Venice, November 17, 1816.
"I wrote to you from Verona the other day in my progress hither, which
letter I hope you will receive. Some three years ago, or it may be more, I
recollect you telling me that you had received a letter from our friend,
Sam, dated "On board his gondola." _My_ gondola is, at this present,
waiting for me on the canal; but I prefer writing to you in the house, it
being autumn--and rather an English autumn than otherwise. It is my
intention to remain at Venice during the winter, probably, as it has
always been (next to the east) the greenest island of my imagination. It
has not disappointed me; though its evident decay would, perhaps, have
that effect upon others. But I have been familiar with ruins too long to
dislike desolation. Besides, I have fallen in love, which, next to falling
into the canal (which would be of no use, as I can swim,) is the best or
the worst thing I could do. I have got some extremely good apartments in
the house of a "Merchant of Venice," who is a good deal occupied with
business, and has a wife in her twenty-second year. Marianna (that is her
name) is in her, appearance altogether like an antelope. She has the large,
black, oriental eyes, with that peculiar expression in them, which is seen
rarely among _Europeans_--even the Italians--and which many of the Turkish
women give themselves by tinging the eyelid--an art not known out of that
country, I believe. This expression she has _naturally_--and something
more than this. In short, I cannot describe the effect of this kind of
eye--at least upon me. Her features are regular, and rather aquiline--mouth
small--skin clear and soft, with a kind of hectic colour--forehead
remarkably good; her hair is of the dark gloss, curl, and colour of Lady
J----'s; her figure is light and pretty, and she is a famous
songstress--scientifically so; her natural voice (in conversation, I mean,)
is very sweet; and the _naiveté_ of the Venetian dialect is always
pleasing in the mouth of a woman.
November 23.
You will perceive that my description, which was proceeding with the
minuteness of a passport, has been interrupted for several days. In the
meantime.
* * * * *
December 5.
Since my former dates, I do not know that I have much to add on the
subject, and, luckily, nothing to take away; for I am more pleased than
ever with my Venetian, and begin to feel very serious on that point--so
much so, that I shall be silent.
* * * * *
By way of divertisement, I am studying daily, at an Armenian monastery,
the Armenian language. I found that my mind wanted something craggy to
break upon; and this--as the most difficult thing I could discover here
for an amusement--I have chosen, to torture me into attention. It is a
rich language, however, and would amply repay any one the trouble of
learning it. I try, and shall go on;--but I answer for nothing, least of
all for my intentions or my success. There are some very curious MSS. in
the monastery, as well as books; translations also from Greek originals,
now lost, and from Persian and Syriac, &c.; besides works of their own
people. Four years ago the French instituted an Armenian professorship.
Twenty pupils presented themselves on Monday morning, full of noble ardour,
ingenuous youth, and impregnable industry. They persevered with a courage
worthy of the nation and of universal conquest, till Thursday; when
_fifteen_ of the _twenty_ succumbed to the six and twentieth letter of the
alphabet. It is, to be sure, a Waterloo of an Alphabet--that must be said
for them. But it is so like these fellows, to do by it as they did by
their sovereigns--abandon both; to parody the old rhymes, "Take a thing
and give a thing"--"Take a king and give a king. They are the worst of
animals, except their conquerors.
I hear that that H----n is your neighbour, having a living in Derbyshire.
You will find him an excellent hearted fellow, as well as one of the
cleverest; a little, perhaps, too much japanned by preferment in the
church and the tuition of youth, as well as inoculated with the disease of
domestic felicity, besides being overrun with fine feelings about women
and _constancy_ (that small change of love, which people exact so rigidly,
receive in such counterfeit coin, and repay in baser metal;) but,
otherwise, a very worthy man, who has lately got a pretty wife, and (I
suppose) a child by this time. Pray remember me to him, and say that I
know not which to envy most--his neighbourhood, him, or you.
Of Venice I shall say little. You must have seen many descriptions; and
they and they are most of them like. It is a poetical place; and classical,
to us, from Shakspeare and Otway. I have not yet sinned against it in
verse, nor do I know that I shall do so, having been tuneless since I
crossed the Alps, and feeling, as yet, no renewal of the "estro." By the
way, I suppose you have seen "Glenarvon." Madame de Staël lent it me to
read from Copet last autumn. It seems to me that, if the authoress had
written the _truth_, and nothing but the truth--the whole truth--the
romance would not only have been more _romantic_, but more entertaining.
As for the likeness, the picture can't be good--I did not sit long enough.
When you have leisure, let me hear from and of you, believing me ever and
truly yours most affectionately.