4508. EBB to Eliza Anne Ogilvy
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 27, 6–9.
Florence.
Monday. [17 October 1859] [1]
My dear friend, I seem very guilty in having allowed two letters of yours to wait so long for answers– But, instead, I have been very ill—nearly as ill as I could be, to come back again to the natural world: and then the strength was slow in its return, and until the last three weeks, though recovered in appearance, I constantly felt on the edge of a precipice, as if a little too much exertion would plunge me down– I believe it came from agitation of mind on account of public affairs, combined with a great deal too much talking, and some sort of cold-catching when the body was rendered peculiarly susceptible by the heat of the weather. Lungs & heart were out of order together it seemed. Never have I been so ill in Italy– When able to move, & scarcely able to move, we went to Siena, (nobody here expecting to see me again) & got into a villa in the wilderness for two months, where the good air & absolute seclusion were God’s means of restoration. Now I look as usual & am as well,—only we are advised to avoid the tramontana & go to Rome for the winter. Perhaps we may be cut up there by the revolution—but the evil of a cold climate is certain .. at least for one of us,—& we are not afraid of our Italians with swords in their hands,—being long used to questo genere– [2] I think I never was so happy in my life as this spring & the early part of the summer—and with such a large, sympathetic, impersonal happiness– It was like the millenium in Florence, as discoursed of by the prophets—lion & lamb lay down together [3] —all classes of persons, & most classes of thinkers, met in one embrace. No, you who read the Times & talk with the English, can have no idea what it was in Italy during the war,—the rapture, the ecstatic union, the gratitude & love– To see such sentiments, beautiful in an individual, flowering in a whole nation, was a sort of miracle– And what was almost stranger was the bearing of the French soldiers,—encamped in the Cascine—all apparently penetrated, down to the privates, with the idea of performing a great action for others & getting nothing by it– That was really sublime– It was a true fraternization of the peoples– But the time of the harvest was not yet– Down in the midst of us fell the Peace! [4] and it was not a millenium peace, and the world was the world still. For a day, two days, there was wrath, anguish, distrust– Then, out everywhere again, came the portraits & busts of Napoleon III, & people took up hope & faith anew– Only it was no more as before– There were differences of opinion—some were sanguine & some despondent, according to their temperaments: there were discussions on all sides: we were plainly in this natural world. As for me, for weeks afterwards, whenever at nights I caught a little feverish sleep, the dreams which came with it, were of long lists of impracticable conditions of peace,—and eternal transitions of provisionary governments.
Well—it is all past, I thank God– Now, if it were not for Venetia, whose future is not distinct, I should be almost glad for Villafranca– The war could not of itself have solved certain difficulties—and the peace has developed in these Italians the only qualities capable of solving them– How admirable have been the constancy, dignity, & energy of this people– What a ripening since 1848!– Afflictions do indeed instruct & mature men–
I am in the highest hopes, and so is my husband. And, in fact, no one here does otherwise than hope, except certain politicians who “see as from a tower the end of all,” [5] because they have black in their eyes– The tranquility is profound. We are about to bring out a monumental edition of Macchiavelli (a very Florentine idea) and to erect two equestrian statues of the French emperor & the Piedmontese King in the Piazza dell’ Independenza .. that is, “di Maria Antonia.” [6] I have found in Penini’s journal,—(Peni keeps a journal, you are to know) .. “This is the happiest day of my hole life,—for dearest Vittorio Emanuele is really nostro re—” [7] Forgive the spelling which is my Pen’s weak point (he spells Italian better than English) for the sake of the politics in which he is strong. He was very happy at Siena (apart from public events, poor darling) .. having made friends as usual with all the contadini in the neighbourhood,—keeping sheep with them, catching stray cows for them, driving the grape-carts, & helping to get in the vintage with a knife of his own exactly after the pattern of theirs,—& then, at the end of the day, reading Dall’Ongaro’s political poems (with occasional expositions) to an admiring circle. Also, to fill up the cup of joy, he once fired off a gun, (for which he was severely reprimanded by papa, & mama in particular)—and every day rode on a pretty Sardinian poney which Robert had the extravagance to give him & which we are positively preparing to take with us to Rome. Think of it!—but an only child!– And he rides beautifully & with a most fearless grace—his long curls flying in the wind,—exactly of the same colour as the poney’s tail. Do I confess to curls still? Yes– I confess to curls still. Did you see Monro’s bust of him in this year’s exhibition? [8] If not, do get sight of it at the sculptor’s studio, for it is beautiful and tale quale. [9] He is a very good child, very sweet looking, & childish—not in the least studious .. but forward in many ways—with a facility in fact, which is a disadvantage in certain respects– German he reads & translates currently, and French he understands as he reads,—while as to Italian & English they are the same thing to him,—it is as if he had two native tongues. Latin is still for the future—but we must soon make a beginning. Arithmetic is no where—& spelling at a rabresso [10] .. why, I scarcely know. In conversation he is very quick & amusing, with the same musical little voice which must go some day. Robert was very overkind, & heard him all his lessons during the two months of my illness, besides giving in the two hours a day in his own department of music– The child plays a complete sonata of Beethoven, besides some modern German pieces which require still more power of execution– Indeed it’s considered quite a wonder how much those small hands can execute, & what a degree of expression the young soul can put into it–
There now– You see I have paid you in kind for your welcome details about your darlings– It seemed to me rather stupendous that you should permit Alexander to “shoot”– Pray dont put him into jackets—pray, pray dont. Pen would wear long-tailed coats if I listened to him,—but I resist, I: I am strong-minded on this one point. I dare say your Louisa will be lovely– Oh, I wish I had a daughter.
But, at least, I have an Italy .. or shall have. It will be found that the Emperor Napoleon has been loyal to us from first to last– Circumstances have been & are very difficult, & he has had to walk under the earth as well as over it; but always he has walked in one direction and towards one object. What has surprised me into admiration, is the continued gratitude of the Italians– No disappointment at certain turnings of the road, has hindered the flow of their gratitude. I hear of such men as Garibaldi even, expressing it in public & in private. This is great, on their part.
What am I to say of England & certain other nations?
Are you “satisfied” with the Idylls?– [11] So am not I—though there are exquisite things here & there. Perhaps it may be my fault, (surrounded as I have been so long with all this burning, throbbing, anxious life) but the book sounded to me far off, &, fell flat & cold. I would rather have written ‘Maud’ than ten such books– Is it my fault or is it the book’s fault, that I should feel so?
Dear Mr Ogilvy wont go to America this winter in the Great Eastern, [12] & I am glad of it– Write & tell me all about all of you, & give to him & yourself <***>
Publication: EBB-EAHO, pp. 143–147 (as [31? October 1859]).
Manuscript: Eton College Library.
1. Dated by EBB’s reference to her uncertain health “until the last three weeks.” In letter 4506 she makes a similar reference to the “latter fortnight.”
2. “That sort.”
3. Cf. Isaiah 11:6.
4. EBB refers to the armistice signed by Napoleon III and Franz Josef at Villafranca on 11 July 1859, which ended the second war of Italian independence.
5. Shelley, The Cenci (1819), II, 2, 147.
6. Piazza Maria Antonia, named after Grand Duke Leopold II’s second wife, had recently been renamed, for obvious reasons.
7. “Our king.”
9. “Exactly alike.”
10. Sic, for ribrezzo; “horror.”
11. Alfred Tennyson’s Idylls of the King, published by Moxon on 11 July 1859.
12. The Great Eastern, designed by I.K. Brunel, was the largest passenger ship of her day (nearly 700 feet in length). She launched in 1858 and made her first voyage to America in June 1860.
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