2813. EBB to Henrietta Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 16, 1–6.
[Bagni di Lucca]
[Postmark: 20 September 1849]
My dearest dear Henrietta, I hope you are all getting good from the free air & scenery of Worthing. [1] It was delightful to me to hear that you are at last out of London and if my own dear Papa were with you, I shd be still lighter of heart. You frighten me by talking of his staying on account of his ship– [2] Now, if he goes to those horrible docks every day, think of the risk he must run? Do persuade him to go down to you—oh, do, Henrietta. When you say, “Dont be frightened about the cholera”, you talk to the East wind– I am frightened, must be frightened, cant help being frightened. The cholera was always more alarming to me than revolutions & assassinations—those, we are used to:—they have begun to stab a little about the streets again at Leghorn. If cholera was half as bad at Florence as it has been in other places, do you think I would not teaze Robert till he went away?– Indeed, indeed I would. Now, in London, it has been worse & more persistent than in any European city—so how could I help being afraid? [3] Oh, do get Papa to go to you! Do persuade Trippy to go to you– Make her go to you– You have room, have’nt you? As for Worthing, I wd rather that you had gone to Folkestone .. to some more elevated place– Worthing is not a place I shd have selected– Even Brighton wd have been better– But you are at Worthing; and may God bless the place & preserve you safe in it. Tell me, is’nt Mr Hunter there? or is it at Ramsgate? [4] I always confuse those two places. Arabel bids me write as often as I can– As if I was’nt always writing to you! And for every three letters of mine, you write once! Robert hears from home about three times as often as I do. There’s a shame! Are you not confounded, both of you!! We are still at the Baths of Lucca, & you must write on here till I tell you otherwise, though I scarcely anticipate being able to stay till quite the end of October on account of the cold. The thermometer is already as low as sixty three in the early morning, & has left off being at seventy for several days.
Thank you (& thank you beloved Arabel!) for the remembrance of our 12th—our third anniversary– Do you, both of you, thank God for me– I am not thankful enough! Since our marriage, we have lost some precious things .. he, the earthly presence of an adorable affection [5] .. I, some faith in attachments I had counted on for tenderness & duration, .. but you may thank God for us that we have lost none of the love, none of the belief in one another, .. & that indeed we have consciously gained in both these things. There is more love between us two at this moment, than there ever has been—he is surer of me, I am surer of him: I am closer to him, & he to me– Ours is a true marriage, & not a conventional match. We live heart to heart all day long & every day the same– Surely you may thank God for us– God be praised– On the 12th Baby came in to me with a rose in his fist, stretching it out for me to take; & then he took another to Robert. (That was dear Wilson’s contriving ..) His own cheeks were redder than his roses, and he smiled to give them away;—only he wanted to have them back afterwards. Just like Flush & the letters. He has another tooth .. had two little white teeth in the lower jaw before he was six months old, & without the slightest inconvenience or pain– Also, his intelligence is quite as forward, .. and when you say “Dammi La mano”, [6] he stretches out his dimpled hand in a moment—“L’altra”– [7] Then he gives the other hand– “Tutte e due” [8] .. He gives both hands– “Dammi il piede”. [9] He pushes out his little foot—oh, and looking so pleased when he does it,—feeling it to be so decidedly an accomplishment,—& always ready to do it & to everybody, because he has’nt an idea of there being any evil in the world,—he is never afraid, never shy. The other day, the balia [10] & Wilson met Capt Pakenham .. an English banker at Florence, & a very active man about the Bible society .. Arabel may have heard of him. He stopped them to ask whose child, Baby was– “What a fine little fellow! Why he looks as if he were up to any mischief already.” Upon which the balia interposed with a, “Da la manina a questo signore,” [11] & Baby stretched out his hand in a moment, holding his head up with a royal smile. Capt Pakenham laughed so, Wilson said, & the child’s manner was enough to make anyone laugh– Kissing is too recondite a process for him yet, but he opens his mouth & puts it upon your’s, clinging to you with his little arms as far as they will go round your neck– Such a loving little creature. ‘Da un bacio a mamma’ [12] says the balia, and he understands & obeys in a moment– Wilson declares that she never saw such an affectionate child– Ask dearest Minny if all this is not a proof of forwardness—he did it all, mind, before he was six months old. Some of the nurses here tell her that it wd never have entered their heads that a baby of that age could understand to such a degree. I account for much by considering that having suffered no drawback, & been distracted by no physical suffering, his observation & intelligence have been left room to develop rapidly. As it is, Wilson thinks that people are sceptical about his age .. they fancy him older– Not that he is a very large child—no, he is’nt a monster by any means, .. but his ways altogether, & his rosy cheeks make him look older. By the bye, she will have it that one of the English nurses is quite jealous of him <because her child is as white & thin as this paper,> [13] &, not being able to contain her amiable feelings the other day, observed that “it was an alarming sign for a sucking child to have red cheeks after that fashion—a sign of inward fever.” Wilson answered quietly