2656. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 14, 128–134.
[Pisa]
Feb. 24– 1847.
My most dear Arabel, here am I waiting, waiting for letters!– There may be one today perhaps, & while Robert prepares to go out to the post & Flush adjusts himself for an interrogative bark (“am I to go too”?) I begin an answer to what may arrive .. I do hope so. Something will be said in it of my dear Stormie, .. of the manner of his going, & whether his joy lasted to the end. It is certainly a comfort to think that his choice was in the matter, .. & also (what George tells me) that he goes for a short time only & may travel in another direction afterwards. I dont find fault with people for wanting to travel .. it seems as natural as wishing to read– It is only the climate, which frightens me—ah well, but Retreat [1] is cool, I suppose, & he will take care, he promises .. and God is over all. I have heard from George, you see– Not an unkind letter, if considered by itself, & considering me by myself .. but unkind, I must think, after all I have said, & in relation to the circumstances in which I am– Good Heavens, how little they know of me, if they imagine it to be possible to thrust me into the position, the possibility of which they assume! There is one person in the world who might do it .. Papa might. If he said “I will write to you .. I will see you .. your husband’s name never being named between us”, .. I should think it my duty to accept under any condition any alms of kindness from him– He is my father .. I would kiss his hands & feet at any moment– Also he has peculiarities which I deeply pity the tendencies of, & which, where it is possible, should be dealt with tenderly. But to my brothers .. in fact to another human being except my father, .. this does not apply– I have used my last word on the state of the question as relates to them—they must choose their alternative,—& if they do not love me enough to accept mine with me, why they must cast me off at their pleasure– I cannot help it. I say it in sorrow more than in any anger– I should not have acted to them as they have acted to me. Here have six months passed since my marriage, & I hold that the merest natural affection calls loudly for a different line of conduct– I do not however invite them to it .. they are judges of what becomes them best– Only I, for my part, will not be so base & ungrateful as to admit the formula of a kindness which insultingly excludes the one who has given up his life to me with the very perfection of tenderness! He who from first to last, never for a moment failed to me, .. I am to stand aside from him as if he had failed! No!– As my husband he has claims on the respect of those who love me—but as Robert Browning, he has stronger claims on me than even the word ‘husband’ suggests, .. even as his goodness & persistent affection have exceeded far & far the common kindness of kind husbands & the expectations of reasonable women. If I sinned against him so, I should scorn myself—there is an end!– Tell dear George that I dearly love him .. better than he ever loved me, .. but that I do not answer his letter for these reasons– It is better not to answer it .. we cannot hold a false position .. false on his side, .. most unworthy on mine. Oh, when Robert saw me ruffled about that letter the other day, he begged me not to care for it .. to let it pass .. “It is enough for me, darling, that you understand me .. that you know my heart & my motives”. But I appealed to him whether if his family agreed to blot me out of the world after that fashion, he could bear it—“He! his family! to me!”– So then he was bade to observe that it was my affair, & concerned my own feelings, & that he had no right to interfere– And in fact it is simply my affair. My brothers confer no honour on my husband by their notice, nor inflict any injury by their neglect– The injury is mine .. to my feelings .. my affections! the blow falls there. This is all, I think, that is necessary to say.
