3508. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 21, 48–54.
[Florence]
Jany 10 [–11] [1855] [1]
If I were sure Henrietta were in London, [2] I would write this letter to her, for I owe her one, dear thing, .. but as I am not sure even of her being at Plymouth, it will be better to go to you again my beloved Arabel .. wont it? you wont be angry perhaps– I was so horribly frightened to open your last letter that the accounts contained in it (sad enough abstractedly) really relieved me– One may breathe & look forward a little while, it seems– A very bad point is what you meanwhile are enduring, my poor darlingest Arabel– Remember that you must not sacrifice yourself, & that as what is wanted seems to be chiefly attention rather than companionship, any active gentle person to whom dear Trippy is favorably inclined, will do as well as you, or better, sometimes. Of course it is very painful, all this ruffling & irritation of the spirit– We must consider however that it is to some degree a constitutional state, aggravated of course by the circumstances of confinement & illness, and by no means (to my mind) an unfavorable sign of the bodily condition. For the rest, she is not probably aware of the pain she gives– Dearest, take courage & dont be too much cast down by all these trials. For the rest .. at the bottom of her soul she loves you, & also loves good and God. Christ is in us in very imperfect conditions often .. & when we seem very little Christian. Such undeveloped spirits develop, I believe, .. grow & brighten gradually after death—the germ expands. If it were not so we should reasonably be in great terror for beloved friends in a stormy & unspiritual state,—& indeed the minority of the “saved” would amount to the all but general destruction of humanity– I am persuaded of a very different thing– The choice (upon the whole) of good rather than of evil—the least desire for the Lord’s love .. the lightest touch upon the hem of His garment [3] —this shall be found enough in His great day– At the same time, of course there must be growth, progress—and spirits so im[per]fectly developed cannot go at once to the places of the “just made perfect” [4] of which the scripture speaks– Very few of us can, perhaps–
Tell dearest Trippy how I think of her, & continually pray for her. I heard Penini in his prayer last night say “and take care of dear Trippy.” He does not forget to pray still. Robert & I are talking sadly everyday of her suffering & your anxiety .. wishing in vain we could do something. But even if I were in London just now I should not help much—for you know how my wings are cut in the winter from all possible kinds of usefulness except using this pen. By the way you want to hear about me– I am very well—but as the weather has been unusually cold, I have had a little more cough .. just in the morning—you know my cough is always there, waiting like a lion in his den & ready to roar on provocation. As the weather changed to winter I began to look winterly .. so they said .. & to grow thin in the customary way—and therefore, some six or eight weeks ago Robert made me begin a course of asses’ milk which has agreed with me excellently– I take a tumbler-full every night at ten before going to bed, .. & Mr Irving who was here yesterday from Pisa, told me I was looking unusually well—so I suppose the effect is produced. Also, the cough is nothing to speak
<…> [5]
have warmth & air in this house. For the rest, I was shut up even in Rome last winter for two months,—and our Florence is considerably colder than Rome there’s no denying. Very sorry indeed I am to hear about Arabel Bevan. Why did’nt her husband take her abroad before the winter? I am much afraid that if the chest does not now improve it wont be better after the confinement– [6] Then, in fact, is the danger– She ought to be better now. How horrible it would be if she were taken away from those young children & poor Mr Bevan who loves her so .. and her mother (not least to be thought of) who has had so much anxiety lately. As to <Johnnie H.> [7] and the dangerous post near the ambulances, why it would have been still more dangerous in the battle. If he were my brother or son, I should not feel satisfied with him, I think.
But, dearest Arabel, I quite agree with you that Surtees could not under present circumstances leave his family .. that he ought not. But if they had granted the majority, he would have been on the way to be a colonel at Sebastopol—& no inglorious way either. As it is, we are agreed of course.
