4727. EBB to Julia Martin
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 28, 107–111.
Villa Alberti. Siena.
August 21– [1860] [1]
I thank you, my dearest friend, from my heart for your letter, & the ray of sunshine it brought with it. Do you know I was childish enough to kiss it as if it knew what it did. I wish I could kiss you. Yes, I have been very unhappy—not giving way on the whole, going about my work as usual, but with a sense of a black veil between me & whatever I did—sometimes feeling incapable of crawling down to sit on the cushion under my own figtree [2] for an hour’s vision of this beautiful country,––sometimes in ‘des transes mortelles’ [3] of fear.
But we must not be atheists, as a friend said to me the other day. [4] I hope I do not live quite as if I were. But it was a great shock from the beginning. Henrietta always seemed so strong that I never feared that way.
My first impulse was to rush to England, but this has been over-ruled by everybody, & I believe wisely. With my usual luck—I should just have increased the sum of evil instead of bringing a single advantage to anyone. The best thing I can do for the others, is to keep quiet & try not to give cause for trouble on my own account—to be patient, and live on God’s daily bread [5] from day to day. I had a crumb or two the day before yesterday through Storm, who thought there might be a little less pain—& here you have sent me almost a slice—may God be thanked. How good you were to mention the doctor. [6] It is grievous to me to think of her suffering—Darling!–
I knew how strong your sympathy & personal feeling would be, &, even on that account, I had not the heart & courage to write to you. But no, dearest friend– I did not receive the letter you speak of, though I heard of your grief a good while afterwards– And so sorry I was, we both were! So sorry for Fanny, so sorry for you! [7] May God bless you all. How the spiritual world gets thronged to us with familiar faces, till, at last, perhaps the world here will seem the vague & strange world, even while we remain.
Still, it is beautiful out of this window,—& of public affairs in Italy I am stirred to think with the most vivid interest through all. The rapture is not as in the northern war last year—because (you dont understand that in England) last year we fought the Austrian, & now it is Italian against Italian,—which tempers every triumph with a certain melancholy. Also the Italian question in the south was decided in the north, & remained only a question of time .. abbreviated (many think rashly) by our hero Garibaldi– For the crisis, so quickened, involves very serious dangers & most solemn thoughts. The southern difficulty may be considered solved .. so we think .. but just now that very solution opens out, as we all fear, a new Austrian invasion in the north, backed indirectly at least by Prussia & Germany, who will use that opportunity in carrying out the coalition against France. There seems no doubt of the mischief hatched at Toeplitz. [8] I wish I had none [sic, for known] that England’s influence was not used in drawing together those two powers– Prussia deserves to be … what shall I say?—docked of her Rhenish provinces? It would be a too slight punishment. She caused the Villafranca halt (according to her official confession by the mouth of Baron Schleinitz [9] last spring) & now this second time, would she interrupt the liberation of Italy? The aspect of affairs looks very grave. As to England, England wishes well to this country at this present time,—but she will make no sacrifices—(not even of her hatreds—least of all perhaps of her blind hatreds,) for the sake of ten Italys. Tell dear Mr Martin that after the speech for the defences I gave up Ld Palmerston for ever. He plays double. He is too shrewd to believe in the probability of invasions &c &c, but he wants a shield to guard his sword-arm. The statesmanship of England pines for new blood, for ideas of the epoch,—& the Russell old-fogyism will not do any more at all. These old bottles wont hold the new wine– [10] People are positively calling on the Muse & William Pitt. [11] It’s religion to hate France, and to set up a ‘Boney’ as a “raw head and bloody bones” [12] sort of scarecrow– But it wont do. As the revolutionists say, “E troppo tardi.” [13]
I am not however, in furies all day, dearest Mrs Martin– (I answer satisfactorily your question whether I am “ever calm”.) The newspapers from various parts of Italy thunder down on us here, .. not to speak of Galignanis & Saturday Reviews. See how calm-blooded I must be to bear the Saturday Review. [14] (I consider it a curiosity in vice, certainly.) Then we have books from the subscription-library in Florence—& sights of the Cornhill,—& political pamphlets—by the book post .. nay, even the ‘Spiritual Magazine’ sent by Chapman & Hall, in the last number of which that clever & brave William Howitt (who like a man, is foolish sometimes) suggests gravely in an article, that I have lately been “biologized by infernal spirits” [15] in order to the production of certain bad works in the service of “Moloch”—meaning of course LN. [16] Oh—and did anyone tell you how Harriet Martineau in her political letters to America set me down with her air of serene superiority? [17] But such things never chafe me—never– They dont even quicken my pulsation. And the place we are passing the summer in is very calm—a great lonely villa, in the midst of purple hills & vineyards,—olive-trees & fig trees like forest trees—a deep, soothing silence. A mile off we have friends—& my dear friend Miss Blagden is in a villa half a mile off– This for the summer. Also, we brought with us from Florence & dropped in a villino not far, our friend Mr Landor, (Walter Savage) who is under Robert’s guardianship, having quarrelled with everybody in & out of England– I call him our adopted son—(you did not know I had a son of eighty six & more?.) Wilson lives with him, & Robert receives from his family in England means for his support– But really the office is hard—and I tell Robert that he must be prepared for the consequences—an outbreak and a printed statement that he Robert, instigated by his wicked wife, had attempted to poison him (Landor) slowly. Such an extraordinary union of great literary gifts and incapacity of will, has seldom surprised the world. Of course he does not live with us, you know, either here or in Florence—but my husband manages every detail of his life—& both the responsibility & trouble are considerable. Still he is a great writer– We owe him some gratitude therefore.
