Casa Tolomei, Alia Villa, Bagni di Lucca:
July 26, [1853].

I deserve another scold for this other silence, dearest Isa. Scold as
softly as you can! We have been in uncertainty about leaving
Florence--where to go for the summer--and I did not like to write till I
could tell you where to write to _me_. Now we are 'fixed,' as our
American friends would say. We have taken this house for three months--a
larger house than we need. We have a row of plane trees before the door
in which the cicale sing all day, and the beautiful mountains stand
close around, keeping us fresh with shadows. Penini thinks he is in
Eden--_at least he doesn't think otherwise_. We have a garden and an
arbour, and the fireflies light us up at nights. With all this, I am
sorry for Florence. Florence was horribly hot, and pleasant
notwithstanding. We hated cutting the knot of friends we had
there--bachelor friends, Isa, who came to us for coffee and smoking! I
was gracious and permitted the cigar (as you were not present), and
there were quantities of talk, controversy, and confidences evening
after evening. One of our very favourite friends, Frederick Tennyson, is
gone to England, or was to have gone, for three months. Mr. Lytton had a
reception on the terrace of his villa at Bellosguardo the evening before
our last in Florence, and we were all bachelors together there, and I
made tea, and we ate strawberries and cream and talked spiritualism
through one of the pleasantest two hours that I remember. Such a view!
Florence dissolving in the purple of the hills; and the stars looking
on. Mr. Tennyson was there, Mr. Powers, and M. Villari[25], an
accomplished Sicilian, besides our young host and ourselves. How we 'set
down' Faraday for his 'arrogant and insolent letter,' and what stories
we told, and what miracles we swore to! Oh, we are believers here, Isa,
except Robert, who persists in wearing a coat of respectable
scepticism--so considered--though it is much out of elbows and ragged
about the skirts. If I am right, you will none of you be able to
disbelieve much longer--a, new law, or a new development of law, is
making way everywhere. We have heard much--more than I can tell you in a
letter. Imposture is absolutely out of the question, to speak generally;
and unless you explain the phenomena by 'a personality unconsciously
projected' (which requires explanation of itself), you must admit the
spirit theory. As to the simpler forms of the manifestation (it is all
one manifestation), the 'turning-tables,' I was convinced long before
Faraday's letter that _many_ of the amateur performances were from
involuntary muscular action--but what then? These are only imitations of
actual phenomena. Faraday's letter does not meet the common fact of
tables being moved and lifted without the touch of a finger. It is a
most arrogant letter and singularly inconclusive. Tell me any facts you
may hear. Mr. Kinney, the American Minister at the Court of Turin, had
arrived at Florence a few days before we quitted it, and he and his wife
helped us to spend our last evening at Casa Guidi. He is cultivated and
high-minded. I like him much; and none the less that he brings hopeful
accounts of the state of Piedmont, of the progress of the people, and
good persistency of the King. It makes one's heart beat with the sense
that all is not over with our poor Italy.

I am glad you like Frederick Tennyson's poems. They are full of
_atmospherical_ poetry, and very melodious. The poet is still better
than the poems--so truthful, so direct, such a reliable Christian man.
Robert and I quite love him. We very much appreciate, too, young Lytton,
your old friend. He is noble in many ways, I think, and affectionate.
Moreover, he has an incontestable _faculty_ in poetry, and I expect
great things from him as he ripens into life and experience. Meanwhile
he has just privately printed a drama called 'Clytemnestra,' too
ambitious because after AEschylus, but full of promise indeed. We are
hoping that he will come down and see us in the course of our
rustication at the Baths, and occupy our spare bedroom....

As to Mr. ----, his Hebrew was Chinese to _you_, do you say? But, dear,
he is strong in veritable Chinese besides! And one evening he nearly
assassinated me with the analysis, chapter by chapter, of a Japanese
novel. Mr. Lytton, who happened to be a witness, swore that I grew
paler and paler, and not with sympathy for the heroine. He is a
miraculously vain man--which rather amused me--and, for the rest, is
full of information--yes, and of kindness, I think. He gave me a little
black profile of you which gives the air of your head, and is so far
valuable to me. As to myself, indeed, he has rather flattered me than
otherwise--I don't complain, I assure you. How could I complain of a man
who compares me to Isaiah, under any circumstances?...

God bless you! Robert's love with that of

Your ever affectionate and faithful
BA.