Villa Alberti, Siena: August 24, 1859 [postmark].

Dearest Fanny,--This is only to say that I wrote to you before your
letter reached me, directing mine simply to the post-office of Cologne,
and that I write now lest what went before should miss for want of the
more specific address. Thank you, dear friend, for caring to hear of my
health; _that_, at least, _is_ pleasant. I keep recovering strength by
air, quiet, and asses' milk, and by hope for Italy, which consolidates
itself more and more.

You will wonder at me, but these public affairs have half killed me. You
know I _can't_ take things quietly. Your complaint and mine, Fanny, are
just opposite. For weeks and weeks, in my feverish state, I never closed
my eyes without suffering 'punishment' under eternal articles of peace
and unending lists of provisional governments. Do you wonder?

Observe--I believe entirely in the Emperor. He did at Villafranca what
he could not help but do. Since then, he has simply changed the arena of
the struggle; he is walking under the earth instead of on the earth, but
_straight_ and to unchanged ends.

This country, meanwhile, is conducting itself nobly. It is worthy of
becoming a great nation.

And God for us all!

So you go to England really? Which I doubted, till your letter came.

It is well that you did not spend the summer here, for the heat has been
ferocious; hotter, people from Corfu say, than it was ever felt there.
Italy, however, is apt to be hottish in the summer, as we know very
well.

The country about here, though not romantic like Lucca, is very pretty,
and our windows command sunsets and night winds. I have not stirred out
yet after three weeks of it; you may suppose how reduced I must be. I
could scarcely _stand_ at one time. The active evil, however, is ended,
and strength comes somehow or other. Robert has had the perfect goodness
not only to nurse me, but to teach Peni, who is good too, and rides a
pony just the colour of his curls, to his pure delight. Then we have
books and newspapers, English and Italian--the books from Florence--so
we do beautifully.

Mr. Landor is here. There's a long story. Absolute revolution and
abdication from the Florence villa. He appeared one day at our door of
Casa Guidi, with an oath on his soul never to go back. The end of it all
is, that Robert has accepted office as Landor's guardian (!!) and is to
'see to him' at the request of his family in England; and there's to be
an arrangement for Wilson to undertake him in a Florence apartment,
which she is pleased at. He visited the Storys, who are in a villa here
(the only inhabitants), and were very kind to him. Now he is in rooms in
a house not far from us, waiting till we return to Florence. I have seen
him only once, and then he looked better than he did in Florence, where
he seemed dropping into the grave, scarcely able to walk a hundred
yards. He longs for England, but his friends do not encourage his
return, and so the best that can be done for him must be. Now he is in
improved spirits and has taken to writing Latin alcaics on Garibaldi,
which is refreshing, I suppose.

Ask at the post-office for my letter, but don't fancy that it may be a
line more lively than this. No alcaics from me! One soul has gone from
me, at least, the soul that writes letters.

May God bless you, dearest, kindest Fanny. Love me a little. Don't leave
off feeling 'on private affairs' too much for _that_.

Robert's best love with that of your loving
BA.