g
her little son in German, and herself reveled in French and German
romances. Her rest was always gained in lying on the sofa and reading
novels; Browning, who cared little for fiction, found his relaxation in
drawing. He taught Penini on the piano, and the boy read French, German,
and Italian every day, and played in the open air under the very shadow of
the Palazzo Pitti.

[Illustration: VILLA PETRAJA, NEAR FLORENCE.

"_... Try if Petraja, cool and green._
_Cure last night's fault with this morning's flowers._"

The Statue and the Bust.]

The Hawthornes, who had met the Brownings in London at a breakfast given
by Lord Houghton, came up from Rome, and Mrs. Hawthorne declared that the
grasp of Browning's hand "gives a new value to life." They passed an
evening at Casa Guidi, and Mrs. Hawthorne recorded that in the corridor,
as they entered, was a little boy who answered in the affirmative as to
whether he were "Penini," and who "looked like a waif of poetry,
lovelier still in the bright light of the drawing-room." Mr. Browning
instantly appeared with his cordial welcome, leading them into the salon
that looked out on the terrace, filled with growing plants. From San
Felice there came the chanting of music, and the flowers, the melody, the
stars hanging low in the sky, all ablaze over San Miniato, with the poet
and his child, all conspired to entrance the sensitive and poetic Mrs.
Hawthorne. Then Mrs. Browning came in, "delicate, like a spirit, the
ethereal poet-wife, with a cloud of curls half concealing her face, and
with the fairy fingers that gave a warm, human pressure,--a very
embodiment of heart and intellect." Mrs. Hawthorne had brought her a
branch of pink roses, which Mrs. Browning pinned on her black velvet gown.

They were taken into the drawing-room, a lofty, spacious apartment where
Gobelin tapestries, richly carved furniture, pictures, and _vertu_ all
enchanted Mrs. Hawthorne, and they talked "on no very noteworthy topics,"
Hawthorne afterward recorded, though he added that he wondered that the
conversation of Browning should be so clear and so much to the purpose,
considering that in his poetry one ran "into the high grass of obscure
allusion." The poet Bryant and his daughter were present that evening, a
little to the regret of Mrs. Hawthorne, and there were tea and
strawberries, Mrs. Browning presiding at the tray, and Penini, "graceful
as Ganymede," passing the cake.

The Brownings le