3045. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 18, 131–135.
[Paris]
May 25. [1852] [1]
Ever beloved Arabel, see how I have behaved to you. I have been so very disinclined to write—completely upset by different things. Wiedeman made me uneasy with his hooping-cough at first, which did not brace me up properly against the cold I caught .. perhaps that night at A. Dumas [2] (serving me right as you may say) .. or by the touch of ‘grippe,’ (influenza) with which Robert infected me perhaps .. Whichever of the two it was, it wakened up my cough like a lion, worse than at any time in the winter– Then the cough seemed quite going off, .. I put on a mustard poultice & I think that did me good– The Martins thought me looking better than in the autumn, & I was beginning to feel happy & well again .. Wiedeman being recovered .. when the bad news came of the death of Robert’s first cousin [3] .. the cousin who was the one witness at our marriage .. quite his favorite cousin, & a very accomplished & excellent man– I saw him one day at New Cross & liked him much. Well, he is dead—gone,—and close upon that news, followed a suggestion of Sarianna’s that it would be showing “respect to the family,” if Robert set off to London to attend the funeral. The idea of it frightened me particularly– Sarianna understands nothing about Robert’s susceptibilities—she is good, & true, affectionate & generous—she has all manner of good & high qualities, but she is not made of the same stuff as Robert, & does’nt seem to have a notion of what he would suffer in going– There would be the rushing to & fro in four days .. to begin with .. rushing into the midst of all that distress .. why, he would have had to go to the very cemetery, of course, where his mother’s remains lie [4] .. and this when he is by no means as strong as usual, the ‘grippe’ having scarcely removed its effects from him,—and I not there! Oh—the imagination of it all shook me a good deal, and though when Sarianna’s second letter came, I bade him go since it was necessary, .. I could not help looking so pale, that he took fright on his side, & resolved on staying .. “spoiling me”, says uncle Hedley, .. & perhaps even so– He is always a thousand times too good & tender. I assure you the fright of all this has absolutely finished to upset me topsy turvy, and I am looking like a white wretch, if you know what that is. I expect Sarianna to be excessively angry, also. There might have been an unavowable superstitious feeling at the bottom of my consternation at the prospect of his going. To part for the first time on such an occasion! And then the duty was not imperative. No request was made by the family—and there were two uncles, probably a brother, & the wife’s relations, [5] ready to assist in those last melancholy formalities– For my own part I never can conceive of people in affliction allowing their thoughts to fix on such a subject. I quite agree with the Cottrells .. who were a little upbraided at the time, for allowing their child to be buried without the presence of the father, Robert being the only mourner. [6] Such things should be done decently & in order—but in no paroxysm of anguish could I identify or appear to identify the dust there, & the soul there. A complement of mourning coaches is the very mockery of the fulness of the mourning heart, I think.
Well– but persons feel differently on these matters as on others, and if Robert had been asked to go by any of the immediate family, he would not have hesitated of course, even if I had looked whiter still than I did. As it is, he said it could’nt be easy to leave me—and really I am upset & unwell, & feeling as if a breath of air would sweep me off the face of the earth .. better however today than yesterday, it seems to myself– Fortunately there are no breaths of air at present .. fortunately or unfortunately .. for the heat is excessive. I keep quite still, & shall catch up my vitality again in the exquisite weather, before long, & be fit for England in a little time. For me to go to England with a cough, would be foolish of course– So unfortunate, it has all been.
But our little darling is well again, & that gives me spirits of itself. He has certainly had the hooping cough .. decided, crowing hoops—but the cough was not bad .. what he suffered from most was the fever which attended the “sickening” period. He grew thin & pale, lost every bit of appetite, & would’nt leave Wilson’s arms for a moment. Now he is the old Peninni again—& though still bearing marks of his late illness in being thinner & paler than he used to be, every morning the rose in the cheek grows a shade redder, & Wilson is quite contented, she says, with the progress in every way. His spirits are vociferous, & he has taken to talking French with a remarkable gusto. I am not sure that he would’nt soon talk French better than anything else .. which is curious, as we never speak to him in it—but Desirée is a great favorite of his, and she has a vivacious distinct way of talking which makes an impression, I suppose, and I observe that he exerts himself to use French words when he speaks to her. He ran to show her a new frock the other day. She admired it of course– “Oui, Detitée, cela toute belle–” [7] (We take what french the gods provide, & are thankful.) He is out all day, what with the shady garden where Wilson sits by him with her work, .. and the long walks in the cooler evenings—and admiral Askew is overwhelming in attentions to “his boy.” The child calls him ‘Amirale,’ (in a sort of fashion) & thinks him the greatest man of the age next to ‘Napoleon,’ because of his cocked hat– An excellent reason, as reasons go, for greatness!–
The little Ogilvies, too, have the hooping cough, & Mrs Ogilvy is envying me Wiedeman’s having got through it so well. But she must be patient, & wait. The weather is most favorable, and the sort of attack is mild in every case I have heard of.
We have been very quiet lately, but, about a week since, had the most delicious day we have had in Paris. It was at Ary Scheffer’s—we were invited there to a matinée musicale. In the first place, I had not seen his pictures .. nothing except the well known engraving of the ‘Christus consolator’ [8] .. and I was not prepared for anything so divine as those pictures. I had not believed in the existence, in these latter days, of so sublime an artist. The pictures are poems .. are hymns. Well .. in the midst of them (for the music was to be in the studio) we sate down to listen to Beethoven’s most wonderful effects as represented by the first performers from the Conservatoire, friends of Scheffer. It moved me so profoundly .. not being blasée to fine music, .. that scarcely I could keep from fainting. The music seemed relentless .. as if it were rending you body from soul.
