Casa Guidi

We more and more like our new apartment.
When I am tired of the sofa we go out on our terrace,
Where there is just room for two to walk --
Walk back and forward till the moon rises!
And the moon rises beautif'ly, and drops
Down the grey walls of San Felice.

We are getting on slowly in the furnishing department.
Robert wants a ducal bed for my room -- all gilding and carving.
I persuaded him to get a piano instead.

We have had an illumination throughout the city --
And you in England can't guess how beautiful 
A Florentine illumination is!
The Pitti Palace opposite us was drawn out in fire!
You would have thought that all the stars 
Out of Heaven had fallen into the piazza.

Sometimes he says to me: "Now, Ba, wouldn't it have been wrong 
If we two had not married?"

I do love this house -- there's the truth --
"Like a room in a novel," this room has been called.

From beef-steak pies up to fricassees Alessandro is a master.
And from bread and butter puddings to boiled apple-dumplings,
An artist. Only -- he doesn't like Wilson to interfere.
She declares that he repeats so many times a day:
"I've been to Paris -- I've been to London --
I have been to Germany -- I must Know."
Also he offends her by being of opinion that:
"London is by far the most immoral place in the world."
(He was there for a month once.)
And when she talks of the domestic happiness enjoyed in England.
He shakes his head disputatiously, and bids her
"Not to take her ideas of English domestic life from the
Signor and Signora -- who were quite exceptions --
He never saw anything like their way of
Living together certainly, though
"He had been to Paris, and been in London, and been in Germany --
No, the Signor was an angel, and there was the truth of it --
Yes the Signora was rather an angel too -- she never spent
Two thousand scudi on her dress, as he had seen women do --
So the Signor might well be fond of the Signora --
But still for a Signor to be always sitting with his
Wife in that way, was most extraordinary and
"He had been to Paris, and been to London" and so on 'da capo'-
So poor Wilson's head goes round she declares, and she
Leaves the field of battle from absolute exhaustion.

And now I begin to wonder naturally whether I may not be
Some sort of a real angel after all.
It is not so bad a thing, be sure, for a woman
To be loved by a man of imagination. He loves her through a lustrous atmosphere
Which not only keeps back the faults but produces
Continual novelty through its own changes.
If ever a being of a higher order lived among us
Without a glory round his head...he is such a being.
I feel to have the power of making him happy...
I feel to have it in my hands.
It is strange that anyone so brilliant should love me.
But true and strange it is...it is impossible for me to
doubt it anymore.
Here am I, in the seventh year of marriage,
Happier than on the seventh day!
The love not only stays, but grows.
He rises on me hour by hour and I am
Bound to him indeed with all the cords of my heart.
And Papa thinks I have sold my soul --
For genius...mere genius!

It is true that first words must be said --
But of the past I cannot speak. I believe
Hope had died in me long ago
Of reconciliation in this world...
Occupation is the only thing to keep one
On one's feet a little, that I know well.
Only it is hard sometimes to force oneself
Into occupation...there's -- the hardness.
I take up books -- but my heart goes walking up and down
Constantly through that house on Wimpole Street.
Till it is tired, tired, tired. The truth is,
I am made of paper, and it tears me.

We have fires now, though the weather is lovely for November
And I take long walks every day.
We have fires now, and as soon as the lamp comes
Robert sits in his armchair, and I curl myself up on the sofa.
Or perhaps on a cushion on the hearth,
And we say to one another
"Oh how delightful this is!
I do hope no one will come tonight."
So we read and talk and Robert can't keep from
Letting out the end of David Copperfield.
And I scold him and won't hear a word more.
Then the door opens, and enter
Baby holding by Wilson's finger.
"I can't think what he wants,"
Says Wilson, "but he would come."
Upon which he walks straight up to me and puts up one foot.
Pointing to it with his hand, pulling at my gown --
Perhaps you don't know what this means, but I do.
He wants to go to bed...
So I get up and go away with him and Wilson
And Robert calls after us: "Come back soon, Ba."
And I go back soon...