2631. RB to Arabella & Henrietta Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 14, 56–58.
Pisa,
Nov. 24, 1846.
Ba directs me to address this letter to “my sisters,”—or, even more familiarly,—to [“]Henrietta & Arabella”!– If I could make up my mind to obey her, the liberty would be in some measure justified, perhaps, by the unaffected sincerity of the brotherly feeling with which I must ever regard them both—nor have I any right to doubt that they will kindly accept an assurance which their own letters drew forth. For I will say, my dear sisters, that I had not to wait for those letters to know what your conduct has always been to Ba,—and whoever loves her as you do, must take my own love too, whether it be worth taking or not. But when I find that in addition to that constant love, continued under many trying circumstances, you further can afford to myself that generous sympathy which I never had the good fortune to be able to claim thro’ a personal acquaintance,—what shall I say? Believe me thro’ life, in all affectionate truth, your brother, as you have already proved yourselves the dearest of sisters—for which may God bless and reward you. I am the better enabled to bear what is at least as much a surprize to me as a matter of concern,—tho’ it does concern me deeply—I mean, the light in which other members of your family, I am informed, look upon a step which your good sense must see to have been altogether unavoidable. There is no need that I should reiterate what was, no doubt, sufficiently stated at the beginning, and, so far as I can find, is not disputed now. I will only say that if, on a consideration of all the facts, your brothers can honestly come to the opinion that, by any of the ordinary methods applicable to any other case, I could have effected the same result,—that any amount of exertion on my part, any extent of sacrifice, would have availed to render extreme measures unnecessary,—then, I will express all the sorrow they can desire—tho’ at the same time I shall expect some forgiveness for a very involuntary error—assuring them, as I do, that I believed,—and believe,—that their sister’s life depended upon my acting as I acted. Nor can I think that, if they saw her, as I have the happiness to see her, so changed as to be hardly recognizable, and with a fair prospect of life and enjoyment for many years to come .. they could not be very angry I am sure! I can too easily understand the disappointment anyone must feel who has been accustomed to her society and is now deprived of it—but if I were convinced that her welfare was to be most effectually gained by her leaving me, she should leave me. This is a subject, as you feel, in which my tongue is tied– I could not help saying this much however– Now, let me speak of her. There are very few to whom I can be at liberty so to speak—but you will understand, and forgive what may seem superfluous,—knowing her as you do– I, however, thought I knew her, while every day and hour reveals more and more to me the divine goodness and infinite tenderness of her heart,—while that wonderful mind of hers, with its inexhaustible affluence and power,—continues increasingly to impress me. I shall not attempt to tell you what she is to me. Her entire sweetness of temper makes it a delight to breathe the same air with her—and I cannot imagine any condition of life, however full of hardship which her presence would not render not merely supportable but delicious. It is nothing to say that my whole life shall be devoted to such a woman,—its only happiness will consist in such a devotion.
How I wish you could see us in our strange home here! We inhabit a huge pile, (.. that is, some rooms in one corner of it—) on the front of which I counted about forty[-]seven doors and windows the other day– We sit there alone on mornings and evenings, seeing nobody in this strange silent old city. The weather continues very fine,—tho’ the natives assure us the cold is portentously premature, and that January has got into November’s place—accordingly they go about muffled up in vast cloaks, with little earthenware pots full of live embers to warm their fingers, besides. Our letters from England describe the cold there as something considerably more terrible,—so that Ba is better here—where at five oclock (now striking) I am writing at an open window whence I see not a few trees as green as in summer. In the middle of the day the sunshine is overpowering—but we have had one grievance in the east wind which has persisted for the last week. Or, perhaps, one may give a better notion of the general mildness of the season by telling you that the gnats continue to molest Ba (having always had the good taste to spare me). Still our woodfire will look very pleasant & cheerful when I go in presently, and Ba will sit at the table by it and make coffee with due ceremony. Could you not ever come and see all this for yourselves? I heartily wish you could, nor do I see why it needs be impossible. At all events some day or other we hope to return to England—and then I shall not despair of your giving that completeness to Ba’s comfort which will be impossible before.
And now, may I ask you a favour? It is, that if any thing should strike you with respect to Ba’s well-being .. any suggestion that you may think of for her comfort,—you will write of it to me—not to her, with her unselfish, generous disregard of what she fancies (most erroneously) to relate exclusively to herself– In all probability I should never hear of it—but for a hint, a word to me, directly, I shall be very grateful.
And now, my dear sisters—once more, God bless you for all your love and goodness. I thank you from my heart and shall never forget it—being ever most affectionately,
yours
RB.
Publication: TTUL, pp. 12–16.
Manuscript: British Library.
___________________
