2884. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 16, 209–220.
Florence.
October 21 [–] Novr 1 [1850] [1]
I have a dear kind letter from Henrietta which I ought to answer—but the Miss Coores [2] have arrived, my beloved Arabel, & I have also your too beautiful presents, and “what can a body do” but write & thank you? Ah, indeed it is excess in goodness on your part—it is wrong, quite wrong! Only that does’nt prevent my being very grateful, and Wiedeman’s being the happiest of children in his costume this winter. The cloak .. polka .. whatever we should call it, .. is quite, perfectly beautiful and fits him to a precision and a grace. By the way, tell me– Is it right that the bottom of it should touch the bottom of his frock, the frock being just a little (the least possible) below his knees? I want to know whether he is taller or shorter than you supposed. Any way, the effect is perfect, & we are all in ecstasies about it, .. and last winter’s great coat is discarded accordingly. As to my apron, Wilson makes up her mind that I shall never make up mine to wear it .. “I shall be sure to think it too pretty to wear.” But I shant. You sent it, and I shall wear it, to have the stitches as near to my heart as can be.
Mrs Tomkyns [3] & the Miss Coores sent the parcel & letter (dear Henry’s) by their courier, & we received them on our return from a walk which had left me very tired. So Robert went to call on them directly by himself, and found them “waiting till the heat of the day was over, to go out.” He made them laugh by saying that we had been lamenting the cold, and more than half wishing for a fire. They thought it a bad joke on our parts. They called Florence charming altogether, & the climate absolutely perfect, & only wished that such a temperature could last for ever. The next day, Robert went, by appointment at ten in the morning, to walk with them through the pictures,—and he was to take me to pay my visit in the afternoon, only they insisted very kindly on waiving all etiquette & coming to see me instead, in order to spare me some interminable staircase at the hotel– A very pleasing woman Mrs Tomkyns is, with a sweet countenance & conciliating manner—& really I liked her the best of the party. The others are young-lady sort of young women, appearing goodnatured & used to good society—but I turned to look at the poor widow—married since we left England, widowed since last December, & with a young child,—two years and a half old. She told Robert she “had been very happy”. Her hair is quite grey—no sign of which was observable, Robert says, when he knew her in Harley Street—yet her smile is cheerful & serene– Oh, what deep griefs can move softly in this world!——
Now let me think, dearest darling Arabel, where I left off with you last. At the Sienese villa, I fancy. We stayed there a month, & then went into rooms in the town, that I might be within reach of churches & pictures .. There are fourteen churches in Siena, and we went into all the best—indeed into most of the fourteen. Then I would go into St Catherine’s house [4] & saw the kitchen where she cooked for her father the Dyer, and the bedroom where she slept on a stone—and the place where Christ stood when she saw him in a vision– “Here Christ stood”. It was interesting to me. I dont believe in saint-worship nor in saint-day keeping,—but in the abstract seeing of visions, I perfectly believe—and she was a most devout woman & subject to ecstatical states, .. and I dont disbelieve in the visions she professed to see. It might have been:—I dont disbelieve– The cathedral at Siena is gorgeous. The colour of the marbles is so warm & heavy, that I felt quite suffocating—it was almost too much for my imagination. [5] Then, such pictures! Razzi (Sodoma)—Beccafumi, Pachierotto—painters, you never hear of except at Siena. [6] I walked backwards & forwards in a haze of admiration,—able to walk, observe!—as strong as ever I was! I am able to walk two miles now, & more perhaps,—& Dr Harding calling yesterday “never saw me looking better, if as well”! You see, I may call “wolf, wolf” for the future, & nobody will believe me! Mrs Jago thinks I have a “charmed life” & am by no means to be killed. Ah, better than such light words, would be grateful ones on my lips, for indeed God has been very full of mercy, & beyond my expectations to me! It is miraculous how I gathered up my strength at Siena, in those last weeks– The balia kept saying .. “But nobody who had only seen the signora when she left Florence, would know her again”—which was literally true. There I was, carrying about the baby, .. running with him to play at horses—just as if nothing had been the matter. And with such a different face! Well! after a week at Siena, we hesitated much whether or not to go on to Volterra– I was inclined to the imprudence of going; but Robert, upon calculation of the ways & means, found that we really could’nt afford it,—and, so, back we came to Florence. Oh, he wished to go just as much as I did, .. only I always forget the means;—you know my way. Still, I have just wisdom enough to say to Robert .. “Calculate, calculate! If we cant go, we cant” .. which, considering I am only a woman, is tolerably wise after all. Also, I dare say it was as well that we did not go, for the cold of Siena began