3261. EBB to Henrietta Cook
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 19, 262–268.
Casa Tolomei
Alla Villa
Bagni d’ Lucca.
August 30– [1853] [1]
My ever dearest Henrietta I receive your letter & begin to write directly– In the first place I am in good spirits about the movement from Wimpole Street, and next, I am stirred into a letter-movement on my own part through horror that you & Surtees should think me capable of depreciating Altham!! Really, I cant rest, with such a stain on my reputation, Henrietta. Innocent!—not guilty, indeed!– Now, listen. What did I say to bring down on me this heavy charge? Altham is a splendid little fellow, a noble child .. I admired him honestly & entirely. You have a rose in your garden, & I suggest that you should have a geranium too, on which you conclude that I dont care for roses, while all I want is a variety of colour & perfume. Why, because I admire Altham, am I to want a copy of Altham side by side with the original? Besides, Altham’s a boy—he is very like Surtees, & very exclusively like Surtees, or was—or seemed so to me. Now, a girl, might be in another type with advantage, and I coveted for her, certain curved lips that I know of .. & that you know of when you look in the glass. Still, if she misses them .. if she is identical with Altham, .. she does not do badly, after all, .. and accoutered with the chesnut hair (but Altham has’nt chesnut hair—has he?) and the blue eyes & the fair skin, I am little inclined to question her prettiness. Give her a kiss from me, but two great kisses to Altham, to show that we are friends & that I never intended to insult him. He must be very forward in his talking .. much more forward than Penini was at his age .. if he knows the names of all the garden-flowers. Tell me more details about the children, because everything interests me, be it ever so small. When he sings “I’d be a butterfly”, is it the air, or the words, or both?—tell me. Is he easily managed .. and the temper .. is there any passion? Or ought I not to intrude into the sanctuary of Altham’s faults?—— I told you once that Penini had never been punished, by even the pretence of punishment made by carrying him into the next room, since last year when we were at Genoa—but I must confess to you that twice since our arrival here .. in his reading-lesson .. Robert has had to carry him away for a moment .. just to give him time to cry out “Oh, I dood <good>, [2] I dood! Dont leave me—I dood” .. on which he was carried back again, & there an end. Also, on one occasion (when I thought Robert rather hard-hearted) the child was forbidden to eat pears all day. Yes, that was a regular punishment, the only one he ever had, and he scarcely could believe in the possibility of it’s being acted out– When the whole horror of the situation rushed on him he burst out crying, & exclaimed in a voice of anguish .. “Oh, naughty Papa!—what I do, if the peaches too sour!!!” Was’nt it a frightful supposition? I thought Robert hardhearted & was very much out of humour on my own account, but he might have been right, ..—.. ‘who knows?’. The crimes on these different occasions were uniformly crimes of inattention at his reading-lesson—poor little angel! Here was the fact. Very foolishly I began to teach him at Florence by means of my own m∙s∙ printing, which he read very well. In spite of all my pains however there was a slight difference between my performances & the printing in books .. therefore when I bought him a spelling book just before we came here & he began to read it, the process required a little attention. He grew puzzled & disgusted, .. & being absolutely wild with the sight of the mountains & the liberty of the garden .. shut his eyes & kicked his legs indolently, as he sate on my knee, and said “I not lite mine lesson a bit”—and “Oh, I wish I done,” and various ignoble sentiments of the sort, which were so unlike Penini, that I was in despair—and then Robert came to the rescue, & gave some lessons himself—& then we were half inclined to give it up for the present altogether, only it wd have been such a pity to throw away what he had actually learnt. But it is’nt according to my system to teach a baby of Penini’s age against his will, & I could’nt bear to do it– It vexed me. What set me on beginning to teach him at Florence was because he chose it himself, & because I desired to give him the opportunity of amusing himself with story-books, fairy tales & the rest .. not as a beginning to his education!,—the fairies forbid it!– I have not forgotten my liberty-plans, I assure you, nor will I ever be false to them– You will see. But Penini has great mental activities .. & will always be doing something. Sometimes he sews, with Wilson. He dances .. sings .. draws .. writes. At Florence he was very energetic. Here, the energy has run out of doors .. the arts are given up .. his heart is in the garden, with his rabbits, with his fish, & turkies & chickens .. & on the whole, I am glad, for he has grown rosy & fat .. for him .. & is looking really radiant. But I must go on to tell you– The fit of inattention about the reading, lasted off & on, for about a fortnight, & then we conquered. Now he is getting on capitally and reads about “lime pigs” and ‘warm muffs’ with considerable fluency. I keep him from five to ten or fifteen minutes. If he does it pretty well, he has one pear—if very well, two pears. It is difficult to be angry with him, or even to pretend to be angry with him when he is at the naughtiest. “Be tind <kind> to me and then I be tind <kind> to you. Be tind, dear Mama! loot <look> nice! Sint <Think> how velly well I sang lis morning–”!– What are you to say?
