2761. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 15, 184–195.
[Florence]
Dec– 16– 17– 18– [1848] [1]
My beloved Arabel, I just have Henrietta’s dear letter, & your note joined to it—at least I had both yesterday. Yes indeed—there was more in them of the sad than the joyful. Five times this week have I heard of the death of persons known to me—Mrs Bayford’s .. Dr Chambers’s [2] .. and three young women swept suddenly out of reach of our human senses & sympathies. One of these you do not mention, & I only heard of her death from smallpox, through the English papers .. Miss Fisher, Mr Garrow’s stepdaughter .. though she died in Florence it appears, where the complaint is very prevalent just now .. Louisa Ley [3] .. & now, Eliza Giles, [4] dear Eliza, with whose memory so much of our past is associated! I do grieve for poor Mrs Cliffe [5] —Mrs Best & the Allen Cliffes are a poor substitute for all the life & joyousness which flowed in upon her from the dried up fountain—no society, no companionship will seem like Eliza’s. The other daughter is made of different stuff altogether, & I cannot fancy that she will be happy with her. How strange! how impossible to guess where God’s finger will lay itself next! No one seemed more made to live long than Eliza was. Yet of course the quick change into the stoutness you described & in her appearance altogether in those few years, denoted a tendency, somewhat morbid at her age, towards inflammatory affections. Ah—when she & I parted last, who wd have said that she was to be the survivor?– It shocked me very much. Tell me whatever you hear of Mrs Cliffe, & write to her, Arabel, & mention my name as she would care best to hear it. For Louisa Ley, I will tell you– Count Cottrell was here last thursday & told me that at last & for the first time since the Leys left Italy, she had written to Sophia a letter which had reached her the preceding day, wednesday, .. or rather, the beginning of a letter .. a few lines in a straggling, trembling hand, .. she could write no more, she said—she was as weak as a child .. & then she made melancholy reference to her lost baby, & spoke of the little boy as unwell & as if she were uneasy about him. Count Cottrell concluded, .. “I am afraid she is in a bad way”, & observed that the loss of the baby had preyed on her spirits, .. giving me to understand by a few additional words how much more fortitude & calmness Mrs Gordon showed under a similar affliction (she too has lost her baby of the same age, & would not, she declares, recall it to the world). [6] Well—on friday evening, when our lamp was lighted, he called again with Sophia, who looked quite happy, poor thing, & had quite a bright smile, as both Robert & I remarked. “They were going home to dinner,” they said– “What,” said Robert—“dinner now, when we are thinking rather of going to bed!” Sophia left the room laughing; and on sunday, her sister’s death was in the papers. On monday morning, Robert called to enquire, but only saw the Italian maid who answered “Non c’e male” [7] to his question about the “signora contessa”. She may bear it very bravely, but must feel it bitterly .. for it was hard for two sisters to appear more attached than they were: & then, in spite of Count Cottrell’s expression about Louisa’s being “in a bad way”, the event was perfectly unexpected. She suffered much less than Sophia, in her confinement, & seemed to recover as quickly as usual. Also, the medical men had persisted in saying that the lungs were not deseased, notwithstanding the repeated attacks of spitting of blood, & the difficulty of breathing which was most painful when she walked up stairs. It struck me as resembling asthma rather than consumption—her face was not in the least thin—& though the expression of the eyes was distressed, it did not impress you with any idea of a mortal desease. Very probably, grief for her child did much,—and the tendencies to illness were excited moreover by the imprudent change from the heat of an Italian summer, to the cold of an English autumn & winter, & this when she was peculiarly weak through her confinement, & exhausted by fatigue of various sorts. Nothing could be more insanely imprudent than their expedition to England, .. with a baby just weaned, & two other infants, the eldest only three years old, .. & the one English maid they brought from home, a raw, awkward country girl, looking like a scullery maid—the mother wanting as much help & attendance as the children could. I dare say poor Mr Ley curses the very dust of Italy,—whereas