[Rome: about March 1860.]

Dearest Sarianna,--It is impossible to have a regret for dear Lady
Elgin. She has been imprisoned here under double chains too long. To be
out of the dark and the restraint is a blessing to that spirit, and must
be felt so by all who love her. Of course I shall write to Lady Augusta
Bruce....

No, I don't think there is much to be forgiven by my countrymen in my
book. What I reproach them for, none of them deny. They certainly took
no part in the war, nor will they if there is more war, and certainly
the existence of the rifle clubs is a fact.

Robert and I began to write on the Italian question together, and our
plan was (Robert's own suggestion!) to publish jointly. When I showed
him my ode on Napoleon he observed that I was gentle to England in
comparison to what he had been, but after Villafranca (the Palmerston
Ministry having come in) he destroyed his poem and left me alone, and I
determined to stand alone. What Robert had written no longer suited the
moment; but the poetical devil in me burnt on for an utterance. I have
spoken nothing but historical truths, as far as the outline is
concerned. But the spirit of the whole, is, of course, opposed to the
national feeling, or I should not in my preface suppose it to be
offended.

With every deference to you, dearest Sarianna, I cannot think that you
who live, as the English usually do, quite aside and apart from French
society, can judge of the interest in France for Italy. I see French
letters--letters of French men and women--giving a very contrary
impression. The French newspapers give a very contrary impression. And
the statistics of books and pamphlets published and circulated in France
on the Italian question this year are in most prodigious disaccord with
such a conclusion. Compare them with the same statistics in England, and
then judge.

Besides, the English, to do them justice, can be active and generous in
any cause in which they are really interested, and it is a fact that we
could not get up a subscription in England even for Garibaldi's muskets
lately, while France is always giving.

Not that there are not, and have not been, many English of generous
sympathies towards Italy. That I well know. But it is a small,
protesting minority. Lord John has done very well, as far as words can
go, but it has been simply in giving effect to the intentions of France,
who wanted much a respectable conservative Power like England to endorse
her bill of revolution with the retrograde European Governments.

I will spare what I think of the treatment in England of the Savoy
question. We are losing all moral prestige in the eyes of the world,
with our small jealousies and factional struggles for power.

Ah! dear Sarianna, I don't complain for myself of an unappreciating
public--_I have no reason_. But, just for _that_ reason, I complain
more about Robert, only he does not hear me complain. To _you_ I may
say, that the blindness, deafness, and stupidity of the English public
to Robert are amazing. Of course Milsand had 'heard his name'! Well, the
contrary would have been strange. Robert _is_. All England can't prevent
his existence, I suppose. But nobody there, except a small knot of
pre-Raffaelite men, pretends to do him justice. Mr. Forster has done the
best in the press. As a sort of lion, Robert has his range in society,
and, for the rest, you should see Chapman's returns; while in America
he's a power, a writer, a poet. He is read--he lives in the hearts of
the people. 'Browning readings' here in Boston; 'Browning evenings'
there. For the rest, the English hunt lions too, Sarianna, but their
favourite lions are chosen among 'lords' chiefly, or 'railroad kings.'
'It's worth _eating much dirt_,' said an Englishman of high family and
character here, 'to get to Lady ----'s soiree.' Americans will eat dirt
to get to _us_. There's the difference. English people will come and
stare at _me_ sometimes, but physicians, dentists, who serve me and
refuse their fees, artists who give me pictures, friends who give up
their carriages and make other practical sacrifices, are _not
English_--no--though English Woolner was generous about a bust. Let _me_
be just at least.

There is a beautiful photograph of Wilde's picture of Pen on horseback,
which shall go to you, the likeness better than in the picture.

I can scarcely allude to the loss of my loved friend Mrs. Jameson. It's
a blot more on the world to me. Best love to you and the dear Nonno from
Pen and myself. The editor of the 'Atlas' writes to thank me for the
justice and courage of my international politics. English clergyman
stops at the door to say to the servant, 'he does not know me, but
applauds my sentiments.' So there may be ten just persons who spare

Your affectionate sister.