to be over the mark, and Volterra would not probably be very much warmer. As to Florence it was delightful to return to it—it was like bathing in a bath of cool sunshine. We threw off shawls & cloaks, and bathed at our ease. Then, the comforts, the comforts! The soft beds, the noiseless carpets, the French coffee-pots! Of course, in our villa, we had’nt a bit of carpet. I asked for “the least bit for the side of my bed, being an invalid,”—whereupon there was presented to me in the most gracious & conciliatory mood, a door-mat, which having been used to clean the boots & shoes of half Siena, was correspondingly clotted with mud. “But,” said I very humbly, “indeed this is not clean enough for a bedroom.” “Certainly it is not, signora,” was the eager answer, “but wait until I have taken it to the fountain & washed it. Then, you will see the difference”. I begged to decline it altogether, & took the green baize from Robert’s desk in preference .. the green baize case, I mean. (Fancy washing a hay door-mat in a fountain!) I declined it even for Flush, but with as much politeness as it had been offered with, of course. Oh Arabel! what wicked thing do you fancy we did when we were at Siena? Went to the play– Robert & I paid eleven pence each & walked in & walked out, & saw the Tuscan Stentarello– [7] The first time we have done such a thing! Robert is fixed to go no where without me—he says that really he does’nt enjoy it—and I believe that this piece of dissipation was far more for the sake of amusing me than for any other reason. Nothing could be worse than the acting—nothing; and nothing more innocent than the whole performance, I do assure you. The immoral system, connected unnaturally & unnecessarily with the English theatres, does not exist on the continent, [8] & thus every objection one could suggest here, must submit to fall under the head of a superstition. I kept my bonnet on all the time—nobody dresses. And when we came home, we had some hot wine & water, & bread & butter & ham, .. seeing that it was eleven oclock at night—a tremendously late hour for us– You would laugh if you knew what hours we keep. At the villa, especially, I used to say at nights, “How very sleepy I am!” “So am I,” said Robert. “Yes”, I added, “it must be very late! it must be past eight, I am sure.” But then we were up early, & had breakfast at eight as matter of course. I dont know how it is, but I never have recovered my old love for sitting up at nights, & I dont think I ever shall. What I should do in Wimpole Street is unimaginable. If anybody has tea with us at Florence & keeps us up till ten, I groan as poor Bummy used to do at Papa’s late vigils. Are you as late as you were, you in Wimpole Street? I do hope not: it is a habit which dessicates life. On the other hand, I like getting up early in the morning .. it’s never too early for me, as long as I have breakfast directly .. for that’s a necessary condition.
Since we returned we have had a visit from Mr Hanna. [9] I think I told you of him. He is related to Dr Chalmers’s biographer & son in law, & connected with the Free Church of Scotland—here, on account of his health—oh, certainly, I must have told you. In certain respects, he is narrow,—for instance, he “never read Dickens,” and “from the extracts which accidentally he has seen, & from what he has heard of the writer, he should not like to recommend anyone to read him.” That sort of man, you see—and yet, not as narrow (upon the whole) as my anecdote wd lead one to suppose: for he is very gentle & sympathetic & inclined to judge kindly of both persons & things, .. and he is a favorite of Robert’s, who calls him “pure-minded”, which is just a word for him. Well—he has been here, & brought us the religious news of Florence while we were at Siena– M. Drouin is gone for good—an evil for us. We supposed him gone for a few weeks as usual in the summer, .. but his wife’s health did not admit of his return. [10] Instead, we are to have another Swiss, quite equal to M. Drouin, says Mr Hanna, .. and also, a M. Malan [11] from the Vaudois churches who is to preach in Italian: then there’s to be somebody else who will preach in German once a fortnight,—while every sunday afternoon, Mr Hanna is to have an English service– So you observe how well off we shall be. He says that the Protestant movement is going on prosperously in Tuscany, & that several priests have been much affected—one, a distinguished preacher, is a decided convert, & gone off to Geneva. While the Pope is making sure of England, from the Puseyite movement, Italy is slipping through his fingers, perhaps. It is curious. The eagerness about bibles among the young men, would surprise you. Every copy is caught up & bought—here is an opportunity for your missionaries. Only to do great good, to be fit for the position, they should bring the gospel in hands with the nails cut– We must have educated men, with wide views, & no traditions whether of the fathers or the puritans—because, my darling Arabel, we must confess that the puritans have traditions, just as much as the fathers have, .. and these wont do in Italy, you know. For instance, the puritan view of Sabbatarianism never will do, in Italy—happily, I think,—as you dont find a shadow of a likeness of the thing throughout the new testament.
