuit. He wrote various books, his best I think a
very large octavo volume, entitled not very happily _Man in Nature_.
The subject of it is the modifications and alterations which this
planet has undergone at the hands of man. His subject leads him to
consider much at large the denudation of mountains, which has caused
and is causing such calamitous mischief in Italy and the south
of France. He shows very convincingly and interestingly that the
destruction of forests causes not only floods in winter and spring,
but drought in summer and autumn. And the efforts which have recently
been made in Italy to take some steps towards the reclothing of the
mountain sides, have in great measure been due to his work, which has
been largely circulated in an Italian translation.
The following letter which I select from many received from him, is
not without interest. It is dated 30th November, 1867.
* * * * *
"DEAR SIR,--I return you Layard's article, which displays his usual
marked ability, and has given me much pleasure as well as instruction.
I should much like to know what are his grounds for believing that
'a satisfactory settlement of this Roman question would have been
speedily brought about with the concurrence of the Italian Government
and the Liberal party in Rome, and with the tacit consent of the
Emperor of the French, had it not been for the untoward enterprise
of Garibaldi,' p. 283. I certainly have not the slightest ground for
believing any such thing; nor do I understand _to whom_ the settlement
referred to would have been 'satisfactory.' Does Mr. Layard suppose
that any conceivable arrangement would be satisfactory both to the
Papacy and to Italian Liberals out of Rome? The _Government_ of Italy,
which changes as often as the moon, might have accepted something
which would have satisfied Louis Napoleon, Antonelli, and the three
hundred _nobili_ of Rome, who waited at dinner, napkin on arm, on the
Antiboini, to whom they gave an entertainment,--but the people?
"I send you one of Ferretti's pamphlets, which please keep. And I
enclose in the package two of Tuckerman's books. If you could turn
over the leaves of these and say to me in a note that they impress you
favourably, and that you are not displeased with his magazine article,
I will make him a happy man by sending him the note.
"Very truly yours,
"GEO.P. MARSH."
* * * * *
I did more than "turn over the leaves" of the book sent, and did very
truly say that they had interested me much. It is rather suggestive to
reflect how utterly unintelligible to the present generation must
be the term "Antiboini" in the above letter, without a word of
explanation. The highly unpopular and objectionable "Papal Legion" had
been in great part recruited from Antibes, and were hence nicknamed
"Antiboini," and not, as readers of the present day might fairly
imagine, from having been the opponents of any "boini."
The personal qualities of Mr. Marsh had obtained for him a great, and
I may indeed say, exceptional degree of consideration and regard from
his colleagues of the diplomatic body, and from the Italian ministers
and political world generally. And I remember one notable instance of
the manifestation of this, which I cannot refrain from citing. Mr.
Marsh had written home to his Government some rather trenchantly
unfavourable remarks on some portion of the then recent measures of
the Italian Ministry. And by some awkward accident or mistake these
had found their way into the columns of an American newspaper.
The circumstances might have given rise to very disagreeable and
mischievous complications and results. But the matter was suffered to
pass without any official observation solely from the high personal
consideration in which Mr. Marsh was held, not only at the Consulta
(the Roman Foreign Office), but at the Quirinal, and in many a Roman
salon.
Mr. Marsh died full of years and honours at a ripe old age. But the
closing scene of his life was remarkable from the locality of it. He
had gone to pass the hot season at Vallombrosa, where a comfortable
hotel replaces the old _forestieria_ of the monastery, while a School
of Forestry has been established by the Government within its walls.
Amid those secular shades the old diplomatist and scholar breathed his
last, and could not have done so in a more peaceful spot. But the very
inaccessible nature of the place made it a question of some difficulty
how the body should be transported in properly decorous fashion to the
railway station in the valley below--a difficulty which was solved by
the young scholars of the School of Forestry, who turned out in a body
to have the honour of bearing on their shoulders the remains of the
man whose writings had done so much to awaken the Government to the
necessity of establishing the institution to which they belonged.
Mrs. Marsh, for so many years the brightest ornament of the
Italo-American society, and equally admired and welcomed by the
English colony, first at Florence and then at Rome, still lives for
the equal delight of her friends on the other side of the Atlantic. I
may not, therefore, venture to say more of "what I remember" of her,
than that it abundantly accounts for the feeling of an unfilled void,
which her absence occasioned and occasions in both the American and
English world on the banks of the Tiber.