3378. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 20, 165–173.
43 Via Bocca di Leone.
April 3. [1854] [1]
My beloved Arabel you will get a proof of the Ragged school verses from Chapman & Hall, & see that it stands as correctly as you can, as these little things should be particularly accurate. What Robert sends you is not worth much he says .. being a simple versification of a fable of Martin Luther’s [2] —but, in my mind, it is characteristic both of Robert & Luther, & very appropriate to the occasion. As for me I have done as well as I could, & what’s written from the heart must have some sort of good in it after all– The Ragged School cause is one of those unquestionable causes, which every man with a sense of justice in him & every woman with a throb of pity in her, whatever their opinions may be otherwise, must give their sympathy & good wishes. You know, I often find fault with things for being ‘narrow’– Well, this is’nt narrow, at least– The condition is only … rags.
Now, Arabel, I am going to suggest something to you which was suggested to us the other day by a letter. Barry Cornwall wrote to Robert asking us to contribute to the “Keepsake” for his sake, because he is interested in the editress. [3] ‘Do this,’ he says, ‘for me, and I will send an autograph poem to your sister in law for sale at the Ragged schools bazaar of which I have heard.’ Whereupon we thought directly that you would do something good by the sale of autographs—& we have written to Mr Procter to accept his offer. You will have his poem for one .. & you may take, if you please, the mss of our poems when they are sent to you with the proof– [4] We told Chapman to keep them clean. Also, I mean to besiege Mrs Kemble for something, which she wont refuse either to me or to the cause. If I could get her prologue to the amateur play acted in Rome this winter & which she came & repeated to us the same night, it would be excellent, I think. The actors applied to Lockhart for a prologue, but he was unwell or sulky & refused, & she goodnaturedly wrote it & recited it too for them when only a few hours were given to her for the purpose. Perhaps Mr Kenyon might get an autograph or two for you from the people he knows– [5] If Miss Mitford were well enough she would give you a few lines [6] —old or new, would not matter so very much, you know. Sarianna has promised to let you have the drawings. And now, Arabel, if we .. Robert & I .. happen to have pleased you by our contributions, show your “gratitude” by just one thing .. i.e. making no fuss about the printing of the poems. Observe—if you talked till doomsday you would’nt produce the smallest effect upon our decision .. so, dont talk. It quite pained me in London not to be able to assist you in your works of Christian charity, except with sympathy—but we are poor, more’s the pity, & cant give money. Here, now, is a thing we can do. The expense of printing & paper, in so small a m∙s. is scarcely anything,—& even that we shall only see deducted from the sum due to ourselves,—& not miss therefore in any way. If you knew the pleasure it gives us to do it, you would not grudge indeed the allowing us to do it– Why, I am not sure that I did’nt stop Robert in some sort of rash vow when we were in London .. (he’s a Jephtha[h] for rash vows [7] .. & I’ve stopped him twenty times in such vows as never to take another wife, & the like .. I’ve held his lips together with both hands .. I would’nt have it!) well .. I am not sure I did’nt stop him in a rash vow to give the first fifty pounds we could spare to your Refuge .. Refuse .. Arabel,—he was so struck by the noble object of it & by your devotion to it– On that occasion I stopped him .. but now I dont stop him, & you shant stop us. Much a-say about nothing! [8] I say so much that you may have to say nought. Chapman is bidden to send you the number of copies he may think suitable to such an occasion– If you prefer any particular number, say so to him– You know there’s nothing but the price of paper to consider—& paper is so cheap now that you might as well (like dear Storm) consider deeply the postages of letters. How pleased I am that dearest Bummy is with you—give her my best love & say so!– I have your little note by Mr Kenyon’s last letter .. but his first letter never reached us & I am horribly vexed on every account. Among other enclosures it contained a letter to me from Grace Greenwood containing of course the latest American news in spiritualism, for she asked me if she might send me anything interesting on the subject & I said ‘yes.’ It was a thick packet, says Mr Kenyon– His kindness leads him always to prepay our letters which makes them more subject to risks of loss, as I have told you.
