2783. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 15, 246–255.
[Florence]
April 8.—16. [1849] [1]
I thought to be so happy in beginning this letter to you—& see how it is! The letter by the way, goes to you my dearest dear Arabel, just because all Robert’s were directed to my dearly loved Henrietta. Otherwise, it wd be her turn, I dont forget this time. But my heart goes out to you both, .. thanking you first of all for all your love & all your prayers & all your thanksgivings, .. for all of which I know I have to thank you. God has been very gracious—and, you may be half aware, I had the feelings that our happiness here was not to be allowed to flower out into the absolute bloom which seemed possible. Therefore the great affliction which has fallen on my poor darling Robert, it is not for me to be surprised at, though I wd have given my own life to have saved him from it. Oh, such dreadful hours we have had, Arabel. You know a little how he has loved his mother—he passionate in all his affections, & she, deserving of all attachment. If it had not been for poor Sarianna’s courage & tender consideration, in writing two letters of preparation, the sudden revulsion from our joy to terrible deprivation, might have … I do not dare think how it might have affected him in body & soul. In the first letter she spoke of his mother’s being unwell .. “very unwell with her old complaint,” [2] & she “had sent for advice”. The mention of the “old complaint” (which it was not, but ossification of the heart) kept him quiet .. because we knew that it did not threaten life. That letter was in answer to the one announcing the birth of our child. The next, the next day, said, “I grieve to say our dearest mother is very ill. I will write to-morrow”—written when all was over– Sarianna had great courage, for which I thank God & her. He waited till the post of the succeeding morning, meaning to go off to England instantly & travel day & night. That dreadful morning!– That dreadful letter. The dreadful days since! He has done what he could for my sake, but I never saw a man so overcome & wrung to the soul– The bursts of convulsive weeping, the recapitulation of all her goodness & tenderness in words that made the heart ache, & then the recovery of composure with such a ghastly violence, that you wished the agitation back again—these things, I shall not try to describe. That he shd not be ill, is a blessing well worth thanks & astonishment—but very pale & thin he looks certainly– I have persuaded him to get into the air, & God is giving him, I trust, a more settled calmness & a healthier tone of mind. The divine Grace has been very present in suggesting alleviations—but when God’s own Hand, even, binds the human Heart to the cross, we all know how it will struggle. But from the beginning he has recognized God’s Hand, & felt God’s grace, & looked up for God’s comfort as all that could come. Her death, in its suddenness, was very beautiful. Found senseless on the floor, by her husband & daughter, after two hours she revived to a state of partial consciousness .. to murmur some half articulated words of human fondness .. “God bless my dear .. dear .. dear ..”. Presently she said “Ready to go”—& then, spoke no more till death was on her, when, as the spirit passed, she exclaimed in a distinct voice, “Come, come quickly .. quickly .. quickly”, .. and “even so” the “Lord Jesus” [3] came & took her. A saintly life could scarcely close more serenely, and Robert dwells on the words spoken, pressing with the whole weight of love the essential perfume out of them. He goes back to his first memories, when he was a little child & she knelt every night by his bedside, praying in a phrase that struck his childish fancy at the moment, that God would “remember that child when He should make up His jewels”. Through childhood, through youth, always the thought of her, the love of her, has been like the grace of God itself, coming with it & interposing between the evil & him. To the last night of his leaving home for Italy, he slept in the next room to her, with the door open—she came in to kiss him every night. Very bitter it has been to me, to consider how, like a thief, I have deprived him (and her) of the last two years, & more, of precious intercourse—and it seems to me I can see plainly that he repents in the secresy of his heart, having called it happiness to be with me rather. If we had known—! But we did not know—none knew, nor could.
April 12.