Wilson is getting strong by degrees, I am glad to say, & last night put me to bed for the first time since a month—it has been a long illness—that is, the weakness hung round her long: and it seemed best that she should rest & not sit up after seven. But last night she rebelled, & wd have it that such early hours kept her from sleeping, and our vigils at the latest, are not apt to be exhausting. With all the improvement she cannot touch butter .. and has only taken chicken two days with impunity—she suffered so, she had to leave it off. Rice milk & tea & roll are the whole of her sustenance, .. & of course she must be weak. She goes out twice in the day to walk, & looks by no means ill—oh, she will be strong, I hope & trust, in a little while– Dr Cook seemed to have no fears– She & I agree sometimes (by way of comfort) that if she had gone to Jamaica with the Barretts, it would have killed her outright, & that (our way) she has been only half killed, poor thing. I never saw anyone suffer so from sickness—& then the mucus membrane of the stomach was previously in an irritable state—and the ‘remedies’ upon that!– The weather is turned to spring– Every day last week I was able to walk out … Robert, as delighted to have me with him as a child when the flowers take to blowing in the garden! Moreover we heard three sermons last week at the Duomo, besides one (by far the worst) in the English church [2] … Arabel, we could not go often to hear such trash .. it amounted to imbecillity, .. Mr Green’s trash, you are to understand that I mean. The catholic discourses delivered four times a week during Lent, I had much more satisfaction in listening to, though fluency & great earnestness & an adroitness in the arrangement of commonplaces, made the chief merit of those. There was not a word of controversial matter .. of peculiar doctrine .. except when the preacher desired from each of the congregation at the end, an ave maria “in sua ritenzione”, [3] .. for his particular benefit– But the voice, the articulation, the vibrative earnestness of the tones of the preacher .. a friar in a brown vesture & a rope round his waist .. legs & feet as bare as nature left them .. his striking gestures as he stood in the chair of the great cathedral .. above all, the crowds of listeners .. men .. thronging, standing leaning against the columns with uplifted dark Italian faces, .. such a crowded & breathless congregation .. all made a grand sight; & the coloured sunshine streaming through the windows, was scarcely wanted to complete the effect– Just see how this people give their attention & reverence when they understand– It makes all the difference, the understanding. The chanted, muttered Latin mass leaves them as I told you, a congregation of promenaders—but the words of their own language, appealing to their sympathies & experience, draw them, fasten them, impress them .. the silence in the great crowd seemed to take away your breath. We had chairs under the pulpit, but the majority stood the whole time, .. an hour .. most of them, men. Some appeared very much moved. The last subject, the text delivered in Latin “Be not deceived, God is not mocked”, [4] had rather more doctrine than the preceding ones, & scarcely anything to object to, I think, & some good things without the least trace of original thinking. But oh, Mr Green, I would rather listen to our friar than to you! The imbecillity & inconsequence of the English preacher is something past describing, .. & in order to afficher [5] it in the strongest way, he preaches extempore, & says like an orator that “gratified ambition gratifies,” & profundities of that kind– It is a shame that the church of England should not place here some man of faculty & instruction, where both among visitors & residents there must be such noble opportunities. We found it disagreeable altogether to go to that room .. a mere room .. into a selection of pink & blue bonnets, everybody looking at everybody—“a shilling each for entrance” like a religious academy. I do wish the Scotch church at Leghorn were here [6] .. but soon we shall go away, & hope to do better perhaps—& in the meanwhile we mean to hear all the Lent sermons in the cathedral. Our present plan is (the way we make our plans up & down, wd quite amuse you) to go to Florence for a month & then to the north of Italy—there are cool Baths near Vicenza [7] said to be the coolest place in this country, .. & there, we are close to Venice, observe!