myself!), so I sent out and hired one, buying the mask.  And very much amused I was.  I like to see these characteristic things. (I shall never rest, Sarianna, till I risk my reputation at the Bal de l’Opera at Paris.) Do you think I was satisfied with staying in the box?  No, indeed.  Down I went, and Robert and I elbowed our way through the crowd to the remotest corner of the ball below.  Somebody smote me on the shoulder and cried ’Bella mascherina!’ and I answered as imprudently as one feels under a mask.  At two o’clock in the morning, however, I had to give up and come away (being overcome by the heavy air), and ingloriously left Robert and our friends to follow at half-past four.  Think of the refinement and gentleness—­yes, I must call it superiority—­of this people, when no excess, no quarrelling, no rudeness nor coarseness can be observed in the course of such wild masked liberty.  Not a touch of license anywhere.  And perfect social equality!  Ferdinando side by side in the same ballroom with the Grand Duke, and no class’s delicacy offended against!  For the Grand Duke went down into the ballroom for a short time.  The boxes, however, were dear.  We were on a third tier, yet paid 2_l._ 5_s._ English, besides entrance money.  I think that, generally speaking, theatrical amusements are cheaper in Paris, in spite of apparent cheapnesses here.  The pit here and stalls are cheap.  But ’women in society’ can’t go there, it is said; and you must take a whole box, if you want two seats in a box—­which seems to me monstrous.  People combine generally....

Ever affectionate
BA.

I meant to write only a word—­and see!  May it not be overweight!

* * * * *

To Mrs. Jameson

Florence:  April 9 [1857].

Dearest Madonna,—­I must not wait, lest I miss you in your transit to Naples; thank you for your dear letter, then.  The weather has burst suddenly into summer (though it rains a little this morning), and I have been let out of prison to drive in the Cascine and to Bellosguardo.  Beautiful, beautiful Florence.  How beautiful at this time of year!  The trees stand in their ‘green mist’ as if in a trance of joy.  Oh, I do hope nothing will drive us out of our Paradise this summer, for I seem to hate the North more ‘unnaturally’ than ever.

Mrs. Stowe has just arrived, and called here yesterday and this morning, when Robert took her to see the Salvators at the end of our street.  I like her better than I thought I should—­that is, I find more refinement in her voice and manner—­no rampant Americanisms.  Very simple and gentle, with a sweet voice; undesirous of shining or poser-ing, so it seems to me.  Never did lioness roar more softly (that is quite certain); and the temptations of a sudden enormous popularity should be estimated, in doing her full justice.  She is nice-looking, too; and there’s something strong and copious and characteristic in her dusky wavy hair.  For