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Beerbohm, Max, Sir, 1872-1956

"A Christmas Garland"

I hastened back to the
Palazzo Rezzonico before he could change his mind. I need hardly say
that Browning instantly consented to send the gondola. So large
and lovable was his nature that, had he owned a thousand of those
conveyances, he would not have hesitated to send out the whole fleet
in honour of any friend of any friend of his.
Next day, as I followed Ibsen down the Danielian water-steps into the
expectant gondola, my emotion was such that I was tempted to snatch
from him his neatly-furled umbrella and spread it out over his head,
like the umbrella beneath which the Doges of days gone by had made
their appearances in public. It was perhaps a pity that I repressed
this impulse. Ibsen seemed to be already regretting that he had
unbent. I could not help thinking, as we floated along the Riva
Schiavoni, that he looked like some particularly ruthless member of
the Council of Ten. I did, however, try faintly to attune him in
some sort to the spirit of our host and of the day of the year. I
adumbrated Browning's outlook on life, translating into Norwegian, I
well remember, the words "God's in His heaven, all's right with the
world." In fact I cannot charge myself with not having done what I
could. I can only lament that it was not enough.


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