3983. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 24, 44–48.
[Florence]
April 3. [1857] [1]
Dearest, I will not miss a post before I tell you about the cup– Dearest, it is to stay where it is—and if Papa should say a word on the subject, I rejoin on you or others to answer that “Ba particularly desired it should be left where it is. She would rather not have it.” Also, darling, if, in the silver marked EM [2] there should be anything or everything which it would be pleasing to him to keep, .. (& very naturally as coming from his mother) it is my desire that he should retain it: Robert & I have no need of any of these things. The watch for my Peni, you will take care of, darling Arabel,—& of course, the parrot. I mean to tell him about the parrot, although Robert (having the remembrance of Edith Story & a belief of the wickedness of human nature deep in him) has been insisting against crying a word of these legacies to Peni, lest he should associate the gain of anything with the loss of a friend. In deference to Robert therefore, I shall say nothing of the watch, but I have pleaded for the parrot’s being mentioned, because I think, considering that parrots are mortal, it might be tantamount to refusing a last proof of kindness. Also, Wilson has told me that some ten days ago when Ferdinando was talking of ‘la povera signora,’ [3] & wondering what would become of the parrot, Peni said very earnestly, “I dare say Minny & Arabel will take care of it—but oh, how I should like to have that parrot!”– So we shall tell him—but of the watch we shall say nothing for the present. Robert cant forget Edith Story’s walking about proudly in her poor little brother’s red shoes, [4] —but, for my part, I dont think Penini is made of stuff competent to such a situation under any circumstances. You take care of the parrot for Peni, we shall understand,—& he shall have the pleasure of calling it his, & of paying visits to it as his whenever he goes to England .. which will be the amount of his proprietorship.
For the rest, I am not mistress of myself to speak mildly of the omission with regard to you. It pains me to be conscious that I feel as I do, & that it so far cancels the tender gratitude which I ought to feel for last remembrances of myself & mine. All we can say is—may it have been pure madness;—for other excuses are impossible. There is a certain satisfaction to some souls in being greatly wronged– I have felt that myself sometimes: but I doubt whether you are not too deeply in Christ for any such human experience. Rather it will have given you pain, I dare say, that one you loved should have acted so,—for her sake, & without once thinking of yourself. How strange that George, who was always accused in common with you, should have been forgiven apparently at last. Perhaps, because of his having been of use in business. I am very glad that dearest Henrietta has what she has [5] .. at least I should be, except for the omission which has turned me to bitterness altogether, & sickened me of the whole subject.
Moreover, Arabel, I shall be seriously uneasy about you till you write again– How do you mean, darling, that you were “unwell for two or three weeks through the shock &c, and are well this week”? Why, there was only a fortnight from the ninth of March to the day of the putting into the post of your letter! Have you ceased to reckon time, that you talk of two weeks as if it were five? However that may be you have plainly been unwell for some time or other, and I dare say you deceive me in calling yourself well when you wrote. I do beseech you, Arabel, to write soon & be explicit about yourself. I have precisely that symptom of being garotted when I go out in the cold: or rather of being squeezed to death by the chest in an iron vice—but then I feel it in bad air of any sort, or in walking too fast up hill– I have felt that for years & years,—but why you should, I dont understand. It is wicked of you to go out in the cold, even in a cab—quite wicked, Arabel .. you should submit to God’s providence more obediently, indeed & indeed. Write to me, dearest, for you dont know how I live by you, & weigh all your precious words about yourself. Papa has been unwell too—but that he should go to the Jamaica coffee house makes me more at ease again, as far as he is concerned.
I have had a letter from Ruskin [6] which I must send you an extract of, knowing that it will interest you. You saw in the paper, perhaps, that having heard Mr Spurgeon once, he sent him a hundred pounds. [7] Really I could scarcely believe it, knowing what Ruskin is, & supposing what Spurgeon is,—but thus, our friend writes– “Perhaps the next chiefly interesting thing, among my own affairs, that I ever tell you, is that I have at last found a preacher quite after my own heart. I was getting sick of going to church altogether, & in fact went chiefly that I might’nt offend people, when I read a violent article in some of the leading journals, of abuse of a certain Mr Spurgeon. It quoted some of the most “objectionable” parts of his sermons, and the first objectionable thing I read made me think I had found, at last, a real preacher, & not a ‘performer.’ So, as soon as I could, I went to hear him; and I never when I can help it, will hear anybody else. We are going to be great friends, I believe. I’m going to tea with him tomorrow, … four oclock .. (fashionable.).
[“]Such nice things those teas are, of the good Calvinist people. I made acquaintance with a small farmer, walking on the Kenilworth road from Leamington one sunday afternoon. He asked me to come & have tea with him; so I did; & we had such happy talk, with the cornfields all yellow through the open door. Years ago, that is. But I think you would like to see the nine thousand people who come crushing & rushing to hear the man every sunday morning in the Surrey music-hall, [8] and to hear them sing their psalms, & to see them taking it in, (the sermon) and to see them laughing & crying. He made ever so many fat old citizens in handsome waistcoats & with shiny bald heads, cry like girls of sixteen the other day. I saw them. And he is only twenty two. And short & roundshouldered—and wears ill-made coats,—and has not a good complexion, & is heavy-featured, and has the sweetest eyes I ever saw in human face.”– I suppose it is the earnestness, the soul-life, which strikes Ruskin– For me, I should object fundamentally to the “Turn or burn” sort of doctrine, in which Mr Spurgeon is said to delight. [9] The millenarian churches must be otherwise built, I think. We want something higher & different than the mere Wesleyan or Whit[e]fieldite awakening, [10] —though a good rough shaking of the shoulder is very necessary to the after-dinner sleep which is the part of so many. Still, it is not, that churches, which shall stand, will be built up .. or else, I very much mistake. Which you will say I do, perhaps.
