3250. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 19, 223–234.
Casa Tolomei (Alla Villa) Bagni di Lucca.
August. 15. [1853] [1]
My own dearest Arabel, at last, at last! You really do behave harshly to me, Arabel! As soon as I see one of those slips of paper slipped through Mr Kenyon’s hand, I know it’s all over with me, & that I shall have to wait days upon days, even weeks, for the letter that’s due to me. As for myself, I am beginning to conclude that there must be something good & reasonable in the Romish doctrine of supererogatory merits .. by the time I get to Rome I shall have embraced it entirely I fancy. Think of four of my letters going to England, to you, George, Henrietta .. while you imagine that a letter in return is virtue enough. I have been anxious about you too, my darling naughty Arabel—yes, & am. I was sure it was not well with you—certain. Now understand once for all. If we are to write comfortable deceitful letters to one another, let us agree. For the future I shall keep my adversities to myself. But if you have the least idea of hearing the whole truth from me you must make up your mind to tell it– I am very angry with you, Arabel. I shall never have a happy moment if I may believe it possible that you will go on to treat me in that fashion, in the face of our most sacred conventions.
That you were unwell I was certain, & in the way you mention. The more absolutely necessary it is that you go to the sea, and I do hope that that good kind dear Henry wont be good by halves, but will do his utmost to represent the necessity to Papa. Dear George might do it, I think. I dont understand why the extraordinary bearing about the money, should imply the probability of a refusal about going out of town. Rather I should be prepared to find that the ‘quantum’ of bitterness being spent, the next droppings would be of a somewhat less acrid quality. Also, poor Set & Occy wont want more money in the country than in town—nor so much. Now I entreat George to speak at once. I am confident it would satisfy him & everybody (me certainly) to have done the best that can be done towards giving you the change of air which is necessary for your health. And now, Arabel! I am going to ask you. Have you been doctoring yourself out of the medecine-chest all this time, or have you loved me enough to go for my sake to the homœopathist who used to attend you? I ask that question with a painful sort of feeling at my heart—a doubt. If you loved me, you will have done it. If you love me, you will do it directly. I shall look anxiously in your next letter for an answer to this enquiry. I know what I [2] would do for you–
Lest I should forget again, let me be quick to tell you that I had your letter with the enquiries from Mary Ruxton. Our apartment in Florence would not suit her– We have only two large bedrooms & two small ones– Now if Mrs Minto comes, three good bedrooms will be required. You cant put either Mrs Minto or the baby [3] where there is’nt space & a free circulation of air, in Italy. Our rooms would not answer. For the rest, Arabel, I admire your accuracy in telling her that Florence is as dear in [4] London. Sugar is dearer than in London—milk is cheaper than in London but dearer than in Paris– For A turkey, [5] you pay 1s 10d one shilling & ten pence or eleven pence—for a duck, eleven pence—for a couple of fowls, sixteen or seventeen pence—for the best pieces of meat, three pence or three pence halfpenny a pound—(only the Italian pound has but twelve ounces .. which makes a difference.) Judge whether we have not the advantage over you of cheapness! As soon as I had your letter, I wrote one to Mary, & when it was finished, remembered that I did’nt know her address. Since then, I heard from Mr Kenyon that she was going or gone to Boulogne to reside– Can it be true? Tell her, with my love, if she still cares to hear, that October is an excellent time for a journey to Italy, & that the “baby” will probably travel as well or better than any of them– She need not fear for the baby– You should consider, Arabel, that if we did not spend more in London than elsewhere, which perhaps we did’nt on most weeks, the reason was simply that we did not live as well,—also that one of us, at least, dined out most days of the seven .. & that nobody at home touched either wine or beer—&, above all, that we were one less in family. Here we have a man-servant, we live with every comfort .. soup, poultry, creams, & fruit of all kinds at discretion. Yesterday we had four dishes of fruit at des[s]ert– Ferdinando is an excellent cook. His soups & pastry are as good as possible—and his creams & iced puddings would do honour to the best tables in England. Well—this is all to be considered, you know. Mrs Tennyson says that a scudo, that is, four shillings & two pence a day ought to cover our whole expences—but we are not economical, & spend more.
