2696. EBB to Fanny Dowglass
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 14, 285–287.
Florence–
August. 25. [1847] [1]
Thank you again & again, dearest friend, for all your goodness to me. I must make haste to say so, not lest the grateful thought should get cold (of which there is no danger) but lest you should fancy so ever & for a moment. It is a great temptation, your Lucca & you, .. but we cant go to you—we must wait for the Rome-meeting: we cant even be unreasonable & take advantage of your great kindness (oh, how kind!) of proposing to go round by Florence to Rome,—inasmuch as we set out Rome-wards ourselves on the twentieth of September and shall be there nearly as soon as you. We mean to creep on gently, though– It is a long journey; & an object with us it is, to avoid unnecessary fatigue, besides the pleasantness of a pause or two on the road .. at Arezzo, which has not changed, they say, since Dante’s time, at Perugia, & at Terni– Thank you, thank you, for your advice & suggestions about Rome. You have set us on tiptoe of expectation towards the Tarpeian Rock, and every word you say of it, seems to set us higher. We dont want the English quarter—we dont care for any manner of glory in the way of furniture & champagne-glasses. We live in the quietest way imaginable & see nobody & go nowhere & require very little comparatively of what passes as accommodation. A comfortable chair & a comfortable sofa, and a complement of legs to the table, would satisfy us perfectly; and we are ready to take our apartment for six months & do everything else reasonable. The vision you hold out of ancient Rome, would compensate for all—and then we like your suggestion about the Lutheran chapel close by—it sounds perfect, altogether. I have been a little shy about writing to Mrs Colyar—but our common friends Mr & Mrs Hoppner half promised to bring us into communication. As to the Jesuitism, we are so entirely the other way, that I dont think (if to say so is not too audacious) any Jesuit in the world could manage to come near enough (in opinion) to either of us to do much harm—which does not prove us the safer you know, even in establishing one kind of safety. Talking of Jesuitism & Jesuits, my husband knows Mr Mahoney, the famous Father Prout, now at Rome, .. “a very dangerous person” as everybody knows .. and the first whom we caught sight of in landing at Leghorn– He drifts from land to land like a phantom.
Dear dearest friend, how delighted I am to hear of your riding, & of enjoying the influences of God in nature as I never hoped you would any more. It made me glad at heart to read what you wrote about it. And we shall meet under the sun after all—and you have not forgotten to love me a little!– Good, good of you it is, to care to keep me from the supposed risk of passing a winter in Florence. Well! Florence has its temptations, there’s no denying—and to break the spell & leave it behind is difficult—the spell of beauty and of association with happy days .. to say nothing of the facilities of life .. the cheapness, the conveniences, the luxuries on every side within reach. Then, on one side of the Arno, the sun is said always to shine—and I am not like birds used to liberty .. I should be contented with a short string out of the sweep of the winds & the chill of the shadows. But content without seeing Rome, one cant be quite! and we shall go as certainly as any human project can be certain. Of Venice we had thought first—and I gave up my visionary gondola with a pang for which you must help to console me by the sight of your face & sound of your voice, dear dear Fanny!– You tell me so kindly that I am not to talk of trouble, that I will ask you to let me know whatever further you may learn from your cousin when he arrives. [2] My husband knows Rome & remembers the very house on the Tarpeian Rock, and longs, just as I do, for the possibility of getting there. He says that I shall have walking room enough at the foot of Marcus Aurelius’s equestrian statue. [3] Oh, indeed I am taken care of more than I am worth, and although the excursion to Vallombrosa sounded mad enough & confounded my sisters when they heard of it, we did not expect quite so much fatigue in setting out, & suffered no harm through all the fatigue—and even the heat of Florence does not seem to disagree with me, we have such large & sunless rooms, and it is so pleasant to sit in one’s dressing gown with one’s feet up, & eat <ice>d water-melons, & wander in & out of the window to the moonshiney balcony. As to walking, properly speaking, it is impossible .. and the carriage seems nearly as difficult. You have the advantage over us of course .. and you will think perhaps that I have come to perfection in the Italian “Dolce far niente” [4] in a wonderfully short time.
When you write, say how you are—and .. oh no, .. dont send compliments to Robert .. who sends his regards to you (if you will have them) claiming, as he does, to love all who love me. What a Pope we have .. for a Pope! .. to reconcile us with the high places & even the seven hills of the world!—— As to your Duke [5] I fear there is nothing to be said for him, except by Mrs Stisted. [6] As to your Dog, I honour her!
May God bless you– Love your
Most affectionate Ba
I think we should not mind much about the stoves. I used to set myself on fire regularly everyday at Pisa last winter with the flying pine-wood—& that was’nt the worst harm I did myself, … sitting on a low stool on a level with the flame for two months together. So it wd be rather an advantage perhaps to have a stove, & another set of evils, in change.
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Huntington Library.
1. Year determined from EBB’s reference to the Vallombrosa visit.
2. Dr. Pollock; see letter 2681, note 9.
3. Completed ca. 176, this famous monument in the only equestrian statue known to have survived from antiquity. It was moved in the 16th century from in front of the Lateran to the Piazza del Campidoglio, which Michaelangelo designed specifically for it.
4. “Pleasant idleness,” or “pleasantly doing nothing.”
5. Charles Louis de Bourbon (1799–1883), Duke of Lucca (1824–47), and afterwards Duke of Parma (1847–49).
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