Correspondence

2892.  EBB to Anna Brownell Jameson

As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 16, 239–241.

Florence–

December 10 [sic, for 9]. [1850] [1]

We must begin by thanking you, our very dear friend, for the pleasure we have had in receiving & knowing M. de Goethe. Robert was delighted with him & so was I—the shadow of the great name was something, but the personality itself was another .. and very pure & elevated, & full of noble instincts the said personality seemed to us. He stayed two days in Florence, & gave us as much of his society as we could venture to hope for– I assure you it has been a very great pleasure, which the association with you makes more pleasurable still– Indeed you did owe us some amends, for the disappointment you inflicted in the change of plan about Italy. How could you have the heart to treat us so? Eighteen hundred and fifty one is a dreary way off, and we have no breath to think of next winter, with this December just beginning. How much better to come at once and do your business here, besides making us happy!! and that poor Gerardine longing for you, as she has proved by sending me two little notes, one after the other, just to find out whether we knew what she did’nt, about you, & whether there was hope for her in Vienna! In respect to her, I am very sorry,—I feel the deepest sympathy in all your regrets,—especially I am inclined to think none the better of Mr Macpherson for exacting or accepting (whichever may be the word to use) an ill considered sacrifice of religious profession at her age. He should have insisted on her waiting, at least– I think there is no excuse. As far as the evil to herself goes, there probably is not much at present—her opinions must have been in a vague state, you see: but what one thinks of sadly, is the preclusion & state of shackling, induced by the Roman C. creed: it chains you up to the wall. Still, we must hope the best for dear Gerardine, and I am very glad to understand from you that she talks of herself as happy. Life has a great many colours, we should remember, & each is suited best to some particular pair of eyes. Your blue is not like Gerardine’s pink, but Gerardine’s pink may do excellently for Gerardine, notwithstanding. Ah, but I am sorry that it is’nt Gerardine’s blue instead– Very sorry I am, both for her sake & your’s.

Now, in reply to your kind interest about us, let me set down some of our history. We were disappointed in our English intentions, as you know:—the means failed us. Who knows what is best? it was happy that they did,—for with all our quietness & precautions at Florence I was taken ill .. in July, I think it was, .. & suffered another miscarriage (a fourth,) with much worse symptoms than any previous one. Indeed one night, I, who do not easily take such fancies, doubted much whether I should get through it. I was in ice for three days, & for six weeks, could not walk across the floor. Nobody (in the body) ever looked more ghastly than I did—and as soon as I could be moved, Dr Harding insisted on my changing the air, much against my will, the depression being great in all ways. So poor dearest Robert, who had been shutting himself up with me for all those weeks, carried me into the Siena rail-carriage, & we set off to Siena as we best could, he afraid for me, and I not much hoping for myself. At Siena we were established in a villa, a mile & a half from the city, & stayed there, (in the vineyards & olive grounds & with a country undulating so all round us that the countless hills looked alive) through the month of September,—in the course of which, I recovered health, strength, & looks, & grew able to walk a mile or more without fatigue. Then, we took an apartment in the town, that Robert might show me the churches & pictures, & really we saw them thoroughly & enjoyed them completely .. Bazzi, Beccafumi, Pachierotto, .. not a picture escaped us. We even looked at the pozzo di Diana, & went down to the Fonte Branda, calling at St Catherine’s house. So much we enjoyed everything, & so wonderfully I sprouted up again after my illness .. which “would have been worse borne”, said Dr Harding, “by a robuster woman”. You will judge of this when I tell you that since my return, I have positively walked to the top of San Miniato– Can you believe that of me? One must confess that the feat is remarkable not chiefly for wisdom—but dont you know that in this world of ours we make our boast of our follies only. When we chance to do anything wise, we are apt to be ashamed of it—now, are we not? Baby enjoyed himself at Siena as much as any of us. At the villa he had a favorite pig, besides the grapes & the blackberries, and pigeons, & a great yellow dog—& with the help of these comforters (backing Flush who is a bosom-friend) he resigned himself to his first misfortune of being weaned. Now, the child is just twenty one months old, & is very forward in everything except in talking. Whether it is the two languages which perplex him a little, & whether, as Robert says, it is the depth of his intellect, which is occupied with things rather than words, I dont know, but he says scarcely a word, while he understands whatever Italian you may be pleased to speak & answers you by most expressive gesticulation. A very curious child he is, with a passion for music and the churches which you wd scarcely receive from me as a credible thing if I told you the extent of it. He knows every church in Florence, & wont pass them by without going in .. Kicks & screams & stiffens with rage if he is hindered– When he goes in, he kneels down & folds his hands, looking up with his grave baby face. So at the sound of the piano .. for he has associated music with the churches .. he is on his knees on a moment. One scarcely knows how to deal with these phenomena, for really it seems less a play, than a possession by an idea. So sensitive & affectionate he is—so careful of not hurting the little flies—so ready to cry when he sees the oxen beaten out of doors. You may suppose how much too precious he is to Robert & me. The great wonder is, the perfection of his health which has never been affected, except for four & twenty hours once by an undue exposure to the sun. Wont you write oftener– And will you love us as we love you? May God bless you always–

your ever affectionate Ba.

Your books are more valuable still as we know them better. We cant go to Rome—it is not in the finances, this year—so we try to grow quietly where we are planted. Not a bad garden after all!– I hate controversies & sectarian rancour—but still the feeling exacted in England seems to me natural & national enough in the main, considering the circumstances. [2]

Address, on integral page: A Madame / Madme Jameson (chez Madame de Goethe) / Leopoldstadt / Diana Bad / 1st St. Links / Vienna.

Publication: None traced.

Manuscript: Wellesley College.

1. This letter is postmarked 9 December 1850.

2. See letter 2889, note 7.

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