but for the obstacles raised by himself and others, and now what could Robert write and say except the bare repetition of what I have said over and over for him and myself?  It is exactly an excuse—­not more and not less.  Just before I was ill I sent my last messages, because, with certain hazards before me, my heart turned to them naturally.  I might as well have turned to a rock.—­has been by far the kindest, and has written to me two or three little notes, and one since the birth of our child.  I love them all far too well to be proud, and my husband loves me too well not to wish to be friends with every one of them; we have neither of us any stupid feeling about ‘keeping up our dignity.’  Yes, I had a letter from—­some time ago, in which something was said of Robert’s being careless of reconciliation.  I answered it most explicitly and affectionately, with every possible assurance from Robert, and offering them from himself the affection of a brother.  Not a word in answer!  To my poor dearest papa I have written very lately, and as my letter has not, after a week, been sent back, I catch at the hope of his being moved a little.  If he neither sends it back nor replies severely, I shall take courage to write to him again after a while.  It will be an immense gain to get him only to read my letters.  My father and my brothers hold quite different positions, of course, and though he has acted sternly towards me, I, knowing his peculiarities, do not feel embittered and astonished and disappointed as in the other cases.  Absolutely happy my marriage has been—­never could there be a happier marriage (as there are no marriages in heaven); but dear Henrietta is quite wrong in fancying, or seeming to fancy, that this quarrel with my family has given or gives me slight pain.  Old affections are not so easily trodden out of me, indeed, and while I live unreconciled to them, there must be a void and drawback.  Do write to me and tell me of both of you, my very dear friends.  Don’t fancy that we are not anxious for brave Venice and Sicily, and that we don’t hate this Austrian invasion.  But Tuscany has acted a vile part altogether—­so vile, that I am sceptical about the Romans.  We expect daily the Austrians in Florence, and have made up our minds to be very kind.  May God bless you!  Do write, and mention your health particularly, as I am anxious about it.  I am quite well myself, and, as ever,

Your affectionate
BA.

Don’t you both like Macaulay’s History?  We are delighted just now with it.

[Footnote 189:  Chief administrator of the Republic of Tuscany during the short absence of the Grand Duke Leopold.]

To Miss Browning [Florence:  about June 1849.]