Scheffer & his wife [9] were very kind, & invited us to go to them “morning, noon & night” [10] .. which was certainly a great sweep of hospitality.
Yesterday evening, Robert persuaded me to accept uncle Hedley’s considerate proposal of being driven in his open carriage through the Bois de Boulogne. It did me good, I think– And, tonight .. oh, tonight, we are asked to go to Arago’s at eight oclock to look at the moon through his telescope. [11] It will only be the moon & Arago, & I should be sorry to miss it altogether—so if I can go, I will go. [12] Arabel, write to me. I heard of your having been to Sarianna, or I should have managed before to make some sort of sign about Wiedeman. We are going into mourning of course—not the babe, though, I assure you. I dare say I shall find poor Sarianna in black crape & bombazeen .. I am prepared for it– Ah—it is a bitter loss to the poor mother, & widow, & little son, not ten years old yet– [13] Very sorry I am.
But black silk will be enough for the mourning sign, [14] it seems to me .. and I have bought beside a black & white barége to wear in travelling & at other undress times. Just as the news came, I had bought two summer gowns & a bonnet .. of that grey “soie vegetale” [15] which is so fashionable in Paris .. the transparent, intersected kind of bonnet. It was lined with blue, .. corn, & convolvuluses inside. I had never had it on—but the people refused to change it, on account of the shape having been slightly modified for me—so I had to forgo the black lace bonnet I wanted instead, & to have my grey one lined with black & bugles– It will do I think.
The Martins were here three days, & are both looking well. We met one evening at the Hedleys.
So much I had to write to you of—but no more today. I want to hear of Henrietta & her baby– Do write. I have not had spirit to write a letter to Henrietta, worth receiving—tell her so—but I think much of her. Was’nt it bad, not to let you know of Wiedeman? Robert says I caught cold by getting up at night to go to his bedside—but I cant boast of such a virtuous mischance. Now he is really quite well—coughs once in four & twenty hours for instance.
Darling dear Arabel’s own Ba.
Aunt Jane does not go to England—I will tell you. Love to everybody– Tell dear Minny that Wiedeman made Wilson read her letters to him about twelve times. He was delighted with it–
How is Trippy?– Love her & kiss her from me twenty times. I shall do it myself some morning soon. Believe how I sympathize through every thread of my being with you dearest dearest– We shall meet & talk. Remember I am better, & chiefly wanting strength. Nothing wrong. God bless & keep you. Robert’s love.
Address: Angleterre / Miss Barrett / 50. Wimpole Street / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, I, 490–494.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. i.e., when they attended a performance of La Dame aux camélias.
3. James Silverthorne (1809–52), son of William Oliver Silverthorne (1773–1844) and his wife Christiana Matilda (née Wiedeman, d. 1859), had suffered from inflammation of the lungs for more than two years (see letter 2830). He died at his home in North Terrace, Camberwell, on 19 May. According to John Maynard, RB and Silverthorne developed a close friendship during their Camberwell days, taking walks together through nearby woods and sharing common interests such as art, music, poetry, and theatre (see Browning’s Youth, Cambridge, Mass., 1977, pp. 66 and 96–97).
4. Nunhead Cemetery, where, according to cemetery records, James Silverthorne was buried on 26 May 1852.
5. A reference to Jane Street Silverthorne (née Hayman, d. 1880, aged 56), daughter of Edward Norris Hayman and his wife Maria, who had married James Silverthorne in 1843. We have been unable to identify the “two uncles.” Silverthorne had two brothers: John Silverthorne (1811–62) and George Silverthorne (b. 1813).
6. The child was Alice Cottrell; see letter 2821.
7. “Yes, Desirée, that all beautiful.”
8. Scheffer’s painting, “Le Christ consolateur,” based upon Luke 4:18, was completed in 1837, and an engraving was made in 1842.
9. In 1850 Scheffer married Sophie (née de Charluz, d. 1856), “the widow of his friend General Baudrand, a lady of English descent” (Mrs. Grote, Memoir of the Life of Ary Scheffer, 1860, p. 90).
10. Cf. Psalm 55:17.
11. EBB refers to Dominique François Jean Arago (1786–1853), director of the Observatory, which is situated at the southern edge of Paris not far from the Cimetière du Mont-Parnasse. “In one of the wings added to the main building is an amphitheatre for 800 persons, where M. Arago gives his popular lectures on astronomy every year. The cabinet of instruments [among which were the telescopes] is closed to the public, and no recommendation short of an acquaintance with M. Arago will give the visitor access to it” (Galignani’s New Paris Guide, 1852, p. 453).
12. The Brownings did not go to the observatory that night. Many years later RB told Daniel Curtis that the proposed outing “proved a dark rainy night” but that Mrs. Jameson, who was to accompany them, “insisted on going & went alone—Arago’s servant said his Master had gone to bed—as rainy nights were his holidays” (Diary of Daniel Sargent Curtis, 25 November 1889, ms at Marciana).
13. Edward Christian Silverthorne (1844–1906), only child of James and Jane Silverthorne.
14. In the nineteenth century, the mourning period for a first cousin was generally from one to three months, depending on family custom. Husband and wife would go into mourning together, regardless of whose relation had died.
15. “Vegetal silk,” a type of cotton-like cloth, made from the fibers of various plants.
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