3456. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett

As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 20, 278–286.

Florence–

August 22– [1854] [1]

As Penini said to me yesterday throwing his arms round me, “I love you wiz all my soul”. Darling Arabel, so I say to you. Indeed it is dreadful to write as seldom as we do, but you perfectly forget that the fault was yours—& that I was waiting for the letter you promised me. Meanwhile I wrote to dearest Henrietta who reproaches me in the most acrid way (tell her) for my silences. What can one do but be silent when one doubts about everything? when one considers oneself a rolling stone likely to roll to right or left? Then, writing to you is so much the same thing—she hears everything– And then, latterly, I did’nt know how to direct to her till you told me. Oh indeed, indeed, I am not guilty of forgetting anyone of you! I love you unchangeably to the roots of my heart– And particularly since your last letter came, my thoughts have been with you .. you are never out of my head, Arabel!—and you should have written to me before this letter I have just received. Now let me tell you first—I am very sorry that you did not go to Mrs Davidson’s– [2] It would have done you good in various ways whether you liked or disliked going, and I do wish that a little gentle authority (so often and without a reason) had been reasonably exercised in constraining you to go. As to your, so, preventing anybody’s leaving town, why George wd have gone with you, had you gone, & the others might have drifted off along currents not visible yet. As it is, there seems no prospect for any of you– You ought to have gone, indeed. Yet I dont wonder at the unwillingness—not in you, certainly– Oh yes– What would I give to have you here instead! Perhaps you would not care so much for the heat, after all. We generally keep the thermometer down to seventy six in this room by shutting the windows [(]till the sun is down) both glass & Venetian blinds– Open the window (the glass) and you are at above eighty directly. Still, heat in Italy is not to my senses half as oppressive as in London when it is hot. You dont gasp for breath here—you simply melt away .. like an icicle in the sun– Penini complains elegantly of being “tutto bagnato” [3] twenty times a day .. but he is quite well, has grown fatter & is in exhaustless spirits. On the whole it has, moreover, been a cool summer, for Florence.