I thought I had told you about Mrs Tennyson. She is what is called a fine looking woman, stout, no longer in her first youth, & her husband married her many years ago– At that time, she was a contadina .. a peasant .. it is said, .. & absolutely without education. I have been assured that he did all he could to teach her to read & write, but had to give it up. There was an entanglement beyond the pale of morals, when a priest came down on him with her family, & Frederick Tennyson being really an honest man, performed his obvious duty & married her. But of course, it cannot be a connection in which much happiness is possible. They have heaps of children, from a boy of fourteen years to a baby of fourteen months I think, [6] and of course I called upon her & she called on me & we repeated our visits to the last. She never came to us in the evening– She & he are seldom or never seen together out of doors. It is’nt that sort of marriage. But she is very fond & careful of her children, & a capital manager in her household .. & I observe that he is cared for & that every English delicacy is provided for him, even down to preserves & hot cakes at breakfast which an Italian would never dream of at the hour of most fervid vision. People say that her temper is bad—I cant answer for it. He seems to treat her like a child, & never (when by chance we have seen them together) makes a pretence even, of turning the conversation her way. He prefers going on talking English, of which she does’nt know a word. Still, I must tell you that he has made her a protestant, & that I heard her make certain observations very bold & sweeping upon the Madonna, which startled one from the lips of an Italian woman. Also she has appeared with him once or twice at the Swiss church, & she assured me that she understood a good deal of the French sermon & had been taking French lessons lately in order to seek comprehension. Not that ‘Frederigo’ gives the lessons—oh no. To give the last touch to your idea of her, I must suggest a costume of the most brilliant order. She received me one morning in a headdress of lilac feathers & lace, & a silk gown of striped blue & pink. A very good natured, affectionate woman after all, I do not doubt. But one compassionates ‘Frederigo’! He with his delicacy & susceptibility of taste & feeling! Poor fellow.
Mr Lytton cant come to us because of his being left in charge of everything at Florence, Mr Scarlett being absent—but he will come he says, directly he is at liberty. Meanwhile we are thinking of asking Mr Powers to come—he would like it I do think, & he & I & Mr Story might carry on the spiritual investigations. Mr Story has a sort of undeveloped faculty of moving tables, & writing with the pencil mystically– He takes the pencil & it moves into writing—but he is half conscious, & cant be sure, he says, that he does’nt do it by a half volition—& I certainly wont believe in anybody who does’nt believe in himself– It is probably a rudimental faculty which by persistence, might strengthen & become a real faculty, but at present is nothing worth a thought– Also, the arm is not numb—there are none of the right signs– Mr Story is absolutely honest, & distrusts himself at every turn—just the man for a medium—only he is’nt a medium, more’s the pity. He believes all these phenomena, but is much inclined to attribute them to an unconscious projection of a second personality, with clairvoyance. He doubts as to the external spirits. His solution is more difficult than the spirit-solution,—considerably more so in my opinion. Mr Powers & I are wholly spiritualists, on the other hand. Yes—Arabel, if the picture is like him it must give you the idea of a very handsome man. Such eyes! angel-seeing eyes! And he saw a vision of angels years ago, of which I will tell you,—but you must not speak of it to anyone likely to repeat the story, because he warned us against that. He had just gone to bed where his wife & her baby [7] were asleep. It was his custom to put out the candle after he was in bed, leaving it on the floor in order to facilitate the operation– He put it out. After a moment, there was a light seeming to rise up from the floor, & his first idea was that the candle had not been perfectly extinguished. He looked, satisfied himself—still the light rose up,—rose, rose gradually & established itself in a spherical form on the ceiling—first small .. something like the circular light which is produced by a French lamp .. then the sphere extended itself .. grew larger & larger. At last it opened & disclosed a deep ætherial blue like a summer sky at the bluest, leaving the rim of light all round. Then, he said, it was borne in upon his mind that he was to see a vision—and as the idea came, the vision came—two angels