3151. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 18, 284–291.
Casa Guidi.
Decr 21– 1852–
[“]You naughty, naughty Alibel,” as Peninni would say. How uneasy you made me by your silence! I had whipped myself up into a state of chronic apprehension, & if it had not been for Robin who heard from his father who had dined in Wimpole street, I dont know what I should have done. Dearest dearest Arabel, do write in future & take no thought of postages—it’s too provoking when you talk of postages, & I, any day, would have given five scudi for a letter. As it was, your letter when it came, did not altogether satisfy me—about you .. do you understand? You seem to me, Arabel, to evade instead of answering directly. You did not promise me to have advice if it were “necessary,” but if you were not much better at once. Everybody has advice when it’s necessary, that is when they cant do without it– I am not easy about you Arabel, and I entreat of you if that swelling has not satisfactorily diminished to go to your homœopathist & be set right again—this, by your love to me, dearest, I leave to your heart in its generosity–
Which I should have written to you long ago if it had’nt been for Peninni’s being ill– He has had the chicken-pox—of the very mildest description .. scarcely the least sign of eruption .. but unmistakeable, Dr Harding said—& with fever, night after night, which did not prevent his running about in the day, but kept me uncomfortable, so that I did not like to write to you till I could say he was well again. Dr Harding pronounces him “of a fine constitution” & “pure blood,” .. the complaint could not prosper with him, he said. I was a little vexed however by the heat returning for several nights after we had apparently done with the malady .. but Dr Harding assures us it is nothing whatever .. (there may be a slight tendency to febrile action because of the teeth which he is cutting (back teeth)) that he is absolutely well & that we are to turn our thoughts into some other direction– Poor darling! You ought to see his airs of invalidship .. “Papa, dont mate lis noise. I tant bear it. Lis mates me tuite ill.”—clasping his hands, & turning his head about. I am sorry to say he has adopted the personal pronouns to a great degree, & he does not very often now use the third person form of “Peninni” &c which charmed me so. Also his English, .. general fluency of speech, .. has immensely improved, & he grows more & more amusing as a matter of course. He talks in a very slow deliberate manner, which makes this fashion of pronunciation still more curious .. “I sink,” .. coming in at every moment. Dr Harding kept him in one room for two days, & once when Wilson had to come to me, she asked him to stay by himself for a few minutes—“would he”? “Less”—said he—and then, with a sigh .. “Poor Peninni!” he said, .. “Peninni just lite poor Robin .. sate in a barn To keep himself warm, & put his head under his wing, Poor sing!” [1] Oh, he has been very pathetic about his illness, I assure you. His head ached “dayfrey” (dreadfully) at first, he said, & nobody quite believed it. I must tell you that on our arrival, I showed him your picture—the Daguerreotype. [2] As he opened it, he said “Mama” .. at the first glance .. “No,” said I, “dont speak before you have looked at it well– Take it to the window & consider it–” In a minute he exclaimed– “Alibel!! velly, velly lite!” Then, after a pause, .. “But lis not tuite enough pretty– Eyes so” … screwing up his eyes to illustrate what he meant. The exact fault, you know. I dont think he could possibly remember much about Florence, though of course he pretended to do it. He adopted the balia from the first, & allowed Wilson to go to church last sunday if she wd stay with him—which almost I wonder at because she has not been here more than six or seven times on account of her confinement. She complains that when Wilson is at home he talks nothing but English (& the poor balia makes nothing of it) though in Wilson’s absence he carries on the whole conversation in Italian with great facility, … which I had an opportunity of observing yesterday .. not even mixing English up with it in his old way. In making his drawings now, he dedicates them alternately to Robert & me .. writing ‘Mama’ or ‘Papa’ quite of his own impulse & spelling. Often & often he talks of you—always as “poor Alibel”—& he should like to go & see you he says, you & Minny & Lorge, in “Minny’s home,” .. the ‘mitaines’ [3] haunting the premises, being forgotten for the nonce– His memories are indeed multiplying prodigiously. And the common form is on all occasions .. “I remember in Palis” .. or “in Lenoa” or “in Londra” .. The other day it was, “I remember five years ago in Londra &c &c” something about a book I had given him. When we arrived here it was so much too warm for his white Paris hat, that we had the brown straw done up with green ribbons & a green feather, & it is the prettiest possible hat at the present moment, & accords to admiration with your green merino frock, the buttons of which are as deeply in his soul’s love as ever– At Paris he used to dazzle the waiter every morning by lifting up his pinafore—‘Ah mon Dieu,’ said the waiter. And the other day somebody observing (by way of cultivating popularity) “Those buttons are like the stars,”—“Less”—said he with modest satisfaction—“lite the stars & the sun.”
