2794. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 15, 286–290.
Florence–
June. 6–7th [1849] [1]
My beloved Arabel, This is only the ghost of a letter, sent to remind you of the antediluvian letter-<Smith> [2] -affair & give you a little more trouble. Besides, I have really to thank her for the mournful story of my ever dear friend’s last hours, which at last I have had courage to read. Thanking her for that, I was under the necessity of urging the other affair, and also of replying to her proposition that “I would write a chapter of the intended memoir”. I would rather put my hand into the sun (which sounds absurd to you but would’nt, if you were here & felt the adjacency of it in this burning heat!) than do such a thing. The memoir itself is a thing which the worst taste only could contemplate—I protest against it with all my strength—and the inauguration of it by Mrs <Smith> makes the blood creep in my veins. If I were inclined to it, also, Robert would not suffer it—he has an absolute horror of Mrs <Smith>, .. who is, we must all confess, a vulgar, coarse woman, .. only I know her to be excellent in her peculiar way, & respect & am grateful to her for her faithful affection to my dear friend, Mr Boyd. Robert only sees the indelicacy of keeping my letters, which with one or two other transgressions in the mode of expressing herself on the subject, combines intensely with his aversion to all unnecessary entrances upon personalities in the face of the public. Therefore I should not have leave to do it if I were inclined, and you may imagine how little I am. The whole scheme is full of inapprehensiveness & bad taste—and no one who understood anything of the present conditions of literature, and of the characteristics of our dear friend, wd dream of such a thing. I have told her that I shall confine myself to a sonnet perhaps in my new edition, & be silent in prose. [3] Will you send my note to Mrs <Smith>? I do hope that she will return the letters after that.
Darlingest Arabel, I write only a few words to you today—the next time shall be better. Did Henrietta get my last letter written very lately? I am rather uneasy, because Robert said “Dont write politics”, and I had written them already—and since then I have been musing to myself how they were written on the corners of the sheet, where an Austrian lynx might read without breaking the seal. If so, the letter is suppressed, I am sure, & you are wondering at my silence. Poor Florence is in the shut hands of Austria—we dare’nt move or breathe. We have had to give up our arms .. and Mrs Vansittart [4] who “carries a dagger’[’] & appealed to the English ambassador whether she might not keep it, .. (I suppose it is a mere ornament of dress & a woman’s coquetry, .. jewelled & so on!) had this answer .. “You are certainly sure of not being shot—but if you receive your passport with an order to leave Tuscany in twelve hours, dont come to me, for, remember, I can do nothing for you.” Even old rusty scimitars, curiosities of times bygone, have had to be given up– Some of the poor Florentines, to escape the dishonor of this yielding of arms to the German, have thrown their muskets into the Arno—heaps of guns & broken swords have been found there. The aspect of the city is at once brilliant & melancholy—Austrians everywhere, at the gates, before the palaces, before the churches—everywhere. You hear German spoken at every turn. The Cascine, meanwhile, are thronged with the carriages of the nobles, who loll lazily on their cushions & look at the Austrian officers—dont speak to them .. (that is curious:)—you never see intercourse between an Austrian & a Tuscan. Only the fact is that these ignoble nobles, who have been hitherto shut up in their country villas “to avoid anarchy” come back to face invasion very mildly. The comfort is, that they have to pay, (for Austria’s tax is heavy) which circumstance with a little shame, preserves from personal association with the invader. Meanwhile I never saw so brilliant a sight as the Cascine—very few English, but very brilliant the show is otherwise. We go in the evening, because it is the only fresh drive under green trees & by the riverside, .. and indeed the whole spectacle, when hundreds of open carriages stand still in the open space surrounded by thick foliage, is curious & amusing. Wilson & the nurse & baby, & Robert & I. Some of the ladies nod their feathers to Baby & admire him aloud, and he always is good & laughs & coos as long as he is in the open air; he enjoys it more than any of us. The English are nearly all gone– A palace is prepared for Radetsky, who comes in a day or two to give meeting to his beloved friends the Grand Duke and the Pope. [5] The next event will probably be war between France & Austria. No, the next event is the putting our child into short petticoats, or nearly short, .. for we are to see the end of his little boots– The Biondi has been here to give instructions– She wonders at his improvement in intelligence & strength, & commanded that he shd be laid on the floor now (on a pillow) to kick about freely.–
Since I wrote the sentence about the short petticoats yesterday, Wilson & I have cut them short, .. made a little flannel one and sewed it on to a little pair of stays– I [6] did that. He hates being a baby & made to lie down, and so now he is to be a baby no longer. So funny he looks in his virile toga .. such a little creature!: although by the way our friend the lace-woman who came here today said it was scarcely credible that he could be my child, seeing that he was as large as myself– Certainly the cheeks are considerably larger than mine. Mr Powers has been here to see him—arrived by appointment at the hour of the bath, and Wilson brought him into the drawingroom stark naked, wrapt in my red shawl … your shawl, Arabel, for you sent me the wrong one. Mr Powers assured us that he never had seen a finer child in every way, & thought the shape of the head particularly beautiful .. admired too his little knowing face & predicted he was born to be a judge, he looked so wise—upon which, Baby began to smile to himself, just as if he were listening. Everyone observes that he is a wise baby. Wilson declares that he would try to walk already .. only we wont let him. He observes colours, & wanted to eat some roses which Miss Tulk brought me the other day .. and likes his nurse twice as well as he likes me .. I have a horrible dread indeed that he may like Wilson better. He stays with me for a little while, & pulls my curls quite straight, after which he begins to wriggle about and kick .. and even scream when it is