_All' illustrissimo Signor Punch._
ILLUSTRIOUSEST SIR,--I feel myself in duty of to write to
her these few lines for to tell to her the my opinion of the of her
country. Ah, the beautiful England! One speaks in Italy of the _cielo
inglese_, when the sky is grey and overcast. For the first time I come
now in the my ship to the of her country. _Ecco_, the sky is blue! In
the our country so many things are blue--the sky, the sea, the lakes,
the distant mountains, but in the our language not there is the word
"blue." One says "azure" or "turquoise," but not the general term
"blue." Therefore before I come to England I think, "We Italians see
the colour blue, but not can say it, and these english have the word,
but see never the colour." And _ecco_ I arrive, and the sky is blue!
Not it is the blue of Napoli, not it is the blue of Geneva, and perhaps
it is to-day only, but _veramente_ it is blue. It is much curious.
Also I have found other things blue. Some time the sea is pale blue.
Some time the milk is pale blue. And one english says to me, "The
sea was rough and the wind blue," but this not can I understand. The
his friends say he likes chaff. _Diavolo_, what taste! But perhaps
the chaff is much helpful for the digestion, like the english brown
bread, which some brave men eat. The his friends say also, "He chaffs
till all is blue." Perhaps when one eats the chaff the eyesight is
altered. It is much curious. There are other things blue in England.
There are "the blues." One my friend says to me that this phrase is the
french _ennui_. Then I have not it seen yet, for it is always _festa_
since our arrival. I have heard that the blues are at Oxford and at
Cambridge, above all at the College of Girton. But the evening past
I saw the blue the most beautiful. Ah, the exquisite eyes! Ah, _la
bellissima signorina inglese!_ so graceful, so courteous, so beautiful!
And the her eyes were blue, so blue! Never have I seen a colour so
sweet. The sea at Napoli, the sky at Palermo, the lake at Bellagio--it
seems to me that they are grey and ugly when I think to the her eyes.
Ah, Signor _Punch_, Her is a man, Her can love, Her, I know it, admires
the beauty of the women! So to her I tell that those blue eyes have hit
the heart of the italian. Not in Italy, but in England, one sees the
blue the most divine.
Her I beg to accept the my compliments and I have the honour to say
myself.
Her Devotedest Servant,