3788. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 22, 221–225.
3. Rue du Colysée
Monday & tuesday. [26–27 May 1856] [1]
My beloved Arabel I begin the letter I am to send you that it may reach you the right day. I am delighted that you are to have a slight if ever so slight shifting of the scene; for one thing I do see distinctly, that you are fairly out of spirits whether you are well or ill, & absolutely require a change of some sort. When I go to London I shall feel that I might do better by keeping away, if you stay in London for me. I suppose nothing under heaven can satisfy me about you except seeing you—& I shall see you presently & understand what’s the matter & the meaning of it all– Oh, you’ve had the “three warnings” now, it seems! I’m to take that view of the subject! Well—I am not easy about you. Your letters are not a bit like what they used to be– Take care, Arabel, that you dont shut yourself up in churches, schools, & the rest, from the sunshine of life too much. I know, poor darling, that much is necessity, only all is not necessity as I & other of your friends have sometimes urged on you– Now dont let me torment you as Peni’s squirrel sometimes torments me– Of course you could’nt make a sally upon Mrs Davidson or Lady Ridley [2] uninvited– I am speaking only generally– Dear, remember, that I refuse beforehand to keep you in London this year—and in fact, if papa will let you go anywhere within reasonable bounds, Robert & I will go with you this time,—Robert said so of his own accord the other day. We shall not be tied up strictly as last year. So keep that in mind– As to my proofs, they shall run after me. No matter for them. And meantime dont let the poem vex your dreams. I do admire how you trust more to Robert than to me—but after all I am not likely to disgrace you altogether. I have finished two volumes of the new edition, & am busy with the third. I subside on it after dinner—and before then the poem holds me. I feel it coming to a point, though it does not end yet, as almost I expected, by this time. Tell me what you have given up in the way of work? The teaching at chapel on sundays, I hope, at least. Of course the success of the bazaar [3] must have been worth a strain– I quite sympathize in that.
The rage of Robert & me about the refusal by the Academicians of Page’s portrait is indescribable. Never for a moment did we imagine a rejection possible– An English artist who has just come from London & who had seen the picture, swears that no such portrait is to be seen in the Exhibition, for power & fine painting. The likeness is another affair,—& I must say that Ros[s]etti’s sketch seems to me more entirely & characteristically Robert. So glad I am that you were struck by it. I wanted Ros[s]etti to exhibit it, but he would’nt, being resolved to save himself for the great portrait he means to have of us two together next year– As to me, I shall have no time for much sitting for pictures, therefore if he wants me, he must snatch me– Poor Leighton—it has been a dreadful overthrow, the reception of his work, after the inordinate success, as I still think, of last year– I was sure he could not succeed this time—a poetical subject handled so unpoetically was beyond the conditions of success; but he is undeniably clever, if not highly imaginative, & cannot have deserved all the mud-pelting of all the newspapers– Robert declares he does not– What grieved him most was Ruskin’s silence. And yet I think Ruskin was silent out of kindness. But nobody likes to be spared—particularly if one has been used to be admired. Tell me if papa talks of going to the Exhibition this year, & if you think he will be able. I should like so much not to go to London at all, if we could meet you somewhere. It’s all bitterness & vexation of spirit [4] to me, that London .. always. Tell me whether there is the least chance of your moving out bodily early in the summer, or now, because in that case we might remove to you from Paris. As for proofs they will take care of themselves—I dont care so much for them anyhow– What I care for, my dearest darling Arabel, is to see you well, & like your own dear self, with the spring of you right. Dear, try to let me,—let us two have sunshine on us this summer. Here I have been shut up all the winter, having my only change in work, work—& I want rest in you, dearest! How untrue it is that when people marry, their hearts go away from what was loved before. For me you are more than ever needful to me. Country has died out of me, & I have come to hate the notion of England apart from what I love in it .. but you, you!
