2678. EBB to Henrietta Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 14, 203–211.
[Florence]
May 16 [1847] [1]
My ever dearest Henrietta. I shall begin my letter & let it go on till it is ready to go by the post. Arabel’s & your note which it chaperoned, reached & made me happy three days since & I seem not able to bear the load of thoughts & feelings which accumulate hour by hour after such reading is done. So let me “draw off” gently– I thank her, I thank you .. for I have had a regular letter too from yourself since I wrote to you, and I have to thank you besides for a pair of slippers, Cinderella’s being nothing to them as to beauty, and half a gown, which I have on at this moment & which struck Robert backward with sudden admiration when he saw me sitting in it at the breakfast table. These thanks were sent to you before, but I fall into vain repetitions [2] with a sublime unconsciousness, in writing to you directly– Forgive them.– You & Arabel deserve to be thanked to death, that is bored to death by thanks, for your dear foolishness, & extravagance of kindness, so you need’nt complain much. As to the gown, it is prettier made up than in its original element. Wilson has made it beautifully, & the colour is Robert’s favorite & mine—he likes all the dark colours (which is my fancy you remember, besides) & not those fainting-away blues & pinks & lilacs & greens. Talking of such things I have just been ordering a drawn white crape bonnet, which is to cost 13s– 6d .. like one which did not fit me but was pretty otherwise. He objects to the fancy straw (.. Tuscan ..) worn a good deal here—and the plain Tuscan & Leghorn are said to be heavy in the heat. Oh, so hot it is. The thermometer at seventy seven & eight. And this to begin with .. in May .. & after every possible precaution—doors open crossways for the encouragement of thorough draughts—windows thrown also open, (& French windows they all are opening like doors) .. green blinds shut carefully against every ray of sun. Yet there the thermometer stands unabashed. We give up our hope of being able to stay in Florence longer than the one additional month for which our apartment is taken. It will be impossible. Not that I have not felt it far more oppressively hot in London; but then it is only May, we consider, and if this is the beginning what will the end be? Otherwise we have air. At six oclock the muslin curtains seem to sigh themselves out—blowing to & fro. After our three oclock dinner, Robert wheels the great chair into his dressing room, which just then has the deepest shadow in it, & makes me sit in the chair, & pours eau de cologne into my hands & on my forehead, and fans me with a fan till my eyes shut of themselves for that is the hour of the siesta. Scarcely a day passes that I have not a regularly sound sleep after dinner. And understand, if you please, that since the heat set in we have reformed our hours, & get up in time to breakfast at half past eight or nine. Is’nt it wonderful? & I wont tell you what an excess of radical reform, for really I should be a little ashamed– Then we sit up, now, sometimes, almost to half past ten: it is enough altogether to justify a siesta of considerable length, I think. Robert does’nt go to sleep though:—he leaves the sleep & the port wine to me. But we both make plans how & where to go on the 22d of June when we must leave Florence, for a cool place. I say sometimes, “Oh, I wish we were in the Tyrol.”—to which the reply always is, “Well, dear, you shall go if you like it.” Only we ought to consider the distance & expense & everything disagreeable on the other side. If we could spend the winter in Venice indeed …! But you wont let us. Robert declares that you have “half bullied him out of it”– There’s a thing to do! We mean to appeal however to somebody who will take a different view from yours & Mrs Ricardo’s & Mrs English’s, & swear perhaps that the sun shines on the Lagunes all night long without winking. Naples is an immense way off, and if we travel south it will be to Rome rather. The Baths of Lucca we wont hear of, and Pisa, have had enough of! “perplexed in the extreme” [3] we are–
