4156. EBB to Sarah Blake Shaw
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 25, 82–84.
Casa Guidi. Florence–
April 1. 1858.
Ah, dearest Mrs Shaw, when I look at the date of your last note, & remember that you have written me two.!! Can I dare lift up my eyes to you and say Forgive me.? Hardly indeed. The temptation is to be silent still, to hide my face in the figurative dust, & to leave it to the Day of secret-knowing [1] for you to know that I was sorry and loved you.
But I resist this– That you should have rebuked me gently by letting the last new year pass without the usual word, shall not abash me– I will write– Dear friend, I want you to understand that I have had a good deal of unhappiness, & been upset in my habits & nerves to the point of feeling it hard to write to anyone to whom I should have to say that I was unhappy–— Try to feel how this has been— Then, grief makes one indolent, & indolence grows habitual. I have behaved ill to many—to none who deserved quite so much the contrary perhaps, as to you– On the whole I am living in lodgings at Coventry, which are not very comfortable—but, for your part, give me a ‘lascia passare’ [2] out of town, that I may feel well with you, & so a little with myself. I thank you from my heart for two things—one that gift of Maria Lowell’s poems [3] which I shall keep for your sake & hers– Oh no– Nobody but you, thought of me in regard to them– They are pure & fragrant like her life—and the touching eyes on the first page startle one with the likeness to what she was & must still be. [4] Tell me to what type does the new wife belong. [5] Do you remember that, long ago, you told me it would be so? Does his heart never protest now, do you think.? One understands poor Mr Page’s reiterated attempts, [6] but this, not .. at least, I do not. And from a man, too, who professes to see ghosts. He said in my hearing, that he often did. [7] But I wander from the second thing I have to thank you for,—which is, your kind reception of ‘Aurora Leigh.’ It gave me pleasure, indeed. You hear, I dare say, from many, complaints of its gross indecency, but you are not afraid,—you wont lock it up from your daughters lest they should be corrupted by immoral literature. Stories reach me of women in England, who read it in secret, & sweep it from their drawingroom tables, lest a man should see it. On the other hand, there have been pleasant proofs of understanding & sympathy from good & high-minded women, so that I do not complain.
Our plans for this summer are very uncertain. My husband & child are both well—little Penini, as bright-faced, yes, & bright-curled, as ever,—&, at nine years old (just struck) reading English, French, Italian, & German, besides playing remarkably on the piano, music being his passion. Of course he speaks with equal fluency, Italian & English– Then he is a sweet, gentle, affectionate child, the light (a cera [8] as the Italians say) of our house– You know what a child is worth—and lo! you have a grandchild–! [9] Scarcely can I fancy it– Your honors are too many for your youthful looks. Give my love to your daughter & your son in law, and kiss the new comer for me. Does your daughter care still for horses?—and what is Mr Curtis earnest about with his earnest mind? [10]
Then yourself—tell me, dear friend, if your interest in spiritualism continues as deep, & your belief unshaken. Hume is in Italy, has passed through Florence (paying his debts!) has gone to Rome, & is to return here presently & visit acquaintances of ours (the Crossmans) with whom he spent four months [11] two years ago, & who believe in him implicitly. The “spirits” send him here for his health, to take breath from his renown in Paris—& he comes laden with gifts from [12] <***>
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Harvard University.
1. i.e., the Day of Judgement (see Luke 12:2).
2. “Pass.”
3. Sent in October 1857; see letter 4106, note 11.
4. The frontispiece to The Poems of Maria Lowell (Cambridge, Mass., 1855) is a portrait of the author from a drawing by Seth Wells Cheney (1810–56) after a painting by William Page.
5. Frances Lowell (née Dunlap, 1825–85), daughter of John Dunlap (1774–1842), a merchant of Portland, Maine, and his wife, Lois (née Cushing, formerly Porter, 1791–1882). A niece of Robert Pinckney Dunlap (1794–1859), governor of Maine (1834–38), Frances became governess to Lowell’s daughter, Mabel (1847–98), from the time he left America for Germany in June 1855. The Lowells were married on 16 September 1857. She is described in Horace E. Scudder’s biography of Lowell as “a sincere Swedenborgian, with the serene faith and spiritual outlook … generally found to be characteristic of that sect” (James Russell Lowell, Boston, 1901, I, 402–403).
6. Page was married to his third wife, Sophia Candace (née Stevens, formerly Hitchcock, 1827–92), on 8 October 1857 at Rome. His first two marriages ended in divorce after his wives deserted him.
7. The Brownings had met Lowell and his first wife in London during the autumn of 1852 (see SD1614 in vol. 18), then Lowell again in the summer of 1855 (see SD1846 in vol. 21).
8. “Of wax.”
9. Francis George Curtis (1857–1936), born on 5 December, was the first child of George William Curtis (1824–92) and his wife, Anna Blake (née Shaw, 1836–1923), eldest daughter of Francis George Shaw and his wife, Sarah Blake (née Sturgis).
10. Curtis had called on the Brownings at Casa Guidi in July 1847. He impressed the poets “by his refinement & cultivation” (letter 2686).
12. Among others, the Empress Eugénie (see the fifth paragraph in letter 4148).
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