2926. EBB to John Kenyon
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 17, 66–70.
Paris.
July 8– [1851] [1]
My dearest Mr Kenyon, I have waited day after day during this week that we have been here, to be able to tell you that we have decided this or that .. but the indecision lasts, and I cant let you hear from others of our being in Paris, when you have a right more than anybody almost to hear all about us. I wanted to write to you indeed from Venice where we stayed a month, & much the same reason made me leave it undone—as we were making & unmaking plans the whole time, & we did’nt know till the last few hours, for instance, whether or not we should go to Milan. Venice is quite exquisite .. it wrapt me round with a spell at first sight, and I longed to live & die there .. never to go away. The gondolas, & the glory they swim through, & the silence of the population drifted over one’s head across the bridges, & the fantastic architecture, & the coffee-drinking & music in the piazza San Marco, .. everything fitted in to my lazy, idle nature & weakness of body as if I had been born to the manner [2] of it & to no other. Do you know I expected in Venice a dreary sort of desolation?—whereas, there was nothing melancholy at all, only a soothing, lulling, rocking atmosphere which if Armida had lived in a city rather than in a garden would have suited her purpose– [3] Indeed Taglioni seems to be resting her feet from dancing, there, with a peculiar zest, inasmuch as she has bought three or four of the most beautiful palaces [4] —how could she do better? And one or two ex-kings & queens (of the more vulgar royalties) have wrapt themselves round with those shining waters to forget the purple .. or dream of it .. as the case may be. Robert & I led a true Venetian life, I assure you .. we “swam in gondolas” [5] to the Lido & everywhere else, we went to a festa at Chioggia in the steamer, (frightening Wilson by being kept out by the wind till two in the morning) we went to the opera & the play (at a shilling each .. or not as much!) & we took coffee every evening on St Mark’s piazza to music & the stars– Altogether it would have been perfect .. only what’s perfect in the world? While I grew fat, Wilson grew thin, & Robert could not sleep at nights– The air was too relaxing or soft or something, for them both—& poor Wilson declares that another month of Venice wd have killed her outright– Certainly she looked dreadfully ill & could eat nothing– So I was forced to be glad to go away, out of pure humanity & sympathy, though I keep saying softly to myself ever since, “What is there on earth like Venice?”
Then, we slept at Padua on St Anthony’s night (more’s the pity for us! they made us pay sixteen zwanzigers for it!) and Robert & I, leaving Wiedeman at the inn, took a caleche & drove over to Arqua .. which I had set my heart on seeing for Petrarch’s sake. Did you ever see it, you? And did’nt it move you, the sight of that little room where the great soul exhaled itself? Even Robert’s man’s eyes had tears in them as we stood there, & looked through the window at the green peaked hills. And, do you know, I believe in “the cat”– [6] Through Brescia we passed by moonlight (such a flood of white moonlight) & got into Milan in the morning. There we stayed two days, & I climbed to the topmost pinnacle of the cathedral .. wonder at me! Indeed I was rather overtired, it must be confessed .. three hundred & fifty steps! .. but the sight was worth everything .. enough to light up one’s memory for ever. How glorious that cathedral is!—worthy almost of standing face to face with the snow Alps,—and itself a sort of snow dream by an artist-architect, taken asleep in a glacier! Then the Da Vinci Christ did not disappoint us, which is saying much. It is divine– And the Lombard school generally was delightful after Bologna & those soul-less Caracci! [7] I have even given up Guido, & Guercino too, since knowing more of them. Correggio, on the other hand, is sublime at Parma—he is wonderful!—besides having the sense to make his little Christs & angels after the very likeness of my baby.
From Milan we moved to Como .. steamed down to Menaggio (opposite to Bellaggio) took a caleche to Porlezza, & a boat to Lugano … another caleche to Bellinzona .. left Wiedeman there, .. & returning on our steps, steamed down & up again the Lago Maggiore .. went from Bellinzona to Faido & slept .. & crossed the Mount St. Gothard the next day, catching the Lucerne steamer at Fluellen. The scenery everywhere was most exquisite, but of the great pass I shall say nothing—it was like standing in the presence of God when He is terrible. The tears overflowed my eyes. I think I never saw the sublime before. Do you know I sate out in the coupè a part of the way with Robert so as to apprehend the whole sight better .. with a thick shawl over my head, only letting out the eyes to see. They told us there was more snow than was customary at this time of year, .. and it well might be so, for the passage through it, cut for the carriage, left the snow-walls nodding over us at a great height on each side, & the cold was intense.
Do you know we must yield the palm & that Lucerne is far finer than any of our Italian lakes. Even Robert had to confess it at once. I wanted to stay in Switzerland, but we found it wiser to hasten our steps & come to Paris, so we came. Yes, and we travelled from Strasburg to Paris in four & twenty hours, night & day, never stopping except for a quarter of an hour’s breakfast & half an hour’s dinner. So afraid I was of the fatigue for Wiedeman! But between the unfinished railroad & the diligence, there’s a complication of risks of losing places just now .. & we were forced to go the whole way in a breath or to hazard being three or four days on the road– So we took the coupè & resigned ourselves—& poor little babe slept at night & laughed in the day, & came into Paris as fresh in spirit as if just alighted from the morning-star, screaming out with delight at the shops! Think of that child! Upon the whole, he has enjoyed our journey as much as any one of us, observing & admiring, .. though Robert & Wilson will have it that some of his admiration of the scenery we passed through, was pure affectation, & acted out to copy ours. He cried out, clasping his hands, that the mountains were “due”, [8] —meaning a great number. His love of beautiful buildings .. of churches especially, .. no one can doubt about. When first he saw St Mark’s, he threw up his arms in wonder, & then clasping them round Wilson’s neck (she was carrying him) he kissed her in an ecstasy of joy. And that was after a long day’s journey, when most other children would have been tired & fretful. But the sense of the beautiful is certainly very strong in him, little darling. He cant say the word “church” yet, but when he sees one he begins to chant .. oh, he’s a true Florentine in some things.