Talking of protestantism, I am now going to tell you of something which perhaps will make you start back with horror. You are aware of Wiedeman’s insistance about going into the churches,—Wilson has often wished lately that I could see him there, imitating the people, crossing himself, & stretching up to the holy water. She said it was the most amusing thing she ever imagined, & worth going across Florence to see. Well, the other day, Robert was playing a church-chant on the piano, and the child was looking at him in a fixed, rapt way, as he does when there is music. Suddenly, he put down on the floor the three dolls he held in his arms, threw his eyes up to the ceiling till you saw nothing but the whites, and muttered with his lips as quick as lightning, .. then crossed himself, .. then counted his beads, .. and afterwards, walking up to the door, he pretended to change his dress as the priests do, bowed very low, as they bow to the altar. All this, with the utmost gravity—just fancy the child! Was it wrong that we laughed? Right or wrong—Robert & I laughed till we lost our breath—it was absolutely irresistible. The association of the church-music had reminded him of these church-ceremonies, understand. For the rest, you wont attach too much importance to this story, .. because the child imitates equally everything he sees. He used to walk lame between two sticks at our villa, in imitation of a cripple whom he met in the lanes—and once, he made himself quite sick, by coughing & spitting like somebody in the street. He is not likely to catch the corruptions of the papacy really in his soul, by seeing people cross themselves, though he imitates that as the rest, poor darling. But you dont like it, Arabel, now do you?– He has just cut an eye-tooth, & is looking particularly well—he has, at present, thirteen teeth—and his cheeks are as red as a rose. We have left off his pap & oil by Dr Harding’s desire, and one of his soups, by his own. Dr Harding, to whom I was complaining of his want of appetite, thought that milk & bread wd be better than the pap, & I was too delighted to leave it off, the child not liking it much, & beginning a system of shutting his lips quite close & shaking his head, which it was useless to strive against. But he did the same by the boiled milk & bread, .. only smiling up into first the balia’s face & then Wilson’s, .. as much as to say, “what new mess is this, pray.” He is however very fond of warm milk in a glass, with a little water & sugar—& he will sometimes drink almost a tumbler full. Then, he likes buns, and he is appreciative of minced chicken—so that we begin to get on. Dr Harding said (only I dare say that was rather said to content me) that he was delighted to hear he did not eat as most children did & suffered from—that nothing was so perilous for children as excess of appetite,—& that he wd be sure to take as much as was good for him. Tell dear Minny, he never has the least disorder of the stomach or digestive organs .. that is a very happy thing. Also, he sleeps much better at night, having left off his habit of waking every hour, to everybody’s satisfaction. On the other hand nothing will induce him to sleep in the day—you cant make him:—and he is much too young to pass the day without sleep. Still, the child looks & is as well as he can be, and besides, he grows. He has just run in to me dressed to go out, in your cloak, in a flutter of delighted vanity. I tell him that certainly it is “molto bellino”, [12] upon which he smiles & folds his arms to increase the effect. Then he strokes down the embroidery again & again, & holds it out at arm’s length that I may overlook no part of it. “Veramente bello”, [13] I repeat, .. and out he walks, looking over his shoulder, with the utmost self complacency. Never was such a vain little creature! And in that cloak, he has a right to be vain. His white felt hat is done up as well as new for the winter, with a new white feather in it, and altogether, he really is pretty. An English gentleman said to his companion yesterday while they looked at him, “What a beautiful boy”. “Oh,” I cried to Wilson who told me this, “then people dont take him for a girl, now”. “Because his hat is like a boy’s” said Wilson, in humiliating explanation.
