4262. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 25, 260–263.
Florence.
Oct. 27– [1858] [1]
Have you expected to hear before now from me, my precious Arabel? Almost I am afraid to think of it, considering what a sensation we have been making in our Florence.
This is thursday, & after leaving Paris last monday week, we arrived here only yesterday– Nine days on the road!——
And yesterday there was no use in writing Robert said, on account of the London sunday intervening–
We are safe & well & at home, my darling Arabel. First of all, let me say that. And, in the second place, our journey was pleasant on the whole, in despite of various perils & difficulties–
Maps & road-books lie– There is not an inch of railroad (begun even) after St Jean de Maurienne– [2] Remember that when you go to Italy.
The country on that Chambery route is however wonderfully beautiful– We ran through the lac de Bourget—water on each side—mountains, forests, divine bits of pastoral land thrown at random– We left Paris in a bright glow of June sunshine—no other word can express it—and slept at Macon, the first night, and at Chambery the second. At Chambery it began to be rather cold,—we were within breathing of the mountains; for which reason probably the hotels gave themselves airs, & in virtue of the government being Piedmontese (i.e Italian) the bedrooms opened with doors upon long uncovered balconies running round the house– Think how delightfully warm that must have been!! I prayed for a screen before the door, & a chauff[e]rette, [3] & remedied the evil tolerably well—and we remained a whole day at Chambery, in order to make an excursion to Les Charmettes, where Rousseau lived, [4] & where Peni wrote down his name in the book next to ours– It was very interesting– Robert played some of the music of that great genius on his old harpsichord, [5] which rattled in a hollow ghastly way as if his bones had been stirred in the grave– There was the old watch too hung up, which did not pretend to tick any more– After we had seen all our eyes could, we took the carriage farther, desiring the driver to show us the country—and we went to see a cataract not liable to get old & break off into silence like harpsichords, watches, & the earthly organisms of human hearts.
Next morning to St Jean de Maurienne & no railway—only diligences which wanted to take us on to Turin night & day. If I had gone on so I should have arrived in the state of Rousseau’s watch, incompetent to tick anymore. So Robert bade them take us as far as Lanslebourg & throw us out there & leave us, & we wd try to get on as we best good. [6] And we set out—but in the difficulty had absolutely forgotten to eat our dinner at the St Jean buffet– The consequence of which was that we were carried on in a fast of fourteen hours … I, who complain of faintness, if I fast six! Robert made frantic efforts to get out of the diligence when they changed horses, & once succeeded, but failed in getting us a biscuit even—and if it had not been for a fellow-traveller who found a piece of dry bread in her bag & divided it out of compassion among us three, of course we should have turned cannibals & eaten one another. As it was, what with the increasing cold, & the exhaustion, I suffered a good deal before I found myself up stairs by a blazing fire in the little mountain inn of Lanslebourg—& there I lay on the bed while supper was being cooked– Observe– We had breakfasted at nine in the morning, & arrived at eleven at night!——& nothing in the interval but a mouthful or two of dry bread– Well—the next morning, difficulties began anew. It was difficult to get a carriage to car[r]y us over the Alps– Our baggage went on with the diligence—but we .. And nothing could be found but a sort of leather box (no window) which we submitted to rather than remain in that cold place, .. Robert hanging shawls all round it to keep out the air– Then I was packed inside, resigned to see nothing of the scenery, & to sit in the dark the whole day,—& Robert, Peni & Annunciata in order to quicken the progress of the light vehicle, walked up the mountain– Think of Peni– The whole way to the top he walked– Oh, he would do it– “I must see the mountain of Napoleon,” [7] said Peni—& then at the top he & the rest came in to me inside where I had suffered much, much, in spite of all precautions– By degrees however the extreme cold diminished as we descended, & I was able to breathe again,—& even, presently, to bear to have the leather fold thrown back & see the magnificent scenery– Oh—wonderful it is– Peni cried out “oh my dear Italy! my dear, dear Italy!” He was in an ecstasy of joy– That night we spent at Susa where the climate was perfectly warm though the snowy Alps looked down on us, & the next morning got to Turin. Peni who had been prowling about the magnificent hotel did his best to get the boxes open that he might wear his new blouse at the table d’hote– “A room all gold like the grand Duke’s! A hundred people are going to dine– Really I’m afraid to go down in this horrible dress– I expect to see wreaths of flowers.”