Meanwhile I am getting strong, & have had two real walks, to my own surprise. The first was impromptu—nobody thought of my walking out. Robert came in at six yesterday & found me sighing up against the green blinds for the possibility of a breath of air. “Now, Ba, do you want to be cool?” “Yes, very particularly.” “Then take my arm & come down stairs! there’s quite a bath of cool air at the bottom of the house”. “Oh—and for you to carry me up again! no, no, it is’nt worth while.” “But it is worth while, and I shall like to carry you– Now come, dear! take courage & come”– So he drew me along while I kept on grumbling about its being nonsense—but found to my pleasant surprise that I was infinitely stronger in getting down stairs, which together with the coolness, excited me into an adventurous humour. “How delightful! Shall we walk along the street a little? Need I care about my bonnet?” Just then, Wilson came .. on her return from walking—so we sent for bonnet & gloves by her, and in a minute were on our way to Piazza Santa Maria Novella, leaving our “street of pretty women” [4] for what Robert calls “Trot the jackass street” (Trotto del asino) & enjoying it … oh, I did enjoy it so much, the liberty of it, & the sweet fresh air which blew gently along the ground; and as for him he said he should be too happy if always I could walk out with him in that way. Last night we went out again & got as far as the Baptistery where we sate down in the half dark & talked of Dante. I seem to have grown strong quite suddenly at last. You see it was bad for me to walk when I was weak, so that I did not try continually .. and indeed the effort was quite painful. Now Richard is himself again, & need’nt call for “a horse,” [5] seeing that he has feet of his own for action. We have had no carriage you will be surprised to hear, & have entered no gallery yet. The truth is, just as we were about to make our compact, it appeared that there was some previous engagement unconcluded, & were desired to wait a week– Then I said .. “it may be better for us to wait perhaps—I shall be stronger”—it seemed better to wait until now when we are on the point of making our own terms. In the meanwhile every glimpse I catch of Florence makes me more eager to see all. Oh, this cathedral!! So grand it is, with its pile of tessalated domes,—the massiveness glorified with various marbles—the porphory [sic] crossed with the dim green serpentine .. the white & black heightening & deepening one another. Think of a mountainous marble Dome, veined with inlaid marbles .. marble running through marble: like a mountain for size, like a mosaic for curious art .. rivers of colour inter-flowing, but all dimly. But you hate descriptions of travellers, & I shall keep mine for the printing press & yawning readers .. “my great work” as Arabel says encouragingly. Now I am going to tell you things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. [6] I went a week ago into Wilson’s room & stood by the table in my lazy careless way, turning over the leaves of an old book which lay there. “Why, Wilson! you have another Italian grammar–” “Yes, I could’nt understand a word of the other,—and the man of the house lent me this”– I turned to the title page—written in a large distinct hand .... James Johnstone Bevan, Milano…!! [7] Wilson thought me mad I cried out so loudly, & rushed so vehemently out of the room to show it to Robert in the drawing room– And upon enquiry, the whole wonder of the coincidence developped itself– The book was Mr Bevan’s book, the landlord was Mr Bevan’s landlord; [8] & in a house of the said landlord (not this house but another) had Mr Bevan & two of his friends lived for a whole winter. Moreover, this landlord had travelled with Mr Bevan & his friends as courier, from Florence to Rome & Naples, (because they did not speak much Italian) he said, and from Naples to London, because Mr Bevan had been a good deal affected & shaken by the death of his friend at Naples, (and did’nt speak much French)– Two years ago therefore, this landlord was staying in Devonshire Place with Mr Bevan’s family. Of himself, he speaks in the highest possible terms, & heard with deep interest of his having married the “fairest of the fair” of Paris, which Robert instructed him in duly. Is’nt this curious as a coincidence? And “a most amiable, excellent young man,” Arabella’s husband was called .. (such issimos [9] I assure you!