ll again!"

He told me that he had himself planted all the cypresses in the
cemetery; that he had the greatest attachment to them and to his dead
people; that since 1801 they had buried fifty-three thousand persons. In
showing some older monuments, there was that of a Roman girl of twenty,
with a bust by Bernini. She was a princess Bartorini, dead two centuries
ago: he said that, on opening her grave, they had found her hair
complete, and "as yellow as gold."[118] Some of the epitaphs at Ferrara
pleased me more than the more splendid monuments at Bologna; for
instance:--

"MARTINI LUIGI
IMPLORA PACE."

"LUCREZIA PICINI
IMPLORA ETERNA QUIETE."

Can anything be more full of pathos? Those few words say all that can be
said or sought, the dead had had enough of life; all they wanted was
rest, and this they _implore_!

There is all the helplessness and humble hope, and deathlike prayer,
that can arise from the grave--'implora pace.' I hope, whoever may
survive me, and shall see me put in the foreigners' burying-ground at
the Lido, within the fortress by the Adriatic, will see those two words,
and no more, put over me. I trust they won't think of "pickling, and
bringing me home to clod or Blunderbuss Hall." I am sure my bones would
not rest in an English grave, or my clay mix with the earth of that
country. I believe the thought would drive me mad on my death-bed, could
I suppose that any of my friends would be base enough to convey my
carcass back to your soil. I would not even feed your worms if I could
help it.

So, as Shakespeare says of Mowbray, the banished Duke of Norfolk, who
died at Venice (see _Richard II._), that he, after fighting

"Against black Pagans, Turks and Saracens,
And toiled with works of war, retired himself
To Italy, and there, at _Venice_, gave
His body to that _pleasant_ country's earth.
And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long!"

Before I left Venice, I had returned to you your late, and Mr.
Hobhouse's sheets of Juan. Don't wait for further answers from me, but
address yours to Venice as usual. I know nothing of my own movements; I
may return there in a few days, or not for some time. All this depends
on circumstances. I left Mr. Hoppner very well, as well as his son and
Mrs. Hoppner. My daughter Allegra was well too, and is growing pretty;
her hair is growing darker, and her eyes are blue. Her temper and her
way