686. EBB to Arabella Moulton-Barrett
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 4, 124–130.
[Torquay]
Saturday. [30 March 1839] [1]
My ever ever dearest Arabel,
Your letter came last night just as I had given it up in despair. The postman’s raps died away, or seemed to do so, in the distance—& all hope of mine with them. It was well for you that you did write—& did not catch hold of dear Sam’s letter as an excuse, or rather that dear Sam would not let you do so—your own inward corrupt inclinations being manifest enough—— Thank you, though, again & again for the letter! It came, & that was enough. Ask Sette what my reason is for not asking you to write everyday.
Well my dearest Arabel, I was down stairs yesterday!—the first time in ten weeks!– We have had no prevalence of cold wind since our beloved Papa & Sette went away, & I was half surprised not to have been ejected from “my lady’s chamber”, [2] —albeit not quite as summarily as the long legged hero of the long lived ballad,—long ago. I was glad on some accounts to be sent down—very very glad to be able to send you what you would all be sure to think good news. Being tired was a necessary consequence of such a transmigration– I was very very tired—& the more so from my extreme stupidity in not having practiced dressing all this time. It had seemed a rather rational excuse for laziness about doing so, that my strength was better spent in remaining up on the sofa longer than I might otherwise be able to do, & that the dressing process would have necessarily taken some to its own uses. So I have been satisfied all this time with donning Trippy’s bright-hued flannel over my nightgown, & then nestling into a heap of shawls & cloaks. But you see such a costume would not quite do for an avatar into the world below. And not being used to sublunary petticoats I was tired before the removal took place at all. But it was managed, all of it, tolerably well;—and I stayed down stairs two hours—& when Dr Barry came at six, he said that I had done quite as well as he expected & did not suffer from fatigue more than he was quite sure I would do after such an exertion. And then (oh tuneful Barrytone accents!) he desired me to keep up stairs today & rest! Think of his humanity!– And dont scold me for being glad at this especial exercise of it—for indeed I was tired,—& came to a conclusion which made Henrietta laugh when I told it to her afterwards, that that drawing room was a detestable room. There seemed to me to be in it, such an immense superfluity of air & light, the weight was something past bearing—to say nothing of the straight sofa, which Crow had vainly tried to persuade me into letting her soften & breadthen (is there such a word?) by carrying down before me the featherbed to lay on it. Fancy a featherbed as one’s avant courier [3] up & down stairs! Besides, a pillow does almost as well as any other thing after its kind. Dont suppose either Dr Barry or me to be daunted. I am to go down stairs again tomorrow.
And oh Arabel! in spite of your impertinence my cap is beautiful: & well it may be, for it cost very nearly two shillings. When I put it on for the first time a few days ago, Dr Barry exclaimed “Indeed, Miss Barrett, you do seem to me to be looking better today—or else .. it is your cap!”—
As you are investigating the subject, I will keep back no information. Be it known to you that having worn a nightcap for eight weeks my intention was to leave it off. I appeared accordingly cap-less—& was forthwith extinguished by the first person who came into the room, with a checked silk cravat & a white cambric pocket handkerchief—to which dearest Papa who came next, seemed inclined to add instead of substituting, the ancient nightcap. So I was forced to subside back again into that original element—revolving in my altered sole [sic] [4] how I shd ever be able to alter the appearance of my head. If there were a risk in uncapping in this room, what wd it be to do so suddenly upon my descent into the drawing room?– And very beautiful as all my nightcaps continue to be (I hope Sette satisfied you on the subject) Oh wd it not be rather fort [5] to adjourn there in one of them—even if I preserved an unquestionable symmetry, by the adoption of Crow’s project respecting the loco-motive feather bed?——
From such causes arose my day cap!– The velvet was superadded more accidentally, upon more Epicurean principles. [6] It happened to be already in my possession! Do you understand? Do you embrace the subject comprehensively?– Or, as you tell me you “dont improve”, is your intellect still too narrow for its vasty deepness?——
What nonsence you have provoked me into writing. You, & the pleasure of writing to you, & the inspiration of the asses milk this morning, altogether, are too much for me– But altogether I am afraid you wont think I [7] have “improved”!–
A letter from dearest Miss Mitford today—she says “Your dear sister’s note delighted me. [8] She seemed to adopt me as a friend in right of my love for you—& indeed I love all belonging to you—those dear boys especially. How I hope the flowers may grow … And oh! how ardently I hope that the day may come when I shall see you all together my dear & most kind friends … you &c &c—being returned to them quite well! I pray for this next to my prayer for my father”—— And her father is going on as well as possible. Indeed he may be said to be perfectly restored.
Sunday.