—) “with a leaning to the santissima Roman Catholic religion, & a great deal of talent.” By the way as you say nothing more of Louisa’s [10] report about the conversion, I hope there is no truth in it—a little fancy. Tell me if Arabella is in good spirits & well– I understand underlines, tell my Arabel– May the other not be “turned back” like some of her friends who sigh still to think of it– Will she take a house of her own in October? Bummy wrote to me—I had her letter of announcement in reference to Arlette’s marriage: and most earnestly I do trust that this Capt Reynolds is worthy of the trust reposed in him– The fact of such things being said of a man, I do not like—especially as the man is not so rashly young– I do not like the class of men to which he seems to belong, those racing, hunting, billiarding, betting men, who are not tired of such amusements as they grew tired of playing at leap frog, by the simple consequence of growing older—but he may have good points & be qualified to make dear Arlette happy perhaps, & the worst things said of him are not true, I hope & trust. Robert says, “and even if they are, he may mean to reform altogether—” .. but it wd be dreadful to lean her happiness on such a bending bough as that possibility– Gaming is less a fault than a passion—and love itself is not equally absorbing– And then, love .. love! How does such a man love: what does he mean by it? after dancing two quadrilles, as he would take an ice!– It makes my blood run cold to think of a woman trusting such a man, by the experience of three weeks– Send me a better account if you can– A sweet, amiable, pure-hearted creature like Arlette too, with all her life before her to ‘risk’!– Does she care much for him, do you think, and does he seem to care for her? tell me whatever you can– The fear in my mind is, that her happiness at home was not great enough to induce sufficient consideration of the subject—for if Bummy’s report of the turning conversation was correct, there did not appear to be much illusion– Think of a woman selecting a man (for instance) on the ground of his being “gentlemanly” … viz after the likeness of other gentlemen– Still it wd be dreadful to annul everything now, and I wish earnestly that uncle John [11] & all doubters may be wrong in their doubts– Give my love to Arlette & say how much happiness I wish her too. She was feeling & kind to me always, I do not forget– How are Bummy’s spirits? If you & Arabel did’nt laugh, tell her, I [12] did, at the account of your introductory interview. The Indian gifts made me smile a little besides. The chaste memorial of Dyce Sombre’s mother, is a strange thing to invoke before one’s nuptials. [13] I have seen more graceful gifts of betrothment– Have’nt you? Does he call himself Capt Reynolds, having sold out? Is it to be Capt in perpetuity? And do they come abroad directly on their marriage? and shall we not be sure to see them in that case? Ah, “to be as happy as I [14] am,” may indeed be wished by the Kindest to the Dearest when wished to be the happiest—so I wish it for you, my dearest Henrietta, and I wish it for my dearest Arabel, but can’t believe in the possibility of a Reynolds making any woman half .. half as happy as I! For half as happy would be very very happy, do you understand. Quite as happy wd be frightfully happy .. heureuse à faire fremir, [15] —considering life & the conditions of life to human beings.
Now I am going to write some more gossip. I dare say Arabel remembers my talking of the famous “Father Prout” (Mr Mahoney) [16] & how Robert told me about a year ago that always he was meeting that Lion in strange out of the way places roaring wildly– Father Prout had even seen Robert without salutation, the reverend father had said, “in various parts of Europe”—and certainly Robert had seen him whenever the sight was least expected– Well—while we travelled across France, my fellow traveller laughed a little as he told me that in crossing Poland Street with our passport, just at that crisis, he met .. Father Prout– “Oh, of course, he met him just then!” It was a moment worthy of being so signalized. Robert told me this, & I said, “Curious”, & the conversation changed. On our landing at Leghorn, at nine oclock in the morning, our boat which was rowed from the steamer to the shore, passed close to a bare jutting piece of rock on which stood a man wrapt in a cloak, he also having just landed from an English vessel bound from Southampton. Father Prout!! Was’nt it an extraordinary “dramatic effect?” Robert had no idea of his meaning to come to Italy, nor had he of Robert’s coming. Robert cried out, “Good Heavens, there he is again! there’s Father Prout!” We went to the inn & breakfasted, & after breakfast the reverend Lion came into the room, & I had the honours of introduction—not of examination though, for, as he told Mrs Jameson afterwards when he met her in Rome, he could’nt see my face through my black veil. Nor could I much better see him. I kept on the other side of the room, feeling both shy & tired. Mrs Jameson says he is the bitterest of clever talkers, and that Robert is nearly the only man in the world whom he speaks well of– He is a Jesuit, &, it is supposed, an active organ of the body– Dont imagine that he is a friend of Robert’s—I assure you, no—and now I have told my story.
