2889. EBB to Henrietta Cook
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 16, 229–235.
Florence.
Novr 15. [1850] [1]
I have to thank my ever dearest Henrietta for two welcome letters. It was most kind to write two, and this is not the first time that she has done for me more than I deserved– As to illness, my last letter to Arabel will have put me out of the category of people ill or weak– I am quite well, & have even got rid of the cold & cough which pulled me down a little when the Miss Coores were at Florence, & made me rather pale again & inhospitable. That was the consequence of being drenched one day in our rainy season—but now I am as well as possible, & so is Wiedeman, & so is Robert. Of you, my beloved Henrietta, I have excellent accounts from everybody, thank God .. and I hope I shall receive one from your own hand in reply to this. Soon, now, how happy you & Surtees will be!! Oh—the pain of it, Henrietta, is nothing, and the happiness is everything– I, who know, may assure you of that. Keep up your spirits & courage therefore .. the reward is great. Keep in mind too, that women are apt to exaggerate the terrors of the crisis– Dont you be more afraid in consequence of the traditions. Dr Harding said that mine was rather a “difficult delivery”, and yet I can sincerely say that I have suffered much more on the occasion of other illnesses in England .. spasms & the like .. remember what I tell you when the time comes. Meanwhile, I am most pleased to find from dear Mrs Martin’s letter received yesterday that you are still intending to go to London. Oh yes, you should go to London, Henrietta, & have the right advice & attendance. I should not be comfortable at the thought of you otherwise, advice & good nursing being so necessary on a first occasion, & the comfort of having Arabel & Mrs Cook near you being so manifest, both for you & Surtees. Also, I dont see, though Arabel talks of the tremendous London prices, that they are beyond your means for a little while. You see even if you stayed in the country, you wd be forced to have more accom[m]odation & to pay in proportion. You must have a room for Surtees, and a room for the nurse & child wherever you are. Altogether, the London scheme does not strike me as expensive “out of all comparison”, and the advantages of it remain great. So vexed, so vexed I am, Henrietta, at not having yet found anybody going to England, to send my caps by. It is an unfortunate time of year for people to go to England, and I have great fears about it—only do put off till the last, making the rest of the caps, so as to keep my chance open. I should so very much like that the new little darling (am I not early in calling it a darling?) should wear something that has come from me, in the opening of its life– I say it, because, knowing neither the masculine nor the feminine, one falls into the neuter naturally. Which do you & Surtees wish for, masculine or feminine? In our case, Robert wished for feminine & I for masculine, yet we were both as delighted as possible. There’s a good deal to be said on either side of the question, till it’s decided, & then nobody thinks of appealing or regretting. God bless you, my dear, dear Henrietta, you & yours, into all the forms of happiness. As to my list of baby-things, there really was nothing excessive in it—you wont get on with fewer things, I fancy—& we were obliged to have ours washed in the week to make them do at all. If I were you I would learn to knit the little lamb’s wool shoes. The baby wants them from the first,—& when it puts on the short frocks, which I advise you not to delay long, for the sake both of œconomy & prettiness, the small feet have need of shoes, not to say that the different colours of the lambs wood [sic] (German wool) helps to make an effective costume, for a baby– Wiedeman looked very pretty, with his small blue or red feet–. I was so glad to get him free of those clogging long clothes which do no good & make no beauty. Now remember one thing, Henrietta, I hope you will turn out an excellent nurse yourself,—but we cant do more than hope—many strong women cant nurse at all, and you may not be able– Now if you are not able, I entreat you for the love of me, not to fret in the first place (that being absolutely foolish) and in the second not to hesitate about taking a balia. Dont be persuaded into a hesitating view of this subject– The child’s welfare is the thing to be thought of, and although to bring a child up by hand is possible in England of course, yet the risks are immense .. of that you may be certain by the statistics of the subject. When I said to Dr Harding, long after our case was settled, “I suppose nursing is more necessary here than in England”, he answered, .. “Certainly! I dont deny that it is. But, my dear Mrs Browning, it is necessary everywhere. The only child I ever lost out of my large family, a healthy, noble boy, I lost in England in consequence of trying to do without nursing, and I then resolved that if I had fifty children I would always for the future have a wet nurse, at whatever inconvenience.” I am writing prematurely about this, Henrietta, you will think, & laugh—but I shant be near you at the moment to preach & teaze—and, besides, it is wise to have your mind made up to such circumstances as are possible, & not to be agitated by a sudden perplexity, when the decision should have been prepared before hand. If you think I ever shed a tear at not being allowed to nurse Wiedeman, you are wrong– I passionately from the beginning loved my child, and of course I had the natural feeling about wishing to nurse him—but, being so happy, I could not find it in my heart or head, to quarrel about the terms .. nor is it right that you should. And you wont. And you will forgive my saying all this, miles away from the contingency, & understand the motives well– I do want you so to enjoy your coming happiness to the uttermost, by having a healthy, joyous baby– God bless you, dearest Henrietta!
