3028. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 18, 74–79.
138. Avenue des Ch. Elysées–
March 23– [1852] [1]
My ever dearest Arabel, I have hesitated whether to write to you or to Henrietta today—it shall be to Henrietta next time. It is delightful to me to think of you so close together, & to have had your pleasant accounts one of another. But Papa—do mention him in an especial manner when you next write, & write soon. I dont like hearing of his cough, & what people tell us of the cold in England makes me fear that he has not ceased to suffer yet in that respect. Here the weather is gorgeous. Yesterday was like May, or June .. I should never wish to feel it warmer in the summer. For some weeks, now, there has been a burning sun .. but, the wind being sharp & cold, I did not dare to stir out—very much like Florentine weather .. very strikingly like. We could bear no fires, except in the morning & evening. And two days ago the wind changed, & the air came out to match the sunshine,—& I was driving on the boulevards yesterday, with all the windows down, enjoying every breath I breathed. Most exquisite weather certainly! Lady Elgin told me that she had lain on an iron bed in her garden the whole day long, throughout March. (She has not been well lately.) Which surprised me, I confess to you. I should have lain on to the resurrection, if I had attempted such a thing, .. for the wind has been just as cold as the sun was hot. On the eighth of March I went out in a close carriage with Robert to buy birthday gifts for Peninni, & coughed so much & felt so unwell with it, that I resolved not to do it again till the air lost its sharpness, which is the case now. Yesterday I did not suffer at all, & today I shall go out to walk & get up my strength again if I can. I have lost strength this winter, but am not looking ill now, nor feeling so .. and there is very little cough. For one thing, it is different to be shut up in small rooms, & in our great palace-halls at Florence. At the end of an imprisonment there, I had lost little or nothing in the way of strength. But I revive very quickly, you know, .. & there’s no harm done worth mentioning. We talk of Rome for next winter—mere talk perhaps. What is’nt however mere talk, is, that we have written to take on our apartment at Florence for another year– It covers its own expenses, & does more .. & we cling to it somehow—and besides we did’nt exactly want to go to Italy at the end of April to pack up & arrange matters, which would have been necessary if we had decided on giving it up at once. We talk of England, Arabel, for this summer—only we are so uncertain as to be unreliable in some respects—there’s the truth. I dont like England except where I love it; & were it not for the beloved in England, my scheme would have been to go for the hot months to Switzerland or Rhine-land, till Italy was cool enough for us. But as it is, we both turn to England—ah, you will see us, I think– I yearn to be close to you again. Dearest Henrietta wants us to go to you as soon as April—but April is cold in England, & May itself very trying– Mr Jago warned me against returning as soon as May. Tell me if it is impossible for Henrietta to remain longer in London than the time she mentions– She will have to return for her confinement, in August or september—& surely she might find cheap places in or about London for the intermediate time, & even avoid some expense in the journey backwards & forwards to Taunton. Talk of it, think of it, counsel respecting it. I shall be dreadfully vexed, if I miss Henrietta after all. Look in the Times advertisements. I see very cheap rooms advertised continually. Give my love to Surtees, & beg him to consider what may be done for me in this matter.
My poor darling Peninni is still troubled by his teeth which are not through yet .. though Wilson thinks this morning, & so does Robert, that the gum is beginning to break. The hysterical symptoms have disappeared, we may say, as for the last two mornings there has been no sign at all .. not even the slight indications which had been apparent before to our watchfulness. But three days ago there was suddenly an attack of feverishness which is the most unusual thing with him, .. so that when the heat had continued an hour or two, I fell into a panic, & made Robert go for Dr Macarthy .. who gave him James’s powder, [2] .. & came the next morning to take leave, & swear to us on his veracity that the child had nothing whatever the matter with him. “A splendid little fellow– I only wish I had such a child.” He told us that all infants were subject to attacks of heat, which would last five or six hours, & pass away as they came—& we had only to attend to the state of the stomach particularly while these teeth were cutting. I suppose I ought to feel ashamed of spending a napoleon on Dr Macarthy just for nothing. Robert declares that I have’nt a head that belongs to me. But how is it possible to be cool & wise, when everything is at stake & when nothing is understood? We, none of us know about children, & Wiedeman having been so exceptionally healthy all his life, we have not been trained to “sudden heats” & the like. I never saw him really feverish before, except at Florence after the coup de soleil .. & it’s doubtful to us all whether he may not have stood in the sun at the window a moment too long, this time. The heat went off directly, however, & in the morning, he came into the room to see Dr Macarthy, jumping & dancing. I dont wonder that he laughed it all to scorn. The child has been fretful today & yesterday, & he says his gum hurts him. When the teeth are fairly through, we shall all go right .. if it please God. In his fretfulness yesterday, he jumped down from Wilson’s knee & ran to Desirèe & kicked her. “Mais c’est tres mal” [3] said Desirée. “Questo non piace a Dio,” [4] said I. “Oh,” said Wilson, (& really made