s
family stood at the palace window melting into tears, to receive the
thanks of his people. The joy and exultation on all sides were most
affecting to look upon. Grave men kissed one another, and grateful
young women lifted up their children to the level of their own smiles,
and the children themselves mixed their shrill little _vivas_ with
the shouts of the people. At once, a more frenetic gladness and a more
innocent manifestation of gladness were never witnessed. During three
hours and a half the procession wound on past our windows, and every
inch of every house seemed alive with gazers all that time, the white
handkerchiefs fluttering like doves, and clouds of flowers and laurel
leaves floating down on the heads of those who passed. Banners, too,
with inscriptions to suit the popular feeling--'Liberty'--the 'Union
of Italy'--the 'Memory of the Martyrs'--'Viva Pio Nono'--'Viva
Leopoldo Secondo'--were quite stirred with the breath of the shouters.
I am glad to have seen that sight, and to be in Italy at this moment,
when such sights are to be seen.[167] My wrist aches a little even now
with the waving I gave to my handkerchief, I assure you, for Robert
and I and Flush sate the whole sight out at the window, and would not
be reserved with the tribute of our sympathy. Flush had his two
front paws over the window sill, with his ears hanging down, but he
confessed at last that he thought they were rather long about it,
particularly as it had nothing to do with dinner and chicken bones
and subjects of consequence. He is less tormented and looks better;
in excellent spirits and appetite always--and _thinner_, like your
Flush--and very fond of Robert, as indeed he ought to be. On the
famous evening of that famous day I have been speaking of, we lost
him--he ran away and stayed away all night--which was too bad,
considering that it was our anniversary besides, and that he had no
right to spoil it. But I imagine he was bewildered with the crowd and
the illumination, only as he _did_ look so very guilty and conscious
of evil on his return, there's room for suspecting him of having been
very much amused, 'motu proprio,' as our Grand Duke says in the
edict. He was found at nine o'clock in the morning at the door of our
apartment, waiting to be let in--mind, I don't mean the Grand Duke.
Very few acquaintances have we made at Florence, and very quietly
lived out our days. Mr. Powers the sculptor is our chief friend and
favorite,