If you see the Hedleys you had better exhort them from me to join us at Rome this winter. It is to be very agreeable, I understand, and I expect a good deal from spirits & men there. In the meanwhile we are enjoying ourselves here .. and I, much more, for the excellent news of the journey from Wimpole Street. [3] Oh—it was very good of George to manage that! and now I may hope for some advantage for our dear Arabel who has kept me uncomfortable with the thoughts of her for some time back. Dearest Henrietta, as to Lizzie, what is to be said? I have been afraid of speaking for fear of saying something wrong, & I was forbidden to speak. Very sorry & anxious I have been– A girl under age—a young man in the involved situation of Alfred .. the peculiar relation to W. St—of her being there for protection. [4] It is so different from the rashest of love-matches, where the evil is mere poverty. Then the painfulness to Arabel .. what is one to say & do? Papa is stone-blind, or she would have been allowed to go to Dublin at once—but even now I hope her father may send the permission .. may’nt he? .. before the summer ends. If we shake our heads for ever, or shake them off, I suppose no result is possible. I think of Arabel chiefly– It is hard on her. Love for love you dont get, except from the better natures—it is sowing mignonette-seed on the pavement. And if you dont get love, you will get nothing else, be sure– By the way, ask Arabel if, drawn by love for me, she went to the homœopathist’s before she left London. Ask her too if she has my last letter safe—because she must have left Wimpole Street when it arrived there– I hope she will write to me directly.
Since we came here, Henrietta, we have been rather dissipated .. for us. We meant to go out no where, & behold, we are constantly going out to omnivorous teas .. of hams and tarts & fruits & cakes, & coffee &c!– It’s the primitive fashion of the Baths to dine at two or three, & drink & eat teas accordingly. We have been to Mrs Stisted’s, and to Mrs Sunderland’s,—and to the Storys we go at least once a week, while at least once a week they come to us. She is kind & pretty, fresh & innocent, & intelligent enough besides—and he is sculptor, poet, lawyer, mover of tables, & wears an enormous beard. I like them much—& Penini & the children go backward & forward to mutual teas, just as we aged people do. Edith is nine, & Joe six—Penini’s special friend, of course therefore, is Edith, with whom he has struck up a romantic attachment. The other day was her birthday about which a great fuss was made– He said to me in the morning, with a deep sigh of emulation .. “Oh dear me! I wish one of mine years gone! I dont mean lis ear, and I dont mean lat ear” .. (striking each side of his head in an explanatory way) .. “I mean a year like Edith’s! I want mine birsday, so velly mush”!—— Tomorrow the Stisteds are to spend the evening here, &, having only five spoons, we avoid asking anybody to meet them. Well, we have “teas” you see .. but your whist parties we have no part in, Henrietta. I have not seen a card literally since I married seven years ago .. & how many years before, you know pretty well. Are you constant to the dinner-tea process–? I hope so. Tomorrow the Stisteds have tea with us, and the next day we go to the Storys, and the third day we go to Mrs Stisted’s to hear French readings by M. Alexandre [5] .. we dont see much of the Stisteds notwithstanding .. we are a little shy of them .. but we cant resist M. Alexandre who reads admirably. We have been twice to his public readings—he was the instructor of Rachel, & is here ‘en voyage’. [6] With all this & with the donkey-rides to boot, we manage to do a little work on most days– Nobody comes near us in the day, so that we have absolute liberty & leisure .. & altogether I like it very much– Such scenery! such visions from the tops of the hills! You in England dont know what nature is in her grand & wild aspects. But we are not living cheaply—there’s the worst. Our new servant, though honest and an excellent cook, does not manage adroitly .. and the expenditure of milk & butter is great,— everything being a little dearer than in Florence. He has commended himself to Penini much (—Wilson says she never saw a man so patient with a child .. ‘Ferdinando’ is the resource at every moment) & through Penini to us—but the bills do exceed a little, & every ‘little,’ unfortunately, tells in our small income. Oh—I dont say there is an important excess–