Now I am going to write in better spirits. The last day or two, he has been better—gone out .. & though very depressed, is stronger towards life, I think, & able to exert himself to happier issue. I was glad that he saw the Lindsays—he has gone to leave his card on them this morning. I said “Dont let it teaze you, dear—stay at home”, but he would do it, meaning to be kind to relations of mine, as they are in Florence for only a few days .. and I thought it might do him good after all, so yielded the point. Clara was kind & came here twice,—& Mr Lindsay (the second time) surprised me on my earliest appearance in the drawingroom in my white dressing gown & night-cap. Certainly I would not have seen him, except by surprise. A very intelligent & gentlemanly man, we both thought him,—& dear Clara looks quite well. You will guess by my saying ‘dear Clara’ so affectionately that she has been praising the baby—and so she did .. called it “the loveliest baby she ever saw” .. while Mr Lindsay was of opinion that the likeness was striking “to the prettiest of my sisters”. I wont be invidious enough to try to guess whom he meant by “the prettiest”, especially as he had called both my sisters “charming” the moment before,—“your two charming sisters”. Wilson said at first that baby’s mouth was like Henrietta’s with its rosy lips—the lips being quite rosy, & the forehead white when he was born. Dr Harding could see “both father & mother” in the whole little face, he said—but I persisted & persist in fancying it like Robert only—but infantine & rounded away into a dim image, of course. You wont wonder if he & I consider him the prettiest baby ever seen, & we cant expect to be believed when we send you our descriptions—they will be set down as purely descriptive poetry, we cant doubt. That’s why, (or one of the whys) I long so for you to see him with your senses, mine being so little reliable. Only, observe .. Dr Harding called him just three days ago “a specimen of a beautiful baby”, and I was’nt in the least surprised, I can assure you. What is peculiarly beautiful in him, is & has always been his complexion—never a taint upon it,—as clear as a flower—his eyes bright & strong from the beginning .. (Mrs Ogilvy said “But I never saw such eyes as those in a young baby” ..) & not a shade of the usual yellowness .. not a tinge of it—& his skin from head to foot as soft as velvet. It is imagined that a good deal of this may be attributed to my peculiar way of living regularly, & of taking neither wine nor medecine from first to last. At any rate, the babe’s complexion has been a wonder to all spectators—and now, when he is a month old, he has actually two faintly pink cheeks to add to the beauty of the little rose-coloured mouth. The features, too, are quite regular .. the forehead is high & wide, the eyes dark blue (at present) .. and the mouth & chin of remarkable delicacy & loveliness .. the nose, we wont talk much about, because it has’nt taken proper rank as a mature nose yet .. the cheeks after the pattern of a cherub’s for roundness .. the hair dark as you saw. And you are not to think, if you please, that he has a “gigantic head”—on the contrary, the proportions are perfect & have always been. Such arms, & legs, & above all such a wide chest, & decided strength of lungs. Also, he grows fatter & fatter .. you see him get fat & grow as you look at him. Dr Harding is in an enthusiasm .. “Quite extraordinary that child is! I have not seen so thriving a child for an age” … Oh—when I heard his first cry, the unspeakable rapture of it! I who had been a good deal tired & exhausted by the prolongation of the pain, instead of sinking into a half state of insensibility as Mrs Ogilvy said she did, or being just “able to smile” like Sophia Cottrell, rose up suddenly in my spirit to a sort of ecstasy, .. not only forgot the pain but the ease, .. clapped my hands & clasped them, & exclaimed aloud in various incoherent exclamations which I do hope nobody listened to particularly, as I was very ashamed of them afterwards. For four & twenty hours from that moment, I did not feel in the least weak or exhausted– I was weaker on the third day—but as to suffering, there was no
<…> [4]
baby, Madme Biondi”. This was on friday at twelve oclock. My bedroom is very large but is inconvenient through having no room to lead out of it, so that nurse, wetnurse[,] baby & I were all shut up together, and I heard nearly everything spoken, let them speak ever so low. All friday I heard Madme Biondi using every sort of argument, persuasion, flattery, carress, with this same amiable wet nurse, who wanted to take another baby into partnership with ours, (not her own child, observe, or one might have felt for her!) & walk backwards & forwards through Florence from one house to another. “She had too much milk—she would’nt suffer for the sake of any picinino”! [5] Madme Biondi offered to draw the superfluity of milk, & was really admirable in good temper & gentleness with her .. “Ma, mia cara, tu sei giovane, tu non sai &c &c”. [6] Just like a spoilt child, she was—there was a burst of weeping every hour or so—she would & she would’nt,—and being six or seven & twenty, one might have expected as much sense from her as if she had been six or seven years old, .. Italian as she was! Not at all. Between eleven & twelve oclock that night, she suddenly sprang out of bed, vowed that she wd go away instantly, sobbed, cried, tore her hair, stamped with her feet, dashed herself down at full length on the sofa .. “Ma questa donna e matta! come si fa?” [7] I sent to