3145. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 18, 263–266.
Genoa.
Friday Nov. 5. [1852] [1]
My dearest dearest Arabel, you will certainly think me among my friends the ‘rapping spirits[’] if I dont write; and now I can write & say that our tribulations are past, thank God. Oh Arabel, I have repented, Robert has repented, everybody has repented taking the mont Cenis route: it has really been full of danger to us, & to me especially—to me, exclusively perhaps, I should say, only that poor Robert is twice as much to be pitied as I am, when he sees me suffer as I have done from the cold. We left all our summer at Lyons. At Chambery began cold dismal weather. The diligences had a ‘furore’ for going by night, and though we arranged everything on our own parts as skillfully as possibly, we were two nights & two days without taking off our clothes. Not that we travelled all the time, remember—oh no. We lay down on beds for five or six hours together, with blazing fires in the rooms,—but to arrive at the luxury of taking off our clothes, we could’nt do that till we got to Lanslebourg at the foot of the Alps. There we went regularly to bed—only I coughed perpetually—the cold had touched me already. On getting up in the morning, we had the satisfaction of finding the whole country covered with snow, and the diligence we had relied on, quite full without us, & going off with ten horses. Wiedeman who had liked everything, enjoyed this particularly, & declared of the snow that it was “molto molto bella”, .. “pretty, pretty”; & thought me, I dare say, most stupidly unsympathetic. The truth is, Arabel, that morning at Lansleb[o]urg, my spirits which generally rise on such occasions, were quite on the ground. I was thoroughly unwell as it was, & “looked dreadful” as Wilson observed encouragingly .. and the prospect of passing the mountains terrified me—there’s no other word for it. Well—we were in for it– We could only do what we could. Robert engaged a private carriage, which was large & excellent, .. warmly shut in everywhere, and when we had drawn up all the windows, & the sun was shining brightly, it soon grew too hot rather than too cold. Still, as the ascent went on, the bleak air pierced & pierced, & I suffered horribly at the top of the mountain from the pressure on the chest– You see the chest being less strong than usual, from the cough I had in England, could not resist– Well—it all passed however,—but it was a most uncomfortable day, & I was thankful when the light of it was gone,—oh, most thankful when our lumbering carriage reeled rather than rolled into the streets of Susa, where we slept in Italy for the first time, in the shelter & temperate climate. So worn I was with the day’s work that I cant say my heart leapt at the first dear Italian word .. (“Quante camere vuole il signore”?) [2] but it gave a sort of dying kick—we were all very glad. “Now, what will you have?” said Robert to us. And Peninni answered for everybody—“Tea and Toss and butter, Papa—and buono latte [3] —buono, buono—no cleam” (no cream—meaning the curd on the boiled milk, which he hates.) Oh, Peninni was the life of us all. He never flagged—not he! He was awake at one in the morning to see the first sight of the mountains– He was eating pears day & night, and drawing the waterfalls, and singing songs about Italy .. you never saw such a thorough gipsey child as that child is.
For my part .. you know, Arabel, it is bad to be “unequally yoked together with unbelievers,” [4] —& so my soul found it that day, when it had no sort of pleasure nor exaltation in passing the Alps, because of its unlucky comrade, this body of mine. How humiliating. I might just as well have been in Cheapside, I assure you, for the pleasure & glory of it .. and better!
Still, Mont Cenis is not comparable to the St Goattard– There may be something in that.
We went from Susa to Turin the next morning, and I was considerably better & had slept, which was curious, & my spirits had come back, & it was delightful to all of us to feel & see Italy all round– At Turin we stayed two days. We got into sunless rooms—the town is cold. The air seemed to me much keener than in Paris, with a sort of chrystaline feeling, as if affected by the Alpine snows. I went out to see some pictures, & Robert took me round the city in a carriage, .. but I had to wear my respirator constantly, & felt unwell & weak, & did not enjoy much. Then we came on to Genoa—into the heart of the full summer. What a change! Not only warm is it, but hot—we have to use much self denial in not sleeping with open windows—we aspire to thorough draughts .. we guard against the mosquitos. But I broke down on my arrival—& Robert picked me up & said I should stay where I was in the sun, till the effect of the cold had quite passed—and so I have been lying on the sofa by the open window, getting over it all. We have been here five or six days, and now I may call myself well again—the cough retreating fast, & the chest recovering all its equanimity. Perhaps we shall stay a day or two or three more– Robert thinks it best– Florence cant be expected to be as warm as it is here, and I have had a rather rough shake, you see. My poor darling Robert has been dreadfully vexed—but it was all my own fault—I would come by the Alps, & have repented it at leisure. I tell you all this, & conscientiously assure you at the end that there is not the least room for uneasiness, as I am well now, & enjoying this beautiful Genoa, which Wilson declares to be the most stupid place she was ever in, in her life. Poor Wilson too, caught cold on the journey. One night there were only two places to be had in the coupè, and she had a fancy for going into the ‘interieur’. Two men began to smoke, & in self defence she desired them to open both windows. So she caught cold in the draught. And our darling Peninni has a cold at this moment—a mere cold in the head: he is quite well– I think there has been a mixture of cold in my own unwellness– Only that is to be considered past now, and you are not to think about it twice.
I will write to you from Florence of course, but dont be uneasy if you dont hear instantly because we are uncertain in our plans just now. We may go on monday or later—and we may linger on the road or not linger– We have seen little of Genoa yet—nothing of the pictures—and here is my poor Robert who has refused to see anything without me. So now that we have come a little to ourselves we must look about us & see.
Oh Arabel—“Have we quarrelled? how often have we quarrelled?” We are famous for quarrelling—are we not? That is, because we love one another too much to be contented with temporizing. It seems foolish to talk of such things—but for a man to love a woman after six years as he loves me, could only be possible to a man of very uncommon nature such as his. I cannot tell you what his devotion & tenderness are to me at every hour—it brings tears to my eyes to remember it–
Now I must go. This is a letter full of grumbles—is’nt it? The worst is that I keep dreaming of Papa– I do hope he is well, & that you all are. God bless you all– Speak of Henrietta– My dear love to her—& you will let her see this letter or tell her what is in it, .. so that I need not write the same things twice–
Not read over– No time.
My own beloved Arabel love your Ba.
Robert is constantly thinking of you, he says. His true love.
Best love to Trippy–
How is Minny? Peninni talks of her, tell her, & hopes she is out of bed. He has made immense progress in talking English, & says curious things. The other day; he asked “God made the pears”? to which I assented. Then said he—“Pennini sinks, gentle Jesus [5] muss put genlally a plampity glue to mate y tins tit so hard.”—(must put generally a quantity of glue to make the skins stick so hard). Robert was finding fault with him two days ago– “Papa, be dood!– Peninni tant bear it when Papa peak so,” said he with sobs.
Address: Angleterre / Miss Barrett / 50. Wimpole Street / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, I, 513–516.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. “How many rooms does the signore want?”
3. “Good milk.”
4. II Corinthians 6:14.
5. From the hymn “Gentle Jesus, Meek and Mild” by Charles Wesley. EBB indicates in letter 3165 that Wilson had taught it to Pen.
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