the wise plan wd have been to have stayed on here, when his wife was beginning to profit from the climate, instead of turning all into injury, by removing as he did. May God help him & his infants! he is a kind feeling man, I believe, & acted for the best. It has rather frightened Robert about long journeys after confinements, and he wont see any other cause for the event, in a human relation. As to Mr Tulk—oh, you dont know Mr Tulk, if you think of his being overwhelmed by this blow. I must say of Mr Tulk, that “so great faith has not been seen .. no, not in Israel.” [8] I have seen many believers, & loved many—but I do tell you, Arabel, that to the closest of my observation, I never knew a man who carried his heart so far above the world, so brightly into the supernal sunshine, as that man carries his continually. He will think of Louisa as in the next room to him .. just so much nearer than Devonshire is to Brompton .. yes, he wont talk or write merely of thinking of her so, with the sob in his throat, as so many of us professing christians do—but he will smile & really think it, & calculate that the spiritual world will open on him today or tomorrow with her smile in it, the first thing perhaps. He told me himself that when he lost his wife, [9] “the greatest grief of his life,” he was overcome for half an hour—but that after that time he rose up & said to his father in law “You will see me shed not one tear more,” & he shed no more tears. And a more tender-hearted man than he, & more naturally dependent on domestic love for happiness, you will not find—it is by no means that the man is hard & unfeeling. As for me, I know he takes me for half an “atheist” .. because most unhappily at our very first interview, he said something, meaning it in the kindest way .. but which I could make no better answer to than just bursting out into tears & sobbing so hysterically that Robert had to take me out of the room. Afterwards I observed how he siezed every opportunity of talking to me of the difference between speculative & practical faith, as tested by the christian’s bearing up under the separation of life & death. Only he was “very impatient to die,” he confessed. For Swedenborgianism, it is a name like another, and there’s a deep embroidery of fantastic absurdity about the hem of it; but the fashion of the garment itself is Christ’s own—& of that, you may be very certain. Also, it has none of the narrowness & exclusiveness of most other professing sects.–
I wish you wd tell me where Clara Lindsay is, & if she was in Italy when she lost her mother. Has Henrietta written to Angela, [10] who adored her mother, & will feel the deprivation deeply? And now, do write to me all particulars about dearest Papa, & if he continues well & has lost his paleness, for I cant help thinking of him not altogether easily, in spite of his daily excursion to the city. It is intolerable to me, this idea of his being unwell– Never miss speaking of him, Arabel. I look for that word in your letters always. Had he anyone to see him when he was ill; & did you know nothing of it at Fifield? For the rest, you dont tell me many things, I observe—for instance, I believed Bummy to be in Ireland all this time, & never had an idea of her having taken “a villa” at Tunbridge Wells. Taken by the year, is it? and unfurnished? or how? Do tell me, and in what part of Tunbridge Wells? Stormie, too, has not been mentioned these two letters back! I was half inclined to write to the Hedleys to enquire about poor uncle James, but I dont know that I shall .. they all seem to do very well without me, I must say, Bummy included,——&, as to Kinnersley, [11] I should’nt think of intruding there the least remembrance of relationship. Robert is not deeply impressed with the violent attachment demonstrated to me by my family, nor has much reason, let us acknowledge—but relationship means nothing out of the red book, [12] and friendship & loveship may take their stand by themselves & quite on another side; and I always suspected this, as you are aware, & long before it was proved to me. To make amends, what great heaps of dear sisterly love I have from you, my darling Arabel, & Henrietta .. and is’nt my dear kind Trippy a very close relation? Ask her, and kiss her when she says yes. Do you mean that uncle James’s “singular life” has continued up to now? [13] it is rather late to “take warning”, as Henrietta phrases it, if he has reduced himself so far. I shd have thought that in France, &, removed from the scene of his old habits, he wd have