3935. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 23, 150–155.
Florence
Decr 10. [1856] [1]
Beloved Arabel, I am obstinate. True—the letter you posted on the second reached me on the ninth: but the cause of that, & of any other delay of letters, has been delay on account of weather, either in the channel or on the Alps—there has been stoppage everywhere this month, both in letters & newspapers. Otherwise, a letter posted with you on monday, is in my hands on saturday—and so, from me to you: remember! We have had the worst november known here for ten years—snow on all the mountains—but the Arno unfrozen; no sign of frost on our windows, in spite of frost in our streets– no indeed, we would not change with you—and at our worst, you would have gained, my dearest, by sitting at our fireside, as you proposed. Such a fireside it has been! such fires. I was afraid of going to the diningroom during the cold, & so we dined here in the drawing room,—& my bedroom opening into this, there was warmth everywhere, & not a draught anywhere, .. these two rooms, each as large as the drawingroom at Hope End, are very warm—and here is one of the advantages of Florence, even when Florence is at the coldest, that one may be shut up from the cold & yet have air & space, as is not possible either in Paris or London. Penini has his little bed at the foot of ours, placed across—& a very pretty little bed it is, & it does’nt crowd the room at all, notwithstanding the two sofas, & the new great wardrobe.
I have been well .. except feeling weak & languid in the cold, which is always my way—but the cough kept back wonderfully—there was none to signify. Which I tell you to give you an example of open speech in such matters. You dont say enough of yourself in this letter– Now, Arabel, keep in heart all my words, & if you love me, follow them. Are you doing yourself harm again by over work, & exposure? If you are, you may set it down that you love me—but nothing will ever make me believe that the love is any but of the very commonest & stingiest & most unsacrificial sort. I trust it to you therefore. As for papa, I am a little comforted about him just for the present—but the thought of him has been hanging like a stone about my heart for ever so long; now when I ought to be elated & delighted, I suppose, at the success of my poem. Well—I am glad, of course,—but it’s wonderful how little happy, this reaching, in a degree, what has been with me an object in life, has made me. If there was nobody to be uneasy about, how different it would feel, I say to myself. Robert, at least, is happy in the success of the poem. When people write & talk of the “jealousy” of authors & husbands, let them look at him! only that he has the most exceptional heart of gold, to be found, perhaps, in this world, or nearly so .. in the bosom of men. Yes, Arabel, I have come after ten years to that conclusion. He has a quite wonderful great-heartedness. —To go back to the poem, its success has been extraordinary—rendering it necessary to go to press with the second edition, a fortnight after publication– [2] What surprises me most is, that there have been no violent attacks, except from the ‘Press’ [3] —only, of course, these must come with the monthly & quarterly reviews. Meantime, it is taken up into favour with certain persons, to the amount of a mania—with some, perhaps, on account of the story, & with others probably, on account of the philosophy which is .. not originated .. but presented for the first time poetically. It strikes me that men like Ruskin for instance, are excited by this chiefly. [4] Otherwise I dont account for the state of things at all. I take no credit to myself for it, for the best poets are inevitably most neglected—nobody can be surer of that, than I. For the rest, I am very pleased that I should have pleased you in this,—not displeased you, as I feared some things might. I would not send a copy to Mr Stratten. It seemed to me unbecoming for obvious reasons; (tell me what he says) but that I should have allowed him to buy a copy, seems wrong too. Arabel—I want Mary Hunter to have a copy—but she must wait for the second edition now—& I should advise her to wait for the third, which will be in two volumes, Chapman says, & of the smaller form. [5] Oh—so sad it makes me to think of dear Mr Hunter. [6] Get Mary to come & talk to you, & try to ascertain exactly in what position he is—whether he has a room to himself,—& how he is precisely,—whether he can employ himself at all. You know uncle James has, & has had for years, the same affliction, [7] & yet he is not absolutely prostrated. Mr Hunter’s consciousness for instance—his connection of ideas—how is it with him there? Something might be done, by his friends, to gather comforts around him,—might it not? I am very grieved. Tell me as much as you can. Shall you be able to go & see him, Arabel, when he is settled? If Mary could attain to pupils, she might take him home in time.—— Dearest, you need’nt think of it, I never will take back that Daguer[r]eotype. [8] Dont let us fight over it, therefore. I was always of opinion that you should have it,—and the Fates having by a sleight of hand (and Wilson’s slightness of understanding) put it into your drawer. I shall be forced (if your obstinacy renders it necessary) to take some dreadful oath, never never to call it mine. No. Henrietta & I have arranged that—it’s not your affair, and I beg you’ll mind your own business & the Refuge, & leave us to settle our’s.
