Part 26 (1/2)

VENICE, March 26, 1891.

It is pelting cats and dogs. _Venetia bella_ has ceased to be _bella_.

The water excites a feeling of dejected dreariness, and one longs to hasten somewhere where there is sun.

The rain has reminded me of my raincoat (the leather one); I believe the rats have gnawed it a little. If they have, send it to be mended as soon as you can....

How is Signor Mongoose? I am afraid every day of hearing that he is dead.

In describing the cheapness of Venetian life yesterday, I overdid it a bit.

It is Madame Merezhkovsky's fault; she told me that she and her husband paid only six francs per week each. But instead of per week, read per day.

Anyway, it is cheap. The franc here goes as far as a rouble.

We are going to Florence.

May the Holy Mother bless you.

I have seen t.i.tian's Madonna. It's very fine. But it is a pity that here fine works are mixed up side by side with worthless things, that have been preserved and not flung away simply from the spirit of conservatism all-present in such creatures of habit as _messieurs les hommes_. There are many pictures the long life of which is quite incomprehensible.

The house where Desdemona used to live is to let.

BOLOGNA, March 28, 1891.

I am in Bologna, a town remarkable for its arcades, slanting towers, and Raphael's pictures of ”Cecilia.” We are going on to-day to Florence.

FLORENCE, March 29, 1891.

I am in Florence. I am worn out with racing about to museums and churches.

I have seen the Venus of Medici, and I think that if she were dressed in modern clothes she would be hideous, especially about the waist.

The sky is overcast, and Italy without sun is like a face in a mask.

P. S.--Dante's monument is fine.

FLORENCE, March 30, 1891.

I am in Florence. To-morrow we are going to Rome. It's cold. We have the spleen. You can't take a step in Florence without coming to a picture-shop or a statue-shop.

P. S.--Send my watch to be mended.