Casa Guidi: Saturday [about October, 1853].

My dearest Isa,-- ... I was very sorry on returning from Lucca to find
only Mr. Thompson's note and yours; but though we missed him at Florence
we shall see him at Rome, I hope. There was also a card from Miss
Lynch,[28] an American poetess (one of the ninety-and-nine muses), with
a note of introduction from England. Do you hear of her at Rome? The
'Ninth Street' printed on her card leaves me in the infinite as far as
conjectures of where she is go.

So pleased I am to get back to Florence, and so little inclined to
tumble out of my nest again; yet we _shall go to Rome_ if some new
obstacle does not arise. We have had no glimpse of the Tassinaris; they
seem to have vanished from the scene. Florence is full of great people,
so called, from England, and the _real sommites_ are coming, such as
Alfred Tennyson, and, with an interval, Dickens and Thackeray. The two
latter go to Rome for the winter, I understand.

Do you say _Edward Lytton_? But he isn't Edward Lytton now--he is
Robert. The two Edwards clashed inconveniently, and now he doesn't sign
an Edward even by an initial; he has renounced the name, and is a Robert
for evermore. I am glad to tell you that although he is delicate and
excitable there seems to me no tendency to disease of any kind. Indeed,
he is looking particularly well just now. He is full of sensibility,
both intellectually and morally, which is scarcely favorable to health
and long life; but in the long run, if people can run, they get over
such a disadvantage. At this time he is about to publish a collection of
poems. I think highly of his capabilities; and he is a great favorite
with both of us for various excellent reasons. Did I tell you of his
passing a fortnight with us at Lucca, and how sorry we were to lose him
at last? Sir Edward either has just brought out, or is bringing out, a
volume of poems of his own, called 'Cornflowers' (referring to the
harvest time of maturity in which he produces them), and chiefly of a
metaphysical character. His son, who has seen the manuscript, thinks
them the best of his poems. 'My Novel' is certainly excellent. Did I
tell you that I had seized and read it?

I shall get at Swedenborg in Rome, and get on with my readings. There
are deep truths in him, I cannot doubt, though I can't receive
_everything_, which may be my fault. I would fain speak with a wise
humility. We will talk on these things and the spirits. How that last
subject attracts me! It strikes me that we are on the verge of great
developments of the spiritual nature, and that in a philosophical point
of view (apart from ulterior ends) the facts are worthy of all
admiration and meditation. If a spiritual influx, it is _mixed_--good
and evil together. The fact of there being a mixture of evil justifies
Swedenborg's philosophy (does it not?) without concluding against the
movement generally. We were at the Pergola the other night, and heard
the 'Trovatore,' Verdi's new work. Very passionate and dramatic, surely.
The Storys are here on their way back to Rome. Oh, I mean to convert
you, Isa! Is it true that the fever at Rome is still raging? Give my
love to your dear invalid, who must be comforting you so much with her
improvement. Penini is in a chronic state of packing up his desk to go
to '_Bome_.' Robert's love with mine as ever. I can't write either
legibly or otherwise than stupidly on this detestable paper, having
never learnt to skate. Are we giving you too much trouble, dearest, kind
Isa?

Your affectionate friend
E.B.B.

      * * * * *


After a few weeks only at Florence the Brownings moved on to Rome and
there (at No. 43 Via Bocca di Leone) they passed the winter. Both were
now actively engaged on their new volumes of poetry--Mr. Browning on his
'Men and Women,' Mrs. Browning on 'Aurora Leigh,' both of which were,
however, still far from completion.