2844. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 16, 98–102.
[Florence]
[15–16 April 1850] [1]
<***> a boy; & congratulating himself that at Florence he could live his student’s life with a more facile access to books, than was possible at Naples. This introduction happened about a fortnight since,—& now, he is exiled from Tuscany, on the pretext that he associated with “anarchists.” [2] Contemptible cruelty! cruelty to flies! His last act, was to make open profession of Protestantism—that was all they got, by exiling him: they exile and convert together. Not that these conversions can mean much in a spiritual point of view: they are revolts, rather than conversions. But you hear in them the breaking of chains.
This letter was begun yesterday– I began to write as soon as I had calmed myself a little after reading your news [3] —and, while I was writing, in came, Madme Ossoli—stayed dinner .. stayed coffee .. hours upon hours, the rain helping. I like her much .. but I wanted to write to you, & shall lose a post, or rather two posts, by that visit .. Robert would’nt let me write in the evening, because, what with the agitation & the talking, I was tired into a headache. After all, it may be better, perhaps, not to send you a too hurried letter. Nothing wd have been gained by doing it, as I had nothing to say except … my heart. Beloved Arabel, how perfect of you to write to me on Saturday. [4] Do you know, though you promised, I could’nt believe that you would be able to write, with all that necessary occupation & agitation,—and I had made up my mind, not to be too distressed, should there be no letter. Robert returned from the post, holding it up in the air. “A white seal! it must be over.” Thank you, dearest, darling Arabel. Shall I have the two other letters I prayed you for, as well? Arabel, I shall be uneasy, if you dont write directly again. There is so much left in a cloud! And then, when the serious part is over, I shall want all the particulars .. you cant be too particular. Trousseau & everything– I want to know.
How good & dear of dear dearest Trippy, to be present. Kiss her for it, on my account, most tenderly & gratefully. She is always good & dear, & I hold her in my heart for it, tell her, dear thing! At the same time, I shall be uneasy about her, as well as about so much else, until I hear again, .. lest there should be a difficulty with Papa– I would’nt for the whole world, that Papa quarrelled with Trippy– What pain that would be, Arabel!–
Will Henrietta be without a maid entirely, for any time? As to the so called “imprudence” of her marrying, in the way of money, I really cant sympathize with anxiety on such a ground. If she & Surtees live prudently & keep energetically within their income, they will learn to judge better, perhaps than they have hitherto done, of the meaning of poverty & riches. I know that England is different from Italy—but there’s a way of living even in England, (which I should’nt like, I tell you frankly, but which need not be unpleasant to persons of other tastes) of living quietly in a cottage & a shrubbery, & putting the ruralities around to use in the obvious ways. Think of some of those little Sidmouth cottages .. so green & pretty. One might be happy in a green nest of the sort, I feel. Yes, I could be happy so too .. although I like larger rooms with fewer drafts, & more colour to life, as well as more blue to the sky. If they dont like Taunton, why not try another place—and, after all, they are not bound to England. Surtees might come & do his work at Taunton, once or twice a year, & live for just nothing in France. The advantage of the continent is the free way of living, which cheapens everything to a degree you cant judge of by a comparison of the specific expenses. Then France is as near to you as Somersetshire is: You would lose nothing, my own Arabel. I wish we were in France, for just that reason. The distance is dreadful here– Does Louisa [5] remember that we have to travel up the whole length of Italy & through Switzerland, before we get to the “Rhine & German railroads”? We should far rather go that way—it would be new & interesting; but certainly the expense must exceed the other, I am afraid so, at least.– We know nothing yet—we tell every body as we tell you, that “we are going to England if we can” .. and certainly, if we can, we shall do it. I long to give you your share of Wiedeman. He partly belongs to you, I always consider—and you will find him a loving little creature & worth being loved for that reason. Within the last few days he has taken one or two steps by himself. Give him a finger, & he patters about the room beautifully—& he could go alone, if he chose .. but he does’nt choose .. he thinks it safer & quite as convenient, to run on all fours like his friend Flush– The balia is in despair about it, because he dirties his frocks—& I could’nt help laughing the other day on hearing from Wilson, how she told people out of doors, that the child had been ruined from walking, because “his papa & mama had taught him to crawl.” “Ma come!” [6] said I to the balia .. “how did we teach him to crawl? how could we?” “Certainly Signora!,” she answered– “I saw you myself! You laid him on the floor .. you said, ‘Put out your arms, put out your legs .. bravo, bambino!’” All this, as seriously as possible.