Arabel, I must correct what I told you, about M. Centofanti. He was traduced in the matter of the house. These Italians are so vague & incorrect. As soon as ever we came to examine seriously into the matter, nobody could affirm anything– “Mi pare e non mi pare” [4] was the answer. Oh—he explained all to our satisfaction in the business of the house– There was a mistake against us of a few pounds, but that was a mistake, & instantly rectified. The house has not answered badly on the whole, as, after all expenses paid, we found ourselves with the advantage of six months clear possession .. either to let or to inhabit—& as we cant get a house either at Paris or Rome for less than two pounds a week during the season; you may calculate. If we let our house, we go at once to Rome, .. but, if not, we shall be economical & stay .. perhaps till March—there will be time enough for Rome, even then. It has not been a healthy season at Rome, & I am quite satisfied for Peninni’s sake, to say nothing of other reasons, to stay on where I am. The weather here has been exquisite. I was out walking yesterday, feeling it too warm—think of that, on the 20th of December!– At the same time we have had a few rather chilly days, & for two sundays I have let Robert go alone to Mr Hanna’s church. Oh yes—the Swiss church is open as usual—only the Italian services are no longer as they were. I am quite well—and if ever by the last chance I happen to cough Robert “wonders” about it, .. so completely is the cough vanquished & done with. Meanwhile he is tying me up & fattening me. So unhappy he was about me at Genoa that my heart melted (& my obstinacy) and I vowed to him that I would sacrifice myself to the cod liver oil when we got to Florence—not that I had the least notion of being able to keep it down. To my surprise, however, it agrees perfectly—I take two tablespoonfuls (in milk) twice a day, & am decidedly prospering—that is, I am “flesh & bone,” instead of “bone” simply, as at Genoa. The contours are filling up slowly—and the process being helped by a tumbler of asses’ milk every morning (how you will laugh at Robert & me!) it cannot fail, I should think, of proving effectual,—& I shall appear before you next year in magnificent proportions. Wilson swears that my cheeks are being puffed out––(Oh, I shall be after the image of the ‘west wind’ when I see you!) and Robert makes observations full of grave, satisfied experimental philosophy. Dr Harding says, “As to the chest, it can do no good to the chest, but the general health & substance it may & does assist”; .. & I really begin to think it does. But I never sacrificed my inclination so much to conjugal duty .... except once, when I put on a bustle. [5]
Arabel!—I should not be at all surprised if this oil would do you good!– I am sure you want to be made less thin– Consider it a little—will you?