reformed in some measure & with less effort. Dreadful indeed, is the misfortune of <Mrs Stratten too>, [14] & rapid has her son been in his ruin of body & soul .. as far as the earth is concerned! It is surprising to me that men of licentious morals, dont go mad oftener, .. seeing that all madness means licence, and all reason, restraint. Why, when the conscience gives up God, should not the intellectual principle give up Light & Law! I do not see why. Very, very glad I am that Mr Stratten should be restored to his place as a teacher—glad for his family, glad for you, glad for all who are the taught by him– Congratulate Mrs Stratten affectionately on my behalf, Arabel. And now you will choose to hear how I am going on. Perfectly well, everybody says, and I myself have no reason to say otherwise. <The symptom continues, sometimes more & sometimes less, but it continues—& so does the cramp, in a milder form on the whole .. & so does the sickness which I hoped was going away. I have hints of the other affliction (one morning or two mornings ago) too, but it keeps its place steadily in the long run .. but, I suffer less from sickness & am comfortable & tranquil during the day, & I am satisfied that the [illegible words] is stopped, the Peytons’ judgement confirming that. No swelling of the feet up to the present point! Indeed feet, ankles, & hands are as thin as certainly they still can be; & form a striking contrast to the proportions between. Still, Arlette must be before me, I fancy from what you say, though I hope to precede her, [15] & though it wd be difficult [illegible words] apart from certain occasions. I am beginning to feel, in fact, rather ashamed of being looked at.> [16] A[n]nunciata paid us a visit the other day, & was triumphant in the realization of her prophecy—“it was certain to be right this time”. Now, I do want to know the meaning & use of seeing Dr Harding under such prosperous circumstances? Remember that he knows “my constitution & frame,” as Arlette learnedly expresses it, already—that he has attended me already & that he is aware of everything .. morphine included .. that I have diminished the morphine far more rapidly than he anticipated the possibility of my doing, & that strictly I have followed his counsel in an abstinence from wine. I am not in a morbid state, observe, but in a natural state—& I do think it most absurd that women shd hurry forward to throw themselves into the hands of physicians .. to ask .. what, pray? If the least difficulty occurred, I wd see Dr Harding in a moment—but now, he wd just smile & show his teeth, after his peculiar fashion, & say slowly, “Very well, very well—I shall come & see you again”—& there an end .. or a beginning rather. Only you need not imagine that I am likely to put off seeing him till the last—it shall be done in good time, be certain, & quite in time!
Meantime, here is Madme Petri to annunciate oracles, if oracles are wanting—& they all are to the effect that after February I am to grow fat & strong & “another person altogether”. So make the most of me before I change so. Yes, I “help” Wilson .. though you will smile diabolically to calculate in what way. Robert made me smile a day or two ago by gravely observing that he really must “get a worktable for me” .. See what the best disposed people may come to!– I absolutely did buy a thimble three weeks ago, .. which I have not had since I was a child, .. and the wonderful progress made by me in hemming, whipping, & sowing on lace borders, gives me a lively sense of universal genius. Learn that I have “done” all the frills of four nightcaps, three rows to each—hemmed two little shirts, & made the sleeves to the same, & finished three or four flannels of an indescribable order. Oh, I do wish you were here to help a little better– Wilson is in a great fright not to have everything ready in time. Our endeavour is to use as much œconomy as possible, as I have been rather alarmed by Mrs Ogilvy’s prognostic that it cant be effected though ever so simply, at less than fifteen guineas. She has English prices in her head, I do maintain. I shall get what is necessary, & keep the superfluities for the happy afterwards if God grants it—though I had the extravagance today to buy a Valenciennes full trimming for a cap, at four & sixpence the whole. Does Minny mean that the very finest, most transparent French cambric can be had at three or four shillings the yard? If so, we can hardly exceed you in cheapness, I acknowledge. For the shirts & nightcaps we use only what is called here