Indeed you are gay people, you & Surtees, but I dont envy you in the least going out to dinner in the cold—no, indeed. Robert & I think it rather a bore, .. that is, we are apt to think it rather a bore, .. when visitors come to our tea table & break up our evening– But as to going out to dinner .. it makes my blood run the wrong way to think of it. We have fires, now, though the weather is lovely for November, & I take long walks every day, .. we have fires now, & as soon as the lamp comes, Robert sits in his armchair, and I curdle myself up on the sofa, or perhaps on a cushion on the hearth, and we say to one another, “Oh, how delightful this is! I do hope nobody will come tonight” … and so, we read, and talk, and Robert cant keep from letting out the end of Copperfield, [2] and I scold him & wont hear a word more. Then, the door opens, and enter Wiedeman holding by Wilson’s finger– “I cant think what he wants,” says Wilson, “but he would come”. Upon which he walks straight up to me and puts up one foot, pointing to it with his hand, & then pulling at my gown—perhaps you dont know what that means, but I do. He wants to go to bed, and that I should go & pull off his shoes & stockings, which is my duty every evening, kissing the little feet afterwards– So I get up & go away with him & Wilson, and Robert calls after us, “Come back soon, Ba”– And I go back soon; and at eight oclock we have our tea-supper, a new complex meal of ours. We used, you know, to have coffee at five, and supper afterwards; but at Siena we put the two things together & found that it answered delightfully. A table cloth is laid on the little table, and we have tea, and I have an egg, and Robert has either that, or ham, or a devilled leg of a turkey, something of that sort, and fruit, .. and we are generally more hungry then than at any other hour of the day.
A few evenings since we were taken by surprise, by Dr & Madme Braun on their return to Rome– We asked them to dinner the next day, but they would only come again in the evening, having much to do, as Dr Braun is preparing his lectures for this winter. They were charmed with Florence—he thought it “a wonderful place,” .. & another time they will stay longer. We never ask anybody to dinner, as a general rule .. Robert is shamefaced because we have’nt silver forks, .. about which, I dont care the least in the world– He’s much more alive to those little things than I am, and ought really by rights to have been born to five thousand a year, as I often tell him. What has ever diminished our small glories, has been the theft of two silver tea spoons (or three I think) & of one of our two table spoons, so that we degenerate to the pewter & the iron still more. Somebody came in through the open door & stole them– More’s the pity–
Madme Braun struck me as looking particularly well & happy, and my fancy for him lasts, though he is peculiar certainly. Simple, qui<et>, and then explosive & enthusiastic. I was so vexed about Wiedeman. He had a fit of shyness, & would’nt be looked at– He is the most curious child I ever saw or heard of, and if his cousin should be at all like him, you & Surtees will be puzzled sometimes. Did Arabel tell you of his ecclesiastical propensities? They continue, to our wonder. When he goes into a church, he is on his knees in a moment with his hands clasped, in the middle aisle, everybody staring at the “little saint”, as the balia thinks him. Dont fancy that he learnt anything of this kind from her, for she is particularly secular, I assure you. As to music, whenever he hears it, he falls on his knees, because he associates it with the church-organ, though sometimes, for a change afterwards, he dances to it, holding his frock. But what he delights in is to play duets with Robert. Robert holds him on his lap, & plays on the extreme treble & base of the piano, leaving the intermediate notes to Wiedeman, .. who, though of course he does’nt strike the right notes, yet strikes them in precise time, nodding his head & using his hands as if they had been educated by Logier’s chiroplast, [3] & with airs the most ineffable, .. like an artist carried away, or pretending to be carried away by the rapture of the music. He quite understands that he does’nt play as he ought to do; and he wont attempt it unless Robert plays at the same time—or very seldom, & then he gets me to instruct him what notes to strike. By the time he is three years old, I expect him to be a “musical phenomenon.” It is extraordinary now to see a baby of twenty months, (who cant speak a word .. for you are to understand that he continues dumb ..) keeping exact time through a long piece of Rossini’s—you would wonder, if you saw it, I am sure–
So the Peytons are really, really coming. I hope <I> may be of use to them in some little way when they do come,—and meanwhile I am delighted that Berry’s anxiety should be over. Mrs Martin prepares me for the possibility of a wedding– [4] Who knows? By the way I cant write to her till I know her address, so you must tell me in your next letter, Henrietta.
