2836. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 16, 75–85.
Florence.
Feb. [sic, for March] 12. [1850] [1]
My ever ever dearest Arabel, This little note for Henrietta [2] has been lying by me ever so many days, & I send it to prove that I forget nothing, notwithstanding the stupidity otherwise as clearly expressed in it. Now first of all, let me tell you, Arabel, that I was right & everybody else wrong, on the subject which has been interesting us all lately .. in fact, that all ends in nothing at all. The movement, the only symptom, (one that staggered me, I confess) is explained into having been a mere convulsive agitation, the consequence of debility, & the scarcely perceptible distention has entirely past away. The truth is (& everybody now, including Dr Harding, thinks it the truth) the truth is, that the attack at the beginning of the winter was neither more nor less than a miscarriage—and a very slight degree of distention followed, as has happened with me before. At the beginning I was sure of it,—& for any pregnancy to continue after the sort of illness, wd have been neither more nor less than miraculous. But the movement, & the incessant ‘talking down’ I have experienced since then, made me catch (by fits) at a hope, which it vexes me unreasonably to part with. I am vexed too, to have talked to you of it, & set you upon thorns, instead of the green bank you had a right to, in your thoughts of me at least. Forgive this, & everything I ever have done to vex you. Oh, would that I could give you joy & only joy from now to the end of my life! it would be indeed, a making amends to you & to me! I am perfectly well, I may say honestly, fatter & stronger, & within these few days, have begun my long walks again. Will you expect to hear that we are going to England early in the summer? If we can, we shall—but we are dependant upon possibilities, you must understand,—and, to speak clearly, on the point of whether we shall be rich enough. A journey to England will cost us fifty pounds—double it, to include the return. Then, at least, a third fifty pounds will be required to cover the expenses of our visit, .. perhaps. Mr Browning & Sarian[n]a talk of changing their house at Michaelmas—they cant, earlier. [3] If Robert went to that old house, he wd be miserable while he was in England,—and, in fact, our going there, while they are just preparing to go away, would be scarcely possible—very inconvenient, certainly. Then it is unfortunate, this year,—our books (through the second editions being only at the beginning of their race) cant be expected to bring us anything till next Christmas—. I tell you exactly how the lions roar in the path [4] .. but, remember, I dont tell you that we shant contrive to tread it. On the contrary .. if it is possible (and we shall be unable to know until May what the precise possibilities are) if it is in any way possible, you are sure of us– Sure of our longing, yearning wishes, you may indeed be. For my part, Robert can scarcely keep me quiet—he lectured me the other day upon the necessity of being prepared for a disappo[i]ntment—which means the necessity of submitting to necessity—and, as I said indignantly at the moment, I am not such a great baby as to insist on doing an impossible thing when it is proved to be impossible. Robert told me that if I liked to leave Wiedeman behind, there might be less difficulty–
As to leaving Wiedeman behind, how could I? how ought I? Oh no, that cant be indeed! though I should not have minded perhaps so much to leave the new baby (if it had come)– I had a scheme of the sort, in my head. But Wiedeman, cutting his teeth, & abandoned to the heat of Florence, I never could leave .. that’s certain. Besides, what would you give to see me without the baby? He’s more than half the sight. I should be ashamed to show myself without him, to you or anybody, & should be dreadfully & naturally uneasy during the whole visit, in addition. Well—we shall see—hoping, yearning, in the meantime. For half an hour’s vision of you, I would give up .. so much, so much! I fall into moody humours every now & then, & storm against Italy, because really this sort of thing is not to be borne long. Now, I empty my heart of these doubts & fears, & you are not to interpret them into a decision against England, because, if we can go, we shall go .. you may consider it a promise. Robert says that when he has all his information as to means & ways in his hands (which cant be yet) he will lay it before me & I shall judge of the whole case .. of the whole possibility, that is. He feels himself that he ought to see his father & sister:—only if we cant go, we cant. It wont quite do, to beg our way, with Baby playing on the tamb[o]urine, though he plays it beautifully to be sure, .. holding it up with one hand, & beating it with the other fist. He has seven teeth now—had, before he was a year old—and I think I told you that the day he was eleven months old he stood up without touching