that he met
comparatively few of them; it was this freedom from social obligations
that contributed so much to the restful character of his sojourns, and
enabled him to give himself up to that ineffable enchantment of Venice. He
made a few friends, however, among Mrs. Bronson's brilliant circle, and
one of the notable figures among these was the old Russian noble and
diplomat, Prince Gagarin, who, born in Rome, had been educated in his own
country, and had represented Russia at the courts of Athens,
Constantinople, and Turin. Mrs. Bronson has told the story of one evening
when the poet and the old diplomat indulged in a mutual tournament of
music; "first one would sing, and then the other," Browning recalling
folk-songs of Russia which he had caught up in his visit to that country
fifty years before.

Another of Mrs. Bronson's inner circle, which included the Principessa
Montenegro, the mother of Queen Elena, and other notable figures, was the
Contessa Marcello, whom both the poet and his sister greatly liked; and
one radiant day they all accepted an invitation to visit the Contessa at
her villa at Mogliano, a short railway trip from Venice. The poet seemed
to much enjoy the brief journey, and at the station was the Contessa with
her landau, in which Mrs. Bronson, the poet, and his sister were seated,
while Miss Bronson rode one of the ponies on which some of the young
people had come down to greet the guests. After luncheon the Contessa,
with her young daughter, the Contessina, led their guests out in the
grounds to a pergola where coffee was served, and which commanded a vista
of a magnificent avenue of copper beeches, whose great branches met and
interlaced overhead. The Contessa was the favorite lady of honor at the
court of Queen Margherita, and she interested Mr. Browning very much by
speaking of her beloved royal mistress, and showing him some of the
handwriting of the Queen, which he thought characteristically graceful
and forcible. The Contessina and Miss Bronson, with others of the younger
people, seated themselves in rustic chairs to listen to every word from
the poet; and a Venetian sculptor, who was there, concealed himself in the
shrubbery and made a sketch of Browning. The Contessina, who, like all the
young Italian girls of high breeding and culture, kept an album of foreign
poetry, brought hers, and pleadingly asked Mr. Browning if he would write
in it for her. As usual, for the reasons already given, h