3533. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 21, 105–110.
[Florence]
[ca. 11–] [18 March 1855] [1]
My beloved Arabel send on this enclosure to dearest Henrietta. I must write to her, dear thing—and I must write to you seeing that I have to thank you for your prodigal generosity to Penini in the glories of whose birthday we are still– Henrietta’s note should have gone to her before, besides my thanks going to you before. We received the books on the very day your letter reached me– They came to us (without a sou paid on our part) by the steamer which brings books to the Leghorn Cassels house, [2] & Mr Cassels had the goodness to extricate them, by means of all manner of protestation & after some delay from the custom-house where they had been siezed by the authorities—think of that, Arabel! Heretical works (in words of two syllables) directed against the pa-pal pow-er! “Mama’s Bible lessons” [3] … could anything so flagitious be borne with? After a time however, the wise people thought better of it & gave up the books—and the “Peep of Day” was ceded to the darkness of the land. Now, (the Tuscan authorities being done with) it’s your turn to be clamoured against, for really you are nearly as bad, in your way!– Eight books, did you send to that child—eight books! [4] The end is, I shall never again be able to ask you to do anything for me. I must send my next commissions to somebody who wont empty her purse on me in reply. Oh Arabel. How could you be so suffocatingly kind?—there’s no other word for it. As to your gifts, Penini, of course was charmed–. If I could have guessed their extent, I would not have bought any myself– Eight books from you—eleven from ourselves! it’s a complete library. Isa Blagden gave him a small bookcase on his birthday, & there it stands, full & glittering! Very few children, six years old, are possessed of as much literature. I must tell you that as he was in bed when the parcel came, Robert suggested the wisdom of giving only your books immediately, & of keeping our’s till the birthday—lest the quantity of books should hinder their individual effect. How scarlet with joy the child’s cheeks grew when we gave him your parcel! Such pretty books! the very backs pretty! He has already read to me the first volume of Mama’s Bible Stories, & is in the sequel volume, with the greatest delight. You see, he reads a good deal at a time now .. & “feels intlined” on some days to go on reading when the regular quantity has been finished. Also he has nearly finished the book with the “story of the Apple Dumpling” in it—which has taken his fancy immensely. One of the stories about children & fireworks [5] he made Wilson read to him, & brought the next day, begging me to hear him read it, to me. In the midst, I said—“How dangerous, these fireworks. Now I expect an accident.” He, sitting on my knee, turned round & took my face between his two hands &, peering into it with his blue eyes .. “You are frightened, my little darling? Dont be frightened. I know what it is. There was only a hole burnt in the room. But” .. continued he with loud, tragic gravity, & stretching out one arm .. “it burned tlemendous!” (tremendous.)
March 16th Now, my darling Arabel, you will think we are always ill, for I began this letter days ago, & stopped short, in great anxiety about Penini– For months he has been looking like a rose full blown– I may have said so on the other side of this very page for aught I know. Well—among the gifts on his birthday, was a fatal one of bonbons—not the innocent chocolate ones to which we generally keep our dissipations—& one day, after eating them, he came home from picking violets to tell me that he was feeling “dleadful pains all over his stomat.” We did not think much of it. He ate a very good dinner in spite of them. In the evening he said it hurt him to move his eyes, which proved something was wrong—so we administered grey powder. Before he went to bed he “sought he would read somesing.” I offered him his favorite “Apple Dumpling,” but he put it by—languidly—he “felt intlined to read somesing about Jesus” .. & he took the ‘Bible stories’ & sate reading in the armchair. Next morning, grey powder inefficient. Child very sick– I thought it best .. (oh folly!) instead of waiting patiently, to give him a dose of senna. Restless night—medecine too active—a great deal of pain– “Dear Lily, I’m sure I’m going to die.” Then when the pain passed .. “Sant Dod, lat pain is better.” This was early in the morning, so that I did’nt hear it I am glad to say, but Wilson came to tell me later that there were dysenteric symptoms—& Robert went for Dr Harding directly after breakfast. We were frightened of course. Dr H– said however that it was all simply the effect of too active medecine, (irritation of the mucous membrane) the stomach being previously disordered, & he administered nothing but a sort of almond emulsion which did great good. The danger was of its running into dysentery—but the bad symptom which occurred only twice, was stopped. Still there the child lay in bed for two days—never wishing to stir (he who cant generally be kept still a moment!) but looking like an angel waiting to go, with his pink cheeks & too bright eyes, (there was a good deal of fever the first day, & Robert ran for Dr Harding again before night) & his golden hair on the pillow, & most angelical mildness– “Che viso angelico” [6] said Mr Tolomei who came from the Baths of Lucca, & whom we allowed to see him. On the second day he was considerably better, & a little burst of silver laughter when Robert was burning the brown paper made me better too & he told a long story to Ferdinando about an elephant. Still, I got up with a heavy heart on the third day, for I thought he would keep his bed that day also .. diarrhœa continuing in a slight degree with occasional pain. But no, he ate breakfast with appetite (for two days the child had touched nothing) began to sing & talk, & called for his Bible Stories .. reading them aloud to our unspeakable joy– Robert carried him in a shawl into the drawingroom where Dr Harding found him & said “But why dont you dress him? Let him run about & play.” So we dressed him & he ran about & played, & was quite well. Only so thin– In those two or three days, Arabel, he has lost all his roundness—the little bones are visible everywhere. You cant imagine what this house was without him .. when he was in bed, & we afraid. It seemed as if the sun had dropped suddenly out of heaven. Shall I ever have courage to give him medecine again? Indeed I am not a great medecine-giver, as you may think—& Penini scarcely ever takes it. Dr Harding comforted me—said it seemed a very rational thing to do &c &c .. & that if the stomach had been in its usual healthy state, the grey powder having its ordinary action, I should not have been led into giving the additional senna– I dont reproach myself much indeed– I did it for the best, & Wilson did not think it wrong. Still, for the future I shall be afraid, which you will not think wrong. The child has not been out of doors yet, but is perfectly well, & did his lessons today as usual– I do thank God– Thank Him for us– As for me .. before Penini’s illness I was somewhat of an invalid still myself– That is, I kept still in the two rooms– Penini emancipated me at once– Robert & I .. if we left him, .. had an express messenger sent after us .. we were to come & see him take his medecine, or look at his chicken tea .. we were backwards & forwards the whole day– So, in the fashion of the man who first scratched out his eyes with a quickset hedge, & then scratched them in again with another, [7] have I got out of one trouble by means of a second trouble, & am the better for my Penini’s illness, really. He has been saying to me .. “When I was ill, how I wished to be well again.” —“And did you ask God to make you well”? “Oh yes.” (very eagerly) “I did ask Him.” (Which he did, often.) “You know He means good to us even when he lets us be ill. We all, in this world, must suffer something sometimes.” “Yes”—he said—“we are all naughty,—and so we must all work. Look at the poor soldiers at the war!” In his prayer tonight, after thanking God for making him well, he put up a petition that we might “all of us be good, & well and fat,” which sounded rather peculiar.
His birthday was kept joyously. Such presents the child had. Our eleven books, in the first place– Then Isa Blagden gave a bookcase to hold the magnificent library. Madme Tassinari, a chessboard & men. Alice Tassinari, a game of dominos. Charlotte Agassiz a paintbox, Miss Getting (her friend) an album—Wilson, a doll’s lookingglass & toilet, Ferdinando, Napoleon’s campaigns in a set of coloured prints .. Robert & I, a great waggon, a set of nine pins, a toy watch & a whip– Finally, the fatal bonbons .. I wont say who. Then he had little Hal Cottrell to dine with him & spend the day–
Ah—the poor Cottrells! While we thank God for our child, they are in sorrow for theirs. The little baby born three weeks ago, died this morning. [8] It was small & thin—and obstruction occurred, & it died. Robert is to go to the third child’s funeral at that house, on monday. Is it not sad? The poor mother is much afflicted. When the child was dying & it was thought necessary to baptize it, she insisted that the Ch. of England clergyman should do so upon her bed. He is a liberal man—Mr Neal [9] of the English church here, .. & took it on him to explain that although he was happy in performing the ceremony he was far from considering the child’s safety involved. “That opinion is simply a remnant of Romish superstition.” You remember how there was disturbance & difficulty in respect to the last child they lost, [10] through a clergyman of that identical superstitious opinion.
Tell me Alfred’s address at Marseilles that I may try & entice him here. Dont you think he would come? If it were only for a few days!– [11]
What will dearest Henrietta think of me for not writing to her—for taking no notice of her illness. [12] See how my letter has been delayed! I was so very, very sorry! She was over-agitated & overworked altogether in London, I dare say—& indeed the carrying Altham once up stairs under those circumstances, was enough to account for the catastrophe. I hope she has cared for herself since– As for the loss, it is of less consequence than her health. Really, Arabel, they want no more children. Think!—a boy & a girl! So perfect it is. If Altham were like my Penini (who wrote his last poem about a girl “who was always contented though she had no brother. That was her only distress” ....) it would be different. But he has a companion of his own age. Tell dearest Henrietta I have received her letter & thank her for it heartily.
I have heard from Mr Ruskin, who writes to ask if I am at Florence & if his letter would reach me if he sent me some details about his last interview with my dear friend Miss Mitford. With the most gratifying expression of opinion upon my poems, he tells me that in his forthcoming book he is about to speak of me as a writer, in a way not, he hopes, displeasing to me. Robert was enchanted with this letter. “When have I been so pleased with a letter?” said Robert–
Charlotte Agassiz is about to be married to an Italian, signor Generelli, [13] & to settle in Florence. She goes to England in June & will marry there. Isa Blagden goes to England in May with Louisa, who is to sail for India in June. See how the months melt away– I wish they wd not so fast, on account of my poem. [14] I am much interrupted!