in the centre of the azure. Their vesture was bright .. the sort of mixed, shot red & blue you see in autumn woods sometimes—the arm of one angel was round the neck of the other .. & both of them with bowed beautiful faces were looking stedfastly at the baby in the bed, with the sort of tender look which might be given to a young child. Mr Powers said, “I saw it as distinctly as I ever saw anything in my life—and neither then nor since has it been possible for me to doubt for a moment that it was an actual vision.” Slowly it passed away. When it was gone he felt his pulse which beat healthily & quietly, & then woke his wife & told her. Mrs Powers burst into tears & was “convinced that the child would be taken from them”. He said no, no—it was borne in upon him that it all meant good, good to them—even such good & joy as they understood by the words .. there would be no pain in connection with that sight. “And what effect did it have on you”? said Robert. “I have felt it as a sign of God’s grace– I have been sure that, as long as I walked uprightly, the Lord would be with me—and He has been with me indeed.” The “baby” is now fifteen years old. The man is not an exciteable sort of man, but simple, direct, truthful in little & great things. His yea is yea, & his nay, nay [8] —people complain of him for not being imaginative enough—for being too practical. See what sort of man!—— Since then, he has become a Swedenborgian.
Ah—dearest Arabel, mathematics wont do any good. There are more things in heaven & earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, [9] mathematical or otherwise. And now as to the ‘affair’ of the young baker– [10] Let us be just. If a man gives up all to follow a truth .. or even an Art .. we are apt to commend him for it. There are worldly thinkers indeed who scoff a man for leaving family & home for the purpose of preaching the gospel to the chinese .. and there have been worldly aldermen, such as Darley’s father, [11] who have persisted in turning a son out of doors because he chose to be a poet. But we, who dare not to be worldly, praise the follower of any truth for conscience’[s] sake, or of any art, for love’s sake– Therefore I pause before I pass a rash condemnation upon your baker– “To walk in velvet” [12] is not indeed a good end to look to—but nothing seems to me more natural than the desire to obey a communication of the kind he believes in, at all risks & events– Where you see the baking trade left, he sees a spiritual command acquiesced in– He is reasonable from his own point of view– At the same time he should be advised & instructed & cared for by some sympathizing person– Too true it is that the madhouses are crowded in the United States by persons who throw themselves down headlong before these spirits so called, angels or demons. Some have rushed into suicide in order to attain to the spiritual world, in absolute impatience of the interval– Some obey foolish spirits in earthly affairs, to the letter. Even wise spirits may err sometimes—and to accept doctrine or direction in contradiction to the written Scripture, or to obvious duty must be in the highest degree blamable. “If an angel preached another gospel’[’], said the apostle Paul, “let him be accursed’[’]! [13] —showing the possibility of an angel preaching another gospel. I am glad that Mr Stratten is at any rate beginning to give a grave thought to this subject. It is the absolute duty, in my mind, of all persons in his position, of all religious teachers & thinkers, to set themselves seriously to face the actual difficulties, both as a matter of speculation & of practical use. If such men dont go with the age, the age goes on without them .. that’s all. As Mr Stratten observed when we called on him last year, “Christians like Lady Huntingdon [14] are not to be found any more—the type is broken up”—. In fact Christianity itself is breaking the old dyke, the old formal bounds, & flowing down into the broad courses set for it– God’s providence is quicker than God’s ministers are apt to be—& if they do not quicken their steps, the laity will give up the ministry, I think. As to evil spirits .. I dont believe it, I for one. I see no reason for believing it. Christian teachers cry out about evil spirits, because of their old schoolmen-fancies about the spiritual world which they totally misconceive the nature of. They fancy that on the outside death, everything is either all evil or all good, & that knowledge is perfect with all—which is a mistake, I believe. More will be known however before long. To my surprise I find people talking here in the wilderness of these things .. even people, like the Stisteds, who live here altogether, & who have not read Dickens!!