that as he slept well, had a good appetite & laughed all day, we must bear the red cheeks as patiently as we could– The fact is, that he began to have a colour when he was a month old– Robert reproaches me with talking to him in Italian—he hates the idea of his not speaking English with his earliest breath .. Robert being highly patriotic, you are to understand, & especially when the farthest from England. But as the balia talks incessantly to our child from morning till night, & he hears necessarily nothing but Italian therefore, except from Robert & me … even Wilson being forced to speak before him in Italian to the balia & Alessandro, .. I really dont see that we shd assist the development of his intelligence by confounding him with another language. We have heard of a child two years old, who stood stock still between the two tongues & could’nt get on with either. Perhaps it may be so with ours, for Robert will persist in talking English to him in spite of my opposition. Little Alice Cottrell begins to stammer with a hybrid tongue, one word English, & one word Tuscan, & yet she is in a much larger English society than our baby is just now. Oh, I agree with Robert that I dont want him to be an Italian! I should be grieved & humiliated by it: only, you see, his English opportunities will come in their turn– No fear that he should’nt talk English! And are we not going to England next year, & wont he learn naturally what we wish him to know, without this pedantry of forcing it upon him now? Two days before our 12th, three of the little Gordons came over the hill to us, and as we had very little in the house to give them, poor children, I, in a fit of benevolence, asked them to tea—& they fixed on our twelfth– When we remembered the days of the month, we were vexed—but happily the rain came down & left our anniversary quiet to ourselves. The eldest Gordon boy [14] is rather a vulgarian, .. looking as unlike a gentleman’s son as well can be, .. but he may grow out of his loudspeaking & coarse bearing– The little girls are much more pleasing in every way. [15] I have not yet been to call on Mrs Gordon. Robert has taken a dislike to the whole race, I think—but really it seems to me that we ought to wait, before we, not only form a judgement, but act on it. He is very sorry to have crossed Trippy’s intentions in any way by mentioning the four hundred pounds, .. but both he & I are of opinion that it was wiser to state the plain fact, because they must know the impossibility of Trippy’s living on without any means, & would immediately attribute her supplies to Papa .. which indeed they evidently did, in the first place– Now, you see, if they once took it into their heads that Papa stood in that position, there would be an end of all remorse & desire of doing anything on their side;—the pure justice of the case never seeming to enter into their contemplations:—it is this which exasperates Robert. I hope George will contend strenuously for more than the hundred a year; for thus, he may get the hundred. Count Cottrell called the lawyers concerned, “all rascals”, .. which makes Robert think that they have suggested a fuller payment perhaps. Let me hear everything for I am very anxious about dearest Trippy. It is an iniquitous business from beginning to end,—and I could not bear to live & breathe with such a heavy disgrace on me, if I were Mrs Gordon. [16] Whom does Trippy think of “visiting”? Try to make her go to you as soon as possible—do!
We have a letter today from Sarianna. The cholera, “raging at New Cross”. A most frightening letter, altogether!! The London reports of deaths are quite underrated, she says, .. the mortality, dreadful. It seems to me quite wrong that they shd not leave New Cross—it is a great anxiety to poor Robert. Oh, I am so thankful that you are at Worthing, & that my darling Arabel is away from the atmosphere of Ragged schools. Make Papa go to you, if any persuasion will make him. I am unhappy at the idea of his daring the dangers of the Thames docks,—the worst place in the world. Cholera is in the north of Italy, creeping down to us, I dare say, but Florence was altogether free from it last year cholera-time & may escape again, .. if, so, God wills– Tell Arabel that .. with regard to her forbidding fruit to me, .. I have scarcely been able to touch fruit all the summer,—with a constant inclination to cholorine [17] symptoms. There is something in the air of this place, I think,—for Mrs Gordon & others of her family have been ill with dysentery, .. & various persons have suffered in a like way. The air of the place is damp, .. over-moist, at least .. Not that I have been unwell—very well, on the contrary—only there has been the tendency so unusual to me; & I quite wonder that it has’nt weakened me more– Now, I am right again, but it has been impossible for me to leave off or even diminish my medicine this summer, .. every attempt at diminution bringing on a new attack– Somebody has recommended Arabel’s camphor, & I have dosed myself with wine-glass on wine-glass to an immense advantage . Also, I look well, people say, ea<t> well, .. & to prove that I am quite well altogether, I shall tell you of a<n> excursion we made two days ago to the “Prato fiorito,” a mountain five miles off, famous for its embroidery of flowers during the month of May, & one of the wonders of the Baths of Lucca. We set off with three guides, at half past eight in the morning, I, Wilson & the balia on donkies, & Robert & Alessandro on mountain-ponies—Baby riding by turns with Wilson & the balia; & we returned at six in the evening, .. safe & alive!. which really if you were to see the route, might astonish you a little. Of course there was not a road for the wheel of even a wheelbarrow,—& no donkey nor poney, except by an especial education for these mountains, could