necessary, .. till the “balia” comes to the rescue, & then he is good again. Is’nt it dreadfully natural that he shd like her best? Of course—though Robert pretends that he likes me after all comparisons. I shall be forced to spoil him in self defence, and have already got into two scrapes with Robert, by giving him bits of white sugar at the end of my finger, .. which were perfectly appreciated, I can assure you. Otherwise, he has never taken food, except his ‘balia’s’ milk, and will not, must not, the Biondi says, till he is five or six months old. An Englishwoman could bear with difficulty such an arrangement, .. but our nurse seems to me to grow fatter & rosier in proportion to the nurseling. Such spirits, she has .. such childish ways .. you wd certainly say that she was rather seven, than seven & twenty. Taking off her shoes & stockings at night & running up & down the terrace, is one of the gravest of her eccentricities. But there is a great deal of goodnature & frankness in her, and dear Wilson is very patient with her for Baby’s sake, when the playfulness grows rampant over much, and she is happily fond of Wilson & minds what she says. Altogether we could not have succeeded better in a nurse—because, you see, the restless animal spirits are a part of the animal, and not the least valuable part—and our child is quite enough inclined to be nervous—burst out crying the other day when Flush kissed him suddenly,—and starts .. starts: he is very nervous for so young a child. Do write to me, dearest Arabel, my own Arabel,—& say how you are with the homœopathy. Persevere, Arabel, .. or there’s no use. Tell me of Henrietta & all– How is Papa’s cough. It is very hot, very, and will be hotter. Mention the poor Peytons, when you write, & dont forget my love to them. Robert’s spirits do not rally as I would wish, & now he has left off eating. We two are thinking of going alone for a few days wandering,—to the Gulf of Spezzia, Baths of Lucca &c– Oh Arabel, it is a terrible disappointment to me as I know it is to you, this suspension of English plans: but can it be helped? see if it can. Robert must not do a thing of this sort for my sake– You can scarcely fancy how he has suffered. Even now he breaks suddenly into tears without an apparent reason,—he who is naturally so joyous & who has so much self command. I must consider him, you know. Not that he is not better, oh, of course he is better—but before he is himself again there is much to do. I observe that his soul is much with God—only souls drop from their heights, and to attain to the absolute calm of constant elevation is very difficult for this weak humanity. Except the Swedenborgians, … who puzzle me really—! As to England, the world is so full of tempests just now, there is no saying where we may be swept in a few weeks—therefore it may be different from what we expect, even now. Give my dear love to dearest Trippy, & many kisses. I do hope that Mrs Gordon will bring her good news about money-matters. Miss Tulk told me that Mrs Gordon felt it acutely, as well she may; and I cannot help thinking that she may manage to pay the interest of the money, which is the important thing. Tell me of dear Trippy, & tell her that I love her dearly.
I meant only to write a few words to you, Arabel, and see where I am carried!—— We hear that Mr Kenyon has inherited immensely, [7] & is greatly perplexed in selecting horses, carriage & coachman .. and a country villa—so, Miss Bayley tells me. I am very glad that he should be rich—it is well that the generous & benevolent should be so–
The white merino cloak is already too hot for Baby, and we have given him, deep capes of cambric muslin instead of it– Very pretty he looks, with his blue satin hood,—very pretty. Tell me how Arlette equips her child, and if there is anything new. Oh, to let you see Baby in the bath, (now it is scarcely more than lukewarm) how he plunges & splashes & throws out hi<s li>ttle feet & arms, .. & dashes the water all over the carpet, .. laughing & crowing for joy. We have a regular bath for him, like a warm bath used in England, painted green without & white within. By the way, or rather out of the way, did I tell you that when he was a month old Sophia Tulk had the kindness to bring him two pairs of knitted boots, knitted by herself, a green pair & a pink pair. The pink pair are too small already—he kicks them off.
Tell me everything– Oh, do write, do write. Dearest Papa never returned my letter nor noticed it. So I shall take courage to write again presently—not too soon, so as to teaze him. When you write to Storm, send him my love always. I shall hear from him again, surely. Sette does’nt mean to write, I suppose. May God bless them all. Tell Henry that I have a certain admiration for Radetsky & am most curious to see him, the old lion. I make our nurse shriek with laughter by talking of “questi cari amici” [8] the Grand Duke, the Pope & Radetsky, who are coming here. How the Pope has fallen from his spiritual supremacy is curious. “Questo maladetto papa”, .. “questa gran bestia, il Papa” [9] .. so the people talk of him! Now I must go.
Your own Ba–
Robert’s best love always– Do write. Tell me, if you paint– Read Macauley, mind. Is Bummy in England? Tell me of her.
I hate to send this blank—but Robert sends his letter to New Cross– [10]
Address, on integral page: Care of Miss Tripsack / (Miss Arabel Barrett) / 12. Beaumont Street / Devonshire Place / New Road / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, I, 248–252.
Manuscript: Gordon E. Moulton-Barrett.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. i.e., Mary Ann Smith. The name Smith has been obliterated here and three times below, after receipt, probably by Arabella.
3. For EBB’s sonnets to Hugh Stuart Boyd, see letter 2731, note 2.
4. Presumably Diana Sara Vansittart (née Crosbie), wife of Arthur Vansittart (1807–59) who founded the Jockey Club of Italy in Florence in 1835.
5. Leopold returned to Florence on 28 July 1849. The Pope remained in Gaeta until his return to Rome on 12 April 1850.
6. Underscored twice.
7. In letter 2809 EBB reports that he “has come into two hundred thousand pounds from his brother in law’s inheritance.” Kenyon was the principal beneficiary of his brother-in-law, John Curteis, who had died on 27 April 1849. The legacy to Kenyon included Curteis’s house at 39 Devonshire Place.
8. “These dear friends.”
9. “This cursed pope”, .. “this great beast, the Pope.”
10. Except for the final two paragraphs and the address panel, EBB has left the last page of this letter blank.
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