Scotch cambric, the very finest, for which we paid sixteen pence a yard—and very pretty they look, & like French .. trimmed with narrow English lace, a halfpenny a yard. The flannel is Italian—at sixteen pence—but I shall get two day-petticoats of the English, because it is better & finer. Wilson is doing everything most beautifully, and if there shd not be time to finish, we must employ somebody .. that’s all—only, as it adds to the expence, I wd rather not of course. We are somewhat crushed just now with the weight of curtain & chair expences, our apartment making ample amends by putting on a most delightful look of comfort. Would that you were here, to see! Robert bought another bed, three days ago:—it was a necessity, as we had only Wilson’s & our own; .. and in case of illness, what were we to do, I wonder? There was the room, but no bed. Always we have put off buying it, and the opportunity occurring, and the convenient sofa not being a sufficient convenience after all, we bought it .. and at a singular cheapness—little more than six pounds for an iron bedstead as large as the large one provided already, including spring & other mattresses, pillows, quilt, two blankets, and muslin curtains .. mull muslin .. & gilt ornaments for the top of the bed & the bedposts. Altogether I really prefer it to our own bed—it is handsomer & better, in every respect except the pillows which are not of down nor as large—and perhaps you will remember that for our mattresses only, with the pillows, we paid above six pounds—they being manufactured for us & we grumbling a little at the price in spite of Count Cottrell’s representations– Everyone says of the new purchase that it is a wonderful ‘bargain’, .. and so, I suppose it really is. Iron bedsteads are necessities here, unless you have brass .. because wood is a harbour for things unclean, the very idea of which makes you uncomfortable. We are getting generally into order .. have the chimneypieces covered with crimson velvet, (which is everywhere done on the continent) & the curtains up– The rooms look beautiful—and my bedroom is really growing into perfection– You never saw a more comfortable & spacious one .. although I do want still a washing stand, and the sofa, which belongs to the room, in from the drawingroom. The drawingroom sofas not being covered yet, it is in use there meantime. For our book case we shall have to wait, on account of the expense—it wont do to be imprudent & get into scrapes. As it is, through the rooms being so large & the windows so many & high, our apartment has cost us much more in the furnishing than we had any thought of at first. The curtains have exceeded the estimate in an especial manner. The bill of lading arrived safely, and we hear of the arrival of the cases at Leghorn, though the ship is not yet unladen, & I cant make this letter wait for the much I shall have to say when I have the boxes. Struck with remorse I am, at having made you uneasy by previous delays—but my dearest dear Arabel, if anything was wrong you wd be sure to hear it .. always think of that .. do! When we write, there’s always a “business” about it .. or generally—so many letters to put under one cover to New Cross– We are the coolest people in the world, as I say to Robert, to make his family pay for the whole of our correspondence in this way—but Mrs Browning was quite hurt once when we sent a note to her through you, for instance. She chooses to have the whole expence & trouble, so that I have the greatest fuss sometimes to persuade Robert to let me send a letter to you directly. As to the Roth[s]child medium, [17] it was too far round—she wdnt have that either. Such kind, generous people they are at New Cross, & so affectionate to me always! Only I take none of it to myself, because with any woman whom Robert had married, it wd have been the same; they love him so entirely.–
