Alphonse de LAMARTINE. Autograph letter, Florence, April 18, 1827, [to the Marquise de Montcalm]; 4 pages, in-8. He is pleased that she liked his gift (a cup decorated with birds), rather than sending her—and especially the public—the verses, good or bad, that I write, or might write, or ought to write: the inspiration just isn’t there. The wind is blowing elsewhere; the seed would fall on a rock. I no longer foresee when or how I will become a poet again. But I am happy in my non-poetic career—that is enough. You ask me why I love you? I have no idea: I don’t care to know; a certain instinct of involuntary affection has always guided me better than the best reasons in the world for loving what I have loved a little, a lot, or too much. I now try to love as little as possible [four crossed-out lines follow] Life is sad; I agree with you […] I am often gloomy […] “The English kill themselves in the fall, and I gnaw at myself in the spring.” Since his minister Lamaisonfort is not returning, Lamartine will not be able to go to Paris; that will have to wait until 1828. For the summer, he has rented “a lovely villa by the sea near Livorno. I’m settling my wife and household there, and I’ll come and go as I please. When I see the sea, I feel less oppressed. I’d like to set sail for the East, but it seems the Baron of Damascus will not grant this poetic wish”…