2647. EBB to Henrietta Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 14, 93–98.
Collegio Ferdinando
Jany 7– [1847] [1]
My dear dearest Henrietta, Praise me as the best letter writer in the world of frosts– If I had been with you, I should have been frozen white .. thrown out of use, as the pipes of the Shower bath .. Such accounts as the newspapers give of the cold in England! [2] —for we see the newspapers now—so much the more credit to me! I have teased & entreated Robert for two things ever since we have been here—to have a piano, and to subscribe to a better library than the purely Italian one, .. somewhere where we could have French books & newspapers– The last point is gained at last—through my perseverance, & through the persistent dulness of these modern Italian writers who have’nt a soul among them all– If it were not for the Bible & Shakespeare, we might say seriously that we had not seen a real book since our arrival in Pisa, until my great victory a few days ago, of the new subscription– And now Robert is as pleased as I am, after all his jokes against “his little Ba-lamb” (one of my names!) “Who in spite of her innocense, could’nt live without wicked books by Eugene Sue.” Now, we have every evening at five oclock, just as we sit down to coffee, a french newspaper .. the Siècle—and besides, Robert when he goes to the post, may have a glance, if he feels inclined, at the English & German newspapers—& then he brings home both in his pocket. We never see a creature, & to talk for four & twenty hours together, would be rather exhausting—& one is not always in a humour for writing prose or rhyme. As to the piano, I begin to despair. I was foolish enough to say that I did not play—and the idea of even seeming to have anything for himself, … (though I have talked myself hoarse about my love of music & so on) is quite enough to make Robert turn back determinedly. He calls it a foolish expense, & wont listen to it– Such pleasure it would be to me to hear him– Mrs Jameson told me that his playing was “full of science & feeling,” which I can easily believe, for he could not do a thing moderately well. By the way we heard from her, two days ago, from Florence, on the verge of setting out for Rome—the most disconsolate letter, possible!– She had suffered herself to be drawn into the English society in Florence, & had lost time & patience, & gained nothing .. except the acquaintance of two interesting foreigners whom she considered unfit for Gerardine to associate with– She is, of course, particular about Gerardine—or she herself would have enjoyed it– The English seem to have made a most tedious & dull impression– “Miss Garrow spoke of” me “with enthusiasm”—and Mrs Stisted [3] meant to come to Pisa on purpose to have the sight of US—you ought to have seen Robert’s & my consternation. Wilson has received “instructions” accordingly. When we go to Florence, .. & early in April we turn our faces that way, .. it will be in the most royal state of incognito– We mean to cut everybody we ever knew, so that nobody need be offended. Robert works himself up into a fine frenzy in talking of the horrors of mixed society, & sometimes exhorts me just as if I wanted exhortation– “Those people will spoil all our happiness, if we once let them in, you will see! If you speak of your health & save yourself on that plea, they will sieze upon me—oh, dont I know them?” He walks up & down the room, thoroughly worked up!– “But, dearest,” say I, with my remarkable placidity, .. “I am not going to let anybody in! If one of us lets them in, it will be Wilson, most probably—! but we need not suffer it—I desire it quite as little as you.” —“There is that coarse, vulgar Mrs Trollope– I do hope, Ba, if you dont wish to give me the greatest pain, that you wont receive that vulgar, pushing, woman who is not fit to speak to you.” —“Well .. now we are at Mrs Trollope! You will have your headache in a minute—now do sit down, & let us talk of something else, & be quite sure that if we get into such scrapes, it wont be my fault.” —I assure you I dont exaggerate his visionary fears of ‘the world’, & ‘society’– What makes him perfectly happy is to draw his chair next mine & to let the time slip away. We should like to know one or two Italians, to have an opportunity of speaking the language, .. but that is the whole of the ambition, as to things of that sort. The weather is mild, but too damp underfoot for me to walk, & I keep by the fire, feeling very contented & very well. Surely it must strike some of those who are angry with me, that by staying in England through this severe winter, I should have probably been put an end to .. & certainly have lost all the advantages & strength which the summer & mild season before it, had allowed me to receive– Only that is no argument to those who wish me dead!–
Dearest Henrietta, I could not hold out against poor Bummy when the old year ended, so on the first day of the new I wrote to her not an unaffectionate letter certainly– At the same time I told her the truth as I understood the truth– I was as sincere as possible. With regard to you I just said that you were not in the least a likely person “to follow in my footsteps”, [4] & that whatever you did or did not do, every usual form of respect & affection would be strictly observed by you– When I had done my letter I thought that I wd enter on the subject a little more, & wrote on a paper my opinion specifically upon persons & rights .. which, when written, I took fright & burnt .. I did not dare send it, lest I might do some harm in an intention of doing good. I thought to myself, “Why Bummy will not take up my view of this question for anything I can say—she has lived too long in a different mould: but she may make some mischief perhaps, with as good an intention as