anything. Now he stands quite firm—but when you ask him to come to you, down he drops & begins to crawl directly. If it had’nt been for the crawling, he wd have walked alone before this time. Having rendered himself perfectly independent, he does’nt care for hazarding the walking. Do you know, I did not like to keep his birthday much? & when it came to the point, I would’nt let Alessandro make his intended plumb pudding nor invite Madme Biondi to dinner. Robert was low about his mother—the association with the event of last year, was yet too strong with him. He said to me, “Ah, now I understand, Ba, your dislike of keeping anniversaries.” So we did nothing—we did’nt even drink his health, little darling! In the morning, however, Mrs Ogilvy had the kindness to bring a horse, cut in white wood, as a birthday present for him, which he screamed with delight at, but cant be persuaded into being too familiar with—he thinks there’s something dangerous about it .. so pats it gently,—& draws back when Wilson sets it gallopping. Then Robert & I, when we went out, brought him a barking dog & a squeaking cat– Robert’s present was the cat (because he is fond of cats) & mine, the dog—and Wiedeman is enchanted with both, & kisses them reverentially, & strokes them, & uses his little coaxing voice to them as he does to Flush—but as to holding them in his hand & taking the personal liberties with them which he expends upon his friend Flush, he is not to be induced into any rashness of the kind. Wiedeman is very daring in some things, but he has a prudence of his own. For instance, he climbs upon a low window seat in his nursery, & comes down headforemost, with admirable precautions– The first time I saw him do it, I thought he was going to be killed—till Wilson exclaimed as I was rushing forward, “Oh, let him do it! he understands! he wont hurt himself–” And down he came victoriously. A regular boy, he is, in all his ways, fond of fun & mischief & every possible sort of noise—in all his ways, except in liking to be petted & kissed– Generally, being kissed, teazes children of his age, whereas he has always been pleased at it: I never saw nor imagined such an affectionate baby—he pats your cheeks, he kisses you again & again, he makes a little carressing murmur to show how he loves you! All admiration, and wonder, & approbation & gratitude mean just a love, with him. If he sees a picture he likes, he kisses it directly—and if a stranger in the streets stops to smile at him and say “what pretty little hands,” he holds out his mouth to return the compliment in his peculiar manner. And if he wants you to take notice of him, there’s no better way of doing it, he thinks, than just kissing you! never was a child before so fond of kissing. Flush has enough of it now, I assure you—he has grown very fond of Flush—and when they are together in the Cascine rolling on the grass, people stand round & look at them—oh, he must kiss Flush exactly on the mouth, & Flush sometimes puts his nose between his paws & wont be kissed, & then there’s a tussle for it. Wiedeman has a sweet, sunshiney temper of his own, which it is delightful to see expanding. God is good to us in everything. Passionate the child is certainly—he will kick with his little feet, & bump up & down on the floor in fits of impatience: but sullen & obstinate he never is—the cloud passes in a moment—& with tears on his cheeks, they dimple all over with joy again– You may think it very soon to speak of a child’s temper—but there’s a great difference even with little children, as we see all round us. He gives up his favorite toys when other babies (friends of his) cry for them—and though he comes for them again after a minute or two, yet it is only to return them if they are particularly wished for. Not a symptom of fretfulness, ever! He isnt spoilt up to this moment, tell Henrietta. At the same time, I must confess that he has everything much his own way: that, as Wilson says, “he is master & mistress already”. If he chooses to eat orange-marmalade and to play with the scissors .. (pretending to cut his frock, & throwing back his head & shutting his eyes everytime in the most affected way) it is by the softest of persuasions that we hint & “hesitate dislike” [5] to the whole proceeding. If on the other hand, poor Robert is deep in his practising, having said first “Do contrive to amuse him, Ba, that I may finish this”, in two minutes I am by his side .. “Here’s your child! he will come! you must take him”, & as Robert recognizes the necessity instantly, there is a new performer on the knees of the old one, thumping with both hands, accordingly. Which he is’nt satisfied with—oh, Robert must play too—then he observes how the fingering is done, & imitates it in the most curious way, you can fancy—with such a grave, satisfied face too, looking up to me for applause. We laugh—who could help it? he’ll be a musician some day, I feel sure. Wilson & I have been in council about his summer costume, & we