to stand on our own feet. The
vain talk about Napoleon's intervening militarily on behalf of the Grand
Duke has simply been the consequence of statements without foundation
in the English and German papers; and also in some French Ultramontane
papers. Napoleon with his own lips, _after the peace_, assured our
delegates that no force should be used. And he has repeated this on
every possible occasion. At Villafranca, when the Emperor of Austria
insisted on the return of the Dukes, he acceded, on condition they were
recalled. He 'did not come to Italy to dispossess the sovereigns,' as he
had previously observed, but to give the power of election to the
people. Before we left Rome this spring he had said to the French
ambassador, 'If the Tuscans like to recall their Grand Duke, _qu'est-ce
que cela me fait_?' He simply said the same at Villafranca.

Count de Reiset was sent to Florence, Modena, and Parma, to
'_constater_,' not to '_impose_,' and the whole policy of Napoleon has
been to draw out a calm and full expression of the popular mind. Nobly
have the people of Italy responded. Surely there is not in history a
grander attitude than this assumed by a nation half born, half
constituted, scarcely named yet, but already capable of self-restraint
and dignity, and magnanimous faith. We are full of hope, and should be
radiant with joy, except for Venetia.

Dearest friend, the war did more than 'give a province to Piedmont.' The
first French charge _freed Italy potentially_ from north to south. At
this moment Austria cannot stir anywhere. Here 'we live, breathe, and
have our national being.' Certainly, if Napoleon did what the 'Times'
has declared he would do--intervene with armed force against the people,
prevent the elections, or _tamper_ with the elections by means of--such
means as he was 'familiar' with; if he did these things, I should cry
aloud, 'Immoral, vile, a traitor!' But the facts deny all these
imputations. He has walked steadily on along one path, and the
development of Italy as a nation is at the end of it.

Of course the first emotion on the subject of the peace was rage as
well as grief. For one day in Florence all his portraits and busts
disappeared from the shop windows; and I myself, to Penini's extreme
disgust (who insisted on it that his dear Napoleon couldn't do anything
wrong, and that the fault was in the telegraph), wouldn't let him wear
his Napoleon medal. Afterwards--as Ferdinando said--'Siamo s