2791. EBB to Julia Martin
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 15, 270–273.
Florence.
May 14 [1849] [1]
My dearest Mrs Martin,
At last I come to thank you for all your kindness, all your goodness, all your sympathy for both of us. Robert would have written to you in the first instance (for we both thought of you) if we had not agreed that you would hear as quickly from Henrietta,—we not knowing your direct address. Also your welcome little note shd have had an immediate acknowledgement from him, if he had not been so depressed at that time, that I was glad to ask him to wait till I should be ready to write myself. In fact, he has suffered most acutely from the affliction you have since of course heard of,—and just because he was too happy when the child was born, the pain was overwhelming afterwards. That is easy to understand, I think– While he was full of joy for the child,—his mother was dying at a distance, and the very thought of accepting that new affection for the old, became a thing to recoil from—do you not see? So far from suffering less, through the particular combination of circumstances, as some people seemed to fancy he wd, he suffered much more, I am certain, and very naturally– Even now, he is looking very unwell,—thinner & paler than usual; and his spirits which used to be so good, have not rallied– I long to get him away from Florence somewhere—where, I cant fix my wishes—our English plans seem flat on the ground for the present, that is one sad certainty. My dearest sisters will be very grieved if we dont go to England, and yet how can I even try to persuade my husband back into the scene of old associations where he wd feel so much pain? Do I not know what I myself should suffer in some places? And he loved his mother with all his power of loving, which is deeper & more passionate than love is with common men. The hearts of men are generally strong in proportion to their heads. Well, I am not to send you such a dull letter, though, after waiting so long & after receiving so much to speak thankfully of. My child, you never would believe to be my child, from the evidence of his immense cheeks and chins, .. for pray dont suppose that he has only one chin– People call him a lovely child, and if I were to call him the same, it wdnt be very extraordinary, .. only I spare you– “A robust child” I may tell you that he is, with a sufficient modesty; and also that Wilson says he is universally admired in various tongues when she & the nurse go out with him to the Cascine,—“What a beautiful baby!” .. & “Che bel bambino”.! He has had a very stormy entrance upon life, poor little fellow, & when he was just three days old, a grand festa round the liberty-tree planted at our door attended with military music, civic dancing & singing, and the firing of cannons & guns from morning to night, made him start in his cradle & threw my careful monthly nurse into paroxysms of devotion before the “Vergine Santissima” [2] that I might’nt have a fever in consequence. Since then, the tree of liberty has come down with a crash, and we have had another festa as noisy on that occasion. Revolution and counter-revolution, Guerazzi and Leopold, sacking of Florence and entrance of the Austrian army, [3] we live through everything you see, & Baby grows fat indiscriminately. For my part I am altogether blasèe about revolutions & invasions. Dont think it want of feeling in me, or want of sympathy with “the people”, but really I cant help a certain political latitudinarianism from creeping over me in relation to this Tuscany. You ought to be here to understand what I mean & how I think. Oh Heavens, how ignoble it all has been & is! A revolution made by boys and vivas, & unmade by boys and vivas—no, there was blood shed in the unmaking, .. some horror and terror, .. but not as much patriotism and truth as could lift up the blood from the level of the kennel. The counter-revolution was strictly counter, observe. I mean, that if the Leghornese troop here had paid their debts at the Florentine coffee houses, the Florentines wd have let their beloved Grand Duke stay on at Gaeta to the end of the world. The Grand Duke too whose part I have been taking hitherto (because he did seem to me a good man, more sinned against than sinning [4] ) the Grand Duke I give up from henceforth—seeing that he has done this base thing of taking again his Austrian titles in his proclamations coincidently with the approach of the Austrians. Of Rome, knowing nothing I dont like to speak. If a republic in earnest is established there, Louis Napoleon shd not try to set his foot on it. [5] Dearest Mrs Martin, how you mistake me about France, & how too lightly I must have spoken– If you knew how I admire the French as a nation! Robert always calls them “my beloved French”. Their very faults appear to me to arise from an excess of ideality and aspiration: but I was vexed rather at their selection of Louis Napoleon—a selection since justified by the firmness & apparent integrity of the man– His reputation in England, you will admit, did not promise the conclusion– Will he be emperor, do you imagine?