[Rome: about May 1860.]

[_The beginning of this letter is wanting_]

When the English were raging about Savoy, I heard a word or two from
Pantaleone which convinced me that the Imperial wickedness did not
strike him as the sin against the Holy Ghost precisely. In fact, I doubt
much that he (an intimate friend of Massimo d' Azeglio) knew all about
it before the war.

By the by, why does Azeglio write against Rome being the capital just
now? It seems to us all very ill-advised. Italy may hereafter select the
capital she pleases, but now her game ought to be to get Rome, as an
indispensable part of the play, as soon as possible. There are great
difficulties in the way--that's very sure. It's quite time, indeed, that
Mrs. Trollope's heart should warm a little towards the Emperor, for no
ruler has risked so much for a nation to which he did not belong (unless
he wished to conquer it) as Napoleon has for this nation. He has been
tortuous in certain respects--in the official presentation of the points
he was resolute on carrying--but from first to last there has been one
steady intention--the liberation of Italy without the confusion of a
general war. Moreover, his eyes are upon Venice, and have been since
Villafranca. What I _see_ in the very suggestion to England about
stopping Garibaldi from attacking the mainland was a preparation to the
English mind towards receiving the consequence of unity, namely, the
seizure of Venice. 'You must be prepared for that. You see where you are
going? You won't cry out when France joins her ally again!' Lord John
didn't see the necessity. No, of course he didn't. He never does see
except what he runs against. He protested to the last (by the Blue Book)
against G.'s attack; he was of opinion, to the last, that Italy would
be better in two kingdoms. But he _wouldn't intervene_. In which he was
perfectly right, of course, only that people should see where their road
goes even when they walk straight. And mark, if France had herself
prevented Garibaldi's landing, Lord John would simply have 'protested.'
_He said so._ France might have done it without the least inconvenience,
therefore, and she _did not_. She confined herself to observing that if
V.E. _might_ have Naples, he _must_ have Venice, and that there could be
no good in objecting to logical necessities of accepted situations. In
spite of which, every sort of weight was hung on the arms of France that
no aid should be given for Venetia. Certain things written to Austria,
and uttered through Lord Cowley, I can't forgive Lord John for; my heart
does not warm, except with rage. To think of writing only the other day
to an Austrian Court: '_All we can do for you_ is to use our strongest
influence with France that she should not help Italy against you in
Venetia. And in our opinion you will always be strong enough to baffle
Italy. Italy can't fight you alone.' The words I am not sure of, but the
idea is a transcript. And the threats uttered through Lord Cowley were
worse--morally hideous, I think.

Napoleon's position in France is hard enough of itself. Forty thousand
priests, with bishops of the colour of Mon. d'Orleans and company,
having, of course, a certain hold on the agricultural population which
forms so large a part of the basis of the imperial throne. Then add to
that the parties the 'Liberals' (so called) and others, who use this
question as a weapon simply. In the Senate and Legislative Body they
haven't forgotten how to talk, have they--these French? The passion and
confusion seem to have been extreme. After all, we shall get a working
majority, I do hope and trust, for all the intelligent supporters of the
Government are with us, and the Chamber will be dissolved at need. There
is talk of it already in Rome....

At last we see your advertisement. _Viva_ 'Agnes Tremorne'![89] We find
it in 'Orley Farm.' How admirably this last opens! We are both delighted
with it. What a pity it is that so powerful and idiomatic a writer
should be so incorrect grammatically and scholastically speaking! Robert
insists on my putting down such phrases as these: 'The Cleeve was
distant from Orley two miles, though it _could not be driven_ under
five.' '_One rises up the hill._' 'As good as _him_.' 'Possessing more
_acquirements_ than he would have _learned_ at Harrow.' _Learning
acquirements!_ Yes, they are faults, and should be put away by a
first-rate writer like Anthony Trollope. It's always worth while to be
correct. But do understand through the pedantry of these remarks that we
are full of admiration for the book. The movement is so excellent and
straightforward--walking like a man, and 'rising up-hill,' and not going
round and round, as Thackeray has taken to do lately. He's clever
always, but he goes round and round till I'm dizzy, for one, and don't
know where I am. I think somebody has tied him up to a post, leaving a
tether. Dearest Isa, the day before yesterday I had two letters from
Madame M---- to ask us to take rooms. He is coming directly to Rome. She
says he has much to tell me, and it's evident, of course, that an
Italian senator, native to the Roman States, wouldn't come here just now
without mission or permission. I am full of expectation, but will say no
more.

Dearest Isa, have I been long in writing indeed? You see, I let so many
letters accumulate which I hadn't the heart to reply to, that, on taking
up the account, I had over much to do in writing letters. Then I have
been working a little at some Italian lyrics. Three more are gone lately
to the 'Independent,' and another is ready to go. All this, with helping
Pen to prepare for the Abbe, has filled my hands, and they are soon
tired, my Isa, nowadays. When the sun goes down, I am down. At eight I
generally am in bed, or little after. And people will come in
occasionally in the day, and annul me. I had a visit from Lady Annabella
Noel lately, Lord Byron's granddaughter. Very quiet, and very intense, I
should say. She is going away, and I shall not see her more than that
once, I dare say; but she looked at me so with her still deep eyes, and
spoke so feelingly, that I kissed her when she went away. Another new
acquaintance is Lady Marion Alford, the Marquis of Northampton's
daughter, very eager about literature and art and Robert, for all which
reasons I should care for her; also Hatty calls her divine. I thought
there was the least touch of affectation of fussiness, but it may not be
so. She knelt down before Hatty the other day and gave her--placed on
her finger--the most splendid ring you can imagine, a ruby in the form
of a heart, surrounded and crowned with diamonds. Hatty is frankly
delighted, and says so with all sorts of fantastical exaggerations.

Tell me what you think of the photographs which Robert sends, with his
best love. I think the head perfect, and the other very poetical and
picturesque. I wish I had mine to send Kate, tell her with my dear love,
but I have not one, nor can get one. Perhaps I may have to sit again
before leaving Rome, and then she shall be remembered. And Robert will
give her his.

Pray don't apologise for your Borden. He is very much to be liked. Mrs.
Bruen is charmed. He has been three times to talk with me, and Robert
has called on him twice. Robert is quite vexed at your 'pretension'
about having friends not good enough for his acquaintance. Yes, really
he was vexed. 'Isa _never_ understood him--not she!'

Is there not reason, we may murmur? But the truth is he is always ready
(be pleased to know) to honour your drafts in acquaintanceship, and
chooses to be considered ready.

[_The remainder of this letter is wanting_]