st 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