Correspondence

2714.  EBB & RB to Anna Brownell Jameson

As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 14, 343–346.

[mid-] December [1847] [1]

Indeed, my dear friend, you have a right to complain of me, whether or not we had any, in thinking ourselves ‘deeply injured creatures by your last’ silence. Yet when in your letter which came at last, you said “write directly” I meant to write directly– I did not take out my vengeance in a forgone malice, be very sure. Just at the time, we were in a hard knot of uncertainties, about Rome & Venice & Florence, & a cold house & a warm house—for instance we managed (that is, I [2] did—for altogether it was my fault) to take two apartments in the course of ten days, each for a term of six months, .. getting out of one of them by leaving the skirts of our garments, rent, [3] literally, in the hand of the proprietor. You have heard most of this, I dare say, from Mr Kenyon or my sisters. Now too, you are aware of our being in piazza Pitti, in a charmed circle of sunblaze. Our rooms are small but of course as cheerful as being under the very eyelids of the sun must make everything; and we have a cook in the house who takes the office of traiteur on him, & gives us English mutton chops at Florentine prices,—both of us quite well & in spirits, & (though you never will believe this) happier than ever. For my own part, you know I need not say a word if it were not true, and I must say to you who saw the beginning with us, that this end of fifteen months is just fifteen times better & brighter; the mystical “moon” growing larger & larger till scarcely room is left for any stars at all: the only differences which have touched me, being to more & more happiness. It would have been worse than unreasonable if in marrying I had expected one quarter of such happiness, and indeed I did not, to do myself justice—and every now & then I look round in astonishment & thankfulness together, yet with a sort of horror, seeing that this is not Heaven after all. We live just as we did when you knew us, just as shut-up a life– Robert never goes anywhere except to take a walk with Flush, .. which is’nt my fault as you may imagine: he has not been out one evening of the fifteen months: but what with music & books, & writing & talking, we scarcely know how the days go—it’s such a gallop on the grass. We are going through some of old Sacchetti’s novelets now: characteristic work for Florence, if somewhat dull elsewhere. Boccaccios cant be expected to spring up with the vines in rows, even in this climate. We got a newly printed addition to Savonarola’s poems the other day [4] —very flat & cold—they did not catch fire when he was burnt. The most poetic thing in the book, is his face on the first page, with that eager, devouring soul in the eyes of it. You may suppose that I am able sometimes to go over to the gallery & adore the Raphaels—and Robert will tell you of the divine Apollino which you missed seeing in Poggio Imperiale, [5] & which I shall be set face to face before, some day soon, I hope. I am looking so well that a cousin of mine lately married & on the usual tour, who came to visit us on her way through Florence, declared it was a case “past recognition”– We had parted in my room in poor Wimpole Street,—so of course she did see some difference. A summer in the open air, & half a winter with liberty of walking out a little most days, and unclouded happiness (except the transalpine clouds!) throughout all that time, may be supposed to have had an influence for good. In making people egotists .. you will say. Well—give me back my egotism, I only beseech of you. Let it be an I for an I, according to the strictest of the Jewish Law– [6] I want so much .. we want so much .. to hear every, the least & greatest thing, about you, dearest Madonna Nina, & of Geddie too. Thank her, by the way, for the letter she sent me, & which I shall answer in time, notwithstanding appearances. It was quite a surprise to me, who had received a contrary tradition just before, that her marriage should be a fixed thing, .. & fixed for so early a time. Oh, may God order it all for her happiness .. & for yours. I wonder & wonder in my head on the subject of your wonderful plans, which you just hint at, & which are interwoven, you say, with ours, .. & whether yours & Geddie’s may not, or must not be of the same skein—as for ours, they are the merest cobweb at present, & not discussable beyond this flare of the pinewood .. Florence, I delight in: it combines art & nature, to say nothing of the conveniences of “l’homme policé”, [7] which Robert classes roughly when he speaks of “a place where you may buy Toulon lozenges”. (Is that the way to spell Toulon? I leave it to “l’homme policé” to spell right.) As to the society of Florence, we know nothing of it happily– Only Mr Powers, & lively, clever Miss Boyle, & one or two passing Americans who come with or without letters of introduction, break on our tête à tête—& nobody at all thinks of tormenting us, as far as the “regular residents” are concerned. We do quite as well here as ever we did at Pisa in this respect of being untormented– All I complain of is, the want of new books– My dear French romances, Robert goes to hunt for me in vain– I have’nt read even Lucresia—nor Balzac’s last but three. [8] Father Prout was in Florence for some two hours in passing to Rome, & of course, according to contract of spirits of the air, Robert met him, & heard a great deal of you & Geddie, (saw Geddie’s picture, by the way, & thought it very like) .. was told much to the advantage of Mr Macpherson, [9] & at the end of all kissed in the open street, as the speaker was about to disappear in the diligence. When you write, tell me of the book– Surely it will be out anon—and then you will be free, shall you not? Have you seen Tennyson’s new poem—and what of it? Miss Martineau is to discourse about Ægypt, I suppose,—but in the meanwhile, do you hear that she forswears mesmerism, as Mr Spenser Hall does, [10] according to the report Robert brings me home from the newspaper-reading– Now I shall leave him room to stand on & speak a word to you. Give my love to Gerardine & dont forget to mention her letter. I hope you are happy about your friends, & that in particular, Lady Byron’s health is strengthening & to strengthen. Always my dear friend’s

