ver so much talk on our lips
about the new French revolution, and the King of Prussia's cunning,
and the fuss in Germany and elsewhere. Not to speak of our own
particular troubles and triumphs in Lombardy close by. The English are
flying from Florence, by the way, in a helter skelter, just as they
always do fly, except (to do them justice) on a field of battle. The
family Englishman is a dreadful coward, be it admitted frankly. See
how they run from France, even to my dear excellent Uncle Hedley, who
has too many little girls in his household to stay longer at Tours.
Oh, I don't _blame_ him exactly. I only wish that he had waited a
little longer, the time necessary for being quite reassured. He has
great stakes in the country--a house at Tours and in Paris, and twenty
thousand pounds in the Rouen railway. But Florence will fall upon her
feet we may all be certain, let the worst happen that can. Meanwhile,
republicans as I and my, husband are by profession, we very anxiously,
anxiously even to pain, look on the work being attempted and done just
now by the theorists in Paris; far from half approving of it we are,
and far from being absolutely confident of the durability of the other
half. Tell me what you think, and if you are not anxious too. As to
communism, surely the practical part of _that_, the only not dangerous
part, is attainable simply by the consent of individuals who may try
the experiment of associating their families in order to the cheaper
employment of the means of life, and successfully in many cases. But
make a government scheme of _even so much_, and you seem to trench on
the individual liberty. All such patriarchal planning in a government
issues naturally into absolutism, and is adapted to states of society
more or less barbaric. Liberty and civilisation when married together
lawfully rather evolve individuality than tend to generalisation.
Is this not true? I fear, I fear that mad theories promising the
impossible may, in turn, make the people mad. I Louis Blanc knows
not what he says. Have I not mentioned to you a very gifted woman, a
sculptress, Mademoiselle de Fauveau, who lives in Florence with her
mother practising her profession, an exile from France, in consequence
of their royalist opinions and participation in the Vendee struggle,
some sixteen or fifteen years? On that occasion she was mistaken for
and allowed herself to be arrested as Madame de la Roche Jacquelin;
therefore she has justifie