On the other hand
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with them. Tell me, too, how he amuses himself? if he reads much– [8] Arabel, ask for the ‘Initials’ [9] —it’s rather an amusing view of German manners—a novel, of course. And do you know ‘Stuart of Dunleath’ by Mrs Norton– [10] Ill written, but excellently conducted in point of story– I could’nt guess the end, experienced novelreader as I am. I think you have read ‘Consuelo’ by George Sand .. & the continuation, the ‘Comtesse de Rudolsta[d]t’ .. if not, you must. Get ‘André’ [11] too by her .. which Robert delights in so. I am quite pleased that you liked the ‘Maîtres Sonneurs’, as, to my mind, it is a perfect book. Consuelo, however, is more interesting—carries you away more. A thing to know is, that in the first part of the book (the scenes laid in Italy) Madme Viardot was the type in the author’s mind, while afterwards in the German part, she took hold of Adelaide Kemble, character & life, & fused her into ‘Consuelo’. The religious speculations in the book will offend you of course, & are abundantly absurd, but there is nothing audacious otherwise. I do think, a little dissipation in some amusing books, Arabel, will do you good just now—it’s a sort of mental change of scene & air. By the way, you never told me how you liked ‘Atherton.’ [12] Remember, I heard today from Miss Mitford. She says she is losing strength—but really the whole tone of her letter does not give me that idea. [13]
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It is sad, what you tell me about Maddox– Ask dear Minnie to give her my love when she writes to her. There seems to be nothing but sadness on all sides––except in my Penini’s face. And I have been making that sad too, just now, wicked creature that I am. He came in with his hat on, looking radiant .. “Dod bless you, darling pet mama! I’m going out.” “Do you love me, Peni?” [“]Oh yes—all the world. More than the world! all the stars.” “Would you be sorry if I went away.” “I never would let you go.” “But if I were to die!!”– “Oh—dont speat about it”—with such an expression of pain .. that I was siezed instantly with remorse for my stupidity & began to talk fast of all sorts of pleasanter things to put it out of his head. He always comes to me before he goes out—& there’s always a little parting speech on his part– If it is’nt “Dod bless you”, or ‘Tate tare of yourself’, it’s “I wish you dood fortune in the house!”—a phrase caught from Robert in part, who is fond of asking me to “wish him good-fortune” when he goes out to walk or to his room to write. Penini was very happy again on the twelfth-day morning. According to Florentine tradition he had hung up a stocking the evening before on going to bed,—not a sock of his own .. oh no—he sensibly observed it was “too little to hold anything except bon bons” .. he would have a stocking of papa’s as being the largest belonging to us. Well—of course the ‘Befana’ the famous visitress of good children, came in the night, & filled this stocking full & tight up to the top. [14] There were cigars & lobsters & fish made of chocolate, and a box of figs, and a box of painted ships, & another box of sportsmen & dogs, and an album, & a stick of sealing wax, & oranges & apples, .. & a tray on the outside for the christmas tea service. The child’s ecstasies were unbounded, though at first Wilson says he was a little awestruck, & half afraid of investigating the mystic stocking in the early morning light– Then there was a burst of gratitude .. “I really think Lily, I must write a note to the Befana, to thank her, you know. Dont you sint so!” Someone asked Penini the other day if he would’nt like a little sister– “Yes”—said he– Then .. after a pause .. “Never mind a sister! When I’m a large tall man” (in a loud authoritative voice) “I shall mally!” (marry). “Will you marry me Penini,” asked Isa Blagden. “Yes, Isa, if you lite it” .. in a little obliging voice. So funny that child is! really he astounds one sometimes– The evening before last, he & I were sitting over the fire, not doing anything particular, & I asked him to sing me a song. He began at the top of his voice .. “Ho il core quasi rotto d’amore. O Dio, che fare! io morirò.” [15] “Why,” said I, “Penini, that’s a very pretty song—but where did you get the words?” “I did’nt det them at all. I made them my own self.” Which perhaps he did, .. in a certain sense .. (I am sure he did, as he said so) but as Ferdinando & he are often in the kitchen together, singing away the time with