2800. RB to Sarianna Browning
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 15, 305–307.
Bagni di Lucca.
Monday July 2. ’49
Dearest, I wrote from Florence on the 23rd & may as well begin now to tell you that we arrived here on Saturday night, or evening; babe bearing the journey very well. I fancied him of a worse temper than he turns out to be—for he is always merry and laughing and never cries without reason: he is very fat & well, and cannot fail to profit, one would think, by the delightful change from the burning heat at Florence to the delightful cool of this place—which exceeds our expectations: to be sure, we are up at the very top of the mountain and out of the way of the company at the bottom [1] —we chose the house on that account—and a very pretty one it is—nor dear—we took it just in time as the granduke is expected, and other arrivals threaten. The scenery is delightful,—hills covered with vines, olives, chestnut, & corn—with the river thro’ the valley beneath. Ba walked with me some hours yesterday (resting included).
Our babe was baptised on the 28th at the French Evangelical Protestant Church, being the chapel of the Prussian Legation at Florence– I enclose the certificate, which is of the birth as well as baptism; [2] please take care that it is properly registered, with the whole of the above description,—as difficulties sometimes arise from omissions or negligent entries: you will see, nothing can be more exact than this, & Ba & I particularly congratulate ourselves on having managed the matter as we did: the service was very simple & evangelical—just the same as at Mr Clayton’s [3] except that there is a form of prayer & service– I saw the minister, a very simple, good & sincere man, apparently– You will see what name we have given to our child; and will not like him the less on that account: it was all Ba’s doing,—strange to say,—tho’ I have been thinking over nothing else, these last three months, than Mamma & all about her,—and catching at my little fancy of finding something which it would have pleased her I should do,—yet I never was struck by the obvious opportunity that I had of doing all the honor in my power, little as it was, by keeping up the memory of that dearest of names, [4] —the name, beside, of her own father & mother, whom she loved so much, and of dearest aunt, too—who must have had that feeling for it, or she would not have called one of her own children by it. When we had decided that the baptism should take place before our leaving Florence, Ba told me I should greatly oblige her by not only giving our child that name, but by always calling him by it, when he is old enough: she thinks the name very pretty in itself, and sees many advantages in distinguishing between the two Roberts, avoiding nicknames for either of us &c—all which she ought to have seen as clearly when the name Barrett was decided on. —And so it shall be. It is, of course, a very insignificant instance of Ba’s sympathy with me,—still I mention it, because it gratified me more as coming from her, than from anybody else. I only account for my own stupidity by the fact that we have a boy, not a girl—and that one associates the naming girls with women, not men. I believe the spelling is right—should it not be, register the true name, and let me know (The minister’s name, illegible in the certificate, is Droin.)
Tuesday/ We continue to be pleased with this place,—and as the beauty and novelty of the walks tempt Wilson & the nurse to be out all day in the open air, the babe has the benefit of it—he likes being out of doors so much, that they cannot so well keep him amused in the house as before. Everybody admires his size & appearance. Flush benefits, too, by the air & exercise, not to speak of the hot bath he gets—the springs of hot water gush out of the rock close by us. The fertility of the soil comes from the volcanic nature of it. I wish you were here with all my heart: we have seen nobody yet, except the Ogilvys we went down to call on yesterday evening. I see no newspapers,—the establishment to which a news room is attached, consists of assembly rooms, billiards, &c, and the subscription is for all these together,—no one singly—and, in my case, I should pay for my “family” beside! So, how the world goes on, I am not likely to know for these two or three months. You must tell me if anything happens: pray write good long letters, remembering what a comfort they will be. But we get the thing we came for,—coolness,—and, I should think, no where else can it be got near Florence—the mountains are so situated here as to cause the sun to rise above them—(& shine into the valley where we are, as regards them, tho’ on a hill, when you look from the valley itself)—two hours later,—and to set two hours earlier, than anywhere else—ensuring cool mornings & evenings. This evening I climbed to the top of a mountain, over loose stones in the dry bed of a torrent, & under vines & chestnuts, till I reached an old deserted village, with perhaps a half dozen inhabitants—one of whom, an old woman, told me I was “too curious” by far, and should lose myself up there. Now you see I do a plain duty in taking exercise and trying to amuse myself and recover my spirits,—and I tell you all this, in order that you may do what lies in your power to produce the same effect: you have not such a place as this to take exercise in, I know—but this place, or any other, would do me no good of itself, any more than Florence—for, apart from the folly & wickedness of the feeling, I am wholly tired of opening my eyes on the world now—and if I have advantages & comforts of various kinds that you have not, yet—it seems to me, at least,—your comforts & memories are infinitely beyond mine, those of the best kind. The end of it all is, that you must try as I do, to be thankful for them. Good night, & God bless you.
Thursday. July 5. We go on as usual in this pretty place: friends, arrived from Florence yesterday, tell that the heat there is intense, so we are well out of it—not to mention other hatefulnesses. I never go down to the village below, and am quite alone here—we occupy the highest rooms in the place (not house .. but our 2d story is on a level with the top of the house figuring as the highest)—and all about us are mountain paths amid woods & rocks, and complete loneliness. Ba is writing a little note to you—and will give you a better account of the babe than I can, no doubt. Sophia Cottrell came up here with her child yesterday,—12 months old,—and with legs nothing like the size of our babe’s. Everybody seems to think him remarkably flourishing. All which ought to be unmixed pleasure to me, but is very far from it. Well, dearest, I have nothing to add but that we shall count on your coming: you had best begin thinking steadily on it, as a certain thing .. so it will lose its formidableness very soon. It will do you all the good in the world. Goodbye, dearest Papa & Sis—best love to Aunt & James. [5] Tell me how Capt Pritchard goes on, and give him my love also. Do you see anything of the Arnoulds? I must write to them, next time. Remember I see no newspapers, and write soon and at length. I had a bilious fit, these two days, but it is over this morning.
Ever yours most affectionately,
R. Browning.
Address: Miss Browning, / New Cross, Hatcham, / Surrey, / near London.
Publication: LRB, pp. 23–25.
Source: Transcript in editors’ file.
1. The Brownings were staying in Casa Valeri in Bagni Caldi, the upper part of the Bagni di Lucca.
2. Pen’s “Certificat de Naissance et de Baptême” was sold in an unspecified lot in Browning Collections (see Reconstruction, L45). It is reproduced as the frontispiece to this volume.
3. George Clayton, minister of the York Street Congregational Church, formerly the Locks Fields Chapel, Walworth. Clayton baptized RB there on 14 June 1812.
4. i.e., Wiedeman, RB’s mother’s maiden name. “Her own father & mother” were William Wiedeman, of Dundee, Scotland, and his wife Sarah (née Revell). The aunt and cousin RB refers to are his mother’s sister, Christiana Matilda Silverthorne (née Wiedeman, d. 1859?) and her first son William Wiedeman Silverthorne (b. 1807) who died as an infant.
5. RB’s aunt Christiana and her eldest surviving son James Silverthorne (1809–52).
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