1. EYE OF ITALY
2. LITTLE FLOWERS
3. A SACRIFICE AT PRATO
4. OF POETS AND NEEDLEWORK
5. OF BOILS AND THE IDEAL
6. THE SOUL OF A FACT
7. QUATTROCENTISTERIA
8. THE BURDEN OF NEW TYRE
9. ILARIA, MARIOTA, BETTINA
10. CATS
11. THE SOUL OF A CITY
12. WITH THE BROWN BEAR
13. DEAD CHURCHES AT FOLIGNO
PROEM
Although you know your Italy well, you ask me, who
see her now for the first time, to tell you how I
find her; how she sinks into me; wherein she fulfils,
and wherein fails to fulfil, certain dreams and fancies
of mine (old amusements of yours) about her.
Here, truly, you show yourself the diligent collector
of human documents your friends have always believed
you; for I think it can only be appetite for acquisition,
to see how a man recognisant of the claims of modernity
in Art bears the first brunt of the Old Masters’
assault, that tempts you to risk a rechauffee
of Paul Bourget and Walter Pater, with ana
lightly culled from Symonds, and, perchance, the questionable
support of ponderous references out of Burckhardt.
In spite of my waiver of the title, you relish the
notion of a Modern face to face with Botticelli and
Mantegna and Perugino (to say nothing of that Giotto
who had so much to say!), artists in whom, you think
and I agree, certain impressions strangely positive
of many vanished aspects of life remain to be accounted
for, and (it may be) reconciled with modern visions
of Art and Beauty. Well! I am flattered and
touched by such confidence in my powers of expression
and your own of endurance. I look upon you as
a late-in-time Maecenas, generously resolved to defray
the uttermost charge of weariness that a young writer
may be encouraged to unfold himself and splash in
the pellucid Tuscan air. I cannot assert that
you are performing an act of charity to mankind, but
I can at least assure you that you are doing more
for me than if you had settled my accounts with Messr.
Cook and Sons, or Signora Vedova Paolini, my esteemed
landlady. A writer who is worth anything accumulates
more than he gives off, and never lives up to his
income. His difficulty is the old one of digestion,
Italian Art being as crucial for the modern as Italian
cookery. Crucial indeed! for diverse are the
ways of the Hyperboreans cheek by jowl with asciutta
and Tuscan tablewine, as any osteria will convince
you. To one man the oil is a delight: he
will soak himself in it till his thought swims viscid
in his pate. To another it is abhorrent:
straightway he calls for his German vinegar and drowns