Have you been reading any new books lately? Has the Refuge increased in numbers? Of course you think the Sunday movement right on the ecclesiastical sense. [5] I am for the music, & am sure that it would help the people to de-brutalize. The English way of Sunday-keeping is not scriptural, I believe, & is not wholesome for the thinking being, I am sure. All doors being shut up against natural relaxation after a week of necessary labour, the laborious part of the population throw themselves into pothouse pleasures—it is their only notion of pleasure at all. [6]
—Talking of music, we had a visit the other day from the celebrated composer, the Chevalier Neukomm– [7] A most interesting man he is, Arabel–—a little older than you are even (being seventy eight) .. & though “getting older” besides, not more than twenty five in his eyes & spirit– I never saw, patently, a more obviously immortal soul– He told me that he got up every morning at three, and that he works fourteen hours a day—he has taught himself to shave in the dark so as to lose no time. He has been a great traveller as well as worker, & is now on the point of taking a little leap into Styria [8] —and a friend of his told me that he will set out to Heidelberg before breakfast, and breakfast there the next day at past noon, without at all suffering for it. What he thinks of is music, & not bread. For the last fourteen years he has not touched wine, beer, or coffee .. still less tea, of course. He is engaged now chiefly in the composition of devotional music. We were half promised that an organ shd be sent here that we might hear him play, but there was a hitch in getting the organ. It was a great pleasure to see the musician. He is full of vivacity; & in bearing, rapidity of movement & gesticulation &c, precisely like a young man, & speaks English as well as yourself. He was a friend of Haydn, & lived opposite to him.
Give my kind love to Louisa & kiss her children for me. [9] Is it a pretty baby? I am so much obliged to her for inviting you. On Mr Thackeray’s arrival in England from America, he sent a telegraphic message to his daughters here .. “Come home.” What shd you understand by that? What he intended was simply to announce his own arrival in England; but they accepting it as a summons (which I should have infallibly done) set off at once, themselves & Mrs Carmichael Smith with them, all three penetrated with the notion that something bad must be the matter, to justify so imperative a call for their immediate presence.!! Penini informed me yesterday morning that he wished “to marry Léocadie when he shall be twelve years old”: he “hopes I shall let him.” Poor little Pen. He and I had half a quarrel this morning because he thought it quite unnecessary to translate his Berquin, as he “understood it quite well” in the French. In fact in a page & a half there were not more than three words he did not know. I never learnt French with such rapidity. It’s really curious. And as for opportunities for talking, seeing Léocadie two or three times a week for an hour or so, (& even that, very irregularly) does not amount to much. It is true, that his Italian has helped him. Peni’s “rage” just now, is to have a Museum .. What has put it in his head nobody knows, except that six weeks ago he was at the Louvre. He has collected a box of precious stones out of the road .. & here is .. “an Ægyptian tooth”, says he,—and here is a stone from “Arabia, the desert”,—and “this stone was picked up on the banks of the Euphrates by king Pharoah”, and “this is from Jerusalem”. Robert was grumbling about the dirt of the thing, & wondered how he could pull about what had been handled by all sorts of people—“Only by clean Ægyptians,” said Peni, with the most vehement earnestness. He is very fond of his squirrel—but by no means fonder than Robert,—& we shall bring the said squirrel with us, for neither of them could be separated from it. The little creature is as tame as possible & so fond of Robert that it comes when he calls it, & follows him about the room like a dog. I never saw a squirrel so tame. He does’nt care for eating, but likes to be played with, & hunts after Robert’s hands when he hides them under his arms. Robert persists in his drawing,—for hours & hours everyday,—and has taken to anatomy, & is already so learned in the bones & muscles as to be competent to any examination. Leighton says he knows more than he does, even now, & Leighton has the reputation for knowing much upon the subject. Mrs Martin is in Paris. She has had too bad a cold to come here, & so I went to her once. Mr Martin looks so well .. so exactly what I remember him ever, .. that he must be well, I am sure. He is in great argumentative spirits, & precisely that man of old! It gave me real pleasure to see him. They are to remain in Paris some days longer. Isa Blagden has gone to Italy, & wrote to me directly some testimonies to Hume’s mediumship which confirm my opinions if they wanted confirmation. Madme Tassinari a hard worldly sceptical woman had the most secret things relating to herself & her English family brought out to her—her brother’s spirit [10] played on the accordion in her own hand quite beyond any human being’s reach– But the only thing new in character was the intense cold that filled the room upon the presence of one particular spirit. There’s something ghastly in that. Everybody agrees, believing or unbelieving, that Hume personally is detestable, ignorant, vulgar, conceited. He wrote a letter from Rome to say that he was “convinced of the truth of the R. Catholic religion”, and Isa is to get a sight of the letter in order to give me an account of it. But in Hume personally I am by no means interested—particularly as the spirits have left him. With regard to Louis Napoleon (who does me more credit upon the whole) my “faith in him” is rather intellectual than moral– I know what he meant to do and what he means. Never was so consistent and logical a politician– As a man however I think much better of him than you do. Let me tell you something curious. Mrs Martin was requested by aunt Jane to see a French nursery governess whom the Bevans were about to engage. Among other questions, she asked of course what her religious views were– “Catholic,” was the answer. “Mrs Bevan desires to have a catholic for her children.” Can this mean anything but what is obvious? [11] May God bless you, dearest Arabel. You scarcely ever tell me of George. Let me hear of him. My tender love to him & all.
