3010. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 18, 31–37.
[Paris]
Tuesday. [Postmark: 24 February 1852]
Ever dearest Arabel,
By right & law a letter is due to George from me today, with heaps of thanks for his kind gift of Longfellow’s poem [1] & the welcome letter to Robert. But, as by your account, he must be on circuit, & you will be anxious to hear of our darling, I turn to you directly, & dear George shall be for another morning. Oh Arabel, I have been dreadfully frightened about our child– Two nights after I wrote last to you .. let me tell you how it was. He had been as well as a child could be all day .. so well, that I yielded the point of calling in a doctor, which we had decided on doing the previous night in consequence of a slight repetition of the attack. But he seemed so entirely well that day that I yielded to Robert’s opinion of the absurdity of throwing him into medical hands to be torn to pieces, for perhaps just nothing. We agreed to repeat the dose of castor oil which acted perfectly,—we put him into a warm bath at night to quiet the nervous system, .. & I let Robert go at nine oclock to Miss Fitton’s, quite at ease. Well—about ten the attack came on—and much worse than usual. O Arabel, he struck out violently with his arms & legs, .. rolled his eyes .. & certainly for about a quarter of a minute, did not recognize either Wilson or me. Wilson had him in her arms– I, who was just getting into bed, ran out of the room for Desirée, and could not find her—she was asleep up stairs. Her bedroom is at the top of the house, I dont know where, & not in our apartment– So out I rushed as I was to Lady Torrens’s door opposite ours, & rang violently at the bell, & begged her maid who happily came, to find out Desirée & bring her directly. I sent her to Dr Rayner [2] who lives near us– D. Rayner was not to be at home for four & twenty hours– While all this happened the child recovered himself perfectly, & fell into a profound sleep, .. his head cool, his cheeks unflushed, not the least sign of malady– But I could trust nothing—& so at the risk of alarming poor darling Robert, I wrote a line to him begging him to come & bring Dr MacCarthy, the physician of the embassy, who, I knew, was to be at Miss Fitton’s, for that I really could’nt dare to pass the night without advice. Robert thought I was right in all this—but really, I did it by a sort of instinct rather than reflection. He has made merry with me since, & told people that he found me in a state of distraction running about the house in my nightgown—you know I am apt to lose my head when I am frightened, & there was quite enough to frighten anybody. Dr Macarthy, however, on his arrival, after listening to the whole story, & looking at Baby as he lay asleep, pronounced that no child with any serious malady could sleep so,—that it was an hysterical affection which we should relieve by applying hot water or cloths to the feet, & the sole danger of it being the flow of blood to the head. It might proceed, he said, from either worms or the teeth .. he could see better in the morning. So, in the morning, he came again. Peninni had begun the day at six by his usual songs in bed—he is our lark, little angel,—and was jumping & dancing the least like an invalid in the world. He was very gracious to Dr Maccarthy, having lost all his shyness of late—sate on Dr M.’s knee, examined his watch, & wrote ‘ti amo’ [3] by the side of the prescription. He said, after a careful examination, he could see nothing wrong in the child anywhere—the gums were not inflamed, .. the stomach not flatulent .. the eyes & skin were indicative of the most absolute health. “Really,” said he, “it would be a shame to teaze with medecines, a child in such a state”– He thought on the whole, though the teeth might have something to do with it, that it arose from an over excitable temperament combined with some temporary want of regularity in the stomach—(you see, Arabel, we hate giving him medecines so, that we have run rather into the opposite extreme lately)—& that we had better repeat the castor oil, & give him a small quantity of “Bella donna” [4] (a quarter of a grain, I think) at night, to quiet the system. Six powders he gave us, & we have given one a night. The next day, he came & took leave—making very light of it altogether. Nevertheless the child has not passed a night yet without symptoms of the same affection—little short laughs generally, attended with pushings down of the feet & catchings of the breath—while in the daytime, as Wilson observes, he looks rather better than before he was ill, with cheeks like peaches, & unquenchable spirits. Dr Macarthy told us to keep him as quiet as we could, & not have other children to come to play with him & excite him—& this last order has cost him several bursts of tears, for he is very fond of his “boy,” as he calls the conciérge’s little daughter seven years old. Wilson takes him to walk outside the “Barriére” out of the way of the Punchs & other dissipations, & he consoles himself by filling his cart with stones & dragging it along, without the company of his Russian princess & the little Shores. [5] But as to keeping him quiet, nobody can keep him quiet—his head’s always running upon something in some intense way. Wilson says that when you see him with other children, the difference between him & them is striking—he does’nt seem of the same species, he is so much more vivacious than any of them. Certainly Paris has seemed to agree with him hitherto. You would say if you saw him that he really looks well– Reynolds thought him much stronger looking than in Italy—and his appetite is more uniformly good. We have all been joyous for him hitherto. May God have pity on us & take care of the joy.
