_ToMariaCosway_
_Paris，July1，1787_
Youconclude，Madam，frommylongsilencethatIamgonetotheotherworld。Nothingelsewouldhavepreventedmywritingtoyousolong。Ihavenotthoughtofyoutheless，butItookapeeponlyintoElysium。Ientereditatonedoor，&cameoutatanother，havingseen，asIpast，onlyTurin，Milan，&Genoa。IcalculatedthehoursitwouldhavetakentocarrymeontoRome，buttheywereexactlysomanymorethanIhadtospare。Wasnotthisprovoking?
InthirtyhoursfromMilanIcouldhavebeenattheespousalsoftheDogeandtheAdriatic，butIamborntoloseeverythingIlove。Whywereyounotwithme?Somanyenchantingsceneswhichonlywantedyourpenciltoconsecratethemtofame。WheneveryougotoItalyyoumustpassattheColdeTende。YoumaygoinyourchariotinfulltrotfromNicetoTurin，asiftherewerenomountain。Buthaveyourpallet&pencilready：foryouwillbesuretostopinthepassage，atthechateaudeSaorgio。Imaginetoyourself，madam，acastle&
villagehangingtoacloudinfront，ononehandamountaincloventhroughtoletpassagurglingstream；ontheotherariver，overwhichisthrownamagnificentbridge；thewholeformedintoabason，it’ssidesshaggedwithrocks，olivetrees，vines，herds，&c。I