This much I
hope, in life or death, to be no more separated from Angelino.
Last winter, I made the most vehement efforts at least to redeem the
time, hoping thus good for the future. But, of at least two volumes
written at that time, no line seems of any worth. I had suffered much
constraint,--much that was uncongenial, harassing, even torturing,
before; but this kind of pain found me unprepared;--the position of a
mother separated from her only child is too frightfully unnatural.
* * * * *
The Christmas holidays interest me now, through my child, as they
never did for myself. I like to go out to watch the young generation
who will be his contemporaries. On Monday, we went to the _Caseine_.
After we had taken the drive, we sat down on a stone seat in the sunny
walk, to see the people pass;--the Grand Duke and his children;
the elegant Austrian officers, who will be driven out of Italy when
Angelino is a man; Princess Demidoff; Harry Lorrequer; an absurd brood
of fops; many lovely children; many little frisking dogs, with their
bells, &c. The sun shone brightly on the Arno; a barque moved gently
by; all seemed good to the baby.
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