ediate acknowledgment from him if he
had not been so depressed at that time that I was glad to ask him to
wait till I should be ready to write myself. In fact, he has suffered
most acutely from the affliction you have since of course heard of;
and just because he was _too happy_ when the child was born, the pain
was overwhelming afterwards. That is easy to understand, I think.
While he was full of joy for the child, his mother was dying at a
distance, and the very thought of accepting that new affection for
the old became a thing to recoil from--do you not see? So far from
suffering less through the particular combination of circumstances,
as some people seemed to fancy he would, he suffered much more, I
am certain, and very naturally. Even now he is looking very
unwell--thinner and paler than usual, and his spirits, which used to
be so good, have not rallied. I long to get him away from Florence
somewhere--_where_, I can't fix my wishes; our English plans seem flat
on the ground for the present, _that_ is one sad certainty. My dearest
sisters will be very grieved if we don't go to England, and yet how
can I even try to persuade my husband back into the scene of old
associations where he would feel so much pain? Do I not know what I
myself should suffer in some places? And he loved his mother with all
his power of loving, which is deeper and more passionate than love is
with common men. She hearts of men are generally strong in proportion
to their heads. Well, I am not to send you such a dull letter though,
after waiting so long, and after receiving so much to speak thankfully
of. My child you never would believe to be _my child_, from the
evidence of his immense cheeks and chins--for pray don't suppose that
he has only one chin. People call him a lovely child, and if _I_ were
to call him the same it wouldn't be very extraordinary, only I assure
you 'a robust child' I may tell you that he is with a sufficient
modesty, and also that Wilson says he is universally admired in
various tongues when she and the nurse go out with him to the
Cascine--'What a beautiful baby!' and 'Che bel bambino!' He has had
a very stormy entrance upon life, poor little fellow; and when he was
just three days old, a grand festa round the liberty tree planted at
our door, attended with military music, civic dancing and singing, and
the firing of cannons and guns from morning to night, made him start
in his cradle, and threw my careful nurse into p