—— We met Mr Green [15] the clergyman at Mrs Stisted’s house the other evening. He is a liberal man & deeply interested in the subject, & was very patient with me when I quoted Swedenborg. The conclusive argument against infidel materialists was what he was eager to get at– Now I am going to tell you something interesting– Do you remember Mr & Mrs Greenhough who were in London two years ago on their way to America? I remember that you were struck with his face .. & beard? You remember? And did I tell you that soon after his arrival in America he was siezed with insanity & died? I think I told you. Well—Mrs Greenhough took an Italian maid with her who has returned to Italy & is just engaged by Mrs Stisted. A few nights ago Mrs Stisted asked her if she had heard anything in America of the ‘turning tables’—? “O si, si! she had heard much—much! more than she could tell.” She was agitated—& after some hesitation she told this story to Mrs Stisted– It appears that for two months after the death of her husband poor Mrs Greenhough was in a dreadful state of depression– He had died without a word or sign—insane—she had no comfort in thinking of it. At last she took into her head that she would consult a medium—and the physician who attended the family, promised to bring to her house a young lady, a friend of his, .. not a professional medium, but possessed of a strong faculty. She came one evening, & she, Mrs Greenhough & the physician sate round a table in the ordinary way. The raps happened as usual—& I suppose as in other cases it was by their direction that paper & a pencil were laid on the table. After which, they put out the lamp, & sate in darkness for a time shorter or longer. When the lamp was re-lighted, the paper was found covered with Mr Greenhough’s writing—a facsimile of his autograph .. to the effect .. that it was well with him .. with affectionate words to his wife & his children. The young Italian told this to Mrs Stisted in the utmost agitation, even to tears– She said she had not dared speak of it in Italy—it had produced the strongest effect upon everybody in the house, & Mrs Greenhough had been a different woman ever since, having received it as the most conclusive consolation. [16] Here, you see, is another instance of the writing without visible agency, which has occurred repeatedly in America. You may conclude that the medium, in the dark, forged the autograph of the dead– In that case, what prodigious wickedness?! And the other witnesses must have been stupid indeed to have admitted of such an imposture– I tell you the story as I heard it. Take it for its worth!——
A few days ago I heard a most interesting letter from Paris read—a letter addressed to the Storys by Mr Appleton, Longfellow’s brother in law. He is said to be a very able man, & is giving his whole intelligence to a solution of this question, which he considers “the sublimest conundrum ever offered for the world’s guessing.” There is a Miss Goderich [17] in Paris whom he knows intimately, “a very sweet girl & a very strong medium,” says the letter—of course not professional, & he introduced her the other evening into the salon of Lamartine who was curious on the subject– There were a good many people present—all the phenomena were produced, .. “everybody was convinced, & the poet in ecstasies.” Among other spirits who professed to be present was the spirit of Henry Clay, who said “J’aime Lamartine”. [18] There was to be a séance also at Madme Hahnemann’s in a few days. A learned Hungarian [19] is going to write a book on the subject, & to try to get at the bottom of it as far as a man can. Louis Napoleon gets oracles by the raps—& it is said that the Emperor of Russia does the same. The King of Holland is going mad on the subject—thinks of nothing else. As to Mr Coale whom you doubt, Arabel—why should you imagine that an intelligent, well-educated man, apparently deeply religious, is telling you a lie? What object had he to compass in telling lies? He is a man of well known respectability .. the American Minister, Mr Kinney, knew him,—so did Mr Kellog who travelled with Layard [20] .. so did Mr Powers. Then his testimony does not stand alone– When you hear five or six people, unknown to each other, testify to a certain class of facts, what are you to say? Mr Kellog (an artist who resides in Florence) told me that he lived in the house at New York, where the Miss Fox’s [21] came to show the manifestations to Griswold (who wrote on the poets of America) [22] and that for two days afterwards the raps went on in that house. To pretend that the thing is imposture is the most irrational of pretenses– Nothing can be more foolish. See the course the Athenæum is taking! There’s wisdom & justice for you! They admit Faraday, & nobody on the other side. [23] I wrote the most impudent of letters the other day to Mr Chorley, congratulating him on this happy mode of conducting a controversy, & offering myself (in the case of a change of plan) as “spiritual correspondent to the Athenæum.” People gag you & then observe, “Why, you have nothing to say for yourself.” Such a false statement too about the state of things in Paris—you saw it I suppose, in a late Athenæum. [24]