mine, & therefore” … So I burnt what I had written. I cant think who can send her such accounts of you .. all that absurdity about ‘trousseaus’ & the rest– Louisa cannot, you know. It is also a complete mystery to me how Anne Gent had the information about me, which assuredly she had .. since Minny was not the informant. Could Arlette have said anything to Patten? [5] but that is improbable too– Bummy talks decidedly of coming to Italy, & all on account of Arlette’s singing. Also Jane talks of it .. of either Nice or Florence for the winter, & probably Florence. Do write to me soon, & let me hear how you have lived lately & whether my darling Arabel has her room yet, & whether Papa is kinder to her. I want to know too of other things … but I dare not hope that my brothers will accept the peace offering I sent them. I suppose they mean to salute me with the point of the sword for the rest of my life. As to making friends with me, with an “avaunt” to mine, they have better taste than to dream of such an impossible thing. Does Alfred get on in the railroad? [6] Has Occy made any good drawings lately? Did George go to Cambridge? How is the Law, too, with both him & Sette– And tell me of Henry. As to dear Stormie, I do trust that he has other plans than for that dreadful Jamaica[.] I love them all very dearly .. better than any of them loved me ever, or we should not be thus. We were talking this morning at breakfast of O’Connell & the Irish, & I was describing Stormie’s enthusiasm for both– [7] “Indeed” said I, “he is so generous & tenderhearted, that he naturally takes the part of every party or person attacked by others– He defends everyone who is accused.” —“Everyone, except you” … observed Robert gravely. I could not speak a word; my heart was full. The observation was too true a one, indeed. From Stormie, the pain has been more disappointing than from some others, for I could not have expected this from him .. but rather quite, quite, an opposite course.
How is Minny? Do you take as much care of her as you can, & make her rest– I think it is unkind, tell her, that she should refuse to lie down properly. The new maid, I have taken into my head, is not a pleasant person. Why do you keep her, in that case? Give my love to dear Minny. I am very glad that she took my carpet. Remember to tell me the colour of the drawingroom curtains & paper &c, that I may conjure you up properly. Has Papa made it up with Alfred? is it a settled thing? Question after question, I could ask you. So Matilda Bell [8] is going to be married to a man with a purse. So much the better if she likes it, but the transferred heart .. the family inheritance .. I wonder she should like. Wilson fancied, too, that she was inclined to another quarter, herself. Tell me of the Barretts—I heard that Maria had a sixth child– [9] Poor children, poor mother! He ought to get something to do on the foreign railroads, which wd not be difficult. Mr Bell gives up his heiress then, & is not thinner for it, I dare say. Has dearest Trippy been with you during the Christmas? My love to her & ten kisses—and tell me how she looks & whether she has given another festival since the one you told me of .. & how the lodgers on the lower floor go on, & whether she still likes her house. So you go to church to hear matins, just as much as ever. I agree that there is no harm in going to church. Otherwise, we are strongly against every pretence or pretext of Puseyism—Robert so strongly, that I wish sometimes to “pit” him against Mr Bevan—only .. poor Mr Bevan! He understands the scriptures thoroughly & learnedly, & begins by denying that there is any Priesthood but Christ’s, or any christianity apart from the doctrine of justification by faith as taught by the first reformers .. then wishes for more Martin Luthers, & disdains all saints like San Ranieri & San Torpé! [10] —thanks God that he is likely to die a dissenter .. then admits that, as a body, the dissenters have quite as many faults as any other class of christian men. What he likes alone among all the catholic forms, is the carrying of the crucifix before the corpse, in the many ghastly funerals which pass our windows. He thinks it significant & touching that the sign of faith should precede the dumb Dead, & “would rather like it” to be done in his own case. The funerals throng past our windows– The monks, sometimes all in black,—& sometimes all in white (according to the order) chant in a train, carrying torches .. & on the bier, comes the corpse .. open faced .. except just a veil. At first, we both used to rush to see the sight––but the horror (my old horror, tell Arabel) grew too strong for me soon: & he feels it too, & attends to me often when I say, “Oh, dont go to the window.” But sometimes he cries out .. “I cant help it, Ba—it draws me”. Such horrible, hoarse chanting, it is– Like the croaking of death itself.
Give my love to Susan & Surtees Cook—they always remember me– Does he go again to Taunton this spring? does he dine with you often? Tell me everything– Have you heard from Lady Bolingbroke & is it good news? Be wiser than I have been if you can, & give no occasion for conversation. My thoughts are with you at the tenderest & faithfullest! when they are prayers. I pray for you & my dearest Arabel, that you may be as happy as I am (or nearly!) as far as personal position goes, & happier in other respects. I say “nearly”, because I do not in my conscience believe that there can be another husband like mine—it is such a perpetual & unexceptional tenderness. Indeed all women might not like the excess .. I do not know. If you ever thought I was likely to be afraid, that is a mistake at any rate .. there is on each side, the most absolute confidence– How God has blessed me infinitely, after all the trial!—— I look at myself in wonder.
