lvi INTRODUCTION

report of the will, that all the pictures, sketches, and drawings, had been left to form a grand gallery; now, they tell me, it is the finished pictures only. Alas ! these are finished in a double sense-nothing but chilled fragments of paint on rotten canvas. The Claudites will have a triumph when they get into the National Gallery.¹

“I am longing to get home to see what has been found in his cellars and drawers, but I have a great deal to do here yet; perhaps I shall have to run home and return. Are you thinking of coming to town this season, or were you discouraged by the unfortunate result of last year?-nay, I am sure you will be up if only to see the Queen Anne Street pictures once more on the old walls, and I should be grieved if I did not meet you there.

“I was very sorry that I did not see Lady Barnes when she came to town. We were just leaving when she arrived. I was, besides, in much confusion, not only leaving for the Continent, but leaving the town house-I hope the last, as it was the first town house in which I shall ever live. The man who breakfasts with a brick wall opposite to him when he may have a green field, deserves to be bricked up in it.

“You will not be much interested in anything that I can tell you about Venice; you have enough to entertain you at home-the brave doings of our clever Ministry. I think, however, I shall make Effie write you an account of one of Marshal Radetzky’s balls, which I broke through my vows of retirement to take her to the other day at Verona. There was much of interest in it, but chiefly seeing the old Marshal and his intense solicitude that every one, and especially the ladies, should have enough to eat; standing behind their chairs at the supper table, reconnoitring the table as if it had been a field of battle, and running every now and then himself to the kitchen to order up the reserves.² I think, also, I must get you to write to Effie, in order to remind her that she has some friends in England; also, I do not know how I am to get her away from here, the Austrians have made such a pet of her that she declares if she ever leaves Venice it must be to go to Vienna. But, at any rate, pray write a single line either to Effie or me, saying how you all are-a letter will always find me, sent to the Poste Restante here; I have a direction, but it is a troublesome and long one, and the letter will be quite as safe at the Post Office. I must do the Austrians justice in this respect. My father writes to me twice a week, and I to him every day. I have been five months in Venice and never a letter has missed. I hope this will not be the first to be lost, for I am really getting very anxious to hear from you.

¹ For the reference here, see below, p. 408.

² See the letter from Ruskin given in Vol. X. pp. xxxi.-xxxii.

[Version 0.04: March 2008]