3434. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 20, 245–248.
[Florence]
June 17– 18– [20] [1854] [1]
My ever beloved Arabel you will not doubt that it gives me very deep pain to have to tell you that there’s an uncertainty about our being able to leave Italy this year. You will be expecting to get news from me at Paris, and I am forced to write this to you. The difficulty is simply the want of money– You may judge for yourself when I tell you that (apart from the ship-proceeds) we have just a hundred pounds to spend in six months and a half from this day– At the same time, Mr Kenyon certainly told us in his letter to Rome that there would be a larger dividend than usual from the ship– Robert wrote to him to ascertain what this would be, and he may have an answer today, though, from Mr Kenyon’s usual ways, I dont expect it for some days longer. It keeps me on the rack while we wait for this, to have you expecting us, dearest, darling—when Robert keeps saying that even fifty pounds of ship-money would not justify us in undertaking the journey & the attendant expenses of house-rent &c necessary both in London & Paris. If we had a hundred pounds from the ship, then we would dare all & go– See how it is– I think it better to write & state the whole case to you,—adding however that we shall certainly go to you if the turning up of the cards (still unturned) should render it at all possible. Both Robert & I have been hoping & hoping that we should get good news about the ship long ago, & then we should have set off at once– Observe, darling Arabel, that we seldom go to England till July—it is scarcely summer in England till then– If we are able to go north at all therefore, we have made up our minds to go straight .. even at the end of July .. to you .. taking Sarianna with us .. which will be rather hard on her poor father. Still, as he would have us afterwards for the winter, we should not mind passing him with a day’s salutation on the road. Altogether, a week would bring us to you, considering the new railroads, and it is irrational to give up the hope, as matters stand, of being able to keep our first intentions. You may rely on Robert that he will do anything safe to do– Perhaps I [2] should be inclined to rashness & dashiness, & trust to lyrical poems & the booksellers for making up defective balances. But when he says to me .. “Can we travel & live for this & this?” I cant answer– I dont know how to resist the conclusion– The expenses of Rome were immense– It costs us almost a pound less a week here in living, & we have house-rent all but free. Yet here’s another chance– Mr Hanna is to return in a day or two or three after the absence of a fortnight. I understand that before he went he expressed a desire to take our apartment for a year, as he wanted large rooms to give his weekday readings in– Now if we get anything like an acceptable quantity of ship-money & if he takes our house, we shall be liberated to a great degree– Therefore dont let us despair my own beloved Arabel. I wont,—be certain! It is desireable in many ways that we should go, for Penini was so pulled down by that horrible Roman climate, had lost flesh so frightfully (to my apprehension) & looked so languid & changed on his arrival here, that Dr Harding (we did’nt call him in but he came to see us as the kind friend he is) strongly advised us to take the child to England for the summer in order to a complete change of air & coolness of temperature. A fortnight in Florence however has done so much—the little arms are so manifestly firmer & rounder & the cheeks redder, that it does’nt seem absolutely necessary now to take this step. If it were, we should have to beg our way to Switzerland or somewhere .. I should take the applewoman’s stall at the corner of Wimpole Street, if need were– It was grievous to me to hear the Florentines exclaim .. “Ma, come é cangiato questo bambino! come é pallido e secco!”. [3] Thank God, he has revived like a nosegay put in water. I never saw, in a fortnight, such an extraordinary improvement—and we cant give him too much to eat or tire him with walking. The hot weather has set in for two or three days, and he says he’s “as hot as a piece of the sun”, but the languor does not return—it is a different climate altogether you see, from Rome. If we have to stay, we must go to the Baths of Lucca for two months as usual, and the Roman influences will be overcome, I dare say, without England .. though England would decidedly be good for the child this summer, and one of my deep regrets (if we have to give it up) will be on his account– The rest will be for you, my own dearest– I long & yearn to see you—my heart is sad with longing for you. Then there is poor Sarianna, & her father! How they will feel, I tremble to think of– I sometimes think they will come to Florence, tired of waiting for us– They could live here cheaper—but if they came, it would not keep us from England, be very sure. Robert holds you as his own sister, & you are considered in all our plans.
Another thing which has saddened me much these last days is .. dear Flush. He is gone, Arabel. He died quite quietly– I am sorry to say Penini found him, & screamed in anguish. There was no pain, nothing to regret in that way—and our grief for him is the less that his infirmities had become so great that he lost no joy in losing life. He was old you know [4] —though dogs of his kind have lived much longer—and the climate acted unfavorably upon him. He had scarcely a hair on his back—everyone thought it was the mange, and the smell made his presence in the drawingroom a difficult thing. In spite of all however, it has been quite a shock to me & a sadness– A dear dog he was
<…> [5]
comforts! It must be however a relief to escape Ireland. [6] Give her my tender love & say how I think of her–
Is’nt this a miserable letter? It must be—I have felt so miserable in having to write it.
Mrs Sartoris is at the Baths of Lucca & has written to beg us to stay with her which we shant do, because, if we go there at all, it will be to our own house– Fanny Kemble is in England–
Penini wanted to know yesterday who my papa was– “Oh” said he recollecting himself, “I sint I know. It’s my nonno.” “No,” said I, “your nonno is’nt my real papa. My real papa lives in the house with Arabel & Minny.” “Tell me his name. It’s George, I sint.”
Arabel you never mention Mr Hunter– Is he settled anywhere? and where is it? Dont forget to tell me.
Miss Blagden has taken for the summer, a pretty villa about three quarters of a mile from Florence, & since she has been here her knee & general health are much improved– She is thinking of allowing herself to be persuaded to try mesmerism which has been satisfactorily successful in such cases.
Penini was walking with me yesterday– I had gone to do some shopping with Wilson, leaving Robert behind for the nonce– You know how he hates shopping. Penini ran on before Wilson & me up Via Maggio, & when we came up we found him in contemplation before a picture of the “last supper,” which an old picture-vendor had exposed in the street. “Mama,” said he, as we came up, “how velly funny it is! Whenever gentle Jesus is at a table, it’s always a long table.” A profound theological & artistical observation– Oh, my Penini is looking so much better. I love Florence for agreeing with him so. Really at one time I was quite unhappy about the child, & woke in the night with a sense of oppression & anxiety! It was disastrous to see him fade away as he did in the course of a few weeks. Oh Rome, Rome. Well—but the cheeks have now bloomed, & Wilson never knew him with such an appetite. I am quite easy & satisfied now.
This letter! this horrible letter, to have to send you. I have kept it back a day for better news, but none comes.
Mrs Gordon goes to England immediately with her family, & is to settle at Plymouth!!– A strange choice after Florence. She says she must educate her boy <& in>troduce her girls, & the Italians are objectionable.
You say nothing of dear Minny. God bless you, my beloved. How grieved to the heart I am to have to write this letter–
Your own
Ba
Robert’s best love. He will do every thing possible he bids me say.
Address, on integral page: Angleterre viâ France / Miss Barrett / 50. Wimpole Street / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, II, 83–87.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. Year provided by postmark of 20 June 1854, on which date this letter was probably concluded.
2. Underscored twice.
3. “But, how this child has changed! how pale and thin he is!”
5. At least two pages are missing.
6. A reference to Henrietta’s not having to go to Ireland; see letter 3351, note 9. Surtees and his regiment were assigned to duty at Plymouth where his wife and family joined him on 17 June 1854 (see Surtees, 7–17 June 1854).
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