3163. EBB to Eliza Anne Ogilvy
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 18, 318–322.
Florence.
Jany 24– [1853] [1]
My dear friend,
If you have not punished me by forgetting me altogether, you must be punishing me by hard thoughts [2] —so I hope, upon the whole, you may be thinking of me very ill indeed. It seems to myself that I deserve ever so much punishment for my incredible idleness & procrastination, .. only none at all, believe me, for any want of memory & affectionateness towards you. So forgive me, because I can say that earnestly. Even now, .. so bad I am, .. perhaps I should not write if it were not that I long to hear from you. So dont deal with me according to the Law, but the gospel,—& let me rather have coals of fire, [3] than a long silence to avenge my own.
I found your letter on our arrival in Florence, & it was the next best thing to finding yourselves. I have the face to thank you for it now. A disastrous journey we had from Paris .. which perhaps made the beginning of my slowness about writing––we were tempted at Lyons, by Bradshaw [4] & the summer warmth, to cross the Mont Cenis—and the cold beginning at Chambéry, (together with the necessity of travelling three nights without once undressing) I was nearly extinct before we got to Turin. On the Mont Cenis itself, almost suffocation came on .. & our two days at Turin, though I got out painfully one morning to see the pictures, did not avail very much. The winds there, are chill with Alpine snow. So at Genoa, being broken down entirely, we had to remain at the hotel for ten days, I just fit to lie on the sofa by the open window, through which poured the full Italian summer.. Oh, such an exquisite climate. Every breath brought the life back to me—but I wanted life .. for the continued night fever & cough had worn me to the bone literally. You never saw such a spectral thinness! Poor Robert was horribly vexed of course, & so was I for his sake—only Italy soon revived me & I made a vow to him to take cod’s liver oil as soon as ever we should arrive in Florence—which (to cut short the subject) I did accordingly, and am now particularly well & strong, wonderfully well for me. We have had a nominal winter here. I dont remember such a winter in Florence at the very best of Florence, & though the Florentines object to the absence of the ordinary cold, you may suppose that I rejoice in it.
We found our house in excellent order, the carpets & furniture generally looking better than when we left them, we thought, .. and as, after all expenses were paid, we had six months use of the house for nothing (either to let or occupy as we pleased) there was no reason for lamenting our having retained it in our hands. Well—the old warm nest, still warm, was so very pleasant to us, that, instead of going to Rome, here we have lingered, .. & shall stay on till March. Then, we must go to Rome, then to Naples .. & then, then .. the cloud begins .. but I suppose we shall return to Paris to settle .. as far as we ever shall settle. In any case we have by no means decided on giving up this house. I love it—there’s the truth.
And you .. what are your plans. We are so anxious to hear them. Yes—if we could take a house together in Paris, it would be excellent,—but when & how? I am afraid that only some sublime coincidence could bring us together, for we cant see an inch before us after Naples. My poor sister Arabel is expecting us in England this summer!– We shall understand in time. Do write & say what you see for your parts.
We are living the old life just as if we had never known Paris. Paris is cast into a parenthesis .. and the sentence goes on. I can scarcely realize to my fancy the great whirl & thunder of Paris & London, in this silence & stillness. At first Robert felt it—dull—but we are very happy, though we have not spent one evening from home since we came. A few people, chiefly men, come for tea & talk, & that’s all we see of the world. Mr Stuart, Mr Tennyson, the poet’s brother, .. a shy sensitive, refined man whom we both like much, .. Mr Lytton (Sir Edward’s only son) very young, but full of high aspiration, .. & somewhat visionary .. which pleases me .. he is attaché to the embassy– We miss you I cant say how much, but you may imagine it– Mr Powers, too, comes to see us .. a great favorite of mine .. with his great spiritual eyes, and slow calculating voice .. wise for two worlds perhaps!– As to Mr Kirkup, he is plunged into some mystery so deep that it hides him from our sight. “All his evenings are engaged,’[’] he says, “he will tell Robert how some day.” Meanwhile .. it may be in the discovery of the true ‘elixir vitæ,’ [5] for I never saw a man grown so much younger in the time.
I do wish you could see Wiedeman. His fellow citizens of Florence think him much improved, much prettier & more grazioso. [6] His grace & golden ringlets draw so much attention in the Cascine that Wilson swears she is abashed by it. Seriously & earnestly there seldom has been such a darling! Do you know either I must be very happy or very vain, for there is not one thing in that child which I desire to see otherwise. The vivacity & the sweetness, the cleverness & the lovingness, the joyous nature & the tender ways .. all is complete in him as I see him .. all is rounded off harmoniously to my eye– Certainly the child has it all his own way .. he is never crossed in anything .. he has not that sort of temptation. But the most prosperous of spoilt children will have bad, violent tempers sometimes, & we used to think that he was naturally passionate– Well—there is no sign of it now. “Happily for him,” .. as Wilson says .. for there would be “no possibility of punishing him”: we could’nt find it in our hearts. “Tiss me, Lily” he said to her one day after being a little naughty. “No—she would’nt kiss a naughty boy.” “Well, den! tiss dat”! putting his hand on her mouth with a sigh of resignation. Such a sentimental child it is! Yesterday Robert & I were sitting by the fire. He took a hand of each of us, and said softly .. “You two, mine flends!” (friends.) “Yes,” observed Robert, “you know that we love you better than anybody, dont you?” “Les. I know. If you go away, nomony more (nobody more) love Penini– Only Lily. I tome in lis dwawingroom—no Papa and Mama! Den I tly (cry) velly mush. Den I die.” Said in such pathetic tones that Robert had the tears in his eyes afterwards.
