[Rome: autumn 1860.]

In one word, my dearest Fanny, I will thank you for what is said and not
said, for sympathy true and tender each way. It is a great privilege to
be able to talk and cry; but _I cannot_, you know. I have suffered very
much, and feel tired and beaten. Now, it's all being lived down; thrown
behind or pushed before, as such things must be if we _are_ to live: not
forgetting, not feeling any tie slackened, loving unchangeably, and
believing how mere a _line_ this is to overstep between the living and
the dead.

Do you know, the first thing from without which did me the least good
was a letter from America, from dear Mrs. Stowe. Since we parted here in
the spring, neither of us had written, and she had not the least idea of
my being unhappy for any reason. In fact, her thought was to
congratulate me on public affairs (knowing how keenly I felt about
them), but her letter dwelt at length upon spiritualism. She had heard,
she said, for the fifth time from her boy (the one who was drowned in
that awful manner through carrying out a college jest) without any
seeking on her part. She gave me a minute account of a late
manifestation, not seeming to have a doubt in respect to the verity and
identity of the spirit. In fact, secret things were told, reference to
private papers made, the evidence was considered most satisfying. And
she says that all of the communications descriptive of the _state_ of
that Spirit, though coming from very different mediums (some high
Calvinists and others low infidels) tallied exactly. She spoke very
calmly about it, with no dogmatism, but with the strongest disposition
to receive the facts of the subject with all their bearings, and at
whatever loss of orthodoxy or sacrifice of reputation for common sense.
I have a high appreciation of her power of forming opinions, let me add
to this. It is one of the most vital and growing minds I ever knew.
Besides the inventive, the critical and analytical faculties are strong
with her. How many women do you know who are _religious_, and yet
analyse point by point what they believe in? She lives in the midst of
the traditional churches, and is full of reverence by nature; and yet if
you knew how fearlessly that woman has torn up the old cerements and
taken note of what is a dead letter within, yet preserved her faith in
essential spiritual truth, you would feel more admiration for her than
even for writing 'Uncle Tom.' There are quantities of irreverent women
and men who profess infidelity. But this is a woman of another order,
observe, devout yet brave in the outlook for truth, and considering, not
whether a thing be _sound_, but whether it be true. Her views are
Swedenborgian on some points, beyond him where he departs from orthodoxy
on one or two points, adhering to the orthodox creed on certain others.
She used to come to me last winter and open out to me very freely, and I
was much interested in the character of her intellect. Dr. Manning
tried his converting power on her. 'It might have answered,' she said,
'if one side of her mind had not confuted what the other side was
receptive of.' In fact, she caught at all the beauty and truth and good
of the Roman Catholic symbolism, saw what was better in it than
Protestantism, and also, just as clearly, what was worse. She admired
Manning immensely, and was very keen and quick in all her admirations;
had no national any more than ecclesiastical prejudices; didn't take up
Anglo-Saxon outcries of superiority in morals and the rest, which makes
me so sick from American and English mouths. By the way (I must tell
Sarianna _that_ for M. Milsand!) a clever Englishwoman (married to a
Frenchman) told Robert the other day that she believed in 'a special
hell for the Anglo-Saxon race on account of its hypocrisy.'...

Meanwhile you will care for Roman news, and I have not much to tell you.
I am very much in my corner, and very quiet. Robert, who has been most
dear and tender and considerate to me through my trial, kept all the
people off, and even now, when the door is open a little, gloomy
lionesses with wounded paws don't draw the public, I thank God, and I am
not much teased, if at all. Sir John Bowring came with a letter of
introduction, and intimate relations with Napoleon to talk of, and he
has confirmed certain views of mine which I was glad to hear confirmed
by a disciple of Bentham and true liberal of distinguished intelligence.
He said that nothing could be more ludicrous and fanatical than the
volunteer movement in England rising out of the most incredible panic
which ever arose without a reason. I only hope that if the volunteers
ever have to act indeed, they may behave better than at Naples, where
they left the worst impression of English morals and discipline. They
embarked to return home dead drunk all of them, and the drunkenness was
not the worst. Sir John Bowring has been ill since he came, so perhaps
he may go before I see him again. Then Madame Swab [Schwabe], whom I
slightly knew in Paris, has been with me to-day, talking on Italian
affairs. There is room for anxiety about the Neapolitans; but don't
believe in exaggerations: we shall do better than our enemies desire.
There will be war probably....

Robert has taken to modelling under Mr. Story (at his studio) and is
making extraordinary progress, turning to account his studies on
anatomy. He has copied already two busts, the Young Augustus and the
Psyche, and is engaged on another, enchanted with his new trade, working
six hours a day. In the evening he generally goes out as a
bachelor--free from responsibility of crinoline--while I go early to
bed, too happy to have him a little amused. In Florence he never goes
anywhere, you know; even here this winter he has had too much gloom
about him by far. But he looks entirely well--as does Penini. I am weak
and languid. I struggle hard to live on. I wish to live just as long as
and no longer than to grow in the soul.

May God bless you, dearest Fanny. Write.

America is making me very anxious just know. If they compromise in the
north it is a moral death, but a merely physical dissolution of the
States would be followed by a resurrection 'in honor,' and I should not
fear. What are you painting?

Your affectionate as ever
BA.

Did you see Lacordaire received? Those are things I care to see in
Paris, wishing, however, to Guizot, the king of Prussia, and all prigs,
the contempt they deserve.