– We shall travel slowly, & through Bologna, of course, where by means of letters of introduction, we shall visit Rossini, tell Henrietta, who resides there. [8] How Mrs Jameson meets us, is not decided yet. She leaves Rome early in April, & we shall find it hard to give up our month at Florence .. but we must contrive somehow. Such affectionate letters she writes to us, first to one then to another, then to both together—& I love her the better that I think she loves Robert the best of us two– Over & over I have heard her say .. “No, I never did see before such a combination in mortal man .. such intellect with such moral excellence—it is really not fair”. As we landed at Genoa, & he who had been as ill as he well could, began in his old way to keep up everybody’s spirits forgetting himself altogether, she whispered to me, “My dear, that inexhaustible sweetness of disposition of his is worth to you just ten thousand a year .. or a good deal more perhaps”. Which is my own opinion .. upon still fuller evidence. You cannot know what he is to me & how deeply I believe that there is not his like among men now alive. All these months we have passed together in this little room, … every hour of time has drawn us nearer .. & when he tells me that he loves me more than ever, why I see that before he speaks—& I feel it by my own feelings too. There is no restraint .. no reserve & at the beginning, when people love one another at best even, there is apt to be a touch of either– As to fear .. why the day before we married he said to me, “Ba, if ever I thought it possible that you should be afraid of me, I should have strength to give up everything at this moment—I could bear anything from you but that” … so now I say sometimes, “If I am very impertinent to you, it is’nt my fault, remember .. it was in the bond.” [9] And really I am very impertinent not infrequently, & we have great arguments about the Spanish marriages & M. Guizot, & Balzac & Rousseau, & subjects not to be counted .. & he, who mounts an argument just like a battery, growing warmer & warmer, till he gets quite into extravagances, (that’s a tendency of his) makes me feel warm too .. & then I take up a book & observe in a provoking way .. “I wont dispute a moment longer—you say things that you dont mean or that you ought’nt to mean. Only, I protest against all you have been saying .. & there’s my last word”. The other day, there was a silence after this, of at least ten minutes, & I confess, I thought to myself .. “now he is angry with me at last”. Seriously, I was plotting how to be forgiven, & how to put my impertinent book down with sufficient dignity .. when lo, a voice said .. “Ba, do you know one of the reasons why I love you?”– “Hard to guess”, I answered, in a resumption of goodhumour .. “you know very well that your reasons for loving me, I have always ranked among the mysteries”. “Then I will tell you one of the many reasons. When I get into a petulant irritable humour … ” (he!!) “& have the headache as I have now, & say unreasonable & improper things, which my own reason would recoil at another time, you do not give up to me, & attempt to soothe me by agreeing with me or letting it pass, as so many good tempered women do to the eternal injury of foolish men, .. but you always tell me the truth plainly, Ba”. … <“The reason is, that I have too much respect for you not to tell you the truth, when I apprehend the truth myself, .. or at least what I take to be truth—”> [10] —— But the goodness & tenderness of this return quite moved me of course– Think what an adorable disposition, what candour, what an unmasculine freedom from pride, it expresses—! I tell you just as it comes into my head, because you have not had opportunities of knowing him, & I want you to know him—but this only is one of the thousand traits which I might make the same use of. He is too good—he puts me to shame, sometimes. May God make me at least grateful, if I cannot be worthier.––
The weather has seemed suddenly to burst into summer, though today there is a cold wind & it is safer to keep at home. Robert brought me heaps of violets the other day which he had gathered himself beyond the walls of the city, & soon we shall think of our excursion to Volterra & Siena. When we leave this place, we shall be housed more cheaply .. (that our hosts have perfectly “taken us in & done for us” here is indisputable) but in other respects, there cannot, I think, be an improvement– Our dinner yesterday, for instance, .. consisting of soup for two .. roast chicken, browned potatoes, a pudding, & a bottle of the best wine .. our Chianti .. cost two shillings & a halfpenny—this for three people .. at least Wilson had some of the chicken. Now, you see, there is no pitiful œconomy in all this—we require nothing more, in the way of luxury even– Viva la trattoria, I say. It is cheap & direct, & saves unlearned people like Robert & me from the dreadful pass of “keeping house.” What wd become of me, I am sure, I cant imagine, if I had to manage & manage! And then to have to eat cold mutton & other delicacies of small establishments, wd be as difficult as the rest & neither Robert nor I have been used to it, & we have not the trained appetites for the sort of thing. If we lived in Paris, especially during the mild weather, we shd always go to the traiteur’s [11] .. that’s still better perhaps—but here, it is a dark place, a good deal thronged with men, & we find the advantage in having the dinner sent. The other day Mr Irving called on us again, & I saw him– Really an intelligent, very gentlemanly <per>son—& with a benevolent