Oh– I certainly told you about Grace Greenwood– Her other name was Miss Clark– Now she is married to a Mr Lippingcot, [9] or some such extraordinary piece of cacophony. She travelled through Florence, & passed some three evenings at our house, & told me various curious spiritual stories, such as the one about the lilies of the valley set on the mother’s head .. you remember?—& the one about the spiritual embrace & kiss—oh, you remember. [10] Her sister is a medium– She told me that the news of all her letters home was anticipated by the spirits– Her mother heard everything about her through the spiritual writing. Our spirits here are much less communicative– When we hear facts, which we do, not infrequently, they are generally wrong. I cant account for it– Frivolous spirits intrude—& true spirits make mistakes. Henrietta wishes us in “sober England”– You dont know what passes around you in sober England. This spirit-writing (so called) is spreading everywhere in England– The wife of the professor of mathematics at the London Colleges, Mrs De Morgan, who lost her daughter aged fifteen, [11] a few weeks ago, is or believes herself to be in constant intercourse with the spirit,—& is suffering none of the bitterness of the separation of death– The other children have even seen their sister in vision, & so have certain friends of the family. Talking of unbelief, the first piece of scepticism that ever passed my Penini’s lips startled both Robert & me the other day. He said at breakfast, addressing himself to me (as the centre of the opposition) .. “Dear mama, I [12] dont believe in angels”– ‘What’—said I scarcely believing my ears—‘you dont believe in angels!’ “No”– (with a dogmatic air—& knitting his brows to a Voltairish sort of resolution) .. “I [13] sint lat angels teeps in Heaven and does’nt tome into looms”– Said I in a state of consternation .. “Where did you hear that, Penini?” “Miss Blagden telled it to me.” Well—I was horribly vexed with Isa Blagden, & as I was writing a note to her I reproached her vehemently for polluting my child– Why, even Robert has never dared to breathe a doubt against the chrystal glass of that child’s soul who walks as if in a cloud of witnesses, [14] recognizing the spiritual world about him as distinctly as the sun & the flowers of the natural. She was very penitent & explained how it was– Penini was there the day before, & enquiring very eagerly about a little dog of Miss Hosmer’s[,] the American sculptress who occupies the apartment above Miss Blagden’s. The dog was little & pretty & had siezed on all Penini’s affections. He coveted the possession of it much—“And ” said he, “lat woman has, too,” (besides the dog) “a silver angel lat tomes to see her sometime”—(referring to the vision she said she saw of a luminous figure .. I told you about it in a former letter.) [15] Well—Louisa, the little invalid was lying close by & heard him say it—she exclaimed, “what, what!”—in a nervous excited way—and Miss Blagden, to quiet her, turned round & said in a low voice that it was all nonsense, & that angels remained in heaven & did’nt come into houses. She had’nt had the least idea of Penini’s hearing her—but he heard & put the piece of infidelity into ostentatious use directly. Miss Blagden represented that Louisa was morbid in mind & body, had been accustomed to associate fear & horror with apparitions, & that what Penini was perfectly unaffected by would have been injurious to her. I think it would have been better, even with Louisa, rather to give her just ideas than to deny possible facts—but it is true that she is very delicate—& I cant blame Isa Blagden for any degree of caution in regard to her. Isa’s knee is better—that is, she is able to walk—& ought not to walk– The medical men are very hopeless about the ultimate cure—think she will always be lame. Is’nt it sad? I am sure she ought to move into a less relaxing air than this, but Rome has bewitched her & she will stay the winters at least, I fear. The Storys have left Rome at last—they should have gone three months ago .. Edith’s fever had taken an obstinate & threatening character. They were going a fortnight since to Naples—but at Velletri a miserable place some thirty miles from hence, she was siezed with a frightful attack & lay with congestion on the brain & heart & liver, in a state of almost insensibility. Mr Story wrote a sort of mad letter to Robert– How was he to stay there alone if the child died? He adjured Robert to come or send someone. We agreed that Robert could only go .. which he did in half an hour, taking Mrs Page who insisted on going, with the kindness of heart common to her, though she was by no means strong enough for the exertion. We had all taken for granted that Edith must be dead before they could arrive, & that the funeral would detain them for another two or three days. Think how I felt at letting Robert go! Penini made it no better by uttering the most piteous screams & sobs at seeing the carriage drive away,—which Wilson & I together could scarcely put a stop to– He said at last, when he could articulate anything, “I sint Misser Story not velly dood to tate papa away– I sure papa will tate ill”. In fact, the child was frightened & grieved just as I was. For my part I scarcely closed my eyes all night, and would’nt have sate down to any spirit-writing for the world. I dont know when I had had before such a concussion of nerves. At four the next day, just as I was expecting a letter, in came Robert .. laughing. Edith was better instead