me smile) “pray dont talk to him of God. He does nothing by night & day, but talk of God .. & I am sure he ought’nt to have any ideas put into his head at all. He has far too many ideas as it is.” There was truth in what she said, though it sounded odd. It would be quite wrong to excite him in that direction, just now—& indeed he requires no exciting. He will stop suddenly in his play & observe .. “Peninni no Dio oggi” .. ‘Peninni had not prayed to God today’ .. & down he will go upon his knees, & thank God for whatever comes into his head:—the other day, it was that the medecine had done him good! Completely out of his own head. About a week ago, he had the two baby Shores to come to drink tea with him, & there was a fight about a cart & horses, between him & the little girl, she dragging one way & he another, till it was taken away from both of them. He cried a good deal, & complained that Mama had given the “taietta,” caretta (little cart) to “Peninni” & not to the “boy,” & that “boy” was “cattivo, cattivo.” [5] At last there was silence, & I proposed that Peninni should kiss his enemy– “No,” said he, in his most decided way. “Ah well .. I am very sorry. I shant be able to tell Papa, when he comes in, that Peninni has been good.” He stood still for a moment, & then exclaimed (as if he had just thought of an expedient) “Dio Peninni buono” .. God would make Peninni good, & darted out of the room. As he did not come back immediately, I followed quietly, & caught sight of him in the drawing room kneeling on the floor with his hands up—upon which I retreated to his nursery again. In a minute he came running in, his little face beaming, his arms held out, crying “Grazie a Dio, Peninni buono,” [6] .. & gave a great hug & kiss to his enemy first, then to her brother, & then to their nurse .. who thought him a most curiously sweet child, looking at him with eyes of wonder. You see, Peninni, not having the least reserve in the matter of his religious experiences, it is curious to watch their course sometimes.
Oh– Arabel, my dearest, you need not have taxed your generosity (that inexhaustible generosity of yours) by your desire to get birthday presents for him. He had enough, I can assure you. Robert & I went to one of the best toyshops, & we bought him, a trumpet, a cart & horses, & a box of bricks .. to the extravagant amount of fifteen francs & a half. Kind Wilson gave him two magnetic swans .. or ducks .. which he could’nt believe were not alive .. (he got some bread for them directly—) and the Torrens children sent in a horse saddled & bridled & a whip. He was in a state of enchantment all day, & thought he would like to be three years old tomorrow again. We had deposited our presents in a closet in the drawing room, & he was exquisitely “expectant” all the time of our breakfast. Robert gave him the bricks– I the cart & trumpet. The trumpet absorbed him from other glories & joys for a long time—but now the bricks have their turn. They are useful presents & likely to last.
O Arabel .. I have been really turned sick within this fortnight. Robert heard long ago, you know, of my ‘case’ coming on at the Collége de France, & attended the lectures tuesday after tuesday—missing just the tuesday before last when it commenced. The Hedleys happened to be there however, & we heard quietly enough from other quarters .. & on the next tuesday, when the subject was continued, Robert was present. Miss Mitford’s story was there in full, .. but that not being romantic enough I suppose, the lecturer introduced a great deal of tragedy on his account, .. till the whole was as good as Dumas, & adaptable for the minor theatres. I stopped Robert in the middle as he was telling me—it made me sick at heart. I am the daughter of a “ministre calviniste,” do you know .. “not rich, but in easy circumstances enough.”? I wrote the “Poet’s vow” to convert my husband from “pantheism” .. which was really good of me. For the rest, he is only my husband—I had a “fiancè” before, to whose memory I was constant for six years .. (Here a dissertation on the faithful loves of the English generally)– Which tragedy of the ‘fiancé,’ I dont enter into, but it was there in various picturesque details, it appears .. down to the “waving of handkerchiefs.” Miss Mitford, the lecturer admitted .. (“cette vie[i]lle femme babilleuse, amusante”) [7] did not speak of these things, but they were well known in all the circles of London. He had received letters in the course of the week to deny the veracity of his statements respecting me .. a Monsieur Denis [8] had written among others .. but he, M. Philarèt[e] Chasles knew more of the subject than any such informants– Followed details about “hospitable farmhouses”, “the large room I had hired in London”, & the “palace of the Medici” which I inhabited in my ultimate culmination at Florence. Robert could not have borne it with any sort of patience, he says, but for the enthusiastic appreciation of the poetry—but that subdued him altogether, &, when among other passages, the page upon our child at the close of “Casa Guidi” was translated into French prose by the lecturer (.. “prophete avec les yeux d’azur”) [9] & read, with “immense applause” from the crowded audience, he could’nt keep from tears, he told me, & forgave everything from the bottom of his heart. Nothing but kindness was meant of course—but I, for my part am unmitigably vexed—there’s the truth. M. de Tocqueville (who was present) told Miss Williams Wynn who told Robert, that [“]the whole thing had given great offence to himself & his friends .. that whether the facts were true or untrue he considered the mode of treatment highly ungentlemanly & indelicate—& that it was quite unusual in France to analyze the private life of a writer in that manner.” Robert empowered Miss Wynn to assure him that there was scarcely a word of truth in the whole history from beginning to end.