Is dear Bummy with you still? My love to her truly & tenderly, if she is.
How has Mr Stratten “begun a new life.” Really, Arabel, you are not explicit. Is he stronger in health, or has he embraced “spiritualism”. I do hope he is well, anyhow.
Here is Robert waiting for this stupid letter which must go or miss the post– And what a stupid letter to send you– Dearest, write to me. I saw an American paper yesterday—so funny .. about Aurora Leigh. [11] The editor selects from a pile of letters about “that marvellous poem” .. seeing that there has been a controversy on the exact meaning of the concluding lines–! The letters are said to be “very creditable to the Biblical knowledge of the community”– How absurd, to be sure.! I hear also, that certain persons in England who cried loudest against the ‘indecencies,’ are changing their tone altogether. In America the reception seems to be great. But we shant make a fortune by it, after all– We should have starved a little this year if the money were not to be paid– [12]
God bless you, my own dearest Arabel. Write to me soon, either at length or at short. I love you, & all of you. Robert’s love to all– Oh—Alfred’s going to China. [13] I perfectly disapprove of his leaving Lizzie,—and my opinion is that she ought not to be left to live by herself in any such way. If I were Alfred I would try to establish her with the Williams’s—if I left her at all. Even her aunt’s house in Cheltenham, [14] does not seem to me a safe enough place for a young creature, so very attractive, & so young in all ways. Alfred ought to think of it indeed. I suppose she could not make up her mind to Taunton again, or an arrangement might be made, most practicable & desireable. Here I must go– Love to Alfred & Lizzie– May God bless you. No time to read over.
Your own Ba
What a marriage!– Yet it may be good in the end—who knows?– Certainly it will if the sentiment is true.
I was out driving yesterday.
Address: Angleterre viâ France– / Miss Barrett / 50. Wimpole Street / London. W.
Publication: EBB-AB, II, 294–298.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. Year provided by postmark.
2. Upon Elizabeth Moulton’s death in 1830, EBB had inherited a large quantity of silver with the monogram “EM,” which remained with Treppy for her lifetime. Two items bearing that monogram were sold in Browning Collections: a coaster, as part of lot 1349 (see Reconstruction, H315), and a soup ladle, as lot 1344 (see Reconstruction, H344). The balance of the silver was retained by the Barrett family at Pen’s death. For its disposition, see Reconstruction, pp. 614–618. We have been unable to trace the cup mentioned or the watch for Pen.
3. “The poor lady.”
4. Joseph Story (1847–53) died on 23 November 1853 in Rome.
5. On the day of Treppy’s death, Surtees recorded: “Our poor old friend, so kind, Miss Trepsack died. She left us all she could, linen and some furniture, but she had got rid of all her money” (Surtees, 9 March 1857). From EBB’s remarks, it can be inferred that Treppy documented the above-mentioned bequests. However, no such document has survived.
6. Not extant.
7. The Morning Advertiser of 17 March 1857 noted at the end of an article about Spurgeon that “a few weeks ago, Mr. Ruskin … sent a cheque, after hearing him preach, for 100 guineas … towards the fund for building a new place of worship” (p. 4). Punch for 28 March 1857 (p. 129) reprinted the remark about the “100 guineas” and accompanied it with a cartoon entitled “Ruskin at the Feet of Spurgeon.” The “new place of worship” was the immense Metropolitan Tabernacle at Elephant and Castle. Seating 6,000 people, it was completed in 1861 at a cost of £31,000.
8. When Charles Haddon Spurgeon’s church at New Park Street in Southwark proved too small, he leased first Exeter Hall and later the Surrey Gardens Music Hall, which was built in 1856 and “could hold 10,000 people” (The London Encyclopædia, ed. Ben Weinreb and Christopher Hibbert, 1983, p. 847).
9. On Sunday, 7 December 1856, at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens, Spurgeon delivered a sermon entitled “Turn or Burn,” in which he referred to “a necessity that God should whet his sword and punish men if they will not turn” and warned “God is just, severely and inflexibly just” (C. H. Spurgeon, The New Park Street Pulpit, 1857, 2, 417–421).
10. John Wesley (1703–91), together with his brother Charles (1707–88), led the eighteenth-century evangelical movement that became known as Methodism. George Whitefield (1714–70) was an associate of the Wesley brothers. When he traveled to America in 1740, his series of revival meetings came to be known as the “Great Awakening.”
11. Untraced.
12. i.e., the legacies from John Kenyon’s will (see letter 3953, note 3).
13. Although we have been unable to determine the precise nature of Alfred’s trip to China, it seems likely that the government assigned him to a post in connection with the Arrow war (see letter 3986, note 14).
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