The temper prevailing among my Italian friends was very different. The
Italians, as their way was, were just like children, laughed at the
whole thing, were glad that the Prussians were "drubbing" the French,
to whom, as good patriots, they wished every misfortune possible. The
French had behaved like tyrants in Italy; now they were being paid out.
Besides which, the Prussians would not come to Paris. But if they did
come, they would be nice to them, and invite them to dinner, like
friends. Sometimes I attempted to reply, but came off badly. One day
that I had ventured a remark to a large and ponderous Roman lady, on
the ingratitude of the Italians towards the French, the good lady
jumped as if a knife had been stuck into her, and expatiated
passionately on the infamy of the French. The Romans were,--as everyone
knew,--the first nation on earth. The French had outraged them, had
dared to prevent them making their town the capital of Italy, by
garrisoning it with French soldiers who had no business there, so that
they had themselves asked for the Nemesis which was now overtaking
them, and which the Italians were watching with flashing eyes. She said
this, in spite of her anger, with such dignity, and such a bearing,
that one could not but feel that, if she were one day called upon to
adorn a throne, she would seat herself upon it as naturally, and as
free from embarrassment, as though it were nothing but a Roman woman's
birthright.