countenance & smile. He gave us sundry pieces of advice, & praised Italy to the uttermost—“he wondered, for his part, how anyone could live out of it, who could live in it”—he could not bear the winters in England, & had his two sons in the university here at Pisa .. otherwise he should go to Venice, which he believed to be the best winter climate in the country .. better than Pisa itself. Tell me if this man is father to the celebrated person of the same name who used to visit you (& other people) in Wimpole Street? He is of Jamaica .. & has estates next Papa’s [12] .. Also, think of our having an invitation in form from Mrs Cook to an evening party for thursday! I sate down to answer it in form, & not being “native to the manner”, [13] tore up one manuscript before I could write another fit to send, Robert sitting opposite to me in admiration at my want of dexterity!! Tell Henrietta that I wished aloud for her. I wd rather have written a sonnet, I thought. It was his fault, in some measure, because he kept on saying– “Mind, you dont put down that we are engaged .. pray be very decided .. do be as civil as possible” … till at last I retorted .. “Dont talk to me .. dont look at me .. pray take up your book & read”. I grew quite desperate– I wish darling Arabel, you would write a little note to Mr Kenyon & tell him from me that when he pays Minny’s fifty five pounds (is’nt it fifty five) he would pay besides the half year’s interest .. amounting to thirty shillings, .. as they will be due to her justly. Give my best love to dear Minny .. I shall write her a little note some day soon– Tell her that from me. Is Crow’s youngest child likely to keep its dark hair & eyes? [14] Let me hear something about her & Lizzie. Tell me particularly too about Mr Boyd, (my love to him always, Arabel) & what you mean by his being more weak & whether it is the effect of the cold. George thought that we cd not beat at Pisa your thermometer being at 50 one day out of doors. Why I was sitting out of doors last week in the shadow of the cathedral—the coldest situation in Pisa, & feeling it too warm—& when Wilson goes on the Arno she comes back exhausted. Do tell me everything—of dear Stormie especially. Any news of Bummy & the Hedleys. Yes, I love uncle Hedley, & I believed that he could not be otherwise than kind to me under all circumstances. Even Bummy, in the memorable scolding letter, sent a very kind message to Robert, keeping the stripes for my particular use—poor, dear Bummy. Do you hear of Leonard’s child? [15] & of the Bevans? & of Arabella Gosset’s health? Let me hear of all at home at full length though. I shall write to Blackwood, tell George, to arrange that matter. Dearest Trippy is the most hospitable & dear of hostesses, tell her with two great kisses .. & Robert sends his love to her too, mind. Oh, we shall go to drink tea with her, some of these evenings. Ask Lizzie, dear Liz, not to be too tall to look down & see me when I come back– My love to George & all of them, dear things. I love you my own Arabel. Bear me on your heart & in your prayers .. & Robert .. he says–
Your ever attached & grateful
Ba––
Speak of Papa.
Address, on integral page: (To the care of Miss Trepsack) / Miss Arabel Barrett / 5– Upper Montagu Street / Montagu Square.
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. Retreat Penn, a Barrett estate, was located in the parish of St. Ann’s, Jamaica.
2. The Chapel of St. George the Martyr was situated near the Lungarno on a site that had been purchased in 1839 with money raised by subscriptions, and built to the design of Joseph Pardini. The building was completed in 1843. The Rev. Henry Greene (1808?–76) was Chaplain from 1846 until 1875 (Archives of the Inter-Continental Church Society, London).
3. “To keep in your memory,” or “to keep in mind.”
4. Galatians 6:7.
5. “Show.”
6. In 1845 the Scottish Presbyterians in Leghorn received permission from Grand Duke Leopold II to build a church, so long as it was made to resemble a house. The building, in Via degli Elise, was completed in 1849. In the meantime, church services were held in a hall on Via Castelli.
7. At Recoaro, which is “about 3½ posts from Vicenza to the north-west” (Murray’s Hand-Book, p. 293). Evidently they had discussed going to Recoaro with Mrs. Jameson; see letter 2666.
8. Rossini was in Bologna, off and on, from 1837 until 1848, when the revolutionary movements and his ill health caused him to leave Bologna for Florence, where the Brownings finally met him in 1849.
9. Cf. Merchant of Venice, IV, 1, 259.
10. The bracketed passage was originally written in narrative form and introduced by “I told him,” but EBB later altered it, making it a direct statement from her to RB.
11. “Restaurateur” or “caterer.”
13. Cf. Hamlet, I, 4, 14–15.
14. Ellen Treherne, second child and second daughter of William Treherne and his wife Elizabeth (née Crow), was born at Kentish Town, St. Pancras, on 29 June 1846.
15. See note 8 in the preceding letter.
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