SD2166. Diary Entry of Sophia Hawthorne
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 25, 350–351.
Florence.
Tuesday. June 8th 1858
This day has been made memorable by my first seeing the Brownings. At noon Mr Browning called to see us and I was charmed with him. He has a delightful face—and beautiful eyes. He is not tall but of a pleasant figure, with great mobility of manner, very vivid and animated and warm. His grasp of the hand gives a new value to life, revealing so much fervor and sincerity of nature. He invited us most cordially to go at eight and spend the evening. It would have been impossible to refuse him. He is like a fast rushing river, and carries all before him. He talks rapidly and cannot sit still a moment. He had the effect of a spring freshet.
At eight o’clk my husband, Ada & I went to the memorable Casa Guidi. We found Pennini in an upper hall with a servant. I asked him if he were Pennini, and he said ‘yes.’ In the dim light, he looked like a little waif of poetry drifted up into the dark corner, with long curling hair and buff silk tunic embroidered with white. He took us through an ante room into the drawing-room, and out on the balcony. In a brighter light he was lovelier still, with brown eyes, fair skin and a slender, graceful figure. In a moment Mr. Browning bounded upon us with most emphatic welcome. In a Church near by, opposite, the choir was chanting melodiously. The balcony was full of flowers in vases growing and blooming. In the dark blue fields of space overhead flowers of light were opening their golden petals one by one as evening deepened. The music, the stars, the balcony—Casa Guidi, Mr Browning and his child, all combined to entrance my wits and my senses when Mrs Browning appeared. Very small, delicate, dark and expressive, she hardly seemed human, but a spirit. Her black hair falls on each side her face in large curls so as to nearly conceal her features. But out of this veil look sweet eyes, a little sad and yet with mirth in them, musing and far-seeing, and also weird. Her dress of black and white increased the peculiar effect of her appearance. Her fairy fingers seemed too airy to hold, and yet their pressure was very strong and earnest. The smallest possible amount of substance encloses her soul, and every particle of it lives with soul. A keen and fine damascus blade in a transparent scabbard is her immortal spirit in its earthly body. I gave her a wonderfully beautiful branch of small pink roses and buds, twelve in the stem in various stages of bloom, and she put it in her bosom, with lovely effect to her whole aspect. We went into the drawing room, a lofty, spacious apartment, hung with gobelin tapestry and pictures, and filled with carved furniture and objects of virtù. Every thing harmonized—Poet, Poetess, child, house, the rich air, the tuneful night. Pennini was an Ariel, flitting about—spirited, gentle, tricksy and intellectual, every atom of him seems like Venetian glass.
It rather disturbed my dream “of the golden prime of good Haroun Alraschid,” to have a certain Mr and Mrs Eckley come in, and then Mr Bryant and his daughter. Mr Bryant always is welcome to the eye with his fine snow-drift of beard and hair and handsome face, but he looked too inflexible and hard for that society. Mrs Eckley also is a very sweet lady and I should have liked to see her any where else. The three poets, Mr Hawthorne, Mr Browning and Mr Bryant got their heads together in a triangle and talked a great deal, while Mrs Eckley told me what an angel Mrs Browning is. Mr Eckley talked to Ada, who looked charmingly in white muslin and blue ribbons, quite the belle of the evening, her face a gleam of delight, because she was so glad to be at Casa Guidi and in presence of the Brownings. Tea was brought in and served on a long narrow table placed before a sofa, and Mrs Browning presided, assisted by Mrs Eckley. We all finally gathered at this table. Dear little Pennini handed the Cake, looking like a little Prince. Mrs Browning introduced the subject of spiritualism and there was an animated talk. Mr Browning cannot yet believe, but Mrs Browning cannot help believing.
They expressed great regret that they were going away to the seaside in two weeks, since we were to stay in Florence, and hoped to find us here on their return. Mrs Browning wished me to take Una to see her—and Mr Browning exclaimed “Oh you must send Pennini to see their boy—such a fine creature, with eyes kindling—Pennini must see him—and the little Rosebud, a dearest little thing.” We left at ten, because Mrs Browning cannot sit up late.
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Berg Collection.
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