Robert who had just gone to bed, and in he came in his dressing-gown. Stood mute in the middle of the floor, .. the woman continuing to rave. Nothing was to be done, but to let her go. Out of compassion, we sent the porter through the streets with her, & all the way, he said, she talked to herself .. “She had had enough of the palazzos of the gran signori” [8] &c &c! So here was poor baby left to himself in the middle of the night. What was to be done? At last we thought of a Turinese family [9] who having fled from the troubles of the north of Italy, had been residing for the last few months in the apartment above us, & comforting themselves with grand concerts, balls & dinner parties throughout the carnival. We had lent them china & glass once or twice. This family had an infant & a wet nurse, so Wilson went up stairs to ring at the bell & ask for charity. With the utmost kindness, the lady rose from her bed, & just sending for Madme Biondi to ascertain the fact of our child being healthy (necessary for the safety of her own) she directed her nurse to come to us instantly. The nurse came, .. the most beautiful woman we have seen in Italy, & as gracious as beautiful, as if she had resolved to prove to us, what an Italian might be after all. She had just risen from bed, & had a scarlet handkerchief twisted round her raven hair; eyes of most glorious blackness, and a bearing like a queen’s. The most tender pity she expressed for the poor baby, admired his beauty, & only hoped that the ‘povera signora’ [10] might’nt have a fever from the agitation produced by “questa cattiva donna”. [11] Well—she nursed him at intervals throughout the next day:—only I must not forget to tell you that at seven in the morning the heroine of the mad scene made her way into my room through all impediments, having rung furiously at the door bell, & rushing past Wilson who tried to hinder her—“she had come to nurse the baby,” she said. Madme Biondi got her out into the passage however, & there informed her that if she did’nt leave the house that instant the police shd be appealed to, & that as long as she, Madme Biondi, lived, she should not wet-nurse another child in Tuscany. Upon which, “O povera me!” [12] she cried, & disappeared at once. Meanwhile Robert had run off to Dr Harding who sent into the country, .. beyond Pescia [13] somewhere, .. & by sunday we had another nurse, .. a young peasant, with a Madonna face, & mild, languid manners– She was nurse, the third. I thought at the time she was rather too young, too inexperienced, & above all too pensive & quiet, but of course we could not look so closely to it all—we were glad enough to have a healthy nurse who was not mad nor bad,—on any terms. For some hours she did well, but the next morning, to my horror it was discovered that she had not milk enough for the necessities of the child, & that the little milk was becoming less. Poor little Babe sucked so vehemently that you heard him all over the room, yet he scarcely had anything to swallow. Was’nt it sad? Robert began to find out that he was “too sweet & lovely,” & had “something too spiritual in his eyes”, & in short took this failure of nurses so to heart, that I had to take on myself the office of comforter—“after all, the child was well, & we had only to look out for another supply of food”– And so, we had nurse the fourth—the third going away in a flood of tears, because she wanted to stay & could’nt. The fourth whom we have still & every day congratulate ourselves on having, was introduced by Dr Harding as a “regular cow-woman”, .. “she would have milk enough, we might be sure, ..” .. with enormous red cheeks, & a rosy mouth smiling to the ears, & broad enough in her proportions to bear “cutting up the middle” (said Dr H) “into a tall woman”. For grace, & beauty, therefore, we can say nothing about either .. but good health, good humour, good spirits, these things she has to a superfluity. Also, she has had two children, & been out as nurse before, & so she does’nt hold the baby as if she were drawing a sword .. she has had a little experience. But you may suppose how I thought of Mr Jago’s permission & Nelly’s exhortation, all this while—& Dr Harding told me too that I shd have had an “abundance” of milk myself, if he had’nt taken means to suppress it .. only he never wavered as to the propriety of that course—and I never regretted it I must say .. never thought of it to the point of regret, .. because I felt too glad & grateful for the child’s having escaped so far the consequences of my “phisique,” to run more risks, of my own will. Mr Jago calculated for me, I am certain, rather than for the child. Mdme Biondi told me, that for myself, she shd have thought it desirable to nurse for one month– Longer, in her opinion, wd have profitted nobody—she is sure I could not have borne it longer. Now, just consider if I shd have been justified in running risks for the child, let the benefit to me, be proved ever so clearly! The very idea of it was dreadful! Also, as if to sweep away all hesitation, in the cold caught just before my confinement the chest was more affected than at any time since I came to Italy. The voice was not much affected .. it was lower down in the air vessels, the respiratory organs or something of that sort, & very unpleasant for some days .. but it went off, and now I am absolutely well, you may rely on it .. up in the drawing room & dressed, & with an appetite of the most undeniable capacity. [14] Sophia Cottrell has been here & declaring that she was not able to do as much at the same time.