(May 19–) We have been out in our carriage—for the first time this evening, having engaged it for a month, two hours a day, two shillings & eight pence. Dearer than at Pisa: but it is a very easy & most comfortable German barouche (I think you call it a German barouche—four seats, you understand, two of them shutting up at will) & looking as well as any private carriage—a pair of horses, & a coachman to match—with something in the likeness of a livery! Robert wishes me to drive out a few times—to improve my strength before we go to the galleries,—and so today at five oclock we went to the Cascine [17] which is the drive par excellence, the place of meeting for all lawful carriages, from the grand Duke’s to ours– Really I have seldom enjoyed anything of the kind more. I expected very little,—nobody praised these Cascine as they ought to be praised– And suddenly I found myself swept through avenue after avenue of limes & blossoming acacias meeting overhead to roof out the sky, while beyond the line of trees on each side, deep green woodlands draw your soul into their recesses .. and here the Arno runs to the pace of the carriage-horses .. & here a garden red with roses is made clear of the trees .. & there they grow again wildly till you think yourself in a forest—. So beautiful, so vernal—with breaks of the Appennine between the evergreen oaks & cypresses, & those floods of deciduous foliage more tenderly green than such leaves as never fall. It was a surprise of beauty & freshness to me, & I enjoyed it past description– So did Robert who had not been there before. The coolness was delicious, and we talked & were silent just as the inclination came—and agreed that some other day we should stop the carriage and explore all those little dark-green pathways which wind & stoop under the trees. Also through having gone out too early, we had everything to ourselves, for the people only began to come as we began to leave the place. I assure you its an improvement on the London Parks, let who will say to the contrary. While we sate at tea yesterday evening, in walked Mr Powers the sculptor, (he of the Greek slave and Fisher boy,) [18] and had coffee with us & stayed more than an hour. Like most men of true genius, he is as simple as a child, quiet & gentle, calling himself “a beginner in art,” which is the best way of making a great end. I took one of my fancies to the man, and might well do so as he was very kind to me & begged me to go to see his studio– Robert & he had a great deal of talk, and I did myself the honour of pouring out his coffee; and as when he went away he said it had been an evening both of pleasure & profit to him, I, of course understood that he referred to my coffee with the due appreciation.
In the letter of Mr Kenyon’s which was lost, Mr Landor sent a note of introduction for me to Miss Garrow—and hearing this makes me doubt a little whether I ought’nt to call on her—. I wd rather not: it makes me rather uncomfortable– I have had the kindest letters from Miss Bayley & Miss Thomson, both mentioning you & Arabel & that you were going to have tea with them—Arabel wd like them for the head & the heart if she knew them, I know, notwithstanding the notion of dyspathy which also I know. [19] The Martins must by this time be in London, and mind you see them & talk to them—you cannot too openly—I agree with that intention altogether– I hold them in high esteem & very grateful regard, & for the best reasons– Tell me how Mr Martin looks. They comprehend life wisely just because they do not coldly—they touch the warmth of it with a genial finger & understand. I would rather accept their opinion on most practical subjects, than that of most other experienced persons– What does dear Henry think of doing? Pray persuade him not to suffer Mr Margary’s proposition to fall to the ground. Let George speak to Papa. Henry wd be infinitely happier if he had a place for his foot, an occupation which wd be an independency—and surely the thing is to be achieved on the railroads in England or elsewhere; even if Mr Margary does less than I desire– I wish I could do anything in this way—but often people whom Robert knows are precisely those who in Art & Politics would help to give opportunity to any specific Faculty, but are useless as finders of mere occupation with their merely lucrative consequences. There is indeed the Bank-business, but from what I hear, men shd be boys to do much in it at all pleasantly, & also there is the need of languages. The Queen’s messenger loses his breath .. is in fear of his life .. understand. Tell me if Surtees is really likely (if he has reasons for his hope, that is—) to get the military post at Taunton. Does he ever think of