I put away my letter for dinner—and then we had Wiedeman as usual, while the other dinner went on. Well—he has walked five <or> six steps quite alone. My news comes in time, you see. Now, I know <of> several children here in Florence, who at nineteen months are just beg<inning> to go alone– Mrs Ogilvy’s child could’nt or would’nt take a step by <himself> when they went to Naples, & he is past nineteen months. So Wiedeman does well at thirteen months, after all the reproaches. Undoubtedly the crawling did keep him back—for at eleven months he could stand alone,—but never wd take steps till these few days. He learns something new everyday, & is the most amusing, engaging little creature! He is so fond of lifting up the cover of your table, & admiring your painting. [7] The cow in the river, takes his fancy. When he is pleased with anything, he claps his hands: not spontaneously, but because he considers it a proper expression of approbation. For instance, when the tea comes in, he screams out for joy first naturally, (he likes to drink tea) & then as an oratorical artifice, upon second thoughts, he claps his hands. I build him houses on the floor, with the pieces of the Swiss basket, (you remember the basket Henry & Stormie brought me) & when the house is built, he claps his hands, & when he knocks it down, which he does directly, he claps his hands again. The other day, he took off his shoe & stocking, & after examining his little fat foot, he gravely kissed it. When the balia carries him away from us to his nursery, he always waves his hand, for ‘Addio’—he never omits that ceremony. Upon occasions too, he kisses his hand .. which is rarer courtesy however. One of the most curious things he does (quite out of his own fancy, for nobody wd have thought of bidding him try it) is to pretend to sew. He takes the stuff in his left hand, just as you wd,—& with his right hand imitates the motion of the needle & thread towards the right shoulder & back again. We have been in fits of laughter at him while he sate on the floor sewing gravely. So I tell you his accomplishments, because I have nothing better to tell you of today. They will make you smile a little. Yes, and he bows his head for “Thank you”—and if you say ‘Thank you’ to him, he bows his head again. He reads all your letters aloud, & any book he can find. Robert doats on the child, & I love him rather. Your frock, my dearest, dearest Arabel, is too precious to be clipped & altered. Wait patiently, & he will grow to the frock—in less than five years .. if it pleases God. I wdnt have that frock cut—no, not for the world. It is the balia who is impatient, because she wants to have the glory of it. Dearest darling Arabel, tell me how you get on with the house-affairs! [8] I sympathize with you in every small as well as great vexation. But you will be admirable to the end– I know your devotion of character & strength of mind– I appreciate & admire as well as love you, my own Arabel. But say that you have not had dreadful headaches after all this work .. say so if you can truly. Tell me everything– I feel close to you though so far. Tell me of dearest Trippy’s business too. Something will be done, I think, before the Cottrells leave London. May God bless you & love you, my beloved. My love & a kiss to dear kind Minny.
Your fondly & for
ever attached Ba
Robert’s truest love.
Address, on integral page: Angleterre viâ France / Care of Miss Tripsack / (Miss Barrett) / 12. Beaumont Street / Devonshire Place / New Road / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, I, 309–312.
Manuscript: Gordon E. Moulton-Barrett.
1. This letter bears a Florence postmark of 16 April 1850, and EBB mentions having begun it “yesterday.”
2. We have been unable to clarify this passage.
3. i.e., of the marriage of Henrietta and Surtees Cook on 6 April 1850.
4. The day of their sister’s marriage.
5. Louisa Charlotte Carmichael.
6. “But how!”
7. i.e., a landscape painting on the top of the work table that Arabella had sent EBB (see letter 2768, note 6).
8. After Henrietta’s marriage and departure from Wimpole Street, Arabella assumed the responsibility of managing the Moulton-Barrett household.
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