Your very fondly attached
Ba–
Robert has had his emerald ring altered for me, [12] —& really it is beautiful. His best love–
Address: Angleterre– / Miss Barrett. / Sir James Carmichael’s, Bart. / Oakdene / Edenbridge / Kent.
Publication: EBB-AB, II, 234–238.
Manuscript: Gordon E. Moulton-Barrett.
1. Dating provided by postmark of 27 May 1856, a Tuesday.
2. Laura Ridley (née Hawkins, d. 1864, aged 81), youngest daughter of George Edward Hawkins, sarjeant-surgeon to George III, and his wife, Louisa (née Lane). In 1803 she was married to Matthew White Ridley (1778–1836), 3rd Baronet. The family seats were Heaton Hall and Blagdon House, Northumberland. Lady Ridley and Aunt Bummy were friends.
4. Ecclesiastes 1:14.
5. Strict sabbath observance, or “Sabbatarianism,” was the topic of a number of pamphlets and books at this time, for example S.N. Kingdon’s The History and Sacred Obligation of the Sabbath (1856) and William Domville’s The Sabbath, or, an Inquiry into the Supposed Obligation of the Sabbaths of the Old Testament (1855).
6. Recently, on the recommendation of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the playing of band music in public parks on Sundays was prohibited by order of Lord Palmerston, the prime minister, thereby rescinding the order he had previously given to allow it. The Times of 14 May 1856 carried a report on the exchange of letters between the two men that led to the ban: “On Saturday [10 May] the Archbishop of Canterbury addressed a letter to Lord Palmerston, pointing out the violation of the feelings of the people caused by the playing of the bands in the parks on Sunday, and the evil effects which (in the opinion of the Primate) had been produced in the minds of the people, and imploring him to reconsider his decision. Lord Palmerston has replied to this appeal, that his only intention in permitting the band[s] to play in the parks on Sundays was to give the people an innocent and healthy recreation between the hours of Divine service, and in the hope of keeping the working men out of the alehouses; but that, as he found his plan had been received with so great repugnance … he would order that the playing of the bands on Sunday should be discontinued” (p. 12).
7. Sigismund Ritter von Neukomm (1778–1858), an Austrian composer remembered chiefly “as a transitional figure between Classicism and Romanticism,” studied under Joseph Hayden for seven years (The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. Stanley Sadie, 1980, 13, 121).
8. An Austrian province; Graz is its capital.
9. James Morse Carmichael (1844–1902) and the “baby,” Mary Carmichael (see letter 3693, note 10). Louisa Carmichael (née Butler) had invited Arabella to the Carmichaels’ home, Oakdene, in Cowden, Kent, near the borders of Surrey and Sussex.
10. Unidentified. Maria Amalia Tassinari (née Thornton) had six brothers born to Edward Thornton (1766–1852) and his wife, Magdelena Wilhelmina Amalia (née Kohp, d. 1832), five of whom had died by this time: Charles William (1813–27), Alexander (ca. 1815–27), Henry Edward (ca. 1815–31), Dudley (1816–33), and George Reginald (1820–41). The only surviving son, Edward (1817–1906), like his father, was a career diplomat.
11. Arabella Bevan (née, Hedley, 1827–70) had married James Johnstone Bevan (1818–98) on 4 August 1846. EBB often wondered whether Arabella’s husband, a professed Puseyite, would convert to Roman Catholicism. As of late 1851, he “was not a step nearer the papacy” (letter 2973).
12. This ring has not been identified, nor have we traced any other references to it.
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