You will see, Arabel my dearest, how long I have taken to write this letter. Have you wondered at not hearing– Robert’s affliction began the silence, you know, .. & he bids me say how, but for it, you shd have had a fifth letter from him—you ought to have received four as it was. Then, very soon after, I meant to have sent mine, the political troubles & stoppage of the post alone preventing me. For eight or nine days there have been no letters received at nor despatched from Florence, and we have been in daily expectation of the Austrian invasion,—an event rendered far less likely now by the new revolution of yesterday, in the course of which, after some terrible battling in the streets between the Leghorn troop & the Florentines, the Grand Duke takes his place again, Guerazzi flies, & the trees of liberty fall down everywhere with a crash. [15] When Henrietta says that I have had enough of republics, she is mistaken. What I objected to was the sign being put for the reality, & a republic with a public dissenting. Liberty by constraint is a contradiction in terms. At least nine out of ten of these Florentines in their hearts held to the Grand Duke, yet had no courage in heart or hand for resistance to a small party of Leghorn revolutionists– So much the more shame for them! Robert was out yesterday during the fighting, & had just time to cross the bridge before the soldiers intercepted the passage there, & get home. Dr Harding could not reach his house, & getting behind a coach-house door, four men were shot on the other side of it, a moment after. Now we shall have peace for a while, I suppose. The Duke is sent for. Robert is certainly better, though at times much depressed. My darling Arabel, you were right & not wrong in trying the homœopathists—and have patience & submit absolutely, because time & submission are always necessary when persons have recourse to them. For some chronic affections, I do not doubt their success: the danger is, when rapid measures are called for .. fevers, inflammations, & the like. Tell me everything & let me rely on hearing the whole truth .. or how can I be easy? Say how Papa’s cough is. Yes, he must have seen in the papers .. & perhaps it was better for nobody in Wimpole Street to attempt communicating anything .. and yet it makes me very sad to think of it all. We have seen dear Arlette’s confinement in the paper too. A little girl! [16] Kiss mother & baby for me & tell her that none can rejoice more in her safety than I do. “Write to Tours”? But why write to Tours, Henrietta? Robert said “I will write to Tours if you wish it, Ba,” but I did’nt wish it—it appeared to me unnecessary & a little overzealous under the circumstances. The Hedleys have not once asked a question about me for above a year, and from Bummy I have not heard since Arlette’s marriage. Oh, I am not in the least vexed:—only to volunteer this piece of information .. where was the use of that? What I was inclined to write about was uncle James’s illness, & if I did not do it through the fear of giving trouble to somebody, wd it become me to make Robert write in this pure obtrusion of our own matters? Besides they wd see in the papers & hear from England. Dont fancy, now, that I am offended. On the contrary I am certain they all think of me kindly & affectionately .... when they think of me at all.