My dearest Arabel, in profound confidence I will tell you what has complicated our pecuniary vexations within these few months. Dear Mr Kenyon forgot to pay the fifty pounds due to us according to his generous arrangement, the beginning of last June. Robert drew for it on his uncle as usual, (supposing it paid) & Mr Reuben Browning had to pay it out of his own pocket to our excessive annoyance. I suppose Mr Kenyon will remember some day or other (as he remembered after forgetting once before) but in the meanwhile he certainly cant ever think over our names, or it wd occur to him to enquire with some wonder what we can possibly be living upon.!! All our money passes through his hands—therefore he knows our circumstances perfectly. People must live somehow upon pence—air wont do altogether—not even Florence air– I dare say we are not miraculous œconomists,—but I am quite sure that not a single person with whom we are in association, has an idea of the smallness of our actual income– We get on, & comfortably enough, & without a touch of stinginess .. and I do really open my eyes wide & wonder how it is done– Everything is against us this summer you see—the ship, Mr K’s memory,—& even Chapman & Hall who have the impertinence not to send in their account due last June in spite of two letters from Robert. Ought’nt we to fall into a pet & kick against all these pricks? [4] Not in the least. Robert is wonderfully meek for him, & (with the exception of a few outtearings & outroarings for a moment or two) is gay & happy, & upon the whole we have had a very pleasant summer. I never am troubled by money-matters .. that you may be sure of– I should have liked to have gone to Lucca—but as Penini keeps well, Florence makes me happy enough– I am content– Miss Blagden has been a resource to us this summer– She drives through Florence to the Cascine, & catches us up on the road, gives us a sweep by the riverside & under the Cascine trees, & then carries us back to a tea drinking at her pretty villa—from whence Robert & I walk home by moonlight or starlight at worst, through that exquisite avenue of grand cypresses half a mile long– (Penini shares in the drives—which is excellent for him–) Also, Mr & Mrs Kinney come to take us out to drive on most evenings– “Those horrid Kinneys” says Isa Blagden! So that we are wrestled for by these different friends—and the carriage exercise in the hot days is very pleasant for me, to say nothing of the pleasantness of the society which comes in the carriage– Of the Kinneys I have often told you, I think—the ex minister at the court of Turin– He is an admirable, thoughtful, benevolent person, as liberal in politics as an American diplomate [sic] is bound to be & much more religious– Also, he agrees with me textually about Louis Napoleon, with whom he had an interview in Paris. Indeed Mr Kinney and I we say to one another, agree upon most subjects—excepting Swedenborg—but I have prevailed upon him to read & meditate, which is a step gained. Mrs Kinney is a pretty woman, with torrents of ringlets, & dressed perfectly—clever, literary, critical, poetical .. just as you please .. rather over-lovely & not over-refined .. but a favorite of mine through her truth & frankness, besides her warmheartedness towards ourselves. We often spend the evening at teatime with them, & should oftener, but for the crowd at their house of Americans who are “very tolerable & not to be endured.” [5] Then there’s Mr Tennyson, Mr Norton & others– By the way Mr Norton precipitates himself upon us, body & soul, & makes extraordinary confidences which are amusing enough. He is a R Catholic convert, you may remember hearing, & very fond he is of the subject, but gentle & liberal in controversy– Robert & he have a tug of war about religious dogmas, but it always ends well. For my part I forgive him his dogmas for the sake of that earnestness of religious faith & feeling which in these days it is difficult to find among thinking men. Henrietta says Penini wont love Altham because of ‘Puseyism’. Tell her with my dear love .. I cant wait till I write to her to say that, .. it wont certainly be my fault if Penini should be sectarian to such a frightful degree. Why, I keep out of his sight as much as possible the bickerings of Christians and many people (dear Henrietta chiefest among them I dare say) would shake their heads to see how, in this catholic country, I let my child go into the churches without the slightest misgiving on my own part lest he should grow up “a Papist.” Popery is’nt caught like cholera—& I like him to “walk together as far as we are agreed” [6] according to the apostolic phrase, even with his baby feet. You see in the catholic churches people go in & out,—there’s no long service to constrain anybody except such as choose to stay—and it’s Penini’s delight to go in at Vespers when there is the best music, & untie his hat & take it off, & kneel on his knees & say his prayers– “I do love it,” says he– “But what prayers do you say?” I asked him lately. “Oh, the same sort of prayers I say at night– About Papa & Mama.” He likes what he calls the “prayer-music,” & he has the sentiment of devotional sympathy which is the intention of all public worship. If I took him to the service of the ch. of England, or even to Mr Hanna’s shorter service, he would understand none of the teaching, & would fall from the sentiment by the necessary fatigue. I would’nt for the whole world tire him by the forms of religion– I am too anxious to make the spirit of it precious to him. When he was a baby you remember how he used to cross himself & use the holy water– Now he has given up all that as a childish thing. He only hears the music & says his prayers … “about papa & mama” .. little darling!– On the other hand, from Ferdinando’s inspirations I imagine .. for certainly it is not from mine .. he has a great distaste for the “priests” whom he classes with the Austrians as being something very bad indeed– “I leally must say, dear Mama, I dont lite the pliests, not a bit–” He really must say..!!!

