3149. EBB to Henrietta Cook
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 18, 277–282.
Florence.
Novr 30–31 [sic, for 1 December]– [1852] [1]
My ever dearest dear Henrietta, if I have not written to you before, it was not that I did not think of you but that I knew you would receive in the rebound whatever news of us I sent to Arabel. Then I looked in vain for the letter from you which I was to find at Florence. No letter from Henrietta, till ever so long after. I waited & waited. Well, thank you for the one that comes at last. Most welcome it is, & most full of pleasantness with its story about you & the “children” (!) and Surtees, dearest Henrietta—not very long though—next time send me more particulars. The new babe is like Altham—is she not? I think Arabel said so—but you must mind to make her hair curl this time because it will be prettier for a girl. (Everybody takes Peninni for a girl, and his long hair goes a good way towards the impression, I dare say.) Yet “curled or uncurled” as far as nature goes, you can always force a girl’s hair into curl, so the natural tendency wont be of much consequence anyhow. Do you know, in Paris, they even put the boys into curlpapers? boys ten years old, Wilson has seen curled up regularly in the morning, .. a process which I could not approve of, God bless your little darlings with their shining heads! You say right when you believe that neither of them could want affectionate thoughts & prayers of mine! A true mother’s heart I feel with towards them, .. which is better, even you must think, than a godmother’s .. a true mother’s heart in tenderness & close interest. For the rest, you were very forgiving & propitiating to ask Bummy to be godmother, and you wont think me as much so when I tell you that I cant think under present circumstances of writing to her– Why in the world should I? There’s no sort of coolness between us—and fortunately her warmness is not necessary to my happiness. I dont think she behaved well about you, [2] nor even about myself– When she came to call on me last year in London, nothing could be less barely civil than her manner .. so little civil, that Arlette who was present, considered it most offensive—only I was determined not to be offended– I returned that visit, and was cordial & kind in my bearing towards her. On her return to the country she wrote me an extraordinary sort of letter, desiring me from such & such motives (as if I wanted a motive!) to be reconciled to my father. I answered the application by an account of what I had just attempted and the result. [3] There was no reply– Now, as I wrote last, I have done everything, both in the letter & the spirit, to fulfil my duty towards her, whatever that is. As to laying myself under her feet as I would any moment under Papa’s, I cannot do it, nor ought, I think, to do it. She knew I was in England—and it was for her, under the circumstances, to take notice of me. My dear Henrietta, I do assure you, if I had six children and wanted godmothers for all of them, I would rather go into the highways & compel them to come in, [4] than ask Bummy– Yet, you see, I went to Wimpole Street & broke bread there day after day– Things I could do, which you could’nt do, just as what you can do, I could’nt do.– Behold.
So glad I am that you have a little more elbow-room in the way of finances,—and it must be an advantage to have no “pull” on you for house-rent at any rate. [5] How I should like to see your pretty home,—with its complete “establishment” too! Three servants! What do you give to the “nurse”? My only fear is that you have abandoned your first with intention of having a servant who could mantua-make, which would be such a great convenience & economy. A “housemaid from Kinnersley” whatever her anterior experience, does not sound like an ingenious person in mantua-making. The other changes, I much approve of—because, do you know, though Martha is a nice, respectable girl, she is not lively & active enough, it seemed to me, to have to do with young children .. that may be a mistake of mine very possibly, though. I suppose Altham runs strongly now, & begins to say a few words. Do you mean to be strict with him, Henrietta? Do you ever punish him? Dont be like the Bevans .. oh dont! Remember how you thought I was spoiling Wiedeman .. how Wiedeman was to be absolutely ruined by my spoiling!