Most affectionate

EBB

[Continued by RB]

Dear Aunt Nina .. A corner is just the place for eating Christmas pies in, but for venting Christmas wishes, hardly! What has Ba told you, and wished you in the way of love? Because I wish you the same & love you the same—and Geddie being part of you, gets her due part. We are as happy as two owls in a hole, two toads under a tree-stump,—or any other queer two poking creatures that are let live after the fashion of their black hearts—only Ba is fat and rosy,—yes, indeed! Florence is empty and pleasant– Goodbye therefore till next year—shall it not be then we meet?

God bless you–

RB.

Address, in EBB’s hand, on integral page: Mrs Jameson / Ealing.

Publication: LEBB, I, 354–356 (in part).

Manuscript: Wellesley College.

1. Year determined from postmark, and RB’s Christmas wishes place this letter in mid to late December.

2. Underscored twice.

3. Cf. I Samuel 15:27.

4. Poesie di Ieronimo Savonarola illustrate e pubblicate per cura di Andin de Rians (Florence, 1847). The likeness of Savonarola, opposite the title-page, is an engraving of the portrait by Fra Bartolomeo, and depicts Savonarola in his monk’s cowl (cf. Casa Guidi Windows, I, 273–276). Franco di Benci Sacchetti (1332?–1400), son of a prosperous and respected Florentine Guelph merchant, was the author of Trecento novelle (only 223 of the 300 stories have survived), which depicts the manners and customs of middle-class life in 13th-century Florence. Sacchetti’s stories lack a frame-work like the Decameron of his more famous contemporary Boccaccio, and often conclude with a moral. A selection of these stories was published in Paris in early 1847 in Tesoro dei Novellieri Italiani scelti dal decimoterzo al decimonono secolo, and is possibly the edition which the Brownings read.

5. This 17th-century palace just outside the Porta Romana was built by the wife of Cosimo II, and, according to Murray’s Hand-Book for Travellers in Northern Italy (1847), “in the dining room is a small statue of Apollo which is said to be the work of Phidias, and is of exquisite beauty. It was considered to be the finest statue in Florence, by Canova, who, whenever he was there, took his friends to see it” (p. 574).

6. Cf. Exodus 21:24.

7. “Civilized man.”

8. See letter 2654, in which EBB mentions Une Instruction criminelle and L’Envers de l’histoire contemporaine as “new works” by Balzac. In letter 2703 (see note 17), EBB said she had not read Sand’s Lucrezia Floriani.

9. According to the DNB, Father Prout was a frequent visitor to Mrs. Jameson when she was in Rome.

10. The Brownings’ source for this is unknown. There is no evidence that Harriet Martineau or Spencer Timothy Hall ever denied their belief in mesmerism. In a letter to Mary Carpenter, dated 17 April 1866, Miss Martineau denied a belief in spiritualism, but affirmed that her position on mesmerism was “the same that it was twenty years ago” (Harriet Martineau’s Autobiography, 1877, III, 421).

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