While I think of Altham’s hair, let me write of it– If it grows thin, of course you should cut it .. but if only it is not very thick, remember that at his age you cant expect very thick hair. You can judge whether there is increase or diminution in the quantity of hair. If it seems to you to get on, I would not cut it by any means, let the whole world adjure me ever so. Penini’s has not been touched with scissors, & it is luxuriant. Take the scissors once, & you must keep them in your hand. Oh dont cut it, unless the need is plain, because, even if it does’nt curl, the long hair is picturesque– Divide it in the middle & let it grow. Do you know I am complimented considerably on our manner of dressing Penini, & here as in Florence, Wilson is beset for the loan of patterns &c. His petticoats are shorter than ever, & his waists longer .. & he continues to wear the polka-jackets, either in embroidered muslin or black silk, & I am extravagant in the embroidery on his trousers & collars– Then the little hats are forced to show the whole length of his ringlets.
At this moment comes a letter from Arabel– Give her my thankful love for it, & tell her that, only because I am writing to you, I dont write to her instantly, for she has made me much happier & more satisfied. Thank dear Henry too for interfering to save us all. What vexes me (something must vex one) is that George shd go to Spa instead of coming here– It will cost him more .. to begin with. He might come to this place through Marseilles for nine pounds (Count Cottrell did it four years ago when there was less railroad & greater expenses) for nine pounds at least, and in five or six days. We have a room for him– He might go to our house at Florence when tired of the mountains. How vexatious that he shd throw us over so!– I am quite in a passion.
Tell Arabel that her theory about the physician is most improbable– Physicians are not apt to play such tricks at the expense of their reputations—but as the fact is by no means solitary, the solution is scarcely satisfactory on any ground. She will remember Miss Haworth who painted Penini. [7] I had a letter from her the other day from London– She says that she had a séance in her drawingroom lately, at which Mr Spicer, Lord Stanhope, Mr Reece, a friend of Alfred Tennyson’s, & a Mr Smith were “in a circle”. The table was moved satisfactorily & then Lord Stanhope asked in an audible voice, the spirits who might be present to manifest themselves by the ‘raps.’ Well– the raps came—at first, faintly and then so distinctly that even unbelievers on the outside of the circle, heard & were convinced. Intelligent answers (by the alphabet) were given to questions .. but they asked no questions of much consequence (absurd people that they were!) putting it off to another séance when they might be undistracted by the presence of unbelievers. Then I had a letter from Mr Chorley .. who, obstinate infidel as he is, has yet the chivalry to send me a message from Mr Westland Marston. Arabel saw, I think, Mr & Mrs Marston at our house in London—does she remember? He is the author of the “Patrician’s Daughter.” Well– Mr Chorley met Mr Marston at Folkestone two days ago .. and Mr Marston desired him to tell me that, having heard of my interest in the subject of the manifestations, he would be happy to write me an account of his own experiments– “He believes everything,” says Mr Chorley, “to the point of being in communication with the spirit of his own mother, & others”– Also, Mr Spicer, the famous Mr Spicer, author of ‘Sights & Sounds,’ who has written the history of the manifestations, (he is a poet .. & a man of fortune .. there’s a contradiction!) is coming out to Italy with a letter of introduction to us. As Arabel says, the spirits seem to find me out on all sides! Yet they wont communicate with me .. no– Oh, I wish they would. So does Robert. He always says that that is one of the things which provoke him to incredulity in the business. He would give anything in the world for one of the experiences, talked of on all sides .. & why should they not come to him as to others? Why, I cant say. There are differences in the degree of receptiveness in the physical organizations of men & women. Yet who shall conclude that we are shut out for ever from these experiences. I think it is Mrs Marston who is the medium in that family. A matronly looking woman, affectionate to her husband & children, [8] & sufficiently commonplace. The clergyman here, Mr Green, who is wonderfully liberal for a clergyman .. (either in or out of the establishment, Henrietta .. dont frown at me! ..) is taking up the subject with great interest. He has told me that at a soiree here a few days ago, everybody present including various clergymen, agreed in setting down the movement as purely diabolical, & that he was alone in his leaning to another hypothesis. Oh, I assure you I dont exaggerate the proportions the subject is taking everywhere.