At last we receive your three times welcome little notes. Robert is glad, Arabel, that you wrote to Sarianna—she is very deeply afflicted, poor Sarianna! He often wishes that you knew her .. there wd have been comfort in such sympathy. Oh dearest, dearest Arabel, what do you still seem to expect of us? All our happy plans .. where are they? Am I to bring Robert back to that desolate house at New Cross, to “break his heart” as he says it would, “to see his mother’s roses over the wall, & the place where she used to put her scissors & gloves”. I, who understand so entirely those feelings, am I to say “Let us go there nevertheless”. Judge yourself, my beloved Arabel, .. judge yourselves, my beloved sisters, both of you. At the same time, I know nothing at all. If any duty, or wish of his father & sister shd draw Robert home, he will go,—and no communication between them on subjects of the kind has had time to pass. For Sarianna herself to remain in that house appears to me highly undesirable—but God having sent so heavy an affliction we must simply be patient under it in all its forms & consequences, & wait till the “cloud” shall turn up its “silver lining” .. which in His own time it will. You can scarcely guess how Robert, man as he is, has suffered intensely, & how deeply depressed he is at the actual moment. Ah, poor little babe! it cannot fill the void of so many years love & holy example! The grief has over-ridden the joy .. we could not help that. He said to me this morning, “It seems to me that the sadness sinks deeper & deeper”—to which I answered stupidly, “that he would feel better when the weather was a little brighter” .. reminding him, he said, of a bishop’s advice to a man “who had serious doubts about the christian religion”, to .. “Take horse-exercise”. Still, both I and the bishop, I maintained, might be rather sensible than otherwise .. after all, .. for the body has its influence both in melancholy & scepticism sometimes, .. & in the present sad case, the pressure of skies full of rain & cloud, is heavy upon him beside the other weight. When any one comes, he appears much better, & at intervals he is really so—oh, certainly & generally he is really better, and he sees clearly the stedfast reasons for comfort. With little of the conventional form or <co>lour of any of the churches, (too little, as I tell him sometimes .. we have some discussions on this point) few persons live more habitually <…> & recogniti<on o>f the Christian’s providence in the commonest details of life & time, than he does—and from the beginning he has seen & confessed God’s doing & perfect doing in this sorrow. Pray for him, Arabel, that God’s comfort to him may be perfect too! Do let the dear Jagos know how we both have thought of them & thanked them. We remembered that you wd communicate with them, & therefore Robert did not write. Dear Mrs Martin’s little note is very kind– We were ignorant of her direction, or she shd not first have heard of our happiness from the papers: soon she shall hear. Miss Mitford Robert wrote to, because she had made a particular request to that effect. Miss Bayley’s kindest letter I am going to answer– Tell her if you see her–
Will the Martins be in London soon? How I feel for poor Mrs Peyton! [17] What sorrow upon sorrow. If you write to the Peytons, do mention me in sympathy. Dr Harding came yesterday to vaccinate our baby, he being five weeks old. It is early, you will say, but the smallpox has been in Florence & we were frightened to let him go out before he was vaccinated– Tell dear Minny that Robert has said over & over, “I am sure Mrs Robinson wd like to see him,” & so I am sure she wd Thank & kiss her from me for being glad. Since I began this letter he is prettier than ever—oh, such cheeks, Arabel, .. & such a chiselled little mouth & chin! You take me now for the owl of the fable describing my offspring, [18] but I will just tell you what Dr Harding (who is always overpowering in his compliments to Baby) said of him yesterday .. “You have a singularly beautiful child, Mrs Browning! Seldom in my life have I seen so beautiful a child! He is a study for a painter! a model fit for Michel Angelo!” Yes, and the wet-nurse has confided her opinion to Robert .. “that the signora must have seen some very pretty persons (persone molto belline) when she walked out in the streets, to account for so “pretty a bambino”. Think of this, & of the health & strength of the child—as strong as if the child of the strongest woman of your acquaintance! Ought I not to thank God that he has not been unwell for half an hour? A few days since, appeared at our door .. Father Prout! Wilson who opened it to him said after the first words, “Perhaps, sir, you dont know that Mrs Browning has a little son?”– “What! Alive!” He had’nt had the least idea it appears of what kept me on the sofa last winter. How is my dearest Trippy, & how will she settle again? Tell me all, & give her the usual kisses, dear thing.——
Just received, Henrietta’s envelope with dear dear Trippy’s kindest & welcomest of little notes. I must write a little one back, though this letter will be heavy, I fear. Terrible news, this of Mr Gordon’s death. [19] Stroke upon stroke falling on that family—poor Mrs Gordon losing at once, almost, father, husband, sister, child, mother in law!—your letter tells me for the first time. I do hope that our dear Trippy may lose less than appears– In any case I wd rather be ruined to the last penny, than see my husband’s honor left in suspicion so!– [20] Dreadful indeed. We have put Wilson into mourning—not Alessandro, nor the nurse,—not the baby, of course– Nothing settled yet about the baptism, though we lean rather to the Scotch church at Leghorn. I shd like dear Mr Stratten indeed—& if I dont thank him for baptising my child (you see, in any case it wd be long to wait) let me, for praying for it! God bless you, I pray always—you, both of you, all of you! write directly to your Ba– Tell Mary Minto that I will answer her kind note.