have bought (to begin) a light French mous[s]eline de chine, blue, and a Leghorn round hat, to be trimmed with blue satin ribbon & a blue & white feather. The heat makes a change of dress necessary to everybody. I forgot to say in my last letter, what amends for our two months severe winter we had received in the change of weather. From the beginning of February until now, the weather has been exquisite—and when I went out to walk early in March, I could just bear my silk mantilla—it was & is like an English June. Windows open down to the ground, fires let out, and the shady side of the way diligently enquired after. At the same time I recommend nobody with a weak chest to winter at Florence, unless they have renunciation enough in them, to give up going out of doors for some two months of the winter. There is death & destruction in our cold winds. Only I never could join in the ungrateful & most unreasonable cry raised by many of the English against the climate of Florence. People accustomed to an English winter of six months, consider themselves quite aggrieved by a cold of six days here: you would think they had just come out of paradise! And, while we were freezing last December & January, who else in the world was being sunned, I wonder? Were you? Even in Sicily, there was frost too—it has been very cold everywhere. Now, we are rather too warm, & the complainers by profession are of course complaining of that. “So very enervating! so trying.” To be satisfied, they must needs go out of the world, indeed!
The Ogilvies are in an awful state of doubt, talking of Naples, of Paris, & of Florence by turns. I think it likely that they will decide on Paris, after all. We shall miss them– They are excellent persons, & very cultivated. The little baby is very pretty—a model baby—and not much more fault is to be found with the maturer members of the family. Quick sympathies, fine tastes, & a great deal of kindness, make them agreeable friends & neighbours. I am not drawn into love with Mrs David Ogilvy .. with all her prettiness, liveliness, intelligence, & feeling .. there is wanting somehow the last touch of softness & exterior sensibility– I like her much .. like her society, respect her good qualities, feel an interest in her actions & sentiments .. yet I dont love her, & I dont feel that she loves me—you meet with delightful, unloveable people, you know, sometimes, & then you blame yourself for finding them unloveable when you undeniably find them delightful. Observe—she has sentiment, goodness, kindness—brightness: masculine, no one could call her! there is just a want of softness in the character .. a want of tenderness, somehow. I would’nt say such a thing to any but you. She & her husband are our friends, & have shown us every sort of attention, and we shall be most sorry to lose them. As to Dr Braun, perhaps I decided on him in a hurry. ‘A brother in law’ should receive more consideration certainly. But I was most pleasantly surprised—he is a sort of man, I like– I seemed to see a brain & a heart in the man. As to his being a little supra-mundane & unpractical, I dont care for that at all– When a woman loves a man, it is’nt too much to see to his bills, & the dusting of his carpets—. Even I could learn to do it, on a strong impulse, though happily it has not, in my case, been necessary. There is something generous, fervid, & simple about him, which took my fancy—and when you add the fact that his acquirements have established for him a European reputation, one must see compensation for the want of worldly wisdom & practicability. So easy it is for an Englishwoman to turn into ridicule any man a little out of the common mould of English conventional gentlemanliness, (though I saw nothing ungentlemanly in the commonly received sense, in Dr Braun) that Mary Minto’s laughter must not seem to you to establish too much. For my part, I think (as far as my opportunity of observing goes) that Madme Braun has done well & wisely. I am sure she thought so herself when she was here. I said, “Why you could’nt have done better! It’s the very position suited to you!” Which she acceded to with a smile of perfect contentment. As to an uncertain income, why he has his income in his brain. People never think of that, & are perfectly foolish in not doing so. Before Dickens became famous, a young lady & her family refused him disdainfully “because he had’nt a penny”– [6] Now they wd be glad to exchange the whole of their property for the least valuable copyright of one of his books. I like to hear of such things—it gives me a malignant pleasure, I confess. A deficiency in love & faith does’nt always make one’s fortune, even after the ways of this world, you see. By the bye, Mr Forster has written to ask us to contribute to Dickens’s new periodical [7] —which wont succeed, I predict, especially as they have adopted the fashion of not printing the names of contributors. It was tried with the Monthly Chronicle, years ago, and failed entirely.