Robert has rather a passion than a love for the child. If I spoil, he spoils doubly—and I must tell you that I suffer pangs of jealousy just now, having been “pushed from my stool” [7] where I used to be preeminent in the little creature’s affections, somewhat too early I think. Now, Papa is everything– Mama though she draws “pretty well,” is in a lower style of art altogether .. Mama can draw donkeys .. whereas Papa draws soldiers .. Papa plays on the ‘plano’ superiorly .. Papa is to sing him to sleep at nights .. Papa is to walk out with him—did you ever hear of such a usurping Papa? On the other hand he means to “tate tare” (take care) of Mama .. “mine dear Ba, mine poor, dood Ba …”, as he calls me sometimes in a fit of love, .. so I must try to be satisfied.
Since he came to Italy he has taken to talk English entirely by way of contradiction. Also he has nearly left off calling himself Penini & speaking in the third person .. which was a vexation to me at the time, for I cling to the infantine ways. He is very fluent in talking, but talks by no means plainly as you may observe from my quotations,—and I like that all the better. Such a child for travelling never was. He ‘bated no jot of heart or hope’ [8] in our long fatiguing journey. Three nights without being undressed—think of that for a child!– But he slept through the night .. or woke at one in the morning to cry out .. “O Mama, fine mountains!” In the day, there was a perpetual singing, & talking, & sketching of waterfalls, .. & the name of every place was enquired into as if he kept a journal. “Are you never tired, you child?” I said to him one day– “Oh no, nemmer!” (never) was his answer directly. He has gypsey blood in him somehow or other.
Nota bene—we did not pay a sous for Penini from London to Pisa—not a sous. On the Pisan railway we paid something, & that was the whole expense.
His drawings absorb him as much as ever, & his progress is remarkable. I wish this letter were not too heavy to send you one inside of it. He writes too, (prints) long letters to his “nonno” Robert’s father, & my sister——but I teach him nothing. I believe Robert would hang me up on a tree if I did. We shall wait till he is eight or nine years old at least before we think of lessons. I am a little conceited of course about his drawings & his writings, which are really curious for a little child of his age, but I dont in my serious mind build up any expectation on them with respect to faculties & the like. Mental precocity may mean just nothing—whereas the moral qualities, ever so early developped, may be relied on & rejoiced over, as I rejoice over his,—dear darling!
Now, pay me out in kind, & send me a long history of you & your treasures. I yearn for it really. I do hope you yourself have not suffered too much this winter, .. and that you have had pleasure in giving so much to dear Mrs Ogilvy, if for no other reason. My love to her, & Robert’s. Tell me of yourself .. what you are doing, & the rest .. as much as I may hear, I mean– Everything will come to me with interest.
You have probably heard of poor Mr Greenhough’s end—the sculptor, our friend– The exciting society & keen air of America acted on the brain injuriously, &, after having been confined in a madhouse a short time, he returned home & died at Boston.
God bless you, dearest Mrs Ogilvy—both of you, all of you. Our united love to dear Mr Ogilvy & yourself. Write to me, do, .. & think of me now & always as your very affectionate friend
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
We dont doubt about Paris, observe. Pray dont be taken in by the absurd estimate of American ministers, the Times commenting. [9] We lived on poultry in Paris, which scarcely we could have done if chickens had been nine francs a couple!!!– A monstrous misrepresentation. In London, if you please, poultry is dear.
Address: Angleterre via France. / Mrs David Ogilvy / King’s Place / Perth. N.B.
Publication: EBB-EAHO, pp. 89–95.
Manuscript: Eton College Library.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. Cf. As You Like It, I, 2, 183–184.
3. Cf. Proverbs 25:22.
5. “Elixir of life,” or “water of life,” a potion that alchemists believed would prolong life indefinitely.
6. “Gracious,” or “charming.”
7. Cf. Macbeth, III, 4, 81.
8. Cf. Milton, “Sonnet XXII. To Mr. Cyriack Skinner upon his Blindness” (1655), lines 7–8.
9. An editorial in The Times of 8 January 1853 noted that the U.S. government had recently asked its “Ministers in foreign parts” to provide information “as to the cost of living at their respective stations.” The representative at Paris, Mr. Rives, reported on “the extraordinary price of eatables … ham, which his countrymen would probably be glad to send into France at 1s. 6d. or 2s. Fowls, too, at 8s. 6d. a-couple are very properly recorded for the wonder of posterity” (p. 4).
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