It is sad, Arabel, to have a young child liable to a nervous affection of this sort, however lightly it may be talked of, & however undangerous it may really be. Also, it keeps one in an uncomfortable state of apprehension. Dear Mr Jago has been very very kind as usual, & I shall write to Trejago in a day or two– His remedy is simple & likely to do good. As for the homœopathists, .. forgive me, darling Arabel, .. but I would not willingly call in an homœopathist, where the remedy to be effectual, should be rapid of action– I have heard of too many misfortunes from such a use of homœpathy. In chronic affections .. it may do much. Aunt Jane wanted me to have her medical man who combines the system of common medecine with homœopathic remedies,—but Robert & I were disinclined—and besides, when Wiedeman was taken ill, I rushed to the nearest, naturally. No child can have taken fewer medecines than he—& though he has had two doses of castor oil since I wrote last, we dont mean to do it again .. we shall have recourse to simpler means, <…> [6] That does perfectly for him, & it secures regularity, without injury to the stomach.
The perfection of his goodness is really to be admired. Because I praised him last time (before I wrote to you last) for taking his medecine, “so like not only a soldier, but a great captain and a Napoleon,” he has resolved to deserve such praises on every occasion. He has not cried once accordingly. Only he insisted on “Detitées” being present; & then, calling her attention to the fact of Peninni’s being “uno Apitano e Peone” (“uno capitano e Napoleone”) he opened his mouth without a moment’s hesitation & swallowed every drop. Yesterday, he was in a very bad humour because we would not let him have wine for dinner—he took it as an insult .. & poor Flush pressing up against his feet as he sate on Wilson’s knee, he stooped down & gave him a box on the ear– “Oh[”]—said I .. “poor Tusshie. If Baby does’nt love him, he must go away & live with the boy down stairs.” “Boum .. boy” .. cried Peninni shooting through the floor .. “boum, Mamma. Peninni no vino. Diner no buono! Boum, Tussh.” Well—after talking a little to Wilson I went away to the drawingroom & forgot all about this dreadful fusillade. In about a quarter of an hour I saw to my surprise the darling child run across the floor with his arms open to hug & kiss me, & tell me that he had kissed Flush. Was’nt it dear of the child? I went directly to Wilson to ask if she had sent him,—just for curiosity’s sake. No—she had’nt sent him—but she had observed that he first kissed Flush & then ran out of her room. You see his conscience had been working in him. There are quite divine touches about that child. I think he grows more & more affectionate. When he feels the hysteric coming on, he kisses you again & again, as if love were to do something for him– Poor helpless Love! And it makes your heart sick within you to feel him kissing you at that moment– God’s love. God’s love!——
What a letter I have written to you! But I would not have written at all to you today except for Peninni, & therefore it is scarcely unfair to let him occupy these sheets at full length. Indeed I think of little else but him just now, as you may suppose. Yet it seems almost ridiculous to think of him as an invalid– If you were to see him Arabel, & how he jumps & runs, & how we cant keep him from acting Punch, & singing at the top of his voice!! Only little children have such frail lives, one cant help fancying. One is always listening to the fluttering wings of their young souls, inclined to fly away– God take care of us.
Oh, you austere Arabel! I am half afraid of telling you that I have seen George Sand again & received another kiss. Only I must tell you that she looked much better .. in the point of beauty .. & that her eyes are splendid really, when all’s said. This time, she had as visitors seven or eight men, & one lady .. & she took out a cigarette, but laid it down on the chimney piece without lighting it. It was quite curious to watch her bearing among all those people, & ourselves among them. The most absolute indifference, the most perfect quiet & absence of consciousness. She sate at one corner of the fire & warmed her feet, answering any observation addressed to her, but herself speaking to nobody. Robert said .. “It did very well for George Sand,—but of course if any ordinary mistress of a house were to act so, I should walk out of the room.” Yet was it the farthest possible from rudeness—and indeed I liked it & sympathized with her—she did not need to say clever things nor goodnatured things .. we all knew that she was George Sand—it was enough for us & her,—& the extreme simplicity of her attitude & silence had a sort of sentiment of greatness in it. Curious too, it was, to observe the profound deference with which everybody seemed to regard her—queen or priestess, the deference from all those men could not have been more marked. The lady on the other hand was familiar & affectionate, but she did not stay long. I wished much to know the names of the visitors, who were introduced by a peasant in a blue blouse, whom she had brought with her from the country. He did not announce anybody, being plainly of rustic habits altogether. I should have liked to know their names. She was engaged when we arrived, & being left to amuse ourselves, we had glanced at a few cards in the glass .. our own card,—Alexandre Dumas, fils, [7] —and one of the Buonapartes.
After staying about half an hour we got up to go .. & then her face brightened up to a cordial kindness—that flashing smile came .. & she called me “chere Madame” & kissed me, & hoped to see us both again. She said she would write to fix the time for another interview, as she should be in Paris a little while longer. We hear from a friend of ours that she “likes us very much”.
