4892. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 29, 117–121.
126 Via Felice.
Saturday. [11] May. [1861] [1]
Ever beloved Arabel, thanks upon thanks for the dear photograph. I will send you mine when I can get it, but the negative of the one you have, [2] was destroyed here by a mistake in spite of distinct instructions to the contrary. So I must go & be photographed before I leave Rome, to satisfy numerous applicants, besides you, darling.
I had a letter from dear George to signify to me (among pleasanter things, dear fellow!) that he was too hard up at his banker’s to come to meet me with you this summer– (Always I have to pay for it, when you furnish houses.) It does seem to me, apart from any selfish reason, a great pity that he should not have made up his mind to travel & see something of far countries, before he settled so absolutely in his own. It would have done him good in body & soul. I am as remote as he himself can be, from the wish of planting him in Italy. People are best fitted for their own countries I believe,—& only peculiar cases can make this rule otherwise. But the world’s a book,—God’s natural Revelation, .. & excellent for reading in the polyglott edition. Well!—there’s no use in either preaching or groaning about it now. George certainly wont come. As to you, dearest, you could come with your maid to Rome, & not a feather of you be ruffled, .. there’s no difficulty whatever, nor impropriety .. everybody does it now without a scruple. So I dont speak of that– I feel a little embarrassment about the Strattens. To be honest .. here is Robert .. but here also is his family. You are a piece of me—but otherwise he wants to be alone with them for evident reasons. Dear Mr & Mrs Stratten are strangers to all—and the gêne [3] would be undeniable, Robert thinks, to his father’s simplicity & awkwardness– What am I to say? Probably Mr Browning would feel the priviledge of Mr Stratten’s society in a peculiar way .. I think it highly probable: and yet when we are all brought together & rubbed against one another (as it makes my blood run cold to think of) there will be a gritting & grinding, from which strangers are better excluded. At any rate, I say only what I must say. Then I recoil in thinking of you. You are to be considered, my dearest of dears, after all. It would be a pleasure & comfort to you to be with the Strattens this summer, & you had promised it,—and, in fact, I believe that you would get three times the good from Mr Stratten’s influence than your love for me could empower you to rescue out of our cauldron at Fontainbleau, Paris, or elsewhere. Tell me—could you combine the two things? We shall not be in France till the end of June .. quite—which will give us three months in France. Now, would it be impossible for you, to go with the Strattens for six weeks, & then come to us, dear .. leaving it open for you (and I put my heart in the hole, to keep it open!) to go with us to Italy afterwards, & stay over the cold weather in Rome– Observe—I consider it a duty on your part to do this last thing, but I dont press for an answer—nay, I make it my particular request to you not to answer– Lay the question on the shelf, & consider it, .. & you & I will settle it presently. At the end of September, or beginning of October rather, we shall go to Florence till the middle of November, & then proceed to Rome. This, if God gives us the means, of course. As to England, judge for me you who are just. The effort for me to get to Paris will be great & nothing but a stringent sense of duty forces me into it. Mr Browning is older than he was, .. he has not lately been very well– Oh, he is quite well now, and it was not much—but it might have been if neglected for two days, the medical man said—there was the rupture of some small vessel in the lower part of the body– He is not to overwalk himself, & he is to take wine &c– They say it might have happened to the strongest & youngest—but then he is not the youngest, & naturally Robert felt uncomfortable. I, on the other hand, was perfectly decided on not being the cause of this visit’s failing .. poor old man. Also, we wish to give him as much time as we can– If we went to London .. there would be a month cut off, at once. As for me, I need not speak of myself– Do you really think I want to see people, Arabel? How little you know me, if you do– Any of my brothers, who cared to see me, might come you know .. just as easily to Paris as to London– Friends & acquaintances, I would rather not see. Better strangers & enemies!—— You see I’m an “unnatural renegade” as the Saturday Review called me once, [4] & dont feel, like other people I suppose.– Then, there’s yourself. Everyday on which you’re kept in London, I consider an injury done to you, Arabel– You must use all this tract of summer weather in changing air & scene, & refreshing your precious body & spirits. — And now, will you enquire among your friends, & find out a good place in France for us—not too far south, because of the heat,—and dry & healthy, & with civilization– Some one told me the other day that Fontainbleau was damp– If it is, I shall be afraid .. both for you & me– As for me, I’m made of brown paper, & tear at a touch,—& I am not like you,—I think a great deal of being tied up out of the way of work or play–
You have had our dearest Altham with you [5] —& he has been unwell– Ah, how that went to my heart to hear of. So Stoke is damp– I had thought of that— And Wilton was very damp– The whole country there has a tendency to dampness it seemed—but Surtees will be careful for the darling children– Tell me if the governess is satisfactory, [6] —tender to them, & a good instructress. I must write to dear Surtees—but it hurts me so, that I shrink from it always—coward that I am. The silence never comes from want of memory or feeling, but through both being overfull. I see Surtees in my very dreams– Did dearest little Altham look pale & thin when he went to you, dear? Did he say that he liked the governess? God bless him.