—and shall I ever have done talking politics? I would far rather talk of you, after all. Henrietta tells me of your looking well but of your not being strong yet. Now do, for once, have a fit of egotism & tell me a little about yourself! Dear Mr Martin was “never seen in better looks,” says my informer, and I hope you will confirm me in that excellent news. You did not go to France– Did you like what you took of England instead? Are you by this time at Colwall, I do wonder? Do write & tell me of yourselves whatever you can– Surely I ought especially to thank you, dearest kind friend, for your goodness in writing to George, of which Henrietta very properly told me. I never shall forget this and other proofs of your affection for me, and shall remember them <with> warm gratitude always– As to George, I have held out both <h>ands and my husband’s hands in mine, again & again to him—he cannot possibly in the secret place of his heart, expect more from either of us .. My husband wd have written to him in the first place but for the obstacles raised by himself & others—and now what could Robert write and say except the bare repetition of what I have said over & over for him & myself? It is exactly an excuse—not more & not less. Just before I was ill I sent my last messages, because, with certain hazards before me, my heart turned to them naturally– I might as well have turned to a rock– Henry has been by far the kindest, & has written to me two or three little notes, & one since the birth of our child. I love them all far too well to be proud, and my husband loves me too well not to wish to be friends with everyone of them—we have neither of us any stupid feeling about “keeping up our dignity”. Yes, I had a letter from Sette some time long ago, in which something was said of Robert’s being careless of reconciliation; I answered it most explicitly & affectionately with every possible assurance from Robert & offering them from himself the affection of a brother. Not a word in answer!– To my poor dearest Papa I have written very lately,—and as my letter has not, after a week, been sent back, I catch at the hope of his being moved a little– If he neither sends it back nor replies severely, I shall take courage to write to him again after a while. It will be an immense gain to get him only to read my letters. My father & my brothers hold quite different positions of course, and though he has acted sternly towards me, I, knowing his peculiarities, do not feel embittered & astonished & disappointed as in the other cases. Absolutely happy my marriage has been—never could there be a happier marriage, (as there are no marriages in Heaven),—but dear Henrietta is quite wrong in fancying or seeming to fancy that this quarrel with my family has given or gives me slight pain– Old affections are not so easily trodden out of me, indeed,—and while I live unreconciled to them, there must be a void and a drawback. Do write to me & tell me of both of you, my very dear friends– Dont fancy that we are not anxious for brave Venice & Sicily, and that we dont hate this Austrian invasion– But Tuscany has acted a vile part altogether—so vile, .. that I am sceptical about the Romans. We expect daily the Austrians in Florence & have made up our minds to be very kind. May God bless you! Do write & mention your health particularly, as I am anxious about it. I am quite well myself and as ever your affectionate Ba.
Dont you both like Macauley’s history? [6] We are delighted just now with it. I shall try Colwall for this letter.
I left this for Robert to fill [7] —he wished to answer your note himself, & will do so—but something has prevented this today, and I cant consent to keep back my letter one hour longer. The next time, he shall write, I promise him.
Address, on integral page: Mrs Martin / Colwall / near Malvern / Worcestershire.
Publication: LEBB, I, 404–408 (in part).
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Year provided by EBB’s references to the birth of Pen and the death of RB’s mother.
2. “Blessed Virgin.”
3. An Austrian force of 18,000 troops had entered Tuscany at the end of April “to safeguard the grand duke’s rights” (Edgar Holt, Risorgimento: The Making of Italy, 1815–1870, 1970, p. 164). A smaller contingent of 12,000 entered Florence on 25 May.
4. Cf. King Lear, III, 2, 60.
6. The first two volumes of The History of England (10 vols., 1849–61) by Thomas Babington Macaulay (1800–59) had been published in November 1848. “Thirteen thousand copies were sold in four months” (DNB).
7. i.e., a space to the left of the address panel.
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