‘Vergine Santissima’ that I mightn’t have a fever in consequence.  Since then the tree of liberty has come down with a crash and we have had another festa as noisy on that occasion.  Revolution and counter-revolution, Guerazzi[189] and Leopold, sacking of Florence and entrance of the Austrian army—­we live through everything, you see, and baby grows fat indiscriminately.  For my part, I am altogether blasee about revolutions and invasions.  Don’t think it want of feeling in me, or want of sympathy with ‘the people,’ but really I can’t help a certain political latitudinarianism from creeping over me in relation to this Tuscany.  You ought to be here to understand what I mean and how I think.  Oh heavens! how ignoble it all has been and is!  A revolution made by boys and vivas, and unmade by boys and vivas—­no, there was blood shed in the unmaking—­some horror and terror, but not as much patriotism and truth as could lift up the blood from the kennel.  The counter-revolution was strictly counter, observe.  I mean, that if the Leghornese troops here bad paid their debts at the Florentine coffee houses, the Florentines would have let their beloved Grand Duke stay on at Gaeta to the end of the world.  The Grand Duke, too, whose part I have been taking hitherto (because he did seem to me a good man, more sinned against than sinning)—­the Grand Duke I give up from henceforth, seeing that he has done this base thing of taking again his Austrian titles in his proclamations coincidently with the approach of the Austrians.  Of Rome, knowing nothing, I don’t like to speak.  If a republic in earnest is established there, Louis Napoleon should not try to set his foot on it.  Dearest Mrs. Martin, how you mistake me about France, and how too lightly I must have spoken.  If you knew how I admire the French as a nation!  Robert always calls them ‘my beloved French.’  Their very faults appear to me to arise from an excess of ideality land aspiration; but I was vexed rather at their selection of Louis Napoleon—­a selection since justified by the firmness and apparent integrity of the man.  His reputation in England, you will admit, did not promise the conclusion.  Will he be emperor, do you imagine?  And shall I ever have done talking politics?  I would far rather talk of you, after all.  Henrietta tells me of your looking well, but of your not being strong yet.  Now do, for once, have a fit of egotism and tell me a little about yourself....  Surely I ought especially to thank you, dearest kind friend, for your goodness in writing to—­, of which Henrietta very properly told me.  I never shall forget this and other proofs of your affection for me, and shall remember them with warm gratitude always.  As to—­, I have held out both [my] hands, and my husband’s hands in mine, again and again to him; he cannot possibly, in the secret place of his heart, expect more from either of us.  My husband would have written to him in the first place,