ITALIAN ROMANCE 



It is no effort to see those long-dead men and 

 women in their brave clothes, the big women of 

 Palma with their golden hair, the Violantes, 

 Simonetta, that reed-like spirit of the Renais- 

 sance ; the secret women of Leonardo, all the 

 great wonders and beauties of those women 

 Veronese painted, I see them all. And there are 

 little boys with flaxen hair playing on flutes and 

 mandolines, like the child angels Carpaccio drew. 

 The Italy of Romance is always a garden to me, 

 with Paradises as the Borghesi had, contrived 

 with shades of myrtils, cypresse and other trees, 

 with pretty murmuring streams and fountains 

 and bass-relievos. There should be a herd of deer 

 here, and nets to catch woodcock in the trees, 

 and a Vivarie containing among other things that 

 exotic fowl the ostridge." 



I, too, could see the garden fill with ghosts, 

 but mine, somehow, were in periwigs and three- 

 cornered hats and cloaks, and they bowed to ladies 

 in great hoops and high-heeled shoes, and all 

 were masked. 



" There is a certain atmosphere of the drawing- 

 room about this garden," I said. " I seem to 

 feel that the trees wear their best appearance. 



B 9 



