2931. EBB to Eliza Anne Ogilvy
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 17, 84–88.
London. Devonshire Street. 26.
Regent’s Park.
From friday to friday. [25 July–1 August 1851] [1]
Can you believe, my dear friend, that we are here? For my part I scarcely can. I feel hanging on the sharp edge of some strange whirling planet–. & how it cuts!
Your letter was most welcome as every quick kindness of yours must always be. I did’nt answer it because we were in a state of ‘doubtful doubt’ [2] as to England, when it came,—ready to go, ready to stay, & uneasy either way– Indeed I was perfectly unhappy about Robert, who lost his spirits from the moment of crossing the Alps & grew so unwell in Paris, fell into such a state of morbid nervousness, that at last I resolved on persuading him against going to England at all. The idea of taking his wife & child to New Cross & putting them into the place of his mother, was haunting him day & night, & I was afraid to think how it might end. As soon as we had decided not to go, the imagination became quieted & he was better at once. Then, came the reaction. A letter from my sister Arabel full of the hope of seeing us, touched him (you know how quickly he can be touched) and suddenly “he could’nt bear to disappoint Arabel”, and “he would go to a lodging in London near her, &, so, visit his own home by himself & get it over”. Which was done. We came here a few days ago—& he has been to New Cross—thank God it is not to be looked forward to anymore. He is himself again,—& I, too, am happier, for I have seen my dear darling Arabel, & such of my brothers who were in town—they came to us instantly. Yet it is a position on a thickset hedge– I cant make a movement to right or left without pain. My first step on English ground was into a puddle, with a fog all round,—& the moral influences are almost more gloomy to me.
Yet that’s ungrateful. It is great joy to see those whom I love, & to see them so well. I see nobody changed for the worse after all these years, except one friend .. my poor old governess, [3] who is dying, I fear, of dropsy, & shocked me much by her altered appearance .. Really everybody else is rather better than worse for these five long years– Even my dear aged friend, Miss Tripsack, walked as agilely as ever to our door, with what I tell her is the bloom of youth on both cheeks. My youngest brother indeed, is changed past all recollection—but that comes from a pair of whiskers, & a matured latitude across the shoulders.
Also, we have all sorts of kind attentions,—& visitors enough to keep unpleasant thoughts (or any thoughts whatever) out of stronger heads than mine. Robert & I have not eaten an uninterrupted meal since we came, & we must take to living by absorption of fog, if we stay long. I had only half a cup of tea for breakfast this morning, because Barry Cornwall came,—and only half a cup of tea tonight, because Miss Mitford came. Wiedeman says he wants to go back to Paris to see the ‘balloon’– He is a little impatient of the dark rooms & the flood of new faces, poor darling!
In Paris we saw, yes, & had tea with Tennyson & his wife, on their way to Florence! Nothing could be more warmly kind than he was to us, insisting that we should take possession of his house at Twickenham, servants & all, & stay there as long as we liked to remain in England. We accepted the note—it is a precious autograph, representing the princeliness of poets. For, observe, there had been no previous friendship—Robert had only met him in general society two or three times, & I had never looked in his face before– We were both very much touched. Mrs Tennyson is a winning gentle creature, in delicate health– She lost her baby, after a bad confinement, it appears– He leaves England to escape from the dirty hands of his worshippers, and wishes to be “quite private” in Italy, if that is possible. I told his wife that there was not zeal enough for literature among the English of Florence to persecute anybody by over-worship. His nervous susceptibility amounts to malady & produces real suffering. Dont understand that we are going to Twickenham, by the way. We only accepted the note for the pleasure of his autograph of the kindness’s sake.
Oh—and I think they go first to the Baths of Lucca. [4] Robert recommended it rather than Como, which was in their plan. He is very natural & simple, & rather abrupt in his manner from a constitutional shyness; a man to revolt against any effort to make him “shine”. He does’nt shine—but you do not feel it difficult to believe him to be a great man whether he speaks or is silent. I assure you he smoked his pipe (a real clay pipe) after tea,—with just a word of mere form to ascertain if it would throw me into fits or not.
My dear friend, this letter has been lying here for a week & more– Like my cups of tea, it is interrupted half way, & quarter way. How can one write in such a confusion? People are overkind “knowing that the time is short”. Mr Kenyon has forced me to break a vow against going out to dinner—but otherwise I dont & wont go– Robert does, instead, to represent the house. At Mr Kenyon’s I saw for the first time, Mr Carlyle & his wife. Mr Forster of the Examiner, Mr Chorley of the Athenæum, Mr Procter (Barry Cornwall) Miss Geraldine Jewsbury, with Mrs Jameson &c, & the evening was delightful, certainly—only, a dozen more such pleasures would go too near to killing me downright. What struck me the most in all these people is, that they are younger than I expected—especially Carlyle, with his slim active figure & thick bushy hair. I heard him growl a little about the Exposition .. “a dreadful sight”, he called it: “There was confusion enough in the universe, without building a chrystal palace to represent it”. How like Carlyle!