Have you heard that within these six weeks, Sophia Cottrell has lost one of her brothers, & that another is raving mad? [14] What an extraordinary series of misfortunes! Count Cottrell met Robert two days since by the Arno, & said that “she had been much affected by the madness .. but that, as for death, it was not to be considered an affliction at all”. Indeed, they are none of them in mourning, nor have been—not in the slightest pretence of mourning. Do you know which of the brothers it is who is dead? Is it Augustus? I am vexed to have to say that Mrs Gordon goes on the first of november to the Cottrells house to live—the Cottrells have the groundfloor, & she is to have the first floor. Therefore I must give up visiting at the house altogether—there will be no help for it. Also, the Miss Tulks, whom we both really like, go to live close by—it is very unpleasant. I dont agree with you as to the relative blame attributable to Count Cottrell & Mrs Gordon. He does not know probably, the precise circumstances,—he considers Trippy as a creditor simply; & being very fond of his wife’s relations, as he proves by all sorts of sacrifices on his own part, all he is anxious about, is to see his sister in law uninconvenienced in respect to money. A man of a high sense of justice & honour would not submit so easily to the circumstances,—that, there is no denying—but he has rather a coarse nature, though most affectionate & kindhearted otherwise. He lets all those Gordon children follow him about, crowd his drawingrooms—nothing seems too much for his goodnature. One must consider these things, in judging of the man. Also one shd remember that before Mrs Gordon arrived at Lucca he never seemed to hesitate on the expediency of giving a hundred a year towards the debt– No, Arabel– The onus of the shame lies on Mrs Gordon, and the whole weight of my indignation falls on her. And now I must say that, in my mind, George should have written to her, & set the case before her in precise language .. bidding her remark how it was a debt of honour—neither more nor less. If I were George, I would write now– He might well say that he had waited in expectation of some arrangement– I cant help believing that, if he did so, a settlement might yet be made, in which case he would rejoice at having made the effort for dearest Trippy’s sake. Give her my affectionate love, & tell her how I think of her & never shall cease.
November 1–
When my last letter went away, when it was gone, I remembered that I had omitted to thank you for your remembrance of the twelfth of September. Thank you my own beloved Arabel. Indeed it is a day for congratulation more & more,—and if you could see into our house & hearts you would more & more thank God for me. Will you believe me, Arabel, when I gravely assure you that the love increases instead of diminishing? that is my experience of love in marriage. It is contrary to the traditions, I know—but the right of private judgement is to be maintained here as elsewhere, & I tell you mine. Robert is as blind to my faults as the first day he was, while on the other hand I am grown more necessary to him—he loves me better & closer—it is my sincere belief that he does. I tell you this because you cant see it, & dont know him personally well enough to be aware of the profoundness of his loving nature. He says himself that he loves me more.
Arabel, I just have your letter—just come! The present one has been kept by me these ten days since the day I began it, because Robert begged me to keep it for his packet to Sarianna—but now I cant wait any more. What will you be thinking of me? Another time I will order my ‘showers’ better, & avoid this long drought– So provoked I am about your not leaving London—oh, so provoked! It is inexplicable. Then as to Henrietta, you make me anxious about her plans .. for surely, in a first confinement, it wd be wise to have good advice & attendance—& I distrust Malvern for both. Observe, she cant stay on in that farmhouse—she must have more room, & must pay for it everywhere– I am very anxious that she shd go to London. Oh England, how expensive it is to be sure! Yes, Dresden is very cheap—but the climate is impossible to us. As to Capri, Arabel, the Athenæum writer romances a little. [15] The Ogilvys were there this summer, & we wished to go .. but the drawbacks are great,—the expences double those in Tuscany .. & you cant have fresh meat: everything comes from the mainland. If you can live on fish & oil, well. People who talk of cheapness compare it with Naples, which is an extravagant place for a continental town. Go to Paris, Arabel, & live with us. There is a French princess in this house, the princesse de la Tremouille, [16] who has taken the apartment above us for six months– She is only just from Paris, & her people tell ours that Florence is dearer in every respect. Where we give three pence a pound for meat, the Parisians give four pence half-penny, but then their pound has four ounces more in it.– You dont tell me of Mr Hunter & Mary—do. My book is printed, but Mr Chapman & Hall have kept it back on account of changing the place of their establishment, that the new shop may suit the new edition. Robert certainly saw it advertised. Look out, again. I have never called on the Coores– I went out with the intention, was caught in the rain, drenched, had a cold & cough in consequence & could’nt stir out again– So sorry I was, but Robert went about with them to the Galleries, tell Henry. They considerably modified their opinion I shd think, about our exquisite climate, for they had rain incessantly while they were here, & a cold, miserable rain too. They had the kindness to give Wiedeman the most beautiful toy possible, Parisian, a donkey and flower girl, and he was enchanted– We never asked them here to coffee even, barbarians as we were—but they were so many, & I was not equal to it. Now I am well again, or nearly. It was only a cold. I do hope Henry wont go to Jamaica—tell him so from me. God bless you my own, own Arabel. I am your
Ba.