A visit from Mrs Ogilvy’s nurses & pretty children interrupts me, & she has sent me four crowns for little caps .. gifts to herself she says in a note, but which in the case of her own baby she did not put to use, having enough & to spare. They are beautifully worked .. Indian & French .. & will complete everything I shall want in the same way. I have a plan of buying a French embroidered pocket handkerchief, of which there are exquisite specimens here, & so of making up the caps bodily– I can get them as fine as a cobweb & with the best embroidery for ten shillings—one making four caps!—& thus, pray observe how perfectly cheap the arrangement will be. You see, you have plenty of French collars & handkerchiefs, .. all that sort of thing in Florence .. but the babies are not as well taken care of as the ladies. The latter send the former out to nurse, properly tied up in the legs .. & they dont want purple & fine linen for that: or if a Duchess or Marchioness feels particularly maternal on such points, she sends to Paris for what she requires, & there an end. I dare say Arlette means to be magnificent—tell me if she does & how. I agree with Henrietta that I shd prefer the small house & carriage of the two alternatives,—& give my love to Arlette when you see her next.– Wilson begs me to thank you & Henrietta for your kind wishes, .. & for the rest, all of which I told her, she is not without hope she says, of Mr Righi’s becoming a protestant one day, though it must not be while his mother is alive. He is said to have a certain leaning towards protestantism—at least, so is her impression. For the living in Italy, she does’nt consider that altogether an objection– Wilson is half an Italian already in her preference of certain things—and it is by no means impossible for Englishwomen to go to England & back again with English families, free of expence, in exchange for their personal services. Mdme Petri was there last year & was nearly going again this year, though she has two young children of her own. Now, could Wilson get to her family oftener, in the case of her being married in the south of England? I suggested that perhaps her father [18] might procure railway employment in the north for her husband– “Oh—she thought he could! but then, Mr Righi would’nt like England for a continuance she was sure. Her father thought nothing of being in steady employment from eight in the morning till six or seven at night—and Mr Righi had not been used to do without relaxation in that way.” Which is quite true– The Italians have no notion of work in the English sense. Which raises them in one way, & lowers them in another—makes them more refined in fancy & manner, & reduces their energies & general power of exertion. I dont speak of him exactly, because he is above the ordinary class, & has led much the life of an English officer in barracks—but for instance, here is our upholsterer, who thinks it an extraordinary day’s work if he comes at ten oclock & goes away at twelve—comes at three again, & goes at five—not to say that he comes once or twice in the week only. We scold & send messages by Alessandro, but he seems to drop with exhaustion when he has covered a chair—people cant tire themselves that way! The festa-days or half festa days, come two or three times a week sometimes, beside—& the gross irreligion of not walking about at leisure in one’s best surtout on a saint’s day, is foreign to the hearts of the nation. Every now & then, all Tuscany rushes into the coffee houses .. & why? Because the Blessed virgin is in “expectation of her confinement”. I speak the plain truth .. rather too plainly perhaps!– Nobody wd work on such a day, not for their life’s sake. Also, even when there’s no supernal being to be especially honoured, .. you go at two or three oclock to some great shop in the greatest thoroughfare, to buy a yard of muslin .. Shop shut up .. nobody at home .. the padrone has walked out with the key in his pocket, to take a little fresh air. Should he happen to be at home, he will loll on the counter & show you your muslin with a proud superiority & indifference as to whether you buy any or not. If you say it is’nt fine enough, he will listen distractedly, & wait till you ask if he has finer, before he thrusts his hand into the shelf over his head & pulls down the thing you want. In fact, the whole time you are impressed with the idea that in selling you this & that he does you a very great favour, for which, if you are not grateful, .. “che razza di gente.”!! [19] He is a sort of Medicis in his way—& what are you, pray? Why, not even an Italian. When we came to Italy first I was much struck & pleased by the aspect of a whole people apparently of one class .. all at leisure, .. all enjoying the refinements & pleasantnesses of life: and it is still charming to me in many respects, only no longer in all. I see now that the want of painful necessity, producing a want of habitual exertion, ends in a corresponding want of the energies so excellent & noble in all great nations; I cannot choose but see it. Yet in England we have the other extreme; and grievous indeed, that is! Who can tell which is worse in God’s eyes—the permitted suffering, or the demoralizing ease?