Oh no– Arabel. I dont “instruct” Penini in these things– Neither would I try to keep them from him. The more distinctly we feel the relation between the spiritual & the natural, the better we are—that’s my opinion! Also, children have their instincts. Every child who is not corrupt, believes in a fairy. Just now, Penini is full of Ferdinando’s juggling tricks with two marbles. This morning the child lifted up his back curls,—“Dear Mama, you see any holes in mine neck?” [‘]‘No, I dont indeed.”—“Because those marbles go through mine neck into mine stomach.” Then, said he—“Dear Mama, when somebody coming to have tea?” I did’nt know– When anybody was coming I was to tell him—& if I wanted any cake for tea .. any particularly good cake—Ferdinando had only to throw up the marble, & there was the cake behind the chair! This was Penini’s theory of the phenomenon. “The marble goes up, then an angel catches it—I saw the angel catch it, & send down the cake.” “Oh Penini—you saw the angel!” “Not all the angel, dear mama! only the angel’s head peeping down.”– “Oh Penini.”– “Well—I not saw the angel, but all the other things I saw—the cake and the marbles, I saw.”
After all, you need’nt be uneasy. Penini is thinking just now more about donkeys & rabbits than about spirits & angels. He has given up the arts, & we have some difficulty to keep the reading steady. Such a happy wild bird of a child has not often been seen—out all the day in the garden, running & romping with Carlo (the little son of our padrone) & his young brothers & sisters– [25] Penini has chickens & turkeys of his own, & Robert brought him a rabbit in his pocket handkerchief yesterday, having bought it from a peasant on the mountain in the course of a walk. Penini introduces this rabbit into his prayers by the side of Flush, & is in a rapture of love for it, poor child. Then there’s a swing in the garden, low & safe—& there’s an arbour where he has tea, with room on the bench for “twenty two peoples,” says he. For about six—but twenty-two is his ‘number of perfection.’ He gives tea parties with strawberries & milk, to the little Storys, Edith & Joe. Edith is nine years old, & Joe six—Edith being much his favorite. He & Edith sit close together always & make confidences & have sympathetical conversations, Joe being perfectly despised. Then he returns these visits, & goes on a donkey to the top of the mountain & a little on the other side, in order to have tea with Edith who shows him her famous “cock,” & the enviable silkworms– You may fancy how he enjoys himself. Yes, & he grows fat, yes, & rosy—& never, in the memory of woman, was known to have such an appetite. The other day, up he came, out of breath, desiring to know if he might go with Ferdinando to bathe in the river. Robert said he would’nt trust him with Ferdinando, but if he liked to go with Wilson he might. Penini sate in the chair with melancholy dignity .. “Well, you muss do as you lite”—“Of course,” said Robert, [‘]‘I shall do as I like.” (For my part I could’nt help laughing–) At last Penini condescended to go with Wilson, & Frederica the signorina of the house,—& down they went to the river .. a mountain-stream that rushes & murmurs as if it had a constant wind in it. Penini stood on the shore at first, refusing to go in, .. saying that he was “tuite shot” (quite shocked) to see Frederica in her bathing gown. But he ended by plunging in head foremost of his own accord & appearing to like it extremely. Well—but since then, he has been unpersuadable. Nothing could make him go again. Wilson heard him telling Ferdinando that he would willingly go with him (Ferdinando)—but .. “non mi piace di andare ton telle donne” [26] .. (con quelle donne). Think of Penini objecting to go with those women!!–
He has vague ideas however—or had, just before we left Florence. One morning he was persuading me into cutting out a house for him, when I was busy—& he began with one of his usual forms of theological exhortation––“When a man asks another man to do something, & the other man wont do it, God not likes it–” I said suddenly .. “But I’m not a man—I’m a woman.”—“Oh mama! You not a woman, wiz lat litty tomat!” (with that little stomach–) The balia is his tremendous type of womankind– I persisted in being a woman notwithstanding my defects. The next day, in he came again, with paper & scissors. I, still very busy– He began, with a slight modulation of the key– “When a woman asks another woman to do something, & the other woman wont do it” &c &c “But,” said I, “you are not a woman—you’re a man!” He looked into my face, for a moment puzzled, & then exclaimed, “Now, Mama, you tuite naughty!” (quite naughty)– It really was provoking of me, was’nt it?
