The
Caracci and their friends had vast force; not much depth, but enough
force to occupy one a good while,--and Domenichino, when good at all,
is very great.
Venice was a dream of enchantment; _there_ was no disappointment.
Art and life are one. There is one glow of joy, one deep shade of
passionate melancholy; Giorgione, as a man, I care more for now than
any of the artists, though he had no ideas.
In the first week, floating about in a gondola, I seemed to find
myself again.
I was not always alone in Venice, but have come through the fertile
plains of Lombardy, seen the lakes Garda and Maggiore, and a part of
Switzerland, alone, except for occasional episodes of companionship,
sometimes romantic enough.
In Milan I stayed a while, and knew some radicals, young, and
interested in ideas. Here, on the lake, I have fallen into contact
with some of the higher society,--duchesses, marquises, and the like.
My friend here is Madame Arconati, Marchioness Visconti. I have
formed connection with a fair and brilliant Polish lady, born Princess
Radzivill. It is rather pleasant to come a little on the traces of
these famous histories; also, both these ladies take pleasure in
telling me of spheres so unlike mine, and do it well.
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