And now let me tell you a little of Penini because you have a right to hear– Yes, Giacinto was a sketch from him– [7] He is very well, & grown quite fat as well as tall. The riding agrees with him, and, so also, does Rome. This house is healthy. Otherwise there has been a great deal of illness in Rome this spring, in the way of fever. Pen is getting to be good with his lessons, I hope. He surprised both Robert & me by his reading & translating Latin yesterday——just because he put a little will into it. His difficulty is his wandering head– The Abbé says he can do what he pleases. He was naughty with me last week, .. & said, “I am angry with papa, and angry with you, & angry with the Abbé … and (after a pause) most of all angry with myself.” “And why pray”, said I, “are you angry with papa”? “Because he’s always scolding. Most unjust he is.” “And why with me?” “Because you dont love me enough even when I bring a good note home of Bene.” “And why with the Abbé.” “Because he has given me twentyfive lines to do into Latin & its a great deal too much”– “And why with young Peni––” .. “Because I want to be good, and I know I’m naughty, & I get more & more naughty.” .... That softens one, you see, Arabel, even to the wickedest of criminals– It was all said so very seriously & feelingly. But he’s a child in certain respects hard to deal with, on account of the softness itself, and his indisposition to apply must be met with resolution at his age. At the same time, we have done better lately. Lessons are learnt more perfectly,—& the progress in Latin, is quite beyond what is usually found after a year’s study in England. Then he speaks French very nicely– The Abbé does well with him—only sinning through an excess of gentleness. He is the kindest of men: not the most intellectual—but an excellent teacher, we think. For the rest, because Edith Story .. (sixteen, & by no means a theologian) talked a little protestantism to him one day, he requested that “she would’nt unsettle his mind,” .. which amused us all considerably.
I told George that the Duchess de Grammont (French embassy) had sent Pen a card for her ‘matinée d’enfants’. [8] Robert took him, & it was a very splendid business, .. quite royal– Above twenty servants in full dress livery .. Pen says a hundred, but then he “never exaggerates.” The Duchess was very kind to him & presented him to her children, asking if he could speak French—& so, as he could, (& could’nt dance, which was disgraceful to us, but I had not the heart to arrange for it, this winter according to first intentions) he went with ‘Ginore’ the eldest boy, [9] & various young Colonna, Doria, & Piombino princes, [10] into a room out of the ballroom where they took private recreation in discussions about lessons & poneys, besides a game of leap-frog. In fact Pen was charmed, & felt a sort of honor in being received under a full-length portrait in oils of Napoleon!! whom he continues to consider as great as Garibaldi!–
Poor, noble Garibaldi!—a childlike man. I told you Arabel, of what stuff he was made. But it might have been terrible for Italy. The Mazzinian tongs had hold of him, & were about to stir the fire dangerously for chimneys. But when most angry with that man, (as I was the other day) some noble touch in him brings the tears to my eyes. How poetical this people is! What a scene for a tragedy the scene in the Turin parliament wd have made– [11] I dare say you had it but imperfectly in the English papers– Cavour (the cold!) stabbed the velvet cushion he leant on, through & through with an ivory paper-knife. It was too much to bear. Yet he restrained himself– There’s a great man! Complete in the head & the heart!– Greater, after all, than ten Garibaldis. And yet our Garibaldi is great too.
We accuse Pen of a love-affair with the queen of Naples—& he (in spite of patriotism) confessed to an interest– (Very gravely!) She is lovely, & has a sad winning face—and Pen (between ourselves) follows her on his poney rather closely, drawn by certain smiles. He declares that she stood up in her carriage three times yesterday to smile at him– [12] He thinks a little of it may be due to the poney, but besides .. & he had a new jacket on!– Pen told me this confidentially– We are paying for our winter by a cold wind which keeps me in the house, in spite of the blazing sun. And Florence is said to be quite cold. We stay till the end of May. Take care of yourself my precious Arabel—& write to me, & love me, for I do tenderly & entirely love you.
Your own Ba–
Robert’s & Pen’s best love– And mine to dear Minny—& Pen’s. Ought we not to hear soon of dear Storm?–
Address: Angleterre– / Miss Moulton Barrett / 7. Delamere Terrace / Harrow Road / London.
Publication: EBB-AB, II, 527–531.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. Dated by a London postmark of 16 May 1861, a Thursday.
3. “Constraint,” or “discomfort.”
5. Altham Surtees Cook had been staying with Arabella since 4 April (see Surtees, 4 April 1861).
6. Jessie Louisa Lewis (d. 1902, aged 85), who “came as governess” to the Cook children in early February (Surtees, 5 February 1861). She is listed as part of the Cook household at Stoke Court in the 1861 England census.
8. “Afternoon party for children.”
12. In letter 4891, also dated 11 May 1861, EBB writes that this episode took place “two days since.”
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