– And now everybody confesses that there scarcely in the world is so good a child as Wiedeman. That may be, because he cant be spoilt—who knows? but the facts are so. The open way (for the rest) with which he addresses himself to me when he wants anything, is amusing. On the journey, when we were all dining together, .. always he singled me out. “Mama! Peninni’s wanting some glapes .. (grapes)—or “Mama, Peninni’s wanting wine” .. if it was at all a questionable question, it always was addressed to me. Once Wilson said, “Ah baby! your mama spoils you.” Upon which he dropt his head down on my knees & kissed them in silence again & again. Was’nt that pretty? He is the gentlest, sweetest little thing—really never naughty in the proper sense .. yes, when I was ill on the road he was very sorry, (as such a child could be) & very kind—kept kissing & patting my hands, & telling me that he would “tate tare” of me, which he is fond of saying. He told me, at Genoa, he would “dance and dlaw (draw) for Mama all day” .. then he began to dance while I lay on the sofa, putting himself into attitudes & shuffling his little feet about– Oh, he is a darling if ever there was one. I must tell you how admired the child is in Florence– Wilson came home yesterday, from the Cascine, quite abashed at the attentions she received from everybody .. from Prince Demidoff [6] to the English baker, he was the admired of admirers– “Such a pretty child”!—“so prettily dressed”! .. ‘bello’ .. ‘bellino’– And we have had to give patterns of everything he has on– Sophie Cottrell took away a bundle of dresses the other day. She & her husband came here soon after our arrival & brought their boy .. a baby sixteen months old, a fine little fellow, able to walk already, & doing honour to his balia—he is to be weaned only next may when he will be nearly two years old. You may suppose how delighted the poor Cottrells are to have a child living & likely to live. She has had a miscarriage since its birth, & is not at all strong. We have been to the Trollopes. Mrs Tom Trollope is to be confined in March, [7] which must be a pleasant surprise after five years. She looks very unwell indeed. Then, we went to visit Robin Hedley & his wife. She is pretty, I think, & perfectly natural & unpretentious .. (not in the least after the fashion of “the niece of the late Lord Cremorne”– [8] Do you & Surtees remember?) I like her, & so I do him .. & I like to see them both absolutely radiant with happiness .. I dont know which of them looks happiest (n.b. not in mourning)– [9] Robin enquired after you warmly the other day, & desired me to give you his love. I liked him for that too. They are to come & pass the evening here & have a domestic tea drinking tomorrow—and they go to Rome in January, so to Naples, & return to Paris in April. Delighted they are with Florence—but they dont stay, nevertheless. She told us that Robin meant to live in England.
For my part, I love Florence. I love Casa Guidi—and I am well—my cough is quite in abeyance. We are very comfortable indeed, & we both are enjoying our nest again. We have taken a manservant, who cooks & sweeps & waits .. does everything in fact .. & is very exact & punctual, so that Wilson professes to be satisfied & comfortable .. which means more than if we professed the same thing. Peninni’s bath, ready to the moment, .. breakfast as the clock strikes .. we are grown to be regular people. And do you know, we have breakfast before nine every morning—no more wasting time! Vincenzio cooks well & takes pains to please us .. but he was engaged in the dark of the evening & is defective in exterior accomplishment– More’s the pity– But we cant send him away because of a rough outside.
The attachés at the English embassy have called on us—one of them being Mr Lytton the son of Sir Bulwer Lytton– As he is a seer of visions, a great supernaturalist, I shall comfort myself greatly in his society & on that of Powers, the sculptor of the Greek slave, who has “made up his mind,” he tells us, upon the truth of the American rapping spirits. We hear of the yellow fever being in Rome & Naples—and in any case we would not leave Florence without letting our house– Now, we are living house-free, all expenses being paid for six months longer, & we not a sous out of pocket! So Casa Guidi has not answered so badly, has it?
The Lindsays have been here too, and I heard from Clara a whole account of Julia’s marriage. The impression began by the gentleman’s profession of not dancing– They were at a dancing soirée at Naples. Julia did not dance. A stranger six feet four in height, sate down by her– “Dont you dance?” “No,” said she– “I have danced twice round the world, & that’s enough dancing for me!” So they sate together & talked. He talks nine languages, but unfortunately English is not among them. They generally talk together in French—& he calls her “Ma Julie.” He is not an Italian, but a German-swiss, and is likely to turn back into protestantism, leaving the R Catholic religion which he embraced as a convert two years since. They are at Munich, losing themselves in the forest most romantically, & preparing to accept a diplomatic situation somewhere—in Bavaria, I think. To Naples, they dont return.