Poor Wilson had letters from her family about a fortnight ago which distressed her much .. speaking of her mother’s illness which, at eighty, is a serious thing indeed. [9] She is very anxious of course—& so am I, whenever the post comes. Ah that’s the worst of being in Italy. We are too far from our hearts. It is sad to hear of dear Maddox. God bless her—she must be very lonely from other kinds of blessing, poor thing. [10]
Arabel says you have weaned the baby, but you said not a word. Indeed you are chary of your details, Henrietta—but now, as I answer your letter so quickly, never dare to reproach me for neglecting you .. you prick hard when you say such words. Tell Arabel, I received her letter .. the advice about the pew & all. I am glad Mazzini sent the ticket [11] —that was well & kind of him—only I am afraid he did no more specific good to Arabel, in that sending, than he has done to Italy on other occasions. Always I forgot to ask one thing– About five weeks ago an article appeared in Galignani, extracted from American papers I think, about the literary persons in England. We were mentioned most absurdly … as charming people only too difficult to get at … leading retired lives, chiefly on the continent .. & appearing in London like the swallows … when we might be seen at the opera & the Exhibition but nowhere else! [12] —I want to know if this article appeared in the Times or elsewhere in England. I should not have liked Papa to read such stuff– Seen only at the Opera!– He wd think I had gone to ruin & devastation. Such a lie too!– Dearest Henrietta I ask you a favour. Will you put the enclosed minute note into an envelope & despatch it– It’s on business. [13]
God bless & keep you. I do wish you could go to Arabel—but if you cant, you cant of course. Our joint love to Surtees .. (has he forgiven me?) & kisses to the darlings–
Your ever attached Ba–
Address: Angleterre viâ France. / Mrs Surtees Cook / Wilton / Taunton / Somersetshire.
Publication: Huxley, pp. 192–194 (in part).
Manuscript: British Library.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. Here and below, EBB has interpolated the word in angle brackets above the word she is translating.
4. This is the first indication that a romantic attachment existed between Alfred Moulton-Barrett and his cousin Georgiana Elizabeth (“Lizzie”) Barrett (1833–1918) who had turned twenty in June. In two years they would marry at Paris.
5. We have been unable to confirm that M. Alexandre was “the instructor of Rachel” or to further identify him; however, see SD1674 for William Wetmore Story’s description of him.
6. “Travelling.”
7. There are two extant portraits of Pen, aged about two, drawn by Fanny Haworth, presumably during the summer of 1851 when the Brownings first returned to England. These portraits were not put up for sale in Browning Collections but were retained by members of the Moulton-Barrett and Browning families. The portrait retained by Pen’s wife Fanny (see Reconstruction, H69) was reproduced as the frontispiece to vol. 17.
8. The Marstons had three children at this time: Eleanor Kyme (1843–79), Cicely Narney (1845–78), and Philip Bourke (1850–87). A third daughter, Florence Louise (1847–51) had died on 3 September 1851.
9. Wilson’s mother Mary Wilson (née Wallace, 1782–53) was suffering from severe bronchitis.
11. We are unable to explain this reference to Mazzini.
12. An article entitled “Literary Lions of London” in the 7 July 1853 issue of Galignani’s Messenger contained an item from “The Boston Transcript (U.S.) of three weeks since”: “The Brownings are like swallows, flitting from clime to clime, but London is often in their way, and they may be met not unfrequently at the National Gallery in Trafalgar-square, or at the opera. Both are so delightful to encounter, this pleasure, like all exquisite enjoyments is rare” (p. 2).
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