O my beloved Arabel how many sabbaths have gone by since I conversed last with you. Here I am in bed for the night—it is seven—and I am quite helpless to resist the “sweet superstition” [9] of talking to you a little, before what may be called the day, is ended. I have your letter my dearest Bella. And if it were not for the unsightly void of one corner, & the extreme audacity (exactly the right word) of the other, my gratitude for it shd be laid undividedly at your feet. Make Sam write a copy & show it to you, before he attempts to insinuate anything into my letters, addressed to anybody else. You ought to have seen my face just as I caught the words “Dearest Bell” & … “uncle John’s estates”. [10] The lightening of my eyes singed both sides of my cap border––my beautiful cap! & even the black velvet fizzed. Who told him that I was an angel, & could bear it?——
There was a pleasant most welcome letter from dear Mr Hunter this morning—& he is not coming here. Thank you again & again for your wish that he should—knowing as you do, & knowing rightly how full of gladness such a visit would be to me– But if I could talk it all over with you you would be contented (as I am) in my disappointment. Henrietta wrote nearly three sides of a letter to him last week—& I covered the paper she left. Her letter took for granted that he was coming according to the old arrangement, but my codicil disinterestedly recommended a journey to London instead. He does not seem inclined to mind either of us. His decision against coming here is on account of my weakness– He knows he says that I shd exert myself in different ways, & determines that he wont come at present—that it wd be quite wrong—& in short, he wont. And now I will tell you a little why I am satisfied to let it be so– The journey does involve both trouble & expence, & altho’ he does not think of that (he is too kind) yet I ought to do so—& may do so with the less effort, as I see plainly that my being able to enjoy his society & conversation down stairs is out of the question––the sense of weakness upon removal made itself too convincingly felt last friday, & it wd be unreasonable to expect to grow up into any great improvement of strength after only two more days. And then whether Dr Barry was not quite satisfied with what he called this morning the friday ‘experiment’ I cant tell, but he wont let me go down any more until the weather is settled & sunny. He said “You must not go down today”—upon which I observed––“It does not break my heart Dr Barry”.– “I am glad of that—for really I cant dare let you go down stairs while the weather is so gloomy”. It is very warm, but the south wind leaned rather to the east yesterday, & it rains today. I sometimes think that he did not like the pulse much on friday night, & Crowe says now that she suspected at the time from his manner I was not likely to repeat the experiment very immediately. Not that I am the least bit the worse for it. Only it may be considered prudent to wait a few days longer for more sunshine & more of the strength which by God’s blessing, comes with it. Under such circumstances it would be foolish & inconsiderate to urge Mr Hunter’s coming here––when with every contrivance to see him I cd scarcely compass it for more than an hour or two in the day at most. And then you see he wd, notwithstanding Bro & Henrietta, be thrown a good deal upon Bummy for amusement––for society I mean—at least she might fancy so––and altho’ she likes & admires him very much, yet I am satisfied as it is. There are some delicacies as we are situated––she & we—and we have observed that notwithstanding her perfect acquaintance with the Easter plan & not unfrequent conversation about it, not a word on the subject has escaped her lately. I am glad to say that her cold is nearly quite well. I wish Henrietta’s were—and it wd be if her persuadibility had been equal to my wise counsellings. As it is, she walks about the house in a boa, & Dr Barry sent her some rose gargle yesterday, & I administer most disinterestedly all the gruel & arrowroot which I wont take myself. It was nonsense to tell you of my cold. It passed in a hurricane of pocket handkerchiefs in an hour or two!—— Here is April—summer at the doors! and oh Arabel! what a summer you make before it comes, with your vision of our sitting together in the happy happy chapel—kneeling together there! Should I ever get up again from that thankful prayer?——
You have prayed for me today, I know– How I love & pray for you always, you, all of you! You are so very very dear. I wish we could realize God’s love to us as we do our own love for each other! I for one fail & with less excuse than any, fail continually in doing so. Strange that we shd fail! His blood upon the conscience, yet the near heart so cold. There is a wonderfulness in man’s ingratitude & insensibility only surpassed by the long suffering of Him who is essentially the Wonderful.
Monday.
It is April. Tell that dearest April fool Sette (I know he is an April fool by this time, tho’ Occy may have escaped) to carry the enclosed precious seed, one of two which came from poor LEL, from Cape Coast & were sent to me by Miss Mitford, to some most accomplished gardener, & to get as much information about it as he can, & in the case of its being considered likely to grow, to have it planted in some hotest of hothouses.
Tell yourself whenever the butterflies seem coming out (as perhaps they may this week)—& whenever you think Mary’s [11] bonnet too warm for her,—to go to Miss Smith’s (I forget the new name) & order for her either a silk or Tuscan straw Leghorn bonnet, whichever you & she prefer, to my account. I will settle for it when I go home.
When I go home! How happy those words look! How could I help writing them over again!