The note to Chapman is of not the least consequence as you know, & you shant be punished for the crime connected with it. [27] We are going to write to him—& to direct him to send copies of my poems & Robert’s to Paris, to the Hedley’s—so, when the book is out, tell aunt Jane of it. She has none of our books, except that horrible ghost of the Seraphim which makes me sicker than other ghosts when I see it on a table. [28] I shall ask you to catch at an opportunity of sending, if you know of any–
Here’s a letter from Miss Sandford– She has various crotchets (not very reasonably or scientifically got up) about art & literature—but she is uncommon, through her habit of throwing intense personal feeling into abstract questions. The consequence is that she becomes very interesting as you know her– Now I really will write to you what she says of yourself. “I found her alone in the back drawingroom. I liked her much—better without her bonnet. She looked much younger,—more indulgent, and more full of abandon. The shape of her eyes, and the way she walked reminded me of you. Her hair was in thick curls taken back; the black velvet round her throat was a pleasing contrast to her fair hair and the blueness of her eyes. We talked a long time—how very fond she is of you!” (Darling Arabel, I say.) “I see she is not very happy & she feels being parted so long from you. (The expression of her face is uncommon & very winning.) I was longing to ask to see your room which is her’s now, but at first I did not dare, & after, the time was so short—I hope to see it yet. At luncheon there was a young fair girl, a cousin; and a brother of yours fair & sensible-looking (but I should not like to vex him.)” [29]
Who was the terrible brother, pray? Do tell me. One charming thing in Miss Sandford is her absolute truthfulness—she always speaks the truth as she sees it, & does’nt wait to consider whether it is a kind of truth likely to please you. The description of her agonies in London made me smile a little, I must say, in spite of all sympathy. I assure you she absolutely suffers.— What of Mrs Orme?——
We go backwards & forwards to the Storys who have an exquisite house at the Bagni Caldi– You seem as if you could jump fathoms down into the ravine from the drawing room windows. Every three or four days, they come to us to tea & strawberries, or we go to them—never separating without fixing a day for meeting. Also, they take us out to drive in their carriage; for though he is a sculptor, they are rich people .. belonging to a rich family. The Stisteds too take us out to drive whether we will or not .. but they are very kind really. I have a great deal of riding on donkeys besides this—one day I rode six miles on a donkey. Oh Arabel my dearest, I do wish you were with us! I long for you—it’s just that .. long & yearn for you! How painful & how foolish and how immoral, that all the wishing we two can do together, will not bring us nearer!–
Penini is admired here as everywhere. Mrs Sunderland says she hears of him from everyone. Wilson is stopped & interrogated. The English female grocer at the Ponte confides to Mrs Story that “he’s a real poet’s child—fit to be a poet’s child, in her opinion– Generally speaking there’s nothing particular in them.” I am glad you liked the profiles. [30] I grumbled at Penini’s hair not having had justice done to it. Such hair!– He’s a very lovely child just now, & that’s past doubting of, and has picturesque fanciful ways which are captivating, to me at least– Darling dearest Arabel write to me, I beseech you & be particular in speaking of yourself. Papa is not a clairvoyant—that, too, is past doubting of. Does he ever talk of the spirits & what does he say? Do you think I shall have courage to go to the chapel when he’s there? In the gallery—then. Is Henrietta nursing her baby still? Tell me all. And write, write, write. Give my love to Mr Hunter & tell me of him always. What does he say to the spirits? I ask Penini if he has a message & he says “Give my good love to dear Alibel” his precise words. Its more my fault than Robert’s that he does’nt write to you, but always I grudge the room. His love. Best of loves to dearest Trippy– How you would scoff to see me in my flat round mountaineer hat. Robert & Wilson swear it is becoming. Only I am decent & matronly at church, so dont be afraid too much. How is dear Minny. Your very own Ba–
May God love you ever!