of being dead—& really, making every allowance for the exaggerated apprehensions natural to such circumstances, Mr Story should scarcely have written such a letter– At the worst, he was there with his wife, two servants, three physicians, & full pecuniary resources, & should have felt himself sufficient for the straight, in all manliness & fortitude, without calling upon Robert .. who, after all, was only a friend of a few months. I am ungenerous enough to grudge a little the parting & the fear, (to say nothing of the dollars) to an end which was really useful to nobody. Still, at the moment, I thought just as Robert did, that there was no possibility of refusing to go. It would have been dreadful if they had lost their only remaining child, & the case was moving to one’s compassion. I like Mr Story infinitely better than I like her, by the way, in spite of this want of courage & firmness–
Penini’s birthday was a great day with us. I gave him a sword and a book of costumes, & Robert gave him a set of kitchen-utensils (he has a vocation for cooking) and a farmyard full of feathered chickens. Wilson gave him a watch, and Ferdinando a collection of the views about Rome. The padrona [16] of the house presented to him a nosegay of artificial flowers. Little Edith Story gave him a Punch stuffed with bonbons, Louisa Alexander (the invalid) a collar which she had worked herself, and Miss Blagden two golden scudi .. about nine shillings, English. We had kept the day a secret as far as possible, out of delicacy, because really Penini is so popular in Rome that we should have been overwhelmed with gifts if it had been generally known. He whispered it however as a profound mystery to one or two of his particular friends, & so there was a partial .. very partial disclosure– As it was, Mrs Page, on hearing it a few days after, would’nt be cheated out of her kindness, & brought him an enormous donkey, with an inside (in the manner of the Trojan horse) peopled with bonbons, & moveable ears & tail– Well .. to go on with the birthday– After dining at one oclock, we put him into an open carriage with Ferdinando & Wilson & sent them all to Villa Pamfili Doria, five miles off, to walk in the beautiful grounds & gather flowers– Nothing could exceed his rapture, as Wilson described it– He stretched out his arms as if he would gather all the flowers at once. And such a basket of violets as he brought home, and such scratched legs!– And .. “Such a nice time, dear mama”! I should have liked very much to have gone too as you may suppose, but there was a treacherous wind in spite of the magnificent sunshine & I was afraid of doing myself some harm.
My darling Arabel I have just received your letter– Oh—how grieved I am for the poor Hedleys. [17] Dear, dear aunt Jane! What a blow—what a trial. If I were she I should forgive the mistress of the school with considerable difficulty—for the misery is that the child was old enough to feel the whole sentiment of the desolation of that deathbed among strangers. [18] It is a misfortune indeed. No, we shall not go into mourning—it would be foolish under our circumstances, and I will not as I am tempted, write to dear aunt Jane, because such letters are the mere vanities of grief .. worse than the vanities of pleasure. Do tell me whatever you hear further of all of them—& say, if you communicate with them, how deep my feeling is–
Arabel—you are doing a very cruel injustice in this suspicion of one of the simplest & most upright natures I ever had to do with. Why, here is Robert who does not believe he says! but who never has had a moment’s suspicion of Wilson’s honesty in the matter. I have often said that I dont understand how he reconciles the belief & the unbelief .. the faith in the individual & the scepticism in the phenomena .. but still he does it somehow. You are more reasonable in your point of view, perhaps,—because how a person can be self-deceived in a matter of this kind .. sit down at nearly any hour of the day & write whole sentences .. not in a state of excitement, but as coolly as I write now .. professedly without knowing a word of what she writes .. professedly having her pencil & hand moved by an external force unconnected with her will .. & yet be mistaken .. & yet be not mad .. yet be not bad .. is more than I can comprehend. You think the illness &c “suspicious”—. It’s suspicious if the whole phenomena are taken for granted to be delusive—but certainly not as I see & know them. And how do you account for what has happened to me again & again, when the pencil has turned round in my own hand. Here is Mr Page, in this house, .. the great artist .. he is a wonderful painter, Arabel—&, if possible, stands as high with me as a man. Robert was saying of him the other day, that he never knew a man whose habitual modes of thought & feeling had attained to so high a spiritual elevation. He is a Christian even to the tip of his paint-brush .. that man. Well—his hand too has moved—& he has written .. yes, & drawn .. not by his own will– Facts of the kind are multiplied on all sides of us– There’s no excitement—on the contrary, the natural results of these things is to take away all superstitious irritation & fear– Wilson was saying the other day, she felt herself in the midst of spirits & had lost all sense of the nervousness about such things natural to her– I dont talk much about the subject of the writing to Penini– I dont want to excite him into trying experiments– I dont want him to write for long reasons. But he