keep his feet a moment. On some points of the journey, a single slip of the foot would have precipitated one into deep ravines—frightful they were. And for the rest … pile the houses of London one upon another in a great heap & try to climb them! Extraordinary how we got up—still more extraordinary how we got down. We walked down several of the descents to escape the horrible sensation of being jolted over the heads of our steeds. You do not imagine what wild work it was– The scenery, in the meanwhile, magnificent! Where the chesnut forests could cling, we made our way,—& along the dry beds of exhausted torrents, the loose rocks crumbling round us– At the top, you look round on a great world of innumerable mountains, the faint sea beyond them, & not a sign of cultivation .. not a cottage, not a hut. Only there was a shepherd keeping his sheep, & a few goats, .. all of the wildest races. We let our donkies & ponies out to graze .. with these, & sate down with the guides, to cold chicken & ham & tart– I spread my shawl on the grass, & baby rolled over & over on it. Was’nt it daring of us to take Baby? He was the least tired of the party, & never cried once throughout the ten long hours, (six on donkey’s back)—came home laughing & talking to himself, though burnt red with the sun, poor little darling .. & did’nt seem overshaken or bruised the following day, as well he might be. Mrs Ogilvy opens her eyes when she hears of our letting Baby do such things. “Well, I do wonder you are not afraid”. Oh, let me tell you that according to Madme Biondi’s [18] direction, he has had pap once a day these two days; what they call ‘pap’ here, being slices of common bread soaked in water, with a little salt & oil. He does’nt like it much. The balia puts a little bit into his mouth just as if she were feeding a young bird, & upon his trying to put it out again, pushes it back with her finger. After a few little bits, he shuts his mouth resolutely—& there’s an end. No wonder, poor child, that he does’nt like it. If it were sweetened, he might perhaps; but Robert wont let me interfere. You see he has never taken any kind of food (except by the sucking) since he was born– Not like babies in England. Yes, he has had water sometimes: he understands quite well how to drink water out of a tumbler & likes it very much. How does the bathing agree with Arabel? I want much to know– Will she write to me at once, & a very long letter? May God bless you, beloved, both of you!—all of you! I love you all most entirely. Love to dear Minny too. I am so glad she went with you– Robert’s best love.
Your ever most attached
Ba–
The Cottrells have just been here—the second time in a week. They were attentive to us. They met Baby & took him on a drive in their carriage—which he liked very much until the carriage stopped. When, looking round, he saw none of his friends, & burst out into a roar. He likes strangers well enough, but not in the place of friends– The Miss Tulks have returned to Florence. An excellent apartment is taken for Mrs Gordon (in Florence)—at £24 a year—ten large rooms, besides the small ones, & kitchen &c. Unfurnished of course—close to the Cottrells. How surprised Count Cottrell was to hear that I had been to the Prato Fiorito. He could scarcely believe that I had performed such an exploit– Tell me if Arlette has weaned her baby– Out of eight English babies which congregated here this summer, six had wet-nurses .. & the seventh has lately been consigned to one. This proof, you may take, of the almost necessity of the practice here. Mention Arabella Bevan, if you can. I dont hear from Nelly Jago, & must write again, being uncomfortable about her.
Address, on integral page: Angleterre via France / Miss Barrett, / 3. Liverpool Terrace, / Worthing. / England.
Publication: Huxley, pp. 110–113 (in part).
Manuscript: British Library.
1. The Barrett household, excluding Edward Moulton-Barrett, were staying at 3 Liverpool Terrace, Worthing, Sussex, where they remained until mid-October.
2. Edward Moulton-Barrett had stayed behind in London to await the return of the Statira, which he expected “in a week or ten days” (see SD1380).
3. The cholera epidemic of 1848–49 claimed 62,000 lives in England, and some 10,000 of those (in 1849) were in London. (Anthony Wohl, Endangered Lives: Public Health in Victorian Britain, 1983, pp. 118 and 128).
4. Hunter and his daughter had gone to Ramsgate the previous year; see letters 2718 and 2731.
5. i.e., RB’s mother, who died on 18 March 1849.
6. “Give me your hand.”
7. “The other one.”
8. “Both of them.”
9. “Give me your foot.”
10. “Wet nurse.”
11. “Give your little hand to this gentleman.”
12. “Give mama a kiss.”
13. Bracketed passage is interpolated above the line.
14. Charles Edward Gordon (1835–1910), later 7th Baronet Gordon of Earlston.
15. Of the six surviving Gordon children, four were girls: Caroline Louisa (1836–1921), Annie Picciola (b. 1837), Sophia Susanna (1840–1926), and Eleanor Augusta (b. 1847).
16. John Gordon had died owing money to Mary Trepsack (“Trippy”), who had invested £4,000 with him in a business venture that failed. The Brownings felt that Mrs. Gordon should accept responsibility for her husband’s debt and make at least some partial repayment to Trippy. Later correspondence provides no indication that she ever did.
17. Sic, for cholerine.
18. According to the San Felice church census records, she was Maria Anna Biondi (née Bosi, b. 1794?). Her husband, Lorenzo Biondi (b. 1793), is listed in the Brownings’ address book (AB-3) at 2482 Via dell’ Uliuzzo, not far from Casa Guidi.
For this and many of the annotations that draw upon Italian sources in the present volume, the editors gratefully acknowledge the scholarly assistance of Simonetta Berbeglia of Arezzo, Italy.
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