Decr 14— Some days have passed since I wrote the above; for just then I was interrupted by Robert’s coming in with his letter containing the sorrowful, sorrowful news from Cowes. [9] Miss Bayley wrote to us the same morning, but the post loitered—. You have heard everything perhaps– He passed away without suffering, after much, I fear—but the last two days could not have been very heavy, as he was conscious only at intervals. My beloved & too generous friend—think how I must feel, Arabel. Not that I fear for him—indeed no. If he did not see much light, he felt much love, & he yearned aspiringly towards the truth & the Good. Now he is put into a better position for seeing & knowing. The very act of life here was so laborious to him, that we should be comforted for his ceasing to live under such conditions—but for me (& how many besides) the loss is great. For these ten years he has put himself in the place of my own father, in taking care, for me & mine, that we did not want. We should have wanted much, except for him. His last act with regard to that book of mine, was to buy & distribute among his friends forty seven copies [10] —which was important to me chiefly, of course, as being expressive of the tender feeling with which he accepted my dedication– Also .. but I will talk of these things presently. A more princely heart, it would be hard to find among the princes of men & angels.
Of course we are in mourning—not Penini, but ourselves. The relationship was enough to justify the sign of affection & gratitude– It is very pleasant to me to think of our fortnight with him at Cowes, & of his loving countenance & bearing to us while he suffered so. I feel that it is an affection gone from the earth to make the spiritual world a still sweeter & more familiar place, to us travelling that way–
Decr 18— My very dearest Arabel, I have kept this letter far too long, but Robert wanted me to keep it in order to tell you of whatever we might hear from England—& now I really wont keep it one day more—because it will be at the risk of making you uneasy– Now, Arabel, I know what you have had in your head—& you will remember what I have always had in mine. Mr E K’s being called away first, seemed to open out certain possibilities, (since he, if he had lived, wd have had everything, & our dear friend was of a too generous & noble nature to allow of an unfortunate misunderstanding’s making any difference whatever)—but it has to Robert & me appeared always a great improbability that we should be remembered otherwise than by securing to us the hundred a year we have been recipients of during the last seven years. [11] Now, as we hear nothing, .. not a word—& Robert says we might have heard several days ago .. I conclude that there is nothing to be heard, & that by some slip of the memory (not of the affection certainly) we have been passed over, & shall have to do without the yearly assistance given to us hitherto. I say .. “of the memory”—because, years ago, our dear friend said, .. “this is, if I live or die”; so that, if he had remembered, we should not have lost it. Well—you cannot imagine perhaps, how very little this seems to matter to me now—we must work a little harder—that is all. We have only one child,—& Penini will have enough in what we shall leave him. Then the success of ‘Aurora’ is a great thing—will be as to money-results. [12] The extravagant things said about that poem, would make you smile (as they make me)—and there’s one sort of compliment which would please you particularly .. people are fond of calling it “a gospel”– [13] That’s happy—is’nt it? You suppose perhaps that one unlucky individual calls it so? Not in the least: it’s the favorite phrase, in letters from England—in gossip at Florence–– And even from America the other day, the publisher writes .. “we have received Mrs Browning’s gospel”. [14] I said to Robert, .. “Now this grows too much. I really must gratify Arabel by telling her at once.” So I tell you. Is it entirely prophane, or simply ridiculous? I leave you to choose. Still, that there is an amount of spiritual truth in the book to which the public is unaccustomed, I know very well,—only, I was helped to it—did not originate it—& was tempted much (by a natural feeling of honesty) to say so in the poem, & was withheld by nothing except a conviction that the naming of the name of Swedenborg, that great Seer into the two worlds, would have utterly destroyed any hope of general acceptance & consequent utility. Instead of Mrs Browning’s ‘gospel’, it wd have been Mrs Browning’s rhodomontade! [“]What! that impostor, Swedenborg! that madman, Swedenborg.” But that impostor & madman, such as he is, holds sublime truths in his right hand, & most humbly I have used them as I could. My desire is, that the weakness in me, may not hinder the influence. Mind you tell me what Mr Stratten says. (Not that you need repeat to him what I have written above.—) Mind you thank dearest George for the newspapers, he sent to me. Did you see the Daily News? [15] The Tablet turns on me like a tiger, & calls ‘Aurora’ a “brazen-faced woman”, .. & the whole poem “like a novel by Frederic Soulié” [16] .. which means, something highly improper. But I agree with you in wondering at the manner in which, generally speaking, I have escaped the charge of impropriety: it’s quite beyond my own expectation. Oh yes, Arabel, dearest .. seeing a book by bits, as you & George read mine, was just the way to throw out the doubtful things in a sort of artificial relief. The whole keeps down the parts, & makes them seem decenter, of course. Any way, I am very much pleased that you should like the book as you say—it’s a great pleasure to me.
