eight thousand men.[1] We shall see.  My faith in every species of Italian is, however, nearly tired out.  I don’t believe they are men at all, much less heroes and patriots.  Since I wrote last to you, I think we have had two revolutions here at Florence, Grand Duke out, Grand Duke in.[188] The bells in the church opposite rang for both.  They first planted a tree of liberty close to our door, and, then they pulled it down.  The same tune, sung under the windows, did for ‘Viva la republica!’ and ’Viva Leopoldo!’ The genuine popular feeling is certainly for the Grand Duke (’O, santissima madre di Dio!’ said our nurse, clasping her hands, ’how the people do love him!’); only nobody would run the risk of a pin’s prick to save the ducal throne.  If the Leghornese, who put up Guerazzi on its ruins, had not refused to pay at certain Florentine cafes, we shouldn’t have had revolution the second, and all this shooting in the street!  Dr. Harding, who was coming to see me, had time to get behind a stable door, just before there was a fall against it of four shot corpses; and Robert barely managed to get home across the bridges.  He had been out walking in the city, apprehending nothing, when the storm gathered and broke.  Sad and humiliating it all has been, and the author of ‘Vanity Fair’ might turn it to better uses for a chapter.  By the way, we have just been reading ‘Vanity Fair.’  Very clever, very effective, but cruel to human nature.  A painful book, and not the pain that purifies and exalts.  Partial truths after all, and those not wholesome.  But I certainly had no idea that Mr. Thackeray had intellectual force for such a book; the power is considerable.  For Balzac, Balzac may have gone out of the world as far as we are concerned.  Isn’t it hard on us? exiles from Balzac!  The bookseller here, having despaired of the republic and the Grand Duchy both, I suppose, and taking for granted on the whole that the world must be coming shortly to an end, doesn’t give us the sign of a new book.  We ought to, be done with such vanities.  There! and almost I have done my paper without a single word to you of the baby!  Ah, you won’t believe that I forgot him even if I pretend, so I won’t.  He is a lovely, fat, strong child, with double chins and rosy cheeks, and a great wide chest, undeniable lungs, I can assure you.  Dr. Harding called him ‘a robust child’ the other day, and ’a more beautiful child he never saw.’  I never saw a child half as beautiful, for my part....  Dear Mr. Chorley has written the kindest letter to my husband.  I much regard him indeed.  May God bless you.  Let me ever be (with Robert’s thanks and warm remembrance),

Your most affectionate
BA.

Flush’s jealousy of the baby would amuse you.  For a whole fortnight he fell into deep melancholy and was proof against all attentions lavished on him.  Now he begins to be consoled a little and even condescends to patronise the cradle.

Footnote 1:  As they did until the 8,000 had been increased to 35,000.]