I have been interrupted by M. Eugene Pelletan, Lamartine’s friend, who announced M. de Lamartine’s visit to us tomorrow. This is very kind—& we certainly did not expect it—though Robert was presented by Lady Elgin a week ago at his house. But he is absorbed by different occupations, & it never occurred to us that he would think of coming here. I will tell you everything. It appears that he professes a great admiration for my poetry,—Madame de Lamartine having helped him to understand it.
George Sand leaves Paris today or tomorrow [10] —but returns, she says, as she has not got all her friends out of prison yet. Robert has seen her seven times, .. once he met her out of doors, not looking as well as usual, because rather over-dressed in a combination of celestial blues & terrestrial lavenders. He offered her his arm, & they walked together the whole length of the Tuilleries. Her play did not succeed in the end. She did’nt come to visit me after all .. & I am vexed that she is gone without my seeing her again. Robert cant get on with her, he declares– The ice breaks .. & then there’s a new frost. But I would break it and break it again—I feel a deep compassion as well as admiration for that woman. There is something in her tone & bearing which suggests to me exhaustion after agony. God help her.
You would rather see Lamartine, because of his virtue, Arabel– Oh my darling Arabel. I am not a fetcher & carrier of scandals, but this moves me almost to give you the current rumour .. facts, they say .. about an opera dancer—he at his age! [11] But everybody talks of Lamartine’s virtue notwithstanding. All the moralists talk of Lamartine’s virtue, with heads turned away from George Sand–
Yet throughout his whole life he has been a dissipated man. So a friend of his wife’s told me, extolling her as a patient angel. God bless you–
Sarianna has removed to Chepstow Place 28. Bayswater. Do go to see her.
My best loves to you all– Write to me—do– Tell me about Fanny Stratten, [12] —and give my affectionate sympathy to them all. Oh—I am so sorry!——
I shall write to dearest Trippy, tell her—soon! Robert’s best love—but I break off in haste, forced by the hour.
Your very own Ba–
Mr. Nuttall [13] called here & found me alone—& Baby destroyed his card, so that Robert has no power of finding his address–
Altham must be a darling– I dare say he is twice as large as my child. Does he begin to speak at all? Tell me of him.
Lady Elgin spent last friday evening here, & comes again tonight. I must tell you another time about her & the “Irvingites” here. Remember Mrs Jones. How is the refuge.
Address: Angleterre / Miss Barrett / 50. Wimpole Street / London. [14]
Publication: EBB-AB, I, 476–481.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. i.e., oxide of antimony, “a white powder,” which was used as a sedative “in the early stages of fevers, and inflammatory diseases” (Alexander Milne, Manual of Materia Medica and Therapeutics, Edinburgh, 1854, p. 21).
3. “But this is very bad.”
4. “This does not please God.”
5. “Bad, bad.”
6. “Thanks to God, Peninni good.”
7. “This amusing, talkative old woman.”
8. Unidentified.
9. “Prophet with blue eyes.” Cf. Casa Guidi Windows, II, 757.
10. George Sand’s correspondence of this period indicates that she stayed in Paris until 2 or 3 April 1852.
11. We have been unable to confirm this story. Lamartine was sixty-one at this time.
12. Frances Elizabeth Stratten (1831–55) was the fourth child of James and Rebekah Stratten.
13. Probably George Robert Nuttall (1821–84), the eldest of five sons born to George Ricketts Nuttall (1797–1831), London physician who had treated several members of the Moulton-Barrett family, and his wife Marion (née Mansfield, b. 1783). George Robert was also a physician, and he was a member of the Royal College of Surgeons.
14. “Mrs. Surtees Cook” is written on the face of the envelope in Arabella’s hand. Presumably, she sent EBB’s letter to Bentinck Street, where the Cooks were staying, after reading it.
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