Penini has his poney here & rides with his father. We have had the coolest summer I ever remember in Italy. I could have been very happy. But God who “tempers the wind” [18] finds it necessary for the welfare of some of us to temper the sunshine also.
I wish, my very dear friend, you had not spoken of yourself as if you were suffering– Only what can be expected, with such weather as seems to have been general in England? Even near Taunton where the temperature is certainly higher than with you, Arabel tells me of chilblains on her feet & hands through the cold. Yes—her being capable of giving help at this time is a blessing. But when is she not capable of help? Its her trade, you know, to look away from herself & help other people.
Do you never think, you & dear Mr Martin, of turning back to Pau again, to see out the end of the ungenial season? If I were you I should be sorely tempted to it.
As the very poorest proof of gratitude for your letter, Robert suggests that I should enclose this photograph of Penini & myself taken at Rome this last spring. You will like to have them, we fancy—but it is Robert’s gift– I was half inclined last year to send you a photograph from Field Talfourd’s picture of me—but I shrank back, knowing that dear Mr Martin would cry out at the flattery of it, which he well might do. But this photograph from nature cant be flattered, so I hazard it. You see the locks are dark still, not white, & the sun in spite has blackened the face to complete the harmony. Pen is very like—& very sweet, we think.
Do, when you write, speak of yourself, yourselves. I hope you like the Mill on the Floss.
Our love to dearest Mr Martin & you–
Let me be as ever
your affectionate & grateful
Ba–
Indeed it was a sad trial to Lady Grey [19] —yet to be with you must be pleasant to her–
Publication: LEBB, II, 400–404 (in part).
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Year provided by EBB’s references to Henrietta’s illness.
2. EBB made a pen-and-ink drawing of this tree, which she dated “1860. Oct. 7– Villa Alberti. Siena–” and titled “My fig tree–”; see illustration facing p. 176. RB pasted the drawing inside his copy of Poems Before Congress, which sold as lot 441 in Browning Collections (see Reconstruction, H45). It is now at the University of Akron.
3. “In mortal terror.”
4. Sophia Cottrell; see the first paragraph in letter 4743.
5. From The Lord’s Prayer; see Matthew 6:11.
6. Possibly Henry Alford; see letter 4714, note 3.
7. EBB refers to Compton John Hanford (1819–60), who died at Clifton on 19 June 1860. “Fanny” was Frances Flood (née Hanford, 1823–75), his sister (see letter 2628, note 8). In May 1847, brother and sister visited the Brownings at Florence, where the brother witnessed the poets’ marriage settlement (see letter 2678).
10. Cf. Matthew 9:17: “Neither do men put new wine into old bottles.”
11. Presumably William Pitt (1759–1806), second son of William Pitt, 1st Earl of Chatham (1708–78), prime minister (1766–68). “The Younger Pitt,” as he was sometimes known, is universally considered one of England’s greatest prime ministers. He served in that capacity from 1783 to 1801 and again from 1804 till his death in 1806. From 1793, except for brief periods, England was at war with France.
12. The OED defines “Raw-head” as “the name of a nursery bugbear, usually coupled with Bloody-bones.”
13. “It is too late.”
14. EBB alludes to the harsh notice of Poems Before Congress in The Saturday Review of 13 March 1860. For the full text of this review, see vol. 27, pp. 367–370.
18. Cf. Laurence Sterne (1713–68), “God tempers the wind, said Maria, to the shorn lamb,” A Sentimental Journey through France and Italy (1768), II, “Maria,” 175–176.
19. Eliza Lucy Grey (née Spencer, 1822–98), daughter-in-law of Mrs. Martin’s eldest sister, Elizabeth Anne Grey (née Vignoles, afterwards Thomas, 1785–1854). In 1839 she married George Grey (1812–98), Governor of New Zealand (1845–53) and (1861–68). Grey received a knighthood in 1848 and from 1854 to 1860, he was Governor of Cape Colony (South Africa). On a return voyage from London to Cape Colony in 1860, Eliza Grey became romantically involved with “the ship’s commander, Admiral Sir Henry Keppel. Grey discovered it … and had her put ashore at Rio de Janeiro. Grey swore Keppel to secrecy and did not speak to Eliza again for thirty-six years” (OED).
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