knows—& believes (in spite of Isa Blagden) in spiritual presences & manifestations & would’nt be “excited,” so as to be hurt, by any manifestation of a kindly nature. No—Arabel. I shall not make him nervous & excited, but the contrary. Isa Blagden when she answered my reproaches said .. [‘]‘Oh, of course it is different with Penini—born & nurtured upon spiritualism of all sorts, & with his healthy mind & body”! And he has obviously a healthy mind & body. His nerves are not susceptible as they used to be. As he says of himself in classical language … “I not aflaid of nossing at all.” Also the spiritual is natural to him, in a sense. His simple objection to the writing is that it “spoils all his time” .. i.e. it keeps people from playing with him– You never saw a child so altered in respect to shyness. He will go anywhere with anybody, if there’s a “party” in the wind (Arabel, you’ll think me extraordinary in my programme of education, with angels at one end & parties at the other–) Mrs Page gave a child’s party in his honor the other day– There was a great cake with his name, Penini, inscribed in white sugar, & he sate at the head of the table & presided. He had “allanged” as he called it, (arranged) about this party all himself & invited the guests, & you never saw a child in a more radiant consciousness of glory than he was. In return, he brought home an album of Mrs Page’s in which he was to make a drawing which at first we hesitated to permit .. but he was so earnest that we yielded, & he did his best, & really the drawing was wonderful. But I cant let him send you St Peters’ today [19] —you would pay for it. I grudge the room even for Robert’s writing—the omission is chiefly my fault– He shall write someday when I can afford it. Such heaps of things I have to say to you. Robert has been out very much lately in the evening, & we are both going with the Kembles .. I mean Fanny Kemble & Mrs Sartoris into the country tomorrow– I believe Mr Lyons, [20] the son of Sir Edmund, is going, with some others. I have not dared to go out at night for some time, though I am well enough. Robert has seen a good deal of Lockhart, who took an immense fancy to him, I understand, & pronounced he was “not at all like a damned literary man.” The Quarterly [21] called upon us moreover & was very gracious—& Robert broke the vow against dinners so far as to dine at the Sartoris[’]s in his company just before he left Rome for England. In the evening came the Duke of Wellington & Mr Lyons, & I had’nt Robert back till one in the morning because he did’nt like to break up the party when they were so few in number. Lockhart however went away early. He and the Duke are travelling together, & he is in dreadful health. Said his grace .. “What shall I do if Lockhart dies on the road? shall I send the body to England .. or bury it at once? can anybody advise me?” —Well—it was a difficult question. “I wonder if it would be delicate,” added the Duke gravely, “to ask him”. Somebody suggested that he had better ask Lockhart what he would do if the Duke died. Poor Lockhart—he is not in a state of health to travel in tenderer & somewhat less distinguished company, if at all. Robert met the Duke of Wellington often at the Sartoris’s & elsewhere– He’s just like the old Duke, but a nullity, goodnatured enough though .. except perhaps to his wife. [22] Tell George, Mr & Mrs Denman [23] (son of Lord Denman) have called on us & the children are great friends of Penini’s. So you believe that story about Louis <Napoleon …> [24] did you hear it <…> Cass the American M<inister …> December where in his office <…> at the court & ridden with the <…> different as he told it to me. <…> his adoration of her & could’nt bear <…> of insanity. Whereas she cared for nobo<dy …>—believe as much as your story. As to intoler<ance …> papers printed lately, & enquire into the terms <…> offered. Paris <…> opened– The exaggerations of certain parties are really <comic>al. Come, Arabel, if L N divorces the empress, I give him up to you to be executed for ever. He will neither divorce her nor betray US. Have you read Mr Drummond’s pamphlet about the end of the world– [25] I dont believe in that either. You see I too can be sceptical when I try.
Mrs Brotherton goes on writing Greek. Write to me, & tell me all about the bazaar– How I should like to see it– What have you done yourself? You dont say– Love to dearest Trippy—say how she is– Do you know you dont mention Papa—how he is I mean. God bless you, beloved– Oh how wrong of Henrietta– I have her dear letter. Tell her I would’nt for the world [say] that Penini could count to a hundred! What is the use?
Tell Henrietta I tried by the watch how long Penini was at his lessons– Just half an hour, including reading & writing. It frightens me to think of her teaching Altham an hour or so. If the health does’nt suffer the intellect will– She cant judge now of the pernicious ultimate effects. Tell her so with my fond love.
No indeed—Penini isnt grown past petting. Why he’s a regular darling– You will see.
Mr Fisher’s picture of Robert is admirable as a likeness, & that cartoon of Penini is like him—but not so like by any means.
Address: Angleterre Via del mare / Miss Barrett / 50 Wimpole Street / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, II, 69–78.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. EBB refers to “The Twins.” DeVane (p. 266) identifies RB’s source as The Table-Talk or Familiar Discourse of Martin Luther, trans. William Hazlitt (1848), pp. 151–152.