I am distressed for dear Trippy. Dont let her take it to heart. No madness about India!! Wd not Papa accept rather poverty in England than military life anywhere?
A letter will reach Papa before this reaches you,—as Trippy thinks it best. I write to Henrietta before long, bid her remember. Mrs Browning’s complaint of the heart had existed unsuspected for twenty years, say the physicians. Too kind you are about the hair– That shd be our business. Clara Lindsay promised to come again, & I cant help thinking, she must be gone. Tell me of Henrietta & all– Mention your health particularly.
Dr Harding told Robert that if I had continued to take the Port wine, I shd have had a succession of miscarriages, & never a living child. It was physically impossible, he said, with my tendencies. Now, he lets me take half a wineglass of Italian wine with double the quantity of water.
Address, on integral page: Angleterre viâ France / Care of Miss Tripsack / (Miss Arabel Barrett) / 12. Beaumont Street / Devonshire Place / New Road / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, I, 238–248.
Manuscript: Gordon E. Moulton-Barrett.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. i.e., neuralgia. She also suffered from anemia (see Orr, p. 19).
3. Cf. Revelation 22:20.
4. Two or more pages missing. Presumably, they contained details of Pen’s birth.
5. “Little boy.”
6. “But, my dear, you are young, you don’t know.”
7. “But this woman is mad! what can we do?”
8. “Palaces of wealthy people.”
9. Francesco Bressi, his wife Margherita, and their four children, are listed at 1902 Via Maggio (Palazzo Guidi) in the San Felice church census for 1849. The youngest child, Teresa, was still nursing.
10. “Poor lady.”
11. “This bad woman.”
12. “O poor me!”
13. “A flourishing and pleasant small city” (Murray’s Hand-Book for Travellers in Northern Italy, 1847, p. 431), about midway between Pistoia and Lucca on the Florence road.
14. Above the word “capacity,” EBB has written “rapacity.”
15. On 11 April, one of the Leghorn regiments brought to Florence by Guerrazzi (ostensibly to be trained) was attacked by Florentines in the Piazza Santa Maria Novella. This riot provided the necessary opportunity for the Moderate faction to take control. A Provisional Government was proclaimed in the name of Leopold, and Guerrazzi was forced to surrender himself in order to avoid the crowds clamouring for his life. See Bolton King, A History of Italian Unity (1899), I, 326.
17. Eliza Peyton’s son, Charles William Peyton (b. 1822), had died on 29 March 1849 while a medical student at Guy’s Hospital in London.
18. Cf. the proverbial: “The owl thinks all her young ones beauties.”
19. John Gordon died on 21 February 1849 in Calcutta, twenty-four hours after the burial of his mother Ann Carr Gordon (née Mowatt, 1783–1849). For the other deaths mentioned by EBB, see letter 2771, note 9.
20. Part of the money John Gordon lost in Sydney included £4,000 from Mary Trepsack. As later letters make clear, the Brownings felt strongly that Caroline Gordon should repay her husband’s debt, or at least provide some type of annual settlement.
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