advertising the gift of the first quarter’s income to any one who would get him a situation. It might quicken somebody’s goodnature perhaps. Miss Thomson’s father is a great manufactor & learned in the art of money-making– [20] You dont say when Susan is to be married– Emma Monroe’s engagement surprised me—no, did it surprise me? I rather believe now that I was’nt surprised. It was so certain to me that she wd marry one day. Only Mr Margary having been rejected … Well, but he loved her. A man who loved her all those years with all that constancy against all those obstacles, is worthy of being loved. A proved, tried love is always worthy. And then it always (besides what it is in itself,) involves some strength of nature, some nobleness & excellence, .. I like a man who can love against the tide. When you see what men are on all sides … why, just see what they are!– I dare say she will be very happy, & I dont think it quite so much “an experiment”. Tell Arabel, as I said if she were going to marry somebody “without being in love” … because, because .. Emma was happy with poor Theodore & I have my own opinion about her degree of attachment for him as it was in the beginning. If Mr Margary is kind & tender to her, she will love him & be happy—now see if she will not .. with that sweet frank face of hers!– A single life did not suit her, .. could not .. never could. He will care for the child for her sake I dare say. Robert exclaimed at the idea of marrying a widow—“it’s what he never cd have done.” And I laugh & shake my head, because he’s not a man to calculate the thousands if he loved any one, the last unit even. If a woman whom he loved in that least degree, had had six husbands & killed them all, he wd put his head under her feet & think it much to his advantage– No human being ever comprehended human love so divinely, which I say who know what he is. But is there not in respect to Mr Margary, some conflicts on the ground of religion? Tell Arabel to tell me. Poor dear Flushie has been very ill, and I was quite unhappy for two days, and Robert declared that I gave up loving him & thought of nothing but Flush. It began with what we supposed to be spasms—he had fits of screaming. And then he crept under the sofa & beds, & would not touch water; and, if drawn out kept in one place for half an hour together, staring wildly as if he knew nobody. Robert made me promise not to pat him, & we all thought of hydrophobia—the heat you see, had been so intense. At last, Robert went out twice in one day & brought home each time, & administered, a copious dose of castor oil, and poor Flush had a rope tied round his neck and a mat was provided in the kitchen. This in order to take all due precaution. When the oil was administered I ran away & shut myself in the farthest room (was’nt that like my wisdom?) but Flush did not even struggle, they say—he knew it was something done to relieve him– Poor little Flush. The next morning he was much better, and expressed it by moaning piteously directly he saw me– To Robert & Wilson he simply wagged his tail, but he looked up in my face & moaned .. moaned .. as if to say “Do see how ill I am! So very ill”! I said “Poor Flushie” and then he moaned again .. put up his head & moaned. “Will you have a lump of sugar, Flush?” A decided affirmative with the tail—so I called for sugar and he moved himself on the mat to sieze on it. How glad I was to see him do that! and Wilson held the water to him & he drank it. An hour afterward he was convalescent and is now quite well & insolent as ever. The castor oil did the good, we think. He calls me “Miss Barrett” still, & has all his old ways, and behaves better than at Pisa. Do write to me– Dear dearest Henrietta & Arabel how I thank you for your letters, both of you! I envy Robert sometimes for hearing oftener from home than I do! .. and then he envies me for having such long long letters, full of details. There cant be too many little things .. or “too much gossip” tell Arabel– Ah, if you knew the worth of those least little things at a distance! Because I know it, I tell you what pudding we have for dinner sometimes. Dont I now? Tell me everything. Always mention dearest Papa. I love him & pray for him. Do, you, be in good spirits my best dearest Henrietta, and take courage & hope for all things. Make Arabel go out for my sake– Kindest love to dear Trippy & all at home .. how I love them all!– Interrupted!– It is May 21st The Hanfords have been here: just one day—& I like them both much– They went with us to the gallery, and then dined with us .. & Robert wd give them champagne! I am giddy still more with the Raffaels though. No room for a word. Love me always as
your most affectionate
Ba.