No letter today from Arabel. I do wish she would write. I am not easy about Alfred [10] —but do you know, Henrietta, I am more, oh most, uneasy about our darling Arabel herself, because when I was in England she really needed medical advice & would not go & take it. At the last moment she promised me that if she were not better she would go, to her homœopathist—but I cant help being uneasy, as I told her I should certainly be, when the distance grew greater between us– It’s very tolerable to be at arm’s length from a person you love, when they are not well. You see & hear for yourself then. But I am haunted day & night with the thought of Arabel .. & because she does’nt write, I think there must be something wrong with her. Was’nt it strange of her to send Mr Kenyon’s note to you? I have had nothing but a short half-sheet from her since our arrival. Henrietta, do entreat her, if the swelling of the feet continues bad, to go to the homœopathists—entreat her. It’s a duty on her soul not to neglect her body– If she loves me she will do it, were it only for my sake.
See what I am doing for Robert’s. Because he was uneasy about me at Genoa, I promised him to take “cod-liver oil”—that noisome medicine which he has teazed me for a year about, & I have heroically taken a table spoonful every morning & every evening! To my surprise I am able to take it, therefore it must I should think make me fatter, if anything can.
Peninni is flourishing here for his part, without cod-liver oil or other remedy. He grows fat & rosy, & laughs unextinguishably like a small god– Wilson says that never since his birth, has he had such an appetite– I assure you he wont leave English out of his nine languages:—he talks most English now, on the contrary, & talks it very well indeed, & you should hear him discoursing about his travels—it’s amusing. When he walked out at Genoa, he used to say to Wilson– “Peninni no lite lis mell—Velly duly mell” … (very dirty smell ..) which was too true a charge against noble Genoa, … “Genova la superba” [11] being strong in the nostrils. Just as susceptible he was to other things .. to the “fine mountains” and the waterfalls .. only he stood in great awe of the wolves as he passed the Alps– He enquired & learnt the names of all the places we went through .. one of his first questions being .. “Pears dood lere” .. (are the pears good here?) You never saw such a traveller in the shape of a child.
Dearest Henrietta <write> very soon to me, & dont pay any part of the postage—it makes no difference to us if you do. You cant think what a joy it is to us to get letters. Robert says he loves you with brotherly true love & always shall– Our united love to dear Surtees—& to the Althams, kisses. God bless you into all joy!
Your ever attached
Ba.
Prick Arabel into writing to me.
We have just had a fire lighted for the first time—& it is not necessary.
Address: Angleterre via France / Mrs Surtees Cook / Wilton / Taunton / Somersetshire.
Publication: Huxley, pp. 172–174 (in part).
Manuscript: British Library.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. Bummy had betrayed Henrietta’s trust at the time of her marriage (see letter 2854, note 6).
3. In the summer of 1851, EBB and RB had both written to Edward Moulton-Barrett. His response was a “violent” letter to RB, and the return of all of EBB’s letters “the seals unbroken”; see letter 2945.
4. Cf. Luke 14:23.
5. Owing to the passage of the Militia Pay Act of 1852 (a direct result of the Militia bill passed at the end of June—see letter 3046, note 4), Surtees Cook, as adjutant of the 1st Somerset Militia, was enjoying a pay increase. The Daily News of 25 August 1852 carried a report on some of the Pay Act’s provisions: “1. It will be the duty of the adjutant to superintend the enlistment and enrolment of the volunteers, and to take charge of the payment of the bounties and other expenses to be incurred upon such enrolment. 2. For this duty he will be allowed, while absent from head quarters, his full training pay of 8s. 6d. a day, with an addition of 4s. 6d. for performing the extra duty” (p. 2).
6. Anatoly Nikolaevich, Comte Demidoff de San-Donato (1812–70), a wealthy Russian who in 1841 had married Princess Mathilde, daughter of Jerome Bonaparte. The “English baker” has been previously identified as John Miller (b. 1820); see letter 2868, note 2.
9. For the death of Mary Elizabeth Graham-Clarke, Robin Hedley’s aunt, as she was EBB’s and Henrietta’s.
10. Probably concerning his indebtedness; see letter 3121, note 2.
11. “Genoa the superb,” attributed to Rubens.
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