—They have given us another room in this house, opening out of Robert’s dressing room—an enormous room with three great windows,—for which we pay two pounds a year more .. no, two guineas. Strictly speaking, we dont want it now .. (through my disappointment) but even if we give it to Wiedeman for a playroom, it is worth the money—and if we let the apartment, that room will be an advantage. Having made this agreement, we have further agreed on another year’s residence. I hope, if we go to England or not, to let the apartment in the winter & spend it at Rome .. which must be visited, before we finally leave Italy, if ever we do. Every now & then Robert professes to be tired of Florence—and there is not another climate in the country where I should quite like to take our child.– Oh, I do hope & trust to see you this year! I long for it on many, many accounts—it would do good to my very soul to see you! Also, I remember & remind Robert, that always at the beginning of every year, he begins to despond, & cry aloud that there wont be money to do what we want to do in the course of it. He said so at the beginning of last year—yet, after his misfortune, it became plain that we should have had the pecuniary means of going to England, if others had not failed– Therefore, I am not in the least inclined to despair—only I tell you the truth—because truth is best– We have been very busy with his new book, which comes out at easter. [8] I hope you will like at least some things in it. Still, Arabel, half I am afraid of you! Dont knit your brows, I beg of you, till you get to the end, & see the scope of the whole. The opening will introduce you to a dissenting chapel of the poorest & lowest description, .. of the Methodist Whit[e]fieldite order: [9] an extreme case is taken to make the ultimate decision stronger. I expect an outcry from nearly all classes of readers, for my part. I dare say, the merely literary reader will call the writer a Methodist, and the religious one will accuse him of some levity in the treatment of his subject: I am prepared for those drawbacks. At the same time, the fact will remain, of the recognition of Christ’s faith in its simplicity—and men who can understand how the individuality of a writer is a proof of his earnestness, will not find fault with the mode. Both poems (there are two in the book) are dramatic in a sense—they express certain aspects of Christian experience. Mr Forster, to whom they have been sent, on their way to Chapman & Hall, will open his eyes wide at them, I prophecy—and I feel rather uneasy about what is likely to be the next word from him. There are very noble & grand things in the poems, let him say what he pleases! We have had another letter from Father Prout, who is editor of the Globe, just now—did I tell you that? [10] He says that Dickens looks like a man of sixty, his hair quite grey, & his face, furrowed– I suppose the working of the brain begins to tell outwardly: nothing is so consuming as imagination-work, though ignorant persons rank it but lightly. To lead an army, is recognized as work worth reward in England– Titles and pensions fall on such men. In another hundred years (or less, probably) the real service will be discerned & recompensed. Father Prout sends his “love to the Ba”, as usual.—
I have just heard from Mr Irving of Pisa, who says that Mr Scarlet, [11] the secretary of the Legation, here, “remembering me when I was a little girl,” desired to pay us a visit. I shall get off it, if I possibly can—for Robert & I dont feel as if the acquaintance was likely to suit us. I think I told you that his wife died last year, six weeks before the time of her confinement, leaving him with two babies:—which is the most interesting circumstance about him. We must, by every means, keep out of the English society of Florence—we must do it. We have had however a visit from a Miss Blagden, [12] a single lady, with black hair, black eyes, yet somehow not pretty, who does literature, leads a London life among the ‘litterateurs’ when she is in England, & is an intimate friend of Bulwer Lytton through whom she applied to Forster to get a letter of introduction to us, as she wanted particularly to see us. Mr Forster would’nt give her a line– And why, do you think? “Because,” said he to her, “if I gave you one, you would only see Browning. As to Mrs Browning, it is as difficult to see her in Florence as it ever was in London, I assure you. She lives just such a shut up sort of life there as she did here.” Which made us laugh a little: it is’nt true exactly. She got a letter however from Robert’s half uncle [13] (who gave