scraps of operatic music, of course the sentiment came from that source. Otherwise it would be too miraculously premature. How Robert laughed when I told him. Penini has taken again to his drawings & has done several which I should like very much to show you. He has all sorts of aptitudes, & what will be the ruling faculty it is hard to say– His two first copy books, the second full of compositions, are in Paris, and Sarianna is to take an opportunity of sending them to you .. and you, when you have quite done with them, must send them back to her, as Mr Browning is to have them to keep. They are both written in pencil, you will see—but the third copybook on which he is now engaged, is written in ink, & contains compositions in both Italian & English. Its a great deal for a child to do, at his age .. between five & six. Robert & I found out this morning moreover, that he nearly knows the first multiplication table—without being taught. He began .. “Mama, do you know what two tens mates? Twenty.” I was surprised—& then we found that he knew what two sixes .. two eights &c &c made beside. He has taught himself to make figures. I never taught him anything in this way except how to count to ten, when he was in London,—& having an idea (which is true) that I would rather he did’nt think of such things for the present, he has been rather piqued—particularly since hearing in Rome last winter how Altham could count to a hundred– I laughed & said, “O Peni, I never will teach you that”—and he answered “Then I must go to Papa”. And so naughty Papa, out of spite, gave him the theory of counting to a hundred, directly. Peni is very anxious too about learning French. He knows a long list of French words pronounced according to fate & Ferdinando. He said with considerable satisfaction the other day, that he “supposed,” after he had been a year in Paris, he should be “half French & half Italian”, “And English”.? said I. “Oh, English!” (with a certain scorn) “I’m not a head of a pin, English.” “I like the English,” observed Isa Blagden .. “I’m proud of being English.” “But you’re only a woman, Isa!” Robert is horribly shocked at these unpatriotic sentiments, & he amuses me sometimes by setting himself regularly to argue the point with the child as a point of dogma & duty. As for me I cant help laughing. You see it comes from a sense of superiority he has with his two languages, over some of the English here who cant speak Italian. He gives himself immense airs even with Wilson sometimes—instructing her in pronunciation– [“]This is the way to say it, Lily– I must know,—betause I was born in Florence. The English always will shut their mouses when they speat.” Also he instructs me when he finds it necessary. Then he feels his advantage of belonging to the male sex, to a degree that quite startles me—there’s a sort of instinct in it—I suppose. One morning at breakfast Wilson & Ferdinando were talking, & Ferdinando spoke of some tradesman in Florence who would only employ men. Penini broke out suddenly with .. “Benissimo! Tutte le donne sono cattive, eccetto mia mamma– Mamma solamente e buona.” [16] Upon Wilson’s thanking him very much for the compliment to herself, he condescended to make another exception in her favour.
Ought’nt I to be ashamed of writing so much of Penini? But really he’s the pleasantest subject just now. Mr Tennyson gave “punch” on the twelfth night to those whom Mr Lytton designates as “the brethren” .. viz Robert, Mr Norton, & Isa Blagden. Robert scarcely would go—but I made him. We had tea together first—but no cake, Arabel. I am happy to say I have had the dullest of Christmases, & Penini did’nt keep his word of “filling this room with peoples out of Florence”– I was’nt inclined to such “receptions”– Robert & I do work every day—he has a large volume of short poems which will be completed by the spring—and I have some four thousand five hundred lines towards mine. I am afraid that six thousand lines will not finish it. [17] I shall be ready, at any rate—for I work on regularly .. and in order to prevent the interruption of morning visitors, we have given general directions to the effect that we dont ‘receive’ before three oclock– Mr Jerves is going to Rome for a month .. which will interrupt my spirit-news for the present. Then he goes to America for the purpose of investigation I mentioned to you. Did I tell you of the engagement he entered into with me on that subject?– He is a convert from a state of complete infidelity into very earnest, if not precise, religious views, entirely by these “spiritual manifestations.” Also he has been corresponding with Mrs Trollope whom he found disbelieving in God & the soul, & left “much moved.” She begins to think there may be such a thing as a spiritual world, after all–
