3351. EBB to Henrietta Cook
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 20, 123–129.
Rome. 43 Via Bocca di Leone
March 4 [–5]. [1854] [1]
My ever beloved Henrietta I cannot let the day [2] pass without writing some of my memory & love to you. God bless you & all yours, who are a crown of joy to you! May no leaf fall off from that crown & no flower droop. I think much of your Altham who must be so surprisingly forward for his age. As for the feat of which Arabel tells me that he can repeat the Lord’s prayer, I praise him & scold you for it. It’s all wrong, be certain, Henrietta. Never was there so prodigious a child that at three years old he could understand that prayer. When I learnt it first I must have been years by years older, and I was taught an explanation at the same time. Well—the explanation appeared to me another prayer– I could’nt possibly associate the one with the other—& yet I was’nt a dull child, Henrietta– Do you think I would teach that prayer to Penini at his age? Indeed I would’nt for the world. The fault which consumes the churches .. of accepting the letter for the spirit & praying with the lips only .. we should not make the necessary faults of our children .. should we? Now I did’nt mean to take up a stool & throw at your head, [3] by way of being affectionate today. You would criticise Penini’s prayers I dare say .. & they are open to criticism certainly—he prays strangely sometimes .. “that Flush’s hair may grow,” & sublunary things of that kind—but he always knows what he’s praying about & that’s what I chiefly care for at his age. As to reading, at three years old you know he knew nothing but his letters—and indeed he was past four before Robert would allow me to begin to teach him anything. He could print .. an accomplishment he taught himself almost entirely– Therefore, it was’nt his fault—but certainly he was miles behind your Altham in civilization at the same age. You have won the race on us triumphantly. Now take care, Henrietta, you dont overwork that child of yours. The susceptibility of the young brain, & the harm which over-effort prematurely does to the intellect as well as to the health, cannot be too much considered by all of us. How do you mean that a child of three years old cant play all day? Why, play is the occupation of a child—a child learns most when he plays .. & an active vivacious child never feels the time hang heavily on his hands, whatever grown up men or women may do– How long is Altham at lessons– Penini can finish his in half an hour if he attends, though he may drag it out to an hour on bad days. He reads two pages, and writes four lines– His writing is astonishing I think, & probably, as you observe, the facility he has in drawing, educated his hand & prepared the way for it. Perhaps you would not think Penini as pretty as Altham is, so dont talk about coveting your neighbour’s son’s beauty [4] indiscreetly– Penini’s features are not particularly regular—why, he is often insulted by being called like me, Henrietta, which exasperates me. The little nose is cupid-pug—the mouth is very pretty, & so are the blue eyes with their miraculous sweep of eyelashes. But what is lovely in Penini is his grace– (I think I never saw quite so graceful a child taking him altogether)– and then the hair has an excellent scenic effect, there’s no denying. After all, it’s the soul of him that’s the bewitching thing—he is so loving, and good, and truthful, Henrietta. “I always teeps mine words.” To be sure I does. If he promises a thing, it is safe. Add to which, that he has faith to remove mountains, [5] & believes in the reality of the spiritual world just as he believes in the sun, and the fire and me & Robert– The other day, (I omitted to tell Arabel that, but you will communicate it) Harriet Hosmer the American sculptress—(very clever she is, only twenty four, and one of the frankest, bluntest, nicest little creatures that ever took my fancy) was telling me how the other night on entering her bedroom, a spirit some three feet high, exquisitely formed, came running, dancing to her from the furthest end of the room close up to her knees, when as she stooped towards it, it vanished. This Harriet Hosmer has had other visions, & is a writing-medium. Well—I turned to Penini, & asked him if he would’nt like to have seen the little spirit– “Oh yes,” said he, “velly mush! a little pretty spillit lite lat!—but[”] .. (holding his head on one side in an attitude of consideration) “I sint if a velly large angel tame, I be lather aflaid.” “Afraid,” I cried, “why should you be afraid? You are not afraid of the spirits who write.[”] “No, not a bit—but then I dont see them, dear Mama.” After all it was only a passing mood of his– In general I believe that [‘]‘large angels” would not startle him much, for we have tried to keep him whole & pure from the superstitious fears which have been common to us all through the circumstances of our education & which I for my part, have scarcely quite overcome to this day– If I am not wrong Henrietta, before our children are grown up—spiritual manifestations will be among the commonplaces of life, & it is well to have them prepared. Not that I talk to Penini much of the ‘writing’ or other things. I dont want him to be mixed up with them unduly, before his natural & moral life are healthily & wholly developped—but he knows that such things are, & considers them no more extraordinary than eating, drinking, or sleeping. The ‘writing’ he generally objects to, because of its “spoiling his time” i.e. taking up his playfellow’s time– The other day he came in & found me trying in vain to write. “Go away, naughty spillits,” said he, “& let Mama play wiz me!”