Casa Guidi: June 3, [1859].

My dear Mr. Ruskin,--We send to you every now and then somebody hungry
for a touch from your hand; we who are famished for it ourselves. But
this time we send you a man whom you will value perfectly for himself
and be kind to from yourself, quite spontaneously. He is the American
artist, Page, an earnest, simple, noble artist and man, who carries his
Christianity down from his deep heart to the point of his brush. Draw
him out to talk to you, and you will find it worth while. He has learnt
much from Swedenborg, and used it in his views upon art. Much of it (if
new) may sound to you wild and dreamy--but the dream will admit of
logical inference and philosophical induction, and when you open your
eyes, it is still there.

He has not been successful in life--few are who are uncompromising in
their manner of life. When I speak of life, I include art, which is life
to him. I should like you to see what a wonder of light and colour and
space and breathable air, he put into his Venus rising from the
sea--refused on the ground of nudity at the Paris Exhibition this
summer. The loss will be great to him, I fear.

You will recognise in this name _Page_, the painter of Robert's portrait
which you praised for its Venetian colour, and criticised in other
respects. In fact, Mr. Page believes that he has discovered Titian's
secret--and, what is more, he will tell it to you in love, and indeed to
anybody else in charity. So I don't say that to bribe you.

Dear, dear Mr. Ruskin, we thank you and love you more than ever for your
good word about our Italy. Oh, if you knew how hard it is and has been
to receive the low, selfish, ignoble words with which this great cause
has been pelted from England, not from her Derby government only, but
from her parliament, her statesmen, her reformers, her leaders of the
Liberal party, her free press--to receive such words full in our faces,
nay, in the quick of our hearts, till we grow sick with loathing and hot
with indignation--if you knew what it was and is, you would feel how
glad and grateful we must be to have a right word from John Ruskin. Dear
Mr. Ruskin, England has done terribly ill, ignobly ill, which is worse.
That men of all parties should have spoken as they have, proves a state
of public morals lamentable to admit. What--not even our poets with
clean hands? Alfred Tennyson abetting Lord Derby? That to me was the
heaviest blow of all.

Meanwhile we shall have a free Italy at least, for everything goes well
here. Massimo d' Azeglio came to see us in Rome, and he said then, 'It
is '48 with matured actors.' Indeed, there is a wonderful unanimity,
calm, and resolution everywhere in Italy. All parties are broken up
into the one great national party. The feeling of the people is
magnificent. The painful experience of ten years has borne fruit in
their souls. No more distrust, no more division, no more holding back,
no more vacillation. And Louis Napoleon--well, I think he is doing me
credit--and you, dear Mr. Ruskin--for _you_, too, held him in
appreciation long ago. A great man.

I beseech you to believe on my word (and we have our information from
good and reliable sources), that the 'Times' newspaper built up its
political ideas on the broadest foundation of _lies_. I use the bare
word. You won't expel it, in the manner of the Paris Exhibition, for its
nudity--lies--not mistakes. For instance, while the very peasants here
are giving their crazie, the very labourers their day's work (once in a
week or so)--while everyone gives, and every man almost (who can go)
goes--the 'Times' says that Piedmont had derived neither paul nor
soldier from Tuscany. Tell me what people get by lying so? Faustus sold
himself to the Devil. Does Austria pay a higher price, I wonder?

Such things I could tell you--things to moisten your eyes--to wring that
burning eloquence of yours from your lips. But Robert waits to take this
letter. Penini has adorned our terrace with two tricolour flags, the
Italian tricolour and the French. May God bless you, dear friend. Speak
again for Italy. If you could see with what _eyes_ the Italian speaks of
the 'English.' Our love to you, Mr. and Mrs. Ruskin--if we may--because
we must. Write to us, do.

Ever affectionately yours,
R.B. and E.B.B.