Arabel—you are wrong in thinking that there is no moral capacity .. no goodness in Madme Sand. She is capable of selfsacrifice & devotion of all kinds .. she is noble in many ways beside her genius. There is a stain of course– It is a damning blot in the eyes of society—but in the eyes of God, the conventional vices which ride in purple through the streets, like the “bœuf gras” [8] today, while the crowds clap their unclean hands, are probably of a deeper dye & shame.
Arabel—I should like you to read “André” by George Sand. I dont want to ask you to go through certain of her books .. because I am sure you would shut them in the middle .. and indeed there would be no good in the touch of evil such as is to be found in some of them. But I should like you to read André .. & “La Mare du Diable” & “Consuelo” with its sequence “La Comtesse de Rudolstat”– [9] Read only “André” first—& see if you like it.
Uncle Hedley, though he made that observation to a mutual friend, who of course (like a friend) told us directly, had the kindness (I ought to have told you) to offer me his carriage to go in—but we refused it because one can have carriages here so cheaply that it really is not necessary to borrow any. The Hedleys are kind—aunt Jane came directly when she heard of Wiedeman’s being unwell—but we dont see very much of them– She has engagements, & the little girls have their governess .. & Ibbit .. I have asked Ibbit to walk here sometimes, but I suppose there are interposing gaieties. As to the “depth of thought,” I imagine that it refers to ecclesiastical subjects altogether, .. & I did hear that she had a scruple .. a memorable scruple .. about going into society on Christmas eve. Robert likes her very much, .. thinks her good & natural .. & pretty .. for the rest not remarkable. She talks scarcely at all I think. But you see, we have not indeed had opportunities of judging of her, as to character & capacity. Robert spent last saturday evening there, & heard a little music .. to the measure of which, Johnie & George [10] slept in divine repose upon two separate sofas. <He does not particularly like the young men of the family—“So different”—he says, “from your brothers”! Indeed I should have thought. Don’t repeat this Arabel.> [11]
Best love to all. I must write to Henrietta. I wish you had said meantime how she is– In the greatest haste
Your very own Ba.
Wilson is in despair about her lost letter– And I to lose dear Minny’s! And Peninni to lose Edwin’s [12] drawing– Get another letter for Wilson, she begs me to say. Peninni says he shall send Edwin a “soldier”.
Love to dearest Trippy–
Address: Angleterre / Miss Barrett / Wimpole Street / London.
Docket, on front of envelope, in Henrietta’s hand: Baby tore this, pray forgive him!
Publication: EBB-AB, I, 466–472.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. The Golden Legend. The first American edition was published by Ticknor, Reed, and Fields on 29 November 1851. The firm issued the second edition a month later with an 1852 imprint. The first London edition was published by David Bogue in late November 1851. As the present whereabouts of EBB’s copy is unknown, it cannot be determined which edition George gave her. However, an inscribed copy of The Golden Legend (2nd ed., Boston, 1852) presented to “Eliza Ogilvy, from E. B. Browning, Paris, 1852” was offered for sale at Puttick & Simpson (auctioneers, London) on 23 November 1904. It may have been the same copy George gave EBB.
2. Edward Rayner (1814–74), English physician, lived at 109 Avenue des Champs Élysées. “He was a member of the Royal College of Surgeons of England, and took his French degree in August 1839” (The British Medical Journal, 4 April 1874, p. 459).
3. “I love you.”
4. Belladonnæ or Astropa Belladonna Linn was used as a “narcotic, anodyne, calmative, antispasmodic” (Alexander Milne, Manual of Materia Medica and Therapeutics, Edinburgh, 1854, pp. 31–32).
5. The children of Richard Nowell Shore (1821–1902) and his wife Louisa Elizabeth (née Russell, 1827–1916): Leonora Mary Shore (1848–1930) and Charles Russell Shore (1850–1933). We have been unable to identify the “Russian princess.”
6. Five or six words have been obliterated after receipt.
7. Alexandre Dumas (fils, 1824–95), son of Alexandre Dumas (père, 1802–70), had gained instant fame with the publication of his novel La Dame aux camélias in 1848. It was being produced as a play in Paris at this time. George Sand noted in her diary for Sunday 8 February: “Visite chez moi, Dumas fils” (George Sand: Correspondance, ed. Georges Lubin, 1973, 10, 685). We have been unable to trace a reference to a visit by “one of the Buonapartes.”
8. “Fat ox.” This letter was written on Shrove Tuesday, known in France as “Mardi gras,” or “Fat Tuesday,” “in allusion to the fat ox which is ceremoniously paraded through the streets” (EB).
9. La Comtesse de Rudolstadt (1844) was the continuation of Consuelo (1843). André was published in 1835; La Mare du Diable, in 1846.
10. John Hedley (1830–1912) and George Lake Hedley (1831–80), the second and third sons of Robert and Jane Hedley.
11. The passage in angle brackets is a partial reconstruction of seven lines that have been obliterated after receipt.
12. Edwin Hingson.
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