Mr & Mrs Twistleton have called on us .. they are going to Rome soon, so we shall not see much of them. He is the brother of Lord Say & Seele, .. fond of Greek literature—& she is an American & pretty. She called on me in London she said [6] .. but I did’nt remember the name in the least. I like her– Then two families of ‘Wills Sandfords’ [7] have come—one of the daughters a devoted reader of mine—she wrote me an anonymous letter before she left her card with letters of introduction!. They are very rich people & live chiefly in Paris– Mr Wills Sandford hates the French but can live no where else. Friends of Robin’s wife they are. Then Sir Henry Bulwer left cards on us .. & his two attachés, Mr Lytton (Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton’s son) & Mr Wolff (Wolff the missionary’s) have spent the evening here. Mr Lytton often comes in the evening & seems to have taken a fancy to us .. which is much reciprocated—he is really an interesting young man, full of intelligence, & affectionate we think. You will understand how sympathetical he is with me when I tell you that he is considerably given to witch-craft & opinions thereto appertaining. Now listen, Arabel .. he had a letter the other day from his father—and the Rapping spirits are imported into England, & are just now at Knebworth. They were brought over by media. Sir Edward avows himself so entirely puzzled by them that his mind is oppressed—he would rather consider the subject no longer. Sir Henry Bulwer had communications with them in America & could explain them away by no means. They told him that he should hear of them again. A short time afterwards, while the attachés &c &c were at dinner in another town of the Union, a tremendous knock came upon the ceiling of the room. One thought struck everybody & they rushed up stairs. Sir Henry Bulwer had been too unwell to come down to dinner, & as he occupied the room immediately above the dining room of the Legation, it was imagined that he was taken suddenly ill, & had fallen or made a signal to them by the noise– They found him however on the sofa—he had not moved since they left him– But he added that he had been in a state of “extase,” and that voices which were not human voices had discoursed with him, though what had been said, he always refused, Mr Lytton told us, to report. Afterwards he remained depressed for days together. The manner in which the Americans talk of these things, would scarcely be credible Mr Lytton said besides, if you did not hear it yourself. There was an intelligent physician who had lately lost his son—“An immense comfort it was,” observed the father, “to have Tom drop in of an evening for an hour or two! Very often he did it! And whenever any of the friends he used to like to meet, were in the house, he” (the father) “always called him & he came.”—!! Mr Powers (of the Greek Slave) was here the other evening—& he too was talking of the rapping spirits & avowing his belief in them. At first he was inclined to decide that there was a trick in it—“but I consider,” said he, in his grave deliberate calculating manner, “that a secret will always escape when more than fifteen persons are involved, while in this case fifteen thousand persons are involved: I am convinced, therefore, of the truth of the visitations.”
A short time since, Madme Biondi asked us if we should like to see her daughter magnetised. [8] Yes, of course. So she came one morning .. the daughter did .. with her father, and the magnetiser an enormous Bolognese man, who spate every now & then on the carpet. She was placed in an armchair & put to sleep, & she talked & answered questions– Now always I try to speak the truth in these things– I admit to you that it was an absolute failure. Robert says, “a humbug”—but I am inclined to think that really she was asleep, although in the matter of clairvoyance she saw no more than the blind—out of fifty answers, forty nine were as wrong as possible. And here, again, is the curious thing—— She was placed in the chair as I said, & we drew our chairs round to see closely & well. Well! he had not made more than four or five passes, .. when I felt my blood run cold & hot, my eyes shut against my will, & my whole body drawn forwards in an irresistible way .. I should have fallen, if I had’nt caught Robert– I lost consciousness for a moment—and the Bolognese demagnatised me– Robert insists on it that it was a common fainting-fit .. but I dont believe a word of it– Why should I have fainted without rhyme or reason, when I was quite well? Oh no—it was magnetic influence certainly. The Bolognese wanted very much to sieze on me as a patient—there appeared a wonderful adaptability about me—it was promising .. was’nt it, Arabel? .. but I persisted in my refusals—and kept quite at the other end of the room while he followed up the process on the Signorina Biondi–
My dearest Arabel I receive your letter. How happy that it did’nt cross mine. Now you are a “dood dood Alibel” & I recall my reproaches. Still, .. & in spite of dearest George’s kindness about the homœopathic check &c .. do you know I opened my eyes in horror at your sitting down quietly to doctor yourself instead of recurring to the advice you ought to have— .. & I am not .. there’s the truth .. quite content about you—no indeed. You would’nt, you say, commit imprudences & trust yourself too far– I hope you would’nt—but I know you ought to have advice at this moment & you are not having it– “Better in some respects”– It is’nt satisfactory: I am not contented. Think of me, Arabel, & act as if you loved me.
As to the oil, I began with a teaspoonful twice a day; & now I take a tablespoonful twice a day. The English chemist [9] told Robert we should stop there. It does good by preventing the wasting which goes with affections of the chest, but there cant be any specific effect on des[ic]cated organs of course—& it is equally good in other complaints where emaciation is a symptom– I have no sickness .. it seems to agree with me entirely, therefore it must do good, I imagine.
