with invitations and opportunities, and could only mourn, like so many Americans since her day, that these delightful hospitalities encroached sadly upon the time to be given to galleries and museums.
In Paris she saw La Mennais, Béranger, and George Sand; went constantly to the lectures, galleries, and Chamber of Deputies; saw Rachel act and heard Chopin play. She found her “Essay on American Literature” translated and published in “La Revue Indépendante,” though the satisfaction was mitigated by having her name announced as Elizabeth. She worked away at learning colloquial French until she spoke it fluently, though not accurately; and her teacher pleased her by saying that her accent was like that of an Italian, though this from French lips can never be much of a compliment. Yet with her deep love for Italy she was probably pleased at the thought of speaking French like an Italian, just as Englishmen are said to be pleased at speaking it like Englishmen — which, to do them justice, they usually accomplish. On February 25, 1847, she left Paris for Italy, and in early spring established herself for a time in Rome. In summer she went to the different Italian cities, then to Switzerland. In October she settled herself for the winter in Rome, whose wonderful inspiration she profoundly felt. She says of her own first experiences there, “All mean things were forgotten in the joy that rushed over me like a flood.” She felt, as so many Americans