In addition to Wilson’s small labours of late, she has been making orange marmalade with triumphant success, after a Scotch receipt sent to us by Mrs Browning. You know I used to like it, & so does Robert, and we have it for tea, to please us both.– When you read that our Grand Duke has run away, dont believe it—believe nothing you read, except my letters. The other evening, we were startled by the beating of the “Generale” (so called) under our windows—a peculiar beat of drum, signifying that all Florence was up in arms. Wilson was in a dreadful fright—“trembling all over,” she said she was: but Robert & I sate in the calmest state of indifference, quite certain it wd turn out to be nothing. Only when he “thought he might as well go out to see”, I threatened to be frightened too, & begged & entreated him to keep still in his chair. We listened for cannon or guns—not a sound except drums & feet! It was just a gathering of the people in the Piazza Gran Duca, who got up a cry of “Down with the ministry” .. their own ministry, observe, whom, at a great expence of democratic ardour, they had elevated to office a month ago. So Guerazzi, the minister, went out to them & made an harangue, at the end of which, it was “Up with the ministry” & “Down with their ringleaders” instead; & the latter wd have been torn to pieces directly, if they had not been taken away to prison for protection. Such children, to be sure! The disturbers of the peace were said to be not Florentines, but Livornese for the most part—and the beat of the “Generale” brought up two thousand men in arms that night, to keep order; so that there was no danger whatever, under any point of view. The poor Grand Duke grows greyer & greyer & paler & paler—it is natural enough that he shd be anxious under the weight of such responsibilities. Still, there will be no anarchy <in> [20] Florence—not in the <har>d, bloody sense—of that, I continue to be certain, & so may you. Did I <mention> that we had a visit from Mr Charles Lever & his wife during Robert’s illness, & that, before he was able to return our cards, they had gone to the Baths of Lucca for the winter .. rather an extraordinary preference, like our going to Ancona for the summer. They have lived at Florence for some time, kept a large establishment, carriages, horses & the rest, .. &, people say, may have rather exceeded their means:—we shall have them back again in the spring probably. He is said to be “better than his books” .. which is some comfort, for I never admired them much you know. Then, two days ago, we had cards (& a letter of introduction from Rome) from two American families—very sorry we were for it, but forced to return the cards. One family is a <s>on of Judge Story’s, [21] with his wife—& another, Mr & Mrs Cranch [22] —one is described as rich, the other poor,—one grave, the other gay .. but both admirable in different ways, and “the glory of my country” of course! Most of our visitors are Americans; & one, two or three, we have very much liked & regarded—only it’s dreadful to have an incursion of this sort—just now, too, when I am not particularly inclined to see strangers. Mr Hillard whom we knew last winter, & who went to England from Italy, wrote us the kindest note of farewell previous to his embarkation at Liverpool for Boston. He shd describe in America, he said, “a marriage & a home, where the heart found food, & the spirit wings”—this, with other kind expressions towards us both. And now, Arabel, I am going to ask you to do something for me– Our friend, Mr Ware, the author of the ‘Letters from Palmyra,’ suffers frightfully from epilepsy as I think I told you—and it is in his behalf that I wish you to lose no time in ascertaining from Louisa Carmichael the address of Baron Sloët, or his successor .. for the original Baron, I fancy to have heard, is dead. Our friend wd willingly go to Holland for the express purpose—only you must lose no time, remember. Do this for me, dearest Arabel! Tell me too of poor Mrs Cliffe. I wrote to Miss Tulk, [23] who replies that Sophia was overwhelmed just at first, but had recovered all her calmness, .. “resolving by a cheerful submission to the Divine will, not to repel the happy spirit.” Right & wise, cheerful submission is! but I cannot believe that a human spirit, however happy, could be “repelled” by any expression of human love, even when expressed by the weakness & inconsistency of und<ue> grief, perhaps. If it is indeed so, it seems to me that we need still more comforting, such of us as are weak. You never told me a word of the Deffells, & what happened to them after Mr Deffell’s death, though I asked twice. And you never speak of Crow & her children– Speak of them. I wish I could help you in different ways—but it seems very difficult just now to get any kind of employment. Personal endeavour & application are the only means, & there must be a stone somewhere to turn up with one’s own hand. How is Alfred getting on with the railway? Great Westerns appear no steadier than other great things & kings. I think much of you & very anxiously always: Tell me everything .. oh do! & dont talk about “tiring me” by such & such subjects as Henrietta does,—as if your happiness were not mine indeed. I have returned the proof to Blackwood at last. Take care of Folly, lest he shd be stolen Flush-wise. Oh—you shd see Flush now. Suddenly he has grown fat .. as fat as when you saw him—and his hair is all restored. We wonder whether it is the effect of his sudden passion for grapes, or not. For the rest, such spirits he has .. & such insolence of power! Alessandro has been to Germany Paris & London, & never saw “un cane tanto impertinente”. [24] Does Minny like Folly? My love to dearest Minny. How is she? God bless my darling Arabel– I love you .. & Henrietta! Yes, & all. Write, write. Give my love to Surtees & Susan Cook. Tell me of Papa– Robert’s best love, with that of your own, own
Ba—
Morphine lasted 32 days! [25] Are you not astonished? What of Mr Hunter & Mary?