! What we did see was the face of Lady Eastlake– She saw us at least, & I found a note from her [8] in our rooms, & received her afterwards– But we went off to Genoa next morning in spite of friendship—& there, had to wait for a boat a whole day– At last, it turned out to be a Neapolitan boat (which I had vowed against trusting) but they beguiled us, & we embarked at seven in the evening, being promised a six hours passage– It never is a six hours passage, but one might hope for eight hours or ten at worst—instead of which, the favorable wind we embarked with, turned suddenly to contrary—& a most dreadful night we had– Pouring rain, wind blowing a burrasca, [9] a small steamer, very old machinery—everything against us—people horribly sick & frightened—an English lady calling on God to save her “a few more days”– When we were half way, the captain decided that if the weather did not change he would return to Genoa—which would have been agreeable– The wind moderated however, & then after another hour or two began with another fit of fury–
Robert, Peni & I had a cabin to ourselves, & were none of us very well, though poor Pen was most actively sick– I tumbled out of my berth to him & tumbled back—almost suffocated with the bad air,—for they had shut down all the hatchments to keep out the water. A most miserable night– We were told in the morning that if the wind had blown from the sea instead of the land, we should have been in great peril—but as it was, I heard the gentlemen passengers talking among themselves to the effect that the peril had been very undeniable. We did not reach Leghorn for seventeen hours, instead of six, & even then, those detestable police officers kept us on board two additional ones. On our arrival at the hotel, what a ghost of a Ba looked in the glass at me! Two oclock in the afternoon, & not a mouthful eaten since five the day before—besides all the evils of the night. Robert has taken his hundred & ninetyninth oath never to go by sea when he can go by land.
Well—we were so done up on our arrival at Leghorn, that for the first time in our lives we slept there instead of taking the railroad on. And it was only yesterday therefore that we appeared at Florence– Only yesterday–
Walking up Casa Guidi stairs I came upon Miss Tulk walking down– [10] She had been enquiring about us—and she looked at me with a sort of horror as the ghost of an old inhabitant of the house.
In fact, Arabel, we find all our friends in Florence in consternation about us– Madame du Quair[e] had written to Monsieur Mignaty that we left Paris on the thirteenth– It was plain therefore that something dreadful had happened to us– Sophie Eckley had been confined to her room with terror from having heard of an accident on the Marseilles railroad– But the rest of our loving intimates (including Annunciata’s poor sister who had been in floods of tears) associated our destiny with a certain foundered steamer, of which there had been rumours– “For what could have happened? what could? leaving Paris on the thirteenth—”!
It’s all very flattering of course—and we are properly gratified by so much public interest– Messengers were sent off in all directions to notify our safety, & we had dinner, & were visible to sceptics afterwards–
Ferdinando & Wilson have taken the greatest care of this house–
Now I cant write a word more– I cant—cant–
Love your Ba
in a phrenzy of
haste
Publication: EBB-AB, II, 368–372.
Manuscript: Gordon E. Moulton-Barrett.
1. Year provided by EBB’s mention of the visit to Les Charmettes.
2. By 1860 the railway was extended from St. Jean de Maurienne to St. Michel (about half-way to Lanslebourg). A railway across the Mont Cenis pass to Susa opened in 1868.
3. “Foot-warmer.”
4. Jean Jacques Rousseau (1712–78) lived off and on at Les Charmettes from 1736 to 1740. A pencil sketch of “Rousseau’s home near Chambéry” by EBB is contained in a notebook (a present from Arabella in 1847) that sold as part of lot 141 in Browning Collections, present whereabouts unknown (see Reconstruction, D1414).
5. As RB notes in letter 4270, he played two pieces: “Rousseau’s Dream,” a popular nineteenth-century song, the melody of which was taken from Rousseau’s opera Le devin du village (see Modern Music and Musicians, Part Two: Encyclopedia, New York, 1912, p. 434), and “Che farò senza Euridice” from Gluck’s opera Orfeo ed Euridice (1762). RB had transcribed the opening phrase of the Gluck melody for EBB in letter 2026.
6. Sic, for could.
7. Not long before Napoleon met the Austrian army at the battle of Marengo in June 1800, he sent his army into Italy through various Alpine passes, including Mont Cenis. A few years later he ordered the construction of a road through the pass, which was completed in 1810.
9. “Storm.”
10. i.e., Caroline Tulk.
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