Such a letter has come from Mr Ruskin! unqualified in its praise. [17]
Robert has come in—& there is no letter. He still expects one, he says. It may come, (I say) but it is not likely, after this pause, that the contents should be very important to us,—though the hundred a year may (by just a possibility) be secured. Of course I would not write of these things to any but yourself– To you, silence would be mere affectation, & a very unkind affectation too,—knowing, as I do, that you are, or have been, anxious about us. Have been—probably. By this time, you may know more than we do– On the whole, the likelihood seems to me that Miss Bayley has the bulk of the property, [18] —& really in that case, I shall not consider the disposition otherwise than natural. For nearly a year, she has been everything to our beloved friend,—and the claim of near relationship (such as his brother’s) being withdrawn, nothing so near remained, as her own– I talk to you as if we were together talking.
Penini continues much more good– I have half persuaded Robert to let him have a music-master from this street [19] —a man who is happy with children—& if we are not suddenly forced to contract our expenses I shall complete the persuasion. On hearing him say his prayers the other day .. to my surprise, I found that he ended his little liturgy with the Lord’s prayer,—which he repeated very sweetly & understandingly, & without one mistake. Said I, afterwards .. “I did’nt know Peni, that you had learnt it.” “Yes,” he said, “it tame into my mind that I should like to say it—so I learnt it out of the French phrase-book .. at the end. I almost knew it before, I had heard it so often—and it was’nt at all hard.” Wilson told me that for some days he had added it to his prayers, morning & evening. You know how afraid I had always been lest he should say it before he comprehended it—as has been the way with most of us– Darling child. There are no difficulties now with his lessons– He is very good. And he liked your message so much, dearest dear Arabel. Through dawdling so over this letter I have had time to accumulate anxieties—& now your last news is no longer satisfying. How is Papa now? and yourself, dearest? I beseech you to write quickly,—& not to use your habitual delays– I live with you all with my dream-life—wondering, hoping, fearing! Be good to me Arabel, & mind what I have said to you again & again. We have had very warm weather since I began this letter .. how long ago? Robert’s best love.
Your own Ba–
Address: Angleterre viâ France. / Miss Barrett / 50. Wimpole Street / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, II, 272–277.
Manuscript: Gordon E. Moulton-Barrett.
1. Year provided by postmark.
4. For Ruskin’s comments, see letter 3927.
5. i.e., in octavo trim size rather than crown octavo (see letter 3840, note 11). The next two “editions” of Aurora Leigh (second and third) were in the larger trim size. The fourth edition (1859), appeared in octavo. These and subsequent editions were published in one-volume format.
7. In other words, some form of psychological disorder; see letter 3051, note 5.
9. Of the death of John Kenyon, on 3 December 1856, aged 72. His death certificate lists the cause of death as “Natural Decay.”
10. One of the recipients was Anna Jameson (see SD1988).
12. By 5 October 1857, the English and American editions of Aurora Leigh combined had probably earned EBB close to £300. For the American edition, C.S. Francis paid £100, the final instalment of which was received by 1 September 1857 (see letter 3802, note 2). In regard to the English edition, RB acknowledges receipt of a “cheque” from Edward Chapman (for an unknown amount) on 21 March 1857 and writes: “I will use this, and, some fine day, draw on you for the remainder” (ms at Morgan). Two months later, RB tells Chapman that he is drawing on “the balance of our account—£44.5.10” (27 May 1857, ms at Morgan). Possibly, the earlier cheque was for a similar amount. In a letter to Chapman of 5 October 1857 (ms at Morgan), RB lists his recent drafts on the publisher’s account (not including the £44.5.10) and the remaining balance, all of which comes to about £110.
13. In letter 3941, Dinah Mulock writes to EBB: “I can’t tell you how thoroughly the book seems a gospel—a message sent & needed.” And in letter 3953 RB notes that “the American Publisher [C.S. Francis] … and his select circle of friends had their own opinion that the poem was ‘a gospel.’”
14. This letter is not extant.
16. The anonymous reviewer in The Tablet (Dublin) of 29 November 1856 (pp. 762–763) remarked that having read Aurora Leigh, he now had “the painful duty of recording, in the mildest phrase at our command, the deep disappointment and repugnance with which it has inspired us.” He compared the poem to “a translation into blank verse of a French novel by Frederic Soulié.” Describing the character of Aurora, he called her “a bad specimen even of her very unattractive class,” as well as “a very ridiculous person” and “intolerably tedious.” However, it is Lady Waldemar rather than Aurora who is called “brazen-faced”: “avowing her passion to Aurora with brazenfaced effrontery.” For the full text of this review, see pp. 301–303.
18. John Kenyon was generous to Sarah Bayley, though he made other bequests as large or larger than the one to her. According to the terms of his will, she was to receive £5,000, “the cottage at Wimbledon … together with all the furniture therein,” and, to be shared equally with James Booth, “all my furniture books pictures prints & articles of virtu or such of them as I have not given to them in my lifetime” (see SD1993).
19. Giuseppe Del Bene, as identified by EBB in later correspondence and by a handwritten program of a concert for 28 October 1860 that featured his students, including his son Emilio (b. ca. 1848) and Pen (ms at ABL). We have been unable to trace further biographical details concerning Pen’s music master.
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