3855. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 23, 47–49.
[West Cowes]
Sunday– [7 September 1856] [1]
My beloved Arabel I must comfort myself a little for being away from you by beginning to write at once. We had a prosperous journey .. (with sobs in one’s throat all the way). Peni, after the gentlest expressions of life, went to sleep fairly & forgot himself. A dreadful man came in, opposite to me .. a sort of yeoman, bred upon beer– Robert said he was of “the true English type”. He was very attentive & offered me his snuffbox; calling me “Miss” at the same time (which was so highly gratifying, that almost I took a pinch–)
Getting into Cowes, we were met where the coach stopped, by Mr Kenyon’s servant who escorted us to this house– [2] So frightened I was at the idea of seeing him that my heart beat to take my breath away– We were led into a ground-floor room to take our hats off, & then to the drawingroom up stairs where he was sitting. I put my arm round his neck & kissed him once, twice .. & over, perhaps. Really I was touched to be there & see him & overjoyed to see him so much better than I expected. For he is much better, Arabel, than either Robert or I expected. Thinner he is certainly. The difference is in the thinness chiefly—the expression (which I go upon much) is little changed. He is thinner & paler—& he stoops more. Cough there is none to signify– The only real malady is in the breath .. which I confess to you is at times very painfully difficult, .. & not like the difficulty of asthma. It strikes me as being something peculiar. And the medical men are of opinion that it does not arise from asthma but from a feeble action of the heart .. which, in fact, he has been liable to all his life to some small degree, even in his early youth—if organic disease of the heart, nobody seems at all sure——and on the application of the stethoscope yesterday, it was a mere matter of opinion whether there was or was’nt anything wrong– In fact, they know nothing about it, as I always suspected– They cant even detect any tendency to dropsy,—not with the stethoscope I mean– Still all that struggle for breath is a bad symptom—it is most painful to stand by & see—& there must be something wrong somewhere– Miss Bayley persists in her opinion that gradually he loses strength, & that the decline is certain. If he were younger I should think however cheerfully about him:—as it is I cant believe that anything immediate is to be apprehended– After we had seen him we were dismissed till dinner. He overpowers us with kindness,—& the servants tell Wilson that he has been in the greatest state of excitement about our coming, preparing for it here & there, by every sort of direction in order to our comfort. Miss Bayley was ill with one of her bad headaches—& he took us into a darkened room to see her– She did’nt come down to dinner, but she made tea for us, & was very gracious– We have heard a great deal, Arabel– She enforced “secrecy”——but as we have talked of it, I may say to you that <the Edward Kenyon’s> [3] have behaved shamefully, cruelly .. considering Mr Kenyon’s state of health, .. & that the whole ground of it was a vulgar jealousy of power, perfectly inexcuseable under the circumstances. The man is influenced by the woman—there’s the whole. Poor Mr Kenyon has been horribly pained by it all, but is getting over the blow .. “the deepest stab” he says “he ever suffered in his life.”
<…> [4]
Miss Bayley told me this– She is to show me the copies of the letters. We (Robert & I) believe her to be perfectly blameless—while Mr Kenyon himself has borne himself with a long-suffering and affectionateness, which, with persons of any sensibility, would have melted the dagger in the hand.
Every sort of luxury & comfort is lavished on us—books, newspapers, pretty cheerful rooms, terraces looking out on the sea!—but I yearn for you unconquerably– Dear dearest Arabel, write to me, & say that you are pretty well & not sad––if you can truly .. do tell me this. Mr Kenyon told us we were to stay as long as we could. Poor little Peni’s unmanageableness & over-vivacity are all at an end. He creeps about like a small mouse,—and says under his breath .. “What a very quiet house this is.” He sleeps with Wilson in the room next to us, and she gets him his breakfast & brings it up on the tray. As to dinner he dines at our luncheon,—only appearing at ours with the fruit. Still, he has the use of the telescopes,—and I found a Robinson Crusoe [5] for him, which he was reading all yesterday evening curled up at the bottom of the sofa, .. breaking the silence at intervals to ask, “What’s the meaning of springing a leak”?—[“]what’s the meaning of foundering.” All the uncles, the Arabel, the sea-beach & the ‘little friend’ have passed away like a vision!—such a happy vision it will always seem to him. What a very happy fortnight we had together! And how good they all were to me & mine! and how I never never shall forget it! Tell dearest George Robert said in the coach yesterday, ‘I mean to write to George’—and so he will– He was quite touched.
You dearest Arabel .. see how I mean to write to you!– It strikes me—— If papa should have arrived! And if this letter were carried in to you at dinner, as Henrietta’s was,—and if papa said, .. ‘Whom is your letter from, Arabel?’
This place would suit papa better than Ventnor will. It is very animated. Mr Kenyon’s house overlooks the parade (which is immediately under the windows!) and the sea touches the parade—so that the view of the shipping, American steamers, &c &c is in our very eyes, & shifting all day & night– Then there is plenty of flat ground—you would’nt have so much climbing. We sit out on the balcony furnished with chairs & telescopes–
And today we are to go out in an oar-boat—the idea of which revives my poor Peni a little. By the way, Mr Kenyon is extremely kind to him——but if you were to see Peni!– All the impudence cleared away!–
Now write to me, dearest– I have a proof today, but no revise– Write & tell me every little thing about all of you. I feel as if I had been at home again, the first time for ten years. How I love you all!– Our best love—best love.
How my heart is with you, Arabel. Try to love me, & take care of yourself as my precious thing–
Your own Ba—
I could’nt go to church today, we breakfasted so late—but I told Wilson to take Peni, either to chapel, or if she liked, to church. He comes back saying .. ‘I did’nt like the church not a bit. I tould’nt understand one word– All the people were talking at once tat tat tat tat. And we touldnt find our places in the Bible.’ There’s a rampant schismatic for you! Hearing that I am writing to you he says—‘give my best love to all my uncles, & to dearest Arabel—& I am going out on the boat & I hope that boy is quite well.’
After all we came away in your debt nine pence for the parasol. There’s an end of Robert’s financial uproariousness! He bids me say he will remember it.
Address: Miss Barrett / Milanese Villa / Ventnor.
Publication: EBB-AB, II, 244–247.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. This letter is postmarked 8 September 1856, a Monday.
2. Kenyon’s house is listed in the Brownings’ address book of this period (AB-3) at “3. Parade, West Cowes, I of Wight.” At this time the town of Cowes, which occupies the west bank of the Medina estuary, went by the official name of West Cowes. The smaller, quieter East Cowes is situated on the opposite bank.
3. The passage in angle brackets was obliterated after receipt, probably by Arabella.
4. A passage of six or seven words has been obliterated after receipt, probably by Arabella, evidently referring to the contents of letters from Edward Kenyon and his wife, Eugenie Louise (née Turovsky), to John Kenyon. EBB further explains the situation in the second paragraph of letter 3858.
5. Daniel Defoe, The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures Of Robinson Crusoe, of York, Mariner (1719).
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