Tell dear Mr Stratten how pleased I was with his sympathy about Penini’s book. Of course I was with all yours. Oh no—the child has no application, but he is vivid & quick to a remarkable degree. He says sometimes “I tan do what ever I lite.” Tell me of dear Trippy. Very, very painful her state of mind is indeed. Does she think positively, that you want to poison her?
Tell <me> more, or is it merely a vague & general ill-humour?– I have an uncomfortable feeling about papa’s surgeon [15] —as if he had failed in ability– Still, the crutches—still! Is Papa in good spirits– Does he read? & what? Is he eager about politics? Poor, dearest papa! Henrietta throws me into a terror, Arabel– What! you were only able to spend an evening & a half with her? And with me? What? Dreadful work—indeed! Best love to everybody. Love me & always think of me in love. Robert’s love.
Your ever attached Ba
Write—do. I have sent you a scratch of a letter– Say how you are, dearest. Remember– Penini is perfectly well.
I am very sorry for the loss of Wilson’s sister– [16] She (Wilson) has been so good & tender to Penini– He is surrounded with love, that child– There is Ferdinando who is most affectionate to him. Such love there is, between those two. I could’nt bear to part with Ferdinando, were it only for that.
Address: Angleterre viâ France. / Miss Barrett / 50. Wimpole Street / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, II, 132–137.
Manuscript: Gordon E. Moulton-Barrett.
1. Approximate opening date suggested by EBB’s remark in the 16 March part of this letter that she began writing it “days ago” and by her reference to Pen’s birthday and illness. The closing date is provided by postmark.
3. Mama’s Bible Stories, for Her Little Boys and Girls (9th ed., 1854) by Lucy Sarah Atkins Wilson (1801–63). In two parts, the first consists of stories from the Old Testament; the second, from the Gospels.
4. In addition to the books EBB names, one of the others might have been The Prince of Peace, or, Truths for Young Disciples, by a Lady; with Prefatory Remarks by Rev. Edward Bickersteth ([ca. 1853]), a copy of which is inscribed “With Arabel’s love to Penini” and is now at Harvard.
5. “The Boys’ School,” in The Apple Dumpling, and Other Stories for Young Boys and Girls (1852).
6. “What an angelic face.”
7. Cf. the nursery rhyme: “There was a man of Thessaly, / And he was wondrous wise, / He jumped into a bramble bush / And scratched out both his eyes. / And when he saw his eyes were out, / With all his might and main / He jumped into another bush / And scratched them in again” (The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes, ed. Iona and Peter Opie, 1980, p. 402). A version of these lines appears in RB’s Aristophanes’ Apology (1875), lines 1078–81.
9. Sic, for O’Neill. Henry O’Neill succeeded George Robbins as chaplain of the English Church at Florence in May 1851 and served until 1863. According to Catherine Danyell Tassinari, “the twelve years of his ministry were, relatively speaking, uneventful ones in the history of Holy Trinity Church. They were marked, indeed, by a certain stagnation” (The History of the English Church in Florence, Florence, 1905, p. 88). O’Neill conducted EBB’s burial service in Florence on 1 July 1861. William Wetmore Story wrote that it was “blundered through by a fat English Parson in a brutal careless way” (see vol. 20, p. 356).
10. Carlo Ludovico Cottrell, who died at the age of three weeks on 11 June 1850; see letter 2861. The “child’s safety” refers to his spiritual safety.
11. Alfred was staying at the Hôtel des Empereurs, Marseille. According to his passport for this period, he had travelled to Marseille “on Her Majesty’s Service,” the nature of which evidently involved the transportation of troops to the Crimea. In a letter to his brother Septimus, dated 11 August 1855, Alfred writes: “I have got a long winded return to make for the War office & besides to see various parties safely shipped off for Constantinople” (ms with GM-B).
13. Possibly Achille Gennarelli (1817–1901), journalist and bibliophile. He is listed in the subscription records of Vieusseux’s reading rooms for 12 February 1852 at 125 Piazza del Granduca (now Piazza della Signoria). The marriage to Gennarelli did not take place. In 1857 Charlotte Agassiz married Alexander Charles Brice (1818–89), a merchant with business interests in Bombay.
14. Aurora Leigh. As stated in earlier letters, EBB was hoping to publish it during the Brownings’ upcoming stay in London, but by the time they left Florence she had written less than 7,000 lines of what would be nearly an 11,000-line poem (see the first paragraph in letter 3551).
15. Unidentified.
16. Mary Wilson (1813–55). We have been unable to trace the day or place of her death.
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