From what Henrietta tells me Altham is certainly a remarkable child for intelligence & memory .. but to be sincere, I would rather see those qualities developped & exercised otherwise than in the way she describes. I hold it to be absolutely impossible for a child of his age to attach any meaning to the services in which he joins verbally! Penini who is older by nearly two years, could not:—that, I know. And Penini is a clever child there’s no disputing. Perhaps you would complain, Arabel, of his not being instructed enough in theology– He does not know very much beyond that “gentle Jesus” is God and makes him good & saves him and died for him. Yes, he likes to hear the story of “Madam and Eve” & calls for it at intervals. But the word “Hell” for instance, he never heard in his life. The nearest thing to it came the other day .. when he was expounding a theory of his .. that if ever he was “velly untappy” he should kill himself & go to God. Which I told him would displease God extremely, & that probably God would not have him in Heaven if he did such a naughty thing—. Naughty people were no nearer God in the spiritual world than in this world. He opened his eyes at that. Penini talks familiarly of the spiritual world—he perfectly comprehends the difference between the ‘internal’ & ‘external’– I believe young children have a clearer instinct of this than persons have who have lived longer on the earth. He said to Robert the other day .. “I do wish I tould see an angel—but never I can. I sint, only rich people see angels.” “What do you mean by that?” asked Robert—“rich people?” “I mean velly happy people.” It was so pretty one day last week. Wilson & I were having the “involuntary writing.” Penini getting quite tired of not being the first object (that’s Penini’s fault, Arabel—he must be talked to & played with or he thinks himself ill used) climbed on the table & sate down & shook back his curls– “Dear little spillet, will you write somesing for Penini? Do please Penini and write Napoleon.” On which the pencil moved & ‘Napoleon’ was actually written. “Sant you, dear little spillet! If you’re a dood beautiful angel, I love you velly much. I’ll fan you”—(catching up the fan & fanning upwards) “Is’nt that a ’lightful air?” (Then turning to me—) “But I sint its only us that’s too hot. Those spillets are tuite tool and tumfoil”—quite cool & comfortable. I really could not interrupt him. The whole attitude, & manner & gesticulation were perfectly beautiful—spirits or no spirits, he is the sweetest child that ever was in the world. The grace of the child is something quite peculiar—grace is his characteristic. The simplicity of faith in the unseen is also a very touching thing– I dont believe he would think a “vision” in the least a startling occurrence. You talk of his being kept from “excitement”– Why there’s more excitement to him in a dish of ripe figs than in all the involuntary writing that ever was written—he considers all such things the commonest of commonplaces, does Penini. Yet we have not done much with the writing lately– Nothing very satisfactory comes—only the facts are there irrefragably. The other morning Ferdinando was not well, & foolishly he said something about the cholera at breakfast which frightened Penini. The child, who adores Ferdinando, said to Wilson—“Oh, dear Lily, I must go back to my room and say my prayers anoller time” .. and off he ran. His first thought in any distress or fear is of God’s power & presence. Happily the “premonitory symptoms” disappeared. There is no cholera in Florence, & the one or two or three cases which at intervals have been reported are of persons who have come here with the seeds in them of the malady. It is singular—but the air of Florence seems to be repugnant to cholera. I think of you all much in these times, and I do trust you are careful all of you in diet & the rest– You, Arabel—you dont expose yourself in all sorts of pestilential places I do hope & trust. You love me enough for that, my beloved!– It is indeed dreadful—that poor Julia’s bereavement– [7] Something still more tragical has happened at Turin. Have you heard us talk of Madame de Viry (Mrs Procter’s half sister) who lost her husband after three days illness from pleurisy (treated homœopathically, Arabel) some years ago. She was left then with two young children. [8] The Count de Revel, [9] .. he is a friend of Robert’s & called on us in Paris .. & was the Sardinian minister in London & Vienna .. had been attached to her for some fifteen years it is said– There was some obstacle about the children’s portions, & they could not marry—when at last the obstacle was overcome & the marriage took place– Four days after he was dead of cholera .. and desease & marriage appeared together in the Italian newspapers. How horrible!– What we may be called on to endure in this world! Still even this might have been worse. Before marriage wd have been worse than after, to my mind, for instance.

While I write Chapman & Hall’s account comes. Up to the early part of June. Taking one thing with another—there’s not much for us. My last edition has paid its expenses within six months, except by nine pounds .. and by this time more than paid of course. Casa Guidi is not out yet by about a hundred copies I think—very slow. Robert’s books keep much the same proportion. The publishers must really exert themselves more with our new volumes—and in the meanwhile, is’nt it a shame that nobody thinks of us, with these pensions falling into the hands of the government? [10] We have a double claim, & this should be considered. Only, while they forget Carlyle, it’s a distinction not to be remembered.

Let me remember to tell you .. what do you think .. that Penini’s hair has been cut– Dont exclaim– The fact was that the ends were beginning to split– I attribute every evil to Rome & make Isa laugh—but the child’s health was shaken in Rome—that’s undeniable—and the consequence was that his teeth loosened, & his hair split– “It’s much too early” said Dr Harding “for his teeth to fall” .. there are two glittering little teeth at the bottom in the place of the other two .. but it’s too early. The hair remained beautiful, only there was the splitting at the ends, which made cutting necessary. So, an accomplished French hairdresser being here in Casa Guidi to meet Isa Blagden & cut her hair, I trusted Penini’s head to him & he cut it throughout with a proper respect for the ringlets, just as he would cut a woman’s hair—only just the ends, you know. Such admiration, by the way, he gave to the hair—“mais c’est extremement rare de voir des cheveux comme ça! des cheveux magnifiques, en verité.” [11] You would not imagine the hair was cut, from its appearance—it seems as long & full of curl as ever. I took the opportunity besides, of having my own hair cut, which it has not been since I left London– Tell Henrietta in answer to her question, that in spite of fashions (which are pretty enough) I persist in wearing my hair in my old way, being obstinate in such things– Then Robert lets me. Observe. I send you Mr Lytton’s poem on him [12] that you may know how others besides Ba, may fall in love with him. I admit that the comparison to the apostle Paul is un peu fort. [13] If you have an opportunity I should like you to show the verses to Mr Kenyon.

Dearest, darling Arabel, do write to me soon. I yearn to hear from you. Speak of yourself, your health especially, & tell me of Papa– Love to everybody & dearest Trippy inclusive– George disappointed me horribly. God bless you my beloved–

Your own Ba–

Penini reads very nicely & with great animation– He shall write you a letter & draw you a drawing, but not today because there’s no room. Love to dear Minny.