– “Go away, naughty Penini, & dont shake the table–” In a moment—“Dear mama, I lite to det on your knee & try too–” Oh no .. you know you have no patience. “Yes—I velly patiens.” Up he gets on my knee & takes possession of the pencil—& whispers to me .. “Now you ask the spillits to write”– “No indeed,” said I, “I have nothing to do with it—you must do everything yourself”– Upon which,—raising his voice & using his most ingratiating manner—“Will the spillits do somesing for Penini?” It was the prettiest accent & turn of the head you could imagine—but of course he was tired in a moment of holding the pencil quiet, and thought he would draw St Peter’s, himself, instead—which was perfectly what I wanted. Oh—Arabel need’nt be afraid– I have no desire to mix up Penini in any of these phenomena, believe what I may– Indeed it would clearly be injudicious, for every reason. Only I wish him to have right views as to the possible & probable influx of the spiritual world among us, because these appear to me not simply just but nobly influential to life. Let me tell you what he said to me the other morning on his return from walking—“Dear mama—I saw today the points of the trees of the place where they’ve put Joe’s outside.” A clairvoyant, talking of the “shell of us,” could not have spoken better of the burial of the body– Of course, you will understand he meant poor little Joseph Story by “Joe”–
As to the manifestations I have written so lately to Henrietta [sic, for Arabel] that there is nothing more to say– On one evening we failed to get answers—nothing was said but “no, no”– Then .. to me .. “Send Wilson to bed—she is ill”– Wilson laughed & said it was a great mistake—she felt so sleepy she could’nt keep her eyes open but was as well as possible– We persevered a little therefore, & then I prepared to go to bed. In the course of the undressing .. down fell Wilson into a chair .. in a sort of half mesmeric half fainting affection, which frightened me horribly (because Robert was out & Ferdinando asleep) the large tears dropping down her cheeks. After a proper application of hygienic vinegar, she recovered however—& then we both remembered what had been written .. “Wilson is ill—send her to bed”. Curious, was it not? There had been no communications the least moving or purporting to come from spirits connected with either of us—but I suppose she was out of order somehow, & the spirits were aware of it though we were not– They are said to be solicitous generally about the health of their mediums, & careful not to hurt them. Now you laugh at me, or frown at me, or something .. I feel it through the air–
Robert went with Mrs Sartoris, & Mrs Kemble, Lockhart & others on an out-door excursion miles away yesterday– [6] The air was not quite mild enough to admit of my going safely, & I wd run no risk of course, but he was vexed to have to leave me behind. I should certainly have liked it– Everybody was brilliant, & Lockhart genial, which was more remarkable—they made a fire out of doors, & boiled a kettle & had tea .. to say nothing of Champagne & lunch for those who preferred it. Three carriage-fulls of people!– Next week something similar is to be tried again & then, if it should be possible, I may be of the party– The carnival passed in vain for me—no, not absolutely in vain since my Penini enjoyed it immensely, & has a complete show of the bonbons thrown at him & given to him in the course of it– He entered into the whole fun of the thing, & blew out the Duke of Prata’s [7] moccoli [8] as fast as they were lighted, with a vehemence of impudence most amusing to the spectators. By the way, I forgot to tell Arabel, that Mr Thackeray presented him to the Duke & Duchess of Northumberland who were extremely gracious to him––I quite forgot that in the number of Penini’s social successes. Mr Thackeray won my heart rather by his goodnature to Penini—and as to the Thackeray girls, I am inclined quite to love them– They were frank, intelligent, & affectionate,—three excellent qualities. I shall be glad to see them in London again this summer, where they will arrive sooner than we.
Dearest, beloved Henrietta, I shall see you in London, I do hope & trust. Oh, it will be cruel if the war should sweep you off to Ireland. [9] That would be worse than Sinope. [10] There surely cant be such a horrible possibility though Arabel says you have it in your fears. On the other hand how delightful it will be to meet all together in London this summer, & have & hold you for weeks & months to make Penini & Altham friends! Oh—how pleasant! It’s a dreadful business, this war, but while England & France are together I cant anticipate much ultimate evil from it—a lift to the liberty & civilization of the world, rather.
Did you see Miss Blagden, our Florence friend, Henrietta– I know Arabel did, at least– [11] I have been & am quite anxious about her– I found her here with a dislocated kneepan which neither my wishes nor those of other friends could persuade her to have advice upon– At last—a month ago, she was forced to have it– The Italian surgeon called in, recommended violent rupture & setting again, preparing pulleys &c &c for the occasion– Said the English physician, “he will kill you– Here’s the French military surgeon,—call in him”– French surgeon proposes “mild methods”—“bandages & rest–” French surgeon accordingly bandages the whole leg with all his might, bringing a male assistant to help to pull– It might have answered with a horse—or even a grenadier– With the delicate flesh & limb of a woman, the effect was to put her to the utmost torture—to produce high fever, & to necessitate the loosening of the bands– Foot found swollen & black—leg blistered all the way up– Suppuration has come on—all the blood in a state of congestion—knee cap grown looser than ever– After three weeks in bed she is on the sofa, but I am really frightened to think of the harm which may be irremoveable– [12] And that dear, generous, disinterested creature—it quite grieves me– Robert goes to see her everyday– I am sure Arabel will be sorry. I am uneasy too about dearest Miss Mitford– In addition to her other illness she has had influenza, & seems reduced to great debility & is out of heart in respect to herself. I wish Arabel would try to hear something about her.
