3776. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 22, 204–207.
Rue du Colysée.
May 1– [1856] [1]
My ever dearest Arabel Really you must contrive to write to me a little oftener– It is about six weeks since I heard from you– Why is it, dearest, that it is so very different between us now to what it ever was, or should be? If you are unwell .. (which of course comes up, as the most agreeable supposition of solution) why not write a little letter, if ever so little? I have often been very unwell in writing to you, yet would not keep you waiting over long tracts of time in this way– Remember, my letters to Henrietta go to you, as you have told me—but nobody sends me news of you, except just yourself. I am dependent on you therefore for absolute comfort. It must be very long since I heard, when Robert exclaims suddenly .. he who always makes the best of such things & is given to explaining away silences .. “How very extraordinary it is, that Arabel never writes now!” Indeed it is, very extraordinary. Dear, I entreat you to let me hear from you at shorter intervals. I remember when you did not think it too much to write once a week to Emma Monro [2] —and now it is once in six weeks to Ba.
Now forgive me for scolding so– If you do, write—& speak of yourself—for certainly there must be something wrong somewhere– May God Grant it otherwise–
Surtees was kind enough to send me a good account of our dearest Henrietta, & of the baby, & of his own politics .. a good account, I mean, of very bad politics .. so they seemed to me– (And he thinks the same of mine.) He wishes he were an Austrian (if he were not an Englishman) & wants the Bourbons back in France. But I’m happy to say France is not of that opinion—neither is Robert. He & I never fight now about Louis Napoleon. So much good is going on on all sides that no candid mind can do otherwise than apprehend it. It’s the only settled government that ever made the ‘bas peuple’, the working classes, the principal object—& really the great modern problem of socialism is likely to be tried here as far as society can bear. The ouvrier [3] class adores him, & with reason. He has just bought eleven miles of building ground on the new boulevard (Mazas) [4] where he will build houses for this class, letting them at a very low rate to proprietors, on condition that they sub-let the apartments at the lowest rate compatible with any kind of profit. Observe! Eleven miles of houses laid out in apartments! You may imagine the population there will be room for– But, in everything done, thought is taken for the people. It is another way from government ways in England, I assure you–
I have been very uneasy lately through hearing of Mr Kenyon’s illness—you have heard probably. He returned to London & has been very ill since, with spasmodic asthma .. Miss Bayley who is staying with him still, wrote to tell us—the medical men (three in attendance) think there is no immediate danger, but apprehend a “fatty” affection of the heart– There has been no symptom of water this time. She says he has grown very thin & pale, & can scarcely get about the house– Robert wrote to offer himself as a help—but was declined .. very kindly however—he should be sent for without scruple if any need occurred. Miss Bayley said in her last account that he seemed a little better, & had intervals of hope with regard to his recovery,—with a general feeling of the precariousness of his life. I am afraid he is very evidently altered, from Miss Bayley’s account—but still, with the warmer weather, he may rally & get past it. Dear, dear Mr Kenyon. You may suppose how my thoughts go out to him. Had you heard? Did papa send? Oh—he ought to send, indeed.
We have had a delightful letter from Carlyle on the subject of Robert’s poems– [5] I was so pleased with it when I had read it, that I kissed it. Its a diploma, of its kind!– to be inherited by the children of our child. Such a letter. You know he had seen a few scattered poems, at Lord Ashburton’s & elsewhere, which he named with praise to us before—&, upon that hint, & my urging, Robert sent him the two volumes– Well—you shall see the letter. He considers him the greatest poet which has appeared to the generation,—and he abjures (as far as regards Robert) all his false doctrine that men should write only prose in these days.