Address: Angleterre viá France. / Miss Barrett / 50. Wimpole Street / London.

Publication: EBB-AB, II, 87–94.

Manuscript: Berg Collection.

Enclosure:

To Robert Browning

By Robert Lytton

Florence 1854

O noble heart! noble mind! live

Our leader and King of us all!

Take the love which we languish to give!

Give the love without which we must fall!

You .. brave shoulders of Atlas just strong enough

To bear up a world much in want of it!

You .. the wise heart that’s probed our life long enough

To pardon the nonsense and cant of it!

An eye that looks straight on to God,

And a tongue that can baffle the Devil:

A wit that walks forth silver-shod,

And sets a fair front against evil.

When you speak .. as you speak .. I think Paul

At Athens, posterity teaching,

Said such words, thought such thoughts, just let fall

Such grand language as yours in his teaching.

Yet bear with us! Think for us! speak for us!

There is none we can honor above you.

When you think, our own thoughts are too weak for us–

When you speak, we are silent and love you!

You are strong: we are weak; and the jostle

Of life seems to bruise us too much:

But you, O beloved, O apostle,

Leave healing behind in your touch.

Light and warmth! every look of you piling

Its own magnificent gladness!

But he that would probe your wise smiling

Must have probed all the sources of sadness.

For the depth below depth of your being

Unfathomed the soul of you sleeps:

And your great smile is still, to all seeing,

A rainbow that arches the deeps.

All that strength, all that power! yet so pliant!

You’re so great we could never come near you,

Were it not that the child with the giant

Is mixt, .. and we honor, not fear you.

Oh, but for old times, for one moment!

How we’d hymn you, & crown you, & bring you

Through the Forum with praising and comment,

Stepping proud o’er the flowers we’d fling you!

We’d die for you gladly, if need were,—

And gladly we’d live while we might, for you!

We’d follow wherever your lead were,

Believe in you, hope for you, fight for you.

These are words, now! and yet .. oh, yet live

Our leader and King of us all!

Take the love which is all we can give!

Take large meanings for deeds that are small!

1. Year provided by postmark.

2. Susan Hussey Elizabeth Davidson (née Jessup, 1794–1877); see letter 2968, note 6. Mrs. Davidson was a friend of EBB’s Aunt Bummy.

3. “Soaked.”

4. Cf. Acts 9:5.

5. Cf. Much Ado About Nothing, III, 3, 36.

6. Cf. Amos 3:3.

7. Daniel Baron de Salis Soglio, husband of EBB’s cousin Julia (née Bayford), died from an attack of cholera at Munich on 6 August 1854. His death was reported in The Times of 29 August.

8. Charles Albert de Viry (d. 1881) and Marie de Viry (d. 1922).

9. Adrien, Comte Thaon di Revel (1813–54) is listed in RB’s earliest extant address book (AB-2) as “(Chargé d’Aff. Sardinia), 26 Mount St.” A notice of his death on 31 July appeared in The Gentleman’s Magazine of September 1854: “At Turin, Count Adrien de Revel, Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary of H.M. the King of Sardinia at Vienna, and formerly at the British court, five days after his marriage at Genoa, to Emily de Viry, widow of the Chevalier William de Viry, daughter of the late Basil Montagu, esq. Q.C.” (p. 317).

10. The Times of 28 July 1854 (p. 7) carried a report listing the fifteen recipients and their allotments of the £1200 “annually appropriated for literary pensions.” Included in the list was the widow of the Scottish poet James Hogg (1770–1835), who was awarded £50 a year “in consideration of her late husband’s poetical talent.” Several of the recipients were described as “destitute” or living in “distressed circumstances.”

11. “But it is extremely rare to see hair like that! truly magnificent hair!”

12. Enclosed in this letter is a copy in EBB’s hand of Lytton’s poem (see the enclosure at the end of this letter). The original manuscript, entitled “R.B.”, is undated (see Reconstruction, L164). The lines were first published in The Cornhill Magazine, 36 (May 1914), 577–579, where they are entitled “To Robert Lytton” and misattributed to EBB. The source was a copy in EBB’s hand which she sent to Sarianna, now with Meredith (see Reconstruction, D1462.1). This confusion was the subject of an article by Aurelia Brooks Harlan, “Not by Elizabeth Barrett Browning,” in PMLA, June 1942, pp. 582–585. There is also a copy of Lytton’s lines in Arabella’s hand at the Berg.

13. “A bit much.”

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