it, at another person’s interposition) &, by way of making sure, she brought it & presented it, herself. I liked her little dog extremely [14] —& by no means disliked her. She says that Bulwer is out of spirits at the non-success of his ‘King Arthur,’ [15] —& staying at Nice, having fallen into intimacy with Lord Brougham. [16] Poor Bulwer’s only daughter, dying some time ago, left him in great depression [17] —and now, his sole remaining child, is his son, [18] a boy of fifteen, full of talent & dreaminess .. with all sorts of supernatural tastes & eccentricities .. falling into mesmeric trances, & having perpetual communications with the world of spirits. How I should like to know that boy! Robert is reading ‘the Caxtons’ & is much pleased with the book. [19] I am reading ‘Shirley’, and am interested—only it does not seem to me equally suggestive of power (so far) with Jane Eyre.–
—How are the Stratton’s? Give my affectionate regards to Mr & Mrs Stratten, mind, Arabel. Do you go there often, now? Capt. Pakenham’s lawsuit, (that is the appeal of the printer, against the decision of damage &c) was, or was to have been, favorably re-decided, a day or two ago. Which, however, wont enable him to return to Tuscany, without some further act on the part of the government. There was neither law nor the shadow of justice, in the first decision; & out of shame, the judges could not hold to it. But the Government (apart from legal forms) cant be expected, after this long course of shameless iniquity, to yield any point “out of shame”. The Swiss chapel, is thronged with Italians—the movement seems to go on. The Guicciardini family [20] was there the other sunday—historical Florentines. Some people think that it wont be suffered long, & that M. Drouin will be expelled next. I dont think so. The church is in connection with the Prussian legation, and the King of Prussia is accustomed to stand up firmly for his own rights. The gospel generally, & in particular the true doctrine of a universal church, are preached there simply & fully—& although there is neither power nor eloquence, we are quite satisfied with what we hear. The only written form is, the ‘Apostles Creed’ & the “Lord’s prayer”—and instead of using “catholic” in the former, there is always ‘l’eglise universelle”. [21] I wish it was expressed so always: many miserable mistakes might be avoided. The cardinals at Rome have just commanded that all persons should cut off their beards!! [22] The fatuity of imbecility cant go much further– The pope is done for, everybody feels. I commiserate the position of the French more than that of the Romans. With every inclination to do good, all they can do, is to secretly let men out of prison, & remain in their own place of shame. A miserable mistake, that has been, from first to last. The republic could not have stood at Rome—but better to have suffered Austria to do her own congenial dirty work. Believing in the pope’s liberality (he who is a serene wax doll in a mitre!) they thought to retrieve everything—and lo, the passive obstinacy of the cardinals, with Austria at their backs, is harder to blow to pieces, than they found the poor Roman walls.—.
I hope you will tell me if you observed anything in Papa’s reception of my letter. It was a very long letter—and I ventured, in it, to tell him a great deal about our way of living &c—things, which I had not dared to touch on before. I have no answer: but he has not sent it back. Mind you mention him particularly—and others. Somehow I feel anxious to get your next letter. Tell dearest Minny, that I was delighted to have her note, and will answer it soon. But one thing, she says, Arabel, which I am not happy about. I thought from your own story that your homœopathy had done you good—and she says that you are just as you used to be—no better, in the swelling—no stronger, at all!– Is it right of you not to tell me exactly? Did the effect go off? [23] Tell me, I beseech you– Are you tired of attending to orders? are you doing too much with the schools? My dearest, darling Arabel, take care of yourself for me who love you down to the very end of your fingers—who think of you always .. who turn you over & over in my mind, till I fancy you must be giddy almost, at a distance. You wont, for my sake, neglect yourself—will you, now? If ever you loved me, you wont. I am afraid of teazing you, yet grumble secretly at those schools. Take care, Arabel, if you love me. Tell me, will you, how you are? I am anxious. On other accounts, too, I am anxious. For one thing, there is Trippy’s business– Let me know if Count Cottrell brought any