Arabel, if papa keeps more in the house than he used to do, next summer, you can come to me, but I cant go to you. Neither can Penini– Only we must smuggle him in to see dear Minny—that must be. Write & tell me all about dearest Henrietta & her children, & Surtees’ plans. It will be dismal work if they are sent abroad—they cannot hope to be sent comfortably, you see. And Malta & Corfu, even, in the summer are bad places for English children. Except for the voyage, Canada might be better. Ah well– I do trust there may be no sending anywhere. Certain of the militia are as necessary in England as any can be elsewhere. Robert says ‘Can you spare me room to write to Arabel’? “Not today.” “Then tell her I love her dearly![”] Miss Sandford writes to us together so Robert added some lines to my letter. That’s the meaning of his letter to her. I am so greedy for room or he wd have written to you long since. Now he will. Send this note to Chapman. [18] How is Mrs Orme. Best love to all of you–
Does papa ever go to see Trippy?–
<The spirits> wrote last night, ‘very ill,’ & wdnt say who was ill, or one intelligible word after. Wilson’s faculty is unsatisfactory. Dearest darling Arabel, do’nt keep me without news. If you imagine I ever think of the postage of a letter of yours, except to be glad to have to pay it. Dearest, dont have fancies about postages, when I am famishing for heart’s food– Tell dearest Trippy how I love her & think of her & pray for her– God bless you in His own ineffable love–
Your Ba.
If you ever write to dear Mr Hunter speak my name to him in cordial affection. You received my scrap of note through Mrs Jago? [19]
Address: Angleterre viâ France. / Miss Barrett / 50. Wimpole Street / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, II, 121–127.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. Year provided by postmark. Final day suggested by EBB’s reference to letter 3509.
2. Henrietta and her family visited London from 6 to 29 January 1855, staying at 33 Beaumont Street (see Surtees, 6 and 29 January 1855).
3. Cf. Matthew 9:20–21.
4. Cf. Hebrews 12:23.
5. Two parts of the sheet have been excised—one-fourth at the top and one-fourth at the bottom—affecting text here and below.
6. Catherine Stewart Bevan (1855–71) was born on 29 April at 16 Devonshire Place.
7. i.e., John Hedley. The name in angle brackets is reconstructed, having been obliterated after receipt, probably by Arabella. Although Hedley was evidently not attached to a regiment at this time (see letter 3476, note 6), he seems to have been serving in the Crimea in some capacity.
8. Doubtless, a reference to their father, who had been incapacitated with a broken leg since the previous August.
9. The Initials (1850) was the first of several novels published by Baroness Jemima Tautphœus (née Montgomery, 1807–93). According to the ODNB, The Initials “became immensely popular, despite modest critical attention.”
10. Stuart of Dunleath. A Story of Modern Times (1851) by Caroline Norton (née Sheridan).
11. EBB had recommended all three novels to Arabella some three years earlier; see letter 3010, note 9.
12. Atherton, and Other Tales (3 vols., 1854) by Mary Russell Mitford.
13. Miss Mitford died on 10 January 1855 at Swallowfield, aged 67.
14. “In common Tuscan talk ‘befana’ means a witch” (J. Wood Brown, Florence Past and Present, 1911, p. 306). On the eve of the feast of the Epiphany (i.e., 5 January), she makes her visits, “filling the stockings of good children with presents,” and to avoid her anger, children are made to eat beans on that night, and recite the following incantation:
“Befana, Befana, non mi bucare,
Ch’io ho mangiato pane e fave
Ed ho un corpo duro, duro,
Che mi suona come un tamburo” (p. 301).
15. “My heart is almost broken by love. O God, what shall I do! I’m going to die.”
16. “Excellent! All women are bad, except my mother– Mother only is good.”
17. i.e., Aurora Leigh, which would eventually come to nearly 11,000 lines. RB was working on Men and Women.
19. This “scrap of note” is missing. It seems unlikely that it was enclosed in letter 3503, which itself was enclosed in letter 3502. We conclude that EBB wrote another letter to Mrs. Jago prior to or shortly after letter 3503.
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