Do you hear regularly from Susan? is she a good correspondent? She will be glad to have you both in London– And I shall be more than glad to know how your plans end, for I am anxious about you. Yes, I do think your prices dear, Henrietta—that is, I am certain that we could’nt live if we depended on such prices– Remember, you are only two, up to this point, while we are six. That’s a great difference. We live chiefly on poultry, because we like it, and because Wiedeman touches nothing else in the shape of animal food– Good turkies for two shillings & two pence or three pence, and fowls in proportion. Cheap enough, certainly. Butter, two pence halfpenny a pound—only the pound is four ounces less than the English. Madme Braun told me that they live cheaply at Rome too, .. though it is a dearer place than Florence, .. and that she & her husband spent a shilling a day each for their whole sustenance, including breakfast, dinner, & tea—wine included of course: viz, fourteen shillings a week for their whole expense. She lost her father [5] when she was in England—did you know that?
Arabel sent me a miserable account of Bummy’s ill-success at Kinnersley Rectory. I am sorry for it all, but I must say, she deserves it altogether. She would be both happier & more respectable, if completely clear of the honor (by adjacency) of her brother’s landed proprietorship. [6] It did not answer at Frocester, & it will not anywhere. As to Leonard’s conduct, it is pure insolence, of course,—but that will be forgiven, while you <are> kept off quietly at arm’s length, just as I should be if I <were> in England. How different with both of us, had we married rich men under ever such offensive circumstances! It is that conviction which makes me angry .. when I think of it .. which is’nt often. I should not at all, if it had not been for your position this summer, & for the opportunity she really had of giving you <…> & showing you kindness.
Robert has had an uncomfortable letter from his sister some days ago, to tell him that his father was not well .. a carbuncle on the shoulder, necessitating an operation—but another letter yesterday brings excellent news, thank God, and there is not the least cause for anxiety.
How vexatious about the house, & my poor dearest darling Arabel being kept in London. Such things ought not to be—nothing can justify them. Where did uncle Hedley decide on going at last? The Bevans, I never by any chance hear of. I wonder how he feels about the R. Catholic irruption of bishops– Forgive me, all you dear tractarian people, but you are the cause of this, & of the bitterness elicited from the English nation in consequence of it, [7] .. you did it all, you in England & in Italy .. for the tractarian English in Italy may be called Legion. There’s a regular organ of the body in Florence, & the harm done (what I & others call harm) is incalculable, .. & no one with eyes open can be surprised at the Pope’s being led astray as to the feeling of the protestant masses. <…> [8] Be candid & admit that far-seeing persons who anticipated these results from the English movement, should be pardoned for having shaken their heads– I am afraid the party feeling stirred up now in England, salt with the saltness of religious differences, will poison all our lips for long–
Does Arabel write often to you? so often that I have need to be jealous at all? Because I can be jealous, I may tell you. May God bless & keep you, dearest Henrietta & Surtees! Robert’s love with that of
your ever attached
Ba.
Mind you give my love to the Commelines, [9] & all who care to ask about me kindly. I suppose Lady Somers [10] has not noticed you—nor Mrs Ricardo?
Address, on integral page: Mrs Surtees Cook / The Winnings / Malvern.
Publication: Huxley, pp. 129–130 (in part).
Manuscript: British Library.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. Dickens’s David Copperfield was serialised in twenty numbers from May 1849 to November 1850 when it was issued in book form.
3. A machine invented by John Bernard Logier (1777–1846) that was designed to facilitate the correct positioning of the hands on the piano.
4. A reference to Eliza Berry Peyton’s impending marriage to Jasper Henry Selwyn on 1 July 1851 in Florence.
5. James Thomson (1779?–1850), owner of a calico printing factory, died on 17 September 1850 at his home in Primrose, near Clitheroe, Lancashire.
6. Kinnersley Rectory and the adjacent Kinnersley Castle belonged to Bummy’s brother John Altham Graham-Clarke (1782–1862) and his wife Mary Elizabeth (née Parkinson). They bestowed the livelihood of the Rectory on their second son, Leonard Edmund Graham-Clarke (1817–83). The Kinnersley property was settled on the Graham-Clarke’s eldest son, John. We are unable to explain the family dynamics. Bummy remained in residence at Kinnersley Rectory until at least the following March, as she and her household are listed there in the 1851 British census.
7. Doubtless an allusion to the sentiments excited by the re-establishment of the Roman Catholic hierarchy in England and Wales, which was announed by Pius IX on 29 September 1850.
8. About a quarter of a line obliterated by EBB.
9. The Commelines of Redmarley D’Abitot, near Ledbury, were friends from Hope End days. They were the Rev. James Commeline, Jr. (1789–1853), Ann Rachel (b. 1791), Maria Newton (1810–75), and Laura Horde (1809–90).
10. Caroline Harriet Cocks (née Yorke, 1794–1873), daughter of the 3rd Earl of Hardwicke, married on 4 February 1815 John Somers Cocks, 2nd Earl Somers (1788–1852). Years before, members of the Moulton-Barrett household were friendly with the Cocks family whose estate, Eastnor Castle, is a few miles from Hope End and The Winnings, where this letter was sent.
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