Florence: June 16, 1860 [postmark].

My dearest Fanny,--I must use my opportunity of sending you these
photographs, because I think you will care to have them. Peni is
_himself_, not a likeness, but an identity. _I_, like a devil, or the
Emperor Napoleon, am not as black as I seem; but Pen looks lovely enough
to satisfy my vanity.

Your Indian poet's letter was despatched to you from Rome, and 'so
Apollo saved me.' Oh--if you knew how I hate giving opinions! I think a
poet's opinion of another poet should be paid by some triple fee. I, at
least, always feel that after being ingenuous on these occasions and
advising persons who can barely spell against publishing their epic
poems, one is supposed to be secretly influenced by the fear of a rival
or worse. Give me a triple fee.

Poor dearest Fanny, of course you are in the chain; being in England.
You are moved to set down the Emperor as 'the Beast' 666, of course. If
he crushes 'Garibaldi you must give him up.' Yes; but what an If. If you
stab Miss Heaton with a golden bodkin, right through the heart, under
circumstances of peculiar cruelty, I shall have to give up _you_. If I
bake Penini in a pie and eat him, you'll have to give up me.

The Emperor Napoleon is faithful and will be faithful to the Italian
cause, and to the cause of the nationalities, as long as and wherever it
is prudent, for the general interest; possible without dangerous
complications. He has risked enough for it, to be trusted a little I
think--his life and dynasty certainly. At this moment I hear from Rome
of a great dinner given by Lamoriciere to his staff, or by his staff to
him (I don't know which), only that the health of _Henri Cinq_ was
suggested and drunk at it. Gorgon telegraphed the news to Paris. What
then? English newspapers (even such papers as the 'Daily News') have
stated that Lamoriciere was doing Napoleonic business at Rome. Perhaps
this is of it.

Chapman junior is in Florence (doing business upon Lever I believe), and
he maintains that I have done myself no mortal harm by the Congress
poems, which incline to a second edition after all. Had it been
otherwise I yet never should have repented speaking the word out of me
which burnt in me. Printing that book did me real good. For the rest
'Aurora Leigh' is in the press for a _fifth_ edition. Read the 'Word for
Truth by a Seaman,' written by a naval officer of high reputation.

We left Rome on the 4th of June, and travelled by vettura through
Orvieto and Chiusi. Beautiful scenery, interesting pictures and tombs,
but a fatiguing journey. At least, Pen's pony and I were both of us
unusually fatigued, and scarcely, at the end of a week, am I myself yet.
I am not as strong since my illness last summer. We stay here till the
early part of July and then remove to Siena, to the villa we had last
year; and there Pen keeps tryst with his Abbe and the Latin. He has made
great progress this winter in Latin and much besides, and he isn't going
to be a 'wretched little Papist,' as some of our friends precipitately
conclude from the fact of his having a priest for a tutor. Indeed Pen
has to be restrained into politeness and tolerance towards
ecclesiastical dignities. Think of his addressing his instructor (who
complained of the weather at Rome one morning) thus--in choice Tuscan:
'Of course it's the excommunication. The prophet says that a curse
begins with the curser's own house; and so it is with the Holy Father's
curse.' Wasn't that clever of Pen? and impertinent, but our Abbe only
tried at gravity; he sympathises secretly with the insorgimento d'
Italia, and besides is very fond of Pen. Poor Pen, 'innocent of the
knowledge, dearest chuck,' how his mama has been wickedly cursing her
native country (after Chorley)! It's hard upon me, Fanny, that you
won't tell me of the spirits, you who can see. Here is even Robert,
whose heart softens to the point of letting me have the 'Spiritual
Magazine' from England. Do knock at Mrs. Milner Gibson's doors till you
get to see the 'hands' and the 'heads' and the 'bodies' and the
'celestial garlands' which she has the privilege of being familiar with.
_Touch_ the hands. Has Mr. Monckton Milnes seen anything so as to
believe? Is it true that Lord Lyndhurst was lifted up in a chair? Does
he believe? I hear through Mr. Trollope and Chapman that Edwin Landseer
has received the faith, and did everything possible to persuade Dickens
to investigate, which Dickens refused. Afraid of the truth, of course,
having deeply committed himself to negatives. This is a moral _lachete_,
hard for my feminine mind to conceive of. Dickens, too, who is so fond
of ghost-stories, as long as they are impossible....

I can scarcely imagine the summer's passing without a struggle on the
Continent of Italy. It can't be, I think. At least we are prepared for
it here.

We find Wilson well. Mr. Landor also. He had thrown a dinner out of the
window only once, and a few things of the kind, but he lives in a
chronic state of ingratitude to the whole world except Robert, who waits
for his turn. I am glad to think that poor Mr. Landor is well;
unsympathetical to me as he is in his _morale_. He has the most
beautiful sea-foam of a beard you ever saw, all in a curl and white
bubblement of beauty. He informed us the other morning that he had
'quite given up thinking of a future state--he had _had_ thoughts of it
once, but that was very early in life.' Mr. Kirkup (who is deafer than a
post now) tries in vain to convert him to the spiritual doctrine. Landor
laughs so loud in reply that Kirkup hears him.

Pray keep Mr. ---- off till we have settled the independence and unity
of Italy. It isn't the hour for peace, and we don't want a second
Villafranca. By the way, I dare say nobody in England lays his face in
the dust and acknowledges, in consequence of the official declaration
of the Prussian Minister (to the effect that Prussia was to attack on
the crossing of the Mincio, and that nothing but the unexpected
conclusion of hostilities hindered the general war)--acknowledges that
Napoleon stands fully justified in making that peace. I cannot expect so
much justice in an Englishman. He would rather bury his past mistake in
a present mistake than simply confess it.

Now no more. May God bless you! Do be happy, and do write to me. We talk
of Paris and England for next year.

Your very affectionate
BA.

Robert's love and Pen's.