think that I and Robert went out to see that sight. We should
have sickened at it too much. An amiable, refined people, too, these
Tuscans are, conciliating and affectionate. When you look out into
the streets on feast days, you would take it for one great 'rout,'
everybody appears dressed for a drawing room, and you can scarcely
discern the least difference between class and class, from the Grand
Duchess to the Donna di facenda; also there is no belying of the
costume in the manners, the most gracious and graceful courtesy
and gentleness being apparent in the thickest crowds. This is all
attractive and delightful; but the people wants _stamina_, wants
conscience, wants self-reverence. Dante's soul has died out of
the land. Enough of this. As for France, I have 'despaired of the
republic' for very long, but the nation is a great nation, and will
right itself under some flag, white or red. Don't you think so? Thank
you for the news of our authors, it is as 'the sound of a trumpet afar
off,' and I am like the war-horse. Neglectful that I am, I forgot to
tell you before that you heard quite rightly about Mr. Thackeray's
wife, who is ill _so_. Since your question, I had in gossip from
England that the book 'Jane Eyre' was written by a governess in his
house, and that the preface to the foreign edition refers to him
in some marked way. We have not seen the book at all. But the first
letter in which you mentioned your Oxford student caught us in the
midst of his work upon art.[181] Very vivid, very graphic, full of
sensibility, but inconsequent in some of the reasoning, it seemed to
me, and rather flashy than full in the metaphysics. Robert, who
knows a good deal about art, to which knowledge I of course have no
pretence, could agree with him only by snatches, and we, both of
us, standing before a very expressive picture of Domenichino's (the
'David'--at Fano) wondered how he could blaspheme so against a great
artist. Still, he is no ordinary man, and for a critic to be so much
a poet is a great thing. Also, we have by no means, I should imagine,
seen the utmost of his stature. How kindly you speak to me of my
dearest sisters. Yes, go to see them whenever you are in London, they
are worthy of the gladness of receiving you. And will you write soon
to me, and tell me everything of yourself, how you are, how home
agrees with you, and the little details which are such gold dust to
absent friends....

May God bless you, my belov