termination, or mediation to the affair. Give a heap of kisses to my much loved Trippy, & tell her how I think of her. Something must be done, I am convinced—& to hear that it is actually done, will be great comfort to me. Has Alfred succeeded in getting occupation? Let me hear all you can let me know of everyone—and write soon, write soon. Nelly Jago told me of your kindness about the frock (which was kindness to me) but y<ou> did’nt tell me of your visit, I assure you. I hope her baby is getting on as well as ever. If you hear, say. She does’nt write: oh, I dare say she has too much to do—for she seems to do everything for the child herself. Wiedeman is undeniably little for his age:—we see such giants here! but he is beautifully proportioned, & may shoot up, one day. Arabel—your frock is still acres too large for him. Wilson threw me into despair by concluding the other evening that it wd fit him exactly when he was five years old!! The ‘balia’ proposes tucks in the body! Which wd be a novelty! and I cant have the frock spoilt. Perhaps by June, he will have grown into a baby of Anak, [24] —fit for it– We must hope. Dear Minny’s feet seem to be very bad– I am so sorry—but with the spring, there is generally improvement, & you must tell me about her. How is Arlette’s child? how many teeth? Baby’s eighth is nearly through. Oh, Arabel, I never could wean him at a year.– Madme Biondi advises against it– And consider his natural disadvantages in being my child! I want to put as much strength into him as possible, such as he could not get from me, .. though the picture of health he is now! I cant read this letter over. Love me & pray for me.
I am your own,
own Ba–
Robert’s best love–
Do you ever hear from Mary Hunter? Tell me– If you dont, how unkind!—— Dear Lizzie. Give my love to Lizzie– Has she recd an answer. I wish she were gone from Miss Sykes. [25]
Address, on integral page: Care of Miss Tripsack / (Miss Arabel Barrett) / 12. Beaumont Street / Devonshire Place / New Road.
Publication: EBB-AB, I, 297–308.
Manuscript: Gordon E. Moulton-Barrett.
1. Month and year provided by postmark.
3. RB’s father and sister remained at New Cross, Hatcham, until March 1852, when they settled briefly at 28 Chepstow Place, Bayswater.
4. Cf. Proverbs 26:13.
5. Cf. Pope, An Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot (1734), line 204.
6. A reference to Dickens’s first love, Maria Sarah Beadnell (afterwards Winter, 1810–86), youngest daughter of George Beadnell and his wife Maria (née Jones). Their courtship lasted for four years with her parents approval, “but sometime in 1832, perhaps having heard rumours of John Dickens’s financial instability, they began to discourage CD’s visits” (The Letters of Charles Dickens, ed. M. House, G. Storey, et al., Oxford, 1965–2002, 1, 16, note 2).
7. Household Words, of which Forster was one of the principal proprietors, was first published on 30 March 1850. Although neither poet evidently sent anything in response to Forster’s request, EBB’s sonnet “Hiram Powers’ Greek Slave” later appeared anonymously in the issue for 26 October 1850 (p. 99) and was for a time misattributed to Dickens. For a discussion regarding its publication in Household Words, see Anne Lohrli, “Greek Slave Mystery,” Notes and Queries, February 1966, pp. 58–60; and Philip Kelley’s reply, Notes and Queries, May 1967, p. 194. In spite of EBB’s grim prediction, Household Words became hugely successful and lasted until 1859 when it was succeeded by All The Year Round. The Monthly Chronicle was founded in 1838 by Dionysius Lardner and Edward George Bulwer-Lytton but folded in June 1841. The Chronicle often announced prospective contributors, but names were not attached to individual articles.
8. Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day was published on 1 April 1850, Easter Monday.
9. George Whitefield (1714–70) was a Methodist evangelist whose extreme brand of Calvinist theology led him to break with the Methodists and form a “Tabernacle.” After his death most of his followers joined the Congregationalists.
10. We have found no evidence to support EBB’s remark that Father Prout was the editor of The Globe, although according to the DNB, he did own “some shares” in it.
11. Peter Campbell Scarlett (1804–81), third son of the late Lord Abinger (EBB’s father’s guardian) was the secretary to Her Majesty’s Legation in Tuscany. His wife, Frances Sophia Mostyn (née Lomax) died on 27 September 1849 at the Villa Galli, near Florence. The “two babies” refers to Florence Scarlett (afterwards Walsham, 1844–1915) and Leopold James Yorke Campbell Scarlett (1847–88).