Our love to everybody– What a shame of Chapman’s–
Directly we get out of this place, where we cant trust the postman, I pay everyone of my letters, remember– You are past toleration Arabel, & really vex me– We are in reach still of human infirmity in spite of our general perfection. Robert called in at the door when Penini was a little naughty. Good directly of course. Wilson observed, very provokingly I must admit .. “It[’]s a very good thing to have a Papa I think–” He exclaimed .. “Oh Lily, you naughty boy! I dont sink it a bit a good sing– Not a bit! I sink it be a velly nice sing to have no Papa at all—only a Mama.” I scolded him for this unnatural sentiment, but really I could scarcely keep a grave face. After all he is just as fond (if not fonder) of Robert as of me—but when one is provoked!——
You are to understand that there are two kinds of spiritual writing—one by the hand of the medium, the hand being used as an unconscious machine, and the other where no visible agency is used at all– Writings in most of the oriental languages are said to have been produced in this way. The Hebrew professor in New York [31] was addressed by means of the raps in Hebrew– He was convinced– So glad I am about dear Mary Hunter–
Address: Angleterre viâ France. / Miss Barrett / 50. Wimpole Street / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, II, 13–26.
Manuscript: Gordon E. Moulton-Barrett.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. Underscored twice.
3. Mary Augusta Ruxton (1853–1911), first child of Augustus Ruxton and his wife Mary (née Minto), was born on 8 June.
4. Sic, for as.
5. EBB originally began the sentence with “A turkey,” then added “For” but left the upper case “A.”
6. The Frederick Tennysons’ youngest child at this time, Matilda, was nearly twenty-three months old.
7. Louisa Greenough Powers (1838–1929), eldest daughter of Hiram and Elizabeth Powers.
8. Cf. James 5:12.
9. Hamlet, I, 5, 166–167.
10. Unidentified.
11. Arthur Darley (1766–1845), father of George Darley (1795–1846) the poet, was not an alderman, “a mistake made current by Miss Mitford when she wrote that the poet was the son of a rich Dublin alderman who had disinherited him because he would be a poet” (Claude Colleer Abbott, The Life and Letters of George Darley, Poet and Critic, Oxford, 1928, p. 1). Miss Mitford had shared this information with EBB as early as 1840; see letter 748. Abbott points out, however, that since one of Darley’s cousins, Frederick, was an alderman, “Miss Mitford’s mistake is therefore pardonable” (p. 2).
12. Cf. “The Siller Croun,” line 1 (The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire, 1842, p. 203).
13. Cf. Galatians 1:8.
14. Selina Hastings (née Shirley, 1707–91), Countess of Huntingdon, founded a sect of Calvinistic Methodists known as the Countess of Huntingdon’s Connection.
17. Sic, for Goodrich; see letter 3248, note 6.
18. “I love Lamartine.”
