[Rome:] 43 Bocca di Leone: December 27, [1853].

My dearest Fanny,--I can't judge of your 'obstacles,' of course, but as
to your being snowed up on the road or otherwise impeded between Rome
and Civita (Castellana or Vecchia), there's certainly not room for even
a dream of it. There has been beautiful weather here ever since we came,
except for exacting invalids. I, for instance, have been kept in the
house for a fortnight or more (till Christmas Day, when I was able to
get to St. Peter's) by tramontana; but there has been sun on _most_ days
of cold, and nothing has been _severe_ as cold. The hard weather came in
November, before we arrived. I was out yesterday, and may be to-day,
perhaps. 'Judge ye!'...

You bid me write. But to what end, if you are here on New Year's Day?
There's not time for a letter.

And at first I intended not to write, till beginning to consider how, as
you are not actually of the race of Medes and Persians, you might
possibly so modify your plans as to be able to receive these lines. Oh,
a provoking person or persons you are, since you and Ellen Heaton are
plural henceforth! No, I won't include her. _You_ are _singular_, by
your own confession, on this occasion. And, instead of Christmas
solemnisations, I shall take to reading the Commination Service over you
if you stay any longer at Florence because of the impracticable,
snowed-up roads around Rome. You really might as well object to coming
on account of the heat!...

I thank you very much for meaning to bring my goods for me. I wish I
could have seen your pictures before they took to themselves golden
wings and fled away. Is it true, really, that you think to exhibit in
London Penini's portrait at the piano, as Sophie Eckley tells me? I
shall like to hear that you succeed in that.

I see _her_ every day almost, if not quite. Nobody is like her. And
there are quantities of people here to choose from. I have not taken
heart and 'an evening for reception' yet, but we have had '_squeezes_'
of more or less stringency. Miss Ogle is here--and her family, of
course, for she is young--the author of 'A Lost Love,' that very pretty
book; and she is natural and pleasing. Do you know Lady Oswald, and her
daughter and son? She is Lady Elgin's sister-in-law, and brought a
letter to me from Lady Augusta Bruce. Then the Marshalls found us out
through Mr. De Vere (_her_ cousin), and in the name of Alfred Tennyson
(their intimate friend). Mrs. Marshall was a Miss Spring Rice, and is
very refined in all senses. Refinement expresses the whole woman. Yes,
there are some nice people here--nice people; it's the word. Nobody as
near to me as Mr. Page, whom we often see, I am happy to say, and who
has just presented the world (only _that_ is generally said of the lady)
with a _son_, and is on the point of presenting said world with a Venus.
_Will_ you come to see? I wonder....

I want you here to see a portrait taken of me in chalks by Miss Fox. I
said 'No' to her in London, which was my sole reason for saying 'Yes' to
her in Rome, when she asked me for a patient--or victim. She draws well,
and has been very successful with the hair at least. For the likeness
you shall judge for yourself. She comes here for an hour in the morning
to execute me, and I'm as well as can be expected under it....

May God bless you, dearest Fanny. What Christmas wishes warm from the
heart by heartfuls I throw at you! And say to Ellen Heaton, with cordial
love, that I thank her much for her kind letter, and remember her in all
affectionate wishes made for friends. I shall write to Mr. Ruskin.
_Don't_ get this letter, I say.

Your
E.B.B.

Robert's love, and _Penini's_. If 'Fanny' strikes you, 'Madame Bovary'
will thunder-strike you.