I write & write, & do not tell you what interest we felt in your prompt, kind, welcome letter. The dear children, dear little Alexander, with his prayer .. may God teach Himself to them all. Wiedeman says prayers, too, with hands lifted up, for “Papa, Mamma, Lilla, e Tush” repeating these names of his own accord– He has taken to call Wilson, Lilla, I must tell you– He gets on slowly with his talking, but can say a great many more Italian words since you saw him, and a very few English,—such as “no more” & “come”.
You amused me by the offence given to your relations by the ‘Traditions’. What a proper world it is, to have so many improprieties going on in it, day & night!—that strikes one. But Italy is said to be not a popular subject in England just now—more’s the pity. ‘Casa Guidi’ for instance is considered to have more power in it than other writings of mine, & it sells—only I am assured that it would gain in popularity if the subject were different. I dont pretend to understand (much less to excuse) this alleged indifference of the English people towards the Italian. And who can? I am very glad that you found anything to like in “Casa Guidi”. Tell me if you would like to have the other two volumes, which are yours, you know, whenever you claim them. [5] I only dont press them on you, because duplicate volumes to travellers, are something worse than “impedimenta”.
I will tell you about Paris another time—observe how my hands shake. I have been, for the first visit, today at the Chrystal palace, .. Robert & I, with Mrs Jameson– I am dreadfully tired– Afterwards we went to hear Fanny Kemble, read Hamlet, with that face & voice of hers, so various, deep & touching in vibrations. The reading struck & charmed me, & I could not criticize, as Robert does who is more learned. She had the goodness to call on us this morning & leave us cards of free admission (which we missed through going to the Chrystal palace) but of course we shall call upon her & thank her &, so, not miss making her acquaintance.
When we go away I cant tell you– Wilson must go to see her mother first, and we are pondering seriously whether it wont be better & more reasonable to send Wiedeman with her, than to rend him away from her & consign him to half a stranger. It’s horrible to think of, but we are forcing ourselves to think of it a little– Ah—I dont know–
Apartments in Paris are very cheap—furnished apartments, cheaper than in Florence– No city so full of gardens & fresh air! Wiedeman’s cheeks brightened there into redness, & here are growing pale again. I dont think you could do better with your children & yourselves than transplant them all into Paris. It seems to me very good garden-ground for such roses– Indeed it is.
Observe what a gasping, asthmatic letter I write to you. My hand is in a tremble, & my thoughts in a crumble. Shall I tell you that I was disappointed in the Chrystal palace, & leave you to wonder at me?
My sister Henrietta comes to London tomorrow from Taunton on purpose to see us & show her gigantic baby. Not a word more– But do write to me,—(because I can read letters if I cant except distractedly write them) & tell me that you have good news from Lucca. [6] How remote Florence seems now with its bright high Heavens! This England, with all its life & power & kindness, is a sad place to me—even as it is very sad to feel beloved by all except the dearest–
I heard from Miss Mitford, the other day (who came to spend a week in London & heard it from somebody else) that “our friends the Ogilvies were charming people”. I must tell you that.
God bless you– My love goes with Robert’s to Mr Ogilvy & yourself–
<Your ever affectionate
Elizabeth Barrett Browning> [7]
Among a heap of reviews which we have been looking over since we came, there’s one upon Robert, which says, in so many words, .. that the critic had had “some hopes, upon the poet’s marriage with EBB, of his profiting by her severer taste—but alas, he was worse than ever!” [8] & there’s one upon me (in another unconscious periodical) in which a second critic observes that he had “fondly hoped, upon my marriage with RB, for some modification of my extravagance by the influence of his austerer taste .. but alas! I was worse than ever.” [9]
I quote this curious apposition to you, because you are given perhaps to some over-reverence of the critic-craft– You may suppose how it made us laugh–
Address: Mrs Ogilvy. / (Care of Mr Bosworth, Publisher) / Regent’s Street.
Publication: EBB-EAHO, pp. 44–50.
Manuscript: Eton College Library.
1. This letter is postmarked 2 August 1851, a Saturday.
2. Cf. James Beattie, Essay on the Nature and Immutability of Truth (1771), part 3, ch. 2, p. 443. EBB’s copy of this work sold in Browning Collections, lot 372 (see Reconstruction, A175).
3. i.e., Charlotte Orme.
4. “From Paris the travellers went straight to the Italian Riviera and drove by the mountain and coast road to Genoa. From Genoa they travelled to the Baths of Lucca, where they stayed three weeks and then went to Florence to stop with Frederick at the villa Torrigiani” (Charles Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, 1949, p. 264).
5. Poems (1850), inscribed “To Eliza A H Ogilvy from her affectionate friend EBB” (see Reconstruction, C94).
6. The Ogilvys’ children were at the Baths of Lucca with Mrs. Ogilvy’s sister, Louisa Dick.
7. The closing has been excised, presumably for the autograph.
8. In a notice of RB’s Christmas-Eve and Easter-Day that appeared in the 15 April 1850 issue of The Critic (pp. 193–194), the reviewer complained: “We had hoped that the taste of his wife (he married Miss Barrett) would have detected and amended his faults … But in this we are disappointed. This new volume is, if possible, more marred by conceits than any of its predecessors.” For the full text of this review, see vol. 16, pp. 369–370.
9. We have been unable to identify this review.
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