12. Isa Blagden (1816?–73), novelist and poet, became one of the Brownings’ great friends and principal correspondents. For futher details of her relationship with the poets, see the biographical sketch, pp. 273–284.
13. Reuben Browning.
14. This pet may have been Frolic, who was described by Nathaniel Hawthorne in 1858 as “a little King Charles’s Spaniel … eleven years old” and the target of “playful abuse” from RB (Hawthorne, 14, 339).
15. King Arthur (1848), an epic poem. According to his grandson, Bulwer-Lytton went to Nice in October 1849 and remained there until June 1850 (Victor Alexander Lytton, The Life of Edward Bulwer First Lord Lytton, 1913, II, 117–118).
16. Henry Peter Brougham (1778–1868), Baron Brougham and Vaux, spent most winters in nearby Cannes, where he had built a château in the 1830’s, and was probably there at this time (DNB).
17. Emily Elizabeth Bulwer Lytton (b. 27 June 1828) died of typhoid fever on 29 April 1848.
18. Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton (1831–91), created 1st Earl of Lytton in 1880, was both diplomat and poet. Educated at Harrow and privately tutored at Bonn, he travelled to the United States in October 1850 (in the company of the William Wetmore Storys) to serve as “unpaid attaché” with his uncle Henry Bulwer, ambassador at Washington, D.C. (E. Neill Raymond, Victorian Viceroy, 1980, p. 28). As a poet, he wrote under the name Owen Meredith; his Clytemnestra (1855) received favourable notice, including a glowing review from John Forster in The Examiner. In late 1852, while serving as second attaché of the British Legation in Florence, Lytton met the Brownings, and a friendship soon developed.
19. The Caxtons. A Family Picture (1849) by Edward George Bulwer-Lytton.
20. Count Pietro (1808–86) was head of the Guicciardini family at this time. In May 1851, after being arrested for attending protestant services at the Swiss Church in Florence, he was sentenced to six months’ house arrest in Volterra. He appealed, however, and received permission to go to Turin; from there he made his way to England. For a complete account of his ordeal, see Religious Liberty in Tuscany in 1851: or, Documents relative to the trial and incarceration of Count Pietro Guicciardini, and others, exiled from Tuscany by decree of 17 May 1851. Translated from the Italian (1852).
21. “The universal church,” which is a free adaptation of “one holy catholic and apostolic Church” from the Nicene Creed, or “holy catholic Church” from the Apostles’ Creed.
22. In early March 1850, Pius IX called “the Cardinals to Portici for a secret consistory” (Frank J. Coppa, Cardinal Giacomo Antonelli and Papal Politics in European Affairs, Albany, New York, 1990, p. 79). As a result of this gathering, a Motu Proprio was issued, which evidently contained the announcement EBB mentions. The Times of 16 March 1850, extracting a report, dateline “7th inst.,” from the Statuto of Florence, noted that “a secret and confidential circular, issued by the police, has been received. The Minister of the Interior and Police observes in that document that many employés of the Administration continue to wear the beard and moustachios, which they had allowed to grow at the instigation of the chiefs of the anarchical Government, and which they previously were in the habit of shaving. The preservation of those external signs is a sad recollection of past times and of the detestable conduct of some of those functionaries, who, by suffering their beards to grow, gave an unequivocal adhesion to that deplorable order of things. The public officers still maintained in their posts will consequently do well to renounce a practice introduced at a time and by persons of which it would be advisable to efface all recollection” (p. 6).
23. In a letter to Sarianna Browning, dated [late August 1853], EBB explained that Arabella suffered from “swellings on the glands” (ms at Lilly).
24. The “sons of Anak,” or Anakim, were a semitic tribe of giants, as referred to in the Old Testament; see Numbers 13:33.
25. Marianne Depledge Sykes (1822–96) and her mother ran a boarding school at 71 Euston Square, where Lizzie Barrett was a student.
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