Address, on integral page: To the care of Miss Tripsack / (Miss Arabel Barrett) / 12. Upper Gloucester Street / Dorset Square / New Road / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, I, 205–216.
Manuscript: Gordon E. Moulton-Barrett.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. The following notice regarding William Frederick Chambers (1786–1855) appeared in The Times of Tuesday, 5 December 1848: “We have been requested by Dr. Chambers to contradict the report of his death, as stated in the Lancet of Saturday” (p. 4). Frances Bayford (née Heseltine, 1781–1848), EBB’s mother’s first cousin, died on 12 September 1848.
3. Louisa Ley died on 26 November 1848 at Durrant House, near Bideford, very soon after the death of her own infant child. Harriet Theodosia Fisher, step-daughter of Joseph Garrow (1789–1857) and half-sister of Theodosia Trollope (née Garrow), died on 12 November 1848, aged 37 (ICS).
4. Eliza Wilhelmina Giles (née Cliffe, 1810–48), friend and neighbour from Hope End days, died on 14 November 1848 at Larkfield, near Waterford, Ireland.
5. Elizabeth Cliffe (née Deane, 1780?–1850).
6. The two-month-old child of John Gordon and Caroline Augusta Gordon (née Tulk) had died recently in Calcutta.
7. “Not too bad.”
8. Cf. Matthew 8:10.
9. Susanna (1787–1824), only daughter of Marmaduke Hart (1756?–1829), married Charles Augustus Tulk in 1807.
10. i.e., Angela Owen (née Bayford, 1810–88), regarding the death of her mother Frances Bayford; see note 2 above. Angela’s father, John Bayford, had died in 1844.
11. Kinnersley Castle, near Hereford, was the home of EBB’s maternal uncle, John Altham Graham-Clarke, and his wife Mary (née Parkinson, d. 1852).
12. A popular name for The Royal Kalendar (1767–1893), an annual court directory.
13. EBB refers to her uncle James Graham-Clarke (1791–1859). Her comments here were apparently prompted by news of his failing health which was also noted by William Surtees Cook in his journal a month earlier (Surtees, 7 November 1848).
14. Name was obliterated after receipt, probably by Arabella. The Strattens had two sons: John Remington Stratten (1823–1905) and Arthur Clegg Stratten (1828–1907); however, it is unclear to which of the two EBB is referring. The former was ordained in the Church of England in 1849; the latter became a stockbroker in the City of London and later served Arabella in that capacity during the 1860’s.
15. Mary Arabella Susan Reynolds (1849–1917) was born on 26 March of the following year at 8 Gloucester Square, Paddington, seventeen days after the birth of Pen Browning.
16. Passage in angle brackets is reconstructed, eleven lines having been obliterated after receipt, probably by Arabella.
17. i.e., sent via Reuben Browning at Rothschild’s in St. Swithin’s Lane, London.
18. Edward Wilson (1782?–1865) was a Northumberland coal merchant.
19. “What a race of people!!”
20. The sheet, bearing the last two pages and address panel, is torn and damaged.
21. Joseph Story (1779–1845), helped establish the school of law at Harvard and served as associate justice on the United States Supreme Court from 1811 until his death. His son, William Wetmore Story (1819–95), sculptor and author, married in 1843 Emelyn (née Eldredge, 1820–94). The Storys were given a letter of introduction to the Brownings from Margaret Fuller, then in Rome.
22. Christopher Pearse Cranch (1813–92), an American poet, wrote for The Messenger and The Dial. He and his wife Elizabeth (née De Windt, 1819–98) were also given a letter of introduction to the Brownings from Margaret Fuller. The Cranches called again soon afterwards, meeting the Brownings in Casa Guidi on 19 December. For Christopher Cranch’s recollection of this meeting, see SD1359.
23. Presumably Caroline Tulk; see letter 2731, note 17.
24. “Such an impertinent dog.”
25. Two months earlier the morphine had lasted only twenty days (see letter 2748).
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