5. We have been unable to trace any contributions by either John Kenyon or Fanny Kemble.
6. Miss Mitford may have heard of the Ragged Schools bazaar, through someone other than EBB, and sent Arabella a contribution. At the Hingson sale in 1908 (see letter 3372, note 2), a manuscript entitled “Unfinished Song in Atherton,” dated 1854, was offered for sale along with Procter’s “Weep no more!” (see letter 3355, note 5) as part of lot 198. The song is from Miss Mitford’s novel, Atherton (1854), chapter eight, p. 133, and begins: “Good morrow! good morrow! soft, rosy, and bright.” The present whereabouts of this item is unknown (see Reconstruction, L179).
7. A reference to the story of the Old Testament character Jephthah, a Gileadite warrior, who, before going into battle, vowed that if he returned victorious, he would offer as a burnt offering (i.e., human sacrifice) whoever first came to his house to welcome him home. His only daughter was the first, and they were both faithful to his vow (Judges 11:30–40).
8. A play on Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing.
9. Sara Jane Clarke had married Leander K. Lippincott, a Philadelphia publisher, in October 1853.
11. Elizabeth Alice De Morgan (1838–53), the eldest of seven children, had died on 23 December 1853. In Sophia De Morgan’s memoir of her husband, she recorded that the cause of death was a cold, “caught … after a severe attack of measles” (Memoir of Augustus De Morgan, 1882, pp. 189–190). The other De Morgan children, besides the previously mentioned Anne Isabella (see letter 3319, note 19), were William Frend (1839–1917), George Campbell (1841–67), Edward Lindsay (1843–77), Hellena Christiana (1847–70), and Mary Augusta (1850–1907).
12. Underscored three times.
13. Underscored twice.
14. Cf. Hebrews 12:1.
15. She had told Henrietta, in letter 3351.
16. “Landlady.”
17. EBB’s cousin Mary Hedley (1838–54) died on 18 March 1854 at Brighton. Her death certificate lists cause of death as “Bronchitis, 6 days. Effusion upon the Chest.”
18. Mary Hedley had been attending a school for girls at Albury House, 43 and 44 Atlingworth Street, Brighton. The school’s headmistrtess was Juliet Lyndon (afterwards Coventry, d. 1864, aged 47), youngest daughter of George Lyndon, a Gray’s Inn barrister, and his wife Matilda Eliza (née Hearn).
19. A sketch that EBB had mentioned in letters 3299 and 3333.
20. Richard Bickerton Pemell Lyons (1817–87), later 1st Earl Lyons, had been in Rome since June 1853, officially attached to the British Legation in Florence. However, according to Thomas Newton in Lord Lyons: A Record of British Diplomacy (1913), Lord John Russell had appointed Lyons “‘to conduct the Roman Mission’. … The importance of the post … consisted in the fact that, whereas technically dependent on the Tuscan Mission … it was virtually semi-independent” (I, 2). In 1856, Lyons was made secretary of the legation at Florence “with orders to reside at Rome” (DNB). Soon after succeeding his father Edmund Lyons (1790–1858) as second Baron Lyons in November 1858, he was made British minister to the United States and served with great distinction in that capacity through most of the American Civil War.
21. i.e., John Gibson Lockhart (see letter 3320, note 11).
22. Lady Elizabeth Wellesley, Duchess of Wellington (1820–1904), was born Lady Elizabeth Hay, a daughter of George Hay, 8th Marquess of Tweeddale. She had married Arthur Richard Wellesley on 18 April 1839. According to Elizabeth Longford, the 1st Duke of Wellington was “especially devoted” to his daughter-in-law, “precisely it would seem because she was childless and unloved” (Wellington: Pillar of State, 1972, p. 387).
23. Richard Denman (1814–87), barrister, third son of Thomas Denman (1779–1854), 1st Baron Denman, Lord Chief Justice (1832–50), married in 1840 Emma (née Jones, 1820–1904), youngest daughter of Hugh Jones. They had five children living at this time: Richard (1842–83), Emma Sophia Georgiana (1845–1939), Elizabeth Margaret (1847–1929), Anna Maria (1848–1938), and Eleanora (1851–1932). Denman is listed in the Brownings’ address book of this period (AB-3) at 24 Via dei Due Macelli.
24. Half of the flap of the envelope, containing this portion of the letter, has been torn off, resulting in loss of text here and below.
25. The Fate of Christendom (1854) by Henry Drummond (1786–1860) was published in March and reached a third edition by the end of April. Drummond was a co-founder of the Catholic Apostolic Church (see letter 3148, note 11) and the author of numerous pamphlets on religious subjects.
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