_Howells._ Oh, of course. In the first place, it gave me four years of almost uninterrupted leisure for study and literary work. There was, to be sure, occasionally an invoice to be verified, but that did not take much time. Secondly, it gave me a wider outlook upon the world than I had hitherto had. Without much study of a systematic kind, I had acquired a notion of English, French, German, and Spanish literature. I had been an eager and constant reader, always guided in my choice of books by my own inclination. I had learned German. Now, my first task was to learn Italian; and one of my early teachers was a Venetian priest, whom I read Dante with. This priest in certain ways suggested Don Ippolito in "A Foregone Conclusion." _Boyesen._ Then he took snuff, and had a supernumerary calico handkerchief? _Howells._ Yes. But what interested me most about him was his religious skepticism. He used to say, "The saints are the gods baptized." Then he was a kind of baffled inventor; though whether his inventions had the least merit I was unable to determine. _Boyesen._ But his love story? _Howells._ That was wholly fictitious. _Boyesen._ I remember you gave me, in 1874, a letter of introduction to a Venetian friend of yours, named Brunetta, whom I failed to find. _Howells._ Yes, Brunetta was the first friend I had in Venice. He was a distinctly Latin character--sober, well-regulated, and probity itself. _Boyesen._ Do you call that the Latin character? _Howells._ It is not our conventional idea of it; but it is fully as characteristic, if not more so, than the light, mercurial, pleasure-loving type which somehow in literature has displaced the other. Brunetta and I promptly made the discovery that we were congenial. Then we became daily companions. I had a number of other Italian friends too, full of beautiful _bonhomie_ and Southern sweetness of temperament. [Illustration: W. D. HOWELLS, AFTER HIS RETURN FROM VENICE.] _Boyesen._ You must have acquired Italian in a very short time? _Howells._ Yes; being domesticated in that way in the very heart of that Italy, which was then _Italia irridente_, I could not help steeping myself in its atmosphere and breathing in the language, with the rest of its very composite flavors. _Boyesen._ Yes; and whatever I know of Italian literature I owe largely to the completeness of that soaking process of yours. Your book on the Italian poets is one of the most charmingly sympathetic and illuminative bits of criticism that I know. _Howells._ I am glad you think so; but the book was never a popular success. Of all the Italian authors, the one I delighted in the most was Goldoni. His exquisite realism fascinated me. It was the sort of thing which I felt I ought not to like; but for all that I liked it immensely. _Boyesen._ How do you mean that you ought not to like it?