Now, directly Wiedeman hears the churchbells, he kneels down before a chair. With the piano it is the same. He will kneel for five minutes together, muttering, & turning his eyes up– So pretty! like a little younger Samuel! [17] And what is one to say about it? It is not a subject to make a play of certainly—but he is rather possessed with an imagination than given to a mimickry. He does’nt laugh—and though we pretend not to look at him, he follows up his idea– He comes & insists on Robert’s going to the piano, & then instead of sitting on his knee as he used to do, off he goes to the chair by the window & betakes himself to these solemn gesticulations. Fancy the little creature kneeling down & looking up with his hands clasped, & seeming quite rapt. It’s the prettiest sight I ever saw– For a full quarter of an hour yesterday he was engaged in this way—nobody taking any notice. But if the piano stopped for a moment he sprang up & stamped with his foot & shouted out that it should go on. He can do nothing without music– Is he not a curious child? And looking so infantine—with such a baby face! It is most curious. I overheard the balia saying lately to Girolama the dressmaker, that “he quite martyrized her by forcing her to go into the churches, & that now he had taken to say Ave Marias for himself.”– You will call us extravagant perhaps, but we decided on keeping on the balia for a few months. He is too heavy for Wilson to carry out of doors, & he cant walk always, at his age, you know– So we keep her on a little, diminishing her wages of course, & no longer giving clothes, which was a considerable expense. During her baliaship, she had some ten or eleven gowns, & shoes &c more than in proportion. She was delighted to stay on the reduced terms, & Wiedeman is very fond of her naturally– As to whipping him, I dare say he deserves it quite as much as Arlette’s little girl, but I dont know who in the house could be found to do it for him. I asked Wilson—and she answered with an alarmed face– “If that child were to be whipped, he would die of a broken heart. Depend upon it, the least harshness would kill him—he is not made for it”. With such opinions among us, you may follow out Henrietta’s prophecy about his being infallibly spoilt—dont you think you may? Call him unfortunate child on that ground, if you please—but dont call the frock you worked for him an “unfortunate frock”, because I wont allow it, and because the said frock is put away only till next spring when Wilson hopes to take it in & make it fit beautifully. We waited till then, that the cutting might not need be too great– His cloak is the admiration of everybody, especially of himself—and I must not forget to tell you that Robert said, about that & the apron, “Dont be so selfish, Ba, as to thank Arabel, for you, only, & not for me.” He admir<es> the apron <as> the prettiest of my costumes—&, do you know, <…> has grown dreadfully particular about my dress lately– Shall I tell you? He has actually made me, with a frightful inconsistency to the resolutions of all my life … wear a bustle!!!
After that, there is nothing more to tell you. Everything will fall flat. I told him that I never gave such a proof of wifely obedience as in obeying him so, and you, who know something of me will understand the sublime of it.
What a letter this is—“never ending, still beginning”. [18] As I send direct to you, I am able to take more paper, you see. Arabel, I am in distress about my baby-caps & Henrietta– I enquire in vain for people going to England. It is a bad time of year, and I have great perplexities about it. Still, there are two months before us, & an occasion may offer. What you say of the possibility of her needing a balia, is so true, that I have long intended to urge you to keep before her eyes & Surtees’s that possible necessity—keep them prepared for the alternative, I mean—and, if she cant nurse, as many a strong woman cant, dont permit them to think even of bringing up by hand. Beseech them never to think of it. They will pay rather more, with a balia, but will probably escape horrible medical expenses, which are worse things. The Fletchers are come from Siena & have paid us a visit already. Good, affectionate people they are. What Bayfords do you dine with? Augustus, or James? [19] The Lindsays mean to go to Rome about February, avoiding the autumn there as it was considered bad for Julia. By the way, Julia (the last person I shd have expected such enthusiasm from) is enchanted with Italy, & told me a few days since that if it were not for her brothers & sisters, she would never wish to see England again.!! That was strong—was’nt it? We see scarcely anything of them, though they have taken an apartment close by. Mr Lindsay, we dont get on with, somehow—our acids are not homogeneous.
Dearest Trippy! May this suffering have passed off while I write. Kiss her for me– Do you ever see anything of the Bevans? You never name them– I am going to embroider (braid) three merino frocks for Wiedeman this winter—one is done, a grey one: a second (blue braided with black silk braid) nearly done: the third is to be scarlet & black braid. I assure you they are pretty. Once more goodbye–
Your own, ever attached
Ba.