Always I pour out the coffee now .. it is my only “active duty” I think—that, & to keep Flush in sight, to prevent his barking.
Dearest Henrietta .. or dearest Arabel .. if you will send Mrs Jameson’s mittens .. having found them .. (those she gave me) together with Arabel’s picture, & the Serpent locket .. left somewhere on my table .. under cover (making a small parcel of them) to Sarianna Browning, she will let us have them together with a book of Robert’s which he requires for his new edition. She sends the book, understand, .. & will enclose the other things from you– Do not delay– Miss Browning, New Cross, Hatcham, Surrey. The full direction– There is a m.s. book too of mine .. left behind—but I am afraid I cant describe it– It has some translations from Petrarch. [11] Never mind, if you cant find it. Why is there no letter today? Write, write, & at large, & in detail. Believe that I am with you both in my heart– Dont grow thin again, dearest Henrietta– Also, keep up the fire! Tell Arabel (in sympathy) that I, too, sleep in the most uncomfortable of beds .. stuffed with orange tree shavings—but I sleep well notwithstanding, & have a regular siesta after dinner. Mind! Arabel did’nt tell me that her bed was uncomfortable. You may send me a yard or two of elastic (black) for sandals—but I dont care much– May God bless you, dearest & best .. both of you! Robert’s “dearest love” (his own words) to you both.
Your ever & ever attached
Ba–
Love to Lizzie—dear Lizzie! tell her, my “portrait”. [12]
I am glad of the good news of Crow. [13] Say whether I may safely direct to you in Wimpole Street.
Address, on integral page: Miss Barrett / 50 Wimpole Street.
Publication: TTUL, pp. 16–26.
Manuscript: Camellia Collection.
1. Year determined by the Brownings’ residence in Collegio Ferdinando in January 1847.
2. The Times for 16 December 1846 reported that “the frost continues with increasing severity.”
3. Clotilda Elizabeth Stisted (1790–1868) was the author of Letters from the Bye-Ways of Italy (1845), illustrated by her husband Colonel Henry Stisted (1786–1859), and published by subscription in support of an English Chapel at Bagni di Lucca. The Stisteds lived in the Villa Brodrick at Bagni di Lucca. She had met EBB some twenty years earlier, probably at Malvern through Lady Knowles, a mutual friend. Mrs. Stisted also knew EBB’s aunt Jane Hedley.
4. i.e., to marry without her father’s permission.
5. Martha Patten (1804–72), born at Fenham, Northumberland, was Bummy’s lady’s maid. Ann Gent (née Mason, 1805–89), born at Colwall, Herefordshire, was a maid in the Moulton-Barrett household from 1822 to 1835. In 1836 she married William Gent (1799–1885), a groom in Bummy’s service.
6. Alfred had taken a position with the Great Western Railway in late 1845. A sketchbook containing drawings of his fellow workers has survived; see Reconstruction, H101.
7. Charles John’s (“Storm”) admiration of O’Connell is noted in letters 1124 and 1292, and his kind and generous spirit is mentioned in letters 1105, 1113, and 2179. He left for Jamaica in early 1847 where he remained until after his father’s death in 1857.
8. Matilda Jane Bell (b. 1808) married John Moore on 12 January 1847 at Long Houghton, Northumberland. Matilda Bell was the sister of Susanna Maria Bell referred to in the following note.
9. Dulcibella Barrett (1846–79), the third daughter and sixth child of Samuel Goodin Barrett (1812–76) and Susanna Maria Barrett (née Bell, 1816–1904), was born on 11 November 1846.
10. For San Torpes, see letter 2645, note 6. San Ranieri of Pisa (1117–61) was the well-educated son of a wealthy Pisan merchant. After a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, Ranieri returned to Pisa where his successful healings and conversions resulted in his eventual canonization, probably by Alexander III. Ranieri became the patron saint of Pisa in the 13th century, and according to Murray’s Hand-Book for Travellers in Northern Italy (1847), “there is a triennial fête in honour of him called the Illuminaria, early in June, when the whole of the Lung’Arno is illuminated. It is a beautiful sight” (p. 452). Murray’s Hand-Book also notes that the transept in the cathedral is “called the Crociera di San Ranieri,” (p. 444), and there are various representations of his life and works by Simone Memmi in the Campo Santo (p. 452).
11. A notebook containing numerous manuscripts by EBB, including translations from Petrarch sold as part of lot 111 in Browning Collections (see Reconstruction, D1422, D1247–1248, and D1252–1253).
12. EBB’s cousin, Georgiana Elizabeth (“Lizzie”) Barrett, was the subject of EBB’s poem “A Portrait,” which appeared in Poems (1844).
13. Perhaps news of a pregnancy.
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