M. Milsand is gone to Dijon for a month to see his mother [6] & we are missing him accordingly.
I do hope my darling Arabel, that at least one of your reasons for not writing may be the trouble your thoughts may be in on the question of where you shall go .. north or west. That you will go somewhere, must be a settled question. Oh darling, let me see you well! not fagged, & weary, & out of spirits!– Remember we shall not be in London till the sixteenth of June at earliest. I shall not have finished the last book of my poem till the end of May, & then I must transcribe the two books .. which will be the work of a fortnight. How I have worked out this Paris winter, to be sure!– You will think Peni much grown—too much grown perhaps– I am fearing I must soon cover up his darling arms & shoulders in the high blouse– I am fearing. Will it do as it is for this summer, do you think? He is as pretty as ever—or prettier, with his new white teeth,—& is as fond of being coaxed & cuddled on one’s knees!– Somebody said the other day—“You should begin to put off your frocks, sir.” (A very disagreeable person of course–) I have sent his brown straw hat to be done up & trimmed Parisianly, & he is to have a feather in it, green tipped with purple, after the fashion of young Murat, [7] who has just had one. The people wanted very much to have flying ribbons besides—but I thought the flying ringlets were sufficient for my Peni. He said the other day .. “Dear mama would you rather have a son and a half son, or would you see the baby Napoleon.” “Oh—the baby Napoleon! sooner than to have five sons–” “And in his blue cloat”? “Oh, the baby Napoleon in his blue cloak.” “Well—I’ve seen him– Tuite tlose too! Just as I see your face now. And oh, such a darling!– And not a bit too large after all–”! Peni had taken it into his head that a baby Napoleon must be as large as the monument in the Place Vendome at least. [8] Yes—& now he has seen this famous baby quite close twice,—both he & Harriet:—& its a very pretty baby she says, in a blue satin cloak & hood embroidered in white, but with shorter petticoats than in England are usual to babies of his age. He is taken to walk on the Tuileries terrace, across the public walk—so there is no obstacle to the closest inspection on the part of the public.
I had a letter from Mrs Martin the other day to tell me that they leave Pau on the sixth of may & intend to see us in Paris on their way home. Did I tell you, Arabel, that Hume the medium receives from his Polish patron [9] five hundred a year, English!– Think of that. And instruction without limitation, from his son’s masters. He is said to be an intelligent man, & immensely rich .. as may be supposed. But in spite of this stipend the amount of which is undeniable, the ‘spirits’ threaten to keep away for two years and a half. Perhaps Hume has altogether disgusted them by his bearing at Florence—Who knows? They say, too, that he has crowned his misdeeds by turning R Catholic at Rome in order to please these Poles. Bad, altogether. He is as weak as a straw, but was a wonderful medium notwithstanding all, Arabel.
Robert has taken up drawing,—and I am heartily glad of it. He cant, when tired of other work, throw himself into light literature, as I can,—& the consequence is that he has a great deal of time on his hands, which is not good, you know, for anybody! I say that this life is not tenable (to people with any sort of soul in them) without full occupation. Then he knows so much upon art, it is well worth his while to know something of the mechanical forms. He means to keep to drawing though. Well,—you cant think how he has advanced in eleven days application—beginning with eyes & noses .. quite from the beginning. Here are heads really well done, with shading both soft & bold. Robert has an aptitude for everything in the Arts. He burnt all his first drawings, but I insist on preserving these with the dates. Peni (who cant bear being passed) asked my opinion the other day, with some care on his brow as to whether “papa” was “likely to draw better than he”—and has since admitted, respecting a particular head, with a deep sigh, that “certainly” it was “much more better” than his own performances in the same line.
Of course I have not seen Leighton’s picture, but from the description, in spite of every degree of cleverness, I cannot but forsee for it great discomforture, before the public. I shall like to hear if Robert’s portrait is thought well of, & if it has a favorable position—which Lady Eastlake promised me to look to–
Is Bummy with you still? Best love to her, if she is– I am very sorry I shall miss her this time. Tell me of my dearest Papa. Tell me too of Trippy– True love to her. I wish you would mention Minny besides, & whether you know anything of the Jagos. Wilson writes to ask Ferdinando if he can go to see her father on his arrival in England. We were not asked, so had nothing to say. But how can she suppose that we are to do without dinners in the interval? As it is, what the arrangement is to be about to herself & the child, I cant imagine. Its wretched to look forward to. Harriet is excellent—wanting only in liveliness. Love on loves!!– Tell me of <Henr>ietta, as you will know more <th>an I– But write of yourself, I beseech you. I cant rest about you.
Your own
Ba.
Address: Angleterre. / Miss Barrett / 50. Wimpole Street / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, II, 230–234.
Manuscript: Gordon E. Moulton-Barrett.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. Emma Margary (née Russell, formerly Monro, 1820–92); see letter 2672, note 15.
3. Sic, for ouvrière; “worker.”
6. Claire Hélène Milsand (née Gillotte, 1781–1864), who lived at 38 Rue des Forges in the centre of Dijon.
7. Presumably, a reference to Joachim, Prince Murat (1834–1901), whose father, Napoleon Lucien Charles Murat (1803–78), had been made a prince of the blood royal by Napoleon III after the coup d’état (2 December 1851), and whose grandfather, Joachim Murat (1767–1815), had been awarded the throne of Naples by Napoleon I in 1808 for his military service.
8. One of the larger squares in central Paris, where there was a statue of Napoleon I: “It is 11 feet high, represents the emperor in his military costume, and was modelled by Seurre” (Galignani’s New Paris Guide, 1855, p. 191). The “baby Napoleon” refers to the Prince Imperial; see letter 3752, note 2.
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