Correspondence

3221.  EBB & RB to William Allingham

As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 19, 154–155.

July 3, ’53.

My dear Allingham,

Your note reached us the other day: and I’ll tell you like a man—we did get another letter,—such a while ago!—too deserving of a great long answer,—so it got none, as the way is with palpable desert—when one knows too the nature of the writer—how he is now to hear it, & write again in answering, in that, the real unspoken words of one’s heart which must reach him somehow in these rapping and telegraphing days. For we both of us felt glad & grateful to be so remembered however unworthy. One thing may excuse us—the uncertainty of our plans—“what good in speaking now, when a week hence one may be able to say so & so”—but the week after week goes by—& the end is, you have just so much the more to forgive, which is probably as pleasant & easy to you as anything else. We have been at Florence quietly in the old place after the old way, some eight months,—gone like one! The weather was milder than ever in winter, better than common in spring, and is now hotter than uncommon this great summer time,—and what with rain & heat the greenness is such greenness, the color such color!—but you can’t see them—tho’ you have a right if ever man had. I wish you the sight of a million fire-flies,—lizards, as your love may desire, and a scorpion or two for the truth’s sake—(they get under the window sill of the room here). Then, platefulls of the fruit of that Japanese Pear which is a flower-tree in England and here a producer of great yellow knobs half plum half apple, and the brilliantest Japan besides. But the best will be when we go (—I take your arm in spirit you observe) to a Villa up in the hill-country next week—if the fates agree and the landlord don’t ask too much– ’Tis in Giotto’s country, the Mugello. I shall get my wife to tell you how well she is, and about our child—since you kindly care to know. Now, what a thing when we are rooted, sprouting, leafy, & regular vegetables up there, to get, in the cool of the day, a letter loaded with news,—news of yourself, then of themselves, the people, that is, we care about. Won’t it come? Then won’t we be glad of it, true as I am yours

faithfully,

R Browning

[Continued by EBB]

My dear Mr Allingham, Robert must make room beside him for me in a white sheet .. because I too have to bear my shame & blame. We have both behaved very ill to you. Believe that in remembering & confessing this, we remember & confess you in all truth & friendship– So interested I was about the house that was to blow up, (and did’nt, I think) of which you sent me a somnambulic prophecy! But nothing cures me of faith– I am deep in it just now. Send me the most incredible news you can .. do, .. this for me in particular, and to both my husband & myself a long letter about yourself, your intentions in literature, & in life as far as we may hear. Next summer we do hope to see you again, when we come down out of Italy into the lands of muffins– Do you remember how bad they were? Our child talks the two languages apart now, & is as hard to interpret in one as the other. Somebody called him a Cupid the other day .. and he asked with anxiety “What for means a tupid?” .. evidently fearing the vocal relation of “stupid”. The letters must be put up they say– Another time I will try to be more communicative– Take our warmest wishes!

Most truly yours always

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Address to Florence (Poste Restante) as usual.

Publication: Letters to William Allingham, ed. H. Allingham and E. Baumer Williams (London, 1911), pp. 95–97.

Manuscript: Scripps College.

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