19. Unidentified.
20. Austen Henry Layard (1817–94), archaeologist, politician, and diplomat, is best known for excavations at Nimrud and Nineveh, chronicled in his Nineveh and Its Remains (1849) and Discoveries in the Ruins of Nineveh and Babylon (1853). Miner Kilbourne Kellogg (1814–89), American artist and sculptor born in Cincinnati, Ohio, had resided for many years in Florence. He lived next door to Powers on Via della Fornace. Kellogg and Layard met in Constantinople in 1845, and in July of that year they travelled together on an expedition to Bursa, where they climbed Olimpio de Bitnia. “At the ruins Layard explored and copied inscriptions and Kellogg sketched the scenery and made careful drawings of the ruins of temples, bridges, and amphitheaters” (Llerena Friend, M.K. Kellogg’s Texas Journal, 1872, Austin, Texas, 1967, p. 39).
21. Ann Leah Fox (1813–90), afterwards Fish (1829), Brown (1851), and Underhill (1858); Margaret Fox (1834–93), afterwards Kane (1856); and Catherine (“Kate”) Fox (1836–92), afterwards Jencken (1872), achieved immense fame as the “Rochester Rappers” in the late 1840’s when news spread of the knockings in their family cottage near Hydesville, Wayne County, New York; see Mariam Buckner Pond, The Unwilling Martyrs: The Story of the Fox Family (1947). The sisters travelled around New York, as well as to Cincinnati and Cleveland, Ohio, giving demonstrations of their powers as mediums. “Sometime in 1848 he [Miner Kellogg] and Rufus Wilmot Griswold attended a New York seance held by female mediums named Fish and Fox. … in what Kellogg thought the first meeting of the ‘spirit rappers’ ever given in New York” (Friend, p. 45).
22. The Poets and Poetry of America (1842), edited by Rufus Wilmot Griswold (1815–57). He had reviewed the American edition of EBB’s Poems (1844) and her Poems (1850).
24. The Athenæum of 30 July 1853 (no. 1344, p. 923) reprinted an item from The Literary Gazette of 23 July on Paris’s reaction to Faraday’s letter to The Times. See letter 3246, note 7.
25. According to an 1853 church census in Bagni di Lucca, there were four children from Tolomei’s first marriage, though all had reached adulthood: Emiliano (b. 1826), Federica (b. 1828), Natalia (b. 1831), and Matilde (b. 1833). Carlo’s “young brothers & sisters” may have been the children of Emiliano and his wife Fulvia (née Olivieri): Maria Micol Amelia Evelina Gismonda (b. 1850), referred to as “Evelina” in letter 3266; Americo (b. 1851), possibly the two-year-old “Nini” mentioned in letter 3267; and Maria Adele (b. 1853). Another possible candidate for “Nini” is Odoardo (1851–1905), son of the aforementioned Natalia and her late husband Gustavo Witting.
26. “I don’t like to go with those women.”
27. Presumably, this refers to EBB’s most recent note to Edward Chapman (letter 3209). It was enclosed in letter 3210 to Arabella, who, evidently, failed to post it.
28. Jane Hedley’s copy of The Seraphim is inscribed by EBB: “Jane Elizabeth Hedley. With the author’s most affectionate love” (Reconstruction, C162).
29. We have been unable to identify the brother in question. The cousin is Lizzie Barrett.
30. See letter 3204, notes 11 and 12.
31. i.e., George Bush (see letter 3181, note 12). In an account of the manifestations of oriental languages in spiritualism, Emma Hardinge records that “On one occasion Professor Bush being present with Mr. Fowler and desirous to test the possibility of communicating in Hebrew through the raps, called the alphabet in that language, and received highly satisfactory answers which he afterwards translated, bearing testimony to the indisputable test character of the communication, and its purity and correctness of orthography” (Modern American Spiritualism, 3rd ed., New York, 1870, p. 102).
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