You may well be surprised at me—& you wd be more so, if you had seen me before I went to Siena. Arabel, will you tell me about your headaches. Robert’s best love. How is dearest Minny? I have written again to Papa.
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, 344–355.
Manuscript: Gordon E. Moulton-Barrett.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. Lucy Elizabeth Coore and Annette Augusta Coore, who were the younger of five daughters of Frederick Richard Coore and Isabella (née Blagrove). The Coores had Jamaican ties and were friends of the Barretts. RB knew the Coore sisters, as well as their brother, Henry John Blagrove (né Coore), when they resided at 34 Harley Street; they are listed in RB’s earliest extant address book (AB-2).
3. Isabella Frederica Tomkyns (née Coore), the Miss Coores’ eldest sister, married John Tomkyns (1783–1849), Rector of Greenford, on 30 December 1845, nine months before the Brownings left England. Their daughter, Isabella, born on 23 July 1847, was three years, three months old at this time, not the “two years and a half” that EBB mentions towards the end of the paragraph.
4. Murray’s A Hand-Book for Travellers in Central Italy (1850) notes that “of the numerous Oratories, the most interesting are those occupying the house of St. Catherine of Siena, and the ancient Fullonica of her father, who was a dyer and fuller” (p. 212). Murray’s lists nineteen churches in Siena.
5. Apparently, the colored marble in the cathedral produced “a disagreeable effect in the eyes of an English traveller” (Murray’s Hand-Book, p. 207).
6. Jacopo Pacchiarotto (1474–1539/40) is now thought of as a second-rate artist and unsuccessful politician. Domenico Beccafumi (1486?–1551) was a mannerist painter whose work can be seen in Siena at the Pinacoteca Nazionale, on the ceiling of the City Hall, and in the marble mosaics on the floor of the cathedral.
7. A Florentine masque, the creation of which is attributed to the late eighteenth-century actor, Luigi del Buono, but is doubtless an offshoot of the medieval commedia dell’arte.
8. EBB refers to prostitution, which was common in English theatres in the early and middle part of the nineteenth century.
9. Robert Maxwell Hanna; see letter 2861, note 13. We have been unable to trace the relationship between him and William Hanna (1808–82), the author of Memoirs of Dr. Chalmers (Edinburgh, 1849–52).
10. Moïse Droin had married Jeanne Marguerite Farjon in Geneva in 1839. As recorded in the Passport Register in the State Archives of Florence, the Droins were issued a travel permit for Switzerland dated 5 October 1850.
11. Barthélemy Malan (1810–73), from the Vaudois valleys in Piedmont. In March of 1851, the Tuscan government charged him with proselytizing and ordered him out of the region. “Another Swiss” refers to Auguste Colomb (1798–1880), who was pastor of the French Protestant Church in Florence from 1851 to 1857. He had also held the post in the late 1820’s (see Tony André, L’Église Évangélique Réformée de Florence, Florence, 1899).
12. “Very pretty.”
13. “Really beautiful.”
14. Marmaduke Hart Tulk (afterwards Hart, b. 1817), was the fifth son and eighth child of Charles Augustus and Susan Tulk; he died on 23 September 1850. We have been unable to identify who of the other four brothers living at this time was “raving mad.”
15. The Athenæum of 28 September 1850 carried a report on Capri that included the following: “I know of no place better suited to the invalid or to the man of small income. The air is here so salubrious and bracing that a twenty-four hours’ residence seems to fill the veins with fresh life … . For hectic complaints I doubt whether the island could be recommended; but for chronic bronchitis I know of no place, after considerable experience, so desirable as a residence. … As a place for economizing pecuniarily, I think the island may vie with any part of Germany. … 3l. 10s. a-year would secure a small house. … As to food, it is cheap and abundant:—eggs being a farthing each, the best fish 4d. or 5d. a pound, and poultry 10d. or 1s. for a fine capon” (no. 1196, p. 1023).
16. Augusta (née Murray) who married Louis Stanislas Kotska, Prince de la Trémoille in 1834. She is listed, together with her two children, as an occupant of Palazzo Guidi in the San Felice Church census for April 1851.
17. Old Testament prophet, possessed of great faith from childhood (I Samuel 2:18 and 3:1).
18. Cf. Dryden, “Alexander’s Feast” (1697), line 101.
19. EBB’s cousins, James Heseltine Bayford (b. 1804) and Augustus Frederic Bayford (b. 1809), were sons of John Bayford (d. 1844) and his wife Frances (née Heseltine, 1781–1848), EBB’s mother’s first cousin.
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