Several were nobly handsome, and danced admirably. The _saltarello_
enchants me; in this is really the Italian wine, the Italian sun.
The Pope, in receiving the councillors, made a speech, intimating that
he meant only to improve, not to _reform_ and should keep things safe
locked with the keys of St. Peter.
I was happy the first two months of my stay here, seeing all the great
things at my leisure. But now, after a month of continuous rain, Rome
is no more Rome. The atmosphere is far worse than that of Paris. It
is impossible to walk in the thick mud. The ruins, and other great
objects, always solemn, appear terribly gloomy, steeped in black rain
and cloud; and my apartment, in a street of high houses, is dark all
day. The bad weather may continue all this month and all next. If I
could use the time for work, I should not care; but this climate makes
me so ill, I can do but little.
TO C.S.
_Rome, Jan_. 12, 1848.--My time in Lombardy and Switzerland was a
series of beautiful pictures, dramatic episodes, not without some
original life in myself. When I wrote to you from Como, I had a
peaceful season. I floated on the lake with my graceful Polish
countess, hearing her stories of heroic sorrow; or I walked in the
delicious gardens of the villas, with many another summer friend.
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