2391. RB to EBB
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 13, 10–12.
[London]
Sunday. [31 May 1846] [1]
My own Ba, do you want to turn my head with good fortune and get at my secrets, that you give me two letters in one day? For there was too much life and warmth, I do think, in these last, to be kept in the Postman’s pouch as before—he delivered them punctually as he was obliged—not before his cold newspapers and railway-prospectuses felt astonished, you may be sure; so, as I say, do you want to try my temper and bring out infirmities of mind that may be latent, as kings used to put robes and crowns on their favorites to see what they would do then?
I will try and say as soberly as I can,—if you did not write to me for a week, I would remember and love you the same: you are not bound to any kindness—much less to this extravagance—which yet so blesses me that––
Let me leave what I can never say, and make the few remarks I ought to have made before. Mrs Jameson did tell me something about her intended journey to Italy—but not in detail as to you: Miss Bailey seems worthy to be your friend, dearest,—and it is satisfactory, very satisfactory to find her opinion thus confirming yours, of the good you will derive from travelling. You know I look on you with absolute awe, in a sense,—I don’t understand how such a creature lives and breathes and moves and does not move into fine air altogether and leave us of the Etty-manufacture! I have solemnly set down in the tablets of my brain [2] that Ba prefers morphine to pork, but can eat so much of a chicken as Flush refuses—a chapter in my Natural History quite as important as one in Pliny’s (and Ælian’s too—) “When the Lion is sick, nothing can cure him but to eat an Ape!” [3] —though not so important as my great, greatest record of all—“A cup of coffee will generally cure Ba’s headaches”–
—As for Pisa, or Florence, or Sorrento, or New Orleans,—ubi Ba, ibi RB! [4] Florence, however, you describe exactly .. the English there are intolerable,—even from a distance you see that: indeed, I have heard, here in England, of a regular system of tactics by which parvenûs manage to get among the privileged classes which at home would keep them off inexorably; such go to Florence, make acquaintance as “travellers”, keeping the native connexions in the farthest of backgrounds, and after a year or two’s expatriation, come back and go boldly to rejoice the friends they “passed those amusing days with” &c.
What you say of Lough is right and true in one point of view—but I excuse him, knowing the way of life in London—what alternative has he? Even when you ask people by ones and twos, and think to be rational, what do you get for your pains?– Not long ago somebody invited himself to dine with me—and got of course the plainest fare, and just hock & claret, because I like them better than heavier wines myself, and suppose others may: I had to dine in the same manner with my friend a week after, and he judiciously began by iced champagne, forced vegetables &c. What was that but telling me such was his notion of the duty of the giver of “just a chop” according to stipulation? It is all detestable—a mere pretext!—there is simply a “fait accompli” in every such dinner,—it is on eternal record (to the season’s end) that you witnessed (because, you may let it alone for aught anybody cares, so long as you have eyes and can see [5] )—such a succession of turbot and spring-soup and .. basta! [6] I shall go and take tea with Carlyle before very long. Lough has asked me more than once, but I never went. I like him when he is not on the subject of himself or other artists. Of one particular in his liberality I can bear testimony—he promises at a great rate: some three years ago he most preposterously signified his intention of giving me a cast of one of his busts—me who had neither claim on him, the slightest,—nor much desire for the bust; but on this intimation I was bound to express as many thanks as if the bust had arrived in very plaster,—which it has not done to this day: so that I was too prodigal, you see, and instead of thanks ought to have contented myself with making over to him the whole profits of “Luria”—value received!– But, jokes apart, he is a good, kind man I believe, so don’t mention this absurdity to your sister—which I am sorry for having mentioned now that mentioned it is! So sorrow shall be turned into joy for I will only think that the evening is come, and night will follow, and morning and .. 3 o’clock, with all of dearest, dearest Ba,—with the walkings and drivings to evidence in her face? My face, thank God, I am let say to my unutterable joy and pride and love, above all other feelings.
Ever your own RB
Address: Miss Barrett, / 50. Wimpole Street.
Postmark: PD 10FN JU1 1846 B.
Docket, in EBB’s hand: 196.
Publication: RB-EBB, pp. 745–747.
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Date provided by postmark.
2. Cf. Hamlet, I, 5, 102–103.
3. Claudius Ælianus says that when the lion has “eaten more than enough, he empties himself by lying quiet and abstaining from food, or alternatively he catches a monkey and eats some of it, voiding and emptying his belly by means of its flesh” (On the Characteristics of Animals, book V, 39, trans. A.F. Scholfield). Pliny, discussing a lion’s health, says that “the only malady to which it is liable is that of distaste for food; in this condition it can be cured by insulting treatment, the pranks of monkeys tied to it driving it to fury; and then tasting their blood acts as a remedy” (Natural History, book VIII, xix, 52, trans. H. Rackham).
4. “Where Ba, there RB!”
5. Cf. Psalm 115:5.
6. “Enough!”
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