4961. RB to Isa Blagden
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 29, 226–229.
Chez M. Chauvin, St Enogat près Dinard,
Ile et Vilaine.
Septr 9. ’61.
My dearest Isa,
Again your handwriting makes me happier than most things can: you will never let me be long without it, will you? And write just so, just as you used always. Do you think I used not to enjoy those letters, quite as much as she did? And now the past & present & future, pleasure & pain & pleasure for the last taste of all, are mixed up like ingredients of a drink. The little scraps are all interesting in themselves, and, again, dear in the old manner of presentment. In short,—keep just as you are, do just as you used,—for that includes all you have done since for me—and the one recollection with the other,—I repeat, makes me as happy as it is likely anything will now. The only fault in your letter is that it tells me nothing directly of your health. I am glad you think twice before committing yourself to a residence in Clifton; [1] your friend there can only wish your good, and what good goes with broken health—which your own reason & resolution might have remedied? So consider: why should Italy be barred to you? It should be open to me, I know, if the least duty to go there presented itself: even if my own health imperatively required my return I would go—knowing that I ought: you probably ought. The life there & ways are become yours. For me,—I should lose something by every inch that you were removed from me; you know that. But if you were up at Clifton & suffering beside, I should be practically as far off as if you were at Florence,—and sad enough. You will consider it. If London would do,—would let us be near each other! But how can that be! My own plans get a little maturer—all in the direction you know, so I won’t talk about them. Peni is doing satisfactorily in many important respects. His stay here shows me many things about him which I am glad to discover. He has a great power of suiting himself to circumstances. We have been here a month almost—during which time he has never had a single companion (boy companion)—only Sarianna & my father: yet he never was so happy & so cheerful. He amuses himself with my father, whose kindness & simplicity make him a wonderful child’s friend certainly,—they sketch together, go home & paint &c and Pen’s loud merry laugh is never out of my ears. He requires not even supervision now in the business of the toilette; is regular, orderly & reliable. He bathes every day—to-day will be the twenty fifth time—with a good swimming master, and really swims very well: he is delighted with it, stays in a long twenty minutes or half hour, then rides for two hours: I walk myself to death by his side—there not being a single horse to be hired here or in the neighbourhood. We are out by the sea—wholly alone—all the afternoon nearly—& the result is, Pen is red & strong & in perfect health apparently. We do no lessons—I have thought it best to take a fresh start when we get to London—that will be, at latest, by the beginning of October. The weather here is still warm & favorable—tho’ the autumnal signs are beginning to be clear. Milsand, however, wrote from Paris, two days ago, that the heat was still oppressive there—(he had just returned from the coast, also) [2] —& urging on us not to leave the place yet. I fear I must give up the hope of seeing Forster, who was anxious that I should go to him & stay from the 17th till the end of the month, when he takes his wife away for a holiday: perhaps he may begin it the sooner, as he now knows that I cannot possibly accept his kindness, being bound to Arabel. He & others are looking out for an apartment for me; I shall bear your recommendations in mind, be sure: and so, enough of me & mine. Your letter came with a huge one from Lytton [3] —full of excellent sense & good advice about public schools &c—not a word concerning his adventure, except that at the end of the three sheets he adds on a separate scrap that, having left my questions unanswered & said nearly nothing of what he had intended, he must soon write again. I feel just as you do about him. He tells a curious story about a huge serpent they have discovered, two hundred years old,—in Ld Bloomfield’s wine cellar,—calling him “Cadmus—without a Harmonia.” I shall save the letters to show you. I shall be anxious to hear what that article is about in McMillans—it is written by Ed Dicey, [4] who sends me his “Cavour” with a kind letter, telling me he wrote the article in consequence of hearing the “Imperialism” discussed “in a circle:” tell me your impression, as soon as you can. Now, Isa, believe me that your paper on Italian servants is capital [5] —to me, full of interest, truth & cleverness. It is well written, too, in the main—with a mere sprinkle of carelessnesses here & there which a stroke of the pen would correct: the misprints, all of which are not, even now, removed,—are a shame—the omission of the word “Roman” makes the whole passage unintelligible. [6] I shall think it a privilege to be allowed to look over your dear shoulder in these matters. I am sure that it only rests with yourself to write perfectly. Yes—I have seen the substance of the pamphlet [7] with such joy & such regret! Four months ago—what an unmixed joy! I see only a poor weekly paper,—the “Athenæum” also, but with irregularity: I hardly know anything about what is going on. I thought you, with that letter from “Cottrell” which I sent you, would have told me something about Mrs Jarves. [8] I have heard from Landor & Wilson—all is going on well enough—only he is teasing to have the house altered, windows made, the terrace extended to the garden—rather inconsistently with his expressed conviction of not outliving another year. “Sarianna”—whom you are adjured to call so—sends her best love to you and only wishes you could settle in Paris. I will leave off here having to enclose a letter, strangely delayed. The post is little reliable here. My father sends his best regards, Pen his dear love & kisses, and I bid God bless you from my heart.
Ever your affectionate R Browning
I had a touching letter from poor Jessie W. [9] who is at Milan.
Made M. wrote to say she entirely approved of my repugnance to the project. [10] —but as the Ed: of the Times had written himself about it, [11] she thought it best to give me the option. Prof: M. is at Florence by this time & will do everything in his power. Please give me Burridge’s Paris address, [12] in case of my leaving before you arrive. Mr Bracken’s [13] generosity & liberality do not surprise me at all—it is admirable in him all the same.
Publication: DI, pp. 87–91.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library.
1. See letter 4957, note 7. Isa Blagden planned on assisting Frances Power Cobbe with the poor. RB thought such work would be detrimental to Isa’s health.
2. For most of August, Joseph Milsand and his family were in Normandy at Yport (see SD2499).
4. “Elizabeth Barrett Browning,” in Macmillan’s Magazine of September 1861 (pp. 402–404). For the full text of this article, see pp. 398–399.
5. “Sketches from My Italian Household” appeared unsigned in Once a Week, 10 August 1861, pp. 192–196.
6. RB refers to a paragraph in “Sketches from My Italian Household,” where Isa compares a lady’s maid, evidently Roman, to her Tuscan counterpart: “I have spoken of the Tuscan lady’s-maid. She [the Roman lady’s maid], however, is a person of grander and larger and more barbaresque mould. … Her steady wide-open eyes have far less sparkle and intelligence in them, and she is certainly not so clever or efficient as her Tuscan sister” (p. 194).
7. Unidentified.
8. Elizabeth Russell Jarves (née Swain) died in Florence on 27 August 1861, aged 40. She had been estranged from her husband for some years, mainly because of his passion for collecting art.
9. This letter from Jessie White Mario has not surfaced.
10. See letter 4951, note 3. “Made. M” and “Prof: M.” refer to the Matteuccis.
11. John Thadeus Delane (1817–79) was editor of The Times from 1841 to 1877.
12. Levi Spear Burridge (1829–87), an American dentist who had treated the Brownings (see letter 3396, note 2).
13. William Bracken (1809–91); see letter 4280, note 7.
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