[Florence. November 1856.]

Robert says he will wait for me till to-morrow, but I leave my other
letters rather and write to you, so sure I am that we oughtn't to put
that off any longer. Dearest Sarianna, I am very much pleased that you
like the poem, having feared a little that you might not. M. Milsand
will _not_, I prophesy; 'seeing as from a tower the end of all.' The
'Athenaeum' is right in supposing that it will be much liked _and_ much
disliked by people in general, although the press is so far astonishing
in its goodwill, and although the extravagance of private letters might
well surprise the warmest of my friends. But, patience! In a little
while we shall have the other side of the question, and the whips will
fall fast after the nosegays. Still, I am surprised, I own, at the
amount of success; and that golden-hearted Robert is in ecstasies about
it--far more than if it all related to a book of his own. The form of
the story, and also something in the philosophy, seem to have caught the
crowd. As to the poetry by itself, anything good in _that_ repels
rather. I am not as blind as Romney, not to perceive this. He had to be
blinded, observe, to be made to see; just as Marian had to be dragged
through the uttermost debasement of circumstances to arrive at the
sentiment of personal dignity. I am sorry, but indeed it seemed
necessary.

You tantalise me with your account of 'warm days.' It is warmer with us
to-day, but we have had snow on all the mountains, and poor Isa has been
half-frozen at her villa. As for me, I have suffered wonderfully
little--no more than discomfort and languor. We have piled up the wood
in this room and the next, and had a perpetual blaze. Not for ten years
has there been in Florence such a November! 'Is this Italy?' says poor
Fanny Haworth's wondering face. Still, she likes Florence better than
she did....

Is it not strange that dear Mr. Kenyon should have lost his brother by
this sudden stroke? Strange and sad?... He was suffering too under a
relapse when the news came--which, Miss Bayley says, did not dangerously
affect him, after all. Oh, sad and strange! I pity the unfortunate wife
more than anyone. She said to me this summer, 'I could not live without
him. Let us hope in God that he and I may die at the same moment.'...

There's much good in dear M. Milsand's idea for us about Paris and the
South of France. Still, I'm rather glad to be quite outside the world
for a little, during these first steps of 'Aurora.' Best love to the
dear Nonno. May God bless you both!

Your ever affectionate
BA.

Oh, the spirits! Hate of Hume and belief in the facts are universal
here.