I am glad Robin’s wife likes me, for I like her & I dont want my liking to be thrown away. Robin wrote me a note the other day to intimate that she had’nt courage to call me ‘Ba’ till I bade her do it—& I am to call her Kate, & we are to be all cousins & friends accordingly.
You dont mention Trippy—give her my warmest love & say that I shall write, & that Peninni & I kiss her over the Alps—so would Robert if he dared. Has she found another house? and where?
So sorry I am that little Altham should have been unwell again—these feverish attacks must frighten Henrietta, I should think, though they mean no more than the cutting of a tooth. I wish all the teeth were through, & they soon will be. Prick Henrietta into writing to me—& write yourself, Arabel—write, write—ruin me in writing– I want to be ruined—but mind, if ever you pay the postage again, we shall pay ours, & nothing will be gained either way– As to the books .. here is the history of them. Lady Elgin wanted a copy of Keats with the larger type, & she had been so very attentive to us, that Robert meant to give it to her, ordering it from Moxon– [10] I suppose Moxon, on the other hand, meant to be liberal to us, by the redundant glory of the binding you describe– If he sends us in a bill for it, we shall be rather startled. The Tennyson Ode is a gift from him to us. [11] Now, will you send the Keats to aunt Jane’s care in Paris by any sufficient opportunity? Direct to “the Countess of Elgin”.
Do you hear any new ‘critical facts’ about the new Wilton baby? I like to hear the particulars about Henrietta’s babies. Wilson is delighted about her sister’s– [12] The faithless lover is neither heard of nor seen. [13] Peninni goes out as usual now, &, though pale, he looks well & is in great spirits & appetite. I assure you he has been called “the prettiest child in Florence”—the Florentines have done him great honor––and Madme Biondi told me that the Grand Duchess had talked much of him & enquired if he walked usually in Boboli gardens .. the gardens attached to the palace. Not that we care for Grand Duchesses—& such grand-duchesses!—oh no. Indeed Peninni ignores the whole of the royalty here, & gets quite angry when you try to explain to him that these soldiers & trumpeters dont belong to Napoleon. By the way, I was observing wisely, about one of his frocks the other day, that it was just as beautiful as the robes Napoleon wd be crowned in. Suddenly he exclaimed, “I [14] lite to have a twown. Papa get Peninni a twown Mama?” “Why,” said I, “you see, if you have a crown you must have soldiers & horses & a city—& all that wd be difficult[.”]
Miss Agassiz did not travel with us. I thought I told you that I had a note from her at Paris to intimate her inability to keep up with us as to time. We mean certainly to go to Rome—& to Naples: and Mr Kenyon rather wished us to stay three or four months at Florence—it will please him rather than the contrary. Now let me tell you about Mr Browning. The plaintiff went to the Bank herself, [15] and, soon after, sent her attorneys to have audience with the governor, [16] reproaching him for having assisted in an evasion of the law. He answered that he had nothing whatever to do with any matters of the sort, .. the person in question was absent on sufficient grounds & by leave. They obtained nothing. Also, directions have been given that if the lady should come again, the shortest answers should be returned. Nothing can be clearer than the complete understanding of the case, & sympathy with the victim in that quarter. Poor Sarianna seems to torment herself still with various impossible terrors, & I very much fear, Paris can scarcely seem much better to her than a penal settlement, with her inconsoleable way of looking at things. As to her father he takes matters more easily—he goes to draw at the Louvre, & has contemplative walks in the Bois de Boulogne, & enjoys himself, I dare say. Perhaps what vexes him most in the world just now is Peninni’s being away from him, Peninni being a crowned idol. Robert gives you his ‘dear love,’ he says, & thanks you for your answer to the enquiries about the address. Sarianna’s few friends know it– Never answer such questions.
