International House,

Berkeley, Feb. 22

Dear Red:

You can imagine how happy I was to hear that the story is going
to be published in the Southern Review. This is the very kind of
success I care for; and your persistently good opinion of the thing
makes me feel just fine. I am much more grateful to you than I can
say - I feel, as it were, on more concrete grounds, and I am longing
to hear what Cinina and you think of the one I am writing now. It
should have been finished long ago, but after all I don't see much
point in rushing because this is the kind of story that must be
written exactly the way I feel it should, and it is mighty hard to
translate that feeling in words.

I think it is perfectly all right about your sending up the proof,
and I expect the cuts you are referring to will be opportune; in fact,
the very first part was written quite a long time ago, when I thought
every word I put down was very precious. I don't know if you have
thought of a title. Referring to the father's words towards the end
I thought of "A Man of Order," which is not so hot though.

I wish your summer plans were settled, and you know towards where.
I know you have a very great amount of work ahead of you but why not
consider Italy as the place for it. Please try to do something about
it; I know going to Italy was Cinina's firm idea and I don't suppose
she had given it up. I wish we would be able to taste together the
wine to which my father in recent post-cards referred with definite
pride.

I have written Riccardo and Praz about Dixon Wecter. I can't write
to Francesco Pasinetti because, although he is my brother, I actually
don't know where he keeps himself these days. I haven't had news for
two or three months. Moreover, he is in Rome, and that is the place
where Praz would meet Wecter's interests better than anybody else.
I wish I could write to Wecter myself but I haven't his address. So
I thought of including two notes for Praz and Selvatico in here, and
I wonder whether you would mind sending them when you write him. Sel-
vatico is possibly my best friend and he would be useful to Wecter,
I suppose, also because he knows the Venetian snobs and he speaks En-
glish.

Praz, of course, will be found at the University or else at his
home in Palazzo Ricci, Via Giulia 147. Riccardo Selvatico's address
is San Lio 5613, Venice, phone number 22988.

In Rome he might also look up a friend of mine, Vera Signorelli,
any day at 26, piazza di Spagna. That of course is the house where
Keats died and they have now the memorial library of which Vera is
secretary or something. He might just drop in any time because it is
open to the public. I have written the girl anyway. She might be in-
teresting because also she knows many writing people; unless she is
overcome by a crisis of shyness, which is quite possible.

Coming back to us, I firmly state that I am still cherishing the
hope of a gathering in the Old Country - and the fact of being there
and that of writing the novel DO NOT exclude each other. On the con-
trary, for instance, being far from the background of the novel will
prove helpful (cf. Joyce writing Ulysses in Trieste-Zurick-Paris, etc)

I would like to go on writing but I have to mail this now because
I am already late as I got yours three days ago - but in the meantime
I have gone through practically hell because of a tooth, or rather
because of the forced absence of it. I see no end and I shall have
la dentiera pretty early in life, I expect.

I had a letter from Henry who is in Aberdeen and apparently quite
sad. I heard Colette is getting married and I am afraid to a merchant
of cheese. God, I hope I am wrong.

And thank you again. Please tell Cinina to write sometimes. Affet-
tuosissimi saluti to you both,