But—­’here comes the Selah and the voice is hushed’—­I will speak of other things.  When we are together one day—­the days I believe in—­I mean to set about that reconsidering ’Sordello’—­it has always been rather on my mind—­but yesterday I was reading the ‘Purgatorio’ and the first speech of the group of which Sordello makes one struck me with a new significance, as well describing the man and his purpose and fate in my own poem—­see; one of the burthened, contorted souls tells Virgil and Dante—­

    Noi fummo gia tutti per forza morti,
    E peccatori infin’ all’ ultim’ ora: 
    QUIVI—­lume del ciel ne fece accorti
    Si che, pentendo e perdonando, fora
    Di vita uscimmo a Dio pacificati
    Che del disio di se veder n’accora.[1]

Which is just my Sordello’s story ... could I ‘do’ it off hand, I wonder—­

And sinners were we to the extreme hour; Then, light from heaven fell, making us aware, So that, repenting us and pardoned, out Of life we passed to God, at peace with Him Who fills the heart with yearning Him to see.

There were many singular incidents attending my work on that subject—­thus, quite at the end, I found out there was printed and not published, a little historical tract by a Count V——­ something, called ’Sordello’—­with the motto ‘Post fata resurgam’!  I hope he prophesied.  The main of this—­biographical notices—­is extracted by Muratori, I think.  Last year when I set foot in Naples I found after a few minutes that at some theatre, that night, the opera was to be ’one act of Sordello’ and I never looked twice, nor expended a couple of carlines on the libretto!

I wanted to tell you, in last letter, that when I spoke of people’s tempers you have no concern with ’people’—­I do not glance obliquely at your temper—­either to discover it, or praise it, or adapt myself to it.  I speak of the relation one sees in other cases—­how one opposes passionate foolish people, but hates cold clever people who take quite care enough of themselves.  I myself am born supremely passionate—­so I was born with light yellow hair:  all changes—­that is the passion changes its direction and, taking a channel large enough, looks calmer, perhaps, than it should—­and all my sympathies go with quiet strength, of course—­but I know what the other kind is.  As for the breakages of chairs, and the appreciation of Parisian meubles; manibus, pedibusque descendo in tuam sententiam, Ba, mi ocelle! (’What was E.B.  C?’ why, the first letter after, and not, E.B. B, my own B!  There was no latent meaning in the C—­but I had no inclination to go on to D, or E, for instance).

And so, love, Tuesday is to be our day—­one day more—­and then!  And meanwhile ‘care’ for me! a good word for you—­but my care, what is that!  One day I aspire to care, though!  I shall not go away at any dear Mr. K.’s coming!  They call me down-stairs to supper—­and my fire is out, and you keep me from feeling cold and yet ask if I am well?  Yes, well—­yes, happy—­and your own ever—­I must bid God bless you—­dearest!