4235. EBB to Henrietta Cook
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 25, 217–219.
Maison Versigny
2. rue de Perrey. Le Hâvre
August 30. [1858] [1]
My beloved Henrietta I am the most wretched of the ungrateful, to all appearance– You who send me an Arabel (to say nothing of beautiful collar & sleeves!) and I who delay all this time without thanking you! Forgive me, dearest. After all you will understand in your kind tender sympathy how one may feel & be silent, or even be silent because one feels—& I, for my part, have been bewildered & confused, sometimes with joy, sometimes with pain—but oh, what great joy to have my darling Arabel’s face full on me, & to see it looking so well & so cheerful!—dear, dear thing! Never in my life did I see her looking better, & scarcely ever younger—for she looks as if she were twenty, & with her dear, tranquil, bright soul shining out of her. What a comfort I shall take back with me to Florence– Quite satisfied I am about Delamere Terrace and the rest. She knows best what is best for her. As we all do: only we wont believe it of one another.
I am afraid I am spoiling her summer for her a little in keeping her here, for this Hâvre is the dullest of places & you did well in not coming here, my dearest Henrietta– In Paris, when we can get away there in some three weeks or so, it will be better perhaps– There will be something to see, & we shall be more to ourselves,—as Robert’s family will separate from us & go to their own domicile, and the gossip-time will be enlarged by so much margin. George talks of leaving us previously for Heidelberg,—& of returning to take us up again at Paris. He too looks well & radiant—and, so kind! Then think of Harry’s kindness in bringing his new wife to show me– She pleased me as she pleased all of you by her gentle nice manner, her good sense & affectionateness. What a fortunate man dear Harry is– He amazed us by his vehement assertions that “Millikins was a most wonderful woman! Impossible to put her out of humour”–! Not that he tries much, I fancy. Everybody has been overkind to my Peni, who is exultant in his paradise of friends, & so familiar with each one that you would suppose him to have lived with them all his life– Peni is in the full blow of health just now– Arabel thinks him much improved in this respect– Such rosy round cheeks!—the sea has agreed with him. And he has learnt to swim, tell Altham: it’s an accomplishment he will take away from Havre.–
I make Arabel tell me all the details about your darlings– I squeeze her drop by drop like a spunge till I get everything out, and even now I have’nt done squeezing. She is vexed to think of your having lost the piano—only with that exhausting whooping-cough, dearest, you must have had much to do to induce much regular practising on the part of your patients. When Peni had his fever last year, for nearly three weeks he did not touch the piano, yet had lost nothing at the end. Do you know, Henrietta, from what I can hear, your discipline is far severer than mine is– Your children do quantities more work & have far less liberty– Perhaps Robert & I are rather in a contrary extreme, and I do think sometimes that Peni could bear a heavier pressure of the plough. Then again I have a dread of over-working a young brain– I am afraid of it for the body’s sake, & also for the mind’s, for it is not often that children, pushed in their education, make distinguished men. Take care of what you are about– Dont tire those tender brains– As to music it is hard brain-work, be sure. You would think we let Peni run wild if you saw him—yes, indeed you would. An hour & a quarter or so’s work with me, & his music with Robert—that’s all we exact from him– Music consisting of half an hour’s practice of the scales before breakfast, and an hour’s playing afterwards. Yes, and he reads French for half an hour with Mlle Augustine. Peni is very ignorant in many respects, if forward in some—but he has an enormous vivacity, and one of these days we must set him to sweep up all his dust. Altham would scorn him for his ignorance of arithmetic, for instance, and, I dare say, would exceed him in spelling––which is disgraceful to my Pen. Arabel recounts to me all your triumphs in the way of repetitions, dancing &c &c, yes, & music—and I listen admiringly– You have forward children, Henrietta– I am only afraid that you push & pull them a little hard.
Yet, I dare say, a blouse of Altham’s would be large for Peni—and that does’nt look as if he suffered from over-education. Pen is tall for his age, rather than short, but he is slender, delicately shaped,—and his face is quite infantine still– Nobody thinks him in the least altered.
Dearest Henrietta, I hate to reflect that I am about to go south again without seeing you & your darlings—and a change comes over each as the months pass, and we lose something. Tell them I love them dearly, & talk to me of them when you write. May God bless you & enlighten all your countenances one towards another, dear dear things– Then there’s dear Surtees– Dont I miss those small kind ecclesiastical reproofs which I should always take as proofs of his brotherly love? Dear Surtees!–
And see how I lose my own dear Stormie, not to speak of Occy & Set & Alfred. But then they need’nt have lost me, if it had seemed worth while to find me–
Shall you leave London soon, do you think?– The change to the country will be excellent for the children—excellent. I am rather anxious to know that you have no cough any more, & that Surtees has not. When all is over you will be glad for the children that one of the miseries of life is past for them, & at an advantageous time of year– I fancy that Peni has had the malady. If so, he had it of a wonderful lightness, however– It lasted a month only, and the whooping, though distinct in its character, was not distressing– We had no doctor for him for instance. Still I believe he had it, distinctly.
In Paris we shall go to a private apartment hotels being too expensive, and we shall stay till the cold expels us– Arabel goes with us & lives with us of course– Dont you feel how we talk of you– We do you on one side, & then turn you .. like a knead cake .. and very very good you are at any hour of the day or night. My love to dear Minny– I love you, love you, love you all– Robert’s love with mine & Pen’s–
Your ever attached
Ba.
One word more of the collar & sleeves! So very very pretty—& I thank you much. But you are naughty—it was not right.
Address: Angleterre / Mrs Surtees Cook / 7. Delamere Terrace / Harrow Road / London.
Publication: Huxley, pp. 299–301 (in part, as 31 August 1858).
Manuscript: British Library.
1. Year provided by postmark.
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