It makes me regretful that aunt Jane should not be received in Wimpole Street for a few days, as so little was required. The hospitalities of that region have not improved since you & I, Henrietta, went into exile .. have they?—& they were not overwhelming at any time. Arabel says something to me about Bummy’s having no home of her own through necessity. Can that really be possible? If it is, she ought to be asked to Wimpole Street for a month or two now & then, & she must think the omission to do so most unkind & unaccountable. Papa is not well, I fear, with this asthma– Poor, beloved Papa—he will persist in staying in London through the winter, & must suffer as a matter of course. Mr Kenyon suffers too from asthma, I believe—but he will go as far as the isle of Wight at least—he will use means.——
Robert & I are going to send Arabel some verses for her bazaar-stall & the Ragged schools, [13] and I am meditating an attack on Sarianna & Mr Browning, to get some outlines & sketches from them for the same purpose, if they have an opportunity of sending to England in time. Little Edith Story’s fever recurs every fortnight during three days—& at last her father & mother are considering whether or not to accept the advice of the medical man & take her away to Naples for change of air– Rome is unhealthy still—but Mr Story will have, in the face of his misfortunes that the climate is unexceptionable. For my part .. not for Penini’s ringlets, would I keep him here another winter– He is well though, I must say, & has cheeks full of scarlet roses .. & the Thackerays who saw him in Paris as we came to Italy were astounded at the improvement in him, as to roundness & rosiness of appearance. I expect Altham to be as large though—perhaps larger. He used to be a small giant, I remember. Arabel advises us to bring our manservant north, and I think it very likely we shall do so if the travelling expenses dont make us recoil after our ruin at Rome– Three pounds a week we spend here—think of that! It’s immense! Ferdinando suspects the padrona [14] of the house,—be sure we were ill advised enough to have half a kitchen among our arrangements which we never did before. In England we must do it, of course, but we never will elsewhere when it is not necessary. We dont give dinners, nor go to them—only teas.
How is Susan? Write, my dearest Henrietta, & tell me things of you, in general & particular. My best love to Surtees & heaps of kisses to the pets. May God bless you all– Keep you happy .. bless you to the blessedest–
Your ever attached
Ba.
Robert’s love with mine. How I liked your story about the birthday! Penini modestly desires to have for his birthday presents next week, “a live horse and an elephant.”
Address: Angleterre / Mrs Surtees Cook / Wilton / Taunton / Somersetshire.
Publication: Huxley, pp. 199–203 (in part).
Manuscript: British Library.
1. Year provided by postmark. Closing date based on EBB’s reference to the “out-door excursion” occurring “yesterday.” In letter 3350, Fanny Kemble sets 4 March as the date for the outing.
2. Henrietta’s 45th birthday.
3. EBB alludes to Jenny Geddes, who is said to have thrown a stool at the head of the Dean of St. Giles’ Cathedral in Edinburgh on 23 July 1637 when he introduced the new Anglican prayer book that Charles I was attempting to impose on the Church of Scotland. This incident became famous as the starting point of the revolt against the king’s authority which led to the drawing up of the National Covenant in February 1638.
4. Cf. Exodus 20:17.
5. Cf. Matthew 17:20.
6. To Vallerano; see letter 3350.
7. Probably Filippo Invitti (1832–98), Prince of Conca, who, though not the Duke of Prata, held the titles of Duke of Roccavecchia and Marquis of Prata. He resided in Naples.
8. “Candle ends.” The close of Carnival on Shrove Tuesday takes place on the Corso “with the Moccoli, when the maskers appear with ligh[t]ed tapers, and endeavour to blow out the lights of each other” (Murray’s A Handbook for Travellers in Central Italy, 1853, part II, p. 11). When a reveller’s taper is extinguished, that person must unmask.
9. Henrietta was worried that Surtees’s regiment, the 1st Somerset Militia, would be called on to replace one of the regular army regiments being transferred from garrison duty in Ireland to the Mediterranean, in anticipation of war with Russia.
11. Probably during the Brownings’ stay in London in the summer of 1852. In letter 3076 EBB invites Isa Blagden to the Brownings’ rooms at 58 Welbeck Street, where Arabella was a frequent, if not daily, visitor.
12. Isa’s knee problems did in fact persist for some time. While in London during the summer of 1855, she consulted Sir Benjamin Brodie (1783–1862), sergeant-surgeon to Queen Victoria. Isa reported his diagnosis in a letter to Elizabeth Kinney: “He told me I was going on quite well—but it would be a long long time before I was restored to the full use of my knee—he said all the ligaments of the knee had given way from the violent wrench at the time of the accident & that to consolidate these again was a very tedious process” (9 September [1855], ms at Columbia).
14. “Landlady.”
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