all from that chariot of the
sun. But things look magnicently, and if I could tell you certain facts
(which I can't) you would admit it. Odo Russell, the English Minister
here (in an occult sense), who, with a very acute mind, is strongly
Russell and English, and was full of the English distrust of L.N., when
with us at Siena last September, came to me two days ago, and said, 'It
is plain now. The Emperor is rather Italian than French. He has worked,
and is working, only for Italy; and whatever has seemed otherwise has
been forced from him in order to keep on terms with his colleagues, the
kings and queens of Europe. Everything that comes out proves it more and
more.' In fact, he has risked everything for the Italians except _their
cause_. I am delighted, among other things, at Cavour's representation
of Italy at the Congress. Antonelli and his party are in desperation,
gnashing their teeth at the Tuileries. The position of the Emperor is
most difficult, but his great brain will master it. We are rather uneasy
about the English Ministry--its work in Congress; it might go out for me
(falling to pieces on the pitiful Suez question or otherwise), but we do
want it at Congress.

* * * * *

_To Mrs. Jameson_

28 Via del Tritone, Rome: February 22 [1860].

Dearest, naughtiest Mona Nina,--Where is the place of your soul, your
body abiding at Brighton, that never, no, never, do I hear from you? It
seems hard. Last summer I was near to slipping out of the world, and
then, except for a rap, you might have called on me in vain (and said
rap you wouldn't have believed in). Also, even this winter, even in this
Rome, the city of refuge, I have had an attack, less long and sharp,
indeed, but weakening, and, though I am well now, and have corrected the
proofs of a very thin and wicked 'brochure' on Italian affairs (in
verse, of course), yet still I am not too strong for cod-liver oil and
the affectionateness of such friends as you (I speak as if I had a shoal
of such friends--povera mi!). Write to me, therefore. Especially as the
English critics will worry me alive for my book and you will have to
say, 'Well done, critics!' so write before you read it, to say, 'Ba, I
love you.' That makes up for everything. Oh, I know you did write to me
in the summer. And then I wrote to you; and then there came a _pause_,
which is hard on me, I repeat.

Geddie has come here, lamenting also. Besides, we have been