I was going to tell you about M. Centofanti. Honest enough about the house, I believe he was—but he has done a much worse thing than a common breach of confidence can be accounted. Think of his having informed against the Madiai .. in fact, of his having been the first to inform against them, .. & on the noble ground of their being rival lodginghouse keepers to himself.!!.– Of course we shall have nothing more to do with him; & I understand he is shunned on all sides .. by the catholics, observe; “fare la spia” [17] being considered an excess of dishonor here as elsewhere. It seems to me probable that the Madiai will be let out of prison .. somebody told me the other day that they certainly would, before the expiration of two months. In the meanwhile they are not in dungeons—dont let us exaggerate matters. They occupy rooms not uncomfortable, & receive necessary attentions—which does not prevent their suffering from grief & nervous irritation. An English lady is allowed to see Madme Madiai three times a month,—they dont allow her to have a protestant bible, and will admit of scarcely any protestant religious books .. I think none. It is an iniquitous affair at the best.
What news of Mrs Orme?
I shall think of you all & love you on the coming days– Tell me of Mr Hunter. I do hope he has given up that mad Australia scheme.
Publication: EBB-AB, I, 522–530.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. Cf. the anonymous nursery rhyme, “The North Wind Doth Blow,” lines 3–8: “… And what will poor robin do then? / Poor thing! / He’ll sit in a barn, / To keep himself warm, / And hide his head under his wing. / Poor thing!”
2. Doubtless the daguerreotype of Arabella mentioned in letter 2768. This picture is reproduced in volume 15, facing p. 48.
4. “It seems to me and it doesn’t seem to me.”
5. Two years earlier (see letter 2884).
6. Ellen Twisleton reported to her family that she was introduced to EBB by Jane Carlyle at 58 Welbeck Street on the afternoon of 23 July 1852 (see SD1586). For Mrs. Twisleton’s account of her visits to Casa Guidi, see SD1624 and SD1625.
7. William Robert Wills-Sandford (né Wills, 1779–1859), wealthy landowner of Castlerea, co. Roscommon, and three unmarried daughters—Jane Catherine (1818–95), Ellen Maria Sarah (1827–1901), and Caroline Julia (1834–1915)—made up one family. The other consisted of his second son, William (1822–82), his wife Julia (née Foster, 1820–83), whom he had married in 1849, and their two children, Harry (1850–72) and Florence Mary (1852–1911). Wills-Sandford’s eldest daughter Jane was the “devoted reader.” His late wife, Mary Grey (née Sandford, 1791–1851) was the niece and co-heir, along with her sister, of the 3rd Baron Mountsandford (1756–1846), of Castlerea.
8. Maria Erminia Eleonara Biondi (b. 1825), the youngest daughter of Lorenzo Biondi (b. 1793) and his wife Maria Anna (née Bosi); see letter 2813, note 18. We have been unable to identify the “Bolognese man.” For this and many other annotations that draw upon Italian sources in the present volume, the editors gratefully acknowledge the scholarly assistance of Simonetta Berbeglia of Arezzo, Italy.
9. Henry Roberts; see letter 2819, note 4.
10. Moxon’s new edition of The Poetical Works of John Keats, issued in November 1851 in foolscap octavo, was larger than the 1846 edition (J.R. MacGillivray, Keats: A Bibliography and Reference Guide with an Essay on Keats’ Reputation, Toronto, 1949, p. 11).
11. This copy of Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington (1852) has not survived. Issued on 18 November, the day of Wellington’s funeral, it was Tennyson’s first publication as poet laureate.
12. Unidentified.
13. Possibly a reference to Egidio Righi, to whom Wilson had been engaged.
14. Underscored twice.
15. Martha von Müller.
16. Thomson Hankey (1805–93), who served as governor of the Bank of England from 1851 to 1853.
17. “To be an informer.” Francesco and Rosa Madiai kept a boarding house in the Piazza Santa Maria Novella. According to an account published after they had been released from prison, it was the innocent carelessness of a servant girl working for the Madiai that led to their arrest (Edward Steane, The Madiai: Narrative of the Recent Persecutions in Tuscany, 1853, pp. 17–20).
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