it impossible. I then
asked him whether he had to work a great deal to compose his beautiful
poetry; he shewed me four or five pages which he had covered with
erasures and words crossed and scratched out only because he had wished
to bring fourteen lines to perfection, and he assured me that he had
never been able to compose more than that number in one day. He confirmed
my knowledge of a truth which I had found out before, namely, that the
very lines which most readers believe to have flowed easily from the
poet's pen are generally those which he has had the greatest difficulty
in composing.
"Which of your operas," I enquired, "do you like best?"
"'Attilio Regolo; ma questo non vuol gia dire che sia il megliore'."
"All your works have been translated in Paris into French prose, but the
publisher was ruined, for it is not possible to read them, and it proves
the elevation and the power of your poetry."
"Several years ago, another foolish publisher ruined himself by a
translation into French prose of the splendid poetry of Ariosto. I laugh
at those who maintain that poetry can be translated into prose."
"I am of your opinion."
"And you are right."
He told me that he had never written an arietta without composing the
music of it himself, but that as a general rule he never shewed his music
to anyone.
"The French," he added, "entertain the very strange belief that it is
possible to adapt poetry to music already composed."
And he made on that subject this very philosophical remark:
"You might just as well say to a sculptor, 'Here is a piece of marble,
make a Venus, and let her expression be shewn before the features are
chiselled.'"
I went to the Imperial Library, and was much surprised to meet De la Haye
in the company of two Poles, and a young Venetian whom his father had
entrusted to him to complete his education. I believed him to be in
Poland, and as the meeting recalled interesting recollections I was
pleased to see him. I embraced him repeatedly with real pleasure.
He told me that he was in Vienna on business, and that he would go to
Venice during the summer. We paid one another several visits, and hearing
that I was rather short of money he lent me fifty ducats, which I
returned a short time after. He told me that Bavois was already
lieutenant-colonel in the Venetian army, and the news afforded me great
pleasure. He had been fortunate enough to be appointed adjutant-general
by M. Morosini,
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