ALS, one page both sides, 8.5 x 11, January 4, 1920. Written from Palazzo Ferraro in Capri, a letter to New York publisher B. W. Huebsch, in full: “Today comes your letter, forwarded from London, containing the cheque for £25-7-7, which you tell me is a gift from Louis Untermeyer and Jean Untermeyer and Emile Tas. That is very good of them—though I feel a bit ashamed, receiving the money. But anyhow, it is a nice human thing of them. If I have luck with the exchange, I shall get Lira 1,250 for it: which means a good five weeks living for the two of us. Mila grazie alla gentilissima Signora ed ai signori [Thousand thanks to the very kind lady and the gentlemen]. We have buffeted our way down Italy, and landed here in Capri. It is a beautiful little island by itself; but it’s had so many civilizations rather violently poured over it, that ‘ ‘e don’t know where ‘e are’—But probably you’ve been here, along with every other mortal American who ever left the States. Compton Mackenzie is here ‘capo della Scuola inglese realistica,’ as a Rumanian next door assures me: also Brett Young, another of my contemporaries: ‘ime veritable Parnasses Anglaise Capri,’ as a most charming old, old Dutchman observes. We are at the top of this old palace, which is the very key of Capri: Morgano’s Cafe is downstairs. We have a roof and Naples and Vesuvius to the right, the gulf of Salerno behind, and the open sea to the left, shining. I get a strange nostalgia for I know not what. I stand on my roof and evoke so many gods, and look at the four corners of the winds, and begin to feel even a bit frightened, as if I’d got to the middle and did not quote know how to get out. The past is simply immense here, and not yet dead. I feel like bursting into tears, and begging Parttrenope and Leucothea please to let me go. Aber wohin?” In fine condition. In the wake of World War I, Lawrence and his German wife Frieda set off on their ‘savage pilgrimage,’ leaving Britain for Italy in November of 1919. Making their way to the island of Capri around Christmas, the couple resided there for two months, with Lawrence enjoying scarce few moments of their time on the ‘gossipy, villa-stricken, two-humped chunk of limestone.’ A lovely letter from his time abroad, written the same year as the publication of his celebrated Women in Love.
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