Correspondence

2687.  EBB & RB to Anna Brownell Jameson

As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 14, 262–264.

but direct as usual Poste Restante

July 29. [1847] [1]

You will be surprised perhaps, or perhaps not, dearest friend, to find that we are still at Florence. Florence “holds us with a glittering eye” [2] —there’s a charm cast round us, & we cant get away. In the first place your news of Recoaro [3] came so late, that, as you said yourself, we ought to have been there before your letter reached us. Nobody would encourage us to go north on any grounds indeed—and if anybody speaks a word now in favour of Venice, straight comes somebody else speaking the direct contrary. Altogether, we took to making a plan of our own .. a great, wild, delightful plan, of plunging into the mountains & spending two or three months at the monastery of Vallombrosa, until the heat was passed & dear Mr Kenyon decided, & we could either settle for the winter at Florence or pass on to Rome. Could anything look more delightful than that? Well! We got a letter of recommendation to the Abbot, & left our apartment, via delle belle donne, a week before our three months were done, thoroughly burned out by the sun .. set out at four in the morning, reached Pelago, & from thence travelled five miles along a “via non rotabile” [4] through the most romantic scenery .. oh, such mountains .. as if the whole world were alive with mountains!—such ravines .. black in spite of flashing waters in them! .. such woods & rocks! .. travelled in basket-sledges drawn by four white oxen, .. Wilson & I and the luggage, .. and Robert riding step by step. We were four hours doing the five miles, so you may fancy what rough work it was– Whether I was most tired or charmed was a tug between body & soul. The worst was, that there being a new abbot at the monastery, an austere man jealous of his sanctity & the approach of women, our letter & Robert’s eloquence to boot, did nothing for us .. & we were ingloriously & ignomin[i]ously expelled at the end of five days. For three days we were welcome .. for two more we kept our ground .. but after that, out we were thrust, with baggage & expectations. Nothing could be much more provoking– And yet we came back very merrily for disappointed people to Florence, getting up at three in the morning, & rolling or sliding (as it might happen) down the precipitous path, & seeing round us a morning-glory of mountains, clouds, & rising sun, such as we never can forget—back to Florence & our old lodgings, and an eatable breakfast of coffee & bread, and a confession one to another that if we had won the day instead of losing it & spent our summer with the monks, we should have grown considerably thinner by the victory. They make their bread, I rather imagine, with the sawdust of their fir trees——and except oil & wine, yes, & plenty of beef (of flesch, [5] as your Germans say, of all kinds, indeed!) which is’nt precisely the fare to suit us, we were thrown for nourishment on the great sights around. Oh, but, so beautiful were mountains & forests & waterfalls, that I could have kept my ground happily for the two months—even though the only book I saw there was the chronicle of their San Gualberto– Is he not among your saints? [6] Being routed fairly & having breakfasted fully at our old apartment, Robert went out to find cool rooms, if possible, & make the best of our position—and now we are settled magnificently in this palazzo Guidi on a first floor, in an apartment which looks quite beyond our means & would be except in the dead part of the season .. a suite of spacious rooms opening on a little terrace & furnished elegantly .. rather to suit our predecessor the Russian prince, than ourselves .. but cool & in a delightful situation, .. six paces from the piazza Pitti, & with right of daily admission to the Boboli gardens. We pay what we paid in the Via Belle Donne– Is’nt this prosperous? You would be surprised to see me, I think, I am so very well (& look so) .. dispensed from being carried up stairs, & inclined to take a run, for a walk, every now & then. I scarcely recognize myself or my ways, or my own spirits, all is so different– Now let me talk of you, my dear friend, to whom I never shall change, I hope & believe. With the most earnest sympathy I read what you wrote of dear Gerardine & yourself; & understanding your feeling in writing it, in all its painfulness & tenderness, I understand besides that she could not choose as you would choose for her (—the thing is not possible—) and that she has a right to choose, if it is once granted that she is old enough to marry– Therefore & whatever your regret & grief may be, there is not room for blame—it seems to be a natural result of causes out of reach. You have played the best & tenderest part,—& if she is happy or not happy, she must in after life be g<rateful> to you, if grateful to any in the world. I certainly wish that she had waited, seen more men, & had time to take measure of her own nature & the needs of it .. but this is as vain a wish as any other: and if the man she has accepted now, loves her faithfully enough to make her his object for one year, it is an argument in his favour, seeing what men are– If he is worth just nothing, why absence & time will rot the straw-rope .. dont you think so? I hope in the meanwhile that dear Gerardine will be thrown into society as much as possible, & thoroughly amused & excited from other quarters. My cruelty to her would consist in distracting her into inconstancy– If she holds fast .. good .. it is in her favour & his– Remember there is a whole year—& that a year at Gerardine’s age is a long time. Give my love to her. Thank you for your notes on Venice, but you said nothing of the healthfulness in winter, which was what we wanted to know. You forget about Pisa. It was not through œconomy that we made our mistake in choosing too cold a situation– The mistake was Dr Nankevill’s, with Dr Cook to help him a little. [7] Wilson is quite well here, as are we all. We have made the acquaintance of Mr Powers, who is delightful .. of a most charming simplicity .. with those great burning eyes of his– Tell me what you think of his boy listening to the shell– Oh, your Raphaels! how divine! And M. Angelo’s sculptures! His pictures I leap up to in vain, & fall back regularly. Write of your book & yourself & write soon .. <let> me be always

your affectionate

Ba—

We are here two months certain, & perhaps long<er>– Do write.

[Continued by RB]

Dear Aunt Nina– Ba has said something for me, I hope– In any case, my love goes with hers– I trust you are well and happy as we are, and as we would make you if we could. Love to Geddie.

Ever yours

RB

Address, in EBB’s hand, on integral page: Angleterre via France / Mrs Jameson / Ealing / near London.

Publication: LEBB, I, 332–334 (in part, as 7 August 1847).

Manuscript: Wellesley College.

1. Year provided by postmark.

2. Cf. Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (1798), line 17.

3. The baths near Vicenza to which RB refers in letter 2666.

4. “A road impassable for wheeled traffic.”

5. “Meat.”

6. In Legends of the Monastic Orders (1850), Mrs. Jameson devoted a section to “the Order of Vallombrosa,” in which she referred to the “Legend of San Gualberto.”

7. See letter 2624, note 9.

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