Well, now we are in Paris & have to forget the “belle chiese” [9] .. we have beautiful shops instead—false teeth grinning at the corners of the streets, & disreputable prints, and fascinating hats & caps, and brilliant restaurants, and M. le president in a cocked hat & with a train of cavalry, passing like a rocket along the boulevards to an occasional yell from the Red. Oh yes—& dont mistake me! for I like it all extremely—it’s a splendid city—a city, in the country, as Venice is a city in the sea. And I’m as much amused as Wiedeman, who stands in the street before the printshops (to Wilson’s great discomfort) and roars at the lions. And I admire the bright green trees & gardens everywhere in the heart of the town .. surely it is a most beautiful city! And I like the restaurants more than is reasonable .. dining à la carte, & mixing up one’s dinner with heaps of newspapers, & the “solution” by Emile de Girardin, who suggests that the next president should be a tailor. Moreover we find apartments very cheap in comparison to what we feared, and we are in a comfortable quiet hotel, where it is possible, & not ruinous, to wait & look about one.
As to England—oh England—how I dread to think of it. We talk of going over for a short time, but have not decided when—yet it will be soon perhaps; it may. If it were not for my precious Arabel, I would not go: because Robert’s family would come to him here, they say– But to give up Arabel is impossible. Henrietta is in Somersetshire—it is uncertain whether I shall see her, even in going, & she too might come to Paris this winter. And you will come—you promised, I think?
I have seen my uncle Hedley here, last night, in passing to Tours– He is kind & affectionate as always he was to me, & not looking unwell as I expected—rather thinner perhaps—that’s all—or greyer, and that’s not much.
I feel here near enough to England .. there’s the truth. I recoil from the bitterness of being nearer. Still, it must be thought of.
Dearest cousin, dearest friend, in all this pleasant journey we have borne you in mind, & gratefully! you must feel that without being told. I wont quite do like my Wiedeman, who everytime he fires his gun (if its twenty times in five minutes) says .. “Papa, Papa,”—because Robert gave him the gun, & the gratitude is as re-iterantly and loudly explosive. But one’s thoughts may say what they please, & as often as they please.
Arabel tells me that you are kind to the manner of my poem, though, to the matter, obdurate. Miss Mitford, too, says, that it wont receive the sympathy proper to a home subject, because the English people dont care anything for the Italians now,—despising them for their want of originality in Art!!!! That’s very good of the English people, really!– I fear much that dear Miss Mitford has suffered seriously from the effects of the damp house last winter. What she says of herself makes me anxious about her.
Give my true love to dear Miss Bayley, & say how I repent in ashes for not having written to her– But she is large-hearted & will forgive me, and I shall make amends & send her sheet upon sheet. Barry Cornwall’s letter to Robert of course delighted as well as it honoured me. Does it appear in the new edition of his “Songs” &c?
Mind—if ever I go to England, I shall have no heart to go out of a very dark corner– I shall just see you, & that’s all. It’s only Robert who is a patriot now, of us two. England, what with the past & the present, is a place of bitterness to me, .. bitter enough to turn all her seas round to wormwood! Airs & hearts .. all are against me in England!—yet, dont let me be ungrateful—no love is forgotten, or less prized—certainly not yours. Only I’m a citizeness of the world now, you see, and float loose.
God bless you, dearest Mr Kenyon, prays
Your ever affectionate
Ba–
Robert’s best love as always. He writes by this post to Mr Procter. How beautifully Sarianna has corrected for the press, my new poem!– Wonderfully well, really. There is only one error of consequence, & which I will ask you to correct in any copy you can,—of “rail” in the last line, to “vail,”—the allusion being of course to the Jewish temple—but, as it is printed, nobody can catch any meaning, I fear. They tell me that the ‘Puseyite organ, the Guardian,’ has been strong in attack. [10] So best.
Publication: LEBB, II, 7–13 (in part, as 7 July [1851]).
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Year provided by EBB’s reference to the Brownings’ recent stay in Venice.
2. Cf. Hamlet, I, 4, 15.
3. In Tasso’s Gerusalemme Liberata, Armida is the sorceress Queen of Damascus, whose castle contains an enchanted garden.
4. Among Marie Taglioni’s properties was Ca’ d’Oro on the Grand Canal.
5. Cf. As You Like It, IV, 1, 28.
6. According to Murray’s, in Petrarch’s house at Arqua his “cat or ‘miccia,’ as he used to call her … is here stuffed, in a small niche” (Handbook for Travellers in Northern Italy, 1852, p. 226).
7. A Bolognese family of painters that included Ludovico Carracci (1555–1619) and his cousins Agostino (1557–1602) and Annibale (1560–1609). The Carracci, who established an academy of art in Bologna, created a “new style … which superseded the ancient maxims, and finally supplanted those of every other master” (Murray’s A Hand-Book for Travellers in Central Italy, 1850, p. 31).
8. “Two.”
9. “Beautiful churches.”
10. In the 11 June 1851 issue of The Guardian (p. 424), Casa Guidi Windows is called “an unmistakeable and complete failure.” For the complete text of this review, see p. 310. The Guardian, a weekly, was founded in 1846 by prominent Tractarians, including Richard William Church (1815–90), later Dean of St. Paul’s.
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