The Hanfords witnessed the signature of the great “Settlement” [21] & take it to England to Mr Kenyon. Neither Robert nor I read it—we only signed. It was enough for me & my particular satisfaction to see, by a glance, that provision was made for a countless progeny! & all “future husbands!!”
Robert’s best love——
Address, on integral page: Angleterre .. viâ France / (To the care of Miss Tripsack) / Miss Barrett / 5– Upper Montagu Street / Montagu Square / London.
Publication: Huxley, pp. 24–31 (in part).
Manuscript: British Library.
1. Although started on 16 May, EBB’s notation near the end indicates that this letter was continued over the next five days, and not finished until 21 May. Year provided by the postmark.
2. Matthew 6:7.
3. Othello, V, 2, 346. Mrs. Ricardo is doubtless EBB’s acquaintance from Hope End days: Harriet (née Mallory), wife of Osman Ricardo, of Bromesberrow Place, 5 miles from Ledbury. For Mrs. English, see letter 2630, note 14.
4. i.e., the “Via delle Belle Donne,” the name of the street on which the Brownings’ lived. We have been unable to identify a street called “Trotto del asino”; perhaps this was RB’s playful name for the Viale del Trotto in the Cascine.
5. Cf. Richard III, V, 4, 7.
6. Paradise Lost, I, 16.
7. Bevan had married EBB’s cousin Arabella Hedley the previous August (see letter 2390, note 4).
8. Francesco Centofanti, as identified by EBB in letter 2680. The Brownings later engaged Centofanti as their agent for letting Casa Guidi while they were away; however, the association came to an abrupt end when they discovered that he had been less than completely honest in his dealings with them.
9. The superlative ending in Italian. “Most holy” Roman Catholic religion.
10. We take this to refer to EBB’s cousin Louisa Charlotte Carmichael (née Butler, 1817–99).
11. EBB’s uncle, John Altham Graham-Clarke, was apparently dubious about the match between “Arlette” Butler and her fiancé Captain Reynolds.
12. Underscored twice.
13. David Ochterlony Dyce-Sombre (1808–51), son of George Alexander Dyce and Juliana Dyce (née LeFevre). He inherited a vast fortune from his grandmother, the Begum Samrum, and in 1838 left India for England, where his arrival was the main event of the season. The DNB mentions a book by him called The Memoir, but it gives no other details, and neither the catalogue of the British Library nor that of the Library of Congress lists a copy; we speculate that this is the work to which EBB is referring.
14. Underscored twice.
15. “Happy enough to make one shudder.”
16. Francis Sylvester Mahony (1804–66) wrote mainly for newspapers and journals, using the pseudonym Father Prout. He was at this time the Rome correspondent for The Daily News. His association with the Jesuits had ended in 1830. For RB’s earlier reference to him see letter 2202, note 8. Mahony later settled in Paris, where he died.
17. Murray’s Hand-Book for Travellers in Northern Italy (1847), describes the Cascine as “the Hyde Park of Florence, for displaying fashionable carriages or exhibiting horsemanship” (p. 576).
18. The “Fisher Boy,” begun in 1841, had been completed in 1844. “The Greek Slave,” a nude female figure, was completed in 1843. The latter work caused controversy in America, where the morality of its nudeness was a focusing issue. The work was first exhibited in London in 1845, and again at the Great Exhibition in 1851. It was the subject of a sonnet by EBB, published in Poems (1850). See letter 2680, note 7.
19. Evidently Sarah Bayley had rather unorthodox views on religion, for example a disbelief in life after death (see vol. 10, p. 326), which would not have met well with Arabella’s more fundamentalist opinions.
20. James Thomson (1778?–1850) was a calico printer in Lancashire. He was also a Fellow of the Royal Society, Vice-President of the Manchester School of Design, and Member of Council of the Government School at Somerset House.
21. The Brownings’ marriage settlement is no longer extant. For Fanny Hanford’s record of her visit with the Brownings see SD1320.
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