I wont have Dr Barry abused. I have taken him under my protection. Such a story as I heard two days ago of his kindness amongst the poor!—of his going twice a day two miles & a half out of Torquay to attend a poor woman who was severely ill, & not only refusing the slightest remuneration, but actually paying for the medecines he prescribed. And he is said to do this continually. And it was testified to in most emphatic gratitude by our charwoman at this house last week. For my own part I must be grateful too—& it is only commonly so to say that no one could be more kind & feeling than he was to me in my last illness. [12] All the professionalisms were cast away from the manner—while, in regard to professional services, I have every reason to subscribe to his ability. I was in what Sette wd call a conglomeration of evils, at one time, quite enough to distract both physician & patient, & exigent of great judiciousness. Then as to the elixir you condescend to praise––I think it might immortalize him in your admiration. I am inclined to consider it (I may be wrong) that long sought elixir of life which used to run in couples with the philosopher’s stone. [13] It re-vivifies you—refreshes you—if you sleep or not—& renders you sublimely indifferent to the nocturnal watchings of old women. The Bendemeer nightingales [14] sing all the night long just outside my curtains—and I feel myself smiling with complacency every now & then, & only too inclined to pull my check string & beg Henrietta to unders<tand> how very particularly happy I am. It is sure to make me younger & younger—so that by the time I go home, I shall be wearing baby caps instead of “these presents”. All the girl-babies wear their cockades on the left side of the head—dont they? Let me know.
I meant to have written to my own beloved Papa,—but altho’ beginning days ago this series of replies to letters sent to me so long since, I am tired today, & Henrietta, scolding like a virago!– Tell him how he is missed every night, & all day too—but most at night! & tell him he shall have a long letter from me very soon in reply to your blank corner– Dearest dearest Papa!. I hate sending so many MSS & none for him.
Mr Stratten’s silence has a promise in it. Dr Payne Dr Smith have been written to—& others of the influential– Dear Mr Hunter seems sanguine, & not unreasonably so. In the meantime it has been proposed to him to supply at Albany Chapel. I am going to write to him. He ought [15] to go to London. But as he has for once made some actual exertion, there is no use in being very violent!–
Dearest Henrietta’s throat is better—Dr Barry has just been here—& was so hardhearted as not to enquire about it. He says that I am not to go down stairs again until the weather is another thing,—& indeed that weather seems to be his only reason for keeping me where I am—the wind leaning eastwards—a moist east wind tho’, which does not affect me so much as the dry—& the thermometer at 63 in my room this morning before any fire was lighted– Three letters next week for this!——
Your own Ba.
My love to Mrs Orme.
Best love to dearest Stormie. Ask him to send me OConnell’s verses—& whether he sings them to an Irish harp. [16] I meant to write to Stormie—but really I cant now. The letters I have written are just debts & long owing. I read his Chaucer most fluently & admiringly—& am thinking of erecting it on a scaffold in my room covered with velvet. Speak of the doves—à propos of the velvet–
Send Dr Elliotson [17] as quickly as you can, & Nelly Bordman’s note.
I am so sorry about the Russells give my love to them–
Send two chickens & the smaller quantity of cream to Trippy—one chicken for Mrs Nuttall with my love. I meant to have written too to dearest Sam. Tell him so.
Address, on integral page: Miss Arabel Barrett.
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
1. Dated by EBB’s internal reference to Monday, April Fool’s Day.
2. “Goosey, goosey, gander, whither shall I wander / Upstairs, downstairs and in my lady’s chamber, / There I found an old man who wouldn’t say his prayers, / So I took him by the left leg and threw him down the stairs” (old nursery rhyme).
3. “Forerunner.”
4. Dryden, “Alexander’s Feast” (1697), line 85.
5. “Outrageous; shocking.”
6. Epicurus (ca. 340–ca. 270 B.C.) advocated reliance on the senses; for him, pleasure (i.e., freedom from pain) was the highest good.
7. Underscored twice.
8. i.e., in reply to SD992.
9. We have not located the source of this quotation.
10. Apparently Sam had used a portion of his sister’s letter to address a message to his aunt, Arabella Graham-Clarke, who was with EBB in Torquay. A letter from her (SD996) thanks him for his “kind few lines.”
11. Mary Hunter, who was with the Moulton-Barretts in London.
12. As late as September 1839, he had not submitted any bill for his frequent attendance on EBB, and she finally asked him for his account (see SD1042).
13. The “powder of projection,” made from the philosophers’ stone hypothesized by alchemists, could transmute any baser metal into gold.
14. Thomas Moore, “The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan” (Lalla Rookh, an Oriental Romance, 1817, p. 63): “There’s a bower of roses by Bendemeer’s stream, / And the nightingales sing round it all the day long.” A note identifies Bendemeer as “A river which flows near the ruins of Chilminar,” in Persia.
15. Underscored three times.
16. We have been unable to trace any published poems by O’Connell.
17. Dr. John Elliotson (1791–1868), professor of medicine at the University of London and founder of the Phrenological Society, was a student of Mesmerism. His experiments with it led to his resigning his Chair at the university. He was the author of Principles and Practice of Medicine (1839), the book EBB was asking for.
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